Logs:Rules for Thee, Not for Me

Rules for Thee, Not for Me
Dramatis Personae Horus, Scott
In Absentia Jax	2024-10-28 next time maybe next time you can do the eye beam punch them before they get close
Location <XAV> Teachers' Lounge - Xs Basement
Running a school for mutant teenagers just taking control of their powers is not an easy job, and the teachers at Xavier's deserve a place to come and relax. This lounge is their place to come and de-stress, and it does not skimp for relaxation. The room is elegant and luxurious, plush couches making up the seating in the lounge and a glossy glassy bar wrapping around one wall, well-stocked with alcohol (and perpetually fresh-brewed coffee, for those so inclined.) A large-screen high-def television hangs on one wall, stocked with about as many movies and games as the childrens' rec room upstairs. High bookshelves hold a wealth of books. The fridge here is always well stocked, and the cook is always willing to make deliveries down to this level. Far in the back, a hot tub is submerged into the floor, for still more unwinding. More days than not, there's some variety of snacks to be found on perched on an end of the bar -- quite often in the form of fresh-baked desserts. Was there ever a day that so clearly called for the staff to enjoy some nice relaxing margaritas in the hot tub? Too bad, the hot tub is (as usual) completely abandoned and even at this getting-late hour much of the residential staff is still busy setting the mansion back to rights or placating the kids. Probably on any other day Mr. Summers would be doing the same, probably he will get right back to it once he's finished having a quick, bracing drink in solitude. (The drink in question is black coffee, still quite hot after about fourteen hours in the pot, but it's still unquestionably bracing.) Even on this little break Scott is fretful, his laptop open on the bar in front of him as he reviews surveillance footage from the day, his face stuck in a taut and exhausted frown around opaque glasses. He keeps pushing the long sleeves of his work shirt up around his elbows, and then restlessly tugging them back down. Opening his email, his messages, on his phone, and then closing them again when nothing new has popped up in the ten seconds since he last checked. Rubbing one hand roughly over his chin. Checking his email, again. The door opens slowly, with the quiet mechanical whine of the automatic opener. Horus enters not at all slowly, a loud flapping rush that brings him careening in on a loose circuit of the room. He ends his flight perched on a stool adjacent to Scott's, warbling a low greeting as his wings fold. There's a heavy large helmet perched on his head, shifting to the side as his head tilts slightly. He might be eying the laptop or might be eying the coffee, with his strange keen overabundance of eye he occasionally suffers from an odd inverse of the difficulty people have telling where Scott is looking. Scott has to clear his throat before he finds his voice, but it's low and even-tempered again, though he's spent a lot of today arguing, loud and persistent. Even with the glasses on he is definitely (probably definitely?) eyeballing the helmet with a slim press of lips, not quite possible to clock as either amusement or unamusement. "Hey, Horus, you want a cup?" He does not move to get up, though, just turns the phone screen off. "Judith said you got shot at, you okay?" Horus bobs his head several times at this offer, eager -- the oversized helmet falls lower to cover one eye. He tips his head back to resituate it, wings mantling for balance. Once he can see again he is flipping his tablet down, tapping at it quick. It begins to speak shortly after, slow and rich. Fine fine very fast very very fast bird so okay. Kids also okay almost almost not okay. Do police come a lot when you are all home? "Mmgh," Scott gets up from his stool very slowly, though he's quick enough to round the bar for the coffee machine. Pauses, frowns back at Horus. At Horus's beak, maybe. "-- Mug? Bowl? Should we get you some kind of..." his brows scrunch a little closer, probably he's kicking himself for not considering this earlier. "I'm glad you aren't hurt, anyway. We don't usually get -- well, Jackson has been arrested before, but not usually like this, it's... You're having a pretty exciting welcome to Xavier's." He does not sound apologetic about this, exactly, his tone still very even and matter-of-fact as he rummages through the available dishware in the lounge's small kitchen. He still has not actually poured any coffee when he adds, "Cream? Sugar?" bowl please bowl sugar cream bowl Horus is still bobbing, but the excitement slows as he considers this. Jax has been in many jail many many jail will they put him back. There's no shift in his tone, robot-generated as it is, but he is fidgeting where he stands, feathers whispering quietly against each other in his slow ruffle. He told me some things some many things some many many things I was ready. Mostly ready for anything. But what what what do we do if they come back angrier. Scott swivels around, holding up two bowls for Horus's approval -- a deeper cereal bowl and a shallower pasta bowl -- one in each hand, before he sets about pouring coffee. Gives it a spoonful of sugar and a pump of creamer (original) (even when he is directly looking at the flavored options lined on the counter he doesn't seem to register their existence.) "I don't know," he says, as he sets the bowl in front of Horus, then -- rather than going back around the bar to his seat -- settles himself there, hands braced on the counter. Then, "I don't know that, either. They probably will come back, I doubt their little jaunt today satisfied them. We'll figure it out. That's what we do." For the first time, there, his tone has an exhausted drag in it, but he shakes his head, and it slips back away. "But if you want to keep the helmet, don't leave it in the mansion." Horus jabs his beak in the direction of the shallower bowl. He has to stow his tablet back in its holder before he drinks, stowing it carefully away so it doesn't fall in the bowl. The tip of his beak drags through the coffee once it's in front of him, swirling it in a gentle stir. His head dips, he's a little cautious in his first scoop of the coffee but then takes another couple beakfuls happily. He shakes a couple spare droplets of coffee from his beak before he unhooks his tablet again. okay okay okay but some of the students do not not not know how to act with cops -- his stolen helmet is sliding down over his eyes again as he writes -- do they should they have cops drills before they come back "Yeah, I saw that." This is a genuine grumble, uncharacteristically crabby, but in the company of a fellow Responsible Adult Teacher Scott is not self-correcting as swiftly as he might around the kids. "I'll put something together for the assembly tomorrow, and next time we'll try and get the kids out of the classrooms before --" he cuts this off with a tiny hff. "Caught us off our guard this once. Won't happen again." no no no attacking cops maybe that can be number one There is a low unhappy warbling coming from Horus as the tablet speaks. all all all my person friends i met in labs i forget some kids don't know don't know don't know how the police There's a cut off, here, the words just stopping. Horus's beak is clicking against the stylus, and his wings shift antsily before he writes again. i'm glad glad they don't know once more has a backdrop of low twittering, even though it is followed with. next time maybe next time you can do the eye beam punch them before they get close "No attacking cops," repeats Scott drily -- though he's still not not going around the counter to sit, he closes his laptop to get his coffee from the other side of the bar, takes a slow sip. Then lowers the mug. "That would be attacking the cops," he points out. Horus's stylus falls from his beak with the quick clackclack he makes. His head bobs again. His message is slower, now, tapped out with just his beaktip since he is not bothering yet to get the pen from the floor. rules are different if you're in charge, his device announces, before he tucks it back up to keep drinking. Perhaps Scott simultaneously believes that rules are not different if you're in charge, but that rules are sometimes different when he is in charge, for his mouth opens to deliver some kind of rejoinder that never comes -- instead he takes another very long sip of coffee.