I decided this was too long to add to my drabbles and so I've put it up seperately. I think I'm beginning to break my writers block, even if this took several days...
Mornings
Everyone had their own morning rituals and no matter what happened, they stuck to it. Within the chaos it was nice to have a bit of order, just a tad of course but order all the same.
Annabelle Fritton, even as Head Girl wasn't going to allow anything to disrupt her morning and so without fail she could always be found sat on the roof of the school with a cup of coffee and doing nothing but breathe in the cool and fresh morning air she had been deprived of through most of her life. The coffee was special, it was the drink that Kelly had effortlessly got her hooked on. It had to be with milk and three sugars because though the Jones would never admit it, even under extreme and agonising torture, she had quite a sweet tooth. It was a secret that only Annabelle had the privilege of knowing and so she kept up her morning ritual whether Kelly was there or not because if it were the latter it felt like the government agent was sat beside her and smiling an almost smirk over a cup of her own coffee. Besides, Annabelle really does like her coffee…
...
Kelly was a spy and so was on the move almost constantly, going from place to place nigh daily. Despite this, her favourite thing to do in the mornings, other than getting her caffeine and sugar fix, was to go running and with her newfound freedom at exactly sunrise wherever she was she was running. Not jogging because it was far too slow and Kelly wasn't a slow person. She liked everything to go fast and to tick just right. She liked making order out of chaos, it was what made her such a good Head Girl after all and it was what made her an even better spy. Every day, even in baking heat or freezing cold she'd take to the roads and go nowhere in particular and at the end of it, she'd arrive back at whatever place she was staying with her heart pounding, blood rushing through her veins and she'd smile a tad even if no one saw it.
She felt like she was accomplishing something, going somewhere when she ran and though she couldn't say it to her self the truth was that she was also running away… She was running away from the constant ache in her chest that said that something important was missing. She wasn't daft. She knew what it was… It was Annabelle.
...
Andrea was an Emo and as such was expected to have a very Emo morning like… feeding a Venus fly trap, attempting to contact the dead or hissing at the sunlight. However, her morning wasn't like that at all. After she left St Trinians she got a flat, furniture and all that… but none of it seemed to matter because what she'd also done was tell Taylor that they couldn't be together anymore. Her mother had pestered her into it, forced her really and told her that if she didn't the Franco would be disowned from the family and left with nothing to her name.
She hadn't had much choice… but she'd still said it and she'd watched however much it hurt as Taylor cracked. She saw the pain, the misery, the confusion, in eye that she wished didn't look at her like that. She saw the tears and it was the only time she'd ever seen Taylor cry and it was because of her. So every morning, Andrea jolts awake from horrid nightmares of Taylor's expression, of her harsh and cold words and how she'd dared to hide whatever emotion she was feeling behind a mask just because she was scared of her own mother. Every morning Andrea Franco wakes up in early morning gloom, alone and she wishes she was anything but and she wishes she could take it all back… Every single word even if she believes honestly that she'll never see Taylor again and she hates herself for it. That's what hurts most, being without Taylor and every morning it's the same…
...
She wasn't as daft as everyone thought. Hell, she might lack a bit of common sense now and then but Taylor wasn't stupid and so she'd been saving for a good while and had enough money to get a descent place in some unmentionable town in the middle of nowhere. After that though it'd gone wrong because even if she'd promised herself that she'd never do any real harm to anybody, that she'd never meaninglessly hurt anyone… but she did because as far as she was concerned there was nothing there.
Her morning consisted of her waking up on the floor of her flat, on her back with a stinking hangover with nothing but words bouncing around her skull like an endless echo. 'This isn't working'… 'It's over… I'm DONE' Each morning she'd remain on the floor, eyes closed tightly and listening to that cold voice and wondering what the hell she did wrong and she wracked her brains for ages trying to think but no matter how hard she tried she'd come up empty handed. She spent her mornings doing nothing but wishing that maybe someday she'd get the chance to ask Andrea what she did and she cries for the billionth time because Andrea broke her and she wasn't meant to do that…
...
Polly Wilkins wasn't one to simply 'go with the flow'. She liked everything pre-planned and ready to be put into action, she analysed the situation and came up with every possible outcome and conclusion. She drew graphs, did complex equations, all in her head and in moments because she liked to be ready. In her mornings and because she knew that secretly Kelly appreciated it, she called her and they had a chat and the Geek updated her friend on all the goings on at St Trinians. She might have left but Lucy kept her well informed. She then showered, brushed her teeth, got dressed, did her hair and got in her car.
Her first stop was an unlikely destination and one she didn't particularly enjoy going to. Taylor's place. She kept tabs on everyone because she liked to know they were okay, she wasn't nosy but occasionally she'd get an odd feeling in her gut and though she didn't like trusting her gut she did that one time and she knew something wasn't right. So she checked and she saw footage after footage of Taylor drunk out her head and smashing a chair over some unfortunate mans head. So she went to see the Chav, she'd pick her up off the floor, get her some aspirin and some water and tell her very firmly but gently that she had to get out the house and go to work. She understood that Taylor was miserable, that she wanted nothing more than to drink her sorrows away but Polly wouldn't watch a friend slowly kill herself. She often drained any half drunk bottles down the sink, just in case.
Then once Taylor was composed, she'd leave and drive for miles, an hour long trip if she was lucky and she'd sit down with Andrea, drink tea and try and convince her that Taylor was not going to hate her if she went to see her. She'd listen to the Emo talk, she'd hear the once cool and collected voice shake with tears that wouldn't fall. Afterwards, she'd say the same thing as she always did, 'go see her Andrea, she won't turn you away' and Andrea would nod silently and not believe a word. Then Polly would go to work, she had a job as an IT Technician and she HATED it with a passion but it didn't matter because it was just a cover for what she was really doing which was much less legal. She could live off the stock market, make millions if she wanted but instead she chose to remain anonymous and be the link from St Trinians to the rest of the world. Polly cared deeply for those she considered her family and so her morning routine wasn't hers, it was theirs...
...
Perhaps Zoe Harlington should've been busy setting fire to Adidas trainers and Nike jackets so that Bianca could have a surprise for when she woke up. She kept a lighter close at hand for such occasions. The Head Emo didn't much like plans. There was something about it that made her uncomfortable, maybe it was the certainty of it because if one thing went wrong the lot would crumble. Therefore she didn't have much of a routine other than she woke up really early every day… well she was told it was really early but it didn't feel it because she'd always woken up at that time. She didn't like dreaming and she didn't sleep much. Basic logic and maybe it contributed to her icy mood but she wasn't going to change how much she slept for anybody. So she woke early and with her easy stealth she walked out the room and she wandered about, absorbing some peace because though the constant danger was what St Trinians was she didn't mind a moment of silence before it all began.
Oddly enough though, despite the fact she had no routine she always ended up at the same place every day. The gym. They had one, it was damaged almost beyond repair but it was there and she used it occasionally to vent her fury save killing any Chavs because Annabelle wouldn't be very happy and last time the Head Girl had gotten pissed off with her she'd ended up tied to Bianca and hanging over a vat of icy cold water with the 'Rude Girl' shouting in her ear. So she used the gym occasionally, mostly the punching bag but in the mornings there was someone else in there and every day Zoe would end up at the same door. She would open it, step inside and lean against the wall in the shadows with her arms crossed and oh so casually… watch. She watched as wrapped hands slammed into the punch bag again and again, she watched the muscles working effortlessly, the easily adopted stance and she watched the force put behind each blow. She watched as her rival, clad in a vest and tracksuit trousers with her hair tied back, beat the defenceless bag.
She didn't have a routine in the mornings because a routine was something that she meant to do, something she planned but she'd never planned to watch Bianca and she'd never thought she'd ever wonder where all the force goes when those blows are aimed at her. She knows that Bianca sees her there but they never say a word. Zoe just stands and watches the Rude Girl's powerful form raining down hit after hit… and she keeps wondering why she's there but she doesn't leave…
...
Bianca Wilson wasn't indestructible. She was human and despite how tough her exterior was she still needed some way to blow off some steam and so she took up early morning boxing. With her dad being a boxer and having trained her on how to punch, how to stand, just how to get the most power out of each blow, it came easily to her and she found herself recalling many of the lessons he'd taught. She did it first thing in the morning for several reasons. One of which was because it was quiet, the second was that because it was quiet it meant her tribe would be out of trouble until around eight or nine at the earliest, the third was because she wasn't a lazy Rude Girl contrary to popular belief and she liked the exercise and the wake up in the morning. Then was the fourth reason and that was because Zoe was awake in the mornings too.
She pretended that that reason was the least relevant and so if she cared to list the reasons, she'd put that one last. In reality though, her whole morning related to what the Emo was doing. She knew Zoe watched, she'd felt the eyes on her once and after a swift glance had chosen to just continue what she was doing. Zoe was always gone when she stopped the swinging punch bag and looked over but she came to see Bianca boxing without fail every morning and so she continued to box. If Zoe didn't have breakfast then Bianca didn't eat much, if Zoe was reading a book then Bianca would watch out the corner of her eye and completely ignore the magazine in front of her and if her rival talked to her tribe then the Head Rude Girl did the same. She didn't mean to really. She didn't even notice but what the Emo did changed what she did. She subconsciously orientated herself around whatever the other girl was doing or saying or acting like.
Bianca's morning changed, it changed when Zoe did and maybe she didn't realise it now but she would one day…
...
Celia Radford's morning was quite simple, she woke in her hammock and after checking that she was still at St Trinians and not at her parents manor house she'd take a deep breath and sigh softly in relief. She'd then lie back and pull out her diary and a pen and she'd fill in an entry and sign it because she wants to remember everything now as it is. After that, she and Daisy who often woke around the same time would head out onto one of the balconies overlooking the grounds, put down a rug and sit cross legged and drink herbal tea and talk about nothing in particular and live in the glorious time of now…
...
Chelsea Parker had an image to uphold and so spent at least two hours of every morning getting ready. Choosing just the right clothes, or lack thereof, putting on just the right amount of make up and perfume and sorting the hair to perfection which is what a Totty did. It was a part of their day that each one had in common. Chelsea however wasn't just a dumb blond and so spent an extra hour of every morning adding to the countless fashion designs she already had, picking out the fabrics and materials for her future business. No one but Chloe and Peaches, and later Saffy and Bella knew about it because if it got out that Chelsea Parker had a brain she'd be ruined. Chelsea was quiet about it, secretly pleased with herself and even with her partying side, she loved her mornings most of all…
Hope you enjoyed it. I didn't re-read it so sorry for any mistakes or anything but let me know what you think because this took forever... Review?