Work Text:
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[DMX Said Stop Frontin']
"How to Draw Dragons" is now overdue by two-thousand-eighty-six days. Yet, basking in the autumn atmosphere and the stippled texture of sunlight through the trees with your friend, you couldn't really concern yourself with the eventuality of judicial librarian execution.
The day after your visit to the Dark World fell short of its estimated promises: the storage closet wouldn't so much as budge, and the bombastic aquatic monster in the lake did nothing but cry over-exaggerated tears of joy when you remembered to come back to visit it that same day (having confessed during its blubbering that it had only talked so seriously on its intentions as a call for attention). There were breaks in the clouds, though, and you led off the rest of the day without much a hitch; you managed to talk along with Onion about school and skeletons that can't cook for an hour or two, and got in some sleep during Alphy's class while Susie kept you covered.
Silence suppresses thoughts now as you come back to that. You were still exhausted that day, even with the rest.
As optimistic as you'd like to be, pragmatism wins over in the end: the quick nap just didn't help that much.
But, it never really does, does it?
...Appreciation is still in order for the compromise kept by your new friend; your wandering of the mind relating to the book was by her taking the lunch shift in stride with you, sitting to your side a fair bit away in the blind spot of the school's back. It wasn't exclusively hidden or anything. It was just where you often kept to in the lapse between classes: a nice little spot outside. Due to the age difference, separation was key at lunch: outside was typical playground equipment for younger kids in their single digits, while the slightly bigger kids - middle schoolers - were often sent to the small gymnasium further back (connecting to the rim of the white picket enclosing the area around the school, along with a weight room) to play. Everyone else was kept to the school halls, or otherwise participated in the cafeteria - a gigantic "no man's land" hell hole where the rules of separation didn't apply - instead of moving along for recess.
You were an exception. As little trouble or involvement that you caused, you were liable to access most areas without anyone batting an eye. Your mom being a teacher here helps too, though that helps you just take it for granted like you do anyway. On top of your Mom being steps away the second discipline is warranted, you never really sought out to push or strain just how far this immeasurable power of yours could be wrought. For you, you were content to stick in the little nook you took after: against the wall of the building near the beginning of the fence adjacent to your mother's car. It was a place where you kept to yourself. You never bothered with anybody; nobody never bothered you, either. Noelle sometimes took the opportunity to check in on you through the window (since Alphy's classroom is just above), but that was a rare occurrence anyway. People never came around, nor did they ever really care too much for you or where you were - only using discussion of such to further alienating gossip. Which you could care less about. You were here for sanctuary, and in the shadows, it connected with you.
The roof met with the tree-line's shade just barely. Therein the middle cut a sliver of sunlight to your shroud of security.
Recess was starting it's vocal rise. It smelt like grass blood and pine.
A grating crunch to the right of you gives you a small tilt in both head and thought. Chalk, too.
Susie was still here (you'd assumed she would've left out of boredom), and she kept respect for the tranquil nature of your little space (with some discrepancy). She kept her hair parted after that fateful day the same way too: to where you can see the contemplation more clearly in her eyes as she stares off into the patch of forest in front of her, with her head resting against her right hand's knuckles. Her old hairstyle wasn't necessarily gone, though, but moreso it came in depending on her mood or current situation. When she was comfortable, or when she was around with only you, or just when she's having a good day and nobody's looking too much at her, she made her switch to the positive. Otherwise, it was kept covered - away from prying eyes. To where nobody could see her.
Not that many did - you were two sides of the same coin, in that way. Which, thinking on it, is more than likely why you two stuck together as hard as you did after the Dark World visit. It was an assumption that you didn't mind. In fact, it was an assumption you found pretty reasonable. The adage of 'making assumptions' comes to mind, but there was potential on any money put to Susie sticking around you if only for a familiarity's case. It begets the reason of why she has the 30-packet of chalk on her to begin with. A little white lie after another shipment of them (since the actual storage locker was actually out) to your mother paid off to keep Alphy's off her back. She didn't complain, but she didn't assert herself like before, either. It was a lukewarm reception. A friendly acceptance.
Yellow-on-black catches your still-covered eyes in the elongated mental assessment, however, and her details turn a bit surprised and quizzical. Slightly turning her snout towards your direction to mirror you, she breaks in a confused tone, "What, there some chalk on my face or something?"
You point to the bottom of your lips - to the left a smidge. For good measure, she takes the entire jacket sleeve of her unoccupied arm and rubs it against her mouth. No kill like overkill.
Expectantly looking at you, she smirks a bit when you give her a smile and a thumbs up to inform her that she had gotten the mark by severe overestimation. "Heh. Thanks, dude." She starts off, picking another speckled dusty piece from the freshly unwrapped box with a shift in position to sit up a bit straighter against the wall. "And, uh, thanks for ths, too," she remarks with a quick upraising of the pink colored cylinder in her hand to demand attention to it, before giving it a magical disappearing act in one bite with a smile. "Buh muhastly, thunks fer..." A quick swallow; straight back into her toothy grin, "...for helping me cover up evidence."
Her snickers are infectious; you go down in history as Patient Zero as you giggle alongside her.
She wipes away at her lips again with the same jacket sleeve she used before - for good measure - before a thought of caution vocalizes itself to you, "So, uhh, your Mom's not gonna get mad or anything, right?"
You tell her that they're technically yours, so she shouldn't worry so much. She doesn't buy the consolidation too much, putting pressure on her thoughts with a bit of spitballing: "Just askin', 'cause I mean, what if she asks, you know?"
The newfound worry from her's a juxtaposition to the way she was before with you - one that fills you with warmth and the power of compassion. She does a double-take to try and save face - "I just don't want her to get pissy at me again, that's all!" - out of embarrassment, but you still go and mention your plans for covering said tracks anyway: just telling your mother that you lost them or don't have them with you at the moment.
"...And she'll just believe that?"
You nod. You don't mention the fact that it wouldn't be the first time you've disappointed her.
Susie takes that at face-value. A curt reply of, "Well, ar'right." and a (begrudgingly) accepting shrug as the conversation slowly dies off on its own, emotions left to simmer in their pots as time carries itself along without you two. The power of compassion slips from your grasp; an influx of self-deprecating thoughts come for spoiling the mood - after this had all started off so well, especially.
But, you're not about to accept defeat. The warmth from before comes back stronger as you procure your ace-in-the-hole...
The clinking of the handle against the tin exterior of the Totally Tubular Ice-E Bodacious Cr"e"ush Gr"e""e"oove Food Munchin' Octagonically Crazy Lunch-Box(agon)™© (with a legal notice on the rim of the container itself that mentions that the legally-named "boxagon" does not munch food placed into the storage compartment in question) puts Susie's attention straight back your way. Irises expand just a little bit at the procurement of such a treasured artifact, the lid of it cracking open to golden light like...
...
You hold the Box(agon) more properly in place as you pull against the skirt of the lid-top harder. As you were saying: her irises expand just a little bit as the top of your lunch box SLOWLY comes undo-
"Dude, uh...you need help with that?"
...
You are SPARED the trials of Ice-E's Box(agon) Challenge by way of Susie relaying her assistance as soon as you hand it over to her. The notable ease of the lid coming off with her attempt at prying open the lunch-pail lends yourself to thinking that you made it at least somewhat easier for her - by loosening it up before giving it to her. But the Ice-E on the lid implores reconsideration. It's otherworldy gaze ventures beyond mortal tellings, looking deep into your very being - no, your very essence - as it ropes self-reflection out of you whether you're ready or not. No coping mechanisms escape its piercing gaze. It knows all.
Ice-E disappears into the grass as the lid is set aside. It smells like cinnamon and sterilized metal.
"Holy crap. You're decked out, dude." Vocalized, but not necessary. Her face told more of her entranced but meek acknowledgement as she looked along at the contents of what was resting on her lap. A sub sandwich straight in the middle acts as a divider between the dessert and appetizer - on the left and on the right, respectively. Two plastic cups rest on the right, with one filled with a cornucopia of organic colors from the fruit laid within, and the other leaning heavier into the greens (the packaged Kryptonite of all children) with a bit of yellow and white in there as well. The left had already been scrounged a fair bit: mock-tinfoil from a candy wrapper is rolled up into a ball in one of the many (possible) corners, leaving only two slices of pie covered with a paper towel intended for use as an impromptu napkin. There weren't utensils in the case. You never needed to pack any, since you were often told to just borrow from the infinitely respawning packages of plastic ones in the cafeteria by your mother instead. Not that you needed them, since you were often packed food that accommodated for all manner or style of feast, but insistence was Mom's calling card. More often than not literally, you think as your hand scrapes against the phone in your pocket as you forage for the fork.
Susie stops her inspection of the meat of things a bit later than you, but comes with a surprise at her stead. Taking the opened container more properly in her left palm, she extends it back over to you with a sheepish smile and insistence of, "Well, dig in." You push it back towards her as you pull out the fork. She waits for a bit before attempting to give it to you again. She practically does a spit-take when you tell her to keep it.
"Uhhh, no! Like, okay, nah. I get being nice, Kris, but the chalk's a present enough, dude. I can net myself a lunch from some other nerd if I need to, anyway. Thrash it out of him."
You better explain your position: you tell her sharing is caring, edging in a slight smirk as you push the box again.
She simply stares at you.
"You know what?" A simple brow raise comes as a surprise before it furrows right back down with a lean in to enunciate straight into your face: "Never say that again, and I MIGHT not deck you in the face for it one of these days." She makes a point to show her teeth a little bit - though you couldn't tell if that was from her threatening you or attempting to cover up the fact that she was trying not to laugh at what you said.
The box(agon) is placed between the two of you, nonetheless, with the lid to it acting as a platter for Susie. It comes as an off-hand mention to you, but from the way she was staring at the pies themselves, you felt warmth cover over you when you told her she could start with one of the slices - that you didn't mind. To say she was giddy for the pie would be an understatement (especially with how she was attempting to cover it up by staying cool), calling attention to it by mentioning, "Oh man, lil' kids would go on a RIOT for these things when your mom brought 'em over. Halls would smell like 'em for HOURS, too - it's like the worst part about skipping," as she picked at her slice. The insight to how strenuous the pie makes rebellious acts in school gave you a chuckle. A chuckle compounded even further as she takes the slice picked out for granted: plopping the whole thing straight into her mouth without a hint of hesitation. You give thought to the idea (through your slight laughing fit) of if she'd have time to savor it the way that she's eating it, but the second her jaws stop mid-chew, you throw any notion of her having difficulty with that out of the window.
There's no hum of satisfaction, no sense of bliss or surprise. Her expression is unreadable, though it's obvious shock covers her face and body. You nestle in to where you're sitting to get comfortable as you spot her right hand slowly come up to rest upon her slightly puffed cheeks - full of the confectionary. She slowly starts chewing again. You smile. Her eyes close just a bit tighter. You ask her how it is.
She gives you an answer - in the lapse of her utter awe - the only way currently feasible.
Slumping down - practically melting into place - the hum of satisfaction finally comes:
"Nuh moh God..."
Snatching the fruit packet for yourself, with a smile still on your face, you ask if it's really that good for her.
Her eyes are closed in a lax manner as a coalescent satisfaction spreads over her entire form. "Muh teef..." She starts chewing again, taking it slow to savor the flavor, but also making room to better speak her mind about it: "Feels like my teeth are rottin' from a caramel orgy in my mouth."
You nearly choke on a slice of strawberry. Swallowing it all, she follows along with your fit of laughter, reaffirming her position with a chuckled, "Like, dude, it's true!" as you both ride out the joke for all it's worth. Slight snickers call the end of it. Relaxation comes along as you both simmer down and lend the conversation some slack to take it all in. Susie herself is especially lazy, with the back of her head laid against the grass patch where she was sitting just before. Seeing her laying down in the grass with her hands on her stomach, taking in the day and not only feeling happy from your actions, but also enjoying your company...
The power of friendship shines within you.
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