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apathy. room. words. minimalism.

George wasn't sure she even wanted to run Apathy Club today. On the one hand, it was kind of her friends (shut up) and she could use some friends right now (shut up right now). On the other, she wasn't going to admit that and besides, Jeremy might be there and she didn't want to make him feel weird about that or put either of them in an awkward position and -- see, this was why having friends and/or possible guys you dated and/or social groups was stupid.

But anyway. She was here. She was going to hunch over her desk and ignore everything. More than usual. If people wanted to fucking do something, then they shouldn't be at Apathy Club. She should have brought a book.

No, she should take a nap. That was a better idea. She was going to ball her coat up on the desk and see if she could convincingly fake a nap.

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Juliet wasn't signing in because she wasn't really in this club, and because from what Jeremy said things were weird with him and George anyhow. But it was an open classroom, right? So she might just happen to be hanging out in it, flipping through French Vogue and contemplating whether she should actually paint her nails with the polish in her bag or go and get them done over the weekend. She'd handed Winter-the-droid off to Hanna, so it wasn't like she had anything else to do.

Whatever.

Okay, George was faking a nap, but ... that got her attention. Juliet was here?

She couldn't tell if Jeremy's twin was here to beat her up, spy on her, or, um, maybe just talk. Or possibly Jeremy had sold Juliet on Apathy Club itself and it had absolutely nothing to do with her at all.

She glanced over at French Vogue with idle interest and pretended to be somewhat bored and just looking for a place to look. Really.

Edited 2011-11-11 22:33 (UTC)

"Hi," Juliet said, relatively quietly. She'd come about eighty percent for the spying, twenty percent for the talking.Jeremy had said things were weird and this maybe wasn't the best time for her and George to talk, but if they just happened to be in the same place...

"So. How are things?"

"I've ... been better," George admitted. It was okay to say that, right? Juliet knew that ... things were weird with Jeremy, right? Wait, what if she didn't? What if she thought things were completely fine and George wasn't supposed to let on? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Well, it was kind of late for that, so she was just going to roll with it, and if she was the one who outed it, then ... then Jeremy was going to have to deal with the fact that George wasn't always good at lying off the top of her head. In fact, most of the time she wasn't. Sorry.

"Sorry if club's a little ... boring," she said. "We kind of ... show up and hate things. It's our shtick."

"How come you decided you needed a club for it?" Juliet asked, genuinely curious. She always figured hating things could be kind of a solitary activity. "It's cool, anyhow. I just didn't have anything else to do."

"At first, I was trying to get detention," George confessed, allowing a small smile to creep out. "There was a club fair and I'm ... really not a joiner? So I filled out a form that was a gigantic Fuck You to clubs and figured I'd get in trouble, and instead they made me run it, and ..."

She shrugged, sheepishly. "It just became a thing." Sad, but true. "A non-club. A club for people who suck at clubs. Something."

"Oh," Juliet said, and let herself smile a bit because George was smiling. "I think I maybe suck at clubs. I mean, every semester, I sign up for sorority, and every semester, I go maybe twice. It's all really ... midwestern and wholesome."

She was from New York and far, far too cool for such things.

"I can't do wholesome," George said, shaking her head. "I keep thinking it's like a big parody or something. I can't imagine just ... going, hey, this is super-duper totally what I wanted to be doing today."

George: not a joiner.

"You could always come hang out with us," she offered. "We sort of ... um. Do this, basically. But nobody makes you act like you give a fuck, and you could ditch most of the time if you felt like it, anyway."

She was pretty sure they had a few members who never showed. Not even coming to Apathy Club in the first place deserved some kind of overachiever medal, all things considered.

Edited 2011-11-12 01:25 (UTC)

"Sure. If Jeremy's going to be here I should maybe come anyhow," Juliet said, with a little shrug and a fidgety flick of a page of her magazine. "I usually like what he likes, and he likes coming here. But he's way, way better at zoning out than I am. He's basically the doing nothing king of the world."

George couldn't help flinching at Jeremy's name. Dammit.

"He might ... not ... be coming so much any more," George said, deciding to be very fascinated by her fingernails for a minute. "Things got weird."

Very helpful details, there.

"Do you mean, doing nothing, like, watching movies and playing video games nothing, or doing absolutely nothing, like staring at a wall?"

She could respect that. It took effort to amuse yourself with nothing whatsoever.

"Oh, sorry -- he told me," Juliet said, matter-of-fact. "But he also said he still walked you home and he was still into you, so I figure he'll probably come back sometime." She smiled. "It's good to talk to you without him around, anyhow. Kind of a ... sister chat thing."

She bit her lip briefly in response to the question. "He's really good at it either way."

"He ... said he was still into me?" George asked, glancing over hopefully.

Say, if Juliet wanted a good read on where George stood, she was not exactly being subtle, here.

"I mean -- I'm, you know. I'm giving him space, to ..."

Wait, hang on.

"What ... how much did he ... tell you?" she asked, biting her lip. Juliet hadn't given her any strange looks yet, so either Jeremy had kept it vague or Juliet was seriously cool about the undead. Which would be fucking awesome.

Juliet replayed her last conversation with Jeremy in her head.

"He implied it," she said. "I mean, if he wasn't he definitely would have said, and he didn't. All he said was, um, there was something serious and big about you, and you weren't pregnant and you had never been arrested, but he couldn't tell me what it was."

She leaned forward, lowered her voice as she set aside the urge to pout. "Are you in witness protection? I promise I won't tell."

George's eyes got wide around the word 'pregnant.'

"Nothing like that," she said. "I'm not -- no. It isn't ... anything legal or ... definitely not ... the pregnant one. It's ..."

Wow. Juliet probably didn't want to know, and especially not here, and not just finding out like this.

"Really, really complicated," is what she went with, instead. "Do you ... know people who are in witness protection?" she asked, sensing a possible new topic. "I mean, you don't have to tell me who they are. Um. Obviously."

The pregnant guess was Jeremy's fault; he'd said in trouble and Juliet liked old movies, where girls were often in trouble that way.

"Noooo....." she said quizzically, tilting her head to the side. "Do most people? That they know about, anyhow?"

Was she missing out on some hot trend, not having a friend in Witness Protection? She had just guessed it because it seemed to be the next possibility. She'd be moving on to "leukemia sufferer," soon.

Edited 2011-11-12 03:31 (UTC)

George had to consider that.

"I don't think so," she said. "At least, not our age. You'd think people in witness protection our age are probably there because of their parents, right? Like their dad informed on the mob and the whole family fled, not because they know something. I mean, being a mob informant at like 16, that'd be unreal."

"I know, right?" Juliet agreed, distracted for the moment from the question of what was up with George. "It'd be an interesting story, but I don't think it happens hardly ever. I've never even met anybody I knew for sure was in the Mob."

[OOC: Night, sp?]

"I don't think we get much of the mob in Seattle," George mused. "It's too rainy. Just lots of disaffected college kids listening to punk music and way too many coffee shops. Unless there's some kind of college mob I haven't heard about."

(night! yes, please! <3 )

"It'd be a really good story if there was one," Juliet said. "Good cover, right? I bet people look right past punk college kids all of the time."

"Makes you wonder how the power structure would work," George said. "By the time you train up a good bag man, you'd already be graduating."

She hesitated, then said, "I should warn you, 'bag man' is, like, the only mafia term I know, and I'm not really sure what it means."

"It means you handle the money," Juliet said. "I watch a lot of movies."

"See?" George laughed. "You can totally be higher ranked in our mafia than me. You know how it works. You can be the don. That's the other term I know. Should I be the bag man or do I get a fancier-sounding name?"

Nobody had said they should start a mafia, but, well, she was bored, why not?

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apathy. room. words. minimalism.

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