Fanfic Time: Don't Pity Me part 47

Very much NSFW fic continued from yesterday:

Fracture Forty-Seven: An Excercise in Surrealism

  Andrei had been growing again. He was bordering on clearing eight feet. He was fiddling with a cork overshoe, worn so that his metal horseshoes wouldn’t cause too much noise or damage to the interiors of the public building.

  He put his huge hoof back down the second he saw Kurt. “Are you all right, Kasegewicht? You’re looking a little - ill.”

  “Hey, Fassfuss,” Kurt managed. “Just feeling a little - odd. It doesn’t seem real. I just did it and it doesn’t seem real.”

  “Heh,” Andrei laughed. “You’re just not used to the new way of screwing her over, nein?”

  There was a moment of silence. “Bad joke, mein fruend.”

  “Sorry. Sometimes the worst jokes get the biggest laugh, you know. Gekommen auf, Kasegewicht… Let me give you somewhere warm to sit.” And just like that, Andrei lifted him up and settled Kurt on his withers. "You don’t look quite right for walking, to my eye.“

  Kurt hugged his best and oldest friend. "We haven’t done this since I was seven.”

  “I remember,” said Andrei. “You fell down a mountain.”

  “I only fell *halfway*,” said Kurt. “You always exaggerate.”

  “I’m big, it’s my job.” He spotted the Media and instantly went into battle posture, sidling up to them. “What’s the matter?” he demanded. "Never seen a centaur give anyone a lift before? Verpiss dich!“ He didn’t have to tell them twice, or give them a translation. "Vermin,” he muttered. “Feeding off pain like that.”

  “Leave them alone. They only want a story. Until a better story comes along.” Kurt closed his eyes and leaned against the centaur’s back. "You’re warm…“

  "Hey!” Andrei patted his hand. “Stay awake! I didn’t leave the tribe behind to listen to you snore. You’re supposed to be showing me America, remember?”

  “Mmmm,” said Kurt. “Sorry. I feel - all wrung out.”

  Andrei sighed. “You’re the only guy I know who could get shock from repeating facts in a courtroom. You know that?”

  “Ja. But consider the facts.”


  Kitty had to laugh at the news. For most of her time shared with Kurt, she’d believed Andrei and his people to be an elaborate, extended joke that he didn’t know how to give up on. She’d though that until the day she saw him on the news.

  Now, she laughed at the way he dealt with the media, and wished *she* had a friend like that.

  She had, through the media, overheard a few words and decided to look them up in her new secret weapon, a German-English dictionary.

  _Fassfuss… “Barrel-foot”? Okay, I like, get *that*. Kasegewicht… Ah. “Cheese-weight”? What the heck are these Germans like, *on*?_ This was definitely something she’d have to ask them about.

  Then it hit her.

  The whole thing with Hess was over. *Over*-over. There’d be no more attacks. No more fear. He’d done what he’d gone to do and Hess had no good reason to sabotage him any more.

  The “lieutenants” were so busy finger-pointing and sparking witch hunts that they couldn’t be bothered going after a witness who’d already testified.

  A weight came off Kitty’s shoulders, and in its place was the gentle fog of mild shock.


  When Bluebelle decided to watch something, she could be downright unnerving. It just wasn’t *natural* for a seven-year-old to just *sit* and *stare* for hours on end. On the other hand, it did mean that she learned how to do things relatively quickly.

  What she was watching, in this case, was Ms Peeper.

  Since the chicken had grown up, Daddy had moved her out of her shoebox and into a carboard box that formerly housed fruit, and lined it with shredded documents to make a sort of nest.

  Ms Peeper apparently loved it. She hardly moved out of it, these days. For such an active chicken, this was a radical change in behaviour. That was why Bluebelle watched.

  Ms Peeper had her eyes half shut, and her neck drawn in to the point where she nearly resembled a feathered football. Every now and again, she’d sort of sing a {brrrrrrrrp brrrrp brrrrp brrrrp} sort of sound. It was very confusing.

  Could she be sick? Might she have -and here, Bluebelle had to smirk - Chicken Pox?

  Ms Peeper kind of shuddered and closed her eyes. What if she was *really* sick? Then, without preamble or warning, Ms Peeper began *screaming*.


  On pure instinct, Bluebelle shot backwards about three metres, colliding with the opposite wall. She instantly turned and headed for the nearest available hiding place, under Daddy’s dresser, and put her hands over her head. As Ms Peeper continued to scream as if there was a murder going on, Bluebelle started to cry.


  It was a meelee by the time Kitty reached Kurt’s room. Ororo was carrying an inconsolable Bluebelle in her arms. There was an apparently rabid chicken in the corner that Hank was trying to isolate with a towel. Logan was yelling at anyone who’d listen that the chickens should have been sent away ages ago. Bluebelle, between gasps and sobs, was trying to explain that she was only watching, that she didn’t mean it, she didn’t even *touch* Ms Peeper and that she didn’t want to be hit, *please*.

  That last one made Kitty want to cry. In fact, she could feel her eyes stinging right now.

  Ms Peeper stopped having her screaming fit, and settled down to making {brrrrrrrp brrrrp brrrrp brrrrp} noises again. Hank placed the towel over her nest-box, just to be sure.

  Which left Bluebelle, who was bordering on hysterical.

  Kitty found Kurt’s brushes and took the soft one out of its place. She got Ororo to sit on the bed and started with Bluebelle’s lovely hair.

  “It’s all right, now,” Kitty soothed. “It’s *all* over, now. Everything’s quiet, now. Shhh… Shhh…”

  Bluebelle transferred her hug to Kitty. “So sorry,” she whimpered. "Didn’ mean it. ’M so sorry, Mistress. Please don’t hit me?“

  "Classical regression,” Ororo murmured, petting the girl. “She’ll come out of it.”

  “…should have had those birds out of here the *second* that dumbass project was over, but *no-oooo*… *We* have to wait until they get their grades back!”

  “Mr Logan?” said Kitty. “Could you like, take that elsewhere, please? Bluebelle doesn’t exactly like, need anger in the room, right now.”

  Logan stared at her in shock before he shrugged and left, taking his litany with him.

  Kitty moved onto brushing an available arm. “See? It’s okay. Mistress isn’t here. Not at all.”

  Bluebelle just cried, clinging tight to Kitty. She was shaking like a leaf.

  “It’s okay to be scared,” Kitty said, still brushing the bits of Bluebelle she could reach. “It’s okay to cry; but you don’t have to be sorry. You just got scared. You didn’t *do* anything at all.”

  Sam poked his head around the door. “What’s all the ruckus about?” he asked. “I could hear you clear down the other side of the house.”

  “Ms Peeper went like, ballistic,” Kitty summarised. “She scared the heck out of Bluebelle.”

  “This is *nuts*,” Sam announced. “Ain’t nobody ever heard a chicken lay an egg, before?”

  _Ohboy. Kurt’s going to *love* that…_ Kitty thought.

  Ororo stopped being calm and gentle and started looking a little ticked. “*Evan*…” she yelled in the warning tones that adults use when kids have been found out. “Evan James Daniels, you come here right *now*!”

  _Whoah. Middle name. He’s in it *deep*._


  Wow. That was it. Apart from the students who were sequestered Jury members, life had a fair-to-passing chance of returning to some semblance of normalcy.

  Which meant that he, Principal Kelly, could only look forward to mysterious earthquakes, demon sightings, ghost sightings, ‘ectoplasm’ in the boy’s showers, exploding vending machines and freak whirlwinds.

  It almost felt - homey.

  He went back to the resume of the teacher in front of him. It was impeccable. It was perfect. But then, so was Hess’.

  “Tell me, Mr -uh–”

  “Endicott. Jarod Endicott,” the man smiled and ate another Pez.

  “…Mr Endicott; do you have any *legal* trouble we, as a public institute, might want to know about?”

  “Oh, no. No legal *trouble*. I was a legal assistant once.”

  Kelly didn’t really know if he should laugh or not, but the man’s easy smile was infectious. “You understand that I have to be cautious. The -uh- recent unpleasantness with one of our teachers has made everyone jumpy.”

  “Ah, well; then you’ll have to know that I change my last name regularly,” he said, sparking off alarms in Kelly’s head. “It’s a case of mistaken identity, I swear; but these people just won’t listen. So, of course, I have to move around a lot.”

  Kelly felt his brain implode. “Why don’t you just confront them? *Tell* them you’re not who they’re after.”

  “They have a licence to kill.” Jarod smiled again. “Don’t worry; if anything goes down, I’ll lead them away from the school, first.”

  Kelly’s eye began to twitch.

  “That’s a nasty tic,” said Jarod. “Have you had it looked at? You know, a small injection of botox into the responsible nerve can do wonders.”

  “Really?” Kelly brightened. This guy *knew* stuff. “So - why are you applying for the position of *gym* teacher?”

  Another Pez became a target for mastication. “I believe that in order to teach, one has to learn as well. I happen to have a lot to learn in this area, and I feel these kids can teach me a *lot*.”

  “Before we go on, I have to warn you–”

  “Bayville is the epicentre of some pretty unusual happenings, I know," Jarod breezed. "One of my hobbies is unusual phenomena. I’m not worried in the slightest–”

  “You’re hired,” said Kelly, automatically.

  “–I’m actually intrigued…” Jarod smiled again.

  Like a shot, Kelly was around his desk. “Welcome to Bayville High, Mister Endicott!” He vigorously shook his hand.

  “Please,” he chewed a fresh Pez. “Call me Jarod.”