CHAPTER ONE: SCHEMING
(Name) slammed the door to her apartment and stomped to her room. The wooden floorboards seemed to shake with each step she took and her bed quivered as she approached it. With an angry growl, she pounced on it and stuffed her face into the pillow. Then she screamed until her lungs had completely deflated. (Name) repeated the process until she was satisfied that her pillow was permanently deaf. She allowed a heavy sigh to escape her as she shifted to her side. A lock of (least favorite color) hair slipped into her line of sight.
Her poor pillow never stood a chance as it was violently abused, both verbally and physically.
“That’s it!” she screeched at the fluffy object. “This is war!”
Seemingly placated by the declaration, (Name) marched to the bathroom. She prayed the resident god of mischief hadn’t gotten his hands on her shampoo again. The past week he had been entertaining himself with painting her hair with all the shades of the rainbow. A childish trick, but her reactions – screeching in disgust and frustration – appeared to amuse him greatly. (Name) vowed to never look at her shampoo bottle as an inoffensive, inanimate object anymore. It was a weapon of mass embarrassment.
As if the hair dying horror wasn’t enough, he’d gone out of his way to make her life miserable. He’d switched the alarm to two hours early one day. And when it rang, it made the most terrifying and disgusting dying animal sound she’d ever heard. Needless to say, her neighbor hadn’t stopped complaining yet. On another occasion, he’d somehow managed to switch the flavors of her food. Whatever spell he’d casted had caused her glass of milk to taste like she’d swallowed a ladleful of cinnamon. To staunch the burning in her throat, she’d gulped down cup after cup of water, only to realize it tasted like pure, unsweetened lemon juice.
The little patience (Name) had had been expended today. She had gone to Stark Tower upon receiving a text from Tony. It explained that her “attacker” for the past few days had deemed it time to apologize and wished to see her. However, instead of an apology, she’d gotten the pleasant surprise of being pelted with balloons filled with water and glitter. After a few snide comments from the owner of the enormous building (“Did you and a disco ball have a disagreement, (Nickname)?”), she’d been allowed to shower. When she’d left the building, her hair had once again been dyed and she’d had to borrow clothing from Pepper since hers had shrunk to toddler size. (Name) had been aware of the laughing gaze that followed her as she’d stalked away from the tower.
“No more,” (Name) muttered to herself. “It’s time to give him a taste of his own poison.”
After scrubbing out the hideous color from her hair, (Name) collapsed onto her bed. An idea was slowly formulating in her mind. She fell asleep with a mischievous smile.
Two can play at this game.