Introduction-- Enter Overdramatic Teenager. Note: This story is about a rich brat. She's a little bit of a slut... ^^; So, PG-13. Also, y'know, don't own any rl references. }*{ Brittany Princesca rolled her eyes at her screen and giggled at the not-even humorous email she had just opened. Her irritatingly flawless, sparkly pink manicured hand was placed delicately over her mouth to hide her also perfect teeth as she resisted ungirlish chuckles. A single gorgeously done finger came down onto the sleek screen of her newest toy, the newest iPod touch model. She smiled slinkily and began to type a not-so witty reply before she dropped the iPod in horror. Her hand flew up again, this time covering her raw shock and horror. Her cursor, the blinking blue light, was gone. "What... I don't..." She squeaked. The dramatic blonde was overcome by a fresh wave of hysteria, panic sending her in a frenzy to her phone. She tapped out a quick text, outlining her predicament and only slightly exaggerating. Sending it to her gorgeous, popular boyfriend, she sat back and waited. Thirty seconds passed, and hysteria peaked and crested. She was then in a trance of extreme fear, gaze darting up at every second. Five seconds afterwards, she was scrambling to her phone to see if her boyfriend, Aiden, had responded. When she saw that she hadn't, her expression of fear quickly turned to a hybrid of a scowl and a pout, a very sulky expression. Boyfriends were supposed to respond to their girlfriend's texts in a maximum of thirty seconds, in Brittany's opinion. Even twenty-five was pushing it. She scowled again, but quickly resumed what she thought to be an adorable pout. Forty-five seconds, and Brittany became extremely pissed off. She still patiently waited for his text, a (fake) cute pout still plastered onto her face. A minute, and she was seething with fury. Just as she was about to slam the phone down, dial his number, and actually talk to him, she felt the vibration of her phone, alerting her to a new text message. She smiled. She had him hook, line, and sinker, and the school's golden boy made for a damn good connection. She glanced at the screen of her phone, and slowly both her anger and joy melted away. The only thing she could feel was hatred. The text message came from the smartest girl in Brittany's grade, and possibly even the school. Brittany frowned. What did she want? It dawned upon her. The previous week, she and Aiden had threatened to shove Ms. Nerdy Natalia into the pool, along with her homework and textbooks, if she didn't do Aiden, Brittany, and a few other thugs' homework. The text read, "Hi Bratney, your homework is finished and Aiden is picking it up for you. Have a most delightful day. Cheers, Brat!" Fake joy and sarcasm dripped from every letter of the text message, fake joy and sarcasm that Brittany was totally oblivious to. Brittany still didn't know why Aiden wasn't responding to her. She smoldered slowly, and began to vent her anger on a fluffy pillow. Afterwards, she furiously sent him several panicky texts, exaggerating again. The last read, "Please hel-" And nothing more. Hopefully, Aiden would think her to be dying. She sighed, and smiled in a dreamlike state, fantasizing about being rescued by her prince charming. Her wandering mind snapped back to attention. Aiden. She texted him again, enraged. He sent her one reply. One short reply, barely even twenty words! Or maybe fifteen, Brittany thought as she suspiciously eyed the word count. She didn't trust numbers, she couldn't count to eleven. Her maid usually did all the counting for her. Lounging on her plush white couch, Brittany slowly read the text. "Sry hun cant rite now dealing wit hax0rs on vid bbl ily" Brittany's feeble mind slowly picked through the text, deciphering the sloppily thrown together abbreviations and reassembling it into something even she could understand. From what she understood, he was saying no. And that infuriated her. Pacing back and forth, throwing her phone back onto the feathery couch cushions, she decided what to do. She would save her cursor herself. What did one do to save their cursor...? Brittany mused as she meandered through her closet (it happened to be the size of a large master bedroom). Oh, that was right. When you rescued something, you took things to hit people with. Frowning, Brittany scoured her closet for weapons. As she scrounged around, she came up with a single vacant coat hanger and an unmatched, teal, extremely large stiletto. "No... I need better weapons. Weapons with... What are they called... Oh, yes, blades!" Brittany muttered to herself. Smiling triumphantly, she tucked a fake I.D. and a few thousand dollars in hundred dollar bills into her hand. She wondered to herself what one wore to go weapons shopping. More importantly, how did one seduce a weapons store owner? Her eyes turned to a long shelf full of various wallets. What kind of wallet did you take to a weapons store?
Chapter One-- Of Skimpy Dresses and Makeup }*{ Brittany rifled through her rack of dresses, frowning. She was pleased with her choice of Gucci wallet, but... She had already worn all of her Gwen Stefani dresses once! She dove back into the sea of clothes hangers. When she came back up for air, she held a small, black, and lacy Christian Dior dress [Apologies. I don't know clothes.] in one hand and a skimpy blue cocktail dress in the other. She scrutinized each piece of small, tight clothing. She ran her fingernails against the fabric, pulled at the straps to see if they adjusted, and ended up ripping the black dress. She ended up wearing the blue dress, claiming the other to be, "of unsuperior quality." She sniffed. Somewhere in her clouded mind, a small, puzzled voice wondered if it had something to do with Brittany's long, fake nails snagging on the fabric. Brittany ignored the voice and continued smoothing out the blue dress, forgetting that once she moved again it would wrinkle. After the smooth, blue-green fabric reached an 'acceptable' amount of creases, Brittany took a single step. The brat then shrieked in disgust. "Ohmigosh! It, like, got a line in it! When I took a step! How is that, like, even possible?" Her shrieking brought her maid into her closet, saying, "Let me help, miss—" "NO! Get out, get out! I look horrible! This dress has a line in it!" Sighing, and trying not to roll her eyes, the maid attempted to explain to the brat what folds in fabric were. After an hour of explaining, the Brat still refused to take another step. Giving up, the maid uttered the only line she had left, a type of last resort. "Creases are the new in, Miss." Instantly the dumb blonde perked up. "Really? Ohmigosh!" Silently, the maid escaped the closet in which Brittany was obsessing over every little crease. Her cries could be heard from outside of the closet. "Ohmigosh, I have another one! I have, like, ten! And when I walk, I get another one!" After a while, the maid tuned her out. Approximately twenty-five minutes of idiotic obsessions over creases later, Brittany began to search her piles of shoes. She practically swam through the mountains of heels, and the occasional pair of sandals. After a few worrisome, silent minutes, the maid (who was named Aubrey, in case you were wondering) peeked into the closet. Brittany was sitting in a pile of shoes about four feet high, sorting through them. Sorting wasn't exactly the word for it. She was throwing the shoes that she 'couldn't wear with her precious new dress' across the closet. Aubrey winced. She'd be the one cleaning up the closet and repairing the several new dents in the purple and pink walls. Who painted their closets, anyways? Brittany was on the brink of a tantrum. Aubrey rushed to help, knowing she'd be fired if Brittany had another. "Miss, what about—" Almost calmly, the brat slapped Aubrey. "You have no sense of style." Aubrey wondered what was going on with Brittany— she wasn't nearly that nice. "Yes, miss." Aubrey withdrew from the bedroom sized closet. Brittany continued to throw shoes every which way. Hundreds of dents in the walls later, she came up with a single pair of black heels. They were, of course, Dior, nearly every piece of clothing she owned was. It took her a total of about fifteen minutes to strap on the heels that made her almost bump her head on the not-so low ceiling. Outfit picked out, the brat began to do her shiny blonde hair. The entire routine was a painfully long forty-five minutes. Painful for anyone, except… You guessed it. The brat. Brittany emerged from the closet/dressing room without makeup on. "Miss, your make-" "I'M NOT WEARING MAKEUP?!" In a frenzy, Brittany flew back into the closet, slamming the door. She brushed her hair again, for no purpose other than to stroke her own ego, and began applying her makeup. For the fun of it, Aubrey actually timed Brittany while she caked her face in makeup. Exactly twenty-one minutes, fifty-eight seconds, and about a thousandth of a second later, the Brat emerged, face now completely covered with a disgustingly thick layer of makeup. Her eyelashes looked to be about the length of her heels, and her lips were an oddly bloody shade of red. Aubrey watched as the result of around three hours and ten minute's worth of work strutted out her bedroom door. Shaking her head, Aubrey began to clean up Brittany's mess.
Chapter Two, Part One-- Cafés, are, like, so in right now. A note from the mysteriously missing Candi: Hi. A note from the mysteriously quiet Para: Hi. Another note, although you can clearly see Choco's writing style here… SHE DIDN'T DO ALL THE WORK. In fact, I wrote the skeleton of the chapter, had stuff to do; Choco got anger face at me and continued the chapter adding her writing style. Enjoy… }*{ "All the girls are going LOVE this!" Brittany squealed, she was excited by her ever increasing amount of creases, to the point where strangers on the street were giving her obnoxious squealing odd looks. "And Sheila is gonna be excited, and Becky will almost faint with shock." Brittany whispered to herself, imagining all the great things that will now happen, "… And then Aiden will say I look sexy." She paused. Someone across the road from her swore that they could feel the hatred in those few moments of silence "Aiden." She growled. Her phone had not buzzed with the exciting ring of a text for half of the day. She was about to throw a miniature tantrum. 'NO!' She thought, 'Stress gives you white hairs and wrinkles, I must try kitten therapy.' Thoughts of cute baby cats drifting through her head, Brittany's rage was ebbing away quickly. Even in her kitten-induced gaze, a sleepy thought arose. It would be back, it would be explosive, and she was going to throw a tantrum no matter who tried to stop it. ~•~ "I need a place to think. I, like, can't go more than a day without planning shopping, and my outfits, and my dates with Aiden!" Brittany muttered to herself as she strolled down yet another random street. She enjoyed strutting down chaotic roads, to show off her outfit and other things. She flashed a glance down the road. Merry little shops and a handful of cafés sprinkled the sides of the road, with the exception of a shop clothed in black and purple. "Oh. My. Gosh!" Brittany squealed yet again, a shrill, piercing sounds that likely shattered the eardrums of all passersby. "I, like, love that color scheme!" A sign hung above the shop's doorway. It was a small, white sign, 'Le Café de L'Amour Sombre' written in an elegant black scrawl that Brittany barely recognized as cursive. After a few minutes of looking confusedly at the sign, she managed to make out the letters. "What's that supposed to mean?" oBrittany said under her breath to herself as she meandered slowly into the café. "Is it German? I know German. Hola!" The interio was an almost dementedly menacing one- although some of the posters that lined the walls were of smiling coffee bean farmers and of cups coffee, the others included black love hearts framed in silver and dark teardrops. Brittany strolled up to the counter, completely oblivious to the fact that the seats were the heads of dragons, glaring red eyes staring mindlessly into the buttocks of those sitting on them. Brittany was lost in the chaotic world of her texts. Her current five contacts were named Petunia, Riley, Veronica, Delaney, and Adriana- or something. She switched bratty friends every few days. "lol, wnt 2 meet up sum tim? jst got creases. Lol" Brittany's glittery fingernail rapped against the screen of her phone. Almost instantly her phone buzzed in response. "creases? lol, cum c my nw shoos." The response was from Veronica. The brat looked up just before she collided head on with the counter. Brittany was confronted by a large woman, with greasy hair was tied up with bun and a mole just underneath her chin that jutted out awkwardly at an angle. On her gothic black uniform there was a miniscule name tag with even smaller letters that Brittany picked out to say, "Café de l'amour sombre. Hello. My name is Megan." "Would you like something hun?" Megan said in a monotone. Brittany looked at the large chalkboard behind Megan. Ignoring the several drops of what appeared to be blood, she read through the menu. She made it through a few items' names before getting bored. Dark Coffee, Cappuccino of Love, Demon's Tea, Devil's Food Cake, and Heartache Cake. After a pause, Brittany tapped the pitch black countertop with a sparkling nail. “Food makes people fat, like you. Give me a frappuccino with a triple serving of vanilla creamer, whipped cream, and caramel." Megan raised an eyebrow and glared at Brittany for a few seconds, who was picking at her nail polish with pursed lips. After two more, Brittany looked up. "Well? Move it, hag." A single blood red fingernail rose, punched in a few numbers, and fell back to its place on the black countertop. Making a face, Brittany handed her a fifty. "That's enough right? Five dollars?" Megan nodded slowly and served her her frappuccino. "Have a nice day." Brittany sniffed, and made her way to a seat. After a few sips, she wrinkled her nose and pulled out her phone. A handful of texts later, she looked up and straight into the eyes of someone who was obviously a god. A French god... "Hey, you." She noted that his flirting skills were a bit off, but his voice was just oh so sexy... She bit her glossed lip and flashed him a wink. "Hey. What brings you here?" She used the time it took for him to formulate a response to drool over his muscles and somewhat formal suit. His eyes were a deep chocolatey brown a few shades darker than his hair, and he had a moustache that, sadly, did not curl at the edges. Nevertheless, he was gorgeous. Oh so very gorgeous. -- Oh yeah, this was split into two parts cause I'm lazy.
Chapter Two, Part Two-- Do You Know The Mustache Man? Note from yours truly: Do you know the mustache man, the mustache man, the mustache man. Do you know the mustache man, who lives on RANDOM FRENCH DUDES DON'T REALLY SMELL LIKE CUPCAKES, BE WARNED lane! Uhm... Yeah. Read at your own risk? Contains an overdose of vanilla cupcake scented candles. >.< Oh, and I WROTE THIS ONE. ALONE. COUGH COUGH COUGH. Yeah, I lied to Para and said he could post this one. Sorry! }*{ Brittany gasped for air like a fish out of water. Her heart fluttered dramatically as he leaned in closer, whispering in her ear. "Do I need a reason to come see a beautiful blonde?" The eavesdropping employee, Megan, let out a gigantic coughing fit. The god glanced behind him before turning back around. Brittany heard nothing but the coughing. Between Megan's hacking coughs, the god heard something like, "Blonde means stupid, you dumb ****. Flirt better if you actually want the girl." He didn't need her advice. He smiled inwardly. The girl across from him was already falling at his feet, drowning in a puddle of her own saliva. She smiled a lazy smile. "So." "Sooooo." He echoed, smiling that gorgeous smile that he knew got the girls. Brittany smiled back. She sipped her frappé, which she had been ignoring for the last fifteen minutes as she drooled. "Name and number?" "You mean name, rank, and serial number?" Brittany looked confused, but let out a fake laugh. Okay, so she really was stupid. He had been right to call her blonde. Megan was resisting a humongous chuckle as Brittany laughed her shallow, artificial laugh. The god wondered if she had ever had surgery on her vocal cords to make them sound even blonder than normal as she yammered on. Eventually, she ran out of breath. She blinked at him expectantly. ****, he thought to himself. He had no clue what to do. "I'm sorry," he breathed into her ear. "What did you say again? I got lost of the labyrinth of your eyes." She looked confused again. Damn, this girl was stupid. She didn't know what labyrinth meant? But then she smiled a horrible attempt at a mysterious smile, and told him again. "... And so I said, that dress makes you look so nerdy." Brittany wrinkled her nose. "Wouldn't that kind of dress make someone look nerdy?" Actually, the god, who had revealed his identity as Ethan, was a nerd himself. In fact, he coded part of the iOS 5 email app. He kept it to himself as he replied, "I totally agree. A skirt that goes to the knee? Uber nerdy." Ugh, he thought. I solemnly swear that I will never talk this way again. "Yeah, see! I told Natalia, but nooooooo, she's all, I'm not a slut like you! Am I a slut?" Yes, Ethan spoke under his breath before brightly brushing off Natalia's remark. Poor Natalia, he mused. She sounds quite nice. Ethan suddenly caught Brittany leaning into him. "Mmmm," she giggled. "You smell like cupcakes!" She's drunk. That was the first thing that came to mind. He shot a glance at Megan, who blinked innocently. Aw, crap... Ethan flicked a gaze in either direction, and ran off, leaving the girl clawing at his vest screaming, "NO! CUPCAKE MAN! DON'T LEAVE ME! PLEASE!" He made it four steps away from the door before she clawed him down. "STAY, MUSTACHE MAN!" She growled and knocked him over. She tried, at least. She ended up shoving into him uselessly and pulling a button out of his suit. "Mustache man, why! Whyyyy?" She sobbed into his jacket. Ethan glared at Megan. She looked up at him, still wearing an air of innocence as she slowly stirred a cup of coffee. He could detect amusement in her eyes. Damn it, he thought, dragging Brittany across the floor while trying to pull her off. How did I not notice she was drunk? Maybe because sober her is stupid and flirtatious too, his thoughts chimed before he could stop them. "Why do you smell like cupcakes, mustache man?" Brittany giggled uncontrollably again. Slowly, Ethan composed an answer. "... Candles?" "Ooh, candles!" Brittany briefly removed her paw from his jacket to clap giddily, but clamped back on as she realized he was backing away. "I like candles!" She then proceeded to vomit all over the floor (Megan shouted something unintelligible about "her precious, expensive tile) and to pass out in a puddle of what used to be icing. Ethan slowly edged around the pile of vomit and left. "Megan? I have some coding to do, but can you, uh, clean?" It was Megan's turn to glare. Ethan waved cheekily and disappeared out the door.
Chapter Three-- Daydreams and Lethal Weapons A note from Candi: Well-- recognize me now? There's some Aiden/Aidan inconsistency. :/ Sorry about that. This is unedited. ~•~ A very, very dazed Brittany Princesca stumbled out of the cafe, streaky blonde hair flowing behind her. With a wince, she put a palm to her forehead in an attempt to soothe her pounding hangover of sorts- she hadn't a clue what had occurred in the last few hours, only remembering a French guy. Her attempt failed, of course, as she ended up facepalming, giving up, and screeching with the volume of a hyena hyped up on an overdose of caffeine, among other things. Ignoring the pounding of her head, enhanced by the cause of the red palm mark on her forehead, Brittany staggered forward, only to stumble oh so gracefully and fall flat on her face. She flinched at the audible crack of a breaking stiletto. Too lazy to get up, garish lipstick smeared on the frosty ground, Brittany just looked around, trying to identify her surroundings and failing miserably. She was behind a purple and black striped store, something her muddled mind recalled to be a café. Recognition jolted through her foggy head almost immediately, and she sprang back up. Ethan, his name was. Brittany let out a sigh, remembering the French guy's absolute gorgeousness. Unaware of the fact that she was walking, she practically floated down the street, daydreaming about his eyes. And his disappointing, yet sexy mustache... She stopped abruptly in the middle of the road, realizing that she was standing in front of a trucker. In the middle of the road. With one broken high heel. She decided to wave frantically, hoping for a ride. "Hello!" She squealed. The truck driver glared at her, with no intentions of running over her and losing his job. Nonetheless, he didn't want to let her pass him. He settled for a disgusted expression. She crossed her arms, and an expression she found an attractive pout settled on her face. Still, the trucker glared. "Geez," she huffed. "No need to be so rude!" With a flip of her blonde locks, she strutted as best as she could with one broken heel off of the highway. The trucker just let out an exasperated sigh, muttered a few curses in the oblivious blonde's direction, and drove onwards, leaving Brittany at the side of the road with no clue where she was. "Well, time to text Aiden to demand he come pick me up!" ~•~ "Yes, of course I know where I am." A hesitant pause. "Yes, I'm, uh, at the road. With the trees, and the sign. Of course I can read what it says, there are..." Brittany squinted at the gigantic sign in front of her face, attempting to count the number of words on the sign. "Eleven words!" On the other end of the line, Aidan sighed affectionately. "Are there more that you're not telling me about?" Brat bristled indignantly. "No! There are eleven exactly!" She trailed a flawlessly manicured finger down the sign, counting the words in her head before giving up at seven. "Alright, honeybunch. I'll need you to actually read the sign for me, now." Aiden murmured absentmindedly into his phone whilst pwning noobs at CoD. "Well, ah, um." Brittany stammered at random before hanging up with a frustrated sigh. She eyed her contact list suspiciously. Perhaps there was someone there... Her gaze landed upon Ethan's number, obtained by only mildly suspicious behaviors. With a laugh resembling a cackle, she debated only briefly on whether to call him before hitting the button. Within minutes, she was back at the shopping center she knew so well. Ethan disappeared before she could wave (and sob) goodbye melodramatically. Settling for a melodramatic sigh, Brittany turned back to the shopping center at hand. She strolled through the streets leisurely, beginning to become used to her snapped heel. The precious remnants of the heel remained in her bag, but she managed to walk while missing at least half of her heel- it was miraculous. She skimmed the store names, searching for any store at all that would seem to contain weapons. Unfortunately for her, there seemed to be none, only the boutiques she frequently visited and the occasional makeup store. Frustrated with the results of her search, Brittany spun around with a sigh and flick of her hair before disappearing into the night. Figuratively, of course- her practically glow in the dark hair stood out even against the buildings in broad daylight. She traipsed an entire block and a half to her house, before screaming at Aubrey (who was shocked that the brat had even bothered returning home), grabbing her keys, and dashing into the car with the speed of a mustang on steroids. Brittany was in and out of the house within two minutes- two minutes that were forgotten as soon as she got a text from Aiden. She smirked, responded in a semi-flirtatious manner, and continued to drive, mindful to slalom through the "dashy things" on the empty road. "Weapons, weapons," she murmured. Determined to find the weapon she needed, Brittany attempted rather desperately to make a list of weapons. After failing even more miserably than she thought was possible, she settled for a seedy looking shack with a sign that read, "WEAPONS." She found it quite convenient. She paused, and looked at the other sign briefly. "Just a weapons store. Nothing suspicious about it. No need to be alarmed." Seems legit, she thought before wandering in.* She was immediately welcomed by the stench of sour milk and blood. Recoiling, she reminded herself of how much her poor cursor needed her, before taking a deep breath and another step forward. A man who could have been the trucker's grandfather glared at her. Completely oblivious, Brittany began to run her fingers over every weapon in the shop. The man, who went by the rather sketchy name of Mr. Edward Muller, continued to glare. He awaited the inevitable: the shriek of an incompetent blonde slicing her finger open with a blade. He didn't have to wait very long. Brittany, arms already occupied with a crossbow and a scimitar, tried to pick up a katana. After a few attempts, she managed to somehow slice her right ring finger, causing an earpiercing wail to resonate through the weapons shack. Edward continued to glare. He didn't quite give two flying rat's arses about the girl, but there was blood on his carpet. "You." He stated slowly, voice gruff. He stood. "Blood on my carpet." "B-b-but," Brittany whimpered. "I ruined my manicure!" She had dropped the crossbow and scimitar at her feet, and they were beginning to look a little bit more... crimson, like the rest of the weapons in her dripping finger's range. Edward's gaze grew steely. "You pay for those." She 'hmph'ed with the determination of a thousand Brats, but handed over far too many hundred dollar bills after collecting her pile of bloodstained weapons. "Here!" Brittany pouted and stalked out of the store, still whimpering about her finger. ---- *Pokémon reference. There was once a Pokémemes thing with a capture of the scene where you read a sign, in HG/SS I believe, and it says, "Just a Souvenir Shop. Nothing Suspicious about It. No Need to be Alarmed," with the title, "SEEMS LEGIT."
Ah, rawr. Feedback goes on feedback thread. But thank you. I'll be using this post to edit in the next chapter. Also, if there are any other posts I shan't hesitate to steal the poster's soul and feed it to the demon wolves in my backyard.