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A/n: Daisy Harlow's faceclaim is Megan Fox. (We're talking 2000s Transformers era)
Again! Daisy is not me, her views aren't mine.
I don't own TVD.
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"I'm not a comic book villain. Do you seriously think I would explain my master stroke to you if there were even the slightest possibility you could affect the outcome? I triggered it 35 minutes ago."
—Ozymandias, Watchmen
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Chapter 2: I'm Not Impressed.
At least this house isn't a bonafide shitshow, but my uncle has clearly not done a lot of work with this place; this is all Carol Lockwood's doing.
My uncle wouldn't know stylish if it kicked his teeth in with her Louis Vuitton heels.
There's a large white staircase ascending skyward in the center of the main entrance, leading to a probably just as basic second floor and if they weren't poor, a third.
Uncle Rich was, in a word, a veritable, rich douche bag with tiny penis syndrome. Him and my mother were not very loving siblings towards each other, and so I only was forced to be in his presence a few times a year. I assume it's because they're like magnets, and because they're both manipulative, spineless cuckolds they repel each other to different parts of the continental US.
At least, we used to see our extended family. Apparently, my mother and her two brothers got in the fight to end all fights two Thanksgivings ago. And so, the Lockwoods and the Harlows were estranged, until my little criminal piggy banks were stupid and got caught in an national felony.
You can't blame me for thinking that once I arrived, they would attempt to put me in some sort of weird, pseudo-sexual, Cinderella-maid role, but I'd spit on the closest Persian rug I could find if they even tried.
I find myself in the first living room in the west wing, revealing my uncle and aunt sitting on opposite ends of the same room, not talking; a testament to their shitty marriage as a whole.
Setting his newspaper to the side, my Uncle Richard glances up at me with that stupid political smile of his. What a skeez. Richard Lockwood is a portrait of what a lot of people in America hate about politics; the man was a walking Right Wing cliché. Pleasant to the public, a dangerous cobra ready to strike to others.
"Ah, Daisy," he sighs so pleasantly that I almost believe he's happy to see me, standing to greet me, "Welcome back to Mystic Falls. Your presence was missed."
"I know," I reply, unruffled as I primly take off my sunglasses and fold them in my hands. "Where's your help, Richard? I need to give them instructions on how my pieces are to be put away. I refuse to have any poor person's unwashed, unsanitary, grubby fingers on my Dolce and Gabbana."
His smile tightens, and I can tell that I'm already getting under his skin.
"Why, of course," he says, forced politeness audible. Why? You may ask. The answer is that he's not in a position to be anything other than my bitch at the moment. "We've renovated the house, how about I show you around?"
My parents' scandal had brought with it light to the other scandals in our families, in particular, Richie's affair last year that my parents assisted in the cover up. With his approval ratings somewhat tanked just as re-election marketing season has arrived, not only did he not have a choice when it came to taking me in, because it would make him look even worse in the public eye; he also had to grovel for me to not cause any additional scenes that could further tank his reputation.
Gently grabbing my luggage from my hands and setting it by the door, Richard smiles down at me once again, and I wrinkle my nose at whatever garbage cologne he's wearing. He smells like tax evasion and hookers working bachelor parties.
Giving him a fake smile back, my nose curls in disgust when he tries to grab my hand to give me a tour around the place. Promptly yanking my hand back and wiping the offended hand on the front of his dress shirt with an 'ew', I glare at the wrinkly bastard.
"I'm sorry," I say, raising my finely plucked brows at his atrocious manners, "does it look like I want to see your shitty, mid-life crisis fueled man cave, Richard? I'm trying to give off the impression that just because my parents are in custody, doesn't mean I'm lowering myself to your mud hut village standards. Try to keep up."
Not even letting the waste of space get a word in, I turn to face my much more endurable aunt with a raised brow. "Are the Madisons here yet?"
The Madisons are what I consider my eternal leeches.
Twin sisters born on Valentine's Day, these girls have been up my ass trying to be me since the second grade. Together far too much, neither of them developed decent personalities of their own while they were busy re-enacting the Shining, so now they use my larger-than-life one to fill the gaping holes in themselves. Don't ask me how I keep them separate, because I don't. I pick which one is which for the day and roll with it.
They couldn't survive without me at this point, so I treat them however I please. Besides, aren't leeches like insects, or something? I'm not wrong for looking down on them; the insecurity that I give them drives them to be smarter than their usual goldfish attention span and do whatever I want.
What's wrong with treating someone the way they're asking to be treated?
I didn't make those pathetic redheaded bimbos follow me, they did it all of their own free will, because they know I'm better than them. Therefore, as soon as the news leaked about my parents' indiscretions, both Madisons promptly called and begged me to let them follow me wherever.
In that moment, I totally understood how Jesus felt about the apostles following him anywhere in the gross, sweaty desert.
Except my gorgeous locks would never go anywhere near their gross, matching, big-middle-toed feet.
Carol gives me a semi-affectionate smile, blue eyes sparkling amused at me, and her bias towards me obvious. She got stuck only with that sweaty oaf of a football player before her menopause set in, so she's always seen me as her replacement daughter.
"Yes, darling. They're just upstairs getting unpacked," Carol says, placing a binder on the side table beside her, before standing from her seat. Walking towards me in a gorgeous white pantsuit, she opens her arms to a hug and I acknowledge her, leaning in and kissing both her cheeks in greeting. She reciprocates, and as we separate, she smiles warmly at me.
"It's wonderful to have you back, dear. Your parents informed you about the school situation, yes?" She asks.
Rolling my eyes, I nod, albeit begrudgingly. There was no such thing as 'private education' down here in Hillbilly Haven, so either I'd have to home school, (I'd literally rather lick a Madison's foot), or I'd have to go to.. public high school. I would truly be in the pigpen of the United States, but there was no other choice.
I'd have to grace the putrid halls of Mystic Falls High with my presence.
Moving to rub my shoulder comfortingly, like I'm the football player star that his Neanderthal of a son would never be, lifting his arm to reveal a large, old white woman in a cleaning service uniform. My nose curls up in disgust smelling the Body Fantasy perfume reeking from that middle-aged sack of potatoes.
I swear to god, if my clothes smell like biscuits and gravy once she's done, I'll tear her gross perm out.
Looking on impassively as the cleaner sees and glares back at my sneering, I blink up at Richard with a sweet smile on my face. "Uncle Richard, could you please tell her to wash those greasy pig knuckles before she puts her man hands all over my Prada?"
Typically, this sort of treatment would be given directly to the maid so she'd know that I'm the one to not mess with in this manor, however, points needed to be made. I wanted Richard to verbally acknowledge the power I had over him, and if it happened to put Cheetos McGee over here in her place as well, then that was clearly the best option.
Two, weak, beta stones in one.
His smile gets tighter, face turning slightly redder as he faces the woman who looks like a deflated balloon, face embarrassed and furious as she looks at me. Ooh, if she steals any of my things, I can blackmail her. I smile primly back with a little hand wave for a little pizzazz.
Hearing footsteps approaching as Richie tells her to go scrub her monkey paws, I turn to find a rather irritated-looking Tyler headed my way, but I nonchalantly pull out my lipgloss and re-apply it in my compact mirror as he huffs my way.
"What? Little rich girl couldn't pay off her cab?" He growls at me, and I look up at him through my thick, black lashes indifferently, waiting until I'm done applying to give him the time of day.
"Totes. What's got your panties in a twist? Couldn't find any bimbos to neck on the way back?" Smiling as Tyler's glare sharpens defensively as I speak, he rolls his eyes, brushing past me to get to his mother.
"Mom, I get that she has to stay here, but can you at least tell her to stay away from me?" He asks, and I know the second he does, he loses.
Because I'm not his mom's favorite child just for how I act around her.
I've never faked being nice for Carol's benefit, and she's well aware of my disdain for anything less than perfection. In fact, she loves it about me, because she's the exact same way.
A less hot edition of me, of course, but the bitchiness was still there along with the sense of entitlement we Harlows pride ourselves in. A lot of people think that I'm just not realistic, that I need to accept everyone else's standards of good enough. However, Tyler's definition of 'good enough' and mine are clearly two different things judging by those pajama pants.
"Tyler, you will not treat a guest, especially Daisy, like that!" she scolds, blue eyes abrasive as she looks down at her son, ashamed. Smirking, I remember that the Madisons are here.
"I'm gonna go talk to someone more interesting," I say, looking down at my blackberry and shooting the girls a text. "Is that backwoods Mystic Grill still open? I'm starving."
Yes, I know, not prime eats. But it's where everyone who's anyone in this stupid town goes, so that's where I'll make my debut. Besides, I barely eat anything anyways, so it didn't matter too much to me where my stunning self was shining. Getting a reciprocal text from Madison #1 letting me know that they're ready for me, I turn to leave when I hear Carol say my name.
Turning back with a finely raised brow, she gives me a sheepish smile before explaining. "So, that Miss Mystic Falls competition I told you about a couple weeks ago.. would you be interested in participating? The Harlows stood as their own Founding family back before they..," pausing, Carol realizes that she's started saying something that I don't care about by looking at the glassed-over look in my green eyes.
"Yes, sorry," she sighs, restarting her pitch. "Would you like to participate? You've been here almost every summer since you were 6, and before that you did live here, so you could participate."
I purse my lips, thinking on it briefly.
"When is it?" I ask, vaguely intrigued at the idea of winning a pageant. That's a good entrance.
"It's in about a week. You'd have to attend the interviews, and I can't say for sure that you'd win since you couldn't do your public service beyond the summers, but I do think you'd have a shot," suddenly looking irritated with something, like a fly was in her soup, her eyes narrow slightly as she explains, "They're letting basically anyone in nowadays. We aren't too far off from Miss Mystic Falls being a laughingstock."
Ignoring their weird exclusive club of Founding families, I think on it for another second, then nod. I had a lot of people to say 'hi' to, and this was taking up too much of my valuable time. "Kk," I sigh walking away, "email me the schedule and I'll try to fit it into mine."
I can hear the bright smile in her voice at her excitement as I walk away, and I roll my eyes at her pseudo-mother attitude.
Walking up the large staircase, I feel a text in my jean jacket and frown when I see who it is:
Chad.
Before you even ask, yes, he's the stereotype you're thinking of. Douche-y, hot, tumor for brains ex-boyfriend. Long story short, he thought that he could two time on me with Miffie Bernstein of Westerman High. Promptly dumped his ass and she had an accident on the staircase two days before I left.
Karma's a bitch.
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From: Five Inches
Txt: U CANT KEEP IGNORING ME FOREVER! I LUV U!
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My lips curl in disgust at the desperation in the text, continuing to walk upstairs until I feel a familiar presence at my sides. I know the Madisons are there without even looking, and I toss my phone to the one on the left. Her redheaded ponytail bobs as she reads it, blue eyes rolling at Chad's pathetic message.
"He's not good enough for you, Daisy," they both reply at the same time, and my eyes snap to them irritably.
"I told you guys to quit doing that weird, twin telepathy. Other Madison didn't even see the message!" Gesturing to the other Madison on my right as they guide me to a set of open double white doors. We strut into the bedroom, and both the Madisons gasp in shock at what we find, but I just smile venomously.
There's that tub of lard molded into a maid, using my new Versace jacket as a tissue. The fat bitch blows her disgusting snot into my clothes, not hearing the Madisons at all. Crossing my arms and cocking my hip out, I walk closer to her, waiting for her to acknowledge my presence. She moves to hang it on the foam coated hanger on the bed, swiftly turning right into me. I don't hesitate, my smile sweet as her eyes widen in scared shock.
Then, I slap the bitch hard.
Her wrinkly face snaps to the side, her grabbing her probably stinging deflated airbag she calls a cheek as her eyes snap to mine nervously.
"What a coincidence, don't you think, Madisons?" Turning to face them both with a smile as their narrowed glares stay on fatso.
"Such a coincidence," they both sigh in tandem, and I'm peppy when I see the disheartened look of horror and embarrassment on the maid's face as I turn back.
"Please, Miss. I need this job," she begs, rural accent leaking out, and I pretend like I'm thinking for a moment before hitting an epiphany.
Smiling as I grip her marshmallow shoulders, "I would never want you to be out of a job, Agnes—," she cuts me off like a dumb slut.
"My name is Ruth," she adds unhelpfully, like I asked.
"I don't care if your name is Country Crock, never interrupt me again," I say, leveling a weighty glare her way, and I can tell she's sweating like a pig. Ew. Rolling my eyes, I smile warmly at her again.
"No, what you're going to do in exchange for me not getting my Uncle Rich to throw your flabby ass out of town is spy a bit for me. You're going to be my eyes and ears until I say otherwise, understand?" I ask slowly, not wanting to repeat myself if she's as slow as she looks.
She nods dumbly, and I smile brightly at her insipid complacency.
I love when things come up Daisy.
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"Good to see you still can't fucking drive, Tyler," I snap as we pull in to the Grill.
That literal ape had the patience of an angry wife at a grocery store, his road rage was completely nuts. Swerving to get back at people who try to cut him off, trying to wave down his friends on the road, the man was a colossal moron. Not to mention, he's completely dried my lipgloss from his speeding. I'd be pissed about my hair if I thought for one second that I wouldn't look hot with windswept, raven locks.
Reaching to unbuckle my seatbelt as well as fix my dry lips, I grab my gloss as I exit the 1971 Buick, slamming the door hard as the Madisons clamor out of the backseat, looking a hot mess. Rolling my eyes at everyone's incompetence, I don't even look at Tyler when he starts getting snippy about his stupid car door.
"Oh, go eat another crayon, Ty," I reply when he mutters about my being spoiled, remembering distinctly how right year old him tried to convince me that cerulean blue tasted better than dandelion yellow. Like my being spoiled is some new information.
Like, duh, I am? Did you need a memo?
Tossing my long black hair over my shoulder to get that effortless look, I'm grateful when Ty walks on in without us so I don't have to hear his endless complaints. Did he think he wasn't spoiled? The Madisons pull me out of that thought by trying to fix each others' half-up, half-down hair.
Squinting closer at their hair, I realize something has to change.
"Both of you put your hair up in ponytails. We don't have any brushes to fix your incompetence," I say, reaching around my wrist and giving them the two I had there. I'd look way hotter in comparison if I was the only one to look different, and since the Madisons are effectively serving as my human accessories, they need to work for me.
Promptly pulling their long, blonde curls into ponytails instead with an eager smile, I analyze both of them for any other faux pas. Matching blue eyes with long eyelashes, straight noses, and jawlines, as per the usual. The only place they differ is their outfits, which they coordinate around mine.
Today was a jean day, so Madison One was wearing high-waisted jeans and a light pink tube top, paired with a pink belt and adorable black booties. Told her those booties were totally in.
Madison Two has gone a different route, wearing a jean mini-dress with a black turtleneck underneath, paired with tasteful pearl earrings and Mary Janes. It'll do. Madison One clearly won the contest today, and Madison Two would need pointers for tomorrow when we start school.
To keep the hierarchy in check, I quickly had to adjust to the Madisons competitive nature. One always wanted to be my favorite, so I based which one annoyed me least off their daily actions and outfits. So far, Madison One is on track to win the day, and she knows it by the superior smirk on her face.
Clapping my hands together to get their goldfish attention span focused, I eye the girls sharply.
"Look, bitches. New school, new social hierarchy to climb, and I refuse to have you ruining this for me. Do not fuck this up. I don't want to catch either of you acting like your usual Botox-for-brains selves and destroying my new kingdom," they both frown at the tongue lashing, but I know they secretly enjoy it. It said so in their weird diary. I smile at them brightly to emphasize the next part: the reward.
"But, if you behave and do what I say, I'll get us to the top of the food chain just by us walking in," I finish, and I can tell by that glint in their eyes that they're greedy for it. The Madisons eagerly nod, happy to be my tools to use if I made them popular. Turning 180 degrees to face the entrance Ty walked in a couple minutes ago, I freshly flip my hair to give it maximum sexy volume.
"Let's go, sluts," I say, strutting forward into the humble Mystic Grill.
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Opening the front door and walking in, I pause, taking off my sunglasses and tucking a stray piece of raven hair behind my ear. There's the sugar.
It had been two years since I had stepped foot in this stupid restaurant, but my switch from middle school Mean Girl to the high school edition had come with some perks, ergo, puberty. Most people suffer through puberty, declaring it the worst years of their lives and never looking back— I had done the opposite. My sparkling personality has been the same since I was eight years old, the only problem is that the outside didn't reflect the inside until I turned fifteen.
That's right.
I, Daisy Harlow, was an average looking bitch back in the day.
Not now, though.
Thick raven hair, piercing green eyes, and curves that men have died trying to touch—I am now a bonafide knock out. This also helps in me getting away with pretty much everything, so one could say I'm the luckiest girl in the world. The boys all stare at me like I'm the goddess of their dreams, and I am. The girlfriends, or "nice girls" who are stuck in the friend zone all glare jealously at my figure, knowing very well that they could starve themselves all they want and never come close to my perfection.
And then, I spot her.
The one girl I actually despised in this stupid town.
Elena fucking Gilbert.
A wicked smile lights up my face as I walk up to her back, tapping her on the shoulder playfully. When she turns around, a groan and an eye roll leave her basic, boring face.
"Ugh, it's you," she bemoans vehemently, obviously still hating me as much as I hate her.
"Hola, Frumpy. Your hair's still flatter than your chest; nice to know some things never change," I reply, tone sickly sweet.
"Look," she says seriously, eyeing me deeply with her bulbous brown eyes. "I know we don't get along, but I heard about your parents from Ty, and—," I cut her off with my hand.
"Let me stop you right there, 10-in-1 shampoo," Keeping my eyes venomous and my smile sweet, I drop my hand to my side. "I don't need pity from a girl who doesn't know the difference between MAC and Chanel. So, you can take that little thing you did there to make yourself feel better and braid it into your hairy armpits."
Elena gasps, severely offended and clearly wanting to slap me, but she doesn't because she's too weak to. The Madisons giggle at my sides, and I can't help the satisfied smile that works it's way on my face.
"Besides, Elena," I sigh, looking at my nails as I ignore her basic face, "I only came over here to prove a point."
"And what point would that be?" She asks angrily, not even thinking about why I hate her.
"Easy. Now that the Harlows are back in town, I'm here to stay, skank. I'm curious to see how little Jeremy has grown. Does he still have that obnoxious crush on me?" Tapping my chin in mock thought, I smile when her gaze becomes much more heated, nearly furious.
The only time Elena Gilbert isn't a boring little twit is when she's mad.
"You're such a bitch, Daisy—," now, she's cut off.
Suddenly, a shadow looms over both of our heads, and I glance up to see the hottest guy. Green eyes, chiseled body, and gorgeous dirty blond locks. He towers over both me and Elena with a serious look in his eyes as he looks down at me. The boy is art, and he's art that I want.
"Everything okay, Elena?" The handsome stranger asks, and my brain literally pauses when I see him wrap his perfect muscles around Elena's waist. As her arm wraps around his waist in turn, I'm stunned.
How the fuck did frumpy, dumpy Elena Gilbert bag this Adonis?
Briefly wondering, a wicked smile curls up my gorgeous cheeks as I look the boy up and down once again. Warmly smiling at him, I offer my hand as I decide what I'm going to do to rectify Elena's little slight earlier.
You didn't think she'd get away with calling me a bitch, right?
As my hand is engulfed by a much larger, stronger hand, I look deeply into the handsome stranger's eyes as he shakes mine.
"Oh, this is just girl talk. My name is Daisy Harlow. Who might you be?"
He smiles down sweetly at me, and I already know that this is meant to be as he lowly replies that his name is Stefan Salvatore.
Now, this is going to be fun.
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A/n: Hi all! I hope you liked the chapter. Also, thank you for all of your favorites and comments, I LOVE seeing them. What do you think of Daisy? And are you as excited as I am for her to meet Caroline?
Be safe and have a good one!
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