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31_days2010-01-04 10:22 pm
cofmanynames.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2010-01-04 10:22 pm
[January 4th] [original] say hello, lie, say goodbye
Title: say hello, lie, say goodbye / damage control
Day / Theme: January 4th: a noise in the schools
Series: Original [ifupdown]
Character / Pairing: Iall, Terry Davenport, Monica S., Lucero, others
Rating: ~PG?
No one is exactly happy about what Terry did last Wednesday -- including, now, Terry herself, because of the attention. She doesn't see what's that big a deal about climbing up a building, but apparently the answer is "a very big deal, which is big; also you screwed up mightily by mentioning Iall".
Luce was slightly terrified by that stunt, apparently more because of the way Terry shot up the walls and onto the roof than because of the fact that she did eventually end up on the roof; that, at least, is something Terry can half approve of. She can also hate herself for it, because that was as bad as the mentioning Iall thing.
And while no teacher saw her do that, and Luce seems to be the only person who remembers, truly remembers (note to self, Terry thinks, gravity should be left intact because people make a fuss), they aren't happy about climbing on school property. In fact they aren't happy about Terry in general. No one's ever too happy about Terry in general, but they need something in specific to pin her down because otherwise she moves too fast and they can't stop her to poke at and inspect.
She does, actually, have some degree of experience with this.
They sent a note home to her parents, interestingly vague; Terry's father made a bit of noise, while Terry's mother grinned somewhat and signed. Of course both of them went through the motions of informing her that one did not belong on roofs, but Terry knew her parents well enough to be sure that if they'd spent nearly all of their time at school on roofs where they shouldn't have been this would have been her parents' most minor offense.
Terry doesn't skip class, shows no interest in nicotine and the like, only rarely gets in arguments with teachers. Especially compared to their past selves, her parents have virtually nothing to complain about, and Terry knows this; she uses it.
The one peculiarity about the note that was sent home with her concerned Iall, because they couldn't leave well enough alone and someone'd repeated his name. They misspelled it, of course, although when Terry thinks about it she has no idea how it's spelled -- and really the right feeling is colors and handwriting, the letters aren't important though the sound is; when she gets onto trains of thought like this she cuts them off, like so: Shut up.
There.
While Terry's parents didn't really notice the name, or give much importance to the name -- Terry, according to family legend, has been babbling about strange things no one can see and other oddities since she could speak -- her mother did write, since she was asked, that she wasn't too sure who it could be; that it could well, she supposed, have been an imaginary friend of her daughter's, and charitably didn't add that it was just as likely that her daughter had been trying to cause as much trouble as possible while looking as innocent as she could.
Usually she's not naive but really she thought her mother's testimony would be the end of it.
However, now Terry's sitting in the slightly cramped-seeming room (and really it's perfectly big, not as big as a classroom but that, with two people in it, would be too much; it's more the filing cabinets that don't seem to like her much, coupled with the too-low chairs, that give this feeling) next to the principal's office, fidgeting.
This room has orange walls with darker orange trim. The chairs have threadbare black cushions and the table has a white top that's been sanded down repeatedly; Terry can see the remains of graffiti on it, traces of ghostly reds and greens and blues in permanent marker.
Her school's attendant part-time psychologist (and also part-time nurse, part-time Biology teacher, part-time truant officer) has straight black hair that's teased upwards and made puffy to a slightly ridiculous degree and that, when it comes down, hangs heavily over her eyebrows. The face under the hair is thin and politely concerned. She's young and overworked and, Terry thinks, entirely worthy of distaste despite this.
Monica Stralether doesn't seem to be able to tell what Terry's thinking. This is fair enough; Terry doesn't know what she's thinking either. (Which she? Miss Stralether or Terry herself, really. Terry's mind is one of those that generally runs off without the owner and then the owner gets blisters on her metaphorical feet from running metaphorically to try to catch up. In a metaphorical way, of course. Terry doesn't have any blisters. Terry likes not having any blisters, really. --There she goes again.)
Terry is quite happy to block out most of the questions Miss Stralether asks, giving responses bland and ordinary as (cheese? But some cheeses aren't bland. Maybe Terry could be one of those Monterrey Jacks with deceptive scattered chile so spicy as to burn your eyes out? That works) butter. One of the first ones, though, before Stralether decided to be clever, was the straightforward "Who's Iall?"
Maybe Stralether (see, on second thought, the honorific is misplaced; someone so annoying should not get an honorific if Terry herself barely gets anything resembling one, really) thought Iall is some kind of bad influence. Maybe Stralether needs to get off her high horse, Terry thinks (maybe Terry could shove her!), and adds some things about relative positions of sticks for good measure.
Really though she's giggling; that was very, very funny, and she knows in the way she'll know when she aced an exam or finally hit the perfect pitch on that one line in a difficult song that she did well.
The very, very funny thing was her matter-of-fact response to the question of who Iall is. (When she tries to ask the question of herself it splits up quickly, but that's all right. Who is he? He's -- he's -- she likes him, leave him alone, you're not allowed to ask.)
She said he was her imaginary friend since childhood, and that no, she didn't particularly feel like letting him down. After all, he'd put up with her for more than five years, hadn't he?
Stralether hadn't quite known what to say to that.
And as Iall steps out of who-knows-where while Terry's walking home from school (doorway, probably; different world, just as probably) and falls easily into step with her she thinks for a second about telling him before realizing he already knows.
"I'm hurt," he says lightly. He isn't; he's being silly. He's surprisingly silly, sometimes. Terry doesn't know why she's surprised, but she is. "You told her I was imaginary."
"Well, yeah, I told her you're imaginary." Terry rolls her eyes at him. "What'm I supposed to say, 'yeah miss he's this random guy who's been popping up when only I can see since I was six and also he's not human'?"
"You could have said that. You could have said anything you wanted."
Terry rolls her eyes again. Taking things literally to a painful extent, in Terry's mind, is not humor at any point in the history of ever -- well. Unless Terry's the one doing it, that is. "But the consequences would have sucked."
"All right."
Exactly in step, they walk home.
Day / Theme: January 4th: a noise in the schools
Series: Original [ifupdown]
Character / Pairing: Iall, Terry Davenport, Monica S., Lucero, others
Rating: ~PG?
No one is exactly happy about what Terry did last Wednesday -- including, now, Terry herself, because of the attention. She doesn't see what's that big a deal about climbing up a building, but apparently the answer is "a very big deal, which is big; also you screwed up mightily by mentioning Iall".
Luce was slightly terrified by that stunt, apparently more because of the way Terry shot up the walls and onto the roof than because of the fact that she did eventually end up on the roof; that, at least, is something Terry can half approve of. She can also hate herself for it, because that was as bad as the mentioning Iall thing.
And while no teacher saw her do that, and Luce seems to be the only person who remembers, truly remembers (note to self, Terry thinks, gravity should be left intact because people make a fuss), they aren't happy about climbing on school property. In fact they aren't happy about Terry in general. No one's ever too happy about Terry in general, but they need something in specific to pin her down because otherwise she moves too fast and they can't stop her to poke at and inspect.
She does, actually, have some degree of experience with this.
They sent a note home to her parents, interestingly vague; Terry's father made a bit of noise, while Terry's mother grinned somewhat and signed. Of course both of them went through the motions of informing her that one did not belong on roofs, but Terry knew her parents well enough to be sure that if they'd spent nearly all of their time at school on roofs where they shouldn't have been this would have been her parents' most minor offense.
Terry doesn't skip class, shows no interest in nicotine and the like, only rarely gets in arguments with teachers. Especially compared to their past selves, her parents have virtually nothing to complain about, and Terry knows this; she uses it.
The one peculiarity about the note that was sent home with her concerned Iall, because they couldn't leave well enough alone and someone'd repeated his name. They misspelled it, of course, although when Terry thinks about it she has no idea how it's spelled -- and really the right feeling is colors and handwriting, the letters aren't important though the sound is; when she gets onto trains of thought like this she cuts them off, like so: Shut up.
There.
While Terry's parents didn't really notice the name, or give much importance to the name -- Terry, according to family legend, has been babbling about strange things no one can see and other oddities since she could speak -- her mother did write, since she was asked, that she wasn't too sure who it could be; that it could well, she supposed, have been an imaginary friend of her daughter's, and charitably didn't add that it was just as likely that her daughter had been trying to cause as much trouble as possible while looking as innocent as she could.
Usually she's not naive but really she thought her mother's testimony would be the end of it.
However, now Terry's sitting in the slightly cramped-seeming room (and really it's perfectly big, not as big as a classroom but that, with two people in it, would be too much; it's more the filing cabinets that don't seem to like her much, coupled with the too-low chairs, that give this feeling) next to the principal's office, fidgeting.
This room has orange walls with darker orange trim. The chairs have threadbare black cushions and the table has a white top that's been sanded down repeatedly; Terry can see the remains of graffiti on it, traces of ghostly reds and greens and blues in permanent marker.
Her school's attendant part-time psychologist (and also part-time nurse, part-time Biology teacher, part-time truant officer) has straight black hair that's teased upwards and made puffy to a slightly ridiculous degree and that, when it comes down, hangs heavily over her eyebrows. The face under the hair is thin and politely concerned. She's young and overworked and, Terry thinks, entirely worthy of distaste despite this.
Monica Stralether doesn't seem to be able to tell what Terry's thinking. This is fair enough; Terry doesn't know what she's thinking either. (Which she? Miss Stralether or Terry herself, really. Terry's mind is one of those that generally runs off without the owner and then the owner gets blisters on her metaphorical feet from running metaphorically to try to catch up. In a metaphorical way, of course. Terry doesn't have any blisters. Terry likes not having any blisters, really. --There she goes again.)
Terry is quite happy to block out most of the questions Miss Stralether asks, giving responses bland and ordinary as (cheese? But some cheeses aren't bland. Maybe Terry could be one of those Monterrey Jacks with deceptive scattered chile so spicy as to burn your eyes out? That works) butter. One of the first ones, though, before Stralether decided to be clever, was the straightforward "Who's Iall?"
Maybe Stralether (see, on second thought, the honorific is misplaced; someone so annoying should not get an honorific if Terry herself barely gets anything resembling one, really) thought Iall is some kind of bad influence. Maybe Stralether needs to get off her high horse, Terry thinks (maybe Terry could shove her!), and adds some things about relative positions of sticks for good measure.
Really though she's giggling; that was very, very funny, and she knows in the way she'll know when she aced an exam or finally hit the perfect pitch on that one line in a difficult song that she did well.
The very, very funny thing was her matter-of-fact response to the question of who Iall is. (When she tries to ask the question of herself it splits up quickly, but that's all right. Who is he? He's -- he's -- she likes him, leave him alone, you're not allowed to ask.)
She said he was her imaginary friend since childhood, and that no, she didn't particularly feel like letting him down. After all, he'd put up with her for more than five years, hadn't he?
Stralether hadn't quite known what to say to that.
And as Iall steps out of who-knows-where while Terry's walking home from school (doorway, probably; different world, just as probably) and falls easily into step with her she thinks for a second about telling him before realizing he already knows.
"I'm hurt," he says lightly. He isn't; he's being silly. He's surprisingly silly, sometimes. Terry doesn't know why she's surprised, but she is. "You told her I was imaginary."
"Well, yeah, I told her you're imaginary." Terry rolls her eyes at him. "What'm I supposed to say, 'yeah miss he's this random guy who's been popping up when only I can see since I was six and also he's not human'?"
"You could have said that. You could have said anything you wanted."
Terry rolls her eyes again. Taking things literally to a painful extent, in Terry's mind, is not humor at any point in the history of ever -- well. Unless Terry's the one doing it, that is. "But the consequences would have sucked."
"All right."
Exactly in step, they walk home.