Set after the end of the series after Veronica returns from that FBI internship Piz wasn't too thrilled over. From Veronica's perspective.
I do hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave your thoughts.
No rights to the Veronica Mars TV show.
No rights to the Veronica Mars mov...oh wait.
Here I am, back from the FBI internship and let me tell you, studying for your future during periods that are not currently your future really takes it out of a girl. I'm immensely glad to be back in the present, which, being Hearst College, is actually just more preparation for the future.
As I trudge up to Mac's room for an obligatory "I'm back!" visit, I try extremely hard to focus on the present. I focus on the future as part of the college curriculum. If I were to look at the past, however, I might break down in a puddle of tears and have to be carried out in a trash bag, refusing to unlock from my fetal position.
My past is . . . colorful. And not just my best friend's murder, roofie-and-rape combo, corrupt legal systems, plotted bus crashes, and other murders and crime sprinkled throughout my adolescent years, but more recently, there's been boy trouble, and I'm not just talking about the kind-of sex tape that was released for public consumption.
I push all that aside as I knock on Mac's door. Mac is not a male. Sure, she has an androgynous commonly utilized nickname, but she is decidedly female. I can talk to her and not think about boys for an extended period with only a little effort on my part.
Also, we could not talk about mysteries or murders or sexual assault of any sort, because I've about had it with people deciding it's cool to do those kinds of things. I'm hoping the people of Neptune, California have learned by now not to commit crimes in towns Veronica Mars resides in.
Mac swivels her door open after an appropriate amount of time and smiles when she sees me.
"Veronica!" she grins.
"Mac-attack!" a reply rather pathetically, but we're friends, so it's okay that I did that horrible thing with her name, and she gives me a hug.
"Nice to see you," she greets, releasing me.
"It's decent seeing you," I shrug. "Our time of separation has alerted me that you are a great weight upon my life, and I could achieve so much without your burden."
"Yet you cannot let me go," she plays along.
"It's a bad habit," I agree. "Where's Parker?"
"She went to get coffee and it's taking her an astoundingly long time. Wanna come in?"
I figure it's kind of late for coffee, but I guess that's where the "astoundingly long time" part comes in.
Always reliable, for an impressively long time, Mac does not talk about boys or murder or digital media of any sorts, a particular stretch, being the computer geek of computer geeks. She's probably seething with excitement about pixels or something at any given point in a day.
But it's nearly inevitable that boys become a conversation piece eventually during our face-to-face couch catch-up period.
"Have you seen Wallace yet?" she ends up asking.
I let the mention of Wallace slide at first. He doesn't count as a boy.
"Not yet. You were stop numero uno on my return trip?"
"I'm flattered," Mac grins, "but isn't Wallace friend numero uno? And have you been to see Piz, either?"
"I mean . . . yeah, we're close, I guess," I shrug, grasping to the non-Piz subject.
"Close? Aren't you guys the friendship of the centur—ohwaithe'sroommateswithPizwhoyoudon'twanttoconfront," her realization spills out in a babbling rush.
I give her a pointed look.
"It's okay," I forgive.
"What about Logan? Have you been to see him?"
"What is it about 'stop numero uno' that you do not conceive?" I ask good-naturedly.
"The part where both Piz and Logan come after me."
"And Logan? And Logan? Mac, my dear, you have some awful ideas as to how my mind groups people together."
"I'm sorry. Was the order wrong?"
"Cindy Mackenzie, I carry a Taser."
"Speaking of romantic accolades," I decide to retaliate, "who are you currently with? Ambitionless test salesman or animals rights activist?"
"Neither," she sighs.
"Is no one worthy of Miss Mackenzie's hand?" I tease.
"Miss Mackenzie is quite content single, thank you very much."
"You know," I begin, "in romantic comedies, that's what the protagonist says right before they run into a hot guy in a flower shop or elevator that they kiss passionately right before the credits roll."
"I doubt that's the plot of every romantic comedy ever, Veronica Mars," Mac points out. "It's downright unrealistic. Romantically significant occurrences do not happen in or near elevators."
"Hey, bro," Dick greets as he enters one of the rooms in Logan's multi-roomed suite.
Logan nods as a return greeting.
"Did you hear Ronnie's back today after months of spy school?"
"Should I have?" Logan replies brusquely, busying himself with adjusting the TV volume to his liking.
"Well, Ronnie's back today after her months of spy school," Dick informed him. "I thought maybe that's information you would want. Not because you two were, like, in a weirdly long-term relationship or anything. Or because you left each other on bad terms. Or because she was technically your friend. Actually, more like a combination of the three."
"Thank you, Dick. You are a champion of men."
"You know, sometimes, your deadpan sarcasm really hurts," Dick feigns extreme offense.
"Should I show off my pearly whites as I abuse you with words?"
Dick points an encouraging finger at him. "I better see some smiles," he agrees. "Hey, speaking of people you're on bad terms with, have you seen Parker?"
"Why would I have seen Parker if I left her on bad terms, Dick?"
"Just asking, oh terribly rude one. Mac called up here to ask if we'd seen here about hour ago."
"And why do you care?" Logan asks half-attentively.
Dick shrugs. "The girl's hot. Hot girls are in short supply and its best we keep track of them."
Logan shakes his head at the TV screen in a sort of defeated manner.
"You're charming, my friend."
After leaving Mac's room, convinced Parker wouldn't return tonight, I make my way back to my own. I'm on my way to Wallace's room when I catch sight of a neck tattoo I've come to associate with an unlikely ally of mine.
"Hey, Weevil!" I call.
Weevil, crossing the campus, looks up when he sees me, then does this kind-of half-grin thing, because I guess true, hardcore thugs, even after they've left such a life behind for the most part, aren't allowed to beam at their friends.
Then again, I don't know if they're supposed to be college maintenance men either.
"V," he smiles at me, in the nickname I only allow him to utilize. "Long time, no see."
"Long time, no smell," I correct, wincing. "What is that stench?"
"You think this line of work smells like roses?" he challenges. "Now come here."
"How're things?" I ask when we release.
"Living large," he gestures at his work uniform. "Not in jail. That's something. My grandma wouldn't complain. I've even made a friend or two. And you?"
"Just got back. Not sure yet."
"Are you scaring off your friends already when you've just returned?"
I frown. "Are you trying to be cryptic or are you legitimately trying to offend me?"
"Your friends with that Parker girl, aren't you?"
"Parker Lee? Yeah, why?"
"I saw her running earlier. She didn't even stop to stay hi. She looked spooked."
I'm about to question him further when my phone starts going off, signaling a text waiting for me. I hurriedly check it, and feel a wave of disappointment at Neptune's inability to keep itself in line.
No one's seen Parker. She's missing.