#(felix001)

[annie-perrault]

hunter of the name || annie & fee

@felix-tee​

[She shot Felix Tee. She shot Felix Tee. Felix goddamn Tee. What the hell? What sort of absurd, cruel, bizarre fragment of her psyche thought that was going to be fun?

As if the Games weren’t bad enough on their own. She’d been freaking out quite effectively without the appearance of one of her favourite singers, and she’d just seen someone go for the weapons cache, and she panicked because she didn’t have any weapons, so she went for the cache too, and she found a pistol, which she’s not as accurate with as a bow but still a good shot, and she just... freaked out.

He was running away. So now Annie is the evil idiot that shot someone as they ran away, and it was only after that she caught a glimpse of him and realised just how bad she’d fucked up. She’d been up all night trying not to hyperventilate, with the girls offering her soothing advice. They’d eventually convinced her that she should just apologise to him, and Maisie has assured Annie that he’s super nice. So... she’s going. She’s going to do that. She’s going to talk to... Felix Tee. Stupid nightmare. She’d so love to stop waging psychological warfare on herself for just five minutes.

Maisie said he was in Delma, so she lurks awkwardly outside the common room, too shy to message any of the Delmas she knows. Just as she was about to give up, Cambie came out and asked Annie with her usual soft expression if she was waiting to go in. It would be too awkward to lie, so she says yes and slinks in, leaving Cambie to go about her day. Felix stands out like a... not a sore thumb, because that’s ugly. Maybe like a peacock among peahens. Annie feels particularly gloomy and plain by contrast, but she’s come all this way. She has to.] 

Hey, um, you’re-- [Oh god, don’t say ‘you’re Felix Tee’. He knows who he is.] Um, I just wanted to say I’m really sorry for, uh, shooting you last night. It was me, and like, I really hope I didn’t hurt you? I wouldn’t have shot if I’d realised it was you, you know-- [She breaks off in an awkward laugh, twining her hair anxiously around a finger.] I just panicked and shot, and then it was like, what the hell kind of nightmare world is this where I’m shooting Felix Tee, y’know? I’m so... so embarrassed, and I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry. Like, really sorry.

[angel-thorne]

‘socials’ scarcities | felix and angel

@felix-tee​:

[He remembers when his manager had first said the name—Angel Thorne. Prestigiously known writer, who wrote and produced for some of the best, platinum artists in the world. Known for his versatility, his ‘inexplicable genius’—and for his rising from the dead. Felix had given an eager yes to the proposal of hiring him to be one of the writers for his album, if only because he’d heard he was the best, and Felix knew that he deserved nothing less. To work with someone as legendary as Angel Thorne would surely do great things for his career, ‘slightly mad’ or not.

But he’d never expected Angel’s supposed ‘madness’ to be quite like what it was. In fact, Felix didn’t find him mad at all. He found him inspiring, and energetic, and totally fascinating. They hit it off like a house on fire, and collaborating with him with Fee’s songs had been a breeze. He’d also not anticipated calling him a friend—a comforting face to visit him in a time he refused all visitors other than his father, and a musician he’d one day be working on public collab with—a song featuring Angel himself, with both their names in the artist track. 

It’d have been an honor. Something to get him onto all kinds of talk shows, and TV spots, he was sure. He imagined interviews with Angel, laughing and acting like the best of friends in front of a live audience, making oh-so-many people jealous…. but it’d all become a pipe dream when D-Day happened, and interrupted all that. A song they never finished. 

He’s so shocked to see his face now, that it takes him a moment to catch up. Characteristically, Angel is already off babbling about something, but Felix is still stuck on the part where Angel is not only alive, but here, in this Colony of all places. Here. Now.]

Oh. My. God. Angel? What are you—Oh my God! [He approaches Angel quickly, going in for a hug. A hug from Felix Turner is actually rare. Touchy though he may be, he likes to control his displays of affection. His greetings are usually lavish and repeated kisses on cheeks, a lot of touching of shoulders and surveying outfits with over the top compliments. Sometimes, when he hugs, it’s brief, and more of a display, than it is a real embrace. 

That time he’d found his father in the airport though—that had been real. And when he’d said goodbye to Dee the morning he’d left Colony 30. And now. 

His arms wrap around Angel’s neck and he inhales a familiar scent of him. Lavender and nectar and unidentified spice. Memories rush back like a tidal wave and the corners of his eyes prickle.] I can’t believe you’re here? How long have you been here? I can’t believe I didn’t know! Father didn’t say—maybe he didn’t know, but I… Oh my God, it’s so good to see you!

[The hug is more than he’d anticipated, and even more welcome for it. Angel welcomes Fee into his arms warmly, fondly. The first thing he notes is how small Fee is, how thin. He’s got a naturally slender form, of course, but once you’ve seen someone at their worst, pale and skeletal in the hospital, it’s difficult not to worry. Angel knows better than most just how frail the human body can be.

And it doesn’t always help, knowing that the Afterlife is waiting. The journey there is painful. He wouldn’t want anyone to rush to get there, particularly not bright spots of sun like Felix. D-Day must have been tough on him. He’d been at a particularly vulnerable place in his life, before. The pressure of fame is difficult to bear, because if you open up about it the response is always ‘boo-fuckin’-hoo, wipe your tears away with your hundred dollar bills’. Angel is glad that he’d come back from that, hit rock bottom and then was raised back up on a feathered tide, before he met Felix. He had hoped that maybe he could help in some way, guide Fee away from some of the mistakes Angel himself had made.

When he pulls away, he sees the sheen of tears gathering in the young man’s eyes.]

Ohh, dearheart, I know, I know. [Angel cups Fee’s cheeks in his hands, a thumb rubbing a soothing back-and-forth across the rosy skin.] Jesus, I’ve not seen anyone from the old days in years. And here you are! And your da, too? That’s… [Angel lets out a long, soft exhale on the brim of a distant smile.] Wow. What a beautiful thing. You’re just a sight for sore eyes. How’ve you been?

[The question is asked more earnestly than he usually would, not as a casual greeting but as a genuine enquiry. He knows it bugs Fee when people make a fuss of him over what he reads as the wrong reasons, but Angel can’t help himself from fussing. He’s a fussy person, by every definition.]