It's Parrish, right? They said you were a prep school kid, but you don't look like enough of an asshole.
[Elijah wears a worn leather jacket over his prep school uniform instead of the monogrammed sweater, so he doesn't look much like a typical prep school kid himself, to be fair. The tone of his voice makes it sound like a wry sort of joke, but the smile he flashes at the older boy is sharp; something dangerous in a way that hints more at street races rather than well-maintained Ivy League classrooms. But Eli had just received his acceptance letter for the upcoming fall semester, and since Kingswood was one of the unofficial Harvard feeder schools, his advisor had managed to pull a few strings to send him across town to tour the campus before all the college kids left on Winter Break.
He wasn't sure if Parrish had volunteered, was unlucky, or it was some sort of kismet, but somehow he'd ended up as the one showing him around. He was cute, and he looked respectable, like he had his shit together - the sort of boy that his father would approve of, he couldn't quite avoid thinking. As much as his father loved and supported his children, Elijah knew they were all a little bit left of center in one way or another.
Eli looks normal enough, at least. Aside from his whole angry goth-punk vibe at least, but that's almost the most normal thing about him. Most of his tattoos are hidden under his clothes- for today at least- but the design on his right hand is obvious: a simple filigree pattern like a sword guard that wraps around his wrist and a phrase in Latin that vanishes under the wrist of his jacket. Which could be normal enough, were it not magically permanently carved into his spirit.
aut viam inveniam aut faciam: I will find a way or I will make one ... Elijah is always a sword.]
harvard shenanigans
[Elijah wears a worn leather jacket over his prep school uniform instead of the monogrammed sweater, so he doesn't look much like a typical prep school kid himself, to be fair. The tone of his voice makes it sound like a wry sort of joke, but the smile he flashes at the older boy is sharp; something dangerous in a way that hints more at street races rather than well-maintained Ivy League classrooms. But Eli had just received his acceptance letter for the upcoming fall semester, and since Kingswood was one of the unofficial Harvard feeder schools, his advisor had managed to pull a few strings to send him across town to tour the campus before all the college kids left on Winter Break.
He wasn't sure if Parrish had volunteered, was unlucky, or it was some sort of kismet, but somehow he'd ended up as the one showing him around. He was cute, and he looked respectable, like he had his shit together - the sort of boy that his father would approve of, he couldn't quite avoid thinking. As much as his father loved and supported his children, Elijah knew they were all a little bit left of center in one way or another.
Eli looks normal enough, at least. Aside from his whole angry goth-punk vibe at least, but that's almost the most normal thing about him. Most of his tattoos are hidden under his clothes- for today at least- but the design on his right hand is obvious: a simple filigree pattern like a sword guard that wraps around his wrist and a phrase in Latin that vanishes under the wrist of his jacket. Which could be normal enough, were it not magically permanently carved into his spirit.
aut viam inveniam aut faciam: I will find a way or I will make one ... Elijah is always a sword.]