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 certainly couldn't hurt."

She laughs.

"Alright, I'll watch my back more.

You need any supplies to facilitate your lurking? I was making a food run, could grab you something."

"That would be very kind of you, but I couldn't impose. I think I might go and lurk my way over to Tony."

(For as long as she knows him, she will never hear Sherlock Holmes utter the phrase 'my brother'. He will let people draw their own conclusions, but he will not give lip service to that myth.)

"No imposition," she says, shrugging, but doesn't press the issue.

"Should grab his leg, scare the shit out of him."

"I would never do such a thing," he says, with nearly impeccable innocence.

"Of course not. Just like I'd never suggest it."

She beams.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have nachos to procure."

"By all means. Good afternoon."

He's really into the name, isn't he, with that accent and those manners.

Now, is it odd that he saunters unneringly Tonyward?

"Later."

Kite resumes her trek toward the snack bar and most certainly does not look back to see which way he goes.

Directly towards his so-called twin. Almost like he knows exactly where to find him—but Kite has been with Tony the whole time, hasn't she?

~~His mun cannot spell "unerringly" and should clearly sleep.~~

When he reaches Tony's seat, he does not in point of fact grab his leg. He climbs out of the space between the benches instead. Tony informs him that he is a fucking nutjob; he laughs and takes a seat in a more normal fashion. Tony picks dead grass out of his hair and complains about what an embarrassment he is. Business as usual with the Stark boys.

~~Sleep, this mun has heard, is kind of awesome.~~

Some moments later, an order of nachos appears at their feet.

This is followed by two hot dogs, a package of Twizzlers, and one very large soda.

Kite wriggles out from between the benches.

"I miss anything?"

The boys burst out laughing.

"Fine," Kite says primly, taking a seat.

"I'm not sharing my nachos, then."

Tony immediately steals a nacho.

"He was just giving me trouble over my habit of climbing between the benches," Sherlock explains.

Absently, Tony picks some dead grass out of Kite's hair with the hand not holding his ill-gotten gains.

Sherlock carefully refrains from thinking too hard about that.

"Don't knock it until you try it."

Kite shifts the nachos a little further out of Tony's reach.

"Oh, now you've gone and done it," says Sherlock without looking. "He'll just take that as a challenge."

Indeed, Tony leans over to raid the nachos again.

Kite plants one hand in the middle of his chest, arm stiff.

"Say 'please.'"

Tony glances away from her to roll his eyes at Sherlock.

"Please can I have some nachos," says Tony's voice in Tony's accent.

No reason to think it wasn't him who said it, except possibly the shove he gives his ostensible twin.

Kite's eyes narrow, though there's a hint of laughter around her mouth.

"Nope. Not convinced."

Well, now that Sherry's gone and ruined it for him, he turns back to her and bats his eyelashes.

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

(Sherlock stifles a snicker.)

"Something tells me that's the best I'm gonna get."

The nachos slide back into reach.

Sherlock immediately steals one.

Kite takes two.

"So--" She nods to Sherlock. "--you sticking around for the game?"

"Doubt it," says Tony.

"One never knows," says Sherlock.

"You? A sport that's not chess? Get real."

"He'll just take that as a challenge," Kite tells Tony, licking cheese sauce from her fingers.

Snort. "No he won't. He hates football. He just has nothing better to do than follow me around all day eating my food."

"This isn't your food," Sherlock points out, stealing another nacho.

"Yeah, but you didn't touch it until I was allowed to have some."

It's weird, but Tony seems kind of... nervous, with Sherlock around.