Vᴀɴᴅᴇʀʙɪʟᴛ Aᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍʏ Fᴏʀ Tʜᴇ Eʟɪᴛᴇ © discussion

This magnificent fountain was donated by the Vanderbilt family in 1857, and it is still used to this day

Mirabelle entered the clearing near the fountain, and sat on the edge of the fountain, attempting to skip quarters on the surface. She tapped her beat up Doc Martens against the marble, moodily wondering why her mother had insisted upon sending her to this god awful school when she could've been racing fancy cars down abandoned streets, or something just as fun.

Teagan whistled as he walked, hands in his pockets. His last class had ended and now he was on break. He contemplated taking an early lunch. That would certainly take up time if he ate slow, but then he'd be hungry again later. Not that he didn't already have an arsenal of snacks at the ready for times like this. But, still. He needed something to more stimulating than eating a meal.

As if something had heard his silent request, the plop of water rising and falling back down. He turned is head, gray-eyed gaze landing on a brown-haired girl. She was skipping quarters, in a fountain. That wouldn't exactly work out, in his opinion. Brows raised, he considered that she might be a good way to kill time. Either she was bored or angsty, both of them might benefit from the interaction.

"So, how many skips did you get," he inquired as he approached, a friendly smile on his face.

Mirabelle turned to the stranger. "What do you care?" She asked, although not in a rude tone, quirking her right eyebrow. "Two." She replied, standing up and extending her hand for a shake. It felt awkward- she never really talked to people, nor introduced herself, so she sat back down, lighting a cigarette with a matchbook she had found in her pocket. She took a long drag, examining the stranger. He looked nice, and would do well enough to please her mother. At the very least, she could pay him to act as a friend on a vacation. She rolled her eyes at the thought of her mother, and rubbed her cigarette out on the pristine, white marble. "Mira." She introduced herself harshly, just in two syllabelles instead of the beautiful, lilting, French accented Mirabelle her mother insisted upon at every function.

"Just curious," he replied, tipping his head to the side. He watched her pull out a cigarette after answering him. What was it with rebellious teens and smoking? They were doing themselves more harm than they were to anyone else. But, something on her mind made her roll her eyes, piquing his interest in what she had to think about him. He certainly wasn't quite sure of how to think of her just yet, but something told him she had an aversion to this place. Likely forced to come here, or just a general dislike for a lot of things that translated to where she was now.

"Mira, huh? That's a nice name," he complimented, trying to keep things friendly, "I'm Teagan." Maybe not quite as nice a name as hers, but a name no less. He took a moment to get a better look at her, a smile on his face. She was pretty in a dramatic sort of way, perched there on the marble with her cigarette. But not his type. Maybe a friend, but he couldn't see much more than that. And even then, her attitude didn't really give him much hope of them being friends.

"Did you not have class?" He wasn't too sure where to tread with her yet, still trying to find an in. There'd be one somewhere, he supposed; he just had to coax it out.

"Thanks Teagan." Mira replied, brushing ash off the fountain. He seemed nice enough, although he looked a tad older than her- two years? Perhaps three? Mira thought about her schedule- all blow off classes, languages she already knew, and maybe some math or science. "I think I have French right now," she replied," Although it's useless- I'm already fluent." She shoved her hand back into her pocket, searching for quarters. Her hands came up empty, which was a shame, because it meant time for more small talk.

Teagan overall, looked handsome. Good bone structure and well maintained hair. Mira couldn't care less, but it meant he was probably well bred. Or, his family had enough money to fake it, which was good enough in her mother's eyes. He seemed nice, perhaps too nice; no one approached Mirabelle ever that friendly, and to make small talk with her was uncommon. She always tried her best to look unapproachable, dressed in dark shades with edgy accessories.

"What makes you tick?" She answered, studying his features. "Art? Athletics?" She pondered outloud, "Non scholarship I'm assuming." Mirabella shut her mouth promptly, re-lacing her Doc Martens.

"Fluent, huh? I guess you're from a French-speaking country or someone who works for you has taught you how to speak it," he inquired. He glanced down at her hands as she searched for more quarters--or, that's what he thought she was doing. He fished through his own, producing two fairly new quarters before he offered them to her without a word.

While he may have looked approachable, Teagan reactions to others could change mid-interaction. Nothing is ever totally solid with him. Especially when he didn't have a clear understanding of the person he was talking to. "Me? I'm Athletics." His smile was easy, his shrug nonchalant. He picked off lint from the hem of his button-down shirt before looking up at her again.

"What about you? What makes Mira tick?"

"My mother is French." Mira replied. She thought of her mother, and how her mother thought she was so superior compared to other Europeans- their style, their food, their effortless grace. Mira thankfully accepted the quarters, nodding her head in acknowledgement. You should only really thank people when you meant it was one of her mottos, so gave out a curt "Thank you."

Mira shrugged off her leather jacket- this island was just too warm, too much like California, she cursed internally. Couldn't she just live somewhere with actual seasons, not perpetual sunshine and warmth?

"I like racing cars." She told Teagan. It was indeed what made her tick. She loved the adrenaline rush, the total control it made her feel, the rush from being in a sleek, metal bullet speeding down the streets. "But my 'talent'," she replied, putting air quotes around the word talent," Is ballet and acting. I hate both though, krav maga is more up my alley." Mira feined a punch, and granted Teagan the smallet of the elusive Mirabelle smile. She loved krav maga almost as much as she loved racing cars.

The Marx boy's brows rose as Mira spoke. He already encountered a whole slew of celebrities and people from exotic locations in his classes, and it was somewhat nice to encounter someone with such a seemingly mundane background. Of course, he knew that would only seem so in comparison to the lives of some other students. He wondered if Mira had a firm grasp of how low on the tier of interesting her life was to him and everyone else. "Don't mention it," he said in regards to her thanks.

He gave a soft hum as she explained her talent and what she'd preferred to do. Mundane. Car racing sounded like the typical rebellious teen move and he wasn't impressed. It was like someone saying they enjoyed adventure sports or that they'd smoked--even if it was for the first time. He nodded, trying to think of what next to say to it. Her smile was unexpected and had thrown him slightly off course in his topic of speech. His previous assessment of her appearance still stood, but she seemed slightly less dramatic when she smiled. That was a nice change.

"I've personally never done krav maga," he admitted, "I assume you could kick quite a lot of ass, given the chance." He ended his statement with a chuckle, smile slightly crooked and eyes squinting to see her through the sunshine. He didn't really care, though. He had no intentions of fighting her. And he really wasn't sure if he wanted to keep up this interaction. If he were scoring her, she'd be banking around a low C-. That would have been enough to make him walk away with a second's notice if he hadn't already invested fifty cents in this conversation.

"How did you come to learn it?" He might as well keep going. "Krav Maga, that is. Did you mother put you up to it--or your father?"

"Ha." Mira gave Teagan a short, dry laugh. "Krav maga is the bane of both my parent's lives, seeing as it is not the proper behavior of a debutante."

She rolled her eyes, lighting another cigarette- it was her second pack of the week, a new group of people always made her slightly on edge. She tapped her feet on the fountain, at a loss for words. It was she just avoided conversing all together- this conversation was uncomfortable for her, and probably boring them both to death, but society dictated that one must engage in small talk. She could practically hear her mother drilling small talk conversational topics into her head: avoid politics and religion, steer towards the weather or the scenery if you must, but focus on people or interests you have in common.

He was probably staying because of his paltry investment, Mira figured. Her body was itching for a swig of vodka, or some other type of drink. A raging alcoholic, or a lesser equivalent, at the age of 15, not too uncommon among children of celebrities, Mirabelle had figured out.

Mira was so bored about talking about herself, and she didn't feel like prying into Teagan's life, she couldn't care less about the genetics of his great eyebrows, or his incessantly happy talk.

(( sorry for the late reply! ))

Teagan let this information settle in the air. Certainly, as he had thought, this was just another one of those types. The kind that felt their teenage angst was a mandatory part of being a teenager, even if they’d manufactured it for themselves. She’d done it out of rebellion, rather than her own interest. At least, that was how he saw it. Such a shame, too; she could have easily fought for it if she really wanted to do all these rebellious things. It was a front he wanted no part of, and thus very little part in her.

But, he was invested. Not in her or the conversation, but the appearance and perception she must have had of him at this point. Appearances were everything, after all. So he chuckled as he assumed the situation called for and contemplated the next talking point. He was sure there were a whole slew of methods for how the girl could have gotten herself into the things she did. He watched as she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, brows raised.

“You do know those lead to cancer, right?” If she was doing this to be rebellious, it’d be yet another shame. She maybe smoked what, three packs a week? That’d certainly put a damper on her good looks. She’d turn up looking like a wet dog in a few years’ time. Maybe have the first cells of lung cancer brewing in her system. There were other things she could smoke or do to relieve boredom and tension; that much, he knew himself.

( s'all good )

Mirabella raised her dainty eyebrows in surprise. "Really? I had no idea." She stuck a cigarette in her mouth, but let it linger there, unlit, dangling in between her lips. It was a cathartic practice, smoking. Put it in, light, take a drag, repeat. Something so mind numbing, so simple. She could've taken a swig of absinthe, but unfortunately, her flask was bone dry. Half drunk was the only way she managed to go to classes without being bored to death, and her trunks were already filled with empty bottles of spirits and liquor.

"I'm bored with you, and I reckon you can say the same about me." She declared brusquely to Teagan, twisting a strand of light brown hair behind her ear as it fell in front of her eyes. She jammed the pack of cigarettes into her back pocket, including her unlit one. She swung her legs up off the fountain, her boots smashing into the tiles, leaving grubby stains behind. "Why don't we both scurry off, huh? I'll let you go play rugby or seduce girls, or whatever boys like you prefer to do."

(( ? ))

Well, she said it. He likely wouldn't have put it in those words, though. He definitely had a lot more tact than she. Sighing, he rose to his feet with a haphazard smile. "I was actually kind of liking our conversation," he stated, "Though, I could have done without the cigarette smoke in my lungs." He lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant half-shrug before ruffling his hair.

"Seducing girls would be a waste of time, honestly." He turned then on his heels, smile widening. "See you around, Mirabella."