Published: 06.18.15
Last Edited: Date of publish
Word count: 5,986
Thank you so much for the reviews, favourites and alerts, and for the question that Guest (GreedTheSelfless) asked; no, Pixie is not her real name, and it will be explained in the later chapters.
And no, the chapter title isn't a typo.
I hope you enjoy the next chapter of Pixie and the Lightn- Precious is Gone!
Chapter I
"Hell hath Fury like a woman."
Staying inside a stuffy school bus with a bunch of loud and restless mental-case kids was not Pixie's idea of fun. In fact, she'd much rather put needles in somebody else's eyes - or she could just burn the whole sunflower coloured bus down, whatever came first.
The zippo was cool to the touch when she wrapped her fingers around it, feeling every engraving as she caressed it almost lovingly. She ran a nail down one of the engravings, guided by the soft swirls and bends.
It wouldn't take much effort on her part to watch it all burn down.
She flickered the top off.
All it would take was just a simply spark.
Pixie smiled, all teeth and no warmth, eyes wide in amazement.
A hand grabbed her wrist, hindering the lighter's descend towards the seat in front of her.
"Pixel, you shouldn't do that."
Jackson.
"I'm bored." She said, though she really didn't need to explain herself. "This bus is too stuffy." She then added as an afterthought, "And don't call me Pixel."
"I doubt putting it on fire will make it less so."
She pursed her lips. Perhaps, she was after all inside it herself... then she would just have to wait until after she got out.
Someone screamed. "Sh- She- She- She's got a lighter!"
As one, the other students reared back and away from her, shooting down the aisle to get away from her. She sent them all a feral grin, absolutely no mirth in her eyes, but closed the zippo with a snap of her wrist.
"Relax, I'm not burning anything." Yet, she thought to herself.
"You should take your own advice." Jackson replied quietly, so that only the two of them could hear it. He guided her hand back into her lap, giving it a light squeeze. "We'll be out soon."
Raising his voice, he called to Underwood who was sitting in the seats in front of them. "Hey, Groves, d'you think there's anything cool at the museum?"
Underwood turned in his seat, facing Jackson.
It was odd, Pixie thought, the friendship between the two of them. It just happened one day to the other, and suddenly they were the best of friends. Something fierce bubbled in the pit of her stomach when she had first seen them, but she couldn't really figure out what it was. It faded as the days passed by however, and she tolerated Underwood's presence most of the time, but he would always be Jackson's friend.
"W-well," Underwood licked his lips, "what's not to like about ancient Greek and Roman artefacts?"
It was May, and apparently that meant the whole class had to go an a field trip. They would be going to the Metropolitan Museum of Arts, and the only reason Pixie was looking forward to this was because they were allowed outside of the school's property.
Jackson leaned back in his seat comfortably, a lopsided grin playing on his lips. "Sounds more like torture, but I have hope."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, Mr. Brunner's the one leading this trip-"
Smack!
A wad of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich landed smack dap in the middle of Underwood's face, some of it even sticking to his curly brown hair.
Jackson froze, but Pixie knew he wouldn't do anything, unless provoked enough. He had sworn to be good on this trip, so he had to put up with Nancy Bobofit, a freckly, red-haired kleptomaniac girl.
And Bobofit knew he couldn't do anything, because he was already on probation (Pixie as well) from when the teachers had found them outside after curfew. The headmaster had threatened them both with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.
Pixie couldn't care any less, she'd just hack into the school's network and play some good ol' first-person shooter, but she knew Jackson wanted to be good because of his mother. Must've been nice having-
She abruptly squashed that thought before it could grow.
Another wad of sandwich made its way into Underwood's hair.
Jackson clenched his fists, mumbling lowly, "I'm gonna kill her."
Underwood tried to calm him down, wiping away the evidence of the offence, as if that would somehow make Jackson forget it had ever happened. "It's okay. I like peanut butter." He briefly disappeared behind the backrest as another piece of Bobofit's lunch flew over his head.
"That's it." Jackson started to get up, but a grip on his arm stopped him.
"Pixel?"
She hid a grimace. Really, what had she fallen to?
"I'll take care of it." She looked him straight in the eyes, noting that the cut across his eyebrow had healed rather nicely. It was still visible, a thin pinkish line about five centimetres* long running from the edge of his left eye and diagonally through the middle of his eyebrow.
Jackson knew not to push it when she became like this - knew how she felt about the accident.
He relented with a sigh. "Just don't burn anything."
Pixie turned in her seat, though not before giving a small nod of confirmation, eyes locking onto her target. "Bobofit."
The mentioned girl stiffened, swallowing the spit in her mouth. "Y-yes, Pixie?"
She tilted her head, taking all the time in the world to answer. Pixie had no reason to hurry, letting the other girl stew and work herself into a panic was a lot more fun.
"You went home for Christmas, didn't you." It wasn't a question, but she expected Bobofit to answer anyway.
All eyes were on them now, the other students anxiously anticipating the slaughter to come, but none of them made to help the girl. Pixie almost sneered. Sheep, the whole lot of them were sheep.
Bobofit nodded nervously, eyes wide in fear. "Y-yes."
Pixie smiled, eyes empty of emotion. "And did you have a good time?"
The other licked her lips before answering, "I... I did, yes."
"And did you get any good presents?"
Bobofit's eyes widened in realisation, mouth opening in shock as her face drained of all colour.
Pixie raised an eyebrow, but when the girl didn't say anything, she gestured for her to continue. "Well?"
"I..." she swallowed, looking as if she was pledging guilty at her own hearing, "Yes."
A malevolent smile played on Pixie's lips, and she purred, "I guess you'd very much like to keep them, no?"
Bobofit gave a small nod, shrinking in on herself.
"Then I suggest you eat your lunch instead of throwing it."
When the bus finally stopped the kids raced each other to the exit, Bobofit in the lead.
Pixie stepped out of the stuffy bus, the wind immediately whipping short, sooty black, locks around her ears. The breeze felt fantastic on the back of her nap, almost acting as a soothing balm over the Itch, which was an odd thing in and off itself. It was as little she had taken to calling it that, because it was just that. An itch that wouldn't go away. There wasn't much she could compare it with, but it was almost like the feeling when you couldn't scratch the oncoming itch under the plaster cast.
It drove her crazy.
Jackson stepped beside her. "So this is it, huh?"
The Metropolitan Museum of Arts still sounded a bit too pompous in her ears, and the building matched that perfectly. Big, white columns, steps leading up to the entrance, and gold letters announcing its name proudly.
Pixie withheld a sigh, and almost forebodingly the Itch started up again.
.01
* Roughly about two inches, if you were wondering.
Mr. Brunner rode up in front in his wheelchair as he guided the group of students through the museum. Pixie kept to the back, along with Jackson and Underwood, something the others in their class where only all too happy to maintain. Last time she had been walking in the front she'd accidentally (well, accidentally, and accidentally, she had kind of done it on purpose) pushed a big red button that apparently dropped those behind her into a deep hole in the ground. They had been looking at caves at the time.
They moved through the big echoey galleries, the ceiling high and spacious. Pixie vaguely wondered if she could somehow make howling noises and blame it on the wind, or maybe that stuffed wolf beside her. The Itch was shoved to the back of her mind as the little part of her ADHD infested brain kept coming up with different ideas she couldn't do.
She wondered if her calls would run along the inner walls, or maybe they would perhaps bounce?
Maybe she could make it sound like monsters were hiding in the shadows.
The floors were all shinning and glass-like in appearance, perfect for sliding across on a buttered-up tray. The glass cases full of old black-and-orange pottery were placed in a way that would be good for target practising. Perhaps she should bring a BB gun next time they went on a field trip?
"I can't believe this stuff has survived for two, three thousand years." Jackson said.
Pixie titled her head to the side, looking thoughtfully at the pottery. She couldn't believe anyone would want to exhibit this stuff. It was goddamned ugly.
The way Jackson smiled at her told her he knew what she was thinking. He started whistling innocently, and she knew it was just to annoy her because she couldn't, but stopped almost immediately when Mrs. Dodds sent him the evil eyes. He buried his hands in his pockets, looking thoroughly put off and grumbling lowly to himself.
Pixie felt an odd sort of satisfaction by it all - that would teach him to whistle around her when she couldn't - and smirked.
Jackson elbowed her in the side, fully knowing what she was thinking.
"Oy, I'm not the one glaring at you."
"No, but you're practically in cohorts with her."
Pixie found this all too entertaining.
"That woman just won't ever give up," He continued, "From day one she figured I was the devil's spawn. She'd point her crooked finger at me and say, 'Now, honey,' real sweet and I'd be in for detention!"
Pixie vaguely remembered Jackson telling her about one time when Mrs. Dodds made him erase answers out of old maths workbooks until midnight. Apparently when he'd told Underwood that he didn't think she was human, Underwood had looked at him in all seriousness, and said, "You're absolutely right."
Pixie didn't see why they disliked Mrs. Dodds so much, or, well, she did, but she didn't agree with them. The strict woman was alright in her eyes, she didn't tell on her when she was doing something she wasn't allowed. Somehow, Mrs. Dodds always knew how to find her, and would, time again and again, simply smirk at her and give a little wink before continuing on her way.
How Mrs. Dodds always seemed to know, she didn't have a clue, but she'd love to know. Maybe she could use it herself, if she ever wanted to track someone down. Seemed a lot easier than asking around whilst making sure no one told the one she was looking for they'd better transfer schools.
Pixie showed the boy a feral grin, eyes alight with predatory amusement.
The class gathered around a five-meter-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and Mr. Brunner started telling them how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about their age. He told them about the carvings on the sides.
It was amazing, in its own way, how Mr. Brunner didn't once notice the students talking to each other, none of them taking any interest in his story. Jackson seemed to be one of the few who did, but every time he told them to shut up, Mrs. Dodds would send him a glare.
Mr. Brunner kept talking about Greek funeral art.
The final straw seemed to be when Bobofit snickered something about the naked guy on the stele, but before he could tell her where to stick it, Pixie stepped on her foot with a dark smirk.
Bobofit yelp loudly.
Mr. Brunner stopped his story.
"Miss Bobofit," he said, "did you have a comment?"
Bobofit's face soon become the same colour as her hair, and she said, "Erh, n-no, sir."
Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"
She looked at the picture with dread, fumbling over her words once or twice before she finally said, "That's a guy eating some kids..."
Mr. Brunner raised an eyebrow. "Just a 'guy'?"
"Yes?"
Everyone around Bobofit snickered, and Pixie felt her lips curl upwards. Mr. Brunner sighed in disappointment. "Please pay attention next time, Miss Bobofit." He turned his attention back to the whole class, eyes quickly zeroing in on Jackson. "Mr. Jackson? How about you?"
Jackson blinked as he was addressed, then said, "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"
Pixie looked over at the specific picture on the stele. Kronos was eating who she believed to be one of his sons, probably Poseidon - a quick glance at the little sign beside it showed that to be true -, the babe's limbs torn apart. It was surprisingly gruesome for a picture carved in stone.
Rhea stood slightly away from her husband, robes draped around her figure. She looked morose, Pixie thought any mother would, but even with the bowed head, she couldn't find it in herself to feel any pity for the Titan - the kids, perhaps, they were after all eaten. Rhea had stood, watching as her children were gobbled up, and done nothing.
If- If she'd had a mother, would she just have watched on-?
"Eeew!" One of the girls behind her screeched.
Pixie blinked, lids slowly sliding over dark, dark greens.
Ah, she'd been spacing out.
"-and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," Jackson said, "and the gods won."
Snickers rose from the group.
Bobofit was mumbling to a friend behind her, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"
"And why, Mr. Jackson," Mr. Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"
Underwood grinned behind a hand, muttering, "Busted."
"Shut up," Bobofit hissed, her face resembling a tomato.
Pixie swore Mr. Brunner had radar ears at the weirdest of times. He somehow heard Bobofit, who was near the back of the group, but hadn't once heard the people talking in the front. How?
Jackson looked to be thinking over Mr. Brunner's question, but ended up shrugging. "I don't know, sir."
"I see." Mr. Brunner looked disappointed, though why that was eluded her. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"
The class drifted off. The girls, quickly forgetting whatever made them disgusted, exchanged gossip and rumours, and the guys pushed each other around, joking with each other. All of them acted like morons, in Pixie's honest opinion, which – surprise, surprise – most of them were. There was, shockingly enough, one or two (besides her two tag-a-longs) who weren't on her shit-list.
However, Pixie was a born realist, so she was just waiting for them to mess up.
(Or maybe that went under the category Pessimist?)
Pixie went after them, a sandwich in the sling backpack thrown haphazardly over her shoulder just begging to be eaten, a low rumble from her stomach making itself known. Jackson and Underwood were right behind her, when, "Mr. Jackson."
Mr. Brunner wanted to talk, and from the look Jackson sent her he had known it was coming. He told them to keep going, not that she had to be told that, and then he turned towards Mr. Brunner.
"Sir?"
The class had gathered on the front steps of the museum, where the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue was easily viewable.
Underwood and Pixie sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others, waiting for Jackson. Pixie didn't want to be near any of them, and Underwood dogged her steps. She pulled her legs up and under her over-sized hoodie, feeling a chill, and pulled the hood over her head, nearly shadowing her whole face. Now the knee length, patterned leggings, studded boots, thin knee pads, and hoodie didn't seem like enough. She knew she should have put on more clothes before they left, but she had been inside before they left and didn't know how cold it would be.
A huge storm was brewing overhead, clouds blacker than she had ever seen hanging over the city like a huge suffocating blanket. Could've been global warming at work, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. There had been massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. She honestly wouldn't be surprised if a hurricane suddenly blew everything away.
The only other person Pixie had seen giving the weather cautious looks was Jackson, who was now making his way over to them. Everyone else were acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Some of the male students were pelting pigeons with punchable crackers. Bobofit, she saw from the corner of her eye, was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse.
"Detention?" Underwood immediately asked.
Jackson shook his head. "Not from Mr. Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean-I'm not a genius."
Pixie gave him a blank stare. "What gave it away?"
In a fit of matureness, Jackson stuck his tongue out at her. "Ha ha, you're hilarious."
She hummed. "Good you finally admit it."
Underwood hadn't said anything for a while now, and when she thought he would start spouting some deep philosophical Shakespeare shit, he said, "Can I have your apple?"
She almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it.
Almost.
Apparently Jackosn didn't have much of an appetite, so he let Underwood have it. Pixie was currently stuffing her own sandwich into her mouth, briefly wondering if she should have taken another one with her. She laid down on the edge of the fountain with a shrug, nearly disappearing from the rest of the class' view as she did so.
Then she heard Bobofit's grating voice, who hadn't seemed to have seen her, "Oops."
Bobofit had dropped her half-eaten lunch in Underwood's lap. She was grinning, toothily, showing of those crooked teeth of hers. Her freckles were orange in this light, and they kind of looked like someone had spray painted her face with liquid Cheetos.
Jackson progressively looked angrier and angrier, until something strange happened.
A wave roared in her ears, and she felt a fresh spray of water land on her face. Pixie shot up in surprise, eyes wide, only to hear a sudden shrill scream of, "Percy pushed me!" Bobofit, much to Pixie's entertainment, was sitting on her ass in the fountain, screaming bloody murder.
She stopped immediately once she had spotted Pixie, jaw snapping shut with a loud click of her teeth.
Then Mrs. Dodds materialized next to them.
Pixie had grown accustomed to the other kids whispering behind her back, so she almost ignored this as well, but one thing caught her attention.
"Did you see-"
"-the water-"
"-like it grabbed her-"
She had been staring at the sky, but with so many people seeing it (unless everyone were on drugs - that was a possibility too), there had to be some sort of truth in their words. However small it may be.
Jackson looked lost.
Poor little Bobofit cried crocodile tears, Mrs. Dodds promising to get her a new shirt in the girl shop, as she sent Jackson vicious grins over Mrs. Dodds' shoulder. Pixie could see from the way Mrs. Dodds' eye twitched that she saw them too.
Mrs. Dodds turned on Jackson, and there was a triumphant fire in her eyes now.
Had she been waiting for Jackson to do something? No, Jackson had gotten on Mrs. Dodds nerves countless of times, and none of them had brought this utter triumphant glint to her eyes. Maybe it had something to do with the others' whispers? That certainly hadn't happened before.
Water that grabbed...
"Now, honey-"
"I know," Jackson grumbled. "A month erasing workbooks."
Pixie almost hit him for that one. Didn't he know anything? Never guess your own punishment.
"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds said sharply.
"Wait!" Underwood yelped. "It was me. I pushed her."
Pixie started at him as if he'd grown another head, slightly amazed and very shocked. Underwood was scared shitless by Mrs. Dodds, so why would he suddenly-? Mrs. Dodds had taken Jackson out of class many times, what was so special about this one?
Mrs. Dodds didn't seemed to appreciate the heroic act, and glared at him so hard his whiskery chin began to tremble.
"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she said.
"But-"
"You-will-stay-here."
Underwood sent Jackson a pitiful, desperate look.
"It's okay, man," Jackson told him, patting him on the shoulder. "Thanks for trying."
"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barked at him. "Now."
Pixie frowned. She was never like this - so hell bent on getting him alone. What was going on? Something didn't add up no matter how many times she thought or went through it. The turning point had clearly happened, but what? Mrs. Dodds didn't care that much about Bobofit that she'd go berserk if anything happened to her, and Jackson hadn't done anything other than push her-
The water. Mrs. Dodds had seen the water move (if it was real and not just some freak trick of the light), but what was so important about that that it'd cause Mrs. Dodds to look so gleeful?
Bobofit smirked.
Jackson glared heatedly at the redhead, but when Pixie turned her gaze back to Mrs. Dodds, she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at Jackson to hurry up and follow.
The frown deepened, the shadow cast by the hood over her face lengthening. How had she done that?
All doubt now removed - something was wrongwrongwrong -, Pixie watched as Jackson went after Mrs. Dodds and, with one backwards glance, into the museum.
"Please," Underwood begged, looking pale, "please go after him, Pixie."
"Why?" A very pale and shaking Underwood grabbed her arm in a vice like grip, and it surprised her enough to make her flinch and look at him. She had never seen him like this, he looked so serious that she couldn't find it in herself to snap at him for touching her.
Underwood begged her again, looking at her as if she had the power to make it all better with a flick of her wrist.
It was weird, having someone look at her like that.
"... Okay."
A weight visibly lifted from his shoulders. "Thank you."
.02
The Greek and Roman section of the museum was completely empty, and her footsteps echoed if she wasn't careful. She passed by what looked like a dinner plate with Janus on it, when she noticed that she had no idea of where she had to go. Mrs. Dodds and Jackson were nowhere in sight.
Pixie turned in a circle, looking all around, but there was nothing to give away their position. Something was telling her to go back and she cursed lowly to herself, how could she have lost them? She went in after them not even three minutes after they had entered the building.
She spotted a stele that had caught her interest when she and been walking around with her class.
It was of the ferryman, Charon, who stood beside his boat on the shore of the river Styx. He held out a hand for payment as the dead, all in the same cloak, stood in a long, thin line, waiting to board the boat. Few were already sitting in the boat, but it was far from full.
Longer down the river a great palace rose in the distance, towering over everything in the picture. Cerberus was guarding the gate and the three furies hovered in the distance.
A weird feeling entered the pit of her stomach as her eyes settled on the furies, urging her on in finding Jackson.
As the heavy feeling settled Pixie found herself going further into the museum and picked up her pace, feet almost flying over the floor in her haste. Her heart steadily beat a tattoo into her chest, the feeling of wrongwrongwrong now completely washing over her. Something was trying to stop her from coming.
But she wasn't that easily deterred.
After running for sometime Pixie suddenly skidded to a halt, hiding behind a statue of Hermes, as she spotted Mrs. Dodds.
She stood in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods, crossing her arms. She gazed intently at the gods, eyes flickering from one form and to the next, when she made this deep, rough sound in the back of her throat. It sounded like a dog's growl.
Against her wishes, Pixie felt herself tense and, a bit away from her, she saw Jackson doing the same. The sound hadn't just been her imagination.
"You've been giving us problems, honey," Mrs. Dodds said. She was still looking at the frieze.
Jackson didn't hesitate, but he didn't speak his mind either. "Yes, ma'am."
Mrs. Dodds tugged sharply on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?" The look in her eyes was positively mad - evil - and Pixie was starting to doubt if Jackson really was all that safe.
"I'll-I'll try harder, ma'am."
Thunder shook the building.
"We are not fools, Percy Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."
The words entered her ears but she couldn't make any sense of them. Jackson hadn't done anything that would warrant this kind of behaviour. But... we, Mrs. Dodds wasn't the only one - she wasn't acting alone.
Jackson didn't answer.
"Well?" Mrs. Dodds demanded.
Pixie tensed uncontrollably. She had to do something, and fast.
"Ma'am, I don't..."
"Your time-"
She pushed the empty glass case beside her over and it fell to the ground with a crash, broken glass shards flying everywhere.
Both Mrs. Dodds and Jackson jumped, eyes zeroing in on her form.
Then came the ear shattering alarm, blaring all around.
She said, "I tripped..."
Mrs. Dodds looked like someone had slapped her with a rubber chicken, and that was nothing compared to Jackson, who looked like a fish out of water. Pixie walked carefully over to them, steps cautious but near hurried. The bad feeling hadn't gone away, if anything it had only become worse.
"I erh," she swallowed, what the hell could she say? Pixie forced herself to relax, gaining back that usual bored drawl her voice had. "The bus' getting taken away, and Mr. Brunner can't do anything since he went to the toilet. I'd very much like to be able to get back - I was in the middle of a game -, so if you could...?" She jerked a thumb behind her.
Silence stretched.
Weird how no guards had appeared yet. Never mind that, it was downright uncanny how no one had even poked a head in.
Mrs. Dodds sighed, long suffering and incredibly melodramatic for the teacher.
"I had hoped this could have been avoided, honey, but..."
Somehow, Pixie got the feeling she wasn't talking about the bus.
Mrs. Dodds' eyes began to glow like the coals left after a fire. Her fingers elongated into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human, she never had been Pixie belatedly realised. Mrs. Dodds was a giant bat crossed with a hag that had claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs.
Mrs. Dodds screeched, wings fully spreading out, and the image she presented reminded Pixie of the stele she saw earlier.
Then something even stranger happened. Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.
"What ho, Percy! Fleur!" he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air.
Mrs. Dodds lunged.
Pixie still owned Jackson - no matter what he said, she had nearly killed him that day -, and it was time to pay him back.
She pushed him out of the way.
Jackson yelled her name as she felt the talons bite into the flesh of her forearm, like a hot knife to butter, and a grunt of pain left her. Ignoring the pain to the best of her abilities, Pixie proceeded to spin on her heels, as she didn't want to let Mrs. Dodds out of her sight.
The look in Mrs. Dodds- no, the fury's eyes as she turned around was angry. Angry at herself, angry at Pixie, angry at Jackson - angryangryangry -, and Pixie desperately tried to look for something she could use as a weapon.
Jackson now had a sword in his hand, she noticed, though she could've sworn it had been a pen only moments ago. She recognised the sword as Mr. Brunner's, the very same bronze sword that he always used on tournament day.
Mr. Brunner would dressed up in a suit of Roman armour on tournament days, and shout: "What ho!'" and challenge them, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, their mother, and what god they worshipped.
Pixie fumbled briefly for the long shard of glass by her feet, quickly pulling down her hoodie's sleeves and over her hands, so she wouldn't accidentally cut herself. She was happy now that her hoodie was black, because it meant you couldn't see the blood that now lazily gushed from her wound. It would stop soon enough, she knew, as all her wounds had a tendency to do, so she wasn't too worried about it.
She moved closer to Jackson, lightly bumping her shoulder with his. She could feel him shake, but that could also be her so she wasn't about to mention it.
The fury snarled, "Die, honey!"
And then she flew straight at them.
Pixie didn't allow herself to panic - couldn't -, so she calmly raised the hand holding the glass shard, placing the palm of her other hand behind it. Jackson had already raised his sword, which was held in front of him.
The fury came upon them and the bronze blade ran clean through her shoulder and down to her hip, as Pixie jammed the ragged shard of glass into the middle of her chest. The fury's body gave no resistance, as if she was made of nothing but shadows.
She crumbled, like a biscuit dumped one to many times in one's tea, and was blown away like a thick layer of dust on an old book. It was morbidly beautiful, the way she had exploded into golden dust – vaporising on the spot. She left nothing but the smell of sulphur and a dying screech behind her.
The alarm wasn't blaring at them anymore, and the place suddenly became eerily silent.
Pixie felt an unwanted shiver run down her spin, as if the fury's two red glowing eyes were still watching them from the shadows, and tried to suppress it. But they were alone, she knew that, and Jackson's sword had turned back into a ballpoint pen. She threw the shard of glass on the ground.
"Did," Jackson licked his lips, "did that just happen?"
Pixie's lips quirked, and her only acknowledgement to his question was showing the three short cuts across her arm. "Who ever said, 'Hell hath no fury like a woman' clearly hadn't met Mrs. Dodds."
Apparently he didn't find that all too funny, because he gave her a very dry look.
Jackson gestured to her arm. "Are you gonna be okay? Should we get someone to look at it?"
She shook her head. "S'fine, I heal pretty quickly. See? It's already stopped bleeding." And so it had, at least, for the most part. The places were it had stuck to the fabric of the hoodie had torn when she pushed the sleeve up, but other than that it was fine. The cuts were swallow, and looked worse than what it really was. She re-covered the wound. "But we better get back outside before someone comes looking."
It had started to rain outside and Underwood, who was still sitting by the fountain, used a museum map as cover. Surprisingly, Bobofit was also there, rain and fountain water making sure she was soaked to the bone. She was grumbling to her annoying goons, and when she saw Jackson, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."
Pixie stared at the redhead. They didn't have a teacher named Mrs. Kerr.
"Who?" Jackson blurted.
Bobofit sneered, rolling her eyes. "Our teacher? Duh!"
The old zippo was laughably easy to get out and flick open, a beautiful, vibrant orange, flame bursting forth. "Want me to help you dry off, Bobofit?" The Itch had come back with a vengeance and all she wanted was some kind of relief. Bobofit would have to do.
Bobofit shot her a frightened look, quickly blurting out an excuse and hurrying off to her posse as they all nearly ran away. Jackson kept an eye on the group, as he asked Underwood who Bobofit was talking about. The only answer he got was a squeaky, "Our teacher."
Pixie shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, trying to easy off any strain on her right arm. "And Mrs. Dodds?"
Underwood paused, and didn't look either of them in the eyes as he questioned, "Who?"
"Not funny, man," Jackson told him, brow furrowing. "This is serious."
Thunder boomed overhead.
Mr. Brunner was sitting under his red umbrella, reading a book, as if he'd never even moved. One look at Jackson told her all she needed. They both went over there.
Mr. Brunner looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson. Miss Fleur, I do hope you didn't come here with any bad news?"
Jackson handed Mr. Brunner his pen. Pixie had forgotten it, which was kind of sad, because that meant she had had the opportunity to spear Bobofit but didn't. She'd first have to figure out how to turn it back into a sword though.
Her lips tugged down. "No," she said as to answer Mr. Brunner, "I haven't done anything." Besides breaking a glass case, of course, but that wasn't in the school's agreement of incidents she'd have to report. Not that she actually told the school of the things she did - that would be plain stupid.
"Sir," Jackson said, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"
Mr. Brunner stared at them blankly. "Who?"
"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher." Jackson added helpfully, as Pixie waited for his answer.
Mr. Brunner frowned and leaned forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, Fleur, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you two feeling all right?"
She really should have just burnt down that goddamned bus.
I'm kind of ashamed of how little Grover there is in this chapter when he's, you know, right fucking there. Alas, there's not much I can do about it, as Pixie won't really pay him too much attention, because he's Percy's friend, and Grover might be (he very much is) scared of her. It'll end at some point, hopefully.
Anyhoo~ Leave a review, I love to hear from you guys!
