fifthcurriculum | INTRO LOG

Round and round we go.

[And none of them's getting off this ride. John can sure as hell try - all he'll get is Petre tugging him right back on.]

We can still be friends, right? All I have to do is stop. Right?

[That gets the most suspicious look. Right. All of a sudden, he's willing.]

Just be - [No, not normal. John's got no time for normal either. And sane was already a joke when he said it the first time.] - just study up on friends and get back to me.

[Another joke. He has no better idea what friends are supposed to look like.]

[Hah.]

You don't even know what you really want.

I told you what I wanted. All the times you're not either plotting or actively destroying my life. Those times. That's what I want.

But you wouldn't even know how to maintain that for longer than a minute.

You don't need me to destroy your own life. Or did you just start coming to this room when I joined in?

[His nostrils flare with anger, but he's not snapping again. He's already given in too much.]

What I do on my own, for my own reasons, is my business. If it gets me in shit, that's my business. If it makes a whole school hate me, that's my business. It's my life.

And doesn't that just get so lonely?

[Of course it does.]

They'd have you in your own bedroom if they agreed with you, Johnny.

Don't pretend anyone who works here has an opinion worth listening to. Neither of us is that stupid. And it doesn't get lonely because I don't need anyone else.

[It's funny, how he won't let himself need anyone, and yet people drift into his orbit and he finds it shifting. Like maybe, after all this time, he might want someone so badly that it's approaching need.]

Liar.

[A blunt accusation, even though he agrees with just about everything else. No, their opinions aren't worth listening to. Most of the time neither are John's, but Petre sticks around to get the few that are.]

You've had enough of being on your own. Now you get the chance to have something. And you want it. You just don't know what it is, yet.

Maybe you're right. [Quiet, weary.] But there's a difference between you and me. I can actually look at things I want and figure out when they're a bad idea.

[That's only very slightly less of a lie. He's rash and impulsive and selfish enough that he almost never recognises bad ideas until they've played out. But he can sometimes, if it's big enough, and he knows that letting anyone too close is the worst idea possible.]

This time it really isn't personal. No sarcasm.

No idea is a bad idea. You only regret what you didn't do, haven't you heard?

[He says that a lot - 'haven't you heard?' - because it's all so recent to him. All the things he tells others, he probably learned it just a few months ago. Idioms. Bits and pieces of general knowledge. So he genuinely wonders: do people know what he knows?]

You're thinking too hard about the past, John.

Yeah, and I tried with you. And you've been making damn sure I regret it ever since. You keep forgetting that.

[Petre can't keep making this about him. It's bullshit. John has outlined what he wants, what Petre did wrong and continues to do wrong, and he just keeps blithely ignoring it. Fine, but John will call him on it each time.]

You tried? You've barely given me a chance. And you take everything I do so personally.

[It's all just fun and games, John.]

People don't get much of a chance with me. You fuck up the first one, that's it. I don't have time for more than that.

[The pyrokinetic who still carries so many burn scars. Petre's completely right, of course, it all comes out of his past.]

You live in a school and you refuse to learn anything.

[leaning his head on his hand. summer child.]

Petre, you don't know what's best for me. You have no fucking idea. Jesus, people call me arrogant.

[He rolls his eyes, huffing out a sigh.]

You do not know everything. There's a lesson for you.

No, I don't know everything. [Isn't that obvious? His mind is one year old.] But I'm always striving to find out more.

No, you're not. You're always telling. Even when you're proven wrong over and over you keep telling.

[His hands come up from under the desk, a pool of fire in his palm, but it's not a threat; he's staring down at it, making little coils and vague shapes rise where it reaches upward in search of the fuel it doesn't actually need. A focus activity. Stage two of fire-related agitation control.]

[His gaze blinks down at John's hands. Then back at his face.]

I'm pushing. That's different.

[Pushing and pushing until something falls off the edge. Like he's trying to find out what'll break and what won't.]

[Petre knows stage three. He's seen it enough times. What happens if he burns something in the room to which he was sent for burning something? Again, due to Petre's relentless needling? He'll be dragged even further down with John instead of rising to the surface like he once did.

Can he make the teachers force them apart instead of pushing them together? A staff-regulated restraining order because they're just too volatile for these pathetic parenting techniques?

The fire curls upward, paling as its temperature increases.]

It'll backfire on you. Not how you think or maybe even how I think, but it will.

Promise?

[so hurt him John, no one else will.]

[His gaze shifts to the classroom door. Just blow it right off its hinges, or incinerate it right in its frame; leave nothing behind. His pupils are dilating, breath coming a bit quicker. The desks, the chairs, the shelves. Show them just what they get to deal with if they force this issue. Leaking out into the hallway, chasing down a few first years. He's endangering the students now, that can't be allowed.

Obviously, by this point, his focus is starting to slip. He's getting wrapped up in the destruction, the damage, the power, and poor Petre has lost his attention again because of it. This is like a trance, something religious or metaphysical or even sexual. All-encompassing. Visible in every part of him, the tension in his body and sick anticipation in his expression.]

[All Petre does is snap his fingers, leaning over so it happens right in front of John's eyes.]

Wake up.

[And silence settles back in.]

You didn't answer me.

[His immediate reaction when he comes out of it is to whirl around and clock Petre right in the face. The eye, to be exact. It's one satisfying thing he can do, even if it's a remnant of a lost life, and it'll work out the lingering tension before he really does set the school on fire.

Ah. Yes. Much better.]

Promise. Cross my heart.

[Another reaction! However painful, but it's a reaction. Did anybody see that? That's going to leave a mark.]

Fucking hell, John!

[So why is he still smiling? Sick fuck.]

What did I do now?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject