Chapter Text
“I can’t believe you’ve been at this school for all of a week and you’ve somehow managed to land the both of us in detention,” you seethe.
You aren’t sure what pisses you off more: that you’re stuck at school for an hour of absolute boredom or that the dark-haired girl in the desk next to you seems perfectly at ease. Her boots are kicked up on the desk in front of her yet she somehow hasn't gotten scolded by the teacher watching over them at the front of the room.
Carmilla is not at all affected by this statement, her eyes still skimming the pages of her book as she responds flatly, “I’m not the one who nearly blew up the science lab.”
“No way. This is completely your fault. I was trying to be nice and help you. But you seem to care so little about anything that of course you couldn’t spare half a second to make sure you were handing me the right ingredient.”
It’s an eighth grade science class; the middle school barely even has enough components capable of exploding.
“Come on. That little eruption was probably the most exciting thing to happen at this school in a while. And the teacher’s face alone made it worthwhile.”
“You did that on purpose?!”
“Ms. Hollis,” the teacher stuck with the two of you only just notices the conversation going on, “settle down.”
The only answer you get to your accusation is a smirk accompanied by, “You’re hilarious when you’re annoyed, buttercup.”
You nearly scream in frustration. Why would this insufferable girl do something so dangerous just to get a kick out of annoying you? You've never even had a full conversation with this brooding nightmare before. You'd felt bad when you'd seen the new girl doing the lab by herself, but apparently this is what you get for trying to be friendly and accommodating.
“Well, sorry some people have better things to do than sit in detention.”
“Are the other Keebler Elves really so lost without you?”
“You are the biggest…bad person I’ve ever had to deal with it.”
“Oh, we’re just getting started.”
“I just…I thought things were getting better,” LaFontaine admits miserably, scratching at their short red hair.
You swivel in your computer chair to better face your friend that’s seated on the edge of your bed. “Perry has been a lot better about everything lately. I’m sure she’ll wind up back here worrying about you in no time.”
That doesn’t seem to help as the bio major’s eyes stare off into nothing. “I’d like something to experiment on now.”
“Well, um…”
As much as you want to be there for LaFontaine, you’re not exactly up for handling one of their experiments. The last time had nearly led to half the dorm becoming a toxic waste dump, followed by a riveting hour-long lecture from Perry. You can still remember cringing at the octave Perry's voice had reached in all her fretting, even though it was fairly justified. And you’re sure that LaF certainly isn’t up for that right now.
“How about we watch Harry Potter instead?” you suggest, grabbing LaFontaine’s laptop to start booting up a movie.
“Didn’t you just marathon that last weekend?”
“And so you think I’m suddenly sick of Harry Potter? Or Emma Watson?”
“I don’t know…”
“We can make a drinking game out of it.”
Normally drinking would not have been your go-to suggestion. You don’t even drink all that often, nonetheless prefer people using it as a coping method. But if it got LaFontaine to stay instead of going and finding some test subject than you were down for getting drunk.
“You keep alcohol around?"
“Betty becomes a bit of kleptomaniac when she’s drunk,” you explain about your roommate, noticing the hint of pride in LaF’s voice. “She hefted a bunch of alcohol from some frat party last week citing it as revenge for one of them grabbing her butt.”
“Fair enough.”
“So are we doing this or not?”
It doesn’t take the two of you very long to get a little tipsy. You had found a random Harry Potter drinking game online and it turns out that whoever made it must’ve wanted to get really drunk really fast. Still you both somehow manage to stay mostly sober, and you can tell it’s getting LaF’s mind off their fight with Perry, which is the ultimate goal. They don't even notice you glancing to check on them because they're too immersed in the glow from their laptop.
So you sink a little further into your bed to make yourself more comfortable, knowing LaFontaine isn’t likely to leave and cause scientific mayhem anymore.
Of course since you made herself cozy two seconds later your door is being thrown open.
“Hey, bros,” Kirsch greets as he wanders in.
Normally you secretly kind of like how everyone is comfortable enough with you to just invite themselves in. It's been that way since your freshman year. During the day you pretty much always just leave the door wide open. Normally you also find Kirsch sweet and enjoy his company, except maybe when you're trying to help him study. As much as you like helping people, teaching Kirsch anything academic can be quite the challenge.
This time you can just tell by the goofy grin on his face that this night is about to go in a very different direction.
“Hey, Kirsch,” you greet happily even though you are praying he is really just here to say hi. If not there goes all your work of distracting LaF.
But of course he wasn’t. “Science Bro, I heard from Danny that you and the floor don got into a fight. That’s rough, dude. And Danny’s been super stressed because of TA stuff lately. So I figured I would invite all of you to join a few of the Zetas in some clubbing tonight. You know, to cheer up a little.”
It’s a nice gesture, but knowing the Zetas it’s probably a recipe for disaster. Pretty much any of their ideas wind up in near-death experiences. They had once managed to make a luau into a near satanic ritual, after all.
You’re about to decline but LaFontaine speaks up first. “We’re in.”
Your head whips in their direction to find an absolutely shit-eating grin on their face.
Of course.
LaF always tends to get like this when they fight with Perry. They go looking to do things that Perry would hate. And clubbing with Zetas surely isn’t something that would get the floor don’s seal of approval. In fact, it would probably only rank a few spaces below "midnight trips to Silas's creepy library" on a list of things Perry does not approve of.
A huge smile breaks out on Kirsch’s face. “Awesome. And it seems like you two already did some pre-gaming. Danny already said she was in. We’re all meeting on the quad in half an hour.”
Just like that he’s out the door.
“Seriously?” you ask once he’s gone. You know they just want to spite Perry, but to do that you could just make a mess in the hall and not have to deal with any Zetas.
LaFontaine shrugs. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Besides, it’s not like you don’t already know that, spoiler alert, Snape kills Dumbledore.”
“You really want to go clubbing with the Zetas?”
“Are you really so opposed to the idea?”
You blame the small bit of alcohol you had for not opposing more. It’s not that it doesn’t sound fun; it just sounds like it won’t necessarily end well. But you suppose you can ignore that for now.
So you sigh an agreement before climbing out of your bed to get changed out of your tank top and flannel pants.
You hate to admit you’re having fun when you’re not even very drunk.
The Zetas that are with you guys are actually decent people and are quite entertaining. They manage to get everyone in a good mood in no time, which you suppose is the point of the night.
LaFontaine no longer seems as upset and Danny is laughing away like she hadn’t had a week from hell in terms of work.
“How did I end up giving you a piggyback ride?” Danny asks as the group walks down the street toward another club a few of you heard some people talking about.
You chuckle though you make no attempt to remove yourself from the rather tall redhead’s back. “To get me down from standing on that table.”
“I still can’t believe you stood on a table to get in that guy’s face,” Kirsch comments.
“Seriously, L, you were tearing him a new one,” LaFontaine adds.
“Well did you not hear the things he was saying to me? They were vomit-inducing at best.”
“Maybe you should’ve just thrown up on him,” Danny laughs, adjusting her arms around your legs to make holding you up less strenuous.
“Dude, that would have been awesome,” one of the Zetas, whose name you can’t remember, chimes in.
“Hey, is this that club those guys were talking about?” another one speaks up, pointing to the building just a few meters ahead.
There’s a glowing sign on the front of it that reads, “The Siren’s Den”. From the outside it just looks like a typical club despite how in awe the guys at the last club had sounded about the place. There’s a bit of a line that none of you really want to wait on, but with no other destination in mind you all decide to head in.
Yet things seem off from the second you walk in.
Cheers and whistles echo off the walls over the thumping dance music, and everyone seems to be crowded toward a stage. And the population of the place is almost entirely male. Since Danny had dropped you off of her back before you walked in, at first you can’t see what is on stage over everyone else from so far away.
And then a figure rises to full height on the stage.
A very female, very topless figure.
“This is a strip club?” Danny finally voices all of your thoughts. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Whoa, wait,” one of the Zetas stops her. “That entry fee wasn’t cheap.”
“I thought that just was a cover charge for the bar!” you exclaim in annoyance.
“Well, we already paid it. Why waste it?” another Zeta argues, sneaking a glance to the show on stage. The money clearly doesn’t seem to be his only reason for staying.
“And that bar looks like it has a killer array,” LaFontaine chimes in, earning some surprised looks. “What? I am a fan of getting my money’s worth.”
No more arguments can be made as the group disbands, some heading to the stage while some flit away to the bar. The only ones left standing by the entrance are you and Danny.
“Let me guess,” Danny says. “This place has your feminist ideals all twisted up.”
You nod. “I think I’m just going to get myself a drink and find myself a nice seat in the back where I can ignore all of this.”
“I think I’ll join you.”
And so after getting your drinks the two of you unintentionally begin a game of trying not to notice each other guiltily sneaking peeks at the stage. It’s beyond awkward at first but by the third or so time one of you catches the other, you’re just laughing about it.
“Okay, don’t worry. I’m not letting Kirsch run one of our nights out again,” Danny decides, picking at the sleeve of her varsity jacket.
“Temptation is bittersweet,” you acknowledge, pretending not to notice the blonde currently prowling around the stage. “I’m glad that you and Kirsch seem to be such good friends now though.”
“Oddly enough, he’s been good for me. He’s sweet, and has really been there for me since…”
“Since things between us didn’t work out like you hoped?”
Maybe that was a little blunt, but you’re tired of dancing around what had happened between you two. You had flirted relentlessly throughout your freshman year. And your sophomore year you had really thought you were into Danny when you found out for sure that the taller girl had feelings for you.
But after a long night where you had wound up making out, you had realized you weren’t as into Danny as you’d thought. You’d felt terrible when you’d tried to explain that to her. Especially since you still thought Danny was amazing, just not for you, which had been hard for Danny to comprehend.
And so things went on to be awkward for pretty much the rest of the school year with Danny dodging you. But ever since your junior year had started you guys have been better than ever. Your friendship was returning easily, and you are thrilled to have it back.
“We don’t have to talk about this.”
“Alright,” you give in immediately. You know that even though she’s mostly over everything she’s still embarrassed to talk about it. “But just so you know, I’m happy we’re good friends again. I missed you.”
Danny is about to bounce back with some witty response to lighten the mood when she sees you blatantly staring at the stage. She probably would tease you for the lack of subtlety if something didn’t seem to be wrong.
But you have gone practically catatonic from the view on the stage.
Wrapped around the pole in a skimpy schoolgirl outfit is a pale brunette that is all too familiar to you. But as much as you know the woman, you don’t know this version of her.
You know short legs clad in jeans that were usually shredded or studded. Not almost bare legs coming out of a tiny plaid skirt that look long and muscular thanks to pair of strappy stilettos.
You know of arms that had bracelets and leather bands wrapped around wrists. Not arms with short white sleeves that flex with each push and pull to the tall metal bar in the center of the stage.
You know of a chest that you occasionally got the privilege of seeing shake from laughter under punk rock t-shirts. Not a chest with breasts practically on display out of a half-open button up, a flimsy red tie dangling between them.
And you know of a face that though it was often contemplative and broody, was still hopeful. Not this mask that’s lustful and seductive, trying to hide all the pain underneath.
“Holy Hufflepuff.”
“Laura, is everything okay?”
Danny isn’t sure why you’re in such a trance and is starting to worry. You can’t bring yourself to care though with your eyes pinned forcefully on the stage, and you think they may even begin to be tearing up the slightest bit. Your voice wavers as though you’re grasping at something impossible.
“I never thought I’d see her again.”
Yet sure enough the one and only Carmilla Karnstein is onstage just across the room.
The air is frigid in the alleyway outside the club, but there is no way you are going back inside. You can’t risk missing Carmilla coming out of the back door that read “staff only” on a rusty sign.
There is nothing else in there for you anyway.
Your friends had left at least half an hour ago. Danny had been especially insistent about trying to stay with you but you were having none of it; repeatedly assuring them you have a rape whistle, bear spray, years of krav maga experience, and were completely sober by that point of the night.
And you can’t go back in there by yourself. With no one else to distract you, you’d just keep picturing Carmilla on that stage again.
No matter how many times you picture it you can’t make sense of it. How did Carmilla wind up as a stripper? Where has she been all these years? How has she been? Because the last time you saw her…
You physically try and shake away the thought, not wanting to bring yourself back to that night. You’re not sure you’ll be able to snap yourself back to the present if you do.
Checking your phone for the time, you know the club is closing soon and you had already seen a couple of the dancers leave.
It’s another ten minutes before the door opens again and you almost launch yourself into a panic when Carmilla steps out.
She almost blends into the alleyway in her pitch-black clothing from her jacket to her leather pants to her combat boots. Her hands are stuffed in her pockets and a puff of fog escapes her cherry red lips along with a sigh.
“Hey.”
Hey? You want to kick yourself. You haven’t seen your best friend in years and that’s the first thing you have to say?
But it’s effective.
At the sound of your voice the dark-haired girl whips around with wide eyes, clearly not having forgotten the sound of your voice.
Those dark eyes flicker over you, trying to take you in.
You can’t blame her; you’re guilty of doing the same. You haven’t seen each other in years. And the Laura she had known didn’t exactly walk around in grey crop tops and tight teal pants. Or go anywhere near strip clubs for that matter.
The two of you stand staring at each other in silence for almost a minute, unable to break from this trance.
You don’t know what you had been expecting. But it certainly hadn’t been for Carmilla to just turn and walk away from you without a word.
“Carm,” you plead, unable to keep the old nickname at bay. “Carm, please. I want to talk to you.”
Carmilla doesn’t stop walking and only barely turns her head to face you as her voice cracks. “Just stay away from me, creampuff. Stay out of my life.”
Your heart drops at Carmilla’s refusal to use your real name. And it hurts even more to get so rejected.
The sting of it all leaves you stunned. You want to beg Carmilla to talk to you, to try and settle all your problems. But you can’t do it. After waiting so long only to have this happen, you’re at a loss for words. You can’t find anything to say in situation.
Even if you could, where the hell are the two of you supposed to start?
Your friendship? The night that separated you two? The past three or so years?
So you watch her walk away, fading further into the cloudy night streetlight by streetlight.
You don’t remember calling a cab, and only vaguely remember the ride back to campus. You don’t recall making it into your room where Betty is still awake working on a paper. But your roommate must’ve been concerned and called Danny.
Because you do remember your friend showing up in her pajamas and holding you while you cry yourself to sleep.