dtolemy

[dtolemy]

never in his increasingly absurd life had darius thought (note: sentence could and/or should end here) that he would miss the tedious, complacency-conceited nature of his roots, but ogden had a way of changing mindsets. unfortunately, their prestigious and greatly endowed medical program did not have a public trial for changing minds, evidenced by the rumored conquests of most of his sporting brothers. yet. darius had a feeling that however the party turned out and whoever got churned out its bowels of drunken fraternizing, that trial would be demanded very soon. case in point, fellow businessman spongebob squawkpants. hey, the artificial pineapple smell fit amazingly, he wasn’t going to not use that.

“p-dot?” darius repeated, brows slowly but surely knitting themselves into a tapestry of concern, confusion, and a hint of offense. he hadn’t taken all of elementary school to learn the spelling of his own surname and an absurd portion of his grandmother’s trust fund on adjusting his lettermans to have the ptolemy cognomen so blatantly disrespected. “nah, man, i think you just had the seizure. how many fingers am i holding up? where the fudge is the dot in my name?” he waved a hand with all five fingers up, barely resisting the urge to let it turn into a fist or particularly uncouth gesture with the slander of his hometown.

“dude, you know nothing about portsmouth.” which was, in all likelihood, the gospel truth for a preponderance of people in the room. nay, the planet. even his navigation apps–all twenty-two of them!–continued to automatically change his destination for portland, then port townsend, then port moresby in papua new guinea, which he thought was a pizza parlor around the block and ended up booking seven scam-adjacent tickets for. for the record, he would’ve given bobby zero of them. he rose to take on a defensive stance regardless, making sure all three inches of height between them were used to the best of their genetically superior ability. his arms crossed and smile sufficiently turned into a sneering scoff, he continued. “and where’s your gift? if it’s a stand-up comedy routine, you’ve got… definite potential to work on.”

at the mention of cake, he took pause, expression turning to a careful neutrality. now that was a serious topic to be treated with utmost circumference. no, circumspection. he was being serious. “depends on the flavor,” he replied with a hum, tone more ruminative than the faux-philosophers creating bonfires around the corner. “i mean, if it’s one of those funfetti masterpieces, could you blame me? and that’s only if you don’t end up puffing a spitty vape trick on the cake. like, it could look cool, but in terms of taste? better start writing a check for the refund.”

“ huh? ” an obnoxious, nasal sound. all he had to do was pinch his fingers together and lift his shoulders so high they’d touch his ears and he’d be one cannoli away from his best joe pesci impression. but this was neither the time or place for such highbrow display of talent. instead, bobby takes in a big inhale of his pineapple ice flavoured vape with desperation as the light at the bottom continues to flash -- just one more puff! “ jeez p-dot ... ” bobby isn��t good with letters, or instructions, so even when told that the p is silent in ptolemy, he’d always struggled with it. not that he tried very hard. why should the p be silent anyway? pronounce began with a p for a reason, so bobby took it upon himself to give p the acknowledgement it deserves hence p-dot. “ did you just have a fucking seizure? ” why did he care so much about gifts! it was a birthday party not a birthday party. bobby looks down at darius, cocking his head to the side. the guy was asking to be trampled or puked on by sitting there, and his smile widens with delight at the thought of it. it would objectively just be funny. “ don't tell me you came empty-handed. is this what they teach you in portsmouth? ” bobby says as an insult. always an insult. “ what're you gonna do when they bring out the birthday cake? are you just gonna take a slice without giving anything in return like a barbarian? ”

[dtolemy]

it was at that specific moment in the temporal dimensions, spaced imperfectly between the ephemeral eras of before link and after link in the ptolemaic calendar, that darius realized he completely forgot link was, like, kind of who the party was for. which, from a theoretical standpoint, should have been rendered impossible by how much of the celebration matched up with link’s modus operandi: ‘fashionable’ trashiness, a general sense of deficiency in osha regulation following, probably being miserable if not for darius being so generous with his time. in practice, though, darius had been having fun. bewildering fun that put all kinds of limb-eye coordination and his patience with the digital era to the extreme test, but fun nonetheless. link could only equal fun when they were the denominator to his independent brilliance. link only equalled fun when ambition didn’t clash with emotion. 

powers almighty, darius was consciously letting math and emotion into his train of thought. was this what secondhand smoking was like? when were the hallucinations going to start?

then, link’s voice. no amount of pharmaceutical errors could evoke sounds that horrible. darius sighed and rubbed his temples, jumbling up banal comebacks like bingo balls in the empty cavern that was his skull. link had an effective way with words, he could admit that much. maybe he was lucky to be blessed with such cutting remarks in a 2013 miley cyrus music video set with so many other people whose ears coud. maybe he just wanted to enjoy the freaking party.

“guess drunk words really are sober thoughts,” he responded, forcing a pan-am brochure smile on his face. maybe one of the heads in the corridor’s growing crowd would be holding better suggestions, but he’d already decided on a present for the beloathed of his life: a coupon for plungers big enough to shut that stupidly smart mouth. his voice then took on an affected squeakiness that suggested he’d somehow absorbed all the helium in the atmosphere. couple that with the volume of a balloon popping, and he had the perfect imitation of link’s special someones, whoever they thought they were. of course, he probably could’ve used his own voice, if it was parasocial perception that mattered. “you really can’t wait until valentine’s, babe? i’ve got a custom emo build-a-bear with your—”

“jesus, dude, how has nobody thrown you out a window and into an aa meeting?” he spun around to find the future mx. ptolemy looking like a negative thousand bucks. either that or someone’s phone torch had been crossbred with the bat signal to make for the most unflattering lighting ever. “what’s the word—demonstration, escalation, defecation! how has no-one defecated you yet? like, you don’t wanna be conscious for your actual birthday?”

truly, darius was the portrait of conscientious thesaurus use.

dtolemy​:

open starter!

darius was having a smidgen of trouble understanding the doubtlessly ultra-exclusive party’s selected setting, along with which part of ‘fun house party’ involved succumbing to hypothermia before the month of love could start. he was marathons past the point of questioning why he attended these events in the first place, but given the address’s unfamiliarity to both his personal map of campus as well as any demolition company worth their jackhammers, he couldn’t help but wonder what put this place on par with mountain resorts or remote island getaways. and also why the place smelled like a way different kind of magician had been hired for entertainment. for once, his wholly sober (and definitely staying sober, thanks for asking) brain figured out that the fewer questions he asked his generous hosts, the better.

he had his own entertainment, anyways. cosmopolitan issues, permanently stuffed into his shirt and the closest he would get to exploring english literature ever again. there was a sufficient amount of liveliness to the place that, as long as his fizzled conversations would remain fizzled, he could get back to researching various star-studded divorces and sponsorships by way of letting someone have concrete evidence of his presence. as he sat down on the doubtlessly ultra-exclusive, uber-hygienic floor, he realized his duties as very important guest were not over. he scrambled to pull his shirt back down, and triumphed to such a negative degree that he made a mental note to make reaction time a gargantuan part of his already rigorous training schedule.

“did you come here with a gift? when were we supposed to give gifts?” his question was flung out towards the nearest person in a frantic stage whisper loud enough to break the fifth wall. his hands emerged from the bowels of his khaki pockets empty, to make sure the point got across. “where are we supposed to give gifts? like, where they won’t get trampled or puked on?”

     the party was beginning to seem less and less like a horrible time for link, the more he drank and smoked and... at this point, he wasn’t keeping track of all the substances that entered his body. but hey ! it was his almost birthday ! who was keeping count ? besides, it seemed to be the only way that he could have fun at an event that was labelled for his own birthday. but it was easier now to pretend it was more for mari and ollie than it was for link — there was never anything good tied to his birthdays. 

    he walks around aimlessly for two minutes, searching for that tequila he tried earlier that he really enjoyed — but was met instead with the back of darius’ head, and his annoyingly familiar voice bothering a stranger about gifts. so, naturally, link interrupts. 

     “ — if you wanna get me a gift that bad, you can always give it to me next week. don’t hesitate to write me a little lover letter with it before you dip it in poison. ” there was a grin on his lips, in too good of a mood to tell darius that a good gift to give them was if he dropped dead right now. but link didn’t really wanna be a buzzkill. besides, wishing upon each other’s deaths comes after their foreplay. 

[dtolemy]

darius seriously needed to get a better scope on ogden’s current student body. or, more accurately, the student body most likely to be invited to and furthermore attend to the biddings of whomever in the overfunded party planning committee got into asbestos chic. clearly his current perspective on people at large was right in all the wrong, self-confirming ways. then again, he was never big on accuracy outside of the court, wherein he had his gaze firmly fixed on a fuzzy, fluorescent yellow world of possibility instead of whatever was going on with the upperclassmen. no, it was precision that mattered most in social affairs, wherein faking it until one made it was a viable option and gaslighting bullseyes into filing up for his shots was a matter of dimming the lights until he looked richer, better, not completely confused as to what was happening at any given moment in any given situation. what was he thinking about, again?

diego, with his status as captain of darius's unhealthy projecting campus at large and owner of muscle that wrote its own definition, was a welcome distraction from whatever he’d been thinking about previously. which was birthdays, gifts, and how tacky it would be to start supergluing the more rickety parts of the house, as he conveniently remembered. it seemed he’d forgotten a lot more than that, though.

“wait, it isn’t their actual birthdays?” ignorance, however, was a target he could hit with ease. especially when it was only two-thirds feigned. he allowed himself a second of broadway-level chin stroking for retrospection. he clicked his tongue decisively, looking satisfied with his next batch of rambling falsehoods. “you know what, i totally knew that. we should put up a fundraising thing for them to have three parties next year. pick a budget: full-on house renovation, or knockoff ikea table with a built-in clown tablecloth?”

and that, distinguished guests to disaster, was precisely why darius admired people who knew how to shut their mouths. with a smile that screamed blissful idiocy, he pointed to diego’s brownie. it was one of the tamer snacks he’d witnessed that evening, and he’d spent most of his party-time thus far skulking around furniture skeletons to make sure people didn’t witness him.

“also, like, what recipe are those? you know, we talking white mom blog, gluten-free, or, uh…”  “coated in swimming-affecting sugar slash punisher’s oregano. i wouldn’t tell if you told, obviously.” it was heavily debatable that even the most astutely acquainted with dealing language would be able to tell what he was trying to say, but as went the advice of his beloved grandmother, incoherency was the key to prosperity. or something. he hadn’t quite heard her, actually.

He stood leaning against the wall of what surely was going to be a very nice kitchen one day, drinking whatever concoction had been given to him by one of his friends. Knowing the people throwing this party it was likely only strong drinks allowed. Just as he assumed the brownie he'd been given didn't only have cocoa powder in it. After taking a bite, his eyes moved downwards towards a voice, eyes catching onto Darius.

Diego lifted his head again, looking around at what he could see of the party, and shrugged. "I don't see any gift giving table," he pointed out. That was what usually happened, right? If people expected gifts there would be a place to put them down. Knowing the three as he did -- well, maybe only two of the three -- well, maybe only one of the three -- he didn't think any of them expected any gifts. "I think if anybody is planning on giving any of them actual gifts they probably would do it on their actual birthday's. Which isn't today." Well, Ollie's wasn't, and Mari's wasn't. Truth be told he didn't really know when Link's birthday was. Probably by their own design. "If you did bring something you could also just go and give it to them. It'd be their problem after that, not yours," he added, with a small laugh.

[dtolemy]

if there was one thing darius was good at, it was dreaming of playing doubles with meryl streep at wimbledon and making greer return solely for the purpose of lauding his tweener shots. if there was a second thing darius was good at, which was an incredible stretch of both his capacity to recall the addition tables of elementary school and the shiny facade that was his self esteem, it was annoying people into acknowledging him. lo and behold, such had clearly worked now, and he’d been lucky enough to have been seated next to someone sensible, coherent, and yet to berate him for not treating the party with the renown its venue demanded.

“alright, yeah, good idea. tomorrow’s probably a great time to pounce, when everyone’s chugging ginger ale and gatorade. i dunno, what do people drink for hangovers? i dunno, i don’t drink. though it would probably help shape the ideal gift into reality, if i did. perspective and stuff.” his self-imposed question and answer session was interrupted by a call for confirmation of identity, to which he smiled awkwardly for a good moment. while he wasn’t keen on letting anyone still able to stand become aware of his attendance, he figured there couldn’t be too much harm in giving his forename out to one person.

“oh, yeah, one and only darius here. unless we’re counting that persian king dude from way back, and it is totally chill if you do.” hey, it was a better introductory line than ‘big d on campus’, as he had been told several times in the recent past of senior high to freshman year. speaking of freshman year, in the form of his advisor came none other than a woman instantly recognizable for her… being recognizable to anyone who wasn’t darius, even through the haze of phone screens flashing on and off and ill-advised novelty glowsticks being chopped apart somewhere around the corner. “and you are… reina, queen of travel? got any fancy souvenirs up your sleeve for when it’s actually their birthdays? or for right now. you know, you could probably sharpie a fork and call it a vintage art piece from cuba.” and you know what? if she wasn't reina, he never said he didn't get high. even though he didn't, obviously. dare and whatnot.

Reina turned toward the voice that was asking a question, wondering if it was directed to her. "Well it is a birthday party." She quirked a brow, trying to keep a straight face but started laughing. "I didn't bring a gift. Don't stress out. If you feel that bad just get gifts and give it to them later when it's not so chaotic." She looked around. "Besides, I don't see any gifts piling up so either people are giving them directly to the birthday people or they didn't bring a gift." It was amusing to her how frazzled he seemed, or maybe it was the alcohol making her misinterpret the situation but it made her giggle. "You're Darius, right?" He looked familiar to her and recognized him as an under classman but it took her a moment to pinpoint who he was exactly.

[dtolemy]

darius liked gia for reasons homogeneous to the rationale behind his collection of luxurious sleeping masks with bulging, veiny eyeballs on them: for their agreeable materials in the physical sense, for their promotion of extortionate and incredibly tempting skincare, but predominantly for attention. statistically speaking, the first two were microscopic slivers on a default microsoft bar chart in comparison to the high-rise skyscraper that was his desire to self-promote, yet he continued asserting himself as the more sensible of their dynamic duo. after all, he’d withdrawn from the public eye that was the clamoring crowds of this truly glorious celebration in order to maintain his reputation. a reputation that eluded him in the unseemly pits of an unfinished floor, but a reputation nonetheless. what mattered most was that he had a confidant to talk to, who he trusted with a very small part of his heart and a very large portion of his instagram feed.

“nah. i would still give both my arms to see you try, though,” he said, standing up again with a demonstrative flex of said arms. despite his adamant sobriety, both actions came off as slightly reticent as he became more perceptive of various wall stains that were very much not there before. “and i’m just trying to avoid being arrested. like, i know you could color balance this place as if it were nobody’s business, but do you want to? i mean, the fbi could have this place on a shortlist for the criminal real estate met gala. the fed gala! boom, intelligence.” 

his clearly clearheaded rambling was punctuated by a clap and a laugh that might’ve put him on the fed gala’s automatic invitations for its volume alone. clearly, he displayed nothing if not the best of himself to potential business partners.

“wait, people don’t bring gifts to parties anymore?” he gasped, awfully offended for someone who’d apparently followed the amended constitution of alcohol-laden house parties. this wasn’t any kind of imitation distress, mind you, this was the designer deal of dismay made from endangered amazon crocodile leather and a need to reenact at least one scene from rory gilmore’s season one birthday bash. “god, that’s worse than not hiring one of those puppet guys who make the puppets slap everyone but the birthday kid. i might be more an enemy-of-an-enemy to some here, but you’ve got to tell me that isn’t completely true before you go out and make your presence a present again.” then, in an actual whisper stuffed with conspiracy: “d’you think the weed in the bathroom was a present? if it was a bathroom.”

his voice caught her attention before she actually noticed him sitting on the ground. there was probably a good reason for it. that's what gia had to tell herself to stop any of the judgment from showing on her face. instead, tilting her head to the side slightly. ❝            what are you doing on the floor? ❞ gia asked, equal parts confusion and concern. ❝ are you, like, a total light weight? do i need to get someone stronger to come pick you up? ❞ gia wouldn't have been the right girl for the job at her prime, let alone a few drinks and ollie's monster shot deep.

❝ a gift? ❞ she repeated. ❝ no one brings gifts to parties anymore. at least, not friend-of-a-friend parties. if you have to ask yourself if you're supposed to bring a gift or if it would be weird to, don't bring one. ❞ especially because like darius had pointed out, it would more than likely get destroyed no matter where it was put. ❝ if you do it right, your presence should be a present enough. ❞ at least, that's how giannina justified it.

[dtolemy]

to covet a neighbor’s belongings was to break the tenth commandment, as darius recalled in a haze of unpunctual protein powders and keeping track of his sprinting intervals. luckily for his concupiscent non-donkey-ass-worshiping ass, he’d been informed recently that women were (no longer) belongings. henceforth, free game!

in response to both the genuflection reflection and the verifiable implication of software scientists not taking showers, he laughed way too hard than what was safe walking at any speed. seriously, if one of his linden neighbors had laid claim to her, he would’ve been on it. he was willing to admit that ‘nineteen years old’ and ‘at incredible risk of peaking in collegiate sports circuits’ weren’t the usual epithets engraved on a homewrecker’s obituary, and neither was his geriatric attitude towards social media conducive to an effective session of courting via sliding into dms at an unhealthy time of day, but those were simply speed bumps in the road to inevitable greatness. the tragedies of last semester? a bigger speed bump, but if she’d arrived as early as he did, he doubted it affected her that much. not that it didn’t affect him, obviously.

“as long as you’re worshiping something worthwhile, right?” he answered soon after his recovery. “don’t attend much these days, but there were some useful lessons between the usual brimfire and hellstone. let’s just say the big jc could turn water into a lot more than wine.”

nope. he never should’ve been given free will, or the gift of tongues, or even the most rudimentary knowledge of religious history. his regret was a palpable force, straining his smile until even he looked confused as to why it was there. he took to picking up the pace with his jog, listening intently to the gospel of blonde bombshell bill nye until there was another solid opening to dig his grave and lie in it. 

“you know, maybe you should work in forensics, ‘cause that was freakily close. like, this entire investigation would be over if you joined the police force,” he said, subtly hinting at his appreciative nature for her brain, brawn, and business knowledge. yes, business knowledge. no other b-word to be found in his personal dictionary. “i’m studying business, but i’m more into the managerial side of things. marketing, finance, people stuff. you into, like, sports, though? tennis? competitive on-knee-time-spending?” so, so subtle.

"oh, a church boy? i stopped going when i was ten, but somehow i still find myself spending so much time on my knees," she laughed at her own joke. not her best work, and she made a mental note to workshop her religion-related material. something about answered prayers, maybe there was something about being holy that could work? for not the first time, she accepted that she was going to hell.

however, god had not entirely forsaken her, and she thanked him once again for giving her the sixth sense to know when someone was staring at her ass. then she thanked god one more time for giving her such a great ass. "computer science, when i can be bothered to study at all. that's why i take so many showers, have to beat the stereotype." it really was no surprise she liked to code given her penchant for manipulation. "fan of the planet, but i'm more of a rules for thee and not for me girl." sure, she'd go without a straw to save the turtles, but if someone offered her a ride on a private jet? she wasn't declining. "what about you? i'm going to guess..." (this was a perfect excuse to size him up) "something very practical. maybe something where you have to wear a tie. economics?"

[dtolemy]

open starter!

where: illicit house party

when: early-ish into the festivities

darius was having a smidgen of trouble understanding the doubtlessly ultra-exclusive party’s selected setting, along with which part of ‘fun house party’ involved succumbing to hypothermia before the month of love could start. he was marathons past the point of questioning why he attended these events in the first place, but given the address’s unfamiliarity to both his personal map of campus as well as any demolition company worth their jackhammers, he couldn’t help but wonder what put this place on par with mountain resorts or remote island getaways. and also why the place smelled like a way different kind of magician had been hired for entertainment. for once, his wholly sober (and definitely staying sober, thanks for asking) brain figured out that the fewer questions he asked his generous hosts, the better.

he had his own entertainment, anyways. cosmopolitan issues, permanently stuffed into his shirt and the closest he would get to exploring english literature ever again. there was a sufficient amount of liveliness to the place that, as long as his fizzled conversations would remain fizzled, he could get back to researching various star-studded divorces and sponsorships by way of letting someone have concrete evidence of his presence. as he sat down on the doubtlessly ultra-exclusive, uber-hygienic floor, he realized his duties as very important guest were not over. he scrambled to pull his shirt back down, and triumphed to such a negative degree that he made a mental note to make reaction time a gargantuan part of his already rigorous training schedule.

“did you come here with a gift? when were we supposed to give gifts?” his question was flung out towards the nearest person in a frantic stage whisper loud enough to break the fifth wall. his hands emerged from the bowels of his khaki pockets empty, to make sure the point got across. “where are we supposed to give gifts? like, where they won’t get trampled or puked on?”

[dtolemy]

darius knew jack, jill, and the humiliatingly uncultured hill about music, when the hammer came down to his bungled headphones. what was a chord? probably a type of fruit from some scandinavian indie game he rage quit a few years back. he’d long thought a tenor was the promotion that professors got when they gave the class enough homework to send aristotle packing, and wasn’t a clef that thing every golden age superhero had on their chins? the overly european nomenclature confused him nearly as much as musical genres, which not only had the gall to split off into taxonomic trees that tangled together more often than his grandmother did with nightclub bouncers twice her size and half her age, but also had their own associated cliques and personalities. now more than ever did he require his own sense of musical style, one that he could declare with confidence and truth. more confidence than truth was fine, obviously.

he’d thought that starffyer records, with its agraphic name and abundantly lyrical aesthetics, would put a satisfying end to his crisis of taste. then again, he’d also thought that prepositions and propositions were the same thing, and that had led to an incredibly disheartening series of english class trysts he doubted he’d recover from within a lifetime or two. he swiped through the soul section with little fanfare, pointedly ignored the popular one-hit wonders of yesteryear, tried and failed to understand punk-adjacent concept album art. by the miracle of indecisiveness, he circled back around to the windows, where he found social media phenom gia-something casting-something (he swore he wasn’t an ignorant bigot, he just had the spelling skills of hot dog water and the social media know-how of still hot dog water) and was assaulted by the opportunity to get in her graces. at that point, he would’ve seriously settled for any kind of guidance as to what music was cheap and approachably pretentious but also sounded like christian gym-motivation rap. not the staff, though. he was totally going to mess their names up.

“no cherry on top? back in my day, the rich and famous had manners,” darius said, his face fighting against lighthearted laughter to give the impression of some dignified reticence. eventually, the smile won out. “fine. if your phone’s so exclusive that it’s made in some secret multibillion antarctican factory, though, no blaming me for not knowing how the camera works.”

“okay, wait, dude, what is that?” he pointed at the vinyl cover with an expression of such bewilderment he looked like he was about to burn the upside-down, burnt sienna cushions of harry’s house. really, he was just recalling the horrors of his fleeting, fleeting directioner phase, but that was a stage thousand relationship anecdote. he and gia were stage one and three quarters at best. “like, okay, you’ve totally got the visuals and on-camera charisma to pull off a choice everyone already made, but people also love when their favorite creators bring awareness to struggling underground indie artists. like richard wagner.”

he raised his selected copy of die walkure, its gothic font, somber oil painting, and desaturated palette clashing with his used car salesman grin. “and people also love when you donate struggling underground indie music to other people in need. like me. please?”

— open starffyer records, late afternoon.

as a musician herself, starffyer records wasn't a completely out of character place to find giannina. flicking through the popular section, gia seemed like she was giving these albums a great deal of thought before she eventually pulled one out. harry's house. bright, warm colour to match the sunlight coming through the window, popular enough to get people talking. it was perfect. she moved to another section of vinyls. specifically, the one near the window with the best lighting. propping her phone up against various objects in the store got some great browsing pictures of her, but none that could properly show off the album without looking way too artificial. ❝            could you take a quick pic for me? ❞ she asked the closest person browsing. ❝ super easy! just over my shoulder focusing on the album, but make sure you get my hair in it too. ❞ tossing her hair to sit over her shoulder as she spoke. ❝ please? ❞

[dtolemy]

everyone had different definitions of friendship, and darius was by no means a stranger to editing his memoir of one million conceited, misspelled words to insert himself in narratives already written for the undeserved benefit of people he wanted to both have and be. as months passed by in a kaleidoscope of irrelevance, however, it became increasingly clear that whether by means of their earlier start at ogden or enough blackmail to make a post office implode into scraps of sheetrock and parental dissonance, link had been more successful in his endeavors to become a worthy chapter in greer’s story. if darius wasn’t the most self-assured person on earth, he might’ve thought himself envious of link’s position with what seemed to be everyone else in said story.

bring in the circus screamers: darius was not the most self-assured on earth. that honor could’ve gone to, between link’s very presence and the idea of dirt being under his fingernails. mostly link, though. just fine, his unkissed ass. the idea of everything being made darius want to do a lot more than take pictures of the social locust. that came out wrong. whatever.

“eh, there are a few perks to the dumb jock deal.” he bounced his jagged muse in his palm, figuring that if he didn’t do something with it, he’d end up throwing it somewhere on link’s person that would get him expelled. or worse, another scholarship. “but i do know you haven’t eaten a breath mint in at least a year.”

his wittiest retort of fifteen years and counting was immediately upstaged by a picture so clear he dropped the rock along with his jaw. his brow furrowed as he tried to rearrange his face into a smile. it half worked. “someone’s jealous. people pay good money for that,” darius remarked, his tone matter-of-fact and, as a matter of fact, vaguely uncomfortable. locker room talk was best exchanged in secure, virile environments, with a familiar, mutually respected rabble as enthused in their conquests as they are in your vulgar triumphs. link was no longer that. darius liked to pretend they never were. sound the carnival horns, he wasn’t winning an oscar any time soon. “maybe then you could afford a better camera. or would you just spend it on, i don’t know, drugs? someone to stick your tongue in and disappoint when you say my name instead of theirs?”

in his considered defence, darius had better things to do with his life than making a dent in his gigantic, junkyard-scale pile of school-related tasks, which included and were not limited to the following: one, an essay about the impact of milton friedman’s research on the school of monetarism; two, a spreadsheet demonstrating the logistics of normal distribution when applied to SEO traffic trackers; and three, avoiding https://dickcrawdaddy.com for the rest of his life. or until he grew tired of treating people with basic human decency. or until one of his completely original captures around campus got flagged for being visually similar to something very obviously plagiarized from his nonexistent portfolio. like, honestly, how did they expect to prove that just because a tree had the exact same crook in its branch and general leaf structure and fallen signage that it was the same tree as the inferior twigs that decorated the downloads of his traitor patrons?

he wasn’t going to let that slide, anyways. after sifting through business e-mails for half his adolescence, the satisfaction of answering the virtue-signalling signatures of yet another corporate sponsorship paled in comparison to salting link’s wounds just a little bit more. the novelty was desolate, forsaken, as was what would become of link’s shutterstock profile, one perfectly framed pebble at a time.

so maybe he looked weird while doing it. picking up gravel and observing it with the caution of a jewelry proprietor wasn’t the most common hobby for ivy students, sue him for breaking the mold. he was just about to snap a life-changing still of the rock’s beautiful grey underbelly when that voice rang through his ears like otitis externa given human form. he turned to face link, hardly keeping the happiness of finding a beautiful subject intact. now was as good a time as any to start working on his improv skills, he supposed.

“real interesting rock, yeah, but there’s also this really freaky pile of dirt in front of me that looks like it’s wearing a wig from the dollar store, so,” darius said, smiling with all the authenticity of an e-mail address called abibasinternational. he turned on his phone’s flash, and though his aim was shoddy, he did manage to take an amazingly well-lit photograph of two inches of link’s shoulder. “there you go, can’t wait to send that one off to my clients. how’s your side of the business doing? can’t be falling behind in school and work, right?”

     being link crawford, they’d went through a lot of people in their life that disliked them — and the feeling was mutual. so they definitely heard their fair share of snide remarks and insults, and they never really had a single effect on them. however, he always found it digging under his skin the most when it came to two people in this world — darius, and his mother. as much as he put on a straight face and a cool exterior to whatever darius threw his way, inside he was constantly seething with rage, fantasizing about all the different ways link could ruin his life and leave him miserable. but hey ! all good things take time. so he stayed patient ( though his patience seemed to dwindle over the years ). 

    so link grips hard on the strap of his bag around his shoulder, as darius snaps that photo, and presents that fucking smile to link — the one that shot a fight response in him whenever he saw it. “ i’m doing just fine. ” that was a lie. link hasn’t been doing just fine since freshman year. surprise ! balancing an academic career as well as two jobs isn’t so easy. but stretching himself thin was something he’d gotten used to at a young age, so maybe he was doing just fine ( lie ). “ but, well, you know that, right ? ” he grins back at him, knowing that link had reached a point with greer and at ogden effortlessly that darius always wanted and worked hard for — after all, darius and link weren’t so different. they were always after the same thing, and link would convince himself that was why they fell out as friends. but if he was being honest, it was for reasons still unknown to link.. a bunch of small, infuriating things came into play, pulled them apart until they unravelled into this ugly mess. maybe that was why he felt so much around darius — almost all negative, and unidentifiable. but it was something. “ so whose ass are you sticking your tongue in this semester ? it’s always someone. ” quite a picture to paint to say ass kissing, but darius was the only person who he didn’t waste time dancing around his words with. 

[dtolemy]

darius shrugged, his posture sprawling against his chair with a practiced nonchalance. as evidenced by the fact none of his, what, point five remaining classmates had yet asked for his autograph, product endorsement, or emoji-laden thoughts and prayers, not all publicity was good publicity. there were worse things going on, objectively, but he had to be economical with his emotions, sparse as they were between joyous celebration of his many achievements or indignation at not being recognized for said achievements. such was an extreme challenge, considering most of the economic theoreticals explored in class had assumed people would react rationally to situations like being reminded of their own mortality. darius liked a challenge, though. otherwise, he would’ve ordered a drink that was almost entirely milk and take a vow of monastic silence at least five years ago.

“for anyone living with… that sleep-chondria thing and a barista, probably,” he replied, frowning in feigned contemplation of medical advancements and one hundred percent real confusion about the powerhouse of the cell. “i dunno. some people just want to put their energy into stupid stuff before being reminded of what went down. keep to themselves, chill out in a river in egypt for a while. get it? the nile, denial. i guess the nile’s in a bunch of other african countries too, as well, but that’s semantics or something. is cartography included in the fine arts? either way, love that for you. good stuff for the resume, if you're gonna work with design.”

despite his outstanding efficiency in the process of painting himself various shades of idiotic, insensitive, and irreverent, darius wasn’t stupid enough to push the subject. he was, however, of the affectively challenged mind that comparing curriculums would serve to sweeten the conversation. after all, who didn’t love learning about him? seriously, with all the cops circling the college, it was almost insulting that nobody had been outed as his stalker. who very much existed, by the way, and was not a convenient excuse to take the most scenic route possible when walking to all off-campus stores.

“honestly, i love being in business. just learned that taylorism isn’t the fan name for that one country singer, and we get work where we just have to stare at green and red arrows and figure out why they’re green or red. multivariable calc no more.”

Another semester, another season of trying—and probably failing—to act like everything was okay. Sometimes she wished she could scream and have everything be alright. Life never worked that way and Pippa was good at putting on a face that made her seem like she was at least alright, even if it was far from the truth. Some days it was easier to pretend that nothing was wrong, and some days it was much more difficult to pretend. She was not winning any awards for being an actress today. Then again, Pippa didn’t think under, any normal circumstance, that she could pretend that she cared about becoming a doctor. With a new semester looming ahead, Pippa knew that school would only get harder and harder as time wore on. Even if she was only a sophomore, her grades still mattered. People who didn’t have stressful majors were lucky. People who’s cousins weren’t missing were also lucky.

As much as she complained, Pippa did actually enjoy school. She had always enjoyed an academic challenge, the urge to complain usually won out. Having good grades had never been to please her parents. School and how well she did was something she could control. Slack off and get terrible grades would be on her, but studying and getting good grades was also in her control. If there was one thing Pippa liked, it was being in control of a situation. Her grades were no different. Of course, it did help if she enjoyed the subject that she was studying. Anatomy was not one of those subjects, but maybe she could turn it into something that would help with her art.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked at Darius and attempted not to roll her eyes. Sure she had spoken out loud and invited a conversation, she expected the person to agree with her. Or maybe try and convince her that this semester would not be as bad as last semester. Pippa didn’t know how her exterior wouldn’t crack under pressure at this rate. “Because coffee consumption is the worst thing going on, right?” she asked, sarcasm heavy in her voice. “I’m minoring in art already.”

[dtolemy]

darius was already cataloguing every counterfeit wedding ring store in a 100-mile radius. irresponsibility? inebriation? a grasp on the profound lore of twenty-first century disney comedies? everything about their serendipitous, cochlea-cell-killing situation was inexorably conducive to the acoustic beginnings of love story (taylor’s version). or total humiliation. he wasn’t sure there was any difference between the two, which only made the prospect more alluring.

he hopped onto the nearest treadmill, setting it to a flat pace for his warm-up. ogling respectfully partaking in the natural desires of the human creature when engaged in conversation, he noticed the incandescent, likely-hallucinated properties of miss americana’s ponytail. this, of course, was respectfully registered in his brain as hot enough to make him start adjusting the machine’s incline.

“i’ll have to beg for your forgiveness, then. never really got into the genre, aside from the worship stuff my dad puts on,” he quickly amended, putting on his lying, lying, sweatpants firing. his eyes darted to his textbooks, not yet unwrapped and stacked in a hazardous mountain of wasted money. “what are you studying? guessing not earth science, with the one-eighths-of-the-day shower, but zero judgment here. i know what it takes to keep up bodily perfection and avoid assignments like the plague.”

"oh?" she raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "coming off a little strong, but fortune favors the brave." but there was a little more pep in her ponytail as she swung her head back to the front- ah, it was just nice to know she still had it even drenched in sweat and wearing leggings from tenth grade. a little attention was just the second wind she needed to up the speed a little, transitioning from a brisk walk to an easy jog. volleyball season was over, after all. it was important to keep her heart rate elevated.

wrinkling her nose, she felt the need to correct instantly. "if you can confuse taylor swift with selena gomez, you might have eardrum damage. no offense to my queen alex russo." although charlie had been more of a sharpay evans girl herself. obviously. "not sure i have time for a minimum wage job right now. i mean, between getting drunk, thinking about doing my assignments, not doing my assignments, and taking three hour showers, where would i find the time?"

[dtolemy]

darius ptolemy was a free spirit, just like the sharpied, crudely drawn cartogram to his dormitory, which was so free that it ascended into the heavens five minutes after he began jogging around the housing facilities of the place home to roughly negative five people who would want to help him. it was an indispensable tool in any athlete’s curriculum vitae, to be punctual and responsible, but you know who was an insufferable tool? whoever invented paddle ball. indeed, recent events had driven darius over the edge and clearly affected him more than any of his classmates, and he had no other choice than to go online and purchase amateur sports equipment that would distract him from homework until graduation, or until retirement, or until his own dramatic disappearance.

he did not mean for the amateur sports equipment to have gone flying onto the golf green grass due to his incredible strength and disregard for all instructions that came with the toy. its rubber band, connecting ball and paddle, snapped along with his sanity. its silhouette soared into a nearby tree, and in his efforts to retrieve both components of his beloved-for-half-an-hour belonging, he skidded right before stepping on a blanket with his abibas–yeah, genius, abibas, he spent his shoe money on the paddle ball set, sue him yet again–sneakers. someone’s blanket. well, she had to know where they were better than he did, so into prince charming mode he went. toothy grin, crinkled eyes, dramatic gestures so as to distract from his near heart attack at very, very nearly becoming the next headline for an ogden student's disappearance.

“unless you have either super glue or really strong hair gel, probably not,” he said, brushing dirt off the alleged rubber sphere, which was heavy enough to have travelled less distance than the plywood paddle. the damage was irreparable, surely. still, if he was intruding on something and losing money, he was going to make it fun. “this a private picnic or something? you waiting for the solar eclipse, hot date, food delivery?”

WHERE: Outside of Waverly WHO: Open Starter

Usually Marissa relied on her relationships to gather key information, but sometimes she had to take things into her own hands. This is how it was for her, once she got a thread of something she needed to follow it to its end, to figure out what was going on. Her latest obsession was a football player who she was sure was cheating on his girlfriend. So that lead her here, trying to blend into a tree that was conveniently positioned so that she could maybe see in his first floor window and at the same time see the door for who might be coming and going. She sat on a blanket, double checking everyone who went in and out with her list of Waverly residents and known associates. Honestly, the FBI would be lucky to have her.

Soon the sun that was previously shining on her face was blocked by the shadow of a person standing in front of her. "Can I help you?" she asked squinting up as her eyes adjusted.

[dtolemy]

in his considered defence, darius had better things to do with his life than making a dent in his gigantic, junkyard-scale pile of school-related tasks, which included and were not limited to the following: one, an essay about the impact of milton friedman’s research on the school of monetarism; two, a spreadsheet demonstrating the logistics of normal distribution when applied to SEO traffic trackers; and three, avoiding https://dickcrawdaddy.com for the rest of his life. or until he grew tired of treating people with basic human decency. or until one of his completely original captures around campus got flagged for being visually similar to something very obviously plagiarized from his nonexistent portfolio. like, honestly, how did they expect to prove that just because a tree had the exact same crook in its branch and general leaf structure and fallen signage that it was the same tree as the inferior twigs that decorated the downloads of his traitor patrons?

he wasn’t going to let that slide, anyways. after sifting through business e-mails for half his adolescence, the satisfaction of answering the virtue-signalling signatures of yet another corporate sponsorship paled in comparison to salting link’s wounds just a little bit more. the novelty was desolate, forsaken, as was what would become of link’s shutterstock profile, one perfectly framed pebble at a time.

so maybe he looked weird while doing it. picking up gravel and observing it with the caution of a jewelry proprietor wasn’t the most common hobby for ivy students, sue him for breaking the mold. he was just about to snap a life-changing still of the rock’s beautiful grey underbelly when that voice rang through his ears like otitis externa given human form. he turned to face link, hardly keeping the happiness of finding a beautiful subject intact. now was as good a time as any to start working on his improv skills, he supposed.

“real interesting rock, yeah, but there’s also this really freaky pile of dirt in front of me that looks like it’s wearing a wig from the dollar store, so,” darius said, smiling with all the authenticity of an e-mail address called abibasinternational. he turned on his phone’s flash, and though his aim was shoddy, he did manage to take an amazingly well-lit photograph of two inches of link’s shoulder. “there you go, can’t wait to send that one off to my clients. how’s your side of the business doing? can’t be falling behind in school and work, right?”

— 𝘾𝙇𝙊𝙎𝙀𝘿 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙀𝙍.

who: @dtolemy​ when & where: somewhere on campus, after link’s class

     the semester had barely even started, and link was already getting that feeling like he was drowning in all the work that he had to do — a feeling that seemed to be amplified, due to the circumstances of recent events. but murder or not, link was still gripping to their scholarship with everything that they had in them. leaving that lecture hall felt like they had finally been able to breathe again, as if they were holding in their breath without even noticing, through the notes that they were trying to keep up with, and the new assignments that were already beginning to build up. fuck, he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here with his degree. 

     but of course, a quick second of peace as he walked out was all that was — a second. his eyes land on darius, with his phone out, pointing it towards something on the quad. link never could stay away from darius, though… ever since high school, it was like all he could think about was one-upping him and making him feel like shit whenever the opportunity came up. so, he approaches. “ find another interesting rock to frame ? ” he makes sure his tone was annoyingly condescending, with an even more punchable grin on his lips to match. 

[dtolemy]

darius had returned to his beloved ogden with a spring in his step, a deliberate obliviousness to the general air of anxiety that permeated campus like the most depressing flavor of old spice still on shelves, and a laundry list of impending projects, constantly protracting like a birthday magician’s sleeve full of handkerchiefs. in the case of his syllabus, the handkerchiefs were all bright red word documents that collected cobwebs at the bottom of his recent files, replaced by much less productive writing that would get his report card covered in brighter red yet. with this in mind, he strutted into the coffee shop with his laptop, a gigantic binder, and a most sacred mission: to get things done.

this mission was failed upon hearing words that could, in any way possible, be directed at him. retrieving his espresso as fast as it could be brewed, he sat across from the academic grumbler (note to self: not bribing this one into doing his homework) and showed off his binder filled with exactly zero notes for demonstration of his school-ignorant solidarity. he grinned, as though this conversation had been going on for longer than all of two seconds.

“course not, but suffering builds character, yeah? besides, lattes are a smart people drink. there’s probably some bio nerd outside waiting to protest all caffeine consumption on earth with a picket sign and a dream, but the stuff’s like brain power in a cup.” darius took a sip of his brain power in a cup and had all nerve endings in aforementioned brain shut down by the heat. in a futile attempt to hide the pain, he covered his face with the notebook, drew a ballpen portrait of the other that could be impressionist at best and deliberate caricature at worst, and then turned the paper back around with a more strained smile. “and there’s always becoming an art major. wanna give it a shot?”

STATUS .open LOCATION .coffee shop TIME .afternoon

          Needing to get away from the cold, the chill, had made Pippa leave the chilly New England weather for the warmth of California. She was conflicted between talking to the police and not telling them, though she knew saying something now would be kind of sketchy. Another part of her wanted to push everything that had happened deep down and forget it had ever happened. She had come back to campus the very latest she could, knowing that she was going to have to face the people that had been there. Pippa figured if she was mean and sarcastic enough that people would leave her alone. She was not looking forward to socializing with people. Sitting in the coffee shop with her usual cinnamon latte in front of her, she looked at her array of classes for the upcoming semester with a frown on her face. She did not want to take any of these classes. Maybe she should quietly change her major and not tell anyone. “I cannot be the only one who doesn’t want to focus on school.” 

[dtolemy]

to darius, the study of macroeconomics had become vastly prosaic in comparison to whichever pretentious, liberal arts -ology could tell him where the hell everyone was. sure, maybe fashionable lateness went the way of last season with the actual lateness that had christened the new year, but nobody sane would transfer out of ogden. not without making an exhibition of it, at least, though they’d have some extreme competition out there. nevertheless, he was going to make the most of it with what he had, which was a bag full of brand-new textbooks he’d read once a year and a desire to make his campus comeback one drenched in masculinity.

what he did not have was any idea that someone was in the gym blasting the mellifluous tones of america’s best singer-songwriter since america existed, crossfading with whatever bad bunny was. his duffel bag crashed to the floor, taking the shape of deodorant cans, water bottles, and brand new textbooks he forgot to unload and would forget forevermore. the woman yelled something about turning it off, but darius was furthermore preoccupied with a) getting to the treadmills as soon as humanly possible and b) making as much conversation as humanly possible with the playlist’s perpetrator.

"oh, what? no, it’s fine, i’m really turned on!” what, indeed. he opened his mouth again, as though an appropriate follow-up statement would make itself known if he talked fast enough, clicked his silver shoes together thrice, and requested a magical cab home from oz. which was probably what he was supposed to do, anyways. he cleared his throat and shot her a thumbs-up. “i mean, i like the playlist! you should totally work here, so everyone can enjoy…” plausible deniability, ptolemy. “the sweet tunes of selena gomez?”

WHERE: the campus gym

WHO: open !

campus opened on monday, so charlie was there on monday. she’d reasoned to herself that if she was just going to mope around in boston, she might as well go mope around at ogden. at least the company was guaranteed to be better. and so far it was- she’d found campus almost entirely empty, like she was the only student enrolled, and although she felt stifled by the silence and the need to keep all her thoughts inside her head, she was enjoying having her run of the campus. it was freeing to be the only person in the campus gym, feet keeping pace to the music she was blaring from her bluetooth speaker (a five hour playlist with only taylor swift and bad bunny). no need for headphones when there was no one to disturb. until the door swung open- she missed a step in surprise. “fuck, sorry, i’ll turn it off,” she yelled over her shoulder, more concerned with not falling off the treadmill than who had just joined her.

[dtolemy]

{ KEDAR WILLIAMS-STIRLING, 19, CIS MALE, HE/HIM } Is that DARIUS PTOLEMY? A SOPHOMORE originally from PORTSMOUTH, NEW HAMPSHIRE, they decided to come to Ogden College to study BUSINESS on a ATHLETIC SCHOLARSHIP. They’re THE HOMEGROWN HERO on campus, but even they could get blamed for Greer’s disappearance. 

pinterest | spotify | spotify+ (warning: bubblegum pop and the gummy bear song)

WHO?

full name: darius ezekiel ptolemy

birthday: october 25, 2003

pronouns: he/him

personality: exuberant. galvanizing. insatiable, imprudent, impetuous. insert other sat words he uses incorrectly to sound intelligent, which he is capable of being strictly in the contexts of sports and the pizza prices of every take-out place in a statewide vicinity. where he remains oblivious to his faults, darius thrives, and where he is forced to confront them, darius falters, snaps back with something stolen from the climax of an academy award loser, and goes back to thriving. he’s a personality, a figurehead, a trophy that needs to win itself more trophies. he thinks of getting people to like him, love him, hate him, focus on him, in any way, to be just as important as getting good grades. despite this, he’s anything but a hard partier, and claims designated driver like it’s his eternal duty. no better way to make people fall for you than by being a goody-two-shoes, right?

appearance: darius’s wardrobe is a miscellany of colors, thrown over a toned body with a meticulous dishevelment that takes more time in the morning than his three showers. his stature is asserted to be 6’0 but more accurately 5’10 with the help of high top sneakers, while its presence is mostly felt in him darting about campus with an agility only achievable through years of training and an abject inability to read maps properly.

WHAT?

sports & extracurriculars: tennis, diving & swimming, table tennis

tropes: homegrown hero. if anything’s to thank for his rise to the top and unaccountable social claustrophobia, it’s the prestigious town of portsmouth, new hampshire. | small name, big ego. but also, his success is sort of totally, entirely his doing. even if said success isn't quite that recognized outside of the country. | mr. vice guy. pride, lust, relating to holden caulfield, etc. he didn’t pay much attention in sunday school, honestly. | | attention whore. no point in doing anything if nobody’s around to post a fancam of it. | the nicknamer. because having a coherent contacts list is for losers.

relationship to greer: greer’s recruit.

Maybe it was because he was playing with some of the finest New Hampshire had to offer, or maybe it was because his attention was thoroughly divided between warming up and making the varsity team warm up to him, but Darius put more effort than ever into preparing himself for the life of an Ogden student. Specifically, the life of an Ogden student in Greer’s inner circle. He sought her time with a dogged determination that could only be dampened by explicit refusal, analyzing every letter of her posts (which were probably drafted by a PR team with more experience than a lifetime in the industry could merit, but a man could dream, and dream he did) as well as reading Cosmopolitan magazines behind his textbooks. Thus, freshman year was filled with professional, totally subtle butt-kissing and a whole lot of scampering around campus to spend his old rackets’ insurance on… whatever it was that Greer liked, anyways. He knew he wanted, needed, to become like her other friends, a shiny thing out of reach from anyone below their level, but how?

hobbies: cycling, yoga, taking selfies at inappropriate times

inspirations: randall “pink” floyd (dazed and confused), jeff sadecki (yellowjackets), mike jackson (the psmith novels), emily cooper (emily in paris, i promise i can explain)

WHY?

tl;dr: ambitious, discontent, and brilliant at acting like he’s neither of those, darius was born to the most mind-bogglingly middling family ever to throw their name in the genetic lottery in the most average neighborhood to have ever been built. his father an electrician and amateur pastor, his mother an insurance agent, and his grandmother a dispenser of morally dubious advice from her rocking chair, he took the burden of being an interesting person onto himself at a young age, idolizing the grand slam GOATs of television and desperate to become one of them. he and his coaches molded him into the underdog of his hometown’s dreams, but now that he’s been thrust into a world where people actually go places for vacation and expect better than the best of him, he doubts he can keep up without some elbow grease.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION…

connections: tba! aside from the suggested connections for the skeleton, however:

platonic. sports buddies, role models, study groups, fitness friends, ride or dies with a probable emphasis on dies

antagonistic. rivals on the court, mutual jealousy, academic opposition, bad influences, competitors in popularity

romantic. fleeting flirtationships, unrequited crushes, awkward dating app matches, friends with benefits, enemies with benefits

plot summaries: tba!

thread tracker: tba!

headcanons: 

hates table tennis and sucks at it big time but continues playing under the incorrect pretense that he will improve. either misses the ball entirely or hits it with so much force that whichever surface the poor thing lands on will be permanently scarred.

most active social media is linkedin. he is aware that this is humiliating but mentally maintains that he will be nothing without an internship to one of the many, many insurance companies whose employees he texts night and day.

favorites:

books. adventures of huckleberry finn by mark twain, losers take all by david klass, a separate peace by john knowles, winning ugly by brad gilbert, looking for alaska by john green

movies. fast times at ridgemont high, napoleon dynamite, sunday school musical, big time adolescence, teenage mutant ninja turtles (1990)

music. lecrae, nirvana, daft punk, weathers, sue sylvester’s super bass cover