When Up Is Down~ [Shika-kun]

[SEN]

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][cs=2][atrb=style, background: url(http://i9.photobucket.com/albums/a52/RynxEnvy/Decorated%20images/checkered.gif); width: 450px, bTable][atrb=style,-moz-border-radius: 15px; border-radius: 15px;,true]

[atrb=style, width: 100px; vertical-align: top;] words: tagged: Shika-kun~!!! Song: Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down credit: JADE of KU

The room was small, almost too small, to be a place for two grade level's to hangout in during the day, depending on the time of day of course. Most students went during lunch of free period but, the occasional trouble maker would abandon class simply to get some peace and quiet. And that's when Sen was doing on this particularly nasty day. The weather outside was a mix of snow and rain, it was cold just not cold enough to freeze all the water that fell down in thick sheets, pelting to school and town, building up a thick film of pure slush. Ugh. Driving in it was a bitch, that was for sure. Sen was just glad she was a good driver, even when she was high as a kite. Yep, that's right. Earlier that morning, Sen had left home, parked her car in the empty lot a few blocks from school and hot boxed it. She didn't care about going to school high. It didn't effect her work and, if anything, it helped her concentrate, made her less... wound-up. Of course, that's what weed was supposed to do. Backpack dropped carelessly on the floor, Sen sat at the old desk, her feet propped up on its surface, black mid-calf high boots still damp from the weather, skinny jeans tucked into them. Her hoody had been shrugged off when greeted by the hot, stuffy air of the school, left to dangle over the back of the chair, leaving her in a long sleeve, black and gray sweater over a white tanktop. Her hair, for once, had been left out of its usual spiky bun, left to fall in layers and waves around her narrow shoulders as she stared out the window in silence, the pupil of her visible eye dilated greatly. If anyone payed attention, they would know what was up with her, lost in her own mind and body.

[SHIKA-KUN]

[atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #cacaca; padding: 10px; width: 450px, bTable][atrb=style, width: 100px; padding: 10px; float: left; background-color: #e2e2e2;][style=border: 2px solid #cacaca;] [/style][style=font-family: Courier New; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; color: #494949; padding-top: 5px;]ANOTHER CIGARETTE AND I'M SO BORED YOUR WORDS AREN'T MAKING SENSE. AND I WAS TAKEN, BUT YOU WERE WAITING, ONE MORE DRINK AND I'M CONVINCED. NOT ONE MORE SOUND. LET YOUR HAIR DOWN. TAKE THE LONG ROAD, NO ONE WILL KNOW. WHOA, I FEEL JUST LIKE WE'RE TAKING CONTROL OF THE NIGHT. OF THE NIGHT, OF THE NIGHT, YEAH YEAH.[/style]

[style=background-color: #e2e2e2; height: 320px; overflow: auto; width: 275px; float: right; padding: 10px; font-family: Tahoma; color: #494949; text-align: justify; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase;]Shikamaru groaned in irritation as he heard a sound, lazily cracking one eye to find Sen staring at him from across the room. After opening another eye, he quickly came to the conclusion that she was high as a rocket. Shrugging, he laid his head back down on the table. Yes, he was skipping class. Yes, Sakura was going to tell him off about it. Was it worth it? Yes. The sophomore barely went to class anyway -- he could pass them in the blink of an eye, they were so easy. He'd rather sleep his days away than have to put up with some stupid lecture about the Human Body, or on Trigonometry. It was a wonder that he wasn't smoking right now, despite it being in the middle of school. Smoking was really one of the few things that unwound him. Was it a good habit? Hell no. He got enough of his girlfriend's speeches on his health deteriorating, and Shikamaru was far from stupid. But it relieved stress. Picking up his head, he stared at Sen, and she stared right back, pupil dilated from drugs. The two were friends -- not to mention they often smoked together -- so he supposed that this was supposed the time when he walked over and talked to her. How troublesome... the sixteen-year-old sighed, and plopped his head back into the cradle his arms made. If she wanted to talk, she'd have to come over to him.[/style]

[style=font-family: Courier New; font-size: 10px;]template by jetplane of btn[/style]