Bobby and Pietro, Tuesday afternoon
Mar. 19th, 2013 05:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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om_mainBobby and Pietro bond over a soccer ball football and discussion of their training squad. (And flavors of hedonism. Obviously.) It goes surprisingly well.
Keep up was actually harder with superspeed than it had been before. Once upon a time, Pietro had been the best juggler in his weekend league--all things soccer being just about all that could hold his attention, even before he'd manifested. He'd wowed the adults and kids alike, hell, if he'd had any friends, it was mostly because everyone wanted him on their team. Not only had he been good at controlling the ball, fancy or otherwise, but he'd always been fast and nigh fearless when it came to facing down defenders. The perfect striker in every way--except when his mouth got him carded, of course.
But now, it was much, much harder to focus on the ball like that. The painfully slow pull of gravity, the amount of control he needed to strike it at just the right rate with his foot or thigh so it didn't go shooting off into the sky and come down all busted up in the middle of the lake, but land right where he wanted it.
It was fucking maddening, if he wasn't in the mood.
Luckily, however, he was. And he was trying really, really hard to practice being patient for things outside of the Danger Gym with Laura. Partly so he could impress her with it, but also just because he needed it and he knew it. (It really was a joint effect, he hadn't been fucking around when he told her that.) So kept it up on his foot, punt, punt, punt, and then up to his thigh, then the other, then again, then his foot, then his head, then back to his foot, punt, punt, punt.
Deadly slow. Stupid gravity couldn't keep up. Whatever, at least there was sun, today, and he could scrape by in just a long sleeved T-shirt--today's was FC Barcelona with Messi's name and number on the back, naturally.
Bobby had been suffering from cabin fever for too and was thoroughly sick of it and so when he'd seen someone out with a football he'd immediate changed his trainers and grabbed a thick hoodie. Though others claimed it had warmed lately Bobby still swore blind it was freezing out. He then headed off to see if he could persuade them to let him join.
The discovery that it was Pietro did not deter him in the slightest, their relations may have been frosty at one time but they seemed to have thawed of late. Besides, they were both (presumably) sober so there was no harm in it at all.
"Mind if I join you?" He called out as he drew nearer.
Pietro lifted the ball with his foot, stopped it with his chest, let it roll down to his knee, then held it on his laces. He grinned, looked Bobby in the eye, and lifted the ball harder this time, in a perfect, gentle arc right at Bobby's head.
With a wide grin Bobby headed it right back. Instantly, he felt better than he had in a long while. No matter what bullshit life had going for him, football never changed.
Instantly things turned into a one on one match without any assigned goal posts or agreed upon boundaries, just two boys kicking a ball about and having fun. It felt damn good.
Pietro watched it in slow mo--a better-than-usual way to gauge comfort with the ball--and knew right away that Bobby hadn't been fucking around about his professional aspirations. How good he actually was, who knew, but he was definitely one of those people who felt like the ball was more an extension of their own body than a separate entity.
Sweet.
Pietro caught it on his laces, balanced it for a second that lasted a lifetime for him, then juggled it back and forth between the inside of his foot and his thigh a few times before popping it up again for Bobby.
Who took the challenge, as he saw it, gleefully. Bouncing the ball off of his chest and catching it with the side of his foot he then chipped the ball up moving quickly (by Bobby's standards at least) to bend forward and catch the ball on the back of his neck. He balanced it there for an extended moment before sending it back up into the air. When it came back down he bounced it from knee to foot and then sent it soaring back to the other boy again.
Pietro clapped and laughed--also feeling fairly gleeful--as the ball came soaring back. Though normally he wouldn't feed the dude's perpetually inflated ego, this was a special case. "Fucking fabulous."
When it reached him, he controlled it downward with his thigh, dropping it onto his laces again and bouncing a few times, then flipping it upward and twisting--fast, but not superspeed fast--to catch it in the crook of his knee. He held it there, balanced on one foot, for long enough that Da Costa could get a good look, then popped it back up off his opposite heel and twisted around forward again to send it back to Bobby.
"Looking good!" Bobby commented as he began to formulate his next move. He caught the ball on his foot again but this time when he sent it soaring behind himself, he caught with his heel before proceeding to do 'keepy-ups' with his heels rather than the tradition way with his toes. A silly trick that had taken longer to master than he'd ever care to admit.
Again, Pietro was laughing and clapping. He had seen, like, one or two people ever manage that, and they had all been on TV, never in person. (Of course, he could, but before the superspeed, no fucking way--he wouldn't tell Bobby that, but he did acknowledge it internally.) "Oh wow, you had a ball in your crib with you as a baby, didn't you?"
"Only way to explain it." The Brazilian boy grinned back widely, he then chipped the ball back over his head and caught it in his hands. "By the way, Kurt and I have been discussing the idea of a school team or club. Is this something that would interest you?"
Pietro crossed his arms over his chest, arching an eyebrow. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'll lose my mind if I go all fall without it. But are we talking mutant football, or normal-style? Cuzzzzz, my powers don't exactly turn off, but I can try."
"We were thinking a bit of both. If we get enough guys, and girls of course, interested we could have some mutant v mutant games and depending on how the headmasters feel, we could also have have it the normal way too." Bobby explained, Kurt had been the one of course to point out the difficulties normal school football could present. "Whatever everyone wants really so there would be something for you at least."
"I like it. And we do have a lot of people into soccer--in various languages and dialects--around, so yeah. That actually makes sense." If Pietro sounded like he was surprised, well, he might have decided Bobby's sense of humor wasn't so bad after all, but yeah, he had not expected anything approaching sense. "Ask me, I think the headmasters would be down with some mutant ball, since they're all about us working together with our powers."
Speaking of, ol' Sunspot there was on Pietro's training squad. Which was going to be an awesome bunch--again, assuming Roberto had more sense sober than he did drunk (well, who didn't?). "Speaking of, what the hell is 'solar energy conversion'? As in, what do you convert it into? Hearts and rainbows?"
"Into all kinds of things. I can make myself stronger, I can create blasts of energy. That's what caused the fires the night I manifested. When I use it, I turn completely black which the teachers said is to optimize my powers. Turns out in this form I can withstand a lot too." Bobby explained, with a little more control came a little more understanding of the powers. Though it still scared him like hell.
"That sounds pretty bad-ass," Pietro admitted, his expression making it clear that he appreciated the danger. He was totally familiar with fire and mayhem when it came to manifestation, if not on quiiiiite so public a scale. "Was expecting something more like. You know. Ali's fabulous conversion. You tried it in the Danger Gym yet--or do you have to be outdoors?"
"I've had a class in there." Bobby nodded, since unlike others his powers had little daily practical application anyway he only used them in class. "How about you?"
Pietro arched an eyebrow; dude had not answered his question at all. Well, whatever, his manifestation had been fucking tragic, and after that blog post about his girlfriend had made it clear that the wound was still open and bleeding--hell, even Pietro didn't poke at those. "Uh-huh, but never with a group like we're supposed to. Just one or two people at a time. Fun, though."
"I haven't with any other students." And he wasn't sure it was a good idea that he did either. His hands idly fiddled with the ball as he continued "But if the teachers think I am ready then I suppose I must..." Though he still didn't have a good feeling about it.
"Yeah, well, the manifestation mighta been the shittiest thing in the history of shit, but at least the power's not all bad. Plus, the ability to actually wait til you're ready--or more ready, anyhow, not like anyone's ever really ready--to get your shit under control? Massive luxury." Pietro gestured for him to get busy with the ball again. "Coulda had one of those things that blows you up if you don't pay attention to it. Or drives you crazy." Like, you know. Superspeed.
Bobby dropped the ball and passed it over. "If you're trying to tell me that I am lucky, I am aware of the positives. However I've discovered if I get too angry or upset, things start to get a little hot. It might not be half-baked visions of the future or a death touch but I still struggle with it greatly. As I'm sure you struggle with us, uh, 'slowpokes', am I correct?"
Pietro rolled the ball up his laces and juggled it with his knees as he replied. "You slowpokes, ATMs, cars, tv shows, music, gravity." He switched to his foot again, just keeping up now. "Everyone struggles though, yeah. My point is that you got to wait this long to deal with it is unheard-of. Though I guess it gets harder, the longer you go." Had with Wanda, after all.
He kicked it back, wondering if Bobby could talk and juggle at the same time, just... because.
"Contrary to popular belief." Bobby told him as he caught the ball, he only did a few bog standard keep ups with his foot and knee, nothing fancy. The urge to show off had died for the moment. "Time is not always a good thing."
Pietro snorted. "You're telling me." But he did see the guy's point in more than just a general speedster impatient way. "I like being forced to suck it up and deal, myself. After the fact."
He kicked the ball back as he smirked "Masochistic tendencies there, Maximoff?"
"More than you can possibly know, Da Costa." Pietro smirked right back as he brought the ball down with his chest, dropped it right into the inside of his foot, and sent back a smooth pass, slightly to Bobby's left like they were setting up a strike and Bobby was meant to run on. "But don't knock it til you've tried it."
"I'm more about maximum pleasure, I don't think it's my style." Bobby informed him after a tricky manoeuvre that resulted in him bouncing the ball from one shoulder to another back and forth over his head. Ok, maybe he couldn't resisted showing off one more time. Coz it was a fucking awesome trick.
Pietro laughed and clapped again. Impressive, but he was now preeeetty sure he'd sussed out dude's style: Pietro set up a play, Roberto fanned his tailfeathers instead. Oh well, couldn't be all surprises--and at least Bobby was fun to watch, for a slowpoke, and not just cuz he was pretty, either. "The point of masochism is that the pain is pleasure, for the record, but hey. Some people like their coffee black, some like sugar. Others are just flexible." In every way imaginable.
"Oh I can be very flexible." Was smirked as Bobby passed the ball back. "I just can't really see how pain can ever be pleasurable, it does not make sense to me."
"That's actually kinda interesting." Pietro flipped the ball up and off his forehead a few times as he spoke, timing his words to a normal-person pace by the rate of the ball's bounce. "A completely unscientific survey of my acquaintances tells me people who are the most interested in taking pleasure to the max generally like a little bit of pain, one way or the other. Not necessarily anything hardcore, just some sugarkink. I'll factor you in next time. Some hedonists are all sweetness all the time."
What, soccer and sex? Like Pietro's two favorite subjects, here.
"Factor me in?" Bobby repeat, unsure as to whether he'd understood that correctly. Was Pietro offering to include him in something or was his English taking a strange turning in translations again?
"Yeah." Pietro leaned back, brought the ball down with his chest, then hard off the inside of his foot, then his head again, returning to the bounce. "I thought most hedonists were into a little pain here and there. You're a hedonist whose not into pain. New factor. Therefore, my ideas about that require reevaluation."
Pietro seriously hoped it was a language barrier thing--though he'd always thought that for someone that hot to also be smart would be totally unfair. Brian Braddock and Lydia Martin were bad enough, Jesus.
"Don't worry, I didn't mean factor you into some kinda S&M threesome. You say you're flexible, but I think it's mostly the alcohol that's flexible." He grinned and headed the ball back at Bobby.
"I was going for the literal meaning when I referred to myself as flexible." Bobby pointed out though he decided not to point out that he'd been speaking a foreign language whilst also performing complicated, attention needing tricks. After all he always prided himself in being near fluent. "But I can't deny that I do seem to take a rather queer turning at times when I've been drinking. I'm just an affectionate guy, I suppose. No one has seemed to complain before."
"Yyyyeah, this is the last place you're gonna get judged for that." Due to his good mood, Pietro declined to mention that he'd been giving Bobby way too much credit for wordplay, there--his mistake. "They say there's truth in the wine, but there's also a lot of poor decisions. S'up to you what's what."
Bobby shrugged, he had gone back to the simple basic ball skills to allow himself to focus more on his language skills. "I have never done anything I truly regretted the next day. Well, not of that nature. I have made many other drunken mistakes of course. But I have never regretted my affectionate behaviour. Read into that what you will."
Pietro stretched upward like a cat and tried to think of drunken antics he regretted, but couldn't. He did feel kinda bad about almost pissing Wanda off on Sunday. He did not feel bad about making out with Remy again, though.
Nope. Definitely not. It was what St. Patrick woulda wanted.
Oh wait, the other day with Josh, he would've regretted the lights if dude hadn't been a healer. "Same," Pietro decided. "Nothing to do with making out with random people. Everything to do with generally being an idiot."
"So long as everyone is having fun, I see no harm. Though it's amazing how often my actually gay room-mate gets second hand embarrassment for me. Well, I suppose it makes up for my utter lack of shame, no?" He grinned widely at that as he passed the ball back. It was interesting to finally have a conversation with the speedster that hadn't yet ended in a headache from trying to keep up with translating him. Perhaps the distraction of the ball was helping to burn some of that excess energy Pietro always had?
"Yeah, your roommate is super sweet; I could see how that'd get interesting," Pietro pointed out with a chuckle, sending the ball back immediately, again like he was setting up a strike triangle. "Actually I got a sweet gayboy roommate too, but I think he's past the point of blushing with me now."
"Victor, yes? I do not know him well but he seems like a nice kid." Bobby nodded, getting itchy feet he started to dribble the ball around Pietro. "Blaine keeps saying I will never be able to shock him again, and then something happens like, like last month when he came home to find me with Shaw and tequila in my bed." Bobby laughed loudly at the memory, that had been a good night.
"That might embarrass Vic a little, actually," Pietro admitted, watching Bobby's feet with a practiced eye; again, it was complete ease. He'd be jealous, if he didn't already know he looked just as good--hey, superspeed was a part of him, so it still counted. "That's why we have a star on the door system for moments when he shouldn't enter. Though I'm guessing you all weren't missing enough clothing to make that completely necessary.
"Then again, maybe not. Because Shinobi." Seriously, who fucking knew, with that guy.
"I am guessing you're the one using the stars." Because, let's face it, everyone by now knew Victor was pining over a human boy he'd broken up with. Someone he definitely couldn't have ever brought to the school. "I suppose that would be a good system, yes." It was something to consider now that Blaine was dating anyway, he was sure if he ruined a moment for Blaine and Kurt he'd never hear the end of it. "And, yes, Shinobi is, well, himself. I'll just leave you pondering the details of that one, I think." He grinned, passing the ball over.
"Let's just say it keeps the peace." Pietro got the pass and kicked it up, bounced it off his head, then let it drop behind him, where he kicked it up with his heel again. He juggled it on one foot as he turned back around little by little. All the while grinning at the imagined look of shock and possibly exasperation on Vic's face if he came in to find Laura scratching him up or something. (Which was nothing compared to what'd happen if he walked in on him and Eames, but that was just too cruel to ponder.) Ha! Poor guy.
Pietro went on, "Definitely recommend the star system. And yes. Shaw... is a one of a kind." He shot the ball back over to Bobby without it touching the ground again, hooking it with his laces.
"And that's the way he likes it." Bobby agreed with a nod before jumping way back in the conversation to ask "What're your thoughts on our little team?" Since he'd clearly seen the roster by now if he knew the technical term the teachers had created to use in reference to Bobby's powers.
"Pretty good," Pietro said. Actually, the only person he wasn't sure about was Bobby, and that'd probably be cool, after all. No doubt prone to cockswinging, but he was pretty sure Tessa, hell, probably Inara and Paige, too, could cut that shit out right quick. "Only one who's really a pain in the ass is Damon, and he's okay when he wants to be. If he doesn't want to be, pretty sure Tessa can paralyze a man with her little finger. Or brain. So we should be good to go. What'd you think?"
"Not bad. Tessa's dangerous and hot, it's an interesting combination. Damon I only know from reputation, Warren is a good guy. You and I, well, we've had our moments." Bobby grinned at little at that. "But we're cool, yes? I promise not to get drunk and naked during training sessions, if that helps."
"Yeah, I might take pictures, but only if Tessa wants them for blackmail. Because yes, she is dangerous and hot." Pietro laughed. "Seriously though, I mean, even if we somehow weren't cool--which we are--"
He didn't pause so much fast forward in his train of thoughts. "I don't know what the old man and Baldy are planning for with these squads, but they're obviously trying to prepare us for whatever the fuck mutant chaos is about to happen next. I never thought about it before, but you're one of the few here who knows first hand that this is not a fucking game."
Bobby nodded "The formation of teams like this, it feels offensive not defensive but perhaps that's paranoia on my part I do not know." They were simply idly passing the ball back and forth now. "And yes, I do know. And I haven't forgotten what humans are capable of."
"Yeah, I'm sure." This was the most sincere thing Pietro had ever said in Roberto's presence--and probably always would be, but whatever. For all they were talking heavy now, the passing was kind of soothing, and Pietro was just falling into the rhythm of it, almost like a slow song. "Anyhow, sometimes the best defense is a good offense. Or at least the illusion of one, just in case."
"I suppose but why would we need an illusion of anything when no one is meant to know this school exists?" Bobby pointed out, his voice soft and serious for the moment.
"We do," Pietro said. "So it could be to make us feel better. And god, I hope they," he jerked his chin in the direction of the gate to indicate 'the others' as he sent a sharp pass back, "never find out. But optimism will get us nowhere. Better to be prepared for everything, whether we think it'll happen or not."
"That is true. Like I said, I was probably having a moment of paranoia. I am grateful to the headmasters, they saved my life but I do not completely understand them. Do you trust them?"
Since one was Pietro's father, however long estranged, perhaps the answer would be biased but Bobby was genuinely interested in what others thought. Since arriving at the school he hadn't given much thought to anything beyond his own guilt and grief, he was only now starting to think about things others had likely been wondering for some time.
Now there was an interesting question to ask someone's son; interesting and observant. Pietro cocked his head a little, wondering for a split second how much he wanted to admit, but that Bobby had even thought to ask swayed him to honesty, if not full disclosure. "More than I did--not that it's saying much. The old man, at least, has proven that he's got our interests at heart. Whether that's enough, I dunno.
"Xavier is a mystery, and I'm not sure Erik apparently trusting him is enough for me. You get a read on him?"
"I have not exactly been in a place to pay much attention lately." Was admitted with a shrug, they both knew why so no need to go deeper. "So no, I do not. Not really. All I know of them is that your father stopped several bullets only moments before they met my skull and that hey have both some how made sure no police agencies can find me. For that I am grateful but it does not mean I will follow blindly."
Pietro shrugged. "Honestly, the impression I get is he'd think less of you if you did. But then, we're not exactly close. So who knows."
"I suppose only time can tell, eh?"
Keep up was actually harder with superspeed than it had been before. Once upon a time, Pietro had been the best juggler in his weekend league--all things soccer being just about all that could hold his attention, even before he'd manifested. He'd wowed the adults and kids alike, hell, if he'd had any friends, it was mostly because everyone wanted him on their team. Not only had he been good at controlling the ball, fancy or otherwise, but he'd always been fast and nigh fearless when it came to facing down defenders. The perfect striker in every way--except when his mouth got him carded, of course.
But now, it was much, much harder to focus on the ball like that. The painfully slow pull of gravity, the amount of control he needed to strike it at just the right rate with his foot or thigh so it didn't go shooting off into the sky and come down all busted up in the middle of the lake, but land right where he wanted it.
It was fucking maddening, if he wasn't in the mood.
Luckily, however, he was. And he was trying really, really hard to practice being patient for things outside of the Danger Gym with Laura. Partly so he could impress her with it, but also just because he needed it and he knew it. (It really was a joint effect, he hadn't been fucking around when he told her that.) So kept it up on his foot, punt, punt, punt, and then up to his thigh, then the other, then again, then his foot, then his head, then back to his foot, punt, punt, punt.
Deadly slow. Stupid gravity couldn't keep up. Whatever, at least there was sun, today, and he could scrape by in just a long sleeved T-shirt--today's was FC Barcelona with Messi's name and number on the back, naturally.
Bobby had been suffering from cabin fever for too and was thoroughly sick of it and so when he'd seen someone out with a football he'd immediate changed his trainers and grabbed a thick hoodie. Though others claimed it had warmed lately Bobby still swore blind it was freezing out. He then headed off to see if he could persuade them to let him join.
The discovery that it was Pietro did not deter him in the slightest, their relations may have been frosty at one time but they seemed to have thawed of late. Besides, they were both (presumably) sober so there was no harm in it at all.
"Mind if I join you?" He called out as he drew nearer.
Pietro lifted the ball with his foot, stopped it with his chest, let it roll down to his knee, then held it on his laces. He grinned, looked Bobby in the eye, and lifted the ball harder this time, in a perfect, gentle arc right at Bobby's head.
With a wide grin Bobby headed it right back. Instantly, he felt better than he had in a long while. No matter what bullshit life had going for him, football never changed.
Instantly things turned into a one on one match without any assigned goal posts or agreed upon boundaries, just two boys kicking a ball about and having fun. It felt damn good.
Pietro watched it in slow mo--a better-than-usual way to gauge comfort with the ball--and knew right away that Bobby hadn't been fucking around about his professional aspirations. How good he actually was, who knew, but he was definitely one of those people who felt like the ball was more an extension of their own body than a separate entity.
Sweet.
Pietro caught it on his laces, balanced it for a second that lasted a lifetime for him, then juggled it back and forth between the inside of his foot and his thigh a few times before popping it up again for Bobby.
Who took the challenge, as he saw it, gleefully. Bouncing the ball off of his chest and catching it with the side of his foot he then chipped the ball up moving quickly (by Bobby's standards at least) to bend forward and catch the ball on the back of his neck. He balanced it there for an extended moment before sending it back up into the air. When it came back down he bounced it from knee to foot and then sent it soaring back to the other boy again.
Pietro clapped and laughed--also feeling fairly gleeful--as the ball came soaring back. Though normally he wouldn't feed the dude's perpetually inflated ego, this was a special case. "Fucking fabulous."
When it reached him, he controlled it downward with his thigh, dropping it onto his laces again and bouncing a few times, then flipping it upward and twisting--fast, but not superspeed fast--to catch it in the crook of his knee. He held it there, balanced on one foot, for long enough that Da Costa could get a good look, then popped it back up off his opposite heel and twisted around forward again to send it back to Bobby.
"Looking good!" Bobby commented as he began to formulate his next move. He caught the ball on his foot again but this time when he sent it soaring behind himself, he caught with his heel before proceeding to do 'keepy-ups' with his heels rather than the tradition way with his toes. A silly trick that had taken longer to master than he'd ever care to admit.
Again, Pietro was laughing and clapping. He had seen, like, one or two people ever manage that, and they had all been on TV, never in person. (Of course, he could, but before the superspeed, no fucking way--he wouldn't tell Bobby that, but he did acknowledge it internally.) "Oh wow, you had a ball in your crib with you as a baby, didn't you?"
"Only way to explain it." The Brazilian boy grinned back widely, he then chipped the ball back over his head and caught it in his hands. "By the way, Kurt and I have been discussing the idea of a school team or club. Is this something that would interest you?"
Pietro crossed his arms over his chest, arching an eyebrow. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'll lose my mind if I go all fall without it. But are we talking mutant football, or normal-style? Cuzzzzz, my powers don't exactly turn off, but I can try."
"We were thinking a bit of both. If we get enough guys, and girls of course, interested we could have some mutant v mutant games and depending on how the headmasters feel, we could also have have it the normal way too." Bobby explained, Kurt had been the one of course to point out the difficulties normal school football could present. "Whatever everyone wants really so there would be something for you at least."
"I like it. And we do have a lot of people into soccer--in various languages and dialects--around, so yeah. That actually makes sense." If Pietro sounded like he was surprised, well, he might have decided Bobby's sense of humor wasn't so bad after all, but yeah, he had not expected anything approaching sense. "Ask me, I think the headmasters would be down with some mutant ball, since they're all about us working together with our powers."
Speaking of, ol' Sunspot there was on Pietro's training squad. Which was going to be an awesome bunch--again, assuming Roberto had more sense sober than he did drunk (well, who didn't?). "Speaking of, what the hell is 'solar energy conversion'? As in, what do you convert it into? Hearts and rainbows?"
"Into all kinds of things. I can make myself stronger, I can create blasts of energy. That's what caused the fires the night I manifested. When I use it, I turn completely black which the teachers said is to optimize my powers. Turns out in this form I can withstand a lot too." Bobby explained, with a little more control came a little more understanding of the powers. Though it still scared him like hell.
"That sounds pretty bad-ass," Pietro admitted, his expression making it clear that he appreciated the danger. He was totally familiar with fire and mayhem when it came to manifestation, if not on quiiiiite so public a scale. "Was expecting something more like. You know. Ali's fabulous conversion. You tried it in the Danger Gym yet--or do you have to be outdoors?"
"I've had a class in there." Bobby nodded, since unlike others his powers had little daily practical application anyway he only used them in class. "How about you?"
Pietro arched an eyebrow; dude had not answered his question at all. Well, whatever, his manifestation had been fucking tragic, and after that blog post about his girlfriend had made it clear that the wound was still open and bleeding--hell, even Pietro didn't poke at those. "Uh-huh, but never with a group like we're supposed to. Just one or two people at a time. Fun, though."
"I haven't with any other students." And he wasn't sure it was a good idea that he did either. His hands idly fiddled with the ball as he continued "But if the teachers think I am ready then I suppose I must..." Though he still didn't have a good feeling about it.
"Yeah, well, the manifestation mighta been the shittiest thing in the history of shit, but at least the power's not all bad. Plus, the ability to actually wait til you're ready--or more ready, anyhow, not like anyone's ever really ready--to get your shit under control? Massive luxury." Pietro gestured for him to get busy with the ball again. "Coulda had one of those things that blows you up if you don't pay attention to it. Or drives you crazy." Like, you know. Superspeed.
Bobby dropped the ball and passed it over. "If you're trying to tell me that I am lucky, I am aware of the positives. However I've discovered if I get too angry or upset, things start to get a little hot. It might not be half-baked visions of the future or a death touch but I still struggle with it greatly. As I'm sure you struggle with us, uh, 'slowpokes', am I correct?"
Pietro rolled the ball up his laces and juggled it with his knees as he replied. "You slowpokes, ATMs, cars, tv shows, music, gravity." He switched to his foot again, just keeping up now. "Everyone struggles though, yeah. My point is that you got to wait this long to deal with it is unheard-of. Though I guess it gets harder, the longer you go." Had with Wanda, after all.
He kicked it back, wondering if Bobby could talk and juggle at the same time, just... because.
"Contrary to popular belief." Bobby told him as he caught the ball, he only did a few bog standard keep ups with his foot and knee, nothing fancy. The urge to show off had died for the moment. "Time is not always a good thing."
Pietro snorted. "You're telling me." But he did see the guy's point in more than just a general speedster impatient way. "I like being forced to suck it up and deal, myself. After the fact."
He kicked the ball back as he smirked "Masochistic tendencies there, Maximoff?"
"More than you can possibly know, Da Costa." Pietro smirked right back as he brought the ball down with his chest, dropped it right into the inside of his foot, and sent back a smooth pass, slightly to Bobby's left like they were setting up a strike and Bobby was meant to run on. "But don't knock it til you've tried it."
"I'm more about maximum pleasure, I don't think it's my style." Bobby informed him after a tricky manoeuvre that resulted in him bouncing the ball from one shoulder to another back and forth over his head. Ok, maybe he couldn't resisted showing off one more time. Coz it was a fucking awesome trick.
Pietro laughed and clapped again. Impressive, but he was now preeeetty sure he'd sussed out dude's style: Pietro set up a play, Roberto fanned his tailfeathers instead. Oh well, couldn't be all surprises--and at least Bobby was fun to watch, for a slowpoke, and not just cuz he was pretty, either. "The point of masochism is that the pain is pleasure, for the record, but hey. Some people like their coffee black, some like sugar. Others are just flexible." In every way imaginable.
"Oh I can be very flexible." Was smirked as Bobby passed the ball back. "I just can't really see how pain can ever be pleasurable, it does not make sense to me."
"That's actually kinda interesting." Pietro flipped the ball up and off his forehead a few times as he spoke, timing his words to a normal-person pace by the rate of the ball's bounce. "A completely unscientific survey of my acquaintances tells me people who are the most interested in taking pleasure to the max generally like a little bit of pain, one way or the other. Not necessarily anything hardcore, just some sugarkink. I'll factor you in next time. Some hedonists are all sweetness all the time."
What, soccer and sex? Like Pietro's two favorite subjects, here.
"Factor me in?" Bobby repeat, unsure as to whether he'd understood that correctly. Was Pietro offering to include him in something or was his English taking a strange turning in translations again?
"Yeah." Pietro leaned back, brought the ball down with his chest, then hard off the inside of his foot, then his head again, returning to the bounce. "I thought most hedonists were into a little pain here and there. You're a hedonist whose not into pain. New factor. Therefore, my ideas about that require reevaluation."
Pietro seriously hoped it was a language barrier thing--though he'd always thought that for someone that hot to also be smart would be totally unfair. Brian Braddock and Lydia Martin were bad enough, Jesus.
"Don't worry, I didn't mean factor you into some kinda S&M threesome. You say you're flexible, but I think it's mostly the alcohol that's flexible." He grinned and headed the ball back at Bobby.
"I was going for the literal meaning when I referred to myself as flexible." Bobby pointed out though he decided not to point out that he'd been speaking a foreign language whilst also performing complicated, attention needing tricks. After all he always prided himself in being near fluent. "But I can't deny that I do seem to take a rather queer turning at times when I've been drinking. I'm just an affectionate guy, I suppose. No one has seemed to complain before."
"Yyyyeah, this is the last place you're gonna get judged for that." Due to his good mood, Pietro declined to mention that he'd been giving Bobby way too much credit for wordplay, there--his mistake. "They say there's truth in the wine, but there's also a lot of poor decisions. S'up to you what's what."
Bobby shrugged, he had gone back to the simple basic ball skills to allow himself to focus more on his language skills. "I have never done anything I truly regretted the next day. Well, not of that nature. I have made many other drunken mistakes of course. But I have never regretted my affectionate behaviour. Read into that what you will."
Pietro stretched upward like a cat and tried to think of drunken antics he regretted, but couldn't. He did feel kinda bad about almost pissing Wanda off on Sunday. He did not feel bad about making out with Remy again, though.
Nope. Definitely not. It was what St. Patrick woulda wanted.
Oh wait, the other day with Josh, he would've regretted the lights if dude hadn't been a healer. "Same," Pietro decided. "Nothing to do with making out with random people. Everything to do with generally being an idiot."
"So long as everyone is having fun, I see no harm. Though it's amazing how often my actually gay room-mate gets second hand embarrassment for me. Well, I suppose it makes up for my utter lack of shame, no?" He grinned widely at that as he passed the ball back. It was interesting to finally have a conversation with the speedster that hadn't yet ended in a headache from trying to keep up with translating him. Perhaps the distraction of the ball was helping to burn some of that excess energy Pietro always had?
"Yeah, your roommate is super sweet; I could see how that'd get interesting," Pietro pointed out with a chuckle, sending the ball back immediately, again like he was setting up a strike triangle. "Actually I got a sweet gayboy roommate too, but I think he's past the point of blushing with me now."
"Victor, yes? I do not know him well but he seems like a nice kid." Bobby nodded, getting itchy feet he started to dribble the ball around Pietro. "Blaine keeps saying I will never be able to shock him again, and then something happens like, like last month when he came home to find me with Shaw and tequila in my bed." Bobby laughed loudly at the memory, that had been a good night.
"That might embarrass Vic a little, actually," Pietro admitted, watching Bobby's feet with a practiced eye; again, it was complete ease. He'd be jealous, if he didn't already know he looked just as good--hey, superspeed was a part of him, so it still counted. "That's why we have a star on the door system for moments when he shouldn't enter. Though I'm guessing you all weren't missing enough clothing to make that completely necessary.
"Then again, maybe not. Because Shinobi." Seriously, who fucking knew, with that guy.
"I am guessing you're the one using the stars." Because, let's face it, everyone by now knew Victor was pining over a human boy he'd broken up with. Someone he definitely couldn't have ever brought to the school. "I suppose that would be a good system, yes." It was something to consider now that Blaine was dating anyway, he was sure if he ruined a moment for Blaine and Kurt he'd never hear the end of it. "And, yes, Shinobi is, well, himself. I'll just leave you pondering the details of that one, I think." He grinned, passing the ball over.
"Let's just say it keeps the peace." Pietro got the pass and kicked it up, bounced it off his head, then let it drop behind him, where he kicked it up with his heel again. He juggled it on one foot as he turned back around little by little. All the while grinning at the imagined look of shock and possibly exasperation on Vic's face if he came in to find Laura scratching him up or something. (Which was nothing compared to what'd happen if he walked in on him and Eames, but that was just too cruel to ponder.) Ha! Poor guy.
Pietro went on, "Definitely recommend the star system. And yes. Shaw... is a one of a kind." He shot the ball back over to Bobby without it touching the ground again, hooking it with his laces.
"And that's the way he likes it." Bobby agreed with a nod before jumping way back in the conversation to ask "What're your thoughts on our little team?" Since he'd clearly seen the roster by now if he knew the technical term the teachers had created to use in reference to Bobby's powers.
"Pretty good," Pietro said. Actually, the only person he wasn't sure about was Bobby, and that'd probably be cool, after all. No doubt prone to cockswinging, but he was pretty sure Tessa, hell, probably Inara and Paige, too, could cut that shit out right quick. "Only one who's really a pain in the ass is Damon, and he's okay when he wants to be. If he doesn't want to be, pretty sure Tessa can paralyze a man with her little finger. Or brain. So we should be good to go. What'd you think?"
"Not bad. Tessa's dangerous and hot, it's an interesting combination. Damon I only know from reputation, Warren is a good guy. You and I, well, we've had our moments." Bobby grinned at little at that. "But we're cool, yes? I promise not to get drunk and naked during training sessions, if that helps."
"Yeah, I might take pictures, but only if Tessa wants them for blackmail. Because yes, she is dangerous and hot." Pietro laughed. "Seriously though, I mean, even if we somehow weren't cool--which we are--"
He didn't pause so much fast forward in his train of thoughts. "I don't know what the old man and Baldy are planning for with these squads, but they're obviously trying to prepare us for whatever the fuck mutant chaos is about to happen next. I never thought about it before, but you're one of the few here who knows first hand that this is not a fucking game."
Bobby nodded "The formation of teams like this, it feels offensive not defensive but perhaps that's paranoia on my part I do not know." They were simply idly passing the ball back and forth now. "And yes, I do know. And I haven't forgotten what humans are capable of."
"Yeah, I'm sure." This was the most sincere thing Pietro had ever said in Roberto's presence--and probably always would be, but whatever. For all they were talking heavy now, the passing was kind of soothing, and Pietro was just falling into the rhythm of it, almost like a slow song. "Anyhow, sometimes the best defense is a good offense. Or at least the illusion of one, just in case."
"I suppose but why would we need an illusion of anything when no one is meant to know this school exists?" Bobby pointed out, his voice soft and serious for the moment.
"We do," Pietro said. "So it could be to make us feel better. And god, I hope they," he jerked his chin in the direction of the gate to indicate 'the others' as he sent a sharp pass back, "never find out. But optimism will get us nowhere. Better to be prepared for everything, whether we think it'll happen or not."
"That is true. Like I said, I was probably having a moment of paranoia. I am grateful to the headmasters, they saved my life but I do not completely understand them. Do you trust them?"
Since one was Pietro's father, however long estranged, perhaps the answer would be biased but Bobby was genuinely interested in what others thought. Since arriving at the school he hadn't given much thought to anything beyond his own guilt and grief, he was only now starting to think about things others had likely been wondering for some time.
Now there was an interesting question to ask someone's son; interesting and observant. Pietro cocked his head a little, wondering for a split second how much he wanted to admit, but that Bobby had even thought to ask swayed him to honesty, if not full disclosure. "More than I did--not that it's saying much. The old man, at least, has proven that he's got our interests at heart. Whether that's enough, I dunno.
"Xavier is a mystery, and I'm not sure Erik apparently trusting him is enough for me. You get a read on him?"
"I have not exactly been in a place to pay much attention lately." Was admitted with a shrug, they both knew why so no need to go deeper. "So no, I do not. Not really. All I know of them is that your father stopped several bullets only moments before they met my skull and that hey have both some how made sure no police agencies can find me. For that I am grateful but it does not mean I will follow blindly."
Pietro shrugged. "Honestly, the impression I get is he'd think less of you if you did. But then, we're not exactly close. So who knows."
"I suppose only time can tell, eh?"
