The afternoon sun is hot on Cameron's shoulders as he makes his way down the beach from the boathouse. He's been putting in a little time every day on bringing those skiffs he found up to his standards. When he's honest with himself, he knows he could have had them seaworthy long ago - they weren't too badly off when he found them, just disused - but the work seems to matter more when he has no one to take them out with.
His eyes are near closed from the glare of the sun, and he's starting to wish he'd thought to find some sunglasses or something when he catches a flash of crimson ahead. It takes a split second glance before he's off and running, knowing what his mind hasn't had time to process yet. There's no pausing for doubt, there's no doubt period. "Ty!"
Tyler's still adjusting to the glare of the sun overhead, something of a drastic shift given the dimmer lighting in the club's lounge, and he doesn't have his sunglasses to shield his eyes, either. He'd checked only moments prior, patting the lapels of his jacket only to come up empty-handed, save for his wallet and cell, the former of which doesn't help him here and the latter seemingly useless when he takes it out to check the signal.
There's a blur of movement in his periphery and he looks up, squinting, giving his eyes a moment, but when his vision clears, there's no question of who it could be long before he hears his name in Cam's voice, and he starts heading towards him at a slightly more relaxed pace, hands shifting into the pockets of his khakis. "Do me a favor and tell me I didn't pass out back there," he says, by way of greeting. "What the hell was that?"
It's more of a relief to see him than Cameron will ever say. Though they've been apart before, it's never been like this, months without hearing from his brother. It's not like he was inconsolable over Ty's absence or anything, but he can't pretend he hasn't felt like something's been missing either.
The outfit's familiar, seeing as how Cameron has one of his own back in the hut, but doesn't tell him much of anything but what his brother was doing before his arrival. Clapping a hand on Ty's arm, he shakes his head. "I wish I knew," he says, "but you haven't passed out. It's... a bit more complicated than that."
The expression on Cam's face is more than a little unsettling; he's seen it enough times in the course of their lifetime to identify it by now as relief, and though he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel similarly at this juncture, his brother's level of excitement doesn't really add up with only having seen each other a few minutes ago.
It's safe to say he's confused, but he won't let on much beyond a small frown, scrutinizing the current state of Cam's wardrobe. "When did you have time to change? Anyone sees you out of that jacket and you'll be beyond even my power to save your ass," he adds, mouth dipping into a half-smirk.
Jon actually made a habit of making his way up to the Compound approximately three times a week for coffee and the tall, blond man wasn't one that he recognized from those trips. Not immediately a threat, though, someone he didn't know and that was one of the ways that the island differed greatly from Westeros.
Ghost padding along beside him, Jon nodded at the man and wondered if he were new or simply new to Jon. Both were equally possible considering Jon didn't usually seek out new acquaintances.
Tyler's shed his jacket by this point, carrying it neatly folded over one forearm as he walks up the path, stopping every so often to try and shake some more sand loose from his shoes. He isn't surprised to be addressed, not directly anyway, but it does take him a second or two to recognize that they're the only two people on the path; therefore, there aren't any other possible candidates to which his question could have been directed.
Barring the fact that the dog at his side looks absolutely enormous, there's something about the other man that he can't entirely figure out at first glance. He certainly doesn't look like the type to frequent Henley, at any rate.
"What gave it away?" he asks, decidedly choosing not to stare at the dog.
"The general lack of things in this direction besides the Compound," Jon said wryly. "But if you don't care for civilization, the Compound might not be for you. I only manage to make it up here once or twice a week."
Mostly because while Summerfell had most of everything he could ever want, it did not have coffee and it had become a vice for Jon, more of a vice than he cared to admit.
"I'm Jon, by the way. It would be rude not to offer my name."
There's something in his words that causes Tyler to smile, though it's more of a quick twitch at the edges of his mouth before he's clearing his throat to hide it, shifting his gaze enough to glance down the path towards the Compound, or what he can make out in the distance. He doesn't say the first thing that pops into his head - namely, that it seems like he and Jon have very different ideas of what constitutes civilization.
"Tyler," he replies, figuring it's better to start there as he reaches out to offer the other man a hand. "It'd be rude not to do the same."
A little bit of the shiny newness of this place was starting to wear off. It wasn't that it was bad, but Caroline was starting to miss her friends, her home. She had lived in Mystic Falls for her entire life. It was still kind of nice to be someplace new and be human again, but she couldn't help but miss it. Hell, she was even starting to miss her mom something that she stubbornly would have said wasn't going to happen for at least another week.
Dressed in what she called 'island chic' meaning it was a boho sundress. She was already starting to cultivate that faint tan that had been a staple of her summers growing up. She had been headed towards the beach, just to hang out really when she saw a familiar face headed in the other direction.
Smiling brilliant, she waved. "Hey. Where are you headed?" Taking in what he was wearing, she laughed. "Aren't you a little overdressed?"
The sound of an unfamiliar female voice has Tyler lifting his head as he heads closer, even though he hasn't exactly been looking at his feet as he walks. Being far from vertically challenged means he can usually see head-and-shoulders over most people, on average, as well as be able to spot someone else coming from a distance. It means he was able to spot her coming down the boardwalk path long before she actually spoke up, though the most he'd originally counted on was a polite smile and maybe both parties venturing a brief greeting before they'd each continued on their respective ways
( ... )
Okay. Now this was more than a little weird. Her smile diminished slightly as the nagging feeling of doubt crept into the back of her mind. Maybe she had been mistaken. Oh God, was she that forgettable? Caroline could stand for a lot of things but being relatively new and easily forgotten was not something that she was ready for.
"Yeah, I have no idea what that is, but I trust you." Taking a quick deep breath she worked to shut that part of her brain down. There was no use spinning everything into a giant disaster mode just because a hot guy didn't remember her. "But you're right. It is a little much."
Tilting her head, she looked at him in confusion. "Cameron, are you okay?"
Having a twin brother means mistaken identity happens all the time; at home, there are at least a small number of people who know how to tell them apart, usually the ones who know them the best. For every one of those, there are at least two or three more who confuse them regularly, but this is different. As far as Tyler can tell, she's only got the four months - or however long she's known his brother - to base her knowledge on, and as tempted as he is to have a little fun in the moment, he ultimately decides against it.
"I'm fine," he insists, "but I'm not Cameron." He shifts his weight, moving the jacket from one arm to the other. "Tyler Winklevoss. Cam's my brother. I've only just arrived."
The days that have passed since Halloween have been strange, if only because the holiday itself was. Jenny supposes she ought to count herself grateful that she wasn't hurt, but mostly, there's just a part of her that can't help being bothered that the party she and Cameron planned to attend turned into a bunch of people hiding out from killer toys. Now that the danger's gone, it's a lot easier to think about how ridiculous the very idea was (and still is), and therefore easier to think about how what should have been a lovely night was ruined. Despite their matching costumes, it was never going to be a date or anything, but that hadn't stopped her from looking forward to it. So, as far as she can tell, she has every right to be frustrated by it
( ... )
Here's a girl who wouldn't look a beat out of place at Henley, Tyler thinks, as she approaches him with a bright smile and a fond tone of voice, but considering what he's learned about this place within the short time he's been here, it doesn't seem likely she's tagged along for the ride. Still, he's not above ruling it out, at least not for now, though he starts trying to put two and two together as she approaches him, expression alit with recognition, and the way she reaches out to touch his jacket certainly borders on familiarity on her end. She has to be another of Cameron's friends; they weren't exactly checking out the club scene the night before the race, though he could have easily pictured her as the kind who would've made an impression on one, either or both of them
( ... )
Though her smile doesn't wane much, Jenny's brows furrow in obvious confusion, hand dropping back to her side. So far, she's been given no reason to believe that anything might be wrong, but she can't make sense of what's been said, either; if there's an obvious assumption to be reached, it has yet to occur to her. "What does that mean?" she asks, chin tilting so she can keep looking up at him, everything as familiar as can be. "Are you alright?"
"Absolutely," Tyler promises, looking down at her. The only reasonable explanation he has for her confusion is that she still thinks he's Cam, somehow, but if he hasn't gone around broadcasting the fact that he has a brother, there may be many more of these kinds of interactions to come. It doesn't mean he has to be brisk about it, but maybe he should go ahead and rip the band-aid off. Then again, there is the way she touched him to consider. He's going to have to find out what that's about later on. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Say you believe in God. Actually, no, scratch that: say that you believe in one or more sentient entities with greater power and control over people and circumstance than humanity has. Say you believe that this sentience is one that people can at least get some idea of. That it isn't completely off the target to call a god benevolent, or righteous, or hell, even an angry god capable of brandishing a fist. If you want to attach human emotions and sentiment to a god, you might think that one kind enough to drop you on an island paradise where money doesn't matter, where food is plentiful and even restocks itself, is a benevolent god indeed.
If I had even the smallest inclination to believe it, it's gone now. While things might be all fine and well (as much as they can be) with Winklevii the Calm about, it only takes a glance for me to realize that this is the other one, the one who'll just end up being the spark for a flame. Yeah. Benevolent god? Hardly.Mark's hand wraps around the strap of his messenger bag as he stops to consider the
( ... )
Tyler would recognize that bag anywhere, that slump of shoulders even if he hadn't spotted Zuckerberg by face first. He'd spent time after more than one class - wasted time, more accurately - waiting around, having learned Mark's schedule for the sheer purpose of tracking him down for a conversation that wasn't going to be able to use their e-mail accounts as intermediaries. And yet, somehow, his every move had been anticipated, the timing would be off in one way or another. The closest either of them had gotten was when Cam had tried to chase him down at the quad, but they'd since given up on that particular approach
( ... )
There are some things in life you can't outrun. I'm not about to say that Winklevii the Angry is one of them. I'm no track runner, but I know how to use terrain to my advantage- kind of one of the first things you learn to do when you're that geeky kid in high school and the majority of jocks tower over you by age twelve. But there's a bigger picture than, you know, trying to outrun the backseat driver twin whenever we come within fifty feet of one another. That picture being that I probably, at some point, need to have the same talk with him that I did with the civil one. Cameron.
Besides, I'm in no rush to spend the rest of my days on this rock running. So I slow to a stop. Fine.
Won't make any promises if he decides to deck me, though.
Carefully lowering the laptop bag to the ground and nudging it away with the point of his shoe, Mark stuffs both hands into his pockets, watching as the young man walks over, a pretty impressive presence to him. The kind that would part a crowd at first chance
( ... )
For a second, he's half-convinced that Zuckerberg's going to actually take off from right where he stands, even if there's something of a disadvantage given the shifting sand and the lack of friction it provides on the boardwalk path. He'd sooner bite it than successfully make his getaway, especially in those sandals. Then again, Tyler's shoes aren't faring much better on this path, but he manages to overcompensate for any potential yields in balance by leaning forward slightly, countering the occasional shuffle of his feet over the path.
"Heard you were here," he replies, by way of greeting. It strikes him then, as he looks down (and down) to where Mark stands, calmly looking up at him, that face of his an infuriatingly impassive mask, that all of the things he's been itching to say since he first figured out they were being jerked around, every spur-of-the-moment insult and argument that had popped into his head over the course of those months - none of it comes to mind now as he looks down at him, mouth setting into a firm line
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His eyes are near closed from the glare of the sun, and he's starting to wish he'd thought to find some sunglasses or something when he catches a flash of crimson ahead. It takes a split second glance before he's off and running, knowing what his mind hasn't had time to process yet. There's no pausing for doubt, there's no doubt period. "Ty!"
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There's a blur of movement in his periphery and he looks up, squinting, giving his eyes a moment, but when his vision clears, there's no question of who it could be long before he hears his name in Cam's voice, and he starts heading towards him at a slightly more relaxed pace, hands shifting into the pockets of his khakis. "Do me a favor and tell me I didn't pass out back there," he says, by way of greeting. "What the hell was that?"
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The outfit's familiar, seeing as how Cameron has one of his own back in the hut, but doesn't tell him much of anything but what his brother was doing before his arrival. Clapping a hand on Ty's arm, he shakes his head. "I wish I knew," he says, "but you haven't passed out. It's... a bit more complicated than that."
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It's safe to say he's confused, but he won't let on much beyond a small frown, scrutinizing the current state of Cam's wardrobe. "When did you have time to change? Anyone sees you out of that jacket and you'll be beyond even my power to save your ass," he adds, mouth dipping into a half-smirk.
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Ghost padding along beside him, Jon nodded at the man and wondered if he were new or simply new to Jon. Both were equally possible considering Jon didn't usually seek out new acquaintances.
"Headed for the Compound, then?"
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Barring the fact that the dog at his side looks absolutely enormous, there's something about the other man that he can't entirely figure out at first glance. He certainly doesn't look like the type to frequent Henley, at any rate.
"What gave it away?" he asks, decidedly choosing not to stare at the dog.
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Mostly because while Summerfell had most of everything he could ever want, it did not have coffee and it had become a vice for Jon, more of a vice than he cared to admit.
"I'm Jon, by the way. It would be rude not to offer my name."
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"Tyler," he replies, figuring it's better to start there as he reaches out to offer the other man a hand. "It'd be rude not to do the same."
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Dressed in what she called 'island chic' meaning it was a boho sundress. She was already starting to cultivate that faint tan that had been a staple of her summers growing up. She had been headed towards the beach, just to hang out really when she saw a familiar face headed in the other direction.
Smiling brilliant, she waved. "Hey. Where are you headed?" Taking in what he was wearing, she laughed. "Aren't you a little overdressed?"
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"Yeah, I have no idea what that is, but I trust you." Taking a quick deep breath she worked to shut that part of her brain down. There was no use spinning everything into a giant disaster mode just because a hot guy didn't remember her. "But you're right. It is a little much."
Tilting her head, she looked at him in confusion. "Cameron, are you okay?"
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"I'm fine," he insists, "but I'm not Cameron." He shifts his weight, moving the jacket from one arm to the other. "Tyler Winklevoss. Cam's my brother. I've only just arrived."
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If I had even the smallest inclination to believe it, it's gone now. While things might be all fine and well (as much as they can be) with Winklevii the Calm about, it only takes a glance for me to realize that this is the other one, the one who'll just end up being the spark for a flame. Yeah. Benevolent god? Hardly.Mark's hand wraps around the strap of his messenger bag as he stops to consider the ( ... )
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Besides, I'm in no rush to spend the rest of my days on this rock running. So I slow to a stop. Fine.
Won't make any promises if he decides to deck me, though.
Carefully lowering the laptop bag to the ground and nudging it away with the point of his shoe, Mark stuffs both hands into his pockets, watching as the young man walks over, a pretty impressive presence to him. The kind that would part a crowd at first chance ( ... )
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"Heard you were here," he replies, by way of greeting. It strikes him then, as he looks down (and down) to where Mark stands, calmly looking up at him, that face of his an infuriatingly impassive mask, that all of the things he's been itching to say since he first figured out they were being jerked around, every spur-of-the-moment insult and argument that had popped into his head over the course of those months - none of it comes to mind now as he looks down at him, mouth setting into a firm line
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