Blackballed
Aug 18, 2019 15:03:49 GMT -6
Post by Snick on Aug 18, 2019 15:03:49 GMT -6
"So, what's the deal with your name?"
Walt Turner was, quite simply put, a dick. But worse than that, he was a dick with some small modicum of power this year, because he had ascended high enough in his Legacy that he was allowed to vote on and help haze prospective members of the Alger Society; the legacy Makepeace had decided to pledge. Now in the beginning of his third year at the Salem Institute, Makepeace had gotten used to questions about his name, but was no more forthcoming about that particular story this year than any other. "It's a long story." Makepeace replied, not looking up from his drawing pad. He had decided to pledge the Alger Society because he did want to do something constructive with his art, possibly something commercial, but he had no idea what that something might end up being. He just wanted a compromise -- something between what his father imagined for him, and what he wanted to do with his own life.
Two tables away from him in the library, Esther Black sat reading, unaware for the most part that Makepeace was drawing her; just as she had been every other time Makepeace had drawn her. Her hair was tucked behind one ear, and her eyes were partially hooded as her eyes scanned the page she was reading. The black-rimmed glasses on her face, in Makepeace's eyes, did nothing to detract from her beauty, they just added hints of vulnerability to what he saw there. Like many artists, Makepeace carried around multiple sketch pads in his backpack, and this one in particular had been almost completely dedicated to Esther. She had been one of the first people at school to be really nice to him -- the first girl his age in that category -- and while he wouldn't admit to a crush to anyone else, he knew that it was true. Other crushes came and went, but Esther had remained a constant, and now puberty was beginning and his thoughts about members of the opposite sex were taking on a more intent, feverish quality that was at odds with the innocent attraction he had once had for her.
"Alright, so tell me, I've got time." Walt said, interrupting Makepeace's thoughts again as he sat in the seat across from him, partially obscuring his view of Esther. "What, is it a Madonna sort of thing? I mean, it's not your real name, right? You changed your name to Makepeace, right? What was your name before you changed it? Your real name, that is."
"Something entirely different." Makepeace remarked. "I don't talk about that. Look, if I tell you what my name used to be, you might get tempted to start calling me that instead of calling me by my real name. Makepeace is my real name."
"Ok, so why did you change it?" Turner wasn't letting up. He was like a cat sitting beside an aquarium, and the whole of his focus seemed to be on some way to get in and grab the fish inside.
Closing up his drawing tablet, and sliding it into his backpack before Turner took an interest in that, Makepeace raised his eyes to meet Turner's gaze evenly. "Why is it so important for you to know?"
He could see in Walt's eyes that he'd stumped the older boy fairly effectively, and that Turner was now scrambling for a good reason, and then he settled on the obvious. "Because you're pledging my Legacy. The Legacies are like families, man. What is it? Is it that you're trying to be cool or something? Makepeace, international man of mystery?"
"Ok, sure." Makepeace replied, turning his attention away from Walt and pulling an Arithmancy textbook out of his book bag.
The swiftness with which he'd responded left Turner unconvinced. He stared at the dark-haired underclassman for almost a minute while Makepeace studiously ignored him. "Is it your first name or your last name."
"Yes." Makepeace replied less than a heartbeat after the question.
Walt let out an exasperated sigh and flung his hands towards Makepeace in an aggrevated gesture. "Why are you being such a dick about this, man?"
"Because it's none of your business. It's none of the Legacy's business. It's personal." Makepeace replied coolly.
Turner didn't like that, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a black marble, which he slammed down on the table in front of Makepeace with a loud click. "Blackballed. You'll never be in the Alger Society." Then he got out of his chair and stalked off, agitation showing in his every motion as he left the underclassman behind.
In his wake, Makepeace stared at the marble in front of him, a stormy look on his face. On the one hand, it meant he wouldn't have to be hazed by an asshole like Walt Turner. On the other hand, it was rejection, and nobody liked that. He reached out to grab the marble, and then discovered why Turner had ran off so fast... in his hand, the little marble exploded. It was likely some sort of re-purposed Gobstone, a popular game in England, only this one shot black ink all over Makepeace's face. There was a moment of stunned silence in the library, and then people began to laugh.
Esther looked up when she heard the explosion and saw her friend's humiliation. The laughter didn't help. She jumped up, grabbing a towel out of her bag, which, as a dancer, she found a useful thing to keep with her when she was 'glowing' after working out. She pulled Makepeace out of most of her schoolmate's line of sight into the row of books about 19th century British novels beginning with A and B, which was close by.
"Stupid, stupid jerk. We'll get him." She pressed the towel into his hand, wanting to wipe his face for him, but afraid he would feel too smothered. "You don't need him, Makepeace. You should have pledged BTP with me. It's not too late."
Led away from his seat almost blindly, Makepeace relaxed a little when he heard Esther's voice and knew it had been her to come to her rescue. She did that a lot. Two years ago, when he first arrived at the Museum, awaiting transportation to the school, he had arrived with all of his newly-bought clothes, textbooks and potion supplies loaded up in large black-plastic trash bags. What people in the foster care system considered to be luggage. To him, this Salem Institute place probably wasn't much different than foster care, so why spend his money on anything larger than a bookbag?
It had gotten him teased among the group of students waiting to be transported to the school until Esther told them to knock it off and threatened them with the wrath of her older brothers. She then went on to patiently explain to him that he didn't need the trash bags, he could pretty much stow everything in the bookbag he'd bought in Paranor Mall, because it was larger on the inside than it was outside. Later, when he found himself unable to tie the necktie he'd been provided, she had taken charge of that, too, tying it for him in a perfect knot and telling him how dashing he looked in the school uniform.
From then on, wearing suits had taken on a special meaning for Makepeace. They meant being handsome, not some grubby foster kid. They meant that he was among people who were friendly and nice, not people who were looking to kick his ass and take his stuff. It meant that he could have friends like Esther Black in his life, when she was so much of a better person than he could ever be.
"Thank you..." He muttered to Esther, using the towel to dab away the ink around his eyes, and looking almost comedically like a cartoon character in racially-offensive black-face. "He's a dick." He said of Turner. "He and his buddy Steve are always pulling stuff like this." Though his eyes were clear of tears, his voice had the sort of singsong pitch of someone about to burst into sobbing at any moment, and he buried his face in the towel she'd given him, scrubbing away at it.
He knew he was going to lose it. Like the first time he'd gotten beaten up in Lamplighter, and how the kids there used to delight in doing things to hurt him. Like crashing Hot Wheels cars together and making snide comments how the boy who would come to be known as Makepeace should say goodbye to Mommy and Daddy now.
As he held the towel to his face, he forced himself to breathe deep, and finding that the towel smelled strongly of Esther. Not freshly-showered Esther, but Esther after practicing; her hair matted down onto her scalp by the sweat she had raised, rivulets of perspiration running down her skin. "Thank you..." He said again, his words muffled by the towel that was covering his face, finding strength in this sort of second-hand embrace of the girl he was crushing so hard upon.
The boy was a mess. It made her so angry. He didn't deserve this. He couldn't help that his parents were killed. It didn't make him any less a gentleman. He had a noble bearing; anyone could see that if they would just look closely. He was kind and funny and smart. If she got a hold of that jerk, she'd show him just how strong she was.
"Do you want me to tell Ian? He's a senior this year. He can make their lives hell . . . " Esther knew the professors could help, but she liked the inside student directed punishments far more than she did the faculty led kind. Besides, the second kind required telling on someone first; however, if Makepeace wanted to tell on his tormentor, she'd support him as a witness, but she wasn't going to suggest it herself, not yet.
"Or we can plan it ourselves, you and I. Until then. Let's get you out of here and cleaned up. Do you want me to do a scourgify charm on you first?"
"No... No, Ian doesn't need to know." Makepeace said quietly, lowering the towel from his face. No longer dripping with ink, the ink had settled into the skin, save where his fingertips had pressed the towel hard enough to leach it out. "But, yeah, hit me." He said, one eye squeezed shut because ink had seeped into it.
"I'll get back at him." He said quietly. He didn't really know how right this moment, but he would. Then he looked at her, and his expression softened. "You're always there to bail me out, Esther. I appreciate it. I mean, aren't guys supposed to save the damsels? Not be rescued by them?"
Esther smiled at her friend, then drew her wand. With a deft movement she pointed it at him and intensely uttered, "Scourgify." The ink vanished from his pores and he no longer looked like a refugee from an 1880's minstrel show. "Don't worry about me rescuing you. I'm sure you'll get your turn to rescue me some day. That's what friends do. No biggie."
"I'm pretty sure I'd have to be a handsome prince or at least a knight in shining armor to do that." He replied, the unstated implication being that she was a fair princess. "I think I'm going to give the Brains a try." He told her quietly. It wasn't that he didn't want to pledge BTP, he just didn't want to get involved in European politics. The only possible reason that he could ever want to join BTP was Esther, but he would rather impress her with his drive to achieve than by following her around. "My GPA's high enough, and I do great on tests. And they don't haze, supposedly."
He ducked his head a little, looking at her shyly. "I hope you don't mind. I know BTP's important to you." But, on the whole, it wasn't important to Makepeace, who didn't want to do anything to attract the attention of old European money and power.
"You do what makes you happy. I'll still be your friend." She shrugged and smiled, not understanding the princess allusion was about her specifically.
"BTP is important to me because I'm a Black. Things were pretty bad over there for us. The Blacks that stayed in England were a bad lot. The good ones left and were disowned for being nice to people who were supposed to be 'beneath' them. It was all a lot of bull shit," she said, the deliberately foul word feeling coarse and forced and daring in her mouth. "They still use the word Mudblood over there. It's still going on. I feel like it's keeping my family honor to help them, to make up for all those bad Blacks before we came over here." She looked up at him. "Do you understand? I had to pledge BTP."
She looked over at the students sitting at the tables, waiting for them to leave the aisle. "May I escort you back to the dorm?" she said, her voice returning to its usual sunniness.
Makepeace feigned a shocked look and waved a finger at Esther playfully. "Somebody has a mouth like a sailor." He said with a chuckle. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" He was teasing, of course, since he heard a whole lot worse back in the Muggle world.
"Yeah, I understand why it's important. My mother was an expatriate from Eastern Europe. The scary parts of East Europe." And with the various conflicts and upheavals going on in that part of the world, most notably Bosnia and Herzegovina, Makepeace was left to wonder how much of what was going on was the result of wizardly tampering behind the scenes.
"Certainly, mademoiselle." He said, offering her his arm in an exaggerated, old-world style gesture. "You can help me plot my revenge."
"Excellent." She grinned at him, then took his arm, looking up at him as she did. She scooped up their bags as they walked past the table, daring the other students to laugh again as she did. But no one laughed. It had gone from funny to cute; not that she noticed, she was just championing her friend.
Walt Turner was, quite simply put, a dick. But worse than that, he was a dick with some small modicum of power this year, because he had ascended high enough in his Legacy that he was allowed to vote on and help haze prospective members of the Alger Society; the legacy Makepeace had decided to pledge. Now in the beginning of his third year at the Salem Institute, Makepeace had gotten used to questions about his name, but was no more forthcoming about that particular story this year than any other. "It's a long story." Makepeace replied, not looking up from his drawing pad. He had decided to pledge the Alger Society because he did want to do something constructive with his art, possibly something commercial, but he had no idea what that something might end up being. He just wanted a compromise -- something between what his father imagined for him, and what he wanted to do with his own life.
Two tables away from him in the library, Esther Black sat reading, unaware for the most part that Makepeace was drawing her; just as she had been every other time Makepeace had drawn her. Her hair was tucked behind one ear, and her eyes were partially hooded as her eyes scanned the page she was reading. The black-rimmed glasses on her face, in Makepeace's eyes, did nothing to detract from her beauty, they just added hints of vulnerability to what he saw there. Like many artists, Makepeace carried around multiple sketch pads in his backpack, and this one in particular had been almost completely dedicated to Esther. She had been one of the first people at school to be really nice to him -- the first girl his age in that category -- and while he wouldn't admit to a crush to anyone else, he knew that it was true. Other crushes came and went, but Esther had remained a constant, and now puberty was beginning and his thoughts about members of the opposite sex were taking on a more intent, feverish quality that was at odds with the innocent attraction he had once had for her.
"Alright, so tell me, I've got time." Walt said, interrupting Makepeace's thoughts again as he sat in the seat across from him, partially obscuring his view of Esther. "What, is it a Madonna sort of thing? I mean, it's not your real name, right? You changed your name to Makepeace, right? What was your name before you changed it? Your real name, that is."
"Something entirely different." Makepeace remarked. "I don't talk about that. Look, if I tell you what my name used to be, you might get tempted to start calling me that instead of calling me by my real name. Makepeace is my real name."
"Ok, so why did you change it?" Turner wasn't letting up. He was like a cat sitting beside an aquarium, and the whole of his focus seemed to be on some way to get in and grab the fish inside.
Closing up his drawing tablet, and sliding it into his backpack before Turner took an interest in that, Makepeace raised his eyes to meet Turner's gaze evenly. "Why is it so important for you to know?"
He could see in Walt's eyes that he'd stumped the older boy fairly effectively, and that Turner was now scrambling for a good reason, and then he settled on the obvious. "Because you're pledging my Legacy. The Legacies are like families, man. What is it? Is it that you're trying to be cool or something? Makepeace, international man of mystery?"
"Ok, sure." Makepeace replied, turning his attention away from Walt and pulling an Arithmancy textbook out of his book bag.
The swiftness with which he'd responded left Turner unconvinced. He stared at the dark-haired underclassman for almost a minute while Makepeace studiously ignored him. "Is it your first name or your last name."
"Yes." Makepeace replied less than a heartbeat after the question.
Walt let out an exasperated sigh and flung his hands towards Makepeace in an aggrevated gesture. "Why are you being such a dick about this, man?"
"Because it's none of your business. It's none of the Legacy's business. It's personal." Makepeace replied coolly.
Turner didn't like that, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a black marble, which he slammed down on the table in front of Makepeace with a loud click. "Blackballed. You'll never be in the Alger Society." Then he got out of his chair and stalked off, agitation showing in his every motion as he left the underclassman behind.
In his wake, Makepeace stared at the marble in front of him, a stormy look on his face. On the one hand, it meant he wouldn't have to be hazed by an asshole like Walt Turner. On the other hand, it was rejection, and nobody liked that. He reached out to grab the marble, and then discovered why Turner had ran off so fast... in his hand, the little marble exploded. It was likely some sort of re-purposed Gobstone, a popular game in England, only this one shot black ink all over Makepeace's face. There was a moment of stunned silence in the library, and then people began to laugh.
Esther looked up when she heard the explosion and saw her friend's humiliation. The laughter didn't help. She jumped up, grabbing a towel out of her bag, which, as a dancer, she found a useful thing to keep with her when she was 'glowing' after working out. She pulled Makepeace out of most of her schoolmate's line of sight into the row of books about 19th century British novels beginning with A and B, which was close by.
"Stupid, stupid jerk. We'll get him." She pressed the towel into his hand, wanting to wipe his face for him, but afraid he would feel too smothered. "You don't need him, Makepeace. You should have pledged BTP with me. It's not too late."
Led away from his seat almost blindly, Makepeace relaxed a little when he heard Esther's voice and knew it had been her to come to her rescue. She did that a lot. Two years ago, when he first arrived at the Museum, awaiting transportation to the school, he had arrived with all of his newly-bought clothes, textbooks and potion supplies loaded up in large black-plastic trash bags. What people in the foster care system considered to be luggage. To him, this Salem Institute place probably wasn't much different than foster care, so why spend his money on anything larger than a bookbag?
It had gotten him teased among the group of students waiting to be transported to the school until Esther told them to knock it off and threatened them with the wrath of her older brothers. She then went on to patiently explain to him that he didn't need the trash bags, he could pretty much stow everything in the bookbag he'd bought in Paranor Mall, because it was larger on the inside than it was outside. Later, when he found himself unable to tie the necktie he'd been provided, she had taken charge of that, too, tying it for him in a perfect knot and telling him how dashing he looked in the school uniform.
From then on, wearing suits had taken on a special meaning for Makepeace. They meant being handsome, not some grubby foster kid. They meant that he was among people who were friendly and nice, not people who were looking to kick his ass and take his stuff. It meant that he could have friends like Esther Black in his life, when she was so much of a better person than he could ever be.
"Thank you..." He muttered to Esther, using the towel to dab away the ink around his eyes, and looking almost comedically like a cartoon character in racially-offensive black-face. "He's a dick." He said of Turner. "He and his buddy Steve are always pulling stuff like this." Though his eyes were clear of tears, his voice had the sort of singsong pitch of someone about to burst into sobbing at any moment, and he buried his face in the towel she'd given him, scrubbing away at it.
He knew he was going to lose it. Like the first time he'd gotten beaten up in Lamplighter, and how the kids there used to delight in doing things to hurt him. Like crashing Hot Wheels cars together and making snide comments how the boy who would come to be known as Makepeace should say goodbye to Mommy and Daddy now.
As he held the towel to his face, he forced himself to breathe deep, and finding that the towel smelled strongly of Esther. Not freshly-showered Esther, but Esther after practicing; her hair matted down onto her scalp by the sweat she had raised, rivulets of perspiration running down her skin. "Thank you..." He said again, his words muffled by the towel that was covering his face, finding strength in this sort of second-hand embrace of the girl he was crushing so hard upon.
The boy was a mess. It made her so angry. He didn't deserve this. He couldn't help that his parents were killed. It didn't make him any less a gentleman. He had a noble bearing; anyone could see that if they would just look closely. He was kind and funny and smart. If she got a hold of that jerk, she'd show him just how strong she was.
"Do you want me to tell Ian? He's a senior this year. He can make their lives hell . . . " Esther knew the professors could help, but she liked the inside student directed punishments far more than she did the faculty led kind. Besides, the second kind required telling on someone first; however, if Makepeace wanted to tell on his tormentor, she'd support him as a witness, but she wasn't going to suggest it herself, not yet.
"Or we can plan it ourselves, you and I. Until then. Let's get you out of here and cleaned up. Do you want me to do a scourgify charm on you first?"
"No... No, Ian doesn't need to know." Makepeace said quietly, lowering the towel from his face. No longer dripping with ink, the ink had settled into the skin, save where his fingertips had pressed the towel hard enough to leach it out. "But, yeah, hit me." He said, one eye squeezed shut because ink had seeped into it.
"I'll get back at him." He said quietly. He didn't really know how right this moment, but he would. Then he looked at her, and his expression softened. "You're always there to bail me out, Esther. I appreciate it. I mean, aren't guys supposed to save the damsels? Not be rescued by them?"
Esther smiled at her friend, then drew her wand. With a deft movement she pointed it at him and intensely uttered, "Scourgify." The ink vanished from his pores and he no longer looked like a refugee from an 1880's minstrel show. "Don't worry about me rescuing you. I'm sure you'll get your turn to rescue me some day. That's what friends do. No biggie."
"I'm pretty sure I'd have to be a handsome prince or at least a knight in shining armor to do that." He replied, the unstated implication being that she was a fair princess. "I think I'm going to give the Brains a try." He told her quietly. It wasn't that he didn't want to pledge BTP, he just didn't want to get involved in European politics. The only possible reason that he could ever want to join BTP was Esther, but he would rather impress her with his drive to achieve than by following her around. "My GPA's high enough, and I do great on tests. And they don't haze, supposedly."
He ducked his head a little, looking at her shyly. "I hope you don't mind. I know BTP's important to you." But, on the whole, it wasn't important to Makepeace, who didn't want to do anything to attract the attention of old European money and power.
"You do what makes you happy. I'll still be your friend." She shrugged and smiled, not understanding the princess allusion was about her specifically.
"BTP is important to me because I'm a Black. Things were pretty bad over there for us. The Blacks that stayed in England were a bad lot. The good ones left and were disowned for being nice to people who were supposed to be 'beneath' them. It was all a lot of bull shit," she said, the deliberately foul word feeling coarse and forced and daring in her mouth. "They still use the word Mudblood over there. It's still going on. I feel like it's keeping my family honor to help them, to make up for all those bad Blacks before we came over here." She looked up at him. "Do you understand? I had to pledge BTP."
She looked over at the students sitting at the tables, waiting for them to leave the aisle. "May I escort you back to the dorm?" she said, her voice returning to its usual sunniness.
Makepeace feigned a shocked look and waved a finger at Esther playfully. "Somebody has a mouth like a sailor." He said with a chuckle. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" He was teasing, of course, since he heard a whole lot worse back in the Muggle world.
"Yeah, I understand why it's important. My mother was an expatriate from Eastern Europe. The scary parts of East Europe." And with the various conflicts and upheavals going on in that part of the world, most notably Bosnia and Herzegovina, Makepeace was left to wonder how much of what was going on was the result of wizardly tampering behind the scenes.
"Certainly, mademoiselle." He said, offering her his arm in an exaggerated, old-world style gesture. "You can help me plot my revenge."
"Excellent." She grinned at him, then took his arm, looking up at him as she did. She scooped up their bags as they walked past the table, daring the other students to laugh again as she did. But no one laughed. It had gone from funny to cute; not that she noticed, she was just championing her friend.
