devon dackers. (fearfactors) wrote in invol_rpg, @ 2013-02-16 02:12:00 |
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DEVON: Being bodily removed from the dance and the source of Devon's rage did not, in fact, make her feel any better. If she'd been afraid of something, it would've been a whole other story, but instead she was just a barefoot girl in a dress restrained by a handful of boys who handled her a lot more easily than her already damaged pride could take. She'd dropped one of her heels somewhere on the way out, and when the warm air hit her skin and she was finally allowed the chance to wrest free of their grasp ("let me the fuck go already!"), she threw down the remaining one and stalked furiously along the warehouse wall. Fucking Elise. None of this was Isaac's fault, but she couldn't understand how he possibly fell for that icy bitch's charms. Likely, she was manipulating him somehow. Devon wouldn't put it past the Dutch girl. "Fuck!" she exploded, fist slamming hard on the concrete before she pulled back with a hiss. "Christ! Should've punched the smug mouth off that slut!" Nevermind that she'd slept with Isaac first, and likely showed much less restraint -- Devon was the one who deserved his attention, not some...raven-haired beauty in a skanky dress. SOLOMON: The doors slammed behind them. The warehouse practically seemed to toss them out, ejecting the four vols into the muggy night air -- but it was fresh air at least, free of the jostling crowds back in the building. Sol, ever-used to taking the lead and showing initiative, had instead fallen to the rear in their motley quartet while Devon paced and hissed and spat like a caged tiger. This was unfamiliar territory, as if he could feel the ground shifting beneath his feet -- but it was still hard-packed soil and this was still IVI, the same joyless prison it had always been, so what had changed? He watched her movements, trying to piece together A plus B and trace back the line of consequences, towards what had set her off. Unable to reach an answer, Sol decided to simply demand one: “That was raw. What the fuck happened in there? You’ve never boyed off against that one before.” His cohort -- ‘companion’ was too dry, and ‘girlfriend’ was still incorrect no matter what Rianne said -- hadn’t shown any particular distaste for the Dutch girl until now. Sol barely even knew that classmate. And if there was one thing he’d always thought about Devon, it was that her hatreds were consistent: Allegra. Sara. Vanessa. SAM: Sam had interceded at the first sight of trouble, his Responsible Big Brother Impulse kicking in immediately. The fact that it was his teammate about to cause trouble kept him invested, and he'd hurried to get her outside to cool off. He didn't realize exactly who had joined him in moving Devon until they were all pulling her kicking body out of the warehouse, and only then did it dawn on him how unpleasant his current situation was. "Guys, just-- give her some space, okay?" He held up a firm palm to Sol and Omar, acting on the presumption that they were only here to stir up more trouble. He needed to keep her away from toxic elements right now. OMAR: Confusion (Sol) and concern (Sam) were the titles of the evening for the other two boys, but Omar's own would have to be amusement. He was almost disappointed that he didn't get to see the pink-haired 'punch the smug mouth off that slut,' as Devon so beautifully put it, but the moment Sol gave him a look he was there, dragging her outside, and somewhere in there they picked up Sam as well. Ha ha ha. "Fuck off, Thompson," Omar replied lazily — the words he uttered were quiet, not confrontational but dismissive. He didn't want to start anything, just for the self-proclaimed soldier to not make anything more complicated. It was a big order, probably too big, but Omar tried. He glanced over at Sol, waiting for Devon's answer. He may have slipped into the background, but it was still undoubtedly Sol who knew how to deal with the girl best. "We're her friends," he added, turning back to Thompson and crossing his arms as if to say 'we're not going anywhere.' DEVON: She didn't interrupt Sam and Omar's back and forth -- what she really wanted was for them to leave her alone so she could go inside once more, fists swinging, but at least if it was anyone out there with her, it was her friends. Omar and Sol, even Sam. People who she trusted. People who she did not want seeing any kind of weakness. She'd called her own teammates pathetic for crying; she never cried, she was a bastion of fire-fueled but iron-clad emotion who fed on her own fears. Crying over a boy was beyond unacceptable, to the point where it was inconceivable to just about anyone who knew Devon's name. Yet she could feel her face flushing hot and cold, her stomach flipping wildly as it tossed itself around in anxious, alcohol-fueled knots, and her chest beneath the pink sheath and black lace had cranked itself so tightly that she balled her fist and pressed it squarely down on her breastbone to relieve some of the pressure. Devon was breathing heavily. All she'd wanted was to be the girl who could make Isaac happy. "What the fuck has she got that I haven't?" she choked out, dropping her gaze to the ground rather than look any of the expectant boys in the face as she angrily dashed at her eyes with her free hand. Her make-up wasn't waterproof; she was going to have black streaking down her cheeks if she wasn't careful, if she didn't get herself back under control somehow. "I've slept with him, so why would he take her?" SOLOMON: He shared a significant glance with Omar, but didn’t pay Sam any attention. All of his focus was saved for Devon, arms crossed over his red jacket, legs squared, still watching: she had a hand to her eyes, a hulking sob lurking behind her words, a hitch in her throat. All familiar sights for an upset girl. He’d seen it before. But not in Devon. This isn’t her, he thought, almost detached and clinical in the observation, a tooth worrying at his bottom lip. Finally, arms unfolding, Sol strode over and grasped Devon by the shoulder, his head ducking down -- with her heels shucked, she was back to being a few inches shorter than him -- and looked her in the eye. Trying to find another clue in the pupil, the iris. Something.. Who she chose to sleep with wasn’t his business; the two of them had plenty on the side, they both knew it, he didn’t think either of them minded. But this was different. “Thought you wanted to go with me,” and if there was a flat sound of hurt in Solomon’s voice, there it was. “Christ, Dev, you don’t get shook over some boy, what the fuck’s gotten into you? Did Lana do something to you?” DEVON: Though she didn't make a move to pull her shoulder out from under Sol's grasp, she turned her face aside so he couldn't look her in the eye, despite his best efforts. The problem was this was her. She did get shook over some boys, sometimes -- rarely, but sometimes, when she thought what they had was real only to see it crumble or be torn apart. Maybe this was her times ten on the intensity scale, but it was still her. Devon made herself a thick armor, hardened her heart, yet she wasn't immune or above it all. She hadn't wanted to become the Nancy to anyone's Sid at IVI (Sol didn't count entirely, not without the monogamy) while she was still making connections and tightening her trusted circle of friends, but -- it wasn't under her control, apparently. This was the second time someone had asked her if Lana had anything to do with it, which was almost insulting. "I've stayed the hell away from her, trust me," she snapped, but some of the heat had sapped from her voice: the irritation was aimed at herself more than Sol, whose concern she couldn't help but read. "I'd bloody know if she was fucking with my head, wouldn't I?" Wouldn't she? Would she? "And yeah well of course I'm happy you asked me," though at the moment, she sounded far from it. "I mean, don't get me wrong, we're mates, that's fab -- but Isaac's important, alright? All I wanted was to make him happy and it's like he barely even noticed." SAM: Sam had his hackles raised in preparation for some sort of confrontation with the two troublemakers, but when they both veered more towards concern than encouragement vis a vis Devon's violent state, he was cowed. He turned with mild bemusement towards his teary-eyed teammate, looking fully uncomfortable with the subject matter at hand. Despite Sadie, he did not know what to do with emotional women at all. "Wait," He asked as a quiet aside, directed to Omar while Sol and Devon had their tete a tete. "Who's she talking about?" OMAR: At least the faucets hadn't been turned on quite yet. There were few similarities between Omar and Uncle Sam, but the inability to deal with crying women was one of them. There was only one girl in the world whose tears he could handle (and without complaint) and she was halfway around the world. Devon's tears... even lurking beneath the surface like they were was too much for Omar to handle. He was only there for backup. And, it seemed, to deal with Sam. Or maybe not. The other boy's body language had changed, his tone softened and he no longer seemed like he was trying to take control of the situation. He was looking to Omar to find out what was going on. Ha ha ha. Omar glanced over at him, arms still crossed on his chest but there was less hostility there now. Marginally. "That one guy..." he whispered back. Damn, while Omar normally only pretended to forget names, in this case he was having a hard time with it. "That girl's date... Isaac. Except if you know what's good for you, you won't bring it up after tonight." SOLOMON: Omar was working on deflecting and explaining the situation (as far as they could understand it) to the other boy, and Sol glanced back at them then. Sam was an infuriating piece of American cowboy shit, but he seemed to have the girl’s best interests in mind, oddly enough. ‘But Isaac’s important. All I wanted was to make him happy and it’s like he barely even noticed.’ Maybe Devon did get like this around particular boys -- he’d only known her for this seven-month snapshot, after all -- but it had come out of nowhere, with a suddenness and fury that was startling to all involved. “You’re not exactly a lot of people’s fave person, love. Maybe someone else did summat.” (Or maybe this was just jealousy, starting to rear its head beneath the surface, sidling alongside Sol’s each and every ugly thought about the situation at hand. It was nicer and simpler, thinking that these mood swings came from someone else.) DEVON: At first she shot all of the boys a dirty look -- Sam for not knowing who her precious man was, Omar for not being able to remember his name (even if he rarely seemed to be able to remember anyone's name -- Isaac was important and wasn't it biblical, even?), and Sol for pushing the idea that this could not possibly be genuine. Maybe she was defying all expectations. She was allowed to do that, wasn't she? She could be tough and strong and fearless and badass and still...cry over a boy ignoring her. Her glare softened to confusion, slowly. Crossing her arms protectively over her chest, shoulders hunched in a slight stoop of defensiveness, Devon peered up at Sol. The anger was still lurking inside of her, but it had nowhere to go now, no outlet. "But..." She sounded so plaintive, so eighteen. Two months left until her nineteenth birthday and she was acting like she was regressing, instead. "I mean, I fucking..." Whatever she felt so vehement about was lost to her. Even outside, she still wanted to claw Elise's eyes out and throw herself at Isaac for his pleasure, but in front of the three older boys, she had absolutely nothing to say to defend her actions. If someone wanted to embarrass her in front of the entire student body and press photographers, well. She'd done worse, likely deserved it. Yet everyone knew that she was half-psychotic, willing to throttle anyone who dared to mess with her. And she had allies -- if there was ever a real fight, or someone truly hurt her, people would look out for her. These three. Jonas had saved her ass once. Laurel. Ted would happily chomp down on someone for the right cause, Coralie might plot some elaborate revenge. Maybe Isaac himself, even. Who would be stupid enough to take the whole horde of them on as enemies? "I'm a fucking idiot," Devon snarled painfully, her anger finding direction again. Her shoulders squared; her chin went up; her dark eyes flashed with determination. "I'll fucking kill them." With little more announcement than that, she broke Sol's grip and began storming back towards the warehouse door, intent on figuring out who deserved to die tonight. SAM: "Ah." Sam uttered the syllable almost soundlessly, and in a style that implied he was no clearer as to the nature of the situation than before. He held up his hands disarmingly at Omar's command, mainly because his preference to avoid Devon's further tears outweighed his disinclination to defer to Calderón. He was still trying to make some sense of the mess when he saw Devon lunge for the door, spurring him to reflexive action. He darted out to intercept, spreading his arms wide in the way one does when trying to herd animals. "Whoa, hey, lets stay out here, huh? Cool down a bit." He said in his softest tone, while mentally locking the exterior doors to the warehouse with his mind. Just in case she went right through him. OMAR: "How about you kill them tomorrow?" said Omar, loudly this time. He didn't make to move this time, watching instead — Sol was right there, after all, and Sam was going after her. And he knew how he was when he got it into his head that he wanted to punch someone in the face; all the restraining would just sometimes make it worse. Make the desire greater. Not that sense could always be talked into him, but it could sometimes. "Mean, why give them the satisfaction of ruining your night? Have a great night with Sol and do it tomorrow." And by then, hopefully she'd calm down. Or she'd punch someone tomorrow, which would also be fun to watch, but at least it wouldn't ruin Sol's chance of getting some tonight. SOLOMON: That chance might already be ruined here -- Sol rankled at being waved off as an acceptable second choice. Don't get me wrong, we're mates, that's fab: a friend but nothing special, nothing to burst into tears over. It was an odd and dischordant thought, realising that that might matter.. “What Omar said,” Sol said dully. He was normally a jabbering chatterbox spewing words a mile a minute, but now he was content to simply watch and listen. He took up station beside Sam, casually leaning against the concrete wall as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and sent the American a discreet but grateful nod. DEVON: Testily, she eyed Sam blocking her path. Again -- if she had fear in her mind rather than rage, she would have simply shouldered past him. Or, more than likely, vaulted over his shoulder with the agile grace of a rabbit. Sol and Omar didn't even look like they cared if she tried again when she glanced their way, and after a moment she stepped back, hands tightly fisted at her sides. If she went back in there, she didn't think she'd be able to ignore Isaac. Whatever she felt for him -- why she felt this way, like no one else mattered -- was too strong. And she wasn't sure she could put aside her anger right now, either. Devon's jaw shifted slightly to the side as she clenched her teeth, and she shook her head. "I'm going to go...walk." The grounds would be mostly empty with everyone else at the dance. The desire to go to the gym and find a punching bag was high, but mostly she just wanted to walk off the anger. Get as far away from everyone else as possible. And she was still wearing this stupid fancy dress. "Sorry," she mumbled sidelong at Sol as she turned away, her pink and black hair sliding down around her face when her head bowed and her bare feet started carrying her in the opposite direction. Maybe she'd go run her hands along the fence and dream about knocking it down. |