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.]
no subject
Kano will just go on and do whatever, like he always does, lounging back on his side of the couch with his feet outstretched and boots propped up on the small table in front. At least they're not caked in dirt- or he'd done an immaculate job of stomping it all off before coming upstairs.
Chew chew swallow ]
Silly, of course I do~ Eight to nine hours a day, like any normal, healthy person~
[ But in batches, and most during the day instead of at night, and not always in his room or in a bed. ]
What about you? A late night snack like this- [ ... ] Or is it breakfast? First meal of the day, right? You should be having something more substantial, you know?
no subject
Normal, healthy person, huh.
[Ha. Yeah. Good thing he's already fucked up there so he doesn't have to pay too much attention to the importance of a good breakfast Kano's trying to impress on him now. He doesn't really...anything. He doesn't anything enough about any of those questions to go along with them.]
Do drinks fucking even count as snacks? Water isn't a fucking snack. Where does the line get drawn?
no subject
Hm~ It's the consistency, isn't it? Juice isn't a snack, but a smoothie is? But if you pour a smoothie into a bowl and eat it with a spoon, it becomes a meal... Water isn't a snack, shaved ice is, and ice cubes are meals!
[ Not being anything is basically... yeah... A fool would think Kano engages in any serious conversation. ]
glib ed mention
Damn, I can't tell if that makes it harder or easier to have an eating disorder.
no subject
You have an eating disorder?
[ Him, obviously. ]
That's hard, isn't it? You can't eat whatever you want, whenever you want, that makes things much harder! Here, here, don't hold back—
[ He'll just lean over to dump the rest of the contents of his packet into Maverick's cup- don't move or it might get all over his laptop ]
no subject
I don't need your fucking hot chocolate backwash powder, dumbass. You know nutrition's extra fucking important in tattoo aftercare, right? I don't got time for that shit if I wanna keep getting inked -- oh, and I'm also not fucking stupid.
no subject
Don't worry, I gotcha covered~ Where's your newest tat? Can I see?
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Why do you just fucking have teabags in your pocket, you fucking teabag?!
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[ Opening the third tea bag, the fourth... ]
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Dare you to drink it.
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Ew, gross...!
[ For Maverick's audacity, Kano pulls the sock off Maverick's foot and confiscates it into his pocket, he will get rid of Maverick's holey socks one at a time if he must. ]
I'll drink have if you drink half~ And I get to drink the top half!
no subject
Hey -- [That's his sock!! Now his foot is cold, because somehow it wasn't before despite the holes, and he has to nudge Kano with a naked-ass foot instead of a clothed one.]
No deal. I already drank plenty. Put my sock back on.
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What sock?
no subject
also: stop gaslighting him!!]
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Instead, he crosses his leg over the other and starts to chant.]
Chug it, chug it, chug it~
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He hops onto his feet for this, sets his shoulders back and feet apart in a power stance, because he's got to power through this- he brings the cup to his lips and tilts it back, draining the cup until there's just the tea dregs left. ]
...Ugh, that's bitter...
no subject
[GIVE HIM THE MUG, HE NEEDS TO STICK HIS HAND IN IT AND CONFIRM THAT HE ACTUALLY FUCKING DRANK IT]
no subject
[ THERE ARE BETTER WAYS TO CONFIRM THIS THAN STICKING YOUR HAND IN IT.......
But it's better that Maverick does this instead of turning the cup upside down, though it's to find that the cup has indeed been drained with only soggy tea leaves at the very very bottom, no illusion here. ]
no subject
...Out of all the little freaks here, cricket, you're my favorite. And maybe the freakiest.
[it's been a long night and he's a little genuinely moved by Kano actually drinking that horrendous concoction purely because he pressured him into it.]
no subject
Hehe~ Go get some more hot water! I've got some more tea bags in here somewhere, I'll make another cup for you too!
no subject
Soon enough: here you are, cricket. Serve him your worst-best.]
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You'll drink all of it, won't you~?
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Promise you won't poison me?
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Are you allergic to anything?
[ Because then everything else is fair game. ]
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