I should(n't) be allowed to think [samson]

Today had been an early day for the Thunder student. Thanks—of course—to Beatrice. Her knocking on his lock door was harsh, and he feared that she might just break it down with force. ”Rats, open this door! It’s a sign of the plague!” He pulled open the door and the frantic woman grabbed her by the collar and pulled him from the room, continuing to yank him along until they got to the basement. Samson looked at her. Blinked. The message? ‘This is an unfinished basement, rats are expected.’ ”You are the man of the house! Go, do your…manly extermination.” Was she expecting him to go down there and rip off rat heads like some barbarian? Beatrice huffed. Crossed her arms. ”Fine, I’m calling an exterminator,” she grumbled before stomping off, muttering something about God’s wrath. The boy was tempted to tell her that rats in the cellar were not a sign of the plague.

After avoiding having to set up rat traps, Samson got dressed and headed to the school. He texted Harley good morning, because he heard that was something romantic to do. Apparently girls liked that, and he guessed he’d like it to. It was nice to know that your boyfriend or girlfriend was thinking about you even when you weren’t with them. And like most days at school, Samson spent a lot of time in the library. Whether it was for studying or to slack, he enjoyed just sitting down with a book. Because the words did all the talking, and there was no requirement needed from him other than for his eyes to read over the words and his hands to flip pages. Today was a reread of Dante’s Divine Comedy, just to past the hours. He didn’t want to have to deal with Beatrice freaking out about the vermin in the basement. She got…much too exciteable.

…Ulysses? Samson looked up, arched a brow. Well, he’d never been called by his middle name before. Some teachers made note of it as interesting, especially the English teachers whose eyes seemed to light up at the prospect of someone who might enjoy their class. As if he named himself. No, his father had named him Samson after his great grandfather. “Your father wanted you to grow up strong and healthy,” his mother had once told him on one of their fishing trips. He remembered the roll of her eyes quite quickly. “I had to inform him that he was setting you up for a Deliliah.” Sam guesssed his father was right about that—he had his fair share of girls that had proverbially cut his hair. His pillars were still standing with Harley, however. As for Ulysses? That was his mother’s choice. And apparently his father had chosen to snark her for that. “’Ulysses? Really?’” The woman shook her head when telling Sam this. “’I think Odysseus would have been better.’ That man…”

He’d loved listening to his parents and their stories. They were interesting people, even though he could remember a lot about them. They’d passed so long ago that he really only had fragments to remember them by. Shaking off the momentary confusion, he lifted up the book to show the cover the read The Divine Comedy. He rarely spoke of course—well, his version of speaking. Before he looked back down to start reading, however, he noticed something that he figured he should have noticed before. Was he really so unobservant? Clearly, else he’d have noticed the absent limb sooner. Oh. Curiosity begged to wonder how that happened, politeness and antisocialness prevented him from asking. And there was another part of him that wondered if the amputation drew people to him like Samson’s missing voice drew strange people. He found it…odd that so many were attracted to handicaps and disabilities. But of course, it was probably different for an amputee, whose handicap was much more noticeable than muteness.

The new kid? Intrigued now, Sam took out his phone and texted out, ”Ged right? I remember you.” Figuring that he might as well get some conversation in since he’d read the book multiple times already, he cleared the words and wrote, ”What element are you in?” When he was in a relatively good mood, he was at least not a dick. Well, not too much of a dick.

Samson cracked a smile when Ged said that Dante was the man. It seemed like this guy would be interesting enough, and the Thunder boy wasn’t about to ignore him like a jackass. He wasn’t that bad with his antisocialness. He just didn’t like the energy it took to converse with people. Still, he’d put an effort forth for anyone who was a fan of literature. Shaking his head, he wrote in the little box, ”Yeah, read him a few times.” First time not by choice, but Beatrice roped him in with saying that it was poetry, and it had become one his favorites quickly. Even though Samson wasn’t staring, the boy seemed to notice that he noticed the arm that was not there. It was just a minor thing for Sam, really. Well, not minor in the fact that he would immediately stop noticing, but minor in the fact that he wasn’t about to bring it up or keep looking at the sleeve that should be bulkier.

At the roll of the Wind student’s eyes, Samson just shrugged. ”Asked out of curiosity.” He considered Ari to be an acquaintance of his, and she was an Earth. So it wasn’t like he was completely adverse to easy conversation with someone of another element. Okay, that was a lie. He would troll Water students, and most likely ignore an Earth student. So he guessed it was good that Ged was Wind. Still, the fact that it sounded like the boy was giving him a sort of permission didn’t sit very well with him. But he shrugged it off. Sam was a generally easygoing person, so little things didn’t tick him off. Thunders weren’t known for their tempers, after all—that was Fire’s thing.

Samson was surprised by the sudden onslaught of questions. Oh wow. Jokingly, he wrote on the phone, ”There’s only so much space in the box.” He debated whether or not he should answer the questions or just troll the guy. He could be a dick, after all, even though if you got to know him he was actually a good person. He just…didn’t really know where to begin, so he answered as short as possible. ”Newfoundland. House being overrun by rats. Thunder.” There, that was as short as he can get. ”You?” he returned with his phone. It seemed this guy could carry on a conversation, which was good considering that Samson wasn’t exactly good with social situations. Then, he remembered the phrase that Ged had finished on and rather snarkily wrote, ”Of course it’s big. This is an academy for elementals.” Elements were a big deal because the school was full of them, belonging to their own alliances. The question chalked up rather often, as expected. But Samson wondered if he was just new to the Academy or something. But he didn’t ask—that would be going the extra mile for the sake of conversation.



[sorry it's so short, but it's difficult with sam being all...mute. xD]

Sam’s lips twitched into a smirk at what Ged said. The guy was lucky that he didn’t just go straight into indecipherable hand signals to communicate with him. He was in a generally good mood, and didn’t feel the need to. ”Mute,” he wrote simply in the box—hopefully that’ll clear up everything. His smile grew wider at the paper comment, but it was still a sarcastic sort of expression. He used to carry around a notebook, but that just became annoying and he felt even weider doing that. ”I like the 21st century better.” Samson wondered—if he did have his voice—if he’d give longer, less clipped answers. Probably not. When he was younger and could speak, he still didn’t say much. Wow, this guy was seriously something else. Sam actually found that he was enjoying having him around. Was he usually this…strange, or was this just a special day? Whatever it was, Samson actually enjoyed it.

If he was hoping to leave cliques behind, he came to the wrong place. ”We have cliques turned up to eleven.” It was true. Elemental cliques were something else, really. They were more like factions, especially when it came to wars. It could get very intense, Samson knew. And then it came. A South Park reference. ”No, but our queen queefs.” It was hard to imagine that there was anyone who didn’t watch South Park, but maybe that was just him. In any case, he was glad he at least had a TV in his room and Beatrice didn’t think it was a form of the Devil’s communication or something. She seemed at least relatively lenient with pop culture.

Whereas Sam just wrote curt answers, Ged seemed to have an entire biography to tell, sitting down to do so. The Thunder elemental kept his face blank, neutral as it usually was, taking in everything this guy was telling him. So he was American, that made sense. ”Welcome to Canada,” Sam texted out, and not for the first time he wished sardonicism could carry through text. He shook his head at Ged’s arrogance, his lips once more flicking up into a smirk. It was rare that someone could gain such reactions from him—it was usually Harley, as a matter of fact. She was the one that made him smile the most. By now, Sam was wondering if the fact that he was from West Virginia was even true. After the guy finished, Sam texted, ”Did you at least find a nice couch?” He watched as Ged leaned back in the seat, running the pads of his fingers against the edges of the page distractedly. Then, he picked up his phone again and wrote, ”It’ll get better.” A shrug. He seemed like a good enough guy, and Sam had no problem with him—why not put the effort forth to have a decent conversation with him? Of course, the Thunder boy wasn’t about to tell him about Beatrice and the rats in his basement, and he wasn’t going to ask for a more truthful answer from the Wind guy. That would take too much of an explanation, and he didn’t have a voice to be sarcastic with like Ged did. But he couldn’t be jealous (and he never was anyway)—after all, the guy didn’t have an arm. God seemed like a pretty cruel bastard.

The question Ged asked was met with another short answer: ”Yeah.” He’d been going there for three years, as a matter of fact. A part of him hoped that next year he could be a leader, because he truly adored his element, but it was hard to be comanding when you were mute. So he just stayed in the background, practicing with his element. Beatrice even helped him, and they’d have little spars whenever they were in Newfoundland and alone in the sea-side house. Ah, all these questions again. Samson paused for a moment, thinking, before taking out a notebook he used for class and using that to write. It took a bit of time, but he scrawled out, ”Winds have it good. You don’t need to stay away from anyone, really. But the Fires are temperamental bastards so I suggest you stay away. I have a few friends who seem to know where all the best parties are, so I’d love to direct you to the nearest mixer.” He rolled his eyes at the last part. One person that came to mind was Brett, who seemed to always be partying, even on school nights.

Sam appreciated that Ged was not the kind of person to be embarrassed or mopey about his situation. After all, why be embarrassed when everyone can see it? The Thunder boy always got the sense that some people pitied him for the lack of speech, so he could only imagine what someone like Ged had to get from people. And just like the Wind elemental, Samson didn’t really care about his muteness. He didn’t miss his voice, really, because he’d never really used it. He wouldn’t be a talkative person, anyway. Samson shook his hand, retracting it to text to him, ”Scissors must have been a bitch.” In his experience, lefties were the minority and therefore in grade school there was only about two leftie scissors in the supplies. And hopefully—since Ged seemed comfortable with his ‘handicap’—he would be able to joke about it like this. ”I know public speaking was a terrible experience for me.” Yep, Ged definitely made a damn good impression on the boy to have him joking around like this.

Lifting his eyebrows at the girl walking by when Ged laughed, his mouth was still in a smile when he looked back at him. ”Sorry bro,” he texted. Samson nodded solemnly, as if seriously considering Ged’s story. Sneezed and blew the guy’s socks off? Well then. Ged certainly had an eccentric sense of humor, one Samson wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before. Actually, it kind of reminded him of Beatrice—he believed the two would probably get along if they ever met. ”Hopeffuly, you find a perfect lawn ornament someday.”

Samson didn’t reply to what Ged said about Wind being the best, even though he had a great pride in his element. After all, a big goal of his was to become the best that no one ever was. Like Ash Ketchum. He didn’t mind when Ged snatched the pencil. Even if he did, he couldn’t really complain unless he texted out minutes too late, “Hey!” Instead, when he got the pencil back, he wrote, ”Cool.” Texting was his primary form of communication, so having the guy’s number was nice. But even with the notebook, he could still give short answers. Antisocial, remember? Sam took a moment of consideration for the interesting people. ”Brett Blaire, he’s a friend of mine in Thunder.”He didn’t have too many friends actually. ”There also Xav, a Thunder, who’s decent.” Another Thunder he heard of thanks to rumors was Rowena, but he didn’t know much about her in the party scene. ”I heard that Altair Bennett bitch is good at partying too. Far from friendly though. Fire, so stay away.” Luckily, hand cramps were a thing of the past.

No one ever said Samson was observant, and so he was blissfully unaware of the fact that the missing limb was a touchy subject. Really, it might have been the Thunder in him making him a bit insensitive. But if Ged had given any inclination, he would have laid of immediately. As it were, he simply smired at the other boy’s joke. Maybe he’d have a few more friends if he wasn’t a bit dense. Or talked more. But the latter was something that he couldn’t really change.

Samson snorted—his default version of a laugh—holding a hand in front of his face as if he were coughing, before writing down, ”I wouldn’t want some guys trying to come after me, thanks.” He hadn’t really thought of that, actually, because it just seemed so…weird. He knew ASL and how to write, and that’s all he believed he needed. A voice generator? Well, that would make him feel too mute if such a thing were possible. But really, he didn’t focus on the fact that he couldn’t interact with people normally. That when he opened his mouth, all that would leave it was his breath. He’d gotten used to it. Over the years, it was something that just became natural to him, like he never even had a voice. ”But I’m always up to being a jackass.” Which was true. He had a particular fondness in messing with people. Brett had experienced it first hand when he simply jabbed his finger exasperatedly at the menu above a cashier’s head while the man looked on in anxious confusion. Troll was the right word for it.

Another smirk. ”Guess her parents must have known.” He didn’t like to gossip, of course, he wasn’t a flighty girl in the bathroom giggling about what Jenny just said to Tom in class. But the rumors about the triplets from Britain caused a stir when they first arrived, and they began anew now that one of them had died of an overdose. ”Sorry, but I’m as dorky as you get.” Okay, not really. But he didn’t have a social life to brag about, now did he? And he felt quite out of his element wandering around a party, not being able to talk to people. But he did sometimes use sign language and charades just to fuck with other people. ”I have the best lines ever, dude, don’t hate.” Well, he had a girlfriend, but he hadn’t gotten her with pick-up lines. He had gotten her…how? Why the hell did Harley even like him? That was something he mused over sometimes, as he was sure everyone did. But really, a guy had to wonder how he got a sassy, beautiful girl with almost little effort, it seemed.

Sam made no comment when Ged subtly revealed that he was bi. Even though he was straight—he had Harley to show for that—he had no problem with others and who they chose to be with. And why would he have a problem? He didn’t understand people that got all worked up about those going against ‘nature’ or whatever the fuck they said. To each their own.

He snorted as he wrote out, ”Sorry, it kind of does.” But he smiled. He wouldn’t mind going to any parties. It wasn’t really like he was a social pariah after all. Just a little bit. He was still like any teenager who went out to drink and party, just not on the same level of some others. ”I’m willing to go out sometimes, though. I’m always rather great at the game of charades.” He rolled his eys, and if he could speak it would have been with a posh tone. It’d be pathetic to just be sitting at home all the time, after all. He could do with a little more fun, even. He was a laidback guy, so he just took whatever life threw at him.

”I’m set in that department. Already got a girlfriend.” And he definitely wouldn’t be going to parties to flirt with other chicks. He had quite a few girlfriends before, but it had never been him doing the cheating. He really knew how to choose them. Somehow he could pick out the harpiest of the harpies that end up betraying him in some way or another. He never really let it get to him, though. That’s why he still pursued relationships, he guessed. That’s why he still wanted to be with Harley. He trusted her, and loved her, and that may have been the downfall to his relationships before but all he kept reminding himself of was that Harley was different. She wasn’t like all the rest, that was for sure. Smirking, Samson shook his head, tohugh rather in amusement than denial of anything. ”I know ASL. And I spend some time teaching my friends it, so I could do that.” It seemedd that a lot of people wanted to learn sign language to communicate with him, which both amused and befuddled him. Why bother talk to someone who couldn’t talk the right way back? Perhaps Ged understood, with his own handicap.

He detected the note of bitterness in the Wind boy’s voice, and was determined to get his thoughts away from wherever they were on. Perhaps he wasn’t as comfortable with his disablility as Sam thought he was. ”I’ll just have to filter out the hot ones for you then,” he joked, because he was sure of the fact that one could still joke on paper. After all, people did it in books. ”Make sure you don’t get any of the dogs.”

Samson inclined his head and cupped a hand over his mouth as if about to reveal a secret, and then waved his fingers as if to dismiss the thought. Becaue he couldn’t. And so he wrote down on his handy, dandy piece of paper filled with scribbles, ”Hell no, not Jennifer.” He grimaced a little, but the expression didn’t stay too long for he smiled at Ged’s one-handed gesture. ”Her name’s Harley, she’s a Fire. You know her?” He was curious to find out if they had a common friend in the girl that he loved.

He smirked and wrote down, ”I can pretend be the charming single guy. Like a Seth Rogen type.” He waved his hand when Ged said the hot ones go for him. ”No way, man.” She would definitely send any cutie his way, because te had Harley and that’s all he needed. He never really slept around before, he’d been in a few relationships before, but he was definitely faithful to the girl. And if loyalty would attract other girls to him, too bad. He wanted Harley in his life, and wasn’t thinking about breaking up with her any time soon.

Samson was slightly unobservant, but he didn’t miss the subtle shift in Ged’s expression. He wondered what was on his mind, but the look disappeared as quickly as he noticed it. ”I’m on board,” he wrote down acquiescently. He didn’t mind be hauled off by friends to appease them, and he guessed he could consider Ged a friend. He rolled his eyes. ”Oh, that old ball and chain.” He knew Harley wasn’t the friendliest of people, but she probably still liked to go out and everything. He’d known her for a long time, and they’d been friends before going out. ”She’d like to come along, I’m sure. She’s pretty cool.” More than cool, but he didn’t want to go on and on about the awesomeness that is Harley without sounding like a gossipy schoolgirl. ”And we can play beer pong together.” He put down the pencil while raising his eyebrow.


[sorry, shortness. ><]