Warning: Health Hazard
Chapter Six
Kairi was dancing, but she was doing so with a thick air of unease surrounding her. Occasionally her feet would go where they weren't wanted, and her arms would flail about a little too wildly to passed off as coordinated movement.
Her stumblings and bumblings across the teen-covered dance-floor seemed to be some kind of omen. A bit like the piercing rays from a lighthouse carving it's way through the fog – a warning of danger ahead.
Maybe this sudden burst of klutziness courtesy our ever lovely Miss Kairi was a symbol? After all, it was not like Lady Lovelylocks to blunder about to Pink with all the grace and sophistication of a four year old 'raving' (A.K.A. jumping up and down like a kite) to Barbie Girl.
She was worried, too, and that affected her balance even further.
And (here was the really weird part) she was worried about Sora.
She barely knew the kid – he'd just been an alibi she'd used to get away from Olette's questioning gaze and comments about Riku. An excuse to hide away and have a good time, because this was her party and she wanted to enjoy herself, damnit.
It was hard when she was pondering over the welfare of a collapsed boy in a semi-demi coma – barely even friends, just like that song in Beauty and the Beast. And Sora did bend – his neck and back and legs, collapsing into a limp heap on the ground.
Sure, there were kids throwing up outside due to raiding her parent's drinks cupboard, but she felt no sympathy for them.
It was their own bloody fault for being so stupid in the first place – they deserved to rot out their insides with bile and heave their guts out onto the lawn.
But Sora – he hadn't gone up 'there', knocked on God's gates and asked for two left feet. He just couldn't dance – clean and simple, simple and clean. It wasn't his fault Rinoa had big feet, nor was it his fault he'd been unfortunate enough to stumble over them.
And now here he was – locked up in Naminé's room, dead to the world amongst her motley collection of teddies hung to the ceiling fan by their necks, posters of weird goth/mosher like bands and studded necklaces.
And who knew what Naminé would be doing to him?
That, more than anything, was the main reason Kairi's sense of rhythm and poise were completely out-of synch during that one track.
Unbeknownst to Kairi, it wasn't rabid twin sisters sporting black make-up and crazy clothes she should be worried about.
No no, quite the opposite – opposite gender, opposite goal in life, opposite everything, really. Riku from head to toe, no Naminé thrown into the mixture there. Apart from the stalker-ish thoughts on said blonde goth that drove him to forcing the stubborn window open and slipping into her humble abode.
Naminé's main goal in life might have been to get a banana milkshake, but Riku's main goal in life was to beat up whoever dared enter her room (he'd clobber himself last for being such a sneaky ex-boyfriend, to be sure) and then toss their limp, lifeless carcass out of the window.
By God, how Riku adored that girl – in a total walk-around-the-world-for-you-my-love kind of way. Obsessive kind of way. Scary stalker sort of way.
So when the girl had dumped him last night over a matter of a memory lapse and a missed date (the sixth in a row, I might add) it had not sat too well with our silver-haired protagonist.
It wasn't that he'd tried to stand her up, leaving her in front of the cinema in the rain for two hours. He'd simply forgotten, being the typical bag of male hormones that he was.
Because, when it all comes down to it, Riku was a guy, stupid and forgetful as all guys go. Naminé was a girl, loyal and loving as they get. He was a boy. She was girl. Can I make it anymore obvious?
Naminé was a girl who was sick of being stood outside the designated dating spot for several hours straight. Eventually she'd trek home, all loveless and forlorn with smudged mascara running down her cheeks, and Kairi would make her a cup of hot chocolate and they'd sit and talk about how useless guys were – the only times they actually got on, in a sort of sister/sister-like relationship.
Riku had swung over by the local florist's straight after school, purchased a bunch of roses half-price (due to the fact they were wilting a bit, and Aerith had pretty much condemned them to the trashcan) and had marched up to his lady love's house, all set with the joys of spring and 101 apologies prepared in this head.
And then Kairi had slammed the door in his face.
She was sicksicksick of comforting her sister over and over, and hated the silver-boy with a passion. For, while it may not have seemed like it to the untrained eye, Kairi did love her sister. And it hurt, watching your own flesh and blood trail back home from a disastrous date with tears in her eyes, demanding to know what she'd done wrong.
Kairi hadn't been about to let him into the house in a hurry.
So here Riku was, in Naminé's room, feeling hurt and hormonal and just a tad pissed off. Mainly because another guy was in his ex-girlfriend's room – a girlfriend he'd had ever since eighth grade.
He kicked the sleeping figure roughly in the side, hoping to prompt a response.
"Wake up you bastard, and get the fuck outta my girlfriend's ro-"
Riku was promptly cut off, courtesy a butter yellow shoe stuck in his middle.
Sora hadn't been asleep at all – he'd recovered shortly after he'd been deposited in Naminé's room, and had witnessed the girl jump out of her window in her quest for junk food with partially closed eyes and feigned heavy breathing. He'd only taken a simple knock to the head – hard enough to render him unconscious for a few minutes, but not so that he'd be snoozling on the floor for hours.
"Oh! You're dead, you little asshole!" screamed Riku once the initial shock of having an over-large shoe plough into his middle had subsided.
Because, even though this tiny 'kid' – and he was tiny, a good four inches smaller than Riku – had large shoes, the taller had a large bouquet of roses in his advantage.
He was gonna be cut into ribbons before the night was out.
Naminé hummed, hands wedged deeply into her pockets, as she waited for the hapless guy a the guy at the counter (a newbie to the world of supermarkets – you could tell from the stupefied look on his face, the acne across his nose and the name-tag that read 'Hi! My name is Simon!' stuck to his shirt. All the other employers of the corner shop had enough sense to remove their unbelievably stupid name-tags, in attempts to save the last few shreds of their dignity.)
"So that's… Er… Thirty-nine eighty-six?" asked 'Simon', staring down at his till as if it were a Russian time-bomb he had to detonate in the space of six seconds.
"Strangely enough, I don't think a milkshake and a pack of gum equals forty dollars," Naminé commented in a dry voice, rocking back and forth on the heels of her shoes.
The girl wasn't too hot on Maths – truth be told, when the teacher was droning on about hypotenuses and what you the girl could be found at the back of the class with the rest of the bottom set, head on book, snoring – but even she had to pity this guy and his lack of education.
C'mon – three dolls plus one-twenty wasn't exactly rocket science, was it?
Simon stared at her cool-as-a-cucumber face, as if begging her to stab him through the chest right then and there.
Naminé ignored his silent, telekinetic pleas, and stared up at the ceiling – this was going to take a while.
Who cared? She had time to kill.
It wasn't like little unconscious boy was going to get into any fights or anything.
That was something she could count on.
a.n: so now you know why kairi hates riku, and vice versa. ah, so many mysteries being explained. next few chaptoids will clear up other issues. yayness :3
Xx skitts xX