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Beauty tarnished
Topic Started: Feb 1 2012, 02:07 AM (1,523 Views)
Serpico
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[ *  * ]
Owen nearly screamed, not a feminine scream but more one of rage. His looked around the parking lot for the offender and saw no one. He looked back at his motorcycle, he was shaking from rage.

It was a scratch, on his bike, a scratch on his lovely bike. To most people it would have seemed trivial; the scratch was not too unsightly and would not be noticed unless the bike was under intense scrutiny. That didn’t matter to Owen though, he poured as much time as he could into maintaining the machine, he knew its inner workings better than anyone else. Yet here was a scratch and someone had to be held responsible.

The bike he had named Freyja, to him it was a representation of a perfect beauty and someone had tarnished that beauty with the offending scratch. He’d have to fix the bike but keeping it in near perfect working condition was tedious. Still, it would be fixed very soon as it was his pride and joy. Owen glanced at his motorcycle, light shone from the near immaculate surface of the vehicle. It really was in great condition, something that Owen would boast about as soon as someone mentioned his motorcycle.

He sat down on the sidewalk and placed his helmet on the ground, he was feeling awfully snippy and the next person to approach might just experience the yelling of a life time.

God damn it. I thought today might actually be a good day.

He wondered about who did it, in his mind there were several scenarios running through his head. Perhaps Paulo has gotten really offended about his joke in English class, or maybe Cassidy Kant was angry with him. He thought about the last one and scratched Cassidy off his list, she was far too nice to do something bitter like that. There was also Naomi Bell; he would have assumed it was her off the bat if it weren’t for his interaction with Paulo earlier. The possibility of it being an accident never even crossed his mind.

Here was a crime scene and the question was: whodunit?
NOTHING HERE, GO HOME EVERYONE.
Brady Kim Floyd || Cochise Highschool - Senior || Status - Just Fine || Availability: NIl. ||
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Violent-Medic
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Naomi Bell continued from No Waiting On Checkstand Three))

Naomi was a bit late in getting out of class. Mr. Connor sometimes got caught up in his lectures. Naomi didn't really mind, as Mr. Connor was one of the more interesting teachers to listen to and she needed to listen to him more in order to acquire the skills needed to beat him in an argument. A near-impossible task, according to most of the student body. But Naomi was sure it could be done. And if she could beat Mr. Connor in an argument, then she'd be ready to argue against any opposition in her future political career.

There were no extra-curricular activities she needed to be at today, so she was planning on just unwinding a little. Perhaps stopping by the mall and buying a few books to read. Relaxation was important, otherwise all the pressure would just build up until she exploded like Mount Vesuvius and bury everyone in ash and pumice.

She wanted to relax. So naturally, as Murphy's Law dictated, who would be in the parking lot but one of the most irritating people she'd ever had the misfortune to meet. Owen Veveris, a former partner in writing an English essay. An absolute imbecile when it came to analysing work, and stubborn about clinging to his errors to boot. He was one of those rare people that Naomi couldn't even pretend to like.

He was sitting on the sidewalk, looking rather furious. He was also next to his motorcycle. Naomi wasn't fond of his motorcycle and often had to resist the urge to give it a kick. But she never did. She wasn't that petty.

She decided to pretend Owen wasn't there and started to make her way towards her car. She walked as fast as she could without looking like she was trying to run away.
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[ *  * ]
Owen looked up to find Naomi Bell walking speedily, something about her expression screamed; I have to go fast. Something in Owen’s mind clicked and it only seemed logical that she was moving fast to avoid him, because she was the guilty party. He remembered the saying the guilty always return to the scene of the crime and why else would she be moving so fast?

Her long hair swayed as she walked. Owen put on an expression of contempt; he just couldn’t stand her, walking around like she was better and smarter than everyone else. She wasn’t even that smart, he had worked with her before and her interpretation of the essay the tried to work on together was entirely incorrect. He would have been better off working with a chimp or something, it made his eye twitch just thinking about it.

She was getting ready to leave, as if Owen would let her without giving her the biggest yelling she ever heard.

Fucking bitch thinks she can scratch my bike and get away with it.

He approached her, speeding up to catch up to her speedy walking. He planned to intercept her so that she couldn’t continue to her car.

“Hey, Naomi. Where do you think you’re going?” his words were harsh and loud. There was no way that she could ignore him, besides he’d just push until she had to stop and listen.
NOTHING HERE, GO HOME EVERYONE.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Only twenty steps away... ten... eight... seven... was she hearing footsteps hurrying after her?

"Hey, Naomi. Where do you think you're going?"

Oh, meadow dressing.

Naomi considered ignoring him, getting into the car and driving away. But she knew from experience how ridiculously stubborn Owen was, and had no doubt that if he was really determined to speak with her... well, he'd probably jump on his cursed motorcycle and follow her home. And the last thing she needed was for him to find out where she lived. Naomi inwardly shuddered at just the thought.

She reluctantly turned around. Before saying anything, she glanced around the parking lot just to make sure no-one was around. Most had probably either left or stayed behind for extra-curricular activities. It wasn't like the parking lot was a fun place to linger.

"Well, since it's the end of the school day, I was planning on going home, relaxing and not talking to any cabbage-headed skunks. You're ruining the third criterion I had for a nice afternoon, so I'd like to leave now if you don't mind."
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[ *  * ]
Cabbage-headed skunk?

Owen put on a bit of a confused expression; he had heard a lot of odd phrases before but cabbage-headed skunk? That was something he had never heard before. He supposed that it was a replacement for a more colourful word and for now he wouldn’t think too hard about it. He would push it to the back of his mind as his original intention began to resurface. He pointed to his vehicle and gestured for Naomi to approach.

“What is this? Take a real close look and tell me what the fuck this is.” He gestured to his bike; the scratch was probably barely visible from the distance.

His face was flustered as it was obviously a distressing experience for him. By then it would probably have been beneficial to take a page from Naomi’s book and take a breather but Owen wasn’t the sort to do that. Right now all he could think about was Naomi and the bike.

“And don’t just glance at the bike and say whatever. I mean really look at it and tell me what is wrong with it.”
NOTHING HERE, GO HOME EVERYONE.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"What is this? Take a real close look and tell me what the fuck this is."

It would probably be better to go along with his suggestions. Naomi frowned and looked down at his motorbike. It looked normal enough. As far as she could tell, it was just a regular motorcycle. Albeit one that Owen was ridiculously fond of.

"And don't just glance at the bike and say whatever. I mean really look at it and tell me what is wrong with it."

But there wasn't anything wrong with it. Except one tiny scratch. Naomi assumed something that roars through quiet neighborhoods at one in the morning would be covered in scratches. But Owen looked ready to have a seizure.

It was obvious what was going on here. Owen was clearly having some kind of psychotic break.

"There's one tiny scratch on your Aphrodite motorcycle. I will assume, since that's the only problem I can see, that either you are hallucinating that someone threw paint over it or you are just making a big deal out of nothing. Now can I leave?"
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[ *  * ]
Aphordite? APHORDITE?

Naomi’s response made his blood boil, perhaps she had said that intentionally to irk him, and if it was intentional it worked. Owen’s raised his voice, never the sort to resort to violence but always the sort to voice his opinion in an aggressive manner.

“You may not just leave. It’s Freyja you philistine. You idiot, that is like confusing roses with daisies and water with wine. Aphrodite couldn’t hold a candle to a goddess like Freyja .” Owen paused, he’d ranted long enough about goddesses and now it was time to return to the original subject.

“and yes, you are correct, that is a scratch and it is defiling my motorcycle. Now, tell me, how do you think the scratch got there?” The way he said it implied that he thought it was her and his expression was accusatory. Now he waited for Naomi’s response, one that had better be good.
NOTHING HERE, GO HOME EVERYONE.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Naomi took a quick step back as Owen launched in an angry, violent tirade about how she was a philistine for getting the name of his motorbike wrong. She mentally updated the list of things she knew about Owen, adding 'has an overprotective and somewhat psychotic relationship with his motorbike' to the list. It was good to know. Might be useful at a later time.

"Yes, of course. I'm a philistine because I have better things to do than memorize the name of your girlfriend," Naomi said, her voice deadpan. "But, moving on... my assumptions concerning the scratch? My first would be that you tried to drive Isis over your ego and it just couldn't make it over that giant mountain without a few scratches. The second guess would be that it's just regular wear-and-tear. Anything gets scratched if you use it enough.

"However..." Naomi crossed her arms, still looking down at the barely noticeable scratch. "I get the feeling that you're blaming me for it. Which is completely ridiculous. Honestly, if I was willing to get in trouble for damaging your motorbike then I would have done much worse. Might as well get hanged for a sheep as a lamb."
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[ *  * ]
Owen bit his tongue when she got the name of the Motorcycle wrong a second time, he was certain that she was doing it on purpose now so there was little point in saying anything about it. He realised that if she had indeed scratched his bike that she might be getting some sick pleasure out of his angry response. So the only logical thing for him to do was stop screaming, even though he would have loved to keep going.

She flung a few insults his way and then mentioned that it might have been regular wear and tear. There was no way, Owen would have noticed it if it was there in the morning, or at least he was convinced he would.

“Honestly, I do believe that you did it and no, I don’t believe you. You’re probably just saying that so I’ll let you go home already or something.” His voice was only a little calmer than before.

This conversation was tiring him; she wouldn’t admit to it even if she did it, she was stubborn but so was he. To any stranger watching the clash between Owen and Naomi, it would have appeared similar to witnessing a pair of rams butting heads. Such stubbornness always brought out the worst in Owen.
NOTHING HERE, GO HOME EVERYONE.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Honestly, I do believe that you did it and no, I don't believe you. You're probably just saying that so I'll let you go home already or something."

Well, Naomi was already sick of this. No, that wasn't quite right. She'd been sick of it as soon as she'd heard his stupid voice.

"Yes, you're absolutely right. I'm lying about not causing that minuscule scratch because you and all your muscular strength is standing between me and my freedom, and I can't possibly leave without your permission." Naomi paused for a few minutes before emitting a short, fake gasp. "Wait! I just remembered that's idiotic!"

She turned away from Owen and walked back over to her car, fiddling with her car keys. After a few moments, she unlocked the door and slipped into the driver's seat. Before shutting the door, she looked back at Owen.

"Besides... you have no basis for your accusations, so I'm quite within the right to leave. 'Ei incumbit probatio qui dicit, non qui negat.' The presumption of innocence is a principle that has existed since Roman times, and I doubt a little scratch on Venus is going to remove that ideology."

She slammed her car door shut before Owen had the chance to say anything else. Any retorts he had would be meaningless if she couldn't hear them. A cheap win, maybe, but... Owen didn't exactly bring out the best in her.

Naomi pulled out of the parking lot and drove towards the mall. She frowned at the clock on the dashboard as she did so. She was a couple of minutes later than she would have liked to be. Not that anyone was waiting for her, or that it was really important to be on schedule when it came to relaxing... but it irked her, nonetheless.

Meadow dressing. That skunk is starting to annoy me.

((Naomi Bell continued in Violet Blue Dragon.))
Edited by Violent-Medic, Feb 12 2012, 08:50 PM.
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[ *  * ]
Naomi got into her car, shutting the door before he could speak back to her any further. This only made him even angrier as he was not allowed an opportunity to argue back, even if his argument only amounted to the words: you totally did it you conniving bitch!

He returned to his Motorcycle and gingerly touched the scratch. It really could have been worse but the idea that someone had defiled his property really bothered him. After pulling his hand away from the scratch he put his helmet on and mounted his motorcycle before leaving the parking lot. He didn’t see Naomi’s car at all as he rode home.

She probably rode off to go home and stir her bubbling cauldron.’ He thought. The idea of her being a witch amused him enough to make him smile.

The next day Naomi’s car would have a note stuck to the windshield, on it the words: 'I’m sorry I kept you from your bubbling cauldron yesterday.' would be scrawled on it in with blue ink. Owen always made a point to use blue ink when writing to Naomi.

(( Owen Veveris: continued elsewhere ))
Edited by Serpico, Feb 8 2012, 09:46 AM.
NOTHING HERE, GO HOME EVERYONE.
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