A/N : REALLY LONG AND SOMEWHAT UNIMPORTANT AUTHOR's NOTE, FEEL FREE TO SKIP IT.
First off, thank you to Southparklateralus and a kindly Guest for reviewing the previous chapter. You guys rock!
...Already noticed two errors in the last chapter...ugh, sorry. Apparently there is a way to edit published chapters here, it's just not as easy as it is on Wattpad. I'm also not sure if this shows up as an udate or not :/
A few things that should probably be cleared up:
The title - Carrie, this should be self explanatory in relation to prom.Kim, Jamie Lee Curtis' character in the 1980 slasher movie, Prom Night. Prom Night II is a supernatural 1987 movie where the killer is SPOILER! the ghost of a murdered prom queen named Mary Lou.
The "Drab Four" - a reference to Type O Negative (the greatest goth-but-not-goth-goth-metal-band-that-ever-gothed...yeah) who were called this as a joke on the "Fab Four", aka, The Beatles.
Henrietta describing Mercedes job as cool and the whole "lion's den" part was a reference to the adorable (and absolutely fucking insane) Minatsuki from Deadman Wonderland.
"Bloody my hate and blood in the rain
Well, I'm so happy and I feel pretty
I don't cry, I feel so fine
Sweet confusion steer my reflections
Living to die, die to live,
I will win"
~Ad Infintium, Ghosting
Grey smoke practically consumed the room as they plotted, barely able to make out the silhouettes of one another. Pete found the notion of a cigarette smokescreen hilarious though it didn't show.
Soft exhales and Voodoo Church chased the silence away. Jasmine incense burned in the distance which made the air even denser. No one bothered to open the large window despite no longer having the excuse of keeping icy winds at bay. Pete's nose tingled, irritated by the odd scent as he wondered why Henrietta didn't burn her usual Nag Champa.
Wander through the dark halls
Place their heads back on the walls
Drain their blood, watch it fall
The song continued with little disruption.
"Well?" The token-female-lady-woman questioned when she decided the silenced stretched long enough.
"I'm not hearing you come up with any grand plans."
"Pete, dude, this was all your elaborate scheme. Pray tell us small folk how to carry it out."
"...Wouldn't exactly call it elaborate."
Surprisingly, it was Firkle who let out the most substantial sigh of exasperation rather than Henrietta.
"God, okay, uh. Mercedes needs to be nominated first, right?"
"Indeed."
"Well we should probably make that happen tomorrow."
Michael stubbed a menthol stoke into one of Henrietta's intricate ash treys. "I draw the line at participating in fucking student council affairs."
"Even if we did it would alert Testaburger right away. We have to go directly to that preppy vice president. Make her keep it a secret for a day or two."
"The one with the outdated bouffant haircut?"
"As if any of us has the right to say anything about what's outdated." Pete murmured.
A growl emitted from the back of her throat as she sent a death glare his way. He made a show of ignoring it as he was technically right. Everyone present in the room had been sporting the same haircut for a good decade. Henrietta herself possessed one modeled after an eighties singer.
"Looks like we leave this one to Firkle." Michael stated as if it was the clearest situation in the world.
"What the hell do you want me to do? Stab her?"
"I do believe the threat of a blade would suffice."
"But, you know, do what you got to do."
"I'm ditching school only to attend a different school. There are no words malicious or hateful enough to describe how much I want to rip you all apart and watch as you burn in the eternal flames of hell."
"...That's the most you've spoken all week." Pete blinked owlishly at the younger boy. "How do we even get him in?"
Besides him Michael asked their smaller friend if he was going to use the spiel he recently delivered in a future poem.
"If not I call dibs." Henrietta claimed smugly. Michael looked down his hawkish nose at her and she stuck out her tongue in retaliation. "As for getting him in...The vents?" she prompted. "The one's toward the left side of the building lead straight to the janitors closet, from there we coul-"
"Our janitor is a registered sex-offender," Michael cut in, "The security isn't exactly tight."
"No need for some Double-0-Seven bullshit."
Her eye twitched. "Sorry I prefer a stylized execution. Apparently everyone has forgotten the importance of theatrics in favor of a quick finish. How tragic." She sneered.
"Marlowe is rolling in his grave."
"We'll be sure to give theatrics a proper funeral of its own after we ruin prom."
Trying to strut into school like nothing was amidst was startlingly difficult. It had less to do with bringing in contraband - a la Firkle - and more to do with the slippery linoleum floor against his clunky winkle-pickers. That along with the fact Pete was never one for strutting.
Their strides continuously grew more threatening as they drew closer to the student council room. Firkle's fingers danced wildly, itching for his weapon. They halted at the door.
"Do I just go in...?" Pete placed his hand on the shorter teen's shoulder as he peered over his head and into the long panel of glass beside the wooden door. The VP, Esther, if he remembered correctly, stood alone, shuffling papers.
"Looks like the cost is clear."
"We'll keep guard."
With that he was off, hand forcefully turned the metal knob. The girl's head shot up like a scared rabbit. Her eyes quickly narrowed at the sight of him and her head tilted incredulously.
"What are you doing here? How'd you even get in?"
This momentarily stopped him from his war path. "I walked."
"Just like that? No one tried to stop you?"
Firkle stared, not bothering to merit that with a verbal response. Esther sighed and pressed her index and middle finger to her temple as her eyes slid shut in aggravation. "We really need to do something about that." The vice president muttered to herself. "And what is it I can do for it?"
"Prom. Make Mercedes a candidate."
"Prom?" She let out a little laugh. "Isn't that a bit conformist for you and your entourage?"
That was the straw that broke the camel's back. The switchblade quickly found its's way to his hand as he advanced on her. Esther gasped, pressed against the wall. Her dark eyes looked directly at the tip of the blade. She cleared her throat with a deliberate hum while lifting her chin in an attempt to put as much distance between the blade and herself as possible.
"A little late to the game kiddo. Heidi Turner has already been nominated."
"Then change it."
"I can't!" An immediate jab had the switchblade poking right against her neck.
"O-okay! Okay! Back off." He did so. Not without pushing his elbow into her gut first, of coarse.
"Don't think I'm going to just let you waltz into prom! No ticket, no entry."
The knife returned to its original position.
"They won't sell a ticket to me. You know that."
"Not my problem." She glared at him as her fingers rubbed her throat.
Firkle muttered a number of foul things and threats beneath his breath. "As if I actually wanted to go. Go along now, keep this from your preppy little leader as long as possible." The short boy slammed the door behind him.
"Your welcome. Can we leave now?"
"To The Village Inn?"
They all shared a synchronized nod. The darkly dressed foursome made their way toward the exit.
"Don't think you're getting out of going that easily."
"Jesus, seriously."
"Dude, we're a team. You have to go."
As they left Esther remained in the student council room angrily fixing her papers. To the back of the room was another door that lead to a small storage closet. The door opened further than it already had been. A tall blonde emerged from the closet. The student body vice president scowled at room's new inhabitant.
"Thanks for all the help."
A manicured finger twirled around a golden ringlet.
"How much help would I have been?" She giggled.
Personally, I liked the previous chapter much better. Still, I didn't plan for it to take this long but at least the plot's on a roll. Sorry it's so late.