Once upon a time, a very nice author called Foxglove and I decided to do a quasi-RP'ish fanfic based loosely on a collapsed roleplaying mailer thing.
It mutated from there.
This fic is all in ASCII. These ~ things mean an end of turn. These + mean a change of scene. _Underscores_ around a word symbolise italics and *asterisks* mean bold. {Sound effects} are in wobbly brackets and [Foreign languages] are in square ones.
This is a very long fic, so I’m posting it in instalments. I hope Foxglove doesn’t mind, because I’ve lost contact with them.
Disclaimer: The only thing I own is Sara. Oh, and the story concept. Just about everything else is owned by Marvel and probably Foxglove.
Misfits
InterNutter and Foxglove
The aging step-through died on the crest of the last hill.
“Aw, c'mon, Eileen…” complained the rider. They pushed the vehicle forward as if they were riding a scooter, and coasted down into the parking lot, using their sandshoes as brakes.
Eileen didn’t really need the bike lock that the rider wrapped in complicated loops through and around her. It was just there to stop anyone towing her off as junk.
Sara unbuckled her helmet and stowed it in the seat, then slung on her heavy backpack and slouched towards school and her locker.
Another day, another dead rat.
This particular specimen had been “rescued” from a class dissection and had half its innards splayed about the floor of her locker space.
Sara just reached for the *other* pocket with the hole in it and drew out a plastic bag. She kept her face neutral as she encapsulated the corpse and dumped it unceremoniously into the nearest bin.
“Sara, Sara, plain and tall…”
_Oh *damn*. She’s two minutes early…_
“When you got height, you got it all,” Janine beamed at her, showing off her brackets. She was almost the polar opposite of Sara, being short and rounded where Sara was tall and thin. “When you got beauty, you were sore - you were stuck behind the door!”
It was a daily ritual. “One of these days, Janine,” Sara promised, "even *you* will grow weary of that little ditty, and have nothing left but the novelty of a simple ‘hello’.“
But Janine wasn’t listening. She was primping her copper-coloured curls at a boy who was desperately avoiding her eye. "What’s up? Still sweet sixteen and never been kissed?”
“Let’s just say that I’m getting bored,” said Sara, heading off that particular rhyme. “I’m thinking of a behavioural experiment.”
“What? Sticking a penny to the floor again?”
“Please, I did that already. No. *This* time, I’m thinking random pennies in random, obviously-stuck places. Walls, ceilings, the undersides of glass tables… I can use the school security cams to monitor them an–”
The next thing she knew, she was staring at some blood pooling on the linoleum, and Janine had vanished.
Whoever was dripping was real close. Practically right on top of her.
And then the pain blossomed from her temple.
“Oh frell,” she muttered, touching the area. _Ouch._ She stood and found the locker she’d collided with. No visible rust, therefore there was a reduced risk of tetanus.
_What am I thinking? I’ve *had* my shots._ “Stupid girl,” she muttered. Hand over her wound, she made it to the nurse’s office shortly before the bell rang.
“Hall pass?” said the school nurse.
“But - I got here before the bell…”
“I didn’t *see* you before the bell. Go to your class and get a hall pass.”
Sara sighed and plodded back to first period.
“You’re late, Mister Essel.”
Half the school or more seemed to think she was a boy named Adrian Essel. She didn’t bother correcting anyone.
Sara held up her gory hand. “I *do* have a valid excuse.”
“You’ve been *fighting*,” he announced. “Straight to the office. Now!”
“But–”
“Must I escort you?”
“No,” Sara murmured. “Though I’m sure you can’t get the locker to press charges.” It was a long walk to the office and, despite the pressure on the wound, she was bleeding like a stuck pig. Her head hurt and she was feeling all - woobly.
There was no-one at the desk when she got there, so she took a ticket and found a seat that looked easily cleanable. Sara leaned back in it and closed her eyes. _Hurry up,_ she thought to the invisible office staff. _I think I need stitches…_
Her unencumbered hand fell lax onto the pebbled plastic surface of the cheap chair. It would take sharp eyes to notice that the skin of her hand changed to match the colour and texture of the surface it rested on.
The human eye is naturally drawn to the sight of blood, so in a way, she was extremely lucky that she was bleeding.
~
There was just no question about it. Today was not going to be one of the cool ones. He’d get through it anyway, but it would help if the speedtalker shut up just for a *minute* to allow Todd’s brain to zone out of reality. Instead, every second had that too sharp awareness - allowing everything in at once. His brain could shut nothing out - not the cold, nor background noise, or the acidic emptiness in his stomach.
“SothenItoldherIwouldbebetter*off*withaslutcomparedtowhat*she*was, andshetotallybitchslappedme! ME!!! Iwaslike, 'ohnoyoudidn’t' andIwouldaslappedherrightback, butCoachSandersonwasall–”
“So wait,” Lance interrupted in untimely fashion, “Some common girl managed to slap *you*?”
Freddy’s shoulders began shaking with laughter. Todd would’ve joined in if he was feeling half as less disoriented. He managed a smirk.
Pietro scowled at the older boy. “Yeah, she slapped me. No powers at school, duh, or I swear I woulda -”
“You’d never hit a lady,” said Lance.
“That was so totally not a lady!”
“Ha.” Todd rummaged in his backpack, hopefully. “I think Lance meant you’d never hit someone with an innie.”
Todd’s questing hand closed around the remains of a poptart. He pulled out the stale cherry frosted breakfast pastry and bit into it. Finally, something that didn’t have legs attached.
His next bite closed on air. “Hey!” he cried out, noticing the sudden absence of the poptart. Pietro glanced at him quizzically.
“What?” the slender boy asked, licking crumbs from his fingers.
“That was my breakfast yo!”
“Eat a bug.”
“I’ve been *doing* that all *week*. I’d like some real food for a change!”
“So would we. You get more nutrition than we do with those bugs, so stop whining,” Pietro retorted.
“Like I’d ever not share insects with my bestest pals,” Todd feigned an injured tone.
“Hakuna Matata,” Fred joked. He patted Todd’s back. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll do fine without them.”
Todd rolled his eyes and walked toward the lockers.
“He really okay on just bugs?” Lance asked Pietro.
“Think of all that protein. How could he not be?”
“I’d rather not,” Alvers muttered. “Okay. I’m off to skip geometry. Pietro, you have free period next. Why don’t you steal us all something for lunch? And I mean *all* of us. You *do* owe him breakfast.”
“Cheep, cheep, cheep, Mother hen.”
Pietro expertly dodged Lance’s swat. “Wiseass.”
+
Todd grumbled all the way to his locker. He stood carefully to the side as he opened it so he didn’t get sprayed in the face by his own booby trap in case he wasn’t careful. He’d started putting traps in his locker - the type that sprayed shaving cream, slime, and Hawaiian Punch in random flavors of the week. It was just a kick to come back to find the locker swinging open with evidence of its exploded contents, even if he had to clean it up afterwards and take books spackled with several shades of tropical punch to class.
Even if he got the crap beaten out of him later for trying to one-up the bullies.
The trap was spent, from earlier that morning or last night. There were pieces of shaving cream all over his biology book. Could be worse. Todd took the book out and shut the locker. There would be no need to set it up again until the weekend. Best to allow for them to take retribution and think they’d taught *him* a lesson.
Tolensky ducked behind a showcase of sports trophies as he spotted Graydon, Duncan and Bruce walking down the hall. He wished he hadn’t; they saw him anyway.
“Hey, Toady. What’s up?” Duncan said, leaning against the wall beside him. Todd gulped.
“N-Nothin’ Duncan. S'up wit you?” Best to answer. Silence was taken as form of rudeness.
“I’m fine. Had a nice score last night. She was pretty tight. Man did she scream.”
Todd tried not to squirm. He knew what question they were going to ask next.
“How bout you?” Duncan asked, looking down at Todd. “You score lately?”
“N-No, Duncan. I haven’t. And I don’t think it’s all that big a deal, really.”
Graydon and Bruce burst into snickering. They were surrounding him in a circle. One beside him, one before him, the other and the glass showcase blocking his exit to the right.
“Why not?”
“I dunno. Guess I’m just a hopeless romantic?” Wrongthingtosay, wrongthingtosay. Todd closed his eyes as the laughter became raucous. He didn’t know why he tried to be cool with them. He just knew that it was safer than running, and that the laughter hurt about as much as the beatings did.
“You’re hopeless all right. Pick out a girl and screw her already. Unless of course you’re *not* a dyke.”
Ow. “I’m not.” Todd’s voice was small. “Just rumors, you know?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Bruce admitted. “But I ain’t never seen you shower after gym.”
Oh no… not that.
“What have you got to hide, man? That fact that you aren’t one?" Duncan slapped hi-fives with Graydon. The trio departed with more laughter, leaving Todd to study the floor with undue fascination. Anything to avoid the eyes of others. Their conversation had been loud enough to carry down the entire hall.
Todd shifted his book and notepad and walked to the labs, trying to look careless. As if words like that would make him come apart, compared to everything else he dealt with. He could handle it, yo. Long as he kept telling himself…
"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Tolensky.”
“So sorry to hold up the learning process, Mr. Priscen. Hope you weren’t to terribly stumped without me here.”
Whoa. Where the hell had *that* come from?
“Office it is, yo,” Todd sighed, doing an about turn even before Mr. Priscen could even point toward the hall and sputter.
~