Troubles of Faux

CHAPTER 2.1 || JERYL, JERYL, WHO ART THOU?

"I didn't think I understood how you managed to convince a Faux to join us," the man who'd accused the Professor of bringing her in said. He was now sounding apologetic for his vocal attack. "Until now. I apologize for my behavior."

"It's alright Dred, I understand," the Professor said and gave him his usual smile. "Then he turned towards the crowd and spread his arms apart. "Alright, gather round everybody!"

Jenrette balanced herself rather casually on the very far end of the sitting room, away from these revolutionists. She clenched her facial muscles tight. Her lips were sealed, and the fingers of her palm were balled into strong fists. Her eyes. The eyebrows fell low and remained unblinking, the stare narrow and vicious. She watched each of them with indifference, face straight and eyes darting from person to person; the men and women, and even a few kids who looked innocent...and lost. She even looked at Jeryl on occasions, and when their eyes met, she lingered on, deepening her frown and almost growling before looking away. Sometimes, her intimidating stare had him looking away instead. He was positioned at the back of the sitting room, standing upright and watching like a guard.

The way Jenrette stared made her look – and feel – like a predator. We are always the ones that go for the kill, her father used to say. He didn't stick around much unlike her mother, and he rarely spoke. And that made a part of her value the things he said when he did begin to speak. Sometimes what he said made sense, sometimes they didn't, but her mother had advised her to take his words seriously because her father from what she knew wasn't an ordinary Faux.

Probably why the folks in these parts hated him. Or maybe it was just the Bloids. She made a mental note to source out the truth.

The sitting room stirred alive. The Bloids were beginning to prepare themselves for a battle plan, a number of them gathering round the main table. Jenrette sat still, full and comfortable on a single cushion, arms relaxed on the armrest like a king and legs crossed. Like how her father looked when he sat – except for the crossing. That was her being a woman. Right now, she was beginning to feel like it. Like a Faux. Like Terin Faux.

And it felt good. To be in control. To be tough, influential and intimidating by looks and not just actions.

"The first time we went against the Vaux, we didn't have much luck."

That was Dred. He had a thick grey coat on that reached down to his thighs, dull greenish pants and washed-out shoes that simulated a play store for aggressive rodents. His blonde hair wasn't exactly neat. He looked confident, even in his super-stupid dressing. Even his speech; Jenrette likened him to a retired pirate.

"That was because we didn't completely understand what we were up against," a black, highly built black man standing beside Dred responded.

"Tonight," said the Professor, "That has changed." He walked over to the other side of the table where he could see and address comfortably all the Bloids, including those sitting. "With Jenrette Faux as our ally, we're finally going to get this plan to work."

Jenrette would have smirked at that remark. Hell, she did smirk! But she quickly concealed it, not wanting to lose her predatory stare and the effect it had on the Bloids. Some of them looked at her when the Professor made that remark, not quickly enough to see the quick smirk though, and their eyes met with that of a murderous gaze. Some threw their faces away, some others taking in her pose on the chair before taking their attention back to the Professor.

"How exactly is she going to help?"

Yes Professor, how am I going to help? Just because I lived within the boundaries of the Vaux Grounds for a few years doesn't mean...