THE SKY'S A BRICK WALL ( jet )

[PASCAL FISCHER]

★ He was a simple man with simple pleasures. Having acquired a thirst for battle, the Junior named Pascal Fischer supposed he was already a familiar face in the field house. After all, not many other people had the propitious combination of stunningly good looks and matchless athletic potential. Russet football in tow, the towering teenager strode across green AstroTurf, cringing at the crunch of the artificial grass underfoot. Boy, did Pascal miss real grass and boy, did he miss the fresh air– supplies of both were disappointingly limited out in the city, although the fake-ass field exhibited at Baum was doubtlessly better than nothing.

Competition– especially that which resulted in victory– had grown to be Pascal's life over the years, blossoming from his constant need to prove his capability. The slim weeks he had so far spent in Baum Academy hadn't lessened his lust for triumph; if anything, the newer environment only provided countless new opportunities to demonstrate his success, and demonstrate his success he would. Because, really, how could Pascal not enjoy demonstrating his success, especially when he had such an abundance of it– Pascal could imagine few feelings greater than the feeling of sweet, sweet victory, few knowledges greater than the knowledge that he was better than everyone else.

And he was better than everyone else. Jet Stone, regardless of his desirable position on the football team, was no exception.

What sort of name was Jet Stone, anyways? Tuneful, sure, but who was really going to take the man seriously, with a name like that? First name, Jet, fine. Last name, Stone, fine. But to have both? If you asked Pascal, Jet's parents had really been pushing the letter on that one. Now, Pascal Fischer– that was a real lovely name, right there, ever so fitting for such a lovely man as he.

With a gentle flick of his wrist– exhibiting masterful football skills, suitable for someone on his caliber–, Pascal launched the pigskin into a spiral towards the starting quarterback. Admittedly, football had never been Pascal's best sport (though, as he was Pascal, he was probably football's best player); he had always been much more inclined toward more one-on-one type sports. Football was always so complicated and, annoyingly, was exclusively a team sport. Pascal hated team sports. Or, rather, Pascal hated teams. Why should he have to be anchored down by some imbecilic teammates, who were probably nowhere near his unreachable level of awesomeness? No, Pascal didn't like teams.

"Howdy, Jet." Offering his trademarked grandiose smile, Pascal looked over the quarterback, mutely absorbing his features. It was apparent that Jet was a fairly good-looking man– not nearly as appealing as the Scallion, but not many were–, able-bodied and handsome. He made a good poster boy for the football team, if nothing else, though Pascal had yet to actually see him play.

Jet was, as Pascal once had been, the well-liked and athletic boy, the "it" child of Baum Academy; and hey, Pascal's popularity at his new school may have been scanty, but his personality itself wasn't hugely different from Jet's. As far as the Scallion was concerned, he could use a few more buddies at Baum (where it seemed, more often than not, he was making more enemies than anything else), especially popular quarterback buddies. Jet was, in Pascal's respectable opinion, the gateway to once more attaining the favorability he had grown used to back in Minnesota– befriend the jock, and Pascal was in! Okay, maybe it wouldn't exactly work that way, but that was how it happened in the movies, so... how far off could he have been, really?

"So, mister starting quarterback; why don't you show me some of those "skills" of yours, eh? Here, I'll go deep, and you make the motherfucker fly." True to his word, Pascal broke into a run down the field, eager to see Jet "make the motherfucker fly".

WORDS 686
TAGS jet , erika
NOTES pascal mcbadass walks onto the field like a boss, says hello, and he's now waiting for jet to make the motherfucker fly. sorry if this post isn't really up to par, I'm drugged out on tylenol and kinda drowsy wooo! wooooooooo!! NEXT POST WILL BE LIKE A MIRRION TIMES BETTER

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