Chapter Text
There are a few rules about walking through the bad part of a crowded city. First rule: Don’t look at your feet. Stare straight ahead, and keep your eyes open. Second rule: Keep an angry, threatening look on your face. It helps to think about something that actually makes you angry, of course, but you try to keep it to things you can’t change, like income tax, anti-vaxxers, or the ice cold wind hitting you in the face that’s typical for a Canadian winter. Third and finally, don’t stop to talk to anyone. Don’t even look at bums begging for change or people asking for directions or the time. Minimal interaction is key.
Of course, it would be easier to keep up the tough girl façade if you hadn’t just crashed into someone big when you turned the corner too sharply. They felt like they were made out of concrete, and your whole body aches from the collision. Nevertheless, your whole urban survivalist demeanor dissolves away as you rush to apologize for your clumsiness.
“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” you ask, brushing off your pants and holding out a hand- Wait. Wait a second. You wither apprehensively as you regard your unintended victim.
The person you crashed into wasn’t human. It was a skeleton. A very tall, very thickly-set, and very angry, skeleton. He had on black house slippers (In this snow?), black shorts with yellow stripes (Again, in this weather?), and an open black jacket with a brown fur-lined hood and zippered pockets everywhere.
Oh great. You just slighted one of those crazy aggressive monsters that surfaced somewhere in Texas about a year ago. And just when your day had been going comfortably mild.
“who the fuck,” he spits angrily, his voice harsh and grating. One of his pitch dark sockets glares up at you with a glowing red ring for an eye. “you have eyes, don’t ya? try watching where you’re fucking going!”
“Hey, there’s no reason for that, I said I was sorry,” you huff and fold your arms protectively over your chest, hoping your teeth aren’t chattering too much from the cold and using your hands to pull your coat tighter around yourself.
“fucking humans,” he spits as he climbs back to his feet. At his full height he towers over you, at about seven feet tall you guess? “i can’t believe we got out of underground just to find the surface infested with you and your soft, weak, species. you’re nothing but a bunch of fuckin’ parasites.”
“Excuse me?” you gape, feeling angry and defensive. “Mind trying that again, monster?”
He leans in closer, sharp pointed teeth gritted inches from your face, and what’s still left unfrozen in your nose can smell mustard on his breath. “you’re. a bunch. of fucking. parasites,” he says sharply. “do i need to spell it out for that idiot human brain of yours!? if i had my way, there’d be another war, but the fuckin’ monarchy won’t ‘abide’ it or some shit,” he hisses.
You definitely get the impression that he wants to intimidate you, what with his towering stance and sharp teeth gnashing at you right in front of your eyes. But you’re not one to be easily intimidated. Determined, you straighten your stance and glare right back at him.
“If you don’t like it up here, then why don’t you go back Underground where you fucking came from,” you fire back.
The skeleton’s sockets widen in a surprised expression. “excuse me, sweetheart? what did you just fuckin’ say to me!?”
“Why. Don’t you. Go back. Where you. Came from,” you repeat for him tersely. At least your boiling anger is keeping your body warm and your lips from freezing in the January cold. “Do I need to spell it out for that nonexistent brain of yours, skeleton?” you smirk, reaching up and tapping him on the skull. You’re rewarded with a hollow noise as he balks at your courage.
His sockets seem to blink at that, before he starts laughing uproariously at your confident display. “fuck, it’s not every day i meet a gross fleshbag who can dish it better than they can take it. so, how about you get the fuck out of my way now, before somebody gets hurt,” he looms menacingly, red eye seemingly redder as his ivory mouth contorts in a malicious smirk. One of his shark teeth on the far side of his mouth seems to be made out of gold.
“Probably a good idea,” you grin, feeling fire in your veins. “After all,” you begin, leaning in towards the monster. “It’d be a real bitch to have to wash your dust out of my clothes.”
Satisfied with your empty threat and before he has the chance to respond, you turn on your heel and scoop up your schoolbag, slinging both straps over one shoulder as you stride off. You hear more laughter behind you and hope that the skeleton mistakes your nervous jitters walking away for you shivering in the cold.
That was stupid. That was really, really stupid.
Holy shit, you can’t believe you just made enemies with a terrifying-as-fuck skeleton monster.
Stewing in your anxiety, you’re seated on the old paisley couch in your aunt’s living room, huddled under a fleece blanket with a hot chocolate clutched desperately in both hands as you try to get your body to dial it back with the cold post-adrenaline sweats. Every so often you can’t help but nervously glance over at the front window, as if you might find him looking for you. Your backpack with your groceries sits by the door, and while the pressing need to get the mini pizzas into the freezer before they thaw is on your mind, you just can’t bring yourself to move away from your comfortable sanctuary.
It makes you feel sick to your stomach to know he might be out there looking for you. Looking for a fight, and looking to see if you’ll actually make good on your empty threat.
Time passes, and you’re not sure how much. Eventually you’re forced to acknowledge the hunger pains in your belly though. Setting down the cold hot chocolate on the coffee table, you slowly stand, bringing the blanket with you wrapped around your shoulders. You’re not quite ready to let go of the false sense of security it gives you.
Trying to put on a brave face for no one besides yourself, you slowly make your way across the room to your backpack. The mini pizzas are half thawed. How long were you sitting there in a fog? Trying to shake off your fear, you grab the whole bag and head for the kitchen. The slightly soggy box still holds onto the ink of the sharpie when you write “_____’s pizzas” on it, thank god for small miracles.
Throwing two on a pan and placing it in the slowly warming oven, you head back over to the couch with your textbook while you wait. Studying should hopefully help take your mind off of things.