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Post by eveangeline7 on Mar 14, 2009 16:45:47 GMT -5
"Me, no, of course not." she said, her voice adapting the same tone it normally had. "Nothing like that.." she said, warding off the memories fighting to resurface. "So you like champagne?" she asked, changing the subject.
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Post by Milk on Mar 14, 2009 16:47:26 GMT -5
Jason growled at that subject change, but didn't press her. "Yes."
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Post by eveangeline7 on Mar 14, 2009 16:51:41 GMT -5
"Thats nice." she said, dissapointed by his change in mood. Realizing he had gone back to his cold, distant self, she settled into her seat, looking out the window angrily. What the hell is his problem she thought to herself, anger rising from within her. I didn't do a thing to him.
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Post by Milk on Mar 14, 2009 16:54:12 GMT -5
"By the way, that essay is due by the end of tomorrow," he told her in a less cold voice as he sipped his drink.
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Post by eveangeline7 on Mar 14, 2009 16:57:13 GMT -5
Rolling her eyes, she responded to him sarcastically, "Yes sir." Scooting as far away from him as she could in her seat, she thought of how fun it would be to fight him when they actually began using weapons.
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Post by Milk on Mar 14, 2009 17:00:06 GMT -5
They reached the house and he did the gentlemanly thing of opening the door for her and then followed her inside. "I'll see you tomorrow morning," he informed her and went to his room and locked the door again, and made sure his extra locks were secured.
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Post by eveangeline7 on Mar 14, 2009 17:04:06 GMT -5
Chaging into her sweats, she thought to herself sarcastically How nice it must be to feel nothing before returning to the library to type her essay. Finishing at 3 A.M., she tiredly made her way back up to her room and fell asleep.
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Post by Milk on Mar 14, 2009 17:05:45 GMT -5
((she's going to be pissed at him...))
The next morning, he wore surprisingly normal cloths. Black sweats and a black textured shirt. He sat at the breakfast table, sipping his usual coffee and eating toast and awaiting her to awaken.
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Post by eveangeline7 on Mar 14, 2009 17:16:46 GMT -5
(( no!!!!! )) Rising tiredly, she quickly dressed, eager to finally start using whips today. Rushing down the stairs, she joined him at the table, sitting across from him. "Hi." she said, voice tired yet upbeat. "How'd you sleep?"
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Post by Milk on Mar 14, 2009 17:23:51 GMT -5
"Fine. And yourself?" he answered, finishing his coffee. "Where's your essay?"
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Post by eveangeline7 on Mar 14, 2009 17:26:31 GMT -5
Rolling her eyes, she ran up to her room and retrieved it, returning with it in hand a moment later. "Ta-da!" she said, smiling and handing it to him.
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Post by Milk on Mar 14, 2009 17:28:27 GMT -5
He read it over once, and after a few moments, tore it in half. "Do it over," he said and excused himself from the room.
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Post by eveangeline7 on Mar 14, 2009 17:41:31 GMT -5
(( that bastard!! )) Following him out of the room, she stepped in fron of him. "Who the hell do you think you are!" she said pushing him. "I did what you wanted me to do. What the hell is the problem?" Her hands shook as she threw the paper in his face, her face red with rage.
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Post by Milk on Mar 14, 2009 17:43:22 GMT -5
((he has reason for it! also, i've gotta go eat, so i'll be back asap))
Jason stared down calmly at her. "I said, rewrite it. You're going to do everything I say, correct? If you don't like my methods, then get. Out." He turned and continued on his way.
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Post by eveangeline7 on Mar 14, 2009 17:57:10 GMT -5
Left standing there, she tore the paper up in her hands as tears of anger slid down her face. Wiping them away quickly, she stormed back into the library and yet again began the task of researching and typing up an essay on the whip. This time she edited and made sure to include plenty of information on all aspects of the weapon. Finally finishing at midnight, she slid it under his door before going into her own room and channeling her anger into her drawings, creating pictures of what she imagined hell to be like, with deformed hands with the skin peeled off reaching upwards as if trying to dig their way out of hell.
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