ArchivedLogs:Not in the Manual

Not in the Manual
Dramatis Personae Kyinha, Shane
In Absentia	2014-09-22 "Seriously? You teach trig, man. Trust me. Nobody wants to be in that class." (Flashback)
Location <XS> Boathouse
Perpetually filled with the quiet background noise of the lapping tide, the boathouse is a cozy escape from the mansion proper. The few boats docked here are small, but suffice for sails around the lake (or, in the case of the one swift powerboat, a speedy motor around it) -- posted signs by them remind users of the regulations required for their use. Tucked away in the back half of the boathouse are living quarters, small and spartan and snug, with a kitchen, bathroom, small sitting area, and a bedroom fit for two. It's lunchtime, now, and elsewhere at the school things are bustling. The Great Hall is likely noisy and boisterous and full of people stuffing their face with Ms. Chavan's delicious cooking. The grounds, too, are noisy; people enjoying the warm start-of-fall weather by taking lunch outside or snatching the time for a quick game on the playing fields. Far off down by the lake, the boathouse is kind of an oasis away from the noise. Away from /that/ kind of noise, anyway. It has sound of its own -- the ceaseless lap of water against the dock, the creak of the boats. And, at the moment, the sound of a violin, playing a Sarasate caprice. Shane is tucked away in here, dressed neatly as he usually is -- crisp and elegantly embroidered vest over a dark dress shirt, neat slacks, polished Oxfords, his instrument tucked under his chin where he stands by the open window looking out over the lake. Kyinha walks along the shoreline barefoot, with the cuffs of his jeans rolled up to his knees and his short-sleeve shirt (covered with a Pythagorean tiling pattern in red and purple) is unbottoned over a black undershirt. He has a steel waterbottle clipped to the rough-woven belt of his jeans. Stops, tilts his head to listen to the music. Then heads for the boathouse. He walks out far enough along the pier to look up and see the violinist. Nods, doesn't interrupt. Sits down with one leg folded up to his chest and the other dangling over the end of the pier, listening. Gazing off over the water. Doesn't interrupt, perhaps, but the music cuts off at Kyinha's nod regardless. There's a small flutter of Shane's gills, his jaw clenching as he lowers his bow. For a moment he just grimaces out the window, but presently vanishes from it, stooping low to tuck his violin and bow back into their case. Looking up at the Shane, Kyinha blinks a couple of times, quickly. But then he turns back to the water, unpurturbed. "Since you have stopped anyway," he says, his accent thicker than it usually comes out in class, but just as difficult to place, "can I talk to you a minute?" He half turns toward the window again, one glowing yellow eye widening slightly. "You're talking." Shane snaps his case shut and locked. "You need my permission for it?" "No, but I want to talk /with/ you and not /at/ you." Kyinha lets his other leg hang down over the water, too. "If you do not want to have a conversation, then we will not." He shrugs. Unhooks the water bottle from his belt, opens it to take a long drink. Shane's gills flutter again. He stays where he is, crouched down by his violin case, his fingers tracing slowly over its lid. "Is that some fucking stock line they feed you in the teacher manual? If I had a nickel for every time I've heard from one of you rolling up trying to pretend like /you're/ the one who wants to talk for /real/ --" His inner eyelids slide shut, hand splaying down against the case. "Alright. What?" "The teacher manual?" Kyinha's feet kick at the surface of the lake. "Skimmed it. I rolled up because the music was lovely." He half-turns, pulling one leg up onto the dock. The water glistens weirdly against the featureless black of his skin. "I would like to know why you left out of class today." Shane's black eyes focus for a moment on Kyinha's leg, narrowing before he looks back down at his instrument case. "Seriously? You teach trig, man. Trust me. Nobody wants to be in that class." "I heard rumors that my subject is not so popular." One corner of Kyinha's mouth pulls upward, and his eyes squint slightly, all made more visible by the faint fiery glow that emanates from them. "The problem with liking math is that it seems all very interesting to /me/. What do you think would make it more...engaging?" He leans back, bracing his hands on the wooden planks of the pier. "Or is graphing cosine functions just boring beyond help?" "My twin adores it, but B's fucking nuts." Shane snorts, curling a hand around the handle of his violin case. He hefts it as he finally straightens, holding the instrument by his side. "It'd be more engaging if any of this shit actually mattered. But I don't really see that being a thing you're going to fix." "But trigonometry is very useful! As high school math goes, probably the most practical of all. Not to say that a discipline needs practical applications to /matter,/ but..." Kyinha's eyes narrow suddenly. "/Are/ you talking about practical applications?" "No," Shane answers promptly, but then reconsiders: "I mean, even if I was I still don't think /I'm/ likely to -- not like I'm going out and building buildings or anything but --" -- but soon cuts off this line of thinking with a sharp shake of his head. "I'm talking about all of fucking class. Everyone always /tells/ me I shouldn't skip but not a person can explain why it makes a difference." "Trigonometry is not just for architects and astronomers." Kyinha straightens up, sweeping a jet-black arm out over the waters. "You can use it for navigating, for estimating the size of distant objects, the heights of buildings and trees..." He drops the hand back to the planks. "Well. It makes a difference in how much you learn from those classes, but if the class teaches nothing you care to learn..." He shrugs again. "Anyway, I'd be a hypocrite if I told you not to cut class." "I have the textbook. Know how to read. Doesn't make /much/ of a difference." Shane slides back on a heel, shifting his weight as he transfers the case from one hand to the other. "Uh -- huh." The hairless ridge of his brows lifts slightly, but only slightly. "Fuck trig then. Guess I'll see you for finals." “If that is how your learn best, maybe not that much difference for you, but between you and me?” Kyinha grins suddenly, the glow behind his teeth making the expression look as much fierce as amused. “The textbook isn’t so great. I suppose maybe my teach also not too great, but I answer questions better than the book.” Then he tilts his head, looking thoughtful. “My syllabus does not mandate attendance, unless you count the participation grade, but I think the school does. I am not clear on how it is they will enforce that if /I/ do not. Whether you can learn the material on your own or not, I do not see what is the point of trying to /make/ you come.” He turns back to the lake now. “I’m sure we’ll see each other before finals.” “Slap even more detentions on me, tell me I can't do extracurriculars any more, tell me I can't leave campus, yell at me about what a bad attitude I have and how I need to start acting like a real person if I want to get anywhere in life,” Shane answers the question of what the school will do if he skips class in kind of an ambivalent litany, ticking points off on his claws. “I'm sure we will.” He sounds rather ambivalent about /that/, as well, as he starts for the door. Kyinha's eyes widen slightly. "Well. That is a bullshit," he says. His tone is odd and tight, his eyes narrow again to slits of fire in the dark void of his face. "Guess there's no getting away from it." One of his hands curls around the weather-cracked edge of the pier. "But if you change your mind about trig? You know where to find me."