Post by Layne F. Larkin on Aug 4, 2012 17:56:33 GMT -5
((Takes place the morning after "Let's Get Fucked Up" & "Watch the Dorm."))
Layne woke the next morning the way most people fell asleep: slowly, and then all at once.
The familiarity of her bed was right. Her covers, in their mishmash of color and pattern and texture were right. The scent from her pillow--a little bit of alcohol mingling with the smell of her shampoo, and a scent that was just Layne--was right.
What jarred her was the sound and feeling of someone else's breathing. Two someones, in fact.
Layne sat up gingerly, trying not to jiggle, jounce, or jerk the other two sleepers in her bed, which was made more difficult by the jumble of limbs and torsos srrounding her. Her unbrushed hair made a frenetic, parti-colored halo around her head.
Not that she really had a fuck to give about that right now.
Her head pounded with a mild hangover. She'd felt worse, to be sure. "Ugh," she said quietly to herself, "What the fuck did I do last night?" She remembered the library, and Micha and Whites drinking with her.
And the fact that Leon Foster had already seen her darling Micha's tits.
Layne wanted to get out of bed, but she was pinned. Micha was on one side of her, her pale body curled up close to Layne, and Whites was on her otherside, nearest to the wall, his arm around her and his hand...on her chest.
What. The. Fuck.
Layne slapped Whites hard. "Fucking perv! Get your goddamn hands off of my tits!"
It was a bright summer day. The sun was blazing down onto the green grass, unfiltered by clouds or ozone. Thank god for RAID. The crowds sat, unsettled, in the crowd. It was a very close game, after all, and since this was an arena close to both the home and away team, fans of both teams filled the stadium seating. It was packed. It smelled of Hot Dogs and Jersey. Here and there, you could hear people chatting, some people heckling, and the left fielder was looking anxious as he awkwardly held his mitt. This was a notoriously strong hitter, after all, even for a girl.
Whites stood on the pitcher's mound, breaths short. He was anxious, and adrenaline pumped through his veins. These sort of moments were what he lived for, why he loved the sport. You could feel how tense the crowd was. Ninth inning. Tie game. Pinch hitter... Micha Volkov. His greatest rival in baseball. It was ridiculous how their baseball relationship continuously ended with them going against each other in moments like this, but here they were again.
Whites gripped the ball in his mit, his hand a little slippery. It didn't help that his baseball was warm, for some reason. It was soft, too. He shrugged it off. Hopefully, it'd be harder for Micha to hit. He took a deep breath and he threw the ball as hard as he could, sending it straight down the middle. It was a beautiful pitch, but not as beautiful as Micha's successful hit, her pig tails bouncing out of her batter's helmet. The ball flew right back towards him, even faster than he had threw it at her, and the last thing he remembered was turning his head, thinking 'not in the eye, not in the eye, not in the eye, that's what she said, not in the eye', before he was slapped into the real world.
His eyes snapped open as he fell backwards, rolling back instinctively as he fell, hard, into the crack between Layne's bed and her wall. He let out a small noise of surprise as his hand left Layne's boob and he landed on the floor.
His head hurt.
Sure, his face hurt, too, but he could handle a slap. What sucked was his head pounding, hurting. Even his eyes hurt. And now he was getting attacked... And he'd totally lost that baseball game. Worst morning... ever. Quietly, Whites remained in the crack, just laying with his eyes closed, trying to just breathe and not vomit.
Post by Micha Volkov on Aug 4, 2012 20:30:47 GMT -5
Micha wasn't awakened by the breaths of her bedmates nor awesome pitches. One moment, she was riding a dragon or something, surrounded by clouds and girls with nice smiles, and the next her pillow was moving and shouting and there was a sharp smacking noise that was followed shortly by an obnoxiously loud thudding sound.
Blearily, the Slytherin raised her head a few inches up. A spread of rainbow flooded her vision, and she blinked hard several times before she realized it was hair, and not just her vision messing up.
Rainbow hair could only mean one thing: Layne F. Larkin. But why was she asleep next to Layne? Had she passed out studying, or --
Oh. Right. They'd all gotten drunk out of their minds. The whole event was blurry, and in fact the last thing she remembered was throwing the toilet paper onto Foster's bed. So... they'd all gone back to the Slytherin dorms, then? Or, no, that's right, Layne had a separate room. She and Larkin must have crashed there, and... Where had Whites gone? He'd left the Gryffindor dorms with them, but she didn't see him around (thank goodness), so... Ugh.
Her head ached like she'd been kicked by a mule, and her mouth was dry as a desert. She put a hand to her temple in a minor attempt to quell the pounding, gave up almost immediately, and instead burrowed in closer to Layne, trying to hide from the world of the awake.
"Wha's goin' on?" she slurred, her normal precise pronunciations forgotten in the face of the monster that currently prowled her system. Fuck, she would never drink again. Never, ever.
At least Whites wasn't there to make things worse. She thought she might actually die if she saw his stupid smiling face, right then.
Post by Layne F. Larkin on Aug 6, 2012 20:24:41 GMT -5
Oh good. They were up.
Having caused Whites to fall off the bed, Layne was now pretty sure the whole boob grabbing thing was an accident.
She wasn't going to fucking apologize to him, though.
"Right, so, you guys prolly have some spectacular fucking headaches right now." Layne kept a special potion around just for hangovers, and since she liked to drink, she kept a lot of it.
Layne slithered out of bed, not really too thrilled with her own state. Practice as well as a conservative (for Layne) amount of booze was the only reason she could see straight right now, and why she hadn't slept till like fucking noon or some shit.
She got out the cordial of potion. pulling out the dropper, she put a drop on her tongue. It filled her entire mouth with bitter and sour like straight lemon juice, but it cleared her head.
She made her way over to Micha.
"Stick out your tongue." She administered two drops to Micha. "Better?" Layne smiled, glad she could help out Micha, since she was the one responsible for the state the other girl was in.
"Whites, get your pansy ass out here, or you don't get any medicine."
There was some rustling around upstairs, talking and stuff, but he wasn't paying too much attention. He was trying to stay as still as possible, trying to block out noises. Still, though, Layne was able to reach him, especially with the affectionate nickname of 'pansy ass'. He almost had to smile at that.
Whites reached up, one hand dramatically placing itself back up on the bed, shortly followed by the other. Eventually, his head rose straight up, breaching the surface of the spread and depositing him on top of the bed. With the grace of a breaching whale with a schoolbus strapped onto its head, Whites rolled over and made it to the other edge, where Micha was. In fact, he totally almost kicked her, but she was safe with just a nudge from his elbow.
This was the wrong move.
Whites fought the urge to throw up for a good fifteen seconds before he deemed himself "okay", and he looked up, finally ready to take the potion. Gladly, he accepted the drops into his mouth, though even in his fuzzy state it was weird to be in such an awkward, submissive position. This was sort of all Layne's fault, in the end. He had just wanted...
What had started all this? Everything was fuzzy, a weird memory.
Butterbeer. Yes, that was it.
He wanted butterbeer.
On the contrary, however, at the moment, the very memory of the thought of wanting something even close to butterbeer made him want to vomit.
It was only a second, though, and the potion helped immediately and immensely.
He shook his head after a few moments.
"Well!" Whites said, awkwardly trying to fill the silence and slapping a hand on Micha's leg. "I don't even know what happened. Besides, well, uh..." Whites glanced at Layne's chest. "Sorry. I was playing baseball."
Post by Micha Volkov on Aug 6, 2012 21:04:35 GMT -5
Layne said 'you guys'. Micha stared fuzzily at her fellow Slytherin, frowning a bit when Layne got out of the bed. Ugh. She'd been warm, and now it was cold. She didn't mind the cold, but in her current state...
Obediently, Micha stuck out her tongue when asked, brushing strands of ink-dark hair out of her face so as not to get in the way. Yick. Micha wasn't a fan of bitter things, and she couldn't help but make a face in response to the taste. It was like biting down on a lemon that had another lemon inside of it, or something. She preferred sweet things, honestly. Like, ice cream, or chocolate, or whatnot. Stereotypical girl things that she had to keep hidden because she didn't want to be seen as a stereotypical girl.
Anyway, her vague stuffiness and cottony mouth both seemed to vanish at the same moment. Thank goodness for Layne's aptitude with potions, right? She ran a hand through her hair in another attempt to straighten it. The generally stoic Slytherin wasn't one to even poke her head out of her room with at least a little make-up, and the thought of sitting around in front of even the least disciplined member of her house (and perhaps the school) with a bedhead was completely unappetizing.
Layne said 'Whites'. Micha's fingers abruptly caught on a snarl. That same second, the boy himself rose from the depths (a.k.a. the crack behind Layne's bed) and smashed down upon the mattress. Somehow, he ended up right next to her, managing to elbow her in the side in the process. Micha full-out glowered at him. How -- what --
Oh, boy. Now it all really was coming back to her. She'd kissed Layne. Yes, several times, even. And, ew, she'd even been hugged by Whites, at least once, possibly twice. He'd pressed his sweaty, gross, teenage boy body against her and most likely gotten in a good grope in the process, knowing him.
Abruptly, he smacked his hand down directly atop her thigh. On top of only the stocking, no less, as her rumpled skirt had been hiked up by her half-asleep method of sitting up.
If looks could kill, Whites would have been obliterated into a million tiny little annoying pieces (all of them probably still raising their hands and going 'oh, Micha'). Baseball. Baseball.
Swatting his hand away like an ill-mannered cat, Micha stood, and neatly smoothed down her skirt. "Don't," she said, eyes gray as stormclouds, "touch me." He deserved a good hexing, really, he did, but she didn't have the time for that, now. Irritatedly, the Slytherin brushed at her hair for the umpteenth time. How much time had she wasted running around and acting like a silly little teenager? (The answer was only one night, but pure Micha-esque fury easily overrode logic of that kind.)
The fact that her cheeks were a little pink meant nothing at all. No, she did not like Whites touching her (seriously, though, gross). No, she did not like sleeping passed out next to near-strangers that had only recently been an almost-enemy. No, she did not like getting drunk out of her mind and doing stupid things like kissing and hugging and touching and whatever else she'd done in the terrible black-out stage any drunk reaches when they've had too much.
Alright, well. Maybe she'd liked the kissing. Just -- just a little! Not, like, a lot, or anything. And some of the hugs and hand-holding hadn't been that bad... had they?
She was abruptly furious with herself.
"I have to go-" What? She needed an excuse, and quick. "-work on assignments. I'm behind after, ah-" For some reason, she found herself looking at Layne's lips. She was no longer under the influence, so thoughts like the ones she was experiencing plain and simple shouldn't exist, but... "-last night. Excuse me. Larkin. Whites."
Face bright as a tomato and obviously embarrassed, the Slytherin attempted to flee the room.
Post by Layne F. Larkin on Aug 8, 2012 12:57:13 GMT -5
Fucking Whites.
That fucker was always fucking up everything. Like he was Layne’s dedicated cock blocker.
Not that she could ever be mad with him. Whites was just Whites. He was never trying to impress anybody or prove himself. As much Layne projected the ‘and no fucks were given’ persona, she was willing to bet that Whites literally gave no fucks. And he was so goddamn friendly. Hating him would be like hating a puppy.
Layne’s face registered a tiny amount of hurt for all of two seconds before she pulled on her usual, unfazed expression. Of course Micha wanted to fucking leave. She wasn’t drunk anymore. Why the fuck would she want to hang around Layne?
Layne was the girl you went to when you wanted to get drunk or high. She was the girl you went to if something happened to your dirty magazines. She was the one to see if you needed a potion that was not strictly ethical, or even legal.
Layne Fucking Larkin was not the girl that anybody wanted to hang out with.
“Sure, sure. Gotta get shit done. I get it.” Layne put her hangover potion away. She didn’t know what else to say. Begging people to stay wasn’t Layne’s style. She had more swagger than that. And saying something mean wouldn’t make things any better either. Although a sarcastic remark was at the tip of her tongue. Only her willpower and desire to not have Micha hate her stopped the words from pouring out.
Maybe Leon was right and she was just a bitch.
If she was, she was a bitch that wanted to get in Micha’s pants. Er, skirt. Either way, she pretended to be too busy putting her potions things in order to take much notice of Micha’s sudden decision to leave.
“You do that Muggle assignment shit yet, Ruskie? Maybe we should like fucking go together. Since I have to do that shit anyway.” She didn’t look at Micha, and she gave Whites absolutely no fucking acknowledgement whatsoever.
Why was it so hard to just ask Micha out?
Maybe she wasn’t a bitch. Maybe she was just a chicken shit.
Whites sat, unhappy, his hands held up in the air. What was wrong? Were his hands on fire or something? Last he had checked, they were not. He checked again, just in case, but yes, neither of them were on fire. He looked up, a sad frown on his face, holding his hands as still as he could anyway. Maaaan. He hadn't done anything wrong, and here he was, having chased Micha off as he sat awkwardly in her fake girlfriend's bed. At least the headache was gone, but man it felt like it belonged there.
Whites hadn't done the assignment either, but he didn't feel like it was the best time to speak up anyway.
Post by Micha Volkov on Aug 9, 2012 1:05:20 GMT -5
Halfway out the door, the petite Russian was stopped by Layne's voice. No, that wasn't it -- it was the tone in Layne's voice, rather than the words themselves. Ugh. Abruptly, she felt frustrated, childish, stupid. Thing was:
1) She hadn't meant to come off so bitchy -- but she had and now both Layne and Whites were obviously upset. One might say, no, they were acting quite normal, with Larkin swearing and sashaying the fuck around the room, and Whites sitting there with his hands up in that one stupid pose, but the tension in the room was palpable even to the slightly stone-headed Russian.
2) She actually really would rather stay, and now that she'd pulled the shit she'd pulled, she had to leave or risk losing face. Not that it mattered, not in front of these two, but somehow and for some god-stupid reason, it mattered to her.
3) She had a feeling she'd ruined whatever good had transpired from the previous night, just by acting so snobby. So what if Whites touched her leg a little? He hadn't meant anything by it, she was (sort of) sure, and now Larkin would be mad at him, too.
The Slytherin's face slowly pinkened, her cheeks heating up faster than Layne Larkin could find a swear fitting the situation or Whites could ruin it. Her dark eyes darted sideways, unable to meet either of her companion's. Her fists balled up at her sides. Like that, in that sort of stance, she replied to Larkin in a tight, controlled voice.
"I haven't... No. I am fine with us going together. Yes."
Okay, no, that wasn't right. She owed them more than that, didn't she? Try again. "What I mean is... I would very much like to go with the both of you, if that's okay. If you guys want to go. I mean..." Oh my God. She was so totally lost. What happened to taking control of the situation? Time for a quick retreat, for real this time. But first --
Stiff-legged, she swiftly crossed the room and hugged Whites. Not very tightly or closely or at all like a friend might hug another friend, but hey, it was a start. Then, she moved to Layne and did the same (her hug to Layne might have been a bit cozier -- just a little). Thoroughly out of sorts, bright as a tomato, and looking more frazzled than she'd ever been, the Russian waved at them lamely.
"I'll, um, be waiting? If you do want to go that is, or... Yes."
Palms pressed to her flaming cheeks, she fled the room, leaving only total mortification in her wake. Seriously, what had gotten into her lately? She could only blame those two.
Teagan Offline: This board is full of nostalgia.
Aug 22, 2020 8:39:09 GMT -5
Missing the old MH: gotta say missing when MH and all that was around.
Nov 6, 2019 0:02:30 GMT -5
Willow_lazy: why tf are there 400 posts about adidas
Sept 6, 2018 17:35:57 GMT -5
Azrael: I'm not hard to find, since I'm the only one there who goes by "Azzy", I'm pretty sure. XD
Feb 10, 2018 16:44:41 GMT -5
Azrael: Dunno if anyone still pops by here from time to time, but if any of you mofos do and still feel like gettin' yo nerd on, I've been hanging around this here place a bunch recently: www.roleplayerguild.com/
Feb 10, 2018 16:44:10 GMT -5
Azrael: hold onto your pantaloons
Jul 25, 2016 5:16:43 GMT -5