RUNEMASTER

Rating 》 T-M for Profanity, Adult Situations, Violence and Sexual Content

Pairing 》 Major Reid/OC & Minor Tyler/OC

Disclaimer 》 Fandoms, canons, music, references and source material are not mine, but this plot is. No monetary profit made.

Author's Note 》 For fanart, fanmixes and fanvids, go to hapadoll,wixsite,com/hapadoll (replace , with . )

6. Control What You Can, Confront What You Can't

The commencement ceremony has only just begun, but it's already elaborate and beautiful as expected from a school with such scholarly reputation and prestige. A true celebration for the students who have worked so hard for their achievements as well as the families and faculty who helped guide them on the journey.

Provost Higgins, in a gray suit and a tie—eggplant in color with little white dots, like milky dewdrops or un-melted snowflakes scattered on it—looks almost handsome. Their principal begins with a quintessential excerpt from Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken". It has nothing at all to do with the graduating class of seniors, but serves as kind of an umbrella speech for the importance of each decision they make going forward. The following remark about a part of their lives being over is bittersweet. All the girls cry while some of the boys smile or laugh forcibly. Next he boasts that fifteen percent of them has over a 3.9 GPA and closes with stressing how proud he is of such an academic class.

Teachers take turns congratulating the class and each one shares what they would like to pass on to the next generation—some words of guidance, a few small thoughts, an elder's wisdom.

Then there is Caleb; an idyllic student and scholastic success with an impressive 4.0. His entrance is welcomed with literal fanfare, as if he were a visiting dignitary. He is modest enough to acknowledge the applause with a humble posture and confidently takes his place at the podium wearing an elegant black robe, trimmed with the school colors of purple and silver. Caleb looks so incredibly handsome in his cap and gown. An undeniable carbon copy of his father circa nineteen-eighty-six.

The crowd quiets so that he might speak and he addresses them, projecting his voice into the microphone so that all could hear him clearly, even in the back row of the substantial gathering.

"Thank you for the opportunity to speak to you as a whole. It is an honor to be given this historic occasion to deliver the valedictorian speech."

Caleb speaks on about how they are all leaving their past behind and creating a new future because they are the future. He urges his classmates to be the best they can be, to dream big, grow their future ambitions beyond what they ever thought possible and enjoy the journey along the way before it becomes a memory.

The scripted bit of his speech is well-crafted and well-delivered, but the moment he breaks away from the formal rhetoric and speaks from the heart, the audience's emotions are turned inside out.

"As our final year at Spenser raced by, I have been astonished by our ability to forget grudges from the past and focus on the present, while enjoying our last year together. I noticed this especially during Spirit Week. As a proud member of the senior team―which clearly dominated," his classmates whoop and holler in agreement while the underclassmen boo.

He chuckles and continues, "I found myself speaking with people I hadn't since first grade. It didn't matter that we once fought over who got to go on the swing first or who got the blue crayon; we were representing our class by wearing the same color. So as far as we were concerned, we were best friends. We discussed things like how to best hold the rope for maximum grip during the tug of war. And though at times the competition became heated, what mattered was that we came together as a grade, putting our differences aside for the sake of that touchdown in flag football."

Caleb pauses, gathers his thoughts a moment, then continues in that voice that gives away how close to getting chocked up he is.

"I know I can't win the fight against time, but I'm going to fight to keep my memories of Spencer and each of you with me wherever I go, no matter how crazy life gets. I'm going to fight to savor my time with friends and family, and to not let the things that matter slip by in the rush of things that don't."

His speech comes to a close and he expresses his gratitude to the crowd with the class and poise of a seasoned socialite. His disposition is confident, commanding, and fittingly charismatic; traits he carries with him at all times that define him as a "golden boy".

When the applause quiets down from the near-deafening roar of praising and shouting, Reid leans towards Tyler and speaks under his breath.

"I bet he practiced dozens of times in the mirror, like those girls in beauty pageants."

His mother discreetly flicks the back of his blond head and scolds "Be nice" in a voice so low that only they could hear.

The other parents chuckle at Reid's expense. His own friends joining in, Sarah being the only one attempting to hide it behind her hand. By the scowl and twitching of his eyebrows, he doesn't share their amusement.

"Violent! I'm glad you all think child abuse is so entertaining."

Kate rolls her eyes and suggests that he not be so dramatic. Kate of all people is on record telling him this.

"Reid's resentful insults are to deflect from the fact that there is entirely no chance of him becoming valedictorian of your class next year," jokes the Garwin patriarch, in all his bearded glory, clasping a firm hand down onto his son's shoulder.

It's no secret that Reid is not exactly Dean's List material, but it bothers him nonetheless, jest or not. In a family that places so much emphasis on status, success and reputation—to the point where it is not only encouraged but expected—whenever his father makes a passive-aggressive remark, it only reminds him how imperfect he is in the eyes of his parents.

Reid, the namesake. Reid, both the eldest and only child. Reid, the fuck up. He'd never had a sibling to help fill the void when he disappointed his parents. As a boy, he'd often wished he had a brother. An older brother who could have been there to share the spotlight, carry the burden and even understand the impact it has had on him.

The other Sons were the closest thing he had. In a way they understood, because each of their families had similar old money mentalities. The type that desire to have a son exactly like Caleb: tenacious, ambitious, and bent on self-improvement. But he wasn't Caleb. No more than he had been yesterday, or the day before. Caleb was another human being, great in ways but not without all the flaws and shortcomings that each person on this earth has. So, damn right he was resentful. What was so wonderful about Caleb anyway?

"Being valedictorian doesn't mean much in the college admissions game with today's 'everyone gets a trophy for everything' way of thinking," he huffs, downplaying the title.

It wasn't that impressive. It's not like Caleb was a Nobel Prize winner or member of a national academy. Everyone acted like he was Mensa certified.

Reid can only take so much family friction at a time before he mentally tunes out. The parents talk amongst themselves and with Kate and Sarah in hushed voices off and on but he isn't paying much attention to the conversation as it doesn't interest him. His mind is somewhere else, far away. Somewhere much more satisfying. The parents are taking everyone out for a celebratory dinner after the ceremony, and all he can think about is what he should order. Perhaps a Steak Oscar that cuts like butter and bursts with flavor. A nice rare one cooked over an open flame. Juicy and tender and gone in a flash.

Graduation day came and went more quickly than he imagined. All that anticipation and planning and it's all just over. As he walked away a newly declared graduate, it was the sweetest, saddest day of his life. It seemed to close a gate upon something in his history. He finally started to recover from the excitement he felt when his name was called and he accepted his diploma with a hand crushing shake from the Provost.

Pogue wasn't the type of guy to get caught up in a moment of nostalgia, but reality was rearing its ugly head whether he welcomed it or not. Fact of the matter was, he wasn't seven years old anymore when he thought summer would never be over and it'd last forever. The ending to that chapter of the story was more imminent than ever and would come sooner than he was ready for. People would be returning to school, except he'd be off to a different one in the fall, leaving all he knew behind. Soon, he'd be swimming in a bigger pond. A part of him wasn't ready to move on yet.

"You look like you're thinking too straight right now."

He's being handed a cup of Macallan 18, poured with a generous, heavy hand. The amber liquid sloshing around like a tiny tsunami in Reid's grip gives away his lack of sobriety. The blond isn't completely intoxicated yet, but Pogue would bet on another hour or two at best before he gets red-faced and volatile at drinking games. He's already looking a little glassy-eyed and he draws out his words with a comical jut of his jaw.

Tyler catches up to them a few seconds later, holding two cups himself and calls out to the remaining member of their foursome who's a few meters away, talking with some girls from the swim team. Caleb holds up a hand to let him know that he'd been heard, but to hang on a second as he was in the middle of a conversation. Reid snatches the cup from Tyler's hand and holds it out, calling the valedictorian over himself, a little more aggressively.

"Yo Casanova!" he yells, impatient as ever, demanding as ever. "Come have a drink. I'm sure these beautiful ladies won't mind if we steal you for a bro-ment."

Caleb looks vaguely annoyed at the rude interruption, but maybe just a little relieved to escape the wanton advances of girls trying to get their last chance at a departing Son of Ipswich. They were nice enough girls; smart, funny, pretty and he had a few things in common with some of them, but they all tried way too hard. It was painfully obvious and at the risk of being cocky, one hell of a turnoff. He wasn't like Reid: easy to impress with mediocre standards. His indifference seemed to make the girls stick to him like hot caramel even more so.

He excuses himself, apologizing on his friend's behalf for his brashness and joins the boys, taking the cup into his hands. He's the first to speak once he identifies the brownish-yellow liquid forced on him.

"There a reason why we're drinking scotch?"

Pogue sniffs the alcohol, taking a nice, deep whiff and instantly recoils like a miniature fist just reached up and punched him square in the nose.

"Because gentleman drink scotch," Reid says, in an almost accent like he is trying to act European or something. "We're not getting trashed off sugary girly drinks like Mike's Hard Lemonade or Smirnoff Ice tonight. They're pathetic. It's a special occasion so we're celebrating in style. Now don't do a disservice to the fine scotch you're holding and enjoy it with us."

"The fine scotch you've poured into a red plastic cup," Pogue laughs, never missing an opportunity to give shit to his cockiest friend. Something else he was going to miss.

"Pardon me sir, for not carrying my Waterford tumblers around with me at all times."

The guys throw jokes and sarcastic witticisms around a bit more before Reid yells over them and shuts them up with a short but surprisingly sentimental toast. Well, for Reid. The four tap their cups together and sip. It starts with a buttery taste, but the aftertaste is warming rather than sharp or bitter. That burn you get with cheap liquor is absent.

"Pretty smooth, right?" Reid asks, excited to finally have his brothers share a drink with him.

Now all they need to feel even more sophisticated would be some premium cigars and pipes. Maybe a few smoking jackets.

Tyler's loving every drop of it, sucking it down like it's water. Even going as far as to tap the bottom of the cup with the flat of his left hand to get every last bit. Baby Boy's always had a taste for hard liquor, a more refined palate. Pogue states the obvious, that he's more of a beer guy. Not that he's knocking it.

"Yeah, not bad," Caleb says with a smile. "How'd you get your hands on it anyway?"

"Dad gifted it to me after dinner."

"Nice gift."

"Yeah, well, you know my dad."

Caleb nods his head in understanding. That was one thing he and Reid shared exclusively between them. Though Evelyn drank out of loneliness and fear. Whereas for Joseph Garwin, it was sheer enjoyment. The older man always had a glass of whiskey or wine by him, almost like a lucky charm. And he drank brandy and champagne both at lunchtime and dinner. It wasn't that he was drunk every day, but was drinking all the while. A functioning alcoholic like all the best millionaire businessmen.

At times it was embarrassing for Reid. For instance, when his father would harmlessly but blatantly hit on every female he brought around. The man was known to love his women and his expensive liquor. But that was his father, and Reid did love him despite his indulgent lifestyle.

Suddenly, something in the air shifts, like a pressure drop before a storm. Reid feels a prickle across his skin, similar to the feeling before lightning strikes. It's not exactly a natural occurrence, but it's a feeling he's now come to be familiar with. A feeling they've only recently pinpointed to a certain short brunette with an odd name that rhymes with an illegal plant.

His wide blue eyes search the crowd in the general vicinity he feels the power emit from. His brothers next to him are doing the same. If it weren't for the gravitational pull of that energy calling to them, they would not have been able to find Waldo in a sea of nothing but Waldos.

They're in a flattened out part of the Dells that forms the shape of a pit filled with coeds socializing over drinks and scattered conversations. There's an astounding amount of girls with long, dark hair. Reid spots the one in question at the other end of the clearing, like two poles in a unique magnetic field. And she appears to be arguing with her younger sister.

"Is she using right now?" Pogue asks.

"Seems that way," says Reid. "My question is, why only after she went missing did she start using so heavily?"

"My guess is she ascended," Caleb answers. "Power before ascension is too slight to detect."

"But she's not eighteen yet. She's in their grade," Pogue motions to Reid and Tyler.

"We can speculate all we want, but she's the only person with answers. Did she ever respond to your message?" Tyler asks Caleb, nudging his chin in the direction of the girl in question, to which Caleb responds that she has not.

"That little indicator that shows a message has been read hasn't even moved."

"Time to do a little recon then," says Reid, discarding his cup by dropping it inside the one in Tyler's hands.

He's got a look of determination on his handsome face that reminds Caleb of trouble and the self-assured smile of someone who has spent a lifetime having his way with the opposite sex. If anyone can get a female alone and comfortable enough to speak candidly, it's him. He doesn't wait for anyone to stop him and roughly shrugs out of Caleb's grasp when he begins to.

It's like a damn obstacle course consisting of a series of impediments in the form of frat boy wannabes and body con skirt experimentation. People continuously block his way either accidentally or purposefully: to reminisce over the school year, to confront him about some personal issue that was probably one-hundred percent warranted, or to flirt shamelessly, unapologetically and openly. Reid normally loved socializing, it's just not the ideal time, but intoxicated people don't take hints.

By the time he makes his way over to her—Gabi now long gone—she's bent way over, fishing a drink out of one of those extra large Igloo coolers that could store a body. Speaking of body, he can't help notice with glittering eyes that she's been hiding one hell of a butt. Despite being a pretty small girl, her legs are long in proportion to the rest of her. Her thighs aren't that thin, but there's a ton of shape in those legs from the bit visible from that angle. The kind of legs you could sink your teeth into and suck on for a day.

"Are you just going to stand there like a creep and watch me all night or did you come to get something?" Kemp asks without even turning around.

If she's not using, he doesn't know how she did it. He was almost positive that he hadn't made any obvious sounds that the music and background noise around them couldn't drown out. Then she goes and calls him a creep which is totally uncalled for. The first and only person to call him that name. Well, shit. Sue him. Witch or not, he's still a teenage boy riddled with hormone-driven intensity of lust and an inherent problem of trying to pick up girls. A tiger doesn't change its stripes.

"I came for a Sam Adams, but I have to admit... I got a little distracted by something I like better."

"Here," now kneeling, she holds two bottles up to him. "Luckily for you, everybody else and their cousin drinks these. There's no shortage." She hates Sam Adams. It's too bitter and dark to enjoy.

Reid's excuse to linger is long gone and Kemp is still elbows deep in sloshy ice. The door repeatedly falls closed on top of her. It amuses him a little. He finds another reason to stay.

"Let me help you out," Reid adjusts the beers to fit in one hand and leans over her, stretching his free arm out to prop the cooler door fully upright.

It enables her to dig for whatever she's so fervently in search of. She looks down, seeing that her hands are rigid. She stretches them out before her. They're shaking. It's not from the cold, but from her bitch sister who dampened her mood. You'd think a near-death experience would put what matters into perspective, but humans are, by nature, a self-centered bunch and Gabi is no exception. That girl really knew how to push buttons and found obvious joy in it, which upset her further. The anger coursed her veins, feeding that disturbing sensation she's been having off and on since the "accident" as her mom calls it. The one where nerves tingle and burn all over her body and everything suddenly feels right in the world. The one that scared the shit out of her.

She needed a drink to calm her anxieties and quiet her overwhelming mind. Not a ladylike concept by any means, but she badly needs a drink. No, she needs more. Much more. Just not a shitty Sam Adams.

"All that trouble for a Blue Moon," he grins when she stands moments later, drink in hand.

He's trying to be cute, trying to engage her in fun repartee. Like a good girl, she doesn't take the bait. Whatever reason for the sudden interest, she knows it is not genuine. There's something he wants—most likely sex-related—and she doesn't care to discover what ulterior motives lurk behind the empty charm. She already knows exactly who he is: the arrogant skirt-chaser who revels in his chauvinist filth and prances around like he thinks he has swagger. The kind of guy who spews revolting pick-up lines to girls severely lacking in self-esteem. It's the equivalent of preying on the weak which is so vile. If he were honest with his intent she could at least have respect for his game. But no, he was that kind of guy who sweet talks and makes false promises.

There's also the way he regularly acts like he is above all, better than everyone else. To an extent, all his friends come off that way, but he is definitely the worst of the bunch. Then his best friend turned butt buddy Tyler Simms took a page out of his book in the manner in which he treats his girlfriend. He threw her sister away like she was just trash and played with her emotions like she was a toy. Siblings fight, and Gabi may be a total and complete brat at times, but nobody messes that giant brat except for her.

Though she doesn't vocalize any of what she thinks of him. Just keeps that crap inside. There's no use because people like him don't change and it doesn't matter because it doesn't directly affect her. She simply thanks him; polite and cordial and goes to leave him there, but he keeps step with her like an unwanted pair of old shoes, pestering her with inane drivel that seems entirely pointless. Small talk was never her best skill trait. Especially with people she didn't like.

The alcohol in Reid is starting to kick in, stirring the aggressive drunk inside of him. Not quite to the point of belligerence, but his advances are more forward and a bit pushy. He tries to flatter her by saying nice things about her appearance, but she's having none of the unsolicited attention. With complete disinterest written on her face and a tone to match, she makes her feelings clear.

It's hardly the reaction he is expecting and he's a bit confounded by the very concept, but quickly covers it with the trademark smirk that is known to drop panties faster than diamonds. The more she deflects him, the harder he tries. Because looking like he does, he's not used to rejection.

"Let's hang out sometime," he says, confident and direct. There's no question to it. No room for debate.

Normally, when those words leave his lips, it doesn't send prospects running in the other direction. And it definitely doesn't prompt a response like hers.

"Swipe left. We're not a match."

"Wow," he scoffs in indignation. Sure, she was right that they aren't a match, but to hear it so bluntly is a challenge to his ego as the girl basically just admitted to not finding him attractive. Him. Reid mister-steal-your-girl Garwin. Is she delusional? "You're kind of a bitch."

With the fact that he just swore at her, she fires back in equal intensity, no holds barred.

"And you're an immature fuckboy who only cares about getting laid and can't handle dismissal."

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. I'm not looking for sex," his reply comes harsh and loud. "Besides, you're not really my type either."

Now he's purposefully being extra dickish in response to her calling him unattractive. Who is she to reject him? The bitch might have a nice face, but that won't necessarily turn his head in a crowd. Privately he thinks she is all wrong: doe eyed while he prefers those come-hither bedroom eyes, moss green in color while he likes blue. The bluer the better. And undoubtedly the kind of girl whose expectations of a date is to pick her up at home, shake hands with her father before being interrogated for half an hour, then take her to a nice dinner, followed by a kiss on the cheek. Too high maintenance for little gain. So no, definitely not his type.

"Kemp," Caleb appears between them to diffuse the argument brewing. "I'm not sure what came out of his mouth so far, but I apologize on his behalf for any offense he's caused."

The guys eye each other with matching "what the hell are you doing" looks. Reid mutters something and excuses himself before he says something that might get him into more trouble because he's got a fucking arsenal of insults at the ready to unload on both of them. It's tempting to stay and use them, but he'll save it for another time. There's two ice cold beers in his hand and he plans to go pour them both down his throat. Beer doesn't admonish him. Beer doesn't boss him around. Beer sure as hell doesn't call him an ugly creep.

Kemp appreciates that Caleb apologized for his friend's behavior, and more so for chasing the blond nuisance away altogether. At a loss of what else to say, she simply thanks him and makes to walk away before things get too unbearably awkward.

However, Caleb seems to want to talk and it confuses her because they aren't close but she's polite enough to indulge it momentarily. He's good at it too, the dreaded small talk. Better at it than she is by a wide margin. It comes across so painfully fake in her attempts, which is why she typically avoids it. Kemp always had a hard time biting her tongue, even as a child and grew up doing little to curb her sass. But with Caleb being so... nice, it seems only natural to respond to his politeness in kind despite her irritation with his friend. Rudeness towards her is repaid with rudeness and on the same token, if shown respect, she will reciprocate it indefinitely.

After a few minutes the tension diminishes. They've made their way to a quieter spot slightly away from the main party. They chat about graduation. He shares his plans for the fall—it's not at all surprising to her that a Danvers would attend Harvard—but his declaration gets her to open up about her own desire to pursue a degree at an elite college, study abroad and ultimately become a software developer, which thoroughly surprises him.

At this point Caleb is genuinely interested in her career of choice, asks her a little more about that, even shares with her that Tyler plans to attend MIT for Computer Science—something she did not know about the boy who dumped her sister. When he asks her how she is doing following her "accident", she visibly tenses and seems very reluctant to discuss it, but replies with simplicity that she is absolutely fine. Things get uncomfortable when Caleb presses the subject.

"Thank you for your concern, but I think it's a little misplaced. It was a freak accident that happened that was very serious, other than some congestion, doctors gave me a clean bill of health, so, again, I'm absolutely fine."

It's not the ideal time and place for this discussion, but her deflecting and unwillingness is wearing on him so he asks her point blank, "You mean other than congestion and your powers, right?".

Author's Note: This ended up longer in length than I shot for, but I guess readers like that right? Where I ended it is lame, but I couldn't visualize it any other way without doubling length. I feel like what follows should be a whole separate chapter as I want to move forward after Kemp's had time to digest Caleb's confrontation. What did you think? Any thoughts or predictions on the next chapter? Please let me know with some feedback and also make sure to check out and support my other Reid/OC story "Moonspell". That guys got more than he can handle lol I can't wait to get into the romance aspect!