closely | all of a sudden you're a hostage to things you thought you wanted

[ from here ]

:(

There’s always next time.

Some girls wanted to dance with me for some reason. Guess that might be why we missed each other. I didn’t really want to, but… I didn’t wanna be rude either.

Did you have fun?

Hey, do you know how to work a shotgun?

[If you asked Dante, he would personally assert he was a great planner. Living on the run from age nine, you develop a sort of... improvisational skill that would make a college drama group weep.

Hotwiring a dipshit crime boss's car? Easy. Unlocking a cage door that he didn't even need to steal the keys too? Simple. Grabbing his little conversation buddy out of it in the middle of the day? Jackpot! Dante would be the first to admit he didn’t have a great idea of what came after that, but that was fine! ]

It should be in the back with you? Look under all the boxes, sorry I kinda threw all my junk in here before I picked you up.

[ He looks in the back, squinting to see if Four has even remembered to put his seatbelt on while Dante is speeding. Yeah, they might be on the run but that was the sort of fun that made life worth living. What's the point of hightailing it over to the next town if you aren't going to get into at least one car based firefight? ]

I stole that one from this bar ages ago. I'm thinking of calling it something sick like Coyote-A? Doesn’t feel fair to leave a gun without a cool name, even if I already have some pistols.

( cont. from here )

[ It's a spectacularly stupid idea, and Elan can't get it out of his mind.

A few weeks have passed since Four sent him that second "thank you." Elan wasn't sure what acknowledgement of his semi-retaliatory shopping spree he'd been expecting, but something so simple, without any questions about its purpose or price, had -- well, pleasantly surprised him. He'd read it as a confirmation of what he'd thought was obvious: Four did like books. In spite of himself, Four did like -- find interest in -- things. (Like he wouldn't! Four might be a clone, but he's still a person!)

And Elan might be a CEO waiting in the wings, but he's a person, too -- a bored, restless person who's rarely had the opportunity to be in his comfort zone, much less know what it is. He just knows what it isn't: Four stinky, sweaty ladies wearing matching outfits who make him speak for them when the time is right. The cash and the freedom to tinker with their scientific operations is the only thing that makes it worth it.

One morning, the desire to just leave becomes irrepressible. Elan's never gone to school. Today, he's going to go to school.

It's child's play to mock up some fake identification with all the access he's been given to Peil's systems. The bribes -- to some choice Peil operatives and a couple people at Asticassia itself -- are a piece of cake, too. The fun part is the costume: Elan bleaches his hair a warmer blonde for the occasion (harder than it looks from the video tutorials), slips into a replica of the Asticassia Academy uniform, slaps some glasses (silver) over colored contacts (blue), and doesn't bother with the make-up for once. No one should be able to tell who he is with skin that pale and eye bags that designer.

The best part is how obsessed with the school Elan feels the second he gets there: A tiny, bustling metropolis unto itself. He makes sure to walk in a way that's less commanding than he's in the habit of projecting, and that gives him the opportunity to enjoy all the cool plants. (He should buy some.) Finally, he arrives at his destination: The Peil dormitories. It takes him no time find Four's door and give it a couple loud knocks. Absently, he wonders what others will think when they see someone's paying Four a visit. Wait, he has a friend? Is that a relative?

As soon as Four opens the door, Elan's got that trademark cheeky smile plastered on his face. ]

You're welcome~ No idea what any of it means but Being and Nothingness sure sounded like something you'd be into.

[ What surprises Elan Ceres most in the ceremony of it all is the trinkets -- hat, gown, flowers, all manner of digital documentation and mobile suit paraphernalia, photographs with Four's instructors and Elan's own family, gifts from "friends;" advertisements advertisements advertisements so many prospective employers' advertisements in the form of increasingly useless, ugly swag, all of which Elan abandons in the Peil House dormitory's shared bathrooms; messages and signatures from everybody, scrawled into a copy of Machiavelli's The Prince (now The Ice Prince, per Chuchu's vandalism); an honorary sword for the school's top three duelists -- Suletta's in gold, Elan's in silver, and Guel's in bronze -- begrudgingly presented to them by Miorine; and, of course, the diploma, printed special for an occasion that spares no expense.

It's the most fun Elan's had in his life and everybody notices, concludes he must have detested school and couldn't feel greater relief to be leaving. Even Shaddiq says, most people look more handsome when they smile; you, by contrast, look somewhere between constipated and deranged. Brave words from a man without a sword.

That was half a day ago. Now, Elan's back at Peil headquarters in the black suit, tense despite whatever the practiced ease in his posture might tell. In recent months it's become so suffocating to spend the night in his rooms at their base that he commutes to and from it and his parents' home each day, despite the hours between them. While at Peil, he eats and drinks nothing, cleaves to the sides of rooms, always finds some excuse to avoid the researchers' tests and inquiries -- and, if he can't, lies, fucks the results up on purpose. His reputation as a disrespectful little troll's cover enough, but Belmeria Winston keeps trying to catch him alone for a chat anyway.

Elan stops at Four's door, one of Peil's lackey robots wheeling a large crate just behind him. Inside: All thirty of those philosophy books in three tidy piles, some clothes, piloting gear, all the trimmings from graduation, and a small, green tomato plant courtesy of Suletta Mercury's experiments in genetic engineering. Her private greeting to Elan had shaken him to his core.

This is for... you, she'd said. The other you.
Easily: First Shaddiq says I'm hideous and now I'm unrecognizable? What, do you all like me better when I'm miserable?
No, after a beat; plain and simple: I just wanted to see my friend today.

Two knocks. ]

Open up. I've got your stuff.

[ Whenever Four lets Elan inside, the robot will deposit the crate in a corner of the small room before shutting the door closed behind it, and Elan will come to stand in front of Four with the diploma outstretched in both his hands. A dip of the knee; a wry smile. ]

Congratulations.

[ The space that had borne Elan Ceres' name is blank. ]

Your build, complexion... let's see.

[ they close the distance between themselves and the other, reaching out to grab his arm to settle two of their fingers against his wrist. ]

Yep, you're living and breathing. I'm going to cut open your palm, I have to make sure you meet the criteria.

no subject

kidnapped my slave buddy to make him assist in my murderous plans. AITA?

no subject

happy bir - graduation

you know why im here