forty ➢ private + spam

[patheticvillain]

private } needy

hey which two of these things do you hate the sound of least

☐ book club
☐ art therapy
☐ cats
☐ gardening
☐ baking
☐ learning how to knife fight

gift + open spam

[Call it Christmas in July. Call it boredom. Call it a pathological need for attention. Whatever you want to call it, gifts start showing up, ever so mysteriously, at people's doors and in common rooms throughout the week of the fourteenth.]

Daneca Wasserman ] A pair of deep purple gloves (the same color her hair was when he first met her), with silver buttons at the backs of the wrists.

Cass Cain ] Ten fluffy pillows, velvety dark blue with tassels, which are less placed and more piled outside her cabin. Also brownies.

Iris Wildthyme ] Scented candles, Bertie Botts style, in scents ranging from fresh-cut pine tree to alligator breath. They are all shaped like hearts.

Mira Hidalgo ] A blank, leather-bound journal.

Horatio Hornblower ] Lots of weed. Also gloves, but practical ones, all black.

Needy Lesnicki ] A hand-width clear glass figurine of a dragon, and a butterfly knife, which arrive before his text with the message I can show you how to use it.

Chris D'Amico ] Gold cufflinks in the shape of coiled rope, to match his best suit, which, when twisted in a certain way, come apart to reveal tiny lockpicks. Also homemade dog treats.

Slevin Kelevra ] A grinning black cat keychain, key attached, no label, and another pair practical black gloves.

Gwen Stacy ] A tiny hexagonal prism on a silver chain, with little lines drawn on the side to make it resemble a titration tube.

Anya Lehnsherr ] Gauzy, metallic yarn, the kind that's almost impossible to knit with without a magnifying glass, and a note: Do you know what a blacklight party is? We should have one.

Scott McCall ] A box of condoms. Inside there are no condoms, just a note that says lol. There is also a set of four amulets - which just look like stones on long chains - labeled Scott, Allison, Lydia, Stiles.

Zane ] A möbius ladder, a couple of feet across and made of copper, and some pot brownies, labeled These are pot brownies.

[Other gifts, less personalized, show up at random in all of the common rooms - some, too, as centerpieces in the middle of dining hall tables, or balanced on treadmills in the gym. Most are made of sandstone or copper, new materials he is working with, while some are glass or ceramic, old favorites; all are about a hand's span across.]

[There is one little sculpture that look suspiciously like a three-dimensional Mona Lisa with a fauxhawk. There are many flowers, some real and some utterly imaginary. There is only one cat, the pale gray of unglazed clay, with the inscription HA HA underneath it. There are relatively few twisted human bodies in the mix, but there are a couple (though none in the dining hall). Otherwise, it's a mishmash of animals, plants, random letters, and impenetrably abstract shapes.]

[Cassel himself can be found coming and going from these drop-offs if you're very sneaky, or in the gym, where he not only works every day but practices with renewed vigor with his butterfly knife. He is pretty sure that now that Cass is back, he has something to prove with it. He doesn't know what, but whatever it is, he'll get to it just as quick as he can.]

Comments

[robinwishes]

[ Butterfly knife? ]

[ Butterfly knife. ]

[ That calls to Mindy like a siren song. It's practically an invitation for jealous staring from just beyond the bag she is currently beating the tar out of. ]

[patheticvillain]

[It's like having holes drilled into your back, Jesus. He turns from fighting nothing at all and gives Mindy an expectant look.]

Can I help you?

[robinwishes]

No.

[ Superbitch mode is engaged. ]

The hell are you doing with a knife?

[private text]

[semifreakingnormal]

dude

[That's it, he is torn between laughing his ass off and just being embarrassed.

[private text]

[patheticvillain]

you're welcome

[private text]

[semifreakingnormal]

you're the worst

spam

[hellofist]

[Alright, she's convinced. The people on the dumb ship are determined to keep her from living in squalor and it's the ones she actually cares about that are doing it, so.

The pillows are brought inside and dumped on the bed. The brownies she leaves on her dresser, not quite willing to throw them out but also not exactly willing to let someone poison her. There was no note and blue pillows don't have any kind of symbolic meaning so how should she know they won't automatically kill her? The Admiral likes to play jokes sometimes, she remembers at least that much.

Something makes her feel like a walk, and that same something brings her to the gym and there is Cassel and his body language is practically screaming for her, so she'll head in, watching him silently as he flips his knife around. She waits until it's on an arc to snap closed before speaking, not wanting him to cut himself.]

You've been practicing.

spam

[patheticvillain]

[He's learned a lot, but not how to detect people sneaking up on him, and Cass sort of sneaks by default. Probably something he should work on, but for now - he snaps the knife shut and turns in the same motion to open his arms.]

Since you gave it to me. [One thing he hasn't actually been working on intermittently, one thing he's really dedicated to. That and baking, apparently.] You remember that, too?

[spam]

[godsays]

[ He tracks Cassel down (idly, not really like it's urgent) and finds him at the gym. ]

You know, the last time I had brownies you made, I got into a long talk about my father with a stranger.

[ Arched eyebrow. Such suspicion, Cassel!! ]

[spam]

[patheticvillain]

[He snaps the knife closed and taps the handle against his chin, cocking his hip at Zane like, Well, what?]

Don't you do that anyway?

I labeled them. It was conscientious.

[andyougoleft]

[Instead of sending a message or anything like that, when Slevin finds the gloves and the keychain, it takes him approximately two minutes to decide what this is about. On a hunch, he goes to try the key in Cassel's door.]

idk why i don't have an ilia icon frankly

[patheticvillain]

[Cassel isn't there.]

[However, the door does open, and there is someone waiting. Ilia sits on Cassel's bed, staring with baleful yellow eyes at the door as if he's been expecting someone. Who knows? Maybe he has.]

[private text]

[fridgetothefire]

We need to do Mystery Baking Companions again first.

Cass hasn't seen them.

[private text]

[patheticvillain]

what

WHAT

you're totally right this can't stand

[exnihilo]

[He finds half a piece of paper torn from the journal, slipped under his door. It says, in pen, You're good at this too.]

[patheticvillain]

[Soon enough it's slid back under her door (sort of silly, they can just text, but he likes this.]

Thanks. My brother used to keep a journal. I thought it might help.

Plus you can bedazzle it.

[private]

[notsoneedy]

That's not a list with a lot of things on it I hate the sound of. Surprisingly.

[She's sitting on her bed, the gifts in front of her. The knife she turns over carefully in her hand, examining it, before setting it down and gingerly touching the edges of the dragon.]

The last two, I guess.

[private]

[patheticvillain]

what, seriously? i'm a fucking genius.

[No, he just made a list of things he either likes to do or did with Kon, but it's close enough, in his opinion.]

okay, so we can start pretty much whenever. probably can't do both at the same time. although we could try, because like i said, genius.

[Spam]

[mistconduct]

[Chris, lying in his bed, glances over from reading his book when he sees the glint of cufflinks. Curiously, he rolls over, picking one up and looking it over]

Uh. Okay.

I didn't leave any teeth under my pillow. What the hell?

[Spam]

[patheticvillain]

[This one, at least, he hangs around to get a reaction for. That and he'll probably have to show Chris how to use 'em. He'll just be leaning against the doorframe in the hallway, super casual.]

spam sorta? reaction tag?

[interns]

[ hey. hey. this is- huh. well, it's pretty, that's her first thought, when she sees it sort of catch the light and splay different colors over her fingers from where it sits in her palm. it's pretty and oh my god her first thought is Mason. Mason probably stole this from someone. Mason probably stole it and either feels guilty for it, and left it at her door for her to find the real owner of, or it's some warped Mason-idea of a gift. but-

oh, no wait. there's little-

oh.

Peter?

but no, Peter would have just given it to her himself, she's pretty sure. or at least left a note.

so now she's kind of just looking down each end of the hallway, wondering where it came from, who left it, and why.

I mean, she's going to wear it, but she's going to keep questioning it until she figures out who would leave her a thoughtful thing like that without leaving a note. hm ]

[text/private]

[routemistress]

[Iris' text message comes with a photograph of her workbench, the stained glass and robot horse parts and unidentifiable items of alien technology glinting in the soft light of many heartshaped candles.

She didn't have to think twice about who to thank. Perfect mystery gifts left by stealth are as much Cassel's trademark as his beautiful cheekbones or his strange sculptures or his synthesis of honest lies.]

the purple one balanced on top of the Naxian tissue stimulator smells like Hyspero market on a spring morning right after the wet season ends. Everything's still green and flowering like crazy so that all the streets smell like drunken honey and the fat gold-and-purple bees meander through the air like untethered dirigibles. The snack-seller's tray is piled high with deep-fried blossoms in batter, their insides bursting with caramelised nectar like sweet magma. The pigeons gather on the glazed tiles of the rooftops in the early sun and recite fragments of stories to shoppers in exchange for crumbs, and in the street cafes the last of the late-night drinkers sip their dragon's blood while the early market traders slug back red-bean coffee in gold cups like thimbles.

one day I will take you there, I promise. <3 <3

[text/private]

[patheticvillain]

[He is never not excited about new things, even as much as they sometimes scare him. This story is like a picture painted of another world, and he jots it down quickly, to pin over his desk so he doesn't forget. Some traits of Barron's are useful; this is one of them.]

can i talk to the pigeons?

it looks pretty. what you did.

text

[advocacy]

What did you do?

[She is teasing. Mostly.]

text

[patheticvillain]

:( :( :( what the fuck daneca