A/N: Yeah, I'm updating again. Because it was just sitting there. And, also, I have no life. My muse refuses to let me write what I want ... insists I write other stuff. Evil muse ... Anyway, wow! Two reviews already! Oh, and this isn't going to be in "journal" format, just first-person. More fun that way. You meet the dreaded Randi here!
Oh, and it's like a wizard/witch mall that they're at. We have them, why can't they?
"Oooh, look at that! Come on, Layla, try it on!"
I stared at the pink and black spaghetti-stringed abomination with nothing but the utmost disgust and revulsion it deserved. "Randi. Look at it. It's obviously mutated from something else. It'll strangle me in my sleep. It's evil."
Randi pouted, making big brown puppy-dog eyes at me, her dark brown bangs falling over her face. "Layla! Don't say that! Look, you've hurt its feelings." So saying, she began petting the atrocity in what I assumed was meant to be a comforting manner. "Don't worry, Layla didn't mean it, she's just a grouchy old vampire, she really loves you," she crooned in a low voice.
Yeah. To a pink and black thing that soiled the name of dresses everywhere.
I believe I mentioned earlier that Randi was mentally unbalanced.
If not, allow me to reiterate – she's dangerously insane. I do not know why she is my friend. Pet. Whatever.
"Randi," I began slowly and calmly. You can't let insane people know you're afraid – they can smell fear. Especially if they're werewolves. Like my dearest Randi here.
"Randi, you're petting the dress. Please stop. You're making people stare." I made sure my voice was at a tone of utmost normalcy and reason. Randi, of course, didn't spare me a glance, and continued stroking the repugnant thing. I tried again. "Randi, it's a dress. Not even, I could never insult self-respecting dresses everywhere by indicating that this loathsome disgrace had anything in common with them. It has no feelings. It's evil, Randi!"
"You mean you'd rather wear a pretty prom dress than this? This beauty?" Her tone was extremely affronted. Quite frankly, I didn't care. There wasn't an icicle's chance in Hell that I was even considering touching that thing.
"YES!" I screamed at her. Sometimes, brute force is the only way to go.
She grinned evilly at me. "Oh, good!" she exclaimed brightly, all former traces of insanity vanished as she seized my arm and dragged me towards a rack of prom dresses, waving my mother over from the bra department.
"Oh, God," I moaned, realizing the trap I had so willingly walked into. It's hard having a pet psycho werewolf sometimes. They tend to know things. Not to mention being unutterably strange on account of having two 'time of the month's' instead of a normal one.
Whatever. Back to the women's department. Or, as I call it, the Seventh Circle of Hell.
The Eighth is the bra/underwear department, in case anyone's wondering.
With both my mom and Randi ganging up on me, I had no choice but to allow them to load me up with at least a dozen dresses and dress robes and hustle me into the dressing room. The women's dressing room, obviously. Once, I was lost in a strange mall, and I needed to try on this really neat scarf/skirt, and … well, the men's department is a lot worse. That's all I have to say.
A chubby witch was at the counter. She handed me one of those little tags with the number '8' on it. "Wait," I protested. "I have, like, twelve dresses and robes here."
The chubby witch shrugged, ignoring me. "The numbers only go up to eight," she finally answered when I showed no signs of going anywhere. I would have stood there all day if needed. I'm a very stubborn person.
"Ah," I said dryly, before marching reluctantly into the nearest room.
Mom and Randi insisted on me coming out and displaying each and every dress. Some of them were, quite frankly, embarrassing. I don't have enough cleavage for a neckline like that! God! (Actually, I barely have any. I have very little bestowment in thechest area.But you didn't need to know that.)
In the beginning, I was stubbornly set upon humoring them by trying all the dresses on and then refusing to buy any of them. I wound up buying two new dresses and four new dress robes. Goes to show how persuasive my mom is. I swear, she could convince a dead man to get up and dance the mambo in a floodtide. She is that good.
Not that I don't love her. And she is gorgeous. Very Egyptian-beauty-esque. I'll never be as beautiful as her if I live for a million years. And she's the greatest mom in the world. She's just … very, very passionate about clothes. On anyone. Especially her daughter.
Jewelry too, actually. But I don't mind that. I love jewelry. Traditional jewelry, anyway – you know, Indian, Native American, Chinese, Aboriginal stuff. Very cool. But anyways. Back to my rant.
Not only did I wind up buying six new dressy … things, I also found myself in possession of the accessories for all of these things. Ugh. If it's not a bracelet or necklace, I'm not interested. And they're all around the same theme – midnight/Goth/Victorian stuff. You know, evening gowns, elegant embroidered dress robes, the works. Raven black, blood red, midnight blue. You know. Vampire colors. I swear, I'll look like a Victorian countess if I ever put any of this crud on. Gag.
"Moooooommmm," I groaned as I staggered about with the dozens of bags filled with stuff they picked out for me. "Whyyyyyy …?"
"Oh, come on, honey," she pleaded, batting her eyes at me. She has these absolutely amazing eyes. They're blue, but really light and clear, like … I don't know, a waterfall. Not crystal, crystal doesn't have the energy Mom has. Like she's absolutely and totally awake, and everyone else is stumbling around half-asleep. I wish I were her birth daughter. Then I might have eyes like that.
She reached around and gave me a big hug. "I know you hate shopping, but admit it! You like having all these nice clothes. Let Mommy have fun picking them out for you."
I sighed, but she was right – I liked knowing I had nice clothes.
I just didn't like actually wearing them.
Randi, meanwhile, was skipping crazily this way and that, somehow managing to get in the way of every single person within a five-meter radius of her. I sighed as I handed my bags to mom and prepared to rescue the masses from my insane pet … err, friend.
"Randi!" I shouted as she nearly ran over this elderly wizard that I was sure was someone important. I just have that kind of luck. I grabbed her hand and yanked her out of the poor old man's way, jerking her towards me. "No, Randi! Bad! Down, Randi!"
Randi whined, sounding not unlike a kicked puppy. I ignored this with substantial success – I'd been practicing for the past four years, after all. "Randi," I explained with no little patience for the nine-hundred-bazillionth time, speaking as if to a kindergartener, enunciating every word carefully, "you cannot, I repeat, cannot go running around like that in front of people. You could trip someone. They could get hurt. They could sue."
Randi gasped, eyes widening in panic. "N-n-n-nooooooooooo!" she screamed, clinging desperately to me in her terror, causing the many sane-minded people around us to stare and edge hastily away. "NO! Don't let them get me, Layla! Don't let the nasty lawyers get me!"
I patted her head comfortingly while smiling encouragingly at the frightened people surrounding us. Seeing this working, my mom tried it. This, however, only caused more people to edge away, as her prominent incisors are substantially more noticeable than mine. "It's okay, Randi," I soothed. "The vile scum known as lawyers won't get you, as long as you don't go injuring wealthy senior citizens. Your allowance is safe."
She sniffled and only clung tighter to my arm, trying to hide her face in the sleeve of my T-shirt. This is normal behavior, by the way – if I was just slightly less sane than I currently am, I would behave in the same way whenever lawyers were mentioned. Lawyers have that affect on people.
Which is a shame, because only about ninety-five percent of lawyers are scumbags, disgraces to society, atrocities, monstrosities, and otherwise all around creatures that rose from the slime pit of damnation. They tarnish the rep of the other five percent of lawyers who are decent, honest people, doing the job right and deserving to be worshipped for their perseverance in face of all the bad reputation the other ninety-five-percent of lawyers leave behind.
What? It's a fact.
I was bored, alright? Randi left this thingy – kneetop? Laptop? I dunno – and I played with it … found it on this place called 'Google' … weird name.
Ahem. Anyways.
Somehow, we managed to make it to a Floo station nearby, what with my poor mother hauling all my bags along – though actually, she really only has herself to blame – and me staggering along with Randi attached to my arm, whimpering and snuffling, breaking off from these activities only to randomly attack some passing Ministry officials wearing suits. I successfully managed to fend her off of them, however, and we arrived at the Ra-blest Floo Station.
Of course, then I had to let go of my dear pet werewolf in order to hold some bags for Mom so she could dig the Floo powder from out of her pocket. It was dark out – had been for a couple hours. Mom didn't like wincing in the sun, even with sunglasses – she said they made her look old. Personally, I don't think anything could make Mom look old. She's, like … perfect.
So, when the flames were roaring and we were ready to go, where was Randi?
Of course, she wasn't there.
But, being her owner – best friend, I mean – I knew exactly where she would go and returned with her in tow in precisely five point two seconds. The only reason it wasn't three point two is that it had taken some extra time to pry her teeth from the carousel horse's neck – it was one of those cheap aluminum ones.
"I'm the one who bites necks, not you!" I hissed at her as we jammed into the emerald-green flames. Being a vampiress – even a half-blood one – I can hiss pretty damn well.
"I do so bite people!" Randi protested as we spun dizzily through the network of fireplaces. I didn't pay her much attention – I was too busy trying not to be sick all over her.
I hate traveling by Floo.