daisy hookum

“I’m not shitfaced yet, you know. As clumsy as I am sober, I won’t.... fall over like you probably did.” Daisy placed her hand against the wall to steady herself enough to slide down the wall.

“alrighty here. i’m not appreciating this attitude coming from you, as much sarcasm as i leak.” daisy’s arms moved up to cross over her chest, narrowing her eyes. “you’re obviously seething with anger- so, i’ll give you a chance to let it out, about anything you’re upset over. 

“hm, you have? that’s the kind of woman i want to be, as much as i complain about it. i could totally do it, you know. what do they call those types of girls- femme fatale? except the only dangerous situation i’ll put me in is a serious lack of personal finances. i’d be a woman on the run- that’s secretly why i go on runs in the morning, of course.

 i’m training for my life out of school. maybe i’ll find somebody i went here with- someone who thinks i’m a solid, down to earth girl, and screw them over. they have to be attractive, of course, to match my sharp looks.” daisy moved a hand up to lazily flick her hair over her shoulders, adopting a look of conceit. “of course, i doubt anybody in the school would step up to such a high standard.”

raising a hand up to point towards the boy again, she sent him an obvious nod. “i like your thought process, my friend. the tragic hero- they’ll all see themselves in you, just trying to make a living in a war-distraught enviroment. you’d get lots of women that way, i’m betting. maybe a prostitute will take pity on you and give you a militant discount.

oh, you? a hopeless romantic? i saw it all along. the hormones- i can see them rushing through your veins, or wherever they go through. i’m not a proper expert on love and romance, but i see you as somebody who can catch somebody proper and hold on to them for a while. you know, bring her flowers, heart shaped candy boxes, the whole nine yards.”

“my grandmother still thinks i’m fourteen. she forgets every time i tell her- no, granny, i’m not fourteen. it’s been almost three years.”

she ran a hand through her hair, pushing her bangs out of her face as well as she could. “hence why you’re still pretty? i suppose. i’ll have to admit, that uh.. hufflepuff girl? black, brown hair, asian? oh, she’s much prettier. have you met her?” her tone was bleeding sarcasm and obvious wit, considering we all know how daisy is.

“ah, what a shame. those bruises are really going to put a dent in your sex life, huh? ‘yes, touch me there- oh, no, not there, ouch. that hurts, oh god.’. i can imagine it now- i’ll have to admit, i feel terrible for you, my friend.” daisy grinned, again- she found herself to be rather funny, but somebody that got her jokes and wasn’t upset over them being around was really lightening her mood.

“you’re not so bad, maybe i’ll keep you around, huh?”