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Post by DARIUS HARRISBURG on Aug 4, 2011 18:53:37 GMT -5
Darius heard the school bell ringing from like, six hundred damn miles away. He was fucking late, as usual. Why were the dorms so fucking far away from the science building or wherever the hell? Like, god fucking damn he was so late. Not that he really gave a shit, obviously. He hadn’t been on time since like, third grade, when there had a been a fucking schoolbus to pick him up and shit. But now he was seventeen years old. The Dare Hare didn’t need some goddamn school schedule telling him when to haul his ass out of bed. The Dare Hare woke up whenever he damn well pleased. And if that time happened to be after the school bell, well the school bell could go fuck itself in the ass.
He reached the science building, pulling the door open and ducking inside. Cooking class. Why the fuck had he signed up for cooking class? It was better than physics or whatever the hell the smarty pants preps took. And something about the class had just…pulled on him. Almost like, threateningly. Like, he had to take this class. It was scary shit, man. Maybe there was some voodoo chav out there making him sign up for this cooking class shit. Or whatever.
He found the room with “Culinary Arts” printed on the door. He strolled into the class, nodding at the other students who were already hard at work on some cooking shit. Darius would just eat some honey, as usual. He’d brought two jars, since this was like a two hour block or some shit. But still, god fucking damnit this class was so boring. How was he-
“Ah, Mr. Harrisburg. Nice of you to join us.”
Bitch. This teacher slut was totally not fucking rad. He nodded to her as per his usual greeting, tipping his baseball cap. No way this bitch making him take that shit off his head. He’d walk the fuck out first.
“You’ll be working with Miss. Robindale.” Fuck. Who the hell was Miss. Robindale? Some prep-ass skank, probably. He began to make his way towards the table he usually sat at.
”Oh, and I almost forgot. Today we’ll be cooking with honey.”
Honey.
Cooking.
With honey.
Fuck, man.
Had he died and gone to heaven?
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Post by hedgierobindale on Aug 6, 2011 21:12:21 GMT -5
Chris Robindale was definitely not in a good mood today.
First off, she was almost late. Why couldn't her fucking parents just let her live in the dorms? It would make her life soooo much easier, and less psychologically tiring.
Second, her parents decided to intervene on her semi-boyish fashion sense. What the fuck did they care? Usually, they just let her do whatever in order to gain her love, but this time, OH NO. They put her in a fucking DRESS. And not just any dress, a fucking polka-dotted dress. AND HEELS. Oh no, there was no fucking way she was just wearing that, so she had stuffed a hoodie and wearble shoes in her bag and put them on when she got inside.
Of course, she didn't normally wear dresses, and people know that. So the looks she got when she walked through the halls where returned by a glare of "you gonna say something, bitch?"
Chris hoped cooking class would make her feel better. Cooking was one of her favorite things to do; if she were to consider a career, it would probably involve making food. But no, they were working with partners today.
She had never really taken the time to notice if anyone in her cooking class had the glow. So she was obviously going to have to work with someone else. Probably some asshole jock who would comment on her tits or something to make her go ballistic.
“You’ll be working with Miss. Robindale.”
Her head snapped up when she heard her name, a scowl on her face. And at the front of the room, her partner stood.
He looked like fucking Eminem, with what he was wearing. She was preparing something nasty to say to him to scare him off when she noticed something else about him.
He had it.
He had the glow.
Could it be?
She had not yet found her best friend, the favorite of the group, though she would never admit that.
Could it be her Pooh bear?
”Oh, and I almost forgot. Today we’ll be cooking with honey.”
Oh my god, perfect way to find out. The dress and everything else that was pissing her off was immediately forgotten, and a reluctant smile appeared on her face. She watched him, trying to see his reaction to 'honey', but he was too far away. Damn. She would have to wait.
www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=35200546 |
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Post by DARIUS HARRISBURG on Aug 16, 2011 23:07:58 GMT -5
Darius Harrisburg did not fucking cook. Everybody knew that shit. What did he look like, some kind of fucking maid bitch? Did he look like he was wearing a god damned dress or carrying a fucking feather duster? The correct answer to those questions was no. No, Darius Harrisburg was not a god damned maid, and he did not fucking cook. The Dining Hall was where it was at, man, the dining hall and good ol’ Hooters. That shit was phat as hell. But honey. Honey was a whole other fucking deal. Give Darius a jar of honey, and he could whip that shit into a master piece before you could say “that shit is sweet.” Darius was the man, when it came to honey, and anyone who disagreed was a liar pussy fuck. So. Partners. Not too bad. A partner could hold his honey jar for him, maybe speed shit along by getting the ingredients and other crap he needed in whatever they were making. With an enormous grin splitting across his face, Darius lumbered over towards the back of the room, where Miss Goblin Whale or whatever the fuck the teacher whore had said her name was. There was his partner, looking at him all curiously and shit. Goddamnit. And she was…well hey there. She was pretty fucking nice-looking too. Cooking with honey and a hot-as-hell partner. Maybe this class wouldn’t be so bad after all. “Well hey there,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to hers and propping his feet up on the table. He adjusted his hat, selecting a pickup line at random. He’d totally come up with this one last night, and it was the most fucking tight shit that anyone had ever said. “Wanna play ‘Titanic’? When I say ‘Iceburg’, you-“ He was interrupted by a violent psychic jab, like a mental electric shock. What the fuck? Why in hell was his goddamn brain interrupting The Dare Hare’s flow? That was not cool. Nothing interrupted the Dare Hare’s flow, not even- He needed to cook with this honey. Any thoughts of seduction disappeared from his mind. He needed to cook with this goddamn honey. Right here, right now. With this chick. He had to. No explanation or shit, no nothing. It was the fucking most important thing in the world right now. “So listen, girl. I ain’t exactly a legit chef or any of that shit, but I can cook you a fucking gourmet banquet with honey. That Food Network bitch ain’t got nothin’ on me and my honey. So we’re gonna go ahead and make…” He picked the first recipe he thought of. “Honey Bran Squares. And that shit is gonna get us a fucking A+, and it is gonna taste absolutely fucking delicious. Good? Good. First we’re gonna need some butter and a saucepan.” The Dare Hare was on this. He was totally on this. OUTFIT HERE, and RECIPE HERE |
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Post by hedgierobindale on Aug 19, 2011 19:15:04 GMT -5
Oh God, what the hell. When he sat down and propped his fett up on tha table, she would have liked to flip a bitch. Seriously, dude, we're eating on that table, she thought sarcastically and almost rolled her eyes. Chris turned away from him absent-mindedly to avoid him seeing that action if it were to occur.
“Wanna play ‘Titanic’? When I say ‘Iceburg’, you-“
The corny pick-up line almost made her rethink him having the glow. She turned to look at him again, just to make sure she wasn't hallucinating(which would surprise no one). Nope, it was definitely there, shining... well, shining brighter than most of them had, actually. Especially Benny's, for example. His was a bit dim and gave off a more depessed vibe, which was her first sign that he had been Eeyore.
Chris sensed something off when he stopped talking, but didn't question it and actually enjoyed it. Because if he had finished it, there was no way she could have gone through that class without punching him in the face.
Oh, look. He was talking again.
“So listen, girl. I ain’t exactly a legit chef or any of that shit, but I can cook you a fucking gourmet banquet with honey. That Food Network bitch ain’t got nothin’ on me and my honey. So we’re gonna go ahead and make…” He picked the first recipe he thought of. “Honey Bran Squares. And that shit is gonna get us a fucking A+, and it is gonna taste absolutely fucking delicious. Good? Good. First we’re gonna need some butter and a saucepan.”
No way.
No.
Fucking.
Way.
It was Pooh. It had to be. There was no way it wasn't him, the way he talked about honey. It took all Chris had not to just hug him, which would have been awkward as fuck to anyone who couldn't see into her mind, which was everyone, she was sure.
So once everyone started getting up and floating around their kitchens, she stood up and got out the butter and saucepan. "What now?" she asked. Chris unfortunately didn't get to cook with honey that much because her adopted father was allergic somehow. Go figure.
notes; bleeeeeehthispost. :/ |
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Post by DARIUS HARRISBURG on Sept 10, 2011 13:49:17 GMT -5
Darius drummed his fingers on the table, humming some song he’d heard on MTV or whatever the fuck he’d been watching last night while . The honey assignment combined with the fact that he had a fucking hot as shit partner made him want to get up and dance and sing as loudly as he possibly could. This was The Dare Hare’s element, man. He was so fucking going to do this. Like a boss. Like a fucking boss, damnit.
"What now?"
Well. Fuck it, if she didn’t wanna talk to The Dare Hare, then she didn’t have to talk to the god damn Dare Hare. Darius would just do this entire assignment all by himself, and probably get the first A he’d ever gotten in his whole life. Damnit, he’d better get 100 fucking percent on this assignment, because he was going to make the most legit shit in the world with this honey and this babe.
Darius Harrisburg doing an assignment. And getting an A on it. In school. What the hell, man? What the fuck even was that shit? His homies would fucking piss themselves if they found out.
”What now?” He grinned, stretching and pulling himself onto his feet. ”Alright, now we’re gonna blend this honey and butter in the saucepan, and it’s gonna be all sticky and creamy and shit. Follow?” He nodded, taking the honey with his left hand. ”I’ll take the honey, you do the butter, comprende?” This girl could do all the shit she wanted, but there was no way in hell that any chick was touching his honey.
”What’s your name, again?” he asked to fill the awkward silence as he poured the honey into the pan and began to stir. Fuck, he hated awkward silences. They were so damn…awkward.
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Post by hedgierobindale on Oct 31, 2011 0:20:23 GMT -5
”What now? Alright, now we’re gonna blend this honey and butter in the saucepan, and it’s gonna be all sticky and creamy and shit. Follow? I’ll take the honey, you do the butter, comprende?”
"Si," she said, following the whole 'comprende' thing. God, it had to be Winnie the Pooh. There was no fucking way it wasn't. That defensiveness over honey was like a flashing advertisement of a billboard. Well, maybe not that obvious. More like a nametag that says "HELLO, My Name Is WINNIE THE FUCKING POOH!"
”What’s your name, again?”
"Chris," she replied, thankful for him breaking the slightly awkward silence. Once he started stirring, she poured the butter in carefully. "What's your name?" Of course, she had to know his real name, not that she'd ever call him that in any other place but out loud. Even if she kept a journal, which she didn't, she would call all her freinds by their real names, not their host's names. It was lucky that hers came close to Christopher Robin's.
Speaking of which, he was practically bouncing around like Tigger in her head. Yeah, it was really him. It had to be, seeing as Chris Two never got this damn excited over anyone else really.
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Post by DARIUS HARRISBURG on Nov 19, 2011 23:11:02 GMT -5
Darius watched the honey and butter as they blended together, grinning as the smell wafted to his nostrils. Damn, the smell was so fucking dope. He fucking lived for the smell of honey and butter mixing together. It was like sex, but a fucking smell. Like, if something was so good that it fucking smelled as good as sex.
Fuck, honey was so damn good. The second his partner chick looked away, Darius snagged another fingerful and doused his tongue with the delicious, fucking wonderful, fucking amazing taste.
"Si."
Fuck. This chick knew Spanish. Darius did not know any goddamn Spanish. And why would he? Only those stupid Mexican fucks who always got his order wrong at Mickey D’s spoke that pussy language. ”Me goooooosta,” Darius replied. He didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but he was pretty sure it was Spanish, and it was something they said on Jersey Shore all the time. And Jersey Shore was the fucking shit.
"Chris," she replied, thankful for him breaking the slightly awkward silence. Once he started stirring, she poured the butter in carefully. "What's your name?"
”Darius Harrisburg. Chicks call me the Dare Hare.” He puffed out his chest subconsciously because fucking hot damn, he had some nice abs under that shirt of his. He suddenly raised an eyebrow as something occurred to him. ”Ey. Chris. Ain’t that a dude’s name?” Who’d ever heard of a chick named Chris? That was some fucked up shit right there, if Darius had anything to say about it.
Still, Darius wasn’t one for thinking about confusing shit when he could be doing simple shit like baking fucking Honey Bran Squares. He began to sprinkle in the marshmallows, snagging one and stuffing it into his mouth every so often. He was just fucking in love with all this food right now. ”Now we gotta cook this shit on the stove and stir it,” he instructed offhandedly, once the bag of marshmallows was empty. Seriously, man. Making shit with honey, and a hot chick as his lap partner. Life did not get any better than this, unless you were lighting up some chronic. Or tappin’ some hot chick. Either one.
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Post by hedgierobindale on Dec 22, 2011 13:46:47 GMT -5
”Me goooooosta."
Chris rolled her eyes. It wasn't like she was all that surprised; after all, Pooh was a bear with very little brain. She never expected his reincarnation to be a fucking genius. But who knows? Maybe he could have turned out to be pretty damn smart, if he were given the chance.
”Darius Harrisburg. Chicks call me the Dare Hare.”
Okay, not that much of a chance. "Clever," she said, with no intention of calling him Dare Hare. Maybe Dare Bear, since he was Pooh, after all. Chris was sure of it. Chris Two was sure of it. She was so happy and excited and so not in the usual Chris mood that anyone who could see inside her head would not have believed it was her. Of course, anyone who looked inside her head would have just deemed her insane and recommended her for the local mental institution, but whatever, she didn't care. She had her silly old bear now and nothing else mattered.
”Ey. Chris. Ain’t that a dude’s name?”
And she wasn't even mad at that comment, which wasn't exactly well-thought out on his part. In fact in only made her more sure, if that was possible. "It's short for Christina, but Christina is way too girly. So." She wasn't girly, like at all, though what she was wearing at the moment may have lead someone to believe differently. It's not like she wore dresses willingly, after all. That didn't cross her mind at the time, though.
”Now we gotta cook this shit on the stove and stir it.”
"Until the marshmallows are melted, right?" She knew that, of course, this wasn't her first time cooking, but she just wanted to talk to him more. Chris didn't care if he didn't know who he was, because he knew who he was and that was all that mattered then.
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Post by DARIUS HARRISBURG on Jan 25, 2012 19:47:23 GMT -5
Darius stirred the honey and shit, or whatever the fuck it was they were making. He didn’t even remember anymore. All he knew was that it had fucking honey in it and Darius wanted fucking honey more than he wanted anything else right about now. And also, his cooking partner was a really really hot chick who was really really hot, and also…he wasn’t really sure. Something. But it was something besides hotness. Like, something…
Fuck, man. When the hell had he turned in to goddamn Soccerteeze? He stopped the whole thinking shitdig and stirred.
"Clever.”
”Ain’t it?” Darius grinned, tossing a dread behind his shoulder. ”I’m a pretty clever dude. That’s me here, Dare Hare, the genius. I should be one o’ them.” He pointed up to the nerdy fucks at the front of the room with hipster glasses who were laughing and giggling with the teacher, then winked at Chris.
"It's short for Christina, but Christina is way too girly. So."
Darius grinned again. ”Christina.” Christina…Christina…he felt like he’d met a Christina before. Somehow. But when? Where? He’d slept with a lotta chicks in his life, but…hm. Yeah, probably just some chick he’d slept with. ”Nice name. I like it. And Chris. Like ‘em both.” He snatched a lick of honey from the counter, chuckling quietly.
"Until the marshmallows are melted, right?"
Darius nodded. Now how in fuck’s name had she known that shit? ”Jesus Christ, you’re right-o as an aight-o, Christina Chris.” He glanced down into the pan and all the liquidy shit that was floatin’ around in there. ”Uh…” He had absolutely no damn idea what marshmallows were supposed to look like when they were melted. ”Think those’re melted yet?” he asked in a harsh whisper, hoping nobody else had heard. He didn’t want to seem like he didn’t know. The Dare Hare knew goddamn everything.
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