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@lapricelazuli-blog
so, i never officially stated that i’d done this, but now seems as good a time as any, what with the new episode bein’ out and all. about that... stares directly @ u. what choice did u make? regardless, i moved chloe over to my multi muse to render myself a little more capable of managing multiple blogs. you’re more than welcome to approach me on there, whether you want to continue threads or start new ones !!
SUPERXTUS.
Fingers tap and tap away at the keyboard, as the azure-haired teen sat in the chair across from him. Brought in and left with the newest transfer to deal with. Something or another about the possesion of drugs, which honestly didn’t even come as a surprise — teenagers and drugs seem to always be together.
“ Miss Chloe Price. Seems you’ve had some police trouble in the past. Though it looks as if those times didn’t change your attitude. ”
to deem her as sat in the chair may have been too vague a description. most accurate would be to say she was restless —— her legs kick back and forth, and the chair’s swivel feature is taken advantage of with immediate enthusiasm. had to find something to keep her busy in this shithole, right? fingers are laced together over her stomach, thumbs twiddling with idle manner: she can’t keep still. call it nervous energy, or just a habit of fidgeting: either way, chloe price doesn’t want to be here.
his words don’t stir much from her, aside from palms raising, shoulders giving a shrug. “ so? whaddya want me to say? SORRY? “ the concept of an apology would be ludicrous, for everything about her posture, her tone of voice, defy sincerity. “ or how about i won’t do it again, i promise? yeah, that’s a good one. “ a snort escapes her: just wait until the LECTURE comes: she won’t be able to repress the giggles. “ look, i have COCAINE CLUB to attend, so if we can get this wrapped up asap, i’d appreciate it. “ she pops the P in ASAP, and her expression is revelatory of the joke: cocaine club likely exists somewhere in the world, it wouldn’t surprise her, but she’s no honorary member.
VORTEXIUM.
It might have been eventual distaste to where she sat, or the need to be at the center eye of Mr. Jefferson’s photography class– but either way, Victoria wanted the desk. They weren’t assigned last time she checked, the table system was erratic, anyways. She didn’t see any carved in graffiti of “CHLOE PRICE WAS HERE” anywhere (much to her surprise.) If anything, the desk was just as much her’s as anybody else’s. She was here first, she made sure to be extra early, for the chance to talk to Mark about her portfolio– and more importantly, to take claim of the desk.
The extra work put in was all worth it, though, that as soon as the artificially colored punk of Blackwell saw her display– she was pissed. Eyebrows raised, she listened to what Chloe had to say– not that she actually internalized any of it. Instead, she looked down at the emo-chic satchel dropped down next to their (her.) desk. “Spoiler alert—— it’s not your desk either. You can take my corner for today, because guess what?” She reached down towards the bag, to which she didn’t know what she was going to be expecting. Honestly, it could range from diary entries about her sad, tragic life as the most fake looking chick at the academy, to a bong– and maybe, if she were lucky, she’d spot her camera. “I ain’t moving.”
Victoria set down the bag on the table, looking back up towards her.
“And now, I wonder what could be in here?”
possessions were scarce in the girl’s life: STEP-DILDO dominated the household to the point where her own room felt like less and less of a hideaway —— honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d intruded upon that safe haven, too, with surveillance keeping his eye trained on her like a hawk. solace was only to be found in the darkest of places nowadays: a junkyard which victoria would likely wrinkle her nose with disdain at was chloe’s own private getaway. but such lack of property had made her fiercely territorial of what little she could claim for herself: gaze sharpens into unspoken daggers when the blonde dares to set her hands on her bag —— and her ass on her table.
the temptation to swing a right hook is prominent, don’t be fooled by her self-control: it’s only a diversion to arrogance that maintains her temper in pristine condition upon the surface. “ nice try: if you’re trynna get me KICKED OUT, there’s nothing against this place’s shitty rules in there. “ she was smarter than to carry a stash around: that much was reserved to her locker. or her boot: whichever held more space on the day. “ not like that’d be much of a letdown: blackwell sucks ASS. “ to illustrate her point, she too takes a seat on the table, unwilling to back down as feet are rested on an empty chair: a gesture mr. jefferson would promptly retort against should he have been in the room. “ scavenge like the vulture you are all you like, i ain’ stoppin’ ya for shit —— it’s just PHOTOGRAPHY crap. burn it, snort it, what fucking ever. “
friendly reminder that over the next week or so, i’m swamped in responsibilities, i.e. work, getting back into college, as well as just general home shenanigans that will render me pretty slow online. i mention this here because this is not a priority blog, so i’m most likely to be a little less active on here. that said, i’m gonna get to a couple of things now, and you’re more than welcome to hit me up on skype, kik, or even one of my other blogs until i return properly. you only need to ask.
“ don’t gimme that look, MAD MAX. “ the girl often falls into the trap of blissful oblivion, but remains alert in the presence of her closest friend —— at least, that’s who she once had been. but what about now? some might beg to differ. bottle perched between nimble fingertips is lifted to her lips once more, a hearty swig to succeed the gesture. beer is cheaper, affordable, though bland: she’d much prefer hard liquor. it was, she had found, far more efficient at taking the edge off, smoothing sharp corners. “ it’s never too early to drink: are y’gonna join in, or gawp at me like i’ve got three heads, huh? “ an easy smirk is summoned without fail: it’s an expression perfected until it was no longer recognisable as a facade. time had shaped her into a true master of deception.
svveden:
i always look sleep deprived is that hot
birdonahotdog:
not to be dramatic but i’m going to light the world on fire
bold which habits your muse has.
triggers and unsanitary topics below!
chewing with mouth open II loud chewing II snoring II drooling when sleeping II nose picking II obsessive gossiping II smoking II chewing tobacco II spitting II chewing lip || nail biting II chewing/eating hair II swearing II cracking knuckles II licking utensils after baking/cooking II chewing gum II popping gum II road rage II tailgating II biting the ends of pens/pencils II unhygienic II never washes hands after using the toilet II wearing too much perfume/cologne II embarrassing scratching II messy eater II constant texting II talking on a cell phone at an inappropriate time II picking teeth in public II gambling II bragging II excessive throat clearing II grinding teeth II littering II passing gas in public II nail clipping/filing in public II shoplifting II talking during a movie II tapping pencil, fingers, etc. II belching/burping loudly II eavesdropping II helping yourself to someone’s fridge II leaving a mess behind II mimicking/mocking II poking II putting feet up on seat in front of you II slamming doors II staring without realizing II shake their leg involuntarily II using air quotes II visiting unannounced || clicking pens || fidgeting
observance and focus keeps the blue-haired one unusually quiet: the one who loves to run her mouth is ridden silent by the sight before her: their makeshift dartboard. nimble fingertips that so often cradle a cigarette or, more likely, a joint, now poise with a rare eloquence around a dart. she aims for precision: but not with it. the dart is released, making a beeline for the BULLSEYE —— and falling just short of it. a curse spews under her breath ( something along the lines of god fucking dammit !! ) before attention is directed to rachel amber, brow arched in challenge. “ think y’can do better? you’re up: now, personally, i think you should just hand over the WIN. ‘cause that tally’s gonna be mine with a capital M. “ the ego is overdone with deliberate arrogance: it’s obvious from results charted on the wall from their previous games that chloe is in no fortune of winning.
victoriachace:
I will never abandon you… …I’ll always have you back. — Always —
“ holy shit —— “ her exclamation is one of unashamed awe, for the shiner the male sported was still prominent in blotched purple shades. she lives for the thrill of drugs, sex, and violence: it was even sweeter when she remembered that she’d bore witness to this injury in the heat of the moment. “ you’re warren, right? man, either you bruise like a fuckin’ peach, or nathan douchescott’s skull is even harder than i thought. “ the thought alone is sufficient to force a snort of laughter to arise: amusement in its rawest form. “ hella props to you: most people pussy out against the rich kid’s rep. “
chloepprice:
favorite character meme / two colors
'sorry' --- chloe voice; nOT CALLING FOR 5 WHOLE YEARS. but no this could be about anything?? it doesnt have 2 be that omg
Send me ‘Sorry’ and my muse will fill out a formal apology form for yours
devoid of enthusiasm, the girl had trudged through hallways full of chatter as if they were TRENCHES —— yet her head doesn’t bow with surrender. her posture slouches, but gaze never betrays her inner turmoils, instead bumping fists with fellow thrashers in a subtle attempt to delay her arrival. when she does reach her destination, however, much to her disdain, palm nudges the door open, intent on making a beeline toward her table at the back. but her plain is foiled with immediate intention: chloe’s certain the action is deliberate, eyes narrowing in on the blonde bitch who’s invading her territory. now, her footfalls stride with steady pace until she’s adjacent to the other, arms folded.
” SPOILER ALERT, queenie —— not your fucking desk. run back to your corner. “ the profanity spills, sharp and quick from typically slurred speech. her conflicts at present are sufficient a problem to deal with: this preppy wannabe royalty was not something chloe was willing to tolerate. not today. with that, satchel ( once pristine, now worn, torn, stained and littered with badges representing various bands ) is dumped upon the floor. a brow raises, expectant: the clock ticking at the forefront of the room seems loud and prominent. time is scarce, and the beanie-clad female is running out of patience in rapid succession.
