In the late Christmas afternoon I was in my room, sitting in a chair, hugging my knees and feeling glad to be clean and warm, when I heard two women talking outside. It sounded like friendly banter, but it never stopped or let up. I figured that the two were walking slowly, but they never seemed to move on. And they didn't quit jabbering for an instant. Finally, out of curiosity, I looked out the window.

The old story of the scorpion and the frog came to mind. Maisie would be the scorpion... striking out at people is part of her nature. Maybe someday she could heal and change. Maybe. In a way, it didn't matter, because I knew that from now on, at least a part of me would always have an eye on her, ever vigilant. I'd been stung already, and I wasn't going to get stung again.

I sat down on a tree stump, away from the action. My cell phone battery was dead, and I still hadn't called my parents. And I was cold. Really cold. So cold that I wasn't trembling anymore. My energy was utterly depleted.

A police detective approached me, a woman, and she asked, "Is anybody helping you? Are you okay?"

Jack@ The Greenstalk. (conclusion).
by Angharad.

“Wowee!” exclaimed Zoe as the beleagured boy followed the two women out of the beauty salon, “You look like a princess.”

Jack blushed as red as any fire engine. He looked at his mother who smiled.

“I think Zoe just paid you a compliment,” Sally said wanting to add, young lady, but she resisted the temptation.

Her brow wrinkled. She looked hurt and offended, and she started to fade away.

Alarmed, I said, "No, no! Misty, don't go anywhere!"

No doubt my uniform stank of smoke and was dirty from rolling around in the filth back here. Couldn't they have cleaned the vans before they abducted me? I wished I had a change of clothes. I wished I'd had a little warning! If I knew I was going to be kidnapped, I would have worn jeans, for one thing.

Charlotte’s Tale.
by Angharad.
Part 15.

We got home and were both still buzzing. How could singing a few songs with some old bloke have such an affect on me? His energy was amazing and it seemed to build as he went on, as if he’d absorbed it from the audience.

Mom gave me a tight hug and said, "My gosh, Marcie! Now I'm having adventures, just like you!"

I rolled my eyes, and she burst out laughing.

"You want an email account? Ha– Who w-would you wr-write to?"

"My sister," she said, as if that were obvious. Then, grinning, she added, "You know, Mrs. Wix."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Could you imagine if you died wearing some outfit that you hated? And then you were stuck in it forever?"

"You mean like a Blessed Yvette High School uniform?" The two of us laughed aloud. "Yuck!"

I was astounded. "How did you know it was me?"

She chuckled. "I'm psychic, remember? No, seriously, I have caller ID. What did you think?"

Alright, first off, this was originally a bio for an RPG character for the online forum RPG MSF High, baised off the webcomic of the same name. It was suggested by a friend of mine that I put it up here as it is still TG-Fiction and a damn good piece. (According to her) So here it is. It takes place on some random world, and you may not get a joke or reference here and there, but you should basically understand it. Not too much dialogue until the end, but it really doesn't need too much.

Oh! And MSF High and any related characters, races, planets, or concepts belong to
Wraith and Aakashi.
http://msfhigh.com/

No stealing!

(I don't even directly reference anything specific...)

“How different from us.” *
By Angharad.

Mollie Hawthorne, with an ‘e’ was fourteen today. She was having a party in the evening and she was looking forward to it with an anticipation she had never thought she’d feel again.

She bustled about the school with impatience, too excited to sit still for long let alone concentrate on boring chemistry or history. At fourteen what is history, something for old men to talk about? Mollie also had some history, although it was more recent than anything she was taught in school and more painful than anything before or since.

Ida told me that she didn't want to be too ambitious on our first weekend together. "I'm hoping we can do this again, maybe often, and so I'd rather take it easy and get to know you a little bit. It's nice to be with you when, uh–"

"I understand," I said, and finished her thought: "– when Maisie's not around."

"Mom, you're killing me!" I protested.

She just scoffed. Dad was no help... he just slogged along, head down, perspiring.

Susan smiled and flounced. "What can I say?" she grinned. "I'm just that clever! So when's Maisie get here? I have to tell you guys what I found out about Misty Sabatino. It's scandalous."

"Maisie, you're *not* fat," I told her. "You've never been fat. You're never going to BE fat. You're so not fat that you, uh, that you..." I didn't know how to finish, but it didn't matter. Her face had changed, and she was furious.

Maisie asked, "Why do you go to therapy? I know why I go — I've been screwed over by my parents. But why do you go? There's nothing wrong with you. Is there?"

"Uh, it's kind of personal," I replied.

"Who's Mark?" Susan asked, suddenly very interested.

Maisie responded by pointing at me.

Sister said in a quiet voice, "Come with me." I had no idea what was going to happen next, and to tell the truth, I was a little afraid. She walked to the far corner of the room, and opened a tall, dark door.

"Now," I said, "my parents want to keep a very close eye on me, and they think that Sister Honororia is just wonderful."

"Don't say her name too loud," Maisie cautioned. "She's behind you in the corner, and she's looking right at you."
 

I looked up at the second floor, and saw a girl's face in one of the windows. She looked directly into my eyes, but she didn't move or wave. I was so startled, at first I couldn't tell the others, but when I did, the girl was gone.

"Why are you staring at me?" she demanded.

"I'm sorry," I replied, "I didn't mean to be rude. I've never seen a nun up close before."

"I never thought I'd complain about this, but Mom, the skirt's too short."

"No it's not," she replied. "It looks fine."