Chartreuse or Mango? [Ruka/Saku/Hina]

[¡El Bandito!]

Ochi Haruka had a tendency to sit in the back of the class.

It wasn't even really for the reasons most people tended to assume: that she was a slacker and would rather goof off in the back than pay attention in front. No, actually; sitting in the back of the class forced whoever was sitting back there to project their voice more, so the teacher (and by extension, the rest of the class) could actually hear what the student was asking. It was a surprisingly good habit to keep; it combated shyness and made people listen to you when you spoke rather than allowing you to mumble to the teacher alone.

Of course, the ability to fuck off was a welcome bonus.

Perhaps it was due to habits she had started as a freshman (or perhaps even before that), but it seemed that despite her new choice in uniform, there weren't all that many people clamoring to sit next to her. Was it the pink-orange hair, or the faceful of metal? Perhaps it was the snappy, bitchy attitude, but usually she tended to get the seats around her free, unless she specifically sat next to someone else or the room was full.

And this class - Creative Writing, a bullshit class if she had ever heard one, a class where they could write page-and-a-half short stories and double space them and get an A, or, better yet, go unearth some horrible emo poetry from that one phase a few years ago and turn that in instead - seemed like it was getting pretty full... but it wasn't quite to the point where anyone was forced to sit next to her just yet.

Not that she minded, really; she was kind of used to it. She had some friends despite her appearances, and they just happened to have other friends they would rather sit next to before the crazy punk rock girl over in the corner that talked too loud and dyed her hair every other week. It wasn't a big deal, and it meant she didn't have to share the stash of snacks stuffed in her backpack. It also meant that no one was going to snitch on her for getting bored and painting her nails in the middle of class, which was pretty much what her plans for this period were going to be for the rest of the year or at least the semester.

[Elle]

A good fifteen minutes after the shrill cry of the bell had passed, one Haruno Sakura shuffled into the filled classroom, pallid cheeks flushed pink from hassling to get to the class in time. It was just like Kakashi-sensei to keep her waiting after class just to discuss the details about a project more thoroughly. In her left hand she clutched a note, the single piece of freedom that would allow her to skip afternoon detention. Not that Haruno Sakura had ever seen detention that is; she was rather fearful of receiving one in the first place.

Laying the note in front of her teacher and shifting the light pink backpack over her shoulder, Sakura's green eyes scanned over a possible seat. Typically she would sit in the front with her good friend, Hyuga Hinata, but today looked like it was going to be the exception. Mentally she cursed out her perverted teacher, reluctantly tracking to the back of the classroom. The front was a perfect place for a person like Sakura; the teacher's voice was clear and crisp, and she didn't have to squint twenty-four-seven to read the notes scrawled upon the white board.

Taking a seat across from a young girl with wild, bright hair and multiple face piercings, the pinkette dropped her bag on the floor from her shoulder with a soft 'clunking' noise. Rustling inside of her backpack for her notebook and pen, Sakura finally leaned up, positioning herself upright once more. She flipped open the notebook with a mild look of disinterest in her eyes, fingers lazily turning the pages until a blank page was discovered.

Creative Writing was probably one of the most boring, tedious classes she had the misfortune of taking. Originally she had tried to cram in another Advanced Placement class, but that idea had been quickly shot down. 'Taking on too much,' was what her counselor had told her, but Sakura brushed off that comment. Having a ridiculously busy schedule is what she thrived on, after all.

Glancing down at her chipped nails--colored with bright lime green--the pinkette made a mental note to repaint them before bed. Her nails weren't chipped and filed down to perfection like Ino's, but she had some pride in making sure that the polish never became mere fragments upon her nails. With the strict uniform rule, hair and nail-painting was the only real sense of originality a student could get.

[yøsh]

Truth be told, creative writing was not Hinata’s first, second, or even third pick for her free class period. Truth be told, this could be said of most of her classes this semester, thanks to a combination of the mandatory class credits needed to graduate (though she wasn’t sure if creative writing really should be counted as a visual art credit) and the office accidentally switching her for sophomore classes. It was a problem that was easy enough to fix, and she really didn’t mind the mix up, or at least she didn’t not that the problem was relatively fixed; after all, everyone made mistakes and she hardly thought that it was somehow intentional and a part of an evil plot from a antagonist to be named at a later date.

But, that being said, a slightly over-dramatic pause and the mandatory ‘however’ would hardly be misplaced. Creative writing? Open class with last minute room for her or not, Hinata could hardly see why the secretary thought that it would be a good choice for her; she didn’t have a truly creative bone in her body, a fact that she tried to quietly argue before the older woman’s gentle persuasion.

Calculus, while slightly despised, she understood. Chemistry, while she was fairly sure that she would never use it in her ‘real life’ (also known as what supposedly came after high school) she could see both how it could be applicable and the logic behind selecting that for her class list. But creative writing?

”It’s an open class....”[/color] Hinata reminded herself for the umpteenth time since she received the replacement schedule earlier that morning. Besides, as she attempted to reason with herself (admittedly both an easy and difficult task at times), she could use the class as a work period; a sort of study hall without the oh-so-subtle free block that would show potential universities a lack of initiative that could kill her slim chances at favorable placement. That and the usual study hall-ers, often loud shop kids, rarely provided the comfortable and dedicated ambiance desired for any real work getting done.

Moving to the back of the classroom, after arriving just barely with the appropriately alloted time m( a sort of anti-saved-by-the-bell, complete with it’s nearly disappointing lack of carefree blondes and their dark haired side kicks and their often beach related high jinks), Hinata barely spared the pink haired girl a glance before sitting down. It wasn’t so much to be rude or even so much that the girl’s was one that while not quite a sneer definitely left the distinct impression that she did not want to be bothered. Now whether it was the face metal, her concentration on her nails, or an actual expression, Hinata was not quite sure, but she supposed that it really didn’t matter in the long run of things, or at least as long as the semester was. She did not say hello to the girl, the girl did not say hello to her, they simply worked on their separate projects with the seemingly similar goal of ignoring the teacher.

Simply put, it was specifically uncomfortable sitting in back with a girl she recognized by face as an older student, even if it lacked the camaraderie that one would find in, say, homeroom. Even with the teacher talking about the freedom of expression (or how the pen was mightier then mere words, or whatever cliche nonsense she was quoting in attempt to be inspirational) it was quiet enough for her to concentrate on her math assignment. Well, until a not unwelcome distraction shuffled through the door in the form of another pinkette, a natural one (or at least Hinata was under the impression that she didn’t get her hair color from a box).

Flashing Sakura a small grin as she joined her in the back, a far cry from their usual seats front row center, Hinata closed her text book muttering as loud as she dared to, ”Ready to exercise your creative muscle?” Hopefully her sarcasm was not too remiss for the morning.

[¡El Bandito!]

"I exercised your mom's creative muscle all night long!"

She blurted it out before she could even think about stopping herself.

The dark-haired girl clearly hadn't been talking to her; she had been talking to the conveniently other pink-haired girl sitting across from her at the table in the back of the room. Really, how many pink-haired girls were there in this damn place? Though, hers was a much nicer color than Haruka's; it was a bright, bubblegum color as opposed to the grungy, indecisive hue she had inadvertently given herself.

But, it was in her nature; Haruka was never one to miss a chance for a terrible HAHA YOUR MOM joke. Because, really, it had very little to do with the material; it was all about timing. These weren't the kind of jokes that garnered hearty guffaws and belly-laughs, anyway... It was more a snort or a dark chuckle, and maybe a similar retort as the other party tried to one-up the innuendo.

It was clear she was not the only one who thought this class was a waste of time, however, judging by the math book the dark-haired girl had cracked and the dry comment, as well as the bored, disinterested looks on her table-mates faces as the teacher spewed nonsense about 'avoiding cliches like the plague' and various other teehee funny writer jokes and points to remember.

She had pulled a notebook out but she hadn't bothered to open it up, leaving the overly-decorated notebook covered in newspaper ads for her favorite hole-in-the-wall stores and ads for concerts, magazine clippings of games and music, and a rainbow of random stickers off to the side as she contemplated which of the handful of colors she had stuck in her backpack the other day she wanted to paint her nails today. Stealing a glance at the other pink-haired girl (who had green eyes too... damn, she needed to dye her hair again and buy some colored contacts or something now), she decided that she clearly was not alone in her nail-vanity at the moment; she pinkette was studying her own nails with far more concern that she had appeared to express for the class itself, walking in fifteen minutes late (even if she did have a note, but those were easy enough to forge... not like the girl looked like the kind that would pull something like that, but still).

In a moment of compassion wed with a small dose of gluttony for punishment should the teacher notice, Haruka reached down and pulled a handful of differently-colored bottles from one of the pockets of her backpack and set them out in the middle of the table. Clearly, at least one of them was thinking what she was thinking, and she may as well share the wealth and all that. "May as well do something useful with our time, huh?" she asked with her ever-present smirk, selecting a sparkly blue one and pulling it into her lap, shaking the bottle under the table.

[Elle]

Sakura only let out a sigh of relief as she spotted the inky-haired beauty, quickly giving her close friend a quick look of disdain (for the class, clearly) and opened her mouth before--

"I exercised your mom's creative muscle all night long!"

...Well, that had definitely been unexpected. Cautiously turning her head, pastel pink locks gently brushing against her collar bone and shoulders, Sakura couldn't help but quirk a smile at the comment. While the pinkette wasn't known to be particularly vulgar, she didn't mind sexual humor or jokes such as the one the girl across from her made. Instantly Sakura noted how alike they looked if only in the hair and eye department. Offering a quick upturn of the lips, Sakura sighed and cupped her cheek in her hand, "Typically I'd get mad since you interrupted our conversation, but...that was a good one."

The teacher's sharp eyes turned towards the back of the classroom and Sakura instantly snapped her attention back to her notebook, not wanting to receive punishment for not listening on on a lecture. Once his attention left from her form, however, she blew a lock of hair from her eyes with a puff of air from her mouth, quickly glancing over at Hinata. "Sadly, I wish Kakashi-sensei had kept me longer. I didn't miss anything life changing during the fifteen minutes I wasn't here, right?" It was pretty obvious that she was only kidding, considering nothing eventful ever happened during their creative writing class. At most, the teacher would assign some short story and they'd have to avoid author cliches; nothing out of the ordinary in Sakura's opinion.

The small 'clinging' noise alerted her from her seat, eyes trailing over to the girl and then to the nail polish sitting at the table. Now usually, Haruno Sakura never did anything that could risk getting herself in trouble. However, this class had to be the most boring one on her entire schedule, and if this girl was being nice enough to share, Sakura didn't see what the harm would be. After all, their teacher had almost completely forgotten about them, focusing on the students in the front of the class verses the ones seated all the way in the back.

"Thank-you," murmured Sakura, small hand selecting a nice red shade that would cover up the hideously chipped green currently residing on her nails. Underneath the table the pinkette shook the bottle and opened it, lightly going over her first nail before a thought hit her. She didn't even know this girl's name! Looking at the girl, she nodded and lowly asked, "My name is Sakura. What's yours..?" Even though they had been in this class for a while, Sakura could honestly say that she couldn't recall ever seeing her face before.