May 2009



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May. 6th, 2009


A not-so-relaxing day at the spa.

Who: Bif and Derby
What: A chance meeting at the spa.
When: After the night at the bar between Bif, Tad, and Gord.
Where: The Three Cranes Spa
Warnings: Who knows? TBA for sure.

Derby Harrington wasn't the most easy-going spa client to say the least. )

Apr. 24th, 2009



Bif could hear Derby, angrily replying to Gary's disruption of the speech amongst the thud of running feet on the wood floor, the creak of chairs, and voices either cursing in disbelief or mumbling in nervous uncertainty.

But it seemed all in vain to him: Gary had already made his mark-- and the lights being cut like that had thrown the school into panic mode.

Still, Bif stood there, listening, trying to imagine just how such a blow would have affected him. He wondered if it was true-- maybe it had just been a willingness to assume that he'd been unceremoniously replaced with Tad-- a notion Tad had certainly encouraged-- his own jealousy-- he hated to admit-- which had cut off the idea that maybe Derby was really as miserable-- and was relying on paid services after all.

Of course, it wouldn't be just any type of rent boy pleasing him: they'd be exclusive and pricey.

He wasn't sure whether to be horrified, intensely jealous, or furious.

And he wanted to know how the hell Gary Smith had garnered this information, too.

He moved through the crowd, ignoring the bumps and knocks from those rushing past him in the darkness. He was stressed: moreso than earlier in the evening, and more than when he'd encountered Tad and Derby and their new-found touchy-feely-fucky friendship. He subconsciously patted the front of his jacket, glad he'd brought some relief.

He knew his way through the school all too easily, and seeing the glowing green of exit lights by the doors, and the uncomfortable fluroscent lights of the men's room urged him foward in that direction. But the toilets, unlike a few other things around the school which seemed to have been painted or upgraded-- hadn't changed. They still looked like dingy, horrible toilets, and they still reeked of stale urine and vomit. The idea of cutting up a few lines on one of those seats was utterly repugnant.

Instead, he forged a way to the exit, planning on hailing a cab and heading... home? Out on the town? Anywhere but here.

He saw the entrance, marked by colour of the navy velvet blue sky which had a softer, more real look to it than the blackness inside the school building.

Stepping out into the cool night air, he looked around him: he wasn't the only one leaving. He thought he saw people rushing out, leaving as though they were afraid that Gary had planted a bomb there and they were waiting for the school to be blown to pieces.

He wasn't sure whether he wanted to leave and put as many substances in his system as it would take to forget this abysmal evening, or whether he wanted to watch what would happen now, see how Derby handled the situation.

And then another thought occurred to him: something like this would have never occurred while they were at school together: no. Derby had had damage control, someone standing beside him who made sure that no one fucked with Derby Harrington and what he and the preps stood for.

And suddenly, quite subtly, the bulk of his rage shifted. Gary Smith was an unbalanced psychopath with a vendetta.

But there was something worse than that, which posed a bigger and more dangerous threat. Tad Spencer. People taking out their jealous rage on the Harrington heir for having looks, breeding, social status and money was one thing-- hell, it was almost to be expected.

But being selected to be someone's right hand man, and then allowing Derby to suffer an indignity as he had this evening... was unforgivable.

Apr. 14th, 2009


The Speech

Those few steps up the walk were the longest steps Derby had ever ascended. It took him a full thirty seconds to mull over what had just happened, reassuring himself that everything he had done was perfect and it would end perfectly as well, because he knew Bif wasn't that stubborn. He always gave in eventually. But he could not shake the feeling that that weird sensation... that tingling sour... was that... uncertainty?

Couldn't be. It was probably just the bourbon. Damned cheap bourbon. No one could ever be relied upon to do even the simplest thing right.

Mrs. Danvers-Crabblesnitch was waiting, of course, standing at the top of the stairs and waving her hand around in front of her face as if she was trying to make it ever so clear she had nearly fainted.

"There you are!" she squawked, now waving both hands at Derby in indication that he needed to go inside. Now. "I was worried that--"

"Everything is fine." Derby said dismissively. He lifted his chin and walked past her without looking at her, as if she were as insignificant as the lady who washed his socks. Danvers squinted her eyes a little at that, but not wanting to distress the evening any further, let it go. She hurried forth as well, crossing the commons to the stairs where a podium had been erected for Derby and the other speakers to stand upon. Seth Kolbe was there now, rambling on something about the army and responsibility and discipline and who-the-hell cared. Nobody looked amused, anyway. Was anyone even listening.

Danvers practically kicked him off the stage. He wasn't going to pay a small fortune to build new classrooms. Kolbe looked surprised, and growled something to Danvers, who hardly paid attention.

"Thank you, Mr. Kolbe!" she said, clapping her hands together a couple of hurried times. "You are truly an inspiration to those of us who see ourselves with a future in the military. Our next speaker is our very own of the graduating class of 2000, Mr. Derby Harrington!"

Everyone was expected to applaud, Danvers said silently as she stared at the crowd, stepping off to the side. Derby glanced shortly at Tad, setting his jaw. Well, here went nothing. Really. Nothing.

He stepped up to the podium with grace, giving the edges of his suit jacket a jaunty tug as he went, and putting on a platinum "publicity" smile. From somewhere he thought he felt the burn of a flashbulb rake over his retinas. Whoever had the camera was a moron for blinding him, but that'd be dealt with later.

"Thank you, Mrs. Danvers-Crabblesnitch." he said formally into the microphone, his voice well-composed. He could do this in his sleep. "And thank you, my peers, for coming to this fine gathering."

"We have all, no doubt, encountered the myriad responses given to those who graduate from this institution: the rigorous curriculum--"

Because now we all know that the primary vocabulary word in the letter jumble "THFSGI" is "shit", courtesy of Mr. Galloway.

"The competitive and talented extra-curricular activities--"

Like panty sniffing, a la Mr. Burton.

"And the powerful sense of community our beautiful village provides."

In between the vandalism, molestations, and burglaries.

"But the one thing that I have most often cited when answering the question of what an education at Bullworth Academy as afforded me--"

Mar. 16th, 2009


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Mar. 6th, 2009


Beach Promenade (Derby, Tad, Jimmy)

Who: Derby, Tad, and Jimmy
What: Walking on the boardwalk and encountering one another... fatefully(?)
When: Friday, June 17th 2005, weekend before the reunion.
Where: The big boardwalk in the Vale.
Warnings: Should be clean.

It was colorful and tacky and a number of unquantified adjectives. )