Summary: They were supposed to save the world quietly—no one was supposed to know that an evil megalomaniac god of time was hell-bent on destroying the planet. But Maggie, with her sweet curves and short temper, was proving difficult to keep in the dark. [HerryOC | if the show wasn't aimed at a younger audience]

All about you | Chapter 1 | Maggie

Hamilton city, Canada.

Maggie Galanos was the kind of girl who—after being conditioned by perhaps the nosiest mother in the world—automatically, and rather bluntly at times, told the truth. It had become her default setting such that she said what she thought more often than not, and she seemed to mostly be lacking a filter between her brain and her mouth. (She wasn't sure how exactly her mother always seemed to know the truth, but Maggie put it down to a mix of uncanny maternal instincts and her own poor acting abilities.)

Add to that the fact that she had a short fiery temper and an easily provoked nature, and it meant that she was of a disposition prone to outbursts that were inherently hellcat-ish. Though, her best friend would swear that her bark was worse than her bite. Mostly this meant that she was almost always transparent and forthcoming and didn't have the time or patience for any other bullshit.

High School, unfortunately, was a breeding ground for all that other bullshit; lies, scandals, angst. By the time Maggie was halfway through her freshman year, she was already done with it. Walking down the corridors was like wading through a cesspool of crap Maggie didn't want to deal with or get involved in. She honestly couldn't wait for the independence of university and showing up to lectures where she didn't know everyone else in the room.

Her dire outlook on high school was probably the reason why she was trying to hold onto the last vestiges of sleep that morning; to put off the inevitable. But then her phone rang. Maggie knew it could only be her best friend, Liz Fairchild, calling—she was the only one who wouldn't have a single problem with calling Maggie at an ungodly 7:01am. As much as she didn't want to acknowledge it, Liz was a morning person. And in Maggie's current tired and irritated state, she mused that they were undoubtedly the worst kind of people.

The muted tune of 'My Gun' continued to blare from her phone.

Groaning dramatically, Maggie somehow pulled her arm from the mess of sheets and blankets covering her and felt around blindly, keeping her eyes shut and desperately holding onto a deep determination to continue sleeping. Her fingertips connected with the vibrating phone hidden between two pillows, and a small part of Maggie wanted to click the decline button and relish in the following silence.

But she knew that would only provoke the beast, and she'd call back again and again with a vengeance. So Maggie gritted her teeth and answered the phone with the most pleasant greeting she could muster. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"And good morning to you too, sunshine," Liz replied drily, and Maggie made a face at her pillow at how awake she sounded.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Maggie grunted, her voice slightly muffled amongst the bedding.

"I secretly enjoy your emotional anguish and pain," she quipped nonchalantly, and Maggie could just picture her talking on the phone, styling her hair and likely plotting world domination at the same time. She was that kind of scary-organised and efficient.

"I fucking knew it."

"Language," Liz tsked mockingly before laughing. "C'mon, it's seven-oh-three and you said you'd pick me up on your way to school this morning."

"Ugh." On the other end, Maggie could hear the familiar pinging noise as Liz shook a bottle of nail polish. "Are you painting your nails? How do you have time for that?"

"Unlike some," Liz replied pointedly, "I don't leave myself with just enough time to roll out of bed and pull on some clothes."

Maggie glared suspiciously at her phone even though Liz couldn't see it. That had been her exact plan. "What are you? Because you're not human."

Liz rolled her eyes. Maggie could tell. "Just hurry up and get ready for school."

"You're so bossy." Maggie grunted and did not move from her warm, squishy bed. "Why do they even have school so early? Everyone knows teenagers go to bed later and sleep in longer than anyone else, and yet the department of education insists on ruining our lives."

"Dramatic," Liz noted, before continuing, "but don't tell me that's your convoluted way of telling me you're thinking of ditching on the first day back at school."

Maggie snorted. "Please. My mother would find out, and I choose life, thanks."

"Good. Now get out of bed—that's right, I know you too damn well—and get your butt up and ready for school." There was a pause. "Don't make me call your mother instead."

"Fine," Maggie groaned, somehow rolling herself into an up-right position. "You fight dirty."

"Whatever is necessary. I'll see you in half an hour. Thanks babe."

Maggie dropped her phone back on her pillow and surveyed her room, running a hand through her knotted, messy hair. With the curtains pulled closed, it was deceivingly dark and Maggie could almost trick herself into thinking it was still nighttime. But the barest amount of light managed to creep through, blinding yellow at the edges and gaps, and Maggie sighed, reaching up and across her bed to pull one curtain open. She immediately winced and regretted her decision, but it needed to be done. Otherwise, she'd be in serious danger of falling back asleep.

Maggie trudged her way to a shower, grabbing a singlet and pair of paint-stained jeans, and a couple minutes later she emerged from the steamy bathroom, clean and clothed. Maggie wasn't big on makeup except a couple coatings of mascara, and there was no way she was taming her curls into a smooth and sleek hairstyle without some serious time and effort with a hair straightener, so her usual morning routine could be timed to approximately 22 minutes. She made her way downstairs to grab a piece of fruit and make up a thermos of matcha before grabbing her canvas book-bag and heading to the garage.

Their garage had been converted into an art studio years ago by Maggie's mother. As an avid artist herself, the studio was a mess of paints and canvases and half-finished paintings. There was a storage cupboard in the corner and shelving around the room occupied by almost every medium of art you could think of. It was Maggie's most favourite place.

Maggie's mother, Sylvia—though her friends called her Sylvie—sat on a three legged stool, her black curls threaded with grey were piled into a messy bun and an oversized smock swamped her frame. Paintbrushes stuck out haphazardly from her bun. They both had the same brown eyes, though Sylvia's were ringed with fine lines, and they both had the same small, slightly upturned nose. If the fact that Maggie was almost the spitting image of her mother didn't convince you they were related, then their shared love of art had to.

"Mum," Maggie called, "I'm going to school."

Maggie's mother set down her paintbrush in a cup of water, "oh, sweetheart, is that the time already?"

"Unfortunately."

Maggie's mother sent her a knowing smile as she stood up and pulled off her smock. She managed an art gallery in the middle of the city and would need to leave very soon herself to be ready for open. Maggie's eyes jumped to the new canvas sitting on the easel, the beginnings of a new painting in the works. Faint sketched lines and the beige/tan of skin were all that was there so far. "You trying portraits again?"

Maggie's mother placed a kiss on the side of Maggie's forehead as she headed for the house. "Yes, I was feeling that mood. Try and have a good day."

Try was the operative word. "You too. See you this afternoon."

…..

"Are you an idiot? Seriously? Seriously? In what world is it a good idea to walk out in front of a car?" Maggie was yelling at the idiot in question, one hand waving about emphatically, the other gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were turning white.

Beside her, Liz raised an eyebrow at her, her voice deadpan as she surveyed the chaos of the school parking lot with a comparatively calmer eye. Where Maggie was all hot-headed, Liz kept a level head; all cool, calm and collected, even in the most disorderly of situations. "Chill, Mags. He can't even hear you."

"I could've killed him," Maggie grumped, throwing a glare at the guy as he continued on his way, unaware of her shouting. To be honest, with the school car park so packed that they were all moving along at a snail's pace, the most amount of damage she could've done would only be some bumps and bruises. But it was the principle of the matter.

You don't walk out in front of a car. The world was full of fools all trying to get themselves killed and give Maggie a lifetime of therapy.

"So dramatic." Liz grinned and rolled her eyes, flipping her sleek blonde hair over her shoulder as she looked at Maggie. Liz was the kind of long-limbed that was willowy and graceful, with fingers just made for playing the piano. She was always neatly presented—tidily manicured hands, perfectly coifed hair that was never out of place, clothing that had no stains. Maggie envied it sometimes. "Look on the bright side; you'd—,"

"—probably be doing the world a favour? We don't need that kind of stupid walking around and polluting the gene pool."

Liz snorted a laugh, and it was the only not-so-tidy thing about her.

"Oh, stop," she admonished Maggie lightly. Liz was far more amicable than Maggie—friendly and welcoming and understanding, and an ideal candidate for school captain. Bleh. Liz was involved in school; she joined the groups, she did the extra-curricular activities. Every now and then, she managed to pull Maggie into them too, only by reminding her that it would look good on her college applications.

Liz eyed Maggie's disheveled, most likely un-brushed mass of wild black curls, and the tension in her shoulders, knowing she was not a morning person. "Drink some more of that gross tea you like."

Maggie sent her an outraged glare that Liz was expecting—it was why she'd said 'gross'. It got a rise out of Maggie—it was always too easy to get a rise out of Maggie. Defensively, the grumpy black-haired teen said, "matcha is good."

"It's bitter," Liz said, raising an eyebrow behind her horn-rimmed glasses.

Maggie grinned, showing teeth. "Like my soul then."

Liz shook her head, laughing. "Please. You painted flowers on your walls and sleep with about a million teddy bears. You're hardly bitter."

"And you better keep that information to yourself," Maggie threatened dangerously. "I have a reputation to maintain."

Liz snorted, smiling so that her almond-shaped eyes crinkled in the corners. "You're delusional."

"How dare you."

Liz was, honestly, the complete opposite of Maggie, and not just physically though those differences were stark in comparison. While Liz was slim and together looking, Maggie was just a mess. A few stubborn pounds over voluptuous, Maggie had curves on top of her curves and a little pouch of stomach fat that became too-noticeable for her liking when she sat down. Her hair was just a big pile of curls everywhere, she was impishly short (her mum said what she lacked in height, she made up for with her temper), her cheeks too round and rosy and her eyes were too large on her face, almost disconcertingly owl-like.

Maggie just knew Liz had probably gotten up and gone for a run and been up for hours doing study at her organized desk in her tidy room where she doubted things were ever out of place except for when Maggie came over.

Not for the first time, Maggie was amazed that they'd managed to stay friends despite their inherent differences. But then, what made them different to each other was what the other person liked most about them. They rarely had the same taste in clothes or boys or music, but they knew the other better than anyone else did. They had been best friends since the sandpit days when Billy Thomson had been running around telling everyone that Liz had farted and Maggie called him a big fat liar.

Maggie continued to glare through her front windscreen. "Keep your eyes peeled for a car park."

The first day back at school was always a nightmare. The front of the building and surrounding area were swarming with students lingering about, attempting to put off the inevitable much like Maggie had that morning. Which was understandable—no one wanted to take those first steps through the front doors. It would be like admitting defeat. Giving up.

The only thing was, it made trying to get a park a long and arduous task, and as someone with a short temper, the process was almost painful. There were students walking everywhere, uncaring that there were cars around. There were cars taking up two parking spots because the owner clearly couldn't park straight to save their life, or because they were saving valuable car spaces for their friends. There were impromptu games of football being played, and couples making out on cars, parents trying to drop their kids off on their way through to work. It was a goddamn nightmare.

And to top it all off, there was this massive monstrosity of a vehicle moving along in front of her, making it almost impossible to see anything else ahead or around it. She just had to blindly follow along behind it. Maggie had never seen the red truck before, not that she paid all that much attention to the other cars her fellow students had, but she felt like with that beast at least, she would've remembered. It had to be twice the size of any other car in the whole parking lot. It was ridiculous. Who was in there—the entire hockey team?

Another student thought it would be a good idea to walk out in front of Maggie's car and cross the road, and she huffed, irritated, resisting the urge to roll down her window and yell. Instead, she glared, hoping he would feel the heat of her stare burning him through his clothing.

And, perhaps, if she hadn't been so focused on glaring at the unknown student, she wouldn't have nearly rear-ended that goddamn red truck when he decided to brake suddenly to turn into a park. The key word here was 'nearly'.

But then again, perhaps the red truck didn't need to brake quite so suddenly. Like there were no other cars around. Like she was not patiently following behind him trying not to think about the fact that she couldn't see a damn thing up ahead because it practically blocked out the sun.

So the jerk in the massive red truck broke, and Liz yelled, "look out!" at the same time Maggie yelled, "fuck!".

When they came to a stop, Maggie's bonnet was only a couple centimeters from the truck's tow bar, and she was breathing heavily, her heart pounding hard in her chest. They were frozen for a second, Liz silent and Maggie's already too-wide eyes even wider, her mouth slack, fingers cramping on the steering wheel. The last thing she needed was to get into a low-speed car collision in the school parking lot on the first day back at school. God.

The shock slowly died down, her racing heart slowing. And as her fear-tinged surprise disappeared, anger took its place. The early morning wake-up, the stupid students walking in front of cars, the million things she needed to watch for that made her stress something chronic welled up until she was practically seething.

She had road rage. She knew it. They always touted the first step as being an admission that you had a problem, and Maggie admitted it freely.

"For fuck sake," Maggie yelled, angrily jerking the wheel in quick motions and driving around the massive red truck. One hand was up in the air, waving about with angry pointing, as they passed and she turned her head to glare viciously at the driver. The windows were too tinted to see in, and it almost made it worse not being able to put a face to the driver. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Calm down Mags, it's okay," Liz managed to say over Maggie's anger, "you didn't hit him."

"Who even gave that asshole his fucking license? Jesus Christ." She shook her head, her voice lowering now that they'd passed the driver. She shook her head, muttering, "Fucking braking like that, what the fuck?"

They moved to the other end of the car park, passing multiple empty spots just so Maggie could get as far away from the red truck as possible lest the mere sight of it fuel her anger.

She hadn't had enough fucking tea to deal with this shit.