by pastel.bun » Sat Mar 25, 2017 5:43 am
★ Mungo Finley // male | 20 | rhythmic crew | clown // tags; Mackenzie, Tatania
No matter how many alarms are set or itineraries made, the Finley family never operates according to schedule. This is a fact Mungo is firmly comfortable in, even if it makes mornings (and afternoons) quite chaotic. Being the oldest since Mae moved out, responsibility for the younger Finelys fell squarely on his shoulders. This is a “burden” that he is all too happy to bear. He has every right to move out as well, but he can't really bring himself to leave his family just yet. Though Declan, the third oldest, is almost fifteen and already acting almost unnervingly mature. Despite Mungo's own age, herding his siblings like this is the closest he ever feels to being an “adult”, though even now he acts far from it.
“Jack, go brush your teeth little man,” Mungo says, noticing he had finished his breakfast (pancakes, quick and classic) and is preoccupied by drawing things in his syrup with his fork. The blond boy tilts his head up and makes a face at his older brother, as if trying to hiss at him petulantly. Mungo takes this cue to dramatically swoon backwards, stumbling as if trying to catch himself as he makes a face of his own. “P-U! When did my brother turn into a Stinkasorous Rex?” This elicits a giggle, which turns into a full laugh as Mungo swings him out from his chair and drops him squarely on the kitchen floor. “Go on, you Gross-ceratops, you need to clean those chompers,” He urges, giving a gentle shove toward the hall bathroom. His brother complies, still giggling. Mungo himself is amused by the image of a 144-horned dinosaur that his wordplay drew up, and allows a moment to take a breather and chuckle before turning back to fixing lunches.
The clan manages to shuffle out on time (a near-daily miracle) and pile into the car. There is only one pigtail-pulling incident as he drops them off at their respective schools, getting confirmation before each left of their after-school activities and whether they needed a ride, compiling the information in a mental list that he runs through several times as he drives to the dance studio. If Mungo’s pep had ebbed at all so far this morning, it rushes back full-force as soon as he pulls up to the building. Bounding out with an energy to rival Jack's, he swings his bag over his shoulder and heads into the studio. His grin grows, as he already hears music thumping from the dance room.
He has a good guess as to who that is. “Hey, Mac!” He calls over the music, moving to set his bag down. Noticing the extra bag as well as the extra face, his grin brightens, if that is at all possible, as he turns to Tatania. "And Anya!" Mungo absently runs a hand through his perpetually messy hair, not really doing any good to tame his curls but making him feel better about it anyways. “You girls ready to start the day? It's always good to psych yourself up,” He says, moving into his stretches with an exaggerated expression of "intense concentration", a bit undermined by the slightly silly bounce in his toes. It doesn't take him long to reach his full flexibility, an admittedly impressive span that helps make him a good dancer. Literally running around the house that morning had probably helped some.
♥ Emory Eiken // androgyn | 18 | sizzle & stomp | heartbreaker // tags; open
Emory’s mornings are quiet. The cramped house is near-silent as they slip across the hardwood on socked feet, moving around haphazard piles of books and other objects as if they aren’t there at all. There is fluidity in their movements, feet moving to an inadudible beat as they mentally rehearse the latest routine even as their hands prepare a pot of coffee. Their hips wiggle a little, an echo of more extravagant movements, but their hands stay steady through the ritualistic prepping of the machine. Neither they nor their uncle Marcus can properly wake up without the (heavily sweetened) drink. They gulp down a near-scalding cup for themself, then refill it plus a second mug before heading to the other bedroom, moving around mismatched furniture from too many inheritances.
They knock once on the door before heading in, setting the hot coffee on the nightstand and using their free hand to shake the man’s shoulder awake. “Uncle Mark, coffee’s done. Time to get up,” They say, gentle but firm, the same way he had done to them every morning since they could remember. The secret of caffeine had been ingrained in them later, of course, and before that the bribery had been muffins. Their uncle sat up without any more prompting, mumbling a ‘thank-you’ and shooting them a sleepy, but grateful, smile that makes their heart pang. Another job means longer hours and longer nights and more difficult mornings, even if there is more money in the long run. Both of them are far from early birds, but someone usually manages to drag themselves awake on time for the sake of the other. That responsibility is falling more and more to Emory lately, and the worry is eating at them.
Steeling themself, they bid a quick goodbye with a kiss to his forehead and leave to finish getting ready. They hear the shower turn on as they fix their hair in that magical way so that it hardly gets ruffled during practice. It's a routine practice with people they know well, sure, but that doesn't mean they shouldn't look their best. There’s a hard set to their jaw as they march back to the kitchen. They will make something of themselves, they swear as they fill a third cup and grab a protein bar before heading out the door. They will make him proud. If that means dancing until they have blisters, then so be it. If it comes with beating the Rhythmic Crew, then even better.
