A/N: So after a few months of hunting for writing inspiration, I found it in the American Horror Story section of this website and thus, make my AHS debut. It was a matter of time, given the nature of my other fics. This is mildly AU in the sense that 1) Violet is in it, the fine piece of human she is, 2) Zoe never killed anyone, both girls attend the school out of free will, as does Kyle, who I will introduce is the person as I think he should've been, and 3) Violet (obviously) moved out of the Murder House and survived, even if the trip made her mildly OOC and slightly more lethal than her original portrayal. But still Violet. As a side note, the character listed above every section is the central focus of that section, but I don't feel as though first person would suit this story very well. Tuck in, my loves.
Zoe Benson
They were always going to be best friends. Even Zoe, who usually struggled in that particular department of human interaction, understood her connection with Violet. The older girl sped them across the highway in her powdery blue Cadillac, top down, wind in their hair, cigarette being passed between them at regular intervals. And that was exactly who they were, right there. Always breaking at least three laws to the heavy chaos of Nirvana at seriously uncomfortable volumes. Zoe may have been the shy one of the dynamic duo, but that didn't mean the girl couldn't kick it with the best of them. The best of them being Violet, she realised with an internal sigh as her friend took another swig from her off-silver flask and rested her hand on the wheel that was steering them to their new school. Violet always had to be more badass than the rebel posers at the shit-hole they used to call a place for education. Always had older, more obscure vinyls. Always dressed grungier, punched harder, joked dirtier, smoked more and drank more, if that were possible among their kind of crowd.
The kids at Westfield, Zoe had decided, were nice enough. They just didn't happen to be very interesting. She was just glad to have caught the ride along on the tidal wave that was her best friend. They continued like that until reaching the neighbourhood of their destination, belting lyrics to songs nobody else knew, sharing a smoke and thinking of bad puns surrounding their darkest secret and greatest advantage – they were born into a long, long line of Salem witches. Their families had been intertwined like affectionate trees across centuries. Generations and generations of friends, shared clothes, shared secrets, shared bottles of nameless whatever to keep the vulnerability away.
The sun was high in the sky when Violet slid them crookedly into a parking space (more like two, after all that flask-sipping. Zoe really had to ask whatever it was her fellow witch was always drinking). She was buzzed, that much Zoe could tell. Violet was practically bouncing across the gravel, the long trail of her lacy black dress flowing behind her in the breeze while Zoe took lots of tiny steps to keep up with her, clutching an enormous overnight Chanel bag her parents had insisted she buy to 'keep with the family standards, as opposed to whatever awful gothic middle-class nonsense that friend of hers had been covering her with.'
There was a bronze plaque on top of the gates proudly stating 'Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies' and whatever the undoubtedly awe-inspiring Latin motto was. But the academy itself was, for lack of better adjectives, colossal; it looked like it was deeply haunted and in need of a serious décor update from this century. Just the way they liked it. She raised her delicate wrist use the knocker on the imposingly large and heavy white doors with polished brass knobs, but Violet just kicked it open with an air of slight annoyance, luggage in both hands swinging, like she'd lived there for years and forgotten her keys again. A crooked smile pulled at Zoe's mouth, because that was typical Violet, really. Saying she'd take the house she'd lived in like her parents weren't even there. Falling in love with murderers. Driving the fuck out of that house with all her belongings stuffed in the trunk on Halloween when she realised that everyone she loved was dead or halfway there, drowning reality in the bottom of glass bottles and carefully separated lines of cocaine on hotel coffee tables. And finally, striding onto their new boarding school grounds like she owned the goddamn place. But it was a beautiful building, no less lonely and lacking of any real colour than they had wanted it be. The main hall was full of sharp white furniture, silver photo frames of stern-looking women they didn't know yet, chandeliers more expensive than a small house and – three girls in African voodoo ritual masks and black robes that draped to the floor. Stalking towards them, silent and inevitable like death itself. Zoe's heart nearly stopped as Violet dropped everything and yelled "Hey!" They kept walking, unaffected.
"You bitches can go mess with someone else. We might be the new kids, but that doesn't mean I won't wipe the floor with your sorry asses."
They didn't seem to hear her as the girls suddenly realised that they could no longer utilise the ability of speech. To make any noise at all. The masked ones pinned them down to the table, silent, and pressed a large sickle to Zoe's throat. She drew in a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes shut, willing them to just sacrifice her or whatever already, when they took off their masks to reveal beautiful, shining faces and burst out laughing. Their unmasked persons revealed one huge blonde ego, one small brunette troublemaker and two hundred pounds of sass in glossy ebony skin beside them. Violet immediately slid off the table less than gracefully, knees thudding the floor before hauling herself up, giving them the death stare.
"That... that..." she panted, "that was just unfair. You can't just... you can't mute people like that, you can't."
They still weren't listening, whispering to each other, tears of mirth streaming down their faces. Finally the tall, leggy blonde stepped out in her shiny Jimmy Choo stilettos and offered her perfectly manicured hand. "I'm Madison," she stated, nose in the air like she was accepting the fact that yes, her name was Madison, Madison Montgomery, and yes, she was a goddamn movie star. Violet hated her already, but Zoe just smiled a little smile out of the polite wish to not antagonise the person with the power to make their tongues a humble piece of meat and shook the extended hand, choosing to ignore Violet's glare burning a hole in her own loose black satin dress.
"I'm Zoe Benson," she mumbled half-heartedly, stepping back to the safety zone by her best friend's side.
"Yeah," the older witch spat, "and I'm Violet Harmon. Surprise, motherfucker, you've got a Harmon legacy in your little haunted mansion. Go tell that to your fancy-ass Priestess."
And with that, she spun on her heel and dragged Zoe with her, who shuffled behind reluctantly. "Violet, that wasn't nice," she reminded her friend softly, and after receiving a big eye-roll in response, she smiled apologetically at Madison Montgomery and the girls standing beside her. The blonde waved it off with a matching eye-roll and gestured at the stairs with an irritated expression.
The cause for irritation was quite simple. It wasn't actually that Madison hadn't managed to get the last word, or that she was pissed off by the mere sight of a nervous Zoe, it was the fact that she knew exactly what having a Harmon meant. She wasn't going to be the star anymore. That alone made her huff with jealousy when she stomped idly up to Cordelia's office and bluntly informed her that the new students had arrived. To her internal dismay, Mrs. Foxx jumped up in delight, pushing her flowing blonde hair over one shoulder and smiled as she made her way down the stairs with a strongly disillusioned Madison by her side. The crackpot bitch was never that excited for us, she though bitterly.
"We're so glad to have another Harmon in our house. Your great-great-grandmother was one of the founding members of the Salem Coven," Cordelia said brightly, shaking Violet's hand with enough exuberance to jolt the dead back to life. The beginner witch grinned at that thought; ironic, considering the nature of the headmistress' work.
"And I'm sure you're a lovely and very talented young lady," Cordelia continued with a professional smile, shaking Zoe's hand with remarkably less enthusiasm, but politely nonetheless. That was how it always was. Wow Violet, look at Violet, hey everyone it's Violet! Unwittingly grabbing the centre of attention anywhere and everywhere. Not anymore she isn't, Zoe decided bitterly, grinding her teeth. Not anymore.