title: Uninvolved
series: The Faculty
characters: Casey, Stokely, Delilah, Zeke, Stan
scenario: Opening sequences. We're more involved than we think.
notes: (11.01.05; G) Complete. Exactly 100 words each. With that sort of extensive abuse, there is no way that it never crossed anyone's mind to offer Casey some sort of support, physical or mental.

STOKELY:
She saw it as it happened.

Stepping off the bus, she saw sidelong glances and conspiratoy grins exchanged before the sidewalk even came into focus. Read the warning far in advance. Casey, however, looked distracted. Didn't notice the crowd break around him. She took a breath and--winced as an elbow connected with his nose. Felling him. Unwillingly, she shared a glance with his tormentors. Mesmerised by their sneers. One second. Two. Then she looked away, shrugging it off. Reminding herself firmly that the only one she could protect was herself.

"Crash and burn, Casey."

It wasn't her business, anyway.

DELILAH:
She saw it before it happened.

Watched as the same four boys circled around to finish what they'd started. Just like every other morning. Even from the corner of her eye, everything was vivid. The sadistic snarl of mouths. Strong hands bearing him up. She'd witnessed this countless times before. Knew what they would do. With a single word, she could intervene. Exercise her authority. Make it stop. Nobody questioned Delilah Profitt.

Instead, she kept walking. She didn't have time for lost causes. By the time Casey screamed, she was already out of earshot.

It wasn't her business, anyway.

ZEKE:
He saw it after it happened.

Watched with clinical detatchment as Casey stumbled out of the handicap stall, two minutes after the bell--nose a telltale red. Bloody tissues curled inside his fist. Their eyes met inside the mirror, briefly, square and mutually considering. Held until something bled into him and crawled.

But pride, as always, won out and he just shook his head, pushing the responsibility back into Casey's hands. He walked away, then, knowing the other had expected nothing else. All the better. It didn't matter. Comfort was empty. Words were empty.

It wasn't his business, anyway.

STAN:
He saw it as it was happening.

Felt the tention in the huddle. Tasted the testosterone mounting. Saw into the immediate future and his ears rang with Connor's face hitting the lockers... Frowning, he called out, breaking them apart.

Distantly, he noted the gratitude in Casey's face and thinly-veiled apology. But he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge it. He wouldn't endorse those insecurities. Wouldn't be made into a hypocrite and encourage him to keep running, when he himself was sick of running.

Face your own fucking demons, man. Or it won't stop.

And, besides... it wasn't his business, anyway.