Faith
Many hours of a mostly uneventful day faded away away, sliding Faith and the other students of Merlin into their lunch hour.
Because Faith is typically busy during Daily Lunch time, she chooses, more often than not, to have her lunch in her own computer at the front desk. Her "friends" are of the loosely defined kind— companions close enough to be called friends Without true emotional attachment, and people calling themselves friends in the hopes of becoming . . . something more.
Some days a girl is more than happy being alone and away from people. However, solitude somehow finds a way to elude those who want it. Her vibes seemed to always be unfortunately interrupted.
A moving blip of —what faith could only comprehend as a blue light catches her eye as it slowly enters the room, then picking up pace heading in her direction. She watches it move without lifting her head or moving her eyes. She just follows it along her peripheral vision with her attention. When it stopped in front of her desk where she and her crispy chicken salad sat undisturbed, she's hesitant to lift her eyes to it.
But when she does she's relieved and disappointed at the same time. Relieved to know that she wasn't losing her mind and imagining an E.T., but disappointed to be greeted by a high-ranking "officer" the student council who happens to have . . something for her.
"Is there any reason," the boy's Australian accent purrs, "why the prestigious and beautiful head of the student council chooses to consume her lunch in an empty office rather than with her friends in the cafeteria or the council's room?"
The boys accent, always seemed to bring attention to certain words by adding a slight elegance to them. Some would think him pretentious, which he would probably enjoy.
"Simon," the girl smiles, "the Head comes to eat alone, because the head prefers her alone time away from distractions. People seem to be everywhere though, and solitude? Oh, she's a mysterious and hidden vixen."
She continues to smile, tilting her head ever-so slightly to one side. Simon, clearly not sensing the tone, smiles as well. She would hate to actually admit it, but her smile begins to become real. She doesn't know what it is, maybe it's the accent but, she can't help but be. . . Charmed.
After a brief moment of silence, Simon takes a seat across from Faith, widening the girls eyes, "Have you done something differently with your hair hair?" He asked, his brows pulling together.
"No. . . Not particularly. I've done this pin up style before, it's just been a while."
This slightly tedious conversation made Faith a tad more aware of the hairs rolled into an Onyx black bun on her crown separated from the ones hanging loosely in soft curls.
Simon may not be able to pick up on hints or sense the tone, but Faith could definitely see what he's trying to do. She didn't hate it, and even though she did like his brand of attention, she could definitely do without it.
Boys are often something this girl dreads and would try to avoid, in a romantic sense, but they somehow manage to catch her off guard. She supposes that none of them notice that her mind just isn't facing that objective, that or they simply didn't care.
Simon was somehow different from the rest of the boys that relentlessly used ploys and games to pursue her. Obviously, she knew what he wanted, although he hasn't said it out loud. He seemed to want to take the slow route, trying to be a friend first instead of leaping over to the end goal. Honestly, he was growing on her. She would cut off one head and he'd slowly grow another, bearing the same pretty white smile and rosy lips, using the same soft voice.
Faith sighs and opens her mouth, now flattered, although still uninterested, "Simon . . ." But before she could begin the door swung open and a fearsome woman in a grey and navy pantsuit marched through, ushering in two guards carrying multiple students covered in — what can only be described as — slush. One of those filthy students had, of course , been her younger brother.
Fighting the urge to dramatically sigh, she swallows it, "Hello, Vice Principal Haden."
Whyatt
"The Burnt and crusty chocolate pudding will reveal the secrets that your future holds captive, young one." Whyatt grunts waving his hands over Shane's pudding bowl, "Give me your hand, child"
James looks at his best friend with a single brow raised, taunting the display before him. "You sure about that?"
"Now why would I lie to you about something as serious as your future?" Whyatt scoffs, mimicking a mysterious accent, "Trust me, my ancestors practically invented and perfected this art."
"Fine," his friend laughs, "What does it say?"
Closing his bright blue eyes and waving his hands, hopefully, over the lunch treat he focuses his mind actually trying. . . Something. Like a movie projected onto his eyelids a series of moving images flash before him—Dancing shadows and snuffed bodies of light, drowned souls and smouldering despair.
He couldn't make out what he'd seen, or actually make sense of it, bu he could understand that it wasn't good. He didn't know if it were real or not, but he knew that the pain radiating from the flaming people was real. Their suffering, their death, seemed real.
Whyatt obviously hadn't been serious about having a "special sight" but the chilling breath he exhaled into the warm atmosphere, accompanied by the buzzy feeling in his veins and the dramatic visual affects pulled his brows together and pinched his brain, siphoning a gasp from his lips.
When his troubled eyes opened, he is freed from his trance as well as the memory of it. Quickly the memory dissipated and mixed with the circulating air.
"So, how did the magick pudding reply? Am I the smartest and most charming in all the land??"
"Sorry bud, Lang's mystic emporium is suffering the consequences of an overdue light bill." Whyatt replies massaging his throbbing temples, " I've got a raging ache. Besides I don't need a crystal ball to tell me that you'll always come second to me in those departments."
"Arrogant, dweeb!!" Max delights.
"Dullards." A passing voice scoffs.
"I'll have you know, my marks are quite above the average and that isn't including the defences against dark arts I'm undertaking," whyatt retorts, pleased with himself, "of which I am a prodigy."
The students dotted around the same table turn to stare at the boy, as if he'd crossed some moral line, with their mouths open in mild confusion and stupefied.
"What?" He asks sincerely, "Hey, we're all geeks for something!"
The same voice from earlier finds its way back to the whyatt's attention, "If you really want to embrace the nerdy persona," he smirks placing his hand on Max's shoulder obviously squeezing them tightly, as well, "I can help with that."
Whyatt raised and eyebrow to the standing, random yet recognisable, sophomore, "As much as I love self-deprecating humour, I think I'll pass."
The boy, appearing to be lost in thought pauses, then breaks from it sporting a slimy grin on his face.
"I'll let you off this time. . . IF," he continued, placing his lunch tray down, stroking his hairless chin, "If you help me with midterms."
"If by 'help' you mean 'do for you' I think you should try again when the hotlines to Hell are open, Mr. Williams."
The older boy turned on his heels allowing him to walk to the other side of the table where James sat across from Whyatt.
Placing his hands on the boy's shoulders and squeezing them, he lowered his head until it hung closely beside James', "Well maybe plunger boy James here can help me," He creepily took a deep inhale James' hair and with a cheeky grin he continued, "I'm sure we could get the job done."
"Sorry, we don't lease out our workers to creeps unless they're long-standing members of our Saturday brunch club." Whyatt smiled.
"Well it's not up to you, now. . . Is it??" The older boy grinned, "It's up to our friend whom is danger dangerously close to a wicked, glorious garlic chocolate swirly."
"Why'd you use 'whom' like that..."
"Can we forget about the chocolate swirly??" James nervously laughed.
The Older jock boy obviously becoming annoyed and frustrated, began grinding his teeth, the tension visible in his clenched jaw, "Are you two dweebs going to help me or not?!"
Wyatt huffed, "I'm sorry. My professionalism won't allow it. You totally broke character and interrupted the natural flow of the improv!"
"W-wha—" the boy Zachary stammered in agitates confusion, probably burning in his throat like a sound he doesn't know how to express.
"Yeah!" Wyatt frowned, not taking any of this seriously, "You weren't supposed to know our names!!"
"What if he heard someone else say them?" James playfully and nervously pleaded.
"Nope it's good late, we're on to the next Act." Wyatt smiled coyly, "I'm the French maid and you guys are the American artists that want to paint me like. . . Well, you get it." Wyatt posed as if he was posing for a portrait in the Middle Ages.
Not knowing how to respond to the wyatt's proposal the other two just stared at him in bafflement.
"Wh-what??" Wyatt gawked.
The conversation met an unexpected and strange end as the cafeteria suddenly filled with uproar, starting several tables behind them. Many in the room began shouting and screaming as food and various other objects were being hurled across tables and soaring over heads.
The scene before Wyatt reflected apocalyptic images in his mind, only not as cataclysmic as the actual blood-drenched, horrific apocalypse.
Before Wyatt could open his mouth to speak a word, he was met with a face full of beans and pie.
"Wha—"
Blinded by the sickening mixture, Wyatt had barely any sight and could only hear what was going on around him. He could hear a deep and familiar voice appear behind him, causing every hair on his neck to stand up and his body to go on red alert. ". . .Peteeerr. . . Buddyyy. ." Wyatt smiled through the cheesy beans.
"Abandon ship!!" His body screamed at him, but at the same time his legs refused to let him sprint away. His heart picked up its pace as the voice continued talking even though he still couldn't make out what he was saying.
The boy behind Wyatt was another one of his "enemies", Pete. He'd done something to him in retaliation, something he doesn't like to talk about, or even think about without starting off with the words "It was premeditated self-defence!!!" Even then, he still doesn't recant the story too often, because it 'messes with his good-boy image'.
Wyatt couldn't help but notice the saliva he forced down his throat. Like he was in a cliche horror movie come to life, the liquid felt dry and coarse as if he was swallowing sand. It hurt, but it hurt less than if he hadn't swallowed.
Amidst the many sounds going on around them, the many screams and clamouring of trays and silverware, wyatt could still hear Pete picking up a food tray behind him.
Despite him not being able to move he dug up the courage to speak, but couldn't help but start off with a stammering glitch, "H-How ya been? How have you been healing?? How's the fam??"
Pete circled around the blind, immobilised Wyatt, "Ive been doing quite well, the stitches were worse than I imagined, but overall...."
Wyatt began to feel like someway somehow he deserved whatever he had coming, but ironically he couldn't put his finger on why. All he wanted to do was run away.
But what's taking so long?!? He wondered. He could have gotten it over 10 times by now! I could have been in Tahiti by now, sipping virgin Piñas by the beach in my wildest dreams!!
The chilling feeling in his arms faded in the extremely long time it took Pete to get on with it. As though his arms took on a will of their own, like they knew where every object on the table was without wyatt's vision, they quickly extended allowing his hands to grab an object off of the table. From the way it felt, it could have either been a lunch tray or his algebra book, he didn't have time or the sight to check.
In one swift motion, he turns on his heels to hit Pete with the food. Wyatt's legs stutter in place before allowing him to take off in the opposite direction of the hopefully disoriented boy. As he ran blindly he tried his best to remove the disgusting concoction of food caking his eyes.
When he finally cleared his vision, the first thing he saw was a tall one in a spotless black pantsuit. They would have collided seeing as Wyatt couldn't really pump his breaks, it took everything in him to start running, stopping would be just as difficult. The fight was over and flight had its time to shine. However, the woman 'kindly' assisted him when she swiftly stepped back and caught the boy by his collar as he passed landing him a spot with his back against the dirty, tiled floor.
"V.P.!!!" He shouted nervously, "Wasssuuuppp?!?"