[COLOR=GRAY][hr][CENTER][img]https://i.imgur.com/4TsfIrH.png[/img][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=#D90037][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]Intake House - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=#D90037][b]The Homecoming Trials #1.17:[/b][/COLOR] [I]The Collegiate Circle Jerk[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][sub][color=#D90037][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR] [I]Trevor [@Jarl Coolgruuf], Rory [@webboysurf], & a passing mention to Banjo [@Hound55][/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=#D90037][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR] [I]Not so Special[sup]TM[/sup][/I][/right][/SUP]
[INDENT]Trace was quickly reminded as to why they were glad they’d been ejected from secondary school like an ill-timed roman candle—a lot of air but a very tired fizz out. The way out of the bleachers became clotted as a few people slowed down. They all brandished the “blackjack” armband. One boy—Cass it might have been—announced that Trace was right. Of course, they were, but they didn’t languish in the praise. Instead, their attention was drawn towards the loud one—Banjo—as he pretended not to hear them. Only to contradict that point by flipping them off. [color=#D90037]“That’s practically a Sutton greetin’ there. Tell me what otha’ tame ass jokes you have. Going to call my mum fat? Go ahead. Though, I should warn you… she’s dead.”[/color] The way Trace said that was the same as someone saying the sky was blue or that crabs were nippy. As if it was a well-known and constantly regurgitated fact. 

Banjo moved toward the group with the confidence of a cat that just finished in the shitter, but Trace’s attention was called away by Trevor. He arrived on the scene with other stragglers who only loitered momentarily before disappearing. He plainly stated that he enjoyed soccer… as if Trace wasn’t standing right there. They couldn’t be more obvious if they were a neon vest that said “Brit.” Then the dark-haired, traditionally handsome boy came up, patted Trevor on the shoulder, and agreed to play soccer.

[color=#D90037]“Right. Look. I don’t care what you call the damn sport in your yankee hick backyard. But just do me a favah’ and call it football around me. Thanks.”[/color] They glanced over to see that Banjo was gone and shrugged. [color=#D90037]“Well, it looks like the annoyin’, gross one left with your communally shared brain cell so that’s my cue to get out of here as well. You two chaps enjoy your mutual wank. I’m off to go get dressed.”[/color] They pulled their umbrella tighter to themselves as they backed away. [color=#D90037]“You know, so I can get sorted into the Slytherin House propah’.”[/color] They gave a little faux salute before turning on their heels and leaving. 

Everyone in this damn class was handsome. Trace knew that not all hyperhumans possessed cinema-worthy good looks. There were some like them, and there were some that were far worse. None of them were in the “blackjack” class, though. As soon as they passed the threshold into the Intake House, they made a beeline for where they’d been staying. It was very temporary, but it was a lot more space than they ever had while living with their brothers and dad. Speaking of which, along with the package that sat on their bed was a picture. Trace had been waffling doing something with it. It was one of the few family photos where everyone was in it. Thomas I stood over the lot of them as the patron of the family. Though imposingly tall, he didn’t radiate toxic masculinity. Instead, he seemed to represent the old saying that “still waters run deep.” A very quiet man that could fuck something up if pushed into it. Then there was Thomas II, tall like their dad but with the darker brown skin and black hair of their mother. He smiled wildly for the camera, leaning over Timothy—who was the spitting image of their father with much paler skin, brown hair, and lighter eyes. Trevor and Terrence were somewhere in the middle, and while not twins they actually looked like they were related to each other. Then there was Trace, back before they changed. Naturally brown skin, dark black hair that was long and curly. They had paler eyes like their dad and his very Anglo-Saxon nose. But their chin and cheeks were definitely their mother’s, and they were the only thing that they kept. 

Trace patted the picture before laying it to the side. Better get changed before their roommate decided to come in. It wasn’t that they were shy or anything, but they didn’t want anyone to gawk as the rest of their body looked as pale and lifeless as their face. The last thing they wanted was the Scooby Doo gang called to investigate a ghost when it was just Trace naked.[/INDENT][/INDENT]
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