WARNING: This fic contains swearing, violence and gore, and homosexual relationships. If you have a problem with this, don’t read it.
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“It seems then, the Eeveelution is opposite to man. While man changes the environment to suit himself, the Eeveelution changes to suit the environment. A combination of these two creatures would be dangerous indeed.”
- Fredrik Marsh, author of Eevee: The Perfect Pet, or an exploit of nature?
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Rockwell High school, Lorto.
“I’m not going to ask you again, Farren. Answer the question.”
Her eyes were the hue and intensity of stone. Under her pale skin, muscles tensed. A slight twitch in her jaw alerted Cam to the fact that she was annoyed beyond return. But she returned the young woman’s gaze with a stoic grey gaze.
Cam knew Farren well. She knew that her favourite movie was Underworld, she hated water, she was allergic to pineapple and she had a freckle on her jawbone, right next to her left ear.
She also knew that Farren had a deep, embarrassing secret that she didn’t like to talk about, one that made her more dangerous than any person sitting in the room on that fateful day.
But what she thought she knew about her friend, that she was completely harmless. Farren would never hurt anyone; it just wasn’t in her.
But she was to be mistaken.
To her credit, Cam knew that Farren hated music. She hated being put on the spot by the teacher, Ms. West, who seemed to be fond of picking on the girl. It was no secret that the aforementioned teacher knew of the girl’s origins, and was deeply disgusted that she had to teach the teenager.
Ms. West sighed, not breaking Farren’s gaze. “Do you want me to get Mr. Cunningham in here? Answer it, or you’ll be spending the Friday afternoon in detention.”
This time, Farren’s lip curled up, and she made no attempt to hide her hostility. Her shoulders tensed, and her eyes betrayed a feral desire. “I hate how teachers always expect us to want to go home at the end of the day,” She spat, curling her hands into fists. “If you knew what I had to go home to…”
“I’m not going to ask you again, Farren.” interrupted Ms. West, brown eyes wide with accusation. “Answer the question, or there will be consequences.”
Cam was sick of this. It happened every lesson. Is she trying to push Farren to her limits, just for the fun of it? How sick.
“I said,” snarled Farren, “No.”
And with that, there was a sharp zzing, and blades emerged from all over her body. Long, silver and cured like a Middle-Eastern sword, they glistened under the harsh glow of the fluorescents, reflecting the terrified faces of her peers. Farren glared harder than ever at the teacher, who seemed to affair to do anything but stare at her tormented student with eyes brimming with fear. The girl tipped her head forwards to show of the long, curved blades poking between her ebony hair and edging her spine, shoulders and ribs.
Cam was not afraid. She had seen Farren’s blades before, when she had unsheathed them as a dare. But she was afraid for her friend. Looking at her arm, she saw that blood was pouring freely from the hand she had pressed to Farren’s in support, having been sliced by her wrist blade. It didn’t hurt, but she knew it was enough to have Farren locked away, or worse, killed.
Unlike Cam, Farren was as afraid as any other person in the room. She panted through open jaws, her braces moist. Tears tracked down her face, and her eyes had lost their steely anger and just became afraid. Cam pitied her.
“It’s ok, Far.” Slowly, she reached over with her uninjured hand and carefully patted her friend’s arm between the scalpel-sharp knifes that covered her arms. Underneath the huge blades that covered her body, Farren’s skin was as soft as any other humans. The girl stiffened at first, but then turned to look at her friend with grateful eyes.
“I’m s-sorry… i-if I hurt you,” she sniffed.
Then, with one last accusing look at the teacher, she pulled her blades from the table where they had been impaled, got to her feet, and stormed out of the classroom, retracting her weapons with a shlik.
---
Ecruteak High, Johto.
Darcie watched Naomi at her locker, unaware of students buffeting her from both sides. The girl’s blonde hair was as bright as any star against the dull stone wall, and even from this distance, Darcie could see her brilliant green eyes glittering like emeralds. It was all Darcie could do to stop the lighter tips of her dark hair glowing in admiration.
A cold hand gripped her arm. Darcie spun to see her sister, Ellen, staring at her with her all-knowing indigo orbs. Her mouth was slightly ajar, and her breathing was slow and soft. Darcie closed her own eyes, realising that Ellen was trying to show her something.
She saw the small body crunched into the lockers by a snorting grey face, green eyes filled with fear. She could hear her howls of pain, ribs shattering, and smell a disgusting odour as intestines saw the light of day.
Darcie ripped her eyes open to see Naomi organising her books, unaware of the low thumping that was coming from the other side of the fence. Panic gripped her, wrenching at her heart like an iron hook. “No,” she snarled, and was gone in an instant in a puff of black smoke. Ellen watched on, her soft face expressionless.
Darcie reappeared moments later besides Naomi, who was given no time to ask what the hell was going on before Darcie pressed her against the locker, shielding her with her body as the awful smashing of bricks shattering assaulted their ears. Many students turned to look as a rampaging Rhydon tore through the wall, tiny red eyes rolling madly as it threw itself at the wall.
The dark girl’s body shuddered with impact as the snorting grey creature thrust its short horn into her back. This would have proven fatal for any normal human, or at least savagely painful, but Darcy merely pulled back her lips to let out a small snarl of pain, squaring her shoulders against the impact. To see that her beloved was out of harm’s way was enough to deaden the pain.
“Darcie… what the ****?” Naomi seemed a little annoyed after being slammed into the locker. Especially since all the students who had seen the event had formed a tight circle around them, far enough away from the Rhyhorn’s stomping back legs. More teens, enticed by the large gathering of their peers, came to stand watch.
A small, wiry figure pushed his way through the crowd. He wore a scowl, orange brows narrowed over his intensely bright blue eyes. With a loud sigh, he heaved the Rhydon into his arms, hoisted it above his head, and threw it over the fence where it landed with a thud.
There was a dead silence as everyone gawked at the boy, some with their mouths hanging open.
He glowered back, hunching his shoulders. “What are you looking at?”
---
Rockwell High, Lorto.
“Please, take a seat.”
The middle age woman flashed him a forced smile that seemed more of a grimace and planted herself in the office chair opposite Mr. Cunningham. He was buffed by a faint whisp of perfume. This woman had style, at least.
“So, I hear you have a complaint?” The principal chuckled to himself. “I wonder what this could be about?”
The reptilian smile soon changed into the purse-lipped look of an irritated woman. Placing her handbag on the floor, the woman folded her manicured hands. Her eyebrows became twisted with concern as she begun.
“Mr. Cunningham…”
“Please, call me Joe.”
The woman twisted uncomfortably in her seat, the skin on her face twisting. “Joe.” She replied sourly, as if it disgusted her to call a man she didn’t know on such informal terms. “I have come to complain about a certain…”
“…Student in my school.” finished Cunningham, unable stop a smirk brushing his features. “The one with Chromeon genes?”
The woman’s facial muscles slacked, a haze of surprise crossing her watery blue eyes. Cunningham’s smirk widened at the woman’s ignorance. “How did you know?”
“Ms. Stepney, I have had seven other women –and men- come into complain about just the same thing. Anyway, please continue.” Cunningham folded his hands on his desk, fingering his wedding ring.
Sarah Stepney sighed loudly and brushed her finger against her eyebrow before continuing. “My daughter Isabelle is in the girl’s class. I don’t feel safe with that thing near my daughter.”
Cunningham’s shoulders dropped, and he fixed his gaze on Sarah as intensely as he could. “I think that it’s disgusting that you call her a thing. She has a name, you know.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes. “I’m not here to argue about the thing’s rights. I’m asking to remove her from the school.”
“Ms. Stepney, do you not think that Farren has a right to learn? She is still primarily human, gets good grades and has a stable group of friends. I really don’t understand what all the fuss is.”
Sarah gasped and flung her hands to her sides. “She made blades come out of her body in the middle of class, and severed the veins of the girl sitting next to her! How is that not a problem?”
“The girl that was injured in the incident was Farren’s close friend Cam Mawson. Farren did not intentionally hurt her; she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some students actually claim that Cam had her hand on Farren’s for support.”
Sarah snorted. “Support? What the hell for?”
“All I can say is that Farren got angry at her teacher just as any teenager would. Extending her blades was a response similar to human’s hair standing up when they feel threatened.”
A silence descended over the room while Sarah chewed her nail. Outside, the voices of students echoed; it was lunchtime.
“But what about surgically removing the blades? Won’t that work?”
“The blades are like fingernails. They grow back. I’m sorry, we’ve thought of everything. Nothing changes, and when Farren is discharged from the mental ward, she comes back Rockwell.”
Sarah said nothing. She just quietly left the room and shut the door with a gentle click.
Cunningham exhaled hard through his mouth, and looked down at the list of names of parents who had booked in to see him.”
“Three down, eighteen to go.”
---
Psychneur Mental Institution, Lorto.
Farren sat with her arms curled around her. She made no attempt to withdraw her blades; as a part of her they couldn’t cut her unless she willed it to be so. Besides, after seventeen years of mostly keeping the blades concealed, it felt good to stretch the muscles used to push them out.
A sharp rap on the door made Farren’s head snap up. She watched it with curious grey eyes as a lock clinked in the key, sensitve ears twitching. The metal door swung open with a creak. The muscles around her blades tightened when she saw a tall grey-haired man standing in the doorway.
“Whoa, Farren.” He raised his hands towards her, a look of fear in his eyes. “Please put those away.”
“Sorry,” croaked Farren, and the blades disappeared back into her body. “I needed to stretch them.”
“It’s ok,” said the man. “Aren’t you uncomfortable there?” He walked over and pulled two chairs out from the desk, sitting on one and offering her another. Meekly, Farren pulled herself into one, scooting away from the man slightly.
“I’ve come to make you a deal.” He began, resting his head on his fist and staring at Farren with narrowed eyes.
Farren’s eyes widened. She liked this idea. “What kind of deal?”
The man sighed. “My name is Dr. Marshall. I’m a psychologist. I’ve been asked to assess you psychologically. If you answer all my questions, no matter how odd they may seem, you can see your friend, Cam.”
The girl suddenly sat up straight. Farren was a private creature by nature, she didn’t like to share her personal details with others, but longing to see Cam was growing in her like a chasm. “Ok.” She finally responded.
Dr. Marshall smiled. “I hoped you’d see it that way.” He settled into what seemed a more comfortable position pulled out a notepad and pen. Well, I’ll start by asking you about Cam. You seem fond of her.”
A smile brushed Farren’s pale features. “She’s one of my best friends. I’d do anything for her.” The girl adopted a more serious look before adding, “I hope I didn’t hurt her too badly.”
“Well, she’s well enough to come see you, so yeah, I’d say she’s ok.” The doctor, who had begun scribbling away on his pad when Farren started to speak, leant forwards more in his chair. “Tell me more about your relationship with her.”
“We met three years ago, in ninth grade. You get girls that, y’know, are nice to me and stuff, but they’re not like Cam or any of my other friends.” Farren’s eyes were earnest with affection.
The doctor’s lips edged into a smile. “It’s good to hear that. I remember when you and your kind were created there was a huge uproar about how horrible your lives would be.”
Farren nodded. She often felt like a cat amoung pigeons around ordinary humans. Sometimes she got strange looks when she forgot to dye her hair to hide the silver roots, but mostly people just left her alone. It wasn’t like her differences couldn’t be hidden, like, say; Ester the Silicon mutant’s claws. “I guess it’s worse for some of the others.” she mused.
Dr. Marshall smiled, jolting this down. “Do you ever see any of the other mutants, if I can use that word?”
“That word is fine,” Said Farren bluntly. “I’m different to anyone else my age, no matter what you wanna call it. As for the other mutants, I guess I see them around.”
“Ok,” whispered the doctor softly, jolting this down before looking up at her again.
“This may seem like a pretty odd question, but do you ever get angry? And I don’t mean frustrated or annoyed, but so angry, you could hurt someone?”
Farren stared at him stoically for a few moments, and then threw back her head in voracious laughter.
“Are you okay there, Farren?” The doctor’s voice was concerned when he spoke up. Farren had since descended into a current of mad giggles, her eyes wild.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she chuckled, a venomous sting of sarcasm under her mirth. “It just makes me sick that people only give a **** about you if you’re dangerous. If I were any other girl, you wouldn’t be asking me this. If I were an ordinary loony, nobody would be like ‘Oh, can she hurt my kids?’ they would be all like ‘Oh, that poor little sprite.’ People make me want to vomit. All they care about is themselves.”
The doctor’s pen was a snake, scribbling over the page wildly. He didn’t look up to speak to her again. “And you don’t, Farren?”
Farren stared at him intently. “Not anymore. I’m don’t really care what happens to me anymore, since nobody else does. I have no rights, so what does it matter? They might as well kill me now so everyone can be happy.”
The doctor looked up at her and put his pen down, blue eyes concerned. “Farren, don’t be like that. Lots of people care about you, not just those who are worried for their children. I have a daughter your age who asked me to tell me how you were, because she felt sorry for you.”
Farren’s eyes sparked with an unknown emotion for a moment. “That’s kind of her.”
“Anyway, could you answer my original question? Or don’t you feel comfortable?”
Farren ran a hand through her hair. “Nah, it’s cool,” she responded. “I don’t usually get angry like I did in class at school, but when I do get angry, I go down the back of the yard and chop up firewood. My carers sell it.”
Dr. Marshall’s smile returned. Farren though that he would be quite handsome if she was thirty years older. “It’s good to see you vent your anger. Well, that’s all my questions. I’ll go get Cam for you.”
Farren smiled. “Thankyou.”
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Well, that was the first chapter. I plan to introduce more characters in the next chapter, like the Vaporeon girl. Hope you liked!
