Being Nice is so Overrated

[François Laffont]

Franck had come to a conclusion. He was a doormat. Somehow, he thought that he should feel worse than this now that he knew it. It did came as some sort of epiphany, hit him right in the face and left him speechless and all. Yet he was barely reacting now that the shock was passed. He really let it happen. People had been able to use him as much as they did because he let them. He couldn’t bring himself to say no. He tried to reason Frank and gave up, he swore he would not help Scott and he did. The list was endless. And all of this because he was too good. Well, that had to change.

He didn't intend to become rebellious or to start insulting people. But he wouldn’t let them do of him as they pleased. He needed to be selfish a little, to think about what he wanted for a change. But what did he want? Franck had defined himself so much through his friends that it seemed almost impossible for him to think of himself as an individual and focus on his need alone.

He thought that maybe he could start with small desires, as if going out to the mall, on his own, proved his independence and everything. It only proved he could go to the mall on his own. Not an exploit for an eighteen year old boy. And since he had nothing to do there really, he just wandered around. He ended up buying some pastry and sat on one of the many benches they placed around the mall. Pulling out his MP3 player, he went through his music until he found the one he was looking for. Stromae. He really loved his music. Once he got it, he pulled the earphones and put one on, letting the other dangle. Was that being independent, to eat pastry while listening to music, because you chose to? Suddenly, doing things the selfish way didn’t sound as amusing as it was.


OoC: In case you want to know what Stromae's music sounds like, here's a link

[Lucas Shepard]

Shep was really regretting come to the mall. Whenever he asked where the Vineyard Vines everyone cocked their head and asked if it was a liquor store. To make matters worse, Polo was worn only in orange and as a sign of wealth, or as wealthy as backwoods Montanans hillbilly's were. The frustrated teenager had finally accepted that he was nowhere near civilization. Besides, which well established mall ever came with a hotel attached?

Instead of getting clothes or accessories (the urge to resists Claire's was strong indeed), Shep found the one place he loved best and could find anywhere: the liquor store. It was one of those hole-in-the-wall local businesses that served lots of local microbrews and the finest wine a place like Kalipsell could offer. So Shep got the one thing he can'd live without: kegs.

Now triumphant, Shep was leaving the mall with his loot in hand. He rolled his three barrels of beer using a moving dolly to the exit, where ever that was. Precariously stacked, one wrong move and they would all come falling-BAM. Thrown to the ground the kegs started rolling away as Shep hit, clanging that hollow sound as the booze moved with it. He turned onto his back and cursed. What did he run into? Who did he run into? Wait, was he even paying attention when he was walking?

Getting his bearings, Shep looked around to see who he hit. Shit it was Francois. Shep remembered this guy. Laffont was one of Bellefonte's resident gay boys and even worse an empath. Fuck, fuck, fuck, the last thing he needed was for his "half homo" to come accidentally and Laffont to spill his secret. Taking a lesson from Elsa he did his best to conceal don't feel and that meant him being an ass.

"Watch where you're going!" Shep shouted rudely. "That's four hundred dollars worth of beer there!"

[François Laffont]

Franck couldn’t say he wandered around aimlessly, just begging to be run into. He was sitting there, listening to music while eating a pastry that proved to look better than it tasted. It was a real problem with pastries you bought from anywhere but a good patisserie, the dough was often too dry, like this one. He didn't even have some nice filling to counterbalance. But he bought it and didn’t want to just toss it in the nearest garbage so he was eating the damn thing. And when he extended his legs a little, someone ran into him.

It hurt, like, a lot. That guy just rolled on his feet with his dolly. His legs twisted to follow the movement making François fall off the bench. Luckily he wasn’t too injured. That is, he doubted he’d need to go to the hospital or something. He looked up and recognized the face yet couldn’t quite put a name on it. If he recognized him however, Franck assumed he was from Bellefonte. Not like he cared too much for now. Even his MP3 player blasting French music for anyone nearby to hear didn’t matter to him, he was too busy massaging his legs and feelings his toes, in case one decided to fall off or something. It really was a good thing he barely rolled over him but that still caused a bit of an accident and a few people to stare.

He stopped rubbing his legs when he heard his voice however. He didn’t bother to ask if he was alright or anything, he went straight to yelling at him, as if it was his damn fault! “I was not moving, you should have checked,” he replied on a defensive tone. He didn't get why he was so hostile towards him. He groaned as he tried to sit back on the bench. Why was Shep so angry at him, he couldn’t tell. He never thought the guy was so an ass. “You run into me but all you care about is your booze? What you need four hundred dollars worth of beer for anyway?”