The Deconstructionist

[D/N]

(Carly Jean Dooley continued from No Such Thing as a Free Lunch)

Mondays SUCKED. They seriously seriously sucked sucked sucked. Especially THIS Monday, because now she was back at school and she was just completely pissed off and mortified about what had happened with Sebastien. Even getting out to the driving range on the weekend, smacking ball after ball and pretending they were Sebastien's balls, had done nothing to lift her spirits.

Carly had sulked through her morning classes. Now that it was lunchtime, she was steaming down the halls, making sure she didn't have to sit down and talk to anyone. She'd avoided the rest of the girls throughout the day. They'd just try to cheer her up and she didn't WANT any stupid cheering up. If they'd really wanted to cheer her up, they should have TOLD her not to ask him out in the first place! Why did she hang out with them if they weren't any help? Then she wouldn't have gone down to flirt with him and drool over his STUPID painting, like he really thought he was some master artist or something like that--

Wait a minute--

Oh yes. An idea had suddenly formed in Carly's head. Turning, she made her way through the halls of Bayview until she was standing outside the art room where she'd asked him out. No one inside. AND, even better, by stealing a glance through the window she could see his painting still sitting there. Oh yes. She'd add her own touch to his little "masterpiece".

Three minutes later, Carly raced out of the room and down the hallway, half-certain that someone was going to look in the room and then come out and chase after her. She banged her way into the girl's washroom, moved into a stall, and closed the door, trying to catch her breath and calm herself down. Her heart was racing and she thought she was crying a bit, but at this point, Carly simply did not care. She'd shown that jerk what it means to mess with her! She'd find a prom date WAY hotter than Sebastien. And friendlier too, what the hell was she thinking asking some loser who didn't talk to anyone out to prom, he probably had, like, major personal issues going on and she didn't NEED to be dealing with that and there were way better looking guys around school anyway and....

(Carly Jean Dooley continued in Mambo Italiano)

Sebastien's painting sat in the art room in the same position as before, with one very major addition. The letters were sloppy and hastily scrawled; leaving traces of white paint still trickling down the canvas, but the word "ASSHOLE" was still clear as day atop the blue and purple sunset of the artwork.

[Super Llama†]

((Sebastian Decartes continued form No Such Thing as a Free Lunch))

What is this?

Sebastian stood over the newly graffitied painting. He was surprisingly calm at the moment, as if the reality of the situation hadn't sunk in yet, and he was perhaps toying with the idea that he was just seeing things. He turned around, took a deep breath. Now he'd just turn back, and whatever this was wouldn't actually be. Maybe he should just go home early and get some rest.

Okay, deep breath.

...

Nope, still there.

He hadn't been gone from the room too long. He had gone to the lunchroom to (what else?) eat lunch. He didn't really care for the noise, but his art teacher was rather strict on not allowing food in the art room, so there wasn't really much of a choice. He had only really been gone for about 15-20 minutes.

What is this? He repeated to himself, taking a step closer. He had spent countless hours working on this painting. So much effort. And to see it ruined like this, it understandably made him upset.

What...

Really upset.

...the fuck...

Really, really, REALLY upset.

IS THIS!?

Sebastian stormed out of the room as if he were on autopilot. Someone with less control of their anger would probably have just exploded right there. But not him. He was going to save it until he found out who was responsi-no wait, he already knew who was responsible for this bullshit, and he knew exactly what he was going to do.

Sebastian Descartes was an angry man on a mission.

[[continued in Mambo Italiano]]