Characters: Doc Worth and Conrad Achenleck

Prompt: Shoes

Notes:THIS IS THE SECOND IN A SERIES OF FICS. The first is {Erasers}, the second is this one, and the third is {The Shoe Diagnosis}.

OHMIGODDONTKILL ME. I know this is NOTHING like my other fics, because it's not angsty and philosophical and it apparently has NO meaning, but GASP, this is NOT a one-shot! 8D This has a part-two!
So just wait till part two before you go OMG TAYLOR UN-WATCH, I HATE YOU, THIS IS STUPID. YOU LIAR. YOU SAID YOU'D WRITE SIMILAR STUFF AND THIS IS JUST CRAP.
Just wait. Dont panic. Read the sequel and you'll get it.

My shoes have always been of a strange variety. It's not often noticeable, but they are. The ones I used to wear as a child were hand-picked by mom, until I was the ripe age of seventeen, and then I picked my own, but they were still…off in taste. I never really noticed, but today, I began.

My shoes were on my feet. I'd just gotten up and dressed for my activities in the night, and when I sat down and pulled my shoes on, I ended up sitting there and staring down at them dangling over the side of my bed. I frowned.

My shoes are white. They match my outfits and are, in my opinion, stylish. I had to take into consideration that I was choosing style and luxury over convenience and sensibility, but that was the sort of decision I made all the time when designing company headers and websites and the like for others. I have to keep either a large stock of white shoes on hand, or a very good white shoe polish and an equally good mind to keep them clean while I'm out. I chose the polish and mind over the ten pairs of identical white shoes (that's just borderline creepy, even for me).

Second, my shoes are squared at the ends. Now, this doesn't seem like that big of a deal, but it does speak volumes. I don't normally opt for anything edged; I like my circles and rounded corners, thank you very much. My shoes? An entirely different matter. The tips are squared and I always pick them that way; why, I can't tell you. Though like all of my dysfunctions (none of which I will readily admit to), I am absolutely certain it references my mother and her incessant nagging and scheduling my life around therapy.

So as I look down at my shoes and wonder why I have to pick such…such decorative, different styled footwear, I realize that I'm late for dinner. I shove a few things into a messenger bag, put it over one shoulder, and march out of my flat, determined. I repeat the same mantra I always do: I will not let Worth's words, actions, phrases, curses, assumptions, and/or sneers affect me tonight. I will not punch him, I will not grow angry and flustered and allow him to catch me and keep me where he wants me. No, tonight, with my white square-tipped shoes, I will not be defeated!

With new resolve, I open the door to the Doctor's 'office' and step in, shutting it behind me, not because I am afraid to let mosquitoes in, but because some of them are begging to get out, and I think Worth likes the itching bumps they cause. The fact that they, too, are vampires, probably…fascinates him in some way. It fascinates me, so it should at least get him to think---no. What am I talking about? There are no similarities between Worth and myself.

I tell him I'm here for my dinner, and he makes some smarmy remark about me still being a 'pussy'. I shrug it off, because I'm composed tonight, I'm different tonight (so I want to believe) and I hold open my bag. He snorts and asks me why my purse doesn't have decorative gemstones on it (that's not the vernacular he used, but I'm sparing you the exact verbs and adjectives here). I sigh. I feel myself losing patience. I contemplate other things; what commissions I have left to work on, how I will possibly force myself to decline the offer of a million-dollar adult website business leader because he wants my help and I can't let my name be slapped onto a playboy website, how many bags Worth feels like giving me tonight, and why is his---. See, I cant even let my thoughts wander anymore. He's back.
I realize he's looking down at my shoes with his hands in his pockets, and laughing in that dirty used-car-salesmen sort of way, with a matching smirk.

"Ehh, you got'cherself a nice pair a shoes there, batboy. Sorta like mine! Cept they're girly 'nd all, and mine, well, arent. Then 'gain, I'm no artfaggot who can afford tha' sort a thing, 'm I?" he looked me in the eye and gave me a raised brow. I looked down at our shoes, pointing to one another accusatorily.

Then I almost laughed in self-loathing. Worth had my exact same style of shoe; but his were brown, and obviously not from the same company.

Instead of punching him and snarling insults and leaving, I just turned and left, holding up a hand in salute (no, not the one-finger kind I usually grace him with). I didn't admit it to myself until I had finished dinner, packed the reserves away in the fridge, and kicked the shoes off, that perhaps Worth and I really did have something in common.

It most likely wasn't only our style of shoe.

Hanna is Not a Boy's Name, a beautiful, wonderful, perfect webcomic, as well as the characters Doc Worth and Conrad Achenleck belong to Tessa Stone.
REVIEW IF.........

1. You wanna see me write more.

2. You have criticism.

3. You love me. :]

4. You hate me. ]:

5. BAHAHAHA YOU READ TO NUMBER FIVE. Now you must review or OHMIGAWD A LITTLE GIRL WILL FIND YOU AND KILL YOU ON THE FIFTH OF THE MONTH. ...Suuure. ;D Let's go with that...