Lindsay's morning had been a normal one. She'd woken up at six, as usual, cooked a fry-up for herself and the family, as usual, and driven to school, arriving precisely five minutes before the last bell, precisely as usual. She hadn't done anything particularly different with her clothes or hair, nor had she worn any makeup, other than the usual concealer for the scars on her cheek, as well as any bruises she'd picked up. She hadn't eaten anything unusual in the past week. Nor, as usual, had she spoken to anyone unusual at school, (that being anyone other than her friends, Daniel and Emmy, who were twins, and were both currently on holiday). 

That she'd spent an hour that morning beating the hell out of some rookie in an alley was irrelevant.

Her first lesson, (English class), had passed without incident. She'd answered a few questions, read an extract from her essay to the class, (full marks, rather unusually), and exchanged a few words with her current work partner. Then, when the bell rang, she'd packed up her things, talked with her teacher for a few minutes on a book she'd been reading, and then walked briskly to her locker. There, she'd retrieved her chemistry notes and textbook, summarily ignored one of the cheerleaders' comments on her apparently 'dumb' accent and 'malformed' face, (Fool, didn't the bitch know the difference between a birthmark and a scar?), and made her way to her second class.

"[i]Yes[/i]," she thought, "[i]A thoroughly normal morning.[/i]" Why, then, was she now hunched over a toilet bowl, trying not to puke her own guts out? Chemistry class hadn't been going for more than ten minutes when her face went pale and she began to feel nauseous. She'd put up her hand and quietly asked to be excused, before bolting for the nearest bathroom. Now, though, it was quickly becoming clear that she wasn't just experiencing a funny turn, and she lamented her poor judgement as she staggered out of the bathroom and collapsed halfway between it and the nurse's office.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lindsay awoke with a start in unfamiliar surroundings. She quickly noted that she was lying on a rather uncomfortable mat on the floor of what seemed to be the nurse's office, and she noted, as she rubbed the sleep from hazy eyes, that her hands were clammy and damp with sweat. She cursed lightly under her breath when she realised that some of the concealer for her bruises had come away with her hand. To one side of her, she noted, two of the more popular boys were conversing tentatively, and on the other, she caught someone move out of the corner of her eye. 

This wouldn't do. Taking care not to overwhelm herself, she messed up her now damp hair, and slowly got up, before wandering over to the boys who were talking.

"'Scuse me," she began, quietly, wincing as a pain flared in her head and she nearly fell. "I don't s'pose you two know why we're here, 'falle?" 


(('Falle is short for efallai, which means perhaps or by any chance in Welsh))