.you look like a player, so let's play. [Pascal]

[sirena]

As much as Lareina loved New York, she missed the sun in Santa Rosalia. But here in the park, it was better. The open grass was peaceful and she could hear people chattering nearby. A mix of languages met her ears and she recognized Arabic, Mandarin and Spanish. She smiled to herself, not feeling so alone.

Carefully, she balanced her futbol soccer ball on her knee. Well.. It wasn't hers. Last time her mother had gone to Spain, she brought it back for Toro. And Toro left it behind when he left for Mexico. Now, it technically belonged to Lareina's twin brother, Mariano. But she enjoyed bothering her brother, and so walked straight into his dorm and took it when he wasn't there, much to the surprise of his roommate. Surely, the boy would tell Mariano when he returned and she would be hunted down.

The ball rolled gently down her leg and she hit it into the air before catching it in the curve between her toes and shin. She wasn't the athletic one in the family, but it was a crime against her people if she didn't know anything about futbol soccer. Having a whole mess of brothers had aided her in learning tricks. She had the speed down. The actual rules of the game were a little more fuzzy. Mariano often watched Mexico's games and commented on the favorite, Javier Hernandez, nicknamed Chicharito. Lareina wasn't sure what constituted a foul or what the players were called. But playing in the street as a kid was customary and having this ball now made her feel at home.

She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and popped the ball high into the air, catching it between her shoulder blades, then let it fall to the grass. Mariano would have scoffed at her tricks, saying she couldn't play the game the way it was supposed to be played. He practically worshiped Toro, who had been the star player of his team. She laughed to herself.

"The Shark will definitely be after me when he finds out I took Toro's ball."

But it was no big deal. He'd just yell, find a way to get back at her, and the cycle would repeat itself. Lareina kicked the ball around idly, listening to the New York sounds.

Tags: Biz and Pascal!
Notes: It's short....
Words: 384
Outfit: Here!
Lyrics: Mary J Blige - Grown Woman
Credit: Made for Mugs by Olley @ OUAC.

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[PASCAL FISCHER]

Being alone was not a favorite pastime of Pascal.

He was not the type at all suited for solitude, and duly avoided it– sure, Pascal had been having a bit of... trouble when it came to the social aspect of Baum Academy, which in no way resembled his homey Minnesotan high school that seemed so long forgotten to him. He longed for the days in which he had been the King, in which all had bowed upon his always glorious arrival; he longed for the days when he had more friends than could be counted on both his fingers, for the days before he had left his happy childhood to come to the boarding school.

But then again, he had to remind himself, this was for the best, wasn't it? And in the end, the Scallion would come out on top– he always had and he always would, one of the innumerable perks of being Pascal, followed closely by the incapacity to ever lose and a face that any boy would kill to have and any girl would kill to be with.

He was alone. What few friends Pascal had collected so far at the Academy– what lucky few, so graciously offered the blessing of his companionship that they hardly deserved– had found some thing or another to do with themselves, and then here was he. Traipsing lost along the sea of trimmed grass, eyes scanning the horizon and all that were along it.

At a glance, strangers would surely find him an interesting sight. This pretty little boy in a collared shirt and jeans, wandering with that recognizably confused glimmer in his wide eyes. Anybody could tell that Pascal was searching for something, desperately, resolutely, but nobody could tell just what he was looking for. A date, maybe, who had agreed to meet his majesty and abandoned him in the dust? A little sister or brother who had ambled off into the crowd, never to be seen again, taken by some bastard pedophile who roamed the city?

Yet Pascal had been looking for no such thing. Even Pascal scarcely knew what he was looking for, not until finally he found it, his eyes settling upon her and forever after unwilling to look away. She was certainly a sight to behold, her skin like caramel and her body like perfection itself– she, this girl, this Utopian princess, just like Pascal, so alone, so lost.

He would help find her. Together they wouldn't have to be alone in the spring breeze that rattled New York– together they would talk deep into the night, and then they would do more than talking, much, much more. If any stranger had been watching Pascal, it would not be hard to see the noticeable transformation that occurred in the swift moment he first saw Lareina Otero, experimenting with her soccer ball on the field that afternoon. Alone, just like him.

When he saw her, spine straightened, eyes lit up, and Pascal– suave and urbane as ever– donned his most winsome smile (mind you, all smiles are winsome when discussed in terms of the Scallion) and with a certain level of what can only be described as the strangest amalgam of swagger and class, Pascal the Ladykiller went in, like a spider to its ensnared prey.

With a single stab of the foot, Pascal launched the soccer ball through the sky, punting it right out from in front of his target's legs– and what lovely legs they were– and down the field. "Sorry," he announced as finally the ancient ball rolled to a stop yards away. "Clumsy me, I guess? I'm Pascal."

☆ COUNT 640
☆ NOTES clumsy me i guess

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[sirena]

Lareina's brown eyes were focused hard on the futbol soccer ball in front of her. That was the nice thing about a sport like this. Everything faded away. Noises muffled until you could only hear your own heavy breath and the beat of your heart. The world melted and it was just you and the ball. Suddenly, a shoe came out of nowhere and intercepted her.

Aaaaaaaaaand her ball was gone.

"Sorry, clumsy me, I guess? I'm Pascal."

Rage filled her as she watched her ball roll away. The voice didn't sound sorry. They sounded like they had done her a goddamn favor. She looked up, ready to bitch out the puta who ruined her concentration (not that she had been very into her game anyway) but she stopped.

Pascal, apparently, was the culprit and he had a certain quality to him that made her smile. His sparkly blue eyes were stuck to hers and his hair flopped in a manner that she found oddly attractive. He was quite obviously well put together. And handsome. He knew it, too.

She had met boys like him in Mexico. Not usually the boys from Mexico, it tended to be the tourists. It was an American thing, she had decided. Young men under the odd delusion that she wanted nothing more than to fall straight into their foreign arms, get a green card and live happily ever after.
Well, perhaps she could make an exception. And Shark was far away, doing whatever illegal thing he pleased.

"I'm Lareina. Rey."

Rey's voice had the smallest trace of an accent still. She threw him a sweet smile, but the smile didn't entirely scream 'innocent'. That would be a lie, after all. And Lareina only lied when it was convenient for her.

Turning, she sauntered over to the ball and picked it up. Feeling a slight bit of guilt, she hugged the ball to her chest. It was Toro's, after all. And this guy had kicked it away like it didn't matter. But how was he to know? It wasn't as if he knew or cared about the ball. Sliding the ball to rest on her hip, Rey shot him a grin, her eyebrow raising ever so slightly.

"So, Pascal," she couldn't help the somewhat alluring tone of her voice, "You intercepted the ball. Does that mean you're playing?"

She rather hoped so. She could beat him. Easy. Even better, she would beat him and he would find it so attractive that he would still ask her out. She smirked in a way that was both devious and pretty. Her voice taunted him gently.

"Unless, of course, you're afraid.."

Tags: Biz and Pascal!
Notes: Short again..
Words: 445
Outfit: Here!
Lyrics: Mary J Blige - Grown Woman
Credit: Made for Mugs by Olley @ OUAC.

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