✖ ✖ ✖

SOLID PLAN, MY MAN.

SOLID PLAN, MY MAN.

        ❝Oh, we’re very much real. We have our own council and         communities, our own BARS where we can buy blood…           there’s two kinds of us, really, the ones born as vampires,         like me, who   age but stop   physically aging at one point,         and the   sired ones.    They’re technically   dead, living on         blood, don’t age or change. I’m the first one, and as alive         as I am real.❞ They pause, and they they spread their mouth         open wide – revealing sharp, pointy fangs.

              These vampire folk are far more open than Dexter ever imagined they’d be. Hell. They’re supposed to be all broody and gothic and dark and-- fuck! What sort of example was Twilight?! All that emo vampire shit was everywhere! And now he’s here talking to a real life one and they’re giving him a big old fang-y grin! What the fuck. Okay, what the fuck. He backs away a few steps.                     “Why are you telling me all this? Aren’t y’supposed to be all secretive and dark about this stuff? You’re breaking all the supernatural rules! Isn’t there some kind of-- you know what. You know what.” He’s done, he’s so fucking done. 

     The werewolf glances over, his train of thought interrupted by the words. It takes him a moment to replay them in his head and figure out what was said, but then he nods. ❛I’m fine,❜ he murmurs, shrugging softly. ❛Just – got a lot on my mind.❜

             “Nothing about killing everybody, right? You kinda got that psycho-killer look about you.”    Terrible attempt at a distraction from those things on his mind is a-go. Dexter cocks a brow and takes it upon himself to move opposite the poor guy. Brow furrows, the shifter rolls his shoulders.  “Try living two lives, that’s when you got a lotta stuff on your mind.”

   “Seriously? That’s no fair,” they scoff, running a hand through their fringe with a sheepish look at the floor while he laughs, grateful Dexter doesn’t make a fuss of their incompetence. “Dexter’s Lab, the TV show Dexter, I thought all Dexters had to be evil geniuses and-or have some kind of lair.”

           Hey, he may not have a secret lab or an insatiable need to kill murderers, but at least he can turn up at a bar looking like Elvis if he wants to! Imagine that. He’d get all the ladies. Way cooler than some science shit, right? Dexter shakes his head, looking off into the distance wistfully.                       “Life hath dealt me a shitty, shitty hand...” 

   “… Laboratory. Dexter’s Laboratory.”

               Give him a minute, give him a minute. He’s trying real hard not to laugh. Because it’s probably a really easy mistake to make, presuming they haven’t seen the show in a while, but - it was said with such certainty! Dexters Labrynth. Lips twitch at their corners and he manages to keep the laughter to a small, soft bark.                                  “Right! Yeah! I remember that show. Yeah. Totally like that. Except I’m not a genius and I don’t have a laboratory.” 

   “– unique. Like, Dexter’s Labyrinth?”

            “--What’s Dexter’s Labrynth?”     He asks, slight (permanent) frown pulling brows together, the shifter’s head cants the the side. Never thought Dexter was a name to be called unique, so there’s something new he learned! The young man stuffs his hands into his pockets. 

      he moves over and gives a little gesture of his hand that is welcoming him over to take a quick picture. he tries to make himself pull a smile and then that’s said. oh boy, he’s read the fanfictions. this is where it all goes down and he’s trying his best to not completely freak out.   “I…”  is all that he can manage at first.  “… have a girlfriend. So…”

            Ah! He goes ahead and takes a series of about seven different styles of selfies whilst the poor guy borderline grimaces at the camera. If Dexter had half a brain the boy would be toning down his excitement so as not to scar him for life, but there he goes, asking about his sex life and such. The guy has a girlfriend, that’s cool. Not like he was planning to seduce the guy. He’s not into men! But. If ever there was a man... Mrs Carver would be pleased.                            “Aw, man. Lucky girl, eh?” He nudges Pietro with his elbow.   “Better hope she’s not one of those crazed hair-grabbing fans..”

   “It’s – Kennedy,” they reply, a little surprised that he’s able to think about something other than his woes for a minute. “Don’t worry about it. Yours?”

              “Dexter. Or Dex, if you wanna.”      He glances down and then up, deciding not to think about his predicament any longer. While he’s out looking like himself, he should think about himself! Tries not to look so damn depressed for their sake. Even braves a little smile!                         “M’family always call me Dex, anyways...”

     “–Picture. Sure.”  he nods in agreement. just as long as he doesn’t have to do anything weird or degrading, he’ll do it. the quicker this is done with the better.  “Are you really asking me this? Have you ever been on the internet? Listen… never google your name if your famous. Just… don’t do it. Save yourself from that life.”

           “Shit’s fucked up. That shit. Why are people so?”   He thinks the only thing he’ll ever be famous for is murder, at this rate. No time to make a name for himself when he’s living a double life! Dexter shakes his head.  “Nah, I only want a picture, swear. I’m not some creep.”  He gets his phone out, opens up the camera. Doesn’t move any closer until the poor guy lets him know it’s alright to (just now is he realising that he’s a little freaked out by his babbling) and just sort of hovers. Staring.   “You must get laid a ton.”     No, no no, that wasn’t the right thing to say! No! 

   “I know it probably seems bad, but, it’s just a test,” Kennedy offers, genuine, and with his best interest in mind, “Getting one question wrong doesn’t mean you did bad. And if you did – it doesn’t mean you failed. And if you failed, one failed test isn’t an expulsion, and you can resit and all – I’m saying with college experience, you’ll be okay.”

             Look at him. So sad, doomed, done for. Dexter surely does deserve this fate, after all, he did murder someone in a blind panic and then decide to take their place in a blind panic. Doesn’t handle pressure very well, apparently - gets very clumsy and stupid and right now, all he’s under is pressure. Can’t wait to see which mistake he makes next! He’s a good boy, really. It was a crime of passion! Kind of. Sort of. It’s not like he really wanted this situation forced on him.                     “Huh.”  A soft sound.   “Yeah... you’re right. Just. Just a test. Mhm.”   They’re clearly trying to cheer him up, and he appreciates it, but when the whole ‘test’ thing is complete bullshit the comfort of ‘you can always resit’ doesn’t really have much effect. Can’t resit life.  ...Or can you?                    “I didn’t even get to ask your name, sorry, that was rude.” 

     He’s clearly lost in thought, sitting alone at a table with brows furrowed, hair that’s grown rapidly falling almost into grey-green eyes. He lets out a sigh, and his fingertips tap impatiently against the wooden table-top. ❛No,❜ he murmurs to himself. He’s aware of EYES on him, but he’s just ignoring them right now.

            “You okay, dude?”     Does he need to worry? Because he heard that the first sign of crazy was talking to yourself, his grandma would always say so, at least. And this dude does not look all that happy, so. Just to be safe, he thought he’d -- check up, y’know? Be a pal. 

               “Daisy.”  he repeats the name but he is still staring and he’s still confused as to what to do in this situation.  “Are you looking for an autograph?”  that’s what people usually ask for right? pictures too?  “I’m not giving you a piece of my hair. I’ve already had… emails and twitter messages asking for some of my hair. And before you ask yes it’s a dye job.”

                Well that’s a bit of an exaggeration. He’s not in love with him per se, just. Hardcore mancrushing. Looking like a dainty young lady. Dexter envies his dead girlfriend right now. Pietro, The Avenger, is saying her name. Instead of his. Where’s the justice in that. Right, okay, you might be thinking: Well, he did KILL Daisy, so the least he could do is live her life on her behalf, right? But superheroes are the exception. He should have just told him his name was Dex.                          “I don’t have any pens or paper, man -- but I do! Have my phone. Can we like, take a picture together? Is that weird. Holy shit. You’re probably crazy busy. Am I keeping you from anything?”   He squints at the hair. “--What’s-- why would people want your hair?”