OOC: I saw someone else do something similar, in posting a rather lengthy chunk of character development and introduction to this board and decided that in order to iron out some kinks immediately therein would be in my best interest as well. Enjoy (hopefully)!


That thought runs through my head a few hundred times as I wait for the barista to call my name. Why, of all places, did Kara tell me to meet her at a Starbucks? Furthermore, why did she tell me to meet her at Starbucks, and then proceed to run over fifteen minutes late? I watch the clock like a hawk; the burning agitation in my eyes would likely melt the second hand were it not for the protective glass. At the table next to me, I can hear the idle conversations of an eye rollingly stereotypical hipster couple, arguing over whether or not American Authors were still cool to listen to. I bite the inside of my cheek lightly, dragging the caught flesh around in an attempt to preoccupy myself.


Yeah, that's right. I didn't plan on being here so long, so I didn't even think to get something to drink: spending $20 on some subpar coffee wasn't exactly on the budget. Yet, if I'm going to be here any longer, anything to drink (no matter how disgusting) is a good idea. Though I shouldn't be able to hear the ticking of the clock over the obnoxious chatter of the pair next to me, it pounds in my ears like a hammer driving a nail of annoyance right through the figurative board of my sanity. Where is she?


Almost as if I had been waiting for that sound all of my life (it sure felt like it), I whip my head around towards the door and catch a glimpse of the girl walking in.


"Finally!" I almost scream over the conversation adjacent, which seems to perform the task of simultaneously getting her attention and quieting the pair, even if the latter seems to be more out of shock than an actual implied acknowledgement of their rising to the point of angering volume. I take a quick look back to get a dirty look from the equally dirty man of the pair. He looks as if he wouldn't know the inside of a shower if it punched him in the stomach. I drum my fingers against the table I'm seated at and whisper quietly enough for only the pair of them to hear: "Would you kindly shut up?"

"Jeez, you look pissed," states the mistress of deduction as she takes the seat across from mine. Her brown hair bounces as she sits down, and scatters slightly as she leans back in the chair.

"Does nine thirty mean nothing to you?" I ask, accusingly. She rolls her eyes, until I decide to rest my left middle finger against my right index finger and move my entire right hand left, until a loud pop comes from the knuckle. Then, she cringes.

"That's fucking disgusting."

"As is your lack of punctuality."

"Christ; it's like I'm at work or something."

"Yeah, you're late to that, too."

"Kendall?" says the barista who finally finished making whatever it was I thought was a good idea to order. Kara's eyes go wide as I hop off my chair and make my way over to the counter. As I pass by her however, she grabs my arm and stops me momentarily.

"You actually got something?"

I nod.

"Shit, this is different."

"Yeah yeah, whatever." Her grip loosens and I continue my approach to the counter.


Doesn't matter. I reach the counter and the barista smiles at me, sliding the cup over to me.

"That'll be four eighty-seven, please."

I pull a five dollar bill out of my right front pocket (note to self: invest in a more efficient way of keeping money) and lay it on the counter next to the server's hands. I then take the container and make my way back to my now empty table; Kara must've gone up to order something herself. Whatever.

Pulling my chair back out, I take a seat and put the biodegradable cup on the circular table in front of me. Steam emanates from the small, cylindrical hole on the outer rim of the lid. I swear I can feel its heat all the way over here, but like a lot of phenomena, it's more likely than not in my head. A figment of an imagination fueled by too much television or whatever it is doctors are blaming quasi insanity on today.

I close my eyes, hoping to distance myself from this place. As far as I possibly can.


"What'd you get?"


"Oh, you know... something." I lean back in my chair, crossing my legs and looking through the thin cloud of steam at Kara. With a combination of both confusion and a vague sense of intrigue at the sudden breakdown in my usual sense of self confidence.

"The fuck's up with you?" she asks, ever so eloquently. Unlike most times she asks that same question, there isn't a tinge of sarcasm or is it an unspoken invitation for whoever she's asking to ramble on while she pretends to listen but in reality check her phone. No, she seems inexplicably interested.

"Nothing," I say with the confidence of a whimpering puppy who just urinated on the carpet. She opens her mouth to say something in return when out of nowhere, I reach over to the container of the still piping hot coffee and press it to my lips. I catch a quick taste of whipped cream and slightly reconsider my hatred for all things related to this chain before the scalding hot liquid floods into my mouth, instantaneously burning every taste bud on my tongue in one flavorless wave. Reconsideration redacted.


I choke down the liquid. Every last drop, cringing as it burns the back of my throat on its warpath through my innards. Kara taps lightly on the edge of the table, drumming along a familiar beat as she waits for me to stop choking down whatever it is that fills that container. After she's 100% sure that it's all down, she begins to speak once more.

"Don't give me that shit; I know you." I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and nod, seceding the information that she already knew; something was wrong. What a wizard.

"I hate Starbucks."

"You hate everything. Hater."

"Not true!" I say with a disproportionally large amount of obvious sarcasm, almost as if I was trying to pound the fact that I'm joking into the ears and brains of the probably eavesdropping pair next to us. She chuckles, and I take the opportunity to attempt to divert the topic away from me. "So, how are things between you and Jacob?"


"Fine, as always."

"You haven't argued or anything?"

"No, is that a normal part of a relationship or something?"

"Not when you're dating a human doormat, I guess."

"Shut up." If she were in range, I'd be getting a punch in the shoulder for that comment. Luckily for me, I'm not so to mess with her further, I stick my likely beet red and swollen tongue out at her.

"At least I can keep a boyfriend for longer than a month. How's your latest fling: Michael or whatever his name was?"

"Dead in an unmarked grave off Olive Boulevard, if there's any justice in the world."

"Damn girl."

"Kara?" the same confused barista says loud enough to pierce through the thin veil of our conversation. With a sigh, she pushes her chair out and starts to walk to the counter in the same straight line I did. It's useless to imagine myself not in here, she's only going to come back and snap me out of it again. Instead, I decide to freak out the couple next to us.

Or I would decide to, if they were still here. When did they leave?


"We need to get you a shrink, psycho." Never missing a beat, as always. Now, it's my turn to roll my eyes.

"I'll go when you do. Wait, was there any reason you told me to meet you here?"

"Can't a friend just want to spend some time with another friend?"

"I guess. You sounded pretty urgent about it, though."

"The only way to get you out of that shithole apartment of yours."

"It's your's, too."

"Exactly why I know how shitty it is."

The sleeves of my shirt makes my wrist itch. I roll it up slightly and scratch, until I realize what I'm doing: exposing a part of my body that'll only bring up a few more questions than I'd like to answer right now. Scabs covering my knuckles. Murphy's Law rings true as her eyes stray downward and catch the same thing that I scurried to cover up. Her jaw hangs slightly agape for a second before she regains her composure and asks the first of the aforementioned series of questions I'd rather not answer: "How?"

"Bare knuckle boxing a brick wall." So hardcore. Constructing ingenious lies, that surely lack intelligence.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Because that's stupid." She blows on her coffee before taking a small sip. I should've done that. Maybe then it wouldn't feel like my tongue's nonexistent.

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" Keeping up facades is hard.

"What really happened?"

"Can we talk about this somewhere else?"

"Calm down! It's not like I'm going to proclaim to the world or anything." My hands grip the sides of my cup. They're shaking, almost uncontrollably.


"It's not that," I saw as my shaky hands causes a droplet of coffee to fly out of the drinking hole and land on the center of my wrist. "I just really hate Starbucks."

"Oh, really? I didn't catch onto that!" Nevertheless, she stands up and takes her cup with her as both of us finally leave.

The air outside never tasted so sweet, despite the overwhelming stench of gasoline and homelessness that actually did plague the air around us. The beauty of perception is this: it doesn't matter in that specific moment. Freedom > non vomit inducing aroma therapy in this case.

It wasn't until we made it to Kara's car that I decided to open up and tell the truth and put her wild guesses and speculation (the most notable of which being: "vaginal fisting masturbation". Apparently, she thinks I have shark teeth lining my cunt.) to rest.

"I got into a fight."

"Oh lawd. This little cute piece of mutton chop is a hipster. How about I take you to the Bedford, we get some overly priced PBRs, head back to my place, put on some Sigur Ros and you can tell me all about how Islands is so much better than The Unicorns, or how Mogwi is the pinnacle of amazing, or Deerhoof is ever so sophisticated with that fucking Panda song."

(03-18-2014, 09:16 AM)SwagMire Swaggins Said: "Oh lawd. This little cute piece of mutton chop is a hipster. How about I take you to the Bedford, we get some overly priced PBRs, head back to my place, put on some Sigur Ros and you can tell me all about how Islands is so much better than The Unicorns, or how Mogwi is the pinnacle of amazing, or Deerhoof is ever so sophisticated with that fucking Panda song."

I do apologize, but are you referring to me? Surely you aren't, at least I hope so. My inner optimist refuses to believe someone could be so anserine. Maybe, just maybe instead of falling back on the laurels of your preconceived notions about who I am; then rattling off a likely pre made list of musical acts that demonstrates how much free time you have at your disposal, you should instead be paying more attention to what's in front of you.

"A pretty little white girl who should let me take her out to dinner? Name's Carlton Ward, but folks around here call me Swaggy Swagmire. I've got a cop car says we can go anywhere you wanna go."

(03-18-2014, 10:23 AM)SwagMire Swaggins Said: "A pretty little white girl who should let me take her out to dinner? Name's Carlton Ward, but folks around here call me Swaggy Swagmire. I've got a cop car says we can go anywhere you wanna go."

Desperation is a substandard way of introduction. Consider your offer declined, disrespectfully.

"Desperation, dear? It's not desperation, it's me trying to be good a neighbor. Desperate would be me throwing money at you, like my nephew did to meet his girl. Or would be me stalking you. I'm just being friendly. It seems you're a bit on the defensive. Guess you hate black guys."

"¡Perdon señor feo! ¿Pero maybe the señorita just doesn't like you? It is okay, just another parte de vida."

ooc-I loved you rp. Can't wait to see what else you write.