Chapter Text
As a self-respecting thirteen-year-old, Ryn hated school on basic principle.
But she REALLY hated this school.
Saint Eunice’s School for Young Ladies was one of the top private schools in Dublin, regarded as the unofficial sister school to the neighboring Saint Bartlebys. Angeline herself had attended as a socially-active honor student and graduated as her class valedictorian.
Well, it may’ve been a good fit for her, but it went against everything Ryn stood for.
The girl had immediately disapproved of the institution as soon as she heard they had uniforms. With skirts.
It had only gone downhill from there.
The last several months were spent, on top of her usual mischief, concocting new ways on how to make the accursed uniform more bearable. During that time Ryn grew three inches gained ten pounds of puberty fat, cut her hair so now it only hung half an inch below her chin, and actually colored her hair streaks.
Thus explains how Ryn’s first uniform violation was staining her crisp, white button-down shirt with streams and splotches of cobalt blue dye. It resulted in a mere warning, as the stains were school colors, so no one gave it any real attention until blotches of green and even pink began to appear.
And that was only the beginning. Next up was the skirt, which was first soaked overnight in bleach to wash out the icky white-blue plaid pattern. She then proceeded to drown the remnants out with every naturally-occurring stain imaginable. Ketchup. Soft drinks. Chocolate. Grass. Everything she could get her hands on. And just for good measure she even ripped up the hem and brought the edges to a fray. For this the teachers only glared down at her, but so long as she wore her (ripped) leggings beneath they couldn’t raise any objection.
After that came her navy blue blazer. She would rip holes in the elbows, back, and the ends of the sleeves with her (unauthorized) switchblade just to patch them with random swatches of colorful fabric. The right front side was completely mutilated on the inside to conceal her phone. Any unmarked fabric was quickly covered by plastic and metallic buttons, held in place with superglue.
If that wasn’t enough, Ryn also began writing and doodling on her own exposed arms and calves. Not one of her usual habits, but this was a special occasion.
At this point the school officials began to take offense. Unfortunately for them, a uniform violation was grounds for little else besides detention.
By her third visit Ryn and the supervising teacher were on first-name basis.
Then she graduated to a few pranks she’d picked up from Zak’s brief high school career.
The first was covering all her math teacher’s chalk sticks with clear nail polish. The poor man wasted twenty minutes and a good portion of his pride trying to write on the board with them.
The next was gluing all the chairs in her literature class to the floor. Neither the students nor the teacher could take a seat and class had to be canceled.
Then she escalated.
After three weeks the secretary arrived one morning to see all the fish in the school’s aquarium were replaced with toy floaties and fish sticks.
After two months a swim class walked in to find the contents of the pool had been turned into orange jello overnight.
The school officials knew she was behind every incident. “Who else could it be?” they asked. But Ryn was careful in her mischief, and without proof there was no way to connect her.
At long last the school caught a break, disciplinary-wise, a couple months after the girl’s thirteenth birthday. During which she received a pair of roller blades from Juliet and, after ten weeks of adjustment and practice, decided to use them to help her get to class on time.
With her in clear and obvious violation of a zero-tolerance student safety regulation, coupled with her long-running detention record, Orion Fowl was suspended for five days.
Angeline had every intention of abandoning her trip to Nice to fight the notice, had Ryn not expressed her complacency to spend the time practicing Tai Kwon Do with Butler.
Even so, her aunt insisted that during her “time off” she attend counseling sessions at Saint Bartleby’s. Like with Artemis, she was concerned her erratic behavior and the effect the last two years had had on her.
And that was how Ryn ended up in the waiting room outside Dr. Po’s office on the morning of her first day of suspension. Still in her modified uniform, getting bored out of her mind. Her only hope was that Artemis, was currently in-session with the therapist, could out-babble him into leaving (which was apparently a habit of his). Butler wouldn’t be around to liberate her until her own hour was over, and she had more experience consulting a therapist than being picked at by one.
Her thoughts were cut off when the door curtly opened and Artemis walked briskly out.
“--not over, young man. We made some progress today, even if you won’t admit it. Leave now, and I will be forced to inf--” Dr. Po said from the inside of the adjoining room, his words clipped by the swinging of the door.
In an instant Ryn was out of her seat and after him. If Artemis was walking out on his mom-required counseling it was something important. World-changing, video-worthy important.
And it likely meant she could get out of her own session, which she definitely wasn’t saying no to.