Sticks and Stones (Open)

Devon numbly followed the staff woman, more or less remembering the route they took as her heels clacked along the floor ahead of him and he followed, his bag weighing down his right shoulder and his guitar case weighing down the other.

When you cut yourself with something really sharp the flesh is numb for a moment, it doesn't even bleed, and that's how the dark haired boy felt. Cut off from his life, changed and scared forever, but numb to it as yet. He'd bleed soon enough, and he wanted to keep from it as long as possible.

"Yes'm. Thank you ma'm." He nodded as she pointed out features, places, handed him a packet. "Thank you ma'm."

The bed he was supposed to use had sheets and blanket sitting on it, and it was a top bunk. How were you supposed to make a top bed? He'd never made a bed in his life.

"I'll leave you to it then." She said, finally leaving. He listened to the clack of her heels back down the hall.

The silence was oppressive, and his shoulders bowed more under it than the weight of his bags, but also welcome. Seemed like there wasn't enough silence any more. With a sigh he began to unpack his bag, putting his things into his locker and everyone once and a while pausing to close his eyes and press his head against the laminate door.

"This is for your own good, Devon." His mother had said as he packed for him. He watched her with flat brown eyes, not even protesting that she was packing the wrong things. Domestic wasn't his mother's strong suit, but she was making some sort of an effort. "You can get away, make new friends, get better, and then before you know it, you'll be off to uni and no one will know you ever had a bad patch."

"A bad patch?" He asked her, the surprise in his voice evident. "You call this a bad patch?" He felt the anger rising, but he wasn't allowed to be angry. So he pushed it back down again. "Right, a bad patch. I just," He scrubbed his hands through his dark wavy hair. "It's so far away, and such a long time. I'll miss Lily..."

"Oh don't be silly. We'll visit." His mother said. But he knew they wouldn't.

He took a photo out of Lily and himself, they were outside and laughing, and hung it on the back of the locker door. Best thing about Lily was... she was untouched by all this. Not just him and his 'bad patch', but their parents in general.

The longer Remi spent at Highgrove, the more boring he was finding it all. The lack of school uniforms meant he wasn't going to be tempted to do something he'd regret, which he was certain would happen if somoene like Maggie or Kizzy crossed his path clad in one, but at the same time, without any eye candy, it was rapidly getting boring here. There was only so much time he could spend on chores, schoolwork and his ever lengthening daily workout routine, he was even sure he'd explored most of what the grounds and the old, somewhat decrepid buildings had to offer. The quicker he got his little issue dealt with, the quicker he could get to making use of the little nooks and crannies he'd unearthed while he was wandering around, assuming he could find a willing partner or two that was. Probably not so easy as he thought, what with how damaged all the girls seemed to be.

Chores were over for the day, they'd been about as thrilling as they ever were. It wasn't as if there was much to actually do on the allotments while the weather was still hovering just above freezing, yet the staff sent them out every day anyway. He didn't even know what they'd been doing today, he hadn't been paying enough attention, but that really wasn't unusual for that chores group, as far as he could tell. He never really spoke to the rest of the group, while they were working most communication seemed to just be grunts and swearing, two staples of manual labour through the ages. Now it was over, he was heading back to his dorm, to not talk to his roomates for another day. Offhand, he couldn't even remember any of their names without really thinking about it, there hadn't been a lot of socialising in dorm two just yet.

Soon enough, the Frenchman made it back to his room, and nodded to Devon, not really paying him much attention at first. It wasn't until he caught sight of the bags that he actually looked over at the boy, realising he hadn't actually seen him around before. "Hey." he said simply, perching on the edge of his own bed and pulling off his boots. "You new?" he continued, his voice as thickly accented as ever. England might take some things from him, but it wasn't going to take that. Yet anyway. "I'm Remi, you?" he added, craning his neck a little to try and spot what Devon was doing with the locker, though soon giving up. Hopefully, it wasn't anything to do with school photos of sisters or girlfriends. There was no way that would end well. "So, what are you in for?" he asked with a small grin. Standard Highgrove greeting that, best way to avoid people like Wayne, or Harry. Assuming they didn't just lie that was.

Devon was neat, so as he unpacked he hung up his clothes, including the jeans. He brought a few ties, because he didn't know what to expect, some jumpers and a light and heavy jacket. It all seemed so pointless. He was still keeping up appearances, for whom?

It occurred to him that he didn't know who he was. But before he could follow that thread of thought, someone came into the room. Black skin, dark eyes, seemly oblivious since he passed right by him without so much as a glance to go to one of the bunks and start pulling off his boots. So Devon continued unpacking; boots, dress shoes, cross trainers... all in a row in the bottom of a locker that had probably housed a hundred pairs of shoes in a sad little row just like this.

"Hey," Came a voice, rich and foreign. "You new?"

"Yep. Just shipped in today." He answered politely, though he thought it was a blatantly stupid question, considering. He spared a glance at the guy, and saw him trying to look into his locker. Devon put his guitar case into it as well and considered the photo of him and Lily. There might even worse pervs than him in a place like this. He considered this and opened the case, pulled out some sheet music and randomly hung up the covers to them as well, one of them obscuring the photo.

"Devon." He responded, throwing his now empty bag up on top of the locker and closing it. "In for? Oh, my dysfunction? I keep bumping into lit cigarettes in the dark and burn myself on them."

Not the whole truth, but close enough. If they were going to be roommates, and it seemed they were, sooner or later the French boy... or was he Belgian? Would see the scars.

"And you?" He asked, since it seemed that turn about was fair play. He crossed the room to try to figure out the bed thing, figuring he wouldn't want to mess with it when it came time for lights out. The sheets felt stiff and smelled funny, and the blanket felt scratchy and was full of those little balled up bits the maid had called 'pills'. He should of brought his own bedding.

Remi wasn't all that surprised to find the other boy was fresh off the bus. The population here wasn't exactly large, it was easy to keep track of the fresh meat when they showed up. He supposed that did make it a slightly redundant question, but for all he knew, Devon could have spent the past few months in a coma, or in seclusion or something. Looking at the state some of the kids here had ended up in, that wouldn't be too shocking really. Whatever the other boy was doing in his locker, he wasn't going to let Remi see it, so he could only assume it was a picture of a girlfriend, or a fiancée. Not all that interesting to him really. unless it was a school photo. That could get...awkward, fast, and fighting with his roommates really wasn't something Remi intended to start. not only because he suspected it'd go the way of his only fight here so far and end in an almost laughably easy victory for him, the thought of sharing a room with someone who intended to hurt him just didn't sit well.

Hopefully, it would never come to that. From the sound of it, the other boy, Devon apparently, was a self harmer. Not exactly Remi's favourite thing, but at least that made him relatively harmless. Not like Wayne, or if rumour was believed, Harry and a few of the others. "Me?" he replied, wondering just how to explain his kinks without sounding as crazy as he felt sometimes. "Well, let's just say there are a few mothers out there who aren't exactly happy with me right now. It's not as bad as it sounds, honest." he said with a grin, shaking his head. "That, and, I got myself caught up in the riots. Can't go home yet." he added, giving a shrug. He was probably out of license by now, but it wasn't as though Highgrove was going to let him go, why would they? His parents wouldn't take him back yet, and he was still too young to go join the marines.

"So, where are you from?" he asked, looking to the boy again. English accents were so...varied. It wasn't just a different accent for every town, the bigger cities had dozens of their own. West London? Maybe, but it was tricky to tell sometimes. Somewhere monied, that was for sure, not like that screeching peroxide blonde harpy from Birmingham he'd seen around. Fingernails on a chalkboard wasn't even close. "I'm from Paris myself, originally anyway. Manchester before I wound up here." he continued, rambling a little by now. Better that than open hostility though, right?

"Ah, Manchester. Right." Devon nodded, trying in vain to pick those annoying pills off the blanket, his fingers quick and nimble but there were literally thousands of the same things. Each one probably had a woeful little story of some kid who was here before him crying in their sleep and bunching the damn thing up in their fists, or jerking off fervently in the dark, trying not to be overheard in the cavernous room. "London myself. Wasn't born there, sort of transplanted, like yourself."

He threw one of the sheets over the bed and tried to wrangle the mattress edges into the pockets without dumping the thing on himself from the higher bunk. "Well, I think it'd be safe to assume that everyone in here has a few mothers mad at them, mostly their own, or they wouldn't of been shipped out, now would of they?" He asked, but his tone sheepish rather than aggressive.

He tossed a glance over his shoulder at the dark skinned lad. He never understood that hair. Seemed like most of the black people he knew didn't either and did unimaginable things to it to control it. "Back home to Manchester, or Paris?" He asked, finally able to master the sheeting and tossing the blanket over the top before turning to the pillow. It was limp, and instead of fabric it was covered with a sort of light plastic. Better to resist tears, snot, blood and vomit he supposed, and resolved to roll up his jacket as a pillow instead.

He threw the thing on top of his locker with his emptied bag and rummaged to find pen and paper and sat with them at the desk. "I've been to Paris a half of dozen times. Zip over the chunnel for a holiday with my mum and sister, mostly to be bag boy while they shopped, but was able to get away a couple of times on my own."

He looked down at the blank peice of paper. His mother probably would put off anything he sent her, his father would toss it to the side and mean to read it, but forget. His only hope was his sister.

Best Sister In the World,

I am sucking up in the hopes you will convince someone, anyone, to send me bedding. I have a plastic pillow, starched sheets, and a wool blanket that is nubby from the unknown amount of people who have used it for the last decade. In return I will write (or not write) as often as you wish.

In other news, the food is crap, and I have a black Frenchman for a roommate. I haven't been here long enough for any other news, but hope this finds you well and in good spirits.

Love,
Devon

It didn't take him a moment to scribble that out, and he looked at Remy. "So, how does the post work around here?" He asked, folding the letter.

"Oh? Where were you born?" Remi asked, smiling a little. Hopefully not too much of a personal question, he was just being curious after all. A lot of Londeners weren't actually from the city, but he'd heard it said that you could step off of a plane, jump on a bus and be one of them before the first stop, if you had the right attitude anyway. In a way, he was glad he was up in Manchester for the riots, seeing the senseless violence filling London's streets would have been so much worse than watching it unfold around him up north. None of them could hold a candle to Paris though, not that he'd seen it in a long while. One day though, once he was out of here, he'd be able yo go home with his head held high. That was the plan anyway, knowing his luck it wouldn't end up coming to fruition in anything like the way he planned it.

"You're probably right there. I suppose what I mean is that I have more mothers angry with me than some of our peers." he replied, grinning at Devon's sheepish tone. He wouldn't pry, but from the way he spoke, he was going to assume Devon had been declared a sexual deviant too. Probably not as...dangerous as he was himself, at least, he hoped not. He didn't want to have to intervene in another event again, saving Maggie from Wayne that one time had been enough for him. Thankfully, Bjorgen had believed him about that, and he'd not been punished for the fight. He should really find Maggie sometime soon, see how she was doing. So long as she wasn't in a school uniform, she wasn't going to be at risk from him, and making friends with a pretty girl like her might even turn out to help him with his problems, in the long run.

"Back home to Paris. I was in Manchester for a summer exchange, working for a language college. Not somewhere I live." he replied, shrugging. Odds were he'd never go back there now, and he saw no problem with that. "I know how that feels. We did the same to London, a few times." he added as Devon continued. not for a few years now, but that didn't matter. It'd be nice to be able to do that sort of thing again, to see his sisters, talk to them, and not face quite so much open hostility from his mother. One day, maybe it'd even happen. "The post? Uh..." he looked thoughtful for a moment, "I don't know, sorry. I think you have to take it to the front desk, but I've never tried. Sorry." he added, shrugging. He'd never be able to write home, his mother would make sure of that, it wasn't even worth trying. Devon was lucky he'd be able to do it, Remi envied him a little. "Who's it to, if you don't mind my asking?"

Devon put the letter in the envelope and addressed it, but rather than seal it he tucked the flap in. He suspected that in a place like this all mail would be screened. Why muck up the envelope by having some office bloke open and reseal it. "Causton? I doubt you've heard of it. It's a nice little city, mostly industrial. Makes things. That's where my father got his start, some pimple faced office dweeb. Used to go back sometimes to visit the Grands, before they passed on."

Devon eyed the black boy when he said he had more mothers angry than most of the kids in here. Rapist? Peeping Tom? Pedo? Then he gave a mental shrug. What could you expect from a place like this, a normal roommate? No... everyone had the dings and quirks. "Sorry to hear that. Then again, I'm sorry to be here." A truth, but not a whole truth. He wasn't sorry about what he'd done, only to been caught and gotten other people in trouble. And he'd been so fucking careful all the time. "I suppose this is better than prison though. Or some kinds of prison." He amended.

When Remy confessed his ignoreance Devon shrugged, his narrow shoulders rising up and down before he tucked the envelope into his pocket. "No worries, I'll get it sorted." He glanced at the information packet the woman had left him. Meal times, group session times, bed times, waking times, class times, assignments, rules... Christ. It was like being at home again without the smell of mother's perfume in wafting in the air. Or decent bedding.

"Hmmm? Oh, my sister. Only decent person I know. He said with a small smile, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. She's the sort that would rule the world, but thinks it's too much of a bother. I suspect she'll marry a perfectly nice boy and have him be MP and rule from behind the scenes someday."