Re: Fill: First Day of Class (part 3b)aeroport_artOctober 20 2011, 03:36:01 UTC
Marcus frowns. "God, no wonder people pick on you. You've got a rotten mouth, you know that?"
"Go fuck your mum."
Marcus snorts in disgust, then stands up, making the mattress rise up behind Esca's back. God, he doesn't even know why he says things like that. They just come out, yeah? Can't stop the words that burble out of him when he feels his upper hand slip.
Marcus in't a psychic though, can't tell Esca's sorry for being such a fucking bitch all the time. Marcus claps the lid of his laptop shut, like maybe he was on it earlier when Esca was passed out. But he's done now, and Marcus is picking his rucksack up off the floor.
"I'm doing my homework in another room. Let me know when you can stand up without puking all over my carpet. I'll take you home."
Marcus turns and strides towards the far end of the room. where the doorway is. The back of his orange polo shirt is tucked into the waistband of his khakis. No--his skivvies. The white "Calvin Klein" logo is perfectly clear, even from ten feet away. Esca has to bite his tongue not to say something bitchy. Says instead, "Marcus."
Marcus pauses by the door. Turns around and fixes Esca with a wary expression. "What?" he asks.
"How'd you get Ronald's little pep squad off my arse?"
For a while, Esca thinks Marcus won't saying anything, 'cause he's just staring at him. Esca suddenly realizes he can't be looking too pretty right now. After all, he can only see out of one eye and there's the taste of metallic blood on his tongue, his whole jaw hurts when he tries to talk, and he's got to be swollen all over, like a lumpy mattress that needs a good beating. Though that's the last thing Esca needs, right now.
God, he wants to hide under the blanket, Marcus just keeps STARING. Doesn't though, which is good 'cause otherwise he'd miss it, when Marcus lifts his right hand, backside of his palm facing Esca so that Esca can see--
The backs of Marcus' knuckles are red and swollen and split, kinda like how Esca's lower lip feels.
Beyond that, Marcus' face is tanned and in pristine condition. His teeth, too, are bloody bright when he cracks open a slow, triumphant smile.
Esca can't help it, then. He smiles back at the nutter.
Re: Fill: First Day of Class (part 3b)ladytiferetOctober 20 2011, 03:43:22 UTC
JFC, that's SO AWESOME! :D I missed a good HS AU! Oh, Esca, pissed off Esca, my absolutely favourite flavour! And Marcus who is confident and kick-ass and doesn't back down ♥ Gonna F5 like crazy (and it's almost 6am here) :P
Re: Fill: First Day of Class (part 3b)aeroport_artOctober 20 2011, 03:49:27 UTC
oh wait, don't do that! i'm going to bed now DDD: and also, i am reaaally non-prolific. this may have been the most writing i've done in like, months. this is why i didn't put the clear WIP moniker of "(3/?)" because i don't know if i'll actually keep writing this.
if it strikes my fancy i will :) otherwise i'm just gonna let this be a little vignette >_< SO STOP F5ING AND GO TO BED/WORK/SCHOOL WHAT ARE YOU DOING, IT'S 6AM!!???
Fill: First Day of Class (part 4)aeroport_artOctober 21 2011, 04:39:10 UTC
Esca doesn't know he's passed out again until he's being woken up. Warm hand making little shakes on his shoulder. Marcus' big face swimming into view.
"Whassat?" Esca snuffles, wiping the back of his hand across his nose.
"Want dinner?"
Esca blinks. Oh, and both eyes open, too; swelling must've gone down a bit.
"Time's it?" he asks blearily.
"It's eight. We're having chicken."
When he says it, Esca can smell it. Smells fucking delicious, all grease and butter and herbs filling the room like the best fucking potpurri he's ever smelled. His stomach gurgles quietly.
"Nah," Esca says, sitting up in Marcus' bed. He's stiff all over and his left side hurts like someone drove a semi into it--rib or two's got to be broken, fuck. "No, take me home."
Marcus stopped shaking him awhile ago, but his hand's still on Esca's shoulder, he's only now noticing. It's heavy, and starting to sweat through Esca's ratty tee. Marcus takes his hand away.
"Sure. Just let me get my keys."
-----
Marcus drives a secondhand coupe. Secondhand, Esca thinks, because Marcus would have to be forty years old to have a car that fucking doddery and have it be new once. Still, it's a smooth ride, like Marcus knows that every bump and jostle on the road is rattling straight up Esca's possibly-broken spine.
It's gotten dark out. They don't speak. Marcus doesn't know the streets that well, so Esca mumbles out directions every so often, just when it matters. Make a left here; speed through the yellow, this light takes fucking forever. All the while, he watches Marcus' hand on the shift, confident and sure as he puts it in higher gear, or downshifts, slowing down.
Slows down to a stop.
"This it?"
Esca jerks his head up, hoping he wasn't caught looking. Looks out the window instead, and yeah, that's his fucking front yard. Robert's '99 Focus parked on the dead lawn, yep, that's them all right.
"Keep going," he says, two fingers swinging back and forth, urging Marcus on.
The car rolls forward, as slow and unsure as Marcus seems to be.
"Yeah, yeah. This is good." They're half a block down, cos Esca doesn't want Marcus accidentally meeting the foster parents, if "parents" could be a word ascribed to the navel-gazing, waste-of-space asswipes of Jeanine and her mangy husband, Robert. Yeah, no. Esca'll take a pass on that, thank you very much.
With a little difficulty, Esca gets out of the car.
Marcus wraps his arm around the backrest of the empty seat and cranes forward, peering out the passenger door. "You sure this is it?"
Fuck. Out of the corner of his eye, Esca can see the front light of his house flicker on. The peeling-painted white door swing open, Jeanine in her blue robe stepping out.
"You think I don't know where I bloody live, Marcus?" Esca snaps.
Under the wan light of the overhead car bulb, Marcus frown is etched in shadow. "Forget it."
Esca swings a proper look over his shoulder, and shit, Jeanine's recognized him now. He makes to close the door, hearing Marcus curl back to his side of the car with a creak of old leather, but then Esca finds himself hestitating for no proper reason. Just--it seems weird, yeah, breaking it off like this. Feels like Esca ought to...fuck, he doesn't know. Like he oughtta do or say something. Like a thank you, maybe?
"You closing the door or what?" Marcus says, sounding grumpy.
"Yeah, sorry." Esca closes the door with a weird, half-aborted move, finally shutting it the final two inches with a hard whump.
Marcus peels away, filling the air with an obnoxious screech, the smell of burnt rubber lingering after it.
"Esca!" Just as shrill, Jeanine's voice pierces the evening calm.
Fill: First Day of Class (part 5)aeroport_artOctober 21 2011, 04:40:11 UTC
The next day is bloody hell, his body throbbing all over like he was something cold wrapped in rubber bands, then thrust into the tropics of India only to bloat uncomfortably in his constricting clothes.
"That's disgusting," Liathan sneers. "You blow up all over me, get your nasty innards on my Louie Baton kicks, I rip your fucking throat out."
"You fuckin' retarded or something? I'd be dead already."
"Yeah well, I make you extra dead."
Liathan's a fucking retard sometimes, but he's interesting enough. Plus, they both love Argy Bargy, so there's always that.
When the bell rings, they both swagger off to their respective classes--Liathan in Geometry (which he's taken three times already), Esca to History.
-----
"Marcus. Marcus. Marcus."
Marcus ignores him. Esca frowns. Digs his biro out of the bottom of his rucksack (because class started twenty minutes ago and Esca hasn't jotted down a word, so fuckin' what?) and pulls the cap off with his teeth.
He leans over to draw on Marcus' painstakingly neat notes. Right on top of Marcus' painstakingly neat handwriting.
He draws...a penis.
Marcus pauses, even as Mr. Dorsen keeps droning on.
Esca adds some hair to the testicles with short, happy flicks of his biro. Swish. Swish. Swish.
Marcus' ears turn pink.
Esca smirks.
"Mr. MacCunoval!"
Shite, the prof's gone all pissy, like he's been calling Esca's name for awhile now. Voice raised like Esca's gone deaf or summat, but he ain't fucking deaf, yeah? Just doesn't care about the fucking French getting guillotined or whatever. Demonstrates how much he doesn't give a flying fuck with a dismissive wave of his hand, no eye contact, then goes back to drawing on Marcus' notes. Adds some hair around the base of the cock, which he's drawn all droopy sad cos it's funnier that way--
"Esca," Marcus says quietly.
Esca pauses, the quiet skritch of his biro going still.
Finally, he glances up at the front of the room. Mr. Dorsen's giving him an exasperated look, wrinkly forehead beneath bushy, caterpillar eyebrows that are entirely too large for his small, naked head, which is perched precariously on Mr. Dorsen's towering, gaunt frame.
"What is it, sir?" Esca asks politely.
Clearly taken aback, Mr. Dorsen takes a moment to turn back to the whiteboard behind him, where he's been scrawling out random phrases throughout his lecture. He collects himself, then asks primly, "The name of the period controlled by Robespierre, just after the start of the war?"
Easy, that one. "Reign of Terror," Esca says. It's the name of a band he and Liathan went all the way down to London to see, last summer. They weren't that great, but when the guitarist took his dick out and started pissing on the front row, well. It was pretty memorable, anyway.
He goes back to his drawing. He's almost finished with it, just needs to be a bit hairier on the left ball, aend then yeah, that it's. It's a fucking work of art, right on top of Marcus' notes. Esca signs his name with a flourish.
To his left, he hears a little whuff of noise, like Marcus is trying to hide a snort. Esca leans back into his own seat and closes his eyes, feeling oddly content. It's barely nine-thirty; he can catch a few more winks before Trig starts at ten.
Re: Fill: First Day of Class (part 5)ladytiferetOctober 21 2011, 09:22:26 UTC
One of these days I'm gonna be seriously late for work BECAUSE THERE IS AWESOME SHIT LIKE THIS HAPPENING ON THE INTERNET! Sorry, gotta, go, will comment properly laterz :D
Re: Fill: First Day of Class (part 5)ladytiferetOctober 21 2011, 17:55:20 UTC
Confident Marcus. Esca, who is smart and a bit broken underneath all his shitty attitude (which is delicious in itself). LIATHAN (he should be everywhere and you know it). Esca being my soulmate in the penis drawing department (oh, I was famous in the Japanese studies dept for that). EVERYTHING.
"Go fuck your mum."
Marcus snorts in disgust, then stands up, making the mattress rise up behind Esca's back. God, he doesn't even know why he says things like that. They just come out, yeah? Can't stop the words that burble out of him when he feels his upper hand slip.
Marcus in't a psychic though, can't tell Esca's sorry for being such a fucking bitch all the time. Marcus claps the lid of his laptop shut, like maybe he was on it earlier when Esca was passed out. But he's done now, and Marcus is picking his rucksack up off the floor.
"I'm doing my homework in another room. Let me know when you can stand up without puking all over my carpet. I'll take you home."
Marcus turns and strides towards the far end of the room. where the doorway is. The back of his orange polo shirt is tucked into the waistband of his khakis. No--his skivvies. The white "Calvin Klein" logo is perfectly clear, even from ten feet away. Esca has to bite his tongue not to say something bitchy. Says instead, "Marcus."
Marcus pauses by the door. Turns around and fixes Esca with a wary expression. "What?" he asks.
"How'd you get Ronald's little pep squad off my arse?"
For a while, Esca thinks Marcus won't saying anything, 'cause he's just staring at him. Esca suddenly realizes he can't be looking too pretty right now. After all, he can only see out of one eye and there's the taste of metallic blood on his tongue, his whole jaw hurts when he tries to talk, and he's got to be swollen all over, like a lumpy mattress that needs a good beating. Though that's the last thing Esca needs, right now.
God, he wants to hide under the blanket, Marcus just keeps STARING. Doesn't though, which is good 'cause otherwise he'd miss it, when Marcus lifts his right hand, backside of his palm facing Esca so that Esca can see--
The backs of Marcus' knuckles are red and swollen and split, kinda like how Esca's lower lip feels.
Beyond that, Marcus' face is tanned and in pristine condition. His teeth, too, are bloody bright when he cracks open a slow, triumphant smile.
Esca can't help it, then. He smiles back at the nutter.
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Gonna F5 like crazy (and it's almost 6am here) :P
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if it strikes my fancy i will :) otherwise i'm just gonna let this be a little vignette >_< SO STOP F5ING AND GO TO BED/WORK/SCHOOL WHAT ARE YOU DOING, IT'S 6AM!!???
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It's self contained, I suppose, but that doesn't mean we won't pester you for more :P Because IT TOTALLY DESERVES TO BE CONTINUED :D
What am I doing? Actually, I'm making a fae!Liathan & fae!Esca art and tattoos on their faces took me longer than I expected :)
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I JUST.
I'D HAPPILY READ ANOTHER 10K OF JUST ESCA TALKING SHITE AND MARCUS BEING FOREIGN AND ADORABLE.
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"Whassat?" Esca snuffles, wiping the back of his hand across his nose.
"Want dinner?"
Esca blinks. Oh, and both eyes open, too; swelling must've gone down a bit.
"Time's it?" he asks blearily.
"It's eight. We're having chicken."
When he says it, Esca can smell it. Smells fucking delicious, all grease and butter and herbs filling the room like the best fucking potpurri he's ever smelled. His stomach gurgles quietly.
"Nah," Esca says, sitting up in Marcus' bed. He's stiff all over and his left side hurts like someone drove a semi into it--rib or two's got to be broken, fuck. "No, take me home."
Marcus stopped shaking him awhile ago, but his hand's still on Esca's shoulder, he's only now noticing. It's heavy, and starting to sweat through Esca's ratty tee. Marcus takes his hand away.
"Sure. Just let me get my keys."
-----
Marcus drives a secondhand coupe. Secondhand, Esca thinks, because Marcus would have to be forty years old to have a car that fucking doddery and have it be new once. Still, it's a smooth ride, like Marcus knows that every bump and jostle on the road is rattling straight up Esca's possibly-broken spine.
It's gotten dark out. They don't speak. Marcus doesn't know the streets that well, so Esca mumbles out directions every so often, just when it matters. Make a left here; speed through the yellow, this light takes fucking forever. All the while, he watches Marcus' hand on the shift, confident and sure as he puts it in higher gear, or downshifts, slowing down.
Slows down to a stop.
"This it?"
Esca jerks his head up, hoping he wasn't caught looking. Looks out the window instead, and yeah, that's his fucking front yard. Robert's '99 Focus parked on the dead lawn, yep, that's them all right.
"Keep going," he says, two fingers swinging back and forth, urging Marcus on.
The car rolls forward, as slow and unsure as Marcus seems to be.
"Yeah, yeah. This is good." They're half a block down, cos Esca doesn't want Marcus accidentally meeting the foster parents, if "parents" could be a word ascribed to the navel-gazing, waste-of-space asswipes of Jeanine and her mangy husband, Robert. Yeah, no. Esca'll take a pass on that, thank you very much.
With a little difficulty, Esca gets out of the car.
Marcus wraps his arm around the backrest of the empty seat and cranes forward, peering out the passenger door. "You sure this is it?"
Fuck. Out of the corner of his eye, Esca can see the front light of his house flicker on. The peeling-painted white door swing open, Jeanine in her blue robe stepping out.
"You think I don't know where I bloody live, Marcus?" Esca snaps.
Under the wan light of the overhead car bulb, Marcus frown is etched in shadow. "Forget it."
Esca swings a proper look over his shoulder, and shit, Jeanine's recognized him now. He makes to close the door, hearing Marcus curl back to his side of the car with a creak of old leather, but then Esca finds himself hestitating for no proper reason. Just--it seems weird, yeah, breaking it off like this. Feels like Esca ought to...fuck, he doesn't know. Like he oughtta do or say something. Like a thank you, maybe?
"You closing the door or what?" Marcus says, sounding grumpy.
"Yeah, sorry." Esca closes the door with a weird, half-aborted move, finally shutting it the final two inches with a hard whump.
Marcus peels away, filling the air with an obnoxious screech, the smell of burnt rubber lingering after it.
"Esca!" Just as shrill, Jeanine's voice pierces the evening calm.
Fuck.
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The next day is bloody hell, his body throbbing all over like he was something cold wrapped in rubber bands, then thrust into the tropics of India only to bloat uncomfortably in his constricting clothes.
"That's disgusting," Liathan sneers. "You blow up all over me, get your nasty innards on my Louie Baton kicks, I rip your fucking throat out."
"You fuckin' retarded or something? I'd be dead already."
"Yeah well, I make you extra dead."
Liathan's a fucking retard sometimes, but he's interesting enough. Plus, they both love Argy Bargy, so there's always that.
When the bell rings, they both swagger off to their respective classes--Liathan in Geometry (which he's taken three times already), Esca to History.
-----
"Marcus. Marcus. Marcus."
Marcus ignores him. Esca frowns. Digs his biro out of the bottom of his rucksack (because class started twenty minutes ago and Esca hasn't jotted down a word, so fuckin' what?) and pulls the cap off with his teeth.
He leans over to draw on Marcus' painstakingly neat notes. Right on top of Marcus' painstakingly neat handwriting.
He draws...a penis.
Marcus pauses, even as Mr. Dorsen keeps droning on.
Esca adds some hair to the testicles with short, happy flicks of his biro. Swish. Swish. Swish.
Marcus' ears turn pink.
Esca smirks.
"Mr. MacCunoval!"
Shite, the prof's gone all pissy, like he's been calling Esca's name for awhile now. Voice raised like Esca's gone deaf or summat, but he ain't fucking deaf, yeah? Just doesn't care about the fucking French getting guillotined or whatever. Demonstrates how much he doesn't give a flying fuck with a dismissive wave of his hand, no eye contact, then goes back to drawing on Marcus' notes. Adds some hair around the base of the cock, which he's drawn all droopy sad cos it's funnier that way--
"Esca," Marcus says quietly.
Esca pauses, the quiet skritch of his biro going still.
Finally, he glances up at the front of the room. Mr. Dorsen's giving him an exasperated look, wrinkly forehead beneath bushy, caterpillar eyebrows that are entirely too large for his small, naked head, which is perched precariously on Mr. Dorsen's towering, gaunt frame.
"What is it, sir?" Esca asks politely.
Clearly taken aback, Mr. Dorsen takes a moment to turn back to the whiteboard behind him, where he's been scrawling out random phrases throughout his lecture. He collects himself, then asks primly, "The name of the period controlled by Robespierre, just after the start of the war?"
Easy, that one. "Reign of Terror," Esca says. It's the name of a band he and Liathan went all the way down to London to see, last summer. They weren't that great, but when the guitarist took his dick out and started pissing on the front row, well. It was pretty memorable, anyway.
He goes back to his drawing. He's almost finished with it, just needs to be a bit hairier on the left ball, aend then yeah, that it's. It's a fucking work of art, right on top of Marcus' notes. Esca signs his name with a flourish.
To his left, he hears a little whuff of noise, like Marcus is trying to hide a snort. Esca leans back into his own seat and closes his eyes, feeling oddly content. It's barely nine-thirty; he can catch a few more winks before Trig starts at ten.
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Sorry, gotta, go, will comment properly laterz :D
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LIKE I CANT' EVEN TELL YOU WHAT I LOVE THE MOST
I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS. IT'S SO FUCKING EPIC I CAN'T EVEN---
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