A/N: So this OC character, Rainy, may seem rude. She's brash, unapologetic, to the point, and says exactly what she's thinking and doesn't much care otherwise; she may seem to have a bitchy attitude but there's an honest and not-so-normal reason behind it. In fact, it breaks the laws of physics and it should be impossible to have happened.
Chapter 2: 2 - chagrin [Episode 1]
On that day a year ago, Rainy spilled a beaker of hydrochloric acid on herself. It had been in front of a boy with greying hair and a room full of students with a teacher that is sometimes regarded as too strict. It hadn't been a humiliating experience, not really, and Rainy had ran to one of the bathrooms just in time to wash it off, but not soon enough before earning a permanent burn bruise on her lower arm.
That day years ago, she had been rude to that boy, she has to admit, bit it hadn't exactly been her fault. And besides, he's a known class clown, a smartass who is a part of the C- Crew—the band of students whose grade average is the C range.
But sometime during the following few months, Mr. Trevelyan, their science teacher at the time, is transferred to a higher grade at the town's eastern high school.
There were students who rejoiced at the news—those who hadn't held the best grades due to poor performance—and others held mild feelings, though knowing that there is a chance that they'd have him as a teacher again—whether he is a favorite or not. Rainy is one of those students.
Since that day of spilling acid on her arm in the classroom, Rainy began delving deeper into herself. She began refusing for new people grow close to her.
She kept those she knew as a tight group, letting no one new in
Rainy doesn't speak to Peter again after that day. She couldn't even if she desired. It had been nearing the end of the school year anyhow, and that Peter disappeared for that following week certainly helped.
Now, almost year later, another school grade ahead, and puberty almost run its course, Rainy still lives in the same house as before. Rainy would still wake up on a school day, try to dress herself and catch the bus for school. She would usually see her parents on her way out now, whether it was one or both of them: Her father would normally be reading the paper about stocks or his progress in the election—yes, by now, he had enrolled in the run to become Bayville's next mayor; her mother would be doing...whatever she would be doing at the moment, if she isn't getting high or having a "next morning" event with another of those apart of the same group as she.
You could say that Rainy's life has remained quite the same.
It is now a new year which is supposed to mean new beginnings. It is no longer the beginning of the term, however. Well, it still felt like it to some...
Rainy still met up with Michelle White and would see Sherry Addams when the strawberry blonde isn't with her bubblegum and smiling friends; Rainy still spoke to the others she knew.
Things were normal
PLAIN
ORDINARY
IN THE HALLWAYS
A brunette grumbles to herself, twirling the combination lock, very frustrated. This has been the fifth time she's tried opening this darn dial lock and her patience is on ice. She pauses, hoping a few deep breaths would calm herself. But still, as she tried once more and the lock not budging, she threw her fist down to her side and stamped a foot. And the lockers nearest her, including her own, swung open, the banging so loud in the hallway.
Conversation nearest pauses only for a moment as a few students look around, caught off guard.
Wanda freezes, also surprised and having jumped herself.
She quickly gathers what she needs from her now-open locker and hurries to class with her shoes scuffing along the floor. Her cheeks were a tinge pink.
It is an early a Tuesday morning—too early in Wanda's opinion. But being a student in school, she didn't have much choice. First period class will begin soon, she knows. A couple walks by—or a pair whom she guesses is a couple—of a brunette boy in a letterman jacket with his arm around a curly brown-haired girl in high-waisted pink jeans.
When Wanda hurries into class and slides in her seat, she takes a look around the room—half of them all were already here while the rest were beginning to file in as the morning bell neared. But still, as she watches each pass, she doesn't find what she is looking for, she doesn't catch sight of the familiar head of hair. But she doesn't frown this time and she doesn't become irritated, but begins memorizing the scold she would later give. Wanda looks around and doesn't see her brother yet, and she merely pushes her hair from her face and leans on her arms on the desktop.
She knew just as well as he that if he were to be late again, that would be five in a row and would grant him a seat in after-school punishment.
A part of Wanda worries about it…but the other said that this is all his own doing and not her problem. She knew if things got the worst, he'd arrive just as the bell would ring.
Her prediction isn't far from the truth.
. . .
. . .
Pietro—Peter to everyone else—Maximoff, stood at the open door to his small suburban American home, book bag slugged over his shoulders and a grin on his face. He glances at his watch before focusing ahead, going over the mental map of his journey one more. He still has two minutes left according to his time. He looks left, down the road, and to the right. Certain there is no one watching, he places hands on the goggles on his forehead, sliding them in position.
"Showtime," he mutters.
A second later, he's gone, speeding down the road quicker than the normal eye could see. He's thankful he had paid attention so many times on the drive back home.
Having overslept and his sister not coming downstairs to wake him, he's now late…theoretically late. But then again, he is never "late"—in his book.
Peter smiles to himself seeing the world pass by ever-slowly. He would make it to school in five minutes...or five in his time.
*Bell ring*
Wanda glances once more at the open classroom door.
Nope. No one walks through. She merely sighs; he's going to be late again.
She rolls her eyes. 'Of course.' Wanda sits back in her chair, pulling the red hood further over her head.
The teacher at the front of the class today is a woman in a red dress and crinkled brows—a substitute until further notice. The woman leans against the long desk at the front of the room, rapping her manicured nails on the chipped, dark wood. She looks over the lesson plan left by the original teacher once more before she would begin the lesson for the day.
A small stack of papers rests on the desk near her hand, Wanda sees—homework to be given to their original teacher.
One more minute to be on time
As if on cue at the bell ring, Wanda catches a familiar streak of silver zip inside out the corner of her eye. And she groans to herself watching her brother slide into the room at the last literal second, hair a wild mess, hunched over as if to hide, hurrying inside with a biscuit in his mouth and already sliding his book bag off his arm. He rummages inside before pulling out three slightly crumpled worksheets. He mumbled something incoherent to the substitute through the biscuit sandwich in his mouth, already holding the worksheet homework outstretched to the woman.
The substitute slowly looks him up and down before taking the papers from him. A brow rises at his demeanor: all wrinkled shirt, un-pressed jeans, and wild grey hair. It's her first time teaching this class. Unknowing to him, she isn't one to excuse tardiness. She orders him to take his seat, coincidentally, behind his sister.
Wanda waits until she feels his desk shake at his collapse in the chair to hiss, "where were you?"
His arms are folded and he leans forward. Wanda can hear his intake of breath near the back of her jacket; he waits until the teacher's back is turned before whispering back. "What do you think? Oh by the way, thanks for waking me up this morning, Wanda." His speech had quickened as the years went by and his abilities came out full-forced.
Wanda scoffs and glances over her shoulder. The biscuit sandwich hung from his teeth. She isn't amused and rolls her eyes again. The look she gave is in question about the breakfast sandwich stuffed in his mouth.
"I got hungry on the way. Chill."
The teacher turns to the class then. She fidgets with her brown ponytail on her shoulder, going on about something that had to do with the government's history—some part of the lesson for that day.
"Is that from Lucille's?" Wanda whispers, not daring to look back. She keeps her gaze focused on the teacher and scribbles notes in a notebook.
Peter doesn't answer. Wanda feels a hot foil nudge her side. "Bacon and cheese."
Wanda smiles, hiding the sandwich in her lap until the substitutes turns her back again to take a bite.
. . .
. . .
The Maximoff twins—Peter and Wanda—neither are considered significant to the school. Not like the popular students or the athletes or those who excelled in most, if not all, classes. Many times, the twins were seen as just another face in the crowd, and were only pointed out by those who knew them, whether good or bad.
Well, that is partially true. Especially for Wanda.
Her brother on the other hand—
Kids can be so cruel
—It was a different story.
It wasn't intentional, having singled Peter out from all the others. Some would say it was coincidental, and really, Thomas hadn't wanted it to happen. But for some, once there have been given the taste of the good life, it may be near impossible for them to come back.
It had been one day in school...
It had been caused by Clarice
Clarice Wilhelm is a temptress, a siren of the land, and little Thomas has fell under her spell. She offered him a chance to join their crowd, the "cool kids." She had been backed up with some of the most well-known names on campus when she came to confront him when he had been alone. Thomas had refused immediately, but still, many men fall prey to sirens.
She offered him fame
Wealth
And fortune
Clarice had told him that she had taken a liking to him that day after the lab assignment that year ago, cooing that he had looked "so smart" doing that experiment. She had wrapped her arms around him and he had smelled her scent and he was enthralled.
Sucking up
All he had to do was tell of an incident of the silver-haired boy, an embarrassing detail or memory or a rumor. That was all, and then the privileges would come raining, rapidly: parties, popularity, friends, awards of "the best smile" in the yearbook, girls, a possible position on a sports team.
All Thomas had to do was humiliate him.
LAUGH
POINT
TAUNT
CROWD
LIE
He simply had to humiliate Peter in front of more than "a few," humiliate one of his friends.
Tables—life—can change in one instant
All it took was one day. Thomas's words had been twisted into what he hadn't intended, making him seem worse. He hadn't even said anything wrong, but left his words ineffective. It were the other boys around him who had drove the nail in deep, warping his words as he stood horrified.
Thomas was still accepted.
He had tried telling this to the grey-haired boy, but Peter hadn't listened.
He set his baseball hat on fire that day
A hat he had gotten with Peter when the two had snuck into a local baseball game.
The two haven't talked since.
The minute the bell rang, the students hurried out of the classrooms like water from a spout, the substitute still calling out a remainder of the lesson after them.
Wanda blends in with the crowd quite effortlessly. Peter waits until the stragglers are left in the classroom to stand from his chair. He slugs his bag over his shoulder lazily, and his eyes are still hooded as he pulls out his headset from his bag.
Students crowd the narrow halls in a rush to get to their destination.
When Peter exits the class, he locks eyes with a familiar raven-haired boy across the way. Peter pauses, seeing him inside a semicircle of peers and laughing, smiling. The boy has been wearing glasses for several years now, and the other knew that they were around the same age; Peter frowns. The boy raises his chin in a greeting that no one else would to pick up, a look in his eye at the other whom he used to be close to.
Peter shrugs on his headphones and keeps walking, not even giving acknowledgement that he saw Jason or any of the other Honor Roll students.
Jason and Thomas and Peter had been friends years ago but—
But life happens.
CAFETERIA
"I don't know how humans manage to eat this stuff." Ronny sticks his tongue out in disgust, and watches the mystery mush drip from his spoon to his plastic tray.
"Dude, you're human too. And it looks more like mashed potatoes…" The girl, Meisha, beside him leans in close to her own tray of lunch food, investigating her own white dollop. It certainly looks like mashed potatoes…except for the smell—it didn't smell anything like potatoes she knew. She sat up. "Hey Peter, could you go get us some real food? Like, McDonald's or something?" She os nudging by the one at her side.
Peter has his arms folded under his chest, tray pushed and also untouched. Meisha frowns that he's still looking over his shoulder.
Meisha calls again. "Hey, Pete!"
This time he did turn to attention, large eyed and looking surprised.
"Did you hear a single word I said?"
He hadn't.
"What are you looking at?" Meisha looks around and proceeds to stand but the other motions for her to sit back down. And he hushes her. He doesn't want Thomas or any others to catch wind of him here—the last he knew, they were out on the field but Peter isn't sure and wore his hood just in case.
"Whatcha so focused on then?" the other boy seating across asks. "The only things that you get so focused on is AC/DC and porno," he chuckles.
Peter turns back around. "Har har."
Reynold "Ronny" Di Gallo
Gender, Male
Dark hair, kept in a buzzcut
Dark brown eyes
Birthday, October 31
Italian-American American-born citizen
Mutation, Camouflage
Ronny drops his spoon to his plate and concludes that the only things he's managed to eat were the rewarmed vegetables and bread roll. At some corner of the cafeteria, a cards game is going on.
Peter's eyes shifts between the two. "Do any of you know someone with the name Capulet?"
Ronny pushes his tray from in front of him. "Why?"
At the same time, Meisha spoke, sounding a little irritated: "is that who you were looking for?"
"Just answer the question already."
Both thought for a moment.
The three were the only at this table in the cafeteria. The three had chosen not to sit with anyone else, and others chose not to sit with them. It is a sort of silent territorial issue that is partially gained among any mass of people, and partially due to the social structure created. Burnouts don't sit with nerds, and the academics almost ever sit with the populars.
They were some of the school's "weirdoes"
or geeks.
At least a few of those with that title
No one knew they were mutants
Except each other
It didn't stop the name-calling, however
"Someone in my gym class has that name," Meisha answers reluctantly. "I think her name is Blue Rain or something like that." She has a certain stare and almond eyes that many take as menacing. "Why?"
Ronny nodded. "The Juliet-girl," he adds, a pun the girl has acquired when the class had been assigned to take part in a reading of Romeo and Juliet. And the name just stuck.
"That's it!" Peter snaps his fingers. "You know her?"
Meisha scrunches her face. "No. Why would I talk to her? What do you want with her?"
Meisha Babinski
Gender, Female
Long orange-red hair
Light brown-hazel eyes
One long braid the length to her thighs
Birthday, April 5
Biracial American-born citizen
Mutation, Organic Constructs—Comakinetic
Peter opens his mouth to answer but is cut off by Ronny. "That's her right there isn't it?" He points behind Peter. He smirks at seeing how quickly the other looks. "Since when were you so interested in her? What, we're not good enough for you?"
"No, she's…she just owes me, that's what." It is a lie.
Tables down is a girl with light brown hair and light olive skin seated next to a tall boy in a jersey. The table seems to be engaged and abuzz. A girl in a short hair cut reaches across the table. The tall boy in the jersey lets out a loud laugh.
But Peter had turned around at the wrong time. And Ronny lowers his finger, locking eyes with the different tall young man who had been searching the room the same when Peter had, he audibly swallows.
"Um…" Ronny grows nervous. Peter's eyes widen.
Thomas smirks from the middle of the cafeteria. He speaks something to those near him before standing and marching over, several tall, intimidating teens following.
Don't make eye contact, he's temperamental
Peter turns back. Ronny and Meisha watch as Thomas approaches. And when he does, he laughs, flexing his arms.
"Well, fellas. Look who we found."
Peter could hear Thomas' voice less than a foot behind him.
"Hey! Fruitcake!"
Peter stirs the potatoes on his tray, ignoring him. He still has the sweater hood over his head. "Go away, Thomas. I'm busy if you can't tell. Go find someone else to boast to; your ringleaders are already here. Or are you just cranky because they ran out of snacks at your exhibit yet?"
Thomas scowls. "You didn't seem like you were too busy then. And if I wanted anything to do with you, I would have just used your hair and make a spotlight reflect in the sky. I could page all the other wannabes I have to beat up. Your head's so big it just might work."
Peter's hands clench.
"Nah, just kidding," Thomas lies. "Brett here," he points over his shoulder, "says he saw you messing with his girl last week. And when he confronted you about it, says he's now missing a piece for his jacket. ...You know anything about that?"
Peter's nose scrunches. "A piece for his jacket?"
"Yeah, his jacket pins," one of the boys beside Thomas spoke up.
Peter looks over his shoulder and his mouth opens. "Ohh. You mean jewelry? Like a brooch? Brett, I didn't know!" He's speaking in feigned astonishment. "You have good taste! But then…you are a gorgeous guy, so…" Behind Peter, Meisha and Ronny look horrified. He smirks and calls the senior ball player "a babe." He continues blabbering. "You know there's a sale going on at that jewelry store in the mall. You can find the perfect gift for—if you role that way, Brett. I—"
"That's not what I meant!"
Thomas steps forward. "Look here. You like bling, don't you Peters, silver-dollop?" He mocks. "Now I'm going to give you until the count of three and if you don't have your head in that trash by then, I'm going to put you there myself." He raises a fist for emphasis.
"Go away Thomas, I don't know what you're talkin' about." Peter turns back around. "And if Brett would learn to keep track of his things for once then maybe he would have also noticed how much he sucks on the team and that that chick he was with has been "talking" to some of those nerds on the math team."
"There's no way you'd know that!"
"Then why don't you go ask Brett then why he snuck into the girls' restroom with some floozy?"
Thomas' nose flares, but the anger dispersed a moment later. He smiled cynically. "Of course you'd know all that, wouldn't ya? You spying on people now, hoser? Now you've turned into some kind of creeper?" he irked.
Those at his side snicker.
Ronny feels his stomach falling.
"What? Next thing you know, you'll be tryna peek on me in my showers, huh?"
Peter's head jerks forward as Thomas' hand whacks the back of his head. And Peter caught himself just before his face would be decorated with the food on his tray, but his brows were arched as the hot rage heating in his chest.
The chattering around them lowered when Peter stood from the chair rapidly, it screeching across the tile. His hood fell off from the force and speed.
"C'mon, Maximoff," Thomas coaxes.
Meisha speaks up then, still sitting, nowhere near brave like her friend. "You heard him; get out of—-"
"Shut up, weirdo!" The taller spat.
"Hey! Don't talk to her like that!" Peter now glares back at the boy in a way one would have never thought he could possess for his ex-best friend. He leans from one foot to the other. "Whatcha gonna do, punch me?" He grins stiffly.
The taller slacks his jaw. The tension between the two could be sliced with a knife. "Hand it over, Maximoff."
"Chill out, dickwad. Hand what over? I told you I don't have—-"
Thomas jerks Peter closer, bundling the shorter's dark jacket in his fists. "Hand it over, geek." Thomas had hit a somewhat growth spurt since the last he and Peter talked, and he now stood inches taller than the young mutant. "A class pin. It's a diamond class pin."
Peter's brows shoot up then.
By now, they earned a small crowd to watch the dispute.
"Oh, you must mean that little old fashion-looking brooch-thing 'bout this big?" Peter held his fingers apart, indicating a small size. "What did his Grammy give it to him?" he mocks. His grey brows crease then as if he is just coming up with the thought. Or, it's just his true expression for the moment. "Yeah, I saw Milton with it a day ago I think...taking it to the pawn shop up the street from the skate park. It is a nice one too, just upset that I didn't get to it first."
Thomas is silent. Those flanking him didn't jump in. Peter smiles wider, sarcastically, as if saying "see, stupid?"
The cafeteria is quieting, the tension being picked up and teens waiting in anticipation for the first fist to fly.
Thomas' hands loosen on Peter's sweater, but he still give death glares to the grey-haired trickster.
Down the hall, a man's voice—a teacher—is coming down the hall. He's running, having been told a fight is to break out.
Loudly, as if to make sure everyone heard, Peter asks, "you know, you sound pretty upset about losing that diamond brooch. Are you sure it isn't yours?"
Thomas glares down at the other before Peter's world explodes into stars. A loud crack sounds in the room of Thomas' forehead connecting to Peter's just as two deans came in the lunchroom. Neither of the adults could figure out who exactly started the fight and so both boys were punished—one with a bruised ego, the other with a broken nose.
A/N: Follow and Favorites only give a very vague ideas of people's thoughts. So please let me know what your think! Was it bad and crappy? Was it too long and obnoxious? Was it just ok? Don't hold back your words, please! Don't forget to review.