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hennessysTitle: Weeding
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Summary: Miranda knows about kissasses and hypocrites.
Warnings: fat-shaming in the background
Notes: So Miranda played field hockey. I did not know this.
It was Jack who clued Miranda in, over dishes.
The Hennessy family believed very firmly in doing things for themselves, or at least, Christopher and Isobel Hennessy believed in making their children do chores. Dad had cooked and Charlotte had set, which made it Jack's turn to clear and Miranda's turn to rinse all the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. For once she wasn't too annoyed by the thought. Charlotte had been withdrawn all week, and she wasn't talking to Miranda, which meant she was probably talking to Jack, and doing dishes meant Jack couldn't escape Miranda.
She cornered him against the counter as soon as he came in the kitchen, carrying stacked plates and silverware. "What's wrong with Charlie?"
He stared at her for a moment, then said, "You really don't know?"
Miranda gave him a flat look. "Would I be asking you if I did?"
"Huh," Jack said. "Guess you haven't been seduced by the dark side after all." He set the plates on the counter but didn't return to the dining room.
Miranda raised an eyebrow at him, and picked up a handful of silverware to rinse. "What do you mean by that?"
"Your buddy Erica's been tormenting Charlie," he said, picking up a knife and turning it thoughtfully in his fingers. "Saying she's fat and ugly, you know how people tease freshmen."
Through the red haze of anger beginning to cloud her mind, Miranda fought to bring Erica's face to mind. One of those forgettable California bottle blondes, she thought, with an orange spray tan, too much mascara, and an unattractive habit of sucking up. Her free hand curled slowly shut at her side. "I think I know who she is," she said, at last. "And she isn't my friend, she's... she hovers. She thinks she can become my friend by kissing my ass."
Jack snorted. "There's always one."
"Several, I would think." Erica's brown-nosing had become embarrassing recently. She'd been trying to think of a way to politely tell her that she was neither welcome nor amusing, but hadn't come up with anything.
Miranda bared her teeth in what might have been a grin, had there been anything nice about it. She didn't need to be polite anymore.
"I'll take care of it," she said, cutting off Jack's rambling plan for cutting class, sneaking over to the high school and pulling some outrageous prank. "Thank you, Jack."
"Don't kill her," Jack said, and ambled back into the drawing room.
--
The sun beat down on the field, bright and brassy, the last remnants of summer clinging to October. Miranda wiped a hair out of her face and hunched down, taking a good grip on her stick. This was going to be good.
Just practice, the coach had said, warming everybody up after the summer off, integrating the newbies into the team. Erica was one of those newbies, and she wasn't going to stay on the team very long, not if Miranda had her say. She narrowed her eyes, watched her target run down the field with the scrum. Any second now...
The ball flew Miranda's way; she hooked it skillfully and headed down field. Erica caught up with her, doing a terrible job of guarding her, probably in yet another attempt to suck up. For God's sake, Miranda could shoot a goal right through her legs, her form was so sloppy.
Not that it mattered. Miranda stopped suddenly, and as Erica wheeled around, drove the ball right into her stomach.
She let Erica see her expression of triumph right before she ran to her, faking concern.
--
"I'm so sorry," she told the coach later, eyes wide. "It was an accident. I was trying to shake my guard and I guess I didn't see that she got between me and the shot."
The couch gave her a slightly suspicious look, but after a moment, he nodded. "Okay. Fine. Pay more attention next time."
"I will," Miranda said, all sincerity. "Erica, are you going to be okay? I'm so sorry."
Erica only looked at her, eyes slitted with hatred. Miranda smiled at her, sickly sweet, and as the coach walked back onto the field, patted her knee. "You'll be fine," she said. "Seriously, it could be worse."
"Fuck you," Erica spat. "You did that on purpose, you bitch."
"Of course I did," Miranda replied, all wide-eyed innocence again. "I take exception to people tormenting my sister."
"Your..." Erica looked startled for a moment, then her eyes narrowed again. "Wait, you mean that fatass freshman is your sister? Wow, she got screwed in the gene department."
Miranda closed her hand on Erica's knee until she whimpered, without ever dropping her smile.
"My sister," she said, "is beautiful, and lovely, and if I ever hear you say a word to the contrary, you will get far worse than a ball to the stomach. Do you understand?"
Erica rolled her eyes. "What the fuck ever. You're such a bitch."
Miranda lifted her stick, and swung it lightly, as if demonstrating a move. "I've seen a good swing from one of these break bones," she said, idly. "I'm sure the coach would be surprised by how clumsy I've become, but what can you do? Growth spurts." She smiled at Erica. "Leave my sister alone. And stay the fuck away from me. I am so sick of your bullshit."
"Serves me right for thinking you might be my friend," Erica snapped.
"You never wanted a friend," Miranda said. "You wanted a cash cow. Nice talking to you." She stood up, smiled once more, and swung her stick over her shoulder.
Good day's work. Maybe now Charlie would smile again.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Summary: Miranda knows about kissasses and hypocrites.
Warnings: fat-shaming in the background
Notes: So Miranda played field hockey. I did not know this.
It was Jack who clued Miranda in, over dishes.
The Hennessy family believed very firmly in doing things for themselves, or at least, Christopher and Isobel Hennessy believed in making their children do chores. Dad had cooked and Charlotte had set, which made it Jack's turn to clear and Miranda's turn to rinse all the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. For once she wasn't too annoyed by the thought. Charlotte had been withdrawn all week, and she wasn't talking to Miranda, which meant she was probably talking to Jack, and doing dishes meant Jack couldn't escape Miranda.
She cornered him against the counter as soon as he came in the kitchen, carrying stacked plates and silverware. "What's wrong with Charlie?"
He stared at her for a moment, then said, "You really don't know?"
Miranda gave him a flat look. "Would I be asking you if I did?"
"Huh," Jack said. "Guess you haven't been seduced by the dark side after all." He set the plates on the counter but didn't return to the dining room.
Miranda raised an eyebrow at him, and picked up a handful of silverware to rinse. "What do you mean by that?"
"Your buddy Erica's been tormenting Charlie," he said, picking up a knife and turning it thoughtfully in his fingers. "Saying she's fat and ugly, you know how people tease freshmen."
Through the red haze of anger beginning to cloud her mind, Miranda fought to bring Erica's face to mind. One of those forgettable California bottle blondes, she thought, with an orange spray tan, too much mascara, and an unattractive habit of sucking up. Her free hand curled slowly shut at her side. "I think I know who she is," she said, at last. "And she isn't my friend, she's... she hovers. She thinks she can become my friend by kissing my ass."
Jack snorted. "There's always one."
"Several, I would think." Erica's brown-nosing had become embarrassing recently. She'd been trying to think of a way to politely tell her that she was neither welcome nor amusing, but hadn't come up with anything.
Miranda bared her teeth in what might have been a grin, had there been anything nice about it. She didn't need to be polite anymore.
"I'll take care of it," she said, cutting off Jack's rambling plan for cutting class, sneaking over to the high school and pulling some outrageous prank. "Thank you, Jack."
"Don't kill her," Jack said, and ambled back into the drawing room.
--
The sun beat down on the field, bright and brassy, the last remnants of summer clinging to October. Miranda wiped a hair out of her face and hunched down, taking a good grip on her stick. This was going to be good.
Just practice, the coach had said, warming everybody up after the summer off, integrating the newbies into the team. Erica was one of those newbies, and she wasn't going to stay on the team very long, not if Miranda had her say. She narrowed her eyes, watched her target run down the field with the scrum. Any second now...
The ball flew Miranda's way; she hooked it skillfully and headed down field. Erica caught up with her, doing a terrible job of guarding her, probably in yet another attempt to suck up. For God's sake, Miranda could shoot a goal right through her legs, her form was so sloppy.
Not that it mattered. Miranda stopped suddenly, and as Erica wheeled around, drove the ball right into her stomach.
She let Erica see her expression of triumph right before she ran to her, faking concern.
--
"I'm so sorry," she told the coach later, eyes wide. "It was an accident. I was trying to shake my guard and I guess I didn't see that she got between me and the shot."
The couch gave her a slightly suspicious look, but after a moment, he nodded. "Okay. Fine. Pay more attention next time."
"I will," Miranda said, all sincerity. "Erica, are you going to be okay? I'm so sorry."
Erica only looked at her, eyes slitted with hatred. Miranda smiled at her, sickly sweet, and as the coach walked back onto the field, patted her knee. "You'll be fine," she said. "Seriously, it could be worse."
"Fuck you," Erica spat. "You did that on purpose, you bitch."
"Of course I did," Miranda replied, all wide-eyed innocence again. "I take exception to people tormenting my sister."
"Your..." Erica looked startled for a moment, then her eyes narrowed again. "Wait, you mean that fatass freshman is your sister? Wow, she got screwed in the gene department."
Miranda closed her hand on Erica's knee until she whimpered, without ever dropping her smile.
"My sister," she said, "is beautiful, and lovely, and if I ever hear you say a word to the contrary, you will get far worse than a ball to the stomach. Do you understand?"
Erica rolled her eyes. "What the fuck ever. You're such a bitch."
Miranda lifted her stick, and swung it lightly, as if demonstrating a move. "I've seen a good swing from one of these break bones," she said, idly. "I'm sure the coach would be surprised by how clumsy I've become, but what can you do? Growth spurts." She smiled at Erica. "Leave my sister alone. And stay the fuck away from me. I am so sick of your bullshit."
"Serves me right for thinking you might be my friend," Erica snapped.
"You never wanted a friend," Miranda said. "You wanted a cash cow. Nice talking to you." She stood up, smiled once more, and swung her stick over her shoulder.
Good day's work. Maybe now Charlie would smile again.
