what charisma

multi indie , mostly original crap. did you throw that up while you were still out i mean it, you went out like a light last night. i do like it when you go all out.

[ruthelinse]

     she's got the right idea, and he absolutely loves her for it. -in the context of admires, adores, respects and highly regards her as the upstanding figure that she absolutely is.

   it's because she's so right, all the time, that he shows no need to uproot any of the natural hostility that he shows only when outside. in her presence, with that common assurance, it's that different. at most what he brings back in is a safeguard. 

     everything about her is right, so there's pain in that to see that she could look so impossibly downtrodden at times. something there sizes up all the good in the world, and in those times he almost wants to get aggressive with it, that is. all the bad in the world, that has manifested itself into the small, untampered respectfully led life that happens between these walls. 

he's not always a part of it, he's not always invited, but he never truly shows up un invited unless the threshold of not seeing her breaches to too, too much. and too little time to do anything about it; she operates during the day, and he -- - well he, conducts his own solitary business and --littered affairs, whenever. he was all around the clock. 

for this reason he only shows up at her door with gifts, with offerings. with things she needs, and more where that came from that she really doesn't need. 

   he'd just so much rather see the look that falls upon her face, whether it's something treading on incriminating or something she could evidently do without. but he thinks it's right that she owns something to her name 

that's nice. that's why it hasn't crossed his mind that crossing her like this, might not be the smartest decision he's made all night. 

in his defense, he's been fairly speakably good, all week. ' do you like?

 I will take them back if they're not your style. but since they're pristine, and crisp.' they're paper white, nestled with a few modest unopen buds to bring some color to it. not too ornate, he'd played it safe. '... ...and thoughtful, to give -the counter hire told me.' he didn't just make this up, he just wasn't that on the-spot type of guy. 

[itsakiller]

He slides his hands over the other’s shoulders, feeling the rich, soft material that’s currently passing for his clothes. He drags his fingertips down the sleeves, both to test how real it really is (it is) and to drive the man into fits of discomfort (does it?). When he gets down to his hands, he works the ten fingers open and slots his own ten in between them, pressing gloved hands against the other’s bare palms. He drops his head to the magnate’s shoulder, inhaling a deep breath.

And he laughs.

They don’t really know each other, save for glances from across the far side of the court during the season. He doesn’t know the man’s name, or his hailing family, or even if he’s a wife (but he probably does). All he does know is that the man is an advisor of some sort, one of a hundred, kept on not for royal decisions or battle strategy, but to help decide what trivial action would offend the noble families the least.

All he knows is that, despite the man’s unimportance, he’s important compared to him — and most of the people here are, lords and ladies that far outrank a simple mage like him. This man might even be a lord himself (and he probably is). He knows that. But he also doesn’t care.

He has the advisor backed into a corner, in a hall so deep in the castle it has yet to be named for a king’s brother (yet). He’s physically ensnared him, because this just isn’t important enough to use magic. When he lifts his head, his eyes are bright, and he looks like he’s enjoying what he sees.

For some reason, he always goes after the boring guys.

'You know, I never introduced myself,' are the first words out of his mouth, the first he's said since the rushed Come with me! when he grabbed the man out of the courtyard. ‘Aaaand. I don’t think I want to. It’s not proper custom, I know. But I don’t even know your title!

'So you should introduce yourself to me,’ he continues cheerfully. ‘I mean. I would bet you’ve heard of me.’ No, he wouldn’t. ‘But me? I haven’t heard a thing about you! See, that’s the thing: you hear about us lowly drones all the time, us soldiers-on-hand, but you never hear about the important guys, the advisors. I think we should change that.

'Your name's probably boring. And I bet you're seven times removed from the throne, but.'

He squeezes one of the well-to-do’s hands in his grip. ‘Let’s hear it!’

[ruthelinse]

It's really not a day in the life that he gets all that much of anything festive laid on him, he's actually left with the more dryer tasks that nobody wants to get to. The ones that are left over, like calming the current hothead ribbed with hum and bile, who no one likes to keep in check because this job? With all its glitz and glory, it did have his upsides. By the way. 

 Which was why he didn't flee. 

You could lose your head, but think of all the goods he's never see! It was too upsetting to think about, so he let that be put to rest. If he was going to see the world from eight feet taller than he already was, be it legs suspended, or detached altogether. 

He could be offered some new perspective, but for while he was flush in the cheeks with pumping, coursing sanguine he'd be offered none of it. 

No thank you, before that happened he was dead set on feeling the heaviest, the beadiest and cool to the touch not a flaw in its design drip through his fingers, he'd set his sights on everything. 

As Fate would have it, he was staring right back at one of the finest beauties that this sinkhole had to offer. The focus didn't last long at all, an urgent peal that sounded almost like a released hiss on his ears the first words to exit out that mouth. Which seemed to be a sharp one, if he could reflect some. 

And that was not much, was his second thought, still a little stunned, if he wasn't being dragged this way, and that he'd feel paralyzed head-to-toe. What had he just experienced? Not in his wildest dreams, could he pinpoint the uncanny but not unwelcomed warmness, honestly nothing that he was all too familiar with because nobles. - People that carried themselves differently. - People with power, god forbid on their tongue. 

They didn't touch. They just didn't. 

He'd hate to and he'd probably go to his grave first than rather admit it, but it was true. The most loving and tender care that he'd received of all was probably the reminiscent care from that of his mother. Who if he wrote, he wasn't so sure he'd get a letter back. He wasn't sure, if at all he wanted to take that earful on all she had to say. But he loved her so, that's where the money came from. That's why she was living so lavishly, or should he say steadily, back at home. 

His mother would never agree upon the lifestyle he'd given into. And he felt, in the sharp inhale he took, like a whiff of something too toxic to share up his lungs, -- she certainly wouldn't agree with this man of sorts, either. 

'- I'd like to be called whatever you want to call me.' He blurts out, and he's done something horrible, he knows this in his gut. '- S -second to Lord ____, and fourth most trusted to the Magistrate himself.

 Think that's all you need to know. You won't collect much about me.

And yourself?' 

[ruthelinse]

 He knows what's coming, don't think he ...does. They had parents, sure they did, but they weren't as stringent *as* they should be or were they around that much to project it. It never bothered him, not really. Not much. But he did know who was going to be on his case, and how much explaining he'd have to do to this concerning figure in particular. 

Oh, he had nothing to hide even if his other half could be bothered to pick through the niceties, interrogate him with some onslaught of slight detailed questions. It would go on and on, if he didn't stop him. 

 And he could stop him, he thought with a sinking sigh with many an idea brewing behind the dull, pounding headache just short out of range to his powerhouse, that he wasn't using. His brother did the thinking for both of them, except when he had to make the grades to appease his wonderful, well thought-out finely crafted god honestly, honestly spent a few more hours on you. 

And I wish if you'd know that. 

It was difficult, being bullheaded comparing the two on one hand, left his brother with the airy and flighty freedom that he wished upon himself sometime, but no amount of wishing would grant that nature on someone that was stuck to assurance and stability, and positively no change 

at all. 

Aside from curfew, all but that, maybe.

[ruthelinse]

 So it's like the ass crack of dawn and he hasn't bothered to keep his multivitamins on him, which are more composite of his diet than anything, and on the occasion shakes. It's not very healthy, or at least it should health mag myth says, add up, if we're counting in extremist plans to clean you out. Not when his hands were quaking on their own. Not really. and he's a tough guy, but the effects of not relaying a normal sleep pattern can sure bog even, let's say a wrestler, down. 

To be clear, he wasn't that. Not really working towards it, anyway, but there was never a day he didn't put that etched-in muscle memory to use. All for a very greater cause, mind you. Art was, or whatever you called it. Whatever it meant to you, was a legit cause to devote your strengths to. 

That's why he wasn't known for his brains, anyway. He tried, where it really mattered but when you were spending 4 out of 7 days with a laissez-faire type of kid, it was all up to them. 

It was all, according to your schedule. But really, perhaps the first thing he should focus on was a place to crash. He was a little ways away from home, and if anyone should want to contact him, he had his customized ringer on. As in, he only picked up for one person. 

[iced-down]

Ugh. Bore. The guy isn’t even two seconds into the house and he’s already bitching, offering a lecture that nobody asked for. He looks the part, sure: the most he’s removed is his shoes (which is a huge disappointment), and he’s got on his suit, which makes him look like a lecture-kind-of-dad. But, newsflash: he’s taller. He’s older. And he sure as hell doesn’t have to apologise for doing something to his kid, thanks.

He was just playing the music a little loud. Can you blame him? He just wanted to unwind some!

'I'm gonna do the nice thing and assume you got brain damage, and not that you’re actually trying to lecture me.’ Such is what he offers, even after he gets cornered, a fact he takes in with the best nonplussed face he can offer. He doesn’t look very impressed. And immediately, his hands dart out, pulling at the guy’s tie and starting to unwind it automatically. They’ve been through this routine enough times that he knows how.

So, the man before him should know when to shut up and just take his clothes off.

'Music's already down, and it's the first day of break — do you actually think they’re gonna be up at this hour?’ You’d think the guy had no idea what kids were like, or that he’d never been one.

Ohhhhh… right. He hadn’t. That was right. And it was his job to enlighten the man when he fell short of having all the eggs in his basket! Ohhhh. Riiiiight.

'See, there's this thing kids like: it's called sleep.’ he sounds as sarcastic as he can get, which is pretty fucking sarcastic. Trust him. He’s had practise. Tie done and discarded (more like hastily shoved into his pocket), he moves on to the rest of the suit, unbuttoning the coat with only a little impatience. ‘But that’s something they don’t get when they’re in school. So, what do they do first day of holidays? They sleep.’ He takes on a wondering tone, all but saying, What a concept.

The suit jacket is summarily unbuttoned and disposed of, thrown towards the couch in a semblance of respect. Next up comes the vest, because the dude is a freak.

'So, sure — tomorrow and for the rest of the week we'll have to worry about them staying up until fuck'o'clock in the morning. But for right now, I bet you anything they're asleep, and lost to the world. So, no, my music isn’t bothering anybody.’ Which is a damn shame, since that was the only reason he played that crap in the first place. But look what it won him!

He takes a second to admire his fellow parent, looking much better now that some of his stuffy clothing is coming off.

'So maybe just shut your mouth and let's “get to work,” huh?' he finally pushes the guy off a little, giving him at least the chance to start taking off his own clothes. He's not a babysitter — at least, not at night. 'Which is a really creepy way to say it, by the way. I know it goes against your delicate sensibilities, but here, we call it fucking.

'So, let's get on with that, maybe?'

[ruthelinse]

 'Well in all fairness,' He's pinned the poor sap or so he thinks, whatever to stay on top of their exchange. 'It's a modern phrasing, I think. Exceeded its time, worked its way up into beyond young adult fiction. You've heard of it before, right? Not all pitchers have to be characters to be able to wield a line like that. 

Always did wonder where you picked up yours, you can't just be born with something like that. It has to be learned. 

He squeezes at the other's sides, thumbs grazing over his hip and ducks his head out of the way to press a series of closed-mouth kisses into his neck. 

Anything right, to be the top dog. The Top Dom. They could name a show after that, and it was only then -- he realized how tense everything on him was and how fried his brain might have turned over the course of Monday, readjusting into Monday, of all things. To get back into the groove of most, it wasn't even hump day that took the cake. It was reclining back into starting up as work-possible, peoplemode ethic and fun dad behavior had to fly out the window once he'd sent his boy off to school and took out that door.

And luckily, he wasn't all that complicated of a man. He didn't have too many faces to swap out of, he didn't have that many people to impress. He just did what he did best. But if, you had to break it down. There was just work dad and fun dad, and then when the right time welcomed it play dad. Play dad never came out unless it was after hours, or unless they were stealthy. Or all the kids were out, but that was far and few in-between. 

There was always this to look forward to, though all his maneuvers were habit-learned, mechanical -- he was smoother and sharper than he could have ever hoped to aspire for. The only way a miracle like this came to surface was when he was frustrated, repressed enough and finally just maybe if he was fed up enough, he'd meet with more demands, and less talk, and the more he would take. What it took for him to get this way was to turn burnt out, by the time any of that happened, the initiator had gotten this down to a science. There was also this plus, but he hated to leave all the work to the other. 

He wasn't all about that, letting it happen all just from one side. 

He'd like to put in that kind of effort. 'I missed you, did you have a good day? Stir up any type of ruckus I need to know about?' He plucks at the other's top layer, nuzzling into his shoulder. 'Tell me all about it.'

[ruthelinse]

 'I'd like to trust you. But, seeming as I'm the only one who really cares about damage control around here. Just because they have their lights off, and aren't bothering to make a peep does not mean that they are tuckered out, they'll be up for another two hours at best. 

Do you know what this could possibly entail for us.' He's careful to not scuff his shoes while kicking them off, marching on up the few shallow steps it takes to get to the main room. 

 'Now, on contrary as to what you'd like to believe.' He sets his briefcase down and readjusts the lapels to his suit, why it's still stuck on him, unbelievable. Cannot believe. Not a true story. Source your things next time. 'I too, am a healthy male, man. And I'd like my specially alotted time,

just as much as the next man.' He closes the distance between them, propping the overly imposing (by not just height and stature,) man and props him up against the wall, noses bumping -- there's no question who's the bigger man here. And more importantly, it's in no way blossoming its way into becoming some true and competition. 

'But mommy and daddy can't go to work when all their babies, give or take one or two are still awake. Can they.' 

[iced-down]

One thing you have to admire about this kid — and only one thing, don’t think he didn’t notice that sweep of books off to the side — is that he can talk up a storm! Literally! Sometimes, he thinks he’s probably going to need an umbrella, just to stand against the onslaught of words that talking to his kouhai invites.

Talking a lot’s not a bad thing, per se. But it does make him go quiet, doing his best not to be overwhelmed, which basically gives the other free reign of the conversation until he’s decided he’s bored with not talking. That’s what happens now, with his only contribution being to squeeze the boy every so often, and invite him closer when he decides to switch the hug from behind to a full-on frontal hug instead. Which he appreciates! Really!

It’s not his fault if it makes him miss maybe 40% of what his kouhai is saying. Really.

There’s something about double-dates, and being a prefect or something (seriously? have you seen him), but most of what he gets comes at the tail end, the younger boy talking about his grades, and how homework is so lame yada yada yada, which is totally something he can get on top of. Which is totally what he’s going to do.

'You'd never do homework, right? Especially not when I'm around.' he looks especially enthused as he says this, his own suggestive way of saying, “don't you dare fucking do homework in my presence.” In a nicer way, definitely! He'd never be that mean. To his guy right here. 'You should take that D and be proud of it! I'm failing, like, half my classes. But do you see me caring? No.’

And there’s another important point to address in there, isn’t there? He thinks on it for a moment, squeezing the other close again while he scours his brain. Something about… double-dating, wingmen, or something. He’s 60% sure that’s what it was about.

'But you know, bad grades don't exactly attract the ladies,' he notes, massaging at the boy's shoulders for good measure. He's trying to emphasize the “ladies” part, so that his special person will get it through his head, once and for all. Not even he’s that oblivious! Most of the time. He thinks. ‘They care a lot more than you think. Especially when you get to be my age. Actually, it’s kind of offensive. It’s like they’re saying: what you look like or what you’re like isn’t important. All I care about is knowing whether or not I can borrow your study notes!… or something.

'They're lame. You're not.' And that's about as blunt as it can get, isn't it.

He lets another moment of silence hang, leaning back and taking the other with him as he does so. He openly eyes the bed, both because he’s tired of being on his feet, and because he REALLY wants him to know that he’s not going anywhere special. Fall is here! And it’s the weekend! It’s best to spend time with special friends, on special days, doing nothing special at all.

Some more silence. And then…

’- I don’t actually know why I came over.’ And with that, he sounds very unsure. Because heck if he’s just going to give “it’s fall” as his reason. And they haven’t exactly breached affection yet, besides the strange pull-and-tug they’e got going on, exemplified by what they’re doing right now. Hugging isn’t always romantic. So heck if he knows what to do.

'-but no big deal, right?', he continues, waving it off as he is wont to do. Fall is here! It's the weekend! Whatever they decide to do, as long as it's not homework, it should be fun. Somehow. 'You and me can think of something. That isn't homework!

'It's the weekend, you know.'

[ruthelinse]

 You did not mess with this guy. You just did not! Mess with this guy! Wow. Sends the point home quite nicely if he might interject, but he won't, he's been running his mouth like what went wrong and? He's got no constructive input to give, not really no.

 '-- Ho-hhhohh! My god, goodness me. My bad for asking.' His shoulders shake a little and he bows his head to 'snrk' under his breath. 

 'I always seem to forget that my sun, my muse is such a flake at times and that's on me. Can it, I mean. - You feel me, right? 

His sideglance to the bed doesn't go unnoticed, but he wonders fleetingly just how long he can stand shutter shy before his senpai relocates them both without asking. He shrugs, rubbing his face into his chest when he's not looking. 

Nailed it. 'Woah, what are you wearing? You smell like, ultra-god's finger came down and tapped you (because he loves you) good today.'

 He glances up, heaving like he's really accomplished something, like he's just ran a race. '-- Or is that just my rose lensed glasses doing the talking.' He forgets, for a minute about his be as blase and coy game, and that's really all it takes! A minute, to mow them over onto the bed and pile ontop of his senpai, kick his shoes off (only when he's flopped over and onto him, properly knocked all the wind out of him, probably. probably) and plank both his arms on his chest so he can rest his chin on them. He forfeits this with not much thought and presses his ear down to where should lie the heart cavity. 

He closes his eyes, tugging his arms more closely around him. 'Yeah but I'm glad you're here. Parent's note, excused reason pardoned or not.

Big whoop. I'll just chalk it up to uh, Scout's honor. You don't go back on your word. Not really.' 

[fushinbi-deactivated20150521]

     it’s not been the best of days.

     sure, of course! - he’s not the kind of guy who can ever really have bad days. whenever something doesn’t go his way, he’s liable to turn the whole situation on its head, which is easy to do when you’ve got a bad attitude and a jacket full of explosives. and if that’d been a solution for the way this guy had gone, rival would’ve opted for it far before this moment in time. he doesn’t like having bad days.

     he just likes causing them.

     it’s not even what’s happened, but how the day itself has gone. something wrong here, a bad feeling there - add it all up, and you get for a day that just feels wrong, careening slightly off-track (and not enough to concern you, no, but enough to make you wary). so, point being: he’s not fun to be around. he’s not even safe to be around, much less so than he usually is. he doesn’t expect to find company, but if he does…

     —apparently, he’s not going to take that company and shove it, but focus in on it instead. because this isn’t just anyone. it’s not one of those punk kids who he likes to show who’s boss, or even one of his more familiar targets, someone he likes to bully from time to time. no. apparently, it’s his sister. and how are you supposed to handle that?

     definitely not by hitting her in the face.

     what rival does, though, is lengthen his strides, a sudden energy in his step that wasn’t there before. before she can even think about turning or going away, he snatches at her wrist, holding it firm enough so that she can’t tug away, but loose enough so that she won’t get hurt. he’s a gentleman! really. he can be, honest. sometimes.

     ’hey, hey! now what do we have here.’ his voice is strained, a little bit, rising a little higher than it should if his greeting was to pass as normal. despite the tension, there’s this underlying current of you’re here, a surprised note that’s just as happy as it is wary. this isn’t where she’s supposed to be, at least on doctor’s orders (though seriously, fuck that guy). what’s she doing here?

          ‘i’m pretty sure of what i’m seeing. but i could be wrong. we both know how wrong i used to be.’ rival sidles up closer to her, removing his hand from her wrist and sliding it up her arm instead. it settles on her shoulder, which is what he uses to secure her and come in as close as possible. ‘remind me, maybe?

               ’what am i supposed to be seeing, exactly?’

[ruthelinse]

 Oh, now she's got by him. What a fix. And for a second there, she wishes if she'd never thought those thoughts a tall. 'Now I think,

if I may.' She starts with a clear ring to her voice, something she hasn't used as of lately. so as to remove the crack and sort of hoarse edge that it would normally give, she tests the waters with volume first. Well that cleared up some things. 'I don't think that's how you handle a lady, lady friends, and the like. I was almost

convinced that I taught you better.' Her tone is a tad grating, something very absent from her speech when it's loaded up with something more saccharine. She's not used to talking like she means it, so that extra 'oomph' she tries to process might come out a little. 

 Muddy? Perhaps. There's that unrecognizable flicker in her voice, mostly because this completely took evacuating out of the question. 

She doesn't want to, not really, but it's this nervousness that swells up every time she sees him, and. Always a little jarring, because she doesn't have to act a certain way. Wiping down layers 1, 2, and 3 on call isn't undoable, just something she's not used to. Because seeing her favorite person in the world, well. It's a rarity. 'Oh would you look at you,' She reaches up once his hand settles on her shoulder, carding her fingers through locks tucked underneath that pesky hood, but she's not going to comment. 

Nor is she going to knock it off right there and then, even if the temptation is there and holds a lot of presence. 'I wish if I could see more of your friendly face, make sure you're taking care of it and all. 

But I get that sometimes boo here doesn't like parading around the blessing he's been given all day long. Hoo.' She blows a kiss up to him, pecking air and exaggerating it to ensure that it'll get forwarded to its rightful recipient, get caught up in the draft and land somewhere on his cheek. Points if it gets his nose, or forehead. Because 'lo and behold, she can't reach now. 'I think your vision's fine. 

Playing hooky again? And with whom? I never thought that I'd run into this splendid company, if that sounds about right I would have stepped out earlier.' Not snuck, it'd make it sound like she was in some kind of trouble. Gotta be careful with your choice of words, sometimes makes all the difference. 

'I had a little errand to run, but my mark went in! And it's not yet my curfew yet, what's with yours.' She sends a quiet jab to his chest, not meant to hurt. 'No one looking for you? Anyone back at home, waiting around for house calls?

I can walk you home if you'd like. I'd love to, I'd kill for a little extra time with you.' 

[iced-down]

Fall is in the air. Children and dogs alike are jumping into leaf piles; crotchety old men are complaining about the colder weather; and everywhere, students like himself are bustling about, trying to get their acts in gear for the mid-semester rush or, for some, getting a head start on those pesky end-secondary exams.

If he were normal (and if he cared), he’d fall into that latter category. But as it stands, he seems to be the only one who isn’t running around like a chicken that’s had its head chopped off… more or less. Everybody just needs to slow down! Not in the druggy way, and not in the apathetic way, but… they should take a load off, you know?

Especially during the weekend.

And so! Here’s his mission: get the one person he cares about to shed any actual care he had for school life (he’s hoping, optimistically, that it’s basically none). The guy’s one year below him, so there’s no way he has more to worry about than he does. And it’s the weekend, the weekend! Nobody should be thinking about work on the weekend.

It’s his job to make sure this transgression never happens again.

‘You,’ he starts, and normally, you’d expect such a rough greeting to be intimidating, or at least mean. Not here. It’s excited, and full of hope, like his kouhai is the best thing he’s seen all day. Which he is.

He slings himself over the younger boy before he can say anything else.

'How're you!' Muffled as the continuation might be, he makes up for it by sounding as bright as possible, which is pretty, pretty bright. He's happy! 'Good, right? You've gotta be good. We're both good.

'So you're good, right? Not doing homework, or anything boring, right? Am I right.'

[ruthelinse]

 You know what to be fair he loves treatment like this but for any normal cue receptive human beeeeing, an intro like that was bound to throw off some alarms and if it didn't, god were you not in sync with yourself or what. If he didn't know better, that kinda lead-in belonged to somebody ready to trounce you. Ready to fuck you up. Right up. Pony up was more like it, but. 

Oh man. Yeah, he could take some getting used to this! It wasn't new, not necessarily, but the sudden lurching come-on was uh, well, always surprising. Like a grab bag of surprises, where every day had to be a surprise; he was never in the top ten percent, and he'd be surprised if he'd make it out of the bottom fifty. Why do homework when your gpa was on the suicidal side, like literally Bomb Tokyo In One Night status, when we could always cook up something that was a surprise. 

He's grateful his backup plan, the comic book layered on top of his textbook has done his handiwork for him. Couldn't let his senpai know that he was getting his studying on, getting all studious on him. He snorts lightly and tips his head back, rubbing his head against the shoulder it lands on. 

"What. Are you telling me, you're gonna try and tell me. That

    I'd be doing something as lame as homework, c'mon are you my upper classman, senior prefect or what. 

I've got no time to waste on grades, you think I'd be too busy for you! Well you are down right out of your mind." he sets the book(s) off to the side. 

Turns around, sort of shimmies into a now face-toward hug and tug, tugs at his senpai's bangs. "Why. You need a wingman or something?

 Another double date? Is that it?

I'd say that I've had it with being your second man in question, but ooh can it be, you've finally got your head on your shoulders, thinking up a storm! 

Because a real tough man has got to always have a plan B, plan C. Runner up whatever trying to ride up on the D. 

-- Like my last report card, don't deck me. S'il vous plait." He chortles, running a palm through his own hair. "I'm good. But don't keep me waiting. What's the good news?"

[letdown-city]

Looks like somebody just came over and started flipping into his book, reading the middle of the ninth chapter without even pausing to look at the back. Okay, context: that might sound a little superior, but really, he’s startled out of his mind. People don’t just come and do that! Normal people, anyway. They’re supposed to start at the start, and that’s only supposed to be a thing in normal situations—

Not situations that involve a dark alley in the middle of the night.

So, first his space gets invaded (that’s okay, since he still hasn’t looked up the phrase “personal space” in the dictionary), but the real kicker is when the guy up and snatches his camcorder out of his hands, holding it high, not in glory, but in threat, endangering the last three hours of his life that he’s spent recording. He makes a quick reach for it, but that’s not exactly going to work, is it?

At least he wasn’t in the middle of his routine when this new stranger showed up.

'None of that's any of your business!' he exclaims, looking as irate as he feels. He's not liking this. Sure, he likes surprises, but he doesn't like this. ‘Anyone would tell you that,’ he continues defensively. Problem is, there isn’t just some random person on the street at this time of night that he can up and ask for their take on the situation. But he’s sure — assured! — that most people would probably agree with him: this isn’t fair. Granted, some people might think he’s got it coming to him, given the location (and timing and how little he’d been paying attention), but it’s all about context! Context.

He makes another ineffectual grab for his camera.

'For all you know, I was filming snakes.' Yes! Snakes! In the big city, in one of the most dense areas in that city. Snakes. It makes perfect sense, if you would just consider the context… 'Filming snakes is a one-man job. And amateurs can't do it. Especially not with really expensive equipment!' Belatedly, he gives the guy a dazed sort of once-over. He doesn't recognise him, so it's probably fine if he doesn’t act like a prude. Probably.

'Do you love snakes that much? Huh? Or are you just a huge jerk?'

[ruthelinse]

He's really not the type to proof other people's stories, or mull over small details and/or how plausible they are, because the easy answer is that --that's bull, you're full of nothing but shiit, wwwhat a little bitch my grandmother can choke up, invent better bail privileged sobstories, wwhat a goddamn liar you are. 

But this is, legitimately puzzling. This boy looks crazy tightly wound, and he's spouting some nonsense folk about snakes or some shit? 

A look that crosses riiight on the line of a mix of worried, and 'are you high, because that's usually what I am and son that does not look good on you' stays plastered to his face for a record time, mind you. He shakes it off for some kind of recompense but he just can't excuse this shoddy demeanor for nothing. 

 'Aw, come on. Come on now, thas' just.' He inhales and takes his time with it, like an afterthought. 'That's jus'  weak. Who's gonna believe that. Wow. We've got some retarded motherfucker over here, or he's starstruck. You look fucking smart, or did my company finally chilled youse up e-nuff'. 

Sounds like it, you big gooff.' He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, snorting and giving way to a lazy ear-to-ear smile. He doesn't mean it, but that's kinda the point. Sure that that would sink in as much to Great Marks here, Honor Student probably, to boot. 

 'But let's get real, you and your elitist junk, equipment.' He waggles his digits down at him and incidentally the pricey camera, gratefully secured by the velcro strap or whatever you slip your fingers through. 'Could use an amateur like me. 

I wanna see your stuff,' He knocks his head against the side of the other's, nudging against him as if it'd get any more convincing. He's not got a very good argument, but it'd just have to float. 

 'Mama's boy like you, goody two-shoes, showing up somewhere gritty like this just woah, for some bullshit school assignment? I'm not buying it, you hear that? That is the sound of how many fucks I'm gonna be givin', when your secret junk and your best pal, -- apparently,' He waves the camera at him again. 'Takes an awful fall. It'll be a quick and dramatic means to meet, and you could prevent that.

 If you let me be your lens man, give me just a quick runthrough. I could get with your program, though I don't gotta get with you.' He heaves his unsteady chest and rasps, coughing up on a laugh through his teeth. 'Sorry, not my type. 

But we could make this work, what says you.' He prods him straight in the chest with an index finger, cocking his head. 'It'll be fine, it'll be 

fun.'

[ruthelinse]

 'Hey, you!' He snaps his fingers loudly, not a couple of times, enough to be obnoxious. Sure-fire sign that either sex on legs was not going to go anywhere, any time soon, or his next target ought to consider running - if they wanted any way out of this, fast thinkers were the best escapees. He got what was coming to him, that was legit. 'Course it was. He claps both palms above his head, sound loud as thunder carried by the narrow street that only enhanced it. That was warning enough. Right? Okay, so he's got to be fair to the boy in question. He's unguarded, busy with who knows what --might even dare to say that he's occupied with something important! 

Yeah, big whoop. Doesn't matter if he's going solo, party-of-one's are always available, always. Who knew, maybe he was waiting for a volunteer to help him film whatever he was trying to nail. Tripods sucked, they couldn't give you feedback. You'd just have to get choosy with which take you took and published it out for bragging purposes. 

Now genuinity, that was something you should look for --and he could help!, make the product better; all be damned if that wasn't actually a word, it was now. 

Shit. 

He pockets both his hands into this guy at random at the end of the alleyway, shoves them right into pockets not belonging to him, but they belong there. They do. 

 Knocking their heads together he stares down the other's neck and aims straight for his ear. ' Yyyyyow! Whatcha doing! That looks fun. You know what that could make that even funner,' So a word. Couldn't be bothered by it, though. He wrenches his hands out of the other's pockets spins the both of them into the wall, snatching the camera from him and holds it high above his head. ' If you let somebody that knows what they're doing join in! Whatever it is, scout's honor, star's confidentiality and all that.

I'll film you. Do what you were doing. -- Trust me, I've got a steady hand. -- And I'll even keep zipped up about it, your hobby or fuckever.

Better than sneaking out of the house just for your calling, right?' 

[ruthelinse]

 It's late. For once, he feels that's his fault for all this but he can't keep this to himself. He can't keep much to himself, if that's all he's good at, but.

Nudging his head against his brother's, he feels around for the well-defined knuckles he's used to and clenches his grip around that particular set, forget the anonymous feedback. -- Reassurance was enough. If the other was unresponsive, then so be it. 

It doesn't exactly sell, that was a given. -- Not on his own, not when his character sold some quarrel. But it feels too sparse at times, and when he can get it together he would only market it at its worth. 

 'Don't try to spare me? That you've gotten popular? It was bound to happen. If you didn't see that coming,' That was a trait he would never have.That was a trait he would never have. 'I did. ' He toyed with his collar to evade the gesture; It was just. No amount of friendliness could have him back off in a timely fashion, could it? That was a problem.  

His shoulders sank a little, bowing his head to align to his ' other half's' level. but avoiding all and any eye contact with his brother. Truth be told, he hadn't begotten his brother, Or his trivialities.

But, it was dis-traughting to some extend, pretend he didn't, in fact. Have blood and bone, to include in his affairs. The art of inclusion was by far the best way to leave out, if not ruin someone you weren't feeling it with, right? His younger brother encouraged this, and yet.

Maybe it was better this way. ' You have been better, right?' . 

[ruthelinse]

 It's late. For once, he feels that's his fault for all this but he can't keep this to himself. He can't keep much to himself, if that's all he's good at, but.

Nudging his head against his brother's, he feels around for the well-defined knuckles he's used to and clenches his grip around that particular set, forget the anonymous feedback. -- Reassurance was enough. If the other was unresponsive, then so be it. 

It doesn't exactly sell, that was a given. -- Not on his own, not when his character sold some quarrel. But it feels too sparse at times, and when he can get it together he would only market it at its worth. 

 'Don't try to spare me? That you've gotten popular? It was bound to happen. If you didn't see that coming,' That was a trait he would never have.That was a trait he would never have. 'I did. ' He toyed with his collar to evade the gesture; It was just. No amount of friendliness could have him back off in a timely fashion, could it? That was a problem.  

His shoulders sank a little, bowing his head to align to his ' other half's' level. but avoiding all and any eye contact with his brother. Truth be told, he hadn't begotten his brother, Or his trivialities.

But, it was dis-traughting to some extend, pretend he didn't, in fact. Have blood and bone, to include in his affairs. The art of inclusion was by far the best way to leave out, if not ruin someone you weren't feeling it with, right? His younger brother encouraged this, and yet.

Maybe it was better this way. ' You have been better, right?' . 

[hansei-hansui-deactivated201609]

He’s got that look on his face. —no, not that look. What exactly is that look? Honest, he doesn’t know, but it’s the creep-people-out-one. Anyway, that look, that’s not the one on his face. The one on his face is the infamous “Shut up, I’m arting" look, known to invoke aggression and anger if anyone so much as disturbs him.

Technically speaking, of course, he’s not doing art. And he’s not alone. He is, in fact, being bothered. He’s the one who requested the bothering, after all!

Okay, way confusing. Where was he at with that?

Noooot sure.

But anyway. Anyway.

The thing he’s giving his ominous look to is a shade selector in a hardware store. He’s staring it down, long and hard and like it’s insulted his mother. The only thing it’s done, though, is invoked his “creative energy." If you will.

‘This is stupid,’ he mutters under his breath.

There’s another moment of intense staring, and then he turns his intensity on the person beside him, a one Mr. Cale and Suffering.

‘If you’re man enough, tell me. This shade —’ he gestures at one of the shades of blue in front of them that, in all honesty, look pretty much the fucking same. ‘— or this shade?’ Then, he gestures at the shade beside it. There’s maybe a difference? Maybe. But to the untrained eye, it probably looks like the same fucking shade of blue.

But the clock is ticking, and he is not happy.

[ruthelinse]

 'Is this like the one-two thing they do at eye exams because every time, and I mean every fucking time, I manage to screw that up? 

And I don't mean by a grade or anything, because shit, you're basically paying the same thing for every checkup but shit be damned if they ever get my prescription right depending on how well I take that test. 

     Can I, pass. Pass? I guess that's not an option, aren't you the artsy-fartsy one?' Oh, did that come out?

 Well fuck. He's flustered, alright. Can't wrap his head around this hue-shade-gradient stuff, it. 

Well it does look different, but. Better? Cale didn't like to play favorites. 

That wasn't fucking fair. Every guy should have a fair jab at being number one, being the very best, right. Right? 

But he'd be paying for that later. Like he does most things. Probably. Probably doesn't mean might be, maybe, it means lounge with --not one eye, you do not even blink if you want to avoid this inevitable prone to incident! Ah, well. 

'Uhhhhhhhhh,' He scratches at the back of his head with way more fervor than necessary. 'Just go with the right one, I don't know? A piece can look pretty flat without its cool parts looking lively, or some'-it. Isn't that I dunna, kinda right?' He shrugs. 

 He has nooo clue what the hell he's talking about. 'I mean, as long as you like it? ...Right.' Only one agreeing with him in this store has got to be himself, that's tragically pretty much always a thing. 

Fricking splendid.

[ruthelinse]

 'When are you going to teach me how to navigate these halls before some overly friendly guard totes me back to the lost and found. 

S'getting old, don'tyou think !? -Pretty sure that the whole staff thinks that you have a hidaway son you're not share, and telling about. 

And you don't even look that old.

Why you gotta go and hide me? Do I look that bad to try and pass as if not your offspring, kin.' He bumps her shoulder. 

'Hey. 

- I'm talking to you.'

[iced-down]

Generally, this time is meant to be for relaxation (or even better, prayer; and even better than that, sleep), but she’s willing to let that slide. There are other pressing matters to deal with, and he is, at least, relaxing, or at least staying seated in the one sofa she’s permitted in her household. She, on the other hand, is standing straight on her feet, and now she’s taking herself right over to him, stomping if not for her curtailed steps.

Clara pushes an itemized list in Terrence’s face for half a moment, and then snatches it away. She takes it up between her fingers and looks down on him icily, folding the list into squares and tinier ones still. She doesn’t look happy.

Does she ever?

‘And do you know what you’ll be doing for chores this week?’

[ruthelinse]

 'Why don't you let me get a better look at that,' He reaches as far as he can go while still remaining seated, -- Nope. Still lacking. The likes of her relenting were rapidly disappearing off the chart as it were, so he let his head drop off to the side on one of his shoulders. Usually means he's given up, but she is just wound so up-tight tonight! What had gone wrong? 

And Terrence couldn't be seated for that, not when he knew how hardworking she was as strict. This was the weekend, already! Yes, there was always an agenda but there was always room to squeeze in some unplanned recreation. 

Most times than not, this would be a miss, and he'd have to let up. But when it was a hit, it'd be jotted down somewhere -- yet another notable thing that actually passed with his bundle of gorgeous and wisdom. 

He makes a point in looking positively defeated, tutting a little under his breath while an arm makes its way around her waist in fine time to tug her into a both-armed, crushing hug. 

 He hums thoughtfully, drumming his fingertips at her side. 'Now what was that? Let's go through it together. 

Slowly,' His chest heaves evenly against her back and reverberates at an unsquashable chuckle. 'You know how much of an inching learner I am. 

Learn me some.' He beams, pressing his cheek into the side of her head. 

'And other than the staple list, you can go over what else has been added. Jolt my memory.' He bounces his knee just a bit, but stills it and leans into her instead. 

'I'm listening.'

[ruthelinse]

That's definitely not who he expected to be wandering about.

Life of the party? Yeah right. Without anyone to show off, he was just another ornamental decorative contribution. Without the promising headsup, provided they'd have something there better to do. 

What did he have much to do? Not much, but until he spotted the one in question he'd remain until beckoned on and mostly, that'd be the rest of his night. He drummed his fingers against the arm rest neglected from disuse and turned his head into the only innocent drink he knew of up to date, present at this appearance of sorts. 

Had to stay hydrated, right?

It didn't phase him much, but the grin worn on his face was growing slack. 

Could he go home anytime soon? He'd just have to see.