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Post by Cassidy Marcellus Jarnot on Jul 18, 2011 21:15:28 GMT -6
Cassidy pulled out a chair, face expressionless as the legs scraped shrilly against the flooring, and settled himself into the plastic seat. Inwardly he cringed as he stared blankly toward his plate of food. He did not like dining within the cafeteria, but somehow fate had decided to place him there. A muscle within his jaw twitched, a brief signal of his displeasure. Trivial chatter swirled about the room in high-pitched notes, clashing irritably against his eardrums. Unscrewing the cap to his bottle of water, Cassidy reached into his breast pocket and produced a small jar of pills. He shook two out and placed the medicine into the palm of his hand, before eagerly popping them onto his tongue. Swallowing the crisp liquid, he sighed praying that his mounting headache would soon vanish. Cassidy needed something to take his mind off of his daily stress, hopefully the food would do just that.
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Post by landn on Jul 19, 2011 21:34:37 GMT -6
Precila rolled into the cafeteria on her skates as she always did and picked out what she thought looked edible. Today she was a little less dramatic in her attire, wearing only faded jeans, a white shirt with the words ART SPEAKS on it in black, bold lettering, and a fedora. Her make up was black eyeliner, not too thick, and some bright pink lip gloss.
Looking around, she saw that there was barely any place to sit and that her friends hadn't arrived yet. Her eyes landed on a table that was completely emptie save for a lone boy. He looked older than Cil herself and judging by his friend status he was probably either a nerd or outcast.
Precila sighed and made her way over to the table sitting a few seats opposite and away from the guy, so as not to be associated with him. She set her plate down and nodded at the boy briefly before switching her skates for her favorite sneakers.
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Post by Itzel Amelia McQueen on Jul 19, 2011 21:51:20 GMT -6
Sparkly, rhinestone-encrusted earbuds sat perfectly in Itzel's ears. The music pulsing through them drowned out the white noise created by the students in the cafeteria. Earlier, Itzel had passed by the 'food' provided by the school and all she could do was scrunch up her nose and walk away. It had all looked so unappettizing. Not to mention, smelling completly rancid. She had never been a big fan of meals intended to serve many people; usually, more people lesser quaity. Mass production, in her opinion, never turned out to be a good thing.
Peering down at the papers on the lunch table in front of her, Itzel scratched a few random notes down as thoughts came to her. She was brainstorming for an end of the year project due in her film class. The topic of which the professor provided was so impossibly vague, Itzel could hardly discern what the teacher was specifically looking for. It drove her to borderline insanity. She had to be perfect. This project had to be perfect, or she would surely go mad.
The lunch period had started roughly five minutes prior and her table was still empty. Itzel figured it had something to do with her studying. Most kids would prefer to chat and socialize during their midday break. Out of habit, she anxiously clicked and unclicked her pen, gazing begrudgingly at the scatter of papers. Still studying the ink, Itzel took a dainty sip of her black tea; it was still scalding hot and burned her tongue and the roof of her mouth. With a crinkle of her nose, she cringed at the horrible feeling.
It was just then when a boy, appearing to be her age plopped down in a chair across from her. It appeared, he didn't realize her presence. But she didn't mind, so long as he didn't pester her. Though, as Itzel began to silently study him, she realised that, like her, he wasn't a big fan of the cafeteria and the horrid excuse for food that they provided. She had given up years ago, electing simply bring her own lunch or even eat nothing at all. Today was one of those days when studies trumped her need for fuel. Raising a skeptical eyebrow at his 'pill popping', she took the peachy-pink glittery headphones out of her ears. "Care to share?" Itzel inquired, just loud enough for him to hear, a muted smirk tracing her bold, red lips.
Feeling incredibly invisible, Itzel pursed her lips unhappily as the scene girl ignored her and only aknowledged the boy who sat at her table. How was it possible that she, a posh tottie - who happened to dress unbelievably ahead of the fashion curve - be completly disregarded? It was an absolute offense. But to make a scene was below her. That was a scene kid's job. There was no other way for them to draw attention to themselves than dress oddly, start rumors, and throw tantrums.
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Post by Cassidy Marcellus Jarnot on Jul 19, 2011 22:49:45 GMT -6
Stabbing a piece of romaine lettuce with his fork, Cassidy chewed thoughtfully on the greenery barely looking up as a scene girl sat off to the side. Begrudgingly he nodded toward her in polite acknowledgment, unsure if perhaps at a later date she would be useful. He swallowed, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a stark-white napkin, allowing his gaze to settle back onto his food. Scene kids bothered him somewhat, though he tried not to be prejudice against the other cliques within Wigmore (as he found the drama to be senseless ), wannabe’s and scene kids always found a way to crawl beneath his skin. Cassidy set his fork aside, reaching once more for his bottled water until another presence caught his attention. Staring straight ahead he noticed another girl, a posh totty, flooded by a sea of papers. He arched an eyebrow in nosy curiosity, wondering what it was that she was working so diligently on.
He blinked, pursing his lips, as she inquired about his medication. Inwardly he pondered if she were another wasted druggie that attended the academy but decided against it; her smirk and overall appearance displaying the playfulness within her comment. It was unfortunate that he failed to see the humor in it, but then again he failed to see the humor in most anything. Opening his mouth, Cassidy stated firmly, “No, I do not.”
He slipped the bottle of pills back into his breast pocket and picked up his fork; trailing the tongs across his salad. His eyes peered over to the scene girl and narrowed at her skates. He found the footwear to be simply preposterous, especially considering the location. Such things should never be worn in a place where people dine, or at least that is what he thought. Already the girl had begun to boil his blood and she had yet to say a single word. Chewing his food, he gulped inquiring loudly so that both could hear, “I suppose I should ask you both your names and if your day had been well.” He stared expectantly at them both, patiently waiting for an answer.
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Post by landn on Jul 21, 2011 11:14:49 GMT -6
Precila watched the boy talk to some Posh Tottie. She couldn't stand them. They were dumb as bricks and brand whores. This one though seemed somewhat smart as she had papers of some project scattered about her, but no food. She didn't get how you can come to the cafeteria and not eat.
Shrugging it off, Cil listened as the guy asked their names and how their day was. Her brow furrowed at this for she usually didn't socialize with anyone that she didn't already know or was introduced to by a friend. But today she decided to go against it for once. Precila, but don't call me that. Cil is fine or even just That Girl just not Precila. It's too preppy for me. And my day has been.. Cil thought for a minute about her day.
She had been late to class, then got a detention for that. The reason she was late was because her roommate had turned her alarm clock off because she thought it was annoying. Then, as she was trying to make it to class on her skates, Cil's backpack busted and her stuff went everywhere. Not only that, but s group of popular watched the whole thing happen and didn't even help. Actually, they just laughed. So, after her minute of thought she answered with, Not the best. |
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Post by Itzel Amelia McQueen on Jul 22, 2011 13:03:46 GMT -6
Itzel eyed the boy wairly. Someone without a decent sense of humor always sent up a red flag. It almost screamed, 'look out I'm too good for sarcasim.' Though, Itzel was indeed a posh tottie and took most things incredibly literally she had a strange, almost morbid, humor about her. She found it incredibly unattractive when someone didn't know how to take a joke. And despite this guy's seeming to lack a funny bone in his body, there was something oddly intriguing about his dark, stoic expression. Itzel let out a hallow laugh, "It was a joke," she informed lightly giggling a bit more genuinely at his stuffiness.
Raking a hand through her wavy, strawberry-blonde tresses, Itzel let out a deep breath as she scribbled a few notes onto one of her many papers. Her handwriting was a sketcy scrawl that was nearly illegible to even her but with context clues, she wasn't going to worry about being unable to figure it out later. Itzel would deal with it when she came back to it. Then the boy spoke again. The way he sounded, he could've been a posh tottie but she hadn't seen him with her clique before. As a matter of fact, she didn't believe that she had seen him anywhere before. Just as Itzel was about to reply to him the scene girl spoke up. Listening intently, she watched Cil as she talked. For a moment, Itzel wanted to scold her for being so stupid. The boy was merely asking the two of them out of common courtesy and not because he really cared. But she refrained from being blunt - something out of the ordinary - and gave a light frown of displeasure that Cil had not been having a plesant day. The scene girl seemed nice enough and did not yet do anything to warrant Itzel's sharp tongue. Though, scene kids left her with a residual bad taste in her mouth, this one wasn't as sour as the others.
"My name is Itzel," she introduced herself with a kind, welcoming smile, revealing perfect white teeth. She didn't feel the need to tell them how she was. Itzel felt it wasn't classy to elaborate on herself. It was direct way to draw attention to oneself. She prefered other means of getting all eyes on her. Out of habit, Itzel shook her head so to flip her hair off of her shoulders. Silently, she chastised herself for not bringing a hair elastic, her locks had been bothering her all day. Then, she remembered she had a ribbon in her Prada satchel. Picking it off the floor and placing it in her lap, Itzel dug around the bag when finally her fingers met the silky surface. With thin, nimble fingers she tied her hair up in the navy blue ribbon, polishing it off with a bow.
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