The Savage Games We Play [Odion]
Nov 17, 2011 2:52:10 GMT -5
Post by Verill Mathias on Nov 17, 2011 2:52:10 GMT -5
"Mmhm. That's where I saw him hide it. Right, under the bleachers. Oh, think nothing of it. I was glad to help."
The phone was shut, cutting off yet another string of praises for his aid. The poor freshman boy had been plagued by the torments of a lone senior bully for weeks now, and this was just the latest (and, quite frankly, mildest) in his onslaught. The freshman would find his math book right where Verill said it would be: under the bleachers in the gymnasium. During a free period. With the senior waiting. It wasn't as if Verill knew he'd be waiting there for the soon-to-be pulverized lad. It wasn't like he told the senior to take the kid's math book, lurk under the bleachers, and await his quarry to come running right to him... Oh, wait. He did. Ah well, he was helping someone. It saved the junior the trouble of having to deal with the senior breathing down his neck, threatening to take out his neglectful father issues on him instead.
Quickly withdrawing a small notepad from his backpack, Verill scribbled in it before just as hastily tucking it away. It was safe in its own nigh-unnoticeable pocket within a pocket within a pocket. Perception. At least, it had been for these past three years. That was one of the few genuinely helpful pieces of advice he received at this school: Record important events, in case they happen to be forgotten later. Lord knew he didn't want to forget that incident, just on the slim chance that the freshman put two and two together and came after him later. Fat chance of that, though.
Whatever the outcome, he was choosing to seize this time of respite to fit some free reading in. Maybe he would pick up on where he left off in The Prince. Just before he reached the sanctity of the library, his pocket started vibrating again. A sigh and a rub of the temples later, Verill put his happy face back on. "Hello? He was there?! Are you okay? Oh, God! He was supposed to be in History, I had no idea." It was the freshmen, as if that hadn't become obvious by now. He sounded beat up. Wonder why that was. "Well, you can still get back at him. Go to the nurse, and report what he did. Skipping class and wailing on another student? That should be worth a few weeks' suspension. Oh, and make sure you remain nameless. Don't want to give him more reason to go after you. Mmhm, good luck." Again the notepad came out. He would jot down another note in the page to later have the senior told who got him suspended before tucking it back away. This was quickly becoming an entertaining side project of his. He briefly wondered how long he could drag this fun out. But that concern was thrown over his shoulder as his destination was reached.
At last, Verill stepped foot into heaven. Rows and rows, columns and columns, a labyrinth of books! It was his default realm to kick back and relax. With practiced steps, the brunette traveled through the aisles until he reached the M's in the Political section. A finger traced along the names until it came upon the much-anticipated imprint: "Machiaveli, Niccolo." A whispered "aha!" of triumph was uttered, and Verill withdrew the large book from its resting place. He was already lost within its pages before he even took his seat. And that was to be the fault of his day. Not particularly caring at what table he nestled into, or next to whom, he flipped merrily through the pages of the infamous work as he took his fated seat.
The phone was shut, cutting off yet another string of praises for his aid. The poor freshman boy had been plagued by the torments of a lone senior bully for weeks now, and this was just the latest (and, quite frankly, mildest) in his onslaught. The freshman would find his math book right where Verill said it would be: under the bleachers in the gymnasium. During a free period. With the senior waiting. It wasn't as if Verill knew he'd be waiting there for the soon-to-be pulverized lad. It wasn't like he told the senior to take the kid's math book, lurk under the bleachers, and await his quarry to come running right to him... Oh, wait. He did. Ah well, he was helping someone. It saved the junior the trouble of having to deal with the senior breathing down his neck, threatening to take out his neglectful father issues on him instead.
Quickly withdrawing a small notepad from his backpack, Verill scribbled in it before just as hastily tucking it away. It was safe in its own nigh-unnoticeable pocket within a pocket within a pocket. Perception. At least, it had been for these past three years. That was one of the few genuinely helpful pieces of advice he received at this school: Record important events, in case they happen to be forgotten later. Lord knew he didn't want to forget that incident, just on the slim chance that the freshman put two and two together and came after him later. Fat chance of that, though.
Whatever the outcome, he was choosing to seize this time of respite to fit some free reading in. Maybe he would pick up on where he left off in The Prince. Just before he reached the sanctity of the library, his pocket started vibrating again. A sigh and a rub of the temples later, Verill put his happy face back on. "Hello? He was there?! Are you okay? Oh, God! He was supposed to be in History, I had no idea." It was the freshmen, as if that hadn't become obvious by now. He sounded beat up. Wonder why that was. "Well, you can still get back at him. Go to the nurse, and report what he did. Skipping class and wailing on another student? That should be worth a few weeks' suspension. Oh, and make sure you remain nameless. Don't want to give him more reason to go after you. Mmhm, good luck." Again the notepad came out. He would jot down another note in the page to later have the senior told who got him suspended before tucking it back away. This was quickly becoming an entertaining side project of his. He briefly wondered how long he could drag this fun out. But that concern was thrown over his shoulder as his destination was reached.
At last, Verill stepped foot into heaven. Rows and rows, columns and columns, a labyrinth of books! It was his default realm to kick back and relax. With practiced steps, the brunette traveled through the aisles until he reached the M's in the Political section. A finger traced along the names until it came upon the much-anticipated imprint: "Machiaveli, Niccolo." A whispered "aha!" of triumph was uttered, and Verill withdrew the large book from its resting place. He was already lost within its pages before he even took his seat. And that was to be the fault of his day. Not particularly caring at what table he nestled into, or next to whom, he flipped merrily through the pages of the infamous work as he took his fated seat.
