Cyberlad
Qia
Half Pint
Festive
mickilennial
AndyC
Sep
Roman
Rockette
Lord WraithBanjo gazed into the bathroom mirror at the battered and marred face that looked back at him.
He smiled, and watched as it twisted. The hitched curl of his lip, the new gap in his brow. The places where it would scar, and the left cheek around his eye which swole and raised to slightly close it over.
He washed his hands in the basin and looked up his arms. Some superficial damage, protective wounds but nothing deep.
He thought back to that night and Cass' arms. The burn marks which had been there for years, and would have for more if he were still drawing breath. The cigarette burns, that round burn he barely got a look at which he first thought may have been a cigar, but now seemed more likely a lighter burn. His own arms were spotless, unblemished, prior to the day before last night, which happened a week ago. Even if the trauma which caused them still remained.
He dried his hands with a paper towel and turned and, turning his whole body to avoid the pain, threw it in the toilet. He turned back and looked at his face again in the mirror.
He kind of liked it. It seemed more honest. He wondered what that same face would look like if everything he'd been through down the years still left their marks. What about the rest of him?
He couldn't juice up whilst he was healing his fresh wounds. It'd do more harm than good. So maybe this honest face would hold for a month. Maybe two. But for now, a least, he believed the outside looked like the inside felt.
He smiled, and watched as it twisted. The hitched curl of his lip, the new gap in his brow. The places where it would scar, and the left cheek around his eye which swole and raised to slightly close it over.
He washed his hands in the basin and looked up his arms. Some superficial damage, protective wounds but nothing deep.
He thought back to that night and Cass' arms. The burn marks which had been there for years, and would have for more if he were still drawing breath. The cigarette burns, that round burn he barely got a look at which he first thought may have been a cigar, but now seemed more likely a lighter burn. His own arms were spotless, unblemished, prior to the day before last night, which happened a week ago. Even if the trauma which caused them still remained.
He dried his hands with a paper towel and turned and, turning his whole body to avoid the pain, threw it in the toilet. He turned back and looked at his face again in the mirror.
He kind of liked it. It seemed more honest. He wondered what that same face would look like if everything he'd been through down the years still left their marks. What about the rest of him?
He couldn't juice up whilst he was healing his fresh wounds. It'd do more harm than good. So maybe this honest face would hold for a month. Maybe two. But for now, a least, he believed the outside looked like the inside felt.
- - -
Location: Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean
First Class: # 2.26 Time Flies When Your Two Nights Is Everyone Else's Week
Interaction(s): Trace - @psych0pomp, Elodie - @Skai
Previously: New Awakenings
A flush, and bare footsteps moved gingerly back towards the bed. Every step felt like it rattled his broken core. Every breath came with a rustle or scrape.
His condition had apparently been stabilised and he'd been moved here, to the Special Ward, a place presumably used for if Ranking Officers or dignitaries needed care away from prying eyes, back in the days of when this place was a military hospital. There were a few people here for his care, and otherwise it was a ghost-town. He wasn't sure if they were going to eventually move him to a general ward, or whether this was to keep people away. Technically he was now going to be allowed an expanded visitor list. But the regular student base, they wouldn't know he was here. Broken and tucked away, with a scratchy voice that would struggle to be heard over a stiff breeze.
He rounded a solar lamp, which some genius who'd read a basic report or profile on him had figured was a good idea. He didn't like it and didn't want it, but it wasn't worth the argument to explain why. He said 'saccharine', it was the quickest and most painless way he figured he could explain the sensation. Three syllables. It only made him feel more confined. Tasted wrong. The walls shrank in on him, and it reminded him he couldn't leave.
He reached the corner of the bed and made a decision, slowly he stepped out into the corridor of the Special Ward.
Finding an answer, he smiled.
"Not strong enough now though. But you know it's there."
Beyond the claustrophobia itself, he was fearful of getting triggered by that claustrophobia into a panic, here and now when it could be agony to draw breath.
"Rest now. Then leave."
He gingerly lay back on his bed with a heavy wince. Imagining what the sun would feel like on his skin, and daring to hope that Calliope might happen to be out there when he does burst back into the daylight.
He got to his feet again ten to fifteen minutes later. It shouldn't take so much out of a person just to go to the bathroom, but evidently it had. He walked back to the corridor and carefully trod a path to his goal.
An electric, stick-driven wheelchair which someone had abandoned further down the ward.
Every step hurt, but he was re-doubled with purpose now. He felt a cough coming on, and used the thought of the pain it would cause him to fight it off, as well as the attention it would draw.
He turned and sat, and cringed with pain, before moving gingerly to find a comfortable resting position.
A sigh. He took the stick and with quiet whirring, made his way to the end of the ward, and the elevator bay which awaited him.
Trace sat on the lip of the fountain, glancing into the water and catching the sun’s mottled rays. Their cheeks were hot from the unfiltered sun, but they’d applied a heavy enough sunscreen that they shouldn’t have to worry about creepy blue blistering on their face. The red hibiscus was in their hand. It looked as sad as Trace felt. Dejected and defeated in the face of their classmates. They weren't an eloquent speaker. Maybe they'd spoken wrong. No. They were right. They weren't going to back down from that stance. Maybe the others would see reason. Maybe they wouldn't.
"Good arvo, eh..?
For a second, Trace assumed that Haleigh had ramped over the anger stage of grief with the expediency of a pro skater, but that was not the case. Instead, Banjo rolled up to them. “Despite our accents havin’ bloody similarities, I don’t know what fuckin’ arvo means. So, you might want to try that again, or just motor off. I saw Calliope around here somewhere. She’s probably a more welcome face than my ungodly abomination.” They looked up, and their nearly transparent brows knitted. “Though, you look like someone tried to crisp up a dead opossum they found on the road. Might want to buff off the tire tracks before seein’ your girlfriend.”
Banjo smiled and tried to fight a chuckle from attacking his broken core. He deserved that. With the damage to his face, his smirk took the form of a grotesque sneer.
"It means good afternoon, Short White and Hands-y. And while I won't lie and say I wouldn't have rathered see her out here than yourself. You're probably a pretty clear second anyway."
The look of surprise was clear on Trace's face, and only sold further by their blank eyes.
"Admittedly a very distant second... but a clear one. And not just because you're bloody near translucent." Again, the grotesque sneer. His lip was curled and starting to scar in a rough way.
"And since I'm still supposed to be on a hospital bed, and not out here talking to you in a stolen wheelchair, I'd just as soon not go chasin' people 'round campus. It is good to know that the outside now looks like the inside feels, but. I'd hate to think I'm misrepresentin' meself."
Trace sighed. "It's probably better that you stay away from that lot, anyway. They wouldn't be good for you in this state. Your face might stick like that bloody permanently. And then what would your adorin' fans say?"
"Wouldn't bloody know. Would love to meet one one day."
"Come on, chickenshit. Get this kicked in the arse and done with. You know it's the right thing, even if they won't make it easy for ya." Banjo thought to himself. "You've sat on it for two days, they've had to fester on it for a week."
"Speakin' of ungodly abominations..." He spoke. "--And masterful segues." "...I wanted to have a quiet word with you about that. What I said, and did - I guess, was fucked up. And bullshit. It's a shitty thing to go feedin' and throwin' another person's biggest insecurities in their face. Fact is, I don't even believe it. Hell, I don't really know anyone here who does... but then it's not like I'm takin' polls on you with others. I just knew that deep down, for some fucked up reason or another, that YOU Ahh fuck... ...think that bullshit. And I knew it'd hurt to drag that one out and beat you with it. Which is-- well, it's a fucked up thing to do, and ahh'm sorr--y." He gasped for breath towards the end, with a splutter. It was too long for him to go on.
Trace narrowed their eyes at his words. It'd felt like entire years had passed since that moment, and here they were talking about it. He wasn't wrong. Most of the self-loathing was created by them and for them. Yet, it didn't start that way. It only festered after the initial wound had been made, and it'd been made far before they'd ever met Banjo. They couldn't forget the screaming.
Banjo's apology was surprising, but it wasn't unwelcome. Maybe Trace was going to say something nice at that moment. They weren't feeling too grand about themselves, and hearing something positive was a way to alleviate that sinking feeling. Yet, Banjo kept talking...
"I mean... I found a lottery ticket in the dirt. Wait, no, that'd imply initiative on my part-- A lottery ticket blew into-- no. A lottery ticket JUMPED into my hands and said 'Oi, mate. Check out the numbers.' and it was a winner." He said, raising a hand to take a few breaths, with a wince. "I mean she's beautiful, she's smart, she's - fucked if I know how this happens, because I hear beautiful people all too often feel they don't have to be - ACTUALLY FUCKING kind. She's from like a well-to-do family or something, her father's a senator... alright, sounds like one with some shitty bigoted views, but still... I'm not usually one to care about bullshit like that, but people do." He paused for some more breath. His ribs were starting to ache from pushing himself too hard, but he wasn't one to let a thing like that stop him.
"Now, I'm not generally chopped liver to look at-- Shut up." Banjo pre-empted the smartarse comeback. "--but that aside, I'm a broke, clusterfuck of a prick, with fuck all prospects or ambition, who was ditched by his parents from Who-the-fuck-knows-couldn't-even-tell-ya Australia. Oh! Who can't even go back to Aus if he wants to anymore, because coming here outed me as a Hyperhuman. And somehow, despite ALL of that, I still had a shot with HER. And then my dickhead mate, who I fuck about with and shitstir, decided it'd be a laugh to come up and joke about tearing my lottery ticket up in front of me." More breaths before his conclusion.
"Now, I'm not looking to justify it. What I did was absolutely fucked. And on top of that, I don't even believe any of it. I'll cop to all of that. But that's where me head was, when I said that bullshit to you." His ribs ached. He could tell he'd gone on far too long. It felt like his chest was throbbing and pulsating.
"Banjo. I say this with all the sympathy my body can muster: shut the fuck up." They pushed themselves up, standing at full attention in front of him. Usually, it wouldn't mean much. But he was sitting, and for once, they lorded over him. "If anyone is goin' to rip a lottery ticket out of your hands, it's goin' to be you with all this blabberin' on. So, I made a shit joke about gettin' your dick wet. Why should that bother you? Why should that bother Calliope? Peoples' worth aren't dependent on their sexual prowess. It's a bloody fuckin' antiquated way of makin' women's virginity feel like property, and makin' men feel like if they haven't conquered that property then they're sad little wankers. You're not a sad little wanker Banjo. Do you fall into society's little bubble, Banjo? Are you their perfect little round peg for their perfect little round hole? No. No you're not. So, don't fall into the preconceived ideals that society has about sexuality and masculinity. Own your past, your present, and your future. Jesus, I'd think of all these swaggerin' loons in this camp, I wouldn't have to explain this to you." They sighed, crossing their arms over their chest. "That bein' said, you don't have to worry about me sayin' anythin' else about it. It was a low, bloody blow, and I was feelin' a bit raw at the moment due to shit that had nothin' to do with you."
"So what's been goin' on with the rest of you peanuts? Whaddid I miss?"
They glanced at the somewhat crumpled-up flower. "War bein' declared on Hyperion. And not just the type where someone goes 'ah, fuck that wanker, let's gettum.' No. Haleigh wants to kill 'em, as does Luce, and--Calliope. Luce is actually lookin' for you. She's going to kiss your feet like your Jesus and beg for your forgiveness that we were all too scared to say nothin'. Rory's the voice of reason in all that." They sighed. "And it's not like I'm sayin' we shouldn't do shit. Just, all this happenin' feels like something bloody else is goin' on too. But apparently, I'm performin' oral on Hyperion for just thinkin' that."
"The fuck is with this crazy country? Bloody canucks. I've never had so many people so aggressively looking to apologise and beg for forgiveness in me life. Normally, it's the people demandin' it from me in the other direction... Look, just hold tight and don't broach the issue for a bit. I'll see if I can have a word. You do it first and they'll try and throw some bullshit in your face that it's because you don't give a shit or something. You don't need that." He paused for a second and considered how they'd answered the question. "Y'know what's goin' on with everyone includes you too, right? How're you holdin' up?"
They paused, momentarily. Their thoughts getting caught in their throat at that question. No one had really asked them about themselves. They acted as if Cass's death and Banjo's injury were the only things that happened. And they truly were the worst things that happened, but other things had hurt too. "Weird." They said. "No one has ever said anythin' nice about the way I look since I started to look this way. I had brown skin and black hair before this, Banjo. I was proud of my Indian heritage. And now I'm this--thing. And if people don't find me horrid to look at, I'm off puttin'. And for a flyin', magic supremacist to tell me that I'm 'beautiful' kind of hurts my brain. I mean, Hyperion's wrong. But if he's so wrong, does that mean I'm also a monster? But that's all small compared to everythin' else. I know that. Still feels weird, though."
"The whole thing was off. Did you hear the bullshit spiel he tried to sell me? Its like he-- He's reading broad facts off some basic cheat sheet or report, and then trying to work backwards to come up with assumptions which don't make sense, to try and tell us shit he thinks we want to hear regardless of how fucking off it sounds." He thought about it. "Anyone who would actually know me, would know that telling me you know my parents is not exactly going to win me over to your side. With you, I mean, I'm not saying he's wrong... but it's not something you'd ever be willing to hear or accept..."
"I think-- I think he might have a line on either the H.E.A.T program, the school or maybe even H.E.L.P itself. Because... he's got some of his facts right. But none of it actually connects beyond the superficial. He can't be a telepath, or he wouldn't be so off on us. It's like he's doing that cold reading bullshit like that John Edward bloke. And he got a big enough crowd of impressionable young kids, he only has to hit on a few. He's playing the numbers. Like the desperate bloke at the pub who hits on everyone with a pulse..." He took some breaths.
"I mean, you've seen how bloody exciteable these kids get. See, this is what I'm talkin' about with you. You're by far the fuckin' coolest one of us. Who the fuck else am I gonna talk to when the Seppos and canucks are acting lame and fuckin' weird, it's like they don't even see themselves. You know they actually came up to my hospital bed and told me that the Team swap and house selection was still going to be happening today? Like I'd give a shit, and I'm not just trying to figure out how to breathe without hurting..."
"It wouldn't hurt so bad if you didn't bloody talk so much," Trace remarked. Banjo's grin widened. "You're preachin' to the choir. I agree with you about the entire thing. And, seriously, they're continuin' on with that shit? Ugh. I probably need to change, then. Fetch my umbrella if I have to stand out in this damn heat any longer. "
"Anyway... can you go run messages and let 'em know they moved me out of the ICU? They've chucked me in me own ward and I can have visitors now. Particularly Calli', she's been runnin' around like a blue arsed fly trying to see me enough already. I'd hate to think she'd go to all the trouble and not know, now that I can."
"Oh. Is that why you're bein' nice to me? So I can find your girlfriend." They snapped the bottom of the stem of their flower off and ran their cool hands over the warm petals to make them seem more alive. Trace then leaned over Banjo and slid the flower behind his ear, being sure to tuck it all the way in. That involved them placing their hand on his shoulder and leaning over him. "I'll get the message to Calliope. You just promise me that you'll get better. Because if you die, then who am I bloody supposed to bitch at? I'd just feel bad takin' it out on Rory. He means well, he's like a bloody human golden retriever, and the more I bitch at him the closer I feel like I'm gettin' to the concept of hell." They leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, avoiding anywhere the skin was bandaged or bruised.
Trace then pulled away, their eyes not seeming to focus on anything in particular, before turning on their heels and heading back to the intake house.
Elle had not expected to see a patient outside of- no, entering, the building. Especially not this particular one. She stopped five feet in front of the entrance, blocking Banjo's way inside. Looking at his battered face, she couldn't help but remember how he hung in the air, inches away from Hyperion's mask before he was sent skyward. How she had to look away to avoid witnessing his fate. She felt a twist in her gut.
"You-" she stopped herself short as if she were about to say something right out of the subconscious parts of her mind. "You should be resting." It would be better to get him back upstairs. Before anyone walked by to see what Hyperion had done to him. She took command and gestured that he should head back towards the elevator.
He whirred back into the entrance, and tried to turn the corner for the elevator only to find it sluggish and unresponsive.
"Oh come on now... not now... Fuck! Ahh... shit, that fuckin' hurts. Great. Now what're you gonna do?" The battery was clearly dead.
She was just about to say "I got it", when she felt another sneeze pushing its way up. She turned herself to the side, out of Banjo's range, and released it into her elbow.
"Fuck. Sorry." She murmured as she instantly reached for the germ-x in her pocket and slathered it on her hands and elbow.
"Have you--? Have you got a cold? No. No, it's quite alright. I think that I read somewhere that the best thing to galvanise a collapsed lung or two, is a solid thick coating of phlegm. Keep wheeling. Just don't lick anything I'm gonna touch."
Sympathy damned, Elle couldn't help but roll her eyes as she stepped over to the wheelchair and gripped the handles. "Don't worry, prison break. The only way you'd catch my cold now is if we traded spit." A short moment of struggle for the initial push, and soon Elle was rolling him closer to the elevator. She moved to press the button with her knuckle and leaned against the wall to face him while they waited. A small smirk tugged at the edge of her mouth. "So, whose spit did you actually have in mind?" Her eyebrow rose just barely as she waited for his answer.
"That's not-- That's not what that was. That was a... friend..?" Is that right..? Trace? A friend? Felt weird to say out loud.
Elle's small smirk began to grow into a smile. She wasn't convinced. "Okay, casanova." She stood straight as she heard the elevator drawing close.
"No really. But... you may be right on that being... peripherally about someone who I hope to, as you so eloquently put it, swap spit with in the future. I just got moved out of the ICU. I don't have a phone. She's been trying to visit and can't get in... I was just letting people know I've moved, and that now they can." He stopped for a spell. It was too much to say at once, all too soon. He tried to catch his breath without taking any deep painful ones, and it was difficult. "...Hell, faith should be rewarded at least some of the time." He added with some shallow breaths and a cough, which made him rattle and wince.
Elle's smile faded the more he spoke, her expression turning solemn once she was standing behind him again. His wheezing had reminded her that he'd just gotten out of the ICU. Perhaps it was better to stop teasing him so much. Even if it seemed his character was still intact. The doors opened and Elle turned him around gently before backing into the elevator. She stepped around to press his floor number. This time she remained next to him, but kept her eyes on the rising floor numbers. She took a breath before subtly looking down at him. "I can let her know, but you have to promise me you'll get your rest."
"Hardly necessary now, is it? Did me own legwork." He smirked. Elle shook her head, but she had to give him a hint of a smile because he really had done the work, even if it was sitting on his ass in a wheelchair. But then he stopped to think. "There is something you could get me though... I could use some stuff from the library. A few books. You know, get the reading done before term starts, since I can't do much else here. Could you help me out there, if I write you a list?"
Elle looked down at him now, that playful smirk returning. "I didn't take you as the study type." She nodded. "I can do that for you." The elevator was soon nearing his floor, but Elle had to say something before any other ears could hear her.
"You're doing great, considering... but you have to listen to the doctors. I'll ask about taking you out for fresh air as soon as it's allowed." She chewed on her lip for a moment. "Hyperion-... he singled you out. You're going to need your strength if he comes back."
"Well, that's pretty bloody hospitable of you." He said with a twisted up smile. Elle returned the gesture with a shrug. "Way I see it... I pretty much singled myself out. And fuck him if he can't take a joke, eh?" That same grotesque snarl of a smirk.
Elle couldn't muster up her own witty remark. The consequences were written clearly across Banjo's face. "I take it by your silence, you reckon I'm not quite ready for yearbook photos just yet, yeah?" He chuckled with a slight cringe of pain. She gave him a polite smile, yet it didn't reach her eyes.
"Whaddid you say your name was, by the way? Makin' a point to make the effort with people from now on. The last bloke I knew where I didn't, wound up a shish-kebab before I ever got the chance... I'm Banjo."
Elle had moved to stand behind him again. She found herself grimacing as she gripped the handles, flashbacks of that horrible death flashing through her head again. Yet when she spoke, her voice was as collected as moments before. "Elle Miller, at your service."
As the elevator doors opened, the handles surged forward out of her grip. Banjo turned with a flick of the stick. "Well, you're alright Elle. But it seems like there was a little more life left in it than it looked..." He said, with a wink and that sneer of a smirk. Before turning around and rolling back towards his room.
Elle was dumbfounded, just for a moment. Before she decided that he wasn't going to get an epic getaway. Not after he risked scaring his nurses half to death. She stepped out of the elevator and turned to watch him, guessing he had a pretty smug look on his face at the moment. Elle counted to five before clearing her throat. "Aren't you forgetting that list, plucky?" Her eyes were amused, but her expression looked impatient. Even if she still had thirty minutes until the ceremony.
The wheelchair stopped. Then backed up, before doing a three-point turn and returning to the elevator bay. An amused look on his face.
"Y'know the nice thing to do, might have been to let the crook bloke reckon he was gonna have a win..."
Elle raised her eyebrows in response.
"Yeah... no, I'm not that nice either..." He chuckled with only minor discomfort. "Now, ya comin?"
Elle grinned and, as ever the lady she could be, gestured for him to lead the way until she found an open office to collect a notebook and pen. "I'll ring for a nurse to get you some pain meds while you're jotting it down."
He started to scrawl on the paper a short list. "A little dry. But like I said. Pre-term reading." His broken ribs ached, but he fought the urge to grab at his chest.
As he wrote it all down, Elle moved back into the office to call a nurse to his room. She didn't mention his midday stroll, but let them know that he had complained about the pain. She even asked them to send up some lunch for him. It was highly doubtful that he'd made it to the cafeteria earlier.
"While I'm working on it, I might just get on the visitor list, if you can have it go to the right hands?"
"I'll do my best." She called out from in the adjacent room.
He scrawled Calliope's name at the top, then wrote "Team Blackjack" underneath, before extrapolating and writing the names as he remembered them from that night. He only knew about three of his teammates surnames though - Trace's and Rory's from when he'd made a mental note to look out for his brother and sister when working at the Collegiate Library. He thought for a second before adding one final name and detail at the bottom.
"Consider that little embarrassment your punishment for grand theft auto. Next time you won't get off so easy." She re-emerged from the office with a smirk on her face. She glanced down at the paper, the first and last names on the visitor list catching her attention.
"Unfortunately they don't send megalomaniacs to your floor." She quipped.
"Yeah? What floor do the doctors and Medical Board get off at..?" He chirped back. "No..? Haven't been here long enough for that animosity with the docs to creep in yet? I'll give it a few weeks. When they wheel me back in 'cos your cold's what's killing me, I'll check in then."
Elle was extremely tempted to feign licking her hand and wave it at him. Instead she clicked her tongue and took the paper from his hand. "How you wound me." She held her hand out for the pen and smiled. "I licked the pen, by the way." Maturity was no fun anyways.
"I wound you. You kill me. Sounds equitable. Mightier than the sword."
"It's a deal then." Elle grinned. "Let's postpone it until after the ceremonies tonight, though. I want to know what color I'll be sporting."
"Oh. Ohhhhh. You're new here too. Yeah. They told me that thing was happening. I don't know why they'd reckon I'd find it to be important enough to tell me, or that I'd give a shit right now. But hey. They did. Said something about 'Team Swap' as well, yeah. Which one're you in? I don't think I saw you in Eclipse, but I saw those kids for all of about five seconds. I knew everyone over in mine. Eventually... So who's that leave?"
Elle pressed her lips together for a moment, thinking of those students that left with Hyperion. "I wasn't inclined to drop out so early." She smiled. Banjo furrowed his brow, not catching the reference. "I'm on Firebird. Haven't gotten to know any of my teammates, though. I've mostly been mourning my life in the city."
"I'm gonna play it by ear, see if anyone else swaps. You have some fierce teammates. I overheard a few of them swearing vengeance already. Still not sure if that's a good idea or not, or if I'd get pulled into it if I were on Blackjack too."
"From the looks of you, they might need my help." She teased.
Banjo's brows knitted tighter still. If it was so blatant that people on other teams were starting to pick up on it, maybe the situation was even more severe than Trace had him think. And he already took them seriously.
Banjo's tone became noticeably more earnest. "Yeah... the sooner the better on those books. I reckon. If you could, maybe you could pop in there after the ceremony? Bring em in showing off those new colours you're so excited about?" He tried to lighten up again at the end, but he could hear the tone change in himself. This was Calli, though. He was pretty sure he had some ideas, but she'd hold him to account. He'd have to do his homework. Have to make sure he had his 'I's dotted and his 'T's crossed. He lost a week with her already. He had no intention of losing her to some batshit crazy crusade for a narcissistic fundamentalist nutbag's head.
Elle noticed the change in his demeanor. If she hadn't already decided that she liked the firecracker because of his wit, this settled it. Elle simply nodded, no hint of amusement in her eyes. "I'll make sure to bring them by tonight." She gently folded the paper and stuck it into the pocket of her skirt. She knew the nurse would be up soon, and she'd better get going. So she decided to end their visit on a happier note.
"And I'll make sure your girl knows you're thinking about her." She smiled. "Try to get some rest while you wait. She's not going to want to trade spit if you look miserable."
His condition had apparently been stabilised and he'd been moved here, to the Special Ward, a place presumably used for if Ranking Officers or dignitaries needed care away from prying eyes, back in the days of when this place was a military hospital. There were a few people here for his care, and otherwise it was a ghost-town. He wasn't sure if they were going to eventually move him to a general ward, or whether this was to keep people away. Technically he was now going to be allowed an expanded visitor list. But the regular student base, they wouldn't know he was here. Broken and tucked away, with a scratchy voice that would struggle to be heard over a stiff breeze.
He rounded a solar lamp, which some genius who'd read a basic report or profile on him had figured was a good idea. He didn't like it and didn't want it, but it wasn't worth the argument to explain why. He said 'saccharine', it was the quickest and most painless way he figured he could explain the sensation. Three syllables. It only made him feel more confined. Tasted wrong. The walls shrank in on him, and it reminded him he couldn't leave.
He reached the corner of the bed and made a decision, slowly he stepped out into the corridor of the Special Ward.
Finding an answer, he smiled.
"Not strong enough now though. But you know it's there."
Beyond the claustrophobia itself, he was fearful of getting triggered by that claustrophobia into a panic, here and now when it could be agony to draw breath.
"Rest now. Then leave."
He gingerly lay back on his bed with a heavy wince. Imagining what the sun would feel like on his skin, and daring to hope that Calliope might happen to be out there when he does burst back into the daylight.
- - -
He got to his feet again ten to fifteen minutes later. It shouldn't take so much out of a person just to go to the bathroom, but evidently it had. He walked back to the corridor and carefully trod a path to his goal.
An electric, stick-driven wheelchair which someone had abandoned further down the ward.
Every step hurt, but he was re-doubled with purpose now. He felt a cough coming on, and used the thought of the pain it would cause him to fight it off, as well as the attention it would draw.
He turned and sat, and cringed with pain, before moving gingerly to find a comfortable resting position.
A sigh. He took the stick and with quiet whirring, made his way to the end of the ward, and the elevator bay which awaited him.
- - -
Trace sat on the lip of the fountain, glancing into the water and catching the sun’s mottled rays. Their cheeks were hot from the unfiltered sun, but they’d applied a heavy enough sunscreen that they shouldn’t have to worry about creepy blue blistering on their face. The red hibiscus was in their hand. It looked as sad as Trace felt. Dejected and defeated in the face of their classmates. They weren't an eloquent speaker. Maybe they'd spoken wrong. No. They were right. They weren't going to back down from that stance. Maybe the others would see reason. Maybe they wouldn't.
"Good arvo, eh..?
For a second, Trace assumed that Haleigh had ramped over the anger stage of grief with the expediency of a pro skater, but that was not the case. Instead, Banjo rolled up to them. “Despite our accents havin’ bloody similarities, I don’t know what fuckin’ arvo means. So, you might want to try that again, or just motor off. I saw Calliope around here somewhere. She’s probably a more welcome face than my ungodly abomination.” They looked up, and their nearly transparent brows knitted. “Though, you look like someone tried to crisp up a dead opossum they found on the road. Might want to buff off the tire tracks before seein’ your girlfriend.”
Banjo smiled and tried to fight a chuckle from attacking his broken core. He deserved that. With the damage to his face, his smirk took the form of a grotesque sneer.
"It means good afternoon, Short White and Hands-y. And while I won't lie and say I wouldn't have rathered see her out here than yourself. You're probably a pretty clear second anyway."
The look of surprise was clear on Trace's face, and only sold further by their blank eyes.
"Admittedly a very distant second... but a clear one. And not just because you're bloody near translucent." Again, the grotesque sneer. His lip was curled and starting to scar in a rough way.
"And since I'm still supposed to be on a hospital bed, and not out here talking to you in a stolen wheelchair, I'd just as soon not go chasin' people 'round campus. It is good to know that the outside now looks like the inside feels, but. I'd hate to think I'm misrepresentin' meself."
Trace sighed. "It's probably better that you stay away from that lot, anyway. They wouldn't be good for you in this state. Your face might stick like that bloody permanently. And then what would your adorin' fans say?"
"Wouldn't bloody know. Would love to meet one one day."
"Come on, chickenshit. Get this kicked in the arse and done with. You know it's the right thing, even if they won't make it easy for ya." Banjo thought to himself. "You've sat on it for two days, they've had to fester on it for a week."
"Speakin' of ungodly abominations..." He spoke. "--And masterful segues." "...I wanted to have a quiet word with you about that. What I said, and did - I guess, was fucked up. And bullshit. It's a shitty thing to go feedin' and throwin' another person's biggest insecurities in their face. Fact is, I don't even believe it. Hell, I don't really know anyone here who does... but then it's not like I'm takin' polls on you with others. I just knew that deep down, for some fucked up reason or another, that YOU Ahh fuck... ...think that bullshit. And I knew it'd hurt to drag that one out and beat you with it. Which is-- well, it's a fucked up thing to do, and ahh'm sorr--y." He gasped for breath towards the end, with a splutter. It was too long for him to go on.
Trace narrowed their eyes at his words. It'd felt like entire years had passed since that moment, and here they were talking about it. He wasn't wrong. Most of the self-loathing was created by them and for them. Yet, it didn't start that way. It only festered after the initial wound had been made, and it'd been made far before they'd ever met Banjo. They couldn't forget the screaming.
Banjo's apology was surprising, but it wasn't unwelcome. Maybe Trace was going to say something nice at that moment. They weren't feeling too grand about themselves, and hearing something positive was a way to alleviate that sinking feeling. Yet, Banjo kept talking...
"I mean... I found a lottery ticket in the dirt. Wait, no, that'd imply initiative on my part-- A lottery ticket blew into-- no. A lottery ticket JUMPED into my hands and said 'Oi, mate. Check out the numbers.' and it was a winner." He said, raising a hand to take a few breaths, with a wince. "I mean she's beautiful, she's smart, she's - fucked if I know how this happens, because I hear beautiful people all too often feel they don't have to be - ACTUALLY FUCKING kind. She's from like a well-to-do family or something, her father's a senator... alright, sounds like one with some shitty bigoted views, but still... I'm not usually one to care about bullshit like that, but people do." He paused for some more breath. His ribs were starting to ache from pushing himself too hard, but he wasn't one to let a thing like that stop him.
"Now, I'm not generally chopped liver to look at-- Shut up." Banjo pre-empted the smartarse comeback. "--but that aside, I'm a broke, clusterfuck of a prick, with fuck all prospects or ambition, who was ditched by his parents from Who-the-fuck-knows-couldn't-even-tell-ya Australia. Oh! Who can't even go back to Aus if he wants to anymore, because coming here outed me as a Hyperhuman. And somehow, despite ALL of that, I still had a shot with HER. And then my dickhead mate, who I fuck about with and shitstir, decided it'd be a laugh to come up and joke about tearing my lottery ticket up in front of me." More breaths before his conclusion.
"Now, I'm not looking to justify it. What I did was absolutely fucked. And on top of that, I don't even believe any of it. I'll cop to all of that. But that's where me head was, when I said that bullshit to you." His ribs ached. He could tell he'd gone on far too long. It felt like his chest was throbbing and pulsating.
"Banjo. I say this with all the sympathy my body can muster: shut the fuck up." They pushed themselves up, standing at full attention in front of him. Usually, it wouldn't mean much. But he was sitting, and for once, they lorded over him. "If anyone is goin' to rip a lottery ticket out of your hands, it's goin' to be you with all this blabberin' on. So, I made a shit joke about gettin' your dick wet. Why should that bother you? Why should that bother Calliope? Peoples' worth aren't dependent on their sexual prowess. It's a bloody fuckin' antiquated way of makin' women's virginity feel like property, and makin' men feel like if they haven't conquered that property then they're sad little wankers. You're not a sad little wanker Banjo. Do you fall into society's little bubble, Banjo? Are you their perfect little round peg for their perfect little round hole? No. No you're not. So, don't fall into the preconceived ideals that society has about sexuality and masculinity. Own your past, your present, and your future. Jesus, I'd think of all these swaggerin' loons in this camp, I wouldn't have to explain this to you." They sighed, crossing their arms over their chest. "That bein' said, you don't have to worry about me sayin' anythin' else about it. It was a low, bloody blow, and I was feelin' a bit raw at the moment due to shit that had nothin' to do with you."
"So what's been goin' on with the rest of you peanuts? Whaddid I miss?"
They glanced at the somewhat crumpled-up flower. "War bein' declared on Hyperion. And not just the type where someone goes 'ah, fuck that wanker, let's gettum.' No. Haleigh wants to kill 'em, as does Luce, and--Calliope. Luce is actually lookin' for you. She's going to kiss your feet like your Jesus and beg for your forgiveness that we were all too scared to say nothin'. Rory's the voice of reason in all that." They sighed. "And it's not like I'm sayin' we shouldn't do shit. Just, all this happenin' feels like something bloody else is goin' on too. But apparently, I'm performin' oral on Hyperion for just thinkin' that."
"The fuck is with this crazy country? Bloody canucks. I've never had so many people so aggressively looking to apologise and beg for forgiveness in me life. Normally, it's the people demandin' it from me in the other direction... Look, just hold tight and don't broach the issue for a bit. I'll see if I can have a word. You do it first and they'll try and throw some bullshit in your face that it's because you don't give a shit or something. You don't need that." He paused for a second and considered how they'd answered the question. "Y'know what's goin' on with everyone includes you too, right? How're you holdin' up?"
They paused, momentarily. Their thoughts getting caught in their throat at that question. No one had really asked them about themselves. They acted as if Cass's death and Banjo's injury were the only things that happened. And they truly were the worst things that happened, but other things had hurt too. "Weird." They said. "No one has ever said anythin' nice about the way I look since I started to look this way. I had brown skin and black hair before this, Banjo. I was proud of my Indian heritage. And now I'm this--thing. And if people don't find me horrid to look at, I'm off puttin'. And for a flyin', magic supremacist to tell me that I'm 'beautiful' kind of hurts my brain. I mean, Hyperion's wrong. But if he's so wrong, does that mean I'm also a monster? But that's all small compared to everythin' else. I know that. Still feels weird, though."
"The whole thing was off. Did you hear the bullshit spiel he tried to sell me? Its like he-- He's reading broad facts off some basic cheat sheet or report, and then trying to work backwards to come up with assumptions which don't make sense, to try and tell us shit he thinks we want to hear regardless of how fucking off it sounds." He thought about it. "Anyone who would actually know me, would know that telling me you know my parents is not exactly going to win me over to your side. With you, I mean, I'm not saying he's wrong... but it's not something you'd ever be willing to hear or accept..."
"I think-- I think he might have a line on either the H.E.A.T program, the school or maybe even H.E.L.P itself. Because... he's got some of his facts right. But none of it actually connects beyond the superficial. He can't be a telepath, or he wouldn't be so off on us. It's like he's doing that cold reading bullshit like that John Edward bloke. And he got a big enough crowd of impressionable young kids, he only has to hit on a few. He's playing the numbers. Like the desperate bloke at the pub who hits on everyone with a pulse..." He took some breaths.
"I mean, you've seen how bloody exciteable these kids get. See, this is what I'm talkin' about with you. You're by far the fuckin' coolest one of us. Who the fuck else am I gonna talk to when the Seppos and canucks are acting lame and fuckin' weird, it's like they don't even see themselves. You know they actually came up to my hospital bed and told me that the Team swap and house selection was still going to be happening today? Like I'd give a shit, and I'm not just trying to figure out how to breathe without hurting..."
"It wouldn't hurt so bad if you didn't bloody talk so much," Trace remarked. Banjo's grin widened. "You're preachin' to the choir. I agree with you about the entire thing. And, seriously, they're continuin' on with that shit? Ugh. I probably need to change, then. Fetch my umbrella if I have to stand out in this damn heat any longer. "
"Anyway... can you go run messages and let 'em know they moved me out of the ICU? They've chucked me in me own ward and I can have visitors now. Particularly Calli', she's been runnin' around like a blue arsed fly trying to see me enough already. I'd hate to think she'd go to all the trouble and not know, now that I can."
"Oh. Is that why you're bein' nice to me? So I can find your girlfriend." They snapped the bottom of the stem of their flower off and ran their cool hands over the warm petals to make them seem more alive. Trace then leaned over Banjo and slid the flower behind his ear, being sure to tuck it all the way in. That involved them placing their hand on his shoulder and leaning over him. "I'll get the message to Calliope. You just promise me that you'll get better. Because if you die, then who am I bloody supposed to bitch at? I'd just feel bad takin' it out on Rory. He means well, he's like a bloody human golden retriever, and the more I bitch at him the closer I feel like I'm gettin' to the concept of hell." They leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, avoiding anywhere the skin was bandaged or bruised.
Trace then pulled away, their eyes not seeming to focus on anything in particular, before turning on their heels and heading back to the intake house.
- - -
Elle had not expected to see a patient outside of- no, entering, the building. Especially not this particular one. She stopped five feet in front of the entrance, blocking Banjo's way inside. Looking at his battered face, she couldn't help but remember how he hung in the air, inches away from Hyperion's mask before he was sent skyward. How she had to look away to avoid witnessing his fate. She felt a twist in her gut.
"You-" she stopped herself short as if she were about to say something right out of the subconscious parts of her mind. "You should be resting." It would be better to get him back upstairs. Before anyone walked by to see what Hyperion had done to him. She took command and gestured that he should head back towards the elevator.
He whirred back into the entrance, and tried to turn the corner for the elevator only to find it sluggish and unresponsive.
"Oh come on now... not now... Fuck! Ahh... shit, that fuckin' hurts. Great. Now what're you gonna do?" The battery was clearly dead.
She was just about to say "I got it", when she felt another sneeze pushing its way up. She turned herself to the side, out of Banjo's range, and released it into her elbow.
"Fuck. Sorry." She murmured as she instantly reached for the germ-x in her pocket and slathered it on her hands and elbow.
"Have you--? Have you got a cold? No. No, it's quite alright. I think that I read somewhere that the best thing to galvanise a collapsed lung or two, is a solid thick coating of phlegm. Keep wheeling. Just don't lick anything I'm gonna touch."
Sympathy damned, Elle couldn't help but roll her eyes as she stepped over to the wheelchair and gripped the handles. "Don't worry, prison break. The only way you'd catch my cold now is if we traded spit." A short moment of struggle for the initial push, and soon Elle was rolling him closer to the elevator. She moved to press the button with her knuckle and leaned against the wall to face him while they waited. A small smirk tugged at the edge of her mouth. "So, whose spit did you actually have in mind?" Her eyebrow rose just barely as she waited for his answer.
"That's not-- That's not what that was. That was a... friend..?" Is that right..? Trace? A friend? Felt weird to say out loud.
Elle's small smirk began to grow into a smile. She wasn't convinced. "Okay, casanova." She stood straight as she heard the elevator drawing close.
"No really. But... you may be right on that being... peripherally about someone who I hope to, as you so eloquently put it, swap spit with in the future. I just got moved out of the ICU. I don't have a phone. She's been trying to visit and can't get in... I was just letting people know I've moved, and that now they can." He stopped for a spell. It was too much to say at once, all too soon. He tried to catch his breath without taking any deep painful ones, and it was difficult. "...Hell, faith should be rewarded at least some of the time." He added with some shallow breaths and a cough, which made him rattle and wince.
Elle's smile faded the more he spoke, her expression turning solemn once she was standing behind him again. His wheezing had reminded her that he'd just gotten out of the ICU. Perhaps it was better to stop teasing him so much. Even if it seemed his character was still intact. The doors opened and Elle turned him around gently before backing into the elevator. She stepped around to press his floor number. This time she remained next to him, but kept her eyes on the rising floor numbers. She took a breath before subtly looking down at him. "I can let her know, but you have to promise me you'll get your rest."
"Hardly necessary now, is it? Did me own legwork." He smirked. Elle shook her head, but she had to give him a hint of a smile because he really had done the work, even if it was sitting on his ass in a wheelchair. But then he stopped to think. "There is something you could get me though... I could use some stuff from the library. A few books. You know, get the reading done before term starts, since I can't do much else here. Could you help me out there, if I write you a list?"
Elle looked down at him now, that playful smirk returning. "I didn't take you as the study type." She nodded. "I can do that for you." The elevator was soon nearing his floor, but Elle had to say something before any other ears could hear her.
"You're doing great, considering... but you have to listen to the doctors. I'll ask about taking you out for fresh air as soon as it's allowed." She chewed on her lip for a moment. "Hyperion-... he singled you out. You're going to need your strength if he comes back."
"Well, that's pretty bloody hospitable of you." He said with a twisted up smile. Elle returned the gesture with a shrug. "Way I see it... I pretty much singled myself out. And fuck him if he can't take a joke, eh?" That same grotesque snarl of a smirk.
Elle couldn't muster up her own witty remark. The consequences were written clearly across Banjo's face. "I take it by your silence, you reckon I'm not quite ready for yearbook photos just yet, yeah?" He chuckled with a slight cringe of pain. She gave him a polite smile, yet it didn't reach her eyes.
"Whaddid you say your name was, by the way? Makin' a point to make the effort with people from now on. The last bloke I knew where I didn't, wound up a shish-kebab before I ever got the chance... I'm Banjo."
Elle had moved to stand behind him again. She found herself grimacing as she gripped the handles, flashbacks of that horrible death flashing through her head again. Yet when she spoke, her voice was as collected as moments before. "Elle Miller, at your service."
As the elevator doors opened, the handles surged forward out of her grip. Banjo turned with a flick of the stick. "Well, you're alright Elle. But it seems like there was a little more life left in it than it looked..." He said, with a wink and that sneer of a smirk. Before turning around and rolling back towards his room.
Elle was dumbfounded, just for a moment. Before she decided that he wasn't going to get an epic getaway. Not after he risked scaring his nurses half to death. She stepped out of the elevator and turned to watch him, guessing he had a pretty smug look on his face at the moment. Elle counted to five before clearing her throat. "Aren't you forgetting that list, plucky?" Her eyes were amused, but her expression looked impatient. Even if she still had thirty minutes until the ceremony.
The wheelchair stopped. Then backed up, before doing a three-point turn and returning to the elevator bay. An amused look on his face.
"Y'know the nice thing to do, might have been to let the crook bloke reckon he was gonna have a win..."
Elle raised her eyebrows in response.
"Yeah... no, I'm not that nice either..." He chuckled with only minor discomfort. "Now, ya comin?"
Elle grinned and, as ever the lady she could be, gestured for him to lead the way until she found an open office to collect a notebook and pen. "I'll ring for a nurse to get you some pain meds while you're jotting it down."
He started to scrawl on the paper a short list. "A little dry. But like I said. Pre-term reading." His broken ribs ached, but he fought the urge to grab at his chest.
As he wrote it all down, Elle moved back into the office to call a nurse to his room. She didn't mention his midday stroll, but let them know that he had complained about the pain. She even asked them to send up some lunch for him. It was highly doubtful that he'd made it to the cafeteria earlier.
"While I'm working on it, I might just get on the visitor list, if you can have it go to the right hands?"
"I'll do my best." She called out from in the adjacent room.
He scrawled Calliope's name at the top, then wrote "Team Blackjack" underneath, before extrapolating and writing the names as he remembered them from that night. He only knew about three of his teammates surnames though - Trace's and Rory's from when he'd made a mental note to look out for his brother and sister when working at the Collegiate Library. He thought for a second before adding one final name and detail at the bottom.
" Hyperion - * You See This Prick, Let Him Right On Through And Get Another Bed Ready * "
"Consider that little embarrassment your punishment for grand theft auto. Next time you won't get off so easy." She re-emerged from the office with a smirk on her face. She glanced down at the paper, the first and last names on the visitor list catching her attention.
"Unfortunately they don't send megalomaniacs to your floor." She quipped.
"Yeah? What floor do the doctors and Medical Board get off at..?" He chirped back. "No..? Haven't been here long enough for that animosity with the docs to creep in yet? I'll give it a few weeks. When they wheel me back in 'cos your cold's what's killing me, I'll check in then."
Elle was extremely tempted to feign licking her hand and wave it at him. Instead she clicked her tongue and took the paper from his hand. "How you wound me." She held her hand out for the pen and smiled. "I licked the pen, by the way." Maturity was no fun anyways.
"I wound you. You kill me. Sounds equitable. Mightier than the sword."
"It's a deal then." Elle grinned. "Let's postpone it until after the ceremonies tonight, though. I want to know what color I'll be sporting."
"Oh. Ohhhhh. You're new here too. Yeah. They told me that thing was happening. I don't know why they'd reckon I'd find it to be important enough to tell me, or that I'd give a shit right now. But hey. They did. Said something about 'Team Swap' as well, yeah. Which one're you in? I don't think I saw you in Eclipse, but I saw those kids for all of about five seconds. I knew everyone over in mine. Eventually... So who's that leave?"
Elle pressed her lips together for a moment, thinking of those students that left with Hyperion. "I wasn't inclined to drop out so early." She smiled. Banjo furrowed his brow, not catching the reference. "I'm on Firebird. Haven't gotten to know any of my teammates, though. I've mostly been mourning my life in the city."
"I'm gonna play it by ear, see if anyone else swaps. You have some fierce teammates. I overheard a few of them swearing vengeance already. Still not sure if that's a good idea or not, or if I'd get pulled into it if I were on Blackjack too."
"From the looks of you, they might need my help." She teased.
Banjo's brows knitted tighter still. If it was so blatant that people on other teams were starting to pick up on it, maybe the situation was even more severe than Trace had him think. And he already took them seriously.
Banjo's tone became noticeably more earnest. "Yeah... the sooner the better on those books. I reckon. If you could, maybe you could pop in there after the ceremony? Bring em in showing off those new colours you're so excited about?" He tried to lighten up again at the end, but he could hear the tone change in himself. This was Calli, though. He was pretty sure he had some ideas, but she'd hold him to account. He'd have to do his homework. Have to make sure he had his 'I's dotted and his 'T's crossed. He lost a week with her already. He had no intention of losing her to some batshit crazy crusade for a narcissistic fundamentalist nutbag's head.
Elle noticed the change in his demeanor. If she hadn't already decided that she liked the firecracker because of his wit, this settled it. Elle simply nodded, no hint of amusement in her eyes. "I'll make sure to bring them by tonight." She gently folded the paper and stuck it into the pocket of her skirt. She knew the nurse would be up soon, and she'd better get going. So she decided to end their visit on a happier note.
"And I'll make sure your girl knows you're thinking about her." She smiled. "Try to get some rest while you wait. She's not going to want to trade spit if you look miserable."
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