ArchivedLogs:Fly on the Wall

Fly on the Wall
Dramatis Personae Ivan, Scott
In Absentia	2013-04-22 It's metal fabrication class! Where one talks about doing things (and about bees).
Location Garage in Xavier's School
(The beginning of the log is missing, unfortunately! Its contents were the start and end of the a metal fabrication class, of Ivan fumbling uselessly and never quite /managing/, and Scott doing his best to reassure him that making mistakes is A-OK.) "Like I said, Ivan - you're getting there, and with a bit more work you'll see some results. Come in after classes later this week and we'll knock the rest of this plan out," Scott says congenially, removing his helmet and pulling away his gloves. Everyone's putting stuff away now at Scott's behest, and he is gathering all the tools and equipment together into the drawers. "Ivan - do you think you could stay after class for a moment? I just have a couple more things to ask you." It's hard to judge Ivan's response to his teacher's comment, and even without the mask a moment later his expression remains fairly neutral and his movement steady. But perhaps that is a small step above the uncertainty he showed before. As has become expected of Ivan by now, he follows suit and does exactly as he's supposed to when the class ends. The very model of well-behaved! Except... then he's called. And he looks the /very opposite/, instantly freezing in place and growing slightly paler like one of the more trouble-prone students might, upon being requested to stay for a talk after class. Perhaps it's just because of the /last/ time he was told to stay after class. Halfway on his way out, he turns to face Scott, brows pushing together. But he says nothing, and steps forward obligingly. Scott waits a moment for the stragglers to clear out of the garage before he turns to face Ivan with a lightly concerned expression. His eyebrows are pinched together just over the visor. "Ivan, are you okay, lately? You're not in trouble - I just want to know if things are going how you'd like them to for you these days." Ivan's expression of confusion deepens still. But toward the end of Scott's sentence... he seems to relax a little, standing perfectly still and silent for a time period perhaps /almost/ long enough to convince Scott that he wasn't going to talk at all, until... "It has been quiet." The admittance comes with a tone of mild disappointment. "For me. Everyone else has been /busy/. Not with all good things, all of the time, but /busy/." His gaze flits to the ground for a moment, before locking back on Scott's face. "I am the fly on the wall." A twitch of a smile- brief, but enough to acknowledge that he bitterly recognises the term being a little /too/ appropriate. "What would you rather be doing with your time?" Scott asks mildly, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops on his jeans. He asks questions rather than declaring edicts with his students, a marked difference from how he treats his X-Men team. Not that anybody here would know about that. It is a good thing, then, that Ivan likes questions. He seems more than willing to respond this time, straightening slightly. "I am very-- thankful?" A beat's pause and a blink, as he thinks. "-- /Grateful/, for what I am learning. But I want to learn to /do/ things also. But maybe... maybe not with metal." Slight disappointment, there, as his head dips. "Do you want to do things like your friend Peter Parker does? He spends more time in the med bay cot than he does in his own dorm room," Scott asks in faint bemusement, tilting his head inquisitively. "I think I would /die/." Comes a quick response from Ivan, head lowering further as he raises an arm to cross it over his side. A centipede, as if sensing the discomfort of its ride, crawls out of a shirt sleeve and onto the crossed arm, pausing halfway to his hand. Ivan stares at it, tentatively adding, matter-of-factly, "I do not think I want to be in /trouble/." A faint expression of intense relief comes over Scott's face. Thank god. This kid does not want to be in trouble. The one kid in the entire god damned school who wouldn't. "But you want to be involved somehow," Scott muses, bringing his hand up to his chin to stroke it thoughtfully. "Have you given any thought to the various clubs you might join? Or rather - can you name the sort of involvement you want?" This time, when Ivan looks up, concern is back on his face. It may be that he suspects 'trouble' might have more than one definition, and he... could be about to name one very specific one. "... Bees?" Scott gives Ivan a few moment's thoughts, his lips pursing. He only ever tended to emote with his mouth and forehead, since the rest was covered up. He glances out into the school grounds, then back up the way towards the river. "Bees," he repeats in the subsequent silence, dwelling on it thoughtfully. He tilts his chin up. "I'm not making any promises, mind - but how would you deal with the responsibility of helping me build an apiary out further up towards the lake?" Ivan is quiet. The centipede on his arm skids left, then right, then zips around in a U-turn and shoots back up his sleeve and back into relative darkness. Meanwhile... Ivan's face shows a complete lack of concern all of a sudden. A complete lack of anything expressive, for a while. It's just. Staring. "... An apiary?" He echoes, quietly. When he continues, every word adds a little more pleading to his tone, "With many more than three bee hives? Wh-- d--... Bu-- ..." He /stares/. Then, a tiny little sparkle of hope, aimed directly at Scott's face. "No, a real operation - not for classes, but an actual apiary. I'd need to pitch it for funding, crunch some numbers, and go through a mountain of red-tape to make it happen," Scott says, his fingers slipping through his brown locks as he thinks it through from the outset. "But my thought is, we could use the honey from a larger-style apiary for class fundraisers. But you'd need to take the initiative with your class and see if they'd be interesting in helping you maintain it." "Class?" Ivan straightens again, eyes growing wider as the realisation hits him that this may actually /not/ be a cruel joke. "I do not-- speak to many people. But I could learn. I am sure Peter would help. He is /very fast/." Suddenly the words come to him much more easily now, and there is even a teensy smile creeping across his features. Only-- it thins, a little, suddenly. He still looks excited, for Ivan-standards, but there is a definite look of preemptive disappointment lurking. "... Oh. Do you not have to... ask. Mister Jackson. If it is okay?" "Well - part of the provision for me trying to push this through for you would be for you to take initiative and responsibility for the project, Ivan," Scott says, folding his arms across his chest meaningfully. "I'll run it by Jackson, but I'm sure he won't disagree with it. It would be a good project for you and other students." Okay, /now/ it is time to smile, and so Ivan does! He sways back and forth momentarily-- energy that he doesn't know where else to put, before nodding. Several times. "Okay- yes- okay mister Summers thank you." He's practically beaming at Scott now, and as a bonus, there are several bugs of entirely different types creeping in and out of the seams of his clothing. The ones able to go airborne /do so/, though never stray far. He turns and looks like he's about to /run/ out of the garage but restrains himself to smaller, calmer steps. Marginally so, anyway, turning around to add, "Thank you I will- go ask if- who wants to help me and can you let me know if the plan is good? Thank you."