200 hours.
200 hours of screwed up community service with other screwed up idiots. My name is Lauren Cleal the Awesome, daughter of a banker and his shitty wife who ran away with his best man when I was 5. Although I have to hand it to the drunk bitch, she gave me some awesome genes. Luxurious light blonde hair, mossy green eyes and skin that only needs to have half an hour in the Indian sun and I have a tan the colour of caramel. Yes, I've seen some of India. Nothing major.
I suppose I got what I deserved. Karma, you know. But that didn't mean they would get me to go silently.
So, here I am. Having to change out of my beloved union jack shorts and fishnet tights, barely being able to yank up the garish orange jumpsuit past my vase-like, triplet-worthy-birthing hips. This damn jumpsuit is too tight, hugging my long, svelte legs and showing my afore-mentioned hips without any modesty. On a whim, I decide to tie the arms around my hips, instead letting my white wife beater do all the talking. Now, I'm not saying that I have nice breasts; they certainly aren't big and buxom, but I would definitely describe them as comfy, perky even. I put my hair up in a messy bun, with crazy ass mini braids with jade beads, blue and green strands of curls and a couple of feathers jutting out all over the place and tendrils of curls too short to put up and peak-a-boo fringe framing my tan round face. I double-check my makeup, which consists of eye liner with a small cat-like flick at its end and red lipstick that's aptly named 'Red cherry bomb', before popping a couple of sticks of gum in my mouth.
As I walk out of the dreary grey building of human depression all I can see is the sight of a large man wrestling with some other delinquent. The man seems is restraining a wannabe gansta back from having a fight with a smirking boy with thick, dark curls that run rampant on top of his head that's making mock kissy faces at him. The man proceeds to calm wannabe down before stepping back and looking up and down the orange jumpsuits, eventually stopping to call out "Where is Cleal?"
"I'm right here boss-man." I blow a bubble with my gum as the man, my probation worker, turns to look at me and let me out into the 'briefing room'. I walk into the light towards the railing that my fellow delinquents were all leaning against, waiting for the loud pop of the bubble before licking it back into my mouth as I continued. "I am Lauren the Awesome reporting for my piss take 'chance to give back to the community'.Thanks for waiting boss-man." I perform a mocking salute before stepping in line, grinning impishly at the boss-man, Tony... I think, as he glares at me for my sass.
The boss-man quickly goes on to an obviously rehearsed speech about our community service and how it was 'a chance to pay them back and prove them wrong'. All I could hear was blah, blah, blah, blah, blahddy blah. In my absolute disinterest, I take to discovering things about those I am to be spending my bullshit 200 hours with.
To my far right is Curtis Donovan standing slouched, well... as slouched as a guy that tall can get. I hadn't needed an intro to him; his infamous drugs taking had earned him a 2 year ban from competing, community service and a new, slightly shittier, rep. He's reasonably handsome, could probably show a girl like me a good time, but he seemed slightly stuck up when he saw me smiling at him. Total convo killer. His tattoo on his left shoulder interests me for a few moments; he hadn't struck me as the type for tribal tattoos and all that, but hey-ho.
Even more hunched over is a girl named Kelly, her elbows leaning heavily on the railings, her face showing more boredom than the Karma Sūtra shows kinky. Although, the girl's hair's a phenomenon, how anyone can scrap their hair back that far and not need serious medical attention is lost on me.
Gary comes after Curtis. A stereotypical wannabe gansta who has an attitude as likable as a bull elephant's in heat, his face a horrid wreath of mangled flesh as he glares at anyone who he thinks is looking at him for too long.
On my left is one of the most cockiest guys I've ever met, having tried to chat me up as I had walked up to the community centre. He'd been smoking a fag while leaning up against the grey walls as if he owned the place, I had asked for a drag, he gave me one and tried to chat me up in his thick Irish accent. I had pouted as I took the second drag, letting my full lips tempt him; his eyes had been riveted by my lips and my hips, gaze switching between the two as he checked me out. I handed the fag back and let my gaze turn heated and my grin become sultry as I slinked up to him, pressing him against the wall and whispered "Like fuck" into his ear. As I had walked away, I had felt his eyes on me, watching my hips as they swung in my step. I have to admit, while he had been crude, his attention had been flattering in some sort of twisted way. Hey, I still got it.
Alisha, quite simply, is as stunning as the Star of India. Beautiful to look at in a photograph, the disappointment comes when one actually meets her, she seems shallow and superficial. Though who am I to judge? I can't find any other fault with her - she knows she's sexy, and likes to make sure that everyone else in her near vicinity knows it too.
I can't say much about Simon. He's shy, keeps awkwardly scrapping his fringe down on his forehead. Buttons done up to his chin, he's definitely not the type to normally be involved in the type of shit that brings you here. Sure, his eyes are shifty, but he had been rather distracted at my appearance by my breasts – so, normal guy, just needs a bit of TLC to become house-trained.
So, what do you all think? Like Lauren or not? Tell me. Constructive criticism please, don't go mental.
Force of the Phoenix