The Thorn

5-Slightly pointless chapter about Breakfast.

The next morning, I'm exhausted. I was up all last night with Marti packing my few belongings and thinking up theories about King Hans and the war and all that. I don't think any of our theories are anywhere near the truth, but oh well.

As I pad down the stairs I pull my hoodie tighter around my body. Marti (being the fashion critic she is) took it apon herself to choose my outfit for my audience with the king. I'm not big on fashion, and I'm extremely self conscious. I usually wear jeans and baggy t shirts with converse. No make up what so ever. I hate drawing attention to myself. I also have the most terrible fear of public speaking and have really severe stage fright. Keep that in mind as you read the next paragraph.

My hair (which is usually up in a bun, a pony tail or some form of braid depending on Marti's mood) falls down my back in a rich, shiney waterfall of deep cherry curls. My roughly cut fringe is pinned back with a silver clip. Marti outlined my cornflower blue eyes with silver and coated my lashes in jet black mascara that her mum bought her while on holiday in Ares City. Marti wears it every day. It's so dark that I call it Void of Eternal Death. My lips are the same colour as my hair. Marti decided not to use foundation, because 'I have enviable skin anyway'. I'm not quite sure about that, but I think it's also because no one else here has skin quite as light as mine and so Marti didn't have the right resources.

"Marti, I'm not sure I want to see the King like this," I protest for the thousandth time. The make up is so over the top, and you haven't even heard what I'm wearing yet. I'm not even sure I want you to picture me in such... Revealing clothing.

"It's fine!" Marti swats away my concerns with a wave of her hand. To set the record strait, she isn't girly. She's just more fashion concours than me. "Besides," she adds as an afterthought," we've all seen more of Josephine Parker than we want. This is no different!" Wow. I'm so consoled.

Underneath the hoody and hippie trousers is a silver satin dress. Marti seems to think that silver's my colour. The dress is strapless and extremely low cut. Like, scary low cut. I'm practically falling out of it! Also, it only just covers my lower regions. It's skin tight and rhinestones line the hem.

I'm not quite sure that this is what you want to see the king in. It's not something I'd want anyone to see me in, let alone the leader of a country! Who knows what people will think of me... No. I think I may stay in the turquoise hippie trousers and black t shirt I threw over the top for school this morning. That sounds like a good idea.

TUAW is one hell of a tall building. It takes 10 minutes to get from form room on the top floor to the dining hall at the bottom.

Breakfast, mmmm! I really like food. I'm a foody person, I'll eat anything. Literally. If I'm food deprived, I'll eat woodlice. *Side note: this has actually happened. I also ate a girls homework once. No one believes her. Don't challenge me, you won't win.*

When Marti opens the door to the dining hall, a huge wave of sound from all 500 students of TUAW washes over us. The walls are a creamy white and plastic tables and chairs are in rows up and down the hall, 4 to a table. No one even looks up as we walk in. To them, it's only two normal students. Why notice us? Still, I feel my cheeks redden as I stare fixedly at the mud on the end of my converse to hide my face. I'm going to wash this stuff off my face after breaky. I can't take the 'beauty'.

Now, I'm not one of those irritating people who says they aren't pretty when they obviously are. I know if pretty. If you ask, I'll tell you just that. But I don't really care. It's not the beauty that counts.

"Hey!" I hear a voice call to us from above the others. To the left of us is Jelly sitting alone at a table with Sylvia. Marti and I dump our backpacks onto the space in front of the two remaining spaces and walk over to the short lunch queue. Personally, I'm starving and so I grab 2 egg and bacon sandwiches. Yes, 2. I don't need to repeat the previous paragraphs again, do I? Marti (being into the whole good body thing) gets porridge. Yuck.

When we get back to our table and have sat down I ask Sylvia what class she has next.

"Urm, gimme a sec," she rummages around in her white leather rucksack and pulls out a crumbled sheet of paper with her timetable on it. "Elemental Sciences," she says. URGH. I hate Elemental Sciences. I'm not a sciencey person. Arts all the way buddy!

"Oh, lucky you!" Marti mutters. She's got Self Defence. Lucky ducky. (That was sarcastic for those of you who could not tell).

"I've got History," I sigh. Jubilation! Oh, how exciting. Joyousness is the only word I can use to describe my excitement (except for nonexistent). Let's just say that I hate school in general. Yeah, let's go with that statement.