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❝i love it when you're truant
May. 22nd, 2011 07:40 pm[School? Lolwhat? Arthur knows no school.] bb!Arthur ⇔ bb!Eames
❝forever means you can't leave me
Mar. 28th, 2011 12:21 pm[ leaning against your car; waiting patiently ] ⇔ Arthur to Eames
ooc: omg you are so cool
Mar. 21st, 2011 10:28 amHave I mentioned lately how much I love all the bb!Inception muses out there?
Because I do. I love all of them to itty bitty mushy bits. They're all perfect and Eames wants to play with them forever, I AM NOT KIDDING, SHE NEVER WANTS THEANNOYANCE FUN TO END.
and she'll be like omg ur such a tool Arfur (but hnnnng i think the tie looks awesome on you) and then steal your jacket
and I'm sorry she texts you all the time she just needs to be in constant contact and i mean, its not like you were doing homework or something- awww okay she'll leave you alone if you keep sending her pictures of your CUTE FACE.
DOM. Stop being so stupidly attractive even as a bb!
aww okay maybe you can keep being so devilishly attractive if you promise to keep smiling like that. :)
nor do i sweetie, nor do i! but i could if you would come out and play a little more. i dont know if you're the derbying tomboy or the cute girl who draws staircases all over her notes or who! who are you!
but i'd let you into my window any time. and we'd talk about boys and parents and we'd give each other advice that neither one follows and eames'd make you borrow her clothes and we'd go out on "dates" together because boys are too complicated and- and! AHH. /grabby hands
My question now is, where is my bb fisher? bb saito? bb mal? AND MY EVER PRESENT QUESTION, WHERE IS MY BB YUSUF??????
Because I do. I love all of them to itty bitty mushy bits. They're all perfect and Eames wants to play with them forever, I AM NOT KIDDING, SHE NEVER WANTS THE
and she'll be like omg ur such a tool Arfur (but hnnnng i think the tie looks awesome on you) and then steal your jacket
and I'm sorry she texts you all the time she just needs to be in constant contact and i mean, its not like you were doing homework or something- awww okay she'll leave you alone if you keep sending her pictures of your CUTE FACE.
DOM. Stop being so stupidly attractive even as a bb!
aww okay maybe you can keep being so devilishly attractive if you promise to keep smiling like that. :)
nor do i sweetie, nor do i! but i could if you would come out and play a little more. i dont know if you're the derbying tomboy or the cute girl who draws staircases all over her notes or who! who are you!
but i'd let you into my window any time. and we'd talk about boys and parents and we'd give each other advice that neither one follows and eames'd make you borrow her clothes and we'd go out on "dates" together because boys are too complicated and- and! AHH. /grabby hands
My question now is, where is my bb fisher? bb saito? bb mal? AND MY EVER PRESENT QUESTION, WHERE IS MY BB YUSUF??????
Days like today, Eames would have ducked out through the halls, made her way beyond the football field's fence, and been free as a bird were it not for Arthur. First period was excruciating, third was a joke, and now they're stuck in Biology with a teacher who is obviously smart but has no idea how to teach to a bunch of students with no desire to learn.
Or maybe that's just Eames.
The sun spills through the window in the door, cheery warmth inviting mutiny and whispering words of truancy to Eames' ears. Instead, she is here, wasting away under the electric buzz of the fluorescent lights. If Ms. Bostwick turns off the lights to show another movie-- more like, have a twenty minute fight with the computer and the mystifying entity that is the Internet, Eames will be forced to make a break for it. Flee from the classroom, with the trite little planet dioramas and pinned open frog posters, for her sanity and everyone else's safety.
She should only be so lucky.
As the Biology teacher prattles on, occasionally contradicting herself, Eames flips listlessly through the Biology book. The turn of the pages reminds her of the Anne Sexton anthology sitting in her bag, given to her by their well-meaning English teacher, and how she isn't sure if she likes it or hates it yet.
She knows how she feels about the Biology book.
Arthur is on the other side of the room, even though they're supposed to be seated in last name order. That old bitty Ms. Bostwick couldnt take a couple students not absolutely falling asleep in class, and so what if there had been giggling involved, its not like a little cheer would ruin the boring ambiance of the room any how.
Slumped in his chair, Arthur's posture is as abominable as ever. His glasses are halfway down his nose and his eyelids are drooping, Eames can see the tips of his ears peeking out from his curls.
Rummaging around in her bag, Eames pulls out the notebook she'd nicked off of him in third period. He hadn't noticed, but Eames can't blame him, she's got a class set of sticky fingers and diversion tactics a mile deep.
From the looks of the first page, she's grabbed his physics notebook.
Eames flips to a random, unused page near the middle and begins writing.
Eames contemplates folding the page so he'll find it easier, but decides against it. She does this sometimes, writes him notes and sees how long it takes him to find them. Usually he'll find them too late, once the urge that took her into that vein of thought has dried up and left her uninformed on the issue, which gets her that frown. That then why did you leave this for me? look.
He never tells her to stop though, which is both comforting and terrifying.
Flipping the notebook closed she puts it away and goes about half-heartedly tidying up her space.
When the bell finally rings for lunch, Eames slips it back in his bookbag, Arthur none the wiser.
Or maybe that's just Eames.
The sun spills through the window in the door, cheery warmth inviting mutiny and whispering words of truancy to Eames' ears. Instead, she is here, wasting away under the electric buzz of the fluorescent lights. If Ms. Bostwick turns off the lights to show another movie-- more like, have a twenty minute fight with the computer and the mystifying entity that is the Internet, Eames will be forced to make a break for it. Flee from the classroom, with the trite little planet dioramas and pinned open frog posters, for her sanity and everyone else's safety.
She should only be so lucky.
As the Biology teacher prattles on, occasionally contradicting herself, Eames flips listlessly through the Biology book. The turn of the pages reminds her of the Anne Sexton anthology sitting in her bag, given to her by their well-meaning English teacher, and how she isn't sure if she likes it or hates it yet.
She knows how she feels about the Biology book.
Arthur is on the other side of the room, even though they're supposed to be seated in last name order. That old bitty Ms. Bostwick couldnt take a couple students not absolutely falling asleep in class, and so what if there had been giggling involved, its not like a little cheer would ruin the boring ambiance of the room any how.
Slumped in his chair, Arthur's posture is as abominable as ever. His glasses are halfway down his nose and his eyelids are drooping, Eames can see the tips of his ears peeking out from his curls.
Rummaging around in her bag, Eames pulls out the notebook she'd nicked off of him in third period. He hadn't noticed, but Eames can't blame him, she's got a class set of sticky fingers and diversion tactics a mile deep.
From the looks of the first page, she's grabbed his physics notebook.
Eames flips to a random, unused page near the middle and begins writing.
Don’t look so bored Arthur.
If you didn’t sit so far away I could entertain you.
Page 387 has a boy who looks like you. D'you think when he signed the contract to have his picture in this book he'd known he'd be placed next to a diagram of a small intestine? These insides probably dont look like his insides. His insides probably dont look like yours even.
But I’ve seen you, your outsides at least. A cursory glance at all those sharp bones of yours. Could I press a muscle to the ridges of your ribcage?
Hint: the muscle is my tongue.
It’s a fact, statistical even, females have more adipose tissue than males, evolutions fuck you to modern thought. 3% to 5% -- the statistical likelihood of my surviving by your standards is low. Biologically I need more. Double, nearly triple. A gluttonous amount of cells dedicated toward maintaining life, more of me dedicated to me. Selfish. I’m surprised you don’t call me out on it more often. But that would be unfair.
You don’t care about unfair though, innit that right? Facts. You like facts. Central adiposity, not essential, raises the odds ratio (OR) = 10.7 or is it a minimum of twelve? Diabetes starts young they say. What if I’m too sweeton for you? You probably don’t have to worry, you’ll outrun it. Maybe I should run with you. Get up and do bleachers with you and the boys. Its not like I can bloody well tan anyway- but I keep trying. Persistence for natural ability. A measure of my fitness level- and I’m fit, you’ve seen me. You know I’m fit. In all those places that count.
We fit, not like I’m fit, but fit together- yes, you’re fit but that’s getting away from the point. I had a point. Or maybe I didn’t.
What’s that saying? Chewing the fat? At the end of the day isn’t that all we’re doing? Isnt that all we ever do? I should talk to you about something important, Egypt, art, 6.022e23-- but that’s chemistry and youre physics and I’m just wasting your paper.
You aren’t even paying attention. I can tell. I can always tell.
The thing is, I’m all fat and you’re no chew and I nibble at you endlessly, wanting to take a bite, sink my teeth into your skin, 3 to 5 3+5 = 8 and that’s where I start well after you’ve ended 3 to 4 to 5, but my marks wouldn’t last. Not even the sharp ones on the side. You’re too well hydrated.
Class is ending. Lets see if you noticed.
If you didn’t sit so far away I could entertain you.
Page 387 has a boy who looks like you. D'you think when he signed the contract to have his picture in this book he'd known he'd be placed next to a diagram of a small intestine? These insides probably dont look like his insides. His insides probably dont look like yours even.
But I’ve seen you, your outsides at least. A cursory glance at all those sharp bones of yours. Could I press a muscle to the ridges of your ribcage?
Hint: the muscle is my tongue.
It’s a fact, statistical even, females have more adipose tissue than males, evolutions fuck you to modern thought. 3% to 5% -- the statistical likelihood of my surviving by your standards is low. Biologically I need more. Double, nearly triple. A gluttonous amount of cells dedicated toward maintaining life, more of me dedicated to me. Selfish. I’m surprised you don’t call me out on it more often. But that would be unfair.
You don’t care about unfair though, innit that right? Facts. You like facts. Central adiposity, not essential, raises the odds ratio (OR) = 10.7 or is it a minimum of twelve? Diabetes starts young they say. What if I’m too sweet
We fit, not like I’m fit, but fit together- yes, you’re fit but that’s getting away from the point. I had a point. Or maybe I didn’t.
What’s that saying? Chewing the fat? At the end of the day isn’t that all we’re doing? Isnt that all we ever do? I should talk to you about something important, Egypt, art, 6.022e23-- but that’s chemistry and youre physics and I’m just wasting your paper.
You aren’t even paying attention. I can tell. I can always tell.
The thing is, I’m all fat and you’re no chew and I nibble at you endlessly, wanting to take a bite, sink my teeth into your skin, 3 to 5 3+5 = 8 and that’s where I start well after you’ve ended 3 to 4 to 5, but my marks wouldn’t last. Not even the sharp ones on the side. You’re too well hydrated.
Class is ending. Lets see if you noticed.
Eames contemplates folding the page so he'll find it easier, but decides against it. She does this sometimes, writes him notes and sees how long it takes him to find them. Usually he'll find them too late, once the urge that took her into that vein of thought has dried up and left her uninformed on the issue, which gets her that frown. That then why did you leave this for me? look.
He never tells her to stop though, which is both comforting and terrifying.
Flipping the notebook closed she puts it away and goes about half-heartedly tidying up her space.
When the bell finally rings for lunch, Eames slips it back in his bookbag, Arthur none the wiser.
* Those would be rocks hitting your window Arthur, and if you don't open up soon, she is going to resort to bigger stones. * ⇔ bb!Eames to bb!Arthur
* Eames very narrowly avoids plowing over Ariadne's parents' postbox. She honks twice-- hey, its better than leaning on the horn until she comes out, yeah? * ⇔ bb!Eames to bb!Ariadne
* Eames very narrowly avoids plowing over Ariadne's parents' postbox. She honks twice-- hey, its better than leaning on the horn until she comes out, yeah? * ⇔ bb!Eames to bb!Ariadne