English is Well Dry {Angel}

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

One of the agreements with moving in with Rose, was that she go to school. Now, she didn’t go every day. Mostly she just hung out in central park, or went down to the Alleyway. But she had to go every so often, to prevent them from calling Rose. Which meant it was a painfully boring day, in a painfully boring classroom, taught by a painfully boring teacher. There were no new school jitters for Tramp, all in all—she really did not give any fucks.

She didn’t intend to make friends, because those who went to school every day and actually cared about their grades were a total bore. Not the sort of people she wanted to be associated with, really. They were too…lost in the world of grades, books, and perfection. Striving to be at the top, instead of really living their lives. Exploring the world and seeing what it had to offer. No, their idea of a good time was probably a study party on Friday Night with virgin Capri-Sun cocktails. Fuck everything about that.

Tramp was slumped in her chair, her arms dangling off the sides. Her knees together, though feet far apart, she was the picture of laze. The teacher had repeatedly told her to sit up, which she did, only to slink back down again. She lifted her hands, fussing with the claw ring that bended and twisted with her finger, shined the strange knuckledusters on her almost too-short tank dress, and tapped the toe of her stiletto boots on the ground.

She often wore flat shoes, combat boots, sneakers, or flats. Simply because if she needed to run and hide, she wouldn’t twist an ankle. And part of her was concerned Rose had picked up on that fact. So, wearing shoes that were nearly impossible to walk in, meant she wasn’t going to be trekking across New York any time soon. It was almost like shackling herself to the school, punishing herself. Just for that, she was going to take a huge bite out of Rose’s ice cream. Hmph.

She used her legs to push herself forward, and rested her elbow on the edge of her desk, her fingers tangling themselves into her unbrushed hair. She doodled with her right hand on a corner of the text book, green eyes glancing around the room curiously. There had to be at least one decent person, and if not a decent person—a completely witless fool that she could keep herself amused with for the remainder of the class.

Tags: Molly / Angel / Olley / Tramp
Notes: .....These two sort of frighten me.
Outfit: Clickers.

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

IT REALLY SEEMS SHE SHOULD BE WEARING TROUSERS WITH THIS...

So.

So.

So today it would seem her darling Jack-who's-name-was-actually-Weston was sick. And without her partner in crime, strange little Angel Dihanie seemed to be partaking in one of the most, gruesome, humiliating, tedious, boring, evil, activities known to man. We're including the Brazen Bull in this, mind you. Or the feeding of Christians to lions, or burning of witches (loosely called, of course. Mind you, puritans believed witches to be Satan worshipers. So before Wiccan's get up in arms about such things, they should take pause as it's really the world's SATANISTS that should be pissed) at the stake. Any form of torture would do, actually. What was this appalling activity?

Attending class.

Despite sitting in the chair that she was sort of sure she was assigned in the beginning of the year, Angel's conversed feet sat on her skateboard. They scooted the wheels back and forth, back and forth; her attempts being to cure this aching boredom. Instead of listening to the old bag in the front drone on about whatever it was that she was going on about (slaves and some sort of berry that started with an 'h'), Angel stared at her. Seriously? What was holding this woman together? She was so wrinkled. Like... the skin of a dehydrated peach. Yeah, Angel could even see the slight fuzz- OH SKITTLES! She had something in her teeth! It looked like... spinach? How long had that been there? This was why Angel should never sit in the front of a classroom.

In fact...

Angel looked behind her, as the spinach tooth wildebeest faced the black board to write something down (huckleberry. that was the berry.). Hrm, yeah, back seat open for the taking. A little pale skinned blond sat in the chair next to it. And it would be a straight shot down the lane, if Angel played it right and cool. Pulling her blue John Lennon sunglasses from her jacket pocket, Angel grinned as she set to work. Her clothing was typical, for her. A shirt that was too long to be a shirt, but a dress to short to be a dress. All was well in the realms of her backside though, as her boy shots were obvious, being bright yellow and polka dotted. Though you'd really only see them if she bent over or reached too far up. And honestly, she didn't care if you did.

Pushing the skateboard out into the aisle, Angel shifted down to sit on it, before propelling herself backwards. There was a quiet stirring, as some of the classmates took notice. But not a single stir seemed particularly surprised. It was Angel Dihanie being... mother sucking Angel Dihanie. Satisfied with her work, Angel braked at the chair, and shot the blond a grin. Smooth as silk, babe. Smooth as silk. And not even sarcastically implied! She sat easily in the seat she had reassigned to herself, but soon the ache of boredom returned.

Buttered toast, she needed some excitement.

Or at least to get out of here.

Yeah.

Though she hardly thought the green fanged goblin would let her just walk out without a fuss. Not that Angel minded a fuss, but she always had to steal the show. Go out with a bang. With some razzle dazzle. "I like your metal finger thing." Angel spoke to the blond next to her, voice quiet but not whispering. Ignoring a glance from whatsherbizz three seats up (who had never taken Angel's antics jovially, sadly), she put her feet up on the desk, grinning. Pulling out her silver cigarette case and lighter from her pocket, she continued to look the girl over. New. With shoes that look like they were invented in the Inquisition. "Want one?" Angel asked, polite despite the series of rules she was in the process of breaking. Flicking the zippo open, she lit to tip of her shoe on fire, pulling it close to her face, and lighting the menthol cigarette.

The smell of burning rubber caught the nose of the teacher, who turned in shock, watching as Angel licked her palm and brought it down quick over the flame. It was warm, but didn't burn. It only burned when you hesitated. You had to snuff it out quick. "Miss Dihanie? Are you- smoking in my class?" Inquired the observant teacher.

"It would appear so." Angel replied lazily, looking up at the ceiling, the world shaded blue from behind the specs. "Oh. Snaps." Angel said, sitting up, feet planted on the ground. "Sorry! You want one?"

Oh yeah.

No more hearing about weird berries and someone named N-word Jim today.

Hell, her Daddy might even get a call.

Smile wide on her face, Angel's brown eyes flitted over to the blond, a quick wink issuing from it. Blowing out a crooked smoke ring, Angel waited to hear those beautiful words:

Get out of my classroom, now!

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

Tramp glanced up from her meaningless doodle, when she heard the smooth sound of wheels on the ground. Her brows furrowed when she looked up, watching a girl slide herself backwards into a seat, via skateboard. The corner of Tramp’s mouth hitched up in a crooked smile. She gave an appreciative not when the pretty girl winked. Maybe someone here actually did have a little more to them. “Thank ya.” Tramp grinned, before sliding the ring off her finger, and passed it over to Angel, “Give it a go. It’s great for poking eyes out.”

Tramp’s eyes glanced back at the girl who glanced back at them. Her happy demeanor changing for that split second, looking at her like she had just smelled something rotten. When she turned back around, however, Tramp’s attention was back on Angel. A light brown brow lifted up when the girl…lit her shoe on fire? Yes, the smell of burning rubber confirmed it, she was lighting he shoe on fucking fire. The blonde opened her mouth to respond—with what, she wasn’t entirely sure. She had never really thought about lighting up in class. Back at the public school she had been going to at home, bringing a lighter in was an automatic expulsion.

It would appear so. Oh. Snaps. Sorry! You want one?”

Spinach McButtersface began to change colors. First pink, then darker pink, then red. Tramp stared openly, “Woah, she’s turning…is she turning purple?” She leaned in, trying to see. Before the older woman finally erupted in a shout that could have rivaled Tramp’s mothers.

“GET OUT. GET OUT OF MY CLASSROOM THIS INSTANT. GET OUT, NOW!”

[/b] The shout was enough to almost startle Tramp straight out of her seat. She looked for that quick second—like a startled kitten. Before her face broke out in a grin, quickly looking between the teacher and Angel. This was happening, this was serious, honest to blog, fucking happening. Never before did she believe in soul-mates. But this girl was heaven sent, brilliant, and part of Tramp just wanted to grab her and kiss her for all her sheer brilliancy. Though she was known to exaggerate a bit.

Even though technically, she hadn’t don’t anything wrong, Tramp swept her black bag off the ground, and slung it over her shoulder while pulling out a green pack of Marlboro Menthols. She grinned, and returned a long over-due wink to Angel, before sauntering down the aisles, her head dipping down with her lighter, lighting her own cigarette in a less dramatic fashion. She didn’t glance back, but she heard a hiss of air from the teacher when smoke billowed out of her own mouth. “Do your homework, kiddies!” Tramp chirped while she all but bounced from the door, holding it open for her soon to be brand new best friend.
[/size][/blockquote]

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

As planned the teacher shrieked.

It was a curdling noise, and Angel really didn't need the blonds commentary on Popeye's coloring to know that she was livid. Keeping her vague smile, Angel tapped her newly metal clad finger on the desk. All was right with the world. She would have detention, again, and she would skip it, again, until her Dad called and told her to go. The routine of it all would have spooked Miss Angel away, had she not continued to find such vast amusement in her antics. Laughing at her new cohorts input to the situation, Angel nodded, standing from the desk.

"Indeed. Stay in school, don't do drugs." Skimming the room, Angel scooted at a banana slugs pace to the front of the class. "And of course... the wisest of all advice." She smiled at the teacher, plopping her half smoked cigarette in her coffee, watching an interesting shade of puce come over her. "Always do as I say, and never what I do-"

The next line of words were really lacked the ability to be understood, as they strung together in a vicious collage of hate.

Still.

Angel was fairly sure that they were things that would certainly get the woman fired, if someone had the mind to tell.

Which, Angel did not.

She scooted on out of the class quickly, past her new com padre. Laughing, she tossed the metal finger case back, as the door slammed. Not even an order to go to the principals office, unless it was in the slew of scathing words before. Which was possible, Angel supposed. "I think she might have over reacted a bit..." Angel spoke, in a quiet, but amused gaze. "Ah, well, such is her right. And as I seem to have an hour off, and as do you, shall we take this to the roo-fff." She mused, grin wide, circling the new friend like a vulture on her skateboard.

"I got some white widow, all tucked away. Though, you might be one of those straight edge types, huh?" Unlikely. Nothing about her seemed to suggest straight edge at all. "My bro Jack Jack might mosie on up there after class. Well have ourselves a nice little party." Angel's eyebrows went up a bit, as she shrugged, rolling down the hall way slowly.

It wasn't that she didn't want to hang out with the girl. And, honestly, she'd have been a pinch disappointed if the girl did turn out to be straight edge and had no interest in coming to the roof with Angel. But, it would only be a moment of sadness. After all: White Widow? Jack-who-was-Wes? It would be a fucking party, bro. With or without her.

Still, Angel hoped she'd come.

She skateboarded to a set of stairs, and began the climb. It was a bit of a hike to her vacation spot. Her and Jacky boy had discovered it, on one of many adventures. A place to get away from the general dip wads and butt holes this school had to offer. New York City was nothing like Venice Beach. In Venice Beach, yeah you had your gang violence from time to time, but heck. Everything had a slower pace there. Here it was rush rush rush. Angel liked the thrill, liked the rush. But sometimes, especially when it was just her and Jack, she liked a little hush hush hush.

She wondered if her blond friend would like Jack. It occurred to her, that they had not been introduced. Holding her skateboard over her shoulder lazily, she grinned. "I'm Angel. Angel Dihanie. And you're new." She informed the stranger, grinning.

Going through a staff only door, she entered a more dreary looking place than Baum's corridors had to offer. With spider webs and rat traps. She lit her zippo, adding light to find the metal grill stairs that were badly rusted. Without pause, Angel climbed the creaking things.

Angel never paused.

That's how you got burned.

Opening up the toppest door that could be found in Baum, she revealed a sunny area. It was covered with little white rocks, imperfectly round things, meant to deflect heat from the tar roof below them. Off a few years, sat a couple of lawn chairs, with a coffee tin and small cooler near by, shaded by a smokeless smoke tower from the schools old boiler room. "Paradise, no?" Angel explained, grinning, and heading over to the chairs. The August sun was hot, and she was wearing a frankin leather jacket for petes sake.

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

“Just a little, ya think?” Tramp grinned, and pulled her cigarette to her lips, drawing in the smoke. “I think we shall, my new companion.” As she spoke, the smoke slithered out of her nose and mouth, only to grin while the rest of the smoke curled out. “Straight edge? I think I’m offended that you assumed I was one of those ball-less half wits. Wet blankets, the lot of them. For real though.” Tramp shook her head, and followed after Angel. Her boots clicked on the hall floor, almost adding a beat to the smooth whirl sound of the wheels.

“After class? Shoulda gone in and got him like a fuckin’ tornado.” Tramp marched up the steps at Angel’s side, while puffing on her cigarette all the while. It was a strange feeling, one she hadn’t had before. Her mom had put a tight leash on her—come straight home after school. And after Tramp started to wander off—her mom would pick her up straight from school. The principal would call home every time she acted out—there was no freedom, no creativity. And more importantly, no friends.

So it was a rather nice feeling when Angel casually invited her along, It was easy, and felt like they had been friends for quite a while already. Once again, Tramp offered that hitched, one-sided smile. “That I am. But I am also Tramp. Nice to meetcha, Angel.” Tramp followed again, stepping lightly, and carefully to not step in one of the traps. Her little nose wrinkled at the webs though, and she did her best to duck around and under them. She wasn’t a priss by any stretch of the imagination, but spiders were definitely not one of her favorite things in the world.

Raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sudden brightness on the roof, her face crinkled slightly. It took her a moment to adjust to the sunshine reflecting off the white graven, before she lowered her hand to her side. “Paradise doesn’t even begin to describe it, sister.” Tramp flopped into one of the seats, and lifted her legs up for a moment, relieving her ankles of the pressure and weight for a moment, before she lowered her legs. Reaching into her bag, she tugged out a pair of bug-eyed sunglasses, and slid them onto her face.

“How good’s your bro with a hairpin and a lock?” She looked over curiously, “I stay at the dorms a few days a week, but I use it as a personal green and drink stash. Welcome to stash and raid, mi Amiga.” She settled back in her seat, looking out across the roof. She didn’t have too much, she came by drinks when she could. And she kept most of her weed on the roof of Rose’s apartment. Apparently, she was now becoming a roof dweller. “You do stunts like that often?” Tramp asked, referring to the lighter trick. She flicked her cigarette into the distance, before lighting up another one right after it.

Chainsmoking in Paradise. Couldn’t get too much better.

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

Tramp, what a strange name. Either a nickname, or she was very much hated by her parents. Though it could always be worse. Her name could be Francine or Thelma or Eugenia. Though, even while the list of names this girl could have, it occurred to Angel that one of those could actually be her new friends name. Ah well, that was embarrassing. Still, you couldn't take back a thought anymore than you can take back a spoken word. And just like the rotating chicken, Angel lived to regret nothing.

Again, her mind went to what Tramp was saying. "Yeah, I would. But I don't know for sure if he's actually in class, or if he's legit sick. I didn't see him this morning..." Angel shrugged, lounging in her chair. "Besides, he's not quite one for the flair of dramatics, like me. Quiet, low profile sort." She laughed suddenly, at the idea of her and Jackie being siblings. When she said 'bro' she meant like 'amigo', not like 'brother'. Alas, things got lost in translation, didn't they. "He's cool though, in his way. Known him since I was... five?" She thought back, looking around at the blue tinted world.

She removed her jacket, revealing her dark, caramel, colored arms. The sleeves were not snug, instead falling loosely to her mid upper arm. Her fingers, which were painted pale blue and chipped, wrapped around the feather necklace, which hung almost to her belly button. "You'd have to ask him, honestly. We've always done the crow bar or broken window method, if wanted to get in somewhere. Not quite as sneaky, but quicker and requires a lesser dexterity score." Angel grinned, grabbing the coffee can and the top of the cooler on to her lap.

Beautiful, glorious, white widow. It smelled wonderful, filling Angel's nostrils, as she held the baggy to her nose. Grinning at Tramp, she pulled out a clump, and started de-seeding-and-stemming. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. I was bored, and so..." There was a mischievous glint to her eyes, as her voice trailed off. "I don't get bored. At least, not for long." Grabbing a paper, she wrapped the bud, licking the edges lightly, forming a perfect joint. "Live fast, die young, and sleep only when you're dead. You know?"

Grinning, she lit up with her weedgie board zippo, inhaling deeply. Unless one was the most seasoned of smokers (Cheech and Chong seasoned, mind you), you could not make a good inhale without coughing. But, Angel still tried to hold it in, tried looking cool and chill. But the moment she started to laugh, Angel started to cough as well, holding out the joint to her new friend.

Tramp.

There was something there

Angel didn't believe in soul mates, but definitely kindred spirits. Her and Wes were kindred spirits, because he grounded her. And she brought him up a bit. The complimented each other. But, Trampy, she was a kindred spirit on a new level. A more... sisterly level. Angel imagined it was similar to how twins felt, despite their colorings being near opposite.

Kindred.

She rather liked that word.

"You know... if I ever breed... which I highly doubt, but if I do. I like the name Kindred." She leaned back in her seat, grinning comfortably. The shirt-dress climbed up a bit, her yellow boy shorts playing a little bit of peek-a-boo at the hem. Honestly, she didn't care. "Speaking of which... your name. What's the real one? Or, like, did your parents stick you with Tramp? Seems a little harsh, if that's the case. Though, as far as nicknames go... aiight." She felt chill, at the moment, though her eyes did trail around.

After all, pot only prolonged boredom for so long.

And like she said, she didn't do boredom.

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

“Life-long friends, pretty rad, no lie.” Tramp flashed her another grin, crossing one leg over the other casually. “I get it. I’m not a dramatic one, for the most part. I’m more of the sneaky sucker-punch ya, kind.” She explained. Tramp didn’t like being the center of attention, plus—she felt that people would be more likely to remember her if she did something that was lasting, rather than just a shock of a few seconds. Something dark, emotional, something people would never forget.

Tramp’s smile spread into a wide grin when Angel started to choke. She chuckled, and took it carefully from Angel. The choking was never fun, it felt like it was impossible to stop coughing. But Tramp always felt she hit her high faster when she choked. She pulled it to her lips, drawing in slowly. Little by little, before passing it back to Angel. She held it in her chest, pushing it out just before she felt the ache in her chest telling her she was about to cough.

“That is some good,” And there went the coughing. Tramp furrowed her brows, her other hand pressing to her lips while she coughed, clearing her throat to try and ease the cough. “That is some good shit.” Her voice was tight, already starting to feel the fuzzy edge on her body. Her stuff back home was almost stale, and it was cheap. She was going to have to find who Angel was going to, because that was primo compared to her own.

“I like the practice of breeding, rather than the actual parasite bit.” She commented quietly, relaxing in her own chair. She turned her head, looking at Angel when she brought up the names. She grinned, “The real one is Ripley. I got Tramp cause my mom kept saying I was actin’ like a tramp, and bein’ a tramp. So I figured, might was well embody the whole thing, right? Then it just kinda stuck. You can call me Ripley if you wanna.” She shrugged her bare shoulders. “Your parents must love you a whole lot, to name you Angel. It’s pretty, like.”

Tramp’s tongue brushed over her lower lip, tasting the sour, bitter taste the weed left on her lower lip. It tasted gross, always did—no matter how good the weed was. But it was like picking a scab—she couldn’t resist tasting it a second time. “So, you been in New York a while, yeah? I’ve lived like on the outskirts, out in the more suburb sorta area. I got kicked out, living with my cousin now.” Tramp explained, glancing up to the sky. It still took a lot of getting used to, the newness of everything. Wanting to fit in, but not wanting to try.

[/blockquote]

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

Taking back the joint, Angel grinned. Yeah, it was pretty rad, her and Wes's friendship. It was an old one, almost ancient in feeling. As she puffed, she tried to find a good word for it, her eye lids feeling heavier, the cottony feeling coming over her skin.

Druidic.

Yeah, that was a good word.

Because it was natural and old.

Her and Wes had a druidic friendship going on. "I have my moments of drama, I suppose one could say." She replied, barely recognizing that she skimmed over the subject of Wes. Not that she was trying to keep him a secret. The cloud of high sometimes confused the words that were her inside voice and her outside voice, to put it simply. "Like I said, desperate times, and all that."

As she smoked, she grinned. "It is good, ain't it. Wes gets it... I dunno from where." Angel shrugged lazily. The who and where hardly counted, so long as she got the what and when. The what and when were the fun part, and Angel was all about the fun part. And Wes was good with the who and where. She wondered what Tramp was good with. Maybe the how?

"Ripley? Like... Alien? Legit." Angel said, brain clouded with oddly placed thoughtfulness. Coughing a bit, though not as hard as the first time, as the hits she took were more gentle than the first, she passed it back. As the coughs began to settle, she started to laugh, striking them up again. "Jack and Rip? That's franking some coincidental, accidental, brand of awesome right there." She said, through the coughing and the laughing.

Honestly, it wasn't really THAT funny.

But it certainly amused Angel.

"I think it's gotta be me. I attract a certain sort, I suppose. Though, you know, Jack's name is actually Weston. So maybe it's more me demanding a sort, yeah?" She mused aloud, beginning to roll up another joint. After all, there was enough that they didn't need to pass back and forth like they were conserving.

"But, nah, Angel ain't that pretty. I kinda think they did it, because my folks named my brother- my real brother- Damien, not being completely in the know about that movie The Omen." Angel's grin curled, enjoying her theory. "So they named me Angel to sorta... counterbalance it." Shrugging, she licked the edges of the paper, inhaling the smell of the unlit bud as she did so.

When Tramp brought up roots, Angel's mind went back to California. In some ways she missed it: Skateboarding down the board walk, palm trees, sunshine. New York was cold, and gray, and busy. Life in Cali had a pace all it's own. Though, it was rather nice to see a variety in noses and real sized tits. "Venice Beach, California." Angel said, winking at Tramp and holding up her index and center finger. "I got tucked away in Boarding School, because I'm a problem child, apparently. But, honestly, I probably would have begged to go anyway, so I ain't bitter." Lighting the completed joint, she gave a generous inhale to get it going, sending her into a fit of deeper coughs.

Heck.

This was some good snaps.

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

Tramp nodded in agreement over the quality of the weed. “Jack and Ri—oh shit.” Tramp’s head leaned in, staring at Angel wide eyed, before breaking out in a grin, and leaned her head back against the chair while giggles also burst out of her mouth, but for a different reason. “I’d love to post that somewhere and watch my mom shit herself.” She took back the joint, carefully brushing the end off with her pinky to get rid of the ash at the end.

“I don’t even know what my mom was thinkin’ when she named me. My sisters got pretty normal names. There’s Annalynn, and then the twins, Kacey and Lacey. You’d think she was more careful, she still can’t tell when the twins flip names on her.” Tramp shook her head, before bringing the joint back to her lips.

When Angel mentioned she got put in the boarding school for being a problem child, Tramp grinned. “Same for me kinda. Mom couldn’t handle me. Parents are absurd like that; a teenager acts like a teenager, and suddenly it’s the end of the fucking world.” She rolled her eyes, and smiled at the lazy heavy feeling. That was one of her favorite feelings when she was high. It felt like she was in slow motion, even though she wasn’t. Everything seemed to be a little bit brighter, more vivid. Granted there wasn’t too much color on the white covered roof. But the colors on her own outfit, and the ones on Angel’s seemed to scream out for her attention, for her to notice them. Jesus Christ, colors were loud.

“You know what I wish?” She paused for a moment, to take another inhale, before opening her mouth, and slowly pushing it out; her eyes behind her sunglasses crossing to watch the smoke billow out of her mouth. “I wish the ground was made of Jell-O. Then you could jump off the roof without getting hurt. I want to know what it’s like to fall, without breaking my neck or paying out the ass for a skydiving lesson.” Randomness. That’s what Tramp got when she was high. The one with no mouth filter, saying the first thing that popped into her mind, no matter how absurd. She was also the sort to giggle. Constantly. Even right now, she was in her mind, trying to control the thoughts a little to prevent her of thinking of something hilarious, just so she wouldn’t giggle.

Notes: Barg, short post is short. -punches self in the face-

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

Parental units were so... unit-y.

But not united.

How sad.

As Ripley began to share on her family, Angel lounged, not really feeling quite 'there' to talk about her family. It was generally something saved simply for conversations with Wes. And that was only because he was aware of the situation. Their Mother's had been friends, long ago.

Back when Mrs. Dihanie was alive.

And since that little car accident, all those years ago, the family seemed to be... less. In more ways than simply being one less family member. Especially Damien, who was currently in his mat laced bedroom, eating only cold finger food, because he was afraid that he would get burned or impaled by a utensil. Mr. Diahanie was drowned in work and attending to his highly phobic son, and Angel was...

In New York, tucked a reasonable distance away.

Brought back from her inner dwellings, Angel's grin returned. What an amazing wish. Though, Wes wouldn't like it. He didn't like Jello. "You know what's in Jello?" She asked, taking an inhale like a champ. As she let the smoke go, she formed her lips, pushing out a lopsided smoke ring. The coughing lightened considerably, as she continued to smoke, the heavy buzz of highness weighing in her brain. It was like a fog had clouded over her entire being, making her skin was lined with lead. But, in a good way. "Ground cow scull. No bull shot... and... no pun intended there. Gives you a creepy perception of dessert products, huh. Oh! And fish oil is in lipstick. That's why I don't wear the stuff... fish are total wads. I don't like em."

In her state, she started to ramble, talking a bit with her hand, the joint in her hand burning slowly between her fingers. The smoke curled around her hands artfully, like incense in a church. But minus heck and all that nonsense.

Still jumping off from stuff, into other stuff sounded like fun. "You know what we should do though? While it's still warm like this?" There was a long pause, as Angel became distracted with buffing out a scuff on her ring. "Bridge jumping. I don't have a bridge really in mind... Any bridge."

She laughed a little too herself, though nothing was particularly funny. "Or! Or we could wait til the bell rings, and drop elmers glue on the students below. They'll think it's bird drops. Watching them spaz out is fun... like dropping sugar grains near an ant hill. Or a dead ant near an ant hill. Did you know they're cannibalistic. I've always wondered if it was a way of mourning... Like smoking someones ashes." She was back rambling again. "Would that be cannibalism? Smoking someone's ashes? Hrm. I'm pretty sure cannibalism only implies getting your nom on."

Hrm.

She wondered if that soured the weed.

She'd have to google it later.

Puffing on her joint, Angel grinned. "Sorry. When I smoke, I get... locked on, I guess. Like, I'll just start spouting the randomest snaps you've ever heard. I can't stop myself." Shrugging, vaguely recognizing that she was momentarily locked on about being locked on, she slouched in her seat, shirtdress creeping up a little more, enjoying the warmth of August.

Life was beautiful.

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

“Yeah, I read somewhere that it was animal bones and stuff. It’s kinda grody, you know? I don’t eat the junk. It tastes like you’re swallowing snot, or something.” Tramp’s button nose wrinkled at the image, and pulled her knees up, hooking her heels on the edge of her chair. It caused the short dress she had on to hike up her pale thigh—but much like Angel, she didn’t really seem to give it much thought.

“Isn’t fish oil supposed to be good for you? I hear it’s good for your nails, and hair and stuff. Makes sense why they’d put it in lipstick.” She smacked her lips, which had been a highly glossy red, which was no longer glossy—and the red was fading. Tramp was one of the sorts that put on enough lipgloss for it to be too much. And yet, the vivid color and the wet look seemed to suit her just fine…plus, when those shimmering lips pulled into a pout, she often got her way. At least school-wise…with the male population.

“There’s a bridge connecting Queens, isn’t there? There’s gotta be bridges, but it’s like…long ways away and stuff.” Lifting the joint to her lips again, holding it now with her thumb and forefinger, as it was growing considerably smaller. “You know what’s better than Elmer’s glue?” She asked, her voice tight, holding in the smoke, “Dropping paint balloons. Especially on the bitches that take way, way too much time on their hair.” This time as she spoke, the smoke again curled out of her mouth, and around her face.

Glancing sideways at Angel again, Tramp considered it. “I dunno, ask Keith Richards. Didn’t he snort his dad’s ashes or something?” She wondered out loud, her brows visibly furrowing from behind her glasses. Listening to Angel ramble was comforting, friendly, warm. It almost made her wish she had moved to this area much sooner. A smile crossed on her face, a very Tramp-smile; the one that caused her nose to scrunch up a bit, and almost looked insincere, but in reality…it was probably her most sincere, warmest smile. Most of the time, the ones where she showed her teeth were the fake ones.

“Dude, we should do something, really. Cause, it’s gorge up here, it really is, but. You know? And plus, if we drop something off the roof of this area, someone will mention it to an administrator or something, and then they’ll come up here to check it out. And bye-bye Paradise.” She opened and closed her empty hand to the air, before tucking her head back, trying to think. It was extremely difficult trying to think, when your mind was coming up with its own images—random, meaningless images. Words that made no sense, phrases that flitted across her mind and then were forgotten a split second after. “Skinny dipping at the Harbor?” She spoke randomly, and chewed the inside of her cheek. “Run into random stores screaming like we have the ‘retts, and bolt?” For a moment, she was completely serious faced.

Until the mental images came with the last phrase.

Tramp imagined herself and Angel walking into some quaint, little antique store. Screaming random things at the top of their lungs, and frightening some poor, randomly generated old woman. Before skipping out. And then she lost it. The silence was broken by loud, sharp laughter that just would not stop. At. All.

[/blockquote]

[WESTON BRODERICK]

"If the sine of thirty degrees is root three over two, then what is the cotangent of...Mr. Broderick, am I interrupting something?"

Someone was talking to him. Wes was almost sure of it. Somewhere horribly far away, someone was trying to get his attention, but their words seemed to meet a wall about halfway before they got to the point of clarity. He grumbled, shifting his position in search of comfort. Instead of anything remotely soft, however, he found his cheek pressed sharply against something cold. Hard. Metallic. And...spiraled?

"Mr. Broderick, I asked you a question."

So that was where the voice was coming from. There he'd been, thinking maybe--just maybe--he'd been dreaming.

"Huh? No," Wes grumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up straighter in the desk. His cheek stung where the spiral binding of his notebook had pressed into it; he could feel the mark already, knowing it would at least give Angel something to laugh about later. The sea of equations and graphs spead across the board swam before his eyes, and he found himself more than tempted to slam his head right back down on that goddamn notebook and drift off into black oblivion until the bell rang. In fact, he was leaning back down towards the makeshift pillow when-- Smack!

Wes practically lept out of his seat. The meter stick seemed to buzz something nasty as it vibrated after impact; at least it had done its job. He was more awake now than he'd been in the past five days--not entirely surprising, as there'd been no sleep for four of those nights. The rest of class passed by in a blur of right triangles and quadranctal angles, definitions dancing before his eyes like sick puppets, tanunting him with the theoretical probability of just how much longer he was going to have to sit through this before he could escape to Paradise.

As usual, the answer was too long. He left the room in a hurry, head down so as to not attract any more attention from the teacher. The winding route up to the roof was taken quickly, two steps at a time, the rickety steps climbed at a rate that would have made Angel cluck her tongue with impatience. When he reached the top, Wes wrenched the door open, brushing aside one of the dusty spiders that fell from its frame.

Instantly, he was greeted by the smell of home. Or of Angel, which was practically the same thing, in his opinion. He inhaled the sweet aroma deeply, slipping a pair of black aviators out of his pocket and over his eyes before making his way towards the obvious source of the deliciously pungent smell--their home base.

"Can't believe you started without me," he smiled warmly at Angel as he approached the set of lawn chairs, depositing his backpack at the foot of hers. Shaking his head in utter disappointment, it was only when he was about to turn and flop down in his own throne that he noticed something different (unusual for it to take so long, but there was no questioning his grogginess). Furrowing his brows at the blonde newcomer, he glanced between her and Angel before asking said potential intruder the all-important question. "Who're you?"

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

Their collective musings seemed to be rather bouncy. Smoking ashes, skinny dipping, other random nonsensical business. It was like someone had created a partner in crime, just for Angel. And this, especially in her over-musing, high, state, made her feel especially special. She gave no retort, as Ripley began to list of things they could do. Not because she didn't find them intriguing, but because her own gears were turning.

The only time she spoke in the series of words, was to reply on the subject of losing paradise. "Oh, no no no. I spit and drop stuff over the edge all the time. You just have to make sure no one sees you. They never assume it's the roof. They just check the higher story windows." Angel grinned. "No student would be so bold as to come on the roof, because the school made it clear that it's practically immediate expulsion if you get caught."

No one could deny that Angel was a thrill seeker. In fact, Wes almost always drove, because she understood speed limits to be merely wet-blanket-suggestions than the actual law. There was something thrilling about almost getting caught. About making it out of a sticky situation by just the skin of your teeth. About talking your way out, if the skin of your teeth got snagged. She wasn't a bad person.

She was not malicious, and didn't want anyone to get hurt with her antics. Once she through a rock over an overpass and caused a car accident, back when she lived in Venice Beach. She ran away, but later that night turned herself in, merely out of guilt. Angel was a sweet girl, she just liked a rush.

Smoking her joint, Angel nodded that things were becoming a bit dry. But she wasn't sure what she wanted to do. Also, she wanted to stick around a bit longer, and see if Wes showed up. They were accused, often, of dating. They two had been inseparable since they were little tykes, and this bond grew while attending Baum. In Venice Beach, they had other friends. Or, well, associates.

But here, it was sort of just the two of them. He was the quiet Columbine Kid, who most hadn't heard say more than twenty words tops, and less than five if 'yes', 'no', 'sorry', 'ma'am', or 'sir' weren't in there. And Angel with the weird bug girl, who never wore trousers and often got in trouble.

Alas, thus was life.

Hearing the door open, Angel grinned, seeing Wes- her Jack- cross over to them. Grinning, Angel waves lazily, taking another hit. His usual seat was taken, and he would surely notice this soon enough. His chiding was weightless, as she lifted off from the seat for him to sit. Wouldn't be the first time she lapped it, after all. "Sorry Jack, got kicked out of class. Quite on unfair circumstances I might add. Horrible injustice." She grinned at Ripley, puffing at her slowly shrinking joint, before handing it to Weston. "Wes, this is Ripley Rip Ripperton of the Ripvandal Rippingtons." Hell, this was some good smoke. "More fondly called Tramp. Rip, this is my Jack, Wes. Wes Rip, Tramp Jack, doot doot, good now we're friends." Easy peezy lemon squeezy, baby.

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

“No student except us, right?” Tramp returned the grin, and shifted her fingers, holding it with the very tip of her nails. It was small, but she’ll be damned if she didn’t finish it completely. She had even gone so far once as to hold it with a pair of manicure scissors, just to say she had smoked the entire thing. Waste not, want not.

She relaxed back into her chair, also trying to think again. It was difficult, trying to think through the molasses that her brain had become, trying to get her thoughts to slow down enough to form one coherent thought. Something that was worthy of Angel’s daredevil attitude. Until the sound of the door opening shattered her thoughts into a million pieces, making her forget about what exactly she had been thinking. The boy that walked up didn’t even seem to notice her, not right away. He was good looking in that weird sort of way. The too skinny kid, that one might deem antisocial. Maybe a bad-boy?

Ah, there it went. He noticed her, and seemed…a bit rude with it. Tramp raised her sunglasses to get a better look, and then she opened her mouth to introduce her, but Angel beat her to it. All the ‘rip’s that Angel had said, made her head spin, and she closed her mouth in a wide smile showing no teeth. She held out her hand, rings on each finger, making them look long and thin, “Nice to meetcha, Wes. Tramp or Rip, whatever ya like.” Her other hand lowered her glasses back onto her face, “We were just trying to figure out something to do. Got any ideas, Wes-Man?” As easily as she had been around Angel, she was around Wes now. Either he liked her, or he didn’t. Either today they’d be fine, or wouldn’t speak to her again tomorrow. Part of her hoped this wasn’t a onetime thing, but the other part of her didn’t care if they talked to her tomorrow.

Notes: Holy short post batman. D: Sorry

[/blockquote]

[WESTON BRODERICK]

Wes shrugged as Angel vacated her seat, flopping down into it with a loud sigh. He pushed the sunglasses up in order to rub his palms against his eyelids wearily, giving his head a small shake before turning to look at Angel again. Good Lord, he was beyond tired.

Still, he couldn't help but smile at her as she spoke. Eyes on Angel even as she introduced him to the new girl, Wes took the joint with another grin. He took a large drag of it, too eager to reach the high to bother concealing the subsequent cough. "Isn't it always?" he laughed her apology, but quirked an eyebrow anyway. God only knew what sort of trouble she'd gotten herself into this time...Maybe he didn't want to know. When he wasn't around during the time of crisis, he typically regretted hearing about it afterwards, not because he wished he could have been there to join in the fun, but because half the time he felt he could possibly have talked her out of stupidity. Which was a flat out lie.

Shifting to face Tramp, Wes extended his hand, keeping the joint in his mouth as he took off his sunglasses; he hated first meeting people and not looking them in the eye. Especially if the new someone had the potential to be spending a lot of time around him and/or Angel. "I'll stick with Tramp," he nodded, glancing at the near-excessive amount of rings on her fingers before meeting her eyes again. He smiled. She seemed nice enough, he supposed. Better than some of the girls he'd seen Angel talk to before, anyway. Besides, the nickname was amusing. He meant nothing by it, calling her Tramp from the get go--nothing more than that it rolled nicely off the tongue. And if she got offened by the use of her own nickname..well...then they'd have bigger, stranger problems to deal with.

As he settled back into the seat and closed his eyes, Wes draped a pale arm over the his lids, puffing a ring of smoke out his lips as he pondered Tramp's question. Ankles corssed easily over each other at the end of the chair, he wiggled his feet on an invisible beat as he took a long, deep breath. Eyes still shut tight, he responded with a lazy shrug and a long, drawn out "Noooopppee."

He sat up then. Eyes snapping open and joint held out for Angel to take again, he glanced skeptically between the two girls before asking his best friend the all-important question: "Aren't you usually the one with all the grand ideas?"