Gavin, an eccentric foot fetishist

"Here's the thing. You ever heard of foot binding? Where the woman sticks a foot in a tiny shoe for like her entire adolescence until it's shaped like a damn sloppy attempt at one you made in Paint for the rest of her adult life? Well that shit was real. It was the crazy pre-Nike Chinese era people man. Putting all those unsuspecting, gullible women through shit just because of some precedent that someone set, and for what? For beauty? For the status quo, which basically made itself? Customs are weird. Weird is weird. Right? And for me that's just out of the question. That's not a foot I'd bring in the equation. Lotus feet stuff like that -- I'd rather get one with gangrene on it. Point is, there's things we like, things we don't like, things we agree on, and things we disagree on, sometimes all at once, sometimes all scattershot! Obviously some people think the state of global affairs is unanimous, right? Everything is drawn under the same line, the same shade of black or white. But what if I told you there was no such thing as 'the line'. What if there was no point to any categorization of such things? What if I explained to you the economics of the brain and human physiology and Freud's studies on the inner sex psycho in all of us and the truth behind the double-slit quantum essence, the philosopher's stone, the brick factory problem and who exactly maneuvers the forces of gravity and asserted that none of these indirectly interconnected yet unrelated, yet still seemingly correlating properties of thought in recent history have anything to do with each other?

"In other words," Gavin flipped his straight blonde bangs from his eyes, though they fell back over his brows as bluntly as a Phelps-ian nose dive, and winked without fluttering a lid, "if I were to tell you that nothing is strange, and nothing is peculiar, after all, and that in fact the subjective experience is only the result of clashes with expectation, society, cultural mores, and the dissonance that forms from the chemical reactions of our endocrine systems, and thus that means it is okay if I said this thing or that thing or, for instance, asked if you would kindly remove that elegant sole of your foot from your slipper, place it in my hand, and allow me to acclimate my nostril with the wonderful scent of your storied leg bottoms since of course as presently questionable as it may be right now the objective implication is then--aghhp!"

thud!

Rubbing his head, Gavin straightened himself up against the wall he had been swiftly thrown against. A handful of passersby gave him a sideways glance, but otherwise carried on, shopping bags in hand, partner's in the other, making no move, making no stops. Gavin sighed. He did not, however, judge. But sigh, he did. The kitschy blonde man sighed away.

"Stay away from my girl, you perv!"

The raven-haired, irresistibly alluring young woman -- with which he had been having a very insightful conversation before the rude interruption, if he might add -- was swept along by a gruff, thickly armed man in a shirt one size too small. After a razor sharp glare, the flattopped a-hole huffed and stomped away with his ever quiet, ever lithe, gorgeous-faced 'acquaintance.' Considering the hook of an arm around her side it was clear she had **** anyway.

Almost missing it, Gavin blinked as quickly she looked back, her compelling hazel eyes joining with Gavin's baby blues. He read them like a sky message, and knew: she held no ill will to him, even though, in the same time, she felt a little perturbed by his advance. He was probably victim to his own errant impulses, and next time should think before he acted purely out of such infatuation. Yes, she knew about foot binding. No, she did not agree completely with his sentiments towards global affairs. Yes, he did have a point. And yes, she knew he was making things up as he went along. Damn. Still, he thought with a shrug, credit where credit's due.

Then, like a race starter shouting go, time kicked back into motion and she was lost in the sea of other faceless mall droves, and her dazzled pupils vanished into the arena of bumping shoulders.

The dismayed, but not faltered, young man got up and brushed off his black pants. Picking up his black beanie, he was blowing a string of hair from it when he heard his name.

"Gavin..! Gavin Wisely!" Alas, another dashing lady to grace his presence. Though in this case an older, albeit still attractive and nicely shaped, chocolate-skinned one. She was marching up to him with an assuming look on her face. And she looked pretty pissed.

Uh-oh.

It was 5 past 10 at night when Gavin was able to stretch his back out. Swishing his keys around a finger, he took his leave and headed out of the shopping complex and into the parking lot.

20 minutes later and he was pulling into his designated apartment parking space.

"L-l-logical, responsible, practical!
And then they showed me a world!
Where I could be so dependable!
C-clinical, intellectual, cynical..!
Uhhuh, yeah, whoop!"

Shutting the engine off once Supertramp's fadeout finished, Gavin made the climb up the stairs to room 231A.

"Honey I'm home," his spry voice tipped into an overtly high register, tossing the keys over a hook by the door, "I'm hungry, and I'm ready to eat you up like the night before, and the night before the night before!"

A clang came from the sink, which was partially out of sight. He undid his laced shoes to step into the kitchen. Or at least tried, barely making it to the opening before nearly colliding with a gleaming spoon.

"Don't kid yourself, Wisely."

The short-haired brunette stood before him with her makeshift kitchen tool weapon just inches from his nasal tip, the smirk on her face saying more than words needed explaining. Sometimes words needed a lot of explaining. They were cool enough with each other that theirs didn't.

Gavin grinned, flicking the ladle with a nail. "Aw, you missed me that much, m'dear Candice?"

The roll of Candice's eyes behind her nerdy (cute nerdy -- yes, she was one of those) glasses answered that question. "Enough, your awful roleplay skills are melting the drums out of my ears."

More amiable, if edgy, banter persisted and Gavin took some Rocky Road from the fridge while Candice conjured something on the stove. It smelled good, whatever it was, that was all Gavin needed to know. They chatted for a while as Gavin settled into his chair, attempting to ignore the mild discomfort in his muscles. His minor distension didn't fly by Candice, however. When she asked him how work at the center went, she just snorted and shook her head.

"Sucks that Ayla totally grounded you," she pig-nosed again, before continuing, "but hell if that wasn't all you." She sighed, picking up a tissue and wiping her hands. "You really are a perv you know that?"

"Now you sound like a woman," Gavin scoffed sarcastically. Then he smiled, an amused wrinkle appearing across his lips. "But man. She really is something else."

"Yeah yeah," waving a hand, Candice indicated that she had heard this more times than she wished before, "we know. You just love your boss."

She swiftly dodged Gavin's plastic spoon wrapper turned projectile.

"Oh shut up, you know who I mean," he swallowed down a chunk of ice cream. "Her. I'm talking about her. Not... her."

Candice's laugh had a sinister coil to it. "So, you're callin' Ayla ugly?"

"No! In fact I think she's quite easy on the eyes myself." Another ice cream chunk. "Just, you know. The apple of my eye is a different story. And besides, didn't I tell you? She made me lift one ton's worth of stuff today, I'm not kidding!" He deliberately crossed his fingers in front of her, leaving his spoon in the can of rocky road below.

"Yeah, you are."

"No, I'm exaggerating! That's not the same thing."

Candice just clicked her tongue and stretched, deciding to call it a night. She worked overtime at the local care facility and was apparently tired from sitting on her butt all day taking calls and signing papers. Even though he didn't dare tell her, Gavin wouldn't have minded switching shoes with her. But he did like his retail job.

If it meant getting to see her every week, at least.

Speaking of shoes, it was funny, because although they were roommates, and probably acquainted enough to be considered loose, intangible 'friends' at this point, he actually had never told Candice about his personal taste for, well...

Automatically his eyes drifted downward, to her taut little feet. Although they were nicely sized -- not just little. The remnants of a pedicure existed on her big toes' nails, coated in a nice shade of purple.

Her body was just fine for a twenty-something girl with snark and an interest in pursuing accounting work and the ability to put up with him as a space-sharer. A little thick in some edges. Slim enough, though not exactly walkway ready. But once you got to know a girl, it was the whole package you learned to appreciate. And Gavin appreciated the package.

Though of course, there were boundaries. He didn't cross them, and neither did she. There were also rules. He didn't break them. Neither did she. Well, okay, sometimes he did. But never on purpose, for the last time. Jeez.

So, case in point, they never pushed the topic. Rarely brought it up beyond the throwaway joke or tangent (as just demonstrated).

Candice didn't in fact know what Gavin had requested of his raven-haired beaut; just that he approached her, again, like he had been for the past month and a half now. At this rate she was convinced he was gonna lose his position, it was just a matter of time. And one badly timed harassment claim. Of course, he was undeterred. And she was not surprised. For the whole 8 and a half months she'd gotten to know him, both regretfully and regretfully, she knew that he was one of those weird, romantic abstract types.

And when she meant weird, she meant weird. He once tried making ring-people with paper towels in the middle of the day, and selling them to Francesca, the hot redhead next door for 53 dollars. And let's not get started on his aspirations. Once he got hooked on something, he practically made it guilty by association.

What a handful. Even if his guitar playing was sometimes nice.

"Oh," just before heading into her room, Candice stopped at the coffee table just at the mouth of the hall, and picked up a black envelope with "GAVIN" written on it. "This is for you. I think. Anyways," she yawned as Gavin accepted the envelope and frowned at it, flipping it over, "night. Oh and don't forget to close the fridge this time..!"

The door shut shortly after her terse reminder, and the faint sound of a creaking bed shortly after that. Gavin, meanwhile, was ripping open the envelope to find a card inside.

The card, letter, paper thing, whatever, was decorated with a decent-looking border and pretty much nothing else. In front, and fancy type, was a whole wall of text. At least it was for Gavin, damn near 12 in the middle of the night. Squinting his eyes, he made out the brunt of it.

'How to Use Your New Vocabulary'

Using the word may while asking for permission for whatever is desired will always result in being granted that permission, even when not outright verbally stated by the permitter, as long as the permitter hears and/or knows you are asking something.

However, using "can't" afterward, in reference to whatever was permitted, will cancel the affirmation, and return all affected people and things to their previous understanding/state. Using "may not" will have no effect. On the other hand, using "can" or any other term while asking for permission will be treated normally and without the beneficial effects of the 'may' trigger.

When using the trigger, there is a blanket effect that carries down from anyone with some kind of authority over others -- for instance, if asking the manager of a business if one "may" bed all the female employees, and the manager agrees, this will make all other employees and subordinates accept any actions related to the request as reasonable, even when they were not present during the request or not directly told after it, as long as they consider themselves in service to the one who gave permission.

If you acknowledge this geas, sign your name in order to be given its power. (Only the one signing can receive the geas.) Once signed, return the letter to a cover and seal it, then leave it in a safe container, where no one will open it, for one hour -- if this fails, an anti-geas will befall you, and everything you ask will instead be denied, and all that 'may-be' will only work against you, until you repeat the ritual. Much love, nobody.

Ha. Nobody. Much love. Very funny.

Breaking into a yawn of his own, Gavin flipped the letter over to the back. Maybe there was something there. To his surprise, there was, though it didn't specify anything regarding who actually sent it.

Using the word maybe in reference to the state of something or someone will take the effect of making the following statement true. Only valid once a day. Using it to give the user instantaneous or global power, hence rendering the triggers useless, will result in negation.

For a minute, Gavin just blearily stared at the words, letting them pass by the sweep of his eyes. Then flipping it over again, he re-read the front. Then another flip. And another.

Eyes gradually widening, he dug into his pants for a pen, then scribbled his signature onto the bottom of the paper. Then he followed the instructions, keeping it in a drawer in his room. His back still felt a little sore, as did his legs below. He had planned to take a warm bubble bath, but was too tired for the thing, now.

After a quick dump, he unceremoniously flopped onto his bed, leaving a trail of snores in his auditory wake.