fifthcurriculum | INTRO LOG

[Obviously enough, Petre's being impeccable and waiting on the bed, back resting on the wall while one leg lays across the other, bouncing distractedly while he holds up a book. Who gives a shit what it's about, he was just passing the time.

He looks up, hears the suitcase hit the floor. His is already tucked away because his clothes are all in place, taking up the majority of the closet. John won't mind, will he? Of course not.

Petre's pretty much beaming when he sees who it is. Of course it'd be him - who else would be sturdy enough to end up with someone like him? Especially when they heard that students were being inappropriately approached and lured into breaking rules.

Pause. He straightens up, lets the book down on his lap.]

Roomie!

No. [It's said flatly, but his voice rises a bit on the next one:] Fuck, no. This isn't happening.

[And he doesn't mean it in an "I'm hallucinating" way. He means it in an "I'll burn this school to the ground first" way.]

How the fuck did you swing this, you son of a bitch?

Of course it's happening.

[Of course it's happening and of course Petre fucking loves it.]

Isn't it great? I didn't even do anything. You did!

[Well. Meadow and Petre did it, and then there was the couch incident with John - so yeah, okay, they both did it.

He puts the book down, gets on his feet, tilts his head in earnest with pressed lips and then spreads his arms.]

I knew you really cared.

[Hug me, John.]

[Oh. Oh, they're getting good with their punishments. Subtle. If he ever finds out who suggested this one...

... jesus, is Petre actually gesturing for a hug? John shivers so hard that his head tilts a little with the force of it, then picks his suitcase back up and slams it down between them.]

Get out of the way. I need to unpack.

[He keeps his arms open, for what it's worth.]

No? Not even a little one? Not off to a great start, roomie.

[A new nickname. He's so happy.]

I don't hug anyone. I'm not starting with you.

[Today in statements of the blatantly obvious: John Allerdyce doesn't hug. But roomie is less grating than Johnny, to his surprise, so there's been one improvement already. It's just a fact of their life now (someone, please, kill him. Neku, send a stray projectile through the wall and impale him) rather than any kind of endearment.

Now the suitcase gets thunked onto his bed and unzipped, and he makes a face when he sees the closet, but he doesn't have many clothes anyway. The dresser will do for most of them.]

So the doorknobs were you, huh. Should've guessed.

[He pouts but relents, arms back down, slapping his eyes lightly. With a tilt of his head he falls back down on the bed.]

Doorknobs? What doorknobs? I have no idea what you're talking about.

[He might sell you out for a cent, John, but Meadow is special.]

Don't be cute. I actually don't know anything about doorknobs, and you've made a business out of getting me in shit.

[Hauling out clothes, putting them on hangers, shoving them into the closet.]

I don't even have to do the work anymore. It just shows up at my doorstep. Funny how that didn't happen until I got to know you.

It is funny, isn't it? Maybe my presence woke up a new power in you. Fire was boring, anyway.

[You can't even start it on your own, John. I mean, really.]

Speaking of which: how's the couch?

[THAT IS BELOW THE BELT and not in a sexy way shut up.]

Replaced. God knows they must have enough money for it, running a free private school with a secret peacekeeping force.

[And now he's on the dresser, shoving boxers and undershirts into the top drawer and trying not to think about how he's supposed to change now. It's giving up to do it in the bathroom, blatantly allowing Petre full run of their territory, but he wouldn't put the asshole above starting up a game of grabass while he's trying to get into his pyjamas.]

And there's more I can burn than just you. Don't think I won't figure out a way to get you back.

My, my, is that a threat? [he looks around. Was he the only one who heard that? Looks like it.] Maybe I should keep a recorder around, in case something happens. Then they'll have even more evidence against you.

You need evidence now? I thought you'd moved on to just lying.

[He's still not convinced about the doorknobs. And here go his t-shirts and other lighter pieces that didn't go in the closet. Suitcase done, good enough for now. It's his turn to flop on his own bed, facing the wall.]

Okay, show's over, go back to your book. Quietly. I just got my goddamn head lectured off, I don't wanna hear another voice again until dinnertime.

You don't really believe that. We've got so much to talk about!

[Come oooon.]

Do I - no, I don't wanna know what you'd think we had to talk about.

[He's not rolling over. But he didn't ignore it completely.]

Come on. You left me so suddenly last time. I don't even know what's new in your life!

[Coooommmmeeeee ooooonnnn]

[With a grumble, he finally rolls over to face Petre. He should know by now that no amount of attention will sate him, but he still thinks that maybe a token gesture will work at least once.]

What's new? Stealing doorknobs, having some chick who comes up to my nose and doesn't look any older than us tell me all about the responsibility of being a mutant and a senior student for an hour - she went for a solid hour, no shit, don't think she even took a breath - and getting roomed with a perverted psychopath. There. You're caught up.

And I'm training a telekinetic who's too young for the X-Men prelim shit. We're training together. He throws things, I blast 'em. Really thrilling stuff.

Sounds like fun.

[And of course he only really listens to the parts that involve him.]

Why am I a pervert and a psychopath?

[He bursts into laughter at that, long and loud.]

Sorry, were you under the impression that you were a normal, well-adjusted person?

No, I was just hoping you'd pick one.

[Well-adjusted people aren't taken from their homes when their first memory is that of their unfamiliar families burnt to a crisp. Nice to see him laugh, though.]

You know the answer to both. Damn well. I wouldn't have had time for a normal, well-adjusted person anyway.

[Had. That ship sailed last year. No time left for you, Petre.]

[Hope is the last to die, haven't you heard.]

You barely give me any time as it is. So what is it? What do I have to do? I wanna be friends, Johnny. Even the board wants us to be friends now! It's meant to be.

You really have no idea, do you?

[He actually looks a bit stunned. Launch a concentrated campaign to smear him in the eyes of teachers who already thought he was a loose cannon, ask why they can't be friends. And this after conspiring on something and then relinquishing all blame to pin it on John.

He's got no clue.]

You're fucked up, man. [He rolls over again, closing his eyes.] Seriously fucked up.

A freak among freaks?

[please say yes.]

[Petre's lucky he's pretty much worn out John's rage at this point, because that word is one that could bring on actual murder. He's allowed to use it in jest, but having it directed at him in any way is one of the berserk buttons he honestly cannot control.

He's just tired, though. Tired of Petre and his war of attrition, of having no idea what Petre would actually consider victory.]

Don't ever call me a fucking freak again. [The anger's there, just audible - almost more intense for the softness of his voice.]

[ooh, another sore spot.]

Why not? It's a joke.

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