Twilight MST: Chapter 1, part 3
Dec. 24th, 2009 02:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chieriiIzumi: On Christmas Eve, Cherry? Really? Shouldn’t I be thinking of a sermon for today or spending time with Dominion or out buying presents? Something? Anything but this? *sigh* Okay. I suppose there is time for all of them.
Angel: Be strong. She is going to school, so this Edward should appear soon.
Izumi: Good. What I’m doing this for. Let’s get this going.
Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the
claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.
Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked
him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off
to the police station that was his wife and family.
Angel: “This, then this, then this.” This is boring. It would be much more interesting to show a bit of the conversation directly rather than simply summarize it.
After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed.
My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some
sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized
family room was a row of pictures.
Izumi: Uh. “Handkerchief-sized”?
Angel: I’m finding that… *snicker* …hard to believe.
Izumi: It would be an architectural waste.
First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at — I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.
It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.
Izumi: Your sentence structure is making me uncomfortable.
Angel: Try, “I couldn’t help but realize…” or “It was obvious…” And where, exactly, were the items and mementos of Renee that makes this so clear? You never mentioned them.
Izumi: Have you seen the way the author praises herself on her website? You’re wasting your time trying to be helpful.
I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket — which had the feel of a biohazard suit — and headed out into the rain.
Angel: Again, commas, not dashes.
Izumi: I’ve never worn a jacket that felt like a biohazard suit, either.
Angel: You have never worn a biohazard suit.
Izumi: I doubt she has, either.
It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood.
Angel: So many syntax errors… “I couldn’t pause and admire my truck again as I wanted” is awkward. So much of this is simply…awkward. *sigh*
Izumi: I actually like the description of the drizzle as “misty wet”, though. That’s kind of…neat.
Angel: If it keeps you sane, continue to cling to the positive.
Izumi: Maybe you should stop clinging to the negative.
Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up,
but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint.
The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top
volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected.
Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was,
like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only
the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a
collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many
trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I
wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?
Izumi: Back in Phoenix. You left because you wanted to, for whatever reason, so deal with it already.
I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading front
office.
Angel: “Front office” would go in quotes, since you are reading this.
Izumi: Were you in charge of books or texts or something before I contracted you?
Angel: Hm…Perhaps this is something to consider for outside character development. But it does not belong here. Shall we move on?
No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly
Angel: “Reluctantly”, you mean. You are indeed doing this of your own will.
out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.
Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little
waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and
awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly.
Angel: Colon, not semicolon. Or a comma. Or-
Izumi: Just give up, Angel.
Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside.
Izumi: You spoiled, ungrateful brat. Appreciate the life all around you! …You know, you should come live in my world. We’ll see how much you despise plants when you’ve lived in a world destroyed by nuclear warfare.
The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.
Izumi: So take your coat off.
The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Isabella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I
was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come
home at last.
Izumi: Self-important, aren’t we? Angel, keep an eye on me, this girl may send me back into my fire-and-brimstone phase.
Angel: I shall. That is not something I wish to see repeated…
"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her
desk till she found the ones she was looking for.
Angel: ‘til. You are shortening “until”. “Till” is a different word entirely.
"I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show roe.
Izumi: Show…”roe”?
Angel: How did the editor not catch such an error? Clearly, she had meant to type “me”. …Or it could be a mistake of the ebook we’re using.
She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map,
and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the
day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks.
Angel: Did you mean she said she hoped? Or that you thought she was hoping? You cannot see it when another person hopes. You are not a mind reader.
I smiled back as convincingly as I could.
When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around
the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older
like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income
neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing
to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny
Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the
thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.
I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have
to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day.
Izumi: Do you realize how often I look at my own map, even in places I have been several times? Needing a map is nothing to be ashamed of! I’m tired of dealing with her! She never stops complaining!
I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me.
Izumi: Oh, very funny.
I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.
I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with
teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.
Izumi: No, why would plain black stand out? This girl is paranoid, isn’t she?
Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was
painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping
toward hyperventilation as I approached the door.
Izumi: Then you should be heading towards the nurse’s office.
Angel: Or to the counselor’s office to make sure your teachers know of this odd phobia you have…
I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.
Izumi: I’m sorry, you followed the raincoats?
The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to
hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a
porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin
wouldn't be a standout here.
Izumi: Of course it won’t, will you stop it already?
I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate
identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name — not an
encouraging response — and of course I flushed tomato red.
Angel: You cannot see your own blush.
But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed.
Izumi: I’m actually convinced by now that nobody’s staring at her at all. She’s shown so many signs of being over-nervous and paranoid. It must be in her head.
I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and boring. I
wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that
was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher
droned on.
When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair
black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.
"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.
"Bella," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.
Izumi: …Or not. Why is everyone so interested?
"Where's your next class?" he asked.
I had to check in my bag." Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."
There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.
Izumi: That’s…highly unlikely.
"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…"Definitely over-helpful.
Izumi: No, you’re new! Be glad you have help!
"I'm Eric," he added.
I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."
We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have
sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't
getting paranoid.
Izumi: Yes. Yes, you are. Either that or you are a Sue, and both sound extremely likely right now.
"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.
"Very."
"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"
"Three or four times a year."
"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.
"Sunny," I told him.
"You don't look very tan."
"My mother is part albino."
He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of
humor didn't mix.
Izumi: Oh that was humor? I missed it, too. Maybe that’s what’s wrong. It’s certainly not the weather.
A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.
We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked
me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.
"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other
classes together." He sounded hopeful.
I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.
Izumi: Can we stop? We’ve been at this for two hours, and I’d rather my brain not be mush for my sermon. That’s it for now, everyone. Merry Christmas.
Angel: Be strong. She is going to school, so this Edward should appear soon.
Izumi: Good. What I’m doing this for. Let’s get this going.
Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the
claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.
Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked
him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off
to the police station that was his wife and family.
Angel: “This, then this, then this.” This is boring. It would be much more interesting to show a bit of the conversation directly rather than simply summarize it.
After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed.
My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some
sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized
family room was a row of pictures.
Izumi: Uh. “Handkerchief-sized”?
Angel: I’m finding that… *snicker* …hard to believe.
Izumi: It would be an architectural waste.
First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at — I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.
It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.
Izumi: Your sentence structure is making me uncomfortable.
Angel: Try, “I couldn’t help but realize…” or “It was obvious…” And where, exactly, were the items and mementos of Renee that makes this so clear? You never mentioned them.
Izumi: Have you seen the way the author praises herself on her website? You’re wasting your time trying to be helpful.
I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket — which had the feel of a biohazard suit — and headed out into the rain.
Angel: Again, commas, not dashes.
Izumi: I’ve never worn a jacket that felt like a biohazard suit, either.
Angel: You have never worn a biohazard suit.
Izumi: I doubt she has, either.
It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood.
Angel: So many syntax errors… “I couldn’t pause and admire my truck again as I wanted” is awkward. So much of this is simply…awkward. *sigh*
Izumi: I actually like the description of the drizzle as “misty wet”, though. That’s kind of…neat.
Angel: If it keeps you sane, continue to cling to the positive.
Izumi: Maybe you should stop clinging to the negative.
Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up,
but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint.
The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top
volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected.
Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was,
like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only
the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a
collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many
trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I
wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?
Izumi: Back in Phoenix. You left because you wanted to, for whatever reason, so deal with it already.
I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading front
office.
Angel: “Front office” would go in quotes, since you are reading this.
Izumi: Were you in charge of books or texts or something before I contracted you?
Angel: Hm…Perhaps this is something to consider for outside character development. But it does not belong here. Shall we move on?
No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly
Angel: “Reluctantly”, you mean. You are indeed doing this of your own will.
out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.
Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little
waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and
awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly.
Angel: Colon, not semicolon. Or a comma. Or-
Izumi: Just give up, Angel.
Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside.
Izumi: You spoiled, ungrateful brat. Appreciate the life all around you! …You know, you should come live in my world. We’ll see how much you despise plants when you’ve lived in a world destroyed by nuclear warfare.
The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.
Izumi: So take your coat off.
The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Isabella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I
was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come
home at last.
Izumi: Self-important, aren’t we? Angel, keep an eye on me, this girl may send me back into my fire-and-brimstone phase.
Angel: I shall. That is not something I wish to see repeated…
"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her
desk till she found the ones she was looking for.
Angel: ‘til. You are shortening “until”. “Till” is a different word entirely.
"I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show roe.
Izumi: Show…”roe”?
Angel: How did the editor not catch such an error? Clearly, she had meant to type “me”. …Or it could be a mistake of the ebook we’re using.
She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map,
and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the
day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks.
Angel: Did you mean she said she hoped? Or that you thought she was hoping? You cannot see it when another person hopes. You are not a mind reader.
I smiled back as convincingly as I could.
When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around
the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older
like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income
neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing
to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny
Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the
thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.
I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have
to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day.
Izumi: Do you realize how often I look at my own map, even in places I have been several times? Needing a map is nothing to be ashamed of! I’m tired of dealing with her! She never stops complaining!
I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me.
Izumi: Oh, very funny.
I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.
I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with
teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.
Izumi: No, why would plain black stand out? This girl is paranoid, isn’t she?
Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was
painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping
toward hyperventilation as I approached the door.
Izumi: Then you should be heading towards the nurse’s office.
Angel: Or to the counselor’s office to make sure your teachers know of this odd phobia you have…
I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.
Izumi: I’m sorry, you followed the raincoats?
The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to
hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a
porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin
wouldn't be a standout here.
Izumi: Of course it won’t, will you stop it already?
I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate
identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name — not an
encouraging response — and of course I flushed tomato red.
Angel: You cannot see your own blush.
But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed.
Izumi: I’m actually convinced by now that nobody’s staring at her at all. She’s shown so many signs of being over-nervous and paranoid. It must be in her head.
I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and boring. I
wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that
was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher
droned on.
When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair
black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.
"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.
"Bella," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.
Izumi: …Or not. Why is everyone so interested?
"Where's your next class?" he asked.
I had to check in my bag." Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."
There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.
Izumi: That’s…highly unlikely.
"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…"Definitely over-helpful.
Izumi: No, you’re new! Be glad you have help!
"I'm Eric," he added.
I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."
We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have
sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't
getting paranoid.
Izumi: Yes. Yes, you are. Either that or you are a Sue, and both sound extremely likely right now.
"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.
"Very."
"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"
"Three or four times a year."
"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.
"Sunny," I told him.
"You don't look very tan."
"My mother is part albino."
He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of
humor didn't mix.
Izumi: Oh that was humor? I missed it, too. Maybe that’s what’s wrong. It’s certainly not the weather.
A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.
We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked
me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.
"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other
classes together." He sounded hopeful.
I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.
Izumi: Can we stop? We’ve been at this for two hours, and I’d rather my brain not be mush for my sermon. That’s it for now, everyone. Merry Christmas.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-12-25 12:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-25 01:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-25 02:36 am (UTC)Gods' this is bad Cherry, trees died for THIS?! Isn't this a crime against humanity or nature or something?
no subject
Date: 2009-12-25 03:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-25 05:46 am (UTC)...
Yeah I got nothing.