It was a chilly, wind-whipped November day, to say the least. The temperature had suddenly dropped dramatically over the course of the day, and the faint pitter-patter of water colliding with pavement announced that it was also going to be a wet one. Internally, I winced. I'd never been a big fan of rain, nor ever shared the strange compellation many people had to sing in it.
So as I leaned against the frame of the building, trying in vain to stay out of the rains way, I noted miserably that weather here sucked. Not that it was surprising – pretty much everything else sucked, too. Of course, the school board found no need to bring us indoors in the minor rainstorm. I doubt that even in the middle of a tsunami would they consider the weather too humid for our liking. I could picture them, inside the staff room, sitting around at the windows, laughing at us with an insane and sadistic glint in their eyes. Wage decreases and district cutbacks did that to people. It wasn't enough they felt it necessary to rot our brains away with irrelevant information that had no bearing in real life – they reserved the right to moan and complain while doing it.
Casting a disinterested glance up I noticed ninety percent of the female population running around wildly, many screaming. It would appear they, too, shared my negative feelings towards the substance but unlike me were too dim-witted to find a logical solution. Instead, they took to running around in tight, white, and wet clothing while the male populous sat and watched. Rather sad, actually. If they were graced with perhaps a tad bit of intelligence they would realize their whole situation could be amended by simply putting on the sweaters hung so 'stylishly' around their hips. Thinking it over, I realized how truly amazing it was this species had survived this long without exploding itself somehow. No, I take that back – it was more amazing they discovered explosive technology at all.
Suddenly I find that I'm no longer alone in the doorway. Casting a quick look to my side I find the person I least wished to see has decided to spend some quality time. Lucky me. For a minute I'm silent, hoping if I shut up maybe he'll just leave. Of course he doesn't. If he did, my life would be simpler, and things are never simple in my life. With a sigh, I resigned myself to speaking – one of my least favorite verbs in the English language.
It's an easy inquiry, known by most English-as-a-second-language students world-wide. With it, however, I can say more than I could in a five-paragraph essay. It's quick, curt, to-the-point and most of all rude. Exactly the way I formulate all my speech.
"What do you mean earthen larvae? Zim needs not to answer
Figuring I probably spawned one of his oh so adorable (please, note the sarcasm) tangents, I rubbed my temple absently. I really wasn't in the mood to deal with his ignorance today.
"Maybe not, but if he values his life he will leave," I
snapped. Placing unusual emphasis on the 'will', I gave him one of my patented,
well-rehearsed question-me-and-die glares.
He glared at me, and out of cockiness or insanity, I'm not sure which, decided
to ignore my warning.
"Foolish stink-beast. You cannot harm Zim!"
He must have a death wish. First he stands by me, then he replies to me. For some one who aces every single academic class, he was pretty stupid. With a growl I reached out, grabbing the scruff of his oddly shaped clothes.
Okay, so it was clichéd. With a masterfully scary, if I do say so myself, quirk of the brow, I drag him first closer to me then shove him sideways back into the rain. It was something my brother'd told me once – his skin has a chemical reaction to water. I wonder what my brother would do if he knew that all those times he'd yelled at me for not listening or not caring that I was actually hanging on every word. Nothing can top being a bitchy little sister like being a distant, bitchy little sister. You should see the look on his face when, after a thirty or so minute rant, he asks my opinion on whatever topic and I simply stare blankly. Haha, I'm so mean.
Back to the point. Zim tumbled out into the now near-downpour and instantly screeched, before muttering something to himself about thoroughness and paste. Whatever, I don't care. I smirk and fold my arms.
"That part of the skin condition, too?"
It sounds painfully like something Dib would say, but I ignore that fact. The words are laced with a strange sense of amusement only the very attentive would ever notice – in fact, it's a tone usually present in my voice. Dancing behind a sort of one-way mirror that no living creature ever notices, sticking its tongue out, pointing and laughing, almost as if its purpose is to say 'nya nya na boo boo, I'm smarter than you'. In a way, I guess it is.
He just glares. His icy blue optics narrow and make contact with mine, mouth in a tight, grim and dangerous line. Were I anyone else, I might be frightened. However, being the resident freak/goth/badass/biker/gang/cultist/Satanist/KKK ringleader (as far as my peers are concerned), my nerves failed to flare even the slightest bit. Which is probably why the sudden weight on my arm startled me.
The puddle and I connected.
It took me a second to comprehend fully what had just happened. Lost in my own thoughts, I had for a second forgotten that I had a really pissed off alien right in front of me, and being that he wasn't one of a normal physiological makeup, he might not take into consideration the whole never-hit-a-girl thing. I blinked, dumbfounded, before understanding dawned on me and a new emotion replaced shock: Anger.
In a flash I was on my feet. I may not be graceful or lithe, but I was quick, not to mention perturbed. My eyes were open – a precursor on it's own to anyone who knows me of the horrible doom to follow. I doubt Zim knows me, though, so I fasten an insidious glare onto my face to be sure and storm over to where he is. Which just so happens to be my doorway. The nerve of some people.
He raised a nonexistent eyebrow in a way that implies incredible inner amusement. I should know, after all, being the queen of inner amusement. I stand there for a moment, attempting severe intimidation. I noticed random parts of him steaming – I assume due to the water contact. I know I looked laughable – my lower half completely soaked, my shirt flecked with rain from the puddle and the sky, and my hair half purple half black, because when it's wet it gets darker and it's pretty damn wet. I don't need to say anything because my stance is speech enough – no human in the right mind that I know would question my superior power at this point in time.
Then again, I should've known; Zim most likely isn't in his right mind, and he's most certainly not human.
"Have a nice swim, miserable earth stink?"
Wham. My right fist decided to meet his lower jaw with a force that I have to thank Dib for; he was an ideal practice target. Zim recoiled, face a picture of shock, and reached a gloved hand slowly to touch his cheek. I let my fist linger in the air for a moment, a cocky smirk forcing its way onto my lips. It wasn't his pain that made me smirk - even I'm not that mean. It was, quite simply, the utter shock he was displaying that I had so much force. Wolf in sheep's clothing, I guess you could call me, although personally I don't think any sheep on earth would wear the skull necklace, Swearbear shirt* and black jean jacket that was currently adorning my figure.
There I went, caught up in my fifteen seconds of glory. Once again, I was jolted back to reality by the fact that Zim wasn't going to be beaten by a girl – especially not a girl of such an inferior species.
As his boot connected with my midsection, I reeled backwards. Banging unceremoniously into the railing surrounding the porch we were on, I cussed at him. Inexplicably, I became aware of the many pairs of eyes boring into my back. Slowly, realization dawned on me; Zim and I had started a fight. The school population was slowly filing in to stare at us in wonder. I almost stopped right then – I didn't like impressing my painfully unintelligent peers.
Then I decided, hell, why not? And tackled Zim.
It wasn't so much a tackle as it was me leaping at him and suddenly finding myself being lifted by strength I swear to God he didn't have two seconds before. Swearing in surprise as I was suddenly hoisted over his shoulder, I decided to throw dignity to the wind and do what your average blonde ditz cheerleader would do – kick his chest and beat his back.
He then made the vital mistake of placing me too close to the wall of the school. With a slight growl I placed both hands on the wall then shoved off – he was sent reeling and toppled down the stairs, and landed on top of me. Insert cat-calls from some immature freshmen here.
"Insolent earth-worm," he hissed, clawing wildly at my hair.
"Is that the only adjective in your vocabulary?" I snapped, fists swinging wildly. A quick mistake and he had me pinned. Cursing under my breath, I stared up at him, eyes narrowed fiercely.
"Actually, I speak three hundred twenty five languages you've never heard of." The words were calm, collected, and made to make me angrier, even though the actual words spoken weren't offensive at all. A smirk played upon my lips, and I stopped struggling for just a brief second.
"Really? Translate this."
Then I shared some choice words, and kicked, hoping for the off chance that aliens had the same general anatomy as human males.
Whether I was correct or not, the kick was still powerful for he lurched backwards and off of me. I rolled over onto my stomach and slowly rose to my feet. Those surrounding us were regarding me with some strange awe in their eyes, as if they had no idea I possessed such violence. Ignorant idiots, I thought.
"Victory." Voicing my win just seemed the natural option. A jock with front-row seats pointing behind me and mouthed something wordlessly. Raising an eyebrow I replied with a Canadian "eh?" quip.
My eh did not go unanswered, because at that instant I suddenly felt my hair being pulled backwards. I should've known. I've really got to stop being so cocky. So I did something more valuable with my time. I reached backwards and grabbed Zim's other arm, twisting it oddly in front of me. I heard the satisfactory hiss of pain. It was a draw. We were even.
"Well, stink-beast, that was… eh… something. Yes, yes, you have tied with the amazing Zim, feel blessed, I let you win… kind of, et cetera. Now release my arm from your disgusting grip and I will release your disgusting hair."
For reasons I'll never understand, not even now, I felt compelled to do something. He was my level at hand-to-hand-combat, and hell – probably better. I should quit while I'm ahead. Yet, at the same time, there was an overwhelming urge to do something he'd never see coming, not in a million years.
So I let go of his hand, and, true to his word, he released my hair.
Perfectly in synch, we rose to our feet and I turned to face him. My mind was still racing – I wanted something he wouldn't see coming nor know how to handle. Something that he'd never forget as the strangest form of combat he'd seen on this planet or others.
So I leaned over and kissed him.
I shoved my way back through the herd of wide-eyed, slack-jawed pupils and called back over my shoulder two simple words:
A/N: I have no idea where this came from. I just opened word and started uh writing something. Originally it was gonna be Zim's POV but that .. didn't work out. I didn't have the plot in mind before hand. It just kind of wrote itself. I apologize if Gaz was OOC, which she might've been. I suppose you could consider it a kind of semi-ZAGR. Uh yeah.
*Swearbear – from Tshirthell.com. What can I say, it seemed like the kind of thing Gaz would wear.