Maverick | Bitch Ricky Marten-Taylor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deuteranope) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
daybreakacademy2019-02-20 09:07 pm
deuteranope) wrote in daybreakacademy2019-02-20 09:07 pm
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
...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.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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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[Man, there’s so much shit that Maverick can’t care enough about to fight to the death for... Mama, maybe, and she’d be sobbing and cursing his name as he died because he’s so fucking stupid for doing that. Whatever.]
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Really, Rex just thought it was funny. He isn't wrong. Rex can't think of anything, anything at all, he'd die for. Not anymore. And yet when he gets stuck in those life or death situations, he feels a mysterious joy and dives in. Maybe he's just fucking stupid too. ]
You have a talent for utilising Occam's razor.
[ He stands entirely once more, keeping a soft grip of the blazing red mane of his beast. It's the closest he's managed to a leash so far. ]
Rex.
[ He still hasn't gotten that his whole one-word introduction without anything else is kind of weird, no hand offered, no bow, no nod. ]
no subject
The introduction takes a second to register, but after a moment of furrowed brows and feeling puzzled, it clicks. He’s used to being the one to do that, is all.]
Maverick.
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[ Rex's eyes widen for exactly half a second. Bin lid bashing bursts aside, it's the most emotion he's shown. Are people allowed to have names like that? ]
Cool.
[ He clears his throat and the gravestone face reappears. ]
Well, I suppose I should let you... smash those if that's still what you want.
[ He might turn up to shove a bunch of unasked for help at a dude, but hey. When you start saying nice things you gotta split, okay. Them's the rules. ]
no subject
Uh, yeah. [Right. Smashy-smashy.] Listen, uh. Sorry for being kinda shitty, but it was pretty fun. Even the part where you fucking dropped half a fucking snowman on me. Asshole.
[Mostly that part, actually. He needed to...cool off. He can't say that, it's too loserish. Feels like this is gearing towards a goodbye, though...]
See ya around? Pretty hard to fucking miss you.