Title: The Scales Tipped
Rating: PG
Hey all! Thanks to those of you who reviewed last chapter. And in case you were wondering, I'll be updating about once a week, so every Tuesday or Wenesday.
Beth- No comment on the Fillmore/Ingrid thing. It would give everything away!
Stephanie- Thanks. I think they're gonna end up a bit OOC though. 0_o
Atsuki-chan- Here's your next chapter!
Blackheart Syaoran- Thank you so much for your suggestions. I actually don't know anything about Superman, but I went and looked up this Luther character. I can guarantee you that there will be plenty of references for you to pick up on later in the story! ^_^
________
Ingrid stepped back and admired her work. It had turned out pretty good; her sister would be proud. Or might have been anyway, but for Ingrid's choice of canvas. Either way, she had to archive this one for the scrapbook. She pulled a camera out of her backpack and deposited in its place a can of spray paint. There were various others of different colours sitting neatly off to the side, all of them used. Ingrid backed up until she was against the lockers across the hall. 'Tch,' she said aloud in frustration, moving to the left in an attempt to fit her entire masterpiece into the photo. Streams of early morning light were filtering in through the windows, school would be opening soon.
Ingrid pulled off the surgeon's mask she was wearing so her camera would stop bumping into it every time she went to look through the viewfinder. The smell of paint was heavy in the air, stifling her breath. It was already starting to give her a headache. A bright flash filled the hallway for an instant, then the sunrays came back into focus. Ingrid dropped the camera carelessly back into her bag. There was this strange feeling that she'd forgotten something.
She smiled. 'My autograph.'
She picked up the can of black spray paint from among the others that were standing nearby. Just enough left. Walking over to the right side, she scrawled her name neatly in the bottom corner. There. Perfect. Now all she had to do was.
'What are you- Oh, no!' came a frantic cry from behind her. Ingrid smirked. She wouldn't have to wait to be discovered after all. 'How could you!?' the person shouted in an anguished voice. Ingrid turned and winced despite herself at the sight before her. Cheri was standing there in tears, fists clenched at her sides. This girl took school spirit way too seriously. 'I gave you cookies!' was the last thing she said before she launched herself at Ingrid.
What followed was hair pulling, scratching, and pitiful slaps. Ingrid couldn't believe this! She'd have to be more careful of cheerleaders in the future, lest she be overrun by their passionate furry. Anza and another officer were greeted by this odd sight as they rounded the corner on their morning patrol. 'Hey!' he called out, sprinting over and pulling them apart. Cheri sank down onto the floor, a blubbering mass of tears. 'What's going on?' he demanded. His counterpart, who had just caught up and was huffing slightly, tapped Anza on the shoulder. 'What?' His eyes followed the finger that was pointing to the wall of lockers across the hall. 'Holy- '
His walkie talkie cut him off. 'Anza, I can't decide between Dill Pickle and Barbecue. Can you help me out?'
'Forget the chips, Fillmore. We've got a situation. Better get over here.'
'Where are you?'
'A-Hall.'
'On my way.'
Ingrid stood with her arms crossed, reeking attitude. Anza noted her paint clothes and mask with narrowed eyes. 'This your masterpiece?' he asked.
'You really think it's a masterpiece?' she asked, feigning an innocent tone. She shot Anza a mischievous smile.
At that moment Fillmore came running up the hallway from the opposite of the direction that Anza had come from. His face immediately went grim as he looked from Cheri, to the spray cans, to the lockers, and finally to Ingrid.
'Looks like we got a Da Vinci wannabe here,' Anza said in a patronizing tone.
'Now that //is// going too far. Da Vinci was a genius. His use of perspective, light and shadow was beautiful. This is rather crude really,' she said, surveying her work. 'It's just a bloody X. Really.'
Fillmore's frown deepened at her dismissive tone. 'Ingrid Third?' She turned to look at him. 'I'm going to have to ask you to come with me.'
'I was wondering when you'd get around to that. Can I get my stuff, or would you like to gather that yourself for evidence?'
Fillmore nodded to Anza, who called for Tehama to come over with gloves and bags. He then looked back at Ingrid and asked, 'Are you going to co- operate, or do I need to cuff you?'
'I'm a criminal. Are you going to go easy on me just because I'm the new girl?' Ingrid held out her arms with a challenging glare in her eyes. Fillmore matched it by snapping the cuffs down over her wrists.
________
Before long, the crowd of 5 around the conspicuous wall had multiplied to 60. It seemed as if the first thing every student heard the second they stepped through the doors of X was that someone had vandalized the lockers in A-Hall. People now stood gathered behind the yellow tape pointing, talking in hushed voices, and watching in disbelief at the scene before them. Anza was trying to keep the crowd calm while Tehama finished bagging the spray paint cans by telling them that the culprit had already been apprehended and was being questioned at headquarters.
Fillmore sat at the questioning table with a grim look on his face. The transcript before him was a rather disheveled one. It seemed like this girl had been to the best schools in every state. Heck, did he just read that she had spent a year in Nepal? It didn't add up. If this girl was as smart as her marks were saying she was, then why was she being passed round the school boards like a hot potato? He looked up at her, his expression deepening.
She was watching him with narrowed eyes, almost with disgust. Her chair was pushed back from the table so she could slouch comfortably, one knee over the other and arms crossed, one shoulder cocked slightly higher than the other. He could sum up the presence of this Ingrid Third in one word: Attitude.
'So-'
'Why am I here?' she cut him off. He smirked at this. She had been waiting to bite off his words.
'Does vandalizing school property ring any bells?'
'I already gave you my confession. Why am I still here?'
'I'm a Safety Patrol officer; it's my job to get to the bottom of a crime.'
She rolled her eyes. 'In case you haven't noticed, you've caught the criminal. Not too bright are you?'
'Maybe I'm not, but you are.' He motioned to the transcript, 'Your marks are perfect, your records are glowing. You wanna know why you're still here? I wanna know why.'
'Why what?' she asked, her foul mood staining her words.
'Motive.'
She raised an eyebrow, her countenance relaxing. Fillmore noted this with interest. 'You want to know my motive, do you?' she said in a dangerous voice. It seemed to Fillmore that this girl was laced with poison. Perhaps like some kind of snake, sly and clever, and if you let it it'll bite.
'Well, let me explain it for you then,' she leaned forward and put her still crossed arms on the table. 'I. Hate. This. School.'
Fillmore's lips curled up a little, playing along with her game once again. After all, if you can't beat them, join them. 'From what I can tell, you've hated every school you've ever been to.' Their eyes locked. Although appearing calm, he could she Ingrid was inwardly blazing at the fact that he wouldn't leave off about her motive. He knew she'd figured him out already, and that she knew he was enjoying this. And he wasn't enjoying it because he'd caught her, but enjoying it because he was matching minds with her, and that only made her even more upset. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her response.
'You do have some wits about. Excellent inference.' Her voice held a mocking tone.
'Thanks. Part of the job. But I've also noticed that there are no records of any previous offences at these other schools.'
'And?'
He decided to leave that course of conversation alone. It wasn't relevant right now anyway. 'It's kind of sad, really. For all your intelligence, you're incapable of distinguishing right from wrong. You're completely misguided.' The sternness was creeping back into his voice.
Ingrid smirked.
'And for that reason,' he continued, 'even your IQ won't save you.'
She immediately frowned at that. 'I don't need to be saved.'
'Really? Well all you've managed to so far is run from whatever is chasing you. Run from one school to another.'
'I do //not// need to be saved,' she reasserted firmly.
'I bet you couldn't survive if you stayed at one school. And that's because you're incapable of saving yourself.'
A tap at the door interrupted them. Vallejo was looking in at them through the blinds. Fillmore rose and went out to him, shutting the door behind him. 'What have you got?' the commissioner asked him.
'I got the full confession on tape.'
'Excellent. I'll have the expulsion hearing arranged for Monday. You can send her home now.' He nodded towards the questioning room.
Fillmore stood resignedly, his gaze straying across the evidence bags containing spray paint cans. They were sitting neatly on Tehama's desk, labeled and ready for exhibit at the hearing. Among them was a Polaroid of Ingrid's graffiti work. He picked it up to look at. Across a section of lockers was a large black and white X, like the school emblem. It was, like the emblem, on a red background. But the red paint had been allowed to run, and it looked like blood.
He dropped the photo and sighed. 'Tehama,' he called across the room to her, where she was chatting with Danny. She looked over at him. 'Can you take care of Third? I've got some other things to do.'
'Sure thing,' she waved.
'Thanks,' he replied, and made his way out of HQ. He had to talk to Folsom.
________
Next Chapter: Ingrid gets a suspected surprise at the expulsion hearing.
Rating: PG
Hey all! Thanks to those of you who reviewed last chapter. And in case you were wondering, I'll be updating about once a week, so every Tuesday or Wenesday.
Beth- No comment on the Fillmore/Ingrid thing. It would give everything away!
Stephanie- Thanks. I think they're gonna end up a bit OOC though. 0_o
Atsuki-chan- Here's your next chapter!
Blackheart Syaoran- Thank you so much for your suggestions. I actually don't know anything about Superman, but I went and looked up this Luther character. I can guarantee you that there will be plenty of references for you to pick up on later in the story! ^_^
________
Ingrid stepped back and admired her work. It had turned out pretty good; her sister would be proud. Or might have been anyway, but for Ingrid's choice of canvas. Either way, she had to archive this one for the scrapbook. She pulled a camera out of her backpack and deposited in its place a can of spray paint. There were various others of different colours sitting neatly off to the side, all of them used. Ingrid backed up until she was against the lockers across the hall. 'Tch,' she said aloud in frustration, moving to the left in an attempt to fit her entire masterpiece into the photo. Streams of early morning light were filtering in through the windows, school would be opening soon.
Ingrid pulled off the surgeon's mask she was wearing so her camera would stop bumping into it every time she went to look through the viewfinder. The smell of paint was heavy in the air, stifling her breath. It was already starting to give her a headache. A bright flash filled the hallway for an instant, then the sunrays came back into focus. Ingrid dropped the camera carelessly back into her bag. There was this strange feeling that she'd forgotten something.
She smiled. 'My autograph.'
She picked up the can of black spray paint from among the others that were standing nearby. Just enough left. Walking over to the right side, she scrawled her name neatly in the bottom corner. There. Perfect. Now all she had to do was.
'What are you- Oh, no!' came a frantic cry from behind her. Ingrid smirked. She wouldn't have to wait to be discovered after all. 'How could you!?' the person shouted in an anguished voice. Ingrid turned and winced despite herself at the sight before her. Cheri was standing there in tears, fists clenched at her sides. This girl took school spirit way too seriously. 'I gave you cookies!' was the last thing she said before she launched herself at Ingrid.
What followed was hair pulling, scratching, and pitiful slaps. Ingrid couldn't believe this! She'd have to be more careful of cheerleaders in the future, lest she be overrun by their passionate furry. Anza and another officer were greeted by this odd sight as they rounded the corner on their morning patrol. 'Hey!' he called out, sprinting over and pulling them apart. Cheri sank down onto the floor, a blubbering mass of tears. 'What's going on?' he demanded. His counterpart, who had just caught up and was huffing slightly, tapped Anza on the shoulder. 'What?' His eyes followed the finger that was pointing to the wall of lockers across the hall. 'Holy- '
His walkie talkie cut him off. 'Anza, I can't decide between Dill Pickle and Barbecue. Can you help me out?'
'Forget the chips, Fillmore. We've got a situation. Better get over here.'
'Where are you?'
'A-Hall.'
'On my way.'
Ingrid stood with her arms crossed, reeking attitude. Anza noted her paint clothes and mask with narrowed eyes. 'This your masterpiece?' he asked.
'You really think it's a masterpiece?' she asked, feigning an innocent tone. She shot Anza a mischievous smile.
At that moment Fillmore came running up the hallway from the opposite of the direction that Anza had come from. His face immediately went grim as he looked from Cheri, to the spray cans, to the lockers, and finally to Ingrid.
'Looks like we got a Da Vinci wannabe here,' Anza said in a patronizing tone.
'Now that //is// going too far. Da Vinci was a genius. His use of perspective, light and shadow was beautiful. This is rather crude really,' she said, surveying her work. 'It's just a bloody X. Really.'
Fillmore's frown deepened at her dismissive tone. 'Ingrid Third?' She turned to look at him. 'I'm going to have to ask you to come with me.'
'I was wondering when you'd get around to that. Can I get my stuff, or would you like to gather that yourself for evidence?'
Fillmore nodded to Anza, who called for Tehama to come over with gloves and bags. He then looked back at Ingrid and asked, 'Are you going to co- operate, or do I need to cuff you?'
'I'm a criminal. Are you going to go easy on me just because I'm the new girl?' Ingrid held out her arms with a challenging glare in her eyes. Fillmore matched it by snapping the cuffs down over her wrists.
________
Before long, the crowd of 5 around the conspicuous wall had multiplied to 60. It seemed as if the first thing every student heard the second they stepped through the doors of X was that someone had vandalized the lockers in A-Hall. People now stood gathered behind the yellow tape pointing, talking in hushed voices, and watching in disbelief at the scene before them. Anza was trying to keep the crowd calm while Tehama finished bagging the spray paint cans by telling them that the culprit had already been apprehended and was being questioned at headquarters.
Fillmore sat at the questioning table with a grim look on his face. The transcript before him was a rather disheveled one. It seemed like this girl had been to the best schools in every state. Heck, did he just read that she had spent a year in Nepal? It didn't add up. If this girl was as smart as her marks were saying she was, then why was she being passed round the school boards like a hot potato? He looked up at her, his expression deepening.
She was watching him with narrowed eyes, almost with disgust. Her chair was pushed back from the table so she could slouch comfortably, one knee over the other and arms crossed, one shoulder cocked slightly higher than the other. He could sum up the presence of this Ingrid Third in one word: Attitude.
'So-'
'Why am I here?' she cut him off. He smirked at this. She had been waiting to bite off his words.
'Does vandalizing school property ring any bells?'
'I already gave you my confession. Why am I still here?'
'I'm a Safety Patrol officer; it's my job to get to the bottom of a crime.'
She rolled her eyes. 'In case you haven't noticed, you've caught the criminal. Not too bright are you?'
'Maybe I'm not, but you are.' He motioned to the transcript, 'Your marks are perfect, your records are glowing. You wanna know why you're still here? I wanna know why.'
'Why what?' she asked, her foul mood staining her words.
'Motive.'
She raised an eyebrow, her countenance relaxing. Fillmore noted this with interest. 'You want to know my motive, do you?' she said in a dangerous voice. It seemed to Fillmore that this girl was laced with poison. Perhaps like some kind of snake, sly and clever, and if you let it it'll bite.
'Well, let me explain it for you then,' she leaned forward and put her still crossed arms on the table. 'I. Hate. This. School.'
Fillmore's lips curled up a little, playing along with her game once again. After all, if you can't beat them, join them. 'From what I can tell, you've hated every school you've ever been to.' Their eyes locked. Although appearing calm, he could she Ingrid was inwardly blazing at the fact that he wouldn't leave off about her motive. He knew she'd figured him out already, and that she knew he was enjoying this. And he wasn't enjoying it because he'd caught her, but enjoying it because he was matching minds with her, and that only made her even more upset. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her response.
'You do have some wits about. Excellent inference.' Her voice held a mocking tone.
'Thanks. Part of the job. But I've also noticed that there are no records of any previous offences at these other schools.'
'And?'
He decided to leave that course of conversation alone. It wasn't relevant right now anyway. 'It's kind of sad, really. For all your intelligence, you're incapable of distinguishing right from wrong. You're completely misguided.' The sternness was creeping back into his voice.
Ingrid smirked.
'And for that reason,' he continued, 'even your IQ won't save you.'
She immediately frowned at that. 'I don't need to be saved.'
'Really? Well all you've managed to so far is run from whatever is chasing you. Run from one school to another.'
'I do //not// need to be saved,' she reasserted firmly.
'I bet you couldn't survive if you stayed at one school. And that's because you're incapable of saving yourself.'
A tap at the door interrupted them. Vallejo was looking in at them through the blinds. Fillmore rose and went out to him, shutting the door behind him. 'What have you got?' the commissioner asked him.
'I got the full confession on tape.'
'Excellent. I'll have the expulsion hearing arranged for Monday. You can send her home now.' He nodded towards the questioning room.
Fillmore stood resignedly, his gaze straying across the evidence bags containing spray paint cans. They were sitting neatly on Tehama's desk, labeled and ready for exhibit at the hearing. Among them was a Polaroid of Ingrid's graffiti work. He picked it up to look at. Across a section of lockers was a large black and white X, like the school emblem. It was, like the emblem, on a red background. But the red paint had been allowed to run, and it looked like blood.
He dropped the photo and sighed. 'Tehama,' he called across the room to her, where she was chatting with Danny. She looked over at him. 'Can you take care of Third? I've got some other things to do.'
'Sure thing,' she waved.
'Thanks,' he replied, and made his way out of HQ. He had to talk to Folsom.
________
Next Chapter: Ingrid gets a suspected surprise at the expulsion hearing.