Post by Daimon Darren on Aug 31, 2018 17:15:16 GMT -4
The janitor was unfazed by both Darren and Ryuusei, which was an incredible feat; overcoming Darren’s shit talking alone was already an incredible feat, but Ryuusei had an aloofness about him that made the blonde’s talk even more incisive. It was a like a well-practiced tsukkomi e boke routine, except the two kids had never talked before.
Darren smiled. He liked that kid all right. Anyone he deemed fun to be around, Darren liked.
“Count count, count count, count count, everyday, never stop counting, the endless battle of the janitor versus dwindling supplies,” he declared in a tone that wanted to be romantically dramatic. He held his fist in front of him, his eyes closed, joining gesture with palabres.
Ryuusei proposed that they get started. Darren snapped out of his bullshit and almost got started before something caught his attention. It was the janitor, on her knees, in front of her locker. He peeped over her shoulder. It looked like she was praying to the God of Halloween.
Ryuusei must have noticed as well since the brown-haired boy was whispering in the blondie’s ear. He said nothing and kept examining the janitor and her shrine with his cold blue eyes. His arms were folded over his chest and his head cocked to the side. It gave the blonde delinquent a carefully cultivated air of stupidity that was his ultimate weapon against adults.
The silver-haired janitor spun around and kicked the locker close in one smooth motion. Darren’s head was still cocked to the side and his body language was still screaming ‘I’m with stupid’.
When Ryuusei pulled away, Darren held his ground. It was a good plan. Ryuusei should make himself forgotten and sneak from behind, disappearing from mind as well as sight, but the blonde delinquent had another method. His method was one of frontal assault, blunt honesty and genuine curiosity.
“Were you praying for easy-to-erase stains and accurate counting?” he asked in the innocent inquiring tone of a five years old. Darren was great at playing the child, on account that he was quite childish without forcing it already. “And to whom? Do janitors have a god watching over them? Yknow, like them Shinto gods of blacksmith or knocked-up women or I don’t know what kinda shit,” he said with the irreverence of a five-years old and the language of a fifteen-years old, smiling as if the only brain cells he had left were the ones controlling his lips.
Darren smiled. He liked that kid all right. Anyone he deemed fun to be around, Darren liked.
“Count count, count count, count count, everyday, never stop counting, the endless battle of the janitor versus dwindling supplies,” he declared in a tone that wanted to be romantically dramatic. He held his fist in front of him, his eyes closed, joining gesture with palabres.
Ryuusei proposed that they get started. Darren snapped out of his bullshit and almost got started before something caught his attention. It was the janitor, on her knees, in front of her locker. He peeped over her shoulder. It looked like she was praying to the God of Halloween.
Ryuusei must have noticed as well since the brown-haired boy was whispering in the blondie’s ear. He said nothing and kept examining the janitor and her shrine with his cold blue eyes. His arms were folded over his chest and his head cocked to the side. It gave the blonde delinquent a carefully cultivated air of stupidity that was his ultimate weapon against adults.
The silver-haired janitor spun around and kicked the locker close in one smooth motion. Darren’s head was still cocked to the side and his body language was still screaming ‘I’m with stupid’.
When Ryuusei pulled away, Darren held his ground. It was a good plan. Ryuusei should make himself forgotten and sneak from behind, disappearing from mind as well as sight, but the blonde delinquent had another method. His method was one of frontal assault, blunt honesty and genuine curiosity.
“Were you praying for easy-to-erase stains and accurate counting?” he asked in the innocent inquiring tone of a five years old. Darren was great at playing the child, on account that he was quite childish without forcing it already. “And to whom? Do janitors have a god watching over them? Yknow, like them Shinto gods of blacksmith or knocked-up women or I don’t know what kinda shit,” he said with the irreverence of a five-years old and the language of a fifteen-years old, smiling as if the only brain cells he had left were the ones controlling his lips.
