"Watch yourself if you want to live, Fury~"
"Jesus I'd say the same but you already beat me to it, popped outta the coffin kinda early today didn't you?"
"Oh? I guess I shouldn't be surprised you want to die so badly. If I looked in the mirror and saw your face I'd have offed myself a long time ago~"
Ivy smirked. The expression was immediately replaced by a grimace when she realized the hard way that no expression of mirth would go unpunished.
Jesus fucking Christ her head hurt.
>> Ivy Langley continued from and i know i need to feel relief
Usually Ivy didn't take notice of freaks like Helena Fury, but this was the sort of day where anyone and anything was more than capable of setting her off. A good burn like that would usually cheer her up at least a little, but honestly? Right now she'd prefer to just not have to deal with anyone. It hadn't exactly been her best work, anyway.
Headscarves weren't exactly a staple in Ivy's wardrobe. Berets, loose beanies, headbands, flower crowns, the occasional tiara, and a metric ton of barrettes and bows- those all took up a sizable part of her closet, and it was unusual to see her head unadorned. Headscarves, however, had a fatal flaw- they covered far too much of her hair, which she spent too much time and energy on to let be hidden. She planned her outfits around that shock of pastel pink, after all.
There was one exception, though, because on mornings like this- when she woke up with her mouth desperately dry and her head throbbing- suddenly she wasn't so fond of her hair after all. Suddenly its weight made her head unbearably heavy. Suddenly the feeling of it brushing against her shoulders was all she could focus on. Hence: a headscarf, translucent and lilac and tied in a perfect bow, the bulk of her hair wrapped up neatly inside. Ivy had figured this trick out a long time ago, and it had the secondary convenient effect of telling anyone who knew her reasonably well to fuck off and leave her alone. She allowed a long strand in the front to escape, artfully brushing her right cheek- covering your hair entirely was for old women and religious freaks, after all- but even that was enough to test her nerves.
Not as much as this class was, though. Holy shit. Who thought having a music class in the morning was a good idea? Even when Ivy wasn't hung over, it was tedious at best and teeth-grindingly painful at worst. But with the constant pain pressing on her skull, with her sensitive enough that even the touch of her hair on her skin seemed to intensify it? The volume by itself was goddamn near unbearable. The sheer lack of talent on display was going to drive her to murder. The vibration of her own violin on her shoulder wasn't helping matters, but at least the sounds coming from it were the sounds she was intending to make.
She wondered, briefly, if she could ask Mr. Faust for a reprieve. They got along reasonably well, understandably, considering music was one of the few things at school Ivy considered worth sinking effort into. On the other hand, it was Mr. Faust.
Ivy grit her teeth. She'd bear it. But the next person to play a wrong note was going to die.
on a quick sick rampage
on a quick sick rampage
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Faust was an appropriate name for a man presiding over an early morning jaunt into hell. He'd given the class a "practice day" which meant that instead of everyone collectively failing to play in tune and on time, they would all fail individually. For the giant of a teenager sitting behind the strings section, this meant doing his best to filter out the cacophony around him. He was actually making an effort to improve himself, a concept that was clearly lost on the rest of the class.
((Tyrell Lahti Pregame Start))
Tyrell brushed his hair out of his eyes as he tried, once again, to tune his guitar. For this song he had to drop the third string down to an F Sharp, and the sixth to a B. It was a weird tuning, but it was how the song was meant to be played. A few weeks ago he'd seen the folk-rock band Murder By Death in concert, and their music had stuck with him. In truth he hadn't actually heard any of their work before, but he had a habit of picking up random concert tickets when he had the money. Hearing the name, it was hard to resist showing up. They surprised him with brilliant lyrics and an infectious energy that made him regret ever turning his nose up at Folk. It was about as gothic as it needed to be to get Ty into it, and he'd spent the last few weeks picking up whatever he could.
Though, he wasn't getting anywhere if he couldn't get this right. The practice room - more a soundproofed closet than anything else - was, unfortunately, occupied by Mr. Faust and a few of the class' brown-nosers, no doubt making actual progress. It was clear that Faust gave not half a fuck what the rest of the class was doing, and Tyrell could hardly blame him. In temperament alone he was overqualified to be dealing with most of the people here. If the kids didn't take him seriously, why would he return the favor? At least, that's what Ty would do.
So out here he sat, trying to figure out if his E minor seventh chord sounded as it was supposed to. The uncomfortable reality was, he had absolutely no idea. It wasn't as if he couldn't tune a guitar. No no, he knew exactly what he was doing.
I'd sound fucking great if you people stopped failing so loudly.
Ty took his hand off the fret-board and stretched back in the entirely-too-small chair, stifling a yawn as he did so. He needed a mental reset; this was altogether too much stress for this early in the morning. Setting the acoustic guitar gently next to him, he reached down into his duffel bag and fetched out a sugar-free Red Bull. There was a strict no food/beverage policy in the music room, but that took a backseat to Ty's caffeine dependency. Besides, it wasn't like Faust was even here to see it. Cracking the lid barely made a sound against the backdrop of squeaking and wailing, and he imbibed the day's first dose of caffeine with gusto.
He fiddled with the skull ring on his right hand as he surveyed the class around him. Most of these people he barely knew or associated with. Or at least, couldn't really care to. Not a knock against them so much as he didn't have the time to invest in people he didn't find interesting. One standout was Ivy Langley, who seemed to be half-playing and half-glaring into the distance. Despite the obvious effort put into her appearance, she very much looked like she felt like shit. She was either high or hungover, and given the hour and what he knew of Ivy, it was likely the latter.
They'd met a few times before, mainly in the school's band. Ty had joined hoping to pick up the technical skills to actually play and understand the music he enjoyed, and had been at least somewhat satisfied with the results. She had given him a few pointers in the past when it came to reading music, and that got him enough of a start on theory to work up from there. Thrift stores were just rife with books on it, so he'd made some major strides as a result. He pondered offering her the second red bull in his bag, if only because input from her would be no doubt more interesting than trying to sort this shit out himself.
Yeah, but am I going to get a helpful Ivy or cunty fuck-you-i'm-popular Ivy?
It didn't matter all that much. Even confrontation could be enjoyable if someone was good at it. Too many people fell back on "fuck off!" or "shut up, faggot." Much as those were classics, they got boring after a while. From what he'd been around for, Ivy had a quiver-full of those spicy, hurtful zingers that every high school girl wished she had. It was kind of admirable, so long as he didn't think of what it felt like for most people on the receiving end.
Hell, why not?
Sitting behind her, she wasn't exactly far out of his reach. Tyrell waited for a gap in Ivy's playing before tapping her on the shoulder with his spare energy drink.
"Hey, Ivy. Trade you a pick-me-up for your input? Looks like you need it, and I could use a second pair of ears."
((Tyrell Lahti Pregame Start))
Tyrell brushed his hair out of his eyes as he tried, once again, to tune his guitar. For this song he had to drop the third string down to an F Sharp, and the sixth to a B. It was a weird tuning, but it was how the song was meant to be played. A few weeks ago he'd seen the folk-rock band Murder By Death in concert, and their music had stuck with him. In truth he hadn't actually heard any of their work before, but he had a habit of picking up random concert tickets when he had the money. Hearing the name, it was hard to resist showing up. They surprised him with brilliant lyrics and an infectious energy that made him regret ever turning his nose up at Folk. It was about as gothic as it needed to be to get Ty into it, and he'd spent the last few weeks picking up whatever he could.
Though, he wasn't getting anywhere if he couldn't get this right. The practice room - more a soundproofed closet than anything else - was, unfortunately, occupied by Mr. Faust and a few of the class' brown-nosers, no doubt making actual progress. It was clear that Faust gave not half a fuck what the rest of the class was doing, and Tyrell could hardly blame him. In temperament alone he was overqualified to be dealing with most of the people here. If the kids didn't take him seriously, why would he return the favor? At least, that's what Ty would do.
So out here he sat, trying to figure out if his E minor seventh chord sounded as it was supposed to. The uncomfortable reality was, he had absolutely no idea. It wasn't as if he couldn't tune a guitar. No no, he knew exactly what he was doing.
I'd sound fucking great if you people stopped failing so loudly.
Ty took his hand off the fret-board and stretched back in the entirely-too-small chair, stifling a yawn as he did so. He needed a mental reset; this was altogether too much stress for this early in the morning. Setting the acoustic guitar gently next to him, he reached down into his duffel bag and fetched out a sugar-free Red Bull. There was a strict no food/beverage policy in the music room, but that took a backseat to Ty's caffeine dependency. Besides, it wasn't like Faust was even here to see it. Cracking the lid barely made a sound against the backdrop of squeaking and wailing, and he imbibed the day's first dose of caffeine with gusto.
He fiddled with the skull ring on his right hand as he surveyed the class around him. Most of these people he barely knew or associated with. Or at least, couldn't really care to. Not a knock against them so much as he didn't have the time to invest in people he didn't find interesting. One standout was Ivy Langley, who seemed to be half-playing and half-glaring into the distance. Despite the obvious effort put into her appearance, she very much looked like she felt like shit. She was either high or hungover, and given the hour and what he knew of Ivy, it was likely the latter.
They'd met a few times before, mainly in the school's band. Ty had joined hoping to pick up the technical skills to actually play and understand the music he enjoyed, and had been at least somewhat satisfied with the results. She had given him a few pointers in the past when it came to reading music, and that got him enough of a start on theory to work up from there. Thrift stores were just rife with books on it, so he'd made some major strides as a result. He pondered offering her the second red bull in his bag, if only because input from her would be no doubt more interesting than trying to sort this shit out himself.
Yeah, but am I going to get a helpful Ivy or cunty fuck-you-i'm-popular Ivy?
It didn't matter all that much. Even confrontation could be enjoyable if someone was good at it. Too many people fell back on "fuck off!" or "shut up, faggot." Much as those were classics, they got boring after a while. From what he'd been around for, Ivy had a quiver-full of those spicy, hurtful zingers that every high school girl wished she had. It was kind of admirable, so long as he didn't think of what it felt like for most people on the receiving end.
Hell, why not?
Sitting behind her, she wasn't exactly far out of his reach. Tyrell waited for a gap in Ivy's playing before tapping her on the shoulder with his spare energy drink.
"Hey, Ivy. Trade you a pick-me-up for your input? Looks like you need it, and I could use a second pair of ears."
winin' and dinin'
drinkin' and drivin'
excessive' buyin'
... Though Beryl wasn't sure. She'd listened to the song only a handful of times and she couldn't be sure the incomplete memory of it stuck in her head like a radio drifting between stations was any accurate. The way Del Rey's enunciation seemed to go every word seemed to slur together. 'Drinkin and' could have just been the word 'drinkin' with an extremely emphasized 'n' syllable. And, now, the more she analyzed it the more the song seemed to exit her thoughts!
Her thoughts became something else without her conscious awareness of them doing so? So sad, she didn't even have time to wave goodbye..!
She was supposed to be.. what was she supposed to be doing again? Um. Delivering... message from Mrs. Yan to Mr. Faust, or more accurately.. message from her to one of her students in his class, during this period. Written on a Post-It Mrs. Yan had handed her, which Beryl had folded into a crude approximation of an flower en route. She'd unfolded it and refolded it at different angles several times thereafter. It was thus crumpled, but probably still legible? Mrs. Yan's handwriting was quite beautiful, and, careful and exact. Like floral patterns printed onto upholstery. Mrs. Yan had shown her some of her handwritten notes, scraps of ideas about her novel. 胡霞, the no-nonsense intellectual dragged into a closed room murder case of one of his peers, killed over a mysterious cutting edge discovery that could revolutionize the pharmaceutical field! An exciting story!
Whose details Beryl promptly forgot!
She recognized a myriad of odd melodies as she entered the relevant music room. Some would argue there were no actual melodies within the cacophony of test notes, the offset polyphony of stumbling re-treads of the various band sections. Beryl argued otherwise, she could hear all sorts of familiar fragments in the mess. There was a famous Beatles song being done piecewise by flute player after flute player, Auld Lang about three semitones off iterated by the brass section... and, hm, what was that particular melody? An album she'd only listened to recently over the holiday season. Who had shown it to her? Violet? Hel? She couldn't remember the person in the room so clearly, or the room itself, but she remembered the tune all too clearly. What had been the name of that album...?
Beryl's eyes meandered around the room and her brain followed in lockstep. She saw Mr. Faust's vaguely familiar mustached face peeking out of the soundproof closet nicknamed a 'practice room'. She saw an abandoned piano and stacks of unused music stands. She saw a few people were waving at her from various spots in the room, and people tended to do that for whatever reason. People told her she stood out in a crowd, but maybe that was because she was allegedly, 'statistically', tall for a girl. She saw musical posters, kind of like the ones in her own home but without the homely graffiti's worth of edits and reminders in multicolor marker. She saw, in her own hand, the ninja-star shaped note from Mrs... Yan.
She looked around for Mr. Faust. Where had he gone? Curious he'd suddenly vanished without her seeing him at any point...
She saw 'pink' and 'brown', and began to wander over to them. Those colors had names and roles and reputations but those things were only sometimes ever important. Whenever Beryl spoke to people she usually ignored or forgot of such things as expectations and anticipations. Or, she even forgot why she was there in the first place, which she did in this very moment, so. She sat down in an abandoned string player's chair, slightly beside and behind Ivy (name of 'pink') and Tyrell (name of 'brown') and spent a moment reminding herself of their names.
"What about a third?"
She'd only heard the last bit of whatever it was Tyrell had started saying when Ivy had stopped playing, and she'd completely missed the rest of the context. It was to any onlooker the random interjection of herself, Beryl, dressed in the same familiarly boring monocolor arrangement of winter clothes she wore at least twice a week every week, and the same familiar eye-watering cohort of colors and geometries of gemstone exploding on her wrist. She wasn't staring. Not really looking at all, actually, she was intently scrutinizing nothing in particular because in her own meandering she suddenly wasn't sure where she was or what she was doing there.
drinkin' and drivin'
excessive' buyin'
... Though Beryl wasn't sure. She'd listened to the song only a handful of times and she couldn't be sure the incomplete memory of it stuck in her head like a radio drifting between stations was any accurate. The way Del Rey's enunciation seemed to go every word seemed to slur together. 'Drinkin and' could have just been the word 'drinkin' with an extremely emphasized 'n' syllable. And, now, the more she analyzed it the more the song seemed to exit her thoughts!
Her thoughts became something else without her conscious awareness of them doing so? So sad, she didn't even have time to wave goodbye..!
She was supposed to be.. what was she supposed to be doing again? Um. Delivering... message from Mrs. Yan to Mr. Faust, or more accurately.. message from her to one of her students in his class, during this period. Written on a Post-It Mrs. Yan had handed her, which Beryl had folded into a crude approximation of an flower en route. She'd unfolded it and refolded it at different angles several times thereafter. It was thus crumpled, but probably still legible? Mrs. Yan's handwriting was quite beautiful, and, careful and exact. Like floral patterns printed onto upholstery. Mrs. Yan had shown her some of her handwritten notes, scraps of ideas about her novel. 胡霞, the no-nonsense intellectual dragged into a closed room murder case of one of his peers, killed over a mysterious cutting edge discovery that could revolutionize the pharmaceutical field! An exciting story!
Whose details Beryl promptly forgot!
She recognized a myriad of odd melodies as she entered the relevant music room. Some would argue there were no actual melodies within the cacophony of test notes, the offset polyphony of stumbling re-treads of the various band sections. Beryl argued otherwise, she could hear all sorts of familiar fragments in the mess. There was a famous Beatles song being done piecewise by flute player after flute player, Auld Lang about three semitones off iterated by the brass section... and, hm, what was that particular melody? An album she'd only listened to recently over the holiday season. Who had shown it to her? Violet? Hel? She couldn't remember the person in the room so clearly, or the room itself, but she remembered the tune all too clearly. What had been the name of that album...?
Beryl's eyes meandered around the room and her brain followed in lockstep. She saw Mr. Faust's vaguely familiar mustached face peeking out of the soundproof closet nicknamed a 'practice room'. She saw an abandoned piano and stacks of unused music stands. She saw a few people were waving at her from various spots in the room, and people tended to do that for whatever reason. People told her she stood out in a crowd, but maybe that was because she was allegedly, 'statistically', tall for a girl. She saw musical posters, kind of like the ones in her own home but without the homely graffiti's worth of edits and reminders in multicolor marker. She saw, in her own hand, the ninja-star shaped note from Mrs... Yan.
She looked around for Mr. Faust. Where had he gone? Curious he'd suddenly vanished without her seeing him at any point...
She saw 'pink' and 'brown', and began to wander over to them. Those colors had names and roles and reputations but those things were only sometimes ever important. Whenever Beryl spoke to people she usually ignored or forgot of such things as expectations and anticipations. Or, she even forgot why she was there in the first place, which she did in this very moment, so. She sat down in an abandoned string player's chair, slightly beside and behind Ivy (name of 'pink') and Tyrell (name of 'brown') and spent a moment reminding herself of their names.
"What about a third?"
She'd only heard the last bit of whatever it was Tyrell had started saying when Ivy had stopped playing, and she'd completely missed the rest of the context. It was to any onlooker the random interjection of herself, Beryl, dressed in the same familiarly boring monocolor arrangement of winter clothes she wore at least twice a week every week, and the same familiar eye-watering cohort of colors and geometries of gemstone exploding on her wrist. She wasn't staring. Not really looking at all, actually, she was intently scrutinizing nothing in particular because in her own meandering she suddenly wasn't sure where she was or what she was doing there.
Fun fact: school violins were pieces of shit. Most of the band kids left their instruments locked up at school for convenience's sake, but Ivy only bothered to bring hers in for actual band practice; there was no way in hell she was leaving her baby behind a door the idiot janitor remembered to lock about half the time, and besides, this class hardly deserved quality. The unholy shrieks that only technically qualified as notes on this fifty-dollar hunk of wood and the beautiful sound of her precious Maggie were made equal by the general noise level and, in this particular case, the throbbing headache that every movement from her bow intensified. If nothing else, if she finally lost her shit and cracked the instrument over someone's head, it wouldn't cost much to replace.
The thought was extremely tempting. When she felt a tap on her shoulder, her immediate instinct was to whirl around and brain whoever had dared to interrupt her stewing rage. Enough rationality remained in her that she suppressed her reaction down to a slow turn, a clenched jaw, and a roiling brew of insults poised to rain forth on whatever absolute cunt decided today would be a good day to talk to her.
And- okay, Ivy was at least a little glad she hadn't attempted an early-morning murder. Ty was... she couldn't reasonably say a welcome sight, she wouldn't call anyone a welcome sight in her current state, minus, like, Bret or maybe Myles. But Ty was a decent enough guy, and a pretty good musician for someone who was just starting out. Like, he sucked when they first met, but he'd made surprisingly quick progress. It was enough to respect him, at least a little. Also, he was kind of cute? That in itself was a worthwhile ten-second distraction from her self-inflicted hangover hell.
Also, Beryl was there.
Beryl Mahelona was definitely not in this class. But she'd appeared out of thin air and now she was here, and also, talking to her? Or to Ty, really. This was immediately way more interaction than she was prepared for, and the pounding in her head redoubled as though anticipating punishment.
No point in taking it out on her though. It'd be like water off a duck's back. Beryl was a lot of things, and "irrepressible" was probably in there somewhere. "Fucking weird" was pretty high on the list. Ivy didn't have a problem with her, though. She spent as little time as possible actually talking to her, because the experience was inevitably exhausting, but the girl had talent, and that was worth... something, anyway. Enough that her emotional reaction to her was a neutral-to-positive.
None of this explained how she got here, though. Ivy took a second to take a breath and steady herself before nodding and reaching to take the energy drink. Not her usual thing, but anything that had any chance of helping was worth a shot.
"Sure, thanks. Can't guarantee I can help, though. Literally all I can hear right now are wrong notes and I'm not sure if it's the school instruments or just a grand display of our classmate's uselessness." She winced at an ear-piercing screech coming from someone's viola on the other side of the room, perfectly illustrating her point. She popped the tab on the drink. What could Faust do, kick her out of the room? She'd love him forever. Taking a sip, she turned her gaze to acknowledge Beryl in the most delicate terms she could manage.
"Beryl. Sweetheart. What the fuck are you doing here?"
The thought was extremely tempting. When she felt a tap on her shoulder, her immediate instinct was to whirl around and brain whoever had dared to interrupt her stewing rage. Enough rationality remained in her that she suppressed her reaction down to a slow turn, a clenched jaw, and a roiling brew of insults poised to rain forth on whatever absolute cunt decided today would be a good day to talk to her.
And- okay, Ivy was at least a little glad she hadn't attempted an early-morning murder. Ty was... she couldn't reasonably say a welcome sight, she wouldn't call anyone a welcome sight in her current state, minus, like, Bret or maybe Myles. But Ty was a decent enough guy, and a pretty good musician for someone who was just starting out. Like, he sucked when they first met, but he'd made surprisingly quick progress. It was enough to respect him, at least a little. Also, he was kind of cute? That in itself was a worthwhile ten-second distraction from her self-inflicted hangover hell.
Also, Beryl was there.
Beryl Mahelona was definitely not in this class. But she'd appeared out of thin air and now she was here, and also, talking to her? Or to Ty, really. This was immediately way more interaction than she was prepared for, and the pounding in her head redoubled as though anticipating punishment.
No point in taking it out on her though. It'd be like water off a duck's back. Beryl was a lot of things, and "irrepressible" was probably in there somewhere. "Fucking weird" was pretty high on the list. Ivy didn't have a problem with her, though. She spent as little time as possible actually talking to her, because the experience was inevitably exhausting, but the girl had talent, and that was worth... something, anyway. Enough that her emotional reaction to her was a neutral-to-positive.
None of this explained how she got here, though. Ivy took a second to take a breath and steady herself before nodding and reaching to take the energy drink. Not her usual thing, but anything that had any chance of helping was worth a shot.
"Sure, thanks. Can't guarantee I can help, though. Literally all I can hear right now are wrong notes and I'm not sure if it's the school instruments or just a grand display of our classmate's uselessness." She winced at an ear-piercing screech coming from someone's viola on the other side of the room, perfectly illustrating her point. She popped the tab on the drink. What could Faust do, kick her out of the room? She'd love him forever. Taking a sip, she turned her gaze to acknowledge Beryl in the most delicate terms she could manage.
"Beryl. Sweetheart. What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
-
TheLordOfAwesome
- Posts: 745
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:37 pm
- Location: Washington
(Lucas Abernathy continued from A Beautiful Mind...)
Music class was never Lucas's favorite class, especially since it was held at this ungodly hour. He didn't really need to be scheduled for this class during his senior year since he had completed the one year requirement for fine arts classes back when he took theater back in freshman year. Hell, he has taken theater class every year since freshman year, and thus really didn't need to be in this class. So why was he here? Mostly it was a flight of fancy on his part, as he wanted to try his hand at a few musical instruments and hopefully get close to some cute girls. Of course, he quickly lost interest and now just attended the class because he has to. He was always more of a listener of music than a player of it, that was more his sister Aria's thing.
He often felt the class wasn't a difficult one, and wasn't nearly as complex as the teacher, Mr. Faust, would have others believe. Lucas especially felt that his instrument of choice, the drums, wasn't exactly one that required much skill to use play. Because of this, he often slacked off in this class and was more content thinking up his film projects. Naturally his attitude towards the class drew the ire of Mr. Faust, who seemed to love making Lucas the target of his frustrations whenever Lucas didn't so much as have the right tempo. Mr. Faust is someone Lucas would, charitably, call kind of an asshole, and frankly reminded him of a less vulgar version of J.K. Simmons's character in the 2014 film Whiplash.
Fortunately today Mr. Faust was off in the practice rooms helping students who were actually trying than to notice Lucas halfheartedly bang the drums while he spaced out. Right now he was brainstorming for his romantic horror film concept, debating on the setting, characters, and so forth. He felt he had some good ideas but he really needed to bounce them off someone, like Beryl! Beryl was always good for getting an opinion his horror ideas.
And just as he was thinking that, in walked Beryl.
"Speak of the devil."
He watched as he made her way over to Ivy and Tyrell, not even questioning her sudden appearance in the class. He placed down his drumsticks and got up, shuffling his way from his set ,over to where they were. As he approached he managed to catch Ivy's less than polite way of asking Beryl's reason for being here. Judging by the headscarf and the "I'm close to strangling someone with their own teeth" expression on her face, Lucas deduced that she was probably dealing with a massive hangover. As his ex-girlfriend, friend, occasional client, and drinking buddy, he felt like he knew her well enough to know when she was dealing with the aftermath of a previous night's drinking. The headscarf was what really gave it away, since Ivy made it a point that her pink hair was the centerpiece for her outfits and normally didn't hide it away like this unless she had been drinking the prior night.
Of course, there was always the possibility that she was trying to add headscarves as a feature into her ensembles and the look on her face was just her being anger about something unrelated to the noise surrounding her, but he very much doubted it.
"I'm gonna guess she was wandering through the halls and forgot where she was going."
Upon making his presence known he took a seat in an empty chair next to Ivy, turning it around and resting his arms on the back of it.
"Sup, Ivy. Were you out drinking again last night?"
Music class was never Lucas's favorite class, especially since it was held at this ungodly hour. He didn't really need to be scheduled for this class during his senior year since he had completed the one year requirement for fine arts classes back when he took theater back in freshman year. Hell, he has taken theater class every year since freshman year, and thus really didn't need to be in this class. So why was he here? Mostly it was a flight of fancy on his part, as he wanted to try his hand at a few musical instruments and hopefully get close to some cute girls. Of course, he quickly lost interest and now just attended the class because he has to. He was always more of a listener of music than a player of it, that was more his sister Aria's thing.
He often felt the class wasn't a difficult one, and wasn't nearly as complex as the teacher, Mr. Faust, would have others believe. Lucas especially felt that his instrument of choice, the drums, wasn't exactly one that required much skill to use play. Because of this, he often slacked off in this class and was more content thinking up his film projects. Naturally his attitude towards the class drew the ire of Mr. Faust, who seemed to love making Lucas the target of his frustrations whenever Lucas didn't so much as have the right tempo. Mr. Faust is someone Lucas would, charitably, call kind of an asshole, and frankly reminded him of a less vulgar version of J.K. Simmons's character in the 2014 film Whiplash.
Fortunately today Mr. Faust was off in the practice rooms helping students who were actually trying than to notice Lucas halfheartedly bang the drums while he spaced out. Right now he was brainstorming for his romantic horror film concept, debating on the setting, characters, and so forth. He felt he had some good ideas but he really needed to bounce them off someone, like Beryl! Beryl was always good for getting an opinion his horror ideas.
And just as he was thinking that, in walked Beryl.
"Speak of the devil."
He watched as he made her way over to Ivy and Tyrell, not even questioning her sudden appearance in the class. He placed down his drumsticks and got up, shuffling his way from his set ,over to where they were. As he approached he managed to catch Ivy's less than polite way of asking Beryl's reason for being here. Judging by the headscarf and the "I'm close to strangling someone with their own teeth" expression on her face, Lucas deduced that she was probably dealing with a massive hangover. As his ex-girlfriend, friend, occasional client, and drinking buddy, he felt like he knew her well enough to know when she was dealing with the aftermath of a previous night's drinking. The headscarf was what really gave it away, since Ivy made it a point that her pink hair was the centerpiece for her outfits and normally didn't hide it away like this unless she had been drinking the prior night.
Of course, there was always the possibility that she was trying to add headscarves as a feature into her ensembles and the look on her face was just her being anger about something unrelated to the noise surrounding her, but he very much doubted it.
"I'm gonna guess she was wandering through the halls and forgot where she was going."
Upon making his presence known he took a seat in an empty chair next to Ivy, turning it around and resting his arms on the back of it.
"Sup, Ivy. Were you out drinking again last night?"
(( I'm a bit out of it lately, sorry for the delay + short post.))
Tyrell offered Ivy a knowing smile at her remark on their classmates uselessness. It was true - the likelihood of her being able to actually hear much of what he was playing any better than he could was small. Still, he knew that Ivy was skilled and at least had more experienced musical sense than he did, so he picked up the guitar again. He was about to begin when he noticed Beryl's appearance seemingly out of nowhere. He had no real experience speaking to her or ever interacting, and if he hadn't heard her name on class attendance lists he likely would not have registered her existence. Ivy's pointed remark put words to what Ty was thinking. It put him off when people just burst into interactions he was having, especially if they seemingly had no place in them.
Yet, he couldn't muster the energy to react any more than to give Beryl a "really?" look before attempting to play through the chord progression of the song. He played each in succession first, to get a sense of whether or not he could actually hear himself play. A horn squealed across the room as he was hitting the A seventh. He stopped, rubbed his eyes with his hands, and looked up to see Lucas Abernathy suddenly cross over to the three of them.
Ty looked at Lucas as he remarked on Ivy's likely hangover, then to Beryl, then to a pair of students leaving the second practice room, and then to Ivy. If she had burst into flames before his eyes right now, he would have barely registered much surprise at all. He finished off the can of red bull and crumpled it in his hands, the only visible sign of frustration from Ty. He quickly hopped to his feet, and made a motion in the direction of the second practice room.
"...yeah, you're right. This is a bit much. I'll be in the second room if you want to join me."
He glanced at the other two, not entirely sure what to make of the situation, and proceeded to sequester himself in the second practice room. The sudden quiet was jarring, but welcome.
Tyrell offered Ivy a knowing smile at her remark on their classmates uselessness. It was true - the likelihood of her being able to actually hear much of what he was playing any better than he could was small. Still, he knew that Ivy was skilled and at least had more experienced musical sense than he did, so he picked up the guitar again. He was about to begin when he noticed Beryl's appearance seemingly out of nowhere. He had no real experience speaking to her or ever interacting, and if he hadn't heard her name on class attendance lists he likely would not have registered her existence. Ivy's pointed remark put words to what Ty was thinking. It put him off when people just burst into interactions he was having, especially if they seemingly had no place in them.
Yet, he couldn't muster the energy to react any more than to give Beryl a "really?" look before attempting to play through the chord progression of the song. He played each in succession first, to get a sense of whether or not he could actually hear himself play. A horn squealed across the room as he was hitting the A seventh. He stopped, rubbed his eyes with his hands, and looked up to see Lucas Abernathy suddenly cross over to the three of them.
Ty looked at Lucas as he remarked on Ivy's likely hangover, then to Beryl, then to a pair of students leaving the second practice room, and then to Ivy. If she had burst into flames before his eyes right now, he would have barely registered much surprise at all. He finished off the can of red bull and crumpled it in his hands, the only visible sign of frustration from Ty. He quickly hopped to his feet, and made a motion in the direction of the second practice room.
"...yeah, you're right. This is a bit much. I'll be in the second room if you want to join me."
He glanced at the other two, not entirely sure what to make of the situation, and proceeded to sequester himself in the second practice room. The sudden quiet was jarring, but welcome.
It was a very good question. What the fuck was she doing here? It was open ended. Invited almost innumerable answers. It was a forceful beginning, a distinctive period to the end of a conversation that allowed for the many conversations to follow.
Beryl didn't immediately acknowledge that, as she scanned the two and then suddenly three and then suddenly two faces in her vicinity with her vacant eyes that were so closely far off in the distance. After a moment of silence further she processed what had happened: someone she knew well had directly welcomed her, someone else she didn't know all too well had indirectly rejected her. As she thought about it, both those things happened innumerable times in the past and probably innumerable times yet to come. She watched Tyrell briskly make his way out of her general awareness. She would have shrugged aloud but her shoulders were sleepy.
That led her train of thoughts back to station. 'What the fuck are you doing here?'
In lieu of a not-so-immediate answer Beryl gently handed over the note from Mrs. Yan in it's full origami throwing star glory. With efficient expertise oddly juxtaposed to Beryl's barely there breathing Beryl's three fingers winded and unwinded the note back to it's original form. Well, original form, post innumerable instances of creasing and heavy duty folding over. She presented the note, which detailed in likely headache-exacerbatingly small font the details of Mrs. Yan calling out a name Ivy and Beryl and other people probably all knew of for cheating on an exam with a friend. A stern reprimand, and promises of harsh consequences all on a neatly folded 3" x 3".
After another second of whatever was happening Beryl casually meandered on from her irresponsible violating of multiple people's privacies.
"Selenite. Solar extract." She withdrew the hand with the note, already re-folding it into it's final Naruto form as the spare finger on that hand gently coaxed off a ring of slightly milky ivory white from her non-dominant hand. "Draws anxious energies from the body by invoking protective antioxidant tendencies," she gently mumbled loudly as the ring came off into her palm and she presented it firmly to Ivy. "Use it throughout the day, the headache will wash away!" Her exclamation point was a very muted and inert one. She continued to offer the ring as she turned to Lucas.
"Hi. I forgot you were in this class... Are you?"
Beryl didn't immediately acknowledge that, as she scanned the two and then suddenly three and then suddenly two faces in her vicinity with her vacant eyes that were so closely far off in the distance. After a moment of silence further she processed what had happened: someone she knew well had directly welcomed her, someone else she didn't know all too well had indirectly rejected her. As she thought about it, both those things happened innumerable times in the past and probably innumerable times yet to come. She watched Tyrell briskly make his way out of her general awareness. She would have shrugged aloud but her shoulders were sleepy.
That led her train of thoughts back to station. 'What the fuck are you doing here?'
In lieu of a not-so-immediate answer Beryl gently handed over the note from Mrs. Yan in it's full origami throwing star glory. With efficient expertise oddly juxtaposed to Beryl's barely there breathing Beryl's three fingers winded and unwinded the note back to it's original form. Well, original form, post innumerable instances of creasing and heavy duty folding over. She presented the note, which detailed in likely headache-exacerbatingly small font the details of Mrs. Yan calling out a name Ivy and Beryl and other people probably all knew of for cheating on an exam with a friend. A stern reprimand, and promises of harsh consequences all on a neatly folded 3" x 3".
After another second of whatever was happening Beryl casually meandered on from her irresponsible violating of multiple people's privacies.
"Selenite. Solar extract." She withdrew the hand with the note, already re-folding it into it's final Naruto form as the spare finger on that hand gently coaxed off a ring of slightly milky ivory white from her non-dominant hand. "Draws anxious energies from the body by invoking protective antioxidant tendencies," she gently mumbled loudly as the ring came off into her palm and she presented it firmly to Ivy. "Use it throughout the day, the headache will wash away!" Her exclamation point was a very muted and inert one. She continued to offer the ring as she turned to Lucas.
"Hi. I forgot you were in this class... Are you?"
Seriously. Had Ivy accidentally put a "Please Bother Me, I Love Company" sign on her back this morning? Like, okay, Ty's appearance hadn't been totally unwelcome, and she'd got an energy drink in the bargain. Beryl was... more taxing, but she was being relatively subdued considering that she was herself. But a third interloper in her personal space was enough to make her want to scream. And it wasn't even someone whose company she usually turned away. Lucas Abernathy's face brought with it certain... associations, let's say, and that was good for a momentary distraction, but there was something so depressing about a drinking buddy with no alcohol, and something even worse about a fuckbuddy you weren't allowed to fuck. And seriously, if he knew she was hung over (and of course he did, of all people he absolutely would) why the fuck was he still speaking to her?
She loved him enough to not throw anything at him, but that was as far as her affection extended at the moment. She watched, almost jealously, as Ty stood and made his way to the second room. Fuck yes she wanted to join him. The second room was infinitely less cacophonous than this one, if nothing else. There wasn't anything here worth staying for, though she supposed she owed Lucas and Beryl responses, even if they would inevitably be inadequate ones. Whatever.
Ivy eyed Lucas first; he was generally easy to deal with, though interacting with him sober was always kind of a trip. Like running into a teacher outside of school. She raised an eyebrow at him, her glance as acerbic as she could muster.
"Your powers of observation are untouchable as always, darling. My head is pounding out of my skull and I'm about twenty seconds from doing something unspeakably violent, but please, keep talking."
Her eyes flitted to Beryl, where they softened. She was relatively innocent in this, and she'd held out a piece of paper, and- oh. Oh, Beryl. Ivy scanned the contents of the note, memorizing it near-instantly. Admittedly academic gossip was perhaps the lowest form--what kind of self-respecting teenager cared about their schoolwork enough that they'd be undone by this sort of revelation?--but it was still the sort of information that might come in handy if used at the right time, for the right reason. Bless Beryl's total lack of self-awareness. It was an endearing trait, or at least a useful one. The paper was withdrawn, then, and replaced with something else. A ring slipped off her finger, presented with a brief explanation of its "healing properties". Total bullshit, obviously, but some small soft part of Ivy couldn't help but be just a bit touched. She hesitated, but she slowly took the ring from Beryl's hand and slipped it onto her left index finger. It was too big for her tiny hands, but it was kind of cute, in an unfashionable sort of way? She held out her hand for a moment to admire it.
"... Thank you, sweetheart. It's lovely. Remind me to return it to you later." Perhaps the ring was working, in a weird way. At the very least, she felt significantly less like snapping someone's neck now.
Stretching, Ivy stood, holding her shitty violin and bow in one hand and her drink in the other. She glanced at Beryl and Lucas in turn and, deciding she'd offered them both enough courtesy considering the circumstances, walked off toward the second room without another word. They'd follow if they wanted. She might actually hit Lucas if he did, though.
The door closed behind her. The quiet was fucking heaven-sent.
"You wanted to play me something?"
She loved him enough to not throw anything at him, but that was as far as her affection extended at the moment. She watched, almost jealously, as Ty stood and made his way to the second room. Fuck yes she wanted to join him. The second room was infinitely less cacophonous than this one, if nothing else. There wasn't anything here worth staying for, though she supposed she owed Lucas and Beryl responses, even if they would inevitably be inadequate ones. Whatever.
Ivy eyed Lucas first; he was generally easy to deal with, though interacting with him sober was always kind of a trip. Like running into a teacher outside of school. She raised an eyebrow at him, her glance as acerbic as she could muster.
"Your powers of observation are untouchable as always, darling. My head is pounding out of my skull and I'm about twenty seconds from doing something unspeakably violent, but please, keep talking."
Her eyes flitted to Beryl, where they softened. She was relatively innocent in this, and she'd held out a piece of paper, and- oh. Oh, Beryl. Ivy scanned the contents of the note, memorizing it near-instantly. Admittedly academic gossip was perhaps the lowest form--what kind of self-respecting teenager cared about their schoolwork enough that they'd be undone by this sort of revelation?--but it was still the sort of information that might come in handy if used at the right time, for the right reason. Bless Beryl's total lack of self-awareness. It was an endearing trait, or at least a useful one. The paper was withdrawn, then, and replaced with something else. A ring slipped off her finger, presented with a brief explanation of its "healing properties". Total bullshit, obviously, but some small soft part of Ivy couldn't help but be just a bit touched. She hesitated, but she slowly took the ring from Beryl's hand and slipped it onto her left index finger. It was too big for her tiny hands, but it was kind of cute, in an unfashionable sort of way? She held out her hand for a moment to admire it.
"... Thank you, sweetheart. It's lovely. Remind me to return it to you later." Perhaps the ring was working, in a weird way. At the very least, she felt significantly less like snapping someone's neck now.
Stretching, Ivy stood, holding her shitty violin and bow in one hand and her drink in the other. She glanced at Beryl and Lucas in turn and, deciding she'd offered them both enough courtesy considering the circumstances, walked off toward the second room without another word. They'd follow if they wanted. She might actually hit Lucas if he did, though.
The door closed behind her. The quiet was fucking heaven-sent.
"You wanted to play me something?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
-
TheLordOfAwesome
- Posts: 745
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:37 pm
- Location: Washington
"That I am, little lady."
Lucas flashed Beryl his well practiced lady killing smile and a wink as he answered her question. He had no idea if she would be aware of his flirtatious look, but he didn't think it would hurt if she did. He wouldn't flirt with her too much since he was currently in a relationship and didn't want to ruin what he has going on, but damn was it tempting. Beryl was a sweet girl, combine that with an interest in scary shit and she was aces in his book. Why they have never dated at any point he had no idea. If he were single and she showed some interest he'd get in on that in a nanosecond. Then again, Camille probably wouldn't mind so long as she got to watch.
For now though he has other things to focus on, like that ring she just handed Ivy. He had listened to her explanation of its healing properties and he couldn't help but be super skeptical of her claims. How exactly was a ring suppose to cure a hangover? He was never really one to buy into all that spirituality crap. If anyone experienced any sort of "healing" from a ring it was in all likelihood just the Placebo Effect in action. He wouldn't tell Beryl that of course, he'd hate to ruin whatever effects Beryl thinks the ring does for her by telling her that they only work because she thinks they work.
"Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid." Harrison Ford's voice kindly chimed in from the back of his mind. Good advice, Han. Hope your upcoming spin-off movie isn't needless trash like Rogue One.
With that in mind, Lucas refocused his attention back to the current bearer of The One Ring as she gave him a sour look and a sardonic reply to his rhetorical question. Ah, there's that alpha bitch he knows and loves! No doubt in her current state his presence was a taxing one, but he knew she loved him! At least enough that she could hold back her hangover induced murderous urges. They were rather odd friends, but friends none the less. Although he was 98% sure that if the circumstances of how they meet were slightly different, she wouldn't give him the time of day. Which would be a shame since he'd be down a drinking buddy and a good lay when they are both single.
As a friend though, he figured he should offer he an actual hangover cure. He knows the sort of pain Ivy is going through right about now as he has been there more than a few times himself as she could attest. After his third day of coming to school hungover he wised up and started bringing some meds to help alleviate the headaches. Tylenol and DayQuil for starters, but eventually he started using Aleve Liquid Gel caps as his go-to hangover cure.
He was about to make the offer, reaching into one of the pockets of the cargo pants he was wear to pull out the medication, but Ivy got up and walked to the second room without a word. He won't vocalize a complaint, however. While he'd hate to see her leave, he loved to watch her go.
He was considering his options here: on one hand he could follow Ivy and off her the meds, but given that she seems to be in a foul mood from the hangover he is likely to get hit. On the other hand he could wait until class was over to give her the meds, but she might be annoyed he didn't offer any sooner and hit him anyway since playing on a school issued violin with a massive headache would not be the most pleasant thing in the world.
It truly was a rock in a hard place situation for him.
He turned his attention to Beryl again. Beryl was the wild card in this situation, she could either go follow Ivy, remain here and chat him up, or just straight up leave. If it was the former then he would happy follow her lead since Ivy was unlike to hit her and thus he will be safe from her ire. He felt bad about wanting to shield himself behind Beryl but some sacrifices must be made for the greater good.
Lucas flashed Beryl his well practiced lady killing smile and a wink as he answered her question. He had no idea if she would be aware of his flirtatious look, but he didn't think it would hurt if she did. He wouldn't flirt with her too much since he was currently in a relationship and didn't want to ruin what he has going on, but damn was it tempting. Beryl was a sweet girl, combine that with an interest in scary shit and she was aces in his book. Why they have never dated at any point he had no idea. If he were single and she showed some interest he'd get in on that in a nanosecond. Then again, Camille probably wouldn't mind so long as she got to watch.
For now though he has other things to focus on, like that ring she just handed Ivy. He had listened to her explanation of its healing properties and he couldn't help but be super skeptical of her claims. How exactly was a ring suppose to cure a hangover? He was never really one to buy into all that spirituality crap. If anyone experienced any sort of "healing" from a ring it was in all likelihood just the Placebo Effect in action. He wouldn't tell Beryl that of course, he'd hate to ruin whatever effects Beryl thinks the ring does for her by telling her that they only work because she thinks they work.
"Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid." Harrison Ford's voice kindly chimed in from the back of his mind. Good advice, Han. Hope your upcoming spin-off movie isn't needless trash like Rogue One.
With that in mind, Lucas refocused his attention back to the current bearer of The One Ring as she gave him a sour look and a sardonic reply to his rhetorical question. Ah, there's that alpha bitch he knows and loves! No doubt in her current state his presence was a taxing one, but he knew she loved him! At least enough that she could hold back her hangover induced murderous urges. They were rather odd friends, but friends none the less. Although he was 98% sure that if the circumstances of how they meet were slightly different, she wouldn't give him the time of day. Which would be a shame since he'd be down a drinking buddy and a good lay when they are both single.
As a friend though, he figured he should offer he an actual hangover cure. He knows the sort of pain Ivy is going through right about now as he has been there more than a few times himself as she could attest. After his third day of coming to school hungover he wised up and started bringing some meds to help alleviate the headaches. Tylenol and DayQuil for starters, but eventually he started using Aleve Liquid Gel caps as his go-to hangover cure.
He was about to make the offer, reaching into one of the pockets of the cargo pants he was wear to pull out the medication, but Ivy got up and walked to the second room without a word. He won't vocalize a complaint, however. While he'd hate to see her leave, he loved to watch her go.
He was considering his options here: on one hand he could follow Ivy and off her the meds, but given that she seems to be in a foul mood from the hangover he is likely to get hit. On the other hand he could wait until class was over to give her the meds, but she might be annoyed he didn't offer any sooner and hit him anyway since playing on a school issued violin with a massive headache would not be the most pleasant thing in the world.
It truly was a rock in a hard place situation for him.
He turned his attention to Beryl again. Beryl was the wild card in this situation, she could either go follow Ivy, remain here and chat him up, or just straight up leave. If it was the former then he would happy follow her lead since Ivy was unlike to hit her and thus he will be safe from her ire. He felt bad about wanting to shield himself behind Beryl but some sacrifices must be made for the greater good.
Ty had hoped that Ivy would follow him, but was still surprised when she made her way into the practice room. Truth be told, he didn't feel completely lost in trying to learn this particular song, but it meant enough to him he wanted to get it right. It meant enough for him to ask for help, which wasn't exactly something he was comfortable with. There was no strength in pretending it was never necessary, but knowing that didn't necessarily make it any easier to reach out to people.
It was just a stupid song. It shouldn't have been bothering him as much as it did, but it was the only consistent train of thought he'd had all day. It pushed out voices in his head listing off challenges and responsibilities. It paused replies to text messages from friends. It kept him awake, and was the first thing he thought of when he woke. To call it an ear-worm didn't quite do it justice.
The character in the song had lost his family, somehow. Destroyed it, perhaps, or hadn't been around to prevent their demise. It was hard to say for certain. The words played over and over in his head that morning, as he'd seen to his own father. It was hard to forget what he saw, every day before he left for school. A fifty-two year old man aged well beyond his years, in pajamas, sat in front of a television with a quilt wrapped around his legs. One eye focused intently, the other half-closed. It was pathetic, but even in his infirmity his father managed to never be far from Ty's mind.
Ty had been absent-mindedly playing the song's chord progression when Ivy came in, and he continued half-heartedly as she prompted him to play the song.
"Yeah, okay. So the song is called 'Shiola'. It's about..."
Something didn't quite sound right. His rhythm was off, he wasn't in time. Ty started again, and started to explain the song once more.
"The song's about a man who's holding onto a family he lost. He's... I dunno if he killed them, or-"
No. Still not right. He tuned the sixth string, hoping for a B. It sounded like a B. There was nothing wrong with the guitar, it was all in his head.
"Sorry, I just..."
Ty caught himself staring off into space, preoccupied by the images darting through his head. It mattered to him to get this right. It was a better story than any he had to tell. It could justify even spending the time in this class that he did, because the grade sure as hell wasn't worth it.
Pain shot through his lip as he realized he'd bitten into it. It broke him from his stupor, and he began to play once more - on time, as his frustration helped him play over the distressing mental images he carried with him every morning. Ty began to sing, a task that never caused him much trouble. His voice was actually quite pleasant and he had a good ear for pitch. It wasn't quite as deep as the original singer's by virtue of age more than anything else.
"I steal a look between the blinds..."
It became easier to play as he continued, a certain momentum carrying him through the song. In all likelihood it wasn't the kind of thing Ivy expected him to play, given his getup and reputation. The idea that she would be surprised pleased him, as he enjoyed defying expectations.
"...I have to believe that all will be forgiven."
Ty's voice wavered at that line. He didn't stop, but could tell that his eyes were starting to get glassy. He didn't quite know who he imagined the lyrics to even apply to, or if they did at all. Was it his father, or what he wished his father felt? Was the song for himself? It was a year now to Elliott's birthday, thereabouts. His mother hadn't let him forget it. She never stopped talking about him. It was her way of coping, but it was not a good one. It was easier for Ty to say nothing, to make no note of the date of his brother's birthday passing by.
Or not. Maybe he had to let something out from time to time. Maybe that's what this was; a relief valve for emotions he didn't quite know what to do with. A song that idealized suffering in a way he wasn't entirely capable of. It certainly felt more cathartic than "talking to someone about it."
As he finished the song, he blinked a few times to fend off a tear, and looked to Ivy. He'd been so caught in his own world he hadn't noticed whether or not she'd been cringing the whole way through. To his own ears, it sounded like he'd completely nailed it. He couldn't be completely sure - hence why he'd asked in the first place.
Ty smiled, whatever darkness had been hounding him that morning having seemed to fade.
"Well, what do you think?"
It was just a stupid song. It shouldn't have been bothering him as much as it did, but it was the only consistent train of thought he'd had all day. It pushed out voices in his head listing off challenges and responsibilities. It paused replies to text messages from friends. It kept him awake, and was the first thing he thought of when he woke. To call it an ear-worm didn't quite do it justice.
The character in the song had lost his family, somehow. Destroyed it, perhaps, or hadn't been around to prevent their demise. It was hard to say for certain. The words played over and over in his head that morning, as he'd seen to his own father. It was hard to forget what he saw, every day before he left for school. A fifty-two year old man aged well beyond his years, in pajamas, sat in front of a television with a quilt wrapped around his legs. One eye focused intently, the other half-closed. It was pathetic, but even in his infirmity his father managed to never be far from Ty's mind.
Ty had been absent-mindedly playing the song's chord progression when Ivy came in, and he continued half-heartedly as she prompted him to play the song.
"Yeah, okay. So the song is called 'Shiola'. It's about..."
Something didn't quite sound right. His rhythm was off, he wasn't in time. Ty started again, and started to explain the song once more.
"The song's about a man who's holding onto a family he lost. He's... I dunno if he killed them, or-"
No. Still not right. He tuned the sixth string, hoping for a B. It sounded like a B. There was nothing wrong with the guitar, it was all in his head.
"Sorry, I just..."
Ty caught himself staring off into space, preoccupied by the images darting through his head. It mattered to him to get this right. It was a better story than any he had to tell. It could justify even spending the time in this class that he did, because the grade sure as hell wasn't worth it.
Pain shot through his lip as he realized he'd bitten into it. It broke him from his stupor, and he began to play once more - on time, as his frustration helped him play over the distressing mental images he carried with him every morning. Ty began to sing, a task that never caused him much trouble. His voice was actually quite pleasant and he had a good ear for pitch. It wasn't quite as deep as the original singer's by virtue of age more than anything else.
"I steal a look between the blinds..."
It became easier to play as he continued, a certain momentum carrying him through the song. In all likelihood it wasn't the kind of thing Ivy expected him to play, given his getup and reputation. The idea that she would be surprised pleased him, as he enjoyed defying expectations.
"...I have to believe that all will be forgiven."
Ty's voice wavered at that line. He didn't stop, but could tell that his eyes were starting to get glassy. He didn't quite know who he imagined the lyrics to even apply to, or if they did at all. Was it his father, or what he wished his father felt? Was the song for himself? It was a year now to Elliott's birthday, thereabouts. His mother hadn't let him forget it. She never stopped talking about him. It was her way of coping, but it was not a good one. It was easier for Ty to say nothing, to make no note of the date of his brother's birthday passing by.
Or not. Maybe he had to let something out from time to time. Maybe that's what this was; a relief valve for emotions he didn't quite know what to do with. A song that idealized suffering in a way he wasn't entirely capable of. It certainly felt more cathartic than "talking to someone about it."
As he finished the song, he blinked a few times to fend off a tear, and looked to Ivy. He'd been so caught in his own world he hadn't noticed whether or not she'd been cringing the whole way through. To his own ears, it sounded like he'd completely nailed it. He couldn't be completely sure - hence why he'd asked in the first place.
Ty smiled, whatever darkness had been hounding him that morning having seemed to fade.
"Well, what do you think?"
Beryl smiled, because the ring looked the wrong size and the wrong color for Ivy's prettier, milkier-shade hand. She smiled because it was like like painting a white canvas with white paint and streaks of white crayon, it was an effect subtle, immeasurable, and probably useless, but somehow it made a difference.
As for the ring itself...
??
Anyways, she murmured after Ivy as she left and sort of forgot about the part where she had to be actually heard! "Don't need to return it! I don't own it, you don't own it, it's a gift from the Maiden, the Mother, the Crone, her-them-self." The door closed while she was still talking and watching the door close while she was still talking. She wondered what music they were reviewing in there. If she recalled correctly (?? never a given ??) that had been the purpose of the conversation she'd become a part of then un-become a part of shortly thereafter, that conversation between Ivy and Ty. If she maybe recalled correctly maybe she hadn't been welcome?
Perhaps she'd never see that ring again, and perhaps it would be returned to the deep earth, via the roundabout process of the ocean drifting via the roundabout process of mortal sewage systems.
"Ivy is nice, is she not?" Beryl blurted that out in the here and now, to Lucas. Lucas was her conversational partner now, in the here and now. Winking at smiling quite nicely at her, and she liked that smile, and she wondered if it meant anything more than merely being an arbitrary countenance to wear.
"I feel! In the right context, she is a lovely girl." She glanced down, at his legs. At the hand scrounging through the pocket on his pants on his legs, but more generally put, at his legs. He had long legs, a fact that she was quite interested in in an academic way, probably.
"Anyways, sorry. I don't mean to.. monopolize? Monopolize the conversation!" Beryl leaned forward a bit, with impeccable posture all the way as she shoved her face just a bit closer to his. "We could follow them, we couldn't... doesn't really matter! What does matter.. I'm actually not sure." Very matter of fact-ly put, because it was very matter of fact-ly true! "What's that in your pocket?" A pause, then a giggle, "Euphemism accidental, but let's run with it."
As for the ring itself...
Beryl felt dizzy and she wasn't sure if her deja vu, the flow of her memories in time-space, was actually that or not. Were memories fake? Were steel beams real??it was an effect subtle, immeasurable, and definitely certainly somewhat usel ess, b u t somehow it made a difference.
??
Anyways, she murmured after Ivy as she left and sort of forgot about the part where she had to be actually heard! "Don't need to return it! I don't own it, you don't own it, it's a gift from the Maiden, the Mother, the Crone, her-them-self." The door closed while she was still talking and watching the door close while she was still talking. She wondered what music they were reviewing in there. If she recalled correctly (?? never a given ??) that had been the purpose of the conversation she'd become a part of then un-become a part of shortly thereafter, that conversation between Ivy and Ty. If she maybe recalled correctly maybe she hadn't been welcome?
Perhaps she'd never see that ring again, and perhaps it would be returned to the deep earth, via the roundabout process of the ocean drifting via the roundabout process of mortal sewage systems.
"Ivy is nice, is she not?" Beryl blurted that out in the here and now, to Lucas. Lucas was her conversational partner now, in the here and now. Winking at smiling quite nicely at her, and she liked that smile, and she wondered if it meant anything more than merely being an arbitrary countenance to wear.
"I feel! In the right context, she is a lovely girl." She glanced down, at his legs. At the hand scrounging through the pocket on his pants on his legs, but more generally put, at his legs. He had long legs, a fact that she was quite interested in in an academic way, probably.
"Anyways, sorry. I don't mean to.. monopolize? Monopolize the conversation!" Beryl leaned forward a bit, with impeccable posture all the way as she shoved her face just a bit closer to his. "We could follow them, we couldn't... doesn't really matter! What does matter.. I'm actually not sure." Very matter of fact-ly put, because it was very matter of fact-ly true! "What's that in your pocket?" A pause, then a giggle, "Euphemism accidental, but let's run with it."
Ivy closed her eyes.
There were a couple of reasons for that. The obvious one, of course, was to concentrate, to block out her surroundings and to put her mind on the music Ty was making. The less obvious one, but the more salient one to Ivy herself, were the optics of the thing, having wandered into an empty room with a (cute) boy and all. Closing her eyes didn't actually make the whole thing less awkward, but maybe it would help her stop overthinking it? At the very least, it made it a bit easier to detach. She wanted to listen. It would be nice to hear something pleasant, for once.
...
Ivy opened her eyes again.
There was a lot to say, a lot she could say, anyway. Ivy admittedly tuned out the lyrics, they weren't particularly relevant in terms of critique, but it was a hell of a lot harder to tune out tone, and the catch in his voice said more than the words themselves ever could have. When she looked at him again, she wasn't at all surprised by the hastily concealed emotion on his face. It had been a genuine performance. Genuine and natural. That, more than anything, was her takeaway.
She found herself hating him for it.
Her voice was never like that.
Her voice was beautiful and empty as a porcelain doll.
"Well," she began, her voice conspicuously flat, almost bored, "it wasn't bad. I can tell you've been practicing, at the very least. Not that you don't have a long way to go, of course, but making an effort is the most important thing, no?"
Ivy played idly with her headscarf. She felt, suddenly, like a coiled spring. This was a mistake. This was a mistake. She drowned in her demeanor in ennui, hoping for some kind of reprieve.
What gave him the right?
There were a couple of reasons for that. The obvious one, of course, was to concentrate, to block out her surroundings and to put her mind on the music Ty was making. The less obvious one, but the more salient one to Ivy herself, were the optics of the thing, having wandered into an empty room with a (cute) boy and all. Closing her eyes didn't actually make the whole thing less awkward, but maybe it would help her stop overthinking it? At the very least, it made it a bit easier to detach. She wanted to listen. It would be nice to hear something pleasant, for once.
...
Ivy opened her eyes again.
There was a lot to say, a lot she could say, anyway. Ivy admittedly tuned out the lyrics, they weren't particularly relevant in terms of critique, but it was a hell of a lot harder to tune out tone, and the catch in his voice said more than the words themselves ever could have. When she looked at him again, she wasn't at all surprised by the hastily concealed emotion on his face. It had been a genuine performance. Genuine and natural. That, more than anything, was her takeaway.
She found herself hating him for it.
Her voice was never like that.
Her voice was beautiful and empty as a porcelain doll.
"Well," she began, her voice conspicuously flat, almost bored, "it wasn't bad. I can tell you've been practicing, at the very least. Not that you don't have a long way to go, of course, but making an effort is the most important thing, no?"
Ivy played idly with her headscarf. She felt, suddenly, like a coiled spring. This was a mistake. This was a mistake. She drowned in her demeanor in ennui, hoping for some kind of reprieve.
What gave him the right?
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
-
TheLordOfAwesome
- Posts: 745
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:37 pm
- Location: Washington
And chat him up seems to be the order of the day that Beryl chose. Not that he was complaining. He always loved to be chatted up by a lovely lady, and Beryl's particular blend of oddness made her all the more endearing a conversation partner. Suddenly Lucas found himself quite literally face to face with Beryl as she question what he had in his pocket. Lucas smiled as he fought back the urge to say a crass joke.
"Oh nothing all that important." Lucas gave her smoldering look as his head leaned just as a tad bit closer to Beryl's, resting his chin on the back of his hand. "Just something I want to give to Ivy." He flashed a toothy grin as he realized that his statement could be seen as a double entendre.
"But going back to your original question, I do agree that Ms. Langley can be quite lovely under the right circumstances." His gaze shifted over over to the music room that Ivy and Ty were currently. While Lucas rather enjoyed Ivy's company and considered her a friend, he wasn't unaware that most people perceive her as somewhat... Tempestuous. (""Heinous bitch" is the term used most often.") But with that said they got along for the most part. Probably has something to do with the drinking. And the sex. A lot of their friendship was built around those two things.
Now he still wanted to help Ivy with her hangover problem, but now he felt a little awkward at trying to barge in on her and Ty when they were actually trying to do actual work in this class. Which he supposed was all well and good since they were both musically inclined people, but he most assuredly was not. Really, he would rather not be here.
Actually, that gave him an idea.
He looked over to where Mr. Faust currently was and saw that he was still preoccupied with other students. Students that were trying to put in some effort unlike him. He doubted that Mr. Faust would even notice if he were to up and leave, or at least not right away which should give him enough time to waste away the remainder of first period doing something else. Hopefully with Beryl for company.
But before he could enact his master plan, he had a brief message he needed to send, so he pulled out his phone and began typing.
[spoiler]>Hi ives!
>Got some meds for ur hangover!
>Find me after class and i'll hook u up! ❤❤[/spoiler]
Right, with that squared away he refocused all his attention back onto Beryl, his smile becoming devious.
"Can you keep a secret?" He asked and leaned back, looking left then right as if making sure the coast was clear. He leaned back in, his face close to Beryl's and whispered, "I'm trying to organize a prison break. I'm looking for, like, an accomplice. We'd have to first get out of this class. Are you in or are you out?"
He stood from his chair, quickly and silently going back to the drum set he had been using to collect his things, being cautious as to not draw Mr. Faust's attention to himself. He walked back over to Beryl nodded his head in the direction of the class room door, giving her a loving smile and a playful wink for good measure. He walked past her, the tips of his finger's briefly brushing her shoulder as he walked past, and headed out the classroom door.
(Lucas Abernathy continued in Risky Business...)
"Oh nothing all that important." Lucas gave her smoldering look as his head leaned just as a tad bit closer to Beryl's, resting his chin on the back of his hand. "Just something I want to give to Ivy." He flashed a toothy grin as he realized that his statement could be seen as a double entendre.
"But going back to your original question, I do agree that Ms. Langley can be quite lovely under the right circumstances." His gaze shifted over over to the music room that Ivy and Ty were currently. While Lucas rather enjoyed Ivy's company and considered her a friend, he wasn't unaware that most people perceive her as somewhat... Tempestuous. (""Heinous bitch" is the term used most often.") But with that said they got along for the most part. Probably has something to do with the drinking. And the sex. A lot of their friendship was built around those two things.
Now he still wanted to help Ivy with her hangover problem, but now he felt a little awkward at trying to barge in on her and Ty when they were actually trying to do actual work in this class. Which he supposed was all well and good since they were both musically inclined people, but he most assuredly was not. Really, he would rather not be here.
Actually, that gave him an idea.
He looked over to where Mr. Faust currently was and saw that he was still preoccupied with other students. Students that were trying to put in some effort unlike him. He doubted that Mr. Faust would even notice if he were to up and leave, or at least not right away which should give him enough time to waste away the remainder of first period doing something else. Hopefully with Beryl for company.
But before he could enact his master plan, he had a brief message he needed to send, so he pulled out his phone and began typing.
[spoiler]>Hi ives!
>Got some meds for ur hangover!
>Find me after class and i'll hook u up! ❤❤[/spoiler]
Right, with that squared away he refocused all his attention back onto Beryl, his smile becoming devious.
"Can you keep a secret?" He asked and leaned back, looking left then right as if making sure the coast was clear. He leaned back in, his face close to Beryl's and whispered, "I'm trying to organize a prison break. I'm looking for, like, an accomplice. We'd have to first get out of this class. Are you in or are you out?"
He stood from his chair, quickly and silently going back to the drum set he had been using to collect his things, being cautious as to not draw Mr. Faust's attention to himself. He walked back over to Beryl nodded his head in the direction of the class room door, giving her a loving smile and a playful wink for good measure. He walked past her, the tips of his finger's briefly brushing her shoulder as he walked past, and headed out the classroom door.
(Lucas Abernathy continued in Risky Business...)
".. Just something I want to give Ivy..." Beryl mused on delay. She mused on her musing, because she wondered if she was trying to set up a crass joke of double meanings onto herself. Because she couldn't really be sure (her own head, as any other shrine unto this earth of Gaia, was projected from the whimsy of Uncertainty Principles) so she could only guess at her own intent. She thought she was doing something on purpose, but maybe the bias of time elapsed had weighted, distorted her memories until she had no good evidence of her own intent and reasoning.
For example, had she really pointed out Ivy was a good person? She probably believed it, but who knew where their conversation had come from, and where it was yet to go?
Supposedly Ivy and Lucas were in some indirect sense an item but many people were transitively some degree of an item with both of them. It probably was irrelevant and Beryl couldn't quite remember how to phrase her words into sentences with coherent order, sometimes just in general, but in this specific instance to ask the question that had occurred to her.
What had that question been? Are you two seeing each other? Who was that bulge in your pants for (there had been three potentially feasible objects of such desire within Lucas' immediate vicinity within the relevant period of time)?
Anyways, Lucas cast first stone and asked first question. He'd done something with his phone and Beryl had watched him, and then...
"Prison? Where?"
She playfully rolled her shoulder at his finger! Just passing warmth, but it made some sort of impression on her because it was a sensation. Like the sensation of a crumpled paper in one of her unused hands, soft, gently grumbling and creaking with each slight squeeze of her palm. That too, was also a physical sensation, and possibly a meaning too, a mental tickle that briefly drew her attention before it went elsewhere. Lucas' smile had been like a fishing lure, and she swam after him with slightly skip-like bounces, a lazy wayward drift to her hip.
Her fingers also occupied with a number of odd impulses.
[spoiler]Ye who are poor ? suffer with hunger ? keen, And toll in wretchedness ?, and suffer too ? Full oft imprisonment; yet with it all Ye have a soul ?, and for your sufferings ? Ye shall be happy ??? in the other world ???, But ill the fate of all who do ye wrong ?!
[/spoiler]
She sent that message to Ivy with an automatic memory dredging words from a place she didn't remember, in a friendly and well-wishing tone Beryl hoped to replicate over virtual space via plentiful usage of emoji. Also, she was sure to send it in one particularly big block of text so it'd only ping Ivy's phone that once.
((Beryl Mahelona escapes prison...???))
For example, had she really pointed out Ivy was a good person? She probably believed it, but who knew where their conversation had come from, and where it was yet to go?
Supposedly Ivy and Lucas were in some indirect sense an item but many people were transitively some degree of an item with both of them. It probably was irrelevant and Beryl couldn't quite remember how to phrase her words into sentences with coherent order, sometimes just in general, but in this specific instance to ask the question that had occurred to her.
What had that question been? Are you two seeing each other? Who was that bulge in your pants for (there had been three potentially feasible objects of such desire within Lucas' immediate vicinity within the relevant period of time)?
Anyways, Lucas cast first stone and asked first question. He'd done something with his phone and Beryl had watched him, and then...
"Prison? Where?"
She playfully rolled her shoulder at his finger! Just passing warmth, but it made some sort of impression on her because it was a sensation. Like the sensation of a crumpled paper in one of her unused hands, soft, gently grumbling and creaking with each slight squeeze of her palm. That too, was also a physical sensation, and possibly a meaning too, a mental tickle that briefly drew her attention before it went elsewhere. Lucas' smile had been like a fishing lure, and she swam after him with slightly skip-like bounces, a lazy wayward drift to her hip.
Her fingers also occupied with a number of odd impulses.
[spoiler]Ye who are poor ? suffer with hunger ? keen, And toll in wretchedness ?, and suffer too ? Full oft imprisonment; yet with it all Ye have a soul ?, and for your sufferings ? Ye shall be happy ??? in the other world ???, But ill the fate of all who do ye wrong ?!
[/spoiler]
She sent that message to Ivy with an automatic memory dredging words from a place she didn't remember, in a friendly and well-wishing tone Beryl hoped to replicate over virtual space via plentiful usage of emoji. Also, she was sure to send it in one particularly big block of text so it'd only ping Ivy's phone that once.
((Beryl Mahelona escapes prison...???))
Ty gave Ivy a blank stare as she offered her thoughts. What she said didn't quite feel like a sting. It felt more like the uncomfortable realization that a wasp had landed on his arm. The question on his mind was whether to swat at it or not.
"...It wasn't bad. I can tell you've been practicing, at the very least. Not that you don't have a long way to go, of course, but making an effort is the most important thing, no?"
She knew what she was talking about. Ty had heard her play and sing before. It was altogether pleasant, and she no doubt would've been able to give him a thorough technical breakdown of his efforts. People that far into any particular skill or hobby had a language of their own, and she could definitely speak it.
Is that it?
It was strange and frustrating then, that she offered such a blunt and curt reply.
Her words didn't entirely bother him. Not the subtle belittling, or the conspicuously flat tone. He didn't need to be told that he could do better. Of course he could. What he just performed was viable and listenable, but this kind of thing could always be tightened up. By and large what she said was completely irrelevant. How it was said, and what was behind it - there was the real message. When a person lives in a place where the wrong combination of words was physically dangerous, he has to learn to read others well. It was important to know what someone might be trying to say, when they feel like they can't; or to figure out what someone else wanted before they had to ask, because usually they didn't ask nicely.
So what was Ivy saying, really? She was too skilled to put someone down so simply. If she wanted to really cut him down to size, she'd throw some technical terms his way that he didn't understand, to make him seem stupid or ill-equipped. She didn't appear impatient listening to him, either. Usually a person gets restless when they hear something they dislike intensely, and she had too much of a hangover to mask that kind of derision. Ty caught glimpses of her while he was playing, and she hadn't been eyeing the door. Something about this drew her attention.
Was it what I played? Or how?
When he was acting as another bored classmate to her, she made less effort to mask her own emotions. Now she seemingly made an effort to be as disinterested in him as she was in the class itself. That fell flat when she was already sitting in the room in the first place.
It had been difficult for him to retain his composure. Ty didn't show certain emotions, at least not the ones that made him vulnerable. Pain could only be physical. Anger could only be below the surface, never anywhere close to rage. Affection only ever at arm's length. Still, things broke through the surface. His eyes and his voice couldn't lie, especially when he was singing someone else's words. He felt relieved at least it had only been Ivy that had seen this.
The fact that he'd been affected emotionally was what set her off, then. Ty looked to her, as her attempt at stifling what seemed to be hatred became more and more obvious. The pieces began to fall into place. He placed the guitar back into its case and sat back in the chair, wordlessly. For a moment, he closed his eyes and played with one of his spacers, a habit of his when the right words were just beginning to form.
Those carefully constructed yet ostentatious outfits, today clearly crafted to give off the same kind of warning coloration a venomous snake might.
Her family's conspicuous wealth and the kind of social power that gave someone like her.
The drinking, and the company she kept.
Everyone knew it was all facade, but these kinds of things were never quite as clear as they were when they stood against something genuine.
Music was pure, and her skill was earned honestly. She probably saw it as one of the few things she had of which that could be said. When it drew people to her, it wasn't the kind of trite validation someone gave to the wealthy or well-connected. Beauty of that kind was indisputable and real. This kind of thing would be sacred to a person like Ivy. Somehow, Ty's display of emotion had put this vestige of authenticity at risk to her.
And for some reason, this realization brought him more happiness than crowd's applause ever could. As he caught her glance, an amused look began to spread across his face. His demeanor probably said as much as he had to, but he spoke anyway. Whatever emotion had previously wavered the tone of his voice was now conspicuously absent.
"Funny. Maybe it's the hangover, but I thought you'd have more to say. Maybe some biting, clever comment that'd cut really deep if you hated it. You seem like the kind of person who always has a good line up your sleeve."
Ty smiled, and leaned in slightly. Though no one could hear him outside of the soundproofed booth, he spoke softly.
"No, I can see cracks in the mask. Letting mine down upset you."
The bell rang, as the class came to an end. In the booth, a small speaker routed to a phone offered a gentler tone than the loudspeakers in the hallways. Ty shouldered his backpack and made past Ivy for the door, pausing briefly before he opened it. Turning back to her, Ty's voice was almost mockingly cheerful.
"I guess I'll just have to wonder how. See you around, Ivy."
Ty left to his next class, his steps feeling lighter than they had on his way in.
((Tyrell Lahti continued in Vindication))
"...It wasn't bad. I can tell you've been practicing, at the very least. Not that you don't have a long way to go, of course, but making an effort is the most important thing, no?"
She knew what she was talking about. Ty had heard her play and sing before. It was altogether pleasant, and she no doubt would've been able to give him a thorough technical breakdown of his efforts. People that far into any particular skill or hobby had a language of their own, and she could definitely speak it.
Is that it?
It was strange and frustrating then, that she offered such a blunt and curt reply.
Her words didn't entirely bother him. Not the subtle belittling, or the conspicuously flat tone. He didn't need to be told that he could do better. Of course he could. What he just performed was viable and listenable, but this kind of thing could always be tightened up. By and large what she said was completely irrelevant. How it was said, and what was behind it - there was the real message. When a person lives in a place where the wrong combination of words was physically dangerous, he has to learn to read others well. It was important to know what someone might be trying to say, when they feel like they can't; or to figure out what someone else wanted before they had to ask, because usually they didn't ask nicely.
So what was Ivy saying, really? She was too skilled to put someone down so simply. If she wanted to really cut him down to size, she'd throw some technical terms his way that he didn't understand, to make him seem stupid or ill-equipped. She didn't appear impatient listening to him, either. Usually a person gets restless when they hear something they dislike intensely, and she had too much of a hangover to mask that kind of derision. Ty caught glimpses of her while he was playing, and she hadn't been eyeing the door. Something about this drew her attention.
Was it what I played? Or how?
When he was acting as another bored classmate to her, she made less effort to mask her own emotions. Now she seemingly made an effort to be as disinterested in him as she was in the class itself. That fell flat when she was already sitting in the room in the first place.
It had been difficult for him to retain his composure. Ty didn't show certain emotions, at least not the ones that made him vulnerable. Pain could only be physical. Anger could only be below the surface, never anywhere close to rage. Affection only ever at arm's length. Still, things broke through the surface. His eyes and his voice couldn't lie, especially when he was singing someone else's words. He felt relieved at least it had only been Ivy that had seen this.
The fact that he'd been affected emotionally was what set her off, then. Ty looked to her, as her attempt at stifling what seemed to be hatred became more and more obvious. The pieces began to fall into place. He placed the guitar back into its case and sat back in the chair, wordlessly. For a moment, he closed his eyes and played with one of his spacers, a habit of his when the right words were just beginning to form.
Those carefully constructed yet ostentatious outfits, today clearly crafted to give off the same kind of warning coloration a venomous snake might.
Her family's conspicuous wealth and the kind of social power that gave someone like her.
The drinking, and the company she kept.
Everyone knew it was all facade, but these kinds of things were never quite as clear as they were when they stood against something genuine.
Music was pure, and her skill was earned honestly. She probably saw it as one of the few things she had of which that could be said. When it drew people to her, it wasn't the kind of trite validation someone gave to the wealthy or well-connected. Beauty of that kind was indisputable and real. This kind of thing would be sacred to a person like Ivy. Somehow, Ty's display of emotion had put this vestige of authenticity at risk to her.
And for some reason, this realization brought him more happiness than crowd's applause ever could. As he caught her glance, an amused look began to spread across his face. His demeanor probably said as much as he had to, but he spoke anyway. Whatever emotion had previously wavered the tone of his voice was now conspicuously absent.
"Funny. Maybe it's the hangover, but I thought you'd have more to say. Maybe some biting, clever comment that'd cut really deep if you hated it. You seem like the kind of person who always has a good line up your sleeve."
Ty smiled, and leaned in slightly. Though no one could hear him outside of the soundproofed booth, he spoke softly.
"No, I can see cracks in the mask. Letting mine down upset you."
The bell rang, as the class came to an end. In the booth, a small speaker routed to a phone offered a gentler tone than the loudspeakers in the hallways. Ty shouldered his backpack and made past Ivy for the door, pausing briefly before he opened it. Turning back to her, Ty's voice was almost mockingly cheerful.
"I guess I'll just have to wonder how. See you around, Ivy."
Ty left to his next class, his steps feeling lighter than they had on his way in.
((Tyrell Lahti continued in Vindication))