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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SO! How'd he propose to you, hm? Flowers? Candles? [ pauses. ] Naw, that'd be freaky. He just called you up, didn't he?

[ takes a big gulp of his drink. ]

He called, we met, he talked and we had a sort-of lunch.

[ rolls her eyes. ]

Typical.

[ drinks more. ]

It's cap-i-tan.

A cap-i-tan that you like. Never thought I'd see the day, chicken boy.

[ flushes a bit, in both embarrassment & alcohol. ]

Almost as surprising as the Indians. . .

Yeah, or a New Years party without any booze. [ speaking of which: gulp. pours herself another glass. ] Spartans mate for life, though. Or so I heard. You ready for that?

[ keeps sipping at his own drink. ]

It's what I want. Wanted. Never got it though. . .

How cute and domesticated of you.

[ chugs the rest of his drink and puts it down with a flourish. ]

It's a fa-a-amily trait.

[ gets up to get him another sprite, speaking as she goes along. ]

How fascinating. Tell me more.

[ reaches out for the sprite almost pathetically. ]

Mom and dad have a fairytale story. They met in high school, committed for life, but we got game over anyway. I still have issues, I think.

[ lifts the sprite up high when she comes back, wiggling it above his head. ]

You probably need a therapist.

[ jolts to his feet & points at her. ]

Yeah! Yeah, that! I get that a lot. . . [ & falls back on his butt. ] That a lot. . . too.

[ snickers, taking a seat next to him. hands over the sprite. ]

I can see why. But don't worry, once you marry into the Spartan family, you get a therapist free of charge!

Cap~i~taaan~ is a good thera-- therapist. Too good. Hurts like a soccer ball on FIFA!

Well, I meant his uncle who's a real therapist. But sure, jerkoff is pretty good too.

[ tears up a little. ]

Therapists want my feathers!

PSH. They don't want a chicken's feathers. Not as valuable. They like money!

But my money is Tofu money. . .

[ wraps an arm around him, patting his shoulder. ]

There, there. I'm sure you'll make it work somehow.

[ immediately buries his face into her shoulder. ]

Messing. . . messing everything up. . . [ hic. ] Wah.

[ ... gives more pats. ]

I doubt you're messing anything up, chicken boy.

We need more sprite. I am too drunk! [ long pause. ] Sober.

[ takes the ~magical sprite~ in her free hand and pushes it against his nose. ]

Already got ya covered, baby.