Warning: This is a blatant Clique parody that was requested via my forum - please check it out - and it involves cussing, a character death, etc. If none of that stuff appeals to you, or if you're a devout fan of the stories I'm mocking, just. Don't. Read. This. It's absolutely AU and would never happen in the real world OR the Clique one. Kay, thanks.
Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me. Any of it. Same goes for any brand names I purposefully drop to be annoying.
A Story Written By Cameron Fisher
-with some help from me-
-A Clique parody courtesy of Honour Society-
Claire Stacey Lyons sighed as she gazed into the full-length mirror with piercing blue-green eyes. Her white-blond hair fell past her perfectly-sized - not to big, not to small - chest in loose waves and coiled around her minuscule waistline protectively. Everything about her was flawless - from her ten-point-oh outfit up to her unblemished skin. She was gorgeous - drop dead gorgeous.
The five-foot-two blonde was just beginning to turn around and examine her backside when she heard it - the scream.
"EHMAGAWD!"
In a flurry of expensive extensions and YSL compacts, Claire threw open the door to her room and raced down the winding staircase. She followed the high-pitched and highly ah-nnoying voice down…and down and down and down…
Until the glorious girl found the owner of the scream. One Alicia Rivera.
"Guh-ross," Claire pronounced carefully, flinging her perfect-without-even-needing-surgery upturned nose into the air. She averted her eyes from the blood-spattered scene.
Alicia, tacky and not even glossy black extensions flung over her butt-ugly face, was propped up on an electrical chair. That weird-looking tin hat-type thing covered her eyes. Her skin was washed-out and pale. Claire vowed that she would die with a professional and trained makeup artisteby her side, with a palette of blushes and bronzers in his or her arsenal. She was nawt going out looking like an extra in the Twilight movie.
Streaks of tomato red blood lined the cream-coloured walls. Claire couldn't really compliment the new décor, then again, compliments weren't really her strong suit.
She chuckled good-naturedly at her own joke.
"Um. Hello?" She began to tap the toe of her red-soled sky high heels. As per usual, she was getting impatient. "Y'ello? Isn't, like, some pervert supposed to be here, stalking me? Or, like, something?"
In response, a ghost-like howl echoed throughout the evil chamber of…er, well, Evilness.
"Good Gawd." Completely bored now, the lithe blonde rooted through her ruched leather Prada satchel for her iPhone. She grabbed it with a flourish of her pearl pink-manicured nails and started to type furiously - like her life depended upon her typing skills. "I have an appointment with my own puh-ersonal masseuse at eleven, so can we, like, speed this up a tad?" She showed a small distance between her thumb and pointer finger to show how tiny a 'tad' really was.
The ghost-like voice grumbled a bit, before cooing in a half-creepy, half-lame way, "Alriiiiiigggghhttt."
-
Five hours later...
-
Police officers in crisp uniforms were all over the place. They had interviewed each member of the Lyons family multiple times. With witty, ingenious lawyers by their side, none of the family members had barely spoken a word. Only Todd, the youngest of the two children, who was the only one to show a little bit of sadness. "'S too bad." He had shaken his head, sending his wiry red curls spinning. "She used to be really hot, 'till she woke up one day and was completely ugly."
Claire, on the other hand, seemed only bored. Like she had better things to be doing than discussing a quote "LBR's" murder. Perhaps our little innocent blonde was the killer?
Seemingly out of nowhere, a long fingernail pressed the 'Play' button on a long-forgotten stereo of Claire's, hoping to cue up some dramatic music. Instead her old Ashlee Simpson disc blasted.
"'I didn't steal your boyfriend!'"
"My Lord!" The Chief of Police covered his ears with his meaty hands. "Somebody turn that godforsaken music off!"
"It's killing my eardrums!" Judi Lyons announced before fainting. She was left in a crumpled, size-ten pile on the floor. Several strings of Japanese pearls decorated her neck - bought by Jay, her loyal husband, after he became a partner at William Block's... (What does William Block do, anyway?) company.
That was when Massie appeared.
The icy brunette was barely clad in a tartan-print miniskirt that barely covered her taut, tanned thighs. She also wore a wrinkled white button-down tied under the bust - it was almost completely unbuttoned and showed the lace detail on a purple bra. Her glossy hair was in two French braids and her side-bangs swooped into her face.
Massie Block's gorgeous and sorta freaky-looking amber eyes narrowed. In Claire's direction. She gingerly placed her hands on her hips.
"Kuh-laire."
"Mah-ssie."
"It doesn't really work for my name." Massie removed her hands from her hips and folded them over her chest.
"You're right," Claire agreed. Her manicured fingers jumped up to her ear; she spun the two-carat diamond around and around and around in her ear.
"So."
"So."
"Stop copying me!" the brunette wailed. The two girls had long since given up on their frenemyship. It just didn't work. They had formed two cliques; Massie with the B-listers and Claire with the other, nameless, faceless A-minus-listers. Kristen and Dylan were...um, on vacation...in a far, far away land. And, well, Alicia had woken up completely ugly and flat-chested and whorish one morning, so everyone decided to dump her.
Rumours were flying that she was 'dating' Kemp.
Until she died, of course.
Just then, Massie began to fan herself with a Swarovski-crystal encrusted fan. She bit her lip. "It's getting so hot in here, isn't it?"
Claire nodded her head vigorously. "You're right. I think we should set aside our differences and -"
-
Back in reality...
-
"CAMERON ALEXANDER FISHER!" My mom roared from somewhere below me. Quickly, I stretched out my fingers, the calloused pads of them hovering just above the keyboard. I saved the current document I was working on and snapped my Macbook shut. A sharp sigh escaped my lips. I pursed them together, wondering how many reviews I would get on Fanfiction when I finally posted my new story.
I had yet to think of a title. Maybe 'The Demise of Alicia' or, perhaps, 'The Revenge of Claire-Bear'? Or, um, 'Massie Block Is So Totally Hot If Only She Wasn't Dating My Best Friend'?
Sighing once again, I backed away from the computer. A hard lump was currently residing somewhere in my throat. Or maybe it was my esophagus. Whatever.
Time for dinner, I guess.