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Post by Fabien Berléand on Nov 23, 2006 23:38:07 GMT -5
Est-ce difficile trouver une cravate plus odieuse que vous?
If they weren't so far up their own asses, the Berleand family might have enjoyed the country club. They might have enjoyed what country clubs, in their entirety, had to offer. Country clubs were emblems of the elite. They were exclusive, they were high-end, they were social, they were socialized. Country clubs were where the wealthy went to bitch about the wealthy, where the middle class sometimes snooped around with 'I'm a visitor of...' name tags, and where the lower class were given a opportunity to garden. Country clubs were breeding grounds for class discrimination, it was where elitism at its best thrived. So what if there was, in actuality, only one class that came and went? It was still segregation and it was segregation to an extreme.
They were the upper class Anglos, and always would be. Of course though, you had your country club culture: the few odd French and Italians. Sometimes an Asian would wander in, but it was rare. The Germans were regulars, no doubt. Country club were attractions for post modern Nazism. Romanticized Nazism, but a form of this nonetheless. And on the other end, they were also a playgrounds for Jews. So let's rephrase this. They were your upper class Anglos and Jews, and always would be. Of course though, you had your country club culture.
Which was, of course, when the Italian and French wandered in. It brings us to the original statement: If the Berleands weren't so far lodged god only knows where, they would enjoy country clubs. Instead of sitting poolside, like Fabien was currently critiquing every Tom, Dick and Harry's bathing suit choice. Hey, it was better than critiquing their ties. Which had happened for an extended of period in the lounge -- but that was another story. |
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Post by Taylor Dear on Nov 23, 2006 23:50:55 GMT -5
It's amazing what nice weather can do to people. Especially people like Taylor, who had pledged to never step foot into the country club, if only for the fact she hated the color white by itself, didn't enjoy team sports, and her parents didn't condone two peice bathing suits.
But, even her parents couldn't stop her from leaving their Fort Knox of a home and heading for the sterile, elitism of the country club. She even stepped it up a notch, wearing not her usual gold lame one peice, but a Miss Sixty platinum lame two peice. Hell, she couldn't completely leave her comfort zone. She walked out to the pool area, her matching platinum beach bag slung over one shoulder, and her white monogrammed beach towel at the hip.
Her inexplicably ridiculous wedges made a weird clopping sound across the cement, but she somehow managed to not kill herself, and dropped her things on a pool chair, before following them in descent. She crossed her deperatley pale legs, and searched through her bag for her newest pair of ridiculous sunglasses, forced upon her during a recent shopping trip by...someone. It wasn't that they were tacky, becase they weren't, they were just so...huge. She pulled her jet black hair out of its elastic and shook it around just for good measure before sizing up the crowd. Some boys from school, their mothers, sisters and...Fabien. A more than familiar face. She stood back up, reluctant to take off her wedged, and walked up to him.
She smiled, "Hello stranger.'
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Post by Adalyn Hayes on Nov 23, 2006 23:59:16 GMT -5
Ada had never understood the point of the Country Club scheme, nor the drive of the rich to attend one. Only arrogance and those radiating it could be found in such a place, grasping for the chance to flaunt their status. It was social capital at it's best, and those who had it were not afraid to show it. The clubs were brimming with racism and predujuce against unorthodox groups and lower classes, subjects unspoken of and often denied by those accused.
All this Ada pondered as she made her way towards the pool, feeling slightly hypocritical to be thinking this and yet standing next to the luxurious swimming area of the Collingstead Country Club.
She lazily tossed her towel onto a lounge chair and sat down to remove her heels. Why the hell did I wear these things to a pool? She let her hair fall of a clip and onto her back, glancing to her side as she did. She found herself sitting next to a seemingly smug European guy, who was obviously critiquing the pool-goers. Ada rolled her eyes and continued to shed her shorts and shirt.
She stood and walked to the pools edge, immediately diving in.
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Post by Fabien Berléand on Nov 24, 2006 0:03:59 GMT -5
"Tu devries poursuivre Miss Sixty en justice."
Or in other words, you should sue Miss Sixty. There were a few things fundamentally wrong with scenario. First things first, a petite Asian girl was getting dissed by a Frenchman sitting poolside in a Speedo. If that wasn't enough, it was a Frenchman who apparently had a keen eye for brand names. Miss Sixty, no less. A little obscure for a teenage boy to recognize, don't you think? It's one thing to point out Juicy Couture, Burberry, Gucci -- something easily recognizable. Something that would allow for a 'His mother must have something like this', but Miss Sixty? Come on. Lastly, there was the denial of the language barrier he'd just set up. It would have been just as unfounded, just as assorted online acronym prompting for him to have said the same thing in English. Then again, this was Fabien.
He glanced over to the red-head. Hmm. Hmm as in 'I'm mentally giving your bathing suit an unfair critque'. |
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Post by Taylor Dear on Nov 24, 2006 0:12:20 GMT -5
"I'm not sure if I should be more worried how in the hell you know that this," she motioned at her swimsuit, " is Miss Sixty, or why you are sitting poolside, in a Speedo, sizing up a pool full of other guys in Speedo's," she shuddered. She had a minor...issue with guys without proper clothing on. She was by no means a prude, it was just one of her little ticks that made her slighly uncomfortable.
She attempted to sit down next to him without killing herself or looking un-lady like. Of course, trying to accomplish both at the same time put her in quite a predicament. Once she was sure that her backside was on concrete, she crossed her legs, and scooted backwards to protect her precious wedges from the chlorine. Even though, once she though about it, she doubted there was chlorine in this pool. She shrugged it off and turned to Fabien.
"Who was that?," she questioned, her head bowed, but her eyes raised. She was...inquisitive about the....new girl, to say the least.
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Post by Adalyn Hayes on Nov 24, 2006 0:13:56 GMT -5
Adalyn surfaced rather ungracefully to view the scene, curious about the preppy looking girl who had just approached that arrogant European guy. Ada felt foolish to not know these people, after all, the unwritten rule said that you should be born with such knowledge. Having just moved here from Florida was a poor excuse, and to question the identities of the rich was scandalous.
Even so, Ada had to admit to herself she had no idea who these two were. Sure, she had seen them around school. But she was a ghost, perhaps a myth, at that school. Nobody had bothered to say "Hello, glad to meet you. Let me share my infinite knowledge of Collingstead folk." Heaven forbid these people be decent and introduce themselves.
Ada pulled herself onto the ledge and squeezed the water out of her long hair, letting it splash back down into the pool. Her back was to the others, and she raised a brow when she heard the boy speak in French. Oh France, the birthplace of so many pompous rich.
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Post by Fabien Berléand on Nov 24, 2006 0:25:36 GMT -5
"Gouine!" it was better than 'Hey, you!'. Well, it sounded better than 'Hey, you!'. It was a tad more offensive than the aforementioned. Partially because the transliteration was: 'Dyke!', partially because...well, just that. Instead of it being a 'Hey, you!' type of greeting (if you could even call it that), it was a 'Hey, queer!' type of...whatever the hell it was. Could it really be categorized as a greeting? Could it be categorized as anything civil? He looked over towards her, to make sure she knew she was being spoken to. Granted, he was looking at her back, but he was still looking at her. People can 'feel' looks, right?
"Combien de vos clients sont morts?"
How many of your customers have died?
He was finding an answer to Taylor's question. |
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Post by Taylor Dear on Nov 24, 2006 0:32:47 GMT -5
Taylor suppressed a laugh, caused by a possible combination of things. The first was her obvious doubt that this..girl spoke French, or enough French to realize what Fabien just said, and the other reason was well, that Fabien just called 'new girl' a diseased dyke. She figured she should have reprimanded him for insulting 'new girl', but she was finding this exhange too funny to ruin it.
She gave him a look he probably couldn't see through her overwhelming sunglasses that said something along the lines of, "It's terrible you're making fun of 'new girl', but I'm not stopping you", before covering her mouth to prevent more giggles. Oh, would she hear it from her parents if she acted somewhat human infront of their peers!
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Post by Adalyn Hayes on Nov 24, 2006 0:35:04 GMT -5
Ada knew very well that that pompous freak was speaking to her, and she figured whatever he had said wasn't at all nice. Unfortunately she did not speak French, and was unable to fully understand.
But she understood enough. She smiled without turning around. God she loved a good fight. But then again, perhaps starting an argument with this kid was was not the best idea, considering he might very well be part of the French mafia for all she knew.
She stood and faced him. Sure he knew French. But did he know Spanish?
"Vas joderte."
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Post by Fabien Berléand on Nov 24, 2006 0:50:34 GMT -5
"Dyke, can you get me a towel?"
The time has come the Walrus said to...uh, speak in English. (Forget these washed out literature references.) Sure, there was a wide array of things that could have followed the contrived come back of 'screw yourself'. There were things he wanted to say. But he had prioritize. Priorities meant that he needed a towel. He'd neglected to get one in the beginning, and now he had this to go fetch him one. They'd make an ace team. He'd call her a dyke, and demand things and she could...He'd just call her a dyke and demand things. It works. |
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Post by Taylor Dear on Nov 24, 2006 0:54:15 GMT -5
Taylor's eyes bulged out of her head a she whipped off her sunglasses.
"If you're going to say crude things to people, at least use a dialect superior to Spanish," she hissed, she had a slight problem with the use of Spanish, and only because she had been raised of the opinion that you speak English, French, or nothing at all.
"Go get his towel, douche," she scoffed, taking up a sudden interest in her nails. Hey, she could get used to this whole 'I can exert power when my parents aren't around' lifestyle.
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Post by Adalyn Hayes on Nov 24, 2006 1:00:28 GMT -5
Ada rolled her eyes. This guy was exceeding the point of annoying and racing into obnoxiousness. A towel? Who the hell did this little pansy think he was? The little twit thought he could call her a dyke and demand her obedience?
Heh. No.
"Call me whatever you want, perdedor. You'd have better luck getting laid by a woman than getting a towel from me."
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Post by Taylor Dear on Nov 24, 2006 1:06:44 GMT -5
"I don't want to prematurely age and look like I'm 85 before prom, so if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go try and find someone to put my sunblock on for me," she gave the new girl one of her patented "my mother is making me do this" smiles, whipped her sunglasses back on, and tried to stand up. Emphasis on the tried. She teetered for a bit, not bothering to adjust her swimsuit, and sauntered off to her chair.
Once she got there, though, she let out all the small giggles she'd suppressed during Fabien and new girl's exchange. She found it highly amusing how he noticed a new girl and just decided to name her Dyke. Oh dear.
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Post by Fabien Berléand on Nov 24, 2006 1:07:54 GMT -5
"Baise moi, sil vous plait?"
If he had a fruity mixed drink, he'd take a sip now. Unfortunately, there was no sipping peachtinis or Strawberry daquiris for Fabien. It didn't matter much in the long run, though. Strawberry daquiris were awfully pedestrian. They were painfully pedestrian. And we couldn't have him stooping to that level, could we? We most certainly could not. He surveyed 'Dyke', as he'd christened her, and after a short pause spoke again.
"And then you can get me a towel." |
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Post by Adalyn Hayes on Nov 24, 2006 1:13:23 GMT -5
Ada raised a carefully waxed brow as the other girl waddled off. Well, as least there would be a lot less silicone in the area.
She returned to her chair and sat before attempting to dry herself off. Try as she may, her hair continued to shed water onto the previously dried spots. Within a few minutes Ada gave up and simply slipped on her shorts. She settled back into the chair and folded her slender legs into a pretzel-like position. It occurred to her that this might look dorky, but she chose to not care, and began to comb out her hair.
When he spoke yet again, she felt a strong annoyance that she did not know French. It would be so useful right now, especially since he didn't care to translate.
And the towel thing again? Jesus this guy was pushy.
"Apparently the message didn't get through that greasy hair of yours. I'm not getting you your damn towel."
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