=OPEN= Midnight snack

[draven cole arrow]

BODY

Draven shoved his bag under his bed, falling back onto the mattress. He had finally finished unpacking, now that the confusion about American classes had subsided and what part of the room was his and so on. It was really hard for him to want to get back into any school routine when he really didn’t even give a fuck about being in the states. America was weird, and he stuck out like a sore thumb. He was taller than most of the guys there…well, he wasn’t six feet, he was about five ten, but he hadn’t met anyone taller so he just assumed that most American guys were short. He was dark and very non-conformist compared to the rest of the people at the school. A lot of them were preppy or Girly or fem. Yea, there were guys who were fem. You would think he was fem because he wore make up, painted his nails, and did his hair. This wasn’t true. He did believe that people wore make up to express themselves or to make their face look better. He never wore any make up except for his eyes. He believed they made his eyes look darker, and he liked the danger it added. And the only color he ever painted his nails was black. There was already a kid he had run into with red in his hair, painted nails, and make up. But he wore girls clothes and he acted floozy. Draven was almost like stone when approached. He definitely wouldn’t put up with any of these posers for long.

Not only was he different appearance wise, but he sounded different. American’s had the oddest accents he had ever heard, and he was still a little rusty when it came to some English words. The bus driver on the way here had laughed at him when he asked what the wheel thingy was called. Yes, he had actually said wheel thingy. So sue him for not knowing it was called a steering wheel. He wanted to punch most of the people he ran into in the face. Not like the little shorty he had seen hanging out with the poser guy who just seemed to be mean. He only needed to hit something because he was frustrated. He hadn’t been able to get a good smoke in since he was here, and although he knew it was “good for him”, he missed that nicotine like he missed his mom back home. It helped to calm him down. Maybe if he got desperate, he could bum a few cigarettes off of people. If he got desperate. He was getting low on them. If he couldn’t get away with finding a punching bag or covering up a few holes in the wall. He didn’t have violent tendencies…he just had anger issues. Closing his eyes, sighing a bit, Draven tried to sleep…but that was another thing that was different. Time differences. He was on a messed up schedule, was jet-lagged, and already had a bad case of insomnia. Maybe a walk would help him out. Pulling his shirt off, he kept his jeans low as he ran a hand through his hair. What did he care if people had a problem with him being shirtless? He was good to look at since unlike these fat and lazy Americans, he actually worked out.

Grabbing some money in case he needed something at some point, Draven walked out of this dorm, his tattoos showing for all to see, his pierced nipples and the rash on his pec viewable as well. He didn’t give a shit what other people thought of him. Walking around a bit, his stomach growled. Ah yea. Call of the wild. The predator was hungry. He hooked a left, heading to the Kitchen. Walking right in, whether he was allowed to or not, he opened a fridge, looking in to find at least something to drink. They didn't have a big selection at all. He had heard there were vending machines in Subzero, maybe he'd just head there. Shutting the door and sighing a bit, he let his hair fall into his face as he headed back out. What kind of a kitchen didn't have any snacks or at least ONE bottle of alcohol? Letting his ice blue eyes wander, he finally found the door that the curly red head had described to him. It was good the teens at the school had their own room they could go to to hang out or Draven would very well go crazy. Shaking his head, he opened the door and was met with the sight of games all around, vending machines, couches, tvs, bean bags. He was quite pleased with this, he had to admit. Taking his money out of his pocket, he went through what the vending machines had to offer and got himself a snickers and a dr. pepper. American chocolate was slowly growing on him. He moved to a couch, slumping down into the cushions. It then occured to him that he had never checked to see who else might have been in the room - if anyone, for that matter. He looked up only to find that he was quite right. Someone else was there.

[francois jonathon lucielle]

Francois wasn’t surprised at how well he did not fit into this school at all. Settling in was okay, getting used to his dorm was also good, but the people? Oh no, he did not have any luck at all. Everyone thought he was pretty much the weird French kid with no friends, but he didn’t blame them. It was true after all, wasn’t it? He was a very weird child indeed, and he was French, plus no friends? Oh boy, they had him all figured out didn’t they? They didn’t. No one really knew Francois yet. He was still alone and still self-conscious, and he imagined people could see it. The way he stood with his feet turned in towards themselves, his phone glued to the palms of his hands and the black raven hair that usually hung in front of his delicate emerald eyes. Little did anyone really know, Francois eyes seemed to hold every single thing he felt inside them. When he was upset they seemed to dull and become a seaweed color, but when excited they shone bright and could almost be seen through the dark. His friend used to always tease him about how obvious it was when he was sad and needed someone to talk to because she could see it in his eyes. Psh, the boy didn’t believe that for a second. He would look at himself in the mirror when he was upset, and the only thing he would ever see was that disgusting, repulsive being staring back at him. He always did his best go get past it, but it never really did help. He always had such bad self-confidence but always ignored it; he never thought any good could come from actually paying attention to it.

Being so far away from his home really did take a toll on the effeminate male, though he wouldn’t dare let it show. He had to pretend to be strong in this environment. He had to keep acting like everything was fine and nothing was bothering him. Even if he was like a broken mirror on the inside, the pieces of himself shattering and falling apart, he wouldn’t let any light shine onto this fact. He would just keep acting for everyone, because acting was a skill you needed to survive. In Francois own mind, if one were to survive, they would simply have to fake alive. It sounded like an easy task, but in truth it was very difficult. Every second of everyday the nagging voice in his head got louder, telling him he was insignificant and inferior to all the people in this school, but he would just let his other thoughts drown it out. After all, worries were always better than fears right? To Franny they were, and so he let them take over. He let his worries about his subjects and everything school related plague and haunt his mind, drowning out anything and everything else from seizing hold of it. That was why he was having so much trouble sleeping, plus the jet lag left him feeling wide awake as well. It was night and he was just simply pacing around his empty dorm, trying to figure out what to do. After about thirty minutes of doing just that, his exercise for the day, he decided it would be best to just get out of the room. With phone in hand and key buried deep within the sanctum of his pocket, he left his dorm, locking it on the way out. He decided to roam around, not really in night clothing, but he figured no one would be up, so why should he really care? Clad in purple and red skinny jeans and a Paramore T-shirt, the boy walked down the hallways slowly. His hands were decorated with lace-up gloves and he finished his outfit off with a pair of traditional black converse sneakers. He figured he looked decent enough, so in case he did run into someone, there would be nothing to worry about.

He found that he had stumbled upon a…game room of sorts. There were a lot of games and snack machines surrounding him. There was no one in the room and a few couches as well. He moved into a more neutral area of the room, not really knowing what he was doing or why he was here. Right as the petite boy turned to leave, he saw a blur of what looked like black. A boy had bumped into him on his way to sit down, and due to the shock Francois found himself slipping backwards and falling to land straight on his butt. One thing he neglected to notice was the fact that his arm had slid across one of the edges of the video games, creating a gash through his porcelain skin. He let a gentle frown move upon his features as he glanced at the blood dripping down. He used the table as support to get up, standing and looking over to the other male who had just sat down. He realized the boy was shirtless, and the fact that he wasn’t repulsive didn’t help Francois concentrate much more either. His hazel orbs moved back to his own skin as he frowned once more. Then, on instinct, the boy looked up to catch the eyes of the other male in the room, apologizing.

“S-sorry, I didn’t see y-you.” He felt himself stutter a little bit, his French accent flowing ever so slightly through his lips. His left hand strolled to the cut on his right arm, a fresh river of crimson dripping from it lightly. His fingers moved over a few stray tears of blood, catching them before they dripped and wiping them on his pants. Francois was a little distracted by his own cut, and when he looked up to look for some type of napkin, he saw the boy again. The smallest hint of blush moved over his cheeks, probably very obvious due to his pale-ish skin.

“U-ugh…Sorry, I’ll go now.” He found himself apologizing again before beginning to turn away.

Oh this encounter was turning out to be such a gracious one.

[/size]

ooc: ew this is gross, I apologise haha

[draven cole arrow]

Time zones. Draven damned them to the deepest levels of hell. It had been maybe…a week…since he had arrived at the school, and he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep. He had no trouble falling asleep in his classes, but that caused for trouble later, and lately he had been trying to keep himself awake. He didn’t want to stay at this school, and that meant that failing shouldn’t matter, but he knew it did. His mom still paid for the school, and she wanted him to get a good education that she wasn’t sure Germany could offer – even if Germany’s classes were all higher level and more complex than any of these American classes he had. If he went back to Germany in the middle of the term, he would be held back. It was just that complicated. So he had been trying hard to buck up a little bit. He had been staying awake, although his eyelids have been heavy, in his classes, and he had been trying hard to get everything the teachers were explaining and trying his best to improve his English as well. It was a lot of work. And that meant that he had less sleep, used more brain power, and ultimately was stressing himself out. He needed some cigarettes. Or a nice, long sleep to catch up. If only he could get over his insomnia. Or find someone to sleep with, since that helped too. But no. Waverly was pure. And no one had really caught his interest anyway. Oh well. He would have to get through it. Though he wished he could go home, he sincerely did. He couldn’t really relate to any of these people here. No one could speak his language and he could give a fuck to actually try there’s. Customs were the same but the food was gross and the people were ruder and the language was harder. Or maybe that was just his opinion. Either way. He wanted to go home. So much. God, he hated good “life decisions”. He had just started his classes and the English a bit more evolved than what he knew. Right now he was skimming by, thanks to his pocket translator on the words he really didn’t understand and then the fact that he didn’t even do homework at home anyway. He wasn’t a slacker or lazy…he just didn’t want to do something that wasn’t going to help him later in life. He just could care less.

But all this new just meant more stress for him. He didn’t handle stress that well. We covered that. Really, it may have seemed repetitive, but he needed to smoke. He couldn’t quit, he had tried before. He knew people who needed to be around smokers to quit, but he didn’t know any other smokers here. Besides, that would be harder. He’d want to bum off their cigarettes. And he didn’t want to quit, he just couldn’t smoke here. Since legally here in the US, he wasn’t old enough to buy them yet. Stupid December birthday. That would make it even more a trial, along with the no smoking on school grounds thing. God, American’s had stupid rules. Thinking about it, he couldn’t drink here either. God dammit. He would have to find someone who could slip him a fake I.D. if he got really deprived. That’s why he was stuck with chocolate and Dr. Pepper. Other times, he would play his music. He was able to let go of a few things he would bottle up when he got to play his music. It helped soothe him, and it wasn’t bad to listen to. As much as he wouldn’t admit it, he was very talented. And dedicated. That just proved with how he had been going to the gym almost every day before coming here, and would always practice his guitar before he went to bed. And now he was adding ‘call his mother’ to the list. He had been her only protector, her only companion, and now he didn’t like the idea of her being alone in the city but with him thousands of miles away, he couldn’t really do anything about it. She really was the only person he cared about in his life…not even really himself. God, all this fucking thinking. It was because his mind was so preoccupied with everything that he hadn’t even realized on his way in that he had bumped into the person he was now looking at. Well, he had to admit it really wasn’t his fault, the person was rather small. He seemed to be taller than most of the guys here at this school. This boy, with his black hair, looked more like a raven-colored mouse than anything else. And either way, Draven wasn’t big on first impressions. And when a first impression of someone was them touching him in any way or knocking into him, it didn’t put them on good terms with him. Not in the slightest.

Draven’s eyes narrowed slowly as the kid he ran into just seemed to sit there and stare at his arm like he had never seen blood before. Keeping his eyes on the kid, Draven watched him move. And sighed. Of course the kid was staring at him. Draven had almost forgotten he wasn’t wearing a shirt. But really, it wasn’t anything new. Draven loved the freedom of not having to be restricted by clothing. And staring was something he was all too used to. He was about to tell the kid to leave him alone and stop staring at him before the kid spoke. It was almost amusing, Draven found, to hear someone apologize when he knew all too well that it was his fault. Though it had been an accident, but watching the kid stutter all over himself was too fun to stop at the moment. Though it was kind of hard to understand him to. And maybe it was that point that made Draven want to take pity on him. Or maybe it was because he behaved oddly when he didn’t have sleep. Shaking his head a bit, Draven stared at the boy through his hair. ”Was not your fault, was all mine.”

[/color] He smirked a bit as his German accent came through. This was a spy school, of course there would be students from all over. Watching the kid once more, Draven made a face. Yea…the school would be all over this kid for just letting his blood get all over the place. Odds were it would look like Draven hit him or something. And it wouldn’t be that hard to believe. Standing slowly, Draven decided to get past his ‘I don’t like people’ thing to at least get something for the kid’s arm. He moved to a counter, looking through things and finding bandages and paper towel. It was going to have to work, grabbing both, he headed back to the boy, stopping him from going anywhere, noticing his red cheeks and looking down at his arm instead to make it look like he didn’t notice. Draven wasn’t completely an asshole, people just believed him to be. Before the kid could go anywhere, Draven snatched his arm gently but firmly, moving to press the paper towel to it and let it soak up what the boy’s fingers obviously couldn’t. Holding the paper towel with pressure, Draven glanced up at the boy. ”Tell anyone about what I’m doing and I’ll kill you.”[/color] He wasn’t in it for brownie points. He just wanted to stay invisible or unnoticeable.[/blockquote][/size]

[francois jonathon lucielle]

Francois was mildly confused to say the least. He didn’t understand why the boy seemed to be strutting around school shirtless. Was he really that bored? Francois thought to himself for a moment; if he had to walk around without anything on, oh boy, that would be mortifying. One of his worst insecurities was his body and the way he looked to people, and putting them together? Oh that is simply just unheard of. Although Franny didn’t even know the male in the room with him, he couldn’t help but feel a ping of guilt inside his heart. He obviously was here to get away from people like Francois, so who was he to barge in and ruin it? Who was he to invade the other boy’s life when he obviously didn’t want anything to do with anyone else in this school? He let his eyes move back to the male as he got up and spoke. It really was Francois fault though, why was he arguing? He was the one who was just standing around. He was the one who wasn’t paying attention to anything and just zoning out. Francois was able to pick up on the boy’s accent easily as well, and then there was more guilt. IT didn’t seem like English was his first language, and immediately Francois brain changed from English, to French, to Italian, to German. He took all of the languages in school; German included. He bit into his lip for a moment. Should he try and talk in German? It was his worst language after all, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get an A in the class. Shrugging his shoulders lightly as the boy grabbed something for his arm, he spoke up.

"Es tut mir leid, ich spreche Deutsch, aber nicht gut." He felt his cheeks light up a little more red, his accent was probably atrotious and the way he spoke was probably gross and ugly, just like everything else he did. He felt the boy grab his arm and press some type of paper towel to it and speak. Francous would never mutter a word to anyone in this school, so why was the boy so worried about it? He figured answering back in the best German he could muster up was better.

"Ich habe keine freunde zu sprechen, also keine sorge." He worried about what he was saying, the way he was saying it, but he didn’t care. He needed some type of friend in this place, and he needed someone to count on. This boy, as foreign as he may be, was all Francois had to depend on right now. All he had going for him was this small, tiny, insignificant possibility of a friendship, or not even. He just didn’t want the boy to hate him. He wanted to show him that he could do what it takes to survive. This was a school for, unique, people, right? Francois was looking down at his wound, staring at it for a moment before sighing, apologising. After a second though, he flushed and realized he had said thank you in French, quickly correcting himself.

"S-sorry, I mean’t t-thank you." He moved a stray piece of his own hair from his forehead, letting his eyes shine through instead of being covered by his normal raven locks. He quickly added to his sentence afterwards as well.

"I can speak more languages. Whatever you want really, I can probably speak it." He felt a little inferior to the boy at this moment, he felt weaker, but hey; he had to survive, right? If the real world was anything like this at all, he would have to take it and deal just like everyone else. His eyes found the the cut once more and then the floor, unsure of where to settle, petrified to move back to the other boy across from him.

For once in his life, Francois felt completely and utterly unsure of what to do.

[/size]

OOC: omg sorry this is so short and gross omg

[draven cole arrow]

Draven wasn’t one to go around helping people. Ever. He didn’t like to associate with most people around, and he didn’t like to talk to them. He felt it was better if he kept his opinion to himself. Saying things only led to being quickly judged. He was used to that. But he didn’t like it. He was adapting to being almost invisible, and that’s the way Draven liked it. The rumor mill had already been buzzing. There were rumors going around that Draven was fucking a teacher, which was ludicrous because it had still only been a week and he didn’t even know half the teachers here. Not that he would sleep with a teacher – he wasn’t giving people the benefit of the doubt. There was even a rumor going around that he killed a student out in the parking lot just for looking at him. They all pointed fingers and judged him, calling him vampire guy or the murderer in the closet. He knew it was because they were afraid of him. Everyone was always afraid of people who were different. He didn’t give a shit about what they thought, and he let them know by not acknowledging any of their existences. That said, it could be understood why he had no friends. He wasn’t the friendliest person around. He didn’t have groupies or even a small confidante. He had done fine on his own all his life. He didn’t even have siblings. Being the only child wasn’t exactly a plus for him though, either. Maybe he would’ve been a little more approachable had he had an older brother to look after him or a younger brother to put his energy into helping. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so screwed up. Either or, he didn’t trust people. As long as they weren’t talking about him in front of his face, he was fine. Draven could handle comments, he could handle hits, but if there was something he hated…he absolutely hated it when people patronized him. Laughing at him, belittling him, Draven couldn’t stand that shit. Petty little nicknames or trying to categorize him didn’t make him all too happy either. In all honesty, maybe he was just anti-human.

But this kid didn’t seem to be one of those people who would go around and talk about him behind his back, and he didn’t look like he had enough guts to talk to Draven to his face. Hell, he didn’t look like he had enough nerve to talk to anyone. This kid seemed to be the smallest, confused little mutt that Draven had ever met. He trembled like a leaf and his eyes were shifty. Not in the mischievous way, but just…shifty. Like he feared for his very life. What the hell was he doing at this school? Did he not get the memo? This kid was going to need some major help when it came to the courageous front. Because right now, it looked like even the wind could blow him over. He definitely wasn’t on Draven’s level of ‘I don’t care what other people think of me’ yet. Hence Draven’s shirtless-ness. He wasn’t planning on other people being up, and wearing a shirt had slipped his mind, it was the honest truth. And it was the honest truth that something about Francois made Draven feel sorry for him. Like there was a little of him in the boy. But that was bullshit, he knew. He was letting himself think too much and thinking was what led the world to destructive points. While fixing up the boy’s arm, the only reason he had said not to mention anything was because he didn’t want anyone to find in him a weak point. Nothing could seem vulnerable about Draven. People pinpointed vulnerability and then struck at the first possible moment they could. As the boy responded in German, Draven paused and looked at him, almost twitching with annoyance. Why was it here that everyone knew German? And not only German. They knew English and all these other languages too. And yet he couldn’t get a second language down. German was his first language and English was hard enough to learn. He knew a little bit of Japanese but that was only because of the shows and books he used to read. That was another reason this kid was a mutt. He was French [that much Draven recognized], what the hell was he doing speaking German?

Keeping the slight agitation off his face, he answered in a low voice, still in English, his accent still heavy, ”’sfine, no one asked for you to.”

[/color] He needed practice anyway. Draven could definitely tell he wasn’t a native speaker. Such an accent…unnatural. He shook his head a bit, finishing up with the kids arm and letting him go, standing up a bit straighter and moving to pocket his snickers and his pop, glad for deep pockets in the kind of pants he wore, looking at the shrimp. Not to mention the next German he spoke was rather jumbled up. His brows furrowed a bit. Well, okay, at least the boy was trying. Though he didn’t know the kid’s name, but he wasn’t sure that him suddenly pushing for an introduction was a smart idea. Though it didn’t seem like the boy had anyone else. He was here by himself too. And utterly confused. Draven showed some confusion himself as the boy spoke in French. Yeah, Draven didn’t know French, and the kid needed to remember what country he was in. He nodded slowly as the boy cleared it up, looking him over a bit. Yeah, he wouldn’t last by the end of the third week, Draven was pretty sure. Making a slight face, Draven went back to the couch and sighed, sitting back down and answering straight out, ”No needing for it, we just should stick to English, ya?”[/color] He flicked his hair out of his face a bit, watching as it seemed to the boy that Draven bit. Well, the kid was right. He did. But guys weren’t really his thing. Especially ones he could crush. He played with his lip piercings for a bit, before letting out a breath. ”Alright, how ‘bout you tell me…name and what you want from me?”[/color] It didn’t look like the kid was leaving and he obviously had something on his mind. And it was obvious to both of them…Draven had no where else to be.[/size][/blockquote]

[francois jonathon lucielle]

So, Francois was making a fool out of himself anyway. All he wanted to do was make friends with the boy, but it seemed like making friends here was such a difficult task. It’s why Francois always had his guard up. It’s why he was always ready for anything people threw at him. Whether it was nasty comments to actual, physical attacks: Francois was ready for it all. He may not look it, but the boy was actually quite resourceful and fast on his feet. Dancing had given him that ability; the ability to move with grace and elegance, and yet deadly and precise if he needed to be. He always had to be that way when he was dancing in competitions or what not. Back in France, he could remember how the workouts and the actual competing against people was a long, grueling process that the boy abhorred. He remembered one time during a competition with other people, they had begun to do a dance tower, and someone had dropped Francois, and he had gotten a concussion. He didn’t like hospitals to begin with, so one could only imagine the joy in his heart when he found out he had to sit alone in a bed for three weeks.

He hated feeling alone all the time, which is probably why he was looking for some type of comfort in the other foreign boy. There was no one else here who was like them that he had met. There was no one else who was from a very distinct, different country. Maybe the closest was a Canadian, but Francois had still not even run into one of those yet. But someone from France? And Germany? Oh please, there were like, zero of those around here besides these two boys. Very slowly, the boy let his injured arm fall to his side as he listened to the other male’s words. His English was good, but he still felt bad; he didn’t want him to have to speak another language he didn’t like or didn’t want to. Francois found that he was internally kicking himself for not learning German better in school, because now, the one time he needed it the most, he could not use it. Francois was very good at reading people and very accurate at predicting what they would do based on the emotions showing up on them. He could clearly see the annoyance in the boy’s eyes from his horrific show of German, but his words confused him. It was true, no one did ask him, and there was another ping of guilt.

“Sorry, I just thought it would be…ugh, easier, for you. Sorry.” The boy talked in a small tone, he obviously needed to get himself together, and fast. He knew he would not survive in this school for too long if he couldn’t adapt like the other male had. He let his body move to a small bean bag chair, and in a very petite manner he sat down on it, bringing his knees to his chest as his arms surrounded them, keeping them close. He let the smallest of minuscule smiles spread across his face when the boy said sticking to English; no need to make a complete fool of himself anymore, right? Then there was a question that made Franny a little uncomfortable. He didn’t know what he wanted from the boy. He wasn’t sure why he was still in the room. What was he supposed to say now?

“Oh, my name is Francois, pleasure to meet you…” He gave the boy a small, timid smile before trying to focus on his next question. What should he say? Something to keep him from getting punched, preferably. After a second of mulling it over, he spoke up in a shy, almost embarrassed tone.

“It gets kind of lonely…in the dorm, so I was just looking for company. I didn’t want to assume you were the same way, so I was just trying to be friendly.” He felt his body tense ever so slightly, imagining the boy probably cursing at him in multiple languages, calling him bitter names and throwing him out of the room. He felt his toes press down onto the carpet and his body rise just a centimeter.

“Sorry, I can go if you want.” He really didn’t want to go though. He didn’t want to return to the deafening silence. The only person to talk to being his mind. He didn’t want to go back to anything right now. He wanted to stay here and talk to the boy. He wanted to make a friend.

He wanted to feel safe again.

[/size]

[draven cole arrow]

Draven wasn’t sure what the kid wanted. He obviously wasn’t leaving. He seemed to have something on his mind. If he was looking for someone to hold a solid conversation with, he had made a mistake in choosing Draven for a great conversational partner. It wasn’t like he’d just stay and socialize with anyone. He had never done that before in his life. Ask his mom, ask his ex girlfriends, ask his friends. He wasn’t a talker. He was pretty expressive with his actions, but he couldn’t use that on everyone. He wasn’t abusive or anything, but sometimes he got angry enough to wreck things. Like, he had punched his mom’s wall before and had to pay for it from whatever money he could come across. Otherwise things bottled up with no outlet. But he was fine without saying anything. It was true wasn’t it? Actions spoke louder than words? Well, not when he wasn’t sure what to do. This kid was confusing him. What was the kid just standing around for? Draven wasn’t the safest person to be around, and here this kid was edging closer like Draven was going to start handing out candy or something. Maybe it was because the kid saw that. He saw that Draven had something about him that was sort of untouchable. And maybe he wanted it. Draven wasn’t a pushover, he wasn’t one to take people’s shit. He was an agile fighter, and a lot of the time, he would meet people with aggression even if they didn’t do anything to him. He had a thing about territory, about his personal space. No one messed with him if they knew better. Because you could tell even by looking at him how strong he happened to be. And truth be told, Draven loved a good fight and getting an adrenaline rush from the violence. He had the potential to be professional. People liked to pick fights with him because he looked tough. But it wasn’t only looks. It was hard work. Wait, was this kid looking for a fight? Eh, no. He didn’t look like he could hurt a fly. Maybe he was just looking for back up…

He didn’t do groupies. Draven didn’t like to have little people milling around him all the time hoping he’d come out and protect them when they needed it. It was like they were mosquitoes buzzing around his head, or only hanging out with him because they were leaching off of his abilities. He seemed to have this mentality with a lot of the people. The friends he did have back in Germany had been through hell with him, and that was the only reason he was still with them. They could care for themselves and the only time they wanted his help was when they needed back up when it was more than one. Okay, really. This kid was confusing the shit out of him. Not that…if the kid asked, Draven wouldn’t say no. He was never one to give a complete straight answer. And who knew? He hadn’t learned anything about the kid yet, he didn’t know what he was really capable of. He could’ve been one of those silent and deadly people. That’s what this school wanted, wasn’t it? People with some kind of talent? Brain power? Agility? Reflexes? International affair naturality? This kid had to be here for something. If he was really as pitiful as he seemed, he wouldn’t be within a mile of this school, Draven was sure. God, it was sad how the people here still sort of peeked Draven’s interest when he could care less about people at home. Maybe it was because now that he knew everyone was going to be a spy, they had to be someone who was special in some way. But he still wasn’t sure why he was here. He didn’t have anything he felt anyone would think was of interest. He could play music, so what? He could fight, so could a lot of other people. So his grades weren’t too horrible…because he was foreign and all the classes were advanced, duh. He didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to waste anymore brain power thinking on it – just like he wasn’t going to try to question the kid’s motives without the kid giving him good reason to.

Normally, Draven could keep his face as a blank stare or like chiseled rock, but sometimes his eyes gave him away. That was the one bad thing about having eyes as light as his. They weren’t very secretive, but hell, when he wanted them to be, they were very talented. He just worked hard to veil them. That was mainly why his hair was always in his face. And because it just looked better that way. Shaking his head as the kid spoke up, Draven cleared it up. ”Was nice of you to try, but I need practice in the English so we stick to that.”

[/color] He was silent for a minute, before adding, ”I don’ like for things to be easy either.”[/color] Draven looked at the boy. If he kept apologizing, people were going to take advantage of him, simple as that. ”Is fine, stop saying you’re sorry.”[/color] Watching as the boy sat, it was like he was going into the fetal position for some sort of comfort. God, this kid was a long way from home. At least a smile broke the surface. And then a name. That was something he could work with. Francois. God, even his name was wimpy. Draven kept the look off of his face, nodding a bit, answering with his own name. ”Draven. Arrow. Likewise.”[/color] Shifting a bit, Draven didn’t let his eyes leave Francois’s frame. Staring was a good way to intimidate someone into talking, and Francois had yet to answer Draven’s other question. But when he heard the answer, he held back a grimace. The kid was desperate for anyone to like him, it seemed. But Draven found pushing the kid out of the teen room would be bad karma somehow. And he could sense Francois’s uneasiness better than he wanted to. ”Sit. Stay. Breathe. I don’t have reason to pick a fight with you yet. Though I can’t promise I would be good for talking.”[/color] He took the Dr. Pepper from his pocket, finally taking a sip of it, looking back to the boy. ”Don’t you have roommate or something?”[/color] Draven had one, but he didn’t care to talk to him. He wasn’t very interesting.[/size][/blockquote]

[francois jonathon lucielle]

Francois could easily make out what the boy was thinking of him. He wasn’t big, he wasn’t intimidating, but he was agile when he needed to be. Most people underestimated him a lot, and it was something he was used to, but he didn’t really want this boy to underestimate him. He seemed like he had some type of strength to him. Maybe he was very, very strong? He had just found out recently that this was a spy school, and this was a shock to Francois. He had no talent that would pertain to…spying. True, he could be athletic and agile, but…lethal? No, not in the least, he wouldn’t believe it. Maybe it was his thing for speaking so many languages that could always come in handy, he imagined. He let his eyes stroll over the room quietly, looking for anything else to let his hazel orbs settle on. The boy was staring at him, and Francois had been stared at before; so this was not new to him in the least. People in France would stare at him all the time. The way he dressed. The way he talked. Hell, even the way he smiled would cause stares. It wasn’t like Francois didn’t have any friends back home, because he did, but they in truth they were only there for show. He used people all the time for so many different reasons; maybe that was why he was here. Maybe because he had backstabbed so many people before, maybe now he was going to do it for real? He could never imagine physically…killing, another person. It was such a foreign thing to him, but he imagined if he had to do it, he probably would.

Francois wasn’t one to try and dig people for information; he always found a way to get it when he needed it. But this boy was…different. It was difficult for Francois to read him, and he was always very good at doing that. This boy seemed to be different though. Francois could tell he wasn’t liked very much here, but he had to try, right? He had to do something to make this boy see he wasn’t a complete waste of space after all, right? He listened to him talk for a moment, and a minuscule smile moved onto his features after a second. He said it was nice of him to try. Nice. Did that word even exist in the boys vocabulary? This was a win for Francois and he knew it. As he was about to open up his mouth to answer, the other boy was talking again. It figured that the kid didn’t like easy things. He seemed too tough to be someone who enjoyed the easy way of life; he seemed like one of those ‘work for what I have’ type of people, and Francois respected that. So, his name was Draven after all. Franny could work with this. Or well, he thought he could.

“Sorry, I have a habit of saying sorry. Pleasure, Draven; and don’t worry, I don’t talk much either, just nice to have some company sometimes, ya’ know? And I would hope you don’t have a reason to fight me just yet.” A small grin stretched across the boy’s face, and his eyes gently flew up to meet the other male’s for a moment, before looking away. Francois was never really good with eye to eye contact, and this was no exception. A small chuckle did emit from him. Francois was in fact breathing, though he probably appeared like he wasn’t; he was always like that though.

“I guess I have a roommate, but I haven’t met them yet. You have one?” He asked the boy with a small, timid smile. After a few moments the boy thought to himself; what if Draven knew more about the school than he did? Could he ask him some questions? He opened his mouth and looked up to capture the boy’s gaze once more before talking.

“My mom sort of just shipped me here…what type of uhm, ‘special skills’ are we supposed to have to be here?” Francois honestly didn’t know why he was here, so maybe Draven could help him out a little.

Help him fit in some of the missing pieces to this puzzle he called his life.

[/size]

[draven cole arrow]

As far as killing people went, Draven hadn’t experienced that much in his life. He had gotten close…oh so close. But he refused to spend most of his life in prison or to be killed himself. Karma was a bitch. He liked to outsmart death as much as he could anyway. It was much more fun. When he was a young boy, he had tried to infuse himself for therapeutic reasons, but instead of going in a vein in his arm, he did it through his chest and almost killed himself doing so. They had to revive him, and that’s what the rash on his chest opposite of his phoenix tattoo was from. It was with him through all those years. And of course, the phoenix meant something too. Rising from the ashes. Again, cheating death. The phoenix was really big for him. It was his favorite animal even if people were certain they never existed, it instilled some kind of hope in him. He had a few other phoenix references tattooed on him, like the Aztec phoenix on his arm and the wings on his back. And besides the phoenix, where the meaning was pretty understandable, his other tattoos were quite varied. And all his tattoos had meanings, he just never let anyone know of what they were. But it wasn’t like he got a tattoo every time he killed a person like the creepers who actually did that. No. He hadn’t killed anyone, and the concept of the fact that he now legally could…well, he didn’t quite know what to think. There were times he could get quite out of control and act out only on impulses, and that was always dangerous. Especially when he had this much freedom. Well, he didn’t consider the school as freedom, he was actually feeling quite caged. Back in Germany, he was free to come and go as he pleased, and he’d stay out til all hours of the night doing who knew what, and he liked it that way. Being inside these walls, even for a week, was making him restless. But when it came to legal issues…he was clear. And that could be bad when put into the wrong hands.

As much as Draven was getting from Francois, he could tell that the boy was going through the stereotypes in his head. Big, scary, different. And especially when he spoke…he didn’t know what he had said that had made it so grin worthy. What had he said? His face hardened a bit, looking away. He wasn’t going to use intimidation anymore, because right now, his accent felt threatened, as weird as that sounded. It didn’t occur to him that Francois was smiling at his word choice…Draven automatically thought he was just making fun of the way Draven sounded. So maybe Draven wasn’t used to talking in English, so what? Just because the kid in front of him could speak his language and two others, what made him so special? Draven felt like he was being borderline patronized and it wasn’t setting right with him. As the kid apologized again, Draven gave up. It was just a habit the kid was going to be stuck with, apparently. Draven’s name sounded pretty weird being said in a French accent, and he made a slight face. That was another thing to get used to – the various other accents at this school. Texan, Hispanic, French, and wherever the hell else everyone was from. Draven just hoped to learn more of the English slang first so he didn’t sound like a complete Alien. He looked back to Francois. ”So you’re just wanting for us to sit here and say nothing? Because I can do that, for sure.”

[/color] His voice held a bit of an edge to it. Draven wasn’t really ever trying to be rude. He and his family and companions just had a certain way of talking to each other, and it was in that way that when a person annoyed you, you let them know it. It was more of the way he carried it across, he was sure. Not that the kid was annoying him yet. But what he said just made it seem more like they would just be sharing the room and the air than actually having anything to do with each other. Maybe this was why Draven didn’t have many friends. He wasn’t the warmest, welcoming person here. Maybe they should’ve invited Anahi…the red head…she seemed to be the school’s welcoming committee. Like hell if he knew.

”No…no reason for fights. Don’t think you would last much anyhow.”[/color] Draven looked back to Francois. It would almost be a fun experiment to see how long the shrimp could last against him, but Draven wasn’t planning on beating him up with no reason. And he didn’t want to get caught. It was only week one, and he wasn’t planning on getting in trouble just yet. As the boy’s eyes turned away, Draven understood immediately. Eye contact for too long was really uncomfortable, and maybe this boy would agree. He got that. It seemed the longer that Draven humored Francois and answered his questions, Francois seemed to get a bit more comfortable and not so…skittish? Odd. Francois did bring up a good point though. Maybe that’s why Draven’s roommate seemed uninteresting. Because he hadn’t met him yet. He knew he had one, and he had seen what the guy had in the room, but they were never there at the same time. So it must’ve slipped his mind. As long as the guy didn’t steal any of Draven’s stuff or touch any of his personal property, Draven was fine with sharing a room with someone. Shaking his head a bit, Draven answered, ”I mean, ya, I have one…just haven’t seen him ever so doesn’t really matter for me.”[/color] Blinking a bit, what Francois said next really hit home. He was shipped off too. God, what was the matter with their parents? A spy school? Really? Did his mom even know? Why the hell did he leave his mom behind all by herself to attend a fucking spy school? And only a year or so since his father passed away? She was punishing him for no reason. ”Ahm…I don’…really know.”[/color] He didn’t know a lot of things…but maybe they could both figure this out. ”I’m sure…you don’t know why you’re here as much as I don’t.”[/color] He moved to take his snickers out of his pocket, unwrapping it. This was as much talking as he had done in this school yet, so far. The kid should’ve felt damn pleased with himself. Good lord.[/size][/blockquote]

[francois jonathon lucielle]

There was something about the atmosphere that made Francois a little…on edge. He wasn’t particularly used to dealing with males; most of them just disregarded the boy as if he was just another addition to the furniture in the room. This boy seemed to at least acknowledge the fact that he was indeed a living, breathing human being; which Franny had to admit was nice. But something inside of him felt like he was dealing with someone…fragile; like he had to take the utmost care in choosing his words and body language as if not to upset the boy. He focused on it for a moment, letting his mind ponder the thought. They boy was definitely not weak, so why was Francois…nervous? Was it because he didn’t have many other friends here? Was it because he was insecure and was just looking for something to make him feel less…out of place again? It took him a moment, but soon the French boy had it figured out. It wasn’t Draven who was the fragile one, obviously, but it was Francois. Everything he said, did; it all left such a mark on the boy. He was scared of being hated- no, he was completely petrified of being hated once more. Being alone for so long. Having no one to talk to but your mind; it’s something he knew all too well, and it was something he didn’t want to have to go back to. Was it so much to ask for company? For someone to relate to? Francois didn’t think so, but he was probably wrong, he always seemed to find something wrong out of everything he did. He could tell her just wanted comfort from someone he knew would not be willing to give it, and so once more he found himself alone, having to face life on his own two feet.

Gently curling into himself a little more, his eyes flickered to the other boy’s for a moment, and he could tell he was upset with Francois. What did he say? What did he do? He mentally began to scrutinize over every single move he had made, and it didn’t take long to realize it: the smirk. The small grin he let through, the boy took it the wrong way. He cursed himself inwardly as his eyes found the floor again. There was nothing more he could do now though, it had already happened, but he still felt bad for it. He still felt a ring of guilt inside his heart. As if the boy’s time here wasn’t bad enough, now Francois was just simply adding to it. He listened intently to his words for a moment. It was…it was an unfair judgment and he knew it, but Francois found that it was true. He wasn’t physically strong, except for his feet, but otherwise he was scrawny. There was one thing the other boy didn’t know about him; Francois had a very high tolerance for physical pain. He had pushed his body to the limit so many times before, that now actually feeling the pain took an incredible amount of effort. He let his eyes move up to meet the other boy’s, slightly less bright than before, but not really caring.

“I dance Ballet. I can actually take a lot of physical and emotional damage before breaking, but I know I don’t look it at all.” He gave a small shrug as his eyes found the floor once more. He wasn’t really trying to think about what was going on, but he always ended up doing it anyway. He broke out of his small trance though to catch what the boy was saying about the school. So he didn’t know why he was here either; oh how wonderful.

“I’m sure you could be used for a lot more things than you think, so you should fit in nicely.” Unlike me, the boy couldn’t help but think to himself as his eyes remained glued to the brown and black floorboards. He felt his mouth open as a sentence spilled carelessly out of it, cheeks blushing ever so slightly once it was finally out.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to offend you if I did, I wasn’t grinning at you I promise. I just thought your comment was ‘kinda funny. Sorry.” His eyes moved back down to the phone he was now gripping roughly in his hand, knuckles turning from red to white before going back to red as he relaxed, bringing it closer to himself.

Francois was a complete wreck and he knew it, he just hoped the other boy didn’t pick up on it.

He really just didn’t want to be so alone anymore.

[/size]

[draven cole arrow]

Draven’s home life back in Germany hadn’t been sunshine and rainbows. Back before his dad had died, it was on and off. His dad had used to be one of his favorite people, a rocker, and had been one to go down to the pubs to play for free just so people got good music. His mom was a hard worker, working a few real jobs to keep up with his father’s dream of being a real musician but she tried hard to support them. His father had been his greatest influence, and had taught him to play guitar at a young age. Everything had gone fine, for a while, until the day everything stopped being okay. The banks were closing in on his family, and his mom was getting more and more stressed out. She was working two jobs and his dad was on and off from different ones. The only constant was the music. But with more stress came more fights. He knew his parents loved each other, but their small arguments grew into something not so small, always centering around his father being jobless and his mom overworking herself and everything to the point where it was like every night was yell night. His dad kept saying he wasn’t cut out for a regular job, a corporate life, and wanted to be able to work while enjoying himself. His mom had it up to her neck in “music without reward”. And that’s how things went until his dad got sick. When his dad got sick, his mom stopped yelling at him. Even though she said it was because he smoked his lungs away, but Draven knew she was insanely in love with him minus his bad habits. So his mom toned it down. And then everything focused on Draven and getting him to help around the house. Draven tried as hard as he could to help. He wasn’t a bad kid…he’d just had a rough beginning. But yelling at him was not a good motivation. And he grew to despise it. It only stopped when his dad passed on. His mom rarely said anything after that. That’s why he wasn’t so keen on leaving home. But everyone had their problems.

Draven was kind of touchy now…maybe it was from his mom, maybe it was from the old school kids that bullied him, who knew? Either way, there were certain things he took to offense that someone might not realize, and then there were things other people would deem offensive and he found quite amusing. It all just came with the territory, and not even he himself knew what someone should or shouldn’t say to him when it came to some things. But it didn’t matter, he got over things pretty quickly. Even if Draven thought he was speaking with the best intentions, maybe that might have come across wrong as well. He knew what he meant to say, but it never seemed to always come out right. He wasn’t the best talker, English or otherwise. It was just him. Everyone had their flaws, and he was definitely one to say he had many. All humans did, and anyone who said they had no flaws was a liar. Looking at Francois as he said he could dance, Draven’s brows raised a bit. He wasn’t the greatest dancer around, but it was something he found pretty fun. Not with anyone else, not professional. Mostly he liked to go clubbing and moving his hips, and that was IT [maybe with some added hair flipping], but it was still something he got a little enjoyment out of. But to hear that Francois was a real and dedicated dancer. Draven respected that. His mother had been a dancer before she met his father. It was a pity with how that all worked out. She was still as beautiful as ever as the pictures she looked at every morning thinking she wasn’t as beautiful. People, as well as herself, were clearly blind. He slightly understood why the kid might’ve been here now, but it was only slight. He nodded slowly, ”I see…I know, dance is hard work, you don’ have to tell me that. Sorry I assumed otherwise.”

[/color]

The word sorry felt kind of weird coming out of his mouth, and that reminded him of something, but he’d wait til the boy apologized again to bring it up. Shrugging a bit, Draven sighed, ”Would be good if they actually told why we have come here instead of making us wonder about it all. Most people know why…like they’re smart or something of this. We don’t know.”[/color] He made a face, taking another sip of his Dr. Pepper, before moving to bite into the snickers, licking his lips a bit. He felt kind of like a pig eating in front of the boy, but he still wasn’t accustomed to the American food. So greasy, so fattening, though, not as much as some things in German, but still. It was different. Waiting for a moment, Draven almost smirked as he heard the boy apologize again. There he went. He looked up and tried to meet the boy’s eyes. ”Hey, you really should stop with the apologizes before someone takes advantage over it. I got it, it was jus’ me…if you keep saying that you are sorry, maybe I will find reason to fight you.”[/color] He looked straight at the boy, hoping he got his point across, but his eyes showed that he was joking a bit. He didn’t want to scare him completely off. Poor boy could have a heart attack with the way he acted like everything was going to get him. His eyes flicked to the boy’s phone. Why was he always clutching that thing? The boy had pockets, he could’ve put it away. Draven realized maybe it was for security or to keep Francois’s hands busy. Just like Draven’s necklace. God, the similarity was awful. His eyes narrowed a bit, looking at the boy. ”What are you so afraid of?”[/color] He wasn’t sure why he asked, but it was out now.[/size][/blockquote]

[francois jonathon lucielle]

Things weren’t as amazing back in France as people probably thought. Francois’ life was difficult and rough, and no one truly understood this either. His mother was accepting of him, and she was his support through most of the years…but his father was not so much. He was always struggling to push himself further and further, to keep going and keep doing things better. He needed to focus on his dancing though; it was the only thing that could allow him to stay in America. Recently his Father had chimed back into his life and threatened him. He threatened him with something Francois would never agree to, but he couldn’t tell anyone. He wouldn’t tell anyone, or so he thought. He never imagined he would even want to tell the boy in front of him…but something was pulling it out of him. Something was going to make him say it and he knew it. He nearly jumped when the boy apologized, feeling an unnatural guilt swell and bottle up in the cavity of his chest.

“No no don’t apologize! It’s okay, I don’t advertise I dance because people usually give me shit for it, so it’s not your fault, it’s mine.” He gave the boy the smallest of smiles, but it was a tired, weary one and he knew it. He nodded along with the boy’s words; he agreed more than Draven would ever know. He needed a purpose. He needed something to give him reason in life, and this wasn’t looking too bright for him at all. He realized that just dancing wasn’t enough. He realized just knowing an abundance of languages was not enough either. He needed something else. He needed to be deadly, decisive; something that would help him get through this school year. If it was a spy school, he knew he would be gone faster than anyone could ever understand. He wanted so much for someone to just be there with him. He wished Krystian was here, he even wished his mother could be here; even through everything he had went through, and she had just kept her mouth shut…he still needed her. Francois was like a porcelain doll that needed to be taken care of sometimes. He needed someone to stitch up his wounds and keep him from falling, to keep him from shattering. It wasn’t like Francois hadn’t shattered before, because he had, but no one had known it. He not dare tell anyone about it, because just the memory was so…so painful. Thinking about it made his eyes sting with held in tears, causing his eyes to narrow on nothing in particular as he zoned out, the memory replaying over and over in his head.

A fourteen year old Francois sits on the edge of his bed, tears streaming fully down his reddened cheeks. His parents fighting could be heard from all the way upstairs in his room, and it was breaking the boy in half. Things were smashing, people were screaming; it was like everything was ending right there. Then suddenly it had all stopped, and Francois felt his heart cease as well. There was booming. Yelling. Stairs. Someone- no, everyone- was coming upstairs. His door swung open, and then the screams were real. His other’s face was beat red, mouth open as incoherent words of French and other languages flew from her mouth. His father was walking towards him, his face red with veins popping at the corners. Before the boy could say anything, before he could even comprehend the moment- he was being moved. His father was moving him, by the neck, as he struggled and gasped for air. He remembers his mother by his side, clawing at his hand, screaming in his ear; but it would never help. There was no helping his father when he was angry.

Then there was pain. He was falling; tumbling down, stair after stair after stair, until hitting something. There was a loud gasp from the effeminate male at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes glued open and his back arched in terror and pain. In the right side of his neck, there was glass. The boy had fallen into a shattered mirror, and now pieces of it were lodged into him. When he looked up, hoping to see his mother running after him; she wasn’t. Her head was turned away, his hand over her mouth, and his father nowhere in sight. The boy gouged the piece of glass out of his neck with a louder gasp, sitting there, trembling and bleeding profusely. The same black shadow overcame his eyes, and then just as he was about to let out a scream, a cry for help-

Draven asked him a question. His face was staring down at his phone, his eyes burning lightly and his knuckles completely white now. His left hand had reached around to the side of his neck, fingers moving to conceal the scar from glass there, hoping the other bot didn’t already see it. Draven’s question made Francois kick himself. He didn’t want to spill too much. He didn’t want to drive the boy away. He had to lie again. He had to pretend like it was okay, but before he could, a sentence had already passed by his pale lips.

“I’m afraid of everything.” The words were small and hushed, but still coherent and he hoped less audible. When he spoke next, his voice was a smidge louder.

“I-I mean, nothing. I’m fine.” Lie. Blatant, oppressive lies. He didn’t want to lie to the boy. He didn’t want Draven to hate him, but what else could he do? He had to lie; he had to keep it all locked up where no one could find it.

There was a sudden buzz in his hand, and he looked down to read his phone. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened a fraction of an inch. His hand gripped painfully hard around the phone.

It was a message from his mother.

The boy got up suddenly, looking around for a moment before meeting Draven’s eyes.

“S-sorry I h-have to g-go,” his voice was barely even attempting to hide the fear, and his eyes were in no way shielding the terror inside them. He turned his head away to hide the tear that ran down his left cheek, as he began to move towards the door.

He couldn’t break down in front of him.

He wouldn’t.

[/size]

[draven cole arrow]

Draven had to admit that he was lucky to have parents who both loved him and each other, mostly. Well, they did before his father passed on, he meant. He had plenty of friends who…oh boy. The horror stories he had heard. Parents who abused alcohol then abused their kids. Parents who fought all the time and mostly over the kid in question. Parents who called their kid a mistake and let them raise themselves whatever way they wanted. Parents who cheated on each other and the kid knew about it and it tore them to pieces. Parents who were single and needed more parenting themselves so the kids had to grow up too fast. Parents who…well yea, even that, parents who were gone, and the kid was an orphan. Kids who had been sexually violated by step parents even. He had a pretty messed up group of friends, and he knew he was lucky that he wasn’t too messed up. Because what parents do really affects their kids, honestly. His friends were deep into drugs, some out on the streets and trying to find places to stay…sometimes his mom would find a place in her heart to let them stay on the couch in the basement of their house. Not every night, because of how often she worked, but she was like a mom now to most of his friends back home. And he hoped now that he was gone, she was still helping them out and keeping an eye on them, because he most certainly couldn’t. They were kind of like a pack, they looked out for each other, gave each other back up, kept each other safe. And now one of the wolves was far from home. Draven knew he would need…something like that…here. And he knew other people would to. That was why other people were quick to make friends. It was better to be with people than to be alone, but that was really the biggest problem Draven was having. He liked being alone too much.

It was funny to hear Francois telling Draven not to apologize, when Draven was telling Francois not to apologize himself. It was like a back and forth thing. He shook his head a bit. ”They should not be giving you shit for. Dance is hard work and you should say you would like to see them try anything of the like. Is almost better than working out. Is better work out in itself.”

[/color] He nodded a bit. God, he sounded…he wasn’t trying to make himself look like a fucking mentor. And he wasn’t trying to talk this much either, but something wasn’t completely right here, he felt it. Especially when Francois took fault when there was nothing to take fault for. ”No. Stop. Is no one’s fault.”[/color] Though, really, as heartfelt as Draven was trying to make his words sound, he wasn’t sure Francois was completely listening to him. It seemed the boy was really distracted, and then, as Draven kept his eye on him, looking ready to cry. Draven’s brows raised. That almost scared him. What had he said? Maybe he was being far too mean? But Draven didn’t think he was being mean at all. But when the boy’s eyes narrowed, Draven was sure something was wrong. Draven had that habit…narrowing his eyes when he was angry or upset at someone. Why was he getting this? Wasn’t that all the boy wanted to do was talk? Draven felt like he was sitting in silence for a long time waiting for some kind of reply for Francois. His eyes looked distant, far away. Something was wrong and Draven didn’t know what to do. Draven wasn’t a mind reader, and he wasn’t a hugger either. They needed a guidance counselor or something to put up with things like this. Maybe that’s what the school had shrimped out on. Help for the students. Because students at a spy school had to be strong all the time and didn’t have just as many problems as kids in normal school. Yeah. Right. This school seemed more fucked up to Draven by the second.

Draven’s last question seemed to bring Francois back though, watching the boy move, he seeming to be hiding something or suddenly really uncomfortable, and Draven’s brow creased with confusion. And when he answered Draven’s almost rhetorical question, it made a bit more sense, but it really still didn’t. That was bad. To be afraid of everything. Fear kept you from doing things you could really want to do, it was stifling. And when Francois tried to cover it up, Draven interrupted him. ”I am not hard of hearing, Francois, I heard what you already said. I don’t like people to lie to me.”[/color] A buzz broke the otherwise ringing silence and Draven watched as Francois looked down at that ever present phone. And then, watching his face, it was like watching someone break the news to him that someone close to him just died. Draven felt a very strong need to intervene whether it went against everything he believed in or not. He met the boy’s eyes and saw nothing but some kind of haunting fear, and saw the boy was ready to cry. Draven wasn’t used to tears, he never cried, but he had heard from other people it was a good release, and damn, that’s what this boy needed, standing with presence and moving to stop the boy, grabbing his shoulder a bit and turning him back around. He leaned down a bit, looking at the boy, taking his hand off of him and searching for something to say. ”It’s fine to be…afraid…and it’s fine to cry too.”[/color] He wasn’t sure what else to offer the boy. ”I can get you something to make you feel better? Sit down, you need to relax…”[/color] This boy was going to have a heart attack if he didn’t cool it.[/size][/blockquote]

[francois jonathon lucielle]

It was too much. There was just too much to handle, and Francois was breaking. The small, petite glass doll that he was, was falling and cracking; and soon he would shatter into a million, tiny little pieces. He didn’t want to though. He was tired of being so weak all the time, but it was just…things were tough to handle sometimes. Francois was delicate and fragile, and this was one thing he would not be able to take. He wasn’t going to be able to keep himself composed through all of this, and he knew it. The tears began to fall and his eyes burned in regret for not being able to keep them inside. The hand that was clutching his phone began to quake, and then soon enough the machine dropped from his hand and landed face up on the floor, the text from his mother reading two, simple, words. ‘Father. Angry.’ Fear was always accompanied by anger; because when there was anger, there was imminent pain and regret. Francois regretted so much right now. He regretted coming down here. He regretted feeling so lonely. He regretted dragging Draven into this mess with him. He regretted living like he did. Draven was obviously tough. He was strong. He was built. He was probably athletic; he was simply everything Francois was not, and he saw no reason for the boy to continue to even stand around with him.

His words hurt. He did hear it. Shit, the boy thought angrily inside the void of his mind. He couldn’t deal with this right now. He couldn’t stand the blackness that seemed to surround his heart and grip him in fear. It wasn’t fair. It was never fair. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to stay here. He didn’t want to be anywhere right now, but he didn’t know where else to go. His head moved to look down; staring at the other boy’s feet as his eyes drifted shut halfway, using his raven locks to cover the pain that ran freely down his cheeks. His head moved back and forth, telling the boy no, before speaking up in a shaky, hushed voice.

“I-I c-can’t go b-back. F-father is…a-ang-gry with m-me…” He couldn’t ever deal with his father’s anger again. No more could he handle being the subject of it. His father was the only person who was ever able to do this to him. He was the only person that could ever break he boy so easily and so permanently. Francois could barely remember the last time his father actually laid a hand on him, because he blacked out in the middle of it. It was when he was fifteen, only a mere year after his last…encounter, with his angry father. It started out with just some yelling at his mother because of his work, but soon it was more than that. Soon his father had found the fifteen year old Francois, sitting outside by their pool, talking on the phone. Soon the phone that Francois was talking on was ripped from his hand and smashed on the floor. Then there was more yelling. Francois was used to the yelling by now though. He was trying his best to tune it out, but then he couldn’t. Soon he was being picked up and thrown. Then there was cold. Wet. His father had picked him up again, and now he was in the pool.

His father was trying to drown him.

And for Francois, that is where it goes black. His mind refused to acknowledge the events that took place, and therefore shut down so the boy would never remember it. It was a powerful defensive system, the subconscious, but sometimes it did not last long enough. The boy woke up once more, but this time in a hospital room. He seemed fine. Everything seemed okay. So why was he even there? He tried for a few hours to figure it out, until he tried to move. A gripping pain gashed through his side as he got up, causing him to limp sharply over to the mirror. Removing his hospital clothing, he saw it. There was a scar moving across his right side and towards his stomach. There were so many stitches through it…so many black and blue spots…and his mother refuses to tell him to this day where it has come from. He begged and pleaded with the woman, but all she did was tell him ‘no’ and walk away.

These were the memories replaying in Francois head from the text. He found his whole body shaking in a matter of seconds after his hand. Ever so hesitantly, he looked up to stare at the boy’s neck, hesitant to meet his eyes; hesitant for Draven to finally see the events through his own eyes.

“W-when…h-he i-is m-mad…I g-get t-t-thes-se…” Francois turned his neck roughly towards the other boy, fingering the scar across it. His eyes were boring into the wall as tears drowned out the opaqueness of his cheeks. His teeth bit deeply into his lip, drawing blood and ignoring it. His hand moved away as his face moved back down, fingers gripping the hem of his shirt. He lifted it up halfway, exposing yet another scar across his abdomen. He put it down soon after exposing it, his feet trembling as they took a step back. His left hand moved to his right forearm, gripping it roughly, trying to stop the shaking throughout it.

“I c-can’t g-go b-back….I-I’m not s-safe…h-he’ll k-kill me…if h-he c-can.” His head was shaking back and forth again. Francois found his eyes gingerly moving over the boy once more, climbing up his body until they met his icy blue ones. His own warm, hazel eyes were dim and ill-lit, it was unusual for the boy. The mixture of their natural color, plus the straining red of crying created a muddy hazel with red streaks throughout. He spoke up to the boy in a pleading voice, as if asking him to solve the problem.

“I d-don’t w-want to d-die…n-not yet.” Then there was one final word, until all was quiet, leaving the room to drip with the sorrow of the boy’s cries that echoed throughout it.

“P-please…”

[/size]

[draven cole arrow]

Draven definitely had never found himself in a situation where he had to comfort someone. The closest he had been to anyone who was ever crying was his mother when his father died…and that had been a big time of solitude for himself. He had tried, maybe hugged her once when he was the only one around. But he wasn’t sure how much it had helped. And hugging his mother wouldn’t be the same as hugging another guy. Because apparently he hadn’t even been good enough comfort for his mother. She had gone off weeping on the other women’s shoulders and he had kept to himself. He hadn’t cried. He couldn’t cry. He wasn’t a person who was capable of crying. He was sure that his tear ducts either didn’t work or were virtually non-existent. He could remember when he’d been told though…about his father dying. It was raining. It only seemed fitting, didn’t it? All bad events seemed to happen on a dreary, rainy day at some depressing time of day in some month no one seems to care about. Draven had been hanging out with his buddies, the three of them planning on going theatre hopping. Really, Draven didn’t want to pay all that fucking money twice when he could get in the second movie for free and no one would know. It was after the first movie and the guys were hiding out in the bathroom when Draven’s phone had gone off. His mom telling him to get home early. She sounded angry, like she had left him a list of things to do and he forgot about it. He had simply rolled his eyes, told them he’d meet up with them later, and walked the way home. He hadn’t been home for more than thirty minutes when his mother had stumbled into the house crying and wailing like the apocalypse was coming, and Draven thinking something was wrong, obviously, had ran to help her up. He wasn’t a bad son, he really wasn’t. His mother could barely get the words out as Draven held her: Father…dead. Draven hadn’t known what had hit his ears, he hadn’t been prepared. It seemed like all at once he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, and for a while, he couldn’t let go. And once his mother had calmed down enough to breathe, he had bolted. Straight out of the house and into the back yard.

It was like he had snapped. Draven had gone and destroyed everything in sight. A shovel? Thrown straight into the side of the shed and shattering the glass of the window. A trash can? Knocked over and kicked, repeatedly, scattering everything. Paper thrown everywhere, things ripped up, other things punched in when Draven’s fists came into play. Just an hour or so ago everything had been okay, and now…now he didn’t even know what was going to happen to him and his mom. He would have to work, imminently. And believe him when he said he’d been trying. Maybe now that his dad was gone, he’d take his father’s pl…pla…no. He couldn’t even think about that. With his father gone, there were too many places to fill. Head of the house, bringer of the bread, father, husband. He hoped the last two were ones that would stay empty forever. Heaven forbid the bastard that tried to barge in on Draven’s mother. After pulling back from jamming his hand into the side of the house, he had fallen to his knees, his knuckles split open and bleeding and his body covered in cold sweat. But…no tears. Nothing. He felt bad. Why couldn’t he cry? He would’ve thought a time like this where his body ultimately needed that release that it would’ve given it to him, but no. It hadn’t. He hadn’t cried. Lord, how he’d tried. He knew that crying could be seen as babyish, but he knew that if he didn’t manage to do so, there must’ve been something wrong with him. He loved his father, why wasn’t he in shambles like his mother? People would be expecting him to cry. But he never did. He remembered standing at the funeral, wearing all black, which wasn’t unusual for him, and he was the only one there who had a dry eye. He felt isolated, like people were judging him on his lack of emotion. But after that time, Draven had learned that people dealt with death and grieving in completely different ways. He grew distant and very detached, and his mother had to constantly keep herself busy. Thinking about all of this, Draven almost felt shaken. Maybe this was him trying to get into his own head to help Francois out, but he didn’t even know what had made Francois break in the first place.

Looking to the floor as the ever-present phone fell to the floor, Draven could only make out two words. Father. Angry. And little by little, there was a bit more understanding slipping into Draven’s eyes, moving to take Francois by the shoulders again, shaking him lightly. Oh so lightly. Gently. Like it would be hard for anyone to realize he had a gentle touch to him at all. Listening as the boy talked once more, Draven shushed him slightly, trying to talk him out of things. ”Francois, no one said you had to leave…you don’t have to go back, you came here…”

[/color] His brows furrowed a bit. Why would Francois’s father be angry with him? What the hell could this boy have done? Unless Francois’s father was just one of those men…Draven despised those sorts of men. Draven’s suspicions were put to rest once Francois’s scars were revealed, Draven not spending too much time looking at them. He could feel hatred boiling up in his chest for the man that left those. Whether Draven wanted to or not, Francois had hooked him into caring. Draven gripped at Francois’s shoulders as he tried to move back. He wasn’t going to go anywhere. He looked Francois straight in the eyes. ”You don’ have to go back. You get to stay here. Not for break you won’t have to either, we can figure things out.”[/color] He nodded slowly. If he had his way, he’d just bring Francois back to his mother as his long lost little brother or something. And they’d rescue Francois’s mother too. Thought it was all just wishful thinking – Draven really despised this world. Shaking his head, Draven spoke his final words on the subject. ”You won’t have to die. If anyone tries to mess with you, they will have to answer with me. Only with me.”[/color] He nodded a bit, keeping his voice down. ”Just calm down…take breaths.”[/color] He took a deep breath just to demonstrate. What the hell had he gotten himself into?[/blockquote][/size]