N/A: Alright everybody, this was a rush job so later on I might come back
and change it. However, Merry Christmas!
***
Are you NUTS!
^And on the other hand, you have different fingers.^ Shaking my head I bent down and grabbed the weapon laying on my floor. For a second I maintained the hope that it might be some fake plastic child's toy that had just been laying in wait for a head to land on. Then my fingers wrapped around the polished wood surface of the handle or whatever the nonpointy end was called. It felt almost alive it fit into my palm so well. This thing had been used, and often. Hefting it I was surprised at its lightness. Somehow I thought that such an antique would weigh more. ^But it isn't an antique, is it?^ I frowned at the lethal piece of hardware in my hands. Weathered and used it might be, but the bits of metal holding the thing together were the rather distinct matt black steel they only started making a few decades ago. I know cause the made such a big stink about it in the infomercials when they came out with the frying pans made from the stuff and during those years I had a thing for watching the test patterns while I was high.
^If this was Anthony's no way would it be in this good a condition. I'm deadly sure if I pulled the trigger the arrow would fly. So that leaves only one person- unless some burglar broke in, didn't take anything, and happened to leave his archaic weapon behind in the closet- but why would Alexander have a crossbow.^ I glance up in the direction of my son's room wondering what else I would find if I looked. With a sigh I turned back to the closet. I shifted the bow into my left hand as I ran my right hand over the left wall for the light switch. Finding it after a bit of fumbling I flipped it. ^And then there was light!^
I took a quick look around. ^Well this is disappointing.^ There were several sets of moldering shoes and cobwebs that included their own bugs and the shelves..well less said about what was on them the better. All in all it looked no different than it had the last time I'd looked. Snorting at my own silliness I bent and grabbed the slightly less dusty pair of white canvas tennis shoes I'd kicked in here after meeting Rochard. Slipping them on was a little tricky since I was using only one hand. The bow stayed in my left though I wasn't sure why I was so reluctant to put it down. Maybe I was afraid I was having LSD flashbacks? I shrugged.
I bumped the door with my hip to swing it open a little more. Clipped onto its back was the full-length mirror that had come with the house. I thought it was a little pretentious since it was the same size as the door, a ridiculous nine feet. That made it just the right size for a giant. I ignored my sudden onset of dwarfism and checked to make sure I didn't look like a hillbilly. Shoes. Check. Hair brushed. Check. Face not dirty. Check. Blue denim dress not containing any holes or stains. Check. Smile. I smiled my most charming smile in anticipation of meeting the troll and having to hide the fact that I thought he was a complete and utter, well, troll. Check. Releasing my captive face muscles I waved the crossbow at my reflection. Crossbow and intent to get explanation. Check.
Spinning on my heel I kicked the door closed with my right foot and grabbed the dull brass knob for the front door with my right hand. I was outside and next to the car in a flash. Rounding the front of it I hoped that my earlier observation was still true because if any of my neighbors saw me walking around with a crossbow. Well, with my history of drug use I'd bet I'd have some really concerned neighbors. The equivalent would probably be seeing your mailman walking around with a machine gun.
I pulled the handle and hopped into the driver's seat. I didn't lock the car because, come on, it was a '78 Ford Fiesta. The blue gray paint was the only thing keeping it together. If a thief wanted it they were welcome to it. I twisted around to place the crossbow on the floor in the back. For one thing I didn't like the thought of an arrow pointed at my back and for another I'd feel just a little bit silly driving around town with a weapon sliding back and forth on the back seats. Making sure it was secure among the MacDonald's cups and Taco Bell bags I couldn't help but think that maybe I was a little too late on the silly thing. Turning back around I thumped into the threadbare upholstered seat back and reached for the washed out gray sun visor. With a pull it came down revealing a darker gray side and letting my keys slide into my palm. It was about as clichéd as hiding the key under the doormat but with my memory it was a good idea nevertheless.
The key slid home with an oiled ease that was at odds with the condition of the car and started even easier. I was glad in a way that Anthony had taken the newer gray Escort. It was a stick and a finicky starter, though it looked better with only its dirt shroud, and I never liked it.
Finding the school was as simple as I thought. This town barely rates the label, but maybe I'm prejudiced. I grew up in New York and traveled the world after I finished the growing part. Sunnydale was Anthony's hometown. I only moved here because he said he wanted to "raise" his family here. Hindsight being twenty/twenty I know now that he just wanted to be where he had the drug trade connections of his youth.
Walking down the halls of my son's school I couldn't contain my shiver. ^This place is creepy.^ I kept looking over my shoulder for the ghosts I could feel pressing around me. I knew intellectually it was empty because the kids were in class and that the weight of the silence was getting to me. ^I should have worn the heels. I can't even hear *my* footsteps.^ Another shiver rode down my spine and I almost walked past the Principal's office.
I raised an eyebrow at the huge lettering on the glass shouting out PRINCIPAL. ^Hmm, I see somebody's compensating.^ Turning the knob I stepped into the past. Wide eyed I glanced around. ^Damn. This place looks just like my third school's office.^ I took a couple steps in releasing the door but stopped when the bleach blonde behind the raised counter that dominated the hauntingly familiar room snorted. Ms. Trailer Trash looked down her nose at me, almost literally since her stool put her head above me, which I thought was terrible ironic since she was wearing a fuzzy pink polyester sweater, three inch press on matching nails, a green scrunchy holding her jacked to Jesus hair up, and earrings consisting of dangling pairs of cherries. I couldn't see her legs but I imagined she was wearing spandex pants and stiletto heels. ^My, God. We have Peg Bundy here.^
The eyebrow that had lowered when I came in rose once more and I gave here the look my mother used to give her cousins when they were being particularly British. Peggy gave in under ten. She looked down and shuffled some papers trying to hold onto some pride. I started forward again stopping only when I reached the scratched wooden lip of the counter. "I'm here to see the Principal about my son?" My words were absolutely correct but I made sure they were dripping with contempt. I'd wrapped my dignity around me like a cloak turning my $12.99 dress into the robes of royalty. She looked up and did a nice fish impression, her lips flapping. I smiled my most gracious smile rubbing salt into the wound. ^No one looks down on me.^
Under the weight of my gaze Peg cleared her throat. "I'll let Mr. Snyder know you're here." She reached to her right and hit a button. Speaking louder for the intercom she said, "Principal Snyder. Mrs. Harris is here."
"Tell her to come in." The tinny voice that came back made my hackles rise. ^I thought I knew that name. Mr. Snyder, the troll. Hmm, I thought he was a receptionist.^ Covering my surprise I turned right and made my way to the other door not giving Peg the chance to speak.
Upon entering the office of the troll I noted two things. One it was geared to making the man sitting in the center looking important with his high backed leather chair, high tech and dust collecting computer, rows of leather bound books, and ornate desk but just made him look petty and self- important. ^You can practically smell the over compensation.^ Secondly my son was sitting in one of the two mundane chairs opposite the monstrosity of a desk with an apparent calm that I know I wouldn't have felt if I was in his place. Back in my teenage rebellion days I was all bravado and spitfire but I was way too nervous to pull off *that* poker face. It took me years to learn to not fear the authority figures I was giving the birdie. I searched my memory for any past calls that would explain his apparent nonchalance but I couldn't recall ever being dragged away from my *fun* to come to this nasty little man's office.
Speaking of, he looked just as sour as I expected, though his pointy face made him look more like an elf than a troll. His charcoal black suit was starched to perfection and his neat red tie glared out at the viewer. Even his clothes seemed to be trying scream 'I'm important. Look how important I am!'
Keeping the affected poise I'd donned to snub his secretary I nodded to the troll and swept into the chair next to my son. "You called?" My haughty tone seemed to throw him for a moment and I relished the absence of his smirk. I glanced at my son and saw a glimmer of confusion underneath his mask. Unfortunately when I returned my gaze to Mr. Snyder he had reapplied his smirk and it appeared his balls too.
"Your *son*," My eyes narrowed at the way he turned the description into a imprecation, "disrupted his French class. He used ill mannered and crude words in regards to the teacher, Mr. Martin, and his insubordinate attitude did irreparable harm to the student body's ability to learn." He ended his little tirade sounding smug as if he'd been waiting for this moment for a long time and was enjoying it immensely. He leaned back in his chair as if satisfied that he held all the cards. "Now, I realize that due to some, shall we say, *disreputable influences*-" I knew I wasn't imagining the emphasis he was putting on those words. He was trying to goad my son and from the flash of movement from the corner of my eye I could see it was working.
"What did he say?" I interrupted. I could feel more than see Xander settle back into his chair and gave a internal sigh of relief for that. Snyder however looked pole axed. ^Guess he's not used to having his power trips broken up.^
His recovery was quicker than I would have credited him with though as he leaned forward once more a frown on his face. "That doesn't really matter Mrs. Harris. What matters-"
"I wish to know what my son supposedly said to this teacher, Martin was it?" Imperiously I tilted my head. "I believe it would be appropriate to know the specifics of the 'crime' before passing any type of judgment. Do you not?" The troll's face turned a rather fascinating shade of red and I somewhat pettily hoped that he would have a heart attack from the lack of oxygen. Alas, it was not to be. Pressing a button on a speaker situated on the right side of his desk next to his miniature guillotine paperweight, and wasn't that telling of his psyche?, he called on Peg and asked for the mysterious Mr. Martin. ^Should bother to learn her real name? Nah.^
Taking no notice of the frigid atmosphere of the office I crossed my legs and leaned back as if I was at an afternoon tea. Realizing that Xander hadn't said a word during my "discussion" with his principal I casually rotated my head to look at him. Pride flared in my chest as I saw he had adopted the same royal authority I was flaunting. This prick of a man definitely didn't deserve to see fear.
I turned back to the toad. He was starting to look a little uncertain. ^Concerned that we aren't blubbering is he?^ The door behind me creaked open and I watched all traces of worry clear from his face. ^I have to admit he's not bad at this.^ A whippet thin man in hideous clothes came around from behind me to stand parallel to the end of Snyder's desk. His pose was just as haughty as my own but I sneered within at his execution. Instead of coming off as regal he looked pompous.
Snyder nodded at the man as a monarch does to acknowledge his inferiors. "Mr. Martin would you please tell us what exactly Mr. Harris here said in your class."
The man turned red as if infuriated by the mere memory, it was absolutely horrid to look at. Orange, acid green, and red. Ugh. "First he said, 'Tu m'emmerdes.' Which means you are bugging the shit out of me. And then he said, 'Va te faire enculer'" I had to restrain myself from flinching away from Martin's flying spittle as he seemed to grow more and more furious. "That is 'go fuck yourself'." My eyebrow rose in spite of myself. Snyder just did his impression of the cat who stole the cream.
"Of course you left out your own words Monsieur." Those ice sheathed words cut through Martin's righteous fury. His expression of moral superiority faltered but quickly recuperated. My son surged forward and for the first time ever I saw a look of deadly ferocity on his face. Frostbite nipped at my nose and it suddenly occurred to me that maybe it wasn't my imagination, that maybe Alexander was doing something to lower the temperature of the room. The thought barely had time to form before it was blown away. "After all you wouldn't want to call attention to the fact that I only said that after you called my mother a whore. 'Ta mère est une pute.' Was it?"
With a deliberation that entirely forced I uncrossed my legs and stood. Snyder had turned pale and was staring at his teacher like a man whose dog just turned into a snake. Not a bad comparison actually I thought looking at the unrepentant skinny man. Dismissing him entirely I looked down on the Principal in his hollow throne. I had heard much worse in my years, in fact I had heard worse from my own husband, but to think that these *people* would dare prosecute my son for defending my honor. It bit like acid. "I assume that since this happened before a classroom of students, witnesses, I will encounter no argument in asking for this man's dismissal?" The idiot to my right jerked as the implications finally hit him.
***
Are you NUTS!
^And on the other hand, you have different fingers.^ Shaking my head I bent down and grabbed the weapon laying on my floor. For a second I maintained the hope that it might be some fake plastic child's toy that had just been laying in wait for a head to land on. Then my fingers wrapped around the polished wood surface of the handle or whatever the nonpointy end was called. It felt almost alive it fit into my palm so well. This thing had been used, and often. Hefting it I was surprised at its lightness. Somehow I thought that such an antique would weigh more. ^But it isn't an antique, is it?^ I frowned at the lethal piece of hardware in my hands. Weathered and used it might be, but the bits of metal holding the thing together were the rather distinct matt black steel they only started making a few decades ago. I know cause the made such a big stink about it in the infomercials when they came out with the frying pans made from the stuff and during those years I had a thing for watching the test patterns while I was high.
^If this was Anthony's no way would it be in this good a condition. I'm deadly sure if I pulled the trigger the arrow would fly. So that leaves only one person- unless some burglar broke in, didn't take anything, and happened to leave his archaic weapon behind in the closet- but why would Alexander have a crossbow.^ I glance up in the direction of my son's room wondering what else I would find if I looked. With a sigh I turned back to the closet. I shifted the bow into my left hand as I ran my right hand over the left wall for the light switch. Finding it after a bit of fumbling I flipped it. ^And then there was light!^
I took a quick look around. ^Well this is disappointing.^ There were several sets of moldering shoes and cobwebs that included their own bugs and the shelves..well less said about what was on them the better. All in all it looked no different than it had the last time I'd looked. Snorting at my own silliness I bent and grabbed the slightly less dusty pair of white canvas tennis shoes I'd kicked in here after meeting Rochard. Slipping them on was a little tricky since I was using only one hand. The bow stayed in my left though I wasn't sure why I was so reluctant to put it down. Maybe I was afraid I was having LSD flashbacks? I shrugged.
I bumped the door with my hip to swing it open a little more. Clipped onto its back was the full-length mirror that had come with the house. I thought it was a little pretentious since it was the same size as the door, a ridiculous nine feet. That made it just the right size for a giant. I ignored my sudden onset of dwarfism and checked to make sure I didn't look like a hillbilly. Shoes. Check. Hair brushed. Check. Face not dirty. Check. Blue denim dress not containing any holes or stains. Check. Smile. I smiled my most charming smile in anticipation of meeting the troll and having to hide the fact that I thought he was a complete and utter, well, troll. Check. Releasing my captive face muscles I waved the crossbow at my reflection. Crossbow and intent to get explanation. Check.
Spinning on my heel I kicked the door closed with my right foot and grabbed the dull brass knob for the front door with my right hand. I was outside and next to the car in a flash. Rounding the front of it I hoped that my earlier observation was still true because if any of my neighbors saw me walking around with a crossbow. Well, with my history of drug use I'd bet I'd have some really concerned neighbors. The equivalent would probably be seeing your mailman walking around with a machine gun.
I pulled the handle and hopped into the driver's seat. I didn't lock the car because, come on, it was a '78 Ford Fiesta. The blue gray paint was the only thing keeping it together. If a thief wanted it they were welcome to it. I twisted around to place the crossbow on the floor in the back. For one thing I didn't like the thought of an arrow pointed at my back and for another I'd feel just a little bit silly driving around town with a weapon sliding back and forth on the back seats. Making sure it was secure among the MacDonald's cups and Taco Bell bags I couldn't help but think that maybe I was a little too late on the silly thing. Turning back around I thumped into the threadbare upholstered seat back and reached for the washed out gray sun visor. With a pull it came down revealing a darker gray side and letting my keys slide into my palm. It was about as clichéd as hiding the key under the doormat but with my memory it was a good idea nevertheless.
The key slid home with an oiled ease that was at odds with the condition of the car and started even easier. I was glad in a way that Anthony had taken the newer gray Escort. It was a stick and a finicky starter, though it looked better with only its dirt shroud, and I never liked it.
Finding the school was as simple as I thought. This town barely rates the label, but maybe I'm prejudiced. I grew up in New York and traveled the world after I finished the growing part. Sunnydale was Anthony's hometown. I only moved here because he said he wanted to "raise" his family here. Hindsight being twenty/twenty I know now that he just wanted to be where he had the drug trade connections of his youth.
Walking down the halls of my son's school I couldn't contain my shiver. ^This place is creepy.^ I kept looking over my shoulder for the ghosts I could feel pressing around me. I knew intellectually it was empty because the kids were in class and that the weight of the silence was getting to me. ^I should have worn the heels. I can't even hear *my* footsteps.^ Another shiver rode down my spine and I almost walked past the Principal's office.
I raised an eyebrow at the huge lettering on the glass shouting out PRINCIPAL. ^Hmm, I see somebody's compensating.^ Turning the knob I stepped into the past. Wide eyed I glanced around. ^Damn. This place looks just like my third school's office.^ I took a couple steps in releasing the door but stopped when the bleach blonde behind the raised counter that dominated the hauntingly familiar room snorted. Ms. Trailer Trash looked down her nose at me, almost literally since her stool put her head above me, which I thought was terrible ironic since she was wearing a fuzzy pink polyester sweater, three inch press on matching nails, a green scrunchy holding her jacked to Jesus hair up, and earrings consisting of dangling pairs of cherries. I couldn't see her legs but I imagined she was wearing spandex pants and stiletto heels. ^My, God. We have Peg Bundy here.^
The eyebrow that had lowered when I came in rose once more and I gave here the look my mother used to give her cousins when they were being particularly British. Peggy gave in under ten. She looked down and shuffled some papers trying to hold onto some pride. I started forward again stopping only when I reached the scratched wooden lip of the counter. "I'm here to see the Principal about my son?" My words were absolutely correct but I made sure they were dripping with contempt. I'd wrapped my dignity around me like a cloak turning my $12.99 dress into the robes of royalty. She looked up and did a nice fish impression, her lips flapping. I smiled my most gracious smile rubbing salt into the wound. ^No one looks down on me.^
Under the weight of my gaze Peg cleared her throat. "I'll let Mr. Snyder know you're here." She reached to her right and hit a button. Speaking louder for the intercom she said, "Principal Snyder. Mrs. Harris is here."
"Tell her to come in." The tinny voice that came back made my hackles rise. ^I thought I knew that name. Mr. Snyder, the troll. Hmm, I thought he was a receptionist.^ Covering my surprise I turned right and made my way to the other door not giving Peg the chance to speak.
Upon entering the office of the troll I noted two things. One it was geared to making the man sitting in the center looking important with his high backed leather chair, high tech and dust collecting computer, rows of leather bound books, and ornate desk but just made him look petty and self- important. ^You can practically smell the over compensation.^ Secondly my son was sitting in one of the two mundane chairs opposite the monstrosity of a desk with an apparent calm that I know I wouldn't have felt if I was in his place. Back in my teenage rebellion days I was all bravado and spitfire but I was way too nervous to pull off *that* poker face. It took me years to learn to not fear the authority figures I was giving the birdie. I searched my memory for any past calls that would explain his apparent nonchalance but I couldn't recall ever being dragged away from my *fun* to come to this nasty little man's office.
Speaking of, he looked just as sour as I expected, though his pointy face made him look more like an elf than a troll. His charcoal black suit was starched to perfection and his neat red tie glared out at the viewer. Even his clothes seemed to be trying scream 'I'm important. Look how important I am!'
Keeping the affected poise I'd donned to snub his secretary I nodded to the troll and swept into the chair next to my son. "You called?" My haughty tone seemed to throw him for a moment and I relished the absence of his smirk. I glanced at my son and saw a glimmer of confusion underneath his mask. Unfortunately when I returned my gaze to Mr. Snyder he had reapplied his smirk and it appeared his balls too.
"Your *son*," My eyes narrowed at the way he turned the description into a imprecation, "disrupted his French class. He used ill mannered and crude words in regards to the teacher, Mr. Martin, and his insubordinate attitude did irreparable harm to the student body's ability to learn." He ended his little tirade sounding smug as if he'd been waiting for this moment for a long time and was enjoying it immensely. He leaned back in his chair as if satisfied that he held all the cards. "Now, I realize that due to some, shall we say, *disreputable influences*-" I knew I wasn't imagining the emphasis he was putting on those words. He was trying to goad my son and from the flash of movement from the corner of my eye I could see it was working.
"What did he say?" I interrupted. I could feel more than see Xander settle back into his chair and gave a internal sigh of relief for that. Snyder however looked pole axed. ^Guess he's not used to having his power trips broken up.^
His recovery was quicker than I would have credited him with though as he leaned forward once more a frown on his face. "That doesn't really matter Mrs. Harris. What matters-"
"I wish to know what my son supposedly said to this teacher, Martin was it?" Imperiously I tilted my head. "I believe it would be appropriate to know the specifics of the 'crime' before passing any type of judgment. Do you not?" The troll's face turned a rather fascinating shade of red and I somewhat pettily hoped that he would have a heart attack from the lack of oxygen. Alas, it was not to be. Pressing a button on a speaker situated on the right side of his desk next to his miniature guillotine paperweight, and wasn't that telling of his psyche?, he called on Peg and asked for the mysterious Mr. Martin. ^Should bother to learn her real name? Nah.^
Taking no notice of the frigid atmosphere of the office I crossed my legs and leaned back as if I was at an afternoon tea. Realizing that Xander hadn't said a word during my "discussion" with his principal I casually rotated my head to look at him. Pride flared in my chest as I saw he had adopted the same royal authority I was flaunting. This prick of a man definitely didn't deserve to see fear.
I turned back to the toad. He was starting to look a little uncertain. ^Concerned that we aren't blubbering is he?^ The door behind me creaked open and I watched all traces of worry clear from his face. ^I have to admit he's not bad at this.^ A whippet thin man in hideous clothes came around from behind me to stand parallel to the end of Snyder's desk. His pose was just as haughty as my own but I sneered within at his execution. Instead of coming off as regal he looked pompous.
Snyder nodded at the man as a monarch does to acknowledge his inferiors. "Mr. Martin would you please tell us what exactly Mr. Harris here said in your class."
The man turned red as if infuriated by the mere memory, it was absolutely horrid to look at. Orange, acid green, and red. Ugh. "First he said, 'Tu m'emmerdes.' Which means you are bugging the shit out of me. And then he said, 'Va te faire enculer'" I had to restrain myself from flinching away from Martin's flying spittle as he seemed to grow more and more furious. "That is 'go fuck yourself'." My eyebrow rose in spite of myself. Snyder just did his impression of the cat who stole the cream.
"Of course you left out your own words Monsieur." Those ice sheathed words cut through Martin's righteous fury. His expression of moral superiority faltered but quickly recuperated. My son surged forward and for the first time ever I saw a look of deadly ferocity on his face. Frostbite nipped at my nose and it suddenly occurred to me that maybe it wasn't my imagination, that maybe Alexander was doing something to lower the temperature of the room. The thought barely had time to form before it was blown away. "After all you wouldn't want to call attention to the fact that I only said that after you called my mother a whore. 'Ta mère est une pute.' Was it?"
With a deliberation that entirely forced I uncrossed my legs and stood. Snyder had turned pale and was staring at his teacher like a man whose dog just turned into a snake. Not a bad comparison actually I thought looking at the unrepentant skinny man. Dismissing him entirely I looked down on the Principal in his hollow throne. I had heard much worse in my years, in fact I had heard worse from my own husband, but to think that these *people* would dare prosecute my son for defending my honor. It bit like acid. "I assume that since this happened before a classroom of students, witnesses, I will encounter no argument in asking for this man's dismissal?" The idiot to my right jerked as the implications finally hit him.