Disclaimer: Disclaimed. What little that is recognizable is copyrighted by Tim Burton, Caroline Thompson, Fox and so on.
This woke Gothique first, as she was completely exposed. Edward ducked behind a preening cat bush as she sat up, clutching her head. After a few moments of blinking up at the sky, she stood, brushing her palms on her slacks. Then, Gothique began examining the lower torso of the girl under the bench. She nudged her bare leg with a foot, careful not to get shoe prints on her skirt.
"Hey," she said after coming to the conclusion that kicking her would overall be a bad idea to wake her. "Get up."
In response, the girl groaned and shifted about a bit, froze, then wiggled backwards. She got to her knees, then stood entirely, swaying a bit. Gothique leapt back as she weaved her scissors toward her accidentally. "Oops."
Before they could come around again, Gothique snatched the pair from her hands and dropped them on the ground. "Yeah, 'oops' when you maim me!"
"I think I have a concussion," the girl said smartly, raising her now free hand to the back of her head. Gothique took this moment to observe her more thoroughly. The rainwater was rapidly turning her honey locks into brown straggles, and she had a complexion no person in Suburbia had any right to have, almost the colour of milk. Now, Gothique thought that she safely fit the definition of a girly girl, but this person seemed the kin-- queen of that hill.
While she looked the girl over, the girl did the same to her. Only, her eyes seemed more focused on Gothique's chest. "Are those smiley faces?" she asked in a snooty voice. Gothique blushed and crossed her arms protectively over the now nearly transparent front of her shirt.
"Who are you?" she asked, instead.
The girl crossed her arms in a much more sardonic manner, somehow, and huffed as though giving out personal information to the common folk was a chore. "Matilda Hedera."
"I thought it was Henry?"
Matilda shook her weighted curls and knelt daintily to gather her scissors. "Everyone keeps --"
Gothique uncrossed her arms and peered down. "What?"
"There's a man on the other side of that bush."
Edward shifted from foot to foot, realizing he had been caught eavesdropping. He contemplated running, but also had the niggling urge to stay put and meet them. The short time spent with the Boggs had given him a longing for human contact, and while neither of these girls could compare to his Kim (not by a long shot), they both knew he was here already. In fact, he vaguely recalled seeing someone akin to Matilda here before.
While he was lost in musing, the girls took it upon themselves to choose for him. After all, two teenaged girls were more than a match for one psychopath. Gothique had taken charge of Matilda's scissors just in case that theory didn't pan out. As they both leaned over the bush, Gothique a head or so taller than Matilda, the latter girl quipped, "Gee-whiz, somehow I doubt our dinky pair of scissors quite match up to his."
From Matilda's apparent apathy toward life Gothique gained courage. When Edward turned to regard them with beetle-black eyes, she asked, "Are you from the local scene?" She would just throw her new-found companion between them if he took offense.
He 'shink'ed his scissors, slightly confused. "Scene?" he asked quietly.
Matilda stepped out completely from behind the bushes, leaving Gothique to stumble behind her. Straightening, Gothique began, "Yeah, the local Goth -- oh, never mind. If you don't know what it is, you're probably not."
It seemed appropriate for Matilda to add something snarky here (the sun shower had even stopped for it, it seemed), but she had just observed something else. This something was a something Gothique had somehow managed to miss. She elbowed her and nodded at the something while Edward shifted uncomfortably under the blatant scrutiny.
All was silent as Gothique processed this turn of events. "Oh, my god! You're holding a ton of scissors!" Edward frowned uncertainly and took a step back, while Matilda rolled her eyes. Gothique was not an exceptionally observant creature. She got closer to the mark on her second try, though. "Oh, my god! You're not holding them; you're wearing them!"
To prevent further stupidity spewing forth, Matilda interrupted. "Who are you?"
"My name's Edward," he said in that same quiet voice. With more words spoken, though, there was a definite hint of hesitation. Understandable, given that he was faced with two very loud, very strange girls.
"Matilda Hedera," said Matilda, curtsying.
"Gothique Smith." She was all smiles and sunshine (it was a family thing) as soon as the fear of being lacerated had dissipated. Edward bowed his head a little to the two, ever the gentleman.
Matilda snorted, one hand raising to cover her mouth.
"What?" Gothique asked, glaring at her. Edward shrugged cluelessly, though nobody was looking at him anymore. It felt nice in a strange way to be brushed momentarily to the side as the two had a tiff; it was almost like he was perfectly normal.
"Gothic's your real name? It can't be," Matilda said, failing to stifle the giggles.
"It's pronounced Goth-iek, like shriek --"
"Or like a mouse: eeekeekeek!" Matilda laughed, and Edward laughed (well, chortled politely), and Gothique died a little inside. "Honestly, who would name their child that?"
"Someone who felt predetermining my future existence and all things associated with it while I was still just a glint in the milkman's eye was a good idea," Gothique managed to say in an off-handed manner.
Matilda nodded sagely. "Drugs. That explains everything."
"42," Gothique annunciated in solemn tones. "Anyhow," she said, turning to Edward as though Matilda didn't even exist. "Why are you up here?"
"I live here," Edward replied, eyes cast downward in some remembered sadness. Matilda looked around, a small spark of curiosity in her eyes as she observed what lay beyond the serene little Eden the girls had tramped into. It was, much like it appeared from a distance, a spooky old house. You couldn't get anymore southern Gothic than that.
"That sucks," she decided. It pretty much summed up the others' thoughts as well. Gothique turned her eyes to her.
"Why are you here?"
"Trimming the hedges," she replied in all seriousness. Edward looked a little taken aback, as he didn't think the hedges needed any more trimming.
"Trimming the trimmer's already trimmed hedges," Gothique replied with a note of disbelief.
"Fine. Don't believe me. Either way I'll be taking my leave; Mummy wants me home for lunch." She snatched her scissors back from Gothique and turned away, adding in farewell, "We should have tea, sometime, Edward." Matilda slipped between the gates, disappearing as readily as a vandalistic girl, which seemed pretty apt if the extra cut leaves on the ground were any indication.
Gothique checked her watch. It was nearing three o'clock. When she looked up again, Edward was looking expectantly at her. "What?" she asked, thinking she had missed something.
"What about you?" he repeated, speaking a little louder as she apparently hadn't heard the first time.
"What about me? Oh! Why am I here? I was feeling adventurous. Give a girl some rules, after all, and she'll be bound and determined to break every single one of them."
"Um. . ." Edward said, tucking his hands behind his back and shuffling a foot. "Could you -- could you not mention me to anyone? And ask Ms. Matilda not to either?" he finished awkwardly.
Gothique cocked her head to the side. "Why? You're not supposed to be here?" Edward did an odd little shrug-nod type movement. "Well, neither am I, and I don't think she was, either. This will be our little secret, 'kay?"
"Okay," he agreed readily. Gothique nodded, said a short goodbye, and ran to find Matilda and deliver the message.
The girl was taking her sweet time, meandering down the road and snipping an occasional bud from low-hanging limbs. Gothique jogged up beside her, then slowed to match her pace. "Hey."
Matilda glanced over then closed her scissors around the stem of a leaf, closing the blades in a more pronounced fashion than necessary. Gothique took this as a sign to continue. "Edward doesn't want anyone to know he's there, okay? Think you can manage that?"
"Of course I can. The question is: can you?"
"Yeah, I'll come up with something," Gothique said vaguely. For once, though, she was a step ahead, and revised her earlier question. "Okay, you can, but will you?"
They walked along in relative silence, only a slight metal hiss accompanying them. At the base of the hill, Matilda said, "Sure."
Gothique walked Matilda to her pale blue house. On the way, she stated. "That was a bit surreal," to which Matilda made a humming, understating agreement.
"Just a tad."
They parted on slightly more amiable terms. After all, nothing binds better than a shared secret.
At her own house, Gothique noted that no vehicle was in Joyce's driveway, so proceeded to use the front door. Joyce met her in the living room with a glass of lemonade. "Where were you?" she asked with the barest hint of suspicion.
"Oh, out and about." Gothique waved her hand to demonstrate, then took the offered drink.
"At the mansion?"
"No." Mentally, she congratulated herself on how casual she sounded. Joyce reached forward and plucked something from her hair while Gothique did so; then she cleared her throat. Gothique stared hatefully at the leaf before her. "Oh."
"Yes, 'oh.'" Joyce managed to convey the sentiment of disappointment and forthcoming punishment in those two words. Obviously she wouldn't believe Gothique had been playing soldier in the rhododendrons.
"You're good," Gothique observed. "If it makes you feel better, I did make friends with that girl that just moved here. She was up there, too. Quite the 'co-ink-e-dink.'" She frowned as she finished, realizing she sounded rather like the hated school councilor. Either way, her statement didn't really appease Joyce. "My bad?" Gothique tried with a mental wince. Now she sounded exactly like the councilor. To take her train of thought off that track, she sipped at the lemonade. Homemade was the best made, she decided.
"And what's her name?" Joyce asked, heels clicking as she stepped into the kitchen.
"Matilda Hedera."
"Huh. I thought it was Henry." Joyce and Gothique definitely shared genes
A/N: This probably isn't even close to what was expected or wanted, but I hope Joyce and Edward aren't too OOC. Plus, I don't think there are actually any anachronisms. Go me! Flames accepted; reviews wanted; concrit loved.
