another day, another dollar /Pierre

[Olivier Adrien du Bois]

OLIVIER DU BOIS
But oh no, it's alright
Mr. Maker, he'll be fine
It's alright, it's okay
Because of the love he gave away

Olivier approaches the door, his footsteps dragging. Yeah, he had begged for this for how long? Two months? Three? But now that he’s here, on the front porch of Alexandria Academy, the butterflies in his stomach threaten to overwhelm him. His fight or flight response is screaming for him to turn tail and run.

He shakes his head. “Non, Olivier. Allons-y.” he says softly, and pushes open the door. The first step inside brings bad news. Very, very bad news.

The French boy groans and rolls his eyes. In front of him is a boy, older than him, taller than him, and undoubtedly smarter than him. And a Giroux. “Non! Cela ne peut pas être vrai! Va t’en, Giroux!”

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

So. Walk downstairs to the cafeteria, have some cereal, try to head outside before classes start, walk into the front parlour, and what does he hear?

"Go away, Giroux," in perfect Parisian French.

God. This was going to be a very bad day.

Pierre rolled his eyes, putting two fingers to his temples. "Delighted to see you too, brother," he said sarcastically in English. Not going to let him make fun of his accent today, at any rate. "Welcome to the freak show. And seriously, loose the French. This is America. Anybody who doesn't speak American gets shipped home."

He plops himself down on a couch, sighing. "After that stunt you pulled at the wedding, I guess it was only a matter of time before you showed up, runt." He has no business calling Olivier runt, since the boy was half an inch taller than him. But calling him kid would be too friendly, and that was not a feeling the two boys would ever share. "Dorms are this way, food is that way, upstairs there are rooms where you can reverse the polarity of neutrons." He isn't pointing, he isn't serious, he just wants to get anything the boy might use to degrade him with out of the way. "Got it? Good. Stay the hell away from me."

[Olivier Adrien du Bois]

OLIVIER DU BOIS
But oh no, it's alright
Mr. Maker, he'll be fine
It's alright, it's okay
Because of the love he gave away

“I’m not your brother.” he snarls in accented English, glaring at the older boy. True, they are technically related, but when has Olivier ever been one for technicalities? “And it’s English, not American, oh so clever and magnificent one.”

His glare intensifies at the word ‘wedding’. The happy union between Mme du Boi and M Giroux, AKA the second-worst single day of Olivier’s life. He knows that Pierre is referring to his growing-of-the-fire trick, but it didn’t hurt anyone, did it? “Jesus, Giroux. It was one little candle.” He rolls his eyes, then, sarcasm dripping from ever word, “Did the little flame scare poor wittle Pierre?”

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

"'Oh so clever and magnificent one?'" Pierre arched an eyebrow, whistling. "That's a new one. Good job! You still have some brainpower left in that lazy French skull of yours." He doesn't say anything about the brother thing- as far as this screwed up family went, 'brother' might as well be an insult in it's own right.

Ooo, glaring. Completely and utterly terrified is Pierre- laugh out loud just kidding. Honestly, the things the runt tried to do. "One little candle that nearly torched the cathedral, you mean," he reminds him. "Like, I was totally terrified that, like, you might burn a hole in the ozone." He snorts, laughing meanly for his face's sake. He was scared, a bit- he's always been scared of fire, to an extent. Like hell he would let the runt know, though.

[Olivier Adrien du Bois]

OLIVIER DU BOIS
But oh no, it's alright
Mr. Maker, he'll be fine
It's alright, it's okay
Because of the love he gave away

“Like that would have been such a bad thing? If the cathedral burned down, then you wouldn’t be here right now.” All expression slides from his face, leaving it a blank canvas-- untouchable.

He drops his backpack off of one shoulder, riffling through the largest compartment until he finds what he’s looking for. He takes a drag from a water bottle, then slides open a matchbook. One-handedly, he snaps one of the matches off and drags it along the side of the matchbook, watching as the flickering flame jumps to life. The fire leaps onto his hand, the match distinguishing and dropping to the floor, along with the rest of Olivier’s belongings.

Seeming to forget about his step-brother’s presence, he drops into an armchair, passing the flames back and forth, left hand to right back to left.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

Showoff. All the kids with flashy powers were. Pierre snorted, trying to cover up the sinking, nervous feeling in his gut. Why did the kid have to show up now? Couldn't he have waited another year? At least he didn't have to share a dorm, or even a floor, with him.

Pierre grabbed one of Olivier's bags out of boredom- no way was he leaving this room until someone from staff came to take care of the runt. A combination lock- pft. It twirled open in the palm of his hand, and Pierre set about looking inside. Hoodies, tee shirts, more tee shirts, skinny jeans... "Are you trying to look street, runt? The look isn't working.

[Olivier Adrien du Bois]

OLIVIER DU BOIS
But oh no, it's alright
Mr. Maker, he'll be fine
It's alright, it's okay
Because of the love he gave away

He rolls his eyes. “Please, Giroux. Like you’re one to talk about fashion.”

Olivier forms the fire into an arrow, which then launches itself toward Pierre. He’s not worried about his stuff-- it had been fireproofed long ago. That’s not to say it wouldn’t burn though; his bag will hold the fire, but will come out completely unharmed. Same thing with what’s inside the backpack.

The flames latch onto the cloth, consuming the entirety of Olivier’s belongings in orange and red. Just in time, too. If the older boy had kept looking, he would have come across a picture of Olivier’s father.
In the photo, Thomas du Bois looks away from the camera, caught in a permanent smile, his hair blown back in a breeze. His eyes are focused on a younger Olivier, about age three, held up in Thomas’s strong arms. Sunlight glints off the elder’s glasses. It was taken by Mme du Bois, now Mme Giroux, during her photography phase.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

Flying flames. Flying fire. Shit.

He draws back hurriedly, panic dancing in his eyes as his step-brother belongs erupt in flames, yet not burning. The Burning Bush, and Moses who noticed. This analogy made Olivier God at some point, didn't it? Yes? Pierre struck it out. "The hell was that for?" he questions in an irritated tone, trying not to let his voice shake. "Something in there you don't want me to see, mama's boy?"

His hand is tingling, not in the normal, undoing locks way, but tingling all the same, a new force now, but Pierre is too annoyed by the French boy's presence to notice.

[Olivier Adrien du Bois]

OLIVIER DU BOIS
But oh no, it's alright
Mr. Maker, he'll be fine
It's alright, it's okay
Because of the love he gave away

He laughs. His stepbrother really is afraid of fire. The panic in his eyes is so clear, shining out at Olivier like a beacon.

“No, not quite. My mother is now married to your father, which means I lost all respect for her, and she knows it.” In fact, he had made his mother cry on more than once occasion by simple refusing to meet the Giroux Man, refusing to eat with him, leaving the room when he walked in. It’s one of the reasons that Charlotte had consented to his going away to Alexandria.

Olivier props his feet up on the coffee table, linking his now fire-free hands behind his head. He juts his chin out at Pierre’s hands. “Don’t play with fire, boy. You might get burned.” It’s not a bad burn-- the skin is just a little pink around the edges of his fingers. It’s not even going to leave a mark. Olivier’s a little disappointed.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

"So, daddy's boy, then?" he asks in an innocent voice, laced with venom. Pierre was not normally a mean person, but god knows he could be nasty if he wanted to be. "Poor widdle Ollie, he's got no dad, he's got no mum, he's got nobody in the big wide world." His fingers are slightly burned, but that's not the cause of the tingling feeling, nor is it the malice building up inside him.

"Little Ollie the runt, hiding behind the words he thinks are witty and the fire that shrouds him in smoke," he taunts. "Are you afraid of the world, Ollie? Are you anything without your precious fire?"

[Olivier Adrien du Bois]

OLIVIER DU BOIS
But oh no, it's alright
Mr. Maker, he'll be fine
It's alright, it's okay
Because of the love he gave away

“My father is dead, as you know very well, Giroux.” he says, voice completely calm, “and I still have more than you ever will.” He drops his eyes to half-mast, effectively hiding the fire of hatred to Pierre and his family (the Giroux side, not the du Bois side) that burns in their dark green depths. Olivier frees his phone from his pocket and checks the time-- one twenty seven. He had told Charlotte he would call when he landed. Oops. She’s probably wondering what’s taking him so long. Just then, the phone buzzes in his hand. He hits the ‘Accepte’ button.

”Allo?”

“Ah, Olivier. Tu est à l’école?”

“Ouais, je suis à l’école, maman.”

“Bon. Ça va? Comment était le voyage?”

“Ça va bien, merci. Il a été bon.”

“Bon, Olivier. Tiens, je dois aller. Je téléphone à tois dans le matin, d’accord? Je suis trés fatigue.”

“D’accord. Bonne nuit.”

“À demain, Olivier.”

“Au revoir.”

He hangs up and slides the phone back into his pocket.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

Pierre did not usually get this angry, for such little reason, but the kid's sheer presence was driving him mad. Not mad, insane. He wanted the kid to blow up, wanted him to lash out, wanted to see him lose control of everything and blow his top, but everything he said was being thrown back at him. Snort, blow it off. Try again.

"Oh yes, now I remember," he begins, "Your dad is dead because of you, isn't that right? And your mom doesn't even has the decency to keep his name."

Below his fingertips on his right hand, a pool is forming- black, with a purple swirl and a blue glow. He doesn't see yet.

[Olivier Adrien du Bois]

OLIVIER DU BOIS
But oh no, it's alright
Mr. Maker, he'll be fine
It's alright, it's okay
Because of the love he gave away

Ouch. That hits a nerve. A muscle in Olivier’s jaw tightens for just a second, the tiniest of twitches, and then relaxes. Pierre will not gain the satisfaction of seeing him loose his cool. It will not happen.

“Oh, I’m hurt.” he places one hand over his heart, dropping his feet to the ground, and looking at Pierre with fake distress. “I can’t believe you would say that.”

The next second, he leans back in the chair again, feet back up on the table, and laughs. A real laugh. Head thrown back and everything. “Oh, Giroux. It’s so cute when you try to hurt me.” Olivier grins crookedly at Pierre.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

((Power activation time! Dawn, feel free to have Olivier fall into another dimension or just find a portal a centimeter away from his face, I'm not sure what would happen. :3))

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

"God, are you a machine?" Pierre is losing control now, not what he had planned but anybody else would have at least thrown something by now, or at least he would have, and here was this, this complete idiot of a boy, smiling and smirking and not reacting at all and God that made him angry. "Don't even stand up for your parents, what kind of person is that?"

"See, I bet you don't even have a heart, runt!" he spits out, raising his hand. "Let's see if you have any blood at all!" And he flings his right hand forward to slap Olivier's face, not seeing the portal it held until it had already reached the boy's face.

[Olivier Adrien du Bois]

OLIVIER DU BOIS
But oh no, it's alright
Mr. Maker, he'll be fine
It's alright, it's okay
Because of the love he gave away

Olivier looks at Pierre in shock, latching onto his wrist at the precise moment that the portal smashes into his face. He tumbles into some sort of swirly, color-y tunnel, not letting go of his stepbrother’s wrist. No, Pierre got him into this thing that looks like an acid flash-back (except Olivier’s never done any sort of drugs), and Pierre’s definitely not going to get out of the weird trip himself.

He closes his eyes, the weird swirly colors making him sick.