a/n: Anyone can guess who the narrator is? E-cookie if you can guess. If you're curious, writing style modeled after Kurt Vonnegut, who is my abso-lute author wet-dream. I love him more than I love yaoi. I worship him.

Unbeauty
Behind a smile lies a deep, thoughtful hatred of all things beautiful and Seifer Almasy. Sort of yaoi. Guess the narrator!

--

Years ago, there was a boy who called me an introvert. I never asked his name.

"Hey," people used to say to me. "I couldn't help but notice you sitting here all by yourself. I think your outfit is really cute today. Hello?"

I was patient. Not people. Though I didn't ask people if they were patient or not, I knew because they got impatient very fast, and quite often.

"Hello?" They would frown. "Hello? Anyone in there? Okay. Forget it, we're never going to get an answer." I was rarely given the time I would have needed to prove them wrong. I didn't try.

That's the charming story of my life thus far.

Listen:

Last week, I went walking by the high school. Some girls I recognized were talking.

"Oh, oh. Seifer Almasy is so beautiful. And, he's smart. Don't you love smart guys?"

"I love smart guys."

"And beautiful ones; those too."

"Intelligence is so beautiful."

I didn't understand, but I listened. I decided that intelligence was not beauty, but stupidity was. I was not very beautiful, and never spoke about it since.

"He got one-hundred percent on the test," This girl Rinoa Heartilly bragged, speaking about her boyfriend. Her boyfriend was Seifer Almasy.

"You guys make such a cute couple," her friend Olette commented insincerely.

"A beautiful couple," Rinoa said. I silently agreed. They were very beautiful people.

When Seifer Almasy came down the steps and joined the conversation, I noticed his two usual followers were not with him. He shook his head and placed his hands on his hips. His hips were exposed from his low-riding pants, and very beautiful hips they were.

"Were you girls talking about me?" He wondered as they gazed at him reverently. "You know how I feel about that. This is how rumors start, and you know how I feel about rumors. You say one thing, it turns into another. I can't stand that. Next thing I know, the head of the Disciplinary Committee is doing things," he shook his head in disappointment, "You know how I feel about that. You know how I feel about that."

The girls nodded, but I didn't know how he felt. All I knew was that he felt strongly about something called a that. I naturally began to suspect him of doing things, and, had I not truly been as introverted as that boy used to call me, I would have told him so. If unhappiness had to exist, I figured it would be a favor to the world if it were on someone beautiful. Someone unbeautiful was not likely to improve anything by being sad, but unhappiness was at least beautiful on a beautiful person. Everything was beautiful on a beautiful person, especially ugliness.

"Baby, I was only calling you beautiful," Rinoa cooed, and grabbed his arm. "Isn't that okay to talk about?"

"As long as you're sticking to truths," Seifer said sternly. "I can't be seen dating someone who lies. I am the head of the Disciplinary Committee, and... liars? You know how I feel about those."

I didn't know, but I made an informed guess.

"She's not a liar," Olette sighed.

"It's true," Rinoa said. Seifer stuck his head up.

"As long as you're following the rules..."

"My only rule is to have a handsome man at my side at all times," Rinoa pointed out slyly, then frowned. "And all of yours, I mean, those rules too."

"That's what I like to hear," Seifer said, not smiling. "That's a girl. Keep following the rules and you'll be fine."

She did, and made it public that she was very lawful. The girl Olette left not long after. I decided to follow Rinoa and Seifer around town.

They walked around the tram commons many times. I found myself more and more interested in their beauty as we went. They seemed to exemplify everything beautiful in the world, like talking. They talked a lot. I talked never.

"Today," Rinoa began, "The most horrible thing went on in the girl's bathroom. I couldn't believe it."

"Hm," Seifer said.

"Couldn't believe it," she repeated, dreamily.

"Hmm."

"These two girls, you know them, you remember, those two..."

I didn't, of course. Neither did Seifer.

"...anyway, I walk into the bathroom and they're totally writing on the wall."

Seifer frowned. "Writing on walls? Those lamers."

"In permanent marker!"

Seifer clenched his teeth. "Permanent...?"

Rinoa sighed and clutched his arm for protection. "Oh, Seifer. They were writing about you!"

Seifer looked at her. "What did they write?"

"They called you man-whore."

"Writing on walls!" He yelled. "I can't stand it!"

"I couldn't believe it either!" Rinoa frowned and urged her boyfriend to calm down.

He shook his head, looking disgusted. "Not following the rules..."

"I know -"

"You know how I feel about that!"

I figured being unbeautiful was breaking the rules, because the thing about beautiful people was that they lied. They lied so much it made them beautiful. Only someone unbeautiful could write something as truthful as

Seifer Almasy is a man-whore

I later learned that what had actually been written was

Twilight rEsadint Man-ho: sEifEr allmasy

The "e"s were in a Greek hand, like backwards threes, and the "i"s were dotted with fat, extraverted circles. The writing slanted at the end of words, with flourishing curlicues everywhere, and a long underline sat beneath it all, wavy line crossed twice through for aesthetic purposes.

I had never invoked Seifer Almasy's wrath. The beautiful hated truths, and I could never lie. That was much of the reason why I never said much to anybody. Many people were too beautiful, and I feared I would not be able to beautify my words with curlicues and flourishes and crossed underlines.

I decided at some time that honesty is purely two things. Truth, and unbeauty.

It also seemed to be a lack of curlicues.

"You know what's lame?" Seifer asked Rinoa as they made their way to the residential uptown and came across a group of teenaged vandalists.

"No-o-o," she replied, batting her eyelashes. He wiggled his arm out of her grip and turned to her.

"There are so many troublemakers in this town," he said bitterly. "They make my job tough. Really, really tough. They spawn totally out of nowhere, and their only purpose is to make my job tough. I mean, just take a look around you - "

Rinoa took a look around. So did I.

" - there's just no end to this madness. Mad-ness. Liars, vandalists, unlawful delinquents. You know what they do?"

"Oh, baby." Rinoa said softly.

"They make my job tough," Seifer continued. "Really, really tough."

"Baby, it must be so hard."

Seifer smacked his fist twice into his open palm and stomped away to scold the vandalists, leaving Rinoa by herself as he muttered loudly:

"Damn kids, they just don't know where to draw the line. I swear, this job is tough. Really tough. There's no end to it."

"No end," Rinoa mourned, and nobody listened. "No end."

I stood on the manicured pavement in awe of my new knowledge.

--

I never said how I found out what was really written on the bathroom wall.

I don't go to their high school. I had been part of a volunteer service, and they had sent me to take over the janitor's job on his spontaneous day of rest. That was curlicued terminology for 'skipping work.'

That was the day after I'd followed Rinoa and Seifer. I'd cleaned the hallways and swept the classrooms, so I took out the heavy-duty mops and ventured into the bathrooms. By curiosity, I went into the girls' room first, hoping to see that message about Seifer Almasy. There were other things written on the walls.

In the first stall:

sum1 rite down when da dance iz?
Saturday the fifth.
thx i'm askin my lab partner 2 it! luv u

I left that message alone, under the thought that someone else might want this information.

In the second stall, there was written:

1-800 COCONUTS

I left it alone as well. There was a mystery, and I was too fascinated by the idea that it held a deep and meaningful message that I didn't think of washing it down.

The last stall was occupied, and I stood and waited. The toilet flushed after a short time and a girl stepped out, staring me up and down before shoving a green-capped marker into her pocket and walking past me to wash her hands. I waited until she left before I dragged my mop into the stall.

On the wall, in green ink, was written a response to the Seifer Almasy comment:

SWITCH TO GEICO

The one time in my life I had ever wanted to open my mouth to agree, there was no one around to agree with.

--

Later that day, at the time in which I had volunteered to deliver letters, I passed by what they call the Sandlot. I noticed Seifer Almasy there right away and stood off to the side to listen as he yelled and moaned at his two followers.

"If it was anyone else but me," he was saying to a big, dark-skinned boy, "Anyone else but me, they'd have quit this job by now. It's getting old, and let me tell you - "

The boy let him.

" - Rai, it's just getting old. But Seifer Almasy isn't lame. Seifer Almasy won't quit. These kids need to learn about respect."

"Respect," the dark-skinned boy repeated, gaining confidence. "That's right, y'know!"

"Respect," a fair-haired girl in purple agreed, arms folded over her narrow chest.

"Those punks, I showed them what's what," Seifer bragged. "They won't be vandalizing again anytime soon."

"Seifer, man," the dark-skinned boy put in, "what about that guy who stole all the photos?"

Seifer looked at him, "What?"

The boy frowned, "The stolen photos, y'know?"

"I thought that was Roxas."

I felt myself perk up at that name. Roxas, I knew from seeing him around town. He was a boy with a sweet disposition, a small nose, and a bitten-in lip. He had a strange slant in his posture and his hair was a wheat-colored explosion.

"Nah, Roxas got the photos back," the dark boy said. "Not sure who from, though, yknow? I thought you would know, yknow?"

"Eh," Seifer replied, looking distracted. "Well, did he give you our photos back?"

"He said he would...but he hasn't," the bulky boy admitted. Seifer frowned.

"Dammit! That punk!"

"Maybe he forgot, y'know?"

Face turning red, Seifer elaborated, "No way! That's not forgetfulness. Forgetfulness is leaving your pen at your friend's house. Forgetfulness isn't what it's called when your friend shoves the pen in his own dirty pocket instead of bringing it to you the next day." He shook his head wildly. "It isn't. But you know what that is?"

His two followers were silent.

"It's a lie!" Seifer flexed the muscles in his hand, as if to intimidate. "Hypocrites! Liars! Cheating!"

"Seifer!" The white-haired girl said.

"Liars are hypocrites and cheaters. And...you know how I feel about that!"

"You hate it! Hate it, y'know?" The dark-haired boy tried. I had gathered by then that most thats Seifer seemed to believe people knew what he felt about were things he didn't like.

Seifer glared at him. "Hate it more than anything! It's ugly!"

That was news to me, but I said nothing.

"Ugly," the white-haired girl repeated.

"Ugly!" Seifer yelled, and spat on the ground, turning a spot the sand dark. "Damn right it's ugly!"

His friends were very riled up at this point.

"It's damn UGLY!" The big boy cried, and the girl added:

"Unpleasant!"

"That's the idea, Fu," Seifer growled, green eyes now alight and smoldering with rage. "Lying and cheating is just downright sickening."

"Roxas," the girl said angrily.

"Yeah," the dark-skinned one added in, "Roxas is a cheater, y'know. Just like Seifer's been saying all along. But Seifer, I believe ya, y'know? I always did. Y'know? He's a delinquent, just like you said. Total liar, y'know!"

"I know!" Seifer cried, pacing in wide circles and throwing his hands to the heavens. "For God's sake, Rai! I know! I know."

--

From all I'd heard thus far, it seemed that Seifer Almasy was not a man for lying. If my observation skills were credible, then I could safely say Mr. Almasy hated all forms of dishonesty, through and through; all things beautiful.

But Seifer Almasy was beautiful and I was not going to give up that theory, hard as he may have unwittingly tried to convince me otherwise. I protested in my mind, and was proven to have been in the right the very next day.

I was finishing a long day of hauling massive loads of cargo to the uphill garage, and the sun was nearly gone. My home was close to where I had been working. I only needed to take a few of the tunnel-way shortcuts.

Near the entrance to one of the tunnels, I stopped to make observations.

Silent to my character, I stood and watched as Seifer Almasy put his tongue into the mouth of that sweet Roxas boy. It looked very violent but sounded very consensual, so I did nothing but sigh to myself.

Seifer Almasy was truly a beautiful boy. He was all curlicues and flourishes and those little aesthetic crosses that go through wavy underlines. He'd somehow made himself beautiful on top of being beauty personified. I felt a slight hatred inside me then, as I watched him throw Roxas against the wall and undo the smaller boy's collar far enough to neck him.

This is the kind of thing that beautiful people experience, I thought. They lie and lie and create and create and end up with nice things, like an ego, or half-shirtless Roxas. They lead interesting lives, is what I realized; interesting lives filled with beauty and curlicues and the shrill shrieking of dark-haired girls that happen to walk by at the wrong moment.

If Rinoa Heartilly had been unbeautiful, I suspect she would have wondered why I, of all people, was there, watching her boyfriend exchange love with another boy. She was too overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the image before her to notice me, I think, and merely began shrieking.

"Seifer!" She moaned. "Seifer, what are you doing?"

Seifer looked at her, glowing and beautiful. Roxas looked at her at the same time. She would be the center of attention. Neither boy had noticed me at all.

"Um," Seifer said.

"Rinoa," Roxas said.

There were many things I wanted to say to Rinoa Heartilly. Had I been confident in my ability to curlicue, I would have. Instead, I held my thoughts back, and watched the words

SWITCH TO GEICO

flashing blandly in my mind, wondering when the overwhelming beauty and all of Rinoa's screaming would pass. It was a web, a flood, of beauty. I had to wait before I dared move.

"I can't believe you'd do something like this. After all I did for you. After all I put up with! I'm not going to put up with this, though! Not this..."

And so on...

"...You know, they're right about you. You're a man-whore. A total man-who-o-o-re!"

Rinoa sobbed and burst into tears, and Seifer was perplexed. He hadn't said a thing since she started.

"...I was in the middle of something," was what he finally told her, still holding Roxas to the wall.

She looked at him like he had grown a second, less beautiful head. "W...what?"

"I said I was in the middle of something. You interrupted me."

Her watery eyes widened angrily. "You, wh...I interrupted...?"

"Yeah," he frowned, looking weary. "You interrupted me. You know how I feel about that."

Rinoa Heartilly turned and left. I stood there, gaping, until Seifer Almasy noticed my presence and glared me away with the sheer force of his beauty.

--

Now.

Beauty? I stayed away from it as much as possible, but, for a while, I could't stop thinking about what it might have been like for me as a beautiful person.

I was afraid - still am afraid - that if I opened my mouth, I could never, in a million years, recreate the drama that Seifer Almasy was capable of bearing with a single look. I am not beautiful like that; I don't create, and I don't suppose. I merely sit, and smile at the passing. A smile is the only honest thing I can communicate without boring or offending the people around me, I'm sure.

A few days after Seifer Almasy and Rinoa Heartilly officially separated, and after I had been steering far clear of that hateful, beautiful boy, I was finally settling back into my normal mind. Live and let live, and never talk in between.

"Hey..."

That day, when I was alone and at peace with myself, I was brought out by an unexpected visitor. Roxas.

I greeted him with a simple smile. He was embarrassed, probably recounting the strange terms of our meeting a few days before, but he smiled back earnestly and proceeded with what he had to say.

"Thanks for not telling my mom about the other day," he muttered, glancing side-ways to side-ways nervously.

I tilted my head somewhat, and he looked at me directly.

"I really appreciate it," he said. "If there is anything I can do for you..."

I didn't like Seifer Almasy. I was vexed by his beauty, but this boy, Roxas; he wasn't so bad. And then I decided it was time I got over my obsession with beauty, and I went on doing what I needed to do.

I looked at him and said the only thing I'll ever need to say. No curlicues, no flourishes, and no wavy underlines crossed twice through. Just these genuine words, and my honest smile.

"I've tried everything, but I just can't get rid of these bees. If only there were someone who could..."

--end--

a/n: 1000 e-cookies to those who guessed!