Right
There really is no point in arguing, is there?
She drums her plum-colored nails against the side of the leather seat.
That was probably Dean's first kiss. It certainly wasn't her's, technically speaking, but she'd rather not count the make-out sessions she had while slightly high and drunk. Those aren't all too romantic, certainly not the kind you'd want to remember when you're older. She likes him, sure, because he's the first boy to have ever strained himself (or, at least, to certain extents) to impress her. He's also the first well-mannered boy to treat her like something special, instead of taking one look at her skirt or chest and letting his penis control his brain.
He's eccentric and awkward, but it's not all his fault. She thinks about Dr. Venture and that bodyguard and Hank. Homeschooled kids are just whacky.
She looks outside, the huge mountains dragging along in the distance and her mother going on about some new pilates workout DVD that's been doing wonders for her inner thighs. She could probably act more interested, but her mind keeps wandering.
School was a dead end, and sorcery training is probably the best thing she could do. She won't miss the homework and crackpot teachers and snotty high school kids. Art school would have been full of more of those crazy types, just more artsy.
"It all seems so... right!"
Keeps going through her mind, replaying itself and comforting her whenever she has those freak-out moments of anxiety and self-doubt. Her dad's magic was a great source of mystery and curiosity and pure fear throughout her life, and she was plunging into the darkness. Or into the light. She's still not sure what to think of her decision, except that it apparently "seems so right" and she's going through with it.
But the relief was rather overwhelming when Dean brought up his suggestion. It was pretty funny, how he thought they had something going on in the first place. They rarely even hung out together. He's got too much emotional baggage as well as a messed up set of chromosomes from what the Master showed her. It doesn't matter how nice he is, or how soft and warm his lips were against hers. She's got to be pragmatic and think about her future as a kick-ass sorceress... or whatever it is she'll call herself.
Maybe in another universe, one without superscience and necromancing and magical bullshit, she and Dean simply hang out after school and enjoy each others company without much worry.
End Note: So apparently I started this story in December of 2009. I found it again and just decided to wrap it up and publish it here. I don't quite remember what the motivation for this story was, but it was most likely a product of my obsession with Triana and Dean. Sorry about the randomness of this inner monologue (or whatever you call this), and thanks for reading!