ArchivedLogs:The Metamorphosis

The Metamorphosis
Dramatis Personae Ivan, Jackson
In Absentia	2013-04-23 '
Location <XS> Gardens
From indoor gardens to outdoor, though without the protective greenhouse glass the back gardens do not last all year round. Still, the gardens out here are well-tended and well-worth spending time in, as well. The paths wending through the beds of flowers and herbs and vegetables spread out through the school's back grounds, tended by students as a credit class. Benches offer seating and a small pond is home to koi and turtles, as well as a few frogs. At the far back edges of the garden, a droning buzzing marks a few stacked white boxes as beehives. It has been a while since the school suffered any bee-related news. Which is likely a good thing, if the last rumours were to be believed. But Ivan has not avoided 'his' precious bees-- quite the opposite, in fact, because he may have been spending more time than ever within sight of the hives not far from the Xavier school gardens. And, indeed, lunchtime finds him here again, dressed in jeans and a white dress shirt with - whoops - brownish green streaks across his sleeves and back. The latter is pressed up against a tree as he sits and reads from a book in his lap. He looks /invested/ in whatever he is reading, only occasionally reaching to take a bite of the sandwich that's resting off the ground, on a backpack next to him. And even then he's so intent on reading that he nearly misses his mouth in the process, half smushing it into a cheek. The bees, meanwhile, act entirely independently from the bug-controlling mutant, so it seems. Only rarely do they come across the grassy patch where Ivan sits, only to buzz right past again to find some nice, fresh, spring flowers. Jackson is less brightly dressed than usual -- black jeas with faint silver pinstripes, a short-sleeved red button-down. A hint of vaguely shimmery makeup. Glossy black nails. He has a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, black with the FreakAngels logo on it. He's also got a bowl, apparently full of lentil soup from the lunchroom, and a large red thermos in his other hand. He's quiet as he slips over, glancing at Ivan's book and then gesturing to the grass nearby. "May I?" The book is small, English-language, and almost instinctively /shut/ when Jackson speaks. Ivan's gaze snaps up to his advisor's face, his expression changing quickly from surprise to relief, to-- something more cheerful. A smile, even if it is sort of /careful/. Like he suspects a smile may not be the most appropriate thing to have on his face right now. In lieu of a nod, he snatches up his sandwich and moves his backpack over onto his lap to make place! The book is placed down in the grass, for now, cover up. 'The Metamorphosis', it reads across a red and black silhouette of a body and way too many spiny legs. 'Franz Kafka'. Not the easiest book. Jax looks over the book, and his smile brightens. "Just a little light reading?" he says, with a hint of amusement. "I had a foster puppy named Kafka, once. He /ate/ my copy of that book, I figured he kinda liked it." He settles down in the grass, setting his bag down beside him and popping open the top of his thermos. "You liking it?" "It is a little difficult to read." Ivan admits freely, his smile growing slightly less wary now. "But it is not for lessons, so I have time to read slowly." His eyes dart over Jackson's form for a moment before he reaches for what is left of his sandwich to unceremoniously stuff it into his mouth, and gives his advisor a somewhat inquisitive look. As though simply staring may solve mysteries all on its own. "Good to challenge yourself sometimes." Jackson does not have a spoon. He picks up his soup bowl and just drinks from its rim. So mannerly. "'Round here, waking up one morning turned into a cockroach probably wouldn't even be that out of the ordinary." He watches a bee buzzing its way to a flower nearby, and then shakes his head. "I'd be a dragonfly though. I mean, if I had a choice. I guess I probably wouldn't." His eye slides away from bee to Ivan again. "How've things been? I wanted to check in, I heard last week was kinda -- not good." Definitely a dragonfly, so says Ivan's instant nod at the suggestion. His hands now empty, he streetches his arms forward, hands clasped together, then folds them back onto the backpack in his lap. "Last week?" He stops, casting a thoughtful glance downward toward his fingers. "I do not think things were 'not good' for me. I think they were... more 'not good' for Shelby." Jackson's lips quirk. He takes another sip of his soup. "Cheating's /already/ not good," he says mildly. "I mean, there's not-good that's done to you and not-good you do, you know? And sometimes a little from column A, a little from column B." He rests the soup down in his lap. "You learn anything from that Danger Room business?" The smile on Ivan's face weakens, until what remains looks like it may be forced to stay in order not to let it disappear entirely. He breathes out a sigh, kept as quiet as he can manage. "I learned..." He pauses, thumb and index finger of his right hand brushing past the tips of the fingers of his left hand, left to right, right to left, over and over in idle thought. "I learned that people are some times different-- from how it is they act." He adds the next sentence a little more confidently, though his attention stays where it was. "Also that I am scared easily. But less when I do not want others to be." "That part's true enough," Jackson agrees to this first part, and his smile here is a little crooked. "And that's maybe a good thing to know. Ain't nothing so wrong with being scared. But when your friends are in trouble --" He shrugs a shoulder. "Sometimes it helps push your way through it." He reaches for his thermos, taking a small sip and then immediately wincing at the heat of whatever beverage is inside. "You know," he says, "there's a tutoring program, here. I mean, you don't /do/ people's work for 'em. But if you like helping. You can sign up for the subjects you're best at, help teach the kids who're struggling so they get up to speed." Ivan's handfidgeting pauses, then increases in speed. His voice quietens, again. "I am still not very good with talking. To people who are not Peter. Or you. Or Rasa. Some times Shelby." His finicky movements stop just long enough so he can-- apparently count how many people that is on his hands, and his eyebrows lower in contemplation. "I know. But you get better at talking to people by -- well, talking to 'em. Try it. Ride it out through the rest of this term, at least." Jackson watches Ivan's hands, expression thoughtful. "Kinda help twofold. Get you in a situation where you're dealing with folks /and/ let you help people -- in the /constructive/ sort of way." There is brief silence on Ivan's side, then, following a nod. He weaves the fingers of both of his hands together, shoulders drawing forward ever so slightly at the sight of a bee buzzing by his line of sight. It does a strange little loopy turnaround in mid-air, before heading straight back and landing on one of the boy's knuckles, sitting perfectly still. "... I have been saying sorry to many people. Because of things I did wrong. But I do not think I said sorry to you." Jackson just blinks. He looks a little confused, lifting his soup bowl again but stopping with it halfway to his lips to give Ivan a puzzled look. "To me? For what?" "For being /difficult/." These words leave Ivan like /fact/, like it was never even an opinion to start with. He looks up again, now, even slightly confused-looking as to why the question even had to be asked. The bee on his hand skids over to another knuckle and turns to face the opposite direction. The next words to come out of his mouth are louder than how he's spoken so far, determined to match a furrowing brow. "But most for the bees. It is why I want to do better." "Oh, honey-honey, outta all the difficult in my life, talking to you's like a breath of fresh air." Jackson's tone is light, though his gaze slides away to look up straight /at/ the sun like everyone always says not to do. He stretches one leg out in front of him, gulping down the rest of his soup. "Everyone messes up. You should've /seen/ the messes I made when I was learning to wrangle what I do into some kind of control." Tentatively, he picks up his thermos, taking another slooow careful sip. This time, only a /small/ wince. "Thank you, though. I do appreciate it. It's -- it's the wanting to do better that's important. The /working/ on doing better." There's a brief moment when Ivan's expression becomes hard to read. Surprise? No, too mild. Perhaps it is disbelief. A second bee lands on his hand next to the first one, though he does not look down towards them. A second later and they take off again, in tandem. Ivan's expression clears as his head tilts slightly to the side, curiously /peering/ at his advisor's face. "... Are you?" A beat later, "Doing better." Jackson's fingers rake through the grass, not tearing it up, just combing through it. Running his thumb against a stalk. Watching it bend and then spring back up. He pulls his leg back in, getting to a crouch, his smile crooked. "I ain't doing /worse/." It's light, too. He slings the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder. "That Danger Room thing. Would you do it again?" Jackson's response does not seem to do much to pacify Ivan's curiosity, but he sinks back a little at the answer. When a question is posed back at him, though, a momentary lack of response from Ivan almost makes the noise that follows all the more obviously /out of place/. Quite a large number of bees in the garden take off into the air from where they had been - be it on a flower, in the grass or on a bee hive, all around - only to settle back down again a moment later, like it never happened in the first place. Only... Ivan looks slightly more alert now, hands pressing down onto his backpack as he straightens, opens his mouth to /almost/ answer, then doesn't. Hm. A second of thought later, he finds an answer. Or another question. Or both! "... Can I try with pets?" Hopefulness rings clear through every word. Jackson is rising, almost in tandem with the bees. His glance flicks to tthem, and then back to Ivan. "Yeah," he says, with a slight smile. "Yeah, y'can. I'll set something up for you. For you and your pets. Gimme a few days. Gotta make something that /actually/ suits y'all." He scoops up his thermos, closing it and tucking it back into his bag. "I gotta get back to work. I'll talk to Dr. Grey, though. Tell her you'll be joining up with the tutoring." If there was any doubt left about tutoring, it seems to have left Ivan. Such is the power of excitement. Ivan's smile returns full force. "I will try my /best/ to get better at /everything/." Again, this is presented as fact. The next statement that leaves him, also, is free of judgement or doubt. "I hope you will feel better than not worse. Thank you for the talking." Jackson's smile flashes warmer. Bright and, for a moment, the air around him is bright, too. "Yeah. Thanks. I like talking with you." His hand lifts, like tipping a hat; one that he's not wearing except the next moment he /is/, a broad-brimmed red Stetson that he lifts to Ivan. "See you soon." The hat vanishes again as soon as it returns to his head, and he's still smiling as he heads back inside.