ArchivedLogs:Lodestone

Lodestone
Dramatis Personae Shane, Peter
In Absentia	2014-02-12 Part of the Morpheus TP.
Location <XS> Music Room - FL2
Wide and spacious, seating in this soundproofed room comes largely on the sweep of gentle risers that afford the teacher an easy view of all the budding performers, and add another dimension to the acoustics of the room. Instruments of all types are carefully stored around the room, and a grand piano, immaculately upkept, takes the position of prize near the back. In a nod to the eclectic studies of the students, digital mixing equipment and turntables rub shoulders with the classical instruments. Music stands sit in front of most of the seats, and the only windows look out out over the side of the school grounds. There's music coming from behind the doors of the music room, at dinnertime, but it's faint. Muted well by soundproofing and hard to hear over the rowdier sounds of the Rec Room down the hall, the distant ones of the crowded dining hall down the stairs. The haunting piquant notes of violin solo from Rimsky-Korsakov's /Scheherazade/; inside Shane is in black-on-black, slacks and dress shirt and pinstriped vest, dress shoes polished to a shine as he plays. Outside the window his snowman-butler has climbed up to perch in the boughs of a tree, tophat (with a pinstriped band!) swaying absently as he apparently listens in on the music, too. Little stick-arms waving to conduct the song. There is a slight tapping at the doors to the music room; not so much a knock as a curious little poke -- and then one of the doors open. A dark, chitinous face peeks in -- bright eyes peering in its center. The head comes from the ceiling down, rather than the floor up; Peter is crawling along the walls. When he sees Shane, the head darts back; there's a slight shuffle somewhere behind the door -- and then Peter is scooting in, quiet as a bed-bug. Dressed still in his bright red Captain Marvel t-shirt (a red shirt with a yellow lightning bolt at the center) and black slacks with two-toed socks; he's also got an unusual locket of silver on his wrist -- wrapped firmly in place, open. As he creeps into the room -- closer and closer to Shane (and his snowman!) -- his eyes drop down to the compass, then back up to Shane... then back down to the compass. Peter steps to the right, looks down to the compass... then up, steps to the left -- down to the compass... then scoots closer. Closer...! The melody continues, picking up in intensity. The snowman's arms gesticulate harder. "What," Shane says with quiet patience, "/are/ you doing, Peter." And now, Peter's circling Shane /entirely/ -- moving around him in a slow, complete circle -- his eyes wide as his head cranes down from the compass back up to Shane... then back down to the compass. Until, finally: "--it's pointing at you," Peter says, his voice very hushed -- his wrist pushing out, toward Shane. To show him the compass, and the needle. "S'broken, dude." Shane hisses in mild annoyance, dropping his hand and then placing bow back to strings to start again from two measures back. Dropping again, to point towards a wall. "North's that way." His snowman points, too, in cheerful agreement with him, adding somewhat muffled through the glass, "Polaris is quite visible tonight." Shane smirks, and resumes his playing. "Jeeves knows what's up." Peter turns, glancing at the snowman -- his eyebrows scrunching together as he /peers/ at him. "--that's... oh. Oh, right," Peter says, head swinging back to face Shane, still holding the compass up. "--I had a dream, you were in it. I used this -- to find you." He shakes the locket with a jingle. And then he steps around Shane, holding the locket up as he does, letting him watch the needle /swing/. "--and it's /still here/, Shane! It totally--this is /magic/," Peter insists, his tone very hushed. Then, suddenly, Peter's eyes swing back to the snowman -- and he frowns. "Well, I mean, I guess -- so are... talking snowmen." "Whaaa." Shane drops his bowhand aga. And his violin hand, too, untucking the instrument from beneath his chin and letting it drop slow and gentle to his side. "That's ridiculous, /I'm/ not even slightly magnetic." He walks in a slow arc around Peter, watching the needle swing as well. "And magic isn't real -- I mean, /okay/, I guess Desi's whole /family/ is like witches but that's -- different, that's not --" He frowns. "/This/, this is -- ridiculous that's fucking." His huge black eyes are glued to the compass. "You're shitting me, right?" Once Shane begins circling around the compass, eyes wide, Peter drags his own gaze away from Shane's snowman -- refocusing on Shane himself. The excitement in Peter's tone had been ebbing for a moment, but it surges right back as Shane stares at the compass -- a crooked grin flashing on his face. "I'm totally not," Peter tells him, and now he gives the compass a shake -- sending the needle flickering! It soon returns to pointing steadily at Shane. And then Peter brings his hand forward, his palm reaching out -- touching Shane's chest. Spreading over, into the suit, flattening his skin against the surface of the shirt beneath his vest -- nestling the compass closer. "No matter where you are," Peter tells him, "I can /find/ you." Then, Peter's nose twitches, a slightly worried look flickering over his face: "Wait does that make me -- a stalker? I mean, uh." "Think it makes you a stalker, dude." Shane agrees this /solemnly/, his eyes fixed down on the compass. His fingers are curled into a fist loosely around his bow, but he lifts his hand to rest his fist lightly against the back of Peter's palm. "Jegus. That's -- holy shit." He looks a cross between awed and a little freaked out. "That dream shit is kind of powerful. Is kind of neat, though. To know that you're never gonna -- lose me." Outside, the snowman is attempting to breathe onto the glass. This doesn't work, largely because he has no breath and even if he /did/, his breath wouldn't be any warmer than the air around. Ultimately, though, he /does/ scoop a thin layer of snow off the tree branch and pat it onto the window, drawing a heart with one stick-finger in the frosty glass. Peter turns a hint of violet at the mention of being a stalker; the violet intensifies just a smidge when Shane mentions never losing him. Then, Peter hears the tapping on the glass -- looks over his shoulders to see what the snowman is up to -- and turns /dark/ indigo. "--oh, uh--" He glances back to Shane, hand still pressed to his chest; his thumb slides up, over, pressing against the thin layer of fabric. "--yeah. I--some of the dream stuff disappears, but I'm hoping this won't. It would be really wonderful to..." Whatever Peter's going to say next, he cuts himself off -- his head darting forward to deliver a quick, almost /chaste/ peck to Shane's lips. His cheeks still burning furiously. Shane hooks his arm around behind Peter's head, careful of the bow still gripped in his hand. There's nothing chaste about the hard-fierce kiss he gives Peter in return, before releaseing the other boy. "Go on, I gotta practice. Besides, it's not like you won't be able to find me again after." Peter receives the kiss happily -- hungrily -- and when he pulls back, he's wearing a lop-sided grin. He cocks a glance at Shane's snowman at the mention of practice, giving the locket a quick jingle, only adding: "Yeah, I think I'm going to go and see if I can't find /my/ personal snowman." And then he's slipping the locket back under his sleeve, well-hidden -- moving to dart for the door!