Kevin Ford (bad_touch) wrote in academy_x, @ 2010-04-19 11:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | mercury, wither |
Who: Kevin & Cessily.
Where: In the library.
When: Monday. Break time, right after lunch.
What: Kevin is sketching and being actually tolerable, for once. Mostly because he's too wiped out to bother being mean.
Kevin had spent a week's worth of nights lying awake, his insomnia playing up in a major way ever since the attack and his gut-wrenching dreams of decaying flesh startling him awake even if he did manage to fall asleep, and thus he didn't really have the energy to be awful to other people. In consequence, he'd been avoiding everyone except Rogue, even hiding from Kurt -- especially from Kurt, after what his roommate had seen him do. But it wasn't like he could just lock the door to keep Kurt out. That was one of the major disadvantages of rooming with a teleporter. Thus, he'd been spending an awful lot of time in his various hiding places around the school: his workspace in the garage, that stony spot down by the lake, even the back corner table in the library.
That's where he was now, while everyone else was at lunch. Not being able to eat did have some benefits, namely that he didn't have to suffer through the cafeteria crowds and be around people, which was definitely one of his least favorite things to do ever. Here, at least, it was quiet and the students who did come in here weren't looking for a conversation. Most people left him alone anyway due to his reputation as an utter jerk and his super-scary mutation, and that was the way he liked it.
Right now, he had his sketchpad out on the table and he was drawing, listening to his omg-ancient CD player he'd picked up for a couple bucks. He'd been tending toward dark and twisted sketches recently, planning out ideas for the sculptures he'd make out of the supplies he'd brought back from Remy's scrapyard visit. Today, though, he was honestly too tired to be all that creative, and the picture he was sketching was a self-portrait, the way he saw himself mostly. That meant dark and in hiding, his pencil rubbing in pools of shadow around his body, his hair creating a dark curtain over his eyes, his pale skin an almost painful contrast to his layers of clothing. Kevin was honest in his drawings, at least: he wasn't ugly, and he didn't draw himself that way, but he didn't sugarcoat his self-portrait, either, didn't try to make himself look like a better person than he was. He was absorbed in his task, blending the soft pencil lead with his gloved finger, so much so that he didn't realize that his headphones had slipped askew, treating anyone else who happened to be in the area to his music: a mix CD of loud, guitar-fueled rock, currently playing the Secret Machines' First Wave Intact.