Yikes.
Hiii friends, how's everyone doing? *coughs awkwardly*
Honestly, truely, I'm really, really, really, sorry that I disappeared for almost a year and left you all hanging. I didn't mean to, its just, life man. Life's hard all around.
But thanks to all the support I've received, even during my absence, I finally pulled myself together and wrote this chapter. I just hope no one is out of character lol, you know its been long when you can't get into the mentality of your own OC.
Yet again, yikes.
On the bright side, we're finally, finally getting into the main plot! No, this story isn't just crack, yes, there'll be an actual storyline. Surprise.
Once again, thank you all for constantly reviewing and following and fav'ing this fic, despite my constant nonsense, and to those who saw my promise in Ink - sorry.
I hope this chapter isn't too terrible.
Review?
Chapter XVI - Sangria
Edward was currently in the middle giving a very good and comprehensible explanation as to how exactly cell division occured. He was even going into detail about Interphase and how cells gathered nutrients in preparation for the duplication of their DNA. It was a very good explanation indeed, Edgar thought. A much better explanation than what their biology teacher had given them anyway. That one had been horrendous, in her personal opinion;it featured a boring power point presentation, useless information leaflets, and the dryest lecture she'd ever received.
Though to be fair to Mr Banner, Edgar found almost every class entirely mind-numbing, but nonetheless, the leaflets had now found a home in the trash.
Thankfully, Edward didn't drone on and on in a half-dead manner like Mr Banner did either, and he had a certain way of speaking that just commanded you to concentrate and give him your full, entire attention.
It was an unfortunate thing, however, that Edgar Beauregard had never been particularly good with commands, and was only half listening to him at all. She was focused on more important things.
Things like figuring out just what in the world was going on with his hair.
Its unruly state was not what was preoccupying her mind, but instead, the fact that every time she saw him, his hair was always a different color. For example, the first time she saw him, that fateful day from across the cafeteria, under the florescent lights, his hair had been a light bronze, and under the gloomy sky so full of dark clouds when he'd ambushed her in her garden, it had been a dark rusty shade, or Tuesday when she'd sat next to him in Bio, when it had been almost burgundy. It was a mystery to her, how one person's hair could change so much with no help at all but the lighting around them -and like most things that involved Edward Cullen, Edgar didn't know whether to feel amazed or infuriated. He was already some spectacular mythical higher-being sent to earth to bewitch the humans (Either that or just to twist her mind into confusion, Edgar still wasn't see sure which yet), now on top of everything he had magic hair.
It was no wonder his ego was so insufferably large.
Today, it was the colour of Sangria, a deep red that just blurred the line into brown. Even though it was damp from the rain, it was still in its perpetually messy state, arrogantly defying all gravitational laws, and at this point, she wondered if there was anything that could tame it.
It hung over his face as he bent over his notebook, casting a shadow on his butterscotch eyes, and making him look like the brooding Deity she suspected he was, cursing his fate trapped on this earth away from home. Her fingers twitched as she imagined it depicted on a painting, like something straight out of the renaissance. Large and grand, in sepia tones to reinforce the grimness of the whole scene Oh, Edgar could see it already. She'd change the setting a little, transform her living room and make it more -
"-Edgar?" Interrupted the subject of her thoughts, and she just barely resisted the urge to jump in surprise. She'd forgotten his presence beside her, so deep in her imagination as she'd been.
She blinked at him owlishly. "Yes?" In her lap, she clenched her fingers tightly and forcefully shoved any desire to paint him away. She wouldn't do it, no matter how much she wanted to, because painting Edward, or doing anything similar meant letting him win, and she would not.
Edward watched her, eyes twinkling and a crooked smile on his face as if he found something endlessly amusing, and her brows furrowed, because as far as she knew, there was nothing of the sort around. "I was asking if you understood." He told her, lifting a single brow expectantly.
If Edgar was being perfectly honest, she'd lost track somewhere between prophase and anaphase, and had no idea what he was referring to. She did try, in her defense, to recall what exactly he'd been saying while she wasn't paying attention, but for the life of her, couldn't remember. A foreign feeling invaded her body, one she didn't experience very often, but she gathered it was shame, because the only reason he'd bothered to explain anything at all was because she'd mentioned in passing their project assignment was of a topic she hadn't understood very well.
But the shame was easily cast aside after a brief moment. It wasn't her fault really - it was that magic hair of his.
Edward only looked more entertained however, and a feeling of annoyance crept up within her because just what did he find so amusing?
"Nevermind," he said suddenly, shaking his head, still smiling to himself.
Her lips pulled down imperceptibly into a frown, but she didn't pursue the subject of his odd behavior, she had long established he was weird after all.
Instead, she used a paint-stained hand and gathered his notebook from where it had been sitting open in front of them on the coffee table, and peered down at his neat calligraphy. It was all so detailed, she couldn't help but notice, and much easier to understand than their biology textbooks. The diagrams were drawn neatly (with a skill even she begrudgingly envied), pointed out precisely and cleanly, and the important notes highlighted and or underlined. It looked extremely organized -far cry from her half-hearted scribbles only jotted down when Mr Banner glared at her.
"Do you like biology?" She asked him curiously, because really, Edgar couldn't see any other reason as to why someone would put so much effort into something if they didn't like it, especially something as tedious as Bio.
Edward hummed noncommittally, "I suppose its interesting enough in the right circumstances," he answered with a shrug. Edgar's eyes flickered from the pages up to his own, as she watched him contemplatively. She could see where he was coming from, if she really tried. The human body was interesting in its own way, though she was mostly only interested in it for aesthetical purposes if anything, and couldn't much see the appeal anywhere else.
Finally, she placed the notebook aside. "How do you want to divide the work?" She asked him.
Edward picked up the black folder Mr Banner had given them with their topic, his elegant hand opening it to the first page where their instructions were listed. "We're not allowed to use PowerPoint, he wants it all done by hand for evidence that-" he froze abruptly, turning into a statue as she scooted closer to better see, close enough that their shoulders were almost touching as she leaned forward to read the page herself. It was indeed a long list of things their teacher expected from them in order to achieve a passing grade, including, much to the silver eyed girl's horror, equal participation when it came to delivering said presentation in front of the class.
She'd been perfectly willing to do her part of course, she didn't think it fair to foster all the work on Edward alone, -even if she didn't very much like him-, but public speaking was something she wasn't very good at. She could barely manage isolated conversation with one other individual without unknowingly committing some disastrous social faux-pas -needless to say, speaking to a large group of people wasn't much easier.
She wondered if she could somehow avoid it, surely Mr Banner would agree it would be better for Edward to do all the speaking.
Said boy however, currently wasn't doing any speaking at all.
Edgar gave him a quizzical look when he didn't continue, not understanding his sudden silence. "...Evidence that?" She prompted.
Edward blinked rapidly, as if snapped out of a sudden reverie, before his dark brows pulled into a frown, "That we didn't cheat." He murmured, looking preoccupied with something else.
She stared at him for a moment longer, confused by his inattention, before slowly nodding in understanding and looking back to the folder, reading the list of supplies needed. "It seems you already have most of the notes done, unfortunately, I just used the last of presentation paper yesterday..."
"We could go buy the supplies now," he offered, demeanor casual and relaxed once more. Edgar found the sudden mood change disorienting, giving him a strange look.
"Right now?" She asked unsurely, her eyes flickering to the digital clock on her father's decoder. It was going for noon, though the overcast skies outside hid the sun.
The amber eyed male next to her simply gave her a small smile and another shrug, "Why not? No time like the present, after all."
Well, he was right, she supposed. There was no point in delaying, especially since they couldn't move forward without the supplies. And anyway, it would be more beneficial to her if they could finish the project as soon as possible, considering everything else she had to do.
Nodding to herself, her mind made up, she stood and looked at him expectantly, "Shall we go then?"
Daniel stared at the silver flip phone sitting innocently on his work desk, screen opened up and beaming up at him with his seafront wallpaper.
He'd been staring at it for almost an hour straight, sitting hunched over in his desk chair, hands clasped in front of his face and having not moved an inch since he'd first sat down.
It wasn't that the cellphone had done anything to him personally -not that an inanimate object could do much in the first place- but what it was associated with that had him conflicted. Its association with phone calls mostly, or more specifically, a call to one Mrs Cecilia Beauregard.
She was a nice enough woman in her own right, kind with eyes that sparkled with the youth of one many years younger than her and very intelligent, something that even had seen in his short duration in her company.
The problem was she was a veritable stranger, and even if she wasn't, it was just plain weird calling somebody else's Grandmother, whether or not you knew them personally.
His brows furrowed as he recalled Edgar's words from that morning, that she was awaiting his phone call, but for the life of him, Daniel couldn't even begin to guess what the elderly woman could want with him -him being a seventeen year old junior in highschool, who came from an average middle-class family that didn't even begin to skim the level of high-class Mrs Beauregard was a part of.
She'd seemed to like him for some inexplicable reason, but was that really enough to warrant a phone call on his part? The worst part was that Daniel hated phone calls; they were awkward and seemed to involve a sort of expectancy that both participants make extra effort to contribute to the conversation when more often than not, neither had much to say in the first place.
Unless it was one of the extended family members his mother was always threatening him into talking to -they could go on for hours on end and to make matters worse, always spoke to him as if he was ten years younger than his actual age.
He wondered if Mrs Beauregard was likely to be the same, but dismissed the thought quickly enough. She didn't seem like the type to insult another person's intellect in such a manner.
He wasn't in much of a mood to talk to anyone in all honesty, phone call or no. He'd much rather continue wallowing in his own cloud of self-pity as he brooded over his own problems - like how the hell he was going to afford the money to pursue a college education. Oh sure, he had his parents, but he also had three older siblings -two of which who were also currently earning their degrees. And regardless if they weren't, his parents incomes weren't enough to send him to his preferred University of choice, being the entirely prestigious Royal British Academy of Music.
Scholarships were an option, but with so many others trying the same route, all probably more talented and experienced than he was, it was unlikely he'd get in.
His eyes drifted to the small piece of paper with Mrs Beauregard's number on it, and with a sigh of resignation, the blond haired boy picked up his phone and dialled it.
Maybe if he asked nicely, she'd give him a million dollars.
"Good afternoon, this is the Beauregard residence, how may I help you?" An unknown male voice answered in a bland but still somehow haughty tone.
It was a voice that had probably destroyed many a self-esteem, and Daniel fumbled, unsure how to manage under such a sudden onslaught of utter snob, "W-Well, I um, is -is Mrs Beauregard there?" He said in a rushed tone.
He curesed his inability to form a coherant sentence when when there was a long paused at the other end of the line and he could just feel the silent judgment through the speakers.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the man finally spoke, "Yes. Who should I tell her is one the line?" He asked expectantly.
The green eyed boy coughed awkwardly, "Uh, Daniel -Daniel Smith." He said, trying to make his voice as confident as possible, though he suspected that he'd had one chance to garner the man's respect, and he'd already lost it.
"Please wait a moment," Declared the man, who Daniel gathered was in fact, Mrs Beauregard's butler. What was his name again? Timothy? Thomas?
In an attempt to not come off as even more incompetent when the line was finally picked up again, Daniel tried to pull himself together, telling himself to keep calm and nonchalant, act as if talking to those in the upper class were an every day occurrence for him, which it quite obviously, wasn't.
"Daniel, my dear, what a pleasant surprise!" Mrs Beauregard greeted happily, abruptly interrupting his inner pep talk.
He jumped a little, startled, "Oh, uh, h-hi Mrs Beauregard, Edgar said you, um, wanted to talk to me?" he asked lamely, and just desired the urge to sigh in defeat.
So much for appearing nonchalant.
"Indeed," she confirmed, "Though I must confess I am a little disappointed you didn't call sooner, but don't worry dear, its not your fault. If I know my Granddaughter -and I do- she likely only told you today! Darling Edgar, always with her head in the clouds," the woman said fondly, and he couldn't dispute her. She was right on both accounts.
"Now then, regarding what I wanted to talk to you about, Edgar told me you play the violin, yes? You're quite good, according to her."
He blinked rapidly in surprise, shocked that the odd girl had actually said such a thing to her grandmother. "Well, I'm not bad..."
Mrs Beauregard laughed, "Oh, I'm sure you're much better than you give yourself credit for. Edgar wouldn't say so if you aren't." She told him, "Now then, the annual Blue Rose Charity Ball will be taking place this Saturday, and as one of the individuals involved in organizing, I was wondering if you'd be willing to come and join the orchestra? Its completely voluntary, as is the whole point of charity, but I do think it will be a good opportunity for you nonetheless -especially because there's someone I'd very much like you to meet."
The Blue Rose Charity Ball? As in, the very same ball in which only the most influential were allowed to attend? He knew of it of course - how could he not? Even the most secluded of hermits were aware of its existence, and here he was, being offered a free pass.
He didn't even have to think about it, "T-thank you so much Mrs Beauregard, I really would love to participate." He told her honestly. It didn't matter that he wouldn't be getting paid, the mere chance at getting to play at such a prestigious event was more than enough. He'd be playing alongside with world class musicians, something he could only dream about.
"Wonderful!" Mrs Beauregard declared cheerfully, "Would you be available to come over tomorrow so we can discuss the details and introduce you to the other members of the orchestra?"
Daniel nodded excitedly, a giant grin splitting his face, "Yes, I'm free. What time should I come over?"
"I shall expect you at nine o'clock sharp. Do you remember the way?" She asked, sounding concerned, "I can send a driver to pick you up, if you prefer?"
"N-no, its okay. I remember, I'll be there." He assured her. He'd run all the way if he had to.
"Don't be late then, and bring your violin, I have a feeling you'll need it." She told him, sounding pleased.
"I will. Thank you so much, Mrs Beauregard." He stressed, hoping that she could hear just how genuinely he meant it. She'd just given him the opportunity of a lifetime, and he was wholeheartedly grateful.
A bright laugh was what he got in reply, "Anything for a friend of my granddaughter's," the older woman declared happily, "Have a splendid day, Dearie!" And with that, the line was cut, leaving Daniel with a bright smile and a feeling of excitement rushing through his veins.
It may not have been a million dollars, but it was the next best thing.
