LOCATIONS

[farrowday]

(placeholder-- will have toplevels for common locations, players welcome to add their own for private spots like dorms)

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John and Petre

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[A battlefield, and not the love kind. Depending on which of them you ask. Pick your poison in the header, be it one or both of them, and don't be surprised if you're greeted by a literal burst of fire when the door opens.]

the following day

[broil]

[he wakes up, amazingly enough, without a headache. Just an incredible thirst and new clarity in his head, like his brain restarted after a night of drunken haze. But it's not even a haze, it's a total blank after being in a bathroom with a stranger who ran off because he got cold feet. Then somehow he made it back to the institute and back to his own bed. Didn't bother with his clothes, all wrinkled and a mess, but that's all right.

He licks his lips, tries to get some off that unpleasant taste from his mouth.]

Morning, sunshine.

[but he turns his head an doesn't find John there. Huh. Slowly he drags himself from his bed, makes his way to the book on the other boy's nightstand. He picks it up and laughs in a quiet exhale. That's what they're making him read, like it'll ever work.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

{The door cracks open, just the tiniest bit, John's head peeking through warily. He'd hoped to sneak in while Petre was still sleeping, but he's awake and obnoxiously bright-eyed. John looks (and probably feels) more hung over than him after his long, long, sleepless night.

He shuffles in, blanket dragging behind him, and says nothing. Makes no eye contact. His heart's racing already, because this room has now become complete unknown territory and Petre a complete unknown variable. Anything could happen now, and he's not ready for any of it.]

[broil]

[there he is.]

Roomieeee.

[he puts the book down and arranges his hair. He still looks like a mess, though - pristine, but a mess.]

Don't tell me you slept on the couch. I was singing, wasn't I. Or do I snore when I'm drunk?

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[That's - not one of the million variables he accounted for. Ignoring it?]

Are you fucking kidding me?

[broil]

[he arches his brows, still smiling. No idea what John means, but always playing along.]

I hope so. I don't think I can live with myself knowing I snore. That's so not sexy.

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[No. No no no no no. Even if Petre wanted to deny all of the things he said, he'd never let something like the kisses they shared go unspoken. There would be some kind of spin, some way to acknowledge what he wanted to keep and discard the rest. Hell, if it was a new game like John suspects it was, Petre's victory was utterly complete. No reason to deny any of it.

He was that drunk. He doesn't even remember.

John will never fucking know.

He throws his blanket down on the bed rather than spreading it again, tosses his pillow into the corner with just as much vehemence. Eventually he'll need to come up with something Petre did to piss him off this much, but it's a laundry list of possibilities, isn't it? That'll come much easier than trying to tell him the truth.]

Look. I got no sleep last night. The kid with the remote eyes was up again. There's a whole lot I don't wanna do today, and dealing with you is at the top of my list. Just go about whatever or whoever you're fucking with today.

[He's seething. Not because he was lied to, not because it was real, but because he'll never have any damn idea. Petre wouldn't know if asked. This accidental victory is Petre's biggest yet.]

[broil]

[oh, if only he knew. His grin would be wider yet, he'd be laughing and pressing on until John socked him in the eye or burned something again. Yes, it'd feel like a victory, and even the parts where he submitted to John would be entirely ignored in favor of proclaiming he'd finally gotten what he wanted.

Alas, he has no idea.]

Well, no one forced you to leave the room. Unless I did. But why would I do that? I'm sure drunk-me loves your company too, Johnny.

[he snaps his fingers and points back at him.]

Oh, right - I met this guy at the bar. Jon with no 'h'.

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[He rolls his eyes at the first statement, but the second gives him pause. How much does he let on? If he gives Petre some of the story, the rest might come back to him, and in his current mood it's quite plain how much of what happened was down to alcohol. There's nothing at all of the vulnerability he showed the night before, the willingness to be open.

It's a relief and a frustration. He'd have no idea how to deal with that Petre, if he's honest with himself. But his eyes dance over Petre's hands, his mouth, feeling all those light but intense points of contact, and he still feels a loss.]

Not exactly a rare name, man. Throw a rock down a crowded street and you're gonna hit like five Johns.

[broil]

Sure, but I still thought it was funny. The guy was rock hard when he asked me about my eye and I told him I was seventeen. Ran off. Cold feet, can you believe it? In the bathroom.

[He widens his eyes, rolls them and shakes his head. Men these days.

And yes, he still thinks John totally wants to hear these stories. Either that or he just loves the sound of his own voice.]

Your punch cost me a lay, Johnny. You're gonna have to pay for that.

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[Echoes of last night's speech run through his head, the strange rant about how horrible it would've been to be capable of feeling anything for him, and John just falls onto his bed. He kicks the balled-up blanket aside and tucks the pillow under his head, eyes closed. Images layering over images in his head, the metaphor of negatives again, every different Petre visible under the other but none of them clear.]

You're the one who was stupid enough to be honest. But whatever, more extra homework I won't do, really fucking scared.

[broil]

[He's smiling. If that was a jab, he didn't even feel it.]

Sure. Alcohol makes you stupid, anyway, right? But whatever. Guess I missed you and came on back home.

[ex_outofcontrol435]

Does it ever.

[And he can't use it. Anything he tries to pull out against Petre will lead right back to him. Every single event and word of that night is entwined.]

Breaking curfew to do it, in case you forgot. Do anything to get me in detention and we're gonna be right back in there together again.

for john (after whenever he meets harry idk)

[mediumatlarge]

[Ryan's starting to get tuned in to his thoughts, by now, so where most people probably couldn't call him like this-- he manages to pick up on the thoughts John sends out, hears what he wants and makes his way over.

There's no possible way it could be more awkward than the last time they needed to talk, he's sure, so there's no hesitance; there's no knock at the door either, just a thought sent out as Ryan opens it and steps in.]

You rang?

[He flashes John a brief little grin with that before he looks him over a little more intently, gauges how he's doing.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

You heard that?

[He was stretched out on his bed when the door opened, but now he's sitting up sharply. God, he was just whining internally, but he must've sent out a strong signal.]

Jesus. I don't know my own psychic strength.

[mediumatlarge]

--what, that wasn't on purpose?

[Ryan blinks over at him, hesitating for a moment before he moves over to the bed and takes a seat-- quietly surveying the room, just to check it all out. He hasn't been here before, he's curious.]

Sorry. You talked to me long enough telepathically, it's just- easier to pick you up now, sort of. Your voice's louder.

[ex_outofcontrol435]

It's cool, man, come in. Might as well stay now.

[It's not the warmest statement, but he does sound relieved. As for the room itself, it's plain that they haven't lived there long, because it hasn't been decorated all that much or accumulated a lot of clutter; the closet is plainly dominated by Petre's clothing, only a few hangers holding anything that looks like John's, and his side is somewhat tidier (papers, books, the usual school detritus, litter John's side more freely.]

So. You met a guy named Harry - (I didn't even get his last name) - Harry something? Another senior? New this year?

[mediumatlarge]

The doppelganger?

[Oh yeah, he knows. He doesn't have to have actually spoken to the guy to have seen him, picked things up from the thoughts of the others around.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

And you didn't think to tell me about this?!

[He's not really angry. It's just sheer frustration at the stupidity of the situation.]

[mediumatlarge]

--look, I haven't known that long, okay?

[He can read the frustration easily enough, at least, and his own response isn't very defensive.]

I'm guessing you found out the, uh. Awkward way.

[ex_outofcontrol435]

Yeah. To put it lightly.

[He runs a hand through his hair, which is disheveled from lying down; it's only approaching evening, but he's already in sweats and a worn out t-shirt, thoroughly done with the whole day.]

He's - fucking awesome, actually. [He can't help but chuckle.] Nothing like Petre. But it was still messed up.

[mediumatlarge]

At least there's that, yeah? I don't think the school could take two Petres.

[That's a kind of terrifying thought, actually, and he quickly shakes it off.]

...it's still gonna be weird for you that he looks so close to him though, isn't it.

[ex_outofcontrol435]

It was weird. Everything about it was weird. It should've been perfect and he screwed up the whole thing.

[There's not a lot he can tell, really, because their plans were foiled by John's need to keep a clean record so that he and Petre can sneak off to New York city the coming weekend. And he's still not letting Ryan know about that.]

You won't believe it, though. Harry came on to me too. I'm a goddamn magnet for guys around here, I don't get it.

[mediumatlarge]

Yeah, crazy how that happens. Absolutely wouldn't have believed it.

[It's a little more flat than he really wanted it to be, and he pauses a moment before huffing out a breath, carrying on.]

...what'd he screw up?

[ex_outofcontrol435]

What? They weren't exactly crawling all over me when I was homeless. I stunk, yeah, but so did they.

[Alright. A little massaging of the truth'll work.]

I asked what he wanted to do, and he said - he actually wanted to hotwire one of the cars in the garage and take a joyride to Salem. I mean, who even thinks of that, never mind means it? But Petre's gotten me in so much shit lately that I'm gonna go back on full lockdown if I even look at someone wrong.