<div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/3b/b7/32/3bb7323256ad531d3205fda780382d36.jpg)</div><br/><strong>NAME:</strong>Oliver Timmons (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=268436.msg13239297#msg13239297)<br/><strong>WEARING:</strong>Nerd Chic (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/d4/05/5c/d4055c41cef7735e7ce9c3334bead644.jpg)<br/><strong>DAY:</strong>Friday | June 9th, 2017<br/><strong>TIME:</strong>Night<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong>Caulton Residence | Backyard<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong><br/><br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>Aaron, Tommy, Scott(NPC) | Open<br/><hr/><br/>Oliver was utterly caught off guard by the sudden appearance and embrace from Tommy, but the physical contact seemed not to faze him in the least.  He laughed a bit at the bear hug and even managed to somewhat return it before he was patted and felt as if his bird-wing shoulder blades were rattled in his back.  He followed Tommy with his gaze, grinning and waving.<br/><br/>"You did all the hard work, Tommy!  I just showed you a new perspective.  I'll do that...Mom will likely insist I have a full mechanical check-up before she'll let me drive to Cambridge."<br/><br/>He was just turning to answer Aaron, looking rather excited at the idea of a co-operative game, when his smile shifted to a weary eye-roll and sigh at the uninspired jibe from Scott.  Oliver's shoulders tightened at the less-friendly contact from Tommy's team mate and his jaw clenched as he murmured calmly.<br/><br/>"I'm not sure if you've noticed, or not, but you spend an inordinate amount of time creating fictional homosexual relationships between straight males, Scott.  You might find yourself happier if you were to join a group of teenage anime fangirls on Tumblr, so that you would have a community of like-minded individuals to 'ship' with."<br/><br/>He pushed to his feet as the other boy began taking out his blatant self-esteem and emotional issues on Aaron, absently brushing grass off his backside as he followed the two of them toward the pool.  He held his heavy yearbook in one hand, the book already partially signed earlier in the day, but now serving more as a make-shift weapon.  He lifted it a bit, glowering at Scott, mindful of the two friends the football player had waiting at the ready.<br/><br/>"That fact is, Scott, everyone here can<em>see</em>your future as clearly as if we were all gifted with precognition.  You'll go to college, get mediocre grades and either have an equally unimpressive college football career, or suffer some sort of injury that ends even<em>that</em>minor claim to glory.  After college, you'll end up right back here, or somewhere equally mundane, and either teach history and athletics at a public high school, or work as an unremarkable dealer at a used car lot.  You'll get married, have kids that hate you, develop male pattern baldness and a beer gut, and the highlight of your life will be those few nights a month when your wife puts aside her revulsion and actually deigns to put your dubiously functional, woefully average, penis in her mouth for a half-hearted blowjob."<br/><br/>The description of Scott's future, and the likely future of his cronies, was stated with the same matter-of-fact, blunt manner as most of the things Oliver said.  He knew that fact could hurt far more than fiction, and when he turned his intelligence to the task of making a painful point, inevitably he used truth to his advantage.  He didn't<em>enjoy</em>it, because in those few, rare moments when he did it, he always felt like a far worse monster than those he was defending against.  After all...he had a better arsenal.