I could really use a wish right now [Zac]

[L.C. Milliner]

*//outfit

After her talk with Ann, L.C. left the dance. No, she didn’t stomp off to find Zac and yell. She didn’t shred anyone’s face, or clothes. She didn’t shred anything. In fact, she didn’t even bring out her spikes for anything. She just let Ann do back to her date, and then she just... left. She thought about going in to tell Zac, and stood in the lobby conflicted for a minute or two, but in the end she just leaned over to take off her heels and left, bare feet hitting cold linoleum as she carried one stiletto in each hand. She was dazed as she went to her locker, pulled out the spare clothes she kept in it for emergencies involving spikes, pulled her bag off the back hook, and went to the bathroom to change.

Everything was hunky-dory as she got dressed. The dress came off easily, and she pulled on her jeans and shoes with little fight. The shirt was one of those double- layer types, so she left it alone and just put it on. She wasn’t in the mood for pulling off layers to match, or whatever. She took off the earrings and the necklace and put them into her bag’s pocket, telling herself she would not sell them, she would give them back to Zac. She seemed to be handling things very well, until she ran a hand over her forehead and looked in the mirror of the bathroom, the large rectangle that hung over the line of sinks. She saw herself in the mirror, and she couldn’t help but blink and stare.

She still had that ridiculous blue make up on, and she looked like a stupid peacock. Her face was pale and she looked pitiful and sad. She went closer and dipped her shirt sleeve under the faucet, getting the edge wet. She wiped the makeup off her eyes and looked up into the mirror again, sizing herself up like she had just seen herself for the first time. She looked tired. She looked ready to burst into tears. She looked alone, and lost. She looked volatile and ready to vomit. But the worst of it was in her eyes, and she dropped her hands to her side for a moment as she took everything in.

She looked like she had lost something important.

In a mere second, her face contorted and she let out a screech of rage to rival a harpy’s. “FUCK YOU!” Her fist turned into a mace and in a single movement, it collided with the mirror, leaving spider web cracks across it with a huge hole. When she pulled her fist away, a thousand slivers of glass fell into the sink and a large chunk lurched forward and smacked the faucet, splitting in half. Her fist was bloody, where the pieces had crammed between the spikes. She cleaned her hand off in the sink, ignoring the sting of the water, and let it bleed out. She used her uninjured hand to pick up her dress and shoes, stomping off to her locker just to rip it open and cram the items inside.

She grabbed her coat and took off out the main doors, ignoring the couples scattered about that were walking side by side and enjoying each other. She left through the main gates and headed down the road to Pilot Ridge, ignoring the cold and the darkness around her. The moon hung in the sky, slightly more than half full, and it lit up the snowy ground and guided her as she walked down the path. Anyone else would’ve been crazy to even think about walking alone at night, but L.C. was heavily protected from anyone that wanted to come along and hurt her. She could easily defend herself against any attack that would try their luck against her and her spikes.

A mile walk would’ve been long to anyone else, but L.C. had been on her own long enough to know that a mile wasn’t a long way at all. Try ten, or twenty. Try walking a hundred miles. You didn’t have to do it in another man’s shoes to find out that it was hard, and that it hurt. She had walked a hundred miles, once, and she never managed to get to where she was going. For a moment, she thought about running- they would never find her now, and if they did, they weren’t dealing with a scared fourteen year old runaway. They were dealing with a hardened, pissed off killer with nineteen years of hardship. Nineteen years. It was hard to believe that she was really that young. She felt thirty, but it didn’t matter; nineteen years had gone by and she had nothing to show for it, still.

When she hit Pilot Ridge, L.C. paused. She didn’t want to go back to Sean’s house. It was still empty, she knew that, and she wasn’t ready to be alone, at least not in private. She had a feeling she would hurt herself, and no one wanted that. That was the problem with being a walking porcupine: what no one ever realized was that you could always stick yourself. She wandered Pilot Ridge in seething silence, looking inside shop windows and passing steamy restaurants. She sauntered across the streets and up and down alleys for a good half hour before finding herself in the park, where she found a nice bench. It was a sturdy bench, made of wood, with a nice back. It was just an ordinary park bench, but to her, it looked like the last bench in the world. She sat down and drew her knees up to her chest, burying her chin and mouth inside her coat.

Suddenly, she hurt all over. She hurt from her toes to her face and couldn’t figure out why for the life of her, only that she did. It wasn’t a physical sort of harm (although her hand was throbbing), it was like a fatigue that spread through her. She wanted to lay down and die, on the bench. But instead, she just sat and stared up toward the sky. There were no clouds, and she could see the stars through the steam of her breath. When she was little, she never wished on stars. Wishing was for kids with dreams. She never had dreams, only quotas to fill and records to set. She had to be so good by age five, by age ten. She had to sell herself in every way, only to fall short. She still sold herself, even now. And she was still falling short.

She wondered if God was watching her. Was he listening, or was he looking elsewhere? She gulped and looked to the sky, to God and the stars. She wasn’t sure which she should address. “Hey. It’s me.” She started lamely. “It’s... It’s Lyra.” She gulped and looked down to the Earth. She thought she saw someone in the distance, but she didn’t care. “I understand you’re busy, but... I’m pretty turned around down here and...” She stopped, taking a breath. Two breaths. A lot of breaths. She looked at her hands, at her bleeding knuckles. She looked at her worn jeans and her secondhand coat. She looked at her ratty shoes and her saved-from-the-curb bag, and she realized she would never be good enough for any boy, let alone a spoiled rich brat.

She would never be good enough for Zac.

“I need help.” She whispered to no one in particular, and she buried her face in her knees.

[Zachary LaRousse]

Zac, for all his self-serving gestures, narcissistic twisted mindset and downright cockiness, knew that acting on impulse, especially if fueled by a negative, raw and rather powerful emotion, won’t bring him any good. Take his taunting on the Iron Maiden during their pre-Autumn Dance preparation and how it almost ended with him being ripped to shreds for example. Or how he got owned by the elusive Empath – who turned out to be quite the black belt – when he kissed brushed his lips against hers. Heck, he even saw what the Goth Boy’s got down under because of sheer pride (granted it wasn’t as deadly as the other two, but it was equally traumatizing according to the misguided Prince). He knew how dangerous it was to let his emotions guide his actions, and yet he did.

And for that he spent a lengthy hour and a half (or was it longer than that?) in the Security Office, detained with an enraged-yet-scared-out-of-her-wits empath, her lanky-and-oh-so-disgustingdefenseless boyfriend and the security ninja who popped out of nowhere. As it was, after he got over the whole scared-shitless phase of seeing himself as an acne-ridden, scar-infested loser, he quickly bounced back to his old egotistic and rather proud self. He sat there, back straight, arms crossed and head held up high as the ninja asked them all sorts of questions. Naturally, he put the blame on the other two, though his reasons were rather irrational to say the least. He tried to use quite the number of flowery words to describe it, but it all boiled down to Alex supposedly stealing Ann from him, hence the need to retaliate. Like nobody has ever heard of that one before.

So it was decided that such an action will go down the LaRousse’s permanent record (somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he actually felt happy; he’s taken his first step towards the billionaire’s prodigal son lifestyle), confine him to detention for at least a couple of weeks (“as if I’m not in detention ever since I went to Hammel; I live in school grounds for Pete’s sake”) and a couple of other accessory sanctions deemed necessary by the ninja-woman (whom he sees as someone who looks a lot like one of Charlie’s Angels, which he thinks fits her job rather nicely). He actually shrugged most of them away, but when he heard something about informing their parents about what had happened, he froze.

“Are you serious?” he asked, trying to hide the panic he felt back then. The image of his father looking down at him, with the stern face he didn’t really want his son to see, shaking his head in disappointment and helplessness. If there’s anything in the world he would not want, it’s to fail his father. Through the years, he’s always been there for him, doting him and spoiling him, that as much as Zac would like to deny it, he’s a bona fide Daddy’s boy really. Allowance cuts and grounding aside, that distraught face is the last thing Zac would want. Seems the mention of his dad is the only way to get the resentment flowing through his system. (Though he did try to hold it in and act like he doesn’t really care ‘till the end).

After what seems like an eternity, they’re finally released, with the lovebirds scurrying off quickly while sending what Zac perceived as piercing glares. He could really care less up to this point however. He’s made his point clear and that’s that. He did, however, felt the need to clear his head of all the drama that had happened in this night. Instead of returning to the auditorium (if the dance had been going on still, that is), he walked out the grounds and into his car, deciding that it’s best to maybe spent the night off-campus. (He’ll just ask Pete to phone the school later, should they ask).

Going out rather late means that most of the shops are almost closing (if not closed already altogether), which somehow limited his store choices. Thank goodness the one he likes most is still open and he managed to sneak in an order of his usual drink (“half-caf/decaf peaberry non-fat latte, steamed to 145 degrees, not too much foam, light cinnamon, shot of butterscotch”) and even grab a box of assorted pastries on his way out. Seeing that there isn’t really much to see in town anyway, he started driving back to Pete’s house near the suburbs of the small town. As he passed through the town park, he couldn’t help but notice what seems to be a person, alone, curled up on a bench, in the cold of the night. While normally he could care less about such random sightings (he never really had empathy to people and all that), there’s just something about the figure that he can’t quite place his finger on. Quickly he tapped into a grizzly, sniffing what seems like a homeless person out, and when he got the scent, promptly changing into an elephant to cross-reference the scent with his memories (to see if it is something he’d recognize). He was expecting it to turn out null, getting ready to make fun of himself for being so damn paranoid, but it didn’t. It actually took a couple of minutes, which means the memory’s quite recent, for him to know who that person was.

L.C.

“Fuck!” he grumbled as he quickly got out of his car (thank goodness is was a convertible), and ran across the street, cursing under his breath and telling himself that he’s already dead. He’d apparently forgotten about his date due to all the hubbub that’s been happening lately (which, considering how he forgot about Stella, isn’t really surprising). “L.C!” he shouted, waving his arms above him as he approached the girl, “Why are you here all of a sudden? Have you been here long?” He stopped a few steps from the bench, putting his hands on his knees as he bowed down and tried to catch his breath.

It was when he was lifting his head up when he saw L.C.’s wounded hand. His eyes bulged out as he tried to think of the different ways the Iron Maiden could’ve gotten her wounds, each of them as improbable as the next. She didn’t seem to have other injuries other than that, but she does seem shaken to the core. “I…I’m sorry L.C.,” said Zac, reluctantly sitting beside her and slightly wrapping his arms around her shoulders, “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

For once Zac, you finally asked the right question.

[/justify][/blockquote]

[L.C. Milliner]

Most people finished prayers and expected something to happen to them that instant. L.C., however, had the common sense to wait a while. She set rather low standards for miracles. She perched on her bench in silence and stared out into the darkness of the park, not really focused on anything in particular. She had turned to the inside of her head for the answers to her problems. The longer she sat the more confused and frustrated she looked. It would have been obvious to anyone watching her facial expressions that she was thinking in circles and was coming up with more questions than answers. Her train of thought had too much cargo and it felt like she was slowing down. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her knees. She wondered what would happen if she fell asleep there. Would Sean find her, or would she wake up on Saturday morning with an awful crick in her neck, damp with dew and shivering cold? Would she wake up at all?

L.C. didn’t even notice the car that pulled up, how it slowed to stop, or how the driver was staring at her. She was too busy thinking about lying out on the bench to sleep. When the figure called her name, however, she snapped back to life violently, like a rubber band that had stretched too far. She looked up and blinked at the approaching person. Her expression for that split second looked like a mixture of relief and happiness, because someone cared about her enough to realize she was gone and go out looking for her. When she realized who is was, however, her face darkened and she shifted back into the position she was in already. He asked her a question, no two questions, and she snorted. “I’ve been here.” She muttered darkly, clenching her teeth together as he bent over to catch his breath. Who did he think he was? It wasn’t like he was actually looking for her, he probably had stumbled across her by some form of dumb luck.

After all, it wasn’t like he had actually got his head out of his ass long enough to consider how she felt. That was totally preposterous and uncharacteristic. If this was her ‘help’, she was seriously going to invest in another god, preferably one that didn’t pull stunts like this.

When he apologized, L.C. rolled her eyes and looked away. He wasn’t really sorry. He was never sorry for anything he did, that would require him to stop thinking about himself. She wondered what he was trying to gain for apologizing- was he trying to compensate for losing Ann by luring L.C. into his bed? Fat chance. She suspected that was he motivation, so when he sat, she scooted away a few inches so she wasn’t touching him. He draped an arm over her shoulder and that only confirmed her suspicions that he was trying to woo her. He only ever touched people he was trying to woo. She looked at her knuckles and hid them in her coat sleeve, drawing it over her hand. “Punched a mirror.”

When he asked her if someone hurt her, though, she finally just lost it. Who did he think he was, treating her that way and then asking if someone else had hurt her? Where did he get off, pretending he cared just so he could screw her later, be it figuratively or literally? She pushed his arm away and stood, grabbing her bag. “Did someone hurt me. Really? Is that a real fucking question?! You find me all the way out here, sitting alone, and you ask me if someone hurt me? Well let’s just give you a prize, LaRousse, you must’ve tapped into an animal with brains to come up with that one!” She turned and faced him, standing a few steps away from the bench. She would have crossed her arms, but she was too mad to do that, so she clenched her fists at her sides. She glared daggers at him, all her bottled up frustration about that night exploding.

“You pretty me up and drag me to a dance on your arm, ignore me all night to look at some brown haired bimbo who doesn’t give two shits about you, don’t even notice when I leave, and then you come here and think it’s alright to just sit down, act all buddy-buddy, and ask me if I’m okay? Why the fuck do you care? I’m just your prop you can whip out to show people that you might actually have a pair of balls!” She was on a roll, but she had to stop for a moment to catch her breath. She sucked in air and pressed a hand to her face, the heel of her hand pressing her eye back in the socket until it hurt.

“Why don’t you just make a mannequin of me, that way you don’t have to jump every five seconds at the mere thought of me actually spiking your ass and giving you what you deserve? I should just slam my fist into your face now, but you aren’t worth the EFFORT.” She spat the last word at him and turned on her heel, storming off into the night without an iota of direction, considering she was heading in the opposite direction of Sean’s house. It didn’t matter to her at the moment though, because she had to get away from him.

[Zachary LaRousse]

Woah.

Zac didn’t even had the change to take a breath, much less process all the things that L.C. just threw at him. He just sat there, eyes wide and mouth agape, his blinking the only sign that he’s still alive and breathing. While he somehow believed that girls, as prejudiced and shallow as he is, are prone to such temper tantrums, he never expected that they’d be capable of throwing explosive outbursts such as this. And the fact that he was hearing all of this emotional crap ranting from the supposedly invincible and invulnerable Iron Maiden made the shock factor even stronger.

In his defense, he never had the intention of bedding the Maiden. If anything, he just wants to get her home safely. After all, she was currently under Dr. Neville’s care. He made a promise to the old man that he’d behave in the dance, and make sure L.C.’s taken care of. He already broke half of his promise (which he was sure the old man has already heard of the moment it happened, even if the midget didn’t broadcast it to the whole student body) and if he could salvage the other half, he would. Dr. Neville is Dr. Neville; even his father knew of the man and it would not do him any good if his dad hears such negative remarks from such a respected school figure.
(Plus the fact that he’s scared L.C. might spike him in the middle of that, costing him his beloved appendage, is enough to make his excitement, should it spring out all of a sudden, come down).

Zac gave the Iron Maiden a hug out of surprise really. Seeing the girl so hurt, so weak and so vulnerable – it was so new to him. L.C. was an unstoppable force of nature, and even the Jerk respected that. He is scared of her really, and would definitely not want to get on her bad side (seriously, at least; teasing the Maiden has always been a treat for the boy). It actually took a while for it to register that should someone have assaulted L.C., or at least tried, they’d be dead by now. It would be them who’ll be doing the weeping, not L.C. Lyra Camille Milliner was the strong girl Zac feared, and secretly, admired (for the strength of character, nothing else, or at least that’s what he says). He just didn’t know how to react to seeing the Maiden so differently, which made him wrap his arms around her involuntarily.

It took a split-second or so before he finally got out of his trance and stood up, walking briskly to catch up with his ‘date’. “Ok, menopausal much L.C.?” he asked as he finally caught up with her, walking by her side with hands deep in his pockets to counteract the unbelievable cold. He actually had a smile in his face as he asked, thinking L.C. was just toying with him (that the outburst was just one of her new tricks), but when he bowed slightly to have a peek at L.C.’s face, it finally dawned on him that, well, it was quite true.

“Seriously Lyra,” he asked again, braving to use the girl’s forbidden name despite knowing full well the possible repercussions tied with it. He was mighty offended with her outburst despite his ‘genuine’ concern; after all, such a show of emotions from him was rather rare. “What was that about? If you don’t like me finally being friendly, you just had to say it you know. I promised Dr. Neville you’ll be safe. He’d kill me if I can’t explain to him what happened with your hand. I’m not like Alex who lets his girlfriend fight his fights for him you know.” Hooray for chivalry. Or maybe not. “And what was the whole rant about Ann?” Given the freshness of the dance incident, he’s still rather touchy about the empath. “I really can’t understand it. Seriously. I am so lost. I thought you were ok with being a pro-oh shit.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

[L.C. Milliner]

When people get up and leave that usually means they don’t want to be followed, they don’t want to be spoken to, and they certainly didn’t want to be insulted. Perhaps Zac was unfamiliar with the concept; she suspected he never considered the possibility of a girl walking away from him even when Ann kept doing it constantly. She gritted her teeth and took it for a bit, accentuating her anger by cross her arms over her chest and hunching her shoulders. Anyone watching would’ve thought the two teens were simply taking a brisk walk in the cold. In reality, L.C. felt hot, specifically around her face. She was not blushing, not in the slightest. Her face was actually flushing from anger.

When he called her Lyra, she flicked her gaze over to him and gave him a hard glare. Normally she’d threaten him, and maybe even punch him, but at the moment she was not in the mood to even put in the effort to insult him back. She looked straight ahead again as he started in on her rant and she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Sean wouldn’t care if I came home or not. He’d be glad to have the house to himself for once.” It was close to Valentine’s Day, after all. She thought that if she left for a bit, he might go the whole nine yards and solve all the sexual tension patch things up with Joshua, or whatever his name was. “Are you still hung up on Alex? Just go fuck the guy and get rid of all your sexual tension, god.” What was with L.C. and thinking about sexual tension? Was it something in the air or what?

She suspected that he was going to say he thought she was okay with being a prop, and she was almost glad when he didn’t, because she had no idea how to respond to that. The insulation that she was jealous of Ann, however, was just as bad. She whirled, her rage finally peaking, and reached out to smack him in the arm, making sure that no spikes were involved yet. “What is with everyone thinking that?! She thought the same thing and told me that, and I will tell you now, I am NOT jealous of her. I never have been jealous of her, I am not jealous of her, and I will never be jealous of her, so stop thinking up some deranged fantasy slash plan of using me to get back at her because it obviously won’t work. So just... fuck off.” She wasn’t jealous of Ann, not in the least, even if she thought she had some sort of feeling radar and thought she was. She wouldn’t want Zac fawning over her like that even if she got paid. He sent her gifts; he broke into her dorm, and he even tried to think up of strategies to scare off her boyfriend. He was her stalker. If that ever happened with L.C., she would have punched him in the face by this point. She was seriously contemplating it right now. It didn’t sound like a bad idea at all.

You know what? Screw the rules.

“I’ve decided something.” She muttered, stopping in her walk. Her arms uncrossed and she felt a few tiny spikes prickle on the backs of her fingers as her hand formed into a fist. “You are now worth the effort.” With that, the female whipped around and her fist shot out, aiming toward Zac’s shoulder. She would knock him off his feet and storm off. She’d leave him bleeding, and he’d never speak to her again and she’d be rid of this huge thorn in her side. No one would say she was jealous again, and she would get the peace she deserved.

If that was how things would pan out, why did punching him feel so wrong? She almost pulled back, but it was too late. She tried to rationalize it- he did call her Lyra, after all. He should’ve known better. And he insulted her too. That should count for something, too. It was perfectly logical to hit him, and besides, she was aiming for his left shoulder. He wasn’t left handed, was he? No, of course not. That would be stupid.

Almost as stupid as her punching him.

[/size]

[Zachary LaRousse]

Zac shivered slightly as he tried to keep up with L.C.’s pace. He knew he should’ve changed first before going into town, or at least grabbed a coat before he rushed to the girl. While his ensemble involved a suit and a scarf, they really don’t give much warmth as much as a proper winter jacket would. And the chill the wind brought isn’t really helping, much less the fact that it keeps on trying to blow his beloved hat away. How he wishes he had Luke’s abnormally high temperature right now.

It’s not that Zac doesn’t know when people wants to be left alone – ‘cause, believe it or not, he does – he just doesn’t care. If there’s one thing that Zac is other than egotistic and vain, it’s that he’s stubborn. He’s used to getting what he wants, and he’ll do anything to get it. He wants Ann to fall for him, hence his stalker-esque escapades to woo her. He wants Alex to pay for whisking Ann from his arms, he gave him a shiner without even thinking of the consequences. Same principle here. He doesn’t do well with being told off and ignored, so he’d bug the Iron Maiden to no end. Sorry L.C.

“If I were Sean, I would,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes as he buried his lips under his scarf to prevent them from drying out so quickly, “But alas, the man’s a good guy. The look he gave me when I picked up you told me that. He might not like me, but he gave me his trust. I dare not break that you know.” He chuckled slightly, he himself surprised that he sounded so...deep. Not to mention a bit concerned. “And seriously, I highly doubt you’d have anywhere else to go. Unless you’d want to go back to your dorm room anyway.” He might be a bit ignorant, but he’s not that dumb.

He cocked his eyebrows at L.C.’s suggestion. He knew it was asked just for the sake of effect, but it made him almost puke. While he’d do most anything to see the Dwarf squirming because of him, that is one situation he’d rather not be in. It was just wrong in all levels. He was about to yawn when L.C. started her (expected) rant in defense to his jealousy accusation, but instead his eyes bulged out in surprise when L.C. mentioned Ann. They talked together? When? More importantly “She told you that you’re jealous?”

Zac knew firsthand how accurate Ann’s readings are. Probably why she saw right through him. So L.C. telling him that the empath told her she’s jealous really changes things. He only said that to annoy the snot out of the Maiden, he never really meant it. Truly he was at a loss. He didn’t know how he should react. Normally he’d gloat about it, but this seemed…different. It was flattering but also…terrifying. For reasons he can’t even verbalize. For a moment he stopped, simply stood there in the cold as his eyes followed the girl, trying to process everything.

Her ‘confession’ changed everything. Since when? So her agreement to her plan, was it because of that? He shook his head, trying to get such ‘desperate-loser’ thoughts out of his head. He should be rubbing this on the Iron Maiden’s face, but instead he’s acting like some fifteen year old girl whose best friend just confessed that he like likes her. Not good.

“Don’t sh*t with me. I know what you’re playing. You almost got me there. But I’m not buying it.” He flashed a nervous smile at the girl as he finally caught up with her. Thank goodness the weakness he felt in his legs didn’t last long. A look of confusion ran over Zac’s face as L.C. spoke. Worth it? What does she mean? He was just about to ask her what’s the whole cryptic message about when he felt something prick him.

F*ck.

Zac let out a rather loud growl of pain, staggering backward and falling on the cold pavement ungracefully as he tried to ease the pain, his right hand instinctively gripping his shoulder to stop the bleeding. He didn’t even bother stopping the few drops of tears from flowing down his cheeks. He knew being spiked was painful, but he didn’t know it was this painful. How Vincent can take this on a daily basis is beyond him.

“WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?!” He didn’t even bother hiding his anger. She wasn’t some out-of-control meta whose powers short every now and then; she wanted to spike him and spike him she did. He felt the healing factor his powers gave him work slowly, but he knows it wouldn’t be enough to heal the would fully tonight, much less ease the pain. He even hopes for Fifi to use her power on him, just so he won’t feel the pain anymore. “You know what, go. Run away for all I care. So much for being concerned. Just when I thought I finally found a friend in the Iron Maiden.”

Hooray for a drama king.

[L.C. Milliner]

“Exactly. Maybe you really should date her; you both are stupid as fuck and think you know everything about me when you don’t know shit.” She didn’t know why he sounded so freaked out about it, because it was not true, and if he believed it he was more stupid than she thought him to be. She snorted and continued on, her steps getting heavier as she looked around for where her next destination should be. “I’m not shitting you. It’s true. That’s what she said, what’s the big deal? Afraid of losing the girl? A bit late for that.”

L.C. herself honestly hadn’t even figured out she liked Zac yet. It was there, in the back of her head, but it was covered up by other things, mainly his irritating and egotistical personality. She wasn’t sure what made him so attractive, perhaps it was the fact that he would stand up to her and get in her face sometimes and some days she wouldn’t see the fear she saw in everyone else who stared at her. True, he had his moments, but she couldn’t begrudge him that. She wasn’t easy to get along with. That was another thing; he didn’t attempt to get along with her in hopes that she wouldn’t destroy him. When he was pissed at her, he let her know it. He didn’t hide behind a façade of minor annoyance, he when all out. It was... refreshing, to be able to yell at someone and not have them run off like a frightened rabbit (which Zac really could, in reality).

When he hit the ground, L.C.’s eyes widened. She was expecting him to pull a cheetah and dodge it or something, not actually take it. She saw the blood spread across his shoulder and gulped, attempting not to look at her hand as she wiped her bloody fist on her jeans, leaving a dark brown smear on the fabric. She saw tears in his eyes and bit her lip- she had hurt him pretty bad, if he was crying. Even if it was only a few drops of tears, it still looked wrong, on his face. She attempted to harden herself to it, telling herself that he probably had never been hit before. He was so spoiled, it probably felt like he was dying, not that he had gotten pricked just a little. There was nothing to worry about.

When he yelled at her, she gritted her teeth, let out a scream, and stomped her foot- much like a child. “YOU TREAT ME LIKE CRAP! THAT’S WHAT THAT WAS ABOUT!” Her high pitched yell echoed across the park and she saw a few lights go on across the street, but she was beyond caring- let whoever it was call the cops and take Zac away. By that point, she’d be halfway across the state. Screw him and his egotistical personality, and his irritating smirks, and everything about him. She stared at him, her face turning to stone as he began throwing sentences at her. Inside, she wanted to cry, but on the outside, she attempted to look bored- it was failing. She looked rather like she had been kicked in the chest.

“Fine.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, looking at the ground beneath her feet. “I’ll go.” She turned and walked a few paces, then remembers she should probably throw an insult back before turning halfway around at the waist to look at him. “But you’re wrong. I was never your friend and I never would have been. I just liked your money.” That was the best she could come up with, and even that insult sounded hollow. It was obvious that it wasn’t true, just by her tone, and the way she didn’t look him in the eye when she said it. But even empty insults had some meaning to them.

She walked off then, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans and burying her chin in her coat. She traveled down the path as fast as she could talk, just short of breaking out into a run. She walked that way for ten minutes or so, the twists and turns taking her far away from Zac and the fiasco that now was his shoulder. She finally came to a stop next to a tree and turned, drawing her hand out of her pocket to slam it into the trunk, woodchips flying as her spikes carved holes out of it. “I. HATE. HIM.” She yelled with each punch, stopping only after she realized she was killing the poor tree. She stared at it and dropped her hand, looking up to the sky and back to the trunk. She sighed and bit her lip, thinking about her prayer from earlier. “No... I don’t.” She muttered to no one in particular, and she kicked her feet at the snow lining the path. Well, it was a long walk home.

She started off toward the direction for Sean’s house when she paused, remembering, for some reason, Zac slow dancing with her. He had looked at her, and she had distracted him because she didn’t like it. She stared off into that distance, worrying her lip with her teeth. The music from their dance rang in her ears, and suddenly she was turning and flying down the path, muttering ‘fuck’ under her breath more times than printable.

‘When I was younger, I saw my Daddy cry and curse at the wind; he broke his own heart and I watched as he reassembled it...’

The strongman of the carnival came in when Lyra was little. He had a son who hung himself and his wife left him. He watched her go over the rim of his frosted mug. He had no one else and when the money was all spent on beer, he left to join the carnival. He had been a dock-worker and had the muscle for it. He taught Lyra never to let people she cared about go, because she would regret it forever. Maybe if he tried harder, his wife would have stayed.

‘And my Mama swore that she would never let herself forget...’

L.C. had sworn she would never turn into her mother. She would never fall for a man on the first date and sleep with him on the second. She would never have two kids from two different men. She would get married. She would not be a whore. She would not dress herself up in skimpy clothing and leave two children home alone, hungry, to fend for themselves. She would never allow herself to stoop so low, no matter what her circumstances were. Was her ideal so thick that she was starting to push people away?

‘And that was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it doesn’t exist...’

IT took her all of five minutes to come within sight of Zac and she slowed her run to a walk again as she came up to him again, standing over him for a moment before digging into her bag. “You annoy me.” She told him, pulling out a roll of gauze and a box of bandaids. “You really fucking annoy me.” She crouched next to him before leaning back, allowing herself to sit down. “Let me see the damage or I swear, I will hit you again.”

‘But darlin’ you are the only exception, you are the only exception, you are the only exception, you are the only exception...’

[Zachary LaRousse]

When L.C. first spoke, shouting loudly as Zac did before her, the pompous ass couldn’t be bothered to care and simply shrugged her rants protests off. He was, after all, still reeling in from the pain of being spiked and the realization that L.C. can and will spike him if she so wants to (while he believed she has the capability to spike him before, their continued interaction somehow mellowed his fear down to the point that he thinks L.C. doing anything to harm him is a mere bluff on her side). Nonlethal as it was, in his mind, keeping himself from bleeding to death was far more important than anything the rabid (and possibly psychotic) Iron Maiden has to say. (And while he could feel his healing factor slowly working through his system – the blood flow seemingly slowed for a bit – it still is a low ways off from recovery.) And besides, Zac knows that he treats most everyone like crap, if not worse, so why should she get special treatment and possibly be treated better? Who was she in his life anyway?

He was just about to snap back with a rather snarky reply when he heard the Maiden’s voice break, causing him to stop abruptly. He unconsciously blinked twice in disbelief, looking up just to make sure that indeed, it was still L.C. he’s talking to and not some person unknown to him pretending to be her. L.C. was one of the truest person he knew – apart from him thinking her spiking to be a bluff, he believes most anything she says – so when her tone betrayed her words, Zac was at a loss, even more when he heard that Ann sensed jealousy in the girl. In his surprise, he didn’t even had the chance to stop L.C. from walking away, leaving him alone in the cold of the night. He just sat there, wide-eyed and bleeding, trying to process all the things that had happened in a span of an hour.

-xxx-

He was a jerk.

That was pretty much given should you ask him at a normal day, but this time, it’s different (at least in his eyes). For a while, he just sat on the grass, moving slightly to lean back on a nearby tree for support, trying to digest everything that has happened so far.

L.C. liked him. She was jealous of Ann. And he did everything in his power to rub it to her face that she could never be like Ann.

As it was, the transparency in her lie actually pierced him more than her spikes or her words. There’s just something about seeing the supposedly indestructible Iron Maiden hurt – so badly, he might add, that she couldn’t even bluff properly – that just shook the usually indifferent Prince to the core. “No, it can’t be. She has to be lying. She has to be.”

-xxx-

Zac would never have imagined that L.C. simply leaving him, at least for a while, would be quite helpful, not to mention rather insightful even. While L.C. was somewhat coming to terms about her feelings toward the egotistic jerk that was Zac, the said boy, as expected, was a step behind, his confusion about L.C. had just started to brew. He knew she was special in his eyes, but was she that special? He knew for certain that what he felt for Ann (or what he told himself he felt for Ann) was vastly different from what he felt and what is now feeling for L.C., but does that mean that it’s different?

Torn beyond compare, he instinctively let out a sigh of defeat. It was when he tilted his head slightly and bumped into the tree did he realize how late it was already. He should probably start heading home. Sure he texted Pete that he’d probably be home late as he plans on making a small trip through town before settling for the night, but he knew that it was beyond late now. The man would probably be worried sick already. And besides, maybe some sleep would help him sort through everything easily. After all, L.C. just showed him two facets of her personality that he did not think she has (that she can like someone and be jealous about it). Maybe rest would aid him in digesting all these new discoveries easily.

He was just about to stand up when he saw a familiar figure in the distance. He winced slightly when she spoke and sat down beside him, his paranoia of possibly getting hit again combined with the confusion the night has brought him making him quite jumpy. Instead of protesting however, he readily complied, taking his coat off and unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his injured shoulder. “Does it look bad?” he asked, turning away from his shoulder, not even daring to look at his wound for a bit. He forced a chuckle off him as he tried to remove his perceived awkwardness between them, something he did not really imagine just hours prior to this meeting.

“I’m sorry,” he softly said as he let her do whatever it is with his wound, “I didn’t–“ He gulped, apparently at a loss for words. He was never really the type to go all mushy-mushy anyway. In the end, he resolved to simply say everything in a joke, smiling wildly as he said, “Why do you have to be so darn soft anyway? You’re L.C. You want me to destroy your rep by telling all the people in Hammel about that? One word and Rumor has some juicy new post I tell you.”

ooc:
A bit crappy and rather long overdue. I am sorry. D;
- Jam

[L.C. Milliner]

L.C. crossed her legs and sighed, watching as Zac pulled off his coat and exposed his shoulder. The good news was it wasn’t as bad as she thought, but the bad news was that it was still bad. L.C. took some gauze and dug through her bag again, pulling out a water bottle. She unscrewed the cap and poured some water over the white pad, getting it damp. He asked her a question, but she didn’t answer yet because she didn’t know- there was blood in the way. “This may sting, so don’t go mammalian on me.” She gently began to dab at his wound, cleaning it as best as she could. “It doesn’t look too bad. It may scar, but you’ll live. Your Daddy will probably dole out some money for scar removal if you ask him.” She attempted to keep the bite out of her tone because in all honesty her comment sounded nasty without any extra help.

As she was pouring more water over the pad, she heard it- two of the words she wanted to hear. She did not want to acknowledge he was forgiven yet, so she shook her head. “I’ll believe it when you prove it.” She muttered to herself, but her facial features seemed to soften and she almost seemed motherly. Her frown became less severe and her eyebrows returned back to where they were supposed to be, smoothing out her face quite a bit. She pulled out some plastic stick on Band-Aids from a colorful box (that she had probably stolen) to help patch him up again, deciding that she needed to be a bit tactful about how that job was done. She covered the smaller holes at the top of his shoulder with Hello Kitty and began to wrap gauze around the rest carefully, trying not to get too close. She was already close enough, if she got any closer he’d get the wrong idea.

“Hmm?” L.C. looked up through her bangs for a moment before moving back to her work. “I’m not being soft, I’m cleaning up my messes, something you should learn to do. If I left you here to bleed out I’d get in even more trouble.” Lies. She was being soft and he called her out on it. Crap. “You wouldn’t tell anyone anyway. That would ruin your pristine record of coming out on top all the time.” If he told anyone, she’d probably get avoided even more. The offer was tempting. His last sentence didn’t make any sense though, so she blinked and gave him a confused look. “Rumor...? Post? What?”

She shook her head and went back to her work, tying the gauze off before running a hand over it lightly to check if it was okay. All seemed well. “There. That’s the best I can do for you. You should go home and get someone ore experienced to look at it.” She should have too, but she didn’t. Instead, she sat there, unmoving. It was like she had been glued to that spot, and she could not bring herself to stand up and walk away once again. She noticed her knuckle was bleeding again and she put a small Band-Aid on it so it wouldn’t make a bigger mess. She looked up to the sky for a moment and then back to Zac, staring him straight in the face, because that was the only way she knew how to look at a person when you wanted to have a serious talk.

“I’ sorry for saying that I only wanted your money.” She was not sorry about hitting him, but what she said was different. “I don’t. I mean, it’s great that you have money and stuff, but I don’t do that to people. Go after their money, I mean. I mean, I know I steal things and so that gives the impression that I am, but...” L.C. realized she was only digging her grave deeper and she sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. “Ah, hell. What’s the point, you hate me anyway.” She pressed her hands to her face for a moment before pulling them away and sniffing. No, she wasn’t crying. Her eyes hurt from being up so late, and the cold was making her nose turn into a faucet. “I guess I ruined the dance, and that you didn’t get Ann. Or I assume you didn’t, else you wouldn’t be here.” She scratched her head, looked down, and began shoving things back in her bag.

“I’ll have the dress back to you on Monday, and the shoes and the jewelry. They’re much too nice for me.” She was resigning herself to the inevitable fate of nothing changing and that Zac would only see tonight as a ruined attempt to woo Ann. He didn’t see anything in L.C., and she knew that.

[Zachary LaRousse]

Zac has his powers to thank for his rather painless would-cleaning experience. Would accelerated healing be excluded from the plethora of abilities his power might grant, he would’ve been so weak and lifeless by now. As it was, the healing factor helped speed up his recovery, so the sting wasn’t as bad as he expected it to be. Now he feels stupid for looking away and biting his lower lip slightly as L.C. tended o his wounds. “He probably won’t,” he answered dejectedly, “I mean, he usually does, but assuming that he’d learn of the night’s events way earlier than this one, I have a feeling he won’t. He’ll probably tell me it’ll be a little reminder of my impulsiveness or something. In short, he’ll punish me with this one.” He let out a shrug as he gave L.C. something akin to a ‘you-know-what-I-mean’ look. Like the perfect date, he has no idea that L.C. left the auditorium before the mess even started.

The jerk usually doesn’t second-guess himself, but somehow there’s a little voice at the back of his head telling him that L.C. wouldn’t accept his apology. After all, compared to the injustice Zac has done to her, his apology was that – just words. So when L.C. told him she’d believe it if she sees it, he was actually rather thankful. At least he has a change to prove he’s really sorry. (He had this whole scenario in his mind where L.C. would just laugh derisively and stomp on his apology; thank goodness L.C. is way above him really).

What he did not expect however, was the softening of the girl’s features. While he wasn’t really that scared of the girl when she started tending to his wounds, he still felt like he should be on guard for something. After all, when L.C. approached him back again, she was all tensed and stuff – who knows what she could’ve done. As it was, L.C. relaxing helped Zac relax a bit more too. It also gave him a little glimmer of hope. Maybe showing her that I’m really sorry for what I have done would be easier after all. “Hello Kitty bandaids? Thank goodness DeeDee isn’t here,” he said in an attempt to break what he perceives to be a rather awkward atmosphere, “He’d be teasing me sick if he sees that. Not that I’m complaining though.” He flashed a sincere smile towards L.C., saying in a slightly softer voice, “I will.”

Fortunately for L.C., Zac isn’t as sharp as he sets himself to be, so when L.C. told him seemingly logical reasons why she isn’t really soft and all that, he actually believed her. “N’aww. I wouldn’t really tell on you anyway. I’ve given you enough crap as is,” he chuckled. He did spare L.C. the Rumor explanation; he doubts L.C. would find gossip interesting anyway (he doesn’t either). “Never mind. Pretend I never even mentioned it to you.”

“Thanks,” nodded the boy as he closed his shirt and put his coat over him again. He was expecting L.C. to storm off after tending to him and was actually surprised that she stayed. He was even more shocked when she started apologizing. For once, Zac actually felt guilty that L.C. was apologizing to him despite what he has done. While he knows that he’s a jerk, he never really see how immense his jerk-ness affects people as he thinks of them as the usual weak folk. L.C. breaking down in front of him (using the word loosely) was an eye-opener to him.

A smile slowly formed in his face when L.C. put her hands on her face and sniffling sounds suddenly arose. But it wasn’t the mischievous sort of laugh he usually has. It’s more, in a way, fond and ‘motherly’ really. He promptly leaned forward, placed his hands on either side of L.C.’s head and gave her a light kiss on the forehead. He remembered how his mom used to do that to him whenever he’s all agitated and mumbling, and he figures it fits the situation just fine. “I didn’t realize that you look cute when you’re all unsure, almost to the point of stuttering, like that,” he teased. His face turned a bit more serious when she said something about ruining the dance though. “Don’t say that. I ruined the dance with my misguided obsession. Don’t worry, it’s all over now.”

With a wink, he quickly stood up and stretched for a bit (though his moving his left arm is still a bit painful), smiling as he took a few deep breaths in. “You keep the dress and stuff. It’s not like I’ll use it. It’ll probably sit in our place in Virginia before being auctioned off for charity. And besides, it fits you better.” He felt a rather loud grumble escape his stomach. Seems all the healing he’s done has taken a toll on his system already. “I’m hungry. Want to find something to eat with me?” He paused for a bit, apparently thinking of something, then spoke once more, “Come to think of it, I think I’ll go on a roadtrip. I’ll probably be grounded as hell when Dad finds out, so I better enjoy it now, right? Though I do have to change first,” he said, referring to his rather stiff attire. He extended an arm out to L.C., smiling, “Wanna come with?”