i can't stand to fly (open)

[cormac teague o'kane]

i'm not that naive men weren't meant to fly

Another day, another hour. Cormac sat quietly on the edge of the football field, his legs crossed and an open notebook sprawled in his lap. The boy was obviously focused intently on whatever was on the page; he bent to look at it, his shoulders hunched and back curved. A pen had been pushed just behind his right ear, almost hidden from view by the dark, tussled coils he had for hair. Only when he reached up and took it could one even know it was there; he wrote the words 'gamma rays' in small, careful, slightly curly handwriting. Then the pen was pushed back into place as he surveyed the next question, his eyebrows knitted lightly as he thought.

It was unfortunate that Cormac was not a very quick thinker. Although Keefe was always willing to help him, the boy's grades had been poor since the very day he started going to Studwick. Of course, it was not so much that he was stupid than it was he simply did not have time to ponder things the way he was accustomed to. Back home in Ireland, after all, he was a fairly normal kid with only school and his father's fists to worry about. But here, he had much more to do. Not only was there his studies and his father, but he also had a weekend job at the music store, and glee club meetings after school. And who could forget his little adventures after dark?

No, he simply did not have the time. It wasn't really his fault; he had to be able to fit in with the other kids around here, otherwise they might suspect something. And besides: the extracurricular activities were not only a part of his disguise, but things he enjoyed. He liked having a job; he felt safer with it, like he was grounded to something. And he liked glee, too. In fact, he was one of the few guys who could get away with saying so out loud without being laughed at or beaten up. He thought it was kind of funny, actually, the idea that some folks were afraid of him. Demeanor-wise, he was probably the least threatening boy at Studwick.

A gruff shout came from one side of the field. Just for a moment, the curly-headed Irishman looked up to see what the noise was about, unconcerned and only mildly curious. The lacrosse team, on which was his brother Keefe who was the very reason he was still there, was practicing during their off-season. Cormac watched, the slightest of proud smiles curling one side of his mouth, as the familiar shape of his twin bullied against another, stopping the assault in its tracks. He liked watching Keefe play. It was cold outside and tiny flurries of snowflakes had fallen throughout the day, but it wasn't enough to stop the team and thus it wasn't enough to stop Cormac.

The boy's dark eyes clouded for a moment, then he shook his head and refocused on his chemistry homework. He wished desperately that he could be on the team with Keefe, but it would be impossible for him to play. Surely, he would hurt someone. It would probably be an accident, a miscalculation of his own strength...but that would be the difference between a harmless bruise and a crushed bone. Got to finish this, he chided himself, leaning back on one hand. He took the pen from behind his ear again, this time to tap out a quick six/eight rhythm on his paper. What was he getting in chemistry again? A C? Or had it dropped to a D since he'd last checked? God damn it.

[barbie jennifer mchale]

banner credit to BOBBY! @ caution

The winds were light, the way she liked it. The grass beneath her feet was covered mainly by small patches of snow and slush. The sun shone rightly over-head, blinding anyone who dared look up. Barbie however, looked down at her feet, a smile creeping up on her seemingly innocent face, lighting up her child-like features like a light bulb. The young girl was always amused by the simplest things. The early spring grass was one. She pushed her hands into the pockets of the light-wash jeans she wore and slowly lifted her head, only to be distracted by the light fluttering of a butterfly, flying past her eyes. Looking around, Barbie made sure that no one was within sight of her as she knelt down on the damp grass while she thought intently of one particular animal before her entire body morphed into the small black cat her mind had envisioned.

While on all four paws, Barbie looked around her once more for the butterfly that had caught her attention, but it seemed to have disappeared. A soft mew escaped her mouth as she sat back on her haunches, feeling sad. She liked that butterfly and wanted to chase it, but now that it was gone, she would be unable to. Suddenly the butterfly reappeared on the end of Barbie's nose. Slowly, and carefully, Barbie stood up and raised one of her front paws to swat at the butterfly, but instead she felt a light tingling sensation in her nose, which resulted in a light sneeze. Opening her eyes once more, Barbie watched as the butterfly flew away from her, but she was instantly on it's tail chasing after it just as she had intended.

After several moments of chasing after the insect, it stopped; but not just anywhere, on top of someone's notebook. That's when Barbie realize where she was, but didn't dawn on it. She was too focused on the task at hand, and that task was capturing and killing that butterfly. Crouching low in the grass, Barbie focused her eyes upon the butterfly that had nestled itself on top of the boys notebook, before leaping and using her back legs to launch herself at the butterfly, who only milliseconds before she landed flew away and off the notebook. Cursing herself, Barbie sat down in the boys lap not caring that she was in the way. She was miffed that she hadn't been able to capture the butterfly, but wasn't going to dwell on it any longer.

Barbie looked up to see who's lap she'd landed in and began to purr upon seeing the face of Mac O'Kane above her. Inside her cat shell, Barbie was smiling like a mad woman. Mac was really her only friend. They got each other really. They were both kinda shy and didn't exactly hang out with people, but they hang out together, and Mac was seemingly the only person she'd never had the intention of killing and eating, which in her case wasn't a good thing, but in society's case, it was.

Pressing her body up against Mac's torso, Barbie began to purr louder as she rubbed her face against him, her tail moving gracefully at will. She just hoped that he wasn't allergic to cats, because that wouldn't exactly be a good thing.

status: complete
tagged: cormac/open
music: west side story
outfit: hurr
notes: Woo!

[cormac teague o'kane]

i'm not that naive men weren't meant to fly

Cormac was not easily distracted. One of the main reasons why he was so slow in thought was because he was thoroughly processing everything, and was too stubborn to let anything else draw his attention away. So it was only natural that at first, the butterfly resting on his notebook went unnoticed. He was far too focused on answering the next question (something about the difference between wavelengths and frequency) to even compute anything other than the voice of his science teacher. His pen had long since stopped its tapping, but the melody still played in a far corner of his mind. Piping down the valleys wild, piping songs of merry glee...

Then a momentary flash of color came, and Cormac was aware of the extravagant insect. Its wings were pulsing up and down rather quickly, but not fast enough for it to fly away. The young Irishman allowed a soft smile to flicker across his face, not stopping to realize that this meant it was probably trying to escape from something. Although he was young and most males his age would sooner pick the wings off if given such an opportunity than look at it, he found himself admiring it a little. If he was in Limerick, it would be far too cloudy and wet for even moths to venture out, much less their more colorful cousins. He missed home, but he liked it here.

There was only a moment for him to watch it. Almost a fraction of a second later, a small cat with fur dark as coal landed on his homework. Out of mere instinct, the boy jerked back even farther, startled. What the Hell! His blood sung through his veins for a count or two and his heart galloped a few paces, but it didn't last very long. Shit. It's just a cat, he told himself, letting the muscles in his arms and shoulders slide into a relaxed state under his skin. He cocked his head to one side, puzzled now that there was a feline plunked right in the middle of his work. Did he try and move it? Probably safer not to. Just letting it go would be safest.

But it didn't leave. No, instead, it seemed to have taken a strange liking to him within a matter of seconds. This mystified him all the more, for he'd always thought of cats as frightened of those they didn't know, but then again, he wasn't the sort to suspect things. He smiled a little wider; he placed his pen in the grass, then lifted the free hand to stroke the odd cat's head, unaware that he knew her. "'ey dare, me lovely," he crooned, his fondness of cats manifesting itself in his tone. They were quiet, like him. His touch, too, was gentle as he smoothed his big hand over the creature's spine. It had to be, otherwise he might hurt it. "Yer a wee far from 'um, eh?"