Continued from yesterday:
Sara emerged ruffled from the towel, reaching automatically for the hair treatment that, in conjunction with the hot iron, removed all traces of unruly and unpredictable kinks in her tresses.
_Wait. Why am I doing this?_
Mother, being someone with a natural curl to her hair, thought straight hair was lovely. And since Sara’s locks were neither, the morning routine had been there since time immemorial.
The treatment failed the instant Sara got her hair soaked, and it had always been, “Sit still and I’ll fix it for you."
She looked in the mirror. Her hair was *interesting*, now. All over and with fascinating chaotic directions.
"I don’t need fixing, Mother,” she said, and shook her head vigorously. This morning, she was going to air-dry and see what happened next.
The men, this dawn, had heard about her preparing to go to the balcony armed, so her morning serenade was peaceful for a change. Having Logan recommend paintball guns, with interesting statistics on the pain factor of each strike, had acted as an effective deterrent.
Airing the facts about Scott’s tic-tacs had yet to earn an apology. As had exposing the Institute’s unofficial inter-borrowing scheme to the world at large.
“Mnurgh…” Jean lurched out of bed as Sara aired her black dress. “Y'r not wearin’ that are ya?"
"Why ever not? I don’t exactly have that many options."
"Th’ red thing w’s nice…"
"The red thing is currently threatening to go at the seams. Not something I could walk in confidence with, what?"
"Urh?"
"I’m too big for it."
"Uh.” A moment’s extracting the gummy deposits from her eyes. “What’s wrong with your usual stuff?"
"I want to positively enforce my status as a female,” said Sara. “Dresses are definitely feminine wear."
"Y’ could borrow my stuff?” Jean offered. “A baby-doll an’ a skirt… got somethin’d look good on you…” She fumbled for her things, extracting items of the girly persuasion.
Sara sighed. Some people had *no* idea… but then, Jean wasn’t functioning on all cylinders in the mornings. “Allow me to demonstrate,” she said. The skirt looked awkward on her long legs, too long for a mini and too short for normalicy. As for the shirt… it’s hem just managed to touch flesh under her bra strap. Sara lifted her arms, exposing her underwear.
“Oh.” Jean blinked. “Yeah."
Sara removed the borrowed clothes. "I can never wear anything off the rack,” she said. “Nobody makes clothes for truly gangly people."
"Erm… isn’t ‘gangly’ a snap word?"
"Thank you,” Sara snapped a rubber band on her wrist. “The point remains that my options are rather limited."
"Y’ got other dresses,” Jean pointed at the other two cocooned garments. “C'n I look?"
Sara bowed her in. "Be my guest."
{Zzzzzip…} The navy one, with the scattering of sequins. "Urgh… Not daywear.” Jean zipped it back up. {Zzzzzzzip…} The apricot-cream one. “Not in a school with food fights.” Again, Jean returned the zipper to its original position. “You’re screwed."
"At least black can go anywhere.” Sara wriggled into the black dress, tweaking it so that everything was in place.
“Eh. It can. Don’ make a habit of it. You’ll get red-listed."
"Red. Listed?” Sara paused in the act of fingering through her jewellery.
“Yeah. After Columbine, schools are twitchy about kids with certain traits. Wear black a lot, not many friends, have exhibited antisocial tendancies… that sorta thing."
"Trust the administration to stop at appearances,” muttered Sara. “Doesn’t anyone pay real *attention* any more?"
"They don’t,” Jean was combing her hair. “It’s why there’s a *need* for the red list."
"Otherwise known as the witch-hunt. Going after the cause would be simpler."
"There’s a cause?"
"Popular people who make unpopular people a hobby, and humilliating them a sport.” Sara fastened a pendant around her neck. The twinkling object came to rest just below her clavicle. “After years and years of peer pressure like that, anyone would snap.” She smiled at herself in the mirror. “Case in point."
"I’m doing what I can about that,” said Jean. “Subtle revenges that seem like bad luck, that sort of thing."
"You can’t be everywhere, alas,” said Sara. She turned her hologram on and contemplated her makeup. “Someone, somewhere, is getting away with it.” Rose-coloured lipstick. Just pink enough to be girly, and just red enough to look realistic. And eye-liner. Just a touch.
Jean was staring at her. “…wow…"
"I told you I have hidden depths."
"QED,” said Jean. She yawned, stretched, flexed, and finally slumped. “*God*, I wish I had your get-up-and-go…"
"Try deep breaths and a little physical activity. Sometimes it can jump-start the brain."
"I am *never* dancing nude at dawn."
"I should hope not. There’s just enough room on the balcony for one."
Jean giggled at that, waking up at last.
+
Meanwhile, at the Brotherhood house…
”….I AM, I AM. 'ENERY THE EIGHTH I AM. SECOND VERSE! SAME AS THE FIRST!“
"ALL FUCKING *RIGHT*!” Tabby shrilled. Her voice had cracked on the last word. “Just *shut* *UP*!"
"I knew you’d see it my way,” soothed Pietro. “So we’re agreed on the plan?"
"Not entirely,” growled Tabby. “You owe me *big* time. One day I’m'a need somethin’ huge, and when I do… You’re it."
"Fine. Cool by me."
Tabby held out her hand. "Against my better judgement…"
Pietro shook it. "Judgement, schmudgement."
Lance glared at them. He had earmuffs on and an extremely hang-dog expression. ”*Now* you decide to shut the fuck up. Just fuckin’ *wonderful*…“
Todd breezed by. "Good morning, good *mor*ning… you’ve talked the whole night through…” he sang. “Good morning, good morning to you…[1]"
"Can I shoot him?” muttered Tabby.
“Later,” hissed Pietro.
“Yo. Toady! What the hell makes you so happy after last night?"
"Huh?” said Todd. “I spent las’ night sleepin’ inna tub, yo. My room’s bein’ done over, remember?"
Lance began hitting his head on the doorjamb. "Bathroom’s soundproofed… *God*…"
"Aw cheer up,” said Todd. “Freddy an’ me? We’re makin’ *waffles*![2]"
Fred was the next to bounce down the hallway. "Good morning, good *mor*ning… I get to cook today. Good morning, good morning, hooray!"
"If it wasn’t for the waffles, I’d fucking shoot him,” said Tabby.
“Waffles first, homicide later,” said Lance.
[1] Paraphrased from the _Good Morning_ song of _Singing In The Rain_ fame.
[2] If you don’t get this side-fling, you need to see a little movie called _Shrek_.
~
Sara hadn’t walked three steps into the schoolyard before Todd’s attention was fixed on her. Tabby’s muttering and Pietro’s cackling fell into a subliminal hum.
_Whoah…_
“Sara!” he called, waving. He launched himself towards her from a standing start.
Or that was the plan.
Someone had a hold of his arm and used it to reel him in. He barely had time to register it was Tabby before the buxom blonde’s tongue made a valiant attempt to dive down his throat.
He struggled. Fought. Clawed his way free, hacking and coughing. Staggered a few steps away before bumping into Sara’s motionless form.
“Tabitha Brianna Smith,” said Sara. “Either this is a new low, or you’re a victim of some kind of blackmail."
"Psychological torture,” said Tabby.
“…ack… slut germs,” croaked Todd. “…must… have… *lysol*!"
Sara’s icy glare nailed down Pietro. "Is this the best you have?” she said. “I thought you’d be a challenge.” Sara removed her bag, dipped into it, and produced a small bottle. “Here, darling. Don’t swallow."
Pietro zipped over and yowled. His fingers caught in a mousetrap.
Sara smiled. "Try again when you’re capable of more than a minute’s coherent thought,” she drawled.
Todd swished and swilled. Ah, the tear-inducing burn of undeniable hygene. He spat blind in Pietro’s general direction. “Ow. It hurts and stings[1]…"
Sara took his elbow in her hand, making it look like he was escorting her. "Shall we see if there are rats in the locker, this time?” Sara offered.
[1] Side-fling to _Elf-Only Inn_ a fave webcomic of mine
~
Principal Kelly felt an intense desire to apologise for the coffee. He’d sampled the Adrien’s selection exactly once, when interviewing Mrs Adrien about the size of the voluntary donation he’d like in order to keep Sara in his school.
The female, the one with the unnerving way of looking straight through him, took a sip, grimaced, and warmed her hands on the mug.
“Budgetary cutbacks,” explained Kelly. “We can’t exactly scrimp on the kids’ education, so…"
"Folger’s crystals?[1]” said the female.
“Yeah. Sort of,” Kelly withered under her X-ray glare. “It’s a cheaper… non-brand alternative."
"Mm-*hm*,” said the female.
Could they arrest you for giving no-brand coffee substitute to cops? Kelly started to sweat. “Now. Uh. If you don’t mind, officers… what, precisely, can I… help you with?"
"We’re here to inform you that Mrs Adrien has been served with a restraining order,” said the male. Officer Danoz. “She’s not to come within one hundred feet, nor attempt to contact miss Sara L. Adrien unless in the company of one Samuel L. Adrien. In the case of telephone contact, you’ll have to speak with Mr Adrien before allowing contact with the girl.” A copy of the official document slid across the table.
“We’ve already verified that she’s under the temporary guardianship of a trustworthy adult,” said the female. Why did he have such trouble remembering her last name?[2] “Before we verify these arrangements officially, we have to ensure that these details remain private and confidential. They will not leak out, under any circumstances, to Mrs Jaquelline E. Adrien."
The way she said it made it sound as if it were already a fact; and that, if that fact changed, then he, Principal Edward Kelly, was in for a world of hurt.
"Of course, officer,” he stumbled. “I’ll mark it private and confidential before locking it in my filing cabinet."
The female gave the cabinet a glare, sizing it up and determining that there was very little on a school campus that would hold up against a determined thief. She reluctantly slid another piece of paper across his desk.
Kelly dutifully stamped it, referring the restraining order, and added them both to Sara’s extensive permanent record. "I’ll… uh… send a memo around as soon as possible."
"You do that,” said the female.
+
“I’m just worried, is all,” said Sandra Pattele. “I mean, she’s wearing *black*, now. She didn’t have all that many friends, the last time I checked, and she’s hanging out with that punk kid, Tolensky. And he has a broken hand? This could all be like, Idunno, some kind of warning sign. Y'know… after that big spaz attack in the hallway, on Friday, I thought to myself like, 'What if this is going to turn into some kinda Columbine?’ y'know?” She shrugged. “I’m just concerned about my fellow students. *Especially* Sara Adrien."
While the secretary wrote all this down, Sandra turned and winked to the super-hottie Pietro Maximoff. He smiled in that extra-sexy way and blew her a kiss.
God. She nearly melted on the spot. This was going to be *so* totally awesome.
+
Sara frowned at the blood Todd spat out, mixed with his ever-present mucous. "Dear, let me see inside your mouth, please? You’re bleeding."
"Yeah,” he rasped. “Always happens, yo. There’s some hygene that just hurts.” He let her gentle fingers open his mouth.
Ouch. It looked like he’d suffered a rash of mouth ulcers that had all spontaneously burst. Almost the entire surface of his mouth was stripped off. Even his tongue was reddened. She hissed in sympathy. “Shall I make you a saltwater rinse? Do you need to see the nurse?"
"Naw. I be okay in a few minutes. Promise.” He wiped the last moisture from his eyes and appeared to focus on her for the first time. “Yow. What’d you do to your hair? It looks all cool an’ shit."
"I did absolutely nothing, for a change,” Sara smiled. “I figured that if I’m going to be *me*, I might as well do it from top to toe.” A mock glare. “But you’re distracting me from the important stuff, dear. Why did you *do* that if you knew it was going to hurt you?"
"What would you do if -say- Duncan Matthews frenched yo’?"
”…possibly the very same thing,“ said Sara. "Point taken.” They joined hands to journey to her locker. “Any wagers on the presence of rat?"
"Yo, if there is one, I’m'a see that little mouthy bitch eat it."
Sara turned her combination. ”'Round and 'round it goes, where it stops, nobody knows… And the winner is…“ She opened the door, and yelped as a cascade of paper spilled out. Somehow, she managed to fumble her skirt into an impromptu basket before most of them hit the floor. "Notes? I’ve never had notes in my locker…” she sniffed. “Especially not ones that smelled of cologne."
Todd had bent to scoop up the ones she’d missed. "Yo, some of these look like *love* notes…"
Together, they managed to stack and pack them into a small bag, which Sara secreted into her backpack.
"Shall we dissect them in morning assembly?” Sara offered. “Could be worth a few giggles…” One small card that had escaped the clean-up was captured and flipped open. “Especially ones that read, 'Will you show me the other one? I have money’. Charming."
"No offense, babe, but yo’ coulda picked a better time an’ place fo’ that breakdown, yo."
"Sadly, breakdowns can’t be chosen. Breakdowns are thrust upon one, with malice, but holding the aforethought[3]."
The PA whined into life. "Would Miss Sara Adrien please report to the office? Sara Adrien?"
Sara sighed. "This is probably about the breakdown. You don’t have to follow me there."
"Aw, c'mon. You need emotional support.” He gave her a sly smile that made his eyes shine. “They make yo’ hang aroun’ fo’ *ages* in there."
Sara had to smile, even though she was blushing. The office waiting room was the most private public place she knew of. So long as one kept decorum, the busy office staff could care less what one actually *did* whilst waiting. She joined hands with him.
Having someone there with her would be a supreme relief.
[1] I’ve only heard about these. Apparently, they’re a decent coffee substitute, but I reckon that substitutes can be discerned by a trained tongue. I mean, I can always tell if something’s used artificial sugar…
[2] Because I can’t recall hearing it on _Dead Like Me_. Ever. Any help out there?
[3] I think there used to be a legal term, 'with malice and aforethought’, meaning the act was not only vicious, but premeditated.
~