formoftherapy | (no subject)

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The school database has the following information on Morian, Kite:

Home address and phone number, mother's name. In the event her mother can't be reached, there is a phone number listed for her brother, Eagle; the area code is for Los Angeles.

Records of her detentions (six) and suspensions (one).

Notes made by the school counselor during her freshman year, following her brother Kestrel's disappearance.

Grades--a solid B to B+ student; her attendance records indicate she could easily have As if she put in just a little more effort.

Last but not least, her class schedule:

Spanish 4, Young

English 11, Parker

Calculus, Acevedo

Lunch Period

Physics, Russell

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It is, of course, Tony's decision to believe her or not. Who wouldn't believe this innocent face?

The first quarter ends and Kite turns her attention to the last of the nachos.

"So, is the Sunnydale High Homecoming experience everything you hoped it would be?"

Someone who is already intimately familiar with Sherlock Holmes and his innocent face, perhaps?

"Dunno," Tony says cheerfully. "Wasn't expecting much. Good nachos, though."

She laughs.

"It's all about the little things, huh?"

Utterly content: "Yep."

Deep Creek rallies a bit in the second quarter, kicking two more field goals, but Sunnydale maintains their lead. The score at halftime is 17 - 9.

Someone is announcing the members of the Homecoming court; Kite digs the last Twizzler from the pack.

"D'you think he's still there?"

"What, Sherlock? Probably. He's a little weird."

Please ignore the slightly fond way Tony says this.

Consider it ignored.

"I'm pretty sure being a little weird is a requirement to attend Sunnydale."

"I'm perfectly normal."

Sherlock does not snicker.

Neither does Kite.

"Poster child of normalcy, that's you."

"Except for the part where I'm a genius."

"And modesty, too; I left that out."

"Oh please."

(The mun is getting such cognitive dissonance playing Tony off Sherry's journal, you have no idea.)

"What good did modesty ever do anybody?"

(This mun can only imagine.)

"None that I've seen," she admits.

"So there you go then."

Tony is pretty sure he just won something! He's not quite so sure what.

"There we go where?"

"Uh..."

They are saved from trying to figure out what either of them means by the start of the second half.

Final score: Sunnydale - 24, Deep Creek - 16.

Kite stretches as people filter down out of the stands. "What do you want to do now? Somebody's probably throwing a party, or we could head to the Bronze..."

"One thing first," says Tony, leaning over to peer under the bleachers.

"...Huh. He's actually not there."

Shrug.

"Let's go to the Bronze."

The Bronze is crowded on any Friday night; after a Sunnydale home game, it's packed. Still, they make it inside quickly enough.

"What first?" Kite asks, almost shouting over the roar of other conversations and the band. "Drinks? People watching? Or dancing?"

"—Just a minute," he says, and makes a beeline for the balcony. Tony can go fast when he tries. He's up at the top, in the darkest corner, in fifteen seconds at most.

The conversation goes like this:

"Goddammit, Sherry, you followed us here!"

"I did not."

"You are such an unbelievable creep! I don't know why I—"

"Careful, Tony. One never knows who may be listening."

Kite is at the bottom of the stairs, well out of earshot. She peers up into the dark, squinting.

She can't properly see either of them, but the list of things that would send Tony running off like that is very short and she knows where she'd put her money.

"Oh bullshit," Tony says contemptuously, but he does cast a glance back towards the stairs.

"I'll tell you if your lady friend approaches."

"Sherlock fucking Holmes, I swear sometimes you are not even a real person."

A silence falls into place around those words.

Patience is not Kite's virtue.

She starts up the stairs one at a time, keeping her steps as light as she can.

"Fuck," Tony says softly. "I..."

"She is attempting stealth," Sherlock breaks in coldly.

Softer still: "I'm sorry."

"Yes," Sherlock agrees, "you are."

Kite stops just short of the top. She can see them at last, but not quite hear them.

She opens and shuts her mouth twice before she manages, "We okay?"

(It's not what she meant to say. She meant to say 'you' or 'everything,' but 'we' is what she does say and she can't take it back.)