Why hello there, intrepid explorer of forums! Welcome to Obdurate, where things are always ![]() Join our community! (If you do decide to register, please send a personal message to one of the administrators or leave a message in the cbox at the bottom of the page. This helps us cut down on spam. Thank you!) Then, of course, all you other people who already have accounts can sign in. You know the drill. |
| Talk is Cheap | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 24 2015, 01:36 AM (139 Views) | |
| Oop | Dec 24 2015, 01:36 AM Post #1 |
|
so they scream
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
[[Private for Flare Julian Hyatt Evander 1 | 2 | 3 ]] This, undoubtedly, has to be the lamest dance in the entire country. The decorations, of course, are gorgeous, but poorly arranged; traditionally left to the Form V students, fresh out of high-class homes but with no actual experience away from mom and dad, the decorating is always a mess. That's to be expected. The music provided by a live ensemble, full of soaring violins and playful piano, is also the same as the other dances that Julian has experienced. In fact, in Form VII, this is his third interschool formal, hosted at Evander Mountain Academy, the all boys private school. The bus that delivered the girls from Claire Riverside School idles outside. Held in the ballroom in the west wing, notoriously stuffy year-round, Julian prefers his secluded corner beside a window he isn't supposed to have opened, but has anyway. While he does tend to get less leeway because the school carries his family name, it's still not a drastic enough breach of school rules for him to get in trouble for it. Besides, across the room a group has opened the window nearest them, too. The chaperoning teachers, sweating in their suits, keep side-eyeing the corners but pretend not to notice the blatant rule violation because they're probably hoping to catch even a hint of a breeze. Also traditionally, Julian hates the interschool formal. It's not that he couldn't go dance, but, well, he can't. He doesn't want to, and he can't. It's not like some girls haven't approached him, confident in the way that children from rich families usually are, but he averts his eyes and politely declines. They keep asking, of course, because they're not used to being told no and think he's just playing hard to get, but he keeps refusing to dance and avoids giving reasons, only looking up from the hundred-dollar bouquet set on the table beside him to watch them walk away in confusion, their formal skirts swishing dejectedly. So, he can dance. But he also can't, because there's something about standing so close to a girl, holding her stiffly and leading her through a dance, that disinterests Julian with an immenseness that he cannot ignore or overcome. Rather, he finds his eyes drawn to his fellow Evander classmates. They all act strangely with the Claire girls around. Some act more outgoing, aggressively seeking opportunities to approach them, and others act more subdued, but that's not really what Julian pays attention to. Really, he tracks the fine cuts of their blazers, the way their throats bob when they swallow the punch from their delicate crystal glasses. He watches them sneak their arms around the girls' waists until they make eye contact with the chaperones and guiltily step away. Even Julian's best friend, Mitchell, has to be reined in with a stern look from Mr. Gavrowe, and he's only slightly less shy than Julian himself. Still, from the corner he staked out at the beginning of the night, Julian watches his classmates and turns away girls without trying to be obvious about it. When classmates turn to look at him, he smoothly glances away, off to the next perfectly straight tie and unbuttoned blazer. Of course, he could always do this (and often does do this) without all the fuss and compulsory attendance of a formal dance. Therefore, he tends to dislike it on principle. Still, he thinks, watching Jordan Creery, usually loud and full of confidence (and, not insignificantly, extremely cute), blush into his drink when a girl approaches him, it's not a total loss. Edited by Oop, Dec 24 2015, 01:46 AM.
|
| If you're gonna hit it, hit it until it breaks. | |
![]() |
|
| Flare | Dec 24 2015, 03:47 AM Post #2 |
|
Marching On
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
![]() If there's one thing Errol dislikes more than all other aspects of life at Evander Mountain Academy, it's the insistence that all students participate in at least four social events per week. It isn't that Errol doesn't enjoy being social - he definitely appreciates all opportunities to spend time with the friends he doesn't share many classes with. The problem lies in the fact that he never has time to be social, not when there are endless essays to write and exams to prepare for. In fact, he'd been frantically pouring over his notes for tomorrow's Advanced Biology exam not half an hour ago when Lewis had dragged him from his room with a warning that Miss Snider would know if he skipped yet another social event this week. "You know she's already cut you more slack than anyone else in our form," Lewis had told Errol as he tugged him down a staircase, the quickest path to the west wing of the building where the interschool dance had already started. "You only went to three events last week, and I know for a fact you've only made it to two so far this week. It's already Friday, Errol! This is one of your last chances!" Three years into their time at the Academy together and Errol knows by now that arguing gets him nowhere with Lewis. Still, he couldn't help but give his same, tired excuse: "Miss Snider knows I have to keep my grades up or lose my scholarship. I can't do that if I'm always going to things like this." "Who are you trying to kid, Errol? Practically no one works harder than you. You're not going to lose that scholarship just because you spend a little bit of time having a life outside of your books." Of course, Errol must begrudgingly acknowledge the truth in his friend's words, but that doesn't mean he accepts Lewis' faith in his abilities without a hint of annoyance. The only reason Errol does so well is because he works as hard as he does. Why can't anybody understand that? Is it really so difficult a concept to grasp? Distractions lead to less time for studying, which leads to falling grades, which leads to losing his scholarship, which leads to--- "Oops, sorry!" one of the Claire girls says after she spins right into Errol, knocking him from his thoughts and back to the present. He merely blinks as the girl offers him a bright smile before turning back to the boy she'd been dancing with, a kid Errol recognizes from his Economics class but whose name completely eludes him. That's not unusual, though; true to form, he typically pays more attention to lectures than the classmates around him. Yet another point for Lewis to hold over his head (and he frequently does). Sighing, Errol decides that he needs a drink. Lewis had left him soon after they'd arrived with the promise of finding their friends, but he has yet to return and Errol is obviously doing no one any favors by standing in one place so close to the dance floor. He moves with purpose toward the long, poorly-yet-prettily decorated bar covered with decadent meats, cheeses, sweets, and a variety of alcohol-free (courtesy of the teachers standing guard) drinks. Errol chats briefly with one of the teachers, one who had taught a class of his last year, and eventually wanders away again with a crystal glass filled with punch. As he meanders slowly through the throng of people, having realized that Lewis must have forgotten about him and deciding to find his friend himself, Errol encounters his fair share of interested glances from the Claire Riverside School girls. That's all they give him, though - glances, and then they turn away again without anymore consideration. It's exactly what Errol has come to expect, however; what sort of rich girl has any interest dancing with a boy wearing what is very obviously a hand-me-down suit? Errol takes care of the suit as best he can, but there is no disguising the faded lapels, the frayed cuffs, the patched shoulder. He'd toss the thing out and buy a new one except, well... A scholarship can only be stretched so thin, and in so many ways. The search for Lewis proves futile, and after only a few minutes in the thick mass of people does Errol feel unbearably warm. He steps toward the edges of the ballroom, as far from the heat of dancing bodies as he can get, and in doing so spots a familiar face near one of the windows. It's not the face he'd been looking for, but Mitchell is still a welcome sight, someone who tends to dislike most social events as much as Errol does, if for different reasons. Errol makes a beeline for him, throwing back what remains of his punch and placing the empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter as he goes. "Hey, Mitchell," he says as he approaches, then nods politely at the other boy sitting beside his friend. Errol's seen the guy often enough, even had a few brief conversations with him, and yet he can never seem to remember his name. All he knows for certain is that the boy is somehow even quieter than Mitchell, who Errol belatedly realizes keeps sneaking glances out toward the dance floor from where Errol had just come. "Got your eye on someone?" he asks with a wry grin. ((Excuse the photo at the top. I wanted to just link it, but photobucket is being pissy.)) |
| "Que sera, sera." | |
![]() |
|
| Oop | Dec 24 2015, 02:52 PM Post #3 |
|
so they scream
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
When Mitchell can't take the heat anymore, he retreats to Julian's corner, though he barely spares a glance for Julian himself. His eyes follow the Claire girl with whom he's been dancing since he'd worked up the nerve to ask her. "Going well?" Julian asks, sipping at his own punch. Mitchell smiles, though not at him. He raises a hand to wave at the girl when she glances over. She waves back. "I think so," he says. "Isn't she cute?" "Adorable," Julian responds. Maybe if he sounds a little more disinterested, Mitchell won't ask him for the twelfth time. Not that Julian needs to make the point; Mitchell is his best friend, he already knows. He also knows Julian isn't interested in him the way he's interested in someone like, say-- "Hey, Mitchell." Finally, Mitchell glances away from the Claire girl. Of course, he does so to cast a knowing look directly at Julian, who in turn gives his best silent warning glare. Their conversations often go this way: nonverbal sparring. Little minx that he is (though no one ever suspects it of him, since he's so damned quiet most of the time), Mitchell smirks at the boy who has joined them. "Errol," he says. "Have you met my friend Julian?" After shooting another glare to the back of Mitchell's smug head, Julian turns a charming smile to Errol. Of course he knows Errol; everyone knows him. Getting a full ride scholarship to the academy is almost unheard of. That, and since Julian's family owns the academy, he had heard a great deal about Errol through the candidate selection process for the scholarship. He would be surprised if Errol doesn't know about him in return. While his life isn't a Victorian drama, Julian has had plenty of schoolmates attempt to befriend him due to his name alone. After all, the importance of connections cannot be overstressed. Still, just because Julian is shy doesn't mean that he doesn't know how to socialize, he just usually tries to avoid it. "Nice to meet you, Errol," he says. "Officially." Mitchell, of course, grins at him like an idiot before making his excuses. Watching him go, Julian's smile slips. "Tch," he says at his retreating back, sipping at his punch again. He glances at Errol briefly, gaze flickering between the boy (tall, slender, curly hair just barely within the dress code, worn-out blazer, faded pants, incredible cheekbones, gray eyes, red, red lips) and the crowd in the middle of the ballroom. "Do you like to dance?" he eventually asks, watching Mitchell twirl the girl to the waltz the ensemble plays. It seems like a safe question, neutral. Julian finally meets Errol's eyes, holds it for a few seconds, and then looks away again. |
| If you're gonna hit it, hit it until it breaks. | |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Modern Marvels · Next Topic » |





![]](http://z4.ifrm.com/static/1/pip_r.png)



2:30 PM Jul 11