Improve Your Shining Tail {Christian}

[PICKLE ABREY]

RJ was on a date. RJ was on a date with a really pretty girl who didn't have big giant eyes. She probably had a full chest, and was small and cute instead of awkwardly long and thin. She probably had a clean voice, instead of that dip and sway from some long ago country town. She probably didn't spend all her time baking, and she was probably perfectly perfect just like him. When Pickle had seen the update on Facebook she stared at it for a good long while while her stomach twisted into grotesque knots and while numbness and lightheadedness took over. Pickle felt like she was being sucked straight out of her body.

For once, she thought things had gone well. RJ went to the masquerade with her, he even seemed to enjoy himself and he danced with her. After that, he had been nice to her--actually, RJ was always nice to her. Only, she had thought that the masquerade had changed things. But obviously by the status update, it had changed nothing. Her shaking fingers hit the button on her moniter, and her chair scraped against the floor. Her heart was hammering, and the walls felt like they were swimming. The poor girl was in so much shock that not even baking could have helped her at this moment. The idea of making or eating anything made her want to vomit right then and there.

She needed air, fresh air or she was going to faint. Stumbling out of her dorm, Pickle grasped the railing of the stairs tightly as she made her way outside into the sunshine. Even with the warm rays hitting her pale skin, she still felt cold. A shaking had started in her shoulders, and no matter how tightly she hugged herself--the shaking wouldn't stop. Her feet carried her through the courtyard, while her mind raced with everything. Why wasn't she with RJ? Why did he act like there had been nothing special about that one night? With her mind racing a thousand miles per hour, her legs continued to mindlessly move, until the gave out, plopping her bottom right onto a bench.

Her large eyes felt dry, like she hadn't blinked. But the moment she knowingly blinked, it was all over. Her face scrunched up, and the tears burst forward. Along with the tears, every horrible thought finally surfaced in her head. It wasn't what was wrong with that night or with RJ. It was what was wrong with her. Despite all of the attempts that had been made on her to make her better, they ultimately failed. Not because they were horrible ideas, but because Pickle didn't belong. She was smart, and talented. But no matter how much she tried, no matter how much she changed--she never gave enough. She never did enough. She was still the weird girl who sought comfort in pastel colors, who always seemed to have a bit of flour in her hair, and always seemed to be staring into somebody's soul with those horrible eyes of hers.

Each failure she thought of forced another mangled sob out of her. Those failures only reminds her of the looks she received from her classmates. Whenever she tried to help, or be funny or friendly--they all stared at her like she would explode. Classmates moved away from her like she would infect them just by being within two feet of her. Pickle wasn't smelly, she wasn't disgusting. She was always neat and clean (save for the spots of flour she had occasionally), and always seemed to smell warm like baked bread and sweets. And yet...nothing she ever did seemed to make people like her better.

Andie and Addison were wonderful, but two people could not begin to balance out the rest of the "Freddies" in the world. Pickle gasped for air, but the moment she managed to suck in enough air, it only caused the sobs to come out faster. Her eyes felt swollen, and they throbbed fum the unstoppable sounds from her mouth. She hadn't even thought to look around, to make sure no one was watching. But even if they were, not a single one of them would stop to check on her. There was no way that every student in the school knew who she was, but anyone who recognized the clothes and the unkempt hair would fore sure hurry past her.

As quickly as her mind was hitting every flaw (Her eyes being too big, not having patience enough to make her hair pretty, not feeling confident in makeup,), it was just as quickly making a solution. A solution that was made in defeat. She would go back to Lousiana. No one stared at her funny there, and Mama and Papa were surely missing her. Mama had been right--the world was cruel, and she had not meant to be out in it. Stay at home in the small town, stay away from these places.

But why? Why was she so disliked for what was on the outside? What had started off with being devastated over RJ, had turned into a mixed, jumbled mess of brokenheartedness and self-loathing. Her wrists rubbed at her eyes, trying to stop the tears, but thos emassive eyes kept leaking massive tears, her nose was red, and her face splotched. Perhaps now she looked like the beast everyone assumed her to be.

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Tags: Molly / Christian
Notes: Lemme know if I should fix anything!
Words: 930
Outfit: Click meh!
Lyrics: Jimmy Eat World - In The Middle

[CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH]

Christian hated gifts. He always had. As a child, he would get the most expensive toys, and they'd be left to collect dust. He just liked people more... He liked watching them, and their reactions. He could read them. Some people were good reads, some weren't. Some were just boring, and he hated those the most. But toys and nicknacks. Booooring. His room was littered with things... Books, papers, clothes. But no posters adorn his walls, no character was on his blanket. He liked being blank. But, holidays were inevitable, and gifts were sent. His Father, Edward, had sent him a piece for Easter or... something. A pocket watch. It was ludicrous, seeing as how Christian had no interest in time nor antiques. His Father's ignorance was an annoyance if nothing else. He didn't hate the man, even if he didn't care for his company. Christian had little patience for stupidity after all. But, alas, they seemed to find him.

His game with Edith was a slow going one. His business with Millie was entertaining, but she was off at choir. Kaden could prove useful, but utterly boring. Archibald seemed to have moved, so that conquest was gone. How sad, he would have been fun. So, he'd have to hunt for fun. Oh, this school. It could be such a dreadfully boring place. Of course, through the long hall, when a plan together, it was perfection. But on the day to day... Ugh, he could just hibernate through that. The hunt lead him through the school, and eventually to the courtyard. Just as he was about to hear up, Christian heard a... well, a blubber. No make up, no sense of coordination. She didn't know how to flatter her body, even in an ironic way.

Looking around, he found the source. A frumpy, blond, girl. Not a young woman, but a girl. She looked like a stretched out six year old. Christian could stare openly, as she was concerned elsewhere. It was almost refreshing to not have to be subtle about his reading. Christian spotted it instantly. She was a rare jewel, especially here. She was innocent. Painfully so. She was pretty, but was a rough diamond. Completely uncut. Not a blank canvas as he liked to portray himself, because... well those clothes were certainly attributed to some form of personality. Sweet, and strange, and misunderstood. Unrefined, unaware of any natural beauty though it was there. Zero sex appeal, which can't serve her well with boys. Poor thing. Christian went and sat next to her, holding out his handkerchief.

"I'd tell you he's probably not worth it, but you'd argue that, so I won't. Still, you shouldn't be carrying on in such a public place. If people pick on you, you can't ever let them see you down... Imagine if I was a person of malicious intention." His eyebrows raised, voice soothing as if he knew her. Of course, he didn't. Mostly because Christian didn't associate with people he didn't see a point in associating with. "Clean yourself up quick. I'm not the only one here on a Saturday..." How strange it must be for this girl. Christian was a mixture of mature style and converse, his hair wispy and unkempt. Good looking, but his face had a quiet gravity that almost looked nurturing at the moment. "Is it really so bad.." Hell, he didn't know her name. "I'm sorry. I don't know your name... I'm Christian though."

[PICKLE ABREY]

Pickle felt the prickle of a stare, however it wasn't a large concern--not with the thoughts running through her head. Plus, it was a familiar sensation, she was used to being stared at. What she hadn't expected was the handkerchief hanging in front of her. A handkerchief of all things. The little fabric made her thing the person that approached her was a parent or a teacher, but when she lifted her tear filled eyes--she saw a young man. Well dressed, well groomed. A gentleman in the making, if he wasn't already one. And yet...he knew. It caused Pickle to stare at him for a minute before attempting to compose herself while her fingers took the handkerchief. "Thank you." She used it carefully to dab at her eyes. The soft material was a welcome comfort, even from a complete stranger.

Luckily, she knew the ettiquite of a handkerchief. Use it, hold onto it, wash it, return it nice and folded. She opened her mouth, about to ask him where she could find him in order to return it, and yet again she was caught off guard when completely different words came out of her mouth. "It's so difficult. I do everything I can, and he just runs off with...with someone else. And people pick on me all the time, but it's just...it's...." Breathe, breather, "It's finally just too much."

[/b] Again she pressed the cloth to her eyes. Her blubbering and sobbing had stopped now that she had been caught, but there was still a tremble in her hands, and the swing of her accent was thick with tears. Her hands lowered into her lap and she attempted breathe normally. Is it really so bad? Of course it was! Maybe not in the grand scheme of things; she could aknowledge that much. However, it was just so difficult when you cared about someone so impossibly much, and they looked right through you. All. The. Time.

"Christian, it's a good name." She offered a shakey smile. Perhaps...perhaps that not all people were bad. Well, of course not. Addison and Andie had proved this time and time again. Yet it was always still a bit jarring when someone went out of their way to at least act concerned for Pickle. It made her slightly hesitant, because there was always a joke coming around the corner. But there was something much older about this student. She could see the young years, adulthood had not completely altered his face. But the way he spoke and held himself showed that he was older on the inside. Wise behind those eyes of his. Readable in his concern, but nothing else jumped out about him. A good boy. One that Mama and Papa would have been happy to know that their little Pickle had made friends with.

But she could be jumping ahead. "It really is that bad. Kind of pathetic, right?" She glanced down at her hands, running her thumb over the edge of the fabric. "Everyone calls me Pickle." Much like the thin fabric, the sound of her nickname brought a comforted feeling to her. It was something special, that no one could take away. It's the one thing that truly didn't bother her when she was teased or questioned about it. She is Pickle, and always has been. Even if people might not understand. Leaving the cloth napkin in her lap, she twisted her long hair in her hands, and pulled it over her shoulder to cool down the back of her neck. When one cried, it was hard to realize how hot your body went, and now that the words of this stranger named Christian had reached her, she was starting to calm down.

If he left soon, she'd reduce herself back to tears--but probably find a different place. She cried because she was hurting; Pickle didn't typically cry for attention. But maybe there had been some of that mixed in there; the want for someone to notice, someone to care. Even though she appreciated his kindness, and the fact he wasn't telling her to get over it--she was pretty sure that no one had ever picked on him for his face before. "But it's not just him, it's everything. Everything and nothing all at the same time. Nothing that I can change anyway." Her voice sounded defeated. Her fingers curled around the cloth while she kept her eyes down, not looking into his face for too long. A habit she had learned--people were made uneasy when those massive eyes stared at them. "What's your room number? I'll wash this and give it back to you this evening." She tacked on quietly, not entirely expecting him to stick around and listen to all of her worldly problems.[/blockquote]



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Tags: Molly / Christian
Notes: Lemme know if I should fix anything!
Words: 827
Outfit: Click meh!
Lyrics: Jimmy Eat World - In The Middle

[/color]

[CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH]

Her accent clung to her mouth like honey. A Southern drawl straight from the bayou, the gumbo could be sniffed out if he had the mind to. One might think it charming, perhaps, had she not been bubbling most unattractively. Sometimes women were graceful criers, sometimes they had a sort of innocence mingled with gravity dripping from their eyes. This was not sometimes. There was far too much innocence and not enough gravity. It wasn't that she wasn't pretty- oh she was. Unconventionally, of course, which was Christian's favourite. The imperious way that Emilie's mouth thinned when she was annoyed, the calculating narrowing of Edith's black eyes. Christian rather liked this girls round mouth. It seemed to be in a permanent state of o shock, even as it quivered, and pouted, and smiled.

Oh world, discard your broken toys. Send out those you deem useless, ugly, and strange. Let them be repaired into something more powerful and dangerous than you had ever encountered before. Poetic justice. Irony. Darwinic derision. The great comedy of life.

He gave a faint smile as she complimented his name, but it faded as she gave hers. Pickle. A pickle? The vagina jokes that must come at this clueless creature, and here she sat in a state of daftness. She was a thing with so little social grace that he may well call her Eliza Doolittle for what it was worth- but no, no. She had been abused quite a bit. Behind those saccharine blue eyes, Christian knew there was a predator beneath. No one could take as much abuse as she, and be without some rage beneath her claws.

So far through her die-trod, Christian had remained silent. There was nothing he could say while she was in this state that her kinder friends have not told her. What this girl needed was a... guiding light. A mentor. Someone she could look to for answers and gain confidence to her full potential. Christian had a funny way of bringing that to people. Holding out his hand, he closed hers into a fist with his tapering fingers. "Call it a gift. I'm not much of a crier, myself." His words were gentle, far older than his actual age. Christian had always seemed to be a bit ahead of his age group though. Finally, the wibbling grew to be too much. Christian had a great tolerance for many things, but self pity was rarely one. He needed to do a preemptive strike. "Come on Chere, we're going for a walk." He called her Chere because A. He refused to call her pickle under any circumstances. And B. She was obviously from New Orleans- form the way her vowels were dragged out and her consonants lilted- and it would be a familiar pet name.

He took her gently by the arm and led her along, eyes on his phone as they went. Usually he'd draw it out a bit more, but that would be too much effort for what he could get done right now. He spoke in a conversational tone: "You know, men are funny creatures. I'm sure you're mildly aware of this, but it's far more reaching than you think. They're hunters, you see? The ones who are pathetic go for small game. Figuratively I'd say squirrels, but lets speak plainly: I mean whores." He spared her an apologetic glance before looking back to his phone. "Now, something tells me than a suitor like that would hold no interest with you, so that must mean you prefer a- forgive my posing- a big game hunter. Now, I assure you, you're not not lovely. Quite the contrary. I'm not hitting on you, only being frank. But you introducing yourself as a pickle is hardly helpful. Cute for friends, but a hunter doesn't want to hunt a pickle. They want to hunt a tigress or a lioness, or a crocodile. This way." Slipping in the girls restroom with little ado, he pocketed his phone and took her hand.

In case she was reluctant of course.

Standing her in front of the mirror, he pulled her shoulders back, and propped her to stand straight. He gave her a moment to soak in her reflection. "It is okay to be Pickle. I'm sure your friends find it charming. But for this young man you're so... twitterpatted for, be instead a Michelle. You're a woman, Chere. You are naturally equipped with wiles that I'll never claim to understand. But if you don't believe this, how will he? How will any of them? The best way to for you to show you're inner beast- Chere- is to be indifferent. To be strong. Become a creature unavailable, mysterious, allusive." He smiled at her through the mirror, letting Michelle attempt to see herself in this light.

[PICKLE ABREY]

Pickle very nearly burst into tears all over again when that pet-name escaped his lips. Chere. Cherie. The sweet names that her Papa had called her that reminded her of home, and made her miss it more than she had just a few moments ago. Should someone place a plane ticket into her hands at that moment--she wouldn't hesitate to flee back home with nothing but the clothes on her back and the shoes on her feet. The grasp on her arm should have alerted her, made her strike out or fill her with a cold fury. There had been a few times that her thin arms had been grabbed to tug her away or shove her from a room--enough times that she associated the touch with control...something she didn't like very much.

And yet, Pickle was intrigued by this somewhat stranger, and his touch was gentle. More guiding than commanding, which had been the only reason she hadn't twisted out of his grasp. Her head canted to the side, listening to him speak. He spoke eloquently, and it was nice to listen to. Smooth, clear as crystal, calculated. As though he had spent a life time practicing each syllable and each vowel and each sound perfectly so. His apologetic look caused her to raise her brows slightly. Pickle rarely uttered curses or horrible names as such---oh she thought them. Boy, did she think them. But she found that judging people she didn't know well was probably just as cruel as what people did to her, so she often did her best to not think of those words. However, emotions could be funny things. Her eyes glanced at his phone, in an attempt to see what was so important, before looking forward again to try and figure out exactly where they were going.

And that place seemed to be the girl's bathroom. She did hesitate for a moment, but the touch to her hand was something foreign. Sure enough she had held her Papa's hand, and her Mama's hand, and even on occasion Addison's hand and a few other friends. But this hand was strong. Almost like Papa's, but not quite. A hand that belonged to an older brother, someone with the best intentions. It was a comforting touch, which is the only reason that Pickle followed this boy into the girl's bathroom. Her attention on Christian diverted when he placed her in front of the mirror--because at that exact moment she felt sick.

Even when her posture corrected by his guiding hands, she still looked strange. Her bleached hair sat somewhat stringy on her shoulders--she hadn't taken the care to meticulously style it that day--or most days for that matter, and some tendrils stuck to her pink face from the tears. Qucikly, she smoothed the strands away from her face, and only ended up looking at the faucet when she caught a better look at the blotchy-faced, wide-eyed girl in the children's clothing. The boy behind her only made her feel less, somehow. Poised, clean, proper--something she thought she was. A side by side comparison was only breaking down this thought of herself she had. But his words caused her to lift her head again.

Actually, it caused her her to twist as she looked over her shoulder and up at him directly when he mentioned her actual name. Her brows furrowed over her large eyes, before slowly looking back into the mirror. It could have been a number of things. Maybe they had class together, or maybe he knew someone who knew someone. It wasn't uncommon to be able to find student records, however it was uncommon for her to go by Michelle. Even the teachers referred to her as Pickle--she had been Pickle for so long. It was difficult to suddenly become a Michelle, even though that was the name on all of her official records. However, Christian did have a point. Pickle was a child's name, a fun nickname between friends. But she couldn't go into the real world as Pickle, she'd have to let go of the childish name eventually and leave that between friends.

She wasn't able to see the Michelle in the mirror, but she was able to see that her naturally puckered lips were turned upwards at the very corner. Her boney fingers reached up to touch the pink collar on her shirt, before sliding down to the pink bow on the end of her necklace. There was a lot of things that she had to change, and it made her straightened out shoulders seem to sag just a little bit with thought. "But how do you rewrite seventeen years in an even shorter time? I wouldn't know where to begin...this is who I've been for...well, all of my life. I don't know how to change that at all." She tucked her hair behind her ear, and turned to the side slightly, looking back at Christian, rather than his reflection in the mirror. "I wouldn't know how to be mysterious if it came to me in a box of Scooby Snacks."

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Tags: Molly / Christian
Notes: Lemme know if I should fix anything!
Words: 858
Outfit: Click meh!
Lyrics: Jimmy Eat World - In The Middle