All right, showtime! Someone approached Kyle, so it was time to Start the next phase of volunteering: singing people in. Ned had always seemed like a pretty nice guy, so Kyle wasn't really surprised to see him show up to donate. He had his donor card too, so he really came prepared. It didn't take much time for Ned to sign in either, so it was good to see that he was all ready to go. Man, with how fast he was going, Kyle had to wonder how many times he had done this before.
"Morning, Ned." He responded cheerfully. "I don't know why everyone's rushing in here, but it's a good thing, right? A lot of people coming in to help. I like that."
He took the sign-in sheet back from Ned and looked it over. Yep, there was Ned's name, not a fake name or anything. Everything was still going along swimmingly. He pointed his pen over his shoulder towards the donation area.
"The doctors are over there to take your donation. Just wait for them to let you in and follow their instructions, okay? You'll be in and out before you know it."
Venipuncture
GHHS Blood Drive, Early Spring. Open!
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Ah, cool. Finally.
Though he could generally tell that the people running this event had put together a shit-show, it looked like Claude over there had woken up to the fact he was alive and was doing his job. It wasn't like the two of them were buddies or anything, but Claude seemed like a good enough dude to Wyatt: he went to church (not the same church as Wyatt but at least he was worshiping God and not Mohammed or whatever), ran like a fucking Kenyan in PE class to the point where Wyatt wished he was on the team, and just behaved like a respectable human being. Now, he wasn't racist, but Wyatt noticed a tendency among black kids to walk around with their pants around their knees acting like retarded gangsters. Once you got past the dreads though, you'd see Claude was a pretty alright dude.
Tucking his card back into his hand, Wyatt strode out of the line and toward the table where Claude was now waiting for him, proud as a damn peacock that somebody had recognized he was in a hurry and had reacted accordingly. On the way, he couldn't help but notice Lavender's gesture, and her statement to Goo-Goo Dolls or however-the-fuck-you-say-it. With plenty of room to spare, the boy pivoted and leaned over Lavender's shoulder to see just where she was pointing, not even making the barest of attempts to hide his efforts. His only reaction then and there was to smirk, pop a quick snort through his nose, and shake his head before heading the rest of the way over to Claude.
Wyatt slapped his donor card down on the table's end and prepared for a quick and painless progression to the next step. But of course, nothing today could be quick and painless, and when Claude gave his obviously practiced spiel the meatball of a young man scowled.
"Pre-registration what? What forms?" Wyatt asked incredulously. "That ain't how it fuckin' work last time! I made an appointment, you should be able to see that in the book man!" He pushed his card forward and leaned over the table, if only because that made the surface that much easier to read. They made this shit for midgets, he swore... "Can't you just check my name on a list and see that I'm there? I wasn't aware I had to bring any fuckin' forms in."
He rolled one shoulder and continued. "This better not cause a problem with me donating. It's pretty fucking ridiculous if I can't donate because of a mystery pre-reg thing, but you're gonna take the girl with fucking AIDS over here!" he said at a dull roar, thumbing over his shoulder in Lavender's general direction.
Though he could generally tell that the people running this event had put together a shit-show, it looked like Claude over there had woken up to the fact he was alive and was doing his job. It wasn't like the two of them were buddies or anything, but Claude seemed like a good enough dude to Wyatt: he went to church (not the same church as Wyatt but at least he was worshiping God and not Mohammed or whatever), ran like a fucking Kenyan in PE class to the point where Wyatt wished he was on the team, and just behaved like a respectable human being. Now, he wasn't racist, but Wyatt noticed a tendency among black kids to walk around with their pants around their knees acting like retarded gangsters. Once you got past the dreads though, you'd see Claude was a pretty alright dude.
Tucking his card back into his hand, Wyatt strode out of the line and toward the table where Claude was now waiting for him, proud as a damn peacock that somebody had recognized he was in a hurry and had reacted accordingly. On the way, he couldn't help but notice Lavender's gesture, and her statement to Goo-Goo Dolls or however-the-fuck-you-say-it. With plenty of room to spare, the boy pivoted and leaned over Lavender's shoulder to see just where she was pointing, not even making the barest of attempts to hide his efforts. His only reaction then and there was to smirk, pop a quick snort through his nose, and shake his head before heading the rest of the way over to Claude.
Wyatt slapped his donor card down on the table's end and prepared for a quick and painless progression to the next step. But of course, nothing today could be quick and painless, and when Claude gave his obviously practiced spiel the meatball of a young man scowled.
"Pre-registration what? What forms?" Wyatt asked incredulously. "That ain't how it fuckin' work last time! I made an appointment, you should be able to see that in the book man!" He pushed his card forward and leaned over the table, if only because that made the surface that much easier to read. They made this shit for midgets, he swore... "Can't you just check my name on a list and see that I'm there? I wasn't aware I had to bring any fuckin' forms in."
He rolled one shoulder and continued. "This better not cause a problem with me donating. It's pretty fucking ridiculous if I can't donate because of a mystery pre-reg thing, but you're gonna take the girl with fucking AIDS over here!" he said at a dull roar, thumbing over his shoulder in Lavender's general direction.
Gyu-ri was in part capable of smiling back, though it was a smile more weighed down and tired than most. Her eyes flickered about like the skittering buzz of a flea, it found the captivating distracting pits of the warm liquid brown of Lavender's eyes, it found that ever present geometrically malformed pile of mats still hovering like a particularly malignant ghost in one corner of Gyu-ri's vision. It still ached from the specter of sensations's worth of her own decaying eye health which may or may not have been real but felt viscerally real regardless.
On her right flank Kyle and Claudeson proceeded, processing Ned and Wyatt respectively, and Gyu-ri heard both other conversations in real time. She imagined three series of forms being filled out in parallel, her mind's eye perfect to the last gratuitous detail. Temporally Ned was ahead of a more meticulous Lavender was ahead of Wyatt, and the final detail in the chain that was not implied but was explicitly confirmed by wasting of the glucose stores of her body was that, yes, Wyatt was also temporally behind Ned, it was not a crucial detail for understanding of the situation by any means but it was a detail Gyu-ri fixated onto regardless.
Concurrent, of course, with fixating on the sketching of Lavender's eyes and pen and fingers and arms and shoulders all updated in hyper-realistic real time, moment following moment following moment thereafter.
The cascade of the arrest of Lavender's bureaucratic momentum was almost an afterimage of the various details that preceded it. Lavender's pen hovered, her finger microscopically trembled and the slight quake was magnified into a nearly audible rumble by Gyu-ri's various cross-wired sensory inputs.
Gyu-ri's finger swooped, rested on the paper as it was reoriented at her, to stall it at the perfectly symmetrical distance between the both of them that she effortlessly calculated off innumerable subconscious processes.
She passed no judgement and thought no further thought, within that immediate moment she produced the portion of the volunteer's handbook extra she'd memorized with assertive stubbornness. She said, merely:
"Unfortunately that disqualifies you for a period of a year following the latest sexual encounter with an M2M practitioner." She shook her head briefly, then inclined it at a scant angle in her best attempt at respect which was fairly inadequate. "My apologies, but per the law I'll have to ask you to kindly come back after the acceptable time frame has elapsed."
Her admission had come under duress, as she tried to concurrently process Wyatt's aggravation at Claudeson that was technically very relevant, if formlessly irreverent and inappropriate. His meaty thumb and his penetrating voice were directed into a sphere of influence that annihilated Gyu-ri's own by gravitational forces. Feeling a sudden vein constriction in her forehead, and the migraine within one to two hours that burning sensation implied, Gyu-ri mumbled to herself:
"Shut the fuck up, Wyatt."
She modulated the volume reasonably well, at least. Gyu-ri bounced on with the cadence of her stoic hiss of a voice.
"Sorry, Lavender. Obviously not intended for you." She efficiently gestured for the pen with two fingers scooping into her free palm. "If you want me to refer you to a supervisor I will."
On her right flank Kyle and Claudeson proceeded, processing Ned and Wyatt respectively, and Gyu-ri heard both other conversations in real time. She imagined three series of forms being filled out in parallel, her mind's eye perfect to the last gratuitous detail. Temporally Ned was ahead of a more meticulous Lavender was ahead of Wyatt, and the final detail in the chain that was not implied but was explicitly confirmed by wasting of the glucose stores of her body was that, yes, Wyatt was also temporally behind Ned, it was not a crucial detail for understanding of the situation by any means but it was a detail Gyu-ri fixated onto regardless.
Concurrent, of course, with fixating on the sketching of Lavender's eyes and pen and fingers and arms and shoulders all updated in hyper-realistic real time, moment following moment following moment thereafter.
The cascade of the arrest of Lavender's bureaucratic momentum was almost an afterimage of the various details that preceded it. Lavender's pen hovered, her finger microscopically trembled and the slight quake was magnified into a nearly audible rumble by Gyu-ri's various cross-wired sensory inputs.
Gyu-ri's finger swooped, rested on the paper as it was reoriented at her, to stall it at the perfectly symmetrical distance between the both of them that she effortlessly calculated off innumerable subconscious processes.
She passed no judgement and thought no further thought, within that immediate moment she produced the portion of the volunteer's handbook extra she'd memorized with assertive stubbornness. She said, merely:
"Unfortunately that disqualifies you for a period of a year following the latest sexual encounter with an M2M practitioner." She shook her head briefly, then inclined it at a scant angle in her best attempt at respect which was fairly inadequate. "My apologies, but per the law I'll have to ask you to kindly come back after the acceptable time frame has elapsed."
Her admission had come under duress, as she tried to concurrently process Wyatt's aggravation at Claudeson that was technically very relevant, if formlessly irreverent and inappropriate. His meaty thumb and his penetrating voice were directed into a sphere of influence that annihilated Gyu-ri's own by gravitational forces. Feeling a sudden vein constriction in her forehead, and the migraine within one to two hours that burning sensation implied, Gyu-ri mumbled to herself:
"Shut the fuck up, Wyatt."
She modulated the volume reasonably well, at least. Gyu-ri bounced on with the cadence of her stoic hiss of a voice.
"Sorry, Lavender. Obviously not intended for you." She efficiently gestured for the pen with two fingers scooping into her free palm. "If you want me to refer you to a supervisor I will."
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
"I suppose so," Ned answered Kyle, "To be honest, my mom talked me into this. I would not be here otherwise. But yeah, atleast it's for a good cause."
Kyle pointed Ned to the donation area when... Uh oh. Looks like Wyatt's going on one of legendary tantrums. Also, he was dragging Lavender through the dirt. Ned didn't know Lavender well, but he was pretty sure she didn't have AIDS. Ned had half a mind to call Wyatt out for being a jerk, but then again, he'd probably end up causing more trouble. Wyatt most definitely wasn't going to take kindly to Ned telling him to pipe down.
But what of poor Claudeson, who was just trying to do his job. And for Lavender, who was trying to do her part and give her blood to those who needed it. No one deserved Wyatt's complaining and criticism. Best scenario, Claudeson could handle things and get Wyatt through registration without any delays or problems. As for Lavender, Ned gestured towards her and brought his hand near his mouth so Wyatt couldn't see his lips.
Ned mouthed to Lavender, "Don't let him get to you."
Ned waved to Kyle and made his way to the doctors.
Kyle pointed Ned to the donation area when... Uh oh. Looks like Wyatt's going on one of legendary tantrums. Also, he was dragging Lavender through the dirt. Ned didn't know Lavender well, but he was pretty sure she didn't have AIDS. Ned had half a mind to call Wyatt out for being a jerk, but then again, he'd probably end up causing more trouble. Wyatt most definitely wasn't going to take kindly to Ned telling him to pipe down.
But what of poor Claudeson, who was just trying to do his job. And for Lavender, who was trying to do her part and give her blood to those who needed it. No one deserved Wyatt's complaining and criticism. Best scenario, Claudeson could handle things and get Wyatt through registration without any delays or problems. As for Lavender, Ned gestured towards her and brought his hand near his mouth so Wyatt couldn't see his lips.
Ned mouthed to Lavender, "Don't let him get to you."
Ned waved to Kyle and made his way to the doctors.
B018: Ned Jackson- 
G039: Yuki Hayashibara- 
B034: Zachary Beck- -
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Gyu-ri seemed just a little bit caught off guard; her direct vocalization of what Lavender had revealed was evidence of that. It was kind of refreshing, honestly. Many of Lavender's classmates and a number of the school officials tiptoed around her on thorny issues like this, and she was self-aware enough to realize that it was because her father's reputation might as well have been a giant glowing sign floating over her head reading "Lawsuit." In fact, there was a decent case to be made that everyone here had just screwed up really, really badly—Wyatt's unsubtle quip was pretty good evidence that Lavender's medical information wasn't going to stay confidential. In any other situation, she might've started assessing, figuring angles and considering whether this would be worth lodging an official complaint and pushing things through to their inevitable end.
Today, though, none of that was necessary. This was what Lavender had wanted. It was why she was here in the first place, calling attention to herself and talking directly about what many of her classmates would only whisper to friends. She'd cast her line and her goal at present wasn't to punish others for swallowing the bait.
"I don't think we need a supervisor," Lavender said, giving a little smile, just the corners of her lips lifting. "Rules are rules."
She didn't move, though. Gyu-ri had mumbled about Wyatt, Ned had mouthed encouragement to her, and she appreciated both of those things, though anything regarding her not-so-favored footballer was just a bonus, and not even a major one. Everyone knew who and what Wyatt was. He tried to spin being an asshole as bravery, and it certainly got him talked about, but the only people fooled were those who actively wanted to be. He was nothing, unimportant, a minor side note to the real injustice being addressed. A supervisor would be similarly pointless. What Lavender wanted was for her classmates to listen, to think, to put a face to what might otherwise seem impossibly abstract.
"It's also a year for syphilis," Lavender commented, like she just happened to have noticed that fact, though it wasn't spelled out as such on the sheet she'd been looking at. "Sleep with a man who sleeps with a man, and you're out for as long as if you actually have syphilis, no matter what. That seems silly, don't you think?"
She leaned forward a little, searching for Gyu-ri's eyes with her own. There was some real indignation here, though she kept it in check; it wasn't Gyu-ri's fault. Lavender had been nursing this for a while, though. She'd learned that she'd be ineligible to donate incidentally, and not too long after the events that had rendered her such. The factor in both cases had been Nick, Nick Ogilvie, classmate, open bisexual, and illusionist (not magician) extraordinaire. What had happened between them wasn't common for Lavender, but it had been far from unpleasant. Some months ago, they'd both found themselves between relationships, and had crossed paths at parties a couple weekends running, and she'd stumbled into a mutually-pleasurable arrangement. Nick was funny and charming and smart and attractive, compatible on the points most important to her, had a very sexy accent, and after a few weeks, when the time came for what had been happening to stop, it was amicable all around. She still liked him—not liked-him liked him, but appreciated and admired him, and if someday their respective situations developed in such a way that a rerun of their... whatever it had been was in the cards, she'd keep her options open. And of course, if that ever happened, that would be another year of not giving blood or of lying about it.
"I mean," she said, "a lot of people could really use the help. I'm clean, I've been tested. But you have to turn me away, because the rules say so. That's not your fault, but it makes me wonder why the rules are what they are."
Today, though, none of that was necessary. This was what Lavender had wanted. It was why she was here in the first place, calling attention to herself and talking directly about what many of her classmates would only whisper to friends. She'd cast her line and her goal at present wasn't to punish others for swallowing the bait.
"I don't think we need a supervisor," Lavender said, giving a little smile, just the corners of her lips lifting. "Rules are rules."
She didn't move, though. Gyu-ri had mumbled about Wyatt, Ned had mouthed encouragement to her, and she appreciated both of those things, though anything regarding her not-so-favored footballer was just a bonus, and not even a major one. Everyone knew who and what Wyatt was. He tried to spin being an asshole as bravery, and it certainly got him talked about, but the only people fooled were those who actively wanted to be. He was nothing, unimportant, a minor side note to the real injustice being addressed. A supervisor would be similarly pointless. What Lavender wanted was for her classmates to listen, to think, to put a face to what might otherwise seem impossibly abstract.
"It's also a year for syphilis," Lavender commented, like she just happened to have noticed that fact, though it wasn't spelled out as such on the sheet she'd been looking at. "Sleep with a man who sleeps with a man, and you're out for as long as if you actually have syphilis, no matter what. That seems silly, don't you think?"
She leaned forward a little, searching for Gyu-ri's eyes with her own. There was some real indignation here, though she kept it in check; it wasn't Gyu-ri's fault. Lavender had been nursing this for a while, though. She'd learned that she'd be ineligible to donate incidentally, and not too long after the events that had rendered her such. The factor in both cases had been Nick, Nick Ogilvie, classmate, open bisexual, and illusionist (not magician) extraordinaire. What had happened between them wasn't common for Lavender, but it had been far from unpleasant. Some months ago, they'd both found themselves between relationships, and had crossed paths at parties a couple weekends running, and she'd stumbled into a mutually-pleasurable arrangement. Nick was funny and charming and smart and attractive, compatible on the points most important to her, had a very sexy accent, and after a few weeks, when the time came for what had been happening to stop, it was amicable all around. She still liked him—not liked-him liked him, but appreciated and admired him, and if someday their respective situations developed in such a way that a rerun of their... whatever it had been was in the cards, she'd keep her options open. And of course, if that ever happened, that would be another year of not giving blood or of lying about it.
"I mean," she said, "a lot of people could really use the help. I'm clean, I've been tested. But you have to turn me away, because the rules say so. That's not your fault, but it makes me wonder why the rules are what they are."
Avatar art by the lovely and inimitable Kotorikun
While not a Catholic, Claudeson was a keen admirer of the Catholic philosophy of the seven heavenly virtues. To remain measured and virtuous in the face of adversity was an honourable pursuit, and of all seven virtues, patience was the one that he felt that he had down to a fine science. Dealing with an individual like Wyatt Carter required an abundance of it, and this encounter was proving to be no different. He'd expected the large footballer to be a tad confrontational, so Claude was taken aback when he'd become almost... whiney. Big linebacker Wyatt had a lot of adjectives used to describe him around the student body, but even behind his back, he couldn't recall anyone calling him a whiner. He continued his measured smile, but a hint of amusement snuck upon his face as he turned the clipboard around and scanned through it, holding up a hand to reassure the large boy.
"No, no, I'm sorry Wyatt. You're not the first person to run into this problem. The website didn't use the same language as they've given us to use." He flipped the page on the clipboard and pointed to his name, which was not highlighted, meaning that contrary to the impression most people had of the brusque Carter boy, he had filled the forms out accurately and correctly. Big Wyatt could use a computer after all. He would imagine that people might be shocked at that.
At Wyatt's crude exclamation regarding Lavender and her potential for AIDS, Claude's practiced smile fell a little bit. Homosexuality was a tough issue for Claude. While his particular church was welcoming of the LGBTQ community (likely due to the fairly large populace in the area), the church and village that his parents had come from in Nigeria was disapproving of same-sex marriages. Claude's mother kept an open mind and was very accepting - he would have expected no less from such a powerful woman, but he knew that his father was still privately disdainful of homosexuality. It caused more than a few impassionated debates, all of which his mother won. As far as Claude himself went, he found his own beliefs going more along with his mother's, though sympathetic to the arguments of his father.
Of course, he still found himself with more of a 'twenty-first century' outlook on the matter. If someone was willing to devote themselves to God, what did it matter what they did in the bedroom? If a man or a woman were pure of heart and righteous in all of the right ways, shouldn't they be able to find love, no matter how they felt? Claude believed that He set challenges out for all of His children, and if navigating through the murky waters of acceptance of same-sex couples, of transgender children, of gender as an abnormal concept was their challenge, who was Claude to question that? Who was he to question His choice? Part of being a righteous man was to support those who needed help, and Claude firmly believed that he wouldn't preclude supporting someone just because they enjoyed the company of their own sex more than he might.
The act itself was vile, and an abomination, and it made him sick to his stomach. Two men engaged in sexual intercourse was a thought that made him queasy. A male face, a beard with lips wrapped around... it was lewd. Perhaps they would be better off having been wiped from the Earth. Perhaps his mother was wrong.
He shook his head and purged the gnawing voice from his mind. There were his father's thoughts creeping in again. No, that wasn't him. That wasn't the way that he thought about it. What two consenting adults (or teenagers, he supposed) did in the privacy of their own bedroom was their own business. As he'd thought before, if He had set that before them as a challenge, then Claude was unqualified to be the judge. Besides, he LGBTQ community as a whole had always been very kind to him and his family, and many members of his mother's congregation were joyous, pure-hearted folks that he genuinely enjoyed discoursing with in church.
Claude looked up at Wyatt, the smile still there but a slightly pained expression on his face.
"I'm sure that none of the other students are suffering from such a debilitating illness, Wyatt. Besides, those records are all confidential, and it's really none of our concern." He was in defusal mode now; he saw the situation escalating as Gyu-Ri muttered an expletive at Wyatt.
"Why don't I set you up with the doctors over there, since you've obviously done everything, perfectly." Flattery was sometimes the best way to draw someone's attention away from others.
Claude looked back at the row of phlebotomists working with a few students. All of the chairs were full, but it looked like one was about to open up. Excellent. A few minutes more, and Claude could send this waste of human flesh off to donate. He blinked to himself. That was rude - Wyatt was just in a rush, Claude could understand that. No need to be rude. Wyatt wasn't all that bad of a guy.
Maybe a bit of a whiner, though.
He turned back with a smile.
"No, no, I'm sorry Wyatt. You're not the first person to run into this problem. The website didn't use the same language as they've given us to use." He flipped the page on the clipboard and pointed to his name, which was not highlighted, meaning that contrary to the impression most people had of the brusque Carter boy, he had filled the forms out accurately and correctly. Big Wyatt could use a computer after all. He would imagine that people might be shocked at that.
At Wyatt's crude exclamation regarding Lavender and her potential for AIDS, Claude's practiced smile fell a little bit. Homosexuality was a tough issue for Claude. While his particular church was welcoming of the LGBTQ community (likely due to the fairly large populace in the area), the church and village that his parents had come from in Nigeria was disapproving of same-sex marriages. Claude's mother kept an open mind and was very accepting - he would have expected no less from such a powerful woman, but he knew that his father was still privately disdainful of homosexuality. It caused more than a few impassionated debates, all of which his mother won. As far as Claude himself went, he found his own beliefs going more along with his mother's, though sympathetic to the arguments of his father.
Of course, he still found himself with more of a 'twenty-first century' outlook on the matter. If someone was willing to devote themselves to God, what did it matter what they did in the bedroom? If a man or a woman were pure of heart and righteous in all of the right ways, shouldn't they be able to find love, no matter how they felt? Claude believed that He set challenges out for all of His children, and if navigating through the murky waters of acceptance of same-sex couples, of transgender children, of gender as an abnormal concept was their challenge, who was Claude to question that? Who was he to question His choice? Part of being a righteous man was to support those who needed help, and Claude firmly believed that he wouldn't preclude supporting someone just because they enjoyed the company of their own sex more than he might.
The act itself was vile, and an abomination, and it made him sick to his stomach. Two men engaged in sexual intercourse was a thought that made him queasy. A male face, a beard with lips wrapped around... it was lewd. Perhaps they would be better off having been wiped from the Earth. Perhaps his mother was wrong.
He shook his head and purged the gnawing voice from his mind. There were his father's thoughts creeping in again. No, that wasn't him. That wasn't the way that he thought about it. What two consenting adults (or teenagers, he supposed) did in the privacy of their own bedroom was their own business. As he'd thought before, if He had set that before them as a challenge, then Claude was unqualified to be the judge. Besides, he LGBTQ community as a whole had always been very kind to him and his family, and many members of his mother's congregation were joyous, pure-hearted folks that he genuinely enjoyed discoursing with in church.
Claude looked up at Wyatt, the smile still there but a slightly pained expression on his face.
"I'm sure that none of the other students are suffering from such a debilitating illness, Wyatt. Besides, those records are all confidential, and it's really none of our concern." He was in defusal mode now; he saw the situation escalating as Gyu-Ri muttered an expletive at Wyatt.
"Why don't I set you up with the doctors over there, since you've obviously done everything, perfectly." Flattery was sometimes the best way to draw someone's attention away from others.
Claude looked back at the row of phlebotomists working with a few students. All of the chairs were full, but it looked like one was about to open up. Excellent. A few minutes more, and Claude could send this waste of human flesh off to donate. He blinked to himself. That was rude - Wyatt was just in a rush, Claude could understand that. No need to be rude. Wyatt wasn't all that bad of a guy.
Maybe a bit of a whiner, though.
He turned back with a smile.
Oh. Oh dear.
Wyatt's unfriendly outburst caused Kyle to drop his smile due to the sheer discomfort that he created. True, Wyatt had something of a reputation for being very loud and opinionated, so this sort of thing wasn't really unexpected from him. It's just that Kyle had expected everyone to respect the sanctity of the blood drive, so for such a crude rant to happen on the floor was a bit shocking to him. Right in front of the reception tables, no less! What must the doctors be thinking of them right now for such a scene to unfold?
Kyle tried to see both sides of an argument. He considered it an important skill. However, he had a hard time reconciling with the view of someone who was as, for lack of a more polite term, loud and narrow-minded as Wyatt. True, the two of them didn't hang around the same circles most of the time, and Kyle wasn't one to pass judgment too soon most of the time. However, the things he had heard and seen from Wyatt as well as secondhand stories painted what looked like a pretty clear picture to him, and that picture consisted of a hot temper and a mouth with a penchant for incendiary remarks. In other words, not the kind of environment that he would want for himself.
But for the time being, he had to put up with it. On the bright side, at least Wyatt wasn't yelling at him. He was being loud enough to distract him from his duties, which actually wasn't very good either. At least he was still giving blood. No matter how he went about it, that was still a good deed, and Kyle could appreciate that. Because in the end, charity was charity, and if the end result was going to help people, then it was a positive no mater how you spin it.
Even so, it sure would be nice if he could be a little less, well... Kyle didn't have a nicer term for "obnoxious" in mind at the moment.
He tapped his fingers on the desk and continued waiting. Distractions or no, he still had a duty to fulfill.
Wyatt's unfriendly outburst caused Kyle to drop his smile due to the sheer discomfort that he created. True, Wyatt had something of a reputation for being very loud and opinionated, so this sort of thing wasn't really unexpected from him. It's just that Kyle had expected everyone to respect the sanctity of the blood drive, so for such a crude rant to happen on the floor was a bit shocking to him. Right in front of the reception tables, no less! What must the doctors be thinking of them right now for such a scene to unfold?
Kyle tried to see both sides of an argument. He considered it an important skill. However, he had a hard time reconciling with the view of someone who was as, for lack of a more polite term, loud and narrow-minded as Wyatt. True, the two of them didn't hang around the same circles most of the time, and Kyle wasn't one to pass judgment too soon most of the time. However, the things he had heard and seen from Wyatt as well as secondhand stories painted what looked like a pretty clear picture to him, and that picture consisted of a hot temper and a mouth with a penchant for incendiary remarks. In other words, not the kind of environment that he would want for himself.
But for the time being, he had to put up with it. On the bright side, at least Wyatt wasn't yelling at him. He was being loud enough to distract him from his duties, which actually wasn't very good either. At least he was still giving blood. No matter how he went about it, that was still a good deed, and Kyle could appreciate that. Because in the end, charity was charity, and if the end result was going to help people, then it was a positive no mater how you spin it.
Even so, it sure would be nice if he could be a little less, well... Kyle didn't have a nicer term for "obnoxious" in mind at the moment.
He tapped his fingers on the desk and continued waiting. Distractions or no, he still had a duty to fulfill.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"Heeeeeey, look at that, somebody around here knows what the hell they're doing," Wyatt said in an expression of satisfaction. If there was a worthwhile lesson to take away from watching his mom and dad deal with issues of customer service, it's that the squeaky wheel got the grease. If you kept your mouth shut, then you didn't get what you wanted. Now, giving somebody shit just for doing their job obviously wasn't cool; Wyatt's father was sure to beat that one into both his skull and his brother's. Such a situation didn't exactly include those who didn't know how to do the job properly, or those who simply sucked at working.
How fortunate for Claude, then, that he only fit this description temporarily. Could have been a brain fart, or maybe he was sticking to some crusty old formality and just needed a nudge closer to common sense, and Wyatt didn't care which case it happened to be. Point was, just like he had insisted, he was on that list and had been noted as such. Now they could all get this show on the road and put it all behind them.
Claude didn't seem like one to quit while he was ahead, though, prompting Wyatt to push off of the table and straighten to his full height, taking back his card as he prepared to leave. "That bit about it being none of your concern though, that's bullshit. You guys should know a dirty donor when you see it. That's why you ask those questions in the first place, ain't it?" He turned and took one step past the table.
One more thing. One tiny little thing that didn't seem right with that last sentence of Claude's, a little bit of his tone and his word choice that itched at the back of Wyatt's neck. Fucker better not have been trying to get all cocky about that 'perfect' thing.
"Claude my man, you got something..." Wyatt rubbed the tip of his nose. "Right here." That was all he had to say before marching on toward the joy of the world's worst mosquito bite.
((Wyatt Carter, continued elsewhere))
How fortunate for Claude, then, that he only fit this description temporarily. Could have been a brain fart, or maybe he was sticking to some crusty old formality and just needed a nudge closer to common sense, and Wyatt didn't care which case it happened to be. Point was, just like he had insisted, he was on that list and had been noted as such. Now they could all get this show on the road and put it all behind them.
Claude didn't seem like one to quit while he was ahead, though, prompting Wyatt to push off of the table and straighten to his full height, taking back his card as he prepared to leave. "That bit about it being none of your concern though, that's bullshit. You guys should know a dirty donor when you see it. That's why you ask those questions in the first place, ain't it?" He turned and took one step past the table.
One more thing. One tiny little thing that didn't seem right with that last sentence of Claude's, a little bit of his tone and his word choice that itched at the back of Wyatt's neck. Fucker better not have been trying to get all cocky about that 'perfect' thing.
"Claude my man, you got something..." Wyatt rubbed the tip of his nose. "Right here." That was all he had to say before marching on toward the joy of the world's worst mosquito bite.
((Wyatt Carter, continued elsewhere))
Gyu-ri passively contemplated Lavender. Otherwise she had the active range of her senses, specifically the multitude of vibrations of sound- some days like this she swore she could feel the rippling rarefaction of the air itself- falling into the cup of her ears. She could hear Claudeson continuing to speak at Wyatt, and specifically in her case her options were muddled: Claudeson was the supervisor in question, and she certainly wasn't going to even consider interrupting him without likewise considering the innumerable ways doing that would be arbitrarily social suicide.
'Don't let him get to you.'
Though annoyingly out of rhythm of the cadence of information that Gyu-ri was trying to sort through, she could at least appreciate Ned's genuine effort. Sort of. She'd never liked his voice much and trying to absorb it as a soundbyte threatened (further) constriction of the veins in her temples.
Still, it was a competing distraction and Gyu-ri failed to promptly forget it.
Gyu-ri's eyes were easy enough to find, though the girl wore her bangs forward they were soft and short enough to tease the full shape of her significantly tired and worn, dark-circle kissed gaze. Gyu-ri certainly didn't bother to hide it, she was searchingly attentive like a puppy, to a fault.
Lavender brought up points and insinuations- Gyu-ri believed, she wasn't of course sure but she was paranoid enough to assume- that seemed rather risky. As in, alarms in Gyu-ri's head were going off louder than they usually went off. It struck her as petty and vain to try and question the rules to the face of someone specifically there to enforce them, rules were rules for a reason. Still, Gyu-ri owed an answer.
"There's a-.." Abruptly ended false start, as Gyu-ri's mind was slightly disoriented and scrambled. The thread of her wording evaporated into nothing before she'd fully fed it into the sewing needle of her speech, as the metaphor went. Non-catastrophic failure, but Gyu-ri suffered what felt like a brief heart palpitations nevertheless. She hated this particular breed of lightheadedness, it rose like a plume from the rear of her neck into the dome of her skull, and made her feel like tipping forward. At least she kept her posture rigid. Overly so, probably.
"What I mean is. As we've been instructed, I believe the chances of a false negative are too unacceptably high even if the test confirms you are clean-" and she hastily stabbed a needle of doubt into her own bloated sentence, "though I cannot be sure, my apologies. I think that is the case, however."
Gyu-ri did want to look for Claudeson when he was right there next to her, but Lavender had explicitly said 'she didn't think a supervisor was necessary' and that created a conflict, a line to toe that Gyu-ri was a bit frazzled suddenly by. She did glance in that direction, but at a Kyle patiently drumming at the desk, the sound audible in her head and stickily so in an off-beat triplet that was overly loud. In order she wanted to clamp a silencing hand over the offending noise, then ask Kyle for help, but that of course was not how things worked and Gyu-ri was at least ostensibly less out-of-control than that most of the time.
No, she couldn't interrupt either of her close desk mates there and then. She quickly returned her neutral gaze to Lavender and hoped for nothing in particular, hoping was a waste of time.
'Don't let him get to you.'
Though annoyingly out of rhythm of the cadence of information that Gyu-ri was trying to sort through, she could at least appreciate Ned's genuine effort. Sort of. She'd never liked his voice much and trying to absorb it as a soundbyte threatened (further) constriction of the veins in her temples.
Still, it was a competing distraction and Gyu-ri failed to promptly forget it.
Gyu-ri's eyes were easy enough to find, though the girl wore her bangs forward they were soft and short enough to tease the full shape of her significantly tired and worn, dark-circle kissed gaze. Gyu-ri certainly didn't bother to hide it, she was searchingly attentive like a puppy, to a fault.
Lavender brought up points and insinuations- Gyu-ri believed, she wasn't of course sure but she was paranoid enough to assume- that seemed rather risky. As in, alarms in Gyu-ri's head were going off louder than they usually went off. It struck her as petty and vain to try and question the rules to the face of someone specifically there to enforce them, rules were rules for a reason. Still, Gyu-ri owed an answer.
"There's a-.." Abruptly ended false start, as Gyu-ri's mind was slightly disoriented and scrambled. The thread of her wording evaporated into nothing before she'd fully fed it into the sewing needle of her speech, as the metaphor went. Non-catastrophic failure, but Gyu-ri suffered what felt like a brief heart palpitations nevertheless. She hated this particular breed of lightheadedness, it rose like a plume from the rear of her neck into the dome of her skull, and made her feel like tipping forward. At least she kept her posture rigid. Overly so, probably.
"What I mean is. As we've been instructed, I believe the chances of a false negative are too unacceptably high even if the test confirms you are clean-" and she hastily stabbed a needle of doubt into her own bloated sentence, "though I cannot be sure, my apologies. I think that is the case, however."
Gyu-ri did want to look for Claudeson when he was right there next to her, but Lavender had explicitly said 'she didn't think a supervisor was necessary' and that created a conflict, a line to toe that Gyu-ri was a bit frazzled suddenly by. She did glance in that direction, but at a Kyle patiently drumming at the desk, the sound audible in her head and stickily so in an off-beat triplet that was overly loud. In order she wanted to clamp a silencing hand over the offending noise, then ask Kyle for help, but that of course was not how things worked and Gyu-ri was at least ostensibly less out-of-control than that most of the time.
No, she couldn't interrupt either of her close desk mates there and then. She quickly returned her neutral gaze to Lavender and hoped for nothing in particular, hoping was a waste of time.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
((Skipping post order to depart, have things to be do, sorry y'all))
Claudeson felt his cheeks flush in annoyance as Wyatt sauntered away with one last cutting remark, leaving him standing in front of a newly vacant space across the table from him. Shutting his eyes, he sighed, letting the heat of the confrontation pass him by. In circumstances like this, he did what he always did - the calming words of the Serenity Prayer coming to mind. Wyatt Carter was a vile human being, known mostly for his brash attitude and unpleasant nature that he camouflaged behind a veneer of being a star football player. People liked him because he helped their team win.
They didn't like him for the person that he was. Claude accepted that a person like Wyatt Carter would never change his attitude, and there was no single person in the world who could possibly change it for him. He was doomed, forever an ingrate, and the knowledge relaxed Claude a little as he stood, thumb pressing in to the clipboard. That was really it, he possessed the wisdom to know that Wyatt would never change who he was, and for whatever successes or failures befell him, at heart he would always be the same brash, insecure pile of flesh that he had been throughout four years of high school. The insecurity was assumed, though someone did not pack that many muscles upon their frame and speak with such reprehensible language were they not trying to cover something up.
Claudeson pitied him.
Judgement would come for them all - or so his faith had taught him - and when that day came for Wyatt Carter, Claudeson couldn't imagine that justice would be anything but swift, painful, and eternal.
Something deep within him enjoyed that thought, and he allowed himself a solitary moment to revel in it, before casting himself back up towards the light within his heart. Opening his eyes, he felt more relaxed, though the feeling resonated slightly, gnawing ever-so-briefly at the pit of his stomach. Looking up at the line that had formed and the uncertain students who were obviously trying to figure out if he were open for business, Claude once again opened his mouth in a big smile, and beckoned to the next student in line.
"Come on, come on. Don't be shy. Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"
The next nameless, faceless student stepped up to the desk and started to flip through the clipboard on the table, identification at the ready. That felt much better.
Service always did.
((Claudeson Bademosi; while still here to deal with the line, is heading to Aegis Commission))
Claudeson felt his cheeks flush in annoyance as Wyatt sauntered away with one last cutting remark, leaving him standing in front of a newly vacant space across the table from him. Shutting his eyes, he sighed, letting the heat of the confrontation pass him by. In circumstances like this, he did what he always did - the calming words of the Serenity Prayer coming to mind. Wyatt Carter was a vile human being, known mostly for his brash attitude and unpleasant nature that he camouflaged behind a veneer of being a star football player. People liked him because he helped their team win.
They didn't like him for the person that he was. Claude accepted that a person like Wyatt Carter would never change his attitude, and there was no single person in the world who could possibly change it for him. He was doomed, forever an ingrate, and the knowledge relaxed Claude a little as he stood, thumb pressing in to the clipboard. That was really it, he possessed the wisdom to know that Wyatt would never change who he was, and for whatever successes or failures befell him, at heart he would always be the same brash, insecure pile of flesh that he had been throughout four years of high school. The insecurity was assumed, though someone did not pack that many muscles upon their frame and speak with such reprehensible language were they not trying to cover something up.
Claudeson pitied him.
Judgement would come for them all - or so his faith had taught him - and when that day came for Wyatt Carter, Claudeson couldn't imagine that justice would be anything but swift, painful, and eternal.
Something deep within him enjoyed that thought, and he allowed himself a solitary moment to revel in it, before casting himself back up towards the light within his heart. Opening his eyes, he felt more relaxed, though the feeling resonated slightly, gnawing ever-so-briefly at the pit of his stomach. Looking up at the line that had formed and the uncertain students who were obviously trying to figure out if he were open for business, Claude once again opened his mouth in a big smile, and beckoned to the next student in line.
"Come on, come on. Don't be shy. Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"
The next nameless, faceless student stepped up to the desk and started to flip through the clipboard on the table, identification at the ready. That felt much better.
Service always did.
((Claudeson Bademosi; while still here to deal with the line, is heading to Aegis Commission))
Ned felt the pinch of the needle as it slid into his skin. It felt like his arm was penetrated by a giant mosquito's tube mouth and sucking out his blood like a fountain soft drink. Ned's eyes were closed tightly as the blood was extracted. It wasn't that he was hemophobic, but seeing a significant amount of blood would likely cause anyone to feel discomfort. However, Ned wasn't worried about that. The worst that could happen was the needle would slip and open a gash in his arm. But, these were trained professionals doing the procedure, so that margin of error is pretty rare. All Ned could do was patiently wait for the doctor to get the amount of blood they wanted.
...
After the procedure was finished, Ned breathed a sigh of relief. If there was anything to look forward to after having your blood extracted for charity, in Ned's case it was a trip to the movies courtesy of his mother. Were there any cookies being given out? Ned could have really used one of those right now.
(Ned Jackson continued elsewhere...)
...
After the procedure was finished, Ned breathed a sigh of relief. If there was anything to look forward to after having your blood extracted for charity, in Ned's case it was a trip to the movies courtesy of his mother. Were there any cookies being given out? Ned could have really used one of those right now.
(Ned Jackson continued elsewhere...)
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
"But," Lavender said, quiet and calm, "what about all the people who lie and donate anyways? A lot do, but so far as I know nothing has gone wrong due to that. Doesn't that make the whole restriction meaningless prejudice?"
She held up her right hand, wrist still touching the table but palm facing Gyu-ri, to forestall further comment. The other girl's stumbling response had said enough. It told Lavender that Gyu-ri was caught off guard, made uncomfortable by being put out of her depth by a question she hadn't anticipated, likely because she didn't actually know anything about the issue and could only regurgitate talking points that fell apart even as they left her lips. That made sense. The girl was here to do a simple and good thing, or else to pad her resume, so why would she have delved into all the nuances and implications? But at the same time, ignorance was not an incurable state of affairs.
"I'm not asking you to break the rules for me. Just to think a little about why the rules exist, and whether or not they make sense. You're not in charge now, but maybe someday you will be."
And that was basically the point of this whole adventure. Lavender thought that many of her classmates probably had no idea that there even were homophobic restrictions on blood donations. Certainly, it was unlikely that those restrictions had much meaning to those of her peers who weren't directly affected. She was putting a face to the problem, a face that wasn't who most would expect, and in so doing was challenging preconceptions and offering an opportunity to grow. And, yes, making herself feel good; there wasn't a lot she could do to improve the world, but small steps were still progress. Gyu-ri would probably never become chair of the Red Cross, but if she dug more into the subject and talked about it and really thought then that would be a little piece of change.
And of course, Lavender had scored other points as well. Wyatt had laid bare his true nature yet again, and those around him had looked at him like an unpleasant grub discovered under a rock, and maybe that would prompt some reflection on his part, or else on that of the others. An interesting thing about her class that Lavender had noted was that the overwhelming majority of it was fairly down to earth, but maybe a fifth of the student body—including members from quite the diverse array of cliques—thought they were living out The Breakfast Club and gave a whole lot of attention and energy to artificial and inaccurate notions of status and popularity. If one more person yelled that the emperor was nude, could that be anything other than positive?
"I'm sorry to have complicated the process," she said, and she wasn't, but she did regret that her methods had probably caused distress.
She held up her right hand, wrist still touching the table but palm facing Gyu-ri, to forestall further comment. The other girl's stumbling response had said enough. It told Lavender that Gyu-ri was caught off guard, made uncomfortable by being put out of her depth by a question she hadn't anticipated, likely because she didn't actually know anything about the issue and could only regurgitate talking points that fell apart even as they left her lips. That made sense. The girl was here to do a simple and good thing, or else to pad her resume, so why would she have delved into all the nuances and implications? But at the same time, ignorance was not an incurable state of affairs.
"I'm not asking you to break the rules for me. Just to think a little about why the rules exist, and whether or not they make sense. You're not in charge now, but maybe someday you will be."
And that was basically the point of this whole adventure. Lavender thought that many of her classmates probably had no idea that there even were homophobic restrictions on blood donations. Certainly, it was unlikely that those restrictions had much meaning to those of her peers who weren't directly affected. She was putting a face to the problem, a face that wasn't who most would expect, and in so doing was challenging preconceptions and offering an opportunity to grow. And, yes, making herself feel good; there wasn't a lot she could do to improve the world, but small steps were still progress. Gyu-ri would probably never become chair of the Red Cross, but if she dug more into the subject and talked about it and really thought then that would be a little piece of change.
And of course, Lavender had scored other points as well. Wyatt had laid bare his true nature yet again, and those around him had looked at him like an unpleasant grub discovered under a rock, and maybe that would prompt some reflection on his part, or else on that of the others. An interesting thing about her class that Lavender had noted was that the overwhelming majority of it was fairly down to earth, but maybe a fifth of the student body—including members from quite the diverse array of cliques—thought they were living out The Breakfast Club and gave a whole lot of attention and energy to artificial and inaccurate notions of status and popularity. If one more person yelled that the emperor was nude, could that be anything other than positive?
"I'm sorry to have complicated the process," she said, and she wasn't, but she did regret that her methods had probably caused distress.
Avatar art by the lovely and inimitable Kotorikun
(Skipping to exit!)
Gyu-ri felt tremolo to her lip, and a screwed tension to her jaw, and the gush of blood as a toothy fang sunk too harshly into her teeth, only she certainly didn't know if the phantasmal echoes of those visceral sensations slopping through her nerves was any accurate reflection of reality. Perhaps she merely spilled blood in her mind, eager to somehow undo the tension of the spotlight onto her cast by Lavender's expansive canvas of mahogany brown irises. She contemplated as fast as the dull churn and burn of adrenaline would allow, the alarms in her head still wailing operatically as a moment in time of her zoning out became a morass of lost seconds ticking away.
She hated, hated, not having answers to question. Thus, she often hated many a thing on this Earth.
Still, her gaze idled. A moment still passed with the friction of a grain of sand tucking itself away into the bottom of an hourglass. And she, being that her brain was a veritable pile of burnt out circuits from day to day, could not truly parse or process Lavender's point in time. Perhaps it had been five clauses worth of data Gyu-ri had to contemplate, it had been rather simple, each syllable had been committed to short-term then long-term memory as usual.
Gyu-ri, uncertainly, held no particular prejudices that she was conscious of. If that was even Lavender's point. Historically that was a common enough point in an atmospheric battery of charged politics with two distinct poles and many fluctuations between- so far as Gyu-ri was sure she understood such a metaphor of basic high school physics given her poor grades in the associated subject- and Lavender's veiled accusations, if they even were that, did rudely shock Gyu-ri. Nervous associations of the immoral, the unjust, and the wrong. For all of those concepts seemed nebulous and difficult to define, save for Gyu-ri's own personal reactions of disgust and offense, but she rarely trusted those anyhow for they always seemed to be raw and exposed to the elements of life.
That was to say, she felt an emotional kinship with the idea of pointless bureaucracy, it settled like weights into the pit of her stomach, yet still she understood that it was not her place to define what was right and wrong. She was no expert, indeed she was by far the most incompetent person at this desk, probably in history, probably she was over-exaggerating as she always did. She had no right to declare the rules abominable towards a downtrodden minority. She had no right to declare the medically declared science of the matter wrong.
Lavender, too, had no right. But she had conviction, and that was where Gyu-ri faltered.
The little girl bowed her head in a firm apology, her eyes still inexorably hooked onto the axis of Lavender's staring her down, such that even if she'd had to rip them from the skull she would have remained deferential to her client's eye contact.
"I cannot say I personally would give your argument, erm... weight, in total." Gyu-ri honestly admitted with her usual blunt syllable-by-syllable whisper of a girlish monotone. "But you stress something that deserves more attention and thought than I can offer." Another eager, puppy-like tilt of her head in earthbound deference.
"I will get the manager, if you will kindly excuse me for a second." Gyu-ri didn't smile, but she did speak with surety of her still flat but perhaps earnest tone. She thought it was earnest. She intended it. She never did quite know if it came across right. But she could not worry, nor could she stress, even as she did both those things. All thoughts irrelevant aside, she had a customer to satisfy. However she could.
The rest of the lines seemed to move smoothly. That, at least, was going well. She walked with quick pace. Noticed a thousand things wrong in the brief moment she needed to abandon her post, with herself, least of all with those damn poorly stacked mats in the corner of the gym.
(Gyu-ri Christensen, continued in Take The High Road)
Gyu-ri felt tremolo to her lip, and a screwed tension to her jaw, and the gush of blood as a toothy fang sunk too harshly into her teeth, only she certainly didn't know if the phantasmal echoes of those visceral sensations slopping through her nerves was any accurate reflection of reality. Perhaps she merely spilled blood in her mind, eager to somehow undo the tension of the spotlight onto her cast by Lavender's expansive canvas of mahogany brown irises. She contemplated as fast as the dull churn and burn of adrenaline would allow, the alarms in her head still wailing operatically as a moment in time of her zoning out became a morass of lost seconds ticking away.
She hated, hated, not having answers to question. Thus, she often hated many a thing on this Earth.
Still, her gaze idled. A moment still passed with the friction of a grain of sand tucking itself away into the bottom of an hourglass. And she, being that her brain was a veritable pile of burnt out circuits from day to day, could not truly parse or process Lavender's point in time. Perhaps it had been five clauses worth of data Gyu-ri had to contemplate, it had been rather simple, each syllable had been committed to short-term then long-term memory as usual.
Gyu-ri, uncertainly, held no particular prejudices that she was conscious of. If that was even Lavender's point. Historically that was a common enough point in an atmospheric battery of charged politics with two distinct poles and many fluctuations between- so far as Gyu-ri was sure she understood such a metaphor of basic high school physics given her poor grades in the associated subject- and Lavender's veiled accusations, if they even were that, did rudely shock Gyu-ri. Nervous associations of the immoral, the unjust, and the wrong. For all of those concepts seemed nebulous and difficult to define, save for Gyu-ri's own personal reactions of disgust and offense, but she rarely trusted those anyhow for they always seemed to be raw and exposed to the elements of life.
That was to say, she felt an emotional kinship with the idea of pointless bureaucracy, it settled like weights into the pit of her stomach, yet still she understood that it was not her place to define what was right and wrong. She was no expert, indeed she was by far the most incompetent person at this desk, probably in history, probably she was over-exaggerating as she always did. She had no right to declare the rules abominable towards a downtrodden minority. She had no right to declare the medically declared science of the matter wrong.
Lavender, too, had no right. But she had conviction, and that was where Gyu-ri faltered.
The little girl bowed her head in a firm apology, her eyes still inexorably hooked onto the axis of Lavender's staring her down, such that even if she'd had to rip them from the skull she would have remained deferential to her client's eye contact.
"I cannot say I personally would give your argument, erm... weight, in total." Gyu-ri honestly admitted with her usual blunt syllable-by-syllable whisper of a girlish monotone. "But you stress something that deserves more attention and thought than I can offer." Another eager, puppy-like tilt of her head in earthbound deference.
"I will get the manager, if you will kindly excuse me for a second." Gyu-ri didn't smile, but she did speak with surety of her still flat but perhaps earnest tone. She thought it was earnest. She intended it. She never did quite know if it came across right. But she could not worry, nor could she stress, even as she did both those things. All thoughts irrelevant aside, she had a customer to satisfy. However she could.
The rest of the lines seemed to move smoothly. That, at least, was going well. She walked with quick pace. Noticed a thousand things wrong in the brief moment she needed to abandon her post, with herself, least of all with those damn poorly stacked mats in the corner of the gym.
(Gyu-ri Christensen, continued in Take The High Road)
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Lavender went ahead and left when Gyu-ri got up to fetch whatever superior she reported to. Lavender had explicitly said that wasn't necessary, so to do so anyways was to brush her off, to hide behind authority rather than risk further engagement with uncomfortable thoughts or doubts. It irritated her, a little, but more than that what irritated her was that the girl said she couldn't spare time and attention to consider the situation. In effect, she admitted that she was choosing not to think. It was a choice many people made on a daily basis, but most were also self-aware enough to know how poor it sounded and to make up a better excuse. Gyu-ri could spend all day helping people fill out paperwork to set them on the path to donating part of themselves, but not ten minutes to wonder about the hows or whys, and that made Lavender question the girl's motives for being here in the first place. Had she been strong-armed into it? Was it meant to look good on a resume? Was she just hopelessly naive, or might she be hiding prejudice and think ignorance the lesser evil to own?
As she walked back through the crowd, pointedly ignoring looks from some of her peers, Lavender entertained a brief thought, that she might complain to the school, the Red Cross, or both, and get Gyu-ri in some unspecified trouble or at least deprive her of whatever reward she was deriving from this. Even as the fantasy coalesced, though, Lavender knew it was just that.
It wasn't that she couldn't cause trouble for Gyu-ri, but more that doing so would be woefully unfair to the girl. Lavender was smarting because she'd gotten what she'd expected only to find it wasn't quite what she'd hoped. She'd martyred herself for a cause knowingly, so what right had she to complain that the wounds hurt? They were effectively self-inflicted. She had come here to invite others to think, not to punish them for disagreeing with her. She had to remember that. She was here to do good, not to stroke her own ego or flaunt her power. She wasn't Wyatt.
Lavender's car was a cheap, beat-up old Honda Civic, dark blue, short on glamour especially compared to what some of the other cheerleaders drove, but it was hers. She had saved up birthday money and earnings from summer jobs and her parents had matched her contribution and helped her buy it. It was her space, her freedom, and sometimes her safe haven, and it was this last role it fulfilled as she clawed her phone out of her pocket and shut down the audio recording that had captured everything that had passed in the gym and tossed it into the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt and then just leaned forward, resting her head against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths to push away the pressure she didn't even fully understand.
She'd thought that she'd just drive away immediately, but it was fifteen minutes before Lavender pulled out of the lot.
((Lavender Ripley continued elsewhere))
As she walked back through the crowd, pointedly ignoring looks from some of her peers, Lavender entertained a brief thought, that she might complain to the school, the Red Cross, or both, and get Gyu-ri in some unspecified trouble or at least deprive her of whatever reward she was deriving from this. Even as the fantasy coalesced, though, Lavender knew it was just that.
It wasn't that she couldn't cause trouble for Gyu-ri, but more that doing so would be woefully unfair to the girl. Lavender was smarting because she'd gotten what she'd expected only to find it wasn't quite what she'd hoped. She'd martyred herself for a cause knowingly, so what right had she to complain that the wounds hurt? They were effectively self-inflicted. She had come here to invite others to think, not to punish them for disagreeing with her. She had to remember that. She was here to do good, not to stroke her own ego or flaunt her power. She wasn't Wyatt.
Lavender's car was a cheap, beat-up old Honda Civic, dark blue, short on glamour especially compared to what some of the other cheerleaders drove, but it was hers. She had saved up birthday money and earnings from summer jobs and her parents had matched her contribution and helped her buy it. It was her space, her freedom, and sometimes her safe haven, and it was this last role it fulfilled as she clawed her phone out of her pocket and shut down the audio recording that had captured everything that had passed in the gym and tossed it into the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt and then just leaned forward, resting her head against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths to push away the pressure she didn't even fully understand.
She'd thought that she'd just drive away immediately, but it was fifteen minutes before Lavender pulled out of the lot.
((Lavender Ripley continued elsewhere))
Things seemed to calm down after Wyatt left the gym. With everything back to running along smoothly, Kyle continued to go about his duties with a smile on his face.
(Kyle Harrison continued elsewhere...)
(Kyle Harrison continued elsewhere...)