losing my ( m i n d ) :: open

[Marshall Connelly]

Marshall shifted his bookbag on his shoulder as he walked down the streets of London. His last class of the day had just ended and he had wanted to get out of the school. He wasn’t used to the boarding school lifestyle yet, and he had wanted some time to himself. He hated having to share a room, hell he barely even knew his roommate. It was driving him crazy not being able to have any alone time. At home he was almost always left to himself, except when he was watching his younger sister or willingly hanging out with his friends, but here it seemed like he could never get away from people. He really hated being there, and wished that his parents had found a different place for him to go to school after he got expelled from his last one. Anywhere would have been better than this school full of stuck up rich kids.

As Marshall was walking he began looking for a place so he could sit down and relax. He noticed a sign for a café and decided that a nice, relaxing coffee was just what he needed. He headed across the street and opened the door, the small bell on top of the door signaling his entrance. He walked to the counter and ordered a regular black coffee before heading to a small table in the corner of the café. He sat down and grabbed his sketch book from inside of his bookbag, figuring that drawing random people in the café would help him relax. He loved drawing and did it at every opportunity. When he was finished with school he hoped to somehow make a career out of his drawings. He was really good at it, so he hoped that this was a realistic dream. The only problem would be his parents. They wanted him to be a doctor or a lawyer or some other profession that paid a lot and gained a lot of respect. But that just wasn’t who he was. He hated school, he always slacked off, and he did not want to work with people.

Marshall continued sketching for some time, only pausing to take a sip of his coffee or to adjust his clothes. Along with hating the people in Eddingborough he also hated the uniforms. The third years had it a little better than the younger years, but it was still a uniform and it still pissed him off. He eventually settled with undoing it tie and just laying it over his neck with his button down shirt halfway unbuttoned and his vest and blazer draped on the back of his chair. He was much more comfortable without those stuffy clothes on, especially the vest which was the worst in his opinion. He didn’t understand why the students could wear anything they wanted. As long as it wasn’t something inappropriate there shouldn’t be any problems. But no, the fancy boarding school had to have perfect students who all looked and acted the same…did he mention that he hated Eddingborough? He was only here because of his stupid desire to draw and rebellious side. He couldn’t help it, he was just a normal teenage boy. It wasn’t his fault if the school needed a little more color.

When he finished his first sketch he had already finished his first coffee. He headed to the counter to order another one. He had already decided to hang out in the café until curfew. He didn’t care about dinner. The food sucked anyway. He sat back down and looked around the café, thinking about who or what to draw next. He noticed a couple of familiar faces, students from the school, but he wasn’t really close to any of them. In fact he wasn’t really close to anyone at Eddingborough. He talked to a few of the guys, but he hadn’t really made any true friends.

Tagged:: open
Sketch:: here
(Credit for the sketch goes to the artist and google images)

[Claude Kepp]

If there was anything Claude did appreciate about Eddingborough, it was the city that was construed nearby. At least here there were a couple of places he could get away when he needed it. Today was one of those days when he most certainly needed a physical escape when he couldn't come to means of a drunken night alone. Claude relied on alcohol like most relied on friends; they were there most of the time but there were some certain occasions when they were out of reach. So, another gateway to relief was needed.

The city of London had been described in countless movies and books of being the city of wealth and beauty; Claude didn't see the analogies. By all means London was a pricey city; he attended the expensive and exclusive school down the street. Hell, it was more through money that Claude even attended Eddingborough. He was no prodigy.

And while Claude had never had much privacy at his home, he certainly did not have anything to his own at Eddingborough. He recalled that the first impression his roommate had of him was of the brunette dancing around his room to a provocative song in nothing but a pair of boxers. That same first meeting had ended with Claude pinned to the bed as his room ate, Rylee, forced him to confess about his insecurities. By no means had that ever happened back home, or anywhere else.

The light ting, ting that sounded as Claude pulled open the door to the café attracted the attention of only a few nameless faces who had picked the very same day as himself to find refuge in the calm atmosphere while sipping a nice frothy mocha. All of those who even looked in the general area of the sound turned back to where they had been facing previously; he was just another boy wearing a stiffly starched uniform. Lightly the brunette tugged at the silver striped tie to loosen it from around his neck. He never had cared for the dress code, but it was the ties he thought had it out for him. He didn't like anything resembling a noose dangling from around his neck. Too dangerous.

Claude walked up to the counter and ordered some coffee with a weird name, café noisette, whatever that was. He wasn't really thinking of what he might be ordering when he attempted to sound out the french name of the drink. In a quiet corner of his mind, Claude wondered how much it might cost to slip some Jack Daniels into his little café noisette.

As Claude took a little tester-taste of his frou-frou french drink, and then decided that the coffee didn't taste that bad after all, he turned his eyes to the collection of tables and chairs arranged in the café. Not many seats were open; every table was occupied. And there was no one he knew in the place either; he would have to make a friend if he wanted a seat in here.

For a few moments, Claude deliberated about taking his coffee and leaving, but that would defeat the purpose of going out. By no means did he want to go back to Eddingborough before he had to. Walking around town didn't seem to be to his fancy either; he would much rather relax for a while. That was when Claude began to examine the faces of all the 'loners' of the crowd; the ones who claimed a table to themselves. Almost at random, he walked in the general direction of a blonde boy with a sketch pad.

He pulled out the chair opposite of the boy and smiled vaguely. Hey, he had a uniform too! Third year; not a bad kid at all, considering he and Claude shared the same graduating class. "Do you mind?" he asked as he gestured to the seat he had pulled out. "I won't interfere with your.... doodling." Again he tried to smile at the other. He doubted that his request would be denied; most strangers would do anything to be 'polite'.

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[Marshall Connelly]

Marshall had decided on sketching a picture of the woman behind the counter. He figured that she was pretty and interesting enough to waste a page in his book on. She looked to be around twenty years old and was a tall blonde with bright pink highlights. He loved people who were out of the ordinary. Normal was just too boring. Which brought him back to his hate of uniforms. He cracked his knuckles before beginning his next drawing. He started with the counter, carefully outlining the curves of the wood. Every detail had to be perfect in his drawings because of his OCD, which might explain why he was so good at it.

When he finished drawing the inanimate objects around the woman, he looked up to observe her again but his view was blocked by a boy who looked about his age. He was standing at the counter ordering his drink. Marshall had noticed him enter, but hadn’t given him much thought, he was just another boy coming in for a drink. He stayed looking up at him until he moved from the counter, allowing Marshall to once again view the woman. He didn't give the boy another thought. He had just managed to finish her outline when a shadow fell across his sketch book. He looked up and recognized the same boy from before. He was surprised at his outgoingness, but took it all in stride. “Go on then, take a seat,” he responded, nodding to the chair that the stranger held out. “It’s no bother, I draw too much anyhow,” he added with a shrug.

As the boy took a seat Marshall took the time to observe him. He was wearing an Eddingborough uniform, and based off of the tie and vest Marshall guessed that he was a fellow third year. Now that he was actually focusing on the other boy’s face Marshall noticed that he looked slightly familiar. He had probably seen him in the halls or in his classes. But he couldn’t recall his name. He figured that introductions would be the best. “I’m Marshall, by the way, Marshall Connelly,” he said, placing his pencil on the table and reaching out a glove-covered hand for a handshake. He knew the gloves on his hand were weird, it was the middle of summer and even if they were finger-less gloves they were still gloves meant for winter. But they had been a part of him since he was younger. They hid the scars that marred his hands from falling through a window. He wore them to prevent question about them, although he knew that his gloves caused more questions than the faint scars would. But who ever said he was a logical thinker?

“So bud, did ya come here to get away from the school and the idiots in the school, or did ya just really want that…whatever it is you’re drinkin’?” he asked, eying the boy's drink with a slightly disgusted look. He liked plain coffee, maybe with a little sugar, but nothing as crazy as the drink in front of the stranger. He also figured that he could at least make an effort to be social. He may have come here to be alone, but he knew that it wouldn’t exactly be nice to tell the boy to leave. And he was actually making an effort to meet people, something that Marshall was usually quite good at. Plus, he could always use a friend in this stupid school that was situated in the middle of the stupid town. Not that he hated London, because it was a brilliant city, but he liked his hometown back in Ireland a lot better. It was smaller, quieter, and he knew his way around. London was too loud and especially too big. He had gotten so lost the first time he walked around when he first moved there with his family. And he still wasn’t used to it.

[Claude Kepp]

“Go on then, take a seat,” So, would this all work out as easily as he hoped? Claude wasn't very surprised by the other's response, but the boy didn't seem to hold much of a regret in allowing Claude to share the same table as himself. Claude smiled as warmly as he possibly could and even then it felt awkward and fake upon his face. He wasn't used to smiling lately.

If Marshall cared for the more bizarre types in his art, Claude would not fit the description; he was of average height with average hair and had an average face. There were no funky colors dyed artificially into his brown hair; if Marshall wanted interesting, he would have to view Claude from the back where a tattoo stained his skin.

The blonde looked strangely familiar to Claude; perhaps they shared a class. That was quite possible, considering the fact that they were in the same grade. Now what was his name again? It began with an M, Claude was nearly certain. Marcus? Michael? Neither name felt just right upon his tongue.

“I’m Marshall, by the way, Marshall Connelly,” That helped a lot; at least there was no need for the guessing game anymore. Marshall... Claude could remember his name being said at role call in one of his dull classes; not like he could tell you which class it was. As Marshall outstretched a gloved hand, Claude's eye brow quirked slightly. Gloves? Claude let it slide; if the kid had anything to hide, that was fine. Claude himself grew out his hair and wore high-collared shirts in order to hide the green writing that was forever attached to his skin.

"Claude Kepp at your service," he murmured as he shook the other's hand and then proceeded in sitting down. He took another sip from his coffee concoction with only vague interest. It had a nutty flavor that wasn't particularly good or bad.

“So bud..." So bud? Were they friends already? Claude wasn't the friendly type, and so thought Marshall's word choice was off; they weren't friends or enemies or anything just yet. Outgoing wasn't Claude's thing; he had just been hoping for a seat. Heck, if he knew that conversation came with the seat, he would have thought twice. Now that he was sitting however, he would contain himself and his rude comments.

"Did ya come here to get away from the school and the idiots in the school, or did ya just really want that…whatever it is you’re drinkin’?” Claude looked down at his cup as the other spoke, and lightly shrugged his shoulders without care. "The school sucks," he muttered quietly. "I needed out of there... not to mention the fact that I have an essay to write." Claude grinned. Claude again took a drink. "Oh, and I'm trying it for the first time... it tastes kind of weird." With those words, he took another gulp. Well, obviously weird wasn't that bad of a thing at all. Claude sat down his drink and lightly pushed it across the table in the direction of Marshall.

"If you aren't germaphobic or anything you can try it. It isn't half bad." Claude didn't mind sharing a drink that wasn't that good; it had only cost him a little bit. Besides, he could always get another. "So, where are you from?" To be honest, Claude couldn't quite place the other's accent. He wanted to satisfy his curiosity more than he really wanted to know.

ooc: I apologize that this post is pretty bad; I'm on a little bit of limited time here. Once I get on a better schedule my writing should improve. :)

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[Marshall Connelly]

Marshall was a very outgoing person. He loved talking to and meeting new people. It was something that he was good at, and he was glad for the opportunity to meet a fellow Eddingborough student, even if Claude wasn’t. But Marshall wouldn’t let Claude’s awkwardness stop him for being as talkative and friendly as he normally was. Marshall noticed Claude’s reaction to his gloves and was glad that he didn’t say anything about it. It was tiresome having to explain them to every person he met. He had considered getting rid of them and just showing his scars to everyone, but he didn’t like the idea of all of the questions about the scars. It was easier just to say that he had scars and let other person drop the subject than to have to explain the whole story of the scars.

Marshall didn’t really mean anything by addressing Claude as “bud,” it was just his weird, normal way of talking. If it bothered Claude then he’d have to get used to it because Marshall couldn’t go through a conversation without addressing the other person in some kind of familiar way. He wasn’t even sure if they would be friends by the end of their conversation, he didn’t know how the other boy would react to his friendliness, but if things went the way Marshall wanted them to, then they would be good friends.

“I agree, I hate it there. I would much rather be at home,” Marshall said, nodding his head at Claude's explanation. He understood exactly what Claude was feeling. He did not want to go to a boarding school in the middle of London. He didn’t want to be in London at all. His dad just had to go and find a different job. “... not to mention the fact that I have an essay to write." Marshall laughed a little at that. Procrastinating, or not doing the work at all, was something he was very good at. He hated school in general because he just didn’t care. His parents wanted him to care, because they had a brilliant life all planned out for him: graduate at the top of his class, go to a good university, become a doctor, marry and have kids. But Marshall didn’t care about any of that. He knew he didn’t have a chance at being top of his class, even if he was naturally smart, he just didn’t try to keep his grades up. He definitely didn’t want to go to a university or become a doctor. He hoped to do something with his drawings some day. And as for marriage, well he wasn’t looking for it, but you never know what will happen.

"If you aren't germaphobic or anything you can try it. " Marshall was surprised at the offering, not because it grossed him out or anything, but because Claude hadn’t seemed that comfortable around strangers. “Ah, no thanks, I’ll pass,” he said. He was more interested in his own coffee, and didn’t have any interest in the specialty drinks that were invented now. Sweet and simple was what he liked best.

At Claude’s next question Marshall smiled. He loved thinking about his hometown. “I’m originally from Ireland,” he said, thinking about his old town. It was a small farming town, and his whole family had lived within miles of them. He loved being able to see people he knew everywhere he went. London was so big that he barely ever saw people that he knew. “We moved here four years ago,” he explained. Moving had been the worst. He had hated his parents when they first told him they were moving. He had gotten over it eventually, but still wanted to go back. He decided to turn the question back on Claude, “what about you?” he asked.

Ooc: not a problem, and I apologize for my post taking so long.

[Claude Kepp]

If there was anything Claude understood about Marshall, it would be the desire to hide the things that were overall undesireable. While Marshal wore glaves and his scars had occured under different circumstances, Claude did the same thing in order to hide his tattoo. He grew out his hair and wore his shirt at most times in order to do so.

But, the boy's gloves were rather interesting; if he got to know the other well at all, he would most certainly ask. Not that he would want the same treatment returned; that was why Claude's own personal scars were more well hid.

It didn't particularly annoy or upset Claude of how Marshall adressed him as 'bud', it was just a little odd to him. He wasn't so bothered that he would ever mention it to Marshall. It was just a little quirk that was different from himself.

“I agree, I hate it there. I would much rather be at home,” Claude himself nodded slowly in understanding. Not that he himself would rather be back home; more so that he could understand why Marshall felt so. The old cliche was, "Home is where the heart is," after all.

"Here is about as good as home for me," Claude said simply. He wasn't one to go into detail and vent to acquaintance; he wasn't that outgoing at all. "London is a little more busy of a place than home, but has the same feel to it." If the feeling of lonliness and insecurity was familiar to any boy, they would feel just fine at Eddingborough.

Procrastination had been a problem for Claude in the past, but not so much for a lack of trying. Sometimes he just forgot, others he intentionally 'forgot'. Math was the subject that he abstained from the most; Claude was not a logical thinker like the rest of the mathletes. He liked writing and the arts much more than those classes that required more deep thinking.

As far as future aspirations, Claude had few. He hoped to snag a job in the writing/English field to keep things afloat. He never really planned on marrying a woman and having kids or settling down at all. Being strapped down wasn't his style. Besides, his parents didn't have much plans for him at all; they would be happy as soon as he got out of school and out of their house. That was just fine by Claude; when he turned 18, he was out of there.

Marshall's polite refusal was somewhat expected by Claude. It was a bit weird of an offer, the brunette would admit it as so, but he was at least trying to be... was 'nice' the word? It was more than Claude did normally, anyway. He shrugged his shoulders and took the last drink from his cup and set it aside. He didn't plan on ordering another either; it wasn't good enough to spend money on.

“I’m originally from Ireland,” That explained the accent! Claude himself smiled; the riddle had been solved. "Four years, eh? You haven't quite lost the tone of voice," Claude's chuckle rang for only a short moment before he stopped. "How was the move?"

What about him? Claude was uneasy upon being asked in return. He hadn't had a home like this boy had; 'home' had just been a place to live. "I'm from the United States," Claude said evenly. "The southern part," he added for clarity. Miami, Florida was a city that rarely slept with neon night lines lit up to guide the way to the closest bar or restaurant. In the younger years of Claude's life he had lived in the slums of the city as he and his mother just tried to get by. Once he turned the age of nine he found himself living with his father in a 3 story home with his step-mother and 3 half-siblings.