[hider=Honesty: Second Fragment] [center][h3][color=8493ca]『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』[/color] [color=a2d9ce]『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』[/color][/h3][/center] [center][img]http://i63.tinypic.com/2h84geb.jpg[/img][img]http://i67.tinypic.com/2qb8wgw.png[/img][/center] [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center] [hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / 𝕃𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℤ / / 𝟙𝟚𝟘𝟘[/color][/center][hr] Morning had been a quickly silenced alarm clock and some towels thrown over Sander in place of extra blankets (and dialing up the thermostat in the hospital room with careful placement of Mr. Chair beside his sleeping roommate for good measure). Satisfied that Sander wouldn't be cold, Christmas had enough time to fearfully ask for a toothbrush and toothpaste from a passing nurse, and hurried through his morning routine, emerging from the hospital room just in time to find two guards approaching the door because he was nearly late for class. He let them escort him to the lecture building and then into the classroom, sitting down at his previous seat while Fredric handed out packets of stapled paper to everyone. He blinked stupidly at the evaluation forms, faintly remembering something like that on Monday, though he had been occupied with mentally escaping. A sheet of class electives was tucked behind his packet, and Christmas left off reading all the evaluations for later, fumbling for his pen inside the desk drawer and relieved to find it still there. He didn't feel strongly about any of the subjects and marked physical education as his first choice, thinking he wouldn't mind getting a little in shape after a month of staying home--and trying not to think about a glittery battlefield where wires had cut into his leg. He didn't want to die. At the very least, he didn't want to run out of breath quickly when fleeing from more monsters. The thought quickened his breath and heartbeat, but he swallowed down the fear with memories of warm hands and quiet assurances. The rest of the form he filled out without really thinking, marking art/photography as his next choice, film study next, then home economics, creative writing, music theory, woodworking, and computer science. That done, he peeked at the evaluation forms in-between classes, reading through them all by the time lunch came around and Fredric returned to check in on them. Christmas's handed in his elective form and the two request forms then, and the lanky man (was he taller than Sander?) briefly assured the boy that it'd be taken care of before the day ended. They now had a generous hour of lunch before classes resumed, so Christmas returned to his desk, closing the notebook so the edge of the open page didn't hang over the desk where it could get caught on someone moving past. It would have been nice if he had done that because he cared about the people walking past and not about the notebook falling to the floor. Always not nice. Always wanting to be. He turned for the door, wondering what to get in the dining hall and already making his way towards the exit. "[color=a2d9ce]Hey Christmas! Hold up![/color]" Callan called out, leaning over her desk and not looking at him as she spoke. She quickly stuck her pen in her mouth and ripped a sheet of paper out of her notebook. Retrieving her pen, which she'd carefully stuck between her teeth by the clicker-end, she held it out, along with the paper, for him to take. "[color=a2d9ce]Is it cool if I get your number?[/color]" she asked clicking the pen for him, "[color=a2d9ce]For that thing.[/color]" Christmas finally blinked, having turned around and frozen up at the sound of his name and the command to "Hold up" from a familiar voice. Callan. From yesterday. He let out the breath he was holding and looked between her hands and her chin for several seconds, then nodded, taking the pen and page from her carefully. It didn't make sense to him why she wanted [i]his[/i] number, but he didn't want to linger in the classroom long. She seemed to get along with Sander, so he banked on that safety. "919-453-4628" took up minimal room in the paper's top left corner, the handwriting minute. Christmas handed the page back to her, worried about writing so little on an entire sheet, but he hadn't known what else to include. [color 8493ca]"S-sorry."[/color] "[color=a2d9ce]Thanks,[/color]" Callan quirked an eyebrow at the tiny numbers before slipping it into the pocket of her hoodie. He sure said 'sorry' a lot, didn't he? But for what? His apology was met with a confused grin and nervously laughed out "[color=a2d9ce]Uhm....[/color]" "[color=a2d9ce]My phone sorta broke, but I'll text you when I get a new one.[/color]" Christmas nodded quickly, half-turning to look at the exit. [color 8493ca]"Um. D-did you need...a-anything else?"[/color] "[color=a2d9ce]Nope! See ya around, Christmas,[/color]" she stuffed both of her hands into her pockets and, with a brief wave goodbye, eagerly scampered ahead towards the cafeteria. [center][h3][color=cyan]『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』[/color] [color=8493ca]『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』[/color][/h3][/center] [center][img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][img]http://i63.tinypic.com/2h84geb.jpg[/img][/center] [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center] [hr][center][color=silver]ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥 / / [@RedDusk][@January][/color][/center][hr][hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / ℍ𝕠𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℂ / / ~𝟙𝟚𝟙𝟘[/color][/center][hr] [hider=Haven] [i]A tiny room with white walls and shiny vinyl floor, with a bed and a bathroom. Sterile and metallic. A place for the end. He looked at the ceiling, and nowhere else. “Where are you from, anyway?” His mind went back to that place he called home, and he thought of golden heads and warm meals. Of summer days and fruit punch. Of smoke and fire and pools of glistering red. It was dark, and he didn’t want to think about it. But he did, anyway. His fingers dug into the loose bandage, dragging out the red, so it hurt, and he didn’t think. The fire without burnt brighter. “It’s okay. I don’t think about it too.” A black dot at the edge of vision. The lady in white told him it could make him hurt less. But he didn’t want it. Clouded thoughts were still thoughts, and he didn’t want to have them. They only went to one place. It hurt, and he couldn’t take it. He dug them out. Days after days, but he was still here. Still stuck. “Don’t think about the past, Sandy. You are not going back there.” “It will be alright.” He wanted to be believe that. He wanted something. He needed the strength that he didn’t have. So he borrowed the spark to light his own pyre. It burnt, and it was burning still.[/i] Sander’s eyes snapped open, bringing him back to the hospital room with white walls and shiny vinyl floor. But it was not the same room. He knew this, yet his fingers still went to the left side of his ribs, where he found no bandages or leaking wounds. Just old scars, and memories he didn’t think about anymore. He exhaled, fingers loosened around the fabric of his shirt. Right. Just a dream. Not real. Not anymore. He sat upright slowly, noting the layers of towels on his torso as he did. No wonder his back felt clammy. He shoved them all into a pile beside him, before grabbing one to wipe the droplets of sweat on the back of his neck. Memories of fire and golden hair nagged at him, so he swung his legs off the bed and decided on a cold shower instead. Speaking of showers…Sander glanced to the left side of the bed, where he came face-to-face with a round stuffed…creature, instead of his blond roommate. He blinked, but beady eyes didn’t blink back. Wasn’t this Christmas’? He reached out to touch the creature’s blue coat gently, an idle gesture as he looked around the room, looking for the blond boy. [hr] Four boxes of food teetered in Christmas's arms as he found that tricky balance to lean down and shove an elbow against the lever knob of the door to room 302. A guard had opened the hospital's main doors for him, luckily enough, and he had managed to sneak into an elevator after a bit of waiting, grateful for the boxes to stare at instead of the nurses and doctors staring at him. The room was quite toasty when he entered, courtesy of the thermostat he had dialed up to 76 degrees Fahrenheit before leaving that morning, worried that Sander might be cold. He nearly stumbled inside, but regained his balance and, more importantly, held on to the food, only to find Sander awake and sweating buckets. Too warm. Oh no. [color 8493ca]"I-I'm sorry,"[/color] he looked fearfully at the thermostat panel on the wall near the bed. “[color=cyan]Hey…[/color]” -Sander brought the towel to his face, dabbing at the dampness on his brows. Christmas looked rather uncomfortable though, so he followed the blond boy’s gaze to a thermostat on the wall –“[color=cyan]Oh. Is it too hot?[/color]” -He stood up from the bed and walked toward the panel, looking at the temperature. [color 8493ca]"Uh...that--um--it was my fault. I-I'm sorry."[/color] “[color=cyan]It’s fine.[/color]” -Sander shrugged, adjusting the number on the screen before heading back to the bed. He put a hand on the stuffed creature again –“[color=cyan]Isn’t this yours?[/color]” Christmas looked at the damp shirt clinging to Sander's torso and the towel that was used to wipe more sweat away, feeling doubly ashamed of himself now, the boxes of food in his arms just dead weights after that mistake. [color 8493ca]"I'm sorry. I thought you--I thought you might be cold."[/color] “[color=cyan]Oh…[/color]” -Sander gave the stuffed animal one tentative squeeze, ignoring the prickling sensation on his arms –“[color=cyan]So that’s why you put towels here?[/color]” “[color=cyan]Thanks.[/color]” -He smiled then –“[color=cyan]I didn’t bother you last night, did I?[/color]” The blond boy shook his head quickly, remembering to clarify, [color 8493ca]"N-no, no, I liked it--"[/color] His brain couldn't cancel the words coming out of his mouth fast enough and Christmas dropped his gaze immediately, hurrying to the table and putting the boxes of food down instead, some stupid--really stupid--part of his mind repeating the image of Sander squeezing Mr. Chair and wanting to smile about it. He didn't turn around as he took apart the small tower of wide, rectangular food packs, setting the brown boxes side by side. [color 8493ca]"I'm sorry,"[/color] he finally mumbled, pulling open the flaps on the box furthest to the right: a foot-long sandwich cut into two halves was tucked neatly in the box. He turned around and placed the sandwich box on the bed's attached food tray, not looking up. [color 8493ca]"I-If you don't...um...I brought chicken and steak and pasta if..."[/color] “[color=cyan]Nice.[/color]” -Sander glanced the assortment of food boxes, the savory scents reminding him of his light dinner yesterday. But the dampness of his shirt reminded him of his morning routine, so he turned to his duffle bag instead –“[color=cyan]I will just take a shower first. You go ahead and eat.[/color]” Christmas nodded again, but he left the boxes alone until Sander had closed the bathroom door behind him. He heaved out a slow breath when the sound of running water petered towards him, petting the spot on Mr. Chair that Sander had squeezed. He had never been close enough with anyone who he could share that stuffed animal with and the sight of Sander (maybe) enjoying it was thrilling. But he didn't let the happy smile linger long on his face, quelling it with other thoughts--less pleasant thoughts. He was afraid of so many things, and happiness was one of them. Despair, well, at least he knew it. Was used to it, however much he didn't like it. But he didn't know what to do with the better end of his emotions so he just decided to put them away instead. Somewhere safe, somewhere nice. Somewhere away from the dark corners of his mind. A sunlit field of yellowed grass and the amber glow of dusk. A rusty swing set someone had left behind that was more than enough for him. All he could ask for. He parted the curtains and sat down on the sofa, clutching a cushion because some insignificant part of him hoped Sander might hug Mr. Chair again if he left it there. On that easy reflex, he was already staring out towards the scattering of trees that dotted the campus, a distant city jutting out against the foliage where the flag football game had taken place. It wasn't long before Christmas was lost in that field again, imagining scents and sounds and company he didn't deserve. Sander took a cold shower. The heat reminded him too much of stuffy rooms with white walls, and he didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about many things. The Stigma would bring them up again, later, but at least he could have the [i]now[/i] and [i]here[/i]. It had been getting worse these days, along with dreams. He wondered why. The mark of his throat had been there for years, but this was the first time the dreams came so rapidly. Did this have anything to do with the ‘special team’ he heard about? Did they do something to him? To all the people in that classroom? He looked at his reflection in the mirror, free of fog this time, and searched. Nothing seemed out place. Nothing had changed. Blue eyes stared back at him, but he caught another shade of blue around his left wrist. Oh, but something [i]had[/i] changed. He smiled, watching face in the mirror smiled back. Sander exited the bathroom about 30 minutes later, once again with a dried towel draped around his shoulders to catch any dripping from his damp hair. He had a bundle of dirty clothes in his hands, which he put in a corner of their shared room. With that done, he headed over to the bed where the food was waiting. Christmas, however, was on the sofa, seemingly distracted. “[color=cyan]Uh…You are not hungry?[/color]” -Sander aimed the question at the blond boy, while reaching for the sandwich. A voice he liked was talking to him, so Christmas blinked himself back in time to hear the last part of the question but not quite catching the intonation. Sander had finished showering, and looked like he wanted the sandwich after all. A flutter of blue on Sander's pale wrist reminded Christmas that this place wasn't as hellish as he had first thought, and he marveled at how things had changed in just a few days, the lingering vestiges of his daydream still soft on his mind. [color 8493ca]"...Huh?"[/color] he looked at Sander, figuring it was a comment about the other boy being hungry. Sander took a large bite out of his sandwich, chewed it thoroughly and swallowed before speaking up again –“[color=cyan]Are you going to eat?[/color]” [color 8493ca]"Oh, I--yeah,"[/color] Christmas blinked away a bit of the lingering confusion and made his way back to the remaining three boxes of food. [color 8493ca]"Sorry."[/color] He picked out the pasta and curled back up on the sofa, pulling the greasy plastic fork from where he had stuffed it inside the box and tucking small forkfuls of spaghetti into his mouth, eyes on his food. Threads of sleep pulled at Sander, the withdrawal lingered in him still. It wasn’t that bad though, and since the hospital staff had been giving him whatever he asked, he figured they wouldn’t refuse this time. Christmas had class later, right? The blond boy wouldn’t be here. He bit into the sandwich again, watching his roommate from his spot on the bed. “[color=cyan]What’s your favorite food?[/color]” -He asked suddenly, something random and casual to break the silence. Surprise draped across his face and a noodle hung from the corner of his mouth as Christmas looked back up, pulling the noodle in and swallowing his mouthful. [color 8493ca]"Um, spaghetti,"[/color] he answered before adding, [color 8493ca]"what--what about you?"[/color] “[color=cyan]Okay.[/color]” -Sander leaned back into the headboard and pulled his legs back on the bed, settling into a more comfortable position –“[color=cyan]Sandwiches.[/color]” "[color=cyan]Drinks?[/color]" Christmas put his fork down. [color 8493ca]"...Soda. ...You?"[/color] “[color=cyan]Uh…[/color]” -Sander looked at the ceiling, flipping through half-forgotten names –“[color=cyan]Lots of things.[/color]” “[color=cyan]They have a bar here, you know. Lots of things there.[/color]” [color 8493ca]"You're...you're old enough to drink?"[/color] “[color=cyan]No. Not really.[/color]” [color 8493ca]"Oh, um. Neither am I."[/color] “[color=cyan]How old are you anyway?[/color]” -Sander looked back down at the blond boy –“[color=cyan]If you don’t mind me asking.[/color]” Christmas shook his head. [color 8493ca]"Eighteen. Um, how about you? If...you...yeah..."[/color] “[color=cyan]Oh? Then you are older than me.[/color]” -Sander looked slightly amused –“[color=cyan]I’m seventeen.[/color]” That was a shocker for someone so tall. It wasn't logical, but Christmas had always thought taller people were somehow older by default. He turned his head away, coughing a half-laugh into his elbow for a second before looking back. [color 8493ca]"Uh, how, um, how old did you think I was?"[/color] “[color=cyan]Not eighteen.[/color]” -Sander shrugged –“[color=cyan]Sorry. But, yeah, you look younger. Most people I met had their power since they were very young…[/color]” -He trailed off suddenly, going back to his sandwich. Christmas looked down, thoughts on the first month of his power seeping into the soft daydreams. But he trusted Sander. He really did, for nothing more than just the consistent reason that Sander was always nice to him, when he had no reason to be, in a place that did its best to never give them any reason to be. It would have been easy for Sander to give in to the emotions that seemed to fuel Kusari, and easy for him to give in to the lurking dependency on others. But Sander hadn't. Somehow, he hadn't. And Christmas fueled his dwindling courage with a bit of that brazen strength. [color 8493ca]"...I've only had my power for...a month and a bit more. ...You?"[/color] Sander took his time working through another bite, gaze lowered to the blue ribbon around his wrist. After a moment, he finally answered –“[color=cyan]Five years. Give or take a few months.[/color]” That was a long time. Ever since Cat's Cradle had destroyed nearly half of Chicago and introduced themselves to the world. The event that highlighted 2015. Christmas ate a bit more, letting the silence fill in between them before he spoke again, quiet in the aftermath of his thoughts. [color 8493ca]"Is it okay to ask?"[/color] “[color=cyan]Ask about what?[/color]” [color 8493ca]"...Even just a month was...not nice. Five years..."[/color] “[color=cyan]Not nice.[/color]” -Sander echoed the blond boy’s words. Christmas nodded quietly. It didn't seem like something he could ask at the moment, because five years to one month seemed such a large gap. A fundamental disconnect in suffering. He couldn't even match anyone's pain and fear, for all that he lamented. Couldn't even stake a claim on sorrow. Something else, then. [color 8493ca]"Has it...has it always been like this? Your, uh, your power, I mean...and the..."[/color] he didn't know how to describe it properly, that gaunt and harrowed look he had seen on Sander in the forest, but Sander's words came to mind. [color 8493ca]"...the demand."[/color] Sander didn’t answer right away. He spent a few moments just staring at the half-eaten sandwich in his hands, eyes blank. But Christmas had trusted him. The blond boy had been there to see all the facets of his power, and he still chose to trust him. This was the least he could do. He suddenly stood up and moved over to the couch where Christmas was sitting, sandwich left behind on the plastic tray of the bed. Settling down next to the blond boy, he stared straight ahead, then began –“[color=cyan]No. It hasn’t.[/color]” -He threaded his fingers together, then braced his elbows on his knees –“[color=cyan]It has…changed. A lot. Lately.[/color]” “[color=cyan]The…demand hasn’t changed though. I get tired after using it, but I have to. I don’t…I don’t think I really need to [i]drink[/i], but if I don’t, it’s…uh[/color]” -He paused, jaws working as he looked for the words –“[color=cyan]…not nice.[/color]” Another shocker. He had thought Sander's vampiric qualities extended to life-or-death when it came to drinking blood. But if he only needed it for his power, why did it always look so bad for him without it? Not nice, Sander had clarified without truly explaining, and if he was using that phrase they had both decided would mean far too much for just two little words.... Christmas saw the starving predator in the forest again, the knife breaking fabric and flesh with his hand and Sander's hands wrapped around its grip. [color 8493ca]"...Was it also not nice of me to ask? ...I'm sorry."[/color] “[color=cyan]…Not nice of me to hide it from you.[/color]” -Sander’s lips stretched into a lopsided smile –“[color=cyan]If you put it like that, we are both…not nice, in a way.[/color]” [color 8493ca]"...It's okay. I'm...I'm hiding things, too. And I--Do you still...want to stay here?"[/color] “[color=cyan]Where else will I go?[/color]” [color 8493ca]"...Can I say something not nice?"[/color] “[color=cyan]Yeah.[/color]” [color 8493ca]"I'm [i]not[/i] nice. And I still...don't want you to go. ...I'm sorry."[/color] “[color=cyan]I’m not leaving.[/color]” -Blue eyes turned to Christmas now –“[color=cyan]As long as you don’t.[/color]” Christmas looked at the ribbon first, then at Sander's eyes, and he wondered if he felt that sunset field or some unnamed terror. He supposed, in that small moment, it was his choice. One he could keep bearing if Sander remained. [color 8493ca]"I'm...scared that I'll...."[/color] What could he say that would fit his weak words and weaker heart? All the words he knew to be true were wrong, because they would come out missing a piece here and there and he couldn't describe why. The haven in his mind found the words for him, placing them down like puzzle pieces on a board so large he didn't know where the edges were. [color 8493ca]"That I'll take you for granted."[/color] “[color=cyan]Why?[/color]” [color 8493ca]"...B-Because I'm weak. ...And--And selfish. And a coward."[/color] And it didn't feel wrong to admit it all, because every word was true. [color 8493ca]"And if I..."[/color] he looked at the ribbon again, and this time kept his eyes there. [i]Try. As much as possible.[/i] [color 8493ca]"...If I'm not careful, I'll...I'll use up all your strength for me."[/color] Sander's cold hands from the night before brought him there and back again and Christmas was afraid to hear his roommate's verdict. He trusted what Sander said, but it also meant he wouldn't reject what Sander could think of him. A chilling thought, to realize one word could dismantle all the gentle pieces that had fallen around him--that small, fragile haven. “[color=cyan]I don’t get it.[/color]” -Sander creased his brows, turning to face Christmas fully now –“[color=cyan]You stayed with me, even though I’m…dangerous. You trusted me. I don’t get how you are a coward. You are not using my strength, Christmas. If anything, you are lending me yours.[/color]” Christmas didn't think it was true, but he revised the thought, letting three loops and three words hold fast: it [i]didn't matter[/i] if he thought it true or false, he'd still believe it, because Sander said it. Even if Sander didn't know all of it, even if it was probably just Sander's misguided belief in him (of all people!). He let that bit of pitch-black dust open his mouth, and he wondered if he would depend overmuch on that, too. [color 8493ca]"What if I...rely on you too much? A-And hide behind you too much? ...Use...you too much? I'm not--I don't want to be that person again. I'm afraid. And I'm..."[/color] he trailed off for a moment, the strength of that small audacity fading, [color 8493ca]"...not nice, but I want to be."[/color] “[color=cyan]I…don’t know how to help you with that.[/color]” -Sander seemed almost crestfallen, his gaze fell to a spot on the couch. But he looked up eventually, blue eyes suddenly fierce –“[color=cyan]But I will be here.[/color]” “[color=cyan]You will figure out a way. I trust you, too.[/color]” It might be as simple as that--just one person he trusted reciprocating. Christmas wasn't sure. Never was. But he decided to believe it. Something like a laugh spilled from his mouth, and he coughed the ends of it away out of habit, but it continued to linger in a smile he left alone, even if his head bowed on reflex. Still afraid, but the fear couldn't win out this time. [color 8493ca]"...You're crazy,"[/color] but his tone was light, [color 8493ca]"...and you caught it from me."[/color] He didn't apologize for this one. Again with the cough that sounded oddly like a laugh. But Sander simply offered a smile of his own, even when Christmas didn’t look up. “[color=cyan]I don’t mind.[/color]” -He said with a slight shake of his head –“[color=cyan]I don’t mind at all.[/color]” Christmas didn't respond to that. He didn't think he needed to, and--shameless as it was--he didn't think Sander wanted a response either. The several seconds that followed were quiet, and he let that peace remain, even as he stood up to retrieve Sander's sandwich and bring it back to the sofa, where they finished their lunches in the calm of the humming heater and the distant sounds of passing footsteps and muted voices. He didn't know how long it would last, but right now, he was [i]here[/i], and it was nearly effortless. [hr] The digital clock on the wall flicked to 1251, and Christmas almost considered letting the rest of the time tick away as well. Gentle stillness and Sander's steady presence tempted him to stay and the food was lulling him to sleep. The thought of guards bursting in to the quiet hospital room and dragging him away left an acrid taste on his tongue and Christmas took a deep breath, standing up reluctantly, the smoothness of his thoughts broken up again by the rest of reality trickling back in. [color 8493ca]"I'll, um, I'll see you later?"[/color] he asked quietly, looking at the clock and then back to Sander, who was still wiping the last traces of his lunch on a paper towel. "[color=cyan]Yeah. See you.[/color]" -Sander nodded, watching the blond boy leave with the empty boxes after throwing a quick glance his way. [/hider] [center][h3][color=00a99d]『𝔼𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥』[/color][color=f7976a]『𝔽𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕣𝕚𝕔』[/color][/h3][/center] [center][img]http://i68.tinypic.com/63x8xz.jpg[/img][img]http://i68.tinypic.com/33k63bc.jpg[/img][/center] [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center] [color=silver][hr][center]ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥 / / [@Baklava][@banjoanjo][/center][hr][hr][center]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / ℂ𝕒𝕗𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕒 / / 𝟙𝟚𝟜𝟠[/center][hr][/color] [hider=Harmless] Lunch had been a casual jig for Ernie; a good one, even. Yesterday's encounter with Angelique had really lightened him up, Stigma-wise and for his general mood. His Stigma, while not completely cleared, was down to a manageable, ignorable level. He'd gotten Angelique Lachance's number [i]and[/i] had a movie night with Brent. Classes weren't even that terrible either, since he had those terrible textbook illustrations to defigure. Things were really looking up! Way nicer than his first day at East for sure, not that it was particularly hard to beat. Ernie had chosen to spend lunchtime with his fellow transfers today. Catching up was a pleasant way to chill out. Low-effort conversation occupied him through the lunch hour, long enough to sustain his good mood for the time being. Unfortunately that line of thinking was derailed as he spotted Fredric surrounded by his escort crew, heading out from the cafeteria. The memories hit him all at once, the alarm screeching and soldiers shouting and Rosa screaming. Why was she screaming? The uneasy feeling sank in his chest again as he thought back to the folder in his dorm. He shouldn't have been thinking about it so hard. It wasn't even his fault. He didn't need to go another round with that cycle of denial and self-assurance. Rain was just some classmate who decided to talk to him after the game. Ernie had no responsility to her. He didn't know anything besides her full name and height and weight, the only details on the profile in the folder. Rain wasn't important. But what happened on Monday was. It was the same dilemma over and over. He should care. And maybe, hopefully, a part of him did. But not enough to matter. Not enough to prove to himself that he wasn't just like Owen. Ernie grimaced. Anyway. Rain wasn't in class today. Fredric was right there. And it would only take a minute or so. Ernie's conscience flared with questions, but as usual they were only about him. Did he even give a crap about Rain? Or that it was probably his fault? Did the effort put into pretending count as giving a shit? He answered himself since no one else could. Pretending to care was better than not caring at all. ...Right? But this was supposed to be about Rain. This was to find out what happened and put his stupid conscience at ease. With a nervous gulp and a strange, determined look on his face, Ernie jogged over to the towering staff mage. [color=00a99d]"Hey! Fred!"[/color] the boy waved a hand as he approached. Fredric stopped, waving away the guards so he had a clear view of the boy. [color=f7976a]"Hey there, Mr. Mars. How're ya holdin' up?"[/color] he grinned, casually slipping his hands into his pockets. [color=00a99d]"Oh. Yeah, feeling fine, I guess,"[/color] Ernie laughed awkwardly. Fredric's casual tone reassured him. He still needed to get to the point though and frankly, he didn't think neither him or Fred would like it. Ah well, the only way to do it was to charge headfirst. [color=00a99d]"I was just wondering, did you guys end up finding Rain? She slipped away pretty quickly but you guys must've had plans to deal with that, yeah?"[/color] The boy eyed the guard detail. They would've been there too. Fredric paused. The guards looked between the staff mage and young aberration-- similarly as curious to know what Fredric was going to say. [color=f7976a]"Unfortunately, Rain didn't make it,"[/color] he replied, his smile slipping. He watched Ernie carefully. The young mage's eyes flickered between the guards and Fredric. It was the worst possible scenario. Ernie could feel the familiar tightness in his chest. Didn't make it? The cycle of guilt start spinning in his head again and he was desperate to get out of it. He found a way out through the staff mage. Someone else to blame. Guilt and uncertainty molded themselves into anger. Ernie stared at Fredric, hurt confusion in his eyes. [color=00a99d]"The suppression cuff,"[/color] the Aberration almost spat, [color=00a99d]"You're supposed to stop these things before these kids hurt themselves. You cuffed her with two, didn't you? How did this even happen?"[/color] [color=f7976a]"You're right."[/color] Fredric's steely gaze was unwavering, [color=f7976a]"I am."[/color] Despite the noticable absence of his smile, he betrayed no emotion at all. He'd expected something like this to happen. It was only a matter of time. [color=f7976a]"It seems as though his cuff malfunctioned, causing him to lose control of his ability. It was a horrible accident. One Mr. Le Blanc paid for with his life."[/color] Ernie's blood ran cold. Accident? No. This couldn't be real. The mention of "Mr." Le Blanc barely crossed Ernie's mind. There were too many other things to be concerned about. It couldn't be happening. Ernie needed more than just empty condolences. [color=00a99d]"Did you find her-- him-- somewhere down there? Was he stuck in the ground? How can you even be sure Rain is..."[/color] He couldn't even bring himself to admit it out loud. [color=f7976a]"I'm sorry,"[/color] the staff mage shook his head ruefully, [color=f7976a]"He's gone."[/color] Ernie took a deep breath. [color=00a99d]"Right. Thanks for telling me."[/color] The boy turned and ran off, not bothering with any more pleasantries. Class was going to start again soon anyway, and he didn't want to have to get wrangled by the guards. The timetable indicated that it was an elective block but this week it was to be a free period. Still spent trapped in the classroom though, for reasons incomprehensible to him. Why couldn't he spend his days where he wanted? A place where he'd be alone with his thoughts? Ernie rested his head on his folded arms and pretended to nap. He wasn't in the mood for conversation right now. How could he, when he'd just found out that he might have technically killed someone? A heavy feeling bore its way into his heart. Fred implied that it wasn't anyone's fault. Just a horrible accident. Not his fault, not Fred's fault. Ernie willed the uncertainty to resolve itself. It could have happened anywhere. An inevitability. Ernie was just unlucky that day. He ignored the voice telling him that it was his goading words that loosened the suppression cuff. He ignored the Stigma-ridden part that reminded him that maybe, probably--no, just maybe--, if he knew that Rain's death would be the end result, if he were able to see the extent of Rosa's guilt-ridden heartbreak, there was a chance he would've done the same thing. With a choked cough, he shoved that shameful part aside. Ernie allowed himself the illusion of peace for now. Because he knew, he [i]knew[/i], that if he ever truly acknowledged his role in that horrible accident, the guilt would devour him alive. It already was. [/hider] [center][h3][color=cyan]『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』[/color] [color=00a99d]『𝔼𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥』[/color][/h3][/center] [center][img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][img] http://i68.tinypic.com/63x8xz.jpg [/img][/center] [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center][hr][center][color=silver]ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥 / / [@banjoanjo][@RedDusk][/color][/center][hr][hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕒𝕣 / / ~𝟚𝟙𝟙𝟘 [/color][/center][hr] [hider=Hazy] Dinner was a quiet affair as Sander found a seat in the far corner of the cafeteria. He paced himself, picking at his food while watching the crowd of gathered students absentmindedly, thoughts flickered back to the events of the previous days. And he felt…strangely contented, all things considered. What the water gave him wasn’t full control, but at least he wouldn’t lose completely anymore. Maybe that faint glimmer of hope wasn’t so far-fetched, after all. [i]For now.[/i] It might all come crashing down tomorrow, so he kept his mind in the [i]here[/i] and [i]now[/i]. Probably another bad choice, but he didn’t want to think about it right now. The Stigma had got stronger, feeding off his power, but its presence was more or less negligible then, after that session with Cal in GZ. His gaze caught the rows of bottles behind the bar, and he recalled the brief talk with the Director. She wasn’t there tonight though. No stag gun to promise him pain. No cold words that forced him to face the truth. Then again, maybe he didn’t need them at all. The blue ribbon on his left wrist did a far better job. Without much thought, Sander stood up and went over to the bar. He recognized the same bartender from before. “[color=cyan]Hello there.[/color]” -He greeted the man with a smile – “[color=cyan]Can I get a mudslide? Bit heavy on the vodka, like before?[/color]” But unlike before, he was actually in the mood to enjoy the drink this time, and not watching the condensation dry between his fingers. Soon enough, he found himself sipping from a cold glass, the sweet blend of Irish cream and vodka thrumming through his senses. But it lacked a bite. There was no heat pooling at the back his throat. The drink went down smooth, as if someone went far too easy on the vodka. All he had was memories half-buried, but he knew enough to tell that this wasn’t how alcohol worked. And when it didn’t really [i]work[/i] at all, something was wrong. He blinked, looking at the now empty glass in his hand. Was this like how he turned on the track to start his fifth lap earlier, and it felt like he was still on his first? Was this like how they pumped syringes after syringes into his veins, and he could still feel the bite of the needle every time? Another small mercy? He let out a quiet exhale, gaze lifting to look at the familiar glass bottle with the green label. Spirytus Rektyfikowany. The same one that Zhang claimed he could [i]take it[/i] from his first night here. He thought she was lying then. Now, he wasn’t quite sure. But he wanted to be. “[color=cyan]Can I--uh“[/color] -He spoke before he could think better and change his mind –“[color=cyan]…borrow that bottle?”[/color] -He gestured at the spirytus with a finger. To his credit, the bartender seemed hardly shocked at that request. He merely spared Sander a glace that was a touch too pointed, before retrieving the bottle for the boy, along with a new shot glass. Sander poured himself a shot, then downed it in one gulp. The liquid scorched his throat as it went down, the taste far from pleasant, but it was the same as before. Whatever heat the alcohol had, it dissipated as it went down. Nothing remained. Sander frowned at the bottle. Wasn’t this supposed to be very [i]strong[/i]? Maybe that was too little. Sander grabbed the bottle then, tilting his head back as he took a larger gulp. It burnt like nothing else, but the flimsy heat from the alcohol found no purchase in him. Ernie stabbed at his dinner with a blank expression. He felt dirty, confused. He deserved to feel like this. He'd made it through the day without completely collapsing from the guilt and shame, but it ate away at him like corrosive acid. Soon there would be nothing left of him. Ernie shoved the remains of his meal away in disgust, before picking it up and scraping the scraps off into the bin. He wasn't quite dazed enough to leave a mess behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an upper level with a large bar. Perhaps a change of scenery would lessen his crankiness. Ernie made his way up to the bar and was only slightly alarmed to see the lanky figure of Berserker Boy sipping from a dessert-looking drink. His steps immediately slowed. The brown-haired boy was one of the aberrations from the first game. And a freaking strong one at that. Ernie recalled the one on one the guy had with Cal, the taunts and the terrifying strength that had beaten the green-haired girl into submission. In all honesty, brutes like him were what had made the combat exercise so preemptively awful. Knowing that he was going to be in such proximity to a guy who could probably cave his skull in with a flick… Not ideal. Bad vibes all over. Still, ‘scared’ was a word Ernie didn’t like tossing around. All the people that truly frightened him were either dead or on the other side of the country. No worries here at East. He was being cautious, not scared. And even with all the shit he pulled, he still had some pride to preserve. Ernie decided to sit three seats from the other student. No, what was he, some weenie? Two seats, then. As the longer-haired boy drank from a freshly ordered Hurricane, he occasionally stole glances at the sullen figure. Closer up, the guy was strangely unassuming. Disappointing, almost. His imposing height didn’t do much to downplay the sickly frame and all-around depressing vibes. Only when the classmate began downing a whole bottle of Spirytus did Ernie feel the urge to pipe up. [color=00a99d]“W-woah… Y’know drinks don’t help with Stigmas, right?”[/color] he called nervously from his seat. Ernie bit back the ‘buddy’ he tended to stick on the end of his sentences. It was too soon to gauge this guy’s openness to that sort of tone. Sander spluttered a bit at the sudden question, hastily wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned to face the stranger, still hazy on whether the question had meant for him or not. But the other boy was looking straight at him, so it must be. “[color=cyan]N-No…[/color]” -He grimaced slightly, traces of the strong drink still tingled on his tongue. He still felt nothing though, even when two third of the bottle was gone –“[color=cyan]They really don’t.[/color]” Ernie's eyes instinctively narrowed at the other boy's messy drinking. Urgh, nasty. He reached over the bar and grabbed a few napkins, leaving the pile at a tentative distance between the two. [color=00a99d]"...So you like the taste?"[/color] he continued with a confused squint. “[color=cyan]Thanks.[/color]” -Sander plucked a few napkins from the pile, then began to dab at the drying liquid on his hands. Only then did he really look at the other boy. Dark hair and brown eyes, with a skinny frame. Sander thought he was rather…familiar, but he couldn’t link a name to the face. So he didn’t, and just answered the question instead –“[color=cyan]Uh…no. Not really. This tastes horrible.[/color]” [color=00a99d]"Geez, there are better ways to drink than to do it straight from a bottle of toilet cleaner!"[/color] Ernie couldn't help but laugh, but he managed to choke it down quickly. Maybe that sort of caution wasn't going to be necessary. The guy seemed rather meek from what Ernie had seen. With an amused smile, he slid his own drink towards the boy and plucked a second straw from the bar. The bartender eyed him as he did so. [color=00a99d]"Better give your tastebuds a break then,"[/color] Ernie dropped a straw into the cocktail for the boy, [color=00a99d]"This won't get you shitfaced or anything but it tastes pretty fun. Whaddaya think?"[/color] Sander raised an eyebrow at the black-haired boy’s comment. He turned to look at the green label once more, looking for the word ‘toilet cleaner’. They actually cleaned toilets with this? He didn’t know that, so he just took the friendly boy’s words as they were and pushed the almost empty bottle aside. Glancing down at the offered straw, he hesitated for a just a brief moment, before giving the drink a quick taste. It was sweet and tart, not unlike the fruity punch he used to have on [i]hot summer days[/i]. He decided immediately that he didn’t want to drink anything like it again. “[color=cyan]It’s a bit too sweet for me. Sorry.[/color]” -He gave the black-haired boy an apologetic smile –“[color=cyan]But…would you recommend something else?[/color]” [color=00a99d]"You like it strong, huh?"[/color] Ernie racked his brains, [color=00a99d]"Well, if I remember my stuff correctly I'd give you..."[/color] His eyes trailed over the expansive collection of liqueurs and spirits behind the bartender. Ernie swore his mouth began to water. Without another word, he hopped off the stool and went behind the bar. [color=00a99d]"Could I borrow the bar for a bit?"[/color] he chirped. The bartender looked up from a half polished martini glass and stared back silently. Ernie raised his hands, unperturbed. [color=00a99d]"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I'll put everything back where it was. I'll even help you clean up when you're done."[/color] With a curt nod, Ernie was allowed through. The boy began to scan the shelves, grabbing various coloured bottles in a seemingly random order. Ah, it was good to be back. [color=00a99d]"So what's got you in a drinking mood?"[/color] Ernie chatted to Sander as he poured some gin into a measuring utensil. His movements made it clear that he was fairly skilled in this area. Sander watched the black-haired boy basically ‘invaded’ the bartender’s working space, but he didn’t make any comments. It wasn’t really his place, after all –“[color=cyan]Huh?[/color]” -He seemed mildly surprised when the boy asked, then pensive as he figured the answer for himself –“[color=cyan]The drinks…aren’t working.[/color]” -He got it eventually, or rather, he got something that sounded similar enough to an actual answer. Ernie nodded. [color=00a99d]"That explains the toilet cleaner."[/color] A martini glass with a vaguely green liquid was placed in front of Sander. Ernie didn't seem very satisfied with it. [color=00a99d]"I think this one's called a London Fog. Anyway, there are way better ways to get hammered than permanently staining your throat with that fancy junk. Tell me how it tastes."[/color] Sander took the drink and gave it a tentative sip. He made a face –“[color=cyan]Bitter.[/color]” -But he still lifted the glass to his lips and finished everything. Would be rude, otherwise. The glass was swiftly replaced with another, consisting of a small mound of ice and a curious blue drink. [color=00a99d]"No need to force yourself if you don't like it,"[/color] Ernie muttered, [color=00a99d]"This one's a Frostbite. Not as strong as the Fog but you might like this one better."[/color] A pause as Ernie examined his patron. [color=00a99d]"Are you planning to drink a lot in the future? With a gut like yours, it might be hard to get into the mood you want."[/color] “[color=cyan]Yeah. I don’t think I can…get drunk.[/color]” -Sander looked at the blue drink curiously, tapping one finger against the cool glass before lifting it to his lips. Sweeter this time, minty and rich, with a deeper flavour, like…cocoa. He took his time with the drink this time, instead of downing it in one gulp. “[color=cyan]This is nice.[/color]” -He smiled, looking up at the temporary bartender –“[color=cyan]What is it?[/color]” Ernie beamed in return. [color=00a99d]"Tequila, cream, chocolate liqueur, caracao and ice,"[/color] he listed carefully while counting off his fingers, [color=00a99d]"I, uh, saw you drinking that chocolate thing earlier so I thought you'd like this one. Wouldn't expect that flavour with all the blueness, yeah?"[/color] [color=00a99d]"I just realised I never even asked your name."[/color] “[color=cyan]Oh. Yeah. I’m Sander.[/color]” -After a few initial blinks, Sander finally connected the question and motioned at himself –“[color=cyan]You?[/color]” [color=00a99d]"Ernest. But everyone calls me Ernie. Awesome meeting you, Sander!"[/color] Sander wasn't much of a talker. And Ernie wasn't gonna spend the rest of the night talking to a guy who seemed to only be able to form three word sentences. This called for more drinks. He fixed another Frostbite to replace the one Sander was finishing. [color=00a99d]"Guess the best way to do this is to count how many it takes before you get smashed. So we might be here a while,"[/color] He nodded to the ribbon on Sander's wrist. That seemed like a good topic to start with. [color=00a99d]"What's that for? Did a nice girl give it to you?"[/color] “[color=cyan]You too.[/color]” -Sander nodded in greeting, his smiles started to come easier as he placed the empty glass on the side and took the new one between his fingers. The question came then, and his gaze flickered to his left wrist, where the stained blue was –“[color=cyan]Oh? This? My roommate gave it to me. For a--uh...safekeeping.[/color]” Wow, boring. This didn't seem like a topic worth pursuing, unless he actually wanted to hear Sander go on about some roommate who shared her accessories. But a pretty ribbon like that had to mean something, right? [color=00a99d]"Sure. 'Safekeeping' "[/color] Ernie winked suggestively. Time to move on. [color=00a99d]"I watched you in that fight earlier. Do you always go nuts like..."[/color] Images of Cal's thrashing were brought forth. [color=00a99d]"...like that?"[/color] Sander drew out the silence by sipping on his drink, holding onto the answer until he had finished the second glass of Frostbite –“[color=cyan]You were there? I—ah, well, yeah. It…happens.[/color]” [color=00a99d]"Does it happen a lot? In friendly games?"[/color] A skeptical eyebrow was raised. “[color=cyan]It shouldn’t.[/color]” -Came the quiet answer as Sander suddenly seemed to be interested in his empty glass. [color=00a99d]"But it happens anyway,"[/color] Ernie pushed some more, sliding another drink towards Sander, [color=00a99d]"Is it because you like it? Cos I think I'd get it with the whole..."[/color] he waved vaguely towards his own X-mark, [color=00a99d]"...Stigma thing."[/color] Another question that begged for answers. Sander’s eyes flickered down at the new drink pushed his away, and he accepted easily, simple payments for the simple answers that he didn’t want to give. But he would. Because fair was fair, and he felt like it. Ernie was a stranger, but Sander couldn’t really bring himself to care about that. He was too occupied with reliving the moments of fire during that ‘game’, only to find some of its heat had found its way back into his chest. [i]Did he like it?[/i] Of course he did. “[color=cyan]…I shouldn’t.[/color]” -He gave the clipped answer instead, something simple enough for his mind at that moment. Ernie couldn't do much but nod. He was no shining example of self-control himself. At least Sander had the guts to tell right from wrong. A bellowing laugh echoed through his memory. [i][color=f7976a]"If it's there, then just go for it! Liam's not here to make a fuss, so what are you waiting for, kid?"[/color][/i] It wasn't fair. It never had been. [color=00a99d]"That's fair,"[/color] Ernie sipped momentarily from his own drink. It didn't quench the sudden dryness in his mouth. [color=00a99d]"The release zones don't help much, do they? With all that junk pent up in you."[/color] He shook off the sudden negativity and returned to his standard chipper self in an instant. One of them had to fight off that sulkiness, right? [color=00a99d]"But hey! Big Stigma means big power, right? You're strong enough to use those crazy punches on the baddies. Fighting well with friends and not, well, [i]with[/i] them. Do you get what I'm saying?"[/color] Sander simply gave Ernie a blank look, before returning to his drink. Which he ended up knocking back in one gulp again –“[color=cyan]Three.[/color]” -He put the recently empty glass on the side –“[color=cyan]I think I’m good for few more, if you don’t mind.[/color]” He wasn't sure what Ernie meant by 'Big power' and 'Big stigma', so he would reserve his comment on the subject. The smile dropped immediately. Although he obliged Sander with some more glasses, Ernie could feel the irritation bubbling upwards. Of course. It was always the strong ones who could afford this sort of attitude while small fries like him were left bleeding out on the sidewalk. Even so, the irritation was considerably overshadowed by the sheer boredom this one-sided conversation was generating. It was taking a ridiculous amount of alcohol to loosen this guy up. [color=00a99d]"Not much of a talker, are you?"[/color] he said with a hollow chuckle. Sander simply shrugged, the finer points of Ernie’s expression lost on him. With nothing else to answer for, he turned his attention fully to the glass in front of him, sipping from them and chasing the drops of condensations with the tips of his fingers. Ernie kept the drinks coming, to which Sander was grateful, but whatever line of conversation between them had long died. Not that Sander minded. [i]Not much of a talker[/i], or so Ernie said. He had to be, since [i]they[/i] stopped talking to him long ago. What would be the point? He couldn't blame them. So he kept downing glass after glass, fuelling the feeble flame in his chest. It paled in comparison to whatever the water gave him, though he had to admit it was better than nothing. Not that he minded [i]nothing[/i], but this warmth was addicting all the same. And he wasn’t really beyond human, after all. It was…pleasant, to know. At least he still had [i]this[/i]. By the time, Sander moved to stand up, he had lost count of how many glasses he pushed aside. He should ask. That was probably important. [i]But it wasn’t his place[/i], and he got what he came for anyway, so maybe it was time to leave. “[color=cyan]Uh. Thanks for the…stuffs.[/color]” -He stumbled through his foggy mind and cobbled a few sentences, because it was simply the right thing to do. He couldn’t just…leave without saying anything. That was not right –“[color=cyan]I’ll see you around.[/color]” [color=00a99d]"Mm. Catch you later."[/color] Ernie didn't bother looking up from polishing glasses. Outside of those death matches, Sander was a total bore. He wouldn't be going out of his way to hang out with Emo Boy again. What a disappointing night. Ah well. At least he found something to keep him preoccupied while he was stuck in this prison. Ernie placed the spotless glass by a marked napkin. The tally marks indicated eighteen Frostbites. Not enough to get the guy word-vomiting, sadly. The black-haired mage sighed and started on another glass. Guess he'd have to try a little harder next time. [/hider] [center][h3][color=cyan]『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』[/color] [color=8493ca]『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』[/color][/h3][/center] [center][img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][img]http://i63.tinypic.com/2h84geb.jpg[/img][/center] [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center] [hr][center][color=silver]ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥 / / [@RedDusk][@January][/color][/center][hr][hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / 𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸: 𝕊𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝟚𝟘𝟚 / / ~𝟚𝟚𝟜𝟘[/color][/center][hr] [hider=Heart] Sander ambled down the empty hallway, a half-remembered number at the forefront of his mind as he did. The sweet taste of his last drinks was turning sour in his mouth, its sticky remnants between his fingers made him want to take a shower very much. And he would. As soon as he could find his new room. This would be much easier if he could just [i]focus[/i] and stop his thoughts from interrupting each other. This…fire wasn’t what he used to. It didn’t dominate his mind with a sick craving; it distracted him instead, making him chase a million thoughts, and at the same time nothing at all. It was…curious, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He wasn’t sure he cared at all. Christmas sat on his bed in his and Sander's new suite, reading--well, trying to read--the copy of [i]Meditations[/i] Lawrence had loaned him in the ride before that first battle he was trying not to think much about. The book was small, and in the momentum of events from days prior, Christmas had felt more compelled to fall back on things that were familiar: his Vita, his plush manatee, his ribbon. Small things that he had needed to sort out with himself. He still hadn't managed to figure anything out (there was a quiet space at the bottom of his fears now, and he wondered if it meant anything), but at the very least he was calmer now. A guard had found him shortly after the visit with Rosa, catching him as he returned to the hospital room, handing him a new backup room key with the suite number on it, and letting him know the card-reader lock had been set to his ID. [color f7976a]"Everything's already been moved to the suite,"[/color] the soldier had clarified when Christmas turned back to the door of his temporary hospital room. He had fumbled with a "Thank you" and waited until the man had turned and left before making his own way back to the dorm building. There was a flutter at the bottom of his chest--equal parts anticipation and fear in actually choosing to room with Sander. He didn't know if this was a huge mistake or a small miracle. Now though, in this quiet room without Kusari's ire and with only Sander to expect back, he was feeling paced enough to venture into a book he had never heard of before, full of thoughts on a life he wasn't sure he could be interested in, and written in a manner of thinking he knew he would never replicate. Still, it was something new, and he had decided it would suit the occasion of a new suite and something like newfound resolve--or desperation. He was still figuring that one out. But the mild confusion was dashed by the smell of alcohol wafting in before his roommate entered. Room 202 came into view at last, and Sander fumbled for a moment before finally managing to get the door open. The new room greeted him then, with the interior and the same furniture and the same roommate. Said roommate gave him a small wave as he entered, though he didn’t wave back. His tacky fingers and the sour taste on his tongue suddenly felt too prominent, small inconveniences becoming unbearable. He really wanted a shower. So he did. After gathering all he needed from the duffle bag, he headed straight to bathroom. The heat from the shower clung to his skin still. It was getting far too warm. And he didn’t know what to do with this fire. Nothing for him to grasp at. Nothing for him to rein in. Better to just let it run its course for now. His own bed seemed tempting, but he didn’t want to sleep yet. His mind was still flitting between alertness and lethargy, so he figured he would do something else while it decided. Like talking. He felt like talking. So he headed over to where Christmas was, settling down on the carpeted floor next to the blond boy’s bed, his side leaning against the bedframe while he faced the healer. “[color=cyan]Hey.[/color]” -He eyed the book, squinting slightly at the letters on the cover –“[color=cyan]What are you reading?[/color]” Christmas had made little progress in the book during Sander's shower and he had stopped reading when his roommate sat down on the floor nearby, a bit relieved that Sander wasn't drunk to the point of danger. [color 8493ca]"Um..."[/color] The question needed answering, but Sander's seat seemed out of place when there were chairs and two other beds nearby. [color 8493ca]"[i]M-Meditations[/i]?"[/color] he answered, glancing at the cover to make sure he had remembered the name correctly. [color 8493ca]"Um...t-the floor..."[/color] He trailed off. Instead, Christmas slid towards the edge of the bed and off, sitting down beside Sander on the carpet with his book in hand. The smell of alcohol still lingered heavily in the air and he looked at his roommate curiously. “[color=cyan]That’s…[/color]” -Sander nodded, though ‘Meditations’ didn’t really ring a bell for him at all. Not that he read much to begin with –“[color=cyan]…great.[/color]” “[color=cyan]So…How are you?[/color]” [color 8493ca]"I'm...I'm okay. Um. Are you...?"[/color] He wanted to ask if Sander was drunk, but thought against it, letting the question end there. “[color=cyan]I’m great.[/color]” -Sander smiled sheepishly –“[color=cyan]They…uh…took you though. What’s up with that?[/color]” [color 8493ca]"Oh, um. It was just to, uh, check on my power...I think. Um,"[/color] he eyed Sander's neck again, at the flushed skin that was probably just the shower, but the thick smell of liquor told him it could be more, [color 8493ca]"d-do you need to lie--lie down?"[/color] “[color=cyan]Power…yeah…that[/color]” -The question registered then, and Sander shook his head slightly –“[color=cyan]I’m fine. Too hot in here. Not gonna sleep.[/color]” “[color=cyan]Did you see the ocean again?[/color]” He didn't answer for several seconds, looking down at the floor instead and seeing the field and the swing in his mind again as Sander's question pulled the memory into vivid display. Christmas just nodded, before asking in return, [color 8493ca]"What--um--what about you?"[/color] “[color=cyan]I think…there’s something in the water. Here.[/color]” -Sander suddenly lowered his voice, but his expression was nonchalant –“[color=cyan]Too fast, if you ask me. That’s not normal.[/color]” The blond boy just blinked at him with wide eyes. “[color=cyan]Special team, didn’t you hear? Back in the hospital…[/color]” -He grinned a little bit then, slowly trailing off as his thoughts derailed –“[color=cyan]Wanna know a secret?[/color]” [color 8493ca]"H-huh?"[/color] “[color=cyan]You know why I can always find you?[/color]” [color 8493ca]"No...?"[/color] “[color=cyan]Don’t tell anyone, alright?[/color]” -Sander leaned in slightly as he spoke. Some lucid part of him, the part the feared and waited and hid, warned him of the consequences, but he couldn’t find it in him to care at that moment. The buzz was pleasant, and it loosened his tongue –“[color=cyan]I like your smell.[/color]” Christmas stared at Sander's hazy, blue eyes, gauging the amount of awareness his roommate had at the moment. He didn't use cologne, or even any scents outside of his shampoo, but was Sander referring to that? [color 8493ca]"M-my shampoo?"[/color] he asked, unsure if Sander was really "great" at the moment. “[color=cyan]No. No...Not that. Not normal.[/color]” -Sander mumbled –“[color=cyan]Coffee, to me…You’re coffee.[/color]” Two empty cups of coffee on the dining hall table and a contradictory answer about tea came to mind and Christmas stared silently as the pieces sluggishly put themselves together. It took exactly five blinks and one surprised intake of breath before he finally understood the gist of it. Sander could [i]smell[/i] him. And he apparently smelled like coffee? [color 8493ca]"What--what kind of coffee?"[/color] he asked without thinking and immediately realizing how stupid a question that was, but his mind was coming up blank on how to respond to the news. It was all making sense now, how Sander kept running into him and why there had been two empty cups of coffee on the table when Sander said he liked tea. He didn't know if he was happy Sander liked his smell or confused about why he smelled like coffee to begin with. Did that mean Sander could smell everyone? Was that the only reason Sander kept finding him? “[color=cyan]The kind that smells like…you.[/color]” -The answer came quick and easy, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. But a pensive look passed through Sander’s features as he paused and began again –“[color=cyan]Sorry. That’s not normal. It’s…uh…weird.[/color]” [color 8493ca]"N-no, it's--it's fine, just...um...you said you liked tea...?"[/color] “[color=cyan]But I like you.[/color]” -Once again, quick and easy. The words didn’t really require much thoughts on Sander’s part. [color 8493ca]"Wh--I...uh...t-thank you,"[/color] Christmas mumbled the rest of the fragmented sentence into the floor as he suddenly grew all too aware that Sander was close, because he had seated himself nearby the taller boy without really thinking. He was afraid to ask why Sander liked him--afraid to hear a version of himself he didn't believe in at all. Afraid to think Sander might be sorely mistaken. [color 8493ca]"...L-like you, too,"[/color] his voice petered off and he looked away, a bit of heat rising to his shoulders and the back of his neck again, though he blamed it on the warm room and the heater he had left on. He knew Sander didn't mean anything by it, but the easy admittance was disarming. “[color=cyan]Thanks.[/color]” -Sander’s grin returned now, and he looked almost eager –“[color=cyan]You don’t think I’m…weird? Not…uh…people?[/color]” [color 8493ca]"Huh? N-no, you're--um...you're...great,"[/color] he repeated the word, at a loss for how to describe the amount of gratitude he had, even if Sander maybe liked some version of "Christmas" he didn't think he was, and even if Sander only found him because he liked the smell of coffee. [i]It was okay.[/i] The smile remained on Sander’s lips as he paused for a few seconds, thoughts still going back and forth in his head. But he chose to speak, in the end, because even a half truth was a lie, and Christmas didn’t deserve that. “[color=cyan]There’s a…fire. Right here.[/color]” -Sander motioned at his chest with a finger –“[color=cyan]It…gives me strength. Let me do a lot of things. But only if I…drink.[/color]” [color 8493ca]"...Your power?"[/color] Christmas replied quietly, watching Sander's hand. [color 8493ca]"...Does it--does it make you?"[/color] “[color=cyan]Doesn’t [i]make[/i] me. Just makes everything…good. Warm. Powerful. If I drink enough, nothing can hurt me.[/color]” [color 8493ca]"Is it--um--d-do you like that, too?"[/color] “[color=cyan]I do.[/color]” -Sander spoke with a glint in his eyes –“[color=cyan]Better than…anything, really.[/color]” – Then his expression darkened, the [i]but[/i] left unsaid –“[color=cyan]Have to…pay. After. Not cheap.[/color]” [color 8493ca]"...What happens?"[/color] Christmas whispered, the memories of hollow eyes and shaking hands hinting at the response. “[color=cyan]Not nice.[/color]” -Came the only response, the only words Sander could find. Not a half-truth if he didn’t know the right words. He racked fingers through his hair once, before shaking his head suddenly, shrugging the creeping fear off –“[color=cyan]I can share, too…make you...like me for a while…nothing can hurt you.[/color]” [i]So strong.[/i] Christmas's thoughts ran around those two words. Sander was like Sparrow, but without the flight and with a harrowing price, and he marveled at how his roommate had shouldered that kind of consequence for so long. So strong, in more ways than just the power. [color 8493ca]"The--the forest,"[/color] he started, wondering if Sander could remember when he seemed a bit tipsy, but with his roommate's clarity of thought muddled by alcohol, Christmas's own thoughts slipped a bit more effectively from his mouth. [color 8493ca]"Was that...? Um. 'Not nice'?"[/color] Sander simply nodded. Not a half-truth if he didn’t say anything. [color 8493ca]"It doesn't make you..."[/color] Christmas repeated, [color 8493ca]"...but you said...you always needed...?"[/color] “[color=cyan]Always…want it. Not nice is when I…want it more.[/color]” -There was an edge in Sander's smile now -"[color=cyan]I don't [i]need[/i] it...Just feel like I do.[/color]" "[color=cyan]Told you...weird.[/color]" -He motioned at himself. Christmas watched the ribbon on Sander's wrist for a moment, before nodding slowly. It wasn't the same sentiment. It wasn't even anywhere in the same league, but a tiny part of him--tiny compared to the monumental weight Sander bore--understood being "weird." Just not being the same, and it was more than just the marks that separated them from regular people. A minute passed and he finally spoke, his voice hushed. [color 8493ca]"It's okay,"[/color] he looked up at Sander's eyes, wondering how much would remain after the drinks wore off, [color 8493ca]"I'm...I'm weird, too."[/color] “[color=cyan]Why?[/color]” -Sander titled his head. [color 8493ca]"I--"[/color] Christmas's mouth thinned, trying to figure out a way to explain himself now that Sander had directly asked. They were in the same room now, and he didn't need to be a genius to figure out what most people thought of his preferences, even in this day and age. He had barely become friends with someone and already it was easy to scare them away. But he had lied before about this, in a different capacity, and he wasn't here to make that same mistake again. His eyes flicked between the carpet and the ribbon until he finally took a deep breath and spoke to his legs, wishing he had the power to just turn invisible at will. [color 8493ca]"...I, um, I don't like girls..."[/color] he mumbled. “[color=cyan]Why is that…weird?[/color]” -Sander narrowed his eyes –“[color cyan]Some people don’t like…people.[/color]” “[color=cyan]I don’t like Kusari.[/color]” [color 8493ca]"N-no, um..."[/color] Christmas ducked his head down as far as he could, breathing slowly for several seconds. [color 8493ca]"I...like guys...in...that way..."[/color] he trailed off before the faintest whisper followed, [color 8493ca]"I'm sorry."[/color] “[color=cyan]Uh.[/color]” -Sander just stared at the blond boy now, hazy eyes blinking slowly –“[color=cyan]That way?[/color]” [color 8493ca]"...L-like...ro-roman--romantically,"[/color] he winced as he said it and looked away. [color 8493ca]"S-sorry--I...I'm sorry."[/color] Sander was quiet for a few moments, realization formed and half-forgotten memories resurfaced, tangling with each other into a mess behind his tired eyes –“[color=cyan]Oh. I see. That’s…not normal?[/color]” [color 8493ca]"U-um..."[/color] Christmas watched the ceiling light reflect on the wooden surface of his desk, eyes on anywhere but Sander and the space around Sander. "Not normal," but it was a question and he wasn't sure how to respond. For a lot of people, it wasn't. For him, it had been that way for a while...and he didn't know if that was normal, either. [color 8493ca]"A lot of people--um--"[/color] he chewed on his lower lip a moment [color 8493ca]"--d-don't think so."[/color] And he believed them, because there were so many more of them and he was so small in comparison. “[color=cyan]I…wouldn’t know.[/color]” -Sander pressed a hand against his forehead as if he could rearrange his thoughts with that simple gesture alone –“[color=cyan]I can’t remember the last time I saw…[i]people.[/i][/color]” Slowly, he braced his left hand against the mattress and rose to his feet, before letting himself fall fully into the soft embrace of the cushion –“[color=cyan]Probably a good thing.[/color]” -He mumbled from his spot on the bed, sprawling out and gazing at the ceiling with empty eyes. Christmas watched the movements, eyes guarded, ready to be anywhere but here the moment Sander seemed uncomfortable, but his roommate just seemed tired and he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. [color 8493ca]"Are you tired?"[/color] he asked softly from the floor, grateful for the chance to change topics. “[color=cyan]Shouldn’t be.[/color]” -Sander said, though his voice came out far too soft, barely above a whisper –“[color=cyan]Shouldn’t be drunk, too…[/color]” -His eyes drifted shut then. [color 8493ca]"Good night,"[/color] Christmas whispered back. He waited there until Sander's breaths had evened out into the slow rise and fall of sleep before finally getting up from the floor. The guards had left Sander's stuff at the foot of the adjacent bed, and he had pegged that as "Sander's" in his head by now, so he left it alone and pulled the blanket from the unclaimed third mattress instead, carefully draping it over his roommate's sleeping form, stretched out above the pillow and sheets of his own bed. The room was suddenly too warm and the vestiges of whatever cocktail of drinks Sander had downed continued to hang in the air, still prickling his nose lightly with every breath he took. It was too late to go out, though, and he didn't think he could make it to the hospital buildings with only ten minutes before curfew. He didn't think he even wanted to leave in all honesty. As long as he could stay in the safe net of company Sander offered, there was little he would mind. That's what he had thought before, too, and now he was at USARILN East despite that belief. This wasn't the same, right? He had checked his phone for messages earlier, disappointed and relieved to find none from Alvin. It made sense. Alvin had stopped communicating with him when he stupidly admitted he was a subnatural. No one normal wanted to associate with that kind of trouble--barely anyone normal had wanted to associate with him even before that. The last message was dated July 29, 2020, 7:12 PM. It was a simple, four-word sentence that spelled out so neatly how much he had ever mattered: "Don't contact me again." Either a blessing in disguise or the penultimate nail in the coffin, and Christmas was still unsure if he was grateful for that small thing that had set his feet in motion a month later, well before his mind had caught up. Sander wasn't like that--wasn't cold and calculating and all premeditated affections. In all honesty, he thought Sander was quite unaware of many things, and maybe that was why Sander had seemed such a comforting presence after such a short time. Someone who wasn't locked into the mire of mental schemas and preset notions that defined most people. Someone who had apparently not seen people for a long while, but those would be questions for another day and another time, when Christmas had found more of the words that fear and anxiety had always taken from him until now. Mr. Chair and his phone joined him on the sofa in the other partition of the miniature apartment, where a living room of sorts would technically be. He wasn't sure how long he sat and stared at the name on his contacts list, reading "Alvin Hall" over and over until even the syllables in his head sounded distorted. At some point, and Christmas vaguely caught that it might have been hours, he nodded off, leaning heavily on the plush manatee's synthetic softness. [/hider][/hider]