fandomhighdorms | The Roof; Saturday Evening [ 01/07 ].

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The Roof; Saturday Evening [ 01/07 ].

Okay, so, it was Saturday night and Britta felt a little lame about the fact that she was up on the roof with nothing better to do than smoke some...cigarettes, but it hardly felt like Friday when you'd basically taken an extended weekend and didn't get back until Wednesday. So she was actually enjoying the chance to just know that there was a good spot in this place for just reflecting and smoking...cigarettes.

From the stash of...tobacco she'd gotten on her little trip. Man. A lot of the guys she smoked with in Riverside claimed there was nothing better than homegrown, but...

"I beg to differ, gentlemen," Britta said to no one in particular after a satisfied inhale and a pleased sigh. "I beg to differ."

[[ open roof is open! ]]

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"Aww look, it's my friend in nicotine," Nathan said after he'd pushed the door open and noisily made his way onto the roof. "Didn't take you long to find the roof, did it?"

Good on her.

"Heeeeyyy, British guy!" Britta said with a smile back and would just let the fact that, okay, it wasn't really nicotine she was toking right now slide. "Or is it English? What's the difference, anyway? Need a light?"

Scratch my back, scratch your back kind of thing.

Coming up the stairs, Wesley blinked at overhearing Britta's little remark to no one. "I'm sorry, were you talking to someone?"

Invisible students? It was Fandom. It could be a thing.

"British?" Nathan said, looking offended. "I'm fucking Irish, mate. Are you smoking something other than cigarettes and if so, why haven't you offered to share?"

Thanks to her current batch of greenery, Britta was far too mellow right now to be disturbed by the sound of someone's voice suddenly, and she looked toward the boy with a grin on her face, head tilted slightly back to look at him. "Nope," she said, easily enough. "Not really. Guess now I am, though. Hi. How's it going?"

"Pssh," said Britta, laughing a little and waving a hand dismissively. "Whatever. And, no, it's just cigarettes."

You could tell by the very obvious wink and another faint giggle before she leaned over to offer out what remained of the joint. "Here. Help yourself. I stocked up."

"Aren't you just the sweetest?" Nathan asked, taking the offered joint and giving it a nice, long inhale.

Yeah, that was fucking excellent.

"And here I thought I was the only one with good tastes in things that can be smoked. Where have you been all my life?"

Or at least for the last few months.

Wesley wondered if it was just his imagination, or if this girl was a bit off.

"Quiet well, thank you," he said, eyeing her with some curiosity. "And, ah, yourself?"

"Riverside, Colorado," Britta answered, with a small snort and no little amount of derision. "Pretty far shot away from Ireland. How does someone from Ireland end up all the way on the other side of the pond, mate?"

Britta, that was an English accent. And a terrible one at that.

Britta's smile was blissful and lazy.

Definitely not Wesley's imagination.

"Amazing," she said with a satisfied sigh. "Even better if I had some chips or something. Oooh, or tacos. You didn't bring any with you, did you?"

"That was a fucking awful English accent," Nathan said, pulling a face and almost thinking about holding her joint hostage. But, he knew how he'd feel if someone did that to him so he passed it back.

"Are we gonna have to have a geography lesson right here?" Nathan wondered. "Do I have to properly tell you the difference between Ireland and England now?"

Oh right, she had a question stuck in there too. "And I got punted over here after I got arrested. My mum thought it might straighten me out a bit."

Britta was going to point out that harshing someone's buzz after they'd shared their pot with you was totally uncool, but she just took another toke instead.

"has it worked?" she asked, while letting out a long breath, savoring it a moment longer before offering it back. Nice thing with sharing with only one person is you didn't have to wait nearly as long between passes.

"...no."

So, so much side-eyeing. So much. ~~Though at least she wasn't feeling up a plant.~~

"Are you all right?"

"Never been better!" Britta assured him. "Well, I mean, except for the fact that I'm starving. Do they deliver pizza to the dorms? What kind of restaurants are open this late? You know what?" She shook her head, and waved her hand to beckon him over. "Never mind. Come on, have a seat. Take a load off. You smoke?"

Nathan finally lit up his own cigarette while he thought about how answer that question. In the end, he went with the first thing that came to mind.

"Abso-fucking-lutely not," he told her, grinning widely. "I am rebel, baby, and that's all there is to it. Nothing to straighten out. I've just gotten to grace America with my presence this way."

No, Britta. No, he really did not.

Wesley gingerly took a seat on the ledge, though a part of him wondered if it might not perhaps be a better idea to flee far, far away from the insane girl. "Er. No, thank you," he said. "So, ah. Are you new, then?"

He was the best at small-talk. Really.

Britta was hoping for an answer like that, and she grinned. "Aren't we all so lucky?" she said. "How long have you been here? And what'd you get arrested for? That's not confidential, is it?"

Someone had come up to the roof to... burn small dolls in tiny blue gingham dresses in effigy.

So really, it just looked like Elphaba had walked onto the roof carrying a couple dolls. It looked totally normal. Really.

"Oh. I wasn't expecting anyone to be up here."

Britta shrugged. More for her, then, she supposed. She kicked her legs a little with a deep drag, holding it in a little with a smile. "Yup," she said. "You? I'm Britta, by the way, and you sound like you're not exactly from around here."

And her accent-deduction had been working so well on Nathan!

"England, actually," Wesley confirmed, refraining from puffing up too much at that. "Formerly of the Watchers' Academy in Southern Hampshire." Because she cared. Really. "And yourself?"

"It's going on a fucking year now," he said and then made a show of stretching his back and arms. "And I'm only getting more beautiful with age."

And his ego was only getting bigger. "As for my unfortunate arrest, it was probably for stealing and then stapling some bloke's hand because he was being a twat. That probably had something to do with it. Fucking weak if you ask me."

Britta looked at the green woman carrying the dolls, looked at her joint, and then back to the other girl.

Damn.

"Thank you, Count Spaghetti," she murmured gratefully, shaking her head and hoping she could could find the same supplier next time she was in New York, because, clearly, he had the good stuff.

"What the what is the Watchers' Academy of Southern Hampshire?" asked Britta, arching an eyebrow, and mostly ignoring the question turned back on her because a name like that was just plain distracting. "Sounds....expensive."

Or slightly cultish. Either one.

"Count Spaghetti?" Elphaba said, not following at all. She carefully placed the dolls to the side, completely casual. "Are you asking me to count noodles with you?"

Britta winced. "Ouch. Damn." She looked down at her own palm, imagining a staple going through it, which didn't help the wincing and made her wrinkle her nose and then shaking it as if to ward off the phantom, imagined pained. "That's got to take a lot of freaking force to staple someone's hand. Was it, like, a staple gun, or a Swingline?"

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The Roof; Saturday Evening [ 01/07 ].

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