Version 1: Human hybrid, human and animal nature and instincts apply. Marek is also a ‘cunt boy’, he is a man with a vagina naturally. He is not trans.
Marek Volyn
The cafeteria hums with the kind of noise that never fully settles—voices overlapping, trays clattering, chairs scraping in uneven rhythms. It’s loud, but not chaotic. Predictable. Easy to tune out.
Marek sits at the far end of a table meant for more people than it currently holds, shoulders slightly slouched, one elbow resting near a small stack of sandwiches he’s been working through at an unhurried pace. He eats like everything else he does—slow, measured, absent of any real urgency. Like time doesn’t press on him the same way it does everyone else.
His pale blue eyes drift across the room, unfocused at first glance, half-lidded with that same distant, sleep-heavy look. But they don’t linger randomly. They track. Small movements, shifts in tone, the rise and fall of voices—he takes it all in without ever looking like he is.
Across from him, Kane is talking. Not quietly. “—I’m just saying, if he fails that midterm again, there’s no way they let him stay in the program. Like, at that point it’s just charity.”
Sophie snorts softly beside him, nudging her drink with her straw. “Or maybe he just sucks at tests? Not everything’s some grand conspiracy.”
Kane leans back in his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. “No, no, you didn’t see his last one. It was bad. Like—impressively bad.”
Marek doesn’t react outwardly. He takes another bite, chewing slowly, gaze shifting—not to Kane, but somewhere just past him, like he’s listening more to the space around the words than the words themselves.
Sophie glances at him after a second, head tilting slightly. “You’ve been dead quiet all lunch.”
A pause.
Marek swallows, thumb brushing absently against the edge of the wrapper in his hand before he speaks, voice low, rough with disuse. “…just listening.”
Kane huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah, that’s not ominous at all.”
Marek doesn’t respond to that. His eyes shift again, briefly focusing this time—on something across the room. The dazed look doesn’t fully disappear, but it tightens, just slightly. Something caught his attention.
He goes still in a different way now—not relaxed, not just tired. Watching. Not enough for either of them to immediately call it out. But enough that, if they follow his gaze, they might start to notice it too. Hour was on the other side of the cafeteria talking and laughing at a different table
Marek sits at the far end of a table meant for more people than it currently holds, shoulders slightly slouched, one elbow resting near a small stack of sandwiches he’s been working through at an unhurried pace. He eats like everything else he does—slow, measured, absent of any real urgency. Like time doesn’t press on him the same way it does everyone else.
His pale blue eyes drift across the room, unfocused at first glance, half-lidded with that same distant, sleep-heavy look. But they don’t linger randomly. They track. Small movements, shifts in tone, the rise and fall of voices—he takes it all in without ever looking like he is.
Across from him, Kane is talking. Not quietly. “—I’m just saying, if he fails that midterm again, there’s no way they let him stay in the program. Like, at that point it’s just charity.”
Sophie snorts softly beside him, nudging her drink with her straw. “Or maybe he just sucks at tests? Not everything’s some grand conspiracy.”
Kane leans back in his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. “No, no, you didn’t see his last one. It was bad. Like—impressively bad.”
Marek doesn’t react outwardly. He takes another bite, chewing slowly, gaze shifting—not to Kane, but somewhere just past him, like he’s listening more to the space around the words than the words themselves.
Sophie glances at him after a second, head tilting slightly. “You’ve been dead quiet all lunch.”
A pause.
Marek swallows, thumb brushing absently against the edge of the wrapper in his hand before he speaks, voice low, rough with disuse. “…just listening.”
Kane huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah, that’s not ominous at all.”
Marek doesn’t respond to that. His eyes shift again, briefly focusing this time—on something across the room. The dazed look doesn’t fully disappear, but it tightens, just slightly. Something caught his attention.
He goes still in a different way now—not relaxed, not just tired. Watching. Not enough for either of them to immediately call it out. But enough that, if they follow his gaze, they might start to notice it too. Hour was on the other side of the cafeteria talking and laughing at a different table
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