hery
the fool
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click!
Cyrus Winslow
S T A T U S :
Conscious. Alive.
H E A L T H :
100%
L O C A T I O N :
compound - a grassy spot
T A S K :
prepare tomorrow's event
Cyrus gave the guitar one last absent strum,letting the final note hum in the crisp air. Shortly after, Kurt, his wife, and son had arrived with the kids. Cyrus sent them a welcoming wave as thanks, beaming like a politician at a rally.
But more than the sound of string instruments and youthful chatter filled the space. True to character, Angelo made a loud, swaggering approach, bottle cap in hand. Cyrus sighed, shaking his head with a lopsided smile as the cap clinked harmlessly against the stage.
"Well, ''ey' to you, too, Angelo," Cyrus said, rising smoothly to his feet. "You must have mistaken me for a jukebox. Usually, those take quarters." The gathered children giggled at the quip, though the reference was beyond even most adults in the group.
Cyrus had hosted countless gatherings since his group made it to the compound—book clubs and history lessons, explorations of art, music, and the finer things of a world that now only existed in discarded media. Angelo's appearances at the recitals had initially caught Cyrus off guard. But then he recalled the countless times low-fidelity audio from a CD player had been blasted over the radio channels, and it sort of started to make sense.
He adjusted the strap of his guitar, tilting his head as he surveyed Angelo. "Tell you what," he said, giving the strings a slow, delicate strum, "If you think you’ve got the chops to impress this crowd, be my guest." He gestured toward the rowdy band of kids, then pointed with his eyes at the various instruments scattered around the stage area.
Cyrus turned his attention back to the audience, his fingers settling instinctively over the strings as he struck a jaunty chord to raise the energy. He stepped back theatrically, holding the guitar out as if to offer it to Angelo. The children gasped and giggled in unison, their eyes darting between the men, already entertained by the prospect of inciting a showdown.
Cyrus let his smile linger. "Well?" he prompted, holding the guitar out a little further. He glanced past Angelo to the edge of the gathering, where Fraley and Romar stood, offering a nod as one of the children bolted in their direction.
♡coded by uxie♡
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click!
Ivan Manca
S T A T U S :
Conscious. Alive.
H E A L T H :
100%
L O C A T I O N :
compound - a grassy spot
T A S K :
stay put! be good!
Ivan shuffled near the front of the stage,his jeans already caked in dried mud from the day before. He crouched low, examining the rough wooden planks with curiosity. Around him, the other kids milled about, their chatter blending into a faint hum beside the strums of Cyrus’s guitar. Ivan’s attention wasn’t entirely on the music, though—it rarely was.
"Hey, Laurie," he whispered with a sly grin, leaning toward the younger girl. Laurie had her hands cupped, clearly cradling something small and wiggling. "Whaddya got this time? Another frog?"
"It’s a cricket," she replied, tilting her hands so Ivan could peek inside.
Ivan made a face. "That’s boring. You couldn’t even find something with teeth?"
Laurie frowned and clutched her hands tighter around her prize. "Crickets are lucky, Pee-wee. Bet you didn’t know that."
The nickname hit Ivan like a bucket of cold water. He narrowed his eyes. "That's a dumb name. And crickets are poisonous."
"But everyone calls you that," Laurie said innocently, cradling the bug in her hands.
"Yeah, Pee-wee," piped up another boy from behind them. A small chorus of giggles rippled through the group, and Ivan felt his face flush.
Before Ivan could retort, movement caught his eye in the distance. There, leaning against the side of a building, was his mom, Fraley, chatting with Romar. He perked up instantly, the teasing forgotten.
"Laurie's playing with bugs again!" Ivan announced to the kids and adults, standing abruptly. Without waiting for Kurt to say something, he took off at a sprint, his sneakers kicking up small puffs of dirt. In his rush, he bumped squarely into Do-yun, who had been wandering by himself, twirling his machete in one hand like it was a baton.
Do-yun steadied himself with one of his ginormous laughs, lowering the machete to his side. “Where’s the fire, Pee-wee?” he joked, eyebrows raised.
Ivan groaned audibly and, with a serious face, he answered, “No fire!” before skirting around him and taking off again.
By the time he reached his mom and Romar, he was slightly out of breath but grinning widely. “Mom!” he called out, sliding to a halt in front of them. “Romar! What are you guys talking about?”
Ivan kept an eye on the flask in Romar's hand, its dulled shine like a magnet to the boy's attention. “What's that?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. He tried to stand a little taller, overcome by the inexplicable desire to impress his mom's friend.
♡coded by uxie♡
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