Forced Social Encounter #305 [open]

[Dylan Black]

Sometimes Axolotl's run out of food and Dylan has to go skipping merrily down the street singing about sunshine and daisies with his little manpurse slapping his outer thigh. Except that entire sentence describes Dylan's exact opposite. His non-evil Twin, if you will. Instead, imagine a grumpy man with too many layers on for summer walking briskly with the most unpleasant scowl on his face you can manage without being a gremlin. It's the kind of look that makes milk curdle, babies burst into flame and ice creams to melt.

Hands stuffed in his pockets with his sunglasses over his eyes, Dylan presumed this was the best way to avoid human contact of any kind, at least till he got to the petshop and picked up the little pellets of Axolotl feed for Gillian. Aside from an encounter with a pushchair, of which he flashed a rare smile to the cute baby, he managed his goal and slipped into the petshop without much of a problem. Of course, once in the shop, he realised it was distressingly busy, and cursed in a foul stream under his breath till he reached the aquatics corner.

There were teenage girls talking loudly at a hamster, a gentleman in the corner who looked like his face had seen the worse end of a woodchipper and a surly looking boy in the corner who looked like he was shoplifting. Wonderful. Great. Super. All of the populace was out in full irritating mass. Grabbing one of the pellet tubs, he read the contents, and bristled visibly as one of the girls squeezed past him.

Stupid. Stupid little breeding slutwhores. He kept repeating in his head, trying not to explode and start animating everything. He'd vaguely learnt his lesson from the shopping incident. Dylan didn't feel like travelling to the next town over just to get food for Gillian. But oh my dear lord he could feel the stagnant air from too many people breathing in one space and he just wanted to kick something over. Preferably in the direction of the girls, especially now he'd noticed one was wearing a belt as a skirt. He did not want a view of a spotty ass. But as he glanced sideways that was exactly what our dear anti-social animator got.

Covering it up with a loud clatter, Dylan let out a stream of insults involving covering hooker backsides up and not presuming everyone wants to see teen flesh dangling around on a spit. Or a thong. Thongs. How he hated thongs. Muffling a gag, again with another clatter of aquatic food, he tucked himself further into the corner, and, embittered, tried to get this torturous task over as soon as possible

[Cobalt Weaver]

Cat food. Cobalt hated having to go buy cat food. He thought the pet store smelled funny and he hated having to weave his way through pet enthusiasts and yelling teenagers and the overly friendly checkout clerk who kept trying to sell him books about communicating with your cat. Because hell no was he going to buy a book about better communication with his cat. He didn’t even take books about better communication with his boyfriend.

…That was a weird thought. He was definitely too old to have boyfriends.

Moving on.

He sidestepped some high-pitched, shrieking teenagers cooing over some hamsters with a roll of his eyes. He grimaced at their choice of dress, but shook his head and maneuvered around them, quietly lamenting how inappropriate little kids chose to dress nowadays (because yes, teenagers equaled little kids in Cobalt’s mind).

He wouldn’t have given it another thought if a younger man skulking in the corner hadn’t decided to throw a ridiculous, profanity laced fit about it. Cobalt gave the younger man a withering glance. He was definitely not in the mood to put up with some idiot’s stupid shit interfering with his day.

“Oh, don’t be such a loud pain in the ass, will you?” Cobalt rolled his eyes, “Obnoxious kid…” And he was prepared to leave it at that. As if he would be that lucky.

[Dylan Black]

Dylan was going to leave his little spat at that and ignore the Woodchipper man and the lurking creature in the corner. But then his ear twitched and he realised someone was looking at him. Urgh. It WAS the woodchipper man. And what the hell was that on his face? It looked like the scraps of a toupee Superglued to his upper lip and chin. Setting down his axolotl feed and squaring the man up, he lifted his sunglasses up off his eyes and fixed him with the aforementioned milk curdling stare.

"I'm sorry." He said, sounding as sincere as it is possible to sound when you're clearly being sarcastic. "I didn't know you had sensitive ears grandpa." And with that he turned back to the feed, settling on a nice variety mix. Gillian was sure to like that.

"Incidently, while we're on the subject of obnoxious." He mused, his voice as low and provocative (in the asshole way, not the sexy way) as always. "Did you grow that moustache yourself or is someone wondering why their doormat has a hole cut in it?" He sniped, giving a rather impetuous stare at the tittering girls, who were now staring at him. Great. Now he was the shop's center of attention, and he sneered at them. They didn't seem to get the hint though, possibly because their brains were hardwired to their vaginas. And people thought it was only guys with the genital-brain issue.

Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, Dylan's arm fell to his side. "For gods sake, you immature little pisswagons, pull your fucking skirts down and stop BREATHING." They didn't seem to like his tone, and scuttled off to the other side of the shop, leaving him alone with Grandpa Woodchipper.

"Haven't you got some quality fishing time with your grandson to get on with?" He added, moving to inspect a bridge for his beloved little Axolotl. He might as well make the arduous torture worth it and do all he needed to do here in one go. "Or another doormat to stick on your face?"

[Cobalt Weaver]

Cobalt blinked, momentarily taken aback by the onslaught of sheer assholery that just got thrown in his direction. But that shock didn’t last for long as shadows arced warningly around Cobalt’s shoulders. Oh, so he wanted to play it that way? Fine. Cobalt had been spewing hate at people since this kid was in diapers.

“No, I apologize.” Cobalt snapped back, equally sarcastic, “I didn’t mean to make light of your delicate sensibilities. Clearly, everyone should make adjustments to make you feel more comfortable, you dainty little boy.” He turned back to the shelves, trying to look for the cat food. Where the hell was the cat food?

“Oh, very clever.” Cobalt turned back to give him a scornful look and a little, sarcastic clap, “That is definitely the most creative insult I’ve ever been given. Thank you, truly.” He was getting a migraine, and really? Of all the things to make a stupid joke about, and this kid chose his facial hair. Weak sauce.

Cobalt was willing to put up with quite a lot of things. But there was really no call to get so worked up over some teenage girls looking their way. It wasn’t as though Cobalt enjoyed it either, but he managed. “Oddly.” Cobalt said sharply, all sarcasm gone from his tone, “I find if one wants to stop being the center of attention, it works to stop screaming at people.” He rolled his eyes, “Seriously, they’re just stupid kids, lay the hell off.”

“Oh, trust me.” Cobalt glared, “As much as I love your scintillating company and your rapier wit, I won’t linger.” He’d already be gone if he could just. Find. The goddamned. Cat food.

He hated everything.

[Dylan Black]

As Cobalt's power decided to arch protectively around him, Dylan's fingers felt twitchy. Maybe no one would notice if a dog lead went snaking off tripping people over. No Dylan. Breathe. He took a deep and forced breath, if only because he really couldn't afford to get thrown out another shop. He'd get a reputation worse than he already had, and he didn't want to get fired from Hammel. Mostly because it was his only source of income.

"Little?" Dylan said, looking slightly amused. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you properly from up here." His face twisted into a snarl. Jesus Grandpa needed his meds. And a pair of stilts, while he was at it. It seemed like Pilot Ridge seemed to harbour midgets - only the other day he'd gone to the doctor for pain medication after a, shall we say, scuffle, and ended up face to face with Dr. Shortass. Then there was his friend, Captain Tiny, and now Grandpa Smurf. Wonderful.

"Maybe if you spent more time growing your legs, instead of growing your moustache, you'd be a whole six foot by now." He added, grabbing the bridge for Gillian to swim around and play with. "Then maybe you'd look more like a human being rather than a humourless leprechaun." Ah, they had those plants he liked here too, maybe he could just continue sniping Mr. Woodchipper till he gave in. Or ran. Or they ended up beating each other with canned goods ... wait no. He was not going to get physical today.

Cobalt hadn't done anything to offend him aside from talking at him and existing. Jake had generally just been a complete twink with no concept of manners. "If no one tells the stupid kids not to be stupid, then they continue breeding stupidity till humanity turns into the moral waste ground of toxic sludge it is today." He said simply, not even really sounding particularly annoyed at the moment. He was too busy concentrating on picking out the right sort of plant for the axolotl.

"Please don't. I have concerns your moustache may grow sentience and leap onto my face." Dylan finally retorted, turning round with his arms full of goodies for his beloved pet. "Though thankfully, I'm cultured enough to know what a razor looks like. That's R-a-z-o-r, Grandpa." He said, spelling it out nice and slowly. "Really, it's more offensive than ZZ Top's awful fucking beard." He added, though mostly to himself.

[L.C. Milliner]

*outfit

Today was not a good day for L.C. Milliner, and making bad days for L.C. were the best way to have the world destroyed. If the Earth ever went down in a ball of fire and brimstone, L.C. would certainly be the one running the show. If she could play the violin, she’d be the next Nero. Thankfully for the world, L.C.’s about as musically inclined as a toothpick; there was once a time she was interested in music, but when one of her crushes who played piano transferred to Kocher her interest in it abruptly stopped. Her interest in it, like her passing interest in other things, funneled back into hating the world and everybody in it, minus about five people.

Slumping forward with her hands in the pockets of her jeans, L.C. gritted her teeth and tried to think of the highlight of her day- finding the boots she was wearing at Goodwill. But nothing seemed to help out her mood, brought on by a particularly annoying customer at the coffee shop. The airhead teenager, obviously from Pilot Ridge High School wanted a chocolate and peppermint soy latte with ‘minimal’ whipped cream. L.C. and the cashier had to explain to her that she couldn’t make that for her. That was when the girl started telling her how to do her job. When the withering stare of HATE

[/u][/i] didn’t work, she leaned forward and told the blonde very slowly and loudly where the nearest Starbucks was. The result was a slew of curse words thrown at her, which L.C. returned tenfold as the cashier silently cheered her on while taking the NEXT customer’s order. The way the teen ran from the shop was satisfying, but the incident stuck with her all day and darkened her mood permanently.

Glares were abundant as she crossed town with her bag thrown over her shoulder. Stopping in front of the local pet shop, L.C. paused as she spotted a sign that advertised birdcages were half off. With a tilt of her head and a short ‘Hmm’, she calculated that a small allowance in the budget could accommodate an equally small sized bird and cage. Milly would certainly get a kick out of a canary or something in the apartment to keep it cheery as she scoured want ads while L.C. was out at work. Canaries seemed like low maintenance animals anyway. If she didn’t like it, she’d just pass it off to John and tell him it was a thank you present or a stress reliever or something. No one would turn down a free bird, right?

Wandering into the shop, she was on her way to look at the cages, then the birds, before she ran into a gaggle of girls that had hastily turned a corner and plowed into her. “GAH.” She shouted, twitching slightly as she realized one of them was the prick harassing her earlier. The girls stared each other down, but a burst of annoyed babble from the other side of the divider made L.C. turn, and the girl escaped. “Cunt.” L.C. spit after her, watching the girl flee the store without so much as a middle finger flipped in her direction. Something must’ve scared her off.

Whatever it was, it was on the other side of the aisle divider, where all the birdcages were. With a sigh she turned around the same corner that the girls previously had come from, only the opposite way. That was where the scene was laid out before her- an old man with a moustache to rival Sam Elliot’s and the school Janitor in a regular old Mexican standoff. Hearing the insults they threw at each other, L.C. rolled her eyes and passed the old man, scouring the shelves for a bird cage. When she found the tiniest for only ten bucks, she nodded in appreciation- then tuned in to their bickering again. Exasperated, she picked the cage up off the shelf and cradled it under her arm.

“Okay children, let’s stop reverting into thirteen year old girls and shut the fuck up.”

Oh L.C., what have you gotten yourself into?[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Cobalt Weaver]

“There he goes.” Cobalt said, a look of condescending praise on his face, “Took you a while—most people start with the short jokes, but I guess it must have taken you a little while. It’s okay, sometimes basic perception is hard. You’ll survive.” In actuality, he wasn’t offended. Or even angry, once he got over the “someone is insulting you” shock. He hadn’t had the opportunity to be genuinely rude to someone guilt-free. As it was, he was mostly amused.

Cobalt shook his head, “Oh you’re right. Clearly, I should have thought more about growing my legs. Because that’s how anatomy and physiology works. Good to see you finished school. Dumbass.” The last bit was muttered mostly to himself, but said loud enough for him to hear.

“Oh, so you are just being a good Samaritan, trying to lead the wayward teens, right.” Cobalt eyed Dylan with a look that said I highly doubt that. “Look kid, nobody asked for you opinion, so please. Please. Do us all a favor and keep your opinions to yourself. That way, nobody bothers you and the rest of us can have a peaceful life.” Oh, this was so immature. He was almost fifty years old, there was no reason for him to be so rude to a kid who was half his age. But still. It was so fun.

However, the moustache jokes were getting old. And less and less coherent. But before Cobalt could say anything, a young girl rounded the corner and started berating them. Fantastic. “You watch your mouth,” Cobalt said automatically, knowing that would do no good, “This conversation doesn’t really have anything to do with you, okay?” He didn’t want to deal with yet another young kid being rude to him.

[Dylan Black]

"To be honest I've seen so many short people in Pilot Ridge that I thought perhaps I was intruding on a midget colony." Dylan remarked, grabbing a basket to carry his varied shopping goodies without having his arms full. He might need those arms to hit someone. Not that he'd have a fight with Grandpa here, he was probably too old and frail for fighting.

His eye did tick at being called a dumbass, and his expression darkened for a moment. "At least I know the definition of male grooming." He snapped back, looming over Cobalt with a glare. "I doubt the intelligence of a man who thinks that fucking abomination for a moustache is anything but offensive." He added, before blinking at the female figure in the shop. Ah. Miss Milliner. Queen of putting holes in various tables, walls, lockers... and Vincent.

The grumpy man visibly relaxed when he noticed her. If only because, whilst a miserable sack of turd, she was bearable in small doses, and hated Vincent. "Ah, if it isn't my favourite walking pincushion." Dylan said, arching an eyebrow. "Put any holes in valuable school property today? Stabbed Vincent? Made that smug rich kid bleed?" He actually sounded hopeful. Maybe now she'd left the table damage had gone down (though there was little Dylan could do for punctured tables, aside from place a request for more) but there was less spats. Less spats involving students he disliked.

He did give a pointed glance at Cobalt, and plopped a new water filter into the basket, but he was amused at the the fact he was sniping at L.C. She wouldn't listen, if Dylan knew her even the tiniest bit. "You're wasting your breath, Grandpa." He said simply, sticking his hands in his pockets once more. "Why don't you go home before someone mistakes you for a very ugly child." He gave a sarcastic thumbs up, then stared down at his basket.

Funny how avoiding being near people made you suddenly everyone's new best friend. And urgh, he could tell the air was getting MORE stagnant as everyone had this merry pow-wow in the middle of the shop. Gross.

[L.C. Milliner]

The backlash L.C. got from the pair was to be expected, and thanks to years of trading insults with teenage girls (and Vincent) she took it in stride. The birdcage under her arm would make decent throwing material if it came down to that, but she doubted it would go that far, especially with who she was staring at. She recognized the two men, one only just barely and the other from Hammel. The older one with the swampy moustache had come into the café once or twice while she was working- she doubted he remembered she was the one who made his coffee. She also had a feeling Sean had mentioned him once or twice to her in passing, or pointed him out to her when he saw him, but at the moment she was trying not to think about Sean because the other day he randomly showed up in a dragon costume while she was working for reasons still unknown.

Rolling her eyes at the aforementioned old man, L.C. gave him a look one would give rowdy children that needed to hush. It was true, the conversation really was none of her business, but that didn’t stop her from interfering with it. “I’ve just made it my business, then.” She wasn’t sure whose side she was on in the argument anyway, though at the moment she was leaning toward Dylan- or at least she was until he addressed her. Then she remembered how much she really, really disliked him. Turning slowly, she fixed him in her sights and gritted her teeth subtly before sighing, forcing herself to remain calm. “No, I haven’t visited Hammel today. But I heard there’s a new paint job in the North hallway? I’ll be sure to look at it next time I’m there.” ‘Looking’ meaning ‘destroy’, of course. L.C. knew just how to scratch up the hallway walls so the paint on them flaked like dandruff; and guess who had to clean that up?

Shifting her birdcage, she rolled her eyes at Dylan and decided that for this particular round of verbal jibing she would take up the underdog’s cause and go against him. Looking to the old guy, she shrugged and looked to the ceiling. “You have to excuse him. See, he’s the school janitor, and, well, Hammel only just stopped using lead based paint...” She turned back to Dylan and smirked at him. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Dilly bar. Your hair isn’t nearly as greasy as usual. I’m almost impressed.” She really didn’t have anything against Dylan, at least not now since she was out of school, but she liked to insult him every once in a while to keep him on his toes.

[Cobalt Weaver]

Cobalt noted the irritation in the other man’s face when Cobalt called him a dumbass. Excellent. “Oh, so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel stupid. I understand it must be a little hard to function with such a limited intellect. That was insensitive of me. Feel free to make fun of my facial hair, and I will rest easy in the fact that I have my full mental faculties.” He gave Dylan a fierce, sarcastic grin. And really, if Dylan felt the random inclination to get into a physical altercation with Cobalt, he might get a little surprised. Old he was, but by no means frail.

He ignored Dylan’s jab to raise an eyebrow at the young girl with a birdcage under her arm. Any initial annoyance he’d felt at her smartass comment disappeared rather quickly when he saw he could have an ally in her. He smirked a little at the comment about lead based paint. “Ah, so that explains it. I wondered why he was swiftly sliding down into incoherency. That’ll usually do it.”

[Dylan Black]

Dylan rolled his eyes, looking less and less comfortable with this social event as the conversation passed. "Intellect jokes." He commented, running his hands through his hair. "As I apparently don't seem to function in the same high manner as the pair of you, I guess I should skulk off and nurse my wounds." He said sarcastically, slapping his head with a palm.

"Because between the three of us, the one who hasn't recently punctured a piece of clothing with my own power and knows what a razor looks like is the mentally challenged one, yes." He added, taking down a pot of bird feed for L.C's new acquisition. "Birds need food, pincushion." He said simply, passing the feed to the girl. See. He was being nice. Sort of. Possibly because if everyone got what they wanted, they could leave him alone. And he could go home, curl up and eat cheese toasties till he fell asleep.

The greasy hair comment seemed to bounce off of Dylan and he shrugged his shoulders, an eyebrow raising. "I thought you of all people would understand the concept of water bills, and not wanting to spend more than you have to." He grumbled, setting his basket down on the counter. The shop assistant began checking up the items, and he fished around for his wallet. "Call me again when you're earning more than minimum wage, maybe, since you're so interested in my personal grooming, you can run me a nice hot bath with scented candles and rose petals and you can run your lovely fingers through my terribly greasy locks." He growled, voice completely sodden with sarcasm. "And Grandpa can come along too, we can lovingly shave his poor excuse for facial hair away."

He'd already been talking to people for too long. He could feel his temper and need-to-run urges flaring, and out of the corner of his eye, he realised he might of animated a studded collar. The janitor was certain they weren't meant to look at him. Or wiggle. Aww fuck.