and we could run away. [open]

[deuteranope]

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.]

Comments

[deuteranope]

There are enough of ‘em.

[More than enough, really, but he focuses on adding more snow instead of voicing that opinion. Her other question...gets a pause, then a grunt.]

I was five. [And he doesn’t really remember it.] But yeah, I have, not that it’s any of your fucking business.

[transfusionem]

I see.

[She doesn't, not really, but he's painting a clear enough picture for her. He doesn't like things from the Outlands - and while she doesn't know half of what can come from the Outlands she supposes that's...fair.]

You were just a tiny baby, huh? But okay. I won't ask what happened.

[She does hope things went okay, at the very least, but she gets the feeling voicing any concern is just going to make him even pricklier.]

[deuteranope]

[Her intentions are good, but unfortunately it's really easy to make Maverick prickly, and he scowls around his cigarette.]

I was a kid, but I don't need your fucking pity about it. Shit turned out just fucking fine. Wouldn't change what happened, with what I got in exchange, so quit acting like I'm some pathetic puppy. You're making a fucking snowman, cheer up. Fuck.

[transfusionem]

[She's learning that much.]

I wasn't trying to pity you. [It's said with a shrug, as she crouches down to begin packing the snow into something that vaguely-ish resembles a ball.

It's more of an awkward lump.]

You seem more like a cat than a puppy, anyways.

[deuteranope]

[grumble mumble grumble -- hm?]

I don't know if I'm supposed to be fucking insulted or flattered. Cats are independent and smart as shit, so whatever. More fucking accurate.

[transfusionem]

That's a very cat-like answer of you.

[What does that even mean.]

But I think it's flattering, even if dogs are pretty great.

[deuteranope]

[He narrows his eyes, because is she being terrible, or not!!! The fact that he doesn't know automatically means she's terrible for inflicting this on him.]

Sure. Nothing wrong with dogs. Have a cat, though.

[transfusionem]

[She's just The Worst.]

You do? I didn't know we were allowed to have pets on campus! [This is really exciting news, actually.] What kind of cat is it?

[deuteranope]

[Maybe not The Worst... Someone excited about having pets and asking about his cat maybe isn't so bad all the time. Just naive and chirpy.]

Of fucking course we can. Familiars are basically glorified, smarter, magical pets, so it wouldn't be fair to ban regular-ass ones.

[Never mind that he wasn't actually sure of this before he got his cat. He needed the cat. He earned the cat.]

I don't think she's a special breed or nothing. We got her at a shelter. She's all white, though.

[transfusionem]

[Listen, pets are great? Who wouldn't be excited about pets?]

Makes sense - I just wouldn't have expected that.

[She beams at him.]

What's her name?

[deuteranope]

[Whoever that person is, that person is The Worst.

Anyway...he knows it's because of his cat, but he wouldn't exactly have imagined she was going to smile like that at him, and he's quick to look down instead -- luckily making him miss any hint of fangs. He just...doesn't know how to deal with people that aren't his mom giving him smiles like that. He's both grateful and disappointed that the cat's name is so dumb, since that's where the conversation leads...]

Ricktoria.

[transfusionem]

[Sorry, Maverick. She's quick to smile - so you're going to have to deal with it eventually.

At least until you learn the truth, because she gets the feeling that'll cut down on any reason to smile.]

Ricktoria? [It's a bit of an odd name - definitely one she wasn't expecting, and she almost laughs, but instead...] That's cute.

[deuteranope]

[Mn. He stops angrily adding to the snowman and switches to watching the embers of his cigarette lazily flicker.]

...Yeah. It was kinda a compromise. She has another owner, and he wanted to call her something stupid.

[Seems he's more or less placated, for now.]

[transfusionem]

[She can't help but feel like she's somehow achieved something - but she's not sure how long it's going to last.]

Ricktoria's a good name. It's much better than something I would've come up with, I'm sure.

[She pats more snow onto her lump, looking it over. It doesn't...look like much of a man.]

What did he want to call her?

[deuteranope]

[Mav isn't super trying, but even his looks better...pathetic.]

Uh. [grmrmn...! He just...hates it so much...] Ricky. [Ricky Jr., really, but then she might question who the senior would be.]

You're astonishingly shitty at this, even taking into account the lack of snow in your life.

[transfusionem]

[She tried. Doesn't she get an A for effort?]

Ricky? Yeah, Ricktoria's much better.

[Sometimes there is no senior.

And her look at her lump gets a little more despairing.]

...Yeah. Yeah, this looks awful.

[She laughs softly, wiping her hands off on her pants.]

[deuteranope]

[The Ricky does not exist.

He glances over, pauses, and looks down at his own hands. Hmm...]

Here.

[His gloves aren't much, fingerless and frayed, but he slips them off and offers them to her anyway.]

I dunno. Even if you're not cold, I feel like they make it easier to fucking shape things. Might as well give it a shot.

[transfusionem]

[Obviously.]

Oh.

[She's surprised, but she's not going to turn them down. She slips the gloves on, turning back to her snowlump and scooping up some more snow.]

I don't know if there's any salvaging this, but it's worth a try.

[Give her strength.]

[deuteranope]

Sure you can. It's fucking snow.

[Snow is easy to fix! Don't give up! He switches from working on his own and lifts a large handful to add to Adelaide's in an effort to even it out.]

Besides, I was just gonna fucking smash 'em anyways. If I gotta homerun a lopsided zombie snowman, that's fine by me,

[transfusionem]

How do you know I won't just make it worse?

[But with their combined efforts, the malformed lump begins to look a little more round and a little bit more like a snowman.

Success!]

You were? [She blinks a bit, before humming thoughtfully.] I guess they must be pretty satisfying to smash. Snow flying everywhere and all that.

[deuteranope]

Yeah. I dunno. [...Well. Maybe now that he's not so angry, he can brush it off a little. Pretty dumb.] I kinda wanted something that would be quiet, too. You know, middle of the fucking night? No one's supposed to be out and about.

[transfusionem]

Quiet chaos? [She's not sure she quite gets it, but... Having an outlet can't be that bad. Probably better than bottling it all up and staying inside.

If that's why he wants to wreck things, anyways.] So you're not just going to blow it up with some sort of fireball spell?

[Would that even...work...]

[deuteranope]

Nah, I ain't a spell slinger.

[He takes a break to jab a thumb over to his abandoned bat over by the other partially-done creation.]

That thing's been way more fucking reliable for me than magic ever could.

[transfusionem]

I thought everyone here was a spell slinger eventually.

[Is she pouting? She's definitely pouting.

Her eyes follow his thumb, and she considers the bat for a moment.]

Well, wouldn't expect anything less.

[Get it? Woodn't?]

[deuteranope]

[...it's metal, actually...]

I don't fucking know. I haven't been here all that long. There's some chick around that does cool magic tattoos... I dunno. Like the real ones more, but might start there.