Thread: Artie, Professor X, Optic, Beast, Laurel Who: Artie, Aubrey, Professor Xavier, Hank When: Early morning, Dec. 17 NPCs: Jarrod Shaafer Where: School grounds What: Artie goes outside to smoke pot and suddenly hates the fact that he can't speak
It was still early. Artie had pulled on every single piece of clothing he could find to walk around outside. It wasn't that he was really worried about the temperature, but because he didn't want Hank to see him and use him as a part of a three piece juggling set. Artie wasn't out to commune with nature, nor was he really all that fond of snow when it was just him out there and no one along to enjoy it with him. It'd just been a while since he had smoked, and since it seemed to be quieter in the mornings, Artie decided he wouldn't have to go up to the roof and get the skin sheared off his cheeks from the wind.
The boots he'd found to borrow crunched the snow under his feet. It was a satisfying sound, one that Artie hadn't heard for a long time. Something about the crispness of the winter months was invigorating to him. Sure, he couldn't really go around in sandals and shorts without being seen as crazy, but the cold air was welcomed into his lungs as he took a deep breath. With that out of the way, he pulled out the battered Altoids tin and flipped the lid open, the hinges in the back groaning with rust. He pulled out the joint and put it between his lips, hand cupping against the wind so the flame would ignite. Once the paper caught, Artie put away the paraphernalia and gave himself over to the sweet smell that filled his lungs and the smooth-feeling smoke that was filling his lungs.
Hearing a rustle, Artie turned his head, his eyes focusing on the ground to his side, figuring it was some chipmunk who had trying to find the last few nuts before it disappeared until spring. Beyond the fence, he noticed a shadow that he'd never seen before. The sun was quickly covered by clouds, the image dissolving on the snow like a dream once a person woke up.Deciding he had nothing better to do, Artie decided to find t his new tree. As he plodded through the snow, he wasn't sure if it was his breath or the cannabis that was coming out of his mouth. The more he smoked, the more he realized that he'd had better weed. He promised himself that he wouldn't save the roach when his food fell through the snow, bringing him to his knees. He gasped, the joint hissing as it hit snow, totally forgotten. He figured his ankle was twisted. Stupid snow.
Raising his head up, the joint of instantly forgotten. He'd found the source of the shadow. Through the fence, on a cross that was makeshift at best, Artie simply gaped for a moment. The man was young, about his age, blond hair. The nails had been driven into his wrists, bare feet cold with frostbite. the head drooped, Artie leaning down to see a badly beaten, swollen face.
Through the bruises, he saw it was that guy Jarrod - the one who had left to celebrate his birthday with his mom. Artie's heart broke. The wind whipped at the torn t-shirt and boxers, dried blood turning the snow black around the base. Quickly getting up, he moved to the fence, banging on it, face torn between anguish and indignation. He had to be alive. He had too. All the noise that Artie made didn't stir the other, a lump forming in Artie's throat.
He needed to get help. Standing up, he raced back to the house, limp be damned. He was clapping his hands to try and get someone's attention. His gloves and mittens were torn off, the sound sharp as the cold seized his fingers only to be rushed with blood as he continued to clap. No one was around, the school looked like a ghost town. A place filled with the dead. He shoved the thought aside as he raced up the steps, almost falling up them. He wrenched the door open, clapping as loud as he could.
Artie needed to get someone's attention, and there wasn't time to hunt for someone. Jarrod could still be alive and he had to show them where he was. Looking around the foyer, Artie began picking things up, his uninjured foot kicking at the door that had closed behind him. He needed something loud, but didn't know exactly how expensive all this antique stuff was. With his mouth in a severe line across his face, making his nose and chin look to be part of a fraction, Artie began to beat the walls with his fists, his foot still going for the door. Someone please hear me! he cried in his mind, realizing that in a place like this, mental talking was an option as well. He began to scream in his mind (as best he could for someone who had never done it before), hoping someone came by soon or he'd have to go out and try to save Jarrod himself.