Logs:Bird School

Bird School
Dramatis Personae Mr. Horus, Roscoe
In Absentia Joshua	2024-09-16 "For a serious serious business like chess advisings I will have to find a serious serious serious hat!!!"
Location <XAV> Back Patio - Xs Grounds
This patio is expertly laid out for relaxing singly or in groups. The section nearest the back door is a more or less conventional veranda, the mansion's eaves--supported by elegant white wooden columns joined with matching railings--extending out to shelter the long porch swings, rocking chairs, and a chess table from the elements. Down the stairs or the ramp from this is a fan-shaped expanse of slate flagstones populated by clusters of deck chairs and picnic tables, always changing in number and arrangement, and stone planter boxes bursting with seasonal flowers and ornamentals. The centerpiece is an elegant pavilion with a hot tub open for use year-round, even if the transition in and out may prove chilly in snowy weather. The grounds today are pleasant -- no evening chill yet, only a very mild breeze. A cluster of students have set up a boisterous game of spikeball on the grass not too far away, but everyone on the patio is much more sedate, enjoying a quiet Monday evening. Roscoe is sitting alone, crunched into one of the chess table chairs with a cushion he stole from one of the rocking chairs, the board set up sideways. He's wearing bright red basketball shorts and a long-sleeved rugby shirt in bright and navy blue stripes, the sleeves juuust too long for him in a way that is making it easy if not subtle to conceal a vape in one hand, which he is hitting right now to blow a blue-razz-breeze puff across the stone battlefield before he makes a move -- the game is far underway right now and it is not immediately clear which side is winning; Roscoe has been playing both teams pretty aggressively. Did somebody say aggressive? There is right now a raptor streaking in a tight intense dive towards the patio, pulling up sharp at a late moment to land with an unnecessarily hair-ruffling flap of immense wings on the back of the chair opposite Roscoe. In lieu of Roscoe's invisible opponent Horus is now eying the board with one huge eye, head sharply tilted to the side. His beak stabs downward as he picks up a pawn to whack an opposing bishop off its spot and clack the pawn into its place. Around the straps of the harness currently carrying his tablet, his chest feathers ruffle out. His beak clacks several times around a very un-raptor-like cackling sort of jackdaw chattering. Roscoe is already sitting so compactly -- knees pulled up spikily in front of him, shoulders curled -- that there isn't much more he could do to cower beyond a sharp but tiny cringe, but he stares wide-eyed and unblinking back at his surprise opponent from behind his (suddenly badly dishevelled) mop of hair, his mouth very slightly agape. Flinches again at the whack, but this seems to stir him back into the present -- he hastily reaches with one hand, mostly hidden in its sleeve, to move the bishop into its proper POW camp at the side of the board, now staring very hard at -- well, his eyelids are lowered like he's looking at the board now, but the movements of his head are definitely tracking Horus. "Oh," he says, trying for total nonchalance, "Hi, Mr. Horus, sir, I didn't know you play chess." Horus's head stretches just a little more uncannily sideways, halfway to upside-down where he is peering steadily at Roscoe. His large sharp talons curl harder against the back of the chair. His wings tuck themselves neatly at his sides. His feathers ruffle out a little puffier, and he huffs a small and quiet huff. He flicks at the catch of his harness to let his tablet fall into its outward-usable position, plucking up his stylus so that he can swipe out a message. A moment later the device is speaking, sonorous and deep: 'well then what a good good good teacher i am teaching you one thing already here is your bird fact for the day chess is mandatory in bird school all all all birds play chess. i had to play chess before i could fly. how did you learn chess chess chess you barely even have hands only sleeves.' Roscoe is definitely still staring; his head tilts along with Horus's, though he has a much smaller range of neck movement; after a moment he adjusts himself in the chair with one whumphing flurry of motion, maybe this crouched cringe was sort of uncomfortable. He still looks a little uncomfortable, reaching up ineffectually to fix his hair with one hand, just the tips of his fingers visible at the edge of his sleeve as he fusses at his bangs. There is some lingering discomfort in his bucktoothed grin too but he is gamely accepting the premise of bird school with a serious nod -- "Shoot, you're the first bird who's ever played chess with me. I knew I should have invested in a tiny chess table I can't believe I'm missing out on bird chess." Probably Roscoe can see his own hands but he is not bothering to shake the sleeve back maybe just because this is the hand hiding his vape. "My sister taught me," he says. "She's actually really bad. I learned all the good strategy in chess school." At chess school Horus draws himself up-up-up, sharp and indignant. He is looking fixedly at Roscoe a long moment, keen and piercing, before he drops his head to generously, ponderously concede: 'chess school chess school you must jest school what a grave grave grave impertinence you are very young i will not report this to the bird council wait wait wait wait' Somewhere in the waits his feathers are starting to ruffle again, and then, just as quick, smooth back down. 'this chess chess chess school this is just some other lab lab lab eu you youth euf lab code lab word lab Prometheus code slang I can't keep track' "I'm sixteen," Roscoe retorts, as though this is a very big age. "I could totally be tried as an adult before the bird council." Why would he want this, unclear. He's folded his floppy sleevehands in front of his mouth to regard both the board and Horus with a squint, first suspicious and then very satisfied -- "Lol," he says, then -- a little apologetically -- "Were you a labrat? Shoot. If I knew that I woulda told the good joke it's just, most people get all weird." Either way this is emboldening him enough to take another hit of his vape directly in front of a teacher. 'Mendeleev 16' -- Horus doesn't actually take the time to swipe this, quick and immediate with just a tap it is clearly one of the many pieces of information he has deemed important enough to have a precoded button in his AAC for poking in rapid delivery. 'get your good good good joke ready.' He folds his tablet back up and, with an oddly careful precision, moves the pawn back to where it had been. Plucks the bishop back into its place. Then takes off, only to divebomb the board again and thwack the bishop resoundingly out of its spot once more as he lands back on the back of the chair again, eying Roscoe sharply. His beak clacks against the head of the pawn as he sets it down. "Lassiter." Roscoe does not bother giving a year, perhaps he simply does not see the need to. "You -- what? Nooo the moment is --" The moment is not gone, apparently. He gawps after Horus, though this time he takes the divebomb and the dishevelment of his hair unflinchingly, moves the bishop back to the side with the other captured pieces somewhat automatically before he flattens his hair again, blowing out a bemused raspberry. "-- learned all the serious strategy from serial killers, those guys are playing a form of chess undiscovered by science." He scoots a rook sideways across the board at Horus. Horus is bobbing his head lightly as Roscoe re-shevels himself. At the joke his beak clack-clack-clacks again, several times in sharp report. There is no accompanying chatter this time, though the feathers around his head are quivering faintly wider, his wings rustling briefly before he pulls them in against his sides. He captures the rook decisively, and is still bobbing as he picks up his stylus again. 'hah so so so what you are saying is maybe all my years of bird school won't won't won't save me now. i am bird of prey though. very very murder adjacent.' Roscoe frowns squintily at the board, then lifts his head very slightly to give Horus a quick updownleftright once-over, his eyes moving in very quick, infinitesmally small jumps. "You look like a bird of prey," he decides. "Do you eat other birds? That would definitely be murder adjacent for you. Anyway --" he makes this reassurance as he is capturing one of the opposite knights and setting it aside -- "You always stand a chance." 'Do you eat other other mammal' Horus asks in -- not actually all that swift reply, his tablet has one current voice setting and it is still this very unhurried soothing pace. It makes it sound entirely unlike the deeply woeful lament he is no doubt making: 'Hmm yes good hopefully maybe this all fun fun fun and games for you I have important bird reputation to up up up hold later later my chess club tonight big group of crows you think the labs a tough tough crowd those guys can be real real real....' This tragic lament is playing as he vacillates over his next move, and then captures the piece that just stole his knight. It's only after the delay that he finishes the sentence with a flourish: 'judgemental!!!' "Yeah, okay, but someone else kills 'em for me," says Roscoe with a loose shrug, now squinting frownily down at the board. He nudges his sole remaining bishop carefully out of danger. "So? You're way bigger than any crow I ever seen. They start talking smack, just beat their feathery cabooses, that'll shut 'em up. It's not like you're playing chess with an ostrich." His face screws up into an even tighter frown -- "...are you?" 'Very efficient murder outsourcing.' Horus is turning his head one way and then another way, and then back the first way as if this will help him better gauge his next move. His wings stretch, and fold back in. His talons shift. He peers over at Roscoe and perhaps this helps him decide on his move because he is plucking a rook boldly (and wildly precariously) forward into Roscoe's ranks to threaten his king. 'what!! what nonsense what total nonsense just just just because you cannot fly does not not not make you an ostrich. you need much much much longer legs for that.' Roscoe moves his bishop right back into danger to take the rook out of play. "I meant your chess club, I don't know who all is in the council of birds. I am not talking any smack you don't need to fight me. Yo --" though his tone has been very cheerful throughout this, his frown is deepening with sudden severity. "We're down an advisor right now at the chess club here if you wanna hone your skills." There is an only momentary pause before he adds, "Just until Joshua gets back." Horus is just craning his neck to snatch up another piece, but he pulls back at this. He's studying the board with a fervent intensity, now. His feathers ruffle out, and his beak clacks softly open and closed before he leans down, grasping at a knight and moving it with a heavy THUNK. 'In Mendeleev he was very very very,' he types, and considers this long and hard for a moment before his feathers smooth back down. 'terrible at chess.' His head shakes, slow and very mournful. 'I will get the advising hat I will do the advise. Just just just only just until Joshua gets back.' For some reason this makes Roscoe grin again, big front teeth pressing indents into his lip -- "He still is," he says, dropping his queen across the board to threaten Horus's king. "I've seen your other hats I can't wait to see what an advising hat looks like." Once more Horus is considering his options with a great intensity. Given the earlier deep lament he had made about his reputation he seems to have entirely too much glee when he concedes the inevitability of his current position and thwacks his king over with a knock of his large beak. 'For a serious serious business like chess advisings I will have to find a serious serious serious hat!!!' He flips his tablet back up, head bobbing several times before, with a whoosh, he is gone almost as abruptly as he came.