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Sing A Song Of Sixpence; How to rile up an Irishman, second year at Cochise
Topic Started: Apr 21 2016, 11:06 AM (537 Views)
Rorick Skyve
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Jesus, what a frickin' waste. Cut down in its prime, before ever getting the chance to achieve anything worthwhile. Could have lived a long, fulfilled life, coulda become a lanky-ass acrobat, then escape from its circus and go on to star in Chicken Run. Oh well, wasn't going to happen now.

Aiden raised his fork with an almost dramatic gesture and brought it down with force, impaling the peeled, hard-boiled egg on his plate through its center. "Shit oughta luck, son. Time to put you out of your misery." Chuckling to himself, he went on to dissect his unfortunate victim, or rather, part of his lunch. He was sitting in the cafeteria, legs crossed, drumming on the table with one hand and shoveling niblets of egg into his mouth with the other.

Whole thing still kinda sucked, though. Not only that boring-ass meal, situation in general. He was sitting all by himself, like a lonely little troll, no peeps around for him to chat up. None he wanted to talk to, at least, only a bunch of sad dweebs and slowpokes, no fucking fun. Now to be fair, it was kinda late already, most of his peers already had eaten their lunch in here. His goddamn fault, really, for showing up all last minute like, taking all damn day to take a dump.

With a frustrated groan, he checked his wrist watch. Was it ritalin time yet? Nah, he was still good, all fine, everything a-okeyzies. Once he started getting the shakies, then he had to start worrying. Wouldn't happen though, no way José. If there was one thing he was good at, it was not fucking up his medication schedule. Skill came with practice, after all. And he, oh, he sure had plenty of both!

Aiden glanced at his wrist watch again, as if that was going to make time pass quicker. Man, being able to control time would have been the shit, even only for funsies! So many more ways for him to troll the shit out of his little bro, then make it up to him later. Good times rolling, 24/7. Too bad that wasn't going to happen, like, ever. Fun enough to think about, though.

He had almost finished his lunch, save for the remnants of the never-to-be cock aka his egg and some greenstuff, though he wasn't gonna touch that. Fucking cress man, made him sick just looking at that stuff! Distraction would have been nice right about now, even some motherfucking jet crashing through the ceiling, all "Heeeere's Johnny!" like, anything!

He was really fucking bored.
Edited by Rorick Skyve, May 17 2016, 06:13 AM.
Peoples and Sheeples for V6
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Aiden's solace, however, was to be swiftly curtailed.

Not by an axe-wielding horror icon. Not by a crashing plane. No. By something far more insidious. Far more unwelcome. Far more liable to ruin one's appetite. Far from a welcome end to isolation, the arrival of Bradley Floyd was enough to drive even the most extroverted and sociable of people into a nostalgia for solitude.

Dumping his tray, packed to the brim with as much unhealthy crap as he could smuggle past the lunchlady's noises, onto the table, he sat down opposite Beaks. The near-ubiquitous human gesture, of asking 'is this seat taken?', did not even occur to Bradley. Dumping his own ass onto the seat, with as much grace and carefulness as he had given his tray, Bradley immediately tucked in, waiting until an egg was already half-stuffed between his lips before speaking.

"Hey," he said, syllables broken up by vexing chews and obnoxious gulps, "heya Jewnose." Yep. As if 'Beaks' wasn't an insulting enough nickname, Bradley decided to add in the 'edge' of casual anti-Semitic stereotyping. There was no vitriol or hostility in his tone. The idea someone would, quite justifiably, be offended by his comments didn't even occur to him. And he immediately swerved into seemingly sincere pleasantries. "How's the day been treatin' ya?"

Bradley Floyd was far less traumatic than a jet crashing.

But he was far more annoying.
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Karma, man. Bitch had some real nerve, throwing this guy of all guys at him. Then again, he couldn't even be mad, really, he had pretty much asked for it. Still though, un-freakin'-lucky.

So Bradley, huh? Dude was throwing around his stuff and his weight like he owned the place. Aiden had never really talked to him all that much, exchanged a couple of wordies here and here, smallest of talks. Like, he could respect a guy doing his thing, wanting to have fun, sure, sounded like a sweet enough deal. Being a full-on dick, though? Not cool, brother. Not cool at all.

Like, 'Jewnose', that wasn't even funny, man, 'specially not out in the fucking open like this. Hell, took some serious ammo for him to consider something awkward, but Bradley had done it, bravo. Way he was chomping his grub didn't help either. Gross, dude.

Pussy option would have been to get the fudge out of there, abandon ship. But he didn't feel like doing that, nope. No way he'd let himself be shoo-shoo'd away by the first rando that showed up, wasn't gonna happen. He had asked for company and now he had it. Make the best out of a bad situation, true survivor style, that was what he was gonna do. Like, who knew, maybe Bradman over here turned out to be a decent enough fella after all. Rocky start, sure, but wrong first impressions were a thing after all. Yeah, he'd give him a chance. No reason not to.

Aiden placed his fork in the center of his now empty plate, then leaned over the table, placing both his forearms on its surface. The smile was there, not as amused as usual, but it was there.

"Sure a helluva lot better than you're treatin' your lunch, B." Now he was smirking. He liked that line, good opener. Had to keep the ball rollin' now.

"Really though, bit of a snorefest so far, you follow me? I mean, frickin' geography, man. Like I care about the capital of Slo-wherever. " Aiden removed one arm from the tabletop, in order to tiredly rub one of his eyes. Put some emphasis on it. "Any better for you?"
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"I mean, it's gonna end up in my belly anyway," he responded, pausing for a few seconds between words to ravenously stuff another egg between his lips. He bit down prematurely, and half of the egg tumbled down into his lap. He furrowed his brow, swallowed the other half, and reached down and plopped it in his mouth. All this without more than a second thought.

Whether Bradley didn't know he was violating social norms, or whether he knew and didn't care, was an open question to the outside world. Bradley liked to keep it that way. Aura of mystery, y'know. Chicks dig that. Bradley was sure historians would debate this question for eons to come. Not like they'd have anything better to do.

"So don't really care how I treat it." As if to make his point, he viciously stabbed the peas. More of them ended up on the floor than on the prongs of the fork, but that is the price you pay for rhetorical power. It was true. Bradley saw little need for table manners or farm animal welfare. As long as stuff got from the farm to the belly, whoopdedoo.

"Yeah, school's pretty fucking boring, you're not voicing a controversial opinion there mate," Bradley continue, tearing each pea off the prongs of the fork in turn. "Who needs to know the President of Uzbekibekibekistanstan, you know?"

Once again, it was an open question if Bradley was agreeing, or mocking.
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Like, this wasn't really that bad. He'd have expected worse, like, oodles and bunches of worse. Way some people were talking bout Bradman, they made it sound like he was some sorta hellspawn or some shit, henchman to Big Daddy Satan.

But then again, people did talk a lot of crap, didn't they? Being all political correct and stuff, easier to upset than his mom during laundry sessions. He wasn't judging though. To each their own, that sorta deal. Same thing for Bradley. Dude seemed like he was the type to just be doing his thing, not give any freckled fucks, zee to the ro. He could respect that. 'slong as he didn't get too dickish or anything, he'd be cool with him. Could make this work, so they could.

"Yup. Not like we got a choice though, right? Shit sucks sometimes - most of the time - but we gotta just wade through it to get to the honeypot, you with me? To the victors go the spoils, you know the drill."

Like, watching the guy eat was still sorta yucky, stuff flyin' around like that. Maybe he had been raised by wolves, Mowgli style. Still, not that big of a deal. Nobody was forcing him to stare at the guy's mouth, after all. Gross thought, really.
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"Eh, I'm sceptical," Bradley continued, his style of eating slowly transitioning into something - normal was the wrong word - more dignified. He still ate around any quasi-solid vegetables, any that went into his mouth collateral damage from his ravenous devouring of the meat, but at the very least was no longer proactively flicking them onto the table. He still left various juices and sauces dribbling down his chin, but at least now had the awareness to occasionally wipe them off with a swipe of his forearm. And while he still talked with his mouth full, at least he did not listen with his mouth full.

Bradley wasn't naturally a messy eater.

He just liked the strong reactions it provoked in some people. Beaks wasn't gonna attend to that craving.

"See, Bill Gates dropped out. Lincoln dropped out. Ted Turner got kicked out because he was caught fucking around," Bradley continued, with all the insight of a guy who read a Buzzfeed article once, though he would never dare admit that. "Thomas Edison dropped out. I don't think Nikola Tesla dropped out. And who made the most money?"
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Aiden let out a short laugh. This guy, this frickin' guy.. Nowhere near the ultimate level of vexing-schmexing he had expected, nope. Kinda funny, really. But fuck was it hard to ignore his style of munching. Dude was like some sorta hungry, hungry hippo or something.

Wasn't going to look at his mouth again, noooope, nope nope nope - shit. Damn saucy waterfall right there. Saucy, heh. Literally. Still though, Bradman's point was kinda whack. Like, sorta out of context, pretty weak. Either that, or the guy was just making a damn joke. Couldn't tell. Especially when he was trying to avoid lookin' at him too much.

"Like, you're sort of shooting for the stars here, aren't ya? Blowing this outta proportion, true as truth. These guys are like, the absolute mofos, right? Top of the class. Dunno bout Tesla, forgot what the guy did."

He grinned. Had no shame admittin' that, nope.

"But like, me, I just wanna be able to live my life and all, you with me? Support a family, that sorta shit. Still a bazillion years in the future, but I already know I won't aim too high. Just do my thing and do it sort of right. Make my folks proud."
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Bradley also had no idea who Tesla was.

He just knew self-righteous uptight lefties liked banging on about how he was better than Edison. Was kinda pathetic, if you asked Bradley. Yeah, he got the desire to sympathise with the underdogs, but you know what they call the underdogs of history? Losers. They had their chance for the comeback. They threw it away.

But still. Aiden was setting the tone of who he was pretty quickly.

"Oh, so you think if you don't get a good education, your family won't be proud?"

He added a smile on the end.

In Bradley's world, that made everything a harmless joke.
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Whoa, damn. That one hurt, straight up stinger. Convo took an icky direction real fast, even more so than watching that dude eat. Like, yeah, it was his own damn fault for even bringing up family and stuff in the first place, tellin' his life's story to a stranger like his name was Forrest Gump. Still though, thinking about what Bradman said, fucking nasty business.

Like, he was gonna make his folks proud either way, right? Do his thing, do it the best he could, end of story. Hadn't really thought about it too much in a while, no fun in it, so why torture himself with the thought? Kinda brought back all those fucking anxiety-ass self-doubts now, all that shit he talked about with his sis. For real though, gettin' all worked up now was stupid, best to just leave it at that and do a switcherooney of topic. Crossin' into dangerous territory, so they were.

Not really Bradley's fault though, dude didn't know which of his buttons he should avoid pressin' after all. Prolly just made a shitty joke or something. That grin though, that fucking slobbery grin on the guy. Wasn't makin' fun of him, was he? Backhanded way of callin' him a loser, sayin' his family wouldn't be proud and shit. Like...nah, was prolly readin' way too much into it, so he was. He'd give him the benefit of the doubt on this one.

Aiden shifted his position, now leaning back, with his arms crossed in front of his chest, though trying to look relaxed nonetheless. "Like...sorry man, I don't really wanna dive any deeper here, y'see? Brought it up myself, I know, minus five points for me. Just, startin' to penetrate my comfort zone here, know what I'm sayin'? So...yeah, change of topic would be fan-frickedy-tastic right about now."
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Most people would have respected that.

Well, Bradley respected it. He respected how Aiden did not lose his cool, how he confessed with a "mea culpa" his own folly in broaching that conversation, how he was blunt and direct in laying out the lines that should not be crossed. Bradley always gave people points for honesty, for directness, for abandoning hints and nuanced social cues and instead frankly articulating their desires for the conversation. He respected that.

But most people would have fortified that respect, and followed it with acquiescence.

Not Bradley though. To earn Bradley's respect (a goal that, to anyone other than Bradley, would seem more a mark of shame than an accomplishment), one had to also sustain a relentless barrage of button-pressing. Taboos would be broken, boundaries violated, the prohibited topics made real. Bradley respected people who stated their lines. Allowed him to more efficiently test them.

He impaled a piece of meat (mystery meat, as Bradley liked to think of the cafeteria food) on his fork, and held it up. "Okay. I'll respect your limits."

He took a bite from the fork. Tore the meat off. Pulled it back to look it over.

"Think this animal's family was proud of 'im?"
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It took him a few seconds to fully grasp what it was Bradley just said. Finally made 'click', like a tiny, tiny cogwheel finding its place. Usually, Aiden was the first guy to burst out laughing at every stupid-ass joke like some kind of retarded hyena or something. And still, even though it really, really rubbed him the wrong way, he had to give the bastard some credit: Fucking line wasn't half bad, no knee-slappity-slapper or anything, but still, sorta clever.

Only this was the wrong subject at the wrong time in the wrong place to be fucking clever, so it was. 'least for that mug o' lard sitting at the other side of the table, still wearing that goddamn grin. So the guy was really tryin' to bust his balls after all, maybe slurp'em up after too. Greedy fuckin' shitbiscuit.

But like...shit, had to calm his pepperonis, so he did. Way he was subconsciously clenchin' his fist and all, couldn't go full on rage mode just like that.

He tried to relax his muscles, set his arms on the table again, just letting them rest. Going limp like an old school pimp or- something. So yeah, Bradman had managed to piss him off, way too easily at that. Still though, could he even really blame the guy? Must have been tempting, making that joke and all, score a goal when his defense was down like that. Most peeps woulda done that, right?

Then again...that guy seriously looked like he was enjoying himself way too much. No way he was just seeing things this time, that look, that goddamn smarmy-larmy smile; that dude knew he was fucking with him, had to. Prolly ate like a fucking pig on purpose too, hauling out the big guns and stuff. Looked like it was true what people said about the guy after all, he really was a bag of douches. Wouldn't get under his skin though, not any more than that, no way, José. Would give the dude one last chance to try and redeem himself. Something something love thy neighbor.

"Look, maybe I was stuttering before or maybe you oughta get your ears examined or something, yeah? Either way, I'm just gonna pretend I didn't hear that last bit you said, B-Man." He ruffled his hair with one hand, tried to keep his fingers busy, what with them being all twitchy like a bitch. "You want us to continue sharing this table, you withdraw the word 'family' from your vocabulary for the next couple minutes, you with me?"
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Bradley feigned agreement, respect, clemency and magnanimity. His grin dropped, replaced by a sombre and dour frown, nodding along as if it accept the gravity of Aiden's request. Someone so quickly angered, who had so comprehensively abandoned the appearance of neighbourly geniality, must perhaps have a deep-seated, searing desire to move the conversation into clearer pastures. Slips of the tongue had sadly led into this confrontation, and it was all too clear that Aiden was pulling all the stops out to navigate out of it.

He had tried reasoned argument. If maintained, such tactics provoked respect from Bradley. Could even lead to a mutually beneficial friendship with him. However, at the first sign of adversity, Aiden had foolishly shifted gears, to inefficacious pleading and undignified threats, trying to emphasise the negative consequences of continued agitation. That only further encouraged Bradley. He would have fun from this. Aiden had marked himself out as an excellent recipient of gadfly shenanigans. Hopefully he had more buttons to push, but Bradley doubted that.

No matter. He only needed the one.

"Personally," he spoke, between offputting chews, eating his meat with a casual veneer now rather than active displays of vulgarity, "I think you're being a bit callous towards the hearing impaired with your remark, and would like you to stop, for you are triggering me." He maintained the serious force for the duration of the sentence, but the revival of his smirk at the end made it clear, to any doubting observers, that Bradley was not in the least offended.

"But sure! I shall oblige by your request! So, how are your relatives?"

Bradley loved synonyms. Signs of a good vocabulary, tools of rhetorical flourish, and excellent enablers for ignoring the spirit of an instruction.
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Motherfucker.

"Hey, you better watch out, you f..."

Aiden was leaning forward now, had abandoned his pseudo-relaxed posture by violently jerking forward, leaning on the table with both his hands. Like some goddamn alpha gorilla, silverback or whatever. Had to defend his fucking territory, after all. Who was this smug-ass disrespectful prick to come and mock him like he was a mockingbird or some shit? Tried to be a good guy, so he had, gave this guy a fair deal of warnings. Cuntmuffin just had to continue being all clever.

Fuck. Could feel himself getting all trembly, shakin', quakin'. Still standing there trying to look all threatening, heart pumpin' like crazy. The fuck was he doing? Had to press the goddamn abort button, press it fast. Was just playin' into that dickhead's hands, getting all worked up like that. Then again, was fucking hard to calm down with that guy giving him that goofy ass grin. Could just wipe it off with one quick swipe. No option, no frickin' option. Had to chill out., back down, defuse this bomb before it blew up, true as fucking truth. People where prolly lookin' at him left and right by now, thinking he was some kind of psyched up psycho. Had to stay cool, maybe think of something nice.

He lowered himself back down on his seat somewhat, tried to swallow his rage. Swallow...Way that fucking guy was swallowing his meal, obnoxious as...

Had to stop looking at him, maybe just up and leave. No, wasn't gonna happen. He'd been there first. Had to make this Bradley-shits-for-brains leave, yup. No way he'd run away like a puss, he'd stay right there until the guy left, even if he had to stay the whole goddamn day. Just not give that prick another opportunity to rile him up. Fuck.

"Alright, alright, time fucking out." Had trouble keeping his voice down, tryin' to sound calm, ignore how much he wanted to punch the guy in the kisser. "Not gonna repeat myself this time, you hear me?" He raised one hand, out of reflex, defensive or aggressive, whichever. "Just cut this shit out, we clear? Go fuck with someone else or yourself if nobody else is available, yeah?"

Great, slip of the fucking tongue. Insulting the guy wouldn't help now. "Like...ignore that last part." He waved his hand around, as if saying 'nopenopenope.' Couldn't think straight, goddamn guy had him angry enough to kick a baby in the balls. "Just go away, leave me alone, yeah? Don't wanna do something I regret later."

Fucking pathetic. Sounded like a straight up wuss, so he did.
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Ah.

The sweet gratification of a sore overreaction. Bradley revelled in it. It was not out of sadism, no. Bradley never wanted to inflict distress or actual harm. No. He saw himself as more of a crusader, against oversensitivity and whining demands for mollycoddling. A character-builder. A champion against the stifling prudishness of political correctness. It was almost idealistic at times, though Bradley was not so egotistical to fully buy into that self-righteous crap.

No. He gained enjoyment out of it. That wonderfully intoxicating cocktail of catharsis, self-satisfaction, and vainglorious thrill that always accompanied a successful provocation was almost addicting. Bradley heartily believed that. It was a rush, a wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins, an excitement at so thoroughly revealing the true thin-skinned nature of his fellow student.

And it was harmless, really. Aiden's beaky nose wasn't an inch out of shape. Nah. He was just flustered. Offended. And so what? He'd be fine. Maybe stronger out of this whole experience. And yes, Bradley gained a LOT of fun out of this, but it was all harmless, really. A bit boisterous, yeah, but Bradley was ultimately harmless.

If only Aiden appreciated that.

Eh, best he didn't. Otherwise, Bradley wouldn't be developing this brilliant memory.

It was almost endearing how he tried to enforce restraint, how Aiden tried not to rise to Bradley's expert gadfly tactics. He was shaking, and trying with admirably futile determination to try to stop it. Guy was like a volcano on the verge of erupting. It was bloody hilarious. If Aiden were forty years older, Bradley'd be a bit worried the guy was on a verge of a heart attack, so tumultuous was his shaking and so volatile his current state. Any observer would quickly deduce that, once again, Bradley had worked his magic, oh so wonderfully.

And of course, he had to speak.

His words were like music to Bradley's ears.

Yet Bradley remained stoic. Now was not the time for gloating. No. Now was the time for mastery. Patience was a virtue Bradley much admired, as was self-restraint. He resisted the urge to chime in with a cutting remark in every pause in Aiden's little tirade. He could have delivered some zingers, but the opportunities lost were prohibitive. No. He would be slow. Methodical. Utilise timing, the comedian's greatest weapon.

He waited until Aiden had finished, and from the way his lips curved ever so slightly, from the little hint of glee in his voice, it was apparent his current mood of calm respect was but a facade. A comedic device, if you will. Bradley did not give Aiden any explicit reason to be angry in the first sentence he spoke. But there was an awkwardness to it that betrayed it was but a setup, to a far crueller punchline.

"Yeah, we wouldn't want you doing anything you might regret."

He could not resist the smile.

"Your family wouldn't like that."
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"You don't know fucking jack about my family, you punk!"

Words came out of his mouths faster than he could blink, didn't even think about what he was saying. He didn't give a goddamn anymore.There was just no use, no use at all, no fucking use tryin' to hold back. Had to let it out, scream in the face of that son of a motherless duck-fucking cuntface!

Sting all of a goddamn sudden, his right hand felt like it was set on frosty fucking fire, like it had been pierced by needles. He had slammed his fist on the table, hadn't even noticed it at first. He was standing up again, leaning over the table. Reflex, impulse, of course. Next impulse going through his brain was to bury it in that fuckface's fucking face, erase that stinkin', shit-eating-grin, make him swallow and choke on his own taunts, teach him a lesson he wouldn't forget if he had fucking Alzheimer's, fucking fuck!

Not yet, not yet. Had to tell him how it was first, who the fuck he was messin' with. Throw that fucking humiliation straight back at him. Hold back for just one moment. Just one teeny tiny moment. Make it all the better. Make it even more worth it. Worth being fucking expelled even, to hell with it.

"You wanna fucking get to know my family? Go ahead, I fucking dare you! My little bro could wipe the floor with your snot-drooling ass, so he could! Fuck, even my sis could! You think you're some kind of big shot, can do whatever the fuck you want 'cause you think you're clever like a cunt? You ain't shit, end of story."

About to go balls to the wall, deliver the blow, right in the kisser...goddamn, goddamnit. Why'd he have to think of his sis now of all times? How her face would look like if she saw him right now. Fuck no, goddamn bull, that wasn't right. He couldn't, just couldn't. Couldn't let that slime ball get under his skin after all. But fuck, what was he gonna do? Backing down now was like...Jesus, he felt so goddamn tired. Still. Bradley had to get his ass handed to him, no way around it. Piss stain couldn't just get away with it like that. Fuck, fuck.

"Alright. Last chance, man, last chance of all the last fucking chances." He tried to tone down his voice. Came out like a growl. Fucking grizzly bear. Hell if it didn't feel appropriate. "You keep your mouth shut now and get that mug out of my face, run off and go polish your pole or something, none of my business. Just cut this shit out, cut it out good. Feel me?"
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