Act 53: Where Mathematics continued to the Bane of High-schoolers with Insufficient Common Sense
She was doing her nails in the canteen when she was interrupted by the thump of books on the table. The sound was unmistakable, because the canteen was mostly quiet now, since it wasn't a meal hour.
"Mathematics," a familiar voice drew out smoothly while a shadowed figure sat himself next to her, "is the handwriting on the human consciousness of the very spirit of life itself."
There was an expectant silence that followed, to which she just rolled her eyes and answered, "Claude Brandon, isn't it?"
She could hear him smiling though her eyes were focused on the nail of her fourth finger, which she was colouring with great meticulous in the shade of shimmering white like ice. "Yes, indeed."
"Well, Morris Kline on the other hand said that 'mathematics is a body of knowledge, but it contains no truths.'" Elsa carefully flicked her wrist, guiding the tiny brush over the nail. After removing it, she pulled the nail towards her face and examined it, before dipping the brush back into the bottle.
Seeing that he wasn't about to remove himself anytime soon, she told him, "If you want a place to study, you should go somewhere else. I'm supposed to meet my tutor here. My peer tutor." She scrunched up her face as she spoked. "I apparently need one now, because my grades leave much to be desired."
When he didn't move, she lifted her head towards him. Pitch, in return, gave her a wry smile before pushing the books towards her.
It suddenly dawned on her. Her face clearly said so. "You're kidding."
He didn't answer, merely turning open one the books and saying, "We should start with calculus. According to your results, you're not very good at it."
"There is no way you'd volunteer to tutor fellow students," Elsa declared , feeling that this situation was all too surreal.
"Why wouldn't I?" Pitch made show of being hurt, though the taunting tinge in his tone told her that he wasn't really. "I-" he gestured towards himself "-am after all one of the brightest students in this school. It would be unfair if not to share my gifts with my fellow schoolmates."
Elsa was, of course, unbelieving. "And somehow you coincidentally ended up being assigned to me." Her brow shot up as she began painting her pinky nail. "Tad obvious, don't you think?"
"A happy chance," he answered with shameless, smug grin.
She rolled her eyes at him, quite exasperated. "If this is some scheme to get me to go out with you, it's still not going to work." She studied the freshly painted nail for a moment, then blew against it.
Pitch sighed, shaking his head sadly. "You think so little of me, my dearest Elsa."
"Don't 'dearest' me," the blonde girl hissed at him, re-dipping the brush as she prepared to start on her other hand. "You know I hate it."
"Yes, the way you hate all things that are cloying, condescending and demeaning of a strong, independent woman," he murmured quietly, but loud enough for her to hear. "And yet here you are, dressed like the front cover of a teen magazine and painting your nails like the brainless antagonist of a chick-flick."
She paused, before stiffly dropping the brush and capping the bottle with an audible 'click'. She narrowed her eyes at him.
He was however impervious to her deadly glare, merely gazing at her with a mixture of amusement and patronising sympathy.
She didn't really have a clever response to shoot back at him, so she unscrewed the bottle cap and began painting her other hand. Of course, he tried to get her attention again with another snide remark, but she just gave him a cold shoulder.
Because apparently, that's all she knew how to do now.
~~~0~~~
Act 54: Where Our Hero Learned Rather Disturbing Stuff
It was a beautiful day. The birds were singing. The students were studying. Our hero was rapping his fist against one of the dorm doors and praying that his knuckles won't starting bleed.
"HANS!" He yelled from the outside. The '#wetwestergaard' paint stain was still there and was most certainly the laughing stock of the school, but this did not mean that that Jack was any closer to fulfilling his goal.
"Go away, Frost!" was the reply he heard through the door. "Why are you still here?"
"Because-" his hand was really getting tired "-I need something to fix my record!"
"Your record?" Hans actually sounded puzzled. "Record of what?"
Jack groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "My behavioural record."
"Your ... behavioural record? What on Earth is that?"
"You know," the boy fumbled for the words reluctantly, "that thingy at the end of your report card that tells colleges that you want to apply to whether you've been naughty and nice."
"It's at the end of the report card?" Though the voice was slightly muffled through the wood of the door, the surprise in Hans' voice was evident. "I thought they mail it through a separate document."
"Well, I suppose that's possible too," Jack admitted, shrugging though the other boy couldn't actually see it – you know, since the flippin' door was still closed!
"It makes a lot more sense that way, don't you think?" Hans reasoned out. "I mean, the colleges will probably interview us during the application processes and they'll want to hear the school's opinion of us without our knowledge, so we shouldn't actually be allowed to see the record."
Jack absorbed all this while running a hand through his hair, and then realised that actually this had nothing to do with what he was currently trying to do. Ramming his fist against the door again, he shouted, "HANS, LET ME TUTOR YOU!"
"NO!"
"I'LL GIVE YOU COOKIES!"
"I DON'T LIKE COOKIES!"
"SANDWICHES, THEN!"
"I DON'T LIKE SANDWICHES!"
"How did you even survive two minutes with Anna?" Jack muttered under his breath, before raising his voice in tandem with his slamming fist, "WELL, WHAT ABOUT CUPCAKES!"
The door swung opened so unexpectedly that he almost fell over. The redhead eyed him with an impassive expression, as if accessing the reliability of the offer.
Then, he waved him into the room. "Come in, and take off those shoes." He glared at Jack's sneakers as if their very presence offended him. "Those are so last season."
Now, our hero had been into the enemy base before. Indeed, if you recall Act 25-26 (no, you do not recall. It's been ages ago. You probably don't remember it anyway), when the enemy base was partially inhabited by a certain blonde, reindeer-hugger, Jack had managed to sneak into the room long enough to dump a mountain of ice cubes onto his sideburn-marked rival's bed. At that point of time, he had not paused to admire the scenery, and that combined with the darkness of the midnight activities meant that he had never gotten a good look at the place. Now, with that Kristoff had been forcibly evacuated, there had been less reason to visit this haunt.
So admittedly, he was a tad surprised to find the entire room was covered with maps, handwritten documents, mind-maps and assorted small accompanying notes.
Jack's mouth fell open and he remarked, with a mix of awe and bewilderment – mostly bewilderment, "…O-kay."
"I'd ask you to sit," Hans said, strolling to the end of his dorm room, only stopping to adjust one of the boards on the wall. "But I actually want you to get out ASAP, so, please don't sit."
It was pinned with a looped strings, random photos and a big title, 'MACHINES RISING, WATER COOLERS, ARMAGEDDON?' There was a yellow stick-it note pinned to it that also stated, "Get back to this after calculating the possibility of the asteroid-based annihilation of America and parts of Canada, and don't forget to buy detergent. Ran out last week."
"What are you?" Jack murmured with a slack-jawed expression, beginning to study the mind-maps hung at his eye-level. 'RED-PAINTED WALLS AS A FORM TORTURE'. "Some kind of conspiracy Sherlock?"
"No," Hans scoffed, looking at him as if he had suggested that he had wanted to dance in cogs on top of a glockenspiel. "The word 'conspiracy' implies that it's an element of scandal and possibly falsehood. I-" he puffed himself up with shameless arrogance "-am creator, tester and refiner of accurate hypothesises."
Jack chewed on his lip. "So…you're a scientist."
"Yes."
"Of conspiracies."
"No." Hans scowled. "I told you not to call them conspiracies."
"Then what? Weird theories? Quirky Mysteries?-" lifting up a document detailing the connection between World War II, the Assassination of the Romanovs and the creation of Mineral Water "-Evidence that you need serious help?"
Hans rolled his eyes and tore his hand away from the sheet. "I don't expect your puny mind to understand the extent of my genius, Frost-"
"-says the guy who got consecutive 'Es' for every topic," Jack put in matter-of-factly.
"-so please keep my hands off my property as long as you're here," the boy finished, ignoring Jack's jibe. He sat himself down on a rolleable chair with a rather large rectangular-shaped backing, which also happened to be right in front of shuttered windows that were covered by the blinds. The dimmed lights and the exaggerated silhouettes made it look as if they had been pulled out a black-and-white noir film. Hans reclined his into the chair then poured himself a cup of –
"-tea? What the heck are you?" Jack was aghast as he observed the redhead piping hot reddish liquid pouring from a porcelain teapot to its matching cup. "A British villain?"
Hans looked at him as if he suggested that he was growing beansprouts in his hair. "I'm Danish, you idiot."
Jack was unconvinced, glancing suspiciously around the room. "Do you have a cat somewhere in this room? Are you going to pick it up and stroke its fur slowly in a menacing manner?"
"No and also…no." The redhead boy was eyeing him oddly, picking up the teacup and sipping. "Anyway, we have something to discuss, don't we? The sooner we have over, the sooner I can throw you out and forget I ever saw your face."
"You wish." Jack made a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat. "You're going to see me until your 'Es' start turning into 'Bs'."
"Oh, please." The redhead let out a low chuckle, setting his tea cup down with a scornful 'clink' …on a saucer. (Because typical teenagers kept porcelain teacups, teapots and saucers in their dorm rooms. Right…) "I don't have time for this kind of nonsense."
"By 'nonsense', you realise that you're referring to your grades, rights?" Jack pointed out, pulling a face. "And you do realise that your grades do play quite a significant role in determining your future?"
"My future?" Hans barked at that so sharply that the white-haired boy actually jumped back, then began to mentally question himself for reacting to something that wasn't really worth reacting at. Well, it didn't help that the redheaded boy with sideburns was sniggering to himself like someone with a unshared joke.
Finally, the seated boy got over himself (a little) and finally spoke. "I-" he gestured to himself grandly "-already have my future all planned out. I don't need lowly, unimportant things like 'grades'." Hans spat the word out as if it were poison.
"What plan?" As the question left his lips, Jack wondered if it was better not to know.
A wide smile spread across Hans' face, as if he had been waiting for someone to ask it.
"AH! I've been waiting for someone to ask that question."
Undoubtedly, he had been dying to do an entire monologue about his fantastic plan to secure his rich prosperous future.
"I've been dying out to do an entire monologue about my fantastic to secure my rich, prosperous future."
Oh, erm, powerful. Rich, prosperous, POWERFUL future.
"Rich, prosperous, powerful futu-" flapping his hands irritated towards the ceiling "-why am I just repeating everything the narrator has already said? Excuse me?"
Oh. Yeah. Let's try not to do that again.
"Thank you." Hans shot one last glare to the ceiling as a warning, before lowering his gaze to Jack, who staring at him strangely. "What?"
Considering him for a long moment, the white-haired boy said slowly, "I think you really need help."
"And I don't care about your opinion," was the red-haired boy's refute, swinging his chair around slightly to reach for the string under his window, turning the blinds closed. "Now, shut up, Frost. I'm going to monologue about my grand plan for my future."
A remote control appeared in his hand, and he pointed it towards the ceiling and 'poof!' A lighted circle appeared on the window blinds, before morphing into a rectangular box.
"See? I've even got slides."
Gawking behind him at the projector hooked up to the ceiling, Jack could barely keep himself thinking coherently. "Why do you have a projector in your room?"
"After graduation, I'll be leaving to study at a prestigious, elite university in Denmark," Hans continued on, paying no mind to Jack's outburst. When he did glance the other boy's way, he mistook the reason behind it. "It's a family tradition. All Westergaard boys do their tertiary education there. I don't really get to pick." He hit the button on his remote, making it show a slide show the school grounds. Despite how completely confounded he was with the whole display, Jack had to admit that castle setting and the large fields made the place look rather inviting.
"The school fees are disgusting exorbitant, of course," Hans informed him in a sardonic tone, "so only the richest of the rich there to go there. It's so frightfully exclusive to the point it makes me want to throw up at the level of snobbery exhibited."
The irony did not escape Jack. "You?"
"Please." The redhead appeared rather offended. "I wouldn't actually throw up. I'm in complete control of my own pyloric sphincter."
He returned to stabbing buttons on the remote, fast-forwarding through the endless thread of slides that elaborated on the school's mission, culture and so forth, before finally stopping at one that showed a table.
"One of the years of the curriculum involves an overseas exchange program at a destiny of one's choice to study at a sister college in the same continent."
Click. Next Slide. List of Colleges, of which Jack could barely pronounce most of them. "I will be choosing the St. Anne College in Holland."
Click. Next Slide. "This also happens to also be the school where the crown princess of the Netherlands is currently studying a double major of Politics and Economics. Working backwards-"
Click. Next Slide. "-I'll have to be doing at least one of those majors to be in the same class." Hans rested his chin on the head of his controller, pondering gravely over the matter, then concluded with a shrug, "I suppose Politics would be better. I heard Economics has quite a bit of mathematics in it – not one of my stronger points."
"Your report card agrees with that," added our hero, not that he was noticed.
Hans pointed the remote at the projector and the screen flickered to the next slide which had a timeline. "So we'll meet in within three days of my arrival to the country and begin courtship immediately, and after two weeks we would become official. Within a year, we'll be married. Well,-" he swivelled his chair around slightly to squint at the screen, lip curled in distaste "I suppose her parents might have issue with such early nuptials, considering her age, so elopement's on KIV. Not really desirable though, since that might lead to her getting disinherited, which would ruin everything." He pursed his lips as he considered this thought. "I'd hate to file a divorce before thirty."
"Sorry. I kind of lost it 'married'," Jack admitted, eyes glazing over a little. "Who's this that you're marrying again?"
"The Crown Princess of Netherlands." Hans was quite peeved at having to clarify himself. "I said it just now."
Jack just stared down at him.
Unperturbed, Hans asked, "What?"
The boy ran his hand through his white locks on his scalp, drawing himself back slightly like a canary drawing itself away from the kitten that he realised the latter was a predator.
"Your grand plan to secure your future," Jack said slowly, unable to believe that the words were coming out of his mouth, "is to marry an European princess."
"Well, that's just the start," the other boy stated in a business-like manner. "I've still got much more, like-" counting off his fingers "-garner a media following, start an acting-slash-modelling career, gain prominence in intellectual and political syndicates, start several shell companies and use them to carry out discreet investments through off-shore accounts, accumulate vast, ill-gotten wealth, possibly enter the political sphere – though I might have to divorce the wife by then." He tapped his fingers together as he thought. "Hopefully we'll have the required 2.5 adorable and media-showered heirs of the Dutch throne by then, with myself hopefully being in the respectable forties without too embarrassing a midlife crisis."
To his unwanted visitor, who was too flabbergasted to put in words the exclamation marks ringing in his head, Hans added, "As you can tell, I've a lot to prepare for, so I have no time for silly things like science and history."
"Are you serious?" Jack finally managed to bring himself to gasp out.
The redhead shot him a withering look. "Don't I look serious?"
"This is definitely going off the deep end," the boy burst out, both horrified and disturbed. "How on earth is this a secure plan for your life? What happens if the Dutch princess doesn't like you? Or she's already attached? Or she dies before you guys get together?"
"I already have contingency plans for that," was the ready answer, followed by more clicking and more slides. "There are plenty of available princesses, and if they're unattainable, I'll settle for a Duchess, Viscountess, or any appropriate titled females with suitable amounts of wealth. If there aren't any, I suppose I'll settle for a socialite daughter of CEOs of multinational corportations."
"That's not the point!" Jack waved his arms fervidly, almost stamping his foot. "The point is your plan is ridiculous!"
Hans narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"
"I said, it's RIDICULOUS and it's NOT GOING TO WORK!" Jack punctuated his words by shaking a clenched fist in the air.
"Well, like I said earlier," Hans answered coolly, folding his arms, "I don't care about your opinion."
"Use your common sense!" Jack wanted to shake the fellow, and there was very little that was holding him back, to be honest. "What are the chances you meeting, getting along with and marrying a royal? Who do you think you?" His gestures got wilder as his volume got louder. "Modern Cinderella? Have you been on some kind of RomCom marathon or something?"
"For your information, I know full well the extent of my attractiveness," Hans rebutted hotly, though the other boy could see that he was trying to hold back his anger, "and unlike you, I actually know how to use it to get what I want."
"Well, maybe that's because I have a functioning moral compass!" Jack was practically hollering at him. "What on Earth is wrong with you?"
"I'll tell you what's wrong!" the redhead shouted back, throwing himself to his feet. "I know what I want, and I'm willing to go the full extent to get it. Not like you." He snorted, letting out a malicious snicker. "You don't even have the guts to tell a girl that you'd rather be snogging her sister."
"'Snogging'" the white-haired boy growled testily, "is not a real word!"
"Yes, it is! I checked."
"Just because you found a Google definition of something does not make it a real word!"
"Well, how about these words, hmm?" Hans made an exaggerated show of thinking. "Loser, wuss, all round good-for-nothing, world-is-so-much-better-without-you decrepit piece of junk."
"Okay. I really, really want to punch you right now," came the teeth-clenched threat from the other boy, was already balling up his hands into fists.
"Go ahead," Hans beckoned him with a cocky grin. "Let's get another mark on that filthy record, hey?"
Despite the tauntings from his seriously messed-up rival, Jack did regain his self-control and lowered his arms, letting out a deep exhale as he did. Giving the other boy a disgusted look, he said, perhaps as a last attempt to ravage matters, "You know, you'll need at least sort-of average-ish scores on your card to get into the college."
"I'll deal with that eventually," was the careless answer. "For now, I actually have more important things to do – like learn how to speak Dutch." Plopping himself back into the swivel chair, Hans waved him away. "So, get out before I dump another bucket of paint on you."
Jack glanced around, wondering how on Earth this cluttered dump could hold a bucket of paint in it. Dismissing this thought, he then protested, "But I need to tutor you! I need to prove that I'm trying to do good."
"Well, just lie about it then." Hans clearly was not interested in helping him at all. "Do I have to tell you everything?"
"The teachers are not idiots," Jack hissed in rebuttal. "If your work in class doesn't improve, there's no way they'll believe me."
"Hmm." The redhead actually seemed contemplate this matter. Rising off his chair, he walked over to his desk and pushed aside all the maps and files to retrieve a stack of books and worksheets. Scooping them up into a pile, he slipped them inside a bag which had even more worksheets.
He then handed the bag to Jack, who stared down at it with perplexity. "What's this?"
"All my homework – overdue ones and impending deadline one." Hans smiled a bit too brightly at him while leading him forcefully to the door. "If you want my performance in the academics to improve so much then – well,-" he shrugged as he pushed the white-haired boy out into the corridor "-you've got to take it into your own hands. Dank je!"
The door slammed in front of his face, making Jack flinched back at its force.
Then the door opened slightly, with Hans peering down at some book, which was apparently an English-Dutch dictionary. "Sorry, that just now meant 'thank you'. What I meant was-" he traced a finger down the page "-ga weg. So-" closing the book dramatically "-ga weg!" And he slammed door once again.
Then he opened it briefly. "Oh, and I like butterscotch cupcakes." Then it was shut once more.
Jack was left standing outside, still a little puzzled as to why he had been unexpectedly thrust into the care of his most detested rival's belongings.
Then, the comprehension of the past events suddenly dawned on him and he understood what exactly Hans had been telling him all along.
Shouting – "If you think that I'm going to help you do your homework, you're sorely mistaken! You're crazy!"
There was no reply, not even after a minute or two of waiting. It was clear that Hans was no longer going to entertain him.
"Well, this is just ridiculous," Jack muttered to himself, staring hatefully down at the bag of homework. Then he let out a slight shudder. "Well, almost as ridiculous as planning to marry the Dutch crown princess."
He tugged the bag along, feeling a mixture of relief from finally leaving the peculiar dorm room and confusion about what exactly he should do next.
What a loser.
~~~0~~~
Act 55: Where the Author Explained why She Called Our Hero a Loser
At first, Jack just dropped the stack of homework next to his bed and forgot about it while penning an extremely difficult essay on why he felt that global warming should be the priority of their country (because what happens if Antartica disappeared? There'd be horrible!).
Then Kristoff came over to the room and they (together with Bunnymund, because now that the reindeer-obsessed anti-socialite and the egg-painting athlete were Carrot-munching Bros (CMBs for short), Bunnymund had joined the social circle) talked about the latest hockey match and how their school's team really sucked, then about how the Prom committee was holding audition for performers to perform on Prom Night and Kristoff was thinking of performing – well, maybe, sort-of, hmm, not sure – and then they started talking about whales and sharks and whether dolphins were fish or mammals, because none of them could remember grade 3 science anymore, and Kristoff asked them if they wanted to form a band (Jack said, "Eh, nah." Then Bunnymund said, "Hell, no!" Then Jack said, "Why not? I thought you're the King of Rock." And then Bunnymund glared at him, and Kristoff didn't get it.)
Then after talking a lot, Kristoff went back to his own dorm room, Bunnymund went back to egg-painting and Jack finished his homework for the night. Then at a surprisingly earlier time of 1 am, both of them decided to call it a night (or day, since it was morning) and go to sleep.
After snoozing for an uncomfortable two hours, Jack woke up, sweating and panting as if he had run a marathon. He glanced at his roommate's bed and was a little annoyed to find that the other boy was peacefully asleep.
The white-haired lad sat himself up by the bedside, combed his hair back as he tried to shrug off the unpleasant nightmare, and found that by his foot sat the bag of homework that didn't belong to him. Though it was a non-sentient object, Jack couldn't help but feel as if the bag was staring at him chidingly.
A pool of unease clogged up his chest for the rest of the night, and he found that, after returning to Slumberland, that his dreams were full deadlines, numbers and flying paper sheets with little mouths that screamed, "OVERDUE! GRADES! REPORT CARDS!" before going to a more sing-song-ish kind of 'Ahhhh-ahhhh-ahhhh-tweet-tweet-tweet-ahhhh-ah-ahhhhhhhhhh."
He woke up to the sound of Bunnymund throwing his alarm clock against the closet and sat himself up. As he groggily wiped his eyes, he found that somehow during the night, the bag of homework had knocked itself over and part of the contents had spilt out below him.
Though the books and the sheets didn't belong to him, he was a nice, considerate guy. So he scooped them up together and stuffed them inside the bag. And then he sighed, because he knew that all his effort in studying wasn't going to go anywhere if Hans' grades didn't improve. No college was going to give him a chance if his records were that messed-u.
Speaking of the devil (for surely a fiendish psychopath like Hans deserved nothing less than such a title), the redheaded boy didn't speak to him throughout the following school day – no insults, no jabs. He just shot an amused grin at him, half-pitiful and half-knowing, as if he was saying, "You will keel and kneel. Just you wait. Just you wait."
The weird part about it was that the boy's taunting (or there lack of) was it actually working. It was like the message behind this whole thing was 'do my homework and I'll leave you alone, plus teachers would think you're a real goody-two-shoes now.'
The stack of homework weighed heavily on Jack's mind and in the evening when he got back to his dorm, against his better senses, he actually pulled the stack of work onto his lap and took a look at it. Hans really didn't do a lot of his work – really. A lot. There were exercises that had been covered months ago, as well as projects that had been handed up a long time ago. Jack rolled his eyes, but before he knew it, he was sitting down and completing a history assignment that he had already done before.
When he had done that, he stared down at it, then laughed. "Okay," he said to himself, picking the piece up. "This is stupid."
Summoning all his might, he crunched the sheet up into a ball and tossed into the bin. He beamed at himself in pride. There was no way on Earth he was going to do Hans' homework for him.
Right.
Right?
He picked the sheet out of the trash and straightened it out. It would be a pity to waste this, especially since he had done it so well.
"Can I borrow your ironing board?" he asked his roommate, who had remained completely oblivious to the struggle that transpired.
Bunnymund looked at him oddly. "Sure, but you've never asked before."
"Oh, sorry," was Jack's sheepish reply, scratching his head, going to retrieve the item he had requested for.
"You've also never apologised before," Bunnymund added, scrutinising him while he started setting up the ironing board. In a manner as concerned as he would dare, he asked, "Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine," the white-haired laughed a little too shrilly as he plugged his iron into the socket. As he pressed the hot metal surface against the crumpled sheet, he murmured scornfully, "Just fine."
The next morning, he sought out the redhead. His pride had been swallowed and stuffed down in the dungeon of his soul. His practicality had to be forced to run business for the day, because heaven knows the only reason why he would be doing this was because he needed it.
"Well, hello, Frost," was the strangely cordial greeting he received from Hans as they ran into each other along the corridor. The emerald eyes that were supposed to be oh-so-enthralling flashed with both interest and warning. "What can I do for you?"
Jack subtly checked his surroundings. His friends were nowhere in sight and most of the nearby students were occupied with their own matters. With a clearly unhappy face, he removed a small folder from his bag and handed it to the other boy. "Here."
Hans took the folder and opened it. After browsing through it briefly, he closed it and asked, "Where's the rest?"
"I'm working on it." Jack shot him a disparaging look. "You have a lot of overdue work, you know?"
Trying to guilt this guy was like asking a dog to stop chasing its tail. "I'm fully aware of that, which is why you need to work faster. And you also owe me cupcakes."
"Oh, be grateful I'm doing any of it," hissed the white-haired boy, shoving past the redhead. The stunned look from the other boy, who hadn't expected it, gave him a slight sensation of satisfaction.
Of course, the sensation was incredibly slight, because it faded quickly, and Jack found his time tightened with the doubled workload. Bunnymund didn't know, of course, because if he did, he would have them both reported and that would be another black mark added to Jack Frost's extraordinary collection. If Kristoff knew, the blonde junior student would hunt down his ex-roommate and beat him up, and Hans would report them both and that would still be another black mark added to the collection again. For obvious reason, Anna was kept in the dark.
That said, he was sort of glad that he had an excuse to postpone their dates now. Things had been getting a little awkward between them.
It occurred to him after he had dropped the folder into Hans' hands for the third time that he had, rather stupidly, dug himself into another grave.
THIS IS JUST LIKE ACT 32! SERIOUSLY JACK! WILL YOU EVER LEARN?
(Well, I can't exactly answer that. I mean, it might spoil the-)
Just get back to the story!
(Oh, really? I mean, you seem really upset and everything, so I just wanted to check on you. Do you need, like, a stress-ball, or a massage? I know a really good masseuse-)
GET BACK BEFORE PEOPLE FORGET WHAT THIS STORY IS REALLY ABOUT!
(Oh. Right. Oops.)
BACK TO STORY - NOW!
(#breakingthefourthwallwhooo~~~)
I SAID NOW!
(Okay, okay, geez. (muttering) Just trying to be nice.)
I heard that!
Act 56: Where the Braid Parade Duked it Out
What is 'shopping' really? Does it refer to going through tons and tons of different garments and taking a few of the shelves, or does it just refer to the act of buying the object?
Because if it's the latter, then she and Anna were not really shopping. They were more like homing missiles, honing down on their target. It had been a week since they had both agreed that they needed to go down to the mall and get that 'Perfect-Prom-Queen-Material', as Anna had dubbed it. Work, varying commitments and Elsa's new tuition session made it difficult to settle on a time they seek out that the dream dress together, and Elsa had promised her sister that it would be a 'together' thing.
"So, what's Pitch like as a tutor?" Anna asked as they dug through the trains of dresses.
They were at the same shop that Merida had bought her own dress, and it was one of those mega stalls that sold clothes of all kinds for all seasons and better still, most items were on sale. Elsa didn't really pay the whole sales thing much attention, focusing solely on getting that dress. The dress. The sole consolation to her attendance of Prom.
That, and making Anna happy.
"He's a complete nightmare," she answered, herself browsing quickly through the gowns on display. She knew that her chances of finding the dress were unlikely. After all, it had been ages since she had come here with Merida and by now the gown might have been taken by someone else, or it might have been cleared off by the store people, locked up in some storage area where it could never see the light of day again.
That thought made her shiver.
"Hehe," she heard Anna chuckle. "That bad, huh?"
"You have no idea," Elsa said, sighing emphatically.
Pitch had done his best to be as condescending as possible, with scathing remarks slotted in between every third sentence and smug looks at the smallest mistake she made. She didn't want to go for these tuition sessions and honestly, no one could make her. But after having been sentenced to a programme that she had once believed were only for the half-wits of the school, the stab in her pride had wounded her more than she thought it could. That combined with the haughtiness of his 'peer-tutor' brought her back to the work desk more than she liked to admit. She tried to quash the old habits - the old fears that kept her locked and rigid before, the old thoughts that made her defensive and worried.
She would not go back to that again.
"Oh, my, this one is cute." Anna pulled out a basque waist gown. "Why not this instead?"
Elsa took one look at it and giggled. "Anna, it's bright orange."
"So?"
"I'm blonde. It'll clash."
"Is there a rule that blonde can't wear orange?" Anna made a comical expression, eyes large and chin drawn in. With an exaggerated air of drama, she said in falsely accented voice, "Well, I've never heard such nonsense! Nein, nein, nein!"
She stamped her foot and put a hand on her hip with a mocking show of indignance, which had her elder sister covering her mouth to choke back her laughter. "I will not have it! If the future Prom Queen, Elsa Elizabeth Catherine Bertha Martha Mona Lisa Ave Maria Tussauds of Our glorious House Arendelle wishes to wear orange, I declare that only a cry from the heavens themselves-" jabbing a finger vindictively in the air "-would keep her from doing so. I, Anna Stravinsky Caribbean Hula-Hooper Chocophile, sister to the Future Prom Queen and Knight of the Book Club,-" clasping her hands to her chest, which made Elsa snicker even louder "- shall be her guardians and strike down any naysayers that might keep her from the truest delight derived from the wearing of bright colours! What are you laughing about?" She wagged her brow at her elder sister in pretended confusion. "I am perfectly serious."
"I'm sure you are." Elsa struggled to keep a straight face, coughing back another peal of laughter.
She made an exaggerated curtsey, making her voice higher pitch than usual. "Why, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Good Anna Stravin-something, Knight of the Book Club, for your loyalty and support in my dressing choices. Alas!" Elsa placed a hand on her chest, and another on her forehead, which in turn made her sister explodes into laughter. "I fear that my constitution and my petty prejudices have made it very undesirable for me to don a colour of such radiance. Oh, dearie, dear me,-" she fanned herself with her hand, making Anna's guffaws rise by several decibels "-I'm afraid that we should return this excellent dress back to the rack."
"It shall be as you say, your highness," Anna attempted to deadpan, though her lips kept cracking up into a smile. With an exaggeratedly dignified manner, she slotted the dress back to its original position, before raising an arm out to her sister. "Come, let us return to that glorious hunt for the 'Perfect Prom Queen Material'."
"Indeed, your highness," Elsa answered, pulling a straight face herself and taking Anna's arm. "Let us resume the hunt."
Both girls then glided down the department store with arms held out stiffly and their chins raised high, as if they were royals gracing their presence to this humble place. The passing janitor just looked at them as if they were just pure nuts, which they probably were.
A bout of laughter later, the two of them dropped the pretence and returned to full out hunting – and indeed it was a hunt. While Elsa perused another section of gowns, she heard Anna say, a little hesitantly, "Elsa?"
She paused her task to look up at her sister. "Yes?"
"Well, if you don't mind me asking-" the girl toyed with her braids, seeming a little uneasy especially with how the words tumbled around "-do you like – I mean, did you – I mean, you used to date Pitch, right?"
"It's not something I'm very proud of." Elsa made a wry look. "But yes, I did."
"Phew! That's something I actually know about you. Ha! Who knew?" the girl muttered in low voice, more to herself than anything. Then, she said, still fumbling a bit, "So, erm, why did you?"
Elsa felt herself stiffen up at the question. She suddenly felt a tightening at her throat. The temptation to close the doors was incredibly strong. She shook herself, trying to will away this silly feeling. She was not afraid. She could not be afraid anymore.
"Well," she managed to force out her mouth, still fighting that tightening feeling around her throat, "I suppose it's because we were alike, I guess."
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth. They had shared similarities in intellect, in interests and in academic prowess, but their personalities and behaviours were very different. She allowed herself to do nothing, and he allowed himself to do anything.
"Then, why did you guys break up?"
"Well," Elsa began to form her answer, then paused. She was going to say that it was because he was an amoral, cynical, macabre psychopath, since that was really a reasonable answer, but if she was to be really honest with herself, that wasn't what had bothered her the most about him.
During the period of their 'relationship' – if that was what it could be called, the companionship between them was cold and unloving. Anything that passed between them was either acrid or uninteresting and there was little joy time spent together. Eventually, the growing friction of egos finally burst into flame and the incapability of compromise resulted in her dumping him in rage and him burning her laptop just because he could.
"I suppose," she finally said, after a long moment of thought, "we were far too alike."
"Hmm." By how impassive Anna's response was, Elsa assumed that that was the end of topic, but then she heard the girl speak, in quieter voice, "So, do you think Jack and I will eventually break up?"
Elsa was taken aback by the question. "What?"
"You and Pitch broke up because you guys were too alike, right? Jack and I are pretty alike in lots of stuff, so I kinda of extrapolated from there," Anna explained, shoving her hands into her dress pockets, staring listlessly at the endless stream of dresses.
"Well, no. Of course not," her sister was quick to answer, pausing the search. She drew up to the younger girl, downcast and biting her lip. "It's not exactly a hard and fast rule that people who are alike would break up. In a matter of fact, I'm sure it's what makes some couples get together in the first place."
"But that still doesn't mean that it'll last, right?" Anna murmured, scrapping her shoe against the floor. "What's the point if it doesn't last?"
It did hit Elsa then that she had never actually spoken long enough to her sister all her life to see her like this. She had always assumed that Anna enjoyed frivolity and parties and being 'hyper' and other silly things associated with being a teen, but she had never thought of Anna as someone who dreamed and feared tomorrow. She never even thought that Anna would think of tomorrow.
"What brought this up?" Her voice sounded reserved, but there was a part of her inside that actually felt incredibly eager to know the cause of these brooding sentiments. She shrugged it off as being concerned about her sister's love life, but a scornful sneer at the back of her head berated her for deceiving herself.
"It's just, well, Jack and I haven't really been talking a lot these past days," Anna admitted, pressing her lips together after she spoke, scrunching up her hands inside her coat and tugging it against herself. "I think he's been really busy with studies recently, which I get, I guess, but we used to be closer." She removed her hands from her pocket to play with the zipper of the jacket. "He hasn't replied most of the messages I've been sending him these days."
"Well, I'm sure it's just busyness," Elsa said lightly, trying to inject cheer some in her tone. "Anyway, I wouldn't let you date someone who wasn't responsible enough to study for his finals." She couldn't help feeling a sting as the words came out of her mouth.
It didn't show on her face though, for her sister smiled at the comment, saying, "Well, I guess so."
"Don't worry about Jack," the blonde girl said, smiling even as she tried to squash this mysterious uneasiness she felt swimming in her stomach. What was wrong with her? "He's a nice guy. He'd never hurt you."
The reassurance did make Anna perk up and soon she returned to perusing the gown collection, making remarks every now and then as she came across one that she liked. Elsa, however, couldn't ignore the mysterious weight pressing against her chest as she watched her sister chatting animatedly and dancing down the store aisles. Anna was already so cheerful, friendly, optimistic, hopeful, sweet….
… so why did she also get to have a boy just as wonderful she was? Wasn't it kind of unfair how two rays of unadulterated sunshine would be clustered together when the rest of the world stayed dark, cold and ugly? Shouldn't there be some kind of rule that forced them to go out and mingle with the rest of them infidels so that the goodness and kindness could be shared?
And then Elsa pulled the brakes on her train of thought and she shook her head. 'Where were all these ideas coming from?' she wondered as she dug through the rack. Anna liked Jack. Jack made Anna happy. And if Anna was happy, she was happy. That was supposed to be how the story went. That was supposed to be how the story was meant to be.
But envy was a sneaky serpent that had somehow wormed its way into her mind, and she was finding it difficult to be happy for Anna. It was ridiculous, really, since she had in part shoved Anna into the boy's arms in the first place – or more, well, the other way around, she supposed. But the wants of man – or in her case, a woman – were often irrational and now it played tricks on her, teaching her to long for precisely what she had given away.
It was an unpleasant gnawing feeling that stirred a swarm of unpleasantness inside her, and she wished that she could just lock them up, bury them in the ground and throw away the –
What was she doing? No! No! That's what the old Elsa would have done. 'Conceal, don't feel' – all that nonsense was over. No! The emotion were uncomfortable, but she could deal with them. Other people dealt with this all the time, right? This wouldn't be such a big deal. She could sort this out. She could do. She could –
This was so unfair. Why couldn't the world have more white-haired boys who tell lame jokes and do insane yet fun ideas while being sweet, determined, thoughtful and –
She really needed to stop this. She was stopping this. STOP.
STOP.
STOP.
STOP.
Also cute. Sweet, determined, thoughtful and really, really cute. Why couldn't the world have more of them?
STOP. And when did she ever start thinking he was cute? Heck that, when did she even start using the word 'cute'?
While our heroine struggled with her innermost thoughts once again, our heroine's sister continued her mission to find the 'Perfect Prom Queen Material'. She knew that her sister was specifically seeking out a certain light blue gown that was sort of sparkly, with white, semi-translucent sleeves and a matching sash. She pursed her lips as she checked all the dresses in the line-up that the remotest hint of blue in it, wondering who on Earth would be nuts enough to that colors like those would make an elegant gown. The combo sounded really …cartoony.
All her prejudices against a blue and white gown promptly fell away when she did actually catch sight of the gown.
"Elsa!" She grabbed her sister by her arm. It later did register in her mind that she hadn't made bodily contact with her sister since, well, possibly forever. But while she was this excited, Anna didn't think through her actions too completely.
The blonde seemed to have been rudely awakened from deep thinking, if her spooked behaviour, but any ill feel she might have had to her waker was promptly forgotten as Anna slapped her against the arm and pointed. "Look! Is that the one?"
The dress she pointed to was the one that was hanging from a rack just two rows down from where they were. It was glistening, shimmering just as gorgeous as Elsa remembered it.
"Yes," the girl breathed out slowly, relieved. Then she nodded, excitement building. "Yes, yes, yes, that's the -"
And then a passing customer went by the rack, picked up the dress, glanced it, then put it over her arm.
The two sister gawked in disbelief as they watched the perfect gown being swept away, down the store aisle. All the gowns here were certainly one of a kind, which meant further searching would only be futile.
But Elsa refused to give up. "I'm going to ask her."
Anna startled at this declaration. "Wait. What?"
"I'm going to ask that person to let me have that dress," Elsa said, already moving out of the row and into the aisle, hastening her pace to catch up with the disappearing gown.
"Erm, Elsa?" Anna's tone was hesitant as she stumbled forward to follow her sister. "I kinda, eh, think that's not the best idea…"
"Why not?" The blonde said, shrugging. "I'll just explain that's its Prom, and that I really want my dream dress. If she's nice enough, she'll give it over. Um, excuse me?" she raised her voice to call out to the person. "Could you hold up for a sec?"
"That's not the problem," Anna protested, sounding more urgent now.
"Relax, I've got this all under-" and then she broke herself off.
The girl, now that she had turned around, was clearly recognized as Astrid Hofferson.
A.k.a Captain of the female Rugby team, Head Student Councillor and Winner of the last two years level beauty pageants.
A.k.a. ANOTHER Prom Queen contestant. And absolutely nothing will go wrong, because Astrid was a really sweet, charming girl…unless you got in the way of her way of getting what she wanted. Just ask the opponents of last season's game. They're still sporting bruises.
"Well, er, Elsa, isn't it?" Astrid smiled brightly at the elder sister, then gazed briefly at the other girl, who now wore a grimacing expression. "Fancy seeing you shopping here too." Her eyes darted back and forth between the two, friendliness slipping away abruptly. "So, can I help you girls?"
"Yes, actually," Elsa cut straight to the chase despite the furious shaking of Anna's head, stepping forward. "That dress." She nodded to the sparkling flow of fabric tucked under the other girl's arm. "I was actually wondering if I could have it."
Astrid blinked, shifting the gown so that she could fold her arms. "Oh. Um, there's a slight problem 'coz, I don't know-" she shrugged, albeit a little exaggeratedly "-I want it, and I saw it first. So,-" shaking her head, part apologetic, part smug "-fraid I can't help you with that."
"Actually, I saw it first," Elsa said, face expressionless and arms crossed too. "Several weeks ago, actually."
"Really?" The other girl put a hand on her hip, raising a brow skeptically. "Then didn't you buy it then?"
"I-" Elsa pursed her lips together, then decided that to go with being candid. "I didn't think I would be actually going for Prom then, but now I want to go, and I would like very much to have that dress." She angled her head sharply towards the gown.
Astrid considered her coolly for a moment, then slowly took a step towards her, expression pinched and displeased. "I don't think you fully understand how seriously I take Prom. For example, shoes-" she pointed down to her feet, directing the two girls to admire the white three-inch heels"- I had them to pre-ordered and personalised from Madrid.
"Hair?" She twirled her own blonde braid, which was much like Elsa's except thicker and with more elaborate knots done into. Somehow, that action alone was sufficient to make the other blonde twist her own hand. "I had the hair-dresser for the night booked six months in advance. Make-up artist was eight months in advance. And the dress?"
Astrid stopped for a breath, sucking in deeply and narrowing her eyes. "I've been looking the entire years for the perfect dress, and trust me when I say, this-" she unfolded the shimmering, crystalline fabric of the gown "-is the perfect dress. I'm afraid that I'm not going to giving it up that easily."
"O-kay then." Anna made an awkward giggle as she tried to pull Elsa away. "I guess we'll just be going then."
"Hold on." Elsa pushed her sister's hand off her own, turning back to face the other girl. Looking down at the gown, then Astrid, she said, tone polite but with an edge to it, "It is the perfect dress, yes, but-" she gestured towards the gown and pulled a face.
Though wary, the girl holding the dress was curious enough to lean closer and asked, "But what?"
"It's bit a long for you, don't think?"
Astrid snorted at her, taking the dress by the yokes and holding it out at arms-length. "It's not too-" she paused as she observed how the end of the dress swept against the floor, then drew it nearer towards herself to find that the result was indeed true.
"You might considering trying the dress before buying it." Elsa's comment, though said with a straight-face, had a triumphant endnote to it.
But the other blonde didn't relent, still folding the dress up under her arm possessively. "Well, I can get altered at the counter."
"You can't get these kind of dresses altered," was the objection that came, with her blue eyes flashing bright. "It's a masterpiece! It'll be like drawing a rainbow on the Mona Lisa."
"That would be cool, actually," Anna said in a deliberately loud voice, trying to step in between the two girls. "And you know what else is cool?" She wagged a finger at both of them. "You two have bright blue eyes, blonde hair and like wearing your hair in braids. You could be mirrors of each other!"
"Well, sometimes the masterpiece needs to be updated so that it can fit into the grand design, don't you think?" came Astrid's acrid answer, teeth grinding against each other.
"Masterpieces," Elsa spoke testily, face hardening as she shoved Anna aside so that she glared directly at her opponent, "are meant evergreen. Untouched and left in its original condition. If the design can't fit the masterpiece, then maybe the design is not fit for the masterpiece, if you get what I mean."
"Oh, and my favourite artist is Jackson Pollock," Anna interjected brightly, trying to break the tension – and not doing a very good job of it. "What's yours?"
"Excuse me?" Astrid's voice was raised a decibel, one of her fists clenching.
"You heard me loud and clear." Elsa loftily folded her arms. "This dress not made for people of your build."
"And no one's listening to me," Anna grumbled to – unsurprisingly – no one in particular.
"Oh, and it's made for people like you? Who couldn't care less about Prom just a week ago?" Astrid fired back hotly, stabbing a finger towards the girl. "I've worked hard for this. I've been preparing to be Prom Queen for the last year and by the gods, I deserve this dress. And you can bet I'm not going to give this to some bratty Snow Queen who turns her nose up at everyone else because she's got a superiority complex!"
"This will not end well," the resigned brunette commented as Elsa absorbed the comment.
Like a bear being roused from its hibernation was the building chill in the taller girls voice. "What did you call me?"
"Snow Queen. Frosty. Stuck-up. Holier-Than-Thou Freak-show. You may have changed your appearance, but that hardly changes who you are." Astrid had a taunting gleam in her eye. "Get used to the title, your majesty, 'cause trust me – that's the only Queen you're ever gonna be."
Elsa glowered at the girl and it was tempting, also tempting to punch her between the eyes.
And because she had absolutely no restraints on her own behaviour, Elsa did.
"What the heck-" Astrid pulled back in shock, slightly dazed by what just happened.
As one of her hands went to cover her nose, the other blonde quickly snatched the dress from her hands and sprinted down the aisle, screaming, "Run, Anna!"
The brunette girl herself was rather startled by the unexpected turn of events and when she did find the ability to move her limbs once again, took one look at the fuming senior student clutching her nose and said, "Oh."
Then she ran.
If this was any other girl that Elsa would have punched, she might have possibly succeeded in her endeavour. But as it was, this was Astrid Hofferson – Rugby Captain, Head Student Councillor and infamous for her bad-temper and 'I-will-end-you-if-YOU-DON'T-GIVE-THAT-BACK' kind of competitiveness.
And she gave chase, like a cheetah pursuing an antelope.
And she managed to loop around and cut our heroine off half-way off her path.
And with a magnificent jump kick, she struck our heroine backwards, causing our heroine to stumble back.
And the other blonde took the dress from her and cackled triumphantly, running off to the payment counter, promising to mention her in her coronation speech after she became Prom Queen.
To which our heroine glowered, then speed off after her.
After which, she passed by a tray of loose hangers, grabbed one and tossed it like a boomerang down the shopping aisle.
To which the hanger-boomerang struck Astrid in the knee, caught her off guard and had her tumbling forward, face first.
After which, our heroine started running forward, lips pursed and determined.
To which Astrid just glared at, before pushing herself off the ground and straightening herself up, gown bundled under her arm.
To which she found to her surprise Anna managed to swipe from her, shouting, "Thanks!"
To which was a little early, because Astrid promptly grabbed her by the coat hoodie and yanked her back, tripping her backwards and releasing the brunette's grip on the gown.
After which Astrid used the opportunity to grabbed the dress back, screaming, "It's mine!" and planned to run off, only for Anna in turn to throw herself forward and hug the senior student's legs.
To which the crazed blonde athlete retaliated by trying to shove her off, only to realise that Anna had really strong arms and she wouldn't move.
To which Anna realised, to her delight, that the enemy had been immobilised. "Elsa!" she shrieked ecstatically. "TAKE IT HOME!" Then as an afterthought, added with a squeal, "LIKE LITERALLY! AFTER WE PAY!"
To which Elsa grinned, and then found a shopping cart just sitting there nearby where she was. By the boxes of shoes inside it, it was probably not for customer use, but who cares? She noted, conveniently, that the path to the payment counter was a downward slope.
To which she grabbed the handles of the shopping cart and ran for with it, with Anna whooping in victory.
However, the foe noted Anna's distraction and began wriggling out her grip, pushing against the younger girl's face and managing to loosen the hold on herself considerably. Stiffly, she moved both herself and the brunette towards the payment with large, though awkward, steps.
"ELSA!" Anna screamed as the other blonde started on her slow but determined advance towards the finish line. "I CAN'T HOLD HER ANY LONGER!"
Gritting her teeth, Elsa started herself on a sprint, not caring if her heels were killing her. When the cart started to gain momentum, she let go it briefly before hurriedly throwing herself flat onto of the shoe boxes. As the wheels rattled below her, she quickly pulled herself up, grabbing the sides of the cart to steady herself.
As she had predicted, the cart swooshed down the incline, startling other customers and staff that happened to be along the path. As she passed the rival blonde, she held out her hand and snatched the turquoise gown out of her hands. Outrage and disbelief marked Astrid's face as the shopping cart zoomed by. Anna on the other hand went absolutely nuts, releasing the enemy from her grip and throwing in her hands in the air, cheering, "HOME-RUN! HOME-RUN!"
Elsa herself was on her triumphant parade, seated on top of the mountain of shoes boxes like it was her carriage and waving the gown as if it were a flag. She was laughing with such glee that she didn't notice the little black rubber bump along the polished ground. You know, the kind of bumps that are put over electrical wires so that people don't break them and get electrocuted and stuff.
And when the wheels of the cart hit the bump, the cart tipped over.
Out went the shoe boxes, flying everywhere like comets from an exploding asteroid. The star of our show was startled when she was launched into the air and the gown left her hands, flying off on its own. She stumbled forward, tumbling and sliding on the hard floor just in time to miss the 180 flip of the shopping cart. What more, with all the speed it had accumulated, the cart continued sliding forward, metal on marble squeaking fiercely and driving other customers away with frightened squeals. It only stopped when it finally crashed into the payment counter, much to the horror of the staff member who had just managed to escape the devastation in time.
Pushing herself off the ground, Elsa swung her braid behind before glancing up at the terrified people, the overturned cart and the wrecked payment counter. She cringed. "Oops."
That, sadly, was not the end of it.
You know how I said that that the shoe boxes were flying like comets? Well, one of the shoe boxes flew up so high that it crashed into the chandelier that just happened to hanging above the payment counter area. It was kind of an upper-notch of retail store, so the folks who designed wanted it to look classy enough and they put a chandelier there. Not the wisest choice, because they didn't take into account the possibility of a box of shoe whacking it hard. Like really hard.
The chandelier pieces jingled around a bit, some of them smashed upon impact and starting to crumble. One of the primary pieces must have gotten broken in the process, because – whoopsies! Was that the chain holding the chandelier? Well, it wasn't a very strong chain.
People screamed as they saw the large glass structure plummeting towards the floor, with everyone clearing the area around the payment counter. By then, our heroine had clambered to her feet, dress under her arm. She puzzled a little why everyone was running, then looked up and said, "Oh."
And then she ran.
And then the stupid heel of one boot broke.
And then she tripped.
And then the chandelier came tumbling down, like the walls in the song 'Pompeii' by Bastille. Which might have been talking about the actual city of Pompeii that was destroyed by a volcano in the BCs.
And the moral of the story, kids, is don't run in heels.
In a matter of fact, stay far, far away from heels. They are useless creatures that will make your legs scream unnecessarily while predisposing you to falling flat on your face.
Our heroine certainly would agree with that. Well, if she was conscious.
What an idiot.
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A/N: Short note, because I really need to sleep.
I don't know Dutch, and I don't know there is a Dutch crown princess. I hope there isn't, so she'll never have to meet Hans.
I have finally written out a plan for this story, so hopefully it will end by Chapter 13. HAHAHAHAHAHA - who am I kidding…
Zenaida: Yep, this is not ending that soon. MUHAHAHAHAA. Prepare to suffer!
Time to sleep, because the author, too, is at times an idiot.
Reviews would be nice, but mostly I just hope that you've enjoyed this.
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