|
|
Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 17, 2011 22:43:25 GMT -5
 Altair sat on top of the desk, heel propped up against the chair as she painted her toenails. The teacher had left for a moment, but that quickly turned into a while, and now the detention hall was a loud mess. Instead of getting herself into any more trouble, she chose to mind her own business this time, opting to occupy her time with something rather…peaceful for her. A girl had to look her best, after all, and Altair always looked her best. Her white blonde hair was pinned up in a bun today, stray locks cascading across her shoulders as she leaned over and narrowed her eyes. The blue color matched her eyes, but looked almost too soft for someone like her.
Just as she dipped the wand into her bottle and reached over to coat her nail, some random guy bumped into her. Snapping her head around to look at him, she used her free hand to take him by the fabric of his shirt and threw him down to the floor. ”Fucking lucky I don’t impale you with my shoe, you noisy git,” she shot at him, meaning the heels laying next to the desk, four inches and ending with a sharp tip. He stood with a glare and turned to his budies to talk about some stupid shit she honestly couldn’t care less about. Shaking her head, she returned to her business, fixing the mistake caused by her obnoxious interloper.
She really felt she had better things to do that day. After school, she could go waste her time somewhere else, probably get into a fight or two. Which is exactly what landed her in detention in the first place. Bitches really needed to stop talking about the Bennetts and how odd they were and how Rowena keeps going to the bathroom and how Altair was just a bitch. At least Syria was left alone for the most part because she looked like the most put together of the three. A crack to the face was enough to shut them up, though, and enough to get a teacher on her ass. ”Do you want to get suspended?” the bitch had asked, and Altair came close to punching her too. ”It’s my fucking dream,” she drawled out before being hauled into the stupid room with the noisy bunch of cunts.
The Vicodin was gone for now, and she had to deal with it all by herself. The only thing taking her agitation away for now was the nailpolish, the fumes filling up the classroom. Sighing when she heard another girl’s obnoxious laugh, she pulled out her fags and lit up, not caring if the teacher came back and saw her. Honestly, what moer could they do to her? In any case, she now added the fumes of her cigarette, and it dangled from her mouth as she squinted and concentrated on her toenail. Nothing could make this any worse or better, she did think.
|
|
|
|
Post by brett on Aug 18, 2011 0:14:07 GMT -5
Detention was so typical in Brett's life. Weirdly, he never got in trouble for the worse stuff that he was into. It was always being tardy, or sleeping in class, or smoking on grounds, this time it was sleeping. Brett needed his beauty sleep, and night was meant for seizing. Nothing good ever happened until the sun set, so why was he expected to stay awake for it? And for math no less! He knew for a fact that he'd never use math the way they wanted him to. He wasn't going to have one of those desk jobs. He wasn't going to let himself be one of those salary men that wore a suit and tie every day and came home to a cold marriage and kids who resented him. What was the point in any of that? Why did he have to be educated in order to continue life. That whole perfect life in suburbia would leave him swinging from a rope, and that wasn't him. Sleep was more important so that he could get back to living once the school day ended. Now he was stuck in detention. That was just perfect.
Detention was always filled with the kids who were filled with apathy, or who weren't smart enough to tie their shoes. Occasionally, you'd get someone interesting, but even Brett fell under the category of the apathetic. When he wasn't out and thrill seeking, he was the living breathing incarnation of ennui. As he entered, he looked for a faculty member, when he couldn't find one he smirked. At least the kids were able to make noise without being silenced by some person behind a desk. Brett wasn't afraid to stand up to authority, but it seemed that everyone else was. When a teacher wanted silence, boys and girls would stop conversations immediately. To think that these brainwashed little boys and girls would be the future leaders of the world was frightening. These were kids that could control elements and they still acted like everyone else. It was just depressing. Not even bothering to find anyone he knew, Brett took a seat in a back corner of the room, crossing his arms and resting his head on them.
It was strange that the room smelled so strongly of nail polish today, but Brett couldn't be bothered to look for whoever was painting their nails. It wasn't his business or concern when someone wanted their nails a different color. Hell, more power to them. It was when the room started to smell like cigarette smoke that Brett got a little more interested. He hadn't even thought to bring his pack today, and the smoke in the room was making him crave a cig with his entire being. It was that feeling that every fiber of his being hurt because nicotine wasn't around to sooth it. That needed to stop. Walking over to the girl holding the cancer stick, he started to speak. "Hey, can I bum one?" he asked as he reached the girl and made eye contact with her. He may have been hammered that night, but it was pretty much impossible to forget Altair. The awkward thing was that he didn't ever plan on seeing her again, especially in this setting. But he decided that instead of a greeting, or some sort of nervous 'how are you?', his question was pretty much to the point. All he wanted right now was a cigarette. Anything else could wait.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 583
Notes:: I'm really super excited to see how this thread turns out xD
[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 18, 2011 12:40:18 GMT -5
Finishing on her last nail, she capped the bottle of nailpolish and kicked her lighter’s ignition next to it so she could let the polish cool. She bet a lot of the kids in there were happy about the sharp stench of polish going away, but she hadn’t cared about them in the first place. Which is why she did shit like this, risked the teacher coming and callnig her out for painting her nails and lighting cigarettes. Altair almost wanted that to happen, just so she wouldn’t have to go to this hellhole anymore. But she couldn’t leave her sisters behind, no matter how much she wanted to ditch. Plus, she would like to strengthen her powers. But there were so many downsides too, one of them being the fact she was considered a tenth grader and people liked to fuck with the ‘underclassmen’.
Dropping the bottle into her purse, she blew out smoke from her nose in her favorite dragon way and flicked ash to the ground. Good thing a lot of these kids didn’t even care—they were in detention too, not like they were the crème de la crème of the Academy. She was also somewhat surprised and disappointed to find that Rowena wasn’t around. The two of them were collecting detentions like some people collected stamps, so it wouldn’t be an off day when they met up with each other on one of these hellish afternoons. But it looked like she’d have to suffer all this without the companionship of someone she could actually stand sober.
When she heard the voice, she was close to just sending a fist his way but decided to show some self-restraint, she languidly moved her eyes over to see a somewhat familiar face. Well, as familiar as one of those censor screens put over suspects’ faces on police shows. She took a second for her usual full-body inspection before drawling, ”Brett, right? You had the shit car.” She said the last part with certainty, even though parts of that night were very blurry and only have remembered. But the drugged up haze couldn’t expunge everything from her brain. Amazing how spong-like it could be outside of the goddamn school. She shook out her pack, one sticking out for him to take. Let’s see how long it took before he got her to knock his teeth out. ”You should start buying your own fags so you don’t have to ask people who are very close to ripping some throats out.” She raised her eyebrows at the guy, feeling apprehension in her veins without the rush of her Vicodin. Thanks, every dealer I have. Thanks.
And this was the nicest Altair was capable of sober. She was actually giving Brett the time of day, which was saying a lot. She decided maybe she shouldn’t immediately go in for the fight and see what this guy was like before taking his name down on her shit list. Maybe she’d be capable of some sort of tolerence, which was rare. Even those she could tolerate eventually ended up on her bad side. So she decided to give him even more of her time and asked, "Why are you wasting space in this shithole?" Okay, that was about as nice as Altair got. But it was close enough to decency.
[IKR. <33 especially since altair isn't lunging for his throat right nao. >>]
|
|
|
|
Post by brett on Aug 18, 2011 14:43:19 GMT -5
Oh good, she remembered him. Brett had a fear of being forgotten. He was afraid that one day he'd slip through the cracks and no one would pay attention to him anymore. He needed attention to continue living, so he had to make himself more memorable. It was all for the approval of an audience that really wouldn't care if he lived or died. That was what made him the way he was. That and a cocktail of other insecurities and problems that he'd never admit he had. "Yeah, that's me," he said, sounding somewhat uninterested. It wasn't that he didn't care what she was saying, but it didn't help that it was about a car that he would scrap the moment something better came his way. If she'd mentioned any of the other traits she'd known about him, he probably wouldn't have sounded so bored. But it wasn't like he wouldn't have been bored in a few seconds anyway. He was always getting tired of everything, moving on to something new, and then getting tired of that. This was why he craved excitement. It was something to shake up an otherwise consistently dull life. "Altair, right?" he had to be sure he got her name right. Even if he remembered one way, there was always the high probability that he was wrong, so double checking always helped.
"Thanks," Brett said, taking a cigarette from the girl. He brought the cig to his lips and pulled out his lighter. Once he lit up, he turned to the girl and smirked. "I'll remember that next time," he stated, it wasn't like he was going to argue that he left a pack upstairs. He wasn't going to say that this was one of those times when he wasn't planning on detention. He wasn't going to whine to her. He knew that if the roles were reversed, he certainly wouldn't care, and that meant he shouldn't bother. The trouble was that if you shared, other people felt compelled to as well, and that was just painful. It wasn't just listening, it was saying something sympathetic, and not judging. Brett wasn't that person. He wasn't emotional, he wasn't free of judgment, and he didn't like people who were. "So ripping throats out, eh? Sounds fun. Someone in particular, or just anyone you can find?" he asked after a moment. He took a drag of his cigarette and blew smoke into the air.
Brett wasn't entirely sure if Altair was asking what got him in detention, or why he was alive, but he could at least have an answer to the first, so that was what he'd go with. "Sleeping in class." That sentence was filled with bitterness and embarrassment. He should have been in here for something more interesting, or lied. Then again, why did he care about impressing her? What did it matter impressing her when he could figure out a way to get this whole room to hold him in high esteem if he tried. "What about you?" he asked. He wasn't going to make any assumptions and think that she was in for something super exciting just because he'd drag raced against her once. For all he knew, she could be in for the reason.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 544
Notes:: Yeah, that's always a pleasant surprise. xD
[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 18, 2011 17:09:26 GMT -5
Brett would have to put a bit of effort in to keep Altair’s attention, since she was so easily distracted by anything. But at least she had some form of respect where she wasn’t going to be a total bitch to him. Just…half a bitch maybe. She didn’t get along with anyone really, because she didn’t want to. The only people she wanted to stand were her sisters. And even though she was a bitch around them too, they were her sisters, flesh and blood. They were everything to her. This guy was just some random lay she had when stoned at a party she could barely remember. But whatever, he was slightly less annoying than all the other fuckers in the room right now, and since she was done with her nails, she needed something to do. ”Altair Bennett,” she said simply, taking the cigarette from her mouth and flicking the ash to the floor. She and her sisters had a bit of a reputation, being the troublesome trio that arrived this year, seventeen-year-old tenth graders. She didn’t even wonder if Brett had heard about her or her siblings around school, didn’t care enough to ask or make some snide comment about how popular they were. She knew she was awesome, she didn’t need reassurances of it.
Altair didn’t give him a ‘welcome’ or anything that would have meant she had some form of manners. Simply shifted up to stuff the carton in the back pocket of her jeans, cigarette balancing between her two fingers. She was glad as she could ever be that he didn’t try to defend himself or any of the shit that normal prats would have done. It was a statement that didn’t require a response like that, and it seemed so few people understood that. Therefore, she wasn’t as irked as she would have been otherwise without her Vicodin when he asked her a question about ripping out throats. ”Look the fuck around,” she said darkly, scanning the classroom of kids rolling up balls of paper and throwing them around, chatting loudly as if the person right across from them wouldn’t be able to hear unless they were screaming at the top of their lungs. God, she needed a drink or something. ”Or rather, look at this entire fucking school. So right now…I’d have to say everythig I lay my eyes on is at risk.” For emphasis, she moved her blue eyes up to his and tilted her head. Everything was a challenge with her, even when it didn’t seem that way to anyone else. Everything was a potential fight.
Moving her eyes back away, she snorted when he said that he’d been put in detention for sleeping. ”I feel ya,” she commented, since she spent most of her days in the Academy sleeping. With the occupation she had, it was near impossible to stay awake during the day. ”Boring as fuck teachers can just blow me. You should tell them that.” She shrugged as she finished saying that, showing that she really didn’t give a damn what he did with his time. ”Kicked this kid’s ass because he was talking shit about my sister.” She looked back over to him, meeting his eyes in a sort of challenge to do the same or even question her about doing so. There was nothing really good about her, and the only thing that made her half-way decent was her protectiveness over her sisters. ”They said they were going to take him to the hospital, but they’re probably bloody overreacting.” It was a miracle she didn’t get suspended, but whatever. She’d just deal with it, since she didn’t at all regret beating the guy up. Her sisters were off limits.
|
|
|
|
Post by brett on Aug 18, 2011 23:43:36 GMT -5
In truth, Brett had heard absolutely nothing about the Bennett girls. He didn't gossip, and didn't listen to gossip. It didn't entertain him to hear about the lives of strangers when there were more important things to be done - like building a name for himself. He wanted to be the one that everyone talked about, and didn't want to bother listening to anyone else. He didn't know that Altair was notorious for being aggressive and bitchy. Though he caught on to these traits a little as time pressed on. It wasn't like his reputation would say very nice things either. He probably also had aggressive on the list, maybe troubled, maybe suicidal or insane, definitely destructive. He didn't know, and he really didn't want to ask around school for his social stature. That would only lower it anyway. Apparently they were supposed to be on a first and last name basis now though. "Brett Blaire," he said as if the girl needed to know who he was. He was sure she didn't. Why would she? They fucked once at a party and raced against each other, and she was probably too far gone to remember half of it. Hell, he only drank a few beers and he couldn't remember a lot of that night. But that was the way his memory worked. Something had to be super important to stick with him, and while she was really good in bed, she wasn't all too memorable.
Brett honestly didn't care if people were alway mannerly or not, there were times when he respected people who were polite and courteous. Sometimes he was even on good behavior. But that didn't mean that in this day and age he'd be upset if someone didn't acknowledge his gratitude for a cigarette. He'd done that himself before, he wasn't sure where or when, but he was sure that he had. Brett couldn't disagree with Altair when it came to who she wanted to bring down. The entire room would probably get nowhere in life anyway. He did disagree with the school bit however, but that was just because he needed some people as entertainment. Really, where would he be without kids to fuck and fight, and love and hate? They were necessities that all seemed to be covered by the academy. They should have put it on their brochures: Come to the Academy of the Elements, if you're attractive you're gonna get laid. A lot. Pugnacious? No problem! Just about everyone will fight you if you rub them the wrong way. Brett would have been much more eager to go to a school with that on its advertisements. "You know, you might be right," he said gazing around the room. "But I dunno, without people like this, who would give me the attention I deserve?" It was rare for him to say something that was actually that close to how he felt, and that statement was certainly it. Not that it seemed that he was saying something as fragile and tender as he regarded it. It was pretty much just another run of the mill arrogant sentence from a boy who liked feeling like someone important. Altair's eyes seemed to be more or less fixed on him after she said that anyone was at risk, and he wouldn't have put it past her to assault him, but he wasn't easily scared. The girl should have known that by now. Even sober, he wasn't great at decision making. His brown eyes locked onto her blue ones, and he raised an eyebrow. If she wanted a fight, she'd get one, but he sure as hell wouldn't be the one to start this fight and hit a girl. Maybe she wouldn't really want a fight. This could have just been a challenge to see if he'd back down. But there wasn't really a choice in the matter. He could never bring himself to stand down from anything.
That response to his reason of imprisonment was certainly better than he'd thought it would be. At least the girl could relate to his situation on some level. That made him a lot less insecure. Talking to Altair was a lot different than most girls he spoke with. Most girls wanted to know thoughts and feelings. Altair just seemed to want some kind of entertainment, and he could relate. He admired that trait in her. He laughed a little when she told him what he should tell his teachers. It seemed like something he'd do, too. "God, why didn't I think of that?" he asked with a grin. "Yeah, I'll definitely tell them to blow me next time. I mean, if I'm already going to detention anyway, how much worse can it get, right?" He knew that Altair probably didn't care about what he was saying, especially since he was just agreeing with her, but it was a really good idea for him. Brett smiled when the girl seemed to be threatening him again, but she'd just explained that she'd beaten someone up for insulting her sister, and what was he really going to say about someone he'd never met? "That's a better reason to fight someone than I've ever had, I can respect that," he stated. He fought for fun. He may have loved his family, but he wouldn't take a beating for them if they needed it. He was self-serving. Once some kind of issue started with people, a fight lost it's fun, and that meant that he was fighting on someone else's terms. Brett would never do that. It may have been horrible, but that was just the way it worked. In fact, Altair seemed like a better person than Brett was at the moment, regardless of her somewhat aggressive demeanor.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 964
Notes:: I have no idea why this post is so long. I was tired when I started writing and had zero muse, and I don't know what happened. >.< Regardless, fell free not to match.
[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 19, 2011 14:58:45 GMT -5
Altair let his name at least soak into her brain so she wouldn’t forget it, a mild form of courtesy on her end. She heard the name around when she cared enough to listen to other people. Friends were a foreign concept to her because she hated people so much, so she had no one to talk to or gossip with except for her sisters. And usually when she was with the two they were bitching about their crap lives and snarking at each other, which admittedly was a great form of catharsis. Maybe it wasn’t just a dead end lifestyle that was giving Altair something to hold on to. Of course, she never told the girl how much she loved them, or anything like that. They didn’t hug or giggle like they used to when they were younger, because they’d become such different people. She didn’t even have to wonder how that happened. She knew how it fell through, it began with the lifestyle they loved, even after it destroyed them. Modeling had caused them to crash and burn, but the girls still loved it. Was it because they were such self-destructive people? Maybe. All Altair knew is that the closet she’s gotten to the feeling was stripping and somehow it felt even better, but she would rather be wearing her fabulous clothes up on stage. She’d still kept her fashion sense and expensive tastes, after all.
She studied him with her hard gaze before snorting at his comment. ”If you want the attention, run to your mum. Or do something worth noticing, instead of standing around in the detention hall.” If this guy was such an attention whore, instead of just waiting for it to come to him he should have already been standing on a desk and announcing something. But right now he was talking to Altair, which was barely drawing much attention save for the people who found it odd that she was speaking to anyone and the fact that Brett wasn’t doing something that could get him into trouble save for smoking in the classroom. But she knew the feeling that he wanted, all eyes on you. She had a lot of pride, and it showed in everything she did, every movement she did. She couldn’t be a model, so she chose another lifestyle that gave her the attention she deserved. More than that, however, she loved the violence. It was something she lived for, something she breathed like the smoke blowing from her mouth.
Altair listened to his words at least somewhat, still wishing she had a beer in her hand to make this all better. Or her Vicodin. She managed to distract herself from thoughts of getting high with that of the teachers she hated and whom she was pretty sure hated her back. It wasn’t like she went out of her way to be a good student. She either slept or painted her nails or did something she wasn’t supposed to be doing in class. It made her wonder why she wasn’t getting kicked out any time soon. All they kept doing was throwing her in detention to cause more damage. She didn’t understand discipline. Nothing the Academy did would change her, no lesson they tried to instill into her. She’d seen more of life than most of the professors had anyway, she knew exactly what her life was and what she was doing. They may have made her a tenth grader, but she was an adult, eighteen now and already having gone through more than even an eighty-year-old could brag about.
She snorted when he said her reasons for fighting were honorable. The girls were the only thing honorable about her. She was a gangbanger, something that wasn’t honorable at all. ”Glad to hear, because I go out of my bloody way to impress your ass,” she said dryly, blowing out smoke from her nose again, feeling the rage still in her veins, either a left over feeling from the fight or a permanent state of mind. Sometimes she could dull the anger, buti t was always there, in her blood, running throughout her body and making her view the entire world as an enemy. Other than her sisters, the reasons she fought were because it was what she was good at and what made her feel good. Clean and simple. It was something important to her, and if she felt like it, Brett might just become an opponent of hers.
Growing bored of everything around her, she flicked a strand of her hair back. ”I’m going to flake,” Altair said as she slid off the desk, grabbing her purse and glaring at some bitch who decided to bump shoulders with her. She wasn’t going to start a fight right now, though since she was about to leave. Looking at Brett she gave him another once over before shrugging. ”You can come, if you want,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. "There's a shitton of better things to do than sitting her waiting for the goddamn teacher to show up." She’d find something to do that didn’t involve sitting in a packed classroom full of ignorant douche bags. There was a whole wide world out there after all, and Altair needed to keep moving through it.
|
|
|
|
Post by brett on Aug 19, 2011 18:35:53 GMT -5
The girl had a point in telling him that he shouldn't depend on the attention of strangers. There wasn't a point in arguing with that, or getting angry. She may have been somewhat aggressive, but she was still right. He shouldn't have depended on people for anything. He always told himself that, but somehow applying that to his need of everyone's approval never seemed to work out. He shrugged. "Fair enough, I won't stop you from ripping out throats then," he said around his cigarette. Her words really couldn't seem to make him angry, and that was a plus for him. She seemed like she either hated him or didn't know how to play nice with others. He thought about leaving. If she didn't want him around, he wouldn't stay. Then again, what else was there to do? Talk to the rest of these kids, throwing paper at each other for fun. He had a child's mentality at times, and even he thought that it was kind of immature. If she wanted him gone, she hopefully would have said something by now. She probably would have tried to hurt him, actually. It seemed that she was constantly challenging him to cross a line and fight. If he was annoying her, he'd probably already have crossed it. He was good at that, promoting hostility in people. It was a hobby of his to get on someone's bad side just so he could see how well he could do in a fight against them. It was how he managed to stay entertained when he didn't feel like leaving campus.
Really all Brett seemed to be able to do to keep himself from suicide on campus was to either fuck or fight. Other people studied, or watched tv, and he just couldn't. Neither tended to be worth his attention. There were also people who spent their time playing video games, but Brett couldn't even consider doing something like that. He wasn't scared of death, but he was terrified of video games ever since on exploded in his hands as a kid. There was no possible chance that would ever happen again, but it was how he got scars on the palms of his hands and led to quite the irrational fear. This was why he had to spend so much time at parties and such. Otherwise there was absolutely no fun to be had. Otherwise his life was too repetitive. Otherwise he would have been like every other loser in this place. That generalization excluded Altair, of course. She seemed worth his attention for the time being. It was clear that she liked excitement, at least when she was drunk, and that meant that she was worth keeping around, regardless of demeanor. She really wasn't the meanest person he'd dealt with in his life. She by far wasn't the nicest, but it wasn't like that would stop him from hanging around her as long as he found her interesting.
Brett shrugged when Altair replied to his comment about fighting with more sarcasm. He was really getting used to this fast. Great, he got it, she didn't care. She was talking at him, not to him. Noted. Well, it was still better than those deep emotional conversations that he avoided. Sometimes a lack of dialogue was fine. This was a surface conversation, no compliments. He could understand that. They weren't friends, after all. This was their second time meeting, and it wasn't even all too amicable.
Leaving the detention hall was the best idea in the world right now. He didn't know what possessed him to come here in the first place, actually. He should have just left when he didn't see a teacher. That was hindsight though. Brett was always great with hindsight. He wasn't the best at thinking on his feet, but when it came to looking back it always seemed that he was a lot more brilliant. Didn't the French have a phrase for that? Something about stairs? Didn't matter. Knowing a couple of silly French words wouldn't get him anywhere, after all. Brett looked around before making a decision though. As if there may have possibly been something redeeming about staying here. Once he'd decided that going with Altair was the best idea, he nodded, taking a final drag of his cigarette. "Sure. Have anywhere in mind?" he said after exhaling smoke. Anywhere had to be better than this place, that was for sure. He put his cig out on a desk next to him, and leaving it to lay there. It wasn't like they didn't have someone on the payroll to clean this place up. Surely, someone would pick up after him eventually.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 784 >.<
Notes:: I have to say that they have the most interesting pseudo-friendship/rivalry-thing ever. xD
[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 19, 2011 21:53:24 GMT -5
This guy was pretty passive, and she realized she didn’t know what element he was in. As always with Altair, it didn’t really matter. The triplets didn’t even hone their elements when they manifested years ago because their parents called them freaks and scorned their use. The powers were quickly forgotten, and instead the sisters focused on their modelling. That was something all three of them had been good at, and it had been Rowena’s attempt to bring them closer together. Which failed oh so terribly. They had just been kids who knew nothing about the modelling world worked. It had been Rowena’s greatest downfall, but even before then Syria slipped away from them thanks to her friend’s death. And Altair. Well, all it took was an accident and a hospital visit for her to fall through the cracks. And her own reckless behavior from there had been brought to the Academy.
It was amazing how she could tolerate Brett. Probably because nothing he said riled her up as bad as others. Perhaps he understood that she hated complications like conversations about personal lives and blah blah blah. She didn’t care enough about people to ask questions like that, or even communicate with people. Probably because she just didn’t click well with anyone except her sisters, and they’d promised to stick by each other in this hellhole. And no one was as important as them. No one could even come close. To add to that, they were the new kids in the Academy, and even though there were other late transferers, they quickly became the ones to talk about. Altair didn’t care about them, though, she just didn’t care. I wonder what they’re doing. This was the only time she allowed herself to think, when it was about her sisters. They were both her greatest strength and her greatest weakness. Probably both working. And why couldn’t she be the breadwinner she was supposed to be? It was amazing how the only people who could make her feel guilty were the Bennett girls. She was filled with pride in everything else, but when she realizes how much her lifestyle is hampering her sisters, she realizes how imperfect she could truly be. Not that she ever focused on it too long or let that be known. Hell no.
She watched as Brett snuffed out his cigarette, and didn’t answer his question. Instead, she led the way out the building, and luckily they weren’t stopped by any professors. What, did they all go missing today? Of course, the both of them would have hell to pay when the teacher did show up and discover them missing, but Altair was expert at not caring about consequences or her future. She walked across the lawn and to the parking lot, crushing the cigarette underneath the heel of her shoe when approaching the Ducati.Taking the helmet off of the seat, she handed it to Brett. ”Do you have an ID?” she asked. If he did, it would of course be fake, but she wasn’t asking about that. One more year and she’d be able to drink legally. But that wasn’t really her true aim. ”We're going to a bar,” she clarified, though it was still a simple statement. She'd grown accustomed to calling them 'bars' now, instead of pubs. "I need to pick something up and it's five o' clock somewhere." True, it was in the middle of the afternoon, but again drinking wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. Besides, the bar she was going to take him to might not be one he’s thinking of.
[YAY FOR PSUEDO-FRIENDSHIPS! at least altair's tolerating someone. >>]
|
|
|
|
Post by brett on Aug 20, 2011 19:59:31 GMT -5
Brett was a little more interested in Altair's element than she was in his, but it was becoming more and more clear that she wasn't like the peace loving Earth elementals, which was a good sign for him. If she decided to turn and fight him, as it seemed she was craving to do, he wanted to make sure that he wasn't at a disadvantage. Thunder wasn't meant to be grounded. It was meant to be able to destroy and Brett felt that it was the reason he had this ability. He was free and vicious. He didn't want to be stopped. This was why he avoided fights with Earthies. He liked to avoid elemental battles all together, preferring his fists over his thunder control, but no one in the school seemed to agree with him on that one. Kids were so quick to depend on their elements here. It was kind of upsetting that he rarely got in a fight that didn't start with some kind of element being tossed his way. Still, it beat studying or a lot of the other boring shit that people always seemed to be doing at school. Maybe he'd feel better once he could manifest a full bolt of lightning. Once he did that he'd feel like a god. Like Zeus or Thor. There was a reason that these gods were always so important in folklore. Regardless, as long as Altair didn't have a clear set advantage over him elementally, Brett would probably be in the clear when it came to this whole interaction. He wouldn't really like to hurt a girl, but at the same time it wasn't like he was going to start a fight at any minute, that was her call, and that meant that he'd only be defending himself. No matter how fun that may end up being.
Brett enjoyed conversations, but superficial ones were always preferred. This was a new level of superficial though. He thought that his level of being impersonal was uncommon, but people like Altair were rare. She must really have no cared about anything. That or she must have been socially retarded. Either way, it didn't matter in the long run. Actions spoke louder than words, and that seemed to be something that they could both agree on. That was enough, words not actions. All he needed was something to keep him from boredom. Something to entertain him for a little while. Conversation did that, but it always required some level of acting as if every word someone said was really important, and God forbid they ask him a question, because if it was about something he felt he'd just shut down. Altair seemed to have found the solution to this problem though a new level of apathy. She was a social innovator. He just hoped everyone else would catch on soon.
One of Brett's worst traits was that he was easily led. Usually that was about mental leading. It was about someone pulling mental strings and making him dance, but this time Altair had taken the literal approach. She just left and left him to choose whether to follow or not. If he stayed he'd never know where it was she was going, and curiosity was never something that Brett just let die. He followed the girl to the parking lot, forgetting the fact that there would be consequences all together. He wasn't great when it came to thinking ahead. Instead, he just let things take their course. Everyone spent too much time worrying, but in truth, whatever would happen was bound to happen even without thinking about it. So what was the point? When the girl handed him her helmet, he shook his head. "You take it," he said simply. He'd seen her drive before, and she was an expert at avoiding cars when she was heavily intoxicated, so something like a normal drive should have been nothing to her. Not to mention that if they were to crash, he'd rather die than have her die in his place. Not that he'd ever say something like that. He didn't want blood on his hands, and he was on a death trip anyway, so this was an easy decision. Did he have an ID? "Of course." Brett stated simply. He'd had a fake ID since he was in tenth grade, but then again, who didn't? It was almost common practice to get some kind of false identification to get beer when in high school. Everyone did that. Or at least, everyone Brett associated with. "Since when did it need to be 5 o'clock?" he asked with a smirk. He'd always heard that expression, but whenever he was home for a break he'd be drinking mostly in the mornings, then trying to keep his buzz all day. His parents even knew he drank often. Hell, his dad brought him things to drink. Talk about liberal parenting. Honestly, for the amount that Brett wished that his parents weren't around, he loved the way they always tried to please him when he was home.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 847
Notes:: Sorry this took so long. My time has been full of shenanigans lately. >.<
[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 21, 2011 0:55:36 GMT -5
Altair shrugged when Brett didn’t take the helmet. If she crashed and his brain splattered against the concrete, she couldn’t say that she’d really care. Okay, she would feel bad, she wasn’t a total sociopath. But she wouldn’t feel too much guilt considering it would have been his decision. She was pretty confident in her driving abilities, and there was no way in hell she’d let anything to happen to her Ducati. It costed quite the pretty penny, and that money was supposed to go toward her sisters. Not only was the bike her baby, but it would also make her feel so fucking guilty if she totaled something she put so much money into when it could have helped out her sisters. Her frivolous ways were one of her many downfalls. She couldn’t say that she particularly liked the hat-head wearing a helmet gave her, but she always managed, having a brush on her, of course. The Fire girl always looked her best, and something like that took time and effort.
She didn’t acknowledge Brett’s words with an answer. ”Since god made happy hour,” Altair said dryly, sliding onto the bike and waiting for him to do the same. Then she was shooting out of the parking lot, not caring that they probably left some angry professors who were expecting the two in detention behind. It wasn’t too far of a drive to the ‘bar’, especially since she loved to speed on her Ducati. She knew she should be careful since she didn’t need the law down her throat because Rowena’s issues were the reason they left England, but when you had a shiny fast bike, it was kind of hard not to. She didn’t think Brett would blame her, and even if he did, she wouldn’t care. He gave no complaints or and didn’t whine about the need for her to slow down. She guessed the lack of any bitching was what made him at least tolerable.
They made it downtown within minutes, and she pulled into the shifty parking lot of the strip club. Of course, everything looked better in the daytime, the neon lights not so seedy, the alleys beside the building looking like they may not harbor cutthroats and rapists. Altair hated having her Ducati in shithole like this, the bike deserved a parking lot filled with towncars and fucking limos. She deserved towncars and limos. But the good life was more of an impossible dream, and these thoughts didn’t really matter as she entered the club through the front door instead of slipping in through the side like she usually did for work. There weren’t a lot of patrons, of couse, and the women on stage weren’t the most attractive, and that wasn’t just Altair’s over-inflated ego talking. They were the ones who had this as a full-time job, and while that could be her up there, she had school to attend. She was close enough to eighteen that it didn’t even matter. It didn’t even matter that she was bringing another teen in here. This was downtown, where the lowest of the low haunted.
She walked over to the bar and asked the tender, ”Was Johnny here?” The sickly looking woman behind the counter eyed Brett and asked in a suspicious tone, ”Who’s he?” Altair rolled her eyes. This is why she didn’t like dealing with people. ”What does it matter?” she drawled and the bartender turned around for a moment before placing a doggy bag on the bar and also uncapping a bottle and sliding it over. Shamelessly, Altair took the pills out and popped them open, chasing down the Vicodin with her beer. The bartender gave her attention to Brett then, asking, ”What’re you havin’?” Rolling the bag up and stuffing it in her purse, she looked over to Brett, taking a swig before asking, ”Ever been to a skin joint before?”
[PFFFF THAT WAS NOWHERE NEAR LATE! ><]
|
|
|
|
Post by brett on Aug 21, 2011 20:55:29 GMT -5
Brett wasn't exactly the type to be cautious in just about any situation. It took a lot to get him to slow something down, or to do something in moderation, or to step down. Wearing a helmet didn't really seem like all too big of a deal if this was just going to be a one time thing. Altair was a great driver, after all. There really wasn't a need to worry. If she killed him, he'd just come back and haunt her for the rest of her life, so it wasn't like it would go unpunished. Of course, he didn't really believe that he'd manifest as a ghost once he met his demise, but if he did he'd be sure to harass the people that hurt him for the rest of eternity. A paranormal way of getting even. He probably needed a beer at this point, the whole thinking thing was reaching a point of ridiculousness. His mind would just go on forever if he didn't have some kind of chemical in him to get in the way of his train of though. Be it adrenaline, alcohol, or anything else he could get his hands on, if he could make his thoughts at least slow down every now and again he'd be in much better shape.
Brett had never actually correlated five o'clock with happy hour in the past. He'd never been in a bar at five, and no one ever had even brought it up. The expression finally made sense to him, but much to his chagrin, it probably lost him more respect in the eyes of Altair. That seemed to be going down fast today, but that would be sure to change eventually. Once he had something to drink everything would be better. At least, that's what he hoped. It was still escaping him why he cared so much about what Altair thought. She was one of the few people who made it seem like he would never fully be able to win her approval, and that made him want to try a little harder, but with most people he would have given up by now. With most people, Brett would just quit and go to someone else, or go home, or make the other person leave. He didn't like having to work this hard for anything, especially not someone's positive opinion of him. But yet here he was, on the back of this girl's bike. God, he was riding in the bitch seat on a red Ducati, he doubted he'd ever looked so feminine in his life, with his hands around Altair's waist to keep him from falling off the back. He had to admit, it rode well, and this would probably be the only time in his life that he'd get to ride on one of these, but it'd be better without the whole chick factor of this ordeal.
He really couldn't blame Altair for speeding with a toy like this on her hands. The thing that always bothered him while driving were the people who bought sports cars and didn't drive fast enough. It was worse than seeing those cars from the fifties that didn't have a scratch on them. Cars like that were meant for fun. They were meant to get dirty, and they were meant to be driven to death. That's why his was such a piece of junk. When Brett came across a fast looking car that drove slowly, he just wanted to put as many dents in it as possible. He wanted to crash into it, then beat it with a baseball bat when it stopped. There was a time when people enjoyed the life of a motorist, now it seemed like they were all afraid of it.
When Altair had said bar, Brett really hadn't expected this place. He didn't even know Canada had strip clubs, also it didn't appear that men would be dancing here, so it left a lot more questions about Altair. Brett was bisexual, and obviously wasn't against the bi lifestyle, but Altair really didn't seem like she'd be interested in girls at all. And even Brett wouldn't show up to one of these places. Even he had some dignity. When Brett wanted to see a girl take off her clothes, he look through numbers on his phone or walk around the campus, he didn't need to see these girls tease with no satisfaction afterward. This would certainly be an adventure though. Brett didn't even ask about the bag of pills the girl had just been handed either. He was sure learning quickly. "I'll have two shots of whiskey," he said. It really wasn't a common choice for him, but he wanted to get drunk fast. He pulled out his wallet and placed some bills on the bar as his shots were poured. He downed them both quickly, somewhat used to the burning in his throat at this point. He did this kind of thing from time to time at parties too. Altair was asking if he'd been to a place like this before, and he smirked and shook his head. "No, I can't say I have," he said coolly, leaving off that he'd never really wanted to either.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 874
Notes:: Yay, Brett + Alcohol = less rambling! And I'm glad to hear that, because I hate to keep people waiting.
[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 22, 2011 1:15:52 GMT -5
Spinning on her barstool to watch the danceers, she waited for the Vicodin to work its magic. It was the only thing she needed, really, she didn’t do meth or coke or any of that shit. Wow, there was something somewhat redeeming about her. No, the addiction she had was thanks to the accident years ago on the runway. She guessed she could blame hospital negligence or some shit, but it was really just her that wanted the pills. They made everything better, they made her feel good, and somehow the world seemed…brighter. About as bright as it could get for her, which wasn’t much. Her life could be pretty much described as a dump, and if you called it that, sure she’d punch you in the gonads. But it’d still be true. She still thought pretty damn highly of herself, but even she recognized the shit lifestyle she led. Which was why she was sitting in this dark bar filled with smoke and neon lights and the scum of society. She refused to be considered a part of that. Altair considered herself to be fabulous and not dirt thank you very much.
”Enjoy,” she said dryly, not caring if he felt uncomfortable in this place. ”Don’t be surprsied if someone wants to fuck you, there’s a lot of whore here looking for work, male and female.” Best to give him fair warning, she supposed. There was also the fact that a lot of dealers and just the scummiest people haunted this place. It was a den of dirt. She continued to watch the stage with disinterest, her senses riding on the Vicodin and enjyoing the neon of it all. Altair was never attracted to the opposite sex. She was able to acknowledge when a girl was hot but they never appealed to her sexually. They didn’t have the tools she needed, after all. She needed a mans’ touch to satisfy her. But hey, there were ways aroudn that. Still, she didn’t think she’d go after a girl. Not that she ever went after anyone. Between her and Brett, it had been a mutual understanding. She didn’t pine after boys or gush about them with her friends. Altair just let them come to her, and whatever happened, happened. But there was no arousel as the other men that watched the girls must be feeling, who were actually her co-workers. She took a long swig out of her bottle, watching as one of the cocktail waittresses approach her, sparing a glance to Brett with interest.
”Didn’t know you were working today, Altair,” the woman said, and Altair wondered what it was about herself that made other people think she was even somewhat approachable. Sure, she knew the girl, her name was Kim and she had a birthmark on her stomach in the shape of a heart that she liked to show in the changing room, but she didn’t care about her. But this also meant Brett knew of at least one of her occupations, something else that Altair didn’t care about. ”I’m not. I needed to pick something up.” Deciding that she didn’t like Altair’s curtness, the woman named Kim turned her eyes to Brett. Red lips forming into a smile, she said, ”Hey there pretty boy? Wanna good fuck?” Just as she said. She wondered if he thought he thought she would be lying about that. Altair tilted the bottle to her lips, not looking at either of them. She wasn’t the only one who met clients through her job. A part of her wondered if Brett would take up the offer and follow the flat-chested bitch into one of the private rooms. She guessed she’d be drinking alone then, not that she really cared.
[sorry, it's shoorrrtt. T.T BUT YAY DRUNKENNESS! <333]
|
|
|
|
Post by brett on Aug 22, 2011 11:19:25 GMT -5
Unfortunately, it would take a little while for the whiskey to get into his bloodstream. He hated waiting. Brett lacked patience. He was prone to giving up on things that took as long as it took for booze to kick in, but it was usually worth it. Just about all off his best stories started off with "I was so wasted." That was his life in a nutshell, a series of benders that tended to work out positively. If it weren't for one of them, he wouldn't have been here now. In a half hour he'd be much more confident, and much easier to get along with. That meant that he'd have a lot more fun, no matter what circumstances would arise in this place. Really, Brett felt so out of place here. All the men here with money in hand were grimy, and the girls dancing certainly weren't much better. Maybe these kind of places got better at night, but he didn't really want to spend the night here. This was a new level of sleaze, something he'd never seen. It made him feel like he was better than just about everyone in the room. He knew where to come for a self esteem boost from now on.
Brett just kind of shrugged when Altair told him to enjoy. It wasn't like he was uncomfortable here, it was just definitely not his scene. Then came the news about the prostitutes, to which he wasn't totally surprised. Really, it was just another way that Brett was made to feel superior in here. "Thanks for the head's up," he stated flatly. Someone would have to be a perfect ten and then some in order to have Brett pay to have sex with them. Maybe if he somehow managed to make it to adulthood without killing himself and his looks faded, he'd be more inclined to pay someone to fuck him, but he was in his prime. Brett knew for a fact that he was good looking, and people had told him that he was good in bed, so what did he need whores for? The sex trade was for the other men here, the ones that were balding or who had liver spots, or who word fifty dollar suits. Not Brett.
As a cocktail waitress began to speak to Altair, Brett at least began to understand why she used this as her medium to get drugs. So she worked here. Still that could have meant a variety of things. She could have been a cocktail waitress too, or a bar tender, but there was a higher possibility someone with her body would be a stripper. She could have also been a prostitute. It was odd that this didn't phase him more. Usually news like this was soap opera worthy. Dramatic music would sound, and then it would cut to an aging actor or actress' shocked expression and fade to black. Maybe Brett was just apathetic, or maybe it was the fact that he was beginning to realize that everything about Altair was pretty much meant to be unexpected. It was like she was born enigmatic. But he really didn't care much. Her life wasn't his business. When this woman turned to him, he smirked and looked her up and down. "Sure, you know someone who can gimme one?" he quipped in a bored tone. Really, did people expect that someone like him would just sleep with them because their legs were open if he give them cash? It was an insult to him, not to mention the fact that this woman didn't even hold a candle to most of the girls he slept with. It may have been a bad call to insult the staff, but he really didn't care at this point. What were they going to do? Throw him out? He wouldn't really care in the long run.
Tagged:: Altair
Outfit:: Click
Count:: 649
Notes:: Nonsense! That post was perfectly marvelous.
[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Aug 22, 2011 17:25:39 GMT -5
Not ever doubting that Brett would be approached by someone in this shithole, she was at least in a generous mood. Normally, she wouldn’t have cared (what did she care about?), but since he said he’d never been to one of these establishments she guessed it was only fair. Not like he was an innocent little boy with a propeller hat, he knew how the world worked. It was his choice whether or not he wanted to fuck someone, and even though he was still very young, he was old enough to decide. She didn’t understand how people thought that teenagers were somehow vegetables without any understand of the world. She was young, but she’d already seen enough to know what to do and say to get by, how to exist to survive. Altair did what she was good at, and she didn’t do it for free. If only I could get paid to knock someone out. She actually could, but she doubted she’d be able to make it as a professional fighter. Didn’t they did drug tests? In any case, she wasn’t looking toward any sort of future while she was in the process of destroying herself.
Altair lowered the bottle from her mouth as rough laughter ripped from her throat after hearing Brett's disinterested words, looking to the side. Kim shot her a glare before giving the boy a smirk and saying, ”Don’t think a ten-year-old could afford me, anyway.” Watching as the woman strode away with her pride still somehow intact, Altair had to say that was a good one. She wasn’t anger and serious business all the time, dontcha know. She also had a good sense of humor, even though a lot of it came out with her sisters, especially with Syria since Rowena was definitely not a joker. ”Nice. I gotta give you that one,” she said, leaning her back against the bar and lifting her bottle up in a mock salute. ”Can’t stand that bitch. Think she’s in-fucking-credible.” Hopefully Brett knocked her down a peg or two. But that seriously may have made Altair’s day, or at least a part of it. Especially now that she was mellowing out. She never got really loopy any more, just…lax. A much more enjoyable person to be around at least. He should count himself lucky to be around her when she wasn’t violently destructive. ”How hammered do you need to get to sleep with an ugly bitch anyway?” she asked. And what was this? Altair showing interest in something? It sure seemed that way. Perscription drugs sure were a lovely thing.
[DAWWW, THANKIES. <33 y u fluctuate with post size so much, altair?]
|
|
