Chapter Text
When faced with the choice of where she should sit in the wide, near-empty room of her first biochemistry lecture, Maomao didn't think very much of it when she settled into the spot seven rows up, two columns across. Her things found a comfortable place on the noticably expensive tables of her lecture hall, and she found herself grimacing at her own look. Maomao was well aware that she worked her ass off to be here, the all-nighters and cramming coming back to her memory vividly, but the price gap between her things and the college's never failed to make her ansty.
Too busy trying to be inconspicuous, Maomao hardly noticed when the hall began filling with people. A glance to her laptop told her the time—five minutes before nine. She mentally patted herself on the back for arriving as early as she did; mornings before just before the next hour on campus tended to get hectic, with everyone trying to get to their class or navigating the gargantuan campus.
It was no shock when someone sat beside her. They slid into the row elegantly, shielding Maomao from the isle. They were shorter than her, and while this didn't shock Maomao, she did find herself staring for a little longer than socially acceptable for awknoledging someone's existence.
It pushed both of them to say, "good morning," at the same time.
Maomao stared.
They stared. The gaze lingered for a few seconds before they chuckled softly. "Sorry."
"No, that was my fault." Maomao shook her head. "I was staring."
"I get those a lot, so it's really not as big of a problem anymore." They flapped their hand politely (the only word that fit the action) and put their forearms on the table, locking their fingers together. "My name's Shinobu. Shinobu Kocho. And you are?"
"Maomao La," Maomao said. The last name tasted acrid on her tongue, but she was forced to use it for business like this. Evidently, this digust came out on her face, as per Shinobu's laughter.
"You're expressive, Maomao. I think I''l enjoy being your seatmate." That was right—the place you sat in on the first class tended to be where you stayed for the rest of the year, which made it doubly better that Maomao came when she did. I don't think I'll mind sitting with you either. A smile came to her face. A plesant start to year, if ever there was one.
Their proferssor soon arrived, so it didn't take long for the lesson to start either.
Maomao called it a lesson, because that was what it was supposed to be, but the first class of the semester was really spent doing things of little importance. After the professor—Typhon, she had to remind herself, lest she risk calling him "doom and gloom" to his face—finished talking about the syllabus, he entertained the questions people had. Some relevant to the class, and others not. Were things supposed to be so… relaxed? It felt odd. Maomao spent the better part of two years working like a doctor was coming to saw her legs off if she didn't get accepted. Things had to pick up at some point.
A familiar thought roamed her mind as she had her head on her desk, using her arms as cushions: I wish I had my herbs. She tuned out everything else, but Shinobu opening her laptop pulled Maomao's temporary attention. She was about to scold herself again for peeking into someone else's business, but the words "Wisteria poison test run" had her replacing it with, "poison?!"
Maomao shot up so fast that her knee hit against the table, barely managing to bite back a swear. Rubbing at her knee, she came to realise that the room had gotten deathly quiet. It didn't take looking all around to realise that all eyes were on her. She couldn't even afford an apology. Her face burned as she sunk back into her seat. Okay. Maybe a terrible first class. Whatever.
Short and giggly—to say, Shinobu—found Maomao's distress funny enough to giggle openly at it. She felt her mouth twist into a scowl, that straightened when Shinobu started talking, "if poison is what youre so interested in, you can watch while I work." Her fingers darted across the keyboard, and only then did Maomao notice the bandages on Shinobu's fingers. "Ask questions, if you'd like. I'm happy to answer."
And like a minigun, Maomao started firing off, this time far more mindful of her volume. She hasn't seen wisteria used in poisons, since, like… in China, with her dad. "What are it's effects?"
"I'm not sure yet. I've been testing on m—" Shinobu paused, cleared her breath, "testing, yes. Tingling in the administered area is what I have so far. This is still quite recent research, so I don't have much to show you."
"That's okay!" Maomao whisper yelled, her eyes sparkling as her eyes travelled along each line, footnote—it held her frivolous attention like an anchor, the mixing techniques and equipment unlike what she's seen before. "Would you mind if I visited to s—"
The door burst open. Silence fell once again. In walked a guy, no doubt the cause of the calamitous noise, but no amount as ashamed as Maomao has been. Actually, he looked proud, if the swing in his head and pep in his step had anything to say about his mood. Professor Typhon gave him a look, nodded, then put his attention to his laptop, stunning the class into a further silence. This gave the guy enough time to situate himself in a seat—that happened to be right beside Maomao's. She didn't even realise it was available.
New Guy wore a purple hoodie, sleeves rolled up to reveal metal bracelets on his wrists and rings on every finger. He was fashionable if nothing else, and now plain nosy given how he straight-up leaned into Maomao to get a good view at what Shinobu was doing. Not only was Maomao forced against the poor girl, and mentally apologising, his dreadlocks were wacking her in the face. Their asnine height difference did not help.
"WHAAAAT, WISTERIA POISON?? Where'd you learn to make that??" New Guy gasped, his hands now on Maomao's shoulders. Never before has she cursed how waifish she was. If she could put him in a headlock, he wouldn't be breathing right now. Dead, maybe not, but having something to test her more lethal mixtures on would be helpful.
"Trial and error. It's my own reciepe," said Shinobu, glancing between New Guy and Maomao. If she was considering helping, there was never a better time than the present. Really.
"Though, I have to ask, what's your name?"
"Jabber," he offered, never taking his eyes off the laptop, "who's your wisteria supplier?" Maomao would have rejoiced over someone who shared her interest, but found scant desire to do that when the would-be guy had his fingers digging into her traps. He had a name now: Jabber. She could finally properly complete the sentence that had been forming in her head for the past minute: Jabber was a fucking asshole.
Shinobu only smiled wider. "I'm Shinobu, and my friend that you've turned into a... resting object, is Maomao." She gesticulated in Maomao's direction.
Friend??
Jabber directed his intense gaze and lurid magenta eyes down at Maomao, who could only send the most hostile look she could muster. Jabber has the audacity to chuckle at her, glancing back to Shinobu. "Is she constipated?"
In that moment, Maomao decided that letting this happen was worse than attempting to do something about it (which was neither objective nor logical, but sue her. The anger was winning), and she shook herself and, in turn, Jabber, his laughter only getting more unabashed the harder she swung. Her saviour came in the form of Professor Typhon telling Jabber to take his seat.
And he did do that. Right after picking up one of Maomao's notebooks and looking at the meager notes she had taken. "So, Maomao, yeah?" He threw her book back on the table. "What're you doing in biochem?"
I don't know what you're here for, but pissing me off has to be on your list. Maomao felt as though someone hit her on the head with a hammer. She wanted to take that same hammer and hit Jabber with it, over and over again until he fucked off.