Summary: A month after "School of Crock," Poof and Foop have a discussion about life on the teeter-totter. It would seem the expectations of society are already seeping into their young minds.

Characters: Poof, Foop

Rating: K

Prerequisites: None

Posted: July 18, 2016

12. Second Chance (Post "School of Crock")

Monday November 24th, 2003

Year of Fire; Autumn of the Thawed Calendar

The preschool balanced on a narrow chunk of rocky planet, with such a thin atmosphere that the current gray clouds scurried on their fluffy little ways against a backdrop of blackness and gleaming stars. Fortunate, then, that none of its students actually needed to breathe, and the occasional human visitor could scrounge together just enough oxygen to make it through school hours, provided that excited screaming or anxiety attacks were not involved.

The recess bell had rung salvation almost five minutes ago. The playground slide brimmed thickly with bustling bodies. The two swings were overwhelmed. Little hands scrawled chalky swirls over pavement, led by Sammy, the unanimously-elected captain of the mural collaboration. Where do I live? was the topic they'd been assigned. They'd started their work there beneath the two struggling saplings the day before, and they were determined to finish before the gentle rain washed their efforts away for good.

Poof would not be joining them. Sure, his parents might get a phone call and he'd be gently scolded, and Timmy would pat him on the head and teach him how to emotionally distance himself from the terrors of the world, but... no. No, he could never bring himself to join them there on that side of the building- hadn't yesterday, and wouldn't at this time tomorrow should that be an option. Perhaps on a brighter afternoon, perhaps during the next break period when the sunshine would be beating down from the west. But now, he lingered on the playground with the last crumbs of his lunch biscuit clenched in his tiny hand, and he watched them. Even Goldie was over there, hard at work sketching twisting tunnels and spider-legged roots across the mural's underground.

Sigh.

Fairies had never been meant to keep alone. Their instincts drove them to seek close-knit and long-lasting companionship among their own immortal kind, or humans if no satisfying matches could be found. Or something like that. Poof wasn't particularly liking his remaining options, but all were better than floating there aimless and on his own.

And, he consoled himself as he set his long wings thrumming, if fairies hated to feel abandoned, might at least a hint of that nature have crept into another species, too? Might he even receive a grateful welcome for his efforts?

"Hey, Foop. You're looking a little bluer than normal. You need someone to teeter-totter with you?"

Foop - no less aimless and on his own than his counterpart, of course - had been examining something in his hands that glinted like metal. But at Poof's voice, he started and shoved the contraption into the front pocket of his shiny black school uniform. "Oh, well, just look who it is. Cut to the chase, lollipop. What do you want?"

"I want to play on the teeter-totter," Poof said, forcing himself to suppress the growl in his voice, "and you're on it. You were here first and fair is fair, so if you care to join me then you're welcome to. If not, I'm sure Sammy Sweetsparkle or seriously anybody else would be happy to take your place."

The little anti-fairy considered this, and considered this, stroking his tiny scrap of goatee. Poof loathed that goatee. It only reminded him of his father's natural inability to grow facial hair, and that such a trait had probably ended up in his own genes. A magical mustache simply wouldn't be the same.

After the longest staring contest in the lives of either party, Foop grunted his consent. Gratefully, Poof floated up to land on the opposite end of the board. He had hardly taken hold of the handle when Foop kicked off the ground, jerking Poof downward. His jaw slammed into the bar. Foop broke into a cackle as the purple fairy straightened himself out.

"Ooh, yes! Now, if that didn't feel so delightfully energizing!"

"Why? Just… why, Foop?" Poof spurred the teeter-totter into action, at a slightly more reasonable speed.

"My dearest apologies, friend."

"I'm not your friend. And I never, ever want to be your friend."

Foop unfolded and withdrew his bat wings as he shrugged. "If you don't like who I am, don't hold that against me. I'm only what you made me into."

"I was just under three months old! You can't hold that against me- it's not my fault you swallowed my instinct to lash out at my opposite on sight when you were just lifesmoke."

"Three months? My, how time does fly! And how very fortunate I am that you lost it, or I never should have been allowed to come to this delightful little educational establishment alongside you." Foop didn't blink as the pair exchanged ups and downs in silence. Then, accusingly, "Seriously, why are you really here?"

Poof tightened his shoulders. "Can we stop assuming I'm playing with you because I want to?"

"Forgive me, Mr. Popular. What's suddenly less appealing about your real friends?"

On automatic, Poof glanced towards the far side of the playground, where Sammy and so many of the others had gathered on the shady side of the schoolhouse to finish their chalk drawings. Between the cluster of ornamental trees and the cloudy sky, the flag whipping on its pole over their heads like heavy beating wings, like the creeping rustle of feet… No, no.

His eyes zipped back to Foop just as quickly. Not quickly enough. Foop cocked his head. Which, since his head made up most of his body, nearly overbalanced him from the teeter totter.

"You know, I always forget that you're afraid of the dark."

"And you hate ninjas and the flickering of the TV."

"Fair," Foop acknowledged, "but that blinking light would strike terror in anyone's core."

It was Poof's turn to shrug. They passed another few beats without speaking.

"Your birthday's coming up in February."

"I know."

"I got you a present."

"Knowing you, Foop, I think I'd rather you kept it."

Foop squinted. "Aren't you at least a shred or two excited? Yeesh. Who brushed the dust off your wings?"

He got a tight-lipped smile in return. "I think you took the part of me that gets super-duper excited about a lot of things when you showed up to clone my core. You're always super happy or super upset about stuff. I'm that range in between. I think mostly I'm equally excited about all the stuff that ever happens ever. Just sometimes I don't show it in the same way you do."

"But Father Time set the world back to normal. You and I can age again. Sometime soon, you won't be imprisoned in that rotund exoskeleton of yours anymore, and I will no longer be forced to suffer through the crushing struggle of functioning throughout daily life while encased in my stunted form equipped only with such tiny arms and feet, and I will be entirely capable of using my powers to bring DEATH to all those who have crossed me and whom you hold dear. And you, Poof, while I cannot strike you down without wiping myself into oblivion, are DOOMED! There are hundreds of fates worse than death, and I have studied science immensely ever since I left my smoky form behind and and ascended to this present state, and you have NO idea what is coming for you, purple puffball, and it is going to fill you with DREAD and FEAR beyond the utmost reachings of your wildest sane imagination!"

"Anti-Goldie's staring," Poof told him without removing his hand from his cheek. "You might wanna flip on back to that Hiccup personality she likes so much before she starts hitting us with her boomerangs again."

"Anti-Marigold. And you're supposed to call her Kelsia. And, you ought to know that I stuffed Hiccup back down in therapy. Although admittedly he has been getting a tad restless in there ever since my Terrific Twos day." Still, Foop, who had released the teeter-totter to fly up and punch the air as he hollered, sat himself down. The board bumped against the ground and he didn't push off again, but only stared upwards at the unmoving fairy perched atop the other end. "Poof, do you ever lie awake and wonder just how you and I shall turn out when we're much older? I'll bet even with the anti-fairy limitations, I can make the inevitable curls in my hair so much more appealing to look at than yours."

Poof snorted. "I barely think past the four o'clock showing of Looky's Lunchbox. Never gets old. Season 2 begins today."

"I honestly can't tell whether that comment was intended to be sarcastic or wasn't, but I digress. I for one plan to pursue the worldly sciences. Biology, chemistry, physics, mechanics- I'll master all of it and use it against you while you're trotting about teaching yourself your adorable little magic tricks. I'll take over from my father as soon as my powers are strong enough to really put a blur in his monocle. I trust you'll do the same. Two young princes, locked in battle until the universe ceases to exist. Doesn't that idea ring quite loudly in your ears with the utmost enjoyment?"

The fairy let the teeter-totter rest in the dirt again a moment more than necessary, and Foop pedaled his feet against air. "I'm not exactly some sort of blueblooded royal like you are. I live in a suburban fishbowl."

"I'm a count's son, actually. And technically that's a pretty title for show- my father is a tad more of a general. I'm still heir to something, at least."

Thinking through that, Poof squinted. "Foop, do your own parents even love you? I've never, ever seen them with you or doing anything supportive since your dad had that spaz attack during parent-teacher conferences."

"Pouring salt all over the classroom was a nasty trick, and you know it!"

Poof tilted his hand back and forth. "Ehih, what can I say to that? A love for revenge is one of the few traits we both share deep down. In fact, isn't that even our exact core?"

Foop shot a sigh out between tight fangs. He let Poof thud against the hard soil once more. "Why are you here? Honestly?"

"You looked pathetic over here all by yourself."

"I rather enjoy being alone!"

"On the teeter-totter?"

"When it's available. I am rather fond of the sandbox, except when I sit for too long in it and it makes my diaper itchy with rashes."

Poof tightened his grip on the bar. "Maybe I just believe that sometimes people need a fourteenth chance."

"Whatever happened to the second chance?"

"You tried to make my mama drop me through a portal to another universe where I would be frozen in suspended animation for the rest of existence."

"Oh, please- Are you still going off about that? You're so naive, Poof, and everyone just lets you play that 'cute and innocent' card whenever you bat your lashes, just because fame was handed to you on a silver platter full of rump roast. I actually had to work for my popularity. And don't you dare make as though you wouldn't have done the same if that little play date had been your idea."

Poof's wings fluttered so fast, they buzzed. "No, I wouldn't have, Foop. That wouldn't even cross my mind! I'm a fairy. I'm good! By the very definition of my species, I'm better than you are."

Foop wrinkled his nose. "Well, that's a little self-righteous, don't you think?"

Simmering, Poof released the handle of the teeter-totter at the top of its next bounce and floated upwards. "Okay. I'm done here."

"Wait!" Foop let go as well, but stayed seated. Near-seated, anyway- his natural instinct was to flap his wings and keep himself lightly in the air. "I can't work the teeter-totter on my own!"

Poof set his jaw. "You have a baby bottle full of magic. Figure it out yourself. Now, if you will so kindly excuse me, it looks like a swing has just been made available."

"But-"

"That's it, Foop. You and I can continue this little talk of ours over apple chunks at snack time. But to be perfectly honest, I really don't see why you'll bother. I'm the fairy. I'm the primary counterpart. My species are above yours. That's just the way the little universe works. And no matter how hard you throw a fit, that's just the way it's always gonna be."