(c) Addicted to the Shindig [M]
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(c) Addicted to the Shindig [M]
by gloria- Tue 03 Feb 2009, 1:24 am
Title: Addicted to the Shindig
Author: Me, Carmen
Rating: M to be safe. Language, possible sex, definite innuendos and references to sex. Some self-harm.
Fandom: HP
Type: Chaptered/Incomplete
Ready? Start.
-
Prologue
They were five when they first kissed each other on the lips. His parents had hosted an elaborate dinner party at their manor, and they were the only two children in attendance (being wintertime, all the other underage socialites were at school). Having spent the evening gallivanting around underneath tables, it was time for her family to go home. They entered the front hall holding hands, smiling as only children can, while her parents donned winter cloaks and thanked his parents for having them over.
She was standing in front of her father, chin up, allowing him to clasp her fur-lined cloak at her neck when his father told the golden-haired boy to say goodbye. Grinning, he had sauntered back over to her and taken hold of her hand once again, tugging so that she turned to look at him, silvery ermine cloak now securely in place upon her shoulders. He had puckered his lips and leaned in, allowing her to cover the rest of the distance and meet his mouth with her own. Then, giggling, they had both drawn back, relinquishing their holds on each other's hands and backing away.
Cheeks now tinged with pink, the dark-skinned girl took her mother's hand and allowed herself to be led out the door. At the last moment, she turned back and waved, a shy smile crossing her delicate features. He waved back, standing a little behind his father, and then the door closed and she was gone.
Chuckling, the white boy's mother petted his hair. “I take it you liked her, then,” she murmured to her son.
He grinned like the Cheshire cat, and crossed to the stairs leading to his bedroom. He was three stairs up before he deigned to answer. “When we grow up,” he informed her, looking smug, “we’re getting married.”
Author: Me, Carmen
Rating: M to be safe. Language, possible sex, definite innuendos and references to sex. Some self-harm.
Fandom: HP
Type: Chaptered/Incomplete
Ready? Start.
-
Prologue
They were five when they first kissed each other on the lips. His parents had hosted an elaborate dinner party at their manor, and they were the only two children in attendance (being wintertime, all the other underage socialites were at school). Having spent the evening gallivanting around underneath tables, it was time for her family to go home. They entered the front hall holding hands, smiling as only children can, while her parents donned winter cloaks and thanked his parents for having them over.
She was standing in front of her father, chin up, allowing him to clasp her fur-lined cloak at her neck when his father told the golden-haired boy to say goodbye. Grinning, he had sauntered back over to her and taken hold of her hand once again, tugging so that she turned to look at him, silvery ermine cloak now securely in place upon her shoulders. He had puckered his lips and leaned in, allowing her to cover the rest of the distance and meet his mouth with her own. Then, giggling, they had both drawn back, relinquishing their holds on each other's hands and backing away.
Cheeks now tinged with pink, the dark-skinned girl took her mother's hand and allowed herself to be led out the door. At the last moment, she turned back and waved, a shy smile crossing her delicate features. He waved back, standing a little behind his father, and then the door closed and she was gone.
Chuckling, the white boy's mother petted his hair. “I take it you liked her, then,” she murmured to her son.
He grinned like the Cheshire cat, and crossed to the stairs leading to his bedroom. He was three stairs up before he deigned to answer. “When we grow up,” he informed her, looking smug, “we’re getting married.”
Last edited by hello seattle. on Tue 03 Feb 2009, 1:25 am; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : checked. hello. (how shame))
gloria-- Literary Mentor
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Number of posts : 1860
Age : 31
Location : murder city. -
Re: (c) Addicted to the Shindig [M]
by Breakdown Wed 04 Feb 2009, 4:31 am
I don't often read fanfiction at all but I love love love your writing and you said to read this. xD
So I read it and I loved it.
This part was so sweet and adorable.
I especially love the attention to detail, it makes it as though I am watching the story as I'm reading it.
All in all....amazing Carmen!
So I read it and I loved it.
This part was so sweet and adorable.
I especially love the attention to detail, it makes it as though I am watching the story as I'm reading it.
All in all....amazing Carmen!
Breakdown- Moderator
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Number of posts : 6182
Age : 31
Location : city of the dammed -
Re: (c) Addicted to the Shindig [M]
by Jack Skellington Wed 04 Feb 2009, 5:50 am
I already read it. 
It was amazing. 
It was amazing. 
Jack Skellington- Crusader
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Number of posts : 3690
Age : 29
Location : The Wood Between Holidays -
Re: (c) Addicted to the Shindig [M]
by gloria- Fri 06 Feb 2009, 4:23 am
Chapter 1
“Hey, Hermione.”
“Yes, Harry.” The caramel-haired girl didn’t look up from her book, A Thousand and One Ways to See Rome, but she was really listening to her friend. Really...
Harry nodded in the direction of a bench across the square, upon which a girl was seated, sucking oh-so-relaxedly on a cigarette. “Do I know her from somewhere?”
Hermione glanced up just long enough to take in the pretty girl and her bench. “Yes, Harry, you do,” she muttered, returning to Way #243: Have sex on, in, or under anything and everything. “She's in our year at school.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right,” the teen spoke absently, too busy eying the way she was practically filming a porno with her cancer stick. “What house is she in, again?”
Hermione looked up again, this time at her friend, and smirked. “You'd know, Harry James Potter, if you stopped drooling for a moment and took a look at who's got his head in her lap.”
Jerking, the accused boy took a moment to glare at his best friend before looking back towards the bench. “Oh, for fuck's sake,” he growled upon seeing the white blond head stationed more than a little suggestively upon her upper thighs. His friend snorted, an amused smile sitting on her lips, but didn't look up from her book, especially when Harry turned angrily to her. “And what the bloody Hell d'you think you're laughing at?”
Shutting her book, Hermione stood and patted her friend on the cheek. “Only you, my dear.” Then, taking his hand and ignoring his disgruntled grumble, she dragged him to his feet. “Come on, then, we've got to get to the museum before it closes for the evening. Mrs Weasley will be offended if we're not back for supper.” She pulled him in the direction away from their classmates, and paused thoughtfully. “Not to mention Ron might have your head.”
“Hey, Hermione.”
“Yes, Harry.” The caramel-haired girl didn’t look up from her book, A Thousand and One Ways to See Rome, but she was really listening to her friend. Really...
Harry nodded in the direction of a bench across the square, upon which a girl was seated, sucking oh-so-relaxedly on a cigarette. “Do I know her from somewhere?”
Hermione glanced up just long enough to take in the pretty girl and her bench. “Yes, Harry, you do,” she muttered, returning to Way #243: Have sex on, in, or under anything and everything. “She's in our year at school.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right,” the teen spoke absently, too busy eying the way she was practically filming a porno with her cancer stick. “What house is she in, again?”
Hermione looked up again, this time at her friend, and smirked. “You'd know, Harry James Potter, if you stopped drooling for a moment and took a look at who's got his head in her lap.”
Jerking, the accused boy took a moment to glare at his best friend before looking back towards the bench. “Oh, for fuck's sake,” he growled upon seeing the white blond head stationed more than a little suggestively upon her upper thighs. His friend snorted, an amused smile sitting on her lips, but didn't look up from her book, especially when Harry turned angrily to her. “And what the bloody Hell d'you think you're laughing at?”
Shutting her book, Hermione stood and patted her friend on the cheek. “Only you, my dear.” Then, taking his hand and ignoring his disgruntled grumble, she dragged him to his feet. “Come on, then, we've got to get to the museum before it closes for the evening. Mrs Weasley will be offended if we're not back for supper.” She pulled him in the direction away from their classmates, and paused thoughtfully. “Not to mention Ron might have your head.”
gloria-- Literary Mentor
-
Number of posts : 1860
Age : 31
Location : murder city. -
Re: (c) Addicted to the Shindig [M]
by gloria- Thu 12 Feb 2009, 4:00 am
Chapter 2
“Now, Draco, that's not very nice,” the girl murmured, gently swiping a strand of silky hair out of her best friend's face. “They're probably here for that Muggle Studies project, just like Terry Boot and that other boy we saw earlier.”
“I don't care,” the boy ground out, his body language somehow entirely separate from his voice. To anyone out of earshot (like the Golden Boy and his filthy friend, across the plaza), he seemed calm, perhaps happy or, more likely, just supremely lazy. “He's a big fucking prick and I don't want him to be here while I am.”
Taking her smoke from between her lips, she flicked the ash off the end. “Well then, go buy us train tickets to somewhere else,” she snapped, fed up with Draco's whining. “Paris, or something.”
“With my luck, they'll be going there next,” the white teen grumped.
“For shit's sake, Draco,” Adrienne growled, stubbing out her fag on the green metal arm of the bench as the two Gryffindors walked away. “They only spend one day in each city. They'll be gone by morning.” She tapped her lip, thinking. “Or probably this evening. They're missing Ronald.” The girl’s grandfather, an African witch doctor, was the reason her skin was the colour of coffee with milk. She pinched her friend's cheek. She did not hold the same grudge against the Golden Trio as he, and was actually fairly good friends with Granger. This, of course, was the cause of much arguing between the pair, who were virtually attached by the hip even when angry with each other.
Muttering angrily to himself, the boy hoisted himself out of Adie's lap and stood. “Let's go get something to eat,” he suggested, refusing to quite meet her eyes but holding his hand out to her nonetheless. She took it and stood too, allowing him to lead her off in the direction of the apartment they were sharing. They walked in silence for a few minutes. “D'you think your granddad will make me a voodoo doll of him?”
Resisting the urge to slap her friend, the semi-black girl yanked her hand from his and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fuck you, Draco.”
Knowing he'd hit upon the sorest spot she had, and only because he was too busy being irritated at Scarhead, Draco sighed inwardly and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He spent the rest of the walk home trying to decide how best to beg her forgiveness, because in the case of Adrienne Sonoro, she could be severely damaging when angry, and he had no desire to incur that wrath; he had seen it too many times aimed at others. And, he knew, she kept voodoo dolls of her own.
“Now, Draco, that's not very nice,” the girl murmured, gently swiping a strand of silky hair out of her best friend's face. “They're probably here for that Muggle Studies project, just like Terry Boot and that other boy we saw earlier.”
“I don't care,” the boy ground out, his body language somehow entirely separate from his voice. To anyone out of earshot (like the Golden Boy and his filthy friend, across the plaza), he seemed calm, perhaps happy or, more likely, just supremely lazy. “He's a big fucking prick and I don't want him to be here while I am.”
Taking her smoke from between her lips, she flicked the ash off the end. “Well then, go buy us train tickets to somewhere else,” she snapped, fed up with Draco's whining. “Paris, or something.”
“With my luck, they'll be going there next,” the white teen grumped.
“For shit's sake, Draco,” Adrienne growled, stubbing out her fag on the green metal arm of the bench as the two Gryffindors walked away. “They only spend one day in each city. They'll be gone by morning.” She tapped her lip, thinking. “Or probably this evening. They're missing Ronald.” The girl’s grandfather, an African witch doctor, was the reason her skin was the colour of coffee with milk. She pinched her friend's cheek. She did not hold the same grudge against the Golden Trio as he, and was actually fairly good friends with Granger. This, of course, was the cause of much arguing between the pair, who were virtually attached by the hip even when angry with each other.
Muttering angrily to himself, the boy hoisted himself out of Adie's lap and stood. “Let's go get something to eat,” he suggested, refusing to quite meet her eyes but holding his hand out to her nonetheless. She took it and stood too, allowing him to lead her off in the direction of the apartment they were sharing. They walked in silence for a few minutes. “D'you think your granddad will make me a voodoo doll of him?”
Resisting the urge to slap her friend, the semi-black girl yanked her hand from his and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fuck you, Draco.”
Knowing he'd hit upon the sorest spot she had, and only because he was too busy being irritated at Scarhead, Draco sighed inwardly and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He spent the rest of the walk home trying to decide how best to beg her forgiveness, because in the case of Adrienne Sonoro, she could be severely damaging when angry, and he had no desire to incur that wrath; he had seen it too many times aimed at others. And, he knew, she kept voodoo dolls of her own.
gloria-- Literary Mentor
-
Number of posts : 1860
Age : 31
Location : murder city. -
Re: (c) Addicted to the Shindig [M]
by gloria- Thu 05 Mar 2009, 3:23 am
Chapter 3
Adie yawned and flopped down onto her bed, ignoring the clanging sounds of Draco, who she'd left to his own devices in the kitchen. Idly, she wondered what she could do to him for that jab about voodoo. Using a voodoo doll on him (she had her Mini-Draco in the top drawer of her desk) would be perfect irony. Besides, the Malfoys could do very little to her family; the Sonoros being a far more influential (and wealthy) pure-blooded family, she had virtual free reign over the entire wizarding world, compared to Draco, who could barely keep the British Minister of Magic under his thumb.
Besides, voodoo was one of the uncontrollable, untraceable magics. She could kill her best friend and bring him back to life, and not only would she be unpersecutable, but completely undetectable to anyone trying to persecute. Not that she would kill Draco. Severely wound, perhaps, and mend, but never kill (not that she wasn’t capable of it). Death seemed rather a harsh punishment for not thinking about his words before speaking them. Perhaps she would simply dangle him off the balcony by his feet for a while.
Rising, she went to her desk and opened the top right drawer, where four little dolls lay, very innocent. She picked the blond one up by its left ankle, brought it up to eye level, and whispered a spell to activate. She gave a rather sadistic grin as she heard more clanging and a rather girlish shriek from the direction of the kitchen. The doll began flailing its arms and free leg, a miniature adaptation of her tormented best friend.
Still smirking evilly, she walked out of her room and down the hall to the cooking room, where Draco was suspended in midair, yelling like it was the end of the world.
The dark-haired girl spun the doll, causing the very white boy to rotate, still upside-down, to look at her. Taking in her wicked smile and the little version of himself, he began kicking more violently, which just caused her to cackle. “You bitch!”
A strange glint lit her aquamarine eyes, and she took one step closer to her friend. “Oh, no Draco, you haven't seen anything yet,” she murmured, the tone of her voice sending shivers up (or down, in this case) his spine.
Turning and exiting the kitchen, Adie twitched her long fingers, causing the blond boy to float along behind her as she crossed through the living room and threw open the French doors onto the balcony. Moments later, he was screaming again as she dangled him over the busy street below.
“You'll kill me!” he yelled, clawing at the air, “what if you drop me?! I'll die! Then what will happen? My parents will have your head!”
She snorted and leaned against the barrier. “No, they won't,” she said, not loudly, but Draco would swear later that the cars below had quieted specifically to listen to her. “My family wouldn't let that happen. Besides, if you fall...” she dropped the doll and caught it in the other hand, and the life-sized version jerked a few feet, shrieking once more. “I'll catch you.”
He had begun to hyperventilate by that time, staring at his best friend with desperate, frightened eyes. “Bring me back,” he pleaded, not screaming anymore, though his heart was still beating a million times a minute. “I'm sorry, Adie. Fuck, let me back!” His last words rose to a squeak, his breath coming in sharp, short gasps.
She pulled him back, finally, and placed the doll upon the patio table, causing Draco to land on the ground. She muttered the anti-activation spell, and the boy got shakily to his feet. Gasping, he crossed to his friend and let her gather him up into her arms. He whispered apologies, almost to himself.
Adie yawned and flopped down onto her bed, ignoring the clanging sounds of Draco, who she'd left to his own devices in the kitchen. Idly, she wondered what she could do to him for that jab about voodoo. Using a voodoo doll on him (she had her Mini-Draco in the top drawer of her desk) would be perfect irony. Besides, the Malfoys could do very little to her family; the Sonoros being a far more influential (and wealthy) pure-blooded family, she had virtual free reign over the entire wizarding world, compared to Draco, who could barely keep the British Minister of Magic under his thumb.
Besides, voodoo was one of the uncontrollable, untraceable magics. She could kill her best friend and bring him back to life, and not only would she be unpersecutable, but completely undetectable to anyone trying to persecute. Not that she would kill Draco. Severely wound, perhaps, and mend, but never kill (not that she wasn’t capable of it). Death seemed rather a harsh punishment for not thinking about his words before speaking them. Perhaps she would simply dangle him off the balcony by his feet for a while.
Rising, she went to her desk and opened the top right drawer, where four little dolls lay, very innocent. She picked the blond one up by its left ankle, brought it up to eye level, and whispered a spell to activate. She gave a rather sadistic grin as she heard more clanging and a rather girlish shriek from the direction of the kitchen. The doll began flailing its arms and free leg, a miniature adaptation of her tormented best friend.
Still smirking evilly, she walked out of her room and down the hall to the cooking room, where Draco was suspended in midair, yelling like it was the end of the world.
The dark-haired girl spun the doll, causing the very white boy to rotate, still upside-down, to look at her. Taking in her wicked smile and the little version of himself, he began kicking more violently, which just caused her to cackle. “You bitch!”
A strange glint lit her aquamarine eyes, and she took one step closer to her friend. “Oh, no Draco, you haven't seen anything yet,” she murmured, the tone of her voice sending shivers up (or down, in this case) his spine.
Turning and exiting the kitchen, Adie twitched her long fingers, causing the blond boy to float along behind her as she crossed through the living room and threw open the French doors onto the balcony. Moments later, he was screaming again as she dangled him over the busy street below.
“You'll kill me!” he yelled, clawing at the air, “what if you drop me?! I'll die! Then what will happen? My parents will have your head!”
She snorted and leaned against the barrier. “No, they won't,” she said, not loudly, but Draco would swear later that the cars below had quieted specifically to listen to her. “My family wouldn't let that happen. Besides, if you fall...” she dropped the doll and caught it in the other hand, and the life-sized version jerked a few feet, shrieking once more. “I'll catch you.”
He had begun to hyperventilate by that time, staring at his best friend with desperate, frightened eyes. “Bring me back,” he pleaded, not screaming anymore, though his heart was still beating a million times a minute. “I'm sorry, Adie. Fuck, let me back!” His last words rose to a squeak, his breath coming in sharp, short gasps.
She pulled him back, finally, and placed the doll upon the patio table, causing Draco to land on the ground. She muttered the anti-activation spell, and the boy got shakily to his feet. Gasping, he crossed to his friend and let her gather him up into her arms. He whispered apologies, almost to himself.
gloria-- Literary Mentor
-
Number of posts : 1860
Age : 31
Location : murder city. -
Re: (c) Addicted to the Shindig [M]
by tea-boy. Fri 06 Mar 2009, 5:27 am
Okay, so, I've been meaning to review this for a while. 
I used to be super addicted to HP and your story has rekindled the flame.
But on to the actual review:
I thought your characterization was spot on with the original characters and I like how your developing the original one.
Turning and exiting the kitchen, Adie twitched her long fingers, causing the blond boy to float along behind her as she crossed through the living room and threw open the French doors onto the balcony. Moments later, he was screaming again as she dangled him over the busy street below.
I love that paragraph. It's got great imagery and really puts you in the scene.
And I'm sorry I suck so bad at reviewing.
I used to be super addicted to HP and your story has rekindled the flame.
But on to the actual review:
I thought your characterization was spot on with the original characters and I like how your developing the original one.
Turning and exiting the kitchen, Adie twitched her long fingers, causing the blond boy to float along behind her as she crossed through the living room and threw open the French doors onto the balcony. Moments later, he was screaming again as she dangled him over the busy street below.
I love that paragraph. It's got great imagery and really puts you in the scene.
And I'm sorry I suck so bad at reviewing.
tea-boy.- Crusader
-
Number of posts : 2508
Age : 29
Location : Massachusetts -
Re: (c) Addicted to the Shindig [M]
by gloria- Fri 06 Mar 2009, 5:56 am
no, thank you. as you can see, it's the best i've gotten so far.
(i'm going to post more momentarily.
)
(i'm going to post more momentarily.
)
gloria-- Literary Mentor
-
Number of posts : 1860
Age : 31
Location : murder city. -
Re: (c) Addicted to the Shindig [M]
by gloria- Fri 06 Mar 2009, 5:59 am
Chapter 4
Twelve hours, two meals, and an appallingly difficult shower later, Draco was still shaking. Adie had had to get out her Mini-Draco again, just to hold him up, when he couldn't stand long enough to brush his teeth. And when he couldn't sleep without dreaming of falling, he had found himself cuddling up against his friend in her room, allowing her to knead her fingers into his skull in an effort to calm him.
When he had yawned so widely that she could count his teeth, the black-haired girl smoothed back his silvery hair and settled down to sleep. He didn't.
Okay, so Adie was crazy. He had known that. But she was still his best friend and he still loved her. He just had to remember not to say anything stupid.
Getting up, he took a cigarette from the packet on her bedside table, grabbed her lighter, and headed out to the balcony to light up. He didn't smoke much. Neither did his friend, really. He had never seen her do it on British soil, and never ever when any of her family was around. It was like her drinking habit: only at school. Why, exactly, she did none of this at home, he wasn't sure, except perhaps that she didn't want to get caught. Somehow, though, that didn't add up, because she frequently got caught drinking in the dungeons (that, he suspected, was why she hadn't been made a prefect the year before, like him). He rather thought it might be because of what high respect she had for her family.
He looked up when the balcony door opened and the blue-eyed girl stepped out, carrying her carton of smokes. She sat beside him and took the lighter off the table, holding it up to the skinny white stick between her curved lips.
The cigarette took fire, spouting bluish-grey smoke from its tip. She looked at him, her eyes a strange mix of green and purple through the haze and moonlight. “I'm bored,” she told him.
He raised his eyebrows. “Shall we play a game, or something?”
Adie chuckled and took a pull of the cancer stick between her fingers. She shook her head, still grinning. “No,” she muttered, and waved her hand through the air. “I mean, I'm bored of this. Of Rome.”
“Ah.” Stubbing out his own cigarette, Draco reached for another. “Shall we go somewhere else, then? I hear Turkey's marvellous this time of year.” He flicked the lighter, took a drag, and shivered pleasurably as the nicotine permeated his bloodstream.
The almost-sixteen-year-old girl smirked, flicking ash into the ashtray shaped like a melted light bulb. “No, I just want to go home.”
“England?! But it rains there. That's why we left in the first place.”
“No, silly, Ireland.” She rolled her eyes at her friend. “And we left to get away from our parents.”
“And you want to go back to them now?” he asked, incredulously allowing smoke to escape his lips.
She thought for a moment, tapping her lip with one finger. The nail was painted a bright, happy yellow, the kind that tended to be called Sunshine or Pineapple. Finally, she smiled in the most charming way possible. “Yes.”
“Why?”
She shrugged and took a last puff of her cigarette before putting it out and standing up. “Because.”
He sighed and called after her: “that's not an answer!”
Twelve hours, two meals, and an appallingly difficult shower later, Draco was still shaking. Adie had had to get out her Mini-Draco again, just to hold him up, when he couldn't stand long enough to brush his teeth. And when he couldn't sleep without dreaming of falling, he had found himself cuddling up against his friend in her room, allowing her to knead her fingers into his skull in an effort to calm him.
When he had yawned so widely that she could count his teeth, the black-haired girl smoothed back his silvery hair and settled down to sleep. He didn't.
Okay, so Adie was crazy. He had known that. But she was still his best friend and he still loved her. He just had to remember not to say anything stupid.
Getting up, he took a cigarette from the packet on her bedside table, grabbed her lighter, and headed out to the balcony to light up. He didn't smoke much. Neither did his friend, really. He had never seen her do it on British soil, and never ever when any of her family was around. It was like her drinking habit: only at school. Why, exactly, she did none of this at home, he wasn't sure, except perhaps that she didn't want to get caught. Somehow, though, that didn't add up, because she frequently got caught drinking in the dungeons (that, he suspected, was why she hadn't been made a prefect the year before, like him). He rather thought it might be because of what high respect she had for her family.
He looked up when the balcony door opened and the blue-eyed girl stepped out, carrying her carton of smokes. She sat beside him and took the lighter off the table, holding it up to the skinny white stick between her curved lips.
The cigarette took fire, spouting bluish-grey smoke from its tip. She looked at him, her eyes a strange mix of green and purple through the haze and moonlight. “I'm bored,” she told him.
He raised his eyebrows. “Shall we play a game, or something?”
Adie chuckled and took a pull of the cancer stick between her fingers. She shook her head, still grinning. “No,” she muttered, and waved her hand through the air. “I mean, I'm bored of this. Of Rome.”
“Ah.” Stubbing out his own cigarette, Draco reached for another. “Shall we go somewhere else, then? I hear Turkey's marvellous this time of year.” He flicked the lighter, took a drag, and shivered pleasurably as the nicotine permeated his bloodstream.
The almost-sixteen-year-old girl smirked, flicking ash into the ashtray shaped like a melted light bulb. “No, I just want to go home.”
“England?! But it rains there. That's why we left in the first place.”
“No, silly, Ireland.” She rolled her eyes at her friend. “And we left to get away from our parents.”
“And you want to go back to them now?” he asked, incredulously allowing smoke to escape his lips.
She thought for a moment, tapping her lip with one finger. The nail was painted a bright, happy yellow, the kind that tended to be called Sunshine or Pineapple. Finally, she smiled in the most charming way possible. “Yes.”
“Why?”
She shrugged and took a last puff of her cigarette before putting it out and standing up. “Because.”
He sighed and called after her: “that's not an answer!”
gloria-- Literary Mentor
-
Number of posts : 1860
Age : 31
Location : murder city. -
Re: (c) Addicted to the Shindig [M]
by gloria- Tue 07 Apr 2009, 5:29 am
hello,
i've moved this story onto another site.
you can find it here.
that site is run by me, so you have my word that if you join, you won't get weird shit.
thanks.
i've moved this story onto another site.
you can find it here.
that site is run by me, so you have my word that if you join, you won't get weird shit.
thanks.
gloria-- Literary Mentor
-
Number of posts : 1860
Age : 31
Location : murder city. -
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