Garden

@jason momoa ˢˢ [ poke ]

@jason momoa ˢˢ Meto watched the man put the sacks into containers he had seen before, the man's bulging muscles highlighted by the sun in a humorously cliché manner. 'I should come to the garden more often.', Meto, quite uncharacteristically, thought to himself. His eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses and he subconsciously tried to stand a little stranger when his- Jason's eyes raked across his figure. He could almost feel the man's thoughts, like thick clouds in the air. Meto brought up one hand to sweep his long, silver hair over one shoulder, soft strands cascading down his chest and partially covering his multitude of tattoos. "I'm Meto." His lips maintained their smiling shape while silence filled the space between them.

But not for long. A dark, lace-trimmed parasol manifested in his right hand. He had it unfold with a flick of wrist and brought the handle up to rest on his shoulder, while the parasol itself cast his being into an even darker shadow. "Do you mind if I join you?", Meto hummed, one foot already placed tentatively outside of the oak tree's shade.

@meto ᵛ Being Jason meant working, and working meant heavy lifting, getting dirty, a little bit a blood sometimes, and a lot of sweat. Of course that didnt mean he was a strict, stick up your kinda person, in fact he was far from it. He just seemed to give off a vibe that some or even most would feel intimidated by. He hadn't thought of many complex things, nope he just thought about what he was going to eat because he was hungry, but he wanted to finish hauling the bags of dirt first.

Then he heard a smaller smoother voice behind him, asking who he was. He had just plopped the bags of dirt in the correct containers, so he turned around and soon his golden dark eyes fell upon a smaller figure, near the shade up against the stair way to the college entrance. " hm? ... oh hey... My names Jason. I just started working her since a few days ago. And you are?" He had a feeling that something new was actually going to happen now that he was at this University. Never in a million years did he think he'd still be alive right now. He noticed the other was a petite person, red painted lips, soft clothing...hmm interestingly different.

@floor jansen ʷ Darkness surrounds the garden. It was already night and the only light source was the light pole along the paths in the campus garden. As the moon was shining bright and the stars could be seen with eyes, Caleb knew it was the perfect night to go star sighting. Some people would be frightened to go inside a minimum lit place but they're ordinary people with a lot of things to be scared of. Fortunately Caleb's not any of them and he could easily be found laying on the grass near a little pond, while humming and looking at the sky. His hands rested underneath the ginger haired head when a sound of footsteps grabbed his attention.

@jason momoa ˢˢ It was one of those days again. One of those days, where Meto asked himself what the he was doing here. He was standing in the shade, leaning against the side of a marble staircase that led up to the university. However, it wasn't the stairs but a giant oak tree that blocked the intrusive rays of light from piercing his pale skin. Dark sunglasses were perched high up on his nose bridge, a dying cigarette was stuck between plump red lips and a white sweaterdress hung loosely from his shoulders. As he moved his hand up to pull the cigarette from his lips, intricate blue and red tattoos showed on his hand and shoulder, darkened by the shade into an almost black shade. "Haa.." His legs felt weak from standing in the same position for too long. What was he doing here? This ing place...

~rustle~

Meto's head jerked to the side, his sunglasses sliding down to reveal black obsidian eyes. A figure he hadn't seen before walked into the garden. A very... large figure. Sometimes outsiders came to wander the garden, but he was carrying large sacks. Did he work here? Meto slowly breathed out the smoke he'd been holding in and the grey matter s up into the air, blurring his vision. "Hmm.." With his cigarette pinned between his lithe, tattooed fingers, his tongue swiped out to moisten his lips. What was /he/ doing here? Perhaps it was because Meto's mind was filling with questions he knew he couldn't answer, and he didn't want to suffer the usual headache. Perhaps it was because he felt lonely. Meto scrunched up the burning cigarette in his hand and crushed it until nothing but a thin stream of dust trickled from his clenched fist onto the lush, well-kept grass.

Meto moved two steps out of the shade and leaned against the marble wall of the staircase, his body facing the stranger. "Who are you?", Meto called out, just loud enough for the other to hear. He didn't like to shout. In a sudden wave of nervousness, the fingers of his right hand fumbled and inconspicuously tugged at his clothing. He used to be afraid of how people would treat him, with his dresses and the make-up, but to think he would feel that awful sensation again. After such a long time. Meto's mouth went dry. Was it because of how... stereotypically manly the (assumed) gardener looked? Did he remind him of Bret?

Meto thought he'd gotten over it. After a fateful encounter with a professor here at this very university, he was able to start overcoming his insecurities. He turned to the extreme stereotype to suppress his fears, alike to screaming in one language to silence the whisper of another. The make-up became extravagant, the clothes as promiscuous as his life and his behaviour grew loud and flamboyant. It was a fun time, yes, but it only took him a year to realise that he was still lying to himself. The loud, stereotypical femboy was no better than the socially incompetent, cowering college student hiding in his room. Right. That was why he had returned to this place, which held a plethora of bad memories: To acknowledge himself.

Meto didn't try so hard anymore. He still had the long hair and he still wore the dresses but they were extremely casual. He still wore shoes with heels on occasion and yes, his lips were painted red but he had lost interest in standing out. Those red lips of his curled into a smile as he looked at the large figure. Strange how he had suddenly thought of this while looking at a perfect stranger. The whole thought process had taken no longer than one or two seconds and he stood there, in the shade, smiling while waiting for the person to reply.