ArchivedLogs:Schools and Seances

Schools and Seances
Dramatis Personae Doug, Sebastian
In Absentia	2013-01-31 Doug has a rooftop conversation with Shane's alter-ego.
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. It's warm, today, for winter, reaching up into the fifties. The sun is not-quite-setting, and though in places the concrete is damp in places yesterday's rain has tapered off hours before. City-noise drifts up from the streets below. A taxi honking, a child squealing as he races another down the sidewalk towards the park. Up here it's muted, though, between distance and the whip of breeze. Up here there's another kind of sound, quiet guitar strumming and a soft voice singing -- some recent single by the local artist Ryan Black. He's pretty on-tune, too. The source of singing and guitar isn't immediately apparent, though there's a large silhouette outlined against the dimming evening sky, perched on the railing overlooking the city. It might be a bird. It's very feathery, talons and beak and large wings with black and grey and sparrow-brown mingling spottily. Though significantly too /large/ to be any kind of bird around New York, and pretty human in his alert brown eyes and the quiet way he vaguely bops along to the music. Maybe it's the music, or the fresh(er) air, but something about this very early evening lures the newest Lofts resident to the rooftop. The door to the roof squeals quietly as it's pushed open, releasing Doug out into the not-yet-twilight. The blonde pauses as he steps out, inhaling deeply and looking out over the city with a wide grin on his face. The singing catches his ear, and he moves in that direction, pausing when he spies the guitar player, and actually /freezing/ a moment when he spies the bird. But, the singer he knows, so he speaks to him. "Hey, man. That's pretty good." He nods at the guitar. "You didn't say you could play the guitar. Not that I asked, or anything." The bird -- man -- person freezes, too, at the squeak of the door, eyes widening for just a moment before he uncurls himself. A good deal /even more/ too-big-to-be-birdy, somewhat just over five feet of him all told when he rises up onto his talons and wider than /that/ in wingspread for the moment before he /topples/ off the roof to let his wings catch the air and carry him off. Over the park, then vanishing. "Heyyyy, Hor -- woah." The guitar playing has stopped as Sebastian rises from where he's been sitting on the /other/ side of the railing, perhaps with a deathwish as he perches on the ledge overlooking the city. He climbs back onto the roof proper in a minute, though, or at least /towards/ the roof proper, stopping once he's straddling the railing with guitar still in hand. "Didn't say what?" He has a smile, small and closed-lipped and a little uncertain. In attire he's nearly as colorful as he is in complexion, bright purple corduroys, bright green t-shirt, pale pink sweatshirt with a cheerful pink rainbow-bellied Care Bear on one panel. "I mean, hi. I mean, thanks. I mean -- what?" "Oh, hey, I didn't mean to scare him off," Doug says, frowning after the retreating shape of the bird-man. "I'm sorry." He watches with a small widening of his eyes when he realizes just /where/ his neighbor has been sitting, exhaling when the other man is settled. "You didn't say you could play the guitar," he repeats, lifting his eyebrows. "But, like I said, I didn't exactly ask, either." He takes in the outfit, and shakes his head. "Man, that does not look like something I would have said you'd wear," he offers lightly, moving to the railing and leaning against it to peer out in the direction the avian fled. "How was your chicken?" he asks, shifting his head to keep Sebastian in his field of vision. "I hope it was okay, not being -- what did you call it? 'Toothsome'? 'Bloody'?" Sebastian shrugs a shoulder, turning his head to squint out in the direction of the departed birdman. "S'okay, he, uh. Horus gets /way/ skittish. People aren't always -- nice, you know? And he's shy." He's got one leg dangling down on the inside side of the railing; his other hooks beneath it, pinning him in place with his knee crooked around the bar and his leg braced on the cement beneath. There's a long moment where he watches Doug with a slight uncertainty, but this clears up momentarily into a quick smile. "I wear stuff like this all the /time/," he says, lightly, starting to strum again. Quiet. It's Queen, now, "I Want to Break Free". "You must mean my alter ego. Dresses a lot more, uh, dapper? Like pinstripes and vests and shirts with collars?" "Huh." Doug squints after the shape that might be Horus in the distance, and wrinkles his nose. "I guess I can understand that. You can tell him that he doesn't need to be afraid of me, though." He shifts around so that his elbows are resting on the railing, and he eyes the Blue Guy thoughtfully as he strums the guitar. "It's certainly a look," he quips, shooting a playful grimace at the other man, then frowns. "Alter ego?" he echoes, furrowing his brow. "You mean, like, another personality?" He frowns. "You're not all Jekyll-and-Hyde on top of being scary-looking, are you?" He grins widely, taking whatever sting his words might carry away. "But yeah. I guess that's who I met last night." Sebastian's lips twitch, slightly, and his head bows over his laptop as he laughs. Quiet, his gills fluttering at the sides of his neck. "What did Shane do to you?" He strums. Also quiet. Doug joins in the amusement with a small chuckle. "Dude asked if I would trade my kittens for his roast chicken," he says, shaking his head. He crinkles his eyes at the Not-Shane, and wrinkles his nose thoughtfully. "And I think he might have made a pass at me." He seems unbothered by this event, shrugging lightly. "So, what's your name, then?" Sebastian chuffs, again, though this time it comes with a wince. "Yeeeeah, he /would/," he says, amused, and it's not clear which of these events he's speaking of. "I'm Bastian. Shane's my brother." In case it wasn't glaringly obvious. "He's older. Who're you, then? You live here?" "Oh, hey, he's cool," Doug says, noticing the wince. "I liked him, once I was certain he wasn't going to mug me for my cats." He ahs lightly at the explanation, and nods. "Well, that makes sense. Nice to meet you. I'm Doug Ramsey. I live in 503." He nods towards the door, as if the apartment might be directly accessible through it. "We've only lived here since the first of the month," he explains. "Since the second semester started at Columbia." He grins. "I guess you and Shane have an apartment together?" "No, yeah, I mean, he's awesome," Sebastian agrees, quieter but distinctly fond. "Hey, Columbia. Cool. I'd like to go there. Eventually. I've got a friend in this building who does," he says, brightly. "Um -- yeah -- I mean, kind of. We live with our dad. And littlebrother. 303. -- You're in /503/?" His ridged hairless brow wrinkles up at this, and he studies Doug thoughtfully. "Huh. Um. No, he'd not -- he'd probably not mug you. Not for kittens. What do you study?" "Oh, yeah?" Doug says, lifting his eyebrows at the revelation of a fellow student in the building. "That's cool. You could totally get in," he says confidently. "It's a great school. Great professors. I'm studying Computer Science, with a minor in Business." He leans back with an exaggerated sigh at the reaction to his apartment number, and nods. "Yeah, 503. And, unless Shane was winding me up, I'm well aware of the alleged ghost problem in it." He waggles his fingers spookily. "My roommate is already planning the seance. You should come." Then a head tilt. "What /would/ he mug me for?" He grins toothily (although not as toothily as Shane might manage), and waggles his eyebrows. "Is my virtue in danger?" "Maybe," Sebastian says, still smiling but a little less bright in tone now. "-- Ghost?" His eyes widen, and his cheeks color darker. "I mean, yeah, I -- I /guess/ you could say ghost. Are you really having a /seance/?" He stops strumming, webbed fingers lying flat against the strings to quiet them. He looks at Doug long and also uncertain. "I mean for real? Cuz that might be --" His head shakes. "Oh, gosh. He'd -- no, he -- I don't know. He can just be a little intense. He likes to freak people out, kinda." "A real live seance, with candles and everything," Doug says, nodding slowly as he studies the other man's reaction. "Anwyn's down at that funky little New Age shop two blocks over for the right kind of candles and incense and shit." He grins, and runs a hand through his hair, leaving a few strands poking out in unruly rebellion. "Between you and me, if there /is/ a ghost, I'm probably going to piss myself," he confesses. "Mutants are one thing, but I draw the line at ghosts and ghouls." He grins, and rolls his eyes. "He certainly freaked /me/ out, at first," he says. "He smiled. A /lot/. At least, I /hope/ it was a smile." Sebastian smiles, too, though his is small and lacking in teeth, his mouth self-consciously closed throughout. "What if you combine the two?" he asks, thoughtfully. "I met a girl once whose power was talking to dead people. Like for-real-for-real. I don't really know how that even /works/, freaky, huh?" He considers Doug a long moment, eventually admitting, "I don't even know how you /have/ a seance. Do you believe in that kind of thing?" Doug hums thoughtfully at the suggestion, and purses his lips. "Well, that would be different, I guess. But not exactly? Like, I'd be okay hearing her tell me what those people said, but I'm not keen on having Nearly Headless Nick coming through my bedroom while I'm in my Jockeys. It's an interesting power, though. I'd be interesting in talking to someone with that kind of ability. Not one of those five dollar hoodoo pushers that you normally run into." He grins, and shrugs. "I'm not sure how you do it, either," he says. "All I have to go on is old movies. As to whether I believe in that kind of thing..." he grimaces. "Not really. I mean, it's good for a nice little chill down your spine, but I don't know that I believe that there are such things as actual ghosts." He laughs. "But I guess your friend's ability blows that theory to eight kinds of hell." "M--aybe," Sebastian says, thoughtfully, tapping fingers against the guitar with a hollow sort of thump. "I mean, maybe it's not like talking to ghosts, you know? I've known people who messed with time. Maybe it's like that. Like clairvoyance except instead of being able to see somewhere else in space they can see somewhere else in time. So maybe they're not talking to ghosts, maybe they can communicate with people who are dead /now/ except they were alive /then/. Or." His lips press together, considering, and eventually he just breaks into a crooked smile. "-- Or maybe they can just talk to ghosts." Doug wrinkles his nose. "I don't think I'm qualified to theorize much further," he says with a chuckle. "I'm not...oh, what's her name?" Doug frowns. "I don't remember, but she's an expert on mutation." As if this helps. But he dismisses whoever he's trying to think of, and grins. "See, that's the part that holes my theory about there not /being/ those things. I like your time idea, better. Unless the people she talks to have vivid recollections of how they died. Then we're back to ghosts." He stretches, rocking his body into the railing and supporting himself with his elbows. "So, what do you do?" he wonders, and ducks his head. "Not, y'know, mutant-y stuff. But in general." "Moira MacTaggert?" Sebastian suggests. "I don't know if they know how they died. That'd be /interesting/. I should -- hm." There's a long moment where he's quiet, a little thoughtful-distant as he looks out over the city. His attention turns back to Doug with the question. "Do?" Oh. Um. I mean, nothing," he says, a little bashfully. "I mean, I'm in high school. I guess I -- school. Just not so interesting as your school." "That's the name! I read an article by her for a paper. She's really got some interesting ideas." He doesn't expound on them, though, opting for the other topic at hand. "Hey, high school is cool," he says encouragingly. "And any school you attend is automatically interesting, right? 'Cause you couldn't call it /boring/." His grin this time is softer, and warmer. "Or can you? What high school is it?" "I like school! At least, I mean, I'm kinda glad to be able to /go/, you know?" Sebastian smiles again, brighter. "Though I don't know about /cool/. I think I'm just not really in the /cool/ group." He shrugs easily, absently starting up another song. Chili Peppers, this time. "Soul to Squeeze". "It's a private school out in Westchester, and I'm pretty sure half my class would call it boring. Cuz, you know, high school. S'cool, though, /I/ like it. You from around here? Where'd you go to school?" "Westchester?" Doug seems amused by this, and he shakes his head briefly before snapping his fingers. "Private school...that's not that Xavier's place, is it? With the high walls around the property?" He waggles fingers, and grins. "Because you can see that big gate from my parents' house. And I went to high school there in Salem Center." He grins. "Small world, huh? I never knew that was a mutant school, though. That's /really/ cool." There's a chuckle, and he rubs his hand through his hair again. "I guess you've got a point, though. High school is high school." Sebastian shifts where he sits, a little uncomfortably. His gills flutter, briefly, and then lie flat. "Does it have to be a mutant school to -- not /discriminate/?" he asks, frowning over at Doug. His head bows over his guitar, and he tacks on a little more sadly: "Guess it might just be the default assumption no /normal/ people would want freaks around. Huh. Salem Center. Cool." Though he still sounds considerably more subdued than earlier. "Yeah, Xavier's. I'm in Salem Center all the time. Pretty much the only place to /go/ from school." Doug frowns. "Oh, hey, I didn't mean..." he trails off, clamping his mouth shut thoughtfully as he watches the other man. "I'm sorry," he offers. "It was kind of rude to assume it was anything other than a boarding school. I just...there are /stories/ about the place, you know?" He lifts his eyebrows. "I mean, nothing that's credible, but a lot of stuff about planes landing there, and weird lights and noises. I guess I just made the leap." He frowns. "But I didn't mean any offense, dude. It's a cool-looking school." He grins at the admission, and bobs his head. "Really? That's cool. It's quiet, but nice. The townies don't give you a lot of crap, do they? Because some of the guys I went to high school with are Neanderthal jerks." "What like UFOs?" This seems to amused the teenager, as he looks up. "S'a pretty cool boarding school," Sebastian says with a small quirk of smile, "Uhn. I think there's Neanderthal jerks in every high school," is added with a more amused wrinkle of his nose. "The townies are okay, in /general/. I mean, there's always things here and there, you know? But it's not as bad as going into the city. We, uh, basically can't really walk down the street without getting spat on. Kinda nice sometimes to get away from it and just /be/ at school. The walls are -- nice to have." "Could be UFOs," Doug admits, his grin widening. "It is out in the country, a bit." He shifts his weight, shivering a bit as a gust of wind whips across the roof just then. "That's good, that the townies don't give you too much shit," he says earnestly. "But that must be rough, in the city. I mean, you can't really help how you were born, right?" He shrugs. "People are jerks. It's good that you have the school to go to. Hey, maybe some time when I come up to visit the 'rental units, you can give me a tour!" "Is what it is," Sebastian says with a shrug. "Folks at school are alright and I've got my family. Plenty of friends around here, too. Everyone's got their things, yeah?" He's smiling, again, as he slides down off the railing, chunky pink-and-grey sneakers landing on the cement solidly. "Hey, maybe. You out there much?" He's tipping his head back, looking at the rapidly darkening sky. "I should get in, though. I want to cook dinner before pa gets back from work. And see if I can scrounge Shane up in time to get back to the 'burbs before curfew." Doug grins. "That's true. I disappear into my computer for hours on end, when I feel like that." He chuckles, and nods. "Once a month for dinner and reports, whether I want to or not," he says without rancor. "I'm supposed to be going up there next weekend, actually. Probably to prove that I haven't gotten killed on the subway or something." He follows Sebastian's gaze upward, frowning. "It is getting late," he admits. "I should go in, too, and get things ready just in case Anwyn decides tonight's the night the stars align." He peers over the railing, then, and frowns at a figure below. "Too late," he says, pushing back. "Here she comes. I don't like the size of that bag," he mutters, and nods towards the door. "C'mon. We can share a ride down." Sebastian laughs, bright and easy, holding his guitar carefully as he trots towards the door. "Let me know how it goes. Hopefully your ghost's not the scary kind." He holds it open for Doug, glancing out towards the sky, but then just shakes his head, heading back inside.