Chapter Three: Advice For Those Who Currently Feel Inferior To Someone Prettier Than Them
lovely chapter image by purplepotter77 at the-dark-arts
Five seconds withing meeting her, I know enough information about Ken-dra to tell you that she is not not anything like a Ken doll, but she is, in fact, a Barbie doll. There isn’t much else to say, she is exactly what you expect her to be. That is, until she speaks. There’s no nasally fake american accent, and if you peer closely enough her nails are clean and well grown, but not painted.
Advice for those who currently feel inferior to someone prettier than them, always remember that the chances are your uvula is sexier than that of pretty person. Uvula, you ask? That sexy dangly bit at the back of your mouth.
“You must be Connie,” she says, smiling.
Her smile appears genuine, and it immediately scares me. It’s always more reassuring to know that the competition, whoops did I say competition? I meant, replacement. As I was saying, it’s always more reassuring to know that she’a an ugly bitch, who is hate-able. But with her, what I assume to be, sweetness is endearing and quickly giving me a sugar rush. Luckily, she makes no effort to hug me, earning her points she desperately needs to lose.
“Yeah, that’s me. I’m guessing your Kendra,” I say.
As soon as I hear my own voice, I know I’m the antagonist in this tale. I’m the Sea witch to her Little Mermaid. I can practically feel the sea foam sting my tentacles.
Molly is quick to pick up on my distaste. It only grows worse as I see James lean over to Ken-dragon (oh, I’m punny) and you can see the instant you’re-my-besfriend-but- you-could-be-oh-so-much-more spark between them. I’m not in such a heedless state of denial to ignore it, so I nod as Molly drags me away.
I don't want to feel anything towards James, but I do. I shouldn't for my own sanity, but here I am feeling jealous and pathetic. I've got past being angry about what happened; I'm just upset.
My steps are clumsy and uneven as we walk, my thoughts race ahead of me. That’s not a replacement I just saw, it was an upgrade. Replacements are satisfactory, they’re good enough, they meet the previous criteria. Upgrades are all the good parts improved, with all the shoddy, shifty bits removed and reinvented. To put it in terms of biscuits: would you rather have a digestive or a chocolate covered digestive?
This party isn’t different to all the other parties I have attended, people are already numbing themselves with alcohol. People are in awkward poses, taking photos, so that the memories will last even when the alcohol erases their memory. You don’t need a fancy spell to erase your memory, just drink the devil’s juice a.k.a firewhiskey, which is really alcohol with too many hops to wipe out your memory.
It doesn’t take long to get lost in the euphoria.
Oh, please, we all know that indie kids party hardest. Firewhiskey burns my throat, slowly killing me, but at the same time it makes me feel alive. The sarcasm slips off my tongue, and my hands are locked into Molly’s. I can’t tell if she’s afraid of letting me go, or I’m afraid of letting her go, but we keep jumping and screaming and alternating between the two.
The music is unrecognizable and if I wasn’t so tipsy, I would have made a snarky comment on how shit like this makes ears bleed, but it isn’t the time or place for that. Andrew slides between the two of us, and puts his hands on my waist.
“Con and Mol, you two need to take it easy,” he drawls, and his voice slurs in my ears. I take another swig of the now half empty firewhiskey bottle that Molly and I have been attacking.
I nod, because I’m not completely out of my senses and so does Molly. Using both of my juddering hands, I entwine my fingers with both Molly and Andrew’s hands.
Andrew leans in and says, “Ken is playing a game, of course it’s only for the really cool people, so naturally we’re invited.”
There’s something about the way he says ‘we’re’, I can’t tell if I’m included or not. The confusion between inclusion, exclusion and simply being recognised by these people has always ate at my soul. They do not like squibs, they do not like people who cannot wave wands, however useless they are. As if to say as if a piece of wood with some strands of a hobo's hair or feather in it could actually define who you are, that they change your biological make up. It’s like they think this piece of bark makes you whole and without it you’re incomplete. I need a wand like a fish needs a bicycle. It’s long rant that a sober Connie will tell you atop of her soapbox, but honestly, you know how pathetic I must feel right now, so there’s no need to repeat it.
I’m dragged along with Molly by Andrew into a bigger lighter toned room with a cold wooden floor. Andrew sits first, then Molly and finally me. Then, I notice Kendra and James with their knees knocking, and the green monster within me can see the magnetism between their bodies. My stomach lurches, and I shift uncomfortably.
There’s around ten people sitting in the circle, there’s only four recongnizable faces and the rest are strangers to me. Paranoia spikes and I can see the odd looks from everyone. The question ‘who is she?’ is painted into their facial expression. It’s a question I desperately don’t want to answer. In attempt to not look at anyone, I catch James’ eye. The moment lasts for a second, but has that awful sensation of suspension before a great fall, where an entire eternity passes you by.
Kendra speaks up, and talks with her wand, swishing with her every gesture. “So, we’re going to play ‘never have I’, which I’m pretty sure we’ve all played before.”
Once again one of those exclusive ‘we’s’ scrapes my ears. I’m waiting for her to break her speech with an annoying 'like', but she doesn’t. She’s well-spoken and clearly not dim, but that was a given. James can’t stand stupidity, whether he makes it obvious or not. He craves stimulating conversation, he needs people to bounce ideas off. He dotes on people who can make sense of his jumbled nebula ideas and fathom them into stars, so he can mould them into solar systems and galaxies.
Ken swivels her hips around and picks up a few fire whiskey bottles, placing them in front of her. She makes no effort to explain and starts off simply and rather innocently, “Never have I ever dated anyone younger than me.”
Simple enough, most of the boys drink and three of the girls, the three I don’t know. They pass the bottles around and takes generous swigs. Ken-dragon looks as if she will pass it to James, but seems to have been a private unspoken joke between them as she passes it to the brunette girl sat next to me instead.
“Never have I ever slept in a boys dormitory,” she says. This is a good one, I chuckle to myself and Molly giggles and takes a swig along with another girl and all the boys. I turn to her and mouth the word ‘whore.’ She giggles and hiccups as she slides the drink back to the middle of the circle.
One of the guys, who is oddly eager goes next, “Never have I ever played strip poker.”
I take one of the bottles and swig, eying James as he slowly puts a bottle to his lips. Kendra pokes him, the awkwardness of it only being us is killed as soon as the brunette takes my bottle and gulps down at least a quarter of the bottle. I wonder for a second why we don’t have shot glasses, but Molly’s already speaking before I have a wonderful moment of reflection.
“Never have I ever shagged or snogged anyone in the room of requirement or a broom cupboard.”
I look to Kendra, who is now the only person to have yet to drink anything. She takes a swig and so do most people, except for James, one of the girls and me.
Kendra, who definately is a gryffindor for her reckless bravery, smiles at me. Her eyes are telling me something, but she says, “Connie, you go next.” I know if you listen carefully enough, there’s something deadly condescending in her tone.
There’s a feral glint in her eye, and it sparks something sinister within me. I’m a bitch and I know it. The words come out slowly from my mouth, familiar to my tongue like a blade to an assasin.
“Never have I ever broken someone's heart.”
I feel Molly tense next to me and the smirk permanently etched on Andrew’s face drops as we all watch James’ with hawk eyes. His hands grapple with the bottle as he places it to his lips.
Author’s note: Whoa, it’s been like a decade, since someone updated. ;)
So, what do you think? There plots going to somewhat start emerging soon. I hope you like Connie in this chapter, she’s a bit like me when she’s drunk, a bit more intense. Anywhooo, I am bubbling over with ideas for this story, if only I had the time to write.
Once again, forgive any SPAG (spelling, punctation or grammar).
Disclaimer: Barbie and Ken belong to Mattel. Believe me if I owned them, Barbie would be fatter. Secondly, this should be public domain, but the Little Mermaid, I referenced was the Hans Christian Anderson version. And of course, I don't own Harry Potter. :)
Feel free to leave a review, and thanks for all the favourites and the snaziness. <3
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