SCOTTY DOESN'T KNOW!!

Isobel had a quick rebuttal for Scotty’s criticism but she had an answer for everything.It was impressive how good she was at thinking on her feet for somebody that was usually so ditsy.Years of improv has served her well.

”What if holy water just weakens his vampire powers instead of killing him?”,she suggested.Vampire lore wasn’t something she was well versed in.Twilight was the only thing with vampires in that she had seen and she only watched it because she was forced to at a sixth grade sleepover.Vampire movies didn’t appeal to her ,they were boring or had too much blood.They were made with nerds like Scotty in mind.

”Why would I know that?I don’t watch Damian eat.”,she responded with an eye roll.Lately Kat had forced her to look at Damian’s weird frog like face more than she she would to.”That’s more Kat’s thing.”,she added.Scotty probably wouldn’t get it but she thought it was funny and that was all that mattered.

”The Gewn Lady?Scotty she’s like two years older than you at the most.”She rolled her eyes again but this time it was with affection.Sometimes Scotty talked like a grade schooler trying to be polite.She understood why he was an outcast but he was an endearing outcast that needed to be protected at all costs.She had legally adopted him.”You’re such a polite young man.”

”And yeah she’s pretty intense but it’s cool though.”,she said with a small smile.Kat would smack her for gushing over Gwen and admitting that she was a mystery she wanted to solve but it was safe with Scotty.

"So he like, tortures himself a little? Like, like, masochism?” That was... kinky. Ew. Thinking of Captain Fitzgerald and the word ‘kinky’ felt wrong. Like putting strawberry jam with like, mustard or something if you ran out of peanut butter. (Not that Scotty’s ever done that. Though he was tempted to until he realized he can just crush up some peanuts and mix it up with some butter and call it a day.)

Okay, fair point. Maybe it was just Scotty who spent the first couple of weeks at school a nervous wreck. The dining hall was intimidating, okay? Sometimes people watching was the only thing you could do after you guzzling down all of your food way too quick. “Kat? Katherine Bishop Kat?” His friend from Keough? “Wait, does she like Damian? Like, like-like.” Scotty asked with wide-eyes and lowered volume. Was that allowed? It wasn’t illegal? Weren’t House Captains basically teachers? That broke some code, he was sure of it.

“Yeah, but she’s scary,” he defended himself in a whisper, leaning across the table in desperation. Scary automatically adds like 5 years on you at most. “Her eyes are always like... like two millicentimeters from squinting at you hardcore.” Millicentimeters was not a unit of measurement but Scotty has never advertised himself as the brightest. “And she’s a House Captain. You gotta like, respect them, right?” At least he sort of regarded Tristan as an older brother slash uncle slash dad type figure. “Hey, my grandmother taught me manners, so--” He shrugged as he sat back a bit, a cheeky half smile on his lips. “Doesn’t hurt to be too respectful. Because you could always be less respectful. But when you lay the respect on thick after being a dick, it feels fake.” Wise words from his grandmother. Shoutout Gran.

“It’s cool?” Scotty blinked, a bit confused now. “What, you like, have you talked to her or something?” And lived? Okay, that was pushing it. He was just kidding now. Gwen probably wasn’t that bad. Scotty’s face twisted into a curious look, arms crossing over his chest as he eyed Isobel for a moment. “Are you gonna poke Gwen with a stick?” He asked, not liking where he was sensing this to be going.

Astrid’s hand reached up to her mouth to cover the giggles that were escaping. “I’m sorry, but…Josh Gorban?” She smiled sweetly at him, showing that she didn’t mean it maliciously. “Is he normally your corner stone for a cool rockstar?” She giggled again. When was the last time she had giggled so freely? Sometimes it was so few and far between that it was hard to remember. “No she would be more like…Madonna but like, Madonna in the 80s, before she got all weird.” She laughed, thinking of Sophie dancing around their house to ‘Material Girl’. “She used to, she’s a few years older than us, she’s at NYU now. Trust me if she was still here you would know her.” She didn’t mean to sound bitter, she loved Sophie, she was her best friend, but they were so different. The sun and the moon. Astrid just wished that her sister hadn’t left her quite so large shoes to fill. 

Her smile grew as he talked, she liked it when people talked passionately about music, or anything really. She liked to watch how their bodies would get more animated, or how their eyes lit up, it reminded her that despite all her fears, people weren’t so different if they cared about something. “A rock band? So are you guys more punk or indie?” She quirked her head to the side, genuinely interested. “Or heavy metal?” She said, attempting a joke. She may not know him well but he didn’t really seem like the heavy metal type. 

Astrid eyes trailed over the drum set in the other corner of the room, with a trig book sitting on the drum stool. “Drums are cool, my dad has a set, but he doesn’t use it very often. I think he mostly just bought it to annoy my mom.” She smiled a little, feeling just a little bit homesick, as she often did. “Will you play me something?” She asked shyly. “I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

She felt the all too familiar itch of anxiety, and she tensed up again, pulling the sleeves of her sweater down. “Oh I don’t know…” She blushed, staring down at her sneakers. He may be sweet but she didn’t know Scotty, and he didn’t know her. What would happen when he realized she wasn’t very interesting once you got past her musical talents. “I just mean – your friend probably wouldn’t want me hanging around. You guys don’t even know me.”

Okay, so maybe Josh Groban wasn’t the choice most people would go with but Scotty still stood by it. “He’s got a powerful voice. He may not throw TVs out of hotel rooms or snort cocaine off of buttcheeks but his vocals are like, super solid.” There was a reason ‘You Raise Me Up’ was a hit. "Got all weird?” Scotty repeated in question. “You mean--” He then brought both his hands up chest height and poked his index fingers out. Cone bra weird, right? Because he’s seen that music video. His grandma is a big Madonna fan.

“Uhhh,” Scotty thought for a long beat. “I would say we’re more punk probably. Super garage band vibes. You know how it is.” Why did he say that? He didn’t even know what that meant. ‘You know how it is’? Why was he trying so hard to be cool?

Scotty nodded his head in response to Astrid’s little drum story. It was really adorable in a ‘I wish I had a dad and my mom was still around so they could do stuff like that to each other and I could smile about it’ kind of way. But life isn’t a bowl of Lucky Charms, and here he was: parentless but with a pretty cool grandma to boot. “Yeah, I could totally play you something.” He chuckled a little at her consideration. “Drumming’s like, breathing for me. It’s completely fine.”

He began to walk over to the drum kit in the corner of the room. “Oh no, we’re all super friendly,” Scotty assured, twisting around and flashing a toothy smile to further sell that. They were friendly but in the realm of Broadripple, well... They weren’t BBC status. No one was lining up to join their movie hangouts or banging on their dorm rooms for dates. “How are we going to know you if you don’t hang, right?” He reasoned before popping a squat on the stool behind the kit. “It’ll be breezy, we’re not scary or anything,” was his final reassurance before he picked up the drum sticks he’d stashed by the kit earlier.

“So... want something upbeat or something classic? I mean, not like old school but like popular. Like--” He started in on the easily distinguishable opening of Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean. It was the easiest, hands down. Great warm-up. He’d recommend it for anyone who was starting out. “Or want something... edgy.” Scotty started a steady tap of his foot to the bass drum pedal. He wondered if Astrid was familiar The White Stripes. After a moment, he started in on the snare drums, building the song so it could be recognizable as ‘Seven Nation Army’. It wasn’t the same without Ezra playing the bass but he was hoping she’d get it. It wasn’t like he was playing anything complicated.

“Oh well she’s the best at singing, she could go professional if she wanted to.” Astrid smirked slightly, thinking of Sophie as a international pop-star, if anyone could do it would be her older sister. Not just because of her natural talent but also because she was practically built to be famous. “I prefer the piano, you get too much attention when you sing. Maybe thats why Sophie likes it so much.” 

A real smile tugged at the corners of Astrid’s mouth and she relaxed slightly, her fingers uncurling from the tight fists at her side. She even managed to shake his hand without shaking too much. “Nice to meet you Scotty, it’s good to know that theres another rambler around.” She laughed somewhat awkwardly, trying to remember the last time she had willingly introduced herself to someone knew. 

“Oh thank you,” She blushed at his compliment, adverting her eyes to the floor. “but I’m not ready yet. I have a solo for a few weeks and I keep messing up this one part in the middle.” She picked up her sheet music and pointed to the part that was annotated within an inch of it’s life with red pen. “It’s my white whale.” 

“I’m in the orchestra and choir, I supposed you could say thats a band.” She said, relaxing even more, talking about music had that effect on her. “You’re in a band?” She smiled, happy to find something in common with her new companion. “That’s so cool, what do you play?” 

Her shoulders hunch up with anxiety at his offer. While Scotty seamed nice enough it was hard enough meeting one new person was hard enough, but a whole band. The idea was almost enough to made her want to run away. “Oh well um,” She bit her lip nervously, she didn’t want to sound rude. He was being nice, very nice. “maybe, I don’t know, some people think the music I play is a little…stuffy.”

"Like so she’s Josh Groban good?” Most would think that was an odd choice as an example but Scotty would argue that ‘You Raise Me Up’ was like super popular for a while there. Brow quirked upward, he couldn’t help but register what he thought might be... a bit of sibling rivalry? Something that definitely wasn’t all love for sure. “Sophie sounds like she should be auditioning for the musical. Does she go to BA?”

“Us ramblers gotta stick together, right?” Scotty shot back with a big half grin. Look at that! Shaking hands! Friends! But oof boy, his hand was feeling sweaty. Normally he’d hold out for a good handshake, but Scotty had to take this bad boy back before he grossed his new friend out. He wiped his palm against the leg of his jeans before letting it fall to his side again.

"Well, sort of,” he came clean. “I am in Rock Band with my buddy, Ez. But we also jam solo with each other outside of the club sometimes when we’re just chilling, hanging, vibing--” Scotty spent so much time with Wendy that he’s just adopted a lot of her little sayings into his own everyday speech at this point.

“I’m on the drums!” He shared, making a drumming motion with his hands when he did. “That’s actually why I’m here, I forgot my Trig book by the drum set.” He turned to the drum set in the corner of the room where he was banging away earlier and pointed for reference before twisting back to smile at Astrid.

Sensing a bit of shame (?) over her ‘stuffy’ music, Scotty was quick to swat that away with some good-natured hey hey whoa no. “Hey, that’s cool too,” he assured with a step forward. “We can like trade styles or something. You can teach me something stuffy and I can teach you like, less stuffy.” Because Scotty’s type of music was definitely more of the non-stuffy nature.

“Stuffy’s not bad, you know. It’s just different. But it’s badass in its own right too. Like Mick Jagger and Mozart are two totally different guys but they’re both like... music legends, you know?”

It was possible that Astrid had startled the boy even more that he had startled her. “Sorry for shouting” She said, her voice back to it’s regular volume that was just above a whisper. “Everyone always says I startle easily, probably because it’s true…Obviously” She could feel a blush spreading over her pale cheeks like wild fire, it made her want to pull her massive sweater over her head and hide.

His compliments only made the blush spread faster. She wasn’t used to attention, no matter how many solos she received. If she was more like her mother or sister she would hold her head high with pride, and flash the award winning Sinclair smile. But she was not her like her mother or her sister, something she was constantly reminded of every day she walked down Broadripple’s halls. She was just Astrid. Plain, scared, invisible, Astrid who shrunk away from the spotlight whenever she could. “I um, I guess I’ve kind of been playing forever.” She said, pulling the arms of her sweater down over her hands, a classic nervous tick for her. “My dad, he’s a music professor, so it was play an instrument or off to the orphanage.” Her eyes widened nervously when she realized the implication of what she had said. “Not that he would actually send us to the orphanage, that would be a total over reaction. Dads great actually, definitely not a music dictator or anything, just an enthusiast. My sister plays the clarinet and sings, well we all sing but she’s-” She cut herself off when she realized she had begun to ramble nervously. In fact it was probably the most she had spoken at all the whole day. 

“I’m sorry I’m rambling.” She let out a nervous laugh and attempted what she hoped was a friendly smile. “I’m Astrid by the way.”

"She’s what?” Scotty asked, stumped as to why she stopped speaking. He was kind of into that, invested even. He didn’t get why she cut herself short. It was like ending a docuseries episode just when things got juicy.

“Oh, it’s cool,” he assured her quickly when the explanation came, words accompanied by a casual shrug. “Rambling’s kind of how I usually talk so I don’t think I noticed,” he admitted, too honest for his own good as usual. He lacked any real non-hostile socialization with kids his age for a significant portion of his life so any talk that doesn’t back him into a bathroom stall or a roomy locker is good talk.

“I’m Scotty,” he introduced himself in her return, crossing the room in long strides with no shame so they could shake hands without all of the space between them. 

“You’re pretty dope at that,” he couldn’t help but mention again, this time pointing at the instrument, especially now that he was standing beside the piano. "Are you in like a band or anything? Because I’m kind of part of a band.” He was using ‘kind of’ very loosely. “Do you jam? Because you could jam with us. Unless you’re more committed to the solo life which is like totally cool and super understandable, I’m just--” Trying to make friends. “--extending to extend.” Whoa, slow down, cool guy. Too cool to admit you’re trying to make buds.

“Us music room people have to stick together, you know? Because... if you don’t got your music folk’s back, you don’t got... jack.” Holy crap, why did he just say that? Just stop talking, stop talking. “I’m... so-- you-- yeah.”

“Well, evidently neither do I.” He pointed out, Leo was slightly confused at the reference and whether it was relevant, but he didn’t really care enough to say something about it. “I already know how to make fortune tellers and ninja stars. I just thought it would be fun to make something new. I only picked the crane because I thought it’d be way easier than it actually was.” He paused for a moment to think before agreeing. “Sure, Do you want the easier one or the fancy one?”

“There’s a fancy one?” He asked, interest piqued. “I could be down with the fancy one.” Always leave room to impress after all. But then, Scotty remembered something important and lifted his index finger to preface his question. “Is the fancy also the harder one? Because in that case, I pick the easy one. Because my brain sucks at paying attention and I wanna learn how to fold a ninja star.”

Astrid sat at the grand piano in the music room when everyone else was finishing their dinner. She liked to eat fast and leave early so that she could wander around the school without any risk of bumping into someone. Tonight she headed straight to the music room, to practice for an upcoming recital. She had a piano solo that she was struggling with and she hated having to practice in front of her peers. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all watching her, wondering how a girl like her had landed a solo. It made her feel like a fraud. 

So she practiced alone, carving out time during the day when she knew no one else would be around. It was her speciality, knowing where one could hide in the school even though it could feel like all the students were packed in like sardines. She smiled, feeling like a spy as she snuck out of the dining hall and down the halls to the music room. Sometimes she felt as if she could blend into the walls, that was how good she was at sneaking. 

So believing that she was alone she happily practiced her solo, letting the sound of Beethoven fill the otherwise quiet room. It wasn’t until she got to the end of her solo that she realized she had company when she heard clapping coming from the doorway behind her. 

“Jesus Christ!” She shouted, practically jumping out of her skin. “How long have you been standing there?”

It was often that Scotty forgot things. In fact, he always double-checked his desk and pockets before leaving classrooms. Leaving music rooms on the other hand was different. He’d leave music rooms with a drenched head, full of adrenaline, and with his heart pumping wildly after going at the drum kit like a madman on Red Bull. It was easy to forget stuff after a jam sesh. And it was probably why he forgot his Trig book after getting in his hour of practice in earlier today.

He wasn’t expecting the room to be occupied upon his return. Everyone usually headed back to the dorms after dinner to get started on homework or unwind, so it was strange to hear the sound of piano being played as he neared the practice space. Man, that sounded super cool, he couldn’t help but think as he twisted the knob open and let himself inside. He fully intended on announcing himself, be in and out in a jiff, but he’d never heard anyone play so expertly before and it had him all sorts of fascinated and planted in place.

The clapping was not planned. But after a performance like that, it was hard not to. He completely failed to realize how totally creepy it was that he just did that though.

"Whoa!” The girl’s shriek made Scotty freeze up, the fond look on his face replaced with freaked eyes. His shoulders had tensed and shot upwards, rigid right below his ears. “Uhh, not long. Like--” He lifted his left wrist, stealing a glance at the time on his Swatch. “Maybe 5 minutes? Or not even? You were kind of into it by the time I got here,” he admitted, then easing into his regular posture. 

“How long’ve you been playing?” He asked, seemingly over his faux pas now. “You’re crazy good. That felt like a fancy theater type of performance.” Not that Scotty would know because 1) he could never afford such a luxury and 2) even if he ever did have that kind of money, he didn’t have the sophistication to choose a classical concert over... a limited edition comic on eBay.

Kat nodded her head, offering what could only be called a pathetic attempt at a half-assed smile, “Kat Bishop,” she assured him, “-and you’re, Scott,” she knew that because she and Andrea often joked about him behind his back, making all sorts of unsavory comments about his role as one of Lezra Spergmann’s bitch boys. She tried not to think about that now that he was right in front of her and actively engaging in conversation, though she’d have to remember to bring it up to Drea later.

“Yep. Wow. Yellow,” she confirmed, thinking it was hardly any sort of a feat that the two Keough students would be wearing yellow to a house oriented event when their house color indeed, was yellow. She decided not to comment outwardly however, she didn’t want anybody to overhear her and think that she was chummy with the guy. “For Keough,” she added instead. Fuckin duh, Scott. 

“Yeah, fine,” Kat offered rather dismissively, anybody that was familiar with the usual boisterous tone and loud volume of her voice would recognize that the blonde was not particularly invested in the conversation. “Um-” she’d already run out of things to say, so she folded her arms across her chest a little awkwardly, “So- are you thinking about running for house captain next year?” 

“Scotty,” he corrected. Just Scott felt weird. Too sharp, too cool. Like it didn’t belong to him. Scotty on the other hand felt right. Like the final twist that completed a Rubik’s cube, putting everything in place with all of the colors grouped together. It felt solid in his bones.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Scotty answered honestly. “I mean, I was just happy to get in the academy. It’s work enough keeping my head above water, not really trying to make stuff harder for myself. The House Captain gig seems like tough bananas.” Taking care of everybody else on top of taking care of yourself felt like a load that not a lot of people were destined to carry. And not that he cared to mention this, but it felt like being ridiculously good-looking was a huge prerequisite to winning votes. Like, have you seen Tristan Hyun? He looked like the world’s youngest president super model. Even his face had abs. It was insane! 

“Why? Are you thinking about running?” Scotty asked enthusiastically, unaware of Kat’s disinterest. “Because you’ve got no competition from me if you are. I’m happy just trying to pass the 11th grade. The workload they give us here is insane. Like better than public school, definitely, but so much harder.” But he supposed that was the point. Value for money and all that. “Were you a public school kid before coming here?” He asked, curious if her origin story was similar to his own. “Or are you like, a full-breed?” Private school from the very start. One of the richies. The elite. The kids who wiped their sweat with hundred dollar bills and have probably never had to eat cafeteria pizza that tasted like cardboard next to a kid wearing sweatpants.

@scottydonovans·

The last thing Katherine wanted to do was attend an impromptu Keough pride picnic in the Heritage Garden while she and Jay were at odds with one another. She did, however, have a sneaking suspicion that he’d be thinking the same thing and likely wouldn’t attend which did ease her anxiety just a little. She sighed softly as she looked down at her phone, checking the time to see when this whole affair would wrap up, while she sipped on weak lemon squash, bored out of her mind. At least she could tell Damian that she’d been there and that she’d said something or other to the house captain about her intentions to campaign for the position next year. Whatever, at least the lemon frosted cupcakes her good, even if the rest of the event was kind of shitty.

When she looked up from her phone she made what was possibly the biggest mistake she’d made all week, which was truly saying something for Kat Bishop. She made eye contact with Scotty Donovan and might have accidentally smiled at him. She quickly averted her gaze and pressed her fingertips to her lips as if she could physically tell whether she’d smiled at him or not by feeling it out. “Fuck,” she cursed under her breath, praying that God might have the good grace to strike her down where she stood before Scotty Donovan decided that he and Katherine were pals now.

In the words of his grandma: Mingle and smile, Scotty. Mingle and smile. That was the key to making friends. And that was the point of these things, right? Make friends. Wear yellow. Feel united in the Keough spirit. He didn’t really get it but he'd attend any social gathering you'd invite him to.

“Hey! Uhhh... Katherine, right?” Scotty pulled the name from somewhere in the back of his brain. He knew he recognized her from somewhere. The blonde hair, the super pale skin. He used her Academy Card once courtesy of... this other guy, older guy, cool senior with the cool haircut. Also in Keough... Jay! That was it. Jay, cool Cheetos guy with the cool haircut.

“I like your shirt,” he remarked, pointing at it. “Same color.” He pointed at his own outfit. A checkered yellow flannel over a plain white shirt and a pair of jeans that had a yellow paint stain -- a happy little accident in the words of Bob Ross, from helping paint sets for the seasonal music production.

“How’s it going?”

When Scotty extended his pinky, Wendy arranged her face into a serious countenance—an expression that might’ve seemed a little misplaced on her when it didn’t involved pacts with close friends. Or when she contemplated college prospects, felt slighted, believed a teacher had some personal vendetta against her, or when her mom gave her a list of chores she didn’t want to do. Or of course when she got a curry stain on one of her favorite shirts. Other than that, Wendy wasn’t much for gravity. She hooked her own pinky around his and nodded, treating it with the somberness it deserved.

“You have my absolute word, I am pledging to you. This is our actual sacred covenant even,” she said, then leaned in to kiss her fist and let go. Admittedly, much of Scotty’s last freak out sort of happened in Wendy’s periphery. She was like, kind of aware it was going on, but she had also spent most of that night staring into the small vanity mirror she had set up on her desk, narrating her admiration for her skin and hair to an inattentive audience. She didn’t fully clock in until Scotty was halfway through a window, but she did bear full witness to the gagging and retching. It was a blessing Conny had been there to take the reins. She felt a blip of worry over him not being there right then, but quickly brushed it aside.

“And if we find ourselves in dire straits, I will for real hold you down myself. Like, I’ll go all prone on your bod. We definitely don’t need another It’s All For You Damien attempt.” She ripped open the bag of gummy worms, handing a few over to him as something of an appetizer, and bit into one herself. “I’m gonna name my first gray hair Scotty for that one,” Wendy continued, through a mouth of artificially-flavored gelatin, and reached under her pillow for the main event.

She held up the sleek, innocuous white bag in one hand and flicked it with the forefinger of the other. Wendy could tell from the sliver of transparent plastic that the gummies were pretty small, and she hummed. “Okay, so. Bit of a game change, but I’m actually gonna start with two, I think, ‘cause they’re micro-doses. But just—take what you’re cool with, yunno? Take one.” Wendy opened the bag and took a couple gummies for herself, then popped them into her mouth. Handing it over to Scotty, she then redirected her attention to her laptop, scrolling through the titles on her watch list. “We’re just chilling-vibing-kicking back. Blah blah blah. You know the deal. Just relax and… We’ll have fun. What do you want to watch?”

Okay, cool. Sacred covenant. Those definitely couldn’t be broken. Because that would be... bad. Very Not Good™. He took the offered gummy worms from Wendy with a small mumble of thanks, plucking one from the bunch and ripping it in half with his teeth to stress-chew on.

“Does that mean I have to name my first one ‘Wendy’?” He asked curiously in between chews, unsure what white hair etiquette was between friends. Though, his attention was quickly whisked away when Wendy held up when he assumed to be: The Bag. 

Wide-eyed, his gaze followed as it was handed over to him. It was kind of ridiculous but he felt like the thing radiated with an intimidating sort of energy. Certain vibes as Wendy would say. Sus vibes if Scotty had to narrow it down but he supposed it was because he had certain trust issues surrounding drugs considering the last time he came in contact with marijuana. 

With caution, he plucked one gummy from the bag and stared at it for a second or two before popping it right into his mouth to meet his molars. He chewed, softening the piece of confectionery and breaking it into smaller bits before swallowing. Mmm, pretty tasty. Could use more fruit flavor but they were here to get high, not pretend they were judges on Master Chef Junior.

“Erm... do you have Spy Kids 2? I feel like the island they go on will hit super differently with the stuff we’re on.” Not that the Island of Lost Dreams wasn’t already next level funky.

Leo couldn’t remember the last time he was this bored. Granted he had the attention span of a goldfish so he did get bored pretty easily. This wasn’t too out of the ordinary. He crumpled up a piece of paper at yet another failed crane groaning in frustration. Hearing the sound of footsteps approaching he glanced up and addressed them. “ Do you know how to make a paper crane? I’ve been trying to teach myself but it’s not going well. The only things I can make are those fortune tellers and ninja stars.”

@broadripplestarters

“Paper crane? Nah, I don’t have the facilities for that,” Scotty replied, loosely quoting the popular audio clip he’s heard on several TikToks. Did he have a habit of using meme speak incorrectly? Mayhaps. But he’d do it anyway. At least until someone corrected him. And so far no one has. “Why are you trying to make a crane? Fortune tellers and ninja stars are so much cooler.” And then, “Hey, can you teach me how to make one of those ninja stars? I feel like that might be a really useful thing to know.” Because... obviously there’s going to a future instance in his life where knowing how to fold a ninja star is going to be very necessary.

how did nele not know about this tree before? perfectly curved trunk to accommodate a persons back, and located in a quiet enough place to get away with a nap. but there’d be no time for slumber today, for the sound of a fellow students voice bellows from the grass beside her. nele only manages to catch the end of their sentence, “sorry, i’m up in the clouds right now. what did you say?”

open starter @broadripplestarters·

“CHASE THAT PAPER--!” Dressed in his stuffy uniform (with pants that were honestly a size too small), Scotty raced up the hill and toward a fast flittering stray sheet of paper that would seal the fate of his Sacred Scripture grade. “Please! I didn’t sleep to finish that thing!” Not that not sleeping was a particularly impressive feat for Scotty, especially since he functioned on 4 hours of sleep on a good day. “Come back here!” He yelled, as if his unruly essay could hear.

 A lazy grin crossed Isobel’s face when she heard Scotty’s encouragement.She had a lifetime’s supply of hype but it didn’t hurt to hear somebody else confirm what she already knew.She didn’t care that she had the same opinion about yes men as dictators.  

 “I knew I could trust you to recognise a good idea when you heard one.”,she replied brightly.The video that distracted her long forgotten as she placed her phone on the table.She didn’t understand why people made fun of Scotty.He was awkward and clumsy but in an endearing way,not in an off-putting way.He was like an embarrassingly enthusiastic wedding DJ or an untrained puppy that still peed indoors.He was truly a non-threatening boy that belonged on the cover of Non-Threatening Boys Magazine.

“That’s just what Damian’s face looks like.Do you know how some people have resting bitch face?Damian has resting constipation face.”,she informed him matter-of-factly.Isobel thought it was strange that he was an eighteen year old boy with the face aura as a youth pastor.She thought it was even weirder that Kat wanted to tap that.”Oh my god that reminds me of my theory.”,she announced ,popping up into a sitting position like freshly toasted toast.”What if Damian is a vampire?Hear me out ,it would explain why he’s super pasty and talks like an old man.And don’t crosses and shit weaken vampires?Maybe that explains why he’s more Catholic than The Pope.”

”You had me until you said less illegal.”,she giggled.She wasn’t out to cause trouble and break the law but sometimes you had to break the law to have a good time.”I like the sound of a group that hosts parties but without all the reasons frats are bullshit.”

Being a part of the BAU, Scotty was no stranger to weird theories. Theories that seemed downright engineered by like, a spooky special edition of a Cards Against Humanity game. But Damian as a vampire? That would definitely explain a lot. There was one problem though...

“Wicked theory but I’ve seen Damian dip his hand in the holy water font and do the sign of the cross thing. Vampires shouldn’t be able to do that, right? I mean, unless they can...”

Scotty’s eyes slimmed to slits as his brain churned out reasons why that could possibly be true. A modern day vampire. With no weakness except a stake to the heart. Oof. That was juicy.

“Have we seen Damian eat? Or does he just push his food around on a plate? Because I’ve seen the Seton captain do that. The Gwen lady? She’s pretty intense too. Not in a Catholic Damian way, but in like a... she’ll-smack-you-with-that-folder-she-holds-to-her-chest-if-you-tap-her-on-the-shoulder-from-behind kind of way.” 

The more he thought about it actually, Scotty came to realize that, “you know, all of the house captains seem really intense and like, tight. Even Tristan.”

Though Sebastian tried to stay out of trouble as often as he could, supervising staff hadn’t found it nearly as funny as he did when he’d shaved a ‘culturally offensive and unsavory’ mustache onto his face, at least that’s what it had said on the official detention form. In retrospect, he should have learned more about Charlie Chaplin before using him as an excuse because when Sister Michael asked Sebastian to describe his favorite Charlie Chaplin performance, he’d said ‘the Communist Manifesto’, thinking of Groucho Marx instead of Charlie Chaplin and referring to Karl Marx instead of Groucho Marx in what could only be described as one idiotic flailing after the next.

Still, it had been worth it for a few comedic Snapchat stories, he decided as he strolled out of detention with his backpack over his shoulder, having almost fallen asleep at least six times in the past hour.

It was just as cold that afternoon as it had been that morning and he popped the collar of his blazer to shield his neck on his way back to the dormitory building, only to be distracted by the presence of a classmate not too far off in the distance, “Yo,” he called out to the student a few yards ahead of him in the school quadrangle, “You dropped your shit,” he expressed, bending over to pick up the item he’d watched fall out of their backpack.

Since learning of their existence, Scotty has actively tried to avoid the BBC. They were basically the private school equivalent of the popular jock clique in public schools. Tall and beefy and looked like they should have their own #InMyCalvins ad. It was kind of weird but Scotty’s come to learn that even hoity toity places shared things in common with their less expensive counterparts. 

Sebastian Sergeant was arguably the scariest of them all. If a hammer had a face, his would be it. He didn’t know how that made sense in his head, but it did. The dude was just... frightening. And somehow even more intimidating with his blazer’s collar popped up like that.

“Oh,” Scotty got out, unsure if he should go over and retrieve the notebook from Sebastian or just say goodbye to his American History notes forever. The latter option seemed more appealing the longer he stared at Sebastian in all his giant-esque glory. Would it be appropriate to ask Sebastian to just slide it over? Like a gun in movies? Wait no, he’d probably get all mad and ask Scotty who he thought he was asking Sebastian to do something for him. Or the notebook would be chucked at him and he could lose an eye or something.

But he needed those notes. He had a quiz to study for. 

With a gulp, Scotty decided to brave it and walk on over to meet Sebastian, every bit a Chihuahua that really needed to pee but was nervous to on the inside.

“Uh thanks for, um, picking it up, Seb-- Sebastian.” 

They weren’t friends, who did he think he was dropping a casual ‘Seb’ like they’ve known each other since they were 5? Oh man, Scotty was about to die. He should really remember to leave Conny instructions for cases like this. How would people know who his signed X-Men poster goes to? They wouldn’t know!

Isobel was in the common room ,dangling her legs over the arm of a sofa in a way her mom would criticise for being unladylike.If anybody questioned her she would argue that she was being considerate by not taking up three seats.But her long ponytail still billowed over the third seat and she wasn’t concerned about taking up too much safe.Her goal in life was to take up a lot of space.As demonstrated by her pastel stationary and abandoned homework scattered across a table.She meant to do it.Really.It wasn’t her fault that she got distracted by the youtube video ,about why Cats (2019) wasn’t that bad ,she hadn’t finished watching.”I’ve been considering joining SWAT.”,she mused out loud.It hadn’t occurred to her that other people might not want to know her internal monolog. Even if they didn’t want to hear it they were going to hear her thoughts anyway.”I’ve got tons of great ideas and it could use some more pizzazz! Take last weekend for example ; it wasn’t compelling enough.They didn’t give us a reason to enjoy being in those heavy dresses.There should have been a script.How cool would a murder mystery dinner party be?”Isobel enthused.”But I don’t want to join SWAT ‘cause there’s probably a ton of risk assessments and the Sisters shutting down your ideas.Plus ,I bet Damian acts like a PTA mom.You know , the kind that looks like she’s about to snap if she sees one more batch of cookies that include gluten.“

Scotty was a supporter by nature. Growing up with an eccentric grandma that liked to do a bunch of crazy things, it just came to him naturally. So as he got older, it wasn’t a surprise that he became... the hype man of the group, the sidekick that held the spotlight on the star, the listening ear while someone vocalized a totally absurd idea so he could chime in and say,

“So cool!”

Because honestly, it kind of was. Given all of the creepy stuff the BAU looked into, Scotty wouldn’t mind a splash of blood to make stuff more interesting. Then again, he was kind of a wimp and it was probably only a good idea in theory. But Isobel had all sorts of awesome ideas that made a lot of normal stuff seem better. She was like putting sprinkles on your plain ol’ vanilla ice cream. A nice pop of color and crunchy sweet stuff that added dimension to an otherwise totally standard frozen treat.

“Yeah, that Damian dude definitely looked like he needed the bathroom the whole time we were at the village.... But also, kind of like he belonged in the old time-y outfit? I don’t know if he was just being super method, but he really locked down the Old Sturbridge mannerisms...” Scotty shrugged, wondering how that guy and Conny got along in their day-to-day. Then again, people probably wondered the same thing about him and Griff.

When Jason wasn’t plotting schemes worthy of a bad CW show, he liked to take refuge in music. His mom made him take piano lessons every week from the ages of seven to sixteen, despite his consistent efforts to ditch them for neighborhood basketball, so he knew his way around a set of ivories. Whether he liked it or not, it was relaxing. Cathartic, even, to hammer out all of his frustrations on the keys. He sang things like I hate you dad and why doesn’t this school have burritos in his head as he pounded out the chords to Beethoven’s 5th Symphony, a tried and true classic for snooty piano instructors all across the nation. 

The door to the practice room opened, and Jason continued to play for about five seconds until he remembered where he was and stopped with a melisma of discordant notes. Jason offered his new company The Nod™, gesturing to the grand piano like it was a 1965 Shelby GT and he’d just been under the hood. 

“Hey,” he said. “Was just having it out with the Beets. You know how it is.” A long beat of awkward silence followed. “Did you wanna use the room? I can leave.”

@scottydonovans​

As a gangly noodle afraid of broad and beefy BBC boys, Scotty made an effort to avoid places those type of guys populated. Sports fields, the gym, barns... sports fields. It left a few areas for a guy like him to partake in a hobby and get his heart rate up while doing it. One of the few spots that were safe and sacred were the music rooms. If Scotty was lucky, he’d find an empty one with a drum kit and he could bang away for a couple of hours, get lost in a heated rhythm and let out whatever energy he could until he was respectably soaked.

You’ll imagine Scotty’s surprise when he entered said music room that he’s been deeming safe for months now only to find a broad and beefy... well, not BBC boy, but definitely a dude that looked like he belonged there. He held onto the knob as the guy addressed him, his brain waiting to decide whether or not it would be a good idea to bolt now or in two seconds.

“The Beets...” Scotty repeated slowly, his brain going through a whole face journey until it clicked for him: BEETHOVEN. Right. The Beets. Beethoven. Obviously.

“Oh yeah, yeah, totally. I-- you know, get down with The Beets. Or I have. In my time.” Actually no, he hasn’t gotten down with The Beets. He never has. In his time or whatever time of his life. Scotty had no idea why he just said that. Perhaps it’s just in his nature to be totally agreeable around a guy who looked like he could crush Scotty’s body with one of his meaty-looking arms. 

“I mean, I was just gonna... you know,” he nodded to the drum kit in the corner of the room, “get jiggy with the drums.” Why? Why out of all of the things you could say did you say that? Just end him. Man, he felt sweaty. 

“You don’t have to leave if you want. I mean, I can leave if you and The Beets need alone time. I don’t want to get in the way of... you know, that. It seems... personal. Intimate.” Why was he still talking?

“Are you part of one of the bands or Orchestra or something? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

Griffin had taken Scotty for someone easily won over. He wasn’t the type of a guy to hold a grudge. But when the offer of barbecue chips was declined, it was clear that Scotty was mad mad. Wounded by something, and it didn’t take a world-famous detective to figure out it wasn’t a missing flannel. They had enough of those between the both of them. 

Separated from the moment now, Griffin wasn’t so sensitive that he cared about Scotty’s beanie baby story anymore. It had struck him out of the blue at the time of Scotty’s telling of it, but the anger had passed. Regardless, it didn’t mean Griffin felt like apologizing. ‘Sorry I yelled’ would start to sound redundant if Scotty required it from him every time he was mean. 

“I have to do laundry soon anyway, so I’ll check to see if it’s in my hamper,” he said, staring into his bag of chips like it was far more interesting than his roommate’s exaggerated scowl. “Although I do get the feeling something else is troubling you. Has working in the thrift shop stressed you out about the state of America’s rapidly widening wage gap?” 

“Awesome, ” Scotty said. Even if he didn’t feel entirely awesome nor did this conversation feel awesome. It sucked that he and G were on the outs. But until Scotty heard a sorry or something along the lines, he’d stick to his guns. Griff had to learn he had to be nicer about giving critique. Mean people don’t get brownie points.

America’s rapidly widening wage gap? No! He wasn’t mad about the thrift shop. He got farther with a girl than he’s ever had his entire life at the thrift shop. I’m mad at you, Griff! I’m hurt because of you! This wasn’t stress. Stress looked super different on Scotty. Stress looked like a lot of knee bouncing and tired eyes on Scotty. This was him being... mad. Or trying to. It was a lot of effort being mad. Who had the energy to pinch their face like this all day? Scotty had loads of energy but man, this grumpy face thing was a lot of work.

“The thrift shop’s great actually.” Kept him out of the dorm. Kept him around friends who were actually nice. Like Casey and Ez. “Just kinda sucks that we get less free time. I use a lot of it to study and work on stuff.” Because unlike super awesome genius writers like Griffin who quoted like, Greek philosophers and famed poets on the reg super casually, Scotty’s continued presence at Broadripple was a result of hardcore studying and forcing himself to keep at a problem until he figured it out. Pretty hard stuff when you had an attention span as short as his.

“Anyway,” the boy started with a sigh, feeling worse the longer he subjected himself to Griffin’s... Griffin-ness, “I should head out. I have some Trig work I’m gonna try to figure out before dinner.”