@praechers, @vaempir
“Guess a spaghetti sandwich sounds a helluva lot better when it’s still warm,” brow furrowed, Tulip’s hunched down to level her eyes with her sandwich, silently criticizing it. It’s not like she’ll eat the school lunch; that shit’s nasty enough that she’s stuck making lunch for her and Jesse. Foster parents got pissed when she tried using the normal fridge food for her own damned good (they are getting paid to take care of her, aren’t they?), so she’s stuck making leftovers work for them. “It’ll taste better than it looks,” the girl manages a smile, her expression faltering as she notes that her boyfriend’s zoned out, well beyond the sound of her voice.
Puckering her lips faintly, Tulip tips her chair back onto its hind legs, surveys the lunchroom like she goddamn owns it, which she knows ain’t true, the lunchroom belongs to Donnie, Clive, and Betsy, but she’s not afraid of them. Amid the roar of laughter, yelling, and clattering, Tulip catches wind of a weird voice, glances over to the right at one of the empty tables they surround themselves with to a lanky, pale-ass motherfucker, sitting all on his lonesome. “New kid,” she mutters, moreso to herself, since Jesse’s gone in la-la land, “Hey,” she waves, frowns, “NICK CAVE,” another, impatient wave, “PALE KID, YOU, YEAH, YOU,” Tulip gestures for him to come over, slinging a grin onto her lips, “C’mon and sit with us, no need making yourself a target to all these dipshits,” she gestures to the rest of the room, popping her seat down onto its legs so she can kick the seat adjacent to her from the table. Giving a hefty elbow to Jesse’s side, she quirks her brow, “You gotta eat, babe. Gotta meet our new buddy too.”