fandomhigh | Apathy Club, So Many F-Bombs In This One, Some Classroom or Other, This Can't End Well

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Apathy Club, So Many F-Bombs In This One, Some Classroom or Other, This Can't End Well

George had left yesterday's paranoia and settled straight into full-on crankiness. Puck was avoiding her. Look, she didn't think she was his fucking girlfriend or anything, it was just sex, she got that, but avoiding her!? She didn't have the fucking plague.

And maybe she just wanted to talk to him because this week was making everything confusing and going off and losing her virginity to a complete asshole hadn't helped matters any. But he'd disappeared. Asshole.

So now she had to go into the fucking club and -- what? Why was anyone still coming? What the fuck was wrong with them!?

"Why do I have to talk every week?!" George snapped, smacking her hand on one of the desks. "Why can't any of you be bothered to fucking do something, if you're going to show up? Stop coming! And if you're going to show up, then fucking act like you're here and don't just sit there like you think you're invisible! I hate this club! This whole fucking week has been total bullshit and now I have to sit here and talk to all of you people?"

She fell into her seat in a huff. "Everyone with a Y-chromosome, go fuck yourself. That's today's assignment or activity or whatever. Write an essay on why men are scum and which one you'd kill first. Or set something I fire. I don't even fucking care."

... Just another cheerful day in Apathy Club!

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Might be wise this week, considering that the dead girl has gone off the rails.

Also, you know, apathy.

Jonothon... brought a kitten, today.

There was logic behind this course of action, and that logic was: It was difficult to want to do the bump and grind with anybody when there was a squeaky kitten peering out from the top of your zipped jacket.

So far, it was working.

George's tirade made babies cry.

No, really. The two fucking annoying robot babies that Squall had to carry around for the next week just started wailing their heads off.

Squall couldn't throw them against the wall, so he tried to shush them as best as he could and glared daggers at George.

"How did you end up with two?" George asked.

She was never taking that Ethics class. Ever. But her roommate had ended up with a fake robot baby, which was the only way George knew that Squall wasn't just playing with dolls here.

Squall shrugged. "Dunno. Ask Master Skywalker."

Maybe it was some kind of test or whatever. Really, he didn't care.

"Do they have an off-switch?" George asked. "Like if you hit them with a hammer?"

George didn't have maternal instincts. It was probably for the best.

Squall gazed at her sternly. "Not if I want credit for the assignment."

"So then fail the assignment," George suggested. "Who fucking cares?"

Squall shrugged. "I dunno. Whatever."

He couldn't allow himself to be kicked out of school, because he needed to protect Rinoa. If George had a problem with that, she could fuck right off.

"No, seriously," George said. "You care about what grades you get here? This school is bullshit."

Squall shrugged again. "Failure isn't an option," he announced.

"Overachiever much?" George asked.

"Only if I care enough," Squall answered. He could be an overachiever at everything, sure, but why bother?

"So why do you care?" George asked. "Showing off?"

Re: Hang Out In the Back, Avoid Eye Contact, And Be Sullen

whateverknight.livejournal.com - 2010-11-13 02:42 (UTC) - Expand

Well.

... That was... mildly amusing.

Rosalind leaned back in her chair and resisted the urge to show said amusement.

"What, no solidarity from the sisterhood?" George groused.

There wasn't much venom behind it. At least not compared to how there could have been.

Rosalind arched an eyebrow. "I would prefer to save my distaste for those who've personally given me reason to dislike them and you gave precious little of that during your..."

Outburst.

"Opening comments."

Oh. Okay. George could elaborate.

"Men are pigs," she said. "There's not much more to it than that."

Well. For certain values of 'elaborate.'

... That eyebrow was staying up, yes.

"Had a bad experience?" she enquired.

"Did something stupid," George said, grudgingly. Because, well, it had been stupid. She could admit that. "I probably don't need to ... elaborate on the finer points, do I?"

The story sort of filled itself in, at that point.

She shook her head. Once, twice. Just slightly.

"No need for further elaboration."

Rosalind considered the matter for a few moments.

"Have you considered payback?"

George gave that full consideration. It was tempting. Except ...

"I don't think ... that'd be right," she said, with more maturity than even she was expecting. "It's more my fault than anything. He didn't lie. I just ..."

Had Puck convinced her he was her boyfriend, and then pulled this, she'd be all for revenge. But all he'd done was ... leave, afterwards, which had to be what she would have expected, if she had thought about it beforehand. She just ... hadn't. And so it felt wrong and cold, somehow, but it might be what people did.

She was bad at this. Not the sex part, the whole ... interpersonal relationships.

That got a long silence.

"Then," she said, fumbling for words and knowing what she wanted to say but not sure how it was going to come out. "Is it quite--honest--to be blaming him?"

"Not really," she said. "I don't know. I feel like I should. I feel like ..."

She didn't have words for it. Not really. But if she didn't understand it, how was she expecting anyone else to?

She shook her head. "I dunno how I feel," she said. "It just kind of sucks."

Rosalind inclined her head.

"Write it out," she suggested mildly. "Then burn your writing so no one else can see it, perhaps?"

Re: Hang Out In the Back, Avoid Eye Contact, And Be Sullen

onapalebicycle.livejournal.com - 2010-11-13 04:35 (UTC) - Expand

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