The pinkette stifled a giggle as she crept her way across the lawn, eyeing the houses around her for any sign of life. Normally, Priscilla Stratford would be fast asleep at five o'clock on a Friday morning, but today called for a special reason to get up early.
It was April Fool's Day.
Amelia had nearly passed out in fright at seeing her mistress awake so early, presuming it to be a thief or intruder storming through the house at such an early hour. But no, Prissy was up and Prissy had plans.
After all, it was April Fool's Day.
Plastic trash bag in hand, she swerved around the shrubbery that separated her from the house of her victim's. She'd parked her pink convertible two blocks behind, mindful to hide the bubblegum colored car out of sight of any potential early morning jogger. One never knew what sort of nosy neighbor might be lurking in a neighborhood and she wasn't about to take any chances.
When figuring out what pranks to pull, the decision had come easily enough. Danny was still in the hospital (and unconscious at that), so he was out of the equation. Daddy was out of town, knocking him off the list. Amelia was too easy to scare or annoy - no fun in that - and Chase, or Labyrinthite rather, seemed too off limits to mess around with. That left one poor soul on the receiving end of her April Fool's hit list.
Katrina Halloran was her target, this April Fool's Day.
If she wanted to be daredevilish, she could sneak into the house and switch her tea bins around, effectively screwing up any mixture she'd hope to make the next time she felt like blending a drink. But who knew if she would be in the mood to make tea today? Too much risk for failure. She could also, had she felt especially adventurous, messed with her ungodly amount of scrapbook ingredients paraphernalia. But that would involve breaking and entering, which was far too troublesome, in her opinion. Besides, the punk might be an early riser - not that Prissy was ever awake to know.
No, Prissy wanted to get Katrina really good this year. Call it initiation hazing for friendship qualification with one Priscilla Stratford. Which meant involving one of KittyKat's most treasured possessions.
Reaching into her plastic trash bag, the first thing she pulled out were innumerable amounts of sticker sheets. Sticker sheets featuring wide-eyed and whisker-faced cat stickers, complete with rainbow sparkles, to be precise. Naturally with her love for scrapbooking with stickers and the fact she wouldn't shut up about Chase's new cat...
Well, it just made sense.
After successfully planting dozens of kitties across the helpless motorbike, she felt supremely satisfied with her cat-attack. Now, for her finishing touch...
Next to be yanked out of the trash bag was a giant roll of saran wrap which was unceremoniously soon wrapping itself around and around the bike's steering, moving down until it covered the seat. She wrapped it tight - well, as tight as she wanted to put effort into it - until the roll ran out about the time she made it to the back tire. Ah well - she'd done what she could, but unfortunately it did not make it through to be able to wrap the entire bike.
Last (but certainly not least), out came an oversized pink bow, which was delicately placed on the back tire, half out of laziness and half out of trying to hide the fact she was unable to finish wrapping the bike.
A neighbor's dog began barking before she could finish admiring her finished piece of artwork, so Prissy was quick to snap a picture on her phone before taking off down the sidewalk. Hopefully within a few hours, her phone would reveal the reaction in the form of an angry text...or two...or ten. Too bad she couldn't stick around to see the reaction in person.
Since, after all, it was April Fool's Day.
Skye Starrfyre
For mention. Sort of. Oops.
Ghouliboo
Feral Cat
Offline
Ghouliboo
Feral Cat
Offline
Posted: Thu Apr 07, 2016 9:30 am
Keep drinking coffee, stare me down across the table While I look outside So many things I'd say if only I were able But I just keep quiet and count the cars that pass by
You've got opinions, man We're all entitled to 'em, but I never asked So let me thank you for your time, And try not to waste anymore of mine And get out of here fast
- King of Anything, Sara Bareilles
Solo (Word Count: 1001)
The house was quiet when she slid the key in the lock, twisting it softly as pushed against the heavy door. Sailor Dia had de-henshined prior to sneaking her way onto her own lawn, out of fear that Amelia or Cook might still be up, dawdling around the house or cleaning whatever it was they constantly cleaned. It would have been much easier to dart across the grass or even leap up to her window as the pink and black Negaverse agent, but having to explain her alter ego was not on her agenda for the evening.
Slipping inside, she was mindful to close the door as quietly as possible, the small click as the door slid into place and the second one, for the lock turning back into place. The lights were out in the house, save for the dim lamplight in the living room that tended to be left on, for any midnight wanderers headed towards the kitchen. This faint yellow glow aided the young woman, allowing her guidance towards the staircase as she took her time creeping up, one by one, until she reached the top of the stairwell. It would be another hallway before she made it to the door of her bedroom - safety and sanctuary. She was careful of where she stepped, avoiding the known creaks and weak spots on the flooring.
Finally, she arrived.
Throwing away her ninja-like presence, she turned the knob and swung the door open. Stepping into the darkened room, one hand moved to the side to habitually flip up the light switch.
It was then that Priscilla Stratford promptly screamed.
She had expected to see the overly-pink room full of lace, knick-knacks and expensive trinkets when the light came on. What she hadn't expected was to see the dignified Maxwell Stratford, complete in a full Armani suit and a very solemn expression, sitting atop the fluffy pink comforter of her bed.
"Amelia told me that you were out."
When had he gotten home? There had been no phone call, no warning... he wasn't supposed to be due in for another two days! And how long had he been sitting there, brooding in the dark of her bedroom?
" -and that you have been out late every night this week."
Her eyes immediately fell to the ground, appearing to find the plush carpeting much more interesting than trying to meet his steely gaze. Fingers laced with one another in front of her, automatically beginning their nervous fidgeting. "I've just been out with Kat, Daddy - you said you were glad I was making new frien---"
Her voice trailed off as the tall man rose from her bed, his presence as intimidating to his daughter as it was to the multitude of businessmen who worked under him. Fingers began to fidget harder, rose colored eyes cutting up to glance at his face, wishing - hoping - he would once again fall for her sad, pitiful look.
"Making new friends, yes. Staying out all night with these friends, no."
"There's a new club in town, we were just..."
"Being irresponsible. I'm not sure if I care for you to have friends that are keeping you out so late every ni---"
It was Max's turn to be cut off, his eyes spotting the rather large looking bruise on his daughter's upper arm. One hand reached out and pulled up her sleeve up, examining the nasty looking mark. "What is this?"
Prissy took a step back, yanking her sleeve away and pulling it further down on her arm, stretching the material. Her father was treating her like a child and not like a twenty-one year old...but then again, she was still under his roof and acting like she had during the teenage years she didn't get to spend at home, so maybe he was making up for lost years. "There was a fight in the club, I got shoved. It wasn't a big deal, okay?"
Thank goodness that little unicorn fluff of a girl had aided in healing her arm burns - how in the world would she have explained those? One bruise was hard enough, two scorched arms from a dragon's scalding skin - not so much.
"Priscilla."
The tone was softer this time, the concern now etched into the aged, weathered face of a father than of an esteemed, hardened businessman. Both hands moved out this time, pulling his daughter against him in a bear-like hug he hadn't done in several years to his youngest.
Maxwell knew the space between his daughter and himself was continuing to distance itself, the longer he stayed away and the older she grew. But she was his daughter - his only daughter - and his youngest. She was spirited like Sabrina and that was what worried him. There was no telling what sort of trouble she could find herself in, with no parent at home for guidance. The maid could only keep track of her so much, having her own tasks at hand to look after.
"That settles it." She could tell by his tone that he wasn't going to have any guff. Uh oh. This couldn't be any good. "If you're going to keep worrying me like this, we're getting you into a self-defense class or something."
Prissy frowned, her scowl hidden away in the crisp white business shirt. "But-"
"If you're going to keep putting yourself in situations like these, I need to know that you're capable of handling yourself - I don't like seeing these bruises, Priscilla."
Shrugging her shoulders, she caved in and simply nodded her head. Her eyes closed and she stood for a moment, enjoying the simple feeling of her father's embrace, one of his hands smoothing out the frazzled pink curls that had seen far more than a simple shove that evening. Being forced into some rinky-dink class was a far better form of punishment than having her car taken away or worse - grounding. Could she still be grounded, at her age?
In fact, it could be safe to say that Prissy hated hospitals. Hospitals were places people went to when they were sick and when they were about to die. Prissy was neither sick nor near death, so why did she have to wander these bland, beige hallways where the white linoleum made her shoes echo with every step.
Her phone buzzed in her hand, a gentle reminder from KittyKat to be sure to talk to him.
Oh, right. Daniel.
Prissy didn't care if she was known as a not so particularly friendly coworker. She wasn't looking for commendations, wasn't looking to make friends when she started her job at The Sugar Cube. She was there for a paycheck and just happened to enjoy the company of the main barista. How was it her fault that he was mugged and fell into a coma from a bonk on the head? Why was she being punished by being forced to go to a hospital and visit him? He probably wasn't even awake! He might not even wake up - again!
Sulking, she turned the corner into the intensive care unit, pressing the automatic door button. Visitation hours were posted on the wall - she had twenty or so minutes left before the final time slot came to an end. That was good at least, Prissy didn't have it in mind but to stay for a minute or two. That was okay for a friend-type visit, right? Especially when the visitee wasn't even conscious?
Passing the nurse's station, she glanced at the room numbers posted on the front of each door. Each room had a set of large glass doors, accompanied with large glass windows on either side. It was easy to glance into each room and see the patient - some were old, some were relatively young. Some had ventilators breathing for them, others had bandages over limbs and all sorts of machines and lines and it was quickly becoming way too overwhelming to stare at.
This was a place for sick people, not for healthy pretty people like herself.
Before she realized it, she was standing outside of the room - Daniel's room. She could see through the windows that he remained asleep, a tube shoved down his throat that was doing his breathing for him. His dishwater blonde hair was tousled, greasy from being unwashed. Or bedwashed. Whichever. Whiskers had begun to grow on his normally clean shaven face, though it was hard to tell around his mouth with the large mouthguard holding the tube in place.
It was horrible. She turned to make a quick escape, but a nurse had already cut off her path.
"Are you here to visit Mr. McKay?"
Mr. McKay.
It felt so foreign to hear the charming young man referred to by his last name. Danny. He was Danny.
"Y-Yes."
"I'm so glad." The nurse's face had softened, concern melting into relief. "He hasn't had a visitor in a while - such a nice looking young man, I hate the idea of there being no one waiting for him when he wakes up."
"Is he going to wake up?" Prissy turned back around towards the room, staring at her sleeping coworker.
"We just need to have faith, sweetie."
The nurse was gentle with her shoulder patting, which soon turned into a soft, yet prompting push. "Go in, talk to him. He might be able to hear you."
It felt like a scene from Sleeping Beauty, only more horrible and traumatizing. Why did she have to be the one to talk to him? Why did his girlfriend have to be such a piece of crap? Was it possible that he would wake up if she did speak to him? Could the nurse be right?
One hand moved up and gently pushed open the glass door. She slipped inside, her eyes fixated on the young man, or rather, the shell of the young man that lay before her. His chest moved up and down, but it was clear from the blue tube that the oxygen pumping inside of him was not his own doing. There were boxes on poles with all sorts of fluids and medicines going through him. The words on the labels were illegible to her, all words she couldn't understand.
Stepping into the room had been difficult, but she found approaching the bed to be even harder. She could feel the nurse's stare at the back of her head, guilting her to move closer to the comatose boy.
"Hey Danny..."
Her voice was soft, barely audible for her own ears, much less when forced to compete against the sounds of the ventilator next to her. "I...It's Prissy. I came to visit."
He remained still, eyes closed.
Dumb was an understatement on how she felt. What was she supposed to expect? His eyes to open? His nose or fingers to twitch?
But no, he remained still, deathly still, his chest slowly moving up and down due to aid from machines. This wasn't the Danny she was used to, this wasn't the Danny she wanted to see. This was a stranger, a sick stranger, who was bedridden for God knows how much longer.
One hand moved out to risk touching his. It felt warm, as if proving he was just sleeping and not a dead body laying in the hospital bed, but he still failed to stir. So much for being Sleeping Handsome's Princess in this story. Soft fingers released his, allowing his hand to fall back onto the blanket.
"So, Danny..." She glanced at her phone, begging - pleading - that somehow twenty minutes had already passed. No, three. Three minutes had passed. There was no way she was going to make it another seventeen. "I'll be seeing you later, okay? Kat's out in the car and I don't want to keep her waiting..."
She didn't know which was lamer, her excuse or the fact she was still talking to a comatose patient.
Turning around she made a beeline out the door and passed the nurse without a word, without a look. The four hallways it took to get out of the hospital felt even longer leaving than they did coming in.
She credited it to the fact that she still, most definitely, did not like hospitals.
Mother's Day had once again arrived. Usually, Prissy was able to let it roll off her shoulders and move on to the next day without so much as a flinch, but now that Lara Black had entered her life, the day brought about a new sense of pain into her world.
She sat against the headboard of her bed as she stared down at the faded photograph in her hand. Fingers played with the edges of the picture as pink eyes gazed down at the stranger laughing happily as she played with a tiny, pink haired baby. The woman's hair looked just as Prissy's did: long, curly and the softest shade of pink, like a newly opened rose bud.
Prissy could hardly remember her mother. Honestly, she feared the handful of memories she had of her were all invented from the stories her father would tell her over and over again, that none of her thoughts were truly real. In the end, though, did it matter? She was gone and Prissy was motherless.
"I miss you."
The words seemed odd to say, to tell a dead woman who she hardly recalled. She wanted to tell her mother of Lara, of how the boy she'd met on Valentine's Day had not only won over her affections but introduced her to another woman that had welcomed her so lovingly into her home, into her arms. She wanted to tell her all about how this kind soul had taken her in and treated her so wonderfully, that they'd gone to tea with one another, they'd shopped together, they'd gotten manicures and done everything that Prissy had wished she'd been able to do with her own mother.
But instead, she sat there, talking to a photograph on an overly commercialized holiday that meant diddly-squat to Sabrina Stratford because Sabrina Stratford was dead.
"I met this really wonderful person. Her name is Lara."
Was she betraying her own mother, by adopting a new one? Would her mother be hurt, to know that Lara had come into her life as a pseudo replacement? Should she even be bringing up such a subject?
Sighing, she slipped the picture back onto her lap as she looked out towards the window. Most people went to pay visits to gravestones when they'd lost a parent, but thanks to being moved around countless times, Prissy could hardly remember what city her mother had been buried in. Sabrina's parents weren't in the picture when she'd married Maxwell, making her life that much easier to be dropped off as she picked up a new one with her rich, fancy new husband. After getting pregnant, even, they'd been in three different cities. Which one would she have called home?
Shaking her head, Prissy let out a second sigh as she dug her phone out from underneath her pillow. Punching a few buttons against the screen, she shot off a text to username Lara B.
To Lara B
Happy Mother's Day! heartheartheart
Certainly Chase wouldn't mind sharing his mother, on a day like today? And who knows, maybe her own mother would forgive her for cheating on her with another Mom-like figure.
Maybe.
Ghouliboo
Feral Cat
Offline
Ghouliboo
Feral Cat
Offline
Posted: Tue May 24, 2016 1:00 am
Solo (Word Count: 1036)
The struggle was real.
To others, it was simply just another day of the week. A year ago, Prissy would have been one of those people as well - just another day dedicated to doing whatever Prissy felt like doing for herself. But now, now that everything in her world had been turned upside down, now that she'd accrued all sorts of new talents and people in her life... today was no simple day anymore.
No, today was KittyKat's birthday.
Katrina Halloran may not be turning the fabulous twenty-one that Prissy was, but hitting a new mile-marker was nothing to scoff at either. The big two-zero. Twenty!
She could very well have taken the time to ask KittyKat what she wanted to do for her birthday, but that wasn't Priscilla's style. No, birthday presents and adventures were more fun to come up with on her terms - or at least they were, at first. Normally, it was fairly simple to figure out a present for an acquaintance's special day (if she cared to get them anything at all, anyhow) and Prissy enjoyed shopping around, regardless if it was for herself or others. But now that she had actually acquired a best friend of KittyKat's level...well, things were a little different.
Now things were actually important.
Two weeks prior, she'd been holed up in her room, trying to recover from the Labyrinth's woes. Her arm still stung every time antiseptic was applied, her feet were blistered - it was just not fun, going out and doing anything. So instead, she'd taken the impromptu opportunity to begin searching online for the Perfect Gift. The browsing had started off hopeful enough. Punkish looking jewelry, purple things, pink things, fashionably goth things...
Prissy knew where to find pretty things but what would make this birthday special? She could get her anything she wanted at any point in time, but as the various boxes of materialistic items littered her own room, Prissy could at least acknowledge that presents given from the heart were more sentimental than trivial shiny things with significant price tags.
Was this a sign of maturity? Maybe.
It also might be a sign of selfishness, vying to figure out the best present to give KittyKat and beat out any other competition (Negaboyfriend included).
So maybe not as mature as one would hope of the young adult.
Taking her for dinner could also prove to be a thoughtful gesture, but Prissy knew that seafood was Kat's favorite dish and that was positively gross, so food was out. She could always drag her back off to the Cheesecake Factory but that seemed sort of overdone as the actual present, seeing as that's where they went for her own birthday.
Hm.
It had taken another week for her to figure out what to do. When the idea had finally struck her, she felt both proud and accomplished... and a little bit bummed at being poor but, if anything was a worthy cause this month, it would be for KittyKat's birthday. Thank goodness this only day had to come up once a year....
~~
The logistics of it had been a nightmare to try to figure out, but she'd pulled all her clever tricks and had managed to convince KittyKat to spend the night with her, the evening prior to her actual birthday. Even more effort had been put into ensuring she would wake up before the other girl (ugh, mornings) and force Amelia the maid up to get the dining room ready and for Cook to start the breakfast of cinnamon rolls and other delicious excuses to eat sweets at seven in the morning.
Then, sneaking back upstairs, she unceremoniously began banging on the bedroom door until a weary-eyed, more-than-slightly perturbed KittyKat arose from her beauty sleep. Without given time to properly wake up (or taste any part of the delicious smells coming from the kitchen), Prissy had grabbed the other girl by the wrist and literally dragged her across the hall, down the flight of stairs and out into the chilly morning air.
Rounding the corner and hidden behind the shrubbery, KittyKat's most precious possession, her beautiful bike, lay parked exactly where it had been from the positioned she'd left it in the night before.
Only it was different.
The hot pink coloring was still there - a compromise the two girls had come on, after Prissy's trollish attempt at an April Fool's joke. But now, poking ever so slightly off the sides of the bike were two metal bars.
"Race rails." The pinkette explained confidently, despite having absolutely no idea what they were. The guy at the shop had explained it was an imperative detail for street racing motorcycles, so Prissy believed him (she wasn't too interested in going elsewhere to verify, it all sounded tragically boring and dull anyhow). "So you can officially be an illegal street racer now."
Then her finger moved up to point at the new accessory, resting comfortably on top of the bike's seat.
Gone was the old helmet (gone in the sense that it was now hidden in the back shed, just in case the plan backfired) and in its place was a sleek, new black helmet with tourmaline-pink designs patterned on it. Stylish, new, pink. Nestled underneath the protection of the hood lay a pair of black, finger-less gloves with a matching pink stripe along the backside of each glove.
It was then that Prissy pulled out the folded piece of paper from her pocket, handing it to the other girl.
It wasn't as impressive as she'd have liked for the present to be and Prissy began to shift around uncomfortably, suddenly worried that the other girl would be offended at the lack of glamour and glitz that accompanied the gift. It certainly wasn't Prissy's thing, but today wasn't about Prissy. Words were quick to follow, as if to hide her anxiety with an explanation for the simplicity of her presentation. "I paid for it all. Just me - no help from Daddy. Thought it would be more special that way."
And then....
she waited for the reaction, only slightly moving her gaze over to nervously stare at the bike's helmet, as opposed to her friend's expression.
Skye Starrfyre
I also got you this but it didn't seem fit into this particular solo, soooo....
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