gooseberryhigh | (no subject)

Who: Bash Lacroix & Ariel Lacroix (via Skype)
When: Sunday Afternoon
Where: Muggle Tech Computer Lab
What: In which Bash makes use of school resources, reads a prologue, and is definitely an idiot.

Ariel's care packages usually arrive around the beginning of the month - though the amount of care that goes into each one is kind of nebulous and difficult to determine. For instance, this one has several bars of chocolate, a picture of Megan riding Godzookie like a trick pony, and the Star Wars comics he asked her for. It also has a thick paperback with an aggressively orange post-it stuck to the front that reads: GET IT TOGETHER, DIPSHIT.

All in all, the exact care-levels involved in the preparation of this particular package are a bit difficult to concretely pin down.

The connection in the computer lab is pretty decent, but there's still an occasional catch to the audio where it Godzillas against the movement of Ariel's mouth and Bash laughs. She pauses in her rant about Magical Theory class and flips him the bird before thinking better of it, glancing back and forth into the area behind him as though Mr. Merrill's somehow able to detect immaturity across several thousand miles and through a computer screen. He sticks out his tongue and she rolls her eyes before doing the same thing right back. (So, really, it's not like there's any moral high ground to be had in this conversation. Which is good to establish early on.)

As Ariel steamrolls self-righteously forward, Bash rifles through the box on his lap - plucks out the paperback and starts flipping through the pages with an increasing sense of alarm. That's - that's a lot of book. They're never finishing this in a month.

"Ariel," he interrupts, maybe rudely, but whatever. Clarification is necessary. "This book has five hundred and fifty pages." Bash lets the pages slip shut, the sound thick with the sheer volume of paper, and he brandishes it in the direction of the monitor like an instrument of war. "Five hundred. Big pages, Ariel. Little words."

Ariel remains unmoved. Blinks, seemingly unimpressed. "You're gonna like it."

"Are you punishing me?" he asks, eyes narrowed.

Her head tips to the side and her hair's gotten longer. He can tell, even though she's got it shoved into a ponytail that sits crookedly against her part. "Have you talked to your boyfriend yet?"

"Lucas reads Shakespeare, Ariel. Recreationally."

"Yeah. I'm aware. You've said." There's a certain, dubious quality to her voice that seems to imply that she may or may not be as emotionally moved by this information as she used to be. Which is, frankly, super rude and inconsiderate of his feelings. "Have you told him yet?"

Holy shit. She's a fucking inconsiderate harpy.

"No."

"Sebastien."

An inconsiderate harpy that sounds exactly like their mother right now. He considers telling her this but squirms instead, fidgets with an earbud and avoids eye-contact.

"I know."

The space between his ears rings a bit with the huff Ariel lets out in response to this.

"You're being an idiot."

"I'm n-" His protest starts hot, fizzles out quickly. "I'm an idiot. Huh." Bash jolts a bit, sits up straight and nearly dislodges the cardboard box from his lap in one very swift move. "I got an idea."

Ariel's eyebrows beetle together and she blinks at him, mildly bewildered. It isn't a particularly unusual expression. "For this?"

"No." One shoulder twitches up, his nose crinkling. "I mean, not exactly."

"Guppy."

He grins, and maybe it looks like a bit more of a grimace or maybe it looks maybe more like it'd be better suited on someone who's gone actually and clinically insane, but that's cool. He's gonna get himself some advice about honesty.

"Means to an end, Ariel," he chirps. "This is gonna suck."

On the screen, his sister leans forward and opens her mouth in a manner that looks very disapproving and honestly a bit intimidating - but she's also several thousand miles away, so the effect is a bit ruined. Though he may or may not lean back in his chair a bit. Just in case.

"PROLOGUE," he interjects loudly and Mr. Merrill raises his head from whatever it is he's looking at. Bash waves, holds the paperback up higher and forges forward with determination and nothing that even remotely resembles a knot of anxiety strangling vital bits of his esophagus. "A mountain range of rubble ..."