Chapter Text
High school was frankly not the best experience. It was loud, it was bright, it was overstimulating. It was nauseating, with the stench alone, much less the snarling shouts of teenagers talking. Ocean, despite her pep, was not the biggest fan of highschool. Who would be? Sure, for others, it was often complaints about the rigorous classes, or the homework, or the stress, but for Ocean? It was the people. It was how they made vulgar comments, how they cursed and spat, how wads of gum seemed to always fly and stick to ginger hair. It was when she ‘accidentally’ tripped, or a hand tugged on the collar of her uniform too hard. Surely, it was because they knew she was better than them, not because her bravado and smile hid something beneath it. No, there was nothing wrong. It was clearly jealousy. Even if that envy morphed and changed as shrill yelps and frustrated noises escaped her as she fell, as it became predatory, sadistic. No. It was jealousy. It wasn’t anything else. In fact, she considered it pitiful. They clearly just wanted to be better, and she could understand. She was the best, after all. But when anything less than an A was stamped upon her paper, she felt herself spiral and spin, downwards and around, deeper and deeper into a cacophony of sickening green. When a negative murmur was whispered behind her back, but still in earshot. Those were always painful. As if a red-hot poker had been impaled through her chest, cauterizing the wounds along the way, making her throat clench and unbidden tears well up in her eyes. She understood what it was like to be jealous. More than most. So why did this seem… different? It didn't matter. Perhaps it was different for others. So, she didn’t mention it. Not to Noel, who’s eyes narrowed suspiciously when he saw a bruise on her cheek, not to Penny, who tilted her head stiffly in unsolicited curiosity. Certainly not to Constance, not since she had promised herself, bound herself to be nicer, to be less bothersome. Ricky and Mischa were both dashed quickly, as she didn’t want the awkward empathy that Ricky would type from his communicator in that oddly robotic voice, nor did she want a testosterone-filled Mischa to demand their names.
“What happened to face?”
Mischa asks gruffly, his stilted English making the hairs on the back of Ocean’s neck raise, and she seemed about ready to grill him on grammar. Again. But the question in itself seemed to settle deeply in her gut, and silence fell upon the chatting choir members, who all turned their eyes to her, questioning and curious. Usually, Ocean would preen at the delicious attention which graced her skin, like sunlight dappled through a starved forest, but this time the sun was too burning, and quickly the warmth grew and grew into a fire. A fire which seared and sunburnt pasty white skin. A stretched smile grew even wider as she grinned in the face of five faces, each concerne- no, pitiful to a certain degree. Ricky’s mouth silently opened to say unspoken words, his eyebrows crinkled and creased. Mischa frowned deeply, the downturn of his lips setting like a marble statue. Constance looked sad, and a bit disappointed, as she wrung her hands together to the beat of a soundless tune. Noel seems the most impassioned, although the dull glimmer of his deadpan face gives him away. Penny, however, looked utterly blank, the only instance of her worry being how she clutched her precious Dolly in her hands, hugging it to her chest, or how her shoulders stiffened nearly imperceptibly. They were worried. And suddenly, the attention on her became venomous, striking and hissing, and the redhead reared her ugly head, plastic smile tainting the annoyance she exuded.
“Nothing’s wrong, guys! I just tripped!”
She crowed, her voice smothered in too much sweetness, but not enough to hide the hidden warning slipped beneath. The warning of ‘Push this, and I will strike.’ It’s a voice all of the choir members had heard before, especially on Bad Days, where Ocean is forced to come to school in stinking clothes that smell of incense and weed, of a grassy sting which is far too heady. Noel, however, is unintimidated by her threat, and only scoffs harshly, crossing thin arms across his frame before perking a perfectly piqued eyebrow.
“Liar. You’re not good at it, you know.”
The male spits back, hissing and outright, challenging the layered admonitory she had hidden. Of course. Such was the nature of their relationship. Two serpentine creatures, always fighting, always baring their fangs at each other, just to simply show that they had fangs in the first place. Ocean would have fought back, but the rest of the choir always hated their arguments, their retaliatory strikes. And Ocean was trying to be better. So, she stood silent, but her cheeks reddened harshly, and she almost puffed them out as if she was a toddler about to have a fit. But that was unprofessional, so she instead dug her fingernails into her palm, letting half crescents implant themselves into her flesh.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. It was an accident. They just needed to let it out somewhere.”
She explained, although her reasoning was paltry, a fragile house of cards which was easily and quickly blown down by a bull-like snort from Mischa, by the way Ricky’s eyes darkened and how Penny’s hands clutched Dolly closer, as if she was trying to give Ocean a hug through the porcelain plaything.
“They?”
Constance piped up, shooting a slight look at Noel, as if to tell him that she could handle her best friend without her exploding. He only rolled his eyes, and his hands flew up in surrender before he dramatically huffed out a sigh. Ocean didn’t like the silent communication, but she was caught in her own words, something she couldn’t go back on, not unless she wanted to invalidate her reason. That would prove Noel right. It would prove she was a liar. She wasn’t! No, she was just… bending the truth so they wouldn’t look at her like that. But they still did, and it irritated her to no end, as if a fly was buzzing to and fro near her head. She couldn’t deal with this. She should just leave now. But, before she was able to turn and leave through the music room’s door, a hand shot out, strong and warm, and held onto her own. Penny had stepped forward, her doll moved safely to her other hand as she gripped Ocean, not too tightly, but enough to prevent her from tugging herself away.
“Someone did this to you.”
Penny’s airy, ghostlike voice proclaimed matter of factly. A statement which she knew was true. A statement that Constance had been too meek to voice. But it was a fact, and it kickstarted the choir into action. First, Noel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he was disappointed that she tried to slip out of the situation. Then, Ricky, who began to furiously type in his communicator, clearly about to spew some less than appropriate language, which streamed out of his robotic voice in a long winded stream. Penny still clung to her hand, and her calloused fingers began to rub against her palm, to convince it to unclench and relax. Constance whimpered lightly to herself, and turned to the wall where the first aid kit was, presumably to check her for other injuries. Mischa looked incandescent, an even longer string of Ukrainian curses spilling from his lips. This is what Ocean didn’t want. But even she could not stop them, not as Noel motioned for her to sit in a chair, when Constance began to flutter around her, not as her hand relaxed against her will against the soft, delicate stroking.
“Who.”
Snarled Mischa, with an affirming nod from Ricky. The redhead only cringed, and pursed her lips as Constance began to look her over, gentle hands tilting her chin ever-so-slightly. At first, she tried to jolt away, but the ginger couldn't bring herself to truly pull away from the warm digits which prodded at her jawline. The bruise there stung, which in turn caused a flinch, but she nonetheless tilted her head into her friend's palm, ignoring the fact that her worried best friend proceeded to gasp and gawk at the other injuries she had hidden with makeup, or the gash which she had been covering on her forearm with a bandage clumsily made from hemp. The happiest girl in town then began to pull out real, actual bandages from the medical kit, along with disinfectant and some arnica, which she rubbed tenderly into Ocean’s cheek. Sure, she didn't say that she appreciated it, but no one could deny how her head seemed to chase the other's fingers as she pulled away, or how a relaxed sigh escaped her mouth.
“David. Joshua. Heather. Sherry.”
She murmured, the words grating harshly through her throat as she spoke. She didn’t want to tell Mischa, but her voice itself betrayed her, and had come croaking out of her mouth when she for once bid it silent. Mischa only nodded, and with that, he turned to Ricky, who’s face seemed to alight in a terrifying, evil grin, which was strange to see on what Ocean considered to be a sweet, innocent boy. She quickly shook that thought from her head, though, She was trying to infantilize him less. He could curse. And clearly, he could get righteously angry. Constance only continued with her treatment, murmuring words of comfort as she cleaned the angry cut, and even Noel gave her an awkward, stiff pat as she hissed with pain. He was trying. It helped, although she didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t know what Mischa and Ricky were planning, as he had muted his speech in favor of typing, presumably for her comfort, but the group who had become oddly enamored with hitting her, with tripping her, with laughing at her squeaks of surprise and pain were certainly about to discover the rage of the St. Cassian Chamber Choir. And although Penny was slight and skinny, there was a hidden muscle to her, as evident in her firm grip. She was almost as strong as the Ukrainian. And once she finished comforting Ocean, she would join in on the planning. They would have hell to pay. And maybe that made the redhead feel the green which sickened her chest and choked her throat lift a little, because they all cared. They cared. About her. She could see it, plain as day. No denying could stop the choir’s tirade, whether it be of comfort, or anger, or both. Maybe next time, she would tell them earlier.
“Thanks.”
Ocean whispered, almost to herself as the St. Cassian Chamber Choir bustled along, seemingly preparing for war on the poor souls who she had named. Penny nodded in reply. Constance, finally done patching her up, grasped her in a warm, burning hug, and Noel grinned smugly.
“Anytime, girl, anytime.”