bianca. (livewritedance) wrote in mcdermott_game, @ 2009-07-20 21:05:00 |
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Current mood: | annoyed |
Entry tags: | bianca, bianca/eric, eric |
Who: Bianca and Eric
What: A battle of wills and some banter
Where: The student gym/rec center
When: Monday night
Rating: R for heavy cussing (Eric's a potty mouth, ahaha)
Status: Complete
Even though she was a dancer, that didn't mean that Bianca magically had the body for it. Sure, she got plenty of exercise from dancing, but to get the right look with just enough muscle tone for it to look perfect, Bianca had to work out her arms and her legs once in a while. She tried not to use the gym; she had plenty of weights and resistance bands at home, but sometimes, there was something so unmotivating about working out at home. Besides, she wanted to show the rest of the people there just how awesome she was compared to the rest of them - even though she'd never admit to that out loud.
So here she was, suffering through sharing equipment with the rest of the sweaty, gross student body (who knows where their hands had been. Bianca shuddered at the thought). She regarded the sign next to the weight machines that clearly stated that if someone was waiting, one should limit their workout time to fifteen minutes per machine. She didn't need them all; just that one that worked her arms out the best. Of course, there was some blonde guy hogging it.
"Excuse me," she finally said, walking up to him and standing right in front of him so that he could see her. "You've been using that machine for entirely too long."
Little known fact about Eric: he actually worked out to keep himself in good shape. He was a notoriously shitty eater, which wouldn't be too bad in itself if it weren't constantly compounded by the even shittier food he ate when he was baked. Which was not exactly an infrequent thing. He wasn't about to watch himself get all gross, so if it wasn't soccer season he took the time to work out at least a couple times a week.
He'd already done the cardio thing, so he had moved on to muscle toning machines. He'd been at it for maybe twenty minutes when some chick approached him. A chick who was pretty good looking, although had a supremely bitchy look on her face. At her declaration he shrugged, not stopping even though his arms were starting to ache by this point. "So? Go use another."
Bianca raised an eyebrow at him. "If I wanted to use another one, I would be using it already. You're the only thing stopping me." She looked at his arms. She contemplated boosting his ego and telling him he didn't need it, just to get him to get off the machine, but this guy looked entirely too cocky for his own good. Instead, she told him, as she looked him up and down, "You have scrawny calves, anyway."
Eric was 100% confident that that wasn't true. Years and years of soccer had made for muscular legs, so yeah, he was calling her bullshit. But he did, however, notice her looking him over completely which made him smirk. "No I don't. I'm pretty sure you can wait ten minutes." Man, he did not want to use the machine for another ten minutes but he had always refused to give into people. Character flaw and all. "Maybe go try out some cardio?" The implication was clear, although clearly the chick was the farthest thing from fat.
"I've seen better calves than yours," Bianca simply stated, staring up at him. "I do cardio every day, and in much better ways than some stupid elliptical." She pursed her lips. "Also, unlike most of you younger students, my time is much more of a concrete concept than you and your abstract 'ten minutes is nothing' deal." She rolled her eyes. "So hurry up."
"Whoop de-fucking-do for you," he replied with a roll of his eyes, lifting his head to get a better look at her briefly before laying it back down and continuing. "Patience is a virtue. Besides, didn't anyone ever tell you that you get more accomplished when you ask nicely?" ... Which was hypocritical bullshit, but he was in the position to be doling it out for his own amusement, so whatever.
"Oh, they've told me," Bianca assured him, watching him continue to exercise his arms - just because he could; he was such a jerk, she could tell already. "But I've learned that you get more accomplished when you do it yourself and screw the niceties." This was true. Being nice never got you anywhere in the end, she had learned.
God, this chick was intense. Although it didn't make what she was saying any less true, because it all was very, very accurate. But when two people with outlooks like that met, they tended to butt heads. This was no exception. Plus, he was just being a dick because he could. "Ten minutes," he said again. "Use it to pull the stick from out of your ass. Unless you'd rather wait for me to help you with that." He briefly wondered if she'd come and awkwardly stand over him and slap him -- he wouldn't put it past her.
This guy was difficult. Bianca was irritated - but at the same time, she was also amused; most people just scurried out of her way. So she decided to play the game, just for the sake of having one to play. "Fine. Eight minutes," she agreed, smirking slightly. "I'll stand here and time you. Maybe when you're done you'll have the biceps of your dreams. And... go." She crossed her arms across her chest and started to watch him intently, the smirk never leaving her face.
He just rolled his eyes. What, did she think she was intimidating him? Impossible. Beyond Eric's inflated ego was somebody who honestly, really didn't give a shit. But hey, whatever worked for her. "I have my own personal cheerleader now? Wow. Thanks." In a few minutes his arms would severely be dying, but because he was too fucking stubborn, he'd keep going til the end of the 8 minutes anyway and wait til he was properly out of her sight to stretch them. Goddamn.
"Do I look like a cheerleader to you?" Bianca asked, disgusted, as she watched the clock. "Seven minutes, twenty-eight seconds," she told him. "Don't exert yourself for my sake, though. It's not good for your muscles."
"Uh, yes?" Sure, the girl looked and sounded intolerably bitchy, but there was still something incredibly preppy about her. Which summed up more or less every cheerleader he had ever known. "I should know. I fucked a lot of them in high school." The solution to this was clearly to just pace himself more, which he began doing. She could mock him if she like, it wasn't a big deal. After all, he still had the thing for 7 and a half minutes so he wasn't losing anything here.
Bianca rolled her eyes as far up as she could, if that was even possible. "Please. I don't open my legs at anything that's blonde and smiley and gets me drunk just to sleep with me." She had more class than that. "And I suppose that's supposed to impress me? Whatever. Obviously you're too dim to know you're not supposed to work out any one muscle group for more than twenty minutes." Douche.
"I'm not always smiley," he corrected her, which was true enough. Take now, for instance, although that was probably because it was difficult to be working his arms and have a shit eating grin on his fae simultaneously. "And I definitely don't have to get a girl drunk to sleep with me." Although it helped. "I've done it before. I'll be okay. Thanks for the concern, though."
"You're welcome," Bianca replied dryly. "So are you normally this jerkfaced or are you just humoring me because I'm that special?" she asked. Mostly because it was something she could say with spite in her face. But she was also genuinely curious.
"Bit of both, I guess," he answered, trying to concentrate on anything except his arms. Like her legs, which were shapely and hot and in his view, and if she was into the hate/love thing would look really, really great wrapped around his waist. "Guess the fact that you're a huge bitch set me off, too."
Bianca got that a lot. But honestly, it wasn't her problem that most people didn't see life the way she did - you needed to get ahead to stay in the game. "Oh, good to know," she replied, sarcasm filling every facet of her voice. "Maybe that's because of people like you, who don't follow the rules just because they feel they're entitled to more than everyone else is." She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Yeahhh, I'm not buying that," Eric said easily, careful to keep signs of strain out of his voice. "You were a bitch when all you had to say was, 'Are you going to be done soon?'. But it's cool. Do the bitch thing if it works you. Just don't throw a shit fit when it doesn't work for other people."
"I'm not throwing a 'shit fit,'" Bianca said coolly, letting her face relax a little. "I'm just saying. Some people bring it out of me more than others. I can be perfectly nice to you; all you have to do is give me what I want." She shrugged. "And since you fail at that, I won't be nice to you."
He gave her a skeptical look, although it was possible she couldn't see it because of his position. "So you're saying if I got off this right now you'd ... what?"
"I'd take it and use it like I was supposed to fifteen minutes ago," she said, honestly. "But you already had your chance. Once I get my first impression... that's it." Why was she even telling him this? "But you won't get off. You just like torturing your arms for the sake of it." She shrugged. "Five minutes."
"How unfortunate for me," Eric said with no little amount of sarcasm, keeping his breathing steady as he continued. Fuck this stupid machine and his mouth and his pride and this dumb fucking girl. "I'm Eric, by the way. It's been a real pleasure meeting you."
"Does it look like I give a damn about who you are?" She scoffed. "Please." Even though that was good information to know - so that if she ever saw Eric (god, even the name was so generically douche-like) again, she'd be sure to never waste her breath on him. "I'm just enjoying the fact that your arms must be hurting like hell right now."
"I don't know. I don't really have a clear view of your face right now. Nice legs, though. Kind of a waste though." He thought about how awesomely muscular his arms would one day be, which helped with the burning-pain thing. Yep, he'd definitely be stretching his arms all day tomorrow. "Glad I can be spreading the joy." Not really. He'd rather her be all irritated and snippy and not smug. That was his job.
"A waste of what, exactly?" Bianca asked, sharply. "I happen to use these legs a lot." She thought about leaving it at that, but that left way too many possibilities for innuendo open, so she added, "I dance." Then she smiled and nodded. "I appreciate you spreading the joy," she told him.
"Like, on a pole? Because then you too could spread the joy, you know. Which clearly you love to do." More sarcasm, of course. Sarcasm was a good distraction.
"No, like on a stage," Bianca said, witheringly. She glanced at the clock. Damn, had it been nearly eight minutes already? She wanted to work out her arms but at the same time, some part of her was actually enjoying this. "I prefer my way of spreading joy much better, thanks." She smirked once more. "Three minutes. Think you can handle that, hotshot?"
"I'll make you pump faster? You're so good at talking dirty. Has anyone ever told you that?" His arms were probably going to give out at any moment but yeah, no big deal. As long as she wasn't around to witness it and he could last another what, 2 minutes? Insulting this chick seemed to be making time go by a little faster. But not fast enough.
"Go to hell," Bianca spat at him, disgusted. "I've never had the displeasure of some guy leering at me like that. You should be honored." She rolled her eyes. "And are you seriously just doing this to make a point? I feel sorry for you." She could have always gone to another machine, or you know, done some studying or something in these fifteen minutes, but she was proving a point, too, and she was going to win it, damn it.
He had to grin, despite the searing, burning sensation in his arms. He'd gotten an amusing reaction out of her, which basically equalled mission accomplished. Plus, as an added bonus, she felt sorry for him. God, he loved that. It was so ridiculously entertaining to have people pity him, like 'god, your life must be sad and empty' when really it was neither of those things. "I am totally honored. And of course I'm doing this to prove a point. What the hell are you doing?"
Well, at least you'll admit to it. I have to give you that." Even though she knew she'd hate the guy every time she laid eyes on him, that was still pretty funny. She obliged him a tiny smile, even though she had to raise her eyebrow. "And I'm waiting for you to finish already, damn, I thought we established that already."
She had the urge to slap him in the arm - really, he was so freaking annoying - but she didn't want to encourage him, and she didn't want to come into contact with his sweaty skin. It'd hurt him, though, which would amuse her. Bianca considered this seriously, but decided that it wasn't worth giving him that justification.
"Waiting right beside me, when you could have easily gone to drink some water or do something else while I finished up," he pointed out cheerfully (as cheerfully as he could manage). "But hey. It's not like I can blame you. Maybe I should stand there and watch you after I'm done."
"If you want," Bianca replied, indifferently. She didn't care if he watched her or not; at this point, she just wanted to use the machine. "It's not like people watching me would be anything new, anyway." She rolled her eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, I wasn't watching you in the sense of checking you out; it was more like baby-sitting you so that you wouldn't give that machine up the moment I turned around."
"Yeah, but knowing you you'd get the first person you saw to use it, just out of spite." She eyed him; she could tell he was starting to show signs of strain. "Ninety seconds, buddy. Unless your arm cramps up and you can't do anymore and the weights fall on you," she taunted him.
"I don't," he agreed. "But you didn't know that when you bitched me out about this. So your arguement sucks." He knew she was watching the clock, because he had followed her eyes and was watching it too before tearing his eyes away. Time went slower when you watched it. But he would keep going until his arms literally fell off, or time was up. Whatever came first.
"Of course I knew," Bianca retorted. "Polite people don't stay on the same machine for thirty minutes. So, as you say, your argument sucks." She smirked at him. "Having fun?"
"Yeah, because I'm sure every single person in the world gets off after exactly fifteen minutes." He rolled his eyes. "Just saying, if you had been not so ice cold about it, I would have given it up, no problem." Only because she was female and attractive and he would have figured he could possibly score himself another booty call, but it would have happened nonetheless. His arms were never going to function again.
"I don't believe that," Bianca said evenly. "But it doesn't matter now." She eyed the clock; he had just a few more seconds. What the hell. "I suppose you can stop now," she told him.
He gave himself another five seconds after Bianca told him to stop, you know, just so it wouldn't be so obvious that is motherfucking arms were going to unhinge themselves which were most likely the worst five seconds of his entire life. But he did it. And so his point was proven, at the expense of his arm muscles for the next few days. Although hopefully the pay off would be wicked. After he got up, his arms were still burning as if he were still working out, seizing up slightly as he abruptly stopped but whatever. "Cya, random gym chick. It's been a great fucking time. Maybe we'll do this again soon."
"You wish," was all Bianca would allow herself to say to him as he got up. She did feel a tinge of pity for him - that looked it would hurt - but he deserved it.
"Scathing," he remarked sarcastically, smirk still carefully in place before slipping away completely out of sight and letting out a long, well-deserved moan of pain. Yeah. He needed that joint immediately.