Tongue of Angels

Summary

Daydreaming during class can have disastrous consequences. Just ask Isadora. (Prequel to "Meanwhile, in Mr. Remora's Class...")

Genre:
Romance / Humor
Author:
Hyrulean_Outlaw
Status:
Complete
Chapters:
2
Rating:
n/a
Age Rating:
13+

Chapter 1

A/N: Hola, Snicketmigos! Sorry, had to take a small break from The Formidable Four Sword. Had to change up the scenery in my life a bit. Ya in the mood for some Kladora? Heeheehee, awesome. You can always count on me to write ya a Kladora, peeps. Enjoy! K/I forevah! ;) \m/

Disclaimer: Me still no own ASOUE; Mr. Lemony Snicket does. And I’m still a girl, so…yeeeeeeah.

WARNING! RATED T FOR: LANGUAGE AND SUGGESTIVE CONTENT



Tongue of Angels



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Chapter 1

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“Measure!” Mrs. Bass screeched after slamming a random object down on everyone’s desk.

A unanimous groan filled the air as her class hopped to it, measuring as fast as they could before she had a chance to squawk at them again. Hell, a dying parrot sounded like Carrie Underwood next to the noise that came out of her mouth.

Isadora blinked at the cat skeleton in front of her, its fearsome grin making her spine shiver. As if the school’s motto and the buildings’ architecture weren’t unnerving enough. Now she had to measure a cat’s remains that smelled like every rotten thing in the world combined? Why’s Prufrock so obsessed with death? she wondered, reluctantly picking up her battered ruler.

“Donnie!” Mrs. Bass hollered, leaning forward on her desk, scowling authoritatively at him. “What’s the length of your purple sock in inches?”

The kid in the front left corner of the class looked down at the crumpled sheet of paper in front of him. “Um…a foot.”

“In inches, not urban slang?” Mrs. Bass huffed sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Donnie blushed fiercely, lowering his head in embarrassment, some of the kids in the back snickering at his misfortune. “Twelve inches,” he mumbled timidly.

“That’s better. Laura! What’s the length of your paper clip in inches?” Mrs. Bass inquired the girl behind him.

“One and one quarter inches,” Laura said promptly.

“Correct!” Mrs. Bass beamed at her, then cast a dirty scowl at Donnie. “See how that’s done, Donnie?”

Feeling his classmates’ eyes on him again, Donnie merely shrunk down in his seat, his cheeks burning.

Mrs. Bass smiled cruelly, her heartless black eyes shining with satisfaction. “Rob!” she called, looking at the boy behind Laura. “Length of your fork in inches?”

Isadora looked up at the clock above the chalkboard, then put her head down on her desk, sighing irritably. Still a half hour left of this hell. Ugh, kill me now, she begged silently. She looked to the left at her only lifeline, besides her older brother, of course. There sat tall, chiseled Klaus Baudelaire, who was too caught up in measuring his toy car’s length to notice how lustfully she was staring at him. Ohhh, to be that car on his desk…what she wouldn’t give to be that car on his desk. He’d only transferred to Prufrock just a couple months ago, but she felt like she’d known him a lifetime. He was sweet, funny, smart–––very smart. And hot. Very hot. She never knew a guy could be all four and not get arrested for it. Her eyes wandered down his face and eventually landed on his lips. Ohh, those lips…what did those divine creations taste like? She had to know. Subliminally, she licked hers, preparing herself, just in case. Never had she felt a rush like this before. Sure, she had crushes in the past, but not like this one. They didn’t even qualify as crushes next to the one she had on Klaus. Instead, they were more like acquaintances…mere acquaintances.

“Five and an eighth inches,” Isadora heard him say after a minute, his deep, deep voice suddenly morphing into the dark, mysterious ocean beneath her boat, rocking it all about violently. Hell, the waves were so brutal that she was surprised she hadn’t capsized yet. Even sitting in her seat on dry land she felt seasick. How did he do that? He wasn’t even paying the slightest bit of attention to her and she was already fighting for air, almost like the time Carmelita and her gang had knocked the wind out of her a couple weeks ago on her way to lunch.

After much difficulty, Isadora finally tore her eyes off the Greek god across the aisle and looked down at her pitch black notebook, which was opened to the page she’d been working on this morning before school started. But it wasn’t measurements and notes from Mrs. Bass’s class she’d been working on, no sirrie. Instead, it was numerous couplets…about that particular Greek god across the aisle. Hoping this would help her calm down and catch her breath, she began rereading her work:

Unexpected, a bolt from the blue

Electrified, all I can do is stare at you

A Greek god has fallen from Olympus

Into the pits of Hell…amongst us

Incredible luck, the perfect hand dealt

But the ice encasing my soul refuses to melt

One day, these clouds will part

And reveal to you the truth hiding in my heart

Isadora sighed, unconvinced. Lord Byron was turning in his grave right now, she could just feel it. It was far from perfect…but, it was a start.

CRACK! Mrs. Bass slapped Isadora’s ruler down on her desktop.

Fourteen inches!” Isadora blurted fearfully, startled.

The class laughed, Mrs. Bass, however, did not. Gulping quietly, Isadora looked up to find her teacher peering down her tapered nose at her, her eyes narrowed. “Correct…in La-La Land,” she growled darkly. “Daydreaming again, Miss Quagmire?”

Isadora’s cheeks flushed an impressive shade of red, the class’s eyes glued on her this time. “Uh, no?” she managed to squeak.

“Looks to me you were,” Mrs. Bass insisted, her lips curling into a sickening smile.

“N-no, I measured it,” Isadora said quickly. “It’s fourteen inches.”

“Incorrect.”

Isadora’s face scrunched in confusion. “What?”

“I said, in centimeters,” Mrs. Bass repeated curtly.

What?! Isadora thought frantically. “Everybody else got to do inches,” she protested.

“You’re not everybody else,” Mrs. Bass said coolly. “You’re special.”

Yay, Isadora thought grumpily. “Uhh…okay…um…” Let’s see, two point five four times fourteen… Quickly, she did the math in her head. “Umm…thirty-five point fifty-six centimeters?” she guessed after a minute.

“Wrong again,” Mrs. Bass said, that sickening smile returning on her face.

Isadora felt her heart sink. She did the math like Klaus had shown her the other day, how could she be wrong? “What?”

“I asked for the height in centimeters.”

Isadora’s gaze fell down to her cat skeleton, her eyes wide with terror. “Uhhh…”

“That’s what I thought,” Mrs. Bass said, almost triumphantly. She leaned forward, looking at Isadora’s notebook curiously. “Writing poetry…in my class?” she snarled.

“Uh, no!” Isadora said anxiously, flipping her notebook shut immediately.

“Well why don’t you share with us what you wrote, if that’s so much more important than my class,” Mrs. Bass sneered.

“Wh-what?!” Isadora felt her heart take a leap of faith off the tallest building in her body.

“Please,” Mrs. Bass motioned for her to stand.

Mortified, Isadora daringly glanced at Klaus, who gave her an apologetic half smile. With as much as he wanted to, there was nothing he could do to save her from this. Her legs feeling like Jell-O, Isadora slowly stood up and followed Mrs. Bass to the front of the classroom reluctantly.

“Go on. Speak!” Mrs. Bass barked after walking behind her desk.

Isadora looked out at the class, swallowing nervously. A sea of blank faces stared back at her, most of them clearly uninterested in what she (and Mrs. Bass) had to say. Klaus, however, tipped his head, looking quite the opposite. She was a hell of a poet–––he couldn’t wait to hear what she’d come up with this time.

“We’re waiting, Miss Quagmire,” Mrs. Bass sighed testily, tapping her foot. “We’ll stay after the bell if we have to.”

The class moaned. “C’mon, cakesniffer, spit it out!” one of Carmelita’s friends yelled maliciously from the back of the class. “You hold me after the bell and I’ll hold you by the throat!”

Isadora opened her mouth, but no words were brave enough to come forth. She looked down at her notebook cradled in her shaky hands, then, after a moment of mustering up every ounce of courage she could find within her, opened it to the page the soul-bearing couplets were scribbled on. She took a deep, quivery breath, then took a leap of faith herself.

“I would rather eat a bowl of vampire bats–––”

“That’s not how it starts,” Mrs. Bass interrupted, smiling cruelly. “I’ve read it all and that’s not how it starts.”

Isadora’s eyes widened. Shoot! she thought frantically. I totally forgot she had a killer memory. She gulped again, trying not to flinch. “Unexpected, a bolt from the blue, electrified, all I can do is stare at you. A Greek god has fallen from Olympus, into the pits of Hell…amongst us. Incredible luck, the perfect hand dealt, but the ice encasing my soul refuses to melt. One day, these clouds will part, and reveal to you the truth hiding in my heart.”

Much to Isadora’s horror, the class burst out laughing, including Mrs. Bass, Carmelita’s friends laughing the loudest. Only Klaus didn’t laugh. He looked both moved, and pissed, but about what, she couldn’t tell, mostly because she was looking down at her feet, fighting not to cry.

“Boo, you suck, cakesniffer!” another one of Carmelita’s friends shouted, then picked up the Ping-Pong paddle she was assigned to measure and chucked it at Isadora, nailing her right in the face.

The class laughed harder as Isadora’s hands flew up to baby her nose, which felt like it was on fire. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for the torture to stop. What did she do in a past life to deserve this?

“Ow! What the hell, cakesniffer?!”

Isadora opened her eyes, puzzled. She didn’t hurt her…she didn’t do anything. What was her problem now? She looked up to find the girl rubbing her head, glaring at somebody in the middle of the class.

“You can’t hit a girl, you ass!” the girl spat heatedly.

“I’m sorry, your behavior was so unladylike that I mistook you for a guy,” Klaus snorted.

“Ooooooooh,” the class said in unison, stunned. They knew Carmelita’s friends were capable of such monstrosities, but Klaus?

“Mr. Baudelaire!” Mrs. Bass snapped, practically foaming at the mouth.

“What?” Klaus turned back around in his seat to look at her.

“Detention!” Mrs. Bass screeched furiously.

“Wha–––? Why me?” Klaus complained.

“For acting like a two-year-old, that’s why!”

“Are you blind?” Klaus yelled, and the class held their breath. “Did you not see the paddle she just threw at Isadora?”

Mrs. Bass’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Two days detention!”

“Wha–––?”

Three days!”

Realizing the deck was stacked against him, and rather unfairly at that, Klaus buttoned up before she could up the ante again.

Mrs. Bass glared at him for a moment, then she leaned forward on her desk toward Isadora. “And as for you, Miss Quagmire, you can join him today! And I swear to God if I catch you daydreaming or writing subpar love letters in my class again, I’ll see you after school the rest of the month! Do you understand?!”

Isadora nodded timidly, her cheeks setting a new record for blush intensity.

“Now sit down!” Mrs. Bass barked.

Avoiding eye contact with the class, Isadora made her way back to her seat and sat down, ready to crawl under her desk and hide. Detention…she couldn’t believe it. She’d never been to detention before. But judging by the tone of her teacher’s voice, she could tell it wasn’t going to be pretty. She lie her head down on her desktop and hid her face in her arms. This was going to be a long day.

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