Adjusting to the Party - and everything that followed - took time. It was still taking time: the idea of Courts (with their ever changing political climate weaved between small pleasantries and barely concealed looks), of magic that wasn’t artes, of all of these people… it was a lot. Not that Sync would admit that.
Now, though, processing and planning were best done in private. Alone. And what better way to allow his mind to stew than by taking some time in his room.
(Such a strange thing - to be gifted barracks without having to earn them. Camping outside was doable, but making the most of what he was given - hopefully without strings attached, though that was too optimistic of a thought - was his current plan.)
The problem? The room he entered wasn’t empty.
“…”
At first, Sync believed he might have made an error. He had memorized the room number, yet the idea of the other person already being in this room… but no. There were signs meant for double occupancy: two beds, two chairs… at least the layout was split cleanly down the middle.
The teen barely bit back a sigh, manifesting as a measured exhale through his nose. Roommates. Because this couldn’t just be easy.
Maurice had been laying on his back atop his sheets, his guitar settled on his chest. He wasn't playing it, he was just kind of holding it tightly and staring at the ceiling.
He doesn't look up immediately when he hears the door creak open. He does look up when he doesn't hear Spike's voice--forgetting, of course, that the older vampire couldn't come in without an invitation. What he finds standing in the door way is a stranger.
Maurice sits up and sets his guitar to the side. "Oh, uh, hey?"
It's not unfriendly, but it is cautious. The mask puts him on edge.
If Sync knew the other knew Spike - that self-assured blonde with his own brand of snark - he might have used the knowledge as ammo. Truly, Spike visiting might have been preferred. Instead, it was just Sync… who was quickly learning a few things.
He could read caution like lines on a map, tension set intentionally or not in the way the other gripped… a weapon? No, it was some sort of instrument, though it could be improvised as a weapon, probably. Even the small hesitance, that ‘uh’ in the midst of what might be a gauging statement, says quite a lot about his roommate.
Sync simply lets out another breath, almost an annoyed sigh, as he closes the door (feeling for the doorknob instead of turning, not wanting to leave his back exposed), then leans against it, arms crossed.
He didn’t want to ask if he had the wrong room. He knew this was the right one. Sync just had missed the nameplate outside the door completely.
Another moment of regarding the other, noticing the half of the room that is taken, before he speaks. “I assume there’s no way around this.” It’s more a statement than a question, skipping whatever greeting or pleasantries might be exchanged.
(And if the mask puts his roommate on edge? Good. That means Sync shouldn’t worry about the other prying too much.)
Maurice doesn't really blame Sync. Nobody wants to be here. Being away from home and everything you know sucks bad enough, but being shoved into a shared space with a stranger from another world has to be...rough.
"I'm afraid not. I wish I could say it was gonna be okay, but man, I don't know. I'm not gonna bother you though. I sleep during the day most of the time. I'm out a lot at night."
He says this in hopes that it will ease the kid's transition.
There’s both a commonality and differences in how they view this. Sync couldn’t care much in terms of ‘his’ world; he didn’t have a place to return to. He had fulfilled his usefulness and being here was simply-
The teen cut that train of thought off. No need. At least it didn’t seem like his roommate was intent on becoming friends.
Sync doesn’t quite relax (he never does), but the nod he gives is acquiescence enough. As he makes his way over to the empty bed, he never quite turns his back to his new roommate.
“…you’re a night owl?” That was the term, wasn’t it? When one preferred being awake at most hours people slept. Sync himself had a varying schedule (had, there’s no telling what it will be like here), so being up during those hours was also something he knew well.
GMAIL STOP HIDING TAGS FROM ME 2025 CHALLENGE lasdfagg
"Huge night owl," Maurice confirms. He scratches the back of his neck. "Hey, also I wanna be up-front with you, I am like, super dead. I'm a vampire. But I don't bite people, I drink from the kitchen. So don't worry that I'm gonna stalk you or something."
It might be the fact that Sync wears a mask anyway, but his expression is inscrutable, except for the small frown on his face.
It isn’t displeasure though, if anything…
“You don’t seem dead.” Or at least, not like the skeletons or zombies that can sometimes be encountered in old crypts. He thinks it over for another moment, fingers drumming against his arm, before he lets out a huff. “I have no idea what that is.”
‘Vampire.’ Simply because his world doesn’t have them. Was Sync supposed to view his new roommate as a threat? Especially with that nonsense on ‘stalking’ him… but he wasn’t concerned. Sync has had worse, and even if Maurice would go against his word (he wouldn’t), the teen is used to knowing when he would be followed anyway.
"Oh! Thanks." Maurice takes that first comment as a compliment. Especially since he looked super dead when he first arrived. A healthy diet of Kitchen Blood (TM) every day has improved his complexion tenfold.
But then the kid says he doesn't know what a vampire is. Maurice knows he shouldn't be surprised. He's met so many people from so many different worlds, but so far, vampires have been in almost all of them.
"Oh, it's uh...y'know what, don't worry about it. Thing is, you're safe." Maurice repeats himself just to make sure. "So, uh...where are you from?"
Sync blinks, stare blank, even though that is hidden beneath his mask. Why was he being thanked? “It wasn’t a compliment.” Blunt, maybe, but it was genuine fact: Maurice didn’t look dead (and Sync had, as per his occupation, seen lots of dead bodies). Then again, the teen hadn’t been here to see that particular comparison between how his roommate had arrived, so lack of information was definitely feeding into his opinion.
At the way Maurice pivots the conversation quite obviously, Sync’s mask tilts in thought. Strange to not want to explain it but… he can understand not wanting to do so, maybe. (It is part of why his own answer to Maurice’s question is so vague.)
“Auldrant.” There’s a beat, then no other offer of information. Why? He’s pretty sure Maurice won’t have heard of it. No one has, and even if they were to know it, he’s listing a literal continent. Narrowing it down from there would be tricky, unless someone knew who Sync was specifically. Oh, right, conversation. “…what about you?”
"Oh, cool." Sure enough, he hasn't heard of it. The question just kind of came out. "I'm from Texas. What's your mask for?"
Another question that just seemed to come out by itself. He winces. That was probably rude! The mask was probably part of his faith or something and not something he should comment on!
Sync likewise scours the maps memorized in his mind and… no. There wasn’t a Texas in Auldrant. He doesn’t inquire further, simply because it doesn’t seem important. Asking what sort of environment it was, what enemies could be found there… such information wouldn’t lend them aid here. They are all far detached from wherever they came from.
Especially when Maurice’s question veers into uncomfortable territory. There isn’t much of a change: Sync’s posture stiffens ever so slightly, and his voice lowers into something colder when he speaks.
“What do you think?” It isn’t an invitation so much as a warning. Rude, maybe not, as he’s used to people being curious on that front, but it was dangerous territory.
The way Sync says it is flat, yet his head tilts slightly, almost as if he’s trying to comprehend the question. Or maybe the why. Then again, most people had foods they preferred, didn’t they? In that case…
“Something prepared is preferable to field rations.”
Which doesn’t narrow it down by a lot. He debates for a moment before parrying that question back. “What about you?”
Maurice had mentioned vampires… and something about getting sustenance from the kitchen here? Did that mean the other had a limited diet?
His brows knit together in concern. Food is not just food! This makes him wonder what kind of place Sync comes from. What must have happened to him to think such a thing.
But the question returned eases his worries. At least Sync was willing to keep talking. "My mom makes the best spaghetti in the entire world and I miss it so fucking bad."
Well, Maurice wouldn’t be the first person to wonder that. Really, it was more nurture than the nature of the world Sync came from… but he wasn’t willing to divulge that.
Talking about theoretical food was easier.
The little snippets of useful information he gleans from the other’s words - he has a mother, they seem close if he’s willing to cherish her meals - slides easily into his mind.
“She must be a fairly decent chef then, if it is.” Not that spaghetti might mean the same exact thing between their worlds - and Sync is not so naive to actually think Maurice has tried every variant of the meal before - but it’s easier than talking about… relations.
"Of course she is, look at me." He manages a laugh. But then he...feels a little guilty. He wonders if Sync has a mom. And if he misses her. He's just a kid! Or he thinks he is, by his voice. The mask makes it hard to tell.
And honestly it's kind of hard to tell anything in this place.
"I'll have to make it sometime and you can try it."
Sync couldn’t feel any emotion akin to ‘missing’ like Maurice thought. At least… he’d never had an equivalent to compare his roommate’s situation to. Maybe that empty ache was both better and worse, in the sense he didn’t know what exactly he was lacking in regards to a family situation.
(It still aches. To watch others have what he couldn’t, shouldn’t, attain.)
“…it’s alright. It would be wasted on me.”
Not that he couldn’t actually eat it, and if Maurice actually made some and had Sync sit down with it… and he determined it wasn’t poisoned or something… then Sync could try. But any sort of enjoyment Maurice might expect out of that would be better saved for someone else.
(He’s never had someone share before, not in a way that mattered. Not in such a wholeheartedly good-natured way, something that wasn’t degrading or dangling positive feelings in front of his face.)
Maurice stares at Sync, his brows furrowed--not in an upset way, more so in a way like a person who was seeing a word in a language they almost understood would. And then it clicked and those brows drift up. Oh. OH no.
He's never met somebody who hated themselves the way he did--and said it.
"Oh, God. No...no, it wouldn't. I mean it dosen't."
It was interesting, watching confusion shift to understanding on Maurice’s features. And then the fervent denial.
Odd.
Sync lets out a soft huff. “Deny it all you want. It doesn’t make it any less true.”
He’s used to people attempting uplifting speeches and heroic persuasions when he says such things. In a way, Maurice’s reaction really wasn’t all that uncommon.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
toothaches) wrote2025-03-23 03:07 pm
Roommates- First Meeting
Now, though, processing and planning were best done in private. Alone. And what better way to allow his mind to stew than by taking some time in his room.
(Such a strange thing - to be gifted barracks without having to earn them. Camping outside was doable, but making the most of what he was given - hopefully without strings attached, though that was too optimistic of a thought - was his current plan.)
The problem? The room he entered wasn’t empty.
“…”
At first, Sync believed he might have made an error. He had memorized the room number, yet the idea of the other person already being in this room… but no. There were signs meant for double occupancy: two beds, two chairs… at least the layout was split cleanly down the middle.
The teen barely bit back a sigh, manifesting as a measured exhale through his nose. Roommates. Because this couldn’t just be easy.
IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IM HERE NOW
He doesn't look up immediately when he hears the door creak open. He does look up when he doesn't hear Spike's voice--forgetting, of course, that the older vampire couldn't come in without an invitation. What he finds standing in the door way is a stranger.
Maurice sits up and sets his guitar to the side. "Oh, uh, hey?"
It's not unfriendly, but it is cautious. The mask puts him on edge.
No worries! <3 I figured things got busy ^^
He could read caution like lines on a map, tension set intentionally or not in the way the other gripped… a weapon? No, it was some sort of instrument, though it could be improvised as a weapon, probably. Even the small hesitance, that ‘uh’ in the midst of what might be a gauging statement, says quite a lot about his roommate.
Sync simply lets out another breath, almost an annoyed sigh, as he closes the door (feeling for the doorknob instead of turning, not wanting to leave his back exposed), then leans against it, arms crossed.
He didn’t want to ask if he had the wrong room. He knew this was the right one. Sync just had missed the nameplate outside the door completely.
Another moment of regarding the other, noticing the half of the room that is taken, before he speaks. “I assume there’s no way around this.” It’s more a statement than a question, skipping whatever greeting or pleasantries might be exchanged.
(And if the mask puts his roommate on edge? Good. That means Sync shouldn’t worry about the other prying too much.)
no subject
"I'm afraid not. I wish I could say it was gonna be okay, but man, I don't know. I'm not gonna bother you though. I sleep during the day most of the time. I'm out a lot at night."
He says this in hopes that it will ease the kid's transition.
no subject
The teen cut that train of thought off. No need. At least it didn’t seem like his roommate was intent on becoming friends.
Sync doesn’t quite relax (he never does), but the nod he gives is acquiescence enough. As he makes his way over to the empty bed, he never quite turns his back to his new roommate.
“…you’re a night owl?” That was the term, wasn’t it? When one preferred being awake at most hours people slept. Sync himself had a varying schedule (had, there’s no telling what it will be like here), so being up during those hours was also something he knew well.
GMAIL STOP HIDING TAGS FROM ME 2025 CHALLENGE lasdfagg
XD OK but it keeps doing this to me too T.T
It isn’t displeasure though, if anything…
“You don’t seem dead.” Or at least, not like the skeletons or zombies that can sometimes be encountered in old crypts. He thinks it over for another moment, fingers drumming against his arm, before he lets out a huff. “I have no idea what that is.”
‘Vampire.’ Simply because his world doesn’t have them. Was Sync supposed to view his new roommate as a threat? Especially with that nonsense on ‘stalking’ him… but he wasn’t concerned. Sync has had worse, and even if Maurice would go against his word (he wouldn’t), the teen is used to knowing when he would be followed anyway.
WE ARE MAKING THIS THREAD HAPPEN WE CAN DO IT
But then the kid says he doesn't know what a vampire is. Maurice knows he shouldn't be surprised. He's met so many people from so many different worlds, but so far, vampires have been in almost all of them.
"Oh, it's uh...y'know what, don't worry about it. Thing is, you're safe." Maurice repeats himself just to make sure. "So, uh...where are you from?"
/determination! ^^ CW: mention of bodies
At the way Maurice pivots the conversation quite obviously, Sync’s mask tilts in thought. Strange to not want to explain it but… he can understand not wanting to do so, maybe. (It is part of why his own answer to Maurice’s question is so vague.)
“Auldrant.” There’s a beat, then no other offer of information. Why? He’s pretty sure Maurice won’t have heard of it. No one has, and even if they were to know it, he’s listing a literal continent. Narrowing it down from there would be tricky, unless someone knew who Sync was specifically. Oh, right, conversation. “…what about you?”
no subject
Another question that just seemed to come out by itself. He winces. That was probably rude! The mask was probably part of his faith or something and not something he should comment on!
no subject
Especially when Maurice’s question veers into uncomfortable territory. There isn’t much of a change: Sync’s posture stiffens ever so slightly, and his voice lowers into something colder when he speaks.
“What do you think?” It isn’t an invitation so much as a warning. Rude, maybe not, as he’s used to people being curious on that front, but it was dangerous territory.
no subject
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Why? Sync hadn’t wanted Maurice to pry, so this should be ideal.
Except, when you share a room with someone, it’s a lot harder to simply walk away from the emotions his barbed comments leave in their wake.
So the teen lets out a half-huff, half-sigh, one leg propped on his bed. “Ask something else. Not too personal.”
Unless Maurice wants Sync prying into all of his uncomfortable secrets.
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"Uuuuuh, what d'you like to eat?"
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“Food is food.”
The way Sync says it is flat, yet his head tilts slightly, almost as if he’s trying to comprehend the question. Or maybe the why. Then again, most people had foods they preferred, didn’t they? In that case…
“Something prepared is preferable to field rations.”
Which doesn’t narrow it down by a lot. He debates for a moment before parrying that question back. “What about you?”
Maurice had mentioned vampires… and something about getting sustenance from the kitchen here? Did that mean the other had a limited diet?
no subject
But the question returned eases his worries. At least Sync was willing to keep talking. "My mom makes the best spaghetti in the entire world and I miss it so fucking bad."
God, Maurice is so precious XD T.T
Talking about theoretical food was easier.
The little snippets of useful information he gleans from the other’s words - he has a mother, they seem close if he’s willing to cherish her meals - slides easily into his mind.
“She must be a fairly decent chef then, if it is.” Not that spaghetti might mean the same exact thing between their worlds - and Sync is not so naive to actually think Maurice has tried every variant of the meal before - but it’s easier than talking about… relations.
aw thank you!!
And honestly it's kind of hard to tell anything in this place.
"I'll have to make it sometime and you can try it."
He's happy to share his mom.
<3 /cries “He’s happy to share his mom” T.T
(It still aches. To watch others have what he couldn’t, shouldn’t, attain.)
“…it’s alright. It would be wasted on me.”
Not that he couldn’t actually eat it, and if Maurice actually made some and had Sync sit down with it… and he determined it wasn’t poisoned or something… then Sync could try. But any sort of enjoyment Maurice might expect out of that would be better saved for someone else.
(He’s never had someone share before, not in a way that mattered. Not in such a wholeheartedly good-natured way, something that wasn’t degrading or dangling positive feelings in front of his face.)
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CW: self-deprecation implications(so sorry Maurice T.T)
(Even if the honest curiosity that Maurice is looking at him with irks him. He keeps it out of his tone, flat and true as his words form.)
“Sharing something precious with trash just degrades it, doesn’t it?”
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He's never met somebody who hated themselves the way he did--and said it.
"Oh, God. No...no, it wouldn't. I mean it dosen't."
no subject
Odd.
Sync lets out a soft huff. “Deny it all you want. It doesn’t make it any less true.”
He’s used to people attempting uplifting speeches and heroic persuasions when he says such things. In a way, Maurice’s reaction really wasn’t all that uncommon.