November storms through the main doors of Saint Joseph, clad in a short tangerine dress, dark stockings, and heels. She dashes down the hall, around the corner and down the stairs towards the building's basement. With tears streaming and mascara running, she makes her way to the dimly lit boiler room. She collapses to her knees, her hands flying up to her face. Dark tendrils of hair cascade over her quivering shoulders as she sobs. She lifts her head and lets out a terrible wail, the walls shake and some of the piping comes loose and leak steam. With a sigh, strained eyes stare off to a corner of the small room. She crawls over to it. She clutches a loose brick and pulls it out, dust crumbling onto the floor. She retrieves a leather booklet from the hole.
January 22
Bonjour Hybride,
Tonight was the dreaded ball and she never showed up. I waited and waited and Yulia never came by. I wore her stinking dress, drank punch, and won a god damned contest with Hedge. But what does it matter. She ditched me. I seem to have forgotten to collect the prize money on top of it all, oh well. I waited and waited. I thought she felt for me...
Her watery eyes glare and her brow wrinkles deeply as she scratches the page with ink,
...Is this some sort of pay-back for what happened so long ago? Hasn't she forgiven me by now? I don't understand why the hell she'd do this to me...
Her glossed upper lip curls into a sneer, the pen in her hand digging deeper into the page. Her bosom hums and ink blots form as she writes hatefully,
...that bitch she embarrassed me in front of everyone im so peeved i bet she was with someone else tonight i should really teach her a lesson she shouldnt be allowed to do this to me ever again...
The humming from her chest turns into loud ringing. The walls begin to rumble and blood starts trickling out of her nose, hitting the page in little splats. November pauses writing to catch some drops in her palm. She wipes at her nostrils, glancing down at her journal. The words and blood on the clamoring page smear together and morph before her very eyes,
JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN JE TUERAI CETTE PUTAIN
She lets out a soft gasp before passing out, crumpling over her journal.
-
The sensation of steam and heat hitting bare flesh beckons November to awaken. She sits up and stretches before staring down at herself in silent dismay. She's stark-naked, save for a ragged brightly colored piece of fabric coiled around her waistline and the tattered remnants of nylon on her thighs. She rises to her feet before acknowledging the journal on the floor. She bends down to pick it up, her eyes going wide in horror as she reads the blaring message. November quickly slides open the grate to the boiler and tosses the book into the blaze. She pulls back, shielding her eyes and face with an arm. The bits of paper and leather incinerate quickly amongst the flames. She looks about the room and her gaze lands on a dusty painting smock hanging on a nail. She smacks away the cobwebs and dust before looping it around her neck and tieing it around her waist. She quietly slinks up the stairs and into her dormitory before cleaning up and joining the rest of her peers for breakfast.
C'est rien.
It's nothing.
Moderator: Student Council
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November Bell
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David Conrads sat in his office, idly playing with a stress-relieving rubber ball. Over the last couple years at Saint Joe's, that rubber ball had passed through the hands of a lot of troubled students. David had started to think of the ball as a kind of totem, a symbol of his successes with helping these kids.
Concern. Fear. He felt them coming down the hall before he even heard the footsteps. He turned in his chair and set the ball down on his desk, and waited. The footsteps were heavy. Maybe Tony, or Keith, or Biff. But the growing sense of fear was uncommon in those boys, so Conrads raised an eyebrow, ready for the unexpected.
But the voice that called through the door was not one he had prepared for. Not even a little. “Mr. Conrads?”
David got to his feet and crossed the small office. He opened the door and smiled. “Madam Lasinfore. Come in. How can I help you?”
She nodded and walked in, her eyes looking over the details of the room. David closed the door behind her. Madam Lasinfore sighed heavily. “It’s not me, Mr. Conrads. It’s one of the students.” Her simple propriety did not mask her feelings from David Conrads. She was deeply worried, and also, strangely, embarrassed. David kept his face blank, but inquisitive. He often found it was helpful to hide his abilities, even from those who knew he had them.
David gestured to a chair in front of his desk. “Please sit, Madam Lasinfore. Tell me what I can do to help.”
Madam Lasinfore sat, her hands folded in her lap. “It’s about young Miss Champagne.”
That caught his attention. “November?” He had spoken with Novembre d’Champagne a few times since her enrollment. About her mysterious powers, and about much more personal matters. Madam Lasinfore frowned slightly at his mention of her first name. A flash of irritation came from her.
Madam Lasinfore cleared her throat. “Yes. You see, when I was coming in this morning, I saw her in the hall. She was sneaking into the girls’ dormitory. And she…” Another wave of deep embarrassment.
David leaned forward to lean on the desk, and laced his fingers. “It’s all right, Madam Lasinfore. Please continue.”
“It’s hardly appropriate, Mr. Conrads. But Miss Champagne was in a state of undress.”
David felt her concern deepen. “Madam Lasinfore, if you could be more direct, it would be helpful.” She frowned at him, and he quickly smiled in his most comforting fashion. “I often have to tell the students the same thing, Madam Lasinfore. The more honest you can be, the quicker we can start working on the problem.”
Madam Lasinfore took a deep breath. Her embarrassment grew. Finally, she nodded. “Miss Champagne wasn’t wearing much more than some sort of apron. And the clothes she had on, they were… torn. Torn to shreds.” David Conrads felt his heart sink. He was about to speak, when Lasinfore continued. “And it was pretty clear to me, Mr. Conrads, that she was extremely upset.”
David nodded slowly, letting her words play about in his head. “Do you think she’s been attacked? Sexually?”
Madam Lasinfore blushed deeply, but nodded. “She was taking quite some care to sneak into the bathrooms. I heard the showers running after she went in. And when I saw her at breakfast, she still seemed distant. I am terribly worried about her.” And she was, Conrads could feel it clearly.
“I understand, Madam Lasinfore. Thank you for your honesty. I will look into this immediately.” She nodded again, and a wave of deep relief flowed from her. She stood, and turned to leave, but stopped at the door as she opened it.
“Thank you, Mr. Conrads,” she said quietly. She smiled slightly, but her mind was sad. Then she stepped from the office and shut the door behind her.
David Conrads leaned back into his chair and stared at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, and felt Madam Lasinfore’s emotional traces begin to fade from the room. Then he sighed heavily, and spun in his chair to a large filing cabinet. He opened one of the drawers, and began to finger his way through the folders within. He looked over the names printed at the top of each file, and frowned deeply.
Then he did the most difficult thing he had ever done during his tenure at Saint Joe’s: he began to pull the file of every male student whose psych profile suggested they were capable of rape.
Concern. Fear. He felt them coming down the hall before he even heard the footsteps. He turned in his chair and set the ball down on his desk, and waited. The footsteps were heavy. Maybe Tony, or Keith, or Biff. But the growing sense of fear was uncommon in those boys, so Conrads raised an eyebrow, ready for the unexpected.
But the voice that called through the door was not one he had prepared for. Not even a little. “Mr. Conrads?”
David got to his feet and crossed the small office. He opened the door and smiled. “Madam Lasinfore. Come in. How can I help you?”
She nodded and walked in, her eyes looking over the details of the room. David closed the door behind her. Madam Lasinfore sighed heavily. “It’s not me, Mr. Conrads. It’s one of the students.” Her simple propriety did not mask her feelings from David Conrads. She was deeply worried, and also, strangely, embarrassed. David kept his face blank, but inquisitive. He often found it was helpful to hide his abilities, even from those who knew he had them.
David gestured to a chair in front of his desk. “Please sit, Madam Lasinfore. Tell me what I can do to help.”
Madam Lasinfore sat, her hands folded in her lap. “It’s about young Miss Champagne.”
That caught his attention. “November?” He had spoken with Novembre d’Champagne a few times since her enrollment. About her mysterious powers, and about much more personal matters. Madam Lasinfore frowned slightly at his mention of her first name. A flash of irritation came from her.
Madam Lasinfore cleared her throat. “Yes. You see, when I was coming in this morning, I saw her in the hall. She was sneaking into the girls’ dormitory. And she…” Another wave of deep embarrassment.
David leaned forward to lean on the desk, and laced his fingers. “It’s all right, Madam Lasinfore. Please continue.”
“It’s hardly appropriate, Mr. Conrads. But Miss Champagne was in a state of undress.”
David felt her concern deepen. “Madam Lasinfore, if you could be more direct, it would be helpful.” She frowned at him, and he quickly smiled in his most comforting fashion. “I often have to tell the students the same thing, Madam Lasinfore. The more honest you can be, the quicker we can start working on the problem.”
Madam Lasinfore took a deep breath. Her embarrassment grew. Finally, she nodded. “Miss Champagne wasn’t wearing much more than some sort of apron. And the clothes she had on, they were… torn. Torn to shreds.” David Conrads felt his heart sink. He was about to speak, when Lasinfore continued. “And it was pretty clear to me, Mr. Conrads, that she was extremely upset.”
David nodded slowly, letting her words play about in his head. “Do you think she’s been attacked? Sexually?”
Madam Lasinfore blushed deeply, but nodded. “She was taking quite some care to sneak into the bathrooms. I heard the showers running after she went in. And when I saw her at breakfast, she still seemed distant. I am terribly worried about her.” And she was, Conrads could feel it clearly.
“I understand, Madam Lasinfore. Thank you for your honesty. I will look into this immediately.” She nodded again, and a wave of deep relief flowed from her. She stood, and turned to leave, but stopped at the door as she opened it.
“Thank you, Mr. Conrads,” she said quietly. She smiled slightly, but her mind was sad. Then she stepped from the office and shut the door behind her.
David Conrads leaned back into his chair and stared at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, and felt Madam Lasinfore’s emotional traces begin to fade from the room. Then he sighed heavily, and spun in his chair to a large filing cabinet. He opened one of the drawers, and began to finger his way through the folders within. He looked over the names printed at the top of each file, and frowned deeply.
Then he did the most difficult thing he had ever done during his tenure at Saint Joe’s: he began to pull the file of every male student whose psych profile suggested they were capable of rape.
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November Bell
- Posts: 350
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November was coating her upper lashes with a wand of mascara when she heard a light knock on the door to her dormitory. With a groan she canted her head, "Yeah, come in."
"Hey November, how are you feeling today?"
David Conrads appeared in her doorway, smiling gently and looking about, making sure Trinity wasn't present. November returned his smile with a reluctant nervous one. "H-hi, Mr. Conrads. I'm well, what are you doing here?" She wasn't interested in how he was doing. She wanted to know exactly why he was in her bedroom and speaking to her.
David pulled out a chair from her desk and sat, "Do you have a minute?"
He leaned forward, folding his hands over his knees. November still had the wand of masacara in her hand. She slid it back into the little vessel and set it down on her desk. She turned to face David, leaning against the desk with her hands propped up behind her. She eyed him quizzically, "Sure."
"November, I am going to let you know now that this conversation will be entirely confidential and that I won't share any form of information you shed here with anyone. This is entirely between you and I. I did not call you into my office because I wanted you to be as comfortable as you could be, so here I am," He stared down at the floor for a minute before returning his abating gaze to November, "I had heard about the boiler room incident after the dance. I don't want to jump to conclusions, November, I really don't. But I hope that the assumptions I have are utterly false, for your sake and everyone elses'" She swallowed hard, swallowing down this nauseating spoonful of information. Her face flushed and her verdigris eyes seemed frozen in time. "...November? I know this is hard. I know. But please, I beg you, you can tell me what happened. You're not the only girl that has gone through this trauma. You can get help. The pain and shame can get helped. You can tell me. You can start healing now." He could sense the assortment of emotions going through her, his pallid face contorted in trying to sort them all out. November slowly gathered what he was trying to say. It suddenly hit her what he thought had happened. Oh, God.
"Mr. Conrads..." She crossed her arms tightly over her chest as she dropped her head. "...Mr. Conrads, I can't talk about this." David smiled up at her, trying his hardest to look encouraging without looking demanding. "It's ok. I understand. But, November, it's so vital we find out who the culprit is. The person that did this to you should not be allowed to be given the opportunity to do this again to another girl,"
November's eyes were glued to her feet.
"Can you tell me who he was? What he looked like?"
- "No," She shook her head slowly,"It was dark."
"Can you tell me anything that you can distinguish?"
Her sallow brow broke into beads of sweat. The bell in her chest began to vibrate. She licked her lips over and over again. Get off me. Get off me. Leave me alone. Leave me the fuck alone you bastard.
David rubbed his temple, too much. Too much hostility.
- "No. I'm....I'm sorry"
"That's ok, November. That's absuteley fine. I know it will come to you. Something," He rose to his feet. He came over to her and placed a hand on her slumping shoulder,
"It's going to be ok. Please, please don't blame yourself. This happens to lots of girls. I know it's terrible, but it's the truth, you know? Some day you'll be comfortable enough to talk about this to someone. November, I can promise you that this miscreant will be dealt with and that you can get on with your life again. Don't you worry about that. I'll take care of it."
He gave her one last warm smile before stepping out, shutting the door behind him.
November's chest was heaving with deep shaky breaths as she dropped to her knees. Her face felt hot and moist. She coughed and dry heaved.
Oh, God. What have I done? But only the dull resonance of the hollow bell answered her.
"Hey November, how are you feeling today?"
David Conrads appeared in her doorway, smiling gently and looking about, making sure Trinity wasn't present. November returned his smile with a reluctant nervous one. "H-hi, Mr. Conrads. I'm well, what are you doing here?" She wasn't interested in how he was doing. She wanted to know exactly why he was in her bedroom and speaking to her.
David pulled out a chair from her desk and sat, "Do you have a minute?"
He leaned forward, folding his hands over his knees. November still had the wand of masacara in her hand. She slid it back into the little vessel and set it down on her desk. She turned to face David, leaning against the desk with her hands propped up behind her. She eyed him quizzically, "Sure."
"November, I am going to let you know now that this conversation will be entirely confidential and that I won't share any form of information you shed here with anyone. This is entirely between you and I. I did not call you into my office because I wanted you to be as comfortable as you could be, so here I am," He stared down at the floor for a minute before returning his abating gaze to November, "I had heard about the boiler room incident after the dance. I don't want to jump to conclusions, November, I really don't. But I hope that the assumptions I have are utterly false, for your sake and everyone elses'" She swallowed hard, swallowing down this nauseating spoonful of information. Her face flushed and her verdigris eyes seemed frozen in time. "...November? I know this is hard. I know. But please, I beg you, you can tell me what happened. You're not the only girl that has gone through this trauma. You can get help. The pain and shame can get helped. You can tell me. You can start healing now." He could sense the assortment of emotions going through her, his pallid face contorted in trying to sort them all out. November slowly gathered what he was trying to say. It suddenly hit her what he thought had happened. Oh, God.
"Mr. Conrads..." She crossed her arms tightly over her chest as she dropped her head. "...Mr. Conrads, I can't talk about this." David smiled up at her, trying his hardest to look encouraging without looking demanding. "It's ok. I understand. But, November, it's so vital we find out who the culprit is. The person that did this to you should not be allowed to be given the opportunity to do this again to another girl,"
November's eyes were glued to her feet.
"Can you tell me who he was? What he looked like?"
- "No," She shook her head slowly,"It was dark."
"Can you tell me anything that you can distinguish?"
Her sallow brow broke into beads of sweat. The bell in her chest began to vibrate. She licked her lips over and over again. Get off me. Get off me. Leave me alone. Leave me the fuck alone you bastard.
David rubbed his temple, too much. Too much hostility.
- "No. I'm....I'm sorry"
"That's ok, November. That's absuteley fine. I know it will come to you. Something," He rose to his feet. He came over to her and placed a hand on her slumping shoulder,
"It's going to be ok. Please, please don't blame yourself. This happens to lots of girls. I know it's terrible, but it's the truth, you know? Some day you'll be comfortable enough to talk about this to someone. November, I can promise you that this miscreant will be dealt with and that you can get on with your life again. Don't you worry about that. I'll take care of it."
He gave her one last warm smile before stepping out, shutting the door behind him.
November's chest was heaving with deep shaky breaths as she dropped to her knees. Her face felt hot and moist. She coughed and dry heaved.
Oh, God. What have I done? But only the dull resonance of the hollow bell answered her.
Last edited by November Bell on Fri Feb 10, 2006 12:33 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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November Bell
- Posts: 350
- Joined: Sat Dec 24, 2005 4:06 pm
- Location: Shut up.
- Contact:
12:00 PM. Around this time students ambled out of their classrooms and shuffled their way to the cafeteria noisily, but not November. Rarely could she ever be found in that great room. And if one could spot her there, one could most certainly find her afterwards in the ladies room with her dainty head hovering over a toilet bowl.
Brushing her long raven mane with an ornate brush, November studied herself in the mirror. She smiled, praising her flawlessly aligned face, sectio devina* (*The Golden Ratio, thought up by the Greeks. It is said that the closer ones face is to the golden ratio, 1.618, the more attractive it is to the human eye.): tapered nose; plump tiers; encompassing pools of liquid blue-green; darling cheeks; swan-like neck; and that dancer’s figure. She made sure to take vigilant care of her figure. Dancing could only burn so many calories. Yulia had made somber comments on how she could feel every notch in her spine and ribcage, and that pleased November very well. She smiled delicately as she recalled the ironic comments made by Jaygo and Sage last night.
Ugly? Heaven’s no! Perhaps on the inside. Only on the inside.
She then sighed, suddenly remembering that she should write her parents. She conjured a fountain pen and ripped out a sheet from a pad of papers. She began scratching down with the pen, writing in superfluous loops and curls.
“Cher Pere et Mere,
How are things in Champagne? How’s the weather? Have you remodeled my bedroom into an unnecessary additional guest room yet? Still diddling the maid, daddy? I can only fathom the look that dear mother has just given you! Don’t be so hasty, mama, lest I remind you of those torrid summer nights at the Riviera with the pool boy. How is Frederic, anyway?
Life in America is still going pleasantly. I’m not planning on coming back home any time soon. Do not worry; I have not picked up the ghastly Rhode Island accent. And no, I have not fallen for an American boy. Mama, you were right about them. They’re so driven by vengeance and hormones. We French are so partial to dogs, so I will refrain from calling them that and use the term “pigs”. These pigs, they’re so desperate to please boring and awkward girls for the prospect of getting themselves inside of the female student body’s loins. They’re entertaining, nevertheless.
I would be lying if I confessed that I still keep up with my lessons. I still attend my classes at school religiously, yes, but I cannot tell you that I’ve been keeping up with ballet, piano, painting, etiquette, tennis, sewing, and singing quite as enthusiastically. Those were all my lessons, oui? Sometimes I forget how much merde you both forced me to partake in. Pratique! Pratique! Right? Always, practice. Never quite occupied enough. Never quite talented enough. Never quite pretty enough. Never quite thin enough. Never quite smart enough. Never quite perfect.
Ever since Anansi, things have been quite different, however. I’ve gotten a lot better. It’s as if the deities themselves have cast a light onto me and awakened the superior id* (*In Freudian theory, the division of the psyche that is totally unconscious and serves as the source of instinctual impulses and demands for immediate satisfaction of primitive needs) that nestled dormant inside my very bosom.
You’ll see me again some day, I can promise you that. In the mean time, carry on sending me money. Oh! And daddy, please, please, please mail me that new Miss Dior Cherie parfum! You know I love you both! Say hello to Grandmaman Josephine for me! XOXO
Your cherishing daughter,
Novembre"
Brushing her long raven mane with an ornate brush, November studied herself in the mirror. She smiled, praising her flawlessly aligned face, sectio devina* (*The Golden Ratio, thought up by the Greeks. It is said that the closer ones face is to the golden ratio, 1.618, the more attractive it is to the human eye.): tapered nose; plump tiers; encompassing pools of liquid blue-green; darling cheeks; swan-like neck; and that dancer’s figure. She made sure to take vigilant care of her figure. Dancing could only burn so many calories. Yulia had made somber comments on how she could feel every notch in her spine and ribcage, and that pleased November very well. She smiled delicately as she recalled the ironic comments made by Jaygo and Sage last night.
Ugly? Heaven’s no! Perhaps on the inside. Only on the inside.
She then sighed, suddenly remembering that she should write her parents. She conjured a fountain pen and ripped out a sheet from a pad of papers. She began scratching down with the pen, writing in superfluous loops and curls.
“Cher Pere et Mere,
How are things in Champagne? How’s the weather? Have you remodeled my bedroom into an unnecessary additional guest room yet? Still diddling the maid, daddy? I can only fathom the look that dear mother has just given you! Don’t be so hasty, mama, lest I remind you of those torrid summer nights at the Riviera with the pool boy. How is Frederic, anyway?
Life in America is still going pleasantly. I’m not planning on coming back home any time soon. Do not worry; I have not picked up the ghastly Rhode Island accent. And no, I have not fallen for an American boy. Mama, you were right about them. They’re so driven by vengeance and hormones. We French are so partial to dogs, so I will refrain from calling them that and use the term “pigs”. These pigs, they’re so desperate to please boring and awkward girls for the prospect of getting themselves inside of the female student body’s loins. They’re entertaining, nevertheless.
I would be lying if I confessed that I still keep up with my lessons. I still attend my classes at school religiously, yes, but I cannot tell you that I’ve been keeping up with ballet, piano, painting, etiquette, tennis, sewing, and singing quite as enthusiastically. Those were all my lessons, oui? Sometimes I forget how much merde you both forced me to partake in. Pratique! Pratique! Right? Always, practice. Never quite occupied enough. Never quite talented enough. Never quite pretty enough. Never quite thin enough. Never quite smart enough. Never quite perfect.
Ever since Anansi, things have been quite different, however. I’ve gotten a lot better. It’s as if the deities themselves have cast a light onto me and awakened the superior id* (*In Freudian theory, the division of the psyche that is totally unconscious and serves as the source of instinctual impulses and demands for immediate satisfaction of primitive needs) that nestled dormant inside my very bosom.
You’ll see me again some day, I can promise you that. In the mean time, carry on sending me money. Oh! And daddy, please, please, please mail me that new Miss Dior Cherie parfum! You know I love you both! Say hello to Grandmaman Josephine for me! XOXO
Your cherishing daughter,
Novembre"
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November Bell
- Posts: 350
- Joined: Sat Dec 24, 2005 4:06 pm
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November sat back in a slightly stiff couch in the library, unenthusiastically turning the yellowed pages of an old book. She had spent the night there after passing a curious and uncomfortable moment with Jai. She scratched at the hunk of silver in her flesh. Several books and pamphlets were piled against a small wooden desk. November glanced up with a languid flutter of her lashes to see Moth leaning by the library doorsill. She was speaking to a girl.
Who?
The mint-green tufts of hair made November sit up straight.
Mimi?
Alarm flew to her eyes as she watched Moth break into light laughter with the VanBuren girl. Moth nodded with her infectious smile and glanced towards November’s way. Her heart fluttered but she glowered and returned her defiant stare to the pages in front of her. The ancient words stopped making sense to her a while ago.
Why am I getting so worked-up over this? Mimi is my friend too! She can be Yulia's friend as well....I guess....
Moth nodded her cranium in agreement over something. November swallowed hard as she watched. Yulia looked happy. Too happy. She could see Mimi’s eyes squinting from laughter behind the girl's lens. She sprang up onto her tip-toes and swung her arms around Moth, giving her a quick squeeze before turning to leave. Moth stood there for a second to watch her go before spinning on her heels to enter the library room. Her hands were in her trouser pockets as she started towards a soaring shelf of books.
She indiscriminately yanked one out and quietly passed November. She sat idly by and folded her legs, simulating great concentration in the object in her hands.
November rolled her eyes and grumbled softly, “Qui bon.” Moth didn’t bother to look up from the book, “Prosim?” November sighed, “Still spying on me, are we?” She snickered and leaned back. Moth shook her head and turned a page as she whispered, “I really have no idea what you’re talking about. I happen to find…” She paused, twisting the book around and taking a conspicuous gander at the title, “…Sex, Drugs, Disasters and the Extinction of Dinosaurs quite interesting, actually.” November scrunched up her face as she hissed, “No you don’t!” Several students glanced up at the sudden exclamation. November sunk deeper into her seat, lifting the book up to her face. Moth pressed her lips together firmly, fighting a smirk.
She turned to November and pushed down on her book, leaning in she whispered, “Can we please talk?” The surly brunette gathered her composure, sprang up in her seat and straightened her skirt, “Fine,” she replied.
They wandered outside. Moth leaned back against a brick wall, sliding her hands back into her pockets. November always wondered how her dear friend had gotten hold of a male’s uniform. Did she lie on her application? Or steal it and leave some poor chap to mosey about in a plaid skirt and blazer?
“I miss you,” she said resolutely, her European accent barely noticeable in that brazen statement. November swung her head, looking about for any eavesdroppers before nodding, “I’ve…I’ve missed you too.”
Wait. WAIT. Rewind. Yulia hugs people now? Since when did she start getting touchy-feeling with people? Yulia Darek does not HUG! What other changes have occurred in you, petite chaton?
She blinked, remembering she was still agitated, “…I guess.” Moth smiled serenely and took November’s hand. She breathed, “I know it’s not you. It’s that….” She cursed in Czech as she nudged her chin at November’s chest. “That thing has been making you act unbearable, Pad.” November’s hands flew up to the glimmering piece of metal in her emaciated bosom, “This?” Moth nodded with a severe look on her face. November smiled as she fibbed, “Nah. I’m better now. I was just a little stressed with school and things. That’s all, ” Moth looked skeptical. November continued, “It’s ok, mon ami. Truly,”
Do they spend a lot of time together? Mimi hasn’t really mentioned it. Yulia! You dirty little whore…is someone on the backburner? Mimi or me? Or perhaps someone else? Has she met Tara, yet? Ugh, Tara….
“In fact,” November’s eyelids slid down seductively, “Let’s have dinner sometime, Yulia. We haven’t chatted in forever. I’d like to hear about your trip, the state of your mother, your blossoming...friendships.” The squeeze the lanky girl gave to her hands and the sudden beam that washed over the handsome face reassured November that Yulia was still her puppy. “Znamenity!” She cheered and tightly embraced November, lifting her a few feet off the floor.
Who?
The mint-green tufts of hair made November sit up straight.
Mimi?
Alarm flew to her eyes as she watched Moth break into light laughter with the VanBuren girl. Moth nodded with her infectious smile and glanced towards November’s way. Her heart fluttered but she glowered and returned her defiant stare to the pages in front of her. The ancient words stopped making sense to her a while ago.
Why am I getting so worked-up over this? Mimi is my friend too! She can be Yulia's friend as well....I guess....
Moth nodded her cranium in agreement over something. November swallowed hard as she watched. Yulia looked happy. Too happy. She could see Mimi’s eyes squinting from laughter behind the girl's lens. She sprang up onto her tip-toes and swung her arms around Moth, giving her a quick squeeze before turning to leave. Moth stood there for a second to watch her go before spinning on her heels to enter the library room. Her hands were in her trouser pockets as she started towards a soaring shelf of books.
She indiscriminately yanked one out and quietly passed November. She sat idly by and folded her legs, simulating great concentration in the object in her hands.
November rolled her eyes and grumbled softly, “Qui bon.” Moth didn’t bother to look up from the book, “Prosim?” November sighed, “Still spying on me, are we?” She snickered and leaned back. Moth shook her head and turned a page as she whispered, “I really have no idea what you’re talking about. I happen to find…” She paused, twisting the book around and taking a conspicuous gander at the title, “…Sex, Drugs, Disasters and the Extinction of Dinosaurs quite interesting, actually.” November scrunched up her face as she hissed, “No you don’t!” Several students glanced up at the sudden exclamation. November sunk deeper into her seat, lifting the book up to her face. Moth pressed her lips together firmly, fighting a smirk.
She turned to November and pushed down on her book, leaning in she whispered, “Can we please talk?” The surly brunette gathered her composure, sprang up in her seat and straightened her skirt, “Fine,” she replied.
They wandered outside. Moth leaned back against a brick wall, sliding her hands back into her pockets. November always wondered how her dear friend had gotten hold of a male’s uniform. Did she lie on her application? Or steal it and leave some poor chap to mosey about in a plaid skirt and blazer?
“I miss you,” she said resolutely, her European accent barely noticeable in that brazen statement. November swung her head, looking about for any eavesdroppers before nodding, “I’ve…I’ve missed you too.”
Wait. WAIT. Rewind. Yulia hugs people now? Since when did she start getting touchy-feeling with people? Yulia Darek does not HUG! What other changes have occurred in you, petite chaton?
She blinked, remembering she was still agitated, “…I guess.” Moth smiled serenely and took November’s hand. She breathed, “I know it’s not you. It’s that….” She cursed in Czech as she nudged her chin at November’s chest. “That thing has been making you act unbearable, Pad.” November’s hands flew up to the glimmering piece of metal in her emaciated bosom, “This?” Moth nodded with a severe look on her face. November smiled as she fibbed, “Nah. I’m better now. I was just a little stressed with school and things. That’s all, ” Moth looked skeptical. November continued, “It’s ok, mon ami. Truly,”
Do they spend a lot of time together? Mimi hasn’t really mentioned it. Yulia! You dirty little whore…is someone on the backburner? Mimi or me? Or perhaps someone else? Has she met Tara, yet? Ugh, Tara….
“In fact,” November’s eyelids slid down seductively, “Let’s have dinner sometime, Yulia. We haven’t chatted in forever. I’d like to hear about your trip, the state of your mother, your blossoming...friendships.” The squeeze the lanky girl gave to her hands and the sudden beam that washed over the handsome face reassured November that Yulia was still her puppy. “Znamenity!” She cheered and tightly embraced November, lifting her a few feet off the floor.
Mimi smiled at November and wished that her friend could be happy more often.
They sat together in a booth at La Mer, a trendy seafood restaurant that November had heard of some time ago. They had planned this dinner for weeks, and Mimi had really been looking forward to it. The place was supposed to be really classy, November had said, so Mimi had bought a new dress. It was black and snug around the middle, but it looked great. She had done her hair, and painted her nails, and thought about how much fun it would be in the Spring to go to the Junior Prom. This dinner was like an experiment: how girly could Mimi pull off and still feel like herself?
November had met her in the commons, wearing a blue cocktail dress that Mimi was pretty sure she never could have pulled off. The skirt had a small slit up the side and the cut of the neck swooped pretty low. Low enough to fully expose the bell in her breastbone and even a bit more than that. Mimi had found herself quietly wondering if she should invest in a wonderbra for the Prom.
They rode out to Talos on the Green Line, sitting together and talking, laughing. An older man across the aisle had stared at them, and November had intentionally flashed him a bit of thigh before calling the man something in French that Mimi had to assume was really awful. The man has gotten really flustered at that, and he couldn't so much as look at them again for the rest of the ride. November smiled proudly at her small triumph, and Mimi gently scolded her before falling back into giggling.
On the walk to the restaurant, Mimi looked long at a group of Tsoo they had passed. She had suddenly felt guilty for having a night out, when there was still so much to do for Paragon. November had pulled Mimi away. "Non, ma amie, not tonight," she had said. "Tonight, we are off-duty, Tonight we pretend there is nothing wrong." Mimi allowed herself to believe it, and the tattooed men faded away and were forgotten.
November had of course made reservations, but there was some sort of screw up. Mimi didn't really understand what it was, but November and the maitre d had argued in French about it, and soon they were sitting in their booth, on real leather seats, staring at the tablecloth, and playing with the three different forks at their places. The table could have held four people, and was set for three. November explained that it had to do with the mix-up on the reservation. The restaurant was very crowded, and Mimi could not help but feel like she and November were really special girls to be here. She tried hard not to look out of place, not to draw too much attention. But when the menu was opened in front of her, she couldn't help but gasp a little.
"November, this place wants almost 40 dollars for a fish!" she exclaimed. "Are you sure about this?"
"Absolutely," November purred. "This night would be worth any amount of money to me."
Mimi smiled and shrugged. "Okay, you're the one with the credit card," she giggled.
"Mimi," November said quietly, "you really do look lovely."
The green-haired girl blushed. "Not like you," she replied. "You look sensational in that dress. I could never look like you."
November felt her heart tremble a little. Mimi's honesty, her openness, was so disarming. Perhaps it was not worth it. Perhaps this was wrong. She shook her head a little.
Mimi frowned. "November? What's wrong?"
Nothing is wrong. Nothing. November frowned. Say it. "Nothing," she said smoothly. "What do you think you might have?"
"Me? I'm not even sure what half of this stuff is," Mimi replied with a smirk.
November heard the maitre d speaking with someone. And she heard the reply, the soft accent. Mimi either did not hear, or she simply wasn;t paying close attention. Either way. She felt emboldened. November swung around the table in a single graceful motion until she sat next to Mimi, who obliged by shifting over. "Well, so much of it is in my language. I will help you, non?"
Mimi felt November slip her arm around her shoulders as she leaned in. "Okay," she said. "What on earth does meuniere mean?"
November laughed slowly. "Sauteed in butter, my sweet."
Mimi didn't like the change in the tone of November's voice. There was something wrong with it, just as there was something wrong with the way her fingers were brushing against the flesh of Mimi's shoulder. "November..?"
November held fast. The maitre d was coming over. She forced a smile and pointed to another item. "And croûte de sel means crusted with salt. That may be too much for your delicate palate." She felt Mimi begin to squirm a little, but she held the smaller girl in place.
Mimi was growing very concerned. She suddenly felt a little claustrophobic, pinned against the inside wall of the booth, November leaning hard against her left side. And it was at that moment that Mimi could hear the bell. Ringing, ringing. The sound was so quiet she had missed it before, but there it was. The sound filled her with fright. But before she could say anything else, November turned suddenly and looked at the thin, angular form at the head of the table. Mimi looked up and gasped quietly.
Yulia dropped the bouquet of flowers she was holding. They hit the floor, and petals fell in the impact. She wore a man-tailored suit of a subtle grey, with a crisp blue tie, the same color as November's dress. She stood, staring at Mimi, a look of suprise on her face. As the shock faded, a look of quiet desperation set in.
Mimi struggled out of November's grasp. "Yulia," she began.
"How wonderful you could join us!" November cried, her voice thick with a gleeful menace. She rose to her feet quickly and embraced Moth, kissing her lightly on each cheek. Then she pivoted and sat Yulia down next to Mimi. November smiled, wrinkling her nose a moment, and retook her seat, across from them. Mimi could feel the pain flowing off Yulia like heat, just as esily as she could feel the pleasure that November took at their discomfort. "D'accord," November said finally. "Now, what shall we talk about?"
They sat together in a booth at La Mer, a trendy seafood restaurant that November had heard of some time ago. They had planned this dinner for weeks, and Mimi had really been looking forward to it. The place was supposed to be really classy, November had said, so Mimi had bought a new dress. It was black and snug around the middle, but it looked great. She had done her hair, and painted her nails, and thought about how much fun it would be in the Spring to go to the Junior Prom. This dinner was like an experiment: how girly could Mimi pull off and still feel like herself?
November had met her in the commons, wearing a blue cocktail dress that Mimi was pretty sure she never could have pulled off. The skirt had a small slit up the side and the cut of the neck swooped pretty low. Low enough to fully expose the bell in her breastbone and even a bit more than that. Mimi had found herself quietly wondering if she should invest in a wonderbra for the Prom.
They rode out to Talos on the Green Line, sitting together and talking, laughing. An older man across the aisle had stared at them, and November had intentionally flashed him a bit of thigh before calling the man something in French that Mimi had to assume was really awful. The man has gotten really flustered at that, and he couldn't so much as look at them again for the rest of the ride. November smiled proudly at her small triumph, and Mimi gently scolded her before falling back into giggling.
On the walk to the restaurant, Mimi looked long at a group of Tsoo they had passed. She had suddenly felt guilty for having a night out, when there was still so much to do for Paragon. November had pulled Mimi away. "Non, ma amie, not tonight," she had said. "Tonight, we are off-duty, Tonight we pretend there is nothing wrong." Mimi allowed herself to believe it, and the tattooed men faded away and were forgotten.
November had of course made reservations, but there was some sort of screw up. Mimi didn't really understand what it was, but November and the maitre d had argued in French about it, and soon they were sitting in their booth, on real leather seats, staring at the tablecloth, and playing with the three different forks at their places. The table could have held four people, and was set for three. November explained that it had to do with the mix-up on the reservation. The restaurant was very crowded, and Mimi could not help but feel like she and November were really special girls to be here. She tried hard not to look out of place, not to draw too much attention. But when the menu was opened in front of her, she couldn't help but gasp a little.
"November, this place wants almost 40 dollars for a fish!" she exclaimed. "Are you sure about this?"
"Absolutely," November purred. "This night would be worth any amount of money to me."
Mimi smiled and shrugged. "Okay, you're the one with the credit card," she giggled.
"Mimi," November said quietly, "you really do look lovely."
The green-haired girl blushed. "Not like you," she replied. "You look sensational in that dress. I could never look like you."
November felt her heart tremble a little. Mimi's honesty, her openness, was so disarming. Perhaps it was not worth it. Perhaps this was wrong. She shook her head a little.
Mimi frowned. "November? What's wrong?"
Nothing is wrong. Nothing. November frowned. Say it. "Nothing," she said smoothly. "What do you think you might have?"
"Me? I'm not even sure what half of this stuff is," Mimi replied with a smirk.
November heard the maitre d speaking with someone. And she heard the reply, the soft accent. Mimi either did not hear, or she simply wasn;t paying close attention. Either way. She felt emboldened. November swung around the table in a single graceful motion until she sat next to Mimi, who obliged by shifting over. "Well, so much of it is in my language. I will help you, non?"
Mimi felt November slip her arm around her shoulders as she leaned in. "Okay," she said. "What on earth does meuniere mean?"
November laughed slowly. "Sauteed in butter, my sweet."
Mimi didn't like the change in the tone of November's voice. There was something wrong with it, just as there was something wrong with the way her fingers were brushing against the flesh of Mimi's shoulder. "November..?"
November held fast. The maitre d was coming over. She forced a smile and pointed to another item. "And croûte de sel means crusted with salt. That may be too much for your delicate palate." She felt Mimi begin to squirm a little, but she held the smaller girl in place.
Mimi was growing very concerned. She suddenly felt a little claustrophobic, pinned against the inside wall of the booth, November leaning hard against her left side. And it was at that moment that Mimi could hear the bell. Ringing, ringing. The sound was so quiet she had missed it before, but there it was. The sound filled her with fright. But before she could say anything else, November turned suddenly and looked at the thin, angular form at the head of the table. Mimi looked up and gasped quietly.
Yulia dropped the bouquet of flowers she was holding. They hit the floor, and petals fell in the impact. She wore a man-tailored suit of a subtle grey, with a crisp blue tie, the same color as November's dress. She stood, staring at Mimi, a look of suprise on her face. As the shock faded, a look of quiet desperation set in.
Mimi struggled out of November's grasp. "Yulia," she began.
"How wonderful you could join us!" November cried, her voice thick with a gleeful menace. She rose to her feet quickly and embraced Moth, kissing her lightly on each cheek. Then she pivoted and sat Yulia down next to Mimi. November smiled, wrinkling her nose a moment, and retook her seat, across from them. Mimi could feel the pain flowing off Yulia like heat, just as esily as she could feel the pleasure that November took at their discomfort. "D'accord," November said finally. "Now, what shall we talk about?"
Moments of awkward silence felt like eons. November folded her hands across the table and glanced at the two girls earnestly. She lifted her brows, cupping her chin, "Nothing? Is that how it's going to be then? Some company!" She beamed, "Who's hungry?" She gestured to a waiter, a young male-model type in gentlemanly garb with a towel strewn over his arm and an apron tied about his waist. He strolled over and jutted his chin high in the air, "Madame?"
November responded matter-of-factly as she handed the boy her closed menu, "Je prendrai le Soupe à l'Oignon gratinée, sans le vin, ajoutez la moitié du fromage que vous normalement emploieriez." She smiled sweetly over at the stiffened girls and canted her head to the side, observing. The server bowed his head and turned to the silent creatures, his voice thick with his Western European accent, "And yourselves, Madames?"
Side-thrown glances and drooping of heads was their response. He looked back to November helplessly, "M-madame?"
November never tore her eyes away the girls, pursing her lips she replied nonchalantly, "If you girls aren't going to speak up, I'm just going to have to order for you two, ah?" She smirked and sat up, "That one over there, avec peau aimez la lune, she'll have the Gratinée de Coquille St Jacques..." She shifted her visage to Mimi, "...You're not allergic to scallop or shrimp, oui?" Mimi glared softly before looking away. November smiled up at the waiter, "Yes. That'll be fine. Fresh from the shell, garcon. Let's see now, la blond, oui, she'll have..." Yulia sat with her arms frozen to her sides with her spine uncomfortably linear, "I'll have nothing." Her lean face was void of expression, her eyes hollow and vacant. November was taken back a bit. She waved her hand out at her as she continued, rolling her green eyes, "Nonsens. She'll have the Canard au Cerises." She radiated a smoldering glance to Yulia, "Sweets for my sweet." The boy, feeling the tension, started to lose his cool, "W-will that be all, madame?" November handed the rest of the menus to him and nodded, "For now, garcon. But we'd like some bread and water, s'il vous." He pivoted into a quick bow and scurried off.
Mimi slumped herself over the table and placed her foreheand in her hand. She muttered outloud, dazedly staring down at the parchwhite table cloth, "What's going on, November?"
November responded matter-of-factly as she handed the boy her closed menu, "Je prendrai le Soupe à l'Oignon gratinée, sans le vin, ajoutez la moitié du fromage que vous normalement emploieriez." She smiled sweetly over at the stiffened girls and canted her head to the side, observing. The server bowed his head and turned to the silent creatures, his voice thick with his Western European accent, "And yourselves, Madames?"
Side-thrown glances and drooping of heads was their response. He looked back to November helplessly, "M-madame?"
November never tore her eyes away the girls, pursing her lips she replied nonchalantly, "If you girls aren't going to speak up, I'm just going to have to order for you two, ah?" She smirked and sat up, "That one over there, avec peau aimez la lune, she'll have the Gratinée de Coquille St Jacques..." She shifted her visage to Mimi, "...You're not allergic to scallop or shrimp, oui?" Mimi glared softly before looking away. November smiled up at the waiter, "Yes. That'll be fine. Fresh from the shell, garcon. Let's see now, la blond, oui, she'll have..." Yulia sat with her arms frozen to her sides with her spine uncomfortably linear, "I'll have nothing." Her lean face was void of expression, her eyes hollow and vacant. November was taken back a bit. She waved her hand out at her as she continued, rolling her green eyes, "Nonsens. She'll have the Canard au Cerises." She radiated a smoldering glance to Yulia, "Sweets for my sweet." The boy, feeling the tension, started to lose his cool, "W-will that be all, madame?" November handed the rest of the menus to him and nodded, "For now, garcon. But we'd like some bread and water, s'il vous." He pivoted into a quick bow and scurried off.
Mimi slumped herself over the table and placed her foreheand in her hand. She muttered outloud, dazedly staring down at the parchwhite table cloth, "What's going on, November?"
