Tread On Me {Walther}

[Erik Stewart]

Erik was guarding the front door. That might not have been the right word for it – it was doubtful that he necessarily meant to discourage any traffic in and out the dorm, but by now he was well-known for his behavior towards his roommates and even walking past him might be an invitation for abuse. He lounged on one of the couches in the common area, laptop plugged in and running some kind of movie that involved a lot of terrified screaming. At least now he seemed preoccupied, but even a sleeping snake would strike if it was stepped over.

He laid back against the armrest, his laptop positioned on his stomach. He had one hand behind his head. It was an old, crotchety machine; it was one of the things his parents had deigned to get him, back when he’d first come here, because it was ‘recommended’. It made the thing about four years old but Erik knew he wasn’t about to afford another one. He just hoped it wouldn’t die on him.

Usually, he kept his smoking to his room, but today he was gonna live it up. The ash would fall on his chest but he didn’t mind. Erik took out a cigarette and lit one up.

As it burned orange, Erik heard the door open. He didn’t look up at first, only took his first drag; he put his head back against the armrest and let out a stream of smoke. It looked to him like one of his roommates (Walther – looked about ten years old to him) was staring at him, so he furrowed his brow and uttered a sharp “What?”

[Walther Ebersbacher]

Walther couldn't really stand the smoking. It gave him headaches, the second-hand smell was enough to make him want to vomit. And he knew it couldn't be good for the rest of his roommates, either. And really, it was an unavoidable part of his life, it would seem. Erik was his roommate, and for that reason, he'd have to deal with it one way or another.

For the longest time, one of his favorite tactics was to just duck to a nearby room, one that Erik wasn't in, but one that he was close enough to. He didn't want to have to trek all the way across the institute twice just to catch a little bit of relief. Instead, he found that when it was outside of the room, to go inside. And when Erik lit up? Subtly prop open the window so the smell didn't permeate everything (Including poor Clover!)

Today, he had no such luck. Usually he had the forewarning of Erik tapping out one of the cigarettes, but now, he was just face to face with him. It wasn't like it was Festivus, or he even celebrated it, but for some reason, today, he felt a little brave. He was never rude, oh no, but to stand up to the oldest, meanest guy in their dorm was inviting danger all on its own.

With a deep breath (with his head turned), he parted dry lips. It seemed like he wanted to say words, but it really just came off as if he was staring at Erik, baffled. When he was prompted with a 'what', though, Walther finally summoned the courage to speak to him.

And what did all of that courage amount to?

"Could you please not smoke in here?"

[Erik Stewart]

The smoke streamed out his nose. He was used to the burning sensation it left; it did not faze him.

Erik didn’t seem altogether interested in his answer, at first. Besides, it just looked like Walther was gonna stand there and do a lot of stammering, as his roommates often did. He didn’t make it a secret that he found their timidity grating. When he finally did speak up, though, all hopeful naïve assertion, Erik slowly lifted his head off the armrest.

”Could you please not smoke in here?” That was all he ever heard from these fuckers. You’d think that taking him away from his home and forcing him to attend this god damn institution would earn him the right to smoke wherever he fucking pleased.

“Come ‘ere. You got somethin’ on your face,” he said, taking another lungful from his cigarette.

Assuming Walther did approach, Erik would release all that grey smoke right on that bright, blue eyed face. There was a lot of it, and it’d send the kid reeling back for sure.

[Walther Ebersbacher]

He really didn't want to. Walther knew it was just some trick, that he was going to get smoke blown in his face, or hit or something. He wasn't too far away, so he figured that he could just dodge a punch and run away, or something. Go see Dr. Neville, perhaps, who already knew that these things were going on.

As he was about to actually finally move towards his bed, he felt a burning sensation in his lungs, his head was enveloped in a gray haze of pure toxicity.

He froze in place, the haze passed over him, drifting to the other side of the room before dissipating entirely. Something inside of him was really just triggered, like a switch had been flipped. Never before did he use his power in self-defense. It was mostly used to just create music. Or, in the case of training, exert himself without hurting anyone, to get a better grip of it.

Part of it must have been the hard days he'd been having. He didn't get any time to relax with Darian until late at night when they were both beat. His studies didn't really bother him, but training, or rather just honing that energy, really was leaving him drained. Sometimes, he just wanted to come back and fall asleep, hoping that he fell on his bed.

"TH-THUMP." Came the energy that rattled Clover's cage, and shook the beds a bit. He saw that cigarette drop, and he stomped down on it, glaring in a way that seemed way too non-threatening to be scary.

Beware the nice ones, they say.

[Erik Stewart]

It looked like Walther was legitimately zoning out. Erik furrowed his brows at him, wondering if he’d broken him or something, because the kid was doing a lot of staring in one place and not much reacting.

The sound was a surprise – it wasn’t even a sound so much as a physical force. It banged against his eardrums and sent him reeling back. His hands went up to his ears, clutching at them, accidentally flipping his laptop onto the floor; Erik didn’t notice his long, growling expression of pain until the pulse faded. Neither did he notice what he’d done to his laptop until he’d opened his eyes and found it lying on the floor.

Erik was instantly furious. He lashed out to shove the boy, hard, away from him, and stood up, fists balled, eyes bright and ears still ringing.

“Yew do that again,” he shouted, his accent stronger with his temper, “I’ll fuckin’ kill ya, I swear.”

[Walther Ebersbacher]

Walther didn't back down, amazingly. No, he wasn't going to be stupid and get up in Erik's face. But this time, it was the wrong time to try and mess with him. He was so tired, and doing that really hurt him. His ears weren't ringing to the same extent, despite his sensitivity to noises, since the sound was away from him. The shouting, however, hit deep in his mind.

For some reason, Erik pushing him some more just encouraged him to push back. Walther was never a violent boy. In fact, many thought he was quite a darling. Staff, other students, whatever. He liked to help, smile, and make friends. With people like Erik, even.

But not this time. He lived with this person. He got to see every day how he was with Tomer, how he was with Darian. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose, making a loud 'BLEET', like a cell phone alarm magnified, by his head.

That was a mistake. It hurt a lot more than he'd anticipated, and it stumbled him. There was an odd sort of dissonance between his mind and his body. His field of view seemed to intensify, but also zoom out. Much like someone who was sick, ready to vomit, he felt a really hazy feeling.

Walther nearly passed out, instead of that, Walther  just found himself sitting down on Darian's bed with a grunt.

"I'm... tired of your bullying."

[Erik Stewart]

His head was still full of that sharp ring, and that second noise simply sent him reeling back. It made him absolutely livid, too. His chest burned with it. As Walther plopped down Erik was just getting started, his mind clouded with a rage that had him dancing on its strings.

“Fuck you.” He was not concerned that Walther looked faint, clearly. The boy’s actions were justified, and Erik might have even deserved that, but who deserved what was of no consequence to him. He struck at him. His fist was closed, but it wasn’t the well-practiced punch of someone who knew what they were doing – just a reckless strike, intending to hit anywhere, preferably at that tiny baby-face.

It would smart if it hit, maybe leave his cheek red.

[Walther Ebersbacher]

Walther saw the punch coming, and there was really nothing he could do about it. The thing he just did to his own body, how quickly he managed to exhaust it. He wanted to throw an arm up, anything that could at least soften the blow, or redirect it, but his mind didn't send the signal fast enough, by the time that the arm started to come up, Erik's fist had met his face. It seemed to have caught him directly, be it by luck or by skill, Walther couldn't tell.

He wasn't a fighter, he kicked his foot out as he recoiled back from the punch, and when he felt it swish nothing but air, he knew he was in trouble. He instantly regretted all of it, but in a strange sense, he didn't feel like apologizing to Erik. So, even as the tears started to burn in his eyes, and trickle down his face, there wasn't a plea, no asking for mercy. It was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Walther's bravest moment.

He was about to rattle his skull again. He knew how to do that, too! A ringing that would hurt him really badly, but he decided against that. No, instead, he summoned up all of his energy in his right leg. He took a moment to face Erik, crying and red-faced, before sending the flat of his foot right in to his groin with a small roar.

"You're an awful person!" He yelled, probably a bit louder than he'd intended.