Authors Notes: Hey everyone! Sorry it took a bit longer to get this chapter out than initially hoped, but it was decided that it would be a far better use of the lockdown to get as many chapters written as possible while time would allow for it. As a result, we have quite a few chapters that are now written and just requiring edits.
Likewise, we are happy to finally start get the next arc under way. Well, that's a partial lie. It's more like the start of TWO story arcs under way! I won't say too much about that but I will spoil up front that this chapter is basically a lead in for both of those story arcs. Unlike the Hell Week arc, it is our sincere hope that these two upcoming arcs are rather enjoyable for all parties concerned. We know they were for us, at least. Lol. Anyway, seeing as how the past couple of chapters focused mostly on Cody, this one focuses purely on Gwen and then Heather. Aside from that…well, we'll let the chapter speak for itself, especially the conclusion. Lol ;)
Lastly, there are some important details we've had a number of people ask about in the past which are going to be at least somewhat explained here, but will be given more detailed discussion in the future.
Also, though it was yesterday…Happy Memorial Day!
With that out of the way, kick back and enjoy the twenty-eighth chapter of "Unbreakable Red Silken Thread": Chance: The Return.
Monday, November 3rd, 2014 (8:25 AM)
Gwen lay atop the bed of her assigned 'prison cell', once again staring up at the ceiling as she tried to calm her breathing. The only thing surpassing the exhaustion radiating from her sweating aching body was the deepness of her thoughts. The latter helped weaken the cause of the former, but only by so much.
The nightmares…the wolves, or rather, the wolf, singular.
The only wolf she could recall seeing in any noticeable detail had made yet another appearance. Pitch black fur with deep green eyes that shined in the moonlight, always following just at the edge of her peripheral vision, never giving her a chance to rest as it followed her, tracked her, stalked her.
Hunted her.
The Goth's mind had conjured other members of its pack, but they never saw fit to reveal themselves beyond the sounds of footsteps running through low hanging branches and bushes of the dark forest, or answering howls to the black Alpha's call.
Last night's frightful dream had been particularly bad, if not the worst so far.
Once again, the Goth found herself running through the dense forest, naked, wet, cold, and at first alone save for the great bear, another monster that had come to haunt her dreams with its burning red eyes and cavernous jaws. Just when she thought she was safe, that she had gotten away from the bear, her foot caught a raised root and she tripped, falling face first in the mud.
Looking up, hoping for even a mere moment's safety, she found herself for the first-time face to face with the pitch-black wolf, its piercing green eyes only inches from her own. Now that they were up so close, Gwen realized that she had done these eyes a disserve by thinking of them as green. They weren't green, not the pale green of natural irises. They were the impossible green of fresh glittering emeralds and as iridescent as a dragonfly.
At first it just stared at her, gazing into her eyes as though looking for something, but then it raised its head to look over her, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.
Gwen's fear spiked when it then stepped forward, placing one paw on top of her head and started snarling with the most threatening growl she had ever heard come from any animal. The black wolf pushed down, forcing her to look at the muddy puddle she had fallen into before pressing with its full body weight. The paw atop her head was then joined by another at her shoulder as the wolf lowered its head, heated breath raking across the exposed flesh of Gwen's back. Though she could not see it, in her mind she could visualize the lips pulling back to reveal a maw of large hungry fangs as it continued to growl and snap its jaws.
She had only been awoken from her heelish nightmare by a crash of thunder, which turned out to be in the dream itself, not the waking world.
Pushing the nightmare aside, Gwen's mind returned to equally unsettling thoughts that she knew were no figment of her imagination. She remembered the conversation she had overheard yesterday between Cody, Noah and Izzy well, and truthfully Gwen was more than a little confused.
The Goth had never devoted much attention to either the Bookworm or the Psycho-Hose Beast during Total Drama, sure, but even her limited observations of them offered nothing to suggest either could be friends, let alone allies, with the manipulative Queen Bee. She remembered Noah and Cody had been tight, but that truth perplexed her even more. If Noah had no loyalty or noteworthy connection to Heather, why would he basically say the same thing about her that the Queen Bee had?
Had she really been a terrible friend to Cody?
Heather voicing a lie like that was not only obvious, but to be expected. But Noah?
Gwen's mind boggled for something she had done that could be misunderstood in such a manner, tried to uncover a possible proof but her efforts always came up short. She was never cruel to him, never led him on, or done anything to make him think she was interested in him. And it wasn't like she went around embarrassing him on camera either. He had done that to himself. He was the one who followed her around all the time, hovering and buzzing his pathetic attempts to flirt and ask her out like an irritating fly lingering right next to the ear. He had annoyed her and had gotten under her skin; SHE was the one with cause to feel wronged.
So why were both Heather and Noah making her out to be the bad guy?
Cody is—was—she corrected, scrawny, weak, annoying and more than just a little creepy. Did everyone just choose to forget the hair-sniffing thing!? What was she supposed to do? She told him she wasn't interested, but he kept going after her. Anything and everything that happened to him after that point was his own damn fault for not getting it through his head that she wasn't interested in him!
He brought it on himself.
The Goth's thoughts turned to the rest of what she had overheard.
She had been right! Heather WAS up to something! Then again, that wasn't really shocking. She was Heather after all, and finding out she was up to something was as scientific a discovery as water being wet.
But that didn't explain everything about what Gwen had gleamed from her eavesdropping. For example, why was Cody being kept out of the loop? Why did a part of Heather's scheme involve Cody being kept in the dark? What purpose did that serve?
She tried for several minutes to determine a motive but found none whatsoever. Feeling irritated, Gwen shifted gears to another detail she had picked up. Cody admitting that Heather had warned him to stay away from Duncan had…actually surprised her.
'Then again,' she mused, 'I guess it's not that odd. Sure, Cody's filled out a bit, but he's still no match for Duncan. Not many people would be.' A small smile graced her lips. Sure, Cody had grown a few inches, gained some muscle, had actual biceps now, some impressive abs and all around was athletically toned enough to be deemed borderline attractive, but Duncan could still easily snap him like a stale breadstick. Duncan was still bigger, and far stronger than the Tech Geek.
But that idea, as pleasing as it was, didn't answer the key question of why Heather would have warned him. After a bit of pondering, she could only come up with two possible reasons for this. The first was that Heather's motive was to ensure Cody didn't get hurt by engaging Duncan. The second was that she didn't want her boyfriend to interfere or even spoil whatever plans she had cooking. Of the two options, Gwen almost instantaneously decided that the latter was more likely, since that was more probable than Heather actually being capable of caring about others.
That realization proved to be a stepping-stone to another. Just how could Cody talking to Duncan possibly ruin whatever the unseen scheme was? How might it upset Heather's plans enough for her to directly tell him to not do it? It had to be pretty big, because only that could explain the merits of keeping Cody in the dark about this whole thing. Having a pawn in the know was infinitely more useful than one not in the know, if for no other reason than because a pawn in the dark might go rogue and botch it all.
That idea soon became coupled with other bits of information she had picked up from the Cynical Bookworm and Psycho Hose-Beast. Like how since they got together Heather hadn't intentionally hurt Cody, and how hard she has worked to make him happy. Equally bizarre were the matching opinions that both former Total Drama contestants, who were as different as night and day, were perfectly fine with Cody being with Heather, and how whatever she was up to had his best interests in heart.
Yet again, Gwen found a flare up of confusion bloom within her searching mind. Confusion tinged by more than a little annoyance. How could Noah and Izzy forget everything Heather did back on Total Drama? How could they just overlook it all? Those inquiries and their lack of creditable answers further incensed the simmering Goth. But even more than that was the knowledge that she had learned over the past week.
Heather didn't even need Cody's money now or the prize money from Total Drama back then! She came from a rich family loaded with cash!
On cognitive connective threads untethered by pure logical reasoning, Gwen found her mind jumping from that concept to another, one voiced by Noah during that talk.
How Cody would be a damn idiot to leave Heather for her. And how he had no chance with her.
Despite herself, Gwen agreed…at least with the second part. She wouldn't give him a chance in hell. Sure, he was buffer and taller now, but that didn't negate all her other issues with him.
Pulled by another of those flickering threads of thought, Gwen was guided into less pleasant domains by the implied first part of Noah's statement. The neutral Bookworm thought Heather was better for Cody then her.
Illogically, that idea really stung.
Back on Total Drama, she never once plotted or planned or schemed to get someone else eliminated. She didn't control or manipulate people. She didn't use their fears, insecurities or wants to get them to do things for her. She was honest the entire time and never did anything to anyone unless they did something first to deserve it. [1]
So why, and more importantly, HOW could Noah and Izzy both agree that Heather is better for him than literally anyone else. Even Sierra! Even with the Obsessive Uber-Fan's many, many, many flaws, she was still a far better person than the Queen Bee.
The Goth's first thought was it had to do with Heather's money, that Noah and Izzy knew about how loaded Heather was and were just telling their friend to stick with the cash cow, as it were. Sure, Cody had money too, especially compared to her own family she amended reluctantly, but obviously nowhere near as much if his other friends suggested he borrow from Heather.
The problem with that though was Izzy. She wasn't the sort of person to care about money. Her thought process was too chaotic and nonsensical to be overly concerned with something so mundane. And yet she had agreed with Noah? There had to be more to it.
The second string of speculation lead Gwen to the idea that Noah and Izzy were alluding to Heather being more attractive than her. The Goth wavered a bit at that notion. Heather was a grey-eyed, petite, presumably naturally tan skinned Asian, not exactly a common combination. So perhaps there was some kind of 'exotic' appeal she had going for her? Gwen's jet-black eyes looked down towards her bust, towards the impressive masses of fatty tissue and raw feminine sex appeal. The sight, combined with the knowledge of just how big a pervert Cody was proved to be more than enough to cut that specific cord of cognition clean.
Though she had never been vain enough to revel in it, Gwen noted that even in her younger teenage years she had Heather outclassed in the looks department. Mainly because unlike Heather, Gwen didn't feel the need to enhance and add so much to what nature had given her. She didn't obsess over her looks and spend copious amounts of cash maintaining it. The only possible way to negate her inherently greater sex appeal was some kind of weird nerd fetish involving Asians. But that idea too was struck down for the same reason as the twine about money. Again, it was Izzy, who fell in love with Owen, perhaps the least attractive person on the face of the planet. He may have been one of the few people who she might (key word 'might') have not minded seeing again, but his looks weren't the reason, at all.
Having exhausted the initial possible reasons for Noah and Izzy's opinions, dismantling each of them like a high-school science project, Gwen felt lost and befuddled. For the life of her, she couldn't fathom how both would agree. Then she found a new thread. She tugged at it, finding it taut. With that in mind, she followed a new pathway of perception.
She thought about the rumors that floated around campus about Heather, rumors which were confirmed the day she was placed into this jail cell of a hellhole. That Heather brought other girls around and was bisexual. The Goth knew that even Duncan would have agreed with that line of thinking, having hinted at such a thing before, like pretty much any straight guy would have. That explained Noah buying into the idea, and as for Izzy…well, she was just crazy and impulsive enough to where Gwen had no difficulty in imagining her agreeing to such a thing.
If not instigating it herself.
Feeling like she had figured out the nature of the puzzle before her, or at least figured it out enough to where she could be content until future probing, Gwen got out of bed. She stretched, feeling but trying to ignore the ache in her thighs from another rough night with Duncan cut far too short by Heather's damnable curfew. More than anything, she simply wanted further peace and quiet.
So of course, just at that very moment, she heard something. It was muffled due to the distance and doors in between, but Gwen was sure it was some kind of music coming from Heather and Cody's room. She knew both of them were out, having heard them get up and go about their morning routine before leaving for their classes. Curiosity compelled her to investigate this noise.
She crept towards the door as quietly as she could. As she got closer, leaving her assigned room and traveling towards the other closed door, Gwen gleaned that it was indeed music she was hearing, coming from a violin if she had to guess. The barrier of wood made it hard to accurately judge but the technique seemed adequate. Regardless, she reached for the door and jiggled the knob, nothing. She then pressed down and pushed inward as gently as she could, to avoid making any noise. It still wouldn't budge. She was forced to apply more pressure but the door would not yield. That was enough for Gwen to figure out that the door was locked. She wondered why the door would be locked since Cody and Heather were both gone, the pair of rats Cody kept were…resourceful but they couldn't reach a doorknob, could they? Her bewilderment only grew as the music had stopped at the exact same moment as the jiggling of the knob.
Not sure what else to do, Gwen waited for a moment, then a minute, but heard nothing. Frowning in thought, she quickly decided to go for broke and throw caution to the wind. She knocked on the door, all but slamming her fist upon the wooden panel. "Cody? Heather? You in there?" she asked while knocking. No response. She pounded on the door, more forcefully this time. "I know one of you is in there! If this is some kind of prank, it's an extremely pathetic one!" she chided loudly. "I would suggest something louder if you want to wake me up. Like drums or maybe even an electric guitar…something that could actually be heard through the door!"
There came no reply, not that she was expecting one. Snorting, Gwen left while offering a bitter, "Whatever." She stomped her way back to the room she was forced to dwell within for the time being. Once there and the door was closed, she got a change of clothes, before beginning her trek out the dorm towards the public showers. As she made her way out, she saw something out of place sitting on the kitchen table. A plate with a half-eaten waffle drenched in syrup with a half empty glass of milk.
Taking a closer look, she put her hand near the plate and found it to still be warm. Gwen's eyes narrowed in thought. While many questions remained unanswered, the warm plate proved to be the smoking gun for a few of the more important questions.
She wasn't alone in this dorm. She had been hearing music every morning since she arrived. And it wasn't just in her head. She had justified cause to be paranoid.
Wednesday, November 5th, 2014 (5:35 PM)
Heather Wilson had been born into a life of luxury and wealth most could only dream of. There was almost nothing in all of Creation that she couldn't taste, claim, or experience based on nothing more than a fleeting moment of fancy, of simple desire. But the childhood of the future Queen Bee of Total Drama wasn't as easy as one might imagine. The dangers she faced weren't as obvious as a lack of food or comfort, not as jarring as a physically abusive parent. They were subtler, more treacherous.
Being of modern 'noble birth,' there was an unspoken expectation to live up to whatever values her parents deemed worthy of her station in society, no matter how seemingly arbitrary they were or how uncomfortable those values made her feel. Failure to do so, she was sure, would have resulted in her being jettisoned from their wealth, leaving her with nothing but what she internalized, made by her own alone. Anything else could and most likely would be taken from her at some point in her life. Before turning the tender age of ten, Heather Wilson understood this. At every moment, there was a sword hanging over her head, looking for an excuse to fall and cut her loose.
Like much of life, this began in a mentality, a series of concepts fused together as a whole. The values imposed into Heather from an early age, usually more by example than intentional lesson, were a particular set of tenets that most would have found at best foul and at worst immoral. How to laugh on cue. How to acknowledge some people in a crowd but not others to elicit effects on those in either camp. How to make your closest associates feel like they are your one true comrade amid a web of false relationships and manipulations while having no qualms about leaving them in ruin if necessary. How to not allow the insidious failings of compassion to touch you when firing perfectly capable and hardworking employees, while at the same time making it look like you were touched.
The concepts behind such a mindset were a hydra but a few heads were more obvious than others. There was jealousy and possessiveness: fighting like a feral beast when something that was yours was threatened, or something that you wanted but someone else held out of reach. There was intolerance: remaining a bedrock of eon-forged values and convictions that didn't ebb and flow with the undisciplined changes in opinion of the rabble of the world. There was pride, which was a virtue, and indignation, which was her inalienable right. No quarter should be given to any who dared to impugn her integrity, any who tried to deny her natural talents, any who her personal standards deemed unworthy.
But those were merely the concepts, the ideas, and not the practical realities of her life. Such grand and lofty concepts were grounded by many actions as mundane and petty as could be. The young child had learned very quickly one of the best ways to ensure the sword didn't strike her down at a moment's notice was to become the ideal offspring of the oligarchy. Life was a series of lessons and rituals and details within a structure as constrictive as a straightjacket and a margin for error sharper than a blade.
Everything from how she was to behave, to her poise and posture. Even actions as simple as walking could be done in error. And somehow eating always seemed the most wrought with peril. The countless and arcane rules of dining made every family meal about as nerve-wracking as drinking from a crocodile filled river. She had vivid recollections about what all eight of the different spoons and forks at the dinner table were for and how to properly hold them even. When she was a little older and she found her way to the kitchen, to keep her out of his hair or from becoming a pest, the family chef taught her how to properly cook. How to use each and every tool and utensil, what the twenty different knives on a knife rack were for and what every conceivable pot, pan or cooking implement to have been invented was for and how to use it. And when she got a little older still, this carried over to when she took up ballet, in what she now knew to have been a wasted effort of gaining her mother's approval.
Most examples weren't as various as this but they all followed the same basic beliefs.
Everything had a preset and preordained way to be learned.
Nothing was new. Nothing was added. It already existed. It worked perfectly well.
Things were as they should be and were proven to work. The fault wasn't in the system.
Therefore, there was no excuse for failure. Anything could be achieved or mastered.
She needed only to learn what it was she needed to do and how to do it.
This, for as long as she could remember, had been what her life was. Learning how to do something the 'right and proper way'. The steps, the method, the pattern and/or the sequence from start to finish. This extended to everything from conversation to blackmail. Everything has a preset exact way that it was supposed to be done.
And that was why at this point…Heather Wilson was about ready to rip her out her hair.
Scarlett stood in front of the former Queen Bee, her gaze as cold and unfeeling as usual, clashing with the slutty attire she wore, a subtly different version of her outfit from the private dance she had given on Heather's birthday. They had just barely started the first dancing lesson that Heather was paying four hundred dollars a pop for and already there were issues. An eyebrow was raised a millimeter higher than what most would consider natural, and her lips were a parody of an amused grin that tugged too tightly at the edges. The look was of someone not truly comfortable with looking smug but trying it anyway. The look was the latest of many simple yet convoluted deceptions Heather had no clue of.
"To begin with, I want you to dance for me, Heather. Display the capabilities you already posses," The Quiet Brainiac explained, keeping it vague to goad a reaction out of Heather.
The Queen Bee's beetled brow and frown showed Scarlett that her words had the desired effect. "Again, Scarlett…what do you mean?" she snapped off, profoundly annoyed at her teacher. "Be more specific, damnit! What dance?"
If she had been fully capable of feeling emotions and sloppy enough to express them, Scarlett would have laughed. There was some unknown thing vaguely akin to amusement that she was getting from Heather's reaction to her purposefully ambiguous instructions. "The dance style is irrelevant," she said, knowing not to push Heather too hard too soon. "I merely wish to observe how you handle yourself with the techniques you are most comfortable with, to provide an effective baseline by which to judge your developments. Simply dance whatever you normally would."
"I still need to know which dance, Scarlett!" Heather snapped. "Give me a name, damnit! Fox trot? Waltz? Tango? I can do them all but only if I know which!"
By the time that the former Queen Bee had finished her latest minor venting session, Scarlett's supercomputer-like mind had already reviewed everything it knew about those dance styles plus a few other similar ones, from their histories to the talents required to master them, for any suggestions of what Heather's preference for those revealed about her deeper character. Amongst a plethora of interesting and potentially useful tidbits she gleamed from that list, the Brainiac chose to divulge only one, the one that was the most obvious and unsuspicious.
"Your choices bespeak to a paradox that perplexes me, Heather," Scarlett began, ensuring an eyebrow was raised by the tiniest fraction she could to be noticeable, and thus give off the impression of sincere vexation but unfamiliarity with such emotive expressiveness. "Your paramount desire in studying how to dance erotically is to stimulate your romantic partner to engender him remaining in a consensual union with him, is it not? And yet all of the styles you just enumerated off are of a decidedly formal nature?" She paused, seeing Heather looking at her. Scarlett gave the former Queen Bee credit for not interrupting her or showing any degree of emotional unease at her, admittedly mild, rebuking, no doubt sensing that the reason for this tangent had been yet to be shared. "Forsaking any socially conventional frivolities that's what is vexing me, Heather. Why do you wish to use such formal dance styles to show promise for their antithesis?"
"Because they are what I'm most used to," Heather explained, knowing she needed to be honest here to get the most out of these expensive dance lessons. "When I was younger, I had to go to a lot of social gatherings. Each had their own kind of acceptable dancing. For father's charity events, it was typically ballroom dancing, a waltz at most. And for mother's social functions then it would be something more exotic, a tango."
Again, Scarlett absorbed what the former Queen Bee had revealed before asking a follow up question, one she already knew the bulk of the answer to. "Do you go to the establishments of risqué simulation that accommodates the social activity known as…clubbing? Or do you frequent the tamer gatherings of student parties?"
Heather sighed in annoyance. "You're barking up the wrong tree, Scarlett. Those aren't going to help me any."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't dance at those things, either of them."
"I find that claim to be considerably suspect at best, and downright erroneous at worst," Scarlett piped in, finding a contradiction between what she just heard and what she knew. "Cody and you are so wearily often the topic of campus scuttlebutt because of your prowls for what you deem desirable partners of the same sex as yourself. And these expeditions are frequently sighted at the aforementioned student campus parties so—"
"And that's exactly what I do at those parties," Heather cut in, with defensive strength, "Feed the rumor mill…or look for a good lay…or possible blackmail material…or some combination of the three. Not cut-loose or dance till my feet throb. It's business, not pleasure."
"Such a Machiavellian mindset," Scarlett commented, her voice changing to convey something akin to amazement. "You truly have no qualms about interacting with others under essentially false and manipulative pretenses? Of living a double life, as it were?"
Heather paused at the question. None save Cody knew the full extent of her feelings on the matter. And she wasn't in the mood to answer these kinds of inquiries. "Some of us are simply born for it," The former Queen Bee answered with harsh, powerful finality.
"No doubt," Scarlett added, making sure to seem neither truly understanding nor condemning. The redhead allowed silence to fill the room for a few moments, letting Heather stew in her own negatively, to keep her off her game, make her more pliable. When enough time had passed, Scarlett broke the silence she had created by asking, "But I am perplexed, Heather. It's quite dubious to me that you never went to such gatherings just for fun. Is that assertion sincere? And was that the case even before coming here? I have been operating under the assumption that pleasure was the main motive to attend."
Heather found her lips sliding into a smooth grin, entertained by Scarlett's social naivety. "Back in high school," she began, "I was a little too busy to waste my time on such indulgences. Trying to climb the social totem pole took precedent over clubbing, I'm afraid. Besides, even if I did, I couldn't since my parents put a lot of stock in public appearances. How people saw me, thought of me, and how I interacted with my peers."
"The social sciences are rife of examples of such opinions being the cultural norm, in particular for those of a higher stratum of society from a monetary or political perspective," Scarlett added, putting an academic spin on Heather's personal account. "What changed?"
"Turned eighteen. Parents got divorced and I got the hell out." Heather answered; not offering a single word more than was required to get the general point across only once.
"My apologies," Scarlett said, allowing the smallest amount of empathy possible to enter her voice, just enough to be perceptible to Heather and nothing more. "I didn't know."
Although, in fact, she did know. The Quiet Brainiac had learned so much about Heather since they first met at the library. Motivated by little more than a hunch concerning possible profits to be garnered from any future business arrangement with the former Queen Bee, Scarlett had devoted the entirety of her intellect, resolve, and resources on finding whatever she could. Before the twenty-fourth hour had passed, the redheaded horror had learned nearly every piece of relevant information about Heather Wilson that there was. She researched her time on Total Drama, to compare her mindset and behavior then to the present, to see the affects that several years and an emotionally beneficial but ultimately weakening relationship caused. She uncovered every little dirty secret and bad thing that Heather had ever done in her life, to divine any unconscious patterns to exploit and find any useful blackmail material. She dived deep into her home life and her family's genetic ancestry, as well as the complete medical and psychological profiles of every living member of her family on both sides, all in an attempt to uncover how much of what made the sexy Asian that stood before her Nature and how much was Nurture.
Much of what had been revealed confirmed the notions Scarlett had already formed. But there were a few specific bits of information that had surprised her. These had been mainly connected to her family's medical history more than anything else, such as Heather inheriting Antiphospholipid Syndrome from her mother. They had some potential value for her purposes, but not enough to warrant true consideration.
Instead, Scarlett had seen the primary value of her inquires to vindicating her initial stances about Heather. To many, Heather Wilson would have been a person who was despised. A villain and no more. But Scarlett would not have viewed her in such a way. If anything, more than most of the people she encountered, Heather from the time of Total Drama Island would have been someone who almost showed what Scarlett considered exceptionality. Here had been a youth who had already risen above common morality and judged herself unique enough to create an individual code of ethics based on observable realities. Intangibles like compassion, empathy and other romanticized nonsense that went against the very core of the natural processes that had crafted the human race weren't present. Scarlett even saw the vaguest oversimplified similarities to herself in Heather's previous emotional aloofness and cold objectivity.
Even back during Total Drama, Scarlett had seen hints that Heather wasn't simply the catty Queen-Bee stereotype many saw.
Though the trappings and influence of her upper-class upbringing were as noticeable as her fit figure or raven black hair, there had been more for those who knew what to look for. Oh yes, she walked and talked and acted like your garden-variety rich girl. She was absolutely cravenly egoistical and spoiled rotten to a fault, but she wasn't an affluent snob. She didn't have her head in the clouds while coasting through life off her wealth. Heather wasn't afraid of getting her hands dirty or to rely on things besides her station.
Scarlett's impression of Heather from her time before and during Total Drama, due its accuracy, had caused an incongruity to appear before her. Though she didn't voice it, something about this whole venture perplexed the genius redhead.
Her vexation had legion factors but they essentially boiled down to one question: why would Heather be doing this, going to this much effort to learn how to dance dirty?
She had her own thoughts, but oddly for her, she hoped they were wrong. Logically she was sure they were right on the mark but that small, near dead, portion of her character that could never be removed from her unrelenting intelligence wished it were so.
Before inquiring into Heather's background, Scarlett had assumed it was some sort of delayed act of rebellion against the parents she clearly still harbored deep resentment for. A petty motivation, but a believable and acceptable one. But then Scarlett had learned what Heather had just told her, that her parents were divorced. A withheld act of defiance was still hypothetically possible but far less likely now that her parents were apart.
She next moved to the notion of Heather doing this to make some extra cash on the side. That idea had only lived as long as it took for Scarlett to discover the former Queen Bee's finances, and her discovering the unique 'deal' Heather had with her father. Few apparently understood the depth and breadth of the man's loathing for his now ex-wife, but given how generously he rewarded Heather for pointing him in the direction of the offshore accounts and assets she'd drained from him over the years it was significantly easier to behold.
Then she shifted gears to contemplating this being part of a scheme to gather more girls for her campus-known threesomes. However, that thought was also shot down rather swiftly due to the inherent impracticality of smoothly transferring these skills towards the courtship of unknown parties. She had considered and rejected a few dozen other potential motivations for Heather's actions before she accepted what she had assumed.
All too quickly, Scarlett's mind came fully to terms with the truth of Heather's drive. She hadn't been lying in her earlier declared intentions. She really was doing this just for Cody's benefit and nothing more. She cared about him, even loved him.
And thus, Heather was weak. And thus, whatever promise she once had was utterly squandered. And thus, Scarlett had been denied another person like herself.
That notion nearly made Scarlett abandon her façade within a façade and speak the truth. The Quiet Brainiac wasn't used to the impulse of not being quiet, of expressing her rage. But it wouldn't have been the white-hot anger the bulk of the human race regularly experience. No, Scarlett was too abnormal, too exceptional, for such a mundane reaction.
Her stance on anger, like any emotion, was as someone watching a fire through a glass window. She knew what made it up, how it came to be, and its general purposes. But she didn't feel it, not really. She could give into it but she didn't truly experience it as others did. It was the difference between having sex and reading about the reproductive process.
It was more like Scarlett could find herself capable of traveling along the rapid river currents of an emotion but she could end the voyage at a moment's notice while others had to wait until the current weakened enough to allow disembarking. Most human beings couldn't just turn off their emotions whenever it took their fancy. But she could. As a result, whenever Scarlett allowed emotions to be felt they were more intense and detached than almost anyone else on the planet, even someone who felt them too much. They were also amoral, conceptually baffling parodies of what most people experienced.
She could feel love without compassion. She could feel anger without passion.
Her anger would have been a softer, deadlier kind of lashing out, like a viper's venom. She remembered well the first time her cold proxy of wrath had been given outlet.
Her little brother had pulled her hair once, so she made his toys come to life and attack him in the night. Every night. For six years. As far as she knew, he was still in therapy.
Oh, how novelties of youth gave way to far more…affecting means of expressing discontent.
Within the time of a few seconds, she had already calculated the general logistics of several means of more devastating reprisal. None that could be traced back to her or result in any fatalities, but all that would make Heather wish she had been given mercy of the grave. That would be a mercy that Scarlett would deny her.
Then, clarity reclaimed its typical place at the top of her mental faculties. Harming Heather would be counterproductive. The former Queen Bee was paying her a generous sum of money for a service that didn't take anything from her aside from time. Besides, it would be beneath Scarlett to harm someone who was so far beneath her, like all the others. Then again, nothing was more deserving of punishment than potential squandered.
But then again, she realized, love made people weak and needy…stupid and exploitable. Depending on how things went, she might be able to squeeze more cash out of Heather. With that cold yet logical thought guiding her, Scarlett broke the silence with a statement. "We'll have to start at ground zero, Heather."
Heather felt an odd impulse, and decided to act on it. "Don't you mean 'level zero,' Scarlett?" She wondered if Hell froze over at her making a Kung Fu Panda joke.
"The precise terminology is pedantic," Scarlett rebuked, keeping it perfectly hidden that she was traveling down the pathway of annoyance at the juvenile reference. "The underlying sentiment is the only relevant consideration. And that sentiment is that we shall be working from the lowest level fathomable by the bounds of deductive development. We need to figure out how you move to a song's rhythm at your baseline. Once we have properly identified and analyzed that using several different categories of harmonic composition, we can progress towards crafting a more specific style centered around the biologically stimulating choreography you wish to be educated on."
"So you want to let me freestyle it and then try to figure out what I need to work on for the dirty dancing I actually give a shit about?" asked Heather, wondering why this girl had to make every single sentence sound like she was deep-throating a dictionary while taking a thesaurus up the ass.
"That is correct."
Heather nodded. And Scarlett uncovered a new facet of her quarry from that gesture. One that made an earlier realization vindicated, proven. Outside of clarification, both now and earlier, the former Queen Bee hadn't complained or argued with her. 'She doesn't question people who she believes are teaching her,' she mused internally, 'believing that any rough edges are merely her struggling to grasp something new but desired. She assumes any fault is with herself…not with the teacher. Interesting.' She mused further, walking down a particular path of thought. 'And despite her discomfort, she has answered all of my questions, even if occasionally indirectly. She assumes that everything done no matter how seemingly irrelevant has a point to it. This may be unintentional, but she gives a lot of power to those she learns from. I must investigate that further later.'
"Perhaps some practical demonstrations before you attempt anything are in order," Scarlett spoke up as she turned on an iPod that was nestled within a little speaker stand. A song began to play, one Heather didn't recognize but had a heavy, repetitive beat to it. "Begin by focusing on my right foot, Heather." She commanded as she began to tap said foot in the same beat as the song. "Start to copy my movements whenever you are ready."
The former Queen Bee devoted about a minute to watching Scarlett's foot before successfully mimicking the motion with her own. Her foot still tapping, the redhead watched Heather's foot to ensure she was copying her correctly. She quickly deduced that she did. Heather's reward for doing so was having the music suddenly changed to another song. After a minuscule delay that would need to be measured in picoseconds, the raven-haired student caught onto the unspoken idea and tapped her foot in sync with the rhythm of the new song. Scarlett allowed this beat to continue for a few minutes before just as swiftly changing the song again. This pattern repeated four more times with four new songs until Heather had been able to adapt to a new rhythm without a moment's delay.
"Commendable advancement, Heather," Scarlett offered, as close as she came to saying 'good job.' "Now that you have surpassed the most rudimentary of exercises, we shall advance to others of the same principle. The most essential skill you must obtain mastery in if you wish to succeed." As she spoke, the song picked up in intensity. Not taking her eyes off Heather, Scarlett swayed and undulated her body in harmony with the vigorous tempo. Her shoulders would shift in precise accompaniment of the faster paced moments while her hips shook and rippled whenever the slower bombast of drums blared loudly. After keeping the combination of body and melody exactly congruous for the entirety of the song, Scarlett turned to Heather and said, "Mimic what you just visually processed."
The former Queen Bee stood there for a moment as she listened to the song playing. She was about to begin when her ears picked up a detail that didn't match what she had assumed. Fighting against her instincts, she chose to inquire about this discrepancy. "How am I supposed to copy you if the song that is playing is different?" she asked. "Doesn't that defeat the purpose of copying you if the conditions aren't the same?"
Scarlett looked at her for a few moments, noting how Heather had noticed a subtle incongruity that had been intentionally placed, just for this moment. "It appears there has been an error in your comprehension, Heather." She noted the brief wince as Heather took the delicate talking-down-to she had just received. Useful for keeping Heather guessing, and confirming that Heather refused to blame her instructor for any misunderstandings. "When I commutated that you should mimic what you had visually processed, I did not mean you copying my actions verbatim. My intention was to have you do an analogous but dissimilar procedure with another musical composition. You are to match the auditory stimuli of the music with appropriate motions and gestures from your body."
"So you want me to copy the rhythm of the music as a I dance?" asked Heather.
"Your level of comprehension suffices," Scarlett said with a nod. "The purpose of this is for you to hone your own skills. Not impersonate mine."
"That's the point," Heather said, "I'm trying to learn how to dance but—"
"The type of biologically stimulating choreography," Scarlett countered, cutting Heather off with surprising ease, "you seek to master isn't the same as ballet. There are no predetermined sequences of events that can be anticipated and prepared for in advance. Though my muscular system spasms involuntarily at acknowledging such romantic drivel, there is some truth to the notion that music has a life of its own and one must adapt to that life if they wish to successfully navigate its potentially tumultuous waters. To truly master what you seek, you must learn to abandon your conscious thoughts and hone the ability to improvise while not completely forsaking your conscious mind." She paused and watched Heather closely. "Perhaps a another, more through demonstration would be beneficial."
After working on her iPod a bit, Scarlett had the same song as before play again. The peaks and valleys of the beat were the same but Scarlett matched those variations in a decidedly different way. This time she made a much more deliberate effort to pivot on her heels, thrust her hips, and run her hands up and down her chest with sensual smoothness. "The fundamental principle is that you learn how to translate rhythm and beat into bodily gesticulations, not being limited to a singular progression of movements." Scarlett explained, more or less repeating her previous words to ensure that her student understood. She might have been only doing this due to the former Queen Bee's money, but she would be damned if a student of hers failed to master her lessons.
As she did so, the Quiet Brainiac made a greater point of observing Heather as she danced. Something analogous to pleasure flared up in her chest at the raven-haired Asian's reaction. Oh, it would have been masterfully concealed to most, the redhead could acknowledge, but Scarlett saw it clear as a cloudless sky. Her more sensual dancing style was having a subconscious effect on Heather. Though it had been literally the first thing she had ever learned of Heather, long before the former Queen Bee and her boyfriend came into Cheery Tappers, the fact that her quarry was bisexual had been the biggest boon to her efforts at manipulating the legendary manipulator. The rush of pheromones had a useful habit of making rational thought more challenging. Or at least, that's what Scarlett knew from her studies. She had never experienced it herself.
Scarlett upped the ante by pushing her dance into even further sensual territory, running her hands down her thighs with svelteness and groping her own ass with delicate coyness.
Faintly in her mind's ear, Heather heard the slamming of rising tide against stable cliff.
Heather's posture started to stiffen by the time the song changed and Scarlett stopped. The redhead pointed at Heather and commanded, "Now you attempt it. Do something rudimentary. The two-step." Heather rose in eyebrow. "This is the irrelevantly named 'ground zero' that you inquired about, Heather. I would require a digging implement to descend to your rostrum of inadequacy." The former Queen Bee's gray eyes flared. Now that she was fired up in more than one way, Scarlett pointed to her feet. "Two-stepping," she repeated before backing up. "Accomplish that." The song changed.
In her mind, Heather Wilson existed perched on a rock surrounded by a roiling sea.
The former Queen Bee bristled at that. Her patience had reached its limit for the moment. Teacher or not, Heather didn't like being ordered around. Scarlett noted that. Unaware of that, eventually under the redhead's cold gaze, Heather attempted to follow the vague instructions. She did a rather poor two-step. Scarlett noted this too, and changed songs. At her instance of trying again, Heather did so, but better this time. She had obtained a slightly better understanding of what her teacher was trying to teach her.
The waves never stopped crashing in, and sometimes she went under, the arousal closing in over her head. Heather would flare up without even a coherent fantasy of what she wanted or from whom. There was just a sense of churning animalistic craving for release and freedom. That was what the waves offered, what their slamming staccato promised.
"One possible way to improve would be to enact the same principle of matching the harmonic composition with a piece of your anatomy aside from your feet," Scarlett said. "It is my estimation that your hips would be the most advantageous selection."
Heather had been standing on a towering spire of rock surrounded by a turbulent sea. Her resolve had been ironclad. But the waves were getting higher and higher, chipping away at her resolve's solid foundation as they scaled its heights to reach her, drown her.
The former Queen Bee did as instructed, attempting to move her hips in rhythm with the music. She was having difficulty with the constant change in pace. It was hard to focus.
Heather had learned how to push back the waves but she could never drain the sea. From time to time, if the proper currents carried the waves up the spire of rock, she would succumb and be swept off no matter how much she wanted to keep the waves at bay. It had been part of the reason why she had obtained a list of sexual conquests by the time many teens were losing their virginity. Improving her skills only lowered the sea level faster.
Scarlett observed with a critical eye that surpassed the carved countenances on Mount Rushmore in terms of how little they actually hinted at whatever thoughts were hidden. Given her attire and the context, Heather felt as if it was the gaze of a disapproving lover. Nevertheless, she continued doing as she was told, with movements even less graceful.
The waves had been getting higher and higher for a while, always there but capable of being ignored if nothing arousing enough entered the controlled sphere of her life.
Part of the reason why Heather had demanded and sought out so much sex was because of a need. Not a want, or even an intense want, but a need. Sometimes sex felt less like a chocolate buffet more like an inhaler amidst an asthma attack. If the sea wasn't frequently drained, she risked drowning. She risked losing the edge that was essential to being her. That defined her life. It was that notion, of being addled for good, which frightened her more than most things. Until she had fallen in love with Cody, nothing had mattered more than keeping constant control. Nothing had ever mattered more than doing things properly.
"Cease your movements," Scarlett called out during the middle of a new song. As confused as she was, Heather felt oddly grateful for that and simply stood there. "There is no need for such ignominy or embarrassment, Heather. The actions you are partaking in, though unflattering to have witnessed by your peers, are vital for your future success."
This latest culmination of fierce tides had been starting ever since the disappointment that had been Saria. But what had been nothing more than a gentle lapping at the toes had steadily risen to the point where it had handicapped her during her initial meeting with Scarlett earlier in the week. Her usual methods of lowering the sensual sea level, lots of sex with Cody or bringing over another girl for a threesome had been complicated lately. The most recent session of skinship with Cody was the only solace she had found; yet even it was limited. Gwen's mere presence, at least in concept, had effectively castrated the couple's sex life. And as a result, Heather feared drowning under the subtle stimulations Scarlett offered.
But Heather would never quit. Not now, not ever. The fault was in her, not in the system!
"It would appear that even more hands-on instruction will be required for you to be satisfactory in your progress," Scarlett said as she began to walk her way around Heather. The raven-haired college student was confused until she felt Scarlett's hands on her hips.
A shiver bolted through Heather as the water at least reached her, rising to her ankles.
"I seek clarification on a most bewildering manner, Heather," Scarlett inquired with a tone that somehow sounded both clinical and dirty all at once as she gripped her student's waist as though in the throngs of passion, "how can it be that someone as consumed by the pursuit of lascivious indulgences such as yourself fails to grasp that the undulations of ones' haunches would be essential to this enterprise?"
Cold murky green surfs began to batter into the spaces behind her knees.
"W—what d—do…do…you mean?" Heather forced out as if pulling teeth.
"Repetition of the activity known colloquially as 'dry humping' isn't all you can do," Scarlett explained as she began to gently move Heather's hips in different ways. "There is an entire assortment of locomotion you are privy to in order to expand your abilities."
Heather's sex became dampened and enraptured by liquids other than her own as the wave line shifted and wavered along her waist.
"I—I use the…the…I use my hips for dancing the same way I use them for sex." The former Queen Bee snapped, hating how meekly pathetic that retort sounded, even to her.
"If such an assertion is sincerely factual," Scarlett responded without missing a beat, "then the lauded eminence you have fashioned on campus as the superlative master of all matters concerning fornication is indicative of a general reduction of genitive aptitude."
For the latest time this lesson, in a headspace rapidly losing much stability, Heather basked at how verbose one could make the claim that sexual standards had dropped.
Heather's navel was terraformed into a landscape of submerged goosebumps.
Scarlett grasped Heather's hips more tightly and after pressing her own against the younger student began swaying her from side to side. The song playing had a far faster beat than the previous few. Heather's hips, manipulated by Scarlett, moved in unison with that rhythm.
Heather's breasts bobbed like buoys in the cold currents, her nipples diamond knives.
As time lost all meaning Heather vaguely noticed how Scarlett was commanding her whole body though her hands remained firmly placed on her hips. She became her puppet. The redhead quockerwodger guided her body to the music with fevered drive. This resumed through the song and the following one. Then, Scarlett's hold lessened. Eventually there was no touch connecting the two. But Heather still effortlessly swayed.
Heather had just about near completely lost herself in the succession of fluid movements. There was nothing to her outside of the sway of the song and the gyrations of her body. She had achieved a kind of slutty nirvana, enlightenment as far from purity as could be. Scarlett noted how Heather yielded very fast results when shown directly rather than instructed verbally.
The currents moved in at the periphery of her vision, the waves beginning to crest. They were right behind her, all around her, waiting for the merest push to send them rushing.
"Close your eyes," Scarlett commanded. Heather obeyed, as much as she feared the murky darkness. "Gyrate your haunches in unison with mine. Match my tempo." A new song played, and Scarlett began to undulate herself into Heather's back with the music. The synchronization was perfect. They were an immaculate fusion of two parts into a singular whole. The former Queen Bee failed to notice. She was consumed by the feeling of Scarlett's breasts against her back, of her breath splashing across her neck and ear.
The waves engulfed Heather. The soaring stone perch was overrun and she lost the stability of its foothold. She was looking through a pinhole at the map on the wall. The sounds of the thundering in her ears made the next words of Scarlett impossible to understand. Everything risked being swept away by the tides of titanic titillation.
It was so hard to always be so tightened up and willful all the time. Nineteen years due to the absurd upbringing amongst society's elites with her monstrous parents should have been enough. It would have been so easy to submit, to let the roiling waves have their way with her. Scarlett wasn't using her. She wouldn't have to do anything; merely stay exactly as she was. Giving nothing. She would enjoy the result. She would lose herself to the sensations too big and sharp and vibrant for image or noise or even concept to accurately define. This was just something that was happening, it wasn't her choice.
There was no harm.
"If it will facilitate deeper immersion into this endeavor," Scarlett's voice called out, somehow audible over the roiling, crashing waves that surrounded her completely, "envisage yourself while engaging in sexual congress with Cody. Link those feelings to this. Associate one with the other. Let that fuel you and guide your gestures of choice. Any option is a viable one. None are incorrect. All are beneficial. There is no harm."
BRRRZZZZTTTTTT! [2]
Before the last word had been processed by Heather's mind trapped in the unrelenting waves, a chill so icy that it could have frozen the sun shot its way through her veins. Her body went ramrod stiff from reasons aside from the arousal. Amidst all the primal chaos, a single piece of clarity rung as loudly as church bells that were ten feet away. Within the waves' rippling and churning, the pinhole grew wider and brighter. The light was blinding, flooding in; almost battling the murky depths for dominance of her mind. She no longer saw the map of the world that heavily favored the Middle East. Distortion and lucidity commingled as a singular image that personified the clarity Heather found.
She saw Cody, mouth open with spittle flinging and ribboning; his face furiously red as he read her the riot act for cheating on him. His eyes were wide with righteous wraith, but far worse as the glint of betrayal that shined within them like teal diamonds to the perceptive Heather. Her talents at reading people showed the depth of how badly she hurt her, how in many ways just slitting his throat would have been far more merciful.
That had been the result of the last time she had given into the waves, when she sacrificed control and surrendered agency at the altar of their 'being no harm.'
Another image then flashed to her mind. One that somehow felt connected to the first. This time she remembered Lindsay, the typically bubbly and friendly blonde yelling at her, calling her ever name under the sun and even flipping her off before storming down the Dock of Shame. Her brilliant blue eyes, normally shining like the cloudless sky filled with a pain she had never before experienced. It was at that moment Heather realized she had just introduced Lindsay to the concepts of deceit and betrayal.
The ice in her veins exploded into molten fire as the inferno traversed her entire body. The frantic tightness of control, and the animation of agency, the refusal to submit to anyone or anything but her conscious mind's unrelenting willpower gave her previously useless limbs life and her addled mind white-hot resolve. She wasn't a sea but a rock.
She didn't get carried away! She carried others away! She was Heather goddamn Wilson!
The water above her evaporated, and the currents nearest her began to weaken. She knew there would be no draining the sea, no turning the raging ocean into a sterile desert, but luckily that wasn't needed.
She merely needed to get a breath.
The iron-emerald currents loosened there embrace just enough to allow her to rise up. Like a rocket, she began barreling towards a skyline that she couldn't see but needed to believe was there. Miles upon miles of nautical depths soon fell beneath her feet. After a distance whose length couldn't be fathomed by minds bound to things like logic, the former Queen Bee saw the ever-shifting surface of the water; saw the warm skyline. Heather pushed her head above the waves, gasping for air. The perch rose ever higher.
The waves fled in terror. The sun shined. The heat of Heather's resolve melted the world.
The student of dirty dancing acted with haste, shoving herself away from Scarlett's embrace. Her body shook and her breathing grew hungrier with each new lungful.
The former Queen Bee didn't see it but that had caused Scarlett to show real surprise, the first and only completely honest expression that would appear on her glacial face today.
Scarlett waited until Heather turned back to face her before attempting to discover what had just happened. She took a stab in the dark. "Forgive me, Heather, but I failed to cogitate that embarrassment could affect you so significantly."
Knowing that was as close as someone like Scarlett would come to an apology and that what had just happened wasn't even intentional, Heather fumed as a lead weight grew in her gut. "I am definitely NOT embarrassed!" she defended.
"The sudden and visible rushing of blood to your cheeks suggests otherwise, Heather." Scarlett prodded. "Not to mention the escalation of oxygen intake."
"Goddamnit!" Heather snapped, wondering how someone so smart could be so dumb. "I'm not embarrassed, okay! I'm just, very horny! Okay?!" She roared, feeling like a pathetic little kid.
"Really?" Was all Scarlett asked.
"For all the big words you like to throw around you sure don't understand people!" Heather snapped again, venting all of the minor irritations this lesson had birthed. "You're a decently attractive girl who I watched dance on a stripper pole before giving me a lap dance buck ass naked! You were standing behind me, breathing on my neck, holding my hips…telling me to think of fucking Cody! This might be hard for a robot like you to understand but all that has an effect! So yes, I am horny! Does that fucking compute!?"
Scarlett stopped dead in her tracts, momentarily amazed at the rarely seen vulnerability in someone who was famed for their iron will. She hadn't seen this development coming. Of course, the redhead knew her actions would have an effect, but she didn't realize they would be this potent. The actions meant to merely keep Heather on-edge and more psychologically pliable for the remainder of the lesson had overwhelmed her.
Had she deemed it worthy of such an action, she might have laughed, or at least pitied the former Queen Bee. Scarlett did neither. After all, she didn't want to discourage Heather from her lessons. She wanted the money. The Brainiac needed to end this contemptible display, but she couldn't be too obvious about it. While Scarlett didn't doubt that she was smarter than Heather, she knew her staggering student wasn't stupid, and that in her current state she would much more cautious. Within a few seconds, Scarlett devised the perfect means of ensuring Heather continued. "Would you like to stop, Heather?" she asked.
The former Queen Bee looked away for a moment, before whispering, "No."
'Knew it,' Scarlett thought, a cocky grin hidden behind lips that refused to curve at all. 'She would rather face embarrassment than yield, than allow her pride to be humbled.' The redhead then decided it was time to change course once again, this time down a path that she knew was false but would get Heather's mind off the negativity that she created, while also confirming her most recent theory. "I must inquire," she began, "did you seek me out for these lessons due to some bestial chemically based allurement to my physiological characteristics or my acumen at biologically stimulating choreography?"
The former Queen Bee stared in mild amazement at how much breath and purple prose could be wasted on what essentially boiled down to, 'Do you think I'm hot?' She was oddly thankful for that though, it helped get her mind off the previous interaction. Before the silence got too wide and heavy, she responded with a frown, "No, it wasn't that. It was simply that you were the only stripper—"
"A more appropriate nomenclature would be exotic dancer," Scarlett cut in.
"—Exotic dancer, then, that I know," Heather continued, only stumbling a moment after being cut off. "So, I'm asking you specifically by default."
'Excellent,' Scarlett mused internally, picking up on a subtle detail present. 'She already sees me as her only option. That was faster than I originally figured it would be. I barely had to do anything to nurture such dependence in such a short space of time. She will never seek out another instructor. Her omnipresent vainglory would never allow it. She would rather struggle and toil then admit that she was wrong about something so trivial.'
Rather than voice that, the Brainiac instead asked, "Why is it that you desire to obtain mastery over such a specific form of artistic expression in the first place, Heather?" She already knew the answer, but she wanted Heather to say it, to make her feel like the genius redhead hadn't been able to figure it out. And make Heather believe she wasn't being played like a fiddle. Scarlett was good at manipulation, but not carelessly so.
Heather was quiet for a moment. "Does that matter?" she eventually asked.
Scarlett shrugged, her first instance of gesturing this entire exchange. "It might, it might not," she said, with a flawless proxy of nonchalance. "That depends on the reason. If this is merely some juvenile act of spite against your progenitors, then you don't need the lessons. Just come work for the club. You would be employed instantaneously."
Heather snorted, once again caught off guard by Scarlett, but this time in a good way. "That isn't the reason, I can assure you. I don't give a damn about my folks either way."
The Quiet Brainiac lived up to the first half of her label by acting as if she was pondering the other possible reasons why someone like Heather might seek lessons like these. Feeling the tiniest bit silly, or at least her fascicle of silliness, Scarlett allowed her eyes to widen and her mouth to hang open by the smallest of degrees. A good look of real shock. "You weren't disingenuous with your earlier proclamations. This is purely for Cody."
Heather grinned, quite enjoying seeing the annoyingly unflappable redhead be caught off guard. A slight nod from her was all the confirmation she would allow her teacher.
"But I am still confused about something," Scarlett continued, preparing to ask a real question, or rather at least one she didn't absolutely already know the answer to. "Don't your triptych exploits with other females with him offer all the positive reinforcement you could require? Not many females would be willing to engage in such behavior."
Heather shook her head, yet again pleased, this time to briefly enter the role of mentor. "Sex isn't anything special. Doesn't take much real skill, and it isn't a good enough gesture."
"I would assume that masterfully exercised copulation requires comparable expertise," Scarlett said, wanting to gauge how Heather would react.
Heather nodded, slightly impressed the aloof Scarlett was somehow able to grasp that much. "Yup. And that's why I'm doing this. This takes skill, Scarlett. Time and practice. Actual effort. As much as Cody loves it when we just go at it like a pair of rabbits—just like I do—the little extra things I do always add to it, make it better." Despite herself, Heather's voice got softer as she continued. "It makes us—us, I don't know. Closer, I guess? More complete, maybe? Either way, it makes my life better."
"I did not agree to this arrangement in order to be suffocated in the trite histrionics of poorly crafted literature of adolescent dramaturgy," Scarlet chided with minor distaste. She had allowed the former Queen Bee too much of a platform to exhort minor control. It was time to stop that.
Despite, or perhaps because, of such a dry rebuking of something so personal and emotional, Heather laughed. It was somewhat played up to ease any lingering tension, but not by much. The contrast was quite effective for her more refined conversational palate. Spurred to win the unspoken game of one-upmanship, the former Queen Bee commented, "Tackling Cody completely naked leads to twenty very sweaty yet pleasant minutes of sexual congress. But surprising him in my old one size too small high school cheerleader outfit leads to at least an hour-long marathon of sex with multiple orgasms. Between the two choices, which would you prefer, Scarlett?"
The Quiet Brainaic was silent for a few moments. "I concede your point, Heather."
The lesson proceeded afterwards without issue. Though she reminded as dutiful as always, Scarlett gleaned very little else of value from her interacting with the former Queen Bee. The only slightly noteworthy thing came right around the time the lesson was officially over, when Heather got a text message. Her reaction to it was rather interesting. Heat had rushed to her face and her breath, which had regained some degree of normalcy from the panting of exuded effort, had once again shown signs of being worked up. When she inquired as to what occurred, Heather's answer had been short and sparse on detail.
"A friend of mine is going to visit soon and she wants some help with something."
Not showing it, Scarlett knew exactly who Heather had received a text from, the only person who Heather called a friend who didn't live on or within convenient traveling distance of the campus. Lindsay Mills. And judging by Heather's reaction, brief but vivid flaring up of lust, which Scarlett connected to her recollections of their erotic escapades from their time on Total Drama, the Quiet Brainiac surmised that whatever that "help" entailed was of a sexual nature. She had considered looking into that further before shooting the idea down. Since she already knew of Heather's bisexuality and history with Lindsay, it was quite doubtful that anything new of merit could be uncovered.
Giving that no more thought, the redhead focused on the other things she had learned during the course of this lesson, or rather the things she had confirmed during the lesson.
Behind the impenetrable façade of her indifferent face, Scarlett reacted quite well to this information. She had long since figured out that Heather would be a lucrative means of income, but she had done something very rare for her, if only be the smallest of margins. Miscalculated. She realized in this moment that even after Heather obtained the knowledge and skill she desired so cravenly; the Queen Bee might be a repeat costumer.
She briefly saw nothing but dollar signs.
Possibly, Scarlett could milk this cow for all she was worth. Besides, she thought apathetically, if she tried to back out of this arrangement before she deemed it appropriate, there were effective means of convincing her, or disposing of the evidence.
But then, amid her logical thoughts bordering on robotic, a twinge of something odder, more human, entered her mind. Maybe she could see how good Cody really was for herself?
'An hour…nonstop? Interesting.'
(SCENE BREAK)
And that was the latest chapter! As always, I hope you enjoyed it!
Now, we've got a lot to discuss so let's get started! And let's go through the characters in the order they were featured, meaning we will be starting with Gwen.
Some people expressed hope that Gwen hearing Noah and Izzy's opinions of both herself and Heather would knock some sense back into her. Believe me, I wish that was all it would take! Lol. Sadly, her years with Duncan can't be so easily undone by a eavesdropped conversation. So we have the Goth rejecting the words of outside parties, and she's purposefully avoiding both Heather and Cody while staying in their dorm, thus meaning she can't start growing that way. And that means…!
Well...shit...I guess Gwen is doomed! lol. If only I had the power to introduce a wild card that would slowly start to get Gwen on the path to reevaluating her life choices! But that's impossible. ;) lol. In all seriousness, said wild card is the person who was also in Cody and Heather's dorm. Please tell if you have any guesses as to how this mystery person is or why they might be in Cody and Heather's dorm, okay?
Now, before moving onto Heather, let me just say one thing real quick. Scarlett was really fun to write! I had a blast making her as verbose as possible! Lol. Part of that was how she was able to play Heather like a fiddle with her games within games.
But let's focus back on Heather. More so than any pervious chapter, we see just how psychological broken and vulnerable she is despite the strong front she puts up. This is the first time all story we have seen Heather in a vulnerable state. She's had moments of weakness but those were always amongst those she could trust. And as I'm sure you've figured out, Scarlett is most definitely not one of those. Please share your thoughts on the coverage given to Heather's past, worldview, and psychology.
Now the, onto some of those "important details" hinted at in the opening author's notes. To begin with, in the closing author's notes of the previous chapter, it was said there was a minor hint to something up with Heather that was foreshadowed in both that last chapter but also WAY back in chapter 9. The foreshadowing was how it was hinted at that Cody only ever used condoms on the girls brought over for threesomes. So why wouldn't he need to use condoms for Heather? Well, during Scarlett's musings about what she found out about Heather, we learned that Heather has a medical condition that she got from her mother.
Antiphospholipid Syndrome. For those of you who don't know, this condition causes many, MANY pregnancy related issues that almost make it impossible for someone with it to get through early stages of pregnancy, let alone have children. So it's almost impossible for Heather to have children. It's genetic and disproportionally affects people of African, Asian, Latino and Native American ancestry. Other factors in having this condition include high blood pressure, hypertension, extreme headaches, migraines, Oscillopsia, and psychosis. But don't worry; Heather has a mild version so she won't get the worst of those other things. Fun fact, only 29% of recorded cases suffer from the worst effects. Yeah, we researched this thoroughly. Lol
Moving on, the whole sequence of us entering Heather's headspace while trying to resist Scarlett's efforts was a last minute addition. The bits that are both italicized AND underlined are occurring within Heather's mind, duh. Lol. The reason why there is no scene breaks between those bits and the rest to show how this is all happening in the same moment. The scenes don't break because Heather isn't getting any break. As that scene hopefully conveys, Heather's got issues. But if you noticed, at least to some degree, the way she saved herself was giving into the kind elitist, repressive stuff her parents bred into her. It's not as simple as her embracing or rejecting her upbringing or values out of hand. As the story arc involving Heather will explore, her issues are way too complicated for such easy solutions.
Anyway, further more, that whole sequence with the sea and cliff in Heather's mind was based heavily off a motif featured in the book "A Stitch in Crime," the fourth book in the City of Devils series by Justin Robinson. I'm sure you haven't heard of this series but you MUST read it! This series is criminally ignored by the world at large! The books in the series are City of Devils, Fifty Feet of Trouble, Wolfman Confidential, and A Stitch in Crime. As I already said, PLEASE CHECK THESE BOOKS OUT! Please indulge me as I try to sell you on checking these books out.
World War II was only the beginning. Soon it would become known as the Day War. Right after the wars in Europe and Asia were over, there was a new conflict, the Night War. A new enemy emerged to battle with worn-out humanity. Monsters! That's right…literal monsters! Vampires, werewolves, wolf-men, giants, mummies, crawling eyes, witches, mad scientists, meat golems, and just about any other classic monster you can think of came out the woodwork and conquered the world! Monsters now rule everywhere, including America, including Los Angeles, California. Humans are a downtrodden minority who have to deal with prejudice and the very real possibility of being "turned" into any number of horrible monsters against their will. For at least the first three books, our main character is Nick Moss, the only human private eye left in this 1950s LA, a veteran of both the Wars. He makes ends-meat by trying to rescue humans who have been kidnapped by monsters before they are turned in a world that's turned its back on them.
Okay, sells pitch over! I just have a few final things to say before wrapping this up.
[1] Just to avoid any confusion for those who picked up on this, Gwen isn't being entirely honest here, even though she doesn't realize it. The Goth is ignoring how she stole Duncan from Courtney and how she tried to get the C.I.T. eliminated in TDWT, by working with Heather no less. Lol. This omission was done on purpose. For the purpose of showing that Gwen is not remembering everything objectively.
[2] This is actually Lindsay's cell-phone ringing. That means, yes, Lindsay did message Heather twice. For obvious reasons she didn't notice or answer the first one. Lol. This might seem like a random inclusion but be assured, there is a future story element that's being foreshadowed by this.
And that's all I got for this chapter. The next chapter will start one of the two upcoming story arcs. The wait for it won't be any longer than the wait for this chapter was. Hopefully it will be shorter. As I said, its already written up and just needs to be edited and then reads through a final time.
Until next time, as always, please: read, review, alert, favor, and spread the word!