2007-10-27: Hit The Floor


Mikhail_icon.gif Fenton_icon.gif

Summary: Another short chase. This time with dialog.

Date It Happened: October 27, 2007

Hit the Floor

NYU - Campus Grounds

Walking across campus can be a pain. It's something a student can do once they've gotten use to college, and not having a car or some other simple mode of transportation to go from point A to point B makes it more of a challenge. Especially when back-to-back classes are all in separate buildings.

Mikhail walks, shuffling the notes and handouts he obtained during the Eastern Lit. class. Words, words, and more words. He blows a sigh upward, dyed bangs fluttering under the fedora as he jams all of them into his messenger bag. He can look at it later. Since his other class got canceled due to the professor being ill, the art student has time…

To procrastinate.


Why walk when you can skate? It makes things much easier… well, except for the dodging people and making sure you don't run into anything. And then there are the complaints about property damage from scuffed up curbs and rails, but it's fine so long as you don't get caught doing it, right?
A certain darkly clothed figure weaves his way effortlessly through what few obstacles he finds in his path going out this way. The people have lessened in number, and so rather than glide smoothly through the empty walkway, Fenton kicks up the skateboard to grind along one of the benches set along the way. Another scar to be added to the already numerous that speak for the lack of it being the first time someone's decided to use it in that way. The wheels clatter onto the pavement again as Fenton comes to the end of the bench, a foot setting down beside the board for a second to push it onward. He rolls right on by the art student, curving his skateboard around him easily and drifting along.


A dark-clothed figure skating past another dark-clothed figure? Highly unusual. Or is it normal? Both are exceptionally tasteful with their styles, but they really should get something more colorful.

He heard the sound of people's voices fading and rising. Multiple footsteps came and went, different pacings, groups and singles. Soon enough, there's a natural silence. The walking continues as arms cross over his chest, a futile attempt concerning warmth. The layers he has on doesn't seem like it helps. And the sooner he's indoors, the better.

That is, unless Mikhail finds himself distracted by the rough grating sound of a wooden board meeting a painted bench. Blue gray eyes catch a glimpse of the rider as he glides by, stopping to pause as he stares.

Seconds later, it hits him.

The art student grasps the strap of his bag, dashing after the skateboarder at half speed.


Bayside's "Carry On" pulses in his ears, the volume on his iPod kept at a reasonable level so he can hear if someone yells that a car's about to hit him or something. It takes Fenton a while before the sound of footsteps pushes past the song's bridge. He checks to make sure the way is clear before him before sparing a glance over his shoulder. There… is a person running behind him. No… running after him?

…wait a minute.

Recognition clicks in his head, just as the song ends and the sound of violin and guitars heralded the opening to his favorite Yellowcard opening. The stalker again. Fenton looks frontwards again, the sole of his sneaker pressing down hard against the ground to give him momentum, and he bends his knees to help steady himself with the surge in speed as he tries to distance himself from Mikhail.


Chase: Part 2. START.

All of this counts as exercise. It's good. With each party now realizing they know each other to some extent, it gets interesting. Running after a guy on a skateboard may seem strange to the few other students wandering around, but to Mikhail, it doesn't matter what they think. He just knows he needs to talk to him. Say something. Anything.

He thinks about it. It's not like the guy's going to stop if he tries yelling at him. Catching up is all he has to do.

And do this he shall. Sneakers screech against the pavement, upping the speed to keep the gap from growing any wider. No pain, no gain!


…he's -still- following him? What was this bloke on? Or rather, what was it he wanted? Did he confuse Fenton for some celebrity just because he was good with a guitar? It was highly unlikely, but he supposes it could be possible. Being chased doesn't give him much concentration for entertaining such the thought long enough to find it amusing.
Again and again Fenton pumps his foot down on the ground, gaining speed as Mikhail's have not dwindled away behind him. Stairs ahead. Up Fenton jumps, tapping his foot on the back of the skateboard to nudge it upwards to leap from the ground with him. He leans down enough to grasp the edge of the board to help pull it upwards, twisting slightly so as to meet the railing at a 180 degree angle and slide on down. There's no time for getting fancy- he's trying to outrun a guy after all, and Fenton does a half turn to get himself facing forwards again once he hits the ground. He shifts his balance with the landing, compensating for the extra weight of his backpack slung behind him.


There are no substances being used unless one counts the soda he drank a while ago. Other than that, he hasn't eaten anything. The smart thing to do was to eat and then go to class, but he woke up late. So he's been moving about on an empty stomach.

But what exactly did that have to do with the current situation? Lots, and nothing. Right when Fenton jumps the stairs, Mikhail gasps, almost falling while jumping down three or four steps. Depth perception fails sometimes. He hits the floor with a heavy thud, the bag clunking shortly after that. The running starts again, his chest now hurting from overuse. If only he can stop him…

Oh. OH. Why didn't he think of this earlier? Eyes flicker with the idea now stuck in his head, his focus concentrating on the other student. With a sudden twist of his body, Miki just…falls to the ground.

Scratch that. He slams onto the floor…WITH STYLE.


He hears the thud of a body behind him. Should he stop? Keep going? It would be moot point to slow and see if the guy's okay when here Fenton is trying to evade him. On he goes, then. He moves to propel the skateboard faster again, when suddenly it feels as though his weight is being shifted. Had he been making a trick jump it would have made more sense to him, but all the same he attempts to right himself. It doesn't work. Instead, he finds his body twisting, even when he's pretty sure he isn't wanting to. Unfortunately neither his body nor gravity seem to be paying what he wants any attention.
Fenton goes down, and goes down hard, flat on his back. His vision flickers out upon impact, and he can hear his skateboard roll farther away from him while stares up at the sky above. Thankfully his backpack had been on the outside of the twist, otherwise his landing would have been a lot more painful with the added uneven surface. And his iPod is in his front pocket and still playing, although the fall had caused his earbuds to pop out.


Mikhail crans his neck while he remains flat against the pavement, viewing his prey/victim/subject of interest upside-down. Ah, so it worked. Good. He has only one thing to say about this. "…Ow."

His hat sits there next to his head, rocking to the side as it fully removes itself from its dyed perch. Another moment is taken to readjust and regain his bearings. Shoulders hunch together as Mikhail turns over slowly, grunting from the pain he caused to himself. A palm stays firmly in place as he pushes up from his prone position to sit. Right, he should say something. "…Now that we're here…" The artist keeps his gaze on Fenton, almost unblinking as he pauses. "…Let's clear things up, shall we?"


What? Oh. That guy. He was trying to talk to him now? Wait- only now? They're doing this all backwards… not that Fenton had ever given Mikhail much chance to say anything to begin with, but when a guy goes watching you so intently like that and then gives chasem well how else was one supposed to react?
Slowly, the blond turns his head to look over in Mikhail's direction, which is to say he was now viewing the guy upside-down. "….okay…" he finally replies, looking just about as enthusiastic as the artist does.


So he does things out of order, whatever. Eyebrows raise (or lower, depending on the angle) at the skater boy, giving a curt nod as his request is accepted. "Um. First of all, I'm Mikhail. Hi," he waves, letting that hand fall back over the hat. "Second, I'm sorry. I had to do it. You wouldn't stop."





This guy's something else for sure.

"…….yo." It seems like an inadequate response, but quite frankly, Mikhail has him baffled. "…Fenton." That'd be his name offered. "….and… what… exactly…. did you do…?" he asks hesitantly, seemingly content to remain where he is on the ground, even if there might be people coming around eventually to see them.


Part one down. Next one. Mikhail hesitated. "Oh. Right." That. The hat soon returns to his head, tipped and everything. "…I…pretty much forced you to fall. As I did it. It's a weird concept."

Well, it's one way to go about revealing secret abilities.

"I don't know…ow." He's still feeling the painful sensations fuzzing up his joints. And although seated, he's still sort of reclining. He doesn't bother to fix his legs. "I'm still trying to figure out what you did that day. The invisible wall thing. I think," the artist adds.


"…you…Forced me…?" No, not like that. Fenton blames the bookstore displays in the sci-fi section. Still, it doesn't make much sense to him. How's a guy go and do things like that? Slowly, after deciding he should probably sit up, he shoves himself upright and looks over his shoulder at Mikhail. The fall hadn't been anything too serious, and in fact, mild compared to some of the spills he's taken on a skateboard.
Scratching his head, he begins to pick himself up, getting no farther than setting a foot flat upon the pavement when he blinks and looks at the art student again. "…what… are you talking about?"


Blame it on the other college-age influences he's run into of late. His friends, the cool geek nerds. The unintentional pun would click after a moment, but Mikhail decides to shove it aside for another time.

"Yes," he coughs, leaning forward to kneel. His bag is checked over before he looked at the space around him just in case he dropped anything while falling. Nothing is seen and everything accounted for. The artist gives Fenton a look, quirking a brow. "The first chase," he references. "I ran into something. Or…it felt like I did. And there was nothing there." One foot plants itself firmly as he gets up. "Nothing, no one. I don't run into things that often, either," he clarifies. No dodging the subject.


Fenton stares at Mikhail, confused by the uncertain expression worn on his face. "…ah? You ran into … what- you said an invisible wall..?" He strokes his chin thoughtfully, a brow quirked sharply in that look that borders saying "you're out of your bloomin' mind."
A part of him wonders. Could it be…? A wall… is a bit drastic a thing to consider, but then why else would this guy be telling him this if it didn't have something to do with him? Fenton could have said it was ridiculous, but he knew- no, he /knows/ it isn't. He's pulled off enough of the physically impossible that he can't ignore it. And if that isn't enough to convince himself, then all he has to do is remind himself of his sudden fall just a few minutes ago.

"…so… you're saying… I did it."


The artist dusts himself off, still keeping his blue gray gaze even with Fenton's. "How else can I say it?" Mikhail asks plainly.

To the few going through the area, they will just think these two guys are talking to each other about…weird sci-fi theories or a television show.


A shrug is all offered in response. Not that he has any idea of what he'd say about it, since he hadn't even thought about it until now. And so here he is, talking to this guy, that can apparently do…. things…. like make people fall when he falls- which could be handy, Fenton supposes, given a situation, but on the other hand it's kind of stupid when you're getting yourself beat up in the process. But then there's also the talk of invisible walls, of that step that's not there and yet is. Is it the same thing?
Fenton looks long and hard at Mikhail, and finally he remembers he'd been about to stand up. He does so, giving his jeans a brief pat down with his hand. "…so… that doesn't explain why you were chasing me."



The man has a point. Fenton gave him an answer, sort of, but he made Mikhail think about the whole chase aspect. Why did he run after the skater? Was it just because he was an interesting person to observe? Or was it just a strange yet natural instinct?

Mikhail tilted his head at an angle, shrugging a shoulder. "Well…you're the one who started running," he says.


"…." That isn't a good answer! That's… well… "Only because you started chasing," the skater says. Nevermind that to be chased, you had to run. He just hadn't liked the attention Mikhail had been giving him at the time. Downright creepy, that's what it was.
Fenton turns and goes to retrieve his skateboard… after taking a moment to remember which way it had rolled off to. He rescues it from some bushes, then turns and walks back, the board tucked under an arm.


Mikhail fixes his hat. That sums it up rather quickly. "…Okay," he replies, lower lip jutting slightly. This isn't really going nowhere fast. Both have given legit answers that said nothing at the same time. The artist blinks (finally) as Fenton moves to pick up the skateboard, still staring that half-lidded stare. "It was…interesting. And I wasn't…really thinking about it…" Well, it's true. Chasing a person who's running away isn't usually something to do when one doesn't really have a reason to do it. Lips press together into a thin line, his head bobbing silently after he said that much more.


Looking at Mikhail, Fenton takes this response into consideration, and after a moment, he nods slowly. "…oh." After a moment, he turns and begins to walk away again. After thirty seconds it becomes apparent that he has no intentions of returning to resume the conversation that really wasn't.


So he's leaving. As in, not returning. Mikhail opens his mouth, gaping a little as he raises his left hand out after Fenton. Doing this is pointless in trying to get him back. His mouth then shuts, the same hand dropping back down to his side.

The youth remains standing there for a while. He'll probably stay there for about an hour to think about it. He has nothing else to do.


The earbuds to his iPod dangle from his pocket, but Fenton makes no move to pull them back up and pop them back in. He's listening for footsteps in case the stalker artist decides to pursue him again. He watches out of the corner of his grey-green eyes until he makes it to the next walkway flanked by trees. Abruptly he drops his skateboard and hops onto it, pushing off and away, sparing not a glance back. "Easier to Run" is on by the time he plugs back into his player.

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