Logs:Fool Proof

Fool Proof
Dramatis Personae Roscoe, Tok
In Absentia Hive, Jax	2024-08-19 "Society. We’re in it."
Location <XAV> Treehouse - Xs Grounds
Built by enterprising students of yesteryear, this treehouse has weathered generations of Xaviers' students coming up here to study -- or escape from studying. A cozy retreat, its wood planks are sturdy and well-sanded, fit snug together to keep out draft. Snacks occasionally find their way up here, and the roof keeps the rain off well enough to pass a night -- so long as the teachers don't catch any students at it. For anyone agile enough to make the jump, a lucky leap juuust might carry them from here to the school rooftop, so long as they're careful of the drop... It hadn’t been raining when Tok had dragged Roscoe out to the treehouse to ‘study’, but it sure was raining now, the droplets relentlessly attacking the roof of the treehouse, dribbling down the sides in steady streams. Luckily, the inside of the treehouse was dry—and unless they wanted to get absolutely soaked in an attempt to get back, the two were stuck until the rain stopped or calmed down. “I really thought it was done for today.” Tok defends, laying on their stomach on the wooden planks of the floor, watching the rain stream by. Their rain boots are shoved into the corner, muddy from the day’s earlier rain, and now Tok’s just in their socks, cargo shorts, and a soft grey t-shirt. They’re a bit more mellowed out today, if the darker than usual circles under their eyes have anything to do with it, tail waving languidly side to side. Beside them sits a few sheets of practice problems—actually complete, and one almost done on top. They roll on their side to get a better look at Roscoe, “Weather app said it was done for a few hours and everything.” They huff, and roll onto their back now, “Hey you hear ‘bout the new dorms? Seem pretty cool.” "'Course I heared about the new dorms." Roscoe is also sprawled out on the floor, though he's lying on his back, one arm folded behind his head as a makeshift cushion, one sneaker propped up against the wall. He is dressed a little more appropriately for the rain -- at least his sweatshirt has a hood, but he's also wearing shorts. "I met the architect," this is definitely a brag, though then he adds, "So did you." When he straightens the leg propped up on the wall, it incidentally pushes him onto his side toward his own stack of exam prep, which he levels with a squinty frown; he rolls the rest of the way onto his elbows, propping his chin up on his fists. "-- I asked him to include a functionable batcave but I never get what I want," he laments. “I have?” Tok asks, “It’s not Mr. Jax is it? Swear that guy can do everything.” They bring their hands up to their head and run their fingers through their hair, trying to massage out a headache they’d likely complained about before, centered around their horns that’d been very slowly growing over the summer. “Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe we can riot and get a functional batcave.” They suggest, “We could riot about exams too, two birds one stone.” Despite their mellowed out energy a smile makes it’s way on their face, “Bet we could get a lotta people on board for that.” Roscoe shakes his head -- "The teep," he clarifies. He drops one hand to spread his stack of study materials into a photogenic splay of paper, then ruins it by putting his head down in it. "You can riot about it," he says, "leave me out of it. You know how many riots have paid off for me?" Tok blinks blearily as they attempt to remember, “Oh. The guy who called me dumb right?” They reach beside them to grab their papers, waving them in their mostly complete glory, “I’mma show him. I’m gonna ace these exams.” They let the papers drop back down beside them. “Uh. One?” They guess, non-seriously, then sigh, “Alright no riots. This time. Only cause I’m feeling good about these.” They gesture a hand towards Roscoe’s study material, “How you feeling?” When Roscoe tilts his head back up, it crinkles the paper under his chin, forcing him to push back onto his elbows to fussily gather his things back into their pile, tapping the stack neatly on the floor to realign its corners. "I feel like riots do great things for society and terrible things for me," he says. "I'm, uh, relatively chilling? I'm --" propped up on his shoulders like this, his shrug looks more like a dip of his head than anything else. "I can be good at school." Tok considers this in quiet, and ultimately rolls onto their stomach again, forehead pressed into the floorboards. “Well I guess one way to look at it—kinda pays off for you. Since.” They spin a finger in the air, “Society. We’re in it. Yada yada. Glass half full or something.” They sigh, tiredly, and let their hand drop back into their mess of hair again. They turn their head to the side and rest it on their arm to look at Roscoe, “What d’you mean by that? You make it sound like a choice.” Roscoe sinks uneasily into his shoulders. "I wasn't in society," he says, a little sourly, "I was in jail." He sets his stack of papers down carefully, keeping all the corners squared, his brow furrowing with confusion. "I mean, I can be bad at school too, if I want to." Tok winces, “Ahhh shit.” They turn their head back into the floorboards again, “Glass empty then. Sorry.” They let out a breath that puffs out their cheeks, “And I dunno was just a weird way of saying it. My brain’sall mush today gimme a break.” They peek their head back out and use their claws to run along the sanded grain of the wood, not pressing hard enough to actually scratch it. “Hey, d’you know what you wanna do? When you’re old n’ shit.” They ask suddenly, as they’re prone to do, curiosity pitching their voice higher. “Like, for a job or whatever.” To Tok's reaction, Roscoe is pinching his face into a frown -- "I'm still pro-riot," he adds; this may be totally at odds with what he was just saying, but he says it like it follows quite logically. "I'm not saying I wouldn't suck it up and riot if I had to, just, no offense your problems are not worth that to me." (Prefacing this with 'no offense' does not really help his blunt tone.) He drags his pencil case closer to extricate a clicky plastic pen, which he clicks a few too many times before he actually seems prepared to do any writing with it. "No," he says. "You?" “My problems? I’d say no exams are for the greater good of all.” Tok’s spreading their arms out above their head, before returning to tracing the grains of the wood, “Just also convenient for me.” Tok is grinning a little now, sharp teeth just barely poking out. The ear closest to Roscoe flicks lazily at the sound of his pen clicking, “Oh thank god dude. Me neither. Can’t even picture it.” They reach out and drag the paper they’d been working on a bit closer, lifting up to look at it. They don’t begin working, but they certainly do seem to consider it. “Hey! Backup plan if everything goes to shit. We start a joint business. Fool proof plan.” Roscoe wrinkles his nose, though now he's not not smiling. "Uh-huh. How many riots have you been in, Robespierre?" He gets to work on a set of review problems, head bowed over his paper. "Nope, that sounds like a you problem too. Starting to think you don't know what 'fool-proof' means." “Psh…so many….at least one. I think. How many you been in?” Tok begins copying down another problem. “And of course it’s fool proof. We’d be unstoppable with our uh….” They tilt their head and tap their pencil against the floor, “I bet we’d make pretty good bee keeper-exterminator-people. You could find where the nest is in a house or wherever, and then I can fit into the lil spaces to smoke’m out.” They shift on their side and raise their hands, “Not bad right?” "You think?" Roscoe repeats skeptically -- "If you don't know if it counts, it doesn't count." Conspicuously, he isn't answering the question, just scratching dutifully away at his math. "No offense," again his tone alone is definitely heralding deep, sincerely-meant offense, "no, I don't want to do that." “Then I think it counts! So it does. I just-wasn’t in it for very long.” Tok pauses partway through copying down the problem to squeeze their eyes shut, before blinking a few times and finishing up their copy. They look up at Roscoe, “Well- Guess that’s one step closer to figuring what you wanna do. Figuring out what you don’t wanna do.” They look back down to their sheet and make a few marks, “Why would I take offense? I don’t care that you don’t wanna work with bees.” "You think I've lasted long in any riots? Last time I got involved in a riot I got stabbed." Roscoe lifts his head just to roll his eyes, like this was super cringe of him, then drops his gaze back to his paper. "I said 'no'." Is this supposed to answer the question? Is it an attempt to close the subject? Roscoe is not giving much indication either way, just staring down at his work like he's super focused on it. Tok’s eyes widen, but they don’t look up from their paper, very consciously keeping their eyes from raising to look at him. “That. Sucks.” They say keeping their voice very carefully casual. They do then, glance up, “Who uh…who stabbed you?” They make a few marks on their paper again, but it’s probably mostly nonsense if anyone were to look at it very closely. "Nobody you know," Roscoe reassures them. Tok’s face scrunches again. Whether it’s from the headache or Roscoe’s response or a combination, perhaps it’s unclear. Their face unscrunches as they look up at him, “…of course I don’t know them. Can you imagine if I did?” They spin their pencil up and down their fingers. The spinning pauses as they seem to consider something, and they glance up briefly at Roscoe before focusing back down on their paper. “Glad you’re no longer stabbed or whatever.” Roscoe gives another head-dip-shrug, oddly wince-like in effect. "Naw, I bet you know people who've stabbed other people in jail," he says, one corner of his mouth tugging into half a smile; he taps the clicky end of his pen against his cheek thoughtfully. It takes him an awkwardly long moment to respond with, "Thanks," and then -- after another moment of consideration -- "I don't recommend it." Tok is quiet, their pencil back to spinning between their fingers, “Yeah. Just hope it’s not the one who stabbed you.” Their tail begins waving back and forth a bit more quickly now, maybe hitting Roscoe by accident once or twice. They don’t seem to notice, quickly scratching something down on their paper, “Ah shit really? There goes my afternoon plans. You got a cool scar at least?” "Oh definitely not, don't worry," says Roscoe, with a grimace-y grin; he's shifting himself over on the floor, pulling himself out of range of Tok's tail. "I'm not showing you." Tok grins and sits up, quickly boxing in an answer on their paper, “Ah c’mon! I won’t take it, promise.” They glance up distractedly, at the rain that’s seems to be dying off. They quickly lean over to grab their rain boots, “Hey wanna try the roof route? Heard someone say you can jump from here to the school.” "Dude, you couldn't land jumping off the swings." Roscoe isn't looking at Tok at all, anymore, just doggedly doing his work. "-- if you break your neck, that'll get you out of exams." Tok is shoving their boots on, “I totally could! Was just under pressure. But tempting. Hey-maybe we’d get cool matching scars if I miss.” They say, as if they don’t have some of their own. They quickly gather their papers, and shove them into a folder, “Alright no roof route—this time. But hey—maybe a good back up plan for next exams.” They grin, “Fool proof plan, some might say.”