Bats named Felix, 'Gerard The Awesome', and drool. Lots of drool. Please R&R? :D
Oh, and if you’d review my latest chapter of Trying to Escape the Inevitable, I’ll seriously love you to bits, because not that many people seem to be reading it :/
I want to dedicate this chapter to everyone who's been so incredibly supportive with re-reviewing and rating, because I really don't know what I'd do without you guys. You keep me writing and smiling.
Chapter Two: The Violence of Wristbands
Exactly as predicted, getting out of last period physics early in order to sneak off to town and buy booze is easier than unintentionally terrorizing first years. And really, that’s easier than breathing.
Not that I’m meant to breathe, being a fictional bloodsucker from beyond the grave and all that.
Seriously though, terrorizing the first years is actually easier than getting Bob to act in a feminine manner; all I have to do is bare my fake fangs and the poor little eleven year old munchkins start urinating right left and centre with terror. Poor little dears. They really need to get a grip, though- I mean, they like, actually faint en masse if I so much lick my lips, as if I’m really going to start snacking on their veins for afternoon tea. Which is just stupid, because if I really was going to drain them of blood, the, being unconscious would just make it so much easier.
Jeez, being a first year must be hard.
Like I would ever actually even attempt to suck their blood anyway; I mean, I practically passed out when Zoe accidentally stabbed a safety pin right through her lip last year. I say accidentally- she was actually trying to pierce it.
Oh, and there was also that horrible moment when Bob and Ray decided it would be amusing to slather themselves in ketchup and lie in positions that made them look extremely dead in the fifth year common room.
Fuckers. However, they weren’t quite so amused when I regurgitated all over their prank-playing heads. It took poor Ray two hours of vigorous scrubbing to remove the half-digested chunks of pancake and slimy maple syrup (it was pancake day) from his ‘fro.
Forget it being tough being a first year- it’s tough being a fifth year with scarily pale skin and that everyone thinks is a vampire but is actually terrified of blood. Seriously, if there is a god, he has one fucking sadistic sense of humour.
Anyway, moving on from first years lacking bladder control and my sadistically ironic blood phobia, I’ve spent the majority of the lesson texting Zoe under the desk and having a heated debate about the sexuality of earth worms and just how much Katie Price is made up of plastic. I have to pause in my texting every so often to wipe the constantly forming little puddle of drool on the desk away from the vacant-mouthed, hormonally deranged moron sitting in the seat beside me.
Ray, if that wasn’t obvious- I mean, there’s no one else who can spend a full thirty minutes gazing unblinkingly at a single pair of boobs and produce that amount of saliva.
Even wiping my idiotic, curly-haired sidekick’s drool from our desk is better than listening to Mrs. Stillman’s seemingly endless lecture on how to measure gravity with a ruler. I’m pretty sure that’s not even possible, but Mrs. Stillman seems convinced it is, and no one dares to question her, as she can get a little unpredictable at times. And unhinged.
I mean, the woman’s been known to spend entire periods under her own desk, fly into slightly unnerving rages and throw random pieces of scientific apparatus at innocent bystanders, talk to the (dead) frogs we once had to dissect, and come into class smelling strongly of petrol and alcohol.
Oh, and there was that nasty little incident where she embraced a poor, high achieving student for getting a hundred per cent in his exam. Needless to say, he has never achieved the grade since. I mean, would you if you thought a deranged physics teacher was going to hug you if you did? I think not.
However, the important thing about Mrs. Stillman is that she is incredibly gullible and will believe almost anything. I mean, seriously- she believed my excuse that a bat had used my homework to make a nest for its little newborn bat babies.
I guess it just threw her because bats tend to be associated with vampires- she truly seems to believe that the much-feared rumour that I am actually an undead creature from hell that’s come to drink everyone’s blood. And she’s a science teacher. Pfff. Adults these days.
Bats are cool, though. I like bats. Especially those little furry ones- fruit bats, I think…or are they pipistrelles? Whatever. It’d be so awesome to have one as a little pet. I think I’d call it Felix…
I sigh heavily in boredom; having sent my latest text to Zoe and finished daydreaming about pet bats named Felix, I resort to tapping my fingers impatiently on the desk, staring aimlessly out of the window into the sunny grounds.
Behind me, the row of fake-tanned, strawberry-perfumed girls won’t stop giggling and simpering and sighing and stroking my leather jacket which is slung over the back of my chair.
I’m really starting to wish I really did have fangs, so as I could rip their veins out. Maybe they’d stop finding me so alluring then. Then again, maybe it would only make them more attracted to me- like I said; teenage girls are seriously messed up in the head.
For what feels like the millionth time since I slouched into the physics lab, I glance up at the clock over the white board, and my heart leaps as I see it’s nearly three; the time I need to create a diversion to escape from the stuffy classroom where Mrs. Stillman seems intent on murdering a dozen students by boredom.
“Ray,” I hiss, poking the idiotic imbecile slumped beside me, whose head is resting vacantly on his hands as he gazes over at one of the girls in the front row with a disturbingly tight and see-through blouse. He has an alarmingly glazed expression to match the drool starting to form once more at the corner of his mouth.
Seriously, the dude needs to get some control over his salivation issues.
He doesn’t respond at all to my poke, so I poke him harder. “Raymond,” I growl, jabbing a pointy finger into his ribs and trying very hard to block out several dreamy sighs from the girls behind us as I flick my raven hair out of my eyes.
“Unguhh?” Ray slurs eventually, not looking round and still not blinking.
“Time to put the plan into action,” I roll my eyes at his glassy-eyed expression.
“…What plan?” Ray mumbles vacantly, still not averting his gaze from the girl’s unnaturally prominent breasts. And still not blinking.
I’m actually starting to worry that his eyes will simply shrivel up and die if he doesn’t blink soon.
“The one we discussed at the start of class, remember?” I hiss, refraining from rolling my eyes again at the stupidity of my for some reason, incredibly feared sidekick.
“I don’t remember any plan,” Ray blinks finally.
I slap my forehead with my hand in frustration, wondering how on earth I, Gerard The Awesome and Bloodsucking, ended up with such an imbecile for my sidekick. An imbecile who constantly drools. And can only hear words like ‘breasts’ or ‘alcohol’ or ‘sexual relief’.
“Never mind,” I sigh heavily. “Just play along, right? So we can get the alcohol.”
Ray actually manages to tear his gaze from the girl. “Alcohol?”
“Yes, Raymond. Now play along, okay?” I sigh, raking a despairing hand through my tangle of gothic hair and making all the girls sitting behind me giggle infuriatingly.
Ray nods, going back to his shameless staring.
Rolling my eyes again, I scrabble in my pocket and draw out a little can of fake blood, making sure no one sees what I’m doing, especially the simpering girls behind me, except I think they’re actually far too busy staring at my ass. Perverts.
Just to be on the safe side, though, I bend over slightly so as they get distracted by the way my school shirt rises up to reveal the milky-white skin of my back, and then squirt a generous amount of the red liquid on the desk before me while they practically orgasm.
Then, coming to the conclusion that Ray won’t pay any attention to anything I ask of him unless it involves a word like ‘cleavage’, I simply grab his mane of long, curly hair and shove his head none-too gently down into the little pool of blood while encouraging him to look vacant and dead. Which really isn’t that much of a challenge for Ray. In fact, it’s about as much of a challenge for him to look like that as it is for me to look like a teenage Dracula.
Before Mrs. Stillman turns back round to face the stupefied class, I carefully streak two scarlet droplets on Ray’s neck with my finger and then smear the remains of the scarlet liquid on my fake fangs, smirking slightly.
All the girls behind me simper in an utterly sickening manner as I shake my dishevelled hair in front of my face, clearly unaware of the little scene I’ve just created. How the actual hell can Ray find girls like that so endearing? It makes me want to remove my own intestines. With a toothpick.
And I’m scared of blood.
By the time Mrs. Stillman finally turns back round, I’m grinning my manic, ‘bloodthirsty and evil’ grin from behind my wild hair and hovering over Ray’s ‘lifeless’ body. He’s actually pretty convincing with those glassy, blank, staring eyes and the little trail of spittle starting down his chin towards the desk.
Of course, both these things are due to the fact the girl in the front row he’s staring at so shamelessly blouse button has just popped, rather than the fact he’s just a disturbingly good actor.
He really is quite sad sometimes. I remember those happy days when I first met my puff headed friend and he was obsessed with comics and guitar and for some reason, eels and their breeding patterns. Now it’s just girls and their boobs. What’s so great about boobs, anyway? They’re just…blobs.
However, Mrs. Stillman is clearly blind to the real reason of Ray’s disturbingly glazed expression, and the fiction of the blood smeared all over my faux fangs, not to mention the more than slightly large pool of red on the desk around Ray’s ridiculous ‘fro, which, as he’s told me angrily several times, is not a hiding place for things like my drawing pencils or cigarettes.
He also gets kinda angry when you try and hide things in the puffy mass of hair that’s stuck to his skull, and even more so when you scrabble frantically through it if you’ve lost something like your iPod or your sanity. But hey, who knows what that spongy mass could sneakily absorb when your back’s turned?
Mrs. Stillman’s eyes are widening at a slightly unnerving rate and she’s started shaking, horrified shock filling her rapidly widening dreamy blue eyes and she drops her stack of textbooks to the classroom floor with a loud, resounding smack that makes all the students jump, simultaneously alerting them to the source of her horror.
Everyone’s head snaps up to fall on the little drama at our table, where the fake blood is slowly trickling across the wood and mingling unattractively with Ray’s hair. I keep grinning my maniac grin, which isn’t that difficult; the obvious horror on everyone’s faces is totally hilarious. How can people seriously believe something so blindingly fictional?!
Although, I guess I can maybe see why they do. I mean, all this fake blood and staged attacks and fangs can’t really be helping the rumours. Hmmm.
A terrified silence falls over the science lab in milliseconds. Ray’s front row girl drops her lip gloss in shock and bends to pick it up, her wide eyes never leaving our ‘blood’ soaked desk.
Ray lets out a groan as she bends down and her boobs make a bit for freedom from her scarily tight top. Thankfully, his groan could easily be mistaken for the groan of a dying victim, and only seems to add to our little performance; Mrs. Stillman gives a shaky little scream, claps a hand over her eyes, and stumbles wildly for the adjoining storeroom behind her desk, trembling like a crack addict on crack.
Because, well, what else would a crack addict be on? Certainly not half-rotten raspberries or anything completely pointlessly random like that.
And fat lot of good she’d be as a responsible teacher if I really had just drained my second in command moron of blood during one of the most boring physics lessons ever to be yawned through- I mean, she’s just cowering in the storeroom and probably snorting cocaine to calm herself, which is really not a good example to set to a bunch of teenagers, although they’re probably already all hooked on that stuff anyway.
It’s not good stuff. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the time my demented younger sibling tried weed and a lot of shit went down. Especially as we were home at the time. And if you think my adorable little rabbit by the name of Betsy growls angrily at me when I’ve been smoking, you should have seen her with Mikey after he’d been smoking weed.
Savage doesn’t begin to describe it. Lets just say that Mikey still has a couple of odd red marks on his left bum cheek. And he never, ever visits Betsy.
Poor little dear. All she tries to do is keep us healthy.
But yeah, Mrs. Stillman is still cowering in the cupboard. She’s a god damn science teacher, seriously. I mean, she of all people should know that it is physically impossible for one of her, admittedly unnaturally pale, fifth year students to be continuing Dracula’s noble work. Well, I say noble. I mean fictional, and pretty damn disgusting, actually. Seriously, there was just way too much involved for my liking.
Duh. He’s a vampire, you shit-brain.
I inwardly roll my eyes at the overly cocky little voice inside my skull that always thinks it seems to know better than me.
“C’mon, Raymond,” I hiss under my breath to the apparently lifeless lump sprawled across the desk. He’s still staring unblinkingly at the lip gloss smothered girl in the front row. Sorry, the girl’s boobs.
After all, in the oh-so-wise eyes of my puffy-headed sidekick, that’s all a girl is.
Trying not to laugh at the class’s wide-eyed expressions, I pull on my long leather coat with a flourish, straighten my fangs and fluff my dishevelled tangle of raven hair before leaping up onto the desk to reach the latch on the window.
I fumble with the catch for a second before the slightly rusty window swings open, filling the silent classroom with warm golden September sun and the smell of cut grass from the grounds where the distant sound of a lawnmower drifts across the extensive lawns. Here goes.
Biting back an amused smirk at the looks of pure terror etched across my overly gullible classmates’ faces, I bare my fangs, hiss, and leap out of the window with cat like grace, landing easily on the freshly shorn green grass below, leather coat billowing out behind me like Dracula’s cloak as I blink in the horrible brightness of the afternoon sun that stings my eyes.
Seriously, it really is too bright for its own good.
Once I’ve fluffed my hair and straightened my shirt, I peer back through the classroom window where practically everyone’s mouths are hanging open in shock.
However, the stupid, fluffy-headed numbskull that is my sidekick remains unmoved from the little puddle of blood, and is still staring at the girl’s boobs with a look of glazed wonder on his face. I wouldn’t even be surprised if he hasn’t even noticed the blood.
I roll my eyes despairingly. How did I, Gerard Way, the sexy vampire lookalike that everyone’s either in awe of or complete terror, get lumbered with such a complete nincompoop?! I mean, jeez, the idiot is drooling again. And as far as I know, dead people aren’t meant to drool.
“Ray,” I lean through the open window, glancing anxiously towards the closed door of the storeroom where I’m almost certain I can hear hysterical sobbing.
Oops. Perhaps we went a little too far for poor Mrs. Stillman’s nerves this time. It wouldn’t be the first time…
I guess staging a loud conversation about which first year I was going to catch for my dinner would have probably have worked equally well- and she might not have been having a mental breakdown in the storeroom amongst the test tubes and science papers. I could really think of better places to have a mental breakdown.
I mean, who wants the last place they see before they get carted of to the nearest mental asylum to be a school storeroom? Then again, Mrs. Stillman is one weird person. She is a teacher, after all- and they actually choose to spend the rest of their working lives in a school with bullies and geeks and sluts and fictional vampire gangs. What the actual bloodsucking fuck is wrong with them?
I’m going to live in a cave with Felix the bat and a very, very hot guy and I’m going to eat cinnamon bagels and listen to The Smiths and LostAlone and draw superheroes all day just because-
Hold the thoughts right the fuck there. Put the metaphorical level crossing barriers down urgently. Stop. Just…stop.
Okay. Please tell me it was my imagination I said ‘guy’ instead of ‘girl’.
Oh, thanks so much for your tact, you little fuckbrain.
Yes, but I’m your fuckbrain, remember? You could at least have the decency to name the voice inside your head. Pff.
Dude, I’m Gerard The Awesome. I’m cool and pale and I look like a vampire. I’m not meant to have voices inside my head. …Am I?
Why are you asking me?
I blink, shaking myself out of my temporary lapse of sanity as a particularly violent sounding sob sounds from the storeroom. Actually, it kinda sounds like a pig doing crack with a severe blockage in its nasal passages, but whatever. It brings me back to the task at hand and away from unnamed voices inside my skull.
“Raymond Alexander Toro, get that shit you call a brain together,” I hiss, prodding his shoulder. Hard.
“Hmmmph…?” Ray mumbles dazedly after several long moments of me prodding him relentlessly. He’s still staring dreamily across the room, apparently unaware of the plan we’d so carefully rehearsed at the start of the lesson. Then again, all coherent thought doesn’t tend to linger long inside his head. If at all.
As usual, as soon as boobs enter the equation, all other thought flies out of his head and he cares about nothing other than low cut, tight tops and his own hormones.
“Get out here now!” I hiss urgently, tugging at his sleeve in annoyance. “We’ve got to go.”
“Why?” Ray mumbles crossly, clearly unhappy at the prospect of going anywhere he can’t stare and drool over a pair of boobs.
Seriously, I don’t get what the fucking big deal is- I mean, they’re just two blobs stuck to some chick’s chest. How can that actually seem to hypnotise and remove all thoughts from idiots like Ray? In my eyes, the dinner lady from hell is more attractive than a pair of fake tanned breasts on some slutty chick. The dinner lady from hell with sprouts shoved up her hairy nostrils.
And really, that’s not something I’d imagine is attractive.
Although it might make you lose your mind in a different kind of way.
“Alcohol,” I hiss despairingly, lowering my voice as I utter the only thing I know will drag Ray’s eyes momentarily from the female atonomy.
Ray’s head shoots up and I groan as the whole class backs away looking utterly bemused and slightly less scared.
“Quick, you idiot,” I snarl, yanking at Ray’s sleeve and half pulling him through the window into the balmy September air. “You’re meant to be dead. Dead people don’t move, you fuckface!”
Owww!” Ray yelps loudly as I yank him fully through the window and he lands with a splat on the grassy floor beside me, ‘fro mingling prettily with the shredded grass and daisies.
“Fucknipples?!” He yells, spitting out a mouthful of grass and rolling over onto his back, looking perplexed and annoyed.
“Or talk,” I say through gritted teeth, quite aware that the whole class can hear him and refraining myself from rolling my eyes any more with the worry that doing so much in such a short amount of time might result in my eyes getting stuck inside my skull. And that’s not really something I’d like.
On the plus side, it’d make me look even more like an undead creature, but I still can’t say it’s really something I’d welcome. I’d walk into everything because I couldn’t see, and I think that would ruin my whole ‘mystical’ charisma.
“C’mon, Ray!” I snap irritably, rolling my eyes at his dazed face.
“Geezy?” He says dreamily, gazing up at the blue sky. “Doesn’t that cloud look like a pair of boobs?”
I never facepalm with anyone the way I do with Ray.
Just under an hour later, Ray and I are walking as silently and stealthily as we can along the corridor towards the fifth form common room, each carrying a heavy carrier bag laden with drink for tonight. Fuck yeah. Mission accomplished.
Okay, admittedly because the spotty, greasy-haired cashier at the off license seemed a little terrified by my fangs. But hey, I didn’t threaten him or anything and I didn’t know he had asthma. It’s not my fault he had to use three puffs of his inhaler when I smiled at him and slammed three bottles of vodka down on the counter in a way that was NOT threatening. Just overly-friendly in a violent way. Oh well…the medics from the ambulance did seem nice, at least.
Okay, maybe it is my fault. Just a little.
“You do know that my middle name isn’t Alexander, don’t you?” Ray says suddenly, as we stroll casually and very coolly down the corridor.
“Oh,” I say, feeling like a slightly bad best friend. “What is it, then?”
Ray frowns and goes silent for a while, which I’m pretty sure means that he doesn’t know either.
“Hey, what sex is a worm?” I ask Ray conversationally, trying to make up for the fact he is so retarded he doesn’t even know his own middle name. We’re now passing the lockers, black coats billowing impressively out behind us. “I think they’re male, but Zoe keeps telling me they’re hermaphrodites.”
“Why couldn’t we have gone to the swimming pool?” Ray whines, apparently completely deaf to my conversation and also proving my point that he is ridiculously retarded.
We tiptoe past the headmaster’s office now, our spiked black biker boots squeaking along the polished wooden floors. For some reason, the headmaster and I aren’t really bosom buddies. Think more along the lines of mortal enemies topped with several tablespoons of Voldemort’s soul and loathing towards each other.
“Because we’re not going swimming, Raymond,” I sigh despairingly in response to his question. “And you can’t even swim,” I point out logically.
“But they have lifeguards there,” Ray says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Female lifeguards.”
“Yes, I know,” I sigh again, marvelling at the lengths hormones will go to make someone stupid. Actually, Ray goes beyond stupid. So, so far beyond.
“They wear shorts, Gerard,” Ray says, eyes glassy.
Ray stops and turns to fix me with an alarmingly serious glare. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Way?” he yelps.
“Nothing!” I snap irritably, stomping dramatically down the corridor, keen to get the alcohol to safety before the head teacher comes out and beheads us with his stapler, as sadly, he is not one of the teachers that seem to think I am the next Vlad the Impaler. Tragically, he actually seems to have a tiny amount of common sense.
“Dude, there are girls in shorts and you don’t care,” Ray says incredulously. “You have issues.”
“I do not have issues!” I growl, stomping faster and more dramatically.
“Dude, you didn’t even notice when that chick in Biology last week wasn’t wearing a bra,” Ray says in the kind of tone that implies I have some fatal disease.
“She wasn’t wearing a bra!” Ray exclaims, flailing his arms incredulously.
I just roll my eyes and carry on down the corridor, looking supremely cool and unbothered and vampirish, but actually feeling tiny little prickles of worry start to flicker through my mind. Is it really not normal to stare almost twenty four hours at the chests of the opposite gender and lose all control of my saliva/dignity/manly parts? Is that really what I’m meant to do as a male? It seems pretty basic and boring, if you ask me.
“I really think you need a girl,” Ray says worriedly.
“I don’t like anyone,” I point out, striding faster along the corridor so as my black leather coat streams out behind me. “They’re all…fake-tanned and false.”
“But they have boobs, Gerard!”
I facepalm, forgetting all about the fact I’m wearing a spiked wristband and yelping in pain as I impale my own cheek.
“Idiot,” Ray rolls his eyes as I whimper in pain, probably not sounding very much like a fearsome bloodsucker at all. I quickly mask the squeak with a very fearsome sounding growl instead.
“You’re calling me an idiot?” I look at him incredulously. “Dude, I’m not the one who starts spouting streams of saliva every time I see a girl or pushing my best friends into busy roads because they talked to some girl who had boobs.”
“Boobs?” Ray beams like the retarded, sex-crazed lunatic he is.
I facepalm again and promptly squeak/cover up with a fiendish growl as I re-stab my injured cheek.
“Ray, you pushed Bob under a double-decker bus just because he started chatting up a girl,” I point out. Ray can become dangerous, violent and unpredictable if anyone else talks to a girl. Seriously. You do not want to get between him and a female- things can get very, very nasty.
Ray rolls his eyes. “Stop exaggerating, Gerard. It was only a tandem bike.”
He is also known to hallucinate under these circumstances.
“It was not!” I exclaim indignantly. “Bob could have died.”
“Hey, it wasn’t my fault, I-” Ray suddenly breaks off and groans.
“Prefect alert,” Ray groans, and sure enough, as I look ahead, two fifth year prefects are heading this way.
“Fuck,” I sigh. “I’ll actually die if they confiscate the booze, Ray. DIE. I’m gunna need it to get through the rest of the week, seriously- and the midnight feast if Mikey’s coming along too- why the fuck does Zoe want him to come? He’s just a pointless, overly-skinny mistake in glasses!” I grumble as the prefects advance on us, looking ominous and ready to kill.
Never, ever should you underestimate the murderous instinct in prefects.
They’re approaching at an alarming speed, but I realise I recognise both of them; one of them is Izzy Roberts from my Drama class, and the other is, unless I’m very much mistaken, the russet-eyed boy with the floppy Mohawk I knocked over before maths earlier today, and then terrified by smiling.
It suddenly strikes me as sort of tragic that my smile actually makes people run for their lives.
As they reach us and come to a halt, Izzy smiles widely, and thankfully, not in a sadist-geek-I-am-going-to-put-you-in-detention-for-the-rest-of-your-living-days-smile. Quite a pretty smile, actually. But Izzy is pretty- even I can see that. She’s not my type, though- she’s a bit too…feminine.
She’s a girl, dingbatbottom- of course she’s gunna be feminine.
Ignoring the little know-it-all voice inside my skull which I will not give the respect of naming, I practically hear Ray salivate beside me, no doubt due to the fact that yes, she has breasts.
My eyes come to rest on the prefect beside her, and my stomach gives a funny jolt as I look into the golden brown eyes of the poor, trembling guy I practically bowled over on the way to maths. He’s actually got really pretty eyes…kind of hazely and gold with swirly-
“Hi,” Izzy says brightly, cutting through my thoughts. “Gerard, isn’t it?”
I hurriedly shake myself back into the present and resort to something that will hopefully mean we do not get put in months of torturous detention and have the two large carrier bags of booze removed from our possession.
“That’s me,” I wink and toss my hair out of my eyes in a slightly overly flirtatious yet still gothic and awesome manner.
Izzy simpers slightly, but sadly, seems to pull herself out of it. “And what are you doing out of class, Gerard?” she asks, reverting to the rule-following prefect role. Beside her, the guy with the golden eyes and the geekish yet somehow cute glasses, frowns in my direction. I almost giggle; someone of that size really can’t expect to be taken seriously when they try and look intimidating. It just looks ridiculously cute.
“Well…” I smile dazzlingly at Izzy and edge closer, hoping to flirt my way out of trouble. Seriously, you wouldn’t believe the amount of times that works.
Not with the headmaster, though. Although scarily, it did work with Mr. Arnolds, the RE teacher Zoe reduced to a mental breakdown last term. Yeech.
“You are meant to be in class, aren’t you, Gerard?” Izzy asks, but she’s smiling slightly as she edges a little closer to me. Behind her, the golden-eyed midget coughs meaningfully.
“I guess,” I concede, tucking a strand of ebony hair behind my ear and biting my lip devilishly in that sexy-yet-fictional vampire way only I can. “But…is there any harm in a little…rule bending?” I edge closer still.
Izzy makes a funny giggly noise.
The small boy coughs again.
And then something rather violently interrupts my balance.
That ‘something’ being the angry and hormone crazed foot of Raymond Toro.
Yes. He is actually so hormonally deranged that even his foot gets horny.
“Oiiech!” I yelp angrily as I stagger sideways into the wall and my spiked belt stabs painfully into my hip. Seriously, I really need to stop wearing so many spikes; I mean, sure, they make me look pretty damn cool, but they also constantly injure me, which is perhaps slightly less cool- especially when I keep yelping like an unstable walrus. I do have a scary, sexy Dracula reputation to keep up, after all.
And squealing walruses aren’t sexy.
At least, not for normal people. Not that I know any of those.
“Hi, I’m Ray,” Ray is saying dazedly to a rather bemused Izzy. Sorry, to a rather bemused Izzy’s boobs. Ray can never manage to drag his gaze higher than a woman’s chest. Pervert.
Izzy is looking a little confused as to why the unnaturally pale guy she was flirting with a moment ago has suddenly disappeared, only to be replaced by a frothy-mouthed freak sporting an overgrown and mouldy Amazonian rainforest on his skull.
I interrupt Ray’s dazed stupidity with a slightly irritated growl, which makes the russet-eyed boy start and dart behind Izzy for cover, as if I’m going to gnash my way through his neck here and now, mere metres from the headmaster’s office.
“What’s that skirt made of?” Ray asks, his words slurring slightly as he stares shamelessly at Izzy like she’s some kind of goddess.
Izzy is looking annoyed, no doubt due to the fact Ray is treating her as if she is nothing but a pair of breasts. “Um….?”
“It looks like girlfriend material,” Ray says, eyes glassy as he continues to gaze adoringly at her chest.
I facepalm once more at the sickeningly cheesy chat up line, and once more wince (but manage not to squeak this time) as the spikes from my wristband stab into my cheek. Yup, it’s decided; the wristband is going.
I hiss in pain and the pretty-eyed, short boy gulps and ducks further still behind Izzy, who is looking alarmingly nauseous, no doubt due to the ridiculous amount of cheesiness Ray just unleashed.
She also seems to be getting slightly scared by the intensity of Ray’s gaze, which is practically burning right through her school blouse at this juncture.
“I like the buttons on your blouse,” Ray beams glassily.
In reply, Izzy grabs the small boy with the cute Mohawk cowering behind her by the arm, and they both beat a hasty retreat, thankfully seeming to forget all about punishing us or removing our drinks. Hmmm. Perhaps Ray isn’t an entirely useless sidekick after all.
Although he is currently sighing tragically as if a whole fleet of puppy dogs have just been slaughtered in front of his eyes.
“Thanks a lot, you fluffy manslut,” I snap crossly, rubbing my head where it collided with the wall. “You nearly messed it all up.”
“…Huh?” Ray says intelligently, not looking away from Izzy’s retreating figure. Or rather, Izzy’s retreating ass. He is Ray, after all. From the front, Izzy is a pair of boobs; from the back, she is an ass.
I can tell it’s going to be a long trek back to the common room.
Sighing, I grab Ray by the ‘fro and start down the corridor, glancing back at the two retreating prefects and realising with a jolt that I just described the midget boy as ‘cute’. Several times. And I may or may not have described his eyes as ‘pretty’.
Oh ice skating hippos, Ray’s right.
I really, really need to get a girlfriend.
What did you think? I’d really love to know, as I always find second chapters really difficult, for some reason! It’ll get funnier as it goes on. So…yeah. R&R? Please? :D Should I still carry this on? I’d also love it if you told me what your favourite bit was (if you had one), but only if you have the time (: Thanks so much for reading- I love you all so much!