About half an hour into this whole shebang, Phillip Olivares had come to a pretty solid verdict on the proceedings: fuck Prom. No, seriously, this was a real waste of time. He was suffering, and he looked stupid, and he felt stupid, and everything was awkward and uncomfortable.
He was all dressed up in a suit sized for someone like four inches taller than him. It had belonged to his brother, Stanley, so this wasn't its first time at a GHHS prom, but Phillip was certain his brother had worn it better. He was only thus attired because his mom had insisted. It had been a whole big thing. He already had a special outfit, he'd explained, an outfit that actually fit and felt nice, gave him mobility, was perfect for social occasions. His mom had said absolutely not, he wasn't going to prom in his clown suit, the bouncers wouldn't even let him in the door. Phillip sort of thought they actually would've let him in, like, did anyone actually get denied entry to prom? It wasn't a goddamn Michelin-star restaurant. But he was going for his mom, really, like she thought it was important to his development, a milestone, something he'd regret not doing, etc. etc., so okay, he'd wear the suit so she could take pictures pinching his cheek and all that.
Phillip's hair was slicked back like he was going to start snapping his fingers and flicking a switchblade and join the Sharks—or, wait, were the Sharks the white kids? Was he bound for the Jets? Which one were the Montagues again? Could he be whoever was the West Side version of Mercutio? Anyways, he felt like he should be selling used cars or something but his mom insisted he looked dashing.
Other things wrong with prom: the food, the music, the dancing, everyone else.
The food was probably the least wrong, just, did they have no class at all? Was that Kool-Aid they were serving? Putting aside how absolutely appropriate a choice that was for all the wrong reasons, this wasn't snack time in second grade. Couldn't someone have at least sprung the extra fifty cents to make it Hawaiian Punch instead? The snacks were just junky snacks, but Phillip had thought prom was supposed to be some big elegant thing, and that certainly hadn't been the case with dinner, like KFC was good and all but he felt real dumb sitting in the KFC drive-through eating mac and cheese out of a Styrofoam carton wearing a suit while his mom sang along to Michael Jackson on the radio. The hors d'oeuvres could've salvaged that, had they not looked like they'd come from Costco.
The music was offensive to his ears. It was totally expected, the same awful pop stuff everyone always listened to because there were drones guided by the whims of the ghost of Walt Disney or Al Gore's wife or whoever made decisions about what got played on the radio, but that still hurt Phillip's soul. If they even put on any rap it'd just be whatever was trendy and PG at worst, probably, and he was so over this screeching female country singer thing. There didn't seem to be anywhere to make song suggestions, which sucked. Like, he knew there was no chance of ICP making the cut, ever, but there were other choices. There was this British band he liked called The Tiger Lillies, a name which sounded nice and normal enough if you didn't know what they were, and yeah, okay, they were also depraved clown music, shut the fuck up, it was a noble genre with surprising thematic and sonic variance, like ICP did angry clown rap while the Tiger Lillies did angry clown keening in falsetto over a shitton of accordion. But there was nothing cool like that here at all.
The dancing was just, like, a bunch of kids fumbling around like idiots, kicking their shoes off into the air and stuff, and only Phillip seemed aware of how dumb they all looked. Now, an observer might be forgiven for thinking that Phillip was seething with jealousy because everyone else was having fun dancing and he didn't know how to dance, but that would be ignorant stereotyping. Phillip may have been a bit of a dweeb, but clown shit involved a whole lot of coordination and physical control and he was good at that stuff. One of his buddies had said that the essence of clowning was doing something hard while making it look easy and doing something easy while making it look hard, like you'd spend fifteen minutes pretending to struggle to tie your shoelaces while casually juggling flaming knives or something. The point is, Phillip could've danced if he wanted to, but it was totally pointless. He didn't get it as an art. Oh, it's so beautiful, so graceful, some might say. No. Nope. It was just basic, boring, repetitive movements at best, and at worst girls rubbing their asses all over their dates' junk no matter how fervent Ms. Clarke-Moone was being in her one-woman quest to eradicate all hanky-panky.
That brought things right along to the last point: the people. Most of the guys looked either just as dumb as Phillip did, for similar reasons, or else just as dumb as Phillip wished he could, like their moms didn't wake up and say "Yo, maybe the kilt is too much, maybe smearing radioactive paint on your nipples is a bad idea, maybe don't mix pinstripe and polka dots," or else they were just perfectly put together like pretend office workers. That beat the situation with the girls, though. Phillip understood on an academic level that the girls at school were girl-shaped and had breasts and belly-buttons and stuff under their sweaters and t-shirts, but mostly that sort of thing wasn't really a focal point in math class unless someone slutty was getting sent on the walk of shame to the office to put on whatever stinking garment had been dredged from the lost and found to serve as substitute scarlet letter for violating dress code. But now, most of them were in dresses low-cut or high-hemmed or looking like they were missing bits and that was pretty distracting and uncomfortable for Phillip, like what are you supposed to do, stare into the middle distance not making eye contact or really looking at anyone or anything and definitely not thinking about how in sex ed they said Planned Parenthood could always tell when prom had been because of all the pregnancy tests people were tripping over themselves to take? Yeah, a bunch of his classmates were getting laid tonight and that was freaky and weird and Phillip just didn't want to think about it at all but it was kind of hard not to.
He was alone, because his friends either had the good sense not to turn up to this sort of thing or else had gotten themselves dates. Traitors and deserters, the lot of them. Phillip's mom had been on his ass about the date thing. "Why don't you ask that cute girl in book club? You're the president of book club. Surely people respect you." And it's like, okay, first off which girl in book club, it's not like there's just one girl in book club, and second off Phillip was president of book club because literally nobody gave a rat's ass who ran book club because president of book club was a position with absolutely no power of any sort and which garnered absolutely no respect, like Phillip wasn't even totally sure if the rest of book club even realized he was the president. And besides, he wasn't about to humiliate himself by asking someone. What if she'd said no? Fuck, what if she'd said yes?
He was stuck here until his mom came to pick him up and she and his dad were seeing a movie or something and weren't coming until the very end. So here he was, in a corner, feeling like a dork and hating being here. But okay, maybe he could derive some amusement from this somehow? A clown's job was to reflect the ugly truth back at everyone else by being funny, right? So how to do that?
Slowly, Phillip raised first one arm, then the other, straight in front of him, parallel to the ground. He looked left, then right, quick movements, a snap of the head. Then, with as much elegant stiffness as possible, he slipped right into The Robot, kind of sort of not really in time with the beat of whatever tripe was playing.
Getting Down With The Clown
Misery loves company so come join
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MurderWeasel
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Benny was looking good. Hella good.
It was prom after all. Their prom. A month before prom he already had picked up a new nice-looking blue suit specifically for prom. Plus he spent this afternoon doing his hair, making it look more pompous than usual without making it look too wet. Benny confidently left his house thinking he couldn't look any more handsome, satisfied with his efforts. Benny had been excited, really. This was the end of an era. Benny could remember his first day on George Hunter High back when all of them were little shits. And now? Now they were going to graduate. It felt weird for him and it made him feel uncomfortable thinking about this. And this is exactly why it had to be celebrated!
Benny even lashed out for after prom, having bought some cigars he plans to consume with his friends when it is over. They were gonna end their high school careers with class.
He walked off the dance floor to take a break from dancing and happened to approach Phillip Oliveras who was standing there, looking lonely while wearing a suit that really didn't fit him at all. Benedict couldn't exactly see him being blue because Phillip's face was not directed at him so he couldn't see his facial expression, but simply from the fact that he had been standing there for a longer time, Benny could feel it. He wasn't talking to anyone, just weirdly standing there, not looking like he was enjoying himself at all. Phillip was weird. Phillip was very, very weird. It has been that way when Benny joined GHHS and will be that way when he graduates. But that wouldn't stop Benny from at least trying to start a conversation to maybe figure out why poor Ol' Oliveras was that lonely and blue. Benny couldn't imagine anyone wanting to dance with Phillip, except after, like, pitying him for the fact that no one wanted to dance with him. So it is very likely that Phillip got rejected by a girl and is feeling down because of that and now he wants to show his misery by expressing I hate Prom I will just stand in the corner and let others see how miserable my life is. But Benedict Murray was not going to play along. Benny could help him getting the girl out of his mind and make him enjoy Prom.
As Benny contemplated of a way to break the ice, he could see the young boy doing sudden moves that made no sense whatsoever. Perplexed by utter confusion, Benny did not know how to react. Ben very slowly turned his head to make eye contact with the weirdo and let out a confused laugh. He had widened his eyes to the max, throwing his hands up at the height of his neck in a defeated manner and dug his chin backwards into his neck to show an exaggerated grimace of shock.
With a voice that almost crackled, he asked "What the fuck is wrong with you?", with the word fuck being said with his falsetto, emphasizing it in a way to highlight his confusion. Shortly after that his face changed to show a wide, friendly grin. Benny hoped that Phillip isn't a person who'd be offended from this reaction to his...dance. He didn't want to hurt his feelings and leave Prom with having a guilty conscience of making this day more miserable to Phil when he had planned to achieve the opposite. He didn't know Phil that well, but he gives "chill guy" vibes. A guy walking around in hawaii shirts all days can't be stuck-up, can he?
It was prom after all. Their prom. A month before prom he already had picked up a new nice-looking blue suit specifically for prom. Plus he spent this afternoon doing his hair, making it look more pompous than usual without making it look too wet. Benny confidently left his house thinking he couldn't look any more handsome, satisfied with his efforts. Benny had been excited, really. This was the end of an era. Benny could remember his first day on George Hunter High back when all of them were little shits. And now? Now they were going to graduate. It felt weird for him and it made him feel uncomfortable thinking about this. And this is exactly why it had to be celebrated!
Benny even lashed out for after prom, having bought some cigars he plans to consume with his friends when it is over. They were gonna end their high school careers with class.
He walked off the dance floor to take a break from dancing and happened to approach Phillip Oliveras who was standing there, looking lonely while wearing a suit that really didn't fit him at all. Benedict couldn't exactly see him being blue because Phillip's face was not directed at him so he couldn't see his facial expression, but simply from the fact that he had been standing there for a longer time, Benny could feel it. He wasn't talking to anyone, just weirdly standing there, not looking like he was enjoying himself at all. Phillip was weird. Phillip was very, very weird. It has been that way when Benny joined GHHS and will be that way when he graduates. But that wouldn't stop Benny from at least trying to start a conversation to maybe figure out why poor Ol' Oliveras was that lonely and blue. Benny couldn't imagine anyone wanting to dance with Phillip, except after, like, pitying him for the fact that no one wanted to dance with him. So it is very likely that Phillip got rejected by a girl and is feeling down because of that and now he wants to show his misery by expressing I hate Prom I will just stand in the corner and let others see how miserable my life is. But Benedict Murray was not going to play along. Benny could help him getting the girl out of his mind and make him enjoy Prom.
As Benny contemplated of a way to break the ice, he could see the young boy doing sudden moves that made no sense whatsoever. Perplexed by utter confusion, Benny did not know how to react. Ben very slowly turned his head to make eye contact with the weirdo and let out a confused laugh. He had widened his eyes to the max, throwing his hands up at the height of his neck in a defeated manner and dug his chin backwards into his neck to show an exaggerated grimace of shock.
With a voice that almost crackled, he asked "What the fuck is wrong with you?", with the word fuck being said with his falsetto, emphasizing it in a way to highlight his confusion. Shortly after that his face changed to show a wide, friendly grin. Benny hoped that Phillip isn't a person who'd be offended from this reaction to his...dance. He didn't want to hurt his feelings and leave Prom with having a guilty conscience of making this day more miserable to Phil when he had planned to achieve the opposite. He didn't know Phil that well, but he gives "chill guy" vibes. A guy walking around in hawaii shirts all days can't be stuck-up, can he?
The last few beats of the prior song became a piano trill and then a more familiar piece of oldies.
((Camila Cañizares continued from The Good in Everyone))
Two boys equally drowning in hair oil had stolen the dance floor some distance away. Benny, among them, was her target and she made her way over. Marveling at the momentary dissonance of the unknown one's dance moves in their new sonic context, pat drying her still slightly damp sink-washed hands against her own ass. She cut brusquely through the patchwork quilt of suddenly screaming and cheering girls her age, took her place at her date's side. Her dress was appreciable and appropriate, a subdued midnight black off-the-shoulder, wrapping down until it kissed the floor. She'd bothered with makeup and tasteful hair curling, natch.
She decided she didn't need to speak immediately- she'd let Benny handle this one for now. She put on her vaguest of friendly smiles. Batted a few lose curls out of her eyes- she wasn't exactly used to that sensation.
She focused on Benny's unoccupied hand. She wasn't supposed to hold it, she didn't particularly want to, the gesture might have meant something or made her feel something besides slight eye strain as her dim-light adjusted eyes memorized her friend turned date's fingerprints.
((Camila Cañizares continued from The Good in Everyone))
Two boys equally drowning in hair oil had stolen the dance floor some distance away. Benny, among them, was her target and she made her way over. Marveling at the momentary dissonance of the unknown one's dance moves in their new sonic context, pat drying her still slightly damp sink-washed hands against her own ass. She cut brusquely through the patchwork quilt of suddenly screaming and cheering girls her age, took her place at her date's side. Her dress was appreciable and appropriate, a subdued midnight black off-the-shoulder, wrapping down until it kissed the floor. She'd bothered with makeup and tasteful hair curling, natch.
That was exactly what she'd propositioned, a week and two days ago when she'd decided to approach Benny. The whetted trap of her memory was particularly good at recalling moments of importance with crystal clarity- she could still remember"You're going to take my virginity."
Benny making an ass of himself in the general direction of Mr. Roboto was proof enough for her that she'd made the right choice. As if she needed anymore- she'd already thought everything over more than once, which was more than enough. She was only excited in the nervousness sense, but she figured she had to actively be in the moment for that thing they called 'intimacy' to kick in and rush her heart through it's paces like a drill sergeant.the cafeteria table, the not-so hushed tone of her simply phrased in the form of a statement request.
She decided she didn't need to speak immediately- she'd let Benny handle this one for now. She put on her vaguest of friendly smiles. Batted a few lose curls out of her eyes- she wasn't exactly used to that sensation.
She focused on Benny's unoccupied hand. She wasn't supposed to hold it, she didn't particularly want to, the gesture might have meant something or made her feel something besides slight eye strain as her dim-light adjusted eyes memorized her friend turned date's fingerprints.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
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"Prom, man," Phillip almost bellowed back. "Prom's what's the fuck wrong with me."
He gave Benny a really big smile as he snapped his forearms up, palms out, into almost a gesture of surrender, then extended them wide, showing off his full wingspan and almost knocking a cup of punch out of some girl's hand as she went past. It was a good thing for once that he wasn't just a little bit bigger, even if it had always been embarrassing growing up when he'd gone to the zoo and seen those painted signs that showed how you measured up to an eagle or whatever and the bird had almost had more net reach than Phillip.
A muttered apology later, and his focus was back on Benny and the girl coming up alongside him, whose name Phillip totally definitely knew at some point but that point was not tonight.
"Like," he continued, "same as everyone, of course, you know?"
The music now was goddamn motherfucking Abba which was a shock because Phillip actually knew it. Abba was the sort of thing his mom also sang along to, especially after she'd had a glass of wine or two, and he knew she'd be totally stoked to know that he was being subjected to "Dancing Queen" right now which really didn't make the situation much more his cup of tea. At least he'd have a real specific detail to pull out when she quizzed him later. "How was prom, sweetie?" "It was alright I guess. You would've liked it. They played 'Dancing Queen," and bam, like that, conversation over and night relegated to the dungeon of memory.
But hey, Benny wasn't bad. Benny seemed to have the right sort of attitude about him, like, maybe they could rag on everyone else together or he'd do the robot too or something. Or maybe he'd just go off to be boring. Only one way to find out.
"And you?" Phillip said, light and joking but a little bit shouty to be audible over the Abba squeal. "The fuck's wrong with you tonight?"
He gave Benny a really big smile as he snapped his forearms up, palms out, into almost a gesture of surrender, then extended them wide, showing off his full wingspan and almost knocking a cup of punch out of some girl's hand as she went past. It was a good thing for once that he wasn't just a little bit bigger, even if it had always been embarrassing growing up when he'd gone to the zoo and seen those painted signs that showed how you measured up to an eagle or whatever and the bird had almost had more net reach than Phillip.
A muttered apology later, and his focus was back on Benny and the girl coming up alongside him, whose name Phillip totally definitely knew at some point but that point was not tonight.
"Like," he continued, "same as everyone, of course, you know?"
The music now was goddamn motherfucking Abba which was a shock because Phillip actually knew it. Abba was the sort of thing his mom also sang along to, especially after she'd had a glass of wine or two, and he knew she'd be totally stoked to know that he was being subjected to "Dancing Queen" right now which really didn't make the situation much more his cup of tea. At least he'd have a real specific detail to pull out when she quizzed him later. "How was prom, sweetie?" "It was alright I guess. You would've liked it. They played 'Dancing Queen," and bam, like that, conversation over and night relegated to the dungeon of memory.
But hey, Benny wasn't bad. Benny seemed to have the right sort of attitude about him, like, maybe they could rag on everyone else together or he'd do the robot too or something. Or maybe he'd just go off to be boring. Only one way to find out.
"And you?" Phillip said, light and joking but a little bit shouty to be audible over the Abba squeal. "The fuck's wrong with you tonight?"
Not bad. Phillip's reaction was way chiller than Benedict had expected. He wasn't overchallenged by answering the question, he left no awkward pauses and had this laid-back attitude. Phillip is way more confident than he expected him to be, too, having a big, good-looking smile, which unfortunately did show his ugly, crooked teeth. Benny tried his best avoiding to look at them as he wanted to maintain eye contact. Fortunately he didn't have to continue to stare at this messed-up version of tetris when Phillip mirrored Benny's gestures and managed to almost hit a girl passing by in the process. Well, as chill as Phil seemed to be, he does not seem to be a well-coordinated person. Benny showed no reaction to the mishap and turned his head as he had seen Camilla through his peripheral vision and greeted her non-verbally with his usual funny-face smile. The moment his date arrived a classic everyone knew began to vibrate through the room and his body instinctively began to groove to the beat, smiling at Cam for a couple of seconds before turning his head back to Phillip.
He heard Phillip mumbling an insecure apology which made Benedict change his mind about Phillip and his confidence. That guy might've had a big mouth, but Benny could feel Phillip not being happy after all and identified Phillip's deflecting, or rather reflecting of Benny's question as a sign that there is something wrong and that he isn't honest about his feelings with his stupid-ass wide grin. Benny wanted to figure out why, but already had a good guess. Yeah. Benny's going to set up Phillip with a girl tonight, for sure.
As a reply to the reflected question, Benny played along, repeating the sentence again, but even more theatric with a made up accent.
"The fuck's wrong with me? The fuck's wrong with me?"
Now he switched his into his normal voice again, but with a more sarcastic tone.
"I'm not sure, dude! I was not the one having a seizure."
Benny mimicked Phillip's previous dance for about five seconds by shaking his head and moving his arms as if he was a karate guy who'd slowly chop down wooden planks one by one.
"That's not a fucking dance, buddy. I'll show you how to do it."
Benedict was already feeling the beat of his namesake Benny Andersson. He was not afraid of dancing, because he could dance. He'd be embarrassed if he'd accidently sing along because he sure wasn't a singer, but he wasn't nervous at all so he began to dance. Ben decided on an easy one for starters. The easy one that is associated with disco where you'd only have to move an arm diagonally, fitting to the song. He could teach him fortnite dances later on when the music was more appropiate.
He stretched out his arm at Phillip, palms up and waved him in.
"Come on, try it! It's easy!"
He heard Phillip mumbling an insecure apology which made Benedict change his mind about Phillip and his confidence. That guy might've had a big mouth, but Benny could feel Phillip not being happy after all and identified Phillip's deflecting, or rather reflecting of Benny's question as a sign that there is something wrong and that he isn't honest about his feelings with his stupid-ass wide grin. Benny wanted to figure out why, but already had a good guess. Yeah. Benny's going to set up Phillip with a girl tonight, for sure.
As a reply to the reflected question, Benny played along, repeating the sentence again, but even more theatric with a made up accent.
"The fuck's wrong with me? The fuck's wrong with me?"
Now he switched his into his normal voice again, but with a more sarcastic tone.
"I'm not sure, dude! I was not the one having a seizure."
Benny mimicked Phillip's previous dance for about five seconds by shaking his head and moving his arms as if he was a karate guy who'd slowly chop down wooden planks one by one.
"That's not a fucking dance, buddy. I'll show you how to do it."
Benedict was already feeling the beat of his namesake Benny Andersson. He was not afraid of dancing, because he could dance. He'd be embarrassed if he'd accidently sing along because he sure wasn't a singer, but he wasn't nervous at all so he began to dance. Ben decided on an easy one for starters. The easy one that is associated with disco where you'd only have to move an arm diagonally, fitting to the song. He could teach him fortnite dances later on when the music was more appropiate.
He stretched out his arm at Phillip, palms up and waved him in.
"Come on, try it! It's easy!"
Her deliberations didn't last long: she didn't feel any particularly comfortable urge toward doing it, so she wouldn't hold Benny's hand.
It was enough for her that she could like his energy, his confidence. Both fetching attributes and of course that's why she'd ventured to make him her friend, all those years ago. Memorabilia of the past so easily recalled. Now was no time to take stock of photo albums however. The jaunt of the song had a pull that she had no intent to resist.
He smiled, she smiled. An expression not reciprocated by their discovered third wheel. Benny was making a move and Camila appreciated its forwardness.
She was quick to play her role- which she decided was her role about as quickly. Time moved in piano swing.
A loose and bouncy sashay tumbled her hips and torso, her arms unfurled like sail rigging 'til they found purchase above her head. "Friday night and the nights are low," she proudly let out in a songbird soprano, just loud enough to compete for air with the DJ's selection. She felt the lyrical burst, light as she exhaled it, no need to hold it back. Her girlish twirl carried her in a spiraling motion and the hem of her dress kissed the sky. A few dancers straying close shied away respectfully.
Space cleared for their odd threesome, enough room for all the clumsy left feet in the world.
"Mmhmhmmm, for a place to go..."
She put her arms away and watched the boys with a lazy gaze, amused, still casually rocking to the gringo music.
It was enough for her that she could like his energy, his confidence. Both fetching attributes and of course that's why she'd ventured to make him her friend, all those years ago. Memorabilia of the past so easily recalled. Now was no time to take stock of photo albums however. The jaunt of the song had a pull that she had no intent to resist.
He smiled, she smiled. An expression not reciprocated by their discovered third wheel. Benny was making a move and Camila appreciated its forwardness.
She was quick to play her role- which she decided was her role about as quickly. Time moved in piano swing.
A loose and bouncy sashay tumbled her hips and torso, her arms unfurled like sail rigging 'til they found purchase above her head. "Friday night and the nights are low," she proudly let out in a songbird soprano, just loud enough to compete for air with the DJ's selection. She felt the lyrical burst, light as she exhaled it, no need to hold it back. Her girlish twirl carried her in a spiraling motion and the hem of her dress kissed the sky. A few dancers straying close shied away respectfully.
Space cleared for their odd threesome, enough room for all the clumsy left feet in the world.
"Mmhmhmmm, for a place to go..."
She put her arms away and watched the boys with a lazy gaze, amused, still casually rocking to the gringo music.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Man, Benny just wasn't going to let this one go easy, was he? He did a pretty mean robot, though, Phillip had to give him that. Had the nice edge of mocking mimicry down pat. There was some potential there, if the guy ever decided he wanted to try his hand at the clowning business. Of course, he probably wasn't particularly interested. Most people weren't. But whatever, he was right there with the barbed, jagged humor that matched Phillip's current mood to a T.
This impression was solidified when, as an alternative to Phillip's farcical robot, he offered up Saturday Night Fever. Try it? Yeah, okay, sure. Phillip would try it. Phillip would do the fucking disco dance, and maybe it would even catch on. Maybe in a few minutes the whole place would be hopping around pointing alternately at the ceiling and their toes. Or, more likely, the so-called cool kids would look at them and barely bother to hide their laughter and try to figure out where the closest dumpster to dispose of them in would be.
Phillip strutted right up to Benny and stood before him and did the finger thing, up down step step in time with the rhythm of Dancing Queen. They had plenty of space right about now. Seemed like nobody really wanted in on their little party.
"Hey," he said, "you're right. This is great."
Meanwhile the girl, whose name he still couldn't retrieve and whose association with Benny he still couldn't be totally sure existed, swayed back and forth making substantially less of an ass of herself.
This impression was solidified when, as an alternative to Phillip's farcical robot, he offered up Saturday Night Fever. Try it? Yeah, okay, sure. Phillip would try it. Phillip would do the fucking disco dance, and maybe it would even catch on. Maybe in a few minutes the whole place would be hopping around pointing alternately at the ceiling and their toes. Or, more likely, the so-called cool kids would look at them and barely bother to hide their laughter and try to figure out where the closest dumpster to dispose of them in would be.
Phillip strutted right up to Benny and stood before him and did the finger thing, up down step step in time with the rhythm of Dancing Queen. They had plenty of space right about now. Seemed like nobody really wanted in on their little party.
"Hey," he said, "you're right. This is great."
Meanwhile the girl, whose name he still couldn't retrieve and whose association with Benny he still couldn't be totally sure existed, swayed back and forth making substantially less of an ass of herself.
"Wooh!", Benedict exclaimed with a smile. Benny used his right hand to forcefully pat Phillip on the shoulder. "You're doing great, kid."
With a big grin, he continued, but changed up his moves. At first he continued his trip through the 70s by rotating his arms within themselves, but then turned to his more, usual contemporary dance moves.
"Yeaaaah, come on, buddy. Just go with the flow!"
Benny hoped Phillip would enjoy dancing and that him hyping him up would lighten his bad mood, which visibly was not that apparant, but Benny knew that Phillip was only pretending to be okay.
He then turned hid head to face Cam, trying to catch eye contact with her.
With a big grin, he continued, but changed up his moves. At first he continued his trip through the 70s by rotating his arms within themselves, but then turned to his more, usual contemporary dance moves.
"Yeaaaah, come on, buddy. Just go with the flow!"
Benny hoped Phillip would enjoy dancing and that him hyping him up would lighten his bad mood, which visibly was not that apparant, but Benny knew that Phillip was only pretending to be okay.
He then turned hid head to face Cam, trying to catch eye contact with her.
They made stupidity look charming, she decided.
"Worthy effort," giggled heartily, grinned unabashedly enough that the gap between two of her off-center incisors showed as it did often enough regardless. She scooped up the hem of her dress and threw it backward, expanding space into which she twirled with fairly amateur grace. That left her a bit further away, a distance she quickly zipped back up with an eager bustle back towards the boys.
Backhanded compliments were considered and as casually discarded. Good-humor, pity and charity all went hand in hand.
Benny's deep eyes stole her idle contemplation. Familiar, but the warmth of familiarity was the typical and mild plume of smile that always followed the meeting of their eyes. She felt nothing further. For now that didn't matter. She could hallucinate intimacy and exaggerate that her girlishness reflected in the jade of his gaze.
Her smile back at him was a little sweeter for it.
"You're both cute." She considered both of them in turn for that, and picked out her most generous of eyebrow spacings.
"Worthy effort," giggled heartily, grinned unabashedly enough that the gap between two of her off-center incisors showed as it did often enough regardless. She scooped up the hem of her dress and threw it backward, expanding space into which she twirled with fairly amateur grace. That left her a bit further away, a distance she quickly zipped back up with an eager bustle back towards the boys.
Backhanded compliments were considered and as casually discarded. Good-humor, pity and charity all went hand in hand.
Benny's deep eyes stole her idle contemplation. Familiar, but the warmth of familiarity was the typical and mild plume of smile that always followed the meeting of their eyes. She felt nothing further. For now that didn't matter. She could hallucinate intimacy and exaggerate that her girlishness reflected in the jade of his gaze.
Her smile back at him was a little sweeter for it.
"You're both cute." She considered both of them in turn for that, and picked out her most generous of eyebrow spacings.
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MurderWeasel
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"Thanks," Phillip said, unironically, because come on, a girl just called him cute, he wasn't gonna be an asshole about that. Of course, he knew there were different kinds of cute, and he knew which this was, knew damn well it was the kind of condescending cute like you called loud dogs freaking out because they were tied up outside the coffee shop but their owner was inside and their lack of object permanence meant they were now alone in the world, or like you called your slightly dim middle school cousin after the talent show because you couldn't say his solo trumpet rendition of the Star Wars theme was good with a straight face so instead you said cute.
Oh, and more than that, it was also collective cute, which was extra impersonal because if there was any vague danger of someone mistaking the type of cute it was, it could easily be brushed off onto someone not so socially-impaired. This stood in contrast to, say, the sort of cute that was like why don't you come meet me under the bleachers after class cute, but that was okay. Phillip really actually had less than no idea what he'd do with the latter type, brought to mind that old saying about the dog catching the car and so on.
He was doing what Benny said, though. He was going with the flow. He was doing the disco dance still, pointing and rolling his hips and stuff. Was rolling one's hips even a disco move? He had no idea. It didn't really matter one bit, though.
Of course they weren't isolated at Prom. Other people were trying to have their serious culmination-of-high-school-existence post-awkward-suit-fitting-pre-regrettable-fumbling-car-sex experiences here, but most of them were giving Phillip's corner a real wide berth and besides, it was dark enough to let them mostly ignore him. Good, fuck the normal people, Phillip would ignore them too. He was ignoring them. He was making his own fun, or wait, did it still count as ignoring if you were mocking someone? What if the mockery was passive, by mere fact of your existence or presence?
There was some comedy theory in there, something to break down at some later point when he could think clearly without all this sensory overload. For now, he threw in a couple pelvic thrusts and immediately felt that maybe that was, like, just a tiny step too far.
Oh, and more than that, it was also collective cute, which was extra impersonal because if there was any vague danger of someone mistaking the type of cute it was, it could easily be brushed off onto someone not so socially-impaired. This stood in contrast to, say, the sort of cute that was like why don't you come meet me under the bleachers after class cute, but that was okay. Phillip really actually had less than no idea what he'd do with the latter type, brought to mind that old saying about the dog catching the car and so on.
He was doing what Benny said, though. He was going with the flow. He was doing the disco dance still, pointing and rolling his hips and stuff. Was rolling one's hips even a disco move? He had no idea. It didn't really matter one bit, though.
Of course they weren't isolated at Prom. Other people were trying to have their serious culmination-of-high-school-existence post-awkward-suit-fitting-pre-regrettable-fumbling-car-sex experiences here, but most of them were giving Phillip's corner a real wide berth and besides, it was dark enough to let them mostly ignore him. Good, fuck the normal people, Phillip would ignore them too. He was ignoring them. He was making his own fun, or wait, did it still count as ignoring if you were mocking someone? What if the mockery was passive, by mere fact of your existence or presence?
There was some comedy theory in there, something to break down at some later point when he could think clearly without all this sensory overload. For now, he threw in a couple pelvic thrusts and immediately felt that maybe that was, like, just a tiny step too far.
"Heh, thanks," Benedict said while stroking his hand through his hair with a smirk. Benny could feel the dryness in his mouth. He had already forgotten that he wanted to take a break from dancing minutes ago. But then Phillip's dancing happened and you know the story.
"I will be right back."
He gestured a sip with his hands to signalize his intention of where he was going. With a quick last check at the two, he could see Phillip dancing again. Doing pelvic thrusts. He really wanted to intervene again, but his dry mouth and his body's exhaustion from the dancing told him to just ignore it for now and continue working on Phillip after getting a cold, icy drink.
"I will be right back."
He gestured a sip with his hands to signalize his intention of where he was going. With a quick last check at the two, he could see Phillip dancing again. Doing pelvic thrusts. He really wanted to intervene again, but his dry mouth and his body's exhaustion from the dancing told him to just ignore it for now and continue working on Phillip after getting a cold, icy drink.
All the decisiveness of her youthful spirit could not summon any majorly outward response in particular to that display. It was funny, it was a stumbling step too far. Furthermore, Camila determined she couldn't see the inherent lusty appeal in such a repetitive move. Camila smiled, coding bemused sympathy pain into the crow's crease that dragged her brows slightly down.
She gesticulated with an efficient bigness at Benny. An invisible cup to her lips.
A quick point to the stiffly dressed third wheel busily spinning in his own corner of the wide berth she gave him. Her dancing stilled for a moment, the gratuitous shock aside she picked it back up again with contrived chastity to the graceful sweeps of her shoulders. She drew a bit closer to that other boy and finally determined when she afforded it an instant of proper thought:
"Too cute."
She pushed her palms together, stared the meaning of 'settle down' through the carnival mirth of her gaze. It almost happened to look like a step in her improvised dance as she glided a semi-circle about him.
She gesticulated with an efficient bigness at Benny. An invisible cup to her lips.
A quick point to the stiffly dressed third wheel busily spinning in his own corner of the wide berth she gave him. Her dancing stilled for a moment, the gratuitous shock aside she picked it back up again with contrived chastity to the graceful sweeps of her shoulders. She drew a bit closer to that other boy and finally determined when she afforded it an instant of proper thought:
"Too cute."
She pushed her palms together, stared the meaning of 'settle down' through the carnival mirth of her gaze. It almost happened to look like a step in her improvised dance as she glided a semi-circle about him.
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MurderWeasel
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Benny slipped off, and Phillip suddenly felt pretty alone. He was making an ass of himself. Okay, that was his specialty. It wasn't bad or scary normally, it wasn't unexpected, and it wasn't something he didn't know how to recover from, so why did it rankle right now?
There it was: intent. Intent and a side of social pressure. Phillip had found a sort of kindred spirit in Benny, at least he thought, which had egged him into taking things further. He'd been looking to impress his companions, whose opinions he cared a bit more about than those of the prom-goers as a whole, and had miscalculated. No biggie, except that he'd also neglected the world around them, something brought crashing back when he was suddenly hung out to dry, alone. Damn, they'd got him good. Well played.
And of course, the girl was closer now too. And how to read her comment? "Too cute?" Patronizing, he thought, or warning. But what if genuine?
Phillip was alright being an ass, but an asshole he was not. So he pulled up short, taking the opportunity to semi-gracefully knock it off, and flashed her a smile as she circled him.
"I aim to impress," he intoned solemnly, giving a big flourish with his hand and then bowing almost double, making sure not to smash into her. As he popped back up, he returned to a sort of generic gangly groove.
"Hey," he added, tracking her movements with his gaze, "why did Dracula become a vegetarian?"
There it was: intent. Intent and a side of social pressure. Phillip had found a sort of kindred spirit in Benny, at least he thought, which had egged him into taking things further. He'd been looking to impress his companions, whose opinions he cared a bit more about than those of the prom-goers as a whole, and had miscalculated. No biggie, except that he'd also neglected the world around them, something brought crashing back when he was suddenly hung out to dry, alone. Damn, they'd got him good. Well played.
And of course, the girl was closer now too. And how to read her comment? "Too cute?" Patronizing, he thought, or warning. But what if genuine?
Phillip was alright being an ass, but an asshole he was not. So he pulled up short, taking the opportunity to semi-gracefully knock it off, and flashed her a smile as she circled him.
"I aim to impress," he intoned solemnly, giving a big flourish with his hand and then bowing almost double, making sure not to smash into her. As he popped back up, he returned to a sort of generic gangly groove.
"Hey," he added, tracking her movements with his gaze, "why did Dracula become a vegetarian?"
Good, he listened to well-intentioned advice. It made him a bit more reassuring a presence, up and over from her strictly neutral first impression.
"You certainly did," and she curtsied in response, scooping up the edges of her dress into her fists. Eyes carefully tracking the minuscule distance between them with weariness. "With your boldness more than your actual execution." She smirked, showed off both the mean bone and the funny bone in her body with what she intended to be lighthearted ribbing. He was watching her singularly now. She didn't care for it much, but she likewise did not actively abhor his attention in particular. The song's breezy jaunt invited a chaste snatching at his wrist as she sought to coordinate his knobbly joints with her own.
Fingers only gently grasping for him with little more than friendly intimacy. Her face did not immediately betray her preemptive judgement of what she assumed was a stupid joke loaded down the barrel of the boy's gullet.
"Why?" She only continued to casually grin.
"You certainly did," and she curtsied in response, scooping up the edges of her dress into her fists. Eyes carefully tracking the minuscule distance between them with weariness. "With your boldness more than your actual execution." She smirked, showed off both the mean bone and the funny bone in her body with what she intended to be lighthearted ribbing. He was watching her singularly now. She didn't care for it much, but she likewise did not actively abhor his attention in particular. The song's breezy jaunt invited a chaste snatching at his wrist as she sought to coordinate his knobbly joints with her own.
Fingers only gently grasping for him with little more than friendly intimacy. Her face did not immediately betray her preemptive judgement of what she assumed was a stupid joke loaded down the barrel of the boy's gullet.
"Why?" She only continued to casually grin.
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MurderWeasel
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Phillip let the girl sort of dance with him but made sure to keep some nice space between them. "Leave room for Jesus," that was the saying, and Phillip honestly sort of wished that Christ would manifest a little more physically right now, because he'd feel a whole lot more comfortable and like he knew what he was doing goofing around with a bearded thirty-three-year-old Middle Eastern dude than somebody else's date.
Good thing they had the joke to distract them. This was Phillip's absolute best joke for mixed company, perfect for grandmothers and cousins and edgy goth kids and all, his prime grade-A personal favorite, the thing he'd send in as his cover letter when he applied to become one of the gnomes massaging the merchandise at the Laffy Taffy factory. The best part was, he'd made it up himself. It was so incredibly obvious that he'd at first been sure he was stealing it from somewhere, but a pretty thorough search of the internet had revealed nothing, no other recorded instances anywhere, which he guessed made him a secret genius except the problem was it was so obvious and natural and good and bad all at once that absolutely nobody ever believed it was his own invention. He'd stopped even bringing that part up; it just messed with the whole rhythm of the experience.
He paused for a moment, stood stock still to allow for the appropriate dramatic weight as he solemnly intoned the answer.
"Because he was afraid of steaks."
Then he started grooving again like nothing had ever happened.
Good thing they had the joke to distract them. This was Phillip's absolute best joke for mixed company, perfect for grandmothers and cousins and edgy goth kids and all, his prime grade-A personal favorite, the thing he'd send in as his cover letter when he applied to become one of the gnomes massaging the merchandise at the Laffy Taffy factory. The best part was, he'd made it up himself. It was so incredibly obvious that he'd at first been sure he was stealing it from somewhere, but a pretty thorough search of the internet had revealed nothing, no other recorded instances anywhere, which he guessed made him a secret genius except the problem was it was so obvious and natural and good and bad all at once that absolutely nobody ever believed it was his own invention. He'd stopped even bringing that part up; it just messed with the whole rhythm of the experience.
He paused for a moment, stood stock still to allow for the appropriate dramatic weight as he solemnly intoned the answer.
"Because he was afraid of steaks."
Then he started grooving again like nothing had ever happened.