[ so there is one (1) harry osborn adjusting his sunglasses and strolling on over. LOVELY DAY FEELING GREAT LOOKING GREAT.
he's going to hover a little, watching petre with a curious look. this is how they do punishments for sneaking to new york with john? (he could've shown them a seriously good time if invited but whatever he just met them. no fucks given.) ]
You look super lost.
[ ...not that...he would know anything about gardening either. he'd be lost too. ]
[ he flashes a smile then glances over at the teacher - who is temporarily distracted by something. harry moves next to petre and takes a hold of his hand. draining. he's pointing at something in the garden. ]
You're terribly allergic to that flower right there. Look how sick it made you. All you need to do is go tell your supervisor and make sure to sneeze.
[Petre reacts like he doesn't know what's coming when Harry reaches for his hand, eyes pressing tightly because he's forgotten just how strange it feels. This part's unpleasant, and he reminds himself it's the aftermath he liked, making an effort not to just snatch his hand back like his instinct is telling him to do.]
And then they - [Ugh. Blood pressure.] Stick me with a couple of pills and I'm knocked out for the rest of the day.
[ he doesn't let go yet. he's going to make it stick this time. leave him with it until harry gives it back. it has to be convincing. he has to be sick when they check. ]
Please. [ a roll of the eyes ] Like I can't work around pills. Don't insult me, Petre. I'll come find you right after.
[Awfully generous of him, which is enough reason to make Petre suspicious. His eyes would be narrowed if he didn't look outright exhausted, lines deeper on his features, lips parted because breathing through his nose suddenly isn't enough. He's probably more pale, too. And he thought he'd finally catch some sunlight and get that elusive tan everyone loves so much.]
[ he pulls his hand back now. sticks it in his pocket along with the other one. a grin across his face, mischievous. he didn't give petre a choice in playing along with this.
[No, he didn't. Petre is deliberately letting that slide because getting upset wouldn't earn him much at this point. Instead he decides to think ahead. Trust that whatever Harry shows him later will be worth the trouble.
If not, he has his own way of making sure the mistake isn't repeated.]
Right. Whatever.
[A skeptical echo of Harry's answer, because the first and last time they hung out Petre sucked him off just to get high on his power. He's guessing Harry's come to him for an encore.
Whatever. As long as it's fun.
He drops the tool heavily on the ground and forces himself back up on his feet. Suddenly standing upright feels like he just climbed to the rooftop of a building, but vertigo's never been a problem for him. To the supervisor he goes, and the lie is cleverly spun. In about thirty eight minutes he'll be in his room about to black out completely.]
[ he doesn't knock. he thinks he's an expected guest. john shares the room, doesn't he? he wouldn't mind him coming in. unless he was changing but then harry really doesn't mind.
he comes right in, looking high as a god damn kite. absolutely euphoric. nobody could have a brighter smile right now. he's talking in a sing-song voice. swaying as he walks to some tune in his head nobody else can hear. it's fantastic. he feels amazing. everything is so fucking amazing. ]
I found the girl that can make fireworks for you. [ he all but climbs into bed with him, sideways - so his head rests on him. he reaches up and pats petre on the cheek. he's passing it over. fireworks. ]
[Petre doesn't so much as want to move his head when Harry waltzes right on in, only managing to bring himself to frown lightly when he feels that hand smacking on his cheek. Any moment before that he'd just have lazily murmured at him to go away and leave him alone, because getting up sounded like an effort and every inch of his body was telling him that was the worst idea ever.
But then there's fireworks.
A hiss and a restrained moan escape him when he jerks, hand clasping Harry's shoulder with tight fingers and dug-in nails. Too much energy at once, he thinks (except he can't think), like another shock that this time pops inside his body and in his head, firecracker planted between his ears.]
Fucking hell.
[His eyes are wide open when he lifts his head, nostrils flaring and lips parted to show teeth. He sees Harry's head just then, the rest of his body splayed on the bed like the two of them are supposed to fit together. Maybe if one of them was straddling the other, but side-by-side they're just comically squeezed together for some kind of balance.]
Okay. I'm awake.
[And he seems to be only realizing that as he says it.]
[ he could work around pills. has. it's something he does. he gets himself drugged out and then if he's bored with it he drains a source of power and rides it out. he comes and goes in waves most of the time. up and down. spikes where he's the most sluggish thing ever or bouncing off the walls and talking a mile a minute. he's addicted to it. he thinks perhaps he's going to get someone else just like him addicted to it but doesn't really care enough to be concerned about it.
he likes having a person just like him around too much. ]
It's a blast, isn't it? [ get it. blast. because - nevermind... he's picking himself up and pulling his hand back into himself, once he gives petre back to himself to follow the kaboom. hand slipping away so he doesn't take it back unintentionally. those fireworks were for him and harry's still got some. overcharged on it.
he turns a hand side to side next to his own head ]
[Petre blinks like he's adjusting his eyeballs in his skull, mouth parted to breathe while he shakes something off. His hair? No. It's something else, something that's buzzing loudly like the blast made him go deaf.
(Harry said 'blast'. Hah.)
He turns his head to him without a frown. Just a blank stare of someone seeing his own face for the first time and failing to recognize it. Harry has his face. And his hair, or some color closer to it, if Petre didn't dye it every other week.
Eventually he gathers himself, makes proper use of the energy stored in his limbs, focus returning to the back of his mind. Sitting up he places both hands down on the mattress and slides his legs off. The ground feels exceptionally cool beneath his feet. The walls are whiter than before. His senses are flaring. He's high again.]
[ harry's expression is pure delight. this childishly excited sort of look that's mixed with an expression only one who is completely intoxicated could put on. like a cat after you hand it nip and it starts rolling around for no conceivable reason.
he technically was rolling on petre a second ago.
he slides off the bed and hops back to his feet, rubbing his hands together and watching petre carefully. because it's his own face but it reacts completely differently to how he does. wears expressions he doesn't think he's personally worn. still fascinating. ]
Where would you like to go?
[ he holds his arms out. the tone suggests anywhere is game. ]
[And - yeah, maybe it takes a while for the purely physical aspect of Harry's transferral to make its effect on Petre's mood, but it eventually reveals itself. Suddenly Petre's engaging in a lazy smile that's still full of intent, looking at Harry from a lower angle, edge of danger in the way he slowly reveals a thin line of teeth.]
I could use a smoke right about now. [Cigarettes have been taken from him for now. All he's got is fucking chewing gum.] Unless you got something else on you.
[ he's looking off with a thoughtful hum, trying to think of what (or rather who) feels like nicotine to him. it's not something he likes but he has tried it. ]
I've got other stuff though, definitely. [ yeah "something else" is definitely something he has. harry osborn: alcohlic drug addict ]
[Needless to say Petre likes the sound of that, even if it doesn't match his immediate want. He didn't have to have been infected by Harry's contagious power to smile like he is now.]
[ harry's leading the way back to his room, still acting like he's high as a kite. boom. pow. fireworks. his head keeps buzzing while he holds any energy he didn't let petre have still. he'll be normal and then jolt back up again. ]
[The energy is good, but it's making him impatient. He's already energized by always wanting everything the exact moment he thinks about it, and now is no exception.]
[ he stops abruptly, spins on a heel to face him just outside of his own door and digs around in his pockets. yeah he might straight up have something on him. what a terrible person. ]
..Ah no, wait. I took that earlier. [ nevermind. he's opening his door and going inside waving behind him ] Close that behind you. [ then he's sitting down on the floor at the end of his bed and pulling up a floor board. because hiding places a++. look at all the illegal shit and alcohol he's got in there. ]
[Close the door he does, lazily, just waiting to see what Harry manages to pull out now that they're in his little kingdom. He can have this room, sure, the rest of the school? Petre's very convinced it should just belong to him.]
Do I want to ask how you got all that in here?
[When Petre wants something, he has no qualms about ditching the place and going into the city to just get it.]
[ he's pulling all sorts of things out of there. like a big bag of tricks. and all he does is shrug carelessly at the question instead of reply for a moment - looking something over and trying to remember how quickly it works. ]
Everyone has a certain amount of money they'll take before they let you do whatever you want.
[All Petre needs is words. Which might just be a deliberate but small jab at Harry. Ha, ha, I can get away with anything I want and I don't need no stinking money.
(It's true - he was only grounded because he willingly took the blame. A promise is a promise.)]
[ he has to wonder which one is worse though. buying everyone or forcing them? he likes to think it's a little better when they'll willingly give into greed instead of mindlessly doing as they're told. but either way: nobody actually cares about them in the end. tragic.
he's holding a hand full of whatever out to him. did harry even check? does he care? no. ]
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he's going to hover a little, watching petre with a curious look. this is how they do punishments for sneaking to new york with john? (he could've shown them a seriously good time if invited but whatever he just met them. no fucks given.) ]
You look super lost.
[ ...not that...he would know anything about gardening either. he'd be lost too. ]
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I'm trying to decide what I'm going to tell my shrink.
[... not a shrink. A counselor. But that's what he calls him/her/it anyway.]
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[ where's the person monitoring petre right now? he glances around. ah. there's the teacher. he looks back to him after spotting them. ]
How long have you been out here? If it hasn't hit thirty minutes yet, I can save you.
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Can you?
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[ he flashes a smile then glances over at the teacher - who is temporarily distracted by something. harry moves next to petre and takes a hold of his hand. draining. he's pointing at something in the garden. ]
You're terribly allergic to that flower right there. Look how sick it made you. All you need to do is go tell your supervisor and make sure to sneeze.
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And then they - [Ugh. Blood pressure.] Stick me with a couple of pills and I'm knocked out for the rest of the day.
[He opens his eyes again, takes a breath.]
Tell me you've got a better plan than that.
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Please. [ a roll of the eyes ] Like I can't work around pills. Don't insult me, Petre. I'll come find you right after.
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And what happens right after that?
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power. control. isn't this fun? ]
We hang out. Do whatever.
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If not, he has his own way of making sure the mistake isn't repeated.]
Right. Whatever.
[A skeptical echo of Harry's answer, because the first and last time they hung out Petre sucked him off just to get high on his power. He's guessing Harry's come to him for an encore.
Whatever. As long as it's fun.
He drops the tool heavily on the ground and forces himself back up on his feet. Suddenly standing upright feels like he just climbed to the rooftop of a building, but vertigo's never been a problem for him. To the supervisor he goes, and the lie is cleverly spun. In about thirty eight minutes he'll be in his room about to black out completely.]
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[ he doesn't knock. he thinks he's an expected guest. john shares the room, doesn't he? he wouldn't mind him coming in. unless he was changing but then harry really doesn't mind.
he comes right in, looking high as a god damn kite. absolutely euphoric. nobody could have a brighter smile right now. he's talking in a sing-song voice. swaying as he walks to some tune in his head nobody else can hear. it's fantastic. he feels amazing. everything is so fucking amazing. ]
I found the girl that can make fireworks for you. [ he all but climbs into bed with him, sideways - so his head rests on him. he reaches up and pats petre on the cheek. he's passing it over. fireworks. ]
Wakey wakey.
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But then there's fireworks.
A hiss and a restrained moan escape him when he jerks, hand clasping Harry's shoulder with tight fingers and dug-in nails. Too much energy at once, he thinks (except he can't think), like another shock that this time pops inside his body and in his head, firecracker planted between his ears.]
Fucking hell.
[His eyes are wide open when he lifts his head, nostrils flaring and lips parted to show teeth. He sees Harry's head just then, the rest of his body splayed on the bed like the two of them are supposed to fit together. Maybe if one of them was straddling the other, but side-by-side they're just comically squeezed together for some kind of balance.]
Okay. I'm awake.
[And he seems to be only realizing that as he says it.]
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he likes having a person just like him around too much. ]
It's a blast, isn't it? [ get it. blast. because - nevermind... he's picking himself up and pulling his hand back into himself, once he gives petre back to himself to follow the kaboom. hand slipping away so he doesn't take it back unintentionally. those fireworks were for him and harry's still got some. overcharged on it.
he turns a hand side to side next to his own head ]
Like your head exploded.
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(Harry said 'blast'. Hah.)
He turns his head to him without a frown. Just a blank stare of someone seeing his own face for the first time and failing to recognize it. Harry has his face. And his hair, or some color closer to it, if Petre didn't dye it every other week.
Eventually he gathers himself, makes proper use of the energy stored in his limbs, focus returning to the back of his mind. Sitting up he places both hands down on the mattress and slides his legs off. The ground feels exceptionally cool beneath his feet. The walls are whiter than before. His senses are flaring. He's high again.]
Get me out of here.
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he technically was rolling on petre a second ago.
he slides off the bed and hops back to his feet, rubbing his hands together and watching petre carefully. because it's his own face but it reacts completely differently to how he does. wears expressions he doesn't think he's personally worn. still fascinating. ]
Where would you like to go?
[ he holds his arms out. the tone suggests anywhere is game. ]
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I could use a smoke right about now. [Cigarettes have been taken from him for now. All he's got is fucking chewing gum.] Unless you got something else on you.
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[ he's looking off with a thoughtful hum, trying to think of what (or rather who) feels like nicotine to him. it's not something he likes but he has tried it. ]
I've got other stuff though, definitely. [ yeah "something else" is definitely something he has. harry osborn: alcohlic drug addict ]
I've got everythiiiiing.
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Show us the way, Harry.
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What's your poison of choice, Petre?
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[The energy is good, but it's making him impatient. He's already energized by always wanting everything the exact moment he thinks about it, and now is no exception.]
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[ he stops abruptly, spins on a heel to face him just outside of his own door and digs around in his pockets. yeah he might straight up have something on him. what a terrible person. ]
..Ah no, wait. I took that earlier. [ nevermind. he's opening his door and going inside waving behind him ] Close that behind you. [ then he's sitting down on the floor at the end of his bed and pulling up a floor board. because hiding places a++. look at all the illegal shit and alcohol he's got in there. ]
Hmmmmm...
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Do I want to ask how you got all that in here?
[When Petre wants something, he has no qualms about ditching the place and going into the city to just get it.]
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Everyone has a certain amount of money they'll take before they let you do whatever you want.
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[All Petre needs is words. Which might just be a deliberate but small jab at Harry. Ha, ha, I can get away with anything I want and I don't need no stinking money.
(It's true - he was only grounded because he willingly took the blame. A promise is a promise.)]
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[ he has to wonder which one is worse though. buying everyone or forcing them? he likes to think it's a little better when they'll willingly give into greed instead of mindlessly doing as they're told. but either way: nobody actually cares about them in the end. tragic.
he's holding a hand full of whatever out to him. did harry even check? does he care? no. ]
Try these.
(no subject)