Four miles of cross country and El's lungs feel like they're about to burst. Worse, she's simply craving a cigarette. She breaks off from the pack, jogging their way back to the locker rooms for shower and change, slipping her back to the wall, desperate to catch a breath. Eyes slip closed, back slinking slowly down the length of the wall - eyes drift open, catch on salvation - smoke rings rising from the earth like SOS signals. There's a curve of a smile as she settles into a wide circle around Kuria, stretched out on the grass.


'til she's sitting cross-legged behind Kuria's head. And, lips near naked ear, she shocks the girl out of her musical reverie. "Thom Yorke, one sexy beast, yeah?" Lips curved up, her head tilted to the side. The middle and index finger on her right hand wiggle in front of the cigarette. "Don't figure you'd be willing to go halfsies, huh?" Time was, you'd never see El in her uniform, but here she is, same gym getup as the Irish girl. Casual clothes are a rare commodity, frequently ripped (and sometimes, El suspects, stolen) by the island's more colorful fauna.

She grins as the girl just about jumps out of her skin. Doesn't move much. She's got the same Cheshire grin. "You're just saying that 'cuz you're Irish and he's English, and you're prejudiced about that." She plucks the cigarette from the girl's fingers, filling her lungs with a lusty drag. One brow's up, inquisitive. "You are Irish, right?" Cigarette handed back, licking at lips. She's cross-legged, palms flat on the grass behind her - she leans backwards. "Either way, I'd hit it."

If she's aware she's being looked at, she doesn't show it - organic, no makeup, hair tumbling back over her shoulder into her face, her piercings plucked out. She's stretched backwards, vest rising to reveal expanse of smooth stomach, rising and falling There's a sweet sheen of sweat over her skin, chest breathing quick and deep as she still tries to wind her heart rate back down. She breathes from the cigarette like it's an oxygen tank. "Georgia. deep fried Southern belle. You know. Bible-thumping, corn-pone redneck?" She turns the cigarette over in her hand, passing it back. "Couldn't tell just by looking, huh?" Eyes, settle up at the sky, slyly move to watch Kuria's reaction, now. Lips are pursed coyly, blue eyes what? challenging? threatening? teasing? Hard to tell, but they're sharp like a stiletto.

"That's how we get you. I catch you off guard with my natural charm and girlish good looks, then once you're hooked it's all 'NASCAR this' and 'Hulk Hogan that'." Her eyes, like highl polished stones, brilliant in her un-made-up face. There's a wry twist to her lips. Her eyes flit down Kuria's body. "And maybe if your mind's telling you you're a prat, you should pay it some attention, yeah?" she teases, attention flicked back to the gym where the rest of the girls from class are filing in to shower and change. She'll play hookie for now. She doesn't really like showering in front of other girls, likes the way the coach watches them shower even less. Her lips are pressed together in a thoughtful moue, briefly vulnerable, before quickly snapping back to that smile. She snatched up the dangling silence. "Anyway, I think I've got a class with you...." Not that she'd really know. Attending classes at this school has really become a rather auxiliary concern.

She takes the cigarette, holding it at length while she rubs her sore abdomen. "Ugh... Christ. feels like my lungs are gonna explode." Followed by a nice, long drag of the cigarette, eyes sliding closed. Bliss. Yeah, that's satisfying. Cross-legged, she rocks on the grass, eyes slowly opening.

"Calculus. Yeah. I Remember you." Sucking the cigarette to the filter before stabbing it out into the dirt. "You can only get by with the truancy shit for so long. Fuckers are always watching us. Always. They're happy when we break their rules. They want to punish us." A frown. She pauses a second, then "I love your hair." because you have to break the awkward silence somehow.