The Impropriety of Music (Marcus)

[Viktor Rogers]

It hadn't been too difficult for the deaf teenager to find his room, despite ignoring the help from the school guides trying to catch his attention.  There had been signs everywhere, marked so clearly that even a blind man would probably have figured it out, even if he had accidentally just walked into one.  At the dorm rooms, the young boy found himself staring at the numbers on the dorm's door, contemplating their existence.  412? Well, I suppose it sounds right.  Viktor searched through his pockets quickly, pulling out what he thought felt like his keys, and fumbling with them until they fit into the lock.  He turned, and the door clicked and allowed him entry to the forsaken place where he'd spend the next couple of years.  Pushing it open calmly, he was greeted by the cold, pastel colours of a creamy white, white, and more white.  Debatably the same environment as a stereotypical surgeon's room, except with more chips and scratches in the furnitures in walls, probably from idiotic lodgers in the past.

Vik dropped his bag on the bed to the right, sitting down on the edge of it and staring at his feet in deep contemplation.  He'd do really well at school here, and he'd impress his parents by his high marks.  Maybe they'd then take him back and finally talk to him freely, forgiving him for the car crash.  Vik clenched and unclenched his fists periodically, before finally giving up and slouching over to hold his head up with his hands.  What if they never wanted him back - what if he would be stuck at the place forever?  This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been an idiot. He thought, his breath catching in his throat.  I could've been performing right now at a local bar, having fun with my friends. 

The thought was shaken from his head quickly.  He didn't know if anyone would come to his dorm, and if they did, he couldn't be bawling or they might ask about it.  Then he'd have to say something dumb and pretend he was watching 'Marley and Me' or something like that.  Vik, at this thought that he might have a roommate, glanced over at the door carefully and searched for movement, not wanting to get off to a bad start with whoever might share his room.

[Marcus Finch]

Marcus was not in the mood for a chummy heart-to-heart with anyone. He was especially not in the mood to meet his new roommate, so as soon as his overly-cheerful guide cut him loose to find his way to his dorm, he took a detour in the opposite direction. The island wasn’t big, but the puke-haired musician was lugging around a violin, a guitar, all his luggage, and this would be his second trip around the place this afternoon, but even the heat and the extra weight could not have sounded less appealing than trying to make a good first impression on someone he was destined to end up hating anyway. And that was being optimistic. Mumbling obscenities to himself involving everything from his parents to the guide to very bricks that made up Ashford, Marcus made a lap around the island. Finally, sweaty and somewhat less irritable than he had been before the walk, he dropped his stuff in the courtyard and helped himself to a smoke. He felt better. Popping a stick of gum in his mouth, Marcus finally hobbled toward his dorm.

Without bothering to knock, Marcus let himself into the room. It was somehow even blander than he had imagined. Everything from the white walls to bare mattresses of the beds to the kid staring at him from one side of the room felt hostile and foreign. His bad mood was back. Trying hard to keep his feelings in check, Marcus spared the kid a passive glance. Pushing his way into the room he dumped his stuff on the dorm’s only unclaimed bed and greeted the kid with his back turned to him. “Sup, man?” he asked as he began rearranging his things. He could almost feel the guy’s curious gaze on the back of his head. Marcus was used to attracting people’s attention with his toxic-coloured hair and piercings. Normally he would revel in the attention, but today it just felt invasive. The guy hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge his greeting. Tightening his lips in annoyance, Marcus forced a heavy breath out of his nose before turning to narrow his eyes at the boy. “Hey, I asked what’s up? What, are you deaf or something?” he snapped. The relative peace he had found on his walk just a few minutes ago had already evaporated. His legs felt heavy and his shirt clung uncomfortably to him with sweat. So far, his first day at Ashford was already off to a bad start.

[Viktor Rogers]

Viktor remained quiet as his new roommate entered, watching him carefully as he moved around and made himself comfortable on the bed opposite of Viktor's own. Seeing him set down the luggage on top of the bed, Vik's eyes narrowed and as he glared into the back of his head he noted the containers shaped, quite unfortunately, like instruments. However, the teen didn't dare to look directly at them in fear his assumptions were correct, so he continued to let the strangely instrument-shaped objects linger in the corner of his vision, almost as if they were torturing him. As soon as the boy whirled around and spoke, though, it became much easier to ignore the cases. After processing what the guy had said, which took a second or two, Vik frowned much more heavily, feeling a sudden burst of anger go through him. What kind of person didn't even look at a guy the first time they spoke? Then proceeded to poke him about his disability? Maybe he could at least make the guy feel like an asshole.
"Spot on, actually," the teen responded angrily, allowing the awkward silence to hover in the air before he spoke again. "You sure you're in the right room? Maybe you were supposed to go in another one - I mean, I can only hope." It might've been a bit of an exaggeration for Vik to act as he did, but he was about as upset as a spoiled kid who didn't get their dream pony for Christmas. Maybe even more irritated than that, if that was possible. He tried to keep his deafness away from people's knowledge, and the fact that the guy had gotten it out of him even before they knew each other's names pissed Vik off.

[Marcus Finch]

The punk blinked in surprise at the boy’s reaction, but a moment later his surprise was replaced with annoyance. “Sorry to disappoint,” he snapped in reply. Marcus’s hands curled into fists for a moment before he slowly worked them open again. As much as he wanted to pick a fight with this spoiled little bitch, he knew they’d be stuck together for a while and the situation would be much easier for both of them if they could agree to ignore each other’s presence. Raising his hands in defense, Marcus shook his head. “Chill, man, I didn’t know. It’s just an expression.” This time he made sure his lips were clearly visible while he spoke. Taking a deep breath, he extended a hand for the boy to shake.

“Marcus Finch,” he introduced himself, with a slight exaggeration of the words so the deaf guy would have an easier time reading his lips. The punk was trying hard to be civil, and he hoped the kid was damn appreciative of the effort it required. As the introduction hung in the air, Marcus took a moment to get a good look at the guy he’d be rooming with for the next who-knew-how-long. He was a pretty big guy, and it was obvious that he wasn’t a stranger to the gym. The kid’s red hair fell over his brow, almost spilling into his odd yellow eyes. He had a pointed face and Marcus’s eyes flicked away when he noticed the long, pale scar stretching across the left side of his face. A sense of curiosity prickled in the back of his mind, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to ask and risk pissing the guy off again. For now he’d have to settle for learning his roommate’s name.

[Viktor Rogers]

Noting the sudden tension in both the air and the muscles of the other teenager, Vik eyed him carefully to make sure he didn't make any funny movements. He wasn't a fan of this guy, and he was undecided about how he felt about him moving his lips more dramatically as he spoke as to try and make sure that Vik understood it. It was a nice gesture, but it was also a little annoying now that Vik had a constant reminder of his deafness from someone who he was forced to share his room with. However, he cooled himself down a little with a short exhale, taking the hand that the boy offered and shaking it confidently.
"Viktor, Viktor Rogers. I don't really mind if you just call me Vik, though," he shrugged with indifference, eyes daring to flicker off of Marcus's lips to the guy's hair and piercings, unsure of how he felt about it. It was slightly improper...but not in a bad way, either. It all matched, at least, considering his green eyes, green hair, and a green jacket. Everything else he wore was just kinda black. Maybe he really, really liked green. At the very least it seemed suit his character well, although he found it hard to imagine why someone would want to stand out so much in...that way. To each his own, though, and it wasn't something that would bother Vik much, it was just a point of interest. "I assume you dye your hair and it's not just like that normally," he said meekly, instinctively glancing back down to Marcus's lips to make sure he'd catch what the boy said. "I hope you brought a ton of dye out here; you might not have many opportunities to grab more," he stopped to think for a minute, remembering something about a mall that they were permitted to go to. He should grab some stuff from there one day, although he had no friends to go with yet.

[Marcus Finch]

The tension seemed to ease a little as Vik introduced himself and Marcus almost smirked as the guy’s eyes wandered to his face. The punk was used to attracting attention. In fact, he rather enjoyed scaring little old ladies and young children in the supermarket. Of course, his dad had always gotten even more stares than he did, but that wasn’t a topic Marcus wanted to dwell on. “Yeah, it’s dyed,” he replied with a conversational shrug. “But uh, yeah, nah, didn’t really get the chance to plan ahead and pack extra dye or whatever. I’ll probably just shave it if it starts looking too rough, or something,” he half-muttered the response, forgetting to enunciate his words for Vik. There was a lag in the conversation. All the fight had drained out of the punk. The events of the last few days seemed to catch up with him all at once and he suddenly felt tired.

Marcus’s fingers wandered to the rough fabric of his guitar case and a weary sort of smile tugged at his lips. At least if his roommate was deaf he could play whenever he wanted without pissing Vik off. That was optimistic, right? He exhaled softly and eased himself down to sit on the edge of his mattress. “So,” he angled his face so Vik could see his lips, “what’re you in for, Vik? Super speed? Mind control? Wait, I bet you’ve got x-ray vision.” Marcus smirked. “Seen any hot chicks around here?” It was an attempt to be friendly which was probably the best Vik could expect from the punk.

[Viktor Rogers]

Vik slowly nodded as Marcus confirmed that his hair was dyed, not surprised that the boy hadn't brought extra dye. He didn't seem to be the type that would always be concerned about over preparing for everything, although perhaps that was just a poor judgement. He at least was packed seemingly well, if nothing else. Thinking of that, he reached over for his bag and unzipped it to glance at its contents, confirming that he had everything he needed, before he glanced back up at Marcus to be sure he caught what he said. He appreciated Marcus's attempt to be friendly, until he noticed his hands wandering over to one of his baggages.
Vik, at this point, could no longer ignore the case as he spotted Marcus reaching for it. He tensed his muscles in response, experienced eyes wandering over the container and immediately recognizing its contents - and, more importantly, what it meant for both him and Marcus. "Sound manipulation. Somewhat difficult to control. I'm not into ladies, either." His voice had become sharp-edged, each word articulated properly to make up for his gritted teeth. Vik wasn't bothered by the fact Marcus had assumed his sexuality, only because he was a musician. "So, you play music?" he asked, gesturing towards the case that lay on the bed. Tension hung in the air as he muttered the question, and Vik relished in it as he watched Marcus carefully to see if he caught up on the clues that he was beyond pissed.

[Marcus Finch]

Marcus eyed his new roommate who only seemed to be getting tenser and tenser with every passing moment. Frowning, the punk followed Vik’s gaze to his guitar case, but his attention snapped back to the kid when he mentioned sound manipulation. “No kidding,” he said, “me too. Though, I don’t find it that difficult to control, but, uh. . .” he trailed off. The punk was going to say something about his roommate’s deafness inhibiting his powers, but thought better of it. “I can help you practise sometime or something, if you want,” he finished, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. Gritting his teeth, Marcus wondered how some people managed to be friendly all the time. It was exhausting and he just seemed to be making things worse. Vik’s comment about his sexuality didn’t seem to phase the punk at all. Marcus was far more concerned about the stink-eye the kid was giving his guitar.

“Yeah, I do, actually,” he replied, more than a bit defensive. The punk’s roommate suddenly seemed to be seething over something Marcus didn’t understand. “What, are you offended or something?” Marcus was starting to get worked up again. The tension in the other boy’s muscles seemed to radiate from across the room, infecting Marcus’s own attitude. It was one thing to call him out for saying something stupid, but the kid had no reason to be pissed about the guitar’s existence. “You look like I just pissed in your cereal, man. It’s just a guitar. What’s your problem?” Fists clenched, Marcus glared at Vik. This guy was really starting to rub him the wrong way.

[Viktor Rogers]

Vik's eyes only flickered to Marcus's lips for the moment in which he spoke, before they wandered back over to the guitar and he found himself only capable of glaring, before he realized that an odd, uncomfortable silence had began again. He didn't mind it, but he supposed he should probably retaliate to the other boy's words, especially considering the possibility for further hostility. Maybe Marcus would ask to change rooms if he continuously bothered him, and considering that the guy literally played music it would be better if they were on opposite sides of the island. "Well, I can already tell you that you won't be playing that bullshit anywhere within the near vicinity of me, whether it's in the dorm or, to be honest, within a mile of me. You might as well just get rid of it," he responded angrily, crossing his arms and straightening his posture in an attempt to come off as more serious.
"I'd even go as far as to advise quitting altogether and doing something more productive with your spare time, but I suppose that's too much to ask for from someone like you." The red-haired teenager understood that at this point, he couldn't just shut up and pretend that nothing had ever happened that led to his random anger. However, that was never how Vik had done things - he'd rather release all emotions rather than bottle them up. People needed feedback to improve on themselves, and this was just a different, more brutal version of telling someone that they need to fix something about themselves.

[Marcus Finch]

The punk stared blankly at Vik. Was this kid for real? “Oh, I won’t be playing around you?” Marcus replied, his voice thin and angry while the expression on his face remained blank. Fists clenched, Marcus stood and stared hard at his roommate, but the kid kept going. “Something more productive, eh?” Marcus was fuming. Before he knew what he was doing, the punk had crossed the room and grabbed Vik by the front of his shirt. Cupping his free hand under the guy’s chin, he forced his head up. “Listen up because I’m only gonna say this once, mate-- or, better yet, read my lips,” every shred of anger seemed to well up in the punk, coming out in words through gritted teeth, “I don’t know who you think you are, but I swear to God that if you don’t shut the hell up right now I’m gonna show you what the inside of your intestines look like. Got it?” He let go of the boy, shoving him roughly away before prowling back to his side of the room where he stood with his back to Vik.

Forcing heavy breaths in and out of his nose, Marcus worked to calm himself down. He worked his fists open and closed at his sides as he tried to focus on just breathing. After the week he’d been having he felt ready to strangle the kid. It was too much to deal with, and the tension in his chest only seemed to tighten in spite of his efforts to relax. He wanted to scream but he stuffed the urge away, locking it deep down somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach while he smouldered in silence. He felt like a can of soda that had been shaken too hard for too long. If Vik didn’t back down, Marcus was ready to blow.

[Viktor Rogers]

Vik wasn't quite ready for the sudden explosion of anger that Marcus unleashed, eyeing his lips carefully. Vik didn't like the tone of this guy, at all. Sure, he couldn't hear it, but he was sure that it would be one of the most irritating things one could listen to. He remained quiet throughout the boy's display of anger, allowing himself to fume a little more quietly than before. He didn't want to get into a fight with this guy, simply because he wasn't sure if he would be able to win. The guy wasn't weak-looking, and Vik had gotten tired enough lugging his baggages around to the point in which he wasn't even interested enough in proving the guy wrong anyways. At least the guy knew not to play it around him, and to hopefully put his instruments in the band room or something. The last thing Vik wanted was to be reminded, every second of his stay, of how much he had failed. So, Vik didn't react badly other than flinching when he was roughly shoved away back onto the edge of his bed. He remained seated, eyeing the boy's movements carefully. His breathing seemed pretty strained and forced - Vik could easily tell he'd pissed the guy off. And really, that didn't do much but amuse Vik as he had succeeded in his efforts to, at the very least, annoy the guy. His next words would have to be chosen carefully, though, if he wanted to avoid a fight.
"I can tell you're passionate," he muttered, swallowing his sarcastic comments that had very narrowly avoided being said. "As long as you keep your...things away from me, I'm sure there's no intestines that need to be ripped out." Vik was aware that he was only adding to the tension each time he spoke, but he sincerely hoped that it wouldn't snap because he was not very excited at the prospect of fighting his roommate on the first day.

[Marcus Finch]

Marcus made a sound that was half way between a grunt and a snarl. Passionate was an understatement, but he wasn’t about to explain it to this idiot. Another wave of anger passed through the punk and he twisted his head around to fix the idiot with his glare. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he snapped, the last word cracking like a whip to a spot between the kid’s eyes. It wasn’t enough to cause any real damage, but Marcus hoped it hit hard enough to sting and leave a mark. He was done with this kid’s attitude. “You haven’t known me five minutes and you already think you can tell me what to do with my things? What the hell is wrong with you?” His fists were wadded into balls at his sides and he was struggling not to throw a punch at the guy.

Calm down, the punk thought to himself. Getting into a fight on his first day didn’t seem like something a rational person would do. Marcus turned his body so that he was facing Vik once more. He rolled his shoulders and went back to the breathing, tilting his head back to watch the ceiling as he fought to suppress the anger threatening to spill over. “Look, man,” he said, angling his head so Vik would have a clear view of his lips, “I’m a musician. I’ve invested a lot of time and money into those ‘things’, as you called them, and there’s no way I’m giving them up just to please a little bitch like you. I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re just gonna have to get over it.”

Stiffly, Marcus forced himself to sit down on the edge of his bed. He pressed his fists to his eyes and hoped Vik would have enough sense to know when to quit. Exhaustion weighed the punk down and the combination of jet lag, frustration, anger, and something that felt almost like loss settled on his shoulders. He wasn’t in the mood to put up with this kid. He just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep off this nightmare.

[Viktor Rogers]

As the boy spoke, Vik felt the top of his nose begin to sting and a headache threatened to follow from the pain it had caused. This didn't help his mood, and all he could hope for was that this guy was more upset than he was at this point. He watched Marcus's lips move carefully, contemplating his own next moves carefully. He didn't exactly want to initiate a fight, but he felt like his opinions needed to be worded. Sure, the guy could continue playing his instruments elsewhere if he really wanted, but Vik felt like he didn't have the right to play in their dorm. Because of this, it took a lot of strength for Vik to do what he did next, and it was easy to tell that it wasn't very genuine from the side glare he gave the guy.
"Sorry," he mumbled, biting back a rude comment that threatened to spill out. Perhaps that would do it and Marcus would be more wary about his stupid instruments and how he was a 'musician' around Vik, and hopefully avoid the subject. At the same time, though, he understood the anger radiating off of the other guy considering that they'd just met and he had no idea what those things meant to Vik, but he still shuddered internally at the thought of having to sleep in the same dorm as a musician. What kind of bad luck is that? If this boy grew out his natural colour and wore a suit every once in a while, Vik was almost one hundred percent sure that this would've been the type of kid his parents wanted. And that did nothing but boost his hatred, mainly fueled by jealousy, further for this other young adult.
"You do anything else interesting?" he pretended to care, eyeing Marcus carefully to ensure he made no funny moves to grab his shirt in anger or something again.

[Marcus Finch]

The punk gave a humourless snort at Vik’s half-assed apology. There was nothing sincere about it, but Marcus was too tired for a fight. Shaking his head, he blinked his eyes open and looked at the kid. “You’re a weird kid, you know that?” Vik had left him feeling confused beyond all reason. Marcus couldn’t figure out why he seemed so against music, but at the same time he didn’t really care. Whatever this guy’s problem was, it wasn’t any of the punk’s business. There was no way Marcus would be willing to give up his music for the guy, and the kid’s attitude only inspired Marcus to want to keep the instruments around out of spite.

Kicking off his boots, Marcus moved so that he was sitting on his bed with his back against the wall. He allowed his eyes to drift closed once more as the anger slowly dissipated, leaving behind a pervading sense of apathy. “Yeah,” he gave a lazy shrug at Vik’s question and cracked an eye to see his reaction. “Well, I’d say ‘your mum’ but she’s hardly interesting.” A self-satisfied smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as his eye fell shut. “What about you? Do you do anything interesting, or do you just tell other people what you think they should do with their time?”

[Viktor Rogers]

At Marcus's comment that Vik was 'weird', he relaxed and leaned back against his bed, allowing himself to partly sit down and have his weight shared equally between the bed and his heels. The remark hadn't bothered him at all, and in fact had just ensured that Vik wouldn't have to worry about fighting that day. The tension in the air had nearly evaporated and so Vik allowed his muscles to completely relax as he took the events that had transpired that day and evaluated them. He'd been flown away from everything he knew: his family, his friends, his school, and his hometown, all probably because he had gotten into an accident. It was all just a result of that, as if he had the ability to manipulate sound and wasn't deaf, then his parents would've treated him so much better and he would've been successful. He subconsciously reached his left hand up to feel his scar, deep in thought, before the lull in the conversation was interrupted by Marcus's childish joke.

"I'm sure my mother is way out of your league, despite her age," he responded dully, Marcus's comment having not affected him in the slightest. The guy didn't know his mother - nor did he realize what a great motivational parent she was. The thing that had probably bothered him the most was the way Marcus's smirked afterwards, almost as if he was proud of himself for thinking up such a clever response. It was ridiculous, but Vik didn't let that get to him. There was an air of fatigue now surrounding Vik, that led him to being much calmer than he had been only a moment ago. "Apart from giving decent advice on how to better one's life, you mean? Yeah, I suppose. I used to go camping a lot with my friends and I spend my fair share of time in the gym," he responded matter-of-factly, knowing that the guy probably didn't care. Speaking of it didn't help though, and he ran his hand through his hair and shut his eyes tightly for a quick moment. He missed being with his friends and having fun - a lot. Even just being around his old best friend and practicing Vik's sound manipulation had been a source of relaxation and amusement in a difficult time for them. "You don't seem to dislike working out that much either," he added, eyeing Marcus up and down as he tried to stop his thoughts in their tracks.