CHAPTER 2: IT CAN GET WORSE, or NOTHING GOES AS EXPECTED, AS SHOULD HAVE BEEN EXPECTED
Everything had gone terribly wrong; more so than it already had. It happened in a record time, too. Though no one was around to record that, one could begin a record of Approximate Time to Everything Going Terribly Wrong with this situation of Louise's as the first entry and expect it to hold for at least forever. (Though it must be conceded that this is a bit cherry picking at its finest. The record is really not all that impressive, and it is inflated by how it is measured; switch the measurement methods to something like Most Exceedingly Inane Physical Task Accomplished by a Certain Pink Haired Wonder at the Tristain Academy of Magic within the Confines of the Female Second Year Students' Quarters against a Hard Wood and Possibly Hardwood Wardrobe via Means of Cranial Assault, and it would stand to last only an eternity. Of course, just for the record, if one is on the search for dynamism, perhaps for reasons of surpassing that record that stands for all time, then do not be intimidated by even the second record's insurmountability, for there is the given methodology of records in the way of Most Quaintly Foolish Matters Pertaining to One Louise le Blanc de la Valliere, in which case, the record stands only... no, it is gone, it is done. It stands in the past. It is long gone, far exceeded. And by that Louise herself. Everything is always excessive with this explosion meister of a pinkie pink pink, that strawberry blonde but pink girl. Forget exceeding these records; too low and they shall be replaced).
Supposedly, one should expect this situation, given one hothead pinkhead's involvement in an already uncomfortable situation. The matter concerning Louise is that it takes much willpower (of the magical and non-magical kind; either or) to be up and active after a thrashing such as Louise had managed to both take and give, to deal and receive simultaneously. Louise, however, was merely Louise. It was not willpower she had, but simply a stubbornness fit for a Louise. There is a small but important distinction, see: by the inherent nature of stubbornness, it must show and ruin everything.
The day after the familiar ceremony was to be a halcyon respite spent with one's familiar, with the mages bonding with and otherwise euphemistically enslaving their new pets. All was generally going well and according to plan until Louise stepped out into the courtyard. She had just been informed of her expulsion by Old Osmond and given several days' time to have her affairs in order before leaving. The bit about affairs ostensibly meant to organize everything, but a little creative (idiotic) interpretation and words from her hat had convinced Louise this was her last opportunity to raise some trouble before her mother speared her right through the midsection and had her body displayed as an example to any others who might be so foolish enough to require examples regarding what the Heavy Wind would do to dissent (dissent as in the truly creative interpretation of "not meeting standards"). So at the very least, Louise decided she might as well pay back some of the humiliation heaped upon her over the time at this Academy.
It was true Louise was angry at her hat for not speaking up and making her look psychotic to Osmond, but nevertheless, what is finished is finished, if that must even be stated (and honestly, Louise being angry or not is the default). She now had to make the best of whatever situation facing her, and besides that, she had started off on the wrong footing (or was it heading?) with Hat; she would admit that her show yesterday was, while thoroughly fascinating, not exactly of the "fine first impressions" type. That familiar, no matter what, was all she had left (excluding the innovative, New Age rage within her that was wont to come into being ever-so-often, ever-so-often actually meaning very often), so she would tolerate him. And last but of the most import, that hat really was a fine hat, just like he had so reported.
Hat was a glorious, deep black top hat that seemed to drink in the light around him yet still illuminated spots about him. For stretching the length of Hat's 4 foot body were adornments of various diamond studdings positively shining about, seeming to concentrate the stolen light in an absolutely stunning ring. Maybe this was the effect of magic, or maybe this was the halo effect, but Brimir forbid this be some magic spell called the halo effect. (That would be too far.)
Hat also had a base curving upwards, a dapper, gold encrusted ribbon encircling itself as its hatband, various markings in different languages questioning the genteelness of whosoever might be viewing the hat, various markings in different languages informing whosoever might be viewing the hat of how their genteelness paled in comparison to the hat, various markings in different languages informing whosoever might be viewing the hat of the specific degree to which their genteelness could not match the hat's, a few statements questioning the exact semantics of "genteelness" as opposed to "gentility" and calling for a civilized debate over the "crux of the matter" for good measure, and a mobile monocle and pipe combination that darted about, serving as Hat's eyes and nose.
The only thing that might even remotely be considered as tarnishing Hat's perfect body were the familiar runes which Louise had added to him. They did not call anybody's gentility into question, unless they did so so subtly as to not have that fulfilled as their primary purpose. In any case, that runic markings' purpose must be questioned, then. The gentility-questioning markings were unquestionably, or rather, very questionably in some ways and assured in some other ways, already magic in nature as well; they would shift to variable languages in order to be understood by each viewer and to provide the correct, high class, and custom tailored rhetorical questions veiling insults to each viewer, so why could not the rune do the same? (Such was the actual rhetoric directed by the markings to the rune. It was taken so far aback, so aghast, it had no answer. Or the rune was non-sapient. Not likely, that was deemed by the markings.)
All this impossible luxury combined meant that common convention would consider Hat to be a more-than-worthy hair protector/nemesis to the Sun and that Louise's exacting-without-an-exact-target standards considered Hat sufficient. Sufficient to wear. She could not, however, because it went through her when she tried to place it atop her head.
"Apologies but not really, Louise. You may be nobility, but you are not a true gentleman. Thus, I cannot be worn by the likes of you. Embark on life changing journey to raise your fashionability quotient, pardon the neologism, and return to me, and then maybe perhaps we can see. In a metaphorical manner, that is... meant. "
So it was that Louise was angry as, as said (on both accounts), she stepped into the courtyard. But the recently-stoked anger flashing through her from Hat mattered not to her. Not anymore. Nevermore would that matter. The innovative anger she held for the bullying and taunts faced over the years mattered more, and again, Hat was a fine hat. He was only helping Louise build herself up for today's trouble-making confrontation, yes. Helping her rationalize and organize her innovation, you know? Pick your fights and all suchlike, y'know? Even if somebody else does the picking in lieu of you, yuno? No? Very well. It is only a hope that one is aware, never a certainty. In this world that must come to an end, nothing may ever be sure. (Other than hats, that is. They are possessed of a great, almost contagious, self-confidence.)
Louise's calculations informed her quickly of an opportunity to reap a terrible (well, more like petty, but one starving on a desert island takes any meal that shan't be one's own arm with great gusto) vengeance. A first year brunette was looking around for one Guiche de la Garish Pretentiousness, and Louise, knowing of their lurid nighttime trysts as all in the Academy other than those involved in it (that humorously-innocent love triangle) somehow did, thought it apt to facilitate this blooming love by providing directions to the brunette.
"Katie, your lover boy's over there. That girl he's with is just not-his-sister and probably maybe not his cousin either, by the way."
Katie thanked Louise for the guidance and Louise thanked herself for her (not really that) clever plan (that some peasant commoner really could have come up with, and inadvertently, too) while rubbing her hands together. "You're going to get a real surprise real soon, sooner than should have happened anyway, nether regions nomenclature bearing piercing fop bully boy. And you'll regret that warning to that one fat sow of an earth elemental teacher, yes, yes. Yesssss."
To a backdrop of light turning to heavy hehehe resounding, Katie approached Guiche and a misunderestimated understanding of Guiche's concerning his own smooth-talking, double-playing skills culminated in Guiche's face being rough-motionedly, double-impact slapped. Louise had walked in close by in a manner best summarized as "continuing in the not really subtly at all charade" to enjoy the spectacle, her hat taking up a seat on a table nearby and giving a thumbs up with a nonexistent thumb while exposing a set of sharp, triangular teeth to "egg" Louise on in her enjoying of the spectacle. That spectating, of course, could only achieve maximal enjoyment by holding one hand close up near the face and laughing exaggeratedly in a high pitched O-ho-ho-ho way. Such is a must, for it is the way of the noble, the way of the genteel: mastery of the backwards-splayed-fingers-over-mouth laugh is one of the key indicators of nobility.
"Yes!" Louise thought. "For once, I can be the one engaging in such laughter! It was all worth it. It's worth it, whatever cost may come to be. I've finally done it."
"So then, am I noble enough now? I just did that, right?" she spouted from behind her grin.
Guiche twisted to face Louise. "Louise? Your schemes were behind this? You who, in your jealousy, made two beautiful young ladies cry?"
"When did I say that?" Louise said. "And why would I be jealous? And they cried? Cried tears of slapping?" Certainly. A new classification of tears must be added, for now there are tears of sadness, or rather, normal tears; tears of joy; and tears of slapping. Such innovation. When the emotions become overwhelming, when you are in doubt: let the tears flow. It is the all-encompassing solution; a solution so versatile, it may solve all problems, even those that might not even be. It may even create new ones, specifically for the purpose of finding their solution.
"Louise: though it pains me to challenge a woman, no matter how unrefined and coarse, I must defend my honor. I shall be waiting at the Vestry Field. This duel is obligatory! Face me." Guiche turned on his heels and left.
凸
A brief moment of being catatonic and wondering what exactly in Brimir's imperious sweetness just transpired later, Louise shook her head and recovered use of her pupils.
She swept her head around and located her hat. She grabbed him and ran off to a secluded location to prepare some serious shouting (it would not be desirable to have anyone believe she was of ill mental stability solely because she was giving her hat familiar bestowed the infinitely imaginative name of Hat a proper shouting to, like Yuno? Though, as it should be known, Louise's grabbing did nothing to put that notion to rest; on the contrary, due to Hat's impressive length, Louise was forced to place Hat upon her back and run off with her hands hooked behind her, confusing and infuriating everyone who cared at all, however small that number of people was).
"Hat… you told me to go for this! You never told me this would happen! What am I to do now?!"
Hat lit his pipe and exhaled slowly, enjoying the sensation that he, by his own admission, really should not feel. Louise was not enjoying the spectacle.
"Hat?! Respond, you stupid fine idiot!"
"Remain calm, Louise. That is what you must do," Hat said after taking one last puff and stowing away his pipe.
"Easy for you to say! You're a hat! And you don't have to duel him! Tell me, honestly, what am I to do?"
"Easy, Louise. Easy. Just kill him."
Louise doubled back and caught her balance only on a stone wall nearby with her head. "Huh? What?" she said in a dizzy daze of familiar pain.
"Louise, this is the perfect opportunity to kill Guiche and reap your vengeance. Consider the facts: one, it is a duel, so it would be passable to do so; two, you shall likely never see any of the students here again. When else might you be able to... ah... avenge... yourself so?"
"I think you're missing the point where I have to DUEL SOMEONE! Now think of whom you suggested I kill: Guiche de Gramont. He's nothing impressive for that, but, unlike me, he has MAGIC! Even I can see and admit that much!"
Hat took out his pipe again for the expressed purpose of putting it down to express his disdain. "Louise, you have explosions. I know you do. I decided it was a worthy venture and recently swept through your memories. Before you say-"
"But-" Louise's face reddened, from either-or-and having her memories seen or from sheer frustration.
"Quiet. Just listen: you have explosions."
"YOU ALREADY SAID THAT! And still, I can't and shouldn't really kill someone… not even if I wanted to." The pinkie-possessing pink-flushed pinkhead pressed her pinkies and indexes together to execute a supreme fiddling maneuver, perhaps even worthy of a fresh, shiny, P-flourishing cognomen. She had never put such a motion to official use before, but it was well-practiced (and that showed), as a matter of course: many hours in front of a mirror had prepared her for social use of it when flustered enough. (If there is one positive matter to be reported concerning Louise, it is her maniacal drive for an acknowledged, well-regarded even, existence; even then, stating it as a positive matter... well, it is mania.) But let a return to the crux of the matter be sought: it has not been used much, for it is simply that being flustered is a rarity; the infuriated part is common with Louise, but the confused issue, not so much. (One may take issue with that lack of issue, but remember that one cannot be confused if they are so far gone they do not even realize what it is they do not realize.)
Hat exhaled in a sigh, disappointed in Louise and that he had taken such an exhale in a form that did not involve pipe smoke. "Fine then, Louise. I'll take this duel. This and only this one duel, understand? I believe your familiar can stand for you, being representative of you at all times, essentially. So I will do this for you."
"Hat… you are a hat."
Hat, who was already scampering off to the field, did the fine quality headgear's equivalent to looking over his hat shoulders.
"That is correct. Unparalleled insights, as could only be expected from one as astute as yourself. I am indeed a hat. I look forward to further observations from your tirelessly cogitating mind."
"Hey! Hat! Come back here! You..." Louise pouted with her hands swinging in the air.
"What stamina you have for nonsense," Hat muttered under his lack of breathing. "Never have I ever known any other being who holds such an ability to sleep talk and sleep walk whilst awake. You truly are the glue that keeps all the wheels turning greased, Louise."
Waking somniloquy and other parasomniac disorders are quite rare indeed, but they are equally so concentrated as uncommon, for those occasions when they do manifest.
A note from the scrivener:
Most dear readers and most especially dear perusers,
Italics not working, cannot fix, did not work on last chapter. This induces within me a state of being very apoplectic
Apologies but no regards,
Most dear self, I is here, for I am I