InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "His Noodly Appendage"

Levi Cuckoo (seemevil) wrote in nextxplayground,
@ 2009-04-06 19:44:00

Entry tags:

char: levi cuckoo, stat: incomplete

Who: Urien Quire, Levi Cuckoo
What: Your typical brotherly pastimes of stalking, a bit of abuse, and maybe a few laughs. Cruel, cruel laughs.
When: Monday afternoon
Where: NYU Campus
Rating: UA: Unbelievably Awesome. Also, TBD?

That presense had been dogging him for some time now. Lurking, feigning innocence under a mask of comfortable familiarity. Uncomfortable, more like. Levi worked hard to shake familiarity.
He was going to have to do something about it.

Being a student seemed to have its benefits. That chick with the pink dreadlocks that kept glancing back to check if he was still staring at her was almost enough to make him regret dropping out. Almost. The benefit for the unstudent was that they could hang around campus preying on the studious without all of that time wasted trying to learn things. Unfortunately, Levi's prey today wasn't quite so alluring; not a dreadlock about him. He could get quite pink with a good pinch, though.

While Levi slouched on a bench at the edge of the park, Urien was in a nearby building doing whatever learning he felt he needed to do in his weird, Urien way. Levi wasn't into the details. Whatever the boy genius was doing, he was sure he was just as aware of Levi as Levi was of him. Levi just had to wait and find out who was the one meant to do the confronting.

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telepathology
2009-04-15 11:44 am UTC (link)

Things were too slow in this plane of existence. The words, words, words, coming out of his professor's mouth took...for...ever to reach his ears. When they finally did they were processed with lightning speed, quantified and stored for future reference. Sometimes, most times, Urien hated this place. This class room, school, New York, earth. His professor's turpitude, verbal communication moving at a glacial pace, made Urien feel a bit frantic. Oh how he wished for telepathic communication, why bother speaking when he could just input the information directly into Urien's brain? It seemed so much more efficient.

With pen in hand, he began to tap it impatiently on his notebook covered in notes. Five more minutes, five more minutes. Already he felt the anxiety building inside of him. He wanted out and now. He was so consumed by his own thoughts an internal monologue he barely registered the familiar psychic presence that was so close when it stumbled without finesse across his radar. It caused him to pause in all his thoughts and calculations and look up blankly. Apathetic to etiquette, Urien simply packed his bag, with five minutes still left on the clock and exited the classroom.

Urien stalked from the classroom outside, to better get his bearings and pinpoint his long, lost cousin's exact location. "Olly, olly, oxen free..." he mumbled to no one in particular. His eyes glanced around at all the people, hearing the static from their weak brains, listening to their thoughts. In his own mind he was counting his steps - a flowing cascade of numbers that lay as the foundation to his mindscape. Thoughts encircled with logarithms, shot across his neural transmitters, coming with the longitude and latitude of where Levi sat.

“I’m nobody! Who are you?” He murmured Emily Dickinson aloud — feeling it oddly appropriate.

“Are you nobody, too?” His gaze drifted across the people. No…none of them were him. “Then there’s a pair of us - don’t tell!”

“They’d banish us, you know!” Urien said under his breath, now with Levi in sight. He paused where he stood, on the side walk, twenty or so feet from his cousin. He blinked softly, was that his cousin? He hadn't seen Levi in a very long time, and his appearance was barely recognizable. So much so, had it not been for his unique psychic signature Urien would have passed him by completely.

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seemevil
2009-04-15 12:48 pm UTC (link)

The tattoos, the piercings, the dyed hair, even a couple of inches taller and more filled out than the angry teenager that had said goodbye to Urien with his middle finger and an expressed interest in Urien's, and the rest of that fucking house's, mortality-- that was all superficial, really. Levi hadn't changed all that much. He might not have been a gangly teenager anymore, but he just wasn't the type to put much stock into growing up.

Still staring at the dreadlocked dream, Levi lit a cigarette, hoping it might encourage her closer with an easy ice breaker. He might have been on a mission, but if someone else derailed him, well, it really couldn't be helped. Instead, the attention he got was a little more unexpected.

"Bum a fag?"

"What?" The kid had flopped down on the bench beside him, taking him by surprise in every way possible. As far as Levi could tell, this was a University not a fucking preschool. The kid must have been eight years old, all tiny and bold like that.

"Can I have a cigarette, you fucking idiot?" the kid clarified, looking exasperated, and Levi could only recoil in his shock. What the fuck was this kid?

So he said it, "What the fuck?"

"What are you, fucking deaf?"

Successfully bullied by a difficult war tactic to master, the element of surprise, Levi fished the pack of cigarettes out of the lumpy bag beside him-- a strange creature, that bag was, all asymetrical with odd seams and mismatching buttons. Made with love by one of the inhabitants of the Factory, but not with much skill. It moved, too, not expecting the sudden intrusion, wiggling slightly with annoyance.

Slowly, Levi handed the cigarette over, and with a last 'Fucking idiot' for good measure the kid was off like a shot. "I hope you get cancer!" Levi shouted after him, but immediately he was forgetting the whole episode ever took place. The weird kid bolted passed a stationary body, carrying with it an almost physical aura of its unique weirdness. Mission back on track, it seemed.

Levi raised an eyebrow at Urien, gathering himself quickly and reclining with his arms stretched across the back of the bench casually. His smirk wasn't particularly inviting, but he couldn't help it, really. The bubble boy was all growed up.

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