![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crooked_lossTitle: Feel Good Drag
Summary: Happy birthday to Angie.
Timeline: April 2003 - Angie is 16.
Challenge: Starfruit #11 (don’t make me laugh), Strawberry #14 (stairs), Soy #12 (rumor)
Word Count: 615
Rating: PG-13
If there was one thing Angie was certain of, it was that she didn’t want to be here. Parties in this little bumfuck of a town were always the same - a few kegs, some red plastic cups, and a bunch of teenage jackasses like herself. The only reason she was even at the damn thing was because it was better than being at home. Anything was better than being at home, with the mood her father had been in lately, and at least most of the party goers had enough brains to leave her alone.
She gave it another hour before she’d have to get into a fight with some dumbass redneck. They never did remember the fact that she had won the majority of her fights since the seventh grade once they started drinking. Fuckers. But if they wanted to get their asses kicked by a girl - again - they could bring it on. Not only did it give her a good chance to work off some anger, but it gave her reasons for bruises. Nobody even questioned them anymore. That didn’t mean there weren’t rumors, but that just gave her more reasons to fight someone. It was a bit of a cycle that worked out just fine, in her opinion.
Drinking what was left of the now warm beer in her cup, Angie didn’t bother getting up from her spot in the stairwell before she threw the cup in the direction of what she could only assume was the kitchen. It was close enough to the garbage can. Content to stay in her bubble of solitude, the blonde leaned against the stair railing to watch the crowd with a thoroughly bored expression. It was only a few moments later that someone stumbled up the stairs and collapsed next to Angie, looking about as disgusted with the party as she was. “Christ, you’d think these cockmonkeys would have something other than beer, huh?”
Slowly, she turned to incredulously stare at the redhead that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The stranger stared right back, and Angie knew that she was taking in every half healed bruise and scrape along her jaw and cheekbones. The odd part was that it didn’t even make her blink. Eventually, Angie had to speak. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Hannah Schwartz. You must be the infamous Angie everyone’s been talking about. Seems like you got the right look for it at least; bruised up butch.”
“Just cause you’re a chick doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass if you give me the right motivation.” Angie grumbled, anger flashing through blue eyes.
“So, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Butch. Doubt you look that much like a guy on accident, and I doubt you just happen to have pecs. Let me guess... Originally flat chested, but then you found the gym?”
Angie quickly felt her good mood deteriorating. “Maybe I’m just that naturally fucking pretty.”
“Aw, cheer up, buttercup. From what I hear, it’s your birthday. Shouldn’t you be more... ‘Fuck yeah, birthday.’?”
“What? You think this party is for me, princess? Please. These people would use a successful cow tipping as an excuse to throw a party.” Surprisingly Hannah laughed, and Angie found that she (unfortunately) liked the sound. “What the fuck are you doing talking to me, anyway?”
“Well, I figured if you were, maybe I could give you a birthday present or something.”
“...If I was what?”
“Butch.”
The lapsed into silence, with Hannah looking out at the party and Angie looking her over. Eventually, she shrugged and stood, reaching down to take Hannah’s hand in hers to lead her upstairs. “Bedrooms are this way.”
Summary: Happy birthday to Angie.
Timeline: April 2003 - Angie is 16.
Challenge: Starfruit #11 (don’t make me laugh), Strawberry #14 (stairs), Soy #12 (rumor)
Word Count: 615
Rating: PG-13
If there was one thing Angie was certain of, it was that she didn’t want to be here. Parties in this little bumfuck of a town were always the same - a few kegs, some red plastic cups, and a bunch of teenage jackasses like herself. The only reason she was even at the damn thing was because it was better than being at home. Anything was better than being at home, with the mood her father had been in lately, and at least most of the party goers had enough brains to leave her alone.
She gave it another hour before she’d have to get into a fight with some dumbass redneck. They never did remember the fact that she had won the majority of her fights since the seventh grade once they started drinking. Fuckers. But if they wanted to get their asses kicked by a girl - again - they could bring it on. Not only did it give her a good chance to work off some anger, but it gave her reasons for bruises. Nobody even questioned them anymore. That didn’t mean there weren’t rumors, but that just gave her more reasons to fight someone. It was a bit of a cycle that worked out just fine, in her opinion.
Drinking what was left of the now warm beer in her cup, Angie didn’t bother getting up from her spot in the stairwell before she threw the cup in the direction of what she could only assume was the kitchen. It was close enough to the garbage can. Content to stay in her bubble of solitude, the blonde leaned against the stair railing to watch the crowd with a thoroughly bored expression. It was only a few moments later that someone stumbled up the stairs and collapsed next to Angie, looking about as disgusted with the party as she was. “Christ, you’d think these cockmonkeys would have something other than beer, huh?”
Slowly, she turned to incredulously stare at the redhead that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The stranger stared right back, and Angie knew that she was taking in every half healed bruise and scrape along her jaw and cheekbones. The odd part was that it didn’t even make her blink. Eventually, Angie had to speak. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Hannah Schwartz. You must be the infamous Angie everyone’s been talking about. Seems like you got the right look for it at least; bruised up butch.”
“Just cause you’re a chick doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass if you give me the right motivation.” Angie grumbled, anger flashing through blue eyes.
“So, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Butch. Doubt you look that much like a guy on accident, and I doubt you just happen to have pecs. Let me guess... Originally flat chested, but then you found the gym?”
Angie quickly felt her good mood deteriorating. “Maybe I’m just that naturally fucking pretty.”
“Aw, cheer up, buttercup. From what I hear, it’s your birthday. Shouldn’t you be more... ‘Fuck yeah, birthday.’?”
“What? You think this party is for me, princess? Please. These people would use a successful cow tipping as an excuse to throw a party.” Surprisingly Hannah laughed, and Angie found that she (unfortunately) liked the sound. “What the fuck are you doing talking to me, anyway?”
“Well, I figured if you were, maybe I could give you a birthday present or something.”
“...If I was what?”
“Butch.”
The lapsed into silence, with Hannah looking out at the party and Angie looking her over. Eventually, she shrugged and stood, reaching down to take Hannah’s hand in hers to lead her upstairs. “Bedrooms are this way.”
