Act the first: "Why am I here again?"
Fic Rating: T (Cause I like to curse)
Pairings/Characters: Ruby x Sapphire, (CAMEOS): Dia x Platina x Pearl, Lt. Surge, (mentions of) Marge
Summary: At prom night, the glass slippers come off.
Warnings/Notes: Y'know those AU school shiz fics you keep finding on the net? I wanted to give it a whirl. There is no plot, only prom. I'm thinking: Real short chap fic. (Cause I couldn't work out the kinks.)

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She does a quick once-over then leans close to whisper into his ear," I...I can't feel my toes."

He, raises an eyebrow, laughs.

She scowls, looks away.

The sole reason she has yet hurl him (headfirst) into the punch bowl, is because (curse these heels), he's the only thing keeping her from falling. Also, she was kind of thirsty. But enough of that.

He laughs, "Is that why you're trampling over my feet? Heels hurt, you know."

She glares at him, "Shaddup. Don't make me kick you."


Twenty-three minutes and an undisclosed number of heel-related injuries later, he can't feel his feet either. He would point this out if he didn't know it would result in even greater grievous bodily harm.

The tempo drops, the lights dim; slow dances were safe(-er), and he makes a mental note to get Wally (the DJ) something nice for his upcoming birthday.

Hands to hips, head at the crook of his neck, she sighs, "Why am I here again?"

"Cause, barbarian, you lost a bet. Oh, and you owe me for helping you out with your Home Economics project." He smiles.

"Hey, don't talk all smug." She narrows her eyes, gestures, " This close- I was this close to getting you to wear that grass-skirt."

In a lilting voice, "Whatever you say...- Ouch!" he resists the urge to rub at the sore spot, "Did you just make me punch myself?"

"Ya deserved it, sissy-boy." She huffs.

He glowers, " Barbarian."

This happens a lot.

She draws close once more, exhales against his neck. He tries, succeeds, at steadying his pulse. He's gotten better at this.

Lying, he remembers Marge once telling him, is a skill that doubles as an art.


The silence, the music, the contact: he savors the whole minute and thirteen seconds of bliss. But peace, as we all know, is short-lived.

"Dammit, I can't take this anymore!" She bends down, lift her dress,"Hold this!"

He splutters, ends of her dress in his hand, for a whole five seconds, before he gets her wavelength. Her expression is very serious, struggling to yank off said footwear while hobbling to keep her balance on her still-heeled foot.

Its a very entertaining, somewhat pathetic kind of hobble, and he would point and laugh till his sides hurt, except that she's hobbling around him: occasionally even darting out a hand to prop herself up. That, and he's still holding onto the ends of her dress. To the onlookers, it looks like some kind of weird mating ritual.

With an extra hard yank, it comes off and Sapphire lets out a loud sigh in relief. She wiggles her toes, carelessly tosses the shoe. Ruby resists the urge to gag.

We'd like to think said footwear lands in some dank and dark part of the hall, where it will lie: lonely and forgotten; but sometimes, reality is as cruel as it is hilarious.

The footwear hurtles across the room before smacking Lt Surge right in the middle of his head. And thus, doused in the cup of fruit punch he had on hand, he collapses. His last memory will be of the quesadilla he ate last night night for dinner and for reasons unknown, he will be pestered by this incessant need to purchase some talcum foot-powder.

This goes unnoticed to everyone but Ruby, who had traced the course of the projectile right down to when it made impact. He sighs, kneels down.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, pansy-ass?"

He glares at her, "Preventing another grievous injury. Now quit squirming and raise your left foot."

She complies. The spectators compare this to the age-old tale of the mouse extracting the thorn from the lion's paw.

"Thanks!" She smacks him gratefully on the back, then drags him, by the collar, to the food counter; where she downs the entire bowl of punch, before sighing in content.

She belches, loud and satisfied, then makes for the shrimp cocktail.

"Gross." Ruby fans the air in-front of him, opts to view the festivities instead of scrutinizing her eating habits. It was after-all, an exercise in futility.

Though called the annual school dance, the only ones actually dancing at this point were Diamond, Platina, and Pearl. They make it work somehow, their whole isosceles triangle thing. From lilting laugh to lazy smile to boyish grin.

The only reason people even came to these things were because of the after-party, anyhow. He turns back to matters at hand, where Sapphire was engrossed in clearing the plate of mini-hotdogs.

"You know what? Shoes-" She pauses momentarily, to glare at onlookers, "-are for chumps."

He opens his mouth to rebut- she cramps it full of cream-puffs, "Yes, I'm saying Cinderella was a chump."

He gags.

She pivots on her heel, faces him, "Don't you dare choke-" narrows her eyes, "-cause then I'd be forced to use my knowledge of CPR."

He swallows. Audibly.


She turns around, props her elbows up on the counter behind her, "Pathetic, ain't it? That our juniors are the only ones who got the guts to dance."

He snorts, " Its different for them, they're BFFs."

"I don't care; I'm sick of it!" She inclines her head, squints, "I'm sick of you too!... Don't even got the guts to ask me out to this thing, gotta go douse it in sleazy tactics and weird bets. I...I would have said yes, you know..."

To be perfectly fair he was just following (some not-so-sage) advice.

"You want a dance? I'll give you a dance! And I'll give them a show too!" She huffs out; thereafter grabbing his hand and making for the dance floor.


NEXT TIME:

For the first two dances they are a prime example of anything and everything that can go wrong, of how coordination can get so perfectly fucked-up.

They exchange a look. Volumes can be spoken in just one look.

Basically, it goes something like:

"...Who died and made you Queen?"

"You. Now shaddup and listen.