![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
( OPEN ) i don't want a mental suplex, i want quality customer service
Who: Elliot Nightray (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
meriter) and you!
When: IC 11/25—11/27
Where: Residential District (primarily the CERES Gymnasium) + Shopping District (anywhere)
What: Elliot has a terminal allergy to common sense: a lesson in three (four) parts, comprised of psuedo-drowning, Machiavellian swindlers, and terrible book taste, respectively speaking.
Rating/Warning: None, probably.
1. INSERT SWIMMING PUN HERE (ceres gymnasium.)
2. CULTURE OF THE YOUNG AND VAIN (around, somewhere ...)
3. LMAO, SPOILERS (still around ...)
4. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE (wildcard!)
meriter) and you!When: IC 11/25—11/27
Where: Residential District (primarily the CERES Gymnasium) + Shopping District (anywhere)
What: Elliot has a terminal allergy to common sense: a lesson in three (four) parts, comprised of psuedo-drowning, Machiavellian swindlers, and terrible book taste, respectively speaking.
Rating/Warning: None, probably.
1. INSERT SWIMMING PUN HERE (ceres gymnasium.)
- [ In reconciliation of every self-deprecatory impulse in his body, Elliot actually shows up for lifeguard duty for the first time in two weeks.
He'd been staving off the financial necessity of having real credits on hand to buy very real things for a long while (like microwave dinners, for one thing, considering he'd survived thus far on a diet of refried peas and mashed potatoes with the consistency of clumping dirt). Monetary gain: the true motivator of any stalwart teenager in these trying, trying times. It wasn't as if he was going to turn to his brothers in some prostrated act of weakness. Just because he'd been hairsplitting nebulous concepts like coming to the gym during his technical shift and maybe staying the whole period instead of flat-out leaving whenever it suited him didn't mean he was a stranger to manual labor. Not at all.
So. It's just another routine day at the swimming pool, and by the third hour he's sweating bullets attempting to get a grip over his genteel, strait-laced Victorian morals. There are just so many exhibitionists about in the afternoons, all in varying levels of undress, and he's blistering red up to his ears keeping his gaze trained at all the patrons without turning away at the sight of scantily-clothed bodies. Literal lingerie, at that — it was nothing short of incredible that Vessalius hadn't succumbed to utter debauchery, exposed day in and day out to water-slick forms and all manner of loosened morals. He'd always been a weird kid, anyway.
But his tension reaches a culminating point hits when someone's apparently spritzing out at the deep end of pool, an arm stuck out and frantically waving him over. Reluctantly, Elliot strips off his jacket and cravat and strides over, peering down at the swimmer in question with scrunched eyebrows a stare tipped toward palpable disdain. ]
Well, what are you waiting for? Hurry up and take my hand already, I don't have all day.
[ Too bad he doesn't have any sense of peripheral awareness to comprehend the rather peculiar grin he's shot with until the stranger's got their hand grappled around his, and then — ]
Gh — no, no, n-o-t again ... !
[ — he falls in. Panic briefly settling in his lungs, he spends a second or two in slantslide vertigo, water rushing around in some great, disorienting deluge before he kicks up, hard, breaks the surface with audible frustration. ]
I HATE THIS JOB!
2. CULTURE OF THE YOUNG AND VAIN (around, somewhere ...)
- [ When his mood considerably sobers, he takes his paycheck for a supermarket splurge to refuel his stockpile of frozen dinners and comes away with several plastic bags full of cheap, cholesterol-inducing foods. Normally he'd head straight for his apartment, but Elliot decides to take the scenic route and ends up finding the kitschiest merchant stalls known to man. One minute he's minding his own business, and the next he's surrounding by a copious amount of creams and lotions purported to rejuvenate youth, like he'd just been plunked in the middle of a health ad and was ethically obligated to spout off some hypocritical drivel about the losers who'd buy into such scams. Seriously.
Well, beggars can't be choosers. Elliot wastes no time forcing his way to the front to blithely jab a finger at one of the offending vendors in question. ]
What a load of crap! It's just like CERES to promote these kinds of underhanded ruses. They're a bunch of raving idiots. I'm surprised they can get anything accomplished.
[ You know, because there's nothing wrong with waxing poetic on insurrection to the merchants. With this kind of bullheaded mentality, Elliot's lucky he isn't get his ass hauled away by security guards right this minute. ]
3. LMAO, SPOILERS (still around ...)
- [ Wayward hellion of paltry exasperation that he is, Elliot Nightray can't get by without self-gratifying himself on one of the finer things in life. Namely, literature. So he makes a habit of scanning the shelves of the bookstore with a probing fixation at least once a week, turning up his nose at the YA section and heading for the classics to spend hours turning through the pages, scouring the contents for answers, or maybe just a quick read.
Only — today it's different, because he's currently engaged in some kind of weird, heated argument with the cashier. On closer inspection, it's composed mostly of angry, one-sided outbursts, like: ]
It's a clear ripoff! This isn't the series I ordered at all. DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING?!
[ Or: ]
What do you mean, you don't have any copies of Holy Knight IN STOCK?! What kind of blasted establishment is this? I demand to speak with your higher-ups IMMEDIATELY!
[ If nothing else, bystanders can at least pick up on the fact that there's a very frustrated fanboy hogging the front desk to blather on and on about the most emotionally bloated, self-indulgent novels to ever grace the Latowidge Academy library. ]
4. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE (wildcard!)
- other than that, he'll be roaming the residential and shopping districts because
no subject
[ What a pal. Elliot would probably be dead in a ditch — or a digital classroom — by this point if Oz wasn't there to whip him into competitive shape. If he ends up deaf as a potential drawback, that isn't that terrible a price to pay for mediocre attitude lessons, right? Exactly. Glad they could see eye-to-eye for once.
And he's keeping a death hold on his weak-ass chill as he retreats to switch clothes with the cheap loaner's pair in the changing room because he literally didn't come prepared for this swimming match, what the hell. It's taking an exorbitant amount of pride to not go running when he decks himself in some baggy old gym shirt and ratty board pants with floppy sandals to match, but at least he's fastidious about carefully folding and packing away his preppy clothes prior to heading out into the open again.
His only stipulation is that he makes a key note not to stare at himself for too long, because, you know. Elliot's currently dying of embarrassment, arms wrapped tightly around himself, as he readily accosts the nerd swimming in the kiddie portion of the pool. ]
Listen up! What strokes are you best at? Are you more of a long-distance swimmer or are short lengths your forte? I want you to do your best, so you better not lie.
no subject
But here's the problem, which will become obvious as soon as Elliot scoots his rattyass way back out of the changing rooms. Oz knows how to swim in the same way that dogs know how to swim: instinctively, but without actually knowing what the shit they're doing. Long-distance swimming? Short lengths? What are strokes, even?? He's heard the terms in passing in the lifeguard course, but they do sort of automatically assume that all lifeguards already know how to swim upon application. He had picked up the basics on his own, and listens sometimes to the swimming instructors, but outside of that? Nope. He sure wouldn't be able to tell a side stroke from a front crawl.
He stirs the water in little circles while he contemplates what Elliot asks, and then:]
Long-distance! [If it turns out to be a lie, it sure will be an accidental one.] We can just do some laps, right? Or a freestyle race?
[That's a term he knows, at least! One lonely term...
He also pauses after that to look at Elliot's sad sandals, just because.]
no subject
He's raking one hand over his head in exasperation, which is already drying into that perpetual cowlick he boasts 24/7 while staring, rather inscrutably at that, at Vessalius's banana hair. This dweeb really is Something Else. And Elliot could just fake-trip and sprain his ankle, call over the paramedics and rid himself from this disaster. All signs point to calamity in the swimming pool. But for some reason his mouth is working against him, talking like it doesn't actively acknowledge the autonomy of his brain when it comes to making decisions, which is honestly nothing new. ]
Fine, four long-distance laps in the largest pool. Whatever stroke you want is fine. Since you suggested it, we'll go with freestyle. Remember to stretch first. I don't want you cramping up and injuring yourself mid-race.
[ And since Oz's attention is absolutely riveted on his gross, grimy sandals, maybe he'll notice the velocity they're traveling as Elliot kicks one smack-dab into rabbit boy's face.
Who left this loser in the proximity of small children and the elderly. Who left this loser in the proximity of civilization at large, really. ]
no subject
Either way, he's in the process of hefting himself up out of the water so they can head to the larger pool when Elliot decides to send his grossass sandal jetting like a missile toward his head. With an indignant yelp, he DIVES BACK INTO THE SAFETY OF THE WATER... So his stupid face is saved, but the sandal bounces off the top of his banana hair (only momentarily flattening the banana somehow) and flies off directly toward one of the NPC instructors teaching kids how to swim nearby. Naturally, when said instructor swivels around to look for the culprit, Oz owns up responsibly and sensibly by:
1) Pointing immediately at Elliot the one-shoed wonder and
2) Breaking the "no running" rule .2 seconds after hefting himself up and over the side of the pool at the speed of light
No one's blowing the whistle on him because tHE ONLY OTHER LIFEGUARD IS ELLIOT and he's out the side doors leading to the next room over before most people even understand what's going on anyway.]
See you in the big pool!!
no subject
[ Stop trying to turn this into a heartwarming slice-of-life swimming anime, Oz. It's not happening. Elliot isn't going to vindicate his overwhelming superiority/inferiority mess of a complex so you can absolve him of several counts of homicide through the power of friendship and whatever counts as humility nowadays. Vessalius took that shoe to the head pretty well, though — not in a way that garners respect but complicit hilarity, what with being deprived of everything but the momentary satisfaction of watching Oz duck back into the water. Why rob him of the one joy in his life: tormenting dweebs?! But wait, what was that blur just now — ]
Oi, you idiot! No running!
[ As it turns out, NPC swim instructors don't take to lightly to lifeguards roughhousing each other and inadvertently hurtling their gross footwear at small children. When Elliot eventually appears at the Olympic-sized pool a room over, he's sporting a gigantic welt in the contour of a hand over his stinging cheek, like someone had the gall to slap a Nightray in the face and actually got away with it. He tromps noisily through the resounding hall sans mold-infested sandals and human benevolence, face scrunched up in perusal for any telltale blob of banana hair (and accompanying scrawny body) to rugby tackle to the bottom of the pool. ]
Get out here, pipsqueak! I'm going to throttle you first!
no subject
Yeah Oz sure is long gone by the time Elliot actually catches up, especially considering he gets tangled up in the (very physical) scolding that probably should have been split between the two of them. OOPS. That's what he gets for being slow... Oz has set up camp near the bleachers to wait in the meantime, since no one else is in the Olympic lap pool, by a small token of a miracle. No one should have to be subjected to Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dipshit.
The threat of imminent throttling has him diving for cover behind said bleachers, though...]
Wait—! You can't kill me before you even lose!!
[It's like he's intentionally trying to get himself murdered...?!]
no subject
Oh, I'm not going to lose. Our contest becomes null and void when you're dead. YOUR FAMILY WILL NEVER HAVE CLOSURE.
[ Think fast, Oz, since Elliot's preemptively lobbed the other greasy sandal clutched in one hand his way. ]
no subject
WHY ARE YOU SO ANGRY—!!!
[Like he doesn't know.
There's also the resounding gong-like noise of greasy shoe hitting metal as Oz scoots further behind the bleachers and then ducks so he's under them. On one hand, he's scrawny enough to fit pretty far under! On the other, he probably shouldn't be going underneath a collapsible metal structure when Elliot wants to decapitate him and take home his head as a trophy.]
no subject
HOLD STILL! DO YOU WANT YOUR DEATH TO HURT OR SOMETHING? ARE YOU THAT MUCH OF A MASOCHIST?!
[ Too bad Elliot's actually of average stature and body frame for a boy his age, so he can't exactly squeeze beneath the bleachers, but he sure is ... rattling the metal ... he figures Oz can't stay wedged beneath there forever, so he vehemently stomps on one of the benches for good measure, making the whole structure vibrate wildly in the process. ]
If you come out now, your end will be virtually painless. Don't you want that?
no subject
I'm definitely not coming out!! Not until you step back at least fifteen feet—! Twenty would be even better!
[His little accusing eyes peer out from between some bleacher slats, waiting for Elliot to listen to his completely reasonable demands and take his grim reaping ass back ten paces.]
no subject
How are we going to have our match if you hide beneath the bleachers like a sniveling rat? I'm — obviously — joking — about — KILLING — YOU.
[ Erratically interspersing his words with KICKING BOUTS and TRAMPLING STOMPS, he squints at the loser encasing himself in his (very probable) metal tomb. ]
Didn't you want to swim? You choose to back out like a coward now, of all times?
no subject
Oz is still hunkered down, either way. "I'm obviously joking about killing you" says Elliot angrily with an expression of true Nightrage, fruitlessly kicking the benches, exuding an air of murderous intent...]
I'm not going to back out, but I'm not going out there until you promise you'll at least save your attempted murder for after the race. After!!
[Don't try to get all sneaky and bash his head into the poolside when they're doing their turns, okay!!]
no subject
Elliot deadpans, which would absolutely insouciant on any other person, but smears like a bad imprecation when he manages to stick one lanky arm between the slats of the metal grille and jab nebulously in Oz's direction.
Attempted? Don't make me laugh. If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead. Are you coming out or not?
no subject
OH MY GOD THOUGH this is exactly why he's still under here?! This must be what characters in horror movies feel like when they're hiding from the serial killer that wants to gouge their eyes out, or perhaps choke them with their own hair bananas.]
Fine, fine—! [There goes Oz's wonderful self-preservation, at it again... But he will, at least, scoot up and try to ease his way back out from under this metal mess.
Of course, at the last second, he ends up standing up too quickly and bashes his head directly into the edge of the bleacher.]
Ouch—!
no subject
Good thing Elliot isn't in an asphyxiating mood. He's always been more inclined to fall under the archetype of a one-off homicide maniac than a regular killer, and Oz is a peacock in a world full of partridges. He hasn't found anyone quite yet that resembles this squeaking rabbit of a boy. He'll use as many animal analogies until he finds that fabled mimicry in the meantime. ]
Get out here already, you're wasting time —
[ H A H A . . . he promptly devolves into laughing like, a millisecond after when Oz finds himself intimately betrayed by his safe haven. ]
P-pfffffffffft, you should see the look on your face! We can postpone the match if it'll be too much for you to handle.
no subject
THAT SAID, he sure does look a little sulky and vaguely embarrassed as he comes out from around the bleachers at long last, hands pressed over the top of his head. Luckily he's not bleeding or anything, which really would be his luck, honestly...]
No way! I can still swim.
[This is going to turn into that episode of Another where the guy falls down the stairs and then dies in the ocean ages later and everyone thinks it was because of a boating accident BUT NO, IT WAS A BRAIN HEMORRHAGE ALL ALONG.
But yeah he sure is toeing his way to the pool edge.]
Are you ready?
no subject
The jury's still out on whether Elliot believes in predestination or not in regards to hapless students dying in particularly horrifying ways, but who knows. Maybe they'll survive this, but it'll end up raining, and when they're fetching umbrellas, the unexpected happens. This is marginally related to that tangent, isn't it ... peripherally speaking ... this reply doesn't make sense anymore ...
ANYWAYS ... ]
If you're raring to go, then —
[ He plants a suspiciously compliant palm on Vessalius's shoulder as he sidles up to him, grin just that kind of sycophantic, wheedling Oz into thinking he's completely over his temper tandrum, and — ]
— you first.
[ ... pushes him in the pool again, an action successively followed up by diving into the lane beside him with a head-start practically confirmed. ]
no subject
BUT LUCKILY this isn't an episode of an extremely questionable horror show, so Oz just gets slam dunked into the pool like a nerd and resurfaces sputtering for a second time. Oh look, there goes Elliot, already rocketing forward like a LITTLE CHEATING SHIT--]
Elliot!! I already call a rematch!
[GOD but okay he's hoofing it now. Or whatever the fish equivalent of hoofing it is... finning it?? Paddling? The point is, he's swimming now, too. It's not exactly his forte, so Elliot will honestly probably keep his headstart for the duration of the race barring any freak pool drain accidents.]
no subject
But as this isn't some third-rate horror flick, Elliot speeds ahead with derisive laughter still echoing in the air as he speeds ahead, because as prideful as he is, there's no way in heaven or hell he's losing to the ball of sunshine impersonating a Chain posing as a human being, as if there aren't enough distinctions already.
He doesn't answer, so focused on finishing the lap that he unwittingly finds himself tangled up in the dividers, an ankle snagged with all the malevolent intent of a cast hook on a fishing line, if he really wants to paint an anecdote with him as a fish ...
Oz is already turbospeeding at bizarre shonen-determined speeds, so he unhooks himself only to pause and float mid-race, because there's no way he's playing a match he won't win against the king of losers. ]
Best two out of three, then!
no subject
But he's blazing through by the time Elliot gets himself unhooked, and he sure doesn't stop until he slaps his hand down on the tiles lining the outer edge of the pool. TAKE THAT, NERD.]
Two out of three!
[He doesn't even voice his agreement like a normal person... But that's as good of an okay as any, and Oz will wait patiently for Elliot to scoot his way over so they can actually have a proper race this time. Maybe. Who knows with them??]
no subject
Speak properly!
[ Ugh, look at the shit he has to deal with as he wades his way to the shallow end of the pool and heaves himself out of the water to situate himself on the starting block once more. ]
Yeah, yeah, hurry up and get up here already. We'll both go on the count of three this time, all right?
no subject
But he will at least get himself up and out of the water when requested, toes at the edge of the starting block. Just in case Elliot tries to get another head start or something... Or tries to murder him for real this time.]
We'll count together. Ready? [GETTING INTO POSITION. He'll be the swimming champion if it kills him...]
One... two... three!
[Wow he doesn't cheat because he's a wholesome individual and not a rude butthead.]
no subject
[ NEVER MIND THAT HE ENDED UP SPEAKING MORE THAN OZ?! GODDAMN, HE CAN'T EVEN MAKE A POINT WITHOUT PRATTLING ON FOR EIGHT CONSECUTIVE YEARS, SLAY HIM WHERE HE STANDS.
As Elliot's dissuaded himself from murdering Vessalius and leaving him in an unmarked grave (for the time being), he rescinds his exasperation for clambering back onto the starting block. It only occurs to him now that he didn't even bother stretching but it's not like that'll come to bite him in his ass when they inevitably tie and race for the set point.
But true to his word, he doesn't attempt sabotaging Oz a second time around as he deftly cuts in on the signal, appendages still jolting from the high dive. Enjoy the image of his receding derriere coasting easy-breezy through the water, Vessalius, because Elliot is frankly killing it. ]
no subject
Do you practice in your spare time?!
[SPUTTERING and wiping the water away from his face, but not get climbing back onto the board. What the heck! Where did that underwater finesse come from!! Elliot's cheating just by virtue of somehow managing to be better than him at something in a way that he can't contest...]
no subject
watch how slick elliot is nearly tripping and earning himself a premature death as he spans the length of the starting block again. the lengths he goes to project himself as perfect, superior, and absolute in everything are seriously unrivaled. he's so cool. why wouldn't anyone want to know elliot nightray???? people should be falling over at his feet to praise him, but alas, maybe it's for the best that normal pedestrians aren't venerating him, what with the mass populace having a smaller collective intellect than a bag of prepackaged peanuts in terms of motor skills. ]
The score's now one-one, but perhaps I overestimated your swimming ability? Maybe we should tally another point on your side. Remember, the first to three wins.
[ outstretching one palm, he makes a fist, than lifts a finger in accordance with the count. one goes, then two, and at three, he makes a seemingly flawless arc (it's more like a belly flop by professional standards, but this is amateur racing, here), and goes headfirst for his second win.
so much for sportsmanship ... imagine if elliot wasn't a dumb, prickly hedgehog for once ... imagine with your heart ... ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)