War of Hormones :: (Taggerty Eames) [OPEN]

[L△LIA]

after winning a war of hormones
i’ll do some research
your existence is against the rules

I'm going to puke, I'm literally just going to puke all over everything. Not kidding around here. "Ohhhhh —" Breathe, Taggerty. "— myyyyy —" In. Out. Repeat. "— God." I don't really know how my teasing Caly about her annoyingly cute frienemy Nino Ripley turned into me being set up on a blind date. She might be tied with Thea as my all-time best friend slash favorite person in the world, but I'll admit that doesn't mean it's automatically my place to be telling her that the world won't end if she gives up to my goading and flirts with a guy. It's been a while since Eye died and I don't think she's ever really going to get over what happened with him. My prodding was an innocent suggestion, I swear — Ripred knows I'd be the first person to confess to having dubious intentions.

Yet here I am: Sitting in a cute little cafe, a party of one at a table for two. My hair is the usual hot mess of curls on curls on curls and there are probably early onset wrinkles in my forehead from the brutal expression of panic that refuses to leave my face, but I'm wearing a ridiculous flippy skirt of Caly's that she swears possesses the singular ability to compensate for my every flaw. Mostly I think the skirt is girly to the extreme and short enough to make me so. Freaking. Uncomfortable. Icannotevensojuststoprightthere. Excuse you. The end result is that I look about seventy percent actual teenage girl and thirty percent uncontrollable, undisguiseable, uncooperative... me.

I am waaaaaaiiiiiitttttiiiiiinnnnnggggg (oh so patiently).

Thank god Bast and Icarus aren't here to witness this, because impossible hero crushes aside, my current fidgeting scores record-breakingly low on the Taggerty Eames Scale of Badassery. A quiet thump thump thump echoes through the air as I bang my forehead against the table — mulling over my regret at letting Caly con me into this hilarious joke of a set-up — until the waiter comes by to give me a glass of water and a crazy intense side-eye while I wait. I'm being stood up, I just know it. Still, I rally like a champ and lift my head up as if I actually take pride in being well-behaved and ladylike, instead of the exact opposite. Danger and adrenaline might be what my daydreams are made of, but jumping off a ten story building is nowhere near as scary as trying to figure out how to make small talk with some guy I've never even met. If he even shows up, that is.

Until then (or forever at this point, let's be honest, hello) I begin using my drinking straw to fish around in my water glass, pulling out ice chips and casually trying to fling them into the gaping pockets of the waiter's apron every time he makes the mistake of bending over within my tossing radius. It's amusing enough that I forget what I'm doing here until a voice that distinctly does not belong to one of the peeved wait staff breaks me out of my hyper-focused shenanigans and reminds me of what I'm doing here: Oh right! I was debating the pros and cons of puking in public. Back to that then.

[charade]

Sustenance. I require something to eat. Now. A small cafe that I’ve gone to a few times catches my eye and I make a beeline for it. I suppose that I’m a tad overdressed for it, seeing as how I’m wearing a nice button up and dress pants, but Grandfather insists that I look my best whenever I step out as I have to set an example for my younger brothers. I will be the man of the house when he passes and it is never too early to start. It makes perfect sense, but I admit, some days I am aggravated by my station.

I’ve always been a fan of cafes. Any small eatery really. Its very personable. Small tight knit staff, humble decor, and pleasant food at pleasant prices. It’s not as full as I thought it would be, but I suppose most people are off in the larger establishments; the ones that offer large screens with which to watch the hunger games. A waiter ushers me in, but I choose to stay standing and peruse the menu instead of sitting down, casting an appraising look around the cafe. The only person that stands out is a pretty curly-haired brunette off by herself.

And someone has stood her up. How can I tell? Why else would a lone girl be sitting at a table for two, idly throwing ice chips with a strange look on her face. The doldrums. I find myself wondering who would leave such a captivating vision to sit as the tickticktick of the clock carries on like the turn of the seasons. Or worse, I wonder if this boy is not running late and has simply chosen not to appear. If there’s one thing I do not approve of, it is people who do not keep their promises. I think I’ll talk to her. I know that if I was sitting in this fine establishment alone, I’d want someone to strike up a conversation, if only to break up the monotony.

She looks bored, and seeing as how I have nothing better to do, what would the harm be in saying hello? The worst she can do is ignore me or tell me to leave. Perhaps I should offer to buy her food? What would grandfather say about this situation? What words of wisdom would he fill my head with? I believe this calls for a compliment. It is the only way to somewhat show that I mean her no ill will and maybe cheer her up. Manners are everything. I approach her table a smile and a flourish extending my hand out with a twirl and inclining my head slightly. “Who is this flower growing among the weeds? I am Leo, who might you be?”

I curse silently in my head because that came out as a rhyme. I’m trying to be polite, but that might have been laying on a little thick. Regardless, I find myself inexorably drawn in. There is something about her that continues to keep my attention. It could be the eye-catching dress, or it could be the way the curls on top her head refuse to stay still. Or it could be her eyes.


It's usually the eyes.

[L△LIA]

i approach like a petal
i burrow like a thorn
aiming at your heart
d a n g e r

Caly is so totally pissed at me and connecting that realization with the guy standing in front of me is so hilarious I could just about fall out of my chair and die on the spot. "Who is this flower growing among the weeds?" I forget what oxygen is and choke on the sudden lack of air, my face twitching with the kind of confusion that is usually reserved for people attempting to speak to each other in two entirely different languages. Was that a compliment or is he tripping on something? I need a translator. I obviously have no idea what he's saying or maybe this is a sign of the apocalypse or maybe I'm literally a freak with petals growing out of the side of my face and w-o-w there's never a mirror around when you need one, but I bet Caly carries a cute little compact around with her for situations like this one, like an actual girl should and — "I am Leo, who might you be?"

I make a desperate grab for my water glass and take a gulp to buy myself another moment of time wherein I'm not expected to talk and pretend to be a coherent human being. My clumsiness gets the best of me though and I wind up sloshing a little down my face and into my lap as I tip it back, which — let's be honest now — is a far more accurate introduction to me than my name. "Tags," I finally yelp out with an awkward, slightly watery smile as I gracelessly dry my chin off with the cuff of my sleeve. Overcompensation rages in the tugged up corners of my lips and I feel myself being crowned Queen of Why, Oh Taggery, Why?! (What an honor! I really couldn't have done this by myself. I'd like to thank Bast for constantly reminding me that I am a doofy, ridiculous child and my brothers for giving me an immaturity-complex and — of course! — Calypso Leto for arranging today's royal achievement of failure, without which I might never have gained this impressive title!) "My name is Taggerty Eames, I mean, but everybody calls me Tags. Just Tags. It's kind of a weird nickname, I guess, but..." Abrupt silence falls out of my mouth in a way that is borderline extravagant.

"You look really nice." My eyebrows have shot halfway up my forehead in shock and I swear I can hear Caly cackling with mad laughter from a mile away, rolling around on the ground until she hyperventilates and coughs up her own lungs onto the carpet of her bedroom floor. Seriously. That kind of laughter. There's a twitch of guilt in my chest for him, because I mean it, he really, really does look so freaking nice. "Like, the nicest." And that's what's so hilarious and how I know Caly is obviously raging with anger at me, because in what world would my best friend set me up with a nice boy? Me, the girl who thinks guys look better wearing black eyes than black suits, swooning over stories of bank heists and drug deals and secret code names of ULTIMATE DANGER?! Uhhhhhh, yeah. My best friend would absolutely never do that... not unless she almost-hated me, probably.

Belatedly, I realize that I've left his hand hanging unaccepted in the air and reach out to shake it with both hands over-enthusiastically clasped around his, like the total weirdo that I am. In the rush, I almost knock my water glass over as my curls haphazardly leap forward to sneak-attack my face while they think I'm not looking. Twirly bastards. "You should sit! We can eat and talk about our favorite colors and all that, right?" I think that's how this is supposed to work, but oh my god, like I know. I offer him another smile, the awkward kind that maybe looks like an actual smile but also maybe looks like I am a serial killer who doesn't quite understand how displays of emotion are supposed to work. Fingers crossed it's the first one and —

What. Waitaminute. Since when does Taggerty Eames cross her fingers in hopes of sanity?!

Somewhere in the distance, Caly is definitely shoving her lungs back down her throat, just so she can laugh so hard that she coughs them up a second time. I swear, I'm gonna kill that girl if she doesn't asphyxiate on her own giggles first.