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Dance or Die; Hey, it's a song too
Topic Started: Feb 15 2016, 07:53 PM (519 Views)
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((Irene Djezari continued from Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses))

Sooo... Boys were hard. Not like that. Okay, maybe. But not like Irene would know how all that one way or the other.

Dances were never any fun when these feels decided to Noah's flood her body, courtesy of her overactive endocrine system. At least she had the ability to write off girls on the grounds of precious friendship, social discomfort, so on and so forth. But for guys she hadn't put on a spectrum between 'hate em' and 'love em' there was always some tinge of awkwardness lingering. Sure she was usually fairly decent at playing the 'one of the boys' card, but there were only so many dudely things she could do before she realized there were important physiological differences that set her apart like a...

Like a target. Hah, she wished. Hot stuff she was, but not in the positive sense. Like any boy was going to coerce her into asking them out for Sadie. Whenever the thoughts had sluiced out of the grimy depths of her reptilian brain the past few days she'd distracted herself, in the astronomically rare wise preempting of her own tendency to ruin her own life. Her own room was sanctuary from the ides of the metaphorical pining of her ventricles. But she was at school now, and glancing at every cute set of broad shoulders that slid by with far more intent than she was comfortable with. Just stick to table, keep face hovering at a minimal distance from math book. She couldn't even read the damn polynomials, they were blurred by that point. She just had to wait for a bit, until she could lasso her own wild mind and corral it away from the temptress that was tearing up the dance-floor with some idiot...

Oh, there was some idiot. Noah wasn't even possible, for reason of orientation. But he did look like he was a good dancer, the rhythm he carried. It was at least as competent as her own ability to sashay to a beat. Whatever dubious merit that comparison carried. But Noah was still kind of a weird place for her mind to go, never mind all the weird places it went without a second guess. Pina Colada was her Alamo. Indefensible. She had to remember it. Noah and her. Wasn't possible, just wasn't.

Wait. Couldn't she just ask him platonic-like? Irene's gray matter suddenly stumbled onto an embarrassingly obvious solution, and she had to take a lucid moment to wonder what was wrong with herself.

Then, after the boy, slender arm outstretched as if she could somehow steer him with just a gesture. "Yo, Noah!"

Oh damn! She'd been so excited by her sudden revelation about how she could get a dance partner that she'd forgotten that she didn't want one for a reason. She'd given in. There was no going back now. Well, there was, but that particular realization remained inconveniently distant from it's dawn.
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Irene continued to stumble along, arm outstretched in a half-budget depiction of your average zombie. All the budget went into rigor mortis on one flank, that was. She closed the distance quick though, weird posture aside she was one of the school's speedsters. She avoided careening into him, slid to a halt by his side. Wait, how long had he been this much taller than her? She had to look up at an acute angle this close, at an angle she hoped was at least modestly cute. Maybe the look was helped by the way the wind had swept her frizzy bangs into a frenzy, maybe not. Maybe the look was helped by Noah's orientation, definitely not. What the hell was Irene trying to accomplish, again?

"You're pretty up, for one. I swear you didn't dwarf me by this much last time we met." Said time probably having been a time she'd gotten pissy with him about something or another. If she'd had the awareness to do so she probably would have cringed and curdled into a ball on the ground right there and then from the memory. But she was blithe, she was smart, she was loyal. She pressed on with her nonexistent plan:

"First, nice vid last week." She'd thought so, legitimately. it had gotten her to laugh hard enough to distract her from how vaguely offensive it all felt. "The bit with the rocking horse or whatever it was had me almost giggle myself out of my window." Also a legitimate claim, and the less said about that incident the better. "Second, how's the forecast for Sadie looking?" Noah was either going to say something stupid or something funny in response. Maybe both at the same time.
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Irene also laughed, the usual 'I'm not really sure why I'm laughing' little giggle that tentatively bounced arpeggio through a wildly out-of-tune chord. The smile put her at ease though. She wasn't totally out of the running yet. That fact would probably be changing fast, but Irene was determined to plow straight ahead. Couldn't have stopped herself if she tried, at this point. The still not-particularly substantiated plan would bear no delay, nor would it bear sense.

"Yeah like I didn't get parts of it and I still don't really like Pina but I guess you just have to sometimes admit when things are funny?" In other circumstances that sentence could easily have devolved into Irene's usual misguided dislike of the Whitley aesthetic. But Irene was jumping mental hoops, running a full Olympic-level obstacle course, to cut Noah the slack he maybe deserved. On one count, that she was digging him harder than the Kola Borehole. Palms sweaty, knees weak, half ready to awkward herself straight into the higher dimensions. But only half, and that was her saving grace. She did realize, even in the heat of the moment and her collar, that this was the sort of thing she had to keep under wraps. She barely mastered the impulse to blunder into a confession, her jaw fiscally welded shut until she could open it without danger of emotional leakage.

"Hurricane Sandy, yeah. It's gonna be about as much of a wreck, I'm sure." Irene did feel a certain rosebud heat taking to her face, but she hoped the flush wasn't that visible. "But yeah, right call. Pants off dance off. I mean-" Damn it. Elementary school meme just hybridized itself into her sentence at the worst possible time. She had to actually turn on her heel for the briefest of seconds for that one, theatrically recovering from her slip with a metaphorical self-flagellation in silence. Literally worse than Hitler, mouth bigger than Jonah's whale, etc. She spun back with smile over-large and tense around the edges in obvious compensation.

"You know what I mean." If he took the opening for any sort of inappropriate comment Irene swore to god she was going to dissolve into primordial soup. Puddle of complex carbohydrates and lipids and all, right there at Noah's shoes. "Hah. But yeah, I was looking to blaze up the dance floor myself. You know, give them the old one two buckle my shoe." Three four, don't shut the door on this. "I'm asking because..." How to go? Small talk? Sob story? Irrelevant tangent? All good options, but without even a full second of her oh so careful deliberation:

"I wanted to ask you to it." ... Say it was in friendship and fun. Just a few more words. Dammit, her throat chose now to fall asleep.
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Man, Irene was feeling baked, boiled, basted. Strain her and call her a pasta. This wasn't especially atypical, she could easily pull this many death knells of contemporary English from her hat in a single swoop any day of the week. What was freaking her out, sending the most razor sharp of scalpel frissons down her spine, was how much it was bothering her. She said stupid shit all the time. Apparently. Why was it only a big deal now? Was that why they called them crushes? It really did feel like Irene was slowly fusing into the griddle of a panini press. Three cheese, whole grain. As whole as Irene's grain had ever been at any point in history. She had to remember to ask Mom for a couple of those, assuming they even had the prerequisite kitchen equipment...

But hey, at least she'd dropped some wicked lines. Genius callbacks, worthy of the most verbose of literary praises.

"Uh, yeah. You." Irene pointed as Noah did, a mindlessly aggressive gesture as if she intended to have her pound of his flesh. "First of all, damn straight you're flattered. I mean, it's not often that I do this sort of thing." Heaven forbid. "Look. I do get annoyed with you sometimes. Like, a lot, really. Every time I see that weird thing you-slash-Pina does with your-slash-her hair I feel like I lost as much faith in humanity as I did when I watched Eva." Wait. Irene had to consider if this tangent was helping her own case. While she continued to run amok with it, unfortunately. "I've wanted Pina dead sometimes, and to tell you the truth I sometimes can't tell if that's ironic sentiment or what. But Noah, you, by yourself, you're cool. And attractive. Fuck- I mean- yeah. You're attractive, so, hey. Why not go with someone else equally as good looking? I can help you look for her if you want."

Now that Irene had a moment of silence to reflect on it she realized that at no point during that speech had she really justified herself. Shot herself in the foot, dropped dubiously genuine self-deprecation, check and check. But the actual point...? So she squeaked out in addendum:

"Long story short, you're not so bad that I wouldn't want to share at least a few non awkward moments together." Irene rounded the whole mess of a response off with the first breath she'd taken in some amount of minutes.

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Noah didn't look too convinced at first. Irene vaguely understood that if she was in his position she'd have already punched herself out by now. Heck, she'd do it even here and now, even though she was currently herself and thus would be hurt by her fist being liberally applied to her face.

"Yeah okay I know it's a weird sentiment to have but legitimately, like, I guess I've always kind of had these mini death wishes for some of the people who rub me the wrong way. It's like, one day, my mind suddenly produces the abstraction with the funeral and the pall bearing and I dunno if I'm weirded out or... Wait, you just said yes." Irene acutely observed the current state of affairs thus. She'd said a multitude of things, Noah had said yes. Did that mean the secret to asking boys out was just doing her thing? It's almost like her parents had been right all along... Unfortunately the fleeting moment of wisdom, whatever it was worth, didn't stick. Irene had a boyfriend!

No wait, that wasn't true.

"Uh, well. Whatever floats your boat?" Irene didn't know if that sufficed as a comeback or not, but she was relieved and excited enough to not care, her well-trained neurons doing their usual 'fire random signals everywhere' victory dance. Irene felt hot, she felt cold. She felt yes and no, up and down, in and out... Her arms protectively locked under her chest, trying to brace against the sudden shivers of eager trembling. "Introduce me to Gigi someday, I think she and I would make fast friends. I do need more siggys for my ban-Pina-from-the-webs petition." Irene was surprised that she comfortable enough to try and parry some of Noah's jokes, now that her frying pan flash of social disgrace had passed. Really the dude had never been that bad. Why did she even dislike him, again? Her mind was quick to remind her, but for once she downplayed the reflex. She was determined against her own better judgement- hence, in favor of actual better judgement- to allow him space to breathe this time. As much as he wanted, he could have it.
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"I'm glad I think of you that way too!" Well Irene didn't totally know about that. It made things awkward and confusing and sweaty and- fuck it, it also made her feel like she was dancing in cotton candy clouds. The feels were welcome to stay, inadvisable as they were. She couldn't have given herself pause now, like those times when the video games were out and the family was shrilly calling for her attention. She had to keep going. No matter the obstacles thrown her way, say logistics talk from her all-the-homo boy toy.

"Two days?" Fingers quickly flexed and undulated as Irene took a quick stock of the whole temporal situation. "Dang, you're right. Well lemmie think." Random neuron impulses took over, words came out at a quick clip. "I've got a black dress, and by that I mean my sister does. Not the closest fit but I'll wing it." Predictive models of 'wing it' allowed for a high chance of a wardrobe malfunction, or plain tastelessness. "Oh! I can accent it with something shiny because of the stupid Carl Segan theme they've got going." Irene's musings on the specifics ranged from simple pearls to contraptions straight out of The Jetsons. Hopefully Noah would serve a strong judiciary role in Irene's legislative process. Checks and balances to prevent disharmonious miscarriages of fashion.

Irene relaxed against a locker herself, her tush occupying the airspace that once belonged to a series of dubiously family safe graffiti in chicken scratch. Close enough to Noah to feel conspicuously short, far enough to feel conspicuously awkward. "And yeah, Cheryl's does suck. Right down to their choices of billing talent." Irene afforded herself a haughty snicker at her own blundering into beginner's comedic genius. "If we go after the dance we can probably get one of the better late night diners empty. I mean, if shit isn't closed by the time we're out." How long was their platonic date gonna last? Irene knew she could go for hours if given the opportunity and the shitty pop beat, but who knew how Penis Bucket carried him/her/whateverself when showing the dance floor just what was so funny?
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Okay, he was nodding. She hadn't messed it up yet!

"Curfew. Huh." It was a fairly alien concept to the younger Djezari girl, the idea of irritatingly overbearing parental concern. They weren't exactly not there it was more like- fuck it, now wasn't the time for filial introspection. Of all things to arbitrarily care about when she had a cute boy at her sort-of maybe beck and call. "Wait. Eating before the dance means we're less likely to show up with stains." Irene needed a moment for that one, against all odds. "... Isn't that backwards? Eat before and I'm half liable to get carbonara on my sleeves. We do have the curfew to consider though. Maybe..."

Okay he'd already said it. Irene referred in brief to her Hello Kitty shrouded mobile. A device far smarter than she, likely.

"I... already have your number." And a half complete angry rant about something Irene had totally forgotten already. Something about post-apocalyptic works and Pina being in a dumpster and how that was 'misogynistic' or what have you. "Just in case I can give you mine again." The number was exchanged, with a bit of stiffed giggle since there was an unfortunate '69' right there in the final few digits. Then Irene...

Kind of awkwardly wandered off without much postscript or indication.

"Bye Noah! We'll hash it out over the thing." She managed to remember to at least say that much, at least. She wandered around a corner and out of sight. Away from the maths she'd been not really working on before Noah had shown, marking the second time she'd forgotten crap in his presence. Fact that she couldn't remember the first time notwithstanding.

((Irene Djezari continued in Dying To See How This One Ends))
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