"I stopped regularly watching TV a while ago," Lucas said, tugging gently on his shirt collar, "but, ah, I guess those Planet Earth documentaries are pretty good?" He wished that he had a better answer for Ophelia, but that was the truth, and it had found its way out of his mouth before he could come up with a good lie.
"Probably means that I'm a boring person, if I find P.B.S. nature documentaries entertaining," he continued, putting on a nasally voice, "Like, 'look at me, what an intellectual I am, I only listen to N.P.R. and watch public and local television, I'm such a nerd, bluuuh!'
"I dunno. I have trouble committing to long, episodic series, where you have to come back every week. Sometimes I see an episode here and there of something like The Office and find it funny, but that's about it."
Milo was into television more than he was, but for the most part, he only watched stuff on Adult Swim or Comedy Central or what-have-you. Lucas understood absurdist comedy, and found it funny sometimes, but often it seemed garish and lowbrow. He hated himself for being so elitist when being open to everything meant so much to him, but it was just his gut reaction. There was nothing he could do about it. At the very least, it was a pleasant noise to fill space with, and, hey, there were worse alternatives out there. Better that Milo binge-watched The Venture Brothers than Family Guy, in any case.
"How about you?" Lucas asked, "I mean, you probably wouldn't have asked me if you didn't have one of your own, right?"
His stop was coming up, but he didn't want to get off the bus. Not now, when they were hitting things off so well. It'd be an awkward place to leave the conversation if he had to disembark in the middle of such a mundane discussion, and then that would be what he was to Ophelia; mundane.
a bus story
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MethodicalSlacker
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She smiled when she heard the name of her favorite show. She loved The Office, she binge-watched all of the episodes several times in a row and she always rewatched it. She nodded. Documentaries were cool, she watched some of them on Netflix. Like that documentary about russian prisons and stuff, she kinda enjoyed it but couldn't really watch it all the time.
Most documentaries are depressing, from her experiences at least. For example, she watched a lot of documentaries about the end of world and dying and suffering in Uganda and whale hunting, and it left a vivid memory of her sitting in front of her lap, her mouth open until to look away.
She prefered lighthearted things.
''I'm not too fond of documentaries when they are very graphic or like depressing, you know?"
She bit her thumb and continued. She was making human connections. It felt weird but kinda enjoyable. Could they be friends? She didn't know, she knew nothing about these things.
"But I get what you mean by being unable to like tune in every week for a TV show. I just binge-watch them on Netflix."
She realized midway she accidently lied. There was one show she watched every week and another she tried catching when it was on TV.
"I do, however, watch The Walking Dead even though it's... not as good as it used to but you know, I want to say I watched it all and Games of Thrones."
Most documentaries are depressing, from her experiences at least. For example, she watched a lot of documentaries about the end of world and dying and suffering in Uganda and whale hunting, and it left a vivid memory of her sitting in front of her lap, her mouth open until to look away.
She prefered lighthearted things.
''I'm not too fond of documentaries when they are very graphic or like depressing, you know?"
She bit her thumb and continued. She was making human connections. It felt weird but kinda enjoyable. Could they be friends? She didn't know, she knew nothing about these things.
"But I get what you mean by being unable to like tune in every week for a TV show. I just binge-watch them on Netflix."
She realized midway she accidently lied. There was one show she watched every week and another she tried catching when it was on TV.
"I do, however, watch The Walking Dead even though it's... not as good as it used to but you know, I want to say I watched it all and Games of Thrones."
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MethodicalSlacker
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don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about genre fiction don't rant about
"Yeah, I don't need documentaries to make me more nervous and sad and lonely than I already am, right?"
Good 'ol self-deprecation. Always worked in a pinch, no matter what the circumstance, and if the other parties in the conversation were just as keen to it as he was, then he'd be actively forging new connections with them. He didn't quite know what it was that was making him feel that way, but Ophelia was giving off that vibe. This particular joke was a little bit of a lie, though; the last show he binged on his neighbor's Netflix was Making a Murderer, after all. He was unsure if streaming services counted as television, but Ophelia sure seemed to think so. He'd chosen to ignore the television bit for the time being.
A sudden whooshing sound filled his ears, and, gosh, was that a breeze? Where was that coming from? He looked around, finding the door with his gaze, and saw that, to his dismay, the bus had arrived at his stop. That couldn't be right, could it? Ophelia had made the bus ride a little less painful, but she had really sped it up for him. There were a lot of people getting on and off at this stop, so he figured he had at least a few moments to talk to her and maybe find a way to continue this. He was already on his feet and hefting his backpack onto his shoulder before he could think about it.
"Ah, shit, I gotta go now, I guess," he blurted out, "Uh, my friend Phillip is doing this thing over the weekend and he told me to find as many people as possible to bring along, and I think you'd be—it's not like, a party or anything, it's a lot weirder—it'd be real, real neat to have you there."
A tickle in his throat fought its way out of his mouth, but Lucas managed to cover up the cough with his arm. Even though it didn't quite feel as bad as it did before, he was reminded that he was, in fact, somewhat sick. Getting up from his seat a little too fast threw it all out of whack, and he felt like underneath the surface he was just a sloshing bag of hot-dog water, and the way all of his organs floated around in said water felt strange and alien, and he didn't feel comfortable in his own skin again.
"What's your number?"
"Yeah, I don't need documentaries to make me more nervous and sad and lonely than I already am, right?"
Good 'ol self-deprecation. Always worked in a pinch, no matter what the circumstance, and if the other parties in the conversation were just as keen to it as he was, then he'd be actively forging new connections with them. He didn't quite know what it was that was making him feel that way, but Ophelia was giving off that vibe. This particular joke was a little bit of a lie, though; the last show he binged on his neighbor's Netflix was Making a Murderer, after all. He was unsure if streaming services counted as television, but Ophelia sure seemed to think so. He'd chosen to ignore the television bit for the time being.
A sudden whooshing sound filled his ears, and, gosh, was that a breeze? Where was that coming from? He looked around, finding the door with his gaze, and saw that, to his dismay, the bus had arrived at his stop. That couldn't be right, could it? Ophelia had made the bus ride a little less painful, but she had really sped it up for him. There were a lot of people getting on and off at this stop, so he figured he had at least a few moments to talk to her and maybe find a way to continue this. He was already on his feet and hefting his backpack onto his shoulder before he could think about it.
"Ah, shit, I gotta go now, I guess," he blurted out, "Uh, my friend Phillip is doing this thing over the weekend and he told me to find as many people as possible to bring along, and I think you'd be—it's not like, a party or anything, it's a lot weirder—it'd be real, real neat to have you there."
A tickle in his throat fought its way out of his mouth, but Lucas managed to cover up the cough with his arm. Even though it didn't quite feel as bad as it did before, he was reminded that he was, in fact, somewhat sick. Getting up from his seat a little too fast threw it all out of whack, and he felt like underneath the surface he was just a sloshing bag of hot-dog water, and the way all of his organs floated around in said water felt strange and alien, and he didn't feel comfortable in his own skin again.
"What's your number?"
...and he was leaving.
She moves next to him for no reasons since he was abandoning her. See, that's why she didn't get close to people in high school, everyone were playing this game of chess that Ophelia had no ideas what the rules were. She never understood why people toyed with her, raking their claws against her heart, knowing they could crush it with one quick swipe.
Her mouth tightened. She was ready to bark, to lunge, to fight back against the traitor. She didn't want to be the prey, she was the predator. If she wasn't the predator, she was the prey. When she didn't attack, she was the victim. She hated, she hated them all, everyone around her in that bus. She just wish it would just blow up killing them all.
"Yo-"
Her insult was cut midway. Phone number. He wanted her phone number. He wanted to communicate with her when it wasn't necessary for his survival, for leisure, for fun, for friendship. He wasn't abandoning her, he was coming back. She smiles, her tensions soaring away replaced by a quiet serenity that appeared on her lips and in her eyes.
"It's 423-263-9427. You can text me whenever."
She moves next to him for no reasons since he was abandoning her. See, that's why she didn't get close to people in high school, everyone were playing this game of chess that Ophelia had no ideas what the rules were. She never understood why people toyed with her, raking their claws against her heart, knowing they could crush it with one quick swipe.
Her mouth tightened. She was ready to bark, to lunge, to fight back against the traitor. She didn't want to be the prey, she was the predator. If she wasn't the predator, she was the prey. When she didn't attack, she was the victim. She hated, she hated them all, everyone around her in that bus. She just wish it would just blow up killing them all.
"Yo-"
Her insult was cut midway. Phone number. He wanted her phone number. He wanted to communicate with her when it wasn't necessary for his survival, for leisure, for fun, for friendship. He wasn't abandoning her, he was coming back. She smiles, her tensions soaring away replaced by a quiet serenity that appeared on her lips and in her eyes.
"It's 423-263-9427. You can text me whenever."
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1284
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He was moving too quickly to notice how she cut herself short. He didn't know, but he had managed to cut off the head of a Venus fly trap just before he was due to crash into its jaws. Four-two-three-two-six-three-nine-four-two-seven. The last couple of people were stepping off the bus—he had to be quick. Was he late for school? Four-two-three-two-six-three-nine-four-two-seven. He was stepping out the door, one foot in front of the other, quickly now, four-two-three-two-six-three-nine-four-two-seven.
"Nice meetin' you Opeheli-okay-I-gotta-go-bye-see-ya-later!"
He turned and waved back at her as he pushed himself out of the bus.
Landed on his own two feet. The doors folded shut before his eyes, and it drove off down the street. For a short while, all he could do was stand and watch it disappear into the distance, trying to dismiss his regret in leaving the bus as the sun in the sky had to diminish the dawn. With his gaze still fixed on the horizon, he reached his hands behind his back to check if his backpack was still there. Present. Good. Was the number still there, in his head? He took out his phone and thumbed through to put it into the New Message box.
Four-two-three-two-six-three-nine-four-two-seven.
...Right?
There was no time to overthink. Either he got the right number the first time around, or he'd have to talk to her about it next time he saw her on the bus. Nothing to worry about, right? He shook his head and hoped that the doubt sloshing around inside had managed to leak out his ears. Then, he tapped a message out for her, his fingers a whirlwind of hope and thought and skin.
Lucas felt happy. Or was he hungry? He was too tired to tell, and his feet were moving on their own.
He had faith that they'd take him to the right place.
[Lucas Diaz continued in Random Reality. ]
"Nice meetin' you Opeheli-okay-I-gotta-go-bye-see-ya-later!"
He turned and waved back at her as he pushed himself out of the bus.
Landed on his own two feet. The doors folded shut before his eyes, and it drove off down the street. For a short while, all he could do was stand and watch it disappear into the distance, trying to dismiss his regret in leaving the bus as the sun in the sky had to diminish the dawn. With his gaze still fixed on the horizon, he reached his hands behind his back to check if his backpack was still there. Present. Good. Was the number still there, in his head? He took out his phone and thumbed through to put it into the New Message box.
Four-two-three-two-six-three-nine-four-two-seven.
...Right?
There was no time to overthink. Either he got the right number the first time around, or he'd have to talk to her about it next time he saw her on the bus. Nothing to worry about, right? He shook his head and hoped that the doubt sloshing around inside had managed to leak out his ears. Then, he tapped a message out for her, his fingers a whirlwind of hope and thought and skin.
The creaks and aches in his body were slowly returning to him. There was still a decent walk from the bus stop to the school, and he'd have to hurry if he wanted to get to class in time. With one last glance behind him, he started to walk off towards George Hunter High. When the buzz eventually came back, he'd have to tell Ophelia where to meet him to go to Phillip's house, and what they'd be doing there. It was hard to explain over text, but he had faith that she'd decide to come over anyways.To: Ophelia? wrote:- Hey Ophelia it's Lucas from the bus. do i have the right number?
Lucas felt happy. Or was he hungry? He was too tired to tell, and his feet were moving on their own.
He had faith that they'd take him to the right place.
[Lucas Diaz continued in Random Reality. ]
The bus continued on its way and Ophelia settled in her new seat. She saw other students stepping off, some eyeing her and others ignoring her. She faked a cough, trying to make a false excuse for people she didn't care.
She closed her eyes, she did feel kinda sick. She was more tired of her life than actually suffering from a disease, so she was effectively sick of this shit. Gosh, high school was ending soon. She would kill to graduate early and never see this place ever again. She wanted to go to college and be in a dorm and be able to connect with others that weren't total dicks fascinated by popularity or Canon's dick.
Her phone buzzed. Why did it buzz? Didn't she delete Fire Emblem Heroes after it was taking all of data? She looked down and it was an unknown number. She smiled softly, was it Lucas?
The message was fairly simple, asking if he had the right number. The last person who texted her was her mom a week ago while she was at work and demanded Ophelia to do the dishes. She looked at the message again and smiled.
She started texting. She didn't know what to say. She just decided to answer the question.
"Yep, that's me."
She whispered to herself under her breath as she typed it. She put a smiling emoji and a waving hand. She always used emojis. It made it easier for people to understand her.
She didn't wait for an answer however. She closed her phone and got ready to step off the bus. She would answer him, if he answered her back, when she'd be drinking a latte at Starbucks with a croissant.
She just hoped her green dress was still there.
((Thread: Done.))
She closed her eyes, she did feel kinda sick. She was more tired of her life than actually suffering from a disease, so she was effectively sick of this shit. Gosh, high school was ending soon. She would kill to graduate early and never see this place ever again. She wanted to go to college and be in a dorm and be able to connect with others that weren't total dicks fascinated by popularity or Canon's dick.
Her phone buzzed. Why did it buzz? Didn't she delete Fire Emblem Heroes after it was taking all of data? She looked down and it was an unknown number. She smiled softly, was it Lucas?
The message was fairly simple, asking if he had the right number. The last person who texted her was her mom a week ago while she was at work and demanded Ophelia to do the dishes. She looked at the message again and smiled.
She started texting. She didn't know what to say. She just decided to answer the question.
"Yep, that's me."
She whispered to herself under her breath as she typed it. She put a smiling emoji and a waving hand. She always used emojis. It made it easier for people to understand her.
She didn't wait for an answer however. She closed her phone and got ready to step off the bus. She would answer him, if he answered her back, when she'd be drinking a latte at Starbucks with a croissant.
She just hoped her green dress was still there.
((Thread: Done.))