Is that really happening?
I still don't understand how I could go to bed at 1:20 get up at 5:00 and then manage to concentrate on my exam, not fall asleep in the train and not feel desperate for a nap the whole day. I even studied o.O (gosh, Mewenn studying when she's supposed as opposed to between 10pm and midnight, what has the world come to…) so I thought I should warn people to expect snow in the northern hemisphere, rain on the desert and Santa-Claus doing the belly dancing while his reindeers play the ukulele.
Wait!!! it's not finished. I even decided to do some writing and found out that I had more of "Consequences" to give (gah! now she's even posting all run for cover!)
Title: Consequences
Genre: Slash in everyday, normal, spaceship/magic/elves free world
Rating: until further notice R because of language abuse (my characters always tend to swear awfully) mention of drug use (bad, don't do it, really, DON'T) sexual situations (later on, much later on)
Summary: Jacob knew his best friend would eventually put them both in trouble way over their heads. Stan knew his girlfriend's little brother was a pain in his ass. Well now the shit is hitting the fan and it's time to face the consequences.
Go back to part 2
Go on to part 4
According to my father, I could consider myself grounded for the rest of my life. It didn’t really matter, with the state my leg was in climbing the stairs was all the sport I planned to do. According to my mother, no child of her had ever disappointed her so. With some of the pranks Alexandra had pulled in her younger years I found that difficult to believe.Speaking of which, Alexandra dearest now behaved like she owned the house. Ever since the idiot she paraded around and called her boyfriend had been invited home for a proper thank you, she felt like she had regained the worth she had lost in my parent’s eyes when she had incidentally started dating him. The event had taken the form of a meal for which my dear mother had even deigned dirtying her hands with cooking devices. Shocking I tell you. Even more so, my father opened one of his Oh so precious vine bottle for the occasion and both he and Mother had been nothing less than civil the whole meal through. I was forced to attend and spent the whole time listening to them thanking him for what he did for me, excusing my inexcusable comportment and praising him for all sorts of things they used to make fun of behind his back. It was nauseating. Worse was Alexandra’s jubilant face while my parents finally acknowledged Stan as worthy of the family and compared my disgraceful behaviour with her perfection.
In certain aspects, my family is like Dorian. They make it difficult to remember exactly why I like them -or should like them, this point is still somewhat hazy in my mind-. I know that it is not entirely their fault if they are hypocritical upper-class assholes, truly I do. But I can’t help resenting the irrational loyalty that I feel for them and the foolish desire I have to please them. I hate their expectation of what I should be, their big plans for my future and their snotty attitude. I hate what they made of Alexandra, a perfectly trimmed bitch whose goal in life is to keep her social circle growing and in control. And most of all I hate that idiot she parades around, who thinks she loves him when he is simply an exotic pet she can show off to her disgustingly rich friends.
There was an ulterior motive that helped me endure the meal, otherwise I would have thrown a hissy-fit worth receiving that grounding I was under. When the meal finally came to an end, I limped after my father who had invited Stan for a cognac in his study - a great honour if there ever was one, believe me. Of course I wasn’t invited. Officially I was going back to my room to rest my leg, officiously I waited on the stairs, sitting on the steps with my leg extended to try and keep it from hurting. When my father dismissed Stan so that he could go spend some time with Alexandra -read here: go bother someone else- I intercepted him in the hall.
“Stan, wait!”
Stan is a polite man. Manners must have been beaten into him until the simple idea of not greeting someone when they enter a room gives him nightmares. He stopped and turned to face me even if he probably expected me to be snide at him. To his defence, it had happened before. He sighed deeply and I saw him steeling himself for another bout of “fuck off you’re not worth the carpet you’re walking on”.
“Jacob, what can I do for you?” See, polite and helpful. That was Stanley Smith for you.
I schooled my features to resemble his polite yet neutral expression. “Please, may I talk to you a minute?” Now ‘please’ is a word I rarely used in his presence. Which is probably what spurred him to agree. I lead him to the drawing room -no one draws in there, it is a room with two couches, a low table, a piano and a lovely view of the gardens. I even did the “here get comfy” gesture toward the couches. He didn’t, which was too bad because I didn’t want to be the only one sitting, but I currently didn’t want to be standing either. Face to face in the room, with the door closed and the fragrance of flowers floating through the windows… anyone knowing us would have found the picture bizarre. If it had been one of Alexandra’s TV show I would have been a girl and that’s when we would have declared undying lust or love or whatever and sealed stupid promises with the snogging of our lives. For some reason young women always want the two characters who hate each-other to end up together. Must not laugh. Stan would think I was mocking him if I started laughing.
Stan finally decided that the silence had lasted long enough. “What do you want to talk about?”
I forced away my misplaced hilarity and went down to business. “Do you know what happened to Dorian, the guy who over-dosed at the party on Friday?”
Stan’s face scrunched up in a funny fashion. Not quite a frown, certainly not a smile. Maybe he just didn’t know what to think. “Why do you want to know?”
I shrugged. “He’s a friend. His parents don’t want to hear from me” understatement of the year. When I had tried to call them they had told me to mind my own business and threatened to get me in trouble with my parents. Guess they didn’t know I already was. “and he’s not at the hospital anymore. I thought maybe you could tell me.” More like dying to know. At least he wasn’t dead. I knew because his parents were enough into looking good that they would make sure to invite his childhood friends and his classmates to the funeral and I was both.
Stan remained silent for so long I thought he was wondering how best to tell me to get lost. Or just savouring my helplessness. His expression was so guarded I couldn't get any clue from it. His gaze was so intent it was almost like I could feel its weight when he answered. “I don’t know what happened to him.”
“Oh.” Hiding the disappointment was difficult.
“I can ask though. Do you want me to?”
Go back to part 2
Go on to part 4
Wait!!! it's not finished. I even decided to do some writing and found out that I had more of "Consequences" to give (gah! now she's even posting all run for cover!)
Title: Consequences
Genre: Slash in everyday, normal, spaceship/magic/elves free world
Rating: until further notice R because of language abuse (my characters always tend to swear awfully) mention of drug use (bad, don't do it, really, DON'T) sexual situations (later on, much later on)
Summary: Jacob knew his best friend would eventually put them both in trouble way over their heads. Stan knew his girlfriend's little brother was a pain in his ass. Well now the shit is hitting the fan and it's time to face the consequences.
Go back to part 2
Go on to part 4
According to my father, I could consider myself grounded for the rest of my life. It didn’t really matter, with the state my leg was in climbing the stairs was all the sport I planned to do. According to my mother, no child of her had ever disappointed her so. With some of the pranks Alexandra had pulled in her younger years I found that difficult to believe.Speaking of which, Alexandra dearest now behaved like she owned the house. Ever since the idiot she paraded around and called her boyfriend had been invited home for a proper thank you, she felt like she had regained the worth she had lost in my parent’s eyes when she had incidentally started dating him. The event had taken the form of a meal for which my dear mother had even deigned dirtying her hands with cooking devices. Shocking I tell you. Even more so, my father opened one of his Oh so precious vine bottle for the occasion and both he and Mother had been nothing less than civil the whole meal through. I was forced to attend and spent the whole time listening to them thanking him for what he did for me, excusing my inexcusable comportment and praising him for all sorts of things they used to make fun of behind his back. It was nauseating. Worse was Alexandra’s jubilant face while my parents finally acknowledged Stan as worthy of the family and compared my disgraceful behaviour with her perfection.
In certain aspects, my family is like Dorian. They make it difficult to remember exactly why I like them -or should like them, this point is still somewhat hazy in my mind-. I know that it is not entirely their fault if they are hypocritical upper-class assholes, truly I do. But I can’t help resenting the irrational loyalty that I feel for them and the foolish desire I have to please them. I hate their expectation of what I should be, their big plans for my future and their snotty attitude. I hate what they made of Alexandra, a perfectly trimmed bitch whose goal in life is to keep her social circle growing and in control. And most of all I hate that idiot she parades around, who thinks she loves him when he is simply an exotic pet she can show off to her disgustingly rich friends.
There was an ulterior motive that helped me endure the meal, otherwise I would have thrown a hissy-fit worth receiving that grounding I was under. When the meal finally came to an end, I limped after my father who had invited Stan for a cognac in his study - a great honour if there ever was one, believe me. Of course I wasn’t invited. Officially I was going back to my room to rest my leg, officiously I waited on the stairs, sitting on the steps with my leg extended to try and keep it from hurting. When my father dismissed Stan so that he could go spend some time with Alexandra -read here: go bother someone else- I intercepted him in the hall.
“Stan, wait!”
Stan is a polite man. Manners must have been beaten into him until the simple idea of not greeting someone when they enter a room gives him nightmares. He stopped and turned to face me even if he probably expected me to be snide at him. To his defence, it had happened before. He sighed deeply and I saw him steeling himself for another bout of “fuck off you’re not worth the carpet you’re walking on”.
“Jacob, what can I do for you?” See, polite and helpful. That was Stanley Smith for you.
I schooled my features to resemble his polite yet neutral expression. “Please, may I talk to you a minute?” Now ‘please’ is a word I rarely used in his presence. Which is probably what spurred him to agree. I lead him to the drawing room -no one draws in there, it is a room with two couches, a low table, a piano and a lovely view of the gardens. I even did the “here get comfy” gesture toward the couches. He didn’t, which was too bad because I didn’t want to be the only one sitting, but I currently didn’t want to be standing either. Face to face in the room, with the door closed and the fragrance of flowers floating through the windows… anyone knowing us would have found the picture bizarre. If it had been one of Alexandra’s TV show I would have been a girl and that’s when we would have declared undying lust or love or whatever and sealed stupid promises with the snogging of our lives. For some reason young women always want the two characters who hate each-other to end up together. Must not laugh. Stan would think I was mocking him if I started laughing.
Stan finally decided that the silence had lasted long enough. “What do you want to talk about?”
I forced away my misplaced hilarity and went down to business. “Do you know what happened to Dorian, the guy who over-dosed at the party on Friday?”
Stan’s face scrunched up in a funny fashion. Not quite a frown, certainly not a smile. Maybe he just didn’t know what to think. “Why do you want to know?”
I shrugged. “He’s a friend. His parents don’t want to hear from me” understatement of the year. When I had tried to call them they had told me to mind my own business and threatened to get me in trouble with my parents. Guess they didn’t know I already was. “and he’s not at the hospital anymore. I thought maybe you could tell me.” More like dying to know. At least he wasn’t dead. I knew because his parents were enough into looking good that they would make sure to invite his childhood friends and his classmates to the funeral and I was both.
Stan remained silent for so long I thought he was wondering how best to tell me to get lost. Or just savouring my helplessness. His expression was so guarded I couldn't get any clue from it. His gaze was so intent it was almost like I could feel its weight when he answered. “I don’t know what happened to him.”
“Oh.” Hiding the disappointment was difficult.
“I can ask though. Do you want me to?”
Go back to part 2
Go on to part 4