Fabricant451

Christmas & Friends RP?

waves

Closed. Free Pass has been rebooted.

Location: Wherever
Interacting with: Whoever

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Top of the morning; my fist to your face is fucking Folgers.

Kenzi wasn't exactly a morning person, but then she challenged anyone to find a student that was. There were few constants in the world, but teenagers loving to sleep was perhaps the most honest one there was. Sleep was a luxury and it was never as long as you wanted it to be; unless of course you got sick or had a long weekend. Summer was not nearly long enough, especially since Kenzi got that job over what should've been three months of doing fuckall. The job wasn't even her idea, it was her mother's. She didn't want another summer of Kenzi laying around the house and sleeping until three in the afternoon. Mother's never seemed to understand that youth was meant to be squandered. The job was hardly exciting. Handing out shoes and spraying them when that one asshole didn't wear socks, kicking people off arcade machines when they started kicking the grab machine, and telling off people from school begging for a discount. They didn't even hang out with her at school and now they expected favors?

Kenzi had been on shift last night and it was more of the same. The smell of shoe spray lingered still on her nostrils. Her shift went until closing, which meant extra time spent cleaning after people that couldn't finish their ten dollar nachos and four dollar draft beer...shit, it was their money being wasted. When she finally got home it was all she could do to collapse onto her bed and doze off. So of course when the alarm that was her mother yelling from downstairs blared, it had seemed like too brief a duration. She wanted to sleep. More. As she woke up and took a glance in the mirror she almost recoiled, not at the obvious bed head and tired expression, but that she had fallen asleep in the same outfit she went to work in. No wonder she smelled like cigarette smoke and polish. She dare not look at the clock, her mind wouldn't accept being woken up at any other time than 'like twenty minutes before school started'.

Another day, another eight hours of whispers and mysterious silences as she walked past. It used to be they just whispered about things Kenzi potentially did, like when the women's restroom near the science classrooms proudly displayed the principal's sexual preferences in rather crude language written in spray paint. Kenzi got an in-school detention for two weeks because of that and she hadn't even done it. But now the whispers were about the fucking talent show even though it happened so long ago. There had to be other things to discuss in the halls, but when someone winds up damn near doing a striptease and setting a stage on fire...people tend to remember. In her defense, or at least as she told the principal and PTA after the fact (because the little Freshmen were oh-so-bothered), she thought she was wearing a bra. School talent shows stifle artistic expression. They didn't care that her performance was laden with profanity, but accidentally show skin and light an effigy and it's like you broke into a home and killed the family pet.

People were still talking about it whenever Kenzi walked past and at this point it was more annoying than anything else. And worst of all they never got the details right. "There goes Kenzi, she did a striptease" was common to her ears, as was "Kenzi? The girl who had sex on stage?" The least they could do was get it right if they were gonna talk at all. No one understands art.

To say that Kenzi was looking forward to yet another day of hushed tones and judgmental eyes would be highly incorrect. And yet as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her person, she knew exactly what she would be getting into. After washing the smell of bowling alley remorse from her body, she dressed herself in an orange sweater - gotta get that October spirit - that was three sizes too large and blue shorts so short that they were hidden away by the sweater. Kenzi stomped her way to the kitchen where her toaster pastry was already waiting for her; mom's were good at some things after all.

"You're wearing THAT?" But clearly fashion wasn't one of those things. Amber Lin had long since given up trying to make Kenzi wear more...regular clothing; she compromised that so long as Kenzi was actually GOING to school, she could wear whatever so long as it didn't violate the dress code. Kenzi, of course, took that to mean 'wear anything I could to skirt as dangerously close to violating the dress code as possible'. It's why almost every day she wound up coming to school looking like she wasn't wearing any pants. Today was, clearly, no exception. "The weather report says it's going to be cold."

Kenzi didn't respond, chomping down on her pastry instead. But she heard and understood the reasoning and as she left the house on her way to school, she first made sure to grab a jacket for the journey.

Kenzi didn't have a ride to school and she didn't enjoy slumming it on the bus with the smellies; she liked the walk from her home to the school. It was calming, the breeze outside and the means of simply...soothing her thoughts and steeling herself for the day to come. Sure, she'd like to have a ride, even just as a passenger, but genuine friends were somewhat difficult to come by. So walking it was.

It took a good fifteen minutes, but Kenzi arrived at Westworth, stepping her way through the doors and halls until she arrived in the classroom, stomping her way towards her seat in the back. It wasn't her assigned seat, she just refused to get up on the first day and since then...it was Kenzi's seat; who was gonna argue with her? The teacher tried but eventually the threat of detention didn't matter, not when someone was there most days of the week anyway. Kenzi stopped a moment only to greet Anna in the same manner as teenagers greet anyone: a quick tilt of her head upwards; other than that, Kenzi plopped herself down in her desk and pulled an earbud into her ear.

Who fucking cared about a class trip; knowing her she'd be dropped out before it even happened. Right now all she wanted to do was ignore people. Drowning out their whispers and words with rhymes and beats. How much longer before school wasn't mandatory. Too long.

Too fucking long.

The Mundane [Small-Town Superheroes]

I hope to have my character(s) up tomorrow

Closed. Free Pass has been rebooted.

I'm workin on a post. It's in the works

The Mundane [Small-Town Superheroes]

<Snipped quote by MiddleEarthRoze>

or mains Felicia on Street Fighter Online.

@DeadBeatWalking

Then people should call him a hacker for using a Darkstalkers character in Street Fighter!

The Mundane [Small-Town Superheroes]

I'm here and not reserving a face claim cuz I'm hardcore.

The Mundane [Small-Town Superheroes]

@McHaggis thx u da best

The Mundane [Small-Town Superheroes]

Ahhhhhhhh is this full

Retrocausality

Ok I deeeeed ittttttttt

Retrocausality

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I really hate my name. Honestly I don't think I've ever forgiven my parents for cursing me with it. It's bad enough that they wanted to name me after the literary character - everyone knows the one - because of some sort of ancestral pride -I think someone in our family tree cranked Hawthorne under a tree or something - but it's worse that they somehow came to the conclusion that the name Eleanor was suitable for a child in a post-depression era. There's a reason Elanor's are dying out, it's Roosevelt's lame ass is dead and buried and his bitch of a wife with him. And her name was Anna anyway. I don't even pay attention in history and I know this. My parents have no excuse. Guess the joke is on them anyway since my middle name is Hester. I may as well be in a nursing home playing bingo and letting shit run down my leg.

There's a reason I go by Elle. Elle, at least, is a normal name for a young person. It's got a twinge of sophistication to it. People know to look out when they hear Elle's coming. As well they should. Everyone with a pulse knows that Elle Prynne is the undisputed queen of Graystone, no matter what some uppity ball chucking pretender says. There's practically a red carpet wherever I walk, and there's definitely a red sea. No one sits next to me at these assemblies without my approval and I don't even know the names of the two to either side of me. One has tried to pass off last season's earth tones as trendy, some manner of nu-retro chic and I can respect that level of mental gymnastics even though her outfit makes me want to kill myself. The other has two clashing scents going on and it's because she just got done banging her boyfriend's band mate behind the dorms. I can smell the post-coital glow on her legs, overpowering the Chance Eau Tendre and J'adore Eau de Parfum chemical disaster. No amount of fragrance can hide the shame of being a cheating degenerate. I respect that. She might be pregnant and I'm the one named after a scarlet fucking letter.

These assemblies are nothing other than a period long excuse to nap, and usually I have to wait for photography for that. The principal loves the sound of her own voice which is good since it means someone loves something about her. What is even the point of these things? Everyone just pretends to listen for five minutes then just find ways to flip through their phone or else find other ways to not pay attention. Hasn't anyone heard of a newsletter or a mailing list or something else people can refuse to opt into? The only reason people seem somewhat interested in this one is because they want to know who the dead girl is. That way they can pretend to have known her, pretend to give a shit when the truth is that it's probably some no one who got tired of being turned down by Johnny Footballhero and did the world a favor.

Why should I mind my words now? She's dead. I probably didn't know her and I definitely don't care now that she's a corpse.

Big Balls Martinez made an announcement that actually captivated the audience. Talk about cancelling a bonfire party and the vibe changes from disinterest to stewed fury. I could do nothing but glower, not at Martinez for trying to be some sort of responsible adult for a fucking change but because a fucking dead girl is ruining things for the living. Of course I was going to the party. I'm always at parties. It's not a party until I get there. I could see the looks of confusion and anger on people and I could see the look of disinterest in others - those disinterested sorts were just pretending to not care because they're too ugly or unpopular to even know about it. Fortunately the bell picked that time to ring, as annoying as it was it made for the charming dramatic irony. The punctuation on an otherwise shit sentence.

Fucking dead bitches. You're dead, the world doesn't care about you. I swear if she was alive I'd want to kill her all over again just for this bullshit.

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I'm the party star. I'm popular. I got my own car. I'm popular. I'll never get caught. I'm popular.

Elle had seen the opportunity in the bell ringing nightmare. Rather, she had managed to get herself out of her last period writing class by claiming the constant ringing would be hard for her to focus on the prompt on the blackboard. She didn't even have to use her lilting, adorable girl voice - that one was reserved for the creeps who got into teaching to ogle underage school girls. Of course there was a bit of a struggle involved. The teacher, in what was damn near a case of assault, grabbed Elle's arm as she turned towards the door and asked where her late assignments were. In truth they were in crumbled up balls in the trash bin inside Elle's dorm room, but the simple answer of "Coming along..." would have to suffice. She was out of extensions on those assignments and she only had so many because she was good at playing the game, at using the right excuses and having people forge the right signatures. But eventually teachers stopped accepting blindly and started actually calling the number on the slips.

Fucking teachers. This was why teenagers had so many trust issues.

While other students suffered through their final period, Elle did a lap of victory towards her dorm room, with a cocky smirk on her resting bitch face as soon as the door to the classroom shut behind her. In the mostly empty halls no one could see her strut, but that didn't stop her from doing just that. There was much to strut about, or at least be happy about. For starters the dead girl only succeeded in moving the bonfire, for another the continuation of the bonfire meant an escape from the banality that was the day-to-day of this godforsaken school. Elle almost felt envious of the Jane Doe. At least she managed to escape the unceasing tedium. Getting out of this ass end of a coast was a goal for many people, Elle included. The only famous person from Maine was Stephen King; and Maine didn't need two famous authors.

Well...fledgling author. Floundering. Failing.

Elle shook her head, soft pink bangs bouncing along. No need for those sorts of thoughts now. What was important now was making the best of the time before the big bonfire and that meant making her way to the dorms for a little pre-party shenanigans.

Elle threw open the doors and stepped out onto the grounds, damn near forcing her hands to her ears. That damned bell really was nothing but a nuisance, wasn't it. It was enough to make her steps a bit more quick as she crossed the campus grounds. Graystone was supposedly some beautiful place, at least that's what the pamphlets said, but to Elle the place seemed more like a more open prison. She couldn't have been the only one to notice that many schools, even these private institutions that bred hipster filth, resembled prisons. The function of both were the same as well. Locking people inside for hours at a time and fostering communities that favored sticking with your own kind. The only difference is that the sex that went on in school was consensual. Hopefully.

Sure there was natural...beauty to be had, but anything with trees and flowers was pretty enough. It was hard to truly call Graystone beautiful when a number of its occupants were slovenly hipster types with shitty, scraggy facial hair that smelled of a month's worth of meals, poor fashion sense, and gaudy hair and accessories. Why was it that these clearly wealthy sorts (wealthy enough to come to Graystone, anyway) put so much care into looking like assholes. Elle's hair was pink, yes, but a month ago it was blue and before that it was red. Changing her hair color was something of a gimmick and she did it to prove a point: that no matter what color she could still clown on people. It wasn't some bullshit hipster mindset. Plus her natural hair was a platinum blonde and she didn't need all the cliche jokes again. Elle was making statements at Graystone. Those people were taking up space.

Fortunately the quad seemed devoid of them at the moment, probably too busy being plebeians in class. Still, Elle shuffled along towards the dorms to be indoors where at least the bell would be somewhat muffled. Though when she could hear her neighbor getting off at three in the morning as if she were in the room a shrill bell being muffled was about as worthwhile as a cafe with pumpkin spice.

Elle's room was free of clutter but still a bit busy. Her garbage can was filled to the brim with crumbled notebook paper...failed draft after failed draft, and buried in the wads of paper was a broken figure of a raven haired character from a somewhat known, but outdated cartoon from Japan. Next to her laptop was a series of toys from a popular kids cartoon series. Though they were out of box they were positioned in such a way so as to not be played with; not even the one with the projectile hands. There was a stack of books on a small shelf mounted on the wall. Fiction, mostly, just the assortment of her favorites - her collection was back at home and would have been too daunting a task to transfer to the academy. In the drawers at her workstation were countless notebooks, some filled and some empty, with handwritten notes and summaries and biographies. A stereo was placed near her bed, which was covered in fine sheets with a high thread count. The stereo was essential. Elle couldn't sleep without music to lull her off to dreamland; plus it was a way of drowning out the noise from Promiscuous next door. Posters lined the walls as well as pictures taken with her at various parties over the years. And her wardrobe was...well it was impressive, to say the least.

Elle felt secure in her room, as did many in their own surely, and as she stepped inside she practically collapsed herself in front of her laptop. The bell was still sounding. It was enough to give someone a headache.

With a bit of time to kill before the party prep began, Elle sighed and brushed aside her writing homework assignment in favor of booting up her laptop. As the machine booted up, Elle pressed a button on the remote next to the computer and the whir of the stereo came through. A bit of competition with the bell as some bass-heavy grooves began to play, the volume increased so as to drown out the bell. Who would complain now? No one. Probably. And if they did, fuck 'em.

Elle opened her word processor and set her fingers over the keys.

And kept them there. Hovering over the keys.

There was plenty of time.

Plenty of time.