Logs:Chalk It Up to Bad Timing
| Chalk It Up to Bad Timing | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-11-01 "Maybe a little hectic." |
| Location
<XAV> Classroom 2 - Xs First Floor | |
Acrid scents of chemicals sting the nostrils upon entering this classroom. Tall tables are set up in clusters, small torches attach to their sides, though they can be de-attached and stored beneath the desks at lessons' end. The chairs here are high, and come on wheels. Around the edges of this room are plentiful cupboards, many of them locked. The edges of the room hold sinks, as well, some of them carefully labeled. The front of the room has a number of whiteboards, though it lacks a teacher's desk. The windows have been cracked open in the chemistry classroom, allowing an occasional warm breeze to remove the stinging scent, if only for a moment. Classes have wrapped up, the day after the Halloween Dance lending itself to a more relaxed school day, at least for Amo’s courses. She’s just finished cleaning up the various work spaces, and now is standing at the front applying large labels to some new bottles that seem to have just come in. The sleeves of her black button up shirt are rolled up to above her elbows, tucked into waistband of her loose fitting grey pants. She still has goggles she’s forgotten about perched on the top of her head, and hair pulled up until a ponytail. She baps the palm of one hand against the label maker she’s using when it whines against a jam, and she squint a critical eye into the label outlet, then gives it another bap for good measure. Knock-knock, the door might be open but Scott is politely announcing his presence anyway with a short rap on the doorframe and a "Hey, Amo," before he just goes ahead and comes in. Though he's showered and changed into something clean -- dark blue flannel, heather-grey tee, jeans -- there's still a whiff of fuel and machine oil clinging to him, similar though not quite the same as the smell of the auto shop, from whatever he was doing most of the day. He settles against a nearby worktop, arms folded across his chest, opaque gaze lingering for a moment on the label maker -- can this be a repair job, can he be doing a repair job right now? -- but with Herculean effort he resists the urge to ask about it, instead says, voice brusque but still probably the friendliest tone he's capable of, "Been meaning to check in with you, I know it's been a -- hectic welcome back. You settling in alright?" “Aye Scott,” She’s greeting amiably with a jerk of her head. She flips the label maker back and forth, then finds the button to pop it open—the inside completely filled with the coiled jammed labels. “Maybe a little hectic.” She agrees dryly, “S’alright though, I got warned when I started—the first time.” She leans her hip against the table she’s currently working at so she can face him more, “But settling in just fine. Been meaning to check with you too, actually.” She looks up from the tangled labelmaker mess and her eyebrows tick upwards, “Things probably been extra hectic for you, yeah?” "Mmgh. And you stayed?" This is a little drily amused. "I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd decided to hang up your hat and run far away from here, after... I can't apologize enough for getting you caught up in that. I know this place is a little chaotic," this is remarkably free of sarcasm or humor, "but we're in rare form right now." Though Scott had been looking down at the label maker, he's raising his gaze now, eyebrows pinching in a quizzical frown -- "Hm?" Whatever wheels are churning in his head, they take a short while to make sense of Amo asking after him, to parse what could possibly be making his life more hectic than anybody else's. He seems to settle on, "No, I think just being back is getting the -- dorm situation settled. They know I don't bluff." “Ah bro, hadn’t realized you’d been the one to sign us all up for the next season of an alien game show.” Amo says jokingly, and gives him a pointed, but still amused look. She shrugs her shoulder in a way that moves her head too, “I appreciate it but, don’t worry ‘bout it. Serious. S’like you said. I stayed.” She looks back down to the label maker and pulls at the stuck label strips halfheartedly. A brief smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, “You’d think they’d have learned by now.” She glances up at Scott, “But also. Everything with Jax.” She takes a long breath, “Lotsa paperwork there I bet. And down a member from the…Volunteering group.” She tilts her head back and forth, “If there’s ways I can help, paperwork or whatever, I’d like to.” Scott frowns a little deeper. "I mean it," he says, maybe this was a little testy, clearly he is not appreciating the joke, but in his flat voice it's really only coming out slightly more swift than the rest of his speech. But he drops it, though as he watches her fiddle with the label maker there is a definite growing antsiness in his otherwise casual lean against the worktop. His fingers press firm into his forearms, then relax. "Down two members now," he says quietly. Then shakes his head, expression a little pained, a little apologetic. "I -- thank you, Amo, really, but I -- I'm fine, I like doing paperwork." Amo’s eyebrows pinch together, “I know.” This is now fully lacking any prior joking lightness. “I don’t regret being here.” She reassures. She watches him, his growing antsiness, then after a quick glance down at the label maker and back up to him, wordlessly pushes it closer to him. Her expression doesn’t change much at the correction of two members, but when she leans against the table herself her shoulders sag and her next breath is heavier than before. “Right. Two.” She swallows, and it’s a beat before she continues again, “I won’t steal that from you then. But if there’s other ways I can help.” She drums her fingers against the countertop, and her mouth skews to the side, “If you guys need more volunteers.” She looks at him directly now. “Been meaning to ask about it anyways, always seems like a bad time.” "Sure you don't?" In contrast, this definitely has a wry edge of humor in it, as Scott tilts his head at her, eyebrows rising in a very mild bafflement. Then furrowing right back down again as he takes the label maker, busies himself unjamming the stickers, letting them spiral out into his hands. "We can always use more volunteers," he says, "the trick is finding people with the drive to do it, and the presence of mind to do it well. You did good," as he's painstakingly unraveling the tangle of labels, he spares Amo a quick glance upward, then -- finding her gaze already on him -- a slim, brief smile, "in Mojo. I'll put you on the training schedule with Marinov. And, Amo," his gaze drops back down to the labeller, his tone slipping into one that is somehow even more direct and abrupt, though he probably doesn't mean it to be -- he's giving the labeller a smaller, grimmer smile now. "It'll always seem like a bad time, around here, but when something needs doing --" he snaps the labeller chassis shut -- "We get it done anyway. Don't worry about the timing." | |
