And So the Dick that Wants to Eat Me is Back
Monday morning Lauren woke up with her stomach turning. She groaned, slamming the alarm she had set. She stared at the thick curtains she had placed on the window, noting that faintly, the small bells she had sewn a little clumsily on the very bottom shinned in the low light. She licks her lips before she got up. Today was the day, she thought, trying to ignore how ominous that sounded even in her head because Edward Cullen was coming back from his self-imposed exile in Alaska. She sighed, running a hand through her hair.
She called her sister. Two rings and she answered her.
"City Morgue, you stab 'em, we slab 'em," chimed her sister, a little tiredly, "This is eight-ball speakin' how may I direct your call?"
Lauren couldn't help it, despite her foul mood, that made her cackle like a hyena. It was stupid and really not funny- but it still made her laugh, and she needed that. She took a breath before she talked:
"Hey, Miri… Today's the day," Lauren said, trying to sound okay with it.
Miriam knew her too well.
"You can always pretend to be sick," Miriam said thoughtfully, yawning, "Or stab him in the eye. Or fire. You like fire. It'd be a good way to test our theory if the Andy Warhol* is a walking talking roman candle?"
"I don't think that's going to help me, as tempting as that is," she muttered as she grabbed the first set of tights she could find that didn't have a hole and a decentish emerald dress. She headed to the bathroom, ignoring the sound of bells on her door(this provided by a horrendously green and red scrunchie, yes, an actual scrunchie around her doorknob with festive bells), bath things in hand and sighed a little at the fact that Charlie had already left for the morning.
She liked the man- but she didn't have to pretend when he wasn't in the house, she could relax a bit. Sometimes it was incredibly hard to behave the way he expected her to and while she tried to be as honest as she could be, she was a hermit by nature and having to live with a relative stranger amped her anxiety up to eleven. When he wasn't in the house, Lauren didn't have to worry if she was wearing a bra, or if her hair was a small halo of hair that defied gravity that was sticking in all directions.
She could just… Be comfortable. Three weeks were not enough to be completely at ease with anyone, no matter how awesome the mustache dad was. Hell, she was pretty sure that Charlie wasn't completely at ease with her either. She thinks that there both still adjusting to each other. Apparently, Bella had failed to mention in the book how much of a distance was between her and the police chief. Doesn't hover her ass, more like has no idea where he stood with her. Lauren felt that their heart to heart at least allowed that much to them.
"Well, you know the drill, keep him at a distance, don't throw your hair or anything in his direction, and be the first one at the table so that the heater is moving your scent towards the back instead of head-on."
Lauren sighs.
"I know. Even if the heating circulates the room, at least it isn't straight in his stupid face."
"Good girl."
"Text you after every class?"
"Yes, please. I love you, Lauren," says her sister quietly, warm and soft.
Lauren feels herself smile.
"Love you, too Miriam," she responds, just as soft, before she hangs up.
Shaking her head, she showers, slowly, because she woke up insanely early and she has time, slurping up all the hot water. She slowly unwinds her muscles, focuses on breathing and the beat of the music she has playing on her phone. Shower time is her time- so she takes her damn time with and allows for the water to grow cold after she finishes shampooing her hair. Her breakfast, well that she skips, because Edward Anthony Masen Cullen is back and she feels herself wanting to hurl at the thought of it. The drive to school is rainy and she's blasting the Weeknd, and she leaves the house early because she's so on edge. And because she knows if she loiters, she's going to skip the entire day.
When she gets to the parking lot, she realizes that she's about an hour early to class, only a few cars in the parking lot. Club kids, she thinks with a sigh, before she swings onto her back, debating reading before she feels like she can't, and then debates drawing a bit before she realizes she's too amped up as well. She sighs, staring at the ceiling of her truck, letting the Weeknd's Reminder wash over her. She decides to take a nap, giving herself about thirty minutes to at least zone out before she left her car.
She's about twenty minutes in when someone knocks on her window.
Blinking her heavy eyes, she lifts her head to see her fellow Lauren- face pinched and slightly irate. She shuts off her music, and swings up, unlocks the door, and let's the utterly soaked girl into her truck. She rummaged behind her, grabbing a large towel and giving it wordlessly to the girl. Lauren M. took the towel with a strange look on her face before it went around her shoulders and she started to rub her long, luscious blonde hair. She was silent for a beat, her teeth chattering slightly. Lauren took it as her cue to turn on her car and heater, the softer rumble via Rosalie, and discreetly shoved her phone under the skirt of her dress.
"God. You're such a mom. I swear you're like Mary Poppins when you do shit like that," says Lauren M., shaking her head with a slight smirk, "Do you even carry cough drops?"
Lauren lifts a brow at the younger girl- waiting and assessing to what brought the girl to her truck in the first place. Her lower lip trembles and the blonde let out a huff of hair.
"What are you even doing here at school anyway?"
Lauren shrugs.
"I was tempted to ditch today. I knew if I didn't get my ass to school I wouldn't come at all."
Lauren M. blinks her expressive and gorgeous green eyes.
"And here I thought you were a nerd. You got balls, Swan."
Lauren smiled.
"I am a nerd. But nerds have balls too, blondie."
Lauren M. laughs, shaking her head.
"Okay, Okay," she mummers, dropping the towel around her shoulders, "I wanted to ask if you were mad at me and Jess. She said you would be, for what we said about Emmett Cullen. I'm not really that good at making friends, and most people just call me a fucking bitch and tolerate me because Tyler's my boyfriend and I run the cheerleading squad."
Lauren blinks, and blinks again, wondering at the fact that even Queen Bee's have their insecurities.
"Hey, I may have overreacted. I don't make friends that easily either, Lauren Mallory, " she told her honestly, leaning on the seat, finding herself smiling, "It's just a sore spot for me. I don't really care about dating, and I got enough shit for that before. I overreacted, even if you guys did push me."
She doesn't point out that she is under a shit ton of pressure via supernatural shenanigans, which was the real reason she had overreached. She had honestly forgotten about her kinda blow up on Friday at Jessica and Lauren M.- dealing with the possible implications of the Pack, the elder Cullen couple zoning in on her and adamantly wanting to be her friends- Well, it had honestly slipped her mind. But evidently, it did bother Lauren Mallory to a bigger extent then Lauren would have believed.
"So no hard feelings?" and as Lauren M. looks at her, she sees a horrible vulnerability that comes to all teenagers, fear of lack of acceptance, fear of not being liked.
It is horrible that the sight of it leaves Lauren feeling both old and horrible nostalgic. Part of her thinks it's because she never had such an opportunity to really be a teenager. It was the reason why she had loved Bella's character when she was eleven. Because she had connected with Bella's claim to be burdened with taking care of a parent at a young age. She had matured, in part because of how her father's disease had degraded over time, as well as for what had happened to her sister. It was a lot of stress, on a child that young, she acknowledged, and it was a reason she had lost herself so deeply into the escapist that reading offered.
Lauren had never really allowed herself to be a teenager, not really. She had never had any big rebellions against her parents because they were poor and her father was incredibly sick for her to put more stress on him by being stupid. She had never fallen into the whole drama aspect that seemed to drive most of her friends, had focused hard on school and art, knuckled down on responsibility. It had been her armor, her drive to keep from crumbling down. Not because she had been above or blind to it- but rather because certain things were pushed aside for how little importance they were to her in comparison to other things. Who cared if the guy I have a crush on doesn't like me because I'm fat? My father just had his second heart attack and is having an experimental mechanical pump put into him so he has a better chance of living until a heart transplant.
It hadn't helped that she more or less had become like a therapist to most of her friends. It was an odd day when she didn't have a friend leaning against her shoulder to sob their heart out over how their boyfriend or girlfriend had broken their heart. Or how worried they were that a person didn't like them back as much as they liked them. Another reason that Lauren had been reluctant to date in high school.
"Water under the bridge, Mallory," she said softly, smiling at the younger girl.
Lauren M. gives her a smile in return, sweeping away that vulnerable expression. If Lauren had learned anything in the twenty years of life, it was how to be good at comforting people.
OOOOOOO
Edward Cullen had a faint feeling of dread as he walked towards the biology classroom. He knew she was there- Isabella Swan. She had gone ahead of both the Newton boy and Angela Weber, a smile on her face as she departed from the table of the more popular children of Forks High School. She had waved her binder in their faces at their complaints, claiming to want to get a start on her English homework and 'Couldn't do that with your asses making so much noise' and walked off amongst the hoots and jeers of her classmates, somehow not taking offense at the crass language.
Most of them had even laughed.
And there she was, at their shared desk- The creature that smelled so devastatingly good, made his throat burn white hot and his mouth filled with venom, nearly causing him to drool like some sort animal.And that was what this child had reduced him to- a frothing drooling animal that had been so ready to slaughter a room with children and one man just so he could relish in that girl, devour her, consume every last drop of her blood inside of him and warming every corner of his body to the point of agonizing, delicious ecstasy.
It was a curious, but intoxicating mix: the sharp smell of lime(Everlasting), tempered by the sweetness and liveliness of orange blossoms(Purity) and the softness of lavender(Devotion), all enhanced with the smell of the earth after the rain(cleansing). He wondered, absently, if the last one was a product of living in Forks, and if her scent was different in the heat and dryness of the Arizona sun… If it was better and more potent…. His mouth watered at the thought before he pushed the thought viciously aside. I will not fall into temptation, I am stronger than my base desires, no matter how strong.
He had not understood. Not quite, when he had caught just faded remains of her smell on Carlisle's jacket and Esme's clothes. Carlisle always burned whatever clothes he took to the hospital for the sake of Jasper, to prevent any lingering scent of blood and death off of him. And Esme, sweet Esme had been around so many humans after she had moved away from the girl- it had become muddled and lost underneath the stench of other people and the food she had purchased to donate across state lines. He had only caught a hint- a small lingering scent of sweetness and had felt thirst afterward but had not really thought too much of it.
But oh. Oh, a week ago he had nearly killed her.
He had been so close, nearly sprang from his seat the second the smell had hit him, thrown his way by the faulty heater, blowing the short strands of her hair and the overpowering smell towards him. But he had stopped himself, mustered the restraint and the will to prevent himself from becoming a monster again- but this time he would not have the false self-righteousness of being judge, jury, and executioner. Destroying a part of himself, harming Carlisle and devastating Esme... He sat and allowed Banner to do his half-hearted lecture before he fell back into his standard of giving the pages to read and sitting and reading an inappropriate novel behind his desk.
Now, she was just as oblivious as she had been last week, doing as Banner bid. Seated daintily, with crossed legs beneath her on the hard school chair. She leaned on her right hip, earbuds in place absently chewing on her lip as she stared at the book in front of her.
Edward wanted to understand her- She seemed friendly, but the girl was constantly quiet, did not invite conversation. He had seen that with her interactions with the popular children, she never started the conversation herself. He wouldn't go as far to say that the girl was shy, not really, how could she be when she could banter so well with Crowley or talked so admittedly with Angela over the latest book she had been reading(Curious, to Edward, she had been reading Pride and Prejudice, he wouldn't have pegged the girl for a classical fan with her dark attire, not to mention she had also mentioned reading at the same time some sort of fantastical book about a wizard detective). But here they were, ten minutes into sitting next to each other and the girl had yet to say a word.
Instead, she was diligently reading the passage as per Mr. Banner's instructions, humming tunelessly and writing down notes in her binder. She had horrible writing- a confusing mess of loops and hasty scribbles that would have made his schoolmaster take out the cane. But she wrote it quickly, highlighted keywords in different colors- wrote color-coded notes with brightly colored gel pens with small doodles to support her notes.
She never looked at her notes- when she studied, the girl tended to quiz other people and seemed to be doing fine. The minds of the teachers seemed to imply that the girl was intelligent but distant in class. She was somewhat attentive but doodled and spaced out more often than not. But she still did well in class, straight As.
She hummed, a soft sound before she shook her head as if she hadn't intended to do that. And she did this all without a look in his direction. It was not as if the classroom was quiet- in fact, most of the children were blathering away mindlessly as they took notes, illy no doubt. But not the girl. Edward was mildly astounded, as he had yet to see such a diligent student. It spoke about the girl, she was serious, which he would have never guessed by her somewhat lack of application that had done in her other classes, perhaps it was because she attained information much more easily from textbooks then from the lackluster teachers that Forks provided(he does not blame her for it, even pities her because he can sympathies having been forced again and again through the drudgery of incompetent teachers). She was quiet but he would never have guessed her to be serious because she got along so well with the popular children.
She was a puzzle and much to ever mounting frustration, her silent mind stayed that way- silent and eluding him.
"Hello," he started, trying to keep his voice soothing, it wouldn't do to scare the girl. It was for that same reason that he kept his smile close-lipped, "My name is Edward Cullen, I believe we have yet to meet properly."
Her purple pen froze and the girl swiveled her head in his direction. Her big gray eyes- they looked green because of her dark emerald dress- blinked. She licked her tiny, plump lips, a quick swipe of her delicate, pink tongue. He blinked, trying desperately not to breathe her scent.
"Oh, Hi. Right, sorry, I'm not used to having someone at the desk with me," she smiled, a quick quirk of her small lips, exposing even teeth for a fraction of a second, "I'm Izzy. Izzy Swan."
Automatically it seemed, she extended her hand for a shake. Strange for a teenage girl, but she was surely aware of it because she started to withdraw the hand quickly. But Edward extended his hand anyway, capturing her small hand easily halfway through its retreat. He marveled at how small it was- at how her plumpish fingers just radiated warmth, at just her touch, he felt a small spark, a current of something he could not comprehend at the meeting of their hands. She shook, seemingly not noting the different temperatures or the shock as Edward had. His eyes flickered downward at their hands meeting, seemingly polar opposite. Her's warm and small, his frigid and large, he could encompass her entire fist in his hand if he so chooses. He quickly let go of her hand.
"Nice to meet you," here her smiled sharpened somewhat, "Emmett mentioned you had the flu. Are you feeling better?"
Edward frowned at the casual mention of his brother. They were getting close- Emmett had warned him just this morning not to hurt the girl, uncouthly placed him in a headlock because she was 'Pretty cool and has a future'. His sister and brother's mind on the ride she had given them to their home during one of Rosalie's episodes- how she had been willing to stop her extension of friendship if they were uncomfortable with her small talk as it was. She had said it with a smile on her face and then of course that Saturday afternoon they spent with Rosalie inspecting her car.
Pleasant, Emmett and Rosalie laughing in a way that hadn't in years, the girl surprisingly mature and charming when she spoke, a plethora of references and various intellectual interjections that most would not hear below the level of college Academia. Edward did not like that. It would not do for them to become friendly, it was bad enough that this girl smelled as she did. Emmett and Rosalie for that matter, should not be interacting with her. But they kept going back, grinning as they waved at her or as they talked between classes...
"Yes, I was quite ill," he supplied evenly and he smiled again, "But I am much better, thank you."
"Cool."
And at that, she moved as if to return to her notes.
"So, I heard that you're interested in Art?"
The girl froze, heart, beating slightly faster. She turned to him in surprise. Her cheeks, round and with just a dusting of a tan already fading in the lack of sun, turned a rosy color.
"Is Emmett talking about me?"
Ah, so the girl is infatuated. Typical. Well, we are beautiful to them, I suppose.
Edward was surprised at how disappointed he felt- perhaps he had been hoping for a different mental process to go with that silent mind.
"Rosalie mentioned it- though Emmett did say that you were very good at it," he didn't want to disappoint the girl too much, poor dear, liking a Vampire and a brute like Emmett beyond that, "I've dare to say they both talk about you often. It's been awhile since my family… Has made a friend."
The girl blinked.
"Oh, Rosalie too? I'm glad. I thought she didn't like me," she laughs, smiling again, "But then again she's the epitome of the bitch face. She's incredibly difficult to read sometimes… I swear she likes my truck more then she likes me."
He stares at her, in complete surprise. She's smiling in pleasure at the thought of Rosalie liking her. So not infatuated, then, she had been blushing in embarrassment. How odd. He is idiotically pleased by the turn of events. Much more of a mystery, then, he tells himself, smiling.
"I'm afraid you never answered my question," he prompted.
The girl rolled her eyes, but not maliciously.
"Yeah, sorry. I am interested in Art," she smiles, wide and it's really a beam, full and inviting. It surprises him because he sees that she flushes when she's pleased and it becomes her rosy complexion and her green-grey eyes crinkle and shine, "I hope to be an Artist… Hopefully not starving."
"Ah, not a very stable career, is it?"
"I guess not. Then again, that's mostly a stigma because of the whole trend of the Bohemian- living for art's sake is a torture and all that jazz- there are fairly stable careers within the art world. And it's what I want to do- Follow your dream and all that. I can't imagine being stuck in a job that I hate. Been there, done that, all I got was a lousy t-shirt. Well, I actually stole the t-shirt but that is neither here nor there."
Edward blinked.
"You've thought long about this," he pointed it, brows furrowed. And it had seemed as she had, despite her… Colorful phrasing. That small spark of intellect had impressed Rosalie and Emmett.
The girl frowned.
"Well, yeah. Why wouldn't I?"
"Most seventeen-year-olds don't."
Her lips curled.
"But some do, obviously. What about you, what is in the cards for you, Mister Cullen?"
"Oh, well, I want to become a Doctor, like Carlisle."
She raises a brow.
"Pretty lofty goal," here, she gives that sharp smile, "Not queasy are you? Frankly, as much as I admire the medical field all the various bodily fluids always off-put me from joining it."
Edward has to stop himself from laughing aloud. He was out of breath and needed to inhale to continue talking. He breathed, enduring the beautiful burn of her scent down his throat. It was so…
Delicious.
"You have a fear of blood?" he chuckles at the irony of the thought- The girl's whose blood he wanted to drain dry had a fear of it*.
The girl blinks and then snorts.
"Actually no. I'm fine with blood. I've worked with my blood on an Art project- It's the other stuff- saliva and urine of other people- that is extremely off-putting."
"You've worked with your blood on an Art project?"
He is both fascinated and disgusted, the art of his time had been beautiful and exploration of form and light*. He could not get behind the more modern art. Part of him, that monster in the bottom of his burning throat is frustrated that this creature in front of him, this frail, little creature with the bright eyes and the intoxicating scent has wasted some of the nectar that runs through her veins on something as silly as a piece of art. She waves a dismissive hand.
"Well, yeah. It was an exploration of the body with the body. It took a while to collect the blood too, I gathered it up in a little glass vial and stored it in the fridge- Nearly had a heart attack when my mom threw it away so I had to start all over. It was a failed project anyway, just an experiment," she wrinkled her nose, "It looked horrible and that was mostly because I am not a painter."
He laughed.
"Isabella Swan, you are curious person."
She looked at him, grey eyes green and intent. She placed her chin in her hand, caressing her round face with her infinitely small fingertips. There was something in her gaze- a contemplation- an assessment that made him freeze, curious and wondering what her gaze meant- to what was going through her mind. But even as he pushed, as the minds he had been ignoring came to the forefront as he actively tried, no whisper of her voice became his to listen to- she was silent and out of reach. And she was still staring at him, assessing, calculating in a way that had he had a heartbeat, his would be pounding.
"So are you, Edward Cullen. Now, as lovely as this chat is- I want to finish this reading so I don't have any homework- Talk to you later, Cullen."
"Edward is fine," he corrected, smiling.
She blinked, licked her lips, nodded and went back to the assignment.
"Okay. Call me Izzy, then, Isabella is a little too… Not me," she said, distantly, flicking her small fingertips in his direction. She then popped in her earphones listing calmly to her bizarre music and returning to her notes.
She did not so much as look in his direction for the duration of the class. In fact, she gave no other indication that she cared that he was there. He made a show of lifting and dropping his chest in a mockery of breathing, the taste of her scent pooling and festering in his venom-filled mouth. When the bell rang, he fled the classroom and sucked in a breath of fresh air away from her.
He did not see how her grey eyes followed him, or how her shoulders slumped in sheer relief as he left.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
When Lauren entered her art class, she was greeted with two worried looks pinned on the door. Faintly, as she gave as casual as a wave as she could to the Cullen couple, she realized that they had, on some level, been worried shitless for her and her encounter with Edward. Emmett was a bundle of large, uneasy energy- right leg jiggling up and down in an almost unnatural way, his broad shoulders hunched and uneasy. When he spots her coming in the door, his shoulders relax and big movement that has her blinking, because it's in obvious relief. Rosalie is less obvious, subtle in her worry- she simply removed her hand from her husband's shoulder, her eyes, which had been narrowed and pinched, relaxed into her usually half-lidded boredness, and her mouth parted into a natural pout.
Part of Lauren felt a brief, but pointedly there flash of warmth and affection for these two supernatural creatures.
Because they were worried. Someone other her realized the level of shit she was in as Edward's singer. Miriam knew of course, but couldn't do anything for her. Billy was worried, but more in an abstract way of 'oh shit, vampires are sniffing around my best friend's daughter'. And for her part, Lauren couldn't exactly call in the cavalry via Billy- as of then, as far as she knew, only Sam was turned. And no matter which way you slice it, seven vampires against a single wolf was shit odds. Especially considering how the Pack had hunted as a, well, pack in the novels. But here, here were two supernatural creatures, with the agency and the power to actually do something about the situation, that were in her corner to some extent.
Allies, she was well aware.
A more cynical part of her felt a righteous fury at the fact that fact that these inhuman beings existed at all. But it was more of a helpless, self-directed fury. Because she had come to Twi-World, she had, unbidden, been thrown into this mess. She was in their territory. Not the other way around. She was not in her world, the rules didn't apply. Yet another part of her, the calculating bitch in her that she had tried to temper, was already hoping that she could turn their worry to her advantage.
But most of her… Most of her just felt tired in that moment. Exhausted, in fact. Because her life had become a shit show of intrigue and supernatural beings that wanted to eat her. She forced a grin on her face, trying to ignore the urge to walk right out of the classroom and straight into her truck, destination anywhere but there.
"Hey," she said, sitting down with a careless flop before she set about extending a new drawing sheet of paper as well as the rest of her things, "Happy Monday."
Fake it till you can lose your shit.
Rosalie gave her well-deserved look of disgust.
"Happy Monday?" she asked, raising an arched brow of sheer bitchy perfection, "Oh sweet lord you're an optimist."
Lauren laughed- not altogether forced.
"Fuck if I am!" she said with a roll of her eyes, and a natural grin coming to her mouth, "I'm an anxious and depressed ridden grump that is trying not to lose her mind and make shit happy-ish. So I repeat, happy Monday."
Emmett grinned.
"Happy Monday, squirt!"
Lauren blinked before she looked at Emmett with a bitchy raised brow of her own. She spread out her pencils, frowning at the older being.
"No, Emmett Cullen don't you dare call me squirt. I've suffered through enough idiotic nicknames."
Emmett just grinned.
"Like what?"
"Guera," she said, ticking them off of her fingers, "Flaca, Chabella, Chabells, Vampira, Chicken legs, Slim Shady-"
"Woah, Woah, you speak Spanish?" and Emmett is just blinking at her, most likely at her flawless(if she said so herself) exaltation of the rs and flow of sounds.
She sighs, automatically, at the astonishment of the fact that fact that she spoke Spanish. A common reaction to her pale complexion and 'white' looking features. A common annoyance that had many people questioning the fact that her parents were from Mexico, or that her and her sister, who had inherited their father's darker coloring of tannish skin and brown eyes as well as outrageously thick, black curls, weren't sisters at all. More than often called a lesbian couple when they held hands in public because Miriam had a terrible sense of direction. A stigma that had had her scolded when she had worn a Frida Kahlo costume last Halloween for appropriating someone 'else's' culture.
"Of course I do. It's-" Lauren stops mid annoyed rant, wanting to smack herself over the fact that she was just about to say 'it's my first language'. She licked her lips, blinking at the annoyance curled in her throat before she threw it aside, improvising hastily, "My neighbors only spoke Spanish and I wanted to play with their kids really bad. So I learned it."
"Hablas el Espanol bien, o asi asi*?" asked Rosalie, furrowing her brow at Lauren.
Lauren shrugged.
"Fluente, si cres sabre. Hablo mejor que lo leo o escribo*."
Emmett raised a brow, grinning in silent delight.
"Vampira?"
"The boy next door knocked out all of my front baby teeth," she said, rolling her eyes at the fact that it had been her brother, Andrew, not any neighbor, "Except for my canines. My adult teeth took forever to grow in… I also had a habit of biting people if they upset me."
"Guera?"
"I'm pale as fuck and that was weird to my Mexican neighbors."
"Chabela, Chabels?"
"A common nickname to people named Isabel or Isabella."
"Flaca?" and that was Rosalie, looking curious despite herself.
Lauren sighed.
"I was severely underweight until puberty."
"Slim Shady?"
"A boy couldn't remember my name and I told him to guess it each time he saw me. It got to the point where he got frustrated and started calling me Slim Shady until he learned my name. It stuck for a while. Now, what the hell is this," she asked with an eye roll, "The Spanish Inquisition?"
In unison, the two vampires said, "But nobody expects it*!"
Lauren cracked up, and the vampires laughed as well, Emmett especially, bending over in his humor.
"Oh come on, do you two have stupid nicknames?"
Rosalie grinned, gesturing to her husband.
"I call him my Teddy-Emmy. Or monkey-man because he's super gymnastic."
TMI, thought Lauren, with a slight wince. But she marveled, that just like Angela being an editor to the newspaper, that the name had transferred over from the movie.
"Ah, damn it Rose," muttered Emmett, ducking his head, "Did you have to bring up Teddy-Emmy?"
Lauren snorts, realizing that the whole 'teddy' bit was also a morbid nod to the reason why Emmett McCarty 'Cullen' wasn't a geriatric in Tennessee or dead ten feet under. It seemed that the older Cullen kids had a gallows type of humor that she appreciated.
"How about you Rosalie?"
Rosalie shrugged.
"Not one for nicknames… Just Rose or Rosie. Now, why the hell were you called chicken legs?"
Lauren rolls her eyes and lifts her leg onto the table in a flexible way that both of the vampires blinking.
"Cause my legs are shapely but thin in comparison to my torso."
Rosalie rolls her eyes.
"Those nicknames are horrible and mean-spirited for the most part."
Lauren shrugged.
"Kinda of the point of most Mexican nicknames, poking gentle fun at the one it's for. Affectionately mean-spirited, I would say."
Emmett nods, sagely.
"I'm still calling you squirt then."
"Fuck you, Teddy-Emmy."
1*: Andy Warhol did wonderful things for the art scene... But he was also a major dick, a narcissist and all around bad guy. Me and my sister agreed that it fit Wardo really well.
2*: Um, not really irony. But eh, Meyer called it such in Midnight Sun, so ha, Edward doesn't understand irony!
3*: Edward ignores DADA. Because most people at the time did, even though it was awesome.
4*: Do you speak Spanish well, or only so-so(sounds less awkward in Spanish)?
5*: Fluently, if you want to know. I speak it better than I read or write it.
6*: Monty Python. Hilarious.