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A Salad of Anger
Topic Started: Aug 9 2016, 06:51 PM (249 Views)
Pippin
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party wurmple never sleeps. only dances.
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Astrid Tate continued from The Dynamo of Volition))

Today felt as though it had been pulled straight out of a postcard. The sky was opal blue and dotted with puffy white clouds. You could feel the radiant sun on your skin, but there was a pleasantly cool breeze to stop it from being scorching. The grass was green, the birds were singing, and if you dared look close enough, there was a placid, casual smile on Astrid Tate’s face.

She’d had history that morning and she’d just gotten out of PE, and she felt good. History always put her in a good mood when she was either allowed to work under her own devices or when she was allowed to lead a group, and what was more, the annoying Neanderthal who sat near the back and couldn’t remember the difference between Trotsky and Tolstoy was ill today. In PE, they’d been doing circuit training, and the adrenaline of it all combined with her own consistent exercise and soccer practice meant she’d breezed through it, working up a sweat but feeling pumped afterwards.

Astrid strode across the lawn, humming tunelessly to herself with a towel slung over her shoulder. Even she realised that her musical skills needed a little work, not that she appreciated when people reminded her of that. She was in a good mood, though, and she felt like humming, and who would try and stop her from doing that? Assholes, that was who; in which case, they were huge assholes, and Astrid had the moral high ground.

Astrid slid onto one of the benches dotted around the place and took her lunch out of her bag. Eating alone was no issue for her; it was preferable to eating in the cafeteria any day of the week, and it wasn’t as though she was going to say no to anyone who wanted to sit at this table in particular.

Well, okay, maybe there were a few people who’d get a definite no…

In the meantime, Astrid figured she could read a little bit, or maybe have a go at some writing, or a little bit of sketching. She’d never had a proper go at either of the latter two, but she figured there was no harm in trying. How hard could it be? She’d seen people in her classes spend entire years doodling in their notebooks rather than take notes, and it looked as though they’d been taking lessons from kindergartners.

Astrid peeled open the lid of the plastic box in front of her, and stuck a fork into it. Salad wasn’t anywhere near the top of her ‘favourite foods’ list, but this one was special. Sophie had made it yesterday evening, inspired by watching her big sister in the kitchen every few days. There’d been some spare this morning, and when Sophie had asked if Astrid wanted to take it for lunch, she had said yes without a second thought.

Smiling at the thought, Astrid put the fork in her mouth, chewed once, twice, and then made a face of utter disgust. Fuck. Fucking hell. She knew she should have asked Sophie what she’d put into this thing beforehand. Of all the vile, inedible foods in the world, why the hell did she have to put olives in the damn salad?

Grimacing, Astrid craned her neck to the side, and spat out the offending, slightly mashed up olive. It flew into the grass and disappeared, along with her good mood.
V7 BAYBEE

FOLDER OF DESTINY

"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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Pippin
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party wurmple never sleeps. only dances.
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Astrid wiped her mouth in disgust, shaking her head before looking away at the offending patch of grass. The aftertaste of the olive was still in her mouth, something akin to a delightful cocktail of cockroach and blue cheese. She grabbed a carton of orange juice from her bag to wash away the sensation, but just as the straw touched her lips, she heard a voice from nearby, clearly directed at her.

Astrid spun around, a steely glare fixed onto her face, totally prepared to tell whoever it was to fuck off and give her some space. The words were almost out of her mouth, before she saw exactly who it was and her expression softened.

It was hard, even for Astrid, to dislike Colleen. She was generally polite and pleasant to everyone she met – perhaps a little naively so – and she was also a hard worker. She was smart and got good grades, and although they were never really in the same social groups and didn’t spend much time outside of classes together, Astrid could definitely respect her.

Beyond that, Astrid also felt a sort of kinship with Colleen thanks to their shared… irregularities. It wasn’t as though it was anything to be proud of, and Astrid wished more than anything that the accident had never happened, but there was still a weird sort of bond between them. Like meeting someone who had the same first name as you.

Astrid managed to muster a grim smile at Colleen, taking a short sip of orange juice before placing it back down on the table.

“Nah, nothing that bad. Although it looks like I’m going hungry today, this thing’s got olives in it.” Astrid shot a dark look at the plastic container and muttered under her breath.

“Fucking hate olives…”

As Astrid was busy berating her salad, a third person joined the scene. Astrid was… alright with Travis. He had a habit of cracking some dumb joke in any given situation, which had gotten old and irritating on about the second day of knowing him. His constantly laid-back attitude was equally as annoying, but somehow, his schoolwork remained decent, if not spectacular, and aside from that, there wasn’t really anything to complain about him.

Then again, they didn’t spend much time together either…

“Alright, I guess,” Astrid said. “Was going better earlier today, after all.”

Astrid nodded at the bench, her way of saying she was fine with them sitting down with her.
V7 BAYBEE

FOLDER OF DESTINY

"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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