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rxturncd · 4 years
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WORDS HAVE WINGS. Despite only getting introduced to some of the returning class, a few had seen it fit to tell Niklas whatever “juicy” bits and pieces about their lives, and more importantly, the lives of other. Nothing excites people than forgetting about anything exciting; and something exciting, as put by one of the ladies he shares a table with, has just happened: a fist fight. With who and why Niklas completely misses as more and more chimed in about unrelated rumours to fuel the fire of the gossip. It doesn’t concern him, he knows, but he is concerned. There had been something similar during his high school reunion a few years back, and in an effort to break the fight, he had been punched on the back of the head. 
At that thought, he excuses himself to try to find out what happened. The ladies had been more than subtle at asking him to make sure that they relay anything he finds to them. With a thin smile, he leaves the group and goes about the crowd, only to end up back by the group. He sees that they’ve thinned out but there are a few new faces. He turns to the man a bit adrift from the group and offers his small talk. “Exciting night?”
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@fckinbrks​
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rxturncd · 4 years
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deannaxrivers‌:
location: Seneca High
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Deanna always believed appearances were everything. She was the principal, after all, and skipping out on the reunion or any of the other festivities, would’ve been considered blasphemous. She could hardly believe fifteen years passed since she did what she did where her predecessor was concerned, but Deanna can’t say she regretted how it all went down. She kept her mouth shut, took the job, and focused on making something as shambled as the high school wonderful again. It wasn’t for the lack of trying, however.
This was the time to shake off any impending doubts and fully step into the high heeled stiletto role of Principal Rivers, gracious educator and benevolent leader. After making a few welcoming announcements in the auditorium and stealing a cookie or two from the various treats lining the massive refreshments table, Deanna stole away from the crowd and walked the hallowed halls of the school, giving a gracious smile though it lacked in the genuine sense. “Hi, it’s so nice of you to be here.”
MARBLE DOES NOT CRUMBLE. It weathers so easily -- it cracks, it lets itself be flooded -- but in never crumbles. It stands before it collapses in sharp cuts of stone, and perhaps Niklas’ patience is marble, too. The music and buzz from outside muffle the mute hallway of the building, and aside from the few aged statues, Niklas stands alone in this disturbed quiet with his phone at hand. He has been trying to contact his wife, Katherine, since early afternoon. but still no dice. He’s not a proud man, and perhaps it shows, because as his latest call drops, it says that he has called Katherine more than 10 times already. The texts he has sent are more than that. 
He slips his phone back into his jacket and runs a lone finger lightly on the sharp nose of the marble bust. He hears footsteps and readies his smile -- it’s Deanna. “I think the returning class would find it nicer if you’re out there, don’t you think?” he says casually. Niklas cannot remember meeting Deanna outside of a conference room or a meeting before, and he welcomes the change. “You look fantastic, by the way.” 
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rxturncd · 4 years
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olcvcrs‌:
location: reunion at the school
      while oliver may have been looking forward to the reunion – he was also very much aware that there were a few things to go wrong. most of them were all cut from the same cloth. most of them were the ones that were willing to rip each other to shreds for an A or to be at the topo fthe class. now it was all about showing up and showing off and pushing each other’s buttons to see who cracked first. maybe oliver would have entertained the idea a few years ago but he wasn’t the same guy that he was in high school although that guy seemed to peek through the cracks every now and again.
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he just couldn’t do it. the people that he was talking to at the moment seemed more interested in poking fun and showing off and it was clear that oliver was less than entertained. a few words were exchanged and maybe things were getting a bit more heated than oliver would have liked. his statement and pat on the back seemed to sound more like a threat than a statement of good will as he offered a tight lipped smile and moved away. ‘ i need a drink, ‘ he murmured to himself, headed over to the tables were the drinks were present.
REUNIONS ARE RARELY FUN. Niklas would know:he attended his Seneca High reunion a few yaers back, and had vowed that never to accept another invitation. It irks him having to brush shoulders with people who have nothing else to talk about than what wealth they’ve accumulated with the help of their family’s trust fund; and although in some ways, he is of the same feathers, he likes to think of himself less shallow, less... Seneca. Damn him, then, if he has already a bit to sip throughout the night.
He passes the night joining a group from the returning class, listening in but not engaging with. Some faces he knows, some name he has never heard of. The only reason he’s here, aside from working on restoring one of the high school’s original buildings, is because it’s his wife’s class reunion, and Katherine isn’t even here. I need a drink, he think, and when he hears one of the men say his thoughts out loud, Niklas pipes in and says that he’ll go with him and get one too. He knows the drill: before he goes, he asks the rest of the group, especially the ladies, if any of them would like one as well (”Oh, no, thank you, Mr. Hedstrṏm. You’re so kind.”) His mother has taught him well.  He nods at the other man before shuffling through the people to get to the drinks. “I hope they have non-artisinal beer,” offers Niklas lightly, “what do you drink, ---? Oliver, correct?.”
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rxturncd · 4 years
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You are what I’m going to dream about tonight,
Marina Tsvetaeva, from a letter to Rainer Maria Rilke featured in “Letters: Summer 1926,” (via violentwavesofemotion)
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rxturncd · 5 years
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The breaking of a wave cannot explain the whole sea.
Vladimir Nabokov
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