Snippet #2246127

"So I just sit in reverie, getting on my nerves--" Alex's voice accompanied the voice emitting (at volumes that were, perhaps, a little more than politeness allowed for) from the music system she'd set up in her apartment, fighting the music for sonic dominance. Hell if she wasn't exactly the best singer ya'd ever heard in yer life, but it was one of those days where ya weren't singin' t'sound good. Just one'a them... 'I don't give a fuck I feel like building a laser and then singin' some shit' days. Everybody has one every now and then, don't they? And that was damn straight what she was doin'. Not givin' a fuck and singin' some shit. Way punk rock and whatnot. To which end, she figured 'fuck it' and cranked her voice up another notch. "--the intangible bonds that keep me sitting on the verge of a breakdown, of a rea--aaaaaaaaaaa, huh?"

Alex couldn't help but scowl as she felt her phone vibrating to life in her pocket, realised that someone was calling her. More importantly, someone had interrupted her one-man rockfest, probably with something incredibly inane and stupid, like how she was half an hour late to that little get together with her friends off in the Shopping District, which she had been aware of for the past, oh, half an hour or so. It was probably one of them, calling to bitch and whine at her for being late. Yes, she'd long since concluded that her initial analysis of people in general had been erroneous-- probably because she had drawn her conclusions with insufficient data and certainly insufficient experience. But that did not mean people didn't still have a way of proving themselves, if not wicked and vile, then certainly irritating and imbecilic. Well, she tried to see and appreciate people for the good in them, but how was she supposed to divorce herself of such convictions if people were so determined to prove them right time and time again?

Well, it wouldn't have been much help to just let the phone vibrate away, nor to remain holed up in her apartment when she caught herself slipping into the 'ol 'people are vile shitbags and my lot in life is pretty terrible so why even give a fuck' way of thinkin', cause it was a slippery slope from that to the whole 'people suck fuck the world I am a lone wolf in a sea of misguided, ignorant, blind sheep who don't understand me for who I am' and next thing ya knew she was listenin' to Dashboard Confessional and wearin' black make-up all over her face and makin' a GothPoetry account under the name 'xoXoBlackMidniteEmoPrincessxoXo' and writin' horrid verses about how 'life is pain and mere existence is torture and people don't understand my deep existentialist agony' with very badly forced rhyme schemes.

And Alex didn't plan on havin' that happen, so when she answered the phone, she donned a wide, genial smile and a light, cocky tone. "Heeeeeeeeeey."

"Heeeeeeeeeey," the phone spat right back at her in the form of a rather familiar voice. "Now just where the hell are you? You're a half hour late and you're usually here in time to call me a buffoon for being late, or something like that."

"Now, now, Mister Rollins," Alex returned fluidly, one hand holding onto the cell phone as she casually went about preparing to be on her way. "Let a guy take their time, yeah?"

"Bullshit. Lemme guess, you blew up your apartment again."

"Och, ya blow up one measly 'lil block or two and y'never hear the end of it. Now, you notify the constituents of our erstwhile expedition to the coffee house that I shall be along to join you with utmost alacrity. In fact, make a point of informing them that I shall in the interests of expedience venture to expend a degree of currency on a commercial transport automobile to bear me unto my destination."

"... a what now?"

"A bus, Greg. A bus."

"See Ally, why can't you ever just straight up say 'bus'? And for that matter--" He forged on before she could remind him that he had just called her Ally again and his doom was therefore impending. "--that implies you were, what, gonna walk? In this frost?"

"Hell fuckin' yeah I was gonna walk. Ain't no 'lil snow day gonna stop Alex MacKaye doin' what she damn well pleases."

"You're fuckin' nuts. That, and you need a car."

"Those mechanical abominations? Have I not already elucidated the absolutely appalling effect of such modes of travel on the young, budding globe upon which life tenuously hangs in the balance? Nay, sir, Alex MacKaye trusts only her own two feet to get her where she needs to be."

"Well then see to it that they get you here, eh? Joey here's about to blow a friggin' gasket--" There was the sound of some chatter in the background, and then what Alex was pretty sure was the sound of a fist impacting flesh, followed by a yelp of pain. "--scratch that, about to fuckin' lose his shit every second you're not here. I think he's into you, I really do, but every time I bring it up he--" Alex pulled the phone away from her ear as Greg's phone clattered to the ground, about half a second after that familiar 'fist meeting flesh' sound came through again. A moment later, he picked it back up, and his voice was punctuated with an exaggerated desperation. "Look, whatever ion cannon you're building or crazy-ass physics equations you're doing, get it done fast before I need an ambulance."

"Sure thing."

"No, really. I think I broke a bone. One of my lungs might be punctured. I could be dying, all because you were too busy to be there for your bro in his time of need."

"Far out, dude," Alex replied, with equally exaggerated apathy, as she went about clasping the chain of skulls and inverted crosses into the loops of her jeans, tucking them over the bullet belt slung around her waist. "I'll be sure to put a flower or something on your grave when I find a spare minute or two."

"Oh truly, Alexandra, ye art a cruel mistre..."

Alex left Greg with a final twinkle of artificial laughter, a brief, impish chuckle that was genuine enough for him or anybody else, just before she hung up on him and shoved her phone back into her pocket. She glanced down at herself, making sure all was in place. Chains? Check. Skulls? Check. Inverted crosses? Check. Bullets, slung to perfect asymmetry? Check. Boots? Check. Jacket? She dove down to where the oversized leather article, positively encuirassed in patches and pins and spikes and studs, lay where it had been tossed down to the floor, and quickly shrugged it on. Check. Grab my wallet, grab my music player, grab my laser, bada-bing, bada-boom, ready to rock'n'roll, motherfuckers. She struck a whole air guitar pose and pretended to totally rock the fuck out like she was Jimi Hendrix or some similarly legendary wielder of the axe before she finally dove right on outta her apartment and slammed the door on her way out.

The nearest bus stop wasn't far along, but hey, what was the rush? Might as well take my time and enjoy the crisp winter air, she reasoned as she stuck her hands in her pockets and adopted a leisurely stroll. She proceeded thusly, taking her sweet 'ol time until the bus stop by the 'lil park was in sight, the nearest one destined for the Shopping District. Not a whole lotta people were out and about-- never were on snowy days, for whatever reason-- but Alex did manage to catch a familiar face as she approached the bus stop. Julie Adams, from back at the university, was all but buried in a pile of snow, though Alex still managed to recognise her from the distance (she was, Alex confessed, something of a striking woman, and Alex did pride herself on her discerning eye). Now Alex coulda just walked on by her and gone to wait the four or five minutes before the bus arrived, but that sure as all hell wasn't Alex MacKaye, was it?

At the very least, she figured she'd direct a greeting Julie's way, so she waved over to the woman, called out a little "'afternoon!". Y'know. Bein' friendly. As always.