"-though, I'm surprised we even have that kinda passion still."
Disclaimer: Idonot ownanycharactersornamesofthecastfromthegameUndertale, it all belongstoTobyFox. The only thing I own is the AU, and the main character, I guess.
I think I've decided to make this story to be like, small snit-bitsof their lives together, but in order. So no monstrously long chapters (maybe). I don't want to get bored of it too fast (I'm like SkikamaruNara, sometimes things are too troublesome).
"Heya." She says.
"Hi." I say back.
The noon sun settles atop the wooden table that I sit at like a sheen of wax. I could tell from the glow of heat on my clothed arm that the rays were determined to scorch some innocent few; the sun, such a spiteful little dot in the distance. But my focus wasn't on the distracting bite of discomfort from the radiated ball of white, instead, on a girl whom I barely recognized and was taking the liberty to speak to me.
There is something really intense about the way she's looking at me. Her eyes are carrying a bright red glow, much like the cherry hue poppy plants held. I suspected contacts, because that's only reasonable. However, their skin was noticeably pale so she could be an albino. You could see the blue tints of her veins under her neck, crawling up through her system as if she had stabbed herself with a poisoned needle.
I found that slightly fascinating, and a little strange.
She didn't say anything for a pause. Which was weird. Then, even weirder, she says "Ya know, we sit next to each other every single day, and yet, I don't even know your name. Isn't that odd?" There's a glint in her eyes, a sudden pulse of candy red against the ruby tone of her irises. I have a sudden thought that maybe those aren't contacts.
"Sure." I tell her, though my mind is more interested in determining which gender they were besides really contemplating her question. The sharp A-line haircut suggests female, but their build and stature are too mixed with wide shoulders and tall stature (well, taller than a regular middle-schooler, I'm assuming, I don't know the specifics), which contrasted against their long, dainty fingers and blatant rosy cheeks. After taking note that concluding my suspicions isn't going to be possible without a personal ask, I let it go without another care.
She grins wider, having been slyly smirking beforehand. It just makes sense that in response I lift up an eyebrow in question of their sanity. Though, maybe I shouldn't. Nowadays, everyone's kinda unhinged. And I'm sure that if I gave a second for every kid I deemed questionable, in the stable regard, I would have negative time left over for myself. If that could ever be a thing.
The girl turns to gaze down the table toward our other classmates. "And these guys too. We sit with each other, and even save each other's spots, but we don't really know each other. Isn't that odd too?" I flick my stare down the row as well, unconsciously following before sharply realizing a little too late my own fear of stares. However, after a quick throb horror, I realize no one was looking, or had heard us. The painful tense on my shoulder's settles as I take my fill of the sight and turn back to stare down onto the glistening table with relief.
I can tell she's grinning again through the cover of my lashes, but that's been a constant occurrence so far, so I don't know If that's mocking my cowardice so I can feel bitter, or perhaps she hadn't noticed and was still stuck on their little society check. Or whatever this was.
Either way, her face doesn't give anything away. The increasingly strange girl continues with a bizarre interest in her voice. "Like, we know small things, like 'who do you wanna be when you grow up', but that's not personal, ya know?" She leans onto the table, her arms mocking my own as she crosses them and taps her filed down fingers. "Every teacher makes us all write down some 'three things' to introduce ourselves to the new class: favorite color, favorite book or movie, favorite quote. But how do we know if they're not lying?"
My eyebrow drops to its partner at the amount of strange wafting from her. I think about leaving as a pause of somewhat dramatic silence falls between us, not so much outside our bubble, everyone seems to be speaking at the same time.
I contemplate giving her an answer, but it seemed like whatever she was saying was rhetorical.
She lifts up a hand and makes a face, tilted and filled with playful confusion. "Why would anyone want to sit together with people that they don't know, huh?" Her stare focuses on my eyes, and I, distracted from her words, flick them away to catch at the windows for a small and stupid breather. It was like the girl was threatening my space.
I decide to speak up, halfway done with their bizarre take on things. "How do you know that none of the kids here don't know each other? Maybe they don't know all of them, their lives and whatever, but there's always someone. And does it really matter where you sit? One table will always be the same amount of plywood as the next." My words are straightforward and my tone dull. A pause and I add, "Why do you even care to ask?" It just made sense, why question something so blatantly obvious?
Her eyes flashed and her obviously fake quizzical look churned into a Cheshire cat's grin, eyes mounted up like moon crescents in amusement. If I was anyone else, I would have been extremely creeped out, but my eyes were captured back by the girl's offbeat personality against a sea of children that all wanted to like someone else. All too willing to dress up the same and join groups to be the same and like the same things. All alike. But their world will soon crash and burn once they learn that companies will never hire for 'followers', but 'leaders'. Whatever that means nowadays.
It's a cruel, deceived world, but a cake can only be made with the ingredients you choose to put in it.
"Because, it just doesn't make sense." She answers finally.
Her words were quick, and truthful enough to keep it away from being strictly foolish. I simply shrugged, arguing futile.
She lifted up her arms to rest her face on her palm, her wide eyes taking in my own, searching and analyzing like I had before. But it felt different, and I was reminded of the stare she had given me before all this crazy talk.
"My name's Chara, what's yours?" Her voice had slipped down from the exuberant spiel and into a casual level, tipping almost into curious tease. The later act startles me into a silence before I give my own name, without my last name as well.
Not that we couldn't figure it out, the teachers would let it slip one day, but it was a matter of respect.
She, strange girl now labeled with an unequal and normal name of 'Chara', presented me a smile, as if she knew what I was thinking and thought it funny. Or perhaps she was making a joke at my name.
When the bell rang above our heads, and the herd of children started to file out, we both got up as one and I was gifted a lazy wave from them. "I'll see you around." She said, her eyes never managing to smile just like her mouth did.
I simply nod, "Yeah." However, I didn't really believe we'd ever talk again, it was simply pleasantries.
Unfortunately, it seemed as though she was being serious with her quick dismissal.
When the next morning hit, and broke open the sky with lavender churned clouds and puffy pink cherries, she had caught me waltzing inside the school doors, slouched against the granite pillars by the entrances. Eyes rounded up in a suspicious smile. I guessed she'd been waiting for me; though, with her bag still shouldered I wondered why she hadn't dropped that off in her class first, then wait. It was near the time for the first warning bell. Perhaps she didn't want to miss me coming in?
The logic of it all had my eyebrow up and active in silent question, but her face only beamed in exuberant delight. From what, I had no clue. We were not friends, barely even considered acquaintances.
Thankfully, she kept her limb to herself, not deciding to hook them in my own like some cliche buddy-buddy friend thing. Instead, she stuck herself by my side, hands occupied with holding onto the straps than trying to connect our bodies like I feared. It was rational enough, she seemed like the person who was quite hands on. Though, that could just be my fevered fear making assumptions.
"Heya." She says, flashing her smirk like a shark, repeating our first words like some joke. I suppose it was.
"Hi." I respond, not feeling like using the energy to ask why bother with me. Perhaps it has something to do with yesterday's talk. Maybe she was aiming to get to know everyone, or even worse, attempting to figure out 'who was lying'. A spy, or a concerned classmate? Judging from the maniacal grin, it seemed to dip into the former...
"Who's your AVID teacher?" Chara speaks up from my side, facing front to wade through the crowd of shorter students, but her eyes - illuminating crimson with a charge of electricity - never leave the side of my face.
I falter a step, breath caught in my throat. The feeling of being trapped leaves as quickly as it comes and I shrug in response. "Mr. Kresner, you?" I ask, simply being polite. My pace is as slow as the time lets me; there is enough to transverse to class, and still be on role for perfect attendance, for a quick chat in the hall.
Her eyes finally leave my face to smirk at the tops of the heads passing and shuffling around us. "Miss Evelyn. She's pretty nice." I hum in acknowledgment, I already know of the unmarried woman's empathetic and caring personality. At times, it's incredibly jarring. The school is mostly filled with drone-like men and women, biases so far into the school system and up their asses they speak their opinions openly and expect us to not only acknowledge them, but accept it as true.
The word doesn't want your opinion, they want you to agree.
That's what makes Ms. Evelyn so distinct against the system. Like an orange sheet of paper against a blue coated wall. I wonder if the students who like her and don't is split fifty-fifty, or if the teachers give her a hard time because of her passive nature. I wonder if she's been used.
The Societies are a vicious group, in debate and not. The only group of the Three Factions that has their fingers dug so deep into the school system you wouldn't know when it had begun in the first place. I theorize it had started when they had cut off other religious aspects to the creation of the planet and galaxy and the like, but perhaps it had started before then, when guns and stuff weren't allowed into school anymore. It's a thought to pass the time, but not a very interesting subject to hang on.
It's old news, so whatever.
"Is that your class up there?" Her voice breaks into my mind and my gaze focuses back, taking note of the flip signs of the classroom numbers above each of the doors, a sheen of dark brown behind white numbers. The answer was obvious. We have both been going here for almost three years, we know these halls like our own houses. If the recent blackout was anything to go by (the after school kids had no trouble maneuvering around in the late afternoon, and weren't fazed by the pitch black of the basement to turn on the backup lights on. Hearty kids, this generation).
"Yeah." I answer curtly, answering the obvious question anyway, though perhaps a bit too slowly. My response was awkwardly near the social time limit of 'did you hear me?'.
She chuckles faintly, somehow undisturbed by my outright slow reaction. Doesn't she think that's offensive? That maybe I'm not listening to her? How is she so unruffled by my indifference?
Does she know that I'm not trying to ignore her, but just caught up in thinking?
I'm wondering if my hypothesis on the 'spy' theory is correct. . .
We stop before the door, a secure and heavy metal shield that automatically locks when shut, it's propped open for the morning. The bright eyed child gives me a wave, not too unlike the one she gave yesterday - lazy but direct with a quick flick of the wrist.
She smiles, it doesn't reach her eyes.
"Talk to you later at lunch." She says.
"Sure." I answer, because I noticed it wasn't a question.