Everyone changes with time. A day, a week, a month, a year... they all count. So how much can a group of rag tag 4th graders from P.S. 118 change with junior high, high school, and a whole bunch of history between those seven years? A whole lot.
Years Later
Hell, that Place on Earth
PART II
Helga could not be sure how she made it to the court four hours and some odd amount of minutes after her encounter with Arnold H. Linshaw or exactly how she managed to look presentable, but she did manage both tasks quite well.
Okay, at least well enough.
She was nestled in a seat next to Arty, who looked pristine as ever with her golden hair pulled back into an impeccably neat bun, a pair of sliver rimmed glasses perched on top her nose, while wearing an expensive navy blue suit that was obviously custom made. Meanwhile, Helga's hair looked like it had been combed through by a very sharp rake, but that is beside the point.
Helga observed the judge in his chair with the wrinkles folding his face, his white pompadour in place, and the insistent frown he continued to wear, even though it made his wrinkle lines even more evident. He looked aggravated and for a brief moment, a very, very brief moment, Helga wondered was finally ready to send her up— or was it down— the proverbial river, but then she remembered that he always looked that way. Annoyed with the madhouse the world had become and ready to shoot anyone who disagreed with him.
She wondered for a moment, a very brief moment,if Patton was really going to send her to jail.
She saw the stenographer with her owl glassed eyesfocused on the other few people in the room and her hands steadily typing away all of her observations. She even saw Bob Pataki and Lexie Jones had put themselves together for the wonderful spectacular show. Lexie was even so bold as to not put any make-up on the bruises and cuts that she acquired from Helga on December 23rd. Looking at Lexie Helga began to understand the depth of Picasso and his work, just like Picasso Helga felt thather artwork looked wonderful, but to an outsider both of their works looked deranged and semi horrific.
Helga's only life lines in the room were Arty and Bliss, everyone else probably wanted Helga to rot in a juvenile correctional center until she was eighteen so that she could be shippedoff to jail, where she would rot for the rest of her natural life.
As far as she heard, her sister had not takena side in the case, probably because it would be a loteasier for her to pick a side as soon as she knew who the winner was. But Helga didn't care either way, Olga was Olga and there was nothing that Helga, or as a matter of fact anyoneelse in the world,could actually do about it. Unless she decided to fight Olga, but Helga knew better than that, she really did not want to live out the rest of her natural life in jail. Thought just was not appealing.
The 'court' hearing was a private session with only the judge, the lawyers, the prosecutor, the defendant, the stenographer, a police officer, and experts discussing material dealing with the case— like Bliss.
Bliss already delivered her testimony, clearly saying before all in the room that Helga's unstable behavior resulted from the child neglect she had experienced under her father's care, suggesting that Helga needed some therapy in the outside world rather than confinement in juvenile. When the prosecuting lawyer cross examined Bliss, he pointed out the fact that Bliss' testimony was the very same testimony she gave back when Helga was in junior high school, and that her behavior hadn't changed much, even with therapy.
That pissed Helga off.
After Bliss stepped down from the stand the police officer her was the first to respond to the 9-1-1 callthat Mrs. Peterson made those many weeks ago. After his testimony another person took the stand, once that person stepped down another person went on. The trend continued on for hoursupon hours asHelga absentmindly stared at theplain cream and black clock's hands hand that almostseemed to be inchingbackwards rather than forward.
Then there was a break.
Hours and hours followed.
Helga sat silently with her hands in her lap. Arty told her it was better that she didn't give a testimony.
Helga, at least in her mind, agreed. On the outside she showed no sign of change, no emotion, no thought, she looked like she was devoid of any human process. Almost mannequin-esque. Which was exactly why she did not want to give a testimony, she could not react properly with the outside world, even though her life actually depended on it. She knew she would freeze in the middle of her testimony , she also knew that Arty knew it, which was why it was generally understood that Helga was to say nothing at all throughout the trial.
Hours and hours passed and then thedecision was there, on both the charge brought against Helga for arson and Helga's request for emancipation from her father. And Helga was fortunate.
Patton did not through in a juvenile correctional center, instead he put he ordered for therapy, a massive amount of volunteer hours— in order to give back to society—, assigned her a correctional officer that she had to check in with every week, and a hefty fine, which Helga would have to pay with the money she just gained from The Gambling Night. But the most important ruling was on the matter of Helga's freedom… and Helga was free, she was finally free.
Helga could feel the familiar pricks behind her eyes, they were assuring that she was human, and on that very day, Helga Pataki, after weeks of desert likedryness, finally cried one again, letting the tears find their own paths down her cheek and onto the wooden floor.
(Y/L)
Helga, even in her dazed bubble world, could feel Arty lead her out of the room, through the courthouse, to the main vestibule, and then she felt Arty stop walking, so in turn, she stopped walking.
"So Helga," She began giving the younger blonde an appraising look. "What are you planning you do with your new found freedom?"
Helga shrugged. "I'm— I'm not sure."
Arty shook her head in disapproval and a frown placed itself onto her lips, which ironically did not take away from her beauty, but instead actually highlighted it. At times like these Helga disliked Arty immensely. "Well as long as you don't find yourself in anymore trouble both Joi and I will be very happy people. Just remember next time, and hopefully there won't be a next time, it will be your last and final strike, and I don't believe Patton will be so nice and forgiving anymore."
Helga nodded her head. "I'll try and remember that."
"Good." Arty dipped her hand into her purse, retrieving a non-descript white business card before holding out said card to Helga. Helga, being Helga of course, looked at said card in puzzlement. Arty saw this puzzlement and smirked, she never smiled. "This is my business card, obviously, considering it does have my name on it and all, but on the back are my personal cell phone number and my house number just in case you need anything… anything that does not involve you needing a lawyer to get you out of legal trouble, of course."
Once Arty realized that Helga was going to continue to stare at the card shetook the initiative to slip the slim piece of paper into the pocket of the dark sweatshirt that rested in the crook of Helga's arms. With a pat on the back and a 'goodbye,' Arty turned around and left the courthouse.
Helga watched as the older and taller blonde smoothly strolled down the steps in her three inch Jimmy Choo heels and disappeared into a sleek silver Rolls-Royce, which had its own personal driver, of course. Moments later the sleek silver Rolls-Royce drove off and disappeared around a corner, heading in the vague direction of Upper Hillwood.
Helga knew she stood in the vestibule for at least a half an hour before she actually stepped onto the front steps of the courthouse, but sure enough as soon as walked a few millimeters away from the courthouse steps, she spotted Sid and Phoebe sitting on top of Irina Heyerdahl's red Ferrari, both bundled up in their winter clothes, both waiting patiently for Helga to come to them even though they both knew she saw them, and they saw her.
Helga did not keep them waiting for long.
She walked over to her friends.
(Y/L)
Helga found herself back at The Hotel Flamingo, not because she needed to be there but because she wanted to be there.
Both Sid and Phoebe had made copious amount of offers, offering Helga a roomin their homes, Sid even offered to personally kick his older brother out of the guest room if Helga said yes.
But Helga was Helga G. Pataki, and said 'no'. Helga really did not want to burden her friends any more than she already had. So instead she continued on staying at a seedy hotel in the middle of ahighly dangerous and very seedy area.
Sometimes Helga was not the smartest crayon in the box, which was an oxymoron because crayon's can not think, and perhapsthat was probably why Helga was not the smartest crayon in the box. Helgadid not think, and at times, she was even dumber than crayons.
It wasn't until two days after her emancipation did Helga's living area became a problem.
Principal McNielson, being the kind and generous man that he was, decided to point out that technically, even though the Hotel Flamingo was in Hillwood, the school district area fell into E.V. Wayside High School territory.
In other words, Helga either stayed in the Hotel Flamingo and got transferred to E.V. Wayside High School, or she had to find another living area in order to stay in Crinshaw High School.
Helga found herself in trouble, again. She did not tell Sid or Phoebe about her dilemma because they would once again push for her to stay at their homes, and Helga really did not want to burden them.
And then there was Helga's other dilemma. Her meeting with her correctional officer was in two days and she had given no thought as to where she wanted volunteer. Having no place to volunteer was a majorproblem because if she did not have a place to volunteer or a sufficient enough place to volunteer according to Judge Patton, her correctional officer would choose a place for her, and it probably would not be a place filled with marshmallows and sugar plum fairies.
In other words, Helga was screwed.
So Helga did the only thing she knew how to do in a situation like this.
She roamed the streets of Hillwood.
It was a dark night out. The stars were being covered by the clouds in the sky and it was the first day of a new moon, but Helga did not mind. At least now the street lights could keep her company as she walked aimlessly around, what seemed to be at night, a ghost town. Although Helga did see that Patty's was still open, after all it was open twenty-four hours a day, every day of the week with the exception of the holiday schedule.
Helga had quit weeks ago, but Patty understood, just like Mr. Simmons understood when she temporarily stepped down as the Chief Editor of Sparta. Although, Helga had realized that technically no one had temporarily taken up the position of Chief Editor. When she first started talking to him she had wanted to resign, but somehow Mr. Simmons managed to convince, or rather made her feel guilty enough, that she only put her position on hold, letting the Junior Editors run the paper while she took her leave.
As her mind wandered, Helga's feet went on the same pursuit, wandering, and to Helga's surprise, once her mind paused midway through its thought journey, she found herself once again standing at the gates of P.S. 118. Helga almost smiled when she heard the creaking of all of the old metal that needed oiling.
Almost.
Slowly Helga made her way through the playground making sure she visited every piece of equipment, even only for a brief moment. From the monkey bars, to the jungle gym, to metal dome, to Ol' Rusty, to the hopscotch area, and then finally to the swings, where she sat on a seat that was slightly to snug for her hips.
Mindlessly Helga pumped her feet in the air bring the swing into motion, slowly arching forward into the air, before being brought back to the earth to be brought backwards into another, then falling back to the earth.
Helga closed her eyes and relaxed.
It was calming cycle where anyone and everyone could predict the future.
Arch.
Earth.
Arch.
Earth.
Over and over again.
No outside variables.
Just arch, earth, arch, earth, nothing more nothing less. No outside variables, unlike her life, which was probably why she found it comforting.
This was exactly why only after five minutes of her calm cycle, Helga found Stella A. Linshaw sitting in the swing to the right of her.
Helga stopped pumping her legs.
Stella, unlike Helga,was petite so fitted perfectly into the swing seat.
Stella sent Helga a soft smile, "Hello."
Helga tried to smile, but it came out awkward and crooked, it looked demented. After a while, Helga gave up. "Hi."
Stella started to pump her own legs, with the exception of the creaking of oil deprived metal links of Stella's swing, the puffs of Helga's and Stella's breath, and the whoosh of the winter winds, the P.S. 118 playground was silent.
Simply silent.
(Y/L)
Sorry, but I still don't own Hey Arnold! I do own YL. But I do own the idea and concepts of YL, oh, and anything you recognize and think is not mine, is probably more often than not, not mine. Thank you Drucilla Black, Ahhelga, Demile, Laurel, Waterbaby426, Shadow Goddess Akhet, Sheshe17, LaurelA23, Grylfrend, Viper0z1, Le Diable Blanc, and Bea for the encouraging reviews that helped me actually write and finish this chapter. Thank you to everyone that waited as patiently as they could. And did I say weeks, I meant months. Lots of stuff has been happening. But now I'm back, and I've been accepted into a college. WOOT! I've missed y'all a whole bunches and if I were you I would read over the first twenty-one chapters, I've changed a few things around and added a few things that you might want to read up on, although the changes are more so found in the beginning chapters. As I got to the later chapters I got lazy so I'll probably do another re-haul in a few weeks. See you guys soon and sorry for the wait.
Next Chapter: Hell, that Place on Earth III
The review button demands that you click it...as do I...So click I say, CLICK!
S.L. Cipher– The Queen of Eville (No this not a spelling mistake but a higher echelon of evil, look it up in The New Cipher Dictionary of Cipherous Lexiconography) who will gladly accept all criticisms, advice, reviews, praises, and flames with a large Cheshire Cat Smile. Why the Cheshire Cat Smile? Why, because Cheshire Cat Smiles will always piss people off and Cipher loves pissing people off because it is exceptional fun... Especially when they try and attack you. Which is exactly why when one wields the Cheshire Cat Smile it is important that they must also wield a mace and a sword.
('·.¸('·.¸··¸.·'´)¸.·'´)
«·´¨·The Cipher ·´¨·»
(¸.·'´(¸.·'´ ¨ '·.¸)'·.¸.)