Case 00: In Which a Deal is Made {ryan}
Jan 19, 2019 21:13:17 GMT -5
Post by shrimp on Jan 19, 2019 21:13:17 GMT -5
He's started going on walks again.
He used to run every morning, the twilight still clutching to the horizon: an hour up the mountainside, a moment of respite, an hour back down. He'd head to the gym, pushing himself just enough that he could still function, thrive, at training after the school day was done.
But putting his feelings into words, when Eve Renner and Shy Aubergine were delivered back home, was impossible. He would call it revulsion, but it wasn't severe enough, wasn't filled with the despair, the shock, the pit that dropped deep in his stomach - a tar-like emotion that stuck to his brain.
Aksel hadn't renewed his training classes; he let the application - a formality at this point, the trainers had known what he was capable of - sit on his desk for a week, then a month, then the day it was due. Without another word it was sent into the trash bin.
His parents, while not understanding, let him be. It was an expense off of their backs.
It took a long time for him to do much else - he'd cut himself off from his friends, the fellow careers who'd begun to call him a coward in the hallways (at a distance, they know who would win at a fight), or distance themselves out of pure ideology.
At the top of the heap, he'd gone and jumped parallel, towards somewhere else entirely. Destination? Unknown, to all parties.
What he does know, is that a stroll helps him clear his head. He hasn't realized how much he missed the fresh air until he's meandering along the pathway. The air is crisp, brisk, and he sticks his hands in his coat pocket, buries his chin in his scarf. He doesn't notice the other figure until he's nearly on top of him.
The other guy, around his age, squats in the bushes, eyes trained on a point beyond. Aksel stares for a moment, two, five, waiting for him to notice. He doesn't.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
So he breaks the silence with a query.
He used to run every morning, the twilight still clutching to the horizon: an hour up the mountainside, a moment of respite, an hour back down. He'd head to the gym, pushing himself just enough that he could still function, thrive, at training after the school day was done.
But putting his feelings into words, when Eve Renner and Shy Aubergine were delivered back home, was impossible. He would call it revulsion, but it wasn't severe enough, wasn't filled with the despair, the shock, the pit that dropped deep in his stomach - a tar-like emotion that stuck to his brain.
Aksel hadn't renewed his training classes; he let the application - a formality at this point, the trainers had known what he was capable of - sit on his desk for a week, then a month, then the day it was due. Without another word it was sent into the trash bin.
His parents, while not understanding, let him be. It was an expense off of their backs.
It took a long time for him to do much else - he'd cut himself off from his friends, the fellow careers who'd begun to call him a coward in the hallways (at a distance, they know who would win at a fight), or distance themselves out of pure ideology.
At the top of the heap, he'd gone and jumped parallel, towards somewhere else entirely. Destination? Unknown, to all parties.
What he does know, is that a stroll helps him clear his head. He hasn't realized how much he missed the fresh air until he's meandering along the pathway. The air is crisp, brisk, and he sticks his hands in his coat pocket, buries his chin in his scarf. He doesn't notice the other figure until he's nearly on top of him.
The other guy, around his age, squats in the bushes, eyes trained on a point beyond. Aksel stares for a moment, two, five, waiting for him to notice. He doesn't.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
So he breaks the silence with a query.
