A, B, B, A, A, A, B, E.
Motherfucker. Yvaine slammed the slip of paper down onto the coffee table, if she could've forced it, the paper would've gone through the table, through the floor, past the crust and into the deep magma found at the core of Magix. She hadn't even thought it possible to get a grade below a "D", and yet there it was, staring angrily up at her from beneath her pressed palm. The girl sighed angrily, looking around the coffee shop and into the assortment of customers, all nervously sipping their drinks and pretending the exasperated teenager wasn't there.
Of course you have an E; you didn't show up to class over half the time. Of course you have an E, you're not going to get into Red Fountain you fucking idiot. Of course you have an E, you're going to be stuck taking up Mom's offer of attending… gulp, Alfea.
Her blood curdled, boiled, tried to force itself out of her veins, past her skin and out the door of the coffee shop, which no doubt would've alarmed the other patrons further. Her mother had done nothing but rant and rave about fucking Alfea since before she could remember. The constant "Oh Yvaine when I was your age I was an Alfea fairy." "Oh Yvaine when I was 17 I had my first kiss because of Alfea." "Oh Yvaine, Alfea really helped me out of my shell."
She hated the very idea of the pink and purple and putridly pastel college… and had striven to be accepted into Red Fountain. It had been a very very long shot, but she had been promised by the Dean of Admission at Red Fountain that if she had top marks, that they would at the very least consider her application. Picking up the paper in the hopes that her anguish had removed the E, and replaced the mark with at the very least a B minus Yvaine groaned again, falling dramatically face first into the coffee table. Even without her eyes, Yvaine's other senses told her that the bane of her existence, the very cloth her fabric had been cut from, her mother was approaching. She smelled like a garland of roses, had little heels that click clacked on the cobblestone floor and the worst habit of humming to herself. The teenager blinked one eye open to find her mother's face tilted and directly in her point of view, and regardless of the fact she'd known the woman was there, found herself flung from her chair and onto the floor. With an abject thud, the last remaining customers had fled the coffee house.
Now it was her mother's time to moan.
"Sweetie, honestly," she reached down and Yvaine grasped her hand, and was subsequently pulled up. "I don't think Alfea is that bad. Oh Yvaine, when I was your age…"
"No. Stop. Please, just let me die." The girl moaned flopping onto the table, hands placed through her messy blue hair.
"Honey, you know I normally would let you do what you want, because pleasing you pleases me, but unfortunately I can't let you die… I need you to cover me. I have a date to get ready for, and a coffee shop that needs watching. Can you understand my dilemma?"
Yvaine nodded sadly, accepting the green apron from her mother who found it necessary to kiss her on the forehead and remind her "Alfea will be good for you. Ladies don't belong at Red Fountain." Before she click clacked away to the apartment above the coffee shop.
For a 16 year old girl, Yvaine was melodramatic. While her mother had a stable, and practically perfect disposition, as well as a sickly sweet amount of optimism for a 30 year old managing a coffee shop, Yvaine saw the cracks in life. Unlike her mother, whose looks seemed to complement each other, Yvaine had been cursed with seemingly clashed genetics. Blue hair, dark blue eyes, pale skin, her exterior was ultimately emo, and if she had been blessed with her mother's olive skin, silky brown hair, or green eyes perhaps her own outlook would've been better. But she wasn't, and it therefore wasn't. Looking around the empty shop, Yvaine groaned again, tied the little green apron around her waist and took her place clearing cups from tables when the door opened. "Be with you in a mo." She called from the kitchen, where she dumped the cups into the sink, waved her finger and allowed her magic to do the cleaning.
And that's when her life changed. The gentleman standing at the cash register was gorgeous. Her jaw dropped a little with respect for her mother's date. "Oh my god you're one handsome guy." The man laughed nervously, and without thinking she leaned over the counter and extended her hand "I'm Yvaine." He grasped it, and they shook, and he continued to laugh.
"Yvaine, nice to meet you. I'll have a venti crème Brule latte, with an extra shot of espresso."
Jaw dropped again, and Yvaine had to practically grab it off the floor and place it back below her mouth. "Oh shit. Wait shit. Oh crap… You're, uh, you're not my Mom's date?" She asked awkwardly, making a mental note to kick herself after serving the customer.
"Unless your Mom is a venti crème Brule latte with an extra shot of espresso, I'm afraid not." He laughed, eyes twinkling.
"No, she's not… that hot." Yvaine laughed back, winking.
The man found this particularly entertaining and laughed heartily. He shook his head, and Yvaine noticed he had a ponytail.
So cool.
He handed her a credit card, and she handed him back his coffee. He sat across from the bar and picked up a slip of paper. Correction: her report card.
"Woah woah woah woah! Yo!" She practically hopped over the barista bar on her way over to the table. "You can't just sit there and read my report card!" She yelled, her face turning 29 exact shades of red.
He laughed again and handed the paper to her. "I believe you told me that I could sit wherever I wanted, and I was simply entertaining my right to read a menu… which was actually not a menu." He winked. "Also, simply out of curiosity, how does one fail an etiquette class? Further, why would one take etiquette if ones other seven classes happen to be 'new age dragon handling', '101 Potions to know', 'history of Magix', 'Honours Heroism', art, English and gym?" He tilted his head and allowed to pony tail to flop to one side. It was beautiful.
Taking the seat across from him, Yvaine unfolded her report card and scanned the classes. "Okay if we're playing 21 questions"
"2 actually, I asked two questions."
"21 questions," she continued, "I get to play first. How did you remember all my courses? You had my report card for less than 10 seconds." She asked, totally dumbfounded by the man.
"I'm an educator; I make it my business to remember things." He answered leaning back in his chair.
"Educator? Like teacher?" Yvaine started, growing more interested by the minute.
"Tut tut tut. I believe you owe me some answers." He smiled, tucking blue strands of hair behind his right ear.
"Okay fine. One takes an etiquette class to vanquish a demon on the home front… my mom wanted me to get into Alfea, regardless of the fact that I've wanted to attend Red Fountain since I was like seven. So I took etiquette to shut her up but oh my god! I don't know if you realise this but etiquette is possibly the dumbest fucking, pardon the French, excuse of a class there is! I mean, okay so first semester I had heroism, English, history and gym and that was a boss semester. Still following me?" She blurted out.
He nodded. "Charmed by your talents of conversation Yvaine."
"Ignoring the obvious sarcasm. Okay so anyway, those were A, B, B, and another A. I rocked my first semester and then I started the second half of my year with art, potions, dragon handling and mother fucking, c'use the French, etiquette. Okay ready for this?"
He nodded.
"I start my day with art. Basically I roll out of bed with a paintbrush in my hair, place said paintbrush on a canvas and smear half my paint, pastel, charcoal, whatever, onto my torso. I go from there to potions, which while convenient is a total bitch if you have charcoal on your hands. Dragon handling is a sitch if you have any common sense, and aren't afraid of getting dirty… but by the time last period comes and I'm covered in assorted art supplies, smell like a stable, and have dried flakes of failed potions on me I'm expected to be this perfect lady with dainty hands, and pursed lips and not the total artistic Amazonian dragon hurdler you see before you. That is how one fails etiquette… that and not showing up to over half the classes."
He was laughing the crazy hearty laugh again. That made her smile, even with the crappy report card still staring up at her. He grabbed a book out of his bag and opened it before her.
"Okay, as a fellow artist, and red fountain enthusiast, I'm going to give you this sketch." He held the book up and she gasped. It was a sketch of the original red fountain castle, dated over 10 years ago.
"Oh my god oh wow, that's gorgeous. Did you draw that?" Yvaine gasped, gaping at the shading, at the form, at the lines, basically at every single aspect of the drawing.
"Mhm. Did this the day they refurbished the school. But, I'll make you an even better deal. Alright? You seem like a really sweet girl, and this is a fantastic latte. What happened to you, even if by your own doing wasn't fair, and your other marks reflect that you're a good and certainly eager student…"
"Oh my god, don't you dare tell me I should go to Alfea. I think that would crush my growing opinion of you." Yvaine interrupted, slyly smiling at the man. He had some wrinkles above his eyebrows, and at the corners of his eyes which were defined more when he smiled.
"Well, actually… seeing as they actually have open admission to any female with magic I would suggest you attend Alfea for at least one semester. Look, I'm going to write on the back of my drawing." He pulled a pen out from his bag and started to scribble on the other side, "I, Helia Saladin, assistant to the headmaster of Red Fountain promise Yvaine," he looked up from the paper, "last name, I need a last name."
"Oh uh, Tripoli. Yvaine Tripoli." She stuttered out, in total disbelief of what was happening.
"Excellent! Assistant blah blah blah promise Yvaine Tripoli that if her average mark after a semester at Alfea, college for fairies, is at least a B, all previous demerits will be waived and she will be offered admission to Red Fountain, school of heroics. There." He handed her the drawing. "All you have to do is bring that with you and I'll see to it that you're offered a position. Okay?" He stood up and smiled at her, grabbing his bag from the rock floor.
Yvaine sat re-reading the paper, her face frozen in doubt . "Uh yeah, okay." She looked up at the man, "Thank you… Helia."
"It's no problem. Seriously, you're a nice kid, you deserve to have some happiness. Thanks again for the coffee." He smiled one last time and was gone in an instant.
Yvaine still couldn't believe it, and ten minutes afterwards was still glued to the chair, eyes running over the page, a thick blush spread atop a wide grin. Even her mother descending from the apartment, whistling and smelling even more like noxious roses couldn't throw her out of the state this stranger had put her in.
"Okay sweetie," another kiss to the forehead, "I'm heading out. You can close the shop up now and head upstairs. Oh? What's that? Are you actually smiling?"
"Guh." Yvaine answered, handing the woman the picture.
"Oh this is very good. You must've used a picture resource to have drawn this. Oh Yvaine, when I was your age I actually saw, HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK."
And with a futile yell, Flora Tripoli swerved and ran back up the stair case to the apartment.
"BUT WHAT ABOUT YOUR DATE?" Yvaine called after her.
"FUCKING PRICK OH MY GOD I'M GOING TO SINK MY TEETH INTO HIS JUGULAR HOW THE FUCK" a constant strand of curses followed down the steps and into the coffee shop, effectively keeping any other patrons that had considered coming in that day away, much to Yvaine's ever growing delight. All she had to do was make it through one semester of Alfea… how hard could that be?
