newcomb | mingle log | the quad and elsewhere | we were young and drinking (coffee) in the park

Entry tags:

mingle log | the quad and elsewhere | we were young and drinking (coffee) in the park

Characters: Gansey and whoever shows up
What: Interpersonal interaction! Meet each other face-to-face while nothing is on fire
Where: the quad, unless elsewhere seems cool to you
When: loop 1, day 10 (6/10 irl)
Content Warnings: nothing yet. please use and check thread subjects

It's a pleasant day outside. There's a nice breeze and the sun is doing its best. At very least, it's not raining and warmer than it was yesterday. This is, statistically, likely to bring college denizens out of their dorms and offices since rain seems to often be on Newcomb's horizon. Fall in not-at-all-New England is lovely that way.

Gansey, for his part, can be found throughout the day in several places! He likes hanging out near the clocktower to study, since he's found time works best there (at least for him). It's nice to have a watch that's doing something vaguely akin to timekeeping for once.

But he's an explorer at heart, so he can probably also be found in the library, the computer lab, and wandering the grounds. Gansey isn't sure he's interacted with anyone outside a classroom or on Fermii since the train crash, so he's more likely than usual to strike up conversation instead of waiting for it to come to him.

The real question is this: where's everyone else hanging out today?

[ i'll be throwing gansey at anyone who doesn't note that their tag is closed. please mingle! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I've been to both, and you're basically living it right now. New England loves its old-for-America buildings that look beautiful and do a mediocre job of keeping the heat and cold out. We're lucky it's October, there's a ton of snow in the winter. A lot of England isn't that different, just replace snow with rain. Clouds adore England."

Sultry. The word makes Gansey's smile turn into something that belongs on a hot summer night surrounded by fireflies. "That's definitely one word for it. Henrietta's one of those places where summer sits in the valley like a sauna."

When Iggy starts talking about his home, Gansey's eyes light up in a completely different way. He's rapt, fascinated by the imagery. "It sounds beautiful too. Just in a harsher way. You're a lot of sunshine for growing up in a rainy place."

Iggy gasps again. "Is it October?! That's my birthday month!"

Because it's all about him, don't you know.

Oh. That's a very lovely smile indeed. Iggy, who adores people quickly and often, smiles right back.

"You've got such a way with words. You ever write?"

He flaps a hand at the compliment. "Oh, you! You're a sweet talker. I can tell. Heartbreaker, I bet."

"Well happy birthday month then." It can be all about Iggy. Gansey likes it when things are about other people.

"Only in my journal and also whatever professors demand." That is a definite yes in the way where he never shows anything of personal importance to anyone literate. Gansey's brain is full of sprawling imagery that he hordes like a dragon over gold. "I've been told my prose is florid." He imparts this as though it's a character flaw. There's practically a wink.

"Am not! That would imply I'm not being honest." He laughs. "Definitely not a heartbreaker. There would need to be hearts to break to earn that title, and the only serious relationship I've been in ended with an amicable parting of ways. We even still talk." What a precious little demisexual he is.

"Thank you!" He primps his curls. "I was born on Halloween. I'm a Scorpio." Like this is some great achievement.

Iggy covers his mouth and giggles silently. "Florid," he repeats. "I dunno what that means. It sounds dirty."

His eyes widen. "Really? A looker like you? I'm shook."

Iggy leans in and lowers his voice as if there's anyone who might overhear. "I've never had a romantic relationship," he confides.

"So you have a birthday with bonus candy and a possibility of ghosts, nice." He remembers that one of his friends was a ghost, so it can't be that strange. (He remembers what happens to ghosts that hold on when they should pass over, but he pushes that thought aside in favor of a sunny day in the company of a nice living boy.)

"Dirty is exactly how my English teachers have felt about my tendency to over-describe things." Iggy has the right idea about florid prose.

"You haven't?" Gansey'd be tempted to call bullshit if Iggy wasn't adorably sincere. "I've spent like half an hour with you and that's enough to know you're adorable and sweet." He can't imagine a certain type of boy not tripping over their feet about Iggy.

Iggy's smile stays on, but his eyes flinch. He's used to ghosts on his birthday alright.

"Something like that," he says, but moves on fast. "Don't all old famous authors over describe things, though? Like uhm, that dead English guy... Dickens? I feel like he probably was very descriptive." He's not sure since he didn't do very well in English class.

Iggy beams and flaps a hand again. "You," he says. "Such a charmer. But uhm, nope, never! I'm actually horribly socially awkward. I've just captivated you with my natural wiles so you haven't noticed yet."

Oh dear. Gansey puts one and one together and gets to somewhere around 'do not joke about ghosts to the guy born when the veil was thin'. He gives a little wince of a smile in apology.

"Dickens was paid by the word and we're still suffering for it in classes everywhere." This is imparted like an amusing anecdote. "I think Hemingway fanboys just decided adjectives are a sin."

Iggy is adorable and it almost hurts a little, honestly. "You haven't been yet." And Gansey won't tell him if he is. It's nice to just talk with someone. "So the wiles win out over the awkward is what I'm hearing."

"Well then there you go! Length equals classic literature! Your teacher was just jealous - I bet he was a frustrated author."

Iggy looks interested. "Which one was Hemmingway? The one with cats?" Yeah. He might have slept through English class.

Iggy looks coy. It's a well rehearsed expression. "The good looks help with the distraction. But, yeah, I was homeschooled so I'm actually really stupid with people."

"I wouldn't be surprised if my teacher was a frustrated author. Good point." He grins. "Hemingway was the guy with the cats and booze and cigars, yeah." Gansey seems used to summarizing things for someone who slept through class. Just because he's a nerd doesn't mean other people are.

"At least half my friends would say I'm also stupid with people, so we can burn that bridge when we come to it." The smile he shoots at Iggy is far softer than the words. Stop talking yourself down, sunshine, you're delightful.

"Right! ...I have no idea what he wrote! I'm more of a Chuck Tingle kinda guy." Iggy's tastes are definitely lowbrow.

"Yeah?" Iggy smiles right back, optimistic and positively devoid of artifice. "That's hard to believe. You seem so nice! Are you secretly a serial killer or something?" Like a serial killer would just tell him.

Gansey is just aware enough of weird internet (thanks, college!) to know who Chuck Tingle is, and he laughs. "Love is real, buckaroos, yeah?" It's not his type of literature but he knows the meme.

"I'm actually very bad at violence," Gansey confesses, and this is a confession; he's a bit ashamed of it. Not because violence is cool, but because he has a deeply ingrained instinct that says when shit gets real he's alarmingly helpless.

"Yeah!" Delighted. "I love his erotica - of course - but I also read his first horror novel and I thought it was good!"

Iggy cocks his head to one side. "Did... you want to be good at violence?" he asks curiously. He himself can't imagine a world where he himself would want that.

Gansey ponders. It feels ridiculous to say that yes, he would like to be good at violence. Ronan is good at violence, it hasn't done him any favors. It feels equally ridiculous to say he doesn't want to have some proficiency in violence. He's been held at gunpoint. He's been punched in the head by both Lynch brothers because he's the only one dumb and principled enough to get between them. He's battled against Nightmares. He's died twice and after being that inconvenient to his friends he would prefer not to repeat the experience again for the duration of a natural lifespan.

"I'd like to be less useless," is what he settles on. "There just aren't always other options."

Iggy hums.

"Well," he says slowly. "I can't say I agree, because I come from a long line of pacifists." He isn't kidding either - it's a big reason his ancestors moved to Canada in the first place.

"I can say I understand feeling helpless in the face of violence, though. I mean. Look at me. I've had my ass kicked."

"Pacifists?" He doesn't think Iggy's kidding. "Political dissidents?"

He frowns--Gansey has never been a fan of bullies. Iggy would have been terribly bullied in every school he's ever attended. "You're an empathetic kind of person, aren't you." Gansey has the odd feeling that he's never really spent much time with the kind of people Iggy probably runs with, but the fey-faced ginger is so easy to talk to.

"Yeah. And religious."

Iggy smiles. "I mean... I like to think so? That's the sort of thing only other people can judge though, isn't it?" He shrugs lightly. "I just know that kindness is always the best option."

"That's an explosive combination."

The concept of kindness always being the best option is a devilishly complex idea wrapped up in a veneer of simplicity. "Other people might judge it, but it seems like the kind of thing they'd tell you." It is hard, Gansey thinks, to be kind. It involves a lot of thought and care, and that makes it admirable. "I think you are. It's too easy to talk with you." The last is stated like a compliment. There's a huge difference between talking to people, which Gansey does easily, and talking with people.

Iggy laughs completely silently, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth lightly. "It can be," he agrees.

Iggy leans in just a little more. "Do you find it difficult to talk with people?" he asks softly.

"Chronically," Gansey answers wryly, and he doesn't mind how close Iggy is. "I hate not being presentable for company and almost everyone counts as company."

"Honey, you look presentable as fuck," Iggy says honestly. He grins.

"You like to have a certain mask?"

"Thank you, I've put a lot of effort in." Gansey grins right back like it will keep the words from being too true.

"A few, just in case, polished every morning. A Gansey must never lose face, after all." There's a pain in his eyes that betrays how much of a decision it was to admit it. Truly a poster child for how the socially wealthy fuck their kids up. Somehow it doesn't snag on his near-painful sincerity.

Iggy is a creampuff, but his eyes are sharp. He nods, lightly gnawing at his lower lip.

"Well. You're not a Gansey here. You're just a guy."

"I'm not sure I'd even know what to do without the pressure." Sometimes Gansey isn't sure that he's not one of those undersea creatures that require the crushing weight to be anything but a blob. But he's so very grateful Iggy even said the words, and he reaches out and squeezes Iggy's shoulder. The gesture was meant to be one of those gruff, masculine things, but it fails to be anything but tenderly thankful. Iggy, he thinks, is a precious thing. "Maybe I can work on figuring that out."

"Oh, sweetie. C'mere."

Iggy is extremely affectionate. Having been given some physical touch, he assumes that it's okay to return, so he opens his arms wide for a hug.

He gives great hugs.

The hug is completely unexpected before it happens and seems completely inevitable once it does. How long has it been since someone hugged Gansey? Long enough that he's initially tense, but after a few seconds the tension crumbles into softness. Gansey hugs like someone who is unfamiliar with the practice but holds a lot of promise. His arms are strong and his body is sturdy and accommodating to another person's shape. He's taking care not to hold too tightly; there are no hands fisted in Iggy's clothes and his forehead rests on Iggy's clavicle instead of in his neck. It's not a worry about Iggy being delicate, it's a certain knowledge that Gansey himself is.

"Thank you." The words are whispered close to Iggy's ear. "Thank you."

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