V o j k o | B j o r n | J o r c a
'Mr. Foreign Exchange Student'
'Mr. Foreign Exchange Student'
⊰☣⊱'OOC: (:<'⊰☣⊱
••➸Thoughts: 'I want to sleep. Or die. Either works fine.'
••➸Feelings: Jet-lagged...still; Tired; Annoyed
••➸Outfit: Poe's
xxxxxCould the first day at an American school have been any worse? It was only the first day and the Swede was already annoyed and nearly on the verge of either murdering someone or the nearest inanimate object. What was the problem? People. What else could piss the tall guy off so badly? The only way to explain would be to summarize his day until thus far.
Morning: Vojko had rolled out of bed with a pounding, insufferable headache--which was immediately blammed on the equally insufferable jet-lag. Moaning and groaning, he managed to pull on some clothes. 'Some' being exact word. He didn't even bother to put a t-shirt on and instead had just pulled a pair of black jeans on and threw on a zip up hoodie. It made him look decent, and he didn't plan on taking it off (that would be a mistake later on in the day) and supposed he could make it through the cool California morning. He spent the usual time on his hair--about an hour--and didn't bother with make-up, just decided to place some rustic red contacts over his bright blue eyes. He had breakfast with his smaller, female house host. She wasn't really talking to him the morning. It had been understandable. He looked like hell and his attitude was purely devilish.
School didn't do anything to damper his mood. In fact, it just fueled it, making him irritable. People gawked at him because he looked different and gawked some more because he was so tall. Six feet, five inches; was that so bad? Those kids seemed to think so. More people had asked him to talk just so they could hear his accent, and he merely ignored them or gave them the good ol' American Middle-Fingered Salute. That wasn't what annoyed him the most, however. It had been the teachers that did that number. Throughout the whole day he was asked to either say his own name or they would completely slaughter it. Never once had they gotten close and ge always had to say it, super slow so they could get it through their skulls. Voy-Ko your-sha. It was as easy as that, right? Apparently not.
His classes were easy, just the normal first day things that even school in Malmö did. English didn't even scare him. In fact, he was really good at it. Mainly because he was taught in the fifth year of primary school all the way until he left for the trip. That didn't seem to matter...because people thought it was funny to speak. Like. This. Just. In. Case. He. Didn't. Get. It.
You can imagine how annoying that could be...
After that rigamarole of classes and little skit, he found himself at lunch and on current the timeline. His stuff, which was slung over his wiry shoulder, chaffed him and he was unbearably hot. Stupid California and its heat! He was cursing his decision of clothing now and he huffed, his rustic eyes narrow and showing most of the vexing thoughts that bubbled into his head. The cafeteria was crowded. He didn't even see an open seat. That made his heart sink into his stomach. How was he going to survive this day...? He was on the verge of a major panic attack. And that was not a good way to start a school year, panicking in front of hundreds.
Sucking--most of--it up, Vojko meandered over to an empty seat at the far end of the cafiteria. There was a table near him with a lone girl eating healthy looking food items, two girls chatting with each other; they seemed friendly with each other, and a girl with bright, bright, bright colours on. Another sigh broke from his pierced lips for what had to be the fifteenth time that day. He extracted his meger lunch of humus and peeta bread and began to focuse solely on his food.
Morning: Vojko had rolled out of bed with a pounding, insufferable headache--which was immediately blammed on the equally insufferable jet-lag. Moaning and groaning, he managed to pull on some clothes. 'Some' being exact word. He didn't even bother to put a t-shirt on and instead had just pulled a pair of black jeans on and threw on a zip up hoodie. It made him look decent, and he didn't plan on taking it off (that would be a mistake later on in the day) and supposed he could make it through the cool California morning. He spent the usual time on his hair--about an hour--and didn't bother with make-up, just decided to place some rustic red contacts over his bright blue eyes. He had breakfast with his smaller, female house host. She wasn't really talking to him the morning. It had been understandable. He looked like hell and his attitude was purely devilish.
School didn't do anything to damper his mood. In fact, it just fueled it, making him irritable. People gawked at him because he looked different and gawked some more because he was so tall. Six feet, five inches; was that so bad? Those kids seemed to think so. More people had asked him to talk just so they could hear his accent, and he merely ignored them or gave them the good ol' American Middle-Fingered Salute. That wasn't what annoyed him the most, however. It had been the teachers that did that number. Throughout the whole day he was asked to either say his own name or they would completely slaughter it. Never once had they gotten close and ge always had to say it, super slow so they could get it through their skulls. Voy-Ko your-sha. It was as easy as that, right? Apparently not.
His classes were easy, just the normal first day things that even school in Malmö did. English didn't even scare him. In fact, he was really good at it. Mainly because he was taught in the fifth year of primary school all the way until he left for the trip. That didn't seem to matter...because people thought it was funny to speak. Like. This. Just. In. Case. He. Didn't. Get. It.
You can imagine how annoying that could be...
After that rigamarole of classes and little skit, he found himself at lunch and on current the timeline. His stuff, which was slung over his wiry shoulder, chaffed him and he was unbearably hot. Stupid California and its heat! He was cursing his decision of clothing now and he huffed, his rustic eyes narrow and showing most of the vexing thoughts that bubbled into his head. The cafeteria was crowded. He didn't even see an open seat. That made his heart sink into his stomach. How was he going to survive this day...? He was on the verge of a major panic attack. And that was not a good way to start a school year, panicking in front of hundreds.
Sucking--most of--it up, Vojko meandered over to an empty seat at the far end of the cafiteria. There was a table near him with a lone girl eating healthy looking food items, two girls chatting with each other; they seemed friendly with each other, and a girl with bright, bright, bright colours on. Another sigh broke from his pierced lips for what had to be the fifteenth time that day. He extracted his meger lunch of humus and peeta bread and began to focuse solely on his food.
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D a r e T o B e D i f f e r e n t
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D a r e T o B e D i f f e r e n t
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