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Jojen _____⊲ Weapons Master



Rusty metal hinges groaned in disapproval as Jojen cracked the kitchen’s double doors open a sliver. Without so much as a warning, a cloud of stagnant air burst free from the confines of the room and bulldozed headlong into her face.

“HNGEH” she horked, squinting and violently clamping a hand against her mouth and nose against the offensive odor.

Son of a slattern ... When was the last time someone CLEANED this vile place?

She briefly recalled the illness that had incapacitated their head cook and left her a wheezing, sorry sight. It was then that she knew. Jojen was beginning to rue her ability to answer her own questions. Without Shayla to law down the law, the novice line cooks would have run amok. And sure enough …

It took a moment for her luminous jade optics to adjust to the change in lighting. But when they did, she responded with a long, low whistle. Even with the gift of exceptional night vision, Jojen stepped lightly into the warzone of a kitchen, as if every step had the potential to trigger a pressure-sensitive explosive underfoot.

The galley was a completely different animal by moonlight. And by animal, I mean a headlong tumble down the natural hierarchy, from something majestic into a mess of a manticore. Culinary instruments were scattered haphazardly across countertops, looking very much the part of valiant soldiers who had fallen where they stood, glistening with the crimson gore of meat marinade and lard. The few utensils that hadn’t been ravaged by the inexperience of the ship’s line cooks continued to cling desperately to metal pegs lining the kitchen walls. Knives, ladles and skewers alike set aside their differences to unite in a common cause: holding on for dear life. All were fearful of falling into disarray or disuse as their comrades had below.

Jojen swept a cursory glance and wearily raked slender fingertips through her fall of honeyed hair. Where to begin? The galley was perplexing enough to navigate on a good day when Shayla kept it spotless. It was unusually large for a ship this size. Now that it was wearing leftovers end-to-end, everything seemed to blend into one cohesive mess. As if on cue, her stomach rudely interrupted her train of thought with a loud, caustic growl, reminding her of why she had bumbled this far in the first place. The suddenness of its opinion compelled her to gingerly rub her abdomen. It was as effective as placating a feral cat by stroking it against the grain of its fur.

She rolled her eyes at the off-kilter metaphor.

Tiptoeing from one end to the other, treating the fallen crockery with all the quiet reverence of a graveyard, she began pillaging the larders for goods. A quick reconnaissance proved that her suspicions were not unfounded. She was only at the second storeroom and had already turned up a score of delicacies. There were exotic fruits that waxed different colors when held at certain angles under light, well-aged wheels of cheese the size of draft horses, sacks of biscuits that filled one room to the rafters, monstrous halves of salted beef ribs drying on hooks, and even a full skin of Nymerian fire wine. That was her most prized discovery of the night. One too many stints at local alehouses had not only familiarized the elf with the wine’s value, but also with its history. Legend had it that Nymerians of old used to consume traditional fire wine before entering battle. The noxiously-potent spirit was said to temporarily deaden warriors to pain, imbuing them with the frightening ability to cut down entire contingents without breaking their stride. Jojen broke into a childish grin and gave the skin a small shake, savoring the reassuringly wet sloshing sounds. Liquid courage or a coward’s cure, she was going to be some kind of warrior tonight. Idly, she pondered if forging metal under its influence would increase her productivity. At the very least, she could spare herself from the sensation of searing flesh whenever a fleck of rogue molten metal spattered on her exposed skin.

When she had satisfied herself with a pick from the best of each store, Jojen bundled up the oilcloth she had liberated from a nearby shelf and dusted-off her hands in a self-congratulatory act. Not bad for a snack pirate. Torn in her eagerness to start in at once on the treasure, but not enough to spoil herself then and there, she finally settled for a sinfully red apple. The glossy skin broke with a satisfying snap as she took a partial bite, leaving the Edenic globe to perch on her front teeth and canines as she gathered up her findings and began trotting her way to the doors, humming an old sea chantey from home.

What happened next was such a blur that she began to doubt her involvement in it at all.

What she did recall was juggling the spoils of victory while wedging a toe between the doors to pry them open. She had worked a glorious inch of her foot through the doors for enough purchase before lazily round-housing them aside. Happily, she had begun trundling through. She had only to turn a half step in the direction of her forge before she came a hair’s width from colliding with an unexpected face, replete with sleepy eyes, tousled hair and white underclothes.

“HNGEH?!??” she horked violently for the second time, less than ten minutes from the first. If she didn’t have the fruit to muffle her cry of surprise, it wouldn’t surprise her if half the crew would’ve mistaken it for a cautionary boarding call and sprang into action.

Jojen tumbled back into kitchen with sinewy arms a-blur. Food rained down with her every step. By the time gravity took its course and sat her sorry a** onto the coarse wooden planking, she felt as if she had rightfully earned the land-based title of the “village fool.” In her haste to break her own fall, Jojen collided with an island on her way down, sending an empty soup pot pirouetting onto her head – a crown for her newfound role. When the sounds of the clamor finally died away, it was just her, a pot, and a backdrop of horrifically incriminating evidence. As fate would have it, she could easily be falsely, but convincingly painted as the sole kitchen vandal. It would be an awkward, agonizing minute of complete silence before Jojen summoned enough courage to pry a thumb under the lip of her improvised helmet. She tilted it up at a jaunty angle to peer up at the cook with the most disarming smile she could muster.

“Um … I swear, none of this was me. Well, the stuff in the bag is me. But not,” she paused long enough to flail at the warzone around her, “this.”

She buckled under a nervous cough-chuckle. Yet another agonizing minute oozed by.

Then, caught both red-handed and lacking a believable alibi, she abruptly resorted to swiftly uncorking the fire wine and taking the equivalent of a dying man’s gulp.

… C’monnnnn, liquid courage.


Zairea
Roleplay: Aire al Agua [Journey Book Roleplay Guild]
Date: Aug 16th, 2012
Theme: Pirate, Yuri, Steampunk
Gender: Female
Sexual Preference: Yuri
Word Count: 1,195

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___ TERRENCE
xxxxxxxxJOSEPH
xxxxxxxxxxxMCLEOD ♜

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.
THERE IS ALWAYS SOME MADNESS IN LOVE
BUT THERE IS ALSO ALWAYS SOME REASON
IN MADNESS
_____☭━━━━━━━━━━━━


Terrence marveled at the way his hand swallowed up hers. The length of her wrist to fingertips had scarcely managed to find purchase for an adequate handshake. His palm was a yawning cavern by comparison, hers an unfazed but timid spelunker, torn between curious exploration and the fear of being crushed within. It was yet another offbeat reminder of his towering build.

Terrence had always been vaguely aware of his unusual stature. Most of his wardrobe was specially tailored, his furniture custom-made. His dietary requirements were brow-raising; a voraciously-high metabolism necessitated an inverted food pyramid consisting primarily of protein and grains. There were times where he mused that his grocery runs were sufficient enough to feed a small army several times over. Even his house had been designed with his bodily proportions in mind. The vaulted ceiling soared twenty feet high with a seeming ambition to touch the sky. Failing that, it contented itself by terminating in cozy wooden eaves that kept the home warm in the winter and cool in the summer. In the safety of his home, he never fretted about battling an undersized doorway with the brunt of his forehead. If he had a nickel for every lump he had received over the years …

Well. He would’ve retired already.

Retreating from his inner ruminations, he couldn’t help but broaden his smile at the subtle stutter that flitted through her obligatory greeting. He could rue the shortcomings of inadequate architecture another day. At the moment, he was focusing his efforts to dial down his normally firm and assertive handshake. He acknowledged that the fear of crushing her hand was probably an inane one. But why risk an unwanted unpleasantry? It was a moment more before he broke contact and leisurely sheathed his hand into his pant pocket.

“Please, he scoffed playfully, ”call me Terrence. Only my students address me with an honorific and usually only after I’ve struck the fear of God into them. I’d hate to think you shared their unfounded fears.”

He performed an innocent shrug, rife with over-exaggeration.

“Emphasis on the ‘unfounded’ bit. Surely you believe me? Why, I couldn’t hurt a fly.

He pursed his lips comically before adding: “Unless it was being disruptive in my classroom. But I’m sure you have nothing to fear in that respect.”

Terrence was clearly enjoying himself more than he had license to; he had always strangely enjoyed playing bad cop over the good when it came to black humour. Now that they were acquainted with one another with a plan of action in place, all that was left was to walk the talk. He thumbed over his shoulder in the general direction of their waylaid belongings. The insinuation was unspoken, but wordlessly understood. Together, they gathered up their sodden luggage and began picking their way towards the north end of the gym, mindful of bedraggled stragglers who in their exhaustion, opted to set up camp right there and then in the middle of the floor. He had several close calls where an unsuspecting heap of clothing turned out to contain a prostrate body or two, huddled together for warmth. The hurricane was certainly no laughing matter. Adults and children alike began to show flagging energy reserves as darkness bled into scenery beyond and the torrential downpour intensified. Terrence took advantage of his looming height to reassess their situation.

There was an undoubtedly odd medley of individuals. He was still surprised to find the ratio of adults to teenagers grossly disproportionate. Granted, this was a school to begin with. But the fact that the older demographic of Kanamori Town were largely absent bore testament to the hard-headedness of their personal beliefs. No doubt many were riding out the potentially dangerous storm in the pseudo-safety of their own homes. Insurance companies were going to have a heyday when everything was said and done with.

The floors squeaked maddeningly beneath the wheels of his luggage and damp floor. He was all too glad to be rid of it once they had secured a pair of sleeping bags adjacent to the bleachers. As they backtracked to the office to rendezvous with the grave-man, Terrence suddenly became acutely aware of the number of students doubled over from one affliction or another. There was vomiting, injuries being clutched tightly, a disturbingly rabid-looking dog heckling a blue-haired boy, a shady-looking man in (oh yes) shades offering a sickly girl a dampened cloth from the depths of his coat pockets …

Red flag.

A spark of caution flared behind the luminous waters of his pupils.

Woah wait. Is that even legal?

Terrence tried to banish several Hollywood-induced scenes of kidnappings. Even though that cloth looked suspiciously like a dose of chloroform, however well-intentioned. He made a mental note to voice his concerns to the principal when he figured out the staff roster.

The designated office was on the far side of the hall, a ways from the gymnasium. Terrence originally raised a fist with the intention of rapping against the door, but caught himself in the nick of time at the scrawled “Enter Quietly” sign. What, with a hurricane raging outside? He shared a dubious look with Estelle before gingerly twisting the doorknob. Eh, no matter. You had to give the man credit for trying to maintain order. No sense in throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Speaking of “babies” ...

Nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to see.

A baby contentedly gurgling in fog of sleep, cradled in the corded arms of a militant-looking man, was the absolute last accessory he expected him to be caught with. The contrast was so jarring it hurt his teeth. Terrence’s brows arched so high that they threatened to migrate off his forehead entirely. He fought back the sudden urge to his clear his throat into a fist at the risk of disturbing the infant. Momentarily at a loss for words, he replaced them by playfully cupping a hand to his lips and mouthing the words:

"Is this a bad time?"


Zairea
Roleplay: Kanamori Town
Date: Aug 25th, 2012
Theme: Slice-of-Life
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bi
Word Count: 1,084

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User Image
___ TERRENCE
xxxxxxxxJOSEPH
xxxxxxxxxxxMCLEOD ♜

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.
THERE IS ALWAYS SOME MADNESS IN LOVE
BUT THERE IS ALSO ALWAYS SOME REASON
IN MADNESS
_____☭━━━━━━━━━━━━


Terrence pulled a face of feigned indignation, his low baritone humming faintly as he spoke in a low whisper.

“What, don’t trust me with the baby? You wound me, sir.”

But enough with the theatrics. Tilting his head to one side, he mentally sorted through the blur of faces they had passed on the way here. Blue hair, blue hair …. Was that the hyperactive one? Terrence recalled catching a faint whiff of blood on the boy. Whether or not he was injured or was up to no good, he would have to assess for himself. He didn’t exactly savour the idea of dealing with a violent teen indoors with a hurricane raging without. What he needed most right now was a segue and he got just that. Swaddled in a towel, the baby abruptly squirmed against the surface of the polished oak desk, perhaps reacting to an imagined stimulus in its dreamscape before gradually settling back into a contented slumber. Against all odds, Terrence broke into a lop-sided smile at the sight.

Cute ‘lil bugger.

While he was on that subject, he slid his line of sight towards Estelle. Was she going to be okay handling someone else’s child, especially when he imagined the mother must have entrusted the grave-man with the sole responsibility? The thought was worrying. The well-worn phrase of how “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” wasn’t used or taken lightly. It could only be doubly worse when dealing with the wrath of an agitated mother. This was more than a concern of losing a good tenant.

Calloused digits reached up and furiously worked to rub the furrows from his brow.

He clearly suffered from an overactive imagination. Surely Estelle knew how to hold her own when it came to babysitting.

… He could rely on a female maternal stereotype this one time, couldn’t he?

As if to seal the deal before he could change his own mind, Terrence gave a curt nod in reply.

“You bet. And it’s Terrence McLeod, newly-minted English teacher. Nice to meet you, bossman.”

He reached into the confines of a nearby shelf and emerged with a portable first aid kit. Again, the coppery tang of blood and its traces on the blue-haired boy wafted into the forefront of his thoughts. Couldn’t hurt to play it safe. Pivoting on his heels, he began making his way out from the office. Just as he was about to duck beneath the damned overhanging doorframe, he took a moment to appraise Estelle from the corner of his eye, unable to keep his concern from clouding it over.

“I’ll be out and about trying to herd cats. You have my number; text me if anything urgent comes up, yeah?”

With that, he slung the cherry-red first aid kit over a shoulder and began the trek back into the gymnasium, empty corridor swallowing the heavy footfalls of his departure.


Zairea
Roleplay: Kanamori Town
Date: Aug 25th, 2012
Theme: Slice-of-Life
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bi
Word Count: 560

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I am your worst fears actualized in flesh and bone.
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████████████████████████████████ ██████████ ██████ ██
I am everything you are afraid to become.

Location:
Health:
Mood:

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___ TERRENCE
xxxxxxxxJOSEPH
xxxxxxxxxxxMCLEOD ♜

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.
THERE IS ALWAYS SOME MADNESS IN LOVE
BUT THERE IS ALSO ALWAYS SOME REASON
IN MADNESS
_____☭━━━━━━━━━━━━

The school was tougher to navigate than he initially thought. Upon his return, his first survey of the gymnasium yielded little to no results. The unruly and potentially rabid canine was still protectively prowling around its owner. But the blue-haired recipient of its wrath was nowhere to be found. Terrence habitually raked his fingertips through his hair, as if doing so would somehow shake an idea loose regarding his whereabouts. Kids were near impossible to keep tabs on once they had it in their heads to wander. The task daunted him with the striking resemblance of herding cats, part of which was why he largely considered himself to be more of a dog person.

Again, concern for his Siberian husky burgeoned up from the dark recesses of his subconscious. The memory of her vibrant, heterochromatic eyes made his chest tighten further with worry, compressing against his diaphragm like an iron vice.

It took a monumental effort to force his unspoken fears back down to mull over another time.

He would have to put his trust in Gerard and his ill-wrought wisdom to weather out the storm in his own house rather than the safety of the school gym. Perhaps a stern reprimand would also be in order. The man was never far from an air-headed impulse to pursue a repertoire of whimsical desires. Sometimes he scarcely believed they were the same age and childhood friends at that.

But never mind his personal drama. Terrence had a dodgy blue boy to catch.

Narrowing his cerulean eyes in thought, he briefly flirted with the idea of canvassing the gym with questions until they fell upon a startlingly-vivid crimson smear near the heel of his left shoe. It contrasted sharply with the pale veneer of the wooden floor.

Odd. That wasn’t there when we came through here …

He lowered himself onto a knee and cautiously traced a forefinger through the stain. It came away wet, glistening. The coppery scent was unmistakable.

Blood?

The stain had a distinctive shape; it bore the makings of directional blood spatter. Towards the end facing away from the gym, it tapered into a narrow point, suggesting its host had taken off down the corridor. Terrence fluidly collected himself from a crouch and straightened to his full height. The boy had taken a nasty bite to the leg, hadn’t he? That was as good a guess as any that this mess was all his.

Remind me to take a mop to him and clean this up. I’m pretty sure it’s a safety and biohazard. The health inspector would have a field day if he saw the double whammy.

Not wanting to waste precious time, Terrence hiked the med kit further up onto his massive shoulder before trotting down the hall in pursuit of the offender in question. It wasn’t difficult. He was only fifty paces down the corridor before it became apparent that the boy was leaving a faint spatter trail wherever he went. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn this was a lead-up to a grisly scene from some corny CSI episode. Although if the boy made him run empty circles around the school, it may very well come to just that.

But guess what irony had in store?

Fifteen minutes later, Terrence had performed a customary wild goose chase around several winding halls, only to end up at an alternate entrance to the gym.

You have GOT to be shitting me.

As if to spite him for an imaginary oversight, that familiar, spiky head of blue could now be seen clearly in a far corner of the room. He instantly slapped a palm over his face, dragging it downwards in an exaggerated motion as he gaped in disbelief. Terrence would have been expected to be seeing red if he didn’t find the situation so pathetically amusing. He shook his head to clear out any dangerous remnants of frustration. Stepping back into the gym, it took a handful of purposeful strides (and a purely accidental brush by Estelle, oblivious to her re-entry) to reach the boy. Terrence towered ominously over his hunched figure as he rummaged through his schoolbag. He caught glimpses of odd photographs; some contained sepia images of priests in flowing robes, others of eastern temples and shrines. Terrence quirked one brow over the other. Was he this much of an oddball as a kid? He couldn’t recall. Bending over so as to reach the boy’s eye level, he clamped a gentle but firm hand that gobbled up the boy’s shoulder. His deep baritone was stern, but not unkind.

“Hey kiddo. Been looking all over for you. You’ve left quite the red herring for me; in fact, it’s all over half the halls in the school. You’re going to need to mop that up or else someone’s going to slip and crack their head open on your blood.”

Speaking of blood.

Terrence worked the med kit free from his shoulder and began sorting through the materials. In the meantime, he leveled a knowing look at the boy from beneath his brows.

“Now, sit.”


Zairea
Roleplay: Kanamori Town
Date: Aug 27th, 2012
Theme: Slice-of-Life
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bi
Word Count: 925

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Blind.

Snow-blind.

That was the interior décor that the Twin Valley Behavioural institution had opted for when they built this palatial prison. White walls, white ceilings, white sheets, white floors … white everything. Lorne paused in mid-thought. Cocking his head to one side – which was the only part of his body afforded with the complete freedom of movement, strait-jacket considered – he gazed vacantly through the bars of a nearby window.

Why couldn’t he shake the sneaking suspicion that he had just eavesdropped on someone else’s thoughts? The whiteness of his environment never bothered him before ...

Or maybe that was just the drugs talking.

They kept him medicated nearly 24/7. Sedatives, mood-elevators, anti-depressants. Half the time Lorne felt less human than he did a pincushion. His gangly frame was speckled with so many red dots, evidence of numerous injection sites, that he often pretended he was suffering from some kind of highly-infectious pox that the doctors were working around the clock to rid him of. As if bidden by the thought, he wriggled within the snug confines of his strait-jacket, struggling to scratch at an imaginary itch.

But he knew better.

They weren’t the humanitarian brigade.

The only reason they paid as much heed to his wellbeing as they did, zipping in and out of his room every hour on the dot like feverish honeybees in a hive, was to keep his mental faculties clouded enough that he was constantly unable to form a coherent thought.

Why?

Well. Wouldn’t you like to know.

But Lorne didn’t mind. Really, he didn’t. He had always been an angry child as far back as memory served. Most of his recollections were nothing more than colorful (or sometimes monochromatic) blurs, thanks to the medication. But what he did gather was the scattered remnants of thrown and shattered toys, frustrated wails and violent tantrums. His mind’s eye wandered deeper into the dark recesses of his subconscious. On the surface, his facial features suddenly slackened. His steely-gray eyes glazed over as he retreated into a haze of half-forgotten memories.

But beneath the surface, he was searching.

Searching for an answer.

An answer to all the calm, maddeningly-placated norms that he lived day in and day out.

Lorne glossed over the blurry images in his head as if he were sorting through a collection of old slides on an even older overhead projector. The grainy images of his mother slid in and out of focus.

Where was she now? What was she doing? Why hadn’t she come back for him?

Questions without answers. Fears without the fire of genuine concern to fuel them.

******** these meds. He was so numb he couldn’t even bring himself to care.

Deeper. He needed to reach deeper into his subconscious and dredge out whatever it was that was constantly beyond his reach.

The answer.

Yes. He could feel a surge of adrenalin buffeting the sails of his excitement, sending him coursing ahead, blasting away the mental fog.

So close.

Yet so far. No sooner had he begun, than he rapidly plummeted back into the abysmal pit of self-delusion.

It was twelve o’clock; time for his hourly regiment of shots and oral medication. He had hardly even noticed the nurse and muscled help slip into his padded room. Within a blink of an eye they had already glided half a dozen needles beneath the pulsating vein of his carotid artery in his neck, palmed a fistful of pills down his throat with a paper cup of water to chase them down with, then quick as they had come, they had retreated from his room like the silent whisper of a receding tide.

Alone at last. Just him … And the weird three-eyed crow that seemed to follow him everywhere. He really only came to visit at the beginnings of every hour. Hallucinations were so much fun.

How did you get in here, Mr. Crow? He rasped in a dry whisper.

It only cawed in reply. To offset its lack of words however, it did flutter upwards to perch on the immaculately-white shoulder of the resident psychiatrist, having once again entered unannounced and without his permission. Then again, no one every asked for his permission or opinions on anything. They just liked poking at him with the nearest syringe they could find. Lorne blinked with all the speed of molasses. Maybe one eyelid even closed and re-opened slower than the other. The psychiatrist’s lips moved in a fleshy-pink blur by comparison as he struggled to comprehend the words that spilled from his mouth, a torrent of verbal diarrhea.

You are …..
No longer considered ………...
Making progress ….
Change of scenery …..
Roommate ………………
……. Please, try to behave.

Fighting back the overwhelming urge to drool, Lorne could only offer a floppy-headed nod. Half a heartbeat later, a pair of muscled help had collected him from the padded floor of his “cell” and began unceremoniously dragging him down the white-washed corridor. The fluorescent bulbs overhead flashed in streaks of milky-white. Again, with the white. Lorne unsuccessfully suppressed a giggle at the thought. He hung there with all the grace of a ragdoll as the psychiatrist circled around him, then paused in front of a door with a glossy plastic nameplate. Lorne squinted his eyes into near slits trying to read it.

Sounds like a girl’s name.

Several sharp raps on the metal door ensued. Then the grating echo of metal bolts being undone. Before he knew it, he was lying on his stomach against the padded flooring of a new cell, cheek pressed against the downy whiteness. Unable to right himself in his jacket, Lorne was content to simply gape at the sideways image of the doctor gently exchanging some unintelligible words with a young woman. Or girl, maybe? He couldn’t tell in this state. A little more pointless chatter, then the door swung close with a deafening clatter.

Ah, alone at last.

Sort of.

Lorne was having trouble formulating a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. He glanced up at the hallucinogenic crow perched on a nearby windowsill, as if imploring it to speak on his behalf. Cheekily, it declined by cawing again. Lorne pursed his lips in a crestfallen pout in response.

“a*****e.”

He jumped at the sound of his own voice. Then jumped again when he remembered that he wasn’t alone.

“Not you,” he slurred in a medicated haze. “Him. The crow.” Lorne leaned towards her the best he could from his position on the floor, steel-gray eyes looking as if they wanted to confide a secret to her. “But don’t believe a word he says.” His voice lowered to a conspiratory whisper. “He’s crazy.”


Zairea
Roleplay: Psychiatric Disorder
Date: Aug 27th, 2012
Theme: Psychologically unstable, Mental Institution
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Het
Word Count: 1,115

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User Image
___ TERRENCE
xxxxxxxxJOSEPH
xxxxxxxxxxxMCLEOD ♜

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.
THERE IS ALWAYS SOME MADNESS IN LOVE
BUT THERE IS ALSO ALWAYS SOME REASON
IN MADNESS
_____☭━━━━━━━━━━━━

Terrence pressed his lips into a thin line as he physically struggled with the task of maintaining a straight face. It took every ounce of self-control keep from bursting into laughter, watching as the blue-haired boy exploded through a range of emotions that encompassed every absurd anime in existence. He was clearly startled at having his trove of outdated photos intruded upon, however unintentional. Terrence cleared his throat into a fist to even out the burgeoning mirth in his voice before braving its use.

“Careful with that language, kid. You wouldn’t want a run-in with the school principal for it. From what I’ve heard, he’s quite the character.”

The boy continued to babble on in a panicked slur of verbal diarrhea. Left with no other choice, Terrence proceeded to “mmhm” and “uhuh” at appropriate intervals while he gingerly hiked up the hem of the student’s pant leg.

Doesn’t look as bad as I thought it would, he inwardly decided. There were definite puncture wounds where the larger of the dog’s incisors pierced flesh, but beyond that there was little tearing or swelling to speak of. He resumed his rummaging through the med kit to find a suitable remedy. A thumb-sized bottle of isopropyl alcohol peeked meekly from a nest of downy-white gauze.

Perfect.

Terrence wet a pad of gauze with a splash of the acrid-smelling disinfectant. “Hold still,” he cautioned. “This is going to hurt.” To ensure that the boy didn’t kick out of a knee-jerk reaction, he assumed a solid grip on his ankle before pressing the pad firmly onto the wound. A sudden shock of crimson blossomed onto the white canvas. As expected, the boy cried out in a mix of surprise and pain. “The worst’s over,” he gently reassured. Replacing the soiled gauze with a new bit of dressing, he wound a bandage around the meat of his calf until he was satisfied that the bleeding had slowed. Terrence promptly snipped off the ends and tied them off into a dead knot. Returning the contents of the kit into its red pouch, he began slipping his shoulder through the padded strap before thinking better of it, deciding to loop it over the boy’s head so it hung down from his neck like an oversized collar. The sight was enough to disperse any lingering tension as he straightened with an amused smirk.

“Aite, we’re all done here. School isn’t officially in session right now thanks to the hurricane, but you should see the nurse as soon as you can to get some professional treatment. My guess is that you’ll need a shot to play it safe. If anyone asks if you’re trying to play hooky, tell them Mr. McLeod sent you.”

He pointed a purposeful finger at the first aid kit, then towards the bloodied hallway. “I won’t say a word to Ms. Butler if you return the kit to the big guy’s office and clean up after yourself. Capish?”

Only when the boy had scurried out of sight did Terrence allow himself to indulge in an exasperated sigh. He’d nearly forgotten the hustle and bustle of school life. Although he did enjoy the brief stint as a pretend-doctor. Being a martial arts practitioner for the better part of two decades meant he wasn’t a stranger to lacerations and puncture wounds. Hell, he had fractured his ribs half a dozen times and broken more fingers and toes than he cared to count. He began musing at how convenient it would be to have an in-house doctor mend his bones whenever they decided to give out, normally at the most inopportune moments during his training regime.

His thoughts made the logical jump from “in-house” to his very ready-to-rent basement suite.

Estelle.

When did she get back in here?

Glad to have things back on track, he started to make his way back to her before the slow file of townsfolk shuffling their way towards the doors caught his attention. His features contorted into one of disbelief.

Is everyone in such a hurry to die? But one look out a nearby window quelled his confusion.

Then again, maybe not.

Howling winds and gravity-defying rain had gradually given way to remarkably sunny skies. It looked like the ill-behaved storm had worn itself out in its day-long tantrum, replacing it with a contented afternoon lull of sunshine. Terrence for one was relieved. By the time he made his way back to Estelle, he had resumed his usual sunny demeanor.

“Looks like the worst of the weather is behind us. How’d babysitting work out for you?” He ventured with a playful verbal jab.

“I don’t think we’ll need to hunker down for the night, so you’re welcome to drop by my home if you’d like a tour of the facilities.”


Zairea
Roleplay: Kanamori Town
Date: Aug 27th, 2012
Theme: Slice-of-Life
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bi
Word Count: 872

Offline
User Image
___ TERRENCE
xxxxxxxxJOSEPH
xxxxxxxxxxxMCLEOD ♜

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.
THERE IS ALWAYS SOME MADNESS IN LOVE
BUT THERE IS ALSO ALWAYS SOME REASON
IN MADNESS
_____☭━━━━━━━━━━━━

Terrence quirked a brow in unabashed amusement.

“That bad, huh.” He mischievously sympathised.

Well.

He wasn’t really one to talk either.

High schoolers were manageable in their own right, small children only slightly less so. But babies? They were forever an enigma. Their every need – hunger, fatigue, pain, raging diaper rashes – they could all be summated up into a single, piercing wail. Forget the all-important middleman that was the English language. If you didn’t tread lightly on a minefield of a baby’s temperament, you risked setting off any number of unsubstantiated, ear-splitting cries without the faintest hope of diffusing them since every blasted wire was likely to be entirely red or blue. It was the equivalent of playing Russian roulette with a fully-loaded chamber – you just don’t press the trigger for any reason whatsoever.

But enough with the infantile segue. Terrence had a basement suite to pitch.

As if to finalize their immaterial agreement, he dusted his hands off with a series of loud claps, symbolically shedding the debris of their ordeal and leaving it well behind them.

“Absolutely. Then it’s settled; the Downtown Train it is.”

He swivelled on a heel with a casual over-the-shoulder gesture for her to follow. They had only just begun filing their way towards the flow of bodies trickling out the gym doors when a lively voice cut through the din with striking familiarity. Towering well above even the tallest citizen, he gave the crowds a cursory once-over before his limpid waters fell upon its source. The peculiar process of a photographic memory began piquing his curiosity.

Well, don’t you look familiar …

Where have I seen her before?

He gave a corner of his angular jaw a slight scratch, suddenly very aware of the overnight scruff beginning to overtake his entire jaw line. It didn’t look like there were any teachers present to answer her open-ended call for help. Again, that overwhelming compulsion of adult responsibility. Terrence inwardly pulled a face in spite of himself. Had he always been this eager to play the school ground white knight? Alas, he was now.

A half dozen footsteps later and they were finally within speaking distance of the girl. Although just to be sure, Terrence cupped a hand to his lips to amplify his voice.

“I doubt the bugger’s still in there; the hurricane had everyone turned around for a while.”

He poked a wayward thumb at the doorway and the serene skies it now framed.

“School doesn’t start until tomorrow, so you’re better off getting a good rest before then. Estelle and I were just on our way out to the train station. You’re welcome to join us if you’re having trouble finding your way.”


Zairea
Roleplay: Kanamori Town
Date: Aug 28th, 2012
Theme: Slice-of-Life
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bi
Word Count: 525

Offline
User Image
___ TERRENCE
xxxxxxxxJOSEPH
xxxxxxxxxxxMCLEOD ♜

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.
THERE IS ALWAYS SOME MADNESS IN LOVE
BUT THERE IS ALSO ALWAYS SOME REASON
IN MADNESS
_____☭━━━━━━━━━━━━

Once again, a comedic puckering of his facial features ensued at the predictable appearance of the honorific “sir.”

“Come now. No need for all the formal fluff.” He waved dismissively as if he were combating a fly in mid-flight. Soon after, his features brightened with a crooked grin. “‘Terrence’ is more than enough.”

Yet as quickly as it had come, his grin faltered before dissolving into a look of playful consternation. “That is, unless you’re a student here. In which case, it's Mr. McLeod to you!”

At the mention of extracurricular activities and afterschool clubs, Terrence pinched the cleft of his chin in lingering thought, deciding that her slew of hurriedly-voiced concerns arose from her unfamiliarity with such a large educational institution.

“Not sure about a cooking club, but I know we have a tea ceremony club hiding somewhere. If all else fails, you can always start one of your own.

Another pause – another thoughtful pinch.

“With a school this size, there’s bound to be a drama or theatre club. Just takes some snooping around to find them.” But he wasn’t quite through with the academic briefing just yet. As usual, he was powerless to resist the characteristic mischief that comprised well over half of his personality. True to his nature, Terrence gave the blonde a deliberate visual once-over while wriggling his brows meaningfully.

“Unless of course, you’re more of the sporty, don’t-make-me-hip-toss-your-a** kind of girl. We have an afterschool kung fu club for that if you’re interested, run by yours truly.”

No sooner had the words left his lips than he felt compelled to toss his head back and let slip a bark of laughter. Even as a fully-qualified kung fu “Sifu,” he couldn’t help but marvel at his willingness to shamefully advertise for his future club. Terrence shook his head as his chuckling finally died out in spurts.

“Ah, don’t mind me. I’m just old and addled by the delusional grandeurs of my imaginary youth.” Hiking his messenger bag higher up onto the perch of his shoulder, he gave his luggage an experimental tug, nodding towards Estelle before gravitating towards the door.

“Come. We’ll chat up another storm on the train.”


[ Exit to Downtown Train ]


Zairea
Roleplay: Kanamori Town
Date: Aug 28th, 2012
Theme: Slice-of-Life
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bi
Word Count: 444

Offline
User Image
___ TERRENCE
xxxxxxxxJOSEPH
xxxxxxxxxxxMCLEOD ♜

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.
THERE IS ALWAYS SOME MADNESS IN LOVE
BUT THERE IS ALSO ALWAYS SOME REASON
IN MADNESS
_____☭━━━━━━━━━━━━

[ Post-Time Skip. ]


“Hnnnggh …”

A hulking mountain of beige cloth stirred faintly in the unmoving silence of the room. It grumbled in an attempt to burrow its precipitous hills and valleys deeper into the downy cottons of the sheets. Another minute of impending sunrise, another shaft of sunlight straying onto the length of the bed in cheery yellow strokes.

Aughh ….. too hot.

So it rolled away from the morning death ray, hoping against all odds to snatch another half-hour of sleep. But what was the consequence of neglecting to buy blinds or curtains for his ceiling-high windows?

Death rays. Death rays all around.

Too damn bright. Who turned on the sun?

It finally came to a point where the dreaded morning rays began to pincer the beige mound into a small, unoccupied sliver at the center of the bed, which was needless to say inadequate for its imposing frame. Slowly but surely, its body temperature began to gradually climb. Very soon it was more than it could bear beneath the covers. With an exasperated sigh, its cottony covers were kicked away in a flourish to reveal none other than a beefy Terrence beneath, replete with sleep-leaden eyes and all.

Fine. You win this time.

One stray glance at the digital display of his bedside alarm clock.

7:45am.

I have time; my class doesn’t kick in until the early afternoon, anyways.

Resigned to what lay ahead, Terrence heaved himself out of bed and began the sluggish process of prepping his unkempt-self for school. One trip to the dresser and he had gathered a lazy armful from his wardrobe; he laid the acquired stash across his bed for later perusal. It was his first day teaching at the academy, after all. It wouldn’t do to start things off in baggy shorts and a wife-beater. Oozing into his dark slacks one leg at a time, moving with all the grace of molasses, he suddenly remembered the situation downstairs. Hopping back to his bedside table, one unattended pant leg flagging behind him, he scooped up his smartphone and began tapping away.


Text Message:
Good morning, sunshine.
Hope you slept well. That’d make one of us, anyways.
How are things down there? Hope the facilities are to your liking.
Sorry to have Mio crash there for the night. As you saw, I don’t have a guestroom up here.
Breakfast at the school cafeteria? Unless the hospital needs you.
Did they ever get back to you about the school nurse position?


Zairea
Roleplay: Kanamori Town
Date: Aug 29th, 2012
Theme: Slice-of-Life
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bi
Word Count: 493

Offline
Lorne had almost given in to the sultry temptations of sleep. Lying cheek-down on the padded flooring as he was, he could already feel its warm tendrils snaking into the unguarded confines of his consciousness, prying at his sense of awareness about his surroundings. It wasn’t until the woman managed to set him right-side-up that he was able to banish the fog of impending sleep from horridly blood-shot eyes. He fought an insurmountable urge to drool while shaking his head to clear out the last of his medicated fatigue.

“Mmgthanks,” he managed around a tongue that felt foreign in his mouth.

Only then did Lorne draw a shaky breath to steady himself. Slowly bringing the base of his skull to rest against the downy wall behind him, he wrestled himself into a cross-legged position. Hindered momentarily by his bodily restraints, he groggily affixed a narrowed squint at his new cellmate. Even as he struggled to regain his wits, he could see that she was nearly (if not more) loopy than he was. It had only taken him the last five minutes of sharing a space with her to see that she was prattling on to a gaggle of nobodies in the room.

Literally. Nobody.

And that was just crazy. I mean, she couldn’t even see his crow!

Simply unacceptable.

Lorne scrunched his features up in indignation at the mention of being pegged as “delusional.”

“Heyey,” he slurred, having difficulty forming coherent sentences. “I’ll have you know that I …. I take … I take exception. To … to that.” As if of one mind, the three-eyed crow cawed in agreement before alighting from the windowsill and fluttering to a halt on his right shoulder. Relieved to see an old friend side with him for a change, Lorne angled his cheek so as to administer an affectionate nuzzle into its coarse feathers.

“See? Even …. even ‘ol Bane thinks that was …. was rude.”

Her next monologue, albeit no less queer, terminated in a question that seemed cross-bred with a challenge. Lorne struggled against the habitual urge to tousle his hair – something he had clearly lost the privilege of doing once they had clapped him in the leathers of a strait jacket. It was something that always helped him think. Resigned to his limitations, he opted to chew a corner of his lower lip instead, the shiny white furrows of old scars betraying the extent of his unhealthy habit.

“Mmmrgh … Why am I in a strait jacket?” He echoed to himself, as if reaffirming the question. “Hm. Probably ……. probably because …… Yes. Because I lose control of my arms and legs sometimes. You know … They just, flail around, unbidden.

Without warning, his voice quieted to the point where you could hear a pin drop. The uncertainty in his deep baritone dissipated like a morning fog. The hesitant pauses, the stuttering on consonants. Gone. Instead, a disquieting calm took hold of him; it chilled the ambiance in the room to a sudden frost. He began to speak with the assertiveness and confidence of a sane and rational human being.

Or a violently bipolar sociopath.

“Although, sometimes, I move them on purpose. When they don’t up my dosage enough. Then, I move them. Sometimes they’ll catch a rib, others, a neck. They all deserve it, though. I’m helping them, you see. They’re stuck in their own bodies and need someone ……. No, something …… to break them out. I’m a hero. I could help you, too ….”

Amidst his medicated fog, his sullen features suddenly split with a dangerous smile. Darkness descended on his countenance as if the daylight of his sanity had set under the weight of nightfall. But just as quickly as it had come, the ominous expression vanished, replaced with the familiar vacant look. He blinked once, then twice.

Lorne was back. For now.

“Say,” he drawled nonchalantly. “I don’t … I don’t suppose any of your friends here know when dinner is gonna roll around, would you? I’m starving. Are you?”


Zairea
Roleplay: Psychiatric Disorder
Date: Aug 29th, 2012
Theme: Psychologically unstable, Mental Institution
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Het
Word Count: 676

Offline
User Image
___ TERRENCE
xxxxxxxxJOSEPH
xxxxxxxxxxxMCLEOD ♜

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.
THERE IS ALWAYS SOME MADNESS IN LOVE
BUT THERE IS ALSO ALWAYS SOME REASON
IN MADNESS
_____☭━━━━━━━━━━━━

Terrence was halfway through giving his teeth a thorough brush when his smartphone began rumbling away. It performed a stuttering dance against the wood-panelled bathroom counter before the screen flashed a faint blue hue, illuminating a stocky envelope symbol.

That was fast, he marvelled.

Guess she had an easier time rising this morning than I did.

Glad that he wouldn’t have to verbalize a reply – mouth full of foamy fluoride considered – he swiped his non-dominant hand against a hand towel before collecting the device and raising it to eye level. Cerulean orbs glided to and fro until he had devoured both messages in their entirety.

Hm. Still asleep, that one. Mio … was it? She looks young enough to be a student. Hope she comes to in time for classes to start.

Setting the phone rest on a dry area of the counter, he slid his toothbrush into its holder with a sharp clatter before spinning the faucets. A steady torrent of icy water immediately sluiced into the basin below. Palming a mouthful, he gargled with gusto before ridding himself of the bubbly foam, leaving a pleasant, minty bite on his palate. Terrence glanced briefly at his wristwatch before barking a mild curse.

8:10am.

Damn.

Where did all the time go?!

I swear, there’s always a rift in the time-space continuum whenever there’s something important to do in the morning.

He hurriedly lathered up a mound of cream along the unruly growth of his jaw line. To make things interesting, Terrence tasked himself with the challenge of simultaneously shaving and texting, attempting to prove the female-exclusive ability to multitask wrong. He thumbed his message and culled his facial hair as quickly as humanly possible.


Text Message:
S’at so? You’ll have to teach me that trick sometime.
I hear sheep arithmetic is all the rage now.
Glad to hear you’ll be joining me for breakfast.
My guess is that the hospital gave you the green light?


He was just about send it off before a thought occurred to him. Summoning the touchpad keyboard once more, he tapped out a necessary afterthought.


Text Message:
Ah, before I forget.
Be sure to leave a spare key for our Sleeping Beauty before you go.
Wouldn’t want her to feel obligated to house-sit on account of burglars.


Terrence chuckled at his own wry sense of humour; doing so repaid the karmic imbalance with a sharp nick of the razor against the underside of his chin. “Tchh,” he hissed. So much for multitasking. He supposed the women could have that skill set; he was certainly done trying. Grimacing at his own carelessness, Terrence rinsed off the remainder of the frothy cream before gingerly apply a dot of Kleenex on the reddening cut. It soaked through almost instantly with a blot of crimson. Rueing his inability to manage his time, he wriggled into the rest of his attire before pocketing his phone and loping out the doorway. The Rolex nagged persistently at his wrist as he slid a hand down the wooden banister during his descent down the stairs. He braved another tentative glance.

8:15am.

CHRIST.

One quick pit stop by the automated coffee machine was all the time he had to spare. Drumming his calloused fingertips against the countertop in growing impatience, he scarcely allowed for the machine to fill to the brim before slapping lids on both tumblers and barreling out the door (which again, he thankfully needn’t duck under). He breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of Estelle biding her time at the end of the driveway. Terrence would’ve waved were it not for the tumblers encumbering both hands, so he settled for a characteristic grin instead.

“Well, aren’t we looking dapper this morning. Hope you won’t be too hot in that – I hear it’s supposed to be a scorcher today.”

Remembering himself, he handed over a tumbler, the stainless steel body insulated against the piping-hot beverage.

“Hope you don’t mind Americano Mistos. Can’t start my day without one.”

Now that the morning pleasantries had been exchanged, he began turning in the direction of the train station.

“Shall we?”


[ Exit to Uptown Train Station. ]


Zairea
Roleplay: Kanamori Town
Date: Aug 29th, 2012
Theme: Slice-of-Life
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bi
Word Count: 770

Offline
User Image
___ TERRENCE
xxxxxxxxJOSEPH
xxxxxxxxxxxMCLEOD ♜

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.
THERE IS ALWAYS SOME MADNESS IN LOVE
BUT THERE IS ALSO ALWAYS SOME REASON
IN MADNESS
_____☭━━━━━━━━━━━━


The train had a certain charm as it chattered over the railway tracks. It clacked rhythmically as it wound its way through tunnels and under bridges; as a result of the consistent lullaby, Terrence was nearly tempted into the sultry promises of sleep. He had to knuckle heavy eyelids to force them back open.

Unwilling to admit defeat, he took a long drag from the stainless steel tumbler.

The coffee was taking its own sweet time to kick in, that was for sure. A cursory glance of the carriage spoke just as much.

Groggy and red-eyed students and adults alike had resigned themselves to the early-morning commute. Some were fortunate enough to have found seats; others clung half-heartedly to overhead rings attached to bars lining the ceiling to keep from flopping unceremoniously onto a stranger’s lap. As for the former, Terrence eyed them with lingering envy. He and Estelle had barely managed to catch the train when they bounded onto the platform. They had to rapidly shimmy sideways through closing doors as the electronic jingle played out its cautionary warning. And now, there they stood, awkwardly pressed up against one another as the compartment filled to the point of bursting with every passing station.

Not that he particularly minded having the length of an attractive woman pressed up against his, mind you.

No sooner had he mulled over the lecherous thought, than he found his jaw quickly seized in Estelle’s gentle but firm grip. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Mortification quickly consumed his expression.

Wait …

s**t. Was that my outside voice?

And then she slammed him with a question that came screaming out of left field.

The heat loitering in his cheeks suddenly began radiating all the way up into his ears.

“Pardon? D-did I clean it??”

Perspiration began beading his forehead like an early morning dew. His mind raced to offer some semblance of a scapegoat to blame the verbal slip on, but nothing came to mind. He parted his lips in hopes of filling the awkward silence with something, anything to change the subject. Fortunately, she saved him in the nick of time from unnecessarily spilling his guts at the mention of his cut.

Terrence visibly sagged in relief. He’d nearly forgotten about his shaving mishap. Clearing his throat as the heat in his features began ebbing; he worked to convey his reassurance through a gentle smile.

“A-ah, that. It’s nothing, really. Just nicked myself shaving this morning, bit of a rush job. I’ll slap a dob of disinfectant on it when we get to school if you think it’ll help.”

It was a bit of a bittersweet parting when their station finally rolled into view. Nonetheless, the day had to go on. And so Terrence and Estelle shouldered their way out of the sardine can of a train and began making their way onto the school grounds.


[ Exit Uptown Train. ]


Zairea
Roleplay: Kanamori Town
Date: Aug 29th, 2012
Theme: Slice-of-Life
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bi
Word Count: 565

Offline
User Image
___ TERRENCE
xxxxxxxxJOSEPH
xxxxxxxxxxxMCLEOD ♜

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.
THERE IS ALWAYS SOME MADNESS IN LOVE
BUT THERE IS ALSO ALWAYS SOME REASON
IN MADNESS
_____☭━━━━━━━━━━━━

[ Enter school grounds. ]


The Jinshin Academy grounds looked bright and lively this time of morning. What was once a vast expanse of ominous, steely-gray sky now proudly boasted a magnificent hue of royal blue, not a single cloud in sight. Terrence marvelled at how a simple change in lighting could affect such a drastic change in the environment. Sodden grass fields had long since dried out to resume their usual crisp textures, the only moisture to speak of being the last few drops of morning dew that bent the occasional, sleepy green blade. The building itself which once looked dark and foreboding under the hurricane’s unforgiving wrath now stood stately atop the slight hill. It helped that the sunshine emphasized the red bricks that held its foundation, lending certain warmth to its stature.

Students were milling around front gates with bikes or breakfasts in hand as they made their way towards their respective classes. Some with early morning study periods opted to socialize in gaggles that seemed to operate with a single-minded will. Together, they would migrate from clique to clique, clucking away like expectant hens until the student truancy officers posted by the entrance shooed them inside.

As Terrence and Estelle approached the elegant arch that comprised the main gates, he passed by several students who gave them curious looks. But it wasn’t his height that beckoned for attention this time around. Venturing for another sip from the coffee tumbler, Terrence suspected that it was their choice of attire, perhaps even their joint entrance that spurred a whirlwind of whispers. He returned the odd looks with a mischievous glint as he peered over the rim of his cup. More often than not, it was enough to interrupt the whispers with even stranger looks from the boys, or intermittent giggling from the girls.

But in Estelle’s case, it wasn’t so easy.

Although her features appeared impassive, they were still undoubtedly attentive. And despite being obscured by the lenses of her glasses, her offbeat eye color managed to catch the whimsical fancies of several of the more outgoing seniors.

How would he know, you ask?

Well. It wasn’t hard when the lot of them broke out into bright grins and began tailing them from a short distance away. Their youthful vigour and hopes amused him.

The silver-red trinkets that held his braided rat tails in place jingled softly as he absently drew them back over his shoulder towards his chest. Terrence didn’t need to confirm the tail-gating – he could hear snippets of hushed conversation as the boys egged one another on, scrambling to find an appropriate reason to approach her out of the blue. When they finally passed through the gates and traversed the cobblestoned path leading up to the cafeteria, the boys became disheartened at the thought of risking a late slip, and so forestalled their romantic ambitions for another day as they turned off at the next building.

Terrence knew it was silly, but he couldn’t help but feel a small measure of triumph at their departure.

Was it silly to feel a stint of possessiveness over a tenant he had only met a day before?

Worse yet, could he be perceived as less of a man by considering a handful of teenage boys his romantic rivals?

The thought was mortifying.

He palmed his face briefly; incredulous that he would even admit such prepubescent fears to himself. Maybe it was because he had been out of the game for as long as he had? Four months could probably be considered a dry spell.

No … a drought.

A drought of Biblical proportions.

Had work really consumed that much of his spare time?

Remind me to call up some old friends after work. I need to get back out there and mingle, maybe find someone to warm the sheets for a bit, he grumbled inwardly.

Well ..... How about Estelle? A small voice chirped innocently from the recesses of his subconsciousness.

NO, he mentally bellowed, immediately shutting the suggestion down, hopefully before it had a chance to take root and grow.

As her landlord I have a responsibility to keep things civil and professional between us. And … Wait, that’s besides the fact. I’ve only known her for a day! God, if our mother could hear us now, she’d turn over in her grave. Shame on you.

... Er, us.

No, wait. You! He mentally chided himself.


[ Enter cafeteria. ]


Emotional drama aside, the cafeteria was already in full swing by the time they stepped through the door. There were fewer students milling about than lunchtime for obvious reasons. The first morning class was already well under way and truancy officers were prowling the corridors, eyes peeled for familiar faces looking to steal a little shut-eye. Together, they stepped up to the window to make their orders. He began to point towards the menu mounted above the opening when they were unexpectedly blasted by an agitated slew of verbal commotion in the kitchen before them. Crestfallen, Terrence wilted his forefinger and comically kept his mouth slightly ajar – as if jammed in the beginnings of speech – before it became clear that they weren’t the object of the kitchen staff’s frustrations.

“What do you mean there aren’t any more Salisbury Steaks?! We just ordered a batch in last week. They were supposed to last until lunchtime today.”

“I’m telling you – you old goat – that you must’ve forgotten to! Look: This is a freezer, and this is where the steaks should be. Do you see them there? Oh, you do? Well, fire them up and serve them already. I’m sure the girls will be thrilled to know that their steaks are absolutely, one-hundred percent calorie free.”

“Don’t get fresh with me, woman! What about that time whe –”

User Image
“Sorry about that!”

A wild cafeteria lady appeared!

…. Ugh. He really needed cut down on his gaming references. They were starting to invade his personal thoughts.

But seriously though, she had.

While the presumably more senior kitchen staff continued to squabble incoherently in the back, the woman hurriedly did her best to use her already slight-frame to block the window and shield against the ongoing unprofessionalism. Of course the effect was fairly absurd since she was scarcely tall enough to peek over the windowsill itself. The end result still left two thirds of the window in plain view. As the realization dawned on her delicate features, her cheeks flushed and she began frantically waving her arms above her head in a panicked blur, as if the oversized sleeves of her cardigan could disguise the scene for what it was – silly.

Really, really silly.

Terrence struggled to suppress his laughter, but that only resulted in an awkward snort. It was enough to loose the floodgate. Soon, both Estelle and Terrence were doubled over as one gale of laughter followed another. Meanwhile, the petite woman fumbled with the hem of her oversized sleeves as her eyes darted between the two scenarios: a pair of elderly, agitated kitchen staff, and a pair of young adults, neither of the two groups behaving as they ought to. But what could she do? She was, after all, a sort of catalyst for their amusement. Terrence knew it was terrible to react as they were to her efforts, but it was just too much. Although he mused that this was a much-needed dose of humour in the wake of a near-natural disaster. When their laughter finally died out, Terrence brushed a tear from the corner of his eye before clearing his throat.

“Mmhmgh. Sorry ‘bout that, miss. Don’t mind us – we’re just a tad caffeinated. And don’t you worry – we’re not in the mood for Salisbury Steaks this morning.”

Cracking a wry smile in Estelle’s direction, he resumed his previous gesturing at the menu board.

“I’ll have a egg and ham breakfast burrito, if that’s alright with you. Y’know – if the eggs and ham haven’t gone missing, that is. Dr. Seuss would be chagrined to hear it.”

The woman looked indescribably relieved to finally face a familiar task. She ended up nodding so hard that Terrence feared she might unhinge her head right off her neck. Still, her voice never lost its merry, sing-song quality.

“Certainly, sir. Coming right up.”

She turned a pair of gentle, hazel optics to Estelle. “And for you, miss?”


Zairea
Roleplay: Kanamori Town
Date: Aug 30th, 2012
Theme: Slice-of-Life
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bi
Word Count: 1,472

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    I am a wolf in sheep's skin.
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    I am the hunter, you are the hunted.
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