|
|
| (3 intermediate revisions by 2 users not shown) |
| Line 1: |
Line 1: |
| | <table style="background-color:transparent"> | | <table style="background-color:transparent"> |
| | <tr> | | <tr> |
| − | <td valign="top">[[Image:MoA ME.png|left]]'''Moment of Awesome - :[[Amadeus Cho]]''' ''Waking from a nightmare, [[Quentin Quire|Quentin]] [http://x-logs.livejournal.com/3827019.html finds his roomie in a disturbing fugue state].'' | + | <td valign="top">[[Image:MoA Clea.png|left]]'''Moment of Awesome - [[Clea Lake]]:''' ''[http://x-logs.livejournal.com/3918861.html Locked in a closet for 'seven minutes of heaven' during a party], Clea and [[Stephen Strange|Stephen]] work out some things.'' |
| | | | |
| | + | Her eyes were starting to adjust so she was able to see Steve better, even if she was on top of him. Without another hesitation Clea lowered her head and kissed him. Was it strange to kiss her best friend? She had thought about it often but to actually be in that moment - it was nerve-wracking. And just as quickly as she kissed him Clea pulled away. |
| | | | |
| | | | |
| − | Come to think of it, it was the same position Amadeus had been in that morning when Quentin had left for the day.
| + | "I...ah...you...wha??" Stephen's mouth opened and closed as he stared at Clea in astonishment. Had she just kissed him, no, no she couldn't have right it was Clea who was a cheerleader and awesome and wouldn't be interested in him. He must have hit his head falling down and this was all a hallucination, the teenager pinched his leg, "Oww...wait this isn't a dream?" |
| | | | |
| − | "Cho," Quentin hoarsely called to his roommate. When he received no response, he repeated himself more loudly. And again. And a fourth time. There was not even an acknowledgment of his existence. And while Quentin had made it clear how he felt about Amadeus, it irked him to be completely ignored in response. He gently left Fuckwad on his pillow and went over to Amadeus's bed to flick his ear. When he continued to not, Quentin muttered something not so kind under his breath, and shoved Amadeus.
| |
| | | | |
| − | The shove did nothing. Amadeus's eyes were fixated on something beyond Quentin. He rolled with another shove, his body simply moving back into position. It was like Amadeus had simply... checked out.
| + | "Aw, you have dreams about me? I hope they are good ones." Clea smiled, "Not a dream. Unless you know a dream spell. Do you know a dream spell Stevie?" |
| | | | |
| − | Examination of his notebook revealed a complex set of equations, (mostly physics) with a few genetic components thrown in for good measure. Another set of pages were in Korean, in his cramped but neat handwriting.
| |
| | | | |
| − | "Hey, asshole." Quentin pushed Amadeus again, who returned to the same position like a clown bop bag. "This isn't funny, you little cocksucker." He was half-tempted to smash the bottle upside his roommate's head, but even in his post–vivid nightmare daze, he thought better of it and went back to his bed. Sleep was unlikely to happen at this point, at least not without some help, so he went straight back to the bottle. | + | "I'm starting to think I might," Stephen noted dryly, "there isn't really any other explanation I can think of for why you;d be lying on top of me like this and kissing me. Gotta be a dream, like the others, I mean," Stephen tried to look down but given their position that just left him staring at more of Clea and he quickly turned his head back to looking her in the face, "in my defense they were pretty awesome dreams." |
| | | | |
| − | A few minutes later, Amadeus finally roused. He blinked rapidly, his eyes flicking back and forth as if he were a computer resetting, and then yawned and stretched, his back letting loose a series of loud cracks.
| |
| | | | |
| − | "Ow," he said, seemingly surprised. He turned and spied his roommate, clad only in his skivvies with a vodka bottle in hand. | + | "Well - you aren't dreaming." She reached to pinch him on the arm. "See no dream." Clea started to move to stand back up. "Not everyday you kiss a boy and he thinks he is dreaming." |
| | + | Stephen's arms reflexively slipped down to Clea's waist, arresting her motion, "Well only because you're that good that he could only imagine it in his dreams," he pointed out with a grin. |
| | + | Clea rolled her eyes in jest, "Dreams come to an end, but reality doesn't. I've loved you since we were kids and I just kissed you. So what are you going to do--" |
| | | | |
| − | "Oh. How did you get there so fast?" he said, voice slightly hoarse.
| |
| | | | |
| − | It was to Amadeus's benefit that Quentin drank himself into inebriation so quickly, or else his question would have elicited another telekinetic fit in the room, this time consciously. "Fuck you. What the fuck are you talking about? It's fucking 3 in the morning. I've been here for two hours. What the fuck were you doing?"
| + | Stephen leaned forward, cutting her off mid sentence with a kiss of his own. Just as quickly as he had started the kiss he pulled back and grinned at Clea, "I don't know, this dream doesn't really seem like it's gonna end any time soon." |
| | | | |
| − | "No, it's--" Amadeus had an internal clock. His awareness told him that he had started his English homework at 9 pm, with every intent of finishing it before going peeping in the social media accounts of a few of the more... libertine members of the Iowa state senate. However, his mind was now telling him that it was no longer 9 pm. It was early morning. Judging by the stiffness of his muscles and-- giving his arm a judicious sniff-- state of sweat evaporation, he'd been that way. For at least 15 hours. If not more.
| |
| | | | |
| − | "What day is it?" Amadeus asked mildly. | + | "You are such a tease Steve." Clea smirked, "And I think our seven minutes are just about up. For the record, I would had never had the courage to kiss you if we weren't shoved in a closet in the midst of a party." |
| | | | |
| − | "Friday. Keep up with the fucking program. Fuck."
| |
| | | | |
| − | "Oh." Amadeus said, and then ran a hand through his hair. "Shit."
| + | Stephen tilted his head to glare at the door for a second, "You know, we are magic, I bet we could hex that door so they couldn't get it open," he noted with a grin, "And to be honest I've wanted to do that for years, well not get locked in a closet but you know, everything else, but I didn't think you felt that way." |
| − | | |
| − | "Yeah." Quentin capped the bottle and set it aside so he had a free hand to pet Fuckwad, who was nuzzling comfortably on his pillow. "The fuck is wrong with you, though? In a coma? You didn't hear any of this?" he asked, indicating the mess he had made in the room, particularly the broken habitat and computer.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Amadeus made a face. "No, I don't seem to ever notice anything when I do that," he sighed.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Quentin blinked. "Do what? Play Sleeping Beauty?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I have a traumatic brain injury, and one of the side effects appears to be these..." Amadeus gestured, looking for the right word. "Fugue states. I'm just. Gone. Checked out."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "A brain injury literally explains everything about you," Quentin said with his usual complete lack of sympathy. "You don't, like, go around and kill people and then don't remember any of it, do you? Like some crazy psycho sleepwalking?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | Amadeus regarded Quentin, eyes like slits. There was a long pause where he said nothing. Then he turned to his notebook. "Not that I'm aware of. I apparently decided to work up schematics for a flame-proof material this go round. Last time I woke up in a Tasty Cake delivery truck, apparently having eaten five crates of jelly rolls."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Quentin stared at him flatly. "Of course you did. Why not. Just do me a favor and don't do that bullshit here. It's . . . unsettling."
| |
| − | | |
| − | There was a sharp intake of breath from his roommate. Then Amadeus stood from his bed, stretching, his spine cracking audibly. Then he slowly, purposefully approached Quentin. He lowered himself next to the boy, and put his face very close to Quentin's. There were a few seconds where he let the other boy squirm, and then he spoke.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I. Can't. Control. It." He enunciated every word carefully, his eyes staring into Quentin's. The pupils were dilated, and it gave the sensation of looking straight into a black hole. "There is an inoperable bullet in my brain. And there is nothing I can do to fix it." There was a faint tremor in his lower left eyelid, then he leaned away from Quentin and stood.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I can't predict when this happens. I can't control what I do. And I have no idea what I do when I'm out to lunch like that. Thankfully, since hurting people isn't part of my personality, everything I do is benign," he said pointedly. "I know you really only care about your Daddy issues, but if you could be so kind as to make sure I don't accidentally hurt myself when I'm checked out, that would be swell."
| |
| − | | |
| − | It was like someone had replaced the cheerful and apparently carefree young man with an actual human. And if the empty darkness in Amadeus's eyes was not scary enough, the gaping maw that was his mind was worse. Certainly more frightening than dreams of being strapped down while monsters loomed over him.
| |
| | </td> | | </td> |
| | </tr> | | </tr> |
| | </table> | | </table> |
| | + | [[Category: Advertising]] |
| | + | [[Category: Templates]] |
