Logs:Of References and Reliability (Or, High Pressure Environments)

Of References and Reliability (Or, High Pressure Environments)
Dramatis Personae Kavalam, Marinov
In Absentia	2020-12-09 "Say what you want about me, but 'not a hard worker' is not one of them."
Location Across the Rift - New York Slumber Party for Delinquent Mutant Bowlers - Somewhere in New York
Though there are still quite a number of wayward mutants holed up in here, slowly finding their way back to lives they left or figuring out how to build new ones, the mood around the displaced-otherworld-teenager faction of escaped prisoners is notably shifted since last night. The news of a plan -- a real, concrete, Actual Plan for going home -- somehow orchestrated by Gaétan's dopplegang-brother?! -- has spread fast and the Xavierites are readying themselves for leaving. Some of them, anyway. Kavalam doesn't seem like he's readying for anything; he's recently returned from another town run with another shopping cart full of food. As breakfast begins to percolate through the bowling alley, he takes himself off to one empty lane with a single-serving bowl of Froot Loops and a bottle of orange juice, a brand new stolen camera hung around his neck and an oversized sweatshirt worn over his blue polo. He perches himself cross-legged on a plastic seat, starting in on the food hungrily. Marinov has been cheerily gathering up their things, which is pretty much making sure they have the jacket that they arrived in and the shell of their poor broken phone. They're wearing an oversized sweather and jeans that have just been altered a little bit to let their tail roam free as it ought to. When breakfast is served, they take some of the few items that they're able to eat to try and sate their hunger and head down to the lane Kavalam went to. "Hey." Marinov takes a seat on one of the seats opposite. "Is that a new camera? Or... am I just like. Forgetting an old camera? Looks pretty nice." "I stole it," Kavalam replies, a little absently even before he looks up. "It was there and so tempting. And I thought even if this is all terrible, we should have some kind of -- record." His mouth compresses, head tipping down. "Maybe a silly thought. Likely nobody will be wanting to remember any of this, hm?" "I dunno. It's pretty fucked up but... I think it'll be good to remember it. You know the whole thing, if you forget history you're doomed to repeat it? It probably applies to like. Alternate universes too," says Marinov contemplatively. They carefully fork up a piece of bacon and nibble at it. "So there's stuff about it that... I think I'd like to remember, at least." "Which stuff, though?" It's pensive, unchallenging. Kavalam is pushing his spoon slowly through his cereal, frowning down at the flecks of colorful sugary swirls in the milk. "The part where you had a mirror twin who has died? Fleeing in terror from robots that want to kill us? Probably," he surmises -- more heavily than these first musings! -- "not that outfit." He takes another small bite of cereal and tucks one leg closer underneath himself. "Do you think it will help? If we remember -- do you think..." Here he trails off for a moment, brows knitting as he searches for words. "To avoid all this. In the other world. It felt like a lot of us in that cabin, but we are only so many." Marinov lifts their arms and look down over their current less-than-stylish clothing. "Ugh. Definitely the first thing I'm gonna do when we get back is wash and change. Hopefully you will do me the courtesy of photoshopping any pictures you take to make sure I am wearing something more suitable." They fall quiet for a moment and turn in the plastic chair, resting one foot on the one next to it. "I dunno if it will help change anything... I hope so. but I kinda doubt it. Like, I hope that people won't tell us we're overreacting when we say that it could turn out like this. Like they always do. But at least I won't have any lingering self-doubt..." "If I showed anyone a picture of you in that they would think, already I have photoshopped it. The Taylor Marinov they know would never." Kavalam almost manages to crack a smile. Not quite. "I won't be showing the picture. Not to worry. It's more for my own..." His head shakes again. "What will you do next? After this, maybe college or a job it will seem less daunting. You survive bizarre upside-down hell world, what can't you survive." "Well... I have a project I'm gonna work on with friends. And probably go to some kind of. Official design course?" Marinov seems a little skeptical about that. "I figure, yeah, I can put 'Works well in high pressure environments' on my resume now. I'll have to put you all down as references." They chuckle dryly. "How about you? You look like you could sleep for a year or so. Take a little coma." "I'll give a glowing review. Excellent performance with a small and highly agile team." This time, Kavalam does smile, small and quick before he picks up his plastic bowl to slurp down some of the remaining milk. His eyes are wider behind his glasses when he lowers it. "Me?" This seems to throw him -- for a moment he doesn't say anything past that. "I suppose class will be starting up again," he finally replies, head wobbling slow from one side to the other and his shoulders a little tighter. "I guess that's what I will get back to. Where most of us will get back to, yah?" "Yeah, I dunno if they will give you any time off for... I dunno, processing this insane thing that happened. Before getting right into it. I dunno if the admin at that school can really recognize a weird time anymore." Marinov shrugs and looks down at their plate. "Well. If you ever get some time away from the school and find yourself in the city, look me up, yeah? I--" They glance up from their plate for just a moment before jabbing lightly at the food there. "There's some things I'd rather remember. You're a good guy, Kavalam." "Oh God. I hope by the time we are the Professor's age we don't think getting yanked into backwards dimensions is just a normal vacation activity." Kavalam lowers his bowl to his knees. His eyes track down to Marinov's plate, then up to their face. Then higher, to the ceiling. He blinks several times, hard, but this doesn't stop the tears that squeeze out, splatting blurry against the lenses of his glasses before dripping the rest of the way down to his chin. "I want to say of course I will, but even if I do --" His hand lifts, and he scrubs the sleeve of his sweatshirt hard against his face. "Next week half of them will have forgotten I was ever here. Staying in touch with me --" His eyes are still wet when he looks back down, cheeks reddening under his scrubbing. His voice is quiet -- almost a bit hopeful, past the tears. "It takes a lot of work, you know?" "I think if the Professor tells me a story about something totally bonkers happening... I'm inclined to believe it at this point," remarks Marinov softly. When they look back up properly from their plate, their brow furrows just a little bit, and their tail twitches lightly a couple of times. "I'll do my best to keep in touch... say what you want about me, but 'not a hard worker' is not one of them. And--" They sigh softly and lean forward, nodding firm. "If I do. Forget, I mean. Well. I hope that we meet again, yeah?" "Very hard worker. I remember. Will be telling your future bosses with a clear conscience. At least until your business takes off." Kavalam's head wobbles again. His tears are stemming, though he still sniffles loud as he gulps down the last of his milk. His hand taps lightly at his camera, and he picks it up. Moves over to take a plastic chair beside Marinov instead, holding the camera up facing them both. "If you do forget, maybe I will just have to remind you."