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KiD IC4RUS's avatar

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                                                  millennium ██████████████████████ .. ██████████████████████
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                                                  millennium i never wanted it to go this far , x never thought it would be so hard
                                                  millenniumx but now i'm left with nothing else
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                                                    Expecting what?! Marc’s brow twitched angrily in response. Before the brunette could elaborate on his misassumption, he began to holler and wave at the window Marc already checked, leading the hipster to realize there was a girl hopping glass to glass.

                                                    Though almost any ordinary person would be surprised, Marc accepted the scene as was. He knew what she was: a superhuman, like him, and hey, they even had the same hair color— his thoughts began to meander as he pieced together what was happening. Sharp, observant eyes were one of the few things special about Marc, yet he couldn’t recognize Spica completely. She had pale blonde hair, braided in the front and long at the back, an uncommon hairstyle. Maybe, briefly, he’d passed her in his line of work.

                                                    She looked pretty angry. Cool, she must have hated this kid too.

                                                    "Whatever," Marc muttered at David’s introduction and ignored the hand the boy held out to him, instead folding his arms over his chest. “Did you expect me to shake that?”

                                                    David reached over, took one of his hands, and shook it anyway. Marc stared disbelievingly, lips pressed into a thin line. Was he serious? To spare them any more awkwardness, Marc kindly asked David to, “Get to the ******** point.”

                                                    "So I hear that you used to work for the government!"

                                                    Oh, no.

                                                    "D'you want to come back and try it again?"

                                                    So that’s what they were: government agents. Although David couldn’t see Marc’s right eye because of his hipster peek-a-boo bang, the brunette was staring straight into a single-eyed, gray glare. “The keyword is used to,” the hipster scowled, “I’d rather continue this sham at casual conversation than sell myself to the government again. What is it you want? Don’t they have enough dogs running around on a leash?”

                                                    The government already rejected him after the Age of Aquarius took effect. Well, he rage quit—whatever. Why did they want him back? Despite working for them for a couple years as an assassin, he never once supported their actions, and if he weren’t paid, he certainly wouldn’t have complied. He didn’t approve of superhuman enslavement, withholding secrets from the public, or the misuse of propaganda, above other cruelties. Marc scanned every aspect of the unassuming boy in front of him, wondering how fresh off the boat he was and what his power could be. He had to be new because not even a year had passed since Marc quit. If he and David overlapped instatements, there was no way he would have missed him.

                                                    Just when Marc thought he couldn’t get any dumber, he watched in impassive amazement as David hit himself in the chest with his clarinet case. What a tool.

                                                    Finally, he swiped his hand away and watched the newbie agent run down the hall. What an abrupt was to end a conversation—did he have any training at all? Surveying the windows behind his shoulder, Marc found Spica was also missing. If this was supposed to be a recruit mission, they were failing miserably. He decided to get the ******** out of school before reinforcements showed up. He was close to the door anyway, so Marc diva-strutted out and into the parking lot, hoping to lose David and Spica by passing the rows of nonexistent cars by the entrance. However, somebody called out his name.

                                                    "Hey! Marc!” Hmmm, that voice sounded familiar.

                                                    “I mean, Marc, get your a** over here, you... asshat!"

                                                    "... Lee?"

                                                    A tall, wiry figure exited the building behind him, flamboyant red hair sticking up in the wind. Marc blinked at who looked like his ex-boss, but he was searching for the familiar hood he always wore. If that sweater vest was supposed to help him blend in with the crowd, he was sorely mistaken. There was no mistaking Lee.

                                                    "Listen here, Marc. I need your help, okay? There's work we need to do over in the Octagon and I've gotten really short - "

                                                    He heard footsteps on the concrete; they sounded heavy.

                                                    "What is this bullshit."

                                                    He heard a gruffer tone, but the same voice. Marc side-glanced between the two Lees that now made themselves apparent. One of them wore the signature hood, which he was sure was the real one.

                                                    "David, I ******** know that's you!”

                                                    He was a shapeshifter, Marc knew. If David planned to fool him, he probably shouldn’t have worn the same sweater vest while trying to impersonate someone else. Marc also wondered why somebody as significant as Lee would come to the school himself, especially when he’d already sent two agents after him. He was seated at the Octagon, America’s most famous superhuman compound, and he probably should have been doing more important things than recruiting an irritable ex-assassin, yet alone teenagers. Yet, here Lee came, defying the logical deduction he bothered to construct within his meticulous mind. He waited patiently for the two in front of him to stop bickering, but it only tumbled downhill.

                                                    Lee was as vulgar as always, while David whimpered under the mercy of his scalding tongue-lashing. Unfortunately, entering high school did not make someone old enough to stop crying in public. The hipster couldn’t help but judge how non-mainstream a crying face looked on Lee’s shoulders.

                                                    “s**t, you look like a kicked puppy. How do I look like a kicked puppy. I'm sorry, sorry, dammit, Marc, help me out, he's going to cry and it's going to look like I'm crying!"

                                                    “Are you serious—“

                                                    "M - marc, Lee is a gigantic idiot and he's so rude and...and... and make him stop he's really loud!"

                                                    Somehow, miraculously avoiding saying anything derogatory, though he was probably thinking it, Marc turned his attention back towards Lee. He sighed, “Why are you here? I’ve been meaning to go home hours ago.”

                                                    Although abrasive, he was not devoid of reason. In his own, caring gesture, he allowed David to compose himself from behind his shoulder and for Lee to continue, so maybe the topic would drift to where he wanted it to be in the first place. Marc still didn’t know what was happening, after all. How much more insulting was it for someone in the newspaper club to not be updated?

                                                    -insert heartwarming explanation/talk- WHY REAM -cry-

                                                    "... Fine, I accept."

                                                    Convincing Marc was a herculean task. Lee was able to recruit him, but if he asked the hipster specifically why he accepted the invitation into his division, he wouldn’t get anything but a snarky comment for his efforts. He was going unpaid, risking his life, and working under the very institution he abhorred most. His pride kept it a mystery.

                                                    At this point, Marc could still see Lee!David half-cowering behind him from the corner of his eye.

                                                    “David, get away from my shoulder,” Marc jerked his arm back, “Your mainstream tears are staining my scarf.”

                                                    “Oh, and smile.”

                                                    What? Did Marc say something nice? Before David could read the look on his face, there was a subtle click, and his teary-eyed boyo face was caught in a flash of light. After blinking a couple times to recover his eyesight, he saw Marc holding the camera at an arm’s distance, examining the photo on the screen. What was David blubbering like a baby looked like his reinstated boss blubbering like a baby. I could only imagine Lee would be thinking of punching him at this moment. Marc slipped the camera back into his side-saddled bag, waving nonchalantly to the identical duo he left behind.

                                                    “This is so going on my tumblr when I get home.”

                                                  ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ x ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■
                                                  ━━━★ ★ ★ x ❝ you're so damn difficult. 》_______________
silvieon's avatar

cakesauce's Wife

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                          Lee's eyes widened at the sound of bombs going off, whirling around to see all the hostages terrified and screaming. Wow. Quality hostages here.

                          "Allow me to let you in on a little secret here, Heist," Lee said slowly, grip tightening on the man's jacket. "I'm not nearly as gracious when I'm angry. And that little bomb stunt you pulled just made me really, really angry." His eyes suddenly glowed a brilliant green again, the only warning Heist got before Lee swung him around, throwing him on the ground in front of the hostages. "I was planning to just walk you out of here. But I guess I can always just throw you out."

                          He looked around at all the hostages, daring them to say something. That, at least shut them all up. He growled at them and most of them, the smart ones anyways, cowered away. Cracking his knuckles, Lee swept his gaze around the bank, taking note of ever the cops outside, with their guns pointed at him of all people. 'Idiots,' he thought irately, grabbing the nearest object - in this case, one of the tables that people used to fill out papers - and threw it at the front door, laughing despite himself at all the policemen scurrying out of the way to avoid it. Served them right.

                          "All right, hostages. Either you can walk out of here, or I can throw you out. You get to pick for ten more seconds before I start throwing." Lee frowned when no one started moving. Did they not realize how magnanimous he was being, actually letting them walk out of the bank with their dignity? "One. Two." That got them moving, all of them in fact, scrambling to their feet to get out of the way before he really did make good on his promise to throw things.

                          Well, looked like those hostages were good for something after all.

                          "And you, Heist. I'm not done with you yet," he growled, grabbing the black - haired man's collar before he could run far enough. "You have made things very frustrating for me today. You're coming with me, to the Octagon, for questioning, and no, you don't get a say in any of this because I couldn't give a flipping ******** about the law even if I wanted to." Lee just hauled Heist onto his shoulder and walked them to his car instead. After throwing him into the shotgun seat (no, not literally, more like depositing roughly), Lee gave a final one - finger salute to his "fellow officers" or something and drove off.

                          The Director could have his head later. He was Lee and he did what he want. Until when he had to pay for doing what he wanted with some incredibly painful experimentation, but still. He mostly did what he want.
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                          Once Lee got Heist situated with his secretary (and, okay, there'd be a lot more kissing than he'd like to really divulge, but...you couldn't blame him, Heist looked really good), and made sure that he was more presentable than being with Heist made him, he headed out yet again.

                          So he'd sent out one of his newest agents with one of his not - so - new, but still likely to mess up agents to recruit an ex - agent who was going to need more finesse than the both of them combined.

                          Well, there was a really good reason why he needed his ex - agent then, considering who he sent out after him. He would've considered himself high, you know, if he actually could get high. Too bad most people knew that he couldn't, including him, which was a shame because it would've been a great excuse.

                          Instead, he was pulling neatly into one of the many empty spots in the Richard Montegomery High School because he had to make sure his stupid agents didn't ******** things up too badly. Because, you know, there'd inevitably be ******** up, it was just a bit of a toss up as to how badly things would end up going. However, Lee didn't anticipate it going this badly.

                          "What is this bullshit." Lee folded his arms, eyes narrowed, taking in...well, himself, really. What the [********] was that supposed to be? Was that really a sweater vest? Wait, no, that was a waistcoat. What was he doing in a waistcoat?! No, David, no, he practically didn't own anything that wasn't his hood (he had at least ten of them, okay), pants, and boots. "David, I ******** know that's you! Who gave you permission to shapeshift into me? Whose bright idea was this, actually? He and I will need to have words."

                          "Lee, come on, I almost had him - "

                          "I am so not in a ******** good mood right now, so you will shut the hell up and let me talk to Marc, or I will have your head on a ******** platter and I'm - " His tirade was cut short, however, by the really, really, really creepy look of himself crying. It was more than unsettling, dredging up too many memories of his younger self, sobbing, all alone in his cell, and - no. Nope. No, not nope, didn't need that now, "s**t you look like a kicked puppy. How do I look like a kicked puppy. I'm sorry, sorry, dammit, Marc, help me out, he's going to cry and it's going to look like I'm crying!"

                          This was so not going how he imagined it would.

                          “Why are you here? I’ve been meaning to go home hours ago.”

                          Thank Marc.

                          "Okay. Okay, look," Lee began, running a hand through his hair (under his hood, thank you very much), "You know that I wouldn't go to you if I could go to anyone else, okay? But I can't. But you've seen the kind of people I've had to pick up, I mean...not that...you know, not that they aren't great or anything, but the most competent people I have with me are Antony and Mary. Don't tell me I don't sound hopeless. It's kind of my head on the line here, okay? I need your help because otherwise, no one's going to take me seriously. And also because if I don't kick the R&D department into working, nothing will happen and that virus is going to have free reign of the city, so. So help me out here, please."

                          Please was a really weird word.

                          He really didn't like saying it all that much.

                          "...fine, I accept."

                          Oh, holy hell, thank Marc.

                          Lee sighed in relief, shaking his head. He'd been really, really worried there for a moment. Not having Marc on the team would mean that he wouldn't be able to bully the R&D department into helping him write the kill code. Something about him not being respectable enough. Well ******** them, Lee had -

                          - just gotten a picture of himself taken by Marc, that a*****e! So much for being respectable, with David's teary, doe - eyed face blinking in surprise at Marc's camera. Gritting his teeth, Lee's eyes began to glow, hands balling in to fists.

                          "YOU PRETENTIOUS HIPSTER, I WILL ******** SMASH THAT CAMERA OF YOURS IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!" he hollered, grabbing the nearest inanimate object (some poor rich a*****e student's car) and threw it after the hipster before chasing him down himself, tearing easily through the car he'd just thrown. "GIVE ME YOUR ******** CAMERA BEFORE I RIP IT OUT OF YOUR HANDS. I NEED TO ******** CRUSH IT INTO DUST!"

                          Lee Damascus. Classy as ********.
chaochu 's avatar

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                            There was a subtle shift in Ryder's expression, and Maia's eyes reacted in return, wavering under the intensity of his gaze as he leaned towards her. His breath tickled her face, and she inhaled sharply, her back straightening.


                            "Y-Yeah," she replied, color rising to her cheeks. It took all of her willpower, but she didn't avert her eyes.

                            "As good as a person can get after all that s**t,"

                            Maia didn't respond. She hadn't gone through all the things Ryder had gone through because she'd had Lawrence to protect her. Lawrence, a man who had saved her from her own father, and raised her as his own - even when the government had tossed her aside like an old doll. Though what she had gone through as a child was an ordeal in itself, and at times Maia swore she could still feel the pain of having her limbs sliced clean off, with bright lines shining in her eyes as the skin reformed.

                            "I'm kinda busy here,"

                            Her brow furrowed at this response."Oh..." she said, openly disappointed, but not about to give up. She'd wanted to see him for the past six years, and she didn't plan on letting their chance meeting pass by as nothing. "Then, maybe later... - ?" Maia's voice cut off abruptly as a laugh escaped the man in front of her.

                            "You sure you got that right? There ain't much I could've done to make it 'okay'."

                            Lips parted in an awkward position between the half-formed words, Maia slowly felt them close as she considered his face. "Well...that is... Because I liked you," she replied after a considerable pause. "Because I didn't have to be by myself. Is that... hard to believe?"

                            Interlocking her fingers over her stomach, Maia lowered her eyes to Ryder's chest, his last statement lost on her ears as she occupied her attention with the bookshelf. It was difficult, speaking what was on her mind while making eye contact. "I just... don't want this to be the last time I see you. That's all. Um..."

                            A loud noise hit Maia's ears with a sudden force, and a wave of heat passed through her, twisting in her gut. She barely had time to process the sound of the explosion as she stumbled forward, almost hitting Ryder's chest but managing to stay steady on here feet. The ringing in her ears was just fading when she heard more shouts.

                            "What?" The young woman looked over her shoulder. Smoke curled to the ceiling, orange playing along the walls. "A bomb..."

                            But why? It was unlikely for a terrorist to hit a public library.

                            Her first instinct was to contact the underground, but even if there was someone available to help, they wouldn't make it in time. And she was frozen. Dangerous situations were not something she was really used to, even though she was technically part of a rebel group. Maia couldn't even remember why she was at the library in the first plac.

                            Someone had pulled the fire alarm. There was noise everywhere, drops of water poured from the ceiling, but wasn't quite enough to effectively damage

                            Her mind whirling, Maia reached out to grasp the red-haired male's elbow, encouraging him to move. "H-Hurry! We need to - !"

                            Head pounding, Maia felt her feet slow, perspiration gathering at her forehead. Her thoughts were growing fuzzy again, making her vision clear and unfocused.

                            "Once it goes off, you'll remain inside to make sure they are unable to leave."

                            She couldn't leave.

                            A fog gathered in her eyes, soaking the light from her pupils.

                            Use discretion. Her fingers tightened around the arm she held. She'd made herself known to him, so she couldn't let him leave. Ryder had been with the government, he could still be attached to them. To be thorough, she would have to make sure he died as well. Maia's controlled thoughts were turning like a well drawn diagram, but the lines blurred.
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_________ c o d e n a m e : яαмραит
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____________________ if i go crazy then will you still call me superman? ____________________________________ if i'm alive and well will you be there, holding my hand?
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                            " Chyea, right, "

                            Ryder was not being the most cooperative with this reunion. He could swear he saw her practically squirming under his callous indifference, but Maia continued to try and persevere beneath the confrontation. "Lady, it's hella hard to believe," he said bluntly, "I wasn't the nicest back then -" A little demon really, and he still wasn't that nice now. Not really. She finally brought her gaze down, and Ryder couldn't help but note how much shorter it made her look. Maybe he could get out of here now, before -- ...

                            "I just... don't want this to be the last time I see you. That's all. Um..."

                            The young man threw Maia another incredulous look, before another laugh tore through his throat, an amused sound. Why did she say things like that, when he'd basically brushed her off? Was she even alright in the head? "Y'sure you wanna say that, when I don't even really know who you are?" Nope, well he wasn't going to stick around anymore, lest he risk something unwanted. Time to go.

                            Or so he thought, until a thunderous sound boomed through the shelves of the library, shaking the place like a localized and miniature earthquake. Too late.

                            Snapping to attention, Ryder looked over Maia, his gaze trained on the plume of smoke that had begun to rise. That ... was what he'd been feeling was wrong, wasn't it? Ryder scoffed, knowing he should've left already. The last thing he really wanted to deal with, was the hassle of a fire. Jeez.

                            "A bomb..."

                            His gaze narrowed in Maia's direction. "A bomb?" Oh well, how lovely. And how did she seem so certain that it was indeed a bomb, and not something else? Not that there were many things that could duplicate that display (oops, there went all the books up in flames), but still. No more than a moment later after that thought went through his mind, chaos erupted fully. The fire alarm ringed horribly loudly and painfully in his ears, making Ryder curse colorfully aloud; the sprinklers started to rain down in the building, trying to dampen the contents and slow down the progress of the inevitable fire.

                            "H-Hurry! We need to - !"

                            "Get the hell outta here? I've been meaning t'do that for the past five minutes,"

                            She had him by the arm, but Ryder let it slide this once. He wouldn't say he'd like to stay around any longer as it was, and if Maia was with him on leaving the building, well that was fine. They'd be going the same way, simple as that.

                            The frantic and lively nature of the woman seemed to fade; Ryder frowned when he noted it, as if a toy had lost all the energy and had to be wound up again to work. Maia's grip - her fragile fingers tightened on his arm. Frowning, the young man did not feel any remorse in yanking his arm away from her in a brusque motion that could've thrown her a fair distance. "What, you lost your nerve or something?" he said, trying to discern the meaning of her sudden change in her gaze. "Y'know, I don't really got time to ******** around, I'd rather watch this show from outside,"

                            Maia did not reply. In fact, it was as if the lights had truly gone out in that little head of hers. Rolling his eyes with a scoff, Ryder grabbed her by the wrist with a frightfully tight grip, yanking her relentlessly towards the exit and out into the cool air of outside. He didn't usually do this. Actually, he never did this. It was probably because she'd gone and made such a fool of herself in front of him, talking to him like they knew each other, when it was only a one-sided thing as far as he was arrogantly concerned. Sad.

                            "You damn well better be grateful."

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i really dont mind what happens now and then, as long as you'll be my friend at the end
silvieon's avatar

cakesauce's Wife

Tipsy Alchemist

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                      WATCH OUT.

                      ANTONY MAD.
                      ANTONY SMASH.

                      FAN DEAD.
                      the end.
KiD IC4RUS's avatar

Devoted Friend

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monsieur sushi's avatar

Tipsy Grabber

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                    CARDIFF, WALES | JANUARY 22ND, 1963

                    "Look, Rhian, I'm running late for something right now, okay? I don't really have that much time to talk and I sincerely apologize for that. Really, really, really, reaaallllllyy sorry! I'll drop by next Tuesday, alright? I'll bring food! I promise!"

                    "Wha-- RHYS!! COME BACK HERE!!"

                    Rhys hastily waved goodbye at his fuming sister (who truly was a scary, scary woman) and ran before she could hit him over the head (her favorite thing to do besides scaring her suitors off) with a frying pan. Nasty old things. It wasn't good for his health to be hit over the head with a frying pan. Actually, it wasn't good for anyone's health to be hit over the head with anything. Least of all a well-made, heavy duty frying pan.

                    It took him a while to realize that Rhian wasn't anywhere near him before he skidded to a halt next to a flickering lamp post. A passerby gave him an odd look. Or rather, a fellow professor from the academy looked at him disapprovingly. Rhys opted to give the old man a bright smile. "Morning!"

                    As always, he received a grunt. It never hurt to try.

                    "Well that's done . . ." He looked around him in a most conspicuous manner. Not that Rhys was aware of that, of course. He always seemed to be extremely oblivious when it came to his being not-stealthy. If Rhian were there, she would've snorted. And maybe hit him over the head with a frying pan.

                    He found a window and strolled over as casual as someone like him could stroll. Which is to say, not casual at all. Rhys stared at his reflection on the window and grimaced. No wonder Professor Yana avoided talking to him. His bow tie was crooked! God forbid. He should probably adjust that soon or he might lose his job. He really wouldn't. But then this is Rhys we're talking about. You know. Mr. I-Time-Travel-For-Fun-And-Often-Act-Like-A-Maniac.

                    "Professor Endrick!"

                    Rhys whirled around like a deer caught in headlights. He nervously laughed as one of his students greeted him. Was it Jack? Jake? Jason? John? Hmm . . . whatever! They all sounded the same to him.

                    "Hello, Jake. Er, John. Errr, what was your name again?"

                    Jake or John or Jack or Jason laughed. "Owen."

                    "Huh," Rhys frowned, tapping a finger on his lips. "You look like a Jack to me. Or maybe a Jake . . . I'm not quite sure! But anyway! Yes, hello Owen! What can I do for you today?"

                    Owen handed over a stack of papers. Rhys thought it was a very nice stack of papers.

                    "That is a very nice stack of papers, Owen," he paused. Maybe that wasn't something a professor like him should say out loud. "Wh-what I meant was, what are these for . . .?"

                    The student (GINGER! Why can't he be ginger like Owen?) gave him a look that mirrored Professor Yana's. Rhys' smile faltered. Oops. Were these supposed to be important? He couldn't remember.

                    "My essay, sir! I thought you wanted them before class started?"

                    Rhys stared at Owen. "Really? Ooohh, yes, yes, I remember now," he nodded vigorously before adding: "Not really. I'm just saying that." He laughed. Then he stared at his watch with a frown. "Look at the time! I'm late! Nice chatting with you, Jake!" He shoved the nice stack of papers inside his coat pocket (it didn't really work but hey, Rhys didn't care) and ran past Owen who yelled something about fish fingers and custard. Or maybe that was just him hearing things. Probably just him hearing things.

                    Once again, he skidded to a halt just outside his office. It was quite a nice office. People often commented on the fact that it looked extremely small outside but bigger on the inside. Rhys joked that it was because his office was located in a completely different dimension where matter expanded and--

                    "Ah, finally!" Rhys kicked the door behind him as he collapsed into his favorite spinny chair. It was actually his only spinny chair, but that wasn't important! He leaned back into it for a few seconds before suddenly jumping up in apparent realization. "Oh! That's right!" He took out the very nice stack of papers from his coat pocket and threw them haphazardly behind him. They landed in a cluttered pile of not-a-very-nice-stack-of-papers-anymore. Rhys titled his head to the side. "Wait, that wasn't it . . . what was I supposed to do today . . .?"

                    He began to rifle through his desk drawers, muttering things about time and the Prime Minister and how he wanted to meet Winston Churchi--

                    "CHURCHILL!" He yelled out as he slammed both hands on the desk. "Ouch, that kind of hurt . . . but anyway! That's right! I wanted to travel to Churchill's timeline!" Rhys did a fancy twirl in celebration. "What year should I choose . . . hmm . . . 1890? 1900? 1934? Probably before I was born. Don't want to accidentally meet myself and cause a paradox! But what if I accidentally meet my mum? What then? Well. I'll just have to avoid them, I suppose!"

                    Rhys snapped his fingers. There was a moment of vertigo as he felt the pull of the time vortex and--

                    WASHINGTON DC, USA | PRESENT DAY

                    "Wait," he peered at the strange red-head in front of him. "You're not Churchill. You're too . . ." He scrunched his face up in evident concentration. "Too skinny! Yes. And too young and . . ."

                    He looked around. "Oh!" he exclaimed in surprise. "What year is it? WAIT! Don't answer me," Rhys placed a finger on the stranger's lips to shush him. He leaned in rather conspiratorially, eyes wide and shining with excitement. "I want to figure it out, alright?"

                    Rhys crossed his arms, completely oblivious to the fact that he was currently sitting on the red-head's lap like it was nobody's business. It wasn't until he shifted that he realized where he landed. "I'm so, so, so, so, so, soooo sorry! I seem to have landed on your . . ." Rhys paused. What if this was a parallel world where laps weren't called laps? He didn't want to sound rude by assuming this was his world. "Lap? Yes, lap! That's what you call this--" He obscurely waved at a random direction. "--still, yes? I happen to have my worlds and dimensions and my timeline all mixed up right now. This is earth, right? Not New New New New New earth? Because I happen to have accidentally landed on New New New New New earth once and it wasn't groovy."

                    He didn't bother to wait for the strange male to respond. Instead, he clapped both hands together and smiled a bright, sunny smile meant to instill cheer and joy and blah blah into fellow humans. This one didn't seem amused. Rhys deflated a little.

                    "Right! Well, I'll just get off your lap now . . ." He attempted to stand up but fell over in an ungraceful heap of limbs. Rhys nervously giggled. "Silly me!"

                    That's when he realized that there were others in the room. Two females in fact. Rhys gave an excited little wave. He could hardly contain himself with the way he bounced on the heels of his feet.

                    "Oh that reminds me! I haven't introduced myself yet! I'm Rhys Endrick. Professor Rhys Endrick." A bit of smugness crept into his tone as he continued. "A Professor of genetics, in fact. Yes, yes, I know! I am an accomplished man. I guess you can call me Rhys. That's R-H-Y-S. It's Welsh! I'm Welsh! Isn't that groovy?"

                    His smile dropped when no one shared his obvious glee. "What a boring lot you three are! Honestly!" Rhys sighed. Maybe this wasn't the time to act like a lunatic.

                    "A serious question then, if I may . . . what year is it?"
monsieur sushi's avatar

Tipsy Grabber

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                              Substitute teacher. Right.

                              Cillian pushed up his ridiculously fake glasses. Why in the world did he have to pick the weirdest job ever? Not saying that teachers (professors) were weird or anything (Rhys), but honestly. FBI's most wanted (Cillian wished) as a high school substitute teacher? Yeah, see. That's when things get tangled up like a big ball of yarn. Nice analogy there, Cillian.

                              He glanced at his time table--yes, teachers got their own time tables--and grimaced as if his long lost evil twin sister spit in his morning coffee. Cillian could only hope he didn't really have a long lost evil twin sister who spat in his coffee because wow he just drank that thing. ANYWAY! Getting a little off track there hmm . . .

                              Time tables! Right. Well. His didn't look promising. The teacher left a note for him. Or rather not the teacher who was actually currently knocked out and tied up rather prettily in an unmarked van going to Georgia. Since. You know, I doubt a tied up and knocked out teacher could spare time to type up a note. Oh of course not don't be silly. It was another teacher, obviously. Don't ask. It's a long story. A complicated one involving iguanas. Yes, iguanas.

                              In any case, the note was a lengthy one that detailed every aspect of your boring old AP European History class back in high school. Something about having to cover the Glorious Revolution and all that. Cillian bit back laughter as he sort of knew things about the Glorious Revolution. Thank God for being Irish. Although he sort of couldn't remember when this happened. Or how it even started. Oops. Well then.

                              Cillian would just have to make things up. Not that his 'students' would know any better. When do high school kids even know about anything? Psssh. He's got this.

                              The bell rang.

                              Okay maybe he doesn't actually have this.

                              DEEP BREATHS MR. REID. The students are coming! (why did that sound particularly ominous, I wonder?)

                              He paced around the room, watching the clock with narrowed eyes. Cillian felt like he was going to explode. Hopefully not. Wouldn't want students to walk into a room full of guts and whatnot. That's just disgusting. He mentally smacked himself repeatedly in the face. What in the world was he even thinking of!? Get a hold of yourself Cillian! You're acting like a teenage girl going on her first date!

                              'Glorious Revolution. Glorious Revolution. King Henry VIII and the Anglican Church. Right. Reformation. Probably around the 1600's then,' he looked up as students began to slowly trickle inside the room. Some of them gave him odd looks while some of them could care less. Typical. 'Then there was . . . Queen Elizabeth I. She killed Mary because . . . something about Catholicism.'

                              Not bad Mr. Reid. Not bad at all. Something told Cillian this wasn't going to be as easy as he was trying to make it though.

                              After all the students arrived (or at least, a majority of them), Cillian took this as his cue to stand in front of the white board, marker in hand. He looked around in an increasingly condescending manner. Kids. Yep. This really was a terrible idea.

                              He began scribbling things on the board. Well, he was actually just writing his name in its feminine Irish form to confuse everyone.

                              "Good Morning," he said in a way that definitely didn't sound like it was a very good morning. In fact, Cillian sounded like he just wanted to flip tables right now. He wouldn't, of course. "I am Mr. Reid, but I prefer to be called Cillian."

                              'Because Mr. Reid is my dad and therefore I don't like it.'

                              He tapped the whiteboard where 'his' name was spelled out. It went something like this:


                              The class looked at him as if he grew two heads. It's not like he actually spelled his name like that. That would be how a female him would spell her name if she ever happened to exist.

                              He picked up a meter stick from the desk and smacked the board with it. "Questions? No? Good. Let's get started!" He, once again, accentuated this by slamming the meter stick onto the desk with a menacing stare.

                              "Get your books. All of you. Now."

                              Cillian desperately wanted to add 'or I'll maim you all' to that sentence. Perhaps on a later date when he was sure no one would threaten his authority inside the classroom.

                              "Turn to page three-hundred and ninety-four," he started, making sure to dramatically pause between words. "I'm going to make an assumption here and pretend that you all actually have brains. So!" He slammed the meter stick down onto the closest table he could find. Namely one belonging to a Sebastian Eriksen who promptly got his head off the table and sat up as straight as he possibly could. "Who can tell me anything about the Glorious Revolution?"

                              Silence reigned over the room. A lone student in the back raised his hand. Cillian promptly ignored him.

                              "Anyone? No? Of course not."

                              This was actually pretty damn fun. Terrorizing students and all. What more could he possibly wish for?

                              "You there," he stared at a brown-haired student sitting waaaayyyy back with a girl. The two were giggling. Or at least, Cillian liked to think they were giggling so he could humiliate them in front of everyone. "What do you know about the Glorious Revolution? If you say anything, anything at all about the American Revolution, you will find that your grade will never change from an F."

                              Sebastian decided to interrupt Cillian's little moment by snorting obnoxiously loud. "Hey, I'm not doubting your 'teaching credentials' or anything, but honestly. Do you know anything about the Glorious Revolution?" The cocky little brat even went as far as to tilt his head to the side with a smug smirk. Cillian made a mental note to fail him.

                              "Because a normal teacher's supposed to explain what it is by now."

                              Ooohh cheeky. The Irishman turned his gaze on the scarf-wearing brunette. "Really now?" He slid the meter stick upwards until it rested just perfectly on Sebastian's cheek. Not that one you pervert. Cillian lightly patted him with a small, threatening smile. "And what would you know about it?"

                              The brunette seemed to stare at something next to Cillian's head for a couple of seconds before he responded. "For once, it occurred simultaneously with the Reformation. It started because Henry VIII wanted to divorce his wife but the Pope rejected his proposal. He then moved on to denounce the Roman Catholic Church so he could form the Anglican Church. It was mostly monarchs being monarchs. Elizabeth I killed Mary so she could ascend to the throne and allow England to remain Protestant . . . and yeah. A bunch of other people happened, but I'm pretty sure you know that already."


                              Cillian coolly stared at him for a bit before turning away to address the other brown-haired one--David? The seating chart said--at the back. "And did you hear all that or do I have to send you out of the class?"
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                      "Sir you are being placed under arrest for the continuous damages against public property and arson."

                      Zale blinked languidly. His eyes felt like the great waters were being sucked dry by a giant orb that falls from the sky. Or whatever that book that he had managed to swipe from the young kid had been. She had been terribly polite, he guessed. Well. No. Not really. But she was more polite than he had seen people be to him in a long time. Such a wonderful experience. Well, the library exploding, that is. It had been an ugly place with ugly brick walls and horrible checkouts that prevented him from taking the lengthy picture books out. He had been lucky that he'd been able to sneak them in his baggy clothing (no one said that he was that bad at fashion, did they?) every now and then, so much that he had a stash of them in his bedroom. Back at his apartment.

                      Damn. So he would still have to go back anyways, right? The apartment owner was mad at him for apparently having tricked his daughter into having intercourse with him and had ended up pregnant. Though he'd tried to protest it because he knew that it had been the creepy cat owner upstairs that had managed to bribe her with a new set of earphones and pretty jewelry, his face had scrunched up and had caused a very violent reaction that led him to being thrown out onto the streets. Again.

                      "Are y'reading m'rights?"

                      It was understandable that after however many years he had been serving with the government that he should be being placed under arrest. That meant that he was on the side that was going to go in the backseat of a police car. What for he wasn't entirely sure, there was the old lady that he had stolen her crackers from earlier that day, but he highly doubted that with the way that she sounded like she was going to keel over any second. It was always nice when old ladies and grannies did that - it meant that he didn't have to stop his bycicle any longer when they were crossing the street. They were the cause of so many street accidents that it wasn't even funny.

                      He wondered if that meant that he was being caught for knocking one over.

                      Then he decided that no, it would have been a little later, because he had been planning to do that later on that day, and it hadn't happened yet.

                      So either way. He was going to jail.

                      He felt the urge to squeal like a little girl.

                      "...well, yes, I-"

                      "Oh cool. 'v nev'been read m'rights b'fore. Will I ride in th'backsea'too?"

                      "Sir I - "

                      "Backseeeeeeeea'." He whispered and curled into himself, cackling a bit at his own joke. Then he promptly threw up on the pavement when he felt his shoulders being grasped. Some mutters of disgust were being uttered but he paid no attention to it, and he tried to cringe away from the policeman's touch.

                      "Man, I kno'you nice and a', but I don'see the need to go around manhandlin' peeps like tha'. Wha'will the children think?"

                      "Captain, I think he's on something-"

                      "Yes, I know, his pupils are dilated-"

                      And no, he wasn't on something, except that there were three people touching his bare arms and the lucid thoughts that he'd been experiencing lately were thrown into the far back of his mind in favor of the curry of thoughts that flashed. And oh, he was babbling again wasn't he? About the things that he saw the man do, and they were reluctant when they laughed at the wild accusations that Zale threw but the man in the middle flinched when he mentioned a strip club - his wife probably wouldn't like that, Zale thought with glee - before he was being grabbed roughly and he was sure that one of them was muttering "freak" but he was too far gone to really pay attention.

                      "State your full name and date of birth."

                      "Bubba Dominguez Jr. Born on February 30 1912."

                      "Sir, please take this seriously - "

                      "Why youn'lad, y'look like ma aunt Margie!"

                      "Is that a knife? He's armed!"

                      "Step back or we will be forced to use direct assault - "

                      "Bu', Margie, it's technically not incest if we -"

                      And that was how Zale found himself about four hours later, being lead into a small, small cell, ocassionally greeting some of the other prisoners, and a nasty black bruise on his cheek. He got something thrown at the side of his face once, and it was very nasty rude of him, and it was white and sticky - Zale thought it might be condensced milk. How rude to be wasting food like that.

                      He babbled about mysterious white substances that stuck on his hair to the guards that were keeping him company and eventually he was at the place that he was supposed to be.

                      Zale was told the regulations of the place and how he needed to behave or they would be forced to use force, and Zale nodded like an idiot and asked when the next time that he could go out for cotton candy was.

                      The cell door slammed and he was left alone with the person in the room

                      "Why, y'look rather spiffy if I migh'say so!" He said after a few seconds of silence that he couldn't bear.

                      "I mea', you loo'fancy. Are y'really supposed to be here? I mean, I go'sent because of the speedin'lady that I had to run ove'the other day, and well really they accused m'of bein'a harlot earlier on and ..." He spoke for the next fifteen minutes nonstop, too animated in his speech to notice anything that anyone might have said. At the end, though, he looked at his new cellmate and grinned widely, teeth stained with the cherry that he'd managed to sneak in earlier on.

                      "I'm Millicent Bystander. Nice t'meet ya, I guess?"

                      He stayed quiet for another thirty seconds before he sighed.

                      "Is i'too much to as'for if some prince wou'come and save us right abou'now?"

silvieon's avatar

cakesauce's Wife

Tipsy Alchemist

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                          Board meetings were boring. Lee didn't want to pay attention. Honestly. There were more productive things he could be doing right now. Like...like. Well, nothing really came to mind right now. He didn't even want to make up an excuse for what he could be doing. He didn't even want to pretend to be interested in whatever that one scientist guy was going on about; that took too much effort on his part. Effort that could be better spent playing Temple Run.

                          "NO YOU ******** ********, I SWIPED LEFT DAMMIT. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN DOING," Lee shouted, flipping his phone in rage. Because the last time he flipped the table during a meeting, he nearly gave one of the scientists a heart attack and the poor guy fainted on the spot. (Granted, Lee was pretty sure that he was that even him just glaring at the kid would've made him faint. He was more like a beanpole than a kid, really. He had to send an "I'm sorry" card. What was it, Henry? Hank? Hmm.) The scientists this time just carried on nervously, talking through their whatever as quickly as possible.

                          'What weenies. No balls at all,' he thought, pulling his phone back to himself and tapping at it moodily. Meetings always put him in a bad mood. He didn't even care to look up when the scientists were finished with their...whatever, instead choosing to stare at his phone again, shouting [********] at it when he fell. Again. Jesus ******** Christ he didn't even get past the first 1000 meter what the hell was this?!

                          [******** this s**t, we're going on - "

                          Before he could finish his sentence, Lee ended up with a lapful of...what. Who the hell was this in his lap. Who the hell even had the audacity to land in his lap?

                          This was someone with balls.

                          Too bad Lee didn't like them with balls when they landed in his lap.

                          (Okay, okay, to be clear, he didn't actually mind when people with balls landed in his lap. Maybe. It hadn't really happened before.)

                          Instead, he stared at the weird white - haired guy (pfft who even had white hair that was so weird, what was he an old man or something?) who was talking way too fast and saying way too many things and - 'What the ********, I look nothing like Churchill!' he thought indignantly, digging his hands into the armrests and just staring because what even.

                          He said sorry. But Lee wasn't in the mood for dealing with idiots who fell off of his lap in heaps.

                          "Well, Rhys," Lee started, standing up slowly, still clutching the armrests in his hands. Actually, crushing them, to be completely honest. "If you don't tell me how you got into this room in ten seconds, I will throw you out of that window - " he pointed for emphasis " - AND THIS TABLE WILL FOLLOW YOU OUT AND I WILL KEEP THROWING THINGS UNTIL I HIT YOU I SWEAR TO ******** GOD."

                          It felt really nice to let his anger out at someone.

                          "I HAVE BEEN WAITING ALL DAY TO THROW SOMETHING AT SOMEONE AND CONGRATS, ********, YOU CAME IN AT THE PERFECT TIME," Lee hollered, lifting the conference table over his head with ease, glaring down at Rhys with his now - glowing green eyes.

                          "It's 2002, ********, and welcome to the new millennium," Lee said, glaring down at the poor guy. Rhys. Whatever. Mary and Ceci - well...let's face it, just Mary - had to understand that dropping into his lap was not okay.
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                                                                        ____HAVEWEPUTTHESECHILDISHTHINGSAWAY ───
                                                                        IT'S THE PRICE, I GUESS, FOR THE LIES I'VE TOLD__THAT THE TRUTH, IT NO LONGER THRILLS ME__WHY CAN'T WE LAUGH WHEN IT'S ALL WE HAVE?

                                              Stay awake.

                                              "Alright, so we really need to address..."

                                              Please stop talking. Marrin's eyes drooped, as they grew heavier and it became increasingly harder by the second to keep them open at all. The superhuman began to lean forward, inch by inch, and even when she should have realized that she was noticeably slumping, her forehead slammed on the table, creating a noise that echoed through the room. The others present gave her strange looks – the collision had sounded painful, and yet the woman didn’t move after that point forward. "Asajdsdhhafsffffffffff."

                                              The meeting continued.

                                              Why did superheroes have to sit in on meetings? Shouldn't they have been outside punching s**t or something? At times like these, Mary foolishly wished that she didn't have any super powers. Maybe they should replace the humans with super potatoes and the potatoes could sit in at meetings and save cats in trees and yeah man, just potatoes really.

                                              "NO YOU ******** ********, I SWIPED LEFT DAMMIT. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN DOING."

                                              You need to stay awake.


                                              Mary's eyes fluttered before shutting again.

                                              "And if you look here..."

                                              And then HE happened, the most beautiful thing in all of time and space and the best thing that could have ever happened at this loser gathering. At the sound a distinct angry yelling, her body rocketed back into her chair, effectively almost toppling her over, if not for her knees that knocked into the low table and caught her. "WHAT."

                                              "AND THIS TABLE WILL FOLLOW YOU OUT..."

                                              "Lap? Yes, lap! That's what you call this..."

                                              "WHAAAAAAT THEEEEEEEE FUUUUUUUCK."

                                              "If everyone could just..."

                                              It seemed that everyone couldn't just. Mary herself had quieted and she now shot an alarmed look over towards Cilia. "Is this a part of the meeting?" she shouted at the other woman over Lee's shouting and several scientists' shouting and the shouting and the shouting and the god damn shouting.

                                              Lee lifted a table above his head, prompting Mary to cry a weak, "LEE," and jump forward to heroically rescue her old man time-travelling savior.

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                                              SHE MISSED LEE COMPLETELY AND HIT THE WALL.

                                              NOT SO EFFECTIVE.

                                              "JESUS, MY LEGS."

                                              CECILIA GOOOOO.
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Dapper Raider

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____________________ if i go crazy then will you still call me superman? ____________________________________ if i'm alive and well will you be there, holding my hand?
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                            " ... didn't really think you'd get away with this, did you, b*****d? "

                            "... L-look, Bos--"

                            "You still got the nerve to say that after what you did? Rich."

                            Things had gotten out of hand. Of course, not that Ryder minded it, if he was being completely honest with himself. Showdowns like these were simply the best; the loudest, the most violent - the most fun. It had only just begun to escalate to the most worthwhile part, too.

                            Now, Ryder would probably be lying if he said he'd trusted the guy standing about ten meters in front of him. How the 'Boss' (his real name was like Joe or something, certainly not intimidating) could have ever entertained the notion that he was worth trusting with those sorts of things, was beyond him. As it was though, and this was likely rather unfair for those he chose to ally with for the time being, Ryder didn't lose either way - and didn't really care for it either. Wasn't it fun to make a hunt out of these things in the end, anyways? Not to mention, it showed who really was boss, so others would get the hint and not decide to try to follow in the condemned's footsteps.

                            These types of situations were dangerous to get into. One false move, and any safety one may have thought they'd have built up could shatter into dust. In these sort of street situations, could anyone really think they were safe, let alone able to do whatever they wanted? Obviously not, but this guy hadn't thought things through all that well and now it was coming back to bite him in the a**. After all, you couldn't expect to walk away free after double-crossing the Boss, swiping things for his own, and making deals with other gangs that had no right to be in their territory. Mutiny, really. There were ways to deal with that.

                            "Looks like you're outta luck, huh?"

                            A bit of a feral grin spread on his features, an underlying hint of anticipation in his voice. The chase had gone quite some distance before melding into the confrontation now - a sleek blue car had been run straight into a skyscraper building, the engine spluttering and the now wayward fire hydrant showering the concrete amidst the sound of an alarm. A pristine black car had been parked unceremoniously nearby, blocking half the road, the burnt tires leaving their mark on the asphalt in a wide arc, succeeding a parked car with the mirror sliced clean off and a scratched paint job, and another completely on the sidewalk. That wasn't including the guy with the broken arm, the one dangling half in a park's fountain, or the other knocked out and strewn over a bench. Clearly, their work had not been ... discreet. But that was okay, because they'd cornered their target now, and this was the part that Ryder did best. They'd take back what was there, beat a lesson into the b*****d, and call it a day! Done and gone before anyone could call the cops. Ideally.

                            Ryder didn't need a cue - no one gave him cues. He stalked up, past the Boss, finding pleasure in the way their target's so called 'buddies' shied back even with those knives, because they knew they'd lost and were seriously contemplating just making a break for it though they'd get hell from their own Boss. He didn't even have to look back, to know the two lackeys followed him - the Boss would likely be smirking with that typical look of his, knowing this was already a completed job. Deals and trades weren't Ryder's thing - this was.

                            One of the guys, probably out of nerves, lunged, and that things broke loose in that moment. Ryder for his part, did not hesitate, to lunge towards the nearest, and deliver a bitter uppercut that left it's intended target reeling. ".. It's done, innit? ******** up an' now - look,"

                            Ryder grinned again, as the brawl began.

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i really dont mind what happens now and then, as long as you'll be my friend at the end
silvieon's avatar

cakesauce's Wife

Tipsy Alchemist

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                      Caoilfhionn totally had to be a made up thing. Like, whose name was gibberish like that and pronounced it as "kill - ian"? David was going to have to had words with whatever bright person had come up with that idea because he was sitting in the back still staring at it. 'Why though.' was really his only thought. That and spacing out and trying to remember why it was he picked AP Euro again he was absolutely terrible at school. What kind of a teacher signed off on his taking an AP class. He should've gone with the study hall. He could've composed music in a quieter environment then. Wow what loudmouths, smacking meter sticks everywhere like they were all cool and all.

                      Oh. Wait. He was the teacher. Mr. Fghfldkhgkfskf (actually pronounced Kill Ian). Riiiiiight.

                      Well then what did he just say again?

                      "Wow, who does this guy think he is, Alan Rickman?" David whispered at Chachi, giggling because Alan Rickman. And because their new substitute was such a joke. David couldn't take him seriously at all. It was the meter stick. "He's probably compensating for something with that meter stick." Well. It was a meter, wasn't it?

                      "You there." David nearly jumped at Mr. Fghfldkhgkfskf (actually pronounced Kill Ian)'s voice. Because wow that sounded like it was talking right at him. Crazy. "What do you know about the Glorious Revolution?"

                      "Weeeeelllllll..." David began, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Truthfully, he didn't know any revolutions off the top of his head. Wait...wait...wasn't there one in, like, America?

                      "If you say anything, anything at all about the American Revolution, you will find that your grade will never change from an F."

                      Oh. Well then. There went David's plan flying out the window (maybe his textbook should follow suit? and then him?). He pursed his lips, deep in thought as to what to say when Sebastian butted in (what a jerk), saving David from more embarrassment (not that he cared; he was a theatre kid dammit!).

                      "Thanks Sebastian!" David stage - whispered while Mr. Fghfldkhgkfskf (actually pronounced Kill Ian)'s back was turned. "So, anyways, as I was saying about the meter stick, Mr. Kill Ian is obviously compensating for something there. I mean, otherwise, why would you need to use such a big stick to hit things. And waving it around too and - ohhhh, did you just see what he did with Sebastian? See? Totally hitting on him or something. I don't even know." He rolled his eyes, sliding his notebook over to better compose while talking to Chachi.

                      "And did you hear all that or do I have to send you out of the class?"

                      "Say what?"

                      The facepalming. You could hear everyone doing it all at once.

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                      She was running so late right now. 'This map is a dirty, dirty liar I passed the 300's back there,' she thought despondently, literally running through the halls to find her AP Euro classroom.

                      "Oh wait." She slowed, glancing around her, then down at the map, than back at her surroundings again. "It's right there."

                      Ariadne was ready to slap herself. She had literally run past that door at least three times.

                      Why. Life. Why.

                      "Hey, sorry I'm late, I - " She cut herself off, staring at the room.

                      What the hell. Was that a teacher with a meter stick patting a boy in the cheek (not that one, pervert).

                      Why though.

                      "I'll...uhhh...so what're we talking about again?" Ariadne blinked, trying not to stare at the really creepy teacher with the meter stick.

                      "The Glorious Revolution that's not the American Revolution!" the kid with brown hair in the back shouted, helpfully.

                      "Um. Yeah. I'm pretty sure that - " she motioned towards the teacher and that kid who actually looked familiar? " - has nothing to do with the Glorious Revolution. Isn't that the one...that, like, goes with the Protestants or something?" Ariadne frowned, shifting her backpack onto her other shoulder. "And...like probably something else too. Like the Anglican Church stuff. Anyways it was all really silly and had a lot of killing in it. Anyways, I'm Ariadne Fischer and this is AP Euro with...er...Mrs. Saito...?" She walked over to the teacher uncertainly, leaning over to look him (well her maybe?) in the eye.

                      And then the kid's scarf caught her eye (what a tool, scarves, pfft) and she gave him one of her trademark up - in - your - face stares, looking at him hard, dead in the eye.

                      "Hey, wait a minute, you're that really rude kid who doesn't say sorry! I remember you now! Wow, what kind of a jerk just bumps into someone and doesn't apologize? Jeez, I thought you'd have been taught manners or something, but no, you totally just barreled on by. What a jerk," Ariadne huffed, flipping her hair and then folding her arms. Oh, yes. She definitely remembered this kid.

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                      To be completely honest, Antony had no idea what was going on, but he was scribbling like mad. Because students were...supposed to take notes right?

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