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Offended?; Late freshman year, hallways, PM to enter
Topic Started: May 21 2013, 07:39 AM (1,052 Views)
NotAFlyingToy
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Start: Brandon Baxter))

Brandon Baxter had suit measurements in his pocket.

They were discovered on chance, an accident that occurred in three easy steps, even in the midst of talking and joking with a small grouping of friends. It was a casual day; there was lunch to eat, and classes to attend, and girls to flirt and flounce with. It was one of those times where the situation called for casualness, and he had reached into his pocket. Easy, simple. Normal. As he had done so, he had felt a slight crinkling, a feeling as if an object in his pocket didn’t belong, wasn’t natural.

That was step one.

The next step was sudden realization: just what was it that was crackling in his pocket whenever his fingers brushed against it? Curiosity momentarily distracted him in mid sentence, digging into his jeans to close fingers around the soft, small square, tugging it to the daylight.

Step two.

His friends looked on in curiosity as he methodically unfolded the piece of paper, his facial features morphing from one of mild fixation to one of blank recognition. There, in faded, bleached ink from going through the wash too many times, the pen scrawlings stretched and distorted and merging with the solid lines of the piece of paper.

48L - 43 - 21 ¾ - 39 - 40.

Step three.

Just like that, those small series of numbers - suit size, chest, shoulder, chest and waist - had him stopping mid-step, staring at those little blue smudges on the faded, soft material. The image of standing on a stool while a short bald man wielded a measuring tape on him propelled other images, like an avalanche of thought and blurred sound, harkening back a month, two months.

Pallbearers. Church bells. Last goodbyes, weeping families, closed casket.

He didn’t remember how he got from standing in that small, close-knit group to wandering the halls, but it had happened. He also didn’t remember squeezing the piece of paper until it was a knotted ball in his fist. In fact, he felt as though he were numb, somewhere on the verge of wanting to shriek with laughter and roar with rage and totally break down all into one. He didn’t truly see Carmina Maliski walking down the opposing side of the hall, nor did he truly feel it when he rammed into her shoulder with his own, too stuck in the fog of his inward flailing to recover from the ledge he was teetering over.

But he suddenly became blisteringly aware of the need to snap.

Whirling to face the girl he had rammed into, his face shifted into a mockery of her expression - shock, maybe irritation - before snapping at her.

“Watch where you’re fuckin’ going, lard-o. Heavy transit has to sound approach.”
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NotAFlyingToy
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Brandon shrugged his big shoulders, his paper - the measurements - crinkling alongside the clenching of his fist. He saw her bobble the DVD, and something flashed in the back of his mind - watching cartoons is for kids and who was she, standing in his way at a time like this?

He accepted the anger. Anger was good. Anger was fine compared to the numbness that had started creeping in and settling over him like an ominous rain cloud, waiting and promising to strike but never quite delivering. He'd cherish rage - at Carmina, who hadn't really blipped on his radar until this moment - and feed it compared to the alternative.

"I got it from the same place I imagine you collect this stupid shit," he responded, tapping at the DVD while moving closer to her. "So, fifth grade if it pleases you, jello."
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NotAFlyingToy
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Brandon's smile widened into a near grimace, a macabre display of emotion that had him almost at a boiling point. In his head, he pictured one of those ridiculous old cartoons - where Bugs Bunny would place a thermometer into Yosemite Sam's mouth, and the rage of the red-headed cowboy had the thermometer climbing and climbing - up and up until the mercury expanded and exploded into dozens of shards of glass in an over the top kaboom sound effect. With each digit the mercury climbed past, another inch of the numbness burst into feeling.

He moved closer, cocking an eyebrow as he crowded her, towering over her smaller form.

"Well, now," he drawled, drawing the syllables out, "it looks like someone's thinking about my cock between the two of us, but it sure as hell isn't me. I didn't know you wanted a tumble, sister. If you weren't doing your best impression of a beach ball, I might even be interested."

He reached out then, a slow and easy swipe, aiming to grab a hold of the DVD - Higarushuu? He couldn't make out the title - in her hand.
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NotAFlyingToy
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Baxter stopped, stepping backwards at the sudden thunderous roar that this little pussycat erupted into the second he went for her precious little DVD. A smile curled the right side of his mouth at the kitten displaying her claws, his arms coming to fold over his chest in an easy, slow manner that was almost second nature.

He'd pissed her off. The thought was a delicious one, wrapping around his mind. Dragging someone to his level made it better. Made it okay. Never suffer in silence.

Don't suffer alone.

"Aw, you'd never bother me, babe," he purred, malice lighting in his eyes and dancing feverishly, "I mean, other than your severely unattractive face and revolting fashion sense, not to mention your ridiculous obsession with cartoons..."

He trailed off, face twisting to a mockingly thoughtful expression, leaning closer to her face. "Actually, yes. You bother me quite a bit. In fact, the realization that you and I share air has me feeling insulted."
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NotAFlyingToy
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the bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Baxter chuffed out a laugh, turned on his heel, and started walking for the exit.

"Baby, if I weren't gay before, I sure as fuck am now that I saw your mug."

Wasn't worth his time. Wasn't worth his anger.

Go find someone else.

((Brandon Baxter, continued elsewhere))
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