Excerpt:

Since she was gone, he supposed he could sneak her handkerchief. He certainly needed it now even more than before, and plus, she wasn’t around so he didn’t run the risk of being pummelled. She never used it, it had been sitting on her desk for months, so it was unlikely she’d even notice its absence. And besides, he’d bring it back after he washed it.

As he walked towards the old desk, a thought flitted across his mind. Why didn’t he just ask her about it? Because she was likely to say no, because she liked to see him suffer, his mind reminded him. Ah, right, that was why he didn’t ask. She’d just glare at him while grinning wickedly and tease “the liddle boy Jeremiah” for having a runny nose, and then he’d have no handkerchief at all, all day, and that would be much too troublesome. Especially since, if he did ask, she was likely to also likely to add injury to insult and hurt him somehow. She was just that crazy.

He arrived at the desk and picked up the handkerchief. Relief was plastered all over his face. He took one last, quick, paranoid look around the workshop - between the machines, along the walls, even out the large windows on the far side. No crazy blonde teenaged nun-in-training could be seen, good.

With a half-hearted sigh, he pulled the rough cloth (he obviously had not been used at all since its date of aquirement) to his nose and proceeded to blow. In honesty, it felt really, really good. Within mere moments his nose was nice and cleared. A smile tugged at his lips. Yes, he felt much, much better now. No annoying sniffing to worry about - he could finally focus on his work and hurry up and finish for the day.

"What are you doing?" Jimmie froze. That was Mareka's voice. She hadn't caught him... had she? His panicked rigidity faded and he fumbled to shove the offensive object in his hand away into his pocket, hoping that perhaps she didn't see it. He turned to face her with as much of a casual expression he could muster.

"Oh, uh... hey there, Mareka. I was just looking for something. But I just realized I don't need it, sooo... I'm just going to head on back over to work." He shrugged and spun, obviously hoping to make it out of this unscathed. The glare she was giving him was cruel enough, he didn't want to be subjected to anything more. Her eyes were the eyes of a demon, promising torture and pain just for his simple, mere existence.

She didn't respond for a long few moments. He was almost back to the machine he had been sent here to fix, yes, just a meter or two left. He could make it.

Unconciously, he sped up. "Jimmie." ...But nothing could save him now. His pace slowed. He half-turned to face her. He tried to look calm and casual, but failed terribly.

"...Yeah? W-what is it?"

She glared and held out her hand. "Give me back whatever you took."

His hand flew up and he rubbed the back of his neck in strained innocence. "What makes you think I took anything?"

"Don't lie to me, Jeremiah. You're much too terrible at it. Whatever you took, give it back." She stook stock-still, her hand still out expectantly, the other hand balled into a fist and placed meaningfully on her hip. Her amber eyes displayed nothing short of seriousness and displeasure.

Well, damn it, he was in trouble now. He could own up to swiping her hankercheif (he was going to clean it and bring it back, honest!), but that would result in his immidiate demise. He could lie some more, but she already knew he was lying, so that would result in a slow, painful demise (unlike the quicker one earlier mentioned). Seeking a third option, he decided to stall until her small lapse of sanity would collapse in on itself and she forgot about what they were discussing. A good way to do this, he figured, would be to gradually shift the conversation over to something not so immidiate, causing her attention of the present to enter a short lapse. When it did so, he would take advantage of the situation and then... oh, who was he kidding, he was terrible at manipulation, especially when it came to Mareka, of all people.

He sighed in resignation and stalked slowly towards her. He decided to lie after all, it would be much more painless if he managed to do it right. He could had to calm himself down and keep a straight face. As he closed the distance between them her hand dropped, accomadating for his now closer proximity. His smile was calm and collected - or so he hoped.

His hands slipped into his pockets as he smiled down at the slightly shorter girl. Up until the last year or two, she had always been taller than him, and she had flaunted that endlessly. Endlessly, of course, until one day she found he was taller than her. Being the much kinder of the two, he never chose to pester her about his sudden height as compaired to hers. But of course, that doesn't mean he never used it to his advantage. His slightly higher vantage point in this particular conversation gave him an extra little added confidence, and made her expression just a little more annoyed.

"Look, Mareka," he said softly while smiling gently again, "I didn't take anything, alright? I'd never take anything that belonged to you without your permission - " it was a lie, he had done so on more than one occassion (but always harmlessly) " - and I certainly wouldn't lie about taking something, if I did." ...that was mostly true; the rare occasions he did so borrow things without permission, he would, at some point in time not too much later, inform her about it. This of course was a different situation, so he had to break from his usual form of conduct.

He smiled again, this time a little more casually than before. Scarily enough, her glare didn't let up. He was starting to get freaked out, almost to the point of breaking his calm composure. He would not falter, he would not! If he did, she would win, and he would... probably die. A slow, terrible, painful death. She would kill him so violently he would skip any afterlife, and just vanish eternally.

"Oh yeah? Then why is my handkerchief in your pocket?"