English is Well Dry {Angel}

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

Wes and Ripley meeted at greeted rather nicely. It was good when things were copacetic. Like, if she loved things, she wanted her friends to love them too. They didn't even have to love them to the degree that she did. A general fondness was acceptable. She sat on his lap, lucky that she was such a tiny little Angel, as she seemed to fit rather nicely.

Wes was not quite at his full height, but still manage to stand over Angel, who took after her father's more petite side of the family. There was a manner of intimacy between the two friends. Not that Angel put too much weight on it. After all, it was as it had always been. True the friends knew of each other, and Angel was quite fond of Wes. In fact, she could not even say NEVEREVERNEVER at the idea of one day dating him. But for now, friendship sufficed.

Why rock the boat, when what they had going on was so awesome anyway?

She leaned back, his chest supporting her as would a chair, his should acting as a nice neck rest as she stared into the crisp, wisp, clouds. Angel was not concerned with him burning her with the joint that hung on his lips so precariously. It wasn't like, after all, that she had never burned him by accident. Scars were like imprints, photographs that you would never lose. 'Hey, do you remember that one time we-' so on and so forth. Angel liked that she bore badges of her memories around, bits of her mocha caramel skin dented and scraped like a cherished knick knack that had gone through one too many moves.

Raising her hand, her neck rolled over to look at Tramp while she made inquiry to Wes on what he thought they should do, her blue fingernailed fingers sneaking up and stealing the joint from Wes's lips, returning them to her own. It was only there for a moment, before it was returned, as he was behind.

Ripley had a point.

Mischief had to be occurring, at least soon.

Though, perhaps some time could be allotted to young Weston, while he caught up to the girl's level of stoned.

Grinning at his question, Angel rose back to her feet, walking into the sunlight. Instantly, she felt the heat on her skin, her eyes closing to soak in the vitamin D. "We could go and pursue the evils of the league of minor inconveniences..." She said, pondering aloud. "Cloud watching in the middle of the sidewalk, taking screws out of various things, going to the museum and turning the frames just slightly askew..." Hrm, no, those were more quiet day activities...

She mosied to the edge of the building, peering over a little. It was a ghost town, as class was in session. A straggler or two would happen by, billowing like tumbleweed in the hall. "We could go to the mall, swim in the fountain a bit, run from the mall cops, party boy at the elderly..." That was a possibility. wasn't it. The edge of the city came to her mid torso, though only for a second. Lifting herself, she rose to stand on the narrow edge, balancing like a trapeze artist, the wind fluttering her dark hair with little care. "Go to the zoo, flip of the monkey's... ride the bumpers of taxi's on the boards, have a little race... Make inappropriate conversation of the subway..." Her head was like a vast of ideas, nonstop, full of mischief. "Pool hopping in the fancy Long Island homes, before the buzzy little drones come from worky work?" Balancing on one foot crane style, her smile grew as she looked down, rotating on her heel to change directions.

Hell, she should totally pursue her old dream of wanting to join the circus. Even in her heavy state of stoned, Angel knew she'd rock it out.

Yeah.

Totally.

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

Well, those two looked awfully comfy. Gathering from their conversation before, she figured that Wes wasn't really Angel's brother, but she was also guessing that these two didn't exactly have just a sibling-esque relationship. The realization made a somewhat smug smile curl over her lips, and she stretched her back, cracking it while she waited. There was no pressure from Wes' side, no hostility. That was comforting, and he even smiled. He was treating her just as naturally as Angel had, so her fears and worries were completely out the window.

"For real, because, I am all but baked, and--" She took another inhalation of her nearly gone joint, "I'm gonna get to that munchie-point of no return pretty soon if I don't get off my ass." She flicked the ash again, watching Angel move to the side of the building. If she tried that herself, she'd have vertigo up the wazoo--not to mention the way Angel had suddenly moved to balance on the edge of building. Even though she wasn't the one on the ledge, she could feel the adrenilline spike through her veins. Angel was high, and one wrong slip of the foot, and her new friend would just be another piece of modern splatter art.

The though caused her heart to thrum, and she glanced sideways at Wes. Her expression was unsure, and she was certain that he knew Angel better than anyone. If he looked panicked, it was time to freak out. "Pool hopping could be fun, but wouldn't that get a bit tiring after jumping several fences?" Tramp stretched her arms over her head, before taking one last inhale of the joint. It was all but paper now, that she carefully rubbed on the roof. If there was anythign salvagable in it, they could add it to something else later. "Riding bumpers sounds pretty fun, but I don't skateboard. And where would we go?" She licked her lower lip, unable to stop tasting that disgusting, bitter taste that the weed left on her mouth. "Who could've figured that New York could be so...boring."

[WESTON BRODERICK]

As cliché as it was, Wes had yet to find a better way to describe how it felt when Angel curled up next to him than like a puzzle—when the last two pieces are snapped in, and the whole pictures fits snugly together with no gaps or questions or wrinkles to speak of. He had yet to tell her this, of course, but felt the idea was made more than obvious by how easily she laid herself over him, and just how little he minded. Still, his movements with the joint were more careful now; it flopped less nonchalantly from his mouth, and although he let one hand drape lazily across Angel’s stomach, the other was running through her hair, ready to catch the burning roll if it were to suddenly fall towards her.

His lips parted easily as she took the joint from them. Forming an “o” shape with his mouth, he leaned back, puffing a ring of smoke out into the air as he closed his eyes. Smiling beneath the reappearance of weed on his lips, Wes opened them again as Angel’s weight left his lap and instead, her voice reached his ears. He shook his head at her ideas, but grinned anyway, knowing full well she was just getting warmed up. Suddenly, he found himself wondering just how much trouble this Tramp girl was willing to get in to. Although, she was in Paradise…that had to count for something, as anyone found up here could easily face expulsion.

Tempted as he always was to caution Angel against teetering on the edge of a tall building, Wes remained silent. The only indication of his displeasure at the whole thing was a slight pursing of his lips, although even that was hard to detect. He took another deep breath of the smoke; it was always easier to ignore the imminent danger when he was high. In fact, that was probably why he’d started smoking in the first place, if he really put some thought into the origins of it.

He shrugged at Tramp’s question. No matter what they started off doing, chances were Angel would change her mind halfway though, anyway, so there was really no point in arguing. “We’d go wherever,” Wes replied lazily, taking one final puff of the joint. “That’s the point—you end up where the taxi does,” he nodded, casting Tramp an incredulous look at the idea of her not skateboarding. He shook his head, clearly too embarrassed for her to bother asking how exactly she’d survived so long without learning. “It’s only as boring as you say it is,” Wes shrugged, sinking lower in his seat so that the tips of his black-shoe-clad toes peeked into the sun, delighting in the warmth spreading from the bright spot shining on his feet.

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

Angel was not really listening to the musings of her friends, as they pondered on her ideas for entertainment for the evening. She was so use to Weston, who- despite his innate wisdom- usually did as Angel pleased, and thus she had become quite the spoiled little bugger. All she would have to do was decide, in her mind, and that was what they were doing. And while in the back of her mind she was curious if Tramp would protest, she hoped she would not, and thought she would not, as they seemed to have similar ideas of what was amusing.

Unfortunately, the weed that flowed through her seemed to slow down the brain function for the moment, and thus the well of ideas was a bit shallow, at the moment.

Trying to prompt her creative juices, Angel let out a small battle cry, kicking at nothing. Turning on heel, she pretended to look like the offended, the kicked. "What did you do that for?" She sounded quite sincere in her play acting reproach, but the moment she turned on heel once more, her voice became stern and patronizing. "For being a bastard with no manners, and not a dook of an idea how to comport yourself public-wise, O my brother." Now, swears were not her cup of tea, most days. But, right now, bastard seemed acceptable. Once again, she turned on heel, reproachful face back the moment her back turned. "I don't like you should do what you done, and I'm not your brother no more and wouldn't want to be." When she turned once more, the patronizing tone took on a pitch of warning. "Watch that. Do watch that, O Dim, if to continue to be on live thou dost wish." Again, she turned, a childish so-there quality taking it's form. "Yarbles! Great bolshy yarblockos to you. I'll meet you with chain or nozh or britva anytime, not having you aiming tolchocks at me reasonless. Well, it stands to reason I won't have it." She stamped her foot at it, as if to emphasize her point. Spinning once more, mind you, still on the precarious edge as she acted out this little scene, her face became amused by the childish impudence. "A nozh scrap any time you say?" When she turned again, the offended character seemed to think, before lowering his eyes, through Angel, down submissively, and voice becoming sheepish and conceding. "Doobidoob. A bit tired, maybe. Best not to say more. Bedways is rightways now, so best we go homeways and get a bit of spatchka. Right, right?"

Sighing, she turned ninety degrees so as to face her friends, the sun shining down on her little frame. Her dark hair seemed to shine a bit, but her face was one of frustration. Sitting down, as easily and without fear as one would expect someone to sit if their was a wall behind them (instead of death), she let one leg curl under her as if half indian style, and the other hang off the edge. "I'm quite bored, I think. Mayhaps we decide to go pool hopping, and if something more fun mosies our way, we'll take upon it?" She grinned a little, as it would seem her little preformance effected her speaking pattern some. Shaking her head a little, Angel spoke clearer, leaning back on the ledge. "I could go for a swim, after a bite."

It thrilled her, the bits of danger. If her hands slipped from where they were anchoring her, she could very well just be flung to her death. Pouf, no more Angel.

Life was short.

Probably shorter for types like Angel.

She wasn't entirely sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing, speaking honestly.

[RIPLEY "TRAMP" GWYNN]

Tramp's mouth opened and closed when Angel seemed alarmed over something. Her brows furrowed, watching Angel argue with...herself? Her lips tightened in a thin line, while her brows knit over her green eyes, and she turned to look at Wes. Almost as though she were asking him if this were normal. Only for Angel to start speaking again, and Tramp stared. She followed th argument at first, but then was lost in a tangle of words that didn't make any sense what so ever, her expression once never changing.

"Wes, how high am I right now? Is this happening?" She asked quietly while Angel continued to ramble on. Tramp focused when Angel looked back at them, and then acted like that had not just happened. Which indeed it had. Because Angel was now talking strangely, like she was partially stuck in character. A silence hung over Tramp, before her fingers spread wide, "What...the fuck....just happened?" Tramp's eyes shut, trying to make the ringing in her ears go away. It was hilarious, yes. But she was more mind-fucked than giggley. She peeked one eye open, and stared at her friend sitting on the ledge of the building.

Food, food sounded good. Pizza, especially. Ooh, pizza with the gooey cheese, crunchy crust, and savory pepperoni--the thought made Tramp's stomach growl quite loudly, and her hand rested over her stomach. She sucked in a breath to say something else, before letting it out through her nose. After Angel's little act, and between food--all her words were jumbled up. And she was still stuck on a very...very confused note. Reaching upwards, Tramp scratched her head, and gave Angel that look. The one that said, 'I'm not entirely sure what the fuck just happened, what to say, but I may love you.', or at least that's what Tramp thought the expression looked like. Anyone from the outside may just say Tramp needed a little more fiber in her diet.

"Food. I can do food." Tramp relaxed her face, blinking rapidly a few times, trying to shake out her mind. What. The fuck. Just happened.

[/blockquote]

[WESTON BRODERICK]

Wes couldn’t help it; he jumped. He always did. Eleven years of knowing Angel, and she never ceased to surprise him. Whether that was a good or bad thing…well, it was one of the few questions he tried not to ponder. However, sudden as it was, Wes wasn’t all that surprised once she got herself going. He recognized what she was doing, at any rate, and even managed to smile a bit, despite the fact that he didn’t understand the half of it. Only Angel.

Turning towards Tramp, he smiled, even managing to chuckle a bit at the look of pure shock on her face. “Not that high,” he then offered another nugget of advice she was going to have to memorize if this trio Angel evidently had her heart set on was going to continue. “You’ll have to get used to it,” his tone was certainly more matter-of-fact than snotty. There was a sort of sigh behind it, as well. Like he couldn’t quite believe he did, sometimes, but loved it anyway.

Tongue stuffed in his cheek, Wes pursed his lips in an attempt not to laugh at her sudden relapse into character. He nodded. Honestly, he didn’t care much what they did. He never had, so long as they got out of it alive, un-caught, and—for the most part—relatively unscathed. “Mayhaps…” he sighed, stretching his arms wide over his head and arching his back before standing up. “We get some pizza?” Jesus, he was starving. He left the shelter of the lawn chairs to stand beside where Angel was seated, offering her a hand (along with a smile and small bow) to get down from the ledge with.

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

Angel watched her friends closely for a moment, as they whispered amongst themselves. What were they saying? Oh, a mutiny? Was it bad that she was sort of craving a mutiny? Oh, that would be such fun! Being the rebellion quasher, as oppose to the rebel. Such a change in pace! Why, that would make Angel 'The Man', wouldn't it? The enemy of the 1960's and 70's. It would be interesting to be 'The Man', if for no other reason than Angel having an inny, and not an outy.

But it was not a rebellion, not a coup, not a mutiny. Just them talking, just some friendly chit-chat. Ripley must be rather good, if Wes would chit-chat with her. He wasn't exactly the chitter or the chatter, and certainly never with those together. Ripley was a good fit, Angel thought to herself, smiling at the little blond. Quite the trio they seemed to be: The silent enigma, the hardcore pixie, and the lovable imp. But it still felt... incomplete. Some awol pieces were missing from their puzzle. Which was odd, because the feeling of incompleteness had not occurred until Ripley joined them, but not that it was here, Angel was excited to collect the rest.

Wes came to her with offers of pizza. Oh, holy crap, that sounded so perfect right now. She wasn't even hungry when she brought up food just bored. But now tat he mentioned food, it was all she wanted! Oh, god, a philly cheesesteak. But instead of peppers and onions, she wanted pickles. Pickles, hot goody cheese, and steaks, between italian bread! With orange soda, no ice. Who loves orange soda? Fricks to Kel, Angel loved orange soda. She did, she did, she did, ohhh. Holy cow, that was the only thing sh wanted in the world, in the history of ever.

While she did take his hand, Angel directed him to give her his back. Easily, she slipped on to it, long brown legs wrapping around his torso, arms hanging lazily over his shoulders. "Rip? Have you ever been to Mr. Z's? They make pizza's and subs and all sorts of crap. And they got a pool table, and a juke box." Angel's bright white teeth flashed over to her friend. "Me and Jack found it last year, right Jack? It's awesome." Angel liked it, because it had an almost secretive quality about it. No sign stating what it was, no gimmicks. Nothing but the smell of garlic and bread and awesome. Wes seemed to like it because of the private feel, and the old timey juke box. It was one of those things that hadn't been updated since the seventies. Perfect for his tastes, really perfect.

"Well, if we're going, let's go." Angel said, hunger making her impatient. Her voice lowered, speaking to Wes. "Want me to walk, Jack?"