Finding Obsidian

32 - The Fork Of Doom

"You better fucking not."

"I will. You can't stop me."

"I can fork you in the face. Bet that'll stop you."

"Go ahead, if you can even reach that far."

I scowled at the humanoid block of ice I was currently arguing with. In his grasp was the book Apartment 212, which I'd gone back for and stolen from his apartment a while ago. It was dumb luck he'd seen it tucked in one of my cupboards. Now, he held it over the chock-full trashcan and was threatening to drop it in.

I, on the other hand, had a very sharp fork at the ready. And I was dangerously close to using it.

"Drop the damn book," I growled, glaring at him. "And not in the fucking garbage, or I swear this fork will find its place in your eye."

He arched a brow, moving his arm ever so slightly to the left. "Oh? Then how about I drop it in your filthy compost bin?" My scowl intensified, and he glanced at the compost in disgust. "And speaking of filth, there's this handy little thing called a broom. Ever heard of it?"

"I don't need advice from you, Mr. I-Make-Up-Extravagant-Lies-Just-For-The-Hell-Of-It. That book is mine."

His lips tightened into a displeasured line. "You have no idea what you're talking about, as usual. Besides, I made this book. It belongs to me, and I can do with it whatever I see fit."

"Technically we made it," I pointed out. "When we were children. You're not even the sentimental type," I said scornfully. "I don't know why you kept it, considering you have a black hole for a heart."

He cocked his head, eyeing me derisively. "How clever. Did it take you long to come up with that?"

"It won't take me long to stab you with this goddamn fork, that's for sure."

He snorted. "So small, yet so violent." I bristled, and he let the book slip through his fingers a little more. I glanced at the gross compost bin. The book definitely wouldn't survive in there. 

"Anyway," he drawled, inching his fingers closer to the edge, "that doesn't change the fact that the book is mine. I can do what I want with it. And right now I want to throw it out."

I laughed harshly, waving the fork in my hand. "If it's yours, then why the hell did you put my name on it?" 

He stiffened, glowering at me angrily. I gave him a nasty smile in return. He knew I was right. Underneath the title, two co-authors were named. One of them was him.

The other was me.

"Can we please calm down?" Prof interrupted, looking between the two of us in alarm.

The others crowding my apartment—specifically, Rokim, Lisa, and Adrian—nodded along nervously. We paid them no attention, continuing our fierce staring contest.

"Hanna," Rokim said carefully, making his way over to where I was standing. "Why don't we put the fork down?" he asked, sounding as though he were talking to a child. Albeit a child who'd managed to get her hands on a very sharp object.

"I'll put it down when that pisse-froid gives back what's mine!" I growled.

The pisse-froid in question laughed mockingly. "Do you think you sound smarter, speaking in another language?" he said through an arrogant smirk. "Parce que je peux parler en français aussi, mademoiselle."

I deftly spun the fork between my fingers, and I felt a surge of satisfaction when I saw his eyes widen slightly in apprehension. 

"Est c'est vrai?" I rejoined, switching to spanish. "Qué hay del español?"