(The first three chapters of this have been on DA for a while, and now I've finally decided to upload the story here, whilst continuing with new chapters. I completely understand if this is not everyones cuppa tea and that's fine. I'm not a fan of the reboot, but one of the characters that stood out the most to me was Maylyn, particularly when it came to the friendship established with Buttercup. If you like, picture this story in the 'Original' PPG universe, including a new way of how the Derbytantes and Buttercup met. This may go down in flames or be something intriguing or, at the very least, entertaining. Anyhow, take a gander and see if it's something you like. Enjoy!)

Chapter 1

"MAYLYN! Open this door!"

After all this time, it was any wonder why the Derbytante leader considered staying with her mother. Could it be the warmth and comfort of her bed? The love of her parent? Or simply because the police would find her and return her to this incarceration anyhow? Quite simply, it was the last one. And it was hell, and had been hell for a very long time.

Rolling over in her crappy bed, Maylyn grit her teeth and looked to the barricaded doorway with a combination of frustration and fear, hearing the violent rattling of the door knob and the slamming of her mother's fist against the wood. Certainly, it would one day splinter and crunch under the immense pressure. There's no way she could resume sleeping with all the noise, so she jumped out of bed, grumbling. Barely giving herself so much as a glance in the bedroom mirror, she grimaced; shuddered, at the missing tooth the woman had chipped from her that one time in the kitchen, a few years ago, with a fierce punch. It was so ugly. So stupid.

"You better open this door RIGHT NOW!" rose the voice, escalating from a suppressed yell into a painful shriek.

The agitated hag had received a letter that morning informing about her daughter's continuous patterns of unexplained absence from the school. This was not a new thing.

The magenta haired punk fixed her hair into their spikes and chewed her lip hard, her mouth oddly dry and feeling the furious gnawing in her empty belly. No time for food, she'd have to find it somehow and, if she were lucky, would be able to raid the fridge coming home at the right time, preferably while her mother was passed out in her room. Clenching her fists, appreciating her finger-less gloves hinted with a bit of leather coverage for a moment, she smiled angrily, her eye twitching. How often she'd vividly imagine giving an uppercut to that bitch, giving her a hard deliverance unto her throat. Why couldn't she just love her like a normal mother? Was it too much to ask?

Brief moments of pause from the lady's raging fists were filled in with her heavy, uneven, intoxicated pants, along with perhaps some confused shuffling in the hallway. It was exhausting having to deal with this everyday, but what made it all count all the more, what drove her on, was Buttercup.

The strawberry haired gal was practically a nobody; a sorry recluse, a timid introvert who let people push her around. On the news each day, she'd hear about The Powerpuff Girls. This was given her mother was out of the house, providing her a slither of temporary freedom to watch TV in the matted and worn couch, so old her butt practically was eaten by the furniture, having her feet and head just poke out from the sponge and cotton. It was a sure distraction. She wished she could be as tough as them, strong, overwhelming, unconquerable. Who earned her attention and adoration more was the toughest fighter. The iron fist and muscle of the trio: Buttercup.

-

One day at school, after a lengthy onslaught of enraged yelling at home, she snapped and delivered a firm punch to the jaw of a kid talking trash to her, about taking the last of the deserts in the lunch line at school. Sent to the principles office, she found surprisingly enough, she didn't care. She'd experienced such horror at home, she found no fear in what could happen to her consequentially at the academic establishment. With that, she became more ruthless, assertive and aggressive. Some girls, once associated with cliches and fads, became intrigued with her bold attitude and headstrong rebellion and decided to join her, inviting her to their lunches and hanging out.

She'd received a pair of roller-skates for her birthday from her grandma, something she kept well hidden in the house. She had nothing of her own at home, as her Nan was well aware. Her casual attire, for the Derbytantes she formed, were inspired by her clothing she made herself or bought with money at a temporary job delivering papers. It didn't last though. The mother wanted her house bound and herself willfully bedridden. Hands in sink, scrubbing the wooden floors on hands and knees. Home was chores and anger. Nothing else. At best, it was boring with its silence permitted with the mother's unconscious state.

All the while, she kept expanding upon her own -superficial- ego, her candle to her favorite puff, when one day she finally encountered her. Buttercup had swooped down and caught her, when a lamppost had been uprooted and directly fell in her direction. Mojo Jojo was at it again with one of his fierce robots and proceeded to uproot various area of Townsville with drills and stabbing extensions, jabbing in and out at the earth, like mechanical pitchforks.

The tomboy escorted her onto rooftop of a building and that was when she first laid eyes on her. In the split moment she was facing death, she felt some sort of internal surrender, as if she were just ready to embrace her fate. But, after her eyes met with the adorable heroine, it was if she was granted some kind of renewal. A fresh and new feeling.

The raven haired tomboy was much shorter than she had anticipated, all the puffs were, which took her off guard, particularly by acknowledging the great strength she had, with the ease in which she had carried the skater. She hadn't realized how much younger she was than her either, certainly by a few years or so. Maylyn was nine, the puff six. A minor age gap, but a significant one at such a time for them. Totally tongue tied, the magenta haired punk, bashful, could only stare in awe and looked up at the puff, as she lowered her onto the building top, her frame eclipsing the 12 noon sun, radiating her black locks. And, when she heard her raspy, deep voice for the first time, she was smitten.

"Here, I'll bring ya back down when we're done" explained the tomboy quickly, before zipping off again.

Maylyn didn't know it of course. She didn't understand it. All she knew, when she watched the show from up on high, was an odd mingling of sensations, squirming and fluttering, in her chest and stomach. It was as if a nest of unborn insects had broke free from their egg sac and come alive, festering painlessly in her body, eating away at her. She thought surely had become numb through time, but now had proven it was surely not the case.

Personally viewing the battle with fascination, the young girl was dumbfounded and, when the puff returned to her as promised, she was again effortlessly swept up and delivered to the ground in the streets. Before she bolted off, Maylyn managed to find her edgy, gritty voice and courage and invited her into the Derbytantes. Seeing as this may have been a now or never scenario, she laid her cards on the table (somewhat).

Explaining their group, and even having the gang appear, assuring she was alright, she introduced them. Much to Maylyn's surprise, Buttercup became enamored with the group image and it's obsession with Deathball, thinking it was the coolest thing ever. She had cast her line and got her fish. Now it was all about reeling her in.

For the next few years, they became close. Many times, she had been approached as being a bad influence, with her brutish, punk nature and even questioned for hanging out with a younger girl. However, Buttercup stood up and said she was there willfully and had a whole bunch of fun with them. It was a step closer to what Maylyn had been yearning for.

-

"IF YOU DON'T OPEN THIS DOOR, YOU'RE GOING TO BE SORRY!" screamed the woman, her voice like nails on a chalkboard.

Tired of the booze fueled anger, suspecting her door to give way any moment, seeing that the drawers and chest had been shifting gradually away from the door with each thud, Maylyn opened her window with a tired squeak and leaped out, grinning blissfully as her mother's voice faded into nothing with the rush of wind, speeding away on her skates, on towards school. Time for some Deathball!

End of Part One