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Post by jacksonpietro on Sept 27, 2010 22:54:42 GMT -7
    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/color] It was always the same. Jackson slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and trudged through the boy's locker room. Immediately he was immersed in excited banter, shouts echoing through the room, greetings called between friends over the rows of lockers. Every so often he caught a snippet of conversation, heated debates over the school's next football game, or those more confident of his classmates comparing themselves to famous athletes. He heard another group chatting animatedly about their last gym class as they changed, going on and on about what they considered a fairly memorable game of floor hockey. One boy was particularly obnoxious in his description, giving his friends a play by play of every move he had made during the game, recounting at great length his goal that certainly won the game for his team. Another group near the door were contemplating whether this would be their last class playing hockey, mentioning that they were due to start basketball soon. Or at least that's what the gym teacher had said. Almost immediately after they broke into a discussion about the sport, trading hopes between each other that with enough practice they might be able to make the basketball team this year. Jackson rolled his eyes at the lot of them and pushed open the door that led into the gymnasium.
The door shut with a sharp snap behind him, immediately silencing the noise in the locker room. The gym itself was deserted, as per usual Jackson was the first one there, even before the teacher. Glancing wistfully around the gym, Jackson started up the rows of bleachers, making his way towards the very top row. Always the first to arrive, always the first to leave. Jackson situated himself in the center of the topmost row, depositing his bag in front of him. No sooner did he sit down did the gym teacher stride in, carrying a clipboard. Upon noticing Jackson the teacher acknowledged him with a nod, to which Jackson replied with a halfhearted wave, and made no further attempt at an exchange. The rest of the class started filing in then, just as loud an animated as they had been in the locker room. Once the last straggler emerged from the locker room the teacher began taking roll. Once he reached Jackson's name, he paused and looked up at him. "Pietro! They haven't given you a study hall yet?" A few of his classmates looked up at him curiously. Jackson felt a wave of embarrassment sweep over him as he shook his head. The teacher merely shrugged, muttering something about "speaking to the principal about it" before returning to roll call, leaving Jackson to wonder the same thing.
Giving him a study hall would have been the humane thing to do, he thought to himself. It would save him the embarrassment of being singled out, of always being that one kid sitting alone on the bleachers. He felt like an outcast. Vividly he was reminded of his first day of class, handing the teacher a note saying he was exempt from all physical education classes owing to his condition. The teacher raised an eyebrow, as though sizing him up, and waved him off to sit on the bleachers with a decided air of disappointment. It did not help either that in their first class they played dodgeball, and the teacher, singling him out once again told him to sit in the topmost row to avoid stray balls. Certainly he was the leper in his gym class, he must be kept away from the healthy, able bodied boys. Jackson sighed to himself. With each passing year he hated gym class more and more. It always made his hemophilia seem so much more prominent, a sharp reminder of just how many ways it ruled his life. He certainly hoped his teacher would speak to the principal soon to get him transferred into study hall. He was not sure he could tolerate an entire year of this.
Jackson watched as the teacher drug out a bin piled with hockey sticks, and the boys in his class scrambled to get one of the better quality ones. The teacher then went between them, choosing two team captains (obviously the strongest looking boys in the class) who subsequently began picking their teammates. Jackson sighed again. He would have given just about anything to be down there playing hockey with the rest of his class. Perhaps he might have been picked as a team captain. Perhaps he could have scored the winning goal. Perhaps he could have been the coach's favorite, a star athlete. Perhaps in another life. But he had lived another life, and he had suffered with the same affliction. Often he wondered why fate had cursed him with the same disorder twice and through all his musings still never found an answer. At least in his former life he had even the slightest bit more freedom, though he supposed being Tsarevich of Russia had much to do with it.
As his classmates had finally divided into their teams, and took their places on opposing sides of the gym, Jackson reached down to open his bag. He rummaged through it for a moment, pushing aside various textbooks. His hand wandered across something small and he pulled it out. A firecracker. He grinned at it before stuffing it hastily back into his bag. At last he pulled out a notebook, severely battered with innumerable doodles on the front (some of which were very rude) and opened it. Many of the pages were covered in song lyrics, scribbled out in hasty writing, little notes written in the margins. He flicked through to the center, opening to a blank page upon which a small picture, obviously cut out from a book rested. It was a family portrait. Jackson traced his fingers over each of the people. He paused at the picture of a man who bore a regal and genial appearance. At once a wave of nostalgia hit him. 'Alyosha, put your trophy back.' His father certainly had not been pleased with him that night when he stole a shoe from a dinner guest and displayed it to the table. Jackson laughed at the memory. His finger then lingered on the picture of a young girl, his sister, Anastasia. He had always been closest to her. These people in the picture. They were his family, and he missed them dearly. Ever since he had realized who he was, his loneliness only increased. It was unfair, how they had all been ripped from him so suddenly. Unfair that it was unlikely he would ever see any of them again. Jackson glanced out across the gym again, where a game of floor hockey had just begun. If there was but one good point of gym class, it was that he could reminisce over his past and not be disturbed. [/blockquote] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/color][/center] TAG - Mandee/Oliver
WORDS - 1, 152
NOTES - I want to hug Jackson, poor dear
TUNES - rainbow veins , owl city.
CREDIT - template by MUNZTAR * of caution 2.0
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Post by Oliver Lee Winchester on Sept 27, 2010 23:16:40 GMT -7
"Relax, I'll be fine."[/color] "How do you know that for sure? I don't want you to take too many risks...you could hurt yourself even worse!"Oliver pulled the phone away from his mouth at this point and let out a low sigh. "I heard that, Oliver Winchester.""Ju...Mother, it's really not that big of a deal."[/color] Oliver insisted, as the voice on the other end let out a sigh just as full of frustration. The woman was not going to give up, and he'd almost slipped and called her by her full name rather than 'mother'. "It could be broken!""So? I've dealt with worse than this before."[/color] This time, there was silence. For a few seconds, Oliver thought that perhaps he'd won this battle. However, he soon realized his mistake. "Oliver, stitches don't compare to broken bones. Put me back on the phone with the nurse."A stony expression came across Oliver's face at this point. He handed the phone back to the teacher with a bit more force than he needed to. He remained in his seat, trying not to appear as irritated as he felt. Stitches were nothing compared to broken bones, but that hadn't been what he was referring to at all. He already had a nasty taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with his mishap earlier in the day. Just as he expected, the nurse's words came tainted with bad news. He was to remain out of gym class for a week, to make certain that he did not injure his ankle more than it already was. It seemed excessive to Oliver, but he was helpless to argue, if only because his best argument lay in a subject that he could not dare to bring up in front of his parents or the school nurse. In fact, he was expressly forbidden to discuss such matters with anyone outside of the RSOR. Oliver left the nurse's office for the gym. It wasn't all that difficult of a journey. Granted, it hurt every time that Oliver placed his hurt ankle down on the ground, but, as he'd pointed out before - He'd been through a lot worse. Landing on one's ankle wrong was nothing when compared to being thrown from a landing aircraft, straining your shoulder, or living through a plane crash that killed the other guy. But no. Here he was, being kept out of class with a feeble injury. It wasn't so much the being kept out of class that frustrated him - It was the inability to defend himself when he knew so badly that he could win the argument if he had the chance. Oliver made certain that he had materials to entertain himself if need be. He would work on homework if worse came to worse. He needed to get it done at some point, and he'd never been all that fond of homework during either high school career. The first time around, his interesting in printing took over, and this time around, he had his mechanical curiosities plus RSOR. Still, it needed to get done at some point, so why not do it in the middle of another class? Failing that, he could always fall back on the paper airplane hobby. It was about the only thing he could do to satisfy his curiosities in class without garnering strange looks. Even some of the smaller projects of his might look odd to his classmates. Paper airplanes, however, were perfectly normal... However, as Oliver entered the gym, he suddenly came to the realization that perhaps he would not have to rely on homework after all. A small grin came across his face as he recalled the boy in his class that always seemed to be sitting out of gym class. Now, Oliver was no ordinary fourteen year old boy. He knew that if the boy was sitting out of gym class, there had to be a reason for it. And he wouldn't be entirely rude about that reason either, like some real fourteen year olds might. However, he could not help but be curious. Health concerns seemed the most likely culprit, or the boy had a similar injury and a similarly overprotective mother. Whatever the case, Oliver had a feeling that he would learn from the blonde haired boy soon enough. He presented a note from the nurse to the teacher, then climbed up the bleachers to where the other boy was sitting. He took a seat next to the boy and set his backpack down, not planning to intrude if the boy did not want to talk to him. At the same time, however, they were in a close enough proximity that they could communicate if they wished to. Or at least Oliver's plan was to not say anything until the other boy addressed him. That was his plan until he happened to see the sort of photograph that the other boy was looking down at. Black and white, and the subjects in the picture happened to be dressed in clothing not typically worn in 2010. This was an old photograph, which might not be so odd if it were in the contexts of a textbook...but this was different. This was not in a textbook. This looked to be pasted on a regular notebook page, much like Oliver had his sketchbook for various devices that he came up with over time. Some were even leftovers from his past life, he thought with a grin. What struck Oliver most, though, was the way that the other boy stared at the picture. If Oliver didn't know any better (and unfortunately for Jackson, he was being trained on knowing better), he would say that the boy was looking at the picture with a look of longing. This was peculiar, and he was going to do a bit of information retrieval. As always, he would start out slow, but he would progress as it felt right. He'd also try his best to take Isabella's advice. Sure, he'd managed to wing it quite well with Kimaya, but he wasn't sure if he would get so lucky with other recruiting opportunities. That was if this boy even was a reincarnation. He really had nothing to go on other than the picture at this point. "That your family?"[/color] Oliver asked in a light tone, a small smile on his face as he glanced out, watching the others in their class in their game of floor hockey. Simple enough question, really. Could be passed off as a joke by most normal students, but a reincarnate might recognize the oddity of such a question. Oliver would look out for a reaction and go from there. Then he turned back to the other boy. "Made me sit out because I hurt my ankle...what about you?"[/color] He was just trying to make conversation at this point. Yes, this was a turn around from his original intentions, but he had reason to talk with this boy now. He needed to dig for a bit of information on this, because there was something odd about a fourteen year old boy staring fondly at a black and white photo dated about one hundred years before. A time that he happened to be quite familiar with, having lived through it himself. Oliver could only imagine he'd worn a similar look in Kimaya's dorm when glimpsing at the Wright family, and that was very suspect, given that he was Orville Wright. So, was this blonde boy next to him in the picture, or was he letting his imagination get ahead of himself? Word count: 1244 To: Jackson/Kat Notes: This. Is. SPARTA! LONG.
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Post by jacksonpietro on Sept 28, 2010 4:29:12 GMT -7
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/color] He watched the game progress, if only briefly. A shrill whistle sounded as their gym teacher came running into the middle of the game, brandishing his fist and shouting at a pair of boys who seemed on the verge of a heated argument. Jackson was only vaguely aware of what had happened, but he thought he saw a hockey stick swung up and hit someone in the face, someone no less who was in possession of the puck, making it almost certain that the blow had been no accident. Jackson watched the teacher tell off the offender, who began to incredulously argue his case. Jackson could not hear exactly what he was saying, but knew only that he looked rather stupid flailing his arms and shouting. Upon further investigation Jackson recognized him from the larger group congregated in the locker room. He recalled this particular boy going off on a long winded speech of how he would play World Cup soccer someday. Jackson rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the thought. All he would ever get would be the most red cards in the history of soccer.
Jackson looked back down at his notebook, back at the picture of his family. Vaguely he wondered what they would think were they here with him now. Perhaps Anastasia would watch the argument with him, and together they could make fun of the idiot getting told off in gym class for committing a foul. Maybe she would even imitate the boy's wild gestures and mimic him as he spoke. Jackson smiled at the thought. Anastasia always did have the best sense of humor of his sisters. He could hear Olga tut-tutting beside him, and was certain that were she in the right mood, she would have stormed down and joined the gym teacher in admonishing the boy. As the image filled his mind, he could not help but smile to himself. Certainly his sisters would have made gym class more bearable, and much more entertaining. Maybe Tatiana, as diplomatic as she could be, could have convinced the teacher to let him join in sports with the rest of the class. In the moment he felt himself slip away from reality, the argument fading to a dull murmur. He could lose himself in memories, be pulled into the picture and relive the day it was taken, and they day after that, and the day after that.
Though he was instantly snapped back to reality when a voice issued from beside him. Jackson glanced over to his side with a look of surprise to find that someone was sitting next to him. He had been too immersed in his own musings to even notice that someone had joined him. A fresh wave of embarrassment passed over him. He must have looked considerably stupid staring off into nothing. But it was mingled with a sinking, disappointing feeling. His family, his past, and his memories slipped through his fingers like sand. They were made intangible again as he was forced back into reality. What was then he could never bring back. They were nothing but memories and photographs now. Through his mixed emotions it took Jackson a moment to realize what the boy beside him had asked. "What?" he said, snapping his notebook shut automatically.
Suspicion coursed through him. It was as if this boy could read his thoughts. Jackson considered that for a moment, feeling decidedly invaded before realizing there was no possible way this boy could have known that he was correct in his assumption. Jackson had never shared the truth about himself or his past with anyone, with neither his friends nor his family. After a pregnant pause, Jackson disregarded the comment as a joke. Surely that was all it had meant to be. "Oh, no," he said at long last, setting his notebook on the opposite side of him, "It's just a picture. It's nothing." He hated that he lacked any real conviction in his words. Had he not been caught off guard mid-memory he certainly could have made himself sound more convincing. Still he doubted the boy would pick up on it. If anything he would think Jackson weird. Which, no doubt, he would think the same if he knew the truth. In a last ditch effort to save face, Jackson chuckled half heartedly . He regretted it immediately, though. If anything it made him look stupider.
Resigning himself to the assumption that he had certainly ruined his first impression, Jackson leaned back slightly, forcing himself to focus on the game of floor hockey which had just recommenced. But he could not focus, and just as well, as the boy beside him attempted to initiate a conversation. Again, Jackson looked over at him. Perhaps his first impression was not as ruined as he thought it. Even so, he frowned noticeably at the boy's question, turning his head to watch the game progress with glassy eyed attention. He would have very much liked to switch places with the boy and be the one sitting out with a sprained ankle. It would be no more than a fleeting injury, a week spent out of commission before he could run back and join the other boys. He would be the one playing basketball with his classmates next week. He paused in his answer.
It did not normally seem to bother him as much to explain his condition. After all it had been commonplace and constant throughout two lifetimes. It was, perhaps, only magnified because he was sitting in a gymnasium, and had always been quite fond of sports, but unable to play them. He knew though that maintaining a bitter silence was in no way about to cure him. Likewise he let his jealousy subside. It was no fault of this boy's that he sat alone on the bleachers every gym class. "I have hemophilia. So I've made a career out of sitting on the bleachers during gym class. I guess they figure I'll get beamed in the head with a soccer ball and die or something." Jackson offered the boy a small smile. "I'm Jackson, by the way," he added. A pause. "So, what did you do to your ankle?" [/blockquote] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/color][/center] TAG - Mandee/Oliver
WORDS - 1, 037
NOTES - I'm mad tired so I'm sorry if this is bad! :O
TUNES - rainbow veins , owl city.
CREDIT - template by MUNZTAR * of caution 2.0
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Post by Oliver Lee Winchester on Sept 28, 2010 9:05:06 GMT -7
Oliver noted the argument and the offense as well, and could not help but shake his head. He liked sports just as much as the next guy, though he was more of a spectator than a player. He could recall dragging Katharine to Ohio State football games, and a pang of disappointment crossed over him. Even if she was reincarnated somewhere, what were the chances of meeting her again? All of the reincarnates around him had one thing in common, that his past sister did not - They were all in the history books. A small argument could be made for Kate being in the history books, true, but she was more of a side note, a brief mention. He had much greater chances of meeting with Wilbur again. That would be interesting, he was certain. What would he be like now? What was his family like? That was if he was even reincarnated now, of course. There was a chance that he could be much older, or much younger than Oliver. That didn't feel right, though. As silly as it sounded, he wanted to maintain the conviction that Wilbur was out there somewhere, and that he was a teenager as well. That was the way it was before, and Oliver didn't want to consider it any other way. It would just be...wrong. Oliver watched as Jackson slammed his notebook shut. This was certainly suspect. If it was just a normal picture from the history books that the blonde was studying, he surely wouldn't have reacted in the way that he had. At the very least, he appeared to be keeping a secret. That might not have been the case, but it was certainly enough for Oliver to keep going. "Ah. Studying for class then, I take it."[/color] Oliver responded to the other boy's insistence that the picture was just that - a picture. Oliver wasn't entirely sure that he believed him, but there wasn't much else that he could do about it at this point. Only thing he had was to keep the conversation going, and hope that it brought something else for him to work with. Because this boy was most definitely suspicious. The subject turned back to the realm of normalcy as the other boy proceeded to explain why he was sitting out. "Hemophilia?" He knew many things from living through two lifetimes, but he certainly didn't know everything. He did not know what hemophilia was, other than a disease that he'd read about in textbooks with a passing mention. Obviously, he knew there were a few more details to it than that. Oliver snorted at the boy's comment. "Overprotective, aren't they? I'm sure you could participate in something."[/color] The teen shook his head, then stole a glance over at the blonde once more as he introduced himself. "Oliver. And it was rather stupid, actually. I landed on it wrong going down the stairs. Certainly isn't some landmark injury, like my parents and the nurse seem to think. If I throw out my back and break a leg, then I'll concede their point."[/color] Oliver grinned. He'd done the very same in his past life. The injuries had bothered him for the rest of his life. Considering the plane crash occurred in 1908 and he died in 1948, this was forty years of pain from an old injury. A sprained ankle was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to that. This would likely be healed in a few days (or a few weeks at max), and that was if it was even sprained. It wasn't as though it had been x-rayed. It could very well just be twisted. Yes, his ankle was swollen, but swollen ankles developed for all sorts of reasons, not just broken bones. Oliver decided to press on with his questions. It seemed to work well enough with Kimaya. He would keep up a regular conversation, whilst trying to get pertinent information to the RSOR on the side. He didn't know how well it would work with Jackson, but it was worth a shot. He would start with simple questions, then hopefully move up to more loaded ones. And hopefully Jackson would not snap as Kimaya had, but Jackson seemed more outgoing and less withdrawn than Kimaya. That was a plus. Perhaps Jackson wouldn't fight him as much. "So, do you have an interest in history, then? I couldn't help but notice that the photograph you were looking at was really old." Early 1900s, if he had to put a date on it. There were certainly plenty of pictures of himself from around that time period. There was something a bit different about this picture, though, that Oliver couldn't put his hands on. He'd only stolen a glance, and he did not have the photograph in his line of sight anymore, which made things a bit more difficult. Word count: 839 To: Jackson/Kat Notes: It's totally fine. =) |
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Post by jacksonpietro on Sept 28, 2010 21:52:57 GMT -7
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/color] 'Studying for class.' Of course that was his reason to anyone but himself. He was quite grateful that Oliver did not press him for details on the picture and allowed their conversation to progress with a smooth transition away from the subject. He was just as grateful that he did not receive any strange looks or any falsely congenial change in tone from the other boy. It seemed that he had not made himself look stupid after all, and had not destroyed his all important first impression so thoroughly. It would really be something unpleasant to sit in an awkward silence for the rest of the class period. Even then Jackson was certain he would not be able to go back to looking at the picture of his family. He would still have company after all, and that picture would only be reserved for times when he was alone and able to completely immerse himself in memories. It would be rude and just as distracting to delve into his past with someone sitting next to him. But even though he was disappointed that he would have to save his daydreaming for another time, it was nice to have someone to talk to for once in what would typically be a lonely class. After all he was neither popular or well known, being a freshman and being new to the area, so his friends were minimal. Perhaps, just perhaps something good would come of this meeting.
Oliver's questioning tone at Jackson's mention of his disease led him to assume that he did not know much about it. It was all very well though, Jackson did not expect most people his age to know of it in depth, or know it at all. Most teenage boys had other concerns, girlfriends, sports, parties and friends. They reveled in their fleeting youth, and lived it to the fullest. They really only needed be concerned with illnesses in Health class or when they themselves came down with a head cold. It was far from necessary for them to know anything about health problems beyond their realm of living, so Jackson could not blame him for not knowing the details. Although it did get tedious to perpetually explain exactly what was wrong with him, and thus he reserved any long winded explanations for his friends. When Oliver made the comment about over protective parents, he smiled and shook his head. It was something he was well used to, however restrictive and annoying it could be, in two lifetimes. His mother, Alexandra, had been obsessively protective of him in his former life, perhaps even more so than his mother now. At least she had given him the slightest freedom to attend school several states away. Although, he reminded himself, it was only because his cousin was here too. Vaguely he was reminded of his parents' reasoning for sending him here. Giovanni would look after him. Jackson almost snorted at the thought. The day his cousin would do anything but bully him would be a miracle, and potentially the first sign of the apocalypse.
His smile only widened when Oliver seemed fairly certain that Jackson was able enough to join in the class, at least on certain occasions. That perceived sense of normalcy was welcoming. He was just another boy who was unfortunate enough to have overbearing parents. He was not singled out of any fault of his own. In that Jackson was well pleased that one of his peers, especially one he had never met, did not see him as defective. He muttered a "Yeah" before listening as Oliver introduced himself and embarked on his story as to how he had come to injure his ankle. Again Jackson smiled. Clumsiness was something he had trained himself against. He envisioned himself in the same situation, which he knew would cause a great bit of hysteria. But in any other situation he agreed with Oliver. It was trivial, funny even. But of course parents and nurses never saw it as such. Oliver's nonchalant attitude toward the matter in itself made him likeable. It seemed, at least to Jackson, that he took life in stride.
At Oliver's last comment, he could not help but laugh. "If you did either of those, you'd be stuck sitting with me for a long time." Jackson turned his attentions back to the game at hand, where another foul had been committed, this time by the boy who had been hit in the face with a hockey stick. It seemed he had sought revenge against the other, and "accidentally" jabbed the other boy in the throat with his hockey stick. Again the teacher's whistle sounded as he ran over to break up another argument. "I mean, really, who wouldn't want to be down there doing that?" He gestured rather obnoxiously at the scene playing out before them. Jackson laughed as he watched the gym teacher tell the pair of boys off, and sent them out of the game. He assumed their teacher had forced them to sit on opposite sides of the bleachers, as he was quite sure punches would be thrown otherwise. Although, Jackson reminded himself, there was still a good chance of punches being thrown later in the locker room. He made a note to get out of there as fast as possible, lest he be caught up in the tumult of violent, raging hormones.
For a moment that the game resumed, Jackson was at a loss for words. Their conversation seemed to be ebbing away, and, unsure of what to say, Jackson kept his silence, all while struggling to dredge up some worthwhile conversational piece. But just when Jackson was certain that an awkward silence would prevail between them, Oliver spoke. Jackson felt a knot tighten somewhere in his stomach when Oliver mentioned the photograph. Of course, his question had been innocent enough, no more than discussing interests. There was no accusatory tone in his voice, as if he suspected the picture meant more than an interest in history. The knot in his stomach loosened slightly. "Yeah, I do," Jackson said. He paused for a moment, "Russian history, especially," his hand wandered absentmindedly over to his notebook. "But before all that stupid Bolshevik stuff," he added hastily, frowning as he pictured Lenin's face staring mockingly up at him from a history book two years previous. "I dunno, it just has a special place in my heart, I guess." His voice was ethereal, dreamlike in a way, as the image tucked away in his notebook flooded his mind. Oliver did not know of his past, so he assured himself there could be no harm in these slight allusions. In a way it was nice, as though he almost had someone he could share the truth with. Jackson snapped himself back to reality. "What about you? You like history too?" [/blockquote] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/color][/center] TAG - Mandee/Oliver
WORDS - 1, 146
NOTES - le wewt
TUNES - rainbow veins , owl city.
CREDIT - template by MUNZTAR * of caution 2.0
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Post by Oliver Lee Winchester on Sept 28, 2010 22:40:59 GMT -7
Oliver knew better than to push too far right away. He had a feeling that perhaps he'd gone a bit too fast with Kimaya, which was the reason why she'd snapped at him when the questions got too far. He would have to go easier on Jackson, despite the fact that he was displaying red flags as well. Dare he say it - Almost moreso than Kimaya. The other boy seemed to be lost in thought, and this made Oliver curious. Then again, there wasn't much that didn't make Oliver curious at Riverdale High. It was a curious place, full of all sorts of curious people. At Jackson's comment about injuries, Oliver let out a laugh. "Trust me, I know."[/color] His hand flew subconsciously to his back at this point as he recalled the pain from his prior life. He'd taken to making adjustments to chairs and other various pieces of furniture around the house to help alleviate his back pain. He'd even added shock absorbers to his car to help lessen the vibrations the car took on from the road. He was thankful that he did not have to deal with such a burden this time around. At least, not yet. Oliver's gaze followed Jackson's gesture to what was happening below them. The corners of his mouth twitched at the sight. "I don't know, looks like a blast to me."[/color] Perhaps it wasn't so bad that he was missing out on gym class after all. The next question was planned with careful precision. He wanted to make sure that it did not come across as accusatory, as he knew that could result in a defensive attitude and thus a much harder job for Oliver. He liked a challenge, but he also liked to succeed. He didn't want to drive someone away entirely, so he had to take it step by step. That way, he could reel it back in if he thought that he was going too far and still not raise much suspicion. Jackson's answer to this question had Oliver's mind reeling big time. Russian history. Before all of the stupid Bolshevik stuff. So early 1900s, just as Oliver had estimated. He was far more focused on Jackson's behavior during and after his last statement. Russian history held a special place in his heart. At those words, Jackson seemed to go off to somewhere else for a few short moments. The words, of course, were also loaded. So there was a very definite chance, in Oliver's mind, that Jackson had been staring at a picture of his old family. It was hard to tell, though, especially now that the notebook was closed. Asking if he could see the picture once more was out of the question, as that might be pushing things a bit too far, too fast. He would have to work out some way to get that notebook opened once more. An idea passed through his head, but he wasn't quite ready to show off his own sketchbook at this point either. It was still too risky, even if he didn't show Jackson the infamous 'airplane page'. The fact was, it wasn't just the airplanes that would look odd - It was everything at this point. Jackson threw the question back at him. Oliver responded with a nod and a small grin. "Very much, actually. I'm into late 19th and early 20th century. Aeronautics especially."[/color] He was going to try to divulge as much as Jackson was divulging. That seemed like the best way to play the game. The problem he'd had with Kimaya was that he'd pressed on without giving her much information on himself. Hopefully this method would work out a bit easier. Oliver decided to take another push. "What draws you to that period?"[/color] Now this was a bit of a loaded question. He was starting to get in, he could tell, but that didn't mean much if he didn't get more solid hints. Now what? He stole a glance at the notebook in Jackson's hands. While he was closer in conversation terms, he was still no closer to seeing within the pages of that book. What to do, what to do... Word count: 721 To: Jackson/Kat Notes: It's getting closer. XD |
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Post by jacksonpietro on Sept 29, 2010 20:28:26 GMT -7
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/color] Jackson shook his head, smiling at Oliver's response to the goings on in the hockey game below them. He had a sense of humor, which seemed scarce in high school, as he was finding. People here seemed far too wrapped up in daily drama, forgetting the carefree nature of middle school. Everything now was regarded with a decidedly serious nature, every pitfall and every setback, every small victory and moment of elation were to be regarded as no less that a life changing experience. Everyone seemed to want so badly to prove their maturity to be far beyond their years, to which the spark of really living had gone out. In the least Jackson appreciated that Oliver seemed to hold to the fun life had to offer, and unlike everyone else, did not take life too seriously in that he was above such plebian matters as a joke.
An eruption of cheering issued from the gym floor as several boys punched the air and high fived each other. One of the teams must have scored. Jackson glanced down at the teams reforming, preparing for the next wave of violent competition. Vaguely he wondered what team was winning, as he had been far too preoccupied with his own thoughts to really pay attention to the game. He glanced down to the two boys sitting out from the game, both looking morose and decidedly bitter. Again Jackson shook his head. They had brought it on themselves, they had taken the game far too seriously, and quite truthfully, the game seemed to be moving along much more smoothly without their constant interruptions of fouling each other. He wondered if they would ever progress to playing football, curious as to how vicious those two would compete against each other then. Perhaps that would be a game he might actually watch. The entertainment value would certainly be worthy to be televised.
But the conversation slipped out of lighthearted casualness into a plane of heavy conversation as Jackson did his best to answer in an offhand manner about why he was interested in history. Though, he supposed, the levels of seriousness were just his own perception. Discussing potential common interests was normal in meeting someone new. Certainly Oliver did not know exactly what history meant to him. He knew nothing about how Jackson had lived through it, and what that had meant to live and live again. He was certain that all Oliver knew about Russian history was what they had been taught in school, and knew nothing of the impact it had upon the soul of the boy sitting beside him. On the surface, the plane of conversation was still casual. Jackson needed only maintain that level, and everything would be normal. Though, in truth he found himself getting sentimental as he spoke, waves of nostalgia hitting him, transporting him in brief, sweet moments into the realms of his memory. But he pushed forward in the conversation, attempting to disregard the feelings boiling inside of him.
Jackson smiled when Oliver too expressed an interest in history. All in all he knew it to be a geeky pastime, as oftentimes in history class he heard his peers moan over the complete lack of necessity for the subject. The past was the past, the usual reasoning Jackson heard for dismissing the subject. Only if the past coincided with their own lives did it have any significant meaning. But for Jackson, it did. He had lived the pages of a history book, and who he had been were the building blocks of who he had become. But even so Jackson knew better. The past in its entirety built the future. Without it their world would cease to exist. There had been several occasions were Jackson had attempted to explain his more sound reasoning to his more dissenting of classmates. None of them ever listened, too stubborn in their own ideas. Jackson loved living in the moment, and experiencing life to the fullest. But he was guilty of dwelling excessively in his past. His two worlds were one in the same. In the very least, Oliver's like of history and in that perceived understanding of its importance made Jackson like him all the more, even though they had only just begun talking.
When Oliver mentioned his interest in aeronautics, Jackson considered for a moment. He was not particularly well versed in aircraft, although he found it interesting. He knew a fair bit of about Russian aircraft from snatches of conversation with soldiers during his stay at Mogilev during the first World War, but his knowledge did not stretch beyond that, lest paper airplanes were included. Vaguely he wondered if perhaps Oliver teach him more on the subject, should they come to talk again outside of gym class. The prospect seemed welcoming, though he barely had time to ponder it when Oliver brought about a new question. Again, Jackson's fingers absently traced over the cover of his notebook as he pondered an answer, feelings and memories spilling into prominence again. He was drawn to his past, but he could not say it outright. No doubt Oliver would not believe him, and had he managed to salvage his first impression thus far, he would certainly destroy it with that comment. Yet, he considered perhaps a roundabout way, his true reason encrypted within it. He wanted someone to share his secret with, even though he was quite certain that opportunity would never arise.
Several moments passed as he thought, his mind drawing a perpetual blank. He was near giving up when his thoughts strayed fortuitously. "You've seen the movie Anastasia, right?" he said at last, turning to look at Oliver, "The cartoon one? Remember that one song in it? Once Upon a December?" Jackson restrained barely restrained himself from breaking out into a chorus, "I guess it's something like that. It's just something I can relate to, more than anything else." Jackson turned away from Oliver, shaking his head, "That probably sounds real stupid, doesn't it? " [/blockquote] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/color][/center] TAG - Mandee/Oliver
WORDS - 1, 005
NOTES - So sorry if this sucks majorly >.<
TUNES - rainbow veins , owl city.
CREDIT - template by MUNZTAR * of caution 2.0
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Post by Oliver Lee Winchester on Sept 29, 2010 21:30:40 GMT -7
Oliver's gaze turned back to the game below as well. It was a fair enough distraction, especially when the time came to think through one's response. He knew that Jackson did not know that Oliver was watching him closely for any odd signs. The fact that Jackson seemed to keep stalling by looking out at the game could certainly be considered a sign, but it wasn't enough for Oliver to go on. History was such an odd subject around Riverdale. At his previous schools in Kansas City, he was fairly certain that all of his fellow students (or 99%, at the very least...perhaps there was a reincarnate or two spattered about in there) regarded history as just a school subject. The same could certainly be said about Amber and Justin, the two preteens he had to do a project with in the sixth grade. Of course, it wasn't just any project. It was the project that gave Oliver an explanation for everything that he'd been feeling throughout this entire lifetime. It gave him an explanation as to why he remembered a different family, why he remembered himself at a much older age than he was. Now that he thought back, he wondered just what Justin and Amber had to think when Oliver spouted off information about the Wright Brothers with ease, despite having done nothing more than stare at the picture of the brothers depicted on the front cover of the book before him. Somehow he doubted that his partners believed him when he insisted that he'd just "guessed". Fortunately, he was fairly certain that they also remained blissfully aware of just why Oliver knew so much. Despite a few slip-ups (using the word we where any normal student would have used the word their). After all, what did normal eleven year olds know about reincarnation? Even Oliver, coming home from school that day fully convinced that he was indeed Orville Wright, was at a loss to explain how. It took questioning his father on the vague concept - he wasn't about to mention his suspicions, after all, especially after his sister's reaction - to put a name and an explanation to what had happened. His father suggested reincarnation, Oliver did a quick google search, and voila, there was the answer. Of course Oliver considered history to be important. He'd been there for his own little snippet of history. He was friends, and even family, with others who had made history, who'd shaped the past. Even besides that, the past was important in that it did, indeed, shape the future. Oliver was a bit perplexed by Jackson's silence, and it only seemed to add to his ever-growing list of suspicions. There was no way that any normal teenager would take this long to answer such a question. Yes, it was a loaded question, but only if Jackson had something to hide. Oliver's question was already working the way that he'd hoped for it to, and Jackson's next words only gave Oliver something more to latch on to. Anastasia. Yes, he'd seen the movie, although Cindy had certainly displayed more interest in it than he had. Despite this, there was one scene in particular that stood out in Oliver's mind from the movie - The very scene that Jackson was describing. It stood out to Oliver because, even at the age of six, he could relate to having memories of a far away time, a different life. Sure, for Anya/Anastasia it was all in the same life, but the similarities were there nonetheless. The fact that Jackson was using this as a descriptor for how he felt almost seemed to clinch Oliver's suspicions. It wasn't 100%, but it was somewhere in the 90s at this point. In his excitement, he had failed to note the obvious hint that Jackson was in some way related to the story as well. He couldn't come out and ask Jackson if he was a reincarnate at this point, of course, but he was going to come darn close to doing it. A small smirk broke across his face as he stared down at the game happening below. To think, their classmates were blissfully unaware of the strange conversation the injured boy and sick boy were having just above them. "You mean like you feel like you belong there?"[/color] The smirk was still across Oliver's face, but he stated the comment in a completely nonchalant voice. He was having fun. He finally turned his gaze back to Jackson when the boy played off his admittance. Oliver shook his head. "It doesn't sound stupid at all."[/color] Oliver stated, resisting the overwhelming urge that he had to wink. He wasn't going to mention the RSOR yet, but it was on the tip of his tongue. There was the chance, however miniscule, that Jackson was not a reincarnate, after all, and though his statements were starting to get rather overt, he needed to maintain some semblance of normalcy so that he could pull back if need be. Fortunately, he had a feeling it would not come to that. Word count: 834 To: Jackson/Kat Notes: Well, at least we're progressing along quickly. ^^ |
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