A Powerpuff Girls fanfic by Lady K
ACT I
NB: This story is rated strictly PG-13 for violence, dark themes and the odd bit of naughty poo-poo language. Don't read on unless you can handle it, dearies.
The city of Townsville's skyscrapers glowed warm, earthy tones in the
afternoon sun. As the high school students gazed out of their classroom
windows at the teasingly inviting cityscape, Mister Waldren curtly began
handing out a loose stack of papers. "Right," he began in an attempt to
sound crucial, "here are the results of your recent chemistry exam. Though
I am quite pleased at some of your results…" He stopped to hand a perfect
pair of A-plus papers to the tall redhead girl and her plump brunette
friend in the front row, "…I seem to have found quite a lack of effort
with most of these measly results."
He shook the remaining exams at his
students like a balled fist. As one, they groaned.
The dark, slender figure in the rear corner casually licked his finger
and turned a page of the book he was absorbed in.
As Waldren made his
way through the back row of pupils (handing out a string of D-minuses and
Fs as he went), he eyed the placid student at the end desk with contempt.
He was always so cavalier, so… arrogant. That air of indifferent
superiority irritated the science teacher to no end. Even now as his
classmates vexed and moaned over their marked exams, he sat there relaxed
with his feet flung on the desk. A Cheshire cat smile curled his lips as
ice-blue eyes, framed by tousled ebony locks, smoothly scanned the text he
was reading.
Finally, Waldren came to his seat. "As for yours, Johnny…"
The boy
didn't look up.
Waldren crossed his arms, a frown appearing on his
podgy face. "Johnny."
Nothing.
Unable to suffer him anymore,
Waldren ripped the book out of his hands. Like a calculated chemical
reaction, the students whirled around in their seats to gawk at the
impending confrontation.
Waldren gasped at the page he now saw: a
black and white swirl of racy illustrations: fist fights, pretty girls and
unkempt, muscular heroes.
His face promptly blotting a deep crimson,
Waldren shoved the comic book into Johnny's face.
"And just what is
THIS, young man?" He fumed.
Johnny cocked an angular eyebrow.
"Dragon Ball, Shounen Jump number six, in which Goku and Kuririn
must defeat a martial artist intent on destroying Master Roshi."
Waldren narrowed his eyes. "Yes, well they'll all be having a nice
holiday in the teacher's lounge until the end of the day."
Snatching the book away, he cleared his throat. With a tired sigh he
handed the last remaining paper to Johnny.
"As for your exam...
A-plus." The teacher mumbled, and a self-satisfied smirk wavered onto
Johnny's lips.
"However, I didn't appreciate having to decipher your
answers from that sloppy penmanship." He sternly tapped a part of the
paper covered in handwritten formulae. Johnny's smirk gave way to a slight
frown.
"And these childish doodles all over the page certainly don't
award you extra credit."
Waldren continued, indicating an intricate
chain of sparkling pixies in flight, depicted delicately in blue
ball-point ink on the margin of the paper.
"I finished early and I got
bored!" Johnny protested.
Waldren's face was quickly returning to a
deep red tint. He breathed in hard. "My boy, you KNOW the regulatio—"
Johnny snorted. "Jeez, old man, just 'cuz you weren't smart enough to
earn a Master's degree doesn't mean you should take it out on me! "
The students drew back in their seats stiffly. They knew from
experience that Johnny was the only kid capable of striking Waldren's most
sensitive nerves. The teacher snarled, once again yanking Johnny's exam
away.
"THAT'S IT! YOU GET AN F!"
I will not question a teacher's authority.
I will not question a
teacher's authority.
I will not question a teacher's authority.
I
will not question—
Johnny winced and shook out his aching wrist. This sucked—another
detention. And yet the troublesome sixteen-year-old should have been used
to them by now. It wasn't so much disappointing for himself, but every
time his mother had to open up a letter from the principal and read it
with distressed eyes and a crinkled forehead it was like a dagger through
Johnny's heart. Deep down, he wanted to be a good boy, but this
prison camp of a school just cramped his style. He never had a place to
focus all his energy. The schoolwork was always too easy to interest him
for long, and he wasn't terribly popular… Johnny's parents had wanted to
send him to a school for gifted students, but they just couldn't scrape
together enough funds. Perhaps it wasn't that bad, he had heard all too
many horror stories about the crushing pressure that kids in those
selective colleges were put under. But here he was at the other end of the
spectrum, with no pressure, no expectations… no ambition. He had a passion
for the sciences that was rotting underneath stale textbook syllabi.
In a moment of melancholy, Johnny pictured himself ending up like the
embittered Mister Waldren and shuddered.
He turned away from the mind-numbing chalkboard assignment and stared
outside to the pale pink sky. Sunset. Had he really been here that long?
The clock read ten to six. Johnny surmised that he may as well give
himself an early mark.
He exited the classroom and sidled down the
empty halls, listening to the clicking of his soles on the tiles echo
soothingly down the passageway. Reaching his locker he wearily shuffled
with his textbooks, dumping whichever ones he would need for homework in
his book bag.
He turned to look at the picture tacked onto his locker
door. Three baby pixies peering out of lush green foliage with large,
curious eyes: stylised forms of the Greek muses Urania, Polyhymnia and
Clio. It was a curious fondness of Johnny's—he enjoyed history and
mythology and had always taken a shine to the muses. There was something
comforting and familiar about the idea that one's life work was kindled
and watched over by powerful ethereal beings. Why he saw them as sprightly
little children rather than grown women he wasn't quite sure, but it was a
wonderful imaginary refuge all the same.
"JOH-NEEEEEEEEE!"
Before he even knew what was happening, the boy
was helplessly pinned to the ground. Regaining his scattered wits, he
looked up to see a wild grin and a pair of wide blue eyes staring at him
with frightening ardour.
"Hi, Sandy," he managed.
The pint-sized
dervish of a girl helped her classmate up. "What are YOU doing here so
late?"
"Detention," Johnny sighed, brushing himself off. "You?"
"We were at debating club," said a clear, mature voice. Johnny turned
to see the speaker and gave a casual nod in greeting. "Hey, Red."
Sara
huffed at the undignified nickname given for her ample copper-coloured
afro.
"Boy, that was some stunt you pulled in class today!" Sandy
squeaked. "Old 'Waldo's gonna be walkin' around with a stick up his butt
for the rest of the week."
"Not to mention a chip on his shoulder."
Sara tutted. "You should know better by now, Johnny."
Johnny looked at
his shoes. "I guess." He murmured reluctantly. "But the guy's just such a
jerk."
Sandy leapt into agreement. "Yeah, what he did to you was
majorly uncool. You're, like, the smartest guy in the class!"
Sara
laid a firm hand on her friend's shoulder. "And that's why it's a drag to
see you waste yourself like that. With your kind of smarts, you should be
the school's star pupil."
The boy cringed. A brief, unreadable smile
skipped across his features before he looked away once more. A short
pause.
"I'd better get going."
He closed his locker, turned and
shuffled off down the hall, not bothering to notice the two girls who
waved goodbye.
"See ya Johnny!" Sandy insisted.
The ears of a flea-bitten, rangy alley cat pricked up, mechanically
searching for any threatening noises in the gloom of the backstreets.
Satisfied that nothing was lurking about, it soon relaxed and slinked off
into the night.
Suddenly, a severe-looking grappling hook shot out of
a dark corner of the street like a silent bullet. Three nimble phantoms,
cloaked in black, effortlessly shimmied up the rope onto the roof of a
dilapidated apartment block.
The tallest of them, presumably the
leader, scanned the lamp-lit street below.
"She'll eventually come to
this neighbourhood." He hissed. "All we have to do is wait."
A shorter
member of the trio smiled, and from his belt pulled out a sharp weapon, of
which the blade was shaped like a lobster's claw.
The leader whipped
around and wrenched the weapon from his companion's hands.
"No!" He
growled, pale green eyes fierce with indignation.
"The Master said NOT
to harm her."
To Be Continued. . .