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Darkseeker
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Crew hadn't bothered to be any kind of help for Inga's planning, knowing neither of them actually wanted him there, and he wouldn't have made any reasonable decisions. Instead, he'd taken the time to play a rousing game of baseball with some of the Beans in one of the pastures, something he knew would piss off Inga if she ever found out, and took about ten minutes to write a speech. By the evening, it was cool, and smelled of rain, and it was such a familiar, homey scent to him that he hesitated, and made a point to loiter around outside before the actual event began. The whole dinner was fast, and he barely saw his 'co-captain', which was perfectly fine with him. He honestly preferred having an empty seat, and in the end, it was filled by one of the sophomores, the one that probably would have been chosen as their real co-captain before everything had gone downhill. Throughout the entire formal dinner, multiple girls came up to him, and he did his best to be as cordial as possible, but he really had no interest in any of them. They all smelled of sickly sweet floral perfumes, and were showing off as much skin as the uniform allowed, but the actual meal held his attention much better. Thankfully, the event wrapped up quickly, and after many hasty speeches, that all sounded like they were either winging it, or had written them in the bathroom twenty minutes before, the students were dismissed, and the real party started. Crew went back to his dorm, already peeling off pieces of the irritating uniform before he'd even made it back to his dorm room. Once back, he changed into his usual party clothes: linen shorts, and any bright, patterned shirt. This time, it was a light teal, and had tiny pineapples all over it. He particularly liked this one, it was comfortable, not too tight, and the buttons came up just high enough to leave a tiny glimpse of his pale, muscular chest beneath, and the glint of the chain that was secured round his neck. He waffled for a bit on the concept of shoes. Boots were right out of the question, and he knew none of the actual party people would be caught dead in their uniform boots. However, there weren't many more options. Somewhere, he had dress shoes for proper events, as well as running shoes for when track kicked off. In the end, he selected a well worn pair of boat shoes, and headed out into the evening. The party was already beginning in the boys dorms, and spilled out into the lawns surrounding it. The storm was still clearly coming, but hadn't yet gotten close enough that they were concerned about soaking the speakers or coolers full to the brim with all the Swedish beer a boy could dream off. None of the students were wearing the proper clothes, and that only made it more taboo and interesting for Crew. This was the environment he thrived in, and that the press expected him to be in. The media made a point to portray the Sinclair's oldest son as a party whore, someone who thrived off positive attention, was probably always tipsy, and had at least three girls on his arm. This wasn't always correct, but it was easier to let the media get what they wanted, and then have them leave him alone. To his dismay, most of the guys were already hammered, and before he knew it, his shirt was pulled off, and he was pushed into a crowd of sophomore and junior girls, who practically swooned beneath him. Annoyed, he pushed the girls back, and did a quick scan for his favorite shirt, but to no avail. It was gone, and there was nothing he could do. Crew pouted for a moment, but then one of the girls, a confident, conventionally attractive Italian girl with smooth, olive colored skin, and eyes as dark as coal leaned forward, and pressed him against the wall of the girl's dorm, hungrily attacking his lips and body. Revulsion rolled across his features, and he pushed her back, swiping a hand across his lips, and quickly went in search of a beer to try to drown out his inner demons. As usual, the party kept moving, and he was too busy drowning his irritations in alcohol to realize where they were going until it was too late. The herd of people pushed their way through the doors of the more...formal aspects of Inga's plans, and Crew immediately knew he was going to get reamed out for this one. He winced as the loud music seemed to thump against the walls of the venue, and he watched in dismay as they began helping themselves to all the new things in the building. Crew quickly turned to go, not wanting to be all caught up in this, and especially not wanting to be seen by the most-likely fuming Inga, he scurried back out the door the group of students had come in only a few minutes before. Unfortunately, he had been spotted, and the blonde girl was soon on his heels. He decided to face her fury, and turned around, opening his mouth to try to free himself of guilt, but she started talking before he even had a moment to begin.
“What the hell, Crew? I understand being upset at the situation we’re in, but that doesn’t give you the right to ruin my event just because it’s better than yours. Is that it? Do you feel threatened by me? Are you jealous because all you know how to do is create chaos around you that not even you know how to control?”
His jaw tightened, and his normally clear, emerald green eyes darkened. It felt like she'd ripped open a barely healed wound, and rubbed salt into the raw, aching skin.
"Don't talk to me like that," he said, his voice smooth and low, masking the hurt deep inside, catching her wrists before she could push him. The anger inside him was being overpowered by the realization that what she said was partially true. He wasn't jealous, never had been. It did bother him, though, that it felt like he was on a tiny boat in the middle of an unforgiving sea, watching as the raft fell to pieces around him. The ache inside his chest was growing again, but she only made it worse. She yanked her wrists away, looked him dead in the eyes, and said the words he most disliked.
“it’s tragic that no one else sees how empty you really are,” The words echoed in his mind, and he felt the gaping, open place in his chest, where his heart should have been, where the mangled organ did it's best, weakly fluttering, keeping him alive. The darkness started to descend, and he barely made it back to his dorm room before it caught him.
--
The next morning, he boarded the bus silently. He had let the other Beans take care of getting Gatsby trailered and ready for the competition. He'd spent the previous night in a haze of self-loathing, crushing darkness, and the voices in his head. He tossed his suitcase into an empty seat, and tucked himself into the corner of it, quiet and withdrawn. The guys around him bantered and jostled, but he interacted with them as little as possible. It was a couple hour drive to the competition venue, and he didn't want to be awake for any of it. He pulled open his bag, and pulled out a container full of pills. He picked through it carefully and selected an American sleeping pill, then another, then another. He downed them all without bothering to find water, and curled into a tiny ball, letting the pills take away the clammer within his shattered mind. |
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Inga | Third Year | 15:53 | M: Crew, Jensen, Will After a long and uncomfortable morning, Inga found a seat on the bus toward the back. She preferred to be away from the action, and she didn’t particularly want to engage with any of the individuals on the team when all they continued to want to do was tear her apart. Her skin was thick enough to take all of the loathing that was distributed in her direction, but that didn’t mean that she was dumb enough to go looking for it, either. There was no one on the team that had her back, nor would they if her co-captain had anything to do with it. Yet, somewhere deep inside of her, she knew that she would have to do the thing she hated most if she was going to get anywhere on this team: play nice, and suck up to the right people. Up until this point, Inga hadn’t necessarily considered this behavior. Sucking up to anyone was a sign of weakness, let alone individuals who clearly did not respect or welcome her. Yet, she’d spent the first part of the morning back in the headmaster’s office, complaining about the events that had occurred the night prior. A part of her felt guilt for allowing herself to be so cruel to Crew, which had been extremely evident all over his features after she’d offered the cutting remarks. Yet, it seemed apparent to her that the most comfortable logic to fit her situation was that he’d struck first by ruining her party, which hurt her socially as much as she’d hurt him emotionally. After offering the formal complaint, the headmaster reminded her that decisions were final on the teams, and that failure to get along with her co-captain would likely result from a premature ejection from the team, and one that would not be remedied until the start of the spring semester. This set her straight in a way that nothing had prior, and she spent the morning packing for the trip with Crew in silence, unwilling to be the one to fix things between them, but unwilling to rub salt in the wound, either. Since the American didn’t know about her second complaint to the headmaster, she thought it better to keep things that way. She realized now that she needed to manage to get him to become fond of her in a way that kept her as an option to return to the team in the spring, but not fond enough of her that the headmaster would allow their situation to be resolved in the first quarter of the semester. At this moment, she wasn’t entirely sure how to do anything except for get him to hate her more, which she seemed to be quite good at. She was great at hating him, too, in fairness. Neither of those qualities affected her situation in a positive light, so she knew that something would have to change soon. Not long after she took a seat at the back of the bus, the blond entered, sitting toward the front. There was a distant look etched across his features as there had been for most of the time she’d been with him, and for a moment she wondered what could cause a person to feel so miserable. Of course, if she lived the life he did, made the choices he made, and surrounded himself with the people he did, she would feel miserable too, but she wondered why he felt like he didn’t have the power to create change and happiness in his own life. She barely allowed her train of thought to cease as a familiar, curly-haired blond took a seat beside her, chattering away as her focus remained glued on the American at the front of the bus. She studied him with a neutral expression as he took not one, not two, but three pills and seemed to slowly fade off into a stupor. The action put a bad taste in her mouth, but what concerned her more was that, like always, she was the only one who seemed to be concerned by his behavior. As the bus took off for the competition site, Inga lowered herself into a forced conversation with Will, feeling fortunate that he seemed to want to do most of the talking. He was quite popular around the school for many of the same reasons as Crew, and she briefly stopped to wonder what kind of interest someone like him would have in someone like her, especially given how easily everyone had fallen into hating her. Despite this, she took the opportunity to build rapport with a key figure of the team, only pausing every now and again to study the back of the sleeping frame in the front, who appeared to be the polar opposite of all of the joy and amusement that were happening around him. While Will was a great first step toward achieving her goals, she knew that breaking down the layers and layers of walls that Crew had put up would be a much more difficult and time-consuming task. |
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He woke up. Unfortunately, he thought to himself. After everything, he honestly would have preferred to let the pills run their course for the rest of his life. Briefly, he considered faking a coma or something, but it wasn't worth it. He straightened slightly, and sighed, rubbing his sleepy eyes. It was late afternoon, and the competition wasn't until the next day, of course, so he had time to settle in. The best part about being captain of the Beans meant a room all to himself, which was a dream come true, especially with where his mental state was at. They were getting close to the hotel, so that meant that everyone was getting raucously loud and excited. Putting a load of hyper college students on a bus for four hours wasn't a great idea, and they'd only had one stretch break, which blessedly, he'd slept through. Crew's brain felt like it was full of cotton balls, his mouth was dry as the deserts in Arizona, and his larger frame, which had been crammed into a tiny seat, was stiff and achy. He straightened out his legs, wincing slightly, and tried to reorient his hazy vision, which, after a moment, cleared, and he was able to make out the people around him. Most of the chatter involved the hotel, it was a nice one this year. Occasionally, the budget didn't allow for amazing hotels, but this year, with the amount of appreciation that had sprang up for the jumping team, the school had gotten them a damn good one. He wouldn't be surprised, however, to learn that the 'new-found funds' had actually come from the dressage team's normally allotted budget. Anyways, the hotel had multiple pools, a spa, three gyms, and a private lounge rented out for the team. The rooms were also startlingly good for the first competition of the year, with queen beds for each person, and mini-kitchens with each. Crew was also pretty sure this was the one that put chocolates on the pillows, and folded the towels into mesmerizing shapes or animals. He wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but he was secretly excited too. He was looking forward to the pampering and silence that the place would offer, and he was happy that the team would be living in luxury. This was the kind of hotel Crew was used to. If his parents stooped low enough to sleep in a hotel like the 'common people.' _________ Three hours later, the team was thoroughly settled into the hotel, and all but a few were in the lounge. It's huge, cushy chairs, and the fresh fruit around them gave it them the illusion of being in a rich person's study. It honestly reminded Crew of his father's office, the few time he'd actually been allowed to go in. The times he'd snuck in...well, he didn't do much looking at the decor those times. He was sprawled on a chair, manspreading like there was no tomorrow, and chatted with whoever wanted to talk. His nap had soothed his wounded feelings, as well as the approaching migraine, so he was left feeling vaguely empty, but that was better than being in pain. As time passed in the airy room, the atmosphere shifted to slightly more of a party stage. The sleazy lounge music was exchanged for hard rock and bubblegum pop, and the alcohol, as always, was freely flowing. The Beans floated in and out, and he smiled, forcing himself into a more cheerful attitude than he really wanted to be in. Despite the long nap, he was still tired, but was, for now, content to stay in the middle of the buzzing crowd The mood was slightly killed when Inga walked in, but Crew had thoroughly beat it into them that they were to be respectful, so the falter in the happiness was barely noticeable. He did his best to also keep a pleasant look on his face, hoping that she would leave him alone, but she wandered closer and closer. Crew honestly wasn't sure whether it was on purpose or not. The whole room kind of revolved around the center, where he and few other highly liked Beans sat, almost like monarchs on a dais, but they happily accepted anyone who came by. Everyone, that is, except the girl from the night before, the Italian one. Crew kept a firm, cold gaze on her, attempting to remember her name. He wasn't good with names, never had been. He was pretty sure it was Bianca, and he was honestly scared to death of her after her overconfidence. He hoped it had been fueled by alcohol, and that she would also leave him alone. He was getting a bit thirsty, so he stood up, politely excusing himself from the conversation, and headed towards the table full of beverages. There was beer, of course, but he was not looking forward to another hangover, especially before a competition, so he was heading for the punch, when, trying to get out of the way of a keg stand, he bumped into someone, and nearly sent them flying. He had poor reflexes, but thankfully, in that moment they kicked in, and he caught the person round the waist, his eyes wide and startled, and he held back a groan as he realised who it was.
"Inga," he said, forcing cheerfulness, a sense of breezy carelessness in his tone. "Sorry, that's all on me."
He quickly made sure that she was firm on her feet, and retracted his arms.
"Didn't want to get in the way of someone else." |
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Inga | Third Year | 20:55 | M: Crew, Jensen, Will Nothing in Inga wanted to go to the alleged party that Will had suggested would be taking place somewhere in the vicinity of her co-captain, yet, she had fully surrendered to the notion that success in this trip, in this team, and in this life was going to take a bit of sacrifice from her. Despite her deep and ardent desire to go to bed immediately considering that she and Crew would have a long morning and afternoon of meetings, course walk, and training ahead of them, she’d taken Will up on his offer of joining their little get-together, something she vowed long ago she would never do willingly. Yet, things felt different now, and there was a lot more at stake than there had been when she’d made that promise to herself. A little after eight, the young Swede arrived at the location Will had suggested, and her eyes immediately wandered to a familiar figure who was lurking in the corner, rust-colored hair falling in his face as he attempted to get away from the crowd unscathed. Jensen seemed to be smuggling alcohol from the party for a secondary location, which something in her secretly hoped was somewhere alone as opposed to in the company of others–especially women. Despite this, she’d decided long ago that getting involved romantically with someone with the Eliopoulos last name would be a bad career decision, and she held too much self-discipline to allow herself to fall in love for the wrong person. Love was a choice, after all, not something that could hold her captive without her consent. Not long after she found him in the crowd, she watched him pass her in the hallway, headed to wherever he was going alone. As she attempted to make her way over to Will to thank him for extending the invite, she felt the blunt force of another, larger body crashing into hers, steadied only by the grip of a strong hand on her waist. Confusion struck her first, for she couldn’t think of a single person in this room–other than Will, who was across the room–who wouldn’t want to see her fall. Even more shockingly, she followed the familiar appearance of the hand up to an even more familiar face, who appeared to be studying her with what at least appeared to be concern. As she stepped out of his embrace at the same time that he was releasing it on his own, she was surprised that he was the first to speak. He’d been avoiding her and anything to do with her all day. “Inga,” came his response, “sorry, that’s all on me.” She bit her tongue and avoided expressing annoyance at the falsely sweet tone he mustered. Their relationship hadn’t been fixed, he was simply putting on a good show for everyone. “Not a problem,” she responded in a short tone, allowing her gaze to wander beyond him. She had no interest in faking niceties with him for the sake of his precious social image. Yet, she had to do what she had to do, even if she felt that coming here was a mistake. “I’ll see you in the morning at seven for breakfast, we can go over our plans for the weekend then and walk over to the meeting together from there.” Without waiting for his agreement or disagreement, Inga weaved through more partygoers in order to get to Will, spending a few moments with him before a few possessive women decided that the blonde had gotten too close, and they attempted to intimidate her out of a conversation she didn’t really want to be in anyway. Every now and again, her gaze wandered to the blond figure across the room, who was equally deep in alcohol and women. Feeling uncomfortable and unsure of why she’d convinced herself to come, the young woman waited until enough time had passed that it appeared she was enjoying herself to leave the scene, exiting the loud environment and breathing out a sigh of relief as silence took the place of the loud music and superficial conversations she’d just been immersed in. Not long after, Inga found her hotel room, which she wasn’t surprised to realize was directly next to Crew’s considering that they were both captains, and both had a room to themselves for the weekend. After briefly completing her evening routine, the young woman went to bed easily, having stayed up well past her typical bedtime in order to appease Crew’s friends and gain a stronger public image of her own. While she wasn’t entirely confident in his ability to show up to breakfast on time, hungover and likely full of pills, she was confident that she would do her job well, regardless of whether she had his support or not. |
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Crew went to his hotel room earlier than he would have really preferred, but the team was getting obnoxious, and, no matter how much he loved them, getting a migraine was not on his bucket list for the trip. He sprawled out on the huge bed, studying the itemized schedule for the next day. None of the real stuff was happening, it was another day to adjust to the arena or whatever, he honestly didn't know. Normally they didn't get that much time to just hang out at the hotel or surrounding areas, so the idea of freedom was a new one for the Beans. Crew wasn't terribly excited for it, as he knew that the team was going to spread out through the town they were in, and keeping track of all the people and horses and everything was already giving him severe anxiety. He rolled onto his back, counting slowly up and down from ten in Swedish to calm himself. The familiar numbers soon had his heart rate back at a more normal pace, and he was starting to get drowsy when he heard a knock on the door. He groaned, and buried his head under the pillow, not wanting to deal with the team, but he knew it was his duty, so he got up. As he pulled open the door, he was startled to see one of the sophomore boys standing at the door, looking very upset. Normally, the people who were knocking on his door were hopeful girls, or the junior Beans, wanting to be annoying. This boy, however, looking close to tears, and Crew's brow furrowed. He wasn't good at emotions, and he definitely wasn't good with listening to sniffly sob stories, but the boy seemed so distraught that he couldn't bring himself to close the door. He sighed, and awkwardly reached out to hug the smaller frame.
"Hey, kid," he said gently. "What's wrong?"
That only seemed to set the waterworks on again, so he waited patiently, and it the end, brought the kid inside his room so they could have a talk. He knew people would ask about it tomorrow, but he'd figure out an excuse. No one needed to know that the boy had been crying the night before. Around three A.M. Crew sent the sophomore back to his actual hotel room, and fell into bed, exhausted. In the end, sleep refused to find him on her own, so he took more pills, and finally slipped off into a fitful rest.
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Morning came too soon, and Crew had to haul himself out of bed so he could get to breakfast on time, which was barely enough motivation to get him moving. He wouldn't let the Beans down like that though, so he started looking for something besides what he'd worn the day before to wear. He found soft grey sweatpants, which he was quite happy to see he'd brought, but his shirt selection was slim pickings, and there was someone knocking on his door, probably the coach trying to make sure everyone was up and moving. In the end, all he could find was a dark green vase layer which clung to his chest, all the way down to the low waistline of his pants, but he was too late to care all that much. He hurried down to the lounge where breakfast was being served, and slipped into a seat just in time. Crew slumped down on the table, paying as best attention he could as the cooks gave the rundown on food, and then scurried out of the room. He surveyed the food with interest, his appetite unaffected by his mental struggles. He helped himself to a thick Belgian waffle, piled with fresh fruit, whipped cream, the works. The day was starting to look up a little bit, that was for sure. The coach wandered in, also looking tired and sleep deprived, since he'd been up all night planning who would compete in what event. He chatted with a few students personally about events that he was concerned about putting or not putting them in, and then made a few announcements to the whole team before heading off to the site of the competition to talk with some of the other coaches from the surrounding teams. |
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Inga | Third Year | 06:20 | M: Crew Although Inga had left for her room markedly earlier than the majority of the team, her features told the story of just how poorly her sleeping attempts had gone. Although she wasn’t necessarily an anxious person, the young woman had never slept well in new environments, and this was no exception. And, because she refused to do anything about it other than lie there, Inga had spent some of the night downstairs in the hotel gym, and the other half passively lying in wait for the dark bags to show up under her eyes. Because of her pale complexion, these were even more noticeable, and her skin had taken on a sickly appearance that was almost ghastly in hue. If she had any desire to feel self-conscious about this, however, it only disappeared with the entrance of her co-captain, who appeared even worse off than her. “Good morning,” she greeted in a soft tone, only briefly looking up from the planner she had on the table. She’d spoken with the coach before the young man’s arrival in order to get all of the details in order despite the fact that Crew had made it perfectly clear how he felt about her taking on any kind of responsibility over the weekend. Even if she was only there to keep up appearances, it still helped her to have all of the information about who was supposed to be where and when, including herself. Although she might have preferred to sit out the first competition of the season, it was absolutely necessary for captains to compete at every competition, and this was no exception. With that said, Inga was not complaining about Crew’s control issues. In fact, she thought he was foolish for trying to be a rider and a captain without asking anyone for help, something she’d noticed as a blatant weakness of his. Vaguely, as she consumed a bit more of her strong black coffee, she wondered what might’ve caused him to behave in such a way. The rest of the morning went off without a hitch, the breakfast in silence and the following meeting between the pair and their coach in a muted sense of interaction. Without delay, the blondes continued on in their schedule by heading to the first of several official meetings that required their attendance while the remainder of the riders went with the coach to walk the course and hack their horses. To Inga’s surprise, the meeting was quite large, and organized by surname rather than team. With that said, she was placed in an entirely different area of the auditorium than her co-captain, which was both a pleasant surprise and a concern. However, she was vaguely able to keep an eye on him until about halfway through the meeting, when she turned her head to locate him in the crowd and failed to. Within seconds of this, a low tone sounded right in her ear, and she jumped with enough force that she dropped her clipboard, causing the people beside her to look over. Crew was behind her, saying something about the fact that he was leaving and that she would be in charge of the team for the rest of the day. This was an odd statement to her, paired with the intensity of his decision to whisper this in her ear rather than simply sending a text. She heard the urgency in his voice and wondered if some sort of emergency had occurred, although she didn’t voice anything other than her typical cool, calm, and collected response of agreement. As the day continued on, Inga finished with the meetings and finally got around to hacking Odin late in the afternoon during the dinner hour, which she had elected to skip in the name of horsemanship. When she checked in with their coach to ask him to have her dinner sent up to her room for her, she asked about Crew, and was even more surprised to hear that he was perfectly fine and that the coach had seen him recently. Now she felt even more anger and resentment toward a man that she had once felt the slightest amount of pity for, assuming that this was just another way he was testing her. This thought stuck with her for most of her ride and distracted her for even longer after. As she finally arrived back to the hotel, the thought occurred to her that his room was next to hers, and as she showered and prepared for the next day with the same feeling of frustration still prevalent, she decided she was going to give him a piece of her mind. Stepping out of her dorm to face him angrily for a second time in her pajamas, Inga knocked several times on his door, concerned about whether or not he was alone and who she might find on the other side. |
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Crew had started to feel worse and worse as breakfast had continued. He hated that at one of the competitions he cared so deeply for, he wasn't at his best, so he tried his hardest to just deal with the headaches and nausea as they came. He had extra responsibilities thanks to his role as captain, and going to meetings sounded like the worst possible thing that he could do, but he could tell that the head coach of the Beans, Erik Johnson, would not tolerate his skimping out on the duties they both knew he had. So, after picking at his waffles, he wandered back to his hotel room, and was halfway through getting dressed when Erik knocked on his door, informing him that he was supposed to be leaving for the meeting already, and Inga would probably bite his head off if he didn't hurry up. He hurried himself into a more acceptable outfit, and managed to make it to her side on time, looking mostly presentable. To his dismay, he hadn't managed to be able to find his pills before he'd left, so he knew the day was going to go downhill. His heart rate was already spiking, and he swallowed nervously. Thankfully, the morning went smoothly and quickly, with only mild headaches, and a consistently present nausea. When they walked into the big meeting, it was a mix of relief and horror. The coaches around him were familiar and comforting, and he was used to the large, sprawling auditorium, but the constant movement and noise was stressing him out, and he paused in the doorway, hands shaking. The only consolation was that he wouldn't have to sit next to Inga during his internal battles, thanks to the arrangement by last name. He had never been happier that S wasn't close to L. They were close enough that he could sort of pick her out from the crowd, but not enough to hear her conversations or really make out her features, especially because of the many coaches and captains between them. Crew was antsy in his seat, sweaty and seconds away from puking, and the meeting seemed to drag on. His nausea peaked about halfway through the meeting, and he carefully excused himself, sprinting to the men's room, and revisited the heavy waffles from that morning. He sat on the floor, leaning his forehead against the cold tile wall until the episode had mostly passed. After a while, he knew he had to get back to the meeting, so he pulled himself together, and managed to make it back for the end of some speech that was happening. He knew he'd better tell Inga that he was leaving, otherwise she'd probably kill him, but he also wanted someone keeping an eye on the Beans. He cared far too much for the guys on the team, and he needed someone to be keeping half an eye on them, so he gently touched her shoulder.
"Look, Inga. I'm going back to the hotel. Keep an eye on the Beans, okay? They're gonna be a pain, I know, but the need someone to look out for them."
He didn't bother to go into the details of *why* he was going back to the hotel, he didn't feel like she needed to know anything about that. Crew rubbed his tired, bloodshot eyes, and made his way back to the hotel as quickly as possible. The afternoon passed in a blur of pain, and vomiting, interspersed with brief panic attacks, mostly brought on from worrying about his father, the competition, the Beans, and other things that were prevalent in his life at the time. He knew he needed to make an appearance, or the Beans and Erik would start worrying, so he pulled himself together enough to go out. He put sunglasses on to hide his eyes and part of his face, and made sure that on a quick walk out past the lounge, he was clearly spotted, and then hurried back to his room. For a few minutes, he thought maybe the worst of it was over, but to no avail. Instead, it got worse, and he slowly sat down, shaking. His breathing became uneven and ragged, his entire body racked with trembling and huge sobs. His mind was spinning, he could barely see, and the stress from this added panic attack started to add to the pressure he was already feeling, and he started to spiral more than usual. Crew was firmly in the throes of it when through the voices in his mind, he heard a knock on the door, and Inga's angry voice outside. He curled against the end of the bed, not wanting to add to his already mess of a self, but he knew if he ignored it, it would only get worse. Somewhere in his roiling mind, he hoped that if she came in, she'd be completely out of her element, and get scared and leave. Permanently, if he was lucky. However, this was barely a thought amidst the terror in his mind, and the rest of him only wanted some amount of comfort and help, so he half turned towards the door.
"S unlocked," he choked out, pressing his forehead into the the clammy palms of his hands. As he'd expected, the door swung open, and in she breezed. He couldn't see through his hands, so he had no idea what her thoughts were when she came in, seeing her co-captain shaking on the floor, huddled against the foot of the bed, looking a mess, no doubt. He slowly dragged his eyes up to hers, but he couldn't read the blue staring back at him. Crew had never been good at dealing with his trauma, and this was no exception. He forced his usual cocky grin, and tried to play off his trembling hands and unusually high heart rate.
"It's fine, really," he rushed out, stumbling over the words. "M just not feeling well."
She stepped closer to him, and he was pretty sure that she was talking, but all he could hear was the blood rushing through his ears and the voices in his head. Suddenly, she was touching his wrists, and he half heard her say something about 'scientific methods' and 'regular heartbeats.' Startlingly, it did ground him, at least enough to pull him to a state of half back to normal, where he could be sort of in a less stressed mental state. |
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Summer 
Night Weather: 
Heavy Rain Moon: 
