Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I do appreciate it, the new fans and the old.
Disclaimer: Fairly Oddparents does not belong to me. However, the ideas introduced in The Other Saga do, including telepathy, mental attacks, and especially Lorenzo DeMedici. Steal him and I will make life very difficult for you very quickly.
Chapter Three: Denial
(Timmy Turner's room, 3:00 a.m. PST)
Timmy awoke with a start and gazed about. Tootie's voice still echoed in his head, for some unfathomable reason. Maybe it was because he hadn't heard it in so long, he'd started dreaming of her. The peculiar thing was, he couldn't remember having any dreams with her in it.
Not that he wanted her to be in his dreams, right? It wasn't as though he dreamt every night of holding her tightly, rocking her to sleep, and waking up to her beautiful face. Plus, it wasn't as though he dreamt of kissing every inch of her, making love to her, and never letting her go ever again. He never had dreams like that…more than twice a night.
Every morning, after he awoke from such dreams, he felt the drudgery, the emptiness of a life without her. Damn it, he wanted to wake up with her snuggled up against him, her head resting neatly on his chest as his arms wrapped about her waist. He wanted to feel her velvet skin under his hands as he caressed her back. Yes, he wanted all of these things and so much more, but he'd never admit to it.
No matter how deeply he did indeed love her (and it was thoroughly impossible to deny this, given their telepathy); he pretended he didn't. It eased the ache of her vanishing and made the long absences less painful to bear. He longed for her, god, how he longed for her, but he wasn't going to give into it just yet.
Besides, there still remained his anger and resentment towards her. Everything he looked at these days, it seemed, filled him with ambivalence. He couldn't help it, he was just so angry all of the time. He thought, perhaps, he'd forgotten what it was like to be happy.
Around him, nothing moved and, glancing at the fishbowl told him it was empty. Wanda had fled after putting him to sleep, he realized. She'd used it to end the particularly painful conversation and avoid talking about things she couldn't handle. The thought angered him and saddened him at the same time. Although he himself had been reluctant to tell anyone of his experiences, he'd done it and he thought Wanda should as well, instead of hiding behind her magic.
Magic was a convenient excuse, he'd found. It dulled the pain of everyday life and replaced it with an easy to swallow capsule. He'd used it for too long, become dependent on its soothing effects, and so, fallen victim to its seductive nature. Magic, like sleep, could ease one's problems, he'd discovered. However, given Cosmo's reluctance to use magic to aid his godson, he'd deigned to use sleep instead.
At least in his dreams, he could finally be with those denied to him. Surrounded by his friends, family, and, of course, Tootie, he sensed the glimmer of happiness robbed of him in his waking hours. While his parents never left his side, Tootie clung to him for dear life and he realized, this was all he'd ever wanted. No fancy magic, just a girl who loved him unconditionally and parents who cared about him.
Why had he been so selfish? So what if an evil babysitter attempted to ruin his life? He'd had the love of his parents and Tootie, which should have satisfied him. Alas, but it did not, and he was left with the shards of what might have been, the recurrent stabbing of a cumbersome hindsight he both acknowledged and rued.
If only he could return to the past and prevent Lorenzo's rising, how things would be different. Nonetheless, although he'd asked Wanda, she'd firmly rejected this idea. Fairy World now knew about Lorenzo and the creation of magical beings could not be undone, only recorded. In order to have the wish passed, he'd have to ask Jorgen, who, unfortunately, refused to hear anything regarding him for the rest of his time with his godparents. He'd had quite enough of his interference, thank you.
There were rumors Jorgen was occupied with another project that consumed a great deal of his time. What this project was remained a mystery to the general public, but, from what Wanda had garnered, a child of immense importance may have befouled an operation. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to make heads or tails of this, so, despite relaying it to him, it heralded no significance.
A solitary breeze, shifting the blue curtains, entered the room. In the dim, darkness, he recalled his parents, who would always get up early in the summer days to do things around the house and then spend time with him. Nevermore, thanks to Lorenzo.
In fact, it'd been over a year since they'd died, not counting when he'd brought their ghosts back. Sure, they'd been good in the end, but he'd lost them again. According to the What-If spell, he would never have had them anyway. That stung him more than he could say.
Sometimes, in his heart of hearts, he preferred the illusion and wished he'd never seen the What-if Spell. Blind faith and hope were so much better to seeing things for what they were and The Other for the conniver that he was. When Lorenzo had control over his mind, he prevented him from feeling anything and now, that was all he wanted, the death of emotion. Sleep gave him this, but not for long.
Through it all, Cosmo and Wanda had proved their love for him (although his jury was still out on Cosmo, seeing his reactions to Wanda's disappearance). So it seemed, they were the ones who did love him. Then again, they were his fairy godparents, so they were supposed to. And, at this rate, they were the only parents he had.
Tootie certainly didn't love him, disappearing all the time without an explanation. All he wanted was one sentence telling him where she was and he'd be happy, but could she give him that? No, of course not. (The fact remained no one in this universe he had contact with, aside from someone he didn't know was still alive, albeit in a fixed state, had knowledge of her whereabouts.)
And when she'd come back, it was his right to treat her as he did. She'd missed everything important in his live and caused him emotional pain while she was strolling around and doing whatever the hell it was somewhere else. He bet she was having the time of her life and then just came back to check in before gallivanting off again. That'd be just like her.
Well, fine, let her have her fun. He didn't love her anymore, anyway, right? She was so passé. He had someone else, didn't he? Okay, he didn't and Trixie Tang wouldn't let him get within a foot of her without running and shrieking.
Thanks to Gifoalski (who had mysteriously disappeared like Tootie, only, unlike her, he hadn't returned), most girls in the school were fairly convinced he was gay or, in the very least, bisexual. They figured if they dated him, he might cheat on them with a guy, so they didn't take that chance. Let the weirdo Tootie sort out of the mess that was his love life, if she claimed to love him so much. (Not, in their opinion, was there much hope of doing so).
Rumors of his parents' death still circulated, too. Up to the last day of school, people continued to hypothesize what exactly had happened and try to figure it out for themselves. At least once a day he was subjected to a poignant question regarding his involvement in the affair and, when he refused to answer, they'd respond with a cruel, "I knew it! He did it!" as though he were some sort of criminal. So, not only was he either gay or bisexual, but he was a murderer as well.
Hmph, that lumped him in the same category as Lorenzo. Throw in an accusation of rape and then they'd have their beloved principal completely fathomed. Then again, no matter what he'd said, no matter how much he protested, no one quite believed him about Lorenzo. He was too perfect to be tainted by some queer boy's comments.
It was ironic, though, that he suffered one of the worst reputations in the history of Dimmsdale Junior High and the person/anti fairy who really deserved it didn't suffer a thing. In fact, he got off scotch free. No one dared incriminate him, since he appeared to be above common law.
If he'd joined him, then he might too enjoy this status. Then again, he'd be just like him…and he'd be minus his fairy godparents, the only creatures in the world who gave a damn about him. (Although, once again, his inner jury was still out on Cosmo).
On some level, he despised himself for creating him. He'd been the Frankenstein, bringing such a terror alive, but was it his fault he'd run amuck? Could he have really controlled him, if he tried? Somehow, he sincerely doubted that. Lorenzo did whatever, whenever he pleased, no matter Timmy's protests.
But what if he'd had some way to punish him for his actions? Sure, he'd killed him, but it hadn't been as deeply satisfying as he'd wanted it to be. Instead of the great anger extinguishing, it merely waned and then returned in full strength. He thought he'd staked his thirst for vengeance, but it still claimed him.
He hadn't made him suffer enough, he reasoned. In the deepest, darkest part of his soul, he'd longed for Lorenzo to scream in anguish, to feel as he had when he'd brutally invaded him. He wanted him to feel it as he had, to be betrayed by someone he'd thought loved him. Then again, The Other knew by then Timmy didn't love him, but even so.
He'd wanted him to die repeatedly, to feel as he'd made his victims feel. Dying once just wasn't good enough for him. Death killed the pain- he wanted it to be never-ending.
And, as he suffered rape over and over again, death over and over again, and then, in the end, being beaten all over again, perhaps he'd be satisfied- as long as he could watch. He wanted to languish in his misery, to laugh cruelly at his pain. With every fiber of his being, he hated him, loathed him, and despised him. He was everything Timmy had never wanted to be, and now, Timmy wanted to be it only because it made him suffer.
He hadn't told anyone about this, of course. Wanda would be shocked and outraged, to say the least, and probably worried. She'd wanted a perfect godchild, well, if not perfect, then someone she didn't need to concern herself with day and night. Besides, she couldn't understand this pain, at least, as far as he knew.
So he sat and stewed over it in the early hours of the day and concentrated on what he'd do to him if he had, somehow, magically, rose from the dead. The thought gave him great pleasure, to imagine all sorts of exquisite torture meted out just for him. Oh, what he'd put him through, if only he could.
Again, the weak semblance of telepathy reached him, jerking him out of his thoughts and into the here and now. Near the verge of tears, Tootie clamored for his attention. Once again, her emotions toyed with his and he longed to both cry because of her and scream because of his own feelings regarding her.
He didn't give her the satisfaction of responding. Let her languish alone, as he had before. He didn't care about her, right?
Tootie…He thought, exhaling sharply. Tears sprung to his eyes and he hurriedly ground his fists, diffusing them. Tears were for the weak, after all. He'd chastised her for crying and here he was, frustrated with himself for rejecting her when they both needed each other.
Perhaps she would come home and give him an explanation. If it was satisfactory, he'd release all of his pent up anger and aggression on something harmless, like that peculiar mirror in the hallway, and kiss her until the end of time. He'd show her just how much she meant to him and then some.
But if it wasn't, he'd wish the telepathy away and let her pursue anyone else she wanted, as long as it wasn't him. In fact, he'd personally shove her in Gary's direction, let him deal with her. After all, he claimed to love her.
Swallowing hard, he attempted to locate her in Dimmsdale but he could not. All he could do was either prey for gorgeous sleep to lull him out this reality and into a false one or that she would return soon to his arms. In either case, he'd just have to sit and wait.
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(The treehouse, 3:30 a.m. PST)
Wanda too sat and waited, but this time for sleep to claim Cosmo. Contrary to her hopes, it hadn't happened yet and he remained awake to inquire particularly painful things. He'd reached for her to hold her only to have her jerk away and suppress sobs. It was only natural, from his point of view, to want to hold her if she was crying, but she'd have none of it. She'd deal with this on her own.
Because I'm doing so well right now, Wanda thought sardonically, pulling away from another one of his embraces. His face fell and his lower lip quivered, but, unlike before, she would not succumb to his charms. Moreover, she wanted nothing more than to cry in his arms, but that would make her weak and she was far from it.
Very gently, as though appeasing a wild animal, he stroked her hair. Stroking her hair wasn't terribly bold, he admitted. Then again, it wasn't anything she could misconstrue, either, so it left him in the clear. Moreover, if she let him do this, there was a possibly she'd let him do other things as well. (Plus, her hair was always so smooth and silky).
She, through sheer will alone, forced herself to calm slightly. Only slightly, because relaxing completely was out of the question. As badly as she wanted to, she would not submit to him or any man ever again.
Shifting position, he maneuvered himself so he could look her in the face, but she, turning away, clenched her eyes shut. Eyes were the window to the soul and Cosmo would see what she desperately hid in her telepathy. He couldn't handle her pain, no one could, so she locked it away. She was normal, wasn't she? Nothing extraordinary had happened to her.
Every time she thought that, she weaseled past the worst of Juandissimo's treatment of her and focused only on the little things she could control. Lamentably, it didn't work quite as well as she'd hoped, since every time she attempted it, she forgot for only a minute before the pain doubled deep within her. Unlike Timmy, whose outlook on life was anger and surges of it, hers was denial, plain and simple. She was fine, so stop asking.
"Wanda," He whimpered, sounding like a caged animal. Tears flooded her shut eyes and she swallowed hard again. Neither of them could stand the other acting like this.
>>Let me feel your pain,>> Cosmo whispered in her mind and moved closer to her. She backed up immediately. What pain? She had no pain…that he could possibly know about. More tears assailed her as she denied it.
"I…I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, Cosmo," She replied coolly, although her voice trembled just as badly she was right now. It'd taken a great effort to prevent her tears from being heard in her speech aloud- imagine how disastrous it would be to have it in telepathy, where she could hide nothing.
"Yes, you do!" Cosmo snapped back, sobbing behind her. His hands trembled to touch her, but, this time, he held back. Despite the fact it had been months since dark Wanda had vanished, he still didn't entirely trust her. They both knew it.
It was in the hesitation when he touched her, the way he sometimes looked her when he thought she wasn't glancing at him and his shudder. The dark magic had polluted her and turned her into something she was not, but, unfortunately, had to deal with. As much as everyone wanted, she could not rid herself of it and could not become the fairy she had previously been.
Was that the key? That, no matter what she did, she couldn't go into the past and prevent what had occurred? She was different, forever changed by that muscular freak, and she had to accept it. Was she ready to, though? Could she possibly hold onto that idea without rejecting it instantly?
She hung her head, ashamed. Although, truthfully, it didn't take much to start him up, she didn't really want to make him cry. Plus, whenever he started crying, she started crying as well. Already, tears threatened to burst through her shut eyes and cascade down her cheeks.
Oh, how she loathed it when he cried. He was such a child at times…but she still loved him. It was only when he was a child that she worried now, because that meant she had to comfort him and possibly confront her own emotions.
Like the softest caress, she felt him pull for her emotions and she released a wave of anger instead. How dare he try to read her instead of talking to her! What right did he have to go through her mind like, like him! Why, he was no better than Juandissimo!
Wave after wave erupted through her, like a mental attack only, since Cosmo had no defenses and hadn't anticipated this at all, he slumped over. God, she'd knocked him out. All that raw pain and anger, although not entirely regarding him, she hadn't known she'd possessed it. Oh, Cosmo…
Trembling just as badly as before, she crawled over to him and stroked his cheek. She hadn't meant to hit him as hard as she had, but she couldn't help it. Her emotions were out of control, especially around him. She was just so sick and tired of putting herself in order.
Contrary to what she'd believed, he wasn't unconscious, just stunned. Apparently, if she really tried, she could do serious damage, but, since it hadn't been fully aimed at him, he'd only caught some of it. Anyone, such as the dead Juandissimo, receiving all of it would have died in the blast of dark magic and mental energy.
When she'd touched him, he'd jerked back as though she'd intended to hurt him. His eyes opened and filled with fear, fear she'd invoked. The old part of her, still present but dormant, laughed cruelly and enjoyed his pain. It relished the fact she'd done something to drive him away. All, this side reasoned, she needed was herself.
But the side she'd regained after Juandissimo's death mourned keenly. It screamed inside her head to show him how she really felt, everything she'd desperately denied. And, unfortunately, it ceased control over her for a split second, opening her mind to him.
All he'd needed was a second, too, because he gasped, his eyes widening. Very carefully, treating her as one would a fragile porcelain figure; he wrapped his arms around her. She froze again, biting her lip so hard, it split.
"I…I can't," She whispered, but looking into his eyes, her own sparkling with tears, she felt her resolve weaken.
Couldn't she submit to him once, just once? What harm would it do to feel his arms around her and lean her head against his chest? To be the one needing someone for once?
Did she always have to be the strong one? Why couldn't she break down for once and tell him what he felt? Sure, so he wasn't the smartest one in the bunch, but he was hers. He'd hold her when she cried, in fact, crying when she did. It was the most genuine display of affection she'd ever seen.
Was it so wrong to submit to him for once? Sure, she was the one to fix his and Timmy's messes (still was fixing the lattermost's worst mess, the 'charming' Lorenzo DeMedici, whom, when she'd left him, stewed in his mirror), but did that mean she didn't have her own? Of course not. Anyone who thought that was a fool.
Just like anyone who thought that Juandissimo hadn't affected her…like herself. She was a fool to deny the past. Yes, she'd never embrace it, but she should at least confess it'd occurred. It'd be better for everyone involved.
Everything returned to this, though- was she ready? Was she ready to let Cosmo take her back to the way things used to be? Was she ready to bear her soul to both Timmy and Cosmo? Was she ready to profess what had pained her for so long but she'd found herself unable to say?
His hands reached out to tentatively stroke a wing, causing her to shudder in pleasure. He'd just wanted her to feel better…and perhaps do more than just comfort her, but he'd leave that up to her. Besides, he hated to see her like this.
Then again, he'd rarely seen her like this before, anyway. Wanda was always the rock and it was rare that the rock started to split as badly as she was. Around her, every relationship depended on her speaking her mind and the past, but she refused to, and so they crumbled.
He just wanted to make her smile, was that so bad? Did it merit another mental attack? Or how about her striking him? No.
But did she seem to see things that way? No. He was being open with her and she was being poignantly secretive. Why? He was her soul mate, she could tell him anything. Sure, he might not understand it all, but he'd do his best. The least she could do was let him in.
That accursed Juandissimo, wrecking havoc with her emotions and her mental state like this! Why, when he got his hands on him! Oh, but wait, he'd already killed him. Oops.
And, for him, it was enough. To know Juandissimo couldn't hurt her again satisfied him. He'd had no plans of making him suffer, just ending his life. (Before that moment, he hadn't realized he was capable of it, either).
However, killing him was a sign of dark magic or darkness at work and just thinking about it recalled her own darkness. How she'd missed it, like a black glove cloaking her from the world. No one wanted to get near her, so she was safe, safe from the light.
It was then the dark magic seized control and she jerked, scowling at him. Anger shook her frame and, in that instant, she'd never despised the two of them more. Herself for submitting to this and him for trying it.
This fool, attempting to show her what, exactly? How easily it was to be manipulated? What insanity could do to a fairy?
Her desire for comfort, for his warmth, they were nothing. Trifles, bits of herself that no longer belonged. She was not the same fairy he'd fallen in love with that much was certain.
As soon as she'd thought those weak ideas, she'd cursed herself mentally. She did not need him, she needed no one. She was Wanda, the rock in this family. People ran to her, not the other way around. Why would she suppose it to reverse because she yearned for it?
Shoving away from him, she concentrated hard. She had to find a way to prevent him from following her around, at least for tonight. Maybe then, he'd get some sleep (since she sincerely doubted he would).
Unconsciously lashing out at him again, she'd found her way to block him. Anger, suppressed rage, cascaded out of her and struck him strongly. It poured out of her, leaving her feeling raw.
However, rawness she could contend with. What she couldn't deal with was Cosmo touching her; kissing her…she couldn't trust him or herself. Too many things had happened.
She took off and poofed to the living room to sleep on the couch. At least there, no one would bother her. Cosmo wasn't likely to follow her, not after the mental attack she'd just dealt out.
Curling up on the couch, she waited for sleep to claim her, but it never did. Instead, she gazed up at the ceiling and wondered what she should have done…if she could have…
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(Below the treehouse, in the yard, 4:30 a.m. PST)
The being formerly known as Remy Buxaplenty glowered up at the treehouse where he knew Cosmo and Wanda to be. His patience was wearing thin- he wanted Cosmo's soul now. However, according to his master, he could only steal it from him in a moment of sheer rapture during sexual intercourse and, thanks to that contemptuous fairy, it had yet to occur.
In a past life, he'd detested her for holding Juandissimo's heart, but the anger he'd held was cold now. She wasn't the fairy he was after, not by a long shot. Right now, she was just a cumbersome creature who refused to let her hormones and her desires dictate her actions. Were he any sort of human anymore, he might have admired that.
For now, though, she was just in the way of his target. He couldn't do anything about it, either, because killing her would only complicate matters greater. Cosmo would never have sex with anyone else (if he didn't immediately follow her into the grave, that was). Therefore, he had to bide his time, but it grew increasingly annoying.
Clenching his fists in a dead rage, his cold eyes swept the treehouse again. For now, he'd have to remain in the shadows and then strike. That was Lorenzo's mistake, showing himself. Were it him, he'd have done everything to prevent his appearance until it was too late.
Well, no matter. In due time, he'd have Cosmo's soul separate and his life in his hands. Then, like he'd done to Juandissimo, he'd cruelly pull the plug.
Hollow laughter filled the air and the creature formerly known as Remy Buxaplenty smirked. He'd bide his time, for it would be sweeter when it did happen.
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(Dimmsdale Park, 6:30 a.m. PST)
For a second, she felt his mind touch hers and then she awoke, startled. Timmy? Where? When had he tried to communicate with her?
Had she been asleep for his communication? Had she missed it? Grand, only a few hours here, in her world, and she'd already missed an important event in Timmy's life. Another thing for him to scream about later, wonderful.
She felt the crick in her neck and winced. Whatever she'd been sleeping on before (or, in this case, whomever), it was rather lumpy (as Gary happened to be). In fact, when she awoke, she realized she must have been pretty damn tired to fall asleep on such an awkward object.
Where on earth was she, though? All she could remember was falling unconscious (not even asleep) and then, this. Just like an alcoholic blackout, only without the alcohol.
She had to be somewhere close, to receive his telepathy with clarity, but he wasn't right alongside her; for if he was, then the reception would be perfect. That left the question- if Timmy wasn't here, who was? Who on earth was she holding onto for dear life?
Glancing sideways, she had her answer. That jerk, that obsessed, pathetic, little boy! How dare he grab her in her sleep! Who knows what he'd done while she was unconscious and unable to protest? (Were he that type of person, which he was not).
Of course, his feeling to her, as far as mental projections went, was strikingly similar to Timmy's. It was befitting, of course, since Timmy had created him as well (although she shuddered to think as to how Lorenzo would feel to her). However, there was something slightly off about him that should have given it away. She cursed herself for being so blind as to not see it.
Gary, fortunately enough, remained asleep when she awoke. A broad, goofy smile lit his features and his arms were wrapped loosely about her. Well, sleep no more, jerk! She hadn't the foggiest idea what had happened last night, but if anything, and she meant anything, had occurred of a sexual nature, he'd be minus his family jewels in a few seconds.
Shoving his arms off her small frame, she rose, spitting in indignation. Damn Jorgen, Katrina, and that alternate Trixie for robbing her of the energy she desperately needed. If she'd had it, she wouldn't have fallen prey to this nincompoop.
A cat like grin spread across her face- the cat that ate the canary. Raising her fists above her head, she slammed them as hard as she could down on his crotch. Wakie, wakie, Gary.
Gary awoke with a gut wrenching pain. Blinking blearily, he glanced up to see Tootie, her hands still held in fists above her head. The sun shone behind her, illuminating her and the threat of violence even further.
Please tell me this is part of my dream, He thought with a groan. That Toot-Toot isn't about to hit me again…'cuz God, it hurts…
Unfortunately, pinching himself shot that theory to hell. Pinching in no way, shape, or form hurt as badly as being punched hard in the balls, it did remind him that he was indeed awake. This meant, he was indeed in danger of further harm thanks to a homicidal maniac.
Meanwhile, above him, Tootie's violet eyes flashed in anger. Sometimes, it just wasn't worth it to get up in the morning.
"How dare you try to take advantage of me like that!" She thundered, punctuating each word with a hard punch to an already tender area of his body. Every time he attempted to defend himself, she'd punch him on the hand as well. No matter what he tried, she'd still strike. Hell hath no fury like Tootie scorned.
"You conceited, small brained, uncool jerk!" (The 'uncool' she punctuated by spitting in his face. Jeez, what had he done to her? He'd never seen her so angry in his life).
And uncool? How could he say that about her? He was cool! He was the epitome of cool. All the other kids wanted to be as cool as him!
Almost more than the punches to his genitals, it hurt. You could punch him until the sky turned purple, but calling him uncool? That was grounds for a civil war.
Swallowing hard and unsteadily rising to his feet despite the agony in between his legs, he gave her a nasty look and clutched the park bench for dear life. Even if it was grounds for civil war, maybe he ought to wait until the pain subsided first (whenever that was).
"Hittin' me in the balls, not cool," He grunted, releasing the bench but falling back down again. He hadn't thought it'd hurt this much (then again, he'd never been punched in the balls before, either). Now was not the time to make a stand, now was the time to recoup his losses and wait.
"Like I give a shit!" She roared. Up and down, rhythmically, her chest moved in conjunction with her anger.
"Don't ever try that again or you'll be minus a penis!"
With that threat lingering, she shoved him into the marble bench and stomped off, her pigtails flying behind her. The only thing he could do was look befuddled after, wondering what on earth had gotten into this girl.
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(The basement, 7:44 a.m. PST)
Mark awoke in an exceedingly large amount of pain and with Vicky nowhere to be seen. Those two elements within themselves were cause enough for alarm. Add that to the fact one of his machines, stolen from Yugopotamia, beeped madly, and he couldn't help but be frantic.
Rolling over with a grunt, he stretched out and examined the small device carefully. It informed whoever looked at it that magical energy had entered the universe; only, the readouts showed it was Tootie who, aside from telepathy, possessed no magical energy at all. Nonetheless, it suggested there were two beings, currently inactive but hovering close to her, in the vicinity.
Also, another magical being registered on there, ignoring Cosmo and Wanda, and he frowned. The readouts were minimal, but they suggested a creature of black magic residing in the house. It pinpointed the location to be in a mirror at the base of the staircase and he frowned. That was absurd- perhaps the machine was on the blink or something.
In whatever case, he'd best find Vicky before Tootie did. Vicky on a rampage was bad, but Vicky on a rampage, pregnant and furious at her sister was not a sight for the faint at heart. His joint may groan in pain and his mind might throb, but he still had to protect her sibling from his terrible bride. Honestly, she was worse than Man-die (which was saying a bit right there).
This is what you get for having unprotected sex as often as your highness desires, He thought contemptuously and reluctantly rose. Poor Tootie…and poor anyone else that got in her way.
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(Timmy Turner's kitchen, 8:00 a.m. PST)
Sophie stretched and yawned, eyeing her fairy godmother as she prepared breakfast the human way. Sometimes, she wondered why she did it if she had magic. However, since she'd so graciously given her a home, she wasn't questioning her motives. Besides, the homemade breakfast reminded her of her own mother, who had forgotten her very existence.
Most of the time, the rest of the household ignored her as well, leaving her to run to her books for companionship. She didn't blame them, considering she was the odd girl out. Fairy World would have nothing to do with anyone in this house (either currently residing or on the warpath), so, until she was eighteen, she was stuck here. The library helped her make the most of it.
Timmy, his hair sticking up in odd places and his pink pajamas wrinkled, ambled into the kitchen. He didn't even greet her as he slid into his usual place by the stove and watched Wanda work. She sighed- although she hadn't anticipated a 'hello' or 'good morning', it would have been nice.
Wanda, her back to them, continued to work and flipped over the omelet, full of cheese for Cosmo. Were they to see her, they'd have seen the bags under her eyes, which she hadn't bothered to conceal. Simply put, she didn't care anymore.
Distantly, she murmured, "Timmy, say hello to Sophie."
Sophie, in the middle of a page, flicked her gaze upwards for a millisecond before returning it to the book. He didn't have to and she knew he wasn't likely to. Why push what wasn't going to happen?
"She's too busy reading to even know I'm here," He countered, swallowing orange juice after he finished complaining. Sophie finished the page, turned it, and sighed. This was his argument for everything. Maybe if she'd felt a little more included, she'd stop reading so much.
Scowling, Wanda turned around and retrieved the plates from the cupboard. Her eyes fell on Sophie, who merely shook her head. Another nine years of this, what a joy.
"She knows you're here," Wanda snapped, edgy. Okay, so maybe Timmy speaking to her goddaughter wasn't exactly high on her priority list, but it was just one of a number of things that irked her. And have you known sleep deprived people to be tremendously patient and kind? I rest my case.
Wishing the conflict to be over, Sophie murmured sheepishly, "He doesn't have to say hello if he doesn't want to. I know I'm a burden."
Doling out portions, Wanda completed one plate that Sophie immediately took. Gathering the plate, her orange juice, and her book (tucked firmly beneath her arm), she left the room. If mornings would go smoother if she ate in her room, so be it. She hadn't intended to cause trouble for anyone.
"Where are you going?" Timmy called, the first four words he'd said to her in a few days. She turned slightly in his direction, the orange juice swishing about in the glass cup. Her eyes swept him before she replied.
"To eat in my room. I'll do the dishes for it afterwards and I'll keep it neat, don't worry." Her tone was curt, masking the hurt. In her old house, when her parents had loved her, she received love and affection by the barrel full. They never neglected her for a minute. Now, in this place, she found herself completely alone, without a single person to speak to or even to acknowledge her presence. She'd become completely invisible.
Head hung low, despondent, she proceeded up the stairs to the very last room, Timmy's parents' old room. In there, she found her solace, surrounded by the books she'd checked out of the library and the world she'd constructed. Bookcases upon bookcases were filled to the brim with books Wanda found for her (from Lorenzo's mansion, but she needn't know that), guaranteed to keep her occupied for a good long while. As long as she was out of their hair, they couldn't care less what she was doing.
There'd been quite an argument over Timmy's parents' room, however. When she'd come to the house, she'd seen it as the only open room, not knowing anything. The venom he'd used, violently repelling her from it, shocked her. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she dared not to try in front of him and merely swallowed hard.
Wanda, realizing she had to appease both her true godson and her new goddaughter, sent Timmy's parents' things elsewhere and converted it to Sophie's room. Timmy, of course, had been adamant- in his opinion, Sophie could sleep on the couch. Wanda spat back that she'd be here for another nine years since the amnesia could not be reversed and wanting to do right by her, firmly put her foot down. Since then, Sophie was the only one who entered the room. Timmy avoided it like the black plague.
She hated it here, hated how everyone treated her like she was worthless than the ink in the books she read. But what was she supposed to do? No one spoke to her, she had no magic of her own, and no place to go.
Sighing heavily, she opened the door just enough for her to slide inside and then shut it before her. Nine more years…
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(The stoop, 8:30 a.m. PST)
Vicky could feel it; she just knew Tootie was back. Sitting on the stoop, she waited for the pain to begin. When that girl got back here, oh, was she in for it. She could practically taste the blood on her fists.
Soon…
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(Kitchen, 8:37 a.m. PST)
Breakfast without Sophie was quiet, anyway. Anything either male asked her, she'd answer briefly, forcing herself to eat supernaturally quickly. If she was eating, she wasn't answering.
Bolting down the omelet at a rate that would surely leave a human choking, she began to clean the house, also the human way. Timmy and Cosmo turned to stare at her, but, placing headphones atop her ears, she ignored them. For a second, they eyed her before turning to clear the dishes from the table.
Giving up for the moment, Timmy trudged upstairs to play his video games and Cosmo glanced at her before vanishing himself. He would have to figure out some way to get her to talk (which was a new one, considering how little he did think). For now, there was no reaching her.
>>I'll be here if you wanna talk,>> He sent softly, caressing her mind. She did not reply.
Below the roar of the vacuum cleaner, the pounding music in her ears, and under the audible rang of anyone around those two, she whispered, "Never."