((Paulo Abbate continued from All Happy Classes are Alike; Each Unhappy Class is Unhappy in its Own Way.))
Paulo, of course, never got close to the nurse's office upon leaving Collins's class. His "ailment" mysteriously fixed itself almost as soon as he crossed the threshold. He didn't have any more classes for awhile; his lunch period was after English. He wasn't hungry, either, so he had time to himself.
The gym was usually full of jock fucks, so that was out. He didn't feel like going outside, either. He did have a jiu-jitsu book in one of the lockers in the student center; and suddenly killing a half hour learning the finer points of americanas and the like appealed to him.
The center was empty. Everyone was probably going around getting food or finding where they wanted to eat. That was fine with him. He didn't need no fornicadors asking him what the fuck he was reading. He counted the lockers on the far side until he got to number three. He opened it up, and inside was the copy of Jiu-Jitsu University by Saulo Ribeiro he had nabbed from the public library last week. He was gonna come up with some new moves to show the guys, and they'd be fucking amazed.
Taking a seat on one of the benches between the lockers, Paulo started reading.
From Sao Paolo to Seattle
private, but pm for entry
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Casey the Undead†
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(Alda Abbate, start.)
((Minor GMing approved))
Alda really hated Spanish. It was, truly, an incredibly dull class, and an incredibly dull language. Why would she ever need to use Spanish? She lived in Seattle, not Santa Fe. Who the hell spoke Spanish in Seattle? No one worth talking too, that's who.
So, really, what was the point of even going to Spanish? The grass was green, and the sun was shining, and the world was a beautiful place, so Spanish could go suck a dick. Of course, Alda wasn't going to go hang out alone outside. What was she, a burned out stoner loner freak? Hell no. And she couldn't go anywhere where someone would notice she was ditching a class- even classes as useless as Spanish would lead to a detention, which, really, Alda did not want to deal with.
The student center seemed like a good bet. No one there would question Alda.
The place was mostly empty when she got there, which was good, because Alda really didn't feel like dealing with 90% of the people in this school right now. In fact, the only kid she could see was some weird looking loser reading a book about-
Oh Jesus Christ.
Of all the people Alda didn't particularly want to deal with right now (or ever, for that matter), her brother was...somewhere on the list. She really couldn't be bothered to actually give anyone numbers. Alda considered her options. She could turn around and find another place to inconspicuously ditch Spanish, or she could head back to Spanish, or she could go sit alone in a different corner of the student center, or she could take this as prime opportunity to annoy the crap out of her brother.
Well, when she put it that way, there really was only one option.
Alda strolled over to Paulo's bench, plucking the book out of his fingers as he did so.
"Hola dumbass. Watcha reading?" She flipped to the title page- Jiu-Jitsu University. "Oh good God." She tossed the book lazily aside, sitting next to Paulo as she did so. "Does anything ever go through that thick head of yours besides fighting?"
She reached over and flicked him on the head, smirking.
((Minor GMing approved))
Alda really hated Spanish. It was, truly, an incredibly dull class, and an incredibly dull language. Why would she ever need to use Spanish? She lived in Seattle, not Santa Fe. Who the hell spoke Spanish in Seattle? No one worth talking too, that's who.
So, really, what was the point of even going to Spanish? The grass was green, and the sun was shining, and the world was a beautiful place, so Spanish could go suck a dick. Of course, Alda wasn't going to go hang out alone outside. What was she, a burned out stoner loner freak? Hell no. And she couldn't go anywhere where someone would notice she was ditching a class- even classes as useless as Spanish would lead to a detention, which, really, Alda did not want to deal with.
The student center seemed like a good bet. No one there would question Alda.
The place was mostly empty when she got there, which was good, because Alda really didn't feel like dealing with 90% of the people in this school right now. In fact, the only kid she could see was some weird looking loser reading a book about-
Oh Jesus Christ.
Of all the people Alda didn't particularly want to deal with right now (or ever, for that matter), her brother was...somewhere on the list. She really couldn't be bothered to actually give anyone numbers. Alda considered her options. She could turn around and find another place to inconspicuously ditch Spanish, or she could head back to Spanish, or she could go sit alone in a different corner of the student center, or she could take this as prime opportunity to annoy the crap out of her brother.
Well, when she put it that way, there really was only one option.
Alda strolled over to Paulo's bench, plucking the book out of his fingers as he did so.
"Hola dumbass. Watcha reading?" She flipped to the title page- Jiu-Jitsu University. "Oh good God." She tossed the book lazily aside, sitting next to Paulo as she did so. "Does anything ever go through that thick head of yours besides fighting?"
She reached over and flicked him on the head, smirking.
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Paulo reached for the book as Alda tossed it aside. Fuck, he hated her sometimes. Some days it seemed like she was intent on fucking up his day.
"Yeah, numbers. Trying to guess your weight. What's it up to now, puta? 170? 180?" He leaned his weight against the lockers. "Maybe you broke 200 pounds. I dunno, I lose track sometimes."
To avoid immediate retaliation, Paulo stood up and faced her, the book in front of him, ostensibly because he was reading it but also because it was a decent first line of defense. He'd pay the library back later somehow.
"I thought you had class. They finally fail you because you can't count to five?" He backed up a step. "Here, I'll help. Uno...dos....tr...Maybe we should stop at two. Gotta take it slow with you, I know."
He returned her smirk. In that moment their identity as twins was never more apparent.
"Yeah, numbers. Trying to guess your weight. What's it up to now, puta? 170? 180?" He leaned his weight against the lockers. "Maybe you broke 200 pounds. I dunno, I lose track sometimes."
To avoid immediate retaliation, Paulo stood up and faced her, the book in front of him, ostensibly because he was reading it but also because it was a decent first line of defense. He'd pay the library back later somehow.
"I thought you had class. They finally fail you because you can't count to five?" He backed up a step. "Here, I'll help. Uno...dos....tr...Maybe we should stop at two. Gotta take it slow with you, I know."
He returned her smirk. In that moment their identity as twins was never more apparent.
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Casey the Undead†
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Alda raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"Really? Weight jokes? That's the best you got? I thought you'd at least go for something creative. Of course, I shouldn't have gotten my hopes so high. The day you're interesting and creative is the day that give up on your shitty fighting and do something useful with you life." She grinned, widely. "So never, then!"
She shrugged her shoulders and leaned back again the wall, crossing her feet at the ankles. "Gotta say, though, the weight jokes are rich coming from you. You're practically the Stay-Puff Marshmallow man at this point. I mean, seriously, the Biggest Loser is gonna start making house calls or some shit. I thought fighting was supposed to keep you toned." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe that's only if you're good at fighting. Guess you're destined to be forever fatassed, then."
Alda rolled her eyes as Paulo backed away, the book held in front of him. "I'm ditching Spanish, the world's most useless class ever. I wouldn't mock me for skipping, considering your constant bastardization of Portuguese. You do realize that learning the mother language isn't going to make Daddy love you, right?"
She winced a bit at her own comment. "Wow, okay, that was bitchy, even for me."
She shook her head, standing upright and watching her hair fall around her shoulders. "Also, for your information, I am damn good at Spanish. I just find it useless. For example. Tienes una cara que se hace de pollas. See?"
It probably wasn't relevant to mention that the only thing she could do in Spanish was make basic sentences and swear. No need to feed the fire, after all.
"Really? Weight jokes? That's the best you got? I thought you'd at least go for something creative. Of course, I shouldn't have gotten my hopes so high. The day you're interesting and creative is the day that give up on your shitty fighting and do something useful with you life." She grinned, widely. "So never, then!"
She shrugged her shoulders and leaned back again the wall, crossing her feet at the ankles. "Gotta say, though, the weight jokes are rich coming from you. You're practically the Stay-Puff Marshmallow man at this point. I mean, seriously, the Biggest Loser is gonna start making house calls or some shit. I thought fighting was supposed to keep you toned." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe that's only if you're good at fighting. Guess you're destined to be forever fatassed, then."
Alda rolled her eyes as Paulo backed away, the book held in front of him. "I'm ditching Spanish, the world's most useless class ever. I wouldn't mock me for skipping, considering your constant bastardization of Portuguese. You do realize that learning the mother language isn't going to make Daddy love you, right?"
She winced a bit at her own comment. "Wow, okay, that was bitchy, even for me."
She shook her head, standing upright and watching her hair fall around her shoulders. "Also, for your information, I am damn good at Spanish. I just find it useless. For example. Tienes una cara que se hace de pollas. See?"
It probably wasn't relevant to mention that the only thing she could do in Spanish was make basic sentences and swear. No need to feed the fire, after all.
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Paulo waved off the fat jokes. She didn't know what the fuck he was talking about, he was hot. He looked quente.
"I know you not talkin' bout my shit, Alda. You play softball. It's bout the only way you can have balls comin' at your face, cause ain't no man gonna take a whack at your half-brown asno. I mean, I know Brazilian girls is supposed to have big asses, but c'mon. Shit's like you stuffed a couple of rotten hams down your fuckin' thong."
His eyes went dark at the daddy comment though. Even with the half-hearted apology. Low shit. Low, low, shit.
But then she was speaking Spanish, and he was confused. He caught a couple of the words, but it only made the phrasing more confusing.
"The fuck? Chicken face?" He stared at her, blinking, his tongue working the inside of his mouth as he tried to put two and two together and then shaking his head as the number kept coming up as three or maybe five.
"Whatever." He sat back down, deciding he was best served getting back into his book.
"I know you not talkin' bout my shit, Alda. You play softball. It's bout the only way you can have balls comin' at your face, cause ain't no man gonna take a whack at your half-brown asno. I mean, I know Brazilian girls is supposed to have big asses, but c'mon. Shit's like you stuffed a couple of rotten hams down your fuckin' thong."
His eyes went dark at the daddy comment though. Even with the half-hearted apology. Low shit. Low, low, shit.
But then she was speaking Spanish, and he was confused. He caught a couple of the words, but it only made the phrasing more confusing.
"The fuck? Chicken face?" He stared at her, blinking, his tongue working the inside of his mouth as he tried to put two and two together and then shaking his head as the number kept coming up as three or maybe five.
"Whatever." He sat back down, deciding he was best served getting back into his book.
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Casey the Undead†
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Alda rolled her eyes spectacularly. Her brother could be such a fucking idiot sometimes, really.
"You know, Paulo, not everyone is as desperate to get laid as you are. Your right hand must be getting a little too familiar. Have you ever thought about mixing it up? Going lefties? Or, I know!" Alda clapped her hands together excitedly. "You could hire a prostitute! Except I don't even think she would lay your sorry ass, would she? Much too classy."
She almost took a step back when she saw Paulo's expression, but decided against it. Wouldn't want to look weak. Besides, she was right, wasn't she? Well, maybe not about the prostitute, but about her father, for sure. In the world of deadbeat dads, she and Paulo had to have a high score. The bastard wasn't there, he never wanted to be there, end of story. She couldn't understand why the fuck Paulo had the idea in his head that it was somehow their mother's fault. Even worse, he honestly thought that being a shitty fighter would make his father come back or some shit. Alda hated her father, hated him for what he did to their Mom, and for what he was still doing to Paulo. How the fuck could a shadow even have so much of an impact? But all that bastard of a man had done to her was make her stronger. He could come back tomorrow and she wouldn't give him a second glance. She wished Paulo would open his eyes and start feeling the same way.
Of course, considering their conversations consisted mostly of insults these days, it seemed like a pretty pointless wish.
She blinked, zoning back into the conversation just as he translated her Spanish very unhelpfully.
Wait. Chicken face? What had she said? Tienes una cara que se hace de pollas. Tienes una...You have a face that is...
Oh. Pollas.Wait, no. Chicken was pollo. Not pollas. Wasn't pollas...
"Oh, fuck it, I'm Brazilian not Mexican! Who gives a shit if I can speak Spanish or not?"
Alda sighed as Paulo turned back to his book. She still had forever until this period ended, and nowhere else worth going. She sat down next to him, and started picking at a loose thread on the hem of her t-shirt.
"Don't you have friends or something to eat lunch with? Why are you just sitting here reading?" She elbowed him the ribs, trying to go for playful. "You're not going geek on me, are you?"
"You know, Paulo, not everyone is as desperate to get laid as you are. Your right hand must be getting a little too familiar. Have you ever thought about mixing it up? Going lefties? Or, I know!" Alda clapped her hands together excitedly. "You could hire a prostitute! Except I don't even think she would lay your sorry ass, would she? Much too classy."
She almost took a step back when she saw Paulo's expression, but decided against it. Wouldn't want to look weak. Besides, she was right, wasn't she? Well, maybe not about the prostitute, but about her father, for sure. In the world of deadbeat dads, she and Paulo had to have a high score. The bastard wasn't there, he never wanted to be there, end of story. She couldn't understand why the fuck Paulo had the idea in his head that it was somehow their mother's fault. Even worse, he honestly thought that being a shitty fighter would make his father come back or some shit. Alda hated her father, hated him for what he did to their Mom, and for what he was still doing to Paulo. How the fuck could a shadow even have so much of an impact? But all that bastard of a man had done to her was make her stronger. He could come back tomorrow and she wouldn't give him a second glance. She wished Paulo would open his eyes and start feeling the same way.
Of course, considering their conversations consisted mostly of insults these days, it seemed like a pretty pointless wish.
She blinked, zoning back into the conversation just as he translated her Spanish very unhelpfully.
Wait. Chicken face? What had she said? Tienes una cara que se hace de pollas. Tienes una...You have a face that is...
Oh. Pollas.Wait, no. Chicken was pollo. Not pollas. Wasn't pollas...
"Oh, fuck it, I'm Brazilian not Mexican! Who gives a shit if I can speak Spanish or not?"
Alda sighed as Paulo turned back to his book. She still had forever until this period ended, and nowhere else worth going. She sat down next to him, and started picking at a loose thread on the hem of her t-shirt.
"Don't you have friends or something to eat lunch with? Why are you just sitting here reading?" She elbowed him the ribs, trying to go for playful. "You're not going geek on me, are you?"
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Paulo winced a little as the point of Alda's elbow jabbed him in the ribs.
"Fuck, I don't know where they are. Probably in class. They don't schedule us on the friend system."
He flipped another page, this one about Brabo chokes.
"Geek? Please. Geeks don't read about fucking people up." As if to make a point, he grabbed the brim of his Tapout hat and adjusted it, cocking it slightly to the side.
"Could ask you the same question. Ain't you supposed to be out practicing or writing poetry or some shit? I don't see you 'round at lunch a lot."
As he waited for the answer, his eyes scanned the page for the hundredth time. He wished he had a gi. A belt. All that shit in the book. Mainly an instructor, though. Someone that could teach him this shit so he could do it even better.
Being a have-not sucked.
"Fuck, I don't know where they are. Probably in class. They don't schedule us on the friend system."
He flipped another page, this one about Brabo chokes.
"Geek? Please. Geeks don't read about fucking people up." As if to make a point, he grabbed the brim of his Tapout hat and adjusted it, cocking it slightly to the side.
"Could ask you the same question. Ain't you supposed to be out practicing or writing poetry or some shit? I don't see you 'round at lunch a lot."
As he waited for the answer, his eyes scanned the page for the hundredth time. He wished he had a gi. A belt. All that shit in the book. Mainly an instructor, though. Someone that could teach him this shit so he could do it even better.
Being a have-not sucked.
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Casey the Undead†
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Alda read over Paulo's shoulder, squinting at the text. Something about flips or holds or some crap. Really, all Paulo was doing was overly glorified gymnastics. That and his weird obsession with belts had all but made Alda sure that her brother was secretly gay. Seriously, who the fuck cares that much about belts and tackling buff, sweaty men to the ground?
She pulled back when Paulo asked her a question, flicking her hair over her shoulder in annoyance. "Man, I can't go anywhere right now. They'll figure out I'm ditching class. Far as anyone knows, I just got sick to my stomach and am in the nurse's office or some shit."
Alda flicked Paulo in the head again. "Besides, it's not poetry like some Emily Dickinson shit. It's, like, freestyle. It comes from the soul. You can't practice that shit man. It flows from you. Like the ocean or something."
She shrugged, cracking her back in the process. A low growl came from her stomach. She glared at it. Alda didn't even have lunch for another couple of periods, why the fuck was she hungry?
"Alright, I know you're gonna call me fat, but fuck it if I care. You got any food?"
She pulled back when Paulo asked her a question, flicking her hair over her shoulder in annoyance. "Man, I can't go anywhere right now. They'll figure out I'm ditching class. Far as anyone knows, I just got sick to my stomach and am in the nurse's office or some shit."
Alda flicked Paulo in the head again. "Besides, it's not poetry like some Emily Dickinson shit. It's, like, freestyle. It comes from the soul. You can't practice that shit man. It flows from you. Like the ocean or something."
She shrugged, cracking her back in the process. A low growl came from her stomach. She glared at it. Alda didn't even have lunch for another couple of periods, why the fuck was she hungry?
"Alright, I know you're gonna call me fat, but fuck it if I care. You got any food?"
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Paulo didn't look up as Alda started pontificating (bullshitting) about what poetry was. He didn't really get down on poetry, but he was sure his sister's wasn't up at the top of the quality list at this point. He satisfied himself with raising his eyebrow and shaking his head as he kept his nose in the book.
Well, she got one thing right. "Fatass."
He set the book down the bench and palmed his knees to push himself to his feet. He opened the locker that had held his book, but this time he withdrew a paper sack. He had killed most of his lunch before hitting the books, but he hadn't eaten all of it. He figured he could have a snack on the bus ride home. But it wouldn't have been much of one anyway.
He pulled a banana out of the sack and tossed it to his sister.
"Don't say I never gave you nothin', puta."
Well, she got one thing right. "Fatass."
He set the book down the bench and palmed his knees to push himself to his feet. He opened the locker that had held his book, but this time he withdrew a paper sack. He had killed most of his lunch before hitting the books, but he hadn't eaten all of it. He figured he could have a snack on the bus ride home. But it wouldn't have been much of one anyway.
He pulled a banana out of the sack and tossed it to his sister.
"Don't say I never gave you nothin', puta."
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Casey the Undead†
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Alda caught the banana and frowned. "Hey now. I don't need to take this abuse!"
She sat and ate the banana, thinking for a minute.
"...Actually. I really don't need to take this abuse." She stood up, frowning at Paulo. "You know, I think you should be more appreciative of me. I come sit with you, I talk to you, I spend time you. And what do I get in return? I get cruelty and hatred. Not cool."
She tossed the peel at his face, grimacing. "Adios douchebag, see you at home."
With that, Alda strutted out of the student center.
((Alda Abbate continued in You hit like a girl))
She sat and ate the banana, thinking for a minute.
"...Actually. I really don't need to take this abuse." She stood up, frowning at Paulo. "You know, I think you should be more appreciative of me. I come sit with you, I talk to you, I spend time you. And what do I get in return? I get cruelty and hatred. Not cool."
She tossed the peel at his face, grimacing. "Adios douchebag, see you at home."
With that, Alda strutted out of the student center.
((Alda Abbate continued in You hit like a girl))
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Paulo flinched as the banana peel hit him in the face. He glared as his sister left the student center, leaving him to his own devices once more.
"Puta gordura." He murmured. He meant it, too. Bitch had ruined his little free period. He barely got to read anything. There was a clock hanging above the lockers, and he checked it to confirm. The free period would almost be fucking over.
"Fuck you, Alda. Jesus."
He shut the book, the words of Saulo Ribeiro disappearing under the cover of Jiu-Jitsu University. and set it back in his locker. Muttering curses, Paulo headed off to his next place of imprisonment.
((Paulo Abbate continued elsewhere))
"Puta gordura." He murmured. He meant it, too. Bitch had ruined his little free period. He barely got to read anything. There was a clock hanging above the lockers, and he checked it to confirm. The free period would almost be fucking over.
"Fuck you, Alda. Jesus."
He shut the book, the words of Saulo Ribeiro disappearing under the cover of Jiu-Jitsu University. and set it back in his locker. Muttering curses, Paulo headed off to his next place of imprisonment.
((Paulo Abbate continued elsewhere))