Party in your Bedroom!

Log Info

Title: Party in your Bedroom (Or: Why Sunday Should Not Be Allowed To Name Logs)
Emitter: None
Characters: Ian and Sunday.
Place: Rider Hall, Sunday's room
Time: Monday, May 17th, 2010
Summary: Ian comes to visit an unsuspecting Sunday, and a new friendship is officially declared.

o/~ There's a party in your bedroom, ALL-NIGHT-LONG! There's a lot of talk about yoooooooooooooooou! o/~
It's Monday night, which is never a good thing for a teenager in school. It means you've just been back to class, after what was hopefully an awesome weekend, and you now have a whole week of boring looming before you. So what's the best way to combat this? Why, with DANCING, that's what! So Sunday Knight, never being one to let the blahs set in for too long, abandoned her homework about half an hour ago and turned on her radio to the local popular Pop music station, plugging in her Mix Style headphones (the pink, ear-covering kind with the black star on each side) so she can blast the volume to unhealthy levels without bothering anyone. Some incepid electronic pop crap is playing at the moment, and it's just what Sunny feels she needs, the infectous beat of the music promping her to bounce around, circling this way and that (always mindful of the long wire connecting her to the stereo) and dancing about in place. Not very well-practiced dancing, just an expression of enthusiasm for the beat. Nothing like what she is capable of if she tries. Before she started dancing around like a mad woman, it had occured to her that she would never be able to hear the door if somebody knocked, so she opened it just a tad (not enough to see in) and put a post-it on the outside saying 'Just Come In'. She may very well live to regret that.
o/~ There's a party in your bedroom, all night long! Pretty girl, it's your show, let it go when you're alone! Lips sealed tight, don't say goodnight! o/~

Knock. Knock. Yeah, for one with the supposed senses of a wolf, Ian actually tries knocking before noticing the post it on the wall. Almost sheepishly the door slides open a tad, revealing … well, a crazy dancing woman to the young man! He watches for a long moment, blinking once or twice almost as if disbelieving. With her music so loud, he is able to catch stray notes, and almost ironically, he begins to bounce his head as if he were too cool to actually dance. It's only momentary though, before he flashes a peace sign at the girl. A moment later there's a: "Yo," as soon as she lowers the headphones. "Nice moves, Superstar. Getting ready for 'So You Think You Can Dance'?" It's only slightly teasing as he offers his hands for a handshake - or five- or what have you. "Thought'd I'd come by to see what you are up to. Though all things considered, this isn't the worst thing I coulda walked into."

Oh. Shite. Sunday nearly trips over herself when she notices her door has been opened and who has come through it, though.. well.. hell. What's she gonna do?? Damage is done! So instead of acting all cool in the moment, Sunny just grabs the headphone jack and yanks it out, the last of the Cash Cash song blasting through her room. She does, at least, take the care to turn it down a bit so as to not disrupt the whole hall. "Hi Ian!" she calls over the music, holding the headphone chord in one hand as she twirls around and dances to the end of the song, bouncing over in his direction. She's not a bump-and-grind kinda gal, but when he sticks out his hand she does grab hold of it and twirl herself under his arm.
o/~ Upstairs all alone! One click for a show! Your roof is on fire, you're loosing control! o/~
Sunday sings along with the lyrics loudly, even air-guitaring to one portion and thrashing her blonde hair around wildly, arms kicked up into the air, before the whole thing ends and Sunday jogs over to her stereo to turn the music waaaaay down, cheeks flushed as much from embarassment as from the exhertion of dancing around so wildly. "I would kick butt on that show, but sadly, I don't wanna be pegged as the R&B type. I like playing my guitar too much," she responds somewhat breathlessly to his question, beaming a smile while she smooths down her shirt. "Hi! I heard you got into it last night. You look okay though. You just come by to chat?" At the last question, she arches a brow slightly, as if she finds that idea somewhat unusual or perhaps confusing. He's never really come knocking at her door before, and the only time they've met on purpose has been when she wanted to make sure Miranda was okay. So… Yeah. This seems just a tad unusual to her. Not unwelcomed, just unusual.

"Oh, you and your image conscious self. You could always be a cross over star," Ian supplies as he settles on the floor, by the wall. Getting comfortable and looking at the bleached blonde, Ian tilts his head, almost regarding her words. Yesterday? "Unavoidable." Well okay, maybe it was, but not in his eyes. "Same dicks who gave Miranda bloody ears were back on her. I wasn't about to allow a Three-on-one. They were a lot less confident when it became even odds. Another kid - Grayson I think it was, though he was all dudded out as if he was a crimefighter, he stepped in too." Ian actually winces a moment, "Took a staff to the balls of the leader of the bullies." The seniors all got dention, while Ian and the rest ended up with just curfew to their room. "Anyway, yeah. I hadn't seen you in a half century, so I thought I'd come chat it up. Why? Your schedule booked with rehersals? Need I apply as a backup dancer to get a few minutes." There's a moment's wink before he settles in. "Kidding really. Just haven't seen you around nearly as much. I got a little worried."

Sunday's expression darkens as he mentions the return of the bullies who hurt Miranda before, wandering over to where Ian has chosen to sit and pressing her back to the same wall, sliding down it to settle in beside him. Idly, her foot reaches over to kick her door more shut, though it still does not latch. Just enough to avoid people looking in. She hates that. The problem with being an only child - she's a little obsessed with some aspects of her privacy. "Well I'm glad you guys fixed them. Never heard of this Grayson kid.. But I'll remember to shake his hand when I meet him." She crosses one ankle over the other, legs extended out infront of her, and turns her head to regard him with a light smirk. "It's been a week, Ian. Don't be a dork - of course you don't have to schedule time if you wanna come see me. I just.. didn't know we were, y'know.." She shrugs. Friends? In the kind of relationship state that they had to see each other on a regular basis? "Worried?" She smiles, this time not looking as if she's readying to make fun. "I don't know why. Not much trouble I can get into, holed up in my room with my music. That's nice of you, though.. I don't mean to act like it's not." The soft, friendly expression melts easily into something a little more amused as she can't help but add, "But I'm not the one with admirers beating down my door, or rescuing maidens in distress on a weekly basis. I'm the boring one, remember?"

"I wouldn't say fixed. Security came before things got real. But they tried to give us a lick, and we gave them better for a few rounds. Enough at least to give 'em pause next time they see Miranda. 'course now I'm sure I got a target on my back. But.." He shrugs lightly, taking note at the door closing. He had a twin, so privacy was a bit less a concern during his childhood. Still, he wasn't about to begrudge, instead letting his head fall back against the wall. "Friends?" He supplies, tilting his head over to take her in with a look. "I figured that the fact you know some o' my secrets gave in to that. I'm not the most share share in the world. Plus, who else can I chill with like this?" Friend worked well, without any care whether to read much more into it. At least on Ian's side. If Sunday felt differently… "Unless I'm seeing this the wrong way." Equal parts teasing and serious, all without judgement for now. "Well I don't know," about the trouble thing. "Perhaps you got into Detention for starting a hunger strike or something. I don't know! After all there was murmurings of talks about band not that long ago." As for the last bit. That actually brings a chuckle outright. "I doubt I'm the knight in shining anyway. Metal chafes after all. Plus, slaying dragons takes time. Much rather play guitar or nap or something."

However he wants to put it, Sunday accepts it with a nod, though she does look somewhat concerned at the idea that now he's going to be looked at as a target. Still, she can offer nothing on that account - just the hope that he's wrong, for his own sake, as Sunday is very certain he wouldn't like even the attention, let alone the hassle. Her expression becomes somewhat sheepish as he fills in the blank, maybe twinged with a bit of guilt, and when he asks if he's got it all wrong, Sunday shakes her head firmly to dispell such thoughts. "No, no. I just…" She forces a smile, cobalt eyes glancing away as one hand lifts to tuck some errant strands of hair behind her ear. "I've thought before that people were friends who really weren't, and since then I.. I don't like to presume. I mean, it's one thing to just say 'Oh yeah, this is my friend Ian' to somebody, and another to really, like.. /mean/ that word." Obviously it's not something Sunday just tosses around. Her friendship is a weighty thing for those she gives it to, and it comes with a lot of meaning for the girl. Nothing of the type that complicates life and makes things awkward, but still.. She's not a fair-weather friend. Her smile turns back to him with her gaze. "Hunger strike? So I'm an activist now, huh? Well hell, it works for Sting." She giggles at his rant about dragon slaying, shaking her head a few times before letting it fall back against the wall. "Don't play stupid with me, Stoker. I've seen the googly-eyes first-hand. That girl has it /bad/." And she prays he's not so dense as to not know who she's talking about. Her eyes shift around the room, finally fixing on a point across from her - a small cluster of pictures on her desk. The smile fades in it's sincerity. "… Be careful with that one, Ian."

Friendship, it seems was an interesting word with a depth of significance. For Ian, the meaning of the word was similar to Sunday's though nuanced in different ways. There was a gravity to hers, and to him, it was given to those that seemed worthy until they were proven otherwise. He wasn't one just to pass the word either, especially to a stranger. But she was one, and that was all there was to it in his eyes, without a need to delve deeper into it. "So we're friends, and thus settled." And he gives it little other thought, instead focusing on the later part of the conversation, actually lifting up his head to sing in a forced falsetto: "o/~ Just a castaway, I've been lost at sea~ o/~" A moment later he stops, quirking a brow as the conversation changes shape yet again. "Yeah, I noticed. Ain't the best at telling the nuance of woman, but she telegraphs a lot." He shakes his head slightly, letting out a breath. "She's young. Wise in a lot of ways for a fourteen year old, but still.. young. I talked to her yesterday though, told her I wasn't looking for a relationship." Pause. "And I hope she didn't take that to mean that I was looking for a booty call or nothing. Cause that would cause all sorts of complication." And really that was the way of it. He told her the honest truth, without necissarily shutting her down. They had gone out later, as friends presumably. But that was from Ian's view. Who knows how the girl would take it. "This place can be bananas, sometimes."

Sunday does her best not to wince at his Sting impression, grinning softly and mentioning as she looks at him from the corner of her eye, "That's no substitute for your Billie Jean." She still expects a Jackson impression! It's only fair! Ahem. Anyways. She listens silently to him talk about the infauated little goth, but remains silent until he's finished, her expression becoming more thoughtful. "Yeah," she murmurs in response to his last, then remains quiet once more for a good, verging on awkward, minute. It's the same look she had on her face when Claire started gushing, and revealed her powers to Sunday - an impenetrible, far-away look, unreadable except for the obviousness of being deep in thought. Yet, there is no spacey-ness to it, and instead the wheels behind her eyes are turning rapidly, thoughts spiraling one after the other in utter silence behind a stoic mask. Before she finally speaks again, Sunday takes in a slow inhail of breath. "Ian… Young girls, they.. They don't always see the obvious. You might think things should be really clear to them, but when you look at somebody and all you can see is how wonderful you think they are, it colors.. pretty much everything. Girls get stupid. They get hurt. Really easily." She finally turns her head to look at him again, eyes filled with seriousness and concern. "Just be sure, okay? If you really like her, then," she shrugs, "I'm not one to judge. But if you really don't want anything besides friendship from her, you have to be really clear, and really certain she gets it. No mixed messages. Trust me, it.." Her lips press into a thin line for a moment. "It'll just be better that way. For her."

"Don't worry, I'll pay up on the Jackson impersonation. Eventually." After all, as long as he had that little chip, he had all teh power, right? Right? Buwhaha-cough. Yeah, nevermind. The amused moment last so far as to get to the pause as Sunday considers for several moments. Well more than, and after she speaks, Ian has to consider that her words are spoken by one with experience. He doesn't elaborate though, nor tries to get her to: Theirs was a friendship still at it's infancy. And sometimes one was allowed their little secrets. It was not yet time to pry, at least not yet that is. After several moments, he speaks, voice draw and resigned. "I'm not entitled to like, not right now." After a moment or two of his own, he continues. "There's way too much on my plate to consider a relationship or the like. And even if I could…" He shakes his head. "The whole liking thing cuts two ways, especialy when the other party knows how to work it." He knew it all too well, even if it was a slightly different slice of cake than what the girls might experience. "Not something I'm looking for right now. If at all. Even if it was, I've known everybody here what? Two weeks, if that. Gothling's cool, and I like her as a friend. But your words are worth thinking about. A lot." He would have to consider just how clear to make things, or not. "And here I thought my worries would be that people would be afraid of me. Not, y'know this." He chuckles drily, looking at Sunday for a moment. "So, any boys declare their devotion for you yet, or have you yet to have a live performance?"

Power, ha! No power to be had in holding an embarassing situation over somebody's head when they are so willing to get themselves into other, equally embarassing situations. Sunday certainly doesn't mind a bit of egg on her face, even if she seems to have her future image carefully planned out. She's still a teen, and one who doesn't have much care for her status in highschool. Never has, never will. Her feet on the floor, Sunday pulls her knees up to her chest and drapes her arms over them, back still against the wall, head tilted lazily to the side so she can look at him as they converse. She knows very well that she's given herself away to a degree in saying what she has, but the fact that he doesn't pry is both noted and appreciated.. though part of her wonders if he's already got her all figured out. If he knows more than he lets on.. Especially after their last private conversation. "You can pick whether or not now is a good time for you, Ian, but don't think you're not entitled to it. There's nothing wrong with you that I see, you've got baggage like everyone else." A pause, and a smile follow. "Except yours is big and furry. A fashion statement, really." She shrugs though, nodding as he talks about the other aspects of it - too much on your plate, head not in the right place.. Yeah. Valid reasons, all. Reasons Claire may or may not fully comprehend. Sunday makes no judgements based on the girls age - lots of 14 year olds have seen a lot more than Sunday has in their lives, and she know snothing of what the goth girl has endured - but it's all about experience. No idea if Claire has it or not. Knows how to work it..? He can't be talking about Claire, not with his tone being what it is, so… this is the mysterious Other Girl. But Sunday too knows now is not the time for prying. She just nods instead as he says he'll think about what she's said, then smiles. Didn't think you'd be a big hit with the ladies, huh? "I think the alien girl likes you too, but maybe I'm wrong. Might just be a cultural thing." Laughing at the idea of being fawned over, Sunday shakes her head. "Nah, boys don't declare devotion to me. I don't show enough skin." Glancing down at herself, her fingers pick up a bit of her semi-opaque tights and snap them on her thigh. "Guess I should loose these and just go with the skirt on it's own if I wanna keep up in the meat-market, huh? Gotta get me some before they're all spoken for." Yeah, she seems really concerned about that. No, really! Ha.

"Perhaps entitled was the wrong word. I think, rather, it's not something I'm making a priority right now. And really, furry baggage is much better than leopard print. Then I'd just be gaudy." Ian says the serious and absurd within the same statement. Looking over to Sunday, Stoker levels a gaze as if he's considering her for the first time before suddenly giving a grin. Half bemused, and the other half rather sheepish. "So, your baggage got sequins?" He couldn't resist. Nope. Not at all. Then she goes and mentions Alia, and Ian quirks a brow. That one? He didn't notice. "Damn. What's going on here." He didn't think he was all /that/ interesting, yet two within a span of a week? He really did have to get an ear to the wall to make sure there wasn't some rumor about him being some action-star or something. That would have to explain things, right? "The tights are retro I must say. But apparently the way to go in this day and age is lose the skirt all together - parade in a bikini or something. Seems to work with Christina." He shrugs lightly. The whole pop thing never was his forte. No, he was much more drawn into the punk, metal and southern rock scenes. "And with the way high school goes, 'spoken for' lasts all of ten minutes before there's a break up. This school can't be much different. Y'know. Drama."

Sequins? Sunday giggles softly, though it doesn't inspire the kind of rachous laughter he may have thought it would. Nor the witty come-back. Instead, she just smiles in that way she does, half friendly, half introverted and secretive. "Nah. Black leather. With studs and everything." She's more amused by having caught Alia's blushing when obviously Ian did not, grinning over at him. "You really don't know? You're a nice looking guy with a guitar and a checkerd past, Ian. You're practically dripping 'lost puppy', and I don't mean that as a pun. Pair that with the kind of smile that makes a girl feel like she earned it when nobody else could, and actual talent, and you're like crack to teenage girls." Except Sunday, apparently, who has yet to stare and drool. Though that was a very.. astute observation of Ian's appeal, to be sure. The mention of parading around half naked actually makes Sunday laugh outright, shaking her head as her nose wrinkles in distaste. "No thanks. I like not looking like I'm trolling the streets at night. Besides, the tight low-cut tops and little school-girl skirts? SO cliche. Not to mention uncomfortable." Drama. Ha. Yeah. "You can say that again."

"Hawt," about the black leather and studs. "Can't say I would have said that on first guess. But maybe it does fit you." He puts thumb and forefinger of each hand together, mimicking a box, as if framing her. "Yeah, could work." And then he shakes his head. "See there's the problem right there. I've gotten the stereotype of a guitar player. Y'all haven't even seen me on my chosen weapon." Which would be the keyboard, haus. "But duly noted. Maybe I should start trying for the sunny and well adjusted thing. Maybe even a touch shy. Become Kryptonite." He's not remotely serious. He wasn't about to change who he was for anything, and though he'd NEVER admit it. It was a nice little turn about to be the one being chased for once. Even if he wasn't going to use it to his advantage. If the observations were acute, Ian makes no sign of noticing, instead of focusing on: "Uncomfortable? Sounds like someone has tried it once or twice." He peers again, as if imagining her in an outfit like Britney Spears in Hit Me Baby One More Time. And she asks him to say it again? "Drama. There you go."

When placed in frame, Sunday can't help it - she pulls a very sudden Ian Stoker impression, looking vaguely interested and flashing a peace sign. When he puts his hand down, the vague sort of smile blossoms into a full on tooth-grin, one finger of her peace sign touching her cheek like some Japanese school girl. Ah, I do it for the lulz. "/Shy/? Don't you know anything about women?" With mocking sadness, Sunday shakes her head, breathing a heavy sigh. "Well adjusted might work, but shy only /encourages/ them. Makes you a," Finger-quotes, "'Project'." Oooh, scary! The subject of his peering, Sunday puts on her best innocent face, but after a moment can't help but grin. "Hey, I'm a girl! A girl who likes boys. And boys like skimpy. I've been guilty of it once or twice.. But usually while I'm dancing. Not every-day. That's a bit much." After a beat, she adds, "But not anymore. I mean, at this point, I really don't care about trying to get some guys attention." Her eyes roll up, as if the whole idea was now quite distasteful to her. "They can either look or not. I've got better things to worry about."

The faux impression of him bring a snort from Stoker before he follows up with a chuckle. Amusing? Perhaps. But one can never deny the lulz. "Apparently I don't," know about women that is. "Such nuances you girls go through to get a guy. I never knew. Most fellers just look for a firm butt and an easy smile. Most." As in not him! Right? Right! Ahem. When she goes on to explain her stance on skimpy outfits and wearing them, Ian tilts his head, taking it all in before letting out another low chuckle. "You are a rare one, Sunday Knight. Gotta say. And you wonder why we get along famously." As for things to worry about? "Imminent rise of super stardom?"

It's nice he has such a good sense of humor about himself. Sunday smiles easily as Ian appreciates her humor, thinking for just a moment back to how she's struggled with some associations since she's been here. Like with Alia. So it's a nice relief to just be able to be herself, and know somebody is just enjoying her company. Firm butt and a- … Sunday's eyes light, lips twitching. "Well.. One out of two ain't bad, I guess." Which one, however, she'll leave to him to figure out! But sure, not Ian, Ian's all immune. Her lips curl into a smirk at that. "Right, you like girls for their tortured souls and brilliant minds. Apple-bottom booties have nothing to do with it." Uh-huh! In full-on tease mode, Sunday is a little taken back with the sudden compliment - or at least what she takes as a compliment - and his assessment of how they get along. And there's that soft, friendly smile again, that can be seen not only on her lips but in her eyes, and really, her whole face. "You're not half bad yourself, Mister Stoker. I'll remember you, when I'm conquering the world, one platinum album at a time." Slowly, that smile turns into a grin. "Maybe I'll even let you play in the touring band!"

Sometimes that sense of humor was one of the few things that kept him going. It wasn't trying to sound emo or something, just a certain truth to the situation. When the world got black, you just had to find something damned funny about it. It served him well, an lingered, even as times seemed to get just a little bit better. "I thought Meatloaf always proclaimed two-of-three. You're 16 point 6 short of that, Blondie." Ian passes a sidelong look and a grin, deciding it better not to spend thought cycles on which of the two attributes she was proclaiming to posess. "And for the record, I'd like to mention that you called me a dog at one point and time. Obviously you believe that I am not all about tortured souls, deep words and deeper thoguhts." Stoker shrugs lightly. "All good things. Still, I'm still *human*. I'm not about to lie about certain things I like. I just ain't gonna let that guide all my actions. Just maybe one or two." Then there's another soft chuckle. Touring band? "I'll take opening act, and you gotta deal. Speaking of. I think it was past due we got you to meeting that dude Jerry. It may do us all some good to actually play real music."

"Close only counts in horse-shoes and hand-granaides, wolf-boy," Sunday points out as he proclaims her so close to such a worthy goal, then laughs as he points out her own previous assessment of his behavior. "Well you are! Sometimes. All men are. Hence the guided-actions. One or two." She grins softly at him, tilting her head inquizitively to the side, gaze shaded by a bit of blonde hair that falls in the way. Certain things he likes, huh? "Like black lipstick and lace-up tops?" Ah yes, back to this, though in a far less serious way than she had approached the topic earlier, obviously. Sunday's not expecting much more than a roll of his eyes. He seems to enjoy the occular exercise. Opening act? "Done! Maybe I'll even let you ride in the tour bus with me, as an extra special favor for being a friend. And because then people can speculate on whether or not we're doing it, and that can't possibly be bad for my rep."

"Pfft. Now who's talking about stereotypes? All men? That's quite a bit of a genetic pool to be throwing under the bus." He even lifts his finger in mock seriousness before snorting. Cause really, she wasn't far off from the truth. When the topic once again returns to him and his likes, Ian gives a far too dramatic roll of the eyes. "Don't knock it. Black lipstick and corsets can be hot." How's that for fuel to the fire? "Though I'd be remiss to say that's all the things one gotta do to catch my attention. After all, I'm already stereotypical enough, being a dog and all." As for the tour bus? "I should only expect that a would-be starlet would carefully construct their own rumors for notierity. I almost fear what the headlines would read out."

Sunday holds up a hand in mock surrender, giggling softly all the while. "Okay, okay! How about this: Ninty-Nine percent of men are dogs. But only fifty percent of the time, in the median. Better?" Ha! She's being *generous*. Sunny's not exactly waving the Men are Scum flag, but she knows what goes on in their heads well enough without needing any kind of telepathic powers! Then again, the same kind of things go on in the heads of a lot of women, so there you go. "Far be it for me to knock it! Don't misunderstand me. I may be more into the full spectrum of the color wheel, but I have great respect for my monotone friends fashion." When he mentions headlines, there's just a moment of thought before Sunday opens her mouth as if to proclaim just what they'd be, and then she pauses, and closes it again, looking a little bit more bashful than she did before. In an effort to recover, she manages to say, "Well, I'd tell you, but I don't wanna be misinterpretted as another one of your legion of devotees. Don't wanna inflate your ego too badly - you'll get stuck in my bedroom." A moment later, something flickers in Sunday's eyes as if she's thought of a new way to take the words she crafted less than carefully, and her lips press together a little more to fight back some additionally embarassed expression.

"That's relatively fair. I'll let that one go." After all, it was a rare concession by womanhood. How could Stoker not accept such terms? There's another moment of white as Ian flashes teeth before Sunday speaks. Then? A long pause before he busts out laughing. Yes, not the usual Stoker snort, or chuckle. A full on belly laugh that reveberates through the room. After a moment, he holds up a hand as if to say: 'No no, I'm not laughing at you.' And no, he wasn't. He just found this entire situation rather… "ABsurd. Seriously, I'm *not* the guy who has girls fauning over me. It's definately not the first thing that comes to mind when you mention a Stoker: Lady killer. Well, okay if you talk about Brahm, maybe. But that was a bit more in the literal meaning." He glances at her again, letting out a bit more subtle of a laugh at the being stuck in the bedroom. Talk about Foot in mouth syndrome! "Really don't get all red on me now. Ain't nothing you say that I haven't heard a dozen times before. And until you start waxing poetic on my good traits, I think you're safe on not being considered a devotee. For now." There's a lingering trail of chuckles, as he wipes his eyes, murmuring under his breath: "Brave new world." A bit louder, he adjusts himself. "Anyway. My ego's plenty in check. No worries about inflation. Unless there's pills for that or something." As they say! Innuendo and out the other!

The sudden laughter is just a tiny bit off-putting, Sunday arching a brow and waiting to be let in on the big joke, a bit more color coming to her cheeks as she fears that, despite his attempt at silence reassurance, she has done or say something stupid. When he is instead decrying the very idea that he's the object of teenage infatuations, the stuff of their googly-eyed sighing moments, Sun smirks softly. "Well for not being that guy, you're not doing too bad by yourself so far." Even if maybe he needed to move his age range up a little bit, though that's just Sunny's opinion on the matter and recognized as very much pot calling kettle black. Her last 'boyfriend' was ninteen when she was fifteen, after all. Pointing out her blushing just makes it worse, and when he even goes so far as to add the 'For now', Sunday scoffs loudly and gives him a light shove on the shoulder. "Heard a dozen times before, huh?? And here you were just saying how you're /not/ the guy girls fawn over! What bull. Don't worry yourself about me writing lengthy prose on your good traits," she crosses her arms and tries to look indignant without looking so damn amused, "I'm not sure I've found enough."

"I blame this place. Has magical effects or some shit," Ian murmurs, laughter finally beginning to subside after a few moments. He finally is able to tilt his head back, taking a few breaths as if he lost too much during the chest spasms. Brown eyes shift up to Sunday for a moment, a twinkle of amusement as he shakes his head at her supposed indignancy. "Dozen times, meaning bad and terrible things. Not necissarily directed at ol' Reb. You better believe I'm full of shit, but in this I speak the lord's truth." He even kisses his fingers and touches the sky in fair simulcrum of the act he had seen several times in his journey. When she mentions his qualities, and lack thereof, Ian can't help but chuckling again. "Fair point, Sunday. Fair point. Spare the glowing proses, and keep me out of the indigant songs about worthless men, and we can call it even." He's tempted to add in about blushing being a good little trade too, but wisely keeps that part out. "It's gettin' kinda late though. Tell you what, why don't we do pizza or something tomorrow. I'll see if I can rustle that Jerry chap. We can get ourselves a musical good time. And perhaps you might actually blow me away with the supposed superstar skizzles."

Reb? That's one Sunday hasn't heard before, and she arches a brow at the sound of it, though says nothing. Must be an old nickname he procured at some point, the story of it wrapped up in people she doubts currently attend this school. She says nothing about the magic of the school, or the good or bad things people may say about him, and instead just smiles and nods her head once firmly in agreement that she will keep him out of the songs about how wonderful or horrible men are. He has been doing a lot more smiling and laughing tonight, she thinks, than she's seen him do in the total of the times they have met each other. It's nice. An earlier point Sunday made, about how he has the kind of smile that makes you feel like you've accomplished something when you see it, pops back into her head as she watches him. Despite the pleasantness one might associate with such a thought, for reasons even Sunday can't fully explain it dims her smile a little, something uncomfortable stinging in the back of her mind. A moment later, she pulls herself back into the now and nods again. "Pizza, yeah. Sounds good. Just shoot me a text or something to let me know when."

Laughter isn't a commodity Ian Stoker had much of. Not for a long, long time. The sad part of it all was that it ran a long way before the bite, well into his childhood. He wasn't brought up in the happiest of places, and his light of sorts - His twin - Well, she had gone away in such a manner as to leave a scar that would never quite heal correctly. It just so happened that he met a girl who complicated things. It just so happened it lead to him being bitten and turned into a werewolf. All situations that only added to the often dusty complextion that made the young man. Amusement was a sidearm, but laughter was an oasis. He relished them. Such thoughts though - Of dark days of past, and dark days of future - well, they're not in Stoker's head at all for the moment though. He was just too mirthful for such things. "Text? Jesus, what an age people live in. What ever happened to the good ol' rotary dials? Or at the very least, E-mail." Still, Ian fishes out his phone… which turns out to be a POS circa 2002 Tracphone, on it's last legs. Hell, it was missing a button or three. But, it was still, "Functional. Though T9's a bit slow. So don't laugh at me when text's are littered with "U's" and shorthand. It has no bearing on my writing abilities. Really." With that, he stands, lazily as if the odd angle wasn't a problem. "Hopefully early evening. Beat the normal dinner crowd, but not too late to be scandelous. Catch you a bit later, Blondie. And thanks." He pauses, serious and reflective for a moment. "It was nice. Just chilling." Sometimes it beat the hell out of a rock show, or drama, or any number of other such things. There's a moment's peace flash before he begins to walk to the door — Whistling: "There's a party in your bedroom, all night long~"

Sunday can't help but giggle at his complaining, but once she beholds the ancient relic he calls a cell phone, her eyes widen just a tad and the look shifts to a kind of sympathy. "Oh you poor dear!" As if he'd just told her he lost a toe in a bizare guitar-stringing accident. Not an important toe, though. Maybe one in the middle. Grinning, she nods her agreement. "Scouts honor, no making fun." She pulls herself to her feet and wiggles her fingers out in a kind of 'gimme' motion at his phone, and once it's handed over - because let's be real, he can't NOT hand it over - she cycles through his menus like a pro, into his address book, and creates a new entry. When its handed back, he will find her number now neatly filed within his contacts. Properly capitilized and everything! "Sounds good," about the early evening, and when he pauses, Sunday's head tilts just a tad, curiously, before that warm smile creeps back over her features. "Yeah. Night Ian." …. waitasec.. is he whistling.. .. Dangit! She just got it out of her head, too! Silly boys.

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