VIRGINIA BURNS: SANDBOX START
Having one of the middle lunch periods in the day was, to turn a phrase, the pits. Early lunch...ers got the best food and seats on a first-come, first-serve basis, and those who had to wait it out until later in the day got to at least enjoy a relatively emptied-out cafeteria space and grounds. Virginia's lunch was squarely in the middle, subjecting her to being jostled by the apathetic crowds while she waited, inching forward bit by bit in the line, to see if the gods of lunchtime would bless her with a bounty of chicken nuggets and a fruit cup or if she would find herself prostrated once again at the altar of lukewarm mashed potatoes.
Anyway.
The food wasn't ever bad per se, but Virginia was a picky eater with a slim appetite at the best of times, and it didn't take much to put her off if she wasn't ravenously hungry. She maybe could have avoided her daily tribulation by packing a lunch ahead of time, and sometimes she did, but usually she would rather not go to the effort and then still roll the dice on whether or not she'd actually be hungry enough to enjoy the fruits (or sandwiches) of her labor.
So today, Virginia languished in the lunch line along with many of her peers. She had her headphones on, though no music was playing, hands in the pockets of her cargo pants. One hand securely clutched her phone in case she did need to turn the music on for whatever reason, or fake an emergency phone call, or whatever. Someone bumped her as they pushed past, almost dislodging her from her spot in the line, but she recovered quickly enough that no opportunists had moved up to try to claim her spot.
There were actually two lines, running parallel to each other until they threaded together upon reaching the food. It was mostly an honor system thing that you'd alternate with the people in the other line to ensure an even distribution of the good food, but it didn't always work that way if someone was too ruthless or too polite.
Truly a school cafeteria was the first battleground in life that saw men reduced to beasts.
Popular Monster
Mangrove Garden cafeteria line; come exchange awkward eye contact with Virginia
Leah considered herself one of the lucky few who were generally spared by the lunch line’s horrors. Skipping lunches was something odd for her to take pride in, but skipping breakfast too, on chicken nugget day no less? That was a mistake she swore she won’t make again. She's at the end of her wits. She's hungery. She's tired from fallimg off of her bed at three in the morning by accident and not sleeping since. She's humiliated herself in class.
She was fucking done.
Even if she was starving to death, she would have thought twice before entering the lunch line. The press of bodies against her, the smell of someone’s axe body spray and all that noise, they’re flooding her senses and making her want to curl in a ball. The pushing of the crowd and the loud chattering is *this* close to triggering her fight or flight response. What if someone talks to her? What if someone bumps into her? What if she embarrassed herself?
What if what if what if-
A jolt of pain, and she realized she’s biting her nails again. God, what a baby. You’re 18 already, grow up and stop being nervous
The person in front of her, a tall ginger girl her headphones in, thankfully kept her distance- Oh my god I just accidentaly touched her.
Is a single overpriced fruit cup too much to ask? Are you kidding- calm down, jesus fucking christ. You literally just accidentally touched her hand-me?
With a sense of absolute dread, she realized that she was muttering her thoughts out loud. Not loud enough for anyone to hear clearly, of course, especially since the girl in front of her was wearing headphones. It doesn’t matter; anxiety works in its own special ways.
She just hoped the crowd drowns everything about her out.
She was fucking done.
Even if she was starving to death, she would have thought twice before entering the lunch line. The press of bodies against her, the smell of someone’s axe body spray and all that noise, they’re flooding her senses and making her want to curl in a ball. The pushing of the crowd and the loud chattering is *this* close to triggering her fight or flight response. What if someone talks to her? What if someone bumps into her? What if she embarrassed herself?
What if what if what if-
A jolt of pain, and she realized she’s biting her nails again. God, what a baby. You’re 18 already, grow up and stop being nervous
The person in front of her, a tall ginger girl her headphones in, thankfully kept her distance- Oh my god I just accidentaly touched her.
Is a single overpriced fruit cup too much to ask? Are you kidding- calm down, jesus fucking christ. You literally just accidentally touched her hand-me?
With a sense of absolute dread, she realized that she was muttering her thoughts out loud. Not loud enough for anyone to hear clearly, of course, especially since the girl in front of her was wearing headphones. It doesn’t matter; anxiety works in its own special ways.
She just hoped the crowd drowns everything about her out.
Parallel, in the other line...
((continued from))
Buying lunch was just the neater solution if you asked him. If he had to pack a lunch Timothy would either forget to do it all-together or forget to bring the packed product with him when he left the apartment. Carrying money was easier, and in case of emergency he could always take a poke at the vending machines near the gyms and have chips for lunch. Nothing wrong with that- well, acne scars aside. Turned out having disposable income solved most inconveniences of life. Go figure, right? Timothy was upper middle class tiers of privileged, never had to settle for generic brand tiers of privileged (actually literally no difference though, so he did indeed settle for generic) and he might as well use that fact.
He had both earphones in and was idly daydreaming. Common state of affairs for him, that. There had been, like this cool engage the support for TL had done in a recent match: Q to engage with Deena, then rush through the frontline with the W-E to taunt CC the backline. Timothy had been spamming Deena in queue recently because he'd happened to be winning like, on average one more game more than his usual 1-1 win loss ratio ELO hell style of playing. Maybe this would be the year he'd break through to Gold. He was imagining pulling off the combo in a tight jungle corridor plus a sexy ult from, like, a Jared or something. He was enjoying that visual polluting his imagination.
He had to remember to keep practicing to make it reality, but like, one part of the long journey to success at a time. At least he was visualizing it with a realistic goal. Usually he didn't even manage that without skipping ahead to winning Worlds.
Idly he glanced sidelong at the other line, doing that usual thing where he noticed someone that caught his attention for no discernible reason and tried to figure out why without actually really looking at them. Were both those girls taller than him? What was it with him and being into tall girls, again? He swore he found them all over the place when he wasn't even trying to look.
He'd been staring at the less white people of the two of them. Like, at her hair, because she had really nice hair to be honest. The sort he wished he had whenever he was contemplating the wigs in his cosplay arsenal. It was crazy long, aesthetic color. It was also something to look at where he could avoid accidentally staring at, like, her chest or something, because heaven knew if he did that for half a second he'd feel dead inside even if he wasn't caught? Performative guilt was a powerful force, y'know.
She was... muttering to herself? Her lips were moving (Meghan Trainor confirmed). Maybe she was talking to the girl (even taller hnnnnghh) in front of her but like, that didn't seem to be the case when Timothy (cautiously (painstakingly (awkwardly))) evaluated the bigger picture.
He got like, spooked all of a sudden. He was pretty sure he wasn't talking aloud to himself but it was like, impossible to be really sure, wasn't it? There was always that lurking fear he had where he actually broadcast his thoughts loudly to everyone else around him and everyone just politely didn't say anything to spare his feelings. Could you ever really sure that wasn't what was happening at all times? That you weren't being heard plain as day as you idly contemplated how cute the girl at the desk in front of yours would look half naked? That the answer was probably 'very'?
Suddenly self-conscious Timothy pulled both earbuds out, cutting the refrain of 'strawb-buh-buh-buh-berry' short as he listened intently to make sure he wasn't being as awkward as he felt he was being, all while he awkwardly zoned out staring into the space between Virginia and Leah.
((continued from))
Buying lunch was just the neater solution if you asked him. If he had to pack a lunch Timothy would either forget to do it all-together or forget to bring the packed product with him when he left the apartment. Carrying money was easier, and in case of emergency he could always take a poke at the vending machines near the gyms and have chips for lunch. Nothing wrong with that- well, acne scars aside. Turned out having disposable income solved most inconveniences of life. Go figure, right? Timothy was upper middle class tiers of privileged, never had to settle for generic brand tiers of privileged (actually literally no difference though, so he did indeed settle for generic) and he might as well use that fact.
He had both earphones in and was idly daydreaming. Common state of affairs for him, that. There had been, like this cool engage the support for TL had done in a recent match: Q to engage with Deena, then rush through the frontline with the W-E to taunt CC the backline. Timothy had been spamming Deena in queue recently because he'd happened to be winning like, on average one more game more than his usual 1-1 win loss ratio ELO hell style of playing. Maybe this would be the year he'd break through to Gold. He was imagining pulling off the combo in a tight jungle corridor plus a sexy ult from, like, a Jared or something. He was enjoying that visual polluting his imagination.
He had to remember to keep practicing to make it reality, but like, one part of the long journey to success at a time. At least he was visualizing it with a realistic goal. Usually he didn't even manage that without skipping ahead to winning Worlds.
Idly he glanced sidelong at the other line, doing that usual thing where he noticed someone that caught his attention for no discernible reason and tried to figure out why without actually really looking at them. Were both those girls taller than him? What was it with him and being into tall girls, again? He swore he found them all over the place when he wasn't even trying to look.
He'd been staring at the less white people of the two of them. Like, at her hair, because she had really nice hair to be honest. The sort he wished he had whenever he was contemplating the wigs in his cosplay arsenal. It was crazy long, aesthetic color. It was also something to look at where he could avoid accidentally staring at, like, her chest or something, because heaven knew if he did that for half a second he'd feel dead inside even if he wasn't caught? Performative guilt was a powerful force, y'know.
She was... muttering to herself? Her lips were moving (Meghan Trainor confirmed). Maybe she was talking to the girl (even taller hnnnnghh) in front of her but like, that didn't seem to be the case when Timothy (cautiously (painstakingly (awkwardly))) evaluated the bigger picture.
He got like, spooked all of a sudden. He was pretty sure he wasn't talking aloud to himself but it was like, impossible to be really sure, wasn't it? There was always that lurking fear he had where he actually broadcast his thoughts loudly to everyone else around him and everyone just politely didn't say anything to spare his feelings. Could you ever really sure that wasn't what was happening at all times? That you weren't being heard plain as day as you idly contemplated how cute the girl at the desk in front of yours would look half naked? That the answer was probably 'very'?
Suddenly self-conscious Timothy pulled both earbuds out, cutting the refrain of 'strawb-buh-buh-buh-berry' short as he listened intently to make sure he wasn't being as awkward as he felt he was being, all while he awkwardly zoned out staring into the space between Virginia and Leah.
Upcoming:
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
((Intensely glaring at Timothy from right behind him in the other line, Leslie Lowell awkwardly resurges from the bus stop thread))
Swear to Baby Jesus himself if this jabroni didn't fucking move, Leslie was gonna, well, do something besides mean mug.
Like, come on, dude. Lunch barely lasted ten minutes already after getting through the line; lollygagging and muttering nonsense to yourself was wasting time. Time was money, and Leslie had a check he had to cash in straight chicken nuggets and taters. If he ever could get to the taters because someone wouldn't fucking move.
What was he even ogling at? Leslie momentarily broke his glare to look in the other line. It was just a couple of girls? Cool. Keep it moving, buddy; this ain't a god damn safari.
Leslie thought about saying something after the other guy pulled out his earbuds, but nah. Why do that when you could quietly seethe?
Swear to Baby Jesus himself if this jabroni didn't fucking move, Leslie was gonna, well, do something besides mean mug.
Like, come on, dude. Lunch barely lasted ten minutes already after getting through the line; lollygagging and muttering nonsense to yourself was wasting time. Time was money, and Leslie had a check he had to cash in straight chicken nuggets and taters. If he ever could get to the taters because someone wouldn't fucking move.
What was he even ogling at? Leslie momentarily broke his glare to look in the other line. It was just a couple of girls? Cool. Keep it moving, buddy; this ain't a god damn safari.
Leslie thought about saying something after the other guy pulled out his earbuds, but nah. Why do that when you could quietly seethe?
SARAH LILLIAN WHITLOCK - SANDBOX START
There were too many students at Mangrove Garden.
That was the thought that always went through Sarah’s mind whenever she was stuck in the crowded cafeteria, subjected to the full force of humanity as she patiently waited in line for her chicken nuggets or whatever else was available that day; the sounds, the smells, the jostling… too many students, or not enough cafeteria. One of the two.
It wasn’t like she was advocating for a mass culling of students to cut down on the numbers or anything, but it was fairly obvious that the school had more people attending than they knew what to do with. Maybe they should expand the cafeteria building to make more room, but would there be space to do so with the other buildings around it? And what about the cost? Or they could cut down on the number of tuition students they accepted each year, or would that reduce their revenue too much? Cut down on scholarships then? But that was unfair to the students who were good enough to get in, but maybe couldn’t afford to attend. If they staggered the lunch periods out more that might solve the issue, but then you’d have people who were eating too early in the day, or too late, and that wasn’t fair either.
Why was she even thinking about this? Oh, right. Boredom. There was nothing better to do while waiting in line than to let her mind wander and try to solve the schools logistical problems. She could pull out her phone and watch a video, or listen to music, but she doubted she’d be able to hear anything even with her ear buds in. Maybe she should invest in some proper headphones like the girl two places in front of her. And now she was people watching, looking at the people in her line or in the other line, trying to spot people she recognised or who she wouldn’t mind sitting with. In the other line she saw a guy who was almost, but not quite looking directly back at her; he was also muttering something to himself, which was a little weird, and there was a space open in front of him that he wasn’t moving into, much to the chagrin of the person standing behind him. Rather than be caught staring Sarah turned her attention back to the line she was in, keeping her eyes on the back on the person directly in front of her, before noticing that she too seemed to be muttering to herself.
It was an epidemic. Truly, lunch period was bad for their mental health if it was making everyone talk to themselves. Hadn’t see been biting her nails earlier as well? Was she nervous about something? Was it even any of Sarah’s business if she was? ‘I think so’, ‘maybe’ and ‘no, not really’ were the answers to those questions, in order, but she considered saying something to the girl either way. But wanting to do something and actually going through with it were very different things, especially when that something involved approaching some she didn’t know for not very well thought out reasons just because she wanted to be social.
She went for it anyway.
Sarah reached out and gently tapped a hand against the girl’s elbow to get her attention, before saying, “Hey. How are you?”
There were too many students at Mangrove Garden.
That was the thought that always went through Sarah’s mind whenever she was stuck in the crowded cafeteria, subjected to the full force of humanity as she patiently waited in line for her chicken nuggets or whatever else was available that day; the sounds, the smells, the jostling… too many students, or not enough cafeteria. One of the two.
It wasn’t like she was advocating for a mass culling of students to cut down on the numbers or anything, but it was fairly obvious that the school had more people attending than they knew what to do with. Maybe they should expand the cafeteria building to make more room, but would there be space to do so with the other buildings around it? And what about the cost? Or they could cut down on the number of tuition students they accepted each year, or would that reduce their revenue too much? Cut down on scholarships then? But that was unfair to the students who were good enough to get in, but maybe couldn’t afford to attend. If they staggered the lunch periods out more that might solve the issue, but then you’d have people who were eating too early in the day, or too late, and that wasn’t fair either.
Why was she even thinking about this? Oh, right. Boredom. There was nothing better to do while waiting in line than to let her mind wander and try to solve the schools logistical problems. She could pull out her phone and watch a video, or listen to music, but she doubted she’d be able to hear anything even with her ear buds in. Maybe she should invest in some proper headphones like the girl two places in front of her. And now she was people watching, looking at the people in her line or in the other line, trying to spot people she recognised or who she wouldn’t mind sitting with. In the other line she saw a guy who was almost, but not quite looking directly back at her; he was also muttering something to himself, which was a little weird, and there was a space open in front of him that he wasn’t moving into, much to the chagrin of the person standing behind him. Rather than be caught staring Sarah turned her attention back to the line she was in, keeping her eyes on the back on the person directly in front of her, before noticing that she too seemed to be muttering to herself.
It was an epidemic. Truly, lunch period was bad for their mental health if it was making everyone talk to themselves. Hadn’t see been biting her nails earlier as well? Was she nervous about something? Was it even any of Sarah’s business if she was? ‘I think so’, ‘maybe’ and ‘no, not really’ were the answers to those questions, in order, but she considered saying something to the girl either way. But wanting to do something and actually going through with it were very different things, especially when that something involved approaching some she didn’t know for not very well thought out reasons just because she wanted to be social.
She went for it anyway.
Sarah reached out and gently tapped a hand against the girl’s elbow to get her attention, before saying, “Hey. How are you?”
Leah thought she's being stared at. There wasn't any proof of that, since it's not like she would look up from staring at her own shoes to look for a pair of eyes trained on her anyways, but the creeping anxiety is swallowing her up. Why was she being stared at? She wasn't very attractive or attention grabbing or have any friends. There isn't any reason that anyone, especially in the lunch line, should be staring at her, out of all the people packed together right now. Was it her muttering? Did she somehow get a stain on her buttoned up shirt dress? Was the dress too short? It only reached her knees, after all, and mom was already considering throwing it away. Worst case scenario, someone found her cosplays and are now spreading rumors, no idea what rumors but they always suck so anyways, and she couldn't hear them because the cafeteria is so loud and then the information's going to reach her mom and then she'll find out that one photo set with the miniskirt and call her a whore and yell at her and take her phone away and then she would truly have no one left to talk to except from grandma and she're pretty traditional so then-
Damn it, if she's really being noticed by someone, at least she should know who it actually is. Maybe she can make a new friend- Wait, no that's too optimistic.
She scanned her eyes across the room and made eye contact with a boy about her height or shorter. He looked zoned out, lost in thought, almost as if he didn't even realize his staring. A surge of relief went through her. And then she realized that his lips are moving, and oh jesus christ oh not they actually are rumors she's screwed and her mom is going to be pissed at her and everything good she has left in her life will be gone in an unspecified chain of events and-
Calm down.
The tap of a hand against her elbow scared Leah so much that she didn't even immediately process the question that was asked towards her. Resistng the urge to yelp or snap at the girl or whatever normal people do when a stranger touches them, she turned around, her fair almost hitting multiple people in the face.
"Oh, um, yes? Thank you."
And then she realized that the question is “Hey, How are you?” and she felt like more of an idiot than before. Embarrassment curled into her stomach. This fruit cup isn't worth it.
Damn it, if she's really being noticed by someone, at least she should know who it actually is. Maybe she can make a new friend- Wait, no that's too optimistic.
She scanned her eyes across the room and made eye contact with a boy about her height or shorter. He looked zoned out, lost in thought, almost as if he didn't even realize his staring. A surge of relief went through her. And then she realized that his lips are moving, and oh jesus christ oh not they actually are rumors she's screwed and her mom is going to be pissed at her and everything good she has left in her life will be gone in an unspecified chain of events and-
Calm down.
The tap of a hand against her elbow scared Leah so much that she didn't even immediately process the question that was asked towards her. Resistng the urge to yelp or snap at the girl or whatever normal people do when a stranger touches them, she turned around, her fair almost hitting multiple people in the face.
"Oh, um, yes? Thank you."
And then she realized that the question is “Hey, How are you?” and she felt like more of an idiot than before. Embarrassment curled into her stomach. This fruit cup isn't worth it.
The outside world invaded Virginia's bubble of muffled noise in the form of a touch brushing across her hands. She was used to the pushing and shoving that everyone engaged in without even thinking about it, but it rarely the form of something so light, like someone was tentatively trying to get her attention.
She turned and surveyed the situation. One boy staring blankly at the wall over Virginia's shoulder with the kind of thousand-yard-stare that she knew well; it was the kind of thinking stare that you could maintain near-indefinitely as long as nobody on the outside passed in front and broke the spell. One boy glowering at the back of the other boy's head. One girl behind her looking out of sorts - was she the one who had touched Virginia's hand? One girl looking at the other expectantly, as though she was awaiting an answer.
Virginia pulled one of the earphones back, situating the cushioned earpiece behind her ear so that her headphones stayed on her head rather than moving them down around her neck.
"Did you say something? To me?" The words were addressed to one of the two girls, but she wasn't sure which. They floated out into the haphazard arrangement of people for anyone to claim.
She turned and surveyed the situation. One boy staring blankly at the wall over Virginia's shoulder with the kind of thousand-yard-stare that she knew well; it was the kind of thinking stare that you could maintain near-indefinitely as long as nobody on the outside passed in front and broke the spell. One boy glowering at the back of the other boy's head. One girl behind her looking out of sorts - was she the one who had touched Virginia's hand? One girl looking at the other expectantly, as though she was awaiting an answer.
Virginia pulled one of the earphones back, situating the cushioned earpiece behind her ear so that her headphones stayed on her head rather than moving them down around her neck.
"Did you say something? To me?" The words were addressed to one of the two girls, but she wasn't sure which. They floated out into the haphazard arrangement of people for anyone to claim.
If he really payed attention- rare, admittedly- he got the sense that he... in fact, was kind of talking to himself, dammit. Not like, saying anything out loud but moving his lips all the same. Wasn't that, like, extra lame? Talking to yourself but not even being able to hear or understand what you were saying.
Now like, he got the sense that stopping straight away would just make it all the more obvious that he'd been doing the whole retinue of unsavory things: talking to himself, staring inappropriately, being gratuitously greasy. Seriously, he could feel the pizza juice leaking from the more ripe of his whiteheads. Or maybe that was the usual 'being too sensitive' thing his mom told him to stop doing or he'd never get a girlfriend. Argh, it was like, he didn't even mean to be doing any of those things? They had all happened while he simply wasn't paying attention (what had he even been on about? Champions or something), but his conscious self was the one that had to deal with the consequences. Hella unfair.
He disengaged as best he knew how, faked stretching his jaw, looking around at everything and anything else (failing to avoid eye contact several times over in the process, fuuuuu-). If it looked like his blanking out moment had just been part of some stimming routine or something, he could... look like he had autism? He wasn't sure what the end goal to doubling down on his awkward flailing was, but he was up and doing it.
Wait, there were like, three spaces worth of people between him and the next person ahead of him in the line.
"Sorry, sorry." He held up his hands in the direction of nobody, surrendering to nobody (pls dont shoot!!) as he rushed to fill in the gap between. A little more apologetic gesticulating. Again, at nobody in particular.
Now like, he got the sense that stopping straight away would just make it all the more obvious that he'd been doing the whole retinue of unsavory things: talking to himself, staring inappropriately, being gratuitously greasy. Seriously, he could feel the pizza juice leaking from the more ripe of his whiteheads. Or maybe that was the usual 'being too sensitive' thing his mom told him to stop doing or he'd never get a girlfriend. Argh, it was like, he didn't even mean to be doing any of those things? They had all happened while he simply wasn't paying attention (what had he even been on about? Champions or something), but his conscious self was the one that had to deal with the consequences. Hella unfair.
He disengaged as best he knew how, faked stretching his jaw, looking around at everything and anything else (failing to avoid eye contact several times over in the process, fuuuuu-). If it looked like his blanking out moment had just been part of some stimming routine or something, he could... look like he had autism? He wasn't sure what the end goal to doubling down on his awkward flailing was, but he was up and doing it.
Wait, there were like, three spaces worth of people between him and the next person ahead of him in the line.
"Sorry, sorry." He held up his hands in the direction of nobody, surrendering to nobody (pls dont shoot!!) as he rushed to fill in the gap between. A little more apologetic gesticulating. Again, at nobody in particular.
Upcoming:
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
See? Glaring at someone instead of directly addressing an issue like some sort of liberal always worked.
Anyway. Leslie raised an eyebrow at Timothy scuttling up the line and closing the gap. Leslie waddled on right behind as the rest of the chain of people did the same.
His stomach rumbled. Can't believe he straight up just forgot to reset all three of his alarms this morning. He was really paying for missing his standard breakfast of two of those frozen chicken biscuit things. Never again.
Leslie's bobbed around looking for, well, something maybe. That something ended up being the girl over in the other line, the one behind Virginia or Carolina or Missurah or some other sorta state. She was freaking out about something.
He looked away, and then looked back at her. What was her deal?
Anyway. Leslie raised an eyebrow at Timothy scuttling up the line and closing the gap. Leslie waddled on right behind as the rest of the chain of people did the same.
His stomach rumbled. Can't believe he straight up just forgot to reset all three of his alarms this morning. He was really paying for missing his standard breakfast of two of those frozen chicken biscuit things. Never again.
Leslie's bobbed around looking for, well, something maybe. That something ended up being the girl over in the other line, the one behind Virginia or Carolina or Missurah or some other sorta state. She was freaking out about something.
He looked away, and then looked back at her. What was her deal?
The girl in front of her reacted sharply enough to the touch at her elbow that Sarah was startled by it herself. She probably should have expected it, the reaction, given that the girl was muttering to herself and was probably caught up in her own thoughts; being broken out whatever was going on in her head by a sudden touch she wasn’t expecting would obviously come as a shock. She’d managed to get the girl’s attention at least and they didn’t seem too offended, so Sarah counted that as a minor win. Nonetheless she pulled her hand back and placed it behind her back, grabbing the elbow of her other arm as she flashed Leah what she hoped was a disarming smile.
The answer to her question was weirdly worded, not quite matching up to what was asked, but it was positive at least and that was good enough for her. “Oh, that’s good. You just looked a little nervous is all.” On the other side of Leah, the girl with the headphones had removed one half of it from over her ear and had turned towards them. “No, I was just talking to… erm.” Sarah turned to the nervous girl, feeling a little awkward at being caught out in not knowing what to call her. “Sorry, I don’t know your name. I’m Sarah.”
The answer to her question was weirdly worded, not quite matching up to what was asked, but it was positive at least and that was good enough for her. “Oh, that’s good. You just looked a little nervous is all.” On the other side of Leah, the girl with the headphones had removed one half of it from over her ear and had turned towards them. “No, I was just talking to… erm.” Sarah turned to the nervous girl, feeling a little awkward at being caught out in not knowing what to call her. “Sorry, I don’t know your name. I’m Sarah.”
"Um, he-hello..." And on instinct, she greeted the girl. She didn't even listen to her name. Sasha? Sarah? Does it even matter?
Stuck in the lunch line, with one person attempting to make conversation and another staring right at her, Leah could feel the adrenaline through her veins, as if this was a battlefield instead of the lunch line. It's always like this. This feeling of unjustified, absolute horror that prevented her from reaching out to others. If she didn't say anything, then she'd come off as cold and uncaring and a bunch of negative traits that were already tacked onto her for being that one kid who asked the teachers whether she can work alone instead of with a partner in science class. If she did say something, then everyone's going to know that she's a socially awkward freak who's got brainworms or something. It's always been like this, crowds of potentialy judgemental people and what feels like billions of eyes trained onto her, expecting her to work as another cog in the social machine. It's too loud, too suffocating, and this happens too damn much. Every time. This isn't the scenario that she practiced to the mirror. It's always been like this for her and she hates it.
She hates it, hates this feeling of being put on the spot, exposed, awkward.
She hates it, this scenario of her nightmares, trapped between a rock and a hard place, a chatty girl and people staring at her.
She hate it, and she hates them, and she's knows she's got to much hate for someone tring to make small talk in the school cafeteria. You rude bitch, she probably doesn't even know anything about you other than your name! Stop blaming others for your social anxiety and make an effort for once.
And suddenly, for no reason at all, she wanted to cry. She's so alone, so pathetic, so imcompetent. Why couldn't she talk? Why couldn't she move? Why was she even crying? She wasn't usually like this. She shouldn't be like this.
And with watery eyes and sweaty palms and trembling lips, Leah Hemingway, the world's biggest fucking loser, wrentched herself from her own mind's metaphorically bruising grip, taking a step aside and exititing the lunch line of horrors on impulse.
She probably said something like " M' sorry, vending machines" or whatever, but she doubts anyone can hear her.
Leah marched off to the vending machines, those eyes all seemed to be staring at her back.
And the angry, irrational, impulsive part of her wanted to gouge those eyes out, so that no one can look at her or remember her ever again. But she couldn't even look into these eyes because she's such a coward and an anxious bitch and whatever, so she just dug her own bitten nails into her palms until they feel like they're bleeding and tried to wipe those angry, irrational tears away.
Leah Hemingway continued in Insert $5 for temporary happiness!
Stuck in the lunch line, with one person attempting to make conversation and another staring right at her, Leah could feel the adrenaline through her veins, as if this was a battlefield instead of the lunch line. It's always like this. This feeling of unjustified, absolute horror that prevented her from reaching out to others. If she didn't say anything, then she'd come off as cold and uncaring and a bunch of negative traits that were already tacked onto her for being that one kid who asked the teachers whether she can work alone instead of with a partner in science class. If she did say something, then everyone's going to know that she's a socially awkward freak who's got brainworms or something. It's always been like this, crowds of potentialy judgemental people and what feels like billions of eyes trained onto her, expecting her to work as another cog in the social machine. It's too loud, too suffocating, and this happens too damn much. Every time. This isn't the scenario that she practiced to the mirror. It's always been like this for her and she hates it.
She hates it, hates this feeling of being put on the spot, exposed, awkward.
She hates it, this scenario of her nightmares, trapped between a rock and a hard place, a chatty girl and people staring at her.
She hate it, and she hates them, and she's knows she's got to much hate for someone tring to make small talk in the school cafeteria. You rude bitch, she probably doesn't even know anything about you other than your name! Stop blaming others for your social anxiety and make an effort for once.
And suddenly, for no reason at all, she wanted to cry. She's so alone, so pathetic, so imcompetent. Why couldn't she talk? Why couldn't she move? Why was she even crying? She wasn't usually like this. She shouldn't be like this.
And with watery eyes and sweaty palms and trembling lips, Leah Hemingway, the world's biggest fucking loser, wrentched herself from her own mind's metaphorically bruising grip, taking a step aside and exititing the lunch line of horrors on impulse.
She probably said something like " M' sorry, vending machines" or whatever, but she doubts anyone can hear her.
Leah marched off to the vending machines, those eyes all seemed to be staring at her back.
And the angry, irrational, impulsive part of her wanted to gouge those eyes out, so that no one can look at her or remember her ever again. But she couldn't even look into these eyes because she's such a coward and an anxious bitch and whatever, so she just dug her own bitten nails into her palms until they feel like they're bleeding and tried to wipe those angry, irrational tears away.
Leah Hemingway continued in Insert $5 for temporary happiness!
Virginia stood there and watched the other girl run off, feeling like she had missed something important.
"Is she sick? Do you think?" Should someone go after her and make sure she's okay, was the unspoken follow-up, but if she asked that it might be taken as volunteering. That would mean giving up her spot in the line for the trade-off of a probably-awkward exchange with someone who was possibly sick. Objectively a trade down, and it'd probably put her appetite off. Virginia was no stranger to holding someone's hair while they vomited, but she was a stranger to doing it for strangers, at least.
Anyway.
Virginia glanced over her shoulder to see that her line had moved up, and she shuffled forward a step to close the gap again. She looked back in the direction the other girl had taken off in, leaving the floor open for anyone else to choose to go after her, or to smooth things over as if the interruption had never been, leaving them all to return to their slow, out-of-sync crawl forward to nuggety salvation.
"Is she sick? Do you think?" Should someone go after her and make sure she's okay, was the unspoken follow-up, but if she asked that it might be taken as volunteering. That would mean giving up her spot in the line for the trade-off of a probably-awkward exchange with someone who was possibly sick. Objectively a trade down, and it'd probably put her appetite off. Virginia was no stranger to holding someone's hair while they vomited, but she was a stranger to doing it for strangers, at least.
Anyway.
Virginia glanced over her shoulder to see that her line had moved up, and she shuffled forward a step to close the gap again. She looked back in the direction the other girl had taken off in, leaving the floor open for anyone else to choose to go after her, or to smooth things over as if the interruption had never been, leaving them all to return to their slow, out-of-sync crawl forward to nuggety salvation.
Timothy's phone oozed out of his pocket like a virulent oil spill. He grumbled to himself incoherently, a monosyllable as he noted his phone screen was grimy. Hadn't he just cleaned it a period ago? Cleaning always struck him as like, one of those ultimately futile things where the work put in wasn't really rewarded. What was the point of cleaning something if it got dirty again? Pretty foreboding sign too: weren't those sorts of annoying things supposed to get less hauntingly annoying as you got older, not more?
He cursorily redistributed the screen muck with a corner of his shirt, as Ginger Snap's smile (best girl <3 but the whole cast was pretty cool) flared to life in awkwardly cropped and portioned cuteness. Stupid wallpaper wasn't scaled down quite right. He looked up, contemplating the line just ahead as it began to join into the first part of the food station area. He could just see the first warming tray slots and
Wait, were there no more nuggets? The color of whatever was in the tray was not, like, particularly golden brown or crispy (crispy being an entire swatch's worth of color by all interior designer standards). Maybe his eyes were deceiving him? That happened often, for various reasons and with varying amounts of redundant existential paranoia.
"Do they not-?"
He'd said part of it aloud before realizing he didn't actually want to warn the others, even though he did? A matter of avoiding accidentally starting a conversation he didn't know how to have.
Only other way he knew how to signal that something was wrong and needed checking out was to, like, really make an ass out of himself, peering, craning his neck. Full on mating dance in place to maybe catch someone's attention and get a more reliable sauce on the potential inbound lack of sauce.
He cursorily redistributed the screen muck with a corner of his shirt, as Ginger Snap's smile (best girl <3 but the whole cast was pretty cool) flared to life in awkwardly cropped and portioned cuteness. Stupid wallpaper wasn't scaled down quite right. He looked up, contemplating the line just ahead as it began to join into the first part of the food station area. He could just see the first warming tray slots and
Wait, were there no more nuggets? The color of whatever was in the tray was not, like, particularly golden brown or crispy (crispy being an entire swatch's worth of color by all interior designer standards). Maybe his eyes were deceiving him? That happened often, for various reasons and with varying amounts of redundant existential paranoia.
"Do they not-?"
He'd said part of it aloud before realizing he didn't actually want to warn the others, even though he did? A matter of avoiding accidentally starting a conversation he didn't know how to have.
Only other way he knew how to signal that something was wrong and needed checking out was to, like, really make an ass out of himself, peering, craning his neck. Full on mating dance in place to maybe catch someone's attention and get a more reliable sauce on the potential inbound lack of sauce.
Upcoming:
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
.....Alrighty, then.
Leslie stayed transfixed on the girl as she broke from the line and ran away to parts unknown. Wonder what that was about. Then again, eh.... girls never made sense.
Someone coughed behind Leslie in line. He turned around. The other kid was rolling his hand at Leslie to move along. Leslie quickly turned to look at the other side of the line to see that there was a good distance between him and Timothy.
Great, now he was the jabroni.
Leslie awkwardly shuffled along and filled the gap as the rest of the line did the same. His stomach rumbled again. He couldn't get to the chicken nuggets quick enough.
Leslie stayed transfixed on the girl as she broke from the line and ran away to parts unknown. Wonder what that was about. Then again, eh.... girls never made sense.
Someone coughed behind Leslie in line. He turned around. The other kid was rolling his hand at Leslie to move along. Leslie quickly turned to look at the other side of the line to see that there was a good distance between him and Timothy.
Great, now he was the jabroni.
Leslie awkwardly shuffled along and filled the gap as the rest of the line did the same. His stomach rumbled again. He couldn't get to the chicken nuggets quick enough.
Confused eyes tracked Leah as she left the cafeteria, Sarah turning her head to watch as she hurried the opposite way down the line of waiting students and out the doors. Why? Her first reaction was to ask herself if it was something she had said or done, but she doubted she could cause a reaction that strong just by asking if the girl was okay. Before she had left Sarah was sure she had seen tears welling up in the taller girl’s eyes, her lip trembling like she was on the verge of crying. Surely she wasn’t so out of practice meeting new people that she’d reduced the other girl to tears? Most likely she was just going through something to make her that upset; it wasn’t something Sarah had done.
Except… well, it was definitely her fault, right? Butting in like she did, tapping the girl on her elbow and invading her privacy to ask if she was okay, when it was none of her business whatsoever? That wasn’t very considerate of her. She’d been aware of that, told herself it was a bad idea, but she’d gone ahead and done it anyway just because she’d wanted to be social and talk to somebody.
A voice from behind her brought her attention back towards the girl with the earphones, who was asking her if the tall girl was sick. Behind that query lay unspoken question as to whether someone should go and make sure she was okay, probably Sarah given that she had started this chain of events. Chasing after her and making sure she was okay was probably the worst thing she could possibly do at this point; even the idea of doing and further butting her nose in where it didn’t belong was enough to make her wince. “No, I don’t think so.”
Way to go Sarah. You tried to make a new friend and instead you reduced them to actual tears.
Go, me.
Except… well, it was definitely her fault, right? Butting in like she did, tapping the girl on her elbow and invading her privacy to ask if she was okay, when it was none of her business whatsoever? That wasn’t very considerate of her. She’d been aware of that, told herself it was a bad idea, but she’d gone ahead and done it anyway just because she’d wanted to be social and talk to somebody.
A voice from behind her brought her attention back towards the girl with the earphones, who was asking her if the tall girl was sick. Behind that query lay unspoken question as to whether someone should go and make sure she was okay, probably Sarah given that she had started this chain of events. Chasing after her and making sure she was okay was probably the worst thing she could possibly do at this point; even the idea of doing and further butting her nose in where it didn’t belong was enough to make her wince. “No, I don’t think so.”
Way to go Sarah. You tried to make a new friend and instead you reduced them to actual tears.
Go, me.