"Following the footsteps
Of a rag doll dance
We are entranced
Spellbound"
-Spellbound, Siouxsie and the Banshees
If there was anything Winnie disliked the most about Casper High, it was Mr. Lancer's office.
It wasn't the fact that they couldn't afford another vice principal apparently, no, it was the fact that she was there so often. And the funny part of it was, it wasn't even an office, technically. It was the same room he taught in, just like he always had, and she swore to herself that the pale blue walls made her sick. This week, she had been running on her stolen powdered donuts (sorry, Mom) and fumes alone. This was just the icing on the cake, it seemed like.
"...Miss Gallows?"
"I hear you," she acknowledged, albeit groggily, the anger that coursed through her veins was long gone, that disappeared the moment she stepped into the room. "How long am I getting?"
"How long do you think you deserve, Winifred?"
Winnie groaned, biting her tongue. She was so, so very sick of his quips and attempts at counseling - she knew he tried very, very hard. But, at the moment, it seemed as if he was enjoying this. "Can I just get a week? She started it, you know Brittany started it. What reason would I have to argue with her otherwise?"
"Well, considering the...unsavory word choice you used during the confrontation," his eyes crinkled around the corners, "I think a week is fair. It's going in the book, though." In Winnie's honest opinion, Brittany deserved every word of it - she shouldn't have insulted her in the first place. It was one thing to insult her, sure. She shouldn't have got in her face. She also shouldn't have got that ugly spray tan, either. But that was besides the point.
Winnie rolled her eyes when he pulled out the green, yellowing book, the dog ears torn and tattered. If Winnie had the choice, she would burn it - that book had followed her all throughout high school, and she knew it held every fight, argument and ill word she said. As she got older, the visits became less frequent, and this had actually been the first confrontation she'd had the entire school year.
"Sounds fair."
Mr. Lancer gave her a skeptical look, before leaning forward in his chair, his hands clamped together. "Are you sure you're alright, Miss Gallows?" Winnie gave a weak nod, crossing her arms, her jacket crinkling. Winnie tried to ignore the feeling his stare gave her, and suddenly, she felt very, very little.
"I'm totally fine. Tired, but fine," Winnie told the honest truth, "Tell Brittany and her fake ass tan that I said sorry." Snark oozed from her tone and Mr. Lancer found himself snorting, clicking his pen and scribbling quickly in his book.
"Language, Miss Gallows."
"Sorry."
There was a light pause, before the book closed again and Mr. Lancer glanced back up at her, "Your detention starts tomorrow, and finishes this day next week. You're dismissed." Winnie rose from the tattered chair, leaning over to grab her backpack quickly. "Please don't be late, Winifred."
Winnie gave no response, and closed the door softly behind her.
Well, that ended well.
I'd say the same, honestly.
Winnie would've enjoyed the bus ride home more if it wasn't for the nagging in her head.
So, tell me about your day.
Is there a reason why you're suddenly so interested?
I don't know, then came a dramatic sigh, There hasn't been much of anything, lately. It's been, well, boring.
Winnie peeled her eyes open, the mirages of passing lights and buildings filling her vision. The bus was hushed today, emptier than usual. When she turned her head - left, right - the only other person on the bus was an elderly woman, her wrinkles deep and sun spots splattered upon her skin, her hair tightly wound into a white braid. The woman gave Winnie a small, quaint smile, before finally shifting her attention to the world outside of their tiny bubble.
You're literally attached to me, how is this boring to you?
Sometimes, I miss my human life, you know.
I can't tell, considering how nosy you are sometimes.
Well, what can I say? I'm attached to some moody teenager with an attitude problem.
I do NOT have an attitude problem.
…
Okay, yea, I do.
I'm sure everyone could figure that out from a mile away.
It's not like I look mean or anything.
The mirror says otherwise.
The snort echoed through her head, and the rest of the bus ride home was relatively short before she reached her stop. The woman waved and Winnie found herself waving back, starting the brief walk towards Orlok Road.
Orlok Road was a long, spanning road, set in between Amity Park's strip and the beginning of tiny shops. Houses of all shapes and sizes covered the road, the street lamps finally beginning to flicker on and off. Cars chirped and chittered as they flew by, Winnie briskly dashing across the road.
The townhouse her and her mother lived in was one of the newer models on the road. This month, it had been painted the color of dried beans, as the landlord always seemed to be indecisive on what color he wanted it to be, so it always had a new coat sooner or later. The bushes were beginning to grow feral once again, weeds beginning to pop up here and there. Winnie hopped up the wooden stairs, looking up at the thin silhouette shrouded in orange in the window.
The boards creaked under her shoes as she finally made her way to her door, digging in her pockets for her keys. Before she could get them out, the door flew open, a lithe hand pulling her inside effortlessly and rushing back to the kitchen. The house was toasty as Winnie began to unlace her sneakers, placing them next to the smaller pair near the door.
The walls were painted the color of marigolds, picture frames lining along the walls, both crooked and straight, the eloquently patterned carpet sprawling most of the living room. Winnie plopped her backpack on the floor next to her shoes as well, before sliding her way across the floor towards the couch. The loveseat was worn and the deep red from it fading. Their home was full of nic-nacs and antiques, memories of the past all crammed into one tight, cramped space. But to Winnie, it was larger than ever.
"I'm home."
"Duh," her mother joked from the kitchen, the sound of the cutting board resounding through the house, "You were late today."
"That I was," Winnie sprawled herself out on the cushions, her leg hanging over the edge, "...I got in trouble today?" The cutting stopped momentarily, and Winnie heard her mother give a hum of acknowledgement.
"Spill."
"Mrs. Yang had us doing problems on the board, right? So…." Winnie's story seemed to last forever, full of hysterics and over-dramatic voices of everyone involved. Her hands motioned and swayed with every word, her mother chiming in now and then ("Did she really?). By the time she was finished, the sounds of chopping and frying in the kitchen had finished, and now the aroma of tomatoes and egg was left behind. "So, yea. I have detention for a week." Her eyes stayed shut, the day's exhaustion slowly catching up to her.
Winnie heard the spatula hit the sink with a clank, and then came the familiar, light shuffling of footsteps, drawing closer and closer. "Scoot over." her mother whispered, Winnie lifting her head sluggishly and placing it on her mother's thin legs.
When Winnie opened her eyes again, her mother's dark eyes were looking down at her, her eyelashes full. Daphne Han was a beautiful woman, with her pale skin and strong cheekbones, her dark, sleek hair pulled back against her temples, the loose strands caught against the ceiling's artificial light.. She was covered almost head-to-toe in tattoos, and at thirty-eight years old, had become one with the ink on her body. When Winnie was younger, she had hoped that she would become as breathtaking as her mother, but she had given up that dream long ago to shed into her own skin.
"You're growing up so fast," her tone was hushed and light, "I remember when you were as big as my fist." Winnie huffed as her mother's hands made their way through her scalp, twisting and tangling her curls.
"You have so much ahead of you."
"I know."
"You've been doing so well, and you're still doing well," Daphne reassured her daughter, "But I want you to learn to let it go, qiān jīn, please." Winnie nodded at her mother's words, letting them sink in. Even when she felt tired and weary, her mother's words always managed to pull her back. "You look just like-"
"I know." Winnie interrupted her mother quickly, and the woman only gave a slight smile as Winnie's face scrunched like a pug. There was a drawn moment, before Winnie spoke up again. "I just can't sleep lately."
"Me either, actually," Daphne admitted, "You know my door's always open, Winnie. Always."
I know. I know.
"You have two heads on your shoulder, remember." she rapped her knuckle lightly against Winnie's head, "I know he's listening." Winnie snorted. "Sleep for a bit, 'kay? Dinner's ready, but sleep. Just for a while."
She knows how to ruin a moment, huh?
"He says thanks. He's shy today."
When have I ever been shy?
Since now, shut up and let me sleep.
Winnie found herself quiet again, and only closed her eyes once more, letting exhaustion take over her.
Just for a while.
Winnie woke in the night to a huge, booming crash against her house.
Her eyes snapped open and she heaved forward, the rattling almost unbearable. When her vision finally focused, her clock seemed to blink back - half past three. Her blanket was tossed halfway off of her body, and her chest began to thump, thump, thump in rhythm with the faint sounds of something foreign.
Night.
Yes?
I'm not dreaming, right?
The noise that came after was piercing, and something green skyrocketed past her window, Winnie yelping in surprise. There came another crackle of blue, and the dance continued along the night sky, weaving and bobbing to and fro.
I don't think so.
So I'm not imagining Danny Phantom and his stupid fuc-
Language.
You didn't stop me before.
Winnie pulled her duvet over her head, pressing her ears against her pillows, hoping that the noise would cease sooner or later. But, that never came, and instead a loud, resounding crash echoed when a portrait flew off her wall, and Winnie found herself hopping out of bed, grabbing the jacket flung over her pajamas (unicorn-patterned, how classy).
You can't go back to bed.
I, Winnie grabbed the slippers near her bed, shoving them on, haven't slept in four days. I know you're not old enough to know that that's not healthy, right?
Oh, how could I forget? Nightcrawler sighed as if he was remembering a lost romance, The feeling of sleep was wonderful. I wish I could do it again.
Maybe you shouldn't have been murdered then.
I didn't ask to be attacked.
Winnie leaned over her bed and pushed open her window effortlessly. The cool, crisp night air filled her lungs, and Winnie found herself crawling out of her window, her feet clamped onto the metal bars below. Her suspicions were correct the moment she saw the fluorescent green streak zip through the air, another blue streak zipping behind it.
Oh, it's that robot.
The green thing in the suit?
Yes, that disgusting thing. Just tell them to move and go back to bed, I don't want to speak to that...creature.
Winnie rolled her eyes, remembering the dramatic hysterics of Nightcrawler's tales of a world she hoped she'd never get the chance to roam, full of others like him. In the past two years, she often saw glimpses and glimmers of these ghosts, as most of their encounters involved the ghost vigilante most idolized in Amity Park. In her case, everything about her was real, all flesh and blood and human.
It was just what was lurking under her surface that was the dangerous part.
Finally, Winnie seemed to find her balance, her loose pajama bottoms whipping in the wind as she cupped her hands together. She was angry - rightfully so, and she felt the air singe around her as pure heat coursed through her body.
"Danny Phantom! Please take your ass somewhere else!"
this chapter has been rewritten as of 4/19/19! sorry for the confusion, im still pushing to make this story as consistent as possible! enjoy :)