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Post by jen on Dec 6, 2008 20:48:13 GMT -5
“For the love of Christ. Sit the hell up before I beat you!”
Slate gray eyes moving to her company’s face. Clyde’s stone-like expression barely moved. Her chin resting against the smooth, dining hall table; she looked unenthusiastically at the woman sitting across from her.
“Are you leavin’, yet?” Clyde growled as she obeyed the threat. Slowly straightening her spine out and elevating her head. Pushing her fingers through her long brown hair and grimacing at the response.
“Cut the crap. I just got here.” The woman instantly corrected her. Studying the rather jaded and uninterested posture of her sixteen-year-old daughter with a disapproving purse of her lips.
Just when one Claudia seemed like too much. Another had appeared. The forty-something year old glared at her mirror-image of a child as they sat in the vacant and looming dining hall. Her piercing gaze never left her daughter’s face, reading every emotion that crossed it like some book.
Under the heavy, critical gaze, Clyde’s jaw shifted in irritation. Slender eyebrows furrowing together as she narrowed her gaze to her Mother.
“It’s still on the foundation.” “And your friends?” “You don’t wanna meet ‘em.”
The rapid conversation was inflicted with an accent from the United States, more directly, one of New York City origins. Both of the melodic voices were coated in sarcasm and displeasure, only separable by the exact levels of the infliction. Her mother’s a deeper, more natural accent while the English – and Scottish – influence of the school had started to dull Clyde’s own.
“Well. In fact, I do.”
A thud echoed in the high-ceiling room as Clyde’s forehead smacked the surface again. Quickly proceeded by a slap from her Mother’s skeletal hand that instantly straightened Clyde out; Barking out her words of criticism and warning.
“What did I tell you? Sit. Up!”
Ooc;// IT! Blows. But that’s okay. I’ll post better….-jazz hands-… soon.
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Post by Ayu on Dec 6, 2008 21:05:53 GMT -5
Lizzie tucked her wild wavy hair back as she entered the dining room, tea-ward bound. The slap echoed in her ears as she entered the room, and she raised an eyebrow at the two New Yorkers, a slight smirk growing on her face. She'd often noticed Clyde's terrible posture (not that she was watching her more than she watched anyone else, she hastened to assure herself, that night was as good as forgotten) and it was probably good for her to be taught a lesson.
Still, that slap looked like it had hurt.
She tapped the older woman on the shoulder lightly. "Excuse me, but this is a public space. If you must discipline Clyde, and I'm sure you must, although I'm equally sure she resists hugely, I think we'd all prefer it if you didn't hit her loudly enough to disturb our breakfasts." Her words were acid-laced, but her tone was perfectly polite considering her de facto disdain for Americans in general and New Yorkers in particular. Even to someone completely unfamiliar with British accents, her Edinborough accent was audibly high-class.
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Post by jen on Dec 6, 2008 21:19:21 GMT -5
The tap drug Claudia’s attention away from the mischievous acts of her daughter. She wasn’t surprised at the touch, having seen Clyde’s jaw almost hit the table. She blinked at the girl’s straightforwardness, and was mildly shocked. Her expression read victory and she smugly turned back to her daughter.
“I should drag your sorry ass back to New York if you’re such a problem here.”
“Please do.” Clyde whined, tone almost begging as she slouched in the seat, watching her mother turned back to the Scot once again.
“And who might you just be?” Claudia inquired, looking Lizzie up and down. Her tone wasn’t bitchy, in fact, it was of curiosity. She moved to pull her hair back and off her shoulders, awaiting an answer with the patience Clyde apparently lacked.
Claudia had always been a better person than her daughter. Perhaps that wasn’t the right thing to say. She’d always been more predictable, more reliable. More…experienced.
Clyde leaned against the table; hand in her chin as she traced the knots in the wood top. Occasionally looking up at the two as if to ensure they were both still there and civil. Perhaps also so she could look Lizzie over without being under her watchful gaze. Stifling a yawn, she dropped her sight back to the task of tracing. Still on alert of any incoming whacks of punishment.
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Post by Ayu on Dec 6, 2008 21:32:15 GMT -5
With barely a blink, Lizzie answered, "I'm a friend of your daughter." That simple statement required several mental hurdles. First of all, the unfamiliar woman's relation to Clyde. Looks, behaviour and circumstance made it pretty certain that the relationship was maternal. Next, what meant 'friend'. They weren't in the same clique, and hardly spoke, but Lizzie had a feeling she knew Clyde better than anyone else in the school after the night they'd spent talking.
So, yes, friend.
"My name is Miss Elizabeth Crosby. I assume you would be Mrs DeMonte?"
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Post by jen on Dec 6, 2008 21:47:02 GMT -5
The words caused Clyde to head snap up. Looking manically between the two in silence at the word. 'Friends'? At first What's that suppose to mean? came to mind. Her stomach turned at the thought of being friends with Lizzie. Probably because of the simple notion that Lizzie was a devoted Pretty Face. Not exactly a casual friend clique to the misfits, or anybody for that matter. She could already hear the moans, groans, and bitching from her other clique mates at the update of having a friend in the Pretty Faces.
That and she wasn't generally comfortable with the idea of somebody knowing everything about her. Perhaps paranoia played a part. The idea of somebody coming back to use her own personality and feelings against her was unsettling.
Claudia watched Lizzie, eyebrows raising at the first statement. Lizzie seemed like the mirror opposite of her daughter. The confidence behind the response didn't raise a question verbally, but she did cast a look Clyde's way. Catching the unreadable expression and turning back to Lizzie. Pausing before nodding slightly.
"That I am." She remarked, although didn't seem proud to be calling Clyde family. "So, Elizabeth Crosby. Tell me. How did you meet my daughter?"
Suddenly a smirk curled Clyde's lips, she leaned back to watch Lizzie's response. Knowing this was too good. Claudia could predict Clyde with the best of them, and even if one little detail was fictional, Claudia would be able to pick it out (a skill practiced from when Clyde was lying as a child) and disprove the statement. She licked her lips and watched carefully, foot bouncing under the table anxiously.
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Post by Ayu on Dec 6, 2008 22:01:20 GMT -5
Lizzie restrained a smirk at the look on Clyde's face. This was fun, annoying her like this. It wasn't that she didn't actually like Clyde, but it was great fun to pick at her insecurities.
However, Lizzie's smugness was rather tempered by Claudia's question. However, the answer she gave was entirely true, she thought. "It was all rather odd. To be honest, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Really, who would? That Clyde had a poet's soul might be believable, perhaps, to her mother, but that she would let it show to an unfamiliar schoolmate? A Pretty Face schoolmate, no less, of such grace and refined attitude as Lizzie knew herself to be? Having observed Clyde more closely since that night, Lizzie had realised just how privileged she had been top be granted some small access to that part of Clyde's personality. And more than that, to...
No. She shook that thought away.
In any case, even if she told her, Mrs DeMonte would never believe it. It was, after all, unbelievable.
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Post by jen on Dec 6, 2008 22:17:47 GMT -5
Claudia's lip twitched at the words. She'd realized that Lizzie was smarter than probably all the DeMontes rounded up. Chalking the response up to something Clyde probably told her, something to defend her ego, she looked at Clyde.
"She's smart. Tutor you in a class? Help you study?"
Clyde was disappointed by the lack of a response. Yet her eyes searched her mother's face at the question, a hesitation choked her voice before she continued to speak in addition to knocking on the table with her fingertips rhythmically.
"Yes, Mother. Studying..." Clyde's gaze instantly moved to Lizzie, "Something like that."
Claudia was more than aware of the tone. That tone that suggested that the other person knew more than you did. She could feel the tension that radiated between the two and merely offered a nod in response. Standing up, she straight out the sleeves of her shirt.
"I'm going to your dorm room."
Clyde never took her gaze off of Lizzie. She reached into her pocket and flipped her mother the key. Very rarely did she lock the room; but she knew the fact that it would be open would tick her mother off.
Claudia caught the key, not bothering to question Clyde if she was joining her or not. Clyde had probably already made her decision on that, and there was no hope in changing it. She conserved her energy for the later lecture on the maintenance of a room.
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Post by Ayu on Dec 6, 2008 22:29:38 GMT -5
Lizzie gave a charming smile. "Something like that indeed. I taught her about literature." She shrugged, shaking her long dark hair over her shoulder. "If you'll excuse me, I have yet to reach a cup of tea. I understand that in America coffee is more popular, but one should never get between a British woman and her tea. Do pardon me."
She swept past the two New Yorkers. Whether Clyde chose to stay and talk to her or not was entirely her prerogative, but Lizzie was going to get tea and toast, and nothing was going to stand in her breakfast quest. Lizzie was obsessive like that.
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Post by jen on Dec 6, 2008 22:36:08 GMT -5
Clyde jaw shifted again as the two women apparently vanished, leaving here there like the moron she was. Shaking her head, she mulled her options over.
Follow her Mother meant being nagged and yelled at about her room. 'Why does this smell like smoke? Why isn't this bed made? Why is this there? Why is that there?' Naggity nag nag, bitch, bitch, bitch.
Or follow Lizzie, which could end up equally as bad.
She'd take her chances on the gorgeous one.
Clyde strolled up behind Lizzie, studying her face but remaining quiet for a long moment. She licked her lips again and shuffled along.
"Literature." She stated blankly. Looking at Lizzie's food for a moment before back at her face. Slowly nodding. "We studied more than literature."
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Post by Ayu on Dec 6, 2008 22:47:16 GMT -5
Calmly putting down her tea and plate on the nearest table, Lizzie raised an eloquent eyebrow. "Would you prefer it if I told her the whole story? Because I can if you prefer. In any case, we did study literature. And had an interesting philosophical discussion, although I didn't think she'd believe that."
She looked around the near-empty hall, veiling her nerves in teasing words. If rumour got out that she, the left hand of the Pretty Faces, had even thought about kissing a Misfit, her social standing would plummet to Unloved level. She wouldn't say everything she wanted to, not here, not now.
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Post by jen on Dec 6, 2008 22:59:52 GMT -5
"Well, I didn't think you would. But at the same time, I didn't think my Mother would even suggest that I've studied." Clyde murmured, shifting the weight between her feet before she followed Lizzie out to the dining hall itself. "Perhaps I give my Mother more credit than she's worth."
Clyde watched in amusement as Lizzie's eyes scanned the room. Somewhat aware of the other beings in the room, but not particularly interested in their rank or clique. "What's the matter?" She questioned, "Considered inappropriate to be seen with a Misfit?" A pause, before her tone took a teasing tone. "Should I let you insult me cruelly before walking away in complete shame and depression?"
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Post by Ayu on Dec 6, 2008 23:14:37 GMT -5
"Perhaps." She sat down. "Toast?" Her grey eyes scanned Clydes face thoughtfully. "You really hate your mother, don't you?" she observed, taking a good bite of jammy bread. It was slightly alien to her, really. In her life, her mother was an annoyance, really, who she vaguely loved and who bought things for her. When Emma Crosby took part in Lizzie's life, she was generally a mellowing influence, whereas the DeMontes seemed to grate on each other's nerves like nails on a very squeaky blackboard.
"Inappropriate to be seen with a misfit?" she asked with a laugh, offering a seat to the dark-haired girl. "Half the younger Misfits report back to me, Clyde. I'm forced to talk to your type all the time." She lowered her voice. "And just so we're clear, nothing untoward happened that night. We just talked."
That had been bothering her. No doubt Clyde would simply use it to get at her, but she needed to say it.
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Post by jen on Dec 6, 2008 23:30:55 GMT -5
"It's how we express admiration and affection. Through consistent bickering and violent gestures." Clyde paused. "I guess it's a DeMonte thing."
Clyde wasn't best friend with her Mother. It was obvious that a person like Clyde wasn't known for a large social network. Her 'best friend' seemed to be nothing more than a gust of wind. And the only, somewhat, person who could be considered a friend was Mei. And Clyde functioned completely okay without that usually critical support beam.
She raised her eyebrows instantly at the Misfit news. Snorting in complete disapproval. "I'll have a lovely, conforming conversation with them." She sneered bitterly. Feeling almost betrayed by her clique. Stupid, timid newbies.
But the last statement replaced the sneer with slight surprise. Clyde wouldn't use it against her. Her time was far too valuable to waste in teasing Pretty-Faces.
Never-the-less, she smirked gently and replied in the same low tone.
"Fine."
She knew that denial would run it's course. Every time they saw each other, that night would play through Lizzie's mind. She couldn't stop it. This was not of over-confidence, This was because Clyde was secretly suffering the same thing.
She stepped back, gaze lingering on Lizzie for a long moment. They both had reputations. And both cliques were pretty aware on how they swung.
"We'll see how many people believe that story."
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Post by Ayu on Dec 6, 2008 23:59:37 GMT -5
((For some reason my first thought was 'critical is the right word')) "Hmmm." Lizzie thought about that. "That makes sense. It explains a lot. So, Clyde, tell me. How does an outsider know whom you love and whom you hate, hmm?"
She chuckled, sat back and sipped her tea. "In fact, that doesn't matter. I already know the answer." It was blatantly obvious that Clyde's shell of aggresiveness and obnoxiousness was a way of hiding when people actually meant something to her. It was probably in Clyde's best interests that she, Lizzie, didn't know what emotion was what.
"I'm sure you shall." She buttered another slice of toast, feigning disinterest. "Don't be too hard on them. They're only young. It's not their fault I'm so persuasive." Under her breath, she hissed, "As many as I want to believe it. I'm a proud Pretty Face, and rightly so. Would I be caught dead with a Misfit? Really?"
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Post by jen on Dec 7, 2008 0:13:09 GMT -5
"It's not something that usually comes up." Clyde remarked bitterly. Al thought she probably seemed like some sort of Neanderthal. She scoffed at Lizzie's sudden confidence.
"You don't know the first thing about me, Pretty Face. Don't think you do. Assumptions can really come back to bite you on the ass."
Ignoring the persuasive statement, finding that way too low to even talk about. But the hiss only urged Clyde on.
"As many as you want?" She howled, laughing. "I promise you. On any day of the week. Any girl who isn't a Pretty Face would side with Misfits first. In case your head is too far up into your ass. You're one of the most hated Cliques here." Clyde's gaze hardened.
Standing up straight, she pulled her shoulders back and let out a breath.
"That's what you say. But if you're so god-damn smart, pick up dictionary and look up the word 'Denial'." Clyde swallowed, "Even Mei knows what it means." She smirked before reeling back wards, heading toward the door.
ooc:// say what? Oo
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