Wow! I actually updated in ONE DAY! When was the last time *that* happened?!
...Maybe we should have a Party?! ^-^
Disclaimer. Me, Arnold, No.
~*~Daughter of Wind~*~
Chapter Two- Woman of the Cloak.
The little Blonde Sleeper Awoke to the wind against her window pane.
She rolled over in her pink-sheeted bed, putting a hand over her eyes and moaning tiredly.
"No, not yet...just let me finish..." she mumbled. She shut her eyes tight, trying to go back to her dream.
But it was too late. The dream had faded. She grumbled, giving up and slowly making her way out of bed. It was a
shame, it had been a good one, too. She had just been about to kiss Arnold.
Why is it that with dreams, you always seem to wake up just before the best part?
The little girl's fair-skinned feet crept softly on the carpeted floor as she checked her alarm clock. Only six a.m.?!
No wonder she hadn't heard the blasted thing go off yet. The petite golden-haired child looked forlornly at the
tousled mess that was her bed. No point in going back there, she thought. She was already wide awake.
She stumbled silently over to her bedroom light, turning it on and blinking a few times, allowing her pupils to ajust.
She walked to her mirror, and took in the sight of her reflection. She had taken a shower last night, and had been too
tired to bother drying her hair with the large paddle-brush she used to striaghten it, so now it hung in a sea of ringlets,
brushing softly against her chest. One piece imparticular fell over her left eye, but the right was still visible, and shone,
bluer then the sea, bluer then the sky, with long, delicate eyelashes sweeping over it. Her frame was tall, but her bones
were small, bird-like, giving her a lanky look that undoubably someday, her body would fill out and grow into. And
under the light, her ivory skin glowed, clean and vanilla-scented from her body wash.
If anyone had seen her like this, they would have called her beautiful.
If Arnold had seen her like this, he would have called her Cecile, and told her she was beautiful.
But that was not what Helga saw.
She saw something ugly. She saw something unworthy. And she glared at the girl in the mirror, and hated her for being
there. She hated the figure for not have rust-red hair, and charming green eyes, and a sweet dispostion.
She hated the figure, for not bearing the name, Lila.
She stormed away from the Mirror, and into the bathroom. She put her hair under the sink faucet and turned the water
on, washing away the curls that were so naturly becoming to her. She grabbed her blow-dryer, turning in on
and listening to nothing but the rush of blistering hot air as she pulled the paddle-brush through her hair.
When her hair was dry and suitably straight, it puffed out. This was why her pigtails always stuck out the way they did.
The frizz from the curls that Helga simply would not let be.
In a flash, she had her pigtails, and donned her well-known Pink Bow. Did Arnold still like it, she wondered?
She hoped so. It was there, after all, for his pleasure.
She jogged back to her room and changed from her sack-like nightgown to her sack-like dress. Socks and shoes were
last, and finally, she stepped back in front of the mirror, and smirked.
This was the girl she knew. This was Helga. And while she did not like this reflection any better then the previous,
she at least reveled in the fact that this one could instill fear in the heart of her cruel, unscrupulous classmates, while the
other could not.
She glanced at her clock once again. The sun was up, and it was seven-thirty. She could hear Mirium banging
cupboards from downstairs, awakened from the kitchen table, where she usually slept. No doubt looking for the
'special' ingredient to her smoothies.
Unbeknownst to her mother, Helga had hid the bottle of amber-coloured whisky last night, and it now was safely
tucked away with two other bottles of the same maker in the back of her closet. She knew that her mother would only
buy another bottle when she and her father left, but she had been trying to secretly discourage her from drinking for the
past week. Something had triggered her to do it, she just couldn't remember what anymore.
The blonde heaved a sorrowful sigh, and headed downstairs. She stepping into the kitchen quietly, observing her
mothers frantic, useless search for a few moments before interupting,
"Mom, what're you looking for?" she inquired knowingly. Mirium jumped and spun around quickly, shutting the cabinate
she had been looking in,
"What? Oh..." she paused, thinking up a suitable answer in her most likly still fuzzy mind.
"...nothing, Helga sweetie, don't worry." she finally responed, forcing a small smile.
Helga just stared back somberly, "Did you make breakfast, Mirium?" her voice was soft and bitter. It was justified
in being so. What Mother gets drunk in front of their nine-year old daughter?
The adult's eyes widened, revealing the whites of her eyes to be red from a hangover. Helga had almost never seen her
mother sober, and tried to remember how, when her eyes were their proper colour, they were that unbelievably
rare colour of Violet. Like Elizabeth Taylor's. A colour that matched the dress she wore, and made Olga and Bob's
brown eyes seem dull and muddy in comparison. Helga didn't quite know how she'd gotten her blue eyes. By what
she knew about genes, her's should've been brown, too.
"Oh, Helga, I must've fogotten..." Mirium began, "There's some Pop-Tarts somewhere in this kitchen..."
"Nevermind, Mirium!" she hissed at her, anger peaked, "Just go back to whatever you were looking for!"
Heavy footsteps lumbered onto the tiled floor. Helga immediatly cringed when she heard the booming voice behind her,
"Hey! Don't use that tone with your mother, little missy!" her father, Bob, shouted.
She spun on her heel to face him, eyes narrowed.
'How could you let her do this?!' she wanted to scream at him, 'How can you call yourself a husband, a Father?!
Don't you realise she's killing herself right in front of our eyes?!'
"Yes, BOB." was all that came out of her mouth, laced with her usual sarcasm, before she made her way around him,
picked up her bag, left carlessly in the hallway, and took off out the front door.
No one said goodbye to her. They never did, they never would.
She walked, alone, to the Bus stop, wind pushing against her, making it hard for her to go forward. Lord, the wind
was vicious today! It stung against her skin, and nearly ripped her bow off. The sky was a looming grey, dark and
ominous. She finally made it to the bus, and stomped over moodily to her tender-hearted best friend, Phoebe,
landing onto the seat they shared with a pronounced *thud*.
Phoebe gave her a sideways Glance, sensing how upset the emotionally unstable blonde was,
"Helga..." she started, her tone concerned.
"I don't want to talk about it, Phoebe." Helga snapped, cutting her off.
The little oriental's dark, almond eyes winded slightly, her brows lifting, but she remained silent.
"Alright, Helga." she said after a long pause, "Some other time, perhaps."
The Bully snorted, and the ride was silent until they reached their school, PS 118.
Helga went straight to her locker, gathering her books. She shut the thin metal door violently, and negan to make her
way to class, traveling against the never-ending stream of loud students. She had nearly made it through the door of
Mr. Simmons fourth-grade class, when someone who was trying to get into the exact same room crashed into her.
She didn't even have to think about who it could be. If you were used to her routine, niether would you.
"Why don't you watch where you're going, Footballhead?!" she snarled at the boy with the cornflower hair the stood
a foot away, rubbing a part on his head that had evidently been affected in the acciedent.
"Sorry, Helga." he apoligized, so use to this daily ritual that it came out almost sing-song.
"Sorry? SORRY?! Criminey! You nearly killed me, Arnoldo! Ever hear of a SPEED LIMIT?!"
The Wistful boy gave his half-smile, green eyes sparkling.
But not for Helga.
You see, Lila had just brushed past him, into the classroom, and had smiled in his direction. He was no longer even
aware the his Pigtailed Obsessor was still in the vicinity.
"Uh-Huh, sure Helga..." he muttered flatly before making his way over to his hearts true desire.
She gnashed her teeth together, clentching her fists as she took her seat.
Well, who couldn't say she didn't have reason?! Arnold should, by right, be hers! Not Lila's pathedic boy-toy!
After all, she had seen him first! She loved him more then anything else on God's green Earth! She had worshiped
him from afar for as far back as she could remember him. What emotions could Lila boast?! 'Liking' him?! HA!
"Class, Class, now I want you all to settle down!"
After a moment of ruckus, Everyone took their appointed seats and listened. The balding teacher beamed with pride
at his class, looking at at each of them with unabashed joy before starting again,
"Now, as I was saying, we'll be having a guest speaker in for the next week. She's a woman who's come from very
far, and specializes in the very unique and special talent of--"
The torrent wind blustered against the window with such a sudden strength and urgency that the entire class gave a start.
"It's been like that all day!" Gerald complained, filling the silence of unwarented uneasiness.
Sid grumbled, "I know! It woke me up this morning!"
"Me too!" Naidine chimed in.
"I reckon it ain't natural." Stinky drawled.
Harold's interest arose, "What? You mean...evil wind?!"
"I assure you, Harold, that the phenomenon of this unually forceful wind is most natural." Phoebe informed,
"By my calulation, the pattern that we are observing is a North-Western Wind that will disapate by this afternoon..."
The door slammed open.
Every head in the classroom whipped round to face whoever had cause the disturbance. In the doorway, stood
a cloak.
A Fushia Cloak.
Helga looked closely at the thing. The person underneath it was undistinguishable, covered in the velvet-like fabric.
Even their head was disguised in a large, mideval-styled hood. The person stepped into the room, until they were at
the front and center of it.
Swiftly, two arms appeared from the cloak. Their hands were long, slender and feminine, their skin pale as china.
This was a girl.
No, not a girl. This was a Woman.
The hood was Removed, and--just as Helga thought-- a woman stood before them. Sprials of sunshine-tinted hair
fell easily past her shoulders, down the back of her neck. Her thick lips, visable from underneath her button nose,
held a determined line. Her eyes were light and blue, and could have been kind, perhaps. But to Helga, they looked
almost challenging, taking in the room under her two, curved black brows.
The woman breathed deeply, through her nose, and no one spoke.
After a short time of this, the woman seemed to grow tired of it, and took it upon herself to shatter the soundlessness,
"Which one of you was it that said that was a North-Western wind?" she quired, motioning out the glass to the wind.
Phoebe raise her hand meekly, "It was me, miss." she admited, awaiting her responce.
The woman crossed her arms. "It was you, was it?" the woman repeated, "Well, are you stupid then, is that it?"
A unified gasp echoed through the room as Phoebe eyes raised woundedly to the cruel thing that had hurt her.
"Wh-what do you mean, Miss?" Phoebe stuttered, for once, unsure of her own wit.
The woman walked to Phoebe's desk and looked down her perfect nose at her, a frown creasing her features,
"Look out that window." she ordered. "There is nothing westwardly about that wind whatsoever. That is the North
Wind. Anyone who can't see that is a fool."
Helga had been observing this turn of events, and was disgusted with the woman. Couldn't she see how defencless
Phoebe was?! Why pick on her?! Why not Pick on someone more well equipped to take her crap...
"And why's that, Lady?!" Helga heard herself shout to the woman without warning.
The woman looked from the window to Helga, raising her right eyebrow. She appraoched her desk, bending down so
she could get down to Helga's level.
"Why? Well, I suppose I know the North wind too well. I expect everyone else to."
she turned her back to Helga and headed to the front of the class once again.
But Helga haden't had enough. Not just yet.
"You *know* the wind?!" she mocked, "And how EXACTLY did you manage that?!"
She spun around, her pale eyes falling back on Helga, and she smiled a secret smile. A knowing smile.
"I have to know the North Wind." she explained mystically, "...How else would I be able to follow where it leads me?"
And Chapter Two is Over! Ain't'cha GLAD?! LoL. Questions? Comments? Random Rants? I like feedback. Flame
if you wanna, but for gosh sakes, get a heat-gaurd, will ya'?!
Next Chap. to be Upload ASAP (God willing you people don't get TIRED of me! ^-^)
Until Then, Wishin' you...
Love
Life
Luck
n' Lafta'
~*~CD~*~
...Maybe we should have a Party?! ^-^
Disclaimer. Me, Arnold, No.
~*~Daughter of Wind~*~
Chapter Two- Woman of the Cloak.
The little Blonde Sleeper Awoke to the wind against her window pane.
She rolled over in her pink-sheeted bed, putting a hand over her eyes and moaning tiredly.
"No, not yet...just let me finish..." she mumbled. She shut her eyes tight, trying to go back to her dream.
But it was too late. The dream had faded. She grumbled, giving up and slowly making her way out of bed. It was a
shame, it had been a good one, too. She had just been about to kiss Arnold.
Why is it that with dreams, you always seem to wake up just before the best part?
The little girl's fair-skinned feet crept softly on the carpeted floor as she checked her alarm clock. Only six a.m.?!
No wonder she hadn't heard the blasted thing go off yet. The petite golden-haired child looked forlornly at the
tousled mess that was her bed. No point in going back there, she thought. She was already wide awake.
She stumbled silently over to her bedroom light, turning it on and blinking a few times, allowing her pupils to ajust.
She walked to her mirror, and took in the sight of her reflection. She had taken a shower last night, and had been too
tired to bother drying her hair with the large paddle-brush she used to striaghten it, so now it hung in a sea of ringlets,
brushing softly against her chest. One piece imparticular fell over her left eye, but the right was still visible, and shone,
bluer then the sea, bluer then the sky, with long, delicate eyelashes sweeping over it. Her frame was tall, but her bones
were small, bird-like, giving her a lanky look that undoubably someday, her body would fill out and grow into. And
under the light, her ivory skin glowed, clean and vanilla-scented from her body wash.
If anyone had seen her like this, they would have called her beautiful.
If Arnold had seen her like this, he would have called her Cecile, and told her she was beautiful.
But that was not what Helga saw.
She saw something ugly. She saw something unworthy. And she glared at the girl in the mirror, and hated her for being
there. She hated the figure for not have rust-red hair, and charming green eyes, and a sweet dispostion.
She hated the figure, for not bearing the name, Lila.
She stormed away from the Mirror, and into the bathroom. She put her hair under the sink faucet and turned the water
on, washing away the curls that were so naturly becoming to her. She grabbed her blow-dryer, turning in on
and listening to nothing but the rush of blistering hot air as she pulled the paddle-brush through her hair.
When her hair was dry and suitably straight, it puffed out. This was why her pigtails always stuck out the way they did.
The frizz from the curls that Helga simply would not let be.
In a flash, she had her pigtails, and donned her well-known Pink Bow. Did Arnold still like it, she wondered?
She hoped so. It was there, after all, for his pleasure.
She jogged back to her room and changed from her sack-like nightgown to her sack-like dress. Socks and shoes were
last, and finally, she stepped back in front of the mirror, and smirked.
This was the girl she knew. This was Helga. And while she did not like this reflection any better then the previous,
she at least reveled in the fact that this one could instill fear in the heart of her cruel, unscrupulous classmates, while the
other could not.
She glanced at her clock once again. The sun was up, and it was seven-thirty. She could hear Mirium banging
cupboards from downstairs, awakened from the kitchen table, where she usually slept. No doubt looking for the
'special' ingredient to her smoothies.
Unbeknownst to her mother, Helga had hid the bottle of amber-coloured whisky last night, and it now was safely
tucked away with two other bottles of the same maker in the back of her closet. She knew that her mother would only
buy another bottle when she and her father left, but she had been trying to secretly discourage her from drinking for the
past week. Something had triggered her to do it, she just couldn't remember what anymore.
The blonde heaved a sorrowful sigh, and headed downstairs. She stepping into the kitchen quietly, observing her
mothers frantic, useless search for a few moments before interupting,
"Mom, what're you looking for?" she inquired knowingly. Mirium jumped and spun around quickly, shutting the cabinate
she had been looking in,
"What? Oh..." she paused, thinking up a suitable answer in her most likly still fuzzy mind.
"...nothing, Helga sweetie, don't worry." she finally responed, forcing a small smile.
Helga just stared back somberly, "Did you make breakfast, Mirium?" her voice was soft and bitter. It was justified
in being so. What Mother gets drunk in front of their nine-year old daughter?
The adult's eyes widened, revealing the whites of her eyes to be red from a hangover. Helga had almost never seen her
mother sober, and tried to remember how, when her eyes were their proper colour, they were that unbelievably
rare colour of Violet. Like Elizabeth Taylor's. A colour that matched the dress she wore, and made Olga and Bob's
brown eyes seem dull and muddy in comparison. Helga didn't quite know how she'd gotten her blue eyes. By what
she knew about genes, her's should've been brown, too.
"Oh, Helga, I must've fogotten..." Mirium began, "There's some Pop-Tarts somewhere in this kitchen..."
"Nevermind, Mirium!" she hissed at her, anger peaked, "Just go back to whatever you were looking for!"
Heavy footsteps lumbered onto the tiled floor. Helga immediatly cringed when she heard the booming voice behind her,
"Hey! Don't use that tone with your mother, little missy!" her father, Bob, shouted.
She spun on her heel to face him, eyes narrowed.
'How could you let her do this?!' she wanted to scream at him, 'How can you call yourself a husband, a Father?!
Don't you realise she's killing herself right in front of our eyes?!'
"Yes, BOB." was all that came out of her mouth, laced with her usual sarcasm, before she made her way around him,
picked up her bag, left carlessly in the hallway, and took off out the front door.
No one said goodbye to her. They never did, they never would.
She walked, alone, to the Bus stop, wind pushing against her, making it hard for her to go forward. Lord, the wind
was vicious today! It stung against her skin, and nearly ripped her bow off. The sky was a looming grey, dark and
ominous. She finally made it to the bus, and stomped over moodily to her tender-hearted best friend, Phoebe,
landing onto the seat they shared with a pronounced *thud*.
Phoebe gave her a sideways Glance, sensing how upset the emotionally unstable blonde was,
"Helga..." she started, her tone concerned.
"I don't want to talk about it, Phoebe." Helga snapped, cutting her off.
The little oriental's dark, almond eyes winded slightly, her brows lifting, but she remained silent.
"Alright, Helga." she said after a long pause, "Some other time, perhaps."
The Bully snorted, and the ride was silent until they reached their school, PS 118.
Helga went straight to her locker, gathering her books. She shut the thin metal door violently, and negan to make her
way to class, traveling against the never-ending stream of loud students. She had nearly made it through the door of
Mr. Simmons fourth-grade class, when someone who was trying to get into the exact same room crashed into her.
She didn't even have to think about who it could be. If you were used to her routine, niether would you.
"Why don't you watch where you're going, Footballhead?!" she snarled at the boy with the cornflower hair the stood
a foot away, rubbing a part on his head that had evidently been affected in the acciedent.
"Sorry, Helga." he apoligized, so use to this daily ritual that it came out almost sing-song.
"Sorry? SORRY?! Criminey! You nearly killed me, Arnoldo! Ever hear of a SPEED LIMIT?!"
The Wistful boy gave his half-smile, green eyes sparkling.
But not for Helga.
You see, Lila had just brushed past him, into the classroom, and had smiled in his direction. He was no longer even
aware the his Pigtailed Obsessor was still in the vicinity.
"Uh-Huh, sure Helga..." he muttered flatly before making his way over to his hearts true desire.
She gnashed her teeth together, clentching her fists as she took her seat.
Well, who couldn't say she didn't have reason?! Arnold should, by right, be hers! Not Lila's pathedic boy-toy!
After all, she had seen him first! She loved him more then anything else on God's green Earth! She had worshiped
him from afar for as far back as she could remember him. What emotions could Lila boast?! 'Liking' him?! HA!
"Class, Class, now I want you all to settle down!"
After a moment of ruckus, Everyone took their appointed seats and listened. The balding teacher beamed with pride
at his class, looking at at each of them with unabashed joy before starting again,
"Now, as I was saying, we'll be having a guest speaker in for the next week. She's a woman who's come from very
far, and specializes in the very unique and special talent of--"
The torrent wind blustered against the window with such a sudden strength and urgency that the entire class gave a start.
"It's been like that all day!" Gerald complained, filling the silence of unwarented uneasiness.
Sid grumbled, "I know! It woke me up this morning!"
"Me too!" Naidine chimed in.
"I reckon it ain't natural." Stinky drawled.
Harold's interest arose, "What? You mean...evil wind?!"
"I assure you, Harold, that the phenomenon of this unually forceful wind is most natural." Phoebe informed,
"By my calulation, the pattern that we are observing is a North-Western Wind that will disapate by this afternoon..."
The door slammed open.
Every head in the classroom whipped round to face whoever had cause the disturbance. In the doorway, stood
a cloak.
A Fushia Cloak.
Helga looked closely at the thing. The person underneath it was undistinguishable, covered in the velvet-like fabric.
Even their head was disguised in a large, mideval-styled hood. The person stepped into the room, until they were at
the front and center of it.
Swiftly, two arms appeared from the cloak. Their hands were long, slender and feminine, their skin pale as china.
This was a girl.
No, not a girl. This was a Woman.
The hood was Removed, and--just as Helga thought-- a woman stood before them. Sprials of sunshine-tinted hair
fell easily past her shoulders, down the back of her neck. Her thick lips, visable from underneath her button nose,
held a determined line. Her eyes were light and blue, and could have been kind, perhaps. But to Helga, they looked
almost challenging, taking in the room under her two, curved black brows.
The woman breathed deeply, through her nose, and no one spoke.
After a short time of this, the woman seemed to grow tired of it, and took it upon herself to shatter the soundlessness,
"Which one of you was it that said that was a North-Western wind?" she quired, motioning out the glass to the wind.
Phoebe raise her hand meekly, "It was me, miss." she admited, awaiting her responce.
The woman crossed her arms. "It was you, was it?" the woman repeated, "Well, are you stupid then, is that it?"
A unified gasp echoed through the room as Phoebe eyes raised woundedly to the cruel thing that had hurt her.
"Wh-what do you mean, Miss?" Phoebe stuttered, for once, unsure of her own wit.
The woman walked to Phoebe's desk and looked down her perfect nose at her, a frown creasing her features,
"Look out that window." she ordered. "There is nothing westwardly about that wind whatsoever. That is the North
Wind. Anyone who can't see that is a fool."
Helga had been observing this turn of events, and was disgusted with the woman. Couldn't she see how defencless
Phoebe was?! Why pick on her?! Why not Pick on someone more well equipped to take her crap...
"And why's that, Lady?!" Helga heard herself shout to the woman without warning.
The woman looked from the window to Helga, raising her right eyebrow. She appraoched her desk, bending down so
she could get down to Helga's level.
"Why? Well, I suppose I know the North wind too well. I expect everyone else to."
she turned her back to Helga and headed to the front of the class once again.
But Helga haden't had enough. Not just yet.
"You *know* the wind?!" she mocked, "And how EXACTLY did you manage that?!"
She spun around, her pale eyes falling back on Helga, and she smiled a secret smile. A knowing smile.
"I have to know the North Wind." she explained mystically, "...How else would I be able to follow where it leads me?"
And Chapter Two is Over! Ain't'cha GLAD?! LoL. Questions? Comments? Random Rants? I like feedback. Flame
if you wanna, but for gosh sakes, get a heat-gaurd, will ya'?!
Next Chap. to be Upload ASAP (God willing you people don't get TIRED of me! ^-^)
Until Then, Wishin' you...
Love
Life
Luck
n' Lafta'
~*~CD~*~