Post book, Johnny and Dally are of the living variety
I own nothing except for Remy Chevalier (Yes he's french). This might contain slash, don't like it I don't really give a fuck :) Oh, this takes place during the May 1968 riots in France. Oh, school isn't in session.
May 10, 1968.
Flying first class in an already flashy plane is rediculous. But, I didn't pay for the ticket so I'm not complaining. My father had me on the first plane out of Paris the moment the riot started, much to my disappointment. I had so been looking forward to joining in. Apparently I'm being sent to Oklahoma to live with a relative I've never heard of. My father said we're related on my mother's side, he said her name is Dioselina de Galvez and she's my great aunt twice removed. I rolled my eyes at the thought of having to move to some back woods little southern town with an old spanish woman I'd never met before. 'If she's anything like my mother I won't last an hour' I thought, fear creeping its way up my spine at the thought. I shook my head, my burgundy hair falling in my face, she can't be as bad as my mother. No one could be that bad. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the leather head rest.
"Sir? Would you like me to get you a blanket?" A flight attendant asked. I cracked an eye open with some effort to look at the scantily clad woman.
"No, thank you." I could hear my accent thickening at my irritation with having been disturbed from my almost sleep. After she'd gone to check on other passengers I slipped back into unconciousness.
...
I soon found myself being shaken awake again by the same attendant. "Sorry to wake you sir, but the flight is over." She said, her hands resting on my shoulders for just a second too long. I nodded at her and sighed, unbuckling my seat-belt and pushing myself up out of the leather chair. I felt dizzy and a bit nauseated as I left the plane, I had flown before but not for such a long time. Flying is a supposed 'luxury' even for someone like me.
My Great-Aunt was waiting for me in her car, she was parked right next to the landing pad. Dioselina looked like my mother, eerily so. She had jet black hair in a perfect bun on the top of her head. Her eyes were the same as mine, deep lapis lazuli blue, though mine were quite large and Dioselina's were almond shaped. She didn't look her age, nor did she give off the grandmotherly feeling of warmth. She looked straight backed and cruel. I made my way to her slowly, well, as slowly as I could without looking as though I was doing it on purpose.
"If you don't hurry and get your ass in this car right now you can look forward to not being able to sit for a long, long time."
"Yes, sorry Great Aunt." I squeaked rushing to the side of the black impala. I'm afraid of women. It's sad really, to fear the weaker sex. "Don't call me that boy! You will adress me as ma'am! You got it?" Her voice was scrict, authoritarian. "Yes Ma'am, sorry." I said immediately. I was wrong, she was worse than Mother.
...
When we reached her house I was surprised by the size of it. It was a large three story plantation house. There were black shutters on every window, the front door was large and black as well. The second floor had a terrace, and from what I could tell from the outside the house had two chimneys.
"Well don't just stand there gawking like a retard, get your bags and go inside." She screeched, I really didn't like this woman family be damned.
The inside of the house was even more awe inspiring than the outside. Everything was classic, perfect. It was absolutely sickening. I had never seen so much white in my life and it was hurting my retinas.
The moment my feet hit the also white carpet, a beautiful woman with the whitest blonde hair I'd ever seen, grabbed my bags and gestured for me to follow her. She was gorgeous, her skin was white and perfect, her waist tiny, her lips full, her eyes wide and china blue. I hated her immediately.
As she led me up the staircase and through the halls, I noticed there wasn't a single picture of anything on the walls. They were white and barren, I briefly wondered if Dioselina had eaten the rest of her relatives.
We soon reached the very last room on the third floor. Its door was out of place, black in an ocean of light. It locked from the outside too, I swallowed down the lump in my throat at the possibilities.
The interior of the room was tiny, nearly a closet. The floor was old creaky wood that looked as if it had been used as a dance studio for century straight. There were water stains on the crumbling ceiling and the air in the room felt damp and soggy. The bed was the only furnishing in the room besides the dresser. The bed was pressed up against the far right wall, it was tiny and the sheets were a disturbing shade of yellow.
The only decent thing about the room was the large stain glass window over looking the back yard of the plantation. I sighed and flopped myself down on the "bed", flinching at the sound of the springs creaking and groaning in resistance. I closed my eyes, trying to control my breathing. Before I knew it, I was asleep.