Welcome to Gaia! ::

Parker came back to his dorm after class to find all of his belongings strewn haphazardly across the floor. He had been living in a quad with three other boys, and apparently one of them claimed that Parker had been harrassing him. Of course, Parker had no idea what he was talking about. All he had said was that it was clear that the boy's parents probably didn't love him -- or else why would he be at Hillworth? It wasn't an insult; it was a fact. If they wanted him so badly, he would be with them. Instead they had fled Destiny City to avoid their parole officers. Really, was it so difficult to understand?

Sighing, Parker began stacking his things back up, tucking them neatly into an army green dufflebag -- standard-issue for Hillworth. He had been through this little dance before. His roommate would lodge a complaint, his file would be pulled, and he would be assumed at fault. After four years at Hillworth, Parker had learned to not be surprised. When the administrator finally showed up to scold him and order him out of that room, the tall man was shocked to see Parker packed and ready to go.

"Where to?" he said, flatly. There was a bit of shouting, an order to serve on the landscaping crew for a week or so. Parker did not say a word. It was useless. The first five times this had happened, he had said something, but the boy was too old to do it anymore. They would assume he was guiltly. They always did.

After a short march to another hallway, the administrator shoved the door open, barking something about not-screwing-this-one-up or something like that. Parker didn't care. He peeked inside -- no sign of his roommate. The room was fitted out for three people, but only one bed was occuppied. Apparently, the administrator wanted to give Parker the least exposure to others.

Heaving another sigh, Parker dumped his bag on the off-kilter desk and began the slow process of unpacking, wondering whether or not his roommate would show soon -- but not really caring either way.

Parker turned slowly toward the door, appraising the boy who stood there. Oh, this must be the guy from the photo. He seemed a little cookie-cutter. "Parker," he said, by way of introduction. He did not extend his hand. After the initial glance he turned back to what he was doing, sliding out a series of ten thick books onto the desk. "I was moved here. About five minutes ago." Hillworth wasn't a terribly big school, and Parker was certain he had seen this guy around. But he had never met him. He couldn't even think of his name.

The dark-haired boy let his eyes flicker to the open window, but he said nothing, just started stacking his books in a neat row. Parker wasn't really one for small talk, but he made a slight exception. This would be his roommate. Well, for however long it lasted. "What happened to your other roommate? Suicide." He said the last word as less of a guess and more of a fact. Leaving Hillworth wasn't the simplest thing in the world. So Parker chose to assume that the boy had taken matters into his own hands, probably offed himself. Or maybe his parents came back with open arms to take him back into their home? Hm. Not likely. Yep, suicide was clearly the more probable cause.

After fishing out the majority of his books, most of them from the local library, he set about putting his clothes away. There weren't too many, and the majority were undershirts for his uniform. He opened the closet -- very small, not that it was surprising -- and hung up the things he cared about: the steampunk jacket he'd bought last month, a pair of sleek black pants, a couple button-ups. He dumped a handful of black converses on the floor of the closet. Three pairs. All black. And then one royal blue pair.

Parker hadn't asked Jaimie's name, but it was a good thing to know. The surname? He couldn't care less. Your last name only denoted where you came from, and most people who saw fit to share did so because they thought it gave them status. Like a Kennedy. Or some other powerful family. The name sounded vaguely familiar -- had he run a blog entry about some business fat cat with the last name Leontyne? Hm... he couldn't recall. He'd have to check his archives. Parker slammed so many people on his secret blog that it was difficult to remember at times. Besides, even if he had slammed some Leontyne, this kid couldn't be related to them. If he was, he certainly wouldn't be at Hillworth... right?

"I upset my last roommate. I told him the truth, and he didn't like it," he said, voice flat. He raised his eyes to Jaimie, as if to challenge his integrity. "'Nothing is easier than self-deceit. For what each man wishes, that he also believes to be true.'" He paused for a moment. "Demosthenes. A philosopher." He offered no other explanation as to the situation. It seemed unnecessary. Jaimie didn't really care. He only asked because society told him he should care. People only really care about themselves; Parker knew that.

He pulled a small pencil pouch out of his bag, set it on the desk. Next came his sheets -- standard-issue at Hillworth. "You keep the window open often?" he said, gesturing toward it. His voice gave nothing away about what he thought, or if he suspected anything. There tended to be bars on the windows of Hillworth. Parker was suprised that this room did not have any. Perhaps this Jaimie had some kind of deal with the administration? Hm...

"Philosophy leads to the birth of many inventions. Things that were theorized and discounted as 'useless pontification' eventually became real things that existed and were used. DaVinci -- a great inventor, a great philosopher," Parker said, slipping the thin mattress cover onto his bed. He didn't reflect it, but Parker felt an inch of respect for Jaimie -- simply because he used the word pontificate. But to say philosophy only existed in the mouths of corrupt politicians? Oh, no, my friend. Oh no.

He barely registered the nickname Jaimie called him. He'd certainly heard much worse, and "Spiderman" was a welcome alternative to some of the others. Parker opened his mouth to explain to Jaimie that things were probably going to get much worse, as that was the cycle of humanity, just slowly spiraling down the drain, but the blond boy revealed the bars underneath his mattress, stalling Parker's words. There was no such thing as morality, and so Parker did not react to Jaimie's transgression of the rules. Rules were subjective. Well, everything was subjective.

At any rate, he had no plans on getting blamed for the bar-less window, which is what would surely happen. Setting his sheets aside, he crossed to the window, grabbing a hold of the bars. "Socrates is Socrates for a reason. Well deserving of adulation." Hm, did Jaimie like philosophy? If so, then this pairing might be actually not bad. Well, certainly not good -- was anything really good? -- but certainly not bad either. Parker would need to know the boy better before he could decide that.

He did find it odd that Jaimie would bring up that he was not a senshi. It was similar to when murderers shouted out, "I didn't kill anybody!" long before a detective even made an accusation as to such. It was not something that Parker lingered on, but it fell into his mental vault, more of a fun speculation than any actual suspicion. "If anyone fell out the window, it would be me," he said, not offering a reason why.

Parker continued to hold the bars in place, even as Jaimie poked fun at him. He wasn't one to overreact. Besides, this was a mildly stimulating conversation. "Many philosophers believed that the only control that humans have is that of their own death. Fate is constantly barreling towards us; we could die at any moment, by any cause. A plane could crash into the school right now and kill you and me right now. Many philosophers, in light of that, chose to take their own lives in order to maintain control. In choosing their own death, they became the masters of their own fate." He delivered the whole address in the same cadence, a casual reciting, as if he were perhaps ordering food at a restaurant and not discussing the pervasive nature of death. He adjusted his arm, struggling to hold the bars up. They were heavy, and Parker was not exactly buff. He continued, "I understand their logic, but it is not a school of thought that I personally subscribe to. And I don't know of any mobsters I've pissed off. I'm just unlucky. Very unlucky." He shrugged, and it made the bars dip. Suicide -- Parker never thought of it as an option. He didn't believe in God or an afterlife. He didn't believe that he would see his mother and sister when he finally passed. And he knew that it was his responsible to live where his mother could not. It was a sentimentality and dedication to her that preserved him.

Jaimie and Parker continued the awkward dance -- Parker struggling to keep it straight, Jaimie struggling to turn the screwdriver. "Perhaps there is a reason for it," he said, teeth gritted, strain evident in his voice. "For the creepy vibes." He agreed with Jaimie there. Something was definitely off at Hillworth Grammar School -- but what it was, exactly... Parker had no clue.

Good and bad might be relative concepts -- but Killingsworth was an a*****e. No gray area about that. "Fine, I won't fall out the window," he said, tiring of the conversation. Still, it was reasonably decent to speak to someone who could form sentences. "The administration hired Killingsworth. They hired him to do exactly what he does -- try to scare us into submission." Parker slid his hands free of the bars, happy to have them back up. No doubt he would be blamed if they ever turned up missing. His permanent record was thicker than the Bible.

Rubbing at his bicep, he stepped away from the window, keeping his distance from Jaimie. "Statistically, it makes sense that Hillworth is full of sociopaths and idiots. When you come from a low socio-economic background, your chance of a successful future plummet dramatically. Most kids only do their homework because they are told. They don't steal because they got punished for doing it by someone who loved them. When you don't have those influences, you don't have those things beaten into you. You are free to determine your own system of beliefs." Like he had. Sure, his mother had been the one who instilled a love of learning and reading in him, but Parker was convinced that every other semi-decent quality of his had been self-developed.

He crossed back to his side of the room, taking out the next scratchy sheet and slipping it onto his bed.

Parker hadn't quite finished making his bed when Jaimie reached to turn off the light. "I'll get the light. I need to finish this." He made quick work of it, turning it down meticulously and smoothing the edges. He crossed back to his desk, grabbing the empty duffle and stuffing it under his bed. The room was barebones, but it didn't matter. Parker didn't think of it as home anyway. Picking up a green moleskin journal, he looked at it briefly, as if to consider working in it. The boy was a bit of an insomniac, and he was not ready for bed. Curfew was fast approaching, but he thought he might be able to steal a few minutes of note-scribbling in one of the studies. Sometimes the Hillworth staff would make exceptions if you were working on homework -- sometimes.

Knowing Parker's luck, he'd probably end up caught in some fist fight, or harshly punished by Killingsworth for no apparent reason. Picking up a thick book, Parker stacked the notebook on top, grabbing a pen. "I'm going to work on some stuff in the study. I'll be quiet when I come back." He said nothing else. No nice to meet you or excited to have a new roommate. Nope, he just turned on his heel, shoe squeaking, flipped off the light, and then slipped out the door with a near silent click.

He would return a few hours later, just as quiet, and would probably slip into bed without Jaimie noticing.