Logs:The Right Feeling

The Right Feeling
Dramatis Personae Beau, Marcus, Zeke
In Absentia	2020-11-12 "I think the best place to start is with something you know."
Location <XAV> Art Room - Xs Second Floor
Smells of paints and chalks and turpentine mingle freely in this room, well-used, well-stocked. Natural light flows in, plentiful through the large windows. The long counter-like tables are speckled with spots of color, and half finished projects often stand on easels or propped in corners. The many cupboards lining the walls are crammed full of art supplies. It's a quiet evening around Xavier's -- exams haven't started yet but with them looming so close on the horizon the spectre of End-Of-Term Projects and catching up on notes is hovering over many heads, keeping the atmosphere a little more subdued than in previous weeks. The art room, like many around school, is Pretty Quiet as well; one of the long high tables is occupied only by a skinny teenager, head bowed over a paper, blandly dressed in jeans and red-and-black striped polo. Even at a school like Xavier's Marcus stands out -- this might be a mutant school but most all of its residents still look human at first glance. Not so him, rich azure skin kiiiind of a giveaway together with his oddly long tapered fingers and toes, squared pupils, the oddly out-of-proportion elongation of his face and neck, point-tipped ears. For those who bother to pay more attention, none of these things really obscure the distinct Black phenotype of many of his features; thick neatly-shaped up black coils, broad nose, wide full mouth which at the moment is pressed into a disgruntled frown. He frowns down at the page he's been sketching on -- a very clumsy half-finished rendition of a chessboard -- and crumples it into a ball to try again fresh. Zeke hurried into the art room--a large canvas underneath his arm. He had woken up from a late nap mere moments earlier, and his curly black afro was in a tangle of bed-head. At least he had managed to throw together an outfit that matched; the New York Fall was a bit colder than he was used to, so he had thrown on a red hooded sweatshirt and a pair of tan slacks. His white sneakers had seen better days but after weeks of trekking up North, it was a miracle his shoes had survived at all. Without taking notice of anything--or anyone--around him, Zeke rushed over to an empty easel and began setting up his supplies. He placed his canvas on the easel, removed his paint set from his oversized black art bag, then he sat back to examine the painting he had started earlier in the week. The canvas held a landscape painting of an empty and forlorn service road, backed up against a crumbling stone wall and a stretch of unruly grass--Zeke frowned and reached for a brush. He stopped when he realized that he didn't have any water. "Well dang," Zeke muttered. Standing up to his full 5'10" height, Zeke was already halfway to the sink when he noticed the other student in the art room. "Oh," Zeke stopped in his tracks. "I uh, didn't realize that anyone else was in here. I'm sorry. It was rude of me to walk in and not say anything." Zeke stopped rambling and considered for a moment. "I'm Zeke. It's a pleasure to know ya." Moments later the doorway darkens and Beau squeezes his way into the room, careful not to knock anything over. Once safely inside the man right himself to his full seven feet and let’s out a mildly annoyed grumble before drawling out a “Howdy, howdy.” He’s dressed in a slightly oversized black hoodie, a rough pair of boot cut denim jeans, and a pair Georgia logger boots. The bushy mess of facial hair he had previously has been trimmed into something more manageable and waxed into place. Marcus looks up, wide-eyed and blinking as Zeke rushes around the room. His feet swing languidly, heels bumping at the rung of his stool. He bobs his head in answer to Zeke's greeting, his mouth working silently for a moment; it's only just as he's worked himself up to venturing an uncertain, "-- Yyyes, are you --" that Beau squeezes in and he shuts his mouth again. Nods to Beau. Considers both the other students thoughtfully before trying again, words slow and measured with a thick Haitian accent: "You are a new?" His eyes skip to the easel, then back to Zeke. "Yours? Painting?" "Yup, new. Definitely new. Very new." Zeke's back straightened the moment the older man entered the room. "Hello, sir." Zeke turned toward Beau, but he didn't meet his eyes. "Uh, yeah. That's my painting," he turned his attention back to Marcus. "I was just fixin' to add a bit more details to a piece I started earlier this week. I didn't think anyone would be in here. Apologies if I'm interruptin'." Though Zeke was facing Marcus again, his posture remained ramrod straight. Every once in awhile he'd steal a furtive look at Beau. "Sir, are you a teacher here?" Zeke knew that he hadn't met every member of the Xavier's school faculty and staff yet. "I hope it's not a problem that I'm in here." Had he forgotten a rule? Some type of curfew? Maybe he needed permission to use this art room. It was close to finals he had been told. Maybe his weird almost-a-student-but-not-quite status didn't allow him all the same privileges as actual enrolled members of the student body. Zeke squared his shoulder and braved a quick look at the older man's face, trying to discern some hint of his mood. "I'm not fixin' to cause any trouble." Beau didn’t take any notice of Zeke’s sudden demeanor change, bumbling past to look for some supplies. He makes it most the way through browsing the paints before the nervous teen gets his attention, “Do what?” He turns to look at the others, brows drawn together. It takes a beat longer than it should for him to figure out what’s going on. “Oh. Nah, I’m a student, just have one of those faces.” 'Sir,' Marcus mouths silently to himself, looking from Zeke to Beau uncertainly. "He is not --" he starts, though Beau clarifies this for him soon enough. "You look older," he decides after this. "Than -- real art teacher." His feet start to swing again. "Mr. Holland," he informs Zeke earnestly, "verrrrrrry..." He hesitates here. Scrunches his mouth to one side, flicks his eyes again between the other two students. Settles, carefully, on: "colorful." Now he's studying the painting again. "Where?" His long fingers flutter toward the landscape. Upon hearing that this hulking figure was another student, Zeke instantly relaxed. "Christ, you bout gave me a heart attack." Zeke laughed candidly. "Thought I was in trouble or something. Yeah, big guy you definitely look older" Zeke said to Beau, then he turned and smiled at Marcus. "Preciate the heads up," Zeke laughed his deep laugh again, wondering what Marcus meant by 'colorful'. "Oh, that?" Zeke looked over at his canvas. "It's the first place I slept the night after I...left home," Zeke quickly rushed on. "It kinda stuck with me. I had to get it out on canvas." He shrugged. "I can't quite get the feeling right. Ya know?" “To be fair he’s some sorta Archfey.” Beau points at Marcus before making a vague shrugging gesture. “Hopefully I don’t start looking any older. Not for a few decades anyway.” He turns back around again and digs for a few more moments before finally settling on colors. “I know what ya mean, I can’t get the hang of this atall.” "Archfey?" Marcus studies the painting a moment longer, then shakes his head. "What feeling?" He looks down at his own blank page, a smile cracking crookedly across his face. "I cannot... draw. Already --" He gestures to Zeke's painting again, gives it an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "Very good to me." Zeke flashed a huge smile at Marcus, causing laugh lines to form at the corners of his eyes. "Much appreciated." He sobered and thought for a moment, crossing his arms and placing his chin on his upturned fist. "Now how do I go about explainin' the feeling of art?" He turned towards Beau. "It's like when the big guy over here walked on into the room and I kind of froze up. If I tried to paint a picture of that scene with the way I was feelin' at the moment I'd have to convey those emotions. I'd probably use a lot of dark colors and maybe work with the perspective so that whoever was lookin' at the painting got the feeling of looking up at something imposin'." Zeke walked over to Marcus and looked at his blank page. "No use waiting. You won't get any better until you start." Then as an afterthought, he looked up at Marcus and gave him a crooked smile. "Archfey?" “Like.. a really strong fairy.” Beau tries to explain. “Just not evil.” He heads over to set up his own canvas. “Just got to where I don’t immediately snap pencils anymore, so it might be a bit much to try jumping into art immediately. Reckon there’s no pressure for it to be perfect either though.” He sucks on his teeth and stares blankly at the empty canvas as Zeke speaks, not really moving the entire time. “I honestly have no idea where to even begin.” Marcus rests an elbow on the table, his weight leaning forward and dark eyes fixed intently on Zeke as he speaks. His nod is slow, pensive, but more eager at the conclusion of this. "Oh! Yes. Like how to --" He holds both hands up, forefingers and thumbs squared opposite each other. "Frame a shoot. For movies. Maybe lights dark. Maybe bad music." His hand drops back, chin resting on his palm. "Begin -- class? We have class. Good teacher. You can take?" "Oh, is that your...thing? You're strong?" Zeke looked over at Beau. "That's a lot cooler than what I got..." he muttered. "Well when you do feel up to making some art, I think the best place to start is with something you know," Zeke shrugged. "All my earliest paintings were of my home town or my favorite cartoon characters or...my mom." He shook his head as if fighting off a thought. "Practice makes habit after all. The more you work at it, the better you'll get." Then looking over at Marcus; "That's exactly right. Painting is a lot like takin' a picture or filmin' a video. You have to make sure the message you want to convey can get across to the viewer." Zeke pulled over a stool and sat next to Marcus. "I haven't enrolled in any classes yet, but I definitely intend to sign up for an art class. I'm still lookin' over the list of classes and the graduation requirements. I'd like to meet the art teacher if possible. I was on track to getting in an AP art course at my old school," Zeke shrugged. "I'd like to get back on course if possible." "Teachers -- very helpful." Marcus assures Zeke earnestly. "They will -- put. On course." He looks back at the painting, thoughtful, then to his blank page. The quick smile he gives to Zeke is just a little sheepish. "Message!" This is echoed like a revelation. He sets his pencil down, studying the page as if it might hold answers. Kind of amused: "Maybe -- should figure that. First."