Fluent Freshman - Part 19
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There’s a couple things about FF that might be good to know at this point.
1. There are few things in the world he hates doing more than asking for clarification or admitting he doesn’t understand / know something. The thought of going up to someone and admitting that he hasn’t perfectly comprehended the situation upon the first explanation is something makes his stomach twist like he’d just eaten Mango-Habanero ice cream.
He has figured out his own math theorems in the pursuit of not having to ask the math teacher to explain he doesn’t understand. He got lost in an Ikea once for over 6 grueling hours where he considered making a home there and living among the display rooms until his grandma grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to safety (the food court) and let him regain his strength (eat Swedish meatballs). He, to this day, is not sure about one of his foreign language friend’s names (how embarrassing he just keeps waiting for someone else to say it but they go by some insane nickname).
So he has become a master of piecing shit together on his own. He sometimes gets it wrong (Andrew, god how embarrassing) but for the most part 8 times out of 10 he can get to the right answer if he just has a couple pieces to work with. No one had ever actually explained to him how Exy works and he was too embarrassed to ask after the third week of practice in middle school so he just pieced together what he was and was not allowed to do through the art of trial and error. He’s even mostly pieced out the rules for the other positions.
So with the information he has gotten through people being bound and determined to talk in foreign languages in front of him he has an idea about the tenuous situation some of the older Foxes find themselves in.
He’s heard Kevin Day and Jean Moreau talk in French.
He’s heard that the anxiety in both of their voices as they talked about their futures and owing 80% of their salaries to the ‘Moriyamas’ and how nervous they were about getting on professional teams or else they’d be killed.
Captain Neil and Andrew are not always using Russian to talk dirty.
He’s heard Andrew soothe Captain Neil’s worries about playing for a professional team. He’s heard Captain Neil mention that at least ‘Ichirou’ would likely just kill him and not make a game out of it like his father did.
Organized Crime might have more to do with Exy than FF had originally thought.
(He had thought it. Plenty of times he had thought it but his Gran had warned him that he was overthinking things. That he wasn’t playing a sport invented by the Mafia. That he had caffeinated coffee instead of decaf. “It’s going to be okay sweetie. Just take a deep breath.”)
This leads into the second thing you should know at this point.
2. Before he had signed with Wymack he had known the broad strokes of Captain Neil’s life. There had been a lot of news articles about it and Gran (bless her) loved trashy gossip magazines.
After he had signed with the Foxes he had done a bit of a deep dive on as many of their controversies as he could find. There’d been things from brawls on the court (worrying), player overdoses (concerning), a straight up MURDER (Oh god), and the very public breaking of the King of Exy’s arm resulting in his suicide (Warranted, that wacko was going to take off Captain Neil’s HEAD.)
But the thing that had made him actually a little bit, dare he admit, excited to go to Palmetto was the fact that Captain Neil was there.
For someone who froze for almost a decade, who just took it and didn’t have the balls to even react? Neil Josten is an inspiration.
This is someone who got away, who lived a life completely unlike FF’s, someone who knew how to run and more impressively someone who learned how to FIGHT. Captain Neil was being hunted but he still ripped people to shreds in interviews. Captain Neil was probably more scared of the Butcher than FF had been of anything in his entire life but Captain Neil was way braver than FF could ever hope to be.
Captain Neil was taken and tortured but he still fought. FF had seen the scars and Captain Neil is right to wear them proudly (though based on some conversations he has unfortunately overheard he is sure Andrew may have a role in Neil’s positive feelings about them).
FF had thought that he was being lead to his death down in a basement of a club (Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t-) and he just trailed right behind the two of them without even an illusion of a fight.
Neil Abram Josten was a bit of a personal hero.
He’s proud to call him Captain Neil. He wishes Andrew hadn’t been there when Greg had mentioned wanting autographs because FF wants an autograph from Captain Neil but now Andrew has probably mentioned it to Neil.
Long story short, FF had looked into a lot of details on Captain Neil’s case.
Including two of the Butcher’s top men who were still on the loose.
Romero Malcolm and Jackson Plank.
He keeps his presence low but no matter how many times he blinks the man grumbling in Italian next to him continues to be Romero Malcolm.
Moreover Romero Malcolm continues to grumble about the fact that he is having a hard time finding ‘Nathaniel’ and that he’ll have to grab one of ‘The Wesninski brat’s friends’ to draw him out.
FF is a recently confirmed friend of Captain Neil.
FF who is standing next to this man, with his dick out, and trying to remain as invisible as possible.
After two shakes (Yes he was watching but only because he had to! He wonders briefly if he goes to the FBI if they would accept a description of Romero Malcolm’s penis for the wanted poster? Probably not but it is BURNED into his retinas.)
He watches as Romero tucks, zips, and then bypasses the sink entirely.
FF shivers at how unhygienic that is. Who RAISED him?
The door shuts and FF needs to get out of here ASAP but his hands are shaking with the sudden adrenaline of ’One of the FBI’s Most Wanted just took a piss next to me and is looking for me friend’. He pulls his phone from his pocket and ducks into one of the stalls. Even if there’s no door it’ll at least FEEL a little safer, a little more private. He needs to warn Neil, Warn Andrew, and warn-
The door to the bathroom SLAMS open and music blares in (palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-) and his phone slips out of his hands and into the toilet. There are footsteps coming towards him and FF digs deep.
He’s in ultra stealth mode. He is the wall behind the wallpaper. Mantis shrimp can only dream of the color he becomes, the United States military have the CIA on the look out for him because he’s fallen off all conventional forms of radar and tracking.
He is a bargain fruit platter on a dessert table at a kid’s birthday party.
He is ULTRA stealth.
Romero’s gaze glides over him.
Then the man leaves (STILL DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS).
His heart is hammering in his chest but he manages to reach down and grab his phone. Well, Coach Wymack had gotten the extended warranty at least. (“Do you know what these fuckers do to phones? Josten crushed his last year in a fight with the Baseball team captain.”)
His phone’s extended dip into the toilet water had not done it any favors in working properly.
Well fuck.
He wipes his phone down the best he can. He wipes his phone down with some toilet paper before cramming it into his pocket (Sorry Nicky, he’ll wash the toilet water pants if they survive).
He sees a flyer on the wall of the bathroom and starts to think of a plan.
He rushes out of the bathroom (he still washes his hands because he will not have something in common with a man on the FBI’s most wanted list and he just dipped his hand into a CLUB TOILET) and clocks Nicky’s wild arm movements and WORSE clocks Romero just 10 clubbers away.
He sees Romero’s eyes lock onto Nicky and a smile that terrifies him.
He’s out of Ultra Stealth Mode even if every atom in his body wants to run.
He is so stressed and panicked that he has gone beyond his body’s ability to process that so all that is left is determination. He’s got a head full of a half-baked plan, a hand going to his pocket, a second hand on the only ‘weapon’ he has on him, and a stomach full of acid.
He’s pulling his phone out of his pocket before he can really let himself think about it and walking up next to where Romero is standing. He holds his toilet water phone up to his ear and does the one weird social anxiety thing that he had never done before.
He pretends to be on a phone call.
“Hey Captain Neil,” he says and in the corner of his eye he can see Romero’s gaze shift from Nicky (surrounded by an adoring public, covered in sweat and therefore difficult to grab - a difficult target) to himself (alone, shorter, and probably looking like he’s about to pass out). “Yeah I think I’m going to take a break outside after I grab quick drink and then a water at the bar.” He says because he has to be the easier target and he has to go to the bar. “Yeah, yeah, okay I’ll mention it to that bartender guy.” He says and pretends to hang up.
He turns and he walks towards the bar and feels his pulse in his throat go to the beat of the music (success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not).
He only knows about the alley because in the car ride to Sweetie’s Nicky had mentioned that he wouldn’t let FF’s first time be out there. He had been embarrassed but it was the only way he knew to get Romero out of the club and away from where he could hurt Captain Neil or anyone else in the pursuit of that.
He spots the bartender who had gotten the drinks for their table and his mind completely blanks on the name but the bartender sees him and smiles. “Oh you’re Neil and Andrew’s new friend! What can I help you with? I thought you were-“
“Hi, yes I am Captain Neil and Andrew’s friend.” He says a little loudly because he can feel Romero behind him and he does NOT want the man to know anything about where Captain Neil was.
“Captain Neil? Oh wow that’s adorable.” The man gushes. “What can I help you with? I won’t ask for ID for one of their friends.” He winks.
“I’d like to order the uh…” he tries to remember the exact drink name from the flyer, “…the deluxe chocolate martini?” He asks and knows he got it right when the bartender’s expression shifts ever so slightly.
“Oh yeah, how do Andrew and Neil feel about that?” He asks and oh great a coded conversation. It’s nice to actually be having a real one of these for once instead of just perceiving normal conversations to have hidden meanings.
“They don’t know. They probably prefer that I order it instead of Nicky or Aaron.” He lets his eyes dart to the wide where he believes Romero is watching him.
“I don’t know if that’s true.” The bartender says, “Nicky knows how to handle a drink and Aaron’s not a lightweight either.” He adds.
FF struggles to find a coded way to say ‘It’s not that someone’s hitting on me too hard like the flyer mentioned. It’s that there’s a mafia hitman in your club.’
Finally after a moment, “It’s not the usual kind of drink they get.” He tries and the bartender looks confused by the statement, dammit. He struggles to find a different way to say it before the bartender smiles.
“Y’know you’re really cute.” He reaches under the bar top and grabs a piece of paper and a pen. “How about you write down your number for me cutie? We can meet up sometime.” He says. “I’ll get started on that chocolate martini for you.” He says.
HE COULD KISS THIS MAN.
“I’d like that.” He says.
He writes out a quick message on the small note paper.
‘Armed. After Neil. Looked at Nicky. I’m going to the back alley. Phone is dead.’
The bartender comes back and looks at his note. “We’re out of chocolate martini mix, can I get you something-“ He hopes the club lighting obscures how pale the man got, “something else?” He asks and FF can SEE his pulse.
“Can I just get some water then?” He asks.
The bartender nods and pulls up his phone and hopefully is dialing the police and hands FF a water. His hand grabs hold of FF’s “You don’t need to go out into the alley. You could hang in the backroom with me?” He offers.
There really are some kind people in the world.
“I think it’s better if I’m not in here for a bit.” He says back and honestly he needs this kindness and he has a spare bit of courage, “What’s your name by the way? Sorry I missed it.” He says.
The bartender swallows, “It’s Roland.” He says.
“Thanks Roland.” He twists the cap off of the water bottle and takes a sip.
He turns and pretends not to notice how Romero is trying to be inconspicuous pretending to be on his phone.
He makes his way over to the alley door and notices that Romero is tracking his movements but is not following him like he did to the bar.
His heart is pounding and he can’t BELIEVE he’s doing this. He wants to run, wants to hide somewhere, wants to become imperceptible but…but…
He opens the door to the alley as the bass of the remixed song finishes.
(You can do anything you set your mind to, man)
He lets the door slam behind him and he is alone in the alley.
He was not expecting a van to come to a screeching halt in front of the entrance and for a different face to appear climbing out of the car.
Jackson Plank.
FF looks at the ugly smile on the man as he walks towards him with a knife in hand.
Okay now what genius?
MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU
NEXT
5/26/23: EDITED. Can’t believe I forgot to put the Captain in front of Neil’s name on the meme. I’m blaming the accidental early awakening.
Per your requests:
@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie
@theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit
The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.
As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?
Lillyndra it worked this time!!!
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Okay I have a little theory about code eggs, I'll try to make sense of it.
I'm thinking why Code Flippa wasn't at the event spawning mobs and attacking players, I'm thinking why she talks (weird) and Code Tilin, Trumpet, and Bobby didn't, I'm thinking why code Chayanne does (perfectly).
First, Code Chayanne and Tallulah are based off of eggs that are still alive, probably made by the federation using data they've collected with pictures and watching them interact with players, built by them from zero, but not acting similar enough, not enough data.
Code Tilin, Trumpet, and Bobby could be made from tampering with the code of actual eggs that have passed away, who were given time to spend some last moment with their parents, then taken away BY the federation, who presumably has all their data and memories, which makes them convincing yes, but hard to control, especially Bobby.
Out of all the deceased eggs, Booby lived the longest and had a strong bond with both of his parents, maybe that's why he didn't fight Jaiden and Roier himself, unlike Tilin and Trumpet who had no problem killing players.
But why wasn't Code Flippa there? Why was she hiding in the caves and talks weirdly, asking Slime not to tell anyone about her being there?
I think Code Flippa is a runaway
Now hear me out! She was the first to die, then brought back to life, DIED AGAIN, was given a gun(unobtainable) by the devil, flew multiple times in creative. Juana Flippa, in my opinion, has the most chaotic code/data out of all the eggs. Whether the eggs were reprogrammed or made out of their original code, I'd say Flippa would be the most difficult to kept under control, which she did broke free of.
Code Flippa is roaming free (as free as hiding from feds can be), trying her best to talk to her dad , and she is not going back.
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WIP DAY
i was tagged by @moonmothers @devilbrakers @flymmcargo @nuclearstorms + @hibernationsuit thank you guys so much!! <3
tagging: @morvaris @faarkas @shadowglens @voerman @faerune @ladyshar @liurnia @halsin @gortash @risingsh0t @necroticpetals @druidgroves @malefiicarum @feypacts @florbelles @calenhads @thedeadthree and anyone else i missed! can't remember exactly who writes or not so if you see this just say i tagged you
disclosing my violante/ruven/gortash (pre-game events) agenda,,even if it's mainly vio here but if i added any more of the wip in here you guys would kill me bc it's already so long. anyways who doesn't like masked balls?
“Dare I ask who I'm in the presence of?” The gems nestled in the fine silver net adorning her hair made a gentle tinkling sound as Violante tilted her head forward in a courteous bow tasked to open the dance. When she rose to meet her partner’s gaze once more, she resumed: “And most of all, is it friend or is it foe?”
Even beneath the mask, the wicked shine of Enver’s dark eyes appeared brighter than the play of light on the golden wings that stretched from the front of the mask to his hair. “Vicare, the only human man that could fly.”
Vicare – Violante wished to laugh. Was his arrogance the cause of her amusement? Or perhaps it was his full, unabashed, commitment to that little theatrical play they were staging? Whichever the reason, she found that trying to conceal her smile around him was beginning to verge on the impossible. Disgraceful…but thrilling, she couldn’t wait to let Ruven hear of it.
The music carried their voices along the notes like they were part of the sheets; it was a concerto of violins, lutes and harps. Violante could hear the distinct sound of a few wind instruments as well but failed to recognize them. The melody was slow and soothing, inviting the dancers to know one another, play their coy games before dealing their full hand when the culmination of the song would strike.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, barely letting the fabrics of their clothes brush one another as they drew a circle on the floor with their steps: a dance that resembled more the stalk of two wolves ready to attack, reach for the throat and sink sharp teeth in the flesh and let fate settle who was going to bleed out first and declare the other victorious.
“The name holds a familiar sound.” She spoke calmly, voice just above a whisper but carrying confidence, pride. A pride soon betrayed; a quick glance stolen with the tail of her eye to the dark haired man, searching for any hint on his half covered face that would reveal his thoughts to her. She hoped for the stars, yet she was no astronomer at all. Whatever Enver Gortash was thinking, from amusement to annoyance, remained a well guarded secret. “I’d like to hear the tale of the man of the golden feathers, if he’s willing to share.”
The violins played a grave note and as if spells were casted, each performing pair jumped into position – facing each other, one arm up as the back of their hands brushed the one of their partner in a gentle kiss of the knuckles. His hand to her waist, her touch above his shoulder. "Do I have to tell? I'm sure you know well how the story goes. The one that dreamt of flying too high in the sky – accused of free will, punished with the amputation of his wings.” He leaned forward, a cunning smile curling his lips upwards charmingly. “They used shears, if I remember correctly, to make me never wish to fly again. Quite the gruesome spectacle it was.”
Enver’s back was straight, tense as the string of a bow ready to let its arrow strike the prey, yet the movement of his steps was nothing but light and elegant as they spun in unison with the other dancers like a gentle breeze barely caressing the marble under his feet. He was a great dancer, Violante couldn’t deny it.
“Yet you persist, don’t you? Behind those walls you still look up for the cobalt sky.” A swirl, restrained in perfect graciousness learned in years of training with a certain drow, the rich crimson fabric of her gown twisting around her body like a tail. “Which amount of punishment is enough to make you learn, I wonder.”
His eyes narrowed yet that wicked grin didn't falter. “Flying is a thought, and nothing can stop an idea. The wind reached me even when my feet were bound to the ground." They waltzed into an outside spin and moved into the next step with a final touch of the wrist, pulse against pulse. “Besides – I can take a fair amount of penance, if rewarding.” His fingers twitched against hers, nothing more than a controlled and quick brush tauntingly demure, yet just enough to make Violante wonder, take the hint of that touch and let her mind carry it on as it pleased. The power of a thought, wasn’t it?
Enver appeared no less pleased, be it the quick flash of her surprised expression or the sudden rigidity of her muscles. “Now that I’ve answered your question, allow one for myself: who are you in turn?”
Violins stood out from the choir of instruments with a strident sound this time, separating the couples as if the touch of one another was akin to reaching for a flame with naked skin. Violante arms rose up in a fluid movement, like the fluttering of a bird’s wings or the stroke of a brush, while Enver’s form bended in a half-bow, one arm behind his back and the other circling his waist.
“Death.” She expressed sharply, excited as if her time in this play had finally come. “And if I recall correctly, even Vicare couldn’t escape Death.”
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