Survival Of The Fittest

[[Aidan Flynn continued from Outrun My Gun]]

"Aidan."

"What?"

"..."

"Uh..."

"Tu es en retard."

"Yeah. Uh, oui. Pardonez-moi."

Aidan scratched his head, turning awkwardly towards his seat- fourth row, second from the left- as Monsieur Leonard burst into laughter behind him, continuing with the lesson that had begun ten minutes before. As soon as he was facing his classmates, he rolled his eyes, a smirk forming on his face as he made his way over to his chair. That expression was instinctual. It said yeah, I'm way too cool to give two shits about the rules, or the teacher, or this class. Or anything really. Giving a fuck is for losers. It was also a massive, constant and peculiar sort of lie.

He'd made that face in the mirror a few times. God, did he look like a massive raging douche, though. It had been three and a half years, and it still amazed him that people actually liked him better this way.

He just really hoped his teachers didn't notice. He liked Monsieur Leonard. Anyone who could put up with a year and a half of his bullshit, his inability to submit assignments on time and his constantly forgetting that you speak French in French class- hell, he was clearly a pretty cool dude. Aidan searched through his things for his notebook and a pen, and began the constant process of trying to pay attention while trying to look like he wasn't.

He was not doing a very good job at the first part.

Brain. Do things. That is why you exist okay pay attention now figure out how to speak French I have faith in you sort of.

((Regan Flagg, le start))

Regan had her head down on her desk, doing her dogged best to maybe get a few more minutes of precious sleep before Monsieur Leonard got on her case. She was having mixed results. Her heart wasn't in it, really. She meant to sleep, really, she did. But instead of actually closing her eyes and, you know, sleeping, she lay there resting her head on her arm. She would occasionally close her eyes, but they would pop open a few seconds later as someone whispered something on the other said of the class. After that happened, she gave the whole venture up as a lost cause and began drumming her fingers on the desk instead, tapping out the beat to Sappy with the hand not cushioning her head.

She was sitting on the far side of the class room, in the aisle closest to the wall, opposite the window. While she switched the beat to Rape Me, her eyes lingered on the guitar propped against the wall immediately next to her desk. Does pride and joy only apply to children? Maybe? She didn't know. Well, Regan thought of the guitar as her baby, so it was valid. Inside the case was her beautiful light blue Gibson DG-335 semi-hollow Electric Guitar, exactly the same as Dave Grohl uses. It set her, and by her she meant mostly her parents, back at least $2,000. But it was easily her prized possession. And no, before you ask, she didn't have it with her all the time. That would be silly. It was $2,000. She just had it with her most of the time. Besides, they had band practice later probably.

She yawned.

Aidan was late again. She should've followed his example and slept in. It was hardly her fault, anyway. She'd just bought a bunch of comics. Like, a bunch a bunch. What kind of person would she be if she just let them go unread? Why, the worst kind! It was only her civic duty to read those comics. How else would she find out how the Joker would be stopped this time? (It turned out that the answer is Batman, by the way. Batman would stop him.) But really, no one could blame her. It's what anyone else would have done. Except Batman, probably, because he was a comic book character. Unless you counted Christian Bale as Real Batman, which she did. But he probably didn't read his own comic either. Because that would be weird. Maybe Tobey Maguire Spider-Man read his own comic. Which she could buy, because Tobey Maguire seemed kind of weird, you know? But not Christian Batman Bale. He's too cool for that.

Monsieur Leonard was talking again, and for a second Regan was confused, because she was pretty sure she was on time. Or was Tu es en retard 'you're a retard'? Man, French was hard. Either way, it was incorrect. But when she looked up, she realized that it was in fact Aidan who was late or retarded. He took his seat and the class resumed as normal. She assumed, as she wasn't paying attention then either. She repositioned herself, folding her arms across her desk and resting her chin in the middle, the dog collar around her neck chiming softly as she moved.  

"Pst! Pst! Aidan!" She 'whispered' 'quietly'. "Can pride and joy apply to inanimate objects? Or is it just babies? Or kids? Little people? But not midgets, little people, kids little people. A dwarf." She glanced up toward the front of the class room, where Monsieur Leonard either didn't hear her or was giving her the chance to stop talking on her own before busting her. She looked back at Aidan. "It's been bothering me for, like, twenty minutes."

Brain. BRAIN. Do the Frenchy thing DO THE FRENCHY THING oh fuck were we supposed to bring our books today? Fucking dicks I left mine at home oh cod jegus why what are we even doing ugh conjugating verbs is literally the worst disaster ever brought upon humanity by anyone. The French are awful goddamn people for making this a thing I have to do with my life. Fuck. Fuck this.

Aidan glared in a general sort of front-of-the-room direction, scribbling down every other word out of Monsieur Leonard's mouth, since those were the only ones he was catching. See, it wasn't like Aidan was a bad student. Adding a far from it here might be a bit of an exaggeration- Aidan was a career C-student with Bs when he got real lucky- but language just wasn't really his thing, it seemed. Hell, his mother was fluent in Irish Gaelic and yet he'd only managed to pick up enough words to give arbitrary names to inanimate objects and to impress easily-impressed girls. But there was that two year graduation requirement that Aidan had put off until he was a junior- better put off today what you could do...wait what. He'd scraped a C last year, and he was just scraping by with one now. Mostly because Monsieur Leonard was way too nice. A harsher teacher probably would have failed him.

Of course, Monsieur Leonard wasn't perfect. For one, he talked way too goddamn fast. And what wasn't helping was his voice being interrupted by that of the girl who, against his better judgement, he'd been thinking about all morning.

"Pst! Pst! Aidan!"

That was not a whisper. A whisper into an invisible megaphone, maybe.

"Can pride and joy apply to inanimate objects? Or is it just babies? Or kids?"

My guitarist, ladies and gentlemen.

"Little people? But not midgets, little people, kids little people. A dwarf."

Aidan didn't turn around, opting for a subtle eye roll in case anyone was looking. This was typical. It kept things interesting, and also probably more difficult than they needed to be. He could have probably managed a B in this class had he not decided to sit near Regan (ahahahahahaha nope), but he'd be infinitely more bored.

"It's been bothering me for, like, twenty minutes."

"Regan. You know I hate staging interventions at eight in the morning, but for the love of fuck lay off the crack and maybe put words in orders that make sense. Like, maybe every once and a while. Surprise me."

His voice was much quieter than hers, and yet due to the laws of oh what the fuck why me, Monsieur Leonard looked up at him. He looked down quickly, unable to suppress the smile that had formed on his face, and apparently Monsieur Leonard decided it wasn't worth intervening and turned back to the lesson. Aidan's voice lowered a bit further before he spoke again:

"For the record, pretty sure inanimate objects count. Daydreaming about the Gibson again?"

Cute but predictable.  

Boy, could he read her or could he read her? No no, he could read her. Maybe not like a book, but something that is also read. Cards, maybe. Like, those Hallmark ones. The sort of simple ones. Or maybe playing cards. Also the really simple ones. But that wasn't the point. Cohesion! Was the point. Bandmates, which she and Aidan were, thinking and working with each other, knowing what they were thinking before they even thought it. If that kept up, they could become mercenaries or something. Or a professional rock band. One of those. Probably the former.

Not that she thought Finnegan's Break didn't have a chance. With the combined awesome they had behind them, they were no doubt destined. Destined, for stardom!

No doubt at all.

Besides anything else, Aidan was a good singer. Maybe a tad..abrasive...at times, but a good guy, too. A real stand up fella, if anyone still said that. Probably not, though. She wasn't a scientist, but that phrase probably expired sometime in the 40's. The 90's at the latest.

Why did people say 'a real stand up guy', anyway? Because, if you thought about it, anyone could stand up. That was hardly a statement of character. Well, maybe people in wheelchairs couldn't. Did that mean they couldn't, by definition, be stand up guys? That just seemed offensive. Not so much to her, but the injustice of the idea. Why couldn't the expression be 'a real sit up guy'? Besides that it sounded weird, she meant. It was more inclusive, and it didn't leave out anyone. Like people in wheelchairs. What about war vets? The ones who lost legs or something? Should she lump them in with the wheelchair folk, or were they already more entitled to being stand-up guys? What was more admirable than sacrificing for country? The more she thought about it, the more offensive the phrase seemed. No wonder people stopped using it.

Anyway.

Aidan was right on target about her guitar, and he knew it. Did that mean she was predictable? Dave Grohl wasn't predictable. He was like...something that wasn't predictable. A weasel or something. She could be weasel-like too, just you watch!

Regan stretched her leg out under her desk, making her shoes more clearly visible. They were vibrantly colored high-top Converse. On the side was the Joker, holding a gun in one hand and a joker playing card in the other. The laces themselves were alternating purple and green. In that same harsh 'whisper' as before, Regan corrected Aidan. "I of course meant my shoes. I mean, look at them. The Joker. THE Joker. The one and only. Not the Jack Nicholson Joker, or whoever else played him, but The Joker. Comic book Joker. Look at that. Green hair. That's crazy!"

Her hand went to the black dog collar around her neck, her fingers playing across the tags clipped to the front, one, heart shaped, was etched with her personal information, the other, circular, was blank. "Or maybe I meant my collar. It symbolizes how we're all animals deep down." She paused, furrowing her brow. "I think that's what it symbolizes, anyhow."

Monsieur Leonard finally had enough and stopped talking, turning to stare at Regan. Regan folded her hands across the desk and smiled sweetly. Model student, amiright? He started at her for another few seconds, than returned to the lesson. After a second to make sure he wouldn't do a surprise check, Regan looked back to Aidan. "See? I can't even keep quiet in school. Just like a lion. Exactly like a lion."

Aidan was seriously considering telling Regan to please, pretty fuckin' please, shut the fuck up for like ten goddamn minutes so I can maybe figure out what the hell we're doing in this class right now and not fail miserably. How the fuck is Regan not failing, that is a real question, does she just, like, get this stuff? Is she a wizard. She must be a wizard. A French wizard. Goddammit Aidan your internal monologue is sounding like her that cannot be the start of anything good-

Anyway. The major problem with that idea, besides the fact that the chances of Regan actually listening were slim, was that then he'd be left all alone in this intellectual wilderness to fend for himself, become increasingly bored, not actually catch up on the lesson at all and, again, fail miserably. This failing miserably thing was a thing that seemed inevitable at this particular juncture, though he did have a secret weapon up his sleeve. That secret weapon was a person, and that person was not Regan, nor was he exactly available at the moment, so-

"I of course meant my shoes. I mean, look at them. The Joker. THE Joker."

"Regan."

"The one and only. Not the Jack Nicholson Joker, or whoever else played him, but The Joker. Comic book Joker. Look at the. Green hair. That's crazy!"

He rolled his eyes. "Regan."

"Or maybe I meant my collar. It symbolizes how we're all animals deep down. I think that's what it symbolizes, anyhow."

Monsieur Leonard looked up then, and Aidan continued as he had been- steadfastly not looking at Regan, continuing to write. Were one to read this particular page in Aidan's notebook, you would find some French sentences with random words inexplicably missing towards the beginning, followed by a slow decent into decidedly English madness involving Dirk Strider, holding aggro, and Kurt Cobain's suicide note. This was not a new trend in Aidan's notetaking.

Monsieur Leonard, apparently deciding this wasn't worth pursuing (and Aidan, knowing Regan, knew for sure that it wasn't), went back to the lesson. Aidan waited patiently for Regan to begin speaking again, as he knew she would, though the phrase "waited patiently" is hard to apply when the elapsed time before the waiting ends is less than five seconds.

"See? I can't even keep quiet in school. Just like a lion. Exactly like a lion."

"Regan, darlin', lions are quieter than you. It'd be pretty hard not to be, really. I bet being loud is legit at, like, lion school."

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. And you could never beat Regan Flagg at the making-no-goddamn-sense game. She was simply the best there is.

Regan withdrew her leg back under the desk, straightening in the chair and folding her arms across her chest. She pursed her lips, and she did her best to look as pouty as she could. Even growing up as spoiled as she had, that was harder than it sounded. For one, she didn't pout. For the most part, she didn't need to. All honesty, she didn't ask for that much. Well, sure, okay, her parents didn't make it so she had to ask. And to be fair, that $2,000 guitar was a birthday present, if that was any better. And sure, maybe they did tend to favor her over Hawke. Just a little, mind you. But that didn't mean she was spoiled. Or was it entitled? Yeah, entitled. That didn't mean she was entitled. She didn't think anything was owed to her, or that she automatically deserved something. But she digressed. She didn't pout.

Except now, of course, when Aidan hurt her feelings. But this were unusual circumstances. Not a lion! The cad! Why, she was the best lion this side of Aurora high! What was the mascot again? Because if that was a lion, nevermind. In that case, it would obviously be the best lion. Because seriously, don't mess with mascots. It takes a special kind of crazy to climb into a mascot costume and dance around. That was crazy she didn't want to wrestle with. Besides, lion was a hereditary title anyway. It was all politics nowadays, anyhow. Which gazelle you would eat, how much time you'd spend basking in the sun. There wasn't any soul in it anymore. Just self-service. Terrible business. It broke the heart.

"How dare you, sir. I'm indeed lion-like. Lion-esque."

It was at this point that Regan leaned forward against her desk, elbows propped under her, the pout being replaced by a quizzical expression.

"Lioness? What's the plural lions? Lioni? The pinnacle of Lion-dom. The top of the lion evolutionary ladder, second only to Simbasa. Mufimba? I haven't watched that movie in ages. Which one was the fat guy? Rafiki? The one who sang every song in the movie. I think it was Billy Crystal. Or John Goodman. The one with the the cyclops. Hercules. Where he beats up Billy Crystal. I think there was a little girl involved. Maybe one of the Olsen twins. Are they still around? "

In what was the most juvenile move in her playbook, Regan stuck her tongue out at Aidan playfully. What better way to celebrate getting the upper hand in the exchange. Cold hard logic won the day, just as it had every time before. It was around this time that Regan realized that Monsieur Leonard had stopped talking and was staring at her. Not daggers, per say, but not happily either.

"Mademoiselle Flagg, vous joindre à nous?" He asked, eyebrow arched, a frown tugging at his lips.

Regan looked up suddenly and blinked. She nervously tucked the green fringe of hair that hung across her eye behind her ear.  "Uh, sí. Oui. Right away. Er, de suite, immédiatement. Muy rápido." She hastily returned to writing her notes. Considering she had neither notebook or pen out on her desk, both still being packed in the messenger bag propped against her desk, this consisted of her miming the frantic scribbles of a scolded student in thin air. Monsieur Leonard stared at her for a few seconds longer, obviously not sure what to say about this. Eventually, he must have decided that as long as she wasn't talking, whatever, and went back to the lesson.

After a few seconds, Regan looked back to Aidan. Now her voice was a closer approximation of a whisper, not the 'whisper' she'd been using before. "Way to goooooo, Aidan. Getting me in trouble. Just wait, I'll tell Hawke on you. Then he'll..." She stopped, considering exactly what her brother would do. "Well, he probably wont do anything, because he cares about my grades about as much as I do. But still. He'll look real cross before deciding he doesn't care."

Aidan waited.


Aaaand waited.




Then he waited some more.

Regan. Honey. Help me out here. Please, I lost track of what the hell you were talking about before you actually started talking-

"Mademoiselle Flagg, vous joindre à nous?"

Aidan blinked. You can tell your efforts to pay attention to the lecture are flagging when you completely fail to notice that your teacher has in fact stopped talking entirely and is looking in your general direction. Not at him, of course, assuming he hadn't married Regan when he was asleep, and become a woman somehow, and also taken Regan's last name for some reason. But in his general direction. He stopped writing, his pen halfway through the word "moirail".

"Uh, sí. Oui. Right away. Er, de suite, immédiatement. Muy rápido."

Aidan snorted. Loudly.

Apparently satisfied by this- "satisfied" here meaning "realizing he wasn't going to get anything more comprehensible"- Monsieur Leonard returned to the board, leaving Aidan still listening to Regan ramble. At least she was actually whispering now, sort of. Something about Hawke? Yeah, the prospect of Hawke being mad at him for distracting Regan, it was not a thing that was going to happen. Regan didn't need Aidan to distract her anyway. If you wanted a focused Regan you needed a plain white room and a straitjacket. That, or a guitar.

Aidan was distracted by something else himself, anyway. His little exercise in free-writing was getting to its exciting climax- the bit where his mind spat out brilliant lyrical ideas. Or horrible monstrosities that made him hate himself for ever thinking committing them to paper was a good idea. Whichever. This was a thing he did a lot of, free-writing- it wasn't that he enjoyed it particularly, so much as it helped him get all the junk out of his mind, so he could focus on important things like songwriting and not French. And he could feel it, he could feel himself getting to that place, long as he could keep blocking out Regan and-

"Ah, Monsieur Aidan. Quelle est la réponse?"

Well shit.

Aidan didn't know the answer. Aidan didn't, in fact, know the question. He scanned the board quickly, hoping for something that looked relevant- nope. Nothing. Vocabulary words, nothing more, meaning Monsieur Leonard had said the question out loud, mean he was fucked. Well, after being correct was his second option- being clever. More fun, anyway. Taking advantage of the fact that he actually understood the question, and the fact that they'd learned numbers in their first week of junior year-

"Uh, quarante-deux?"

He found himself deeply disappointed by the fact that only maybe three people were as amused by this as he was. Monsieur Leonard was not one of them, as evidenced by a raised eyebrow that said quite clearly "real answer now, if you please". He deflected that rather quickly with a second response of "...omelette du fromage?" which earned him some actual laughter and certainly turned Monsieur Leonard's attention away from him.

He turned back to his notebook and realized it was useless. His inspiration was gone.

"Regan. You are killing me here. You are killing the band. I'm gonna wind up with a song about lions and dwarfs and the Joker and it's going to be the worst thing ever written ever and it will be all your fault."

((Tim Tavares: Start))

This hadn't been a decent start to the new school year.

Tim Tavares sat hunched over his desk in the back of the classroom, struggling madly to stay awake. There wasn't any good reason that he was up so late the night before, and it had taken its toll in the most expected way possible. He probably got home from C-Squat at maybe 2AM and got a solid four hours of sleep, tops. 

What was I doing at C-Squat? That's the only place more decrepit than my neighborhood. 

He didn't have much reason to hang around his block in Rainier Valley, but hanging at a commune before school just wasn't going to do anything of value for him. It's like picking between shit and shittier.

Except with picking you at least had a choice.

Monsieur hadn't particularly targeted him this class, which was good. On a good day, Tim could probably field most questions, but he was still trying to shake out the cobwebs. The Leo da Vinci of my mind is still trying to even find the palette to paint my brain's own La Gioconda.

Fuck, isn't that Italian? That place was an Anarchy stronghold and even survived fascists.

But Italy ain't French.

And as much as he'd like to think about the Biennio Rosso, it had nothing to do with France or its "language of love."

For him, French class was essentially the cure for insomnia distilled and formed into a solid, the object now being beaten over the head of some unlucky victim until the victim got a concussion or the period was over- whichever came first. Normal days, Tim could deal, but it was taking a Herculean effort to remain awake.

Baisez moi.

That was a start. Something French... Paris Commune. Pierre Joseph-Proudhon, the first to bring the term Anarchist into popular use. Property is theft, he said. 

"La propriété, c'est le vol," Tim uttered.

Now we're cooking with matche-fuck, I'm tired again.

Slumping defeatedly over his desk, Tim desperately fiddled with the gauges in his ear- anything, stimulation to keep awake. 

"Regan, darlin', lions are quieter than you. It'd be pretty hard not to be, really. I bet being loud is legit at, like, lion school." 

"Lioness? What's the plural lions? Lioni? The pinnacle of Lion-dom. The top of the lion evolutionary ladder, second only to Simbasa. Mufimba? I haven't watched that movie in ages. Which one was the fat guy? Rafiki? The one who sang every song in the movie. I think it was Billy Crystal. Or John Goodman. The one with the the cyclops. Hercules. Where he beats up Billy Crystal. I think there was a little girl involved. Maybe one of the Olsen twins. Are they still around? "

Raising his head just enough to make it look like he was paying attention to Monsieur Leonard's lesson, Tim eyed the clock. There were two kids in his class having an apparently rather heated conversation about... Lions, or something. The rapid pattern of their speaking, almost, was like a radio that was just making enough noise to keep him awake.

This year is... Fuck.

Regan allowed herself a private celebration as Monsieur Leonard turned his attention to Aidan. Sure, he'd been on her case only a few seconds before, but, you see, now he wasn't. This was her victory, dammit, and don't try to take it away. Now, when Monsieur Leonard inevitably got on her case again for talking, then you could take it away. But right now she was basking in the warm glow of triumph. Triumph? That didn't sound right. That made it sound like she directly wanted Aidan to get into trouble, which wasn't right at all. Better him that her, maybe? Sure, whatever. Close enough. She propped her elbows on the desk, and rested her chin in her hands, looking blankly at the board in what had to be one of the most half-assed attempts to look like she was paying attention ever.

While Aidan was scrambling to think of the answer to whatever it was Monsieur Leonard asked, Regan allowed her mind to wander. More than it already did, anyway. Which was a lot. That it already wandered a lot, she meant. In fact, the only time it didn't wander was when she had a guitar in her hands. Well, when she started playing, to be specific. Not so much when she was just, you know, holding the guitar. But actually playing. A pick in one hand, the feeling of the frets under her fingers, the music flowing through her. And maybe, it Aidan was feeling nice, he'd let her sing. She tried not to ask too often, him being lead singer and all, but it was something she really enjoyed. Belting out lyrics, while she played, with Hawke and ((OOC: Not sure what the drummer's name is, but it's probably Naomi. I'll change it when I know for sure. Right now, let's go with Naomi.)) at her back. She'd feel invincible, like she was on top of the world.

Ruby was supposed to be there at practice today. Well, not playing anything, probably, but just watching. That would be more than enough to inspire Regen to be at her best. Hopefully Aidan would let her sing. Maybe she wasn't quite as good as he was, but she wasn't bad. If he did, she'd probably pick something by Foo Fighters. Breakout, maybe? Something not too heavy. Or maybe something that mixed melodic and heavy. If she did go that route,  she was spoiled for choice. That was a Foo specialty, and it was one of the things that she liked best about them. That Dave Grohl could bounce and forth so easily, AND make it always sound great was something Regan thought fantastic. Let It Die wouldn't be a bad choice if that was the direction she wanted to go. Learn to Fly? Monkey Wrench! Easily one of her favorite songs from them, and it mixed the whole loud/soft thing really well. Maybe not like Arlandria, but pretty well. She also had to remember the rest of the band wasn't as well versed in foo Fighters songs as she was. Something they all knew, maybe? Everlong, perhaps. She'd love to play that for Ruby.

But, of course, only Hawke and Brian knew they were together, so playing a love song might seem weird to everyone else in attendance who didn't fall under that umbrella. Which included everyone in the room except Regan, Ruby and Hawke. Which, she would hastily add, was her fault. And it wasn't because she was ashamed of Ruby, God no. And it wasn't entirely because Regan herself was ashamed of herself. Mostly, it was her parents. Her loving, perfect parents. Perfect, albeit, in that one regard. If they knew Regan was gay, it'd kill them. But they'd probably kill her before it killed them. Regardless of who killed who, killing would be involved. It actually wasn't funny at all, because her parents would probably disown her if they knew. As hardline as her preacher dad was regarding homosexuality, there wasn't much probably about it. As much as they might spoil her, and favor her, this would be a deal breaker. In their minds, it was that their little girl was willfully resigning herself to Hell. It would not go over well. There would be yelling, screaming, breaking things, and much hurt feelings.

Which meant Regan under no circumstances could let them know. Which meant she couldn't let anyone know, just to be safe. It had been a secret she'd been keeping since since she was 16, and only the faintest possible suspicion  before that. It was a secret she would keeping a while longer yet. Once she was out on her own, maybe she could finally be herself. But right now? With her parents looking over shoulder to get at least a glance at everything she did? Not a chance.

Brian, Ruby's ex, only knew because Ruby had told him. With Regan's blessing, she should add. Maybe not her enthusiastic blessing, but if Ruby would vouch for him, that was enough. As for Hawke, well, Regan had to tell someone. Hawke had know not long after Regan did. She had to know if she was making the right decision keeping it from her parents, what he thought she should do. Besides, if she couldn't trust her own brother, who could she trust? They looked out for each other, and this was no different. Hawke would be confidant, The one person, besides Ruby, that she could open up to. That alone meant more to her than he could possibly then he knew. Half the time she felt like she was living two lives, the Regan everyone knew, and the Regan that Ruby and Hawke knew. Not radically different, granted, but it was still living a lie more than half the time. It meant having to hide she felt around nearly everyone, it meant that she couldn't act the way she wanted to act, especially in regards to Ruby. If Regan had it her way, she'd shout her love to the Heavens. But that wouldn't, couldn't happen.

But that line of thought was depressing. Let's think about something fun! Like, balloons! Or, or, or, water parks! Well, maybe not water parks, since she hadn't liked swimming since she was 10. Batman? Batman was good, safe. Maybe picture Batman beating up Superman, because eff that guy. Regan like her characters to have some moral ambiguity. Some character. Plus, Batman had the coolest Rogues Gallery in comics. Joker, Two-Face, Poison Ivy, Scarecrow, Mister Freeze, Penguin, Catwoman. Regan sighed wistfully. Catwoman. She shook her head. Besides, she had cannon on her side. Because Batman really did beat up Superman at least once. Frank Miller said so, before he went crazy and started writing that mess that was All Star Batman and Robin the Boy Wonder. Frank Miller, The Dark Knight Returns, and Batman: Year One, Frank Miller. When he still wrote iconic in a good way Batman stories. And who did Superman have anyway? Lex Luther? Okay, sure, Lex was okay. Vandal Savage? She wasn't sure he was strictly Superman either. Come to think of it, she'd only seen him some Justice League stuff, along with a short Secret Six arc. Scandal Savage, by the way, was awesome. Cute, too. Anyway. Solomon Grundy? Well, he started with Green Arrow, but he was as much now Batman as he was Superman, since he'd shown up in Long Halloween and Dark Victory at least, not to mention Arkham City. Which was an awesome game, by the way. She wasn't much of a gamer, but she'd manage to hijack the xbox at Ruby's house long enough to play both that and Arkham Asylum. Which, by the way, was also really good. It had turned her on to some lesser known characters and story arcs. Broadening her horizons, which was always nice.

"Regan. You are killing me here. You are killing the band. I'm gonna wind up with a song about lions and dwarfs and the Joker and it's going to be the worst thing ever written ever and it will be all your fault."

Regan looked up, realizing that she'd been lost in her own head longer than she'd thought. But that was hardly new, was it? Aidan was describing what he thought would be an awful song and Regan thought would be an awesome song. She flashed him a grin. "We could make it work." She paused, her smile faltering for a second as she thought it over. After a second, it returned, as confident as ever. "Lose the part about the dwarfs, though. We could something about how lions are symbolically like the Joker of the outback. Or wherever they are. Or are hyenas like the Joker? Maybe that's taking the laugh thing at face value though. Are hyenas conniving? Or devious? In Lion King they were kind of stupid, so not like the Joker. And if lions are the Joker, who would Catman be? Or Catwoman? I mean, it'd be cliche if we just used a bunch of cat references. Let's just give Joker hyena, just to be safe. And Catman could lions, and Catwoman could be, I dunno, a fox.. " She winked. "Cause she's already a fox, amiright?"

And than she realized what she said and her mouth had been running without her thinking and she didn't know when to shut up and she was an idiot. But, as much as an idiot as she was, at least she didn't let the sudden terror show on her face. Maybe Aidan had been tuning her out? Possibly. Probably. Maybe. Or maybe he really was listening, and he was thinking up some pointed questions. But she could salvage this, because she was smart and quick-witted and everything else that would let her talk her way out of this.

"See what I did there? Threw some male sex appeal in there. That should salvage the song, right? Not so awful now. Right?"

See that? Smooooooth.

((Darren Fox, commence))

Darren sat right next to the window near the front of the class, trying to ignore the whispered (if you can call it that) conversation going on between Aidan and Regan about... something to do with music? Some kind of band? Whatever the subject was, it didn't really concern him and all it did was serve as a distraction. Not that he needed any of the other students in the class to distract him, though. He rested his head in his left hand and lightly tapped his pen on the desk with his right, his eyes flitting back and forth between the words on the board and the grey sky outside the window.

Hey, quit staring out of the window, do you want to get picked for a question and not know the answer?

Darren admitted that he had briefly chucked at Aidan's nonsense answers to Monsieur Leonard's questions when that fate had befallen upon him... whatever the questions were. Crud, I can't even remember now. Way to go, and this is supposed to be one of my best classes as well! He looked down at the page of notes he'd been writing down - conjugating verbs into the futur proche, whatever the hell that was supposed to be used for - as well as the small sketch of the Eiffel Tower that took up the top part of the margin.

Darren prided himself on his art skills, and wondered what kind of job he could get that required use of his talents. Becoming a train driver, that's pretty much a pipe dream now. Or should that be a "Tube" dream, heh heh oh God that one sucked. Maybe I could be a map maker. A map maker for a train network, that would be perfect... if such a job existed though. He glanced out the window again, looking at the clouds spanning the entire sky, and wondered if it was actually going to snow.

"Il va neiger?" he mumbled quietly to himself, allowing himself to smile softly as he gazed towards the front. Oh how much he loved snow, especially watching it falling down and slowly build up over the roads and sidewalks. Plus there was that guilty pleasure of watching passers-by slip and tumble over on the ice that formed afterwards. He looked back out the window, wishing that the first few flecks of white would come floating down outside-

"Darren?"

"Huh?" Darren felt the color drain from his face and he looked round to face Monsieur Leonard, who was looking right back at him. Aw crap! I did it again.

"Est-ce qu'il y a quelque chose interéssant en dehors de la fenêtre?" the teacher asked.

Did he just ask if the window was interesting? Oh, wait, dehors means oustide. "Err... non, rien... pardon," Darren responded back, feeling his face flush bright red from embarrassment. Monsieur Leonard was seemingly happy with his answer and looked back to the rest of the class, continuing his lecturing for those who were actually paying attention.

Concentrate, you'll never get a good grade if you keep spacing out like this. Darren sighed and forced himself to look away from the window, keeping his ears open for important stuff to write down.

Things were slightly looking up for Tim in the not falling asleep competition, primarily due to the repeated exchanges between the two sitting near each other-any other time, he could remember names- being just loud enough to rouse him from any potential slumber. This worked, but he would be lying if he said he had gotten work done- he didn't. His notebook page was as empty as the soul of Donald Trump.

Heh. Just thought of that. Absolute keeper.

But yeah, the few things written in his notebook were a brief dissertation about the benefits of the 1800s Paris Commune- half of it "written" (read: scrawled) in English, which probably was beside the point of French class.

"See what I did there? Threw some male sex appeal in there. That should salvage the song, right? Not so awful now. Right?"

Tim figured that whatever they were talking about,  chances are it'd make actually less sense than what he had assumed. Monsieur Leonard seemed to be going around the room putting everyone on blast, much to his chagrin, and it was vital that he at least looked like he was paying attention because-

"Monsieur Tavares, pouvez-vous nous donner un exemple précis d'un connecteur de discours approprié?"

Oh, merde.

"Um..." Tim shrugged. Va te faire enculer chez les Grecs? "L'ah... l'avènement... de... la-"

Monsieur Leonard smirked, and Tim felt his heart sink- he had been caught. No way he was getting out alive. He was totally going to get used as an example.

In a way it was kind of like Tienanmen Square. Sometimes it's what you do and you get screwed. Sometimes it's what you don't do, and you get screwed.

"Pouvez-vous même utiliser le discours dans une phrase correcte?" Monsieur queried.

That bastard. "Eh... Alors que la France était sous une période de..." Shit shit no way am I going to get shown up now- "discours politique, Nestor Makhno a été largement crédité pour la philosophie souvent controversés Platformism... ah... shitshitshit.... uhm... avec la plate-forme organisationnelle de l'Union générale des anarchistes?"

Monsieur Leonard, apparently satisfied with this response, returned to the lesson, but not without muttering "Vous avez vraiment besoin de trouver un meilleur passe-temps" under his breath.

[[OOC: Augh. Guys I apologize for my crazy slowness but my life has become a hellish whirlwind of exams, injuries and writer's block. So it goes. Also, mister teamsleep, you are skipping the post order that is rude >:|...so I would say if you weren't new but you are so yes post order is a thing to go with mmmk? :3]]

"We could make it work."

Aidan listened. Like, actually listened, as opposed to that thing he'd been doing where he was writing irrelevant shit down and yeah the words Regan was saying were floating through his eardrums but they kinda bounced off when they got to his brain, y'know? Like, maybe they were absorbed just enough that he could make witty retorts that probably made him sound almost as insane as her (almost being the key word; remember, no one can beat Regan in a making-no-goddamn-sense-off), but that was the extent of his participation up until now. But Regan's ideas for songs were always interesting. He would never actually perform the songs that came out of her random fits of inspiration in public, they would ruin his image forever, but he loved them regardless.

"And Catman could lions, and Catwoman could be, I dunno, a fox...Cause she's already a fox, amiright?"

This merited the slightest raise of an eyebrow, but then Aidan remembered that women are indeed allowed to comment on the attractiveness of other women without it being weird. Such is their strange beauty.

"See what I did there? Threw some male sex appeal in there. That should salvage the song, right? Not so awful now. Right?"

"Dude, I'm not seeing the...like...I dunno, you've overdoing the fuckin' symbolism here. Supervillains already have symbols, you don't have to arbitrarily assign the fuckin' safari collection to them..."

He frowned, realizing that foxes don't actually fit into the category he'd mentally labeled "safari collection". He decided pretty quickly that he didn't give a shit.

"Like...suddenly I have this idea for like...cause you brought up Catwoman and all? For like...a love song? Except more like a sexual tension song? With Catwoman and Batman, y'know, being all worst enemies and then getting together and breaking up and god it's so, like, teen angst, but like fifty times more badass-"

He paused, vaguely noticing that some kid Tim? that's his name, yeah? was actually having a conversation with Monsieur Leonard. In French. Weird.

He was also realizing as he said this that he was going to write this song, and also that he was never, ever going to get to perform it. He could always give it to Regan, she wasn't a closet dork, just the regular kind. Hell, it wasn't even like he was particularly into comics. This was just some weird form of nerd osmosis, where you somehow know that Han shot first and the Contra code despite not giving a shit.

Aidan sighed.

"This is gonna sound really out of nowhere, Reg, but sometimes being me is kind of shit."

Casual subject change time is now.

"...Anyway, I'll start writing that shit later, is practice a thing we're having tonight?"

Regan held up one finger,ready and willing to defend her geek credentials and and correct Aidan. "Batman and Catwoman aren't enemies, let alone worst enemies. They haven't been since the 70's, I think. Right now they're dating. Or, at least, sleeping together. But I think dating. They've always a sexual tension thing going. It might have started in Hush, but I'm sure it's been a while. Actually, Hush might just have been the first time they kissed. Batman told Catwoman who he really was. It was a really good arc. And they broke up at the end of that, and it was more passive aggressive than anything else. Batman doesn't angst unless it's about his parents. But, anyway, even if they aren't dating, Catwoman has always been more an anti-hero than a villain. She robs people, yeah, but she doesn't try to take over the world or anything. She even has her own comic. She did, anyway. I think she has one now. Catwoman is classy. Like, like, a classy cat burglar. Hence the name. Catburglarwoman."

She stopped, the expression on her face almost like a play by play of her train of thought going off the rails. "Have you ever noticed how weird the word burglar sounds? Burg-a-ler. To burgle. To be burgled. It sounds like it should have something to do with hamburgers. Burgling hamburgers. Hamburgers being burgled.  Hamburger burglar." She stopped, her eyes going wide as if she came to some sudden climactic realization. When she spoke, her voice ratcheted back up to the 'whisper' she'd been using before, rather than the normal, un-airquoted whisper she'd been using. "The Hamburglar! It all makes sense!" She stopped again, this time realizing that the whole class had gone silent with her. Monsieur Leonard was staring at her again, looking decidedly unamused.

"Mademoiselle Flagg?"

"Uh, oui?"

"Avez-vous quelque chose à partager avec la classe?"

It took Regan a second to actually translate what he said. She looked past him at the board and picked up nothing. Okay, ask something about France. French. Something easy. Maybe the Hamburglar thing could be played off. Just ask something that would make that sound like it all related to French class. Which would be easy, because wasn't the Hamburglar French? One of them was French. He wore stripes, right? Don't French people wear those black and white striped shirts? Or was that Russian? How similar were France and Russia? Would he let it slide if she confused the two? Better play it safe, and avoid the Hamburgler altogether. Because maybe he was a racist depiction of French people or something. Like, he was a guy who looked like an escaped convict. And he was arrested because he stole ham burgers. That's not a positive depiction. It's right up there with making fun of the French Resistance in World War 2. Well, it was in the ball park somewhere. Still, better to play it safe.

"Comment voulez-vous dire Batman en français?"

Monsieur Leonard stared at her. Regan closed her mouth and mimed zipping it up and throwing away the key. After a few seconds, he went back to the lecture/conversation/whatever he was involved in before Regan realized that the Hamburglar was called that because he burgled hamburgers. The part of Regan that wasn't an airhead, however small a part of her that was, decided that it would probably be unwise to draw his ire a third time. Or was it a fourth time? Either way, shush.  She heard a rumor that he once beat a kid up after the kid threw a bowling ball at his car. It sounded plausible. If she kept drawing attention to herself, he could probably plant a bowling ball on her, and it would all go downhill from there. For one, she had no idea how to fight. She believed yelling was involved in some way? Probably best to play it safe.

Regan looked back to Aidan, picking up where he left off. Whispering, whispering , this time. What with Monsieur Leonard trying to decide whether or not to hit her with a bowling ball (probably), she hadn't really had a chance to think about what he said. "This is gonna sound really out of nowhere, Reg, but sometimes being me is kind of shit." What could that mean? It occurred to her she didn't really know too terribly much about him when it fell outside the purview of music. She thought he was, like, really popular. She knew he was pretty popular with the ladies. What else could you want? Well, tons of stuff, but she didn't have any idea what else he could be talking about. She looked at him quizzically, as if waiting from him to elaborate on what he meant. When it became clear that wasn't going to happen, she stuck a pin in that for later. Maybe when they weren't in class. That sounded like something you didn't talk about in class. Instead, she decided to address the easier and less potentially thorny question.

"Yeah, later tonight. Today. Later. Ruby's going to come and watch."

((Blagh, sorry for the lateness and lameness of the following post))

"Avez-vous quelque chose à partager avec la classe?"

"Comment voulez-vous dire Batman en français?"

Darren actually felt like slamming his head against the desk at that remark, and chuckled softly to himself. He had absolutely no idea where, or how, Regan came up with something like that. But, then again, it was Regan. He remembered the bowling alley on Brian's birthday, the way she spoke nonsense about... some guy, forgot his name, and how bowling was used as a weapon against... what was it again? Was it even a what, or was it a who? Gah, I can't remember! Why is it the funniest things happen, and then you can't remember what was so funny afterwards?

He decided to sit back in his chair, trying to listen to Monsieur Leonard as he spoke at the front, but couldn't help but listen in on the conversation between Regan and Aidan a few seats away. Soon enough, his eyes were drifting between Leonard, Aidan, and the outside of the window for the umpteenth time that lesson.

Sigh, when is this class going to end, I'm starting to get bored, getting distrac-HOLY CRAP WAS THAT SNOW-oh, Goddammit, it's just a white feather floating outside the window. Why am I even looking out of the window again? Stop it! Darren had to mentally force himself to face the front, and prevent his eyes from tracking back towards the portal that showed the outside world.

He hastily scribbled down some notes in French, if only to prove to Monsieur Leonard that he was still listening. After a few minutes, the writing turned to barely legible scrawling, and then for some inexplicable reason it devolved into a small doodle of a Paris Metro train (a series MP89 to be precise, at least it was meant to be one) next to the drawing of the Eiffel Tower from earlier.

Hey, it was still related to the subject at hand, if only just.

[]

"Comment voulez-vous dire Batman en français?"

Aidan would have slammed his head on his desk, or at least his hand on his forehead, except Monsieur Leonard was now paying uncomfortably close attention to him. Or at least, to the area in his general direction- that was to say, to the loony girl behind him who was asking her teacher how to say Batman in French. Which was sort of a good question, really, since Regan was clearly on a roll here and if Monsieur Leonard could get her on that roll in French, that would be better for her education, or whatever. Better off asking about the Hamburglar. Jambon...voler...personne? Shit. What about Batman? It's just two words. Do I know the word for bat? We did animals a few weeks ago...uh...it was a hard one...chav...chavis-soris? Something like that. Chavis-soris-homme. Heh.

The puzzled look Regan gave him re: the whole Aidan Flynn pity party thing got his attention out of a reverie that probably should have ended a good five minutes ago. She was actually whispering now, and Monsieur Leonard seemed to have forgotten them completely, so that was a marked improvement. He realized a lot of things from that look, mostly things he knew. Like how as much as he liked to think she did, Regan didn't know him at all. She understood him musically, she understood he wasn't a bad guy, that was more than most people, but as a person...

"Yeah, later tonight. Today. Later. Ruby's going to come and watch."

"Alright. Cool. She knows where I live, y- oh, right, we're probably going right after school and all, yeah. ...You're not singing."

He preempted the question he knew was coming. Regan and Aidan's lead guitarist vs. lead singer squabbles were limited, the two of them being close friends and all. The main problem was Regan liked to sing a good deal more than...well, it was more that Regan was better at singing than Aidan was at playing guitar, something he spent long mornings trying to change. But some days, inevitably, Regan would want to sing. And usually he agreed, because she was good, and he liked her voice, and maybe he had a weakness for female singers, maybe, but no he wasn't biased at all nope. But today he had the music in him, man, in his soul. Or something maybe he just wanted to sing, that was a thing.

"Just because your girlfriend's coming doesn't mean you get mic privileges."

And he meant that in the least serious way possible.

Oh, dramatic irony.