The Dancing Girl (A Dualscar x Reader Fanfiction)

Chapter Two

((A/N) I have decided to make you, the reader, twenty-one years of age in this story. Sorry if you don't agree with this, but it is merely for story telling purposes. This way I feel that it's morally acceptable to write a scene where, let's say, you become drunk, or if there are any scenes of a sexual nature, which is practically a guarantee. Also, I apologize in advance if there are any grammatical or spelling errors, my laptop is broken and so I'm writing this on my phone. Alright, Author Out! Peace!))

I awoke to faint sunlight filtering in from the boarded up windows, causing my vision to blur slightly. I looked down to find that both Lyora and Jasper were snuggled against my bosom, safe and sound. I felt a smile play at my mouth. Today was the day. The day I would get a job.

I rose from my bed, making sure not rouse my siblings from slumber. I got the only clean formal clothes within the house; a smart navy blue suit that had belonged to my mother. It reminded me of the day my parents had gone to beg the Trolls for work. My father had worn his wedding tux, applying for the job of a butler. My mother had a worn a black suit similar to the one I would soon don. I shuddered, grabbing the suit off of the rack from which it hung. I made my way across the house, making my way towards the backdoor and subconsciously taking note of the grubbiness of my shelter. 'Just think,' I thought ' just a couple hundred boondollars, and they could have food every day, not to mention running water and electricity!' The hope coursing through my veins on this morning was a welcome sensation that I hadn't felt in quite a long time. I grabbed a bucket filled with a slightly rusty razor, an old hairbrush, and a dusty, but otherwise clean, towel, off of a table right next to the backdoor. I hesitated before stepping outside,scanning the treeline for any trolls. My family had been lucky, seeing how your house was right in front a small wooded area with a relatively deep and clean lake. When I was younger, I was told to watch out for water moccasins and cottonmouths. Now I was warned against trolls who went there to force themselves upon those who bathed there, whether that person be male or female.

I released the breath I had been holding, seeing no trolls in sight, and opened the door. It felt incredible, the slight breeze flowing in front of and past my dirty skin only to be consumed by the stale air of the house behind me. It felt, well to put it in simple terms, it felt freeing. It felt as though nothing could possibly hurt me in this one moment. I wondered for just a quick second, that maybe if I could just stand there, that maybe time would stand still for me. But I quickly snapped back to reality, closing the door behind myself as I sprinted barefooted into the woods.

Once I had found the lake, I laid the suit and towel down upon a dry rock. I sat the bucket and its remaining contents on a rock that had planted itself halfway into the water and halfway out of it, jutting out over the water just enough to lend its coverage to myself if such help was needed. I then slowly waded into the water, feeling it cool my dry, cracked, and dirty skin. I felt giddy, diving into the water and splashing about in order to get used to the water. It reminded me of the last summer before the Condescension came. It had been the last time I had gotten the chance to swim.
My mother had always loved the ocean, telling the young child I was stories of mermaids and swashbuckling pirates, which never ceased to amaze me. She had always promised that one day she would take me to see it, and so she kept her promise. I was about twenty at the time, and it excited you to no end. The whole family was packed up and rearing to go, and just when we had gone to the airport, our flight was cancelled. We got our money back, but there was no hope of ever seeing the glorious ocean my mother had dearly loved.

I treaded the cooling water, shaking my head to clear myself of the memory. I needed to clean myself by noon, and splashing about whilst reminiscing about happier days wasn't going to help. I began to wash off the dirt on my skin, peeling away the caked on layers of filth and muck. It was a difficult process, and the amount of body hair I had culminated hadn't been much of a help either. Finally, after about thiry minutes of scrubbing, my skin glowed as if I had taken a bath every day for the past year. Due to my skin feeling raw, I set to work on my hair. Luckily, I brush it dry about once a week, despite the damage it might cause to it in the long run. But such trivial and superficial thoughts never crossed my mind while I was brushing my (h/l), (h/c) hair, starving as the kids and myself were. However, those times would soon change.

I swam back to the bucket, grabbing the old hairbrush from its dusty dwellings. I sat underneath the overhang of the rock, brushing my hair until it was soft and silky. It had seemed like ages from now till the last time my hair was like this. It sent a whirl of emotions exploding within my heart, as if a fireworks display had been set off in a dizzying array of melancholy, rage, and heartache. Melancholy for all of the loved ones I lost, images of my parents, Michelle, and all of my friends and loved ones that I shall never see again. Rage for the ordeal that bitch Condescension has put Lyora and Jasper through, sending those monsters to kill off anyone for her selfish endgame. And most of all, heartache, for all of the bullshit that's happened to our world.

I gasped, soft sobs emanating from my mouth. I held myself, dropping the hairbrush into the water with a soft plop.

"But fuck happy endings, right?" I murmured softly to myself. I then calmed myself down, for crying was no longer an option in this godless and yet god forsaken reality in which we reside in now. Crying shows vulnerability, vulnerability is a weakness, and I'll be damned if I let anyone see I'm weak. I repeated that little mantra to myself as I fished the hairbrush out of the soothing water. I continued to think it in the back of my mind, with a slight alteration:

Feelings show weakness

Weakness shows vulnerability

I'll be damned if I let anyone think I'm weak

This I thought as I shaved myself, numbing myself to emotions, and I guess to a certain extent, pain, for when I looked down at my (s/c), I noticed dozens of tiny, nearly microscopic cuts. I carefully put my legs back into the water to clean the streams of blood running down my legs, not even noticing the usual stinging that comes from putting a cut in water. I then returned to shaving, completing the task a bit more wary of what I was doing.

Finally, I had finished, I climbed out the lake, still wary of the lust-filled monsters that might be lurking just beyond the treeline, just out of sight. I dried off, shivering as the cold air enveloped my damp, naked body. I then quickly threw on the clothes I had laid out, but still taking time to make sure it looked neat, taking in the scent of my mother's perfume. Channel Number Five.

Channel Number Five, the scent would hug me when life was getting me down. Channel Number Five,the velvety aroma that would kiss me goodnight as a child. Channel Number Five, the putrid smell that mixed with the metallic tang of blood when I was forced to bury my parents' ripped apart carcasses. The conflicting memories crashed around my mind while I made my way back to my house, bucket at my side and tears threatening to spill forth from my eyes. And so I repeated my my mantra again. And again. And again, until I went numb once again.

Feelings show weakness

Weakness shows vulnerability

I'll be damned if I let anyone think I'm weak

Next thing I knew, I found myself packing a briefcase with what little clothes and belongings I had. I made sure to pack my dead phone, charger, and head buds, figuring that wherever I was going, it would have some sort of energy source. I packed a few costumes I had managed to keep from various performances, ranging from The Little Mermaid to The Phantom of the Opera to many others. I then set forth on packing a small purple purse to the brim with my audition tape that I had made, compiling a short bit of every character I had ever done as well as some original dances and songs. I placed my resume carefully inside next to my tape as well as a knife, just in case anyone tried to stop me from getting this job. I would fight tooth and nail if it meant saving my siblings, no my children, for I had truly become a mother to them, from a life as hellish and as brutal as this. Leaving yet another note and a disc for them to play once I managed to scrounge up enough money for them to afford electricity, I gathered my briefcase and resume, heading for the front door. As I reached for the handle, grasping it as if it were my lifeline. I then turned back to look back at my disheveled household, whispering but one word to all of its insanity and filthy reminders.

"Goodbye"

And with that, I whipped my head forward, practically throwing open the door, sunlight falling upon my eyes before I saw the world in front of me.