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Getting Along

Highschool

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a part of Getting Along, by RawkFist.

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RawkFist holds sovereignty over Highschool, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

295 readers have been here.

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Highschool

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Highschool is a part of Getting Along.

4 Places in Highschool:

9 Characters Here

Crevan Kione [3] "I guess it's better than children and old people."
Lydia McKenna [2] The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Kathrynne 'Rynne' Morgan [1] "Um...Where you talking to me?"
Alekzander Nikolai Ivanov [1] "All I need is my guitar and my band, To hell with the everything else."
Cressida Smyth [1] "I'm a teen with teenage problems, but drugs seem to be the only one viewed."
Joseph Marshal [1] "The day I make friends with those freaks is the day when you can start digging my grave".
Kailen Drake [1] "They will get along, I'll see to that".
Anthony Jones [1] "You can call be a bully, but it won't make me stop."
Thalia Mirchoff [0] "You don't own me, so get lost"

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Character Portrait: Joseph Marshal
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Joseph Marshal

"Do I really have to go?" Joseph moaned, sticking his fork into the same piece of chicken he'd been poking at for the past 10 minutes. He hated the whole idea of having to go off and bond with people he didn't know, and was the complete opposite to. It was unfair. He wasn't going to just attend the club without putting up some sort of resistance. It was only natural for him to complain about stuff like that.

His mother rolled her eyes and nodded, "Of course you do. How else is the school going to become a healthy environment for others? It's you lot and your rivalry that's screwing everything up. You'll either learn to get along with them or we can't stay in this area any longer".

Joseph groaned once more and pushed his chair back, forcing himself to stand up. "Can I be excused?" He asked, but wasn't really requiring an answer. His mother waved him off and he wasted no time with goodbyes, he merely left the room. He ran his fingers through his dark hair and sighed, "Perfect.." He mumbled under his breath, "Get along with the freaks or be forced to move away from my friends. Tough choice".

He made his way upstairs and entered his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He heard his mother call something to him, but her voice was muffled through the thick wood. It was probably just another warning, like 'Joseph, be quiet and stop slamming doors! Blah, blah, blah'. The usual. He slumped onto his bed and rested his head on his forearms.

"One hour until my worst nightmare" Joseph said grumpily, his brows furrowing. He was not going to like going to the club, and was not going to 'make friends', whether or not his place in the town was at risk or not.

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Character Portrait: Anthony Jones
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#, as written by Geekly
Anthony sighed, he had just explained the whole having to go after school and trying to make peace with all the freaks he normally made fun of to Gerald, the chef of the house. They both worked over a stove, preparing dinner. "I mean, I'm sure they all want nothing to do with me anyways!" The older man scoffed, his eyes remaining on the task in front of him as he spoke, "Tony, those kids don't even know you. And you don't know them either!" Tony huffed slightly but knew that Gerald was speaking the truth. Tony spoke again, making sure the food in front of him didn't burn. "Are you implying I just spill everything about me just so they can 'get to know me better'?" he scowled, "Well no way."

Gerald looked over to the boy he treated like his son, "You're talented, you know that, I know that, why should you let them get the wrong image of you? You're no bully, You're a chef, an artist! You should want people to know." Tony looked back to Gerald, rolling his eyes and grinning at the man's theatrics. Tony stirred something lazily, "You're right about me being amazingly awesome at cooking but I guess the fact that I know is enough." Tony lied, he never could find the heart to tell Gerald that he was actually embarrassed that he cooked. It would be like saying he was embarrassed of the older man. Tony looked at the time, it was already five and soon he'd have to go to the stupid group. "I'm probably going to ditch it anyways." Gerald turned his stove off, turning to fully look at Tony, pointing a spoon at him, "You were chosen to go to that group, out of all the kids at that school, they chose you to represent you and you're friends. You're going, and if you don't I'll unleash hell upon you." he turned back to the food, muttering obscenities. Tony couldn't help but shutter slightly, even if Gerald's threats were vague, he never really wanted to test them, besides, he respected the man too much. Turning his stove off, Tony pulled his apron off, "I guess I'll go get ready." Gerald nodded in approval, continuing in his cooking, also moving to finish what Tony started.

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Character Portrait: Cressida Smyth
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Cressida sighed gently to herself as she fiddled with the buttons on her jacket. Like always, she just had her walk where she reflected about the day, something she always did whatever the weather. As she unbuttoned her jacket, she slipped it off and shook of her shoes, stepping inside the house. She stopped in front of the door and breathed in a sigh of relief. Dad’s not home. She thought gratefully.

She had to admit, she didn’t exactly like her father, nor did she have any interest in even trying to get along with him, she was civil around him and his wife, someone Cressida did not even consider a mother. As she stumbled onto the living room, cursing quietly under her breath about the little gap between the tiles on the floor which caused her to stub her toe,she dropped her bag lightly without a sound and grabbed some text books, yawning as she finally fell backwards onto the coach.

English, Maths and History, chapter review. Great. She thought. But she probably didn’t have time to read all the chapters because of the after school ‘club’ she had to go to. Groaning to herself, she lay on her back and covered her eyes with her arm, it was bad enough having to go around the school with everyone she didn’t like in her class, but now she had to go to a club. A closer group setting…to do what exactly? Get to know each other…get along? Surely they all got along enough for the teachers, they weren’t all going to be best friends just because of the group and now they were forced to go to something they all probably hated aganist their will. Including her...

"They will just judge me…" she murmured aloud to no one, but then again, teenagers did judge, everyone judged. It's human nature.As she slowly started to close her eyes, she felt her phone vibrate and as she propped herself against her elbow, she read the text aloud.

“If you ditch the club today, I’ll tell Father everything” A simple text with nothing else, no mention of who it was from or the intention, but Cressida knew it was from the devil himself. Her stupid older brother.
“I won’t ditch” That doesn’t mean I’m going to make friends though.

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Character Portrait: Lydia McKenna
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A hand seems to shoot out of a pile of things that have been loaded onto a simple, extra long twin mattress that lays on the ground without a bed frame or any other sort of support. This hand is rather creepy in the way that it resembles that of a zombie reaching out from a grave, but the head that follows it is most certainly alive. It is a woman, perhaps in her early twenties or late teens (the former being the most accurate), with wavy brown hair that seems to be sticking out in every direction possible, as well as an expression that simply doesn't appear suiting for someone who has just popped out of the mess like a daisy. It is one of amusement and intelligence, both gleaming in her chocolate brown eyes as the young woman climbs out of the mountain of stuff, which include a large comforter, an impossibly large amount of pillows that have suitcases which appear to be made of old shirts, and other random things which seem to have accumulated onto the bed, such as a laptop, messenger bag, and alarm clock. Rather than put these things away, the young woman chooses to push them to the end of the bed to be dealt with later- which most likely means never, given her unapologetically disorganized state of being.

"Club begins today," she muses cheerfully, despite realizing that the students being put into the Club are very unlikely to be fond of the thing in general. Still, she has always loved to observe people, finding the human brain not unlike a riddle or a math formula that can be solved if one puts in the efforts. The young woman glances over at the mirror in front of her, as she has come to stand in front of her sink, and splashes water into her face. For a moment she considers eating, but decides against it because she isn't particularly hungry, and proceeds to take a shower and such. She gets out and puts on a simple outfit of a pencil skirt, Doctor Who shirt and aviator jacket. She suddenly appears a lot less like the person who had emerged from that pile only half an hour ago, with her hair no brushed and her face now fairly clean. The young woman cannot help but smirk at the mirror, an instinctive face to make at her own appearance, before pulling on a pair of slim-fitting combat boots and grabbing a medium-sized messenger bag, now stuffed with paper, pens, her laptop, etc, in an order which will make most of the things impossible to find without emptying out the entire bag. With that, she leaves her apartment and heads downstairs to hop in her car and head to the elusive 'Club'.

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Character Portrait: Crevan Kione
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Crevan let out an overly proportional whimper. He threw his hands up to his temples, and massaged them angrily. "I can't beleive there's such thing as a club like this..." He muttered, and rolled off of the leather couch he was curled up on. "Might as well get ready." Crevan sighed, and made his way into the kitchen. Timidly, he opened the fridge door and peeked in. "Eggs. Hamburger Meat. Possibly out-of-date milk. Spaghetti sauce. Half-finished beer. Water. Ketchup. Chicken..." He trailed off, running over the many simple recepies inside his head. "Spaghetti it is." Crevan shrugged and pulled out the Hamburger meat and Spaghetti sauce. He boiled some water, and put the meat in a pan. He looked down at his watch. "One hour." He said, and then went to take a shower.

Once he was finished, he got dressed, stirred the simmering meat, and slumped down on the couch again. Crevan brought his hands to his temples again. "This isn't a hangover, right?" He asked himself sincerely. He closed his eyes for a few seconds -realistically 10 minutes- and reopened them again to the wonderful smell of burning meat. Quickly, he turned to stove off, and looked down to the crispy little peices of dead cow. "It's still good..." He trailed off, and shoveled a pile of (cold) spaghetti sauce on it. Less than satisfied with his creation, Crevan threw some of the noodles onto his plate and dumped half the pan of Spaghetti onto it. He then went to the very small table in the corner of his apartment, and sat down to eat.

Happily, he shoved in a mouthful. He swallowed, but shuddered afterwards. "That is not how that should taste." He said, and stood. "I'll eat it later... or something." He lied to himself and put it in a tupperware container. Then he washed the dishes and grabbed his keys. Crevan took one last look of his apartment, and closed the door behind him. It didn't take long to get to the coffee shop, thanks to his new (not-so-new) car. He asked for a black coffee and sat with his head on the counter, watching the water droplets fall from his hair every minute until the mug was placed infront of him. "Thank-you." He said, and let out a soft sigh as he took the first sip.

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Character Portrait: Alekzander Nikolai Ivanov
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Alekzander

"Alekzander!! Come on, get up already!" he could hear his younger sister yelling from another country, much less right outside his door. "I'm up, damn, calm down!" he opened his eyes, to find his room just as unorganized as it was before he fell asleep. 'Another day wasted away when I should have been in class..' Hopping out of bed, he realized he had a throbbing headache and a huge desire to be right back under the covers, but he knew that wouldn't happen. Not with Amelya around, that was for sure.

He slid off his sweatpants, switching them with a pair of black skinny jeans, along with an assortment of belts, a grey v-neck, and a leather jacket. To complete the look, a black and white upside down cross, a chain with his most prized pick, and the few rings his father left him. Rather, the only thing his father ever left him. Walking out of his room, he could smell the faint aroma of pizza in the microwave as he made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. "Where's mom?" he asked Amelya, but before she had time to answer, he saw a note on the refridgerator. It read simply 'Pizza's in the freezer. I have to work late. Don't cut school, and be sure you get to that meeting, Alek.' "Always so friendly, isn't she?" Amelya said, then smiled slightly at him. It really made no sense for him to refer to her as "little girl" anymore. She was sixteen, and certainly did not look little. "Always," he smirked back at her as he opened the fridge to find the usual assortment of food, but he settled on a monster, sighing and leaning against the counter as he popped the top, and looked at Amelya. She smirked. "It's five fifteen. Don't you have somewhere to be?" He rolled his eyes and waved her off. "Don't you have homework to do?" He loved Amelya, but as she grew, her attitude followed. She mimicked him quietly as the microwave beeped, and replied "You know you have to go to that meeting. I'm just saying, though." He only rolled his eyes, grabbing his bag off the counter where it lay. "Yeah yeah, whatever. Have you seen my keys?"
She sighed heavily, pointing in the direction of the living room, where they lay, as always, on the end table. "Right," he smirked and grabbed them, before looking back at her. "Have fun, don't invite over any assholes, and try not to burn the house down. IF you can help it." She rolled her eyes, "What time will you be back?" He glanced back once more, before shrugging his shoulders "Beats me!" She nodded, then went back to preparing her pizza as he walked out the door, shutting it with a low thud, as he made his way down the path to his '78 all black mustang, his other prized possession, not counting his guitar. Unlocking the door, he hopped in, throwing his back to the passenger seat, and pulling out his phone. "Five missed texts. And two calls. Shit, and I have to miss practice. What a fucking relief." He swore under his breath. This was not turning out to be a decent day, and he had just woken up. "Well, here we go." He started the engine, which came to life, then he pulled out, heading back towards the school.

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Character Portrait: Lydia McKenna
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When Lydia drops down into the old seat of her beaten up vehicle, she practically sinks into the worn out fabric. Still, this car is her baby, the first big purchase she had made after saving up money from work, and she will not abandon it until the thing is crashed into a ditch on the side of the wall with absolutely zero chance of revival. That is why she patiently starts the engine four times before it revs to life, so that she can drive out of the parking lot and onto the road, content with a full tank of gas and the fact that she will probably be dealing with some fairly interesting people in just a bit of time. High schoolers have the tendency to be rather fascinating, with all the hormonal drama and such going on- she knows this because she was certainly not the most tame teenager, though those years were no more than two ago. Remembering the first time that she ever shoplifted to ease boredom, or humiliated a teacher, Lydia sighs fondly at the memories. Of course, she corrects herself within several seconds, knowing that thinking fondly on these things will not be looked very well upon when she is supposed to be trying to help a group of teenagers come together and 'bridge the social gap' or something like that. She has already read the files on all of the students, and certainly looks forward to analyzing each of them. The young woman will possibly not be very well liked among them, though, because she does come off as slightly brutal in both her honesty and her belief that sometimes people just need a good kick in the teeth before they can prepare to evolve. She certainly had, though not to say she abandoned her old self. She simply stopped hating so much, and stopped making excuses. Back then, she had been the sort to blame others for everything that was wrong with her life. Now she has no pity for those who do such a thing.

After a twenty minute drive to the tune of the Mountain Goats, Lydia parks at the high school and steps out into the parking lot, not really bothering to look around before making her way to the door. The young woman walks quickly and thinks quickly- she does a lot of things quickly, the sort who doesn't normally like to wait for others.

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Character Portrait: Crevan Kione
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It took him a while to finish his coffee, because he kept up a conversation with the woman behind the counter. Since he was a regular, they already knew eachother pretty well. "How are you, Crevan?" She asked, and he shrugged. "Good, you?" He watched her from behing his mug as he drank. "Good. It's been pretty slow, though." She muttered, and looked at his hands, which were clutching onto the mug and absorbing the heat. He looked at them too, and instinctively put the cup down to hide them when he remembered how beaten up they were. He looked back up to the woman, who simply avoided eye-contact and acted as if she hadn't seen anything. Letting out a soft sigh, he raised a hand and took the cup, tilting his head back again but this time, finishing the coffee.

He gave the woman a tip and left, listening to the bell ring as the door opened and shut. Crevan made his way to his car, and thought about his hands. Since grade 10, Crevan worked out at a boxing gym twice a week for three years. He hit a person when he wanted to get rid of stress and anger. He hit the bag after finding out that he needed to improve. For the first year, his hands had looked terrible. Blisters, swollen fingers and split knuckles. Then over the next two years his skin became accoustomed to the injuries as long as he kept hitting the bag and wrapping properly. But after highschool ended, he became lazy and stayed away from the gym. Just recently, when he finally decided to go back, he hit the bags just as hard as he used to, and thus tore up his hands because his skin had become fragile and soft again.

After driving for a while, he decided to go and get some gauze and gloves so not to freak out the highschool kids. He wrapped the gauze around his knuckles and put on his gloves overtop. He got to the school earlier than he'd thought he would be, so he turned it off and reclined the seat. Crevan crossed his arms and closed his eyes. "Just for a while." He muttered, and opened his eyes once more to look around before falling asleep.

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Character Portrait: Kailen Drake
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Kailen Drake

Kailen paced around the room frantically, every now and then spotting a slight mistake to fix. Stuff like a cushion out of place, an ornament facing the wrong way, or even just to wipe dust from the surfaces of the fireplace, TV, and desks. He hated mess, no matter how small. He came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the room, his arms moving forward as if to guard each piece of furniture. His eyes scanned each detail in the room, and after coming to the realisation that everything was perfect, he entered the small kitchen to prepare snacks and drinks.

He layed a small plate of biscuits and several cups of orange squash on the coffee table, which was placed perfectly in the centre of the seating area. Sure, it seemed a little childish, but atleast he cared enough to provide them with things like that. Most other clubs didn't, atleast in their highschool.

Now that everything seemed done, he was somewhat bored. Kailen lifted his arm and glared at the watch on his arm. Only 5:15pm. The kids wouldn't be arriving for some time, but he figured the assistants would be coming any time now. Atleast they'd provide some company. Whether or not he'd enjoy their company was a completely different story. On one hand he had a someone whom he figured was a criminal, or atleast not a saint, and on the other hand he had a woman who was very blunt and brutally honest. Not exactly his target for friends.

All he had to do now was sit and wait for them to start arriving.

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Cressida grabbed her jacket and pulled it on; she slipped into her army boots and shuffled towards the door, passing the mirror. She glanced at her reflection and sighed. A girl with tired looking eyes stared back, with wavy brown hair which was left out. As her eyes travelled down, she looked at her outfit. A blue and white stripped woolly jumper, a size to big on her and some black leggings. As it wasn’t so cold, she decided against a scarf, but at the last minute put on her blue beanie to tame her hair. Opening the door, she stepped out and closed it gently.

To the club she thought to herself as she shuffled towards her car, which was a bribe from her father. Obviously trying to gain her love through money and possessions. “If he cared, he wouldn’t need to buy me stuff” She muttered under breath as she reached forward and pulled the car door open. She sat on the driver’s seat and put in the keys, starting the ignition.
I don’t want to go though…. Silently she cursed her brother for making her go, though she would of went anyway, not wanting to get in any more trouble. Nonetheless, she dreaded it and the butterflies in her stomach made her feel even more nervous than she should be.

She couldn’t stall any longer, without another though, she drove off towards the school, hoping it would be at least bearable.

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Character Portrait: Kathrynne 'Rynne'  Morgan
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Rynne drove toward her new school. Hip Hop blasting from her green El Dorado as she drove with the top down. She got stares as she turned down a formally quiet suburbans street. She ignored them as she bobbed her head to Lupe Fiasco's 'Gold Watch.' She was used to it though.
She pulled into the school's parking lot and made her way toward the door. She was early as she didn't see many kids cars in yet. It was probably for the best. That way she could avoid the rush of kids, trying to figure out where the heck they're supposed to go.
Even thought it was Fall, She dressed in a thin top that flow behind her as she walked, short jeans that showed off her long fair legs, four sets of hoop earrings and a headband crossed over her forehead.. She knew what she looked like and most girls would cringe at her style but she was a loner for that reason. No one's opinion mattered. Not her parents, not the kids in her school. Just hers.

She once inside , she looked at her time table and rolled her eyes. She didn't have Drama until Thursday. That sucked. She loved drama class. She could be who ever she wanted. She was funny that way, as much as she didn't care about what people thought of her, she didn't think that highly of herself. She was terrible insecure, that's why she was so good at acting. She didn't have to be herself.

She blinked blonde hair from her hazel eyes and made her way to Registration.

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Character Portrait: Crevan Kione
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Crevan's concience was pulled from nothingness as he heard the sound of a car door being shut. His eyes fluttered open to see (in the distance) a girl walking towards the school door. He uncrossed his arms and raised his hands to his eyes and cleared the sleep from them. Then pulled the seat back up and took the keys out of the ignition. Once out of the car, he locked it and reached into his jacket for his cigarettes. He put one in his mouth and raised the lighter to it, but paused. "Awww. That's right. This is a school. No smoking on the property." He mumbled, the cigarette bobbing as he spoke. He put the lighter back into his pocket.

Deciding to go for a walk, Crevan began following the sidewalk further and further away from the school. Eventually, he reached a bus stop sign with a bench next to it. "This'll do." He said, taking the lighter back out and lighting the cigarette. After a while, he began to wonder why he still smoked. It was bad for his lungs, after all. Plus it gave him massive headaches. But it was also almost like a stress reliever. He inhaled.

Crevan crossed his legs and stretched an arm out across the top of the bench. He tilted his head up and breathed out, watching as the puffs of smoke swirled in the air until they faded and mixed with the rest of the air. He kept his head tilted upwards to look at the sky for a few seconds before lowering it again. "I wonder when the bus comes by." He said to himself, looking down the road.