WAZZZZUP! It's CC333 back with a whole new chappie, ya'll. Do ya dig? Okay but for real, hey guys. I really hope you all enjoyed the introduction chappie. The feedback was wonderful. Imma start responding to reviews up here, by the way.
Jislane: Thanks for the enthusiastic review! I grinned the entire time reading it.
LANIKI: Well, you can put an end to your searching for here it is! Also thank you for the compliment on Sheldon's voice.
swiftmovesyeah: Thank you :D Yup, don't you just love it? :3
And to all of you that were slightly pondering reviewing but didn't and are now kicking yourselves in the behind, do not despair! Just respond to this the chappie right here this time around. ;)
Well, time for that little legal thingy I'm obligated to say.
The first half of this chappie introduces my OC. Please note that everything before the line break is Sophie's Point Of View.
Disclaimer: *in show tune voice* I do not own Big Bang Theory! *no applause….crickets* *sigh* I knew I should've stayed with the simpler acts. :(
The Lovely Hypothesis
By: CC333
Chapter Two
Sophia's PointOfView
It is the sound of shattering glass that yanks me out of the made-up world of the science fiction selection I cradle in my hands.
My head jerks up from the book and turns towards the sound on instinct. Without looking, I mark my place in the blue hard-back book before closing it softly and picking myself off the yellowing vinyl floor of the kitchen. Walking towards the exit of the dank area, my mind notes the places where it is pealing up from the ground, making it look all the more hideous.
No longer after I am out of the kitchen and into the living room area, another crash is heard. It is unmistakable now that the sounds are being emitted from the bathroom on the right side of the extremely short hallway. I feel my fingers tense as they clutch the book tighter into my grasp and will my legs to advance on. As much as I don't want to face the menace that awaits me there, there is the chance that he could be injured or dead. It is, in a way, my duty to check up on the situation.
Peeking around the corner of the doorframe that leads inside the small bathroom, my eyes sweep the room quickly before I opt to stand fully in the doorway. A wrong decision. Something brown flies by my head, its proximity close enough for me to feel the small breeze left in its wake. It crashes loudly against the wall a meter behind me and it doesn't require me to glance back at it to know that it was a broken beer bottle. There are plenty of them sprawled across the floor in front of me, along with the lax body of a adult man, his eyes closes and his breathing uneven. There's a half-empty bottle of Budweiser in his own large hands.
Crossing my arms in front of my small chest, I give him the best glare I can muster. He looks absolutely pitiful, all crumpled and barely conscious down there. This isn't the first time I've seen him like this, however. Despair here was always a bit different, but this was nothing new. The untrimmed hair on his face is a mess, along with frenzy of black hair lying atop his head. His mouth is set ajar as his blank stare slowly tries to focus on me again. Then his gaze moves back to the alcohol in his own grasps. No, he's not dead or injured. Inebriated, yes. Dead, no.
As much as I try to ignore it, a pang of evil slices through me as I secretly resent this fact.
Shaking my head slightly, I inch a small bit closer to Michael. An odd mumbling noise rises in response. Barely incoherent, he attempts to speak.
"Geh away frum meh"
"Michael," I address my drunk step-dad, " you've consumed more alcoholic drinks than recommended. Please discontinue this behavior."
"Don tell whah the hell to do! Em a grown man!" With this outburst, his uncoordinated hand knocks over the beer and they both watch it in silence as it pours out the glass and onto the floor.
I am the first to break the streaming quietness.
"Michael, I-"
An overwhelming forces me back into the wall behind me. His meaty hand is around my neck and I soon find myself stuck. It's fortunate that I have thick, curly hair, which helps soften the collision and prevents him from causing me a concussion. How could he have gotten off the floor at such a speed? The question is lost within the confines of my brain as my oxygen supply depletes. My hands automatically fly up to claw at his one hand as his other one braces him up from the wall behind me. My logical mind comments meekly that struggling would be ineffective and would only make matters work.
After a deep, albeit raspy, breath, my body goes limp. His beady black eyes narrow when he notices the slack and gives a satisfied grunt before throwing me to the ground. Arms flail to try and catch myself and I hear a strangled squeak that could have only been emitted from my own throat. I land awkwardly on one of my elbows. The searing pain shoots up from my mid-arm, causing the whole limb to tingle. My ears pick up two more things; the air being sucked in through my clenched teeth and the infuriatingly dark chuckles of the man standing above me.
Something snaps within me.
A tribal cry rips through my throat as a leg that can't possibly be mine swings and knocks Michael down, his heavy body landing with an "oof". My rage doesn't stop there. On shaky legs, I scramble back and set myself upright before kicking him in the side, raising another grunt from him. Then I run.
The short hallway gives way to the kitchen once again. Everything seems to be swirling, the room won't stay still. Behind me, my antagonist's evident footsteps are fast approaching. His cursing fills my ears, only powering me to rebel further. It takes me but half a second to locate a viable weapon. Thin hands that can't possibly be mine wrap around the hand of the old frying pan that sports burn marks on the bottom. His footsteps are close, he is here.
With closed eyes and another gut-wrenching scream, the hands bring up the pan and it is swung as hard as possible towards the footsteps.
And all at once… everything falls silent, except for the decrescendo bbbrriinnggg of the pan. It is only after I hear the thump of a body hitting old vinyl flooring do I dare peek at the results.
On the floor, he looks out for the count. The pan slips from my loose grasp and clatters loudly on the group. There is the slightest trickle of blood sliding down from the side of his head. I drop down to my knees to knees to access the damage. His chest is still rising and falling and this time the pattern regulates. No, not dead.
My body straightens out once again and I find myself staring at the pan now lying still upon the floor. What now?
Mother angrily drops the aquamarine blue pot full of potatoes and water onto the stove before shoving a large, dark pan into the sink with an indignant huff. I watch her curiously from the wooden dining table that sits in the center of the room. All of her huffing and puffing has made completing my notes on proton accelerators impossible. I could just go into my room…but I always do my free-lance work within the kitchen, on the second chair closest to the archway. It is the only place within the house with acceptable conditions for doing just so. Well, on most occasions it is, but now the peaceful and calm aura is being disrupted. My eyes clip my mother while she angrily scrubs the pan in the sink, applying much more pressure than needed.
Before I can open my mouth to ask where this aggravation is originating from, my twin-sister (who is drawing menial doodles on a piece of scrap paper) glares at me. Now, I'm still working on this whole "body language" basis of communication, but I actually get this one. With a raised eyebrow, I send Missy what I hope to be a successful look of questioning. She responds with a eye roll before motioning for me to follow her out the room. Throwing my head back the neat stacks of work papers on the table then at the angry female who has moved on to whisk some concoction up in a glass bowl rather rapid speed, doubts fill my mind, but I consent. She slides out of her own kitchen chair before padding off out of the room and into the open family room across the hall. I follow suite, easing out of my own chair before striding behind her, hands stationed still at my sides. My head cocks to the side when I observe her plop onto the green and brown plaid couch, blonde hair mother tries hard to keep orderly flying in every which way. Missy looks more indifferent than usual (if that is even possible) as she feels around something within the couch cushions. I cringe at the sight; the idea plunging my own hands into a dark, unsanitary abyss was disturbing.
"Dang, Shelly. I promise, you hafta be the most clueless boy eva!"
A scowl covers my face as I detect the statement as an insult and decisively choose not to respond. Well, at least it's not physical abuse, something my twin tends to inflict upon me. She halts her blind left hand searching with the depths of couch. She appears to be in a deep state of thought as I note the look upon her face. It's one she doesn't put on very often, obviously…
She twists her neck at an odd angle to see me as she begins speak again.
"Mommy's mad cause' George Sr. isn't 'round here for Valentine's Day", she worded carefully.
Valentine's day? I'm familiar with that holiday. Pink hearts, frilly cards, and the exchanging of saliva via osculation. All three of which I never receive and care nothing for, thus dubbing the whole occasion useless. Why do people even try to deal with the opposite sex's hormones voluntarily? No wonder society is ran beginning to be ran over by the internet and Burger King commercials.
"My mom is intelligent enough to not become to preoccupied with her emotions concerning something as insignificant as Valentine's Day." The last two words were spat out with an underlying chuckle, highlighting my disbelief on my sister's statement. This raises the girl on the couch to roll her eyes.
A loud bang shoots out from the kitchen, causing both my sister and I to turn in the direction. A frustrated groan from Mother follows it up, cutting through the din of running water and sizzling dishes, and I can practically feel the sadistic smirk my sister has pointing at the back of my head. Without turning back around to meet it, I evaluate the information that has been given to me.
Another bang from the direction and I can almost promise I hear her curse softly with that Southern drawl of hers.
Perhaps.
My eyes shift back to Missy, who is still lying across one of the family room's and (more importantly) land on the crumpled photo she is lazily holding up. From my position meters away, I gather that the photo is depicting Mother and George Sr, holding each other in tight embrace as they both sport huge, bright smiles, despite the bitter cold that seems to be nipping at them. Both the adults seem to wrapped up in coats, scarves, and with each other even to not need to care too much about the weather. I find myself inching towards it.
Missy stuffs it back into the couch without another word.
"So yeah. There ya go."
If that was supposed to serve as some sort of closure, my sister has worst social skills than I thought…and that's coming from me. However, in my defense, the fact that I am so estranged from others is because of their inferiority.
When I don't move away immediately, she throws in a fair, "Don't you have somewhere to be all weird at?"
M mouth opens and I inhale to respond but instantly cut myself off. A smart comment about her failing science grades is poised at the tip of my tongue but I can't bring myself to say it. I've lost interest for trivial banter for now and even worse, for protons and the synthetic combining of periodical elements.
With a silly pout, I exit the family room and trudge up to my room. Maybe I can toy around with train set Father has sent to me from his business leave five states away.
Oh wow, this is almost angsty! D: Hmm, I myself, didn't even like the fact that there was no interaction between the two wonder children, but I needed no get some background on our mystery gal…who still has no name… Oh and trust me, I've been putting A LOT of thought into this one, but I still want to hear what you guys think. Sooooo, if you want to suggest a name based of what you heard about my OC so far, pretty please private message me (also, please include why and if the name means anything).
Thanks a bunch and please review (don't forget, Imma be responding to them)! :D
Till then, stay shiny guys. ;)