Oh my freakin god! I can't believe my ears. Again. My father just announced he got another freakin job! Obviously the last six he's been fired from hasn't fazed him any. And what's worse, it's in freakin Stradne!
That's half way across the freakin country!
Wow, maybe I should stop using the word freakin.
"I don't want to move…Again," I couldn't help but shriek, stomping my foot childishly- to the annoyance of the downstairs neighbors who immediately began banging on their ceiling to try and shut me up.
Don't count on it people.
To my great satisfaction, my father winced and started apologizing, though truth be told, I don't really give a damn if we're moving again, it's just that we just finished unpacking! Geez you'd think the man could keep himself rooted in one spot for a while.
Well at least I don't care for anyone in this place anyway…Actually I believe the correct term is 'I wish they would all drop dead.' Honestly these stupid girl-preps are annoying. And it's not just one. One I can handle; a whole freakin school on the other hand, I can't. Instead of 'Soaren Ivy's School For Young Women' (yeah as if the ages between fifteen and eighteen really qualify as young women in the teachers' minds) I believe the perfect name for this school would be 'Soaren Ivy's School For Stuck Up Female Dumb-Asses', but that's just me.
Heh, out of all girls there, I believe I'm the only one with that opinion…Then again I'm not a rich, stuck up female who constantly says her daddy is just 'oh so awesome', usually accompanied by a high-pitched, ear-piercing squeal of outrage when I can't help but snicker very loudly.
I can't help it. It's inherent.
Actually I was hoping we'd be moving soon- not that I'll tell Father that- if only because now I won't be getting in trouble nearly so often for my bad 'social skills.' What can I say; I don't make friends easily (a.k.a. I have no friends and didn't try to make any).
So we're moving to Stradne. The thrill. At least I'll always have my truck. I like my truck; it's only broken down seventeen times in the past year.
It was only seventeen times. I swear it's never my fault; it just suffers from severe depression when I'm not around. No I'm not insane. I'm completely serious.
Why doesn't anyone believe me?
I can't help but sigh at the thought of my truck. It has a camper on the back, which I put to good use the one time I ever ran away. Does anyone else ever run away for amusement purposes?
Anyway, when my father finally stopped trying to apologize, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek as a sign of forgiveness and scampered off to my room to pack. The room wasn't very big; most of my stuff was crammed in a corner except for my cds, which were strewn across the hideously pink carpet.
Let's see…I picked up all my cds first- looking lovingly at the one labeled Sarain's - and carefully put them in their cd case beside my beaten-but-still-serviceable cd player and placed them lovingly in my backpack, then went about collecting scattered articles of clothing.
…How the hell did that get there? I wondered as I picked up a pair of men's underwear.
"DAD!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. I could hear him stumbling past a bunch of empty boxes in his hurry to reach me and a curse as he tripped, then he finally made it into my room and I held up the article-of-clothing in question accusingly and he turned beet red.
I couldn't help but laugh- his face was funny- and soon enough, he joined in. We both laughed until our sides hurt. I have no idea why it was so funny but I couldn't stop.
When the laughing fit finally subsided, we collapsed together on my bed and just laid there in comfortable silence. Eventually I asked, "So what is this new job of yours? Nothing stupid like that chicken counting job I hope."
He chuckled lightly. "No, nothing like that. We'll be living on my boss' estates. He hired me to care for his…uh, cars. Truth be told I had no idea anyone hired personnel mechanics. Guess I'm just ignorant of the 'noble mind.' Then again, who isn't except for the nobles themselves?"
I couldn't help but smile at him. "You don't need to know your employer's mind to do the job. Besides, you're a great mechanic…when you wanna be."
"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," he said sarcastically.
Hey that's my specialty.
I gave him a hug and went back to packing as he left to do whatever he does before a move, thankfully taking the underwear with him- really that just creeped me out.
I found a few more articles of my father's clothing- it must have gotten mixed in with my own- before I discovered an old tape of a time when I still had friends, just before my mother died. I still remember the day the tape was made, but before I could dwell on it, I tossed it out the window and finished the rest of my packing in a state of fuming.
The only thing I kept out was my best friend, my violin. It was a beautiful dark amber color despite its old age. It had belonged to my mother and then my great-great-grandmother and then some famous old musician before her. I was told it was at least two centuries old but that has never been confirmed.
Not that I care anyway.
I took up the bow and began playing a song I came up with a few years back. It was a sorrowful tune but it was beautiful in its own way. I wrote it after my mother died and played it at her funeral. Everybody loved it despite the occasion and since then, I've had these weirdos calling me and asking me to play for them.
If there is anything more annoying than having these happy-go-lucky idiots calling me, asking me to play such a sad tune for some stupid party crap or whatever, I have yet to discover it. Well, at least the calls eventually stopped.
I love my violin.
All my stuff was jammed into my truck. I followed my father- who was driving his hideous pearl colored car- as we drove down the fancy cobblestone driveway of my father's new boss dude's estates/manor.
Did I mention I hate snobby rich people? No? Well guess what, I do. They have a bad habit of looking down on everyone as if we were scum. Well as long as there's no one from Soaren Ivy's School For Stuck Up Female Dumb-Asses I think I'll be okay for, at the most, a week.
Then I'll crack and run around in circles laughing hysterically until the men in the white coats come and lock me up in a padded room where I'll cheerfully have happy conversations with the walls and sing in my cracky happy voice. Then they'll come in the room with a ten-inch needle and jab it into my ass until I have happy-go-lucky fantasies about talking cows and flying frying pans.
Sounds like fun.
Damn this driveway! It was another five minutes before we finally reached the stupid manor and I nearly ran my truck into my dad's hideous crap car.
There was a middle-aged man standing by the front door in fancy clothes and I couldn't help but look down at my own outfit; baggy black jeans and shirt; chains and spiky bracelets. Those combined with my long, violet tipped black hair and silver eyes creeped most people out but it's my style and I love it.
Especially because of the creepiness.
"Welcome to Edrin's manor Mr. Hyreth and Miss…"
"Vynsarilia…Don't bother trying to pronounce it; just call me Vyn," I said politely. I hate being polite- it ruins my style- so I stepped back and let my father do all the talking. Their first topic involved our rooms and at that point I just zoned out.
Then my father was shaking me and I realized they were done talking and it was time for us to go wherever the hell we were going.
I wasn't looking forward to this, especially when the back of my truck was perfectly suitable for my purposes, which was of course to pass out until dawn the next day when I would pick up my violin and play for a few hours and wake everyone up when I hit a bad note. They should just be grateful I don't sing.
Unfortunately that doesn't happen often. But it's hilarious when it does. No one agrees with me though.
Why is that?
My father had already begun walking by the time that happy thought was finished and I had to run to catch up. The fancily dressed dude was giving me an odd look; probably because of the dreamy look I'm sure was on my face.
We stepped into a high-ceiling room with lots of dead animals all over the walls and I couldn't help but cringe. All those dead, glassy eyes staring at you in contempt because you've seen their fall from grace all for the sport of having their heads on plaques is enough to make anyone with a conscience want to run and hide.
I love animals, especially cats; they're the guardians of the underworld. This room just destroyed my sense of-of…hell it just pissed me off.
The chairs were even swathed in animal skins. Gross.
My father sat down on one of the desecrated chairs and looked about curiously. Didn't the man feel any compassion for the poor creatures? Then I saw a carefully concealed tear in his eye and knew he felt just as bad about it as I did.
"Excuse me?" I said to Mr. Fancy Pants waiting in the corner. The man gave me another odd look (what the hell is with the looks? Did I do something? Did I step in dog crap or something?), then nodded gravely for me to continue. Yeah right, as if I need permission.
"Can we please go to a room with life in it?" I couldn't keep a growl out of my voice- not that I tried very hard.
He gave me another odd look. WHAT THE HELL IS WITH THE DAMN LOOKS!?!?! I tried to smile at the man and when that didn't work, I gave him my best evil glare and believe me; my evil glares will melt stone.
The man must have been diamond because he didn't melt.
After a few moments of staring, he finally answered me. "The Sire and mistress will be here shortly Miss."
Yeah, that's just what I wanted to hear! Jerk.
The 'Sire and mistress,' as Mr. Fancy Pants so eloquently put it, arrived only three hours later. I did not trust my temper. The 'Sire' was dressed in a black tux (who the hell wears a tux in their own freakin house?) His hair was combed 'oh so perfectly' and pulled back in a neat tail while the 'mistress'- gee I just love the creepy odd look giving dude in the corner, don't you- so eloquent; so emotional, so WHY THE HELL IS HE LOOKING AT ME AGAIN?!?! I'm obviously paranoid.
Look out padded room; here I come.
The mistress was wearing a beautiful (gag-worthy) white dress, accentuated with flowing lace and large frilly pieces of…something… I'm not quite sure what it is, but it looked awfully uncomfortable and cow like… Her flat green eyes were too large in my opinion, and she looked like a stick (I briefly wondered if she had an eating disorder, but I was too disinclined to ask). Her cascading silvery blonde hair tumbled around her bony shoulders, and I couldn't help but notice the daggers she was shooting at my own hair (It's not my fault I'm eccentric). I had to stifle a womanly grunt of laughter when I saw Mr. Fancy Pants leveling a glare of contempt at the woman (so he does have feelings!).
I'm shocked. Really.
I guess this means I'll have to find a better name for him other than Mr. Fancy Pants.
While 'Sire and mistress' (geez that just sounds-) HE'S STARING AT ME AGAIN! Eh…anyway…while those two were talking with my father, I inconspicuously edged over to Guy Giving Creepy Looks and stood near him for a few minutes before whispering, "What's your name?"
He gave me The Look- as I'm now referring to it- again and then miraculously gave me a slight smile and whispered back, "Davin."
"Well then Davin,"I smirked, "maybe we could terrorize the toothpick over there together… inconspicuously of course."
"Inconspicuously, of course," he agreed and we both watched the rest of the boring conversation silently, thinking up evil plots to use for terrorizing the Toothpick.
I like Davin; he's cool.
Once the boring conversation was over, Davin showed my father and I to our second floor rooms before leaving to enlist some other servants to help drag our stuff up.
Now me, being the generous person I am, followed him out with the excuse that I absolutely would not allow anyone handle my violin no matter how well their intentions are.
Yes I'm paranoid when it comes to my violin. It's my life, my love, and a lot of other cheesy crap that I'm not going to mention. So once we were outside, I ran to my truck and opened the passenger seat to grab my violin and helped the servants to open up the back. The only thing that opens the back is a very hard kick on the left side and I did it gracefully.
Beat that Toothpick. HAHAHAHAHA!
Too much sugar I think…wait…nope. Never mind.
Soon enough I was being trafficked back up to my room, violin safely within my grasp, with Davin just behind me carrying two bags of clothes; one my father's, the other mine. Mine didn't have nearly as much as my father's; my wardrobe is considered an insult to the female society… or so I've been told.
I agree. That's another reason I like it.
I hadn't gotten much of a chance to examine my room before but now I could only drop my jaw in shock (my control over my limbs is so good it's impossible for me to drop my violin).
Beat that Toothpick. AHAHAHA…'scuse me…
The room was decked either in dark violet or sunset colors. There was even a music stand in the corner and a shelf for my violin right next to it. This was pure bliss. Davin dropped my bag next to a door I assumed was a closet and grinned at my expression, but for once I didn't care; this room was just too good to be true. There was a huge bed in the corner with heavy, sunset colors adorning it, complete with small white stars near the evening sky part (that's the top for those who don't know what a sunset looks like). There was a chest at the foot that looked to be made of…is that…oh my god, it is; petrified wood in the colors of sunset. AND THERE'S A WEST-FACING BALCONY, complete with a tree right outside.
Did I mention I love sunsets? Especially when a storm's coming and the wind smells of fresh rain. Now that is pure bliss.
There is even a bathroom.
Okay, I admit, this place isn't too bad considering it's Snobsville.
I was definitely in a daze, but I went about unpacking my stuff without too much trouble, though Davin had to point out where just about everything went. Normally I'd probably be able to find everything on my own but remember the whole dazed thing? Yeah.
When my clothes were put away in the- you guessed it (did you guess it?)- the walk-in closet, I went back to my violin and tuned it, grabbed my bow and began playing one of my happier songs. Every gray-faced servant who came in (a.k.a. all of them) always stopped to listen for a few minutes and always left with at least a half-smile on his face, as if my song gave them some joy in a world where joy doesn't exist for those of their station in life.
From what I could tell from the Toothpick, joy doesn't exist in her vocabulary.
Bt the time I was finished with my song, I had gathered an audience of at least two-dozen servants and Davin, who was smiling at me with what looked to be tears in his eyes.
Wow, I made someone cry… how creepy.
The servants clapped and whistled and some even asked for an encore. I gladly obliged and picked another of my happier songs and when I was done, one of the servants- a young man with light brown hair and a deformed hand- lagged behind as the rest left. He shuffled about nervously as if debating whether or not he should say something.
Finally I set my violin down and asked calmly, "What's up?" I'm great at greetings, aren't I?
He looked up at me and offered me a sheet of yellowed paper. I looked at it curiously, then glanced back at the man with surprise.
"I'm a writer of sorts… From what I can tell, your songs have no words to them." He smiled at me and I couldn't help but smile back. "While you were playing, I wrote down some lyrics that popped into my head for your songs…if you're interested that is."
My smile grew as I reread what he'd written and then I set the papers down next to my violin in acceptance. "Now I just have to find someone who can sing worth a crap and bribe them to sing as I play," I said cheerfully, glancing at the papers again.
"I don't think you'll have any trouble with that, milady, what with your beautiful playing skills." And then he turned around and left.
This is so awesome, I thought, drawing out the sheet music to my songs and incorporating the words in to them.
My father began work immediately the next day even though we still had a lot of unpacking to do.
That's the good news. The evil freakin horribly bad news is that I'm going to be going back to school in a week. A week! Me! It's going to drive me insane!
I should probably make arrangements with the men in white now.
Mrs. Edrin doesn't like me much; I think I scare her. She is always demanding that I not touch anything with my grubby little paws and gives me evil glares every time I'm within sight. She thinks I don't notice.
Believe me Toothpick; I do. MWAHAHAHAHA… I should probably stop doing that.
I play for the staff every day around noon and most mornings I go outside to play in the stables, where Mr. Edrin (now officially known to me as Mr. Tuxy because he always seems to be wearing a tux) keeps a few horses.
That's right people. Horses. There is life here. It's a freakin miracle!
I play all my not-so-happy songs out there. I think the horses cry and yet they always seem to welcome me back.
I feel so loved.
As I walked back to the manor after one morning practice, I glanced up at the windows of the manor and saw a dark silhouette in one of the third floor windows. I've never been on the third floor before- Davin said to avoid that floor at all costs- so I assumed it was another servant (or a psycho), but when I looked again, the silhouette was gone. I shrugged and continued on my way and met Davin in the kitchen where I usually come in. We walked back to my room together.
"Have you considered what classes you'll be taking?" he asked once we were safely within my room and away from the prying eyes of the Toothpick.
I bit my lip in contemplation and thought deeply. "How many lunch periods are there?" I asked finally, setting the violin in its proper place.
Davin smiled and held up one finger.
I groaned and rolled my eyes, then went to collapse on my soft and comfy bed. I like my bed.
"If I may recommend some?"
"Eat your heart out," I grumbled.
What the hell is that?
I can't write…or rather, I can, but not the way he's suggesting (a.k.a. essays, speeches and crap like that). I briefly wondered if I should inform him of this but decided against it in favor of visualizing the Toothpick running about in a frenzy with her cow-dress on fire.
It was a beautiful picture.
After playing again for the staff around noon, I decided to visit my father in the barn where Mr. Tuxy (I like that name) kept all his old crap cars (who the hell drives those anymore anyway?). I am glad my father finally found a job he enjoys but still. It's a bit useless if you ask me.
But of course no one asked me so I'm keeping my opinion to myself and the voices in my head…
"Hey Dad," I said as soon as I found him napping on a hay barrel. His head shot up so quickly I'm surprised his neck didn't snap, and I couldn't help but laugh at him. "Sleepin on the job are you?" I asked innocently.
He groaned and put a hand to his head. "Geez Vyn, don't you ever knock?" he asked grumpily, rubbing his temples.
"Sure, but I doubt you'd enjoy it if I knocked on that thick head of yours."
"As if you have any room to talk." He smiled and I gave him a swift hug.
We sat in silence for a while, just thinking about completely normal things- or at least I was. Athletic, demonic cats riding fat horse-cows is normal right?
"Dad?" I asked finally, turning to look into his warm gray eyes. "What classes should I take at school next week?"
"Whatever you want."
"That helps. Really," I said sarcastically and got up to leave. It was nearing dinnertime and I was starved. "Don't stay out too late or else I'll bring me violin out here and play a bad note," I warned as I left. I'm sure I heard a light chuckle.