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
"Mm-hm! Its value is mostly sentimental," Yang admits. None of the art was worth terribly much. But, Wen-li Yang is someone who finds sentimentality much more valuable than money. He walks over, eyes a little wide at the drill -- but he quiets down, and listens to the explanation. It's thorough, he thinks. His nose wrinkles for a moment.
"Well... I think, since we've got the drill out, and the piece to pin it with, we should give it a try," Yang says. He smiles, with that slightly apologetic note that most of his smiles have. "Honestly, I think my old man would have preferred I do it this way, rather than pay for a restoration. He'd say it adds character to the piece."
Or, maybe, it's broken and Yang is left with the memory, but there's worse things that could happen.
no subject
With the verdict given, he nods and says, "Alright. Lets do this! We're going to need a good clamp for both of these. Should be one on that side of the room. You get that set up and I'll get out the safety googles." Because even dead, no one wants a sliver in the eye.
Whilst going off to do that, he keeps speaking. "You know, I don't think I've seen you around before. Even being around on evenings I usually see people eventually. You new here?"
no subject
He starts to affix it to the side of a work table, and looks back at the asked question. “I’m afraid so,” he says. “I’m Wen-li Yang. Most of my friends just call me Yang, though.”
He waves a hand, like he’s saying hello. “I’m a professor here. History, mostly. Some courses on strategy and tactics for the students, too. It’s a nice job so far. What about you?”
no subject
His movements still just a moment hearing the man is a professor. He was allowed his secrets to a degree, but some professors knew and shared that information. It could connect with his name. It's also possible the man just doesn't know.
He straightens and turns back, a smile on him and two goggle sets in hand.
"History, huh? A favorite subject of mine. I'm not good at it or very knowledgeable but I've always felt sort of drawn to the older stuff. I'm Héctor. I'm... a TA. Been here since the semester before." He braces for a few reasons then, passes the a pair of goggles, then quickly puts on his own. "Mucho gusto, Yang. Here's hoping I don't kill your horse."
no subject
Yang, indeed, doesn't know the truth about Héctor. He hasn't thought to snoop around personnel files -- and it feels... well... intrusive. He taps a hand against his side, idly, before his expression lightens up.
"Ah! You should sign up for one of my courses," he says. "I teach a few different levels, so there's probably one you'd be ready for. What are you studying?" Music, he supposes. He takes the goggles, and tugs them on.
"I have faith! And if not, he'll be with my dad again, I suppose. He'll have to keep a few secrets if so, though." Yang laughs, a little, at that.
no subject
He can breathe easier. And for that matter, his smile matches Yang's.
"I'll check them out then! I haven't actually taken up anything... normal here yet." Though he's well aware it's an option. He's able to help the most in those classes. "I've been focused on mostly spells and runes. A little bit of the ins and outs of supernatural laws." And how to get away with breaking them. "But, since I'm the main TA for the evenings, I get to sit in for a lot of the evening classes that I didn't sign for. I'm thinking I'll be adding some healing course or other in there too soon too." In all that, there's no music class. Not even a dance class.
He kneels down, lining up the drill to the horse's neck. "Do you think it really works like that? Can you imagine? Get into the afterlife and the whole thing's a dump." He laughs, and then, with that, he starts to drill. All in all it takes no more than a second or two. He reaches for that little plug piece and sets it inside. Next the head. Far trickier. He holds his breath and braces, but that too goes fine. He breathes a sigh of relief and quickly works both pieces out of their clamps to set on a table again. He tests it out, matching the two pieces together, then pulling it apart again for that thing layer of glue to go between. Within moments, he's sticking it all together and holding it out.
"Well, here you go, Yang! A successful surgery! Just be sure to be real careful with him, especially while the glue's still drying."
no subject
He leans in a little closer, to watch the drill. He looks... impressed, really. Yang never had the sort of know-how or manual dexterity to do things like this. "Well... I think it's a good reason to take care of things, just in case it is true."
And, of course, he takes the statue when offered, staring down at it. Yang's expressions are often some variation on "pleasant, tired smile," but it's a little wider than usual today. He looks honestly touched. He doesn't really have that many things that his father had. He looks down, then back at Héctor.
"Thank you for this," he says. "I'll be sure to be more careful with it. Especially while the glue's drying."
no subject
"Though I'll say, if ghost objects are real, I'm going have too many guitars waiting for me... Though I also might just have one very happy amigo so maybe it's not so bad." He smiles, fondly, remembering Cheech and his mountainous hoard of junk. The rest of their familia called him nuts for trying to haul it all along with them, but somehow he'd managed.
The thing is gone then from his hands. He gets a thanks but he ducks away from it, waving a hand.
"Don't mention it," He tells Yang, moving back to pack up those tools, then returning to his guitar. "...Actually, literally, if you could maybe not mention to anyone I was in here, that would be great." He puts on a bracing smile, but it turns genuine as he looks away, goes back to peering over his guitar. "But it's nice to see people care about those passed like you're doing."
no subject
He laughs, though. A lot of guitars...
"I'll have to come listen to you play, sometime, if you're doing any performances," he adds. He pauses, though -- and blinks, before he shrugs. Despite being in the military, Yang's view of rules and regulations is that they are mostly an irritation to be used only by the small-hearted or keep people from hurting themselves.
"I'm in no position to issue a complaint! So this can stay our secret. Do the same for me, would you?" He laughs, again. "Don't mention it, either. My old man... well, it meant something to him, and I'd like to think it'll make him happy."