A/N: First, I wanna say sorry for not updating in months. Writers block, school, the holidays, roleplaying and Kuroshitsuji II got the better of me. I promise though, this fic won't die! There's not really much in this chapter, sadly, but I promise something really good will be happening next time. ;D
Second, I need to apologize for general confusion; last chapter, it was pointed out to me that my dates and Pokemon were wrong. Bidoof and such didn't exist, blah blah blah. I got my timeline wrong, and in a rush to fix that, I had some real shoddy editing occur. Sorry, again. xD;;
Third, sorry for the awkward cuts here and there. I've been watching a lot of Baccano! and Durarara! as of late, and the style has affected my thinking and writing so much. Not to mention, it's tampered with my muse a lot… Darn it. Dx
Anyways, I hope you enjoy this one, and can forgive me for the above. Now, onto the chapter! (And, happy first update of 2011!)
Chapter Seven: Psychosis
"The reward for conformity is that everyone likes you but yourself." —Rita Mae Brown.
On an average, most children are nervous about their first days of school. Spade, however, was not. If it has not already been pointed out, then let it be said now; she adored being in front of people. She adored the spotlight, the attention. Not to the point where she was obsessed with it, no, but just enough to make her spend extra time preparing herself for her first day.
"This does not at all make me overly feminine. It makes me practical, and well-bred in appearance." She consoled herself, before frowning. "Oh, whoever am I kidding? I'm just being a kiss-ass."
Dad would make fun of me for this so, so much.
It was such an annoyance to look at herself and see a cute young girl at times; she always saw herself as a boring teenager. Sometimes, she'd even see herself as a middle-aged, chain-smoking housewife with five kids and a useless drunk for a husband, depending on her mood.
Maybe I'm just strange… Normal eleven year olds don't focus on that crap, right?
She shook it off, looking in the mirror again.
Spade's long brown hair was well washed and brushed, pulled into two braids on either side of her head. She'd tied them off with rubber bands someone had left under the bed—no, they weren't too filthy. She still washed them off, though.
Out of the few clean pieces of clothing she had on her, she'd picked out a pair of denim capri pants, a white tank, and a light green jacket. Her dirty old black sneakers were falling apart still, but no worries, for Whammy's had electric tape.
Electric tape is probably to duct tape what Owen Wilson was to Jackie Chan in that one movie… She mused absently. Why does it really matter, though? Hmph…
Spade began grabbing her things quickly, mumbling to herself various dates and mathematical equations she'd read up on. Her pride as a woman would not forgive her if she forgot a single one; today, she needed to be a geek. A fricking awesome geek.
If she wasn't absolutely stunning in class today, she might just kill herself. If she made a fool out of herself, she'd probably slaughter the whole classroom and then kill herself afterwards. In an artistic way, of course; like Black Swan and Higurashi—no, Black Swan and Umineko combined. Artistic murder was always better.
Then again, death over ego… was probably a bit of a dramatic reaction.
Spade couldn't take looking like a fool. She couldn't, and wouldn't. Not in front of these dumbass high-and-mighty British kids. Especially not if Matt was in that classroom.
Stupid goggle-wearing dumbass nine year old ginger, with his fucking gingervitus. Gingervitus that apparently makes it impossible for him to identify terrible Pokémon. Fucking little bastard.
The brunette twitched at the curse-filled thoughts, before shaking her head. "Damn…" She grumbled, for no real reason, really.
- Page Cut -
This is the most boring history class ever. I feel offended. Spade thought bitterly, eyes glazed over and lids drooping in sleep. As a (former) lover of history, this boring class depressed her.
The teacher, Mrs. Byron, wasn't a bad person or a horrid woman like teachers on TV sometimes are. She was a woman in her forties, cute and a bit plump, with thin glasses. She wore lots of blue—blue blouse under a lightweight blue tweed-looking jacket and a blue skirt with white heels—and because of the ravage of color, Spade couldn't help but feel that she was listening to a blonde, less crazy and less-toadish version of Dolores Umbridge who somehow messed up her pink, primp wardrobe with the wrong spell, hence the blue.
Maybe, the main problem with Mrs. Byron—in Spade's made—was that the woman's cute Irish accent was sometimes like fingernails on a chalk board.
Or maybe it was that she was so convinced Spade was a moron with no education that every glassy-eyed look was utter confusion, not boredom or exhaustion.
Yep, number two was probably it, actually.
"Ms. Spade," Mrs. Byron smiled pleasantly, adjusting her glasses with a light 'ahem', "since you came in later in the term, I want to make sure you're keeping up with our current discussion on the Cold War."
"Uh-huh…"
"Naturally, since your education prior to this has been basic—if not lacking in sophistication—I'll start off today with some simple review questions before we go in deeper, just to make sure you're up-to-beat! Okay? Now, please answer this question; which President of the United States was in office at the time of the Cold War?"
It took Spade a moment to absorb all the cute, plump older woman had said. She was half asleep at this point, and she'd barely absorbed anything be the insult on her prior education.
Spade scratched the back of her ear awkwardly, thinking hard.
"Was it the president who fucked his mistress in the Oval Office?"
- Page Cut -
Well, it seems that I have become degraded to being the girl in the movie who sits in the library alone to eat lunch. Maybe this is karma for killing someone in a past life? I probably deserve death myself. Stupid person writing the fanfiction of my life.
The overly dramatic thoughts were like a pesky dog, biting on the juicy steak that was Spade's sanity. She wished she was a more optimistic, giddy sort of person who could say "it's okay that I made a fool of myself in front of a class of geniuses, and landed myself in detention for saying the F-word! I'm still awesome! I can make friends!"
Alas, Spade was not. She was a pessimist with a lot of pride. Her pride was currently telling her that maybe—just maybe—it could patch the wound by going up to eat on the roof.
Bad-ass girls eat on the roof, right?
Standing with a slight pout, she gripped her tray, exiting and proceeding to head to where she thought the stairs to the roof were. (Spade figured that's what those stairs were, anyways. There wasn't anywhere else for them to go, really…)
She was so close to her destination, too—and then he showed up.
She recognized him from her class; he sort of had some weird allure that made him stand out. He wasn't really attractive or anything, really. He was just a dorky looking boy, probably her age, maybe a little older. He had choppy blonde hair that was mussed and greased, probably in an attempt to 'gel it up', and wore large, stereotypically geek black-framed glasses. His brown eyes were narrowed in disgust. Disgust with her, maybe? She couldn't help but notice the overuse of cologne or the acne on his face that was covered with makeup.
Add all of that to the way he dressed like some kid from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air's era, and she couldn't help but feel that he was trying a little too hard to be cool.
"You're the new one, right?" He asked. For some reason, it sounded a bit like an insult.
The way you're looking at me makes me feel mentally violated. Stop it. "Yes. Why do you ask?"
The boy smirked slightly, pushing his glasses up his nose. "You may not know me yet, but you will. I'm Warren—"
"I thought we didn't use real names here." Spade said flatly, face deadpanned.
"Warren is my codename." 'Warren' groaned, putting a hand to his forehead in immediate exasperation.
"I see." Spade blinked. "No offense, but that's a pretty lame codename."
"…" Warren glared. "Ahem. As I was saying, new girl; you don't know it yet—you don't know me yet—but you will. I'm number eight around here, and soon, I'll be number one. When I'm the next L, things will be different."
Spade shuffled her foot. "Good for you. Why are you telling me this?" This feels like a dramatic encounter from a manga. How cheesy. If my life is a fanfiction, someone should tell the moronic person writing it to be at least a tad bit less cliché. I mean, really..!
"Because," Warren went on, "if you're nice to me, I'll make you my underling."
"… How thoughtful of you, to offer something so blatantly… awesome?"
"I know, right? Not many people—especially women—have the guts to say something like you did in class. It was kind of nice." He said, grinning and almost glowing with pride. Pride that was so similar to Spade's. "It's why I'm offering you this position! Be honored."
Spade tilted her head. She was temporarily unranked, but she got the feeling she had something over this guy buried deep down in her gut.
This Warren guy was number eight, and he probably had the right to act so pompous. All the same, he still kind of pissed her off… And at the same time, she sort of dug that stereotypical geek/megane boy thing he had going on—until she suddenly got this feeling deep down that it made her a sex offender. Any pre-pubescent attraction was crushed epically.
"Has anyone ever told you that 'Warren' sounds like 'Worm'?" Spade asked, sighing as she side-stepped him. "Worm is a better codename. Go with it."
"…"
The blonde boy watched her go curiously, and tried to figure out if he'd just been insulted or not.
What a freak, he mused idly, frowning a bit.
- Page Cut -
"No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir." –Sampson, Romeo and Juliet (Act 1, Scene 1)
- Page Cut -
"Twerps. All of them." Spade grumbled, shaking her head.
Whammy's House just seemed to full with annoyances.
There was Matt, the dumbass ginger; Mello, the violent blonde; Wormy Warrenkins, the pompous bitch… And those were just the ones she'd met. She hadn't seen Near around, and hadn't attempted to socialize with anyone else. It wasn't like she wanted to, anyways. All the kids here were major dweebs.
Formerly fictitious dweebs.
Seriously, what the hell was she doing here? This was a minor location in a manga, for Kira's sake! It couldn't be real…
Shoving the ham and cheese sandwich into her mouth with a sigh, she fiddled with her bag, frowning. Now that this was on her mind, she was getting a serious headache. No eleven year old can deal with this alone… Heh, maybe I'm going crazy or something. It would make sense; mom was a nut job, maybe it's genetic…
Pulling out the notebook and pen in her bag, she hummed, writing down a few possibilities—vaguely, of course, in case someone tried to read her notes later—for how she could have gotten here.
a) I'm insane.
b) Never existed, and this is a dream.
c) Comatose dreams. Cliché, cliché.
d) I'm secretly Haruhi and recreated the world in my ideal image.
Spade stared blankly at the world's lamest list of possibilities, tilting her head at her chicken scratch writing. It looked like a doctor's handwriting, or possibly a psychopath's…
Again, something hinting at her insanity. Drat.
Glancing down at the kids playing in the yard below, Spade couldn't help but grimace.
"God, I hate this place."
A/n: Ohhei, there was Worm. :'D I was pretty eager to get him back in here, at least with just a minor appearance. Since I restarted this fanfiction, I've been working a lot on his personality, and developing him out with the help of RPing (thanks, Emzy!). I really like him now, as a character- not as a person-, and hope you guys will come to enjoy the lulz that are Wormy, too. :)
References:::
Gingervitus – Gingervitus is a hereditary disease that is growing increasingly common, and is something we all should be aware of. Please check out the following site (eliminate the spaces) for more information. Gingerpeople . org / what-is-gingervitis / (I haven't gotten a virus from it, so no worries.)
Megane – A Japanese term for a person who wears glasses (usually a man). Can be used as a type. "Oh, I'm totally into megane types!", etc.
"Was it the president who fucked his mistress in the Oval Office?" – A crack on the Lewinsky scandal, aka Monicagate, aka Lewinskygate, that I just couldn't resist using when writing this. The result of Spade mixing up dates.
"No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir." –Sampson, Romeo and Juliet – If you're familiar with Shakespeare and the meaning of this term, you'll know why it was placed there. ;D
Until next time (in the VERY near future),
-Dice
