So This is Christmas? (Open - Solarium)

Huxley's idea of a good time was most decidedly not dressing up in a penguin suit and pretending to be a sophisticated, polite young gentleman, but he did it for the sake of the promised wine and music. The wine wasn't enough to get drunk off of, but it was a luxury he hadn't expected to be afforded for the next two years, making it the best thing he'd tasted in days. He chose to have the red with dinner, swirling it around his mouth to hold onto as much of the flavor as he could before swallowing. As he ate, he watched his fellow residents warily. Psychos, the lot of them. He'd been on edge since his first group therapy session. Before then, he hadn't realized how over his head he was at Highgrove. Everyone was razor happy, which made Hux and his issues look tame by comparison. It also made him feel very alone, and as a rather extraverted young man, he found this nigh unbearable. Ace was the only sane one he'd met, and he didn't see his favorite roommate enough for his own liking.

It was hard for Hux to feel so lost and unsure of himself. He didn't like it. At all. He was used to being a cocky and confident young man, but here he didn't know what he was, or who he was. All sense of self was lost in Highgrove's refurbished halls, and nature was just a tease. He was fenced in, condemned to the countryside, and he itched for the familiar, well-trodden streets of Liverpool. He missed his friends and, in a way, even the boys' home. At least he had known where he stood there.

The turkey was good, but he picked at it listlessly until they were given leave to enter the dance. His dinner gurgled unpleasantly in his stomach as he surveyed the functions hall with dull, unimpressed eyes. Christmas had lost its sparkle and shine years ago, when his parents started punishing his poor performance in school by giving him less presents than his brother. He'd known that there was no such thing as Father Christmas, because if he had been real, surely he wouldn't have favored one boy over the other.

Fingering the small hole in his nose where he had once worn a silver ring, Hux considered causing a stir on the dance floor, but knew he'd get nowhere for his efforts but stowed away in solitary for the night. It was a word spoken in hushed whispers, and though he'd experienced the utter thrill of solitary confinement before, he didn't want to find himself there tonight. He didn't want to be alone, left to his thoughts. There were enough hours in the day for that already. Expelling a soft sigh of disappointment and disgust, Hux turned on his heel and stalked away to the solarium. He didn't particularly care for the quiet and solitude, but it was better than watching that mockery of a dance unfold. It wasn't a real party, just an illusion, and he wanted no part of it.

Doing his best to blend in with the plants, Hux leaned his forehead against the glass of the far wall and watched it mist under his breath. Maybe he'd go back in, try to actually dance or talk to someone, but right now he didn't know where to start. He was also afraid that finding a like-minded sort was going to prove impossible, so what was the point in trying? Friends he'd always had in abundance, but now he was surrounded by people who wanted to either kill him or kill themselves, both of which made him extremely uncomfortable. The former was more unsettling, but he honestly didn't understand the fixation with pointy objects either way. When it came to practicing the art of self-destruction, Hux preferred to inhale or snort his poisons. "Jesus fuckin' H., I could go for a fag," he mumbled to the unresponsive plants on either side of him.

"Tell me about it."

Julien, or 'Jules' as he'd frequently come to be known, was seated comfortably behind a number of flourishing, potted palms. Incidentally, this put him at only about two feet away from the boy at the window. He didn't blame the kid for not noticing him. He had a knack for being unremarkable when he so chose to be, and this particular night, he was exerting a deal of effort to be as invisible as possible. For if they found him, they might try to make him join in with the festivities, and that would just be... awkward. From a distance, he could hear the strains of music drifting down the halls from where the jolly little 'disco' must have been taking place. Scoff. He knew he couldn't go, what with electronic gadgets seeming to hate him for some reason, and so he'd resolved to be bitter and stand-offish about the whole affair, and had absconded with a book, after dinner. Same shit, different day.

The new kid with the dreadlocks seemed cool enough though, if appearances were anything to go by. He'd never actually met a white guy with dreads before, but he'd seen plenty of them on album covers and in alternative music magazines in the nineties. Any white guy who wore them had to be pretty cool, he reasoned, because it beat the hell out of the neatly manicured, overly-rich-bastard haircuts of most of the other kids. As such, he deigned to reply from his hiding place, wondering for a moment if the kid would question whether the plants were talking to him and if, in turn, he was finally going crazy. Jules wouldn't hold him in suspense though. After a moment, a pale hand snaked out of the fronds just enough to push them to the side, and he smirked up at the boy standing there before letting them go again. They sprung back into place with a rustle and a bounce.

"Good luck getting ciggies 'round here though. Most of the staff are stiffer than..." Stiffer than the dead ones. "... a priest at an all boys synchronised swimming competition." He murmured a slight and jaded laugh to himself, and turned the page in his book, only half-reading it now. If he was honest -which he wasn't- he almost wanted some company tonight. Josie was likely off frolicking on the dance floor in her Christmas finest, rubbing up and down some other schmuck. He would have liked to watch, torturous as it was, but he couldn't go in there. He'd ruin the fun for everyone. So she'd get the night to herself, and whoever she happened to drag off to some quiet corner. He supposed that as long as she was having fun, he shouldn't gripe. Not that it stopped him. Furthermore, he was somewhat avoiding Simeon tonight. He didn't fancy discussing another Christmas passing without family or friends -except Simeon of course- and he didn't want any sorts of nudges to be more festive, or to try to stop scowling like Ebenezer Scrooge. No, best to be alone.

"I like your hair," the potted ferns said, shifting slightly as Jules moved his elbow to rest on the lip of one of the pots. "S'cool. You in a band or something?" He realised he'd read half a page now without really reading it, and sighing faintly, snapped the book closed. There was no point now. He could still pretend to be irritated that he'd been interrupted though, even if he wouldn't have been discovered had he not started this little exchange. Ah the fickleness of eternal adolescence. "Never could play an instrument, y'know? Just haven't got a musical bone in my body. Been thinking about learning though. I guess I've got plenty of time to spend on it. ...Being locked up in the nut house and all." Pitch eyes flashed briefly through a gap in the fern fronds, and they appeared to be friendly enough, not hard-set but perhaps a little... bottomless in appearance, as if they were composed of that celestial matter that he fancied black holes must be made of. They devoured light and colour, reflecting nothing back. They looked a little out of place in the pale sea of his face, almost unearthly.

"I'd say we should blow this popsicle stand, so they say, but they're like fucking hawks on Christmas. No-one's getting out of here without having their holly, jolly balls crammed down their throats."

"Fuck me!" Hux exclaimed when the plant to his right confessed to sharing his wistful desire for a cigarette. Realizing he'd pitched his voice a little higher than intended, he laughed softly and glanced around to see what kind of disturbance he'd created. Not much of one, as it turned out. There were a few other loiterers in the solarium, but they were spread out and not paying him any mind. Of course. He'd have to do something really crazy to get the attention of the ambling, lifeless drones, like start eating the plants or shredding their leaves, but none of the zombies interested him enough to warrant such behavior. Besides, there was the matter of the talking palms, which had caused him to jump back from the window and scratch his head in confusion. Was there something in the wine? Couldn't be, but it was an entertaining prospect. God only knew the horrors the punch was made out of. He wondered if anyone had tried to spike it yet.

When the fronds parted, Hux briefly expected a Venus Flytrap to come poking through and gobble him up, but his overactive imagination proved to be more exciting than reality. A blond boy, who looked to be around his own age, peered out of the foliage, smirking, before retracting his hand and letting the leaves spring back into place. Hux, who had hoped to eventually be noticed, hadn't thought of trying to find a hiding place amongst the pots, but the idea of surrounding himself in all that greenery somehow seemed strangely appealing now that he knew it was an option. If this kid had been at Highgrove long enough to know about all the cool hiding spots, he was someone Hux wanted to know. That kind of knowledge could come in handy, especially when the impulse to get away from all the freaks proved too overwhelming to resist. Besides, it was always good to know a thing or two the others didn't, though he suspected he might be a bit slow on the draw in that regard. He hadn't done much exploring, preferring to keep to his dorm and the common rooms. Surely most of the others had one up on him already.

Hux chortled when the voice spoke up again. "Yeah, I kinda suspected as much. No fun allowed, right? They're bad for ya and all that shite. Well fuck 'em. Wonder where they're keeping all the wine. In the kitchens, I suppose, though security's tighter than the Virgin Mary's immaculate twat." Rolling his eyes, Hux trailed a finger through the dissolving mist on the glass in front of him with no real intent in mind. His gaze occasionally flickered to the palms, wondering if the other boy was going to come out or invite him in. He'd looked comfortable enough where he was and probably didn't want to be disturbed, but if that was the case, he wouldn't have bothered saying anything in the first place. Hux hadn't gotten a good look at the kid's face, but the brief reveal had shown him one he was fairly sure he hadn't seen before, or else had failed to notice. At least it wasn't someone from that awful therapy group. The kid with the marker had particularly freaked him out. He didn't want to spend his time around anyone who saw him dead and bloodied instead of as he was, alive and whole and blessedly unblemished.

"No, not in a band, but thanks all the same." Running his hand over his hair, he eyeballed his reflection for a moment before turning to lean his shoulder against the wall and face the half-concealed blond.. The compliment pleased him more than he let on. He hadn't seen any other kids with dreads so far and liked that they made him stand out. That was kind of the point. "Always lacked the focus to play an instrument. A damn shame too. Bet if I did everyone would be falling all over themselves to get to me." Chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip, Hux thought of Aldous and how he was probably a piano prodigy by now, playing rousing sonatas that brought a tear to every posh, discerning eye in the bloody concert hall. "My little brother's the family genius. Got the best of everything. I'm not worth a whole hell of a lot to anyone, else I wouldn't be here." Frowning at the turn the conversation was taking, Hux attempted to backtrack by gesturing at the book the blond held in his hand. "Whatcha reading there? You some kind of literary scholar? Good for you if you are. My parents are big into books. Named me Huxley and my brother Aldous, but apparently that's not a good enough excuse to experiment with acid." He snorted sarcastically, outstretched fingers fondling the fronds of the palm Julien sat directly behind.

"Yeah, I'd love to take off, get my ass out of this suit. This whole thing's so fuckin' fake I can't stand it, everyone eyeballin' each other like prime cuts of meat. They all want to fuck or kill each other out there. Psychos in captivity - stay tuned." Hux's lopsided grin wavered as he tried to hold it. For all of his joking, the situation was pretty damned serious. Humor was his feeble way of dealing with it, and he wasn't even doing a good job of that. Again the thought struck him, I don't belong here.

In his private little jungle, Julien considered the merits of an escape attempt. The longer the dreadlocked boy spoke, the greater the temptation was. It was hard to find anyone he considered 'cool' out here in the middle of fucking nowhere. He'd seen plenty of kids cycle through Highgrove in his time there, but very few had been considered memorable, and he did not typically make friends. It was lucky if he spoke two words to them at once, really. He'd perfected the art form of ignoring his psychotic roommates and staying out of their way, but he'd be lying if he said that they weren't starting to grate on him. The blond with the giant ego was irritating as hell, and Jules would have liked nothing better than to knock him off his guilded pedestal. But he didn't fancy another stint in seclusion right now. It was bad enough being trapped at Highgrove and its grounds, without being confined to the same, tiny room he'd memorised time and time again. hey wouldn't even let him have a book any more. It was enough to drive a man in possession of his wits rather out of them. Still... Maybe on Christmas it was worth the risk of getting caught, to have some kind of festive celebration of his own.

His eyes shifted back up to the other boy, and once again, a hand snuck through the fronds, parting them. He looked pensive, considering perhaps how he'd pull it off without them getting caught before they'd ever made it out the door. And now Hux had mentioned the wine in that kitchen, he was seized on that idea too. If he could sneak in and spirit a bottle or two -no pun intended, on both fronts- out of there, and if they could then escape to the barn or the attic... Well, that would be a hell of a lot better than this fucking charade. He pursed his lips and then sucked the bottom one in to gnaw on it thoughtfully. Mischief was what the holidays were all about, wasn't it? If he was going to get his hands on some wine, they'd need a distraction. Unfortunately, hitting Hux wouldn't work either, because he'd be whisked off to the medical building. Maybe he could hit someone else while no-one was looking, and once they started wailing, he'd already be gone, 'round the corner and into the kitchen. From there, he and Hux could slip out the back door, which would be easier than trying to get up to the stairwell and into the attic. And if he got caught...? What were they gonna do to him? Electro-shock therapy?

A slow smirk began it's procession across his face.

"Well, you don't look like a square..." He glazed over the question about the book, and standing, stuffed it into the back of his waistband for safe keeping. He'd need his hands free, and didn't fancy admitting that he was powering through Shakespeare's Sonnets for the hundredth time, to this kid with the cool hair. He shook off some imaginary stiffness from his bones, and shoved his way through the fronds of potted ferns, to hop and amble out of his little hiding spot. "I might... be able to get us out of here. Depends if you think it's worth the risk of getting caught." Julien didn't bother to tuck in his wrinkled, boring white dress shirt. It hung over his waistband, tucked in at the back by the book peeking out from his trousers. His tie was unremarkable too. Some garish striped affair he'd been given... well, a long time ago. It was the same damned thing he wore every year, and he loathed it. But he dealt with it so they'd leave him the hell alone.

"We'll need a distraction though." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur, though he kept a respectable distance and a casual pose, as not to attract attention to them. "If we can cause a distraction out here somewhere, they'll come running, we can sneak into the kitchen the back way, grab the wine, and then leg it out the back door. They won't even know we're gone until later, and by then we could hide out in the attic of the barn." Jules gave this other boy an appraising once-over, as if to assess whether he was up to the challenge, or whether he was going to wimp out and snitch on him. "If you're up for it..."

Hux wasn't joking about wanting to get out of there, away from the falsely cheery nature of the Christmas "festivities", so when Julien suggested that they make the idea of legging it a reality, he didn't balk, cringe, or boggle at him as someone else might have. He only blinked slowly, casually, not in the least surprised by the proposition. After all, their talk was empty and pointless if they didn't act on it, and he definitely didn't plan on spending the rest of his night lamenting how miserable he was when there were clearly other alternatives to be had. Certainly he wouldn't have thought of or attempted escape on his own, but now that it appeared he had company - a partner in crime, as it were - the idea seemed much more doable and even made sense, to a degree. Because why the hell not?

Getting caught in the act was a possibility that crossed his mind, but if they were smart about it they could pull it off. There were eyes all around, sure, but they couldn't be everywhere at once, and it wasn't as if the ratio of staff to residents was even. A mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, pretending to ponder though he'd already made up his mind. Two heads put together were better than one, and what Hux lacked in common intellect he made up for in street smarts. He was clever and sneaky, and though he'd never get credit for those qualities and accomplishments no one else was proud of, he had gotten away with his fair share of debauchery untouched. What was the worst that could happen if he flopped tonight? Did it matter? He didn't want to agonize over it and look like a wimp in front of the boy with the book. He needed the esteem too much. Besides, this was no time for thought. The moment called for a swift decision: action or inaction.

"Square" was not a word that applied to Huxley, and the blond seemed to know it, even if his words implied that he might be led to believe otherwise: You don't look like a square...but you might be one anyway. Hux snorted and stood taller, stubbornly squaring his shoulders and jaw. No way was he backing down from this friendly - and potentially profitable - challenge. "It's worth a shot. I don't have a better idea, and tonight's as good a night as any. Probably better. Too many of us to keep an eye on. You and I play our cards right and they won't even notice we're gone." He doubted he'd get this opportunity again. The bulk of Highgrove's security was undoubtedly going to be focused on the functions hall now that dinner was over and the sluggish masses had, for the most part, been shepherded into one room for the remainder of the evening. That didn't mean Hux and Jules had complete immunity outside of it, but one could safely assume several staff members had been strategically placed all around the joint with eyes peeled for trouble, and all the two boys had to do was watch and wait for a turned head to slip through the night unnoticed. A diversion of some kind was definitely crucial to giving their plan the kickstart it needed. He wasn't entirely sure what the plan was at this point - it was all rather vague - but he'd go along with whatever Julien had in mind as long as it seemed reasonable.

The two boys conversed from a respectable distance now, Hux silently and curiously assessing Julien as he spoke, glad to know that, from an outsider's perspective, it no longer looked like he was fraternizing with the foliage. The dreadlocked boy nonchalantly slid his hands into the back pockets of his dress slacks, nodding in agreement with Julien's proclamation. "Oh yeah, I'm up for it," he murmured, voice whisper quiet and husky, resisting the temptation to glance around and make sure they weren't being watched. The key to avoiding suspicion was, quite simply, to not look suspicious. Amateur stuff. "So how d'you wanna do it? Kids with dreadlocks are in pretty short supply here. Someone's gonna notice if I start something and take off. Not that I'd normally be against it or anything, I just wanna do this the right way if we're gonna do it at all. And I don't mean this in a bad way, but I think you blend in better than I do."