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Post by deane on Dec 1, 2012 20:26:13 GMT -5
In all honesty, Deane didn’t mind the dungeons all that much. Compared to the basement back home, they were spectacular. In the beginning years of high school, it hadn’t been all that uncommon for kids to trap him down there and try to frighten him. They had learned early on of his fear of the dark and basement-like places, and they had taken full advantage of that. Eventually they seemed to tire of it and moved on to different ways to pick on him, and in the peace that followed, Deane learned to kind of like it down there.
It was dark, sure, and dark terrified Deane, but if he brought a few lanterns and put them in every corner of the cell he chose so that everywhere within eyeshot was lit, it wasn’t so bad. The bones were better company than most living people, and no one ever bothered him down there. Lurkers would sometimes pass by, but they’d assume he was insane and leave him be.
Such it was that, tonight, Deane was in a cell yet again. He had an English test in a couple of weeks that he wanted to prepare for as well as a couple of other classes that fellow students needed help in, so he packed up a few of his textbooks and headed down to his favorite cell. A sole skeleton rested in the corner of the cell, and Deane hunkered down a few feet away from it.
“Good evening, sir,” Deane greeted the bones, as he usually did. He wasn’t sure if he believed in ghosts or not, but better to be polite and safe than rude and sorry, yes? “I do hope I’m not disturbing you, sir. You see, I’m in dire need of a refresher. I read this tale a few months prior to tonight, but alas, I seem to have forgotten some of the plot points, and I cannot allow such a travesty. I hope desperately that you don’t mind my intrusion, but if you do, let me know, sir, and I’ll be on my way.” No movement, so Deane assumed the skeleton didn’t mind. “Thank you, sir.”
Deane sat up perfectly straight and crossed his legs neatly before picking up the nearest textbook and flipping to a paged marked with a yellow tab. Before he could read a single word, he heard footsteps echoing down the corridor. Marking the page with his thumb, Deane closed the book and tried to peer into the hallway.
“’lo there?”
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words: 419
outfit: coming soon
tagged: hound
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Post by hound on Dec 3, 2012 20:45:12 GMT -5
"TELL MUMMY I'M SORRY,
THIS LIFE IS A PARTY"
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[/FONT] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/b][/center] Makism honestly needs to get away from all the rushing around, all the stopping and going. Such is life at the Academy, right? It’s enough to spin the young man on his ass, and it’s starting to get tiring. He’s been so tired lately. There’s too much going on, and all at the same time not enough. What he needs to do is sit and smoke and simply clear his head. The Rover wasn’t starting again, something to do with the cold and the tough old bat’s aversion to it, so he had to go to the one other place on campus that didn’t have smoke detectors. The thing about it was that the Russian man had to hide—golden boy fire kid couldn’t be caught smoking his brains out, now could he?
So it was down to the basement. His laptop bounced around in the bag slung over his shoulder as Makism made a careful way down slippery stairs. The pack of Marlboro Blacks sits in his pocket, the zippo he’d gotten for Christmas from his younger brother tight beside it. Nothing sinister here, just a young man with what could potentially be a serious nicotine addiction. It was something he almost regretted picking up. If Makism let himself regret things, he supposed that might be one of the things on the top of his list. Then again, if you let one regret in it just opened a floodgate. The Russian man wouldn’t let himself do that… there were too many others. He couldn’t handle that.
But anyway, the basement. The young man moved with a certain lack of grace. He’s still sore from an old injury, the cold and damp aggravating a shoulder that had dislocated again not so long ago. Makism is in his own little world, allowing the lovely screechy girl music that happened to be the Dresden Dolls to fill his skull. It felt good, listening to the people that were feeling some of the teen angst he was. It felt good to know that maybe he wasn’t the only one internally losing his shit a little bit. His hands shake and he’s starting to shiver, curling closer in his thin hoodie. It was a bad idea to come down this far in such a thin shirt. Whatever.
It’s only by chance that he catches someone calling out. Good thing he heard it when he did, though—Makism had been seconds away from lighting a cigarette. He stuffs it back into the pack, the pack into his pocket before moving further. He pulls the ear buds from their cradle, unplugs himself from a dream world where everyone gets it to track the voice. It’s coming from one of the end cells, one of the most creepy that happens to hold a pile of bones. Looks like someone else was taking their little getaway time down in the dungeons.
The green eyed boy straightens himself, resumes the air of a confident young gentleman. He’s far away from the desperate kid with an addiction to something not quite illegal in a split second. Shoulders back, head up and cocked slightly to the side, smirk playing right over his lips. There you have it, Makism’s façade in a nut shell. Perfect, remember? His green eyes play gently on the young man’s face as he comes into view. Someone Makism has seen around, but never talked to. "Didn’t interrupt, did I?" It’s a question that comes as the fire leader makes his way into the cell, leaning against the decrepit door lazily. Confidence, confidence.
[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]
"Talkin'."
[/size] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/b] [/center][/FONT] words: 595-ish
tag: Deane!
outfit: clickie!
notes: Sorry about the wait on this!
lyrics: opposite of adults by chiddy bang
credit: morganxo@ caution 2.0 [/size] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/b][/center][/color] "I'M NEVER GROWING UP!" [/b][/font][/size] |
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