Melissa
Skai
Qia
PapaOso
Izurich
Pirouette
webboysurf
Fetzen
Festive
G I L G A L A H A D // H A R P E R B A X T E R
G I L G A L A H A D // H A R P E R B A X T E R
Location: Southern Plateau - Dundas Island
Welcome Home #1.104: Fresh
Interaction(s): @Qia//Harper
Amma faded into the encroaching darkness as the sun set completely, and looking around Gil realised he was practically the last member of Blackjack remaining. It really was late, and with the Trials tomorrow in mind, there was nothing left to do except retire to the tent and sleep.
He stood up, subtly returning a new copy of Amma's cigarette to his hands and twirling it between his fingers as he walked. Absent-mindedly, he ran a finger over the filter, and held his hand up to inspect where the lipstick had rubbed off onto his finger, catching a glimpse of the dark stain before it crumbled away into nano-fragments. He ran the cigarette beneath his nose, inhaling the spicy, slightly-sweet aroma that was so distinctive of clove. He could get used to that smell, mingled with perfume and warm earth and metal, leaned in close to drift up on body-heat currents.
He pushed through the flap of the tent, halfway-in when he spotted Harper tucked up in her sleeping bag, and it was in this frozen moment that he remembered he'd agreed to share a tent with Harper at all.
He artfully flicked the cigarette out into the night with the hand that was still outside the tent, and pushed a broad smile onto his face.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" He teased, surveying the interior of the tent and spotting where his copy had tossed his bag earlier that afternoon.
Harper’s eyes lifted, a ghost of a smile gracing her lips, betraying the gravity of her contemplations. “No, you’re not interrupting,” she murmured, her voice a mere whisper in the canvas-clad expanse. “Just… pondering the unfathomable.”
As her gaze locked with Gil’s, a surge of emotions welled within her—a tumultuous blend of solace and trepidation. His presence, marked by a warm smile and the playful sparkle of blue eyes, kindled a yearning in Harper to divulge her deepest secrets. Yet, she found herself teetering on the edge of confession and silence, uncertain how to weave her tangled thoughts into coherent strands of speech. Instead, Harper’s eyes trailed his, her lips parting in silent astonishment.
“I can leave if you need to…?”
"The unfathomable!" Gil replied, faux-dramatics filling his voice as he stepped fully into the tent. "Sounds important. I'd hate to be a distraction."
They locked eyes for a long moment, and for the second time in the last half-hour Gil felt the spark of tension, uneasy but at the same time not unwelcome. He may have cut his time with Amma unduly short, but he was starting to realise he'd stepped out from the proverbial frying pan and straight into the fire.
"Oh - no, no you're fine." He replied, crossing the tent in a couple short strides and bending over to unzip the bag. He wasn't a pyjama kind of guy, and had he bunked with one of the boys he'd have likely bunked down in boxer briefs and nothing else, but for the sake of modesty and Harper's comfort, he fished out a t-shirt and clean pair of shorts. "It's getting chilly out there and you're already tucked in. Just give me a second."
He stepped outside again, changing his top and pulling off the PRCU-issue athletic trousers, replacing them with the shorts. Underwear would have to change tomorrow - a few scattered students still milled around the campsite, and he wasn't about to go tackle-out in easy view of cellphone cameras. God, imagine those tabloid spreads.
He returned to the tent and chucked his laundry into the corner by his bunk. "Good as new." He said, smiling again, before lying down. He faltered, not sure what to say, how to proceed, or even if he should. He fiddled with his phone, pulling up apps and closing them just as quickly.
"Calliope said you girls came up with some kind of combined rebel theme for the Trials tomorrow? Surely that idea wasn't prompted by anything in particular...?"
Thoughtful. As always.
Harper watched him until he disappeared beyond the tent’s threshold, and only then did she allow herself to roll onto her side. She feigned a casual tinker with her sleeping bag, a guise for her attempt to settle into comfort. A breath she hadn’t known she was holding escaped into the night, mingling with the cool air that caressed her skin, a soothing balm for the unexpected warmth flooding her neck.
The power at her fingertips beckoned—a gift, a curse, an ability that could breach the veil of privacy with ease. Yet, the moral compass within her recoiled at the thought, deeming it a transgression too grave to entertain. However, even if obscured from view, the mere whisper of temptation was a siren’s call she struggled to ignore. Eyes clenched shut, she sought refuge in the void, a respite from the lure of her own powers.
It was only his return that coaxed her eyes open, a small, heartfelt smile her silent greeting as he found his place once more. “Yeah,” she replied, her voice now a gentle murmur. “You look good.” The words slipped out, unbidden, and with them, a familiar rush of embarrassment. Her cheeks flamed, a telltale sign of her social faux pas, as she averted her gaze, once again feigning adjustment to her sleeping bag.
Why did her filters always fail her so spectacularly in his presence? It was as if his proximity sent her thoughts into disarray, leaving her tongue to navigate the chaos alone. An inward sigh marked her frustration, her mind scrambling for a semblance of recovery in the midst of a silence laden with an indefinable charge.
Relief, subtle yet potent, washed over her as Gil broke the silence. Harper found the courage to face him anew, her words flowing with a newfound resolve. “I think we were all feeling the pressure at the time, given the mess of the ceremony and our futures sort of being…in a questionable and scary spot. We felt that with everything going on, we needed to stick together more than ever. And if we could do that while having a little fun, all the better, right?” Her inquiry was genuine, her eyes searching his for a glimpse into his thoughts.
“Besides,” she continued, a playful edge to her voice, “who doesn’t love a good rebellion?”
Gil smiled, allowing Harper's slip-of-the-tongue compliment to pass without comment, though he noted the blush erupting across her face. He'd met a lot of different Harpers over the last two days - the usual authoritative disciplined Harper, the loose, flirty Harper, and now the bashful, flustered Harper. Each facet seemed as endearing as the last.
He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with an arm to look at Harper fully.
"It certainly seems opinion on the Foundation is at an early low..." he mused, thinking about his brief conversation with Amma, and her short inferences into what life under Alexandria might truly have been like. She wasn't the only transfer, of course, but she definitely came across...vitriolic about her time there. "I think everyone will appreciate a reminder that we all stand together here. And I doubt the 'rebel' theme will be lost on the Foundation, for that matter."
Conversation lulled for a moment, and in lieu of a better idea, Gil defaulted to self-aggrandizement.
"I'll admit, I was surprised you wanted to bunk with me, of everyone in the team. You're not worried about the paparazzi in the morning?" He grinned, trying to sell the joke. "Or maybe you're just looking to sell your story to the tabloids..." He rolled onto his back, spreading his hands out to simulate a magazine spread. " 'My exclusive night with Gil Galahad at PRCU!' "
Harper's initial reaction was to brush off her discomfort, laughing along with Gil's attempt to lighten the mood. However, as she gazed at his face, a sense of unease crept in, as if his playful remark carried an undertone she couldn't ignore. The joke felt a bit cringeworthy, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was implying something more. A tiny seed of self-reflection began to take root within her.
Had she ever given that kind of impression?
Her mind flicked through the moments they’d shared, searching for any hint of behaviour that might have led him to think she saw him as merely a star, an object of fascination rather than a real person. She recalled their first meeting, the small banter during training sessions, the times she'd marvelled at his charm and good looks when he wasn’t looking—a frown she didn’t quite notice formed on her lips as she delved deeper into these memories.
As another silence stretched, Harper’s gaze softened, her earlier laughter fading into a more contemplative expression. She needed to address this, to clear the air and ensure he understood her true intentions.
“Gil,” she began, her voice more earnest now, “I didn’t ask to bunk with you for any reason other than wanting to talk to you.” She paused, gathering her thoughts, an uncomfortable expression contorting her features. “I’m sorry if…I may have given the wrong impression before. I’m not a no-strings-attached person.” Her voice grew softer, more reflective. “Been there, tried that, never again.”
She glanced down, fiddling with the edge of her sleeping bag, trying to muster the courage to continue. “I wanted to spend time with you because I genuinely like being around you, not because of your fame or any tabloid story.”
The wisecrack didn't land, the joke's failure plain across her face as an awkward smile spread and faded at equal speed, before being replaced by a slight frown. She looked deeply introspective, and Gil steeled himself as the silence spooled out further and further. He'd finally overstepped, made one cheesy joke too many. Gil had just been enjoying the flirtation and looseness of it, but it was clear now from Harper's voice he'd been playing the fool with something more genuine than he'd realised, for the sake of coquettish thrills and stroking his own ego.
"Sorry, I didn't mean- I didn't want to imply..." He cleared his throat, sitting up and looking uncharacteristically solemn. "I didn't mean to insinuate this was a fling or a quickie or anything like that.. Truth is, it wouldn't be what I'm looking for either, and I'd hate to exploit a good friend in that way."
He set his phone down, removing the distraction and the degree of disconnection it afforded him, focusing solely on Harper. It was dark, but the shine of a full, clear moon filtered through, and the pale light spilled across both their features, making the pair look ethereal, gossamer-painted. "I'd love to talk. I appreciate I might have been a bit of a jackass lately...start fresh?"
He stretched his arm across the darkness, proffering a hand for Harper to shake, hoping she wouldn't notice the goosebumps running across his skin from what he told himself was the cool night air.
Harper's gaze lingered on Gil's outstretched hand, her thoughts swirling with uncertainty. His apology was unexpected, and it honestly caught her off guard. She had always been drawn to Gil's confidence, thoughtfulness, and charm, but this new side of him—the apology, the consideration of her feelings—revealed a depth she hadn't anticipated.
It was captivating to see him lower his walls and expose a vulnerability that mirrored her own, one that she only showed to a select few. And yet, it was also unsettling, forcing her to confront the possibility that the version of Gil she'd held onto might not be the full picture. Now laid bare, the complexity of his character forced her to replay the moments they'd shared again, each memory, each nuance of their interactions, painting a richer, more intricate portrait of the man before her. This was someone who could be more than just a charming face or a fleeting crush—someone who could truly understand and support her.
If she let him.
As she reached out to take his hand, Harper felt the weight of the moment pressing down on her. The warmth of his hand, the gentle pressure of his fingers, was like a gentle rain that soothed her soul, calming the doubts that had been plaguing her. He didn't see her as just a fan. She was his good friend. His friend.
Something within her stirred—a quiet voice that Harper did her best to ignore as she forced a small smile to lift her lips. She kept it contained, like a captured caterpillar, not letting it escape to become the storm of butterflies it was meant to be within her. Instead, she allowed it to form a shackle around her heart, its gentle movements a constant reminder of the potential transformation their relationship could undergo. If only she would speak.
The moon above served as a reflective mirror, casting a light that seemed to understand the quiet turmoil within her. It illuminated the contours of her face, the soft glow revealing the hope that lingered in her eyes, while the shadows hid her doubts, tucking them away into the night.
“Let’s start… fresh,” Harper finally echoed, her voice barely above a whisper, as she allowed her hands to be slowly enveloped by his own.
Amma faded into the encroaching darkness as the sun set completely, and looking around Gil realised he was practically the last member of Blackjack remaining. It really was late, and with the Trials tomorrow in mind, there was nothing left to do except retire to the tent and sleep.
He stood up, subtly returning a new copy of Amma's cigarette to his hands and twirling it between his fingers as he walked. Absent-mindedly, he ran a finger over the filter, and held his hand up to inspect where the lipstick had rubbed off onto his finger, catching a glimpse of the dark stain before it crumbled away into nano-fragments. He ran the cigarette beneath his nose, inhaling the spicy, slightly-sweet aroma that was so distinctive of clove. He could get used to that smell, mingled with perfume and warm earth and metal, leaned in close to drift up on body-heat currents.
He pushed through the flap of the tent, halfway-in when he spotted Harper tucked up in her sleeping bag, and it was in this frozen moment that he remembered he'd agreed to share a tent with Harper at all.
He artfully flicked the cigarette out into the night with the hand that was still outside the tent, and pushed a broad smile onto his face.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" He teased, surveying the interior of the tent and spotting where his copy had tossed his bag earlier that afternoon.
Harper’s eyes lifted, a ghost of a smile gracing her lips, betraying the gravity of her contemplations. “No, you’re not interrupting,” she murmured, her voice a mere whisper in the canvas-clad expanse. “Just… pondering the unfathomable.”
As her gaze locked with Gil’s, a surge of emotions welled within her—a tumultuous blend of solace and trepidation. His presence, marked by a warm smile and the playful sparkle of blue eyes, kindled a yearning in Harper to divulge her deepest secrets. Yet, she found herself teetering on the edge of confession and silence, uncertain how to weave her tangled thoughts into coherent strands of speech. Instead, Harper’s eyes trailed his, her lips parting in silent astonishment.
“I can leave if you need to…?”
"The unfathomable!" Gil replied, faux-dramatics filling his voice as he stepped fully into the tent. "Sounds important. I'd hate to be a distraction."
They locked eyes for a long moment, and for the second time in the last half-hour Gil felt the spark of tension, uneasy but at the same time not unwelcome. He may have cut his time with Amma unduly short, but he was starting to realise he'd stepped out from the proverbial frying pan and straight into the fire.
"Oh - no, no you're fine." He replied, crossing the tent in a couple short strides and bending over to unzip the bag. He wasn't a pyjama kind of guy, and had he bunked with one of the boys he'd have likely bunked down in boxer briefs and nothing else, but for the sake of modesty and Harper's comfort, he fished out a t-shirt and clean pair of shorts. "It's getting chilly out there and you're already tucked in. Just give me a second."
He stepped outside again, changing his top and pulling off the PRCU-issue athletic trousers, replacing them with the shorts. Underwear would have to change tomorrow - a few scattered students still milled around the campsite, and he wasn't about to go tackle-out in easy view of cellphone cameras. God, imagine those tabloid spreads.
He returned to the tent and chucked his laundry into the corner by his bunk. "Good as new." He said, smiling again, before lying down. He faltered, not sure what to say, how to proceed, or even if he should. He fiddled with his phone, pulling up apps and closing them just as quickly.
"Calliope said you girls came up with some kind of combined rebel theme for the Trials tomorrow? Surely that idea wasn't prompted by anything in particular...?"
Thoughtful. As always.
Harper watched him until he disappeared beyond the tent’s threshold, and only then did she allow herself to roll onto her side. She feigned a casual tinker with her sleeping bag, a guise for her attempt to settle into comfort. A breath she hadn’t known she was holding escaped into the night, mingling with the cool air that caressed her skin, a soothing balm for the unexpected warmth flooding her neck.
The power at her fingertips beckoned—a gift, a curse, an ability that could breach the veil of privacy with ease. Yet, the moral compass within her recoiled at the thought, deeming it a transgression too grave to entertain. However, even if obscured from view, the mere whisper of temptation was a siren’s call she struggled to ignore. Eyes clenched shut, she sought refuge in the void, a respite from the lure of her own powers.
It was only his return that coaxed her eyes open, a small, heartfelt smile her silent greeting as he found his place once more. “Yeah,” she replied, her voice now a gentle murmur. “You look good.” The words slipped out, unbidden, and with them, a familiar rush of embarrassment. Her cheeks flamed, a telltale sign of her social faux pas, as she averted her gaze, once again feigning adjustment to her sleeping bag.
Why did her filters always fail her so spectacularly in his presence? It was as if his proximity sent her thoughts into disarray, leaving her tongue to navigate the chaos alone. An inward sigh marked her frustration, her mind scrambling for a semblance of recovery in the midst of a silence laden with an indefinable charge.
Relief, subtle yet potent, washed over her as Gil broke the silence. Harper found the courage to face him anew, her words flowing with a newfound resolve. “I think we were all feeling the pressure at the time, given the mess of the ceremony and our futures sort of being…in a questionable and scary spot. We felt that with everything going on, we needed to stick together more than ever. And if we could do that while having a little fun, all the better, right?” Her inquiry was genuine, her eyes searching his for a glimpse into his thoughts.
“Besides,” she continued, a playful edge to her voice, “who doesn’t love a good rebellion?”
Gil smiled, allowing Harper's slip-of-the-tongue compliment to pass without comment, though he noted the blush erupting across her face. He'd met a lot of different Harpers over the last two days - the usual authoritative disciplined Harper, the loose, flirty Harper, and now the bashful, flustered Harper. Each facet seemed as endearing as the last.
He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with an arm to look at Harper fully.
"It certainly seems opinion on the Foundation is at an early low..." he mused, thinking about his brief conversation with Amma, and her short inferences into what life under Alexandria might truly have been like. She wasn't the only transfer, of course, but she definitely came across...vitriolic about her time there. "I think everyone will appreciate a reminder that we all stand together here. And I doubt the 'rebel' theme will be lost on the Foundation, for that matter."
Conversation lulled for a moment, and in lieu of a better idea, Gil defaulted to self-aggrandizement.
"I'll admit, I was surprised you wanted to bunk with me, of everyone in the team. You're not worried about the paparazzi in the morning?" He grinned, trying to sell the joke. "Or maybe you're just looking to sell your story to the tabloids..." He rolled onto his back, spreading his hands out to simulate a magazine spread. " 'My exclusive night with Gil Galahad at PRCU!' "
Harper's initial reaction was to brush off her discomfort, laughing along with Gil's attempt to lighten the mood. However, as she gazed at his face, a sense of unease crept in, as if his playful remark carried an undertone she couldn't ignore. The joke felt a bit cringeworthy, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was implying something more. A tiny seed of self-reflection began to take root within her.
Had she ever given that kind of impression?
Her mind flicked through the moments they’d shared, searching for any hint of behaviour that might have led him to think she saw him as merely a star, an object of fascination rather than a real person. She recalled their first meeting, the small banter during training sessions, the times she'd marvelled at his charm and good looks when he wasn’t looking—a frown she didn’t quite notice formed on her lips as she delved deeper into these memories.
As another silence stretched, Harper’s gaze softened, her earlier laughter fading into a more contemplative expression. She needed to address this, to clear the air and ensure he understood her true intentions.
“Gil,” she began, her voice more earnest now, “I didn’t ask to bunk with you for any reason other than wanting to talk to you.” She paused, gathering her thoughts, an uncomfortable expression contorting her features. “I’m sorry if…I may have given the wrong impression before. I’m not a no-strings-attached person.” Her voice grew softer, more reflective. “Been there, tried that, never again.”
She glanced down, fiddling with the edge of her sleeping bag, trying to muster the courage to continue. “I wanted to spend time with you because I genuinely like being around you, not because of your fame or any tabloid story.”
The wisecrack didn't land, the joke's failure plain across her face as an awkward smile spread and faded at equal speed, before being replaced by a slight frown. She looked deeply introspective, and Gil steeled himself as the silence spooled out further and further. He'd finally overstepped, made one cheesy joke too many. Gil had just been enjoying the flirtation and looseness of it, but it was clear now from Harper's voice he'd been playing the fool with something more genuine than he'd realised, for the sake of coquettish thrills and stroking his own ego.
"Sorry, I didn't mean- I didn't want to imply..." He cleared his throat, sitting up and looking uncharacteristically solemn. "I didn't mean to insinuate this was a fling or a quickie or anything like that.. Truth is, it wouldn't be what I'm looking for either, and I'd hate to exploit a good friend in that way."
He set his phone down, removing the distraction and the degree of disconnection it afforded him, focusing solely on Harper. It was dark, but the shine of a full, clear moon filtered through, and the pale light spilled across both their features, making the pair look ethereal, gossamer-painted. "I'd love to talk. I appreciate I might have been a bit of a jackass lately...start fresh?"
He stretched his arm across the darkness, proffering a hand for Harper to shake, hoping she wouldn't notice the goosebumps running across his skin from what he told himself was the cool night air.
Harper's gaze lingered on Gil's outstretched hand, her thoughts swirling with uncertainty. His apology was unexpected, and it honestly caught her off guard. She had always been drawn to Gil's confidence, thoughtfulness, and charm, but this new side of him—the apology, the consideration of her feelings—revealed a depth she hadn't anticipated.
It was captivating to see him lower his walls and expose a vulnerability that mirrored her own, one that she only showed to a select few. And yet, it was also unsettling, forcing her to confront the possibility that the version of Gil she'd held onto might not be the full picture. Now laid bare, the complexity of his character forced her to replay the moments they'd shared again, each memory, each nuance of their interactions, painting a richer, more intricate portrait of the man before her. This was someone who could be more than just a charming face or a fleeting crush—someone who could truly understand and support her.
If she let him.
As she reached out to take his hand, Harper felt the weight of the moment pressing down on her. The warmth of his hand, the gentle pressure of his fingers, was like a gentle rain that soothed her soul, calming the doubts that had been plaguing her. He didn't see her as just a fan. She was his good friend. His friend.
Something within her stirred—a quiet voice that Harper did her best to ignore as she forced a small smile to lift her lips. She kept it contained, like a captured caterpillar, not letting it escape to become the storm of butterflies it was meant to be within her. Instead, she allowed it to form a shackle around her heart, its gentle movements a constant reminder of the potential transformation their relationship could undergo. If only she would speak.
The moon above served as a reflective mirror, casting a light that seemed to understand the quiet turmoil within her. It illuminated the contours of her face, the soft glow revealing the hope that lingered in her eyes, while the shadows hid her doubts, tucking them away into the night.
“Let’s start… fresh,” Harper finally echoed, her voice barely above a whisper, as she allowed her hands to be slowly enveloped by his own.
