Part III: Duck Season! Wabbit Season! Principal Season!
Meanwhile, back in the love nest, just past the start of Sixth Period...
Huh? Wha?
Xander blinked, cracking his eyes open to slits, kinda. Naw. Too much effort. He let them slide shut again, tightening his grip around Cordelia.
Damned funny dream. Coulda sworn there was the most godawful clangor going on... and a harsh New York voice bellowing something about sewer work...
Umm. Huh. Nope. Nothing, now. Screw it.
"Huh, wha... ?" his girlfriend's sleep muzzy voice murmured curiously into his neck, with an edge of whine to it.
"Nothing, Cordy," Xander murmured back. His hand came up and stroked her hair, and she rumbled like a purring cat and snuggled deeper into and against him. "Go back to sleep."
"'Kay. Not time to get up yet... " her voice trailed off in mid statement and a soft, raspy buzz replaced it.
Yeah. Sounds like a really good plan. Just hit snooze.
Xander let his head fall back again and drifted back off.
Back out in the hallway, just past the start of Sixth Period...
Pins, dropping. Leaves could be heard blowing across the quad downstairs and way outside. Somewhere, crickets chirped loudly and then fell silent.
Mouths went agape all over that section of hallway, all the way back to both stairwells in a ripple pattern.
The little rodent stared at her, his mouth falling open and his beady little eyes bugging out. Completely and utterly flabbergasted.
Just exactly where Faith wanted him.
Okay, 'want' was maybe a strong word for anything that Faith would care to have associated with the little weasel...
But hey, still... if you can send them careening completely and totally off the rails right from the get go, you can steer 'em wherever the hell you want 'em to go, she always said.
Well, maybe not in so many words, exactly. But she'd certainly thought it a few times.
"What did you just say?"
Weasel Boy rose up on his little tiptoes, eyes bulging and the words coming out in kind of a strangled hiss.
"What, I stuttered and your ears flapped?" Faith snorted derisively. "Look, pal. I gotta lot of photos to shoot here, and den I gotta be completely on de udder side 'o town before da school day ends, buddy. So if'n ya ain't gonna be a part of the shoot, yer a part 'o da problem. Quit being a part of da frigging problem!"
"You what?"
Oh, wow. Man, that color just couldn't be very healthy.
Faith sighed heavily, submerging a nearly overwhelming urge to roll on the floor with her arms wrapped around her middle going into hysterics. Instead, she rolled her eyes heavenwards, sighed again, and made a gesture with her hands that practically spelled out, "Why me, Lord?" in smoke signals and semaphores.
"I got a photo shoot to finish. Or my editor will kill me," she said, clearly and slowly in an exaggeratedly patient tone of voice. Kind of like the one you used speaking to small children, slow dogs, and retahds. "And yer gettin' in the way 'o progress, pal."
Thank gods for the occasional train trips that her and her buds had made from Boston down to Manhattan in the summers. Made it real easy for her to fake a better'n decent Bronx.
Complete to the built in and ingrained New Yorker Metro Worker's impatience with lower life forms and idjits.
Toss in just a touch of no-nonsense NYPD flatfoot for seasoning. And stir.
"Editor?" Weasel Boy looked completely nonplussed for a moment. Then he drew himself up again and glowered at her. "You don't work for the school newspaper!"
"Da hell I don't!" Faith snapped, drawing herself up in her own indignant huff.
Day-um. They were drawing quite a crowd.
The bell for classes to start had already rung and gone while she was in mid flimflam. Didn't matter, apparently. She was obviously the most entertainment this floor had seen since the invention of sliced bread, going by the rapt expressions and wide grins...
Everyone was watching the proceedings with an intensity that was usually reserved for Sudden Death in football games. Or impending train wrecks.
Or lynchings.
Faith hoped like hell that Rosenberg or Summers didn't have any classes on this floor. Last thing she needed was either of them ruining the act. Oh, crap – she spotted Wolf Boy off at the back of the crowd on one side and nearly died. She shot him a desperate glare over the Principal's head.
Oz blinked at her slowly, and then, equally slowly, brought his hand up to his mouth – and made a lip zipping and locking movement. Followed by a slow wink.
Good man. Apparently he hadn't forgotten that Faith had been firmly on the side of 'he didn't get out, he didn't do nothing, and you can't prove nothing no how.'
"You don't!" Principal Snidely practically hissed. "I've never seen you anywhere around the offices of the Sunnydale High Sentinel!"
"Huh?" Faith blinked at him. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a folded school newspaper being held under a student's arm with a load of books. Oh. That was the name of it. Shaking her head, Faith shoved her hair behind her right ear with an impatient gesture. "Naw, man. I work for da udder one."
"We don't have another newspaper," Snidely said, blinking up at her in confusion.
"Not your newspaper," Faith said, rolling her eyes again. Enunciating clearly and distinctly, she said carefully, "The other one. The – " uh... what was a good name for a school paper, anyway?
She repressed a wild impulse to say, 'The Daily Planet.' Faith didn't figure that 'The Daily Bugle' would fly, either, but it sure would be funny as all hell.
Aha!
"– The Grant Clarion! Ah, Grant High Clarion," Faith ended the statement as smoothly as she could manage.
"I thought Grant's paper was the Beacon?" Snidely seemed seriously befuddled now. All to the good.
"Naw, that's the – " uh, what was the name of that other school? Sheesh, she patrolled it just last night– "Fondren paper. Grant's is the Clarion."
If any student in the entire stretch of hallway piped up and said different, Faith was gonna beat 'em to death with her new camera.
Snidely blinked up at her again, and then a triumphant look spread over his features. "Grant? You don't belong here! We don't allow other school's students on our grounds!"
"Well, duh," Faith said, her tone going all derisive on him. She snorted. "It's a multi-academic district initiative."
"It is?"
"Didn't you get the memo for cryin' out loud?" Faith said in complete exasperation, or at least a real good imitation of it. Okay, more like blind panic, but still... "Holy Christ! Don't tell me they goofed that up again?"
"Memo?" Snidely blinked again, obviously ransacking his brain trying to recall if he ever saw a non existent memo. "Look," he said, impatiently. "Never mind that. You can't be on school ground here, wearing... that," he aimed an index finger at Faith's borrowed Grant High School letter jacket, "Without a signed permission slip and forms!"
"Duh! We sent you the forms, for cryin' out loud! Or they was supposed ta!" Faith shook her head, turning her eyes heavenward again. "Look," she said, stomping over to him and glaring downward. He stepped back almost instinctively. "It's not my fault the office screwed up!"
"Ah... " Smedley glared at her and huffed. "Look, you- uh, who are you, anyway?"
Uh. Crap. Faith had a major feeling that 'Peter Parker' wasn't gonna fly here. And she didn't feel like a 'Betty Brant.'
Desperately, she grabbed her middle name and stuck it in front of another comic book character. "Michelle. Lane. Michelle Lane, ace Photographer. For the Grant Clarion."
A snicker started up, and then died a horrible death at the hands of the glare Faith shot toward the snickerer.
When cornered, go on the attack... Faith let the camera drop on its strap and stuck both fists on her hips. "And just who da heck are youse, anyway?"
"I'm the Principal here!" Weasel Boy snapped out.
"Really?" Faith widened her eyes. "Wow, guy – you're just the guy I've been looking for all morning!"
Snyder blinked, peering at her in confusion. He obviously hadn't expected that. Probably because since even he had to realize that since no students in their right or wrong minds ever looked for him that it was a completely outta left field statement in his world...
"I am?"
"Hell- uh, heck yeah!" Faith nodded vigorously. "Man. Principal, ah... Snidely, right?" Sniggers rippled out all across the hallway in all directions.
"Snyder!" Weasel Boy snapped his head around, glaring in all directions practically at once.
"Snyder, right," Faith said, grinning widely and nodding like one of those little dogs you see stuck to car dashboards. "I'm supposed to do a full spread on you!"
"You are?" He blinked at her, completely derailed again.
"Shoot! Heck yeah. Man of the week, most innovative educational figure in Sunnydale... " Faith was layering it on with a trowel, and didn't care at this point. She aimed an index finger at the Homecoming poster and stated, emphatically, "Holding yer Homecoming dance at that Bronze place? Genius! Most schools just use their gymnasium, cafeteria, or some rented hotel ballroom. You? Finger on the pulse of today's youth!"
"Well," Snyder puffed up like a bullfrog, grasping his lapels, "I certainly– "
"Say cheese!" Faith brought the camera up and click pssshew! caught him in mid back patting before he broke his own arm. "Perfect!"
"It was?" Snyder blinked at her again. He turned slightly, still grasping his lapels. "Don't you think that a quarter profile would be more flattering?"
Dude. Embalming would be more flattering on you, Faith thought... She grinned and snapped another. "Stand over there directly in front of the poster and a bit to one side," she said.
Snyder scurried to reposition himself, grinning like a ferret.
click pssshew! click pssshew! click pssshew!
"Great! Yer a natural, baby!" Faith didn't say a natural what. She hoped the camera wouldn't break in half...
"Fantastic!" Snyder said, beaming. "What kind of spread is this, anyway?"
Guh. He would have to ask that, sheesh...
"Special Edition," Faith said, brainstorming like crazy. "Teenage Coming of Age Rites in the Dawn of the, uh, Twenty-first Century. Mating Rites of the American Teenager, Homecoming and, ah... "
"Prom?" someone in the crowd suggested.
Faith ignored the voice from the peanut gallery, springboarding to, "Other Evolutions of the Sock Hop in the Modern Era." Shrugging, she added, "I'm kinda amazed that you're letting Grant get the jump on ya on with this'n. Didn't think the Mayor'd let you – you bein' his special... ah... Showcase School and all."
"Fantastic!" Snyder said again, nodding enthusiastically, "And we're not – of course we aren't! All right, come on. Come with me!"
"Huh?" Faith gaped at him.
"Down to my office."
"Wait, what? I- I- I... " Faith threw a desperate look around for a means of escape. Dammit – the crowds were too tight around them to bolt through now.
Everyone surrounding them looked absolutely riveted by the little drama. Or maybe by Faith's rapidly growing pile of bullshit.
Maybe if she vamped him and threw the little weasel down and screwed his –
No. Just... no. Oh, hell no. She wasn't that desperate... or that horny. She'd never be that horny... She'd cut her own throat first. Or turn and bolt and leave her charges to fend for themselves. Chase and Harris would just have to cover their own asses.
Not even zonked out of her mind on roofies, Ecstasy, and Everclear would she ever be that horny.
A girl had to have some standards, sheesh.
"For the forms!" Snyder said, rolling his beady eyes. "If you're going to be shooting a full photo spread on me, we have to make sure all of the proper forms and applications are filed. The Mayor will insist on it. Just a formality, you understand."
Striding forward, he grasped a gaping Faith by the elbow and began turning her toward the end of the hallway that he'd come down from.
"And for more photos. Will there be an interview, you think?" Snyder said, starting to hustle her down the hallway. Faith resisted for a moment, looking around wildly.
"Well, sure," she said. Oz! Oz owed her one now. Several. Where did, uh... aha! There.
Catching Oz's eye, she gave the little guitarist a desperate look, and jerked her head toward the doorway that she'd been guarding. He blinked, and raised an eyebrow.
Faith nodded, and jerked her head to it again and back, arching both eyebrows at him and winking ferociously. Starting to feel kinda like a complete spaz, but what the hey...
Oz's eyes narrowed slightly. He followed her head jerk to the door with his gaze, raised the other brow, looked back, and then nodded slightly.
As she let Snyder begin hustling her down the corridor, chattering a mile a minute into Faith's elbow, she saw Oz saunter over to the doorway to the Chamber of Lust and casually lean with his back against the door and his arms folded across his chest.
And an extremely bland expression to beat all bland expressions firmly pasted across his mug.
Good enough.
Applause followed them all the way down the hall to the stairwell.
Turning back, Snyder glared at everyone, including the wave of people parting like the Red Sea to let them through. "Get. To. Class! All of you! And if you don't have class, get somewhere! Now!" Pausing, he glanced up and over at Faith. "And you – get rid of that gum!"
She stuck it to the bottom of the camera, conveniently covering the engraving there that said, 'Property of the Sunnydale High Sentinel'.
Meanwhile, back at the door to the Chamber of Lust...
Show over, students began filing off towards various classrooms or down toward the Student Lounge and Quad, those who had frees. Oz leaned his head back and closed his eyes, smiling slightly.
"Dude," Devon's cheerful voice boomed at him. "Who was that girl?"
Oz cracked an eye open slightly, looking up at his band mate. "Michelle. Lane." (beat) "Ace Photographer." He closed his eye again.
"Rrriiiiiiigggghhhhtttt... " Devon drawled out. "Fine. Don't tell me. So – why are you leaning there?"
"Guarding." Oz's eyes closed again, and he settled himself more comfortably against the door frame.
"Guarding what?"
"The door."
He could feel Devon blinking at him. Didn't have to see it. And his band mate grinning and shaking his head, more than used to Oz's taciturnity by now.
"Why are you guarding the door, Oz?"
"Karma."
"Sigh. Okay, so, what's behind the door?" Devon said, starting to sound a bit exasperated.
"Sans clue am I. No clue."
"Lemme look... " Oz held up a hand without opening his eyes, palm out, and stopped Devon in his tracks before he could lean in and peek around the shade.
"Nope."
"Maaann... " Devon's voice was cheerfully annoyed. "You've sure gotten strange since you've started hanging out with Summers' little crowd. Strange-er, anyway." He huffed. "Fine. I gotta get to class anyway. You?"
"Have a free."
"Cool. See ya."
Chuckling, Devon strode off. The hallway cleared rapidly.
Once it sounded like it was empty, Oz cracked his eyes open again, checking. Yup. All gone.
Curious himself, he casually turned and stepped slightly to one side so he could peer through the crack where the drawn shade didn't completely cover the window.
Had to know, in case he had to cover against someone more intrusive, insistent, or authoritative than Devon, after all.
And he really was curious as to what had sparked Faith's inspired and almost desperate looking line of patter to distract Snyder, as well as her insistence that Oz get the door after her.
An eyebrow went up, and then he nodded slowly.
Ah.
Oz turned back around and leaned in front of the doorjamb again, his arms refolded across his chest.
No problem. A man has to take care of his friends. Whatever that entails.
Nice to know Faith felt the same way about things. Cool.
Meanwhile, back inside of the Chamber of Lust, part way into Sixth Period...
Huh? Whut? Uh...
Xander blinked vaguely up at the ceiling of the vacant and slightly darkened classroom.
Damn. That was the strangest damned dream... more clangor, a foghorn, a New York traffic cop and a dancing weasel, and him and Cordy on stage in the auditorium without any pants. And thunderous applause.
And he had a piss hardon to beat all piss hardons.
Plus, a silken length of Cordelia's stocking clad thigh lying over his painful erection, and the rest of her half sprawled out on top of him breathing softly in her sleep. Warm and weighty pressure of full soft breasts spread out against his chest, and a wave of tousled dark hair tickling his chin and throat.
Yummy.
Raising his head up just far enough Xander pressed a kiss into the top of Cordelia's head before the effort became too much. He let it drop down again against the, uh, surface under him. Cordelia stirred in his arms, raising her own head just far enough to rest her chin on a forearm and blink sleepily at him.
"Ummm... " she said, smiling slightly. "Hi there."
"Hey," Xander smiled back, feeling his eyelids droop almost shut.
"Had the weirdest dream... " she murmured. "New York fashion photographer. Dancing ferrets. And the Staten Island ferry... "
"Were we naked?"
Cordelia gave a throaty, sleepy chuckle. "What makes you think you were in it?"
"Intuition."
"Yes. We were both naked." She paused and then added, sounding kind of dreamy, "You were wearing a hard hat. And a tool-belt."
"Ah. Musta been a Playboy shoot then," Xander murmured back.
"Must have."
Cordelia shifted in his arms, and the soft inside of her thigh rubbed across his hard-on. Xander arched back slightly, and gave a soft groan.
"My," she said, blinking at him. "Little Nighthawk hasn't been sleepy, huh?"
"Little Nighthawk's not so little right now."
The thigh moved slowly again, stroking the length of him. "So I see." Cordelia chuckled throatily. "Mmmm."
With her eyes closing, she shifted, squirmed a bit, and wriggled over until she was lying forward with her lips almost touching his and her hips straddling him, a thigh on either side of his. She raised herself up a bit down there, wriggled again, and shifted forward and then back and –
– And suddenly he was surrounded by hot, wet, tight and slippery Cordelia Chase.
"Uuuuggghhh... " Xander's hands automatically came up to press against her shoulder blades, and then run slowly and gently along her back over her bolero, blouse, and skirt until they reached and cupped her ass cheeks. Cordelia's face lowered until her lips were just meeting his.
She sucked his lower lip in between her own, and let it slip back out slowly.
"Ugh?" Cordelia's eyebrows arched slightly at him, over her mostly closed eyes.
"Ummm. Yummy," Xander said, smiling slightly into her lips.
"Good save."
"I thought so."
Cordelia's lips closed over his again and Xander lost himself in their softness for... he kind of lost track. A long while. No matter. He really couldn't think of anything that took priority, anyway.
Some interminable time later the kiss broke by mutual consent, or mutual need for air or something silly like that.
"So," Xander murmured, his lips brushing against hers, "Shouldn't we be getting up, maybe?"
"Hrrm." Cordelia's smile against his mouth felt wickedly innocent, if that wasn't a contradiction in terms... "I could swear that you were already up."
"Oh, I'm up all right," Xander murmured, and felt her smile broadening slightly. "I just, ah... " he gave up on it as her hips rose slowly and then lowered, working herself back down along the length of him. Really didn't matter.
"Uh huh." Cordelia's hands came up, the palms running up over his chest until they were lying flat on his shoulders with her fingertips just curled over his trapezius muscles. "We don't have bones yet," she said.
"Huh?" Xander blinked at her, letting his eyes go almost completely closed again afterward.
"Bones," she explained. "We haven't evolved any bones. Can't get up yet with no bones."
"Ah." Xander nodded slowly, his lips brushing against hers with each movement. "I'm still working on language. Fire's next."
"Ah. Fire. Meat on sticks," Cordelia murmured into his lips. She lifted her hips slowly, sliding herself along the length of him and then eased back down.
"Cordy, ona steek!" Xander said, snickering softly.
"Just call me José Jalapeño... "
"Beats the heck out of being screwed by Walter," Xander said, still softly. "Or Jeff Dunham."
"Or Peanut... "
"Eewww."
"You play with dolls. Where's your date-tuh," Cordelia murmured, the slices of her eyes that he could see peeking out from under her lowered lashes dancing at him.
"Very slowly and excruciatingly working herself up and down along my cock, I think," Xander said, into her lips as they closed over his.
"Hmm... " Cordelia pulled back just far enough to whisper, "You think?"
"I'm almost certain of it," Xander whispered back. "Or else José is giving me a blow job."
"Snerk. On a steek... "
If the last time had been wild, raw, blazingly hot, bloody, sensual and scorchingly, passing out intense... then this time was slow, languorous, gentle, and achingly sweet, incredibly sensuous, and just as blazing hot. A slow burn, though, over banked coals, rather than the white hot scorching intensity of a forest fire coupling with a blowtorch.
Cordelia did all the work, and all of the movement, what little there was of it, with nothing but her rhythmically churning hips... slowly and sensuously working herself up and down along the length of his cock. Xander used nothing but his hands, running slowly up and over and along her ass and under her shirt along her back and waist and the outer curves of her breasts.
They both used their lips and tongues, neither wrestling for dominance, or in a hungry clash of gasping mouths. Just a slow and gentle working of lips against lips, and tongue meeting tongue, and hot sweet wetness intermingled.
Clothing got in the way and then vanished to clear the path for further explorations. Hands and lips found places to dawdle and fondle and caress.
Neither of them ever woke up fully, Xander figured out later. And neither of them ever quite managed to evolve bones.
He thought that maybe, just maybe, he said something like, "I love you," into her lips at some point. Or maybe she said it into his. Or maybe neither of them did – they both just thought it at an intensity that crossed and penetrated the barriers of flesh and transcended language. Or maybe they both did... at once or separately.
Didn't matter.
The last time was a whirlwind of motion and hungry mouths and violent thrusting and choked cries, both of them nearly insane with lust and heat, humping into and under each other like crazed animals until they detonated and melted.
The last time was a frenzied thrashing and wailing of Cordelia, all dark hair and flashing eyes and hungry lips clenching around and jerking spasmodically beneath him in an explosion of claws and wails and nipping teeth and frantically swiveling hips.
This time was a slow building intensity that came over her so subtly that Xander wasn't aware of it until Cordelia was tightening around him like an oily velvet glove and gasping into his lips with her eyes squeezed tightly shut and tears leaking from the corners. Wrapped in a slow and undulating full body shivering that swept up and over her again and again until she cried out softly against his mouth.
The last time had been a wild, hot, scorching blast of jetting fluids in a full body spasm at an intensity that rolled his eyes back into his skull and left him – and her – gasping and clenching and unconscious in each other's arms and attached at the lips. And still joined at the hips...
This time was a slow building pulse that seemingly came up from nowhere and everywhere, until Xander wasn't aware that he had come until after his loins had clenched and tightened and he felt himself emptying inside of her over and over again.
It left both of them spent and limp and shuddering in long slow ripples and devouring each other's lips with a gentle intensity until darkness came back up and swallowed them whole.
Meanwhile, down in the Principal's Office...
Yikes.
The little weasel soitanly was, ah... enthusiastic once he swallowed the Faith Lehane brand of bullshit hook, line, and leader. Swallowed that puppy all the way up to the bobber, including the weight, and took off running for a tangle of weeds.
Damn.
Faith determined that from now on, she must always remember to only use these powers for good.
Unless she found that she really, really needed the money.
She ended up taking reams of snaps of Principal Snyder in front of his trophy wall, at his desk, in the outer office, framed by his window, and doing everything except for hanging from the ceiling fan scratching an armpit and going, "Ook! Ook! Ook!"
Jeeze... she done went and created a monster.
Faith, naturally, kept up a steady line of patter in a Bronx accent. Flattering the little creep for all she was worth and hanging breathlessly – well, hey, N'Yawker: hanging scornfully – on his every utterance.
By the time they were done, she had his life story and a memory whatever full of Principal shots for every occasion and then some.
She took notes. Lots of them.
Actually, she doodled little vampire smiley faces with fangs, and hearts and stakes in the pages of her pilfered notepad with her requisitioned ballpoint. While looking attentive. And slightly deranged... But no matter. Amounted to the same thing.
It occurred to her to wonder at several points just how many photos the little internal memory doohickey held, but no matter: she carefully and surreptitiously deleted all of the blurry ones, slightly out of focus ones, and the ones that didn't meet her, ah... artistic standards.
Yeah. That's the ticket. Artistic standards.
Faith was surprised to discover about halfway through that she was thoroughly enjoying the hell out of herself.
By this point, she also had all of the appropriate forms and permission slips needed for an out of school student to exist on the Sunnydale High campus and wander wherever the hell she wanted to, whenever the hell she wanted to, with impunity. And a student ID. And a press pass, for crying out loud.
Snyder would stick his head out of the door of his office periodically, bark something out, and the school secretaries would make it happen.
Finally, he grinned smarmily into one last shot, and then bounced up from his oversized leather desk chair like an eager and hyperactive puppy. Pug variety.
"Come on," Snyder said, bouncing on his toes and practically vibrating in place.
"Huh?" Faith blinked at him. "Where to, Principal Man?"
"To get you settled in, of course," Snyder said. "Come on."
"Uhhh... " Faith blinked at him again, instantly wary. She was about as settled as she wanted to get...
"Come on, come on," Snyder said, "Time's wasting."
He managed to get her up and moving, chivvying her toward the door without ever touching her. That was something she'd noticed earlier – except for grabbing her elbow to get her going down to the office, he'd been scrupulous about never laying a hand on her or touching her in any way whatsoever. For such a smarmy seeming guy, he was almost rigidly proper in some ways. And polite.
Set her instantly at ease around him in a way she never woulda believed.
Plus, he liked her. Genuinely liked her. Wow. What a freaking trip.
Of course, he thought that she was Michelle Lane, ace Photographer of the Grant Clarion. But still.
"Huh." Faith paused a moment, glancing down at his desk. "What's the 'R' stand for?" she asked, finally registering the 'R. Snyder' on his desk plaque.
"Hhrrrm?" blinking absently at her, he gave a vague wave of the hand toward it. "Oh. Roderick. Roderick Snyder."
"Okay, Roddy – lead on, guy," Faith said, smirking inwardly.
She followed him out of the office and out into the halls, snapping photos of anything that looked interesting or entertaining as they went.
A short while later, at the offices of the Sunnydale High Sentinel, most of the way through Sixth Period...
Settled in turned out to be at the offices of the school newspaper.
Well, duh, of course.
Where else would you settle the Visiting Ace Photographer here on a Multi-Campus Academic District Photoshoot?
Swear to God: the Universe hated her. Or else the Big J was getting back at her for that Christ on a Vibrator crack and laughing his bearded young ass off.
The Goth looking geeklet that had, ah, donated his camera to the cause was nowhere to be seen or found.
Faith found herself plopped into a chair in the editor's office across from the taller, blonder, Goth looking teen that had come up with the beefy jock type to repossess the camera.
She stared at him. He stared back. Neither of them blinked.
In fact, the kid was watching her kinda the way a cobra eyed a mongoose – with a nearly panicked and despairing trepidation.
Principal Roderick, of course, was waxing expansive. Naturally.
"Freddy Iverson. Our editor. Meet Michelle Lane, ace Photographer. I'm certain you'll work well together."
"Huh?" He whipped his head around and blurted out, "I will?" at the same time Faith whipped hers around and blurted out, "Say what?"
They both stared at Snyder, and then at each other.
"Of course you will. It's all arranged," Snyder said, beaming expansively. "I sent the Principal of Grant High an email. And the Mayor. The Mayor thinks it's wonderful."
"He does?" they both blurted out at the same time and then exchanged glares again.
"Of course he does." Snyder jumped up, pacing back and forth across the cluttered office waving his hands. "Inter-district cooperation. He's big on cooperative ventures. And we don't have a moment to lose."
"We don't?" Iverson blinked at him. Faith was contemplating banging her head on Iverson's desk.
Hard and repeatedly.
Monster, created. Scam, life of its own taken on. Faith, doomed.
"Of course we don't! We're doing a special edition! Full length Homecoming Spectacular issue! Ah... " Snyder frowned thoughtfully, and then held up his hands and spread them as though framing a picture, "Sunnydale Rites of Passage in the Millennial Age!"
"And the Legacy of the Sock Hop in the Post-modern Era," Faith interjected, tongue planted firmly in cheek.
"Exactly!" Snyder aimed an index finger at her while maniacally tapping his nose and beaming, looking like a spaz.
"Ah... " Iverson blinked at him again, and then glared at Faith. Faith winked slowly at him, shrugged, and stuck her tongue out.
"I, of course, have a front page photo and inside page spread – with interview," Snyder informed him.
"Center-spread," Faith said. "Both inner pages. Maybe a foldout." She bit her tongue before she could add, "Nude."
Iverson was already starting to look ill. No sense in making him upchuck.
"Center-spread, excellent idea!" Snyder stated, "Glad I thought of it."
"I already have all the photos," Faith volunteered helpfully, leaning back in her chair. She swung both feet up onto Iverson's desk, one ankle crossed over the other.
"You do, huh," he muttered, giving her a homicidal look. Faith grinned back at him, winking again.
"And there's plenty more where those came from," Snyder said, "Any time you need a shooting session. I always have time."
"Sure thing, Roddy," Faith said, nodding vigorously.
'Roddy?' Iverson mouthed silently, starting to look faintly green around the gills.
"Plus we need shots of the Homecoming Committee, and of all of the candidates for King and Queen, and Prince and Princess," Snyder said, bobbing his head back at her and grinning broadly. "Get a full spread on Chase – her father's on the Alumni Committee. He donates."
"Already have a few shots of her," Faith said, her tongue planted firmly in her cheek. "Spread, baby."
"See? This kid's on top of things!" Snyder said, beaming. "That's the kind of spirit we could use more of around here!"
Iverson muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like: "I got your spirit right here, schmuck... " while smiling around clenched teeth.
Faith muttered back equally under her breath, "We got spirit, yes we do!" and smiled broadly. Iverson's eyes practically bugged out.
Snyder ran right over and past it, completely oblivious. Faith about came unglued trying to hold in laughter.
"In fact, do a spread on all of the Cordettes," Snyder said, his eyes gleaming. "And the Decorating Committee!"
"Interview with the owner and manager of the Bronze, too," Faith suggested, getting way too deep into the spirit of this despite herself.
Watching Iverson look more and more appalled and incredulous was worth the price of admission...
"Exactly!"
"But... " Iverson blinked at them both. "Homecoming? Special Edition?"
"Problem?" Snyder said, glowering...
"Homecoming is in two weeks!" Iverson said, turning pale. "Less than two weeks! Elections begin on the third!"
"Best get cracking then, hadn't you?" Snyder gave him a toothy smile, kinda like a pet cayman eying a goldfish. "As I said: no time to waste!"
"I don't have the staff to put out a special edition on top of the weekly!" Iverson said in kind of a strangled voice, looking suffused.
"Two of them," Snyder said cheerfully. Iverson gave him a horrified look.
"Two?!"
"The main one that comes out in time for the Homecoming Court voting," Snyder explained, gazing upward and into the distance in rapt joy at the scope of his vision, "And the followup."
"The followup," Iverson said, blankly, echoed by Faith. Who was now gazing upon her creation with the kind of horrified awe that one usually reserves for bad weddings and four hundred pound men in speedos.
"Covers Homecoming night itself, and the dance and coronation," Snyder explained, beaming. "By God – we'll show Grant a news extravaganza!"
"I can't do all that! Not alone!" Iverson turned his horrified look on Faith, who was of no help to him. She was wearing one of her own. "I don't have enough people!"
"Ah." Snyder waved that off. "Draft all the help you need. You have an extra photographer now. Get Rosenberg to help. And Levinson. And the AV club."
"But but but... the budget!" Iverson was starting to look as strangled as his voice, "A special print run costs money! And time!" His eyes were shooting daggers at Faith. "And two of them?"
"Meh." Snyder waved that off too. "Expense is no object. The school board is covering it."
"They are?" Iverson blinked at him.
"Of course they are. The Mayor likes the idea, remember?" Snyder smiled expansively. It resembled a lab rat spotting a wheel of cheddar with no competition in sight.
"I couldn't possibly forget," Iverson muttered. The bell for the end of whatever period it was went off.
"You now have a budget earmarked exclusively for this. Spare no expense. Get anything you need." Snyder said, sweeping his hand out in a magnanimous gesture. "Make it happen."
Iverson sighed, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and looking like he wanted to bang his head on his desk. Hard. "I'll do my very best."
"Good! I'll leave you both to it then," Snyder said. He bustled out chortling to himself.
Seriously. Chortling.
Faith had never heard anyone actually chortle before. It was cute, in a kind of a revolting way.
Iverson's head came up, his eyes opened, and he looked at her.
Faith looked back at him.
"I'm going to kill you," he said. "You're dead. Gimme my camera back."
Next! Follow Faith deeper into the wabbit hole for more in-depth exposés!
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