Original Airdate: Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Starring: "Honour", "Chance"
Notes: Who actually goes to school to go to class? Not the Beverly Hills High Royalty, that's for sure.
EXT — BEVERLY HILLS HIGH SCHOOL — DAY
The school is fairly quiet since classes are in session, but Honour has managed to not be in her gym class after giving the teacher a sob-story about personal issues and needing to see the counsellor. As if! The day was too nice to be spent inside, which is why she's currently arranged herself at the top of the bleachers, reclined back with her elbows up on the railing behind her and her legs up on the bench one row down. Her short skirt helps her long legs tan in the SoCal sun and she tilts her head back, enjoying the feel of the sun on her face, though her wide-framed sunglasses keep the glare out of her eyes. She never could understand why some kids don't like going to school.
Silence is the wave of the future. But not when Chance Elliot arrives at the school. Honestly, he should really strive to be on time at some point, but right now he's pulling up in one of his cars (this one, possibly on loan from the studio) and he just parks it right in the red zone. He's late, he's not really caring too much about things at this moment. He immediately hops up and over the side of his car (doors are for wimps) and is rushing off towards the gate that leads to the inside of the field. Noticing that it's wide open, he shoves his keys into his pocket and slips through with too much ease. He heads over to the third trash can nearby, pops open the lid and snatches out his gym bag, which is slung over his shoulder. Did I mention he's already decked out in his BHHS sweat suit? He was here the whole time. Honest.
Ooh, excitement. Or at least a little bit of action on this quiet, quiet afternoon. At the sound of a car pulling in, Honour lazily pulls her chin back down, peering over in the general direction of the parking lot from behind her dark shades. There's a little smirk that plays over her lips as she recognizes this particular showboat, but she doesn't speak up immediately. Instead, she lets him go about getting his things and getting himself a little nearer before she calls out with a playful, "You're late." In case he was unaware. Which could well happen around here. She sits up a little straighter and reaches for her triple-espresso, taking a calm sip of it as she waits for his reaction.
Chance has to actually stop and blink, not expecting anyone to be out here. Glancing upwards, he smirks at the sight of one of his many female fans. "Actually, I'm early." Chance's feet take him in the direction of the bleachers, which he starts to climb up to get to Honour's bench and plop himself right now next to her. Obviously, he's forgotten about class already. "For a date with the prettiest girl in Beverly Hills." he flashes his winning smile, before just leaning over to plant a soft kiss on the cheek of the Queen Bee. "We /are/ still on for tonight, right?"
Honour allows her cheek to be kissed with an indulgent smile, tilting her head just slightly to make it easier for him. See? She's nice! "I don't know. I have a lot of homework to do," she says wryly. Because, no. That is what wannabes are for. But you can't let a guy have too easy a time of it, now can you. "Where are we going, anyway?" She is not big on the surprise date, because it is impossible to dress for. She sets her cup back down beside her, shifting just slightly so that she faces him on a bit of an angle, at least.
Maxing and relaxing by this point, Chance just seems to be worried about looking at his babe's body, more than he's paying attention to whatever she's saying. He's got the most popular girl in school on his arm, any time he wants her to be. Definitely not too shabby of a thing to have. "I figured we'd head to the Hilltop. Make out until the sun comes up. Sound good?" He only waits four seconds before he answers it for her. "Great. Wear that green top I like…" Man, Chance is pretty much high on the forward boyfriend tip.
Honour really doesn't seem to mind his roving gaze, leaning back again to facilitate an even better view. Just because you know you're hot doesn't mean it isn't nice to have that reaffirmed at every possible moment. And he can have her on his arm on her terms, as far as she's concerned. "Don't be a pig. You should at least buy me dinner or something first," she explains patiently, though there is certainly no ruling out of the make out session. But a girl has to have some standards here! "And like I'm going to wear a top you've already seen," she goes on, her tone almost bored. This is really basic stuff.
"Come on. I like it. It makes my girls look… y'know." Chance always seems to refer to Honour's breasts as his own. He's territorial like that. Which is always a bad thing. Or a good thing. Whatever. He's Chance Elliot, he can do no wrong. "Let's make a deal. You wear that top I like and I'll take you to that restaurant you like down on the Southside. I'll even make reservations." And here he is, going onto his hip to take out a cell phone that's not even set to come out to the public for another four months.
Behind her sunglasses, Honour rolls her eyes at his proprietary nature towards her assets. Or lack thereof, but shut up. Still, she does consider the deal. That top is pretty cute on her, and she could pair it with that new skirt she got last weekend. "Fine," she sighs, as if she's making such a compromise here - and as if he wasn't already going ahead with it as a done deal. "But next weekend, you have to take me to that new club that's opening." Yes, that seems fair. Showing up with a TV star is always helpful for getting into the clubs, anyway. Not that she needs much help.
Chance rolls his eyes. "I'll see if I can swing it. I've got heavy show promotion next weekend." Or other dates lined up with cheerleaders and things of that nature. Who really ever knows with Chance? He's always got something or other up his sleeve. And within the next few moments, he's reserving Honour's favorite table at that restaurant and his phone is slid back into its holster with the quickness. "See? Am I your favorite person in the whole world or what?"
"Whatever. We're going." Honour just flatly refuses to accept truths she doesn't want to hear. He'll make it happen because she wants him to, and she always gets her way. Still, the confirmed reservations get a wry smirk from her, and she shrugs a shoulder. "Not my least favourite, at least. Oh my God, speaking of, did I tell you about this total wreck of a human being I ran into in the art room the other day?" But that seems to be the extent of her story, really. Other than what the hell she was doing in the art room when she thinks art is for weirdo freaks.
"What the hell were you doing in the art room?" That's the part Chance is worried about. "That's so the complete opposite of your scene, babe." He, on the other hand, can mingle with all the different social groups of the school. Which is why he's not as bitchy as his Queen. Still, though, he's a little lost in why the hell she would even go inside a room that will, in some form or fashion, be a threat to her outfit of the day. It's /art/.
"I needed glitter," Honour sighs, as if that really should have been obvious, duh. "For … a personal project." By which she means her slambook, which isn't nearly the secret she likes to pretend to try to keep it. Plausible deniability, really, is all the secrecy is for. "Next time I'll just overnight some. Oh my God, I was so right never to go in there. Some of those people look even worse than their 'art'."
Chance laughs and shakes his head. "Baby. You have minions. Next time you need to lift a finger for anything? Use them. It's what they're there for." Chance feels like he's talking to a baby. Sometimes, this is very true when it comes to Honour and her fits. "You're so cute when you're reliving a possibly traumatic experience with a lesser being."
"I didn't realize it was going to be so dangerous or I would have!" Honour insists, wrinkling her nose. "But I needed to make sure I got the right colour to match … other parts of it." Again with the lame subterfuge. It'd be sad if she were actually trying to hide it. "It was traumatic," she insists with a slight pout. "Her hair alone… I'll be having nightmares. Clearly, I need to end her."
"Or! Here's a thought. You can forget about her and focus on your lonely boyfriend type that has a key to the equipment room." In saying this, Chance holds up his keys, very likely showing off the one that he's talking about at the present. "Which, I also just happen to know, is going to be empty for the next hour or so." Grin. He's thinking what she thinks he's thinking.
"I can do both," Honour points out without missing a beat. She can plot nefarious plots in her sleep, really. How he might feel about her divided attention isn't really a concern of hers. "How'd you get those, anyway?" she inquires, but doesn't really seem to expect any sort of straight answer from him on that. "You're not sleeping with the janitor again, are you?" It's hard to tell if she's joking or not. But then, considering her hypocritical jealous streak, probably joking.
"His daughter." Channel remarks, but there's clearly a joking tone to those words. Which, for the record, could also just be there to keep Honour from flipping out or getting crazy jealous or something close to that. He's spinning the keys around his finger by this time, trying to make sure that the enticement to go make out is still there. "You in?"
Honour gives him a Look to let him know that his humour is not funny, but at least she does seem to take it as a joke and there is no death, dismemberment, or murder on the bleachers today. She watches the keys spin round, weighing her options. And then with a put-upon sigh, she relents, "Fine." Of course, it may be an act as well, to keep him from taking these sorts of things for granted.
"Score!" Quite literally! Chance hops up to his feet and goes into an over-dramatic and graceful bow. "My queen! Shall we commence with the sharing of tender moments of making out?" And perhaps further, depending just how much time they have before going to their next classes. Something that he checks by peeking at the expensive watch on the hand of the arm that's offered to assist Honour with getting all standing.
"Don't be weird," Honour orders, smacking him lightly even as she helps herself to that arm to stand up. It's all handy and right there for smacking. Again, there's something about her bitching though that suggests she's just bitching … to bitch. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she gives him a thoughtful look. "So hey, do you think you can get me the answers to next week's math test? I don't care, but I've got this lame ass guidance counsellor breathing down my neck about potential and I'd kind of like to shut him up for a bit. Though he probably just wants me," she admits, put upon once more. It's hard being hot.
"Can I get you the answers to the math test? I'm Chance Elliot. I can do anything." Perhaps he's a little bit too confident for his own good, but he's always got a connection or a plot up his sleeve to handle things that are requested of him. As he starts to lead her down off the bleachers, he glances back with one of those crazy smirks that he probably shouldn't have… but this /is/ rated TV-MA. Ahem. "What's in it for me?"
Honour kind of figured he wouldn't even see it as a challenge, which is just fine, since right now, she's not looking to challenge him, just get a pass on that test. Following down from the bleachers, having to pick her way along rather carefully thanks to her killer heels, she considers his question with a toss of her hair, before looking up at him sidelong, an eyebrow arching. "My parents are gone next weekend. You could … come keep me safe from burglars or whatever." Because the several thousand dollar security system can't?
Chance almost stumbles on the last bleacher step the moment he hears that. "Parents? Gone?" He hops off the last one and down the ground, turning fully around to reach out and grab Honour by the waist to lift her down to the ground. "The entire weekend?" The look in his eyes is probably not the one that says he'd love to spend countless hours with Honour, alone, doing the damn thing. Instead, there just may be something close to dollar signs. He's up to something. As usual.
Honour gives him a suspicious look, even as Chance lifts her to the ground. She knows that look. Oh heavens, does she know that look. "Maybe," she replies more carefully now, though she'd already come right out and said it before, so she can't really take it back. "Why? You aren't trying to sell our house. I checked. They'd notice," she deadpans, though she's now refusing to move from the spot he's set her down until she gets an answer here.
"Baby. Come on. Why would I try to sell the house… that's going to host the Spy High Pre-Release Party!" Already, Chance is rubbing his hands together, since he's considering the kind of money he can make with this shindig. 20 bucks a head to get in. Exclusive Spy High memorabilia, A-List celebs… and the money all goes to a great cause: The Elliot Foundation. "You're the best!" It's like she's already said yes, because he's leaning in to plant a thankul kiss on her cheek!
"I want a cut," Honour insists, knowing that somehow, somehow, this is going to make money. Not like she needs it. But not like he needs it either! It's really just about being difficult. And not letting him walk all over her, like he apparently thinks he can do. She lets him kiss her stoically, but she's still not moving from her spot until she gets something more than the math test answers out of this.
"Relax. I'll take care of everything. You just need to be there and look amazing as you always do. When the money starts rolling in, you and I will be sitting on top of the world." Pause. "Okay, we'll be sitting even higher on top of the world than we already are. And Beverly Hills High will tremble beneath the might of our combined popularity!" Oh, the acting bug is sneaking into his real life. This is going to be a long first season.
Honour hasn't actually failed to notice he isn't talking about cuts, but then, he is sorta speaking her language now. "Oh, fine. But you owe me," she says firmly. Because it really never hurts to have people in her debt. And when she says that, she actually really means it. "And maybe you should hire someone to actually clean up after it this time, because our maid nearly had a heart-attack after the last one, and she's the only one who comprehends how to handle my good shirts."
"Trust me. I've got it covered." Chance is already thinking that everything's going to go according to plan. Who cares if most of his schemes seem to backfire in some form or fashion. And now he's refocused on the making out that they are supposed to be doing. Which is why he glances at his watch. "Shit. We're losin' precious minutes. Come!" And he's reaching out to snatch her by the arm and tug towards the building! Snog Time!
"I never trust you," Honour informs him, but it's just a light, passing reminder. He is not, as such, trustworthy, and anyway, it's not like she really trusts anyone. When you're the queen, someone's always trying to take you out or chop your head off. And then she's suddenly being tugged along. "Easy boy. We'll get there," she assures him, not able nor willing to walk very quickly in her footwear of choice.
"We need to get you some fashionable sneakers because this is cutting into my quality time." Yes, Chance knows all about her heels of doom. They get on his nerves, goshdarnit. Which is why he's going to just slow down and make sure that he doesn't cause any unneeded Drama with the Queen of Drama and her shoes. "I mean, really, you're missing precious minutes of making out with me, Chance Elliot, the hottest guy at Beverly Hills High… because you walk slow."
"Sneakers? Ew," is Honour's eloquent reply to that. "Those are for, like, people who want to get sweaty." Which is why she's so very much not in gym class right now. "And I don't walk slow. Just because you can't wait to get your hands on me, your lack of patience isn't my problem," she informs him, as she continues making her way across the grounds back to the school. Really, considering the sheer height and pointiness of the things, she makes damn good time. Practise does pay off. But that doesn't mean she's going to kill herself for his sake.
Chance just mimics her bratty bitching as they make their way to the school. There's always something to bitch about with this girl. But he's not going to complain out loud since they still have some time left to get jiggy with it. He doesn't even think he's going to his next class anyway. Those damn things are always in the way, dammit. "Oh, like you're not rarin' to get your hands on me." Chance just has to make it known that he knows that she loves her some Chance! He be knowin' this stuff! Can't hide it!
"Oh shut up," is Honour's reply, rolling her eyes and swatting at him again, this time with her purse. And a little harder. "I'm not the one tearing your arm out of the socket to get you back sooner," she points out, starting to pour on the melodrama. Her poor arm! "Careful, or I might remember I have something better to do," she bluffs, because really, sitting alone on the bleachers is not exactly as much fun. At least they're getting closer to the building now.
"Really? What could be better than doing me? Think about that for a second." Yes, Chance is down for calling the bluff of the Queen of Mean. After all, he could just wind his way into the depths of the Girls Locker Room and get himself some action. Unlike some high-heeled popular people, he doesn't have has many rules or standards. Oh ho! "Besides, I thought you liked it when I played a little rough."
"What, other than everything ever?" Honour replies in a huff, not pleased that he's called her bluff. And now she's going a little sulky, aw. Her standards might be high, but that doesn't mean she plays by the rules. At his more suggestive comment, she looks over at him and arches an eyebrow, as if to offer a considering, 'Well…' It doesn't do to have a wimpy guy, after all.
"Yeah. Just like a thought." And if there's one thing Chance ain't, it's wimpy. After all, being the star of an action spy series means he's got to be in shape and showing off that shape is always in the cards. Especially around the school's campus. Makes it easier to grab some new phone numbers as he waltzes up and down the hallways. Oh look, the building is RIGHT THERE now.
"Fine. Now shut up before I put this stiletto through your skull," Honour threatens in a lower voice, not happy at all about getting shown up. Especially after that horrible run in with the school mutant in the art classroom. Ugh. It's enough to make a girl pout. Still, she lets him lead her on inside if he's going to.
"You're so cute when you're pouty." Chance says, taking both of Honour's hands and backing his way into the doors. Somebody, somewhere, must be playing some Marvin Gaye. Because these two are about to get it on.
