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[brooklynishere]

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finally!!

[allucinator]

The thing is, they were never meant to work.

Chalk it up to gender, sure, and masucline roles. Chalk it up to two guys never meant to be anything but friends who got each other off, to boys who were killing time until a woman came along and let them in her bed. And then, when those excuses don't hold up, chalk it up to rivalries. Chalk it up to Manhattan and Brooklyn, the two boroughs utterly incompatible, the distance immense when all you can afford to do is walk. Or maybe it's just maturity, growing up, hitting seventeen and knowing that you had to grow up. Knowing that Santa Fe was waiting and he couldn't waste time on anything else, even Conlon.

Maybe it's just that it's too hard to keep going without bringing emotions into it.

So they're not a thing, not at all. And yet tonight (nearly midnight, he thinks, and his body protests, knowing they have to wake in less than six hours, but there's nothing for it), it's towards the Brooklyn docks Jack stumbles. Not home. Not where Race and the others are waiting. They're good guys, great guys, but a leader can't afford to be weak. He can't afford to limp in, all bloody and soaked, his ribs cracked and his face all beaten.

So he goes to Brooklyn. It's a long story as to why he's so fucked up and how he managed to walk all this way, but the point is: he sticks to the alleys and the side streets, and sooner or later he reaches where Spot's boys linger. Even then, he doesn't show himself: just whistles, three rising notes that sound more like a bird's chirp than a signal. They'd invented it years ago.

The others look around, but that's fine. Just so long as it's Spot who recognizes it, and Spot and Spot alone who comes to see what Jacky boy wants at this late hour.]

Worth the wait it's perfect!

[brooklynishere]

Spot Conlon doesn't do sentimental. He doesn't do feelings. He does simple pleasures and revels in it - the adrenaline of a good fight, the satisfaction of a job well done, and the thrill of stolen moments, of chemistry boiling over until you're slamming each other into walls and kissing until you can't breathe anymore, warm hands in cold alleys and stifled cries when you know there's people nearby. It was a rush, that was all, a secret excitement that was just for him and nobody else. Feelings didn't come into it.

He knew it wouldn't last, couldn't last, but why should he care about that? Someone new would come along, another body would catch his eye and that would be that. No need for emotion.

So when he practically feels his heart skip a beat at the sound of an achingly familiar signal, he puts it down to nothing more than remembered lust and almost contemplates ignoring it - only he can't. Conveniently, there's no way he can just get on with his evening without finding out what the hell the Manhattan leader is doing here, in his territory, at this time of night. He's not walked up like it's business, he's crept in all secret and used that old signal, so either he's drunk and an idiot (a distinct possibility) or it's something serious enough he doesn't want anybody else to see.

So Spot waves off anybody else going to look and heads after the whistle himself, stepping into the alley with his cane in hand (can't be too careful, even with Jack), mouth open to deliver one of his trademark cocky greetings.

The words die in his throat when he actually sees Jack, and for a second he just stares, until finally he tucks his cane into his braces and comes slowly closer.

"Geez, Jacky-boy, you look like hell."

[allucinator]

Ohh, you missed me.

[He intends to coo it out, drawling sarcastic; instead, it comes out as a grunt, pained and thick. His head drops the instant he realizes Spot came alone. Good, he thinks vaguely, in whatever part of his mind isn't screaming in white-hot pain. Good, he still trusts you, even now, even after all the mess and fuss and grief.]

Got a hideaway? I need--

[It's hard to ask for help, but at least he doesn't have to spell it out. I'm hurt, I'm frightened, please, I don't know where else to turn-- he glances over at him, his eyes pleading with emotion he can't hide, blood stained on his clothes and his body hunched in on himself.]

Yes or no.

[brooklynishere]

_{[Spot's not gonna argue with him, not when he looks like that - he didn't though, miss him, of course he didn't, at most he misses Jack's touch, and not in any kind of sappy, emotional way, just the way Jack knew his body, knew exactly how to get him off, who wouldn't miss that kind of convenient pleasure.}

_{There's no thinking on that right now, though, not when Jack's looking at him like that, when the words are cut off but his eyes are begging for help. Spot's never going to turn that look away. It'd be bad for Brooklyn.]}

Yea I got a place, c'mon.

_{[It's nothing special, his own room in the Brooklyn lodging house, but nobody will bother him there if he doesn't want to be bothered, and right now it's the safest place in the world for Jack Kelly outside of Manhattan itself. Getting to it, unfortunately, would involve going up the fire escape if they want to do this quiet like, and Jack looks half dead already]}

I gotta take you up the fire escape unless you want everybody to see, you gonna be able to do that right now?

[allucinator]

The hell you gonna do if I can't, carry me?

[Swing and a miss once again, as he aimed for humor and came away sounding nothing but pathetic. God.]

Yeah. I got it.

[He'll use one hand or something. It doesn't matter. Bad enough he's come crawling to Spot for help; he's not going to be completely helpless in front of him. A beat, and he adds firmly:]

Come on. I promise I got it.

[brooklynishere]

_{[It's a mark of how pathetic he both looks and sounds that for a second time Spot doesn't even bother snarking back, he just looks at Jack for a moment, the 'are you sure?' written clear across his face. Still, Jack insists, and as much as Spot might want to he's not about to try and support him when it's the last thing he wants - he knows if their situation were reversed he'd be saying the exact same thing and he knows he'd mean it.}

_{So he nods, turning on his heel and heading out the alley, skirting around the edge of the buildings until he reaches another side street, pausing by the waiting fire escape and nodding for Jack to go first]}

Up there, third floor.

_{[He's sending Jack up first in the slim hope that Spot can catch him if he slips, but he's not saying that out loud.]}

[allucinator]

[Third floor, and he gets up there. Don't mind how, and definitely don't mind the grunts of pain that he emits as he climbs. Climbing up a fire escape on a fucked up wrist isn't ideal, but on the other hand, better than looking weak, right? Or even weaker than before, Christ, let him keep what tatters of his pride he has left.

Whatever. The point is: they make it, and though his head is swimming, he ducks into the room, immediately going for whatever bed or chair is nearest. The climb opened a few wounds, and for a few seconds he stares at nothing, panting heavily. Blood is dried over his knuckles, his neck; absently he wipes at his nose, trying to stem some of the flow.]

Can I stay the night?

[He has to ask. He can't presume, not with Spot, not in his territory.]

Teen Dance Movie

[brooklynishere]

It's finally lunchtime. It's only lunchtime. Spot has been at his new school a handful of hours and he is already done.

In the school's defense, he was pretty much done with it before he even arrived.

He gets why his grandmother felt the need to move him halfway across the country, he does, it isn't like he liked his old school, and yea it was probably nice to not have a million and one questions from assholes about why he was away for so long - or, worse, defending against all the fucking rumours that had sprung up.

But he misses the friends he did have, and he misses his ballet teacher, and his grandmother won't pay for one here because the entire point of getting a scholarship to this place was because of the excellent ballet programme, except that excellent ballet programme is just an ordinary class full of other people and that comes with a whole host of other issues.

Being far away from his dad and closer to the aunt and cousins he can actually tolerate is great and all, but it's still new and different and, honestly, intimidating - and Spot likes none of those things. So he's scowled his way through multiple introductions already this morning and now he has to deal with a packed out lunch room and finding a place to sit where nobody will bother him. Great.

The room is basically a wall of sound and he's seriously considering turning off his hearing aids.

Re: Teen Dance Movie

[jabbathehutt]

It's only lunchtime.

Which means there's a whole double maths between now and Ezra finally getting out of here. It's not that he really hates this place anymore, it's just that school is boring and maths is hard, and at the other end of maths is finally getting out of here and meeting up with his friends. He's more or less on autopilot, headphones firmly in his ears, as he dodges carelessly through the crowd, handling his lunch tray with perfect balance as he heads towards his usual table.

Maybe there'll be people there, maybe there won't be. There usually aren't, though. It's a small round table in the corner that doesn't really have room for more than one or two people, and that's why Ezra likes it - he can sit and eat in peace and listen to music.

His mind is mostly on that music as he makes his way, which is why he doesn't notice that someone else may have found the empty table before him.

Re: Teen Dance Movie

[brooklynishere]

Spot did not turn his hearing aids off - mostly because he can hear his grandmother's voice in the back of his head, gently scolding him for cutting people off before they had a chance, and partly because he's probably only going to start a fight if somebody tries to talk to him and he apparently ignores them.

He did locate a small, empty table tucked away in the corner that suited his purposes just fine, however - it's not cutting people off to just not try and join their table, right? - so he is indeed there, not being noticed by Ezra as he unpacks his lunch.

He's mostly ignoring the rest of the world himself, rolling his eyes at the sheer amount of food his grandmother decided he needed to bring with him - sure, he's skinny, but she's packed like she's feeding four people, not just him - until he catches movement out the corner of his eye and glances up to realise somebody is heading this way. His face settles into a scowl, his usual defense.

[jabbathehutt]

Ezra's tray is already on the table and his hand on the other chair, before his spatial awareness catches up with his brain and tells him there's already someone there, so he pauses, grins sheepishly at the kid and makes a show of taking his headphones out.

(And turning the music off, because Kanan has told him enough times I can still hear it, Ezra! that it's habit by now.)

"Hey, anyone sitting here?"

He's already decided that no, no one's sitting there, because his pause was only momentary and he continues to sit down. Because he's seen that scowl before and he is choosing to interpret it as someone needing to be annoyed.

Also - there's nowhere else to sit.

[brooklynishere]

There isn't, and it's obvious, and what's he going to say? I've got a friend coming? That will quickly become an obvious lie, and he'd rather just eat his lunch than start a fight on his first day.

So he shakes his head - not that it matters because the other kid is already sitting down like it wouldn't have made a difference what he said anyway. Spot scans the lunchroom but there really isn't anywhere else to go, not without joining another table already full and fuck that.

His scowl stays fixed, and he turns his attention back to his lunch. Sharing a table with one other person is probably a best case scenario, it'll have to do.

[jabbathehutt]

Ezra could just let it go like that: sit down, eat in quiet, maybe do some reading. It would be a tolerable way to spend lunch.

But of course he doesn't, because he's got absolutely zero impulse control and it would be rude to put his headphones in so he's got to fill the silence somehow.

"You're new, right? I'm Ezra."

Tabula Rasa

[brooklynishere]

Like many people in poverty, Sean Conlon was not exactly a fan of the status quo, but what the hell was he going to do about it? He focused on what mattered - looking after himself, and sharing whatever excess he had with the small gang of boys who'd taken shelter in the same corner of the slums that he had.

(The fact that he always begged, borrowed or stole enough to have excess was neither here nor there)

Those in power don't care about people like Sean, and that's the way he likes it - he's careful about his acquisitions and he doesn't make a splash, so when certain groups pull their big showy heists and cause the slums to get overridden with law enforcement for a few days, he can't help but glare at them when they show up to dish out their charity once the heat has died down. He never takes it, he's too proud for that, but he'll encourage the boys to - whatever gets them what they need.

He recognises most of that group by sight, now, and he's had more than a few shoving matches or near-brawls in the street when he runs into them and picks a fight over nothing. One of those fights ends in a black eye for Sean, a bloody nose for the boy he's fighting with, and somebody threatening to call in the guard if they don't knock it off.

So Sean runs, dodging down streets he's known all his life, the route home practically programmed into his feet. Until his usual path is blocked off and he has to take a different turning, ends up in an area he's less familiar with because he knows it's a dangerous place to be. Too dangerous, as it turns out.

~~~


He blinks awake in a cage, there's a man he doesn't recognise sitting on a chair nearby, standing guard over a few similar cages - all unoccupied at the moment. His body is aching and his mind is fuzzy, he doesn't know how he got here or even where 'here' is, but he knows he wants to get out.

He sniffs the air experimentally. The man smells like a wolf, though the room is criss-crossed with dozens of other shifter scents of varying ages, and something about that makes him nervous. His eyes dart around trying to find some kind of escape route but while he can see a door it's clearly alarmed and he'd have to get out of the cage first, not to mention past the guard.

Just then, though, he gets incredibly lucky. Chaos erupts in another room and the guard goes running to see what's happening. Alarms start wailing and he can hear shouting, until suddenly the voices are all he can hear; the alarm cuts off abruptly and the building is plunged into darkness. As his eyes start to adjust to the light he realises that the cages have electronic locks - locks that are now open.

He doesn't waste any time, just bolts out through the exit door and into the alley beyond. He doesn't stop running until he's streets away and gasping for breath.

He can't just keep running though, he needs to get somewhere safe. Wherever that might be. He searches his clothes for any answers but there's nothing in his pockets and the closest he gets to something is a smear of blood on his sleeve that smells familiar, but not like him. He breathes it in for a moment before stripping off the shirt and his pants and dumping them into a pile of garbage out the back of a restaurant. He shifts and starts running again, criss-crossing busy streets and running through puddles and tracing back on himself until even he isn't sure where his scent leads, just in case they try and track him.

Then he finds a tiny splatter of blood on the ground, it smells like the one from his sleeve. He doesn't have any other plan, so he follows the scent, patiently tracking it back to the back door of a building that could be anything. It's dark by the time he arrives, and he's exhausted - too exhausted to force a shift so he can knock properly. He butts his head ineffectually against the door before giving up - the alleyway he's in is pretty secluded, he can take a nap here to regain some of his strength and try again later.

So that night anybody going near that door is going to find a peacefully sleeping leopard curled up outside it.

[jabbathehutt]

This building could be anything, and that's the point. It's actually a closed down coffee shop, boarded up at the front and completely innocuous to the outside world. Inside, however, it's currently the home of the Ghost Crew, a small gang of displaced people who just happen to be that gang that Sean loves to hate.

The Ghosts like to keep mobile, never quite staying in the same place for long in case the law tracks them down, but they've been in this place for a couple of days now and it's safe.

They're all inside, and fast asleep when the leopard knocks his head against the door, too quietly to really be heard. Except Ezra, for some reason, immediately wakes up, bolting straight upright in his bedroll. He sits there for a few seconds, reaching out quietly with his magic to figure out what woke him, and if there's threat to his family.

He doesn't seem to find one, only someone outside who needs his help. So Ezra gets up, sneaks past the sleeping form of Garazeb, and slips down to the back door, which he opens quietly to find a leopard sleeping outside.

"Hey..." he says quietly, crouching down to gently touch the animal's head. "Hey, boy. Are you okay?"

[brooklynishere]

The leopard flinches at the touch to his head, startling quickly onto his paws with hackles raised. He doesn't run or attack though, as he becomes alert enough to realise that the person who touched him isn't the guard from the place with the cages, and appears to not mean him any harm.

He relaxes a little, leaning forward to sniff at the air carefully. He presses his head against the boy's hand as a greeting, he's still a little tired to shift and he doesn't want to do it out here without any clothes anyway.

He's glad, at least, that his instincts seem to have lead him to safety, now he just hopes the boy recognises him or can at least explain why his scent was familiar.

[jabbathehutt]

Ezra immediately draws his hand back, presenting it safely and empty to show the leopard he means no harm, then extends it forward to return the greeting.

He recognises him now: the were leopard that bloodied his nose last night, and ran off when the cops showed. He's not surprised he was able to follow Ezra back to their squat, but he is surprised that he did.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, and on realising that he can't answer, he sighs.

"You want to come inside out of the cold?"

[brooklynishere]

He obviously isn't expected, which is a mild concern, but being recognised - and invited in - is at least promising. Perhaps he was supposed to be somewhere else, and that's what caused the surprise, though there was something about the tone...

He doesn't know, and he can't really find out until he can actually ask some questions of his own, so he ducks his head in a nod and then gently nudges his head against the boy again in encouragement, hoping that one or the other - or both - will confirm his answer is yes.

[jabbathehutt]

Ezra nudges back with his knuckles, not doing anything as patronising as petting, before he stands up and quietly opens the door.

"Keep it down if you can," he says. "The others are sleeping. I'll just sneak into my room and grab you something to wear, okay?"

He's not sure Hera and the others will be happy about him bringing an unfriendly into their home, but the boy is obviously distraught and needs a place to go, and Ezra can't turn someone away.

Dance dance revelation

[brooklynishere]

There were a lot of things that Spot liked about moving to Brooklyn to live with his grandmother, like living in the city, and being an entire state away from his father. There were a lot of things he didn't like, either, like being an entire state away from his ballet teacher.

He didn't want to ask his grandmother about lessons in Brooklyn, not when she could barely afford to keep him as it is. Not when his father finding out had triggered the chain of events that brought him here. He didn't have any other spare relatives to take him in if his grandmother kicked him out too.

So when he hears that there's a class trip to the Metropolitan Ballet, he rolls his eyes and groans along with the rest of the boys, but inside he's practically jumping for joy.

At least, he is until they actually get there. Then he's stuck with a bunch of rowdy teens as they get talked through the absolute basics of ballet and the history of the company, all of which he already knows, and he doesn't even need to pretend to be losing his mind from boredom because he is.

And then they go and watch a rehearsal.

The rest of the boys are muttering and joking amongst themselves at the back of the mezzanine level overlooking the rehearsal space, but Spot leans on the railing, his posture lazy and disinterested but his eyes sharp, watchful, taking in every move.
They're ushered on far too soon, and Spot trails after everyone else, lingering to watch until the last moment he can get away with.

In the afternoon they're supposed to have a class themselves, but the thought of going through beginner moves while trying to pretend he isn't as good as he is makes him want to scream, so while everyone's supposed to be getting changed he ducks out and goes exploring.

When he finds a studio unlocked and empty, he takes his chance and ducks inside. A short warm up and a quick hunt through spotify later, he's got his phone playing the piece from the rehearsal and he's trying out the sections he can remember for himself.

[shoombada]

Tobias was lost in thought, buried in the noise that was his music and his own thoughts. There was something about the current sequence he was fiddling with that was wrong and he couldn't decide what it was. But every time he saw the dancers go through that part of the routine, it felt off. Not as if one of the steps were wrong, but as if there was a part that was still needed.

He'd been working on it all day and even he recognized when all he was doing was tiring the dancers out with seemingly no benefit. He sent them on his way and then went to find one of the unused classrooms. All he needed was a room empty of distractions and maybe he could figure out what was missing.

He was halfway into the room before he saw the boy and that was only because the boy had nearly leaped into Tobias.

He replayed the last few seconds. His choreography. The boy had been doing his choreography, though he clearly wasn't old enough to be in the piece Tobias was putting on. And he'd been injured if the jumps were anything to go by. His landings were fine, but he wasn't getting the power he should have been getting.

"You're doing it wrong. It's whoop, pow, whoop, pow and then--" He followed the words with a vague gesture and then continued, "bada, bada, bada, pow. You're only doing two badas." He said all of that while backing away from the strange boy. He could handle touch, but usually only from people he knew and he didn't know any strange teenagers.

"What are you doing here?" He had made sure to check the schedule to make sure this room wasn't in use, hadn't he? He couldn't remember.

[brooklynishere]

He'd got a little lost in the dance, Spot can admit that to himself even if not out loud, so no wonder he doesn't even notice the door opening or somebody coming in. Not until he turns, stepping automatically into the jump only to realise at the last second there was somebody standing in front of him. He lands inches away from the man and promptly steps sharply backwards, breathing heavily.

Well, shit.

His eyes dart to the door, but his phone and his backpack are at the edge of the room and the man is between him and a swift exit so bolting isn't exactly an option, which means he's going to have to come up with a good excuse to avoid being hauled back to his teacher and the rest of the class.

His mind is racing through options when the man speaks and... what? He's doing it wrong? That's the first thing he says? Backing away from Spot like he's intimidated and it's really hard to brainstorm a good lie when you're too busy trying to work out what the hell is going on. Then it clicks that this guy is the fucking choreographer.

And he's right, because Spot also realises in that moment that he was doing two badas, that's where he'd been losing the beat. He desperately wants to take it from the top and try again but he still has to deal with this situation. The question earns a shrug.

"Thought nobody else was using it." he says glibly, knowing that isn't what he's really being asked but he lives by the rule of never give adults too much information if you can help it.

[shoombada]

He tried to ignore it. He really did. But now that Tobias had seen someone else do it wrong, he couldn't help himself. The part wasn't written with the boy in mind and he was still too young to really do it justice, still coming into the muscles and endurance he'd have as an adult. But he'd seen it now and there was no going back.

He sighed heavily and slipped his headphones down around his neck, tapping his smartwatch to stop the heavy metal from playing. He walked to one side of the room and sat down cross-legged before staring at the boy intently.

"Again," he demanded, having dismissed whatever excuse the boy had tried to use. Even if he had been here first, it was Tobias's now. And would be his after he'd satisfied his need to see the section done right. Sort of.

Ironic how this was the very section that was giving him trouble.

[brooklynishere]

Spot's brow furrows in confusion as the choreographer walks away and sits down, still utterly mystified by exactly what the fuck is going on here. Does the man not know Spot isn't supposed to be here? That he isn't one of his dancers? Surely he must, they had definitely all been adults and Spot is under no illusion that he looks all that much older than he is, so what?

He turns, meets those staring eyes for a moment, his own narrowed in something like suspicion, like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop - but it doesn't last for long. He's not going to waste time questioning it when he's getting exactly what he wants; more time to dance.

He nods, moves back to his phone to skip the track back to a few bars before the section, giving him time to get in position before he starts again, this time with three chasses instead of two. He turns into the jete that nearly had him colliding with Tobias, only this time he continues - though it's only a few more steps before he stops again, having reached the end of the section he saw.

[shoombada]

"Yes," he said when the boy was done, one of the highest praises he generally ever gave his dancers. And then immediately he groaned. "No." The steps were correct inasmuch as they were the ones that Tobias had given his actual dancers, but they weren't right. He went to turn back the music on his watch and frowned when he realized he wasn't controlling it. He glanced around and...right. The kid had it. He got to his feet only to grab the boy's phone and return to the position he'd been in.

"All right," he said, scrolling back to a section just before where the boy had started. "Let's try again from the leap. Instead of that, do a--" and he made a trilling noise as if the boy was supposed to know he meant doing a tour en l'air instead of a simple jump.

He had perfect aim on the music and it started four beats before where the boy was supposed to come in and Tobias watched expectantly.