ArchivedLogs:New Arrival!

New Arrival!
Dramatis Personae Kisha, Peter, Shane
In Absentia	2013-02-20 Peter and Shane greet a new arrival to Xavier's.
Location <XS> School Grounds
Xavier's School is situated on grounds as luxurious as the mansion itself. The tree-lined drive brings you up to the lush green sweep of front lawn and the wide front porch with its bench swing, often frequented by students studying in pleasant weather. The large oak tree in the front yard is home to a tire swing, installed long ago beneath the sturdy old treehouse. The lawn rolls out all the way down to the thin rocky pier at the edge of the glittering lake. The water stretches huge and wide off into the distance, the boathouse a small blip at its shore. Along its bank, forest stretches dense and shady to one side; to the other cliffs start to rise, high and rocky, providing trails for hiking or climbing, for the adventurous. It's lunchtime at Xavier's, which means the dining hall is probably noisy and crowded with students. Outside there are only a few, scattered around the grounds, the weather mild enough to encourage some activity but not warm enough to encourage /much/. A girl studying in the treehouse, a pair of kids playing on the basketball courts. Shane /has/ been sitting on the porch swing in company with a taller boy -- the other is picking slowly through a plateful of food, Shane's contribution to this occassionally leaning over to spear pieces of chicken out of the other boy's pot pie with a long claw. Presumably they were also studying -- there are books /around/, sitting beside them on the bench, but Shane does not seem particularly attentive to them. Still less attentive once the other boy leaves, leaving Shane alone with a clawful of chicken and an astronomy textbook. Shane nibbles at the chicken, turning his attention to seeing how high he can make the bench /swing/. He's probably underdressed for the cold; pinstriped trousers, vest, button-down shirt, no jacket. No jacket /on/, anyway; there's a peacoat abandoned on the arm of the swing. It falls off as the bench swings higher. THWP. The sound comes from above Shane--it's followed by a low thump, and a scramble of sneakers on wood. And then... "ShanehelloitsPeterlisten." That's all one word. It's spoken by a gangly, nerdy, lean looking teenage boy with Buddy Holly glasses. His torso is now dangling over the roof of the porch, where he's apparently somehow managed to perch himself. He's wearing a black hoodie, blue jeans, bright red-and-blue sneakers, and a t-shirt that says "DON'T BLAME ME, _I_ VOTED FOR KODOS". He's also got on... red-and-blue gloves. They look expensive, and unusual--almost like the kind you might use to drive a motorcycle. "Wait," Peter says, quite suddenly: "You _are_ Shane, right? I mean, I can't tell the--ohGod, I'm sorry, is that offensive? I'm so sorry." Peter sounds very sorry. His face is also red, but that might be because he is currently hanging upside down. Usually a friend, relative or perhaps staff member brings in new students. Not so Kisha, the money that should have covered her taxi to the front gate was mostly blown on the excess baggage fees for her stuff. So instead of pulling up when she was expected she's running about an hour late having dragged her suitcase down most of Greymalkin Lane. A Brief pause at the gate and the latest student at the school Xavier built has arrived. From the way Kisha strains to move her bags either she is the queen of packing suitcases or she's transporting something insane. Like maybe an anvil... Slowly but surely she advances muttering curses under her breath. "Totally offensive. And I'm Bastian. Jeez, man. Now I'm pissed. Probably going to bite you and everything." Demonstratively, Shane chomps his rather excessive teeth in Peter's direction. Constrastingly, though, his tone is more amused than offended, and he doesn't seem like he's really keen to follow /through/ on this biting thing; that would interfere with SWING. He /does/ bite his last piece of chicken, though, downing it quickly. "Uh, what did you need?" The 'uh' sounds a little distracted, mostly because Shane is cocking his head, sniffing at the air, /eying/ the figure coming up the lane. He bounces up out of the swing, leaving it rattling wildly in his wake, textbook sliding off, too, to land in a nearby patch of half-melted dirty slush-snow. "YO." This is hollered down the way, as he slowly ambles down the front steps and towards the approaching girl. "Did you just pack, like, a ton of cement? Cuz that's pretty excessive." He's heading forward, clearly with the intent to help from the way one webbed clawed hand extends to gesture at the bags. Peter is instantly relieved when Shane chomps his teeth. "Ohgood, you _are_ Shane," he states, because even _Peter_ isn't _that_ clueless. "Okay basically I just need to tell you really quick, IXNAY on me being the SPIDER-AY, because hardly anyone here _knows_ and I need to keep it that way and I will totally owe you a _huge_ _huge_ favor if you--" Uh oh. Someone rapidly approaching audible range. Peter immediately snaps his mouth shut and disappears over the porch; in the next instant, he's hopping down--sneakers making a low *whump* as he lands somewhere behind Shane. He'd go and help too, but he's supposed to be *Puny* Parker, not MuscleMcMuscle Parker, and he is *pretty* sure Shane could pick them all up anyway. "Why would I pack cement? I could have that delivered locally," Kisha replies, her attention too fixed on her bag from which something black and chemical smelling seems to be soaking through. "I just did what the letter told me and took the essentials. Things I couldn't live without." She finally pauses long enough to glance between Shane and Peter, then back to Shane. Finally one eyebrow quirks. "Well.. That's... You're.... I bet the schools dentist must have nightmares." Kisha lets the case drop, wipes her hands against her pants, then straightens to her full height of five foot just about nothing. "I'm Kisha, nice to meet you both." "Right, check, you're just Peter and not a freak. Or, okay, you /are/ a freak but not a secret one," Shane mutters over his shoulder, before continuing towards Kisha. "Jeeesus christ," he says considerably louder, his nose wrinkling at the smell from Kisha's bag. "Is your essentials, like, drugs? Are you starting a meth lab in the dorms? Because that's, I mean, there's way better drugs you could drug." He stoops, rendering his full height of just-shy-of-five-foot even more diminutive, but despite his small stature he reaches for the case to lift it with a good deal less straining. "I'm Shane. /He/," with a jerk of his head towards Peter, "is a total spaz. I haven't seen a dentist in a while. For some reason they don't like me." This comes with a very sharp-toothed grin. "I--I'm not a freak!" Peter exclaims, and then adds: "I'm--okay I *guess* I am, and it's weird using my powers in the open like this, and I'm getting used to it, I mean I usually would /never/ ever just jump around but people are okay with it here, and..." Blink, blink. Shane's left him behind to talk to Kisha. Peter seems to only just have realized this. He adjusts those giant glasses of his and offers her a--well, half-hearted--smile. "Oh, yeah, hi. Peter. Um. I'm not a--okay, I am a *little* bit," Peter confesses, barreling right on: "Oh hey, shark have, like *multiple* sets of teeth. Does that mean you do too?" Peter is suddenly very interested in looking at Shane's teeth. This is probably not going to end well. Kisha shrugs. "My tools, equipment and some stuff like that. You know general personal effects.. Which, let me tell you, are a total nightmare to get through customs. I mean if I'd wanted to take a bomb on board I'd hardly make it out of /metal/. What do they take me for a moron?" She blinks at Peter babbling. "Shark teeth also are constantly replaced through life. So if he's a shark person a dentist is pretty much unrequired." Now that she has a moment without her bag to worry about Kisha takes the worlds least secretive surreptitious glance up her own sleeve, revealing a glimpse of some kind of bandage, satisfied all is in order she quickly rolls her sleeve back down. "So have either of you been here long? And are there any special etiquette rules I should observe in regard to our... the... whole not normal stuff." "Etiquette, uh, the fuck is that?" Shane's grin dims to a normal smile. Less toothy. He starts lugging the suitcase back towards the mansion. "I mean, I guess don't call people freaks or whatever," with a Look to Peter. "Don't talk about the school to people who aren't -- whatever. Safe. Past that, I dunno. Don't bite people." He says this with a /hugely/ put-upon sigh. "Yeah, no, when I lose teeth they just come back. So whatever. Fuck dentists, I've got /pliers/. What /would/ you make a bomb from? Can you make a bomb with this shit? What tools?" He's suddenly sniffing at the suitcase with a good deal more interest. "Oh, right," Peter responds--to both Kisha and Shane mentioning teeth growing back. "So I guess--" At the mention of pliers and Shane's teeth, something surges up into Peter's mind. Not a memory--a memory of a memory. He instantly pales--looking at Shane with silent shock. But then... he just shakes his head and keeps moving. "I think they're okay with whatever," Peter adds to Shane's description, "just so long as you don't... break anything. Or anyone. Somebody told me that the gym got broke, once. I have no idea how that happened. How do you *break* a gym? Anyway, uh, I just got here like, three days ago." "What kind of bomb? I mean... uhm.. no...?" Kisha says not entirely convincingly. "It's just my tools. I made them. At least my dad said I made them, I don't actually remember doing it. If it wasn't me then someone liked me enough to acid etched my initials into them and smuggle them into my bedroom." She waves her hand nonchalantly. "No biting, no blabbering and avoid the word freak. Got it." She turns her attention to Peter and tilts her head, studiously avoiding making comments on the 'no breaking things' part. "So what are you in for? If you don't mind my asking? Wait, don't tell me! You've got the mutant power to wear hipster glasses without actually being a hipster? Or more seriously some kind of enhanced speed thing? You tend to babble a lot." "His power's being a freak," Shane says, in flagrant disrespect of his own recently outlined rules. "And who says he's not a hipster? The fuck is with that look, dude?" The hairless ridge of Shane's brow quirks upwards as Peter pales. He does grunt a little bit as he hefts the case up the front porch stairs, setting it heavily down on the wood to frown at his textbook where it has been soaking up slush. "In for, man, you make this sound like a /sentence/." Shane's wry smile isn't exactly /disagreeing/, though. "Tools /for/ what?" "I'm, uh, just really strong," Peter explains. That is his cover story, and he is sticking to it. He turns a *heated* shade of red when the subject of his glasses come up, though. "What? What's wrong with my glasses? These were my uncle's glasses! They're--there's nothing wrong with them!" And then he's snagging them off his face, staring at them, eyebrows crunched together. "They make me look like a *hipster*? But--I thought... hipsters were those people in ipad ads, right?" Peter is... okay, he's a little special. Kisha fights down a smirk. "Tools for fun and profit? You can take a look if you really want," she offers casually. "Some drills, circular saws, Oxy-acetylene torch, engineers multi-tool and some duct tape. Oh and a Swiss army knife. Because there's a reason MacGuyver always carried one." The really strong remark finally twigs and she gives Peter an up then down look. "I'd say you don't look really strong, but then I guess that's part of the magic of this place? And why are you wearing your Uncles glasses.... Wouldn't he need them? And don't you find the lenses give you migranes?" "If you're wearing glasses you don't even need you're /totally/ a hipster, dude." Shane stops to go pluck his textbook out of the snow and his peacoat off the porch floor. He absently wipes the book against the peacoat, though it does little to de-soggify it. "Jesus. You sure you're at the right place? I mean, there's a vo-tech school a town over for all that engineering shit." He slings the coat over his shoulder. "Where'd you come in from? You hungry? There's lunch." "Well I mean under the clothes I look freakish," Peter mumbles. "When it started--you know--happening, I had to figure out an excuse to get outta gym class. And doctor appointments--oh man, thank God they have a doctor *here*, I was really dreading *that* conversation. But," the glasses go back on his nose, "my uncle wears different ones now, these are his old ones. We didn't have the money for new frames so we just had my prescription mounted into these ones. *ALSO*, why the _heck_ do you need an oxy-acetylene torch?" Kisha stops dead in her tracks. "You are still talking about your powers right? Because it's sounding awefully like you're slipping into the conversation about growing up..." she leaves precisely which conversation that might be to the imagination. "I flew in from Detroit and I'm pretty sure I'm in the right place. I mean I literally haven't slept a wink since I got the letter inviting me to study here. That was two weeks ago." "Uh, literally like literally? I mean, my pa doesn't sleep /much/ but I'm talking like twice a week not like /more/ than two weeks -- uh, /do/ you eat?" Shane looks at Kisha skeptically. "You need a torch for burning crap. Right? Sounds legit. Peter's still new to this freak shit," he confides to Kisha. "I don't think his family had The Talk with him so the first time he woke up and -- well. He's adjusting." Peter manages to cycle through five shades of crimson in an impressively short amount of time: "That's NOT what I'm talking about!" he says, and he's so intent on making this clear that he *stops* walking, letting the two of them get a little ahead: "I--I *totally* know about puberty! It's--" Then, realizing he is being needled, his cheeks stay red as he jogs to catch up on lost distance. Kisha beams at Peter. "Sorry, I know it's supposed to be the new kid who people make jokes about but that was just too easy." She mock yawns. "Technically I haven't slept in about... call it six months? Something like that anyway, unless you count the drugs and the time in the hospital. But anyway I do eat, especially if you have any cold pizza handy." Shane flashes Peter a grin. Bright. "You know, you turn colours like a pro. You and my pa could have, like, a blush-off or something. Have you ever tried smoking pot cuz I think it could go a long way towards helping you chill." He hefts the case again, starting towards the door to nudge it open with a hip. "Six months, that's hardcore. Are you crazy? Cuz I heard no sleep makes you batshit." "I don't--I wouldn't--I mean, I never--" Poor Peter isn't exactly sure how to respond to Shane's suggestion. He ends up just blushing *more* fiercely, trailing behind until he's hip-bumping the door--darting forward to push it the rest of the way and hold it for him. "--um, yeah, like you can *die* from lack of sleep, too--wait you aren't gonna die are you? I mean of course you're *gonna* die, everyone's gonna die, but I mean, you aren't gonna die soon, are you? ...that's a terrible question," Peter mumbles. "It's a screwdriver. They don't serve those here," Shane says, with a /longsuffering/ sigh, as he steps into the foyer, "but there's a club in the city that's shit about checking IDs, if you want to skip out some weekend. Anyway, uh, have you read the news lately, we're probably all gonna die soon. Basically everyone out there wants to shoot us. Hey, I'm taking this up to the chick's floor, okay? Lunch is that way." His head nods down the hall, towards where the raucous sound of teenagers at rest is a telltale sign of Lunch Break. "See ya." He's heading towards the stairs with Kisha's heavy bag.