Eli Rebreanu Grantham likes the way you feel (the_eli_part) wrote in invol_rpg, @ 2013-04-14 11:41:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ! log, eli rebreanu grantham, padraig flanagan |
WHO: Eli Rebreanu Grantham and Padraig Flanagan
WHAT: Eli gets busted in more ways than one.
WHEN: 9am-ish, Sunday 4/14
WHERE: Cafeteria
WARNINGS: mild violence, language. Hide yo kids
STATUS: log complete
PADRAIG: Every morning felt too early, but just like yesterday and the day before Padraig was at the cafeteria. He was in line and groggy from lack of sleep, though not for want of trying. The phone calls had whittled down and Pad could sleep soundly throughout the night, but sleep didn’t always come easy. It had been a nightmare that woke him, again. The same reoccurring one that his counsellor kept urging him to work through, the same one that Padraig kept refusing to confront. It involved the cell and Mette dying, with Padraig being powerless to stop it. The feelings it stirred up were not much different from the feelings he had felt in December. With a yawn, Padraig reached to grab milk for his coffee. He didn’t always drink coffee, in fact he preferred not to, but he couldn’t foresee himself getting through the day without it. He poured slowly and stirred even slower. The morning was about to pass in a haze, and he might catch a nap in class. As long as he made it to training, he’d be okay. Training kept him awake and then he could nap afterwards. ELI: Coffee was something you just had in the morning, in Eli’s book, and despite his comparatively awake state he poured out a large mug of the stuff. The smell was practically as potent as the taste would be. He bustled next to the boy he recognized from the kidnapping videos and watched him sleepily pour out milk into his coffee. He wondered if being able to breathe fire made things taste different to the Irish boy. He usually didn’t do this during meals because trying to process two different sets of mouthfuls usually ended in a complete and total mishmash of awful. But they were both drinking coffee and apparently both drinking it the same way - without sugar. He’d be quick. “Could I have that when you’re done?” he asked, holding out his hand. PADRAIG: An unfamiliar voice made Padraig’s eyes snap upwards and his shoulders tense slightly. He was used to hearing sounds and voices he couldn’t name, but they weren’t usually directed at him. He was happy in his little oblivious bubble, often asking the lads multiple times a week who they were talking about. “What?” he said, turning her shoulders to face the stranger. Padraig’s eyes quickly scanned the boy’s face. He could have been Irish or Scottish easily, with the freckles and red hair, but the accent wasn’t off. Somewhere in Eastern Europe, somewhere far from Ireland [NOTE: he’d think American -- Eli has a flawless New England accent, much like Sam]. “The milk?” he questioned, though it was blatantly obvious as it was the only thing Padraig was holding. Unless the kid meant his coffee mug, in which cause he was lunatic. “Aye, sure,” Pad said, answering both his own question and Eli’s. He held the milk out lazily from the top, expecting Eli to grab from the bottom. ELI: He grinned slightly as he wrapped a hand around the middle, just high enough for incidental contact. The skin-to-skin was the same immediate pull it always was, luring him in with promise. He let the siren song take him as he instantaneously sunk into Padraig’s circuitry and started pouring out milk. The sense of connection swelled in him as he held the older boy’s graces in him. THIS was the way to start out a morning; with more than just his senses humming and the hungry ends of his mind satiated. “Thanks. Long night?” he said, making conversation as he dug out a spoon to stir his coffee with. PADRAIG: When the other boy’s fingers made contact with him, Pad’s senses sprung into action. He could have been a simple brush, but this was IVI. A sense of warmth flooded through Pad, and he couldn’t describe it or determine where it came from. He was comforted, for a moment. It confused and thrilled him, and yet as briefly as it was there it disappeared. Padraig blinked, and it was gone. He stood motionless for a moment, trying to determine if he was going mad, or if something had actually happened. Pad felt normal, yet if he was asked ‘how are you doing’ he would have replied with ‘good’ or ‘great’ and not been lying. Maybe it was just the coffee starting to work it’s way through him. “Uh, aye, sort of,” Padraig replied, his reply slightly evasive. He wasn’t about to tell this random stranger about how he had nightmares and feared he cried out in the night and Raphael heard, after all. “You too?” he asked, though out of social niceties and not out of actual interest. ELI: “It was alright,” he said with a careless kind of shrug. “My roommate isn’t the quietest sleeper ever but I guess I’m getting used to it.” Padraig’s exhaustion was palpable in his limbs - they had a heaviness to them as he moved, something forced about his balance and movement. He could tell he wasn’t quite paying attention (eyes focusing all over the place), but Eli didn’t mind that so much. He drank some of his own coffee, then added a bit more milk into it. Baseline taste made, he looked over at Padraig. “You’re with that Italian guy, yeah?” PADRAIG: “Raphael,” he replied without hesitation. Raphael was well-known enough that he assumed Eli knew him by name, it was strange hearing him called ‘that Italian guy’. Womanizer might have been more accurate, or countless other insults. Pad smiled to himself as he thought of this, before re-orientating himself in the present. Padraig didn’t find it odd that someone he’d never paid attention to before knew about him and Raphael. Raph was dramatic and Padraig was internationally famous after his video. What he did find odd was that he was having a conversation while he was getting his coffee. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep. “Sláinte,” Padraig said, raising his coffee cup, intending to leave and make his way to one of the tables. ELI: “Noroc,” he said in reply, having heard enough toasts on St. Patty’s Day to recognize the word, raising his own cup and taking a sip along with Pad. His own coffee drilled down his throat, followed just a hair behind the slightly more milky, slightly cooler cup going down Padraig’s. The tastes lightered on his tongue and he thought a moment before deciding that no, breathing on fire didn’t do much for alteration of his sense of taste. Coffee was coffee, though he thought with a smile to himself, if he didn’t like how his steak was done, he had a perfect avenue to change that. He looked at his plate of mexican omelet and looked at the breakfast the other boy held and he sighed internally. That was going to be a mess in his mouth and, putting his coffee cup on his tray, he departed both physically and mentally, the morning hour making him less careful than he ought to be. The bottom dropped out of him as he disconnected, and he took another sip of his coffee to try and inject some warmth back into the cold vacuum inside. PADRAIG: Pad would have been perfectly happy to walk away and let this morning encounter sort itself into all the others he’d had at IVI. He took a few steps, and then he realized something was off. Padraig felt a sense of loss, yet he had not understanding of why. He felt emptier somehow, yet nothing had changed. Unless... “The fuck did you do?” he barked, his tone accusing and harsh as he paced back towards Eli. People had powers mishaps all the time, Eli may not have meant to do anything. Padraig knew this, somewhere, but that logic didn’t fight off his flaring temper. Pad took a step towards the redhead, his chest rising in a familiar motion. His fists balled and he paused for a moment, logic trying to work it’s way to his mind. He’d liked that initial feeling, he wanted it back, but he didn’t want powers to be used on him without his knowledge, and all these conflicting thoughts and feelings were simply fueling his rage. ELI: He’d set his tray on the table and was about to sit down when he was called at. Angrily. Shit. Well, he thought back to Moa, he had been warned. And he was about to get into the same fight that Dante and that Polish kid had gotten into. He had a few seconds of wide-eyed surprise to figure out how to play this. Eli knew that Padraig was exhausted so maybe he could just pretend it was all in his sleepy head. But he was new and it was just as early for him and he could play it off as accidental. And then there was the part of him that thought getting hit wouldn’t be so bad. He’d have that moment of distraction to slide back into him and the feeling of hollowness was still so prevalent. “What?” he asked, blinking. It was as good a response as any. PADRAIG: The word ‘what’ rang through Padraig’s head. It enraged him. He might have understood if the lad apologized or said it was an accident, or even if he said it was on purpose. Instead, he pretended not to know. Logically, it could have been anyone in the cafeteria. Just because Eli had spoken to Pad didn’t mean anything. But now Padraig was angry, and when his temper flared all he wanted was to release it. Logic was no match for Padraig’s anger. His fist came flying up, aimed for Eli’s jaw. “Don’t use your fucking power on me again,” he spat at the redhead. A more truthful phrase would have been ‘don’t stop using your power’, but Padraig wasn’t about to let this kid know how nice the initial feeling had been. Adrenaline coursed through the Irishman, giving him a rush a hundred times better than coffee. He would crash hard in an hour or so, but for now his senses were jolted awake. ELI: The fist found its target and for once, he legitimately didn’t control over whether or not he followed his instinct to connect. It happened in the instance Padraig’s hand met his sharp cheekbone; the ends of him plunged into the guy’s mind and all of his sense were suddenly shocked alive by the adrenaline that ran through both of them. He put a hand to his cheek, rubbing the sudden hot soreness as he honed in on the person before him. This part he knew how to do well, the part they’d drilled into him in Romania. The shift in balance, where his eyes focused, the twitch of muscles in his shoulders. This could be Ion and him sparring, save for the relative unfamiliarity and the fact that Padraig was genuinely angry, so the same rules applied. Rule #1: the best offense was a good defense. PADRAIG: No one would accuse Padraig of being a genius. Convinced as he was that Eli was responsible for whatever feeling he felt, he should have known that punching Eli would cause some sort of effect. The sense of warmth flooded through Padraig once again. A dull smile tugged at the corner’s of Pad’s mouth. His shoulders relaxed, his hands loosened, and he took a step backwards. Then it was over, and Padraig felt normal. No loss, no warmth, just himself. “Whatever you did, don’t,” he snarked. The tone of voice was less accusatory and held a lot less conviction than it might have a moment ago. Padraig still felt a touch confused, and didn’t understand what was going on. All that he knew for sure was this redheaded lad was responsible, and he wasn’t letting him get off easily. “Got it?” ELI: Eli looked at himself looking at Padraig, his own blue eyes penetrating as they cut straight into the older boy’s brain. “Whatever I did, don’t,” he repeated back, the tone of his voice wary, unwilling to drop his guard despite the change in tone. The fabric of Pad’s sleeves against his own bare arms, the hair skimming the back of his neck - no, he wasn’t ready to release him yet. Not with his hackles still raised. Not with his own hackles raised. “You got one. If you try and take another, you’ll regret it. Let’s just leave it there, ok?” Perhaps less intimidated than he should be, but it was hard to fear someone you happened to be in the moment. PADRAIG: This was ridiculous. This whole goddamn school was ridiculous. Pad slowly lowered his hands until they were by his side. He laughed at the threat, another ridiculous thing. “Right,” he said, his tone letting Eli knew he thought that was a joke. “Remember that as a taste,” Padraig warned, his words taking on a threatening quality. “Ye do whatever yeh just did again, and it won’t be just one, aye?” Pad had no idea if this kid could fight or how his reflexes were, but Padraig was no stranger to punching. His temper was fiery and often got the best of him. He wasn’t worried about this kid hitting him back. He probably would land a couple if they got into a fight, but Pad was overly confident enough to know he’d win. With his threat uttered, Padraig was content to turn and leave. Whoever this kid was, Pad didn’t want to spend anymore time with him. ELI: Two times wasn’t going to be enough to periodically check in on Mr Irish Temper, but he thought for a moment it’d be worth the time to try and get him on his automatic list. Especially if he was going to go around punching people. He watched him leave and let Padraig’s senses linger in him - if he was going to be an asshole about it, Eli was going to ride him until his attention gave out. He retook his seat and poked at his breakfast. Fuck him, Eli thought taking a sip. He wasn’t sorry in the slightest. |