TRIGGER WARNING: Please be advised that this chapter contains a graphic depiction of physical assault and homophobia, as well as the use of homophobic language. If you are disturbed by the idea of bullying or assault on school grounds, and in relation to homophobic assault upon someone, please reconsider reading this chapter.
It was a pretty normal day when everything suddenly broke apart. There was a war going on outside between two of the most powerful students in the school, the King versus the school's old Queen in a break-bones brawl to the end. Everyone had their eyes and ears on what was going on then, but not Otis.
He, on the other hand, was continuing his work for the Press Club. The Wellston Weekly worked dutifully through any sort of disaster, rain or shine; Cecile's leadership of their little organization made sure of that. Besides, school drama was not his beat on the paper anyway. Anywhere between three to four other writers and reports worked on that front.
Otis' job was writing the general minutiae that filled the columns, updating everyone on everything that didn't catch headlines. His work wasn't flashy, but it was the most necessary work. Everyone else wanted to be part of the group that got to snoop around the Royals, or the ones that turned gossip into fact about who was dating who, as well as team sports, Turf Wars, and all the rest. Flashy content; the things that made careers and got included as accomplishments on transcripts.
None of that glossy stuff mattered to him. The paper needed the stuff that wasn't as pretty or exciting to keep it going, to be an actual source of news that helped students stay involved and stay informed on important school knowledge. Test dates, test subjects, grading curves who and where, the lingering count-down to midterms or finals— and so on and so on.
And he did it without breaking a sweat or missing a deadline, and this blissful little spot was his all thanks to Cecile. When he joined the club back when he was just a first year, Juni— a fellow reporter in the club— had told him that it was once under a different management and a different type of leadership just a year ago. People were running around doing whatever they wanted, trying to out-compete each other for every single story floating around and butting heads over all the club's meager resources. It was just a mess, and whoever was in charge— a witless, clueless then-fourth year whom everyone had long since forgotten by now— only made it worse.
And then, by pure chance, this hapless buffoon crossed one of the school's Turf Wars strongest members. It was an article that had to do with rumors, and generally speaking most of the reporters had the good sense to avoid pissing off the actively hostile types or those who made it clear that they wanted nothing about them to be revealed. One such person was Cecile, the first year whom had not too recently become the school's Queen.
The article was written by an equally dimwitted boy who'd joined the club around the same time as the club head, who decided that it would be a smart idea to question the idea of having women on the Turf Wars team at all. It was poorly-written tripe, pure incendiary bullshit meant to rile up drama with the subtle nudge of a club to the head; get the female side of the student body angry, sending in letters, then host that spectacle for even more content.
And unfortunately for these two misogynistic wannabe tabloid grifters, the new Queen didn't take lightly their demeaning of her, her position in the Hierarchy, or their decision to use her as a cudgel against other students.
One day, whilst everyone was running around racing to make another deadline they'd been blowing off yet again, Cecile paid them a visit. But there wasn't a bombastic showdown in the designated room for the school paper, fists flying between the offenders and the offended.
Rather, she stood there at the door. Her gaze, her stance, everything about her begged someone to try stepping up or saying anything without her say-so. No one expected her to be this tall or this intense— Juni looked across the room from her desk at the leader and his buddy, and a pale face of death was on both of them. They knew that they'd bitten off more than they could chew, and were about to pay a price.
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Flesh and Bone
FanfictionYou were once so haughty, so powerful, so sure of yourself. You were in control. But where are you now? You're lying there, bleeding out as you realize the indignity of the world. It is the pain you feel when you get up from your hospital bed, it's...
