
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13277043.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Clockwork_Orange_-_All_Media_Types, A_Clockwork_Orange_(1971), A
      Clockwork_Orange_-_Anthony_Burgess
  Relationship:
      Alex_DeLarge/Original_Character(s)
  Character:
      Alex_(A_Clockwork_Orange), Dim_(A_Clockwork_Orange), George_(A_Clockwork
      Orange), Pete_(A_Clockwork_Orange), Original_Female_Character(s),
      Original_Characters
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-05 Chapters: 1/? Words: 1646
****** Scintilla ******
by asherol
Summary
     Broken bones pierce my skin — break my heart and bruise my shins. ✗
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Cherry bubble-gum popped, pencils itched against gritty paper and the very
worst of Greenwich's education masters' droning perforated her eardrums.
Believe it not, school was Clara's last semblance of daily normalcy; girls more
or less behaved and were scrubbed clean of gaudy make-up, boys did not clad
themselves in ridiculous attire which was now the height of fashion (despite
their best efforts) or spoke in that ridiculous tongue which was so popular
nowadays. Life could be incredibly mundane - and she often preferred it that
way. She was tired of the sirens which would split her brain every evening
after 6 until the early hours of the morning, the gangs which would habit the
alleys and above all, the isolation she felt in her own city. It didn't feel
like home anymore, and their elders' - what could only be described as -
xenophobia towards London's nadsat population only aggravated this cold
feeling. It was tiring, and it was boring.
"So, tonight yeah?" Thankfully distracted from her rampant thoughts, Clara
wrenched her body to meet Louise – a small girl with an impatiently flirtatious
disposition. Knowing what she was getting at, Clara shook her head, earning a
look of complete dejection from her girl-friend. It would have been sad, if it
were not utterly rehearsed. "Come on, Cee', it ain't far!" Said girl sighed,
eyes averting back towards her arithmetic questions, mumbling with discretion
as she was pretty sure that her class-master was beginning to become attuned to
the low hush of their voices. "Canary Wharf isn't far?" Clara muttered through
clenched teeth, expression now vacant of anything except boredom.
"NO."  Wailed the exasperated and childish reply, ignoring the hesitant
stalling of her teacher's words. "Look, the line gets there in twenty minutes!
There by nine-thirty, back by eleven, easy."
Clara rolled her eyes and looked up out the window – rather unfortunately, as
her desk partner was busy hacking at his nostril with a blunt 2B pencil.
"Please?" She wasn't looking – disgustingly – and regrettably preoccupied - but
she heard the pathetic whisper like a siren song. Louise was irritating,
stubborn and outrageous – but she had a soft heart, one which she was reluctant
to show often; certainly not in a classroom.
"Fine." A small smile lifted Clara's lips in response to her friend's own skin-
splitting grin.
She ignored the impatient rustling of students knocking their jotters into jute
bags – her fluffy pen bouncing against air molecules as she sealed her fate in
small cursive. This wasn't something she wanted to do, but it was a rite of
passage which had been a long time coming, in her friends' not-so humble
opinion. Her cousin - of a similar age – frequented there, and he was a sweet
kid so where was the harm? He never missed a homework hand-in and supposedly
never failed to attend himself and his mother's weekly ritual of watching Bless
This House, something her aunt took decadent pride in, for today, what mother
wouldn't relish in such confident nurturing abilities?
A shrill bell sent herds of teenagers out the door and into the weekend smog -
the faint buzz of a girl's Walkman trilled out the beats of The Heaven
Seventeen; she could only wonder what pop-discs the Korova would have to offer
– if anything at all. Clara didn't frequent clubs or bars – far too nervous of
her father's hand and risks of the drinks kids were being supplied with
nowadays; she even saw one fair-haired boy and his cronies inject the membrane
of a wax-laced cafeteria milk carton with whatever knives they were stocking.
It both disgusted and thrilled her in the same breath. Whatever the world was
coming to, she was still conflicted if she wanted to be a part of it or not.
With a sigh - she was doing this far too much recently - she packed away her
pencil-case and slid her jotters into her satchel - eyes flitting to her page,
making a mental note of her fate, before Louise shook her shoulders with a
playful '"chop chop!"', clearly excited about their evening's plans. The class
was practically empty now - a stern voice booming in the face of some poor kid
in the lower corridor. As they passed by, with shock, she noticed her cousin
skulking by the victim's side - a particularly handsome boy who looked
strangely smart with a devious smirk on his face - she registered through the
teacher's bellows that his name was 'Burgess' and he was a 'sanctimonious
little git'. The elder continued poking his chest - causing the boy to sway
comically (she imagined on purpose) his Adam's apple bobbing like a toy duck in
water.
"I'm awfully sorry, sir."
He didn't sound sorry in the slightest, even Pete was ducking his head to
muffle his amused chuckles. She was shocked - perhaps her cousin wasn't as
innocent as her aunt made out him to be, if this was the company he kept. Clara
chose to ignore him - it was probably best that way, and certainly made things
less awkward at Sunday lunch. "What's that all about, eh?" Louise giggled in a
shrill whisper, eyes gleaming and craning her neck trying to get a better look
at the boy who was being sanctioned. Threats of a call to his 'truant officer'
and 'borstal' ringing in her ears - what was this school coming to? "Tell you
what, your cousin don't have half keep interestin' company."
"You can say that again." Clara muttered, still tempted to rat him up for
colluding with such dreadful miscreants. She hadn't failed to notice, with
horror, that the disgusting blonde brute she shared arithmetic with - the very
boy with the gift of fitting almost any object into his nasal passage - was
chucking like a brutish Neanderthal in the corner, watching his (she presumed)
leader with nothing less than morbid respect and weird cunning which didn't at
all suit him. He sussed her out and winked lazily - bile rising in her throat.
"He's so disgusting." She whispered in horror.
"WHO'S DISGUSTING?" A regrettably familiar voiced bellowed, a scratchy arm
interlinking with Clara's own - the musky scent of Rive Gauche threatening her
sinuses. Georgina was a sweet girl, very pretty and fashionable, but tact
definitely wasn't one of her strong suits. Louise practically smashed her book
bag over her head, eyes flitting towards the group of boys to, thankfully, find
them preoccupied; save their leader who - still being reprimanded - cast strong
eyes in their direction, a frightening air of superiority about him. He looked
amused, thankfully for them.
"Georgie, shhhh!" Louise wailed, arms curling into her waist to make a
makeshift shield against the door-frame, pushing it open to meet the toxic,
hard sun. "Do you fancy getting done in!?" 'Georgina only scoffed in
retaliation, whipping her (now messy) strawberry-blonde hair into Clara's face
- who was pretty sure she now had a corneal tear. "Lou, you don't know what
you're talking about. Dim's practically brain-dead! Pete's too lovely to take
offence-" her eyes grew soft, skin practically wet, "and that Alex - well, I'll
tell you what, he was caught practically shagging Monica Riley in the crafts
cupboard this morning!" So that was his name, Alex. And from the way her lip
curled into a sneer, Georgina always was a dreadful prude (or so she liked to
pretend), he was bad news. "I don't know who the other one is; he doesn't
count."
Clara couldn't help but laugh at this (ignoring the fanciful comment about her
cousin for the sake of her own sanity). "Practically vapour, Gee'."
Her friend nodded, seemingly pleased that Clara was 'agreeing' with her. "Too
right! Now, are you coming tonight or not?" Clara openly groaned, dark tendrils
falling across her vision - but not enough to hide her from Georgina's pressing
expression. "Yes." She shrank beneath her girl-friend's grin, Louise busily
preoccupied with bashing some powder from the crackled remains of her dove eye
shadow pallet. Georgina clapped her hands together like a seal, quite
childishly but with good intentions.
"Oh, brilliant Cee'!" Her eyes were still sparkling from her encounter with
Pete, but less so now that he was far away in the distance. Something
distracted her though, her gaze averted from Clara suddenly and her mouth
opened slowly, words falling from lips hurriedly. "Oh, and Gemma's coming too."
"Nooooo!" Louise groaned, stomping her feet in protest - chunky black heels
clopping against broken, gum-stained tarmac. She was positively fuming. "No! We
didn't agree to this, Georgie!"
"Why not? Gem is desperate to catch up! It's not been the same since she went
to Eltham Hill!" Georgina whined.
Louise and Clara turning to share a strained look. Gemma was the (former)
fourth member of their small friendship group, regrettably missing in action
since their form mistress found her giving oral to her religious studies
partner. Her parents promptly sent her away to an all-girl's school, much to
the excitement of Clara and Louise who always struggled with Gemma's behaviour
- more so because it was completely embarrassing, as opposed to envy.
The bickering of Clara's friends became white noise to her ears; after it
reached its frightening crescendo. This evening was sure to be a disaster. Her
skin prickled uncomfortably as the sun was strangely bright for a winter hour.
The faint slamming of a heavy fire-door only added to the buzz of background
noise - boisterous laughter and shrieks quickly growing faint as they surely
headed towards the playing field, in the direction of the estate. Whatever
occurred, tonight was sure to be interesting in one way or another. She had
memorised the note which she had made - now tattooed across each and every inch
of her brain; she wouldn't forget this evening, that much she was certain. Her
jotter beat against her thigh through the thick leather of her satchel; her
fate imprinting onto her skin - his mark, his territory.
        30/10 – Korova Milk Bar / 9pm – Woolwich Arsenal (home by  11).
End Notes
     Hello! I'm sorry if this seemed rushed, forced or otherwise
     irrelevant. I really wanted to build a little around supporting
     characters in this chapter, and allude to Alex's education because
     even though he never attends, I love the thought of him being a
     general miscreant in an educational setting and bothering the school
     masters. The setting for this will take place in AU 1970s London,
     specifically around the Woolwich area, which is where I always
     supposed Alex (in the film) was implied to be living. I do hope you
     enjoy this little introduction - the next chapter should be posted
     this weekend. Take care, droogies. x
     Also: Alex doesn't talk using nadsat in this chapter because I
     intended him to be purposely mocking and overly formal (kinda like
     when he was talking with the cat lady about the magazines, bless).
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