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Lunch Broken
Topic Started: Aug 2 2007, 11:40 PM (3,043 Views)
laZardo
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((Continued from 3rd Period AP Chem.))
((Track Blazin'!))

Lunchtime at Southridge High School was always a vibrant, busy affair. Students from all colors and walks of life mingled in sections of the cafeteria that were almost never constant. Even the nerds' table was "cool" in its own right, and even the emos with their long, girly-styled hair also found their own congregation in their metaphorical pool of black and red. The food - of course - always somehow left something to be desired, but as long as nobody died from it, they'd buy it.

Save for perhaps what appeared to be a lump of dark grey poking at his food with a fork somewhere just off the center of the cafeteria at the corner seat of a table In a gun-metal shirt and olive cargo jeans, the person seemed deliberately dressed to blend into the wall...and even though there were other students at the table with him, none of them appeared to give him a second glance. Of course, this wasn't the cliche where that kind of social loser would have at least a radius of two empty tables like he'd just been hosed with the fillings of a septic tank.

Still, Eduardo Trinidad-Villa grumbled as he thought about the latest envelope to get slipped into his mailbox - an acceptance letter from UC Berkeley. He'd just received a text message from his parents about it, and he figured it'd be the same routine when he got home. They'd congratulate him, he'd force a mild smile and maybe his mama would cook something special. They were somewhat doting like that. Then his letter would go into the same large drawer where he'd kept all his stuff, and then he'd get himself to work on that Burger King application.

He took a swig of the carton of milk like Winston Smith drinking Victory Gin, pulled out his MP3 player (I could've fit in with an iPod but noooo...I chose that Samsung...) to something a little more cheery. Not that it would help the expression on his face brighten up.

Just another day...just another day...

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Ric Chee was very self concious and a little nervous when he walked into the cafeteria. Nervous was normal, Ric hated people touching him, sheerly because if somebody was close enough to touch, they were close enough to hurt. This was one of Ric's most deep seated beliefs and led to nothing more than a little isolation. Ric was fine with that, after all, he had the various indigenous species of his damaged brain to keep him company, sometimes even actual people too.

Self concious was not normal. Usually Ric didn't really care about what people thought of him. With a face like his... smashed nose, dented cheek and missing teeth, he knew what he looked like and he didn't care a great deal. No, the reason he was acutely aware of all the people around was because of the bandages wrapped around his face.

He couldn't believe that his parents actually cared so much. Then again, they were his parents. Even if they had confined him to his room on medication for a year or so. Still, it beggared belief that his parents had paid, and that the doctor's could do anything... They'd fixed his face! Plastic surgery, the works, and now Ric looked like some sort of terrorist wearing a half balaclava of white bandages. Ric thought it would be worth the discomfort in the end, he'd grown so used to looking like a monster that he'd never even considered that there might be ways around it.

Ric sat down at a table and stared at his food miserably. Only now had he realised that with bandages around his mouth, he couldn't exactly eat very well. Damn. Every silver lining had a cloud. Nor could he really talk to anybody, although that was something of a secondary problem considering that Ric didn't really talk to anybody anyway. He contented himself with looking at the world through slightly different eyes, a when you had eyes linked to a brain like Ric's, some of the things you saw were seriously weird shit.
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Eduardo didn't need Ric's eyes or brain to notice the weird shit going on...then again it was mainly because he'd long since accepted that weird shit as "normal." Such as the student who had just walked into class looking like freaking Darkman. He could easily identify who was behind the bandages and exactly why he'd ended up in those bandages (it had less to do with dangerous face-melting chemicals as it did with a baseball bat to the face, something Eduardo was thankful not to have suffered - yet) but when it came right down to it, it was all part of that crazy social phenomenon they stopped calling -

...survival of the fittest...

All of a sudden, Eduardo snerked, his smirk mischievously wide and exposing a set of chompers that had unusually-pronounced canines. Of course, they weren't really that exposed, since Eduardo was looking down as he did so. It was a tainted smirk too, as the double entendre of the phrase reminded him of his last..."happy days." Days that had long since passed but whose effects would last the rest of his lifetime.

But his thoughts were drifting, and he also knew it was dangerous to lose his focus in the most dangerous hour of the day. He shook his head and scooped some of the spaghetti into his mouth, squinting as it had cooled quite a bit in the time he'd spent poking and staring at it. He took a seething sigh and forced himself to chew and swallow it before staring at the clock. If he finished in time he might have a few extra minutes to spend hiding out at the library to finish his English essay.

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Ric made a sound which could have been a sigh, though it was muffled by the bandages around his face. He pushed his tray away and rolled his eyes at the inconvienience. Stupid damn doctors, he hoped that they got a visit from a Raig or two, that would sort them out for sure!

Leaning back in his chair Ric stared at the ceiling and watched the dancing lights, on and off like a strobe. It was the kind of thing that gave you a headache to watch, but at the same time you find your gaze drawn to it. It was like a lemming instinct, there was something compelling about danger, as long as it was at arm's length of course.

Ric hoped that the bell would go soon. He was bored right now and he just wanted the day over and done with so he could ask his parents how the hell he was supposed to eat. Provided of course, that he could figure out a way to even ask them that...
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Eduardo took a few gasps for air as he swallowed another scoop of noodles, regretting that he'd spent too much time daydreaming that it ended up cooling to a rather inedible temperature. Not that they were inedible, of course, but it just wasn't as tasty as it was when it was hot. He shook his head before opening the can of soda (such a delightful hiss as the lid comes off...) and taking a swig. The liquid was far cooler than the spaghetti, but it had its desired effect of clearing his senses of the spaghetti until the next scoop. Unfortunately, his senses would get a rather unexpected barrage as he adjusted his glance and found himself fixated on "Darkman" nearby.

He didn't know whether to feel lucky that the encounter that got him thrown in juvie didn't leave him with a face like that (Almost as bad as that Blood Boy...), or sympathetic for Ric's face, or perhaps just use his traditional disdain that it was just one stroke (no...more like swing...) of really, really bad luck. After all, Ric was quite the jock back in his day, and whether he was simply taking time off to recover or swearing off baseball altogether didn't matter to Eduardo.

All Ric could probably read from Eddie's face was something akin to nigh-apathetic curiosity, as the latter went for another scoop of noodles...

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Though he had not been looking at Eduardo; rather staring up at the roof. Ric was still close enough to hear him. That might have explained Ric's rather peculiar reaction to Eduardo opening his can of soda. Though probably not.

As soon as he heard the hiss of the can opening Ric jerked to one side; away from Eduardo, trembling like a rabbit caught in the headlights, his eyes wide and... terrified? To be sure Eduardo was not a person to be scared of, Ric knew that. But even the most harmless of people became a formidable foe when they had the backing of a Keis! A race distinguished by nothing else but their hiss!

Ric tried to make himself as small as possible, he couldn't see the Keis but he had no doubt that it was floating around Eduardo's head somewhere. Of course, to anybody who didn't have Ric's... unique vision? Large level of madness? He made for a very strange picture indeed. How many people do you see cowering in fear of a can of soda?
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For Eduardo, Ric was the first, although he never considered the demons swirling about his own consciousness alien in nature. Still, he couldn't help but stare at Ric. The ex-baseball star seemed to have recoiled from opening the can of soda like he'd just opened the Necronomicon, quickly leading him to the conclusion that a baseball bat to the face can do that to the guy, poor bastard. He really wanted to enjoy the freakshow, figuring that once, just once, perhaps a jock like Ric got what he deserved, and ended up on the bottom end of the social ladder.

Yet he couldn't help but imagine the face behind the bandages, cowering and trembling from virtually everything, and he couldn't help but identify with it so badly. The only way it showed was through Eduardo suddenly going perfectly still as he put the fork down. That pitiful sight almost reminded of someone he was trying to put out of his own memory. Of course, when that reminder came up, so did active efforts to put said person out of memory.

He took another swig and shook his head again, exhaling like he'd just taken a swig of some good beer, and decided to just watch. For him, jocks fed off their own kind, since their only real competition for the slice of the pie apart from the uber-super students (and Eduardo thought this despite his 4.0 GPA!) were each other. The ones that didn't make it out of this crazy social game of "survival of the fittest" (a thought that gave Eduardo another cruel smirk) didn't live much longer out of college. At the least though, he felt safe that he'd at least get a steady job that would keep him alive. It was his own fate, but that was the far future.

Eh...lunch doesn't end for another 30 minutes anyway. Might as well enjoy the view.

((Remember readers, it's pretty much open. Lots of stuff goes on in the cafeteria.))

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Extracting his tray from the lunch line, Carcer couldn't help but stare at the spicy chicken sandwich, the cup of jell-o and the pile of green beans and think, What the hell am I doing putting this in my body? I know this can't really be good for me...But it is food, I suppose, and I really have the munchies. Carcer had just cut math class to go get stoned before lunch. Something he seemed to do more and more these days...

Being the new kid in school wasn't the greatest thing in the world, especially looking as goofy as he did. Crooked, stoned grin, shaggy, flaming red hair that came down to rest over his green eyes. The green contrasted with the bloodshot pink around them was astounding. A multitude of freckles. He wore his favorite olive-green beanie and a shirt of the same color with an ace of spades on it (ironic, that this is the card of death, plastered across the chest of a boy who feels so alive). The next order of business was to find somewhere to sit. Where am I supposed to sit down? I don't know any of these people. I guess I should just pick somewhere. I'm sure I don't look like that big of a douche. I think I'll go and keep one of the lonely kids company...He spotted a kid a few tables away, in a gun-metal shirt and olive cargo jeans sitting alone, slurping on spaghetti. From the look on his face, it didn't seem to be a pleasant meal in the least. He noticed that the guy was looking at a boy with bandages on his face. Well, it looks like he could definitely use some company.

Carcer strode across the lunch room, goofy smile on his face, a song in his heart, and weed on the brain. He approached the unhappy looking fellow and cheerfully spat out, "Hey guy! How'zit goin'? Do you think I could sit here?"
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Ric had just about managed to restrain himself from running out of the cafeteria thusfar. As far as he could see the Keis accompanying Eduardo wasn't doing anything... yet. Still it was something of a risk to remain where he was seated, but Ric couldn't think of any way to feasibly get out of there without attracting attention, and he certainly didn't want that. One the other hand, one more hiss and Ric would be out of there faster than a Flird could snatch your pupils.

And Ric wondered why people said he was crazy.

Thankfully his attention was distracted from the noodle slurping Eduardo and attendent beastie by the arrival of a newcomer. He didn't look familiar, but he seemed a little... zoned out? Then again, Ric wasn't exactly one to complain about people being weird. After his attempt to introduce himself to the new guy ended with woefully muffled, utterly impossible to understand garble, Ric sighed and turned back to his food that he couldn't eat. What a wonderful day he was having.
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Just as Carcer approached Eduardo to ask if he could join him, he heard an odd, muffled sound from behind him. He turned instinctively, slopping some green beans over the side of his tray, to find that the noise came from the kid in bandages. "Oh, hey, guy! I didn't quite hear you! I'm sure you might've noticed that, though...Say, how are you eatin' your lunch, man? I guess you can't really tell me that, though...This is a quandary, isn't it? Unless you REALLY need those bandages over your mouth, I have a pocket knife...I could, you know, make it to where you can talk and eat." Carcer set his tray down on the table, completely forgetting about the other guy he was talking to. He began to dig in his pocket, and produced a little swiss army knife. He then raised his eyebrows pointedly and gave the bandaged boy a look as if to say, "Is it cool?" Of course, Carcer was completely unaware of this strange boy's unwillingness to be touched. "OH! My name's Fitzie, by the way."
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Will Sigurbjornsson entered the cafeteria sullen and frustrated. Being somewhat of a health-freak himself, he always managed to pack himself a lunch in a small bag that easily fit into his backpack. None of that crap that he'd heard they served in the cafeteria... Ugh. America. He'd came here, and managed to blend in, save the fact that he completely despised the disposable culture that they were somehow able to perfect. It made him sick to his stomach the amount of obese people in this country... Well, it wasn't all that bad here in Highland Beach, from what he could see, at least...

Mumbling something about the next "Red Terror" he was going to raise if he wasn't able to find something decent here, Will walked slowly through the sad excuse of a line and sparsely picked out a small amount of food... He didn't eat large lunches anyways, he tried to follow the "many small meals a day" rule, albeit unsuccessfully. Content with the small amount of salad and bottle of water sitting precariously on the tray, Will took no time finding a table with a few, quiet people sitting there, save the louder, rambunctious fellow who had taken it upon himself to start a conversation with the other two.

He made a beeline for the table, and sat down, laying his tray down delicately. Hmm... Well, this was quite the group of mistfits. The guy sitting to his left looked less-than-sober, from what Will could tell. Though he never really saw many people like that before, it was rather obvious. The next person he turned his attention to was a slightly familiar face. Eduardo Trinidad-Villa, a student he knew from a class or two of his. He often studies him. Eduardo's an interesting person. Quite Nihilistic, but not to the point of not caring, it seems... He does extremely well in the classes he has seen, and Will holds him in a high regard, in that respect. Still, he had never really met him face-to-face. Perhaps a little bit of... As the Brits would say, "Verbal Joust?"

Will straigtened his shirt, and cleared his throat, ready for yet another unexpected, yet suprising comment from the calm Icelander.

"Hmm... This group looks cheery. You..." Will looked over to the inebriated boy to his left, "...look too stoned to even bother coming here, you..." Will noticed another beside the stoned-guy, with bandages around his face, "... can barely eat at all, from the looks of it, which makes me wonder why you're in the caf to begin with, and you... Well, you're the embodiment of a wasted genius, with your outlook on life seeming to be ripped right out of Crime and Punishment." Will paused for a moment, and still staring happily at Eduardo, ate a small wad of salad, as he judged the look on Eduardo's face.

"Well, I guess I fit right in here, now don't I?"
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Eduardo could already catch Will's rant as the foreigner approached his table, though he was more focused on watching Ric get harangued by this newcomer. It was only when Will sat down beside Eddie that he finally decided to divert his attention away from Darkman. He then returned his glance to his food, as he wiped his mouth with the napkin in one smooth motion.

"You, me, and the rest of the freaks, misfits and rejects," Eduardo began, his slightly Latin-ized monotone only starting to drip with its metaphorical acid as he took another swig of soda. He didn't care much for Will, let alone try to pronounce his full name. He knew what it sounded like but whatever traces of Panamanian were left in his accent impeded him from actually saying it out loud. Instead, Eduardo simply liked to refer to his new seatmate as "Sig" or "Freud," given the Icelander's penchant for analyzing things out loud. "But hey, anyone's welcome here if they can't find a seat in heaven."

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"Hey, i'm not a freak, or a reject... Possibly a misfit, but still..." Will almost playfully retorted. "I'm Vilhjalmur Sigurbjornsson. I know i've got a rather long name, you can call me Will, if you like." Does he like much of anything? Will proceeded to eat another enforked bunch of salad, and stared up at the ceiling, watching one of the flourescent lights flicker and burn out. Tilting his head back down, he spotted a group of people walking out of the cafeteria, laughing hysterically about something or more likely, somebody... He didn't care much for being around too many of the popular people, but he didn't despise them. He does, though, doesn't he? Will put his fork down, and took a large gulp from the bottle of water on his tray. Ugh, Aquafina... Tasted like garbage, but compared to the salad, it was rather refreshing.

"You know, on the subject of misfreaks, refits, and the like, i'd rather be one of them than one of the common people... The popular people, though they are bound to succeed in life, won't succeed... Within themselves. Their philosophies, ideals... Well, they're either flawed, or don't exist much in their concious mind." Will paused in a very Bush-like manner, clearing his throat, and continuing on wooing the sentiments and thoughts of Mr. Trinidad-Villa. "They'll go on, all successful and happy with their lives, and then one day, the... 'shit hits the fan' and they're not ready for it. They're so pampered in their wonderful lives that they can't stand change, they can't stand being thrown into something out of their own boundries." By this point, Will was getting gradually more intense in this monologue of sorts.

"People like us, we adjust, we adapt, and ultimately, we survive." The erratic boy then looked around and quickly found a metal knife. Without making a sound, he took it and raked it once over his palm, causing blood to drip down out of the shallow cut. "See this?" He implored, wincing in the dull pain, "This is a new situation. My hand is cut, but do you know what? Unlike the common person, i'm not going to whine about it, and i'm not going to try and get other people to care. Because they won't." Looking back at the blood dripping from his hand, he wiped it off with a napkin. "However..." He began, as he cleaned his wound, half-talking to himself, half-talking to Eduardo. "If we can make the best of our situation right now, without trying to stay within the lanes of what most people discribe as 'success' then i'd guess... We'd continue to enjoy our existance, however raped by fate it may become."

With a smile, Will finished wiping his blood off of the knife and his hand, and looked back towards Eduardo, eager to listen to what he was going to say.
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Eddie raised an eyebrow as Sig cut himself nice and shallow. The latter word was what he'd focused his reply upon. He took a small scoop of what was left of the spaghetti first, though.

"You and I know that popular people tend to be...shall we say...not exactly the brightest pickles in the jar. Let's say they're all hollow inside, whatever. Sure. But the thing is they don't know they're never going to be fulfilled. And sure, shit's gonna happen to them. Happens to everyone..." he then chuckled bitterly and turned away, diverting his glance to a randomly-picked student for a brief moment as he replied, "including me." He sighed and took another scoopful, letting himself gulp it down.

"It doesn't matter whether you succeed in yourself. If a truly successful person gets thrown out of their boundaries like that and they don't end up making martyrs of themselves or end up on that Survivor sho-"

Eddie suddenly paused again as memories of someone flickered into his mind. He quickly took a final swig of Pepsi before quickly shaking his head to clear it out,

"Anyway, if they end up in shit, they can just go through a "healing process" and then come back with a best-selling motivational book or some shit like that and they'll be rolling in it again, even better than before. Like Martha Stewart or that chombo* who got himself shot and now he's some fuckin' hero or something."

Pepsi was laden with caffeine but Eduardo was rambling like he was a drunken Tony Montana. The gray shadow of a student laughed bitterly again before looking up at the ceiling lights.

"Maybe they'll fade into obscurity sooner or later, but at least they'll make their little mark on history first at the expense of those who suffered to get to where they were. People will remember which chica slept with Mr. Hunk or which evil corporate puto tried to exploit which god-forsaken country or the swindler loudmouths claiming to fight against them more than the people who really help the world benefit. We remember Hitlers more than the Churchills."

He then turned to look at Sig's hand again. The wound was still fairly visible, though it wouldn't have been believably real to the casual observer's first glance.

"As for that cut there, I think that could just earn your into the corner seat of the emo table there and outta this hellhole. Those coños are all into this philosophizing and self-cutting shit, always saying "I'm not like you, so I can succeed!" with their pampered little lives and fancy iPods playing the latest Top 40 whiner band. Dunno about what you really think, but you'd definitely fit right in."

He shifted his jaw to the left, and if one was listening to it closely they could hear it click. That click constantly reminded Eddie of what he believed was his true place in society.

((*Panamanian variant on the Spanish equivalent of the N-word. He's very envious of Tyrese since he got shot and made popular.))

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Will listened to Eduardo's response to his less-than-calm monologue, but slowly drifted off, partly because of the pain in his hand, which he did nothing to stop from dripping on the table. He snapped back to reality, and seeing the look on Eduardo's face as he made a comment about Will belonging in the emo table, he quickly wiped it off with a tissue, and then wrapped it around his hand. Ow... Why the hell'd I do that? Heimskulegur... "Well, that was a bit foolish of me... Ouch." Gently, he lifted the tissue off of his hand to see that the shallow cut had stopped bleeding, and proceeded to stuff it in the remains of his salad 'box.'

"No... I wouldn't say I belong at the... Emo table, though I do see what you mean. I don't usually take a knife to my hand," Though you have a reason to, don't you? Will looked away from Eduardo, down at the table... You did nothing to save her...

"...I despise those people almost as much as I despise the ones that do fit in... They waste their lives, not knowing how damn short it is, it could end at any time! For fuck sakes, the winner of Survival of the Fittest 1 goes to this school! He's killed 12 people, was raped, tortured, and had his life ripped away from him, and for what? Money? Power? Some stupid political statement?!" A look of crazed rage took to his face, "Hell, they even had the nerve to kidnap his cousin, a guy who was shot 4 times, and crippled, before some crazy fuck went and shot him 5 more times..."

"Really, wouldn't your priority on that god-forsaken island be to try and get off it? Find someone to make it to the end with? Why would you want something like that on your concience? Adam Dodd had no choice, but that... Damien? He just shot the poor fuck!" Will's curse-laden rant attracted the attention of others in the room, and he lowered his voice, proceeding to toss his garbage in the nearby trash can. "Damien Carter-Madison... If I had the chance to, i'd..."

Realizing exactly what he was saying, Will corrected himself. "I wouldn't kill him, no... People like that deserve to be locked up somewhere and never let out. I've met Adam Dodd, he's a good guy. He's like a soldier, in a war... You know, those idiotic 'Army of One' commercials? He's like that. An army of one. He wasn't murdering those people, it wasn't homicide. Survival, that's what it was. Damien Carter-Madison is a murderer. If he were here, he would be considered nothing more than some fucked-up child barely worth any more mention than most serial killers. But because those types of messed up people are in this competition, somehow it's 'not their fault.' Bullshit."

Will finished off his water, washing down his partched throat. He'd have to be on his way soon, unless Mr. Trinidad-Villa said something worth continuing his rants... Fuck my throat hurts...
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