At the question, Cleo’s face remained stoic, staring at him, unaffected by it. Then, he finally gave in and she continued with the food she was working on. “It’s really not any trouble. And when it is, it’s very satisfying to get my way then.” When Kiran laughed and slapped the table, Cleo flinched a little, sudden movements had always been something she was never fond of. “Whatever, just say ‘cunt’ like a normal person. You’re thirty, act like it.”
“Like a....” he looked at her even more confused, she seemed intense, but in an off-putitng way, clearly getting her way as it was, the food between them. Him, stoned to the bone, her with the intention of selling him out if he did anything to get on her wrong side. Yet he was too far away to think properly on the consequences of his actions and whether or not she would be annoyed by him. “Where Im from, twit’s a normal word.” He paused for a moment. “But’ye would really sell me out?” Couldn’t blame his fucked up brain to get all obsessed over that, those were the drugs talking.
High, stoned, whatever. Tomay-to, tomah-to. Particularly because he goes on to describe himself as a half-baked junkie, Evra isn’t about to split hairs. She wouldn’t even usually be so particular about other people’s habits - she herself is very image conscious, but other people can do what they want. It’s just that Kiran is supposed to represent the team, and if he’s going to get high, he should do it in private.
He shouldn’t be sitting here, in front of everyone, clearly on something.
Something she said seemed to have an effect on him, though, as the lazy grin slid away from his face. It was inconvenient, actually, because Evra’s always struggled to maintain any sort of a rage when people bend or break. She pursed her lips, exhaling steadily, before accepting a chip from his plate. Maybe she should try to have some sympathy; maybe rather than judging him, she should be wondering why he’s sitting, high as a kite, in the middle of the Great Hall. Her expression softened, just a touch. “Are you, like… okay?” She asked at length, carefully biting into another chip. He might be a pain in the arse, but he’s a teammate as well. “Doesn’t seem super normal to be in this kind of state so early in the day.”
Oh no. Kiran wasn’t sure if he liked angry Evra more than worried Evra. Semi-worried Evra. His eyes grew wide as she asked the question - wider than usual that was. The judging he could handle, definitely, wasn’t used to anything else. The judging was easy to handle as well, he knew what to expect, he didn’t have to explain himself, or at least he didn’t want to, given that the judging was terrible. A terrible thing to do.
And also, he felt great for not having to explain himself, because that kept the bad thoughts away, now they returned, crashed back in, like those waves. Fucking waves. He quickly took a fry, eager to kill the conversation, eager to flee and don’t know... smoke an other. Maybe have a couple of drinks, enough of them if possible.
“Uhm well. I’m okay. Do this very often.” Lie. Kiran only ever took drugs early in the morning if he woke up with headaches or nightmares. Although he felt very confident about lying, he was terrible at showing it in his face. Fuck, why did she have to sound like that. “Why’s you so angry, sumthing happen to ye?” he slurred on, desperate to focus on something else.
There’s a fist around Deacon’s lungs. It feels distinctly skeletal, long-fingered and cold—he may have finally gathered to courage (and the lucky opportunity) to whisk away from his long-time friend, sight unseen, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still haunted by the ghost of him. Jesse follows him everywhere he goes, now. Ugly, frightening, heartbreaking memories he can’t leave behind, no matter how stubbornly he tries.
He swallows them back now, like a stone caught in his potatoes. His sneer is Slytherin worthy, and he’s glad for the excuse of the Red vs Green rivalry to fall back on.
“That logic is flawed, mate, hate to break it to you. But hell, go ahead and keep talking smack about how ‘badly you gon win’ [he echos the other’s words back at him, a lazy, irritable taunt.] It’s always fun to take an egotist by surprise.
The guy was obviously more mad at him than normal people, Kiran always expected, somehow guessed, anyone would be mad at him. Or at least annoyed by his living standards, which were questionable. He happened to sit in the dining hall stoned, so, he guessed that was pretty much code green for: come and get angry with me. He figured nobody would run up to him just to say hi in this situation, although, people could still surprise him.
He grinned as the other threw back his own words, he definitely wasn’t a Slytherin, but he seemed to try really badly. “Think the bet s’on then.” Kiran said with a grin. “You come all th’way to tell me I might go fat?”
He slid a greasy looking chip towards her, and Evra looked down at it in obvious distaste. She’d never been much of a snob about what she ate - none of that my body is a temple business - but looking at Kiran’s heaping plate of fried food made her feel faintly sick. There was nothing green on that plate, nothing at all.
Picking up the chip between thumb and forefinger, Evra scrunched her nose up before lobbing it at his head. “Can you at least not lie to me? I can see you’re high. I can also see that there’s plenty of people that would love to be our keeper, and the only thing standing in their way is a half baked junkie. Do you really think you’re so untouchable?”
Usually, Evra tried not to be too harsh. She was often catty and blunt, but rarely outright aggressive. But something about Kiran’s disregard for the team rubbed her up the wrong way. If he wanted to kick a few balls around, play with your mates after class - don’t waste the teams time.
Ugh, she was so annoying. He threw up his hands in defeat, slowly, like he was on drugs. Oh hey. He was. Look a’that. He dodged the fry, because he wasn’t about to have fries in his hair, it was a sloppy dodge, but he had enough time to get out of the trajectory. “Kay, kay. Um stoned,” he slurred, then studied her as she said there were enough people who would love to take his spot on the team. Surely there were, and Kiran would never say there weren’t enough people who would make just as much an excellent keeper as him, but so far he guessed nobody dared to kick him off the squad because he had at least some value to the team, he hoped.
Honestly, he would be more devastated if he got kicked off than his team members would be missing him. And that should probably have him worried, but alas it did not. “A half-baked junkee who is pretty great at keeping.” That wasn’t a word.
He flinched at the word untouchable though. Untouchable he certainly wasn’t. He shook the feeling away, certain that if his mind bore down on such things, he would find himself in terrible circumstances, and drugs be damned, they would pull him under even faster. Like being pulled under in the sea. “Nah. Don think that.” He pushed some more fries in her direction, now considering it some kind of peace offering. His face had changed from stoned joy to malcontent.
“Give it a go then, lad. Changed me life,” Fernley offered over. She packed the last of her rations behind the shield of his wide shoulders, before giving him a thumbs up. Although, the stranger seemed less of a morning person to meet her at her level. One day she’d tell him her secret—she’d been awake for hours. “Why? You gonna dob me in? After I introduced youse?” Fernley waved her finger from the guy to the plate of bacon. She dropped her bit and shrugged. “Gonna eat it o’course. Sorry. Not gonna make love to it or feed a kelpie I’m keepin’ in a bathtub or anythin’ interestin’ like that. Hate to disappoint ya.”
She had a quick tongue, and with that he meant that her accent was so rough around the edges that he was certain that it wasn’t just slurred like his, but naturally so, and his brain had extreme trouble to keep up. Didn’t help that she was saying a lot as well. Yet, he chuckled at her comment on introducing him to the bacon. “Was hoping for that Kelpie,” he said, looking disappointed. “You got a pretty good appetite then, don’t ya?”
The drug use started as soon as Kiran got his freedom, off to college in London, enjoying student-life without his parent’s constantly nagging on his head that British culture was toxic.
The drug use was spares, didn’t happen often, there was a lot of partying, but Kiran did well enough under influence of alcohol.
What changed was the death of his fiancee.
Being married off was part of their culture, and Kiran had been lucky to get married to his best friend - not that he’d had many - but he knew her, he knew her family well enough, he was friends with her older brother. He was content to know that if ever the time came that he had money of his own, and could buy a house, he would live with her.
All of that changed when she, her parents, and her brother got into an accident.
Suddenly Kiran was faced with the reality of death. Something he had only experienced from a distance, something that hadn’t felt real before. Four lives, all taken within a few minutes, all because of the cruelty of the world. Kiran couldn’t except death, he didn’t know how to live with it. He needed drugs because if he didn’t get from one high to the next, his thoughts would linger, and he would be faced with the terrifying thoughts of death. Of his parents dying, or his sister, of the world dying and all of it being for nothing. And instead of facing that, running away from it seemed a lot easier.
He got through the rehab centers on strength alone, but as soon as he was out, he needed to go back to it, he needed to find something to make him forget. Because whenever he was sober, whenever he was alone or doing nothing of importance, he would crash. Crash into a thousand pieces like the crash that had taken Nadia from him. The crash that had showed him that death was real. Death could take them all. And they would never know when.
At Hogwarts controlling his lingering thoughts had proved a little easier, he was constantly overtaken by the wonders of the Magical world, and he could go a few days on being sober by the craziness around him alone.
But it was never enough. When the thoughts started to return, there was no other way out than to find his next high. To find himself alcohol, to smoke some weed, to get some xanac. He had managed to rid his system of the really, really bad drugs, but he wasn’t going to be cured. Because the disease was his state of mind, and the medicine was the drugs.
It didn’t seem that those soft kitten heals Vivi was wearing could be heard until they were mere inches from the young Keeper as the prefect approached him. She’d been watching him for a few moments now, and very quickly her curiosity had begun to tug at the back of her mind. The young woman stepped closer, almost platinum blond hair seeming to halo around her from the morning sun. Her soft features shifted into a bright, guilles smile.
“Why, good morning, Kiran.” Vivi greeted her fellow Slytherin in a soft tone. Though despite her sweet smile and tone, there was something a bit sharp in her eyes. A bit calculating.
“You’re looking tired… are you not feeling well?” Blonde brows arched slightly as her head canted to the side, one hand loosely holding her wand as the other lifted a cappuccino to her lips.
Oh no, Viv. Kiran thought as he heard the voice of the Slytherin Perfect from somewhere around him. Ugh no. Not that he didn’t like the Perfect, but in general Perfects were a problem. They didn’t like it when he smoked, or when he drank too much, or generally got into his business from the start. Not to mention with some his relationship was terrible because they had seen things they shouldn’t, and now they assumed the worst. Luckily he wasn’t at that level with Viv yet. And she was a general ray of sunshine that he could barely deal with on his off days, but found a little more bearable on his high days. “Good morning Viv,” he said, as he reached for an other cupcake. He was eating that first.
He was wondering why he looked tired, then remembered the red eyes that were a general symptom when stoned, and gave Viv a bright smile. “I’m perfectly giddy, this morning,” Kiran slurred in response. “How’bout you?”
Well, this one was a waste of breath, no doubt. He seemed about as helpful as most of the others had been, which was to say, not terribly. Grace was swiftly losing hope that this solution to their problem would turn quick results. “It’s been searched, and we tried a Summoning spell,” she replied, growing weary of telling people that no, she wasn’t entirely rubbish at her job. “Now we’re just spreading the news in case anyone cares to come forward and make my life a little easier.” She didn’t think he would fit that description, and was ready to move on to more attentive students. It was doubtful he would’ve noticed a pygmy puff landing on his face, from the look of things.
“So maybe it was stolen?” Kiran asked, not interested in continuing the conversation, because he really wanted to go out for a smoke. But the Perfect was INTENSE, like a little angry raccoon, and he was wondering if rapidly taking himself out of the conversation meant turning is back to an aggressive animal. “Or someone took it by accident? Lots of trouble for some badge, ain’it?”
Deacon never really thought of himself as judgemental—with a background like his, how could he? But there were some things that had changed over the years, and his comfort with drugs was definitely one of them. Sure, he’d been an idiot teenager for a while—still is, arguably, despite being into his twenties—but Jesse had left his mark in more ways than one. And there were some things that hit too close to home, still. Some things that he was pretty sure would always leave a bad taste in his mouth.
So he… tries not to judge, at the look of the blood shot eyes. How the dazed, swaying figure piling food on his plate is less charming than he is irritating. Isn’t this guy, like, thirty? Shouldn’t he be… less of a fucking mess by now? But no…literally every time Deacon sees him, he seems to be… well, a pathetic mess. And yeah, Deacon was probably… letting his own, traumatic experiences influence his reflexive responses now, but he can’t help it. And Kiran’s entire… display, triggers something deep and dark and uncomfortable in Deacon. A constant wince-walking.
Plus, the bloke’s a Slytherin—so whether Deacon usually puts much weight on housing feuds or not, it makes for an easy fall-back excuse, now.
“Careful, Thakker. Keep eating like that and I’ll literally be able to roll you off your broom on the pitch. Good luck blocking those goals. Wouldn’t want it to to make it too easy for us to kick your asses, hey? Takes the fun out of it.” It could have been teasing, but his tone is drawling, scathing instead. It probably sounds like something a Slytherin would say. But fuck, Deacon’s in good company then.
Kiran had gotten used to judgement, he was used to it from his parents as soon as they had found out what he was doing with his time in London. He dealt with it from his sisters in those years as well. And only those four got through to him with their resentment of his life-style choices. Other people simply weren’t important to him, and thus didn’t get to have an opinion. When he was sound of mind, he had enough trouble trying to not beat himself up over it. When he was under the influence, he didn’t get defensive over it, he just shrugged it off.
Deacon was in his year, they had some classes together, though he couldn’t remember which, and they had played ball a couple of times. “But there’ye wrong mate,” he slurred back at the confident looking Griffin. “Bigger I am, more goal I can block.” The tone the other gave him was flat, but Kiran pretended not to hear. He simply took a huge bit from a piece of strawberry cheesecake, then liked his fingers off. “Gonna be chasing you twits from the field wih how badly we gon’ win.”
Cleo paid no mind as he pulled his plate away. She was still working on the strip she did manage away from him. “I don’t have to earn anything. I don’t negotiate with terrorists and I’ll take what I want because if you don’t cooperate, you’ll be taking a drug test by the time dinner’s over.” She peeled the strip, casually, eating it in small chunks. She wasn’t particularly serious about ratting on him, but she knew she could get goaded into it if he pissed her off enough. “And you’re like fifty years old, Kiran. I don’t think we find the same things funny anyways.”
“Terrorists eh,” he called, a little surprised, but it was probably a joke. So he laughed as well. He was a little troubled at the mention of a drug test. Kiran had specialized at not getting caught actually “taking” drugs, so much as being under their influence. And he figured that if he kept getting significant marks, and showed up during Quidditch games - or training - he would be safe. Besides, he had thrown out his addiction to the worst of the stuff already, that should be considered an incredible feat. Even if he still used once in a while, he wouldn’t say he was addicted to that. Just to the other stuff.
He warily pushed the plate back between them. “Ye would go through all t’trouble jus’to get me food?” he continued to slur. When he wasn’t stoned, people often seemed very impressed that he knew how to talk without an accent. He chuckled at the age joke, slapping the table. And she wasn’t wrong, well, he wasn’t fifty, but the “hard” drugs he used to take on a regular basis had definitely done their damage to his physical appearance. “I’m only thirty, you twit!”
Kiran isn’t his concern. Not technically. Erik has to focus on his own team, the other Gryffindor’s and ultimately himself. He can’t help it, though. Watching this man who’s clearly out of it. He wonders how the hell this guy manages to stay on the Slytherin team. He knows he’d kick someone out of his team if they showed up high too often… Well. Okay. He’d consider kicking them off.
Erik keeps his expression still, not wanting to show his reaction to his slurred words. “You call that mountain scraps?” he says with forced humour, “I don’t think anything does go t’waste here…” He says idly, not really sure on the specifics but he assumes they use everything. At least the house-elves may eat the leftovers, which would sound cruel if he didn’t see how much food was left on the tables after a meal.
“Mount of scraps.” Kieran corrected the man. He rubbed in his eyes for a moment, trying to make some sense of those words. What the other meant by no food going to waste. No, cuz he was eating it. Okay, not every day. Certainly today. He held eye contact with the man as he reached for a tuna sandwich that lay two seats over, uneaten, on someone’s deserted plate. He thought about eating that one first later. Now. Later.
He nodded, slowly, confused, absent-mindedly. “Not now I’m planning on eating all of it...” he suggested. Captain Griffin - not his name, but Kiran really couldn’t remember many names or things right now, certainly not from other people he only saw like once in a while during Quidditch matches. He couldn’t even remember if they had won the last game against Griffin-squad. Or if they had lost. Most of the time he had forgotten the score by morning. Although, Kiran really loved winning, because winning meant there was gonna be a winner-party, and winner parties meant alcohol. And alcohol meant a happy Kiran. “Or at least the very salty stuff.”
The man across from her definitely had a reputation, and if that wasn’t enough to tell Cleo he wasn’t sober, she had enough experience with her own brother using drugs occasionally to know the look. And then, after exceedingly long thought by Kiran, he picked up the fries and Cleo rolled her eyes before throwing pleasantries and decorum out. She was hungry and she was gonna eat. Not waiting for permission, and it wasn’t like he could stop her with his apparent slow reflexes, Cleo reached over to his plate and plucked a chicken strip from it, dipping it in barbecue sauce. “You’re gonna share your plate with me or I’m gonna fuckin’ narc on you,” Cleo threatened him, pleasantly as she ate.
“Narcing on me?” Okay, that he did hear right away, probably because of the tone. He watched Cleo take food from his plate, studied her with a cautious and yet curious look. “I collected this plate, ain’t gonna share it with ya,” he slurred, pulling the plate away from her grabby hands. “Ya gotta earn that, Cleo-deo,” he waved one of the chicken things in front of her face - which probably wasn’t a good idea because he was slow. “Tell me a joke. A funny one!” Kiran suggested, finally, after all the time that he had been collecting the food, he took a bit from one of the huge muffins. He wasn’t that interested in the food anymore, to be honest.
Erik watched Kiran collect his food. Then some more…. and some more. Erik slowly tucked into his usual choice. Just like his breakfast was always the same, his lunch followed a pattern. Maybe he’s just boring or a creature of habit but it worked for him. No carbs, only meat and veg finished off with a few pickings of fruit. Now he’s picking at a bowl of plump cherries, Erik silently watches the man piling his plate up like a bear’s last meal before hibernation. He ducks his head down a little, trying to get a look at the man’s eyes.
He recognises the man as another Quidditch player, even the house rivalry didn’t stop Erik’s concern over the man’s often bloodshot eyes and erratic behaviour. “Leave some for the rest of us, mate,” Erik pipes up, resuming to sit normally so Kiran hopefully doesn’t notice his earlier attempt to get a look at the guy’s face, whilst adding another cherry stem to the small pile growing on his plate.
Kiran looked up confused, one eyebrow shouting out and the other edging lower. Just one sentence, so it wasn’t that hard to understand why this someone had chosen to extend words to him. He nodded slowly, as if to say: sure I will. But technically, he was collecting scraps. Thing about weed was that in a lot of situations, it helped to have liked-minded individuals along. That or not be bothered by other people. Being called out by someone unfamiliar -except that Kiran recognized him as the Captain of the Griffin’s soccer team - wasn’t the best way to keep on the positive side of that high.
The thing was, when faced with new people and negative situations, a stoned Kiran mostly tired to apologize or set the situation right, because he was happy, he was pretty chill, not-chill people shouldn’t be not-chill. Put him in a room filled with stressed people when he was as high as a mountain summit, and he would end up trying to get everyone to smile or dance. “Nah, I’m only takin’ scraps,” Kiran slurred, smiling lazily, but also extensively. “Can’be wastin’ food.”
Evra had always been uncertain of her place on the team - because she wasn’t fully convinced she’d made it on her own merit. A part of her suspected that it was because she was a Morven that she got accepted. Not that she’d dream of voicing those thoughts, because she had an appearance to keep up and all that. Still, it pissed her off to see teammates acting like it’s nothing, no big deal, and they can just do what they want, when they want.
“Are you high?” Evra asked, sitting opposite him and peering at his eyes. “You’re fucking high. Again. Are you trying to get chucked off the team, you impotent dick swab? Standards. Raise them. Have some dignity.”
“Whaa...” His brain had trouble catching up to whomever just sat down opposite of him, and started to gurgle all those words. But when he recognized her, he really didn’t need to hear exactly what she was saying, her face and her personality made that all to clear. Of course, being stoned, and hearing “dick swab” he started to chuckle like a... well, stoned person. It got him to stop hoarding the food for a second, allowing his brain to catch up on matters, processing the words. “Ain’t high, ya minter, sjust hungry,” he responded, slurring his words, then chuckling again, and putting one of the ugliest looking fries on the table and sliding it towards Evra.
To be honest, Kiran had yet to find out why anyone hadn’t kicked him of the team yet... possibly because he was a damned good Keeper. When sober. Which he tried to be for every game at least, trainings were a whole different matter. Unless if the drinking had been promised to take place after the game. Some of his team mates, though, they took the whole Quidditch thing pretty seriously. He just wanted to fly on a broom and kick some balls away from their goal. “Yer looking kinda feisty, have sum fries.”
