gooseberryhigh | (no subject)

Who: Rosy Stoker & CASEY Patterson
What: NOTHING.
When: Saturday, January 20, during the play.
Where: A hallway.
Warnings: Language. Duh.

Well this is a production. Barely one act in and someone was already on fire. She gets up and makes her way to the back of the auditorium before her row turns into a splash zone for blood and spaghetti-like guts, wondering just how long she has to hold on to tell Kurt and Yancey what a great(????) job they did in this disaster.

As the hysterical screaming of the disemboweled psychic fills the auditorium, Rosy steps closer to the door. Her head hurts. At the very least, she can probably just step out for a couple minutes and wait out the worst of this.

Casey had barely even seen the play. It's about... uhhh... a coven, or some shit? He'd been in Drama Club for a hot minute once upon a time, but he got bored and quit, and now he was reduced to lounging around in the back being bored. He'd tell Stamps later that her performance was sick and she'd be like 'Yeah' and he'd tell Carns the same and he'd be like 'Yeah' so like, what was the point?

Okay. That, and he'd been told firmly by a staff member that if he wanted to move around and talk so much, he could do so in the hallway. So he DID.

Know what's way sicker than a boring-ass play?
Walking down the hallway in a handstand, that's what.
DWEEBS.

There's just this long second where Rosy spots Casey, and then just doesn't say anything. She doesn't really have to say anything. She can go back in the play, or she can walk past him toward the bathroom, or to her cabin... except, with the buddy system and all, she really shouldn't be wandering around campus without a buddy. Still, there are options aside from alerting Casey to her presence in the audience of his handstanding.

Doesn't mean she has to take them, though.

Arms crossed, she clicks her teeth together to consider her next move, and then, "This is honestly already a better plot than that shit."

Casey freezes, but he doesn't fall. Why would he fall? He's got, like, awesome control of his muscles. And a lot of them. Has Rosy seen them? She's about to, because it's not like he's ever tucked his shirt in in his life and he's currently upside down, so.

Veeery caaarefully, and with the slightest swing of his legs for balance, Casey turns around so he can see her. "You gonna spot me? The plot's to spot me. It's, like, responsible 'n shit." Does he need a spotter for handstands? No. Does that matter? Fuck no.

Rosy's face is straight. Very straight. She might even be biting down on her tongue to keep it straight. She's determined not to betray any emotion, not to let her eyes linger anywhere. Maybe they made out at the last Grotto party, doesn't mean she likes his abs or anything, whatever. Everything that happened at that party should just be stricken from the record, then maybe her stomach would stop hurting every time she spotted her brother across the cafeteria.

"Not a whole lot of conflict in that plot," she lets go of her tongue long enough to say. "You could ask me to spot you, and I say I will, but," a shrug, eyebrow raised, "how do you know I won't just stand here and let you fall?"

"'Cos that's not what spotters do, Rosy Stokes." He replies matter-of-factly. "You don't say you're gonna then not. You've gotta trust 'em." He shifts his weight from left hand to right and back, starting to feel the impact of being upside down for so long. He can feel his face flush. "So you gonna spot me or what?"

"Hence, the conflict." Rosy watches Casey, arms still crossed. She did not really feel like someone who could be trusted right now, but Casey clearly didn't know that. Unless he was just really good at this whole dramatic irony thing. "But sure, I'll spot you. Haven't let anyone fall yet."

Despite agreeing to save his face-n-abs in this situation, Rosy does not seem to be preparing to catch anyone or anything.

He tries to nod, but that's not really something you can do while upside down, so he saves face and resumes his task of walking down the hallway. "Sick, bro. Walk with me. I'm seein' how far I can go."

Plodding softly and slowly down the hall, he ignores how his head is starting to get lighter because Rosy's paying attention to him for THE SECOND TIME THIS MONTH, which is kind of a big fuckin' deal? So he tries something else. You know, small talk.

"You goin to the talent show? Stamps 'n I're gonna do a dance 'n whatever." Small talk, about Casey. His elbows wobble.

Considering there isn't really anything else to do, Rosy sighs and walks in the same direction. She's slow, and makes sure to stay a few steps behind him, both to be ready to (maybe) catch him and to show that she's not going to, like, just do what he says.

"I'm not sure there'll be anything else to do. I'm sure all the parents will find it very appropriate." Rosy honestly wasn't sure if her parents would ask them why they weren't participating, or be grateful they weren't embarrassing themselves up there. But then, the thought of the talent show and the rapidly approaching Parent-Teacher Conferences just made her stomach hurt even more, and she shoves it out of her mind.

Oblivious to the inner workings of Rosy Stoker's mind and worries, Casey would have shrugged if he could shrug. So instead, "Shrug." Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat. "You're out here when there's a fuckin' play on, so, like, I'onno."

It's not out of her mind. Shove it further from your mind, Rosemary, until there's no more hint of family or fighting or the memory that last year she and Sy had also had a big dumb fight right before Parent-Teacher Conferences and maybe there's a reason for that. Get rid of that thought and replace it with something else.

"You know, if you go too far, you'll need to make sure you have a buddy," she says after a moment of silence, watching Casey wobble slightly and worrying only a little bit about how much blood there was bound to be in his head by now.

"Duh. That's why I've got a spotter." Spotter yes, destination? ... Eh.

Rosy has an idea. It's a bad idea. But those are the only kind of ideas she's had lately, and no amount of overthinking has taken them from bad ideas to good ideas. A shameful few of them have even gone from bad ideas to bad ideas she didn't try. So maybe she just won't try.

Maybe she'll just try and be dumb and happy, like someone walking on their hands down the hall during a play just because.

"This is handy anyways, because your spotter needed a buddy." It's for the best Casey can't see her face right now. She's about as red as he is. "To get back to my cabin.”

If he was standing up he'd puff out his chest, but he's not, so he just wriggles his feet. "I'm a sick-ass buddy," he replies as they come up to the doors. "I'm like, the sickest buddy. Ask, like, anybody. If one of those fuckin' copyghosts comes along I'll kick 'em in the face." He punctuates this with an actual kick, but he's been upside down for so long that his balance is shot, and he wobbles backward, dramatically, then forward, then into the door itself. He doesn't have the stability to keep himself upright (downright? updownright?? upsideright???) but at least he can rest against the door. "Pow." another mimed kick to the fake doppelganger's face.

For all of her talk of conflict and trusting your spotters, there isn't a muscle in Rosy's body that doesn't twitch when she sees Casey's balance start to falter.

"Not the worst plan I've heard, actually," she puts a hand on one of his ankles, like she's worried he's about to just slip down and this hand will be the only thing here to save this giant cheerleader from certain mild bruising. "Also kind of useless if you pass out. You need a break?"

"No," he replies immediately, and indignantly. Because Rosy's hand is on his ankle AND she'd just praised his plan. Which is, like, kind of a big deal. ... "But I'm gonna take one anyways."

He acquieses and lowers his feet back to the ground, letting out an audible 'Woooo' as the blood rushes back to the rest of his body. He feels tingly. He tries to stand up, a little too early, and wobbles against the door. But it's sick because he just walked down that entire fuckin' hallway on his hands, in front of the Lady Stokes.

Pulling his shirt back down, he pushes tentatively on the door. "So you, like... need a buddy?"

Her brain whirs, threatens to overthink, to seize up and freak out and send her scurrying back to the auditorium with that headache-inducing play and all her own thoughts. And, God, Rosy does not want to be in her own brain right now. It's a terrible place, and everything in there is terrible and twisted, and this is simple. And this, right here, right in front of her, is a cute boy, and there is no overthinking happening in his corner of the world.

Rosy pinches at his shirt and bites her tongue, her breath short because flirting has never even kind of been her forte. "Yeah, I could use a buddy." She looks up at Casey. "And I'll try to get you back before the play is over.”