Elizabeth's pov
"Ay, bitch, get up." Atlas crooned as he kicked open my door with little to no mercy. I let out a groan as he and Mark both entered the greasy domain that was my room. Clothes strewn everywhere, plates of half-eaten food laying about. It was a true trash heap. God, I fucking hate it here. I'm tired. I really couldn't care less about our sensei's weird test of legitimacy. If they want to send me back to the academy, let them. "You're late. By like, two hours at this point. It's time to get off your ass and get ready."
That caught my attention somewhat. It was enough to make me roll over and squint at them, at least. Briefly, I heard Nev hit his head on the doorframe two times before he finally remembered he had to duck. When he did, he looked rather amazing, as though he hadn't ever thought of it before. I gave yet another groan, closing my eyes again and trying to hold in my tears as my blankets were ripped off of me. Who though me being a ninja was a good idea in the first place? It's not like I can really use chakra or anything.
"Ugh, why?" I finally allowed myself to look at their traitorous faces. Their expressions lacked remorse of any kind, as though their punishment were anything less than cruel and unusual. I can't believe the audacity. In my own home! I am a true believer in the 'I wake up when I wake up' method. Things will usually work out just fine! Was I almost kicked out of the academy twenty-seven times for being late? Absolutely! But the fact of the matter is that Iruku-sensei is a soft hearted pussy who didn't have it in him to boot my orphaned ass out. So you see? It all worked out.
"Because you're fucking late, dumbass." Mark shrugged as though it were that simple. Why're they calling me so many names this morning? Is this profanity really necessary? I can't believe I fraternize with such vulgar individuals. Oh the lows I've dropped to just to survive in this awful, horrible world. Oh well, I guess. It iz what it iz, as they say in the ancient lexicon of whatever the fuck my magic book is. Or something. Truth is, I don't actually know.
Magic is a fickle thing, you see. There are parts of that book I still can't open and that I still can't read, which isn't very cash money if you ask me. Again, what do I know? Clearly not a lot if I can't explain why it won't open all the way. Some pages are blank, others are stuck together in chunks, and a majority are in a language I can only somewhat discern. And by somewhat I mean not at all. What do I look like? A multilingual individual? I could never be that smart!
"Alright, alright; we don't have time for this. Nev, you go get her clothes. Mark, you and I are on hair duty." Atlas instructed with poise, tossing mark a wide-toothed comb and a bottle of whatever curly shit they put in my hair to make it less poofy. I don't ask questions. We don't question what's in our flu vaccines every year, I don't question what they do to make my hair not look like a complete bird's nests. Life is like that. It comes, it goes, and it fucks shit up. And I uh... stand by that. Whatever that means. It's too early for me to actually know what's happening.
"O-Okay." Nev nodded before turning on his hooves and scurrying out of the room so he could get to the washing machine. I opened my mouth to tell him he could just get my clothes out of my dresser but stopped myself. It would only upset him. You see, Nev operates on a different plane of thought. Do I know what goes through his head on a daily basis? No. The guy is a fucking nutjob and I have no idea how his brain works. However, I acknowledge that there are some things you just don't fuck with. And serial killer deer-taurs are on that list.
Mark and Atlas both plopped down on the bed behind my sleepy self as I sat myself up. They started spraying shit and putting weird oils in the mess I call my hair. I didn't even try looking back. Last time I did I got hair-sprayed directly in the eyes and was blind for the following eight hours. It's a miracle my locks are as healthy as they are considering the weird concoction they're drenched in every morning.
Before Mark and Atlas got here, my hair was a goddamn mess. Poofy and frizzy, matted and tangled-- it was a catastrophe. Mark was the first one to join me. After I coaxed him from his shell and earned some trust, he didn't hesitate to take care of me, or force me to take care of myself. Even if it was against my will. Hence the current situation in which I am being forced from my bed and made to look presentable without giving consent. The only reason I'm not struggling is because I don't want them to make Nev sit on me again. I'm pretty sure I almost cracked a rib or six.
Whilst they wrangled out that horror, I worked on my daily routine of popping all my joints without moving my head too much. It's way easier than it sounds: trust me. Sort of like robot dancing if you know what I mean. It's an unnecessary ritual I force myself to participate in every morning. It doesn't particularly loosen me up or make me feel any better. It's just one of those things I must do simply because. It's become a thing now. Call me DJ Snap, Crackle, Pop.
"Neck." I muttered. The pair behind me stopped their fussing long enough for me to pop my neck before resuming. I simply let out a tired yawn and rubbed at my eyes. Crusty motherfuckers, honestly. None of us so much as flinched when Nev came barreling in with my clothing in tow, practically throwing them at me. He had charged in here as though hell were on his heels. I'm pretty sure he's schizophrenic, so who knows, maybe it was. We don't ask questions. It will only agitate and upset him, and I really don't want to hear about anymore people mysteriously disappearing in the woods behind my house.
I blinked lazily as the clothing hit me square in the chest, falling into my lap with a plop. If nothing else, at least Nev has stellar fashion sense. That's one thing I've got to give the guy. He has me looking like a rustic runway model seven days of the fucking week out this bitch. Honestly, I couldn't pull any of this off without him.
"Good timing." I noted as Mark and Atlas finished wrestling my fiery hair into a bun. I wish they'd let me shave it. Like, buzzed down to the scalp. I'd be a fucking badass! They simply won't allow it, though. Something about morals and how it took me so long to grow out, I shouldn't throw it all down the drain. Every time the topic comes up I just stare at them like a dead fish until they shut up.
I wondered why I was bothering getting ready. I was supposed to meet the team, what, almost two hours ago? I suppose our mysterious masked teacher was late yesterday, so it's worth it to assume the same thing is going to occur now. Bummer. Guess I may actually make it. Sucks to suck, I guess. Rest in peace to my poor classmates who have probably been sitting there this entire time like the good little sheep they are. Fuck the system. We're rebelling.
I was shoved off my bed and towards the bathroom where I cleaned myself up with a shower. Had to stick all my hair in a cap. Something about how washing it every day is going to mess up my curl pattern? I don't speak French, so I don't know what the fuck that means. It's whatever. We sing, we dance, and we fuck shit up in the mosh pit. Heavy metal style. No I don't know what I'm saying, and no I don't care. I go with the flow and wherever that takes me is obviously where I'm going to end up.
As I finished drying myself off, my arm caught on fire. I stared at it. The fire seemed to stare back. I blinked a bit. Am I actually on fire right now? Because I think I'm actually on fire right now.
Huh.
~~~~~~~~~
"Idiot! That's not how you make fucking pancakes." Mark hissed, narrowing his golden eyes at Atlas in a manner that was near accusing. I wasn't sure what I'd just walked in on. Who had let Atlas cook in the first place? We all knew the only real talents he had were basket weaving and fucking things up. He'd probably forced his way into Mark's process again. I wasn't going to ask questions. The answers Id surely get would be less than satisfactory and probably wouldn't make all that much sense.
"Well so-rry then! I know I suck at cooking, alright?! Jesus!" Atlas burst out, looking extremely scandalized. He dropped the wooden spoon he'd been using to stir the boiling pancake batter in the pan. Yes, to stir. Sometimes I wonder where Atlas came from. There are simply some things he does that don't make sense. Like he's an otherworldly being trying really hard to blend in with humans, but he just missed the memo on some of the really simple things. It's both amusing and concerning. Is it brain damage?
"You guys alright in here?" I questioned, walking into the kitchen. I finally felt awake for the first time this morning. Pretty stunning, I know. Too bad I smell like a middle-aged smoker who takes out a pack and a half a day. The arm on fire thing truly hadn't been in the cards. I have spontaneously caught aflame before, so I wasn't super duper surprised about that fact. It's just not a super common thing. I guess this just proves how hot I am. Universe just can't handle me, so it sets me on fire. Only to find out that I, apparently, am hotter than even that. I wonder if I can put that on me resume.
I am, in fact, a bad bitch. This is a certification that I earned myself through hours of rigorous hard work. The blood, sweat, and tears I've shed slaving away are proof that I'm worthy of this title. My arms? Fucking muscular. My thighs? Could crush a watermelon! If the Uchiha clan hadn't all been murdered, they'd arrest me based on how hard I pop off alone. And probably for the several other illegal things I do on a regular basis, but we won't focus on those. If they don't have proof, I'm not a felon.
"This idiot can't cook." Mark answered bluntly, drawing me from internal dialogue.
"That hurts, Mark. That hurts right here." Atlas sniffled, moving his hand over his heart. I snorted a bit. Yeah, as though he actually has one anymore.
"Pancakes are nice." Nev said, not actually knowing what the hell was going on or what he was doing with his life at the moment. You see, that there is relatable content. I have no fucking clue what's going on at any given time, or what my future holds. Being a ninja was like, a vague thing that the Hokage sort of forced me into, but you know. Child soldiers and such. We really and truly love to see it. Besides the point-- at this rate, I could end up a drug dealer! I mean, I'm already over two hours late to this little meeting of ours so who's to say I'm even gonna make it in the ninja world.
"We know, Nev. We know." I assured in a soft tone, as to not startle the awkward deertaur. Nev smiled in an almost proud manner, clearly feeling very accomplished. I just shrugged and turned back to Mark, who had taken over the stove and was cooking like the pro he is. I wish I could do that. Potion making is absolutely my forte. Slay at that. Cooking, on the other hand... well, I'd be lucky not to severely char an egg. Something about it just doesn't click in my pea-sized little brain. How does one convert raw material into something edible? Don't ask me-- I wouldn't know.
"You know, every morning Atlas tries to cook, and every morning Mark ends up doing that shit anyway." I noted, beginning to make us all coffee. Well, barring Nev. He didn't do well on caffeine. Like, at all. God, there were so many bodies that day. It was a pain in the ass. I'll just have to make him hot chocolate, as one does, to help him feel included. That was he won't panic and chug the entire remainder of the pot and go on another killing spree.
"You tell us this every morning." Mark grumbled irritably, flipping the pancake. It was literally perfect. I stared in wonder. How does he do it? How is this even possible? So many questions and no answers. The variables are out of this world and I don't know what to do! I'm ceasing function. I can feel my limbs shutting down. What is the science behind the pancake? How does he know how long to cook it before flipping it in order to make it perfect? Maybe it's the edges, or the smell. Is it the consistency of the remaining uncooked batter? The amount of jiggling on top?! I want to know!
"Are you okay?" Atlas questioned me hesitantly as I gazed off into the distance, squinting to violently my eyes were almost shut. Nev cocked his head. I turned to look at him.
"No." I sighed. The coffee maker dinged. "But then again, when am I ever?"