'Life is tough, you gotta have tough skin. . . . .
Hercules. His name is Hercules. What a ridiculous fucking name that is. Nobody names their kid that. They name their kids normal-ass practical names like Bobby, Tommy, and Jack. Not the name of a fucking Greek God/Warrior. But to be honest Hercules is a fucking Greek god. He's an Adonis on the soccer field at Spenser Academy of the historical Ipswich, Mass. Yes, there is more than one demigod sports star team here. Not just the Michael Phelps-like swimmer boys who had all the jock-juice glory you can get from competing in a dignified pseudo-sport like that. To be perfectly honest I went to the swimming tournis whenever they were home games, both because I was bored and because I could take a gander at the gorgeous swimmer bodies of the hottest prep. school superstars. Caleb Danvers is the most Michael Phelps like one on the team, with probably the most traditional bangin' builds that one toned up bod could have. There was that other one that I only saw at Nicky's, and then there were Reid Garwin and Tyler Simms, and my god, Hercules wanted to strike them down. He hated Reid, they were like mortal enemies, and for being sidekick to said Greek god when he creates storms with the arrogant, aggressive, I-can-do-whatever-the-fuck-I-want spooky spirits like them. So obviously, being the best friend of a competing highschool stud, who was high up in the rankings especially at parties and shit, you get a lot of fuckin' guff.
I've known Hercules since I was like born and shit. We have an odd relationship that is a Pandora's box of strangeness and splendor. It's too hard to describe or figure out, but sometimes it's pretty explosive. Some areas are very sensitive. If he ever found out for instance that I attended a swimming match that he was not planning to go to, than I would be persecuted as a traitor. I'm not really friends with any of Hercs, so he's pretty much my only thing here, the only one that can see me.
My name? My name is a plague. It's like the brown noise. I hate the sound of it. Hannah. Bleh. Everytime someone addresses me I hear the sound of sick. Seriously. Hannah. It sounds like someone puking their fucking guts out-'
Hannah lounged in the grass, at about a sniper's distance from the soccer field and had zoned out long enough, while rolling around, lolling in her strange thoughts to lose track of Hercules. He'd Beckham'd his way right off the soccer field. She snapped to with a resounding 'shit' once she'd plonked onto her elbows and had darted her eyes around for any sign of 'Greek god was here'.
"Looking for me?" floated a soft masculine voice. It was a pleasure to the sense of hearing. Hannah briefly pictured air billowing under a white silk scarf.
Hercules laughed and managed to bounce a soccer ball off her shoulder and have it obediently come right back to him, where he then juggled it for only a moment before winding it around his foot like a yo-yo and stomping it to the ground, keeping his foot on top of it like it was the mountain he had just victored.
"No, and now, after you've behaved like a wretched child, you brat, I wouldn't ever want to see your unfortunate face again,"Hannah sigh back sternly, rolling into her defensive position, which was flat on her back with her hand shielding the sun from her eyes and a blank face.
"Oh? And what makes it so unfortunate, you cruel, heartless woman?" He retorted, gleaming a godly smile down on her.
"Because it's you it belongs to, and it's far too confusing for a boy as evil as you with such nefarious doings as you to have such a deceptively appealing exterior. Your face would have me think you're beautiful, you're not, you're rot. You're absolute rubbish, you tit," Hannah snarled, knowing that it didn't matter whether her compliment was unwillingly given and backhanded or not, his ego would still eat it and grow bigger off its nourishment.
He clicked his tongue at her, kicking the soccerball aside. "Tsk, tsk, Han. You never come to me with any grievances about my face before? Hell, I'll change. I'll be good!" Hercules dropped to his knees and clasped his hand in prayer, begging her for forgiveness. Hercules grasped her shoulders and shook her, shaking her aviator glasses from the top of her head so that the force he was inflicting on her made them slip all the way down her face, until they swung around and docked under her chin, pulling a strand of her platinum hair in the nosepiece's screw.
"Fuckface, you are. I hate you!-"
"I haven't!" He interrupted, ripping his eyes wide, falling on his side in the grassy knoll and faking a seizure.
"- And I've always complained," snapped she, looking like a witch when she snapped her out-grown clawed fingers in his face, it was like she was clicking brittle bones of a skeleton hand in his face.
"Pshh. . . ." He ignored her, placing his dirty hand on the side of her face and pushing it to contrast with the grass blades.
"Ugh! Do. Not!" She shrieked shying away from his filthy hands, rolling out of the grass and standing up, brushing her skirt off Her skin was pale, and the sun was nothing versus the amount of shade that fell over the academy and the sun had not met her, she was pasted like moonlight in the shadow. Hannah fixed her glasses, unwound the hair from the nosepiece and lifted them daintily onto the bridge of her nose.
"Hannah!" Hercules shushed her sternly, grabbing her hand and yanking her arm in one merciless jerk that brought her ass to the ground.
"Wha-" She shut her mouth immediately when she caught merely a vibe off of Herc, and then she focused her gaze in the direction that Hercules was staring in.
His fingers were still tightly circled around her wrist. As they leered at Hercules' Loki. His trickster, his troublemaker, his rival. Looking a damn Norse god, Reid Garwin essentially telekinetically flung open the doors to the back exit of the school and came out near the grasslands that Hercules was essentially babysitting the wounded gazelle that was Hannah, and Reid's eyes notably flickered over to Herc leaning back on his elbow stretched out in the grass with Hannah just sitting there on her ass dazed and retarded, like she'd been struck in the head with a coconut.
Reid strode out of the shiny florescent back hallway where they had band, chorus, art, and theater classes. He fronted the pack of the Son's of Ipswitch with Tyler trailing close on his heels and Caleb maintaining the pace in a strong relaxed stride, and Pogue sauntering leisurely behind Caleb. Reid's black cap was tilted on his head, splaying his bangs messily into the top of his line of sight, and his hands were wrapped in his black fingerless gloves. Typical. When he banged through the doors he knew that he and his boys were out of their element. Sure, this was their school, but the soccer field was the soccer-jocks' territory and that was something they never seriously fucked with. Today Reid did not care, they were just cutting through the quad behind the academy to go straight to the parking lot that was in close proximity to the sprawling knoll. There was about ten yards of manicured grass from the door to the first fleck of asphalt, and about thirty five yards from the door to the first white of the soccer field. And only about five yards from the double doors was a rather impressive, looming oak tree that that blonde girlfriend of Beckham's could usually be found under. She always lurked in the shade under that tree, usually during soccer season so she could watch pretty boy play with other boys and balls. Reid had seen her. And when he burst through the doors he locked eyes with Hercules, but then dismissed the intensive emerald glare of the boy and he eyed the girl.
She was leaning back on her palms, sitting her lean body at an obtuse angle so she was stretched, but relaxed. In her school uniform there was still something about her that trashed conformity, she looked god awful. A too-big oxford, slightly slinky square drapey skirt, she'd managed a pair of navy blue converse all-stars, the only other personal touch she had to her name besides the aviators and some buttons she tacked to the shoulder strap of her bag that ranged from tiny to big-assed. Her lips were sort of indiscernible on her face, like those '60's chicks who put on make-up to remove evidence of a pair of lips from her face. The only thing that Reid could see when he searched for a mouth, some dead give-away of expression that would be the hole in her bestie's defense, was a small pouty ledge that was paled to her skin-tone, but then slightly glossed over in a shiny bright pink tint gloss. She had an obnoxious and rather snide, arrogant sneer across her face on her very unassuming mouth, and her eyes were shielded from observation. Her little blue necktie button ribbon hung like an oversized dog collar around her neck, her clothes sort of swallowed her, and then she peeped out the mouth like a baby giraffe.
Reid gave her a once over. One leg crossed over the other in a mile of magnificence before the hem of her skirt rode up her knee to mid-thigh level, showing some skin. Her jacket must've been somewhere in the grass because she was wearing her vest over the top of her oxford. The vest was the only small article she had, so it kind of boosted her tits with subtle convenience for anyone who looked for some assets. Her platinum blonde hair was hung in a disheveled unruly fuck-me sort of way. She looked like a dirty girl. Reid had been checking her out from time to time, sometimes when he and 'Herc the jerk' were having a face-off. As he past them from a distance he threw the bitch a devious smirk, before charging up the small incline and jumping into the passenger seat of Tyler's black Hummer.
"Why'd he look at you like that?" Hercules asked her as the car wheeled out of the parking lot. He sounded vexed and suspicious. Slight outrage gleamed from his eyes.
Hannah was spooked and far away. "I dunno," she ghosted, shouldering her bag and plucking up her jacket and resting it over her forearm, "let's get outta here."