rapscallicns-blog

[rapscallicns-blog]

IT’S MARCH 1ST

And it’s cheese~ But it’s fun and it’s free!

So who wants to take Natalie to a dance?

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//haha i’m the w o r s t

I got sick?? and also had midterms?? So I got super dead fjkasd;fjksdaf tho my dash is super dead too??? fjkdas;fkjsd;f rip is everyone dead

break is soon tho!! Imma try to get drafts done during break!!

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lookcround‌:

Eliza was going A LOT. Probably more than was good for her, but she had a kind heart and was a good soul and Angie was proud of her. Even if there were days when things seemed to just be too much. “Please, you´re never being silly,” She spoke softly, shaking her head. She hated seeing her sister like this. Whoever had caused her such pain deserved a slap in the face. Or forced to stand in Times Square for an entire day during the weekend. Which was probably worse.

“I can DEFINITELY kill all those people.” She then found herself saying, offering her sister a serious face. “It might just take a little planning.” The truth was: She´d do anything for Eliza, even if it involved things that she´d go to jail for.

Angie wrapped an arm around her sister a little tighter, shaking her head. “I´m sorry people are being ASSHOLES. I know how hard it is to find families for all the kids, but you´re doing so great. Don´t let these idiotic people let you forget that,”

She leaned in to press a kiss to Eliza´s temple. “Should I get us some ice cream? We can watch a movie if you want. Before I get on planning to murder all those people,” She then added with a wink.

“Thanks,” Eliza sniffed, and cracked a weak smile. Her voice sounded abused and congested and pathetic, but she could have this at least. Out there she would be friend and something like a pseudo-mother, at least to the orphans and her students. Outside, she was strong - she had to be. But at home, with her sisters, she could let herself be babied. “Love you, Angie.”

She felt that in Angelica’s presence, she would always be a young girl, bright eyed and eager and always falling down and ready to cry but always safe, always comforted.  A pause, and a still slightly wet chuckle. “But I think I should stop you from becoming the next great New York serial killer. Imagine the headlines.” 

Angelica could probably get away with it, though. Angelica was - brilliant. She’d been half convinced Angelica was a superhero up till the right old age of thirteen.

“Yes, please. Do we still have that carton of the velvety chocolate, or did Peggy eat it all? I think I’ve literally been dreaming about that ice cream the entire week.” Eliza snuggled into her sister’s side, pulling her feet up to the couch. “I don’t think I have any brain cells left for plotting murder though. Something mind-numbing would be great.”

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themusicianofthenightt‌:

Erik looks back up when she enters, scans her entire body. She looks utterly ridiculous what with her pyjamas and the blanket – the pink, fluffy blanket; he wonders which one lives for the color – tied around her shoulders. In any other scenario, Erik would laugh at that, but right now is something entirely different. 

“…Superhero?” he echoes bleakly instead, as if he’s never heard of one before. 

He has, of course, especially the one whose name he now possessed, apparently. His childhood is a blur, yes, but he has a vague snippet of a happy memory from when he was very young of holding and reading and loving a comic book – until that was taken from him, too, by the fast onset maturity of a neglected child and the hateful barbs of others. 

He’d dreamed, when he was eight – maybe, seven, maybe nine, it didn’t matter – that he’d be saved by a superhero, and then he got older that he’d become the supervillain and make them pay. 

But he didn’t. He instead lives in a dusty old prop closet in a theater he can’t afford tickets to if he wishes on every star, and right now, he is sitting on Darcy’s – a girl that he met maybe three hours ago – bed, wrapped in a blanket, wearing too small clothes, and being offered… God, apple juice. Not hard cider, or perhaps wine, or even plain tap water. Apple juice. 

He feels like a child again. Perhaps if he’d better memories, he would be enjoying himself. But he doesn’t. So he isn’t. 

“…Apple juice,” he mutters more to himself than to Darcy. He stares curiously at the girl, ponders why she hasn’t abandoned him yet. Anyone else would have. He wonders what makes her different. 

He hunches the blanket around his thin shoulders even tighter. She still might not be. She’s probably waiting, prolonging the suffering. How cruel must one be to do that? He’d already suffered enough. 

He looks back down at the sandwich lying in front of him and says, out loud, “When do you plan on kicking me out? Sooner, rather than later, I would prefer, if I am given any choice.” 

“I’m - Why would you - ?“ For a moment, she was simply flabbergasted, halfway to laughter but at the same time halfway to a frown. “Why would you think I plan on kicking you out?” 

She had to hand it to him - every time Darcy thought she had this tall, brooding stranger figured, he got - well, stranger. She cocked her head, and her hip too, for good measure, like her mother used to do when she was being particularly stubborn, planting her hand on her waist. “Look man, I brought you home already, didn’t I? I’m not about to turn you out on the street at this hour, especially this time of year. It’s cold outside. And it’s late. Too late to be wandering New York streets.” 

She frowned and amended. “That’s not to say you’re not - free to leave. If you don’t want to be here. Just that I’d rather you didn’t.” Her considerations went out the window - so he wouldn’t take kindly to her poking her nose in his business, but honestly, Darcy cared very little at the moment. She’d always been impatient - and she never quite thought through what she wanted to say before she said it. 

“And honestly your - thing, I guess - with the theater? I’d rather you didn’t go back there either. Not because it’s illegal or whatever the hell, but living in a theater can’t be good for you. You don’t look like you’ve been eating and you can’t have been sleeping well, what with there being basically nowhere other than the floor to sleep."

“‘Course, I’m not your mother, and it’s not like I could offer you the guest room for longer than a few nights a week or my roommates will be after you for rent, but you’re at least taking the sandwiches. I made like - thirty. You’re taking them.” Almost as an afterthought, she added. “Oh, and you can pop by for the shower once in a while. I can probably try harder to figure out when my roommate’s out so she won’t ask questions.”

Dramatic monologue over, Darcy poured the apple juice rather vehemently, sloshing a bit as she slammed the glass down on the nightstand. “So. Get it in that thick mopey skull of yours.  You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

She kept her hands on her hips a moment longer, furrowing her face into an almost comical frown, just for good measure.

“Anyway,” Brightening almost a second later, Darcy straightened. “If you’ve never seen a superhero movie before, you’re missing out. Wanna put one on or something?”

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ncrvouswrecks‌:

Trina’s smile, her attempt at a cheery smile, wavered. This girl seemed to be a bit moody, not unlike Jason if she were to be honest with herself. The Jason that existed, and existed without really living, during the time of the family’s falling apart.

“Calculus,” Trina repeated, trying to regain her friendly composure, “sounds like a daunting task. Truly, it’s been a while since I was in any sort of Calculus. I’ve heard from my son that they’ve completely changed math since I was in school.” 

Her attempts to be conversational, the light and casual air of it all, was probably not what this girl wanted. So simply, Trina tried to recover in a different way.

“Might I ask your name? Mine’s Trina. Spelled like Treena but specifically not that.”

Natalie felt - well, a little bad, maybe. She was a grouch, but repeatedly, repeatedly in her own head she told herself she wasn’t - cruel. Didn’t have the guts to be, for all the anger bubbling all these years inside of her. Was afraid of it, a little. Afraid of becoming like her mother, though her mother didn’t do it deliberately. She hated herself for that too - hated herself for the softness that she retained because it meant she could still be hurt.  How easy it would be, to simply not give a damn, the way she always told herself she didn’t.

“Natalie.” In the end, she conceded, awkward. Aware that she’d been a little far and now had to reluctantly backpedal. “You’ve got a son then, Trina.” The other woman’s name, pronounced correctly, repeated back. More like a statement, less like a question.

 Natalie sort of knew, a little bit - maybe it was her own bias, but she could tell from the way Trina behaved that likely, the older woman was a mother. “Does he - does he go here or something?”

She couldn’t recall knowing a Jason - even if she did, really, what was there to it? She never talked to any of her classmates and her classmates never really took an interest in her. Still, the way Trina spoke of Jason - a seemingly frazzled, motherly woman’s son. She couldn’t help but wonder, if only a little, if that would’ve been her own brother she was discussing, in another lifetime. If Gabriel had been here, would her mother have been better? Would her mother be like Trina?

“What’s he like?” Without permission, the words tumbled from her lips. She was dying inside, screaming at her own stupidity, but kept her face blank regardless.

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wednesdayaddamshq‌:

Wednesday was relieved when Darcy pulled the curtains, if she hadn’t Wednesday would’ve retreated into her room where it was always dark aside from some carefully placed muted lamps which gave off just enough light for her to see her way around. When Darcy started talking about Wednesday’s job though Wednesday felt happy, though her face didn’t betray her by showing that emotion. “Body found in the river,” she stated, “mutilated, cause of death was strangulation, the water was merely a hiding place.”

Darcy gasped, appropriately dramatic as she kicked the air a little faster. “A serial killer on the loose, maybe?” Wednesday didn’t always have thoughts about the murders, but Darcy figured she may as well conjecture. “Or maybe it’s a river demon, here to feed on mortal souls.” Ok so maybe she overdid that one a little, but Darcy had, in fact, watched at least three supernatural Buzzfeed Unsolved videos the night before when she had been on her fifteen minute breaks between rehearsals. 

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thouscndways‌:

“yes,” she answered, exasperated—with herself, or with him, she didn’t know. “he’s not shitty. he just…he doesn’t know what he’s missing. he’s just confused,” elle tried explaining, but even she was starting to doubt herself. there was no doubting she still loved him, but even she knew that this was getting a little out of hand.

“that’s kind of you, really, but me and my ex—we’re in love. i mean like—he hasn’t realized he’s still in love with me yet, but once he does it’ll be great,” she insisted. chasing boys was tiring, especially one who really didn’t seem to have any interest in her anymore. but she didn’t want to give up now. had she given up, she wouldn’t be studying law now. even though she didn’t have the guy, she was kind of glad she was having the new experiences.

including this one. elle was totally out of her element, and she loved it. she wa getting to meet people and experience things she never would have gotten to do had she stayed at UCLA. away from the sororities, and the frat parties, and the sunny californian weather…elle missed it, but she felt better remembering that she could be more than just parties and fashion.

“right,” she responded, oddly feeling unsure of herself. it was easy to dance and get down with a crowd, especially surrounded by her sisters, but with just the two of them, it felt weird for her. getting over her sudden over self-awareness, she started shaking her hips a little, getting into a dancing she was more familiar with. “this is weird,” she thought aloud. “but like, a good weird. like, a fun weird.”

“Confused,” Eliza repeated, “Right.” She wasn’t one to - judge. Only, well, she felt bad for the girl. To have come, presumably, all that way, and to be sat out here alone, obviously not having attained what she thought to be her happy ending - “Well, as long as you’re happy, I suppose. Have you - spoken to him yet?”

Breakups were rough - presumably. Eliza herself hadn’t had many relationships. Even barring her own interest, it’d always been difficult to find someone. She hadn’t been kidding when she said rich boys made for shitty lovers. The ones that were vaguely tolerable were usually more taken with a more confident Angie or a livelier Peggy. Still, Eliza felt Elle must’ve had a rough time of it all, since she was here.

“I do admire your optimism,” Eliza smiled. “We could all use a little bit more of that. And hey, weird as it is, we’re doing great.” She stopped in place, dropping her arms. “It is getting a bit chilly outside though.”

The sun was setting over the hill, the light cast on the grass dimmer and dimmer. “Want to go back in? I could probably find your ex for you, and you can go and give him a piece of your mind.” A pause. “Or, we could forget about stupid boys for a little and enjoy ourselves. The eclairs here are really good. And I get the feeling my sisters would take right to you.”

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“Not displeased,” Eliza was quick to amend. “A little tired - perhaps.” It was a double edged knife at the best of times. She couldn’t deny that the society to which she belonged provided opportunity and new experiences, that she didn’t still enter ballrooms with starry eyes and private smiles as her gaze passed from one person to the next, always searching for the moments when being alone in a crowd of hundreds wasn’t so very lonely. But also, more and more frequently she had to fake the smiles, had to act and talk and behave normally even when she could feel the weight of gazes on the back of her neck. “It can get a bit much, don’t you think?”

She smiled. “You’re studying dance?” It was one of the things Eliza had to work at to get right. She memorized steps and practiced with Angelica, used to get sweaty hands before balls would start. “That explains - how you make everything look so easy. I’m sure it’s not but that’s how you make it look, Katerina.” She’d glimpsed the other girl in the hall, some time ago. “Have you danced since you were very young?” 

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“YOU SEEM QUITE DISPLEASED with it on the whole” katerina moved to remark, their initial reply seeming almost disappointed about the location the two had emerged from. she would admit it, there was something constricting in it all at times, the social environment stuffy and controlled, but it could be a utter blast at times, letting her hair down and enjoying herself- the whole situation made ten times better what with her extended family not intruding in, those all the way across the pond. “that is true, i will concede.” a nod of admittance, she never liked to admit she was wrong, but it didn’t feel so much a defeat as that.

a murmur of a chuckle, she took the compliment with her usual brightness of cheeks sparking forward, accustomed to hearing speech like that, but always happy to hear it once more. “i suppose i should be seeing as i’m studying it” the girl explained, understanding the situation of the other entirely, it was a common factor with many a man. titled, wealthy, courteous manners to an extent. but dreadful dancing feet. “i assure you, they shall not be bruised anymore now” excellent grace could skip throughout, careful avoidance of the feet of her partner. “katerina- katerina harrow. a pleasure, eliza”.

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themusicianofthenightt‌:

Erik rolls his eyes. “Unless you are a ghost yourself, you can’t,” he says quite firmly. “Need I remind you that I am not?”

He curls the gallon of holy water, puffs out a breath as he does so. “I’m surprised you haven’t garnered the knowledge that that’s all I’m good for,” he mutters in reference to her second comment. “If that’s not the case, then why–”

He cuts himself off when Meg grabs his wrist; the surprise of the gesture makes him recoil onto himself. “Darcy, for the love of God and all that is holy,” he sputters, “would you calm the fuck down?” He starts to peel the girl’s fingers off of his arm one by one – damn, she’s far stronger than she looks. “It was–” he tugs her arm around– “most likely just–” ah, she’s letting go now– “a rabbit or some other small woodland creature. We are in the middle of the woods, you know.” He yanks his arm away from Darcy and rubs his wrist.

“And don’t ever do that again. I didn’t say you could touch me.” He swallows the last few words so they come out a bit more of a growl then he likely intended. “Am I clear?”

His arm drops to his side, and he looks around. “Now, that’s out of the way. What exactly are we looking for?”

@themusicianofthenightt

She stuck her tongue out at him, even though she was still pale from previous terror. “Fine, fine, I’ll just. Grab a tree or something. Fat lot of good you are.” Darcy wrinkled her nose at him and snapped the cuffs again, just to be annoying. “Just because you’re a sourpuss doesn’t mean I have to be. Also you’re about to become a ghost if you don’t get ready to book it. I’m more athletic than you and have exactly zero qualms about leaving you to the demons - “

She paused, a shit-eating grin spreading on her face, and she refrained from throwing her arms around him and squeezing as hard as she could even though she desperately wanted to, just to be annoying - “But I love you~!”

Darcy seemed like she was joking. She wasn’t. Raoul was great - a weird mix grumpy old man shaking his walker at the kids on his lawn and a college theater kid that never got over their post-show depression trapped in a thirty something year old body, sure, but mostly, a good egg. Most importantly, Raoul was taller but couldn’t outrun her for very long.

“We’re looking for a sign,” She clarified. “Blood pentagrams maybe? Shadow demons in the dark? Abandoned cabins in the woods? I mean I’ve been told the abandoned house on the top of this hill is haunted, and I figured we’d pop in and say hello but we may as well check out the woods first.” Darcy paused, glancing around suspiciously as another twig seemed to snap in the distance. “Oh, birds. Birds are pretty much always ominous this time at night. Dead birds especially.”

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soulxfaman‌:

Patrick almost dropped his smile until he realized that she was joking. He let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh no. I would say that you´re excellent company. Better than any I´ve encountered this evening,” He was then quick to add. Skylar. He knew who she was now. Or at leas the family she was part of. He´d heard Nathalie talk about them often enough and well, if Eliza offered to take him out for a little while surely nobody would complain? He was making conversation and friends after all.

“Oh well that´s an offer that is hard to refuse.” He could do with some food that wasn´t mini sized and there was just something about this…ADVENTURE that made his skin tingle with anticipation. Patrick could hardly remember the last time he´d felt this way. “Mademoiselle,” He then grinned, holding his hand out. “I´d say we make a run for it before your sister does catch up to me.”

“Let’s go then!” Eliza couldn’t contain the grin that spread across her face. She grabbed the proffered hand and tugged him into a stumbling half run. The wind on her face was refreshing - blew away the stress of the day, the unnatural warmth of the banquet hall. It was metaphorical and physical freedom, and the sunset was rising to meet her as she stepped downhill, footfalls fast and gentle on the gravel. She’d not escaped a banquet since she had been a child - and it was ridiculously freeing to do so.

They slowed to a walk again, on a street, not so busy as the place that they’d left behind, and windblown, wild-eyed, she pointed at a cozy-looking storefront. “That’s it right there.” She’d found it walking home from a visit to one of her students and fell in love with atmosphere, the friendly and tight-knit staff, so much so that it was becoming one of her regular haunts. “Let’s duck in?” 

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thouscndways‌:

mendel had to actively remind himself that he did not need validation from his patients for anything. still, it was kind of nice to hear her almost sort of? agree with what he said. it shouldn’t matter to him. but it does—stuff like this always does. he just wants to be good at his job, and for people to like him as a psychiatrist. it was fear that always nagged at the back of his mind.

most importantly, he wanted to connect with his patients. he wanted them to trust him—so in turn, he gives them trust, lets them play weird question games with him—whatever. in all honesty, this was kind of fun to him—sometimes his job got boring and some sessions were just awful to sit through, but this mix up was proving to be interesting. mildly stressful, but interesting.

“interesting,” mendel responded, having not looked at it like that before. plus, her answer was giving him a little more insight to the type of person she might be. he made another mental note to himself—this could be helpful later. 

“no,” he answered without hesitation. “i mean, it’s true, it is difficult, but i don’t think it’s messed with me. sometimes i get upset, or even frustrated, but in the end, i’m still just a regular working man.” he believed this was true. it really was, though. he wasn’t happy necessarily, but he wasn’t ‘fucked in the head’. he was generally a very optimistic person, so it was difficult to bring him down so easily.

“alright. my turn—what’s your relationship with your mother like? aside from her spontaneously dragging you to psychiatry sessions,” he asked, being forward about it. the man wanted to know. 

“Optimistic, too. Ain’t this my lucky day.” Natalie’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile. She knew what “normal” looked like. Knew perfect families and perfect smiles and perfect routines. Normal lives. Normal families. Except, behind closed doors, she knew that she would always lead a life parallel to normal, approaching and never touching it. 

She wondered how many people walked on the parallel and never even noticed.

“My mother is not much of a mother,” She continued coolly - their family looked beautiful from the outside, parents who eloped, madly in love, a genius daughter headed away to prestige in the city. But the truth was this - and the truth, like always, was ugly, only she was so used to saying it that she was no longer bothered. “Well, not to me, at least. I don’t suppose she’s been in to see you?” She paused. “Actually - never mind. You wouldn’t have asked me the question if you’d met with her.”

Doc didn’t seem to know about Gabriel - and Natalie probably preferred it to stay that way. Her parents left her unruffled, though the anger and exhaustion that built up over the years would never really go away. Gabriel though - the idea of her big brother left her uncertain. She had never been quite sure whether to hate him or to hope for him. The ghost of him was the personal villain in her life - and yet he was also the solution, the key to solve it all, the last hope to any salvation for her broken family.

“Have you thought what you might’ve been doing?” Natalie asked her next question, instead of voicing any of that, “You know. If you hadn’t been doing this. If you’d be happier. If you’d be different.”

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heirxss‌:

“Hey now. You were the one calling yourself OLD.” Pauline reminded him with a grin. She was liking this sort of conversation much better than the one they´ve had before, honestly. She didn´t like to be treated like a child, it was enough that her father was still treating her like one, she didn´t need anyone else to do the same. Especially not someone who wasn´t far from her age at all.

“You should see it. It´s quite the sight.” Pauline was well aware that her father could be intimidating, it was a trait that had helped getting him where he was in the business world, but she had seen many other sides of him, especially back in the days when her mother had been alive. Pauline willed the memory away and nodded, following towards where their fathers were standing. “I´m ready to put on a show,” She then grinned. “Let´s give them one,”

“Was I?” Philip pretended to look bewildered. “I’ve forgotten already - goodness, past old and straight into decrepit. Ah, to have wasted my life being a drunken fool!” He snatched a flute of champagne off a passing tray, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. “I’d drink to that. And to the imminent chaos we’re about to cause, of course.”

He downed the whole thing and placed it back on the tray in record time, navigating them quite expertly through the little cluster of old, aristocratic men. Stopping in front of his father, who was standing with Mr. Kaufman and of course, his boss, he rocked up on the balls of his feet and then back on his heel, smiling wickedly. Though he wasn’t drunk - far from it, in fact - he liked always to appear, to his father’s disappointment, a complete good-for-nothing. “Ah - I was just looking for you, my man. Ms. Kaufman here - brilliant young lady, amazing intellect - has a stellar article that I think would be the perfect centerpiece to Monday’s paper,” Philip turned to his partner in crime, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Pauline? Care to enlighten them?”

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themusicianofthenightt‌:

“The ability to dance to a song is not the only measure of its worth,” he mutters, mostly to himself at this point. He huddles deeper into the blanket. “Nothing has meaning any… Why are you laughing?” 

Somehow, he scowls even more at Darcy, hunching his shoulders. “I am… uncomfortable,” he says. He picks his words carefully. “Let me be.” 

Something about this appears to have a struck a nerve. He stops talking then and slowly reaches his hand out from underneath the blanket and snatches the plate away. 

Oh, God, not this again. 

He holds the plate in his hand, stares at the sandwich. It’s the first real food he’s seen in… Two days, maybe? Three? He hasn’t been this close to an actual meal in far too long, and yet he has no appetite. If anything, his stomach just hurts now.  

That was all it took. How… pathetic. His eyes don’t lift from the plate, the sandwich on it, the ingredients poking out from between the bread. 

Logically, it doesn’t make sense why this is when he chooses to react; he’s made some mistakes in front of Darcy – many, in fact – and she’d laughed before. But something about this hurts more. 

Which makes no fucking sense. But, then again, nothing else about the… unique biochemical structure of his brain ever does. 

He inhales slowly, presses against the wall, retreats back into the blanket. The plate remains untouched in front of him; he can’t force himself to eat it. At this point, he’d rather just sleep. Or leave. He’s suddenly very uncomfortable, and whenever he is in an uncomfortable situation, especially one he can’t control, he wants out. 

Except Darcy hasn’t left yet, and Darcy needs to leave for him to. So he stares at the sandwich and refuses to make eye contact. 

The tone of his voice stopped her in her tracks. He’d burrowed into the blanket - staring blankly ahead of him, and the subsequent silence was deafening. Her tongue poked into a corner of her cheek and her brow furrowed, only briefly, and then she was smiling - less open mirth, like before, and softer, more subdued. “You don’t - you don’t have to do that, dude. I’m not - trying to making fun of you, I swear. I just - well, thought you looked kinda cute, really.” 

Like a kid. A big grumpy one. But a big grumpy kid was better than the age and lethargy that seemed now to set over her house-guest. 

And Darcy knew - Darcy knew she was a bit much. Ok, a lot much. She was loud and brash and leaped without looking and poked her nose where it didn’t belong. She talked too much and laughed too hard and cared too much about people she’s never met and may never really know.  She was obnoxious and relentless and very, very dumb and - it was all too much, all the time - she was all too much.

“Sorry,” Darcy offered, softly - and, almost by reflex, reached out to pat his shoulder, and then thought better of it, properly subdued as she returned it to her side, clutching her wrist. “Um - I’m sorry.”

The silence still roared and crashed in her ears, and she - still hated it.

“I’ll just....get you some juice? Now?”

She didn’t want to leave him alone - didn’t want to leave things the way they were, without a resolution. She solved her problems through confrontation - she talked to people. But he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk and so she’d forced herself to accept it, stepping out into the hall.

(That - was when she spotted the supply closet she’d left open haphazardly on her hunt and the extra blanket in it. And - well, Darcy had just self-assessed to be really dumb.)

When she returned to the guest room she had to shoe it open, arms full of glasses and juice and the blanket that she’d tied around her shoulders like a cape. “Juice!” she announced triumphantly, setting the glasses and the jugs down before she had a chance to spill it all over her Wonder Woman pajamas. “Superhero fuel, if you will.” A wink as she flapped the sides of her blanket around her, sitting down. “Pick your poison, Batsy. Orange or apple?”

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[rapscallicns-blog]

                           people like us aren’t meant for happy endings.

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ctheist‌:

      THIRST FOR KNOWLEDGE RUNS DEEP THROUGH VEINS , reason enough to sign the little time he has of freedom to further his educations. why not LEARN more when given the opportunity ? especially since the tutoring program is being offered. at the first sight of the sign up sheet , dark HUES scanned over the options. languages. perfect. he’s already become fluent in english , german & quite a bit of latin. at least , more than he can learn from MOST teachers. at this point he doesn’t even CARE what the language is that this man is offering. he simply wants to learn.

      the first spot is his , the pull to the end of the day brings him to this ROOM. there’s something he hasn’t felt in a long time. just a hint. excitement. a brand new opportunity to expand his expertise. the door is pushed open , revealing a man. young enough but not appearing to be an expert in anything.

      note is taken of the NERVES. words spill from the tutor’s lips & within moments the young boy is placing his backpack against the table. he’s placed himself in the opposing seat , ORBS glancing at the other. there’s a breath as he relaxes. ❛ MICHAEL. ❜ a slight nod. ❛ i don’t need help with the languages i know. i want to learn a NEW one. i’ve already been taught everything they have here. can you show me something NEW ? ❜

He’d been told not to teach anything not offered by the school or taken by the specific student. He’d found it a bit odd - the tracks and teaching offered. Having grown up in Europe, Pierre had never really had the chance to get used to the American education system. When he’d signed on to do this, the school hadn’t really told him much of anything. He’d met with someone, who was rather skeptical that a PhD student wanted the extra work load of being a tutor, specially since he could’ve spent the time doing a part time job or something. They got undergrads mostly, apparently. Still, his credentials checked out - and so, without even being told what he was supposed to teach aside from some hard rules, he was waltzed directly into the life of dealing with high school students.

(He thought, vaguely nauseous, that he’d rather waltz with a bear. Pierre didn’t think he would’ve survived in American high school. Teenagers were vicious.)

Still, faced with the rare hunger for learning - he found himself hard-pressed to refuse. After all, hadn’t he sought refuge in academics? Even this venture was an escape. He aimed to block out every hour of every day so he could lose himself in the stream of mind-numbing information. One language, two, twelve. It made no difference.

“”Look, I’m almost completely certain that I’m not supposed to do that,” Pierre began, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “But - well, nobody needs to know.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table. “So. Know any French, Michael?”

[rapscallicns-blog]

thouscndways‌:

emelie returned with a plate of warm cookies—the chocolate was melted and the cookies were gooey—and set the plate in front of the girl before going to work on her coffee. “the cookies aren’t very fresh but when put in the panini maker, they taste like they’re fresh out of the oven,” she explained with a small smile. fresh baked good were a hard thing to come by this early in the morning, so that was the next best thing.

while making the coffee, emelie couldn’t ignore the question burning at the back of her mind. it would probably be rude to question the girl’s sleeping habits, but emelie really didn’t get very many people who ordered coffee at this ungodly hour. something obviously wasn’t right here. what if this girl was plagued with something so terrible it was keeping her from sleeping? maybe she was a vampire? emelie didn’t know until she asked.

she spoke up, voice now quiet as she shed her usual waitress persona, curiosity getting the best of her, “why coffee so late at night?” she asked, sparing a curious glance at the girl, before turning back to the coffee machine. “can’t sleep?” she asked, hoping she would get more than just that as an explanation.

“Thanks,” Sue leaned forward to pluck a cookie from the plate while she was waiting for the coffee. Warmth lingered and tingled on her fingertips as the chocolate melted on her tongue. Her heart thawed in inches, tight shoulders relaxing their slopes into something softer, looser. It was maybe dramatic of her, but she always thought that people like her liked sweets, because it smoothed over the bitter taste on their tongues. 

She remembered summers with Chris, before high school, trying to bake cookies. They had never gotten it quite right, two shrieking, giggling girls who’d eaten too much raw dough or added too much cocoa powder. She remembered the smoke in her mother’s kitchen, the sun on her face. Maine was higher up, but somehow, that place in her memories felt much warmer than New York, this time of year.

“Ah - as you can imagine,” She shrugged, cocking her head at the question. “I’m not - I haven’t really slept at night for a while now. Almost a habit. Even the idea of going to sleep is a little terrifying.” A tried smile crossed her face, humorless. “Bit of a baby, me. Don’t really like the nightmares.”

[rapscallicns-blog]

themusicianofthenightt‌:

That secret isn’t the one I’m worried about, he thinks, but he doesn’t say anything related to that out loud. Instead, he shrugs. “You are correct when you say that,” he says. “Crap. Have you turned on a radio recently? Most songs all sound the same – with the exception of a few, ever shrinking number of genres – especially popular songs.” This is obviously something he has thought about a lot; he is talking as much with his hands as with his voice. “That itself is part of a vicious cycle fueled by capitalism: something gets popular, and people are going to want to copy it. And when something objectively terrible is the ‘popular’ thing, then, everything mimicking it is going to be likewise bad.” He rolls his eyes. “The whole problem could be circumvented if people had taste, but, sadly, most of the modern public appears to lack of that. The common modern musical palate enjoys the musical equivalent of LaCroix.”

Erik lets out a loud breath. He isn’t finished with his little rant, but Darcy has already barreled forward in the conversation. 

“You made a what?” he asks, as if he’s never heard of a “sandwich” before. The food is not what is confusing him; Darcy’s willingness to share is baffling. She had said nothing about feeding him, just that he could use her shower - he has - and that he could stay the night - he intends to. He shakes his head.  “No, thank you, I think I will be…” 

Here, his stomach interjects like a dying whale. He doesn’t feel hungry, per se, but it has been a significant amount of time since his last substantial meal. Or even his last snack; the cheap potato chips that had tasted more like lightly salted paint flakes had been later that morning – the previous morning? – which was still eighteen hours ago. He sighs. “…Fine. I will have… What type of sandwich have you made?” 

Hunching over is starting to hurt his back, and at this point, he fears he’s going to tear the shirt from stretching it. Slowly, throwing one arm across his stomach, he sits up and pulls the sheet out from under the bed to wrap it around himself. When he’s finished, he looks vaguely like a child in an over-sized cape. At least he’s mostly covered now; his legs are still poking out. Damn his tallness.

“Oh come on - it’s not all bad. At the very least - you can dance to all of them. I’m very partial to the feel-good ones.” Darcy’s eyebrow arched into her hairline and her lip curved upward into a lopsided grin. She thought this must’ve been - what, the most words he’d spoken since they’d met?  “Ever get any stuck in your head? You must hate that - since you’re absolutely no fun.” She had half a mind to reach over and turn on the radio on the nightstand, “But I guess I should’ve guessed?” 

LaCroix did taste awful though. That she agreed with. Something else to drink then - juice to go with the sandwich? She didn’t think soda would - suit. “What, have you never had a sandwich before?” Darcy searched round the room - she’d brought a plate in but had forgotten where she’d put it - and then, letting out a satisfied noise of triumph as she found them sitting on the desk by the window. “Sad life, if you’ve never had a sandwich - seriously, what do you feed yourself?” She pondered the sandwich, frowning. “It’s your regular old BLT. We’re out of ham. And eggs. But I grilled some cheese, too.”

She’d caught a view of his ribs in the last half hour-ish - and it would be her mission to pass food to him relentlessly as much as she could, at least until they parted ways. Though now, she was imagining grander schemes of leaving sandwiches for Raoul in the theater, too. It made perfect sense to her - she left food for stray cats all the time, and feeding a somewhat scraggly stray human was no different.

“I’ll get you some juice - and to pack up the rest of the sandwiches so you can take them with you in the morning. Do you have a fridge? - actually no, I’m dumb, you probably don’t. See - this is why I hate not having a personal dressing room. Can’t just stick a mini fridge there for convenience.” 

Darcy looked up from her intense staring contest with the sandwich to find him - wrapped up in the blanket, expression dour, looking for all the world like a grumpy child playing superhero, and promptly burst into laughter. “Sorry - don’t mean to be - but - somehow  I think you’re managing to be more ridiculous than before?” Tears sprang into her eyes as she clutched her side and offered the sandwich with a shaky hand. “Oh my god, take it before I drop it, jesus christ.”

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