Post by JULIAN COOPER on Feb 11, 2012 6:38:22 GMT
Allie sat in the tiny diner she frequented at a table in the corner, sipping on a vanilla milkshake while she waited for her brother. It was unusual for Julian to be late for one of their lunches, but Allie was giving him another five minutes before she started to get too worried. She remained where she was, passive aggressively glaring at the door and freaking out every single customer that came through until a familiar blonde head moved through.
Julian had always moved with grace. Ever since he was a child. It had been funny then, seeing a seven year old moving like a dancer. Allie had gone through all the stages. Amused, Jealous (because god was she clumsy) and had reached the point where it just made her happy to see him. “Julian!” She called out, waving her hand above her head, because after all, she was sitting in a dark corner staring at the door like a serial killer.
“Allie!” Allie’s full legal name was Allison Marie Cooper, but no one had dared to call her that in many years, and Julian never had. Grinning as his sister beckoned him over, Julian glided towards her, and her table. “Why are you sitting here?” He asked, a frown on his face. The table was in dark, and by the kitchen. It wasn’t the table Julian would have chosen.
“I Can see the door from here.” Allie responded. “Why so late?”
“Traffic.” Julian responded, running a hand down his arm.
This action drew Allie’s attention to the aforementioned arm. Her brother’s arm had scratched running down the length of his bicep. “What happened to your arm?” She asked, wrinkling her nose as she tilted her head to get a better look.
Julian smirked his trademark crooked grin at his sister and snaked a sip of her milkshake. “You really don’t wanna know.”
This elicited a frown from Allie. She had a tendency to be over protective. It was both a blessing and a curse for both of them. “Yeah, I really do.” She said. “If you hurt yourself, or someone else hurt you I want to—” Staring at the marks on her brother’s arm, Allie realized what they reminded her of. Finger nail marks. Running down the length of her brother’s bicep. Which meant—Oh. “Gross.” She said aloud. Because no one, anywhere, ever, wants to picture their brother having sex. Let alone rough sex that apparently requires fingernail marks. “Oh my god. Scarred for life. Does Mom know you’re having…” Allie paused and leaned forward. Typically, she liked to think she was rather mature, but this was Julian. She lowered her voice. “S-E-X?”
Julian rolled his eyes at his sister. “Spelling, Allie? Really? How old are you?”
Allie was, in fact, 22, and three years older than her (now, apparently sexually active) brother. “Shut up.” She muttered, staring at him with a mix of horror and embarrassment.
“Whatever you say, Sergeant.”
