Garrett Octavius Ogletree (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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gooseberryhigh2017-03-09 10:08 pm
garogletree) wrote in gooseberryhigh2017-03-09 10:08 pm
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Who: Sebastien Lacroix and Garrett Ogletree
When: Wednesday, March 1 in the evening (during the Great Journal Blackout)
Where: Prefecting around campus.
What: Bash and Garrett are on rounds and are just silly.
Warnings: None there are like two curse words because they are just dumb sophomores
The lack of instant communication with Gavin the few hours that they’re apart has put Garrett in a bit of a high alert state. He’s doing his best to not be too fussy, but for the first time in a long time he’s not incredibly excited about doing prefect rounds. He normally finds the breathing room relaxing but… now he feels like something could go horribly wrong with Gavin and he’d have no idea and it would be absolutely terrible. So he’s maybe a little tense. Or kind of a lot tense. At least slightly calming, however, is the fact that he’s with Bash who he enjoys the company of even if he’s often very confused by him. He’s spent most of their walk giving himself a silent pep talk while simultaneously trying to keep up with what the other boy is talking about. It’s clear he’s been pretty uncomfortable the whole time, though.
“They have to get the journals back to working soon, right?” he inquires abruptly part way through rounds. There’s only so long Garrett can hold in his agitation. Still, he quickly realizes this is maybe seems a little desperate and adds, “Because it’s boring without them.”
Seeing as Bash had been in the middle of a pretty decent (if semi-incoherent) rant about lexical gaps in the English language and his (generally favorable, if supplemented by actively demonstrative hand gestures) opinions on bridging any and all holes in in a person’s vocabulary by substituting in the word ‘stuff’ in place of, well, pretty much anything? It’s probably for the best that someone stops him. Immediately. There’s a possibility that he lets out an actual sigh of relief when Garrett finally interrupts him.
Okay, it’s a really strong possibility.
“I hope so?” he replies, eyebrows beetling together for a moment before he breathes out a laugh. “I mean, I’m pretty sure that somebody’s going to kill me otherwise? Like - maybe your brother?” He pauses. Reevaluates. “No. Miss Rhee. Definitely Miss Rhee. I asked, like - probably twenty-seven more questions than I usually do. It’s becoming a problem.”
He hadn’t realized how overwhelming Bash’s talking had been until it stopped, so Garrett is also a little glad that he’s blurted out his anxiety-induced question and put an end to it for the moment. The Coppertale lets out a short, heavy sigh that raises and drops his shoulders as he considers Bash’s initial questioning comment; it’s not making him feel very hopeful. However, his later words have him quirking something of a smile. “Yeah, it’s gotten a little out of hand, so murder is a strong possibility. Though, I mean, maybe they’ll just tag team it? Joint student-teacher murder? Gavin and I will have to bury you because it’ll obviously need to be in the Grotto.” He sounds faintly cheered.
Still, this doesn’t last for very long, and within moments he’s back to looking a little less than thrilled. “Is this what it feels like to get your cell phone taken away?”
Yeah, it’s - Bash’s own anxiety tends to form into monologues if not kept in check. Which, honestly? Not that hard for other people to do. Little bit of verbal prompting. High success rate overall. Just - very hard for him to do himself. There’s something really close to relief that floods through him when Garrett starts talking. Conversation is easier; there’s a very clear cutoff for give and take. He can totally manage two-sided conversations without completely going off of the rails.
“I’ve just got a lot of extra words stored up, dude. It can’t be helped. I totally accept my inevitable death and will be willing to hand over a signed document stating that I don’t want your brother to be arrested.” He grins, tipping one hand back and forth like a very indecisive scale. “On the other hand, you can definitely go with the Grotto burial plan. Just - let Ariel know she’s off the twin hook? She’ll probably give you a medal.”
He laughs outright at the last question, blowing out a long stream of air and running a hand through his hair. “Yes. Except, like - your phone also has other shit it can do? Like - you can put whole books in that thing. Or TV shows. But mostly, yeah. You could tell my sister you were planning on murdering me and she’d be able to answer you right now. You could even get her gross face on the screen giving you her blessing in real time.”
Garrett is happy to help soothe some of Bash’s anxiety by prompting him, for both of their sakes. Now that he’s got his own worries (sort of) out in the air, he can be a little more engaging at least.
“I’d go so far as to say an unreasonable amount of extra words, but at least you know what’s in store for you in the end. Murder. Murder that your twin will celebrate.” He quirks the same smile he had moments before, though it doesn’t have as much strength as it had initially. “I’d be an accomplice, obviously, so both Gav and I would greatly appreciate a letter releasing us from responsibility - we won’t do well in prison. We’re too high maintenance. And I’m pretty sure they don’t make designer prison jumpsuits. It’d just be a nightmare.”
While cell phones aren’t an entire mystery to Garrett, they aren’t a large part of his life by any means. Remembering how much more complicated they are than he had originally thought, the young man makes a face. “Oh yeah, I always forget they do all those other things. It just… seems like a lot. Also, I don’t want to see your sister’s face if it’s ‘gross.’”
Here he pauses before, with some hesitation, inquiring, “Isn’t it hard not being able to just… talk to her all the time?” He’s freaking out because he can’t talk to Gavin while he’s on rounds; he can’t imagine having to endure that sort of separation for anything longer than a few hours.
Dude, it was actually sort of bad how reliant they’d all become on magical talking books. Because, in all fairness, they could just walk to see one another so long as it was within curfew. It’d take a few minutes, sure. But they could do it. Theoretically.
Or maybe other people could just leave their shit alone and not break it on them.
Bash opens his mouth to automatically defend his sister’s grossness being dependent entirely on him being the one calling her gross. But then Garrett’s question makes him click his teeth back together for a minute.
“Yeah, it’s -” It’s actually sort of hard to articulate - now that he actually has to articulate it. “Yeah. I, um - I’m not very good without her? Like - I lose track of a lot more shit than usual and she’s - Ariel’s usually the one who knows how to make sure I sit still and shut up at the right times? Like Miss Rhee’s class.” He summons up another grin, this one sort of crooked and maybe a bit sheepish. “Or on prefect
rounds? Like - right now.”
A small part of Garrett is relieved to hear that it’s not all rainbows and sunshine for Bash. It makes him feel a little more normal in his dependence on his brother, though he’s quite aware that they’ve maybe taken their reliance on one another a step further than most. As far as he’s concerned, though, it’s a necessity.
“I think you’re doing pretty alright without her,” Garrett offers sincerely. Sure, Bash can generally talk, a lot, about really confusing things, but Garrett sees this all as pretty minor. He’s not going to bring up the fact that he’d probably be failing out if it weren’t for Gavin - now that’s not being good without your twin. Instead he smiles somewhat convincingly. He’s spent enough of the day feeling sorry for himself, so he’s going to try to push past those feelings.
“I mean, I can tell you to shut up more if that’s what you really want? It’ll be a struggle, but I’m willing to do it for you. How many times a day do you want me to cut you off? Or is it like a timing thing? ‘Bash gets to talk for at most 5 minutes straight’? Gav can help too. We’ll be ruthless.”
No judgement, man. If there was any reliable way to somehow fake magical competence in squibs, Bash would’ve lied through his teeth to get his sister into school with him. He doesn’t regret the decision to come or anything, and it’s probably helped him grow as a person or something, but he would absolutely undo his personal growth in a hot second if he could. Or at least figure out a way to get reliable wifi. Cause seriously.
“I’m doing okay, I guess. As far as human beings go. All limbs attached correctly.”
One of his shoulders twitches upward in a vague sort of shrug and he spins on his heel, shuffling backward to better face his walking companion.
“It’s more of an ‘other people’ thing -” he curls his fingers into appropriately timed air-quotes. “Like - if other people look like they might murder me, you could just stab me with a pen. Or maybe something less violent? Pain is not my thing. I cry easily. Totally down with the ruthlessness, though.”
Bash’s initial comment actually has Garrett laughing for a moment and maybe, just maybe, he’s loosening up a bit. “That’s a pretty low bar, dude. Do you normally gauge your successes on your ability to stay in one piece? Because that’s valid if you’re, like… dueling a Dark Wizard. Maybe not so much getting through high school.” Well, maybe. He pales the smallest amount as he thinks of Ulysses. Nope, not doing that. He’s back to focusing on his fellow prefect, and thank god he’s a fantastic distraction. It’s actually one of the reasons he likes the other boy; he helps with a quick recovery from introspection.
“Ok so, the vibe I’m getting is somewhere in between stabbing and like... a gentle swat on the wrist. We can probably work with that.” Garrett finally smiles for real, one of his usual charming, boyish smiles. “Are you really that delicate, though? You’d better get over that - there’s a big mean world out there.” Says the kid who has grown up in the lap of luxury and is by no means physically resilient.
“Plus what if you have to get in a fight to protect Ariel’s honor or something like that?”
Bash’s own shoulders gradually loosen the easier Garrett’s demeanor grows. For all his occasionally disastrous social habits, he’s unabashedly a people-pleaser. Happy companions are good companions. And, honestly, he’s more than happy to be the butt of the joke. “I like to keep my bar at a comfortable height,” he explains. “That way, I’m guaranteed a win or two.”
All limbs, still present and accounted for. See? Instant personal victory!
“I am confident in my masculinity and comfortable with expressing my emotions freely.” If it sounds a bit like he’s quoting, it probably because he is - but the grin that slides its way across his face is impish. “And, anyway, do you know how alarming it is for other people when you cry at them? The answer is ‘very’ - in case you were wondering. Totally an underappreciated psychological advantage.”
The last question, however, has him arching an eyebrow, sweeping one hand down the length of his body like Vanna Freaking White. “Dude, does this look like the body of someone who is prepared to defend anybody’s honor?”
No. No, it does not. (Not that this would necessarily stop him from trying - but that is very much not the point that we are making here.)
What’s a thing that is way more comfortable than talking about feelings? Playfully making fun of someone! Despite being the one who brought up the stresses of their non-functioning journals, Garrett’s happy that the topic has at least momentarily remained on something less serious. “Yeah, but then what happens when you do lose a limb? That’s like, two big blows right there - failure that you’re totally unaccustomed to and partial dismemberment. I’m still pretty skeptical of this low bar of yours.”
As Bash brings up the word ‘masculinity’ Garrett grins, clearly seeing this as a prime target for more ribbing. “I wouldn’t say you’ve got anything like masculinity going for you, but you’re welcome to lie to yourself as much as you want. Especially since my only job is apparently just to get you to shut up. But, let’s see...” At this he tilts his head, looking over his friend as if he’s assessing his ability to do anything, much less defend Ariel’s honor. “Mmm yeah, no, not seeing the masculinity. Not seeing the ability to defend honor. I guess you’re right on that front, at least.” Thank you Bash, for saving some of his sanity tonight.
“Also don’t cry at me ever, please.”
No worries, Garrett, we are prepared for this eventuality! He’s slightly less prepared for the tree-limb he almost trips over, but that’s just a lesson in why most people don’t walk backward in wooded areas. Not that this stops him. Oh no! We will persist in the face of adversity - and vegetation! “No. If you lose a limb, you go to extensive physical therapy and possibly get a peg-leg. And maybe a parrot. It’s fine.”
If you lose two - or the general functioning in two, as in his dad’s case - you do the extensive physical therapy thing and then you get a fucking badass, magically-enhanced wheelchair so you can hover around like you’re goddamn Professor X. There’s always a vague, very possibly stupid upside to every horrendous downside.
Bash places a hand to his chest with very deliberate delicacy, looking entirely scandalized. “Are you saying that men aren’t allowed to be in touch with their emotions? Because that’s just fucking sexist, man. Don’t shame young boys into rigid and uncompromising gender roles.” Ah, mom. Your lessons are so useful in everyday conversation. “And, anyway, Ariel defends her own honor. Vigorously. And once with a wiffle ball bat.”
He got to see that one in real time. It was beautiful and he has never loved his twin more.
Garrett rolls his eyes just a tiny bit as his fellow prefect almost trips; that’s what you get for walking backwards, Bash! He’s not going to tell his companion to not do it, but at least he’ll probably warn him if he notices a root or branch coming up again? Most likely? That’s something, he figures. Whatever, Bash will be fine even if he eats it.
“You’d be the worst pirate. You’d lose your pegleg somewhere or something and then have to be carried home which, by the way, I am definitely not volunteering to do.” He’d actually probably try and fail.
“And no no, that’s not at all what I’m saying. Expressing and being in touch with emotions can definitely be a part of a modern man. I’m just saying that you aren’t masculine, regardless of your level of emotion expressing or having or whatever. And I don’t want you crying at me.”
Garrett’s still grinning. “Ultimately it’s a good thing that you don’t have to take care of Ariel. I’m not sure what a wiffle ball bat is, but I want to see defending her honor with it regardless.”
“My parrot will save me.” He waves a hand, dismissing the entire line of seafaring conversation. Whatever, dude. Don’t carry him around in your strong and manly arms. No skin off his nose. Well, okay, maybe skin off his nose. Depending entirely on which direction he fell after misplacing his hypothetical leg.
Bash pauses for a moment, as if taking the brush-off of his tender masculinity under consideration, before nodding in concession and shrugging. “I mean, there’s a seriously unbalanced ratio of females to males in my household - so, let’s be real, there was no real chance of me being successfully masculine. I know way more about which brand of tampons is on sale than I know about football. Or whatever.” A grin. “And I’ll cry at you if I want to. It’s my party, etcetera, etcetera.”
He curls his hands into loose fists, stacking them on top of each other and swinging an imaginary wiffle ball bat in demonstration. “Basically a baseball bat. But fatter. And made of plastic. So, I mean, Luke Conley didn’t actually break his face on it - but he definitely lost a tooth.”
“Mmm, don’t think your parrot can carry you. Unless when you said ‘parrot’ you meant ‘hippogriff,’” Garrett retorts with another good-natured eye roll. He’s fairly accustomed to these conversation tangents by now, and he views it a way to keep him on his toes. Plus, they’re funny. Bash is weird.
In true teenaged boy fashion, Garret screws up his face a little bit at the mention of tampons. Not something he wants to think about - sure, they have Tabitha, and he’s got absolutely nothing against girls, but… he’s not too keen on talking about their time of the month. It just seems… unsettling to him. So he’s going to be mature about it and make a face. “Ok ok whatever, lots of girls, weak masculinity, blah blah blah. Point is, I guess, your sister is clearly a badass and doesn’t need you to stand up for her. And you probably couldn’t anyways. And, as usual, I have no idea what you’re talking about, like, probably a quarter of the time.”
He gives Bash’s shoulder a little push, not enough to unbalance him because despite acting pretty nonchalant about him almost tripping moments before, he’s not exactly rooting for him to fall over. “You’re fine like you are, no masculinity and all.”
Bash manages to get out a bright suggestion of: “Genetically enhanced parrot!” before the sight of Garrett’s face wrinkling itself up makes him grin wider - oh, feminine hygiene products; such a controversial and polarizing topic of conversation - and then snicker into his jacket sleeve like the very supportive and understanding friend that he is.
It totally isn’t a hard shove by any means, so Bash takes it upon himself to stumble a bit backward dramatically. And while the surrounding foliage would, no doubt, like to take credit for it - he would like the record to note that he trips himself up all by his damn self, thank you very much. Catching a shoelace and landing on his ass with a gasp that rattles its way easily into a snort, head tipping backward and spilling into laughter.
It takes him a second to get himself under control, and his voice squeaks a bit withbeing fifteen the continued laughter when he asks, “It’s because I’m super smooth isn’t it? That’s totally why you like me? It’s all the sweet moves and complete coordination.”
About to give Bash quite a bit of shit for clearly being overly dramatic about the push, the look of amusement and impending playful ridicule quickly shifts to one of surprise. That was definitely not what he’d meant to do. By the time he fully processes what’s going on, however, it’s much too late for him to save his friend from his small tumble, though with the way his body has moved forward and how his hand is reached out show his tardy attempt intent to help at least. Whoops.
“Crap, how did you even manage to fall from that?” Garrett asks through a laugh, offering his hand to Bash. His brows are knit just enough to suggest some sort of dismay at having caused the fall, but he’s more amused than anything else. “Your smoothness is definitely why I like you. Are you proud of yourself? Because you seem pretty self-satisfied about that display.”
“Skill,” Bash replies, looking entirely pleased to be sitting on his ass in what is very probably a pile of dead leaves. If there’s any level of dismay involved on his part, it isn’t very apparent - if the grin that’s still plastered to his face is anything to go by. “Skill is how I managed to fall from that. Skill and not tying my shoelaces properly.” Is there a spell for that? There really should be a spell for that. Correction: There probably is a spell for that. It’s probably taught to actual toddlers.
He crunches some leaves under his hands and makes no move to get up.
“I’m very proud of myself,” he confirms. “I am well-liked and I feel like that was a solid ten across the board.” A beat, his head tipping back and forth on his shoulders in brief consideration. “Well - nine from the Russian judge, but what can you do?”
Snorting, Garrett retracts his hand once it’s clear that, for the moment, Bash isn’t making any moves to get up. After a beat of consideration he squats so he’s more on his friend’s level. He tries to look judgemental, but he mostly just looks like he’s about to laugh again.
“Honestly Bash, I’m getting more and more worried about you by the second - super low bar, probably ending in a lost limb. Lacking in masculinity. Viewing falling over as a skill. Not being able to tie your shoe properly. Are you going to survive outside of school? Heck, are you going to survive the rest of the year? I mean, I’m happy that you’re proud of yourself and apparently think you’re well-liked, but you’ve really got to get some things sorted out.”
Was Garrett upset earlier? Was that a thing? Because any trace of that is now completely gone.
“Maybe they’ll make Gav prefect when we inevitably lose you.”
When Garrett starts listing his character defects, Bash shifts himself just enough to shake his hands clear of nature-residue and begins ticking them off along with him, flicking up fingers as he goes. He gets up to five. Whole hand of character defects right here. He grins at it, looking positively gratified at the end result. Not a bad turn out.
“Oh no, man. You said you like me. I heard you.” He gives up his tally hand to emphasize this, Garrett. There is very pointed hand-waving. “I mean, I may very well be taking this knowledge to an early grave, sure. Might not make it. But I definitely heard you say it.”
Just saying, he’s going to be a very satisfied corpse.
He leans forward a bit, shooting for as serious of a tone as he can manage. (It isn’t all that impressive, but it tries.) “Tell your brother that I was well-liked when he takes over my job.”
“I only like you, like, this much.” Garrett holds up a hand, his thumb and index finger less than an inch apart - he’s not being very generous. He’s also clearly full of it, and he’s well aware that Bash knows this. Anyways, the other boy is playing into this as much as he is, so even if he were one to feel bad about playful mocking he definitely wouldn’t be feeling any remorse right now.
“And I’m going to have to agree with the early grave thing.” After a moment Garrett leans to retie his friend’s shoelace, trying to keep back a laugh and looking up momentarily as Bash leans in.
“No way, I don’t want to give him some false ideal to live up to. He’ll already be pissed that it took you dying for him to become prefect - don’t need to add to that chip on his shoulder.”
Well, honestly, it’s just really nice to relax for a hot second and not worry about the journals malfunctioning or the fuzz taking over campus or the weird forest creatures kidnapping upperclassmen. And Garrett’s happy. So Bash is more than happy to scrunch up his eyes to take in the gap between the other boy’s fingers in an overdone imitation of a squint, humming very thoughtfully before replying with a decisive, “That’s at least a quarter inch more than I expected.”
His grin goes a little bit ridiculous around the edges at the shoe-tying. Like - he’s pretty sure nobody’s tied his shoes for him since he was maybe in Pre-K? It’s kind of fucking adorable. Is he getting double-knots right now? Why isn’t this a thing people do?
He props his chin up on his knee and is entirely unhelpful, watching the proceedings eagerly. “Seeing as he’s going to be the one murdering me and getting away with it, I’d say that knowing of your deep affection for me is the most fitting punishment I can think of.”
If Bash had voiced his opinion on the relief of having a bit of time to just relax, Garrett would have enthusiastically agreed. This is just what he needed, and the fact that he hasn’t worried for the past 10 or 15 minutes about whether Gavin is potentially dead in a ditch somewhere is pretty strong evidence of the effectiveness of goofing off.
Also, Bash is totally getting his shoelace double-knotted, and Garrett is even kind enough to secure his other lace, just to be safe. Now he probably won’t fall down again. At least, not because of his shoelaces.
Garrett just shakes his head at the other prefect’s pose as he observes. “Your low bar strikes again - poor Bash, thinking that that little bit of liking is ‘deep affection.’ Some girl who barely acknowledges your existence will make you very, very happy some day. If you make it to that point.” He grins, leaning back once he’s completed his task. “And at this point I think it’s a toss-up between you dying of natural Bash causes or Gav murdering you.”
Bash screws up his face, sticking his tongue out like the very mature young man he is currently playing on TV. "Ew, no thanks. The only person I want barely acknowledging my existence in that fashion is a handsome Calvin Klein underwear model. Or maybe Dean Winchester."
His sister had maybe sent him the first eighteen seasons when he'd not-so-casually inquired about demonic possession. He maybe had a problem now. (But he maybe also memorized no less than three variations of exorcism rituals. So. Bit of a helpfulness toss up right there.)
"And, anyway," he continues, seemingly unbothered by casually coming out to people while they tie his sneakers. "I've got Gabs to actually love me when my beautiful but no doubt, selfishly motivated husband damages my tender and delicate emotions." He shrugs his shoulders philosophically. "She and Ariel will get everything in my will. Make a note, Gar.”
Garrett blinks, obviously a little caught off guard. Has Bash said this to him before? Did he just forget? Or is he really this casual about his preferences? He supposes that ultimately it doesn’t matter - he doesn’t care, and Bash doesn’t seem too bothered just putting all that out there, so…
“Sorry, sorry. I don’t know who either of those guys are but I’m sure they’re, uh, right up your alley?” He has no idea what up Bash’s alley is. Except apparently underwear models, but whose alley are they not up?
His smile returns, a little unsure but mostly because he’s still confused about what to do with Bash’s nonchalance about sexual preferences. “That sounds like a really complicated romantic relationship, Bash.” Says the kid whose twin is likely to be overly involved in any relationship he has. “I guess Gabi’s super chill, though, and your husband will just be a jerk, so that’s pretty straightforward. Oh, and you’ll be dead before that happens anyways. I’ll be sure to get Ariel and Gabi into the will.”
Garrett pauses before adding, “...you done playing in the leaves there, buddy?”
Unfortunately(?), sexual preferences are casual conversation in his household. Dinner discussion ranges wildly from who you’d eat first if trapped on a desert island to which Avenger you’d want to sexily damsel-in-distress you to which US President you’d want to get in a fist-fight with. (The answer is, unanimously, Not Theodore Roosevelt.) Usually all at very high volume. While his father tosses dinner rolls at people.
“Honestly, those are both terrible and highly unlikely examples. And my alley is probably one of those ominous ones people don’t want to walk down for fear of being mugged. You’ve mentioned my bar -” He gestures vaguely in the direction of his own face. “It is, in fact, very low.”
If Garrett’s feeling a bit unsure, Bash is willing to be sure enough about the whole thing for the both of them. “And it ain’t as complicated as all that. Gabi’s my best friend. Our love is pure and true and, in this hypothetical scenario where I am dead and/or murdered, I will leave her half of my fortune to assure that she is well taken care of.” Gotta provide for your main lady, after all. That’s what friends are for, dude.
He takes one last look down at his securely tied shoelaces and grins, levering himself upward. “We probably should do something productive, yeah?”
It’s confirmed: Garrett does not belong at Bash’s house. He would have no idea what to do in this sort of dinner situation, and while he’s very much silly and playful a family dynamic nearly the polar opposite of his own would just leave him bewildered and wide open for a roll to the face.
“Your dating bar is that low too? You’re in serious trouble,” Garrett snorts, some of his composure regained thanks in part to Bash’s complete and utter chill about the whole thing. “But I guess you’re right, as long as you have Gabi playing love chaperon you’ll at least have the emotional support you won’t be getting out of your relationship. She totally deserves your money.”
As Bash gets to his feet Garrett also stands, lifting one foot at a time and flexing his knees a bit to get the ache from squatting out of them. “Yeah like... maybe prefect, I guess?”
Aw, that doesn’t mean anything! Taking a well-pitched dinner roll to the general face area is one of the ways that new people are initiated into the family! And the occasional dose of good-natured bewilderment is good for the complexion or something. There’s probably been scientific research on the topic.
“You think I should start practicing on uneven bars?” he inquires, look caught somewhere between cheeky and playfully intimidated. “Parallel’s hard enough, dude. I haven’t been training for that.” Oh, gymnastics jokes. Truly the pinnacle of wit right there. Bash smiles brightly, “She’s welcome to every last quarter in my wallet, man.”
He twists himself slightly, getting a pretty poor look at the area around his spine and lightly brushing forest off of his pants before turning back to Garrett and attempting to look earnest and ready to uphold rules and shit. “Yup. Prefecting. Totally a thing we are excelling at currently. Ready to do some more of it if you are?”
When: Wednesday, March 1 in the evening (during the Great Journal Blackout)
Where: Prefecting around campus.
What: Bash and Garrett are on rounds and are just silly.
Warnings: None there are like two curse words because they are just dumb sophomores
The lack of instant communication with Gavin the few hours that they’re apart has put Garrett in a bit of a high alert state. He’s doing his best to not be too fussy, but for the first time in a long time he’s not incredibly excited about doing prefect rounds. He normally finds the breathing room relaxing but… now he feels like something could go horribly wrong with Gavin and he’d have no idea and it would be absolutely terrible. So he’s maybe a little tense. Or kind of a lot tense. At least slightly calming, however, is the fact that he’s with Bash who he enjoys the company of even if he’s often very confused by him. He’s spent most of their walk giving himself a silent pep talk while simultaneously trying to keep up with what the other boy is talking about. It’s clear he’s been pretty uncomfortable the whole time, though.
“They have to get the journals back to working soon, right?” he inquires abruptly part way through rounds. There’s only so long Garrett can hold in his agitation. Still, he quickly realizes this is maybe seems a little desperate and adds, “Because it’s boring without them.”
Seeing as Bash had been in the middle of a pretty decent (if semi-incoherent) rant about lexical gaps in the English language and his (generally favorable, if supplemented by actively demonstrative hand gestures) opinions on bridging any and all holes in in a person’s vocabulary by substituting in the word ‘stuff’ in place of, well, pretty much anything? It’s probably for the best that someone stops him. Immediately. There’s a possibility that he lets out an actual sigh of relief when Garrett finally interrupts him.
Okay, it’s a really strong possibility.
“I hope so?” he replies, eyebrows beetling together for a moment before he breathes out a laugh. “I mean, I’m pretty sure that somebody’s going to kill me otherwise? Like - maybe your brother?” He pauses. Reevaluates. “No. Miss Rhee. Definitely Miss Rhee. I asked, like - probably twenty-seven more questions than I usually do. It’s becoming a problem.”
He hadn’t realized how overwhelming Bash’s talking had been until it stopped, so Garrett is also a little glad that he’s blurted out his anxiety-induced question and put an end to it for the moment. The Coppertale lets out a short, heavy sigh that raises and drops his shoulders as he considers Bash’s initial questioning comment; it’s not making him feel very hopeful. However, his later words have him quirking something of a smile. “Yeah, it’s gotten a little out of hand, so murder is a strong possibility. Though, I mean, maybe they’ll just tag team it? Joint student-teacher murder? Gavin and I will have to bury you because it’ll obviously need to be in the Grotto.” He sounds faintly cheered.
Still, this doesn’t last for very long, and within moments he’s back to looking a little less than thrilled. “Is this what it feels like to get your cell phone taken away?”
Yeah, it’s - Bash’s own anxiety tends to form into monologues if not kept in check. Which, honestly? Not that hard for other people to do. Little bit of verbal prompting. High success rate overall. Just - very hard for him to do himself. There’s something really close to relief that floods through him when Garrett starts talking. Conversation is easier; there’s a very clear cutoff for give and take. He can totally manage two-sided conversations without completely going off of the rails.
“I’ve just got a lot of extra words stored up, dude. It can’t be helped. I totally accept my inevitable death and will be willing to hand over a signed document stating that I don’t want your brother to be arrested.” He grins, tipping one hand back and forth like a very indecisive scale. “On the other hand, you can definitely go with the Grotto burial plan. Just - let Ariel know she’s off the twin hook? She’ll probably give you a medal.”
He laughs outright at the last question, blowing out a long stream of air and running a hand through his hair. “Yes. Except, like - your phone also has other shit it can do? Like - you can put whole books in that thing. Or TV shows. But mostly, yeah. You could tell my sister you were planning on murdering me and she’d be able to answer you right now. You could even get her gross face on the screen giving you her blessing in real time.”
Garrett is happy to help soothe some of Bash’s anxiety by prompting him, for both of their sakes. Now that he’s got his own worries (sort of) out in the air, he can be a little more engaging at least.
“I’d go so far as to say an unreasonable amount of extra words, but at least you know what’s in store for you in the end. Murder. Murder that your twin will celebrate.” He quirks the same smile he had moments before, though it doesn’t have as much strength as it had initially. “I’d be an accomplice, obviously, so both Gav and I would greatly appreciate a letter releasing us from responsibility - we won’t do well in prison. We’re too high maintenance. And I’m pretty sure they don’t make designer prison jumpsuits. It’d just be a nightmare.”
While cell phones aren’t an entire mystery to Garrett, they aren’t a large part of his life by any means. Remembering how much more complicated they are than he had originally thought, the young man makes a face. “Oh yeah, I always forget they do all those other things. It just… seems like a lot. Also, I don’t want to see your sister’s face if it’s ‘gross.’”
Here he pauses before, with some hesitation, inquiring, “Isn’t it hard not being able to just… talk to her all the time?” He’s freaking out because he can’t talk to Gavin while he’s on rounds; he can’t imagine having to endure that sort of separation for anything longer than a few hours.
Dude, it was actually sort of bad how reliant they’d all become on magical talking books. Because, in all fairness, they could just walk to see one another so long as it was within curfew. It’d take a few minutes, sure. But they could do it. Theoretically.
Or maybe other people could just leave their shit alone and not break it on them.
Bash opens his mouth to automatically defend his sister’s grossness being dependent entirely on him being the one calling her gross. But then Garrett’s question makes him click his teeth back together for a minute.
“Yeah, it’s -” It’s actually sort of hard to articulate - now that he actually has to articulate it. “Yeah. I, um - I’m not very good without her? Like - I lose track of a lot more shit than usual and she’s - Ariel’s usually the one who knows how to make sure I sit still and shut up at the right times? Like Miss Rhee’s class.” He summons up another grin, this one sort of crooked and maybe a bit sheepish. “Or on prefect
rounds? Like - right now.”
A small part of Garrett is relieved to hear that it’s not all rainbows and sunshine for Bash. It makes him feel a little more normal in his dependence on his brother, though he’s quite aware that they’ve maybe taken their reliance on one another a step further than most. As far as he’s concerned, though, it’s a necessity.
“I think you’re doing pretty alright without her,” Garrett offers sincerely. Sure, Bash can generally talk, a lot, about really confusing things, but Garrett sees this all as pretty minor. He’s not going to bring up the fact that he’d probably be failing out if it weren’t for Gavin - now that’s not being good without your twin. Instead he smiles somewhat convincingly. He’s spent enough of the day feeling sorry for himself, so he’s going to try to push past those feelings.
“I mean, I can tell you to shut up more if that’s what you really want? It’ll be a struggle, but I’m willing to do it for you. How many times a day do you want me to cut you off? Or is it like a timing thing? ‘Bash gets to talk for at most 5 minutes straight’? Gav can help too. We’ll be ruthless.”
No judgement, man. If there was any reliable way to somehow fake magical competence in squibs, Bash would’ve lied through his teeth to get his sister into school with him. He doesn’t regret the decision to come or anything, and it’s probably helped him grow as a person or something, but he would absolutely undo his personal growth in a hot second if he could. Or at least figure out a way to get reliable wifi. Cause seriously.
“I’m doing okay, I guess. As far as human beings go. All limbs attached correctly.”
One of his shoulders twitches upward in a vague sort of shrug and he spins on his heel, shuffling backward to better face his walking companion.
“It’s more of an ‘other people’ thing -” he curls his fingers into appropriately timed air-quotes. “Like - if other people look like they might murder me, you could just stab me with a pen. Or maybe something less violent? Pain is not my thing. I cry easily. Totally down with the ruthlessness, though.”
Bash’s initial comment actually has Garrett laughing for a moment and maybe, just maybe, he’s loosening up a bit. “That’s a pretty low bar, dude. Do you normally gauge your successes on your ability to stay in one piece? Because that’s valid if you’re, like… dueling a Dark Wizard. Maybe not so much getting through high school.” Well, maybe. He pales the smallest amount as he thinks of Ulysses. Nope, not doing that. He’s back to focusing on his fellow prefect, and thank god he’s a fantastic distraction. It’s actually one of the reasons he likes the other boy; he helps with a quick recovery from introspection.
“Ok so, the vibe I’m getting is somewhere in between stabbing and like... a gentle swat on the wrist. We can probably work with that.” Garrett finally smiles for real, one of his usual charming, boyish smiles. “Are you really that delicate, though? You’d better get over that - there’s a big mean world out there.” Says the kid who has grown up in the lap of luxury and is by no means physically resilient.
“Plus what if you have to get in a fight to protect Ariel’s honor or something like that?”
Bash’s own shoulders gradually loosen the easier Garrett’s demeanor grows. For all his occasionally disastrous social habits, he’s unabashedly a people-pleaser. Happy companions are good companions. And, honestly, he’s more than happy to be the butt of the joke. “I like to keep my bar at a comfortable height,” he explains. “That way, I’m guaranteed a win or two.”
All limbs, still present and accounted for. See? Instant personal victory!
“I am confident in my masculinity and comfortable with expressing my emotions freely.” If it sounds a bit like he’s quoting, it probably because he is - but the grin that slides its way across his face is impish. “And, anyway, do you know how alarming it is for other people when you cry at them? The answer is ‘very’ - in case you were wondering. Totally an underappreciated psychological advantage.”
The last question, however, has him arching an eyebrow, sweeping one hand down the length of his body like Vanna Freaking White. “Dude, does this look like the body of someone who is prepared to defend anybody’s honor?”
No. No, it does not. (Not that this would necessarily stop him from trying - but that is very much not the point that we are making here.)
What’s a thing that is way more comfortable than talking about feelings? Playfully making fun of someone! Despite being the one who brought up the stresses of their non-functioning journals, Garrett’s happy that the topic has at least momentarily remained on something less serious. “Yeah, but then what happens when you do lose a limb? That’s like, two big blows right there - failure that you’re totally unaccustomed to and partial dismemberment. I’m still pretty skeptical of this low bar of yours.”
As Bash brings up the word ‘masculinity’ Garrett grins, clearly seeing this as a prime target for more ribbing. “I wouldn’t say you’ve got anything like masculinity going for you, but you’re welcome to lie to yourself as much as you want. Especially since my only job is apparently just to get you to shut up. But, let’s see...” At this he tilts his head, looking over his friend as if he’s assessing his ability to do anything, much less defend Ariel’s honor. “Mmm yeah, no, not seeing the masculinity. Not seeing the ability to defend honor. I guess you’re right on that front, at least.” Thank you Bash, for saving some of his sanity tonight.
“Also don’t cry at me ever, please.”
No worries, Garrett, we are prepared for this eventuality! He’s slightly less prepared for the tree-limb he almost trips over, but that’s just a lesson in why most people don’t walk backward in wooded areas. Not that this stops him. Oh no! We will persist in the face of adversity - and vegetation! “No. If you lose a limb, you go to extensive physical therapy and possibly get a peg-leg. And maybe a parrot. It’s fine.”
If you lose two - or the general functioning in two, as in his dad’s case - you do the extensive physical therapy thing and then you get a fucking badass, magically-enhanced wheelchair so you can hover around like you’re goddamn Professor X. There’s always a vague, very possibly stupid upside to every horrendous downside.
Bash places a hand to his chest with very deliberate delicacy, looking entirely scandalized. “Are you saying that men aren’t allowed to be in touch with their emotions? Because that’s just fucking sexist, man. Don’t shame young boys into rigid and uncompromising gender roles.” Ah, mom. Your lessons are so useful in everyday conversation. “And, anyway, Ariel defends her own honor. Vigorously. And once with a wiffle ball bat.”
He got to see that one in real time. It was beautiful and he has never loved his twin more.
Garrett rolls his eyes just a tiny bit as his fellow prefect almost trips; that’s what you get for walking backwards, Bash! He’s not going to tell his companion to not do it, but at least he’ll probably warn him if he notices a root or branch coming up again? Most likely? That’s something, he figures. Whatever, Bash will be fine even if he eats it.
“You’d be the worst pirate. You’d lose your pegleg somewhere or something and then have to be carried home which, by the way, I am definitely not volunteering to do.” He’d actually probably try and fail.
“And no no, that’s not at all what I’m saying. Expressing and being in touch with emotions can definitely be a part of a modern man. I’m just saying that you aren’t masculine, regardless of your level of emotion expressing or having or whatever. And I don’t want you crying at me.”
Garrett’s still grinning. “Ultimately it’s a good thing that you don’t have to take care of Ariel. I’m not sure what a wiffle ball bat is, but I want to see defending her honor with it regardless.”
“My parrot will save me.” He waves a hand, dismissing the entire line of seafaring conversation. Whatever, dude. Don’t carry him around in your strong and manly arms. No skin off his nose. Well, okay, maybe skin off his nose. Depending entirely on which direction he fell after misplacing his hypothetical leg.
Bash pauses for a moment, as if taking the brush-off of his tender masculinity under consideration, before nodding in concession and shrugging. “I mean, there’s a seriously unbalanced ratio of females to males in my household - so, let’s be real, there was no real chance of me being successfully masculine. I know way more about which brand of tampons is on sale than I know about football. Or whatever.” A grin. “And I’ll cry at you if I want to. It’s my party, etcetera, etcetera.”
He curls his hands into loose fists, stacking them on top of each other and swinging an imaginary wiffle ball bat in demonstration. “Basically a baseball bat. But fatter. And made of plastic. So, I mean, Luke Conley didn’t actually break his face on it - but he definitely lost a tooth.”
“Mmm, don’t think your parrot can carry you. Unless when you said ‘parrot’ you meant ‘hippogriff,’” Garrett retorts with another good-natured eye roll. He’s fairly accustomed to these conversation tangents by now, and he views it a way to keep him on his toes. Plus, they’re funny. Bash is weird.
In true teenaged boy fashion, Garret screws up his face a little bit at the mention of tampons. Not something he wants to think about - sure, they have Tabitha, and he’s got absolutely nothing against girls, but… he’s not too keen on talking about their time of the month. It just seems… unsettling to him. So he’s going to be mature about it and make a face. “Ok ok whatever, lots of girls, weak masculinity, blah blah blah. Point is, I guess, your sister is clearly a badass and doesn’t need you to stand up for her. And you probably couldn’t anyways. And, as usual, I have no idea what you’re talking about, like, probably a quarter of the time.”
He gives Bash’s shoulder a little push, not enough to unbalance him because despite acting pretty nonchalant about him almost tripping moments before, he’s not exactly rooting for him to fall over. “You’re fine like you are, no masculinity and all.”
Bash manages to get out a bright suggestion of: “Genetically enhanced parrot!” before the sight of Garrett’s face wrinkling itself up makes him grin wider - oh, feminine hygiene products; such a controversial and polarizing topic of conversation - and then snicker into his jacket sleeve like the very supportive and understanding friend that he is.
It totally isn’t a hard shove by any means, so Bash takes it upon himself to stumble a bit backward dramatically. And while the surrounding foliage would, no doubt, like to take credit for it - he would like the record to note that he trips himself up all by his damn self, thank you very much. Catching a shoelace and landing on his ass with a gasp that rattles its way easily into a snort, head tipping backward and spilling into laughter.
It takes him a second to get himself under control, and his voice squeaks a bit with
About to give Bash quite a bit of shit for clearly being overly dramatic about the push, the look of amusement and impending playful ridicule quickly shifts to one of surprise. That was definitely not what he’d meant to do. By the time he fully processes what’s going on, however, it’s much too late for him to save his friend from his small tumble, though with the way his body has moved forward and how his hand is reached out show his tardy attempt intent to help at least. Whoops.
“Crap, how did you even manage to fall from that?” Garrett asks through a laugh, offering his hand to Bash. His brows are knit just enough to suggest some sort of dismay at having caused the fall, but he’s more amused than anything else. “Your smoothness is definitely why I like you. Are you proud of yourself? Because you seem pretty self-satisfied about that display.”
“Skill,” Bash replies, looking entirely pleased to be sitting on his ass in what is very probably a pile of dead leaves. If there’s any level of dismay involved on his part, it isn’t very apparent - if the grin that’s still plastered to his face is anything to go by. “Skill is how I managed to fall from that. Skill and not tying my shoelaces properly.” Is there a spell for that? There really should be a spell for that. Correction: There probably is a spell for that. It’s probably taught to actual toddlers.
He crunches some leaves under his hands and makes no move to get up.
“I’m very proud of myself,” he confirms. “I am well-liked and I feel like that was a solid ten across the board.” A beat, his head tipping back and forth on his shoulders in brief consideration. “Well - nine from the Russian judge, but what can you do?”
Snorting, Garrett retracts his hand once it’s clear that, for the moment, Bash isn’t making any moves to get up. After a beat of consideration he squats so he’s more on his friend’s level. He tries to look judgemental, but he mostly just looks like he’s about to laugh again.
“Honestly Bash, I’m getting more and more worried about you by the second - super low bar, probably ending in a lost limb. Lacking in masculinity. Viewing falling over as a skill. Not being able to tie your shoe properly. Are you going to survive outside of school? Heck, are you going to survive the rest of the year? I mean, I’m happy that you’re proud of yourself and apparently think you’re well-liked, but you’ve really got to get some things sorted out.”
Was Garrett upset earlier? Was that a thing? Because any trace of that is now completely gone.
“Maybe they’ll make Gav prefect when we inevitably lose you.”
When Garrett starts listing his character defects, Bash shifts himself just enough to shake his hands clear of nature-residue and begins ticking them off along with him, flicking up fingers as he goes. He gets up to five. Whole hand of character defects right here. He grins at it, looking positively gratified at the end result. Not a bad turn out.
“Oh no, man. You said you like me. I heard you.” He gives up his tally hand to emphasize this, Garrett. There is very pointed hand-waving. “I mean, I may very well be taking this knowledge to an early grave, sure. Might not make it. But I definitely heard you say it.”
Just saying, he’s going to be a very satisfied corpse.
He leans forward a bit, shooting for as serious of a tone as he can manage. (It isn’t all that impressive, but it tries.) “Tell your brother that I was well-liked when he takes over my job.”
“I only like you, like, this much.” Garrett holds up a hand, his thumb and index finger less than an inch apart - he’s not being very generous. He’s also clearly full of it, and he’s well aware that Bash knows this. Anyways, the other boy is playing into this as much as he is, so even if he were one to feel bad about playful mocking he definitely wouldn’t be feeling any remorse right now.
“And I’m going to have to agree with the early grave thing.” After a moment Garrett leans to retie his friend’s shoelace, trying to keep back a laugh and looking up momentarily as Bash leans in.
“No way, I don’t want to give him some false ideal to live up to. He’ll already be pissed that it took you dying for him to become prefect - don’t need to add to that chip on his shoulder.”
Well, honestly, it’s just really nice to relax for a hot second and not worry about the journals malfunctioning or the fuzz taking over campus or the weird forest creatures kidnapping upperclassmen. And Garrett’s happy. So Bash is more than happy to scrunch up his eyes to take in the gap between the other boy’s fingers in an overdone imitation of a squint, humming very thoughtfully before replying with a decisive, “That’s at least a quarter inch more than I expected.”
His grin goes a little bit ridiculous around the edges at the shoe-tying. Like - he’s pretty sure nobody’s tied his shoes for him since he was maybe in Pre-K? It’s kind of fucking adorable. Is he getting double-knots right now? Why isn’t this a thing people do?
He props his chin up on his knee and is entirely unhelpful, watching the proceedings eagerly. “Seeing as he’s going to be the one murdering me and getting away with it, I’d say that knowing of your deep affection for me is the most fitting punishment I can think of.”
If Bash had voiced his opinion on the relief of having a bit of time to just relax, Garrett would have enthusiastically agreed. This is just what he needed, and the fact that he hasn’t worried for the past 10 or 15 minutes about whether Gavin is potentially dead in a ditch somewhere is pretty strong evidence of the effectiveness of goofing off.
Also, Bash is totally getting his shoelace double-knotted, and Garrett is even kind enough to secure his other lace, just to be safe. Now he probably won’t fall down again. At least, not because of his shoelaces.
Garrett just shakes his head at the other prefect’s pose as he observes. “Your low bar strikes again - poor Bash, thinking that that little bit of liking is ‘deep affection.’ Some girl who barely acknowledges your existence will make you very, very happy some day. If you make it to that point.” He grins, leaning back once he’s completed his task. “And at this point I think it’s a toss-up between you dying of natural Bash causes or Gav murdering you.”
Bash screws up his face, sticking his tongue out like the very mature young man he is currently playing on TV. "Ew, no thanks. The only person I want barely acknowledging my existence in that fashion is a handsome Calvin Klein underwear model. Or maybe Dean Winchester."
His sister had maybe sent him the first eighteen seasons when he'd not-so-casually inquired about demonic possession. He maybe had a problem now. (But he maybe also memorized no less than three variations of exorcism rituals. So. Bit of a helpfulness toss up right there.)
"And, anyway," he continues, seemingly unbothered by casually coming out to people while they tie his sneakers. "I've got Gabs to actually love me when my beautiful but no doubt, selfishly motivated husband damages my tender and delicate emotions." He shrugs his shoulders philosophically. "She and Ariel will get everything in my will. Make a note, Gar.”
Garrett blinks, obviously a little caught off guard. Has Bash said this to him before? Did he just forget? Or is he really this casual about his preferences? He supposes that ultimately it doesn’t matter - he doesn’t care, and Bash doesn’t seem too bothered just putting all that out there, so…
“Sorry, sorry. I don’t know who either of those guys are but I’m sure they’re, uh, right up your alley?” He has no idea what up Bash’s alley is. Except apparently underwear models, but whose alley are they not up?
His smile returns, a little unsure but mostly because he’s still confused about what to do with Bash’s nonchalance about sexual preferences. “That sounds like a really complicated romantic relationship, Bash.” Says the kid whose twin is likely to be overly involved in any relationship he has. “I guess Gabi’s super chill, though, and your husband will just be a jerk, so that’s pretty straightforward. Oh, and you’ll be dead before that happens anyways. I’ll be sure to get Ariel and Gabi into the will.”
Garrett pauses before adding, “...you done playing in the leaves there, buddy?”
Unfortunately(?), sexual preferences are casual conversation in his household. Dinner discussion ranges wildly from who you’d eat first if trapped on a desert island to which Avenger you’d want to sexily damsel-in-distress you to which US President you’d want to get in a fist-fight with. (The answer is, unanimously, Not Theodore Roosevelt.) Usually all at very high volume. While his father tosses dinner rolls at people.
“Honestly, those are both terrible and highly unlikely examples. And my alley is probably one of those ominous ones people don’t want to walk down for fear of being mugged. You’ve mentioned my bar -” He gestures vaguely in the direction of his own face. “It is, in fact, very low.”
If Garrett’s feeling a bit unsure, Bash is willing to be sure enough about the whole thing for the both of them. “And it ain’t as complicated as all that. Gabi’s my best friend. Our love is pure and true and, in this hypothetical scenario where I am dead and/or murdered, I will leave her half of my fortune to assure that she is well taken care of.” Gotta provide for your main lady, after all. That’s what friends are for, dude.
He takes one last look down at his securely tied shoelaces and grins, levering himself upward. “We probably should do something productive, yeah?”
It’s confirmed: Garrett does not belong at Bash’s house. He would have no idea what to do in this sort of dinner situation, and while he’s very much silly and playful a family dynamic nearly the polar opposite of his own would just leave him bewildered and wide open for a roll to the face.
“Your dating bar is that low too? You’re in serious trouble,” Garrett snorts, some of his composure regained thanks in part to Bash’s complete and utter chill about the whole thing. “But I guess you’re right, as long as you have Gabi playing love chaperon you’ll at least have the emotional support you won’t be getting out of your relationship. She totally deserves your money.”
As Bash gets to his feet Garrett also stands, lifting one foot at a time and flexing his knees a bit to get the ache from squatting out of them. “Yeah like... maybe prefect, I guess?”
Aw, that doesn’t mean anything! Taking a well-pitched dinner roll to the general face area is one of the ways that new people are initiated into the family! And the occasional dose of good-natured bewilderment is good for the complexion or something. There’s probably been scientific research on the topic.
“You think I should start practicing on uneven bars?” he inquires, look caught somewhere between cheeky and playfully intimidated. “Parallel’s hard enough, dude. I haven’t been training for that.” Oh, gymnastics jokes. Truly the pinnacle of wit right there. Bash smiles brightly, “She’s welcome to every last quarter in my wallet, man.”
He twists himself slightly, getting a pretty poor look at the area around his spine and lightly brushing forest off of his pants before turning back to Garrett and attempting to look earnest and ready to uphold rules and shit. “Yup. Prefecting. Totally a thing we are excelling at currently. Ready to do some more of it if you are?”