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Mick and Len have been trying to study in the library. Operative word, trying . It would be going much better but the local cryptid had been staring at them for the past fifteen minutes. Neither could concentrate when this kid was pressing all of their fight or flight buttons.
They had figured he was studying too. Apparently not though.
“Hey kid, you got something to say to us?” Len drawled out.
he kept his body language neutral, face a mask of the kind of indifference that makes people think he views them as less than the dirt beneath his heel. He could feel Mick squaring up behind him, eyes wild and presence radiating threat.
The kid’s eyes widen. But not in the way they had been aiming for, full of fear and discomfort. No, this was a look of confusion and mild disbelief, which then narrowed into a strange sort of glee-tinged suspicion that didn’t quite fit on his honest-looking face.
“I can see you.”
What?
This lanky, waif of a kid, who’s been staring for the past seventeen minutes with bags deeper than the ocean and skin that looked like it hadn’t seen a ray of sunlight in years .
This specter of a stick man was smugly stating that he could see them?
Mick’s line of thought was the same as he growled, “No shit you can see us kid.”
His face morphs once more into confusion. Then he spends a significant amount of time in silence looking like he’s painstakingly trying to sort through his thoughts.
Len is fascinated by the way his emotions play so easily on his face. Doe eyes squint, widen, look to the ceiling, and close. Lashes brushing his cheekbones. Chapped, plush lips are bitten, twisted, pursed, till they’re shiny and flushed and it's definitely time to stop staring at this kid.
He can practically hear his thoughts though. Confusion, slow processing of information, realization, finally; what seems to be embarrassment bordering on mortification, based on his hands flying up to his rapidly darkening face: which is fascinating and should be investigated further.
Len is ripped from the gutter as the kid finally breaths out;
“wait you aren’t ghosts?”
And that—that is not what Len was expecting. Anything else would have made more sense than that.
“No kid we ain’t fuckin ghosts.” Mick rumbles behind him. anyone else would have taken that as threatening, but Len’s known Mick long enough to know he’s just defensive and bewildered.
“You’re just - you’re just so pale! And still, so stillll.”
He’s squinting again and it really accentuates how dark his bags are, in turn highlighting how pale his skin is. Len felt the need to point this out.
“Pot meet kettle, kid. You look like the last time you saw the sun was on the side of your milk carton.”
His eyes widened, light changing their color from brown to green flecked hazel. Interesting. It also displayed the fact that his pupils were normal sized and his sclera was free of redness besides what came from lack of sleep. Not on drugs then. More interesting.
“Of course! I was discounting internal causes entirely! Freezing to death was just wishful thinking, you very easily could have died from poisoning, or blood loss, or anything else - murders don’t usually match - although that being said I’m almost certain you-” his eyes flick to where Mick is, hovering behind his shoulder- “died from burns, or maybe smoke inhalation -”
And just when things might've made sense, nothing makes sense at all.
“Thought we’d established we’ve yet to depart scarlet.”
The name rolls off his tongue without thought, he doesn’t let his surprise slip onto his face.
Scarlet certainly lives up to his name; cheeks rapidly redden as he tries to explain, whipping his hands around and stumbling over his words. It's endearing, and very entertaining.
The show is brought to an early close as a loud timer goes off somewhere near Scarlet and he startles, frantically searching for the noise before swearing and sprinting out of the library snatching his phone as he goes.