Veronica Feathers: A Narrative Fiction

“So what, you gonna sic your PCH puppy on me every time I ruffle those ole Veronica feathers now?” Logan cornered Veronica in the hall, and if Veronica squinted at his face, she could imagine where his nose might look a little out of place from Weevil’s intervention at the beach. He certainly didn’t look any sorrier, though, but he at least has consistency going for him, she had to concede that. From Logan’s perspective, how could he be held accountable for her feathers being so damned rufflable?

“If Weevil hears you called him a puppy I won’t haveta sic him. Are you and the other 09-er wolves finally gonna play nice?” Grinning, she gave him a second to shake his head with an emphatic and dramatic no. And then she nodded. “Right.
And I’m the bitch of Neptune right?” Without gearing up, without giving him that, Veronica rolled her eyes. “It’s getting tired isn’t it, Logan?”

“Tired?
I’m just warming up, V, don’t know what you’re talking about tired.” It’s that smile, more than anything else, that pisses her off. His smile of his that thinks he’s winning, that thinks he’s won. “Say, does Weevil also have an in for tail lights? Cause if not you may wanna ask around. Maybe the rest of the school will hold a bake sale or a fundraiser or something; I hear new tail lights can be kind of expensive, especially for somebody like you. And I hear somebody like you might be in need of just such things.” Eyebrows up, Logan shrugged and offered his best suggestive look. For all it’s worth, the flinch in Veronica’s bottom lip certainly does something to satisfy that bother-Veronica-itch he’s been having all
day.

While not his only pet project, Veronica Mars never really disappoints in the way other people are wont to do.
She’s already pulled off the greatest disappointment, being a Mars, being on the wrong side of Lilly-Kane-murder-saga, wrong side of Neptune, and from here on out, Veronica’s all upswing as far Logan’s concerned. All he asks is that she plays along, and wronged, outcast loser-with-a-grudge was apparently perfect casting for Veronica Mars. From where Logan’s standing in the play next to her, she hasn’t dropped the act in a year. There are some bad days, where her scowl directed at him, paired with a cutting comment are all that saves the day, in a way. Not that he’s contemplating his villain origin story, (because hello, tragically murdered girlfriend in Act I was hero material, besides), but ruining Veronica’s day makes his day better, reliably. Especially when he can crack through the Veronica Mars’ steel and see the chinks in the armor. Especially when he can get her mouth to react to him.

As much as proximity had it’s perks, until then Logan hadn’t realized how close they’d been standing, how straight-on. Veronica could combat stance all she liked, Logan leaned over her against the row of lockers, still wearing the smiling face of a victor; a predator ready to
strike.

“You’re despicable, you know that.” Sighing an exasperated breath, Veronica fought the urge to take a little Weevil-style vengeance herself. But no, her game’s the slow one; she’s patient, and someday that patience’ll pay off in digging a nice, impenetrable grave for Logan Echolls. “Not to mention clearly stupid; you’d think the bong incident and all the face-punching would’ve taught you a lesson with some staying power. You could just start asking nicely for me to hurt you, instead of taking your misplaced aggression out on my car. Do you even know how I did the bong thing?” Granted, the bong incident hadn’t even been totally about him; but when opportunity knocked…who was she to wave it by? Veronica pivoted her white-hot anger into a tight, winning smile. Sure, the magician’s never going to reveal their secrets, but getting Logan Echolls to admit he doesn’t know something? That’d be the real trick.

Stroking an invisible beard, he squinted at her, and shrugged.

“Witchcraft? Minions? Sheer, unadulterated hatred applied to will, perhaps? Doesn’t really matter, I already got you back for that, keep up, Sparky. Besides, Veronica, you haven’t learned a thing, either.” Smiling, Logan finger-combed his hair with a look of false modesty. That look, too; she definitely hated that look. Maybe it was just his face? Something about his whole face, and the entire range of human emotions it displayed; all were unlikable to her, she could swear it. Leaning down towards her set mouth, inches from her, daring her to flinch again, he continued grinning. “I’m untouchable. No matter how badly you want to touch me.”

If only Veronica could add witchcraft to her personal resume. She could think of at least a few people to hex on the spot. So Logan Echolls’ reign as Neptune’s biggest jackass actually does prevail another day; if only someone would dethrone him. If only someone could, Veronica shook her head as he left, soured expression fixed on the spot between his shoulder blades for his easy stroll away from her.

Dragging her feet out to the parking lot, for a minute Veronica blinked back suspicious shock. It was definitely her beat up leBaron, in the spot she left it, with it’s untouched tail lights. For better or worse, Veronica’s pretty sure her car’s at least recognizable; she’s cultivated an image with it, she’s positive. Scanning the parking lot for another leBaron on it’s last legs with tell-tale smashed tail lights, all Veronica could help but see was a smug Logan Echolls (did another kind exist?) blowing her a kiss from his X-terra. A gift, just for her; the message read loud and clear that even when he wasn’t messing with her, he was messing with her. Yup, definitely reigning jackass. Champion jackass? World class jackass. The worst part was, he’d probably take it as a compliment; especially from her. With a final wave, Logan dismissed Veronica for the day, laughing himself halfway home. She never disappointed; not anymore.

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