Disclaimer: Fairly Oddparents is not mine, but, if you're in the States and reading this, new ep on Saturday! "Blondas Have More Fun/F.L.A.R.G."…Wanda's the star of the first one! (cheers)
Oh, and I dedicate this chapter to Blue. Happy b-day!
Chapter Seven: Exploration
There, that was it; she'd finished the last chore on his damn list. Now, if she could just rest for one second without Timmy finding another excuse not to talk to her, she'd be eternally grateful. Yes, she realized she deserved this treatment for being cruel to him, but that didn't mean he had to shove her away like this. He was just avoiding her and they both knew it. Sooner or later, he'd have to deal with the facts, whether or not he chose to admit the truth.
Placing a cold, wet, blue washcloth over her sweaty brow, she blinked at a painting in Timmy's living room. Well, she certainly hadn't noticed that and she'd been here for going on six years. In fact, she didn't recall it upon entering his house this afternoon (what a long afternoon that seemed now). Well, that certainly was peculiar.
She sat up on the couch and scrutinized it. If she concentrated on one area, it looked like the gypsy, but that was ludicrous. Moreover, why was she suddenly so fixated on her? Could it be that in the light of her confession, things suddenly shone themselves with crystal clarity? She certainly wished Timmy's reaction would do so instead of him avoiding her like that.
There certainly was an air of pink about the piece, at any rate, and her mind flashed back to the pink goldfish in Timmy's bowl. Those same two fish had lived for six years, quite an extraordinary lifetime for a couple of fish. In fact, she recalled flushing them when he was twelve. Unless the store sold an extraordinary amount of pink and green eyed goldfish, then something was up.
And it wasn't just goldfish, she recalled now. When he'd run the lemonade stand when he was ten, a pink cat had trailed after him. Then, when he'd been on the basketball team, pink and green balls were in play. And he always wore a green helmet and rode a pink skateboard. Plus, that crazy Crocker chased after him more often than he did anyone else.
Not to mention when her sister was eleven, some weird things had happened around her on her eleventh birthday, involving a pink horse and a green chariot. There was a distinct pattern of pink and green around Timmy Turner and he always acted like he was hiding something. Could all the pink and green things be related? It was a distinct possibility.
In addition, if she could dig up some dirt on Timmy, then she'd regain the upper hand she'd sorely missed. She could finally answer the question once and for all- was he hiding something? And, if so, what?
Just you wait, Timmy Turner. I'm going to find out your secret and when I do, the tables will turn. I'll make you wish you'd never started this, Vicky thought, never fully realizing the irony in her words.
Casting aside the wet washcloth, she scrutinized the painting more closely than before, rising to eye it. The figure within, a pink gypsy, only a glimmer of her eyes shining behind a turban, blinked. No, wait, she couldn't have blinked. Paintings simply did not blink. It defied all laws of logic.
Then again, around Timmy Turner, a lot of things defied logic. How on earth did he manage to escape her clutches so often? Moreover, now that she was on the track of pink and green items, hadn't he used a pink scrubber and a green detergent to clean the toilet? One time, she'd seen pink and green dogs following him.
There were entirely too many pink and green things/animals surrounding him and she narrowed her eyes. The figure within did not move, but, if she correctly analyzed her body language, she was trembling slightly. Figures in paintings did not move…unless this was not a mere painting.
Seizing it by the edges, Vicky shook it and, with an evil grin, removed it from the wall. Peculiarly, there was no nail behind it. Well, she'd figure that out later; for now, she laid it down on the couch and lit the fireplace.
Meanwhile, within the picture, the pink gypsy appeared to be sweating profusely. Examining the picture again, she'd shifted position somewhat and was holding herself slightly different. Unless this was one of those electronic paintings, there was something, well, magical in nature.
Grabbing the lower right side of the wooden frame, she held it in front of the fire and waited. Ah, she adored fire. It had such destructive powers. Besides, in a matter of seconds, she'd discover if Timmy Turner's secret lay within the oil.
Smoke filled the room, more smoke than should be emitted and Vicky coughed, accidentally dropping the painting. Acrid smoke burned the inside of her throat and her lungs and she dropped to her knees as the painting, unnoticed, vanished. When it had finally cleared, both the fire and the painting were gone. What on earth?
Waiting until she could breathe again safely, she cast a disdainful look upstairs, to Timmy's room. When she got her hands on that boy…no, wait, she had a better idea. She'd abduct one of his fish and see if it vanished like the painting.
An insane burst of laughter erupted from her followed suit by another. Yes, it was the perfect plan. Timmy Turner, hold your fishes!
…
Despite having little else in common other than the same last name, blood type, and lifelong obsession with buckteeth, pink hat, Tootie now shared another similar trait. Her thinking was about as rational as Vicky's right now, perhaps less. Anger shook her frame and, even though her house was a mere four houses down from Timmy's, she discovered she had to stop before a derisive howl of fury escaped her.
After all that time, she simply could not, would not accept that her sister, the bane of her existence, the harbinger of doom, was in love with her Timmy Turner. Moreover, that she'd dare to try to move in on her territory...and, with a sinking heart, she realized they'd spend an infinitely greater time together more than she had with her beloved. He could have told her a while ago and they could be a couple right now.
There were six bloody years in between their ages, didn't she know that? But, given the daily regiment of fear she had, Timmy could be with her merely because she'd forced him into it. She could be doing unspeakable, unthinkable things to him right now. No matter the personal risk to herself, she had to prevent that from happening.
Thinking for her had become a rather irrational process. Her thoughts jumped about like wildfire. At first, she found herself protective over her precious Timmy, then, angry at Vicky for both liking him and trying to steal him away and possibly using force to connive her way to his heart; finally, trepidation that she might actually have him in her clutches and he liked it. That there was no chance for her, no one to love her.
Packed in her gear was a pair of binoculars, her mini shrine, and, today, a special addition. Although she had no intention of hurting Vicky, should the circumstance arise and her sister attacked her first, she would be prepared. Besides, Vicky enjoyed torturing her. If Timmy had indeed succumbed incurably to Vicky's malevolence, what did she have to lose? Her life? Ha, pointless anyway.
She could see her sister in the living room window and watched her burn, or, rather, attempt to burn a painting. Well, the good news was if she'd already won Timmy over, then burning a painting in their house wouldn't make much sense. The bad news was that smoke filled the room and, for a split second, she lost the ability to see into his house.
Approaching slowly, holding her nose lest she inhale the smoke, she tried the door, found it open, and slid inside. Once there, she hid behind the couch and decided her next plan of attack. It wouldn't do to come at Vicky right away, when she had no evidence of anything and absolutely no plan.
Instead, she'd wait, like a hawk scoping out its prey, her chest rising and falling swiftly. Perhaps the perfect moment would not elude her, as it had in the past. The time is nigh to strike, sister dearest.
Then, in mocking, derisive laughter heard only by her and the nearest dust bunnies, Tootie laughed insanely.
…
Wanda returned to the fishbowl completely covered in soot. The soot floated off her and smothered both her and her poor, befuddled fishy husband. Before she waved her wand, sending the soot to wherever unneeded devices went, Cosmo choked, clinging to her as best as he could consider his fins were insufficient and their bodies were both rotund.
"Wan-Wanda, where were you?" Cosmo choked, despite the fact the soot was gone. Waving her wand again, she dispelled all remaining soot from his lungs. (He'd never think to do this on his own, tragically).
What was she to tell him? That she'd been spying on Vicky in a painting and the redhead had tried to set her on fire? Well, actually, that would do well. Just play it off with a lie and Cosmo would buy it, hook, line, and sinker.
Still, she felt awful for lying to him all the time. He didn't know she could occasionally see the future; no one did, other than her very dead Divination teacher. Knowing Cosmo, he'd try to exploit it, but it didn't work like that. She couldn't pick and choose what she saw. Sometimes, it just came to her when she saw someone, like when she'd spotted Vicky in the carnival on that fateful day.
She could still see things in her, things she kept private, but as long as Vicky vehemently denied them, there was little she could do to help from the sidelines. The girl had to realize these things about herself by herself, without any aid. She had to realize she could be pleasant and nice if she really tried…and, as everyone else knew, she could be a real malcontent, cantankerous teen when she opted to.
Sneaking up behind her and catching her off guard, Cosmo swam up to her and kissed her on the cheek. Ever since she'd started this, trying to fathom how to either keep Vicky from harming Timmy inevitably or perhaps helping her out, she'd unconsciously avoided Cosmo. This was to protect her own secret, so long a mystery to everyone. Still, she could tell that it bothered him, so he'd stepped up to the plate. Every time she stared into space, he'd kiss her, massage a wing, or wrap his arms around her. It was all very sweet, but, at the moment, all very unwanted.
"Wanda, how come you don't talk to me anymore?" Cosmo whined, yanking on her tailfin and trying to lure her to their castle underwater. He yearned to be in his fairy form (albeit a great deal smaller) and yearned for her to speak with him. Despite his occasional selfishness, pigheadedness, and cruelty, she could tell he loved her and he couldn't stand being shut out of any area of her life.
"Not now," She answered, reduced to her quick, brisk sentences. She could see Timmy throwing away his controller in disgust and, after fixing them a peculiar look, darted out the door and slammed it hard. How she hoped he was going to at least talk to Vicky, but she could only hope, nothing more. It was improbable for him to cease loathing her in the immediate future.
Torn between his wife and his godson, Cosmo's short attention fixed upon the shut door and he stared. Sighing heavily, Wanda floated away from him. When he turned around, she was gone.
…
