projectroxas | (no subject)

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[ having decided that meeting anthony half-way would be best for this particular... conversation, he walks a bit slowly, quite aware that his dorm was closer to the school than his friend-slash-goalie's house. (that and he would probably have to struggle with his mode of transportation for a while.) so instead of the usual ten minutes it takes him to arrive to this particular destination, he gives himself thirty, casually making his way to one of the benches underneath a tree.

takes a seat, pulls out his cellphone, then begins to check his messages as he waits; it would be at least another fifteen minute wait, one he was finally willing to be patient for. after all, he wasn't expecting much, anyway. when it came to feelings, expectations were the worst things to have, or so he had logically deducted throughout his childhood. besides, it wouldn't be the end of the world if anything negative happened. this was anthony, after all, the boy who clucked and bawked louder than he spoke or made any semblance of sense with his words.

... it almost made him second-guess himself. almost.

pockets his phone and tilts his head backwards instead, letting it rest against the top of the bench. just simply stares up into the branches and leaves of the tree, allowing himself to show a rare display of being lost in some non-thoughts for the time being. ]

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[ groans. ]

I have to? In my own apartment? Geez, you sure are bossy for someone who's gonna drink my booze.

[ dutifully turns to go into her bedroom anyway, leaving him alone for now. ]

[ shuffles after he hears her move away, toeing off his shoes. ]

I can pay compensation. In dimes.

[ quickly tugs on a longer shirt-slash-nightgown thing (that covers mostly everything, thank you very much) before poking her head out. ]

Paying me to get dressed? Hah, that's a first! You're a good guy.

[ looks up slowly & shoulder slumps a bit in relief. holds up the chips again. ]

Even flattery can't help possibly-moldy chips.

[ takes them from him and shrugs. ]

Eh, food's food. [ wanders back to her couch, taking a reasonably appropriate position on it. sets the bag of chips aside, handing him a (already opened) can of sprite. grabs her wine again. ] So. How can I help you, mister goalie? Need some cash? Lovin'? Or did you just miss my face that much?

[ stares at the sprite. doesn't answer her question in favour of a more important one: ]

Is this real sprite or magical sprite?

[ uses her fingers to make a "dazzling" effect with them. ]

It's magical sprite. Why, didn't you come here for that?

[ sits down with a nod. ]

I did. But only off the record.

Alright, fine. What's your fake excuse for coming over, then? You know, just in case someone we know pops by.

I wanted to complain about poverty, famine, and the lack of a Peter Pan blueray.

[ rolls her eyes and takes a big gulp of her wine. ]

Welp, time to drink myself silly.

Real reason is that I want to, uh. Uh. . . [ trails off, his face getting progressively redder. ]

[ tries to wait this out, slowly raising an eyebrow. after a moment she grins. widely. leans in towards him, close to his face. ]

What, you wanna get a little action? Well, well, didn't think the little chicken had it in him, but...

[ leans back, sputtering. ]

What! No!

[ snorts, pulling away to lean back onto the armrest of the couch. nudges his side with her foot. ]

Then what is it? Drink your damn sprite and spit it out!

[ takes a big gulp & lets it out in one breath: ]

Cap-i-tanaskedmeout but Idon'twantrebound.

[ blinks. ... doesn't think she heard right, and thus: ]

Uh. What was that?

I don't want to say it again.

I really think you should, 'cause you kinda mumbled.

I spoke like a champ.

[ gestures with her hand, sitting up straight again when she convinces herself that she heard right the first time (but still not believing him). ]

You're sure you weren't imagining things? And rebound? What rebound? You were dating someone?

[ long pause. sips at his sprite miserably & stares at the ground. ]

. . . Not really.

Then it wouldn't be a rebound. [ not really. pauses, taking a sip of her own drink. ] ... I need some substance, here. What happened to make you look all droopy?

[ waves his hand a bit. ]

Rejection, I think. 99% sure. Not by cap-i-tan, but the. . . other one.

Hm. [ wraps her arms around her legs, placing her feet on the couch. ] So you rejected him because of this other guy?