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Author Topic: Melting Vibes | soulbird au  (Read 372 times)

* Lupin Sol

    (07/23/2019 at 22:30)
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Late May

Detentions with Mr. Levine had gotten predictable.

Lupin would sit close to the back of the nearly empty room, listening to the usual berating monologue that had grown old halfway through hearing it the first time. By now, with how often the seventeen year-old found himself in detention lately, he was merely perking his ears up for the usual notes: how they were throwing their lives away, how they would need to get their futures in order or risk a future of flipping burgers (a warning that didn't hit the mark now that it had been established with the jump in minimum wage that teaching at this dump paid only slightly more), and a dated reference that hadn't been relevant when the man pushing sixty had been their age, let alone now.

Within thirty minutes of the hour they were forced to sit idly and reflect on what had landed them here, Mr. Levine would turn his seat around in the desk so he could pretend like he wasn't falling asleep. The moment he heard the muffled snores, Lupin was free to pull his phone out so he could attach his earphones and use his backpack as a pillow.

He had a timer set on his phone to make sure he'd wake up before the teacher would. Lupin didn't want to think about how he'd be late to spring practice (again) and have to explain to coach why the starting quarterback wasn't running drills with everyone else. That monologue was the one he truly feared, or would if there was a snowball's chance in hell they'd really slot Jeffreys, literally the dumbest person he'd ever met who --despite having a cannon for an arm-- couldn't make sense out of their generic-ass playbook, ahead of him again. All it mean was he'd be making up the missed time by running laps until he puked.

Nothing he wasn't used to.

Lupin dosed off about twelve minutes into listening to his secret jazz playlist. One of many and the main reason he kept his spotify handle obscure and secret as well. There wasn't anyone at this school who would appreciate anything not of this century. The moment he received foreign stares at playing pre-Stankonia OutKastwas when he lost hope for this tragic hole in the outskirts of Dallas.

His arms stretched out as he slept, causing his phone to fall off the edge of his desk and bounce onto the floor. Thank God for Otter Boxes. Lupin didn't even notice, falling deeper into the music of Charlie Parker.
« Last Edit: 07/29/2019 at 15:31 by Lupin Sol »
oh sometimes I get So Ahead of mySELF
Feels like I'm running in (ir)les
oh and I'm just holding onto my breath
I need Smoke just to exHALE

howmanysoulsdoyoutouchaday?

* Charles Neddy Palmer

    (07/24/2019 at 01:59)
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Ned never even bothered to feign interest in the lecture.  He'd been sent to detention more times than he could count— mostly because the principal was a homophobic asshole with no regard for students that weren't making him any money— and could easily recite the sermon by heart even though he'd never actually listened to it.  Mr. Levine's mouth moved like a spoon through jelly, words like grey sludge that no one deserved to be subjected to.

The balding man had given up threatening him for having a laptop out months earlier.  What was he going to do— give him more detention?  It wasn't like Ned wanted to go home, to a messy apartment and his conservative prick of a dad.  Didn't help that the jerk had sent Mimi off to an all-girls boarding school after finding the contraband in her bottom drawer.  Ned had spent enough nights at the hospital with his mom that they'd threatened to ban him.  It had crossed his mind to just hole up in the homemade studio he was putting together in one of the basement storage closets, but he didn't want anyone to go looking for him at the school and find it.

Now that would throw a wrench in his plans to get out of this dump.

He'd taken up a seat in the back of the classroom as he always did, to avoid other students peering over his shoulder at his work or shooting spitballs at the back of his neck.  Better to sit next to a dozing quarterback than some nosy FFA schmuck who picked his nose in public and wore cowboy boots to prom.  That said, Ned generally did his best to avoid any of the school's athletes, still disgruntled by the humiliating year his face had spent painting the grass in eighth grade.  It had taken a fistfight and a dramatic coming-out to get his dad to stop pushing the football thing.  Neddy was still unsure if it had been worth it.

He adjusted the tone of a trombone measure on his laptop (read:brick), and shifted the beat of the background drum to fall enough off-beat to sound purposeful.  A bit more funk than he'd originally intended, but much better than the previously stiff brass sound that had nearly convinced him to scrap the entire track.  The only problem: he'd likely have to find a different voice to match the soul of the jazz ensemble, because his own rickety Strokes-Cher vocals would be hard-pressed to do it justice.

Easier said than done.  The closest thing he had to a friend was the crystal-eyed genius that sat next to him in Biology, who smiled at him in greeting instead of rolling his eyes.

Something knocked against his foot, and Neddy took out his earphones and glanced down to see a phone, presumably belonging to the napping jock, lying facedown on the speckled carpet.  The guy (Sol, if he remembered correctly) didn't seem to notice.  After a moment of contemplation, Ned reached down to grab the phone and nudged the sleeping athlete with it.  The screen lit up.

"Hey, you dropped thi—"  He blinked.  "You listen to Yardbird?"
« Last Edit: 07/24/2019 at 02:03 by Charles Neddy Palmer »
pretty soon you'll find some nice young satanist with braces and one capital o significant other, and you can take him home to your mother and say ma, this is my brother!

* Lupin Sol

    (07/29/2019 at 17:12)
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It hadn't been deep enough (thankfully).

Lupin opened an single eye with the same momentum achieved when lifting a sticky, syrup-covered finger off a devoured plate of pancakes. He caught the stare of the boy who'd sat beside him-- that, in itself, a strange occurence he would have questioned if he wasn't a minute into the teacher's lackluster speech-- and the sparkling set of brown that swirled like the cosmos as he spoke. One of his earphones had been pulled free from the fall of his phone, a fall he wasn't entirely aware of as he slowly pieced it together, a fall that had the boy-- boy felt accurate without a trace of acne or facial hair on fair skin-- holding his phone out for him to grab as he spoke.

"What?"

He lifted his head off his backpack, a balled fist rubbing the eye that had been resting against it. Lupin did not reach for the phone immediately. He looked down at it's lit screen still playing an hour's worth of Charlie Parker. Of course, he knew who he was. If he hadn't fostered an appreciation for the jazz legend at an early age then he doubted he would have chosen to move with his grandparents and their fixed income. Or that he'd even been allowed to.

Only the soft hum of the deafened music existed between them as his eyes flicked from the phone to the boy's face and back like a pendulum. He stopped suddenly between breaths and reached out to take back his phone. A thumb clicked the power button to hide the light as he mulled over how to answer. A small growl within him insisted on being heard, of sharing that part of himself that was starved for socializing. The far louder protest against it, whether to scoff and bark or to feign indifference to the genre as a whole, took to long to settle on which of those options to choose. Lupin decided to simply nod and hold his indifferent stare rather than turning away.

"Yeah."
oh sometimes I get So Ahead of mySELF
Feels like I'm running in (ir)les
oh and I'm just holding onto my breath
I need Smoke just to exHALE

howmanysoulsdoyoutouchaday?

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