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Post by Taylor Dear on Nov 24, 2006 1:16:39 GMT -5
Taylor came back, no more than five minutes later, with random splotches of sunblock over her back.
"That was the most unrewarding attempt at promscuity," she pouted. "Not that you can tell Hunter I did that though," her oversized brown eyes bugged our again as she struggled to get back onto the pavement. She was a little insecure about her and Hunter's situation, and was irrationally worried about the reprecussions of asking someone to help her with her sunblock.
She reached her arms up, trying and failing miserably to elongate her overwhelmingly....small figure. She squinted her eyes and twisted around a little bit. That was until she noticed something was more than a little wrong.
"My top!," she wailed, grasping for the ties of her swimsuit, and debating wether to break into sobs or blush profusely and do triple chores after her parents heard about this. Not that she did chores in the first place, but if her father heard about this, she probably would.
"Fabien, I'm not sure if you're aquainted with Hunter, but if you are, let's keep this out little indiscretion, okay? Okay!," she started babbling, her face already burning and around the color of a bottle or Cranberry Cocktail.
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Post by Fabien Berléand on Nov 24, 2006 1:21:30 GMT -5
"Ew."
And he looked at her, his face with feigned disgust, and put an arm over his forehead. He needed not only a towel, but a pair of sun glasses. He had a few options here. He could steal Taylor's, or he could steal Taylor's. It was a daunting decision. Or, he could even go without sunglasses. That would be the antithesis of couture though. Plus, it seemed like the situation justified a pair of sunglasses. Who doesn't want to protect their eyes from..whatever? Seriously. Whatever, period. Anyone who didn't go for their eyes first is crazy.
"I'm still waiting for a towel."
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Post by Adalyn Hayes on Nov 24, 2006 1:21:38 GMT -5
And the Botox Queen was back. Ada didn't bother controlling her laugh and burst out at the girl and her blotches, and of course her receding swimsuit. Damn this day was amusing.
"Nice."
She abandoned her hair and grabbed a Horse Illustrated magazine from her bag, choosing to ignore the bastard's persistant request.
(This is embarassingly short.)
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Post by Fabien Berléand on Nov 24, 2006 1:27:33 GMT -5
Horse Illustrated? Who the fuck read "Horse Illustrated"? What was that, even? Horse Illustrated? He couldn't get that out of his mind. It was worse than the man in a lemon-colored pair of spandex shorts doing water aerobics. It was unfathomable. You knew in the back of your mind that it existed, but...what the hell? Again, Horse Illustrated? That was breaching a few borders, right there. Horse Illustrated? Not that he was one to dwell, but please. That was beyond...anything he'd encountered. It was so prep school girl circa third grade.
"I need a pair of sun glasses."
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Post by Adalyn Hayes on Nov 24, 2006 1:34:44 GMT -5
Ada looked up with raised brow, yet again. Sunglasses? What, he couldn't afford to bring some? Were the French lacking in brain cells as well as manners? Ada shook her head in disbelief. She looked back at her magazine, reading but not seeing the words.
Ada leaned over and pulled a pair of Gucci sunglasses and slipped them on. She turned and smiled in an obnoxiously polite way. She then leaned back and extended her legs and relaxed, holding up the magazine to continue reading, although she was smiling so hard inside that it was pointless.
"Thanks for the idea, Perdedor."
He could call her dyke, but she could call him a loser.
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Post by Fabien Berléand on Nov 24, 2006 12:06:08 GMT -5
Perdedor? This was the second time she'd partook in slipping that into conversation. Very much like alcoholic fruit drinks, there was something pedestrian about Spanish. You spoke Spanish in Spain. Otherwise, Spanish, especially this variety of South American Spanish (which was very different than the dialects of Spanish you would find in Spain), was reserved for...well, not for Fabien, I can tell you that much. Now, don't get me wrong, he recognized Spanish. He recognized Spain as a country, as well as Spanish culture. Just not South American culture. What was there to recognize? Brazil? Brazilians spoke Portugeuse, so there was nothing to worry about.
He glanced over at Taylor. He was now in need of two things: sun glasses and a towel. Hey Asian, get to it.
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Post by Adalyn Hayes on Nov 25, 2006 0:35:55 GMT -5
Ada was completely disgusted with this guy's vulgar display of arrogance. How could he possibly expect to insult people according to his assumptions, and then be perfectly calm about the matter? He was gross. Filthy. Digusting. Ada wanted to spit into his face right then, regardless of how childish it would be. It would indeed be childish. People in this town, this class, didn't just go around spitting in faces. Ada had no desire to be kicked out of the Club; being shunned by everyone was enough, but to lose her right to come and relax was unbearable to even dream of.
She considered leaving, just standing up and walking away. That would be perfect. She wouldn't have to see him, speak to him. She wouldn't be called dyke, or be ordered around, or be treated like a lower class.
The fact that she would see him again was undeniable, a complete and likely possibility. That would be torture, especially if she gave him the right and reason to gloat. And if she walked away now, she would do just that. He would have that right, because it would be he had won. He had insulted her to the point of leaving, of running, of hiding.
Ada wouldn't do that. She couldn't. There was no excuse for giving up, for backing down, for giving in. And she would be doing that if she left. She might as well hand him a gleaming trophy, because he would win. No, she couldn't leave. Not now. Not until she had the last laugh.
But what could she say?
"You might want to leave. The sun's no good little pansies and gay boys."
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