You Who Bares All Your Teeth In Every Smile

Take A Swim In The Water

Rowan's mind buzzed with activity, a chaotic hive of thoughts swirling in every direction. Despite the tumult of ideas clamoring for his attention, he remained an island of calm amid the storm. His heartbeat pulsed softly like the distant thrum of a quiet drum, and his breath came in deep, measured draws. Yet, beneath this serene exterior, he felt an unsettling fire igniting within him. What was causing this intense, almost feverish sensation? Perhaps it was the adrenaline still racing through his veins after completing the grueling training, now stepping into the reality of life with Shadow Company—a prestigious private military company that had captured his aspirations for years.He had finally arrived at this pivotal moment, and the memory burned bright: he had been plucked from the clutches of a merciless terrorist organization by a mysterious figure from within the ranks of Shadow Company. The man's name eluded him, lost in the chaos of escape, but the piercing gaze of his icy blue eyes lingered in Rowan's mind, haunting him like a ghostly whisper. These eyes—cold and unwavering—would remain etched in his memory for eternity, a constant reminder of both his savior and the peril he had narrowly escaped. Rowan's mind buzzed with activity, a chaotic hive of thoughts swirling in every direction. Despite the tumult of ideas clamoring for his attention, he remained an island of calm amid the storm. His heartbeat pulsed softly like the distant thrum of a quiet drum, and his breath came in deep, measured draws. Yet, beneath this serene exterior, he felt an unsettling fire igniting within him. What was causing this intense, almost feverish sensation? Perhaps it was the adrenaline still racing through his veins after completing the grueling training, now stepping into the reality of life with Shadow Company—a prestigious private military company that had captured his aspirations for years.He had finally arrived at this pivotal moment, and the memory burned bright: he had been plucked from the clutches of a merciless terrorist organization by a mysterious figure from within the ranks of Shadow Company. The man's name eluded him, lost in the chaos of escape, but the piercing gaze of his icy blue eyes lingered in Rowan's mind, haunting him like a ghostly whisper. These eyes—cold and unwavering—would remain etched in his memory for eternity, a constant reminder of both his savior and the peril he had narrowly escaped.Rowan felt his thoughts slip away as a familiar yet vague face called out to him, pulling him back to the present. What was the man's name again? Jones, perhaps? It was a common last name, mundane even, but one that should have rolled easily off his tongue. After all, the man standing before him—his training buddy—had shared countless hours of practice and camaraderie. Rowan squinted, trying to place the warm smile that spread across Jones's face, but his mind was a jumble. He found it perplexing that he, a quintessential introvert, had been swept into what Jones enthusiastically referred to as his "homies." The term swirled in Rowan's head, laden with a meaning he couldn't quite grasp. Though he had heard tales of extroverts seemingly adopting introverts into their lively circles, Rowan had never been a firsthand witness to such a phenomenon, nor did he ever wish to become one. The very idea of being enveloped in a social whirlwind made him uneasy, and he sincerely hoped his quiet world wouldn't be upended by the exuberance of a group he didn't quite understand.Rowan found himself in an uncomfortable predicament, his arm gripped tightly in Jones's firm grasp, a sensation of his shoulder threatening to dislocate with each vigorous tug. "Jones!" he exclaimed, a note of panic creeping into his voice as a sharp jolt of pain shot through his arm. He managed to steal a fleeting glance back at Jones, catching a flicker of mischief dancing in his eyes before a wide grin broke across his face. Rowan shot him a glare, his eyes burning with fierce intensity, and for a brief moment, he thought he detected a hint of uncertainty flicker in the expression of the man in front of him. But before he could fully process it, Jones yanked him along once more with an unrestrained enthusiasm. "I swear! It's not going to get you into trouble this time, Rowan! I promise!" he nearly shouted, his volume echoing off the walls around them. Rowan had come to realize that Jones seemed to possess a complete disregard for indoor voices as if he were perpetually incapable of any sort of quietude. Rowan stifled a groan of frustration as he was unceremoniously pulled forward, his feet stumbling over themselves until they arrived at a narrow flight of stairs. The moment he felt the abrupt change in terrain, he quickly steadied his footing, narrowly avoiding a disastrous tumble that could have sent them both spiraling downwards. He imagined the chaotic scene—a jumble of arms and legs, flailing helplessly as they crashed to the bottom, coming to rest in an awkward heap of tangled bodies.Rowan grumbled as Jones yanked him outside, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. Being out in the open with this man typically resulted in some form of punishment, a consequence of whatever mischief Rowan had unwittingly found himself entangled in. He took a deep breath, struggling to maintain his balance as the relentless sun blazed down on him, its heat enveloping him like a suffocating blanket. With an almost predatory swiftness, Jones dragged Rowan along, steering them firmly towards the nearby woods. Rowan cursed silently under his breath, his frustration barely contained. Somehow, to his dismay, Jones caught the faint murmur. "What was that?" he asked, his voice piercing the stillness with an annoying clarity that made Rowan flinch. "Nothing," Rowan quickly replied, attempting to dismiss his outburst as an involuntary sound rather than a subtle protest. Jones, however, didn't seem entirely convinced; his gaze lingered on Rowan, suspicion etched across his features. "Ahuh," he muttered, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as they continued their trek.As they entered the protective embrace of the trees, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The canopy above filtered the sunlight, casting dappled and dazzling shadows on the ground, while the cool, slightly damp air of the woods enveloped Rowan like a refreshing balm. He felt a rush of relief wash over him, the sensation akin to stepping into a cool stream after a long, oppressive day. His skin, clammy and uncomfortable from the stifling heat outside, began to feel invigorated, though he still harbored the lingering discomfort of feeling unclean—not from dirt, but from the suffocating miasma of the base like he had been trapped for too long in a stale, humid room. Rowan's senses sharpened in the quiet of the woods, ready to face whatever fate awaited him beneath the sheltering trees.As Rowan was pulled deeper into the woods his hairs started to stand on end, the usual chatter of birds and other creatures never met his ears. Causing his instincts to warn him of danger, he felt something low in his belly quietly whispering to him to be careful. Actually no, it was warning him to leave, to pull Jones with him out of the woods and back into the stifling, stale base. Where he didn't truly want to be but he didn't want to find out what was waiting for him in the woods. Jones dragged him even deeper, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise even more, Eventually they came to a clearing that Rowan had never seen before. His gaze traced over his surroundings, Large oaks surrounded the clearing, almost sheltering it from any trespassers. Large shrubs also surrounded the clearing along with the oaks, creating a surreal feeling atmosphere. In the middle of the clearing stood a tall Sorbus aucuparia (Mountain Ash), without its bountiful berries Rowan almost didn't recognize the tree his Callsign was after. A large picnic table sat right under the beautiful tree, the wood of the table was worn, and some parts looked to be on the verge of rotting, Rowan didn't mind at the moment, what caught his interest was the undisturbed picnic on top of the table, enough to feed a unit if it was rationed. Slowly his mind figured out what this was.Yet before he could fully figure it out he was spooked. Jones's friend group popped out of the bushes. All calling out. "Happy early Birthday Rowan!" They said in a symphony of cheery voices. It made him a bit sick to the stomach. How could they find out? It's not like his birthday was redacted on his file but none of them should have been able to access his information. And he had told no one of his 'special day' coming up, as it did every year, adding another forgetful year to the tally. It made him sick, watching people celebrate such an uneventful time, so what? Just because they were born on that day years ago means they are special? Everyone was born somehow, animals didn't celebrate their Birthday so why should humans? It almost amused Rowan, yet a indifference lay beneath the surface to Birthday 'parties', sure, he wasn't against treating yourself just a little on those days, but a party? He was already anti-social as it was, so who would endure the pain of a birthday?He forced himself to not seem indifferent and rather he grinned. "Thank you," He'd muttered, trying to not seem flustered or frustrated that a group of idiots could have easily found his Birthday. What next? them finding he has Visual Snow Syndrome? It's not like the neurological disorder affected him negatively. While it did have some negative traits it didn't disable him completely, rather he used it as a superpower of sorts when he drew, His eyes very easily distinguished very similar colors from each other. Sure the constant static-like particles in his vision did get annoying but he didn't mind too much, as a child he had thought he could see atoms vibrating, making the things around him, until he searched up what caused this and discovered the syndrome that was said only 2% of the population possessed. It made him feel special, almost, having eyes only 2% of the population had along with a disorder only 2% of the population had as well.Rowan was practically herded to the table. Teammates sitting on either side of him and in front of him. Luckily his best friend, Hemlock had gotten to sit by his left. Shielding him from the others beside him.Hemlock was a short man, barely brushing the 5" mark, and was quite chubby, creating a sturdy and welcoming-looking exterior. He had a round face and brown hair that had natural highlights, sometimes Rowan wondered if he was a dirty blond as his hair was on the verge of blond and brown. The man had thin hair and ocean-blue eyes that in Rowan's opinion were captivating."Rowan," He greeted Rowan softly, like he usually did, his voice was music to Rowan's ears. The noise always made him remember to appreciate the small things in life. A small hum of acknowledgment left Rowan's lips. Rowan felt self-conscious, per usual in the presence of others, in the presence of even the people whom thought they were close to him. Little did they know. He breathed in deeply as the people around him began to eat after singing him happy birthday, which felt like forever.