The sound of the lighter opening, sparking to life and then closing again was…. Well, fucking annoying in the way that constant sounds playing on a repeated loop tended to be grating on Darlene’s nerves, and she wanted to storm across the room and snatch the stupid thing right out of his hands and throw it out the window — she wouldn’t have minded throwing him out the window too, but he hadn’t reached that level of annoying to her… yet. But that would have also meant that he’d gotten under her skin and of all the emotions that she may have showed on the outside, that was certainly not one of them. It was her job to get under peoples skin, not the other way around and in this battle of wits that they were locked in, she was going to come out the winner.
Even if that meant enduring the stupid constant clicking for just a little longer.
“Eugh! Gross!!” She actually cringed at the accusation. Why was this just a constant theme in her life as of late? If it wasn’t Elliot forgetting who she was to him and trying to jump into a Coney Island make out session (of which she still had nightmares about, even if she had somewhat understood what exactly had been going on with him at that time.), then it was some new houseguest implying that she was his crazy, clingy exgirlfriend. And Darlene was anything but clingy, she’d broken things off with a guy because he started getting too serious, if that wasn’t the definition of unclingy, then she didn’t know what was. “I’m not his fucking girlfriend, you dickwad. I’m his sister. Geesh, are you this fucking charming with every girl you come across, I dunno how anyone could have passed up taking them home with you sooner."
Turning on her heels, she opened up the fridge again, finding a can of Coke that wasn’t years expired — did soda even expire? She didn’t want to actually think about it, she’d take the risk — and popping open the top, taking a sip from it, still eyeing John from over the rim of the aluminum can. As though if she took her eyes off of him, he might just do something insane, like try and kill her.
“Alright, alright, calm down there, Ponyboy. Let me get this straight; you were sleeping on the stoop out there, so my brother just comes up to you and says ‘hey, looks like it might rain today, wanna come inside and crash on my couch?’? And he wasn’t like really high with a bag of Doritos in his hand when he asked this, was he?” It didn’t sound like Elliot, but he had definitely done crazier things in his life than offering someone a place to stay — like steal a man’s dog, break a convict out of prison, talk to a hallucination. This was probably one of the more normal things that he’d ever done before.
“John Allerdyce?” Out came her phone again, her thumbs working rapidly over the screen and her features knitting together in a mixture of concentration and frustration. What little of a footprint this kid actually left, then again, not everyone posted everything online and there was only so much she could find with what she had installed on her smartphone. He was some homeless kid, after all, maybe he’d never actually had the technology to create a Twitter, FaceBook or even — dare she say it? — MySpace. “Darlene. So, is this like a permanent sort of thing, are you gonna be hanging around here forever, or something? You two aren't like fucking are you?"
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Even if that meant enduring the stupid constant clicking for just a little longer.
“Eugh! Gross!!” She actually cringed at the accusation. Why was this just a constant theme in her life as of late? If it wasn’t Elliot forgetting who she was to him and trying to jump into a Coney Island make out session (of which she still had nightmares about, even if she had somewhat understood what exactly had been going on with him at that time.), then it was some new houseguest implying that she was his crazy, clingy exgirlfriend. And Darlene was anything but clingy, she’d broken things off with a guy because he started getting too serious, if that wasn’t the definition of unclingy, then she didn’t know what was. “I’m not his fucking girlfriend, you dickwad. I’m his sister. Geesh, are you this fucking charming with every girl you come across, I dunno how anyone could have passed up taking them home with you sooner."
Turning on her heels, she opened up the fridge again, finding a can of Coke that wasn’t years expired — did soda even expire? She didn’t want to actually think about it, she’d take the risk — and popping open the top, taking a sip from it, still eyeing John from over the rim of the aluminum can. As though if she took her eyes off of him, he might just do something insane, like try and kill her.
“Alright, alright, calm down there, Ponyboy. Let me get this straight; you were sleeping on the stoop out there, so my brother just comes up to you and says ‘hey, looks like it might rain today, wanna come inside and crash on my couch?’? And he wasn’t like really high with a bag of Doritos in his hand when he asked this, was he?” It didn’t sound like Elliot, but he had definitely done crazier things in his life than offering someone a place to stay — like steal a man’s dog, break a convict out of prison, talk to a hallucination. This was probably one of the more normal things that he’d ever done before.
“John Allerdyce?” Out came her phone again, her thumbs working rapidly over the screen and her features knitting together in a mixture of concentration and frustration. What little of a footprint this kid actually left, then again, not everyone posted everything online and there was only so much she could find with what she had installed on her smartphone. He was some homeless kid, after all, maybe he’d never actually had the technology to create a Twitter, FaceBook or even — dare she say it? — MySpace. “Darlene. So, is this like a permanent sort of thing, are you gonna be hanging around here forever, or something? You two aren't like fucking are you?"
Darlene Alderson, the Queen of Tact.