Smashed Scarlet | And He Was a Chaser [Dee]
Mar 15, 2011 4:34:08 GMT -5
Post by Prince Inigo on Mar 15, 2011 4:34:08 GMT -5
Mark Adelle Drills
"Hello, Lizzie; hello, Ann."
(Oh my gosh, Mark. It's not you that's supposed to be drunk or high. DX)
"Hello, Lizzie; hello, Ann."
Spring had finally come to Panem. School had started, and thus the days somehow grew shorter and longer at the same time. Shorter in the respect that classes took up time; longer in having to wait for the teachers to stop talking. Sun rays peeked through and were brightening up the daytime in a friendly glow; each light particle presented learning in a positive manner, unlike winter and fall; and, in the end, the school year would end in summer, the most shining of seasons. Thus: learning on the other side was supposed to be full of light and happiness, where the days would continue to be brighter for the students.
Mark, however, was too busy to remember such a lecture from a philosophy teacher's standpoint. In the shed, he was laying on the couch, facing the television set. Images blazed on his face, the blinds to the shed tilted to let only bits of light passage. His head was propped by an arm, as the other hand clutched onto a remote control. Fingers stroked the device softly and gently, rubbing over the buttons in a jovial manner. Not a second did the pair of the boy's green eyes wander away from the screen. Certain times, the 18-year old would expose his teeth and snicker in quietness. With each sound - mostly moans and groans - from the picture, Mark stroked the remote a tinge faster.
Moaning rose in volume. Mark's smile grew wider and wider, and the feeling of the remote got faster in proportion. "Oh yeah, Lizzie," he said in a low tone. "Yes... You would offer your sharpener to someone's pencil, wouldn't you? Ohhhhh..." Laugh. "And you, Ann. Oh, you're a nice, little witch, aren't you? Making your sandwiches five feet long..." He continued on laughing, going along with the program. When the shaking noises came on, the young man added his own sound effects in the mix, chuckling to himself, almost to a point of giddiness.
He began rolling around on the couch, smiling and laughing, adding more inappropriate commentary toward the television. "Ladies, ladies, no need to fight. There's enough of him to share." Mark moaned. "And I'd be willing to give you my pencil, Lizzie. You too, Ann. Oh!" Mark continued shifting on the couch, grinning big. His noises matched in pitch with the television, to his obvious enjoyment. In his bliss, he did not notice the door shaking from the outside winds. Turned sideways, the lock indicated the door's willingness to open upon the twisting of the knob; Mark was still too busy enjoying himself to be alert to anything.
(Oh my gosh, Mark. It's not you that's supposed to be drunk or high. DX)