daybreakacademy | When You Made Wishes: start! (player plot)

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When You Made Wishes: start! (player plot)

Imagine Wist's surprise when April rolled around and their plan for a great prank was foiled on account of all those students just...leaving??? Truly, they have become the April fool... It's what they wanted, of course -- for the pitiful humans to find freedom -- and sure there are some stragglers around, but...in the end, they decide to take the win and enjoy a short break of their own. Good thing, too, or they might have pulled out all their hair in frustration when Spring Break comes to an end and the swarm of students and faculty willingly return to their prison.

While settling back into the academy and resigning themselves to a routine, the people of Daybreak will be soothed by a gentle tune rising up from the forest. It isn't a song they've heard before, and yet, somehow...it's nostalgic, isn't it? The soft notes of the pan flute stir up something in their hearts, tugging at old memories and drawing forth a feeling of dissatisfaction and longing out from under them. Let the song lull them into taking a moment to withdraw from the hustle and bustle -- hey, turns out they sort of need it. Maybe they're coming down with a cold, or just some quick little bug...
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>> user M3G4M4G1CH4XX posted on April 6th, 2019:
Why did you come back? You don't have to live like this.

Weren't things better back then? Try to remember what it used to be like.
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The odd message from an iris account that doesn't exist isn't up for long before the spell kicks into the next phase. However they manifest and from when differs from person to person, but those affected will all have the bizarre experience of watching some ghost of themselves from their past be born from their soul's memory. Don't think there are those that can escape this fate just by returning at a later time, either -- Wist can keep up this panpipe nonsense all day, every day if they have to. If that what it takes to get their point across...

Good luck trying to comprehend whatever point that may be, because now Daybreak is the new home to a bunch of familiar-looking rugrats and has to contend with whatever complications they may bring along with them.
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[For more information on this plot, please see this ooc infopost!]

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Do both? [He frowns at that. Could he get famous and stay in Santa Cecelia? Or maybe ask if she'd like to come with him. She did sing sometimes, though not often. He'd catch her on occasion.

The second suggestion gets a hard shake of his head though.] I can't do that! He's my best friend! We're-- we're like [He hesitates, then speaks almost too low to be heard.] ...family... [His head shakes again.] He's not bad anymore. He's still learning some things but that doesn't mean he's bad. He sings good.

[Ernesto doesn't need him, but that's not a very reassuring thought. He wants Ernesto to need him. He needs Ernesto.]

I don't know what you're talking about with that falling stuff. [Or he's going to pretend he doesn't.] I don't even know if she likes me. She probably just likes my music. Everybody likes my music, even when they don't like me. [Not to... brag or anything...?]

I gotta do something. That's what everybody says. You have to do something. But the only something I want to do is music. So, I've got to be famous. Or else I'll be some... some... el perezoso nadie that nobody cares about.

[False, he does not need Ernesto. But again, not his business. Just gonna take Ricky's hot chocolate and finish it up, then go to make more.]

Yeah, I don't have a clue what that's supposed to mean. [just so you know. Also he's losing his patience just enough that he needs his cursing back.] What I do know, though? There's ways to work as a musician without being famous, but more'n that, those people are full of shit. I mean, fuck, I'm eigh -- uh, no, nineteen -- and I don't have a fucking clue what I'm gonna do. Trying to plan it all out seems kinda pointless, when anything could happen. I don't got some clear path ahead of me like you, either. But I'm doing fine.

[His head bows. The Hot Chocolate guy is getting mad, isn't he? His tone is getting harsher. He's also said a lot of things that would make the Mamás in town cover their children's ears. He shrinks back a little.]

I didn't think of that. Ernesto only said about being famous.

... El perezoso nadie is like... it's like what the adults say sometimes when they think you can't hear. They say it about the adults that like drinks and bad stuff and the ones who don't live anywhere and look bad. They say, ay, he is full of dreaming but he will be dead in a ditch and no one will miss him.

[He grips the mug tighter, staring down through the table.]

... I think Señor R. is one. He looks bad and he's gone all day. He's got a broken guitar but he doesn't play. He's all by himself. I asked him when we could go home but he won't say. I think he got kicked out.

[He doesn't like this topic. Time for a new one.]

Um. Do you have any food? Señor R. doesn't have any. I didn't want to ask and make him sad. I told him I wasn't hungry.

[Heck. He's mad at the situation, not Héctor himself...but again, how do you explain that? Especially when the kid continues and all he can think is a bitter acknowledgement that he could very easily become one of those people some rude bitches gossip about just like that. They had enough to titter about already, with his piercings and tattoos and clothes that made him look like he was dunked in a thrift store pile before being sent on his way.

Yeah. Trying to tell tiny Teto there that he wasn't annoyed with him would e a pretty and sell. Good think the boy has the sense to change the subject.]

Huh?

[That...sounds like a recent problem, so Señor R. probably isn't some rando from Héctor's past like he assumed. No, he's probably a dumbass skeleton. Ugh.]

Yeah. Ricky, you remember where the snacks are? And my room? [The young boy nods after a brief pause. When Maverick hands him the key, he looks at it like it could unlock some secret to the universe rather than a door.] If you new friend wants to go with you, he can.

[or like. he could stay and talk more about depressing shit. up to him.]

[He's a little sensitive to the moods of others but not quite aware enough of their thoughts enough to work out that he's not the one to blame. He doesn't know if Maverick isn't angry after all or just distracted from it. He'll take either.

Even if he's surprised by the actual result.]

Friend? You're gonna let me go with him?

[Because both of those are equally surprising. But a quick glance to the younger boy and back has him getting up quick. Don't question it, just take the chance.]

I'm coming! Thank you, Señor! Espérame, Ricky!

[He'll regret it after he takes the time to calm down and realizes that he sent tiny, extremely musical and full of dreams Héctor possibly close to Imelda, but it's fine. It's fine!!! Just run along, you two, Mav needs to be miserable about how little nicotine he's getting while his younger self is around.

Ricky doesn't quite understand all these complicated thoughts and emotions -- the mood changes are sudden and extreme, gosh. But it seems Teto is back to his brighter self, and he's got a task, now. He leads the other boy up to 305, clumsily unlocking the room, and finds the cardboard box that contains chips, pretzels, dehydrated pineapple, beef and turkey jerky, a plastic tub of kettle corn, and a couple of mandarin oranges. Snack box.]

[It's fiiiiine.

He hurries along to Ricky's side, bouncing a little on his bare feet. He beams down at the other boy whenever Ricky looks his way, regardless of whether he gets a smile back. (See, the trick, Ricky, is to always bottle the bad stuff way, way down no matter what).

They get into the room without much trouble and he watches Ricky pull out a box. His eyes go a little wide when he sees what's inside, mouth watering. He's maybe a lot hungrier than he said. It's almost like hasn't properly eaten in years.

Quickly, he snatches up the oranges first, then the pineapples, a piece of the weird jerky-meat, and the kettle corn. His eyes go up then to Ricky, then back down to the stuff in his arms, back again.]

Do you think he'll get mad if I take this much?

[Maybe he should put some back...]

[Hmm. Would Maverick get mad...? He's definitely cranky in the same way Ramona sometimes was, where he'd swear and snap before seeming to get frustrated with himself more than anything, because he didn't mean to react that way, he was just bad at things. He's not sure that would count for a situation like this.

After giving it ample thought, he shakes his head decisively and picks up a small bag of pretzels for himself. Dry and not messy, that'll be good.]

[Whatever the case, he trusts Ricky's judgement on the matter, and so he's grinning wide again, making off with his haul to bringing it back to the table. Though not without checking to see if Ricky's coming along too. He's more than okay with staying here if Ricky does.

Whether at the table or in the room, he's soon dumping that stash down and tearing into it with a fever.]

[Ricky's more about trailing behind people, so he pads along behind Teto without hesitation, though he does have to stop and make sure the room is all locked up again behind him. That was a mistake he's made already, and something that he knows for sure would have upset his older self.

When the kids reappear, Maverick pushes his beanie back up off his eyes where he's pulled it down in frustration, wearily watching this display. He's gonna have to kick Héctor's teeth in. Did the dumbass just fucking forget kids are practically garbage disposals when it comes to food? Just because he's dead, gosh... He accepts the key when Ricky returns it and finally sits back up.]

Slow down there, rolling stone. Eat too fast and you're just gonna make yourself sick.

[That seems to be his only objection, though. Ricky wasn't wrong, yay.]

Mmff-- what? Haha! ¡No manches! I never get sick!

[With that declaration he steps up onto the chair, standing tall and lifting his arms in a pose that shows his complete lack of muscle mass.]

Yo soy el inconquistable Hé--

"TETO!"

[Teto freezes in place, then turns slow with wide, round eyes, to see Señor R. making his approach. There's a look upon his face somewhere between worry and exasperation. Even with a cane he's hobbling fast. Teto shrinks back.]

"Teto, I have been looking everywhere for you! I told you to-- what is this?"

[The elder Héctor's eyes go from the food to Maverick then back to Teto.]

I-I was hungry!

"You told me you weren't! I asked you if you eat and you said no!"

But you weren't eating either! I thought you'd be happier!

"I have a condition! I told you that! I thought you--" [The elder Héctor slaps a hand to his face and groans. Teto, meanwhile, sinks down in this seat, hiding behind the back of it. He drops his hand and huffs, pointing at the boy.] "No more lies! None! I will be much happier if you are alive, ¿Claro?"

S-sí...

"Okay. Okay... let me see what you have." [Had, more like. Héctor frowns at the empty jerky packet. He looks over at Maverick.] "This stuff is all fresh right? No, wait-- First; Thank you, for finding him."

[Both redheads start a little at the sudden yelling, Maverick freezing up much like the subject of Héctor's worry and Ricky leaning in that direction like maybe he'll see a spot he can step in and divert attention from the other boy to him, because Teto was happy. He had nice, bright smiles and beautiful music, and he was doing his best. Ricky doesn't want to see him losing all that by being in trouble...and why was Señor R. not as nice to the other boy as he was to him?

At the thanks, Maverick scoffs and gets to his feet. He's not accepting that just yet, buddy! Ugh, if only Teto weren't around, he'd rant how he likes.]

No, roi des cons, I'm just out here giving kids garbage. Seriously? [This attitude!!!! Unbelievable.] Tch, no wonder he wanted to sneak off, if you're being like this all the time.

[All gratitude, suspicion, worry, and everything else drops off, replaced with a blank look of surprise. Apparently it's a shared feeling because when he looks to Teto for answers the boy's looking up at him for the same. That... was more venom than he expected.

The boy shrinks first.]

Am I in trouble?

"What? No. No, no, no, Teto, you're fine. You're not in any real trouble." [But I am, he thinks, rustling Teto's hair a bit and giving his shoulder a pat.] "Señor Maverick and I are just going to talk for a second. Can you promise me you'll stay here? Right here?"

...Okay.

"And, ah, sorry about the noise, Ricky. I'll just be borrowing Maverick for a minute."[His eyes at last go back to Maverick, questioning.] "Unless he's good where he is?"

[Don't look at Teto!! Teto did nothing wrong. Stop making him feel like crap! Things he thinks, but keeps inside, still.

He's been doing his best around the kids, and Maverick isn't confident in his best on a good day. To have that questioned further by someone who -- intentionally or not -- ruined his fucking family, did just about the worst thing to his own kid... Yeah, his patience is thin and breaking. Instead of agreeing, he skips to walking himself out the door for Héctor to follow, and digs out his cigarettes. Ohhh, sweet, deadly nicotine. Back inside, Ricky tips his bag of half-eaten pretzels in Teto's direction.]

This is all so fucking -- fuck's sake.

[He watches Maverick go, brow knitting. He heaves a breath and exhales heavy before following after.

Teto's eyes are fixed on the table but not really seeing anything. They're distant and glassy like he's somewhere far, far away. At least until he sees those pretzels slide in his direction. That manages to shake him out of that. He's made Ricky sad. He forces on a wide smile.]

Aw, haha, gracias, Ricky. I'm super full though. [A lie.] Ay, do you want to hear another song? Or maybe we can play a game while they're gone!

[Héctor, outside, settles by a wall near Maverick. The cigarette smoke isn't going to do anything to him. His arms fold over his chest.]

"Alright, go for it. Whatever you want to say."

[He doesn't believe that, but there's no way for him to call Teto out on it, so he quietly sets the bag between them and takes another pretzel to nibble on. He's been that glassy-eyed kid all too often... Music, though. When he'd been playing, his eyes had been bright and lively, like he was helping to create the best thing in the world. His hands are hesitant, but he nods and points to the guitar, then himself. Is...he allowed?

Despite the invitation, it takes a while for Maverick to stop his frustrated huffing and puffing. When he finally does speak -- ]

They named their fucking kid Ricky Marten! [UGH] I see your stupid fucking face and it pisses me off, and there's too much to fucking yell at you for, so this is fucking what comes out of my goddamn mouth instead!

[It did feel a little like that sometimes, making music. On his own, yes, but when he got to make other people happy with it, that was even better. He kind of wishes he could make people happy like that all the time, all on his own, but oh well. He's already prepared and content to play again, reaching for the instrument, only to pause. Ricky's pointing to himself.

He smiles brighter then holds out the guitar. Ricky is definitely allowed.]

It might hurt your fingers a bit if you're not used to it so try just little things to start. Remember it's about what makes you happy, so it can't do that if you're hurting. Also, you want to hold it like this when you play for real, but you can use it however you want right now.

[He demonstrates for Ricky with his hands in the air, hoping he sounds encouraging.

Meanwhile, Héctor balks.]

"Uh... Okay, well, we can do this one step at a time. No problem. For... one... it's not a bad name? Ricky Martin's a good name in and of itself. And the singer's pretty popular... "[Wrong thing to say probably.] "I'm sorry my face causes you anger?"

[He watches carefully, then nods and sets the guitar flat in his lap. He seems content like that for a moment, then his tiny tiny fingers run across the scratchy surface of the strings. Weird that they could be so rough and even hurt people, but make such pretty noises. Finally he moves to pluck a string, then push lightly at the frets like he'd seen Teto doing. Weird. Not as pretty. Still nice.]

Oh fuck you he's a popular singer, that's the fucking problem![Héctor!!! Don't be so like that, he's busy being mad.] You don't name your kid after some famous guy, give them their own fucking name! You don't give them a name that people fucking can't believe and they don't know why the fuck that is, they're just a kid. You don't give them a name that makes them grateful they were adopted so it gets changed to 'Taylor' before they ever understand how fucking mortifying shit is.

You don't give them another fucking reason to be happy about getting a different mom in a different family, not when there are kids whose dads fucking leave to go be a famous musician, or who never had parents at all, or just -- fuck!

[He turns and kicks the wall of the building, which he'll regret later when his foot is turning purple and yellow keeping him awake. But right now he wants to kick the wall like that's going to do anything to fix these fucked up kids, because he's so tired of trying to hold broken things together just because he knows what it looks like.]

You don't make... You just fucking don't.

[If Ricky could voice such thoughts, Teto would probably agree. It is a weird thing. But kind of a nice thing too, in a way. He's still just as happy to see Ricky play with the guitar, even if it's not in the "proper" way. He can't resist reaching out like that and plucking a string or two as well. Teto beams at Ricky.

Héctor winces. Maverick steamrolls right on but the more he goes the more it becomes clear that this, maybe, isn't really about him at all. At least, not in the way he thought it would be. Not even in the way that Teto had caused some kind of trouble. Except for the return back to his leaving, something that summons another wince, this is all entirely something else.

Then Maverick goes kicking and his hands shoot out.]

Maverick! Stop, stop, Maverick!

[He doesn't complete the motion, hands stopping in the air for all he knows they're not welcome. But he keeps them raised, to calm, like he's prepared to catch the teenager out of whatever mental hole he's falling through. His brow knits with concern.]

Don't hurt yourself, okay? It's not that bad a name, honestly, I wasn't even thinking about that other guy until you brought it up as a problem. They might not have either! And if you still want to be mad about your name that's okay too, but you're Maverick now, so it doesn't matter what your name used to be. [But this... this isn't really just about the name. His frown deepens.]

...You definitely shouldn't feel guilty you got adopted. That's never something you should feel bad about. You love your Mamá, no? And she loves you, so there's nothing bad there. If getting to change your name is a good thing for you then it's more of a good thing! Other problems don't get worse just because your situation gets better, that's not how it works.

[Seeing Teto smile makes him smile again, too, though not as brilliantly as before. In response to those two plucks, he makes three more of his own, like he can have a conversation through the music, even if he can't speak.

And then there's Maverick, who is saying too many words , but even then, there's a lot more stuck inside. His old name will never not be stupid, but that alone isn't the problem, and neither is how he was Maverick Taylor now and never wanted to be Ricky Marten again, or that he didn't know what his parents' thoughts behind it had been, or that he'd never know because they were dead and he couldn't remember anything about them, or that he'd taken the life they gave him and left it behind in that dumpster Ramona had pulled him out of. He really wishes it could be more about Héctor leaving behind his kid with any number of questions, because it really is so easy to be furious whenever he sees him, but...no. It's all of those things together, plus a little extra.

He has such a headache. He stops kicking the wall with a huff.]

I fucking know all that! [His angry, snappish tone dies back down and he brings the cigarette back up to his lips.] I...know. I'm pissed as fucking hell anyway. And you thinking I'm so fucking shitty and useless I can't even get proper food for a kid, or that I'd give him bad shit on purpose or whatever, isn't fucking helping anything!

[It's a feedback loop. The happier Rickier looks, the happier he feels. He likes this musical conversation a lot. He laughs and plucks at the strings in a quick pattern, 1-2, 1-2.

As the anger bleeds from Maverick's voice, his shoulders drop. He goes back against the wall, letting it brace him as he looks on in sympathy. And there goes another wince.]

"Maverick, I don't think that. I don't think you're shitty or useless at all." [His gratitude hadn't been faked.] "Honestly, I wasn't thinking. I don't think you're careless, I just don't know how much more careful I need to be. I don't know how real any of this is, or if the things that affect me are going to affect him too, and so the fact that he is apparently alive enough means I've got to worry about things I didn't even think of and, honestly, I don't fully know what got me sick before... I panicked. I'm sorry."

[He looks down to the ground.] "I'm not sure he would've told me at all. I asked, but he insisted. He might have collapsed eventually or who knows what else. At the very least, you helped me find him. I think it's pretty obvious the useless one here is me. Even if I didn't know that, you should. You're doing just fine, Maverick."

Damn fucking skippy I am.

[Just because he's successfully unloaded some of that rage didn't mean he wasn't gonna reply like he wasn't bitter. Sure, maybe that excuse as understandable -- so it could have been some kind of food allergy, maybe? He's not sure how any of that works -- but as always, fuuuuck you, Héctor.]

Maybe he didn't tell you because he's thinking you're el -- el perezoso nadie, or whatever. But you're the fucking adult, you're the fucking dad! You want your fucking daughter thinking this mess he sees is what you are, too? She fucking will, I will make damn sure of it, if you don't shape the fuck up.

[...this is...his version of a pep talk, maybe...? He believes there's better somewhere in there, anyway, as unclear as that may be.

Impressive... Ricky absently brings one hand up to chew at is already-busted nails, using the other to strum in a way that's trying to mimic what Teto's laugh sounded like. Loud, resounding, cheerful, and cascading into other notes. There's almost a pattern to be picked out, but not quite.]

"... He said that, did he? That he thinks I'm a dead end? A worthless nobody."

[There's a breath of a laugh from him, humorless. He brings a hand up to cover his eyes, a bitter grin plastered on just beneath. Even his younger self can see it.

If it's a pep talk he doesn't feel very pepped. He feels tired. His hand drops away.

Pretty sorry excuse for a Dad, he thinks but he can't bear to say it.]

"What do you want me to do, Maverick? Come back to life?" [There's not an ounce of energy to his words. He thought he could do this, come out here, let Maverick rag on him, but he doesn't know if he can.] "There's no up for me to shape to. The kid's right. Everyone's always been right, except for me and the two people I cared most about. I ended up exactly where I was expected to go."

[He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head.]

"I don't... have time to feel sorry for myself more than I do. I know I'm a mess. I'm doing what I can, I'm trying, I don't play anymore... I just have to get home. If Coco sees through me by that time then so be it."

[Just push on until then. He doesn't know what else to do. He can fall right apart so long as he reaches her first.

Almost a pattern is close enough to being one that Teto can pick up on it. He takes what Ricky's done and makes the sounds deliberate, making them flow into something bigger than itself. He doesn't think for a moment it's something inspired by him. He simply plays the chords as well as he can with the guitar set down like this. He plucks and plays until his eyes close and his smile goes dreamy and he's lost to everything but the sounds being played. When he plays, he can forget the bad. When he plays, it's him, the music, and the person there with him. He lifts above the troubles of life entirely. He starts to hum, adding more to the music whilst his mind runs over the words he could make it into.]

...Ven a tocar una canción conmigo... cerca de mí you'll be...

[It's not exactly the case that that's what Teto, but if he feels terrible, someone else has to feel terrible, too, in a mirror of their smiling younger selves inside.]

Oh, shut the fuck up. [He's pretty sure he could get away with punching Héctor at this point, but part of what's stopping him is not being sure how this weird flesh...thing...worked. What if it was like Kano's illusions, shorting out when he got hurt? That'd be tough to have to recover from, with the kids.] Are you even fucking hearing what you're saying?

"No up for me", "no time to feel sorry for myself", what the fuck do you call this? [Well, he won't punch Héctor, but he'll roughly pull him down by the collar of his shirt.] That kid in there is the fucking empty shell of a person, not your sorry ass. You're just a sack of shitty bones at the bottom of the barrel -- up is the only fucking direction left, you stupid numbskull! You can't be this fucking directionally challenged.

[Wow music, music sure is nice, not at all an awkward tone shift midtag. Nope, perfectly natural to go back to this "empty shell" boy closing his eyes while he listens, breathing slowing while his small smile twitches and he eventually gently taps the guitar's hollow base with his finger to match the beat.]

[It's nice, it's totally nice, it's contrast and parallel it's good just go with it, which Ricky is doing. With the rhthym thrown in, he lets his fingers move even more freely over the strings, opening his eyes only as much as he needs to watch what he's doing.]

...In harmony con mi amigo, your smile's a song I can see...

[Héctor's yanked forward without too much trouble, a choked noise as he goes. But he says nothing, like he's told, staring "up" now at Maverick. And he listens until he can't. He pushes Maverick's hand off his collar and Maverick will find he's well and solid like this.

He's supposed to defend himself or something here right? But he has no defense. At least not for himself.]

"If they're such empty shells, how come he's alive? And why are you looking after them? You can't even justify it with some magic because then if anything that kid is more real than I am!"

[And that's terrifying, in more than a few ways, but a terror for another time.]

"Why did you even tell me he was here? You want me to get him out of your hair without you having to throw him out? I can do that!"

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