breath is bated

[He smiles softly, and something boyish becomes of his grin, right in the left corner, and he tucks it shyly behind his hand; he’s not sure why. It makes him wish he had a sweater to wrap his arms around though, hide his face into as he thinks about mornings in the Long Ago. Ones warmer and brighter and happier. Even when he was sick. 

He takes a sip of his watered-down orange juice. Or orange flavored water, really. He nods, licking his lips.] 

Yes, me too. Breakfast food. My sister Jessica-Mae—she is here too—but she used to make the best breakfasts for the whole family. She loved to dance in the morning to the radio and make bacon and eggs and French toast. She was an even better cook than my mom, I think. [He grins shyly again.] But maybe don’t tell my mom that. She’s also a good cook. I think she misses it—Jessica-Mae, I mean. I think she misses cooking. [They all miss a lot of things.]  She says cooking now in the kitchens is not the same. [He shrugs.

The question makes him frown, and it takes him a moment to sort out his confusion.] Your tattoos? [He’s never had anyone ask that that before.] Oh. [He shakes his head] It does not matter to me. Do most people ask to see them? It is okay if you just tell me your house. Or you do not have to tell me at all, if you do not want. [Though he thinks he remembers that he is in Brink. He thinks he knows that, but he is not sure. He would like it if Ethan would tell him, because Owen likes to know things, memorize things, but it is okay if Ethan would prefer not to say. Owen understands privacy.] 

[Ethan impulsively smiles when Owen does, reacting to the glimmer of genuine happiness that emerges for a moment. Moments of genuine connection are hard to find for Ethan. He doesn’t blame anyone but himself, and he often imagines how much easier things would be if he could be brave like Corbin or well-spoken like Natalie, but e feels powerless to change himself. Moments like these, though, make him want to strive for something more, and he grows more confident. Straightening his shoulders, he listens attentively and nods when appropriate to show that he is, in fact, listening]

Those sounds like good memories. You could try, I dunno, recreating them here. Except with not as good food, but eh, it’s better than picking around and hoping someone left a stash of canned roast beef or some other sh - , er stuff laying around.

[Nodding again, Ethan scrunches his nose.] She’s right. Nothing here’s really the same. Sometimes I wish I could almost, like, forget about everything before, just so that I wouldn’t have it to compare everything here to, y’know?

[Ethan’s not surprised, and yet is at the same time, at Owen’s answer. Everyone seems to want to know as much as they can around here, and although most people are very secretive about certain things and respect that, Ethan still doesn’t like discussing most, if any, aspects of himself, and he clings to his secrets as if they’ll protect him any more than the walls will.]

Brink. I’m Brink. I’m not sure how or why, but that’s what they said when I got in, so yeah. Don’t get how they can tell that fast what you’re really like, and sometimes I think they just give it out at random, like picking teams in school or something. What do you think?

[He misses a lot of things from before, really. There is a lump in his throat that makes him want to say ‘home’. He wants to speak of Alyssa and Father, he wants to speak of the kitty he used to feed milk, at his door, and the warm spot where the sun hit in the afternoons on his sofa. 

He wants to say a lot of things, but he knows the boy means food. He thinks about that for a while, his nose scrunched up, his lips pursed and shifting from side to side.] 

Um. Pancakes, I think. Fluffy ones, like my mom made. And Pillsbury cookies. [He smiles softly] You? 

Um, by the way, I am Owen. O-w-e–n, Owen. What is your name? 

[Ethan notes the slight hesitation, and he’s afraid that maybe it was a wrong question to ask. Pasts around here tend to be kept under a lock and key, and Ethan knows he’s no exception, yet it’s also one thing that they all have in common: almost everyone had an exceptionally happier life before all this. He was sure there were a few exceptions, but still. He’s glad, then, when the other boy answers, and he nods in agreement.]

Mm, pancakes definitely. Pancakes and all breakfast food. [Grinning at Owen’s question, he shrugs noncomittally and scrunches his nose as he thinks. Food’s a very serious topic, obviously.]

I miss pizza. Like, real pizza. Or maybe Indian food, the kind from greasy takeout places? Man, I could go for some chicken tikka masala right now. But if I had to pick one thing? Real breakfast, with real eggs and bacon and toasted just the right side of burnt. [He sighs at the memory.]

Owen, right. Got it. I’m Ethan.

[Automatically, he turns over his wrist to show Owen his tattoos - Brink, uninfected, but something makes him hesitate.] Is it weird if I like, don’t show you my tattoos? I know everyone else does, but it just...I don’t know. I mean, I promise there’s none for bad behavior or anything like that, just...[Ethan’s unsure of why he’s asking, or even if it’s a big deal or not. But something makes him feel like Owen would understand, or if not understand at least tolerate it.]

[Ethan’s voice carries on through one topic to the other, and she can feel his fluttering nerves as they make themselves known through his rushed words. Natalie doesn’t mind though, not a bit, because she’d say she regards Ethan warmly enough as a friend—and it’s always good to catch up with a friend, is it not?]

[The word seems almost strange for her to recognize, because Natalie doesn’t know how many people around here she would actually consider her friend. She’d like to think that her roommates were certainly a part of that label—perhaps by default, though she supposes she’d take what she can get. She adored Andee, saw a kindred spirit there—certainly a friend. She thinks she can consider Pryor a friend, the thought of the lad makes a grin appear on her face because he was just a delightful presence in every sense of the word. Perhaps at one point, some contractual obligation would have deemed J.R. the title, but thinking about her irrational stupidity was a bit too much for her, so Nat flutters away from the topic quick—leaving with only some bitter taste in her mouth. She wonders if there’s more she can tack on to the list, but she’s not sure.

Maybe that’s a bit pathetic, maybe it is not. The lines of social norms have blurred into the dust since the skies fell over. Or so she tells herself to feel better about things she doesn’t know how to go about fixing—or doesn’t even want to fix, not really.]

No, you’re good. [The words are followed by a chuckle as Natalie flashes him a smile, tried and true as it stands.] Really. [Natalie reiterates, dropping the word for emphasis and sealing the sentiment with the smile on her face before continuing on.] 

But don’t even tell me about Geometry—that was a pain of a class to go through. It sucked in high school, and it sucks now. [She empathizes, because even the end of the world could not bring about a sense of appreciation when it came to math. Although his continued interests sound a lot more fascinating than any talk about the mundane subject.] Architecture? That does sound cool—are you interested in that sort of thing?

[Watching her carefully, Ethan figures when she says he’s good, that maybe he really is. Ethan knows enough by now to know that she doesn’t seem to be a liar; she just seems guarded. Which is fair enough, as Ethan himself takes the word ‘guarded’ to an extreme sometimes, so he doesn’t blame anyone for that. Nat isn’t the type of person who would lie about the terms they were on with someone else, and he hesitantly and gratefully returns the smile, dipping his head towards the ground after a moment.]

Geometry is literally the worst. Like, literally. I mean, I get it, but why? How come no one ever invented, like, a chip in your brain that just makes you learn things. Like Geometry. Or maybe other languages. Like German. I failed that, like, three times in school.

[He’s slightly more relaxed now, shoulders dropping slightly as he releases some of the tension he was unconsciously carrying in his muscles. His smile grows when she asks about architecture, though he can’t help the slight blush that warms the tips of his ears. He doesn’t enjoy speaking about himself, even if it’s something as frivolous as this.]

[Milkshakes. Owen remembers milkshakes. He remembers strawberry was Alyssa’s favorite. He remembers beaches. He remembers patios and sun. 

All those memories feel like worlds ago. Universes. 

He smiles softly.] Yes, that would be nice, I think. That would be nice. [He chuckles.] But messy, yes. There needs to be order. Order is good—[he wants to say ‘I guess’ because he has a hard time agreeing with everything the Colony makes him do, but he can not bring himself to, because he is the poster boy for ‘order’. He would be a hypocrite to say anything less.

The offer from the other boy is nice, but Owen barely resists flinching. He doesn’t, does not, but he has to shake his head a couple times, fingers curling a bit nervously. He smiles, and hopes that makes it better.] That is very nice of you. That is very nice, but I can not. [He will eat of someone else’s plate if he has to, if he is starving. But he hasn’t been starving for a long time, here. He has a small appetite anyway and the Colony provides what he needs. Plus, he is diligent about his time schedules, so he does not miss meals just like he does not miss anything else.] 

You are not hungry? 

[Order is good, Owen says. Ethan wrinkles his nose slightly, and he’s not entirely sure he agrees - some instinctive, base part of him will always belong to the chaos of the world, but it’s not something he embraces or enjoys anymore. Running free through the streets and alleys of the city had been formative, and Ethan had been at home in the carelessness and lack of structure.

Here, though, here was different. Ethan had dipped into the chaos too far before, and it had left him broken. The Colony provided safety and rules, the kind that he had taken for granted and never paid attention to before. So, he would agree outwardly, certainly, but that didn’t mean he felt like resisting slightly. So he nods, though the action lacks true conviction to anyone skilled at reading body language.]

Yeah. Yeah, they do some good stuff around here. [When the other boy resists the offer of food, Ethan figured he’s just not hungry at first. Fleetingly, he wonders if maybe he feels the same way Ethan does, though, although it’s a spontaneous thought and far too personal to bring about in casual conversation. Or, perhaps, never. He’d appreciate it if he’d neer have to talk to anyone about those sorts of feelings.]

Oh, okay. No big deal. And nah, not really - breakfast’s the only meal I ever finish, and sometimes even then, it’s just...[Ethan holds out his hand and waves it in a middling gesture.] Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to complain about hot food, but it’s no milkshake, that’s for sure. [And Ethan’s not usually one to ask questions, but he finds himself suddenly curious.] What’s one thing you miss from before?

If the world really was ending, some people would go out with a bang - and others with a whimper. Right now, it seemed like Ethan Kerr would find his way amongst the latter group. The rush back to the colony, and by extension, the church, had been mostly mechanical on Ethan’s part. He could hardly remember any details of the actual details, having been focused on the jacket of the person in front of him. Dark grey, of some kind of faux-leather, maybe, with a hastily-applied patch that was already wearing at the edges. Ethan hadn’t dared looked up or down from it, keeping his eyes on the constant so that he wouldn’t be left behind.

Corbin: you wait, mate. you with an Elite?

Corbin: we were on hunting rotation. we're in some cave right now.

Ethan: yeah i'm with one of the elites from calyset

Corbin: where are you?

Corbin: you ok?

Ethan: corbin oh my god it's you

Yup, kid. My first day. Beat the kid’s face clean in, ha. The officers here don’t react too kindly to a lil light hearted fun. 

[Axel chuckled at the boy’s discomfort. There was something edearing about a young boy, clearly capable young boy, being left totally disarmed by his own confidence. Axel wasn’t sure what happened for this kid to make him so soft, but he knew it was probably nothing good. Unfortunately, Axel didn’t care enough to ask, he was far too wrapped up in the questions the other boy asked him. He looked down at his forearms, the faded tattoos reminding him of a world he left, he would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt his heart. They were just ghosts now anyway.]

Oh it was nothing…[He said, his heart lurching. The kid had pointed to the tattoo he used as a tool to forget, remember and move on. Though it was never an effective means to move on from a lost love, it definitely reminded him on what he had done. He had gotten off too easy. The world, he learnt, was unfair. His fingers traced the outline of the faded face, the lips, the smile. her face looking up at him. It had become such a part of him, and his time at the Colony made him so busy, that almost forgot she had been smiling up at him the whole time. Perhaps he enjoyed forgetting because he got to see her when the corners of his vision faded and the harrowing sound of silence filled his mind. Perhaps, he though, he had moved on.]

Just ghosts… Time past. Ya know how it is, mate. [He could felt his heart beat heavy and sad in his chest. He really wasn’t in the mood. No one needed to know about her. NO one. Not even a skittish boy he took lunch from. So he changed the subject.]

You know, kid, you’d be better off not being a nervous wreck in a place like this. The big man will take advantage of that. You’re not doing the rest of us any favours, they’ll try and fucking suffocate us even more if we let them. We got show ‘em they can’t make us bumbling messes, yeah? So…i dunno… fucking cheer up or something.

A little light-hearted fun, huh...[It’s not really a question, more Ethan mulling over the words. He’s not sure about someone who apparently thinks beating others up is a past time - Ethan used to be indifferent to violence, and now he actively dislikes it. Still, there’s something to be said about someone who seems honest enough about it. If there’s one thing Ethan hates, it’s the idea that he’s being manipulated. He’s had more than enough of that.

Which is why when the man takes his time to answer, Ethan understands there’s a story behind that tattoo he doesn’t want to talk about, which he just gets. There’s lots of things he still hasn’t talked to anyone about yet, not even Corbin. It sends a pang in his stomach as he realizes it, even though it’s something he’s struggled with before. He’d told him everything, so why not now? Everytime the words want to come out, Ethan can’t force himself to say what had really happened to him back at the scavenger’s camp.]

Yeah, I get it.

[And then the man goes into...criticizing him? And maybe he feels suffocated, but Ethan’s mostly fine with the way things are run.]

It’s not...I’m not a wreck, or whatever. [But the man hadn’t said that, and Ethan ducks his head slightly anyway. Probably proving his point, but whatever, he thinks.] I don’t know. I like it here. Sure, there’s rules, but it could be worse. Could be like, out there, y’know? And...well...I guess? I mean I could try.

[And Ethan feels a little defensive, but for some reason, the edge of it is taken off by his appreciation of the man’s candor. He probably at least deserves a name, if he even wants it, but they’ve been speaking to the point where things get a little weird without a name, and Ethan would like to put a name to a face besides “Scary” if at all possible.]

I’m Ethan, by the way. I’m in Brink.

[For as long as her memory would stretch, Natalie could never remember being much of a fan of the mundane. She was perhaps a wilder spirit at heart, and her wishes lay far and wide—with a wandering heart, and flighty feet. Nat had always thought her life would be some reflection of such wishes, a now seemingly naïve thought considering what the stasis her life was under. In the now expected routine of the colony, this stasis was the only thing she looked forward to most days.

It was a novelty—a constant in a life where there were none. Maybe she couldn’t guarantee that she would wake up to the pleasant thought of companionship in any form ever again, but she sure as hell could count on chores, training, food and repeat to shift her into gear.

It wasn’t much of an assurance. She was grateful either way.]

[Today was no different, and she found herself in line at the cafeteria—waiting for the same food, among the same people that she saw every day at around this time. Mundane, routine, simple. With her food warm on the plate braced in her hand, Natalie made her way towards the end of the cafeteria where the crowd was thing, taking a seat a table that was empty save for some guy that seemed to be napping. The silent company wouldn’t do her any harm, and Natalie planned on keeping silent to aid this stranger’s napping–so the decision was an easy one as she slid into place in front of him, intent on getting to her food.

She didn’t expect the startle, the now familiar face jerking to attention. Ethan looked a bit like a deer caught in headlights, and Natalie almost didn’t dare break the stunned silence in apprehension of scaring him away. He muttered some form of an apology, and a grin eased onto her face.]

Nah, that’s alright—sorry for startling you, Ethan. [She chuckled, raising her hands in playful surrender. Nat was silent for a moment, gathering her utensils as she let the tension in the air crackle and settle into something tamer.] You can nap, I’ll be quiet—I promise. [Natalie knew a little something about being unable to sleep, she was more than happy to offer Ethan the space if he needed. Besides, she had some warm, horrendously drab food to get to.]

[Ethan recognizes the somewhat familiar face of Nat, and it’s a shot of relief to his gut, but also that of vague shame. He doesn’t want his House-mate (and friend?) to see him slacking off so blatantly; it doesn’t mesh well with the ‘absolutely nothing wrong’ image he wants to project to them. The less personal conversations he has to have with people, the better - and God forbid someone would notice something off and send him to one of the counselors.

He could hardly think of a worse punishment.]

No, it’s okay, I’m sorry. [He’s already said he was sorry, though. Ethan wants to groan at himself, and his cheeks flush red as he looks down at his tray as if it would hold all the answers to conversational redemption.]

No, it’s fine. I need to wake up anyway. I have geometry later and if I’m still sleepy then, I’m not going to learn a single thing. Not that I feel like I’m learning much in there anyway, but there’s this architecture class that sounds sort of cool, and if I don’t do good in geometry, then that’s it for that.

[It’s a bit of a rambling save, and he realizes too slowly and late that Nat might have chosen his table for another reason. He doesn’t often wish D-Day had given him abilities like it had some of the others, but Ethan would kill for something that would let him rewind time - then he could pick the least idiotic response or see which conversations to avoid entirely. Or maybe, like one of his favorite comic characters, psychic powers to see what would happen in the future, all the better to avoid trouble in the first place] I mean unless you sat here to get away from everybody else. I get it, man. I do the same thing, so if you want, I can totally just shut up, y’know?

[Owen nods. He does not like the shots either. Often, he tries to avoid the checkups and vaccines, though the Elite never make it easy for him. Sometimes, if his Mum is working, she will administer his medical requirements for him, since she is a nurse, but she can not always do that, and is not always available. The only time he’s gotten out of it without her is that time Ivy distracted the staff and helped him sneak out. 

He had been grateful, but uncomfortable—he does not break rules often, and it makes him nervous, even when he does not like the rules.] 

Yes… I guess they are important. [His brow wrinkles] I do not know… they—the Elites say the shots are for.. sterility and prevention of, um, STIs. [He longs to correct his stumble, but he can feel himself blush already, and he is not willing or able to repeat himself to fix the mistake. It’s with some discomfort that he moves on without correction.] I told them that I do not them—[sex is something foreign to him, scary and unknown, and just beyond his reach of comprehension right now, though with Landon his thoughts had strayed closer]—but they would not listen. 

[Ethan scrunches his nose as Owen explains his own experiences with the shots. He agrees with the other boy entirely and finds himself in the same situation, but it’s not something he wants to discuss in the slightest, but it appears that in his rush to find an excuse, they’ve found their way to that topic anyway. Oh well - his fault for fibbing in the first place.]

Yeah, same here. [Although it actually feels like a relief to say that he doesn’t either. He manages a small smile.] But, hey, if they listened to everything we said, this place would probably be a mess. I mean, I’d want breakfast for dinner everyday, and maybe milkshakes for lunch, yeah?

[He wipes his eyes and tries to bring himself from tiredness. Usually talking to people drains his energy, but he doesn’t mind speaking with Owen, at least so far. Maybe it’s a connection he’s only imagining in his head, but he certainly appreciates it at the moment, and he wonders briefly if he’ll be able to add Owen to the very short list of his friends.]

Hey, do you want the rest of this? [Ethan pushes over his mostly uneaten tray in offering. He doesn’t realize it, but it’s certainly a typical Ethan move to offer something in hope of being liked. It always has been, but especially now in the Colony, when he feels surrounded by people infinitely more competent and likable than he, is when the habit really started to show itself.]

[Orange juice. Marcel hasn’t had it in so long he can’t be too sure what it tastes like. He remembers it’s citric, but it’s a distant memory he can’t attach himself to. All in all, there’s very little he can attach himself to, these days.]

I reckon an orange could explode, [he complies in the end, nodding. It’s still a funny thought and maybe the colors do feel like a blowed up fruit, mashing all over the sky so prettily. 

At the mention of Delma he tries to remember why one would avoid the house to the point of wanting to have breakfast without them, and he has vague flashbacks of the people there. It’s not necessarily people he hangs out with and they do have a history of being rather arrogant, he thinks. Makes sense to avoid them.

The invitation for breakfast makes him hum in thought, to buy himself some time of silence. He likes company, usually prefers to avoid spending time with himself, but today he woke up feeling like he needed some alone time. It could change, of course, and he wouldn’t want to let a friend hanging.]

Sure! I don’t see a reason why I should decline.

[Usually he’d just find someone from his house that he could talk to after he got his food, but it would be a nice change to already have company beforehand.

He’s thankful for the inquiry on how to address him, as it’s a very polite one, and it makes him smile again.]

Oh, no reason for sumptuous honorifics. Just call me Hamlet.

It could. I mean, there’d probably be someone blowing it up. Probably someone from Torren.

[Ethan didn’t put much stock in the house system - he never had, but it’s become an easy sort of way to categorize people in his mind. He tended to think of them as something in the abstract applied only to the crowd, and not to individuals. He couldn’t even really see what supposedly set Brinks apart from the others, and he didn’t think it was possible to have a simple test supposedly sort you into that.

Not that it really mattered. He remembered whining about it to someone else before.]

Breakfast it is, then. [A twitch of a smile crossed his lips, mostly because it sounded like something Ethan himself would say. It wasn’t often he’d offer his company; usually he was the one hanging in the background and maybe hoping that someone would come up to him, but also wishing desperately that they didn’t.]

Okay, so, uh, off we go? To breakfast, Hamlet. [It’s a genuine attempt at reaching out to him, and Ethan nodded his head in the direction people are trickling in.] I hope it’s pancakes. Or french toast - or hey, even waffles. I love waffles. One time, there were some donuts, and I brought back, like, twelve to the dorm room and found three of them missing. It wasn’t you, was it? I mean, I wasn’t mad, but no one ever said anything, and well...[It’s the most Ethan’s said to him to him since, well, ever. He chuckled nervously and shrugged, wanting to say sorry for going on, but he remembered someone telling him to quit saying he was sorry so much.]

Er, sorry. [It comes out anyway.] I just really like breakfast? It’s like the one thing I look forward to here.

[Axel just watched the kid with a raised brow. Letting him waffle along in peace without Axel ruining his vibes. This guy was interesting to Axel, he was unlike anyone else he’d met so far– well, at least he doesn’t think so. The guy was content with just muttering and talking nonsense while Axel listened like a good friend would.

The kid was clearly a mess. Axel knew he was a mess himself but that was completely different to watching someone falter like its the only thing their good for. Some how it kind of made Axel feel good about himself.

Then he bought up the tattoos. He knew that would happen, it wasn’t like he was hiding them. Other than his Colony prescribed ink, Axel had several left over from before D-Day curling around his biceps and up towards his neck. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them anymore, it was just that he was far more interested in adding to his newer collection than his older ones. He like how the lines on his wrists were medals to show off. He liked how people looked at them before they looked at his face. He wished he had more.]

Yeah? You think they’re cool? [He ran his other hand over his left arm, his spares like living breathing reminders. He reminded himself they were good.] I got this one - he points to the first spare– my first day here, ended up in correctional… This one – he points to the other one– got that a couple of weeks ago, same thing bro. My other ones are just form before D-Day. They’re a bit shitty now. 

[He knew he was bragging about them and he was okay with that. There was much to brag about in the Colony anymore so relished in the notion that he could at least rattle the other guy a little. After all, he wasn’t always in a good mood like this.]

[Ethan looked curiously at the other man’s tattoos, biting back a million questions about where he had gotten them. Ethan had considered tattoos once upon a time, but he had never gotten over his aversion to needles enough to actually go through with them. The ones he had gotten at the Colony were only out of necessity, and by the time he had arrived here, the appeal had definitely faded away for him.

Still, he’s intrigued.]

Correctional? Your first day? [Ethan looked up, intrigue winning out over anxiety. Well, there’s definitely anxiety, because you had to do something pretty bad to get into correctional here, but still...

He watched attentively as the other man points to his tattoos. Ethan noticed the ink from before D-Day, and he wondered if the other man was always the type to be getting himself into trouble. He had been no stranger to trouble himself, but that was before...well, everything.]

What’d you do to get that one? [Ethan nodded at a random tattoo on the man’s left arm. He didn’t think much of the question, especially since he seemed so eager to show them off. Ethan thought better of it after a moment, though, especially since he realized that this guy could probably kick his ass if he wanted to.]

I mean, uh, only if you want to answer. You don’t have to. I was just curious, y’know. [He tapped his finger against the tabletop in lieu of having another nervous action to do.]

[The reassurance that Ethan had already been awake and wasn’t instead driven from sleep by his fussing left Marcel in more peace. He’d hate to be the reason why someone else couldn’t sleep – his own insomnia was bad enough. “No one chooses to have nightmares”, that much was true. It didn’t make anything better but it was a nice thought.]

Hell yeah, ice cream, [he tries the words out like they’re in a foreign tongue, and his smile grows. Enthusiasm is always contagious, like many happy feelings, and he can’t help catching it a little, his personal feelings for ice cream set aside.]

[Something in him wants to say, “I’m more of a hot desserts guy”, or “I actually always preferred the toppings to the actual thing”, but it seems silly. There isn’t usually reason for foolish topics such as these, so it feels heavy and alien in his mouth when he thinks about saying it out loud. He refrains, then, and looks back out the window when the man points out a bursting orange.]

Why would an orange be bursting? The fruit, you mean? I certainly see no point in that.

[It sounds like a joke to him, so he laughs quietly, briefly. Something about the made-up sight of a fruit exploding into new parts mid-air is funny.

When his title is called, he glances at the man again, and his smile is genuine. It’s always nice being respected and he can’t help that his chest puffs up slightly at the words.]

No, I haven’t had any food yet. Much too early, with the sun rising still. I am, however, starved. What about yourself?

[For a moment there, Hammy sounds just like everyone else. Ethan smiles slightly, but then he feels a little sad as he wonders what made the other man be like that. Ethan had never seem him act poorly (well, occasionally haughty, but that was probably to be expected, right?) - just out of the norm. He probably hadn’t chosen to adopt the Shakespearean mannerisms - most people didn’t adopt their habits. That was a conversation he didn’t want to have, and besides, what did it matter?]

I don’t know...maybe it’s, like, a really juicy orange or something. I don’t know. Like the kind they make - made orange juice with, I guess. [He groans.] And ugh, now I want orange juice.

[Ethan notices his smile. He looks nice when he smiles, Ethan decides, and he feels a little guilty for poking fun at him, even though it definitely seemed to cheer him up.]

Not yet. Got a late start, I guess. I usually like to eat breakfast before Delma comes in, but it just wasn’t happening. Eh, whatever, I guess. Do you wanna just go together, then?

[Because a little company honestly doesn’t sound too bad right now. And honestly, he’s been wanting to know his roommate better for some time now. Ethan’s kept his distance from them, mostly because he prefers his privacy to the point of paranoia if anyone bothered to read that much into his habits. It’s hard to spend so much time around people without being curious, though.]

Er, for ease of...uh, speech, [Ethan tries to sound as Shakespearean as he can sound. A seven year old could probably give a better reading than he could, though.] What do you wish to be called, sire? [Because if Ethan lets ‘Hammy’ slip, he won’t ever live it down.]

[Owen often goes to breakfast very early, so he can be among the first ones there. He likes to do this because then the room is quieter, calmer, and there is the freshest fruit available. He likes to do this, because then there is less clutter and messy dishes, and because then he can hear himself think over the usual rowdiness that is the Torren table, and the vibrant laughter that comes from that of Delma. 

He likes to go very early, so he gets up and goes to the baths even earlier. He revels in the privacy of the open space, the echoing tiles. He soaks himself in safety and then enjoys a quiet breakfast as soon as it has started being served. 

But today he is not as early as usual, because he slept in late. For Owen, this is almost unheard of, but he must have worked harder in training trials yesterday than he even knew, because he was very fatigued this morning and his eyelids felt like heavy, hot stones he could not lift so early. 

He settles for the table furthest from the most boisterous group of Torrens, but only notices the boy with his head on the table when he has already set down his plate. 

He settles onto the bench not too far away, and watches him quietly. The shift of the bench must have startled him away though, because he looks up quickly and, blinking against sleepiness, starts to explain himself in muttered, rambling sounds.]

Do not worry. It is okay. It is okay. I have fallen asleep in stranger places, I think. [He shrugs innocently] I do not sleep so well sometimes to. [A pause] Are you alright?

[Oh boy. Ethan’s lucked out on that he’s next to one of the nicest people here at the Colony - or so the other boy’s reputation goes. Then again, it’s always the nice ones you gotta watch out for.

Oh, who is he kidding? Ethan manages a smile at him, though it’s worn at the edges a bit. He picks up his fork and begins to poke at his food in an attempt to keep his hands busy, even though it’s likely gone cold by now. Maybe it’s the fact that he just woke up, but he feels jittery this morning, the kind of sensation that drives him to frantically tap his heel against the floor until he notices he’s been doing it for five minutes, or the kind that makes time seem to slow to a crawl.]

Uh, hey. And yeah - I mean, you totally gotta take your winks when you can find ‘em, am I right? [He chuckles, and it sounds breathy. Ethan shoves a quick bite of food into his mouth, listening to the other boy. When he asks if Ethan’s alright, he stops, having to well, think.

The automatic answer is that, of course he’s okay. The answer he does (and doesn’t) want to give is that he doesn’t feel that great, but Ethan doesn’t think he’s up to the task of explaining all that to someone who isn’t Corbin right now, so he quickly thinks of a half-lie.]

Yeah, I’m fine. Just...I don’t know. Sometimes those shots they give us put me under the weather, I guess. I mean, I don’t even know why we have to get them every two weeks, but it must be important, right?