Picture Perfect
In which an unexpected guest calls Duncan a dog.

"You didn't need to do that, you know," Courtney half-whispered, half-giggled. It was about 7:30AM—Duncan drove her back home in record time, breaking numerous traffic laws on the way, and they had just finished talking with Courtney's mom. After some amused bargaining, Duncan secured Courtney's freedom from her mother and they were off to downtown Calgary once more.

"What, you think I can't be polite?" Duncan countered. He remote-unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for Courtney.

"Polite? More like a suck-up! 'I missed Courtney so much since the show ended, I couldn't wait to see her! Do you think you could let her show me around downtown?' And then, 'I promise I'll bring her home before dark!" Courtney teased in a whiny voice, flipping her hands around like a Valley Girl.

"Hey, hey, little miss lawyer, don't misquote me!" Duncan replied, punching her lightly in the ribs. "I don't talk like that."

"Ow!" she said reflexively, and punched him back; he laughed. "You might as well have. Where'd you get that from, anyway? You're never that nice." She hopped in the car and put her feet up on the dashboard, giving him a challenging stare. Courtney was adjusting to the 'let's be bad' concept rather nicely, and 'feet on the dashboard' was something her mother always said was too dangerous.

"I'm not nice, princess, but if you're interested..." He leaned on the door's open window and grinned at Courtney, eye to eye. "When stealing doesn't get you what you want, being polite does." He vaulted over the hood of the car, hopped in on the other side and revved the engine, looking amusedly at her half-concealed snarl. In fact, she thought, he looked like a happy thief ready to steal a ki—

"Hidy-ho, lovers!" piped Greg's voice from the back seat. "Your antics are hilarious but I want to see Calgary Tower before Santa comes," he said, pushing Duncan and Courtney's faces apart. "Gas pedal's on the right, Sea Biscuit," Greg told Duncan, giving him two consoling shoulder pats before leaning back in his seat. Courtney made a whipping motion at Duncan complete with a "whippa-cha" sound effect, which he exchanged for One Glare, Free of Charge.

Inner Courtney whispered something terrible in Outer Courtney's ear; she was on a bad streak, after all, and this would complete the combo. "Say, Duncan, Greg's got the right idea," she purred. Duncan gave her a look straight from death row; Inner Courtney reveled in it.

"I think you should call your car Sea Biscuit."

They argued and shouted about it, but to Courtney and Greg's satisfaction and Duncan's complete misery, the name stuck.

Inner Courtney gave Outer Courtney a huge high-five.

They spent the morning being proper tourists, visiting Calgary Tower, Glenbow Museum, Prince's Island, and Eau Claire Market on foot, after leaving Sea Biscuit by the abandoned shopping block. Courtney tried to be their tour guide but failed miserably; she couldn't remember anything about tourist landmarks because she hadn't visited any of them since middle school.

All tourists inevitably get hungry; Eau Claire had a Subway, so Duncan and Courtney got sandwiches while Greg and Violet ate quickly and ran to the children's play area. Duncan chomped on his sub absently while he made marks on the tourist map he'd picked up at the Tower.

"When were you ever a sightseer?" Courtney asked, suspicious. "And what are you doing with that map?"

He scribbled on it for a moment. "Getting a feel for the city, and your campaign."

She walked over to his side of the table and sat down next to him, staring at the map. She slid her arm around his waist reflexively, which he didn't mind in the slightest, and stared at his markings. "How's this going to work, anyway? What does a 'Demon Queen' do that isn't already illegal? And it's not like this is a government-recognized position. You can't just ask the city to let you create an... Ambassador of Crime."

"Babe, the government won't have a thing to do with this. Anyway, we've got a month before Noctis Valkyries; that's enough time to figure out what Demon Queens do that isn't fun," Duncan replied, carefully changing her words. "And it's a two-day fest. Have the voting one day and announce the winner at the end?"

Courtney pulled a note pad and pen out of her pocket and scribbled down a note—contact NV staff. "What is it, anyway?" she asked, pointing at the 'NV' on the page. "You mentioned Greg's band, but..."

"Two glorious days of death metal," Duncan said with a greedy smile. He slowed down every word, ready to eat every syllable. "You will never feel so alive, princess."

Perturbed, Courtney waved his rapture away with her hand. "Right, Duncan, I'll feel 'alive' for 'death' metal, because that makes perfect sense." Something about it nagged her—didn't she make him feel alive? But she couldn't let him see her concern. "Back to business. Somehow we have to create hype for this Demon Queen position and... make sure I'm the favorite to win at the same time."

"'Vote Courtney for Demon Queen of Calgary' could work. Get some posterboard and glitter, post signs all around downtown with your shining face on th—ow!"

She pinched his ribcage with the hand around his waist—if he was going to be Bad Boy Duncan, she could be Good Cop Courtney. "You've got the right idea, putting my name and the position together, but can we please not use my name?"

"Because?" Duncan rubbed his sore rib.

She shrugged. "Well, people here saw Total Drama Island. They know I was... with you. If you graffiti 'Courtney for Queen' everywhere, they'll put my name together with your record, and frankly I can't have you ruining my image any more than you already have. Why can't I use a pseudonym and wear a costume?"

"Back up, babe. You want me to..." He paused; this was too good. "You want me to tag your name everywhere?"

She bit her lip and looked at nothing, rearranging the information in her head. "No. Not everywhere. I decide what you write, but you decide where based on where you think the right people will see it." She started making a list on her notepad—spray paint, hammer & chisel, explore UofC, pseudonym, costume, brainstorm DQ purpose... Her smooth hand gripped the pencil lightly as she fell into a groove, making notes and making notes on her notes, crossing things out and writing between lines...

Duncan leaned to the side to get a better look at this one; Courtney was serious about this campaign. He could see the gears turning in her head—the reasons, the commitment, the plans, the follow-through. This was Courtney, pre-Duncan; this was what her finicky, law-minded upbringing taught her to do. To plan, and to... shit, was she really about to take some random-ass idea and make it happen?

He watched her work as he pondered the scope of this. With guidance, Courtney could commit perfect crimes and never get caught; she could plan heists that had no loose ends. Were all A-types this way? Could a hint of bad set them all off on the trail, taking this foreign and invaluable talent with them?

She stopped writing for a minute to think; he pulled the pen out of her hand and laughed as she started writing again, only to realize no ink was coming out of the pen she wasn't holding. He didn't want to blacken her heart or anything—he was sick, not twisted. But do I want to see how far she'll go? Oh, absolutely. Black coffee's not her, but let's just say princess here could use a little less creamer in her latte... he thought with a grin. He took the tanned hand that wasn't trying to get the pen back and admired it. She's latte enough already.

Courtney ground one of her heeled cork wedges into his red Converses—with a whimper and wince, Duncan dropped the pen onto the table, which Courtney snatched, looking satisfied. Did Bonnie and Clyde ever have Kodak moments like this? he thought to himself, along with ow foot jesus ow god rrgh toes.

"You make this too easy, Duncan," Courtney chided, watching his grimaces of pain with a condescending smile and a sigh.

He wiggled his toes—at least he could feel them now. "Not easy for my feet. But," he whispered, matching her facial expression, "better that than my nuts, babe. Guess this means you want 'em in working order." He winked, ready to run like hell whenever she decided to make a crotch shot.

"We're in public, you ogre!" she hissed under her breath, glancing around to make sure no one heard.

Well, now—that's interesting, he mused. "National television didn't bother you before," he whispered, a little softer, almost comforting. "That's thousands, millions of people. What's a couple hundred to you now?"

She looked askance. She tried to say a lot of things about how these were voters, parents, neighbors, friends, friends of friends, enemies, that she lived in Calgary and she'd probably see these people for years, but she knew what he was doing—trapping her—and she hated it. And she loved that she hated it. His words were in her hair, tickling her scalp, holding the base of her skull and pulling her closer to him. She was absolutely not going to kiss him, no way in hell, not here! But he hadn't said anything about kissing her—she came up with that all on her own! She hated him, she had to kill him, but first things first—

"Courtney! Wow, I never thought you'd show your face again after embarrassing yourself all over national TV! I mean, seventh grade was pretty pathetic, but getting cheated out of a hundred thousand by a geek! That's gotta hurt," a voice taunted from the other side of the table. Courtney recognized it immediately, and grimaced.

"What's your damage?" Duncan growled in retort, turning to face a tall, fashionable girl about Courtney's age in a cerulean mini-dress, leggings, and Uggs. Her tapered bob cut swished when she talked; her white teeth chewed lightly on a piece of gum. Whoever she was, she was hot and she knew it. Duncan hated it when chicks did that—but he had to admit, what a body!

"Down, boy," she purred. "Courtney, was he your consolation prize? Not bad, not bad at all." She leaned over the table and motioned him closer; he grudgingly leaned on the table toward her. "Advance warning: she doesn't know a thing about how to treat you right," the girl murmured with a wink, biting her lower lip seductively. "I'm Zoe."

Duncan's phone buzzed in his pocket—incoming text, sender Courtney. It read: Village bicycle. Do NOT call me princess.

AN: I realized right before I finished this chapter that I did forget some disclaimer action that was kind of important! So it's below. This chapter should clear up some questions... and make other things even more confusing! I can always answer your questions or clear stuff up, but I won't give out spoilers. Sorry if I'm making Duncan and Courtney talk too much, but it's so much fun writing dialogue for them. :D Also, I'm continuing to experiment with chapter names and summaries, and where to put all these parts... blah, so much to change!

Disclaimer: TDI, Duncan, and Courtney are not mine, but Greg, Violet, and Zoe are. Tim Hortons, Calgary, and Calgary's bits - Noctis Valkyries, Calgary Jazz, the Tower, Eau Claire, the Subway in Eau Claire's food court, Glenbow Museum, Prince's Island, and the University are not mine, but are real places or events. I may have changed times or appearances (sometimes) to fit the story, but otherwise all these places/events are real.