- Mitch.

who: @mitchellmorrison​ when: after mari receives her dare, greer’s party

Mari hadn’t spoken to Mitch much as of late, since the letters and…homecoming. Their friendship, tentative due to Greer as it was, had been utterly obliterated, despite what she had accidentally revealed to him. But when that text came in….that text. It couldn’t be Greer. But the other people who knew were so limited, Mari didn’t know who it could be otherwise. Her breath coming faster, hand shaking as she locked her phone screen, she glanced around the party, starting to move through the crowd until she saw Mitch, reaching out to grab his forearm, giving him a small tug towards her. “I know…” she paused, a hand reaching up to rub her forehead. “I know you said you wouldn’t but…did you tell someone?” she asked, the words hissed out through her teeth, her eyes wide with panic.

-

Did you tell someone?              Cue the encroaching smile. The momentary incredulity that his once friend could ever believe he’d fill Ogden’s hallways with a ‘hey, everyone, the dean’s daughter is a raging fucking lesbian’. Mitch thinks to be honest, straightforward. Tell her a firm ‘no’ and then be done with it - be done with this entire conversation. But he refrains. Instead, he opts to find any thread of enjoyment. “Yes,” he speaks, finally. A solemn nod in response. There’s a pause, a feigned look of guilt. And then he continues. “I told everyone over the intercom before. Right after Sal’s little speech, actually. Thought I’d try and outdo it. Don’t tell me you missed it, Zuko.” A hand rests limp against his chest. “Did you tell Kallberg?”

closed starter: @mitchellmorrison​ where: greer’s party when: earlyish in the night 

leaky sat at the edge of the pool staring at his phone. fuck, fuck, fuck. this couldn’t be happening. she didn’t really know right? she wasn’t doing this right? well, he hoped it was her, the thought of another knowing his secrets was almost enough to send him over the edge. fear and anger swarmed his veins, and he looked up, wondering if he was the only one or not. but everyone else seemed so calm, so collected, that he felt so alone. but there were the words on his screen. 

it was tempting, to reach for a drink, to drown it all. but he couldn’t, knowing the outcome that would lead to. quickly he thought through those he knew, all the thoughts he thought. who was the most inappropriate? what was the most inappropriate? and as he glanced around he saw them there, mitch. hanging out across the way. maybe he couldn’t say his true thought to the oldest morrison, but she hadn’t specified who. so in a swift moment he pulled himself up to his feet, shoved his phone into his pocket and made his way over toward mitch. “hey man.” he nodded at the other as he approached his side. “what’s up?”

-

He hadn’t looked up as of yet, eyes fixated on a liquor bottle now in his possession. The label had been damaged, dropped into the pool by a heavily inebriated scholarship kid, but he could just about make out the ‘vod’. “’Sup,” he offers, hand twisting the cap as he offers it out for the taking. Mitch’s newfound company could be the taste tester. “Thirsty?” A warm smile follows the enquiry; the expression stretching out across his features. “Nothing much, bro. Just staying out of trouble. Sal’s welcoming speech hardly did me any favours.” Not that she’d painted him in a bad light, per say. But some of his peers had grown uncomfortably curious. “What about you?”

open starter location: Greer’s pool party time: a bit later into the party 

The party had gone from mediocre to exciting, from calm to chaotic. She was caught in the middle of it all, seeing as more and more of her friends, acquaintances, enemies and lovers alike forced themselves to spice up the party. It was her turn then, her phone ringing, immediately making her heart race in anticipation and, even if she didn’t want to admit it, fear. Halloween wasn’t for another week, but Dulce knew today would be the real terror. Her eyes widened in shock, Dulce’s gaze slowly lowered itself away from the phone. Here goes nothing. What if G didn’t like her answer? What if she lied on purpose and didn’t name them all? Would G retaliate in some way? 

“Listen,” she stood up, leaving her phone behind. “We’re all caught up in some drama today, so I should include myself in there, too, shouldn’t I? Well, I wanted to tell you all that I slept with four people on this party,” she stood in the midst of them all, looking for all the familiar faces. “Of course I fucked Jesse. On-and-off boyfriend, that’s a no-brainer, you know how much I care about you. I fucked Diego on a beautiful one time date a while back, which resulted in nothing but good, solid sex. Thanks for that.” The other two were much more complicated, much more concerning. She took a deep breath before continuing. “I might’ve gotten drunk at a pool party similar to this one and fucked Nate Shaw of all people,” she didn’t dare to look around and for a moment she thought she’d faint from the stress, which raged inside of her, which she’d managed to hide. Yet she couldn’t hide the wave of guilt and sorrow as she looked towards Mitch. She contemplated not naming him, but decided being truthful would possibly hurt the least, especially to finally acknowledge it in front of everybody else. “And the person who I pretend to hate the most, was the person who I fucked last. Guess I don’t hate you after all, Mitch, not even close. Alright, that’s it,” Dulce walked out of the circle and grabbed her drink, emptying it in one go.

-

Guess I don’t hate you after all, Mitch, not even close.

           There’s something ghostly pale in the way he observes her, lips quick to fall slightly agape. He almost feels unmovable, as if a harsh wind would struggle to knock him from his feet. But he notes the way in which his hesitation creeps upwards. It’s cold, uncomfortable. A sudden awareness of his vulnerability the longer he remains. His eyes shift to those who encircle him and he notes the way in which their gaze lingers; a flock of eyes all too quick to perceive him. And God forbid Mitch ever remained under this lens - dissected by his peers, bones picked apart like a volt of vultures to a carcass.           He takes it as a sign to leave, head down, footsteps interlacing between the steady and confused chatter of his peers. Isn’t that Mitch? Yeah, Greer’s brother. Awkward. Their questions are inaudible as he looks upwards now, line of sight fixating on the dark hair of Dulce Salvador. It’s a thoughtless action when he grabs her. Hand coiling around her upper arm as he encourages her to follow him. Mitch thinks to say something, anything, but no words can surface as of yet; his tongue digging into the corner of his mouth. When they reach a quieter room to the far corner, only then does he release his hold.           “You shouldn’t have done that,” he speaks finally, a flare to his nostrils. Its unclear whether the response is a result of annoyance or sheer exasperation. “Nate, Jesse, Diego - fine.” Not entirely. Though it felt insignificant as of now. “But us? Sal, my sister could have a field trip with this. Fuck knows what she’d do to you.”

.

Yes, she wanted to tell him as his hands settled around her. Her body echoed the sentiment, heat radiating from the place of contact as if he were touching her bare skin. The way her name sounded in his mouth made her want to urge him to say it again. A devilish smile curled at the corners of her mouth as her hands dropped below the table, running along his thigh as she held his gaze, eyes widening innocently. “I’m not doing anything.” And her hand trailed higher still as if to prove the point.

-

There was something about the way in which his teeth sucked in his bottom lip that had him feeling completely deranged. It wasn’t a common thought for Mitch to wish the ground could swallow him whole but God, he now willed it to. Whatever could alleviate him out from this torturous situation without leading her to believe he didn’t want this - because he did and that would always be the problem. “And I’m Abraham fucking Lincoln,” he laughs now, his hand reaching upwards to her temple; brushing the hair back from her face. “Go get some water before I do something stupid.”

.

“I don’t know, I was thinking of Rhaenyra Targaryen. But also something DIY, more abstract,” Parisa explained, speaking as her hands emphasized the drama she wanted her costume to convey. But her face fell flat when Mitch mentioned her eyeing lacrosse players. And surely he wasn’t talking about Jesse Hart - rather, a rival of his.

“Mitchell,” she warned, glaring at him. “Kit is my friend. Plus, I’m sort of…” Sleeping with the enemy? “Exploring my options at the moment, in terms of dating.” That was a politer way to say what she was doing. Though she wasn’t opposed to seeing people other than Link. “Kit’s not into me, and I’m not into him.” A blatant lie, at least on one of their parts. “If I let you, uh, mitchmake me, would you drop this topic?”

-

“Who?” This baffled owl impression soon exchanges itself for a Cheshire-cat grin, Parisa’s glare capable of striking him dead within minutes. Achievement accomplished. “Exploring your options? Now that’s a very nice way of saying fucking someone else. I’m proud of you. Who’s the lucky person?” Or people - given her own choice of words existed in the form of a plural. When she continued, he rolled his eyes in response. Sure, he thinks. And pigs have been flying since the dawn of time. The retort his held on his tongue, however. Something much more intriguing soon to capture his attention. “You want me to Mitchmake you? I don’t know... You just seemed so quick to leave a negative review. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, Ris.”

-

Sam’s head perked up from her work when she heard Mitch’s voice, her bright smile turning into a grimace as he was chastised by the librarian. Expression reading between something apologetic and ‘yikes’ as she sat back down in her seat, placing a pen in the notebook she was writing in and closing that as Mitch sat down across from her. “Thank you!” She said, folding her hands in a thankful manner, before taking the coffee, fiddling with the lid as she waited for it to cool off just a little more. “Anyways. I’m not hiding from the outside world! I’m doing my school work. And nanowrimo is next month, so I want to prepare for that. And I work here, like… you know. Work-work. Not at the moment, but in a few hours. Honestly, it’s really convenient. It’s like I never have to leave, and if I can get you to keep bringing me coffees,” Sam let her voice lilt up in a question, “then I really never have to leave. It’s perfect.”

-

“Noodlerhino?” He repeated, brows furrowing at the sound. “Never heard of them. Is that a new name for E?” The perplexity was evident in the way he stared blankly; something vacant in the earthy tones of his eyes. As if he’d missed the memo entirely. Though Sam didn’t seem the type to dabble, Mitch wouldn’t judge. People had resorted to worse. “I forget you work here,” he leans backwards as he speaks, kicking out his feet. “If you were anyone else, I’d be here making some joke about a sexy librarian fantasy.”

-

“I’m tempting you. I’m absolutely tempting you,” Jacqui murmured, propping their chin up on their hand as they continued to bait Mitch - were they being facetious? Perhaps, but in all honesty, they wouldn’t mind at all if he did decide to cause a scene. The type of money Jacqui was from - which, of course, didn’t compare to the Morrison’s - LA, new money…was very different from the New England money that surrounded Ogden they were beginning to realize. And in even more honesty, they really just found it….amusing. “Well,” they began, leaning back slightly as they clucked their tongue against their teeth. “Music is rebellion. Rebellion is music. They’re inextricably tied together in our societal landscape. So it fits you, in that case,” she said, eyes settling back on Mitch’s, a smile turning the corners of full lips up, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Linkin’ Park?” she echoed. “At least you have good taste if you’re committing your entire life to being a rebel,” Jacqui teased. 

They lifted the drink in front of them, sipping from it as their eyes glanced down, the topic turning back to them not their first choice, well aware of how quickly they gave bits of themselves away, despite their best intentions. And even though they were relatively simple questions, Jacqui knew it was an opening of the gates. “Uh, yeah. I don’t know if I’d say it like…a title like that. I play guitar, I play the drums, I sing, but it’s more of just an outlet than…a definition, I guess. Not to say music isn’t a huge part of who I am. And I got into it for pretty much the opposite reason of you. My father works in the industry and….I always wanted to be just like him. And since it’s just us, he dragged me along to gigs and meetings and everything…from when I was way too young to be at them,” they said, a low laugh an undercurrent to her explanation.

-

The way Jacqui spoke about music almost triggered some cartoonish heart-eye response. The words luring the heavy-beating organ beneath his sternum to crawl up into his throat. It nestled there for now. Unclear whether Jacqui had solely prompted the response or it was the topic at hand. What he did know, however, as his own eyes sunk into hers, was how little they recognised the chokehold Mitch felt under. It felt almost uncharacteristically pure. “Of course I have good taste,” he responded, feigning hurt. A limp palm resting against his chest. “Would you expect anything less?” He’d hope for a firm ‘no’ but he noted the way in which they toyed with him. The sentiment prompting a familiar smirk to curl across his lips. “That must’ve been so fucking cool. There’s something about people having musical parents has always made me a little envious,” Mitch confessed. “Are you close? With your father, that is.” He would’ve presumed the response would be positive, given the way in which Jacqui confessed their musical interest. But close familial relationships appeared to be a rarity within Ogden.

.

Just another party on which he could so easily drink, consume beer after beer until all the people around him became somewhat interesting. A familiar face in a sea of unknown ones was Mitch. The relationship to him had been good and KJ considered him to be a reliable friend, but he couldn’t shake the certain amount of distrust that came with his surname. Still, it didn’t matter as much and he approached Mitch with a grin on his face. “Guess another party without Greer. Totally fine by me,” KJ shrugged, softly pressing his hand against Mitch’s shoulder. “Can’t really say I miss her attitude at times. You good?” He leaned closer, lowering his upper body to be on eye level with him just to signalize him he was there if Mitch needed him.

-

“Bro, I’m not in the fucking mood for this,” his words sounded distorted when they fell from his lips; slurred by the liquor within his grasp. “Fuck Greer. Yadda-yadda. You’re not the only one she screwed over, man.” Mitch leaned inwards momentarily - unsure of whether he was seeking some emotional support or his stupor had revoked the concept of personal space. Would appreciate you not tarnishing her name. He laughed now, the words akin to a broken record. “Weren’t you like her fucking lap-dog or some shit? You talk a big talk now she’s gone.”

closed for @mitchellmorrison​

wednesday morning, october 17th

───✰✰✰✰✰───  

today was the day. nikki walked into the classroom with an air of confidence larger than usual. her mission was one she had been contemplating for weeks. she was going to ask the cute boy in the back of the class out on a date. unaccustomed to making the first move, she had rehearsed it several times in her mind, and it all started with sitting in a seat that was most definitely not hers. she sat beside mitch with a friendly smile that quickly disappeared when his usual table partner appeared. “fuck off,” she snapped at the boy. “ya snooze, ya lose.” she smiled at mitchell again when the other boy marched off. “hi. i’m nikki. do you have a pen i can borrow?” 

-

Mitch was never one to pay much attention to his surroundings - in most scenarios, at least. It was as if he entered the realms of Ogden and simply preferred to play blind to anything beyond his own bubble. Avoiding the sequence of drama from one person to the next was far more digestible. The chaos melding into one another as he attempted to keep his head above the water. But, even still, he’d noticed her. How could he not?             His legs were outstretched in this scene, foot crossed over the other, as his eyes bore into an empty piece of paper; fingers etching some mindless doodle into the blank space. Her voice lured his attention upwards, half-convinced she’d told him to ‘fuck off’ and not one of his peers. “Mitch,” he returned, offering the pen within his grasp for the taking. Arms knotting together across his desk. “Sure. I don’t think I’ve made notes in this class since the start of the semester.” I don’t even know why I’m here, he thinks to add. “You’re on the soccer team, right?”

    he looks at the paper being slid towards him, reading it through before his eyes darted up at mitch, brows furrowed together. “ wait, so this is a serious gig ? ” he lets out a small chuckle, lips parted in disbelief and giddiness. “ — and what if the match you set me up with doesn’t work out ? how will you compensate, sir ? ”

-

“I mean, it wasn’t. Once,” he shrugs. “But seeing the look on my roommate’s face when I left with this was fucking priceless.” There’s an easy smile which twists across his features as he speaks. “Oh, trust me. It’ll work.” If Mitch didn’t feign confidence, what faith would Bowie have in this whole stick anyway? Fake it until you make it. “Just fill it in, dude. Tell me your type and let me work my magic.”

No sooner than he sits, Mitch slides a single piece of printed paper across the coffee table between them. There’s a Cheshire-cat grin spread wide across his features. An expression which could strike fear into those who knew him. “Just call me Cupid.” His fingertips linger momentarily, his eyes entirely focused on his newfound company. On first glance, it appears to harbour all the usual queries - name, age, major - and then it diverts towards preferences, interests, the ideal first date. An indication that Mitch’s long-lasting joke had an air of seriousness hidden behind it. “Fill this in and you’ll be fighting them off with a stick.”

“What are you going as for Halloween?” He’s sat backwards on a chair as he speaks, chin perched atop crossed arms. There’s an inquisitive arch to his brow as he awaits a response. But as he does, a familiar smirk tugs at the line of his lips. “Apart from, y’know, woman who shares longing glances at lacrosse players.” Hilarious, he thinks. Mouth parting to show a hint of teeth - an expression to really take home such obvious amusement.

“You could rival my sister with all of this-” he gestures vaguely- “hiding from the outside world.” It was a greeting professed almost two metres away, Mitch’s entry met with a stern shush from a well-dressed woman situated by a nearby desk. A mess of blonde hair sticks out from behind a tower of returned books and he dips his head submissively in response. The words teetering on the edge of his tongue now exchanged for a mouthed ‘sorry’. When he nears his intended company, he descends onto a nearby chair with a heavy thud; arm outstretched with an offering. “Coffee?”

– where: career fair, event hall – when: 20th october. – with: open. 

               for henrietta, career fairs were nothing but a stupid little formality. there was precious little left up to fate regarding her career trajectory: once she had graduated from ogden, she’d go to law school (harvard, like both her parents) and then start working at her father’s practice. and no amount of free branded ballpoint pens could sway her into considering a career in chemical engineering or whatever. still, she felt sort of obligated to go. just in case. “you think anyone has ever found their dream job from one of these things?” she asks the person next to her, expertly deflecting another leaflet on cybersecurity while she talks. “scratch that - does anyone really dream of working? surely no one is actually aching to get on the career ladder?”

-

“Depends on what the dream job is,” he shrugged, unapproachable in the way he stands - hands stuffed into his pockets, boredom curled within the earthy brown of his eyes. “Don’t think they’ll have Greer’s shadow in these leaflets. Although there’s a good few just desperate for the role.” Despite no shift of his gaze, Mitch enunciated the jab as he spoke. Henrietta’s relation to his sister almost enough to wish he’d vanish completely. “Working, yes. Corporate career ladder, no. Even if I look great in a suit.”