Logs:Lake Placid

Lake Placid
Dramatis Personae Dawson, Matt, Tabitha
In Absentia	2020-09-15 "Believe you me, I'm just as much a bitch without the cancer."
Location <XAV> Lake - Xs Grounds
Bright, bright, bright; the lake glitters wide and expansive here, stretching off into the distance. Sunlight, moonlight, starlight, it catches them all. Lapping at the rocky shore, its deep waters are frigid in winter and cool even in summer. A stone pier stretches out a ways into the water, wide and smooth, though often icy in winter. The water teems with life nevertheless, home to myriad species of fish that provide for ample fishing or just lazy watching on a slow summer day, for those who want to take a boat from the boathouse out to the center of the lake, or perhaps lounge on the pier and try their luck. School has finished for the day, and while off in the distance nearer the mansion it's noisier, busier, sports practices still ongoing, out here it's been more peaceful. It's feeling distinctly like fall now, a crispness to the air, and in deference to this fact Dawson has paired a canvas jacket with his habitual khakis-and-polo wardrobe. The jacket doesn't exactly hide his prosthetic arm -- brightly-painted in an intricate design of vivid emerald bird-feathers on one side, grey and white and iridescent red on the other, it clearly makes no attempt to disguise itself as flesh -- but with his hands currently curled in his lap right now around a thermos, it's easy to overlook at a first pass. More noticeable is the thick melted-wax webbing of scarring taking up one side of his face -- not new, exactly, but certainly not there a few years ago either. "For what it is, it looks pretty good," he's saying cheerfully -- presumably to Matt, though he's looking out over the lake right now, seated comfortably cross-legged near the end of the pier, a black gym bag sitting near to his side. "I'm not expecting a lot. Big worms and good battle scenes, that's all I want." The wheelchair parked next to Dawson is not quite touching the pier, but hovering just above it, looking especially eerie given that it appears to be made of--or is at least covered in--intricate patterns of interlocking bones. Matching the aesthetic, its occupant is also looking rather skeletal, though Matt isn't quite dead yet. Beneath a gray suit jacket he's wearing a pale seafoam green dress shirt with a forest green tie covered in vaguely plantlike scrollwork, a silver chevron vest, trousers to match the jacket, and black oxfords, all of it hanging loose on his recently much-diminished frame. For all that, though, his smile comes easily. "Big worms and good battle scenes would be wonderful," he agrees. "And getting to gaze upon the splendor of Jason Momoa doesn't hurt my interest in it, either." Tabitha stops in her tracks, a hand acting as a visor to view those at the lake. She’s wearing Xavier-brand t-shirt and athletic shorts, and bruises on her arms and legs were settling into a deeper purple. Her boots thump, thump, thumped their way towards the two, her presence clear before she dips her head between them. “Woah! Long time no see, guys!” A toothy grin accompanies this, but it quickly goes away when she sees Matt. “Ohh — fuck, what the FUCK happened to you?” She stands up straight now. “Did Xavier send you to fuckin’ Chernobyl?” Her tone is more serious now. Dawson glances up, half-turning at the thumping footsteps, and though the smile that touches his face is immediate, warm, reflexive, it's accompanied somewhat less noticeably at a distance by a brief tensing of shoulders, a harder clench of fingers around his thermos that's soon to pass. He lifts a hand (the flesh one), waving as Tabitha approaches. His eyes flick to Matt at the question, but only briefly -- when he looks back to Tabitha his smile has slipped just a little crooked. "Turns out, you can get cancer right here in New York." Matt does not turn, but his bony fingers move over a smooth panel in the right armrest and his entire chair rotates smoothly in place so he can see the newcomer. "Tabitha!" His grin is bright. "I hear you've been up to no good." At Dawson's comment his smile grows even wider, to faintly disturbing effect given his sunken eyes and cheeks. "It's the chemo, anyway, not radiation." He lifts his wig up as if tipping a hat--which turns out to be a terrible plan as it doesn't quite settle back right. He doesn't seem to notice. Tabitha’s eyes go wide. Any wider, they might just fall out. “Ohh... cancer cancer. That... Right.” Her cheeks burn hot in embarrassment, but she quickly deters this by answering Matt’s question. “Yeah! Accidentally blew the fuck outta my tuna roll spot.” She moves to insert herself in between them. “—And Jean. So now I’m hanging out here ‘til things blow over.” Tabitha doesn’t give much time for either of them to comment before she’s bouncing to the next thought to cross her mind. “Have you SEEN that blue demon guy? Don’t know his name. But he is FREAKY. Cool freaky. I wonder if German mutants got some crazy ass X-Gene thing.” She makes a mental note to go to Germany. Dawson's smile -- smaller, now, polite, is getting just a little fixed in place as Tabitha speaks. "Uh --" A flush creeps up into his cheeks, his brow furrowing. "Blue demon guy doesn't actually narrow -- oh." The mention of German puts more understanding into his expression. "I think they probably have the same X-Gene as us. Not sure how much most people love being called freaky blue demons, here or there." Matt looks more obviously unimpressed, his smile fading though not gone altogether. He emits a soft tsk sound. "Kurt. It's a small school. Kids say you were getting him to throw bombs at them?" The rise in his intonation is only mildly inquisitive. "Probably not the best decision if you're trying to hide out here. The other, less stylish bald guy in a chair won't hesitate to kick you out if you keep that sort of thing up." “Woah woah WOAH, I did not ’get him’ to throw bombs, he asked to.” She scoffs at the mention of Xavier, crossing her arms. Tabitha actually doesn’t speak immediately. She tries, of course, but each beginning of her sentence ends as quickly as it starts. “Okay,” reluctantly, “you’re right. Less bombs.” Her brows furrows. A correction. “No bombs.” Again, Tabitha hops onto the next topic. “So! Been a hot minute, yeah?” She wedges herself in between them both. “Anything cool happen while I was gone?” She smiles wide, eager for information of any coolness. Dawson stands, almost automatic, when Tabitha inserts herself beside him, shifting to the edge of the pier. His fingers drum restlessly at the side of his thermos, a slight bounce in his posture. "I was never all that cool," he answers, mildly, "so I'm probably a bad judge of how to measure that. Not much has blown up, lately. Well. Before now, anyway." "I think you're unfortunately the adult in that situation," Matt points out, bemused. "But I just thought I should give you fair warning in case you've forgotten how he is. In fairness I think most of the staff are probably with him on the topic of explosions on campus." He shrugs. "I missed out on a lot of summer here owing to treatment, but some students ran away for a good chunk of it and hung out with some rich alumni in Midtown. I am also not the best arbiter of cool, but they seemed to think it was, at least." Tabitha spreads her legs out, making herself comfortable as she listens. She’s half-paying attention, focusing on the lake. There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes. It abruptly goes away as she turns her attention back to both of them. “That’s... alright.” She huffs, cheeks puffing out to accentuate her boredom. She takes another glance at both of them. Blue eyes go wide. “Wh—YOUR ARM!” She exclaims to Dawson. The blonde quickly stands up, tilting her head to examine. “WHAT! You—wh-“ She shakes her head. “That’s so cool! Not — not that you lost it, but, but, uhm — you know?” Dawson's fidget-bounce settles into stillness. He lifts the thermos, a long pull at its contents delaying any immediate reply. His smile does not return when he lowers it; his voice, at least, is still just its previous mild calm. "Well, you're for sure not the first person to say that to me." His fingers flex slowly -- the mechanical ones, this time, a slight glint of sun off the bright-colored feather design. "How about you, though? I'm sure you've had all kinds of adventures." Matt slow-blinks at Tabitha. "My gods, but you really ought to consider giving thought to the words that come out of your mouth, at least every now and then." His tone is exceedingly mild despite the content of his remark. "I suppose you might not have quite so many adventures if you did--or misadventures. I imagine they're hard to distinguish." Tabitha sharply turns on her heel to Matt. “Just ‘cause you have cancer don’t mean you get an excuse to be a bitch.” The second those words leave her mouth, she feels her heart sink and she quickly backtracks. “Okay. Uhh — that was uncalled for.” A pause. “You’re right ‘bout that, uhh, consideration thing. Yeah... uhh.” She changes the topic to avoid further embarrassment. “I had th’ time of my life out in Cali! Used to blow the shit outta mutant haters.” She smiles, but it does not have the joy it usually has. It is bitter, painful, even. “FUCK them anti’s. Fuck EVERYONE there.” She tiptoes around the real source of her anger. “They’re all — all fake — fake fucking BITCHES who don’t deserve SHIT.” She’s shaking in anger now, hands curled into fists as small beams of light shoot out from the cracks of her fingers. “God — I-I shoulda — shoulda fuckin’ blown the WHOLE place to the ground.” The taptaptap of Dawson's fingers stills now, as well. "Oh, cancer's definitely not an excuse, but what's yours, exactly?" He stoops to scoop his bag up, tucking the thermos into a side pocket. The tension, now, in his muscles is more evident, eye twitching slightly at the anger in Tabitha's voice. "You seem like you're -- working through a lot right now. I think we should leave you to it." "Believe you me, I'm just as much a bitch without the cancer, if you get on the wrong side of me," Matt says, light and airy as if he were discussing the weather and Tabitha weren't literally incandescent with rage. "At least I don't act like I'm entitled to be entertained by everyone around me, nor condescend at those too 'boring' for that--until it's time for them to bail me out. Speaking of which, here's your bail-out for the day." The flare of Tabitha's power cools, the light from her hands extinguishing abruptly. "Have a lovely day," comes syrupy sweet as his chair rotates again, hovering away up the pier toward land. Tabitha’s shoulders slouch, looking at her hands in shock. She has this hurt puppy face like someone just slapped her in the face, but, she doesn’t speak. She just watches in silence, blue eyes dewy as Matt leaves. Her hands flop to her sides, nose flaring as the burning anger inside her returns. “Fine! Fine. Whatever.” She tries not to sound hurt despite clearly sounding hurt. “You have a lovely day too!” She shouts at him, some spit leaving her teeth. She turns to Dawson, unable to say a word. Just a look. Then, she leaves.