Disclaimer: Don't own them but BOY. Do I wish I did. GUH.
A/N: WOOT for another chapter. GO ME. This is what comes from having no car and therefore hardly any social life. But it means things for you to read and stuff so, eh, silver lining. Anyway, today Ian joins the group! The next chapter will probably take a little while for me to post, because I actually have to write it as opposed to just typing it up from my notebook. So, myes. Warnings of foul language and Spot being a jerk! Insults-a-plenty!
So. Here he was. On his way to eat lunch with Tony, Sean, and he didn't know who else. Maybe Jack and his friends, too. Ian hoped so. He wasn't sure how much one-on-one time (one-on-two?) he could take with Sean and Tony.
It was a long and hot walk to the bleachers, and while walking, Ian wolfed down his ham and cheese on whole wheat and his juicy, granny smith apple. Though his stomach was full, he still felt uneasy - he wouldn't have the distraction of a lesson to help him out now. It was going to be good (weird), quality time (hell?) with kids who just might end up being his only friends in Jersey (that or completely dismissing him and leaving him to the wolves).
Boy, he really hoped it went well.
The guys were enjoying the cool shade under the bleachers when Ian arrived. Tony and Sean were already present, as well as Jack and his crew, and one other kid that Ian didn't know. He was holding a ridiculous-looking bowler hat in his lap, however, so Ian assumed it was the boy Tony had mentioned last period. Jack, who had been sitting on a beam smoking the last of a cigarette, hopped down and tossed the butt aside.
"Well, well, Ian," he said jovially (though his sarcastic undertone could still be heard). "Nice of you to join us,"
Sean scowled as he approached. "You're late, noob. You have trouble finding the place?"
Ian tried to think of a witty retort, but he was never very good at that sort of thing. Luckily, he didn't have to respond - the boy with the bowler spoke up for him.
"Oh, quit being such a bitch, Spot," he grinned from his position among the bleacher beams. Though he was sitting slightly bunched up, Ian could tell he was tall, probably at least six foot. He had earlobe-length blonde hair and glasses, and he looked like a pretty nice guy (on top of the bonus points he got for sticking up for Ian, anyway). He popped the silly brown bowler back on his head, and Sean wasted no time in using it to his advantage.
"At least I have better fashion sense than you, you pathetic excuse for a queer."
"Hey, this is from Specs!"
Sean sneered, crossing his arms across his chest. "That reminds me. I also have a boyfriend who hasn't ditched me for a bunch of military babes."
The blonde's face quickly lost its mirth and he fixed Sean with a hard glare. "Fuck you, Sean." After a moment, he seemed to get over it and his expression softened. He leaned back, adjusting the hat. "Anyway, these babies are coming back into style, and when that happens, all you bastards will be wanting one."
Sean scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking very gay. Jack's friend that had been chewing on his pen during English snorted loudly. Tony stifled his laughter while Jack and the boy with the eye patch flat-out chuckled. Sean glared at all of them. "What?"
Tony grinned. "You are so gay."
The corner of Sean's mouth twitched. "Yeah, look who's talking, Tiger." Tony's eyes widened and he shut up quickly, turning very red.
Wow. So ... Sean was gay. Seriously gay. Like, not the usual guys-joking-around-calling-each-other-names sort of thing, but he was really into guys. And so was the blonde. Wow. Ian didn't think he had ever been in the presence of more than one homosexual at a time ... and usually that one homo was himself. Now here he was with two of them. Hell, probably three, if all Sean's innuendos about Tony were true. And (here was the real kicker) these guys had boyfriends. Guys to take them out on dates and cuddle and hold hands and do all kinds of things and ... wow.
All of the sudden, New Jersey felt like the center of some sort of sexual revolution compared to Iowa. Ian couldn't even fathom what it'd be like if he went into New York City.
Jack laughed, shaking his head at the display. He seemed to have lightened up a bit. "All right, all right. I think we've had enough of that. Now it's time to get to know our new friend Ian, here." He clapped him hard on the shoulder. Ian felt awkward.
"Yeah, Ian," said Tony, holding out a half-empty pack of cigarettes. "Pull up a smoke and relax."
Ian let his bookbag fall off his shoulder to the dusty ground and waved off the cigarettes. "Uh, no thanks. I, uh ... I quit." He was beginning to fidget again.
Tony shrugged, pulling one out and lighting it up with a flick of his silver lighter. He took a long drag and released it with a puff of smoke. Everyone was quiet and seemed to be expecting Ian to either give them his life story or wow them with some kind of Iowa magic trick. Ian didn't feel like doing either, but he figured he'd have to speak eventually, so he asked the first thing that came to mind.
"Do you all carry the Banner?"
It was like a lightbulb went on in the group. Everyone's expression changed to either surprise or a "whups, we forgot" sort of sheepish grin.
Jack seemed to be personally offended by his own forgetfulness. "Jeez, we ain't doing things right! We got a fellow member in our midst and here we are joking around like a bunch of asses. We gotta be true to the Underground and follow protocol or whatever." He approached Ian, spat in his own hand, and outstretched it.
Ian hesitated a moment, then did the same, their palms meeting with slightly moist-sounding slap. They then began their Underground introductions.
These introductions always began with a "spit shake" to represent their bond as brothers and their loyalty to each other as well as the Underground. The traditional shake had been one involving blood exchange (a cliched, taken-from-Hollywood ceremony where each member cut into his palm before shaking hands with another), however this practice was abandoned once the danger of infectious disease became an issue. The majority of the Underground's members may have been teenaged boys, but they certainly weren't stupid. And although slightly disgusting in its own right, this method was far safer.
The spit shake was then followed by each member stating his birth name and then his Underground, or "real" name. A brief explanation was given for the name, though any truly personal details were saved for later. While speaking, each member also showed the Banner, as proof of their membership and of their loyalty. Tradition called for the newest individual to a group to go last during the introductions, so Ian found himself waiting and taking in as much as he could as the boys spoke to him.
"The name's Jack Kelly, known to those that carry the Banner as 'Cowboy.'" Jack began, lifting up his right shirt sleeve to reveal the loopy script that read Truth, Pride, Heart. "I was born on a farm in Sante Fe, New Mexico. Lived there 'til I was four. One day, I'm going back."
Ian nodded as Jack gestured toward the blonde who had detangled himself from the bleachers. "This here is Chris Wilkovich,"
The teen also spat in his hand and shook Ian's. "'Dutchy,'" he said simply, turning slightly and raising his pant leg to show the tattoo on his left calf. "I'm Dutch. And I used to look like that little bastard from the paint containers."
Sean snickered, mumbling, "Yeah, and don't forget about how you stuck your fingers in the Dyke."
"I swear to God, Race, if you don't shut him the hell up -" Dutchy snapped, rounding on Sean.
Sean stepped forward, seemingly ready to make things physical."Oh, yeah? Yeah? What are you gonna do, huh?"
Dutchy stepped forward also, but Tony saw him and stepped between the two, dropping his cigarette in the dirt. He faced Sean and prepared to brace him by placing his hands on the teen's chest. "Okay, okay. Dutch, stop being such a pussy about that, all right? It's been three years," he said, over his shoulder. "And Spot, keep your mouth shut and stop being an asshole for once in your life."
Personally, Ian thought that "Asshole" might just be Sean's middle name.
Sean stared Dutchy down for a few more seconds before fixing his gaze on Race. They stared at each other for a minute (Dutchy walked away muttering "Jerkoff," as soon as Sean's attention waned) before Sean's expression changed almost imperceptibly. He didn't say anything, just went back to leaning against the bleachers, the same disgusted look on his face as always.
Sean Asshole Conlon had a very nice ring to it, Ian thought.
Tony turned to Ian, shaking his head before greeting him. "Anthony Higgins, also known as 'Racetrack' or just 'Race.' My uncle loved the horse races and used to take me along to the tracks with him." He undid the top of his button-up shirt (in a wise move, he had chosen to leave the leather jacket inside) and pulled down his shirt collar to show off his brand. The Banner had been inked on his chest, directly over his heart.
The kid with the eye patch, who had been sitting on the ground, hoisted himself up and walked over. Ian was glad to be able to finally get his name - thinking of him as "the kid with the eye patch" was starting to make him feel rude ... or at least politically incorrect. The boy grinned as he spat in his hand.
"Alex Johnson. You can call me 'Blink' like these bums do, but my real name is 'Kid Blink.' You can guess why they call me that," he said. With a mischievous smile, he lifted up his eye patch to reveal a very pale blue eye. His forwardness startled Ian, but he had to smile back as Blink closed his good eye, winking at him. He then turned around and pulled up his shirt to display his tattoo, which was located on his left shoulder blade. It seemed as though they all had done their best to each have the Banner in a different location on their body.
The pen-chewing boy with the dark, curly hair approached next. There was a quiet air about him - a thoughtful sort of detached demeanor, and though it seemed genuine, something about the way he carried himself made Ian think there was a lot more going on underneath. Ian hadn't heard him speak once all day, and when he finally did, spitting in his palm and extending his hand, his voice surprised Ian. It was deep in a way that hinted he was late in hitting puberty, as though it would still crack when he was excited or upset, but all the same had it an odd, velvety quality.
"You moved into the big yellow house on Larch, didn't you?" he asked. Ian nodded. "I live in the house behind you. I'm Joe Caruso. 'Snitch,'" He lifted his shirt and tugged down the waistband of his jeans to reveal his tattoo, which was just below and to the right of his navel. Ian felt himself flush slightly, and he felt his heart speed up a bit in his chest. That was quite the place for a tattoo.
Ian snapped back to reality (he realized that he had probably been staring) when Snitch let his T-shirt fall back into place. He didn't say anything about the origins of his name, so Jack took over for him. "Snitch here can steal anything without breaking a sweat ... and without getting caught."
Ian lifted an eyebrow. "Anything?"
"Anything," replied Snitch with pride in his voice. However, when Ian met his brown eyes, he found no pride whatsoever in them. If anything, there was a brief flicker of shame before Snitch abruptly looked away.
"Snitch here is a regular fucking klepto, aren't ya, Snitch?" said Sean with amusement.
Snitch flipped him off.
Ian glanced over at Sean. He was looking bitchy, but approached anyway, getting right up in Ian's face. "Before we make any introductions, noob, let's get a few things straight: I don't like new guys coming and weaseling their way in here. I don't know you and I don't trust you. So don't be thinking that just because we both carry the Banner, that you and I are gonna be chums, 'cause we ain't. Got it?"
Ian shrugged. "Yeah, sure thing," It wasn't as though he really wanted to humor Sean, he just didn't think he had the energy to do much else. His head was swimming with all the names and information he had tried to absorb, and besides, he had the feeling that the way to get Sean to stop being an asshole was just to go along with whatever he said. And boy, was he an asshole.
"Good," replied Sean. However, the smug look on his face told Ian that he thought he was a complete and total wimp. Ian didn't care at the moment. He spat in his palm and stuck it out for Sean to shake, which he finally (and forcefully) did. "Sean Conlon," he said, lifting his left pant leg to show the tattoo on his ankle. "I'm Irish and I've got a shitload of freckles, so I go by 'Spot.' Call me 'Spotty' and die," he finished, narrowing his eyes.
Race snickered. "You'll notice that Spotty here decided to put his Banner in the queerest possible place."
"Shut the fuck up, Racetrack!" Spot snapped.
Jack stepped over, waving his hands in the air for them to stop, but smiling. "All right you fellas, all right. Ian, would you care to introduce yourself to the group?"
Again, all the attention was on him, and as much as he appreciated Jack abandoning his attitude to include him, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable again. He kicked at a tuft of grass and ran a hand through his hair before turning around and briefly revealing his mark again. "Uh, I'm Ian Welsh. My Underground brothers call me 'Skittery.'" He tugged at the bottom of his shirt and kicked at the grass again.
"Why do they call you Skittery? You like Skittles or something?" asked Dutchy.
"No, you dumbass, it's because he can't stand still!" said Snitch. Ian was surprised. People didn't usually make the connection right away, probably because he only encountered them online so they couldn't see him fidget. He caught Snitch's eyes, but looked away almost immediately.
"Yeah," he continued, not looking at the group. He scratched the back of his neck and then began playing with the buttons on his shirt. "I'm kind of always moving around, tapping my leg or something and it gets worse when I'm nervous or uncomfortable." He glanced down at his fiddling hands and dropped them to his sides.
"Well, Skittery," said Jack after a brief pause. "Welcome to New Jersey."
And he was Ian Welsh to them no more.
YAY FOR REVIEWERS!
Braids21: LOL Oh, the glompage:( History class -sheds a tear- I got a freakin' C on the final exam, WTF! Oh well. Hehe I'm glad you enjoy, and YES. THE TWO PARAGRAPHS OF RACE'S JOURNAL HAUNT MEEEEEE. I wake up at night in a cold sweat like, "HE'S LEAVING FOR COLLEGE OMG!" You so need to update, haha.
littlewitch1899: Haha, yeah, it's b/c they're totally in LURRRVEEE. Spot's the bitchiest newsie everrrr, I'm sure I'll give him his come-uppance. ;)
antiIRONY: LoL I love that you love! (And Spot and Race love, omg they're SO secretly gay lovers I have photographic proof) (Well, not really, but you know)
newsiefreak9er9er: Yay! I love making people laugh, I'm happy :) Spot and Race are totally weird. And the Underground? I haven't decided how I'll approach its explanation, but it'll come soon, I promise. ;)
Kid Blink's Dreamer: LOL YAY FOR THE LAUGHING! And yes, SO stupid. I luff them -squeezes them tightly-
entropic order: The invisible review? I got it. It came with cookies, right? And was delivered by a very nude Skittery? I mean, uhhh ... Hehe, more to come! Glad you like it! (Keep your head from exploding or you'll never knooooow!)
lainie-d: Two reviews for the price of one! LOL I'm glad you like it! ...pssst ... review again, hehe.