I see nobody has done anything about Sophia Turner (from the episode "It's A Wishful Life", where Timmy wishes he had never existed)
Soooo, I decided to do a fic about Sophia and Remy. :D
Enjoy!
Sophia was never truly happy.
She had many talents and abilities that caused her to go to a different school than the other kids she had seen. They always looked up to her, as if she were some sort of goddess. A star in the sky, her parents said. The darling of Dimmsdale.
At a young age, she was taken care of by Vicky, the baby-sitter, when he parents would go out to dinner. She tortured her, abused her into doing chores and work that Vicky herself had been told to do. One night Vicky had heard her singing up in her room, and forced her to come downstairs and sing to her until she fell asleep. These sessions had a drastic effect on her, considering it was a type of practice. Without this, she wouldn't have gotten into school plays, auditions for movies, which exceedingly caused her to become the actress she was today.
Since Vicky didn't have a job anymore, she went into dentistry, becoming a nurse beside Dr. Bender. This, in turn, freed kids from her torture— unless they had cavities.
Sophia did love acting, but as a hobby. She eventually turned to writing and creating her own movies. From these jobs, she gained a fortune and became a producer for many other movies, plays, etcetera until those jobs were down to mere hobbies that she did ever so often. She still went to a talent school, but she was almost past that in her talents and almost ready for adult hood, believe it or not. She was forced to mature at an early age, even before reaching puberty, which had a drastic effect on her social life; which was none, to say the least.
Today was like any other day. She was flying home from yet another well done movie, her part as the princess had been easy to fulfill, as she had been doing the role all her life, on and off the stage. She was lazing around in her private jet, her brunette hair messy from the rain she had to endure to get onto the plane. Her blue eyes were graced with many lashes, something she hadn't inherited from her mother.
She had stripped herself of her pink dress, which had become more of a uniform that an article of clothing. At this point she was wearing a pair of high-brand skinny jeans and a pink t-shirt that she had gotten from a model a while back. She laid across the couch blandly, sipping from a cherry soda, something she actually inherited from her father, his love of cherry sodas. In fact, she supposed the only things she inherited from her parents were her looks and a couple of her mannerisms, but that was about it. Once she had made big bucks on the screen, her butlers and maids took care of her mostly.
Sophia, at this point, was tired. Sick and tired of doing this charade. All she wanted to do was go to sleep and wake up to a normal family. She really did enjoy her fame, sometimes, and her multiple jobs, but she was tired of the loneliness. Her parents were exceedingly surrounded by "friends" that wished to hang around her in attempts to either have her fame rub off on them, or bum money off of them whenever they could. The only people that seemed to not do this were the Dinklebergs, which caused her father both anger and confusion.
"You think you're still too good for us, eh?!" Her father would call through their mansion window, throwing money at the couple and successfully making it through their house's window. "Take that, Dinklebergs!"
"Gee, thanks Turner! Say hi to Sophia for me!" Mr. Dinkleberg would reply as he held the wad of cash; he would wave to his neighbors before ducking back inside.
Her father would stomp from the room, grumbling the message that Dinkleberg had wished to say to Sophia, grumpy that he couldn't make his neighbors grumpy at least once. Sophia could care less, however she wished she could have parents like them.
Her mother was more or less smarter than her husband, more caring and more attentive than him. This made Sophia feel a little bit better. At least she knew her mother actually cared half-way enough to feed her and cloth her— Wait, no, the butlers did that. Well, at least her mother asked her how she was doing every day; Even if the answer was the same each time.
"Sophia, dear, how was your day?" She would ask, petting and smoothing her hair gently.
"It was a fine day, mother." Sophia would reply with disinterest, wondering if her life was worth it.
Most of her families conversations were like this, if they were speaking directly to Sophia. Whenever they weren't talking about her, they were talking about something related to her.
"Look! Sophia's newest movie is number one on the charts! I'm so proud!" Her father would exclaim with glee, more happy that he would get a large sum of money than her actual accomplishment. Then they would host a party, inviting the entire block. Sophia would go up into her room and ask the butlers to bring her something to eat before she fell asleep.
Eventually the private jet landed in Dimmsdale at a private landing lane, where she would jump out and a wild group of paparazzi would dog her with questions, taking pictures of her while she walked through the thin line she was given. She would sigh out her answers, attempting to appear happy and amused by her fans antics before slipping her way into a limousine. This limousine would take her back home where the cycle would continue.
"Sophia, dear, how was your day?" Her mother would ask as she came through the front door.
"It was a fine day, mother." Sophia would reply.
Then she would have a gourmet meal that was served by the butlers and their chefs. Then there were the food tasters, something Sophia found disturbing and unneeded, then they were allowed to eat. Then her father would drool over her accomplishments of the month, thinking about what he could buy with the money she earned. Then she would wash up and go upstairs and fall asleep. The cycle would continue until the day she died, she supposed.
But, tonight, she was feeling as if she had enough. No, she was not suicidal; she wasn't to that point yet. Instead, she opened up her window, threw out her bed-spread that was tied into a rope, and slip out easily into the night.
She had done this before multiple times, where she would go out and see the world as a normal ten year old. If she ever happened to get in trouble with the law, simply saying her own name would suffice as a reason to be out at such a late hour. So, she decided to take a walk. The rain had stopped, but wind whipped through the area, her brown hair flying behind her in a graceful manner. She wished this would stop. She didn't want it like that. She tied her hair into a ponytail to stop thinking about it.
She went through the neighborhood, passing by houses and stores and eventually mansions. It appeared to be the richer side of town, where her parents should have constructed their mansion. But seeing their lack of brain cells, she supposed where she lived was good enough for anything. One particular mansion caught her eye, however.
It was an extremely large white mansion with dark turquoise roofing. A large white fence surrounded the large mansion, which was even larger than her own mansion. Sophia bit her lip. More rich people? She'd rather not deal with them. But something drew her to it. There appeared to be only one light on in the house, rather upstairs and on the left side. She wasn't exactly sure if this was a good idea, but she climbed over the fence and jumped over to the side, running over to the door. She knocked at first, and receiving no answer, she attempted to open the door, surprised to find it was unlocked.
Stepping inside, she was greeted by a blast of cold air, even cooler than that of outside. She wasn't surprised by the amount of beautifully crafted decorations, many of which were encrusted and trimmed with gold, or made out of solid gold. She called out if anyone was there, receiving no answer. Sophia cautiously went upstairs, tip-toeing until she reached a room where the light was coming from.
She peeked inside, the door slightly ajar, catching sight of a young boy, at least somewhere around her own age, with blonde hair slicked back on his head and green eyes. He appeared to have opened the large window in his extravagant bedroom, sitting on the edge, looking downwards with eyes full of dread and hope.
"Hey, stop!" She shouted, running into the room, not wanting to witness a stranger kill themselves. They were on the third floor. No way the boy could fall from that and survive. The blonde jumped in fright, seeming to slip off the edge, handing on by his hands. Sophia quickly ran over, grabbing his wrists and attempting to haul him back inside.
"Let me go, you simpleton!" He hissed angrily, his white tuxedo whipping in the wind, his green eyes full of fear and sadness. "I want to do this, but you interrupted my thought when you entered by quarters and so RUDELY interrupted my suicide."
"Well, I don't care. Kill yourself some other time when I'm not in your house." She said back angrily, pulling the boy forcefully back into the room, falling over. The boy looked angrily at her, smoothing back his hair as he sat up.
"How DARE you come into my mansion and force me from committing this willingly!" He hissed, not recognizing her. "I'll have my lawyers sue the hell out of you!"
"I've got my own lawyers, bub, and I'm pretty sure they can take on the likes of YOURS." She yelled back, her blue eyes flashing.
This caused the blonde to stop a moment, thinking as he did so.
"What exactly is your name?" He asked, squinting at her as if he found her familiar. Well, it was about time.
"I could ask the same of you." She said, rolling her eyes.
"Fine, whatever." He growled, "My name is Remy Buxaplenty. And now you."
"Sophia Turner." She said with her nose in the air, standing up from the posh carpet. This caused Remy to think a moment, almost slightly in shock.
"Why're you here, exactly? Shouldn't you be living in your mansion on that dreary commoner's road?" He asked with venom, straightening his tuxedo's jacket, glaring at her as he did so.
"I was taking a stroll when I decided to see if whoever was in this mansion was alright." She replied, "I could ask you why you're trying so hard to kill yourself when you looked like it was a chore."
"Why I never— you little… ugh. I would have taken pharmaceuticals, but that would have been too obvious." He grumbled, "I wanted it to seem like an accident. I have been complaining to my butlers that I have been sleep-walking. So I supposed they would assume that I slept-walked out of my window and died like that."
She rolled her eyes, "In your tuxedo? Do you actually sleep with your tuxedo on?"
He seemed to realize what she meant, that it would have been obvious it was suicide because his lack of pajamas, and attempted to make up for it. "S-Sometimes I do, on occasion." He lied, frowning at her.
"Right. Anyways, if you don't need any more help with killing yourself, I'll be leaving…" She began when she was stopped by Remy.
"Wait! Uh, well, I was wondering if we could cut a deal." He said, trying to appear calm.
"What sort of deal?" She asked, appearing suspicious.
"Come to my house tomorrow and we'll speak." He said, changing his mind abruptly and showing her out of the mansion.
"But—"
"See you tomorrow, Ms. Turner."
TBC!