I am Selfish, Private and Easily Bored...

NON-COMBATANT || alois & clay [ march games ]

[[ ‘What’s that like, by the way?’ ]] It sucks, [[ Alois says without having to put thought into the answer, any edge of lightheartedness a little sharper than it should be. ]] Granted, I’m not good at control of it. I’ve… only recently started training. [[ He can’t call it ‘formal’ because, somewhere, Corbin would presumably give a spontaneous gag at being even tangentially referred to as formal. Alois quirks a more genuine smile. ]] You’re right, though. People chewing is a nightmare. I avoid the height of mealtimes as much as humanly possible. Tell me, do you have to deal with peoples’ most obnoxious horny thoughts? Because that also sounds like a nightmare.

[[ Clay’s story is curious to Alois, because it seems to the kind of thing people always expected of him: rebel against his family name, resent them for turning him into some sort of trick pony at the tender age of eight. But Alois’ prosthetic gave him his life back. He wasn’t so thoroughly indoctrinated that he couldn’t see some of the more underhanded methods his business-savvy mother employed to keep their name at the forefront, but Alois liked to think the net sum of what they did was good. That’s why he never minded following in his family’s footsteps. ]]

No, I believed in what my family did. Which sounds very righteous and boring and not remotely rebellious. [[ Alois had rebelled in other, more careful ways, but that never amounted to much. ]] But, you’re right. Asteroids couldn’t give less of a fuck for what we chose for ourselves, hey?

[[ He tilts his head and smiles at Clay, feeling at least some sense of camaraderie in that. ]] The great equalizer.

Jesus christ that really is vile. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been one of those people who freak out at the sound of chewing but at normal volume its...gross. You poor fucker. [He tuts in an act of playful sympathy, softly hums as he gives himself a moment of time to think.] Not so much thoughts but the emotional response that comes with them you know? So it depends, I’ve actually been making a bit of an unofficial scale of which moods hit me worse than others. Believe it or not, the emotional response that embarrassment felt on behalf of someone else is the worst. That shit makes your skin prickle. It is vile. But then some of the more positive emotions can be a bit shitty too honestly, mostly because you know they’re not really yours so the benefit is moot. 

[He nods in what he hopes seems like understanding. The idea of respecting his father was an alien one, that felt a little bit like soap on the underside of his tongue. But it is nice to know that not all family dynamics were as chaotically cliche as his own. It is actually rather nice.] 

CONTUSION // clayton & alex  // post-games.

claytonboyd​:.

[Alex cracks a grin at Clay’s challenge, but doesn’t answer right away. In truth, he has to think about that. Has he ever put his health at risk in order to win something? Probably. Maybe. He’s gone to great lengths to achieve things that are important to him, at least, but that also isn’t necessarily the same thing.]

Quite honestly, I’ve never really been that competitive, [he elaborates a moment later, breath carefully steady and controlled as he moves. He speaks relatively quietly, so as not to waste the energy.] 

Except for with myself. I’ve often been more concerned about my own expectations for myself, than with that of other people. Unless competition is explicitly written into something I’m trying to accomplish. Like getting into the academy, for instance. 

[Alex Donovan...non competitive? It seemed oxymoronic and Clayton’s eyebrows twitch almost unnoticeably at the thought. Even watching him now (as he was) seamlessly gliding from crunch to crunch, almost as if suspended in liquid, seemed to suggest otherwise. But as he provides more of an explanation, not even a bead of sweat swelling on his forehead, things seem to click into place. Clay could relate to that too, there was no fiercer rival than the enemy that lived within and quite frankly he’s enjoyed not having him pop up as regularly as he used to when looking in the mirror. 

He’s not entirely sure why, as he isn’t with a lot of things regarding Alex, but he suddenly feels an overwhelming desire to get to know him. To learn about his past, to tunnel into the private parts of a life that wouldn’t ever look the same. Granted he felt like that about a lot of people these days, probably a combination of boredom and maturity but with Alex is felt particularly strong. His fingers twitched against his ankle.] I don’t hear you talk about the academy much. What was it like? Any references I do have are purely based on movies so, you know. 

I’m going home (I’m going home)// Ajay + Clay

[Clayton ‘Baas’, somehow just as drawling and confidently bored as everything else he says, and Ajay laughs; this guy’s a riot. In the subtle, quiet way that Adrien never has been, and likely never will be. But that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the type. Maybe there’s something almost cathartic in being around someone like Clayton. Someone so contained compared to Ajay’s theatrical disorganized chaos. His sophisticated brooding is like the antithesis to Ajay’s camp buffoonery, and yet Ajay still feels a sense of kinship with him. Maybe it’s the sarcasm. Or, most likely, the deep-seated self-deprecation masquerading as ego.

‘Wine and dine me somewhere, really, really nice, and oof, happy boy.’ Adrien smirks, cocking a brow.] Ahhh, so. In other words, Dish Out and you’ll Put Out? [he needles, crooked grin playful.] Good to know. 

[It takes Ajay a second to parse out what Clay is asking him, but when he catches on, he snorts, scratching the back of his neck.] 

Welllll. Not especially, no. Not to make it sound like I was a player, because let’s be real, I’ve never been remotely cool enough for that title, but it wasn’t easy to pin me down, let’s put it that way. I’m sort of a notorious flake when it comes to romance. My love life has always been a… wasted game of twister, and not in the good way. Just in the messy, inefficient and clusterfuck sort of way. 

I mean there is a little more to it than that. [His mouth turns up at its corners, a playful smirk if ever there was one. Truthfully, being overly picky had always been quite high on his list of toxic traits. It would be ridiculous for him to even claim to be anything less than attractive, so to admit he wasn’t short of attention in the before times wasn’t exactly a revelation. But for every advance he received, he rejected two more -- eyes too close together, teeth too wonky, too many blackheads, not enough shoulder, too much shoulder, too funny, not funny enough -- his list of reasoning spilt over a page and then some. As it went however, blaming someones jaw line was easier than admitting to himself that up until fairly recently he’d just been scared.] But I’ve been known to do worse for a banging Italian so, whatever. [He shrugs a little.] 

Amande or Amende? || Charlotte & Clay 

[There’s nothing she can do to stop the laughter from bubbling up out of her, so a hand comes up to cover her mouth- still full of another bite of flapjack. She swallows the bite and clears her throat.]

I, uh.. [Another grunt as she clears her throat again, finally getting the rest of the flapjack crumbles down the right tube.] I’ll be honest with you, I’m probably not fluent enough to be the best Russian tutor. [Until the day she arrived at the colony, Charlotte didn’t think she’d ever get the chance to keep working on her Russian- real money would have been laid down. But, luckily for her, Clay isn’t asking for full lessons.] But tell you what: so long as you don’t ask me to translate a book or something, I’ll teach you everything on that page. After we’re done eating though- less spit-takes, you know?

[She grins before stabbing another chunk of flapjack onto her fork.]

[Clay nods, bottom lip jutted out in a silent affirmation of his agreement. Meeting people like Charlotte made him wish he’d spent a little more time focusing in geography as opposed to sneakily scrolling through his phone under the desk. It took a lot of bravado for him to come across as even slightly more knowledgeable than he was. So he stayed quiet for a moment, simply nodding before he let his face crack in two.] Sounds like a deal. You know this might actually be the first and only time I’ve ever been even slightly excited to learn. Go figure it would be curse words that got me. 

REC TIME || jr & clayton​

CLAYTON​​

[[ It’s comforting, really, to watch someone else stumble awkwardly through a conversation. JR feels he’s responsible for that. He has to live with that. The only thing that helps is he has the suddenly feeling that he never really had to fix that issue, that he would have someone else to take the brunt of JR’s awkwardness.

The beer will dry at some point. Maybe that could be his hobby: figure out how to brew beer. He probably shouldn’t have rediscovered it, then. Better to simply forget some of the luxuries from before.

He scoffs, not exactly a laugh but close enough. ]] Cat boy. Right. [[ He repeats in a deadpan. Yeah that sounds awful, but JR will leave him alone on that front. ]] JR. Miserable bastard sums me up.

[Cat boy. Fantastic, a noose made entirely out of rope twisted by his own fingers. How wonderful. He rolls his eyes discreetly enough for it to go unnoticed.] JR? How very fucking cool. You’ve got this whole thing [He gestures down to him, sniffing hard for no other reason than to catch his breath.] very much on brand. As a fellow miserable bastard I could probably take some tips. 

[Clay blinks, folds his arms carefully over his front. The sweat that’s pooled in a misshapen blob at the small of his back is starting to dry but still feels damp as he pushes himself against the wall.] You know what I think is madness and probably a tell that I need to socialise more, that we’ve been here years and I’m still properly meeting people for the first time. But maybe its just us miserable bastards who encounter that problem. Maybe we’re the problem. Would make sense. 

[She’s not entirely sure how to take his response. It sounds pointed and sharp– the way other kids would taunt Jo way back when. Knowing she couldn’t keep up with what they were saying and what they really meant and the difference between the two. Jo’s a fast learner, though, and while she’ll never be an expert she’s not a naive child anymore either. She takes in his smirk, his lax stance and the easy way he responds and decides he’s not making fun of her. Not yet, anyway.]

Alright, then. I suppose there’s worse things I could be judged by. [She returns his smile, albeit somewhat hesitantly. Her arms cross, fingers tapping a frantic rhythm against her sleeves for lack of something between them.] I assume you came out here to…for the memorial, then? I can leave you be if you want. I know most people don’t come for the company.

✑

Yeah I mean there isn’t all that much to do these days is there, I promise you this, someone is judging you for one thing at the very least. But being judged isn’t all bad, means someones thinking about you. [Said with a lightness that suggests he’s joking, so he smiles around it, letting his shoulder fall against a wall. He scratches absently at his shoulder.] Oh, no actually I wasn’t. I wouldn’t say this too loud [mostly because he had before and it had proved rather back on the empath front] but I think this memorial is a bit of bullshit. I was just out on a walk, getting a bit of fresh air is good for the soul or something, something. 

chokehold || clayton & draco

Rome is very nice place. I lived there for little bit and I must say, is definitely in top three cities of world that I have seen. Very lucky you got to see before everything happened.

{Clayton seems to know what he wants without being too afraid to ask for it, something Draco can respect. As his own preference he’s always preferred more outspoken people; people with opinions and the guts to voice them, people with the ability to make decisions and stick to them, people with no time to give a shit about the thoughts and judgement of others and an eye only on what they want. It’s hot.

Draco spends a few moments at the bar while waiting for their drinks before joining Clayton at one of the tables tucked into a corner. The bar’s not all too busy and the table Clayton’s chosen gives Draco a nice view over the entire room. He sits after setting down their glasses, sliding the wine across the table.}

One white wine for your troubles. So, why do you not like talking about yourself with other people? We are all on same island anyway, no? How long can you go until it is boring to always have walls up?

You lived in Rome? [He’s not sure why but he finds that incredibly sexy. There is something about a well travelled man that he is never sure appeals to him for the sake of being interesting, or because its the type of man he wishes he’d have had the capabilities of being. He wouldn’t have been, he faffed too much, worried internally too much, actually didn’t really like being away from home all that much. Ironic now of course.] That’s interesting...tell me more about that. Thank you. [He punctuates with a slight head dip, extending a thin arm to take the glass. He sips.] 

Tart and awful. [Said around a smile. Just like me, he thinks, takes a moment to decide whether to say it outloud. He compromises.] Seems fitting.

NON-COMBATANT || alois & clay [ march games ]

C. BOYD​:

[[ ‘Like biology is just taking the piss.’ Alois can’t help himself, despite their location and the fact they’re walking specifically to put some distance between themselves and a potential pursuer; he laughs, quick but loud. ]] Jackpot, sure. I guess. [[ He appreciates that Clay’s opinion seems to carry a facetiousness that most can’t accomplish when it comes to the Infections, polarizing as they are. People are for them or they’re staunchly against them, more often than not. ]]

Telekinesis is probably the best. I might not be so insufferable about mine if I could use it to retrieve things from across the room. [[ Alois bobs his head thoughtfully, considering the other options. ]] I definitely prefer people to keep their emotions to themselves, so I wouldn’t want the option that makes that impossible. Not a fan of the one I’ve got, [[ As he’s already made readily apparent, gesturing to one ear. ]] And I’m far too self-absorbed to want to turn invisible. [[ It’s as much a joke as it isn’t.

Alois is never really sure whether he should be surprised that people recognize his name or not, so he’d usually err on the side of assuming someone wouldn’t in order to be pleased when they did. He’d certainly never thrown it around with any explicit expectations of favoritism before D-Day, so why should after be any different? ]]

It’s a little forward, but I’ll allow it. [[ He glances to Clay with a brief slyness before pocketing his hands again. ]] Not a lot to expand on, to be honest. My family had an empire that was very important and very dependent on a lot of technology that has now become next to impossible to procure or implement. [[ Alois aims for nonchalance, but a hint of bitterness is inevitable. ]] It all amounted in having a very clear direction before the end of the world, and now… [[ He trails off, shrugging. Now, nothing. ]]

Oh absolutely. I bet once you really master the art of it, you’d be able to make yourself a coffee, get a cookie, all without lifting a finger. Honestly that power would suit me a hell of a lot more. But I’ve put my own down to poetic justice at this point, I was a bit of an asshole before. Still am...but I’m learning. [At Alois’ laugh he almost involuntarily ducks his head. Sound is dangerous in this game but it feels useful to be by the side of someone who had that at their advantage.] What’s that like by the way? I know that’s probably a ridiculous question but like is everything louder? Or can you taper it? I think that about increased smell too...does coffee now smell so strong it is rancid? Or is it just the fact you can smell a dirty troglodyte from a mile away? Fuck [He widens his eyes a little] I bet people chewing is a nightmare. 

[His face suits slyness in a way that makes his features align when really they probably shouldn’t. It isn’t as if he hasn’t noticed the others physical...asceticism, just that certain facial expressions seem to do wonders for it. A man who suits his expressions is an enviable one.] So like, did you always want to follow that path then? Never had some crazy off the wall dream that was bound to disappoint your parents? 

CONTUSION // clayton & alex  // post-games.

[For as often as Alex thinks something along the lines of Clay’s predictability, he is also often a surprise. Alex has known boys who make their lives a performance—Kip is an excellent example of this, most days. 

But Boyd’s is a performance that feels a little more like it’s for himself, than for others. Like he’s keeping himself distracted, as though if he stops deliberately controlling his thinking with spoken word, he’ll trip and find himself caught by the ankles. Dragged back into something, to somewhere. His act isn’t a disguise, it’s a lifeline. A rope tied taught around his waist. Smart, prepared and just a little desperate. 

Despite the sobriety of all this, Alex can’t help but smile at Clayton’s execution. He’s funny—Alex is forced to give him that.] 

Do you do that a lot? Make yourself sick just to win? [It’s a question that could be loaded, or could be entirely surface, depending on how one looks at it. Or maybe just depending on the answer it gets. 

Alex’s count gets to 35, and he taps Clay’s shoulder.] Thirty five. 90 second break. [And so he takes over, like a relay, his calves still linked around Clay’s as he lifts and falls into a series of his own sit ups. He doesn’t time it. He’s been doing this long enough that instinct and repetition allows him to track in his head pretty accurately.] 

[And very suddenly, for no real reason at all, he realises why he likes spending time with Alex. Aside from the decent visuals of course. As he sat there, in the dew-damp grass, the muscles in his lower stomach starting to quiver, he realised it was his steadiness he liked, how predictable he was, how stable and solid and secure he felt. 

The tap of his shoulder immediately has him stop, bringing a hand up to his forehead to push away a stray strand of hair.] Oh I’ve lost count. All the time. Toxic competitiveness, that sounds legit.  [He watches the skilful way he manoeuvres himself in and out of a sit up, how his body folds with precision, how his shoulders shift with ease. It’s attractive. Movement suits Alex. 

But he does his best not to watch in a way that could sit outside of supportive exercise...support. Instead just holds his ankles, takes a mental note in his head of the number of sit ups he does.] But don’t try and tell me you haven’t put your health at risk at least once to win, because if you do I wont believe you. [He pauses, this isn’t really the place to make idle chit chat but sitting in near silence with nothing but the odd grunt seemed more awkward.] Did you ever play team sports? You know in high school or college or whatever? 

[Arvo makes a sympathetic face. Bad enough that she has to deal with people’s smells, but their emotions? Those are sometimes even messier.] No wonder you’ve had it [She says, referring to his being tired.] I don’t know how you empaths do it. [She shakes her head, grasping the nearby chair he’s indicated and pulling it out for her to sit.

She smiles in response to his memory. Arvo isn’t sure whether to ask what happened to his sister. It’s still a touchy subject for some.  It’s hard, deciding whether to give up hope and grieve, or hold out in the hopes that you might be reunited with a family member or friend one day.

She throws him a grin that is all wolf, pulled from her melancholy thoughts. Arvo likes to help others succeed but when it comes to competitions that she is participating in rather than organizing…well she likes to win.] I used to play volleyball quite seriously. And netball. [Both different sports, but both drove her in their own ways. She had been upset when her ankle had side lined her from both.]

I had my own injury, mucked up my ankle. [She gestured to his ankle, then to hers.] Took me out of it for a while. But I was quite in the life for a while. [It had been all about competitions and tournaments for a while.] Much to my little brother’s chagrin. He had the brains, but my trophies sometimes got more attention.

We can be secretly competitive together [she smirked, winking at him.]

Neither do us empaths. [He retorts with a half shrug. Of course life as an empath had become somewhat more predictable in parts but that’s where the real fun started, people weren’t predictable therefore other than knowing it was probably going to suck, there was no real way of knowing and so no real way of being to deal with anything. 

He hums softly under his breath.] Ah volleyball, cool, cool. What sort of life does that sport bring along with it then? Bet picking out the perfect shorts takes time. [Threading his fingers together into a latch he pulls, groaning softly as the bones pop.] I played football myself. Hated it mostly. Love the attention. But I don’t really like other people so that whole team shit really started to get in the way. 

I’m going home (I’m going home)// Ajay + Clay

[Somewhere in the dusty and tired depths of Adrien’s mind, he’d had weird sort of non-fantasies about being one of those guys. One of the ones Clay’s talking about in dry, unmoved tones. The ones who knew about business and finances and who wore suits and Rolexes and talked about things like unpredictable movement in the stock market and Sunday dry cleaning. 

Not that he could really picture himself in that world, not that he even wanted to, really. But there was this small part of himself that liked to imagine. Maybe because it was such a far cry from who he was, and who he ever thought he’d be. Sometimes he just… wondered what it would feel like, to be that sophisticated and mature and put together. To say things like ‘synergize’ and ‘leverage’ and ‘push the envelope’. 

But the way Clay talks about being a disappointment to the family cliché, about being lazy and uninterested… well, that Ajay can relate to. He lets out an amused breath and a gin, raising his glass.] The lazy, black sheep of the family? Hell, sounds like we had more in common than I thought. No wonder I like you. 

[He smirks, taking a sip of his drink. Licking his lips of the foam.] But a personal chef, eh? Love me a good man who knows how to cook. I myself was a connoisseur with KD and ramen. 

Baa. [He quirks a brow, tilts his glass toward Ajay and smirks. Clayton wasn’t one to force himself to do anything he had even the slightest touch of distaste for. Which, unfortunately, applied to almost everything his father had expected of him. He wasn’t lazy, just couldn’t feign interest when it wasn’t there. He couldn’t wrap his head around a life spent making someone else more money than yourself, slaving away to a corporation who would replace you in a heartbeat. It felt pointless. It sounded boring. It didn’t feel like him. So he’d repelled it and let his aimlessness fashion itself into a personality trait.] But my mom did make up for it. No surprises but bit of a mommas boy at heart. She knew I’d go far, told me every day. [Again he smirks, pulls his mouth around the joke and leans back into his chair.] 

campfire at the cove {ft. corb + koda}

What: Corbin and Koda’s Bday Celebration 2.0 Where: Rocky beach by the docks When: Saturday, March 25th - After the Games Who: @kxdapaync​, @claytonboyd​, @mitch–douglas​, @felix-tee​, @cvnstantin​ (and maybe some stragglers)

cvnstantin​:

call-corbin​:

mitch–douglas​:​

[[ Settled beside Koda and with Constantin on the other side of his friend, Mitch is already starting to feel a little more comfortable and a little less like a convenient chaperone. He’ll probably regret sitting on the ground for any length of time tomorrow, particularly after the Games put them all through their paces today, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. For now, it’s nice to feel a part of things.

Talk shifts to the Games, which is both comfortable and unsurprising. People can complain about the compulsory nature of them all they like ( and god knows people do ), but this is one of those occasions where the unifying aspect is easier to see. They’ve all got something to talk about, when in reality most of them might have little more in common than a friendship with who invited them.

He can’t help but chuckle when Costin mentions going up against Alex and Mei Zhu. ]] Listen, I think having the guts to attempt that at all is commendable.

I may be friends with both of them– [[ At least, he’d like to think he and Mei Zhu had put some measure of a patch on things after the previous round of Games. ]] –but I wouldn’t even dream of it. I’d be running in the opposite direction, which is probably the only reason I made it as far as hour three. [[ Mitch smiles and shakes his head. ]] All I got was robbed, at some point. Couldn’t hold on to a sponsor kit to save my life.

@call-corbin​

[It’s nice to see Dougie in this context. Chilling by the fire, pulling up a spot on the ground, smiling and chatting like just another regular misfit. In a way, it’s a good reminder that the Elite don’t necessarily have it any better than the civilians. Obviously, Pax is already a reminder of that (though, the privacy of the Elite suites will always be an undeniable plus….), but especially someone in Mitch’s position—he’s Infected, first of all, and though he’s still an Elite, he was demoted. A beloved, ‘founding father,’ if you will, was given a swift kick in the arse and gracelessly punted from his position of Head of House, where he had at least some semblance of influence over the goings on of the Colony. All because he was ‘one of Them’ to the Reformists. An Infected. Contaminated. Unpredictable and Untrustworthy. 

It must really fucking suck. And everybody knows Dougie actually cares about this Colony, and the people in it, so to be booted to a position where you have to watch a community you helped build crumble around you, while you’re powerless to do anything about it to help? For someone who has such a hard-on for helping, Corbin is sure it’s practically agony for the man.

Maybe this is another step in the right direction, though. In getting Mitch’s help with their planned moves against the NWRF. Maybe ‘his hands are tied’, but what if people like Corbin and Mouse and Pax make it their business to incinerate the rope?

He snorts at the running commentary about Alex and Mei Zhu.] Yeah, Donovan may call himself a Calyset, but he fights like a bloody Torren. And paired with Mimi? Brinks are fuckin’ savage. Don’t let that quiet-sophistication bollocks fool ya, Lupei. So, yeah, reckon ya shouldn’t take it too hard—you were set up for failure with them two, plain and simple.

Trick is to know yer enemy, ain’t it? [He glances at Clay beside him, smirking and giving him a slight nudge with his elbow.] Me n’ Clay here ambushed Carrington, which was right fun, wasn’t it? With the help of that uh, Torren Unfriendly Giant… Bode, I think? Anyway, like takin’ candy from a baby. But Dante ain’t such a tough guy when you strip him from his blazers and ties and yank him out of his office. [He shoots Costin a look and a wink.] Next time stick with me, mate, and I’ll see to it ya get yer revenge. Unless we’re playin’ Houses, ‘course. 

@cvnstantin​

[Koda is never an extravert, but he seems particularly quiet tonight. Constantin hasn’t realised yet that this is just how Koda is in crowds, and instead he searches his mind for reasons – it leads him to the conclusion, too late now, that probably the group being addressed as ‘boys’ was bothersome to him.

He feels stupid for not realising sooner; the conversation is moving quite fast and it’s not easy for him to keep up, so he’s not fully processing the things that are being said. A quick glance at Koda reveals a relaxed enough expression, and quiet as he is Koda is no coward; if something bothered him, Constantin thought he would say something. Koda doesn’t need him to cause a scene. In fact, that would probably be embarrassing. So he doesn’t comment, just readjusts his arm around Koda’s shoulder to pull him a little closer.

His mouth curves up in a smile as Clay comments on what a highlight it is seeing Corbin run. He’s not really thought about it before as he doesn’t know Corbin particularly well, but it is quite difficult to imagine him running. His performance at the party have proved he was certainly athletic, but that was for fun and spectacle. There’s something very earnest about running that doesn’t quite align with Corbin’s snarky cockiness.

And of course Mitch is a supportive figure among the jokes, managing to make Constantin’s cock-up into a commendable act of bravery. That’s certainly putting it kindly, but of course Mitch is endlessly kind.] 

Revenge? On those two? Fuck no. Next time I hide in the bushes and wait for end. I know I am not coward, I don’t have to prove anything. [No comment on the ‘Mimi’ thing. He can’t imagine someone as serious as her being called Mimi, and he also is intimately acquainted with just how savage she can be. It’s not really funny to him any more, and he no longer finds her ice queen routine charming or endearing.] Besides, I can really think of it as revenge? Very stupid idea, I know it get me ‘killed’. Cannot blame Alex and Dr. Fitrei for taking easy points. In fact I blame this Adrien person, he convince me is a great idea, so maybe I get revenge on him next time. Mitch, he is in your house if you have any advice on killing him.

[It’s all in good fun; he doesn’t resent Adrien at all for what happened. But… it would no doubt be satisfying to take him out in the next games.]

@kxdapaync​

[This month’s savage displays of what some call ‘The Games’ had sucked as much as Felix had expected them to, if not more. In fact, he’s pretty sure he had a worse experience this time than he did last time, because last time he’d pretty much followed Charlie around all night, and having a friendly and sexy body guard did good work distracting him from how blatantly someone like Felix Tate Turner did not belong there. 

Plus, at the last ones, he’d gotten to follow them up with his very own party—organized, designed and starring none other than Himself—Felix Tee. It was a treat for everyone, he’s sure, but no one could claim feeling so rewarded by it more than Felix himself. It’d been a glaring success—give or take a few… bumps in the road. 

But this time, someone else is throwing a party, and all he has to worry about is attending—and looking fabulous, obviously. Which isn’t hard, and is a much better use of his time than running around in the woods playing a Madman’s game of capture the flag or whatever. 

He’s proud to show up fashionably late and on Alois’ arm. They still haven’t… quite figured out what’s going on between them, but at least they’ve been open with each other, and Felix still feels much more secure at Alois’ hip. Of course, it takes absolutely no time at all to realize that this isn’t a party, so much as a… somewhat tawdry gathering of commoners in their civies—but aside from Alois, two of Fee’s closer friends are here tonight: Koda and Costin—and so for once he doesn’t feel horribly outnumbered and out of place. He will choose to see ‘tawdry’ as ‘rustic’ instead, ‘trashy’ as ‘trendy’.]

Evening, bitches, [he interrupts with a flourish as he crosses the rocky beach as gracefully as he can in boots that weren’t especially made for walking off-runway. He flashes a performative smile as he unlinks his arm from Alois’ elbow to grab the Calyset’s hand instead. He throws a wink in Koda and Costin’s direction, and a scarce, icy and thin smile in Corbin’s, before continuing to soak up his moment in the spotlight.] Oh my God, loving the homey, rural vibes of this! And there’s even a fire! What’s next—roasting marshmallows? [He carefully steps over a driftwood log and lets out a tinkly laugh, as if everyone is in on the joke and they know it.] 

Sorry we’re late! We… [he gives Alois a wry grin, making a show of sharing a secret and feigning modesty.] Lost track of time, [he intones. Only there is no secret, and his false modesty is even more contrived, because the cringey innuendo is a facade. They’re not late for fun sexy reasons as he’s leading people to believe—they’re late because Fee had insisted on being late, and because he’d had to wait for the third coat of his ruby red nail polish to dry. ]

[ He’d carefully selected a matching red lip stick with which to paint his full lips—something he doesn’t do too often, actually—and he’s wearing rough-washed boyfriend-cut jeans rolled in thick cuffs over his boots, over a fitted and revealing lacy black bodysuit with a plunging neckline, and a large puffy coat over top. He delicately sits down on the driest piece of log he can find, tugging Alois down with him.] Oh—and Happy Birthday darling! [he says Koda, his smile more relaxed this time.] I didn’t know early enough to get you a present, but I’ll definitely find you something nice at the shops this week!

@claytonboyd​​

Exactly. [He drawls back as Corbin’s elbow touches his own. This type of camaraderie feels familiar, it feels warm and the generous broiling feeling of fire against a cold face is mirrored in the pit of his stomach. Being surrounded by this many people, talking in the way that they are, does nothing if not highlight how much he’s missed having proper...friends. Even if these friends were purely circumstantial, it feels nice. He’s glad he didn’t just stay in with Stacey tonight, doing what they do most nights, sitting arm by arm, in near silence with next to no new things to talk about, until one of them yawned too many times and moved off to bed. 

One thing he can’t do here mind is sit in near silence. That would make him seem weird and aloof. Which technically, he was, but nobody other than Corbin was really allowed to know this. 

But a scrunching of stones under slight feet stole his attention and he moved his face from the group to a duo moving quickly into the light. The orange licked shadows across their faces, split them into shards, his own cheek tiger striped by the wavering arms of fire. He really liked Alois, the sort of person who’s personality seemed to need no maintenance. He was simply him and it fit him like a perfectly tailored suit. Clay offers him a smile and a head nod, moves over slightly in a way to allow the two to take space if they wanted but not enough for it to be embarrassing if they didn’t. Fee though, he was Alois’ antithesis in many ways, much louder, in both voice and look. But to be fair, whilst Clay wouldn’t be caught dead with a neck line that low (like fuck his nipples must be freezing) Fee worked it. He had that type of special self confidence that worked well with an outfit like that. There was nothing but respect he could give to someone like that. Even if he did silently say something about trying too hard. Being less judgey was this years resolution. 

Clay listened as Fee spoke, tried to think of a way to muscle his way back into the conversation.] My presence is your present by the way. [He says softly behind a soft smirk in Corbin’s direction before pausing for a beat.] But uh okay...[Softly he claps his hands together. This is a little out of character and his tongue feels a bit too dry because of it. But he’d sat round many a campfire and this experience would be rude not to share.] Does anyone know any good campfire games? I’ve got a few ideas. [He leans forward on his elbows.] Although most do go better with liquor, so don’t be too cynical. 

[It takes Jo a minute to get a good look at the newcomer, but as soon as she does she regrets saying anything. He’s young; a student, albeit one of the older ones. Still too young to be smoking, though, and too young for Jo to be asking for favours like that.] Good, [She blurts.] You shouldn’t. It’s terrible for you.

[Of course, hypocrite that she is, her words probably aren’t going to hold much weight. Doubly so considering that he’s years her junior. In her experience, people that age don’t tend to take the advice of their elders so seriously. Jo shakes her head, at both herself and the notion of getting someone else hooked on smokes.] I mean. It’s a terrible time for it. Tobacco’s about impossible to get these days, and I don’t think they make those… e-vapes or whatever anymore. There’s already more smokers than can be reasonably sustained– no need to add another. Also, cigarettes taste awful.

✑

Is it? Now that is news. [A sarcastic drawl that’s punctuated by a weak smirk. Age aside, he’d never liked smoking. His grandfather had smoked and it had swirled with his aftershave to create a signature scent for a man that was as nasty as he was. For a while his mother had vaped, reading up on too much about the benefits of CBD and herb inhalation. That he hadn’t minded, the smell didn’t linger, the smell didn’t cling. But he’d never really had any kind of inclination to start himself. That didn’t mean he hadn’t though; At parties, round campfires, in the front seat of friends cars when they’d had nothing better to do than chat shit and count the stars.

He looks over her, she doesn’t look much older than him really. But age was a hard thing to tell these days. Kids in their twenties had crows feet, men in their early thirties had more grey hair than not. Times were tough. Ultimately if someone wanted to smoke right now, he got it. More so than he ever had.] Vapes were a huge thing at school but most of them need charging, can’t imagine there are too many knocking around. But don’t worry, no need to defend yourself against your chosen way to unwind. I’ll just silently judge you in my head. But I do that any way. [Another soft smirk.]

REC TIME || jr & clayton​

CLAYTON​

[[ JR quirks a brow, clearly judging the man. It’s not that serious, but JR wasn’t being entirely serious. His sense of humour definitely doesn’t always carry well. Still. Bite? Cat? He’s not seen a cat in recent days, but he’s pretty sure they scratch. Dogs can bite. Would anyone else, JR thinks, put this much thought into such simple things? Probably not. ]] Ok. [[ And that’s that, he decides. ]]

[[ It’s not the most friendly ‘I’m aware’, but then again JR didn’t exactly come into this very friendly. Another thing he should work on. ]]  Nah, I get that. Still, not often we get days off. [[ There’s something actually quite refreshing about this moment. JR with a beer, sat in the only bit of sun—much like a cat chasing the sun—and making the post D-Day equivalent of small talk. ]] Better find more hobbies. [[ The irony of that statement is not lost on JR. ]]

[He decides in that moment, as his brow arches that little too high, that he isn’t sure he likes this one. There isn’t room in one conversation for two people to be as stand offish as one another and if the quizzical pull to his face didn’t say as much, the strange, slightly sour air that was radiating from him in ribbons did. 

Clay scratches at his own eyebrow, the skin slightly sticky and damp. The corners of his mouth tasted like salt. A shower would hit differently later. But in that moment of brief, yet awkward, silence something seems to shift. As if that fragment of sunshine is doing exactly what sunshine is supposed to do. Things warm. 

Clay blinks.] Probably for the best. The beer will inevitably run dry at some point. Whereas running...will not...run...dry. [He staggers over the last three words, as if judging himself for his own choice of phrase.] Any way, that beer does look nice. A cold one hits different in the sun. But uh, I don’t actually think we’ve formally met yet...I’m Clay, Clayton. The cat boy who runs when he doesn’t have to. There’s not much else worth knowing to be fair. [He matches JRs brow, quirking his own.] 

runaways | clay + corb

[Corbin snorts at the ‘too young’ retort, and it bubbles into a real laugh at Clay’s assessment of ‘one of him’ being enough. Corbin scoffs.] Wow, well. You and I, mate, are very different. Very different indeed. ‘Cause I reckon I’d be fuckin’ thrilled if there were more of me. I’m fuckin’ creme of the crop, yeah? So, more the merrier. And I have always thought it’d be proper fun to have a go at shaggin’ myself, know what I mean? See what all that fuss is about.

[He’s kidding, obviously. Mostly, anyway—but he suspects the tilt of his grin and the slant of his tone says so well enough. 

The somewhat emo turn of conversation, however… that comes as a surprise. Corbin’s brows lift imperceptibly, and he swallows back an impulse of uneasiness. It’s not like Clay to be real about much (at least not the Clay he’s come to know so far), and Corbin had not been expecting to be called out on… well. Being different? ‘Cor, he’s not different, is he? He fuckin’ hopes not. Pax had insisted that this ‘different’ is a good thing, but Corbin had had a hard time believing it. Still has a hard time believing it, some days. Carrington could probably speak to that… though if he ever did, Corbin would wring his neck for openin’ his big fat mouth. Not that he would. His medical-oath mumbo-jumbo means too much to him. 

Hopefully.

Corbin clears his throat, puts on a skeptical smirk.] Me? Different? Shite. Don’t know how, mate. Maybe what yer feelin’ is the decreased likelihood of fuckin’ STIs, [he jokes. Of course, they’re all regularly vaccinated for STIs, but focusing on technicalities just isn’t funny. Or as distracting as he’d prefer.] 

But, uh, shite. Thanks? I must be real special to ya, then, that comin’ from a professional young narcissist such as yerself. [He smirks.] And I’m allowed to say that, bein’ as I am one, too. 

[This time when he yawns, all wide mouthed and squinty eyed, his jaw clicks. Audibly. Travel plus sleep deprivation plus a month of uncharacteristically emotive revelations was tiring and he could feel it in the centre of his bones. 

With a soft groan he pushes himself up, slides off the bed and moves himself to its end, yanking out his trunk.] You know that really is a special skill of yours, the ability to bring every conversation, no matter the topic, back to your complicated past with sexually transmitted infections. Fucking weirdo.

  [Said in jest as he crouches, pulling out an old t-shirt he’s most fond of sleeping in. It’s worn at the hems,  stretched out at the underarms and at that perfect point of overwashed brushed cotton to be the ideal pyjama. In a swift movement he pulls of his t-shirt, neatly folding it back into a square before slipping it into his trunk and pulling the bed shirt over his head in a swift, deft movement. He’d wash his stuff tomorrow. A wiggle later and his jeans were in the trunk with his t-shirt, Clay moving back towards his bed, only this time plucking back the comforter and sliding underneath it. He always slept on his side and immediately shuffled down into that position. 

chokehold || clayton & draco

Then congratulations, this time you are right. What is point in paying money for drink that is more ice and olive than alcohol? Is waste of time.

{As they begin the descent back down to ground level, Draco obligingly leading the way, has to laugh again. He’d never managed to visit the States, nor had he ever really felt the desire to, but ‘lattes and an overwhelming sense of dread’ pretty much sums up the picture he has of the place.}

That does not sound appealing. Maybe you were living in wrong place. And Croatia is always best place to be. There is always sun and people are best kind. Italy is also good, or Greece and Balkan states up there. Always fun time. But if you want good place to visit, go to Dubrovnik. Is both beautiful and party city. I think you would like. There are other great places in country but Dubrovnik is best. It is also my city so that is double bonus. What is not to like?

{Always a sucker for a freebie himself, Draco half turns his head to meet Clayton’s gaze with raised eyebrows and a smirk.} That is fair. But you should tell me truth anyway, I will still buy drinks. I am curious to see if my theory is true and you are perfect person to test on. I think I am right, because I am very rarely wrong, but it would be even nicer to have confirmation.

Nothing I’m guessing. [He smirks sideways, allowing himself to take a seat at the bar, tucking his ankles up and underneath the foot rest. Whilst he’d had little time to explore the world on his own, the little time he had spent in sun-drenched coastal cities had always seemed to agree with him. His skin liked the sun. His hair liked the sun. His brain liked the sun. Clay didn’t doubt for a second that he’d have ended up somewhere coastal but where he was now felt like some kind of sick joke. He was thinking more white sand and sangria than shingle and sea weed.] I’ve been to Greece a couple of times, Rome, spent a long weekend in Barcelona, London but uh my European expedition was cut short. But Dubrovnik I must admit wasn’t on the list, tell me more, hearing people talk about their hometowns is about all on offer in terms of satiating wanderlust these days. 

[She stands, rolling her shoulders a bit to loosen the still stiff muscles and simply smiles as Clay sits and starts looking over her ‘handout’. Turning, Charlotte makes her way over to what food is already laid out, doing her best to keep the hard chair induced waddle to a minimum. She loads her plate up with some flapjacks- no real replacement for good old, fluffy American pancakes- but they’ll do. And she’s in luck- they’re still warm. A slab of butter and a light drizzle of honey, and she calls it a good enough meal; a quick word of thanks to the cook and she walks back to the table, her face already an expectant expression.]

My favorite? [Charlotte hums, thinking, and sets her plate down before taking her seat.] Mm, for French, I think it’d have to be raclure de bidet. Which essentially mean bidet scum. Not that bad, not really. But fun to use on people who don’t actually speak French. [She grins as she explains, using a fork to spread the butter pat.] They hear the word bidet and know what that is, and assume that it’s not good to be compared to one, so their imagination takes over on what the rest of the phrase means. Usually the assumptions are actually worse, so I think that earns it some creativity points.

[Butter sufficiently spread, Charlotte uses her fork to slice into the flapjacks, taking a mouthful and chewing. There’s a brief moment of almost-euphoria in the first bite. While nothing compared to Mia’s pancakes back home, these oat-filled knockoffs did hit the spot. A happy hum and she lifts her finger to her mouth to remove some honey from it. Another quick mouthful and she wags her fork in Clay’s general direction as she swallows.]

It’s the same thing for the Russian ones I know. The actual meanings aren’t any worse than English curses, but say them in the right tone and suddenly people think you’ve invented a new elder swear. 

Oh I do love a creative insult. Nothing like a bit of flair to add to the upset. [He smirks and as she sits again he decides he likes her. She is funny in a way that she obviously doesn’t try to be hard and bitchy in that thinly veiled, somewhat endearing style he’s always aspired to. Clay likes it. She’d probably be a fantastic person to get drunk with. 

He moves his mouth around the syllables of the insult before attempting to say it out loud, eyes cast down at the page.] putain d'idiot. putain d'idiot. putain... d'idiot. I like this one. I like the way it pops. [He smirks, he’ll be pocketing this list for sure.] putain d'idiot. 

[He watches as she tucks into her food. He’s never been a fan of overly rich, overly buttery things. They’d always made his stomach turn. Fried food especially, even the smell did something to him. But that did look particularly delicious but maybe that’s just because he could see she was enjoying it. That was the true source of food envy. His own breakfast choice had totally congealed at this point, turned to thick cement that was supporting his spoon independently.