Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Seeking Serenity
By Mister Mistoffelees
Prologue
Dress professionally. Had Serenity Mabrey’s mother made such a suggestion, she would have gone in the most daring minidress she owned, just to be contrary. The instruction, had, however come from her adviser, and when Dr. Jennifer McNeil made a suggestion—especially to a Snowden State freshman eager to please her—that suggestion was law. Dress professionally. She glared at the array of clothes scattered on her hotel bed; and just what counts as professional in this stupid pile? From a source she hadn’t remembered, nor cared to remember, she had had a white blouse packed for her. Hells no. One of the last purchases she ever made with her employee discount at the Deb before the store closed was a pert little LBD, which she had already worn to the Gamma Kappa Epsilon open house, and later had been taken off her by Joey Housely on that very special night. No. No Little Black Dress this time. This is a court hearing, not a club date. Dress professionally. Maybe you should have given me a catalog, Doc.
She ran her hands through her raven-black hair, the daring little parted pageboy the shortest she had ever worn it. No problem with that being professional. Definitely makeup; freckles are about as unprofessional as you can get. Great. Something else to worry about.
And there it was. The gray tweed jacket and the matching narrow knee-length pencil skirt. Damn. Mom’s gift to me. Which means the white blouse. Of course, that’s who gave me the blouse. Gee, thanks, Mom. Sheer pantyhose, and glossy black loafers. Yes, it’s professional. I’ll look like a lawyer. On the other hand, maybe that wouldn’t be bad for this.
“I have a black choker you can wear.” Abbie Dwight had—just as she had so many years before—come down as Serenity’s support, but as she would be an observer rather than a principal—and besides, Dr. McNeil wasn’t her adviser—she was under no obligation to dress professionally, and was already in a casual little red dress that flattered her hourglass figure. “I found it when we moved into the Towers.” The freshmen had had one nostalgic semester at the old Abby-Abbie Abbey before their landlady Mrs. Pillsberry had had to move her frail mother there, forcing a move to Snoop Towers, also known as Chateau Snoop, on Schaefer Street, for their second semester at State. “It would be a nice touch.” Abbie had given up chokers, except for a special few, after their encounter with Reverend Joe Bob Delacourt and Lars Beckert now nearly two years ago.
Serenity smirked and grabbed the proffered choker. “I seriously want this over with.”
Abbie patted her best friend’s shoulder. “It will be. Finally all over. It’s only been almost nine years now. You’ve done everyone proud.” A long look, two friends who had been through this hell for nearly a decade and made it through the other side. “Now go get dressed!” When Abbie Dwight gave an order, one obeyed it almost as quickly as one obeyed Dr. McNeil’s orders. Samurai-chan and all.
A half-hour of Facebook and YouTube videos later, Serenity emerged from the bathroom, the gray suit highlighting Serenity’s long lean frame, the white blouse and black choker a startling yet understated contrast with the gray tweed. Abbie grinned. “You’ll knock ‘em dead!” Even now, such phrases tugged a quick frown onto her best friend’s face.
“Let’s just go. The hearing is in less than an hour.” At least it will finally be over then, Abbie told herself as she followed Serenity into the hallway. The journey from that long-ago Native-American Festival and the events which followed had been far too long, and not just for Serenity. Everyone who loved her had taken that journey with her, and now it would be finally over.
