A Daria fanfiction : Daria’s big wedding

Big dining hall. Classical music on air. Big wedding.

« You’re the lucky bride! Aren t you happy? »

Daria is looking thouroughly uncomfortble in her lace filled, crinoline filled, puffed up dress.

« Well… I chose the man… »

-oh, good. »

-But I didn t choose the place… »

-Sloane tradition. »

-I didn t choose the dress… »

-Sloane tradition. »

-I didn t choose the decoration, nor the music, nor the church, nor the freaking shoes, nor the haircut. »

-haha! Sloane tradition strickes again! »

-And I never met the majority of the guests. »

-Well… I did have to put on one of those posh looking vintage dresses for ya. »

-You don t have to drown in a gone with the wind type of costume. »

-Well… You signed, Scarlet. i can t save you. Dive in the petits fours if you can eat. Welcome to the upper class, darling. Oh, cute boy, three o clock. Excuse-me. »

Jane moves away. Daria is alone, in the middle of the very elegantly dressed crowd, sighing. Tom is passing by, in a perfect ivory tuxido :

« Honey? Are you OK? »

-Will it look elegant if I faint? »

-I told mom to keep it simple. »

-I know. It s on me she took revenge. »

-Hang in there. You ll only have to wear this till desert. Then, you ll have to be dressed comfortably for the first dance. »

-Hooray. »

-Come on. You didn t meet all of my uncles, yet. »

Daria is looking bored, and tired, and she’s starting to limp.

« Daria, meet uncle uncle Alaric and aunty Antonina. »

-Pleased to meet you. »

They look thin and quite snobbish.

-Likewise, my dear. What a wonderful hairstyle. »

-Thanks to all of that hairspray, my head won t fall off. I think. »

Tom is trying to be helpful :

-haha! Isn t she funny? »

Aunty Antonina, pinched lipped :

-Amusing. »

Now Daria is looking quite annoyed, quite tired, and she s limping sensibly more.

« Daria, meet aunty Anabelle and uncle Alexander. »

-Pleased to meet you. »

-We’re delighted to meet you too! And we must say we re pleasantly surprised, aren t we, darling?! »

-Oh, yes! Knowing our Thomas, God knows whom he might have ended up with! »

Tom is blushing.

-He could have ended with some hippie… »

-Or some starving artist… »

-Oh, yes, darling! Someone with an impossible haircut… »

Tom is trying to stop them.

-Actually… »

-Constantly looking for inspiration… »

-Daria s best friend is… »

-Among other kinds of pretexts to avoid working! »

They re having so much fun, that they don t realize Daria is getting angry.

-You mean : the kind of person who gives aesthetic value to elegant places such as this? My, my… I m really not his type of girl. I made a mistake. Where are the divorce papers? »

The uncle and aunt look at each other, puzzled, for a second. Then they burst out laughing :

« She s quite something, isn t she? »

-Excuse me. »

Daria storms off, limping heavily. Tom is trying to follow her.

« Daria, they don t mea… »

-It’s fine. »

-Are you sure? Because… »

-I m FINE! »

-But… »

-Get back to them. I need some privacy. »

-As… You wish. »

Daria leaves the dining hall. She s got to go through the thick crowd, looking as she s passing by. She s sweating in her crinoline dress, and her feet are killing her. She climbs marble steps with difficulty, and opens a door. She s in a beautiful suite. She locks the door, sits on the bed, pulls her shoes off, thows them accross the room, and lies down.

« The most beautiful freaking day… is it ever going to end? »

A soft knock on the door, as she s staring at the ceiling.

« I m ok. I need a moment, please. »

The person is still knocking.

« I m ok, I ll be right here. »

The person insists :

« Oh, FINE. »

Daria goes to the door, and unlocks it. She can t believe her eyes : an older version of Andrea in a black silked cocktail dress storms in :

« So, you finally ran away. These wedding dresses, they re a mean for the step family to haze the bride, don t you think? »

-Fresher initiated. »

-I saw you limping away. Let me guess… High heel shoes under your dress? »

-Over here. »

-Oh, they thought you d be walking gracefully all night in this? »

-That, or some kind of torture is compulsory in a proper traditional wedding. »

-I came to save you. I always carry extra pair of flat shoes in events such as these. »

-I thought i d go barefoot. »

-Screw the in-laws. If you must, so be it. »

The shoes seem to fit. Daria is relieved :

-Oh, fairy godmother, and now, what shall wee do about this sea of fabric? »

-Put your dance dress on. Screw the crinoline. »

-Done. GOD, I was dying! »

-Welcome. »

Andrea leaves the room to let her get changed. Daria looks at the door for a moment :

« wait… What was she doing here? »

A few hours later, in the dining hall. The first dance is ending. Tom wants to keep dancing with Daria, but she spotted Jane accross the dance floor, and she leaves brusquely.

Jane is having fun with two handsome men, who happen to be the Ruttheimer twins. Daria takes Jane s hand :

« She ll be right back. Stay here. »

Jane is not happy to be dragged accross the room like this. Daria joins aunt Anabelle and uncle Alexander, and bluntly says :

« Please, meet my best friend, Jane. A starving artist. »

-A… Starving artist? »

-Oh, I actually earn my living. I let the starving part for my older brother. »

-So, it… Runs within the family? »

-Yes, but behind our ethereal façade, we re still hungry capitalists. »

The uncle and aunt look at each other for a second, and again, burst out laughing:

-You got us, there! What a joke! She s so funny! »

Daria is upset. Jane bows:

-A pleasure to meet you. »

And pulls Daria away.

« Relax, Daria. Come and dance. Enjoy the money. »

-May I dance with the beautiful bride? » says a very familiar voice.

Daria and Jane turn around, wide eyed. Upchuck is standing there, right behind them. He s slightly taller, and with a better haircut. he s holding hands with Andrea.

« As a friend of the Sloane family, it was a wonderful surprise to see your maiden name on the invitation card, former miss Morgendorfer. »

-Hello, Up… hum… Charles. »

-Please, call me Chuck. Delighted to meet you too, beautiful Jane lane. No need to present you to my loving wife. »

Andrea shivers, shaking the memory off :

-They made me wear glitter. »

Jane clears her throat :

-Well, Up… Hum… Chuck. I can see Daria s in good hands. I ve got to go. There are twins waiting for me on the dance floor. »

-Two Ruttheimers for one lovely lady? Grrr… »

Daria looks at Andrea :

-Did you really marry him? »

-I like the freckles. »

-Oh, but at Lawdayle High, I had all the leasure to work on my killer seduction skills. »

Daria looks at Andrea, again :

-Would it be cruel to tell him he never had any? »

Chuck laughs :

-Grrrr… Feisty! »

A Harry Potter fafiction : Felix felicis

Draco Malfoy had felt the need to leave the crowd, for a bit. He was sitting in the unicorn garden. Alone. The Niece had given him a shot a felix felicis. He had taken it too. He did need it. He was inauguring Castle Regulus. All of the important people were gathered in the great hall. Everything had to be perfect : since the end of the war, the Malfoys hadn t appeared in public before this.

Mister Snape had made the right choice, in the end. He had prepared for the downfall of the dark Lord. Their downfall. He had measured his options. Asked for protection to Albus Dumbledore. Then, when he had met the dark Lord’s grand niece, the new heir of Slytherin, he had kept her to himself. He had chosen his own side. He had died with a clean name, at least. Gained a proper reputation as Dumbledore s spy. Yes, he had betrayed them. But the dark Lord hadn t been a trustworthy man.

Luyckily enough, Draco had been presented to the Niece, whose reputation was growing strong. And so, Draco had been given the opportunity to invest in this castle. He would sell her potions, and welcome the richest wizards and witches. It would become a very respectable place. A restful place. Hopefully. But then, for that to happen, he had to charm every one, to clear his reputation. His name. God, he was nervous.

They said she had brewed this felix felicis herself. It was supposed to be strong. But it wasn t working. At all. Actually, Draco Malfoy did not feel confident. He felt utterly miserable.

Oh, the evening had started just fine. All the little details were perfectly in place. Father kept dicreet, and mother tended to the guests. Professor Slughorn and his most important friends had come, to see the Niece and himself. It had all gone just fine, until he had spotted Pansy. They said she was competing against Granger for a place in the department of magical law enforcement. He hadn t had any news from her since the battle of Hogwarts. Nor of Gregory. Vincent s death had probably had something to do with this, but Draco had just found out another reason why : apparently, they were together. This was humiliating, and Draco felt stupid, and alone. Not that he had ever been that much in love with Pansy, but to leave him for Gregory!… Of course, this disagreeable feeling wasn t the worst. The worst was the memory.

The most terrible thing was the smell. It was as if it were still there, hanging, following him around like an olfactive curse. The smell, he would never forget it. The way the flames had climbed, so fast and terrible. The way they had had to run, then fly for their lives. The scream. The way Vincent had been turned to ash. To smithereens. As if he had been nothing. The feeling was back again. The feeling!… Like the cold shiver of a petrificus spell. Trapped in the memory, with the guts boiling, the difficulty to breathe, the dizziness… Why was the memory coming back now? Why was this potion not working?

« Oh god, are you alright? »

How was that lucky? Astoria Greengrass had just seen him in this… state. Now the evening was becoming perfect. She was working for Granger s campain. A pure blood, but a muggle lover. She looked pretty enough. Brown hair, eyes. Nice, simple dress. Tasteful, at least. A little skinny. He didn t know why he was even noticing.

« I am. I just needed some air. »

-Well… me too. Do you mind if I sit here? »

-Not at all. » he sighed. though he did. He didn t like to be seen like this.

-As you might know, my uncle Colibrinus is dead. »

-I ve heard. Truly sorry for your loss. »

-He d been trying to escape, and… »

She had seen the dark Lord launch his pet on her uncle. Draco hadn t seen this himself, but he had witnessed Naginis dinners countless times. He knew what she didn t say. In his dreams, he was seing these too.

« Well… Truly sorry, as I said. »

She was quiet for a while. Then, she blurted out :

« Thank you. »

-What for? »

-For not telling he was a coward. »

-Oh, any sensible death eater felt like running away, in the end, I guess. It s just… The mark made it impossible. »

He couldn t believe he had just said that! To a Greengrass! Father would have killed him, if he d heard!

« My congratulations to your uncle Gareth for his promotion as head of the department of mysteries. » he said quickly to change subjects.

-Oh, yes. He s working very hard. Very happy. » she said absent mindedly. And stared.

That was awkward. Astoria Greengrass. The sister of Daphne Greengrass. The best friend of Pansy bloody Parkingson, who was working for Hermione bloody Granger!… Merlin s beard! Could it become any worse? He couldn t believe he was alone with her. Was this really happening?

« Do you… Sometimes see Him him… In your dreams? During the day, too? Like he was there, with you? »

The dark Lord? Of course, he did. You just didn t talk about these things. He wanted to say that they should have won the war, that they deserved the greatness that had been promised, that… but he just sighed and shook his shoulders.

« You do, don t you? Why did you join him, anyway? »

-I m a Malfoy. »

-God, it s a name, not a curse! »

-Father had disappointed him, and mother had this blood traitor for a sister. Someone had to make up for these. »

-For getting caught while following one of his own stupid orders? And for personal choices other people had made? This is ridiculous! »

-You can t understand, I suppose. » Draco said coldly.

-My parents were in danger. If you had any decent values left, you would know family is everything. »

-But family should never be a curse! A name should never be carried as a weight, as a burden! They sould never had made you do this. » she looked at his arm.

-It was my choice. My honour. »

-Life is too short for honour! »

She coughed, and coughed. She seemed to have trouble catching her breath. She was so frail. He had forgotten she had a fragile health because of a blood curse. Life would be short. For her. He snapped his fingers, asking for hot mulled wine. It was good to have house elves again. He watched in silence as she drank to recover. Her features were elegant. She was agreeable to watch.

And then… It hit him. He had tried. He had fought for his blood, his honour, his name. He had faced terrible things. And the dark Lord was dead. They had lost the war. Somehow, he was all the freer for this. And, as Vincent s death came back to his exhausted mind yet again, he realized life was short. And he was tired of this dream of a perfect pure world. Tired of the whole stance, the whole thing. Tired of having to live up to his blood. The war was lost. He had given it his all. He was carrying its scars on his body and his mind. The hell with it. He was proud to be a pure blood, of course, but he didn t have to fight for it, anymore. He would leave the fight to others. The Niece wanted riches and respectability. So did he. His family was safe. The worst was behind him. He was starting a business, he was young, pure, rich, and single. And he happened to be in a garden with a young lady. Who was beautiful. And young. And single. And pure. His luck wasn t too bad, then. The hell with politics.

« Hermione Granger will win this campain, you know. Parkingson is too stupid. » she said.

He kept quiet. Listened.

« I mean… She did choose Gregory Goyle over you. That s how stupid she is. »

He had to smile. Even more so when he saw her blush.

« Then, since life is so short, i believe we should get down there and dance. » he said getting up.

As she just stared at him with her mouth open, he had to insist :

« We won t be moping in this garden all night, will we? Life can t be too short for dancing. »

This night was going to be glorious. Oh, there was Pansy s face, as he casually entered the room with Astoria holding his arm. And the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. And the wine was good. And the hall was beautiful. Astoria was crimson red, with a lovely, wide smile, quietly making fun of him :

« Oh, how very gentleman like, mister Malfoy… That was quite polite. How very thoughtful of you… Do you have to be this perfect, mister Malfoy… »

-I m afraid I do. » he replied.

-Us Malfoys are naturally perfect. We can t help it. It s a family trait. »

And she laughed as they danced.

On the other side of the room, the niece was talking vividly. She had a doll face and very energetic manners, direct, intense eyes, and he messiest hair he d ever seen. Worn out clothes, now, in this elegant assembly. And she didn t even seem to notice! Appearances did count when ou meant to gain respectability. Draco had no clue how he would tell her this.

Astoria decided to join her friends for a moment. Draco was having a round of the great hall to see how his guests were faring, when he spotted Andromeda Tonks. She was sipping gigglewater in a corner. She looked like aunt Bella. He had never talked to that woman. He suddenly felt the urge to do it now. Only, he knew he would rather his curiosity were not spotted by the crowd. Thankfully, she seemed to feel like being alone. She was leaving the room. He only had to follow her discreetly. That s what he did. At some point, she was alone in a corridor.

« Andromeda Tonks, » he said a little more harshly than he would.

She startled, then looked at him up and down :

-You must be the son, aren t you? »

-Himself. » He straightened up.

-You look like your father. »

-Thank you. »

-That s no compliment. Your father is a cunt. »

Draco was stricken with shock

-How dare you speak about my father this way, when you put our whole family in danger! »

-Pledging your lives to Voldemort put the family in danger too. It was war. Danger was unavoidable. And your dark lord never seemed to care even about the losses of his own. »

She had dared telling his name. Unbelievable. Draco was aching to stricke that traitor with a dark spell.

-YOU caused our disgrace when you chose to marry a m… »

-A man who loved me. And not a vain fool as cold as a fish. Well, sue me. »

Draco was trembling with rage. He was going to kill her. He realized he didn t want to carry on with this conversation. There was a high risk for murder.

-How s the pup? » he said between his teeth.

It was supposed to be a slur.

-Lycantropy is only caught through the bite of a werewolf. Haven t you read your defense against the dark arts books? He s a perfectly ordinary half blood little boy. He s fine, by the way. His name s Teddy. »

-Goodness. And what age is he supposed to be? »

-Seven. »

Without knowing why, Draco felt a little relieved. But if felt so awkward. He didn t know what to say from here.

-I heard his parents died. »

-They did. » Her voice was broken.

Draco thought about his own losses. It was still overwhelming.

-I m sorry. » he just heard himself mutter.

-I heard your aunt Bellatrix is dead too. I wasn t quite sorry to hear this as she was threatening to kill us, but somehow i still cried too. She had been my sister. »

-War, and all. » Draco could just manage with a schrug.

-I hope your mother s well. »

She blurted out as she darted off through the corridors.

What the hell had just happened?

As he was walking to get back to the great hall, he was blocked by a couple of people struggling.

« Get out of here, you filthy little cockroach! »

It wouldn t do to let his employees start a scandal. As tedious as it might be, Draco had to intervene :

-Thank you. That will be all. »

He put a hand on Rita Skeeter s shoulder, and apparated. They were in one of the free bedrooms. at least, here, their conversation would be private.

« Miss Skeeter. You must have lost your invitation. »

It was a polite way to tell her she hadn t been invited.

-Fine room. » She said as she took a seat on the oaken desk near the bed.

-Thank you. I tended to the decoration of the rooms myself. » he sat down opposite her.

Obviously, the journalist s quick quotes quill was soon on the ready. Gosh. An improvised interview was just what he needed. Wasn t this damed felix felicis going to be effective?… He wanted to thow her out. Badly. But he had just opened this castle, and he realized now was probably not the time to be agressive with a member of the press. It made sense that she wanted to be part of the event. In fact, he was going to have to deal with her quite often, if this place was going to be as respectable as he wished. She looked quite worn out. It hadn t been easy to come in, had it? He snapped his fingers, and ordered tea and sandwiches.

« You re the owner of this place? » she asked with a satisfied expression.

-Miss Barebones and myself invested in castle Regulus, yes. »

-She s terribly powerful, they say. »

-Powerful, quite. But terrible, not really. »

-Your family has known… Worse, I believe? »

He sighed. And blushed. of course, she was going to talk about this.

-Your father was quite close to You-Know-Who, I recall? »

-He had joined during the first war. Had been promised greatness. But you know how it ended. »

-Your father spent time in Azkhaban. »

-He did. »

Memories came rushing back. The feeling. Tears. He hadn t been shedding one drop since the end of the war, and they had to come now. Great. Perfect timing. He had to calm down. There was a heavy silence.

-So… How was life with You-Know-Who? » she sounded both embarassed, and fascinated.

-Wonderful. » he spat.

-If you enjoy seing a snake monster eat people, dark spells all over the place, your life at stake every day. »

Draco had been bragging about his dangerous acquaintances when he was a boy, played tough to get people impressed. But then, he had had to actually meet Greyback, and the Farrows, and the dark Lord, all of them. And he had just wished his family were safe.

-The best part was the death of my best friend. » he said, breaking again.

-Anyway. » he added wiping his tears and swallowing his pain.

-The dark lord is dead. »

-You saw your best friend die? »

-Vincent Crabbe, yes. Father was friends with his father and Gregory Goyle s. We were close. See, I m an only child, so. We were practically brothers, I suppose. »

There was a blank. And then, he saw her repress a smile.

-Gregory Goyle. I heard he was with… »

-Pansy Parkingson. My ex girlfriend. »

-For how long? »

-Maybe years. I just saw them tonight. I can t know, exactly. »

-Oh, my… » she beamed.

-You must be devastated. »

That was her kind of story. The poor, broken heart of Draco Malfoy sounded more easy to sell than some gruesome tales about the war. Draco hoped she would take it on, and forget to mention father s past as a death eater. So, he indulged the journalist.

-I ve been a little overwhelmed, as you noticed. »

-Because you re still single, I believe? »

-I ve only been with Pansy. »

-Your first love? »

-Exactly. »

Truth be told, miss Skeeter wasn t hard to please.

Back in the hall, Draco had to handle another tricky situation. A drunken niece was talking about muggle rooms to a thrilled Arthur Weasley. Draco had to rush in the conversation.

« This muggle room idea is all Draco s, you know?  » she said trying to take him by the shoulder.

-He said we couldnt welcome muggle borns here, because they would certainly want to come in with their families, and we didn t have any place fit to welcome muggles. And of course, it s a brilliant idea! »

Draco hadn t meant it like this. This muggle room idea was crazy.

-I would be incapable of putting this in place, though. » he said, quite embarrassed.

-No one knows what a muggle room looks like. Come on! Be sensible! »

-I can help, of course! » exclaimed a very excited Arthur Weasley.

-Oh, I know a few friends who would be very interested in this project too! a whole muggle room! » he exclaimed dreamily.

-Molly! You need to hear this! »

Really?! As Arthur Weasley was rushing towards his wife, Draco turned to Hydra Barebones.

« You do realize we mean to attract the most wealthy families to castle Regulus. The logical thing would be to prioritize, and focus on our pure blooded customers! »

-Remember what we said? We select by money, not blood. »

-But most of our customers will come from pure blood families. Not everyone likes to mingle, you know. Trust me : you don t want to make them feel ill at ease. We ve got to build our reputation. »

-We won t force people to mingle if they don t want to. I trust you to organize the castle to our customer s needs, Draco. perfect party, by the way. Everyone is very happy. I trust you enjoy my potion? » she winked.

Her potion was working for every one but himself, apparently.

-Oh, I ve really got to set a proper spell against intruders. » she mumbled as she darted away.

She had been looking at Alberforth Dumbledore. What was he doing here? he hadn t been invited either. He was talking to a house elf :

« How s the bird? » he kept repeating. He looked quite worried.

-Alright, sir. Flying somewhere. I think it was his first burning today. »

What bird? what burning? What was this?

-He came to her a few days ago, you say? »

-Yes. And we ve no idea how to tend to a phoenix. That s why we need your help. »

A phoenix?

-Anything unusual? Has it got ashes on its feathers? » Alberforth Dumbledore looked worried sick.

-Only in our house, sir. I had warned her against letting it sleep in her closet. Burned her whole wardrobe. Poor miss Barebones ! The bird has burnt all the clothes. She was so upset. She called him a roasted chicken. I think he decided Chicken was his name. »

Chicken the phoenix?

All of a sudden, Draco realized a huge weight had been pushed off his shoulders. So. She was a green phoenix. Things hadn t been that bad. Not that bad at all.

She was brooding in a corner, with a glass of elf made wine. Draco touched her arm, and said simply :

« So, you re a Dumbledore. Oh well, I did read miss Skeeter s book about your famous great grand uncle, but you re your own person. Like me. We re paving our own path, aren t we? A name is not a curse, you know. »

Astoria Greengrass had felt a little ill at the end of the party, yesterday night. She had taken a few days off. Draco had decided to tend to her personally. And she was much better now. So Draco knew they would only have to relax and enjoy. Granger herself had offered her help with the castle. How was that possible? Draco didn t know. This potion must have been strong! Arthur Weasley and a few friends of his had planned to invade the castle for this muggle room project. Draco had given the muggle lovers the western tower. His invaders had one room. No more. The good news was that father and mother would be out shopping for a good while. They would have work to do with miss Barebones. The sun was shinning. Everyone was so helpful. Rita Skeeter s article had been published very early this morning, and owls kept coming at Draco’s bedroom window. Astoria was commenting and laughing as she was helping him tidy up his fan mail. Potter had promised to bring the little Teddy along, some day, to show how he could « kick his arse » at a quidditch game. Except Draco was quite determided to win, this time. It would be a wonderful few days. He felt like the luckiest man in the world. He would never doubt Hydra Barebone s potion skills ever again.

Daria’s fan fiction : A’s 15 minutes of shame

The coolest girl on the planet is in my class. She ‘s got a psychic who’s pretty cool too, but she’s bad ass. If I weren’t an atheist, I’d throw offerings at her boots. I’m exagerating. But I mean : they’re intimidating, they’re not approachable, they cut people off. they rule.

So… What disturbed our jolly mister O’Neil’s fragile sensitivity, today? Oh. A theft at « alt lawndayle.com », the brand new cyber café. Halleluja. Seems the world is finally ending.

Everyone has got to express their feelings. Kevin’s turn. I picture miss Barch in my mind, yelling : « Shut up, Kevin! » love this woman. Jodie’s turn to peak up, when I hear :

« Oh, come on! »

Ah! Daria’s speaking.

« Come together with the planet? By staring at a screen for hours? Sitting in a room full of people you never say a word to? »

You tell them. Replace screen with board, and that’s called a classroom.

« Right here and now, let’s pledge to make Daria’s dream a reality! » goes the teacher. What did he have for breakfast? Fairydust?

« You mean : the ones where people walking down the streets burst into flames? »

Did Mr O Neil get this? No. he decides to do what he does best : turn whatever Daria says into an assognment, and ignore the sarcasm. That’s right! It seems we’ll be forced to help turn « alt lawndayle.com » into a coffehouse. Why just stick to virtual relationships? let’s pretend to communicate for real. Everyone is told to participate. Daria intends to resist. Jane looks at Mr O Neil like : « Na. I won’t even pretend to give a shit. » I just slip out of the classroom. Hopefully, he’ll forget I exist.

O Neil? Froget one of his beloved students for one of his exciting new projects? What was I thinking? I slip in the corridors like a ghost, i hide in the corners, but he still manages to catch me before lunch :

« Andrea! »

Damn you, and your perky voice. I might have to worry he’s the Devil himself come to my school, because i keep telling ma jesus freak parents worship him. Come to punish me… because of course, I don t worship imaginary entities. Still, as I listen to this Julie Andrews in a teacher’s suit trying to convince me to join the party, i picture him with horn. That would make sense, wouldnt’ it?

Ok, it’s lunch time. Means i’m hungry. means i’ve got to stop this conversation – aka monologue – now. Where do i begin? :

« Well… »

– WONDERFUL! »

Oh, that’s gotta be the pixie dust again! I didn’t say anything!

« I’ve been thinking you could read us one of your dark poems. »

-I think you’re the Devil. »

-Metaphysical? Good! Thank you, Andrea! That would be amazing! »

Off he goes. I need tot drink

Read? In front of everyone? One of my poems? how do i get out of this? Thanks god, Daria and Jane will probably be away, chilling and making fun of eveyone else. I wouldn’t want them to see me on that stupid stage. I d be mortified! Imagine! Toying with my smashed potatoes, i start to think. No way, man! My poems are personal? Plus, what tone would best befit such a brainless highschool public? Violent, or depressing?

Talking about brainless, Tiffany and kevin are passing by:

« Oh, KEvy! We will be such a HOT Romeo and Juliet couple at the opening of that COffeehouse… Or something. »

-Sure, babe. »

-Oh, my Romeo! »

And if i knocked on your heads, the sound would be hollow. This is hopeless. Oh, well. Depressing. Bingo. I’m in the mood for a poem:

Shapes in a uniform, seemingly fresh

Bones underneath. Bones that do not rest

Now, Ruttheimer is passing by. He’s trying to hit on yet another girl. And failing. Am I really the only one who likes the freckles? Weird. The boy has got something. More than two words of vocabulary, for starters. Well… he does sound like a perv. And his lines are cheesy. But it’s an artistic level of cheese, so if he gave me a try, i would take his virginity. Maybe. but Mr Freckles doesn’t seem to notice me. And since he does notice pretty much eveyone else, that’s upsetting.

Oh, my heart! I feel it breaking!

But has it ever been beating?

By your hollow, empty chest

I’m here, but are you?

Sure, I see your body.

Anybody home, in that rotten bag of flesh?

D day is at hand, and i see Daria and Jane in the coffeehouse. What are they doing here? I should kill myself before having to do this. Except i m not suicidal enough to wanna die, actually. Coffeehouse, my ass. This time, i really need a drink.

After Kevin and Tiffany are done butchering Romeo and Juliet s balcony scene, it’s my turn to die of shame, shile my classmates stoically watch my agony. If there was such a thing as life after death, i would deserve my place at valhalla, at least. The problem is : there is no scientific evidence dying of shame is a real thing. Sigh. Let’s pretend they’re all in their underwear, and daria and jane have just been abducted by aliens.

Shapes in a uniform, seemingly fresh…

Tell scientists that unfortunately, shame doesn’t kill.

Wait… Is Daria on stage?! No way! O’Neil’s evil work. maybe, i should consider some serious Devil worship.

Daria is reading a gruesome spy story, full of expensive costumes, and brutal murders of evil communists. By the end, everyone’s thrilled. She might have created vocations; I think she’s starting a cult. Ok, Daria. i m in. What do we do? Kill communists? If the people around me weren’t really stupid, i wouldn’t be slightly worried. I’ve got to get out of here.

As i move towards the excit, i hear Brittany yell at Kevin because he forgot his shakespeare lines. but, i mean… kevin…

As i almost reach the excit, a fence of uniforms is in my way. They try to understand Daria’s story:

« So, she killed him. »

-And the other guy too. »

-The guy she’s been with? »

-Yeah »

-He was a communist as well? »

-Yeah! »

-But he was wearing an armany shirt! »

-They’re everywhere! »

-yeah! »

-Communists suck! »

-Yeah! »

-Let’s stone the russian embassy »

I say rolling my eyes as i push through the excit.

Daria’s fan fiction : The wheel of torture

Here we are, at this stupid medieval fair, trying to escape to Upchuck, once more.

I guess we were too optimistic on that wheel, thinking we would finally get some damn peace, when LO AND BEHOLD! Here comes this girl running toward us, in tears. Oh me, oh my. She can’t join us. She’s absolutely not bursting into tears, and whinning indescribable words to get into the wheel with us. COME ON! I roll my eyes, and look at Jane.

She tries to negociate with the wheel guy : « NO ! WAIT! WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS! »

But the guy just wants to get rid of the scary girl with the running mascara, so negociation doesn’t work. And now… What’s her name, already? She’s one of the fashion club hellhounds, I think. Gracie… Tracy… I think those are words that come out of her mouth, but all we can hear is :

« Squeek! Squeek! Squeek! HEEEEEEEEEE! »

I tell Jane : « Well… I think she can’t see us. She’s in her own world. » Jane has her wicked smile:

-Then, she needs to change drugs. »

-Squeek! Squeek! Mumblemumble BREEEEEEEEET! » goes the mascara river monster.

-It’s a boy problem. » Jane and I try to guess:

-He dumped her. »

-For another girls. »

-For one of her friends. »

-And he didn’t even call back. »

-YEEEEEEEES! »

I think she’s trying to soud human:

« Mumblemuble one date… Mumblemumble call… And… HEEEE… WHOHOHOHOOOOO! »

-What was so interesting about this Bret anyway? »

-You’re encouraging her, Jane. »

-I wanna know! »

-Well… Mumblemumble popular… Mumblemumble TOO popular… Cuz mumblemumble Sandy said… »

-So… He was up to the fashion club’s standards. »

-Ye-eeees… »

-You’re such romantics, you. » concludes Jane. You don’t say.

I look at Jane. She’s also starting to have a headache. Someone’s gonna have to tell this girl… Oh, well… Stick on that wheel… That’s gonna be me, again :

« Listen : you were out with this guy because he seemed to fit your standards, anyway. But he let you down. So maybe, he didn’t. »

The sobbing stops for a second. I think I made a point.

« Nice one. » says Jane.

-Ye-eees. B-But… HEEEEE! WHOHOHOHOOOO! »

-But you wish he told you what went wrong in the first place. »

-Squeek! »

OK, then ASK THE BOY! » Jane is beginning to be frustrated.

-But… Mumblemumble Quinn says… Mumblemumble and Tiffany says… Mumblemumble… And SANDY says… »

-Who CARES what they say, damn it! You need to know, you ask the boy! »

She looks like we’re finally starting to make sense:

« Well… My assertiveness trainer, he says I should speak for myself. »

-DAMN RIGHT, he is! »

-He also says I should not be afraid to share my intererests. »

-He’s very wise. »

We keep encourraging her. The squeeking stopped. That’s what matters.

« I like painting and scuplting. » goes Jane.

-And I like cynical political books. »

-And I don’t read her weird stuff, but we really get along, because we watch sick sad world. »

-And we enjoy pizza. »

-Pizza’s nice. »

-Definately. »

-See? We can be ouselves, AND be friends. Share interests, even if we don’t share SHARE everything. »

-Well… I’d like to have a pet. A little doggie, or a little kitty, or a little birdy, or a little mouse, they’re sooooo cute. And Sandi says that pets are filthy, but still. And mum, she doesn’t want me to have pets, so I have little glass figurines. »

-That’s nice. »

Is it me, or Jane sounds totally paternalistic?

« And I like magic. Like… Making bunnies disappear, and stuff. I wonder how they do it. And Sandy says it’s for babies. »

-Who cares about Sandy? »

Miss Squeek seems happy to hear this.

« And I like ice skating, really really fast. And i think, when I ll drive, I will have a really really fast car… Or something… Like… A pretty car… But fast… But pretty… I think. »

-Oookkaaay. »

-I’ll ask mom if she can buy me lavender oil. Because it would help me get over Bret. And call him, maybe… I should call him, right? Like you said… Right? »

-Thaaat would be nice. »

There’s a few quiet minutes. She barely dares to ask:

« But… You’re Quinn’s exchange student, or cousin, or whatever… »

-They got her in a pet store. »

-They wanted a goldfish, but I was sold at a reasonable price. »

-Hun?! Well… Isn’t Quinn sooo pretty, and she’s so cool, and she’s soo smart, like she could even help you with… »

-Being a brain? »

-Yeah! And… She’s my best friend in the fashion club. Like… It’s her, and then Tiffany, and THEN Stancy, or her, and then Stacy, and then Tiffany. But Quinn is ALWAYS first. »

-OK. »

-B-But… I don’t have bouncy hair like her, and I’m not as popular, and now… I don’t have… A booooyfrieeeeeend… Snifflesniffles… »

Oh my, is she gonna cry again?

« That’s OK, be strong. Spit it out. » says Jane.

-Well… Do you think that Quinn still likes me? She’s MY friend, and all, and I really wanna keep being hers… »

-I you lost her friendship because of some random guy you went out with, she wouldn’t be such a good friend anyway, would she? But you’re still popular, AND you’re still in the fashion club. »

-That’s true. Oh my God, you’re sooo smart, Quinn’s cousin! »

-You shouldn’t worry. As long as you’re fashionable, she’ll hang out with you. »

-Thank you! »

We can tell it’s a big thing off her chest. Oh, wait. What else has she got to share?

« And… You know… I also read, and stuff… And I’ve got this book about Margaux Hemingway, and she was a model… And she died tragically, and all… And Sandy says it’s too gloomy, bu I like it… And I think you’d like it too… Right? Right? Because you like to read? » That was aimed directly at me.

-Hold on there, Misery Chick. » whispers Jane between her teeth.

The wheel is slowing down. It will soon be the end of this.

« You know, » says Miss Squeek:

-You two are really nice. Too bad you dress so badly. You should come to the fashion club. Sandy always says we should help the less fortunate. We wonldn’t mind helping. »

The wheel stops. As we get,down, ready to run, miss Squeek goes :

« So… You really think I should call him? »

-Oh yes. » says Jane.

-Or there could be a murder. » I say.

The girl nods in thankfulness, and darts off. Finally!

daria’s fan fiction : the nap police

My best friend Daria, in our favorite pizza place! Thinner ans paler, but still alive!

« Yo! »

-Hello. »

-What’s up with your school of super geniusses? »

-You mean : with my school of sometimes very knowledgable super jerks? »

-I’m glad you’re not changing, Daria. Hanging around brains like you might have made you popular. »

-God forbid! That’s why i changed strategies : i get lower grades, and refuse to drive myself crazy studying. »

-What happened to your : Oh hell, i’m going to Grove Hills as a part of my master plan to conquer the universe spirit? »

-It melted down when i discovered that a fair number of Grove Hill’s students have a mental breakdown, and i refused to let this happen to me. »

-Good point. »

-Jodie and I swore we would keep our sanity before applying. By the way : that makes me think… »

Daria reaches out for her phone and dials a number :

« Jodie landon! Nap time! Now! Yes, i’ll wake you up, in say thirty minutes… I know we ve got this important essay… Yes, you will do just fine as usual… No, you can t study for five more minutes… We made a bargain, Jodie, remember? I promised to tell you when you were becoming over the top? You are now. I’m doing this for your own good, so get your freaking rest, and i mean it!… Whatever. You’ll thank me in thirty minutes. »

She hangs up. Dials another number:

« Excuse me, i’ve got to do this. »

Someone seems to pick up.

« Hello, Elsie? Could you please go to Jodies and make sure she has her nap… I know we’ve got this essay, but i m home for the week-end. i’ll study on my way back to Grove Hills… Even if Graham had a better grade than me now, that wouldn’t change my being overall better than this jerk… I don’t care what he’s going to say… You sound exhausted, Elsie. You should rest after checking out on Jodie… I know. Someone’s gotta be the nap police. »

She hangs up again :

« All yours now. Sorry about this. »

-waw. »

-You’ve got no idea. »

-Tell me more, mister officer, i mean… Ma’am! »

-Well… You know how i decided to go to a real good school in order to fullfil my somewhat vague ambitions? »

-Yeah. Hence your applying. »

-And i ended up hanging around snotty, overstressed workaholics? »

-Sounds like Grove Hills to me. »

-Well… It’s actually a cult. You work overnight, you never go out of the library, you eat Grove Hills, think Grove Hills, sleep Grove Hills… »

-I thought you weren’t allowed to sleep. »

-You are if you dream of homework. »

-What a fun place! and yet, you are here. »

-Precisely. i decided to resist the pressure. To have my limits. If i don’t get out of this place and hang around normal people from time to time, i’ll go crazy. »

-Normal?! You wound me! »

-It’s good to see you. The pressure gets on everybody’s nerves. Jodie… well… you know her. She’s ranked first of the class, AND she’s volonteered to help the slower students. I’ve constantly got to force her out of her books. She looks like a zombie. Sometimes, i catch myself studying on the verge of exhaustion because EVERYONE is doing it. »

-My my… »

-But i’ve got tricks. When i’m being looked down upon by a teacher or a student and i’m about to collapse, i think about what Trent would do. »

-Nap. »

-Life savior. Exactly. »

Pizza’s finished.

« Wanna go to my place? » i offer

-Sure. »

I can’t wait to show her my new artwork. God i missed her! She’s sitting by the bed with a smile:

« So… How’s good ol’ Lawndayle High doing? »

-The usual routine. But there’s this : we had to volonteer, and i gave art lessons to children. »

-Sounds like fun. »

-It was. Kevin and Brittany were sent to read in a nursery home. »

-Poor old people! »

-I know! Brittany must have caused many a heart attack with her brutal voice inflections. »

-Crime unsolved. The killer’still running… »

-Haha! And you know i had to help organize this party. worst part is : Upchuck was the DJ, and i almost fell for his cousins. »

-Was it that boring? »

-Deadly. They seemed alright, tough. I was bored out of my senses, i think. »

I fall quiet. Why do i feel so nervous? It’s not like i did anything wrong. Anyway, it’s no big deal. I had to have a social life, after all.

« Well… And i met this really cute boy, Evan. Actually, he turned out to be a jerk. Anyway, he made me join the track team. »

-The track team? »

She’s confused. that’s what i kind of feared.

« Surprise! I happen to be a little more… Popular, now. »

-Aaas long as it makes you happy… »

I sigh. I am successful, and this popularity thing isn’t so bad. But happy… I can’t tell, without Daria.

« It’s got its perks, and it’s drawbacks. For instance, because of the training sessions, i’ve got less time to create, and that bugs me. »

-Jane, that’s too bad! You’re too good an artist to let the track team take over! »

-I know… »

-i mean : good for you if you enjoy running, but art is your thing. »

-I know. The second inconvenient is I sometimes know exactly how Mack feels about Kevin… »

-Bummer. »

I can hear Trent’s footsteps in the corridor. It’s been a while since he’s been peeking into my room. Well… I do spend much more time running. He opens the door :

« Oh, hey, Daria. »

-Hey, Trent. »

-Nice to see you here. Janie really needs sensible friends, these days. She’s lost her way. »

He darts off. I turn to Daria :

« And there’s this. »

She sighs :

« Listen : i’m happy to hear you’re running if you enjoy it. »

-Thanks. But…? »

-But you know you can’t let this get in the way of your creativity. »

-I know. »

-Even if they’re putting pressure on you. »

-I’m not under pressure. »

My phone is ringing. I’ve got to pick it up. It’s Evan:

« Yo. »

-Hello, Jane. i don’t see you at training. »

-Oh, there was training this week-end? That’s too bad. I can’t come : my friend Daria’s here. »

-You can’t be serious! jane, you need to come now! the final’s… »

-i know when it is! But I’m telling you : i’m not coming! I’ll see you at training during the week. Now, for once, will you let me rest with my friend on a week-end?! Will you do that for me?! »

I hang up. Daria nods :

« I’m glad to see you’re not under pressure. »

-Oh, shut up. »

So annoying. My girl is right. I am under pressure. Right now, i just don’t feel like admitting it out loud. Daria smiles :

« As long as we both know i’m right. »

Harry Noble and the Diamontine

« May I change my porridge, please ? It’s too hot. » asked the famous Harry Noble to the cook of the prestigious Poodle school canteen.

-Of course, Sir. Sorry, Sir. All of my excuses. » answered the cook bowing down over and over again in front of the thin little boy with straight, untidy hair, and ugly glasses.

-My goodness… Is it so difficult to make decent porridge, these days ? »

The new broomflight teacher was taken aback :

« What’s all the fuss about that boy ? »

The pointy hatted school director replied :

-Don’t you know the worldwide fame of the family ? The Nobles were the most powerful wizards ever. Unfortunately, the Noseless One, the most powerful villain ever, killed them both in their sleep. God knows how, this little boy, who was only a baby then, managed to fight back and stay alive. The Noseless One intends to come back to kill him, someday. But since he’s a Noble, Harry has to face something even worse : his mother stayed in the world of the living to watch over him until he’s 18. Don’t you read celebrity magazines ? Anyway, Mrs Noble is very keen on her son’s education. »

-I see. »

-You do not want to be in trouble with Mrs Noble. »

-Of course not. »

-He needs a special treatment, this one. »

-He does. »

-I mean it. »

-But… Come on… He’s so average look- »

Thunder rolled, and a flash of lightening torned the ceiling and disintegrated the director’s office table.

« I told you. », the director said.


Somewhere dark, the evil ex-fairy godmother Frostsnowqueen made plans to steal the Diamontine. The naive elders of the Poodle School had hidden the precious stone of power in the deepest cellar of the canteen, along with the finest wines they put aside for the teachers. So, with the help of her fairy friends, she would become the most powerful witch the world had ever seen, and master the universe. Ha. Ha. Ha.


« Mom. Stop scaring the hell out of my teachers, please. It’s making me unpopular. That’s so embarrassing. »

-But Honey… » argued the great ghost in a white wizard’s robe :

-You’re a Noble. Popularity’s for ordinary people. Ordinary’s for low class people. »

At the canteen, Harry had switched from the table of the popular folks with gel in their hair to the table of the much despised Hermione-knows-it-all and her Ronsy clumsy ginger friend. Ronsy’s sister had just been bringing him a pack of opera singing candies, when a terrible, ghostly voice paralyzed the whole room :

« YOU SHALL NOT EAT THAT, HARRY NOBLE ! »

-These are only sweets, mum. »

When everyone recovered from this fright, Hermione and Ronsy got up and took their things :

« I don’t wanna be your friend anymore. »

-Your mom’s too weird. »

-Books are safer. Come on, Ronsy. »

Later during the day, Mrs Noble traumatized the enchantment teacher, got chased by the gardening teacher with a rake, and harassed the school director to create special upperclass marks for her son. Now, high school was going to be hell. Harry wanted to hide. And he found just the right occasion when he saw the cooks heading towards the deepest cellar.


Somewhere dark in the same cellar, evil fairies were rubbing hands and laughing about how they had managed to steal the formula to unlock the Diamontine, and how Frostsnowqueen had managed to enter the school in the form of new broomflight teacher. Soon, they would master the universe. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Then, there was this little drunken boy. He looked like that kid from the magazines, but he was way too small to be a Noble. Then, he was mumbling to himself bout how unfair life was, how he didn’t care about interesting marks, and how he wanted to become crystal ball soccer player instead of a stupid professional wizard anyway. And he disappeared in the long corridors of the deepest cellar.

« Got the formula ? »

-Yep. »

-Found the stone ? »

-Yep. »

-50/50 of the power, right ? »

-Of course. »

Frostsnowqueen brought the fairies along the corridors. And then, the Diamontine was there. And then… That magazine Noble thingy had fallen asleep right on the top of it. Well… That was annoying, but easily dealt with. With a violent gesture of her hand, Frostsnowqueen threw Harry on the wall nearby the stone. Harry woke up all of a sudden, and yawned :

« Oh no. Who wants to kill me again ? But you stop, guys, please, I always survive ! »

Harry took the formula from the fairy’s hands :

« Look, this doesn’t even rhyme. »

He read the formula aloud. A bright, purple light got out of the stone. The fairies screamed, Frostsnowqueen screamed, then all was silent.

« Oh, crap. » muttered Harry.

He sat down and fell back to sleep. When he was found by the cook the next morning, he was grounded by the director to fix his crumbled ceiling. The director hadn’t been able to reassure mommy. The popular kids with gel in their hair whispered to each other that getting drunk was such a human reaction. Like, totally out of fashion. Ronsy went crazy :

« I can’t believe you got drunk ! That’s too cool ! »

Hermione wen on with a long speech about the benefits of experiment. Ronsy concluded :

« In the end, Harry isn’t so much of a freak. »

 

 

 

dessin : Image par<a href= »https://pixabay.com/fr/users/GraphicMama-team-2641041/?utm_source=link-attribution&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_campaign=image&amp;utm_content=1456914″>GraphicMama-team</a&gt; de <a href= »https://pixabay.com/fr/?utm_source=link-attribution&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_campaign=image&amp;utm_content=1456914″>Pixabay</a&gt;

Pour être une star

« Géranium, ça n’est pas raisonnable. Tu ne peux pas t’inviter à un concours de chant pour te faire remarquer. Tu vas te faire arrêter. » Valériane parlait d’une voix douce et convaincante. Géranium haussa les épaules :

« Huh ! Par qui ? Ce gros patapouf de garde ? »

-Géranium, le concours est déjà très bien organisé. Tu dois te douter que tout est planifié. Je te conseille de patienter. »

-J’en ai PLUS QU’ASSEZ ! Je te paye, et qu’est ce que tu fais pour moi ? Tu ne crois pas en moi ! Tu es virée ! »

-Mais ma chérie, ne sois pas ridicule. Tu n’es pas inscrite, tu n’es pas une chanteuse. Tu n’as aucune chance de passer. » Le sourire de Géranium fit craindre le pire a Valériane.

-Sauf si on doit remplacer un de mes concurrents au pied levé… »

Géranium se mit à réfléchir. Elle avait ses concurrents à détruire. Il y avait une visibilité internationale à la clé. Elle pensa directement aux superstars : la chorale philharmonique des Boisés. Géranium alla voir la sorcière Réséda, experte en concoction de poisons.

Elle se leva tôt le jour suivant pour mettre de la poudre de poison mortel au sureau dans le gratin de miel sans sucre au thé vert biologique goût citron des Boisés. Il n’y eut rien de plus facile. A présent, tapie dans l’ombre, elle attendait. A la cantine, les choristes se resservaient.

« Wah ! Sensas, la nouvelle recette ! »

-C’est effectivement un petit peu mieux que d’habitude, mais rien ne vaut le gratin au miel de la bonne de papâââââ. »

-ça donne envie de tomber amoureux… »

-Cette nouvelle recette, c’est aphrodisiaque ? »

-Ah bah ça, pour êt’ bon, c’est bon ! »

-Où j’ai mis ma fourchette ? »

C’était un véritable brouhaha. En attendant, personne ne mourait.

« ça a comme un goût de poison mortel au sureau ! » dit une voix aiguë, plus audible que les autres.

-AAAAAAH ! »

-Quelle bonne idée ! C’est excellent pour la voix ! »

Bref, c’était la cata.

« Il est nul, votre poison ! » fit remarquer Géranium a Réséda.

-On ne tue pas une fée, voyons. »

Voilà un détail que Géranium allait oublié.

Il fallait essayer autre chose. Tiens, les monter les uns contre les autres. Voilà ce qu’il fallait. Son plan, c’était de passer d’un groupe à l’autre pour créer des quiproquos qui mèneraient à un pugilat. Pervenche se disputa avec Asperge, Coquelicot avec Pâquerette, Tournesol avec Narcisse, saule avec Chêne, Bouleau avec Oranger, Pétunia avec Primerose, Vulpine avec Charme, Hêtre avec Hortensia. Bref, ça bardait. Au bout d’un moment, il y avait des petits groupes de nuages de poussière, où on ne voyait pas qui mordait qui, qui griffait qui, qui tirait les cheveux à qui. Le plan diabolique de Géranium fonctionnait.

Quand soudain, un cri. Tout le monde s’évanouit. Géranium aussi.

« Et merde. » conclut Mandragore la chef de choeur.

-Bon dieu d’autorité. »

Quand Géranium se réveilla, le psychologue Ergot Seigle était parti, et tout le monde était réconcilié. Tout ce travail de sape pour rien. Les choristes étaient plus unis que jamais. Il fallait trouver une solution.

Elle essaya de débaucher leurs musiciens, Merlin et Banjo, son instrument qui parlait. Mais Merlin était un plein délire hallucinatoire et se transformait compulsivement en n’importe quoi.

Malgré tous ces échecs, Géranium était déterminée. alors, elle passa dans l’équipe des décors pour écraser la chorale. Mais pendant la répétition, rien ne se passa. C’est quand elle monta sur scène pour voir ce qui clochait que le décors tomba.Gentiane Jaune, la maquilleuse, se précipita et remarqua que la victime de l’accident avait un visage qu’elle n’avait jamais travaillé. Tout le monde vint voir cette curiosité. On demanda si quelqu’un la connaissait. Silence. Alors, on appela la sécurité.

La fête battait son plein. La chorale philharmonique des Boisés était fin prête, les Mauvaises Herbes cassaient leurs instruments, le rappeur piquant Yucca Yo s’aiguisait les dents, et les jazzeux de Tap-Tap-Thym improvisaient joyeusement. On communiqua aux forêts avoisinantes par des signaux de fumée quand le juge en chef, Sauge Officinale, fut installé. Valériane soutenait à présent une étoile montante de la tragédie nommée Camélia. Et Géranium, dans tout ça ?

« Parlez-moi de votre mère. » interrogea Ergot Seigle.

-Elle va bien, merci. je peux m’en aller ? » répondit Géranium.

-Il faut faire face aux blessures de son passé. »

-Je suis très équilibrée. »

-Vous avez voulu faire capoter le concours de chant le plus connu de l’univers en agressant des concurrents. »

-On n’a pas le droit de vouloir être une célébrité ? »

-Pourquoi tant de colère ? »

Géranium sauta hors de son lit, le souleva, et l’écrasa sur la tête d’un Ergot Seigle étonné.

« Je ne suis pas en colère. Je suis très calme. Je sais parfaitement me maîtriser. »

La marmotte et la souris

Dame Souris marcha matin

Sur le terrier de Dame Marmotte, geste fort importun

« Fort bien, » se dit l’animal somnolant

Qui était contrarié par ce réveil surprenant.

« Je me vengerai. »

Aussitôt dit, aussitôt fait.

La marmotte de mauvaise humeur

Mit un morceau de Leerdamer

Dans un piège à souris en bois.

Elle se frotta les pattes : « Haha!

Qu’elle approche mon terrier, ma bruyante voisine !

Je serai bien vengée ! Comme je suis maligne ! »

Mais Dame Souris, pas folle, connaissait bien ce tour.

« Du fromage ? Et du bois ? C’est clair comme le jour ! »

Et elle s’éloigna.

Dame Marmotte, lassée d’attendre longuement

Curieuse, creusé un tunnel à l’endroit justement

Où le piège est posé. Quelle mauvaise idée !

Car la grande dormeuse s’y coinça le nez.

Serial mamie

Il y avait eu un meurtre atroce à Trinchoir-sur-Yvette. Marcel Fascaga, le jeune délinquant du village, avait été tué. L’inspectrice Cassidy Fox, fin limier du FBI, avait été reléguée dans ce trou perdu pendant deux mois : elle avait soi-disant fait preuve de violence excessive envers ses collègues masculins. Du coup, on la punissait. Elle se saisit de la seule affaire qui l’intéressait.

Les résultats de l’autopsie ne furent pas concluants : celui qui faisait office de médecin légiste avait regardé les coups portés au jeune Marcel en se curant le nez. Il y avait des poils d’animal de compagnie sur le pull de la victime. A analyser. Cassidy comptait bien arrêter le meurtrier et lui faire bouffer son sac à main : assassiner le seul et unique délinquant de cet endroit mortellement chiant ? Franchement ?

Cassidy Fox interrogea le prêtre du village pour commencer.

« C’est un gâteau de la mère Michel. Vous en voulez ? »

Le prêtre était tellement absorbé par ses pâtisseries, qu’elle ne put pas en tirer grand chose. Le commissaire en chef Postillon proposa au prêtre d’arroser son goûter de liqueur de pomme. Là, il avait confié que M. Calcigue avait évoqué une action malhonnête en confession. Il ne se souvenait plus trop, mais ce n’était pas bien. Hic. Pas bien du tout. Hic. Il le savait.

Entre minuit et une heure du matin, Les Calcigue eurent la bonne surprise d’entendre Cassidy Fox tambouriner à leur porte :

« Calcigue ! FBI ! Sors de ton trou ! » En chemise et en bonnet de nuit, M. Calcigue sortit le poing en l’air :

-Boudiouh ! A-t-on pas idée de crier si fort à une heure pareille ?! Vous êtes-t-y si sourde que vous avez besoin de vous époumoner comme une truie ? »

-Je vous arrête pour insulte à policier ! »

-Restez où vous êtes, malheureuse ! »

-Je vous arrête pour menaces ! »

Cassidy s’avança. Elle eut juste le temps de voir le pot de fleurs tomber, puis :

« MES AZALEEEEEEEEEEES ! AH ! AH ! AH ! »

M. Calcigue, la main sur le cœur, devint rouge, puis vert, puis blanc avant de s’effondrer.

Plus tard, le commissaire en chef Postillon alla porter de nouvelles azalées en pot et des confitures de la mère Michel à M. Calcigue. De son lit d’hôpital, le grand malade leur révéla qu’il payait régulièrement le jeune Fascaga pour crever le pneus des frères Maximum qui roulaient sur ses plans de tomates avec leurs mobylettes. Il regrettait bien ce qui lui était arrivé.

Les frères Maximum faisaient pétarader leurs mobylettes autour des policiers.

« On s’arrête, là ! », hurla Cassidy

-La mère Michel nous offre un petit rosé. » lança Maximum l’aîné au commissaire Postillon sans même la regarder.

-Arrêtez-vous ! » hurla Cassidy de plus belle.

-Alors, tu viens ou quoi Postillon ? Y s’boira pas tout seul, le rosé ! »

-ARRÊTEEEEEEEZ ! » Cassidy tira en l’air. Les frères Maximum accélérèrent leur engin.

-Elle a du foin dans le cerveau, dis ! »

-Parigots, têtes de veau ! »

-Mais non, elle vient des Amériques, idiot »

Au petit rosé de la mère Michel, le commissaire en chef Postillon apprit que Fascaga n’avait plus le temps de crever le pneus des mobylettes des frères Maximum : il voulait faire des bêtises avec Francine, la plantureuse bonne du curé. Mais elle ne voulait pas. Aha… Une affaire de viol qui aurait mal tourné ?

La plantureuse Francine ouvrit la porte du presbytère en tenue légère. Un énorme chat persan blanc fit son entrée.

« Bah… Il était de mauvaise vie, Fascaga. Au départ, je voulais pas, mais j’ai fini par céder. Bah… vivre avec un curé, ça vous laboure pas vot’ jardin, vous savez… Mais si je me rappelle d’une chose, c’est que la mère Espincher… »

ça devenait ridicule : les Espincher renvoyèrent Cassidy vers M. Farçous, qui les renvoya à Mme Sereing, qui les renvoya à M. Alestouffé. L’analyse des poils retrouvés sur le corps de Marcel Fascaga révélèrent que les poils de la victime appartenaient à un chat. Cassidy Fox eut le malheur de penser au chat de la mère Michel, mais on la rabroua.

C’est là qu’on annonça la disparition de la plantureuse Francine. Pas de chance pour Cassidy : il y avait enfin un meurtrier en série dans le coin, et la fin de son séjour approchait. Le lendemain matin, son avion décollait. Le téléphone de la brigade sonna. C’était la mère Michel. Elle invitait Cassidy à prendre le thé.

Bien sûr, elles parlèrent du cas Fascaga :

« Alors, on ne sait toujours pas qui l’a tué ? »

-Les moyens manquaient. »

-Des suspects ? »

-On a retrouvé des poils de chat sur le corps de la victime. C’est un indice important, je crois. »

-On dit que votre séjour est bientôt terminé ? »

-Mon avion décolle demain matin à 6 heures. »

-Quel dommage… Vous n’aimez pas les animaux, n’est-ce pas ? »

-Non. Pas trop. » avoua Cassidy décontenancée. La mère Michel tapota le dos de son chat, étalé sur le canapé.

-C’est un amour. Une compagnie précieuse pour une vieille dame. Malheureusement, ce n’est pas une bête très fidèle. Toujours par monts et par vaux. Je me fais régulièrement un sang d’encre. Ce n’est pas de sa faute. Depuis le temps, les gens devraient savoir. » la douce voix de la grand-mère devenait glaçante :

-Personne ne touche à mon chat. »

L’homme idéal

L’homme idéal est toujours disponible et enthousiaste. Il à l’œil vif, le poil brillant, le style coordonné en toute circonstance.

Il est très fonctionnel : on peut l’emmener partout, et il n’est pas encombrant. Il ne vous embarrasse jamais en société. Il évite les sujets à contentieux comme la politique ou le football. Mais quand de tels sujets sont abordés, il est de votre avis, évidemment.

Il est d’une patience à toute épreuve avec les beaux-pères les plus coriaces.

Il anticipe les moindre désirs de sa maîtresse sans se tromper. Il se rend indisponible à tout autre femme. Corvéable à merci, l’homme idéal n’est jamais fatigué : il tond la pelouse, descend les poubelles, débouche les canalisations, et ouvre les bocaux de cornichons sans rechigner.

Il vous trouve toujours parfaite, et sait toujours vous mettre en valeur en société. Il sait se montrer discret quand on en a assez.

Il ne crache pas, ne fume pas, ne boit pas, et ne mange pas ses crottes de nez. Il est garanti sans flatulence, et se lave automatiquement les pieds.