ArchivedLogs:Concerns and Complaints

Concerns and Complaints
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Kisha
In Absentia	2013-02-28 '
Location <XS> Kitchen
The kitchen staff at Xavier's tends well to the needs of its residents. Always cognizant of its students and faculty's dietary needs alike, the menu has a wide variety of choices, and the longtime cook works wonders in the kitchen. The pantry, too, is kept well stocked for those who want to come prepare themselves their own snacks. The shelf, fridge, and freezer space is ample, though if anyone wants to keep their own food there, they'd better make sure it's labeled clearly, and even that is no guarantee it'll last. Between meals, the kitchen is fairly deserted. One lanky teenager at a far counter, headphones in his ears, snacking on some leftover roast chicken with one hand while his other is engaged with geometry work. One slightly less lanky possibly-not-teenager, a good deal more colourful with his bright arm tattoos, magenta-and-neon green hair, dark purple eyepatch with a bright yellow smiley face in its center. Jax's clothes are at least more staid, a Xavier's School tee shirt and lightweight black pants, sturdy black boots on his feet. He looks kind of flushed, hair clinging to his forehead damp with sweat, and is currently ransacking the fridge to pour himself a large glass of juice. Alas Kisha isn't lanky, but she makes up for it by being gaunt thanks to a potential tertiary power (the mutant ability to work through mealtimes without noticing). "Wouldn't have this problem if they let me have a stove in my room," she mutters as she opens the kitchen door. Her own outfit is remarkably bland, not even a slogun on the black t-shirt matched with black pants. Her sole distinguishing physical feature being recent and severe burn scars on both arms. That and all the talking to herself... "Then I wouldn't get told off for snacking in class. But honestly when else am I going to eat?" Sulk over she makes for where she presumes the cereal is currently stashed. Jackson glances up with a reflexive smile, that dims slightly as he listens to the girl. "-- At mealtimes?" he suggests, amusement in his thick Southern drawl. He leans a hip up against the counter as he downs the entire tall tumbler of juice in one long thirsty chug. He sets it down to pour a second, licking his upper lip clean of the orange juice moustache it has recently acquired. "Probably depends a lot on the teacher, if they care 'bout eating in class or not," he adds with a shrug, "some are sticklers and some ain't so much." Kisha fixes Jackson with a confused look. "But then when would I work on my projects?" she asks incredulously. "Science is a harsh mistress after all. I... please don't be offended but I don't think I know who you are?" She ducks down, hunts around for some cereal and then pours a handfull and begins snacking on it. "I'm Kisha, I've been here just over a week. So pretty much everyone is a stranger still. Strange strangers no less!" "After class? Nighttime? Eat during your projects?" Jax suggests, but it's light and still kinda amused. "I can relate, I guess, I'd get so caught up in painting sometimes I'd forget plenty of meals. Still do," he admits, a little sheepish. "Sorry, I'm Jax," he adds, brighter. "I teach here, uh, sometimes. Only next term. You liking it so far?" The strange comment draws a little quicker of a smile. "It's a strange bunch, that's for sure. Y'get used to it." "For me night is simply daytime with fewer people around," Kisha says with a shrug. "And because they don't like us leaving the dorms I can't made a food run. Besides I prefer not to keep food in my room, that's how you get ants. But anyway it's... okay... I guess.. I don't like all the curfew and dorm restrictions, because it's mindnumbingly dull being stuck in a room alone all the time. But I do enjoy having classes where I'm challenged enough I'm not sleeping and still getting full marks in every subject." "I mean, they don't like you leaving the /building/ but you're always allowed to come down to the kitchens," Jackson says with a shrug. "S'plenty of kids been through here who don't sleep. Or have -- different food needs. Curfew's just when you gotta stay in the building. I mean, s'the school's responsibility to make sure the students are safe, be a lot harder to do that if they don't know where everyone is." He's drinking his second glass of juice slower, single eye watching Kisha over the rim of his glass. Kisha hrms between mouthfuls of cereal. "What I /really/ want isn't access to the kitchens. It's somewhere I can work without having to worry about the smoke alarms going off," she laments. "And much as desperation draws me towards the idea of rigging a harness and leaning out the window I'm not sure that would be comfortable for the eight or so hours I'd be out there. On the subject of people protecting people... How well equipped is the school with radar and other aerial defenses? Not that I have any concerns about other peoples flying murderbots.... But... actually I'm going to try honesty because that's /entirely/ what my concerns are about." Jackson's eyebrows hike up. One forefinger taps against the side of the glass, glittery blue nail clicking quietly against it. "The school's pretty well equipped, tech-wise," he answers at length, "and the staff's aware of -- potential dangers. Given the students we have here, making sure this place is /safe/ is pretty much everyone's top priority." His head turns to the side, wiping his damp forehead absently against a sleeve of his shirt. "Why does everyone suddenly act a little weird when I talk about these drones?" Kisha wonders, filling her hand with more cereal before putting the box back very carefully so as not to spill any. "If it's a secret it's being kept terribly. No offense. That and I think one of the boys is trying to copy-cat that vigilante 'The Spider'." Suddenly a thought occurs. "Shit, if /I'm/ flying my own UAVs will I need to file a flight plan? I wouldn't want anyone else to shoot my work down, at least not without my consent." "Why do people act weird when you bring up mutant-killing murder-drones?" Jackson asks, in a slow and patient tone that strongly suggests he's not sure Kisha is entirely serious about this question. "Ain't hardly a secret -- 'least, nobody around /here's/ been building any murder-bots. For some weird reason though it's a subject people ain't real comfortable with. Possibly cuz'a there's a fair few folks here who have /had/ people trying to kill them. The same kinda people who're building these drones." He shrugs a shoulder. "It's probably best to be kinda considerate in conversations about things that, uh, could be causing people a fair bit of trauma." He takes a slow sip of his drink before answering, "Yeah, if you're gonna be flying any kinda aircraft of your /own/ you should /definitely/ tell the faculty what you're up to, just in case. Like I said, they take people's safety pretty serious here." Kisha does her best not to look suspicious when Jackson says 'nobody around here has been building murder-bots'. "Why of course not.. Who'd go building something like that?" She beams. "Not me that's for sure." Note to self. Encrypt military drone schematics. "It is a little unfair to blame the robot though. I mean if a tree falls on someone I wouldn't blame the woodland. Out of interest does anyone know who is building them? Is it part of the military industrial complex? Because if so I can probably get in touch with some conspiracy nuts online who'd hack their systems to shreds. Then post all the dirty secrets online for the world to see. Like they do about Roswell, only not made up." "No, but if a tree falls on someone and injures them horribly I probably /also/ wouldn't keep bringing up falling trees around them all the time," Jackson says, still kind of switching into the default-patient that sometimes accompanies teachers with particularly uncomprehending students. "And, um, possibly another reason people don't like talking about 'em much is cuz kids at this school seem kinda especial prone to poking their noses into trouble. Ain't a great habit to encourage. Don't think it's been released, who's behind them, if anyone even knows." He shrugs a shoulder. Finishes his juice. Pours a third glass -- or half a third glass before the orange juice runs out. He frowns at it as it drips its last few dribbles into his glass. "The military-industrial complex kinda spans a, uh, /huge/ range of things. I mean, s'one thing saying someone might could hack into some small defense contractor somewhere and another saying they might could hack into the Pentagon. That term ain't particularly useful in this context." "Sorry if this is an uncomfortable topic..." Kisha notes with sort of honest regret. "I've just heard enough for my power to make me interested, but not enough to truely satisfy it. It's very frustrating, like I can hear music without being able to make out the words." She smirks at the notion of poking her nose into anything. "Oh trust me, I'm not the sort of person who'll go blundering into things which could hurt me. Not again anyway. One explosion is enough for any girl." Jackson shrugs a shoulder, and shifts to take a seat on a stool by the counter. "I'm aright," he says, easily, "I'm just saying there might be reasons people around here are kinda twitchy about things like that. A lot of people here come from backgrounds that --" He bites down on his lip, for a moment. "-- That make 'em kinda /extra/ glad about people here being obsessive about security." His smile curls up, a little wry even along with a sympathetic wince. His gaze flicks very briefly to the scars on Kisha's arms. "-- Ouch. Yeah, sounds like it would be. Um. -- Satisfy? Your power?" His tone has shifted, now, into the curious. Kisha opens her mouth, then closes it. "Crap. I thought as a teacher you'd already know..." she blurts. "I have been trying not to let anyone know because I've picked up a healthy appreciation for the merits of paranoia. If I tell you then you have to /promise/ never to share the knowledge with anyone who might kidnap and sell me to a rogue nation." She waves a finger sternly. "And please don't even think I'm joking. It's a thought which would keep me awake at night, if I ever slept." "There's files about the students but I don't, um," Jackson admits sheepishly, "always pay much attention to them outside of the ones in my class. And it's a pretty small class." His nose crinkles, one shoulder shrugging, but his expression shifts back to serious at Kisha's concern. His hand curls almost absently into a loose fist, thumb brushing lightly against the missing stump of his smallest finger. "I wouldn't tell anyone that kind of thing. Whether they might kidnap you or not. It's up to you who you want to tell." Kisha finishes the last of her cereal, then heads fridgeward in search of soda. "Basically... I've got everything ever invented lurking around in the back of my brain. Some things are harder to access than others, but in theory I could build /anything/. Hence the worry, I mean I'm working on UAV's at the minute, but it wouldn't take too much coercion to get me building nukes or cruise missiles." Jackson's eyebrows raise again. His glass taps slowly against his teeth, lips closing against it without actually taking another sip. "Yeah," he says, after a moment, "I can see how that could be useful for people to get their hands on." He lowers the glass, his knuckles scrubbing against his cheek. "Is that -- does it -- I mean, you mentioned it needs satisfying? Does that mean you /have/ to build things? Like a compulsion?" "Like, want, need, enjoy... It's an extension of how I was before," Kisha explains haltingly. "Only more. I can soothe it if I have plenty of stuff around, which is why I do love a good trip to the junkyard. One of the big reasons I accepted the offer to come here was I had a little falling out with my brother and it was only a matter of time before he hit upon telling his friends about me. They're... not very nice people. Russian mafia sort of not nice last I heard, but that could just be some of his misdirection BS." Jackson winces again, hise nose wrinkling. "S'it help to build? I mean, build anything? I'm sure the faculty could arrange for you having things to work on, just so long as -- I mean, the world's got /plenty/ of /real/ interesting tech out there that's /not/ gonna risk exploding. You should work with them to make sure you've got stuff that helps. Or, um, also work with the Professor to see if there's ways to make it /not/ a need so you can just enjoy it on your own terms." Kisha laughs. "Don't get me wrong. /I/ call the shots, not my power and it feels damn good to be using it," she head-tilts. "Why would you think anything I'm working on might explode? I'm working on flying drones, not missiles to arm them with. All harmless fun, except maybe the kind of fun which'll help me talk other students out of doing anything stupid." Jax gestures apologetically towards the burns on Kisha's arms. "And you mentioned being worried about the fire alarms. But, I mean, if you call the shots why not just work on things you're /allowed/ to work on and wait to get teacher permission for the things that might be more dangerous? They're usually pretty flexible about arranging time to work on projects, it's not like they've never had kids before who have -- mmm. A, uh, wide range of interests. I mean, they /teach/, like, welding. Just, you know, safely. And in the shop, not in the dorms." Kisha looks at her arms. "Those are from before I came here. I did briefly lose control and may have built something which exploded," she offers with a huff. "They're old news. I didn't even think I was doing anything forbidden. There was nothing in the rules I've seen about remote controlled aircraft. I'm just having to do all the bits which don't involve a flame at night. Assembly, research and computer modelling. It's also a great time to snipe ebay auctions for any special bits I need. For the record welding is /easy/. I've been doing that since I was like nine." "There ain't rules about remote controlled aircraft. There /are/ about bringing fire hazards into your dorm. I'm just saying," Jax says with a return to oh-god-teenagers patience in his tone, "that the school /has/ facilities for doing that kind of thing, and the staff is usually pretty accomodating about letting people do it, with the right precautions in place. You ain't gonna get a whole lot of sympathy complaining you ain't allowed to do stuff in your dorm that the school is equipped to do in proper conditions. It's their responsibility to keep everyone here safe -- that means from accidents in here s'well as outside things." "Well, I'd be happy to work in a more dedicated lab space if I was allowed to go there after lights out. I still don't really understand why they gave me a bedroom," Kisha offers reasonably, finally deciding on which type of soda she wants. (It's the one with the most caffeine and sugar in naturally) "I could have just done with a locker for my clothes and that's about it. But anyway... would it rude to ask what your power is? I feel a little rude going on about myself so much." "I don't know. It can be nice to have a place you can go and not be bothered by anyone. Except I guess a roommate if you've got one. But even not sleeping -- I mean, I sleep /sometimes/ but only once or twice a week -- it's still nice to have a place to just kinda. Shut the world out for a bit." Jackson shrugs, finishing off the rest of his juice and standing. He slips around the counter, heading to the sink to wash the glass. "I don't think s'rude. I -- mmm. I play with light," he settles on, though a little awkwardly like this does not quite cover it. "You might could ask about -- mmm." He looks down at the glass as he sponges out the inside. "Some kinda arrangement. Like maybe if you work with the shop teacher for a day or two to make sure precautions are all being followed proper, maybe they'd be willing to let you into the shop all hours. I'd guess it'd probably be conditional, though, sorta a trial run till they're more sure ain't no catastrophes gonna happen. This place can be a liiiittle prone to catastrophe." Kisha cracks open her soda. "A shop class might be a little primitive for my needs," she explains. "I'm mostly doing micro electronics and work with plastics. For the record I do have practically all the tools I would need. So I wouldn't be risking school equipment... although I concede there is always the potential for collateral damage. Who would you recommend asking about all this?" "Professor Summers," Jax answers, perhaps unhelpfully offering up the stodgiest teacher the school has to offer. "I mean, I'm not saying it'd be perfect, but y'won't know if they got any solutions to offer till you ask. Might be worth a shot!" He flashes Kisha a quick smile, grabbing a towel to dry his glass and stick it back in the cabinet. "I've gotta get back to work. Hope you get something worked out. Be seeing you around, m'sure." His hand lifts to his head, like tipping a hat though he doesn't wear one; en route, a large brown Stetson appears on his head, tipping with the gesture before disappearing again. "Good luck!" Kisha almost chokes on her soda. /That's/ the best teacher to ask? "I guess I'll just stick to complaining," she says as Jackson heads off. "Or build a device that'll freeze hell. Anyway nice meeting you, enjoy your work."