Post by twiff on Jan 16, 2009 1:43:30 GMT -5
Johnny Paige was up, bright and early, on the day of the Carnival and had already made his way down to the grounds minus breakfast in favour of watching the stalls and rides being set up. It was unusual for the usually food conscious boy to skip any meal (in fact, he was more likely to create excess meals) but the night of tossing and turning, and the rampant butterflies collecting in his stomach had caused a desire to be active, and not to slake his hunger. Which is how he found himself pushing open the doors of the school with a rumbling stomach and wide, curious eyes while he took in the sights, sounds and smells.
The hired rides were well on their way to completion, a small Ferris Wheel arched into the sky – the main attraction, as well as the most expensive hire – while several tiny rides dotted the usually bare grounds sporadically. Some of the more die-hard students already were setting up their stalls in the more desirable areas, and some boasted quite impressive displays, which Johnny put down to generous and wealthy parents or a good monthly allowance (both of which he was without.) But it was inspiring, none-the-less, even though competition had made the students bands together rather then any type of school spirit. He occupied himself by wandering and weaving about the allotted Carnival, the area gradually filling up with Eddingborough students and then, eventually, the towns people who came for a good time, but mostly for a sticky beak at the prestigious school.
The very fact that the Carnival was an open event boded very ill for the rambunctious boy, as well as the fact that he was so hard to miss. There was no mistaking Johnny Paige in his bright blue jeans, loose and scuffed on the knees, the yellow shirt providing an interesting, if not almost (obviously) distasteful contrast – it was almost as if he had a bulls-eye painted on him, the perfect beacon for the local gang who had taken instant dislike to him. Pair them together with the other boys who didn’t particularly take a shine to him after the incident at their party and you had a nice little mob out for his blood. Unfortunately, Johnny was completely and utterly unaware.
He’d just bought a nice big Cotton Candy and proceeded to bite into it with large, starved mouthfuls when he caught the eye of a boy. He knew that face, something about it rang alarm bells and his step became slow as his mind ticked through every face he knew. And then it clicked, and the only thing he could think of saying was muffled by his mouthful (holymotheroffreakinghellshitshitshitshit.) of Cotton Candy. It was safe to say that Johnny was a little relieved about the crowd, lulled into a nice sense of security, heartbeat calming, because, really, no one would try any shit where they’d be caught. Would they?
But that boy looked pretty smug, and pretty pissed, and Johnny could see the rest of the boys trailing behind their appointed leader. Rather then taking any chances, he turned on his heel and walked quickly into the crowd, deeper and deeper, aware that he wasn’t being let out of sight at all. His heart began to pound, and he heard the blood rushing through his veins. He wasn’t afraid to fight, but the numbers weighed greatly against him – and he kinda wished that he’d met up with his group earlier, instead of wandering down by himself. This wish intensified when he was caught near the clowns, a fist shooting out from one of the makeshift alleys and yanking him into the semi darkness. In his panic, he was able to catch a knee with his foot (the yelp of pain signalled success) but it was nothing to get cocky about.
It was a very familiar situation, Johnny pressed up against the wall with five boys facing him off and a whole lot more yet to come. He shifted uncomfortably, side to side on his foot, weary. Sure, no one could come from behind him this way, but the front wasn’t looking all that good either. Being pinned in was a likely outcome too, as well as missing teeth and broken noses. His teeth and his nose.
“Why don’t y’all go fuck yourselves!?” He spat out, the boys taunting remarks pushing on sore points, little Johnny practically battling Goliath. “It’s the only screw you’d get!” Not that he could talk, and provoking the already angry locals probably wasn’t the best of formulated plans – but hey, he was already between a rock and a hard place, doubtful he’d get out of this one. Not when that boy leant in close and buried his fist deep and hard into Johnny’s stomach, winding him. It was surprising he didn’t buckle to the ground. And that he managed a weak kind of a hit to the side of this guys head.
Yup. Trouble.
((Go for it, guys and girls!))
The hired rides were well on their way to completion, a small Ferris Wheel arched into the sky – the main attraction, as well as the most expensive hire – while several tiny rides dotted the usually bare grounds sporadically. Some of the more die-hard students already were setting up their stalls in the more desirable areas, and some boasted quite impressive displays, which Johnny put down to generous and wealthy parents or a good monthly allowance (both of which he was without.) But it was inspiring, none-the-less, even though competition had made the students bands together rather then any type of school spirit. He occupied himself by wandering and weaving about the allotted Carnival, the area gradually filling up with Eddingborough students and then, eventually, the towns people who came for a good time, but mostly for a sticky beak at the prestigious school.
The very fact that the Carnival was an open event boded very ill for the rambunctious boy, as well as the fact that he was so hard to miss. There was no mistaking Johnny Paige in his bright blue jeans, loose and scuffed on the knees, the yellow shirt providing an interesting, if not almost (obviously) distasteful contrast – it was almost as if he had a bulls-eye painted on him, the perfect beacon for the local gang who had taken instant dislike to him. Pair them together with the other boys who didn’t particularly take a shine to him after the incident at their party and you had a nice little mob out for his blood. Unfortunately, Johnny was completely and utterly unaware.
He’d just bought a nice big Cotton Candy and proceeded to bite into it with large, starved mouthfuls when he caught the eye of a boy. He knew that face, something about it rang alarm bells and his step became slow as his mind ticked through every face he knew. And then it clicked, and the only thing he could think of saying was muffled by his mouthful (holymotheroffreakinghellshitshitshitshit.) of Cotton Candy. It was safe to say that Johnny was a little relieved about the crowd, lulled into a nice sense of security, heartbeat calming, because, really, no one would try any shit where they’d be caught. Would they?
But that boy looked pretty smug, and pretty pissed, and Johnny could see the rest of the boys trailing behind their appointed leader. Rather then taking any chances, he turned on his heel and walked quickly into the crowd, deeper and deeper, aware that he wasn’t being let out of sight at all. His heart began to pound, and he heard the blood rushing through his veins. He wasn’t afraid to fight, but the numbers weighed greatly against him – and he kinda wished that he’d met up with his group earlier, instead of wandering down by himself. This wish intensified when he was caught near the clowns, a fist shooting out from one of the makeshift alleys and yanking him into the semi darkness. In his panic, he was able to catch a knee with his foot (the yelp of pain signalled success) but it was nothing to get cocky about.
It was a very familiar situation, Johnny pressed up against the wall with five boys facing him off and a whole lot more yet to come. He shifted uncomfortably, side to side on his foot, weary. Sure, no one could come from behind him this way, but the front wasn’t looking all that good either. Being pinned in was a likely outcome too, as well as missing teeth and broken noses. His teeth and his nose.
“Why don’t y’all go fuck yourselves!?” He spat out, the boys taunting remarks pushing on sore points, little Johnny practically battling Goliath. “It’s the only screw you’d get!” Not that he could talk, and provoking the already angry locals probably wasn’t the best of formulated plans – but hey, he was already between a rock and a hard place, doubtful he’d get out of this one. Not when that boy leant in close and buried his fist deep and hard into Johnny’s stomach, winding him. It was surprising he didn’t buckle to the ground. And that he managed a weak kind of a hit to the side of this guys head.
Yup. Trouble.
((Go for it, guys and girls!))
