Héctor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unpocoloco) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
daybreakacademy2019-02-13 09:59 am
unpocoloco) wrote in daybreakacademy2019-02-13 09:59 am
Here in the dark, in these final hours, I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power
WHO: Héctor, OTA Catch All
WHERE: Around the school
WHEN: Various times after the 9th and/or the Valentines dance
WHAT: Various opens in the late evening
WARNINGS: Standard spoilers
You can't turn around a bad day, week, month, year, decade... you can't turn any of that without trying first. And so, once the monster's beaten back, his lost arm is returned, and the dance wraps up, so begins his annual rejuvenation. It's his return to the grind, starting every January (late this year but, well, he's doing his best), when he goes back to the drawing board and renews his plans-- only this time, not just for his return home. He's got a few things in mind this year, and isn't that exciting in and of itself?
A - OTA
With his arm back in place and whole again (gone for that week of the 2nd to the 9th and leaving him looking more like a zombie to people than he'd ever let himself before), he can actually get back to repairing the other one who took some hits this past while.
Rather than steal from the shop class, this time Héctor has decided to break in. Which, considering how much they let him use this place for doing repairs around the school, it isn't really breaking in is it? He doesn't think so. And so, upon a work table, in the dead of night, he's lain out a broken guitar. He's got nails and tools, bits of wood and scrap metal, anything he thought he could need for trying to repair the old thing. The guitar's not going to sound good when he's done, but it'll be something.
Despite everything, he's not quite ready to give up on music yet. In fact, he takes to humming a little as he works, breaking into soft song only to quiet again into humming as he hammers and cuts and sands away at the guitar. Until he hears footsteps and abruptly stops, that is.
B - Aube
Not every night can be spent on fixing the guitar. He's still got occasional evening classes to TA for, things to mark, essays to read. On those nights, he settles in the Aube common room, quietly working this time.
Being nocturnal as he is means bad news for any kids sneaking out of the dorm late in the night. "Ah, ah!" He says to any looking a little too ready to go, eyes lifting from his work to them and brows lifting higher. "Did you text Bee for this little excursion?"
C - Aube
Of course, not every child getting up in the night is looking for rowdy adventure. He knows all too well by now that some of these kids have had more adventure than they ever asked or bargained for. Those quiet wanderers, or ones who settle in corners, they're no less apt to get his attention.
He gives them their moment of space and quiet. Just a moment. Then, trying not to scare or disturb them, he walks over, placing a hand to the back of any given chair and tilting his head down at them.
"Hey," He says, soft as he can. "You okay? Can't sleep?"
D - OTA
In the early mornings, for any early risers who seek him (and not one of the smarter or more experienced of adults in this place) he's of course there to tutor those who need it. He may not always know what he's doing with magic but he can work out a lesson and, more than that, he can work with kids.
He draws another example upon paper when he can't simply show it, and he presents it, explaining each piece and part. "Do you understand?" He asks.
Perhaps you're the one he's tutoring. Or, perhaps, you're catching him just as the last kid wanders off and he's gathering up the books and papers, time soon running out with the coming dawn. But he might have time for one more.
E - OTA
He doesn't know the first thing about this, any of this. He keeps telling himself he's not a fighter, but more and more he's coming to realize he might need to be. It's not just about him anymore.
That evening he finds himself in one of the training areas. The bow he takes up is tall and heavy, heavier than a guitar. He's got the dexterity for that and the experiencing of firing... his arm. But it's not the same and he hasn't entirely got the strength built in him for using this thing. He's not sure if he can build the strength or if what he's got is as good as it's going to get. But he can't see himself yet using anything else.
So, there he is in the range, practicing. His shots mostly miss but every now and again he gets somewhere and he's encouraged to go farther. He gives a little laugh of victory and surprise in these moments. Hopefully he's not interrupting anything.
Of course in all his focus, anyone interrupting him is almost certain to make him jump and yelp and send and arrow flying far off target.
F - OTA
At some point before the library's closing for the night, he's managed to surround himself so thoroughly in books that he's built something of a wall around himself. His hand is half tangled in his hair and his brow is knit with concentration, pencil tapping absentmindedly in his other hand as he reads. The books seem to be all about defensive and offensive runes and spells.
"Wait, what?" He straightens up, flipping pages back, and then to his current page, comparing them. "That doesn't make sense, how can you-- what?"
G -[Closed to Orihime]
"Orihime?"
The call comes with a knock. Finally, at long last, he can repay this girl. He's ready at her door, smiling in his newly repaired clothing and holding a bag of tools and materials (nabbed from the shop class as usual).
As the door opens he laughs and say, "Repair service! Is now a good time?"
H - St. Valentine's eve - [Closed to close CR and/or those who ask first]
He's only been here so long, only saved up so much and a lot of it goes towards his hopeful plans. But for this, he can spare a small expense.
The shopkeeper had eyed him curiously, as exhausted and nervous as he'd appeared to be that morning of the thirteenth, pushing the limits of his magic into the day. He knows, in some sense, that he shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't.
But it's the first time in ten years he could do anything and... well, she deserves something. After ten years she deserves so much and a simple carnation or rose just isn't cutting it. Even this doesn't quite but... he can't push more, because even with this, the best gift he could give is his distance.
The note simply reads "for Imelda Rivera" in fancy calligraphic script. He presses the tiny card to his lips then places it back into the bouquet. It's a bright one, colorful, with full, giant blooms. There's soft pinks and bright ones, oranges and reds and blues, greenery, and vivid purples-- her favorite. It'll remind her of home, he's sure.
Off he goes into the night, bringing his delivery to the Lumiere dorms. He just needs to leave it at her door and go. So far so good. He won't get to see her reaction like this, but that's fine. She doesn't need to be happy with him, he just needs her to be happy. That's what he tells himself as he slowly and quietly works his way back, turns the corner-- and freezes, a deer in headlights as the second worst thing that could happen here, does.
I - Other, Make your own
WHERE: Around the school
WHEN: Various times after the 9th and/or the Valentines dance
WHAT: Various opens in the late evening
WARNINGS: Standard spoilers
You can't turn around a bad day, week, month, year, decade... you can't turn any of that without trying first. And so, once the monster's beaten back, his lost arm is returned, and the dance wraps up, so begins his annual rejuvenation. It's his return to the grind, starting every January (late this year but, well, he's doing his best), when he goes back to the drawing board and renews his plans-- only this time, not just for his return home. He's got a few things in mind this year, and isn't that exciting in and of itself?
A - OTA
With his arm back in place and whole again (gone for that week of the 2nd to the 9th and leaving him looking more like a zombie to people than he'd ever let himself before), he can actually get back to repairing the other one who took some hits this past while.
Rather than steal from the shop class, this time Héctor has decided to break in. Which, considering how much they let him use this place for doing repairs around the school, it isn't really breaking in is it? He doesn't think so. And so, upon a work table, in the dead of night, he's lain out a broken guitar. He's got nails and tools, bits of wood and scrap metal, anything he thought he could need for trying to repair the old thing. The guitar's not going to sound good when he's done, but it'll be something.
Despite everything, he's not quite ready to give up on music yet. In fact, he takes to humming a little as he works, breaking into soft song only to quiet again into humming as he hammers and cuts and sands away at the guitar. Until he hears footsteps and abruptly stops, that is.
B - Aube
Not every night can be spent on fixing the guitar. He's still got occasional evening classes to TA for, things to mark, essays to read. On those nights, he settles in the Aube common room, quietly working this time.
Being nocturnal as he is means bad news for any kids sneaking out of the dorm late in the night. "Ah, ah!" He says to any looking a little too ready to go, eyes lifting from his work to them and brows lifting higher. "Did you text Bee for this little excursion?"
C - Aube
Of course, not every child getting up in the night is looking for rowdy adventure. He knows all too well by now that some of these kids have had more adventure than they ever asked or bargained for. Those quiet wanderers, or ones who settle in corners, they're no less apt to get his attention.
He gives them their moment of space and quiet. Just a moment. Then, trying not to scare or disturb them, he walks over, placing a hand to the back of any given chair and tilting his head down at them.
"Hey," He says, soft as he can. "You okay? Can't sleep?"
D - OTA
In the early mornings, for any early risers who seek him (and not one of the smarter or more experienced of adults in this place) he's of course there to tutor those who need it. He may not always know what he's doing with magic but he can work out a lesson and, more than that, he can work with kids.
He draws another example upon paper when he can't simply show it, and he presents it, explaining each piece and part. "Do you understand?" He asks.
Perhaps you're the one he's tutoring. Or, perhaps, you're catching him just as the last kid wanders off and he's gathering up the books and papers, time soon running out with the coming dawn. But he might have time for one more.
E - OTA
He doesn't know the first thing about this, any of this. He keeps telling himself he's not a fighter, but more and more he's coming to realize he might need to be. It's not just about him anymore.
That evening he finds himself in one of the training areas. The bow he takes up is tall and heavy, heavier than a guitar. He's got the dexterity for that and the experiencing of firing... his arm. But it's not the same and he hasn't entirely got the strength built in him for using this thing. He's not sure if he can build the strength or if what he's got is as good as it's going to get. But he can't see himself yet using anything else.
So, there he is in the range, practicing. His shots mostly miss but every now and again he gets somewhere and he's encouraged to go farther. He gives a little laugh of victory and surprise in these moments. Hopefully he's not interrupting anything.
Of course in all his focus, anyone interrupting him is almost certain to make him jump and yelp and send and arrow flying far off target.
F - OTA
At some point before the library's closing for the night, he's managed to surround himself so thoroughly in books that he's built something of a wall around himself. His hand is half tangled in his hair and his brow is knit with concentration, pencil tapping absentmindedly in his other hand as he reads. The books seem to be all about defensive and offensive runes and spells.
"Wait, what?" He straightens up, flipping pages back, and then to his current page, comparing them. "That doesn't make sense, how can you-- what?"
G -[Closed to Orihime]
"Orihime?"
The call comes with a knock. Finally, at long last, he can repay this girl. He's ready at her door, smiling in his newly repaired clothing and holding a bag of tools and materials (nabbed from the shop class as usual).
As the door opens he laughs and say, "Repair service! Is now a good time?"
H - St. Valentine's eve - [Closed to close CR and/or those who ask first]
He's only been here so long, only saved up so much and a lot of it goes towards his hopeful plans. But for this, he can spare a small expense.
The shopkeeper had eyed him curiously, as exhausted and nervous as he'd appeared to be that morning of the thirteenth, pushing the limits of his magic into the day. He knows, in some sense, that he shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't.
But it's the first time in ten years he could do anything and... well, she deserves something. After ten years she deserves so much and a simple carnation or rose just isn't cutting it. Even this doesn't quite but... he can't push more, because even with this, the best gift he could give is his distance.
The note simply reads "for Imelda Rivera" in fancy calligraphic script. He presses the tiny card to his lips then places it back into the bouquet. It's a bright one, colorful, with full, giant blooms. There's soft pinks and bright ones, oranges and reds and blues, greenery, and vivid purples-- her favorite. It'll remind her of home, he's sure.
Off he goes into the night, bringing his delivery to the Lumiere dorms. He just needs to leave it at her door and go. So far so good. He won't get to see her reaction like this, but that's fine. She doesn't need to be happy with him, he just needs her to be happy. That's what he tells himself as he slowly and quietly works his way back, turns the corner-- and freezes, a deer in headlights as the second worst thing that could happen here, does.
I - Other, Make your own
no subject
He plasters on a bracing grin.]
...Hola...
[He takes a step back, closer to the wall.]
Just... making a delivery. Sorry to get in your way.
no subject
He has his suspicion, but now isn't the time to dig out his phone to confirm. Good thing he's used to being a dick for no apparent reason and can cross his arms to signal his intent to stay where he is and not let Héctor pass without a second thought.]
Yeah? Pretty fucking sure all that's done, already. You get lost or something?
no subject
[His eyes dart a little.]
This is just... a late one, you know? Sometimes things happen last minute. So I'm just going to... leave this... where it needs to be. And then I'll be right on my way!
[He then attempts to take a wide step around the boy.]
no subject
Where are you thinking it needs to be?
no subject
Just- just a door or so past you. Please, I'm really very busy. If I can just--
[He tries to step around the other way.]
no subject
Only one door past me, and I'm not so sure that's a great idea. Pretty sure if you're not lost, then you probably fucking should be, knowing who lives behind that door.
no subject
He winces at that and the false grin falls away completely. His shoulders slump and he sighs. He pulls out that little card from the bouquet.]
Look. There's no name on it for who it's from. Only who it's for. Nothing to hint at all. It's just a very small thing to make her day a little nicer. She deserves something. I thought it... might remind her of home. I know she must be missing it by now.
[His eyes go again to that door, then back to Mav, pleading.]
I understand what it looks like, but it's not like that. I swear to you, she's not going to think it's from me at all. She'd probably throw it all out if she even suspected. I'm not interested in hurting her.
no subject
He can see the card fine from where he is, but he holds his hand out to take it for inspection anyway while he considers Héctor's words. Yep. Just a generic message.]
Your handwriting?
no subject
[He takes the little card back, setting it neatly within the flowers.]
I don't intend to tell her either. It's over. I know that. This is just the first chance I've had in a long time to do anything. Could be my last. I didn't want to miss it.
no subject
[Or it would be shoved down Héctor's throat instead of handed back. Since it's not...the words will now have a gentle shimmer to gold when tilted to catch the light differently, courtesy of his dumbass flame. Now if she asks if any of the kids had a hand in this gift...it won't be a lie.
Maverick steps aside, but his eyes are still trained on the man.]
You better fucking be right. I don't know shit about flowers or Mexico.
no subject
I'm right. We were always running out of cups. And cooking pots. And occasionally my shoe. All trying to keep up with all the flowers someone collected. The biggest and brightest, always.
[There's a fond and glassy look to his eyes, as he speaks of that. He turns his attention down to that card, noticing the way the light hits it now.]
... You really are a kind kid. Looking out for her like this. I'm glad she has that. Even if I'm the problem here.
no subject
Yeah? Well I'm glad you know you're the fucking problem.
[Ugh. He really doesn't seem like a bad dude, though... Mav doesn't know how to communicate that without giving him hope, or with...nice...words.]
You gonna just stand there? Deliver the fucking flowers, numbnuts. I need a smoke.
[And he's gotta make sure you leave!!! Maybe even escort him out.]
no subject
He stands before her door, then goes to a knee. The flowers are set down with care and he whispers.]
Feliz dia de San Valentin, mi amor. Te extraño... mucho.
[He blows a soft kiss to her door and stands up. He keeps his eyes down and away from Maverick. But he does pause just to say one thing.]
Thank you.
no subject
At first, he just grunts in response, but then he jabs in thumb in the direction of the stairs. Come on, bud.]
She does deserve nice shit, after all the shit she puts up with and just in general, same as she fucking deserves space. You're offering both, so what the fuck ever.
no subject
Ay, she has to deal with a lot, si.
[He says that a little tiredly.]
...I saw you were one of the ones to bring up music to her before. I'm sorry. I would've told you all it was my fault but... I didn't want her to have to be associated with me, if she didn't want to be.
no subject
Wasn't my business. It's not like it's that fucking simple, either. You gotta keep that puppy on a better leash, though, because he apparently doesn't want to fucking listen to me when I'm the one who fucking told him about the ban in the first place.
no subject
Ay... There's no leashing that boy. Not for anything, trust me, I have tried.
[It says something, a few somethings, that he doesn't even have to ask who Maverick means.]
He really does mean well but he'd throw me to the wolves while thinking maybe a pack of dogs would make me happy. I can't tell you how many times I've told him to drop it and leave Imelda alone. Never mind how he throws himself into danger. [Or nearly outs him as dead. Or nearly outs himself as dead.]
no subject
Not going around looking like a bumbling jackass or an obvious sadsack might help him resist. Just to float that idea the fuck out here.
no subject
Sorry. I'll just flip a switch and become a magically different person. Who could have thought everyone's problems would be solved so easily? Can't wait to start my new life today.
no subject
There, that's the spirit. You do sarcastic, bitter bitch pretty well.
no subject
You expect me to maintain this all the time? My bitter sarcasm is a fine dish. I can't just toss it around willy nilly. It'll lose all its value. This is special occasion deals only.
no subject
["Conviction," he almost says, along with something mean. Dude probably gets the idea that Maverick doesn't think much of his character, so he can ease off for the day.]
You just gotta sell it. Ain't you a fucking performer?
no subject
I was a performer. A very long time ago. But I wasn't that kind. [And that's no sarcasm, that is all bitter the whole scathing way down.] I wasn't interested in being a phony sellout. That was my dumb best friend's M.O.
no subject
Don't need your fucking life story. You know, maybe if you didn't spill your guts so much, the puppy wouldn't have all that fucking ammunition.
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