disclaimer: For the love of God, stop making faces at the nice men with the automatic weapons! (ckeck my profile for legalities)
an: yay! new fic/category for me! If you've never read anything like this, it's first person-stream of conciousness. That means from, in this case, Maria's perspective. (yes, Cináed means born of fire in Gaelic, and no I'm not sure how to pronounce it.)
this IS set during the movie. for my puropses; Maria and Warren are sophmores; Will, Layla, Zach, and co. are freshman.
Cináed: Born of Fire
"Mother, I thought we talked about this."
"No, Rie. You talked, I just listened."
Meet my mother, possibly the most annoying and irritating human being on the face of the earth.
"Go, Dearie, or you'll miss the bus."
"Yes," I stated, "because we wouldn't want that to happen, now would we?"
"Of course not." My mom said, just ignoring my total sarcasm. "Now have a good day, and I don't want more than one phone call about fights today." She said, grinning as she shoved me out the door. I rolled my eyes at that and stomped off down the walk making sure the noise from my combat boots reverberated into the house.
And, I guess ya'll wanna know what I'm wearing to my first day back at super high school. Meh, I guess it couldn't hurt. Black Ramones tee, black hoodie, black skirt with white pleats, the aforementioned black combat boots, black messenger bag with 'such a punk rock girl' embroidered on it. Dark brown hair with fire-engine-red fringe, rather Rogue-esque, and black shades, the most important piece of the ensemble, but I digress. Can you tell I'm not really into colour?
So I'm on the bus now, It's starting to fill up. I haven't quite noticed this yet seeing as how I'm wrapped up in, in my opinion, the greatest book known to mankind, Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh. If you haven't already been convinced, the images in this book will make you want to never do smack. EVER. Wicked awesome book though, imagery aside. I'm at my favourite part where Sick Boy, a.k.a. Simon, sets the pit bull Shane on his owner's testicles, when I feel this tap, tap, tap on my shoulder. I look up to see who would have the audacity to interrupt me with the very clear do-not-disturb vibe I've got going on and I see the most unlikely thing I ever saw.
I looked up to see, well, Me. Except the face was different, and he was a guy, and he was a lot taller than my five foot six inches. Ok, the only thing the same was we must've gone to the same hairdresser because he had the same colour of red streaks I did. What was that? I think he said something, but I had no idea. He then reached over and pulled my headphones off and whispered(which streamed right down my spine by the by) "Is it alright if I sit here? There's really nowhere else…"
I, of course, looked around to see if Mr. Streaky was telling the truth, and saw there was one other spot, but the other girl clearly very much wanted him to sit next to her, and he clearly very much didn't.
So, I gave him the once over. Mr. Streaky's looking pretty damn fine in his black leather jacket and tight jeans, but he did interrupt me during my favourite part, so as I swept my things off the seat, I put a little residual heat into it. Not a lot, just enough to cause a little irritation, some uncomfortableness, and maybe a sore bum. I think he muttered a thanks, I wasn't really paying attention. I looked over at my new seat-mate to check for squirms just as he was pulling out a very dog-eared book. It's Porno. The sequel to Trainspotting. Otherwise known as the book I'm reading. I had to crack a smirk at that, the boy has good taste in literature.
Right before we were about to take off he brushed his mouth past my ear, giving me the tingles down the spine again, "Is it cold in here, or just me?" All I could do was look at him in half awe-half disbelief, didn't I just superheat his seat? As we took off, I started to laugh with a wry grin on my face.
-8/12/05: please review, they make me think faster
