Smile
My name is Sara Scinner. I'm five feet, five inches and about 130 pounds. Maybe I weight a little more, I dunno. I've gone to a lot of parties in the recent, and probably gained some flab around my tummy from drinking all those pina coladas. (Virgin ones, mind you, 'cause I don't drink, no siree, I'm a good girl.)
I'm a rather…random person. Crazy? Nah. Random and crazy aren't always interchangeable, y'know. When I say random, I mean that, well, I don't expect there to be any unhappy people fifty meters away from the spot where I'm standing. They say misery loves company, but I say that's some screwed up company you've got there. I want people to be happy. I want them to laugh.
If Jaden has "Get your game on!", Chazz has his retarded "Chazz it up!", and Aster has "You can't hide from destiny", then my catch phrase is definitely "Laughter can help prevent cancer!"
(…it can too.)
I've met a lot of miserable people on my road to dueling comedian stardom—Chazz and his big brother issues, Syrus and his self-confidence issues, Aster and his revenge issues—but I will tell you that they don't hold a candle next to this one guy: Zane Truesdale.
I mean, wow is that guy Depressed with a capital D. Getting your ass whupped by some kid in nappies would do a number on anyone, but, uh, going completely dark is kinda crossing the boundary. I feel like it's my job to cheer him up. So I baked him something. What you ask? You'll see what.
Zane is not exactly an easy buddy to look for. I mean, he's sure as hell effortless to spot with the naked eye with all that black industrial epoxy-soaked leather, but seeing as the island is so large, I seem to keep missing the guy by an eighth of meter. I ask people too, y'know, whether they've seen him or not, but am only rewarded by chary looks and long, incoherent strings of 'umms' and 'errs'. Big help they were. (Sarcasm.)
Still. I'm a persistent gal, and I search the whole island before finally finding the fruitloop taking a break from torturing duelists and relaxing in the outskirts of the Ra Yellow dorms.
"Uh…Zane?"
He looks up at me. Hurray for indifference! I wait for him to say something in acknowledgment. A curt 'what'. A nod. Even a monosyllabic grunt is good enough for me.
After a few seconds and no response, I realize Zane Truesdale is not one for wasted movements. He knows I'm here. I know he's here. I already greeted him, plus he's acknowledged my existence with his eyes as I am standing in plain view sight of the guy.
I tot up to him with my gift (package, not a gift, just a package, yes, package) bouncing on the palms of my hands.
"…Professor Satyr had kitchen scraps left over from making curry, so me and my friends made some fun food. Uh…we have some extra left, and Silpheed doesn't like strawberries and I'm on a diet," I stop myself before I accidentally say, 'So I decided maybe you'll like them' because that's a terribly obvious excuse and my pride won't let me live it down if I utter such nonsensical words.
He closes his eyes and turns away. "Leave me alone, girl," he says coldly.
The nerve of him!
"Look, Captain Sunshine!" I shout back, stamping my foot. "I can't stand to see you in so much pain. I mean, really. Aster's dad may be dead but you're the emo kid of the Pro-leagues! Quit being all moping and sad and go do something with your life!"
He has an expression that just screams 'What is the meaning of this?!' with added foul language and nasty insults in the subtext. Sheesh-la-freaking-weez.
I pause. He continues to stare at me with a slightly slacken jaw. I give him a pout and set the gif—package on a rock next to him. Then I set my hands on my hips and scowl.
"I expect you to eat it—not step on it or—or—whatever! It'll make you happier!" I demand. Another pause. My anger turns into sheepishness as I rub the back of my head. "...oh, and Silpheed is my cockatoo if you were confused," I mutter with a sweatdrop rolling down.
Then I tot away, disappearing into the bushes without so much as a goodbye.
(...the quality of my futility has reached new depths.)
After a few minutes of mentally reprimanding myself for acting like a total retard, I spy on Zane to see if he actually listened to me or not. I watch him inspect the package before unwrapping it and seeing the plump white Strawberry Daifuku in all its powdery glory. Then he takes one, takes a bite out of it thoughtfully, and then notes the bean paste-coated strawberry with a slightly raised eyebrow. He looks at the direction of which I left.
"Hmph," he gives his famous monosyllabic grunt and finishes the rest of the cake before starting another one.
From behind the bushes, I smile.
