So What? [Cape Town / Open]

Men and boys hurried by, moving their items into their dorm. A woman - not too short, and not too tall moved to unlock a door. It opened, and she fell right on the bed. From her pocket came a lighter and a large joint.

"Sis, man," The South African muttered with a tone meant for anger but shaped by exhaust. "Sis."

She flicked the lighter, again and again, as nothing refused to come out. A touch of flame did not grace it's form, hell, Mieke didn't even know if it could grace a touch of flame. At last the tip of the lighter broke out with a flash of that little flame. Mieke let out a sigh of relief, brushing back a piece of her thick black hair, that already began to fray and frizz. She tapped the flame onto that nicely rolled up, thick joint. When the paper of the joint caught, she smiled, tossing the lighter down to the floor that was not hers from her place on that bed that did not belong to her.

She put the joint to her lips, inhaling slowly and softly, then exhaling slowly and softly. It was some good stuff, man. She saved her best stuff just for this occasion. Because it had been a long haul. Leaving home, moving all that shit into her dorm, watching over her faggot brothers, meeting all these new faggots - all so she could lie in her little brother's room and smoke a joint. The poes left his key in her room when she had him help her move in. It was convenient. She wanted to a place to stay and smoke in, and Piet - who was such a tightass, provided the perfect room for her. What would the authorities think of the smell of his room? How would he even respond to that sort of questioning by authorities?

The mere idea made her laugh to herself. She inhaled and exhaled again and again. She grew calmer and calmer with each breath. Sometimes, she was unsure if it was the drug or the motions that lifted her anxiety off - that allowed her to be the self that she and everyone else preferred. Who knew?

This felt great, though, and it would be even greater when her brother came.

By the time Piet arrived at his dorm for the second time today, he was already not in the best of moods. He'd yet to have a proper chance to sort his room out after helping his half sister move into her room and had decided to get Johan-- Jozi, or whatever it was he wanted to be called now a days, could look after his stuff for him for the first day of lessons. His room was on the ground floor. Piet's was on the second. It was just easier this way for now.

Well, it was supposed to be; and would have been... had he not misplaced his keys.

The Afrikaner had collected his bags from the younger South African (well, he'd found him hanging around outside the dorms and gotten his keys to get into his room to get the bags) and headed up to his room, only to realise his keys weren't in the bag. Or his school bag. Or his pockets; not the trouser pockets nor the blazer ones. After deciding he'd probably left them in Mieke's room he sighed, going toside for a few minutes to talk to Jozi again and hand him back his keys, only to realise she wasn't in the room, nor was her roommate and headed back to his own room.

At least he could wait around until his room mate showed up... And it seemed like they had. The door was now unlocked, something he'd check by silently pushing the level down. After a pause he lightly rapped his knuckles on the door rather than walking in to be poli--

....What was that smell...?

Piet's brow furrowed a bit, trying to place the scent.

Was that marijuana?!

No longer waiting he pushed the door open fully, having been expecting to see some Russian kid smoking it-- But no, it was Mieke. Laying on his bed, making a mess of it and making the room stink of bloody dagga.

"Mieke," He hissed through gritted teeth, the smell making his nose wrinkle up, addressing her in Afrikaans, "It is the first day and you're already breaking the rules-- You don't even know if that's legal here, let alone it being against school policy!"

He dumped his bag down at the end of the bed which was apparently claimed for him by her-- he couldn't exactly give the other kid the bed that stunk like that; speaking of which.

"How can you be so inconsiderate? It's one thing to smoke it in your own room and make that reek to high heaven but you don't even live in this room-- let alone this block. If you have to smoke that stuff can you please do it outside somewhere. I don't want people to think I'm the one doing it because I'm related to the Dutch look like it. Unlike you," He continued, pulling out his stuff and putting it away as he rambled at her, finishing stuffing the clothes into their places. He could always sort it out later after he got the smell out of the room.

Once he was finished he turned on his heel, holding out a hand to the other South African on his bed, "Give it to me."

[[ I DON'T WANNA BUTCHER THE AFRIKAANS WITH GOOGLE TRANSLATE SO JUST PRETEND OKAY /shot Also why is this so long--- ]]

"You look like a fokkin Dutchman, because you are a fokken Dutchman" The older South African snorted. She took another puff of the joint just to piss her little brother off. She exhaled it right into his face. When using insults against the Afrikaners, she seemed to forget that she was one, as well. However, the rules of the Boer elite forgot she was more a Boer than any of them. She made their fokken language, she was the fokken Mother City. Ungrateful bastards. It struck a chord within the reaches of the soul that she sometimes pretended not to have. Any comments about her looks struck her hard, and her brothers knew that. She straightened her hair, she had artificially lightened her skin, she did all she could to fit into that mold the governance once tried to craft for her. Her dark olive skin and curly hair was not accepted by the oppressed, or the oppressors, though.

"Go to the fokken Netherlands, if you look like your fokken Dutchmen so fokken much. You sure as hell don't look like a South African. I'm a South African, and you know what, man, I was one before you were like, ever fokken born, and I sure as fok look like one. None of you have the class I do. None of you ever will." She didn't have enough weed to calm down her emotions. She took another angry puff, made by a tight inhale and a hostile exhale.

"I hate you, Poes. And get your hands off my dagga, you're too much of a poes to smoke any. This stuff is like, seriously so fokken expensive." She backed away from her brother, with the thick joint still in her hands. She took another puff, calming herself down with the motion of doing so. Finally, she took a lean back.

"Man, you are such a tightass, Poes, can you not ease up for one second? Seriously, no wonder nobody likes you. Sis, you're so boring, klein boetie, want me to blow some more weed in your face," She asked, blowing more at him. "You'll calm down a good bit, and maybe the smell of the weed can attract some girls to your room, that is what you need, yeah, boetie, that is what you need. Poes needs some poes." She giggled at the cleverness she believed she had. There were times that Mieke thought she was intelligent, and times she thought she was not intelligent. Those times did not overlap, and she often the opposite of what she perceived.

"Ahhh Poes," She sighed, leaning back with a tight little mischievous smile. "I want you to smoke some now, man, please have some with me. Ah, klein boetie, come to your older sister's bossom, I want to pet your hair, like I did back when you were not so much a poes. Come on, man, come on." She smiled, making room on the bed for him. She spread her legs wide open, flashing the colourful thong at her brother for a moment. She patted her skirt, beckoning for her little brother's head.

"I am no longer angry."

((She is a really classy ho.))

Piet stared at his sister, eyes narrowing at her insulting him and wafting the smoke away from his face. Had it been possible he'd have been shooting daggers at her from his eyes, mouth pulling into a tight line to prevent various insults on his tongue from pouring out at her. At least her calling herself classy managed to cool him down enough to sieve out the more offensive things he could have called her.

"I didn't know class was sitting int your little brother's room and doing drugs," He sneered, using his foot to push the bag and the few things left in it under his bed to deal with later on when he didn't have to deal with the stoned girl on his bed, "And stop calling me Poes."

"I'll calm down a bit when you're out of my room and it stops reeking of fokken dagga," He hissed, hand finally as he crossed his arms over his chest, looking even less amused than he had been before she suggested he join in with the smoking. Her 'joke' simply made him roll his eyes at her, shaking his head disappointedly at her. Some Mother City she was. The way she behaved it made it easy to forget that she was the older sibling.

"Nee." Was the blunt response he gave her, cringing at the brief view of her underwear, "You, might be happy now but I'm fokken not," he snapped before stopping and deciding to change his tactics to get the drugs from her. His arms were defintily long enough taht he could hold it away from her without her being able to reach it... and hopefully she was too out of it to realise what he was planning.

With a sheepish and somewhat toothy smile he reluctantly moved closer to the bed, sitting on it next to his sister but not putting his head on her lap. He glanced at her briefly, eyes locked onto the joint he was planing to take from her.

He sat on the bed with her, and Mieke responded with a calm and absentminded smile. But he did not put his head onto her lap. She pulled him closer, arms strong from rugby - aptly lifted the back of the boy who was about a foot taller than her. Placing him between her legs, she rubbed him calmly, taking another puff, she offered the joint to her little brother.

"Ah, klein boetie, remember when I would rub your head like this, and carry you about, and take you to me. You were so fokken small back then. So fokken small. Now you are so big, I can no longer hold you and pet you. You are like a large dog now." She rubbed the brown hair, back and forth. If he had at all attempted to put his hair in place earlier, she ruined that attempt. It was a mess now, due to her hands that were not particularly soft, but were particularly feminine.

"I am your mother, aren't I, klein boetie, and I do so good at taking care of you? I take care of all my babies so well. You treat me so badly, though. So, so badly." She frowned, but continued to pet him. She paused, as her words trailed off. Eyes glazed over, thinking about something or another.

Piet let out an indignant squawk at his head being pulled down to his sister's lap, regardless of his wanting to put it there. Never the less he allowed it, putting up minimal resistance before resigning and just muttering discontently under his breath. He blinked at it being offered to him, not expecting it to have been so easy to get it from her in this position. He took it, but didn't smoke it, looking like she'd just given him a sock she'd been wearing non stop for a few months and casually kept hold of it for the moment.

He scowled a bit at feeling his hair get messed up. Not that he'd spent much time getting it to how it had been before. Piet sighed a bit, not sure if it was the motion of being pet that was beginning to calm him down or if he'd been near the weed fumes for too long, moving it further away from his mouth. He shifted his shoulder a bit to make the time he remained there a little more comfortable.

The Afrikaner stopped as she called herself his mother, brows once again knitting together. He supposed he could say she was more like a mother than a sister-- at least until he remembered that she'd come into his room solely to smoke weed in his room, the any guilt he'd begun to feel being forcefully pushed down by annoyance at her immaturity... And now his chance to get the weed away from her had come.

He shot upright, hopping off the bed as fast as he could and holding in a loud 'HAH' at her; mostly because he was having trouble keeping his balance after getting up so quickly and falling back onto the floor. He scowled but didn't let it stop him, hand tightly clasped on the joint and bringing his floor to extinguish the lighted end with his heel.

"You gotta stop smoking this shit," he grumbled, eyeing her unamusedly, "unless you wanna end up an even crazier bitch than you already are. And that's not good for anyone, especially you."

"Poes, you fucker!" Mieke screamed as she saw the joint extinguished by her little brother. In hindsight, it was probably very bad judgment to offer it to him. He was too much of a faggot to smoke it, she knew. For whenever she offered it to him, he never took it. Maybe just this one moment, she thought, he might be good to his big sister, he might smoke with her. But nope, Poes suffered greatly from a case of the douchebag. All of her siblings did. Ram was the only one who would ever really smoke with her, and he was not even related. They did not understand. Poes or Jozi, they never understood. Everything was black and white to them, and dagga was in the black. She got up, too quickly - as it made her slightly dizzy. The nausea washed away quickly, though. Her sharp elbow jabbed Piet in the stomach.

"Ag, You're such a fucker! You only care about laws, never about your sister, man. Never. This is like medicine, man, that is like, some fucking scientific fact. You are just saying that because it's illegal. Everything is illegal in South Africa. Everything. No matter who fucking rules, shit is always illegal. Zuma doesn't give a fuck, he wants us to be unhappy, man." She shoved her body into the younger boy that was a foot taller than her. Her push was halfhearted.

"None of you understand me. I am trying to calm down with this, and you are stressing me out. Only you and fokken Jozi make me crazy. You do bad things and call me bad names and hurt me and steal my stuff. You only want to hurt me. All your laws, all of them, you just make to hurt me. It is not fair. Poes, I hate you, you fucker. I hate you." And she came to slamming her little fists into his chest. She had broken into one of those tantrums. Though she was normally laid-back, her personality was too vibrant to stay that way. She was, by nature - too anxious, too conflicted - and that is why she had to force herself to ease back. Her personality went from extreme to extreme, because it had to.

"Give me back my fucking joint."

Piet watched her get up, standing back up himself only to be greeted by her elbow in his gut, wincing but staying firm, glaring at her again.

"If I didn't care about you then I'd be letting you smoke it! Why-- Do you want to get kicked out of school? The head's even more of a rooinek than Jozi and he'll probably throw you you out without giving you a chance to explain yourself," He hissed, stuffing the extinguished joint into the inside pocket of his blazer and narrowing his eyes at her, "How can you be to fokken immature like this!" He snapped. But he'd long prepared for her trying to use the medicine excuse.

"And you're not dying of cancer or suffering from glaucoma, so you don't need it," He sighed a bit, calming himself down as his chest was assaulted by her, shielding his chest with his arms and catching the occasional fist with his hands.

"Will you stop hitting me so I can figure out how to make you stop reeking of dagga-- But I'm not giving it back to you so just calm down!" He growled, squatting and wrapping his arms around her waist before hoisting her off the ground, making use of the foot height difference between them and carrying her towards the door.

"I'm taking you back to your room. I'll figure out how to make you stop smelling of that shit," He grunted, trying to get a better grip on her.

"I do need it, you fucking poes!" Mieke shouted, swinging her legs and arms wildly while he held her in the air. "Put me down, or I'll fucking kill you!" She was upset and animated. The situation seemed to counter the marijuana in her system. It was impossible to be calm with this happening.

"Sis! Put me down! I'm fine! I'm your older sister! I am the mature one, there is no need for you to treat me like a fucking child! You are being a brat! You are like a baby. Poes, I hate you! Put me down!" She screamed it through the halls. She was in an embarrassing situation. Her cheeks, though often too dark to flush - gained color to them. Other people were watching. It was overwhelming. Her system tried to fight off this new emotion along with the new sense that the drug brought. And her system did not know how to respond.

She did not cry, but she wished she could. She wished this little bastard knew how he hurt his big sister. She wished the bastard learned some respect for her. She wished he would understand what was actually best for her - and not what was best for him.

"Poes, I hate you so much! You are the worst biggest fucking Dutchman."