[brighter and brighter]
Mar. 6th, 2010 12:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
delinquentRiver never had many friends, but now that he's been followed by a little girl ghost that enjoys a good practical joke and the local weirdo, he's finding companionship to be highly overrated. Possible slash.
River was in love.
He knew it was love, real love, not the stupid kind that grownups and girls in his class talked about; it was the kind that gripped you, hung you upside down, made your stomach feel queasy and still was the best feeling ever.
He stared into chocolate brown eyes that stared into his. He held his breath, as he took in sight. His heart skipped a beat, and he didn't even try to hide his blush.
The dog in front of him barked cheerfully. That was it.
River knew he had to have him.
--
He couldn't believe his ears.
"Amanda? AMANDA?"
"Yeah? So what?"
"You can't just name him anything you want! It's a BOY. It has a DICK." He pauses, still vibrating from anger, trying to come up with a biting insult. "You...you DICK." He's flushing. He sort of knows that it's a bad word, and now he's said it. Twice even. But it was true. Completely true. One-hundred percent true.
Fox just shrugs.
"Fucker needed a cool name, faggot."
"Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up! That is SO not a cool name! You're like the opposite of everything cool! Shut up!" He's screaming now while Spider/Amanda rolls around between their feet, tongue lolling out and drooling on the sidewalk.
"What the fuck ever," Fox drawls, tugging at the leash around the dog's neck. "I own him, so I get to name him whatever shit name I want."
"He's mine!"
"You didn't buy him a leash."
"I made one!" River screams, the cloud behind him issuing out thunder and lightning. He's holding up a piece of 'string' he fashioned painstakingly from tying rubberbands together, dangling it in front of Fox like a noose. "I MADE ONE!"
"But it's not around his neck." He tugs once, twice on the smart blue nylon leash and Amanda bounces back up, trots towards Fox and follows him as he leaves.
"Say bye to the bitch, Amanda."
The dog obediently turns his head around, barks cheerfully at River, tail wagging.
River's cloud simmers down to a mild gray, now getting his backpack wet.
**
"i must be cruel, only to be kind. thus bad begins and the worse remains behind"
River coughs, feeling his throat chafe with the movement and swallows, grimacing, uncomfortable with the rawness.
"Hold still," Fox mutters, the sound made even louder by the acoustics of the cave. It's unbearably cold, wet, and dark, with neither knowing how to light a fire and the absence of drywood anywhere to even attempt. Still, Fox keeps plucking, prying the thorns out of River's lower left arm, doing his best to ignore the squirming and whining. The blood seeps out in rivulets, and he uses his jacket to dab at them, smearing the red liquid all over his hands, the smell pungent between the two of them. There were still ten more to go.
Now. Now, they're even.
**
He's alone. There's a thin, sky blue, dirty windbreaker draped over his chest, covering the wound. He looks down, and sees that his hand is bandaged, albeit rather sloppily. He experimentally curls his fingers, testing the wraps, not suprised as it comes loose, the dried blood flaking off his hand.
It's only a little later that he realizes River's gone.
**
River (11): Boy with his own cloud. Sort of like his pet, moodring...thing. He doesn't know, all he knows is that Fox was born to make his life hell. Likes yelling, screaming, breaking stuff, and sour foods.
Fox (10): Like Secret Garden's Dickon, including being a mama's boy. Swears like he has tourette's syndrome, though there's no meaning behind any of it. Not incredibly bright, but is exceptionally good at pushing at River's buttons (not like it was terribly hard in the first place, but he's a certified expert). Likes exploring, his army coat, insects, and sweet things.
Spider/Amanda: River and Fox's dog. River calls him Spider, Fox picked Amanda. Both of them stake claim on him and won't give him up to the other, hence why they met in the first place. Exceptionally pudgy since both of them feed him trying to win his affection, though he loves both of them equally. Has an exceptional talent for falling into wells.
**
for 10_shakespeare:
"With windlasses and with assays of bias, By indirections find directions out."
"River!"
He didn't turn around immediately, waiting to see if she'll leave on her own accord.
Unfortunately, she turned him around for him.
"Fuck!"
"Oh shut up," she huffs, finally letting go of his collar and points right at his face.
"You haven't kept up your end of the deal."
"I was aware there was a deal."
She stomps her feet. Twice. River quells the maddening urge to roll his eyes. Prom queen nominee or not, she had just as much chance of getting the ever unflappable Fox to be her date. "I still don't understand why you couldn't ask him yourself--"
"Because that's not how you do things," she snaps, "everyone knows you need to research without them actually figuring out you're doing it!"
"Great. Don't drag me into it then."
Snarling, she rehooks her hand into his shirt and tugs so she can hiss into his ear, "I've never seen him initiate a conversation with anyone but you, you've obviously know how he ticks."
"Unfortunately, no."
She shoves him back into the lockers, glaring harder than ever before storming off.
Only to bump into Fox.
"Fox!" she stammers, leaping back, a wavery smile plastered on her face as she flips her hair in some coy fashion. He barely gave her a glance, despite running into the supposedly prettiest girl in school. "River, I need you to take me to Nike."
"Wait, what, now?"
"Yeah, I ruined my sneakers during gym."
"Wait, then what are you wearing now-- dammit, Fox!" He turns and fiddles with his locker to open it up and throw a pair of swimming pool sandals in Fox's face. "Wasn't gym first period?"
"Yeah."
"So you've been barefoot for the entire day?"
"Yeah. Meet you at the car." He sprints off, still holding onto the sandals in his hands.
"Are you sure you still want to be seen with him?"
She sighs, a dreamy smile coming over her face, "It would be a dream come true."
**
They lost. Again.
But no one seems to notice, or even care as they clamor to heap praises on Fox, who's pretending to be humble and sorry that he ended the season with no wins whatsoever. One girl that's standing much too close with the pouty lips and too short skirt looks just like Spider when he's humping someone's leg: shameless. Either Fox is too braindead to notice, or doesn't mind in the slightest bit.
Fucking bastard.
He does it all the time, all the damn fucking time, who the fuck does he think he is, being in all these clubs and activities and sports and still not have at least a driver's permit. Which makes River his designated driver. Which pretty much forces him to stay after school almost everyday for no reason. Which is utterly, ridiculously stupid that Fox doesn't ever, ever, ever accept rides from his stupid groupies that follow him around all the time, even tailing his car when he's driving Fox home, only stopping a block before they get home to appear not borderline psychotic. But all Fox ever does is smile sweetly, slip into the car, turn on the radio so neither of them have to talk (he always turns it onto the jazz station. both of them hate it but they won't fucking change it for some reason), and pretend that three cars filled with giggling classmates aren't following them home.
Goddammit, he doesn't even say thank you. Ever.
And for some reason, he's still here, still waiting on the bleachers for everyone to leave and Fox to seek him out and then he can go home, fix up a meat salad (pepperoni, turkey, and beef with a sprinkle of bacon) and die in front of the tv. And around midnight or so, Fox will enter through his second floor bathroom window, and sleep in his bathtub. He never questions it, and he doesn't intend to start now.
"River!" He turns around, pretending not to be fuming and staring for the past half hour. He holds a rather precarious, special placement in the school: not exactly popular, but no one dares to upset him, given his strange affiliation with the legendary Fox. He finds it to be total bull, but it does give him a peace of mind that no one's gunning for him.
"Yeah?"
"Um. There's going to a fuckin' party, so I don't think I'll be going home..."
What. At this time, he can't see straight, feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on as he squeezes his eyes shut and watch the blood under his eyelids turn his vision red.
"River? River?"
"Yes?" Teeth bared, tone low, practically snarling.
"Would you...do you wanna come along?"
After I waited for you for three hours to finish up your little game? After I ditched my whole afternoon watching you get mauled by the other team? After I voluntarily said 'fuck it' to ever finishing that essay?
"No."
And if he had opened his eyes, he would've seen the fear flashed on Fox's face.
"Go. Have a great time." He clips, and turns away and takes the stairs out of the stadium.
**
Fucking shit fuck face four scores and seven fucking FUCK!
Fox is normally never mad. It's rare. Rarer than snow in the Bahamas, boybands making a sucessful comeback: it just simply never happens.
Except he is now, and for the first time ever mad at River.
Did he really think he wanted to attend this party? Really? Really? He was supposed to be Fox's last saving grace, his lucky ticket out of this utterly stupid waste of time. Was meant to roll his eyes, grab Fox by the arm, twist it for a good measure and say, "we're going home." Home, where he'll drop off his bag, wait fifteen minutes, then go over to River's and watch River do his essay under the pretense of watching the Matrix (for the fortieth time).
He doesn't know why he likes doing that. River puts on this terrible, constipated looking face and snarls and gnashes his teeth while he's writing about dead poets and politicians and lovers. It's more entertaining than the movie, by far.
But now he's stuck in the back of a SUV surrounded by teammates and cheerleaders, one of them who has somehow managed to stick onto his side like a leech. He's not actually sure of her name, even. He's pretty sure it starts with the letter V.
He wrestles his way to the front, next to the driver, practically crawling over people and taps him on the shoulder, "I need to go to the bathroom."
"Hang on man, my house is the next street over--"
"Now." Everyone's looking at him, but he really doesn't care right now. All he knows is that if he puts one foot in through the doorway, there's no way he'll make it out alive for the next 48 hours.
The driver, a linebacker (Fox doesn't know, he's not even sure if he's on the team), spots a gas station and parks, which prompts everyone to get out, shuffling in as they decide to load up on more sugar and fat in the form of deep fried corn chips and alcoholic beverages. Fox somehow manages to peel V off of him and dash into the bathroom without anyone following him. Goes in, spots the small window up at the top left corner and grins, scrabbling up to stand on the sink and open it. In less than six minutes, he's already out and running across the street, to the promise of meat salad and an incredibly angry River.
It couldn't get any better than this.
**
It takes him almost two hours, but he's home. Well, River's house, technically, but he already spends enough time there that half of his closet is in River's bathroom, along with tolietries, his textbooks, and laptop.
Ok, he's practicaly moved in. It's a wonder why River hasn't simply thrown everything away. But he has seen River using his laptop when his is on the fritz, so he supposes it balances out as rent of some sorts.
"Boring" he lies, having not gone to the party in the first place. He reaches over, underneath River's arm and steals a ham slice from his meat salad, largely untouched.
"Someone dropped you off?"
Fox stops chewing, puts the ham back into the bowl and edges out of the door.
"Fox!"
River (17): The chronically angry boy has now turned to an even angrier teen with a penchant for passive-aggressiveness. The cloud is now not really attached to him, sometimes leaving him for Fox. Half grateful, half jealous of Fox, and will go for days playing the ignoring game before feeling lonely again. Swears a lot (in his head). Of course, he utterly blames Fox for that.
Fox (16): Somehow managed to be class president, football quarterback, and debate captain. He's not very good at any of these, but noone seems to mind. About to become diabetic with the increasing sugar consumption. Still lets out a tirade of expletives, though by high school it's seen as edgy than blasphemy. Always has the time for River, even if River doesn't want him around.
River was in love.
He knew it was love, real love, not the stupid kind that grownups and girls in his class talked about; it was the kind that gripped you, hung you upside down, made your stomach feel queasy and still was the best feeling ever.
He stared into chocolate brown eyes that stared into his. He held his breath, as he took in sight. His heart skipped a beat, and he didn't even try to hide his blush.
The dog in front of him barked cheerfully. That was it.
River knew he had to have him.
--
He couldn't believe his ears.
"Amanda? AMANDA?"
"Yeah? So what?"
"You can't just name him anything you want! It's a BOY. It has a DICK." He pauses, still vibrating from anger, trying to come up with a biting insult. "You...you DICK." He's flushing. He sort of knows that it's a bad word, and now he's said it. Twice even. But it was true. Completely true. One-hundred percent true.
Fox just shrugs.
"Fucker needed a cool name, faggot."
"Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up! That is SO not a cool name! You're like the opposite of everything cool! Shut up!" He's screaming now while Spider/Amanda rolls around between their feet, tongue lolling out and drooling on the sidewalk.
"What the fuck ever," Fox drawls, tugging at the leash around the dog's neck. "I own him, so I get to name him whatever shit name I want."
"He's mine!"
"You didn't buy him a leash."
"I made one!" River screams, the cloud behind him issuing out thunder and lightning. He's holding up a piece of 'string' he fashioned painstakingly from tying rubberbands together, dangling it in front of Fox like a noose. "I MADE ONE!"
"But it's not around his neck." He tugs once, twice on the smart blue nylon leash and Amanda bounces back up, trots towards Fox and follows him as he leaves.
"Say bye to the bitch, Amanda."
The dog obediently turns his head around, barks cheerfully at River, tail wagging.
River's cloud simmers down to a mild gray, now getting his backpack wet.
**
"i must be cruel, only to be kind. thus bad begins and the worse remains behind"
River coughs, feeling his throat chafe with the movement and swallows, grimacing, uncomfortable with the rawness.
"Hold still," Fox mutters, the sound made even louder by the acoustics of the cave. It's unbearably cold, wet, and dark, with neither knowing how to light a fire and the absence of drywood anywhere to even attempt. Still, Fox keeps plucking, prying the thorns out of River's lower left arm, doing his best to ignore the squirming and whining. The blood seeps out in rivulets, and he uses his jacket to dab at them, smearing the red liquid all over his hands, the smell pungent between the two of them. There were still ten more to go.
Now. Now, they're even.
**
He's alone. There's a thin, sky blue, dirty windbreaker draped over his chest, covering the wound. He looks down, and sees that his hand is bandaged, albeit rather sloppily. He experimentally curls his fingers, testing the wraps, not suprised as it comes loose, the dried blood flaking off his hand.
It's only a little later that he realizes River's gone.
**
River (11): Boy with his own cloud. Sort of like his pet, moodring...thing. He doesn't know, all he knows is that Fox was born to make his life hell. Likes yelling, screaming, breaking stuff, and sour foods.
Fox (10): Like Secret Garden's Dickon, including being a mama's boy. Swears like he has tourette's syndrome, though there's no meaning behind any of it. Not incredibly bright, but is exceptionally good at pushing at River's buttons (not like it was terribly hard in the first place, but he's a certified expert). Likes exploring, his army coat, insects, and sweet things.
Spider/Amanda: River and Fox's dog. River calls him Spider, Fox picked Amanda. Both of them stake claim on him and won't give him up to the other, hence why they met in the first place. Exceptionally pudgy since both of them feed him trying to win his affection, though he loves both of them equally. Has an exceptional talent for falling into wells.
**
for 10_shakespeare:
"With windlasses and with assays of bias, By indirections find directions out."
"River!"
He didn't turn around immediately, waiting to see if she'll leave on her own accord.
Unfortunately, she turned him around for him.
"Fuck!"
"Oh shut up," she huffs, finally letting go of his collar and points right at his face.
"You haven't kept up your end of the deal."
"I was aware there was a deal."
She stomps her feet. Twice. River quells the maddening urge to roll his eyes. Prom queen nominee or not, she had just as much chance of getting the ever unflappable Fox to be her date. "I still don't understand why you couldn't ask him yourself--"
"Because that's not how you do things," she snaps, "everyone knows you need to research without them actually figuring out you're doing it!"
"Great. Don't drag me into it then."
Snarling, she rehooks her hand into his shirt and tugs so she can hiss into his ear, "I've never seen him initiate a conversation with anyone but you, you've obviously know how he ticks."
"Unfortunately, no."
She shoves him back into the lockers, glaring harder than ever before storming off.
Only to bump into Fox.
"Fox!" she stammers, leaping back, a wavery smile plastered on her face as she flips her hair in some coy fashion. He barely gave her a glance, despite running into the supposedly prettiest girl in school. "River, I need you to take me to Nike."
"Wait, what, now?"
"Yeah, I ruined my sneakers during gym."
"Wait, then what are you wearing now-- dammit, Fox!" He turns and fiddles with his locker to open it up and throw a pair of swimming pool sandals in Fox's face. "Wasn't gym first period?"
"Yeah."
"So you've been barefoot for the entire day?"
"Yeah. Meet you at the car." He sprints off, still holding onto the sandals in his hands.
"Are you sure you still want to be seen with him?"
She sighs, a dreamy smile coming over her face, "It would be a dream come true."
**
They lost. Again.
But no one seems to notice, or even care as they clamor to heap praises on Fox, who's pretending to be humble and sorry that he ended the season with no wins whatsoever. One girl that's standing much too close with the pouty lips and too short skirt looks just like Spider when he's humping someone's leg: shameless. Either Fox is too braindead to notice, or doesn't mind in the slightest bit.
Fucking bastard.
He does it all the time, all the damn fucking time, who the fuck does he think he is, being in all these clubs and activities and sports and still not have at least a driver's permit. Which makes River his designated driver. Which pretty much forces him to stay after school almost everyday for no reason. Which is utterly, ridiculously stupid that Fox doesn't ever, ever, ever accept rides from his stupid groupies that follow him around all the time, even tailing his car when he's driving Fox home, only stopping a block before they get home to appear not borderline psychotic. But all Fox ever does is smile sweetly, slip into the car, turn on the radio so neither of them have to talk (he always turns it onto the jazz station. both of them hate it but they won't fucking change it for some reason), and pretend that three cars filled with giggling classmates aren't following them home.
Goddammit, he doesn't even say thank you. Ever.
And for some reason, he's still here, still waiting on the bleachers for everyone to leave and Fox to seek him out and then he can go home, fix up a meat salad (pepperoni, turkey, and beef with a sprinkle of bacon) and die in front of the tv. And around midnight or so, Fox will enter through his second floor bathroom window, and sleep in his bathtub. He never questions it, and he doesn't intend to start now.
"River!" He turns around, pretending not to be fuming and staring for the past half hour. He holds a rather precarious, special placement in the school: not exactly popular, but no one dares to upset him, given his strange affiliation with the legendary Fox. He finds it to be total bull, but it does give him a peace of mind that no one's gunning for him.
"Yeah?"
"Um. There's going to a fuckin' party, so I don't think I'll be going home..."
What. At this time, he can't see straight, feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on as he squeezes his eyes shut and watch the blood under his eyelids turn his vision red.
"River? River?"
"Yes?" Teeth bared, tone low, practically snarling.
"Would you...do you wanna come along?"
After I waited for you for three hours to finish up your little game? After I ditched my whole afternoon watching you get mauled by the other team? After I voluntarily said 'fuck it' to ever finishing that essay?
"No."
And if he had opened his eyes, he would've seen the fear flashed on Fox's face.
"Go. Have a great time." He clips, and turns away and takes the stairs out of the stadium.
**
Fucking shit fuck face four scores and seven fucking FUCK!
Fox is normally never mad. It's rare. Rarer than snow in the Bahamas, boybands making a sucessful comeback: it just simply never happens.
Except he is now, and for the first time ever mad at River.
Did he really think he wanted to attend this party? Really? Really? He was supposed to be Fox's last saving grace, his lucky ticket out of this utterly stupid waste of time. Was meant to roll his eyes, grab Fox by the arm, twist it for a good measure and say, "we're going home." Home, where he'll drop off his bag, wait fifteen minutes, then go over to River's and watch River do his essay under the pretense of watching the Matrix (for the fortieth time).
He doesn't know why he likes doing that. River puts on this terrible, constipated looking face and snarls and gnashes his teeth while he's writing about dead poets and politicians and lovers. It's more entertaining than the movie, by far.
But now he's stuck in the back of a SUV surrounded by teammates and cheerleaders, one of them who has somehow managed to stick onto his side like a leech. He's not actually sure of her name, even. He's pretty sure it starts with the letter V.
He wrestles his way to the front, next to the driver, practically crawling over people and taps him on the shoulder, "I need to go to the bathroom."
"Hang on man, my house is the next street over--"
"Now." Everyone's looking at him, but he really doesn't care right now. All he knows is that if he puts one foot in through the doorway, there's no way he'll make it out alive for the next 48 hours.
The driver, a linebacker (Fox doesn't know, he's not even sure if he's on the team), spots a gas station and parks, which prompts everyone to get out, shuffling in as they decide to load up on more sugar and fat in the form of deep fried corn chips and alcoholic beverages. Fox somehow manages to peel V off of him and dash into the bathroom without anyone following him. Goes in, spots the small window up at the top left corner and grins, scrabbling up to stand on the sink and open it. In less than six minutes, he's already out and running across the street, to the promise of meat salad and an incredibly angry River.
It couldn't get any better than this.
**
It takes him almost two hours, but he's home. Well, River's house, technically, but he already spends enough time there that half of his closet is in River's bathroom, along with tolietries, his textbooks, and laptop.
Ok, he's practicaly moved in. It's a wonder why River hasn't simply thrown everything away. But he has seen River using his laptop when his is on the fritz, so he supposes it balances out as rent of some sorts.
"Boring" he lies, having not gone to the party in the first place. He reaches over, underneath River's arm and steals a ham slice from his meat salad, largely untouched.
"Someone dropped you off?"
Fox stops chewing, puts the ham back into the bowl and edges out of the door.
"Fox!"
River (17): The chronically angry boy has now turned to an even angrier teen with a penchant for passive-aggressiveness. The cloud is now not really attached to him, sometimes leaving him for Fox. Half grateful, half jealous of Fox, and will go for days playing the ignoring game before feeling lonely again. Swears a lot (in his head). Of course, he utterly blames Fox for that.
Fox (16): Somehow managed to be class president, football quarterback, and debate captain. He's not very good at any of these, but noone seems to mind. About to become diabetic with the increasing sugar consumption. Still lets out a tirade of expletives, though by high school it's seen as edgy than blasphemy. Always has the time for River, even if River doesn't want him around.
