Story: all that's best of dark and bright

Summary: P.S. I have a life, thank you very much! Just because it doesn't involve booze and sorority parties doesn't mean it doesn't exist. I have a very fulfilling life, full of intellectual conversations and coffeehouses and poetry readings. What is your life full of, Derek? Hockey?

Notes: Set post-'Futuritis,' in the Big Bad World of College. I probably shouldn't joke about that, as I will be part of said world fairly soon. At any rate, the timeline on this is all over the place and it doesn't really have a resolution, but whatever. Enjoy.

Also, the entire thing is in italics (except for the breaks), just because I can. Whoot.

Disclaimer: I don't own Michael Seater. I do, however, own a SHINY NEW MAC. YAY.

Dear Derek,

I realize that you are an idiot, and fine, if you chose to be persistent in extending the tendrils of your pathetic lifestyle over the world, I suppose there is little I can do to stop you.

I can, however, stop you from corrupting my friends. Which is why I'm ordering you to stop in your pursuit of my roommate; she is a kind, gentle soul who obviously has no idea how much of a douche bag you are, and I'd prefer to keep her idealistic and naïve for as long as possible. Your girlfriends tend to become neurotic once they're your ex-girlfriends.

Kindly,

Casey McDonald

Case—

Okay, 1) I'm not an idiot.

2) If your roommate wants me to stop asking her out, then she will tell me and not ask you to leave messages on my door.

3) Get your own life.

4) Stop beating on my girlfriends.

-D

Dear Derek,

What do you mean, you're not an idiot? I would like to point out that today you came into my Modern Lit seminar and, despite the fact that there was a very large note on the board declaring it to be MODERN LITERATURE, thought it was Psych 132 and proceeded to call the (male!!) teacher "Mrs. Hill" and make excuses about your late work. Either you were a) still drunk, or b) chronically stupid, and as I happen to know for a fact you spent last night not drinking with Lucy, it must be the latter.

And while Lucy may not have asked me to warn you off, I feel as though it is my duty as roommate and friend to save her from your influence before it is, I reiterate, too late.

Yours,

Casey McDonald

P.S. I have a life, thank you very much! Just because it doesn't involve booze and sorority parties doesn't mean it doesn't exist. I have a very fulfilling life, full of intellectual conversations and coffeehouses and poetry readings. What is your life full of, Derek? Hockey?

C—

It's not my fault your Modern Lit prof looked like a woman. Or that Mrs. Hill looks like a man.

Lucy's tongue down my throat kind of indicated that she likes having me around, so please just let that go.

-D

P.S. Hockey, booze, and sorority girls are the only ways to spend college, Case. What you're describing is middle age. Sucks for you, more freedom for me.

Dear Derek,

I hate you.

TWO WEEKS. IT TOOK YOU TWO WEEKS TO DUMP HER. Why couldn't you have just told her straight off the bat that it wasn't serious?! Would it kill you to be a decent human being for once in your life?

-Casey McDonald

Case—

I did tell your roommate that it wasn't serious and obviously she chose to believe otherwise. It's not my fault she thought that she could change me from my filanthroding ways, or whatever.

-D

P.S. Why do you always sign your name like that?

Dear Derek,

Philandering, Derek. It's called philandering. And while I realize that Lucy has the tendency to over-romanticize some things, I would also like to point out that I told you she was idealistic and naïve to the sort of scum that you are, and you chose to ignore my warnings. Therefore, the phone calls and the cyber-stalking and the screaming during hockey games are all your fault, and you must suffer through them until you have repented your disgraceful, philandering ways.

-Casey McDonald

P.S. It's my name. How else am I supposed to sign it?

Case—

No one deserves to have their ex-girlfriend pour paint over herself in the opposing team's colors in the middle of the second period, Case. No one. Especially not someone entirely innocent of wrong-doing, like myself.

-D

P.S. I don't know, some way that doesn't scream 'Psychotic Freak'? My roommate thinks that Lucy's hired a lawyer to sue me.

Dear Derek,

I admit Lucy was a bit extreme, but that was, what, three games ago? I think you should get over it. You won your stupid little local competition, didn't you? It was all Mom and George would talk about on the phone for days. I was not amused.

Speaking of home—have you talked to Edwin yet?

-Casey McDonald

P.S. Oh, yes, and Josh is a reliable source of insight. Does he even go to class still, or does he just sit on your futon and smoke weed all afternoon?

C—

She's your roommate, woman. She also stole my practice jersey. Can you please remind her that we broke up six weeks ago and she has to stop with the random theft of my clothes? Shirts, whatever, and that tie was really weird, but I need my practice jersey for tomorrow.

About what? Lizzie?

-D

P.S. I've been told he occasionally plays Grand Theft Auto to pass the time.

Dear Derek,

I dropped your practice jersey off at the arena. One of your teammates actually ceased acting like a Neanderthal long enough to help me. I was so stunned I think my heart stopped of shock. His name was Jack. He was very nice. Do you know if he's

Yes, Lizzie. What else would I be talking about? You're the only one he listens to, you know.

-Casey McDonald

P.S. Oh, well, that changes my opinion of him. NOT.

Casey—

Jack has a girlfriend.

If Edwin wants to follow Lizzie on her dates with Roger the Sketchy, let him. He can practice his stealth skills. And according to Lizzie, Roger didn't even notice Edwin behind that potted palm, even after he tripped the waiter.

-Derek

Dear Derek,

If he has a girlfriend, why did he ask me to come and cheer him on at the semi-finals on Friday? Nice job telling me about those, by the way. You know I'm supposed to pass relevant game dates onto the parental units, seeing as how you seem to be physically incapable of picking up phone and calling them on occasion.

Edwin's debatable stealth is not the issue here, Derek! It's his willful intrusion into what should be Lizzie's private business! It's one thing for him to be cruel and nasty to Roger in public (LIKE SOMEONE WHOSE NAME I COULD MENTION BUT I WON'T), and it's another for him to be loitering behind flora in the lobby of Chez Michel.

-Casey McDonald

Case—

Maybe I didn't want you at the semi-finals. You were a bad cheerleader, by the way. Did you even have any idea what was going on? Oh, I'm sorry, that's a stupid question. You don't care about hockey, you just care about corrupting my players.

Edwin is following in the footsteps laid by the Venturis who came before him. I can only be proud. (Wow, Roger took Lizzie to Chez Michel? The kid's a total smarm. He shouldn't be allowed to date Lizzie anyway.)

-D

Dear Derek,

I hope you're satisfied.

-Casey McDonald

C-

Answer your goddamn phone.

-D

Dear Derek,

NO.

-Casey McDonald

C-

ANSWER YOUR PHONE or I will call Nora.

-D

Dear Derek,

I don't know why you told me to turn on my phone when you didn't even bother calling. Once again, your logic, or lack thereof, manages to astound me.

Also, Lizzie and Roger broke up. Your batting average is now 14. You must be jumping for joy.

-Casey McDonald

Case—

I called. You didn't answer.

-D

P.S. A batting average is out of—God, never mind.

Dear Derek,

That is the most idiotic excuse I have ever heard in my life. You harass my roommate, knock on my door in the middle of the night, leave cryptic messages on my white board, don't bother calling, and then lie about it?

I don't understand you, Derek. I'm rather thankful for that.

-Casey McDonald

Case—

Look, I told you that Jack already had a girlfriend, I was right, you cried like a faucet with limbs, and we've all moved on. Can we please stop dwelling on something that happened, like, a week ago?

-D

P.S. Tell Lucy that I want my tie back. I need it for the championship dinner on Wednesday.

Dear Derek,

Six days is not a week, Derek.

-Casey McDonald

P.S. I have your tie. When do you want me to give it to you?

Dear Derek,

You deserved Mr. Lang's disapprobation. What was the point of interrupting my Modern Lit seminar again just to get your stupid tie? I was going to see you this afternoon anyway.

-Casey McDonald

Case—

What do you mean, see me this afternoon?

-D

Dear Derek,

It wasn't that bad. Stop sulking.

-Casey McDonald

P.S. I think Lucy stole a pair of—oh god, my eyes—your underthings when we were out on Wednesday.

C—

I had to take my stepsister to the championship dinner. It was pretty damn painful. I realize you're incapable of living in the real world, but did you really have to trip and spill your drink all over Jack? You kind of smelled desperate.

-D

P.S. Burn them. I don't want to know what she did. (Underthings? What are you, sixty?)

Dear Derek,

It's your own fault for mentioning to Mom and George that your date bailed. Besides, I'd been looking for a chance to wear that dress ever since we got here.

Other than the minor debacle with Jack, I think we managed perfectly fine. And your coach was very sweet. What did he mean by "Know any good therapists?" when I introduced myself? It sounded ominous.

-Casey McDonald

P.S. I don't want to touch them!

P.P.S. I WAS NOT DESPERATE.

Case—

Coach Masters was being weird. Never mind.

-D

P.S. I don't want Lucy keeping them!

P.P.S. You were. It was painful.

Dear Derek,

Oh, all right, fine, attempt to be subtle. But I got another dress for Sunday, so you have four days to come up with a better excuse before I meet your coach again and ask him.

-Casey McDonald

P.S. Fine. They've been incinerated. You owe me so bad.

P.P.S. I've been meaning to ask—do you know why Jack had a black eye? It was covered very badly by concealer, but when I was in the process of spilling my beverage all over him, I noticed.

C—

You don't need to come on Sunday.

-D

P.S. Eh.

P.P.S. Stick hit him during practice. Guy's got the reflexes of a dead polar bear.

Dear Derek,

Sorry, but like Mom and George would let you go to an Alumni Association dinner without someone there to censor you. Pick me up at seven. Also, wear that red tie Lizzie got you for Christmas. It matches my dress.

-Casey McDonald

P.S. I want you to buy my coffee every morning for the rest of the semester.

P.P.S. Really? God, I never knew he was so bad at hockey.

Case—

Seven-thirty. We don't want to get there too early. And fine, I'll wear the stupid tie.

-D

P.S. Done. You'll just have to pay for gas when we drive back to London for break.

P.P.S. Yeah. Imagine that.

So I thought I'd go with something a little less serious (for once, ha). Thoughts?