Wyatt obeyed him and ceased pummeling Ty. It was for the best.
Ty—knowing he was beaten—did what any idiot who had lost did and drew a knife. Bret tilted his head slightly. There was a chance that Ty actually decided to use it. He was the potential serial killer type. But Bret was confident that it wasn't going to happen. Ty was just stood there holding it impotently in the face of his defeat.
"That's not going to make your..." Bret was interrupted by the emergence of Claude and for the second time in as many weeks, he found himself having a screen that had the numbers 911 on it aimed at his face. Unlike the last time however, Bret didn't doubt that Claude would press the call button and he knew that there wasn't a good way for them to spin the situation if he did.
On the other hand, Claude's...timely arrival did give everyone involved a way to back down without losing face.
Wyatt had also realized that it seemed.
Bret raised both hands and gave a calm down gesture to both Claude and Ty.
"Ain't no reason for anything else to happen. In fact as far as I could tell everything here had been settled." He focused his attention solely on Claude.
"Isn't that right?"
Gifts
"...unless you're gonna fuckin' USE it."
"You even touch me ever again, and I promise you I will."
The arrival of Claude snapped Ty from his hate-filled stupor. It was both a frustration and a relief. No, this wouldn't end in a way he'd find at all satisfying. Yet that was probably for the best, at least from an objective standpoint. Ty would walk away and find something, somewhere else to destroy. Maybe himself, if nothing else. He let the knife hang limply at his side, straightening up as Claude made it clear any continued aggression would draw the attention of the police. They might listen to him. Then again, the one wearing a badge might be a familiar face who'd be anything but sympathetic. It was enough of a chance he found himself with little interest in taking it.
The fuck are you on about, Bret?
Tyrell looked to Bret, his expression now only tired and confused. What was settled? He still had no idea what the reason for all of this even was. It almost didn't matter, until Bret seemed to think they'd made some kind of point. Was it...?
Ivy. He mentioned her. Wait, really?
Ty spoke up, now seeming more confused and irritated than upset. It was the first slow moment he'd had to take stock of why this was even happening, and it made little sense to him.
"Settled? Look Bret, I'd get the point if I had even a fucking clue - is this really about Ivy? I've spoken to your colorblind, alcoholic cunt of a girlfriend maybe twice. Are you that fucking whipped that you'd jump me over hurting her obviously paper-thin feelings?"
He gestured with the knife, now more of a prop in his tirade than a means of defending himself.
"And in that case what the fuck is he doing here, aside from keeping you from getting your ass beat? Unless Wyatt's railing her too, which let's be real here - isn't exactly a remote fucking possibility."
He shot an incensed look at Claude, folding the knife and clipping it into his front pocket.
Does this situation seem as ridiculous to you as it does to me?
"You even touch me ever again, and I promise you I will."
The arrival of Claude snapped Ty from his hate-filled stupor. It was both a frustration and a relief. No, this wouldn't end in a way he'd find at all satisfying. Yet that was probably for the best, at least from an objective standpoint. Ty would walk away and find something, somewhere else to destroy. Maybe himself, if nothing else. He let the knife hang limply at his side, straightening up as Claude made it clear any continued aggression would draw the attention of the police. They might listen to him. Then again, the one wearing a badge might be a familiar face who'd be anything but sympathetic. It was enough of a chance he found himself with little interest in taking it.
The fuck are you on about, Bret?
Tyrell looked to Bret, his expression now only tired and confused. What was settled? He still had no idea what the reason for all of this even was. It almost didn't matter, until Bret seemed to think they'd made some kind of point. Was it...?
Ivy. He mentioned her. Wait, really?
Ty spoke up, now seeming more confused and irritated than upset. It was the first slow moment he'd had to take stock of why this was even happening, and it made little sense to him.
"Settled? Look Bret, I'd get the point if I had even a fucking clue - is this really about Ivy? I've spoken to your colorblind, alcoholic cunt of a girlfriend maybe twice. Are you that fucking whipped that you'd jump me over hurting her obviously paper-thin feelings?"
He gestured with the knife, now more of a prop in his tirade than a means of defending himself.
"And in that case what the fuck is he doing here, aside from keeping you from getting your ass beat? Unless Wyatt's railing her too, which let's be real here - isn't exactly a remote fucking possibility."
He shot an incensed look at Claude, folding the knife and clipping it into his front pocket.
Does this situation seem as ridiculous to you as it does to me?
So the knife went away, and instantly some of the tension flowed out of the area, a cool breeze acting as a current for at least a few of the bad feelings that the confrontation had drawn up. As was the case when the Carter boys were concerned though, a lot of sour feelings still remained. Even though the immediate threat brought on by Tyrell's weapon was gone, he still tossed caustic remarks at the both of them, and then seemingly looked to Claudeson as backup.
Allowing his phone to fall to his side, Claudeson sized the situation up. It seemed as though his arrival was giving both sides the option to fall back without admitting defeat, though with the testosterone flowing around, he wouldn't be a bit surprised if one of them got fed up with a quip and decided to take a swing. So in the interests of fairness, he decided that he wouldn't pick a side.
But he wouldn't just back off.
Glancing down at his phone, he keyed the side and cleared the preemptively dialed 9-1-1 from the screen, but then clicked through, thought for a second, and nodded slowly at the lot of them in agreement.
"I think you're right, Bret. It seems to me like everything has gone and run its course." He glanced over at Tyrell, but aimed his words at the Carters.
"I would hate to think that anything would go any further, what with us being in our senior year and all. It would be a real shame were Coach Oppenheimer to lose his two star defensive players to any kind of felony charges," he glanced down at his phone, gesturing it at the two larger teens, "from any kind of video that might find its way onto the Internet."
Point made, he made sure not to allow Tyrell any leeway in the matter.
"Much like it would pain me to see such a promising waste of potential fall by the wayside, all because he decided to escalate things - to a point, so to speak." Pulling a knife on two of the wealthier, more popular individuals at school would not be a rallying cry for Tyrell, even if he had been within his rights to defend himself. Such knowledge would likely make him public enemy number one among the school's elite.
But Claudeson's expression fell from serious to that friendly smile, and he put the phone back into his pocket. "But like Bret said. Everything here is settled. Graduation is around the corner, and the rest of the journey awaits." He smiled at Wyatt, a gesture that he knew probably burned a hole in the bombastic Carter sibling. A small part of him enjoyed it, the memory of their earlier run-in at the blood drive allowing him a second small poke; the needle had not been enough for how rude Wyatt had been to the other students.
In the back of his mind, a part of him wished that he actually had recorded the fight.
"It looked like you two were going to make your way home, right? Make sure you get home safe." Claudeson turned to Tyrell, whom he noticed was favouring his side and not altogether doing a great job of hiding his pain. "We should really get you to a clinic to get those ribs looked at."
Allowing his phone to fall to his side, Claudeson sized the situation up. It seemed as though his arrival was giving both sides the option to fall back without admitting defeat, though with the testosterone flowing around, he wouldn't be a bit surprised if one of them got fed up with a quip and decided to take a swing. So in the interests of fairness, he decided that he wouldn't pick a side.
But he wouldn't just back off.
Glancing down at his phone, he keyed the side and cleared the preemptively dialed 9-1-1 from the screen, but then clicked through, thought for a second, and nodded slowly at the lot of them in agreement.
"I think you're right, Bret. It seems to me like everything has gone and run its course." He glanced over at Tyrell, but aimed his words at the Carters.
"I would hate to think that anything would go any further, what with us being in our senior year and all. It would be a real shame were Coach Oppenheimer to lose his two star defensive players to any kind of felony charges," he glanced down at his phone, gesturing it at the two larger teens, "from any kind of video that might find its way onto the Internet."
Point made, he made sure not to allow Tyrell any leeway in the matter.
"Much like it would pain me to see such a promising waste of potential fall by the wayside, all because he decided to escalate things - to a point, so to speak." Pulling a knife on two of the wealthier, more popular individuals at school would not be a rallying cry for Tyrell, even if he had been within his rights to defend himself. Such knowledge would likely make him public enemy number one among the school's elite.
But Claudeson's expression fell from serious to that friendly smile, and he put the phone back into his pocket. "But like Bret said. Everything here is settled. Graduation is around the corner, and the rest of the journey awaits." He smiled at Wyatt, a gesture that he knew probably burned a hole in the bombastic Carter sibling. A small part of him enjoyed it, the memory of their earlier run-in at the blood drive allowing him a second small poke; the needle had not been enough for how rude Wyatt had been to the other students.
In the back of his mind, a part of him wished that he actually had recorded the fight.
"It looked like you two were going to make your way home, right? Make sure you get home safe." Claudeson turned to Tyrell, whom he noticed was favouring his side and not altogether doing a great job of hiding his pain. "We should really get you to a clinic to get those ribs looked at."
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Fuck you, Claude, you snide-ass darkie.
Wyatt bit down to keep from saying his knee-jerk reaction to the thinly-veiled threat thrown his and his brother's way. Claude was a little too righteous for his own good. Dude was always kind of a goody-two-shoes but this was pushing it pretty far. The two of them had made it pretty clear that their business with Ty had a fork in it, painting the tail end of the 'hero's' little speech as little more than needless taunting. On the field, people who dared to daunt got something broken. In school, things weren't that much different. The Carters had a fucking reputation to keep up, and they'd carry it with them past high school and into this city in adulthood.
There'd been enough broken, today. Just seconds later, the urge to compress Claude's spine so his neck connected directly to his asshole had already subsided a great deal. That being said, Wyatt did not want to be seeing his smug face in the halls or at the cafeteria, and definitely wouldn't be going out of his way to speak to him. Letting everybody know how much of an uptight narc he was... yeah, that was probably in order, too. Take a few shots at somebody's reputation, and it was like throwing a hook that you couldn't get expelled for.
"Dude, you still talkin'?" was all Wyatt said, turning his shoulder away. "Let's get our shit," he told Bret as he walked past, nostrils flaring. He dabbed a hand on his shoulder, noting some blood had dripped off his jaw. First, he should probably get that taken care of at some point. And second, there was a tank top ruined. And with laundry not having been done while Mom was away for work... ugh, that meant the yellow tank tomorrow. Great.
The bigger, brasher of the two Cater brothers turned on his heel and took a couple steps backward to call out as they retreated: "Call me when you make it home safe, buddy!", he punctuated with a laugh for Ty and Claude. He then shuffled off to the side where he and Bret had ditched their things, scooping them up to head back home.
"So we tell Dad we got in a fight with each other, huh?"
((Wyatt Carter, continued elsewhere))
Wyatt bit down to keep from saying his knee-jerk reaction to the thinly-veiled threat thrown his and his brother's way. Claude was a little too righteous for his own good. Dude was always kind of a goody-two-shoes but this was pushing it pretty far. The two of them had made it pretty clear that their business with Ty had a fork in it, painting the tail end of the 'hero's' little speech as little more than needless taunting. On the field, people who dared to daunt got something broken. In school, things weren't that much different. The Carters had a fucking reputation to keep up, and they'd carry it with them past high school and into this city in adulthood.
There'd been enough broken, today. Just seconds later, the urge to compress Claude's spine so his neck connected directly to his asshole had already subsided a great deal. That being said, Wyatt did not want to be seeing his smug face in the halls or at the cafeteria, and definitely wouldn't be going out of his way to speak to him. Letting everybody know how much of an uptight narc he was... yeah, that was probably in order, too. Take a few shots at somebody's reputation, and it was like throwing a hook that you couldn't get expelled for.
"Dude, you still talkin'?" was all Wyatt said, turning his shoulder away. "Let's get our shit," he told Bret as he walked past, nostrils flaring. He dabbed a hand on his shoulder, noting some blood had dripped off his jaw. First, he should probably get that taken care of at some point. And second, there was a tank top ruined. And with laundry not having been done while Mom was away for work... ugh, that meant the yellow tank tomorrow. Great.
The bigger, brasher of the two Cater brothers turned on his heel and took a couple steps backward to call out as they retreated: "Call me when you make it home safe, buddy!", he punctuated with a laugh for Ty and Claude. He then shuffled off to the side where he and Bret had ditched their things, scooping them up to head back home.
"So we tell Dad we got in a fight with each other, huh?"
((Wyatt Carter, continued elsewhere))
For someone who had done literally nothing, Claude was being hideously self-righteous. Bret wouldn't have been surprised if he started patting himself on the back for a job well done right there on the trail. Tyrell meanwhile was still using the knife to try and cover up his battered pride.
Bret just grinned at Tyrell's outburst. It was a lot of bitter talk and nothing more. He was allowed to be bitter though, he'd just been outsmarted and beaten. That had to sting whatever way you looked at it. There was a chance he hadn't been aware of what he'd done, but now that everything was finished he would have known and that was good enough.
It didn't really matter anymore though. As far as Bret cared the situation was done with. Ivy had gotten what she wanted and Tyrell had been given the beaten his behavior had deserved. It was all done with. They could go home, relax and have a beer.
He could feel the anger emanating from his brother but he knew that Wyatt would get over it. By the time their drive home would be completed Bret was sure he would be bragging about how he had planted Ty into the ground. In the meantime, Bret was happy to let him be angry. It would have been a waste of effort trying to calm him down.
Bret smirked and chuckled at Wyatt's parting shot.
"Yeah, get home safe," He turned and collected his things before looking back over his shoulder. "Oh and enjoy the rest of your night."
____
Once he was settled in the driver's seat of the car Bret looked over and examined his brothers face.
"Yeah, we'll tell Dad we had a fight."
He turned the key in the ignition.
"I'll help you clean up once we get back."
((Bret Carter continued in Defence In Depth))
Bret just grinned at Tyrell's outburst. It was a lot of bitter talk and nothing more. He was allowed to be bitter though, he'd just been outsmarted and beaten. That had to sting whatever way you looked at it. There was a chance he hadn't been aware of what he'd done, but now that everything was finished he would have known and that was good enough.
It didn't really matter anymore though. As far as Bret cared the situation was done with. Ivy had gotten what she wanted and Tyrell had been given the beaten his behavior had deserved. It was all done with. They could go home, relax and have a beer.
He could feel the anger emanating from his brother but he knew that Wyatt would get over it. By the time their drive home would be completed Bret was sure he would be bragging about how he had planted Ty into the ground. In the meantime, Bret was happy to let him be angry. It would have been a waste of effort trying to calm him down.
Bret smirked and chuckled at Wyatt's parting shot.
"Yeah, get home safe," He turned and collected his things before looking back over his shoulder. "Oh and enjoy the rest of your night."
____
Once he was settled in the driver's seat of the car Bret looked over and examined his brothers face.
"Yeah, we'll tell Dad we had a fight."
He turned the key in the ignition.
"I'll help you clean up once we get back."
((Bret Carter continued in Defence In Depth))
V8
Aracelis Fuentes
California “Cali” Fox
Darryl Smith Jr.
Jessica Romero
Roberta “Robbie” Woodvine
Aracelis Fuentes
California “Cali” Fox
Darryl Smith Jr.
Jessica Romero
Roberta “Robbie” Woodvine
Claude. Well-spoken in the kind of irritating way that made a person think of Mister Rogers or workplace safety videos. Always had the appropriate emotion, the right thing to say for any given situation. One of the few Christians here that actually made an attempt to be Christlike. None of these things endeared him to Tyrell. Those people usually had the worst skeletons in their closets. Repressing anything remotely enjoyable because rules made you feel comfortable always led to people like Claude developing fucked up sexual fetishes; or they just went nuts the moment they had serious doubts about what did or didn't wait for them on the other side of a stopped heart. It was the kind of pathetic type-b personality that Ty just could not stand.
And yet, he was the one who brought the situation to a close. With a phone. While Ty barely managed to stand up.
Asshole.
Thoughts of when and how he was going to even the score came to a halt as his adrenaline rush gave way to a dull ache and a strong desire to not be standing around anymore. Much as he enjoyed feeding his anger with thoughts of how best not to get caught committing arson, something was definitely broken. Claude was, unfortunately, probably right in that he had to get it looked at. The only good thing about Bill Marsden continuing to draw breath was that Ty could still go to a clinic if he had to. The defense contractor did everything they could to claw back his pension, but the insurance was a different matter.
He waited for the Carters to disappear from view before turning back to Claude, his eyes weary and face bloodied. He stumbled over to where he'd left his backpack, which had fallen off in the assault. Reaching down to grab it, a wave of pain ran up his side. Wincing, he grit his teeth and steeled himself to try again, only to see Claude holding it in front of him.
"...thanks."
He absent-mindedly rifled through the bag for a pack of cigarettes, before realizing that he'd ran out and rather ambitiously decided to quit only moments before. What was more - the glass pipe he'd bought for Erika had broken into several pieces at the bottom of the bag. The earrings survived, but they were more of an afterthought to begin with. Not much of a gift. A positive gesture he wanted to make to Erika had been ruined, indirectly, by what seemed like a necessarily negative gesture to Ivy.
"Goddamnit."
The idea of what Claude might say about that only made Ty further abhor the whole situation. The fight didn't even manage to beat some sense into him, as he'd hoped. Ty still couldn't help but dwell on how it seemed that regardless of whether he liked someone or hated them, he invariably found himself frustrated to the point of anger by the apparent senselessness of their actions.
Fix yourself. Talk to Erika. Figure out what I should do. Maybe she can make sense of all this.
Painfully shouldering his backpack on his good side, he started once again walking down the path.
"Fine. Fuck it, let's find out what else those assholes broke. Dial a cab."
((Tyrell Lahti continued in Standing on the Precipice))
And yet, he was the one who brought the situation to a close. With a phone. While Ty barely managed to stand up.
Asshole.
Thoughts of when and how he was going to even the score came to a halt as his adrenaline rush gave way to a dull ache and a strong desire to not be standing around anymore. Much as he enjoyed feeding his anger with thoughts of how best not to get caught committing arson, something was definitely broken. Claude was, unfortunately, probably right in that he had to get it looked at. The only good thing about Bill Marsden continuing to draw breath was that Ty could still go to a clinic if he had to. The defense contractor did everything they could to claw back his pension, but the insurance was a different matter.
He waited for the Carters to disappear from view before turning back to Claude, his eyes weary and face bloodied. He stumbled over to where he'd left his backpack, which had fallen off in the assault. Reaching down to grab it, a wave of pain ran up his side. Wincing, he grit his teeth and steeled himself to try again, only to see Claude holding it in front of him.
"...thanks."
He absent-mindedly rifled through the bag for a pack of cigarettes, before realizing that he'd ran out and rather ambitiously decided to quit only moments before. What was more - the glass pipe he'd bought for Erika had broken into several pieces at the bottom of the bag. The earrings survived, but they were more of an afterthought to begin with. Not much of a gift. A positive gesture he wanted to make to Erika had been ruined, indirectly, by what seemed like a necessarily negative gesture to Ivy.
"Goddamnit."
The idea of what Claude might say about that only made Ty further abhor the whole situation. The fight didn't even manage to beat some sense into him, as he'd hoped. Ty still couldn't help but dwell on how it seemed that regardless of whether he liked someone or hated them, he invariably found himself frustrated to the point of anger by the apparent senselessness of their actions.
Fix yourself. Talk to Erika. Figure out what I should do. Maybe she can make sense of all this.
Painfully shouldering his backpack on his good side, he started once again walking down the path.
"Fine. Fuck it, let's find out what else those assholes broke. Dial a cab."
((Tyrell Lahti continued in Standing on the Precipice))
The pleasant-sounding valedictions were underwritten with a tone that immediately told Claude he wouldn't be welcome at any Carter family get-togethers anytime soon. It was just as well - both teenagers were the despicable sort that barely deserved a second look in the hallways, let alone any place within his mind. Frankly, there were higher matters at hand that would always deserve Claudeson's attention, and paying any heed to the juvenile antics of Wyatt and Bret would just be a waste. He saw the two boys away from the area with that same friendly smile, though the back of his neck tingled with an unusual feeling. Perhaps it was relief, perhaps it was adrenaline, but all the same, he was glad to see the end to the confrontation.
So it seemed, was Tyrell, as he muttered a thank you and the obvious pain began to crawl its way upon his face. Claudeson could see the hesitation from Tyrell on getting his injuries looked at; a fighter or someone who fancied themselves as tough as he would undoubtedly have rather ignored his wounds, but the damage had been done. Nodding to Tyrell, he followed behind him as the injured boy made his way away from the scene of the skirmish, thumbing his way to one of the many ride-sharing apps and arranging for a pick-up to deliver them to the nearest clinic.
It was not Claudeson's obligation to see Tyrell to safety, but he would follow through with it anyway - it was the right thing to do.
Not nearly as right was the feeling in the back of his mind that was disappointed that things hadn't escalated more. That the sycophantic, whining Carter brothers hadn't ended up learning a sharp and painful lesson at the hands of Tyrell.
He ignored that feeling.
Almost.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued in Standing on the Precipice))
So it seemed, was Tyrell, as he muttered a thank you and the obvious pain began to crawl its way upon his face. Claudeson could see the hesitation from Tyrell on getting his injuries looked at; a fighter or someone who fancied themselves as tough as he would undoubtedly have rather ignored his wounds, but the damage had been done. Nodding to Tyrell, he followed behind him as the injured boy made his way away from the scene of the skirmish, thumbing his way to one of the many ride-sharing apps and arranging for a pick-up to deliver them to the nearest clinic.
It was not Claudeson's obligation to see Tyrell to safety, but he would follow through with it anyway - it was the right thing to do.
Not nearly as right was the feeling in the back of his mind that was disappointed that things hadn't escalated more. That the sycophantic, whining Carter brothers hadn't ended up learning a sharp and painful lesson at the hands of Tyrell.
He ignored that feeling.
Almost.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued in Standing on the Precipice))