Bobby skipped classes. Maybe this was making everyone think that he and
John were more than just friends. Fuck them.
"So, were are you from?" The boy shrugged. Bobby dug his fingers into the creases of his jeans. "I'm Bobby." Bobby wished he could take that back- they'd been introduced already. Now he just looked stupid and the last thing he needed right now was a roommate who thought he was an idiot.
"John." Bobby nodded. It wasn't like the guy was holding his end of the conversation or anything, or like he could say 'that's a nice name. Are you named after your father?' Not if he didn't want his ass kicked. And he couldn't exactly ask him if he liked comic books or cartoons because, well, Bobby still didn't want his ass kicked. John lay down on his bed and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it and started to play with his lighter snapping the flame on and off. Bobby wished he could do something cool with his mutation. All he could manage right now were little lumps of ice, not exactly something to be feared if he were to be assaulted in a dark alley somewhere. Not that he really hung out in dark alleys or anything. He didn't actually knew if he could think of any dark alleyways but it was an alliteration or a hyperbole damn it. "How old are you?" John had an accent- maybe English? Australian? Bobby didn't know many people outside of Massachusetts except his cousins from Santa Cruz but they didn't really have accents.
"13." John looked over and nodded, then flicked some of the ash on to the hardwood floor. He didn't say old he was. "How about you?"
"Older."
"You Australian?"
"Yeah. Where are you from?"
"Outside of Boston. Is it nice there?"
"In Australia?"
"Yeah."
"S'right. How's Boston?"
"Nice. Cold winters." John nodded and finished off the cigarette. He sat up and looked around for a place to stub it out and throw it. Getting up, he walked off to the trashcan and, after first putting out the cigarette on the desk, he tossed it in. "So.... What kind of music do you like?" John shrugged and walked back to his bed, sliding back so he was leaning against the wall and facing Bobby. He fiddled with the straps of his messenger bag and Bobby realized suddenly that that was all John had with him. He felt guilty and tried not to look at his two suitcases and carryon bag.
"The kind played with instruments." Bobby didn't say anything. "Violent Femmes. NY Dolls. Death Cab for Cutie. Radiohead." John paused and it looked as though he didn't want to ask but ingrown manners demanded. "You?"
"Death Cab is good. Same with Radiohead. Um, Weakerthans?" John nodded. "Ramones. Ted Leo and the Pharmacists. Guster." John shrugged again and Bobby debated whether he should unpack or not. John reached into his bag and pulled out a comic- the first Sandman.
"You like Neil Gaiman?" John looked up and closed the comic.
"S'right. Why? You big in comics?"
"Yeah. Do you only read the Sandman?"
"No. Hellboy. Mord the Dead Teenager. Johnny the Homicidal Maniac. The Punisher."
"You ever read Y: The Last Man?" John shook his head and Bobby, finally finding something to do with his hands, got up and rifled through a duffle bag. He pulled out a sheaf of comics. Selecting a few, he went over and handed them to John, who put down the Sandman. "It's really good. Never read Mord though- only heard of it. Its out of print, right?"
"Yeah." John went into his bag now and pulled out a few comics of his own, passed them to Bobby. Bobby took them and went back to his own bed. Taking his cue from John, he began to read.
Bobby got up and went over to the bookcase, ignoring the spaces between parts of a series. He pulled out the stack of comics John had pushed upon him and took out the first copy of Mord. Sliding it under his pillow, he pulled the covers over his head. He brought his hand to his mouth and pursed his lips against thin skin.
A/N: I would like to note that not all of these comics mentioned have been around the appropriate length of time to be known by the characters of this story- especially 'Y: The Last Man' (the Yorick reference), and 'Fables' (the Wooden Soldiers reference). Regardless, I urge you to check them out- they're well worth seeking and reading, especially 'Y: the Last Man' as it will supposedly become a movie soon and you can be properly mortified if they botch it. Mainly I'm just angry about the possibility that the 'Mord' movie will star/involve Jessica Simpson. Anyone who describes a script as cute must be kicked out of the pop culture limelight.
"So, were are you from?" The boy shrugged. Bobby dug his fingers into the creases of his jeans. "I'm Bobby." Bobby wished he could take that back- they'd been introduced already. Now he just looked stupid and the last thing he needed right now was a roommate who thought he was an idiot.
"John." Bobby nodded. It wasn't like the guy was holding his end of the conversation or anything, or like he could say 'that's a nice name. Are you named after your father?' Not if he didn't want his ass kicked. And he couldn't exactly ask him if he liked comic books or cartoons because, well, Bobby still didn't want his ass kicked. John lay down on his bed and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it and started to play with his lighter snapping the flame on and off. Bobby wished he could do something cool with his mutation. All he could manage right now were little lumps of ice, not exactly something to be feared if he were to be assaulted in a dark alley somewhere. Not that he really hung out in dark alleys or anything. He didn't actually knew if he could think of any dark alleyways but it was an alliteration or a hyperbole damn it. "How old are you?" John had an accent- maybe English? Australian? Bobby didn't know many people outside of Massachusetts except his cousins from Santa Cruz but they didn't really have accents.
"13." John looked over and nodded, then flicked some of the ash on to the hardwood floor. He didn't say old he was. "How about you?"
"Older."
"You Australian?"
"Yeah. Where are you from?"
"Outside of Boston. Is it nice there?"
"In Australia?"
"Yeah."
"S'right. How's Boston?"
"Nice. Cold winters." John nodded and finished off the cigarette. He sat up and looked around for a place to stub it out and throw it. Getting up, he walked off to the trashcan and, after first putting out the cigarette on the desk, he tossed it in. "So.... What kind of music do you like?" John shrugged and walked back to his bed, sliding back so he was leaning against the wall and facing Bobby. He fiddled with the straps of his messenger bag and Bobby realized suddenly that that was all John had with him. He felt guilty and tried not to look at his two suitcases and carryon bag.
"The kind played with instruments." Bobby didn't say anything. "Violent Femmes. NY Dolls. Death Cab for Cutie. Radiohead." John paused and it looked as though he didn't want to ask but ingrown manners demanded. "You?"
"Death Cab is good. Same with Radiohead. Um, Weakerthans?" John nodded. "Ramones. Ted Leo and the Pharmacists. Guster." John shrugged again and Bobby debated whether he should unpack or not. John reached into his bag and pulled out a comic- the first Sandman.
"You like Neil Gaiman?" John looked up and closed the comic.
"S'right. Why? You big in comics?"
"Yeah. Do you only read the Sandman?"
"No. Hellboy. Mord the Dead Teenager. Johnny the Homicidal Maniac. The Punisher."
"You ever read Y: The Last Man?" John shook his head and Bobby, finally finding something to do with his hands, got up and rifled through a duffle bag. He pulled out a sheaf of comics. Selecting a few, he went over and handed them to John, who put down the Sandman. "It's really good. Never read Mord though- only heard of it. Its out of print, right?"
"Yeah." John went into his bag now and pulled out a few comics of his own, passed them to Bobby. Bobby took them and went back to his own bed. Taking his cue from John, he began to read.
Bobby got up and went over to the bookcase, ignoring the spaces between parts of a series. He pulled out the stack of comics John had pushed upon him and took out the first copy of Mord. Sliding it under his pillow, he pulled the covers over his head. He brought his hand to his mouth and pursed his lips against thin skin.
A/N: I would like to note that not all of these comics mentioned have been around the appropriate length of time to be known by the characters of this story- especially 'Y: The Last Man' (the Yorick reference), and 'Fables' (the Wooden Soldiers reference). Regardless, I urge you to check them out- they're well worth seeking and reading, especially 'Y: the Last Man' as it will supposedly become a movie soon and you can be properly mortified if they botch it. Mainly I'm just angry about the possibility that the 'Mord' movie will star/involve Jessica Simpson. Anyone who describes a script as cute must be kicked out of the pop culture limelight.