|
Money
Jun 27, 2010 20:34:15 GMT -5
Post by professorpineapple on Jun 27, 2010 20:34:15 GMT -5
ATTENTION: Harrington House hiring poor students for menial labor. See Chad M. or Gord V. Stevie Stapleton looked over the crumpled sheet of paper in his hand. There was a rip across the top from where he'd torn it off the Boys' Dorm bulletin board. Folding it unevenly in his hands, he strolled down the narrow concrete path up to the Harrington House. Beefy boxers in powder blue argyle regarded him sideways, eyes narrow and lips pursed. Stevie glanced at them, tugging slightly on his hat. He wasn't totally sure how to tip a knit beanie, but he figured that was close enough.
When he opened the door to the Harrington House, he was surprised to find another just a few feet away. It was guarded on either side by tall suits of armor, and in the center by a big redhead Stevie recognized as Bif Taylor.
Supposedly, Bif was one of the strongest students at Bullworth, second only to Russell. For some reason, it didn't seem right, a guy like that being on guard duty. He ought to be respected, someone like that. Or, at least, he should bully someone else into playing security guard. It shouldn't be too hard, being the Bullworth Boxing Champion and all."What are you doing here, poor kid?" Bif's snooty tone brought Stevie back to reality.
The boy held out the crinkled flyer. Bif snatched the paper from his hand, and looked it over with a scowl. Stevie rocked back and forth on his heels, watching the boy patiently. There wasn't anything to fear, he knew. Bif had no reason to hit him or anything. And even if he did, Stevie was friends with Russell, and Bif knew it. After a moment, the boxer returned the paper, pinched daintily between two fingers."Chad's not here," he said, "You'll have to talk to Gord. He's inside at the moment. Make it quick." He stepped aside, arms crossed. "And don't touch anything. A single one of our teacups is worth more than your house. Not that that's saying much." Stevie responded with a smile. He pushed through the door, and found himself in a lavish den. Velvet-and-mahogany sofas circled an ornate fireplace. Painted plates and bronze sheilds glistened from narrow shelves along the walls. There was a funny smell in the air - musky and polishy. It made Stevie think of money.
One of the sofas was occupied - a head of dark hair turned as Stevie strolled into the room. The Prep's eyebrows furrowed slightly, and Stevie asked, "Are you Gord?" "No?" The tanned Bully looked around. The rest of the room was empty. He made his way to the stairs.This'd be easier if I knew what he looked like.The hard smack of billiard balls rang out as he reached the top of the stairs. This floor was almost identical to the first, with the exception of an expensive-looking pool table in the center of the room. Several upperclassmen stood around it. Stevie didn't know any of their names."Are any of you Gord?" he asked, and they turned on him. Several pairs of eyes narrowed at the sight of his ratty sneakers and tangled hair.
A brunette boy stepped forward, and looked him over with glassy, dark eyes. He was kind of baby-faced, but didn't look like the type to be easily intimidated. Stevie held the flyer out to him, and the corners of the Prep's mouth twisted up into a smirk.
|
|
|
Money
Jul 4, 2010 16:54:20 GMT -5
Post by UnknownTerritory on Jul 4, 2010 16:54:20 GMT -5
((ALRIGHT I'M SORRY YOU MUST HATE ME D: I'm replying now))
|
|
|
Money
Jul 5, 2010 21:52:15 GMT -5
Post by professorpineapple on Jul 5, 2010 21:52:15 GMT -5
((It's all good, take as much time as you need, I'm super busy all month @_@))
|
|
|
Money
Oct 16, 2010 17:46:35 GMT -5
Post by UnknownTerritory on Oct 16, 2010 17:46:35 GMT -5
"So you're the new help?" The burnette boy purred, his hands going to his hips. He leaned towards the side, looking at the flyer, then at Stevie. He kind of looked like a girl, standing like that.Another prep, with blond hair, leaned over Gord's shoulder to read the flyer. Almost immediantly he frowned and glared at Gord. "When did you decide on this?" He asked, obvious annoyance in his voice.
Gord smacked him away, "Oh, last week or so. Hush, Terry, I am doing business." The blond seemed to get more annoyed at the nickname, and the other preps turned a blind eye to them."You, boy, what is your name?" Gord looked Stevie up at down, the smirk still on his lips, mocking Stevie. He seemed to loom over him, despite him being just slightly taller than Stevie.
Another prep suddenly turned his head towards him, "I don't want him in my room!" Parker declared.
Terrance looked at Gord, "Nor in mine. Keep that thing on a leash if you must." Gord rolled his eyes at the two of them, "Hush." He told them again. The blond glared at Gord, stepping back and crossing his arms. Gord turned back to Stevie, "What is your name?" ((HORRAY FOR SUCKY PREPPY ARGUMENTS ))
|
|
|
Money
Oct 16, 2010 19:20:19 GMT -5
Post by professorpineapple on Oct 16, 2010 19:20:19 GMT -5
Stevie was only half-listening - the bickering of rich kids didn't really interest him. He noted Gord's body language, and the sharp inflections in his voice. The word "diva" came to mind.
There was only one person that the Bully recognized. He gave a lazy smile to the blonde boy, but it went unnoticed. Finally, Gord addressed him.
"What is your name?"
Stevie's gaze shifted back to the brunette. He wasn't intimidated by the way the boxer loomed over him - at barely five feet tall, lots of people loomed over Stevie. But, this boy was intending to give him money, so Stevie felt like he should do something. He thought of Davis, and saluted.
"Stevie Stapleton, sir," He said.
"Ha ha ha!" It wasn't much of a laugh, really. Gord's tone was almost sarcastic; Stevie didn't know what to make of it. "Stapleton, then. What is it that you do, exactly?"
"Whatever you want." He hadn't actually thought that far ahead. Stevie had only a vague idea of what "menial labor" meant.
Gord's mouth split into a wide grin. Too-white teeth glinted under the overhead lights, and made Stevie squint. The Prep beamed at his companions, looking quite proud of himself. Parker crossed his arms, shoulders stiff. He regarded the Bully uncertainly.
Gord clapped his hands together. "Wonderful," he said. "Come along, now."
He turned briskly, and caught Terrance's disapproving glare. With an airy laugh, he patted the blonde's shoulder. "Relax, old chap. Who knows, this could be fun."
With that, he sauntered toward a polished wooden door in the corner of the room. His strides were long, his chin held high - the swagger of a champion. Stevie didn't really understand it, but he was impressed at his upperclassman's enthusiasm.
Cramming his hands into his pockets, Stevie shuffled after him. He tipped his head to the taller boy as he passed. "Terry. Hello."
The blonde's obvious annoyance made him smile a little. He didn't look back as he followed Gord into a little back room, occupied only by a mini refridgerator and a big, oak wardrobe.
Gord saw Stevie glance at the stainless-steel refridgerator and said sharply, "That is only here because it clashes with the decor. Lay one finger on it and you're out. Now..."
He nodded toward the wardrobe. "You'll find what you need in here. I want you to start with the windows - they're a tad spotty, especially the ones in the greenery. Oh, and your 'uniform' is in there as well. The uniform is an absolute must. Come and find me when you've finished."
Stevie saluted once more, and Gord smirked. He turned to leave.
"How much are you paying me?" asked Stevie. Gord looked at him, brows raised slightly. Stevie wondered if he had forgotten.
"Oh. Yes." the Prep cleared his throat. "I suppose...fifteen dollars? Not much for someone of my means, but it should be more than enough for you. You'll be paid once you've finished."
Stevie cracked a smile, and Gord giggled. He let the door slam as he left the room.
Inside the wardrobe, several brooms and brushes were stored. The Harrington House kept its supply closet a secret. Stevie wasn't surprised.
Among the rags and cleaners was a faded Aquaberry sweater. His "uniform", no doubt. He discovered a small hole in the shoulder when he put it on - the reason it had been banished to the broom-closet, Stevie guessed. The sweater was much too big for him, hanging just past his groin like an argyle cocktail-dress. He rolled up the sleeves and grabbed a bucket.
((GRAH! I can't go on any further. Sorry~))
|
|
|
Money
Oct 16, 2010 19:42:36 GMT -5
Post by UnknownTerritory on Oct 16, 2010 19:42:36 GMT -5
Terrance stormed up to Gord, grabbed the other boy by his hair. Gord let out a small squeak, looking back at Terrace. He frowned, "Oh, Terry, you are ruining my hair!"
Terrance glared at him, "You had better watch him closely." He growled. "If any of my things go missing it is your neck!"
Gord smiled innocently at him, "Oh, do not fret, my dear Terrance!" He slipped out of Terrance grip. "It will all be fine!" Gord giggled a bit and turned to run off, but Terrance grabbed him by the collar of his sweater.
"STAY!!" He snapped, smirking at Gord's girlish shriek. "Sit."
"You're streatching my sweaaatterrrr!!" Gord cried, cowering back towards Terrance.
"SIT!!"
Gord immediately sat, staring at Terrance with tears in his eyes. Terrance let him go, "Now, you brought him in here, you make sure he behaves!" Terrance glared down at Gord.
Gord stared up at him, then smirked, the tears gone. "Do you know what I could do in this position, Terry?" He reached up, grabbing onto Terrance's belt. That made the boy squeal and pull himself free, but in the process of freeing himself he fell back on his ass.
|
|
|
Money
Oct 16, 2010 20:18:33 GMT -5
Post by professorpineapple on Oct 16, 2010 20:18:33 GMT -5
Strange things were happening in the Harrington House.
Stevie stood in the opened doorway, rag in one hand, bottle of window-cleaner in the other. He opened his mouth, then decided not to say anything. Without a sound, he moved to the glass double-doors that lead out to the deck, and got to work.
---
The rag squealed against the wet glass. The royal-blue cleaning fluid gave off strong smells that made Stevie feel light-headed. He wondered if it would catch fire if he decided to light up a cigarette. A cigarette sounded nice right about now.
Stevie rolled up his oversized sleeves for the umpteenth time, and turned back to Gord. "Can I smoke in here?"
((That's all I got. Sorry ._. ))
|
|
|
Money
Oct 16, 2010 20:53:32 GMT -5
Post by UnknownTerritory on Oct 16, 2010 20:53:32 GMT -5
"No." Gord said, not even glancing at him. "Bryce did once and Bif broke his nose."
Terrance looked at Gord, "Didn't he need surgery?"
Gord nodded, "Yes, but his nose has never been the same."
Terrance shook his head, leaning against the wall and crossing his legs, arms crossed across his chest. "What a shame."
Gord nodded in agreement, copying Terrance's pose. He glanced over at Stevie boredly, "You missed a spot." He pointed to a spot above Stevie's head.
"You missed a spot." Terrance mimicked, pointing to a spot near Stevie's knee, smirking.
|
|
|
Money
Oct 17, 2010 18:57:16 GMT -5
Post by professorpineapple on Oct 17, 2010 18:57:16 GMT -5
The Bully frowned slightly. He didn't know who Bryce was, but he didn't like the thought of getting his nose broken.
"You missed a spot."
"You missed a spot."
They were pointing in two completely different directions - it must have been a big spot. Stevie turned back to the window, but saw nothing. He tilted his head a couple times. The glass looked clean even before he started.
He decided that this just made his job easier, and continued cleaning. The whole thing took a good 10 minutes - three of which were spent looking for a stool to stand on. He was a terribly short boy.
Stevie dragged the stool up the concrete steps leading to the greenhouse on the roof. It was quiet here, save for the steady thump-thump-thump of wood on pavement. This side of the Harrington House faced the hills behind the school - it didn't look like Bullworth. Too many trees. Stevie didn't like it.
The windows of the greenhouse were huge. Stevie glanced at his stool, and scratched at his head through his hat. His stool was about three feet tall; combined with his natural five feet, that was -
Too short, he decided.
He set the stool upright beside a long table covered in flower pots. There weren't any Preps here, just plants. People said that plants were "alive", so, technically, Stevie wasn't alone. It was an unsettling thought. He cast a glance back through the transparent wall. No people. He fished his cigarette case out of his back pocket.
There was movement among the green. Something bumped against one of the tables. Stevie snapped his case shut and slipped it back into his pocket, unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. He made his way slowly to the source of the noise - a vertical counter towards the far corner of the room. The tanned boy leaned out over the top of the counter, poking his head between two pots of lillies. He caught a glimpse of dark leather.
"Oh, hello," he said to the complete strangers, and hoped that his old sweater wouldn't get him beaten up.
((Greasers in the Harrington House! Who are they? What do they want? I have no idea.))
|
|
|
Money
Oct 18, 2010 16:53:29 GMT -5
Post by UnknownTerritory on Oct 18, 2010 16:53:29 GMT -5
((You made me do research on Italian accents. I dunno if I got it down though XD))
A boy taller and obviously stronger jumped up, glaring down at the boy. Stevie had recongnized him instantly. He was that new greaser boy, with the burns that covered his whole body. They were much more ugly up close.
Stevie was grabbed by the front of his sweater and lifted up close to the other boy. His name escaped him. "What you be doing here, ragazzo ricco?" It seemed to take a few seconds for it to register what he said, then he glared harder at Stevie, bringing their faces closer together. "You no go tell, ragazzo." His accent was thick. He kind of reminded Stevie of that Jock, Juri.
Vance peaked over the side of the plant, "Pu' the kid down, Tony. He ain' no preppy." He said, standing. Almost instantly he took a comb out and ran it through his red hair. "I t'ink he's one'a 'dem bullies."
Lefty's head suddenly appeared, "Y'eh, I see him taggin' 'long with 'em. He ain' no preppy."
Tony glanced over at them, reading their expressions, then turned back to Stevie. He narrowed his eyes at the younger boy and dropped him to the floor. "Why you wears that shirt?"
((ragazzo ricco = Rich boy ragazzo = boy Tony speaks basic English, he's not 100% fluent in it but he's decent enough to be understood. And he has an incredibly thick accent, so he pronounces every letter, but he doesn't exactly sound like Mario.))
|
|
|
Money
Oct 18, 2010 17:23:59 GMT -5
Post by professorpineapple on Oct 18, 2010 17:23:59 GMT -5
Stevie stared up at the older boy. He didn't make any attempt to stand, or retrieve the cigarette that'd fallen out of his mouth when he'd been grabbed. The fourteen-year-old found that he couldn't look away from the Greaser's horribly scarred face.
He wanted to touch it.
"Why you wears that shirt?"
It took Stevie a second to realize that he'd been addressed. He raised his hands in an I don't know kind of expression. The sleeves were too long, and covered his fingers.
"Uniform," he said. Then, as an afterthought, "Not an actual uniform, though. Just a sweater. But I have to wear it, otherwise Gord won't give me any money. What are you doing here?"
|
|
|
Money
Oct 18, 2010 18:27:29 GMT -5
Post by UnknownTerritory on Oct 18, 2010 18:27:29 GMT -5
"Ya the preppy's lacky?" Lefty smirked. "How much they payin' ya?"
Vance smirked too, "Fifty bucks t'wear this ugly t'ang?" He laughed, slinging his arm around Stevie's shoulders. "Not worth it, kid!"
Tony stepped away from them, bending behind the plant. Stevie couldn't exactly see what he was up to, until he stood up again, a paint can in his hand. Stevie noticed then that his hands, too, were covered in burn scars.
He took another glance at Stevie and narrowed his eyes, shaking the can.
|
|
|
Money
Oct 18, 2010 19:26:22 GMT -5
Post by professorpineapple on Oct 18, 2010 19:26:22 GMT -5
The skin on the Greaser's hands was scorched and warped. It made Stevie think of plastic army men left in the sun for too long. Never before had he wanted to hold another boy's hand. Or touch his face.
But, he didn't think he liked the way the older boy was looking at him. Stevie glanced from the spray can to his narrowed eyes.
This, he decided, can either be really good, or really bad.
"You're here to...paint...something?"
Realization came slowly.
"I have to clean in here," he said.
|
|
|
Money
Oct 18, 2010 19:37:57 GMT -5
Post by UnknownTerritory on Oct 18, 2010 19:37:57 GMT -5
Tony just stared at him boredly, beginning to toss the paint an from one hand to the other.
"Give me... eh...." He glanced behind him, trying to find a clock. When he realized there was none around he turned back to Stevie, "Minutes of ten. Then you clean." He turned around then, slipping his jacket off his arms.
Stevie saw he only wore the school vest. His arms were completely exposed, and they were more burned then his face. There was barley a spot that wasn't burned.
Vance smirked down at Stevie, "Run off, runt, we got stuff t'do." He patted Stevie's head, laughing at the smaller boy.
|
|
|
Money
Oct 18, 2010 19:58:53 GMT -5
Post by professorpineapple on Oct 18, 2010 19:58:53 GMT -5
Stevie gave the boy a smile. "Have fun," he said, and departed.
He sauntered back down the concrete steps, hands crammed into his pockets, deep in thought. He wondered about the burned boy - how much of him was burned? How did it happen? Were the burns responsible for his obvious speech impediment?
Terry and Gord had commenced their game of pool when Stevie re-entered the building. The brunette boy saw that he was without his rag and spray bottle, and stood upright immediately. Before he could say anything, Stevie pointed back through the glass doors.
"Greasers."
Cool as he might have been, that guy was going to make Stevie's job much harder. And possibly get him fired. Stevie wasn't OK with that.
|
|