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Realistic or Modern ๐๐จ๐๐จ๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ญ๐ญ๐๐ซ ๐ค๐ข๐ฌ๐ฌ๐๐ฌ. | starboy. x perlino
starboy.
nihilist blues.
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[div class=blk][div class=title]cj alexander
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[div class=lil]; prince(ss) of masonville high[/div][/div]
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CJ didn't belong here.
That much he knew was true, if he was going to be honest. He was supposed to be hanging out with his friends, wasting another Saturday away after another big win the night before, and yet he was being driven by his very furious father โ it wasn't my fault, dad! Well, if it wasn't your fault, then maybe you wouldn't be in trouble โ to detention at 7:47 AM sharp. The drive took maybe ten minutes max from his house, but his dad seemed to want to break almost every speed law, as if he was trying to scare CJ, or whatever. It didn't work. He wasn't twelve anymore, trying to keep his sister safe from his fathers drunk fists. He was seventeen, still getting beat up by his dad, but he wasn't scared of him anymore.
Lies. All lies.
A shudder ran through him, and his dad sent a glance his way. CJ quickly explained it as being cold, which his dad responded to with cranking the heat up in his truck.
CJ immediately got blasted in the face with hot air, way too warm, wanting to shed his varsity jacket, but unfortunately for him, he didn't want to see the bruises that encircled his arm. He probably should have mentioned the detention thing earlier, but he didn't really care.
He glanced at the clock again, fidgeting uncomfortably when he noticed it said 7:56 AM. He was supposed to be in detention at eight.
"You better slap yourself back into shape at the end of this detention, you hear me?" His father said, and CJ nodded, reaching forwards to grab the door handle and stilling when his dad gripped his shoulder tightly. "Or you'll be missing some more games this season. That'll look bad on college applications, missing games cause you can't get your stupid head on straight."
It was almost funny, he thought. His dad shouldn't scare him this bad anymore, he was seventeen years old, for christsake, and yet he felt like he was twelve years old again, bruises fresh on his cheek and the call to be more of a man. Yeah. Real funny.
He nodded slowly, muttering his acknowledgement and opening the door, catching his dad's eyes as he shut it, gripping his lunch bag (that CJ packed hastily the night before, hiding it behind the row of beer bottles that were in the fridge so that his dad wouldn't take anything out of it) tight in his hands as he headed towards the front door of the school. He could see other students, the people who he probably would be spending the day with, getting out of their respective cars, his shoulders tensing a little bit as he noticed that one of them was his fellow teammate, Ross Capoe, who happened to be one of the reasons CJ was in detention. Just fantastic.
As he made his way up the steps, he found himself curling in just ever so slightly, as if he was trying to hide his frame, hearing his dad's car pull out of the parking lot. His fingers curled around the handle of the door, yanking it open and making his way to the library, where detention was supposed to be held. He could see some other people inside when he opened the door, but he found the first available seat, sitting down and crossing his arms, setting them on the table and resting his chin on his arms. He didn't want to be here.
[/div][/div] [div class=pos][div class="round1 round"][/div] . [div class="round2 round"][/div] . [div class="round3 round"][/div] [div class=stats]mood: tired&grumpy | mentions: npcs | interaction: n/a
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That much he knew was true, if he was going to be honest. He was supposed to be hanging out with his friends, wasting another Saturday away after another big win the night before, and yet he was being driven by his very furious father โ it wasn't my fault, dad! Well, if it wasn't your fault, then maybe you wouldn't be in trouble โ to detention at 7:47 AM sharp. The drive took maybe ten minutes max from his house, but his dad seemed to want to break almost every speed law, as if he was trying to scare CJ, or whatever. It didn't work. He wasn't twelve anymore, trying to keep his sister safe from his fathers drunk fists. He was seventeen, still getting beat up by his dad, but he wasn't scared of him anymore.
Lies. All lies.
A shudder ran through him, and his dad sent a glance his way. CJ quickly explained it as being cold, which his dad responded to with cranking the heat up in his truck.
CJ immediately got blasted in the face with hot air, way too warm, wanting to shed his varsity jacket, but unfortunately for him, he didn't want to see the bruises that encircled his arm. He probably should have mentioned the detention thing earlier, but he didn't really care.
He glanced at the clock again, fidgeting uncomfortably when he noticed it said 7:56 AM. He was supposed to be in detention at eight.
"You better slap yourself back into shape at the end of this detention, you hear me?" His father said, and CJ nodded, reaching forwards to grab the door handle and stilling when his dad gripped his shoulder tightly. "Or you'll be missing some more games this season. That'll look bad on college applications, missing games cause you can't get your stupid head on straight."
It was almost funny, he thought. His dad shouldn't scare him this bad anymore, he was seventeen years old, for christsake, and yet he felt like he was twelve years old again, bruises fresh on his cheek and the call to be more of a man. Yeah. Real funny.
He nodded slowly, muttering his acknowledgement and opening the door, catching his dad's eyes as he shut it, gripping his lunch bag (that CJ packed hastily the night before, hiding it behind the row of beer bottles that were in the fridge so that his dad wouldn't take anything out of it) tight in his hands as he headed towards the front door of the school. He could see other students, the people who he probably would be spending the day with, getting out of their respective cars, his shoulders tensing a little bit as he noticed that one of them was his fellow teammate, Ross Capoe, who happened to be one of the reasons CJ was in detention. Just fantastic.
As he made his way up the steps, he found himself curling in just ever so slightly, as if he was trying to hide his frame, hearing his dad's car pull out of the parking lot. His fingers curled around the handle of the door, yanking it open and making his way to the library, where detention was supposed to be held. He could see some other people inside when he opened the door, but he found the first available seat, sitting down and crossing his arms, setting them on the table and resting his chin on his arms. He didn't want to be here.
[/div][/div] [div class=pos][div class="round1 round"][/div] . [div class="round2 round"][/div] . [div class="round3 round"][/div] [div class=stats]mood: tired&grumpy | mentions: npcs | interaction: n/a
location: masonville high school | outfit: here[/div][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=container]height: 340px; max-width: 500px; padding: 10px; margin: auto; background: #E08E79 [/class] [class=image]height: 100%; width: 33%; background-image: url(https://thelast-magazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/wTLM_KJApa_1-730x976.jpg); background-size: 160%; background-position: 55% 30% [/class] [class=blk]height: 100%; width: 65%; left: 35%; position: relative; top: -200px [/class] [class=title]position: relative; top: -120px; left: 0px; max-width: 235px; width: 100%; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 20px; color: #ECE5CE [/class] [class=line]height: 1px; width: 100%; background: #5a1527 [/class] [class=lil]position: relative; width: 96%; text-align: right; font-style: italic; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: 1px; color: #202020; [/class] [class=b]position: relative; left: 240px; top: -175px; height: 20%; width: 20%; padding: 5px; border-radius: 0px 100px 100px 100px; border: 1px solid #5a1527 [/class] [class=lilimage]height: 100%; width: 100%; border-radius: 0px 100px 100px 100px; background-image: url(https://78.media.tumblr.com/a504a739d337b26f7af8c44dabe05224/tumblr_inline_p5p05w0uIf1vydedz_540.gif); background-size: 120%; background-position: 60% 55% [/class] [class=info]position: relative; left: 0px; top: -165px; height: 245px; max-width: 310px [/class] [class=post]height: 190px; width: 101%; font-size: 10px; overflow: hidden [/class] [class=scroll]height: 100%; width: 100%; overflow-y: scroll; text-align: justify; padding-right: 30px [/class] [class=pos]position: relative; top: 15px; height: 35px; max-width: 305px; text-align: center; color: transparent; overflow: hidden [/class] [class=round]position: relative; display: inline-block; height: 25px; width: 25px; border-radius: 100%; background: #774F38; transition: 0.7s; [/class] [class=round2]transition: 0.7s; display: inline-block; height: 25px; width: 25px; border-radius: 100%; background: #C5E0DC [/class] [class=round3]transition: 0.7s; display: inline-block; height: 25px; width: 25px; border-radius: 100%; background: #ECE5CE [/class] [class=bla]background: #774F38 [/class] [class=ble]background: #C5E0DC [/class] [class=blo]background: #ECE5CE [/class] [class=stats]position: relative; top: 10px; width: 100%; margin: auto;font-weight: 800; font-size: 9px; color: white [/class] [script class=post on=mouseenter] addClass bla round1 addClass ble round2 addClass blo round3 [/script] [script class=post on=mouseleave] removeClass bla round1 removeClass ble round2 removeClass blo round3 [/script] [script class=pos on=mouseenter] addClass up round addClass up stats removeClass down round removeClass down2 stats [/script] [script class=pos on=mouseleave] addClass down round addClass down2 stats addClass up round addClass up stats [/script] [class name=up] animation-name: {post_id}up; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 0.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=up] [keyframe=0]top: 0px[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]top: -30px[/keyframe] [/animation] [class name=down] animation-name: {post_id}down; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 0.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=down] [keyframe=0]top: -30px[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]top: 0px[/keyframe] [/animation] [class name=down2] animation-name: {post_id}down2; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 0.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=down2] [keyframe=0]top: -30px[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]top: 10px[/keyframe] [/animation]
perlino
ponyboy
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[div class="container"][div class="containercont"][div class="chapterpic"][/div] [div class="scroll"][div class="scrollbox"][div class="title"]MARZUKI ROBERTS[/div][div class="text"]As Marzuki Roberts' mother once said, "Every artist must suffer for their passion". When he first heard it, he was an innocent child who had no idea what she meant. Who would want to hurt an artist? Don't they just want to draw? Now, as a bored teenager holed up in a stuffy library on a Saturday, he understands. But goddamnit, it was worth the dawning horror on Mr. Christensen's as he realized that yes- yes, that was him in the detailed, spray-painted diagram. And yes, he was doing that - and yes, with Mr. Dawson. Oh-my-good-lord-why?
He didn't know. Maybe just for funsies. Or maybe there was an earlier event that added fuel to his flames, but Marzuki doubted Mr. Christensen was well-versed enough in putting two and two together. Or coming up with the answer in a tasteful manner.
When Mr. Christensen called for a school-wide investigation for the culprit, Marzuki was the first to be brought under review. He wasn't a liar, so he admitted his guilt before they could cross his name off the suspect list. Yes, he was aware of the three-strike policy. And yes, he was aware he had only one remaining after the incident in the empty classroom and the posh boy in the polo shirt. If it wasn't for the principal's pity regarding his home life, he would've been booted without a second thought. But he was "lucky". How "lucky" you had to be to have a seat in school on a Saturday, he didn't know.
Although he was disrespectful brat, Marzuki was never late. Even if arriving early meant enduring Mr. Christensen's pointed rant about the "poisoned minds of the youth these days". He leaned back in his chair, legs propped up on the table and arms crossed behind his head to cushion his neck. The blonde girl next to him scoffed, but didn't so much as shift in her seat. Christensen turned an even more suffocating shade of red, but stormed off before he could lecture Marzuki about the importance of personal appearances. Well, he was here, wasn't he? That was making enough difference already.
He closed his eyes, letting Christensen's return and the arrival of other detainees wash over him. The emergence of new people became slower and slower until it came to a full stop, which Marzuki assumed to mean that detention was starting soon. He swung his legs off the table and sat up straight, a look of faux interest playing across his face. Just as he was about to raise his hand and ask a question crude enough to get an angered response, the door opened one more time.
Standing at the door was CJ Alexander, star of Masonville High's sports teams and Marzuki's wildest fantasies. "Hey. Move," he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, loud enough for the blonde to hear and low enough for anyone else to ignore. She scoffed again, stalking off with pursed lips. Sure enough, CJ settles into the open seat next to him. Marzuki's mouth curls into a smile as his heart hammers in his chest. He clears his throat.
When he's sure he has CJ's attention on him, he presses his tongue out against his inner cheek, forms an O with his hand, and lazily pretends to stroke the air up and down. He cuts his pantomime short with a laugh. "That remind you of anything?"
mood: interested | int: wife | music: x[/div][/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class="codetag"]coded by ukiiyo[/div]
He didn't know. Maybe just for funsies. Or maybe there was an earlier event that added fuel to his flames, but Marzuki doubted Mr. Christensen was well-versed enough in putting two and two together. Or coming up with the answer in a tasteful manner.
When Mr. Christensen called for a school-wide investigation for the culprit, Marzuki was the first to be brought under review. He wasn't a liar, so he admitted his guilt before they could cross his name off the suspect list. Yes, he was aware of the three-strike policy. And yes, he was aware he had only one remaining after the incident in the empty classroom and the posh boy in the polo shirt. If it wasn't for the principal's pity regarding his home life, he would've been booted without a second thought. But he was "lucky". How "lucky" you had to be to have a seat in school on a Saturday, he didn't know.
Although he was disrespectful brat, Marzuki was never late. Even if arriving early meant enduring Mr. Christensen's pointed rant about the "poisoned minds of the youth these days". He leaned back in his chair, legs propped up on the table and arms crossed behind his head to cushion his neck. The blonde girl next to him scoffed, but didn't so much as shift in her seat. Christensen turned an even more suffocating shade of red, but stormed off before he could lecture Marzuki about the importance of personal appearances. Well, he was here, wasn't he? That was making enough difference already.
He closed his eyes, letting Christensen's return and the arrival of other detainees wash over him. The emergence of new people became slower and slower until it came to a full stop, which Marzuki assumed to mean that detention was starting soon. He swung his legs off the table and sat up straight, a look of faux interest playing across his face. Just as he was about to raise his hand and ask a question crude enough to get an angered response, the door opened one more time.
Standing at the door was CJ Alexander, star of Masonville High's sports teams and Marzuki's wildest fantasies. "Hey. Move," he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, loud enough for the blonde to hear and low enough for anyone else to ignore. She scoffed again, stalking off with pursed lips. Sure enough, CJ settles into the open seat next to him. Marzuki's mouth curls into a smile as his heart hammers in his chest. He clears his throat.
When he's sure he has CJ's attention on him, he presses his tongue out against his inner cheek, forms an O with his hand, and lazily pretends to stroke the air up and down. He cuts his pantomime short with a laugh. "That remind you of anything?"
mood: interested | int: wife | music: x[/div][/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class="codetag"]coded by ukiiyo[/div]
Last edited:
starboy.
nihilist blues.
[div class=container][div class=image][/div]
[div class=blk][div class=title]cj alexander
[div class=line][/div]
[div class=lil]; prince(ss) of masonville high[/div][/div]
[div class=b][div class=lilimage][/div][/div]
[div class=info]
[div class=post][div class=scroll]
Of course, CJ knew of Marzuki. The high school was small enough that everybody knew everyone, but big enough to avoid them if you wanted. And it wasn't that CJ wasn't actively trying to avoid him. It's just more that they ran with different crowds, and Marzuki was the kind of person that CJ's dad would kill him over if they ever truly crossed paths. He'd been... admiring him from afar, if you wanted to say that. For far too long.
When he heard him clear his throat, CJ turned his head, lifting it up a little bit to see what he wanted, before feeling his eyes widen and the back of his neck flush red, quickly turning his head away, unsure what to say to that, if he could even say anything. He could feel his cheeks heating up too, which was just embarrassing. Jesus Christ. He laid his head back down on his arms, before hearing the teacher's voice, Mr. Christensen, if CJ wasn't mistaken, tell him to sit up straight, which his voice was in that same commanding tone that his dad used and it made CJ sit up straight almost immediately, his mind still racing from what occurred just mere moments ago.
Everyone knew about the rumor. The one that had spread around Homecoming, September, if CJ's memory served him right. He could remember hearing taunts from everybody in the locker room, asking if he was just as easy as Ross said he was, if he'd get on his knees for them too. None of them knew that it wasn't true, that CJ was still a virgin, he'd never even had his first kiss yet. Not that they'd even care.
"Shut the fuck up." CJ hissed, trying to keep his voice low so that Mr. Christensen wouldn't hear, keeping his eyes averted. He could almost feel Ross' eyes burning a hole in the back of his neck, and CJ's face was still that burning bright red color, staring down at the table and trying to keep his back straight as possible.
Mr. Christensen was rambling off something that CJ wasn't really paying much attention to, something about the assignment that they had to do in the six hours they'd be there, which CJ knew he was gonna do poorly on. His heart was hammering in his chest, partially cause that rumor just wouldn't leave him alone, and also because the person who caused CJ the most confusion when it came to just who he liked was sitting right next to him. CJ wasn't gay. He wasn't. But he found himself accidentally staring at the guys in the locker room sometimes, and found himself wondering if he was. But he wasn't. He couldn't be.
CJ let out a heavy sigh, staring at the table again as he intertwined his own fingers, the callouses sticking out severely in the weird fluorescent light of the library. It was too hot in here. He slid his jacket off his shoulders, putting it over the back of his chair and leaning his head on his hands. He felt like someone was staring at him, but he didn't want to turn and look again, afraid that his face was going to heat up again, shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat.
As soon as Mr. Christensen left the room on the guise of returning in fifteen minutes, CJ heard the sound of paper being crumpled and then something hitting the back of his head, CJ's hand instinctively going up to the back of his neck before turning around, locking eyes with Ross. "Stop." CJ said, the shark grin forming on Ross' face only making a pit form in CJ's stomach, knowing that Ross definitely saw what Marzuki did earlier. God. Was everyone ganging up on him today?
"You better be careful with what you ask Mr. Callahan here for, Roberts. He just might have to take you up on that offer." Ross said, flicking his eyebrows up as CJ's face reddened yet again.
The only reason CJ was in detention was because of Ross, because he said something at practice that CJ couldn't stand. But he couldn't fight Ross now and even think he'd win. It'd be stupid if he thought he was going to, especially when he's in detention. It wouldn't be worth it to get detention again over a stupid rumor that CJ couldn't do anything about. He turned towards the front, his shoulders hunched and really wishing he could just sink through the floor right now. "Shut up, Ross." CJ muttered, knowing it was fruitless to even try to get Ross to stop. He was going to die.[/div][/div] [div class=pos][div class="round1 round"][/div] . [div class="round2 round"][/div] . [div class="round3 round"][/div] [div class=stats]mood: flustered | interaction: husband
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When he heard him clear his throat, CJ turned his head, lifting it up a little bit to see what he wanted, before feeling his eyes widen and the back of his neck flush red, quickly turning his head away, unsure what to say to that, if he could even say anything. He could feel his cheeks heating up too, which was just embarrassing. Jesus Christ. He laid his head back down on his arms, before hearing the teacher's voice, Mr. Christensen, if CJ wasn't mistaken, tell him to sit up straight, which his voice was in that same commanding tone that his dad used and it made CJ sit up straight almost immediately, his mind still racing from what occurred just mere moments ago.
Everyone knew about the rumor. The one that had spread around Homecoming, September, if CJ's memory served him right. He could remember hearing taunts from everybody in the locker room, asking if he was just as easy as Ross said he was, if he'd get on his knees for them too. None of them knew that it wasn't true, that CJ was still a virgin, he'd never even had his first kiss yet. Not that they'd even care.
"Shut the fuck up." CJ hissed, trying to keep his voice low so that Mr. Christensen wouldn't hear, keeping his eyes averted. He could almost feel Ross' eyes burning a hole in the back of his neck, and CJ's face was still that burning bright red color, staring down at the table and trying to keep his back straight as possible.
Mr. Christensen was rambling off something that CJ wasn't really paying much attention to, something about the assignment that they had to do in the six hours they'd be there, which CJ knew he was gonna do poorly on. His heart was hammering in his chest, partially cause that rumor just wouldn't leave him alone, and also because the person who caused CJ the most confusion when it came to just who he liked was sitting right next to him. CJ wasn't gay. He wasn't. But he found himself accidentally staring at the guys in the locker room sometimes, and found himself wondering if he was. But he wasn't. He couldn't be.
CJ let out a heavy sigh, staring at the table again as he intertwined his own fingers, the callouses sticking out severely in the weird fluorescent light of the library. It was too hot in here. He slid his jacket off his shoulders, putting it over the back of his chair and leaning his head on his hands. He felt like someone was staring at him, but he didn't want to turn and look again, afraid that his face was going to heat up again, shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat.
As soon as Mr. Christensen left the room on the guise of returning in fifteen minutes, CJ heard the sound of paper being crumpled and then something hitting the back of his head, CJ's hand instinctively going up to the back of his neck before turning around, locking eyes with Ross. "Stop." CJ said, the shark grin forming on Ross' face only making a pit form in CJ's stomach, knowing that Ross definitely saw what Marzuki did earlier. God. Was everyone ganging up on him today?
"You better be careful with what you ask Mr. Callahan here for, Roberts. He just might have to take you up on that offer." Ross said, flicking his eyebrows up as CJ's face reddened yet again.
The only reason CJ was in detention was because of Ross, because he said something at practice that CJ couldn't stand. But he couldn't fight Ross now and even think he'd win. It'd be stupid if he thought he was going to, especially when he's in detention. It wouldn't be worth it to get detention again over a stupid rumor that CJ couldn't do anything about. He turned towards the front, his shoulders hunched and really wishing he could just sink through the floor right now. "Shut up, Ross." CJ muttered, knowing it was fruitless to even try to get Ross to stop. He was going to die.[/div][/div] [div class=pos][div class="round1 round"][/div] . [div class="round2 round"][/div] . [div class="round3 round"][/div] [div class=stats]mood: flustered | interaction: husband
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perlino
ponyboy
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[div class="container"][div class="containercont"][div class="chapterpic"][/div] [div class="scroll"][div class="scrollbox"][div class="title"]MARZUKI ROBERTS[/div][div class="text"]It's all fun and games until Ross shoots a wad at the nape of CJ's neck.
As much as Marzuki has this certain pastime involving his hand, detailed imagination, and mental images of certain sweaty, shirtless athletes, Ross was the lone football player that could never rub him the right way. Even though they hadn't said a word to each other outside of a brief partnership in chemistry, Marzuki always knew he was a dick. Hearing his taunts and seeing how humiliated CJ looked only confirmed it. At least his teasing came from a place of fondness. Admiration, if you will. Ross was just being an ass. Marzuki twisted around in his seat to face him, his arm outstretched over the top rail of CJ's chair.
"Hey, jackass. I don't remember asking you shit, so shut up. Why don't you be a good boy and write your damn essay? And if that's not your style then- I dunno- go play in traffic. Personally, I don't care which you choose," he said flatly. His anger simmered below his detached surface, but each word left his lips with a carefully measured coldness. Playing the aloof, monotonous loner was less taxing than the loud, fiery rebel, and generally got the point across just as well. Remaining indifferent was also a surefire way of making meatheads like Ross (who would drive off cliff faces to elicit a reaction) flip their lids. He rolled his eyes at Ross, then spun back to face the front. His arm was still wound around CJ. He didn't feel like moving it.
The door slammed against the wall, the thump loud enough to make everyone whip their heads to the source of the sound. Mr. Christensen stood in the doorframe, his wide figure shadowed in the entrance with a skinny stack of paper in hand. As if the library was only populated by dusty, crinkled books and worn-down plastic chairs and tables, he loudly stomped across to the empty desk positioned at the front of the foyer. Marzuki snorted, kicking the leg of his desk exasperatedly. But, ultimately, he went unnoticed. Christensen pulled out his beat-up reading glasses and began rifling through his pages, too caught up in his paperwork to care about Marzuki's hardy attempts to get attention. When it became more and more apparent that Christensen was allergic to doing anything interesting, the other detainees started to scribble nonsense on their notebook paper or talk in hushed tones. Marzuki drummed his fingers on his knee, tapped his foot, squeezed CJ's chair, did anything to break the inertia. He was about to ask his peers if they were interested in a rendition of seven minutes in heaven when Christensen finally rose from his seat like a zombie from his grave.
"Everyone except for Alexander and Roberts, please follow me." A wave of excited murmurs erupted at his words. He sighed, rubbing his temple, "No, none of you are exempt from detention. In fact, you will be receiving more work elsewhere. I'm assured you all know what you've done to earn yourself a spot here today, so don't act innocent. Alexander. Roberts. I expect you both to be on your best behavior. Am I understood, gentlemen?"
Before either of them had time to affirm his address, he was out of the door with the other students trailing him. At the tail end of the line was Ross, who halted to smirk at them as he shut the door behind him. What's he got to be smirking about? Marzuki wondered. Without the rows of people behind and around him, Marzuki felt like he had more air to breathe, more space to fill, more room to stretch. He yawned into his fist, arms reaching out into the air as he got more comfortable in his seat. He rested his elbow on the desk, his chin poking into the palm of his hand. Although he'd never admit it if he was asked on the spot, he was nervous. The sole reason for his bisexual awakening was sitting next to him, and- as far as he knew- would be sitting next to him for the remaining eight hours. It was the stuff of daydreams and nightmares. He was doing everything in his power to ignore his presence, but he was slowly going insane from the lack of human interaction. So his attention pinballed from the shelves, the books on the shelves, the desk, the smiling cat clock, and then finally on CJ. More specifically, he was focused on CJ's red hair. Warm and rich and obviously dyed. Still. He was a hopelessly (bi)curious guy.
"So, tell me. Do the curtains match the carpet?"
mood: idiot | int: wife | music: x[/div][/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class="codetag"]coded by ukiiyo[/div]
As much as Marzuki has this certain pastime involving his hand, detailed imagination, and mental images of certain sweaty, shirtless athletes, Ross was the lone football player that could never rub him the right way. Even though they hadn't said a word to each other outside of a brief partnership in chemistry, Marzuki always knew he was a dick. Hearing his taunts and seeing how humiliated CJ looked only confirmed it. At least his teasing came from a place of fondness. Admiration, if you will. Ross was just being an ass. Marzuki twisted around in his seat to face him, his arm outstretched over the top rail of CJ's chair.
"Hey, jackass. I don't remember asking you shit, so shut up. Why don't you be a good boy and write your damn essay? And if that's not your style then- I dunno- go play in traffic. Personally, I don't care which you choose," he said flatly. His anger simmered below his detached surface, but each word left his lips with a carefully measured coldness. Playing the aloof, monotonous loner was less taxing than the loud, fiery rebel, and generally got the point across just as well. Remaining indifferent was also a surefire way of making meatheads like Ross (who would drive off cliff faces to elicit a reaction) flip their lids. He rolled his eyes at Ross, then spun back to face the front. His arm was still wound around CJ. He didn't feel like moving it.
The door slammed against the wall, the thump loud enough to make everyone whip their heads to the source of the sound. Mr. Christensen stood in the doorframe, his wide figure shadowed in the entrance with a skinny stack of paper in hand. As if the library was only populated by dusty, crinkled books and worn-down plastic chairs and tables, he loudly stomped across to the empty desk positioned at the front of the foyer. Marzuki snorted, kicking the leg of his desk exasperatedly. But, ultimately, he went unnoticed. Christensen pulled out his beat-up reading glasses and began rifling through his pages, too caught up in his paperwork to care about Marzuki's hardy attempts to get attention. When it became more and more apparent that Christensen was allergic to doing anything interesting, the other detainees started to scribble nonsense on their notebook paper or talk in hushed tones. Marzuki drummed his fingers on his knee, tapped his foot, squeezed CJ's chair, did anything to break the inertia. He was about to ask his peers if they were interested in a rendition of seven minutes in heaven when Christensen finally rose from his seat like a zombie from his grave.
"Everyone except for Alexander and Roberts, please follow me." A wave of excited murmurs erupted at his words. He sighed, rubbing his temple, "No, none of you are exempt from detention. In fact, you will be receiving more work elsewhere. I'm assured you all know what you've done to earn yourself a spot here today, so don't act innocent. Alexander. Roberts. I expect you both to be on your best behavior. Am I understood, gentlemen?"
Before either of them had time to affirm his address, he was out of the door with the other students trailing him. At the tail end of the line was Ross, who halted to smirk at them as he shut the door behind him. What's he got to be smirking about? Marzuki wondered. Without the rows of people behind and around him, Marzuki felt like he had more air to breathe, more space to fill, more room to stretch. He yawned into his fist, arms reaching out into the air as he got more comfortable in his seat. He rested his elbow on the desk, his chin poking into the palm of his hand. Although he'd never admit it if he was asked on the spot, he was nervous. The sole reason for his bisexual awakening was sitting next to him, and- as far as he knew- would be sitting next to him for the remaining eight hours. It was the stuff of daydreams and nightmares. He was doing everything in his power to ignore his presence, but he was slowly going insane from the lack of human interaction. So his attention pinballed from the shelves, the books on the shelves, the desk, the smiling cat clock, and then finally on CJ. More specifically, he was focused on CJ's red hair. Warm and rich and obviously dyed. Still. He was a hopelessly (bi)curious guy.
"So, tell me. Do the curtains match the carpet?"
mood: idiot | int: wife | music: x[/div][/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class="codetag"]coded by ukiiyo[/div]
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