It will be a long time before Presley can think "Elflock Falls" and not see giant vines and dead whatever-they-ares. But everyone in town seems determined to eke out normalcy in the wake of what happened, and for once, Presley allows things to happen without complaint. He's got something more important to deal with, anyway.
The moment he spots that unruly blonde hair, he starts running, and gets about ten feet before remembering he's actually cooler than that. He slows to a walk, and tries out a few hand-in-pocket poses (both hands? left hand? right hand?) to score the maximum amount of cool and casual points. (Ah, there's his vape pen.)
"Carmichael." Presley stands in front of Winter, left hand in his pocket, right hand idly twirling a vape between his fingers. His tie is missing, his damaged jacket was tossed away an hour ago, and the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up. His hair is clean and cornflakes-free. He somehow looks, despite everything, like someone who just got out of prom. "I've been looking for you."
Winter's tipping her head up to see who's there before Presley even speaks, curious about the shadow that's fallen over her. It's his voice that has her sitting up, draping her arms over her knees in a show of ease, and then letting her fingers fiddle together nervously completely giving herself away.
"Am I that hard to spot?" she asks with half a smile pointed up his way. Presley cuts quite the silhouette, a little disheveled, twirling that vape with his sleeves rolled. It makes Winter laugh, a huff of air through her nose, though she can't quite place why. Someday, he'll make a very good auror — or, well, whatever he wants to be, he'll be quite dashing while he does it.
Those are wandering thoughts, though, embarrassing when looked at with too much scrutiny. Has her expression gone soft at the sight of him? Ugh. The only solution is a joke, "Here to exact revenge for the c-cereal incident?"
"Yes," Presley says without hesitation, without even a smile except for the slightest upturn of the corner of his mouth. "But rather fortunately for you, I've had my fill of violence today, so you are spared from a trouncing in a duel."
He takes a step closer, and hesitates for a second before moving to sit next to Winter on the grass. He's never thought of himself as someone who's intimidated by talking to girls—in fact, he would've been the first to make fun of a classmate for letting hormonal attraction control them like that—but in this moment, Presley finds himself unable to sit near Winter and just... look right at her. He does glance over (one second, two seconds) and looks away again to watch their surroundings.
It'll take weeks to clean all of this up. Presley feels a pang at the idea that he won't see it, if they don't return for their senior year. "Doesn't feel real, does it?"
"No, it doesn't," she replies a little too readily, like that's exactly what she'd been thinking. She keeps her gaze fixed forward, preoccupied with what Presley might see in her face if she let him have all of her attention at once. "Not the...nightmare. Not the fact that the nightmare's...gone."
It is gone, isn't it? Silent, Winter watches the people wandering about. Some move with purpose, others still seem dazed and confused. Everything feels like those first spinning malleable moments after a too long nap, your brain trying to separate what was dream from what is reality. She wonders how long it will seem this way, whether she'll wake up one day, expecting morning and finding the darkened auditorium.
She sighs and seeks the first solid thing she can: Presley. Winter tilts, leans lightly against his shoulder, then apologizes for the intrusion, "Sorry." The contact's uninvited, but it's steadying. The world doesn't spin quite so fast with an anchor. After a moment, she adds, "You could t-trounce me in a duel, but I bet I could take you in a scrap."
At that, Presley laughs—the first laugh he's had all night. "Careful. I might enjoy that," he says with a grin, and brings his arm around Winter. He's not a physical affection type of person, but... this is nice. Who knew that he'd ever care about, much less like, being a normal person for a moment? Sitting with a girl after prom, staring up at the sky instead of at the mess down below.
He lets himself look at her. It helps that Winter seems determined not to look back, but the gentle contact between them tells him what he wants to know. The way she'd smiled at him earlier, and picked cereal out of his hair.
"How about we make a bet?" Presley affects an expression of complete seriousness. "If you can beat me in a 'scrap'... I might deign to go to prom with you next year."
Winter & Presley
The moment he spots that unruly blonde hair, he starts running, and gets about ten feet before remembering he's actually cooler than that. He slows to a walk, and tries out a few hand-in-pocket poses (both hands? left hand? right hand?) to score the maximum amount of cool and casual points. (Ah, there's his vape pen.)
"Carmichael." Presley stands in front of Winter, left hand in his pocket, right hand idly twirling a vape between his fingers. His tie is missing, his damaged jacket was tossed away an hour ago, and the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up. His hair is clean and cornflakes-free. He somehow looks, despite everything, like someone who just got out of prom. "I've been looking for you."
Winter & Presley
"Am I that hard to spot?" she asks with half a smile pointed up his way. Presley cuts quite the silhouette, a little disheveled, twirling that vape with his sleeves rolled. It makes Winter laugh, a huff of air through her nose, though she can't quite place why. Someday, he'll make a very good auror — or, well, whatever he wants to be, he'll be quite dashing while he does it.
Those are wandering thoughts, though, embarrassing when looked at with too much scrutiny. Has her expression gone soft at the sight of him? Ugh. The only solution is a joke, "Here to exact revenge for the c-cereal incident?"
Winter & Presley
He takes a step closer, and hesitates for a second before moving to sit next to Winter on the grass. He's never thought of himself as someone who's intimidated by talking to girls—in fact, he would've been the first to make fun of a classmate for letting hormonal attraction control them like that—but in this moment, Presley finds himself unable to sit near Winter and just... look right at her. He does glance over (one second, two seconds) and looks away again to watch their surroundings.
It'll take weeks to clean all of this up. Presley feels a pang at the idea that he won't see it, if they don't return for their senior year. "Doesn't feel real, does it?"
Winter & Presley
It is gone, isn't it? Silent, Winter watches the people wandering about. Some move with purpose, others still seem dazed and confused. Everything feels like those first spinning malleable moments after a too long nap, your brain trying to separate what was dream from what is reality. She wonders how long it will seem this way, whether she'll wake up one day, expecting morning and finding the darkened auditorium.
She sighs and seeks the first solid thing she can: Presley. Winter tilts, leans lightly against his shoulder, then apologizes for the intrusion, "Sorry." The contact's uninvited, but it's steadying. The world doesn't spin quite so fast with an anchor. After a moment, she adds, "You could t-trounce me in a duel, but I bet I could take you in a scrap."
Winter & Presley
He lets himself look at her. It helps that Winter seems determined not to look back, but the gentle contact between them tells him what he wants to know. The way she'd smiled at him earlier, and picked cereal out of his hair.
"How about we make a bet?" Presley affects an expression of complete seriousness. "If you can beat me in a 'scrap'... I might deign to go to prom with you next year."