"AAAAAAHHHHHH!"
Clara stared at Britany blankly. "What?"
"YOU'RE FINALLY HERE; YOU'RE FINALLY HERE; YOU'RE FINALLY HEEEEEERE!" she shrieked, flinging her arms around Clara.
"Um . . . yeah. Duh."
"Ohmigosh, I have to show you around! Come see my library!"
Clara stared at Britany, her mouth opening and closing in a very confused and shocked manner. "You have a library?" she demanded. "A LIBRARY?!"
Britany made a face. "Yeah, pretty much. Daddy was feeling guilty over the whole move thing, so I basically manipulated him into preserving an entire room dedicated to books. Also, to pay for you to come here."
Clara stared at her friend. To strangers, Britany often appeared to be A) quiet (unless she was in Fangirl Mode at the time), B) ditzy and/or flighty, C) one of the 'cool' kids, or D) all of above. When in reality, she was talkative, nerdy, smart, slightly ruthless when it came to dealing with bullies, and very focused when she wanted something. Apparently Britany had wanted the library and the month-long sleepover with Clara badly. Quite badly, if the way she was pulling Clara along and chatting how much "I've missed you, and didn't you miss me, too; and, oh!, we should bake cookies and look through my magazine of knives that just arrived yesterday, as I frankly have no idea which one to choose" was any indication.
It gave Clara a warm feeling in her heart.
"Still lots of room," Clara commented, looking around the library.
Britany beamed. "I know, right?"
Clara rolled her eyes. Britany was such a geek . . . and nerd . . . and pretty much the textbook definition of a dork. Probably why they were such good friends - Clara's steadiness and Britany's hyperactive verve balanced each other out.
Changing the subject, she asked, "Any new friends?"
The smile faded ever so slowly.
"Weeeell," Britany said, drawing out the word, "no."
"Britany!"
"Um . . . I haven't met many people yet. But I will! Soon! When I get into drama and debate and speech and stuff."
"What about school?"
"I'm homeschooled, remember?" Britany said, plopping on a beanbag.
"Oh," Clara said sheepishly. "Yeah, forgot. Well, what about church?"
Britany made a face. "We haven't found a church. With people my age, I mean. We're currently going to a place chock-full of A) grandparents, B) parents, or C) wee little babies."
"Britany?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't ever call babies that again."
Britany just laughed.
"Clara!" A hand shook Clara's shoulder, and she groaned. Typical. She goes to bed and begins to dream about oranges eating apples, then . . . Britany wakes her up.
"Go away, you nit. I just went to sleep."
"No, seriously. You have to get up now."
Clara opened her eyes, squinting against the bright light.
Then she sat straight up, her eyes wide. "Britany," she said slowly, "where are we?"
"Um . . . not sure exactly."
Pushing herself up, Clara surveyed her surroundings. "We - we're in a mansion."
"Um, yeah. And is it just me, or does this place look familiar? Like, really, really familiar?"
"Actually, it does."
Footsteps came pounding towards them, and Clara's mouth dropped open. "It's official," she squeaked. "This is a bloody weird dream."
"I hear ya, sister."
Why did they say that, you ask? Well, James Marsden was currently standing in front of them with his powdered ruby-quartz glasses. As in the powdered ruby-quartz glasses he wore in X-Men in the role of Cyclops (AKA Scott Summers).
James Marsden asked, "You okay? I heard a crash."
Britany's stared at him.
Then stepped closer and poked him (to the utter confusion of the poor actor).
"OHMIGOSH, I'M STANDING IN FRONT OF JAMES MARSDEN!" she shrieked, going into full fangirl mode.
James paused, clearly taken back. "I - uh, you must have mistaken me for someone else -"
Britany began to dance around. Clara buried her face into her hands.
Here we go . . ., she mentally bemoaned.
"Lon Hammond Jr.! Corny Collins! Prince Edward! Richard White! Malcolm Kevin Doyle! Diggs! Fred O'Hare! Chad Westerfield! Sc -"
The only reason Britany did not continue chanting every single name of every single role James Marsden had ever played was because Clara slapped a hand over her mouth.
"You are such a geek," she huffed.
Britany shrugged.
"Look, I really have no idea what you're talking about," James said slowly. "Are you new?"
"Huh?" Britany asked blankly.
"A new student. I've never seen you before."
Britany stared at him. "No-o?" she said, stretching out the o.
James blinked. "Oh. I'm sorry. But -"
"Yeah, we have no clue where we are," Britany said cheerfully.
"Britany," Clara whispered.
"So, like, if you could tell us where we are, it's be much appreciated."
"Britany."
"And also, maybe you could show us where some food is? I'm kind of hungry."
"Britany!"
"By the way, what's up with the glasses? Is this some kind of Marvel convention?"
"BRITANY!"
"What?" Britany asked innocently.
Clara glared at her, then turned to 'James' - she was no longer sure that this was a dream or even that he was James Marsden. "Ignore her," Clara told him. "She hasn't had her morning tea yet."
Britany brightened at the mention of tea and was opening her mouth to say something; but Clara continued speaking, cutting her off:
"So what's your name?"
"Scott. Scott Summers."
Britany blinked. "O-kay, this is new."
"It's a dream," Clara muttered under her breath. "Of course, it's weird and new and . . . weird."
"Who are you?" he asked. "And could one of you explain that whole slew of words - preferably her?" He pointed at Clara, and Britany sniffed.
"Like she said," she muttered. "Haven't had my tea yet." She suddenly beamed her mega-watt smile of angelic sweetness (the one Clara knew for a fact was usually reserved for when she asked her father for a raise in allowance). "Say, could you show me to the kitchen?"
James - no, Scott, Clara corrected herself - stared at Britany with an expression that could only be described as bewilderment.
"Again," Clara said through clenched teeth, "ignore her." She flashed Britany a glare that clearly read as Can we please focus here?
Britany shot back an equally clear I am talking to the freaking Scott Summers from X-Men. Don't ruin my joy! Plus, this is a frakin' dream!
Clara could not help it. She burst out laughing. Even in her dreams, Britany was . . . Britany.
Britany maintained an expression of haughty disdain . . . that lasted all of two seconds.
Scott looked completely lost as he watched the two teenagers try to stop laughing (and, in doing so, only made themselves laugh harder).
Clara felt rather sorry for him.
"I think you need to talk to the Professor."
Britany's jaw dropped.
"The Professor?! I'm going to meet the Professor?! Holy cow, PATRICK STEWART! AS IN THE GUY WHO PLAYED JEAN-LUC PICARD!"
Britany would have continued in her fangirling over Star Trek, had Clara not glared daggers at her.
"Uh . . . I mean . . . yay, let's go meet the Prof.?"
Yeah. Scott was definitely lost.
As they walked down the corridors with Scott attempting to weasel out their life-story and Britany prattling on about the most random things in the universe - "Do you like tea? I like tea a lot. It just has this beautiful quality about it that causes you to relax. Oh, by the way, did you know that there's a fish that can walk on land?" - Clara wondered what happened to the word sanity.
"Whatever. My dreams are weird."
"Um, no, this is my dream."
"Actually, it's mine."
"If this was a dream, that'd logically be the thing you would say."
"No, it wouldn't. I'd deny it being a dream."
"And this is still a dream."
"Yeah. My dream."
"If you want to keep thinking that, sweetie . . ."
"Would one of you say something that makes sense!"
"To be truthful," Britany drawled, "we don't understand ourselves."
"You mean I don't understand the dream version of you, and the dream version of you doesn't understand me," Clara said.
"No, I understand you - in real life and dream - I just don't understand what we're saying. Well, sort of; but -"
Scott just shook his head.
A/N: Well, there actually is a fish that walks on land - it's called the climbing perch. Or does it climb trees . . . ? *frowns* Hm. Well, if it climbs trees, then the error is on, of course, Britany. :D
The list of roles I got from Wikipedia. I only knew about Malcolm Kevin Doyle and Scott Summers, so . . . credit to Wikipedia!
And yes, I know this is short! I just couldn't think of any way to make it longer, so . . . yeah.
This is my first multi-chapter thingie. EEE!
So tell me what you think (offer ideas for the next chapter if you want, too). Any pointed out mistakes would be appreciated. All constructive criticism, in fact!
Review, and you'll win a pineapple!
(Also, someone wanna beta?)