:|:- - - Pour Some Sugar On It - - - :|: (Hayley)

[peanutpie]

Nate Hayes
Did I clean up the mess? So go to hell, well....

If there was one thing I knew about life it was probably how to sell drugs. Or to smoke them. Or sex, even. Dammit, I thought I'd never let that topic into my mind again.... Eh, too bad. It's already out there, and I honestly don't want to go down the path of self-hatred. Who would hate themselves, honestly? Well, that's just my opinion, though some people's lives do suck. Like Nicholes. Well, except for me and drugs, but that's beside the point. Sure, my life doesn't suck as much, but not that much. I do hate my parents who annoy the hell out of me and don't know anything about my business or anything. Nothing to concern them, eh? Sure, if they were to find out, they'd be such pushovers they'd let me keep on doing it. I love my parents sometimes.

So I was sitting there, perched on the end of my bed, trying to find some form of normality in the room around me. According to my parents we were "Better off than most people" in the district, so we had a house with three small bedrooms opposed to one small one. Thus, I had recieved something of a place to do whatever the hell I wanted to. Usually, this involved smoking, dealing and sometimes even... yeah. You don't need to know about my sexual life, do you? I thought not. Yeah....

As I was sitting there, I was a little irked with the clock. It was one of those ones that ticked very loudly and seemed to get even louder as you were getting more annoyed. This explained a lot about my slight obsessive controlling or whatever, but as I furiously glared at the thing, I wanted it to stop. And it wouldn't unless I threw it at a wall or something. Of course, that shouldn't happen. Apparently throwing things at walls were "violent" and "not tolerated in this household" Yeah, like if I were to chuck an alarm clock at the wall, my parents would do anything. They'd probably start crying or something, and I'd go back to my little room and do something counterproductive.

Oh, counterproductivity. I liked it, on occasion. Sure, it usually happened when I was somewhat impatient with the world, and finally just gave in and flopped onto bed, running my fingers through my hair. Other times, it would be just me pacing the room, (usually stoned, but it depended, honestly) trying to find an object I subconciously knew I threw away two weeks ago. When I finally had indeed, checked every crevice of the room, I would then reorganize the books on the shelf (the ones that were old and really only there to look classy, yes.) And then go back, and do step number one. Hell, I do like my hair, if you ask me. Especially the bangs. With the little piecy pieces of hair. Well, that just sounded.... Oddly structured.

With some form of intrigue towards the days events, I began to recap something in my mind. Today we were delivering. Well, I was more so, with Nichole trailing behind. She knew the conditions I had set down for her. And if she didn't want to follow through, she could wait another year if she wanted to. Her choice. Sure, it may be awkward after that, but who really cared? We were usually high half the time we were with eachother and the other half we were pestering eachother with things we knew we hated. I usually held the fact that she couldn't sell things and she liked to mock me about my flat nose or "Weldon Morris Haircut" Dammit, I love my haircut. She really needs to get over it.

As I finally just untwisted my fingers from the edge of my hair, I finally just got up and looked at the room. It had been painted a light beige so many years ago, that I couldn't quite remember. Well, a few brain cells may of been lost recently, so it could of been done in the last two years, if I really haven't been paying attention since. Sure, I may have some observation skills, but that green stuff ain't gonna help your intellect, thank you very much.

As I finally decided to emerge from my hole in the wall of a room, I pushed out the doorframe and slowly entered the hallway, somewhat cautious if someone were to see me. Well, yeah. Paranoia. I am paranoid. I get it. And with that, I stride past the normal room and prop open the door. For fresh air, of course.

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[Hayley]

Nichole Anders

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The soft breeze whips my light blonde hair behind me. God, I can see everything from up here. There's the "Justice" Building, the town square, and the market. Everthing. I like it better up here, perched in my tree, than at my house. 

Of course no one's out here yet. I'm not that stupid. Maybe for once the damned Peacekeepers decided to give everyone a day o-- damn, nevermind. I forgot I was at the back of the orchard. Right now I can see the workers walking in. Being only sixteen, I usually only come in on weekends. Sometimes. Usually I go get stoned with Nate. Sometimes we even get wasted. 

I like getting high. The world is full of pretty colors. The apples are too red, the sky is too blue, and the trees are too green. I don't really mind. My life is a whole lot better when I'm high and/or drunk. There's no crazy family, sick brother, or annoying best friend. God, Nate really is annoying, isn't he? Sometimes I only think I'm with him because he occasionally gives me a discount. Of course, there is that other option. 

Actually, I've been thinking a lot about that option for a little while now. Would it really be so bad to have sex with Natey? It would probably be really awkward afterwards, but I've heard he's pretty good. But it would be really awkward. But I want to sell so badly. I need the money and so do my parents. Okay, so mostly me. Yeah, like I'd actually give away my own money. 

Then it hits me. He was supposed to take me on deliveries today. Damn it, I need to get out of this tree. Before I hop down, I pop a few apples into my burlap sack. What? It's not like anyone's going to notice that they're gone. As soon as my feet hit theground with a thump, I take off running, the sack flappin behind me. Finally, I hurdle over a row of bushes, and I'm out of the field. 

About ten minutes after running out of the orchard, I quit running. Nate's house really wasn't all that far from where I had been, so I was approaching his house quickly. I try to quiet my heavy breathing, but it's difficult considering I just sprinted over a mile. Soon the little one floor thing comes into view. Our homes really were about the same size, but mine always feels a bit smaller and more crowded with an extra sibling. There was no telling where his brothers were at the moment, but they were most likely not home. His parents probably were, though. Good, let them hear us.

Going through the front door isn't an option considering his parents hate me. Like seriously, they hate me. Every time I'm at his house while they're there, I get glared at constantly. That's why I usually wait until they're asleep at night to waltz in. Today, I don't feel like waiting. Hey, sometimes I don't feel like getting The Glare of Death more than I need it. Nate's window is usually open. I'm not sure if it's for me or one of his prostitutes, ahem, girlfriends, but I could really care less. I dig my hands on the dirty bottom of his window to find some purchase. My hands finally wrap around the handle and pull the grimy square window up and open. 

I poke my head into his room. There's his bed in the corner, the dresser on the wall, and the table on the other wall. The only problem is that there's no Nate. That could actually be considered a godsent, but I digress. Where could he be? It's not like he has any friends other than me. Of course, he could always be having sex behind a bush somewhere. Or he could-- oh, hell no. He went on the delivery without me! I'm going to kill that short little bastard. No, I can't kill him. Then I won't have a supplier. I can just get revenge. 

Pulling m head out of the window, I stick my leg through instead and pull myself through. I stumble a little at the end because my ankle caught on the frame. It's okay, though, because I fall right into his dresser. Ah, the dresser. The idiot keeps his main supply with his underwear. I pull the knob towards my stomach and open the mahogany drawer. Swiftly, I ransack said drawer. Let's see, tidy whities, boxers... and a pair of panties. Wow, Nate. Just... wow. Ah, here we go. It's good that he's so OCD because he keeps all the pot in these little bags. I snatch one of the bags ou of the drawer and grab a lighter and pipe off the top of the dresser. 

Now I need to figure out where to do it from. His floor is covered with random crap, and I hate smoking standing up. Oh, I can smoke off of his bed. It's relatively cleaner than the rest of the room. Without another thought, I pull the ratty blanket off the bed, exposing the old sheets. Placing the bag on the mattress, I lower myself onto it and sit cross-legged. The bag makes a snapping noise as I open it and push marijuana into the pipe. With the lighter, I light the end of it and stick it in my mouth tasting sweet free revenge.

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[peanutpie]

I used to wear you like a ball and chain
I'd run and hide at the call of my name
It was obvious
You were too much for me
Oblivious

I liked cleanliness. I honestly enjoyed it, which is why I was quite annoyed by the current state of my bedroom. So when I finally let some air into the house, I looked around the living room, which was in it's usual state of dissarray. Mom and Dad liked to be outside, doing who-knows-what. Sure, they loved me, but I didn't have to nessicarily know what they were doing constantly. Mostly because I don't really care about them. They really know to leave me alone a majority of the time. I guess this was a good thing, but it usually left me alone with a house that was really quite askew. And I had to organize it, of course. The blanket on the bench needed to be folded, and the ottamen to the sofa must be straight and aligned to the television in such a way that my little sister could watch the hunger games and experience all the death and gore that went with it in a calm and stoic state. Yeah, she's kinda of a sadist. I perfer to hole myself up in my room and talk to Nichole when I can.

So as I finally organized my little column of the living room, making sure that everything was perfect, I strolled into the sanitary kitchen, running my fingers over the smooth, white tiles of the kitchen countertops. Mom fussed over them being clean. And sometimes, I'd dab out things with them. Like marijuana. Yeah, I'd stab out a joint on the precious countertops. Mom probably would notice the smell at one point, and Dad would be consulted, but they'd just assume it was a mishap with something and not blame their POOR innocent little Nate. I like to think that they accept this type of reality that I am perfect because of how I isolate myself from them. Well, not on purpose, of course. I'm just too busy with drugs and sex, is all. And organizing obsessivley, as some people would point out.

I ran my fingers on the kitchen countertops, and then opened the cubbard above the stovetop, grabbing a wilted apple from a basket in the top. It was a bit old and chewy, but I guessed I'd eat it anyway. It was getting moldy, and if I cut off the skin, maybe I could throw it away if I didn't like it. And eat the skin, or save it for frying or something. Out of habit, I shone the apple on my shirt, twirling on the heel of my shoe before hightailing it back to my room, my feet clacking against the floors, which were an odd combonation of carpet and wood, something that was fairly odd to find in my district, since most people had wood all the way through.

With some form of wondering, I strolled across the room and precariously opened the door to my room, only to find Nichole sitting crosslegged on my bed, with the sheets thrown to the honestly, and to my regret, dirty floor. Of course, Nichole snuck in and was smoking some of the marijuana in my underwear drawer storage. I didn't understand the girls logic sometimes, with all the stealing and rapturing of the products in my underwear drawer. For all she knew, there could of been hands of dead people or something, and she goes ramshakling through the drawers. I just eyed the girl, trying to find some wondering in my gaze. She had blonde hair and was quite pretty, and as I would usually think, I suddenly had an idea. Well, with our pact we made, I kind of eyed her and blinked.

I'd known Nichole ever since I was five and loved her like a sister.... Well, if I wanted to make a pact with a sister that before she turned seventeen and wanted to sell any drug with me, she'd need to... Well... Yeah.... I'm sorry, but the talk of sex sometimes freaks me out. Especially with my best friend.... Yeah, a little awkward.

When I went into the room, and stood there and looked at her for a few seconds before finally releasing my anger.

[/size]"NICHOLE. How many times have I had to tell you not to touch my underwear drawer supply? That's for fucking emergencies ONLY." I gave her the evil eye as I paced through the room, throwing the blanket back onto the bed. A book was thrown back onto the shelf, falling in a dust cloud. Two worthless pieces of paper were shoved into a trash bag that I had positioned against the wall for a particular reason that I couldn't remember.

"Really, Nichole. You need to pay me back. For the amount of drugs you used. I would usually suggest double for going without payment, but you're my friend, so I'd request normal payment." I shoved a few blankets into the closet before slamming it against the closetframe, making a loud smacking noise that was usually wood against wood. I hated that sound, but I didn't like noises, usually. I perferred the silence of smoking something against your lips or the awkward conversations of people and myself. The little silences, of course, but not other ones.

I continued on my little obsessive rant about the virtues of paying back things. "It's not fair. It's considered stealing. Against the law, Nichole. It's against the law. And you don't want to be reported for doing something against the law. And if you don't want to pay me.... Well, maybe there could be other payment for things..." Of course, this had been something that had been on my tounge ever since I saw her talking, but it would be something you'd try to slip between the cracks of your words. The awkward things that you want to get out quickly before turning around and literally slamming your hand to your forehead. Ouch.
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[Hayley]

I really like Nate. He's like an older brother that's not sick but has an odd haircut and is extremely short for his age (I can't help insulting him, okay? He makes it too easy for me). But you know, he's alright for the most part. He'z always been good to me. Well, for the most part. It was pretty much up to when he found the drugs. Before that he'd always been addicted to sex, but he never asked me to do it with him. Hey, at least he aaked. Most guys would have just gone "Rape! Rape!". Natey also supplies me with my drugs. And think that's why I like him now because he's been a real bitch lately. 

Im sort of suprised when he comes in. Still was I sitting on his bed smoking the pipe. It had started to go out, though, and I was contemplating if I should put more in and go again. Then his little midget frame appears in the doorway. God, he's short. I'm actually pretty suprised. I thought he was long gone. Pinching the pipe between my index finger and thumb, I pull it from my mouth and look at him. Nate starts screaming at me about how I'm not supposed to touch the drugs in his underwear drawer because they're for emergencies, or some shit like that. Gosh, dude. Calm the fuck down. It's not that big of a deal. He gives me the evil eye as he walks over towards me. 

He throws the ratty blanket back on the bed around me with his tiny little boy hands. A book is thrown back on the shelf and some paper is thrown in the trash bag that's nailed to the wall.  "Really, Nichole. You need to pay me back. For the amount of drugs you used. I would usually suggest double for going without payment, but you're my friend, so I'd request normal payment."Now I'm starting to wonder if he's high too. He just said "pay" or "payment" three times. This is funny to me. 

Speaking of being high, I'm starting to feel the effects of that stuff right about now. The smell of the room was beginning to hit me, and the furniture starting to look angular and kin of popped off the beige walls. I remember the first time I took this stiff, it took me three rounds to start to feel this. I like only hainge to do it once now because its cheaper and I get more time to have fun with it. Waaaait, what was I talking about? Oh yeah. 

Alright, he'll get his other payment if he wants it. I set the smoldering pipe down on his bed and unfurl my legs. They swing off the edge of the bed before I stand up. My long legs carry me over to midget Nate and I look down at him. "Other payment, eh? Alright, I can get with it." I lean down and press my lips against his. The kiss tastes of marijuana and suprise, but no matter. I pull my face away from his and look staight into his green eyes. My fingers curl around the front of his shirt as I whisper, "So, about that other payment..." With that, my grip tightens and Nate is sent flying backwards about a foot or two. I turn around and walk back over to the window. Picking up my sack of apples, I exit the window the way I came in without banging my head or my leg catching on the frame. I take a few steps away, swinging my bag behind me. As an afterthought, I walk back towards his window and stick my head back through. "Are we going to deliver, or what?"

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[peanutpie]

Just fed a duck a weed brownie. It hasn't moved in like twenty minutes.

I've been called a whore, yes. A manwhore, to boot, I've been deemed. One of the most calculatulating thoughts, you could call me someone who is slutty. I know, sad term, but true. I like my sex. And drugs. And whatever.

But still. I like to think of myself of control of my life. Of the people around me, of the things I sell, of pretty much anything that concerned my person. I didn't care if it was anything for me. I really didn't care. And with that, when my best friend pressed her lips to mine, I probably had a spazz attack in my obsessive compulsive little mind.

Well, more of an OH.MY.GODITSFINALLYHAPPEEEENNIINNNGGGGG moment. Well, of course. If you've been begging your best friend to sublimially have sex with you, you'd probably be pretty damn happy about a kiss. But, no. My relief was cut off just as the moment that she kissed me, jerked away and said something very hurtful to me. Of course, I probably wanted to break down crying at that moment, but I knew I couldn't. I musn't cry in front of someone who just kissed me. I musn't. And, to top it all off, I wanted to finish this cleaning, and I was frustrated.

Thats when I started digging through the bottom of the room, setting up things against the wall. Each item that clacked against the shelves made me more agitatated with the state that my relationship with my best friend (I was kind of hoping for the friends with benefiets thing, but that'd been thrown down the toilet.) But as I threw another item onto a shelf, running my hands over the top of a book and then slamming one of my jackets to the bottom of the closet. A wire hanger was tossed to the ground dramatically and pretty soon I was cleaning up even more of a mess. Well, if you really think about it, it wasn't a mess. Just more of a disorganized clutter.

.....My mind was pretty much that at that moment. Stupid smoke from Nichole's marajuana was starting to get to my head. Stupid backsmoke. It had a proper term that really couldn't work. And with that, I was just DONE. I was about ready to take the fucking weed out of her hand and tell her to go die in a hole.

And in fact, by throwing my sweatshirt at her, this could be told.

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[Hayley]

With all the crap I just put in my system, it's no wonder that my thoughts are getting sort of clouded. Marijuana does that to you sometimes, you know. And if my eyes aren't deceiving me, Natey looks like he is about to start crying. Now why would he do that? I mean, I know he really wants to do it with me because I'm that awesome, but at leaat I kissed him. That's better than nothing. Although that could be the drugs speaking. 

I just don't see why he would be about to cry. If I was in his position I'd be jumping for joy. Yay, progress! Well, maybe. I don't know if it is or not. It was really just a spur of the moment thing I did without thinking. It was probably pot induced. But whatever. He's seriously frustrated now. At least he looks like it. As of now, my best friend is storming through his room cleaning. He is the only teenage boy I know that enjoys cleaning, but it looks compulsive. 

In the midst of this rummaging, a ratty old grey sweatshirt is thrown in my direction. It hits my face and reeks of not being washed. "Dude, gross!" I throw the sweatshirt back on the floor of his room and come back in they way I have been for so long now: through the window. "What do you want from me, Nate?" I say as I lean against the frame of the window. I bend down and pick up the sweatshirt and walk over the the dresser. Pulling open one of the drawers, I drop it in there. "That's probably a stupid question." I roll my eyes and walk over to where he's standing and stand in front of him again. 

"But seriously, what do you want to be? Girlfriend and boyfriend? Friends with benefits? Sex buddies? Come on, give me something." I turn around and grab his hands. With my hands, I wrap his arms around my waist. "Is this what you want?" I sway a little but with his scrawny arms around me before turning back around. My hands lay on his shoulder and I lay my lips upon his again. "Or what about that?" God, I need to lay off of this stuff.

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[peanutpie]

I'm known for taking what I think I deserve, but you're overdue.

Nate was a bit irritated by his friend. She was a bitch, at times, he knew this. Why he even tolerated this bitchy, inexcusable behavior he did not know. Oh yeah. 'Hormones' or whatever. Stupid Nichole. Stupid hormones. Stupid world in general, I guess. Stupid Nate. The world was pretty much the stupidest thing at the moment in his grey-blue eyes. Of course, he would probably, if he was really being blunt, would probably chant "SEXSEXSEXSEXSEX" reptitivley (and annoyingly, much to most peoples despair)

But no. For no apparent reason, Nate Hayes was going to spiral into being an emotional wreck. Well, especially when she kissed him for the second time. And Nate, with huge eyes, looked at her and tried to push words between his teeth. Of course, this wasn't going to happen. Nate Hayes wasn't going to speak anything until he could whimper out something that was coherent. Finally, Nate just threw his hands into his face and mumbled something that sounded like "Whatever."

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(((OOC: He hates me more than Dolly. This is sad.)))

[Hayley]

Did he just "whatever" me? Nobody "whatever"'s me. I'm Nichole freaking Anders! And there is no way in hell that I'm letting this scrawny ass bastard be the first person in histroy to "whatever" me. Then again, he is my best friend and I love him like a bro. He's been there for me for the most part, so would it really be the best idea to rip his face off? Most likely the answer is no. I still want to get back at him though, and I know exactly how to do it.

See, Nate has this weakness. That weakness would be females. If it has lady bits, he's all over it. Guess what? I have lady bits! No shit. Nate's a sex addict, and there are ways to mess with that addiction like how I'm about to do now. Really, it's a brilliant idea. It will just be interesting to see how far I have to take it.

"Whatever? That's it? I think that deserves a little more than 'whatever.'" My tone softens and so does my usually fierce expression. If you believe it, he will, too. I lay a single finger on his bony shoulder. "Come on, Natey. I love you." There, I finally said it. Does he believe me now? My voice turns slightly seductive. "And besides," My hand is on his chest now and is gently pushing him back, "you know what I want." My lips curve up in a smile as we finally reach his bed and I gently push him back onto it.

We all know that I'm the stronger one, but I decide to give him a bit of power, a little bit of dignity and masculinity. As I sit down on the bed, I pull him back up to where we're both eye level and kiss him again. After a moment, I open my mouth slightly and my marijuana breath fills his mouth. Oh god, he tastes good. Maybe this is what I want. Maybe this would be best. Soon it turns into a full make out session. My hands find his hips and I run my hands up his shirt and over his ribs and back. Yeah, having sex with Nate wouldn't be too bad. Sex period can't be too bad. Especially when I get to get that extra moeny from selling and this really awesome feeling. Yeah, this couldn't be too bad.

But when I feel his fingers inching up my leg, I stop short. I stop kissing him and I stop rubbing my hands over his body. No, I don't want this. It's the marijuana that's making me want this. It's what's making me do this. "No," I whisper, not wanting him or myself to hear.