This. Means. War.

[ViolentMedic]

"Oh, no-one looks forward to assignments. Especially on the Great Gatsby. The symbolism is ridiculously heavy..." Naomi paused to eat some of the cream from her frappuccino. Mostly as an excuse to think more about what she was saying.

She hadn't foreseen him refusing the opportunity to slack off. She'd have to convince him. Just point out reasons why he wouldn't want to do it. If she could mix some flattery in to sooth his ego, that'd be even better. What to compliment, though? ...Well, looks were always obvious.

"I'm sure that you're perfectly capable of working on it, but really... I'm sure you have better things to do, don't you? I mean..." Naomi smiled a bit wider while stirring her drink. "You're a handsome guy. I'm sure you have girls lining up to date you. And I'd hardly want to keep you from that."

There. You're attractive and capable, now go away and let me do the assignment myself, she grumbled internally. Though on the outside she just kept smiling and stirring her drink.

"So, how about this. If you're really set on these fantastic ideas, just write them down and I'll work them into the essay." If they're good enough. Which they probably won't be. "Best of both worlds, isn't it?"

[Serpico†]

Owen smiled, he was feeling quite flattered, as Naomi had called him handsome. However, he would simply not be able to allow her to take all of the work. He quickly took a sip of coffee before continuing with the conversation, it also allowed him enough time to work out what to say.

"First of all I'm not telling lies about wanting to do work. Secondly, due to some recent events I haven't really been open to dating until recently. " He briefly thought back to Cassidy, it was not that long ago that their relationship ended and Owen was only starting to consider starting a relationship again, one that he hoped would be much better.

"So yes, my schedule is completely open. Plus, I promised to be a good partner and if I laze about while you work I don't think that I'm fulfilling that promise." He absolutely had to be there to see how the assignment was coming along, the entire way.

[ViolentMedic]

He was clinging to this assignment. Frustrating. Seems Owen wasn't solid gold work partner material, after all. He was made of leprechaun gold.

Naomi stirred her coffee for a few moments, although she suddenly didn't feel like drinking it.

"...Fine. If you're so eager to do this," Naomi said. She was trying to sound friendly, but she was having a hard time with it. The words came out slightly stiff. "Then I suggest we make a list of the ideas we have and what points we want to cover, and then meet in the library to figure out the finer points. Does that sound fair?"

Trying to organize it so they didn't have to spend too much time together seemed a fair enough alternative. After just one afternoon she had 'rides motorcycles like a hooligan' and 'is made of leprechaun gold' to add to her mental profile of him, and she didn't need any more than that.

[Serpico†]

Finally, she agreed to some actual work. Now she wanted to discuss it in the library, he had no problems with this considering that he actually liked the library. Plenty of books and plenty quiet. Hopefully they'd get something proper done in that time.

"That sounds fair." He was feeling better about it now; his voice was more cheerful that as he was starting to have his way. "I already had a few things penned down, just a rough of what I gathered after reading the book."

He reached into his pocket and produced a small book; it was a little worn because of its age, something that couldn't be helped but otherwise in good condition. He opened up to the relevant page and placed it on the table, pushing it towards Naomi. She might have had the same points as him but it didn't matter, it was to show that he knew what he was doing. She absolutely had to know.

"There's content relevant to our discussion for two or so pages, anything other than that is blank or other work."
Or doodles, but those were very few, normally he would cut those pages out but sometimes he'd miss some. He didn't really concern himself with that; he just needed to know what she thought now.

[ViolentMedic]

Naomi flicked through the pages of the notebook that Owen had pointed out. Well, it could have been worse... he at least had a grasp of spelling. And not everything was wrong. In fact, the majority of it was well-reasoned. But that's not to say that everything was right about what he'd written down.

"I'm afraid I didn't bring my notebook," Naomi muttered. She tried to stop herself from looking embarrassed. She would have brought her notebook if she'd realised that Owen would actually want to work, but she'd been so sure that he wouldn't want to. She quickly moved on.

"I suppose this is a good start. Although..." As Naomi read part of it over, she took a sip of her frappuccino. "This part about the American Dream being inherently corrupt... I don't believe that is right. I believe that Fitzgerald meant that the American Dream itself is still decent, but that it's been corrupted by America's obsession with materialism. If it wasn't for that, well... the Dream would be fine."

[Serpico†]

"Don't worry about the notebook, it isn't important. But I'd like to firmly stand by my opinion about the American dream being inherently corrupt. It's the aspiration of the dream that draws them to materialism. If the author had a more positive opinion he would have put some characters into the book that weren't so... decadent. It's a book about how the people who achieved the so called dream are surrounded by materialism. You can't achieve the dream without money."

He was playing with his cardboard cup now; his interest in his beverage had already waned. Now his interest fell squarely on Naomi and the subject at hand, the Great Gatsby. He didn't agree with her at all, as far as he was concerned she was incredibly wrong. It looked like this assignment would not go so smoothly, and his mouth settled in a thin straight line.

"I mean, that's my interpretation. I mean, I sort of understand where you're coming from but I just can't agree."

This probably wasn't going to go over smoothly, but he had to have his way.

[ViolentMedic]

"No, no, no, you have it wrong. In the context of the book, Gatsby's dream itself was not a bad thing. He just wanted Daisy and to recapture the past relationship he had with her. His dream, at the core, had nothing to do with materialism."

Naomi was doing her best to stop herself from shouting and keep her voice nice and level. How was he not seeing this? Her interpretation was right! His was wrong! That's all there was to it and he was meant to agree with her!

"The problem was that Daisy was the one obsessed with materialism, and so for him to win her over he had to become obsessed with materialism as well. But Gatsby's version of the dream, though doomed to fail and a stupid endeavour because Daisy wasn't worth it to start with, was not about materialism. It was just a consequence due to how shallow Daisy was."

Naomi sipped her coffee (attempting not to pull a face at the fact that the coffee was now cold) and smiled, while on the inside shouting at him to acknowledge that she was right.

[Serpico†]

She was persistent and Owen didn't really appreciate it. Still, he'd stand firmly by this point; it was his way or the highway. He just hoped that he wouldn't have to tell her in those exact words. Her interpretation was one way of looking at it, but he didn't like it at all. Besides, he was right, he knew what he was doing.

"But, again it was a life of materialism that made Daisy shallow, that's why she wasn't worth it, because she was materialistic. Name one character in the book who achieved the dream without material wealth, Naomi. It's pessimistic but the dream and materialism are pretty much intertwined. Maybe, if this were another text I would agree with you but I won't. The dream is flawed."

The following conversation was lengthy, neither would agree with the other. By the time Owen looked down at his beverage, it was cold and undesirable, much like the conversation he was having. He swirled the coffee in the cup before leaving it alone for a final time.

"Anyway, I think we should meet again at the library like you said. There's no point in continuing this conversation any further." He reached over to retrieve the small notebook, placing it back in his pocket. He slid the second helmet over to her, and put his on. He was right about it being the tint of the glass; it made her look sickly.

"Are you taking a ride back with me? I'll go slower this time." He smiled, she couldn't see it but he was kind of glad that they wouldn't be talking about the Great Gatsby for the rest of the day.

[ViolentMedic]

Don't scowl. No matter how wrong he is.

Naomi put the plastic lid back on top of her coffee. She might as well throw it out at this stage. It was too cold.

"No, thank you. I have other tasks to complete before I go back home," she said. Her voice was slightly chilly. The part about needing to do things before she left was a complete lie, but she would rather risk being caught out on lying than ride that monstrosity he called a motorcycle again.

"But yes, we can continue this conversation tomorrow, in the library." At which point Naomi intended to leave exactly where she left off. Perhaps sleeping on it would let him be more open to her perspective.

Though Naomi suspected that he was going to continue being difficult.

-

The next two weeks were Hell. The level of Hell that Dante never put in his work because it would make people wet themselves in fear.

Every part of the assignment, whether major or minor, they came into conflict over. From the characters to the symbolism, they couldn't agree on any of it and neither one of them ever wanted to concede that the other one might have a point.

But finally they could see the finish line. Finally, the day before it was due, they had a rough essay together.

Naomi was openly frowning it as she read it over; working for so long with Owen was really wearing on her ability to act. It wasn't exactly how she would have written it. But Owen was a stubborn--okay, she didn't want to get into angry thoughts, in her bad mood she might actually blurt them out. The point was, the essay wasn't as good as it would have been if she'd written it by herself. But it was the closest she could get with that... oaf as a partner.

"Well, I suppose this will have to do," she said. "Since I have better handwriting, I think I should write it out properly. Presentation matters."

She rifled through her pencil case and pulled out a dark green pen.

[Serpico†]

The essay wasn't looking very good, they actually had to compromise and it was taking the essay down a very bad path. Naomi was stubborn and it was getting to the point where he would rip out his hair in anger. Still the draft they had was something, so it was time to finish this up.

Wait...Was that a green pen? There was no way that he was going to have his hard work written in green. It wasn't acceptable, he was alright with her writing it out; though he was sure his hands were steadier.

"Naomi, green is not a presentable colour. Black of blue would be more sensible, it's the unwritten rule of assignments, nothing but blue or black."

[ViolentMedic]

Oh, what was this? He was actually protesting the pen colour? Was he so determined to argue that he'd pick over something like the ink used to write?!

Had Naomi been less stubborn, she would have agreed to write in blue or black. But she was sick of Owen messing up her work, and she was going to hold onto this.

"Not a presentable colour? Excuse me, but I've written assignments in green before and have never received a telling off for it. As long as the pen colours aren't something stupid like vivid purple or pink the teachers won't mind. Besides, green fits with the essay topic. Green lights come up often enough in the essay to justify it."

She didn't bother to put on a friendly expression, this time. She just glared at him with a 'and don't you dare argue with me' look.

[Serpico†]

She had this look on, really nasty and despite the fact that Owen understood what she meant, he would dare to argue. It was a matter of principle, and he knew that she was doing it wrong. He didn't like the fact that she had taken the assessment he worked hard on and removed some of his points; ones that he believed were well grounded. He had actually compromised with her a little and it mentally hurt him to watch her alter the assignment.

But green ink was not acceptable, it was the straw that broke the camel's back, and he was not going to stand for it.

"I wonder if the light had been pink, perhaps you would write it in pink instead? Standing out from the rest isn't necessarily a good thing, Naomi. If I were a teacher I'd be like; oh look at this douchebag, writing in a random colour. It just doesn't look right, green is a terrible colour to write in and it's probably not as dark as the blue and definitely not as dark as black. I think that threatens the legibility."

He wasn't sure how she would respond, she looked awfully pissed off before and he knew that he'd probably just started a fight. He couldn't help himself; she had been bothering him since they started talking about the assignment.

"But you know that's my opinion and you're probably going to brush it off like every other opinion I've had today. So go ahead and write in that god awful colour." He reached for his pencil case and dumped the contents on the desk, shaking the case vigorously as its contents poured into the desk and floor. He tossed it aside on the desk and crossed his arms.

"In fact, use one of mine, I insist."

[ViolentMedic]

He was not taking this gracefully. And now there were pens all over the desk. Naomi held back the anger from the fact that now she could barely see the essay underneath the pile of pens on it. Although she did rant at him for other reasons.

"First of all, I wouldn't write in pink if it had been a pink light. Green is a legitimate colour for a regular pen. That is why those pens that come with four colours in one have green as one of the colours, so it's not a 'random colour.' Secondly, you're not a teacher and never will be. Third, this green pen is at the same level of visibility as the blue pen. So, yes, I'm going to brush it off because your reasoning doesn't hold up."

Naomi then held up the pen she'd taken out. "And I already have my own green pen, so there's no need to fling your garbage everywhere. So unless you plan to complain about how it's not the right thickness or not made by the right company, I'll just get back to work, shall I? So, why don't you clean up the mess you just made?"

Without waiting for a response, Naomi started to copy out the essay with her green pen. Hopefully, if she just ignored Owen then the argument wouldn't continue.

[Serpico†]

"Whatever, there's no point in continuing this discussion if you're going to be so stubborn."

Owen packed all his stationary back into its case, making a point to shake it and make as much noise as possible as he did. When he finished all that remained outside the case was a dark blue pen, what he would have chosen to write with. He picked up the pen and spun it between his fingers as Naomi concentrated on writing the essay, keeping quiet as she worked.

He waited until it looked like she put a hefty amount of effort into it before reaching over with his own pen and quickly scribbling a penis in dark blue ink over the paper. It wasn't a small one either; it took up a sizable amount of room on the page.

Owen turned to Naomi with a huge smug grin and spoke "I told you that blue was a much better choice." And he tossed the pen on the now ruined essay. He was prepared for the fallout of his actions and was honestly looking forward to her response.

[ViolentMedic]

Naomi had no words.

She literally had no words for this. That never happened. Even if she was annoyed, she could usually manage a few long sentences explaining why she was right and the other person was wrong. Or, at the very least, a couple of insults.
But now? She just...

Her mouth just open and shut a few times. She had gone bright red. He had... had...

And then she found her words again.

"YOU FUCKER!"

She reached over and grabbed his notebook, before flipping it over to a random page and starting to scrawl similarly obscene pictures over his notes. The rational voice that normally told her to keep calm and beat her enemies with intelligence had been gagged and stuffed in a fridge, to be replaced by an angry child who only screamed insults.

"If that's the way it's going to be, then fine! Fine! Let's see you get rid of these, you... you... you dullard! Your brain is made of ear-wax and when you were born the doctor probably turned around and slapped your mother, you... you leprechaun!"

No-one. Drew. Dicks. On. Her. Hard. Work.