Logs:Atomweight Championship

Atomweight Championship
Dramatis Personae Roscoe, Tok
In Absentia	2024-08-08 "Who were you searching for?"
Location <XAV> Playground - Xs Grounds
Set on the still-expansive grounds around the side of the school, this area is to the outdoors rather what the rec room is to the indoors. There's a large basketball court out here; a fenced-off tennis court adjacent. Further distant there are setups for other sports -- a large track, a soccer field. Closer in to the school, though, in its own large enclosure adjacent to the basketball and tennis courts, is the playground, a huge expanse of equipment set up on alternating plots of slightly squishy flooring and mulch. Centrally there is a large sprinkler-fountain, not always on but it can be turned on with a push of a button; spreading out around this is the actual playground equipment, sturdy and varied. A huge dome constructed in honeycombed interlocked poles and rope netting rises hiiiigh for climbing; a large swingset holds four pairs of swings. A large roundabout in bright colours stands in one corner near a long see-saw. The huge bridge-and-tunnel castle structure at one end has many routes of entry, from poles to climb up (or slide down) to a small climbing wall. Monkeybars. Four different slides of varying lengths and spiraling. For the adventurous, between things to climb on and jump between and bounce across it is probably possible to skirt one end of the playground and back without touching the ground, though it might take a particularly adept feat of balance and agility. Or possibly wings. Class is out for the day, but the drizzle outside is sort of discouraging the usual spate of activity on the slick front lawn and muddy grounds; it's pattering with a hollow, echoey taptaptap on the textured plastic of the play structure, puddling at the bottoms of the slides and on the seats of the see-saw. "It's s'posed to stop soon," Roscoe is saying blithely, where he's taken shelter underneath one of the raised platforms; in spite of the weather his spirits don't seem particularly diminished, he's entertaining himself shadowboxing with one of the metal poles holding up the slide, very bouncy on the balls of his feet throwing punches. He pauses in this to throw a slightly exaggerated, slow-mo roundhouse kick, which he stumbles out of before he can actually whack his foot against the steel. He isn't really dressed for rain either, the hood of his sweatshirt has been pulled up, drawstrings pulled tight around his face, but it's not even water resistant and, in any case, he's wearing shorts, but it's supposed to stop soon. "Bet the climbing wall is all slippery and dangerous --" he says this with an air of total unconcern, too, "-- but maybe not a problem for you anyway, sir claws-a-lot." “Feels like it’s been raining allll weeeek.” Tok complains, also taking shelter from the drizzle under the square of raised platform. They also aren’t dressed for rain, just in their t-shirt and basketball shorts. Their antsy-ness is at an all time high today, built up from being stuck inside most of the week. They probably climbed up and down the other pole not being shadow boxed a few times, and now have their tail wrapped around one of the rungs of a ladder attached to the side of the raised structure, hanging fully upside down under the cover as they idly watch Roscoe. “Hey you could always borrow’em!” They flick their fingers in a way so their claws click. They‘ve begun to slowly rotate one way, so they nudge themself back, “In return you could teach me some of those fancy moves there. Wha-cha! Wa-pow!” They do a few karate chops with their hands in time with their sound effects. Roscoe takes a break from play-punching the pole to bound over to the edge of the structure and poke his head out for a moment, squinting up-out at the rain. He wrinkles his nose at this offer, half-visible where he's wiping his face with his sleeve -- "Naw, thanks though," he says. "My sisters always have those long -- sharp -- nail things and I have no idea how they do anything I don't know how they live like that." He twists his own hand around to frown at it, still hidden in his baggy sleeve (to Tok, at least) then shakes it out. "Whatchu mean, fancy moves," he says. "You never been in a fight? This is called a 'punch' it's very easy." Tok snorts and swings a little with their tail, and reaches out back behind them in a half sort of back bend to grab the ladder and climb down. “Yeah better off, you’d probably scratch yourself by accident.” They hop a few times once they touch ground, shaking out their tail that had been exposed to the drizzle. “I-I been in a fight! And I know what a punch is.” Their voice turns a pitch higher in defense. They curl up their fists, not all the way, and throw some pretty bad form punches in Roscoe’s general direction, still a good distance away. They attempt to imitate the kick Roscoe did earlier, again all wrong form but at least the balance is there. “Send me to the UFC, I’m ready.” As Tok joins in, Roscoe hops a little further out of range, then drops out of his bouncy stance altogether. "A real fight?" he says skeptically. "A real freak fight?" He watches this display with a slightly critical squint, slumping back against a ropey climbing net, folding his arms. "Sure," he says, "What's lighter than featherweight? Enroll you in the insectweight championship. Atomweight championship." “Freak fight? That a way of saying mutant fight?” Tok mellows their bouncing as they consider, “Uh- don’t think I’ve ever fought another mutant—unless you count with some of my siblings.” They begin bouncing again, taking their hands out of the fist and instead flattening out their hand, pretending to jab at the pole, “I been in some real ones though! At least the starts of some- I usually just got the hell outta there when I could.” They stick their hand out from under the cover to test the drizzle, and join Roscoe by the ropey climbing net. They immediately begin scaling it, “Atom weight. Good one. Just you and me in that one noodle arms.” They poke at Roscoe’s arm with a curled finger to keep their claw from jabbing him, and continue climbing, “It don’t matter that I’m small though. It’s good, actually. For me.” They’ve scaled back down from the net already, and are bouncing again in place, “So you’ve been in a real fight then? Freak fights too?” They ask curiously. "If you don't think it counts, it doesn't count," says Roscoe, pulling his arms over a little tighter across his chest, tucking his chin behind the neat bow tied at the bottom of his hood. "How many siblings did you have? They all still at the -- what, the circus?" He shifts aside when they start to climb the net, tilting his head to follow their movements. "For you," he says, then at a kind of delay, "Mine don't count either." Tok’s face pinches at the questions, and they take a moment before responding, “Yeah. S’good for me. Not for you, though.” They take another beat, “I got three siblings. None of’em were blood related to me but that don’t matter. All of ‘em were way older growing up.” They hesitate, and their bouncing rhythm stutters. They try the kick from before again. “And nah. They’re not still at the circus.” They try the kick again, aiming at the air, “All of yours don’t count?” Roscoe sinks a little into the netting, eyes following Tok's roundhouse kick. "My sisters are way older than me too," he says, "they all moved out by the time I was ten." After a pause he unfurls himself from the netting, steps a little out of the shelter to give himself more room -- "Like this," he says, as though just showing Tok again will fix their technique, with a sharp shout of "Hoi!" (this time it's not even slow-mo.) He aims two more shadowpunches before he bounces back under the structure. "No, I'm being a sore loser. But also --" shrug, "Not really a freak." Tok’s eyes light up at the demonstration, and their smile is back. They attempt the kick again, this time adding a “Hoi!” as well for good measure. It was maybe a little better! Certainly sounded the same at least. They’re grinning, satisfied, and they take cover under the shelter, “Damn—all moved out?” They shake out their tail from the drizzle. A few locks of their hair had begun to curl. “Sounds lonely. Was it? Mine were around. Two of’em were gonna be ‘moving out’ though.” They slump onto the net as well, and pick idly at the rope with their claws. They hum in agreement, “And yeah guess you’re not much of a freak in comparison to us freak freaks.” "Hm," maybe this is what passes for praise or encouragement in Roscoese; he at least looks slightly less judgmental. Now he's shadowboxing Tok, with slightly more goofy, exaggerated punches this time; he has like six inches on them, so he hunches his shoulders and bends his knees slightly to make up for it. He wrinkles his nose at this question, shakes his head. "Boring," he says. "Was that in scare quotes? Why was that in scare quotes." When Tok no longer seems to want to shadowbox, he eases off, pulling away again. "No offense," he adds, sort of perfunctorily. “Oh, the moving out part? Cause it’s like, a circus. You don’t really move out the same way you do for a house….I don’t think….” They frown in thought. They get bored picking at the rope, and are instantly back on their feet. Their tail ticks back in forth in a restless energy, and they begin bouncing again. Maybe it just seems they like the bouncing part. “Unless you’re talking about the freaks part.” They bend their fingers and swipe at the air with their claws. This motion, opposed to the punching, seems like something they have more practice with. They add the kick in there they learned as a sort of clumsy combo. They’re grinning, though, despite the clumsiness. Roscoe rolls his eyes -- "No, I know what freak means," he says. In contrast to Tok he has gone very still, leaning against the painted metal pillar now, only following their tail with his eyes. "Sooo why didn't they? Move out." Almost immediately, he tilts his head, frowning -- "I guess it'd be hard if all your work experience and education is 'being in the circus'." Tok glances away, and back, “Well. It’s better than nothing. And we were educated, we were just homeschooled.” They try the combo again. They stumble, and try again. Their tail flicks sharply side to side, and they stop attempting the combo, breathing heavily. Their face pinches, and their eyes scan Roscoe, lingering on his face before leaning down to stretch, “And-Well- they got arrested, which kinda puts a damper on the whole, trying to move out thing. I lost track of them somewhere. They could be out by now.” They shrug, “I dunno. I couldn’t find them.” Their voice peaks on the last word, and they clear their throat. “Big fat bummer if you ask me. That’s what my aunt would say.“ "Circus math," scoffs Roscoe, sort of to himself; he tilts his head, eyes widening a little. "Oh," he says, then -- tilting his head in the other direction -- "I bet there's people here who could help you. If you have, like, their names, date of birth, where they got picked up, it's a start, right? We can call around. It's kind of annoying but --" shrug. "I been down this road before, I been playing labrat lost-and-found all year." Tok’s eyes flick over, eyebrows raising, “Yeah?” They let out a breath, and their shoulders drop from their hiked position, “Yeah. Okay.” They smile, hesitantly. “You make it sound so easy. In a good way.” They stretch the other way, then stretch reaching upwards. Their tail sticks out as well. “Who were you searching for?” Roscoe looks a little uncomfortable with this assessment; he tips his head back against the pole. "You get a lotta dead ends," he admits, shifting himself to lean a little more comfortably. This last question just gets a little shrug out of him. "People." Tok watches Roscoe for a moment longer, and nods, “I’ll take dead ends. More ends than I was getting before.” They shift so they’re leaning against one of the poles too. They shove their hands deep into their pockets and hunch forward. “And I..uh…hope you found them. Or will find them.” They lean forward to pick up a piece of mulch, and scratch at it with their claws. “I’unno if I can help at all, only got my circus math and all that.” They smile a little, “But offers there.” Roscoe looks a little uncomfortable with this sentiment, too, tilting his feet awkwardly to stand the edges of his shoes, his own hands tucked out of sight behind himself. "Stopped raining," he says. Tok swallows, staring out past the cover. Then, they jerk their head to the side, “Wanna try and do some flips off the swings?” They ask, “If you do a flip I’ll give you a bag from the stash of sour gummy worms I got.” It wasn't obvious how much Roscoe was slouching until he peels back upright, reaching with one hand to yank the drawstrings of his hood a little tighter, so the window around his face shrinks. "I don't do tricks for candy," he says -- this sounds a little curt, a little mean, but after a moment he adds, "...cash only." At Roscoe’s tone, Tok’s ears flick downwards, and their tail stills. They scan Roscoe, cataloging the reaction, and shrug, “That’s fine. Didn’t wanna share my worms anyway.” They stick their tongue out, and scuff their shoe against the ground, “But yeah sure, I got some cash.” They pause, and begin to run their claws through the fur of their tail, which had poofed up. “And. Sorry. I think.” They push themself off the pole. Roscoe is already setting off for the swingset, just a tad stompily; he shakes his swing vigorously by its chain to clear off the water pooled on the seat before he sits himself down. Is he going to do a flip, time will only tell, but -- for now -- he's just rocking himself silently, gently with one foot. Tok’s tail begins snapping side to side again, and then after a kind of delay, they follow after Roscoe. They don’t say anything as they pour the water out of their own seat, and perch in it, shifting to allow the seat to start swinging higher. Once they get high enough, they do attempt their own flip. They land it- badly- and their momentum continues carrying them forwards, skidding face first into the wood chips.