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~~~ 
~~~ Dormitory | Jakob
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“Thank you,” César said politely, staring up at Jakob’s theatrical posture with an apprehensive look on his face. “I don’t like talking much about my brother, but yes, we are twins.” The other allegations, he dismissed with a slight flick of the hand, before raising his collar to his neck again. The way he turned his chin then was a silent warning not to continue the conversation; if he had wanted to speak with -or about- Marc any longer, then he would have done so.
The conversation could have gone to a more comfortable topic. César, too, had just started to feel inexplicably curious about Jakob’s family life. In an ideal world, Jakob would have felt a hint of repentance for his earlier actions, the pink tint in the fabric of his clothes would have been a form of soap, washing off with hot water to reveal the immaculate white of his uniform, and César could have attended Kingdom History and Management without even being late. In the real world, Jakob was an @sshat, the pink tint was never coming out, and César was going to have to catch up on yet another class.
And then there was the muffler. He picked it between his fingers, lifting it to his face as the haughty features finally morphed into an expression pure horror. “It’s lilla,” he let out, his voice strangely stable. “Purple.” And then Jakob dissolved into a roaring laughter, the same kind that had made the doors tremble earlier. César stared at his shaking form with something that went beyond anger, nostrils flaring as an ominously red vial was brandished in his face.
And so in the midst of Jakob’s incontrollable laughter, César floated out of the bathroom, momentarily disappearing into his own bedroom. The violin’s bow had some stabbing potential, but using it that way would have been sacrilegious. César owned something much, much more usable in this situation. Mere seconds later, he stepped back into the living room, a croquet mallet in hand. It wasn’t the only thing he was holding. As Jakob continued laughing, César elegantly placed a hardwood ball on the flooring, taking his time to aim.
And then he swung the mallet with all his might, the ball departing from the ground as if it were golf and hurtling towards Poil de Carotte’s flank in a clean, absolutely perfect tracing.
@ethereal | Easter egg.
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