Hate for anonymous

Arnold x Helga x Hate

Thirteen Things Helga Pataki Hates About Arnold Shortman. (And the one thing she loves.)

One. She hates the way he always has to look on the bright side. If there is one thing Helga Pataki is well-versed in, it is the art of disappointment. She is, as a general realist, painfully aware that life is unfair. Unlike Arnold she does not walk outside after the rain, with the promising hope of the pavement sprouting daisies. She doesn't expect rays of hope to shine down upon her each and every time the sun rises. No, in fact, she is utterly aware of the fact that when it rains, it pours, and new days are rarely new beginnings.

Two. She hates his overwhelming need to help everyone, but more precisely, she hates it when he attempts to help her. For one, she is Helga Pataki and it is well-documented that Pataki's, by force of nature, never need help. Not sometimes, not rarely, not hardly ever - just, never, never ever. She does not need his philosophic monologues and she does not need his extended hand. Nobody dares knock her down, and nobody need help her up - she simply stands proud on her own two feet.

Three. She hates his plaid 'shirt'. Shirt and skirt may sound the same but, as Rhonda would eagerly explain, they are drastically different things. Gerald's jersey is, for example, a shirt, as is Harold's grossly outgrown white polo. Arnold's plaid monstrosity is a skirt. Unsurprisingly, seeing as skirts are for females, males do not look good in them. If that weren't bad enough, dark plaid red also does not match apple-green eyes. Combine that with sunshine yellow hair, and he makes for a startling impersonation of a backward traffic light.

Four. She hates his batting stance. Nobody requires a balanced center of gravity that outrageously close to ground-level. If he attempted to reduce his proportionate distance to the floor any further, he could perhaps literally become one with home base. She thinks, that considering his already limited height, he might reconsider his strategy of squatting like a praying-mantis every time he faces up to bat.

Five. She hates that his parents loved him. Somehow, she doesn't feel it is entirely fair, knowing that Arnold's parents adored him. It may not compensate for their departure, but one year of boundless affection is far more than she has ever received. Perhaps, in fact, she envies the logical assumption that, wherever they are, Arnold's parents probably think of him each and every day. She knows too, that despite having been separated for so long, his parents are probably genuinely aware of his name and age. If it were her choice, she'd take missing parents over oblivious parents, any day - maybe, in that regard, their relative misfortunes almost even out.

Six. She hates his spit-ball tolerance. It's increasing. During any average day, it now takes three to four perfectly aimed spit-balls to elicit any form of response. Five to six, directly to the back of the neck, before he might turn his head, allowing her the nonchalant shrug and lowly hissed 'what' in response. She not only finds it taking a significant toll on her notepaper output, but also her barely existent patience. It is likewise becoming more than acutely obvious, with each passing day, just how pathetic she is becoming.

Seven. She hates his good advice. It is perfectly understandable, really, because it ruins everything. His timely advice solves problems that she would much rather have continued to hack away at with dangerous unfocussed rage and harmful half-formed schemes. All work and no play, gives Helga a morality headache.

Eight. She hates where he lives. She has, in fact, discovered countless reasons for this over the span of her young life. Initially, she understandably lamented the general layout. For example, as a four-year-old she found it absolutely impossible to climb the fire escape. She once disliked the sheer volume of regular residents, until mapping out the ventilation system radically aided that issue. Overall, she mostly hates how warm and comfortable it seems - like home.

Nine. She hates the blue hat. It's too small. End of story.

Ten. She hates his football plays. Statue of liberty, double reverse, flea-flipper, razzle dazzle is not a legitimate name for any serious combination of passes intended to result in a vital touchdown. In fact, it is not a legitimate name for absolutely anything. She begrudgingly admits, internally but never verbally, that in some situations his plays are successful. However, she refuses to spit out nineteen superfluous syllables during a huddle.

Eleven. She hates his pet pig. Yes, she hates Abner and yes, of course she means that. She does not appreciate the way he nudges her leg, nor the way he sniffs around her hiding places and she especially detests it when he steals her locket.

Twelve. She hates his voice. It is oxymoronically damaging to her general well-being. It is gentle but firm, reprimanding but encouraging and everything else that results in loud palpitations of the chest and confusing, emotional poetry. She cannot stand the way he sounds as though he knows what he is doing, no matter the situation. Although, even worse, she fears the rare moments that he doesn't sound so sure of himself. She detests his tone when it's directed to a sweet, pretty, perfect girl and, whenever it is, she closes her eyes and hopes never to hear him speak like that again.

Thirteen. She hates his eyes. Without a doubt, her least favourite colour is green. Bright, piercing, alluring green like Yahoo jellybeans and white-gold emerald engagement rings in size five, perhaps size six once she is older. She thinks they are also, and she reminds herself often, green like vomit and slime. Slime and vomit. Vomit and slime. Engagement rings and jellybeans. Jellybeans. Engagement rings.

Despite this, however, there is one simple thing Helga loves, cherishes, absolutely adores, about Arnold. And that is the fact that he is Arnold. Coincidentally, that detail alone renders all of the above null and void. It also means she just lied to you thirteen times.

A/N: I was actually half-asleep when I thought of this and crawled out of bed to write it sooo, let my dedication be known!

Also: Nep2uune - I want to apologise that I have not yet completed any of your prompts. I feel terrible about it because you're such a dedicated reviewer and one of the first to send in a response for this challenge. Basically, I just want you to know that I'm halfway through both your Anniversary Dinner and Spin The Bottle prompts, I'm just waiting for inspiration to strike to get them finished. Hopefully I'll be able to post one soon!