Pilot SUB EPISODE TWO
Xander & Tyger; Karl; Kyle
01.Xander & Tyger
W.308; The West Wing
Alexander Hoult (called Xander by many) wasn’t feeling particularly happy about having to come back to school this early in the morning. But then again, he hadn’t been feeling particularly happy about a lot of things lately. In the space of a few hours before he made to return to the school, he had had yet another, spat with his parents about his lack of respect for their authority, his laptop went on the blink, his girlfriend started doing that thing that annoyed him every time, his … well let’s not make a grocery list of it.
He strode through the main doorway of the West Wing and began thinking about getting back to sleep or if spliff could be gotten this early, but his musings were interrupted by a sound, faint at first but getting steadily louder as he went further up the stairs. He smiled when he reached the landing; it seemed he wasn’t the only one up in the West Wing. A bit early in the year for that to be going on but when he figured out which door the noise was coming from he shrugged and thought,
“But of course.”
For it was never too early for anything in that room.
This thought was keeping him awake just long enough for him to reach his room, he instantly began to revel in the thought of a nice soft bed and a good long rest, but upon opening the door a myriad of sights shook away any want of sleep left in him.
Mark “the Tyger” Smith had come back to school a few days before and had customarily made himself at home in his new room. He had been training at the pool for most of his stay and almost always came back to his quarters hungry and exhausted. This being the case, he had accumulated quite a collection of mint wrappers, empty bags of crisps, coffee cups, milk cartons and a wide array of many other discarded bits of packaging, in addition, of course, to dirty laundry, all of which, now littered the floor, the desk, certain parts of the bed and the length of the shelf. Tyger, being the big sweetie that he was, was kind enough to leave his roommate’s side just beyond his metropolis of trash. The man himself lay snoring on the bed. His roommate, Alexander, took a deep breath dropped his bags, tiptoed around the mess and picked up a garbage can.
It was five in the morning and it had taken Xander two hours, three cans of Lysol, four incredibly big laundry bags, several trips to the dumpsters and a hell of a damn lot of resolve but he was almost finished. “Just that last bowl of…curry?” He picked up the bowl and retched at the abhorrent smell that launched itself up his nose “FUCK! Definitely not twatting curry…and a few socks, c’mon Xander just a few more and you can sleep....bollocks. SHOWER then sleep.
It was at this moment as he was picking up the last of the wretched mess did the Tyger rouse from its deep slumber. “Lex?” Tyger asked as he arose and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “I thought you were coming tomorrow, I didn’t get to tidy the…oh.” To Tyger’s chagrin, his friend had already done the tidying for him. His friend Stephen had told him that Alexander was going to be on the train to school in a few days and having realized that he had made such a wonderfully cozy little nest he decided he was going to get some work done. He had planned it out the day before, he was going to scrub the room clean, ship out his laundry and finally find some way to get the ghastly…revolting…green-brown muck he had hoped and prayed Xander would never ever come across, out of the bathroom. But his plans had been dashed.
Forlorn, Tyger slumped back onto his bed. “It’s fine Tyger, and it’s all done now anyway.” Xander looked around and took the sight of his handiwork and sighed with satisfaction. “I just have to shower and then I’m turning in for the day.” He went to his bags and took out his toiletries and a change of clothes and turning to his friend he said, “Hey do you remember the bet we made last year?”
Raising his head, Tyger asked, “Which bet?” Xander looked directly into Tyger’s eyes and smiled.
Tyger’s eyes lit up as he asked for a confirmation “627?”
“Indeed, and from the sound of it, it’s the one from last…Christmas.”
“Oh! The loud one?”
Lex headed toward the bathroom as he replied “Yeah, which means I owe you 3 bags of mints and 10 quid in the morning.”
“Brilliant! But I wonder whatever happened to the one that sang.” Tyger said as he began straightening up his bed as Xander walked into the bathroom
“Who knows, he could be in- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”
It seemed Xander had found the ghastly, revolting, green-brown muck. “Oh dear...”
E.309; The East Wing
Karl arrived a day before the opening ceremony, bearing a surprisingly few number of bags and a golden tan courtesy of the Greek Isles he had spent most of his summer on.
He had to admit to himself that he was uncharacteristically excited about the new school year. Not because of the Academics (for him as with most students, academics was hardly part of why he went to school at all). Not because of seeing all his old batchmates either (for seeing some of his old friends sometimes brought a bittersweet awkwardness that he didn't much care for).
No, he reflected, as he strolled down the walks to the East Wing. If there was anything to live for this year, it was going to be football.
Karl had always been exceptionally good at football. Like every other child, he grew up, watching the greats make their legendary goals on TV, and skinning his knees every afternoon in the mud, hoping to be just like them.
Except Karl was different from other boys his age. He tackled the sport with a singular focus that was unnerving. He started rough, and weak, and awkward like all the rest, but quickly grew to be a feared player on the Middle School Field. He ran and he kicked with a force of one much older than he, and he blew absoluely everyone away. By the time he entered St. Paul's under a sports scholarship, he was already receiving all kinds of attention in matters both relating to and outside his future in the field.
He had become a kind of star through his stay here, in the High School. Time had passed as such, and here he was then, a senior now, and Captain of the College Football team. While he had long enjoyed the privileges of fame, he had always dreamt of being the leader of the pack, and not just someone to follow orders and strategies. He had waited literally years for this, and now his time had come. And as Karl arrived at his room, thinking absentmindedly that it would be the last room he would ever occupy in the school there was no doubt in any part of his mind that he would not just lead the team, he would lead the team to victory, and then to glory. He would show everyone that he was the best, and become a great himself.
Unceremoniously, Karl dropped his bags at the door and walked over to the mirror that was always located next to the bathrooms. He looked at himself. To his relief if his built physique had diminished any over his vacationing, it did not show. He was more than ready to hitch up his socks and don his jersey.
He gave a loud exhale, and grasped the wooden frame of the mirror, looking at himself squarely in the eyes.
It's your time now, he thought, the ball's in your hands. Another loping smile then, then out loud: "Let's go!"
N.120; The North Wing
Kyle arrived the night (8:30 to be exact) before the opening ceremony from his summer in Egypt (spent visiting half-looted tombs of forgotten pharaohs), and he wasted no time getting down to business. After bringing his luggage up to his room (which, he noted with amusement, was to be shared with Karl again), he immediately turned on his laptop and started working.
He was known around campus as the academic who made studying seem easy. He was rarely seen with a notebook in class, preferring to just listen to his professors instead. While his note-taking skills may seem lacking, his intelligence was not. Kyle was quick to give eloquent answers to teachers even if he was not really listening in the first place.
However, there was another fact about Kyle that should only be spoken in empty locker rooms with hushed voices: Kyle was the most sought-after stalker for hire in St. Paul’s. Hidden under an alias that changed when his real identity was about to get uncovered, it was his duty to serve his community by helping them in carrying out their fantasies. This aid may be in the form of the annual roster of the school’s most stalk-worthy boys and everyone’s general profile, or the prey’s basic personal information, class schedule, passed notes in class, candid photographs, discarded bottles of aftershave and favorite pairs of boxers (used or unused), which were all skillfully obtained by only his most trusted minions, or when the request seemed too impossible, by himself.
Even until three in the morning the following day Kyle was still up, sitting on his bed instead of sleeping on it, poring over dozens of pictures that flit through his laptop screen. One of his minions played some online game that harbored a virus, and thus effectively deleting everything in his own laptop, including the only copy of the profiles of the freshmen #108-211. And so instead of sleeping like everyone else, Kyle had to go repair those mistakes and make those general student profiles. He also had to make the list immediately because it had to be released (passed to the most loyal clients) right after the opening ceremony—something he would’ve accomplished earlier had his lackey not fucked up.
Never mind the fact that making the list meant looking at all the pictures of the new students, and that included 546 freshmen from both the secondary school and college, 132 transferees and 34 exchange students from (21 from Munich and 13 from Israel).He was already evaluating freshman #434 when the clock struck three. Kyle liked pressure. And with only a few hours before the opening ceremony, and more than a hundred faces left to scrutinize and evaluate, Kyle was feeling it.
It was, arguably, the best way to start the school year.
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