Chapter Two: A Real Drossy Day

Part 1

The school library—place of learning, hang-out spot for after-class Necrals, and most importantly the public canvas for self-expression. Selecting an empty spot of brick wall, Moira Dollohan unshouldered her backpack and dug around her books for the cans of spray paint she’d hidden at the bottom. Today was a good day for green and orange. Their natural clash would make her feel better.

The cans rattled as she took one in each hand and gave them vigorous shakes. Leading with green, she started tracing out the letter “K”. Normally, she made her artistic signature on the smaller side but today she felt like taking up the whole wall. Well, as much as she could reach, so just barely onto the window. The school was lucky she wasn’t taller, though to be honest the paint would probably wash off easier from the glass.

Most of the high schoolers here were too well-off to get into trouble publicly. Her peers had the decency to make out in closets or do Fractal behind the privacy of a bathroom stall so that the school’s reputation as a place of higher learning and prestige would go untarnished. There was an unspoken understanding between the students and the faculty. If you’re going to get into trouble, do it where no one will see so it doesn’t reflect on the school. If it does reflect on the school, expect your parents to pay one Fahnina of a fine to make up for it.

Technically, her mother was still on the school board, though she hadn’t attended a meeting in over a year. It gave Moira a lot of leeway, which was equal parts invigorating and frustrating. She could get away with a lot, but what did it matter if she continued to be forgotten?

So when she reached the last letter of her signature, she kept the spray can nozzle depressed, trailing a line of neon orange all the way to the edge of the building. The line cut across a half-dozen painted hearts and sets of initials declaring eternal love for relationships that would certainly die before midterms. She cut across other signatures and works of art that normally she would admire.

Today she didn’t care. Today was supposed to be her day. And so far not a single person had remembered except for her driver. Last week, the school had made a public announcement for the Principal’s stupid kid, but somehow Moira must have just slipped through the cracks.

She didn’t stop at the edge of the building. Instead, she wrapped around, continuing the line on the bricks with her green paint while letting the orange come down to add some personality to the bushes. Seriously, how hard was it for people to remember one day out of the year? It wasn’t like her mother had any other kids to keep track of…

No one was in sight as she came around the front of the building. Any part of campus that even hinted at providing education was always vacant when lunchtime rolled around. Again, if you wanted to find someone that wasn’t in the cafeteria, start checking closets, bathrooms, and dumpsters. Just be prepared for the mental and emotional scars of finding a classmate high as a kite or tongue-deep in someone that “loved them”.

Seedmother, Moira hated her peers. She couldn’t wait to be an adult and get away from such stupidity.

Moira let up on the paint as she ran into someone else’s artwork. This piece of artistic expression featured a cartoonish brown and black dog clearly modeled after a Mnolf. It was on all fours, a trail of yellow paint leading from its legs to disappear behind the bushes. A large red slash crossed out the picture and underneath had been written “Dogs belong outside!”

Moira’s day had already been soured when her mother couldn’t be bothered to even leave a note. Now her blood was boiling. Yeah, people didn’t get along in Ciphus, but that didn’t mean her generation needed to be part of the problem. Shame on her kind. If she was lucky, maybe whoever’d drawn this had overdosed in the men’s room and rid the world of their own filth.

No matter what was popular in the Bulb, Moira would never be convinced that Snepards and Mnolfs weren’t equals. Yes, they were two different species, but they were both people. You could be blind and still see that. At least, that was how things should be.

This wasn’t art. This was unwelcome hatred that had no business being allowed to live. Lifting both spray cans, Moira set to work covering over the degrading picture.

Her ears perked up and some part of her brain registered the sound of the Library door opening. She heard approaching footsteps, but she was so angry she kept spraying. No one else had bothered to fix this, so she would.

“Hey!” an adult called, “What are you doing?”

“Making the world a better place,” Moira muttered as she buried the offensive piece under a zigzag pattern of green and orange.

A hand clamped on her arm. Glancing up at the person so rudely encroaching on her personal space, she saw the agitated face of one of the school’s half-dozen useless librarians. “This is vandalism, Miss Dollohan!”

“No,” Moira said, “this is community service.”

She gestured at the still showing hind legs, stream of urine, and politically vogue but morally heinous declaration of “Dogs belong outside!”

Snarling her disgust, Moira asked, “Is this really the kind of thing you want us to be learning in this Fahnina-hole of a school?”

The librarian’s whiskers twitched on her polka-dotted face. Her hair looked dyed because it wasn’t quite the same shade of grey as the rest of her fur. Her uniform was bland and kosher, the school colors of white and red. Either she ironed it every ten minutes, or she didn’t do any actual work lest she risk creasing it.

Snepards already had a superiority complex because they had ten times the population, five times the average wages, and infinitely more political and judicial representation than their Bulbmates, the Mnolfs. Get them a lifetime position in a school for the wealthy, and they got even worse.

“The problem before me is you, Miss Dollohan.”

“No, the problem is adults like you who refuse to be responsible for the things you say and the beliefs you hold. Why don’t you train our generation to be better?!”

The woman closed her ears and narrowed her gaze. “Then let’s start with you.”

No one wanted to look at the real problems. No one ever listened to Moira. Seedmother, she wanted to like people, but why were so many of them soooo stupid?

Miss-Do-Gooder Librarian hauled Moira off to the principal’s office and filled his head with all sorts of lies about how she’d caught Moira in the act of hiding her own racist graffiti.

“Miss Dollohan, are we going to have to enroll you in Social Studies again?” the principal asked once it was just her and him in his office.

“I didn’t draw it,” Moira said, her jacket crinkling as she folded her arms across her chest.

“We have a witness who says you did.”

“Then she’s brakking deaf and blind. I was painting over it because it was offensive and rude and awful.”

The principal, a rather lanky Snepard specimen whose spots had nearly faded to white, held up an arthritic hand. “I would ask you to watch your language, Miss Dollohan.”

“Well, I’d ask you to actually listen to your students, and then maybe they wouldn’t need to swear to get your brakking attention!”

The principal’s eyelids drooped as he became another name in the ever-growing list of adults in her life that Moira had disappointed. He could suck dross. She knew that she had the moral high ground.

“The Librarian informed me that your little paint job circled the building.”

Oh. Yeah, that part had been selfish and more of a venting session than any sort of moralistic public service. Moira winced, then decided to own the truth. “It does. I was…not in a good mood.”

The principal sighed. “Miss Dollohan, what would your mother think?”

“Honestly, I’d love to ask her, but she’s been so busy the last couple months she hasn’t found the time to fit me into her schedule.”

“Your home life should have no bearing on your school life, Miss Dollohan. If you require counseling, one can be provided…”

“I don’t need counseling. I need to survive the next three months, give this place both middle fingers, and kiss you and all the little Anima-spawn you’re training here goodbye.”

The principal started tapping his skeletal fingers together, his claws starting to show from his agitation. “You realize that with your behavior today, you’re going to have to spend the rest of your birthday in detention.”

Someone had noticed. Now the brakker was just trying to use it to manipulate her into surrendering to the system. “So your kid gets a public announcement and cake served on his birthday, but mine gets overlooked until I’m behind closed doors? We Snepards really have a firm grasp on this whole equality thing, don’t we?”

His fingers pressed together so firmly, she thought several of them would snap. “I’m going to have to report this to your mother.”

Ironically, that was exactly what Moira wanted. Even if she knew it wouldn’t do anything.

The principal continued, “I’ll have to speak with her about correcting this rebellious behavior.”

Moira let out a derisive snort, “She hasn’t said more than five words to me in the past month, so good luck with that.”

Through a strained smile, the principal said, “We’ll see.”

The rest of her chewing out was full of a bunch of platitudes that didn’t actually touch on any serious issues. The ultimate takeaway? According to the school, spraying bricks with washable paint and speaking up for yourself and others were far worse crimes than anti-Mnolf propaganda in a place where they already had zero representation. So in trying to hold her fellow students to higher standards, Moira was the bad guy.

Detention involved a chalkboard and writing the phrase “I will not deface school property or cuss at faculty” until her wrist felt like it was going to fall off. She used up two entire pieces of chalk, and the fur on her fingers was caked with the stuff. It blended with the natural fur color, but the feel of it was more annoying than the look.

Over an hour after the rest of the school was dismissed, a knock came at the door, and another Snepard faculty member stuck her head in. “Miss Dollohan, your mother was unavailable for meeting today, so you’re being released. Your driver is waiting for you outside.”

“Outside the building? Or outside the front gate?”

The woman’s polite smile stiffened. “The front gate, obviously.”

“My legs are tired from walking back and forth in front of this chalkboard. I’d like my driver to pick me up right in front of the building today.”

“I’m quite sure your legs are just fine. You’re still standing after…”

Before she could finish, Moira dropped to a seated position on the ground. “I’m so tired from being such a good little student, I don’t think I can walk out to the gate.”

“Miss Dollohan, school policy requires your driver to wait at the gate.”

“Other students get picked up at the building. Why do they get special treatment?”

“Because other students use accredited drivers.”

Moira glared up at the woman. “It’s incredible how all of you can spew such dross straight out of your mouths and not throw up. Sergei has a valid driver’s license and is fully accredited according to Ciphus regulations.” She knew this game, and had tested its limits on multiple occasions. Normally, she walked, but she was in a bad enough mood today that she was willing to throw a few swings.

“The school policy does not allow Mnolfs on campus grounds.”

Narrowing her eyes, Moira watched to see if the woman would betray any kind of remorse or discomfort at reciting such an asinine and awful line. There was no remorse, just the look of agitation at having to deal with a troublemaking child.

“So because he's bigger than you, his nose and ears are longer than yours, and his fur is brown and black instead of white and grey, that’s sufficient grounds to deny him access? Even when he meets all the relevant qualifications to come pick me up with a service that I’m positive my mother has paid for?!”

The thin line of this woman’s lips turned down into a frown. “Miss Dollohan, if we start making exceptions, others will follow suit.”

Moira rolled her eyes. “Right, because the streets of Ciphus are just teeming with Mnolfan drivers. Yeah, you’re right. I’m going to start a revolution by seeking for me and my driver to be treated like everyone else in your little inclusive school.”

“Throw whatever tantrum you like. Your driver is waiting at the gate. I’ve done my job, and I’ve no need or desire to encourage your ridiculous behavior.”

And just like that, the brave little woman standing up for Ciphus took off down the hall, the heels on her pretentious shoes clicking as she fled. With a sigh, Moira got back to her feet and scooped up her bag.

Her father had a saying, “If you want the world to be a better place, start with yourself, then work on the world. Understand, it will be work, but if you give up, it will never happen.”

Now that dad was gone, her mother parroted that often. However, she only ever quoted the last bit about not giving up. Moira clung to the whole thing, and she would live it far better than her mother ever could. She owed it to her dad. She owed it to Sergei…

…who had probably been waiting at the gate for far too long. It wasn’t fair to make his day Fahnina just because hers had been such a disaster...