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Scapegoat
Topic Started: Oct 3 2007, 04:14 PM (1,219 Views)
Megami
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Squishy
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Tink.

It was hot outside. Not unbearably hot, but hot nonetheless. The sun beat down over Southridge High School's campus, which, this late in the afternoon, was practically devoid of any form of life. The large majority of the students were long gone, and those who remained behind were there for one of three reasons -- sports, detention, or the fact that they were just plain nerdy. He definitely wasn't there because of the latter reason. Hell, he wasn't even there for detention. He'd never had detention a day in his life.

Tink.

Sweat dripped from his brow as the sun beat down over his form. He didn't really know why he stayed here practicing so long after the remainder of the team had already headed home. They'd won their last baseball game, but he could've done better. He was one of the best, but he wasn't the best. He wanted to be the best. He wanted to be the best with every fiber of his being.

Tink.

But it wasn't just that. Sports took Michael Hardy's mind off of other things. It wasn't like he had a bad homelife. Far from it, in fact. The thing was, the constant variables that were thrown at him in the form of random houseparties or his father bringing home yet another unfamiliar face had become a constant in themselves, and quite frankly, he found his homelife... well, boring. He was currently unattached, somehow, so he didn't have a lady friend to contend with at the moment. In fact, he didn't have much going on at all.

Tink.

So here he was, trying to compensate for that somehow by seeing how far he could hit the baseball that periodically came flying out of the machine in front of him. Over and over again, his bat connected, and over and over again, the ball went flying through the field, sometimes over the fence. Each time, he couldn't help but flash that somewhat narcissistic smile of his.

CRASH!

"Oops..." Michael whispered coolly under his breath before heading up to the pitching machine and switching it off. He didn't know what he'd hit, and he'd rather not find out. Instead, he opted to quickly attempt to put away his gear. There was no one around at this time of day, at least, none of the other baseball players, so he didn't really have a scapegoat for whatever he'd just broken. It was time to get the hell out of dodge before he got caught.

Michael pulled off his helmet and quickly tossed his things in his duffle bag. He wouldn't have time to make the full escape he'd planned on, though.
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Jessa Vanallen had been perched on a nearby bench just outside the baseball diamond, waiting for a friend she had plans with to get out of detention so they could go do something fun. She held a cigarette in between her index and middle fingers, and cast the occasional glance around to be sure that no authority figures were making rounds near her. On the ground by her feet was a small body of saliva, never quite drying as she kept it alive every half-minute. The heat had admittedly gotten to her; a few minutes ago she'd opted to remove her jean jacket (it was strictly for aesthetic purposes anyway) and throw it over her crossed legs.

There was a guy up at bat, and it seemed pretty obvious that he was practising because 1) he was up against a machine and 2) there were no wildly hooting comrades lined-up along the fence to rip on his game. Jessa was seated in the opposite direction and watched on and off, not wanting to seem too interested in case the guy was a dumb jock and figured he had an admirer. The fact that she kept subconsciously adjusting herself was neither here nor there.

Batting wasn't all that interesting, and neither was baseball for that matter. Jessa often wondered if guys had some kind of computer chip in their brain (of course not literally) that frequently reminded them that "Sports is rad! Watch sports! Play sports! Pat eachother on the ass if you do a good job!" Not that she didn't enjoy the subtle homo-eroticism.

Her attention turned back to the concrete for a moment as she spat, but suddenly there was a loud crack from the parking lot nearby and she turned completely around to get a good look. Barry Bonds there had really outdone himself this time, hitting one right over the fence. Far over the fence. Quite far. Far enough to make short work of someones rear windshield. Jessa winced for a moment but in a split-second became very amused, and she cackled in a less-than-lady-like manner, well aware that he could hear her.

"Uh-ohhh, look what you diiiiid!"
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v3 Minions
B21: Nigel Gillespie
G09: Jessa Vanallen
B20: Harry Tsai
B13: James Brown
B112: Dennis Bernard
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Megami
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The loud cackle that rose up nearby startled Michael momentarily. He'd been so zoned out on the pitching machine and the ball that he'd completely failed to realize that there was someone nearby. Very nearby. Nearby enough to have watched him smack the ball over the fence and right into the back of some poor sap's windshield. She finally stopped her cackling and prodded at him in an almost obnoxious manner, but instead of trying to shut her up or shoo her away, Michael ran his fingertips through his sweat-spiked hair and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mused with a wide grin, "I didn't do anything. You saw it, that car jumped out in front of the ball. They shouldn't have parked there."

He was almost laughing as he said it. What was the likelihood that the one car that was parked in the only parking lot within nailing distance would be parked directly where his over-the-fence ball had gone flying? He supposed he should go over there and at least leave his name and number, he'd totally shattered the back windshield of the car. But, that was the right thing to do, and Michael wasn't exactly focused on what was "right". Besides, like he said, they shouldn't have parked there.

"Sure hope that wasn't your car," he grinned again, "But I'm sure if it was, you'd already be trying to wail on me."

Trying being the keyword, of course. The thought ran through his mind and he couldn't help but smirk to himself. She wasn't a big person by any means, and he'd seen big people. Some of the girls in this school were flat out fat. They could probably wail on him and actually cause a dent, but not this one. In fact, if she tried it, he might kind of like it. He forced the thought out of his mind and wiped the smirk off his face. It probably looked creepy anyway. Yeah, right. No smile that Michael Hardy ever smiled looked creepy. There was no such thing in the dictionary when you looked up his name.

Maybe he was being a bit egotistical. Back in the real world, he was standing in front of somebody that he didn't know and not saying anything to her, which might've made for an awkward moment if he hadn't almost immediately broken the silence.

"I'm Michael," he introduced himself, "Michael Hardy... in case you didn't already know that."
Misa Achtland

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The batter halted his retreat, perhaps because he'd been spotted by someone who'd gotten a good look at him, but then again she wouldn't have given a rats ass anyway. Dissappointed as she was that she wasn't getting a rise out of him, Jessa got a bit of a kick out of his response, and curled one corner of her mouth up slightly with a fairly neutral "Uh-huh" as she brought the cigarette to her lips. He had an air of confidence about him that half-bemused-half-intrigued her.

"I'd kill you," she agreed. She gestured toward the parking lot. "Whoever that is, they're gonna flip out."

The boy introduced himself after taking a second to (seemingly) bask in his own glory. Jessa was about to respond with her own name but ended up scoffing a bit when he suggested that she might have known his name already. "Why, are you famous or something?" She paused, then added jokingly in her typical innapropriate manner, grinning ear to ear and eyes wide, "you wanna sign my boobs?"
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v3 Minions
B21: Nigel Gillespie
G09: Jessa Vanallen
B20: Harry Tsai
B13: James Brown
B112: Dennis Bernard
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Megami
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Michael scoffed at the girl's remark. Of course she should know him. He was famous, at least around Southridge High School. Still, he found it mildly amusing that she played him off like she did. He grinned widely at the girl's next reponse and couldn't help but respond to her own inappropriate humor with a bit of his own.

"Whip 'em out and gimme a marker," he joked.

He couldn't help but laugh a little bit. Part of him was a bit worried that this girl might actually do it though, she seemed to be the wild and crazy type... not that it was ever a bad thing, but you could definitely tell it just by the type of clothing she had on. On the bright side, this one seemed to have a brain. She was actually witty, and he couldn't say that much about the large majority of the girls at Southridge.

He ran his fingers absent-mindedly through his hair again and readjusted the dufflebag on his shoulder.

"What'd you say your name was?" he inquired after a moment, "Don't think I've seen you around before. I think I'd remember that smart-ass mouth if I had."

He couldn't help but laugh. He found the girl amusing, and she wasn't bad company. Her crude sense of humor was a match for his own -- in fact, she might've been even cruder than himself. One thing was for sure, she definitely wasn't your run of the mill, blonde-headed, blue-eyed, huge-boobed cheerleader girl. That was okay though, there were plenty of those floating around the school.
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"Ok," she chimed with mock enthusiasm, pulling down on the front of her tanktop with both hands and making a throaty noise with her tongue sticking out. Of course she was joking, and only showed enough of her fairly ample cleavage to satisfy her need to flirt a little with him. She always flirted, and it was always easy to pass off as just being eccentric. Then she brushed a strand of hair off of her face and adjusted her top as if she'd simply answered "Marker's dry."

"I'm Jessa," she answered, and rummaged in her bag for her pack of Player's Light. "Smoke?" she offered him, holding it out and raising her eyebrows.
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v3 Minions
B21: Nigel Gillespie
G09: Jessa Vanallen
B20: Harry Tsai
B13: James Brown
B112: Dennis Bernard
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Megami
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Michael couldn't help but smirk as Jessa pulled down the top of her shirt, flashing just enough of her cleavage as a joke before pulling her shirt back up and readjusting it. She was obviously the flirtacious type, which was fine with him. Made the afternoon all that much more interesting. Finally, she introduced herself as "Jessa". and offered him a cigarette. Michael wasn't normally one to smoke, but he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and took the cigarette from her hand.

"I don't do this much, but what the hell?" he mused, "Not like I can refuse a cigarette from a pretty lady, that'd be just plain rude."

He kneeled down next to the bench, not being so bold as to join her on top of it. She didn't seem like the type that had issues with personal space at all -- really now, she had just flashed her cleavage at him, but most girls had some kind of weird boundary that they were sensitive about or something. He'd stepped on girls' toes one too many times in the past, and now he kind of knew what he could and couldn't get away with.

"Can I get a light?" he inquired coolly.

This girl didn't seem so bad. She was more interesting than the monotonous whoosh of the pitching machine as it spat out another ball, and definitely more interesting than the empty home he'd probably return to. His dad hadn't been home much these days. Not that Michael minded. It was nice to have the place to himself, even though parties and girls and the like weren't offlimits even in the even that his father was home. In fact, his dad usually supplied the booze for the parties.

"So," he inquired bluntly, "You don't strike me as the nerdy type... and even though I get the feeling you're a bit of a rebel, I doubt you'd actually show up to detention even if you were supposed to be there, so I have to ask you, what brings you to good ole' Shitridge High this afternoon?"
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Jessa scoffed once again at Michael calling her a pretty lady, but secretly she was becoming more and more intrigued. She had received her share of cat calls from various jocky-types, but none had ever sat and talked with her, which was understandable. Actually, even if any of them ever had, she probably wouldn't have given them the opportunity to sit with her. But Michael, he actually seemed to have a brain unlike most of his jocky bretheren. Plus he was being really cool about that rear windshield.

He sat on the ground, which was weird, but she didn't care. Maybe he was wary of her type, which was again quite understandable. She handed him her lighter and took another drag. She watched him out of the corner of her eye when he lit up to see if he knew what he was doing; he could've been just trying to impress her for all she knew.

"Oh, I'm waiting for someone," she replied absentmindedly. "Girlfriend," she added, not wanting to kill the flirtatious atmosphere. Then she piped up again, "She's my bitch," to be funny.
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v3 Minions
B21: Nigel Gillespie
G09: Jessa Vanallen
B20: Harry Tsai
B13: James Brown
B112: Dennis Bernard
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Megami
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Michael casually took a drag of the cigarette as he awaited Jessa's response. He could tell she was eyeballing him, probably trying to figure out if he was smoking just to impress her or something. He couldn't help but smirk inwardly at the thought. He was so far beyond impressing girls that it wasn't even funny. He didn't have to impress them, they tended to flock toward him anyway. Besides, he didn't make it a habit to smoke regularly, mostly because his ex-old lady had always yelled at him for it, but he knew his way around a cigarette.

Jessa's response to his question wasn't all that unusual. She was waiting for one of her friends. He could only surmise that her friend was a cheerleader -- no, she didn't look like the cheerleading type at all, and they tend to run in packs -- maybe her friend was in detention. Actually, that was probably it, he decided. She definitely wasn't waiting on any of those bimbo cheerleaders to get out of practice. She seemed like the type that would eat those girls alive if they gave her half the chance.

"Your bitch, eh?" he parroted, "That's pretty hot."

He smirked at her and took another drag off the cigarette. His trail of vision cast off toward the busted car windshield that he had smashed earlier. The owner of the vehicle still hadn't come out from wherever they were within the school building. They were sure going to be pissed off whenever they saw their car. He couldn't help but think it was a student's car, it wasn't nearly nice enough to be a teachers. His attention immediately went back to Jessa, though, and he grinned again.

"So, I'd imagine you have a long night of pimping her out and taking her cash in store, am I right?" he joked.
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Jessa began to worry that the intelligible flirting was over and some previously unseen dumb horny jockstrap side was surfacing on this Michael character when he remarked "that's pretty hot." It was a false alarm, though.

"Hellll yeah, nigga," she chimed exuberantly at his inquiry, wrinkling her nose and contorting her mouth. "And since I like you, you can give her a throw for half-price, today only." She smirked and spat on the ground between her feet, tapping her cigarette with her index finger to shake a short trail of ashes loose.

A funny thought occurred to her, and she shook her head slightly. 'Watch, he's actually a cop and I get slapped with a soliciting charge...'

Another drag, and Jessa cast a glance toward the parking lot. "That is, unless you plan on waiting around all day to swap insurance info with whoevers windshield you smashed." Suddenly her eyes widened and a grin spread over her face. "You wanna go take a closer look?"
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v3 Minions
B21: Nigel Gillespie
G09: Jessa Vanallen
B20: Harry Tsai
B13: James Brown
B112: Dennis Bernard
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laZardo
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It was definitely a problem when a baseball had smashed in the windshield of a car. It was also a nasty problem when it wasn't a small compact but a used mid-size sedan that could probably hold someone large in the front seats.

What made the problem especially nasty was that the car was owned by Daniel Carvalho. As in, Daniel "Boxer" Carvalho, the Rebels' leviathan linebacker, who had just come out of the locker rooms after finishing up football practice. There was a game coming up soon so it had been particularly stressful...and it didn't help that his workhorse-like ethic dictated that he would be the first athlete on, and last athlete to leave the field during practice. Right now, he'd stood at the edge of the parking lot, hand to his forehead. It wouldn't have been hard to spot him from the other end of the lot.

What the hell!? Someone jacked my car!?

"Fucking shit..." he muttered as he started to walk toward his car with increasing pace. He looked more concerned than furious, especially since the rear windshield had been shattered right through. He also spotted Michael and Jessa...but didn't actually figure either of them for the perpetrators. After all, having a break-in seemed normal around this neighborhood. He just didn't know what to do about it...though he often found violence as one of his first options.

Unfucked: Cisco Vasquez (V4)
Proper Fucked: Harris Van Allen (The Program), Rashid Hassan (V4)
Fucked Soon: Carlos Lazaro and Eliza Patton
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"Really?" Michael mused, a wide grin quickly spreading over his features at Jessa's half-price remark, "Fuckin' sweet."

He shook his head, but the grin remained on his face. The thought pushed into his head before he knew it, and he found it flowing out of his mouth almost before he realized.

"Do you give group discounts?" he inquired before bursting into a fit of laughter once again.

Jessa's words about the vehicle brought it into his thoughts once again, and he couldn't help but chuckle. He really should've felt bad, he did bust out somebody's windshield, after all, but it wasn't his fault. Really now, why should he pay for it? Nobody ever stayed around this place that late, that's what they got for parking so close to the baseball field. There should be a disclaimer or something. It's like when a cart slams into your car in the Wal-mart parking lot, they don't pay for that stuff.

Jessa's mischevious suggestion brought a devilish grin to Michael's face as he took another drag of the cigarette. He had to admit, this chick was fun. Kind of crazy, but in an interesting sort of way. He gave her a vigorous nod and turned around just in time to see one of the Southridge Rebels' star football players exiting the gym, and looking pretty pissed off at the fact that his back windshield was busted out.

"Oh shit," he chuckled.

He hadn't realized that was Boxer Carvalho's vehicle. After all, he didn't know what Boxer drove, and the fact was, he didn't really care. The football player seemed to be looking around dumbfoundedly for some kind of clue leading to the culprit or something of that nature. Thankfully, all of Michael's gear was tucked safely away inside of his dufflebag, and he, too, had the perfect alibi. He'd been in the locker room until just now. He smirked to himself.

"This oughta be fun," Michael grinned, "C'mon."

Was he going to apologize to Boxer? Hell no. Was he going to tell him what happened to his vehicle? Of course not. No, Michael Hardy was simply heading in the direction of the larger-than-life football player for one simple reason. To screw with him. He waved Jessa along behind him and started heading toward the other student. A look of shock and sheer disbelief washed across his features as he got closer to the large boy, and he looked at the back of Boxer's SUV in an almost dumbstruck manner.

"Holy shit, bro, what happened?"
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She saw the owner returning to his car. At first it seemed like they would have to keep their distance, that is until Michael spoke up and caught her completely off-guard. Jessa remained complacent as she got to her feet and followed him across the baseball field to the parking lot (the scene of the crime!), but on the inside she was becoming genuinely turned on; this guy had balls, no question. She liked that. No run-of-the-mill jock had actual balls; every gutsy move they made was fuelled by the judging eyes of their peers.

'Note to self: stop generalizing these jock-types, she decided inwardly, readying herself to play along with whatever story Mike fabricated.
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v3 Minions
B21: Nigel Gillespie
G09: Jessa Vanallen
B20: Harry Tsai
B13: James Brown
B112: Dennis Bernard
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laZardo
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Boxer had just arrived at the driver's door of his vehicle when Mike and Jessa caught up to the scene of the crime. Michael too seemed dumbstruck with disbelief, or at least that's what Boxer was reading. At the moment though, even he wasn't quite smart enough to decipher if the baseball jock was faking it or not. It was easy to tell that the behemoth was very worried about not just the car, but what he'd have to do when he would bring it home as well as his parents' reactions. If he could actually...somehow...figure out that Mike did it, the baseballer would literally get struck dumb.

"Some guy just smashed up my vehicle," Boxer replied slowly as he dug out the keys from his varsity letterman jacket pocket and opened the front door. He didn't pay Michael or Jessa any more mind as he checked inside. The steering wheel and pedals were still in place and intact...and the stereo was still there. There was, however, a lot of glass in the SUV's back area, where he'd tossed his duffel bag after he was done with practice.

Boxer slammed the door shut and went around to the back, looking in.

There was a mess of shattered glass...and a baseball.

The linebacker suddenly turned to Michael, his expression now shocked.

Unfucked: Cisco Vasquez (V4)
Proper Fucked: Harris Van Allen (The Program), Rashid Hassan (V4)
Fucked Soon: Carlos Lazaro and Eliza Patton
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((Sorry, wasn't able to get on yesterday.))

Michael knew he was taking a risk by even walking up to Boxer. Some people might've called it a ballsy move. Some people would probably say it was just stupid, walking up to someone with a known temper like the guy standing in front of him and playing completely dumb about the baseball that was laying inconspicuously in the back of the football player's SUV. To Michael, though, it was all just a game.

Now, if worse came to worse and the two boys wound up trading blows, Michael was pretty sure he could, at the very least, hold his own against the football player. Boxer wasn't all that much bigger than him, Michael stood at about 6'1" himself, and weight-wise, they didn't seem to be all that much different, although Michael's was a lot more lean weight and Boxer seemed to have more muscle on him. But, if worse came to worse, Michael had one very distinct advantage over Boxer. The guy was dumb as a box of rocks.

Boxer didn't seem to be looking to talk to Michael and Jessa. He couldn't really tell from the expression on the guy's face if he was mad, sad, or if there was anything running through his mind at all. Michael always got that impression from Boxer though, the kid just seemed blank. Maybe he just wasn't that good at reading facial expressions, but it seemed to Michael like the lights were on but no one was home. He held in a smirk at the thought of it as Boxer inspected the interior of his SUV.

Man, we could've stolen the stereo and everything else outta this baby and the poor kid would've thought it was just a random break in.

On the inside, he was laughing, but on the outside, Michael's face held a look of genuine concern for his fellow student. He examined the SUV, making sure not to get too close to the damaged vehicle. He knew good and well that the baseball had planted itself in the backseat, right in the middle of the heap of glass that had been shattered when it had busted through the window. That was fine, though. Michael had already been formulating a story in his mind, and just as Boxer wised up to the baseball and turned around with a shocked expression on his face, Michael emulated the same expression while looking at Boxer.

"Damn dude, that's shitty," he stated calmly, as if he'd known nothing about it the entire time he'd been standing there, "Some of the other guys from the baseball team had been out on the field practicing. That weird Chee kid was out there... you know, the nutjob. He was still out there when the rest of us called it a day and headed to the locker room, but he wasn't there when I came out... you don't think...?"

Michael paused, as though thinking. It wasn't necessarily that he had a problem with Ric Chee, he just thought he was weird. Besides, what's putting the blame on somebody else that you barely know if it gets you out of trouble? There was no reason Boxer shouldn't believe it, but if he didn't, Michael was fully prepared for that too. He looked back at Jessa momentarily, hoping she'd go along with his story. He saw no reason for her to rat him out to Boxer, but you never know. Chicks are weird sometimes.
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