Continued from yesterday:
Showered and dressed on Wednesday morning… it was still four AM and Sara was in no mood to return to her suddenly claustrophobic quarters. Haunting Jean’s half of the room meant ducking random objects as her subconscious attempted to defend the telepath from an unknown factor in her personal space.
And such an odd dream… A continuous sussuration and lights… just lights coming towards her and passing overhead. But she was scared all the same.
There were few alternatives and she’d be staring down Logan’s claws no matter what. Therefore, she decided to tread softly towards the burly Canadian’s room.
He met her on the way.
“Tallwater? You’re lookin’ a little… frayed.”
“No, my hair *always* does that,” said Sara. “And in other news, I’ve had one of those bizarre nonsense nightmares. My feet need to roam. Is that okay?”
Logan fell into step beside her. Odd that he seemed so big until he did *that*… “Third nightmare in as many nights, Tallwater. Somethin’ ya wanna share?”
She smirked. “I’m fine… Dah-dah[1]. You have to keep in mind that I’ve been shattered and reconstructed up here,” she tapped her temple, “very recently. That’s bound to have lingering symptoms. That, plus continuing upheaval, plus adaptation to the new surroundings, plus lingering shock…”
“Lingering shock?”
“Hank told me my real IQ. It’s not one-eighty. It’s somewhat *more* than one-eighty. I just got a free magazine from MENSA…” she shivered. “It isn’t… what I’m used to.”
Logan snorted. “Darlin’, they could make a hallmark mini-series over what you’re *used* to. Better people’d be in a psycho ward from what ya went through.”
Twitch. “Please… mother would - threaten me with that… whenever I got a little loquacious about a subject that interested me.”
“Sounds right up her alley. What were ya *supposed* to be into?”
“Organising parties, knowing the who’s-who of the social climber set, keeping up with the latest fashions, etiquitte, gossip, telling details, and zen and the art of being viciously catty.”
“Sounds like a total nut-job,” said Logan.
Sara laughed, embracing him. “*Thank* you, Dah-dah.”
“Just don’t call me that in public.”
[1] You know, that very slightly mocking version of the way a very small child says ‘da-da'
~
“…love when you doooooo that hocus pocus to meeeeee…”
Lance moaned and achieved verticality. Next, he’d have to achieve pants or get mugged by the local slut.
It wasn’t that he objected Todd’s indulgence in art. He objected to the bit where Todd played songs that helped him 'fit the mood’ of the work… and sang along.
At maximum possible volume and minimum possible tone.
At… Lance paused to check his clock… four-thirty in the fucking morning.
Four fucking thirty.
A fucking M.
“…it’s almost unreeeeeeheeeheeeheeeeheeeaaaaalllll…”
Lance made doubly sure his pants were zipped before venturing into the hall so he could pound on Todd’s door.
“Inna minute,” said Todd.
“Right fucking now, Toad,” Lance hollered.
Todd opened the door. Art had evidently happened, since he still bore the multi-coloured spatter. “I’m keepin’ the MP3’s down, yo.”
“You’re not keeping your fucking *voice* down,” Lance growled. “Do you *have* to sing off-key at four fucking thirty AM?”
“Yo, only one form of art happens at a time, dawg.”
Lance sighed. _*Fab*ulous…_ “Do you have to be *loud*?”
“Does Tabby?”
The pause as he thought about this indicated that, once again, Tabitha had snuck in a 'gentleman’ in order to pay for her next pair of shoes.
Either way, he was going to have a sleepless night.
“So whose turn in the bathroom?”
“Fred’s.”
Damn. So much for that option. When faced with a choice between sleeplessness and a methane-based gassing, sleeplessness looked to be a prettier option. Lance stumbled into Todd’s room and turned up the music. “What the hell you painting anyway?”
“Self-portrait. It’s an assignment.”
“You’re doing *homework*? Todd, what the hell happened?”
“It’s also a present for Sara.”
“Ah,” he said. So they weren’t having sex, but he was sure as hell pussy-whipped. “Ha.”
Todd was busy adding depth and shading to the picture. “So we got an understandin’, yo. Mos’ people don’ get to that. Ever.”
“Is it me, or does that helmet look kinda familliar?”
“It’s sorta Kermit-esque… Look. If you an’ Kitty had an understandin’ yo’ wouldn’t be in so many fights, a'ight? You guys need some ground rules, yo.”
“And you’ve been going out for… what? A week? Two?”
“Nearly three.” He swigged from a large mug with frogs on it, making sure he put it down well away from the mason jar he used to wash his brushes. “Me an’ Sara? We’re… long-term people, y'awmsayin’? We can deal wit’ takin’ things easy until we sure we’re good an’ ready for the next big step. It works fo’ us. You? You a short-term guy. You need now an’ ask questions later. That’s coo’. But I bet my ass you dunno what sorta person yo’ Kitty-cat is.”
Lance thought about it as he slumped onto Todd’s bed. “I guess… I hadn’t really cared.”
“Yo, that’s just screwed up, G.” Todd fiddled with the exact flesh tone he needed, painting samples on his arm[1] to check it. “Lovin’ someone means wantin’ to do everythin’ that’s good fo’ *them*… 'cause yo’ can’t stand seein’ 'em hurt, yo.”
“Toad… You’re *fifteen*. You’re not *allowed* to be wise.”
“Sorry dawg. Us long-termers think about stuff like dat.”
Lance surrendered to gravity and let the bed support him. “Love-life advice from a pint-sized weed who’s painting a *cartoon* for his girlfriend… What else don’t I need?”
“Hey, Sara kinda needs a constant source of funny,” said Todd. “And anyway… it’s all *me*. What she needs an’ what she wants in one, yo.”
Todd might have said something else, but exhaustion dragged him down into a relaxing blackness.
[1] Most artists use this shortcut to get flesh tones just right. It is, after all, cheap and always available.
~
“You look like you had a rough night.”
Todd blinked awake from his casual lean against the Art department’s door. “Mrf? Sara?”
Her clothing *looked* casual. The sort of thing one would wear to a party, or out for an evening of frivolity. Yet Todd *knew* that none of it came off the rack, mostly because it showed her off.
“Of course Sara,” she grinned. “Who else would be haunting these hallowed halls so early in the day?”
Todd held up his carry case. “Just droppin’ off my assignment,” he said. “Kinda had to do it. And Lance snores.”
Sara’s eyebrows shot up. “Sounds almost sordid. You’ll simply *have* to share the details.”
She, too, had a carry case.
Todd couldn’t resist. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…” he waggled his eyebrows.
Sara laughed.
Mrs D'blaa appeared by magic. “You will certainly not be– oh. You were talking about your artworks.”
Sara bit her bottom lip and looked ceilingwards for a moment. Todd could almost *hear* the wisecrack. _We *could* have been talking about our art…_
“Yes,” said Sara, blushing. “We both think were finished with them.”
Todd unveilled his. A rakish froggy knight in armour, replete with a 'noble’ steed who had a literal hangdog expression. Everything about him was battle-worn and ill-used… except the favour that hung on the lance. A beautiful scarf with an elegant, delicate design.
“Oh, Todd…”
“I was hopin’ to get it back so it could be yo'r birthday present, sweetums.”
“I love it already.” Sara’s blush had gone deeper. “I’m sorry I can’t really give this one to you… It’s sort of… Cathartic.” She took her work out and unwrapped it.
The Sara in her portrait was naked, curled up defensively in a corner, face just visible on one side of her hands, mouth open in a wordless scream. Words covered both her and the walls that prevented her escape. Things she’d been called over the eleven years her mother had tortured her. Words from her peers. Words of hate. Wherever they touched portrait-Sara, she bled. The rich red of the blood and the shine of the single tear on her cheek were the only colour on the canvas. The rest was starkly rendered in black and white.
“Whoa,” he whispered. “Yo, that’s just - *raw*.”
“It had to be said,” said Sara. “I just needed a way to say it.”
Mrs D'blaa was standing mute, staring at both Saras. Slowly, her hand rose and covered her mouth. “…rama…” she breathed.
~
