𝗥𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗽𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆:
Two meddling teenagers and one very, very small town.
Slowly add a growing body count.
Mix well until mystery thickens.
One serial killer? Optional.
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Tuesday
Scene I
IT MIGHT BE BECAUSE LORCAN DELOS REYES IS A LEGEND AMONG SCHOOLS THAT YOU ONLY SEE BUT DON'T TALK TO BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT COOL ENOUGH OR IN THE SAME SOCIAL CIRCLE ENOUGH, but Kit Pouliot can't help compare himself to the guy striding toward him.
The stream of students only the hour of lunch can produce a good enough cover and background noise for them both to stay under the radar. Though students' eyes do stop and linger a bit for the artistic legend. In a town like Phryne Touk, legends are born this way. From small towns to the big cities; when you see something growing, you start cultivating. And people are in awe and aware of Lorcan, but they don't approach him. First, because he has a stoic expression permanently set on being harmless but harmful when provoked.
Second, legends are untouchable. Or so they say. Kit guesses it's mostly the former. There was just something about the flatness of his eyebrows and lips that works as an omen if you dare approach.
Though, Kit does note a few more things, like how Lorcan is shorter than he expected. This can also be because Kit is a giant at 6'3. But where Kit is willowy and pale and has a tendency to shrink because of his poor old man posture that will surely curse him as he grows older, Lorcan is stocky and brown, and an admittedly stylish shape of curls pulled in a man bun with gold wire glasses covering his expressionless eyes.
Kit stands motionless in a sea of motion and only allowed a questioning eyebrow where Lorcan inclines his head for a brief moment of eye contact - before walking past him.
Kit stands for a couple more seconds before sighing, following a few strides short. They're both walking opposite of the cafeteria and it isn't until crossing two buildings and jogging down a couple of stairs does Kit ask. Because Kit does know the area, though not well. He passes these buildings without a second thought because his classes are usually in the main building. And this was more of a faculty prone area, where noticeably the smell of bodies and smattering of perfumes and people are less; the noise dwindled considerably low.
"Basement Level 4." Lorcan's voice is low and steady when he answers his clipped question. "It's my studio."
Kit doesn't reply. He doesn't know how to reply to that.
Hal Langford High School wasn't much of a school apart from what you would expect from it; it was a classic, textbook school built from the same foundations as every other educational system. They had a football team, a dying music program, a decent cafeteria, and a cheer squad. There is nothing that truly stands out of it. It's a place you get an education to places that has better credentials, places that really make an effort with your future.
