She's the big old mean green killing machine.
Buttercup kicks the can on the sidewalk with ease, sending it hurtling into the street. The howls of inside dogs can't assuage her sorrow, nor will the damp leaves on the trees glistening in the moonlight.
Townsville is asleep.
The streets are poorly lit and even more poorly protected. But then again, she couldn't care less for this god-forsaken town. With a huff, she turns the street corner.
The clinking of her wallet chains ring through the night, in key with the sound of her sneakers against the pavement.
The sting of the nicotine in her mouth is sharp, almost disgustingly so. She loves it.
Her short raven bob isn't stylish, its rather choppy. The pocket knife in her pocket is her only tool. She holds onto it carefully, always ready to use it.
Her eyes roll as she watches a couple on the bench at the bus stop, whispering their sweet nothings in sync. They lean into each other, all googly eyed. He sweeps her off of her feet and she swoons easily.
Another eye roll.
The music in her earbuds is nothing more than rambling country folk singing about their sad lives. She can't help but to ignore it. She looks into the murky puddles in the cracked sidewalk, disturbed. Her reflection, haunting. Was she really this monster?
The sister who didnt care enough to stop her sister from dying? The tough one? The muscle; spice?
With a hearty laugh, she throws herself onto the ground. The giggles once swirling inside her, releasing. Until now, she thought she looked the same as she did on that day. The day when her sister took her own life, and destroyed the Professor's heart.
Crying. Miserable. Hurt. Ashamed.
Weak.
The puddle's image projected a smiling version of herself. The corners of her lips are upturned in a Chesire-esque fashion. Her eyes have an evil gleam to them. They look so lively, so maddeningly perfect. She slowly picks herself up, her mind drowsy.
She can't help but to jog home faster, with a little skip in her step, and with a grin.
...She is irrational
"You promise?"
She nods, reassuring that she won't get mad at Bubbles. This news can't be so bad. Whatever it is, it has to be better than what Blossom refused to tell them before she died.
"I'm pregnant."
Buttercup looks at her little sister in alarm, her eyebrows raised. She had always assumed Bubbles to be the 'virgin til married' type.
"Ok. What do you want to do?" she asked, trying her best to take initiative as the older sister. "I support your decision."
The girls hear their father's moans getting louder. Ever since Blossom died, he had been unable to remove himself from his lab, trying to bring her back to life.
Bubbles shudders. "I can't tell professor."
She nods in agreement, it would kill the man if Bubbles were to leave him. Of course he has her, but she's the tough one. The one who can't sympathize. The unfeeling one.
She's the spice, the oddball. The tangy taste you can't ever figure out. She's a succulent fruit, ripe for the picking, yet sour as you sample it.
"He doesn't ever have to know."
...Brick won't leave her be.
She couldn't believe her eyes.
Brick sleeps next to her tombstone, refusing to depart from it. He seems to not allow anyone to place flowers or any items of any sort near it.
He rests infront of it, eagerly. As if he is patiently waiting for his counterpart to rise from the dead, in all of her sorrow. Maybe she'll tell him to leave her alone.
Buttercup hoped that he'd get away from there soon. Then she would stop bringing him food and blankets. The boy was honestly the one who may have been hit the hardest. She could remember what had happened to him when he found out.
He looked as if he had seen a ghost and died. Eversince he looked hollow, and incomplete. He was to blame for that, they all knew that.
He was a mess without her, even though he shouldn't have been. He should have been a leader. He is supposed to be a leader.
But he was just like his counterpart. A grieving, empty, hollow, selfish shell.
She knew she should have been leader, Blossom and Brick were too flimsy.
She is tough.
They aren't friends anymore.
Mitch Mitchelson was someone she had admired for so long, until he had grown towards Robin and shied away from her. Now he was a plain old sissy. It was like he was a dog.
Chasing after it's master, pathetically. Kinda like Brick. She never assumed either to fall victim to such behavior. It was unnatural.
She has two lovers
Butch Jojo obviously had the hots for her since he was conceived, and he was tolerable. He was effecient and sensible. He is tough and always ready to battle.
He is like her, and their relationship was one of equality. It wasn't abnormal whatsoever. She is satisfied.
Princess Morbucks was a different case. She is a lying ,manipulative, two-faced whore. But she still makes Buttercup weak and vulnerable to her. And dear god their love is so sweet, as they whisper lies to each other all night.
One time she took them both on a date at once, which was a... memorable experience. But they both still allow her to see the other, which is fine.
She works three jobs.
Selling and creating with her derranged father their new line of robots is a new buisness as of recent. The Professor makes them all wear bows like Blossom.
She knows he loves Blossom the most.
She does a radio talkshow for the Mayor's news. Ms. Bellum has too much on her plate, running the city and all.
She also is a skating teacher at a small school for little kids. She loves that job the most.
She remembers how extrordinary Blossom was on skates.
She isn't perfect. Blossom was perfect.
Buttercup couldn't help but feel that her sister got what she deserved. A quiet death suited her quite nicely.
But the aftermath was ridiculous. The world acted like it had flipped upside down. She knew they wouldn't have cared nearly as much if she had died.
Everything is always about Blossom.
She looked at the picture frame on the bedside table with contempt. The smiling picture of Pokey Oaks Highschool Valedictorian. The bitch who was too pretentious to live.
She tossed in the sheets to face the other side. A giggle sliped from her lips as a few others flooded her mouth.
"Fuck you." she announced."Fuck you to hell and back."
"You are really mean." she added with a small whine. A few tears dripped onto the green sheets.
"I will never forgive you."
I honestly do think that if Blossom were to die in the series, Buttercup wouldn't ever think of her 100% positively ever again. I think that her static character would work as the 'tough' straightman against the miserable Bubbles and Professor.
Oh yeah, this is a three parter. Purpose, Mean, and Sullen.