Operation R.U.N [O]

[Zahara Harby]

Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.

Zahara pursed her lips together and flared her nostrils, her chest tightening with every second that ticked away. She stretched her arm and grunted with the strain, Why the heck did the windows have to be so high to reach?? She glanced at the clock behind her and nearly cursed when the leather chair she stood on scooted across the floor. 'Ugh, screw this!' Zahara bent down and thrust herself up as high as she could go and latched onto the window.

"Booyah!"

The chair toppled to the floor.

"Crap!" Sweat rolled down her forehead and she looked around anxiously,"Put the pedal to the medal Zee!" In one swift move Zahara hoisted her lower body sideways until her leg latched onto the opened windowsill. She gave another grunt and twisted into a sitting position, 'So far so good!' Her hand grasped the ledge and she hopped down onto the small balcony. She turned around to close the window and ducked the moment the secretary waltzed in.

"What in the?!?!"

The 12 year old smirked, "And that's my cue to hightail it outta here. Huwah!"She raced over to a very familiar pipe running up the side of the school and wrapped herself around it. Her dark eyes rolled to the heavens when she let gravity take over, mentally kicking herself for being stupid enough to forget her gloves.

"This is the worst...pain....EVER-oof!"Zahara smacked onto the ground and rolled on her side. She blinked, "Hello? Anybody out here?"

Silence.

"Well, since there's no objections I now pronounce myself running the heck outta here. See ya!"She sprinted behind the school and slipped through her secret "tunnel" that lead her off campus. When she was sure that she was out of sight, Zahara made a sharp right and headed straight Downtown.

***

"Ah! This is the life! No homework, no teachers breathing down your neck and no sessions with 'Charles Xavier'....Couldn't have asked for anythin' better."

Zahara swung her arms back and forth as she marched around the circle of the fountain. It was suprisingly humid for a day in April, which meant Downtown was bustling with business and people.

Meaning she'd blend right in.

"And the best part about it? It's a Sunday. A word which here means that the staff are off duty.....Booyah! Whoa!" Zahara slipped in a puddle of water and tumbled off the ledge and hit the ground. Her face was full of concrete when she met the eyes of laughing onlookers and she spit out a rock. Her fingers found a modest sized one and she brandished it at the nearest bystander.

"What're you lookin' at? Beat it!"She snapped and threw the rock, sending her peers running. It missed of course, 'I meant to do that but she stuck her tongue out anyway. Examining the rock she spat out Zahara dusted her shorts off and readjusted the jacket tied around her waist.

"Laugh at me will ya? Ha! I'll show you somethin' funny....lames."

"Well it was pretty funny. That's what you get for marching on a park fountain. What were you doing up there anyway?"

If Zahara had been frightened, she certainly didn't show it. She merely stiffened her stance and turned slowly to face the stranger. Her long braid fell off of her shoulder as she turned and swayed behind her back like a pendulum.

She quirked an eyebrow and made direct eye contact, "What's it to ya?"

[Romeo Buckland]

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Ahh. Freedom.

Romeo couldn’t even remember the last time he’s gone out to town like this. Sure none of his friends could make it out with him – girlfriend problems and homework were among the most popular responses, with them already having plans and just too lazy to go out coming in at third and fourth places, respectively – but the day has been going so swell so far that such small details could and would’ve easily been overlooked. The sun, who had been hiding for so long within those cold winter months, was shining brightly, and there was just the right amount of a breeze for the Irish boy to go out in a simple shirt and shorts. He’s been dying to wear them ever since he got to Vermont so you can just imagine how happy he was when he finally was able to bare his knees to the world without him necessarily streaking.

He’s managed to get quite the money from doing odd services around school as of late, enough for him to be able to afford a nice pair of shoes (Lisa told him that his old shoes, though cute, would look off in the warm, summer-y weather) and an ice cream cone – three scoops of chocolate, with chocolate syrup generously squeezed on top with no extra charge (all he had to do was wink to the girl in charge).

The boy was carelessly sprawled on one of the park benches, lazily basking in the sun and happily enjoying his cold treat when the whole fiasco with the little girl happened, and as much as he’d want to stay off of it, it was just too funny for him to ignore. “Hey, hey come on, no need to be so angry you little twerp,” he said, wiping the tears off his eyes as he approached the quarreling misfits, “You should just let it go bro. Making a little girl cry is never a good way to impress the ladies.” He gave the boy’s shoulder a good squeeze, gestured to the bystanders – a few of them girls their age – looking around and shrugged. Sure enough the boy gave the little girl one last growl and walked away.

“You do know that being all tough and mean is so last century right?” Romeo muttered as he turned to the girl, cocky grin on his face as he gave his beloved ice cream one satisfied lick, “Especially when you’re as small as you are. It’s cute and adorable, not intimidating and believable.”

“And really, you can’t blame him for laughing. Loudly talking to yourself then slipping then being all alpha male on whoever laughed at you is so the formula for those crappy comedies movie companies churn out by the dozen.”

ooc:
Hope you don't mind me making Romeo not the one who said the things in italics (I assumed you'd want the person replying to make their character say that anyway); it's just something he won't really say. Haha. Also apologies if the reply's a little crappy. It's been a month since my hiatus and I am a little rusty. . Thanks!
- Jam