A Game, A Smoke, and Who Knows What Else(Open)

It was baseball season in Chicago once again, which of course meant loads of banter and arguing between Cubs and White Sox fans alike. Avery didn’t really like to admit it, but he had become an avid baseball fan since he had return to the states, living in Chicago had a tendency to do that to most people. He hadn’t quite chosen sides in the big Chicago baseball rivalry just yet, but he did lean more so towards the White Sox when it came down to it, but he went to more Cubs games since they were closer to his home. While the Cubs had history on their side, winning hadn’t been on their side in a long time with it being over 100 years since they had won a World Series and Avery was one who liked to be on the winning side. The home town pride of being closer to them still nagged at him, though.

And it nagged at him as he looked up at the most historical baseball stadium in the central United States - if not the entire United States - Wrigley Field. It had been a month since he had been here, but it used to be a weekly venture before he stopped hanging out with his parents so much. This time he had gotten enough money from drug sales that he had been able to purchase his own ticket and relive the walk into the stadium, which was still one of the best things about being back in America. But it wasn’t the same not having a familiar face by his side.

Honestly, Avery didn’t want to go in. It wasn’t something he was used to doing alone, he had never really been alone in anything that he had done and it was becoming progressively harder to find people who would put up with him nowadays. He ventured back and forth from groups of friends, and the times in between just pissed him off. The walks through the town without anyone to get fucked up with or screw up with, they weren’t what he was used to after being what most people would consider a “badass” back in Germany.

He gripped his ticket in his hand, crumpling it a bit more violently than he had planned, but he didn’t care, he just needed a slight release from the stress and it was the closest thing he had to a person that wasn’t an actual person, and while he had a tendency to get into scruffs now and then, this wasn’t a club and there were too many other people around.

Avery still couldn’t bring himself to actually walk in, he paced up and down the area in front of the ticket booth, hoping to see someone that he knew, another friend, or a group that he associated with, but no one showed up and he was beginning to feel pretty pathetic, it wasn’t like him to be this way, but even Avery Kessell had moments of feeling lonely and vulnerable and for some reason, this was one of those moments. Something so stupid and meaningless as going to a baseball game alone could beat him and he didn’t understand.

With one sigh he walked over to the nearest wall and pulled the pack of cigarettes and the lighter he kept in his pocket out and put a cigarette between his lips before bringing the lighter and his hand to face to light it without the slight breeze interfering. One long draw later, he let the plume of smoke out as he slid down the wall to the ground as the crowd grew in numbers the closer to game time it got.

Callen had only left the house maybe five or six times in the past month. Chicago. She didn't like the sound of it on her lips, or the strange way it sounded in her head. It wasn't home, it wouldn't ever be. It was just another city, in which there was a house, where she happened to live. Callen had never understood the difference between a house and a home until now. Home was a place where there were memories and pictures, where the kitchen was yellow and blue, and where pictures hung on the stairwell. The new house had none of that. Her mom had agreed to let her decorate the house on her own, on one condition: she couldn't put up any pictures. She'd given some reason about moving again soon, but Callen knew they were in the house for good. Callen protested in quiet, and all the family pictures where hung up in one of the spare bedrooms on the second floor, the floor, which Callen had all to herself.

The solitude was starting to get to her. Not that she had ever minded solitude before, but in an unknown city full of unfamiliar faces, Callen felt more alone than she’d felt in a long time. Summers in San Antonio were spent out by a pool or running back inside to avoid the heat. She had no clue what to do here in Chicago with or without friends, so earlier on in the week she’d purchased two tickets to a ball game at Wrigley field, because the one thing that couldn’t change from Texas to Illinois was baseball. Or at least that’s what she hoped.

Baseball had always been something Callen and her dad had done together. On weekends that he had off they would sometimes drive up to Arlington to catch a Rangers’ game. She couldn’t tell you which teams where in what league, but she was pretty good at knowing some of the other aspects of baseball. Callen tried to think back to what had been going on this season, but sadly she couldn’t come up with much. She hadn’t really been focusing on baseball with their relocation to Chicago, but she did know that the Rangers’ weren’t doing too well, and that was enough to make her feel a bit disappointed at her home state’s team.

Only once she was standing outside the stadium did Callen realize what a terrible idea it had been. She’d only been once before, but she knew exactly what it would be like: inside people would surround her, screaming, yelling, and cheering. Last time her father had brought her, and it had been fine, but this time she was alone and that made all the difference. She should have bought three tickets, that way she wouldn’t have to sit next to anyone, and she probably should have brought earplugs as well. Right now it was fairly empty to what it would be like in an hour or two, but even imagining it was enough to overwhelm her.

Seconds after this realization a smell she knew to be cigarette smoke hit her and she immediately looked around for the source. A guy, probably a year older than her was smoking nearby. The sight resulted in a small debate in Callen’s mind on whether or not she should approach him. In the end she did, hating herself and thinking about every flaw she had as she did so. “Cigarettes. Really?” Callen asked, and then swallowed, shocked at how incredibly rude she sounded. She was about to apologize for her rude tone when she realized it would only make her sound like an blithering idiot, so she simply stood there feeling incredibly awkward.

The vibrant, bustling city seemed to sing its own song in the form of screeching car brakes, people congregating in raised voices, and varying degrees of synthetic ambience. Yet another day was drawing to a close, but the sweltering summer heat was renowned for persisting well into the night. Yet the people of Chicago seemed either oblivious or resistant to these climatic limitations. Even as the afternoon segued into early evening, people ebbed and flowed through the streets like the tides of the ocean, battling the humidity-caked air with seemingly little effort.

Mason Vaughan was among these streams of people, and he too showed no discernible signs of discomfort or fatigue. However, he had already dragged his tall, slightly emaciated form for two good hours, having walked from his house in the northern suburbs to the uptown area of Chicago. One slightly crumpled ticket lay suspended in his left fist, for a Cubs game at Wrigley Field. Though he ultimately preferred the White Sox, Wrigley was a lot closer to his house, and the late-adolescent lacked a car. He also lacked something essential for most teenagers – friends.

Though Mason was bullied heavily in elementary school (a contributing factor as to why he left Minnesota in the first place; until recently, he was a Twins fan), he managed to get by with a couple of acquaintances. He had met one person in school fairly recently – a decent guy by the name of Avery. The two had agreed to meet at the Cubs game, but due to time conflicts, Mason was forced to leave his house slightly later than he expected. Nevertheless, he would arrive in time for the game to start.

The difficult part was locating Avery. The grand stadium met Mason’s eyes, but not without difficulty. Upon approach, he felt his vision become augmented by the masses of people filing into the stadium, which had opened its doors mere moments after it had come into his view. Even scanning the surrounding area was difficult.

Perhaps by mere luck, it did not take Mason long to locate the familiar plethora of auburn-blonde hair. The trademark sullen expression was present as well, and the ensemble was completed by a cigarette dangling from Avery Kessell’s lips. Chucking to himself about how typical this behavior was of Avery, Mason strode towards the former, a smug grin on his face. Avery was slouched on the ground against the nearest wall, apparently too saturated by his own boredom to see Mason. It was not until the latter spoke that he stirred.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Mason said, grin still etched upon his face. “Pass me a cigarette. I’ve had the misfortune of running out yesterday.”

As he uttered those words, he felt his gaze turn to another person in the nearby vicinity: a blonde girl standing nearby, slightly salmon-esque pink in the cheek area. Her gaze was affixed on Avery, who seemed to be returning it as he was attempting to acknowledge Mason’s presence simultaneously. Mason, who was accustomed to being interrupted by his opinionated mother, took this in stride.

“And you are?” he asked the girl with a slightly suggestive nod.

"I hate Chicago." Zoey swept a casual glare over her surroundings, trying not to let the smog or the endless blaring of taxis or the low muttering of a homeless woman panhandling for change get to her. A ray of sun struggled through the thin cloud cover and bounced off of an unnecessarily enormous building, covered in glass and all too reflective, and shone a friendly, burning laser beam into her eyes.

"You're joking." Squinting to try to minimize eyeball liquefaction, Zoey snapped her book shut and shoved it into her bag, quietly bemoaning to herself the unfairness of life. The bus shelter smelled like cigarettes with just the slightest touch of urine. Wrinkling her nose, she slipped out of the shelter to throw out her gum, and just as she turned to walk back to the stop, the bus zoomed past.

"Really?" she yelled, raising her middle finger to the bus driver, already halfway down the block. "Have a nice day, asshole!" The laser beam had positioned itself into her face again, so, swearing loudly, she picked a direction and walked. She found great amusement and anger management in kicking off the heads of dandelions that peeked through the cracks in the sidewalk, imagining that each weed was one of her previous bosses that fired her, leaving her without the means to pay for a car, or even just a bike.

"I hate Chicago."

She thought she'd picked a random direction, but three consecutive hordes of red, blue, and white jersey- and wig-clad idiots made her think otherwise. Wrigley Field loomed above her suddenly, as though it had actually just popped out of the ground, materialized in front of her. She glared at it, urging it to sink back into the ground and get out of her way. She just wanted to walk, for god's sake!

"I hate baseball."

"Someone's in a good mood." If voices could be tall, dark, and handsome, this one was. Zoey pivoted on her foot, the feeling of Converse sole against concrete tickling her heel, and stared into the face of the most undeniably attractive person she'd ever had the fortune of meeting. Even accounting for the blue wig, he could have been in the middle of a photoshoot for Vogue. If Vogue got a shot of this guy, blue wig sales would have gone up six thousand percent. He smiled down at her, separating slightly from his herd to walk beside her. "Not a baseball fan then, I take it?"

"I." Words were hard when even focusing on walking was impossible. She considered that she was actually facing a deity. "I've never been to a game, to be honest. I just don't enjoy the idea of people being paid millions to hit things with sticks."

"YOU HAVE NOT LIVED," he boomed, and took a hold of her arm and slung her over his shoulder. An involuntary shriek left her lips and though she clamped her teeth shut to mute it, he still flinched away.

"You deserved that," she said into his ear as they rode the wave of the crowd into the stadium. She could feel his grin against her cheek. Further conversation was impossible as the combined chattering of forty thousand people pressed against her eardrums. He set her down in front of a hotdog stand - seriously, was it in baseball field regulations to have hotdog stands? Was that a thing? - and, though she reached out to grab him in the sudden and crushing fear of being alone, he was swallowed by the crowd.

Zoey spun, searching desperately for a familiar face. Someone, anyone. She thought she saw some kids who lived a floor below her in her apartment and she started towards them, but their faces blurred past and she was being elbowed from all directions, stuck in the middle of the highest traffic. She struggled against the tide for a moment, but it was completely and utterly futile. She didn't make it an inch. Giving up, she let her feet carry her wherever the eddies and whorls of the sea of faces took her, and she found herself pushed out to the edge.

A couple of kids, probably a bit older than her, were smoking by the wall. Unconsciously, her lip curled slightly in disdain. Cigarettes were gross. It was stupid, she knew, but she only indulged her past addiction to blow smoke rings, because they looked cool. As she stood there, a few metres away from the group, scrutinizing them, she recognized the boy slouched against the wall. She wished she hadn't. Now she didn't have an excuse to sit there and stare at them. That was one thing she liked about this aggressively busy city - you could people-watch with the certainty that you would never see a stranger twice.

Sighing, she made her way over to them. An aura of awkwardness slightly muted by the uncaring obvious on the faces of the guys hung over the four. The two boys were friends, she could tell. The girls were both uncommonly lovely and she suppressed the urge to stamp mental "I HAVE A GRUDGE AGAINST YOUR FACE" signs on their foreheads.

"Smoking is disgusting," she announced, grinning at them each in turn. "And baseball sucks. Let's be friends."

Mason accepted the cigarette not all too gingerly, seeing as he had been nicotine-deprived since the day before. As he plucked a stick from the pack, he reached into his left pocket, fumbling around for a few moments before finding his lighter, which he kept with him out of habit. One succinct flick later, and the now-lit confectionary was now perched in his mouth, the smoke being inhaled heartily.

It took perhaps a few more seconds for Mason to offer the pack of cigarettes to Ronnie, another acquaintance of his and Avery’s. Between puffs, he nodded curtly to her in the process. How he savored the dulcet yet harmful odor and taste of cigarette smoke. Such a description could be applied to someone with a severe addiction, and Mason fit the bill. He had been smoking ever since he first arrived in Chicago, when a now-deceased friend’s older brother offered him a spare pack. At the time, he was a mere ten years old.

He turned on the spot, positioning himself next to Avery, and letting the sights and sounds around him meander their way into the enigmatic crevices of his mind, via entry through his eyes and ears. The newcomer had not provided a response yet, or perhaps Mason was too occupied in his body-defacing treat to notice. At any rate, he spoke in response to Avery’s inquiry.

“Well, I have a seat reserved for myself. Ticket says so,” Mason remarked snidely. “It faces the threshold between home plate and first base. Convenient location, if I do say so myself. Are you all going to be-“

But before he could finish that statement, a shrill, somewhat boastful voice interrupted him, and ultimately voided the unfinished question. Abruptly, Mason turned his head, mild irritation building up within his stomach like a spreading flame. The speaker was exactly as his mind had so briefly envisioned her: blonde, pouty-looking, and a major nuisance overall. She seemed like the opinionated type as well, since she had openly voiced her dislike for smoking and baseball. Was she merely a real-life troll with nothing better to do, or was she truly an opinionated lunatic? Either way, Mason did not want to associate himself with her, and judging by the relatively disgusted facial reactions of his mates, they did not either.

What made Mason’s mind suddenly launch into calisthenics was the girl’s eagerness to associate with them. It was evident that she had never seen any of them before, because the characteristic reaction to seeing someone one knows is to call them by name. She didn’t know the group from adam, and yet she still displayed a slightly infectious (though mentally revolting all the same) demeanor towards them. Since the other newcomer was still hushed for whatever reason, Mason decided to take charge of the situation. Cocking his head towards the hyperactive latter newcomer, a disgusted grimace formed upon thin face.

“May I ask who the fuck you are?” Mason asked bracingly.

Callen hated pretty much everything about cigarettes, but for her the worse thing about them was who smoked them, specifically people around her age, who smoke them despite the negative side affects of smoking being perfectly clear. The initial response to her question did nothing to ease her mind. The two people who approached in the next minute or so and asked for cigarettes only made Callen want to disappear where she stood. She was clearly the minority and even worse a complete stranger, or so it seemed judging by the familiarity between the three standing before her as they passed a carton of cigarettes between themselves. Yes, disappearing would be very nice, but leaving would be rude. So she stayed, but remained quiet until fifty percent of the introductions were done.

“I’m Callen Lacefield, just moved here from Texas this May, and no thanks, I’d rather chose a means of relaxing that involves not getting lung cancer, like y’all surely will.” She said, directing her last few words to the newly introduced Avery. As usual, her words came out in a rush of quiet speech, but Callen hoped they'd heard so she wouldn’t have to repeat herself. It was alway embarrassing to have to repeat oneself, but no matter how loudly she tried to speak, Callen almost always ended up repeating herself, especially in class or at a restaurant.

Relief flooded her when the conversation turned from cigarettes and introductions to seats for the game, that was something she could talk about easily. That is, if she chose to speak up. She pulled her tickets out of her wallet and looked at them for a moment, she knew she was somewhere between 3rd and home, but she wasn’t aware of the specifics. As the others talked around her she noticed that the guy who hadn’t introduced himself had said you all instead of y’all. It almost made her uneasy not hearing the familiar slang and the southern twang of home, but she ignored it and tried to be as involved in the conversation as possible without actually talking.

A question was being asked and Callen was preparing herself to answer it if needed when it was suddenly replaced by a girl’s declaration of her dislike of both smoking and baseball. A surprised look crossed her face as she looked up, and her eyes narrowed slightly when she saw it was a girl younger than any of them. She obviously agreed with the girl on the terms of smoking, but she loved baseball more than she hated smoking, and thus she chose to defend her favourite sport. However, Callen never got the chance to ask her if she was so against baseball then why would she be at a ball game because the boy who was still smoking asked her a rather harsh, but entirely fitting (in Callen’s point of view) question.

She studied the girl for a moment, curious as to how one could combine insulting something and suggesting a friendship in the same sentence while maintaining a grin on one’s face. Sure, she had questioned the other three’s smoking, but she hadn’t suggested they could all be friends, nor did she have a childish grin on her face. Though Callen was fairly sure she could get past a smoking habit if they would put up with her introverted tendencies.

Zoey grinned. She never shied away from being excessively forward. Observing people's reactions was always an exciting social experiment. Once, being borderline offensive to a street vendor had lead to the strongest friendship she had in Chicago. She'd also had some run-ins with gangs and stuff but whatever, the risks were worth it. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to follow the guidelines of normal social interaction, but rarely got a polite word out before she reverted to her usual self.

"I'm that kid whom you have the misfortune of drawing the attention of. I'm the one you meet once and then never manage to shake. I am your series of unfortunate events." Zoey smiled, cloying, looking at standing boy hard in the eye. This one was a happy one. He was probably more like her than he thought he was, even in his darkest nightmares. She smiled at the total narcissism that was necessary to think that she showed up in strangers' dreams.

The redhead - reddish, anyway - fought like a girl, throwing casual words and casual actions like ninja stars. Zoey expressed her unfazedness in a very movie-like fashion. Turning her head slightly to the side, she sucked the cigarette smoke hanging too near her face into her mouth and held it there, enjoying the familiar feeling. She stifled a cough, determined not to look like an amateur. It was an extremely stupid and teenagery and kind of gross display of "coolness", but hey, whatever worked. Smiling, she blew a poor ring with the recycled smoke.

"I mean, it's a nice sport," she said comfortably, as though this was a continuation of a long and friendly conversation. She angled her body slightly to encompass both the girl and the sitting boy. "But think about it. It's a bunch of guys running around a geometric shape, hitting things with sticks and scurrying out to catch them. What's the point of it?" She shrugged. She didn't expect them to agree with her. In fact, their presence here and their reactions to her first words were good indicators that she would be harshly opposed. She just hoped that some of them - any one of them, please please please - would appreciate the intellectual aspect of her annoying little spiel.

"And you - I had such high hopes for you, Mr Kessell." She didn't know the first name of the boy sitting against the wall, his posture somehow simultaneously lazy and undeniably aggressive. His surname came to the surface of her mind through a layer of more important memories. She'd been rushing down the hall, late for Bio or Chem or something, and a faceless teacher had been saying those exact words to him. The corner of her mouth tugged up as she recalled his expression, the very picture of boredom. The teacher'd continued with some bullshit about "you just have so much potential, I wish you would come to terms with it, or at least stop ruining it with your attitude, blah blah blah..." and Zoey'd just slipped past, grateful that she wasn't getting busted for her tardiness. "I'm glad you think cancer is fine. And don't tell me you're one of those pretentiously down to earth kids who think the pursuit of happiness is useless."

Mason took the gradually amassing conflict in stride, instead resorting to enjoying his cigarette. Though he bitterly disliked the habit, his eagerness to beg Avery to spare him just one of them proved that he was well addicted to the nicotine-laced ration. Yet something prevented him from savoring the smoky flavor (he was determined to quit the habit most likely cold turkey). The latter newcomer, with her seemingly ever-present bubbly, outspoken demeanor, was tainting the amiable air around the group, rendering its toxicity more and more unbearable with her shrill tone, like factory smog seeping into a sky with a temperature inversion effect.

With every passing moment, this girl was getting more and more irritating, even referring to Avery in a burlesque formal tone. Mason had deduced by now that this girl was either: A. High. B. Dangerously overconfident. C. High. D. All of the above. Regardless of the answer, the outcome still bore poison.

Finally, Mason departed from his relatively indifferent persona and took the plunge at this Kanye-esque girl, utilizing his expansive palate of dry humor in the process.

“That’s a hollow label to be giving someone if you’re barely acquainted with them,” he said composedly. “Furthermore, I doubt you have many friends, seeing as you’re latching onto us like a diseased tick.”

A barely audible hiss issued from Mason lips, melding itself into an exasperated sigh mid-respiration. Ousting this girl would be a difficult task if her demeanor refused to improve.

“I think of it as not wanting to die prematurely of something that could have been avoided than being afraid of dying itself. Cancer is not a pleasant thing, anyways. As for walking over here, it was merely a conversation starter, a simple question. As for being outnumbered, does it really matter in a basic conversation? It’s not like we’re starting a war here. Anyway, back to tickets, I guess we could do that, I’ve got two tickets as well, I could just sell them.” Callen said, replying to everything that was sent at her all in one go, which was her usual manner.

The girl who had approached them was beginning to get on Callen’s nerves. It was extremely irritating to see someone who had blatantly condemned the use of cigarettes along with her and then went on breathing it in so willingly. She was barely able to repress a smile as the other’s commented on the various negative aspects that had been brought on by this girls’ arrival. Yes, she would probably enjoy spending more time with these three in the future, the other girl, however she wasn’t so sure about. She was too negative, yet so upbeat at the same time, it almost gave Callen a headache.

When she felt it was her turn to put in a few words, Callen finally spoke to the girl. “I must say I agree with you on the smoking deal, but if you’re so against smoking and cancer, then don’t blow rings with the smoke. And if you don’t like baseball then what sport do you like?” She had a bit of plan, not so much as to prove the new girl wrong as to defend her favourite sport, though if both were accomplished, Callen would be very pleased.

Zoey couldn't help herself. She tried to control her smirk, to make it look like she was enjoying herself a little less, but gave up as the insult parade began. Her Cheshire cat impression didn't let up in the slightest.

"I'm sure you've already thought of some clever nickname for me," she said brightly to the more outspoken girl. "Something drawing parallels to parasitic insects or syphilis or something else original like that." She nodded to the standing boy and didn't acknowledge his comment further. She kind of hated that he was pulling the friendless card, like how many enormously coincidental encounters a person had had with coincidentally friendly people was a measure of his or her worth. She was a great opposer of judging people based on the way life decided to treat them.

Their pack mind was awesome, though. She was quite sure they didn't mean to gang up on her or anything. They weren't immature enough to do that (she hoped) but as she provided them with a common enemy, they couldn't help being driven together. If she called them out on the four against one situation and pointed out the obvious age difference, what would they say? "Grow up", "I wasn't looking for an argument", or something similarly ineffective and invalid.

She didn't, though. This was fun. She turned to the quieter girl, the first to speak a word even hinting at agreement, even if she immediately contradicted that.

"American society is based on people hypocritically subscribing to things that are bad," she shrugged. "I'm not so self-righteous as to say that I'm smart enough to keep away from stuff that will kill me. I eat gummy worms, I watch TV, I smoke, and I go to baseball games. It doesn't make any of those things better or worse because I give up my money to support them." She let out the smallest sigh in response to the double attack on her presence there. "I told you, I'm not inherently against baseball, or any sport, really. I don't condemn the players who play because they enjoy it or because they want to stay fit and have fun. I just think there's so much more meaning in other things besides running up and down a court or field chasing after a ball. And as for those people who sigh and tell me I think too much - they're the ones who rush through life ruining their bodies and minds for fun, saying, 'why does it matter, anyway?' The ones who don't fight against the base nature of humanity, the ones who would revel in anarchy, because they're too lazy and cowardly to do anything worth anything."

She wouldn't apologize. She would never have to see these people again except in passing if she or they so chose - she could walk away from them and never deign to speak to any of them again, and they had the same power. Might as well be remembered as that kid, loud and obnoxious and irritating as fuck, that they met at a baseball game and spent a couple minutes of their time hating, than the meek girl who stepped down at the first sign of an argument. Although circumstance providing, she could probably stalk any one of them if she wanted to without much effort, because in allowing series of unfortunate events to happen, luck favoured the annoying. If one could achieve success through luck alone, it would be easy to climb to power, simply by pissing off as many people as possible. She fell to pondering the structure of power and all its influencers, trying not to zone out completely. She let her posture slouch slightly and crossed her arms, as though to say, "Your move."

It took almost every ounce of self-control that Avery had not to walk up and punch the girl who had decided she would join them but Avery was able to control himself and even force himself into a calm demeanor (which actually mean that he was angrier than he wanted to let on).

He had a tendency to put himself into an almost serene state when he was an extreme of almost any emotion. It had the desired effect of causing more of a response than the actual emotion, more so out of surprise in the change it caused in him. It also tended to keep him from causing a stir and getting himself into trouble, so it helped more than anything which was why he had found the way to make himself do that.

”Look. I don’t know who you are, and at this point I’m not really caring, I just want to know why you expect us to humor your “friendship” when you haven’t given us much of a reason to,” he let out a deep breathe, ”if you could maybe give us a reason to consider you friendly and not just annoying then I see no reason why we couldn’t be friends, but at this point I would just really, really like to punch you.” He didn’t necessarily think the girl would care if he wanted to hit her, but the way she had regarded him in her “Mr. Kessell” line, she almost deserved it in a sense.

He moved on to Ronnie’s inclination about whether or not they lived close, while he did live uptown, with the traffic from the game it would still take him quite a while to get home, even with his car. [color=redorange]”Well, I live here uptown, but traffic sucks in my direction after these games. And I mean more so than most places. So, it’d still be a good bit of cash for gas,” he said with a shrug, honestly not too bothered by the drive but he’d take other suggestions if it meant for a possible party idea. That always beat going home.

”Wars can be both started and stopped with the right words, though, can’t they?” Avery posed this question to Callen, as it was true. Anyone with the right words could cause trillions of dollars of damage and millions of lives if they were used for the wrong reasons, but if used in the right way then anything could possibly be mended. It was all a matter of what way you arranged the series of twenty-six letters and to whom you were speaking to. ”You never know where the simplest of conversations could end up. If you say the wrong thing to me, I might feel an inclination to kill you, or if I said the right thing to you, you could wake up naked in my bed. It’s all about what’s said and when. Simple conversations are never as simple as they seem,” he finished with a smirk, and he pulled another cigarette from his pack and lit it between his lips, almost as a way to get into her head.

As the grim spectacle unfurled its metaphorical blood red carpet even more, Mason continued to take it in stride. By now, his dangling cigarette was halfway spent, but he was too vehement with the hyperactive bitch to ask Avery for another. Besides, judging from the latter’s fury-laced remarks (which were amusing all the same), he did not seem inclined to diffuse the tension by giving Mason another cigarette. Furthermore, he had to kick the habit sometime, come hell or high water.

“Avery, let’s not get too hasty with this girl,” Mason interjected after some thought. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to intimidate her soon enough. Besides, I’d rather not be kicked out before the game even begins, personally.”

He was partially motivated to round up the remaining onlookers and file into the stadium undetected, but the niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that it would probably be unwise to leave Avery alone with the sprightly newcomer in case she had a flair for karate or ju-jitsu. If she suddenly went apeshit on Avery’s ass, then perhaps Mason could assist in restraining her. He would only have to back off if she started foaming at the mouth, after all.

Reckless as always, Avery, Mason thought with a disdainful expression. He was used to seeing his friend launch himself headlong into conflicts before, but that was a habit that needed addressing. Old habits die hard, apparently.

“Or we just don’t bother to nickname you considering you don’t seem to be worth our time.” Callen snapped, her narrowed eyes quickly turning to a flat out glare. She was beginning to lose all her patience with this girl, and when that happened, it wouldn’t be too surprising if she threw a punch or two at her.

“Bad is just an opinion, not a fact, take the Holocaust for example, it is a fact that many people consider it as a bad thing, but there are also people who think it was a good thing, and would have supported it, but deciding that it is bad is just an opinion based on natural law. Baseball isn’t bad in a factual sense, in the terms of subscribing. It’s still just an opinion, which, while it can be hypocritical, it’s mostly not. The subscribing of something in general is not really hypocritical either, considering bad is a term used by those who typically don’t subscribe to whatever is in question.” She replied, a small smirk appearing on her lips as she spoke; despite the fact the girl was irritating as hell, Callen was enjoying the argument.

Callen let out a brief surprised laugh at Avery’s retort. “Even if somehow you managed to kill me, you wouldn’t get away with it. And sorry, but I seriously doubt I’ll ever touch the bed of a guy who’s not only shorter than I am and who reeks of cigarettes, let alone would I even end up naked in it.” Then, as she watched him get out another cigarette, she added: “it’s your funeral.”

((Sorry for the wait, guys. I’ve had a few rough days))

((Terribly sorry for my absence. I've got no excuse - I'm just a lazy butthead. :c ))


Zoey could practically taste the hostility in the air, a little bit metallic and a little bit smoky. Her amusement was fading, slowly but surely. None of them were rising to her intellectual en garde the way she wanted them to. They were too defensive and she was too forward. Frowning, she took an unconscious step backward, wincing when she noticed her action. If she couldn't assert her position even physically, then how was she supposed to get anything out of being with these people?

She was overthinking it. Every movement was examined and dissected. A fidget of her hands - could be taken as a sign of nervousness, which was definitely bad, definitely very bad. Her eyes couldn't focus on any one of their faces - shyness, or subservience, even? She took another step back and closed her eyes for a second - too long to be a blink, open them openthem openthem - and put a hand to her face.

Reassess. Deep breaths. Avery and the blonde probably wouldn't have given up a chance to land a couple of punches. The second boy seemed to be taking the apathetic route - no guarantee that he wouldn't help in the mob effort, though, should it arise. The redhead was clearly on edge but didn't think that Zoey was worth the effort. Interesting. She wondered, if left in a room together to fight to the death, which of them would win. The probability of her own survival in such a situation was... not optimistic, she knew.

They talked over her small anxiety attack. Maybe they didn't catch her minuscule movements, maybe they weren't watching her eyes, maybe they weren't completely socially inappropriate like she was being (because she liked to believe that, at times, she could be a regular American citizen). She resisted the urge to scope out the nearest mirror and sprint for it to see if she was as pale as she felt.

"It's okay, honey, life doesn't always make sense," she was going to say. "And well done. You have met my expectations - I knew I could get you to jump to physical violence," she was going to say. "Intimidation? Classy. Very classy," she was going to say. "So murder, isn't that bad? What about child abuse? Poverty? Are those just opinions, too?" she was going to say. "There are a lot of things you won't understand about me, sweetheart. Maybe it's my small escape from the reality of life to come and make fun of baseball. Can you begrudge me that? What is the sound of one hand clapping?" she was going to say.

All thrust from her mind, none too gently.

Did the redhead really just include Zoey in her invitation?

Instead, she said: "Are - are you serious?" She didn't meant to sound incredulous. She didn't mean it like, "Are you stupid?" though that thought was running through her mind, too. Trying to keep the note of confused hope out of her voice was a struggle. Because, no matter how she denied it, fought it, rejected the notion of it, she was a teenaged girl, and she had the disease of the mind that came with it. She constantly sought attention and acceptance. She wanted these people to like her and respect her (although she probably wasn't helping much with that), and it was so stupid. Don't take the bait, she thought. They're probably planning to lure you into some dark alley and beat the living daylights out of you, or steal your kidneys, neither of which would be much fun. At least not for you. She was blinking too much and too fast, staring at the girl with eyes a little too wide.

By this time, it was apparent that Avery was utilizing his suave-badass persona, a technique that was generally in conjunction with seducing women. Chuckling in response to his statement, Mason seized the opportunity. After all, if he and the others could overpower the girl’s knack for annoyance via constant belittling, it would either cause her shut up and go her merry way, or cause her to shut up and accompany us to wherever. The latter would be ideal if she was up for a little fun. Mason personally enjoyed engaging in such fun, which entailed many promiscuous acts.

“I’m more than willing to come to this party if we can tranquilize the vermin we have following us around,” Mason said fiercely. “After all, we wouldn’t want any sort of disruption, now would we?”

Mason recoiled calmly, waiting for a response from the others. If the girl chose now to turn into a hissing little bitch, she would be perfectly outnumbered. Despite the outcome, it was evident that the odds would not be in the girl’s favor. She would eventually crack, and either storm off or let the group have their way with her. Truthfully, Mason was all for the latter. He was trying to quit smoking, and what better way to tide over his urges than to engage in some honest-to-goodness smut? Perhaps he could even utilize some dominant tactics if he could get this girl to behave.

((sorry, it's taken so long to reply :/))

“I’m not attracted to you in the slightest.” Callen said stonily in response to Avery’s teasing smirk. It was true, too. He wasn’t her type, or at least one of her types. (Pick up trucks and cowboy hats being the first and gentlemanly and classy being the second) Avery didn’t seem to fit either of the criteria at all. Thus she wasn’t attracted to him. It was simple logic, and if needed she would most definitely explain it to him in an exasperated tone.

Callen was neutral to the idea of crashing at Ronnie’s place, or at least going to a party there, considering she could get anywhere in her truck and she didn’t live that far away. If she went, Callen probably wouldn’t end up doing anything drug or alcohol-wise, she wasn’t one to typically partake in that sort of thing. The other girl’s response was somewhat surprising to her, but at the same time she sympathized. Behind the argumentative and bitchy exterior, the girl seemed quite lonely. “I’m in, I guess. And if anyone needs a ride I can help out as well.”

The crowd outside of the stadium was beginning to thin out. “Well. We should probably get the seatin’ all figured out before it’s too late to get seats together, if that’s what we want to do.” She said once she was studying the small silver face of her wristwatch. “Are you going to come in with us and watch the game? If you are and intend to make snide comments about baseball then don’t sit by me.” Callen said, a hint of dislike colouring her voice as she made a jab at the girls blatant dislike for baseball.

((hey guys, sorry I disappeared for awhile, but anyone still interested in continuing this thread (or the follow up thread for the matter)? If so, I'll reply strait away, and/or put up the follow up thread if y'all are still interested! XD))

((Follow up thread sounds good))