Princess Morbucks was a lot of things. Harsh. Impatient. And yes, a tiny bit snooty. But one thing she was not was stupid.
Despite popular belief, she thrived academically, and it was not because Father "bought her grades" or whatever the hell the other students were saying. She never got lower than an A-, never missed a class, never failed to ask questions when needed. She might be privileged, but she wasn't going to let that distract her from facts she needed to learn.
A lot of people would say being smart in a scholarly setting wasn't everything, but Princess would say otherwise, at least for herself. It was important to learn things, to know things offhand without looking up any references online that could be false, and an academic setting always made sure to instill that belief in her brain. And in her Communications and Journalism classes, the most important classes of her college career, she excelled tremendously without fail.
So yeah, Princess Morbucks was not stupid. Not by a long shot.
But maybe, just maybe, she was a bit lost.
"Monday, September 26th, 8:07 AM. Today's color: a disappointing, clueless gray."
Princess leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, staring at the ceiling of Open Book Library. Her heels met with the marble ground in a steady rhythm. Tap, tap, tap, tap. This usually helped her think, but she kept drawing blanks.
Her grip on her golden tape recorder tightened. "One of three current witnesses refuses to report anything to me," she said quietly. "So, there's nothing of great importance to note, at least not yet."
'Maybe there isn't anything at all.' The thought taunted her mind, but she quickly pushed it away. There had to be something. There always was.
"Then why waste your time and note it in the first place, dumbass?" a voice asked sourly.
STOMP. Princess huffed and pressed the pause button on her recorder. Her eyes lifted to meet Butch, one of the biggest pains in her ass. "Was I talking to you?" she hissed.
"No, but you should be," Butch snapped back. "Our next report for our project is due in, like, five hours and I do not want to spend my day with you any longer than I have to. Fucking bad enough I don't want to do this shit in the first place. Can you stop stomping your feet and talking to yourself like a child so we can, I don't know, finish this up?"
Princess let out another huff. She just had to be partnered with Butch Jojo of all people—she swore all Business majors at this institution were fucking insufferable assholes, especially towards Journalism and Communications majors like herself—and to be paired up with him for a project that was worth a good chunk of her grade really took the cake. Add in the fact that they had to do bi-weekly reports and he was so insistent on having face-to-face meetings, and that made things ten times worse.
"I told you, I can handle it on my own," Princess said. "We don't have to do all of this. I have connections that'll help us not waste our time. Just think. We don't have to be near each other at all whatsoever and we can keep our grades high."
"And I told you that shit ain't happening." Butch's stare hardened as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "I don't take free grades, Morbucks. Not now, not ever. Maybe that's how you rich preppy fuckers work, but I work for every damn grade I get. I'm not letting you get your little workers to do what's supposed to be ours."
She almost scoffed. His noble bullshit was so hard to endure. She wasn't dumb and even though she hated to admit it, neither was he. They'd be fine skipping out on one little Communications project.
"Then we're going to do this the Princess Way," she said. "And the Princess Way states that we start doing this together when I'm done interviewing you about the events that took place at Sunset. Take it or leave it, Jojo."
"You'd sacrifice a grade for this?"
"I can take a zero and build myself back up like it never happened. But can you?"
Butch leaned back in his chair and pressed the heels of his hands in his eyes. He grumbled to himself, and Princess was only able to catch the words "fucking asshole." After a few moments, he stopped his mumbling, looking absolutely over it.
"You know what? Just… Fuck it." He waved a dismissive hand. "Interview away so we can get our actual work done."
Princess smirked. It was an off day if she didn't get what she wanted. She knew her determination wouldn't fail her.
She pressed the play button on her recorder. "Hi, Butch. Lovely to speak to you again," she said, voice sugary sweet.
"I desperately wish that I could say the same, Princess."
Princess chose to ignore that. "So, can I get your account on all that happened that day on Sunset Beach?"
"I don't know. Can you?"
"Don't do this."
"Do what?" Butch gave her a cheeky grin as he twirled a pencil expertly. The freckles on his face seemed to dance when he laughed. "I'm just saying, there's a very specific way you're supposed to ask me to do something. I know you know it. We went to kindergarten together, Princess. Ms. Doyle taught us well."
Princess held her polite smile, even when she felt her right eye twitch more than once. "May I get your account on what happened?" she asked slowly, trying her hardest not to grip her recorder too tightly.
"May I get your account on what happened, who? Five W's. Spoiler, the first one of the bunch is super important."
"Ugh!" Princess slammed a hand on the table and chose to ignore the librarian's loud shhh. "May I get your account on what happened, Butch? Please?"
"Since you asked so nicely," Butch chuckled. "Sure. Here's my account."
As if he were a part of some cheap, corny cop movie from the eighties, Butch folded his hands on top of the table. Princess could practically set the scene in her mind: a dimly lit investigative room, cup of lukewarm coffee to his right, nothing but the sound of a broken clock and the sight of the reflections in one of those fake mirrors that probably showed them to another detective from the outside. It was almost as if they weren't in some crummy library near a bunch of stressed-out college students and uncaring staff members.
"So, it's early September," Butch began. "A cool Tuesday, got done with classes, hooray. The bros and I went out to get tacos to celebrate in the evening, 'cause they're my favorite dipshits to chow down with. Took Brick's piece of shit car, per usual. Then next thing we know, we're in the water, drowning. Think I knocked out or was at the very least out of it? I think I heard something while under there somehow…"
Butch's eyes stared off to the distance, his lips in a firm line. He looked as if he were processing his words. Understandable. The man looked like he thought of five sentences per second.
"Well, then we were on the beach and we called the cops and there were a bunch of loud ass sirens and that's when you strolled in. And that's it," he said.
Princess raised an eyebrow. "That's all you have?"
"Yup."
"Nothing else to note?"
"Nope."
"Not even which taco place you were going to?"
Butch shrugged. "I forgot."
Princess stared Butch down. He looked bored, now chewing on the end of his pencil. She could continue this little game, but she knew when she was getting played with. No matter what she asked, he would probably give a half-assed answer that held little to no meaning.
This was more than enough. She could work with these words. Princess Morbucks was known for creating miracles out of seemingly lost causes.
"Fine." Princess clicked off her recorder and stuffed it inside her purse. "I'll take your word on that."
"Delightful. Now let's get this shit over with." Butch used both his hands to gesture at the papers in front of him, filled with the neatest notes. Princess had to hand it to him: he might be an absolute prick, but he sure had amazing handwriting.
Digging into her tote bag for her notes and laptop, Princess had to hold in a sigh. This was going to take a while. But it had been worth it because she had information under her belt. No matter what, she wouldn't let that go.
The fall air was crisp and chill, yet Princess still found comfort in it. With her furry black jacket tailored to perfection and her cherry red knee-high boots, she strolled through campus, her eyes like a pendulum as she searched for her next target.
"Come on, where are you?" Princess muttered, walking along a smooth pathway. She weaved through crowds of students with their faces deep in their laptops or their books. Some students gave her a not-so-subtle look, while others whispered, but none of them could make her stop in her tracks. She had a Jojo to find.
Every Monday at 10:00 AM, the Creative Writing students at Pokey Oaks University would join each other for an optional yet extremely popular "Creative Hour," where they basically got free food from their professors and were allowed an entire class period to goof around, all for the sake of "creative freedom and inspiration." How pretentiously naïve. Princess could care less about it.
However, she knew Boomer had to be out here because the whole thing was right up his alley. Writing was always his passion, even when they were kids. There were many times she saw him with his handy dandy notebook, a small, thick dark-blue one with a velvet cover, scribbling away like there was no tomorrow.
Finally, she spotted Boomer's familiar dirty blonde hair touching his shoulders. He wore a wool beanie today, probably to hide the black roots he hated so much. He was standing alone, silently staring at the sky as if he was looking for something. His head was always in the clouds, both metaphorically and literally.
Princess wiggled her way through another pile of students and slid right in front of Boomer, the tips of her boots pressed against his worn and torn Converse. "Good morning, Boomer."
Boomer let out a yelp and stumbled backward, barely keeping his balance. He opened his mouth, then closed it. With his eyebrows furrowed, he looked like he was thinking on overdrive. It was easy to see just how much he resembled Butch in that regard.
"What do you want?" he finally asked. "If it's something Butch did, he's in the fitness room right now. And if it was Brick, then I apologize on his behalf or whatever."
"How kind of you. But no, not that," Princess said. "I promise I'll go away if you tell me all you know."
"About what?"
"Don't act dumb. It's not cute."
Princess knew that Boomer didn't do well under pressure, especially when he was alone like this. He could write his ass off, but when it came to speaking, he struggled a lot. She remembered back in fifth grade when he was put on the spot to answer a question on the chalkboard. The boy had practically cried an entire ocean just by standing there.
"The quicker you speak, the quicker I'll leave so you can get back to writing," Princess said, arms crossed. "I know how much it means to you, and you know how much it means to me to not have my time wasted. Make the right choice."
Boomer fiddled with the straps of his bookbag, staring at his feet. The splint on his finger kept making a tiny cling sound whenever it hit his bisexual pin attached to one of the straps. His eyebrows pressed together even more.
"Well, uh," he started, and Princess quickly pressed the button of her tape recorder hidden in her coat pocket. "We just. You know. Brick, Butch, and I were headed to get some tacos, then suddenly, we were under the water. And…" His voice faded away to silence, and his face twisted with discomfort. "Ugh, my head hurts. What is that noise?" he asked.
The worst sound outside right now was the bullshit spouting from Boomer's mouth. She knew he tended to choose flight instead of fight, but this was ridiculous. She just wanted some damn words to help with a case for crying out loud. Edging her on before stopping was the lowest blow.
"Oh, I see," she said in a bitter tone. "How funny. I'm laughing so hard right now. Can you stop joking around and finish your story?"
"But I'm serious! It's so fucking loud and high-pitched. How do you not hear that?"
Boomer closed his eyes and covered his ears as if there was actually some terrible sound playing aloud. For a quick moment, Princess believed him. Then she remembered that he was a Jojo, and a Jojo would always resort to a lie if it meant getting a chance to escape a situation. So, his quivering shoulders and small whimpers would not win today.
Princess pressed a finger to his chest and ignored his fake jump in surprise. "I don't know what play you're trying out for, but I'm not the casting crew. So cut the shit and just speak, or so help me, I'll—"
"Hey, bro."
Princess growled. Leave it to Brick fucking Jojo to show up during the one moment she didn't want him to. It was better to question the boys separately rather than together; their sickening bond with one another was a recipe for disaster.
Brick gave Princess a hard stare that spoke a thousand vile words before turning to his youngest brother. His gaze lost its edge a bit. "You okay?" he asked as if she wasn't standing right there.
Princess opened her mouth to speak, but Boomer beat her to it. "I… Yeah. I'm good," he said slowly. He was still shaking. She had to give him some credit for his consistency in his acting. "You, uh, need something?"
"Yup. Just gotta figure it out once we get the hell away from the clown."
It took Princess a second longer than needed for her to realize that she was the clown Brick was referring to. "What did you just call me?!" she bellowed, ignoring the stares from bystanders. However, she was once again ignored, because of course, they would give her the silent treatment, those assholes.
Boomer let out a low chuckle and nodded. "Agreed. Let's go anywhere but here." He didn't bother to give her any more attention and instead followed closely beside his brother, making sure his long legs matched with Brick's quick pace.
Brick and Boomer walked off, laughing about something Princess paid no mind to. Her eyes settled in a deadly glare directed at the back of Brick's head. His low auburn ponytail swished from one side to the next, almost like it were mocking her.
Only one thought crossed her mind: Son of a fucking bitch.
If there was one type of person Princess hated, it was a liar. She was truthful, blunt, never afraid to admit what she was feeling and why she was feeling it. There was rarely a reason to hide the truth, at least in her opinion. Why push away something that will be brought into the light?
The Jojo brothers were quite the opposite of herself, though. If she could describe them in a word, she would say they were... What did she call them back when they were in kindergarten? Oh, yeah. Rowdyruffs.
Boomer told a white lie here and there, which wasn't really bad, per se, and Butch told lies that would only backfire on himself rather than others. Brick, however, was the worst Jojo by far. Unlike the others, Princess couldn't tell if he was lying. Unless it was the occasional ounce of anger or cockiness he would throw towards anybody who would cross his path, he looked rather emotionless to her. No smiles, no frowns, just a plain face.
Brick only spoke when he felt like it. He only told things that could be proven true. He never set himself up for failure. Princess knew not to even think about interviewing him at this point. He was a lost cause.
He hid his lies well. Way too well. And that was dangerous
Using her golden fork to pick with her salad, Princess watched Brick in silence at her usual outdoor dinner spot on campus. He made his way across the quad, hands stuffed in the pockets of his old, tattered jeans, face devoid of care. The evening sun hit him, showing the slight stubble on his chin and the freckles on his face. He looked like he just crawled out of bed. It was as if university was nothing more than something he could waltz in and out of without a care in the world.
Someone plopped down into the seat next to Princess, and she didn't need to look up to know who had enough balls to do that. "Look at you, staring at the number one eye candy of Pokey Oaks," he teased, bumping his shoulder on hers. "Got a crush?"
Mitchell Mitchelson was one of those guys that Princess kept around just because she could. (Plus, she wouldn't be able to get rid of him if she tried.) There was nothing extraordinary about him: tall, brunette, jock, and, sometimes, utterly stupid. He just lied less than the average human being these days, and he wasn't overly nice. In fact, he was mostly a dickhead. Princess could appreciate honest dickheads.
"Can't blame ya. Brickley's got a lot of people around campus wanting a piece of him. Shit, I'd probably fold if he came my way with an offer." Mitch leaned back to balance on the back legs of his chair. "Didn't peg you as one of many, Princess. Your crush is strangely ordinary of you."
Princess scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Yuck. You know that ordinary never looks good on me. I don't have a crush on him like you probably do; I'm just researching."
"Researching. Right. I like to 'research' too if you catch my drift. Specifically, your ass. Speaking of, get up and turn around for me; I think you got a lil' something on it."
It was funny how easily he said that when she deemed it necessary to check her appearance at every hour and avoided as many particles of dirt as she could throughout the day. Her, Princess Morbucks, looking a mess in public when there could be cameras anywhere? How unlikely.
"Why do I even bother keeping you around," Princess said, shaking her head.
"'Cause you love me," Mitch said, shrugging as if it was an obvious fact.
"Do I? I don't recall ever saying that."
"Don't need to. I can see it in your eyes."
"The eyes that are glaring at you right now?"
"I just think hate is your secret love language when it comes to me. Fuck the usual Words of Affirmation or Physical Touch. You're more into shit like Hated Words Secretly Filled with Adoration. Wild choice, but I understand."
Princess let out an uncontrolled yet genuine giggle, and Mitch grinned in success. The tension in her shoulders eased a little. Mitch's presence always had that effect on her. Unlike other people, he could be humorous from time to time, at least enough to get a snort or two out of her nose.
A loud cackle from afar interrupted her own laugh, and she whipped her head around to see the source: a jet-black bob, low and blonde pigtails, and one high and overly mighty auburn ponytail.
Princess frowned and gripped on the iron table. It was not the first time she had seen the Utonium sisters—Buttercup was hard to miss with her distinct green highlighted hair that could only fit someone like her, Bubbles was a dedicated member of the Morbucks Gym, and that damned Blossom was in her American Lit class, always clicking her pen with no regard to anybody else. The three never failed to sour Princess's mood, especially when they were all together at the fountain in the center of the quad as if the spot belonged to them.
They were laughing about something, probably at Bubbles since she looked tomato red, even from this distance. Somehow, even though they looked absolutely nothing alike in terms of physicality, they still held themselves in the same way, like they were goddesses amongst simple mortals. The wind picked up speed and the sun's light brightened. If Princess squinted her eyes in their direction, she could somehow see sparkles around them and all throughout the fountain's water.
Those girls were strange. Really strange.
"Ah, everyone's favorite Utoniums," Mitch noted, snapping her attention back to him. "A sight to behold, huh?"
Princess raised an eyebrow. "You know them?"
"I don't really know the sexy one or the cute one, but I know Buttercup." A sly smirk spread on his face, and Princess instantly felt nauseous. She didn't even want to know which one was "cute" and which one was "sexy" in his eyes. "Man, do I know Buttercup." He looked up, his flushed cheeks clashing with the bright blue sky.
Princess felt a gag coming on. "Gross. Don't explain why you said it like that," she said.
"We made out," Mitch confessed as if he were asked to.
If her salad wasn't as tasty as it was, she would have dumped it on his head. "Ugh, you bastard! Quit it!" she shouted.
Mitch, of course, did not quit it. The word 'quit' was not in his basic vocabulary. "Multiple times. All over my bed, too! But, like, platonically. You know, just because we could. Also, for practice." He rested his elbows on the table, batting his long eyelashes. "Our tongues swirled for two hours straight, then we talked about wrestling. Can you believe her favorite wrestler is Jaguar? The lack of taste almost made me drop her as a friend."
Princess punched him in the arm as hard as she could, which probably felt like a kitten's paw lying softly on a toy against his muscles. "I don't care what you two did! Stop before I barf over my Louis Vuitton's!"
"You sure you want me to stop? I could tell you more details. Make a book about it, dedicated to you."
"Oh please. We both know your writing skills are the same they've been since kindergarten. You're not getting published anytime soon."
"Wow. That one kind of hurted."
"'Hurted' isn't a word."
"Not with that attitude, it isn't."
Princess rolled her eyes and bit back a laugh. "Shut up. Just get back with your report on Buttercup, please." She began to pull out her trusty recorder from her coat.
"Oh. You're treating this like one of your reports." Mitch's lips pressed together in that way Princess recognized so much. Despite popular belief, he tended to worry about a lot of things. Must be the Psychology major taking over him or something. "I don't know…"
Usually, Princess didn't like to be pushy. It never looked good on her. Too much begging, not enough getting what she wanted. But she needs information about anybody at this point. She felt as if she were lost alone in a desert with no map. She was grasping at straws here—Buttercup had nothing to do with the Rowdyruffs, right?—yet something she's learned throughout her life is that everything is important, even when it looked like it wasn't.
"It's anonymous, Mitchell. I won't post this on-air, and I'll pitch down and alter your voice in my studio to keep things hidden in case there are leaks. You have my word."
"Wow, is this what favoritism from you feels like?" Mitch pressed a hand to his heart and grinned. "I feel like the greatest man alive. You really do love me."
"Don't take it that far." Princess pushed the start button on her recorder.
"In all seriousness, she's cool, like seriously cool, but..."
"But what?" she said, making sure to have a gentle voice. She learned that many people did better in interviews when presented with kindness and comfort. (And, though she hated to admit it, she was letting her favoritism for one of her closest friends get the best of her.)
There was a long window of silence before Mitch answered. "Weird."
That wasn't descriptive enough. Everyone was weird to a degree. Hell, she was weird for wanting this story so much. "Elaborate for me."
Mitch's lip twisted in thought. "I'll just say an example," he said. "So, you know how we have these little rhymes from early childhood, right? Like, Wheels on the Bus, Row your Boat—things like that?"
"Duh, of course, I'm aware of them."
"Well, she doesn't know any of them."
That caught Princess's attention, but only slightly. "Really?"
Mitch nodded in confirmation. "Really. I just taught her Twinkle Twinkle Little Star last week. I tried to ask if she was from a different country, see if she knew any others in different languages or in different contexts, but nope, she's from here. Townsville born and raised."
"How interesting…"
"Right? It's like she hasn't had a regular childhood or something. She doesn't get old cartoon references, doesn't remember old toy commercials. Now that I think about it, she honestly doesn't talk about her childhood at all. Just high school."
Okay, that sounded even weirder. Like, the sort of interesting that needed to be dissected or saved for later.
"Maybe she's just private about her childhood," Princess suggested. Playing devil's advocate was something she struggled with, but it had its uses. Perhaps she could gain more insight.
A clear look of doubt spread on Mitch's face. "She's not private about a lot of things. But yeah. Maybe. Could be something she doesn't want to talk about. I get it." He shrugged it off.
It made sense to be private about things, even to those who were close to you. Princess could relate to that. Granted, it was hard to be so secretive about her own childhood since she was the daughter of the owner of Morbucks Enterprises, the largest and longest line of business Townsville currently had. But she had a way with her persona, knew how to act in certain scenes.
Back straight, eyes ahead, and face content. That was what her father always said to her, and that was what she did the moment she could comprehend and retain lessons. It was all she could do until it became a habit. Lights, camera, action.
Princess shook her head. No need to dive into her thoughts like that. Besides, this was a good stopping point. Mitch was her saving grace today.
"Thank you for your words and your time. I just…" Princess stopped the recording, took a slow breath, and absentmindedly stirred her salad. "This is all intuition right now, and I hate that I'm relying on it so much, but I know something is up in this city, something big. Everyone deserves to know what's happening. And I can't sit back and let it all go down underneath our noses. I have to solve this."
Mitch nodded in understanding and looked her right in the eye. "And you will," he said.
Princess would never admit this, at least not aloud, but she liked when Mitch said things like that, as if they were a fact instead of anything else. Even when he was bound to be wrong in the situation, he kept up his confidence and determination. It was admirable. To extend all of that to her meant the absolute world to her.
"Hell yeah, I will," Princess said, and when she said it, she meant it with all her heart.
Evidence. Princess Morbucks loved evidence.
She reveled in all of its glory. It was one thing to argue, but to argue with facts and receipts? That was everything to her. It meant she couldn't lose.
During her youth, her father taught her a lot of investigative techniques. Though they were intended for business practices for when she was supposed to take over Morbucks Enterprises, she liked to use them any time they were necessary.
"All of these are crucial to know, honey. It's to get people to open up," Father would say, but Princess was not stupid, even back then when she was five or six. She could read between the lines and understand what he was really teaching her: how to get people to talk, no matter what.
This didn't work for everyone, of course. Those Rowdyruffs were smarter than they looked, and since they had grown up with her, they knew all her tricks at this point.
So, she just had to go in a different direction.
"Tuesday, September 27th, 2:10 PM. Today's color: a sickeningly light pink."
As usual, Princess sat near the back of Hines Center room 402, her coat bundled tight amongst the forever freezing indoor air conditioning that the school refused to turn off, even when it was cold outside. There were fifteen minutes before her American Literature class began, and there wasn't anybody inside the lecture hall except for a brunette near the front who had her earphones in, turned up to the highest volume. Not the most ideal place to record her thoughts, but she'd work through it.
Princess held onto her recorder lightly with one hand and used the other to tap her golden acrylics against the table. "Adjustments are currently being made. Let's focus less on Rowdyruff for now and instead direct our attention to…" Her free hand twirled as she thought. "Powerpuff?" She visibly cringed. The name sounded awful. "Work on that a bit more."
A couple of students started to enter the classroom and they all took their usual seats. Soon, that insufferable woman who sat behind her would come in. She always arrived around 2:18 PM, always hummed to herself as she retied her long, auburn hair in a tight, high ponytail, always, always, always brought that pen with her.
"My best bet will be to ask the you-know-who sisters some questions," Princess said quietly, scooting a bit in her chair to let the person next to her get more room. "We'll start with the most promising. You know what you have to do." With that, she ended the recording and stuffed her recorder in her purse.
As Blossom Utonium made her way into the lecture hall, already clicking that awful pen of hers, Princess couldn't help but smile. This was perfect. For once, she was looking forward to American Lit, but not because of the class itself.
The rest of the students who decided to not skip out on today's lecture arrived, and Mr. York entered as soon as it turned 2:25 PM, ready to start droning on about the "American Dream" through literature. Princess did not want to pay attention to another lesson about another cis, het, white male with mediocre writing skills. That was too boring.
Instead, she focused all her attention on Blossom's pen, already making itself known. With each click of the pen, another thought entered Princess's brain.
Click. Blossom was a strange woman.
Click. Blossom had a story.
Click. That story was stranger than she was.
Click. Why was her story so hidden in the first place? What did she have to hide?
Click. How did she connect with Brick? Did she connect with Brick? Why did those two start to hang out all of a sudden?
Then, something clicked in Princess's brain.
Blossom was just like Brick. A liar. It was probably for different reasons, sure, but a liar was a liar all the same. Blossom seemed to be more hidden in a way, perhaps behind raw emotions. So, a mixture of truth and lie.
And yes, okay, Princess did the same thing. But every single lie that escaped Princess's mouth was for the sake of getting near a truth that needed to be revealed. She didn't lie just for the hell of it.
So why did Blossom lie? What truth is there for her?
Whatever it is, it must be something big.
Maybe Princess was overreacting. Maybe Blossom was clueless about everything. Maybe she was an innocent woman just trying to obtain a modest education in the city of Townsville. Maybe she just lied as much as the average person.
The hint word? Maybe. And "maybe" was too heavy of a word to ignore.
At 2:46 PM, she heard Blossom's chair gently scrape the ground as she stood. She watched from the corner of her eye as Blossom made her way out the door. The daily bathroom break. Blossom always went to the bathroom every class day at the same time. It was like her body was a walking and talking routine set on autopilot. She was so predictable.
How stupid.
Without looking back, Princess gently shook the table behind her with her hand. She heard Blossom's pen hit the ground. She used a long heel of one of her shoes to bring it towards her, then slipped it into her pants pocket. If somebody saw her do that, they didn't speak a word.
Good. Everyone with an ounce of sense knew not to mess with her when she was on a mission.
A couple of minutes later, Blossom entered the classroom again and slipped into her seat. After a few beats of silence, there were sounds of shuffling. She must be looking for it. Princess didn't bother worrying about whether Blossom would speak up to ask about her missing pen. She wouldn't interrupt class over it. Maybe a question on the lesson, but this? No way. She was too good for that.
Class ended unceremoniously with the announcement of their next reading. Everybody began to pile out. Princess used that short window of time to prepare.
Lights.
Princess fluffed her curly hair in their neat space buns and reapplied her lipstick, making sure to audibly pop her lips. She didn't need a mirror to know how perfect she looked. She then turned on her tape recorder hidden within her purse.
Camera.
She looked over her shoulder and watched as Blossom looked under the table, then in her bag, then under the table again. As time passed and everyone except for them cleared out of the room, Blossom's movements became more frantic.
Action.
"Are you looking for something, Bailey?" Princess asked, voice sugary sweet.
Blossom's eyes darted around the room, probably to make sure that Princess was actually talking to her. "Blossom. And yes. My pen. Debate Club wants to meet earlier than usual, and I'll need my trusty pen for it." She ran a hand through her long hair, then pressed her thumbs against one another. "I could've sworn I left it here. It might seem trivial, but it's very important to me."
Of course, it was. "I can help you find it. I don't have my next class until an hour from now."
One of Blossom's eyebrows rose, and she did not look like she could believe this was happening, but she still responded. "I'd appreciate it a lot. I'll check near the front. Maybe I accidentally brought it with me to the restroom…"
Princess nodded, then crouched down to "search" for the pen. Her eyes focused on Blossom's Mary Jane flats, sparkly clean and practically shining with the lecture hall's bright lights. There were many ways to go about this, all challenging, but who was Princess without a good challenge every now and then?
Yes, "befriending" Blossom was going to be one hell of a challenge.
Princess let there be a few seconds of silence before speaking again. "So, how have you been?" There was a long pause after, and for a moment, she feared that her plan was already ruined before it began.
"I've been well," Blossom replied slowly as if she were carefully choosing her words. "You?"
"Honestly? I've been a bit confused lately."
"Oh? Is it class? I know a few tutors on hand who will be more than willing to help you, myself included."
Princess had to bite back a scoff. Her, a Morbucks, needing a tutor for something as trivial as American Lit? It was like saying a mouse needed a cat as a best friend. If Blossom weren't so beneath her, Princess would have felt offended.
"No, not that," Princess said. She got up, then moved to the next row of seats to "look" some more. "Honestly, I've been meaning to apologize to Brick for what I tried to do a few days back. You were right. It was not respectful to him or to his brothers at all. I should know better than to mind other people's business when it doesn't have anything to do with me."
"Wow." Blossom sounded surprised. "That's really mature of you. Thank you for understanding."
Was Blossom always this condescending? Did she think that Princess couldn't possibly be mature? That was infuriating.
Princess had to persuade herself to not blow her cover. 'Not now, Princess. Hold it in until the time is right. She'll get what she deserves.'
"No problem. Oh!" Princess faked a gasp and snapped her fingers. "Now that I think about it, you're close with Brick, right?"
"I mean," Blossom started, her face getting a bit pink, "kind of? We hang out sometimes, but that's about it. Can't say that we're 'close' or anything."
'Liar.' The blush on Blossom's face said otherwise. "You have any idea what he'd like as a gift?" Princess asked. "I want to make sure my apology means something, and I'm admittedly not the best with words. I know that further actions are the truest apology, but still. Brick deserves a gift, you know?"
"Yeah, I get you," Blossom said. Her flats slid against the marble floor as she traveled to another row in the room. "I know he really likes red, and he likes his coffee disgustingly sweet. He really likes snapbacks for some reason, too?"
There had to be more Princess could get from this. She thought back to her previous conversations, then asked, "Anything else you know? Favorite animal or activity?" Something else clicked in her mind. "Maybe even a favorite food…?"
Blossom's smile widened a bit, and automatically, Princess knew that she had won something. "You know, I hear the boys really love a good taco. I believe they go to Lucinda's on their Tuesdays. It's their favorite place to eat together. Practically a ritual to them."
'Bingo.' Butch might be a piece of shit, but he was a piece of shit who lead Princess somewhere. She didn't know if it was the right direction, but it was something, and something was always better than nothing at all.
"Wow, thank you. I'll make sure to keep all of that in mind." This time, when Princess stood up, she wiggled the pen in her hand. "Well, would you look at that? I found it."
Blossom looked like she wanted to cry in relief. She ran up to Princess and grabbed her pen, holding it close to her chest. "Yes! Thank you so much!" She quickly shrugged on her bookbag and, when she reached the door, she looked over her shoulder, a grin on her face. "Have a good one, Princess."
Princess returned the expression. "You as well, doll."
Once Blossom left the lecture hall, Princess replaced her smile with a smirk. She brought her tape recorder out from her purse and, noticing that it was still recording, brought it close to her lips.
"Reminder: visit Lucinda's when available. The Rowdyruffs apparently love a good taco on their Tuesdays. See what that's about. And please, for the love of everything, order a good enough disguise."
One tall mug of ginger tea filled with three drops of honey and a sprinkle of cayenne pepper: the solution to all of Princess's problems. She inhaled the familiar scent and blew on the tea a bit before bringing the mug to her lips for a sip. She sighed in content at the taste. Perfect, as always.
The recording studio down in the basement of Morbucks Enterprises was beginning to feel more and more like her bedroom the longer she spent time down there. She sat in her cushioned chair in front of the control panel, her tape recorder plugged in and ready to go. The faint buzz coming from all the machines was comforting.
"Anything else you need, Ms. Morbucks?" she heard Julie ask from beside her. Her voice sounded more on edge than usual.
"I told you, Princess works," Princess said, swirling in her chair to face her personal assistant. "Drop the formalities already; we grew up together, for fuck's sake."
Julie looked at her feet and fidgeted with her hair. In the light, it looked golden brown. "Sorry," she said quietly. "It's just, you know, your dad wants me to say it so…"
Princess scowled but felt her heart betray her a little. She admittedly had a soft spot for Julie Bean, a bit softer than any spot for anybody else, Mitch included. The poor girl lacked so much bravery and self-confidence, and it made no sense. Even without a college education, at the young age of twenty, Julie was able to think of ideas that Princess couldn't. She was quick on her feet, had the cutest button nose, and could always make the perfect cup of tea blindfolded. And despite everything she had been through, here she was, a shining star amongst a dark sky.
Princess was lucky to have Julie in her life. Anybody would be.
If only Julie could understand that.
"Don't apologize, not for something like this," Princess commanded, voice stern. "Makes you look weak. We don't hire weak people at Morbucks Enterprises, and I'll be damned if my assistant isn't strong. Got it?"
Julie's shoulder tensed, but she stood her ground. "Yeah. Got it," she said.
"Good." Hesitating for a moment, Princess reached to gently touch Julie's shoulder. "Now go get some rest, Jellybean. You look exhausted."
"Are you sure? I can stay up for a few more hours," Julie offered. "Anything for you, Princess."
"Positive. I'll probably be down here for a while. Stop trying to stay awake when you can't. You need sleep." Princess gave Julie's shoulder an extra squeeze. "And tell your mom I said hi. I miss her."
Julie's mother, Ms. Bean, was an angel sent down from heaven. Literally. Princess was convinced. Between her amazing cooking skills, her pieces of advice that always seemed to help, and her sweet singing that could lull anybody to sleep, Ms. Bean was the definition of perfect.
"If I even get to see her." Julie gently placed her hand on top of Princess's, looking down at her work shoes. Her touch was warm yet filled with an unmistakable sadness. "Not that you're overworking me. You're a great boss, I swear. It's just that Mr. Morbucks works Mama like crazy these days, and she doesn't get to bed until late. Sometimes not at all…"
That made sense. Ms. Bean was Father's assistant and number one confidant. Everything he knew, she knew. Every business meeting, every photo op, every public event, damn near everything Jean Morbucks did, Lila Bean did as well.
For the past couple of months, Princess's father was seen less than usual, which meant Ms. Bean must be gone just as much. He didn't even bother to explain anything to Princess. Sometimes, she wouldn't hear from him for long periods of time, and even though it hurt her feelings, she was growing used to it. She was raised by the various maids and butlers more than her own flesh and blood. Hell, she'd be willing to call Ms. Bean her parent more than her actual father.
Julie wasn't like Princess in that regard, though. Julie was close to her mother, and this new distance was probably hard on both of them. Many of Princess's memories of them included them wearing matching bracelets or ranting over the same old Barbie movies. They were truly two peas in a pod.
Meanwhile, Princess could only hope to hold any sort of conversation with Father without it turning into some lecture about her future. Or technically, his vision of her future.
"Anyways." Julie looked like she had more to say. The bags underneath her eyes and the twitch of her lip were as clear as day, even underneath the dim lighting. But she held back, just like she was unfortunately trained to do. Her hand slid back to her side, and she took a step back. The distance felt wider than it was. "Goodnight, Princess."
Princess opened her mouth, then firmly shut it. Father's voice circled in her head: Julie is not your friend, sweetie. She is only an asset to us. Don't forget that.
Nobody could tell Princess what to do. Nobody. But sometimes, her father's words got the very best of her and shaped her into something he'd like her to be without even trying. She hated that it was so hard to break free from it all.
"Goodnight, Julie," Princess managed to say back quietly.
Julie's footsteps faded into silence. With a sigh, Princess tried to shake off the loneliness by slipping on her sparkly headphones. When the mansion got silent, she always turned to other voices to bring her some peace.
"Alright," she muttered, turning the volume up to the highest setting. She leaned back in her chair and let the various audio clips flow through her ears. "Let's see what we're working with today."
There were many parts of the news story process that Princess couldn't do, such as the video recordings along with clip editing. Too much technology, even for her. However, she could do two things: (1) write up a damn good report, and (2) record some damn good pieces of audio evidence.
The audio snippets always came first, then the report was written when things started to make more sense. Princess loved working with her audios on her own. It was something about hearing the accounts of many different people that excited her, even when she had to hear them more than fifty times. She never got this type of thrill during her dumb business training sessions.
Things seemed a bit lackluster thus far—the mystery was only at the beginning parts, which could drag out a lot—but that was what it was like at the beginning of every case. Channel 4 News, her personal news station and her metaphorical baby, thrived in its authentic, truthful stories, and she always made sure to work extra hard for every single one of them. If it was going to take five months or five years, then so be it. She could be patient.
Somewhat.
After a while of organizing audio files into backed-up folders, she landed on one of her first recordings taken right after the Rowdyruffs failed to speak to her about their incident at Sunset Sea. There was loud shuffling before her voice slurred into her ears.
"Tuesday, September 13th, 7:03 PM. Today's color? All of them. I don't know. Who fucking cares anyway?"
Princess winced. She was definitely drunk in this. She remembered the two bottles of wine tucked inside the news van. She slightly remembered drinking out of said bottles in seven minutes flat. She faintly remembered stumbling to find her recorder.
"I'm sitting on the beach. Well, in the van on the beach. Same thing. No story. Nothing. There are so many people out here today. And yet I feel so fucking alone." Princess heard herself let out a bitter, heartbreaking laugh. "How pathetic is that, huh?"
'Really pathetic,' a voice responded in Princess's head. And even though it stung, she couldn't say that it was a lie.
"You know, I try so damn hard to give this city all the answers. I'm not asking for much. Just honesty. But no, nobody ever wants to be honest with me. Everyone is a shitty liar. I just. I want some fucking answers. I want some fucking guidance. I want…" Her voice began to fade. "I want to take a fucking nap…"
Then, there was snoring. Three more minutes left in the recording. She probably fell asleep in the back of the news van and never stopped her tape recorder.
Princess leaned back in her chair and stared at the panel-covered ceiling. Her eyes burned, but she did not cry. She didn't have a reason to cry. She was Princess fucking Morbucks. She didn't have emotional baggage. She didn't have time for it.
The only thing she had time for was to listen to this audio and get to the bottom of things. That was it. That was all it was going to be.
She listened closely.
Snoring.
More snoring.
The wind.
And then.
"…me…"
That tiny sound made Princess jolt up. She almost missed it since the wind was still blowing hard. But she caught it. Miraculously, she caught it.
On the control panel, Princess turned a knob, then another, and another, trying to isolate the mysterious sound. "Come on, come on…" she muttered to herself.
"…me… He… me… Help me."
Help me.
Princess went to breathe, but could not bring herself to. She pressed a button to allow the audio to loop. Help me. Help me. Help me. The voice was weird, not because of the editing, but because it sounded like the one who was speaking wasn't from this world. It sounded like nothing she had ever heard before. Airy. Elegant. Feminine. Strong. Real.
It was terrifying in a way. And yet, somehow, it sounded so familiar and comforting to her, as if she had heard it in a dream.
Princess inhaled, exhaled. She fumbled for her eye drops at the corner of her desk and applied a few drops to her eyes, blinking away the painful sting. She would be tired in the morning for sure, but she wouldn't regret this, even if she had to somehow get through a lecture in a couple of hours.
Her shaky hands reached for her recorder. She pressed the 'Record' button. "Reminder: go back to Sunset as soon as possible," she said. She wouldn't have been able to hide her shaky voice even if she tried. "There's, uh. There's way more to investigate than initially predicted. Heh. Perhaps this is something beyond groups of triplets? And someone needs help… but I don't know who. And I don't know. But I will know. I will."
The storm outside picked up speed. Princess could hear the rain beat heavily against the windows. It was probably going to go on all night and make her more tired than she already was. She'd have to fight through it all to get some progress down.
She took a big gulp of her tea and focused on her equipment, pushing her anxiety about class and the Rowdyruffs and Blossom Utonium and her father far behind her. This wasn't the time for that. It was time to get to work.
The puzzle pieces were here. Some were probably missing. But this was a start. She could do this. It would just take some more time.
She's worked miracles before. She could work another one again.
A/N *slowly crawls in* Uh, so how 'bout that airplane food...? :')
Okay. I know. This was a long time coming. Like, a REALLY long time coming. Don't boo me. At least I didn't take a full year this time-
Long story short: my original outline for this story got deleted. So I've been working on rewriting it! Things are way different than what I originally planned, but I think I like this direction better. So yeah! I'm back!
Will this be updated frequently? Do not count on that. But I'll try to update every few months, I swear. I'm not stopping this story; I just had to get my momentum back is all.
So, until next time! Hope you all enjoyed this Princess centered chapter. Thanks for reading and stay safe out there!