Logs:Clown World

Clown World
Dramatis Personae Roscoe, Tok
In Absentia	2024-12-11 "You want that MLA format?"
Location <XAV> Back Patio - Xs Grounds
This patio is expertly laid out for relaxing singly or in groups. The section nearest the back door is a more or less conventional veranda, the mansion's eaves--supported by elegant white wooden columns joined with matching railings--extending out to shelter the long porch swings, rocking chairs, and a chess table from the elements. Down the stairs or the ramp from this is a fan-shaped expanse of slate flagstones populated by clusters of deck chairs and picnic tables, always changing in number and arrangement, and stone planter boxes bursting with seasonal flowers and ornamentals. The centerpiece is an elegant pavilion with a hot tub open for use year-round, even if the transition in and out may prove chilly in snowy weather. It's been wet and gray for most of the afternoon, a constant if variable patterpatterpatter that drums down on the flagstones, a quiet pour of collected rainwater from the spout that runs down one wooden column into the dirt. Roscoe is sitting at the chess table, slumped very low -- both arms on the table, head tucked lopsidedly against one elbow, very little of Roscoe himself visible with the drawstrings of his baggy blue hoodie pulled and tied so that only his nose and mouth can be seen, his sleeves likewise hiding his hands. With the ~~hand~~ sleeve that isn't supporting his head he's playing the game, though with his aggressively foreshortened view not too many of the pieces are actually on their proper squares anymore. Still he seems to know what he thinks he's looking at; the game is moving at a slow but steady clip. Tok is bee-lining it from inside and sitting down heavily in the chair across from Roscoe, a thin but warm dark green jacket swishing to alert their presence. It’s unzipped and layered over their sweat shirt, and over that a faded t-shirt. The hood of their sweat shirt is pulled up to their horns, despite the jacket having its own hood. “Need a partner?” They ask and pull their legs up into the chair to sit cross legged. They tug at the side of their jacket-sweatshirt-t-shirt layers and up by their shoulder uncomfortably before finally seeming to settle into the chair. Their tail twitches behind them then curls around into their hands that immediately comb through it, and the fur on it is maybe a bit patchier than when they’d seen each other last. They lean forward to inspect the board, eyebrows scrunching, “This some kinda special version of chess I ain’t ever heard ‘bout? Don’t gotta stay in the lines?” Once Roscoe finishes his latest move his hand just drops down onto the table surface; his head isn't lifting but it is tilting more upright, briefly, then nestling back down against his elbow -- "Naw, I wanna see where this goes," he says. His free hand on the table is tapping restless but silent in the cocooning fabric of his sleeve. "It's normal chess, I just can't see the lines. I know where everything is though." Tap tap tap. "You want something?" “Pshh didn’t wanna play anyways.” They say with a small grin. Tok is turning sideways in their chair, pushing the bottoms of their shoes against the side of the arm rest. They let their head lol against their shoulder to squint a little at the chess board, squint at his tapping finger, try to watch the half of his face that’s visible. “Can’t I come and say hi? Do I always gotta want something?” Roscoe just shrugs; with his head and shoulders flopped on the table like this the gesture is pretty goofy-looking. "What are you all defensive for. You could have just said you wanted to say 'hi'." He's gathering the fabric of his sweatshirt's cuff into the sleeve with his hand, bunching it up into his fist, though then he's letting it slowly unbunch itself to poke the white rook across the -- well, sort of obliquely across the board. Tok snorts at Roscoe’s shrug, then blurts defensively, “I ain’t defensive!” their heel bounces against the arm rest of the chair. Their claws pull at the fur of their tail, curl into it, pull. They squint at Roscoe again, and the bouncing of their leg speeds up. They push themself closer to reach over and nudge at a chess piece with a claw—one of the horses—“ You should totally knock this piece out so I can play with it.” Roscoe blows a rude little raspberry, but he doesn't poke further; his head tilts upright again, his free hand darting out to defend his knight, still not fully shaken free of his sleeve. "Are you four years old? You want a binkie, too? There's a million billion other things around here you could do if I'm boring you." He stops short after this outburst, then plops his head back down on his arm. "And you're being crazy defensive, by the way, you're a terrible liar. Superglue prank?" Tok quickly pulls their hand back from their poking when Roscoe comes in to defend, “Four and a half actually.” They grin, then scoff “And you don’t bore me, c’mon.” They’ve become easily distracted by their own claws, which they curl in to inspect, “I wouldn’t do super glue again. I’ve been brainstorming some new ones though- OHOH you wanna help me with the next one? Bet we could come up with somethin’ even better.” Roscoe hitches his shoulders a little higher; he's finally pushing upright enough that he can see the mess he's made of his chess game. "No," he says, a little stiffly. "I actually like it here. This place has been good to me, what am I gonna get out of messing with the people here? What do you get out of it, you get to see Ms Mathis look stupid? You get to play with everyone else's powers? Leave me out of it." Tok’s motions pause and their brow scrunches down. “I like it-” they blink, and they suddenly look over, grin dropping. They watch Roscoe in silence for a long moment, and the corner of their mouth twitches. Finally, when they speak up again all that comes out is a short neutral “Oh.” Stated like an observation. They let out a long breath, and their tail stutters into motion, then up and around into their hands to run through the fur. They shrug, slowly, “A lil super glue prank doesn’t mean I don’t like it here. Was just a joke, s’not like it hurt anyone.” Their tone remains neutral. "Well what does it mean then?" Roscoe follows up swiftly, a little insistently, but then he just shakes his head, puts his arm and then his head back down on the table, though this time he's keeping his head straight enough that he can get to work translating his lopsided chess game back onto the grid. "Why am I bothering? You know why you're not getting this? You grew up in a circus and you think like a clown." Probably this would have been insulting, addressed to anybody else, but Roscoe is handing down this diagnosis in a grimly resigned grumble. Tok’s eyebrows jump up, and a quick surprised laugh with a grin flashes back on their face, “I wasn’t one of the clowns.” They push their claw through a patch of knotted fur, and hesitate, “I like it here, you think I’m crazy?” Their head lolls back and forth in consideration, “A prank’s just a prank sometimes. Everyone was so stressed beginning of the year, why not have a little fun?” Roscoe shrugs again; with his elbows still firmly on the table this comes across more like a cringe. "It's fun for you," he says. “Damn, really? Wasn’t even a little funny to you?” Tok’s leg begins bouncing again as they consider this. They scratch at the base of one of their horns, “Maybe more people need to think like clowns.” They let their head flop against the chair, “Maybe we’d all get to have some fun then.” The tiny amount of Roscoe's face that is visible, in the hood, is twisting sharply to the side, before his head tilts down at his chess game again, and casts this back into shadow. Finally, "Forget it." Tok makes a noise of exasperation, “Look I ain’t a mind reader. I could be I guess but- not right now!” They twist around to face forward in the chair now, and the bottom of their shoes slap against the ground, “But- I’unno. Was just an offer.” They pull at their jacket to readjust it from their new position, “I’ll leave you out of it.” "No, I don't want you to read my mind, what's wrong with you?" says Roscoe -- his voice is suddenly a little pitchy with irritation, his head bobbing up and down on his arm with the more emphatic movement of his chin. "Jiminy Christmas, I was just -- forget it! You're right. Everything is a big funny joke, we're the idiots for taking it seriously. Yuk it up, Groucho." He almost definitely doesn't mean this; it's coming out in a fervent, hissy spill. Tok’s ears pin back at Roscoe’s spill. They blink once, twice, brow scrunching then unscrunching, like they’re trying to decipher something. “When did I say-? I don’t think you guys are idiots-” They say, like it’s very important that they include that. Their hands come up and move vaguely in a twitchy manner, like this might help the rest of the words come out. They scan Roscoe again, and they abandon the rest of the question with a hefty sigh. “Alright alright sorry. I’ll stop buggin’ you.” They roll back, then on the shift forward they push themself up into standing, “Once I figure out whats wrong with me though you’ll be first to know.” They offer an of apologetic twitch of a smile, “You want that MLA format? Unless you just want a bulleted list.” They shrug, “PowerPoint presentation could work too.” Roscoe's shoulders hitch again, one hand going up to yank his hood even lower, though this doesn't really affect how the fabric is already sitting; his nose and mouth are twisting into an obscured but unmistakable scowl. "Ha, ha, ha," he says testily. Tok’s ears drop down, and they stare at Roscoe, some sort of bewilderment widening their eyes and lowering their eyebrows. Finally, their whole face smooths out all at once, and they nod, “…Got it.” They don’t sound mad, mostly tired. They push their chair back so they can slip out. “Sorry, gotta work on my material I guess.” They readjust their jacket again, and shove their hands into their pockets, “And- I’m around, if you wanna talk.” With their hands shoved in their pockets, they wave with a flick of their tail as they step away, “I’ll see you later, Roscoe.”