Chapter Text
On your first day of class at Charles Dutton University you discover your new archenemy.
On your second day, you discover that she is in all eight of your classes.
She is absolutely infuriating. Your professors’ empty requests for questions – just a formality, you’ve been going to school for twelve years and you know this by now, and so should all these other floundering idiots – are always, always answered by something penetrating and insightful from the stupid blind girl with her stupid braille laptop and her stupid headphones in just one stupid little ear. All the professors love her, especially the head of the law department, Ms. Querido, who you’d already singled out for flattery to help boost your grades. Now the fucking harpy won’t even look at you. Every time Pyrope opens her chapstick-slathered mouth you want to leap across the room and reenact Brooks and Sumner. You’re sure the rest of the students would thank you… until you catch a couple of them conversing eagerly with her in the hall after class, practically pressing her up against the wall and sticking her there with babbled questions. You think you might have seen one of them asking her for an autograph.
The spotlight should be on you, you you you, not some pantywaist blind girl who looks like she just got off the plane from Eat A Sandwichville. You are obviously the most important person in the school and going to go on to great things after you get your degree and learn what holes you can slip through. She looks like her greatest ambition in life is to be a small-town Southern lawyer and read airport novels in her spare time. She wears shirts with dragons on them. You cannot believe she could have possibly made it to college without being mocked into the ground for her earnest intelligence and obliquely friendly manner. There has to be something more. She’s hiding a brilliantly devious legal mind, or she’s a serial killer, or she eats babies or something, something to make her… interesting.
Everyone else is small potatoes when compared with her. Nobody else grates you quite as badly, not even your roommate, Paula. Paula Leijon is a diminutive girl in a poorly-knit cap and a coat far too big for her small frame. On a good day you probably would already have locked her in the bathroom for three days, but she’s only vaguely registering on the outskirts of your brain even though you live with her. Still, she’s definitely the most annoying girl you have ever had the misfortune to encounter. Before either of you even moved in she emailed you for weeks asking the most irrelevant crap: do you like cats? (no), what color of stuff are you going to decorate with? (blue), do you like to roleplay? (yes, but like hell you’re telling her that). She was irritating enough then, and when you meet her in person you find out she has a voice like Thumbelina mainlining helium and won’t shut up about her bestest best friend in the whole world oh my god Vicky you won’t believe how great he is, who, from what you can gather, is a football player who draws a lot of really bad horse porn that she had tacked up on the front of your door until you ripped every last inexplicably-stained sheet down.
You have such a migraine by the middle of the week you seek solace with the girl who has allegedly been your best friend since elementary school. Really you just keep her around for occasional fashion advice and an ego boost, since you’ve known she had a crush on you ever since an anonymous valentine showed up in your bag in third grade, carefully written in neat jade cursive and asking “Will You Be My Garden Spider?.” She tried to pretend that Mysterious Anonymous Infatuant wasn’t her when you teased her. She is attending the Increase Mather School of Art and Design for fashion, of all the idiotic things you could get a degree in. But you have to admit she’s… not all that bad. Sometimes. Especially when you need a pick-me-up.
You log on to Pesterchum while Paula is off romancing a scratching post or something.
-- arachnidsGavel [AG] began pestering gucciAristocrat [GA] --
AG: Kal!!!!!!!!
GA: Yes Victoria What Is It
GA: How Are You Enjoying College So Far
GA: I Find That My Own Experience Has Been Quite Enjoyable
AG: Oh my g8d, my roomm8 is a total 8itch!
AG: She won’t shut up a8out c8ts and her 8oyfriend who loves horses.
AG: And she put up a 8unch of stupid drawings of herself kissing that guy from 8leach.
AG: And she wears this ugly kn8 cap all the time that smells like she hasn’t washed it in like 8 years.
AG: G8 me out of here!
GA: Oh Hush Hush Now Dont Fuss So Much Dear
GA: Im Sure It Will Get Better If You Just Give It Some Time
GA: Just
GA: W8
AG: Hahahahahahahaha!
AG: Whatever, I’m not worried a8out her anyway. There’s this other girl I TOTALLY H8.
GA: Oh Really
AG: Yeah!!!!!!!!
AG: She’s even MORE of a huge 8itch!
AG: She’s so smart and cl8ver and f8cking p8rf8ct I j8st w8nt t8 ch8ke h8r t8 d8th!!!!!!!!
GA: Oh
GA: Oh Dear
GA: Victoria Breathe For A Moment You Are Getting Upset
GA: In Through Your Nose
GA: Out Through Your Mouth
GA: Shoosh Shoosh
AG: Ugh. Sorry.
AG: She just m8kes me so mad!
AG: And she’s in ALL my classes.
AG: ALL OF THEM.
AG: Uggggggggh.
GA: Couldnt You Just Ignore Her
GA: She Cant Be That Bad
GA: Have You Talked Yet
AG: No!!!!!!!! I’d rather cut out my own tongue than talk to her!
AG: And I can’t ignore her when she gets c8lled on for like every single question.
AG: I h8 my life!
GA: You Are Being A Drama Queen Again Dear
AG: S8rry, I guess.
GA: Its Okay This Is A Very Stressful Time For Us All
AG: How come YOU’RE still the s8me as alw8ys?
GA: Ive Already Made A New Friend And All My Classes Are Delightful Its Very Exciting
AG: B8lly for you!
AG: Who’s this friend????????
GA: Oh Im Sure You Wouldnt Find Her Very Interesting
GA: Shes My Roommate And We Have Many Things In Common
GA: For Example
AG: 8ORING!!!!!!!!
AG: Ugh, you didn’t cheer me up 8 ALL.
AG: Thanks for n8thing, KALIKA.
GA: Im Sorry I Really Dont Know What To Say Other Than
GA: Perhaps You Should Try Talking To The People Who Are Causing You Such Great Torment
GA: I Know You Are Going To Say
GA: Bluh Bluh I Dont See How That Could Possibly Help Kal You Are A Useless Flagellum
GA: But It Really Cant Hurt
AG: Flagellum?
AG: Y8u’re not a flagellum! You’re a whole amoe8a at least.
GA: Why Thank You Its An Honor To Be So Well Thought Of
AG: And I GU8SS it can’t hurt to talk, but I’ll be screaming ins8de the whole time.
AG: It’s not all sunshine and rain8ows for some of us, you know!
AG: Your adv8ce never let me d8wn before, though.
AG: Except that one time. With Travis.
GA: I Still Maintain That That Was Not My Fault
GA: You Misinterpreted Me
AG: Whatever!!!!!!!!
AG: I guess I’m going to t8lk to my roomm8 first.
AG: Wish me l8ck, Kal.
AG: Oh w8, you don’t need to!
AG: I ALREADY HAVE 8LL THE L8CK!!!!!!!!
-- arachnidsGavel [AG] has ceased pestering gucciAristocrat [GA] --
GA: You Are So Ridiculous
Serendipitously, Paula comes back just as you’re finished talking to Kalika. She has… a double armful of stuffed animals, mostly cats but there are some dragons and horses in there too, from what you can see. She promptly deposits them on her bed and begins to roll around in them, filling the room with the sound of shifting stuffed innards.
You are really not sure you want to do this.
But you gird yourself anyway, standing up and going over to her. You stand over her bed with her arms crossed, and she rolls onto her back to smile up at you, the big stupid expression taking up her whole round little face. “Hi Vicky!”
“Uh, hey,” you say, sort of awkwardly shuffling from foot to foot. You are not good at talking to new people. Usually you end up threatening them. You don’t want to have to live with someone who thinks you are actually going to kill her; she might end up building a wall across half the room and then if you lose something over there you’re screwed. This is why you pretty much only ever talk to Kalika. She’s used to you, and when you tell her “I’m going to gouge your eyes out with a fireplace poker” she knows you don’t mean it. You realize that you have no idea what you are going to talk about, so, automatically, like a complete idiot, you latch on to the nearest thing. “What are those?” You immediately curse yourself even as you’re gesturing to her pile.
Her face instantly lights up, even more than her dopey grin already had it. She grabs a purple-and-green striped kitten and thrusts it in your face; you hold it like it’s a kid you might drop. The fur is velvety soft in your hands. “These are my babies!” she announces as she wrestles herself and the pile into a sitting position, filling her lap with stuffed animals. “I love to play with them.”
“…you still play with stuffed toys?”
“Yeah!” She blinks wide-eyed at you. Her irises are dark green, her pupils big like she’s been smoking up. “You don’t? Oh, well, you can play with mine!” She snatches up a horse with a mane of rainbow yarn and wriggles the poor abused-looking thing up at you. Its soulful button eyes beg for the sweet release of the glue factory. “The pretty little horsey canters up to her best kitty friend and snuffles at her face.”
why do these things happen to you
“…uhhhhhhhh. The, uh.” You cannot believe you are actually doing this. You’re going to mail Kal a letter bomb that spells out “FUCK YOU” when it explodes and covers her face in shredded stuffed animal innards. “The… brave and… magnificent and also very manipulative feline greets the, uh, the rainbow horse by… pawing it on the, uh, the foot. The hoof, I mean.”
“The horsey, whose name is Princess Cuppie Cake, shakes paws with her friend and asks her how her day has been!”
“The cat’s name is, uh. The Marquis de Carabas, and she tells the princess that her day has been absolutely terrible, because… she failed at her hunt? And couldn’t bring anything home to feed her kittens?” You might be starting to get into this, a little. “And she is a really grumpy cat now. She asks the princess if she knows where she might find some easy prey.”
Paula raises her eyebrows. “Uh, the princess says – “
You make the stuffed cat leap onto Paula’s horse and bat it with its little paws, imagining the victorious wounds the Marquis is striking on her once-friend! Paula squeals and pulls the horse away from you, holding it protectively in her arms and stroking its mane. “Vicky, no! That’s not how you play!”
“What, do you want the Marquis to starve to death? Animals need to eat too, you know.”
“Friends don’t eat friends!” She snatches the cat toy from you and holds it against her bosom alongside the horse. You were just starting to like that cat. She was pretty hardcore. “You’re not allowed to play with my toys anymore,” Paula says decisively. “I’m already going to have to send poor Cuppie to horse therapy. You are mean.”
“Well,” you say. You should absolutely not be embarrassed that you offended this little freak. Absolutely not. “I’m, uh, I, I didn’t want to play with your stupid toys anyway! And there’s no such thing as a horse therapist!” You whirl away from her and return to your own side of the room , flumping down in your chair and pulling your knees up to your chest. Kalika isn’t even on Pesterchum anymore for you to lay all the blame on. Nobody is there, and you even miss your terrible bitch of a mother. College sucks.
“I’m going out,” you mutter to nobody in particular, and find that Paula wouldn’t have heard you anyway because she’s put on a pair of headphones. You don’t even want to know what she’s listening to. Probably a Broadway musical or something. You grab your jacket and shrug it on as you stomp out of the dormitory, over the stained carpet and under the flickering fluorescents that will demarcate your home for the year.
The dorm’s mostly empty, save for a few others moving the last few pieces of their crap in now that the bustle of orientation is over, so you’re unaccosted as you descend the staircase, which is even more poorly-lit than your hall. You wish you lived in a building that had eight floors, so you could be on top and on the eighth floor, but sadly there are only three and you are on the second. That’s okay. You guess. At least there isn’t a long walk.
Once you’re standing on the sidewalk outside your hall, you realize you have no idea where you actually want to go. You never thought it through besides “out” in your sudden flurry of irritation at your incomp – at your annoying roommate who won’t play the way you want to. Oh well. There’s a Subway near the campus, probably opened to take advantage of poor, lazy students, so you head there, hoping to find some reasonable quiet. But once you’re past the door to the sandwich-smelling interior, the delicious scent is totally obliterated by the thing you least want to see. Terri Pyrope is sitting at one of the tables, her cane resting across her lap as she indulges herself in the most disgusting sandwich consumption you have ever had scorched permanently into your retinas. She’s sticking her tongue in the sub, ferreting out the good parts and pulling them out and letting them smear all over her face as she swallows them down, tomato and meat and little strips of lettuce slithering into her maw. Your stomach turns as you watch. There’s mustard and mayonnaise all over her.
And somehow with her nose jammed eight miles deep in the sandwich she realizes you’re there. She wheels in her seat like a bony periscope until she’s facing a foot to your left and gives a huge shit-eating smile to the empty air there. You can see all the food in her teeth, and you would be glad she can’t see the horrified expression that has completely taken over your face if you actually cared whether or not she likes you.
“Serket!” she squawks in her ostrich voice. “Fancy seeing you here, classmate.”
“Pyrope. What are you doing here?”
“It’s a restaurant. I’m eating a sandwich! See?” You barely have time to close your eyes before her mouth ratchets open so she can show you the disgusting wad of chewed-up salami and lettuce and probably half a dozen rats she inhaled into that bear trap.
“Ugh! What are you, like eight?”
Her cackle resonates throughout the restaurant. When you crack an eye open to make sure you are no longer in danger of being sucked into the yawning vortex of her gross smeary mouth, you see that people are starting to stare a little. “Nothing wrong with enjoying yourself at people’s expense now and then. Come on, sit. You’re in all my classes, let’s get to know each other.” Her steel fingers wrap around your wrist.
no no no no no no no no
“Sure.”
what the fuck
She drags you over to the table she’s claimed with splatters of mustard and Pyrope-spit and somehow hooks her foot into another chair as she’s sitting down, nearly slicing your legs off at the shin when she tugs it over for you to sit. You pull your knees up to your chin and hunch up in the chair to avoid any other mishaps. You do not know what possessed you to agree to this. If you really wanted, you could flip her chair and run, or flip the table, or throw her through one of the windows, or any of eight thousand other things. It’s not hard to get the jump on a blind girl. But she’s looking at you (or at least facing you) with something like curiosity in her face, hands folded on her cane and chin resting on her wrists, her little motions rocking her chair back and forth, and you think you might really have caught a stomach bug because it’s still flopping around in there. Or maybe you swallowed a fish whole while you were sleepwalking the other night.
“So!” she says brightly, her eyebrows climbing up her forehead like millipedes ascending to heaven.
“What?” You reconfigure your own fascinated expression into a scowl, just in case anyone else is still watching. You don’t actually care about the way her cheekbones look sharp enough to cut glass, and are not wondering if they would draw blood on your fingertips.
“We should make proper introductions! Victoria Serket, right? I’m Terri.” She unfolds one of her spidery – not spidery, not spidery, something else that’s spindly and wicked and fascinating, maybe a crab? – hands and holds it out to you. You take it and give it a firm shake. Her mouth splits into that piranha grin again.
“Nice to meet you,” you manage when the moment of oh shit is she going to bite me passes. She looks satisfied, but doesn’t let go of your hand when she leans back into her seat. You have to pry her fingers off you while she cackles. “You are fucked up, Pyrope.”
“Nothing wrong with that either,” she says impishly. Her shaken hand doesn’t go back with the other; she keeps it close to her, her fingers rubbing and sliding over each other, fingertips tapping and touching. “You can’t be that normal, though. Nobody is.” She leans in way too close. Under the condiment smell, your brain is flooded with the scent of cherry chapstick. “Tell me all your tasty little secrets, Serket.”
Way too late, you jerk back. “Gah! What the fuck!” You take back everything you thought before. She is not boring and milquetoast, she is some kind of horrific alien monster that has wriggled its tendrils into your dimension and is bent on sucking your essence out through a straw. This is absolutely the only explanation. “Would you quit that?! You have personal space issues!”
“Oh, sure, rag on the blind girl for not knowing when she’s too close.” She pouts. “I’m used to it. But you still haven’t told me anything about yourself, and here I am dumping all over you!”
“I… like to play games?” you say, fists clenching and unclenching on your legs. You don’t like the tickling feeling rushing up and down your spine. Why are you still here? “Like, on the computer.”
“Oooh, me too! I like to read, too. But only the really interesting books. Like Lolita and The Metamorphosis.” God, this girl is fucked up. That must be why your insides are in knots.
“My favorite book is… Crime and Punishment.” That’s only a half a lie. You do like Crime and Punishment. But your favorite book is Sojourn. Drizzt Do’Urden is your hero.
“Oooooh. I looooove that book.” Her shades glint ominously. Somehow. “Getting a real sneak peek into the mind of a depraved killer! And at the end, he gets what he deserves! Isn’t it great?”
You frown. This indignity cannot stand. “Actually, that’s not why I like it. I…” This is not a conversation for Subway. This is not a conversation for someone you want to throw into a deep river in a bag filled with rocks. “I like it because it shows what lengths a normal guy can go to when he’s really desperate, uh, in his head. Or with money. And it… shows the consequences of his actions, and how a normal guy deals with those too.”
She tilts her head owl-like to the side, her mouth twisting up. “I never thought of it that way. So you’re saying that normal people can commit crimes too? I’m not sure I buy that. You have to be a certain kind of really messed-up person to think of doing something like that!”
“We can have different interpretations,” you say sharply. “Nothing wrong with disagreement.”
“So you say, Serket.” She leans in again with a slightly less dangerous smile. “I like you. I have work to do, but I’ll be hunting you down again soon. Don’t let your guard down.” Her sinister whisper degenerates into tinkling laughter. “Just kidding! I want to talk more, though! Maybe after class.”
“Yeah,” you say, belly still clenching. “Yeah, I’d like that too.” And to your surprise, you would. She is definitely on a level with you, even if you can’t see where she is from your position. She is, as Kalika would say, Fascinating In Myriad Ways. Definitely not a stick in the mud. And then suddenly while you’re thinking, your body stands up for you and offers her your hand. Your brain half-reengages and remembers she’s blind, and instead of the logical response of cut that shit out you reach down and pull her to her feet. She laughs in surprise and smiles near you, then wiggles her fingers.
“Bye, Serket,” she coos. She saunters off, tapping her cane in front of her, and your eyes are drawn inevitably downwards. As you stare at the back of her cutoff shorts, filled out by an ass way too nice and full and firm for someone so skinny, the clenching in your stomach makes sense, and you realize you are in deep shit.