boywhoflew | [Darrow: Settling In

Entry tags:

darrow,
eric bittle

[Darrow: Settling In - Dated to 2/6/16]

Carson's time in Darrow so far had been a mess of frustration and confusion. After settling in to his apartment, he had raided the closest convenience store for necessities and shut and locked his door. He hadn't left since then.

He'd tried calling home. He rang his mom's cell four times and the house phone six. He had even tried calling Malerie, his Grandma's home, and in a fit of desperation the Clover community library. Every dial had ended fruitlessly, leaving him nothing but so frustrated and angry that he had nearly thrown his phone at the wall but settled for stuffing it between the cushions of the couch and going to bed for an anger nap. He hadn't actually expected it to work, but he had hoped.

What were you even going to say? He'd thought spitefully. 'Hi, Mom. I got struck by lightning and now I'm stuck in a new city that might be in an alternate dimension. Don't worry about setting me a plate for dinner! I'll see you never.' He couldn't imagine that would have gone particularly well.

By the time the present had rolled around, he had managed to shake off some of his funk. He had used the laptop in his apartment to look up the local school district, had called the high school to inquire about getting his GED only to find out his transcripts had been successfully transferred and he was ready to be enrolled (what? how?) and now he was set to finish out his senior year at a whole new school. As relieved as he was that he could finish what he'd started, he still found himself not particularly wanting to leave the apartment. The walls and quiet made it feel safe and normal, and walking the streets had so far just resulted in awkward confrontations. Only two days until Monday. I can just tough it out and then go start school.

He laid back on the couch and frowned at the ceiling. In two days, he had more or less memorized the pattern of the tiles.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There's a part of me that wants to point out that the best way to make someone angry (or angrier) is to tell them not to be mad. But I feel like the glare I send his way is probably message enough.

And I can feel myself start to relax when I notice how awkward he suddenly looks, his own head ducked as he rubs at the back of his neck. I can't tell if he's trying to apologize or not and I'm not even sure I want one. It's stupid, but I feel guilty then and I look away to punch the button for the elevator before quickly shoving my hands back into my pockets as we wait for it to arrive.

"Are you like this with everyone?" I ask once we're inside, the tension downright stifling. "Or am I just an easy target?"

There was an odd sense of relief when Eric didn't storm away. This was strange for a multitude of reasons, many of which Carson would have had difficulty explaining even on his best days. He doesn't like people. People were just selfish, cruel, short-sighted herd animals hellbent on their own satisfaction on the best of days, giving no heed to anyone but their own small miserable lives.

And to be honest, he knew that most days he wasn't much better. Smarter, but not better.

But it was rare for him to want someone around him. Even Malerie, for all of her infallible and inexplicable loyalty, had been taken for granted until it had finally hit him that they were friends. That she was his only friend. And the fact that she hadn't been as certain in that fact as he had been had been both disappointing and heartbreaking. It was unsettling to think that he had already been taking Eric for granted, and hadn't even stopped to consider where the other boy was standing in their short-lived acquaintanceship.

Stepping into the elevator, the tension was palpable and he continued to play with his keys, running the pad of his thumb of the ridges of the apartment key. Shrugging, he stared at the wall. "Everyone." He said simply. "People don't like me. So I normally don't like them either." He frowned at the wall and pressed his thumb tightly into one of the ridges. "I wasn't trying to make you feel bad, though."

"They might like you more if you acted like less of a jerk," I tell him, but I'm careful to keep my voice quiet, going for more of a gentle suggestion than another snipe. I shrug then, glancing over to where he's fiddling with a crease in the wall awkwardly. He still hasn't apologized, but I think this might be his way. I know everyone does it differently.

I shrug then, looking back at the closed elevator doors. "And I'm probably a little more sensitive about some things than other people," I confess, afraid to meet his gaze right now, to face that scrutinizing look he's been giving me since practically the moment we met. "We've all got our baggage, right? Honestly, if I'd have made that slip with some friends back home, they'd have chirped the heck out of me. And maybe that's what you were trying for too, but it felt... well, it came off kind of mean."

The elevator shudders to a stop, the doors opening and I step out into the lobby, pausing just long enough to make sure he's following. "I know we're just gettin' to know each other so there's bound to be some missteps, and I know it's a lot harder for you having just gotten here. I'll try to be a little more understanding if you can try to be a little less judgmental. How's that?"

Carson had never worried about being mean. For years it had been his default setting, something to help him shut out all of the idiots and bastards he encountered every day. He often joked about being jaded, which he felt like was an overstatement, but pushing people away had stopped bothering him a long time ago. He had stopped giving a shit about what anyone else thought of him by the time he had hit middle school and had embraced the freedom of it. Being alone and being disliked was a safe bubble. It kept people away, kept him focused on what was important instead of fleeting things like emotions and relationships. And if he was honest, most days he enjoyed cutting into people with his words and dismissal. After years of rejections and barbed words, every sting had felt more like victory.

But for some reason he suddenly remembered the day he saw the line of cuts on Vicki's pale wrist, and with a stomach churning sense of dread he frantically prayed that none of those marks had been because of him.

Wincing, he compartmentalized that thought and stored it as far away in the back of his mind as he could. Vicki was gone and he would never see her again. She gave as many shits about everyone as I did. It's not my fault.

It didn't ease his sudden nausea any.

"I'm not," he stopped to let that thought form properly before he continued. "I'm not very good at that. I mean, I guess I'm capable. I have a best friend back home, so not everyone runs screaming when they see me. But we were only officially best friends for a couple hours before... here." He sighed and followed along after Eric. "I'll try. Just know I wasn't trying to be a complete dick, okay? Up until just now, I thought we were doing pretty good. At least on my side. You hadn't left yet."

It's not honestly surprising to learn that Carson had a friend back home. Even if he has been a bit judgmental and condescending, I've met more unpleasant people before and they all seemed to have friends. It's just a matter of who you get along with, I've always assumed and the limits people have.

And maybe it really hadn't been Carson being mean so much as me not being prepared for what he'd said. Because he hasn't really struck me as a bully so much as someone who just genuinely feels a little superior to everyone else. But in all that time spent in his apartment, he wasn't trying to talk down to me at all; he seemed genuinely interested in getting me to consider Barton for my own reasons, not his. Then I made one little remark and wasn't expecting the backlash.

That's not really his fault, I guess.

"We were doing okay," I agree as we step out into the cold. I hunker down a little, burrowing into my coat as I glance over at him. "And I'm a little sore, I guess, but I'm not angry anymore. Still not sure how I feel about this little outing and I kind of feel like a hostage," I add with just a little bit of a grin so he knows I'm teasing, "but I'm not angry. I guess I can even see how this could be a good thing. For you definitely, but also maybe for me."

Even with what could have been a catastrophic misstep, he had to hand it to Eric for the other guy being resilient. Or perhaps he was just easily forgiving. In another person Carson might have seen that as a weakness, a crack in the armor he could have dug his fingers into to break it open wide and keep the other person open to any future attacks. There was always a chance that he was being played and that the other teenager was just as big of a dick as would have expected from another male teen, but even in their short time together he could guess that he most likely wasn't.

It was weird. Sure, nice guys weren't unheard of but it was so unusual for the surface layer to even remotely resemble the raging douchebag that was hidden underneath. Weird.

Zipping up his sweatshirt he stuffed his hands down into his pockets and tried to ignore the sudden cold. It wasn't freezing, but it was a hell of a lot colder than it had ever gotten out in sunny Clover. "I can promise that as my hostage you'll receive the best possible care," he said, glad that the sudden tension was passing. If he stayed anxious and emotional for too long he may actually break out into hives. "And possibly higher education if we play this right. Trust me, if you hate it, I won't push. But if you get even the smallest twinkle in your big Disney eyes? Sorry, it's open season." He offered the other boy a slight grin in return.

He had already managed to turn a pie delivery into a campus visit. If he played his cards right, he could have them both holding applications before they left.

"Are you offerin' to pay for my schooling?" I reply to that, fighting a smirk. "'Cause I might just let you."

To be honest, I don't even know how much it costs to go to Barton; I'd never gotten that far in my research. As expensive as Samwell is without the scholarship, I guess it's hard for me to imagine it being at all cheap, but I guess it could be free for all I know. Darrow does have some perks, I've found, and that could be one of them.

Though, I have to say, the idea makes me wonder if it's a bit of a trap. The good things in this place often come with some sort of price, it just sometimes takes awhile to figure out what that price might be.

Even though I've never been there, I know exactly where the campus and I hurry against the cold, shoulders hunched as I look over at Carson with a frown. "Why didn't you grab a coat? You look like you're freezing." At least we're not too far away. If we hurry, we might get there before the tips of his ears fall off from the cold.

"What did I say about hand outs?" Carson countered, hunkering in on himself and tossing the other boy a small smirk. He had been turning the question of tuition over in his own mind, trying to decide how to approach that particular problem. While back home he had had a college fund, he was now flying blind and more or less broke. Yes, he had the mysterious stipend provided, but between rent and living cost he doubted he would have very much left to spare on something as costly as university. "We might want to check in with the financial aid office," he admitted. "There's probably scholarships and grants. Loans, too. If we're not too late for fall admissions." He really hoped that they weren't. He couldn't imagine having to spend an entire year slumming it out at some small job until he could start working towards his degree.

Yanking his hood up and over his head, he cast a baleful look at the other boy. "I don't have a coat," he sniped, without any true heat. "I was standing in a parking lot in California before I got here. I literally have the clothes on my back." And fifteen useless copies of the literary magazine, some of which were dirt smudged from their tumble across the sidewalk.

Which he had washed. Although he had washed his jeans and underwear in the sink because he had refused to hang out in the laundry room without any pants on.

The idea of applying for scholarships yet again sounds exhausting. I sorta feel like pouting, honestly; I just went through all this stuff not that long ago. I was supposed to just have to concentrate on my classes and hockey to get through the next four years and instead I'm having to start all over at a school I know won't be as great as Samwell.

Not for the first time, I'm a little overwhelmed by how unfair everything here is.

I refuse to let myself dwell in it, though, sucking in a quick breath instead and nodding. Even if I'm not applying today, even if looking and applying to scholarships is often exhausting and an exercise in failure, I know checking out the financial aid office for options is a smart thing to do. For both of us.

And I'm about to say as much when Carson mentions that he doesn't have a coat, or any clothes at all other than the ones he's wearing. "You're-- Carson! Oh my goodness. Barely any groceries, nothing but the clothes on your back, haven't left your apartment in nearly a week... I swear it's like Thomas all over again except at least Thomas has the excuse of not having his memory." I'm still shaking my head as a I let out a sigh, pausing before we cross the street and then looking over at him again, decisive. "We'll swing by a clothing store on the way to get groceries and skip the pet store if we have to. At least buy yourself some new underwear. Boys, I swear."

"Hey!" He protested, blustering at the implication that he was incapable of taking care of himself. Shoving his hands down further into the pockets of his hoodie he cast a petulant side-eye towards the other boy. "It's not like I knew what to expect! One minute I'm at school, the next I'm falling on my ass on a strange street with you almost tripping over me. By the time I had gotten settled in at the apartment I realized I needed food, so I bought food. Then when I realized I didn't have clothes, I washed what I had. It seemed like small potatoes compared to getting everything else squared away."

It had been a jarring realization that everything he owned was gone. In an odd way he felt like some kind of refugee, someone who had been swept away from everything he had and told to enjoy his new slot in life. His clothes, books, electronics... everything he had acquired in almost eighteen years were suddenly non-existent. He hadn't realized how much he had taken things like clean socks and his favorite soap for granted.

And after walking through the cold, he was definitely missing his car.

Scowling, he kept his pace at Eric's side. "C'mon, you can't tell me that you were perfectly adjusted less than a week in. It isn't like anyone stops and gives you a heads up on stuff like trans-dimensional abductions."

Carson's immediate indignation is amusing in a way it probably shouldn't be and I have to turn my head so he doesn't see me smirking at him. He does have a point, I guess. Not everyone can be expected to just jump into things when they here. I'd had to find clothes for Jack to borrow before he could even approach the thought of buying stuff for himself and I know tons of other people who'd taken awhile to really come to terms with being stuck here long enough to venture out.

"I actually showed up here in full hockey gear," I admit with a small smile. "So I was kinda forced to find something quick unless I wanted to wander around in Underarmour all day. Which I didn't," I make sure he knows.

"But it's been nearly a week and, as I'm sure you've figured out by now, you're not goin' anywhere for awhile. So we might as well get you a decent wardrobe." I pause for a second, glancing his way once more. "I am impressed that you managed to wash your own clothes though. Pretty sure my teammates back home would just be swimming in their own filth if they showed up here on their own."

Carson opened his mouth with full intent to begin another defensive protest, but allowed himself the grace to keep it to himself. In a way Eric was actually validating his own procrastination, which was magnanimous of him. After all, arriving to Darrow and everything that immediately followed was overwhelming, and it made sense that someone would need to get their bearings before they could call themselves established. If it came was a small amount of embarrassment at having been called out on the stalling, then as much as he disliked it he would make himself accept it.

"That's disgusting." He said in reference to Eric's teammates. Pulling a face he shook his head. "Just because you don't have clothes doesn't mean you're doomed to be rank." He'd been doing his own laundry for years. How it was that athletes of any kind couldn't function as capable humans most days just proved the theory that sports killed off what few braincells the idiots had been blessed with in the first place.

Casting the other boy a curious look, he couldn't help but say, "Okay, so don't take this the wrong way, but were you a nanny or something?" Even from deep within his pockets, he managed to hold up his hands in a placating manner. "I'm not complaining. But with the pies, and groceries, and clothes shopping, I can't help but wonder. Hostage or not, it isn't like you owe me any of this, as appreciated as it is."

"Well, to be fair, I have at least one teammate who'd be perfectly content to wander around completely naked if it didn't mean he might get arrested," I tell him, smiling a little fondly to myself. "So he'd probably do okay here."

As weird as it'd been to see so much of Shitty whenever I swung by the Haus, I'd sorta gotten used to it. And I even miss it now. Shitty, that is. And his quirks, I guess. Not so much that one in particular; I may be gay but it's not like I get my thrills from thinking of my teammates naked.

Or at least not all of them.

His question catches me a little off-guard and, despite the disclaimer, I feel my muscles start to tense up. At least until he continues and he genuinely doesn't sound like he's trying to rib me at all. Letting out a quiet, awkward laugh, I give him a shrug. "Not a nanny, no," I say, tossing him a quick glance because really? "I guess I just like lookin' out for people? And I'm sorta used to it. Back home, I sorta made it my job to cook and bake for the guys on my team and make sure they all did stayed mostly stink-free, if possible. I mean, I was surrounded by about two dozen boys who'd never lived away from home in their lives. Someone had to be there to keep them in line. And I guess... well, I guess it sorta carried over."

I pause then, frowning a little with a growing worry. "Is it really annoying? I know I can be kinda much sometimes. Usually, I don't even realize I'm doing it. But if you need me to back off, I can. I know you're not an invalid or anything."

Edited 2016-02-23 02:18 (UTC)

"It's not annoying." Carson said with a half-hearted shrug. Frowning, he mulled over the idea of Eric running around after two dozen young men, attempting to keep them organized, fed and bathed. The boy could claim that he wasn't a nanny, but in a sense it seemed to Carson that he was. He had never understood athletes and jocks himself. He knew that there were athletes capable of intelligence and drive outside of their sport of choice, but the average seemed to speak otherwise. For a moment he tried to imagine how someone like Justin Walker would have fared if he was suddenly dropped off on his own somewhere, and the thought of it made Carson infinitely more secure in his own progress.

"You're right that I'm not an invalid," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "But you do have some points, too. I waited too long on what should have been obvious necessities." Admitting it was marginally painful, but he was resolved to treat this as a learning experience. He refused to make the same mistakes twice. "But at the same time, it's... weird. I always thought that I took care of myself and that I was fully independent. And then all of a sudden I realize my mom isn't going to pick up the slack on stuff I never really thought about until I didn't have it."

Sheryl Phillips may have spent most of her days popping prescriptions and drowning in wine, but even he had to begrudgingly admit that she kept the house running. The bills got paid, the groceries were bought, and if he started running out of good shoes or clothes, he would occasionally come home to a bag from Target sitting on his bed. Despite all of her bitching, she still managed to remember his shoe size and that he liked blue shirts.

He tried to not think of how many times he had called her, and how the calls never went through.

With a sigh he shook his head. "I guess it's just easier for me to focus on school. Compared to grocery shopping and clothes, paying rent and getting set up someplace new, it just seemed normal. Like 'oh, I know this part, let's focus on that' y'know?" Chewing his cheek he stared ahead. "I guess what I'm saying is that I needed the reminder."

For some reason, Carson's answer is actually surprising. And a relief too, if I'm honest. Even if I know I'm being annoying, it doesn't really feel all that great to hear it from someone else. Especially when it's something that comes so naturally to me. I know most people can take care of themselves just fine, Carson included, but it's nice to feel needed, I guess. Even if it's completely selfish.

I make sure not to interrupt as he continues, glancing over once or twice to see the somewhat pained expression on his face.

My lips are twitching into a smile before I can stop them. "That was really hard for you, wasn't it?" I ask, outright chirping him now, laughing before he can even start arguing. "I'm glad I could help then. Honestly. And I do get it, how overwhelming it can be for the first few days. Or weeks even. Months. Sometimes I still awake up thinkin' this'll be the day I break out of the coma I'm probably and wake up to see my mama worryin' beside me."

It's not actually a nice thought, if I'm honest. As much as I'd give anything to see my mother again, that's definitely not how I'd prefer it to happen. Even if it's possibly as likely a scenario as any other.

"And I guess... well, maybe I should be thankin' you for taking me hostage. Still not saying I'm applyin' today! Don't get any ideas! But I'll concede that takin' a look around can't hurt anything."

"I'm not sure I'll be waking up." He muttered under his breath, thinking of the flash of heat that had seared every nerve ending just before he'd arrived. The idea of a coma was both terrifying and hopeful, but the more he sunk his teeth into the idea of a new life in Darrow, the less appeal magically waking up in Clover had.

Oh, God. He thought with a fresh flare of panic. Are we bonding? This is bonding, isn't it? He heaved a breath in and out through his nose and shook his head, determined to keep himself from going too soft. Eric was nice, he had to give him credit on that front. Someone who was naturally friendly and nurturing without coming across as vapid was a rare combination of qualities, and even if the oddness of it had yet to wane, Carson could appreciate the fact that he had managed to meet someone who wasn't just another lost cause.

Maybe they weren't going to be best friends, if only because replacing Malerie so easily would have been an insult to her. But as much as his stomach clenched and his palms itched at the thought of having someone around, someone who would watch him and learn him and know him, there was a certain appeal to the ease of walking down the street with another guy his age who wouldn't go out of his way to grate his nerves or mock his priorities.

It was weird. But it definitely held its own appeal.

"You're welcome." He said, with shameless superiority. "And I'll keep that under consideration," he drawled, shooting the other boy a look from the corner of his eye. If the corner of his mouth was turned upwards, then it was an involuntary reaction. "But you'll be leaving with an application. Just because you're not applying today doesn't mean you can't leave prepared." He held up a hand to stave off any argument. "I'm letting you take me clothes shopping. The least you can do is accept a piece of paper."

"Clothes and groceries," I correct him. "And I can apply online, you know." I'm fighting a grin still when I notice he's doing the same and, despite himself, I think he might actually like me a little. He's at least still choosing to spend time with me regardless of how annoying I may be and I figure that's something.

Of course, that could just be because he wants company while he wanders around a strange new city, but it's a start.

We're not too far away from it now; I can see a few building I recognize peeking out just at the other end of the street. My heart gives a little lurch in my chest and it's a weird thing to be nervous about, I know, but I can't seem to help it. Maybe it's not even nerves, actually. Or at least not completely. Maybe it's excitement, too.

I'd definitely like to think of it that way even if it's maybe not true.

"So were you still in high school right before you got here?" I ask, glancing over at him again curiously. "I know you weren't in college yet, but had you even graduated?"

The closer they get the more keyed up he felt, and even after hunkering his way through the cold he can't help but stand straighter, eyes scanning the approaching campus critically.

"And waste the opportunity while we're there? I don't think so." He scoffed, rolling his eyes. It wasn't even that the paper application was important, as he had been originally intending to download one himself. But if they were going to go through the effort of physically wander the grounds and see it themselves, there was no reason to not take that extra, minute step. There was a very real probability that this was going to be their school. It would never be Northwestern or even Samwell, but it was all they had and damned if he wasn't going to approach it with every ounce of homeless passion he had.

He had to channel it somewhere or he was sure the restless feeling plaguing him since arrival would never disappear.

Eric's question makes his teeth grit, and he has to will away his instinct to wince and remained neutral. "Yeah." He agreed dully. "It was actually March, so I guess I took a step back. Graduation wasn't until June." Have they noticed that I'm not at school? Did mom call the police? He shrugged. "Honestly I wasn't even that excited about graduation itself. I just couldn't wait to be out of there." He flapped his arms at the street around them. "Tada. Mission accomplished."

For a moment, I feel like I've asked something hugely personal given the look that crosses Carson's face and how long it takes him to respond. I almost open my mouth to apologize, but he finally speaks so I hush up, listening carefully.

"Was it the school you hated or the whole town?" I ask, wondering if he ever faced anything like I did before Madison, if he was bullied as bad as I had been. The way he carries himself, I'd assume he doesn't. He's a lot more confident and sure of himself than I'd expect of someone who's bullied, but I suppose everyone reacts differently to something like that. And I'm a little jealous if that's the case, too. I'd give almost anything to be so self-assured.

Carson starts waving around at the area around us and I have to bite back a laugh at his enthusiasm. It's nice though, if I'm honest. Nice to see him excited about something in this strange city. It'd taken me a lot longer to be excited about anything here.

"Yep, it's a campus all right," I say with a wink. I haven't a clue where to start so I just keep walking, squinting at a big brick structure as we pass. "Anyway, you didn't fall that far back, at least. And I bet the next few months go by pretty quickly. Hopefully what they teach here isn't all stuff you've already covered back home. Do you have any idea where we should start here?" I ask, pulling out my phone. "Maybe I can find a map."

"Both," Carson said, caught somewhere between flippant and vehement. "Small town, small minds, small lives." He shook his head with a sneer. "I hated it there." He truly had. He still worried about his grandma and if anyone was going to keep providing her the company she needed, and that particular loss was the hardest. He worried about his mother too, and for Malerie, and he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something wasn't right. But despite all of his protests, he couldn't deny the flare of excitement and anxiety once they were on the campus. Barton may not have the prestige and promise that Northwestern had held, but it was something infinitely more interesting than settling for Clover Community. Blessings come in disguise, he thought with a small snort.

Shoving his hands back into his pockets before the skin could prickle from the cold, he looked around with a critical eye. "This shouldn't be too difficult." He said thoughtfully, turning in a slow circle to get a feel for the campus. There were some people walking the area, arms laden with books and some carrying what appeared to be overly filled rucksacks. Idly, he tried to imagine spending four years walking what would surely become a familiar path.

"What do you think?" He mused aloud. "I'm leaning towards checking out one of the academic buildings, if they aren't key card protected. Then the admissions office, student services, and the financial aid office."

He mulled that over for a moment and then nodded to himself. "That works," he announced, regardless of Eric's input. Eying a large building that could only be for classrooms, he grabbed the shoulder of Eric's jacket and began steering him in that direction. "I want to see a classroom," he said. "Use your google-fu to figure out the rest."

I'm busy staring at the map I've managed to pull up on my phone when Carson grabs me by my jacket and starts hauling me down the sidewalk.

"Goodness, Carson, I'm not a rollie cart," I grouse, squirming out of his hold to walk alongside him instead, throwing him a quick glare as I readjust my jacker across my shoulders. I glance up ahead at a building that seems to match the one on my phone and then give a nod of my chin. "That one should be classrooms according to this map. And the the admissions office is..." I turn a little, squinting across a quad to a lower building off in the distance, "over there, I think. The whole campus really isn't all that big."

It's certainly no bigger than Samwell, but I suppose I'm not entirely sure how Samwell compares to colleges across the country. I'd only visited a few when I was looking around; I'd decided on Samwell pretty early, especially when they offered my the hockey scholarship.

"Do you think they have an athletic department?" I ask then, glancing over at Carson again. "I mean. It's not like they could play any other schools, but maybe intramural?"

He brushed off Eric's glare with a smirk and kept walking, satisfied to see that he was at least paying attention. Having the other boy let him lead was easier than having to drag him anyway.

"It is a fishbowl." Carson said as he turned his head to follow where Eric had pointed to. The campus was hardly anything spectacular. It didn't take his breath away or awe him as being something grandiose or reverential. But despite his knee-jerk response to cast some judgement upon it, it did hold a certain charm with it's simplicity and brickwork. The students milling around the area seemed well adjusted if not a tad sloppy, and according to the website it had a decent spread of student services and options.

It was a simple university. It held no candle to Northwestern, but it beat the hell out of Clover Community College. Beggars couldn't be choosers, and he supposed he had come dangerously close to doing considerably worse.

"I'm not sure," he said as he strode quickly towards the academic building. He spared a glance to make sure that Eric was keeping his pace. "According to the website this is home of the Barton Bearcats." The eye-roll was implied. "If there's no athletics, it makes you wonder what they need the mascot for. Unless there's a particularly well established furry club no-one has mentioned yet, you would assume there is athletics, although it makes you wonder why they even bothered."

It's not too difficult to keep up with Carson. Half a year on Samwell's Men's Hockey Team, three years on my co-ed team in high school, not to mention hanging out around Thomas and Derek here in Darrow and I'm pretty used to being around guys with much longer legs than mine. I can keep up pretty well.

"There are worse things than bearcats," I tell him with a grin, pointedly ignoring the furry comment. "Samwell's mascot was a dancing well. Unofficial, but it's not like we had a better official one, so."

There are a lot of things about Darrow that make me wonder so I wouldn't be at all surprised if they do have an athletic department, with or without the ability to actually play any other teams. The weirder thing is that all the people in that department probably wouldn't see anything wrong with about not having other teams around to play.

"Maybe they'll have a school newspaper or literary magazine," I say, glancing over at him again. "Or did you already look into that?"

He threw a sharp look the other boy's way. "How the hell is a dancing well a mascot?" He asked, both genuinely intrigued and more than a little doubtful. Seriously? A well? How does that even work? "And just how high was the person who came up with it?" Snorting, he shook his head with a sigh. "At least that's creative. I'll give you three guesses as to what the Clover mascot was. Here's a hint: use absolutely no imagination whatsoever."

As they approached the building he jogged the last few steps, catching the large door before it closed behind an entering student. Propping it open with his foot he paused and waited for Eric. After walking through the cold, he was looking forward to the reprieve of being in doors.

"I hadn't actually gotten that far in my research," he admitted. "I had just crossed the high school off my list and started looking into Barton when you came baring pie and a lack of personal direction. But if they do?" He tsked. "I will be all over it. Even if I have to operate under a senior, working on a paper with people who give a shit will be a welcome change. Personally, I look forward to not having to write every single article myself." Unlike with the Chronicle, with which he had been ghost writer, editor and distributor.

"And if they don't?" He grinned with an air of deceptive sweetness. "Then its all mine for the taking," he said lightly. And I will rule with an iron fist.

"Goodness, was it actually a clover?" I laugh, stepping through the door as Carson holds it open. It's a lot warmer in the building and I shiver in relief as I take a look around. It looks a lot different from any of the halls back at Samwell, but I know that's to be expected and that I really need to just start getting used to it. "I can't decide if that's better or worse than a dancing well."

He waxes poetic about his dreams for the student paper for a moment and, at this point, nothing he says is at all surprising given everything else I've heard from him. It's nice, though. Not quite like listening to Jack talk about hockey or Derek talk about cooking if only because I can't quite personally relate, but it's not unlike those either. Carson has a passion and, even if he seems a little cutthroat sometimes, there's no denying how much it means to him.

"What if they have someone running it that's as controlling as you are?" I ask him with a faint smirk as we head further down the hall, slowly to a stop when we near a closed door, trying my best to take a peek into the window without catching the attention of anyone inside. I certainly don't want to interrupt.

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