Categories > Cartoons > Jem
There is a proverb about waiting for the other shoe to drop. Roxanne Pelligrini might not have known what a proverb was but she knew all about shoes and dropping. Most of her life had been spent watching shoes drop and most of them had landed directly on her head so it was natural that she spent the weeks after Philadelphia in a frenzy of waiting. She had no luck, no patience, and no temper management skills.
Good thing she never had particularly believed in any of those things or she might have been even more out of sorts in the two weeks since the others had corralled her back into the Misfits. As it was, Roxy seemed to swing between sulk and tantrum. Neither was any fun to deal with but at least a sulk kept things from finding their way into her calloused hands to be thrown at the nearest head. On the other hand, a sulk created lazy chords and mumbled lyrics during rehearsals. Luckily, two of the other three Misfits had never been known for their stellar work ethic either and so Roxy's uncooperative behavior was tolerated by the others. Eric might have complained but, if he did, Pizzazz dealt with it in her usual manner; she ignored him and pretended nothing was wrong. As far as she was concerned, nothing was wrong, after all. Roxy had returned and the Misfits were once again four strong, her own little coterie, the closest things to friends she had. That was the important thing. She had her satellite planets back in their orbits.
Almost, anyway.
*
Feeling a sour mood coming on again, Roxy stormed down the hallway of the Gabor mansion towards her room. Jetta had been careful since her return, wary of saying one word too much and sending the guitarist off again. If Roxy had been in a better frame of mind, she would have relished that fact because it made clear just how unpleasant things had been without her around. At the moment, though, all she could focus on was Jetta's final words that morning; the English woman had taken advantage of Pizzazz's temporary absence to make yet another dig at Roxy's intelligence and illiteracy. She had been rewarded with her own saxophone to her stomach. Stormer gasped louder than the raven-haired musician in dismay but, before she could form placating words, Roxy stormed past her with a hissed curse, avoiding the hurt blue gaze. Stormer was awful for taking the wind out of the sails of one of Roxy's growing fits.
"British bitch," Roxy snarled to herself as she shoved her door open. "Shoulda pulled out her hair instead. If it weren't for..." She trailed off abruptly at the sight of a shiny red rectangle lying square in the middle of her rumpled sheets. "What the hell is this?" A crease appeared between her plucked eyebrows as she crossed the room to pick it up. A book? The frown moved from her forehead to her tangerine-painted lips and she flopped backwards, mattress groaning under her sudden weight. She squinted in concentration at the bold letters on the cover. /The Cat in the Hat/? Shaking her head, she rolled over onto her stomach and hesitantly opened it. Her reading was still well below average and she was too proud to ask for help but this looked like something she might be able to handle. The words were small, the pictures simple and clean, and the ridiculous cat in his stupid hat brought the twitch of a smile to the corner of her mouth.
The momentary worry of where the book had come from disappeared as she turned to the first page, the bitten fingernail of her index finger pointing to each word as she carefully sounded it out under her breath. "The sun... Did not... Shine... It was too wet to... Play..."
It was probably from Stormer, anyway.
*
Silently, Pizzazz eased herself away from the crack in the door and ran a long-fingered hand through her tumbled hair, shaking the neon waves from her eyes. Good, she thought with smug satisfaction. Who knew the old book would make Roxy smile like that? Good thing she had kept it all those years. She remembered sitting on her father's knee, many many years ago, listening in rapt attention. Pigtails and ruffly skirts and the perfect little princess. Roxy had probably worn overalls and smudges of dirt on her nose. It was a sure bet she had never tolerated storytime. Not back then, anyway. Maybe she would /now/. Pizzazz owned some other, special books for later in the reading lessons.
A strange smile twisted her lips as she slipped off down the hallway. It was good to have her Roxy back again. Even if she was pissy.
Good thing she never had particularly believed in any of those things or she might have been even more out of sorts in the two weeks since the others had corralled her back into the Misfits. As it was, Roxy seemed to swing between sulk and tantrum. Neither was any fun to deal with but at least a sulk kept things from finding their way into her calloused hands to be thrown at the nearest head. On the other hand, a sulk created lazy chords and mumbled lyrics during rehearsals. Luckily, two of the other three Misfits had never been known for their stellar work ethic either and so Roxy's uncooperative behavior was tolerated by the others. Eric might have complained but, if he did, Pizzazz dealt with it in her usual manner; she ignored him and pretended nothing was wrong. As far as she was concerned, nothing was wrong, after all. Roxy had returned and the Misfits were once again four strong, her own little coterie, the closest things to friends she had. That was the important thing. She had her satellite planets back in their orbits.
Almost, anyway.
*
Feeling a sour mood coming on again, Roxy stormed down the hallway of the Gabor mansion towards her room. Jetta had been careful since her return, wary of saying one word too much and sending the guitarist off again. If Roxy had been in a better frame of mind, she would have relished that fact because it made clear just how unpleasant things had been without her around. At the moment, though, all she could focus on was Jetta's final words that morning; the English woman had taken advantage of Pizzazz's temporary absence to make yet another dig at Roxy's intelligence and illiteracy. She had been rewarded with her own saxophone to her stomach. Stormer gasped louder than the raven-haired musician in dismay but, before she could form placating words, Roxy stormed past her with a hissed curse, avoiding the hurt blue gaze. Stormer was awful for taking the wind out of the sails of one of Roxy's growing fits.
"British bitch," Roxy snarled to herself as she shoved her door open. "Shoulda pulled out her hair instead. If it weren't for..." She trailed off abruptly at the sight of a shiny red rectangle lying square in the middle of her rumpled sheets. "What the hell is this?" A crease appeared between her plucked eyebrows as she crossed the room to pick it up. A book? The frown moved from her forehead to her tangerine-painted lips and she flopped backwards, mattress groaning under her sudden weight. She squinted in concentration at the bold letters on the cover. /The Cat in the Hat/? Shaking her head, she rolled over onto her stomach and hesitantly opened it. Her reading was still well below average and she was too proud to ask for help but this looked like something she might be able to handle. The words were small, the pictures simple and clean, and the ridiculous cat in his stupid hat brought the twitch of a smile to the corner of her mouth.
The momentary worry of where the book had come from disappeared as she turned to the first page, the bitten fingernail of her index finger pointing to each word as she carefully sounded it out under her breath. "The sun... Did not... Shine... It was too wet to... Play..."
It was probably from Stormer, anyway.
*
Silently, Pizzazz eased herself away from the crack in the door and ran a long-fingered hand through her tumbled hair, shaking the neon waves from her eyes. Good, she thought with smug satisfaction. Who knew the old book would make Roxy smile like that? Good thing she had kept it all those years. She remembered sitting on her father's knee, many many years ago, listening in rapt attention. Pigtails and ruffly skirts and the perfect little princess. Roxy had probably worn overalls and smudges of dirt on her nose. It was a sure bet she had never tolerated storytime. Not back then, anyway. Maybe she would /now/. Pizzazz owned some other, special books for later in the reading lessons.
A strange smile twisted her lips as she slipped off down the hallway. It was good to have her Roxy back again. Even if she was pissy.
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