[> growing up is optional <][Boxsis[Felix]]
Nov 23, 2012 3:19:55 GMT -5
Post by WT on Nov 23, 2012 3:19:55 GMT -5
There is still no cure for the common birthday. (John Glenn)
Sometimes Devyni wondered if he was adopted. The entire Auksas family had some knack for parties. Krysta's was attending them; she had an instinctive understanding of what to wear, how to act, and when to leave that boggled Devyni. Their parents, who had taught themselves to throw massive fundraising galas for their business, were masters of throwing them; Sawa decorated, Sonia played host, and every event they touched turned out to be a smash. Devyni's talent, if it could be called such, revolved around making everyone else feel uncomfortable.
He was trying, more for his parents' sake than anything else. They hadn't always been in town for all of Devyni's or Krysta's birthdays, but they always made it back for milestones, and for his eighteenth they had gone all out. The entire house was decorated in shades of red and orange, including an array streamers and tablecloths had to have been bought specifically for today; all of his favorite foods had been made or ordered; someone had even jerry-rigged the old sound system into functionality and was playing some sort of electric jazz that he didn't recognize but really, really liked. It was an impressive display, and he appreciated the time and effort that had gone into it. And if it had been put together for him and his family, he would probably even be enjoying it, regardless of the fact that he'd far rather be writing about the supposed societal significance of turning eighteen than actually experiencing it.
The problem was everyone else. Somehow Sawa and Sonia had decided that they should invite half the Capitol, and either they hadn't run the invite list past their daughter or Krysta had a secret vendetta toward her brother, because everyone had showed up. Perhaps if he'd been warned it would have been easier—but then again, perhaps not, and it was a moot point because they'd wanted to surprise him and had little trouble doing so (after all, who would barge into his room to deliberately give it away?). Between relatives he hadn't seen in months (Have a cute girlfriend yet? No? Boyfriend? Well, why not? How's school? You're really growing up on us!) and people he had spent months deliberately avoiding (Shit no, is my entire class here or does it just feel like it, someone tell me Krysta had some say in the invitations, she'd at least have the sense to trash Marco's.), Devyni had soared past his social tolerance point in two hours and was now pouring all his energy into not offending the entire crowd. It was a close thing, accomplished so far only with copious doses of chocolate cake and his sister's intervention (although Krysta's advice was variable and not always helpful: Smile more. No, not like that, you look like a skeleton—okay, forget the smiling. Relax. Leave your hair alone, it's fine. Show some excitement, it's your birthday! Oh my god, Devyni, would it kill you to say more than five words in a row? No, no, you don't have to carry on like that, just have a normal conversation. You can do that, right? No, apparently not... Hey, didn't I already say to quit it with the hair? I swear to god, if I have to rescue you one more time—!).
By the time the clock hit four, he was done. As close to an anxious wreck as he had ever been, breath short and hair disastrous, he slunk into a closet with a slice of cake and a fork and squirmed as far in as he could manage without getting icing on the coats. It wasn't comfortable, but it was also the only room in the house where he could get away with not talking to anyone; at this point even the piano room was occupied, his bedroom would be the first place anyone looked, and people would notice if one person stayed in the bathroom indefinitely.
Even the closet would eventually prove unsafe. Devyni had just finished his cake and was finally getting his heartbeat (and his hair) back to manageable levels when the door swung open. With an undignified yelp he fell back into the coats, sacrificing his plate to catch himself against the back wall.
Squinting into the new light, he managed to make out Felix's face. He almost fell again, this time in relief, but managed to turn the motion into stooping to pick up the plate. Fighting to keep edges of hysteria from bubbling into his voice, he spoke as he straightened and peered cautiously over Felix's shoulder. "Please. Name your price and get me out of here."
((Well, that was... a post that happened. Ripred but I hate starters. I kind of gave up near the end--hope it still works.))
He was trying, more for his parents' sake than anything else. They hadn't always been in town for all of Devyni's or Krysta's birthdays, but they always made it back for milestones, and for his eighteenth they had gone all out. The entire house was decorated in shades of red and orange, including an array streamers and tablecloths had to have been bought specifically for today; all of his favorite foods had been made or ordered; someone had even jerry-rigged the old sound system into functionality and was playing some sort of electric jazz that he didn't recognize but really, really liked. It was an impressive display, and he appreciated the time and effort that had gone into it. And if it had been put together for him and his family, he would probably even be enjoying it, regardless of the fact that he'd far rather be writing about the supposed societal significance of turning eighteen than actually experiencing it.
The problem was everyone else. Somehow Sawa and Sonia had decided that they should invite half the Capitol, and either they hadn't run the invite list past their daughter or Krysta had a secret vendetta toward her brother, because everyone had showed up. Perhaps if he'd been warned it would have been easier—but then again, perhaps not, and it was a moot point because they'd wanted to surprise him and had little trouble doing so (after all, who would barge into his room to deliberately give it away?). Between relatives he hadn't seen in months (Have a cute girlfriend yet? No? Boyfriend? Well, why not? How's school? You're really growing up on us!) and people he had spent months deliberately avoiding (Shit no, is my entire class here or does it just feel like it, someone tell me Krysta had some say in the invitations, she'd at least have the sense to trash Marco's.), Devyni had soared past his social tolerance point in two hours and was now pouring all his energy into not offending the entire crowd. It was a close thing, accomplished so far only with copious doses of chocolate cake and his sister's intervention (although Krysta's advice was variable and not always helpful: Smile more. No, not like that, you look like a skeleton—okay, forget the smiling. Relax. Leave your hair alone, it's fine. Show some excitement, it's your birthday! Oh my god, Devyni, would it kill you to say more than five words in a row? No, no, you don't have to carry on like that, just have a normal conversation. You can do that, right? No, apparently not... Hey, didn't I already say to quit it with the hair? I swear to god, if I have to rescue you one more time—!).
By the time the clock hit four, he was done. As close to an anxious wreck as he had ever been, breath short and hair disastrous, he slunk into a closet with a slice of cake and a fork and squirmed as far in as he could manage without getting icing on the coats. It wasn't comfortable, but it was also the only room in the house where he could get away with not talking to anyone; at this point even the piano room was occupied, his bedroom would be the first place anyone looked, and people would notice if one person stayed in the bathroom indefinitely.
Even the closet would eventually prove unsafe. Devyni had just finished his cake and was finally getting his heartbeat (and his hair) back to manageable levels when the door swung open. With an undignified yelp he fell back into the coats, sacrificing his plate to catch himself against the back wall.
Squinting into the new light, he managed to make out Felix's face. He almost fell again, this time in relief, but managed to turn the motion into stooping to pick up the plate. Fighting to keep edges of hysteria from bubbling into his voice, he spoke as he straightened and peered cautiously over Felix's shoulder. "Please. Name your price and get me out of here."
((Well, that was... a post that happened. Ripred but I hate starters. I kind of gave up near the end--hope it still works.))