Maverick | Bitch Ricky Marten-Taylor (
deuteranope) wrote in
daybreakacademy2019-02-20 09:07 pm
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and we could run away. [open]
WHO: Maverick Taylor and OPEN (mostly/semi).
WHAT: Maverick’s nightmares rear their ugly heads again. Time for late night stress relief.
WHEN: Night of February 20th (into the 21st) “officially”, but time is fake and nightmares happened on more than one night, so chase your bliss.
WHERE: Lumi3/outside and around.
NOTES: Smoking and swearing, as a Mav does.
( SKITTERING - closed to Imelda. )
[His feet are bare against the cold ice, and part of his brain tries to tell him that he should be slipping and splitting his head open, but there isn't time to argue because he needs to go, he needs to be faster, he needs --
crrrack.
He’s falling. The only one reaching out to him is the sharp-nailed, glowing creature he was running from in the first place...but arms still catch him. They're cold, probably from being so far beneath the ice in this dark pit, and dirty. He can't find where any of them stop being an arm, even as that one twitches with a crack and starts slithering over to him, crawling, nails scrabbling. He shouldn't open his mouth, but it's the only thing he can still move, as the cries for help rise up within him.
Maverick sits up with a yelp and an overwhelming feeling of nausea, like those fingers really had clawed their way down his throat and were stirring up his stomach, now. This room is -- weird. But it's his, still. Just the one at the academy. He’s here, and he'd yelled, but not for help, and he wasn't crying, and thank fucking god it had been years since he'd ever wet the bed from this shit. He doesn't know how much lower he can let himself sink. He runs his hand through his sleep-addled curls to try and stop it from shaking, but when that doesn't work immediately, he reaches for a pair of headphones coiled around the bedpost to clamp over his ears and -- ugh, fuck, where was his phone? He doesn't want to turn on the light… If anyone had woken up -- or was still fucking awake -- then he needed some kind of plausible deniability. Totally still fucking asleep…]
( SMOKESCREENS AND SNOWBALLS - open, around campus. )
[The fear had faded some, letting anger take its place. Adults weren't supposed to have nightmares, only little kids -- and yet there he was, eighteen years old, and waking up in the middle of the night scared out of his wits time and time again. All because of some fake bullshit his brain came up with! He needs...something real. And a goddamn smoke.
He’s already working on a second cigarette by the time he's settled into packing snow into something that is a maybe vaguely human-shaped lump? His movements are agitated and restless, punctuated now and again by a string of curses or a cloud of smoke intermingling with his breath, clear from the cold. He's gotta suck it up and build an army.
And then he's gotta take that army out with the metal bat resting on the ground beside him.]
( SORRY NOT SUBTLE - open, Lumiére 3 common area. )
[Now that he’s worked out all that anxious energy… Okay, no, he still can't fucking sleep. But at least he can come back inside and curl up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate. He’s swapped out his bat for his laptop, drooping eyes scanning the screen as he scrolls through various, brainless sites. Mav’s got music going, but with the low volume he's set it to, someone probably has to get pretty close to recognize one of many songs by The Cure. Soothing rock.
...there are literally a dozen packets of hot chocolate resting next to him. He probably has more than enough to share, during these lazy, godless hours.]
WHAT: Maverick’s nightmares rear their ugly heads again. Time for late night stress relief.
WHEN: Night of February 20th (into the 21st) “officially”, but time is fake and nightmares happened on more than one night, so chase your bliss.
WHERE: Lumi3/outside and around.
NOTES: Smoking and swearing, as a Mav does.
( SKITTERING - closed to Imelda. )
[His feet are bare against the cold ice, and part of his brain tries to tell him that he should be slipping and splitting his head open, but there isn't time to argue because he needs to go, he needs to be faster, he needs --
crrrack.
He’s falling. The only one reaching out to him is the sharp-nailed, glowing creature he was running from in the first place...but arms still catch him. They're cold, probably from being so far beneath the ice in this dark pit, and dirty. He can't find where any of them stop being an arm, even as that one twitches with a crack and starts slithering over to him, crawling, nails scrabbling. He shouldn't open his mouth, but it's the only thing he can still move, as the cries for help rise up within him.
Maverick sits up with a yelp and an overwhelming feeling of nausea, like those fingers really had clawed their way down his throat and were stirring up his stomach, now. This room is -- weird. But it's his, still. Just the one at the academy. He’s here, and he'd yelled, but not for help, and he wasn't crying, and thank fucking god it had been years since he'd ever wet the bed from this shit. He doesn't know how much lower he can let himself sink. He runs his hand through his sleep-addled curls to try and stop it from shaking, but when that doesn't work immediately, he reaches for a pair of headphones coiled around the bedpost to clamp over his ears and -- ugh, fuck, where was his phone? He doesn't want to turn on the light… If anyone had woken up -- or was still fucking awake -- then he needed some kind of plausible deniability. Totally still fucking asleep…]
( SMOKESCREENS AND SNOWBALLS - open, around campus. )
[The fear had faded some, letting anger take its place. Adults weren't supposed to have nightmares, only little kids -- and yet there he was, eighteen years old, and waking up in the middle of the night scared out of his wits time and time again. All because of some fake bullshit his brain came up with! He needs...something real. And a goddamn smoke.
He’s already working on a second cigarette by the time he's settled into packing snow into something that is a maybe vaguely human-shaped lump? His movements are agitated and restless, punctuated now and again by a string of curses or a cloud of smoke intermingling with his breath, clear from the cold. He's gotta suck it up and build an army.
And then he's gotta take that army out with the metal bat resting on the ground beside him.]
( SORRY NOT SUBTLE - open, Lumiére 3 common area. )
[Now that he’s worked out all that anxious energy… Okay, no, he still can't fucking sleep. But at least he can come back inside and curl up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate. He’s swapped out his bat for his laptop, drooping eyes scanning the screen as he scrolls through various, brainless sites. Mav’s got music going, but with the low volume he's set it to, someone probably has to get pretty close to recognize one of many songs by The Cure. Soothing rock.
...there are literally a dozen packets of hot chocolate resting next to him. He probably has more than enough to share, during these lazy, godless hours.]
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[ At least he's trying to keep the thing under control, but it always seems to be fruitless when it comes to Indrik. It's like trying to tame an earthquake.
Rex takes a step back, dragging his foot along Indrik's belly in a way that rolls in over enough to get back on his feet. The beast is about four foot tall, just a little longer thanks to the length of his tail- upon which there's a cow like tuft of red hair. ]
Is there a particular reason you are making... that?
[ He nods towards the half done snowman. ]
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Do people usually have fucking reasons for making snowmen?
[like...yeah, he's got a thing he's doing, but tall guy with mini cow monster isn't ranking high on the trust board, at the moment. Plus it was...weird. The sure was a weird thing he was doing for a weird, dumb reason.]
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[ If Rex is offput by Mav's attitude to him it doesn't show. Honestly, he's used to it by now- frankly, the way people have been trying to make him feel welcome has been a bit unnerving for him. ]
It is typically done as a social event or in order to display the results. Whilst it can be done for other purposes, my understanding is that those are the main goals of the activity, which makes performing it alone at night to be unusual.
[ As Rex rattles off his analytical explanation as to why someone might be building snowmen, Indrik loses interest in the pair of them and decides to go investigate a trashcan- Rex keeps half an eye on him, in case Indrik decides to smash it or something. ]
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Fucking nerd.
[He sounds exasperated, shifting to being more tired than angry, and he half-heartedly takes a swing at the partial sculpture he's got going on. The snow gives easily with a wet chipping sound, but he can still feel the impact. Not as satisfying, when he's too busy being paranoid about some weird monster thing. At least he decides he only has to watch Rex for an indication on if either of them are going to make a move, since the guy seems to have the Indrik under his own watch.]
I don't fucking do social events, and I already know they'd look super shitty even if I tried, so you're not even a little fucking right. Don't hurt yourself trying to brain out dumb shit like this. Not like it fucking matters, does it?
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[ He knows. He's just found that asking people what something means when they've said actually insulting tends to take the wind out of their sails. It's a weird trick, but it works.
Watching Mav swing the bat, confirming he doesn't much care about the poor little fellow, Rex runs a through possibilities through his head. The fact he has the bat at all... maybe... ]
You want to make them just to smash them?
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[It's a trick that works for a lot of people, it's true, but when Maverick's crabby he's not going to give up on his insults. His time isn't worth doing anything else? Just be an asshole.]
Ding ding, somebody's brain isn't just for show after all.
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And what is hard-on, please?
[ In the two seconds it took to get the pen out, Indrik has removed the lid from the trashcan and has it draped over his head like one of those straw samurai hats. Why? Who knows. ]
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A boner? That thing between your legs tries real hard to get big? Admittedly, that's a fucking presumption on my part, I don't know your life and I don't really fucking care. Holy shit, dude, can't you just be satisfied that I'm insulting you, or do you just really not fucking get it?
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[ He spends a moment flipping through pages, finds one that is presumably the genital directory and scribbles it down. ]
I need to know so I can tell if it's something I would be insulted by.
[ He shrugs, and without looking plucks the trashcan from Indrik's head and tosses it back into place. Honestly, it takes a lot to insult Rex. You can't really say much to him he hasn't thought of himself. ]
Anyway. Did you just want one or were you going to smash a lot?
[ His tone is as quietly deadpan as ever, no hint to the fact he's already working out a way to make a bunch of him. Why? Because he likes having problems to solve. Who cares if it's the problem of someone who didn't ask for help who has been a jerk to him the whole time. It serves his own needs for distraction. ]
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...A lot.
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Okay. Watch Indrik. If he looks like he's about to be violent, let me know.
[ With that, Rex turns to the snow and raises both hands. One hand makes a vaguely humanoid barrier- he already had that memorised, though usually he casts it on himself instead of empty space. And usually it doesn't have a hole in the top, so he can cause loose snow to float inside with his other hand. Once it's packed, the carrier contracts a little before popping out of existence.
Voila! Instant snowman. It crumbles a little once the barrier disappears, but each subsequent one is a little better. He does six in total.
Indrik in the meantime does nothing violent. Just tries to put the bin lid on his head again. Failing this time and staring at it as if it has betrayed him. ]
Will that do?
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He doesn't like...those instructions, and he doesn't like someone doing weird magic he didn't know the source of, but all he can really do about it is hold his metal baseball bat even tighter and try not to explode.]
I could have fucking made my own snowmen, you know! [It shouldn't matter, since he wants to destroy them anyway, but...he totally could have. Why do people keep using their actually useful abilities to do the dumb shit he occupies himself with because he was so goddamn useless comparatively?
So, yeah. More confirmation for "insecure" and "determined to be pissy" theories.]
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Kon da te ebe!
[ Which is Bulgarian for 'get fucked by a horse.'
The reason he says this is because Indrik just stomped on the edge of the lid and it went flying into the back of Rex's head with a comically loud clang. Literally, anyone on else on campus and it would have sailed right over them. ]
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That's what you get for being so fucking tall! Ahaha, oh my fucking god! Get fucked, dude!
[He has zero reason to taunt Rex, but COME ON, HE'S SO TALL AND DESERVING OF TAUNTS. Besides, it's fun!]
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Okay, that kind of annoys him.
So he picks up as much of a snowman as he can with his bare hands (turns out it's the entire upper body of one including head) and dumps it on Mav.
He didn't ask to be tall his back and feet hurt 24/7 and this shit happens get fucked dude! ]
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He eventually swats himself free of most of the snow and grins widely up at Rex.]
God, I bet I can't even fucking tackle you. You're just a fucking tree.
[It sure would be fun, though, just tackling him right into one of those creepy factory snowmen and pushing snow on his face, or something. Instead, he'll have to settle for cheerily beginning to pack a snowball he can chuck at the other boy.]
I want you to know how often I have to stop my spell check from calling him Mavis
Rex also picks up a handful of snow, though he doesn't use it to make a snowball. In fact, he's not aware that's what Mav is actually doing having never been in a snow fight before. What he uses his handful for is pressing it to the back of his head. Ah. Sweet relief from the throbbing red pain. ]
Must people always bring such attention to it? I'm not an ogre. I am just tall.
[ He glances around for Indrik- currently doing a terrible job of hiding behind the trashcan, having only stuck his head behind it. Perfect. Invisible. He can't see them, therefore he is unseeable. ]
he would appreciate not being called mavis if he could
[Of course he, a wee little thing, would make a big deal out of it. Almost two whole feet height difference... Amazing. Having such a big target doesn't help Maverick's shitty aim, though, and his snowball assault goes just wide of Rex's shoulder. Damn it. Instead of trying again or retrieving his bat from where he'd dropped it, he folds his arms behind his head, interlocking his fingers into a "pillow", and goes back to his smug grin.]
Your cow-lion-snake is dumb as shit-out bricks.
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[ If Rex means the fact he is taller than Shaq (by three whole inches) or that Indrik is a goddamn idiot, he doesn't indicate. They're both super obvious facts everyone delights in shouting.
He continues to stare at Indrik until the beast pokes its head out from the side of the can, realises he has been spotted and bolts. He gets a few feet away before doing a head over heels flip into a snowman, disappearing into the flurry, curling up to try and hide again. His mane and tail are completely visible so. Good job. ]
He is just an infant- I presume he will become more intelligent in time, largely because it would be extremely difficult for his mental faculties to decrease.
[ Unfortunately for everyone, Indrik's rate of growth as a lifeform is intrinsically linked to Rex's rate of growth as a person and he's a mess at the moment. ]
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That's a fucking baby? Shit. I could almost ride it already. Is it gonna go Godzilla-size eventually? Do they kick you outta school when that happens?
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[ Saw, killed in the toughest and luckiest fight of his life, watched it reincarnate into this thing right in front of him, which is now linked intrinsically to his soul, same thing.
After a moment, Rex steps a little closer and gently prods Indrik's tail with his foot.
The critter blasts right out of the snow like a rocket, sprinting away and making a u-turn just in time to avoid smacking into a wall. Snorting and trotting, stomping and scattering snow. ]
I'm sure I'll think of something when he's grown. His kind are normally mountain spirits, so he may be able to live freely.
[ Rex goes down on one knee, meaning he's only a little taller than Mav for a bit, smacking his fingers against his palms in a way that gets Indrik's attention, has him scampering over so Rex can lift a leg, check that his hoof isn't harmed from stamping on the lid. He needn't worry, but Rex worries about lots of things he doesn't need to. ]
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Ugh, he almost forgot to be horrified about the ten metres thing. Actually, no, he'd rather forget about that as quickly as possible. He'll be mad about Rex being tall again, yeah, that works. Stupid tall asshole that cares about his freaky pet. Cute.]
Is that gonna be safe for him? Seems kinda, uh, domesticated.
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When he's grown, I'd not want to see what would be hazardous to him.
[ He stays down on his knee but shuffles around so his back isn't to Mav. Just gently running fingers through Indrik's mane, causing him to let out squeaky little bleats. ]
And having him be a guard dog would be useful for us. If we live long enough for him to grow, that is.
[ Indrik could not look less like an effective guard down when he bleats and gets his tongue caught in his own lips. Blep. ]
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[It's sort of calming to think about, even if all these dumb noises are making his tension about the beast go down, too. Fear is an annoying conundrum.]
Pretty sure he's gonna fucking grow whether we live or not, dude.
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[ He thinks so, at least. He's also quite sure that as a parasite sucking from his soul (which Indrik is not what he is, but Rex is a genius not necessarily smart), Indrik will drop dead if he does. ]
That's the purity of a beast. Admirable, in its way.
[ If Mav wasn't here, Rex would have buried his face in that soft mane and felt just a little better about everything for a few seconds. But he is, so Rex doesn't. Just pats Indrik's snout. ]
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