fandomhigh | BWI Airport, Portalocity Lounge, Saturday Morning

So everyone else had, like, dramatic backstories and reasons to show up here and stuff. Which was fine, you know, if you were emotionally in the zone enough to go to those kinda lengths. Denise had just been, you know, chilling with her dad last night watching some hockey guys really pound in on each other - no, seriously, really get into it. One of them broke a rib or something, which was kinda cool.

Then she'd been dropped off at the airport, gotten a ticket stuffed into her hands, and that was that. No reason to get all dramatic and touchy-feely about it.

And now it was Saturday morning and she was on the airport. Sitting around. Chugging water and listening to her discman while watching the kids down the hall, trying to figure out how they were gonna croak. Sure, there was some kind of shuttle supposed to show up, but it wasn't there yet. A girl had to keep herself busy.

She figured the dweebs starting to mill around the terminal were probably classmates or something. Lame.

[[ ~~wait for the~~ ocd up! ]]

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Before the driver arrives. As you do.

Once the driver pings in!

This is half an hour early because my timezone is cooler than yours.

Aaaand there was a Deadpool, hanging out by the bus. He kinda wanted to paint it all hippie like. Anakin would like that, right?

Damn his luxurious hair. Damn it!

"So you're the Veep, huh."

Denise wasn't judging.

"Nice fashion statement."

Tim had his laptop case slung over his shoulder and a rolling suitcase by his side. He did not look all that thrilled to be there. "Hey," he said. "You here for Fandom High?"

"Yeah," Denise said, lifting her chin at him. It was kind of a greeting. "What are you in for, dead eyes?"

Tim took a step back when he saw the guy in the mask. (In Gotham, masks were generally bad news.) Screw airport security; he should've found a way to bring his Robin gear with him instead of letting Alfred ship it to the school. No luck, though, he'd have to deal with this as Tim Drake. The guy wasn't attacking yet, though, so maybe he could get some information.

"Hey," he said. "Is there a convention around here or something?"

Somewhere on the crowd, there was a girl. Or, you know, she looked like a girl. Sitting on the floor, she looked like a bunch of multicolor cloth someone had decided to left there to it's own devices. Truth was, Delirium had arrived on her own terms, by her own awesomeness and two minutes earlier. She was also completely lost, actually. It had only taken her about five minutes to forget why was she there, or where was the place she was sitting now. What she was sure about was the influx of different degrees of insanity flowing around her. Some were pretty stable people, but others...she was certainly going to have fun around there.

...Maybe she should have brought Barnabas; he always knew what to do.

"And you're a teenage girl."

He was totally judging.

"How much are ya lookin' forward to wearing flannel and not shavin'?"

'Dweeb' was not a word that had ever been applied to Rosalind.

The blonde in her crisp suit, with the equally smart black suitcase, gave the other girl a stiff nod as she found herself a place to... wait.

Rosalind wasn’t enthused about sitting down but her legs kindly informed her that travel through portal—which was a headache and a half all by itself; Tseng thought she would be safe in another universe?—and the ensuing walk was really quite enough for the moment.

Was she supposed to say hi? Rosalind sighed inaudibly and idly flipped through the pamphlet for the fourteenth time, while doing her very best to not look as awkward or tired as she felt.

Two days from a coma and back to high school. Sigh.

Nice girl. "A long story involving a really stupid dare," Tim said. "You?"

"Yeah, I don't do flannel," Denise said, without blinking an eye. "It's kinda butch. What, did you like, grow up with some kind of obsession with panda bears or something?"

She nodded her head at the mask. You know. As long as they were judging.

"Because I'm not gonna lie, that's kinda gay."

"Are you, um, a plushie?" And as she spoke, Del proceeded to poke the man on the stomach. Because he was red and looked funny, and felt funny. Crazy, but not quite there yet. Yet, she thought, a sweet smile creeping up as she kept poking.

"My old high school sucked," Denise said, conversationally. Well, it was small talk. Kind of. "Principal couldn't take a joke."

I'm cool enough to have a timezone like yours, huzzah!

Denise watched the chick who was watching her. And sitting down. Or something. Was she supposed to make, like, small talk or something?

Okay. She was supposed to give 'social' a try.

"Hey," she said, giving her a friendly nod back. "Hangovers really suck."

Mission accomplished.

"What was the joke?" Tim asked.

Denise peered over the edge of her... well, her knee. At the chick. With the technicolour hair. "Dye-job or wig?"

"In Baltimore?" Deadpool had to think about it. "Nah, that's in August. Though I hope Fempool makes an appearance. Rrawr. Never has a chick me seemed so hot."

Edited 2010-05-07 19:52 (UTC)

Denise shrugged. "Moved his car a couple of blocks," she said. "No biggie, right?"

Rosalind raised one eyebrow coolly at the girl. Almost amused, really, though that was a distant thing.

"Speaking from experience?" she inquired.

Because the girl couldn't possibly be insinuating that Rosalind had a hangover. Right? Right? She resisted the urge to get up and go and see in a bathroom if she looked that bad. Ugh.

"I've known a few who would agree."

"No, I'm asking because you look like you got hit by a truck," said Denise, matter-of-factly. "Hey, did you sprain something in your back? Because I hear that really sucks."

She was doing so well at this female bonding shit.

Del didn't seem to hear her first, but when she realized there was someone -oh someone!- talk at her, she looked up with a silent grin, her hair going into paler shades of pink, and then almost white. "It's like a magical, um wig. But no quite. Not always. Sometimes? When I'm paying attention, but I don't do that too much, um..."

".....your face is funny." And that was a completely serious statement. Well, sort of, since she didn't look to serious. At all.

Deadpool wriggled to the side. "Heeeey now. Hands to ourselves, crazy chick."

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BWI Airport, Portalocity Lounge, Saturday Morning

Waiting for the Shuttle

On the Way to Fandom

OOC

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Re: Waiting for the Shuttle

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Re: OOC

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