Disclaimer: The basic plot for this story is my idea, however The Fairly OddParents and all characters involved belong to Butch Hartman.
Chapter One-- "Movin' Out"
Ah, the liberating sound of the final bell--music to the ears of bored students and exhausted teachers alike--hailed the arrival of three o'clock. What a beautiful sound and time of day! The children hurriedly rushed out of classroom 44, never once looking back and why should they? The only thing that remained in the room was their crazy, fairy-obsessed 5th grade school teacher and he was hardly worth a glance at any time of the day, let alone three o'clock.
Another long day of teaching, hunting fairies, and enduring incessant mockery has left the miserable Mr. Crocker of Dimmsdale Elementary feeling more miserable than he was when the day started, as well as physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. All he wanted now was to go home to the solitude of his room, lock out the world in which he had no place, and crash. Unfortunately, with his current living conditions, such a desire would most likely remain only a fantasy.
The minute he walked in the door of his house half an hour later, his mother was standing there, tapping her foot impatiently, arms folded across her chest as she glared up at her son over the rims of her glasses. Crocker could sense an argument brewing right away.
"All right," he sighed after a moment's hesitation, "What'd I do now?"
"How long has it been since you cleaned your room, Denzel?" his mother demanded in an icy tone.
Crocker cringed inwardly. He knew all too well the state his room was in--a state of total chaos. He just couldn't find time to straighten it up. There was never enough time to do anything. He had to spend the majority of his waking hours in the school and the few hours remaining afterward, he was determined to devote to his research. That was his routine and he wasn't about to change it simply to clean his room.
"I don't know how long it's been," he replied crossly, slinking past his mother.
"Don't you walk away from me, Denzel Crocker," his mother warned him, "You look at me right now, young man. You never do anything I ask of you and I'm sick of your defiance."
"I never do anything you ask of me?!" Crocker exploded, suddenly boiling with anger as he snapped around to face his mother, "What about modeling your stupid dresses? I despise doing it, but I'm at your disposal all the time, am I not?"
"You have yet to model a dress for me without grumbling and complaining," Mrs. Crocker retorted, then held up her latest gaudy garb, "Speaking of which, will you try this on for me?"
"Mother!" Crocker barked, "That is the ugliest, sorriest excuse for clothing I have ever had the displeasure of looking at! I wouldn't be caught dead in it!"
"See? There you go again!" his mother was quick to point out his protest.
"What?!"
"You're complaining! Just like you always do!"
"That was a setup!" Crocker hissed venomously, "You were planning to do that all along!"
"So will you try it on?" she asked hopefully, ignoring his accusations.
"Get a life!" Crocker snapped shortly.
"Why, I never!"
"You never will either," Crocker continued, "Because I'm moving out!"
That was enough to end the argument then and there. Mrs. Crocker was so stunned by her son's declaration of independence that she unconsciously dropped the dress on the floor, her mouth hanging open in shock.
Without looking back, Crocker tromped up to his room, intent on following through with his threat. In a short amount of time, he had his most important possessions boxed up and loaded into his van. He paused to survey the now empty room with the exception of the bed and the dresser in the corner.
"She can't say it isn't clean now," he muttered, turning on his heel, leaving the room, and slamming the door behind him.
Chapter One-- "Movin' Out"
Ah, the liberating sound of the final bell--music to the ears of bored students and exhausted teachers alike--hailed the arrival of three o'clock. What a beautiful sound and time of day! The children hurriedly rushed out of classroom 44, never once looking back and why should they? The only thing that remained in the room was their crazy, fairy-obsessed 5th grade school teacher and he was hardly worth a glance at any time of the day, let alone three o'clock.
Another long day of teaching, hunting fairies, and enduring incessant mockery has left the miserable Mr. Crocker of Dimmsdale Elementary feeling more miserable than he was when the day started, as well as physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. All he wanted now was to go home to the solitude of his room, lock out the world in which he had no place, and crash. Unfortunately, with his current living conditions, such a desire would most likely remain only a fantasy.
The minute he walked in the door of his house half an hour later, his mother was standing there, tapping her foot impatiently, arms folded across her chest as she glared up at her son over the rims of her glasses. Crocker could sense an argument brewing right away.
"All right," he sighed after a moment's hesitation, "What'd I do now?"
"How long has it been since you cleaned your room, Denzel?" his mother demanded in an icy tone.
Crocker cringed inwardly. He knew all too well the state his room was in--a state of total chaos. He just couldn't find time to straighten it up. There was never enough time to do anything. He had to spend the majority of his waking hours in the school and the few hours remaining afterward, he was determined to devote to his research. That was his routine and he wasn't about to change it simply to clean his room.
"I don't know how long it's been," he replied crossly, slinking past his mother.
"Don't you walk away from me, Denzel Crocker," his mother warned him, "You look at me right now, young man. You never do anything I ask of you and I'm sick of your defiance."
"I never do anything you ask of me?!" Crocker exploded, suddenly boiling with anger as he snapped around to face his mother, "What about modeling your stupid dresses? I despise doing it, but I'm at your disposal all the time, am I not?"
"You have yet to model a dress for me without grumbling and complaining," Mrs. Crocker retorted, then held up her latest gaudy garb, "Speaking of which, will you try this on for me?"
"Mother!" Crocker barked, "That is the ugliest, sorriest excuse for clothing I have ever had the displeasure of looking at! I wouldn't be caught dead in it!"
"See? There you go again!" his mother was quick to point out his protest.
"What?!"
"You're complaining! Just like you always do!"
"That was a setup!" Crocker hissed venomously, "You were planning to do that all along!"
"So will you try it on?" she asked hopefully, ignoring his accusations.
"Get a life!" Crocker snapped shortly.
"Why, I never!"
"You never will either," Crocker continued, "Because I'm moving out!"
That was enough to end the argument then and there. Mrs. Crocker was so stunned by her son's declaration of independence that she unconsciously dropped the dress on the floor, her mouth hanging open in shock.
Without looking back, Crocker tromped up to his room, intent on following through with his threat. In a short amount of time, he had his most important possessions boxed up and loaded into his van. He paused to survey the now empty room with the exception of the bed and the dresser in the corner.
"She can't say it isn't clean now," he muttered, turning on his heel, leaving the room, and slamming the door behind him.