Chapter 1

A short Introduction of what it is to be…. "Nickiful"

(A/N) I have COMPLETELY redone this chapter from nearly stratch... well actually I kept alot of things, so there might be a slight stench of mary-sue ,but the mean spiritness of Nicky shines through pretty well, as does the explaination as to why she is the way she is; As per request and the fact I kinda wanted to do it anyways! :D

Trust me, the story will get better as it progresses.

You will all be now reintroduced to our dear rough and tumble"heroine", Nicky, whose questionable, yet strict moral code overrules all other judgements, and whose potty mouth would not only put a sailor to shame but also may make you want to wash out YOUR own mouth with soap. Warning: If you do not curse or swear, you WILL lose your innocence by reading this story.

Disclamier: I Do NOT own Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion or any of the characters in this fanfiction with the exception of those I made up including but not pertaining to Nicole Ballard.

I stood in front of my bathroom's mirror, my bright green eyes were fixated on the image before me. That image being... Me... of course.

If this wasn't the best day of my life, I'd would say I'm pretty pissed off right now.

Of course, most days I'm pissed off. But right now I'm like... REALLY pissed off. Or at least frustrated...

'Oh Come ON!' I thought as a grunt of pain escaped my mouth. I was currently inflicting horrible torture upon myself. I was actually doing my hair.

"Almost... Got it..." I continued to grunt and mumble as I moved the rebellious strand of hair into its place. I've never been good with hair, or anything that "girly" for that matter. I lightly sprayed my messy bun with hair spray and put a few more bobby pins (which caused me to break into to a new, fresh chorus of "ouches", I might add) into it to keep it intact. My dark brown hair was long, thick, shiny, and naturally wavy with not so natural (but natural looking) caramel highlights. Sounds nice right?

Well I suppose it is, but you see, thick, wolf-like hair is a royal bitch for a tomboy like me; who couldn't (Or want to) figure out to use a goddamn flat iron until age thirteen! Which, by the way, is absolutely necessary for me to use EVERY. GOD. DAMN. DAY. because my wondrous hair is frizzy even if I take the extra hour of my schedule to dry it. Then again, that's probably because I'm sure there's some "magical trick" to the using a hairdryer and one of those... spiky rolly brushes of pain... which I have yet to figure out.

You know what I don't get? Its called a "MESSY BUN" and yet I have actually to put so much damn effort into it to make it look "good". While your average teenage girl can accomplish what I did in like, five seconds. Meanwhile I'm on the verge of jumping up and down, screaming like a banshee and ripping my hair out in pure rage... Perhaps a more accurate description would be that of a spoiled, rotten, two year old throwing a temper tantrum after being told something they could not do.

I pushed my wispy bangs a little more to the right and sprayed a bit of hair spray for good measure before taking a small step back to fully inspect myself. Just like every day, there I was. My face had a clear complexion (Though admittedly, if I did not use masque every day, then an ugly little army of blackheads would inhabit the skin on my nose) and my Mediterranean descent, which also gave me an very light, but olive tone of skin, allowed me to get a tan easily without turning into a lobster. And WITHOUT having to make heavy usage of sun block too. I was about 5'5. which is technically average height, and I knew allot of chicks shorter than me. But to be honest, I totally felt short half the time. And then there was my smile. You know, the one I almost never wear in public... unless I'm mocking someone. I fully believe my parents when they say I have my father's smile, but my mother's scowl. It doesn't take three guesses to figure out which one was dominant. I was very lucky with a capitol "L". Unlike my siblings who suffered their childhoods getting teeth pulled and braces equipped and removed; I had perfect teeth. Too bad they'll never be the unnatural bleached white as a celebrities no matter how hard or many times a day I brush. And finally there was my weight. I was thinner than most girls and if you asked them why, they'd say I must be anorexic or something. Of course, if you'd ask me I'd say they're just fat, jealous whores.

I eat what I want when I want. No time for breakfast? Why not grab a pop tart or hell, even a handful of chocolate chips. Not hungry at lunch? Don't eat. Feeling peckish half an hour later? Oh. I think that raw tomato in the fridge will make a great snack. No dinner again? Hey, grab some carrots, and maybe heat up that big slab of leftover steak your dad brought back from his romantic dinner with mom. He won't miss a few chucks of it. Thirsty? Wash it down with some milk. Does that honestly sound like a super model's diet plan to you? Hell, my doctor says my weight is average, and that I should either A) focus on maintaining it or B) Actually LOSE ten pounds for good measure. Honestly, I'm not too worried. I do not eat three square meals a day, I simply snack all day as I please, which at times, can be a feast or next to nothing. My light scavenger's diet is the result of the absence of even a concept of a family dinner in my household. With the exception of thanksgiving, NO ONE in my family cooked or ate at a table at the same time. It's not that my parents don't love me or my siblings. They just don't love us enough to feed us. Which is fine by me, considering I have ALWAYS been extremely independent. As long as they bring back groceries for me to snack on, I'll survive.

It was no secret I was pretty too.

"Perfect." I stated admiring my reflection once more. A smirk of self-vanity crawled onto my face and I began stuffing bathroom products and jewelry into my purse.

I mean, I had gotten a call from a modeling agency for crying out loud! Not that I could ever, EVER do modeling. Firstly, its too boring. Secondly, the high end, most infamous part of modeling requires me to be about three inches taller (DAMN YOU SHORT GENES!), and thirdly but most importantly; IT. WAS. FOR. SISSIES. I probably could, and would do commercial modeling though... Which, by the way, actually makes more money. AND you get to be on T.V. Hell, people who are drop dead gorgeous but just have an interesting face and/or voice do it all the time. But it also TAKES alot of money to start doing n the first place, and despite my parent's high paid professions in law and business, we were not rich.

All the same I was far superior to everyone else! I had always been more intelligent and now I was more attractive too! And I -

I paused in my thinking, staring at myself again, but in surprise. When did it come to this?

When had I become such a vain little witch?

Honestly, vainity isn't such a bad thing. Nor is pride. And I carry both of those aspects. I mean, if you met a gorgeous person who told you they thought they were ugly either to pretend humility or because they're self-esteem was just that low wouldn't you roll your eyes in disgust and want to walk away? What? You don't believe it's possible for anyone to be intelligent and good looking? Cause they're people who are. I'm not saying I'm a super genius or anything and God knows I couldn't do basic algebra to save my life. But, isn't it better to think of one's self in an arrogant yet positive light instead of crying in a corner and hating yourself. For fuck's sake! I am practically a pessimist compared to most people, but the realism is that if you mope around and don't take action the shit storm is only gonna get worse. I should know.

I always had a sassy flair mixed with an explosive temper in my personality from the very day of my birth. I have completely inherited my mother's personality. Her personality had been passed down from her father through generations of boys, but then it choose to transfer to the female side. Now don't get me wrong, my gramps was the GREATEST man to have EVER walked this good earth... at least in my eyes. But I'm sure he'd disagree. Mind you, I admired him for qualities which he was very proud, yet also very ashamed of. Grandpa was the kind of guy, who if he had a problem with you, he'd take a baseball bat to your face. Grandpa didn't take shit from anybody. Grandpa was a giant of man at nearly seven feet tall. And if you know ANYTHING of ANYTHING about the character of "dirty harry" you would know the kind of guy grandpa. My grandfather was the real life dirty harry. And for that, dirty harry will always be one of my most favorite heroes of all time.

And yet he was a real sweetheart. Sitting me up in his lap and feeding me sweets. Hugging me, and tickling me until I fell into a submission of giggles. And of course there were the video games. Grandpa introduced my little, naturally feisty and overly imaginative mind into a world where I could be the greatest hero ever; and my little, once somewhat sweet, mind was warped forever. It started with Spryo the Dragon at age five. And that's when school began. At first everything was alright. I was naturally shy though and didn't like too much interaction. Still, I was young, naive, and eager for friendship. I sat down with the other girls. But their talk of barbie dolls bored me into daydreams. One day, I remember, I tried to join into the conversation, and brought up Spryo. They all just stared at me, turned and then began talking with one another. Now, I am still a quiet, introverted person. I dislike, if not despise, being in the spotlight unlike most people who hog it. But to this day, if I actually decide to say something for once you stupid snobs better damn well NOT IGNORE ME! Eventually I just got up and left.

Yeah, I hate people. Especially other chicks.

I moved to the boys table. At first, there was some light resistance from the boys who wanted a girl out of their "party." That resistance was not tolerable and thus was quickly crushed after my five year self identified the lead "rebel" (Who had called me a sissy girl) and made a point to call him and I quote "A butt breathed poo head pansy". This insult was then swiftly followed by my tiny, adorable baby fist smashing into his face. The boy, of course, left school that day with a bloody nose and black eye. While I simply went "HUMPH!" and threw my head up indigently while pouting before being dragged away my teacher to be put into the infamous timeout corner. The next day, my presence at the boys table was unquestioned. Although, every once in a while a guy (usually a newer kid) would pop off, and I would have to put him in his place. But it didn't take too long for them to warm up to me. All of us would sing "Boys rule, girls drool except for Nick." Nick. That's what the boys called me. I was a girl, but I was an alpha male. The best part was they played video games. And as we aged, halo became the next big thing on our important agenda. And you know what, I was pretty good. I could beat all of the guys at one point. And the girls, hated me. I did not practice hair, or gossip, or even wear matching clothes. I was different. And that. That made me a target.

But then at middle school they changed. Suddenly no one was screaming "Cootie Face" at the girls on the playground anymore. They actually liked those attention grabbing parasitic snobs. Which screwed my life over. Let's face it. I wasn't a pretty girl. I was a boy. I had dirt all over me constantly. Short, chin length hair with thick bangs that covered my eyes like a shaggy mutt. I was scrawny, and puny. I never brushed my hair, so it frizzed out. Purple glasses hung at the end of my nose. I was losing my eye sight thanks to too many hours in front of the T.V. And while most of the girls had braces and I had perfect teeth, they were blossoming while I was stuck with a little girl's body and had a unibrow!

YES, I ADMIT IT! I HAD A F-U-C-K-I-N-G UNIBROW!

And they took pleasure in reminding of the fact every shitty day. Now I might have had temper issues even then, but I was still innocent... sweet even though I scowled back then. Believe it or not, a curse word, at that age, never even entered my pea brain, even though my fellow students freely indulged in using them. So when I suddenly found myself friendless, betrayed, and bitterly wandering the hallways, disconnected with the entire world and hearing those evil whispers exchanged between those whores as they pointed and laughed, mocking me; you'd better believe I actually took it all for face value. I mean, I WAS ugly now wasn't I? And the early stages of hormones didn't help me at that awkward age either. I remember going home, locking myself in my room and just crying myself to sleep, wishing that I was never born. I flat out hated myself.

But you know what I decided then? Fuck them. Mind you, the shame I felt was so immense I still walked around looking at my feet, intimated by the crowds of people. From the young, devious, but giggly girl I had become a silent, grim, ever scowling shadow. Who simply moved from classroom to classroom as quickly as possible. The teachers were typically fond of me, as because I did not have a social life, I was able to actually do their homework and seemed to be much more well-rounded student. In fact, I was so polite compared to my obnoxious, stupid classmates, my math teacher who was well known to be a hard ass grader willing let a few of my incorrect answers escape his hawk eyed gaze. I wasn't a kiss-ass. But that didn't stop the others from accusing me of being a teacher's pet. As much I would like to say it didn't hurt, it did. Alot. It reminded me that no matter how invisible I tried to be, I was a butt-ugly nerd who escape reality by channeling my rage into the virtual world. Who could ever like me? And all the rage, stress, and sadness crashed around me trying to break me... It didn't matter if I acted nice, polite, had better comebacks, or flat out ignored them. They made their judgement. Hell, any kindness I tried to show to my former guy friends, helping them with their History or English papers was met with more bullying. Kindness is a weakness which will kill those in deadly environment. Frankly, I didn't know what to do; I was too old to start fights in school now without getting suspended. And my dominance seeking heart writhed as I let them bully me. I let them get to me. That made me a victim.

One day, I lost my temper. The stupidest whore of a girl to ever walk the earth was right there, mocking me in the locker room for being a flat chested, ugly, nerd. And when I say whore, I mean it was no rumor that this middle school child had an abortion that year. Susan Flinken, the most popular chick in school. A strawberry redhead whose body was and still is far too advanced. To be honest she was fat. Not tomato, round fat. But clearly her huge boobs and big ass which seemed attractive to guys then, and even now, are a sign of more weight to come. I'll be shocked if the girl doesn't have at least one STD now. Anyway, the stupid bitch thought I was just going to passively walk away again. I was shaking with rage and nervousness. Why the fuck couldn't she just leave me alone?

I regret not throwing a haymaker.

But I did wrap my leg around hers and push her. Her fat ass dropped backwards to the floor like a rock. But because I didn't hurt her enough. Because I was visibly shaking with stress. And because I chose to stare her down, she ran off to tell the teacher on me, laughing the whole way about getting little miss "goody goody" in trouble. Luckily, I did not get in trouble due to her history of bullying. But the rest of my last year wasn't exactly any easier for me.

Each day I prayed that a bolt of lightening would shoot down to smite those betrayers and sluts. And sometimes I wished it would just hit me instead. Life, after all, is full of people like them .But no, putting me down then would be far, FAR, too humane for somebody like me.

And I had my day of victorious return yet to come. To show those shallow, brainless, shitless cowards what happens to losers like them. To show them how much payback can really be the biggest bitch.

After three years of middle school hell on earth, summer came and I decided to stop being a little victim. A brush, new clothes, some contacts, a little makeup, a flat iron, and a good waxing and suddenly I wasn't ugly.

All those painful years, and I had merely been homely this whole time. But now I was a drop dead gorgeous siren. I couldn't even recognize myself. And when high school started, neither could anyone else. I didn't walk into school with my head down, but with a confident, cold stride. Boys, even those traitors, started making up the stupidest reasons to talk to me...

One of them, Kyle, dropped his pen and asked if I had an extra. When I said no and tried to get back to work, he tried to "recover" by starting a conversation with me. He talked, with the biggest, most annoying grin on his face about rumors circulating the school, completely oblivious to my disinterest in what he had to say until...

"OH! I heard that nerdy girl Nicole Ballard moved; She's not at school today."

"I am Nicole Ballard, you dipshit."

I got two words for you. Dumb. Ass.

Needless to say. The horny freak actually laughed and then proceed to tell me "You're not Nicole Ballard, Nicole was an ugly dog" as though I was stupid! Luckily my boat came in. The teacher left the room, and I was given full free usage of the sharp tongue I love so much. Let's just say I humiliated the boy quickly and without mercy. He was ugly and fat and I told him; Who was he to judge me? No guy likes a pretty chick turning them down. They don't expect it either. See, most chick literally NEED to have a boy interested in them at all times. For girls, guys are like money; a good boyfriend makes your life so much more interesting. And for guys, girls mean sex. Get the picture?

On a side note, I did actually punch Susan and made her cry during freshman year, but that's a story for another time.

Most girls do not like being self reliant. But I do. So, really, they were playing with a wild card. And they lost. Sure I didn't get into fist fights anymore. But I finally knew enough of female "politics" to destroy nearly any one's "confidence". Not that they had much anyways.

Kiddies, listen to your mommies and daddies. Popular kids are the biggest, most insecure losers on the block in the end. Now repeat after Aunty Nicole.

Those who hold such meaningless "power" over others think too highly of themselves while the "outcasts" are born mostly of those who do not give themselves enough credit.

So what if I'm vain? So what if I'm mean? Assholes deserve everything back tenfold, if you ask me. Making peoples' lives fucking miserable like that for viewing pleasure! Sick bastards.

I know I'd been getting to them too. Susan would twitch and avoid eye contact when we were alone in a hallway or lunch line together. Something I NEVER did even when I was alone and she had her entire gaggle with her.

Yeah, I know sometimes I think those same mean thoughts about nice people. And that's wrong of me. But I never act on it or pick on the weak. I know its horrible, but thinking mean thoughts about nice people is a small sacrifice to pay for the confidence I now posses which people would kill for. And besides, it's not my fault. THEY unleashed the monster.

The monster which ushered in a completely new life for me.

Perhaps I should send a thank you card to Susan and her gang.

Of course, I was swarmed with stalkers. You'd think for all my bragging I would get a boyfriend. Truth be told. I only went on one date. I'm picky with guys. And easily bored. The most annoying question to ask is "Who do you like?"

No one.

Nobody would ever believe me when I said those two words, but I say what I mean. Most of the time, I did not have a crush.. And any crush I did have wore away by the end of the week.

So I didn't find a boyfriend. But I DID find a friend. Diane Swane is my blond haired partner in crime. She is my kindred spirit. And, typically, had the same views and hobbies as me. We developed a close and rapid friendship over our common hatred of certain teachers, fellow students, and the stupidity of the world in general.

She was like a nicer version of me who could actually cook. And so we went and we played paintball and video games together. Two "crazy" chicks who open mocked and laughed at others...

Too bad she moved before Senior year.

I shook my head, breaking the internal bittersweet walk down memory lane. Now's not the time to think of such things. It'll only get myself worked up again. Today was a good day too.

I reached inside my smooth, black purse and pulled out a long strip of paper. The words on it were perfect. Typed, of course. I held the plane ticket up to the light rereading the destination stated on it for the millionth time. I stared intensely at it as though to light it on fire. I still couldn't believe this was real. It read "London."

Besides video games, I had another loved interest which was just as nerdy. I was a complete history nut. Ancient history, really. I loved reading accounts of battles mostly. The weapons, the strategy, even the quirks of the generals. It was so fascinating.

I also was in love with the idea of traveling aboard. I wanted to see new places, new people, go on constant adventures; not waste away in some office here. I wanted to be the one to dig up Viking ships and Roman Statues. I wanted to be an Archaeologist. And now, I was going to the college of my dreams to fulfill that desire.

Just admit it. You really decided to be an Archaeologist because you want to be a female Indiana Jones. I slipped the ticket back into my purse. My inner me was right, I probably was particually inspired by naiive daydreams inspired by movies and videogames. I reached for a slender bottle of a clear liquid and began to spray a soft mist all over myself.

I consider myself very realistic when interpreting people. But if any innocence in me remains, it is to be found in my childish goals. Dreams, which I'm afraid I'll keep chasing forever. But was that really a bad thing?

I do swimming. I do surfing. I do karate. I do boxing. Believe it or not. I am not even remotely athletic.

Never have been.

Swimming? Did it my whole life, but not strong or fast.

Surfing? Yes, I know how to do it. But my home state of California isn't a giant beach despite popular notions. I've only been once or twice. And between you and me, I hate sharks with a passion...

Karate? Boxing? Just learned the basics. But I really want to continue them.

Video game nerds get bad rep because they waste their time away living in a fantasy world. And alot of the time, that's correct. But I love those adventures. Those superhuman things that one can do either only in a game or with immense real world training. I would give my left leg to be able to do one of the trials on the show Ninja Warrior. I wish I had started taking self defense classes earlier. I wish I was a master gymnast, soaring through the air like they were flying. Hell, I'd kill just to be in good shape.

I'll just have to continue to work out as hard as I can. I am not going to pretend to be someone else. I am proud to be the imperfect me. But I can always get better. I won't be happy unless I keep trying.

Perhaps another fault I think pursing activities can help me change was the fact that I am a klutz. There are times, when I go through a doorway, that my big, waterski of a foot hits the side and I stub a toe. In fact. It happens at least once a week. I could not even count the number of bruises I have from falling out of bed when my alarm goes off in the morning. I mean really. I can only hope that one day I'll land on my feet instead of on my ass.

Hmmmmm... I smell... Vanilla? OH SHIT!

In my deep thinking I had been spraying myself with vanilla scented perfume. Once again, I used far too much. I hacked and coughed, waving the toxic fumes away from my face. I could only hope the smell hadn't sunk too far into my clothes.

I was wearing a white blouse, and a dark navy blue jeans jacket which matched my skinny jeans. My favorite pair of sunglasses were carefully perched on top of my head. My pierced ears contained a set of matching, cubic zirconium earring studs. But around my neck I wore a simple, silver heart necklace which had a small diamond embedded in it. Another piece of jewelry, A silver, diamond studded wristwatch, was it's matching counterpart. Both were early birthday gifts I had gotten that morning from my parents to celebrate my 18th since I wouldn't be home to celebrate it with them. Probably the most expensive things I'd ever gotten in my entire life.

My plan was to travel Europe for a week, after getting a tour of the campus of my university of course. I was going to be greeted by a college representative as soon as I landed, and since first impressions are ever so important I had to look the part. Although I was worried that the 12 hour trip would take a heavy toll out of me. I had to look and act perfectly. I highly doubt that my greeter will that one in a million person who isn't a complete asshole.

"If you're done staring at yourself, I think we need to get going, your father already put your suitcase in the truck!" I nearly jumped a foot in the air at the sound of my mother's yelling. Oh, she knew me all too well. I sighed, picking up my last carry-ons; my laptop, minty green backpack, and my purse.

"Well, Nicky. Let's go meet destiny." I muttered barely holding back a broad grin of excitement.

Hello.

I am a nerd.

I am not athletic.

I am clumsy.

I am vain.

I am arrogant.

I am wrathful.

I am crude.

I am cynical.

I hate people...

And people hate me.

I am Nicole, Leah, Ballard.

Now kindly fuck off. I have a plane to catch.