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Futuristic 𝚅𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚄𝙿𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙶 -- 𝙸𝙲

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gian su-yun.





































  • mood



    thinking hard.
















A small smile fell upon her face at Wes' compliments despite what they found in the drawer - it was worth it to hear that.

Her gloved hand picked up the square paper from her shoulder, the dull pink taunting her. Not because it represented detention - that was too literal, even for Jefferson - but because it represented a challenge...a puzzle.

Game on, Jefferson.

Gian thought back to what he said, her mind attempting to piece together the jigsaw.

Louis' shoes squeaked by her side, steps furiously stomping towards someone. More squeaks followed, both Wes and Louis were no longer by her side.

Ignoring the puzzle for now, she gingerly dropped the pink slip. Gian forced herself back to her feet with the help of Jefferson's desk. What now?

Gian surmised what had happened based on Anastasia's face cracking as Alex's bare hand released her wrist. His powers always fascinated her. She sometimes wondered if he could make her see her mother, back when she was full of life and make her arms wrap around Gian.

Edith, Wes and Louis all stood in front of Alex, the noble protectors of princess Anastasia. Gian couldn't ignore the pang of envy at the trio standing up for her without any hesitation. Would they do the same for me? Gian let that thought get swallowed up as she listened to Louis' harsh words directed at Alex.

Alex was at the mercy of his classmates it seemed. Gian remained at the desk, observing the situation. Wes followed with equally harsh words and Gian was happy that it wasn't her in the hot seat.

As the raised voices subsided, the wispy Edith turned towards her. In so many ways, Edith was the complete opposite to her. Namely her powers, Edith gave life to anything she touched while Gian caused nothing but death. She wondered if her parents praised her? If that was the case...then why was she here and not at home with her picturesque family? Maybe we are more alike than I originally thought...

Edith observed Gian's handiwork and all Gian could do was stand there as though being graded. Her jaw clenched as Edith visibly shuddered. Interesting.

Eventually Edith stood and offered further praise which made a semblance of colour fill the decaying teen's face.

"Oh, uh...thanks," Gian shrugged nonchalantly, "it was nothing really and its better than nothing I guess."

Gian's eyes flicked back to the pink slip as she listened to both Edith's and Anastasia's theories. They both presented extra information for Gian to process, as though offering her new jigsaw pieces to fit into the puzzle.

Yet, she was unsure if it was the pessimist inside of her or if she was right, as she opened her mouth.

"Or we fell into Jefferson's trap and did exactly what he expected of us," Gian's voice had become a little clearer and not as though she was about to croak, "we failed. The entire class was about control and we did the complete opposite...we couldn't even control ourselves when left alone for more than five minutes. Whatever Jefferson thought we weren't ready for...we proved exactly that."

































cry for love



백현










♡coded by uxie♡
 
The stiff, steady words at his side shocked Alex. The words themselves didn't say much, but Edith's tone told all that was needed. He hadn't //ever// heard Edith speak like that. Not to anyone. A thought smashed itself into his mind; what Alex had done was apparently the worst she'd seen so far at Vochertepp. And wasn't that something. "Edith, I," he lurched to a stop. What was there to say? He couldn't regret his actions. I did what was needed, that's all. Even as the words came to him, he didn't dare speak.

He stood tense, and despite no longer touching, Alex could feel the trembles from the figure next to him. As his eyes swung back around, tears filled Anastasia's eyes. The distance between them grew.

Anastasia pressed herself against the door, as far as she could get from Alex without being required to walk past him. And her eyes. It was unbearable. Alex tore his gaze away and directed it towards the ground.

"Why would you do that?"

Alex bit his lip into his mouth, digging teeth into skin. He couldn't apologize now or attempt to soothe whatever pain she was feeling. It would all be for nothing if he did. But the pain and distrust in her eyes made his wish more than anything that he'd at least given more thought to what he had shown her. I didn't mean to hurt you so bad. When she moved toward him, Alex took a step back. As she walked past him, he dug his teeth further into his lip to distract himself from the tears that wanted to form in his eyes. "You keep watch."

Silently, Alex nodded. It was the least he could do. Besides, it would all be over soon. Anastasia would get Wesley, Louis, and now Gian of all people, to stop snooping and he wouldn't have to worry anymore. Except Anastasia said nothing. Alex waited, but with each second he felt dread sink further and further into his stomach. She just went to join her friends, cheeks red and eyes teary, but mouth resolutely closed. Why? Didn't she realize what could happen? Alex had bet everything on her. Now, instead of success or safety, Alex's actions had only brought the withering glares of Wes and Louis and Anastasia's tears.

"What kind of sadist are you?!" Alex felt his protests die on his tongue. He wasn't one. Yet evidently, he just didn't know how to do anything but hurt. And yeah, he was trapped here like the rest of them, but that didn't mean he wanted to get hurt. Louis, more than anyone else, you should realize what Vochertepp is able to do. Why are you so willing to bring your friends into it? Louis had to know the dangers of the school. Except... if Louis was so willing to spit in the school's face... could it really be that bad?

Alex couldn't think of anyone more outwardly despised by Vochertepp staff than Louis. Louis knew things, Alex could tell he knew things. That had never been clearer than in this moment, some of those carefully bottled emotions peeking through in Louis's words. And if Louis was able to put whatever happened behind him, what did that mean? Alex gulped, terrified that his fears were unfounded. As his gaze flicked once again toward Anastasia, the so-called butterflies in his stomach felt like bats clawing out his insides.

Sorry, he wanted to say, but it stuck in his throat. Alex pulled his glove back on.

Louis extended an olive branch--so easily Alex couldn't tell if it was sincere. Wes's fury hit before he could respond. Alex never felt more deserving of the heated tone directed at him. The air was electrified. At that instant, Alex had no doubt that a step in the wrong direction would end with him burned, not unlike Wesley's hallucinatory copy. So he stood still and took the verbal barrage. He let Wesley's words hit him and didn't try to dam the emotions they released.

When the tirade ended, Alex raised his hands in surrender, silent. His gloves were back on and they'd stay that way until lights out, at the earliest. He stepped back slowly, moving to the door until he felt his back pressed against it. He slid down the surface. Bum on the ground, he brought his knees up and rested his elbows against them. It looked like he'd be keeping watch for longer than 30 seconds.

As he watched, Edith, Anastasia, and Wesley all turned away from him. Their planning was now more important. In some ways, that comforted Alex. It meant what he'd done to Anastasia wasn't so appalling that she couldn't bounce back quickly. He ignored the tear tracks staining her cheeks.

He listened as they theorized. In Alex's opinion, it was all worthless. Why wouldn't it be. They were trying to make sense out of impulse. There didn't have to be a reason Vochertepp sucked, nor did there have to be a reason for a person to be bad. Alex was proving that himself, time and time again.

Anastasia's suggestion that Jefferson was protecting them almost made him laugh. As it was, he cut it off into a huffed exhale. When Gian spoke, Alex let his head fall back to hit the door. Of fucking course. It just had to be a test. All that emotional turmoil and Vochertepp's just manipulating you like normal. Great work, Alex. Great. Work. He closed his eyes and let his head knock back against the door once more. He let the sensation ripple through him as he wondered where he went from here. Anastasia's face continued to come to mind. And her eyes--perhaps his nightmares weren't that bad before. If he ever saw those eyes in his sleep, maybe he'd wake up in cold sweats, exactly like he'd done as a child. Maybe Howell wasn't so bad. At least he was always clear about what he wanted Alex to do.
 
He might have been mad at the lack of response if not for the shattering across the room. His head snapped up and that was… Oh boy, that was a mistake. He could barely pay attention to what she was saying when her face looked like that. He took a step back. Sure, Matt had had to spar in school and injuries had happened and yeah, his entire thing was moving corpses, but there was something very different about someone inflicting that on themselves. The blood just kept coming and Matt just kept staring.

Somehow, the words coming out of her mouth only made it worse. He wanted to open his mouth, to defend the school—To say that even if they couldn’t understand it, even if it seemed invasive and terrible and some kind of pointless hurt, there was a reason to it. There had to be.

And. Okay, he had lost complete control of the situation—No, that was wrong. He had never had control of this situation, just the molecular illusion of it. They were opening Ms. Lyet’s mail now. Oh, Octavius was going to have Matt’s head. Just the thought of having to explain this to the head TA sent a shot of cold down his spine.

The only reason he allowed the threat was Del could handle it… Or, at least, that was what Matt was going to tell himself to sleep a bit better. In truth, he was just happy to not be considered a threat himself. He could have just slipped away if he wasn’t the one supposedly in charge here. He couldn’t even bring himself to try and blame it on Mrs. Lyet. She couldn’t help all the sleep she had to get. No, he had been supposed to keep the peace. What else was the point of him being a TA?

The letter in his pocket whispered to him.

The reality of the situation only truly set in as Delano moved to leave. Somehow, he’d forgotten Delano was just a student, no matter how much more suited for his role than himself. He knew he wasn’t going to die, that whatever this was wasn’t going to kill him even if it would leave him with a very fun explanation to give Octavius, but still the broach of privacy felt like something inside him dying. A treacherous part of him reminded him that the staff read their mail, but that wasn’t the point. That was what kept them safe.

The thought’s interrupted as the letter’s read. It doesn’t take more than the word ‘replacement’ to process that something is very, very wrong. His heart pumps palpably, hands curling at his sides.

It only gets worse, though, doesn’t it? Louis is on there. He’s going to throw up. He hates that he’s going to throw up. Even now, the guilt of it’s overwhelming. He shouldn’t feel guilty, but he does. He’s been different since, just like Lazarus was. This was all supposed to be for Lazarus, but now…

He needs to read that letter. He wanted to wait until the end of the day, but he can’t. Panic’s crawling through his throat at the mere thought of doing it, but he needs to know what it says. That was why he took it in the first place, isn’t it?

He wished that Louis had the only name he recognized but no. His friends are on there, his friends and those he’d like to consider friends. Some of the only people he trusts. And despite knowing that they’re not going to die, that to even think that is stupid, he thinks about it.

At least he isn’t on the letter. And what a horrible thing to think that is.

What a horrible thing to realize that some of this will happen today. Something shoved into him but he was still thinking.

He stared at the letter in Lyric’s hands, face slack with pain. He was already forgetting some of the finer details, some of the details that could actually help. If he just… had it..

But that’s entirely against the rules. It’s a violation of the school’s trust, of Ms. Lyet’s trust. And why does he still care when they’re doing this? Something in him is still screaming that there’s a logical explanation for all of this even as he wonders just what could explain this. When did he let himself become this?

“If we didn’t have rules, we’d have chaos.”

Despite the distance and the quietness, the words cut into Matt, forcing everything else down and away. He can think again as he turns to Del. If anyone were to know what to do now, it’d be him.

The eye contact’s brief, the tilt of the head slight, and beyond that Matt can tell Del’s hurting, but now’s not the time to ask—Not even the time to worry, though it’s hard when you’re prone to it and care about someone. And the fact that Del’s trusting him to bring this back under control when Matt’s the one who fucked it up in the first place…

At least it shouldn’t be hard. But then again, this entire thing should’ve been easy. He nods back and turns around to the others, almost flinching as the door shuts and Delano leaves him here to deal with the fallout alone.

His eyes finally fell on Sylvie, who was… Glowing. And how worried did she have to be to be glowing. His mouth twitched, unable to maintain eye contact as he bent over the chasm of uncertainty in himself to try and comfort her.

Tiffany speaks before he can and somehow that gives him the juice to say… something. “Let’s pick up the letters. Then we can…” Then we can what? Pretend nothing happened like Matt had been doing for years? “Then we can discuss it, I guess.”

He sees Bob out of the corner of his eye, but he can’t bring himself to tell him it won’t work, that Ms. Lyet’s gonna spend her time sleeping like the dead and nothing will stop her. He just sighs, going to pick up letters closer to the door he came through… And someone’s slipping out. In fact, it’s one of the few people he doesn’t know the name of so he can’t even use her name when he calls her back. Shit.

He’s to the door, careful to open it quietly lest attention be drawn to the room by some string of fate. He doesn’t want to fai—That’s Octavius. He hasn’t even processed it before the door is gently shut behind him.

They need to move. He straightens with some kind of energy only present when he’s about to try and save his own skin. “I don’t care what you think of me or this mess or the school, but Octavius is down the hall talking to Del and Germ and”—No, seriously, who is that—“heart glasses girl, and if he gets over here and the ground’s still covered in letters, we all get to deal with it.” He’s already picking up letters as he says it, as fast as he can.

 



delano.





































  • mood



    caught off guard.

















There was a ghostly aura trapped in the walls of the Vochertepp institute. Delano’s burst of energy faded back to normal, his senses returned to their factory setting and the upward crease at his lips flattened to show no emotion. It was very silent, those halls. The sound of dark Oxfords clapping against the floors was annoyingly amplified because of it, his breathing pattern now a steady hum to his ears. He felt the moisture in the air, stale and bare as per usual. It held no musk, no distractions, and like Delano, the school’s entire countenance was one of seriousness rather than the jovial, bright disposition in normal schools. With a glance at the trophy cases, Delano offered no change in pace or pride even when heavy eyes passed over the ones with his name. As ornately crafted and well-displayed as the trophies were, they would never be enough. Somebody was always better. Although he beat her in numbers, he noticed Andromeda’s name a few times too. Far more accomplished than Delano was at her age. She was like the shadow that followed after him in these corridors, constantly at his feet. Unrelenting. Forever persistent.

It reminded Delano who and where he was. That failure was not an option. Even if he’d failed today already, there was still room to fix the mess made, he so naively believed. Germaine would be the start to the chain of him setting things aright. She had to be. The steps of his feet had mixed in with the sound of Germ’s whilst his sight was lost in the case, but the stumble and quiet yelp of somebody in the distance reeled Delano back in. His neck snapped in the direction of the noise, and roundabout the corner, there hung Pinchon.

He remained shrunken at that corner as he watched her; bent over and weak, his brown orbs grew in surprise at the sight. Her fit in the classroom had surely been shocking, but the way that Germaine now writhed and sulked like a lost puppy… Unsure of the world she’d thrived in for many years before even Del. Sometimes he forgot that she was human. Emotions and all. After years training in similar facilities, opposing one another in competition, and sometimes working in tandem on projects, he’d never seen the armour of the iron lady pierced. When she gathered herself together, poised to go to the washroom like she’d announced before, Delano gathered a breath of himself. Pursing his lips to ponder whether or not further humiliation was what she needed- to be brought in at his hands. She had always been a worthy nemesis, a respectable one in the sea of bloodthirsty sharks. Fighting well and fighting fair. Against his mind’s desires, he couldn’t bring himself to further pursue her.

“I followed as best as I could but I just couldn’t find her.” Delano whispered to himself. “She’s been here 11 years. She knows the school well.” Matthew would have bought that lie for certain. Everybody was in a fritz right now, there was nothing surer than his anxiousness.

But past the bouncing of curly brown hair, another shadow crept into their halls. His eyebrows tensed as the tall figure made his presence known. Clean, and tidy, Octavius Gretsch was who many teased that Delano wanted to be. Yet another shadow erected over him in constant comparison. Many believed them to be similar not only in stature, but in personality. Delano disagreed. He could never be as cruel as Octavius. Masking his true intentions under a pompous smile and condescending dark eyes, Delano was above such things. He was different, or so he hoped. However mighty Germaine Pinchon was, he didn’t trust that she was currently in any condition to handle his maleficent advances on her own. He wasn't exactly sure why, but Delano could feel his right leg creep out of that corner. Left leg following. Right, left, right, left, until he was finally at her side.

He’d gotten there about a second too late, and he mentally berated himself for it. Octavius had called out their lack of hall passes judging by Germaine’s response- jumble of warring sentences was a better way to describe it. Although he tried to hide it, Delano winced at her poor efforts. The dwindling of her esteem was surely feeding Octavius’ profound ego. A burning pride that Delano wished to chill in that very moment. If only Octavius didn’t hold so much power at the school, he might have frozen his lips the same way he’d done Tiffany. He was a bully too, after all.

Still, there was no such opportunity. Cameras lined the halls, the consequences would be dire, and somewhere deep down, Delano was unsure if he could truly take on Octavius. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he was in over his head simply just considering it. They were in the wrong here, and there was no arguing that.

With a deep breath, he forced a worried look that looked terrible on him. He was a shitty actor, but he could sadden his expression enough to buy them some more time. Lord knows they needed it, and Germaine’s pleading look wouldn’t let him live down not trying.

Yet, the sweet fragrance of the heart-eyed girl painted a confused expression over his face. A mess of bright pink hair bobbed ahead of him and took the words out of his mouth. Delano watched with bewilderment what was going on, although it seemed she too was in on their plan. Adjusting to the weird new rhythm of things, Delano saw an opportunity in Mirabelle blocking Octavius’ vision.

When Delano trained, he did so in the coldest temperature possible. Vochertepp allowed for extreme modifications to its thermostat to accommodate for the various metahuman abilities of the school body. Alas, where the male prefect was a glaciokinetic, and the female, someone who heaved fire from the mouth, it fostered a competition as to who could book or steal the mutually needed facility first. He’d learned in some of the instances where he’d claimed the facility before Germaine, that the cold weather had adverse affects on her ability that quickly produced fever-like symptoms.

With that in mind, and Mirabelle as a needed obstruction, Delano clasped a hand over Germaine’s shoulder and another on her forearm. He leaned into her ear and whispered, “Follow my lead.”

The blue glow of his eyes came and went, and with it, ice that crawled over the surface of Germaine’s arm and towards her torso. The uncomfortable feeling of creeping ice went on to coat her in the cold, and produce fever or cold-like symptoms. When it was finished, he trained his sights on Octavius again, and ushered the two of them forwards to display their coy.

“She’s sick, Octavius. You need to let us go.”

What lied with Nurse Tufton, Delano could not be sure, but that was a feeling he was forced to adjust to in recent times. Right now, they simply needed to evade the bulldog on their courtyard and find some place to recoup themselves.

































cry for love



백현










♡coded by uxie♡
 

✃​


VIOLENT UPBRINGING​
October 24th, 2079

Octavius’ bright eyes surveyed the two in front of him. He was an observant person, and the hesitance between Del and Germ was like watching a fire of sin burn bright. Instantly he could see that their posture, normally held high and jutting forth to butt heads, was wracked with frantic energy and instead sagged with cowardice. His gaze narrowed as he looked down on them. These were not the strong headed personalities he’d known. No, these were students who had lost the little morsel of power they’d had, and they didn’t have much to begin with.

Chaos, then, it was chaos that they had run from. Octavius quite liked to stumble upon chaos, because it meant more power for him. His expression remained unchanged as Germaine buckled over, neither sympathy nor doubt crossing his sharp jawbone. He took quite some time to even begin to respond, as if waiting for the show to end. He knew that Germaine’s power was not exactly kind to her body, but even if she were truly sick, there was no evidence they’d been released from class. No hall pass. That was enough to damn them.

He didn’t get the chance to do so before a bundle of bright pink appeared down the hallway. Now, his intentions betrayed him as a twitch of a smile crossed his maw, because just as she pulled away her glasses to reveal her own pink glow, Octavius’ pure white radiance burst forth.

Instantly, perhaps for the first time in her life, Mirabelle’s glow would dim. There was a flicker in Octavius’ white, a streak of her pink entering his orbs, just for a split second, before it continued its consistent eminence, an untainted void of color. Whatever Mirabelle said would have no effect, because he had just swallowed her power, evident by the way that his own pupils shifted to become heart shaped underneath the glow.

“I know you’re new here, but that was… stupid. Very stupid.” He was clearly amused by the fact that such an easy dinner had walked into his lap, but though his eyes glowed bright, he didn’t seem to use her power against her at all. Octavius spoke no words that would command or charm anyone and in fact kept his gaze ahead of the three, instead of straight at them, which was rather easy to do considering their height. It seemed his only objective for now was to hold onto her power, and keep her from using it. That was until Germaine vomited off to the side.

The most expressive reaction yet took Octavius’ features, and it was one of pure disgust. Germ had already looked sickly, and he hadn’t really doubted it, but the throw up all over the floor was rather excessive in his eyes, and seemed to deeply disturb Octavius, so much so that he even took a hurried step back. In a way, it made sense. It was clear his uniform was precisely ironed and well kept, his hair smoothly gelled. The way he walked was perfect and firm and the vomit that neared his smoothly oiled oxfords unnerved the head TA a great deal. His face contorted, and he looked between the three almost aghast, shocked that they had the audacity to throw up all over him.

“That’s disgusting.” He balked, the distaste clear on his tongue. Reflexively he reached for the pad of pink in his pocket, and caring not to make the struggling Germ wait a few moments longer, took the time to write both Del and Germ up. “The lack of hall passes is inexcusable, and to think, I might have been forgiving if it were not for Miss Pretty-In-Pink here.” He snarled in Mira’s direction, and shoved both passes into Del’s hand, shooting him a look best described as one of disappointment. I expected better of you.

With one final look of repulsion in Del and Germ’s way, he waved them off towards the nurse’s office, now turning his attention fully to Mirabelle. “And you,” He hissed, sclera still white and pupils still heart-shaped, “Are coming with me.”

It was a long walk to the end of the hall where both Lyet and Jefferson’s classroom lay. This walk served as just enough time for Matt to regain some semblance of order in his classroom, or at least, remove the evidence of disorder, aside from Tiffany Markham’s marred face. Octavius spoke little to Mirabelle, though he did glance back frequently, and seemed to enjoy the sight of her trailing slightly behind him, letting her stew in all the possibilities of whatever punishment he planned to exact. It was during this gruesome walk of shame that the bell began to ring.

The moment the bell began to ring, Louis jerked his head to the door, half expecting their doom to drop in on them without a moment's notice. Nothing came, because the flooding of the hallway delayed Octavius a small amount, and the walk was already and if Mirabelle ever tried to disappear in the crowd, a quick hand would yank her collar or her wrist and pull him right back to his side. This was just the amount of time Louis needed, and with an intense sense of urgency, he looked to all the rest in the room. The time for their plotting or speculating was over. “Quick, go sit down. Act like nothing happened.”

Hurriedly he scooped the remaining folders into his arms and shut all the drawers. Luckily Gian’s assault on the bottom drawer left little evidence unless someone got down on their hands and knees in looked, so once Louis had shoved all the papers into his backpack, it looked like almost nothing had happened. Provided everyone scrambled to their seats, the evidence was cleared, and Louis hiked up his collar and tightened his tie to the best of his ability to hide any evidence of a skirmish or their delinquency. Mirabelle might have felt an impending sense of panic when Octavius neared the end of the hallway and Mrs. Lyet’s classroom, but would be surprised as Octavius turned to the room right across the way, before pulling a ring of keys out of his pocket. Too many for any one student, even a TA, to hold.

He unlocked the classroom and found an uncharacteristically silent scene before him. Jefferson’s powerpoint was still up on the wall before them, paused on the last slide he’d left it on. Octavius’ narrow eyes surveyed the students, sitting awfully poised for a class of delinquents. Louis, despite the armful of documents that he had stuffed into his bag, seemed surprisingly nonchalant in his seat, slouched over as if he really had been just sitting pretty this entire time. It was almost impressive how quickly he had changed his demeanor, and if he were surprised to see the head TA at their door, he did not show it.

“Mr. Jefferson got caught up with teacher affairs. You’re all free to go.” Octavius announced to the classroom. Normally, he’d wait a lot longer to see someone flinch or tremble, perhaps a stray look or blurt give away all that they’d done in the time they’d been left alone. But he had already caught a fine piece of prey, and looked back at Mirabelle with a sickly sweet smile before leaving the door ajar and turning now to Lyet’s room.

With Octavius gone, Louis breathed a sigh of relief. He grinned at Wesley, Stas and Edith, flashing them a thumbs up as he patted his backpack. “So… we hungry?”

As the bell began to shout, a series of rings and chimes that the faculty and students of Vochertepp alike knew heart, Lyet snapped awake. After many years at the school, her body was trained to wake up at the sound of it, and the way she jolted to consciousness was rather startling. A snore ended half way, getting caught in her throat and turning into a hefty cough, just as the floor was cleared of letters. Her bright blue eyes surveyed the classroom with a certain lack of clarity, and she beamed kindly at the students remaining before her, barely even registering the pointed lack of three.

“Oh… lovely. Mail’s here. Matt, deary, just leave them on my desk, I’ll stamp them all soon enough. You all can pick up your mail later.” She chirped, a sort of homey, grandmotherly quality to her tone as she flipped through the little stack he’d placed back on her desk. Octavius then stepped in through the doorway, dragging Mirabelle along behind him.

“Mrs. Lyet, I caught three of your students outside without hall passes.” He announced, tone tight and degrading. Mrs. Lyet looked completely unphased by this.

“Is that right? Was there an emergency?” She hummed, treating Octavius’ tense tone with an utter lack of urgency.

Jaw tight with disdain, loathing the idea of admitting that Germaine had thrown up on his shoes, Octavius huffed. “I handled it. Try to keep a better watch of your classroom.”

Mrs. Lyet waved him goodbye. “Yes, yes, Octavius. I’ll be sure.”

With a growl, Octavius yanked Mirabelle away, now dragging her to his final destination. “The Vice Principal will be happy to hear your story. It should better solidify how Vochertepp operates for your delinquent mind.”

Tiffany looked at Clover, face covered in bandages, fully doted upon by her gentle touch, clear shock in her eyes. “I’m not in detention?” She murmured, letting the fact wash over her, a grin so wide it was painful blooming across her face. “Heh… heh! I didn’t get detention! Ahahahahah!”

✃​

Lunch at Vochertepp was an appreciated morsel of freedom in between a rigid day. The cafeteria food was less than stellar, but it was sustenance, and you were allowed to take your lunch anywhere on school grounds provided you cleaned after yourself. Most avoided sitting in the cafeteria itself, as it swarmed with TAs and evil-eyed lunch ladies. Rather, they chose the plentiful outdoor areas that surrounded Vochertepp.

It was a crisp autumn day, and the trees that decorated the paths and the leaves that adorned the grass were all the shades of an orange fall. Sometimes, Vochertepp could be beautiful, if they found it in them not to want to look past the glimmering dome that shone in the light, keeping them trapped in their little bubble. Students were scattered about the field, on benches and on grass, eating and chatting as the breeze ruffled their uniforms. A favored meeting place among many was a great willow tree.

The willow tree was almost as far as one could get from the Vochertepp building itself, and as close to the barrier as one could comfortably sit. Its great arms and drooping leaves cast shade among the students that sat beneath it, its aged trunk carved with many a name of Vochertepp students past. Beneath its great branches was Louis’ favorite place to rest, and exactly where he would be heading come lunch hour, his satchel bag filled to the brim with Jefferson’s documents. Tiffany preferred to skulk off to the side, a little ways away underneath a smaller elm tree, but enjoyed being equally as close to the barrier as the willow was. This was where she had led Clover, and collapsed onto the grass with a huff as she looked at Clover pointedly. "Talk."

The time was the student’s to use. Whether it be to congregate to discuss the info found, or perhaps search elsewhere for clues. Vochertepp was a large place, full of places to discover, teachers to question, records to search for. Detention occurred after the day’s classes were done, so for those who had been sentenced, this would be the last reprieve for some time. And as for the date listed on Lyet’s letter, well, it seemed they could only wait to find out if what was to happen had already occurred, or was yet to come.

Flutz Flutz Maverick. Maverick. ravensunset ravensunset stellamaris stellamaris idiot idiot @nh1 calypso calypso blue-jay blue-jay listener listener fin fin boo. boo. @le reveur mikaluvkitties mikaluvkitties


∴​

 



sylvie.





































  • mood



    very worried
















Yeah, Sylvie was never oversleeping again. It was a bizarre, but comforting thought: the idea that everything that had happened was some sort of karmic punishment for her first slip-up that day. To attribute any mishaps to herself, no matter how big of a stretch in logic it was, was a coping mechanism for her. Because if the issue was her fault, that meant that she could fix whatever it was by fixing herself. And Sylvie was perpetually in the process of trying to fix herself. The Bastion taught her to see herself as the incarnation of the Sun and as the center of all goodness. She walked away with the realization that she was the center of a group of lunatics: the root of a long sequence of disasters.

However, not even Sylvie's habitual self-blaming was enough to explain or distract from the cloud of strange revelations that was hanging over her and probably over everyone in Mrs. Lyet's second period. On her way to lunch, she mulled over what Lyric had read from the contents of the manila envelope: Replacement trials? Extraction date? Prepare relative package? The usual briskness that caused her to have to step around the other kids was absent from her gait. She took her steps slowly and carefully, as if fearful that the ground below her could give away at any second.

What are they trying to replace? What is being extracted? The weird numbers after our names suggest that they’re talking about us—the students—but surely… Sylvie, deep in thought, bumped into a younger student, a boy who couldn’t have been older than fifteen. Apparently quite annoyed by her clumsiness, he pushed back against her, causing her to stumble backward into a wall. The photokinetic wobbled for a second, trying to orient herself, before opening her mouth to apologize… just to see that the young boy had already walked off. Sylvie sighed and brought her palm to her face with a light slap. Great! Now I’m making random lowerclassmen hate me.

Her contemplation continued as she made her way into the lunch line. Why was Louis on there twice? It doesn’t make sense for people to be extracted twice or… replaced twice, does it? Sylvie shuddered as mystery meat was plopped onto her plate, though it certainly wasn’t the mystery of the meat that was giving her chills. And why were his numbers so high? Yeah, it probably has something to do with when he tried to escape, but what would the numbers mean that escape attempts would have a correlation to their value?

Peas, carrots, and broccoli filled another section of Sylvie’s plate just as she remembered something else: one of the extraction dates was today. And her own name had been on the list above that one. A pang of anxiety hit her chest and she stared intensely at the newly-arrived mound of mashed potatoes on her tray. The only comforting thought: Well… At least Matt didn’t seem to notice that I cursed. She cringed slightly, taking a moment to chastise herself for letting the F-bomb slip while talking to a TA, before returning her thoughts to the matter at hand.

Sylvie pensively observed each individual chocolate chip of her cookie as she neared the drinks. She tried to resist the urge to catastrophize, but it was difficult. Something’s gonna happen today. Maybe sooner. Maybe later. Will it happen under our noses? Will it happen just under my nose? My name was on that list so… maybe it will happen to me. The subtle, sunny glow that she passively let off intensified a little as worries began to spawn in her mind, hijacking her train of thought. She tried to push against the disquiet with the reassuring thoughts she’d been playing on repeat for the last year: This school might be rough, but they just want us to be our best! There’s an explanation for everything that goes on. Sure, they’re strict with us, but that’s because we’re metahumans! We need more discipline than regular kids or we might hurt ourselves. She even tried a thought that wasn’t one of reassurance but, rather, resignation: I’m stuck here now. Nothing worked. The whats, whys, and what-ifs of that cryptic document still flew around in her mind, untiring in their fruitless inquiry.

Plate in one hand and water bottle in the other, Sylvie made her way outside and over to the willow tree that acted as a meeting place for many of her friends and other students. She looked for someone to talk to (Wes, Stas, Edith, maybe Gian), desperate to see what one of them would have to say about today’s events. She was delighted when Edith came into view. She waved her water bottle around in greeting from about thirty meters away and then jogged to close the distance. She clumsily leaned forward when she halted, a little out of breath, but regained her balance quickly. Sensing that she was about to speak with her hands, she set down her lunch and took a moment to neaten her golden braids.

To say that Sylvie was relieved to see Edith would be an understatement. Plant-mom, trustworthy confidante, overall great friend. If there was one good thing Sylvie could say about Vochertepp, it was that it allowed her to meet this fellow glower. Demonstrative hand movements accompanying every other word, Sylvie spoke: “Edith! Something a little crazy just happened in Mrs. Lyet’s class. Um, well, actually… very crazy, but basically Matt came in with the mail, and Tiffany, as usual, started—.” Sylvie suddenly became aware of Louis, who was slouched against the tree, and she got the impression that he and Edith may have been talking before she walked over. Oops. She blushed and let off a small pulse of light, embarrassed.

Sylvie rarely, if ever, interacted with Louis. She found him hard to approach, especially after his escape attempt. Back at the Bastion, adults had fed her superstitious nonsense about how those with opposing powers (such as light and darkness) had irreconcilable natures. Sylvie didn't believe that rubbish, of course, but when it came to Louis her anxious mind naturally produced an unfounded assertion that he found her presence abhorrent. However, many of her friends, including Edith, seemed to be fond of him to some extent, so she tried to avoid passing judgment.

The photokinetic waved at Louis, trying to be friendly but likely just coming off as awkward, and mumbled a quick apology for the interruption before noticing Edith’s expression. It seemed to say that something just as crazy as the events of Mrs. Lyet’s second period had just happened to her. Looking from Edith to the slumped over Louis, Sylvie’s jaw dropped and she shuffled uncomfortably. “Don’t tell me something weird happened to you guys too....”

































little uneasy



fazerdaze










♡coded by uxie♡
 
Last edited:




































  • how she's feeling...



    relieved, relaxed, better.

















edith,
louis















Stas and Gian offered up their own theories on the drawers the small group had gone through, but before Edith was able to really think about the opposing stances the bell’s ringing broke through the room, and Edith jumped back from Mr. Jefferson’s desk. Everyone found their seats, Edith taking her potted plant with her, and allowing her eyes to fade back into their usual warm brown, fingers cooling as the glow dispersed away from them. It seemed they’d gotten back into position just in time, as the door was opened, not by their teacher, but by a TA.

And just like that, they were free to go. Edith looked between her classmates, catching a few of their gazes, and relief filled up inside of her as she watched it fill the others. Louis had smiled at them, actually grinned, and they’d headed out of class as though everything was completely okay. They’d left Mr. Jefferson’s classroom, as though it had been completely untouched, and Edith pushed out of her mind the thought of Mr. Jefferson returning, opening his drawers only to see his papers missing from them. The loudness of the halls, filling with kids leaving the classrooms surrounding theirs, helped a little.

Of course, it also made conversation difficult, and the crowd seemed to swallow Edith’s friends away into it, until she was left with just the stolen succulent. After getting her food, Edith headed out into the yard surrounding Vochertepp, along with most other students, but the large area outside the school's building provided them the opportunity to spread out, breathe freely. She caught sight of Louis, heading, as she assumed, to the willow tree.

Louis, who she’d barely spoken to the last while, who had this been any other day she would have assumed wouldn’t even look at her, as usual. But it wasn’t any other day. He’d been alive in that classroom, properly so, he’d spoken and smiled, and looked at her and all the rest of his friends and, maybe today.

Edith sped up, as much as she could while balancing a potted succulent in one hand and a lunch tray in the other, matching her pace to his.

“Hey, uh, that was quite the class,”
Edith started, feeling the words build up in her, as if he’d disappear if she stopped talking,
“That was pretty cool of you. With Mr. Jefferson, with grabbing the stuff from his desk. You,”
She took a small breath in, glancing up at the boy beside her,
“Look good. How have things been?”
Good wasn’t a strong enough word, of course, not for alive and healthy and alright, but she couldn’t quite form anything better from the mess of thoughts and feelings inside of her.

It was true that Louis had come alive in this class, for better or for worse. If the documents stowed away in his bag were enough to damn them, he seemed lucid enough to want to take that risk, and as he began his walk to the willow tree, his posture was taller, his steps more confident. In the days before it had often been like watching a zombie slink to a place it once knew, but today, Louis was alive, and that didn’t end when Edith appeared beside him, instead, he only brightened further.

Almost as soon as she walked up to him, he slowed his gait to account for her much smaller stature, and motioned for her to hand over her tray of lunch so that he could hold it while they walked. Louis preferred to see her give her attention to the potted plant in her hand, and almost as if to prove her doubts, he stayed silent for a little while as they walked together, assuring her that even if she slowed the words falling out of her mouth, he wouldn’t run.

Eventually, he shrugged playfully, dismissively.
“Someone’s gotta shake Vochertepp up. Figure I’m best suited for the job. Don’t worry, if Jefferson wants to pitch a fit about his missing folders, which I have this weird feeling he won’t, I’ll take the fall.”
The statement fell out of his mouth easily, as if she didn’t even have a choice. Beneath the nonchalance was a certain air of determination, and as she inquired further to how he was doing, he now looked ahead of them, eyes a bit glassier than before.

“Things have been… fine.”
This answer was slow, and with the amount of effort it took to push the words out, made it seem like he had to work hard to craft the response. Clearly, it gave him trouble to answer this question, and he glanced at her sympathetically.
“I got… busy.”
Then, he shook his head, and gestured to the plant in her hands.
“Seems like you’ve got a new friend.”


Edith relaxed as he spoke, some of the tension slipping out of him, and she let him take her tray, even if she hadn’t needed help it meant he had to stick with her at least until they sat down.

“I can’t argue with you and shaking things up,”
Edith kept her tone light, cheery, hiding any depth the words might have carried,
“But you wouldn’t-- I’m sorry I didn’t do anything. In class, I mean, when he was... but I think you’ve taken enough falls, no one would let you do this, too.”


She let his next answer pass, the heaviness in his words tightening up in her chest, and she wouldn’t push the topic if it meant keeping the life in his tone up,
“Yeah. It’s okay, you know. And, yes, although I think it needed a new friend more than I,”
She joked, moving her gaze from him to the plant as he did,
“I’m quite sure it does not like Mr. Jefferson any more than I, so I’m happy to have it.”
She gave another smile as they reached the tree, stopping to sit down in its shade.

It was good that the trays occupied his hands, because Louis might have instinctively reached up to touch the bruising around his neck at her protest. He didn’t see the point in letting anyone else suffer when he was already so deep down the drain, but Edith drove a hard bargain, and the way she delivered such a deeply meaningful offer left him little room to argue. He simply smiled to himself, allowing the display of kinship to comfort him just this once.

“I don’t need to be able to talk to plants to be sure of that too.”
He said with a small chuckle.
“Can’t even dream up a reality where Jeffy has a green thumb.”
After gently placing the two trays on the grass, Louis gratefully collapsed near its trunk, going straight for his favorite spot where the roots wove a seat together. Just as he collapsed, a slightly radiating figure began to approach, and Louis squinted in Sylvie’s direction.
“I think your glowy friend is coming.”
He had a feeling that maybe his usually peaceful willow tree wasn’t going to be so peaceful today.

He returned Sylvie’s wave politely but hesitantly, though his interest had already peaked in the way that she had started to blab to Edith. Louis doubted something as eventful as their second period could have happened in Lyet’s class of all classrooms, but the way Sylvie spoke, he found himself sitting up straighter, gaze locked in her direction.

“It’s Vochertepp. Something weird happens every day.”
He tilted his head, gaze filled with curiosity.
“You got something to top the list?”


Edith followed Louis’ gaze, and her smile widened as she saw Sylvie approach. She didn’t quite notice Louis’ reaction or Sylvie’s awkward wave to him, mostly just happy to see another friend that day, the more violent events in Mr. Jefferson’s classroom already feeling ages away. She’d always thought Sylvie had a fitting power, the girl being able to brighten everything up with her presence in more ways than just one, and Edith honestly couldn’t wait to talk the day out with her, almost certain it would come out with a brighter outlook. It seemed, however, that Sylvie had her own story to share, and Edith nodded along with Louis.

“Weird’s an understatement. Mr. Jefferson today-- I don’t know where to start. What happened with the mail?”












































♡coded by uxie♡
 




stas.

















































The sound of the bell had been jarring. Stas almost jumped, despite hearing that sound every day for the past three years of her life. For awhile there it had been like they were in their own little bubble, uncovering Vochertepp's secrets, on the verge of something big.

The heavy weight of reality settled back in as Octavius' familiar face appeared in the room, and Stas would've grimaced at his mere presence if he hadn't gone as quickly as he'd shown up. That man was everything she despised in a person all rolled up into one slimy, power-hungry weasel. Seeing him around campus was bad enough, but being personally trained by him? Stas was convinced Jefferson was a kinder teacher than him.

Everyone began emptying out of the room and she couldn't help but be frozen in place for a moment, watching them all go like this wasn't the scene of a crime they would surely be convicted of later. Jefferson would find out, there were no doubts in her mind about it. All she could do now was hope that she'd been right in her speculations about him and that Alex and Gian would be wrong. With that, she gathered her things and stuffed them into her backpack before standing and leaving the room, giving one last glance towards Jefferson's desk before melting into the sea of students on their way to the cafeteria.

Stas fell back into her usual habits as she stood in line to get her lunch, quietly retreating into the safety of her own mind. As if on autopilot, her legs carried her outside and towards the large willow tree that served as a refuge for she and her friends for as long as she'd been here. As she got closer, she slowed and hesitated, noticing the familiar faces already basking under the shade, her roommate among them. Her eyes lingered on Louis longer than the others and those gruesome images Alex had conjured came to mind once more. Stas frowned and contemplated finding another place to eat – somewhere she wouldn't have to think about everything that had just happened. That was, until her eyes locked with his and she plastered on a thin smile and resumed her approach.

"Room for one more?"
she asked, forcing a cheerful tone as she took a seat next to Louis, not awaiting a response.

As she'd approached, she caught the tail end of their discussion.
Mail? Did Lyet's class get mail?
Briefly she wondered if she'd received anything, but quickly shoved the thought to the back of her mind.
Not a chance.


Not wanting to pry, she quietly began eating and kept her gaze on the tray in her lap. Stas wasn't sure if she even had the energy to discuss what had happened in her class, let alone absorb any new information Sylvie's class may have unearthed. Regardless, this was better than being alone. With that thought she spared a glance in Louis' direction, to the bruises on his neck.

"Does it still hurt?"
she asked quietly, gaze sympathetic.

































































1979






smashing pumpkins







♡coded by uxie♡
 
Wesley Campbell
worn out — the willow tree — interactions: Louis/Edith/Stas/Sylvie
Wesley had quite a lot of ground to cover to get from the front of the class to his desk at the very back of the room, so when Louis gave the warning, he ran for his life. Luckily, after clumsily dodging table edges as he navigated his way between the rows, he threw himself back into his seat just before Octavius made his appearance.

The TA announced that they were free to go, and Wesley’s tongue turned sour at the misleading choice of words. The weight of the folders still seemed to sit heavy in his hands, and he let his palms stay glued against the table as the other students began to shuffle out of the door. He waited until the surface of the desk heated to the same temperature of his hands, and for a moment, his fingers and the wood seemed to meld together.

Although the bell sang salvation, the last period had worn him down, and his mouth felt stiff and dry as though it were full of sawdust. He kept his smile from splintering as his friends passed by him, but if someone were to knock on the base of his chest, he was afraid that it might ring hollow.

He was one of the last ones to slip out of the room, and now that the majority of the students had left their classes, the hallways seemed much too tight. Wesley kept to the side, his fingers brushing against the walls as though he were guiding himself blindly through an underground tunnel. His pace didn’t falter as he pushed himself through the nearest door, nor did he wait to hold it open for anyone else behind him.

Once outside, he exhaled deeply as though he were purging some thick, heavy substance that had been filling his lungs, and his warm breath mingled with the brisk autumn air like a drop of ink in a glass of water.

To Wesley, autumn was a slow season that always bit at the heels of a quick summer. Each year, he’d hold his breath while the leaves turned yellow, flashing as they shivered in chilled breezes like a warning while their veins darkened with winter’s poison. He couldn’t talk to plants like Edith could, but he thought that the trees must feel the same way that he did when the sun began to submit to the moon after hearing just the whispers of a frost. The months would only get greedier as they wore on, and the boughs above him would fight for their leaves before they inevitably lost their grip. Soon they would be exposed, and they would be forced to unveil their naked branches, bare and twisted just like the roots that they always tried so hard to bury. Every year, Wesley mourned them like kin, and he knew their secrets because he shared them. Constantly seeking out the sun above seems hopeless when you realize that you were born already halfway in the grave. Wesley’s roots were sowed by his mother, and he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that they ran deep.

He walked slowly with his gaze aimed upward, studying the branches above him as though he were placing bets on which leaf would soon be the last one standing in the lonliest season of the year. For a moment, he wondered if something like that was meant to be a triumph or a tragedy. He figured that there wasn’t an answer, but when the sharp breeze suddenly snuck between his eyelashes, he had to blink away his tears.

For a second, his own feet got in his way as they often did, and he nearly crashed to the ground. When he steadied himself, he realized that he had forgotten to get his lunch, so he went back for it.

A while later, Wesley returned outside with a full tray. He saw some of his friends from far away under the big willow tree, just where he knew he’d find them. Many of the students that he was close with had become something like a home to him by now, but the school itself would never fit quite right. Everyday was like déjà vu, and while the routine had become familiar, he could never shake the feeling that something was missing. It was like they were all meant to be together, but in a different place during a different lifetime.

Somewhere, in an alternate universe in late October, he and Louis would be making plans to watch horror movies until three in the morning, and while they would still be scared and tired, this time they would have popcorn. He would carve pumpkins with Edith, their hands sticky with squash guts. Her finished product would be beautiful while his would be crude, but she’d compliment it anyway. He would browse candy isles in grocery stores with Sylvie, and he’d make sure that they got her favorite kind. Somewhere, in an alternate universe far from here, he and Stas would be getting lost in a corn maze.

Wesley listened to their conversation between his footsteps as he approached. He could feel himself returning once in their company, and whoever he was when he was alone retreated to his usual hiding place.

Sylvie was standing before the other three nervously, lighting up for a moment in a full-body blush like a glowstick on the verge of cracking. He’d quickly grown fond of her after they’d met, and he had become familiar with her tendency to spiral into a pit of anxiety. He was always willing to lend her an ear, and given the fact that she seemed ready to dish out some interesting details of her own experiences during the previous class period, now was no exception.

Wesley had never gotten the hang of introducing himself to a conversation with any sense of grace or timidity, and so he simply plopped down unceremoniously amongst the group before him. He placed his tray on the ground beside him before rolling onto his back, and the grass beneath him prickled the nape of his neck as he stretched out.

“Whose idea was it to start story time without me?" he muttered, and while he tried to feign seriousness, the side of his mouth betrayed the hint of a smile. “Nice to know I’m not loved here anymore. Spill it, Sylvie.”


cablebelly cablebelly stellamaris stellamaris ravensunset ravensunset blue-jay blue-jay


 
Last edited:









scroll








spitfire.



germ.













mood

aftershock & disbelief











outfit

vochertepp's uniform











location

outside, on a bench near the willow tree











interactions

del. (written in collaboration with fin)











tags

fin fin cablebelly cablebelly















Any other time, Germ wouldn’t have minded so much to run into Octavius. He scared her, but she liked to think that they were after some of the same things. For very different reasons, yes, but Germ respected his ability to command order. She’d tried many times to do the same (see Tiffany about seven minutes ago) but more often than not, she seemed to come off as pretentious, and she never got that deference she so craved (see Tiffany, about six minutes and forty-five seconds ago).

Yes, any other time, she wouldn’t have panicked. But this time was bad, very bad, because she’d allowed herself to crack. Her shell hadn’t fallen, but Octavius was beginning to pry his way through the walls she’d so meticulously crafted. This moment of weakness was lethal. Germ couldn’t understand what was wrong with her, why she couldn’t just pull herself together, why she’d even bothered to signal for Del’s help. He didn’t care. He was probably worse than she was. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but it certainly wasn’t—

Suddenly, Del’s hand was clasped around her shoulder. Germ stared at him like a deer in the headlights, and her mental cogs clicked, and suddenly she very much regretted everything she’d done that day. Of course he knew what to do. Maybe she’d even known herself what she wanted him to do. But the fact that Del was doing it shocked her. His touch turned ice-cold, and frost raced under her uniform to crust across her torso. Germ immediately buckled, and the fire in her stomach turned vile, and she heaved it out onto the floor. There was a disgusting splat, followed by a slight sizzle, and Germ’s near-boiling vomit settled miserably on the floor.

Her throat burned, and she flailed out a hand to grab white-knuckled onto Del’s arm to keep herself upright. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and took in a sharp breath of pain at the heat. This only made her wheeze and cough, and as much as she wanted to get away from Del, she leaned heavily into him, suddenly weak.

This is convincing. Now he’ll let us go.

But Germ had failed to notice pink-hair’s arrival (she hadn’t learned the newcomer’s name), and her eyes fixed on the similarly pink notes that Octavius took from his jacket pocket, and despair settled uncomfortably in the pit of her heaving stomach. This was, quite literally, the worst thing that could have happened.

Detention.

Octavius finally stalked away, obviously disturbed and disgusted by Germ’s condition, pink-hair trailing after him like a frightened kitten. Germ watched them turn the corner, then released her pincer-like grip on Del’s arm. Swaying a little on her feet, she wrapped her arms over her stomach, which was freezing. Her eyes dragged down to Del’s hand, which clutched the two little slips of paper that had their doom written all over them. How badly she wanted to just burn those up right then and there—

“Thanks. For that,”
she croaked sarcastically. Of course, she kind of meant it a little, because if pink-hair hadn’t stepped in with her “brilliant plan,” they might have gotten away with it. She tried to bring her eyes back up to Del’s face, but that pink was so bright, and she couldn’t seem to look away.

The bell suddenly rang. It echoed through the halls like a tornado siren. Germ didn’t even flinch at the harsh sound—her internal clock had been prepared for it—and turned herself back toward where they had come from. She had no appetite left, but all she wanted was to get out of this building and into some fresh air.

“Nurse is that way.”
Del finally spoke, putting one of the slips in his pocket and holding out the other one, and nodding his head toward the opposite hallway.

Germ scrunched her nose, not moving to take the detention slip.
“You know I’m not really sick. Just cold.”
She dragged her eyes up (her eyelids were incredibly heavy) to meet Del’s.
“I don’t really…”
She trailed off, following Del’s pointed gaze toward the contents of her stomach, which sat in a very sad heap near her feet. A bubble rose in her throat, and she coughed, almost finding the urge to vomit again. She didn’t say anything, but simply took dogged steps in the direction of the nurse’s office, Del patiently at her side.

It didn’t take very long for Del and Germ to get in and out. Germ complained that the thermostat in the classroom must have been a little too low, and the nurse gave her the usual “you should know this by now” tirade that she mostly just blocked out. She couldn’t help wondering why Del had insisted, and why he hadn’t left yet. Maybe he just felt sorry for her. No. Del doesn’t pity people.

The cafeteria was mostly abandoned in favor of the yard outside. Germ found herself separated from Del, thankfully, when he left to get food and she simply went out, because there was no way she’d be keeping food down today. The sun was high and harsh, and despite the cool weather, Germ felt herself growing warm as her body strove to compensate. Del’s icy gift had melted away, but Germ’s body had this nasty habit of overcompensating. Sweat prickled her forehead, and she all but crumpled onto a bench a ways from any buildings nearby. She could see a few students gathering under the willow tree near the border. It didn’t take her a minute to guess why those particular people were talking. The list Lyric had read out earlier echoed in her head.

It wasn’t difficult to see that Germ wasn’t looking her best. Her uniform wasn’t the same crisp it usually was—her shirt was untucked, and she’d slipped off her jacket and bundled it over her torso as she swung her legs onto the bench so that she could lean against one of the arms. She was so tired, and she might have entertained the idea of a nap if so many thoughts hadn’t been swirling around in her head. First and foremost was detention. She felt like she was stuck on the rim of a black hole, just beginning to be sucked in, no matter how hard she tried to get away. A heavy weight pressed over her chest.

Then there was the Lyet/Letter Episode. Germ pressed her fingers into her temples and could feel a headache coming on. She looked toward Louis and the others and wasn’t sure what to think. There was no way she wanted to be involved with any of them, but for some reason, she felt as though she wouldn’t have a choice.

Something was about to happen.


♡coded by uxie♡
 
The most shocking part of it all was that, somehow, in the end everything had worked out. Okay, sure, probably not for the girl with the glasses and he hadn’t seen Del and Germ at the end of Ms. Lyet’s class, yeah, but… Thing’s could’ve been worse! He could’ve gotten caught by Octavius and frankly, Matt was quite happy to be less than a footnote to the man. He smiled politely, or at least as close to polite as he could get through the bubbling pit of anxiety with Octavius right there, and then Octavius left the room and Matt could pretend that most of that had never happened.

Most of that.

He still had the letter in his pocket, easy to imagine burning its way out of his pocket and into his skin in the time between Ms. Lyet’s class and finally reaching his room during lunch. He hadn’t grabbed anything to eat yet, far too caught up in the letter to feel even a pang of hunger. All he needed to live was to know what it said.

He smacked into the room and then into the bathroom, locking it as he finally slid the letter out of his pocket. The level of care he demonstrated while opening it was remarkable given the way his hands shook with the need of it. He read it quickly… Then reread it more slowly, brow furrowing more and more deeply with every sentence.

It was weird.

Hey Matt,

It’s been so long since I was able to reach out. My life got so crazy once I left Vochertepp, you’d think meta-kid school would be the peak, right?

See, what happened is a private hero contractor came and offered me a heroism contract before my official graduation. Top secret stuff, the kind of guy who the world doesn’t know about, CIA type spooky. It was really sudden, but he basically gave me this now-or-never deal and made me cut all contact before following him out into the field. Lately it’s slowed down a bit, so I convinced him to let me send a letter to you, I figured the school would have your address if you’ve left but you always seemed like you wanted to stick around. Luckily the mail system is tried and true cuz nobody’s looking out for lame old letters.

Hey, don’t worry about me too much Mack, I know you must have been freaking out. Even though it was sudden, I swear to you I’ve got everything I ever wanted going for me right now. Really, I’m digging the espionage hero life, helping this dude grow toxic plants for bad-guy-stopping poisons and antidotes and all sorts of cool shit. Everything is good, and I hope you’re doing good too, I miss you like hell.

See you on the other side,
Laz

That was Lazarus—It was almost dead on for how he spoke, undeniably his handwriting—but the actions described… weren’t like him. The words were stilted, nothing like the way he used to talk. He was missing something and he had no idea what it could be. Either that or he just wasn’t ready to admit a bit of disappointment at the pointless risks he’d taken for that.

There was maybe one person he trusted to help him figure it out.

So he smoothed the letter back down, slid it into his pocket, and left his room.

It took a while. The space outside was big and even knowing the popularity of the willow tree, he’d been hoping to avoid it. He wished he could’ve avoided it longer once he saw who Wes was with. His throat clenched and he was suddenly quite sick. He hoped vaguely that maybe no one had noticed him yet, that he could sink away before his encroachment was noticed… but he really needed help. He wouldn’t be able to think before this was dealt with.

He forced himself to cross the last distance between him and the tree, waving politely if a little stilted to the others before sliding up to Will, mumbling. “I need to talk to you. Like… When you have a moment.”

 



sylvie.
































“It’s Vochertepp. Something weird happens every day.”

Sylvie chuckled and turned around briefly to cast a suspicious glance in the direction of the building, as if any secrets would be teased out from a close inspection of the exterior. "You can say that again." Her eyebrows raised at Edith's mention of something strange happening with Mr. Jefferson. Although she tried to avoid looking at Louis (lest they make awkward, accidental eye contact), she couldn't help but notice the bruises on his neck. Sylvie already knew Mr. Jefferson wasn't a nice guy, but she got the impression from Louis's marks and Edith's words that he had been especially unkind today. The thought made her shiver.

Stas arrived, prompting Sylvie to send a quick wave and smile in her direction. Soon after, Wes plopped down near them. The arrival of the two sent a wave of calm through Sylvie. After dealing with all sorts of strange roommate situations during her years in foster care and the children's home, she had been beyond happy to meet Stas. The tarantula took some getting used to, of course, but it was more than worth it to share a room with someone so well-intentioned. And then there was Wes, who never seemed to get annoyed with Sylvie despite her tendency to talk his ear off. She always got the feeling that he was looking out for everyone, which, for the clumsy, catastrophizing photokinetic, was a good feeling to have.

Now in the company of friends and away from the chaos of Mrs. Lyet's room, Sylvie's shoulders relaxed. Playfully mimicking a serious face and tone, she responded to Wes: "It was for your own good. This is not a tale for the faint of heart. There's drama. There's mystery. There's gore. People swooned! Well—I swooned, but that's not really the poi—I'll just tell the story!"

Before starting, Sylvie cast another glance at Stas and noticed that she looked... drained. Days at Vochertepp could suck, of course, but for Stas to look like that was unusual. Sylvie held up a hand to ask the others to wait on the story before kneeling down next to her roommate. "You ok?" She offered up the question softly, considering the possibility that Stas wouldn't want to discuss it.

Sylvie's approach caught the mimic off guard, a lightning bolt of vulnerability flashing across her features before disappearing entirely. Stas wanted to talk to her about it, but not here. Not in front of everyone.
"I-I'm fine. Alex used his power on me in Jefferson's class, but I don't really wanna talk about it."
she shrugged, shoulders sagging.
"What about your story?"
she changed the subject, giving her roommate a small, pleading smile in the hope that she wouldn't prod her for more info. They could always talk later.

Sylvie flinched, convinced for a second that she had misheard Stas's words or hallucinated them entirely. When she realized that she had heard correctly, she wanted to shout "Alex did what?!" but stopped herself, resolving to respect her friend's wish to not discuss it at the moment. Sylvie didn't know much about Alex's power, but she knew enough to determine that using it on Stas was a gigantic violation of boundaries. She felt outrage bubble up inside of her. However, she repressed her anger for the moment and gave Stas an earnest look and a nod to communicate her sympathy.

When reminded about her story, the glowing girl stood up and retook her position in front of the group. Knowing that she had a habit of forgetting to breathe when she ranted or told long stories, she inhaled deeply. Then the words came, rapid-fired but intelligible: "So, we were all in Mrs. Lyet's class, and she was sleeping—like she always is—and then Matt walked in with the mail. Tiffany, being herself, started being a jerk to Matt, but then Germ yelled at her. And then I also yelled at her." A brief, triumphant smile. "And then me, Bob, and Delano were all—oof! I mean: Bob, Delano, and I were all talking to Matt. There was this one weird envelope that was addressed to Mrs. Lyet, but Delano took it, and then Lyric took all the other letters, and poor Matt was just standing there like—." Sylvie stood still for a moment with her palms out in front of her, attempting to recreate the effect of a frozen and empty-handed Matthew Posada. "But then Tiffany was like'pew!'" A marble-sized ball of sunlight demonstratively shot out of her index finger and promptly dissipated. "And all the letters went flying. The weird one landed right in the center of the room, and then the lights turned off, and Tiffany—." An intimation of nausea quickly passed over her face. "Delano froze her lips, and she just smashed the ice off and—ugh! Blood everywhere! Then she was threatening everyone and telling Lyric to read the weird letter. And then Lyric read it, and it was..."

Sylvie stopped and inhaled sharply. Realizing that she had finally reached the actual point, she allowed herself a quick break. After a second, she went on, though her energy and all semblances of mirth were now gone from the narration: "It was a list of a bunch of our names, except we had these numbers assigned to us. Like we were devices or... subjects in an experiment. It mentioned something about replacement trials and extraction dates. And Louis..." She turned in his direction but focused her eyes on his nose, still wary of awkward eye contact. "You were on there twice, and your numbers were a lot higher than everyone else's. And... And one of the extraction dates is today." Sylvie went silent, feeling like she had said everything that she could've. She then looked around questioningly at everyone, as if to ask, 'Well? What do you make of this?'

While looking around, Sylvie noticed Matt's presence. After wondering if he had been around long enough to see her impression of him, she nodded in his direction as an invitation to add any of his own recollections or insights. She knew that, although she was an expressive storyteller, she had a bad habit of including unnecessary details while sometimes leaving out the important ones.

































little uneasy



fazerdaze










♡coded by uxie♡
 



gian su-yun.





































  • mood



    determined - on a mission.
















Gian didn't share the gleeful smiles that painted some of her classmate's faces; brooding eyes watching them all but skip out of the class. It wasn't uncommon for Gian to stay back after class, either reading a book or finishing her homework.

Yet, she found herself doing neither. Instead her mind wondered.

Was she shocked about the revelations found in Mr Jefferson's desk? No. The world was a horrid place - full of nothing but pain and suffering until the inevitable end. So, Vochertepp having ulterior motives for housing and educating powered youth didn't surprise her. The documents stacked in Jefferson's desk proved that. However, something was eating away at her.

Gian flipped open her notebook to the page with Jefferson's words neatly jotted down — But it is not enough. It will not be enough.

All these lessons of control...for what? To integrate back into society? Bullshit.

Something was coming, that was certain. Think, Gian...think.

Gian's dark eyes lit up. Room 11.6837. Luckily the rot didn't effect her memory...or at least not yet.

6837. What kind of numbering system was that? That implied there was 6,896 other rooms associated with room 11. Vochertepp was big...but surely not that big?

Maybe it was the need to impress her classmates more or her insatiable need to solve puzzles, but Gian found herself scooping her belongings into her backpack. The backpack's straps were worn with use, the once vibrant green had dulled — much like Gian herself.

The rotting teenager glanced out the classroom's windows, observing the other students in the autumn sun. Gian hated the sun, her skin almost glowed translucent once sunlight hit her; blue veins making themselves more apparent. Usually she ate in the cafeteria to avoid the embarrassment.

Near the hulking willow tree she could see most of her classmates, alongside other familiar faces. Most likely talking about today's antics.

Gian had other ideas.

Slinging the backpack over one shoulder, Gian skulked out of the classroom.

The hall was almost empty at this point; a few stragglers headed towards the cafeteria. Gian didn't bother eating much these days, it never actually satisfied her hunger. Sure, one could chalk that up to the bland slop they handed out but it was something deeper than that. An insatiable hunger for something...more.

Instead of heading towards the cafeteria, Gian turned the opposing way, one objective on her mind —

Find room 11.6837.

Adjusting the blasting headphones snugly back onto her head, she walked onwards, deeper into Vochertepp.

What was the worst thing that could happen? I'm already rotting. Gian thought, not noticing the buzzing fly from the classroom following her.

































cry for love



백현










♡coded by uxie♡
 
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LOUIS BAUVER-CALDWELL

Under the tree, Louis looked peaceful. It wasn’t often that the boy relaxed, but nestled under his favorite spot, he was even comfortable enough to close his eyes for a moment. The tray of mystery meat went forgotten as he chose to focus on the sound of the crisp breeze rustling the leaves of the willow. As far back as he could remember, it had always been his favorite spot. It was as far away from the hallowed halls of Vochertepp he could get, and just close enough to almost touch the forest that lay beyond it. Louis liked to lay on the precipice of another world, perhaps to remind himself how close he had come to touching it.

His eyes fluttered open as Stas spoke, and he caught her flickering gaze. No doubt Alex had twisted her mind, shown her something awful, and his gut churned at the thought. His moment of peace fizzled away as Louis pushed himself up to sit against the trunk rather than slump, making more room for Stas to sit beside him. At her question, he bristled slightly, a hand responsively flying up to his neck and tugging at his collar, but it was clear that the bruise had already healed significantly, or at least, moved quickly in its healing process. Because of the nature of his ability, it looked quite gnarly, green and blue and black roiling against his neck, but it already seemed paler than before, as if it had been more hours than just one.

“I heal quick.” Was all he offered, and with a small shrug Louis undid his tie and draped it around his neck. “Don’t worry so much.” It was a bold claim coming from Louis, but his own gaze was caught with sympathy as he looked at her. For once, it was not only him who deserved the pity in his friend’s eyes, as today had rattled all of them. Deep down, Louis knew that Alex was a victim like the rest of them. But when did a victim become a villain? How much evil would it take to make Alex inseparable from the hands that guided him?

Next to arrive was Wes, and Louis slowly began to feel like he had some months ago, before he’d ruined it all. When friends congregated under the willow tree and could share their plights, as they were all equals, under the thumb of Vochertepp. Now, he hid something from them, closed himself away from them, and yet they still had the kindness to sit beside him like nothing had changed. Louis felt guilt bubble up in his stomach, stems and roots climbing from the seed that had always existed in his belly.

Sometimes, Louis wished so deeply to be spiritless. To let Vochertepp walk all over him and not care, the way Tiffany did. He wondered if even being a puppet like Alex would be better. At least then, he could cling on to some false belief, the words of a teacher posing as a prophet. Louis wished he could let his mind be twisted in a way that dimmed his sense of justice. But he was hard headed, and stubborn, and even though Vochertepp pried and poked and prodded at him, he couldn’t let go.

His fists clenched as Matt appeared on the horizon. While there were days Louis wished he were anyone but himself, he never wished to be Matt.

Anyone sitting next to Louis would feel the way he tensed at Matt’s arrival. Though the TA kept close to the sidelines, clearly only addressing Wes, the way Louis glared daggers into the back of his head would be hard to miss. The only thing that ever seemed to rile Louis this much was Vochertepp itself, but his nostrils flared and his fists clenched. But his reaction to Matt was nothing like his reaction to Sylvie’s story.

He’d turned his attention to her fully to ignore the presence he loathed that stood beside Wes. Her story was almost cute at first. It was never a surprise to see Sylvie with Edith, the two each radiating their own sort of sunshine. Unfortunately, he had no smiles left to offer her, even though her dramatic retelling and use of powers as props was quite the addition to an already lively story. Mrs. Lyet’s class always sounded like a mess because the woman managed to sleep through all of it, though he quietly wondered if his father had sent him a letter, that thought was quickly banished as Sylvie began to describe the contents of the envelope addressed to Lyet.

As those sitting around him would know, it was hard for Louis to look any paler than he always did. Instead, a strange heat came to his face, turning his cheeks green and blackish, any color except the traditional red blush. While Sylvie tried to look anywhere but his eyes, the rest of his skin became flush, a layer of perspiration dotting his forehead and nose. His gaze was glazed over, stuck in some other moment, reliving a memory too harsh to put to words. A twitching, shivering hand, almost unconsciously rose to his shoulder, gripping at the crumpled fabric like something underneath it burned.

He was terrified.

“All of you?” Louis whispered, but it was more to himself than to any of his friends sitting beside him. His words were more breath than sound. “All of you were on the list?” His jaw was tight, skin pinched. The phantom hand that had been around his neck seemed to crush at his windpipes again, and he shook his head repeatedly, trying to shake away a vision that flashed across his eyes. A barrier being blown back, a kind smile being ripped away, bits and pieces of him being stolen and examined and displayed in petri dishes. Today. They were going to start today?

Louis stood so suddenly that he almost toppled over. As he did so, shaky hands reached into his bag, pulling out Jefferson’s files. He gripped them all too tight, crumpling the edges, and began to step over and around all those that had gathered beside him at the willow tree.

“I can’t… be here.” Louis uttered, unfocused eyes looking over his company before he turned away.

the willow tree : Maverick. Maverick. blue-jay blue-jay stellamaris stellamaris ravensunset ravensunset mikaluvkitties mikaluvkitties
 
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edith.















Before Sylvie had a chance to jump into her story, both Stas and Wesley walked over to the willow tree, joining in the small gathering of Edith’s friends.

The sun was almost directly above them, the happily growing grass poked at Edith’s legs and at the hand she’d placed on it, the midday lunches providing an escape from the reality of Vochertepp. She could stay, as long as she wanted, soaked in the sun, in her friends’ voices and laughter and smiles, in the comfort of the willow tree and the grassy field and the happily growing succulent beside her. For a school that had seriously threatened her friends’ wellbeing not even half an hour ago, the small gathering under the early afternoon’s sun was as close to a happy place as Edith had known. It was the warmth and life she’d loved for so long, and she didn’t have to be alone to enjoy it.

She gave a wave to both Stas and Wesley as they approached and motioned with her hand for them to sit down, join in on the story Sylvie was about to tell. Both still carried the weight of the day in the way they walked, but them being there meant they were, and perhaps everything was, okay.

Matt joined as well, whispering something to Wes that Edith couldn’t quite make out. The TA was someone she was more than fond of, one of the earliest people in the school to help her out and provide encouragement her first year there and she could hardly overstate the gratitude and friendship she felt there. As she offered a small wave to Matt as well despite him not seeming to have acknowledged her presence there, she felt Louis, sitting beside her, tense up.

Before she had the chance to ask him what was wrong, Sylvie launched into her story, and well, even in her rapid fire and unplanned recounting, Sylvie was as captivating as the sun. She brought the story alive in front of her, enough so that it almost caught Edith to miss the undertones of how terrifying the event must have been to experience, masking the chaos into adventure. The actions recounted sounded like Tiffany, and Delano, sure, but all the commotion over a simple letter?

Edith’s expression sobered at the recounting of the letter’s contents, perhaps due to Sylvie’s own energy being missing from her now serious words. Numbers? Sylvie compared them to subjects in an experiment and Edith pressed her lips together in thought. Surely it wasn’t that strange to assign numbers to students in a school, for organization? Of course if there was a list of students at school they would all be on it? Edith might have been able to excuse it away altogether as reading too much into nothing had it not been for the folders their own class had found.

“Yeah, we also found something with today’s date,”
Edith started, seeming a perfect point to transition into their own story, but before she could quite continue the boy beside her spoke with a tone that sent chills running through her. A cloud, just momentarily, passed above them, covering the sun.

Edith had just gotten the thought that Louis was back. Her friend again, somewhat close to okay again. That voice was miles away, miles behind the loose conversation they’d just shared. Edith’s eyes flicked first to Wes, who seemed momentarily more with Matt than them, then to Stas, meeting her gaze in a wordless question about what had just taken place.

Louis jumped up, and took out the folders they’d taken, and Edith for a moment thought he might share their own findings, but he turned away, still shaking. Edith’s hand dug momentarily into the grass and dirt as she pushed herself up as well, her back turned to both the succulent and her lunch left on the ground without a second thought to it.

“Louis?”
She said, or asked perhaps, keeping herself steady but unable to mask the shaking in her voice,
“Are you-- what’s wrong?”
In a move she didn’t quite think through, acting on nothing but a sense of dread building up inside of her, Edith reached out to place her hand on Louis’ lower arm, fingers circling around it. The small statured girl had none of the force required to hold him back, and didn’t apply any to her grip, just looked at him with the small symbol of her presence there.











































♡coded by uxie♡
 
The shrill, ringing note of the bell sent waves of barely contained chaos through the room. Pressing his ear to the door, Alex could already hear muffled steps in the hall. He nearly froze, panic halting his thoughts. Ever the follower, Louis' words were the kick he needed to move, pushing himself from the floor and rushing to his desk. He sat just as the lock clicked open.

Alex kept his head down, counting the lines of the wooden desk's grains. As the knob turned and the door slid open, he risked a peek at the figure that had entered. His eyes didn't get past the intruder's chest, but all Alex needed to see for his fear to spike were the shoes.

Octavius' carefully maintained Oxfords and iron-pressed pants were somehow omnipresent in Vochertepp. The head TA followed trouble like it was water in a desert. Alex tightly clasped his hands together, using the squeeze to crush the tremors that wanted to explode from him. The most minute offense and Octavius would pounce.

When the TA turned with barely a word, shock was the only thing Alex felt. Then, it was horror. His thoughts were warring with each other. Had Octavius been sent by Jefferson to catch them in the act, or was it really just chance that Jefferson had been called away? When Octavius' attention left the classroom and moved to someone outside it, Alex could clearly imagine himself on the receiving end of that gaze. Alex had never pushed Vochertepp far enough to experience Octavius' true wrath, but he could feel the callously mirthful eyes of a predator that had cornered its prey every time he turned his back to the TA.

As each student left the classroom, the uncertainty and anxiety in his stomach grew. He didn't know what to do, what to feel, or how to act. All he knew was that trying to figure out who he was hurt. Especially as it was becoming clear that he didn't exactly fit anywhere. He wanted to cry, but the wails of his inner child were something he'd long ago learned needed to be suppressed. Alex didn't want, nor deserve, the relief tears would bring.

Maybe he deserved to work under Howell--or else someone like the teacher. Alex was hurting people regardless, and it was a purposeless pain. At least with someone directing him, he could tell himself it meant something. That it was somehow worth it. The days when he'd been able to do just that, hanging onto Howell's every word, were some of the easiest in his life. It would take time and pain--emotional agony--before that sense of detachment returned, but it might be worth it.

Those memories carried his feet across the school. Alex followed a familiar path through the halls, occasionally stopping to breathe in air that somehow felt fresher than in the rest of the school. He could feel the air enter his lungs, and suddenly life wasn't as stifling. Though, Alex was aware his opinions of this hallway likely countered those of most students. Past plentiful windows and doorways, which allowed light and sound to seep into a dull and lifeless school, sat the teacher's lounge.

As Alex neared, flashes of Anastasia's eyes, then Meredith's, and finally Taylor's pushed themselves into his head. Anguish. That was in all of their expressions--products of his powers. His foot fell against tile and the echoing sound brought with it the bats' return to his stomach. Was going back to Howell really what he wanted? He clenched the fabric of his shirt, listening to the sound of cloth against cloth as he tried to physically smother the bats inside him, hesitating. Ringing filled his ears, and when it abated, he heard buzzing.
He looked to the world around him for answers and saw the noise's source together with a face he never imagined he'd see in this hallway. Gian.

Alex considered the reasons Gian would be here. She wasn't exactly well-liked, even if not every teacher was disgusted by her. He briefly entertained the idea that she was lost, but Gian was too smart for that, and there was purpose in her eyes as she examined each door she passed. The image of the classroom and a pink slip slowly floating to the ground came to mind. Alex didn't think Gian respected Mr. Jefferson's authority enough to follow through with detention or confess what they'd done, but what if he was wrong?

He looked from Gian to the door down the hall that he knew led to the teacher's lounge. He wasn't ready to make that decision yet, wasn't ready to return to Howell. Maybe this was the universe giving him another option, at least for today.

"Gian, what are you..." he stopped. Gian hadn't acknowledged him, and when he got close enough to hear music blasting from her headphones, it was easy to tell why. Alex reached for her wrist, immediately jerking his hand back. He could feel the glove on his hand; he looked down to verify its presence anyway. He tapped Gian's shoulder.

"What are you doing here?"
 



delano.





































  • mood



    perplexed.

















Each one of Delano's steps were soft and carefully planted, clapping against the floor in a uniform rhythm. His tie was fixed firmly under his straightened collar, jacket cleanly wrapping his tidy school attire. Like the well-pressed trousers that he had on, Delano was without wrinkles or blemishes. Delano’s head tilted to the side, eyes unmoving as they analyzed Germaine Pinchon over the nurse’s bed. He heard the whispers of the clinical faculty, murmurs as to the puppy love that brewed between them when he refused to leave her alone to be examined. Simply followed, really, in spite of their objection.

Delano harboured no affectionate emotions towards the girl being examined. They said love is blind, but Delano had always believed in the opposite. Love was largely influenced by one’s successes. The reason why wealthy and quite frankly ugly executives had young, beautiful gold diggers at their hands. Where love was a meal ticket for one of the two, it truly was blinding for the other. Never would he scrape for the earnings of somebody else, or render himself vulnerable enough to be manipulated by somebody else.

Germaine wasn’t like that anyways. They saw through the glamour of pink hearts and chocolate gifts. The trapping cycle of love would be a stranger to them so long as they retained their usual self-certainty.

Right now, Germaine was a fascination to Delano in the same way genius children explored the faults of their favourite toy. He had watched first-hand as her hazelnut skin tone was absorbed by fear. If Germaine had fear, Delano had never known it. The shock of a letter that nobody quite understood choked at her voice so that only hoarse stammers could escape her lips. Delano told himself that he was simply being thoughtful accompanying her here, his observance was a secondary effect, but it was definitely the other way around. Standing before her, Delano could only ponder why he too hadn’t been struck with such grief.

If even his nearest competitor could crumble so quickly at the institution’s secrecy, what kept him from falling into such disarray?

Replacement Trials and Extraction Dates. Numbers, codes, and names. His name. This all should have been so much more frightening, and yet here he stood complacent. He’d served Vochertepp for so long he could not imagine them meaning any undeserved harm. Louis was a plain example. Curiosity had killed that cat, and for whatever reason, he hoped the same circumstances would not claim Germaine.

Delano scratched uncomfortably at the sleeve of his blazer. Germaine stood before him, moments after downplaying the upchuck fiasco in the halls. She tried desperately to reignite the fire once blazing in the eyes of his fiercest competitor, but Delano saw nothing but the husk of her former self. He almost pitied her, but the feeling made him confused and so he remained quiet on the walk to the cafeteria. With those same quiet steps, Delano disappeared from Germaine’s side to the line where food was served. From the corner of his vision he could see her leave the facility, but he made no effort to run after her.

Delano enjoyed the silence when eating Vochertepp’s food, a myriad of edible greys separated on an even more plain tray. He found the usual double bench where he and Wesley sat, often accompanied with the latter’s friends and sometimes Matt when he wasn’t too busy. Louis used to frequent the spot too. Today, the cafeteria was bare and there was little for Delano to judge or criticize. Delano’s high work ethic paired with Vochertepp’s extensive workload made a break like this very scarce, and yet he found himself annoyed with so much time alone on his hands.

In his same uniformity, Delano nibbled at each section of the platter. A subconscious effort that lulled him into a trance of sorts as once again, the events in Ms. Lyet’s class replayed themselves in his head. Everything up until Lyric’s exposure of the letter. He analyzed the event like playback, sounded and repeated the letter’s contents like broken clockwork, but nothing clicked. Delano was no avid puzzler, but things were usually plain to him. The inability to understand was foreign and it made him feel for once like he was being judged instead. The breathing of his father and Andromeda warmed his neck again, in a nature far from comforting.

His eyes glowed blue, and his neck cooled, but he understood then that this was what Germaine was feeling. This was the same shock that’d stiffened Lyric whilst she read the letter and muted Tiffany better than he ever could. As much as he cooled his neck, that heat stretched past his temple beneath his blazer and trousers. Beads of sweat gathered at his temple, and he pulled his collar as uncertainty crowded in his mind. Unlike Delano, he left his unfinished platter on that lonely table and made a race for fresh air.

His steps were frantic. No longer where they so meticulously planned, or consistent. He made a beeline for the exit, and huffed over onto his knees, inhaling and exhaling uncontrollably.

Delano wasn’t very fond of plant-life or fauna. Earlier in the development of his abilities, he’d accidentally frozen the moisture of the plants in the family garden. He’d been met with the whip and never played much outdoors after that. The sun was never too friendly to his sensitive skin anyways.

For whatever reason, he found himself drawn to the fields today and had to make conscious effort to keep his abilities in check. His eyes lay low and investigative, anticipating another frost outburst that would kill the plants. He wouldn’t be surprised considering all the frenzy of today.

The congregation at the base of the Willow Tree was something Delano hadn’t quite considered. If he wasn’t too busy indoors throughout the day he might have recognized its popularity much quicker, and was instead alerted of the variety of presences when his ears picked up the overlapping voices. Albeit faintly, he could hear the enthusiastic recounts of the mess in Ms. Lyet’s classroom, and the stark silence of someone drawing the attention. He scoffed when Louis’ sights darted away from the group, and for a moment, skipped onto his. Delano wouldn’t hide his distaste for Louis’ actions, and Louis hid everything about himself. Hmph.

He must have been happy now, with a group of radical conspirators adding fire to Louis’ skepticisms that led him to try an escape. There were many more people thinking like his old friend now, and Delano was too confused to tell if he too now agreed. He only remembered the betrayal that he’d felt, and the void of neither of them moving to fix things. Delano shifted his gaze from the group, and like they weren’t there, sauntered past.

In a couple of more seconds, he caught Germaine looking at the group he’d just passed. Even more visually distraught when she thought she was isolated.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Delano said and took the space beside her. It wasn’t like he really was anyways. Germaine was still staring when he arrived. Trying to listen, but apparently still too weak to go and make her own thoughts heard.

He’d seen Wesley amongst the crowd. Stas, too. He recognized them both as above average students, Wes one of those that had potential but never moved to tap into it. Beneath that pretty Willow Tree, they could only share guesses and predictions. Nothing ever concrete.

The onset vertigo was tedious to deal with, and Delano knew where it stemmed from. The contents of that letter. So clearly, it’d been addressed to Ms. Lyet. Only she could understand it, and it was only with her that they could too.

“We need to go back.” His voice sliced through the air and for a moment he was unsure if Germ had heard him. She was the only person he knew was most hit by the revelation, but also somebody with a drive similar to his own. He would have gone alone, and yet for whatever reason he wished to provide her with a similar closure too. Get things behind them, and separate into competitors once again.


































cry for love



백현










♡coded by uxie♡
 
Wesley Campbell
worried — near the willow tree — interactions: Louis/Edith/Stas/Slyvie/Matt
Wesley held onto his smile as Sylvie took center stage. She was setting up her story, and he raised his hand to put it behind his head to act as a pillow. With his other hand, he reached over to his tray and plucked a carrot from it, popping it into his mouth as if he were eating a snack in the movie theatre. Had he known what Sylvie was going to say before she said it, he wouldn’t have gotten so settled in, nor would he have let himself forget for a moment that stories at Vochertepp didn’t have happy endings.

Sylvie paused to crouch down next to Stas, and for a moment, the story of his own previous class period experience flashed before his eyes. His chewing ceased abruptly, and he fought the urge to spit out his food as his throat tightened. He swallowed, and he wondered if the school’s food might be laced with poison. Although such a theory should pass for nothing more than an absurd joke, he found that the thought was not easily dismissed.

Stas waved Sylvie off, but a quick glance in her direction proved to Wesley that her smile was strained. It was clear that she didn’t want to talk about it, especially not now, but he made a pledge to catch up with her later. It was a duty like this that he often found himself bound to.

Although he didn’t consciously realize it, he put every smile that he saw under a microscope, searching for cracks. His memories of his early years back home with his mother had been torn up by the way he had replayed them in his mind over and over again, picking through each moment. Now, he knew when he was being kept in the dark, and he’d forced himself to develop night vision. It was evident in the way his eyes followed Louis around even at a distance, and the way that he tried to keep the icy Delano as warm as possible. Despite his laid-back style, he was a world-class worrier. He knew that a bitten tongue would soon bleed, and although he tried to keep his childhood wounds closed, the taste still lingered.

The grass beneath the back of his hand poked at his skin like little needles, and he shivered as though he had been touched by a ghost.

Sylvie was soon back on her feet, and she launched into her story, recounting the events she’d witnessed with flying words and animated gestures. Wesley found his mouth dropping open wider and wider as she went on, and when she began to talk about the letters, he propped himself up on his elbows. His head began to spin again, and his thoughts rolled around heavily like a pile of wet clothes in a washing machine.

“Fucking what…?” he started, but he trailed off when he realized that Matt was standing right in front of him.

Although his relationship with the TA was strong, it was also complicated. Wesley knew that, at his core, Matt was good, and he stood by that judgement. Somehow he had been drawn to Matt, and someone that should’ve been an enemy turned out to be more of an ally. But Matt wasn’t a student, and there were moments when the TA’s connection to the school reared its head, and all Wesley could see when he looked at Matt was another one of the school’s staff.

Right now, however, the only thing that Wesley saw before him was a friend that obviously needed his help. Without hesitation, he pulled himself to his feet. Sylvie’s words still hung fresh in the air like a cloud of smoke, and before he could notice Louis’ reaction or hear his response, Wesley put a hand on Matt’s shoulder and began guiding him away from the tree. He kept his pace quick, and he didn’t stop until they were both out of earshot from the crowd at the willow tree.

Wesley faced Matt again, and he eyed the man before him up and down. The TA was clearly frazzled, and considering what Wesley now knew about what had transpired in Mrs. Lyet’s class, it wasn’t surprising.

“Matt,” he said, and the tone of his voice dropped with his stomach. “What is it?”


cablebelly cablebelly blue-jay blue-jay stellamaris stellamaris ravensunset ravensunset mikaluvkitties mikaluvkitties


 









scroll








spitfire.



germ.













mood

daring to hope ??











outfit

vochertepp's uniform











location

outside, on a bench near the willow tree











interactions

delano











tags

fin fin
















“Interrupt?”
echoed Germ, blinking at Del with half-lidded observation. She hadn’t been doing anything at all; in fact, if Del had interrupted anything, it had been her conscious attempt at trying to think of nothing. The paradox slipped past her, sliding into the grass and digging into the earth. Gravity seemed so much heavier than it ever had before, keeping her glued to the bench, unable to move a muscle as Del took a seat beside her. Her eyes flickered down to her untucked blouse, and she was suddenly aware how weak she looked, and wanted to do something to fix it, but her body wouldn’t respond. She continued to sit there, miserable, semi-sick, uncomfortable. And now Del could see it all.

It wasn’t that she wanted to impress him; she thought she’d done that already. Eleven years at Vochertepp without a single mark in her ledger—well, barring today—was laudable. No, impossible. The reality was that vulnerability was dangerous, and if she let Del see that her walls were shaking, there was no telling what he’d do. The ball was in his court now, no matter how Germ floundered after it. It had always been in his court. He’d always been on top.

Germ realized she’d been making tight fists in her skirt. Releasing her grip on the fabric, her muscles ached, and her knuckles were still white. Despite everything that’d happened within the last ten minutes, Del was still acting like nothing had happened. Did the pink slips in his pocket feel weightless? Were they not burning holes through the fabric of his trousers? How was he so goddamn perfect all the goddamn time? Why was he here anyway, if not to flaunt the enormity of Germ’s failure in her—

“We need to go back.”


“Huh?”
Germ’s jaw dropped. Stinging heat simmered behind her face, and her ears rung as if he’d screamed into them. She stared at him and could only find sincerity in his deep-colored eyes. She’d been so ready to hear another lecture—We’re higher than that, Germaine—that she’d been physically tensing up, preparing herself not to lash out at him when his pompous righteousness seeped out. Forcing her shoulders down, she swallowed the cotton in her mouth and found that for once, she was speechless.

Her first thought, once the initial shock had rinsed out, was that he was joking. But that was quickly dismissed, because he was Del. The only other option she could come up with was that—no. Allowing the pause to settle around them, she stared at him and found something she wasn’t expecting. Was Delano actually worried? From the way he’d acted earlier, she’d guessed that somehow, he’d found a way to not care about anything at all. That was where she fell short; she cared about so much, and just had to hide it all. But he, he was a statue, or so she’d thought. What she found in his face was a glimmer of uncertainty. She couldn’t call it fear, but she couldn’t call it peace, either.

“Back to… Back to who? Lyet?”
Germ finally spoke, cautiously, treading ice that crackled underfoot. She swung her legs off the bench and leaned down absentmindedly to tear out a fistful of grass.
“You think she’d actually tell us anything?”
Her lips pursed together in concentration. Information was gold in these parts. Did Del think that they could pan for it in these choppy waters? Lyet wasn’t exactly dangerous, especially if it was Del and Germ talking to her, but despite her grandmotherly tendencies, she was smart. Lyet was old, but she was no fool.

And why did Del ask her? Why didn’t he just go himself? Germ couldn’t imagine why he thought she would care (even though she did). Maybe it was just peer-to-peer, asking for advice… No. That couldn’t be it. Del didn’t doubt himself. And yet, here he was.

Germ looked toward the willow tree, where many had gathered. Something was brewing over there, and she was fairly certain that she wanted nothing to do with it. Del proposed a search for answers, and Germ was starving for those. Ambiguity bit at her heels. She wasn’t sure she liked this idea at all, but anything was better than sitting here and feeling horrible. Maybe she could get a chance to disprove her own weakness in the process.

“She might,”
muttered Germ, dropping her fistful of grass onto the lawn by her feet.
“I’m tired of guessing by myself.”
There it was, years and years of frustration, bottled up and incredibly understated, ready to succumb to relief that she wasn’t sure she’d ever get. But if the chance was there—if Del thought they could get something, the two of them—why not try? She had everything to lose, but for once in her life, she thought that maybe—maybe—it was worth it.


♡coded by uxie♡
 

clover leah | beneath the elm tree

"Talk," Tiffany mimed as she threw herself beneath one of the more beautiful elms on Vochertepp's grounds. Clover didn't say a word-- not for a bit at least, as she found a comfortable spot to nestle and finish her muffin --as not even Markham's gaze could deter her love of food.

When she was finished, Clover wiped her hands clean and pressed her back against the trunk of the tree, eyes towards the canopy above, catching glances of the clouds as they passed.

"You shouldn't have waited to see Nurse Tufton, but I guess what I wrote spooked you. I'm sorry, I just--" Clover hesitated and bit her lip, half wishing she had another muffin to bite into to delay what was about to come out of her mouth. "It's just, you know,"

She leaned in a bit, though her eyes never left the canopy. "Vochertepp... isn't that good... is it? There were things at the beginning that didn't sit right, but I never really thought... What you said in class earlier, it's true isn't it?" Clover sighed and hugged her backpack to her chest.

"Here," she said softly, rummaging into her backpack as covertly as she could to find the one labeled with Tiffany Markham.

"I copied them." Clover confessed, eyes wide and terrified, "I copied the entire stack Matt brought in. I--I noticed your name, so here."

Nestling under the elm, Tiffany closed her eyes. Yes, it might have been stupid not to run to Nurse Tufton, but she sort of liked all the younger kids staring at her in shock and horror as she walked the halls. Tiffany wanted to exude power in anyway she could, and if it meant having a bloodied face, well, she'd enjoy it for the day.

She listened to Clover speak, gnawing over the words like something hard to chew, and only peeled them open when a letter was pushed her way. The original copy had fallen back to the floor once the icy muzzle had covered her mouth, and been swept away in Matt's hustle to get the pile back together. She took the letter rather excitedly, and then ripped it open eagerly.

"Nice work, carrot top. Usually it takes some wimps longer to stop bending to Vochertepp bullshit." Tiffany drawled as she plucked the letter out of its envelope, though she paused before reading it to squint at Clover. "I mean, it's a suffocating boarding school. I try not to think too hard 'bout it, but I swear... they're doing some creepy shit here. Like, that letter that cotton candy read? Don't know why the fuck I'm on it. Gonna try not to care unless they start snatching me away or something. Then I'll care." Tiffany huffed.

"Anyway, yeah, welcome to the shit show. Don't look so scared, that's how you'll get yourself fucked up." Tiffany became silent after that, now engrossed in the letter. It's contents seemed to bring a joy to Tiffany's face that had been unseen until this point, a sort of sweet nostalgia filling her eyes. She even laughed along softly to something written in the scrawly handwriting, before glancing back up at Clover. "...Thanks for getting this."

Despite the swarm of paranoia gnawing at her belly and the casual insult thrown her way, Clover smiled. It was heartwarming to see different sides of people, even if said person was Tiffany Markham. Brushing a stray lock of red hair out of her face, Clover nodded, somewhat shyly, at her gratitude.

"No problem," Clover replied softly, "I'm glad I was able to..."

She visibly trailed off, her eyes glazing over momentarily.

"Wait." She said excitedly, somehow a bit scared as well. She dug through her backpack and slowly pulled out the letter Lyric had read aloud to the class. "Oh god."

A mischievous smirk stretched Tiffany's maw, and for the first time, she winced when it stretched the bandages Clover had plastered along her jawline. Going to the nurse's was a perfect excuse to miss next period, and she wasn't about to sacrifice her free time to let Tufton touch her face for an hour.

"Yaknow, I been at Vochertepp a few years now... I always thought they were doing something fucky, but all the names and numbers and trials and experiments feel all sorts of wrong to me. Nice to see you've got the proof." While Clover was having a rebellious awakening, Tiffany seemed unfazed, and began to pluck handfuls of grass to staunch her boredom. "Don't worry so much. I don't think they care a lot about newbies, to be honest. Pass that note along to anyone causing a fuss, like, yaknow," She jabbed her thumb behind her, at the willow tree, "You'll probably paint a target on your back real quick. But hey, if it uncovers the scary spooky truth," She wiggled her fingers for effect and let grass fall out of her hands, "Maybe that's what gets ya going."

Clover swallowed audibly, glancing at the envelope between her hands and repeating Tiffany's warning in the back of her mind. There was something there, at the edge of her psyche that longed to be free, but Clover, with a shake of her head, glanced up and over towards the willow tree and the group of people that crowded around it. With a defeated sigh, Clover's eyes began to glow, and in front of her, two things happened simultaneously:

The manila envelope addressed to Lyet floated into the air of its own volition and a smaller, regular envelope whizzed out of her backpack, the one that belonged to her roommate's former friend. With another glance towards the willow tree, it seemed like Louis was the ringleader of that little group, so with eyes of sage, she folded them both together, into the perfect little airplane, and had it fly over to him.

"I don't really want to get in trouble," Clover said softly, almost regretfully, as if she were ashamed to admit it. "This place scares me. But I--I guess people like you and them kinda give me the courage to at least try to help."

Tiffany watched with tired, almost sullen eyes as the paper airplane floated to Louis. They'd crossed paths a few times, and she had a strange amount of respect for the boy who took the brunt of Vochertepp's beatings. With that letter in his hands, maybe the whole place would fall. She'd like to see it. Tiffany watched until the letter poked him straight in the chest, lip quirking into a smile, one that looked just slightly sad, before she glanced back at Clover.

"Don't puff me up." Tiffany said with a sigh, green eyes searching her sage glow, perhaps for the root of such sincerity and innocence. For a moment, Tiffany felt reminded of her brother in the way that Clover held her hope. She shook the thought away. "Maybe you n' I will get out unscathed, carrot top. Who knows. Here's hoping."

"Yeah," Clover replied, voice barely above a whisper as the glow in her eyes retreated. "Here's to hoping."

written wit cablebelly cablebelly

 



delano.





































  • mood



    perplexed.

















Delano’s chest stayed stiff and inflated, eyes unfaltering save for a couple of blinks every now and then. For him, life was simply a cycle of tasks that needed to be completed. Or perhaps a theatre play with no end clear in sight. In the eyes of Germaine and the rest of the world, Delano upheld this perfect fantasy of the head boy without flaw. Serious, respectful, and perfect. Unfaltering in the face of uncertainty, and clear-headed when pandemonium came and ceased the reins. Although he didn’t consciously realize it, he too had come to believe that he was perfect. Excellent in any and every way. Today revealed to him what was otherwise masked beneath the red velvet of his play, or charade. You could call it that too, Delano discovered. Like the constant changes in costume and memorization of lines, tasked to present without falter… He too had the fear that many actors like him suffered. The fear that one day… One day you would trip on that stage or forget your lines, and it would be all that you were remembered for.

That day had finally come, and for Delano, it was a difficult one to forget.

His school uniform was soaked with sweat, and stuck to his skin, and yet Delano didn’t falter. Couldn’t falter. The face of his father flickered past his vision, the hard man responsible for who he was now. He’d straightened out Delano like a product in a factory machine, made him bland and without a mind of his own. Delano was supposed to be successful, and at a cost greater than anything he could fathom. In only 4 years he’d become one with Vochertepp, and subconsciously was blinded to their misdeeds as their blameless warrior. His powers sucked out the motion, brightness, and life in anything that they came in contact with in the same way students’ shoulders seemed weighed down by the burdens of the school, happy smiles of freshmen faded only months after enrollment, psyches destroyed like… like Louis.

Everything that he knew was being challenged now. It was frustrating to think that there might be some legitimacy to their speculation, and it made it difficult to tell if the leader he was serving was any good at all.

But he couldn’t help but cling on to the single word: Speculation.

“You think she’d actually tell us anything?”

His gaze shifted back towards the field again, and Germaine could probably tell that he was in thought. Not much changed in his expression except for his brows growing a bit more wrinkled, the muscles at the edge of his jaws clenching down too. If there was one professor in Vochertepp that had the purest intentions, it was Ms. Lyet. She was perhaps the most lax in terms of secretiveness, also older than the rest of the faculty. Lyet should have been much weaker than the rest, but Delano wasn’t too sure about that observation. Although he couldn’t completely comprehend the way in which her abilities operated, he knew that she would still be a threat if things went awry in her classroom. He hoped that they didn’t. Somewhere within himself, he considered himself and Ms. Lyet as friends. A family friend, but something close nonetheless.

He didn’t like to have his suggestions put in question, but the uneasy level of uncertainty present today provided an exception.

Delano released a deep breath he didn’t know he’d gathered. He must have been holding it since he arrived at the bench, and felt a sense of release when that frosty air escaped his lungs. It floated gently into the air and his eyes followed that cold breeze, and for a moment he imagined himself as free as that breath of air. Many imagined him to be an officer without a care because of his pledges to the school, but Delano was a man weighed down by many shackles. Soon, the air warmed and disappeared, putting Delano back onto that bench.

His lips pursed and dark, unfaltering eyes flickered onto Germaine.

“Yes,” he added simply, and he caught Germaine muttering something else. He was drawing at straws here, and not only him, but all of the students desperately needed some sort of concrete clues or evidence. They were all lost with nothing to guide them but their imagination that only fueled the devilish lust of doubt within them. If not them approaching Lyet, then who? They had achieved most everything, and had to be in some way entitled to some information.

“Look, Germaine, I’m not here to entertain the stories. I want to settle the matter once and for all. Put an end to all of the guessing,” Delano stated in a tone that was very matter of factly. He did that well, spoke, even in the midst of his own inner turmoils.

“It’s been difficult for all of them.” He added, and as he looked at her he felt like he could see a visually troubled version of himself in the watery reflection of her eyes. A mixture of emotions that Delano couldn’t comprehend surfaced whenever he thought of Germaine. It should have only been anger or curiosity, but the genuine pity that managed to slip through like a thief in the night made him strangely comfortable… It gave him a sense of humanity that he didn’t know he had.

Delano wished so badly to fend off these feelings and send them back to whatever dark entrapment they’d come from, but another part of him missed having them. Pleasant discomfort. To find the answers to the letter’s puzzles meant to finally close this wound, and the choice to cure this wound actually made him queasy. He was unable to stop himself from finally checking on her. Fighting what felt like the icicles over Tiffany Markham’s lips, Delano spoke.

“We’ll only go if you’re well enough.”

Pleasant discomfort and a bubbling stomach, he felt.

Delano straightened and stood up from the bench. He took one foot forward in the grass, but like that split second moment in the hallway, could not help but turn around to check again. “So… Are you recovering fine? I don’t suppose the ice was easy considering your particular powerset. You haven’t eaten either.”

He stared at her, unsure of what else to add or say.


































cry for love



백현










♡coded by uxie♡
 




stas.

















































Meeting Louis' sympathetic gaze, Stas almost regretted bringing up the bruise. It had struck a nerve, she was sure, as she watched him drape his tie around his neck to hide the patches of green and blue. Her lips parted to offer an apology that was cut off by Wes' arrival and Matt's not long after, noticing the way Louis tensed next to her, just about bristling. She didn't exactly have a great relationship with Matt either due to his blissful ignorance of the true nature of the school he worked for, but he seemed like a nice guy otherwise. Like an obedient retriever afraid of displeasing his owners. Apology dead in her mouth, Stas chewed the inside of her cheek and watched with furrowed brows as the TA quietly approached Wes, saying something only he could hear. Perhaps after everything that had happened today, it would be best to not get involved. Maybe now she could just go about the rest of her day and just melt into the background.

Until a tiny ball of light caught her attention, drawing her back into the long-winded story Sylvie was enthusiastically telling. Stas couldn't help but smile at first, finding her roommate's exuberance contagious. But that smile slowly melted away as the glowing girl's words turned serious, mentioning numbers, names, extraction dates. Stas blinked, paling as the information sank in.

And one of the extraction dates is today.

Her gaze drifted off somewhere else far away from the safety of the willow tree. Far from her cheerful roommate. Far from Louis and Wes and Edith and everyone else. Briefly she thought again of what Alex had shown her, visions of blood and darkness and death. Her lungs suddenly felt too small and everyone's gazes too heavy, the field around her too vast and open; Vochertepp's main building became a starved creature with a frothing, hungry maw, ready to swallow them all up and wring them out for all they were worth before spitting out their empty shells.
What if Alex was right?


Stas' fingers dug into the grass and dirt on either side of her legs, a feeble effort to ground herself as her ears rang and Louis' voice came muffled next to her. She didn't acknowledge him as he stood and left abruptly, nor Wes as he guided Matt away from the tree. In fact, she wanted to do the same. To get up and find somewhere quiet and dark to hide from the world – but she felt frozen to the ground. Even if her bedroom had largely served as a prison for most of her life, it'd also provided safety from the outside world. It served as a barrier between her and those that could harm her – or those that she could accidentally harm – and she craved it. Maybe if she'd just kept her mouth shut and behaved, they wouldn't have found the folders. Maybe things would be okay, they could live in blissful ignorance like Matt, and whatever came would be easier to face. Maybe if she'd just–

A cold, resentful anger burned at the back of her neck as her fingers dug deeper into the grass, lips turning up into a slight frown with the realization that some part of her was still that scared little girl that balked in the face of danger and wallowed in self-pity. Stas took a deep, shuddering lungful of air and, fueled by a silent rage, forced herself out of her own thoughts. It was too late now to change what had happened, but she wouldn't be that girl anymore.

"We need to tell more people. They–"
she swallowed thickly, voice strained, eyes not meeting Sylvie's.
"They can't just do this, whatever it is, if more people know then they can't–"
her voice broke at the end and she winced, steeling herself.

"We can't let them get away with this, and we still have time. Do you know where that letter is now?"
She met Sylvie's eyes, glancing in Louis' direction. If they could get that letter and compare it to the folders side by side, maybe they could figure something out. Jefferson had marked two days in his lesson plans, one of them today and another in three. There was no way it was a coincidence.

































































1979






smashing pumpkins







♡coded by uxie♡
 









scroll








spitfire.



germ.













mood

mood here











outfit

outfit











location

location here











interactions

interactions here











tags

tags here















Germ couldn’t stop thinking about Del’s sincerity, but there was still a little piece of her, the part that Vochertepp had put there, that put her immediately on edge. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, because it occurred to her that this could all be a test. Vochertepp wasn’t above manipulation; were they trying to break her, more than they already had? Trying to force real internal compliance out of her, rather than the outward bows she gave them every day? Her heart was so far up her throat that she could probably choke on it.

No, no, idiot. This is out of character for him, but it’s not Vochertepp. At least, not right now. The way he looked at her, the something in his eyes that she couldn’t interpret, was a sure sign. She knew Vochertepp when she saw it, and this wasn’t it. She was especially convinced when he continued:
“It’s been difficult for all of them.”
Germ tore her gaze from Del and looked toward the willow. Voices were getting louder over there. Louis had shot up, and Stas looked desperate. If that stupid letter had managed to cause this…


Then everyone needed answers.

“Shut up,”
she snapped, shooting up to her feet and immediately swayed dangerously. She flashed out a hand to grasp the back of the bench. Black dots wavered in her vision.
“This was your brilliant idea, remember? I’m fine.”
She still felt horrible, but she’d felt worse before. Her nervous system was still having a panic attack, but it was more of an annoyance than anything. She’d tried before, in vain, to build up her temperature tolerance, and all she’d done was make herself throw up more times than she could count.

Leaning down to grab her book bag, she rifled through it and pulled out a silver canister, which she twisted open to reveal a blue-colored salve. She dipped a finger in and slathered it generously over her burning lips, which first stung then began to cool comfortably. Rubbing the excess over her arms, she swung her bag over her shoulder and stepped forward defiantly.
“Don’t say stuff like that. You’re freaking me out.”
She watched him, suspicion lingering mildly in her eyes, although she’d managed to convince herself that Vochertepp hadn’t replaced the real Del with a robot.
“Next thing, you’re gonna start laughing or some shit. That’d give me a heart attack,”
she muttered, starting the long walk back to the compound with Del at her side. She felt a burning desire to look over her shoulder at the willow tree and everyone beneath it, but she buried the urge. There was something about they way they were talking that made her uneasy. It was like they were plotting, scheming, just another thing that she’d be in the dark for.

Germ kept a little distance from Del, still matching his stride but unwilling to suffer any more of that goddamn cold. With the way he was acting now, she wasn’t ready to risk him losing control and making her sick again. She shivered at the thought, and halfheartedly started tucking her shirt back into the waistband of her skirt.

It was easy enough for them to make their way back to Lyet’s classroom. Now that the old lady was awake, she’d probably be working happily at some kind of menial task, maybe reading through the letters they’d gotten earlier. Germ shifted her bag to the other shoulder and tapped on the door softly before pushing it open.

There was Lyet, the old hag—Germ was honest with herself, this woman was probably the one she disliked least. She was quiet and honest, and thought that Germ was one of the sweetest people in her class. Germ rolled her shoulders back, and the tension from her face suddenly disappeared, replaced with a friendly, decidedly un-Germlike smile.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Lyet,”
greeted Germ, taking her place in front of Lyet’s desk. She shot a look toward Del, praying that he’d had the sense of mind to put his “great student” face back on.
“You look good today.”
It was actually true. Now that Lyet had had her nap, her eyes were brighter, glowing ever so slightly in a way that had taken Germ years to notice. That was all part of the Lyet charm, as well as something a lot of the students didn’t know about her. Germ had been here so long, she didn’t even remember when she’d heard Lyet’s past. The old lady had been quite the firecracker back in her day; her immense strength was something to see. Now, it helped her get around, but the constant background use wore her out pretty often. That was the reason why she’d slept through the entire Letter Incident.

“We, uh…”
Germ looked at Del again, her eyebrow quirking.
“We were kind of confused about something.”
She jerked her head just slightly, enough to tell Del that this was his idea, so he should be the one to say it. Good luck.


♡coded by uxie♡
 
Last edited:
















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mood
maximum brainpower




location
near the willow tree

mikaluvkitties mikaluvkitties











Matt and Wesley

THE LETTER








Matt paid no attention to the scene unfolding behind him as Wes guided him away—In his defense, there was likely no room to think through the odd letter burning through his pocket. Even beyond that, the thought of disclosing what he’d done to someone, even when that someone was Wes, left him sick. Like he could throw up at any second.

They came to a stop and he had to check and check again that they were alone as Wes spoke. He sounded worried. Even worse, as much as he wished otherwise he couldn’t truthfully tell the other there was no reason for it.

“You have to promise not to tell anyone,” he said through a tight throat. He was hunched, on edge. Visibly miserable. Anyone who saw them would know something was wrong.

It was at this point that Wesley felt a bolt of panic strike him in the chest, and he blinked a few times as though he had just been poked in the eyes. Even though the hair on his arms had begun to stick up, he forced his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He leaned back a bit, as though there was something solid behind him that he could rest against.

“Woah, man, jeez,” he said, letting a laugh roll up his throat and out of his mouth.

Wesley’s idea of putting up his guard was pretending that he didn’t have one. His only strategy to deal with bubbles of building tension was to throw his jokes like darts until it popped, even if he frequently missed. He decided that as long as he could laugh, he could breathe. If he could treat a car crash like a rollercoaster, then maybe throwing up his hands and putting on a smile would keep him safe. And that meant that he could also protect those around him, too, as long as he could convince them to come along for the ride.

“Chill out for a second. You’re acting like you want me to help you cover up some crime scene. Which I am more than willing to do, of course,” he said, and he gave Matt a grin and a pat on the shoulder. He paused for a moment as he returned his hand to his pocket. Wesley sensed that the moment of silence had the potential to soon become uncomfortable, so he instinctively broke it with another laugh. “What is it? You got a body hidden somewhere around here or something?”

Matt had never been able to understand what made Wesley act like this and though usually he might just look at him in disapproval for such a thing, today was different. Today, he had done something actually bad—Something that could get him in major trouble—and he needed Wesley to be serious about it. Needed him to match his attitude.

His face started to do something complicated, though he did his best to stifle it. His fingers hesitantly traced the lower edge of where the letter rested in his pants. The fire died at its touch.

"This is serious, Wes. Just... Please. Not a soul. Not even Del—Especially not Del."

Wesley’s smile dropped immediately, and he could practically hear it crash to the floor. The grass beneath his feet seemed to take on a slippery quality, and he suddenly felt unsteady. He pulled his hands out of his pockets as though to maintain his balance, and he let them hang at his sides. The breeze chilled his palms, and it was only then that he realized that they were damp.

Wesley often found himself behaving differently around the TA, and if he were to tone it down and have a serious conversation with anyone, it would be Matt. The older man was often able to draw forth more moments of maturity from the student, if the situation called for it. And right now, it was clear that Matt wasn’t taking any of his bullshit.

“I—yeah, okay. I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” Wesley said, and he made sure to hold Matt’s gaze as he spoke. He was ready to listen. “Are you okay? What is it?”

Matt checked one last time, just in case someone was watching. No one was there, but that didn't reassure him. He slid his hand into his pocket, the letter less crisp than the morning but no less novel.

He just had to say it all at once. "I got a letter from Lazarus." And this was the hard part. "The staff doesn't know I have it. But that—That's not the point." He wasn't in a place to break down what could possibly have possessed him right now. "The point is, it's… weird." He offered it to him like the illicit material it was. "It's definitely him, but. Stilted. And. And he'd never do that. Right? That doesn't sound like him at all… Does it?"

Wesley listened to Matt with a furrowed brow, his eyes pinned on the letter in the other man’s hand. He took it gingerly, smoothing out the creases so that he could read it properly. There was a moment of silence as he looked it over, and his lips mouthed the words as his eyes slid back and forth over the page.

Wesley knew Lazarus only a little, and mostly through Matt. Although he couldn’t remember what had become of him, Wesley recalled that Lazarus was well-liked, with an outgoing, friendly personality similar to his own.

He studied the letter before him, and he understood what Matt meant.

“How the fuck did this guy get some job like that? No offense to Laz, but I don’t really remember him being a star-student,” Wesley muttered, his face pinched in confusion. He flipped the letter over to check the backside before he returned his gaze to Matt. “You… think that he was writing it like this for a reason? Like on purpose?”

Matt pursed his lips, nodding a regrettable agreement. He'd never been one for school. But, bigger than that… "He just left." And that had always been the part that sat wrong. The part that left him looking for a sign that something was deeply wrong even when he wanted so badly to believe the flaws were only surface-level. "He was here one day, and then… He wasn't. He never wrote me and no one could put me in contact with him which, yeah, if this is what happened would make sense but he wouldn't just leave without a word. It's… It wasn't his style. And." Another fretful search of the area. This was harder to admit, even to himself. Harder to ignore. Almost a whisper, he admitted, "And he was acting a lot less like himself and a lot more like Louis now before he left. It can't just be a coincidence." He couldn't have stayed up at night over this just for it to be this simple.

Wesley’s stomach dropped when Matt mentioned Louis, and his jaw clenched as he swallowed. He knew that his lunch was sitting back under the willow tree, but at this point, he didn’t miss it. He raised a hand to his forehead and pulled it slowly down his face.

“Okay,” Wesley said, dropping his hand. His voice was firmer now, and he let a puff of breath out of his nose. “Okay. Fuck. So… he’s not okay, right? Like, he can’t be, because it doesn’t make sense. But then—why would he go out of his way to tell you that he was? Why wouldn’t he just send a fucking S.O.S.?”

Wesley could feel himself tiring, and he knew that whatever questions Matt had, he wouldn’t be able to answer them. Matt had come to the wrong person. Wesley had his jokes, and that was all he was good for.

“I don’t know, man. Sorry. You need to find someone smart, and I’m not that guy. Here,” he said, handing the letter back to Matt. He shrugged his shoulders in defeat, but he forced himself to summon a small smile.

“Maybe it’s a code,” he joked, dropping his serious tone in favor of sarcasm. “Just look for misspelled words or capitalized letters.”

Matt frowned at him for a moment, but he knew it wasn’t fair—It might not feel it, but Wesley was being serious just like him. His eyes skirted back over the letters, actually doing what Wes suggested if only from a moment of misguided desperation. It was stupid, but…

He froze, staring at the page. He was silent a long second as he picked out the letters again and again. “Shit,” he whispered with feeling, flattening the letter against his hand. “Shit.” He shoved the note at Wes. “Read the first letter of each sentence. I’m being stupid, right? That’s not—”

It clearly was. An honest to God signal that something really was going on at the school. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, still didn’t, but here it was, clear as day in Lazarus’s handwriting. His free hand lifted to his face.

“Shit.”

Wesley’s eyes widened at Matt’s reaction, and they narrowed as he looked the letter over again. He held it close to his face and did as the TA told him, and when he put it together, his head snapped up.

“Shit,” he agreed.

For a moment, he felt a jolt of pure excitement over the fact that they had found a legitimate, real-life code. Before he had enough time to fully appreciate what a genius he was, a river of icy dread poured down the back of his neck.

“He’s still here. At the fucking school, Matt,” Wesley hissed, and he tossed the letter back in Matt’s direction. There were times when Wesley lost his patience with Matt due to his connection to the Vochertepp staff, and since the letter was a sign in plain English that something was undeniably wrong with the school, now was one of those times. “You know, the one you work for? They’ve got your friend here—somewhere—and they don’t want anyone to know it. And now your buddy has to write a distress signal on a fucking postcard because for whatever reason—and probably not a good one—someone is trying to keep it quiet. So what do you think about that, dude? Still feel nice and cozy here?”

Wesley paused, and he had just enough time between this breath and the next one to remember who Matt really was and what it felt like to have nowhere else to go. Matt was trapped, just like the rest of them.

“Look, you—we… we can’t let this happen, okay?” Wesley continued, his voice softer now. He made sure to meet Matt’s eyes, and he hoped that he was getting through to him now. “I’ve got your back, man. But we can’t trust the school. You get that, right?”

The worst part was that Wes was right. He was right. Dread pooled up from deep in him, bubbling to the surface stronger than it had in years. His throat tightened and he told himself very firmly that he wasn't going to cry, even if he didn't know what else he could possibly do.

He couldn't just leave, not with Laz stuck here, and even if he hadn't been some part of Matt whispered that he had nowhere to go, that even if he did they wouldn't let him leave.

More than anything, he wanted to talk about it with someone smart like Del or Mr. Ahuja, but he knew he couldn't trust either of them, no matter how sick it left him. A part of him wished Lazarus hadn't told him, that he could continue on in ignorance, but it was a selfish part, a part that wanted comfort more than rightness.

It was only when Wes's voice softened that Matt really tuned back in, letting their eyes meet. He pursed his lips. But Wes was still right and even if he was filled with dread at the revelation, they couldn't let it continue.

"What do we do now?"

Wesley bit his lip and cast a glance around him. He knew that this information was serious, but it was also sensitive. He looked back at the willow tree, and nodded to himself. He turned his attention back to Matt and put a hand on the TA’s shoulder.

“Okay,” he said, and he gave Matt’s shoulder a squeeze that he hoped was reassuring. “We need to keep this on the down low—at least for the most part. There are people we can’t tell about this, and I think you probably know who they are. Alex, probably Germ, and… and Del. Just for now, until we know that they won’t go to the staff. And for fuck’s sake don’t tell any of the teachers. But Louis—we definitely have to tell him.”

Wesley let go of Matt’s shoulder and took a step back. It seemed that the willow tree had become something of a headquarters at this point among those who had information to share, so he set his sights in that direction.

“Alright, those are the guys that can help us. We’ll fill them in and hope that their heads don’t explode. Come on,” Wesley said, and he led Matt back beneath the willow tree.




♡design by neon reverie, coded by uxie♡
 



delano.





































  • mood



    perplexed.

















Delano’s eyebrows twitched at Germaine’s set of stern words. They were point-blank bullets to the chest and instinctively, his body stiffened around the wound. For a moment he was shocked still where he stood, calculating. Germaine had shrugged off his consideration like it was the norm for him. As if he hadn’t waded out of his comfort zone just to check if she was fine. None of this had come easy. More accurately, Germaine had ripped off his concern and flattened it beneath the sole of her shoes. It was borderline disrespectful and Delano truly should have been upset.

His jaws tensed and he inhaled a deep breath. Luckily for her, he was impartial when it came to operative evaluation.

Like the instance in the nurse’s office, Germaine continued to mask her terror with that loud bark of hers. It helped to keep those suspecting of her weakness at bay. Although a subtle improvement from her silent, desperate plea with Octavius, Delano couldn’t help but wonder if she’d always been so afraid of things before today. If that fiery passion that he envied in her was simply a means of keeping people so far away that they couldn’t see what Delano saw now. The way in which her eyes skipped frantically for clues in an open field, the untidiness of her school uniform, and the wall of shouts and berating that she erected before herself.

It could all have been chucked up as symptoms of Delano’s ice, but he couldn’t help but wonder…

Delano decided to remain quiet about his observations. She didn’t need further antagonizing, though within himself, he wondered if she was truly prepared for whatever answers they might discover with Mrs. Lyet. How many more rooms could Germaine storm out of before eventually imploding in on herself?

“Fine,” he answered idly. He waited a couple moments longer for Germaine to gather her belongings, brown eyes hovering over her figure. Her words concerning his absent humour fell on deaf ears.

Delano had never been the type to let the world come to him. Trained to be quick on his feet and capable of predicting the next jab, the hairs on his skin straightened up in anticipation of whatever they could discover with Mrs. Lyet. Delano grew accustomed to that frantic skip of the heart, and wriggling of nerves. He grabbed it by the reins and spurred it at the sides, crashing into her classroom prepared for the best and expectant of the worse.

Del allowed Germ to pass him by first. He was very familiar with Mrs. Lyet, the friend and former mentor of his father, Cyrus Morales. Delano adored Mrs. Lyet’s ability to ignite any room with her bubbling persona and tell-tale crime-fighting stories. It was one of few skills Delano found difficult to master. Poised to lead by example, the concept of inspiration through fierce words and a contagious smile… It amazed him.

Where Delano been distraught and confused after his brother’s passing, and the subsequent relocation to Vochertepp in his father’s hopes of dousing the media coverage, Mrs. Lyet had been there to comfort him in a way no other member of staff could. No member of his family could either. Although they had no blood relation, Lyet spoke sweet words paired with the sweetest embrace. He didn’t have vivid memories of his biological mother; she'd passed shortly after he started to crawl, but Delano had always imagined her being something similar to Lyet.

From his place seated on a student’s desk in the front row, Delano’s eyes settled themselves onto Mrs. Lyet after Germaine finished buttering her up.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Delano offered a genuine smile with wrinkles at the edge of his lips eerily foreign to anything Germ had seen before. Delano wasn’t the type to shower his loved ones with compliments and greetings, but they could always read his intentions through his vocal and physical disposition. He addressed Mrs. Lyet in a soft tone that was very far opposite the stern odders he was forced to deliver. His brown eyes seemed to open wider as if to absorb every drop of sunlight exuded by Mrs. Lyet’s sunshine persona, shoulders leaned forwards expectantly.

There was an action- actions that Delano consistently made that seemed to humanize him. Today it had allowed Tiffany Markham to throw this very classroom into disarray, forced Delano to exercise his metahuman abilities, and tucked that heavy slip of pink paper into his pockets. Delano didn’t need the spare time offered in Mrs. Lyet’s math classroom. In actuality, it made him uncomfortable to have so much unguided time at his hands. It also gave others the idea that Mrs. Lyet’s classroom was one that needed not order.

Each Vochertepp classroom was to be under faculty supervision during each and every organized period. Mrs. Lyet’s classroom hardly ever was. The penalty for that crime was considerably great, and thank goodness Lyet hadn’t many enemies because if she’d been reported, Delano wasn’t sure what punishments the institution could have for her. He was sure that if they tallied every instance of her dozing sessions they would be dire.

For her, Delano had compromised his own beliefs. Bent the rules in place to teach the metahumans how to be accountable in their society. Delano tensed his jaw while he watched Mrs. Lyet. Perhaps if she’d been awake… If she’d been awake none of this would have happened.

“There was a hiccup in the classroom while you were... asleep.” Delano declared in a softened voice. He seemed visually troubled as he said this, shoulders reclined further from her and voice ever more distant than only moments before. Delano couldn’t bring himself to meet Mrs. Lyet’s bright eyes for the fear that she might sense the guilt he believed was hers. Or perhaps the tension these feelings were bringing into his shoulders and neck. He didn’t need to be coddled in front of Germaine. Delano couldn’t help but glance at the latter, big brown anticipating eyes looking right back at him. He gulped, and snapped his eyes somewhere else in the classroom.

“The letters- your letter, was exposed. The student body has been dissecting its contents all break long. There’s discord at every turn. I mean, replacement trials and extraction dates? One of them is set for today. We need to know what it all means.”

By this point he was watching her square in the eye.

“Mrs. Lyet, must be candid with me.”


































cry for love



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♡coded by uxie♡
 
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