#interaction: maya.

[sitacross]

    this body didn’t come with the perks of his original form. namely, his particular tools for instigating pain.  but jack had taught him that there was more than one very painful way to rip someone limb from limb. ( max knew about murder, jack taught him about torture. )  he was in the process of scouting for his next victim, building on the joy of the process, when he caught sight of a girl across the room.  she looked young, probably around he and jackson’s age, and commanding.  a take no shit kind of type. ( he always did enjoy someone who looked like they could fit back. )  making his way over to where she was easily, leaning his hip against the edge of her table.  “ you come here often? ”  his teeth show when he smiles, and he takes a sip of his drink. “ kidding. no line like that is going to get a girl as pretty as you to let me buy her a drink. ” // @swtsvrndr​

[shakeoffthedevil]

    there’s  a  level  of  ADAPTATION  he’s  not  supposed  to  be  used  to,  almost  as  natural  as  the  ability  to  walk.  one  foot  in  front  of  the  other,  even  paces.  he’d  blame  it  on  instability,  but  a  leopard  can  hide  it’s  spots  in  the  right  lights.  in  the  right  positions,  the  right  camouflage,  it  can  look  like  a  different  animal  entirely.  he  could  tell  himself  that  he’s  a  changed  animal,  that  the  instability  he’s  adapted  to  (  and  become  comfortable  in  )  is  circumstantial  and  a  bid  not  to  BURN  in  the  sun.  but,  really,  his  instability  has  been  orchestrated  by  him.  he’s  doesn’t  necessarily  run  into  danger,  like  the  leopard  chasing  the  gazelle,  a  trek  he’s  confident  he’ll  win  should  he  not  be  outsmarted.  in  reality,  it’s  not  just  intelligence  he  has  to  contend  with.  it’s  location,  it’s  time,  it’s  genetics.  there  are  only  SO  MANY  FACTORS  that  define  whether  he  survives  under  the  burning  sun  and  he  may  be  blind  to  some  of  them,  but  he’d  like  to  think  he  wouldn’t  push  himself  into  the  middle  of  the  desert  without  an  oasis.  sometimes,  he  sees  people  who  look  like  watering  holes,  unoccupied  and  safe.  (  he  can’t  explain  it  ;  perhaps  it’s  an  empathy  that  he  doesn’t  understand,  born  by  gutting  his  preconceptions  and  tearing  them  out  like  cobbled  stones  covered  in  dirt.  the  dirt  below  sighs,  sizzles  under  the  sun,  but  SURVIVES.  )  he  sees  her,  bold  and  seemingly  uncaring,  from  across  the  room  and  realises  he’s  been  in the  sun  for  too  long.  (  it’s  odd  to  approach  strangers,  he  knows  logically,  but  they  never  quite  feel  like  strangers.  as  though  he  has  a  hyper  awareness  of  who  and  what  they  are.  )  “  hey.  ”  he’s  twisting  his  form,  hiding  his  spots  in  plain  sight  so  they  BLEND  into  his  form.  “  is  this  seat  taken?  ”   @swtsvrndr​

[fellsethan]

    he’s naturally competitive.  it comes form the fact that he knows he’s good at football,  and the fact he’s dedicated a large portion of his life to it.  it’s not pride as much as it is confidence.  but that doesn’t mean when he scores the fifth touchdown of their friendly practice,  it doesn’t make him feel good. ( he likes winning ; whether he likes to admit it or not. )  “ i believe that’s the winning goal. ”  they hadn’t agreed on a set number,  but as he jogs over to her,  football in hand,  he can’t hide the fact that he’s already made his mind up.  “ you wanna throw it around a little more?  figure out how to knock me off my feet next time? ”  it’s good natured.  it is.  ( he just has to keep telling himself that.  there’s a part of him,  not often given light,  that likes the way he feels. )   @fellsmaya​

[fellsethan]

    “ hey! just me! ”  stopping by the corner of the staircase, assuming, if his sister’s home, that she’s in her room. and then proceeding to have a one-sided conversation with it. “ mom told me to tell you she’s making spaghetti for dinner. ”  shoving the bag off his shoulder, gripping onto it by the left strap. moving boxes scattered across the surface of the floor. ( you never know you’re all borderline hoarders until you move. )  “ and then she told me she wasn’t going to be home in time to make dinner. so, we should order pizza. ”  finding the zip of his backpack with deft fingers, unzipping it and pulling out, yes, one box of spaghetti. “ and then she said get whatever you want, so... ”  the box now hanging from his fingers as his other comes to rest against the staircase rail. letting a few moments pass. “ you here? ”   // @fellsmaya​