That boy is a MONSTER . . . {Christian}

[darlingjohn]

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair and he hated it.

He hated the looks people gave him and he hated the derisive smiles and he hated this country and everyone who lived here. He wanted to go home, he wanted his parents back, he wanted quiet mornings in Hertfordshire and Lady Grey and Gunpowder Green and simplicity, but he couldn't have those things anymore.

Archibald Kensington was supposed to be a grown-up. But how could he be a grown-up when every kid his age was just...laughing at him?

Before, everyone had just ignored him, and he'd hated that, too, but at least it was manageable. Now, though, things were getting a bit more complicated. It seemed some of Baum's less intelligent and less civilized students were taking to bullying, and Archie, who was scrawny and annoying, seemed to be as adequate a target as any.

He should have prepared himself for this.

It had started with words.

It had started with rude jabs and uncouth comments and especially more jeers about his questionable sexuality, despite the fact that he had assured his assailants many times that he was straight. (Because he was...right?) It had started with bumps in the hallway that had knocked his books out of his arms and taking his seat at lunch. And he hadn't understood. He hadn't understood because, for all he had experienced and all that he knew about grown-ups, the immaturity and downright cruelty of children was unfamiliar territory for Archibald.

He had never been very good with confrontation. Certainly, he could have a good debate - he was never short on facts to throw - but insults? Archie didn't know how to take an insult. He'd learned modesty when it came to compliments, particularly those that came from adults: a small smile, a dip of the head, and a quiet, "Thank you very much." But insults? Rude remarks? How did one respond to, "You dropped something, Four-Eyes" or "Nice outfit, fag"?

The simple answer was, one could not construct an adequate retort. He had learned this, and it hurt.

So he had taken to avoidance.

There was this little place in the courtyard, in the garden, that was rarely visited by the type of student that had been so harassing Archie lately. It was near a fountain which, at this time of year, was not running, in case it be frosted over. In addition, since it was so cold outside, few people came out here at all, and so Archie felt safe to trek out here despite the temperature, read a book, do homework, and maybe cry.

There was nobody around to see him, anyway.

Today was a day for that spot.

So, bundled up, he curled up on that bench, took off his glasses, and just breathed for a while.

Safe.

[CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH]

Oh, he was dreadfully bored.

No Millie to torture as she was doing something she viewed as important. Some extracurricular something or another. His usual squeezes were all spent and used; he had grown to bored to even bother with them anyway. Christian was much like a child on Christmas, except Christmas was everyday. Something newer, brighter, shiner, sleeker would come along and make the former model obsolete. Girls were so easy these days, he prayed from the days to return when virginity was a matter of pride rather than embarrassment, and he could actually have a goddamn challenge. There wasn't even that one teacher for him to attempt and foster suspicion in before soothing her paranoia with a relatively logical explanation.

There were no games of chess to play.

With a heavy sigh, he moved across the corridors of his School- oh how he hated this place. Why New York? Why not Brussels? Why not Versailles? Why not Prague!? Oh, how he loved Prague! New York was so gray and dull. The city was suppose to be the metropolis of life, the new Babylon. Bull shit, it was a wasteland, full of drug riddled homeless and filth. Rats and roaches. Yes, other places had these same had these faults, there were a great many saving graces! And, in Christian's opinion, this hell hole had nothing that made it stand out from the rest. Just some stupid green statue that had been a fucking gift from the France.

Bereft with feeling oh so very misunderstood, Christian continued on his way. The black, wool, double breasted jacket clung to him most handsomely. Beneath he wore a white button down, a gray vest, and a loosened tie. The tailored blue jeans clung impeccably, and were full of abrasions that somehow made them worth two hundred something odd dollars. Black, square toe shoes, and dress socks finished the look. He was a handsome boy, few would deny that, even if they found his personality unappealing. He had flax gold hair that was never tidy, and pale blue eyes that were near impossible to discern. He tanned sooner than others, and lost his tan far after them. Even now his skin had a faint summer glow, despite the cold winter they faced. Thin muscles and a tall frame, matched with a curlish grin that seemed to conquer his own face with it's thin lips and bright white teeth.

But today there was no smile. Only a disdain for the boredom he found himself in. He needed a challenge. A true challenge. Stopping near the courtyard, his eyes fell upon a figure huddled on the bench. Pathetic thing, Christian wondered if it was crying. If he was crying. One of the great nuisances of attending a boarding school was the high amount of homesick weaklings that roamed the halls like ghosts. Second only to scholarship trash.

But upon closer inspection, this person was dressed finely. His features were strikingly gentle and feminine. He was beautiful, like a deer. Weak and fragile, but graceful in it's way. Perhaps he had only to ask, and his challenge would come to him. A boy... Boys were much harder to seduce. First he'd have to see if this guy was even the homosexual type- not that that mattered to Christian. Boys would be boys, after all. He'd start in gracefully, approach him as a friend.

A friend.

Now this was laughable.

With listless steps typical of Christian Reichenbach, he roamed over to the lad. Oh yes, he was a pretty one, wasn't he? Without a word, Christian unbuttoned the double breasted jacket, which was warm but light, and laid it over the mass. Offering a mysterious smile, Christian looked down at the boy for a moment, before heading down a corridor into the warmth. There, between the inside and the outside, Christian leaned against the wall.

And waited.

[darlingjohn]

Archie had been lying there for several minutes, just thinking about things.

He thought about his parents a lot, even now. He tried not to. His aunt and uncle had told him that it would probably be best if he could distract himself, do things that would make him stop thinking about them, but nothing he did worked. Eventually, his thoughts would end up back in his house in Hertfordshire, and that would be that. He wasn't getting over it. It just wasn't happening.

He thought about the person he had become, how he had to have...attention or recognition or whatever it was he craved, he didn't even know anymore. He thought about how hard it was becoming to maintain this strange lifestyle he led, and how hard it would be to stop, to just stop being the boy he had made himself. Perhaps if he were quieter, like he was around grownups -- if he treated every peer like a grownup -- perhaps then he would be left alone. He was starting to thing that attention was not something he wanted; at least, not from so many people.

But then who would he be? Children did not want to have rational conversations like adults did. If he stopped being a stubborn know-it-all, he would simply fade away, and--

Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching him, and his entire body tensed.

Were they back? Had they not finished with him? Had they something else to say? He felt his muscles contracting, prepared to leap from the bench and run, but there were no rough hands on his shoulders or pokes or kicks. Looking up slowly with his wide hazel eyes and currently-crooked glasses, he allowed his gaze to fall on the one approaching him...

...who turned out to be a very, very handsome boy.

Archie raised his eyebrows in shock and surprise as said very handsome boy just...took off his jacket and laid it over Archie's curled-up form on the bench, as if he didn't even need it and Archie were some kind of...homeless man in need of warmth. The gesture was absurdly sweet, but...strange. Why would a boy he had never met...what...why...?

The boy didn't say anything. He just smiled a little and then he walked away, leaving Archie staring after him in utter confusion.

He lay there still for a moment, inhaling the scent of the jacket as it trickled up to his nose. The smell was practically intoxicating...but he shook it off. No. He had to find this boy immediately and tell him that he hadn't needed the jacket, that it had been very kind of him to offer, but he had been quite warm enough, and...y-yes, right away! He had to find that boy right away!

Springing from the bench, Archie carefully folded the blazer over his arm, readjusted his glasses, and ran inside, failing to notice Christian until he had run right past him.

Something in his head seemed to click at the sight of the stranger out of his peripheral vision, and he turned, a little awkwardly, finding that all the words he had prepared to say had vacated his brain at that very crucial moment.

"Um." He looked down and sank his teeth into his bottom lip. "It was very kind of you to offer this to me, but I assure you, I was warm enough..." His British accent was obvious and refined -- he had had very few years in the States to buffer it after growing up in England.

[CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH]

Always leave them wanting more.

That was a rule of life, wasn't it? You leave them wanting more, and they'll come running. Of course, as a general rule, this was a metaphor. They didn't literally run after you. Not unless you did something very right or very wrong. Leaning against the wall, it only took a moment or two for his nervous little buddy to come find him. In his excitement, he ran right past Christian, who's face turned with the bolting figure as it made an awkward U turn. Christian smiled- a private, intimate, grin- as the boy found his words. There was a rich accent in his voice, a jolly good Brit if you would.

Christian was considerably well traveled for his age, though he had little love for places. Perhaps he had been spoiled, but everywhere had trees. Obviously it was not the trees that sucked any interest he might have for places. Just that they were all relatively the same to Christian Reichenbach. They all had dishes that were theirs, they all had customs and dialects that were theirs. He favored none, not even his own native land of Switzerland. What he knew of the United Kingdom was that it was foggy and wet. That the punk scene far out shined the American one on being generally obnoxious. That the majority of the food was boiled and rather flavorless. And that if you missed the subtle differences in their accents from region to region, they became offended.

Christian himself had a very light voice, even when he became cross. Long ago he had held an accent that was a strange mutation of Swiss and French, but linguist classes at the age of eight had wiped the slate clean. For those who were especially observant, Christian lacked an accent. Any accent at all. No hints to region, or nationality. Simply his tall stance, corn silk hair, pale blue eye, and lilting voice. "I shouldn't have assumed. I suppose I figured if you weren't cold, you would be if you stayed out there." Christian tugged absently at his loosened tie, his penetrating eyes looking directly into the hazel ones in front of him.

Fortune had smiled on him, hadn't it. Ask and you shall receive, and Christian received in great bounty. This was a man, certainly raised to be good and proper. Not bent, as the British were so fond of saying. A challenge. Still, he was feminine enough to be attractive, and his disposition was so unassuming. Taking the coat back, Christian pulled it on, leaving it unbuttoned. "My name is Christian... I was about to go have some tea. In my dorm, the dirty water they serve in the cafeteria is terrible. I have some Earl Grey tea leaves..." With a seemingly confident, but genial, smile, Christian's brows raise. "Do you enjoy Tchaikovsky?" Annnd the bait had been cast. Let's see if the little fishy would bite.

[darlingjohn]

Archie suddenly felt a surge of self-consciousness that he had not been expecting to feel. This...boy...or rather, young man, he hardly fit the description of boy...he was...well, he was exceedingly handsome, and very well-spoken. It made...something in Archie prickle and blush uncomfortably, and he felt himself suppressing a fidget as he madly tried to control himself.

No, you are being ridiculous. You are not attracted to men, you’ve just been a little confused lately. You are straight. Girls. Girls. Breasts are nice. Long hair is nice. Make-up. Handbags. Jolly good stuff. Very attractive on...women.

Bloody hell.

He pursed his lips for a moment, listening to that light voice the young man had and wondering, still, why such a handsome and clearly intelligent person such as Christian would even care about some know-it-all British kid curled up on a bench. Clearly, he didn’t know who Archie was.

And something in Archie wanted to keep it that way.

"I shouldn't have assumed. I suppose I figured if you weren't cold, you would be if you stayed out there."

He was staring right at him, and it was chilling. Archie was tempted to avert his gaze, but that would be feminine, and he was trying to make a point of being as un-gay as possible right now.

"Oh...well, I appreciate the thought. It was very considerate of you," he managed, swallowing hard.

The boy took his coat back and pulled it on; Archie watched for a moment, then cleared his throat and looked away. He needed to clear his head. Some classical music or...something. A good cuppa. That would do the trick.

Bloody hell.

"My name is Christian... I was about to go have some tea. In my dorm, the dirty water they serve in the cafeteria is terrible. I have some Earl Grey tea leaves..."

Archie opened and closed his mouth a few times without saying anything. Was this “Christian” asking him to come back to his room with him? Was this some sort of underhand invitation? Why on Earth would he feel the need to invite Archie to have tea with him when they had only just met – literally just met? It was all incredibly perplexing. Archie’s eyebrows knit together in thought. He wasn’t used to this. Not at all.

"Do you enjoy Tchaikovsky?"

Still, at the mention of classical music, Archie couldn’t help but perk up, some of his awkward self-consciousness dispelling. “Absolutely!” he said aloud, rather emphatically; then, seemingly embarrassed by his enthusiasm, he smiled a bit bashfully and continued. “I...yes, I enjoy Tchaikovsky. The Snowflake Waltz is one of my favorite pieces, by any composer.”

[CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH]

Christian's acute, blue, eyes saw the pink blush creep on the Englishman's face, he made no motion that he noticed. Inside he was grinning, smirking his devilish smirk, while his lips played a more disarming song and dance. More genial and kind and wholesome. Archibald's assumption that Christan didn't know who he was, was spot on. In time, if the unassuming person became one of interest to Christian, further investigation would occur. Christian was a devil at finding out everything about everyone, and nothing would go unmissed. Still, Christian didn't have to know this kid to know he was not popular. That he was weird and lonely and confused. That he was weak. That his stiff way of speaking and focused gaze was not confident, though he tried to give off that air.

His fish mouthing at Christian seemed to give off the same impression, and Christian let a small grin slip. Now, Christian was an excellent read of a person. He didn't know if he could blame his Grandfather's insistence upon vigilance or it was natural, but he was. The boys brows knitted slightly, his lips thinned, but did not bend either up or down. He was confused and worried. With a soothing voice, Christian offered an explanation to alleviate his worries. "It had just been where I was heading, and you had not looked to busy." In a movement that seemed involuntary, Christian's pale eyes darted over to the courtyard, and the boys bench a la fetal position. "You seem like a person who could appreciate a good cup of tea. Not because you're English, of course, but you seem.... I suppose you seem to be a level of sophisticated that caught me off guard in this place." With a well played, sheepish, smile Christian looked down at his feet, and gave a small laugh.

Flatter. The boy needed to be flattered. It was something people craved, even Christian. Even his little English Teacher, and even Millie Bird. Everyone. We craved acceptance as people, and the natural competitive nature that had brought man kind this far. We all wanted to be the best at something. Christian's specialty was figuring out what it was that people wanted to be remembered for.

At least he had good taste, Christian supposed. With most, the mention of Tchaikovsky would provoke no emotion besides confusion. He nodded, starting to walk on slowly, talking in his quiet tone that would require Archie to stay within two or three feet in order to hear. Classic manipulation technique, using ones voice to control the movements of those around them. It was subtle, and could be seen merely as a how he spoke. It would command the boys focus, draw him in, make him feel that their conversation was private, and therefore leave him with feelings of a certain amount of intimacy. "I was jut going to turn The Nutcracker on! The air outside gave me a taste for it!" Christian flashed him a friendly smile, his strong and penetrating gaze hard on the boy.

"Of course, it's nothing like seeing it live. My family and I go to see The Russian Ballet perform during the Holidays. As a treat to my Aunts, they are both fans." In fact, it was probably the only thing Millie and Eliza could enjoy together. When Christian spoke of the ballet, there was not a hint of gloat in his tone. Almost as though every family took a trip to Russia with no other intention than seeing a ballet. "We saw The Nutcracker last Christmas. Quite a show, I highly suggest it. Tchaikovsky had a far more whimsical hand than Ludwig Van. I'd have to say he is my favorite, though it is a little ruined by hipsters who have the same claim. As though they have much basis for comparison, instead of pulling out the one of the most notable names out of the air." Genuine annoyance clouded Christian's handsome face, as this was an actual peeve of his.

Continuing to the path of his room, he felt quite assured that the lonely boy would follow. Even if the boy was wary, there would be the appeal of a like minded a person. A possible friend to soften their harsh world. Christian counted on people acting as people do, because that was one of the few things that could be counted upon. "You still haven't told me your name." He smiled as they neared the male dormitory.

[darlingjohn]

There was something slightly alarming about Christian, like he was older than he seemed to be. Like he was an adult pretending to be a boy, whereas Archie was more of a boy pretending to be an adult. He liked to think that about himself, that he was grown up, that he was mature, and, in some senses, he was – he was certainly a good deal cleverer than most of his compatriots. He easily retained information and could present an informed argument. But at the same time, Archie had been cheated out of his childhood at the age of 10, and there was something deep inside him that wanted that back.

He didn’t realize it was there, but at the same time, he longed for it. It was a strange feeling.

"It had just been where I was heading, and you had not looked to busy. You seem like a person who could appreciate a good cup of tea. Not because you're English, of course, but you seem.... I suppose you seem to be a level of sophisticated that caught me off guard in this place."

Christian seemed so...modest, so somehow awkward around him in a way he did not seem used to experiencing. That was...odd. No. That was very odd.

But the compliment made him glow a little bit with warmth. He couldn’t help it. Sophisticated. It was what he had wanted for years, for someone of high bearing to think him sophisticated, to look at him and think, That Archibald Kensington is certainly a sophisticated young man. He seems very worldly and mature. It was exactly the right thing to say to him.

A smile found its way to his face, a little gleaming smile that was both modest and pleased. “Well. Thank you,” he said, dipping his head politely and trying to assume a slightly more businesslike demeanor. He found he was getting a bit silly around this boy, and if he already thought him sophisticated, it would be best not to go spoiling that impression. That would be a very bad idea indeed.

The other boy began to walk away, speaking quietly, and Archie found that he had to hurry after him to continue listening, which, strangely enough, he wanted to do. He wasn’t sure what drew him so to this particular young man – it wasn’t as if he got along well with most people his own age, quite the contrary. But he seemed so...very refined, so...grown-up, with his good tastes in music and his affection for tea and his clearly gentlemanly mannerisms. Certainly someone he could be friends with, without feeling that he was at all regressing by doing so. And that was a good thing.

It would be nice to have a friend. He was flattered that someone like Christian had shown any interest in him at all.

“You...saw the Russian Ballet?” Archie noted with envy. “That’s incredible...certainly, I’ve gone to the ballet before, but never actually...in...Russia.” He pursed his rosy lips, as if somehow ashamed that he was not as well-traveled as Christian. “I, ah...well...I’ve traversed the whole of the British Isles at one time or another, but other than America, I’ve only been to Spain and France...and Brussels and Amsterdam, once, but never quite so far as Russia.” His aunt and uncle were quite wealthy, and when he had gotten a little older, they had started taking him on their occasional exotic vacations to the Iberian Peninsula or the western coasts of Europe, but the trips were brief and never stretched much further than the countries closest to England. The Abercrombies were certainly cultured, but they were not necessarily adventurous.

“Honestly,” he said, a seeming modesty having crept into his tone now, “I feel as if they both have a great depth of feeling, but Tchaikovsky is somehow more...well, whimsical is a good way to describe it. It is the difference between a horse-drawn carriage and a train. The same purpose, perhaps even the same direction, but with much contrast in the realm of grace.” He smiled a small smile, putting his hands into his pockets. “Beethoven is a magnificent freight train. Tchaikovsky combines the depth of Beethoven’s emotions with the delicacy of Mozart.” He’d forgotten how much he liked talking about music!

He couldn’t help but to follow after Christian. Perhaps it was because he was lonely. Perhaps it was because he was intrigued. Either way, he found he could not – and did not want to – stop.

“Er...” And here was where he became a bit embarrassed, as he did during roll call on the first day of school. “Archibald Kensington,” he said quietly, adding quickly, as if in apology, “But most people call me Archie. Not that I prefer it, it’s just...shorter. I don’t mind it, that is.”

[CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH]

As the boys walked side by side, Christian could not help but think of a Golden Retriver, happy to of found a home and owner. Tongue flopping, ears perked up attentive, eyes revealing an eagerness to please, tail wagging wildly around. He quite enjoyed it, truth be told. Christian was not above the enjoyment of knowing he had impressed someone. That they were dazzled by him. Despite this, Christian was not really lying to the boy yet. Oh no, the truth was far more fun. The airiness in which he spoke of his travels was purely genuine, as he honestly thought nothing of it. "I highly suggest it. There is no ballet like the Russian Ballet, I assure you. The French and Italian's technique is pretty, yes, but you can see the pure discipline in the Russian's. Almost... masochistic in nature." He added the last bit as they entered the male dorm's wing. Christian's walk was sluggish, seeming to be enjoying the conversation with his compatriot. When he spoke, his hands fluttered, a habit drawn by 'talking' to his deaf Mother. "It's amazing to watch. And the people are quite enjoyable. A unapologetic uncouthness, a rawness. It's all fascinating to witness, and words truly do it no justice."

At least his Retriever was a music fan. A capacious smile overtook Christian's thin but wide lips, eyes glinting at the discussion of music. He had a great hatred for anything modern. And truly, anything meant everything. His tastes lied in Opera, especially tales of Don Juan, and of- of course- classical music. Christian had a fantastic ear for it, able to name composers within seconds of hearing the sweet music erupt. Not only the greats, but lesser known geniuses like Franz Liszt and Berlioz! "I could not have said it better myself, my friend. I could not have said it better myself." Christian's smile turned beholden to his new acquaintance, before looking away.

It was as they reached the door that Christian heard the biys name. Archibald Kensington. Dear Lord, this boys parents must have hated him. To secure that he would be made ridicule of in primary, secondary, and beyond. To have such a deft and fierce hand, well... Christian could not even begin to ponder what the lad had done. Perhaps he was an accident? A product of the daily visit of a well-hung milk man? At any rate, Christian could tell that Archie Boy liked it, or so it seemed before he turned so contrite. Frowning a little, Christian's voice was a little tart, even scolding. As if telling him such shame was unwelcome. "Archibald then." With that, Christian opened and waved Archie Doll in, an inviting smile splayed over his lips once more. "Make yourself at home."

Removing his jacket, Christian tossed it lazily to his only chair, turning to the makeshift kitchen shared by him and his roommate Conner. This, as are most moves Christian made, was a precise move. Someone as polite as Mister Kensington would not be so rude as to sit on the expensive jacket, and his meek nature would prevent him from moving it. Thus, he'd have to sit on the bed, right where Christian wanted him. Putting a kettle of water on a hot plate, Christian then busied himself with setting up his iHome to play sweet music for the two. As the Petite ouverture began to play softly from the speaker, Christian hopped back up to prepare the tea. "Is Turkish Tea alright? I even have some Rosewater Turkish Delights to go along with it...." With a sheepish smile, Christian shrugged. "Sent by my Mother..." Digging in the mini fridge, Christian pulled out the cream and sweets, offering one to Archie Boy.

Sitting on the bed, Christian chewed on his own morsel, quiet for a long moment as they waited for the water to boil. It was not until The Little Gallop began to play, that Christian spoke, his penetrating blue eyes on Archie. "If you don't mind me asking, Archibald, why were you laying on the bench like that?" Yes, confide Archie, let down those well built walls, speak to a like minded soul who is so kind and- dare he admit- handsome. No one wants to be alone, and here's your chance. Take it.