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k is for killers
May. 14th, 2014 09:17 pmThe night certainly didn’t turn out the way Magnus had intended
It was a simple job. For God sakes, the plan was to kill the target in his sleep. Very quick, very clean, very easy; the man lived alone, no pets, no interference. Magnus had cased the house for days in advance, taking note of the man’s schedule, when he came and went, when he slept and when he awoke. There was a plan, a simple plan, and Magnus had followed it. But no matter how careful someone is, something can always go wrong.
Something did go wrong.
Magnus hadn’t anticipated the target rousing from his slumber for a glass of water. It was such a small thing, something so human and common, but it wasn’t something he was prepared for. Mr. Deaton had already shuffled downstairs and to the kitchen by the time Magnus slipped through the back door and disarmed the alarm. The only thing that preceded Mr. Deaton’s presence was the out-of-place creaking of the floorboards. Magnus had whirled just in time to dodge an alarmingly swift jab with a knife.
They brawled.
Another thing that Magnus hadn’t anticipated was Mr. Deaton’s sheer fighting skill. There had been nothing on record to suggest such a talent; no military or law enforcement background, no participation in self-defence classes or martial arts competitions. He was agile, quick, and smart, and it only took a few tries before his knife, something obviously belonging in a kitchen, was planted in his side. Everything froze, and for a moment he didn’t feel anything. Then the knife was pulled back, and he felt the warm stickiness of blood. Still no pain, but he figured that was due to the adrenaline.
He ignored his injury in favor of getting the job done. At this point, he couldn’t simply flee, not after the target had seen his face. Eventually, somehow, he managed to get the upper hand. The second he got a chance, he snapped Mr. Deaton’s neck—quick, clean, easy.
Except it wasn’t clean. There was blood all over the floor, on his hands and the walls and Mr. Deaton, on the knife that was knocked aside, and none of it was the target’s. The job wasn’t supposed to be messy, he hadn’t prepared for messy. And, gradually, as the rush of the fight was wearing off, he could feel the pain his injury was bringing on. It throbbed and burned hot, and he pressed a hand over it in an attempt to make it stop. Blood welled and seeped between his fingers, and he groaned quietly.
With shaking hands, he placed a call to the cleaning crew (“You’d better clean it well, damn well, because if I get collared for this, you’re the assholes I’m gonna kill next.”) and booked it home.
That was where he was now, trying to unlock the front door of his loft as quietly as possible. Easier said than done when his side was on fire and his entire body was trembling. He managed, though, quietly enough that he was confident that he didn’t wake Isabelle up. He let the door click shut behind him as he stumbled forward, using the wall and various pieces of furniture for support. All he needed to do was get to the bathroom and get cleaned up, but apparently the unforeseen circumstances weren’t finished appearing.
Isabelle was awake. It was rare for her to be anything besides sprawled in bed at three in the morning, but she was up, curled up in an armchair with a book. He was almost mad at her for it. Why did everybody have to choose this particular night to break pattern? Luck was not on his side. Luck was on the opposite of his side. Luck jumped two fucking planets over and buried itself in a hole.
A floorboard creaked under his weight. He almost screamed in frustration. Isabelle shifted in her chair, only half-turning towards him, only giving him half her attention. “Welcome home,” she said warmly, and he almost felt bad about being almost mad at her. He didn’t respond right away, and maybe that was what clued her in. His responses to her were always immediate, always filled with copious amounts of words—she made him talkative. She glanced over her shoulder, brow creasing slightly. Her eyes landed on him, on the rumpled clothing and the blood, and widened.
“Oh my God-” She got to her feet, and before he had time to remember the last time he heard her even come close to swearing, she was in front of him, hands fluttering uselessly around his stomach and chest. “What happened? Are you okay? Of course you’re not okay, you’re bleeding. What-”
He cut her off. His voice was quiet, but she shut up immediately. “Isabelle. I need you to go away and let me get cleaned up, and I need you to never mention this again.” After a second, he tacked on a ‘please’ for good measure.
“No way.” Her arm looped around his waist, causing the pain to flare up. He hissed softly, but she ignored it. “You need help, Magnus,” she said, and began leading him to the bathroom. Arguing was pointless; she was stubborn and she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
So he let her sit him down on the edge of the bathtub, let her peel away his jacket and unbutton his shirt. She tossed the ruined articles of clothing away and he looked at them mournfully. Her long fingers probed at his side. He gritted his teeth, tilting his face up to the ceiling. The cracks spiderwebbing in the plaster distracted him somewhat. He picked out the patterns and shapes that appeared in them, much like he did with the clouds when he was a child.
Isabelle blew her hair out of her face, lip catching between her teeth. “It’s not deep,” she informed eventually. “Technically, you should probably go to the hospital and get stitches.”
He scoffed, and it hurt.
“But I guess you’ll have to make due with a million butterfly bandaids and some bandages.” She retrieved the proper supplies from the cabinet, along with a washcloth and warm water, and got to work. Her hands were soft as she cleaned away the mess, and before long the cloth was stained pink. For a while, neither of them spoke. They both concentrated on their tasks, cleaning up and trying not to grimace. Then Isabelle huffed, sharp and irritated, and sat back on her heels to look up at him. “What the hell happened?”
He didn’t meet her gaze. There was a giraffe pattern on the ceiling and he focused on that instead. “Nothing.”
The next thing he knew, she was grabbing him by the chin and digging her manicured nails into his cheeks. She angled his head downwards, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “You don’t get to come home at three in the morning bleeding all over the floor and tell me nothing happened. Something happened, and you’re gonna tell me what.”
Oh, he did bleed all over the floor, didn’t he? What a shame. That wood was expensive. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, leaving smears of blood on pale skin. Neither of them seemed to notice or care. “That’s not how this works and you know it,” he said lowly. “I don’t ask questions about your work and you don’t ask questions about mine. That’s the only way this relationship can work. So either stop asking questions and finish patching me up or leave and let me do it myself.”
She stared at him, eyes angry and jaw locked. He was right, though. He knew she knew he was right. Their relationship started and was built on a mutual understanding that both of them made a living off of illegal activities, and they were never to ask questions or discuss it. If they knew what the other did, then they could be forced to testify against each other. Or commit perjury. Neither option was a nice one. It was a wall that was put in place to protect themselves and each other. They hadn’t knocked it down yet, and Magnus wasn’t about to let them start.
After a moment, she pulled her hand back from him. He thought she was going to leave, but she didn’t. She leaned forward and started to apply the handful of butterfly bandages she’d grabbed from the cabinet. It was the next best thing after breaking out a needle and thread or going to the hospital. Her touch was no less soft than it was before. She was still being gentle with him, even if he didn’t necessarily deserve it. She finished patching him up, wrapped him in obscene amounts of gauze (that he objected to) and bandages (that he complained were itchy) before helping him off to bed.
It was hard not to whine and grumble pathetically at the pain, but he managed. She got him out of his jeans (which would’ve been fantastic under normal circumstances, but this time it just sort of hurt) and settled him in bed, pulling the blankets over him. Sudden exhaustion hit him like a brick wall, and his eyes fluttered shut quickly. Her hair brushed his chest as she leaned over him, and he felt her lips press against his forehead.
“Don’t you ever come home all bloody like that again, okay?” Her words were soft, her touch softer as she brushed his hair from his face. Maybe she thought he was already asleep, or maybe she actually wanted him to hear her. “You scared the hell out of me.” There was a pause, a moment of silence as her fingers brushed across his face. “I love you, Magnus.”
He murmured a sleepy response at her. It was supposed to be ‘me too,’ but he wasn’t sure it came out that way. He was already out.
It was a simple job. For God sakes, the plan was to kill the target in his sleep. Very quick, very clean, very easy; the man lived alone, no pets, no interference. Magnus had cased the house for days in advance, taking note of the man’s schedule, when he came and went, when he slept and when he awoke. There was a plan, a simple plan, and Magnus had followed it. But no matter how careful someone is, something can always go wrong.
Something did go wrong.
Magnus hadn’t anticipated the target rousing from his slumber for a glass of water. It was such a small thing, something so human and common, but it wasn’t something he was prepared for. Mr. Deaton had already shuffled downstairs and to the kitchen by the time Magnus slipped through the back door and disarmed the alarm. The only thing that preceded Mr. Deaton’s presence was the out-of-place creaking of the floorboards. Magnus had whirled just in time to dodge an alarmingly swift jab with a knife.
They brawled.
Another thing that Magnus hadn’t anticipated was Mr. Deaton’s sheer fighting skill. There had been nothing on record to suggest such a talent; no military or law enforcement background, no participation in self-defence classes or martial arts competitions. He was agile, quick, and smart, and it only took a few tries before his knife, something obviously belonging in a kitchen, was planted in his side. Everything froze, and for a moment he didn’t feel anything. Then the knife was pulled back, and he felt the warm stickiness of blood. Still no pain, but he figured that was due to the adrenaline.
He ignored his injury in favor of getting the job done. At this point, he couldn’t simply flee, not after the target had seen his face. Eventually, somehow, he managed to get the upper hand. The second he got a chance, he snapped Mr. Deaton’s neck—quick, clean, easy.
Except it wasn’t clean. There was blood all over the floor, on his hands and the walls and Mr. Deaton, on the knife that was knocked aside, and none of it was the target’s. The job wasn’t supposed to be messy, he hadn’t prepared for messy. And, gradually, as the rush of the fight was wearing off, he could feel the pain his injury was bringing on. It throbbed and burned hot, and he pressed a hand over it in an attempt to make it stop. Blood welled and seeped between his fingers, and he groaned quietly.
With shaking hands, he placed a call to the cleaning crew (“You’d better clean it well, damn well, because if I get collared for this, you’re the assholes I’m gonna kill next.”) and booked it home.
That was where he was now, trying to unlock the front door of his loft as quietly as possible. Easier said than done when his side was on fire and his entire body was trembling. He managed, though, quietly enough that he was confident that he didn’t wake Isabelle up. He let the door click shut behind him as he stumbled forward, using the wall and various pieces of furniture for support. All he needed to do was get to the bathroom and get cleaned up, but apparently the unforeseen circumstances weren’t finished appearing.
Isabelle was awake. It was rare for her to be anything besides sprawled in bed at three in the morning, but she was up, curled up in an armchair with a book. He was almost mad at her for it. Why did everybody have to choose this particular night to break pattern? Luck was not on his side. Luck was on the opposite of his side. Luck jumped two fucking planets over and buried itself in a hole.
A floorboard creaked under his weight. He almost screamed in frustration. Isabelle shifted in her chair, only half-turning towards him, only giving him half her attention. “Welcome home,” she said warmly, and he almost felt bad about being almost mad at her. He didn’t respond right away, and maybe that was what clued her in. His responses to her were always immediate, always filled with copious amounts of words—she made him talkative. She glanced over her shoulder, brow creasing slightly. Her eyes landed on him, on the rumpled clothing and the blood, and widened.
“Oh my God-” She got to her feet, and before he had time to remember the last time he heard her even come close to swearing, she was in front of him, hands fluttering uselessly around his stomach and chest. “What happened? Are you okay? Of course you’re not okay, you’re bleeding. What-”
He cut her off. His voice was quiet, but she shut up immediately. “Isabelle. I need you to go away and let me get cleaned up, and I need you to never mention this again.” After a second, he tacked on a ‘please’ for good measure.
“No way.” Her arm looped around his waist, causing the pain to flare up. He hissed softly, but she ignored it. “You need help, Magnus,” she said, and began leading him to the bathroom. Arguing was pointless; she was stubborn and she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
So he let her sit him down on the edge of the bathtub, let her peel away his jacket and unbutton his shirt. She tossed the ruined articles of clothing away and he looked at them mournfully. Her long fingers probed at his side. He gritted his teeth, tilting his face up to the ceiling. The cracks spiderwebbing in the plaster distracted him somewhat. He picked out the patterns and shapes that appeared in them, much like he did with the clouds when he was a child.
Isabelle blew her hair out of her face, lip catching between her teeth. “It’s not deep,” she informed eventually. “Technically, you should probably go to the hospital and get stitches.”
He scoffed, and it hurt.
“But I guess you’ll have to make due with a million butterfly bandaids and some bandages.” She retrieved the proper supplies from the cabinet, along with a washcloth and warm water, and got to work. Her hands were soft as she cleaned away the mess, and before long the cloth was stained pink. For a while, neither of them spoke. They both concentrated on their tasks, cleaning up and trying not to grimace. Then Isabelle huffed, sharp and irritated, and sat back on her heels to look up at him. “What the hell happened?”
He didn’t meet her gaze. There was a giraffe pattern on the ceiling and he focused on that instead. “Nothing.”
The next thing he knew, she was grabbing him by the chin and digging her manicured nails into his cheeks. She angled his head downwards, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “You don’t get to come home at three in the morning bleeding all over the floor and tell me nothing happened. Something happened, and you’re gonna tell me what.”
Oh, he did bleed all over the floor, didn’t he? What a shame. That wood was expensive. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, leaving smears of blood on pale skin. Neither of them seemed to notice or care. “That’s not how this works and you know it,” he said lowly. “I don’t ask questions about your work and you don’t ask questions about mine. That’s the only way this relationship can work. So either stop asking questions and finish patching me up or leave and let me do it myself.”
She stared at him, eyes angry and jaw locked. He was right, though. He knew she knew he was right. Their relationship started and was built on a mutual understanding that both of them made a living off of illegal activities, and they were never to ask questions or discuss it. If they knew what the other did, then they could be forced to testify against each other. Or commit perjury. Neither option was a nice one. It was a wall that was put in place to protect themselves and each other. They hadn’t knocked it down yet, and Magnus wasn’t about to let them start.
After a moment, she pulled her hand back from him. He thought she was going to leave, but she didn’t. She leaned forward and started to apply the handful of butterfly bandages she’d grabbed from the cabinet. It was the next best thing after breaking out a needle and thread or going to the hospital. Her touch was no less soft than it was before. She was still being gentle with him, even if he didn’t necessarily deserve it. She finished patching him up, wrapped him in obscene amounts of gauze (that he objected to) and bandages (that he complained were itchy) before helping him off to bed.
It was hard not to whine and grumble pathetically at the pain, but he managed. She got him out of his jeans (which would’ve been fantastic under normal circumstances, but this time it just sort of hurt) and settled him in bed, pulling the blankets over him. Sudden exhaustion hit him like a brick wall, and his eyes fluttered shut quickly. Her hair brushed his chest as she leaned over him, and he felt her lips press against his forehead.
“Don’t you ever come home all bloody like that again, okay?” Her words were soft, her touch softer as she brushed his hair from his face. Maybe she thought he was already asleep, or maybe she actually wanted him to hear her. “You scared the hell out of me.” There was a pause, a moment of silence as her fingers brushed across his face. “I love you, Magnus.”
He murmured a sleepy response at her. It was supposed to be ‘me too,’ but he wasn’t sure it came out that way. He was already out.
Technically, this entire thing started around this time last year, give or take a month.
Andrea is, by nature, friendly, outgoing, and intelligent. She regularly talks to everyone, she's well known around the community, and she frequently takes place in class and club activities. She's generally sweet, only possessing a snarky tongue when it's well placed and well deserved.
Then the Big Secret came out. The Big Secret being that her father sexually abused her for a great portion of her life. Whether or not this is true has yet to be confirmed, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, it's always best to believe accusations of assault and rape, otherwise you risk being a Huge Asshole. When this secret came out, it went from being a secret to the most fucking talked about subject in the god damn town. Everybody and their fucking cow knew. It blew up. She and her siblings were taken by Child Protective Services, naturally, and they were briefly relocated.
I'm not sure what's in the water down in Monticello, but it's bad. When Andrea came back, she was changed. She was bossy, abrasive, and downright rude. She disregarded peoples' feelings and thoughts. She was unkind not only to the general public, but also to her friends. She remained perched up on her high horse with no intent in coming down. Simply put, she decided she was better than everybody else.
Her friends didn't put up with this shit. Obviously, we tried to talk to her about it. We tried to explain how we felt. Anytime the subject was brought up, she said she was "a changed person" (no fucking shit), that she was able to "be herself now", and would spew out a steady stream of explanation and narrative as to why she was the way she was and wouldn't let anybody get a word in edgewise. Eventually, we gave up trying to reason with her and opted to ignore her instead.
Throughout the summer, none of us talked to her or even heard much about her. All was good, all was peaceful. This school year started and we cautiously allowed her sit with us at the New School Year Assembly. We executed this caution for a couple of weeks, allowing her to hang out with us in the mornings and sit with us at lunch. It appeared she was back to her normal self. She was friendly and sweet again, didn't appear to believe she belonged on a pedestal. Eventually our caution was abandoned and she was accepted back into the fold. For a while, everything was fine.
Then The Thing happened. Nobody's exactly sure what triggered The Thing. It's widely referred as 'Andrea has gone off the deep end.'
The Thing starts with Andrea's desired prom date. His name is Austin, and he's the equivalent of a bag of roughly twenty thousand dicks. Austin is a known racist and homophobe. However, he is frequently desired by several members of the female population because he's objectively cute-ish, intelligent, and talented. Personally, I don't feel that these traits even come close to outweighing his Bag o' Dicks status, but whatever. To each their own, I suppose. At any rate, Andrea has had a thing for him for a while. When he agreed to go to prom with her, she was excited. As her friends, we were happy that she was happy.
However, most of us still disliked Austin. Kayley disliked him because he was annoying. Kelly disliked him because Kayley disliked him. Sierra actually didn't dislike him, but Sierra has a track record for liking assholes. I dislike him because he's homophobic and generally a dick. As a matter of fact, I feel incredibly uncomfortable around him because of his bullshit homophobia. I would literally rather crawl out of my own skin than willingly hang around him for any length of time.
One day, we were discussing these feelings at lunch while Andrea happened to not be around. We were all already generally annoyed at Andrea at this point; she was doing that thing that girls so often do where all she talked about was Austin. Austin this, Austin that. She was consistently showing us his texts and relaying the same stories over and over again. We often have this same problem with Kelly whenever she likes a guy. When it gets to be too much, we talk to her, tell her to reel it back a bit and chill. She takes it well, tones it down, and we're all fine. This was the plan with Andrea, too. That's actually how the subject came up. Kayley was talking about telling her to tone it down a bit with the Austin talk. The conversation evolved into our mostly general dislike for Austin. Kayley said, and I quote, "I think Austin's annoying, but I'll tolerate him at prom so I can still hang out with Andrea."
I said, "Austin makes me uncomfortable. I don't want to hang around him at prom. If Andrea spends the entire night at his side, then I guess I won't be hanging around her, either."
Kayley made a point of telling everyone to keep this conversation to ourselves; she wanted to talk to Andrea herself on Monday about rambling less about Austin. (At this point, it was lunchtime Friday. That afternoon was the State Championship Finals for basketball. A lot of us planned on going, so there wasn't going to be an opportune moment to speak to Andrea properly until Monday morning.)
But then Jessica pulled A Shit Move. The moment she was alone with Andrea, she relayed everything that was said at lunch. Except she didn't mention the times we said we were happy Andrea was happy, and she twisted our words to make it sound as if we'd been trash talking her and Austin ruthlessly.
Meanwhile, Mandi had hung a small banner on her locker cheering on our boys for Finals. Andrea, for reasons nobody can really fathom, proceeded to draw on it, writing her name and a few Bible verses in sharpie. Mandi was upset, but didn't say anything about it because she isn't fond of conflict. Instead, she just made another one and hung it up in its place. Kayley and I took the one Andrea had written on down and threw it away. This isn't really relevant to the main story line. But it was still a shit thing to do and worth mentioning.
Fast forward a bit to the bus. We were all sitting on the bus getting ready to leave for the Finals. Andrea walked by the seat Kayley and I were sitting in, tapped us both on the head, and asked if we'd seen Austin that day. (He'd had to come up to the school to present his ID to the office so he could go to prom.) We both said 'yes', but didn't offer up any more comments. We had already told her that we weren't very fond of him. We told her this when she said she was taking him to prom. We weren't exactly sure why she was asking us about him. She proceeded to stare at us for ten seconds, then walk away. She got all the way to the front of the bus before she turned around and yelled, "That really hurt my feelings, by the way."
Naturally, Kayley and I were confused. We hadn't thought we'd said anything to hurt her feelings. Obviously, we weren't aware of what Jessica had told her. Instead of worrying about it, we pushed it away in favor of enjoying the afternoon. We went to State, cheered our boys on, kicked the other team's ass up and down the court, and came out victorious. It was a great night, everybody was relatively pleased. Our problems with Andrea were momentarily forgotten for the rest of the weekend.
On Monday, it was time to deal with this bullshit. Near the end of lunch, we asked Andrea if we could talk to her after she dumped her tray. She said yes. Then she proceeded to dump her tray, wander around the cafeteria for a while, then try and leave. We called her attention over to us and, reluctantly, she came over there. Kayley asked her what she'd meant when she said we hurt her feelings on Friday. The conversation went roughly as follows:
Andrea: Jessica told me you guys were saying mean stuff about Austin.
Kayley: Yeah, that didn't happen. We were talking about Austin and how we didn't like him, but you already knew we didn't like him.
Andrea: She said you guys weren't going to hang out with me at prom if I was around Austin.
Me: No, wait. If you're going to be mad at somebody about that, be mad at me. I was the only one who said I wasn't going to hang around Austin, even if you weren't around. He makes me uncomfortable, and I don't want to willingly put myself in that position if I can help it. Kayley never said she wasn't going to hang around you guys.
Kayley: Yeah, I actually said that even though I don't really like Austin, I would put up with him on the night of prom to hang out with you.
Andrea: Well, if one of you think something, then both of you think that.
This. Caused. A. Shit. Storm.
Kayley and I have always been very adamant about not doing or thinking something simply because other people do or think that. We have never been the type to follow the crowd, and we've never really followed each other, either. We are two different people with two different opinions on many, many things. We thought we'd been friends with Andrea long enough for her to understand this, but apparently not. We tried to explain all this to Andrea, but she refused to listen. She quoted us saying that we're a package deal. Well, yes, Kayley and I have said that we're a package deal on more than one occasion. But it's always been jokingly and it's always been in reference to how we always seem to be together. If you get one of us, you get both of us. It definitely was not meant to imply that we're the same person.
At this point, the argument had escalated into affronted shouts. The cafeteria was mostly empty, but there were still a few students and teachers in there. While we were arguing, Kayley and I trying to explain our point to Andrea and Andrea straight up refusing to listen, one of the teachers came over to see what the problem was. In retrospect, it probably looked pretty bad. I remember Kayley being ready to leap across the table at Andrea. As soon as the teacher stopped beside us, Andrea asked her, "Don't Kayley and Falon always say they're a package deal?"
This pissed me off. I told her not to bring unrelated parties into this argument. This was between us and her. Eventually, we couldn't bitch at each other any longer; lunch was over. We all went to our respective classes. Kayley, Sierra, and I were all in Driver's Ed. Still angry about the confrontation only moments before, the three of us were griping about it, trying to let some of our frustrations out.
Turns out, Andrea was lurking outside listening to everything we were saying. When our Driver's Ed teacher went to go close the door, he saw her and invited her inside so that perhaps we could work this out. Naturally, this went about as well as it did the first time. Andrea refused to listen or take into consideration what anybody else was saying, and the rest of us wound up talking ourselves in circles trying to get her to understand. We tried to be calmer, to explain once again how we felt, but she only argued against us. At some point, she consulted our Driver's Ed teacher the same way she'd consulted the teacher before, and I once again told her to stop bringing unrelated parties into this. This argument ended with her saying, "We can still be friends, but it won't be the same."
We told her we didn't want to be friends with her anymore.
For the next few days, we continued to complain when given the chance, bitched about the entire thing until we were exhausted and couldn't bring ourselves to care anymore. At this point, we're not relative to the story. The rest of it is simply Andrea being batshit.
So, there's Ethan, one of our school's star ball players. Ethan is tall, admittedly pretty, and the type of boy that nobody is surprised to find out that somebody else has a crush on, or even surprised to find that they have a crush on him, themselves. It's a general rule that everybody has had a crush on him at least once, at least for a little while. I have. Kayley has. Sierra has. Mandi has. Kelly has. It's a thing.
Andrea takes it to 'you-should-call-the-police-no-i'm-fucking-serious' levels of creepy obsessive crushing. Every day, she would sit with the ball boys at lunch, since she was very much banned from our lunch table. Ethan was downright scared of her. He was legitimately terrified that she would rape him, if given the chance. No joke, he was very seriously afraid of this. It got to the point where he was hardly eating lunch because he was trying to avoid her. He'd leave as soon as she walked into the cafeteria, and if she was already there when he showed up, he'd turn around and leave again. He was practically skipping lunch every day, and it was showing; he was losing weight.
One time he left when he saw she was already sitting at his table. She proceeded to follow him outside. They stood outside the cafeteria talking. All Ethan wanted to do was get away, but Andrea wasn't really letting him. Eventually, another student stepped outside and called Ethan away, reminding him that he needed to go to the gym. Another student literally had to rescue Ethan from Andrea.
At some point, she broke into his truck and put her phone number in his console. After that, he requested that somebody tell her that he didn't like her and didn't want her around him. Kayley wound up doing it. Presumably, that was finally enough of a hint for Andrea to leave him alone. It's hard to tell, because after that, her attendance at school was sporadic at best.
When Andrea was at school, she was consistently skipping classes, not doing her school work, disobeying her teachers' directions. This is the girl that had just gotten one of the two valedictorian spots. Teachers that once liked her were becoming agitated with her.
Then, this past week, the school was split up by grade, doing a variety of different things. Some grades were doing standardized testing, others were preparing for testing. The senior class was watching a movie and writing an essay over it. Later we would be filling out mock job applications and making resumes. The first day, Andrea walked into class forty-five minutes late and immediately disrupted class by talking to a student across the room.
Andrea: Hey Cory. Guess who's getting arrested.
Cory: ... I don't know. Who?
Andrea: [Insert some dude's name here, I think it was Levi something.]
Cory: ... Who?
Andrea: Levi [something]!
Cory: Oh. Okay.
Andrea: Guess who's putting him there.
Cory: ... You?
Andrea: Yep. He put cocaine in my drink.
Later, we found out that a) Cory did not know who Levi [something] was and 2) that Levi [something] had supposedly put cocaine in Andrea's beer, which she neglected to mention to the police. The only reason we knew was because she'd left Jessica a voicemail about it, a voicemail that Jessica still has. Also Later, we found out that somebody who knew Levi [something] texted him and told him what Andrea had said. Levi [something] had said, "Who the fuck is that?"
Following this conversation, Andrea was sent to the office mostly because our teacher didn't like her, but also because she was being loud and disrupting. She wasn't at school the rest of the week. Eventually, we were told that the school admitted her to a nearby mental institution. (At this point, her mother had reportedly kicked her out. Nobody's quite sure where she's been staying.)
Today is the latest update in the Horrifyingly Accurate Report of Andrea. She's out of the loony bin and is engaged to some guy she met in the loony bin. They've known each other for eight days. She's currently living with him. Whether or not she'll be coming back to school anytime soon is unknown.
As this epic adventure continues, I'll update this post with information.
Andrea is, by nature, friendly, outgoing, and intelligent. She regularly talks to everyone, she's well known around the community, and she frequently takes place in class and club activities. She's generally sweet, only possessing a snarky tongue when it's well placed and well deserved.
Then the Big Secret came out. The Big Secret being that her father sexually abused her for a great portion of her life. Whether or not this is true has yet to be confirmed, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, it's always best to believe accusations of assault and rape, otherwise you risk being a Huge Asshole. When this secret came out, it went from being a secret to the most fucking talked about subject in the god damn town. Everybody and their fucking cow knew. It blew up. She and her siblings were taken by Child Protective Services, naturally, and they were briefly relocated.
I'm not sure what's in the water down in Monticello, but it's bad. When Andrea came back, she was changed. She was bossy, abrasive, and downright rude. She disregarded peoples' feelings and thoughts. She was unkind not only to the general public, but also to her friends. She remained perched up on her high horse with no intent in coming down. Simply put, she decided she was better than everybody else.
Her friends didn't put up with this shit. Obviously, we tried to talk to her about it. We tried to explain how we felt. Anytime the subject was brought up, she said she was "a changed person" (no fucking shit), that she was able to "be herself now", and would spew out a steady stream of explanation and narrative as to why she was the way she was and wouldn't let anybody get a word in edgewise. Eventually, we gave up trying to reason with her and opted to ignore her instead.
Throughout the summer, none of us talked to her or even heard much about her. All was good, all was peaceful. This school year started and we cautiously allowed her sit with us at the New School Year Assembly. We executed this caution for a couple of weeks, allowing her to hang out with us in the mornings and sit with us at lunch. It appeared she was back to her normal self. She was friendly and sweet again, didn't appear to believe she belonged on a pedestal. Eventually our caution was abandoned and she was accepted back into the fold. For a while, everything was fine.
Then The Thing happened. Nobody's exactly sure what triggered The Thing. It's widely referred as 'Andrea has gone off the deep end.'
The Thing starts with Andrea's desired prom date. His name is Austin, and he's the equivalent of a bag of roughly twenty thousand dicks. Austin is a known racist and homophobe. However, he is frequently desired by several members of the female population because he's objectively cute-ish, intelligent, and talented. Personally, I don't feel that these traits even come close to outweighing his Bag o' Dicks status, but whatever. To each their own, I suppose. At any rate, Andrea has had a thing for him for a while. When he agreed to go to prom with her, she was excited. As her friends, we were happy that she was happy.
However, most of us still disliked Austin. Kayley disliked him because he was annoying. Kelly disliked him because Kayley disliked him. Sierra actually didn't dislike him, but Sierra has a track record for liking assholes. I dislike him because he's homophobic and generally a dick. As a matter of fact, I feel incredibly uncomfortable around him because of his bullshit homophobia. I would literally rather crawl out of my own skin than willingly hang around him for any length of time.
One day, we were discussing these feelings at lunch while Andrea happened to not be around. We were all already generally annoyed at Andrea at this point; she was doing that thing that girls so often do where all she talked about was Austin. Austin this, Austin that. She was consistently showing us his texts and relaying the same stories over and over again. We often have this same problem with Kelly whenever she likes a guy. When it gets to be too much, we talk to her, tell her to reel it back a bit and chill. She takes it well, tones it down, and we're all fine. This was the plan with Andrea, too. That's actually how the subject came up. Kayley was talking about telling her to tone it down a bit with the Austin talk. The conversation evolved into our mostly general dislike for Austin. Kayley said, and I quote, "I think Austin's annoying, but I'll tolerate him at prom so I can still hang out with Andrea."
I said, "Austin makes me uncomfortable. I don't want to hang around him at prom. If Andrea spends the entire night at his side, then I guess I won't be hanging around her, either."
Kayley made a point of telling everyone to keep this conversation to ourselves; she wanted to talk to Andrea herself on Monday about rambling less about Austin. (At this point, it was lunchtime Friday. That afternoon was the State Championship Finals for basketball. A lot of us planned on going, so there wasn't going to be an opportune moment to speak to Andrea properly until Monday morning.)
But then Jessica pulled A Shit Move. The moment she was alone with Andrea, she relayed everything that was said at lunch. Except she didn't mention the times we said we were happy Andrea was happy, and she twisted our words to make it sound as if we'd been trash talking her and Austin ruthlessly.
Meanwhile, Mandi had hung a small banner on her locker cheering on our boys for Finals. Andrea, for reasons nobody can really fathom, proceeded to draw on it, writing her name and a few Bible verses in sharpie. Mandi was upset, but didn't say anything about it because she isn't fond of conflict. Instead, she just made another one and hung it up in its place. Kayley and I took the one Andrea had written on down and threw it away. This isn't really relevant to the main story line. But it was still a shit thing to do and worth mentioning.
Fast forward a bit to the bus. We were all sitting on the bus getting ready to leave for the Finals. Andrea walked by the seat Kayley and I were sitting in, tapped us both on the head, and asked if we'd seen Austin that day. (He'd had to come up to the school to present his ID to the office so he could go to prom.) We both said 'yes', but didn't offer up any more comments. We had already told her that we weren't very fond of him. We told her this when she said she was taking him to prom. We weren't exactly sure why she was asking us about him. She proceeded to stare at us for ten seconds, then walk away. She got all the way to the front of the bus before she turned around and yelled, "That really hurt my feelings, by the way."
Naturally, Kayley and I were confused. We hadn't thought we'd said anything to hurt her feelings. Obviously, we weren't aware of what Jessica had told her. Instead of worrying about it, we pushed it away in favor of enjoying the afternoon. We went to State, cheered our boys on, kicked the other team's ass up and down the court, and came out victorious. It was a great night, everybody was relatively pleased. Our problems with Andrea were momentarily forgotten for the rest of the weekend.
On Monday, it was time to deal with this bullshit. Near the end of lunch, we asked Andrea if we could talk to her after she dumped her tray. She said yes. Then she proceeded to dump her tray, wander around the cafeteria for a while, then try and leave. We called her attention over to us and, reluctantly, she came over there. Kayley asked her what she'd meant when she said we hurt her feelings on Friday. The conversation went roughly as follows:
Andrea: Jessica told me you guys were saying mean stuff about Austin.
Kayley: Yeah, that didn't happen. We were talking about Austin and how we didn't like him, but you already knew we didn't like him.
Andrea: She said you guys weren't going to hang out with me at prom if I was around Austin.
Me: No, wait. If you're going to be mad at somebody about that, be mad at me. I was the only one who said I wasn't going to hang around Austin, even if you weren't around. He makes me uncomfortable, and I don't want to willingly put myself in that position if I can help it. Kayley never said she wasn't going to hang around you guys.
Kayley: Yeah, I actually said that even though I don't really like Austin, I would put up with him on the night of prom to hang out with you.
Andrea: Well, if one of you think something, then both of you think that.
This. Caused. A. Shit. Storm.
Kayley and I have always been very adamant about not doing or thinking something simply because other people do or think that. We have never been the type to follow the crowd, and we've never really followed each other, either. We are two different people with two different opinions on many, many things. We thought we'd been friends with Andrea long enough for her to understand this, but apparently not. We tried to explain all this to Andrea, but she refused to listen. She quoted us saying that we're a package deal. Well, yes, Kayley and I have said that we're a package deal on more than one occasion. But it's always been jokingly and it's always been in reference to how we always seem to be together. If you get one of us, you get both of us. It definitely was not meant to imply that we're the same person.
At this point, the argument had escalated into affronted shouts. The cafeteria was mostly empty, but there were still a few students and teachers in there. While we were arguing, Kayley and I trying to explain our point to Andrea and Andrea straight up refusing to listen, one of the teachers came over to see what the problem was. In retrospect, it probably looked pretty bad. I remember Kayley being ready to leap across the table at Andrea. As soon as the teacher stopped beside us, Andrea asked her, "Don't Kayley and Falon always say they're a package deal?"
This pissed me off. I told her not to bring unrelated parties into this argument. This was between us and her. Eventually, we couldn't bitch at each other any longer; lunch was over. We all went to our respective classes. Kayley, Sierra, and I were all in Driver's Ed. Still angry about the confrontation only moments before, the three of us were griping about it, trying to let some of our frustrations out.
Turns out, Andrea was lurking outside listening to everything we were saying. When our Driver's Ed teacher went to go close the door, he saw her and invited her inside so that perhaps we could work this out. Naturally, this went about as well as it did the first time. Andrea refused to listen or take into consideration what anybody else was saying, and the rest of us wound up talking ourselves in circles trying to get her to understand. We tried to be calmer, to explain once again how we felt, but she only argued against us. At some point, she consulted our Driver's Ed teacher the same way she'd consulted the teacher before, and I once again told her to stop bringing unrelated parties into this. This argument ended with her saying, "We can still be friends, but it won't be the same."
We told her we didn't want to be friends with her anymore.
For the next few days, we continued to complain when given the chance, bitched about the entire thing until we were exhausted and couldn't bring ourselves to care anymore. At this point, we're not relative to the story. The rest of it is simply Andrea being batshit.
So, there's Ethan, one of our school's star ball players. Ethan is tall, admittedly pretty, and the type of boy that nobody is surprised to find out that somebody else has a crush on, or even surprised to find that they have a crush on him, themselves. It's a general rule that everybody has had a crush on him at least once, at least for a little while. I have. Kayley has. Sierra has. Mandi has. Kelly has. It's a thing.
Andrea takes it to 'you-should-call-the-police-no-i'm-fucking-serious' levels of creepy obsessive crushing. Every day, she would sit with the ball boys at lunch, since she was very much banned from our lunch table. Ethan was downright scared of her. He was legitimately terrified that she would rape him, if given the chance. No joke, he was very seriously afraid of this. It got to the point where he was hardly eating lunch because he was trying to avoid her. He'd leave as soon as she walked into the cafeteria, and if she was already there when he showed up, he'd turn around and leave again. He was practically skipping lunch every day, and it was showing; he was losing weight.
One time he left when he saw she was already sitting at his table. She proceeded to follow him outside. They stood outside the cafeteria talking. All Ethan wanted to do was get away, but Andrea wasn't really letting him. Eventually, another student stepped outside and called Ethan away, reminding him that he needed to go to the gym. Another student literally had to rescue Ethan from Andrea.
At some point, she broke into his truck and put her phone number in his console. After that, he requested that somebody tell her that he didn't like her and didn't want her around him. Kayley wound up doing it. Presumably, that was finally enough of a hint for Andrea to leave him alone. It's hard to tell, because after that, her attendance at school was sporadic at best.
When Andrea was at school, she was consistently skipping classes, not doing her school work, disobeying her teachers' directions. This is the girl that had just gotten one of the two valedictorian spots. Teachers that once liked her were becoming agitated with her.
Then, this past week, the school was split up by grade, doing a variety of different things. Some grades were doing standardized testing, others were preparing for testing. The senior class was watching a movie and writing an essay over it. Later we would be filling out mock job applications and making resumes. The first day, Andrea walked into class forty-five minutes late and immediately disrupted class by talking to a student across the room.
Andrea: Hey Cory. Guess who's getting arrested.
Cory: ... I don't know. Who?
Andrea: [Insert some dude's name here, I think it was Levi something.]
Cory: ... Who?
Andrea: Levi [something]!
Cory: Oh. Okay.
Andrea: Guess who's putting him there.
Cory: ... You?
Andrea: Yep. He put cocaine in my drink.
Later, we found out that a) Cory did not know who Levi [something] was and 2) that Levi [something] had supposedly put cocaine in Andrea's beer, which she neglected to mention to the police. The only reason we knew was because she'd left Jessica a voicemail about it, a voicemail that Jessica still has. Also Later, we found out that somebody who knew Levi [something] texted him and told him what Andrea had said. Levi [something] had said, "Who the fuck is that?"
Following this conversation, Andrea was sent to the office mostly because our teacher didn't like her, but also because she was being loud and disrupting. She wasn't at school the rest of the week. Eventually, we were told that the school admitted her to a nearby mental institution. (At this point, her mother had reportedly kicked her out. Nobody's quite sure where she's been staying.)
Today is the latest update in the Horrifyingly Accurate Report of Andrea. She's out of the loony bin and is engaged to some guy she met in the loony bin. They've known each other for eight days. She's currently living with him. Whether or not she'll be coming back to school anytime soon is unknown.
As this epic adventure continues, I'll update this post with information.
open; mixed tape meme
Jan. 26th, 2014 10:58 am
leave a title, character, pairing, au, etc.
get a mixed tape.
for the request
for the mixed tape
abc prompts; stolen from ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fishie
Dec. 22nd, 2013 11:36 am| 26 ALPHABET PROMPTS, REMIXED. | |||||
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tutorial; a softer world
Jul. 4th, 2013 07:26 pmokay guys, let's learn how to make softer world strips. this tutorial probably sucks, whoops.
( Read more... )
( Read more... )
This is a fic I wrote for Yukimura's birthday. Hints of Sanada/Yukimura if you squint.
“Yukimura-kun?”
Seiichi turns slightly to cast a glance at his manager, not pausing in his movements of tying up the bouquet of roses in his hands. “Yes?”
“You can take your lunch break now.”
Seiichi nods and finishes with the flowers before setting them aside. Half a dozen roses... somebody’s lucky. He takes off his apron and hangs it up, pulling his jacket on in place of it. The bell above the door chimes as he slips outside into the crisp spring air.
Seven years ago, he imagined that, at this point in his life, he'd be standing on a tennis court. People would be yelling his name. He'd be famous. He'd be an idol. People would look up to him. People would love him. But instead, he's working at a flower shop. He doesn't even play
tennis anymore, because it's too painful to remember what he could've been. What he's supposed to be. Things just didn't happen the way they were supposed to, and everything got twisted around.
Although, he thinks, working at the flower shop isn't too bad. The people are nice, the atmosphere is relaxing, and Seiichi's always liked gardening. Come to think of it, it's what he would've chosen as his back-up plan, anyway. So it isn't completely terrible.
He pauses and waits for the light to change before wrapping his jacket tighter around his slim body and walking across the street. Seiichi's lucky, he supposes, because his favorite cafe is only a block away from his work. It's only those kinds of little things that ever really make him smile anymore.. He slips into the cafe and approaches the counter. The cashier greets Seiichi with familiarity, warmth, and a soft smile before he starts in on his usual round of flirting.
He's cute, Seiichi thinks, like he does every time this happens. But the boy simply isn't his type. He flirts back anyway, though, because it's harmless, and sometimes, he'll get his lunch for free. And when he mentions that he's turning twenty-one today, he does get his lunch for free, and the cashier even gives him his number. Seiichi takes his meal and the number (although he's sure he'll forget about it by the time he gets back to work) and sits down.
He isn't lying when he says he's turning twenty-one. It's his birthday, March fifth. The years have flown by. It feels like just yesterday that he graduated -- just yesterday that he was eighteen; just yesterday that he last saw his friends. His tennis team. Niou, Yagyuu, Akaya, Jackal, Marui, Renji, Sanada....
He misses Sanada the most. His best friend. They lost touch after high school, because Sanada did go pro. He's been busy, Seiichi knows, and he hears more about him in magazines and the newspapers than he does from the man himself. In a way, he's envious. He’s envious that Sanada gets to live out his dream.
At the same time, though, he's proud of him. He’s proud of how much Sanada's evolved and of what he's become. He’s proud that he, himself, is part of the reason that Sanada is where he is today.
He sighs and stirs his drink, turning the number the cashier had given him around on the table. Sanada's probably too wrapped up in his career to think about him anyway. He glances at his watch and returns to eating his lunch. Ten minutes later, he's crossing the street again, and not three minutes after that, he's back inside the flower shop, exchanging his jacket for his apron.
He gets back to work on a new order. And as he fills it, picking out the right amounts of each flower, he doesn't even have to glance at the chart on the wall behind him to know what they each mean. A handful of hibiscus, which mean 'rare beauty.’ A bunch of bellflowers, which mean 'thinking of you,’ and several white clovers sprinkled throughout it, which mean 'I promise,’ along with pear blossoms around the edges, and those mean 'lasting friendship.’ He can't help but smile as he finishes it up, tying it at the end and wrapping it in plastic. Whoever's getting this is lucky. Somebody obviously cares for them.
"Sasabe-san?" Seiichi says softly, looking up at his boss. "Is this going to be picked up?"
Sasabe shakes his head. "Nope."
"So I need to go deliver it?" It's a pretty big bouquet, too. It'll be a lot of work to carry without it falling apart, Seiichi thinks, and he isn’t quite sure if he’ll be able to do it by himself.
Again, though, Sasabe shakes his head. "No."
Seiichi's confused, and his expression shows it. When Sasabe looks up and notices, he chuckles. "Did you not see who it's for, Yukimura-kun?"
Seiichi looks down at the already-made card in front of him. To....
He blinks and picks it up to look at it closer. The handwriting's familiar, and it reminds him of when he was younger. He presses his lips together, then breaks into a grin and shakes his head. He smells the flowers. They seem to smell even better knowing who they're from.
To: Yukimura Seiichi
Have an amazing twenty-first birthday, Seiichi.
From: Sanada Genichirou
Contact Info!
Sep. 3rd, 2011 07:44 pmHi guys! You can find me in the following places!
Plurk: raye_nbow!
AIM: aizenlovesyou
Gmail: aizenlovesyou@gmail.com
AO3: rayenbow
Tumblr: magnusbaneandtheheartbreakers
Plurk: raye_nbow!
AIM: aizenlovesyou
Gmail: aizenlovesyou@gmail.com
AO3: rayenbow
Tumblr: magnusbaneandtheheartbreakers
