Description: Coming to better terms with the situation facing Pacific Resistance, Marisol stalks down the final member of their team, the ever-loveable Luc Schroedinger. Her intention? To ask the Schwarzerde heir for his help in stomping all over Wellington's uppity ass! There's just one problem...
The dawn of February brings with it the touch of winter chill persisting despite the dwindling of the season. A perpetual veil of rolling dark clouds has enshrouded the sky since early this morning, bringing with them threats of snowfall. The air is thick today; the wind faint, but only adding to the cold that suffuses throughout Southtown.
The atmosphere, to say the least, is gloomy. It makes Pacific High, a place usually only frequented on the weekends due to its proximity to the beaches, something like a ghost town of a highschool. The school is relatively empty save for the comings and goings of teachers and other faculty keeping themselves busy over the weekend. Occasionally, a student will arrive for whatever reason. Yet despite this, the high school is relatively lifeless.
Which is just how Luc Schroedinger likes it.
Despite his fervent hatred of school and the concept of 'learning things,' the high school has become a relatively frequent relaxation spot for Luc over the weekends when other teenagers enjoy the company of others. The rooftop in particular has become a place for Luc to brood and -- occasionally -- yell angrily at birds. It's a calming place. ... Relatively speaking.
Fortunately, no angry bird-yelling of the sort goes on today. Instead, Luc sits towards the edge of the rooftop, sprawled out and supporting his upperbody by planting his left hand firmly into the cold ground. Green eyes stare almost placidly at the sky as he lifts his right hand. From the sky, a snowflake drops, twisting and floating gently into his palm. He stares at it, long and thoughtful. For a moment, he might look as peaceful as he ever will be.
"... Jeeez, winter fucking sucks. I hate snow!"
Fortunately such moments end quickly.
A gloomily peaceful afternoon settles in across the city, the first signs of snowfall beginning to descend from the sky. Pacific High is essentially devoid of life; most students are either huddled away in their dorms, or off campus enjoying the last day of their weekend. The few who remain use the campus for whatever reason, be it to practice their sport of choice on the athletics field...or to simply lounge.
The rooftop of Pacific has become Luc Schroedinger's sanctuary, where the tranquil calm of solitude is his to enjoy. No birds to annoy him or girls to kick him in the head; indeed, this is likely the young German's paradise. But that snow...
From the distance, the faintest sound of a groaning metal door can be heard. It's fleeting and easily shrugged off as being something down below. Luc's outburst carries across the rooftop, as a snowflake flutters into his hand and promptly melts. Somewhere, a pair of eyes narrow, head shaking in response to the outburst. Does Luc ever change?
Stomping across the rooftop, Marisol marches forward, sneakers stomping across the roof as she stalks forward. Her features are lacking in expression, save for the thin line pulled across the girl's tanned features. Those gray eyes are focused on one thing - the only thing up here: Luc.
"SCHROEDINGER!"
When she closes in, the girl's hand shoots out and snatches the young man by his collar. Hefting him up, the girl's gray eyes are shut, her expression mildly bothered at best as she just...holds him in front of her. Then, slowly but surely, the girl's eyes draw open, looking the young German dead in the eye.
"We need to TALK. Now."
Cold water drips down between Luc's fingers in small droplets as his lips twist into an unpleasant scowl. The calm before the storm has passed; snow falls freely soon enough, and the German's black hair is soon peppered with specks of melting white. His right brow twitches, hand clenching into a fist as the icy snowfall continues to drift and collect around him.
... ... ..." Twitch.
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, SNO-- Waagh?!"
Luc is cut off with a bit of a strangled yelp as he finds a distinctly ANGRY girl hollaring his name, gripping him and, with mannish strength, LIFTING him off the ground. There's only one girl in the world who could do such a thing. Only one terrible, annoying, loud, stubborn, abusive girl by the name of--
"GET THE FUCK OFF ME--" no, not that-- "MARISOL!" That. The belligerant student's expression is the very epitome of annoyance as Marisol holds him in her iron grasp. Green eyes flaring, black chi begins to ooze from his fists in tongues of fire, his irritation rising into a red-hot spike of anger in the matter of a second. He looks like he might just fling her off the roof. And it isn't such a far cry from the truth. A second passes--
"What the -HELL- do you want, moron?" ... and the fire dies from his hands, his right snapping up to irritably knock Marisol's grasp from his collar, lips twisting into a deep from. "And where the -HELL- have you been? What the fuck is going on? Some asshole hit me with a car and said he knows you. Did you get someone to hit me with a -fucking limo-?" He wouldn't put it past her.
"And why are you hanging out with geezers, anyway?!"
Meeting those angry greens with irritable grays, full lips pulled into a tight line across her sun-kissed features. His loud response does not yield any immediate response; instead, the half-Spaniard girl just observes the German held in her iron grip, however mannish it may or may not be. Get the fuck off, he yells.
A thin red brow ticks softly.
Still, the girl remains quiet, as he threatens to blow her up in gouts of angry blue-black chi as it oozes from his hands. It doesn't bother her in the least; if anything, it draws a mildly puzzled look across her face, before those gray depths sharply hood in response. But the redhead keeps herself in check.
"Where the hell've I been? Busy," the girl replies. Knocked from her grip, the German is released and left to his own devices as he frowns. But just before the girl can respond, lips parting as she breathes a soft breath in, Marisol is cut short. Slowly, gray eyes widen in disbelief, mouth lightly agape as she just stares at the German.
No way. Him too?
Marisol's features darken a touch, her jaw clenched tightly as she stares. Her hands clench tightly, her eyes hooded dangerously. The girl looks like she's on the verge of a veritable meltdown. But...
With a sigh, the girl lifts a hand and thrusts a finger in Luc's face.
"You idiot!" the redhead barks. "Why would I hang out with old bastards??" Withdrawing her hand, the girl rests her hands on her hips, arms akimbo as she peers. Sighing heavily, her expression calms, a vague look of morose on her tanned features before she continues.
"I didn't know 'bout that," she explains. "But that's exactly what I came to talk to you about - that guy." Frowning lightly, the girl turns away, arms folding over her chest as she gives Luc distance, pacing a few broad steps away from the young German.
"He's Preston's dad. He came to Southtown to take him back to England - for good." Pausing, the girl's gaze lifts to the gray skies above, jaw tense before she lightly frowns. "I don't want that to happen, y'know? I refuse to let some uppity British douchebag tell our friend what he can and cannot do. He thinks he's wasting his time. It's insulting - to all of us."
Pivoting on her heel, the girl's arms drop, hands balled into loose fists at her sides as she looks to Luc, wide-eyed and almost desperate. "I don't want our team to fade like this! We're going to be great - together!! And you guys..." Hesitating, the half-Spaniard features fumble, eyes darting aside before she looks to the ground, almost nervous, hesitant to confess.
But she can't be weak.
"Y-you guys are my friends."
Frowning lightly, Marisol's eyes look to the ground beneath her feet. "That's why...I need your help Luc. He hurt Pás, he's practically kidnapping Preston...he can't get away with it!"
"Busy?! What kinda answer is 'busy'?! That's the most WORTHLESS, VAGUEST, SHI--" %r And Luc finds his angry complain cut off by a single finger shoved into his personal space and directly in front of his face. "--tty."
Luc Schroedinger spends a long, silent moment staring cross-eyed at Marisol's gesturing finger, his lips twitching further downwards into an angrier frown that borders on 'I am most displeased with this situation right now.'
Yet, when Marisol finally speaks, and at length, Luc listens... and listens well. Green eyes twist up from her jabbing finger to the half-Spaniard's face. His own twists into something a bit more irritably curious than irritably irritable, swatting Marisol's hand from his face like it was a fly. "How should -I- know why you'd hang out with stuck-up old pieces of crap?!" comes his initial, defensive words, waving a hand dismissively through the air. His left shoves deep into his pocket, his expression melting away to general annoyance once more.
"Yeah? What about that guy? Stupid British punk. I kept hitting him but he just kept coming -back-." Luc sounds clearly upset about this occurance; he was doing so -well-, too. "He acts just like that stupid shit for brains--"
'He's Preston's dad.'
"Yeah, him. Fucking -guy-. Always talking all the time-- ... what."
For a long moment, Luc stares at Marisol with the most blank expression on his face that one could possibly muster. He looks like he might as well be a mannikin for all he stares onward, unblinking. Marisol speaks and he looks almost uncomprehensive of the simple words that escape her lips. But slowly, life and thought return to his eyes. His agape mouth shuts into a frown, dour expression reinvigorating him. He turns, moving past the half-Spaniard high schooler. His hands shove deeper into his pockets. His frown deepens.
"Good riddance."
It's the first thing he says, and the only thing for a long time. Marisol explains further, and Luc scoffs, looking up towards the sky. Snow falls across his face, green eyes shutting in a slow blink. "... I hate the snow. And I hate all of you. I hate that goddamn Brit for talking all the damn time and not knowing what the meaning of a -fucking shirt- is, and being an arrogant piece of crap. I hate him, he's -annoying-. And that -crazy- -Brazillian- -freak- who keeps clawing all over me and DOESN'T KNOW WHAT THE MEANING of a -FUCKING- shirt is, either!" He flusters here at unpleasant memories, a muttered 'stupid girls' escaping his lips as his head twists to look behind him towards Marisol. "... And YOU'RE loud, you're -annoying-, you never just -stop bothering me-! Stupid -GIRLS-!"
Luc spins, marching right up to Marisol as he thrusts a finger towards her. "I didn't ask for FRIENDS, I just asked to be left alone! But you keep BOTHERING me and BOTHERING me and I-- I don't want to DEAL with stupid crap like this actually mattering to me! It's annoying! You're -annoying-!" He pauses here, letting out a huff of irritation.
"... ... ... but if we don't get the stupid bastard back, you're probably going to bother me even -MORE-, so... ... I'll help you out."
Pause.
"-Stupid girls-."
For the first time in probably forever, Marisol is being frighteningly sincere.
Unfortunately, it would seem that it doesn't bother Luc.
Good riddance? He hates them? All of them? As he speaks, the girl stands there, mouth slightly agape as she watches the young German with an expression that is without a doubt dumbfounded. Gray eyes widen as she gawks at the angry young man, his rant clearly stunning the half-Spaniard. How hateful. How angry. How...
...very Luc.
As he marches up to the girl and thrusts a finger in her face, the girl is mildly taken aback, so much so she lightly recoils backwards, blinking once. Staring at Luc, Marisol is lost for words as he continues to rant. She bothers him? What the hell? Where did all of this come from?
Surprise gives way to anger, her tanned features turning red. Slowly those gray eyes begin to widen, hands curling into fists as she stands her ground. But just before she can shout and rant and yell in response, Luc hits her again with another shocking revelation.
He'll...do it? Even after all of that, he'll do it?
Slowly but surely, Marisol's hands unfurl, her jaw relaxing as she stands there. For a good minute - perhaps two - the half-Spaniard doesn't say anything. Clearly Luc Schroedinger has done a number on the redhead, more than any violence of his could. He has beaten her.
With WORDS.
"You will?" the girl asks, her words meek, laced with surprise. She can't believe it. She didn't think he would, but he said he would. Even after all his angry ranting and raving, he agrees to help out. Slowly but surely, a smile crawls over the girl's full lips.
Rather suddenly and unexpectedly, the girl practically leaps at Luc and gives him a strong hug, practically hanging off the German's neck as she uncharacteristically squeals.
"Oh Luc! That's great! Thank you!"
There's good chance she's doing this partially as a means of being a jerk to him for his hateful words, but part of it is sincere!
It's one of those rare moments in time. Where the heavens and the earth align for one singularly magnificent anomaly that would happen once in a millenia:
The moment Luc bests someone through words rather than fists.
It's unfortunate, then, that he doesn't even notice the astounding fact.
"... whatever. Yeah. Don't start yakking it up like some stupid touchy-feely shit, I'm only doing it so you'll just -shut up-." Waving a hand through the air dismissively, the German prepares to turn again, as if not wanting to deal with looking at the half-Spaniard...
... except she's leaping -right at him-.
"What--!"
Clung to in a sudden and (probably purposefully, stupid girls) affectionate hug, Luc is left at a loss for words. Partly out of -shock-, but mostly from flustered annoyance that creeps across his cheeks in a warm flush of red. "F-fuck -that-!" he suddenly bellows, attempting to pry the girl off him. "S-stop touching me, you freak! What is wrong with you!? I don't want -- I don't want your stupid hugs!" The cold is forgotten for the moment as Luc finds himself flustered beyond coherent words at Marisol invading his personal space, lips twisting into a definitive frown as he pries.
"-UGH-. J-just... shut up, alright?! I don't want your thanks! Just -- tell me what the hell we're gonna do? We're gonna kick that shithead's ass, right...?" A good change of subject. Because if there's one thing that Luc DOES appreciate... it's an opportunity to kick in a smug face.
"GOD WILL YOU GET THE FUCK OFF ME?!"
Fortunately for Luc, Marisol doesn't start yakking it up.
She just starts HUGGING the German youth, much to his dismay. Latching onto Luc, Marisol hugs him tightly, arms all but squeezing his neck with god-awful force. He can't get rid of her that easily! There's no way the girl is going to give him a moment of rest, not when he made her happy! Grinning dopily, the redhead just hangs off of him as he bellows and fights against her - it only makes her hold onto him that much tighter.
If there's one good thing to come out of his embarrassment, it's that she doesn't see him turning red.
"Oh Luc stop being so SHY!" the girl exclaims, a laugh following as she squeezes even harder onto his neck. "And you need hugs - everyone needs hugs, but you especially! We're friends, after all! And Pás isn't here, so I've got to hug for her as well! You know how it works! Ah ha ha ha!"
Eventually his efforts pay off, and Marisol yields, letting the young man go so he may sulk. "Okay, okay!!" Still grinning broadly, the half-Spaniard eyes the German as he speaks, head tilting gently to one side as she listens. And then, when he is done, well.
The girl's features glow with morbid delight.
"Of course we are!" she exclaims, hands curling into fists. "That asshole won't get away from beating us up, or for trying to take Preston back against his will. But."
But?
"As much as I hate to say this..."
A brow ticks, her eye twitching as she tenses her shoulders. Clearly, whatever she has to say hereafter bothers her immensely. But whatever is to come must surely upset her - so much her shoulders begin to shake as she tries to find the nerve to spill her thoughts.
Marisol clenches her hands tighter than ever, eyes pinching shut as she blurts:
"Tenma has offered his help for us!"
Struggle as he might, Luc finds he can't quite force Marisol to relinquish her hold on him. In fact, it seems to make her grip all the harder, causing the black-haired German to scowl most unpleasantly. Deep inside his inner, simple thoughts, Luc Schroedinger swears that Marisol is the devil.
Damn her mannish strength.
Hands grip and tug on Marisol, as futile as the gesture may, in fact, be. As she laughs, it just makes him mutter all the -harder-, grumbling incoherencies beneath his breath as his cheeks tinge with warmth. "You're no friend of mine! Weren't you listening?? GUH, I HATE girls! You're all the same! Except you're especially annoying!" He doesn't even know how such a thing is -possible-. Frankly, he doesn't care to know. One of life's little, irritating mysterious.
Finally, though, she relinquishes him, and Luc stumbles back and -far- away from Marisol, his hands instantly finding his pockets and back -instantly- turning to her, head dipped low and dressed in a grimace. "-Idiot-," he mutters, shaking excess snow off himself and kicking a foot against the concrete ground of the rooftop. And here he was having a good day.
Yet, the prospects of violence are enough to turn Luc's mood -- if only a touch. Looking back at Marisol, a grin alights across Schroedinger's lips -- the sort of malicious grin the German allows himself when prospects of violence are in the air. "-Finally-, something worthwhile. I--"
'Tenma has offered his help for us!'
"...?"
Tenma. Who is...?
Tenma.
-TENMA-.
"... oh, FUCK -THAT-."
The declaration is made as realization dawns on Luc, twisting around and stomping right back to Marisol to angrily glare at her, frothing mad. "The -HOBO-?! FUCK him. We don't need that dirty moron, he's just going to screw things up like he -always- does. He's -worthless-. He's -trash-. We can take care of this by ourselves! You didn't say yes, did you?! I'd rather get run over by a fucking LIMO ten hundred times than work with that... that..." His eyebrow twitches.
"UGH!!"
"Oh Luc, why do you insist on being so stubborn!?" the girl exclaims, still hanging off her teammate's neck like some Hispanic boa. Dangling there, she just laughs merrily, clearly pleased with the outcome she was afraid wouldn't happen. But it did, because deep down inside, Luc has a heart. It just takes a bit of digging and searching to GET to it, that's all. She knew it was there!
But her mood sours, as she comes to the sobering reality of the situation. Alone, Wellington is difficult to take down. As pairs, even the three of them, it could be hard. But with Tenma's help...they'd be assured a victory. And as much as the redhead dislikes him...
The prospect is a good one. This isn't some random scuffle. This is her friend's future.
Luc's response is naturally expected. Frankly, the half-Spaniard does not blame him for being upset and absolutely furious at the idea. In fact, the girl recoils again, stepping back a half-step as he stomps into her personal space, yelling. She flinches, turning her head slightly and peering at the German through a half-lidded eye as he yells.
And when he's done, the girl suddenly jerks to life, getting into the German's face.
"PUT ASIDE YOUR DUMB QUARREL WITH THE IDIOT!!" she bellows, eyes wide as she roars. "We can't take chances here! None! This guy is serious business, and we need what help we can get - even if it's from that dork!" Pausing, the girl exhales loudly, lips pulling back over pearly whites as she snarls.
But...something dawns on her. The girl relaxes, and a smile eases its way pleasantly over her lips.
"And think! Just think! After we kick that moron's ass and get Preston back, you can beat Tenma up all you like. It's a temporary thing, Luc. We're just coming together for a fight - that's it." Turning her back to Luc, Marisol folds her arms over her chest, eyes drifting to the sky as she tilts her head back.
"And...who would really notice if...say, you 'accidentally' missed and hit Tenma in the fight with Preston's dad?"
Glancing over her shoulder, the girl sports a broad grin.
"I wouldn't!" Wink.
"ALL he does is wave around a stupid toy sword and pretend it's something special! He's PATHETIC. He makes me want to PUKE, and I'd throw myself off this BUILDING into TEN -THOUSAND- Brazilian SKANKS before I EVER. FUCKING. WORK. WITH--"
And then Luc gets interrupted by yelling that somehow, some way, manages to be louder than him.
It's a moment to relish, for it will not happen again anytime soon.
Caught dumbstruck from Marisol's sudden tirade, Luc is left to stare and blink with wide green eyes as she goes off like a firecracker in front of him. "I'm NOT--" but he's cut off again, "Uh--" 'We can't take chances here!' "-WELL I- --" 'None!' "..." And, defeated, Luc almost sullenly waits for Marisol's rant to finish, lips twitching downward into a deep and beaten scowl.
Crazy, bossy girls. He hates them.
"... tch!" Luc finally snaps out as Marisol finishes her riveting speech, twisting around to cross his arms over his chest indignantly. "-I- don't need help from some freak hobo who doesn't even know the first thing about fighting! This is bullshit!" A long moment of silence, and Luc scratches irritably at his right ear, looking very much like a petulant child.
"... Che. Whatever!" he finally submits with an indignant roll of his shoulders, stomping away from the edge of the roof. "If you -really- want some no-good shit like him to ruin things, I'm not gonna say no." Which is something Luc never thought he'd say -- and probably wouldn't have said, were it not for his circumstances. "I don't care! Just make sure he doesn't get in my way. And after we're done with that pompous British geezer... I'm beating the crap out of that -hobo- too." He stops in his forward drag, scratching his chin unpleasantly as he looks behind him towards Marisol.
"... Just tell me when. And don't be an idiot and tell me thank you again. I don't care. Let's just kick some pansy tea-loving ass."
Despite Luc's best attempts to cut the girl off and put HIS two cents in the argument, it would seem he's overwhelmed by the girl's volume. Forced to cow as she rants and raves, the half-Spaniard holds nothing back as she gets up in his personal space. But then, a proposal: if he puts up with Tenma and his motley crew for just one fight..?
Well, he might get a crack at the sword-wielding Guardian King.
"Believe me," the girl replies, turning to face the German boy once more. "I don't like him any more than you do, but it's for the best, I think. I refuse to let some pompous British douchebag think he's superior to us. We're better than him. We might not have the experience he does...but we're better by far. And if HE wants to play dirty?"
Folding her arms, the girl scowls.
"Then we drag backup and WE play dirty. Simple."
Tossing her coppery red hair, the girl's lips pull into a thin line across her lips, eyes narrowing slightly as she looks to the German. But his ultimate submission earns him a soft sigh, the girl's eyes drawing to a close as she folds her arms over her chest.
"Thanks...I mean it," the half-Spaniard ultimately replies, sounding genuine. Opening her gray depths, the girl lets her eyes fix on her teammate, lips pulling into a tiny grin. "And, like I said - if you just HAPPEN to throw a stray gout of chi at Tenma, well. I won't tell. Hell, I don't know if I can keep from hitting the bastard in a fight." Scoffing, eyes snap closed.
He's SUCH a bastard.
When her eyes open, the girl grins. "Sure thing. Beat up losers for training. I'll give you a head's up when we're going to move." Marching forward, the girl beelines for Luc, eyes fixed on the green-eyed boy as she moves. And when she closes in on his personal space, the girl lifts her hand and rests it on his shoulder.
"I know you don't like me," the girl states, sounding serious for the first time since they've known each other. "I know you hate everything about me. But even so, it's true. I meant when I said you and the others are my friends." Pursing her lips, the girl's expression grows stern. "My only friends, really. As much as it probably makes you want to puke, I'd do the same for you and Pás, if something like this happened to you two."
Her hand tightens on his shoulder, her serious expression shattering in favor of a smirk as she lightens up.
"And you know, we're a team. We're going to show people you don't fuck with us someday. We'll be the best, better than people like Shenwoo, or Kyo - anyone."
Exhaling, the girl lets out a pleasant 'pfwah,' a hand idly patting her stomach before she slaps Luc on the back - hard, before she turns her back to him and marches away toward the door with a laugh.
"And don't go slacking off in your training, Schroedinger! If you start to suck I'm going to beat you back into shape! Ha ha ha ha!"
Playing dirty. Luc hates help in fights. He abhors it. How he ended up in a -team- that requires -group- work is beyond him. And it shows just in the way his lips curl as she mentions getting backup, fighting back. With others. With a person he -hates-. With people that annoy him utterly. "Hmph," he grunts out in response, gaze shifting to look at the snowing sky. So...
Why is he even doing this?
He decides not to ponder that; deep thoughts require a deep mind, which he doesn't have the effort for today. He just scoffs at the half-Spaniard's words, hands digging into his pockets all the deeper. "Idiot. I -told- you not to thank me. Can't even listen right." Grumbling continues as he looks away, looking moody at worst -- certainly less -angry- than he's looked in a while. Another moment that won't last.
Especially not with the red-haired Irish girl marching over to him and once more invading his space with a hand upon his shoulder. He doesn't shirk away from it, this time -- he simply gives an unpleasant scowl, tensing up a bit by sheer instinct. "... ... Moron," he says with a voice of mild annoyance. "I don't hate you -that- much." The German's green gaze shifts to the side, uncomfortable by Marisol's proximity and words, lips pulling into a thing line. Probably the closest he'll get to admitting anything even remotely to how he really feels about anything. I don't hate you -that- much.
Baby steps.
"Guh! Shut up already, will you? Get out of here and go do your nails or gossip or something, leave me be! I know what I need to -- gah!" Stumbling forward from the force of the shoulder smack, Luc shoots a -glare- at Marisol as she starts to walk off, lips curling unpleasantly. "Same to you, -jackass-. Annoying..." But as Marisol leaves, he steps towards the edge of the roof again, looking down towards the ground below with a twitch of lips from a deep scowl, to a thin, neutral line.
"... I really hate girls."
Log created on 20:42:45 02/03/2008 by Marisol, and last modified on 18:36:01 02/04/2008.