i hate stairs (open)

[Salila Kapur]

Wearing

Salila was lost. Already. She was on her way to somewhere... was it English? Yes, it was English and she was sure that she was no where near where she was supposed to be. Her eyes wandered the endless staircases and corridors. Her hands where shaking the slightest bit, and she placed her hands into her pockets, yanking on the cloth that was there. She felt as if she didn't belong here, here in the world of staircases and mazes. She didn't like this feeling of not being home, not being in India, where the sun beat down on her heat constantly, not this cloudy sky that was hanging over England.

She couldn't even see that sky anymore, which made her even more uncomfortable. She was claustrophobic and this twisting and turning environment that she was in was blocking the light and making her area seem small. And where was English class anyway. Did she even what to go to English class. Did she even take an English class. Who needs English anyway?

Her hands reached into her purse so she could pull out her cell phone, but there was no signal here. She couldn't handle being in a room without cell phone signal. She pulled out her schedule but she had already lost it. There was no information to help her get to her next class, so she sorta sat there on the top stair until someone could help her get to her class room.

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[Frenchie Savage]

Frenchie was daydreaming.
He probably wasn’t aware of where he was [in a staircase] or what he was doing [walking down them] and he most certainly had not been aware of the girl who had been sitting directly in his path. The profound shock of finding that he was nearly standing on top of somebody, and the minute time allotted to react before he stepped on her resulted in Frenchie taking some very drastic measures indeed; several seconds before he knew what was happening, he had ‘dodged’ as much over the girl as he had to the side of her, landing half on his feet and half face-first into the wall a good couple of meters away.
For a few seconds, Frenchie simply stood there, staring at the wall that he had nearly broken his nose against, wondering what in gods’ name had just happened to him. He peered behind him, spotting nothing more threatening than a staircase and a girl, sitting there with her cell-phone. He let his eyes rest on her for a moment, examining her for any tentacles that might have popped out to knock him over, then continued to scan the stairway for similar anomalies, scratching his head in bemusement. The longer he looked, and the fewer boogie-men he saw, the more confused Frenchie became. At long last, he turned to face Sallia, his gloved hand pointed in futility at his surroundings, his expression comparable to that of a man who has woken up to find himself in bed with an octopus.
”Was there an earthquake just now?"

[Salila Kapur]

"Was there a earthquake just now?"

Salila was a little frazzled. Everything happened quickly. A boy slipped over her, foot stepping on her leg. She gave a small squeal as it landed and lifted. She stood up quickly and angrily, even though a shock of pain ran through her leg, and she squealed again. "No! There was NOT an earthquake, you just tripped over my leg!" She lifted up a small bit up her leggings,which were under her dress, light blue with black polka dots, and a white background. There beneath the bit of fabric, a huge black and blue blob that was on her leg. "What size shoe do you wear? 27!"

Salila was on a roll now. She felt like a real actress, she seemed angrier than she actually was, but this boy was getting a chewing. She was on stage right now, and she was mad. She had just gotten an even tan, and now she couldn't wear short dresses, her favorite clothes. "In fact, i think you owe me an apology! Obviously, you weren't paying attention, or you don't care about other people's psychical well being!" She balled up her hands into fists. "You jerk! You... YOU!" She closed her eyes to stop the crocodile tears from coming. She was selling the part. And she was almost done. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

[Frenchie Savage]

No! There was not an earthquake.!
Frenchie sighed in relief.

What size shoe do you wear?
Frenchie picked up his foot, holding it to his belly with one hand and lifting the tongue of his gold sequined [at least the bits that weren’t covered in mud] dance sneakers to look at the sizing tag. It said it was a forty- so it had to be in European sizes. He had shipped these from France, hadn’t he? Shit.
Frenchie might have pulled out his fingers and started with his UK conversions, but the woman in front of him began howling at him in a manner best befitted a cat in labour, ensuring him that the exact size of his sneakers was not the issue at hand here. Now enraptured by the girl’s horrific display of anger, Frenchie dropped his foot, watching dumbly while her tirade became more and more outrageous, until Frenchie was certain that she was not reacting simply to being stepped on-- that was a cause to get angry, certainly, but not this angry, so either she had been having a very bad day to begin with, or she was mental. Or both.
Then the dialogue started to drift, and the tears started welling, and Frenchie realized something important: She was acting. This confused Frenchie greatly, as he was fairly convinced that she and him were not performing a musical right now, nor even were they rehearsing one. Was she fucking with him, then, or was she just really, really full of herself? Both?
What do I do?! Frenchie didn’t want to get mad- first of all because he wasn't mad, really, so much as he was just really, really confused, and second because trying to be angrier than an angry woman never worked. But the girl was getting so carried away that he couldn’t possibly have managed with a simple apology. But it was too late to think- she was three seconds short of being done talking, and Frenchie had to do something. So he went with the flow.

--

“I don’t have anything to say for myself!!” He cried bitterly. “There’s no damned excuse for how careless I was, but, God—“ Frenchie raked his face with his hands, and then his hair, mussing his neatly-gelled ‘do in the process, before he dropped to his knees and elbows in beautifully-presented grief, stretching out his slim, sculpted frame in the manner of a slain lion.
“Shit,” he sobbed into the floor. Desperately, he reached out towards her, briefly grazing the toe of her boot before he pounced, landing on his knees in front of her, hands placed on her waist. Although his touch was as soft to the touch as a butterfly’s landing –barely even making contact- he caught the fabric of his skirt in her fingers so that anyone looking might have thought that he was clinging for dear life, “If I could make you know how sorry I am! You know it was an accident, but I swear I’ll never forgive myself-- not ever!”
Frenchie fell silent then for a moment, then released her skirt, hands shaking as if they couldn’t bear having touched the girl as he slid down her front to grovel at her feet. Belatedly he realized that putting his face right next to the feet of a woman who might well be really angry at him was not a very good idea. But supposed it was too late to fix it.
“Twenty years after your bruises fade, I’ll still feel a pain that’s ten times worse.”

[Salila Kapur]

"Oh my..." Salila was upset. And this guy should have watched where he was going. But Lord, she didn't mean to do this. She was acting in that last bit. The boy dropped to the floor in his apologizes. “I don’t have anything to say for myself!! There’s no damned excuse for how careless I was, but, God—Shit, If I could make you know how sorry I am! You know it was an accident, but I swear I’ll never forgive myself-- not ever! Twenty years after your bruises fade, I’ll still feel a pain that’s ten times worse.” Salila realized the boy was touching the bottom of her dress and begging for mercy on the floor. "Hey, hey... Calm down, I didn't mean to make you upset!" She decided to get on his level, so she picked up his hands from her dress and held them in hers. "It was an accident, I understand... I was having a crappy day."

She stood, pulling him up in a motion that said I- can- hardly- lift- your- arm- much- less- your- body- get- up. She inhaled deeply and then exhaled. "I am a bit of a drama queen." She held out her hand. "Salila. Salila Mainia Kapur of Kerar, India. Call me Sali. I never meant to cause so much trouble." She smiled. "It really didn't matter to much, I have on leggings right now. No one can see my legs anyway, and it will disappear so fast, my legs are dark anyway." She paused in her apologizes and realized that he was older than her, a fact that she'd didn't realize while sh was chewing him out. She saw his slicked and stiff hair, and his gentle nature. Why he could have smacked her, he was very much taller than she was, and she could be unconscious. Really he seemed to be quite the gentleman, making her feel even worse than she did before. "I should be the one apologizing. And do you know where the English class is?"

Stupid English, it had caused all of this.

[Frenchie Savage]

The girl, who had only a moment ago been pretending [he had thought] to be very, very angry with him suddenly dropped to her knees beside him, no longer playing hissy but instead apologizing to him. Frenchie didn’t understand. Had she not realized that Frenchie had been playing back at her? Or had she not been pretending in the first place? Or was she just trying to pass the farce off as if it hadn’t happened? Hell if he knew, but it looked like he was in the pink, anyways, and who was Frenchie to question how he got there? Instead, he let loose a discreet breath of gratitude as he allowed Salila to ‘help’ him up stand up, and waited patiently as she collected herself [or pretended to collect herself] and then introduced herself, one hand extended in what Frenchie assumed was to be a truce. He took that hand, giving it the firm but gentle shake of a professional.
“Frenchie Savage, from Brooklyn, New York. Or Argenteuil, France, if we’re talkin’ about birthplaces.”
He released the girls’ hand, shoving both thumbs into the pockets of his badly-abused half-lycra jeans while he listened out the rest of Salila’s speech as she tried to excuse the fact that he had stepped on her. Honestly, that just made even less sense to him; his stepping on her was definitely not as big a deal as she had been making of it before, but it wasn’t nothing either. Frenchie had seen the bruise; he had to have gotten her good in order to produce something like that, and it certainly couldn’t have been very pleasant for Salila. And here she was pretending that ugly blue spots were the worst of the damage. But if that was what she wanted to do, Frenchie wasn’t about to make an issue of it. He still wasn’t sure if her tantrum a few minutes ago was just a game, yet, and he didn’t really care to find out for sure if Salila was seriously like that.
”English, huh?” Frenchie echoed, ”’Haven’t had one of those classes for a while, but I think…” The boy trailed off, scanning one end of the staircase and then the other as if he expected to see the room in question walking down the stairs. ”I think it’s on the first floor, actually. Maybe in the south wing?”
Frenchie glanced briefly at his wrist-watch, entirely out of habit; it didn’t really matter what time it was, since to the best of Frenchie’s knowledge there weren’t any teachers at Somnium evil enough to be angry with a student for getting lost on their first day. Assuming that it was, indeed, Salila’s first day. Frenchie knew that it was quite possible to get lost in very familiar places for no particular reason [as this was something he did often] but he liked to think that that sort of aptitude for misplacing oneself was unique to him- certainly, if getting lost as easily as Frenchie did was a common thing, then people everywhere would be wandering around until they collapsed and nothing would ever get done. Anyways, Salila certainly acted like a new kid- after all, she had her cell-phone out in a corridor. Everybody knew that there was no reception in the corridors.
“Well, your classroom isn’t going to come find you,” Frenchie declared. He skipped easily down the rest of the stairs, then, even before he had finished moving, spun about to face Salila again, “The first thing I’ll do to make up for your wounded leg is to help you get to class. C’mon.”

[Salila Kapur]

Salila thought she liked this "Frenchie". She wasn't sure how he changed from groveling to being on the same level as her so quickly. Unless he discovered she was acting, and he was acting also. No she was absolutely to real to be discovered. She went to the best acting school in all of Kerala, and starred in 3 plays, as a middle school and a freshman, something rarely heard of at her arts school. She was a legend was she not. She knew this boy surely was honoring her by keeping up, because surely, he hadn't realized that she was acting and this of course, was all taking place, running through her mind as she walked straight faced down the stairs with Frenchie.

"Ah, your French." She appreciated world cultures, and she probably should, seeing that she was Indian in England. she was slightly bitter toward the British, she learned so much about them in school that was bad, but now England seemed to have straighted out, and she was content living here, though it was cloudy, and the ocean seem years away, and she missed the sunshine. It rained too much here.

She smiled at him. "You cook?" Along with her other major talents, Salila could cook like no one's business. She cooked her own meals, just like momma made them, at the beginning of the month, and she froze them to eat instead of the crap at the cafeteria. She couldn't eat pizza another day, not unless it had curry on it instead of tomato. She reliazed that may have sounded stereotypical, seeing that not all french people cooked, but she wanted to create some conversation on the way to stupid English.