//------------------------------// // Track #8: This Purple Child // Story: Make a Mistake with Me // by CoffeeAndCigarettes //------------------------------// Track #8: This Purple Child Your tired sigh is like a wispy cloud of smoke that escapes from your lips. You stare at the contents of your locker with a weary eye, unable to quite comprehend how things got to this point. You knew neither Sonata nor Adagio were liked in CHS, but for the animosity of the student body to extend to anyone who associated with them… … High school was a fearsome place alright. This was the third time you had opened your locker, only to see an assortment of notes saying all sorts of terrible stuff about you, your choice of companions and your probable ancestry; specifically what sort of woman your mother was. There were even some cruder pictures drawn on some of the notes, mostly involving lots of green smoke and you walking like you were some sort of zombie while the Dazzlings laughed in the background. You have no idea what that is about, but it can’t be anything good. Still, the notes were hardly something that you found intimidating or even that bothersome. Honestly, the time in juvie had been a lot worse. The only decent person you talked there was a boy named Trouble Shoes, and even he rarely opened his mouth. Compared to what went on inside that fenced building, this was nothing but cute. For that exact reason you simply pick up the notes, walk over to the nearest trash bin and shred them there. You do this with a cheeky grin on your face. Returning to your locker, you throw some of the books inside it. You only needed the ones for afternoon classes, and it’s not like you did homework at, well, home. You mostly just arrived a bit early to the school and spent some fifteen minutes sitting in the hallway, scribbling nonsense in your notebook to pass off as effort. And you weren’t the only one. More than few times you saw that one goth kid and her annoyingly sunny friend doing the exact same thing. That or you were joined by Sonata, who had, for some reason, taken to copying down your notes. That’s another reason why you usually headed to school earlier than most. It allowed you some time to hang out with Adagio or Sonata. Aria still refused to come within ten feet of you, even after what had happened few days ago. That or she was still mad you found out about her love for cheesy love ballads. You grab your gym clothes from the locker and are about to slam the door shut when you hear something barely audible near you. You turn to look at the direction of the sound, only to find nothing. Your eyes scan the perimeter but see only students milling about during the recess. And again, you hear that sound. It’s somewhere between a squeak and a whisper. Seriously, it’s like someone stuck a finger in your ear and wiggled it around. When the sound repeats for the third time, you’re finally able to pinpoint its source. You turn your gaze downwards. There stands a girl with light pink hair and demure expression, hugging her school books like they were a shield between you two. She’s dressed like a damn hippie, immediately earning some of your ire. Her eyes dart across the hallway, trying to look anywhere but you. Wait a minute. You know this girl. Isn’t she part of the same group that Baconswirl is? Rainbooms? “Huh? Whaddya want, Woodstock?” you ask, latching her with the first name that comes to your mind. “Speak up.” “Oh, um… my name’s Fluttershy…” she nearly whispers. “What? You have to talk louder that, I can’t hear jack you’re murmuring,” you grunt, scratching the back of your head. The girl before you just mutters something, refusing to look you in the eyes. It’s at this point that you find yourself growing increasingly annoyed. Why is she accosting you like this if she’s not about to say anything? Did she just want to be a bother? Who does that!? “You know, if you’re not gonna say anything I can hear, forget it,” you say and pick up your backpack, making a move to leave. “I don’t have time to play guessing games with you.” Just as you’re about to leave, you hear a faint ‘Wait!’ emanate from Woodstock, and she raises her hand as if to try to grab your shoulder. But when you turn to glare at her, she flinches back immediately. Seriously, what’s up with this chick? It’s not like you were about to hit her. Sure, she might have started to feel like a major source of pain in the ass, but even you drew a line somewhere. “Um, I said… my name is Fluttershy,” the girl says, this time so that you can hear her. “And, that is, I… I wanted to thank you. You know, for last night.” You cock an eyebrow at the girl. Last night? What the hell was she talking about? You had been back at your apartment, enjoying whatever it was that had been on the bottom of that take-out box. That and trying not to care about the loud explosions occurring every now and then in your building’s basement. You swear your neighbors were some of the nuttiest people around. “Last night? The hell you’re talking about?” you ask her, peering at her closer, She shrinks away. “I can’t remember seeing your face before, so either you’re mistaken or I’m getting senile. And I’m not that old yet.” Woodstock shuffles her feet awkwardly, clearly unsure what she’s supposed to say in this situation. You groan in frustration. You hated dealing with girls like her. The hyperactive ones were their own share of trouble, but the shy ones who just can’t go even one sentence without stuttering… those ones always invited awkward silences to settle in. “Umm, it was out near the mall. I was… I was out shopping, and those three boys kept yelling nasty things at, um, me,” she explains, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “And then you, you came along and told them to back off and escorted me back home and I’m really thankful for that sorry to bother you.” She tries to bolt away like a hare, but you catch her by the scruff of her neck and hold her up in the air. Woodstock lets out a loud ‘eep!’ as he legs ineffectively plough the air. Now you were more confused than before. You had saved her from harassment by some drunken teenagers? Just when had this happened? Hell, you were pretty sure you had only visited the mall a couple of times after arriving to Canterlot. And you definitely did not remember doing anything knightly as that. Indeed, if you had ever encountered a situation like that, you would have most likely just kept your mouth shut and ignored it all. You weren’t exactly chivalrous towards complete strangers. “Look, I dunno what you saw or what happened last night, but it wasn’t me who helped you out,” you grunt at the girl still in your grasp. “So save your thanks. I don’t want them.” For a moment, the yellow girl just hangs there from your grasp, eyes glued to the floor. Then she sneaks a glance at you from under her bangs. Those cyan orbs catch your attention completely, and for a moment, you find yourself wondering if the girl before you is really as timid as she appears. “Um, but it really was you. I remember it clearly,” she answers. “It’s because I was thinking afterwards how you always looked so mean at school, but outside of it you seemed really nice and gentle and-” She might have said more embarrassing stuff, but at that moment a piercing shriek echoes in the hallway. Before you even know what’s going on, a white blur appears next to you and slaps your hand, making you drop the girl. She squeaks again and scrambles to her feet, equally spooked by the sudden assailant. “Just what do you think you’re doing to poor Fluttershy you ruffian!” the new girl shouts at you, pointing you with her finger. “How dare you lay your hands on a girl like that!” Ah, great. It’s this girl. You knew that she definitely was part of Baconswirl’s little Get Along Gang. Gorgeous hair, gorgeous clothes, gorgeous eyes… and absolutely horrid personality, from what you could gather. This Cosmopolitan of a fashionista always drew attention and eyes wherever she went, and if you were honest (why stop now?) you had always abhorred people like that. You knew fame and what it could do to people, so you had a pretty good idea how self-centered this girl must be. “Calm down or you’re gonna pop a vein,” you grumble at her, rubbing your hand. “As if I didn’t have better things to do but bully some third-rate animal activist. She was just spouting nonsense and I was setting her straight. Simple as that.” “It’s not nonsense…” Woodstock mutters, looking a bit miffed. “Wait. Are you implying that this… thug is the one who helped you out last night?” Cosmopolitan’s eyes widen when Woodstock nods, and she hisses at the girl. “But darling, you must be mistaken! There is no way a no-good, brutish-” You clear your throat and cock an eyebrow at the fashionista, who flashes a rather sheepish smile and takes a step away from you. “... Ehm, somewhat uncouth gentleman would do something like that,” she finishes. “After all, you know what sort of company he hangs around with.” This again? You were pretty sure that there wasn’t a single person in the school who didn’t know by now that you were a somewhat connected to Adagio and Sonata. And not one of those who knew seemed to like the idea. Well, not that it bothered you. They could all choke from frustration for all you cared. “I know what I saw,” Woodstock says, a hint of force in her voice this time. “It was definitely North Wind. Even if nobody else believes it, I will.” Ugh. Just what had you done for this girl to be this stubborn? You definitely weren’t there last night, so either it was an impostor or this girl didn’t just look like a hippie. Whatever the case, such ‘belief’ you had done something good when you hadn’t was downright creepy. Plus if the students of this school got to their heads you were some part-time vigilante, there’d be no end to the trouble. You’d just have to squash any possible rumors right at the root. “Huh? Me, help you? You have any idea who you’re talking about?” You force your face into a mocking sneer. You didn’t exactly like the idea of acting like a stereotypical bully, but right now, it seems like your only way out. “Just why the hell would I help a squirt like you? You ain’t even pretty to look at, so there ain’t any reason for me to stick my neck out for you.” You accentuate your stereotypical dialogue by flicking Woodstock on the nose. She squeaks and retreats behind Cosmopolitan. You can see tears forming in her eyes, and for a moment, you feel a pang of guilt. But, you’re quick to stomp that out. You can’t afford to waver now. Who cares if this is just more fuel to the fire for the rumors that surround you? The students of CHS hate your guts already. What’s one more lie to that? It’s better than the option of them thinking you’ll help them out with some inane problems, or get it into their heads you need a friend. You’ve gotten this far just fine, thank you very much. “Stop it immediately, you ruffian!” Cosmopolitan chides you, setting herself as a barrier between you and the other girl. “Fluttershy is no liar, and even if she was mistaken that does not give you a right to bully her!” “I ain’t bullying her, I’m making sure she gets to know exactly who I am,” you say and laugh mockingly. “For some reason she’s gotten into her stupid little brain that I’m some sort of Good Samaritan, so I thought I’d set the record straight. So why don’t you keep your overly powdered nose out of this?” Both of the girls recoil at your words, and you can see some of the students are staring at you with angry glares. Nobody dares to interfere, though. Not even when Woodstock begins quietly crying, looking like you just broke her tiny heart into millions of pieces. “B-but… you were so kind yesterday…” she whispers amidst the sobs. You feel your heart sink, and in your mind you try to tell yourself it’ll be better this way. This way she won’t have any unrealistic expectations of you. You’ll just be the mean ex-juvie the school already believes you are. Nothing more, nothing less. You won’t have to deal with Woodstock and her annoying sugar glass heart. It’ll just be you, Adagio and Sonata. “You’re horrible,” Cosmopolitan hisses at you. Outwards, you’re grinning like you’re enjoying it. Inside, you just hang your head in shame. “Good. Glad I got through that ten inch thick layer of makeup,” you jeer. “Hate repeating myself.” Behind the fashionista, Woodstock gives you one last glance that nearly screams the question ‘Why?’. Whoever she met yesterday must’ve made her feel like you were just a misunderstood soul. Welcome to the real world. This is as good as you got. “What, you really don’t know how this guy is?” a sudden, gruff voice calls out to the three of you. Your surprise is clear on your face as you look to your side. There stands a person you definitely did not expect: Aria Blaze, hands on her hips and a mocking smile on her face as she glares at the two girls. She is clearly enjoying this situation, more than you are at the very least. You’d like to ask what the hell she’s doing here, but for a moment, you feel like it’s best to keep your mouth shut. “Aria Blaze,” Cosmopolitan hisses, her ire now having a new target. “What do you want from us?” “Ugh, do I need to spell it out?” Aria grimaces and rolls her eyes. “You two are making a scene, so I thought I’d, like, set you straight about who this guy is.” “W-who… who he is?” Woodstock whispers, glancing fearfully at Purple Grump from behind her friend. Aria glances towards the band room down the hall, where you can hear the echoing sound of music blaring from. Waiting for a perfect spot, Aria taps her feet a few times. She raises her right hand, her fingers snapping rhythm for herself. For a moment, you’re unsure as to what the hell she’s about to do, but when she draws a deep breath, you immediately realize the truth. She’s gearing up for a song. And, before any of you can stop her, she begins to sing. “Girls, it's time to see. This guy right here. Is worse than me!” Aria bellows out, pointing at you. “Yeah, so stop the press. This here's the boss. The boss of the C-H-S!” She turns to look at you expectantly. It takes only a fraction of a second for you to realize what she’s waiting for, and immediately, you start snapping your fingers and adapt your most thuggish expression. “The good and the bad. They know they can't take me. The word of the law. Even it cannot break me,” you sing. “The tears of the girls, They cannot shake me. If I should say sorry, Go ahead and make me.” You point at Cosmopolitan and Woodstock, causing them to flinch backwards, alarmed. “Understand this: To wake me is mistake see. Even my dad, he knew to forsake me,” you continue. “That's why I'm the boss. Boss of the C-H-S!” Aria continues snapping her fingers to the tune, circling the two girls. For a moment, you’re reminded of a certain story happening at west side. “His dead eyes all students fear. His mocking sneer and words of jeer!” Aria sings. “Anger him? Well that's your loss. He's the real deal! He's the darn boss!” As the music dips, you start walking towards the two girls, power in each of your step. Each step you take forward, they take one backward. Around you, you can see other students who clearly look like they want to step in to help, but are too afraid. “Prowling the streets, I'll make all respect me. Don't care 'bout gossip, your words can't affect me,” you rhyme, nasty grin on your face. “So hate me, irate me, so wait me, expect me. So your shocked whispers are what will perfect me.” You strike a pose and glare down at Cosmopolitan and Woodstock. “A man above rest. More than you or your peers! I'm your worst nightmare, a sum of your fears,” you whisper, before raising your voice once more. “That makes me the boss. Boss of the C-H-S!” You can hear the guitar solo echoing from the nearby room, and together with Aria, you once again creep closer to the two girls. Fingers snapping to the rhythm, you lean forward, advancing like an united front. You’ve managed to drive Cosmopolitan and Woodstock almost all the way to the cafeteria, and in doing so, have gathered quite the crowd. Outside the window, you can hear the marching band of your school rev up, their horns blaring to accentuate the music. Instead of the typical sound, however, it’s like there was a big band right outside. This is all brought together by the double bass whose fat sound is like strikes to the abdomen. Once the music reaches a momentary pause, you fold your arms and look at Aria, who continues the song. “Prowling the streets, he'll make all respect him. Don't care 'bout gossip, your words can't affect him. So hate him, irate him, so wait him, expect him. So your shocked whispers are what will perfect him,” she laughs. “A man above rest, more than you or your peers. He's your worst nightmare, a sum of your fears. That makes him the boss. Boss of the C-H-S!” Once again the horns let out their rhythmic cry, and you step before the duo. “I won't be, your shining knight. So what's your plight? Hah!” You slap your knee. “Fight your own fight! Look here, sister! Don't make me cross. 'Cause I'm the boss! The boss of the C-H-S!” And spreading your arms, you sing towards the ceiling and the sky. “Boss of the C-H-S! The boss of the C-H-S! Boss of the C-H-S!” You repeat. “Boss of the C-H-S! The boss of the C-H-S!” As your voice rises to a crescendo and eventually comes back down again, the music that brought you thus far devolves into the crashing sound of drums and fanfare of the horns. You bring your face inches away from the two girls, and give them the best Bad Guy Sneer you can possibly muster. “I'm the boss of the C-H-S,” you whisper. That’s enough. Unable to take it anymore, the two of them take two hasty steps backwards before fleeing from the scene, leaving you and Aria alone there. You cackle at the sight of them, trying your best to seem like you were enjoying their tearful faces. Sure enough, the music was fun to take part in. You were even a bit surprised Aria had started it. But you took no pride in making them cry. Even if it was for the sake of your appearance… for the sake of getting them to leave you well enough alone and not get caught up in your lifestyle, it was still a pretty dirty thing to do. The only thing you could hope was to wash away the bad taste in your mouth with some whiskey after you got home. “Well, that takes care of that,” you say, ignoring the stink eyes the other students give you. “I guess I should thank you, Aria. That was an effective way of getting rid of them.” You turn towards the girl, only to balk a little at the sight. Aria’s staring at her own hands like they betrayed her. There’s some shock in her eyes. It’s almost as if she can’t believe what she just did. But when she recovers, her eyes turn to burn with hatred, and she glares at you. “Ugh, that was the worst. Never make me do that again. Ever!” she shouts and jabs you with her finger. “I’m sick and tired of this even without getting drawn into your pace.” You cock an eyebrow at her. She was disgusted by her own singing? But wasn’t she the one who started it? Did she just… forget to be annoyed by it? If the other Dazzlings were anything to go by, that might just be the case. Still, she saved your ass. The least you could do was to try to defuse the situation. “Look, I dunno what your problem with what just happened is, but… You did help me out,” you say, offering your hand. “So, thanks for that. I guess this makes a second time you pulled my ass out of the fire.” For a moment, Aria simply stares at your hand like it was a rattlesnake hissing at her. Then, with deliberate force, she slaps it away. “Whatever, loser!” she snarls. “You might fool Adagio or Sonata, but not me! Just stay away from me!” And with that, she stomps off, shoulders stiff and growl emanating from her lips. You look at her receding back, scratching the back of your head. “... But you’re the one who approached me,” you mutter to no one in particular.