AN: As mentioned in the summary, Bully and the Beast is a storyline originally conceived by the author CreativelyBankrupt87 who has given me their permission to collaborate. As such, it will be a major departure from my personal HA Fandom arc.

Also, this is a reuploaded version. The long and short of it is that I had originally published BATB with the aim of being a "T" rated fic, but found myself skeeved out about how I had originally written Wolfgang's dad (minor spoilers, he was considerably more lecherous than he is now). Yet since the aim is to make him objectively worse than Bob, there's no other choice but to bring this story here to the "M" section. If you get offended or disturbed, go home and make sure to grab a tissue on your way out.

And now, on with the show.

HumanDictionary

In the grand scheme of world events, buying a house isn't something one stops the presses for; especially when one does so in a city as full of hustle and bustle such as Hillwood. But as far as twelve-year-old Helga Pataki was concerned, November 8th would be one of those days whose significance would be comparable to the day man set foot on the moon or when the Civil War came to an end.

With Big Bob's Beepers and Phones back on track thanks to his daughter's friend with the odd shaped head, the founder and CEO of the company Robert Pataki marched boldly down to the bank with luck on his side. Not only had the house failed to sell since foreclosure, but as the previous owner he knew all the damages and quirks which could get the bank to lower the price provided he played his cards right. Sure enough, on November 8th the Pataki House officially bore that distinction once more….at least, on paper.

While the roof over their head was more dignified than that of the decrepit emporium, acquiring the typical furnishings which made a house a home seemed to occur at a painfully slow speed. Electricity and running water had only just started to be restored, Miriam was reunited with her beloved blender (or at least a similar model), and Bob managed to obtain a new recliner and (to his displeasure) a comparatively smaller television set. However, the old man had even begun (albeit begrudgingly) to evolve with technology; not only once again renaming his store to 'Big Bob's Wireless' but purchasing a laptop and attempting to create this wonderous new thing called a "website" on some magical landscape called the "internet".

"Mother GOOSE!" Helga heard her father roar from downstairs. "What do these clowns MEAN the domain name 'BBW Hub' is taken? I can't think of a single person on God's Green Earth who would get use from…UGH! OH MAN, NOW THAT'S...EEECH! Damn freaks."

From the safety of her room, Helga Pataki bit her pillow and let out a deep wheezing laugh over her father's ignorance and accidental foray into online perversity. Still as her sardonic mirth dissipated, she could feel reality coldly reminded her that no amount of chortling could change the fact that she was the one who drew the short straw when it came to prioritizing whose belongings got restored. Yes, her room was hers again. But her clothes lay in two amorphous heaps on the floor rather than placed with care in a dresser, and her "bed" was two throw pillows, a Hillwood Black Sox throw blanket, and a refrigerator box.

Staring at the wallpaper, it struck Helga like a freight train just how the overall décor clashed with who she was as a person, particularly the syrupy baby blue wallpaper adorned with yellow hearts and the pink shade adorning her overhead lamp. Even the knick-knacks she possessed before having to move into the beeper store felt out of place; the armoire with hearts for knobs, the raggity clown which adorned her covers and once hung from the back of her bedroom door and the stupid white dog on a shelf mounted above her bed.

With a scoff, Helga scoots further into her box and instead gazes upon a yellow heart of a whole different sort: her trademark locket in which contained the one thing in this plane of existence that caused her caustic front to melt. Her boyfriend Arnold Philip Shortman.

"Oh, Arnold." She cooed sadly. "Why on this Thanksgiving of all Thanksgivings must we count our blessings worlds away? And with the less than fruitful branches of our respective family trees to boot? You with your parents in Thicket Valley breaking bread alongside your bland but…quirky cousin…(continues ruefully)… and me with the gaggle of fools whose collective intelligence rivals that of week old pumpkin pie."

Bringing the Pataki girl's monologue to a grinding halt was the dweebling and vibrating of her phone (a gift from her friend Phoebe) who by coincidence had taken this moment to call her.

"'Sup Pheebs."

"Hey Helga." Came the voice of her friend from the other end of the phone. "I was just wondering how you were getting along what with not being able to have your…ice cream this year."

"If you mean Arnold, a) we can kind of move past the whole code stuff at this point-"

"Moving!"

"-and b) he and his folks touched down in Wonderbread-land half an hour ago. Texted me a picture of his cousin's house and everything."

"I see."

"Now the big question is how Miss Phoebe Heyerdahl plans to paint the town red tomorrow night since she too has a boyfriend with family obligations this Thanksgiving?"

"Well, my mom and dad are going to the interfaith dinner the community center has for the…well…" Phoebe answered.

"The homeless?" Helga finished.

"Yeah." She said quietly. "I was going to say less fortunate."

"Six of one. Besides, Bob would rather have eaten fiberglass than drag us to that last year…not that we're exactly having a bountiful harvest this go around. Olga managed to not only charm Mr. Green into giving us ten pounds of assorted meat ends, but also found the time to bake a bunch of Naan. So…yeah. A real recreation of the Mayflower over here."

"Gosh, how ambitious of her." Phoebe replied. "Well, I was wondering if…just in case dinner with you family got to be too much…you'd…consider…coming with us."

Deep down, Helga knew her friend meant well. Nonetheless, she tried to chose her words as carefully as possible in hopes of not exploding at the one person she had conceivably call her best friend.

"I appreciate the invite Pheebs, but even now (and I say this as someone who had been homeless) I'm not exactly in the mood to spend my first Thanksgiving at home watching some blue-blooded fop slumming it with the poor in hopes that it'd get them on the front page."

"Oh Helga. This dinner isn't…or shouldn't be about that. It's about giving the whole holiday season a much-needed sense of perspective and egalitarianism; those who have sitting with those who haven't, the breaking bread with your fellow man, seeing the horn of plenty passed amongst us all-"

"You sure cousin Arnie didn't do some soul-switching thing where Arnold's essence occupies your body and vice versa?"

Try as she might, a small smile creeped along Phoebe's face as she attempted to suppress a giggle over Helga's snide remark.

"Still though, I hope you give it some serious thought.

"Alright. If things get real tough, I'll join up with you at the community center and help serve turkey, potatoes and whatever to those less fortunate, okay."

"That's all I ask. Happy Thanksgiving Helga."

"Happy Thanksgiving."

A chill descended on her room as Helga closed her eyes for the night. A small voice inside of her knew she had it better off than most; especially now that the family got their home back and the love of her life reciprocated her feelings. Nonetheless, as sleep slowly claimed the Pataki preadolescent for the night, memories of that week the bank came for them continued to play like an old film shown on a projection sheet.

And like all those nights before, she couldn't escape it.