Loquacious

"You are a loquacious, meddling, impudent woman."

That's what she told me. This kid had the nerve to tell me what she thought I was, using words that I didn't even understand.

"I don't like it," she stated bluntly.

Well, from your tone of voice and the expression on your face, I figured that much.

She reached up to pat down her hair. Force of habit. It was up in those familiar brown pigtails, no different from the last time I saw her. Did she ever take it down? How about to bathe? Who put it up for her in the first place? There was no way she did it herself. They were so even and perfectly put up that it was offensive. Did she realize this? Her mother must have helped her with-

"You see? Loquacious. You talk too much and you ask too many questions," she scolded.

I was asking out loud?

"Yeah. You were."

There I went, again. Mixing thoughts with spoken words.

Maybe that's why people give me weird looks sometimes? I must always talk to myself.

"Yeah, you do. Didja know that talking to yourself is considered the first sign of insanity?" she questioned, acting smart.

"Not true. Arguing with yourself is the first sign," I replied.

She let out a huffed sigh, and turned away from me, "Whatever, know-it-all."

I snorted. What a brat this girl was. She had some serious nerve. I was like, fifteen whole years older than her, and probably a thousand times smarter. She was just a kid, what right did she even have to tell me where my flaws were?

"Even if you're whispering to yourself, I can still hear you," She said.

Gah, I was thinking aloud again? I really had to sort myself out.

"I hate you, I don't understand why you're the one who's gotta be my babysitter. You're awful, disheartening, and just plain gross. To make matters worse, you chantpleure each and every time you sing. Or that's what it sounds like, anyways. Your voice is all choppy and uneven," she insulted me shamelessly.

"Chantpleure? What is that, some sort of wild animal? If you keep saying such nasty things, I swear, kid, I'll tell your mom that you were bad. Do you know what that means?"

"No dessert after dinner for me. Of course I know what it means."

"And you don't care?"

"Sure I care. But I'm not going to drop my right of free speech just for a slice of apple pie."

This. Little. Brat. Doesn't she know what I could do to her?

Did she even understand what free speech was? I don't think I even did, not completely.

She was silent for a moment, with her back still turned to me. She grumbled something I couldn't make out and then said, "I'm gonna go have a tea party. Don't follow me."

Like I would want follow you. But I have to; I'm supposed to watch you. The last time you were alone, your mom said you cut shapes out of the curtains and made a collage with them.

Even if I was talking aloud to myself now, which I probably was, she was too far away now to hear me. She had already wandered into her bedroom, and was probably sitting at that little wooden table, maybe adjusting the tablecloth and positioning her stuffed animals around it.

Of course I had to follow her. It was my job.

As I entered her girly bedroom, she glared at me, narrowing those big brown eyes. She wasn't very intimidating, though, to tell the truth.

"I told you not to follow me, Lily!" She actually looked pretty ticked off. How melodramatic. I can't say I didn't feel sudden sympathy for this girl. If I wasn't the one to babysit her, maybe she would actually have someone watching her who she liked. Maybe they could become friends.

Suddenly several thoughts ran through my mind.

This girl, with her rich family and protective parents, had no companions her own age. She was homeschooled. Her parents figured it would be best. But because they were so busy, her parents, I mean, they barely ever took her out of the house. And they disliked it when one of her many past babysitters would take her outside.

So, this girl, she never went out on the town. She never played with other kids her age. Her closest friends were her stuffed animals and toys.

In a way, I guess you could say I felt a little sympathetic towards her. My parents let me go to school, sure, but they were strict and never let me go out with my friends. All of the ways they restricted me made me powerless, so to make up for it I'd go out of my way to stay out late and do stupid things. The stupid things became habits, and I'd really messed myself up.

It was seriously a wonder that this kid's parents had even hired me.

Anyways, the only difference between us was that Yuki's parents only wanted what was best for her.

My parents, on the other hand, they wanted me to simply grow up and become one of society's "robots", working hard to make as much money as possible, starting a family, living life in that routine way that I wanted to break free from. I also think they wanted a son, instead of a daughter, to tell you the truth.

How melodramatic.

"We're not the same at all. You're a big lummox, and I hate you."

I had been talking out loud, again. What was wrong with me?

I sighed. "Maybe we're not the same, I guess. And I don't know what a lummox is. Why do you keep using all these big words, anyways?" I asked her, now feeling sort of desperate.

"Because I'm smarter than you. And a lummox is a big, stupid, clumsy person."

"Ahh. Alright."

I had a bit more patience now that I'd thought about our similarities. I felt like I could understand the things that ran through her head, and the reasons for her totally rude actions.

She just sat there, drilling a hole through my skull with those huge brown eyes. Her her toys, seated around the table, slumped in their seats lifeless and limp. If there hadn't been a huge window that filled the room with sunlight, I might have said that it was the loneliest place in the world.

"Hey, maybe I could have a tea party with you?"

"No," She replied instantly.

Flat out denied.

"Only polite and tasteful people can have tea parties," She explained.

I'm not either of those?

She continued to glare at me skeptically. "Absolutely not!"

"Well then, would you teach me how to be polite and tasteful?" I was trying my best to be friendly, praying that my efforts wouldn't be in vain.

"It's, well, I…" She paused, thoughtfully.

"Show me how."

"Well, first off, a tasteful person would never remind their hostess of that embarrassing time when they cut shapes in the curtains. I got scolded really bad for that, I don't wanna remember it."

"Alright, I'll never speak of it again," I didn't even know she had heard me when I mentioned it. "But, you learned from your mistakes that time, right?"

"I did."

"Good," I crossed my arms and nodded. "What else does a polite and tasteful person do?"

"They have a seat and drink tea."

"Alright then, I will. Thank you."

"You're not so bad." She shifted her feet under the table. "You're still pretty loquacious, though, I'm sure of it."

"What does that mean, anyways?"

She shook her head. "Never mind it. Just drink your tea."

"Okay," I did as she said. I was done fighting with her.

We sat there in those tiny chairs at that tiny table, sipping imaginary tea from plastic cups for a pretty long time. Neither of us spoke, but I noticed when her expression lost some of its harshness.

Then she looked down and away from me. "Hey, Lily?"

"Yeah, Yuki?"

"You might not be so bad," She said quickly, "But you shouldn't talk to yourself. You seem crazy."

"Thanks. I'll try to keep my thoughts inside my head from now on." I really was going to take her advice.

"You can talk to yourself sometimes, just as long as you don't argue with yourself. Arguing with yourself is the first sign of insanity."

"Is it?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.

"Mhmm." She nodded smugly.

"I wonder where you learned that!"

She tried to hide a smile, but she wasn't good at keeping a poker face.

And then I realized that I was smiling too.

Maybe being this kid's babysitter wasn't gonna be so bad.

One of my headcanons for Yuki is that she learns huge words and then throws them out into conversation without even using them completely correctly. And then, one of my headcanons for Lily is that she gets really flustered when people say or do things she doesn't understand. And thus, this one-shot was born, probably.

Honestly, I can't recall if that was my inspiration for this. It was sitting in a folder of stories that I figured I'd never submit for various reasons, but since I have nothing else to upload right now, I guessed I might as well put this up. This was really just me experimenting with dialog, and I'm not sure if I did well? Ah, it's not like it really matters.

Well, I'd better get back to writing stuff that's relevant. Review if you'd like.

Meimei