tornheart | [ OPEN + CLOSED PROMPTS ] I COULD LIFT YOU UP.

[ Midday finds one, Solange Aster, at the edge of campus grounds in search of a truck which seems to park itself further and further away each and every day, rather matching the habits of someone keen upon severing all their ties to the world for a time, but never venturing so far away as to break them entirely. And by simple virtue of who he is, Solange would never allow for the latter to come to pass—in many ways, he himself is a tether cast out into the ~~abyss~~ greenery of the spring bloom in order to retrieve...!

A friend. A friend who so happens to be enjoying the warmth of the day by sleeping it (and class) away in his truck, the vehicle parked questionably (if not illegally) beneath the shade of a tree with its windows rolled down to circulate the leisurely, carefree breeze.

It is peaceful in a way Solange can appreciate, this bit of respite from the bustle of their academic careers, from their professors, cellphones, and peers, but even so--... To skip class so early on in the year is to risk losing the track scholarship which his friend had worked so very hard to achieve, and Solange cannot allow for the dreams of anyone (much less a friend!) to go to waste.

And so: he leans in through the passenger-side window (easily and artfully done, the long fall of his silver hair spilling down, over his shoulder to pool atop the leather seat beneath), and extends a hand to flick the slumbering party (Gabe) squarely upon the forehead. ]

Yo. ☆

[ Good morning. ]

[Gabe had been hunched over in his seat, sleeping upright out of some strange habit, scarf thrown haphazardly across his shoulders despite the heat. He looks a lot less angry when he's asleep. To bad that wont last. ]

Argh! Don't touch me!!

[ Solange's flick has him awake and recoiling in a blink, hand clutching his forhead. There's a second of confused glancing until his eyes settle on that silver hair and so irritating face. ]

You! What the fuck are you doing out here again? Can't you tell when a guys trying to get some shut eye?

[ Altogether, a flick upon the forehead is among the most harmless methods which Solange has used to rouse those parties guilty of truancy from slumber. In one such case, he even dropped a textbook upon a 'sleeping beauty's' face, but that... Well, it had certainly been well-deserved, a comeuppance long overdue for a prank, and Solange had been (somewhat) apologetic afterward, taking responsibility for the nosebleed he had caused.

In this case, though, Gabe only startles, the other student's voice still thick with sleep even as he causes something of a commotion—altogether, it is rather endearing: the scarf, the rapid blinking, the proclivity to jump immediately into theatrics...

It all feels rather nostalgic, in a way Solange cannot quite explain.

And so: he only smiles, canting his head as he withdraws back, through the truck window, if only to open the door and station himself in the passenger seat. ]

I am merely here to ensure that you make it to your afternoon class on time.

[ Relaxing back, into the seat, Solange is able to understand why Gabe is so fond of napping here, of all places—it is pleasantly warm, the leather of the interior is comfortable, and if Solange himself weren't careful...

Maybe, just maybe, he'd slip into a doze. ]

Think of me as your escort, if you will. [ Giving pause, Solange makes to glance at his wrist-watch rather than at his cellphone to check the time. ] We've fifteen minutes, yet, to make it back to campus proper.

[Gabe's nothing compared to his old self, but he's a light sleeper, and no big fan of people touching him when he's not expecting it, his glare shows no sigh of stopping. He doesn't even stop glowering when he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, even if one remains stubbornly closed.

Solange of course, simply invites himself into his nice, clean (well not clean but at least free of annoying RA's) car. He snatches a random water bottle off the seat before Sion can sit on it with his good hand and tries to somehow, glare harder. ]

It's music class. Mr. Cornett is nice enough to understand some peoples need for some shut eye.

[ Solange seems to be getting pretty comfortable. Thats no good. He knocks the other mans shoulder in return with his bad hand. me to nap pal. If you wanna escort you can take the keys and drive us to the music building.

Still, it wouldn't do to take advantage of that kindness.

[ —Solange half-teases, half-chides, sinking farther back into the passenger seat before...! He's shoved (and shoved unceremoniously), his body swaying with the motion before, quite suddenly, it is his turn to blink in surprise, a laugh falling from his lips, bemused and annoyingly bright: ]

And you'll not be rid of me so easily. [ Shouldn't Gabe know it by now, that Solange is impossible to shake? ] Tell me what it is that has been robbing you of sleep, and perhaps I will take my leave.

If not--...

[ Voice trailing off, Solange only seems to make himself more at home, distinctly unbothered by the weight of the other's student glare. Seat? Reclined back. Legs? Long and elegantly crossed at the ankles. Hand? Reaching for the radio dial with fingers outstretched. ]

I'm certain that we can enjoy the afternoon together.

[ Ah...? Did that angelic smile of Solange's suddenly deepen into a demonic one?! ]

Watch me.

[And then he turns around with a huff, adjusting his scarf as a makeshift pillow. Guts doesn't know if theirs a clearer way to say "fuck off".

Figures Sol couldn't leave it be. ]

Just some migraines and weird dreams. [Definatly not staying up late night trying to figure out what was going on with that app.] I took to much Tylenol last night and now I'm all woozy. It's probably just stress for the upcoming meet, ok?

[ He actually turns back around for that one. Spending the afternoon with Sion? He would rather take notes on stuff he doesn't get. ]

Hrhg. God. Don't make that creepy face of yours.

Edited (html is my worst enemy) 2017-05-20 21:41 (UTC)

H'oh? Is this face of mine so terrifying that you wish you were in class, instead of attempting to nap the day away?

[ If so, Sol sincerely hopes that Gabe will remember it well, this smile of his which has garnered just and due notoriety from sending spine-tingling chills down the backs of Green Valley's most rough and tumble students. For this reason alone (or so Solange would like to claim!), he'd been approached, offered a position as resident assistant by collegiate services. ]

But--...

[ Shifting ever so slightly, Solange crosses his arms over his chest, fidgeting, yet, for all that he might be making the attempt to relax for the first time in what seems likes days. ]

I understand. I've not been sleeping well myself, as of late, though I am the only one to blame for that.

[ Turning his head, he makes to catch Gabe's eyes with his own, the playful, teasing lilt fading from his voice as he speaks— ]

The meet will go well. You've trained hard all this while, haven't you? You're one to doge curfew, even, in favor of staying out late on the field.

[He doesn't answer that.]

You're a smug ass, you know that?

[Sol doesn't really scare Gabe, he's met enough honestly scary people in his life to know when someone probably isn't flat out dangerous. But it doesn't keep Sol from being a bit creepy and offputting. ]

You?? Not sleeping well? What do you even do after curfew Mr.Perfect?

[He shrugs. You know, actually he changed his mind. Smug Sol is much better then concerned Sol. ] Of course I have. Running's what I'm good at. Not a lot of thinking involved.

[ He's found himself running more and more since this app appeared. ]

[ Truth be told, though they are often at ends and seem to be an unlikely pair—Gabe, with his brusque demeanor and surly temperament, and Solange with his effervescent smile and capricious disposition—they've more in common than they likely realize: where Gabe has taken to the track, running for distance and improvement in time, Solange has made a habit of sequestering himself away in one of the campus' many music rooms during his free time. There, he has lost himself to playing his latest favored sonatas for violin, practicing until he'd achieved technical perfection if only to take his mind off of all that which remained out of his control and out of his grasp.

(And even now, it's silly, isn't it, that he should be thinking about the appearance of the ouroboros app...?) ]

To that end, I admire you. [ —expression softening into something earnest and warm, Sion turns his gaze to the windshield, admiring of the spring greenery which laid beyond it. ] Breaking curfew to pursue your goals is a mark of passion.

[ Albeit, a dangerous one with the resurfacing of the 'Shadow' murders. ]

You'll surely see me in the stands at the meet. [ Ah?? That sounds suspiciously like a promise. ]

As for myself, I think I've spent one too many late nights studying. [ The answer to what he does after curfew? Only that which is expected of him: maintain his studious, Mr. Perfect 4.0 gradepoint average. ] Unexpectedly... a new project has also popped up, posing a problem beyond my area of expertise.

It's been a bit research heavy, to say the least. I may seek out some of our software engineering majors for assistance.

Passion? Sure, I guess? I'd call it being a stubborn dumbass who doesn't know when to quit.

[He's seen the news of the murders to, but its been hard to care. He's always been the sort to press himself to the brink, and what puts more energy into your sprint then knowing that you're breaking the law! ]

Oh no. My time will drop for sure if I see your smug face. I'll have to make a detour to remove it. [It sounds suspiciously like resigned acceptance.]

Oh? Another project. Did you find a new student to bully into submission like me? [ The poor bastard. Gabe's heart is with you. His eye narrows a bit at the software engineering mention but his focus expression is gone the next second, replaced by a familiar gruff irritation. ]

Yeah? Well, if you find anyone good tell them to check the school firewalls. I got a nasty virus the other day and it won't get off my phone.

A virus. [ A silvered brow lofting high, Sol's eyes flit back to his (reluctant) companion, widening in silent question: have you seen it, as well, the app marked by an ouroboros? ] I, too, have found something similar on my--...

[ This time, when Solange trails off, his voice diminishing into nothing, it is not out of consideration of some fleeting fancy or dream—his behavior becomes stilted in a way it never is for someone otherwise so sure of themselves and the world which surrounded them; for someone so buoyant and bright.

Almost, it is like a shadow has swept over him, though with a shake of his head, Solange attempts to dispel the feeling and persists: ]

There are others experiencing the same, so very many that I--...

[ And again, he is forced to give pause, wincing as the pulse of a headache springs to life behind his eyes. Lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, he attempts to focus, startled to find that the intensity of the headache only seems to worsen with each passing second— ]

I cannot seem to speak about it.

Haha, what sort of website's are you on to get a virus, Sol? [An eyebrow is raised, a question asked, but Gut's brushes it off as his head pangs. Wow its like that thought is just...brushed away. Besides, its freaking Sol. He probably has other reasons.

Of course that momentary lapse in thought is overruled because of course Sol just keeps going. ]

Others. Like do you mean with th- [His teeth clack together with a hiss as his headache redoubles. The thought, does Sol have that app to? lies out of his reach, a jolt of pain dissuading him from fully grasping it. Instead of continuing the conversation, he reaches into a glove compartment and tosses Sol some painkillers. ]

Here. These have been helping, but not as much as they should.

[ Catching the bottle at the last second—almost, he'd missed it, the sudden onset of the headache blurring his vision—Sol nods in silence, grateful as he uncaps the painkillers (ibuprofen?), and takes the recommended dosage (two pills). In all his academic career (including scores of all-nighters and early mornings), he's never experienced tension to the point of restricted movement and muddled thoughts, the pain creeping its way from behind the eyes, to the temples, then down his neck the more he struggles to maintain his line of thinking.

Viruses, others, too many questions, it must be... ]

Tutoring. I frequent online tutoring websites, giving advice to others.

[ Ever so slowly, he shifts back, turning so that his forehead might touch to the leather of the seat, the material oddly cool against the skin. ]

Thank you. [ —he reaches out, offering the bottle back. ] I really have had one too many late nights, I think.

[ … ]

Would you think less of me, if I were to tell you I felt like resting right now?

[Wow. Sounds like someones never been hungover before. What a goody two shoes. Sure Gut's has had perhaps what might be called a torrid youth, but it saddled him with a high pain tolerance and a large supply of painkillers. Guts reaches for the bottle himself and chokes down four of the things. Yeah he's passing out after this. ]

Course you-ack haha do. [Its hard to swallow pills and laugh at the same time, but he does it. Ow. ]

Why do you care what I think? If your not gonna stop me from taking my next nap, you can do what you want.

[ Hungover, someone like Solange Aster, a well-respected and well-accomplished member of the collegiate community who maintains not only his personal Dean's list placement, but aids other students in achieving their goals as well...? No, never him. Despite having grown up abroad, and in a country where the legal age to drink wine and beer is a mere 16 years of age, Solange has never cared for alcohol, and most certainly has never before been inebriated. Which is why...

The migraine is a pain, though not enough of one to prevent him from reaching out, shoving Gabe's arm when his companion (now compatriot?) begins to cough and laugh and somehow still swallow the medication down. ]

Be careful.

[ Shifting, Solange seeks out the most comfortable position he is able, winding up on his side with his hair pillowed beneath his head. ]

If I may do what I please, I'm--... [ Slowly, he allows for his eyes to fall closed, lashes fanning against his cheek. ] ...going to nap with you.

[ And that's that. ]

But you musn't tell another soul that their RA skipped his own afternoon class.

[ Honestly, Gabe never liked it much either but that doesn't mean he didn't try once or twice. Sol needs to live a little.

He shakes his head. ]

'm fine. Bleugh. [He shakes his head like he could shrug off this headache and signs, lying back. ]

No promises. You shouldn't care so much anyway. Everyone skips.

[ OPEN + CLOSED PROMPTS ] I COULD LIFT YOU UP.

CLOSED | Gabe Brent (Guts)

"friend" sure jan

it's okay if guts doesn't realize it yet, grips his shoulder

his shoulder melts away from ur grip out of the power of edgy self isolation

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