Logs:Change of Tack

Change of Tack
Dramatis Personae Jax, "Scott"
In Absentia Charles	2024-11-15 "Rougher on the kids, too."
Location <XAV> Stables - Xs Grounds
The distinctive smell of hay and sawdust and horses greets visitors to this large barn, kept well-tended by the stablehand and those who have a passion here for equestrianism. The horses at Xavier's are well cared for, stabled in comfortable stalls. The walls host a plethora of tack for those who wish to take a jaunt around the grounds. School is out for the weekend; the grounds aren't as boisterous in the growing late-fall chill as they would be on a Friday afternoon some other times of the year. All the way out by the stables, it's very quiet -- the open barn door lets in a gust of wind and a rustle of leaves, and not much else, the voices closer to the mansion dim and faraway. In here is the wet cronchcronchcronch of several eating animals -- some of the creatures inside have recently been given portions of fresh grains, and in the back the giant metallic dragonfly is monching down on her messier trough of raw meat while the horses chomp through their oats and maize. Jax is halfway down the stalls, at the moment, standing beside a black-and-white Thoroughbred, already quite done with her supplements though she's kind of languidly picking, now, at the large supply of grazing hay in front of her. He's dressed comfortably, plain, in a purple plaid flannel under his aged paint-splattered overalls, going over the mare's coat with short quick strokes of a dandy brush and humming something quiet and unidentifiable to himself. There are steady heavy footsteps making their way into the stable, a tall plainly-dressed figure -- boots, jeans, checked flannel, faint glow behind the red sunglasses -- drawing up closer. He stops nearby Ramiel's stall -- does he need to announce himself with a quick knock on the partition, a quiet clearing of throat? Probably not, by now he's clearly visible. And yet. Knock-knock. Ahem. "Jax." "Oh! Hi, sir --" Jax glances over from the horse with a little bit of a startle. His smile is a few seconds longer than usual in coming, but it's warm, still. "You ain't in a tidying mood, are you? Some these kids been real slipshod with the post-ride duties -- figured I'd make sure to get the horses their proper grooming 'fore I head out but the tackle's in a state, too." He's gesturing kind of offhand with the grooming brush towards the wall where the tackle is (together with accompanying pre- and post- ride and daily checklists.) After this he's blushing, stark against his pale cheeks, nose crinkling apologetically. "Sorry, I should ask what's'it you need 'fore I try putting you to work." "Mm --" Scott(?)'s brows are raising over his glasses, this silent questioning the only real indicator of emotion on his face. He turns his head with Jax's gesture, and there's a short moment of delay before he sets off towards the tackle wall. He's plucking down the post-ride checklist, scrutinizing it carefully. "Just -- checking in. Jail's --" He glances up from the checklist, though from this angle now surely the stall is obscuring most of his proper view of Jax. "-- always rough. Rougher than it needed to be, this time." Jax fidgets, the short whisper-flick sounds of his brush quieting for a moment as his hand strays to some lingering bruise hidden beneath his flannel. The quick brushstrokes resume a moment later. "Ain't the first time I been depowered, sure it won't be the last." He's quiet for a moment, before admitting: "-- well, Mostly sure. Powering back up gets more dangerous each time, I been -- thinking..." This trails off without going anywhere, really. He's brighter, his: "Anyway, jail don't need to be nothin', it don't need to exist at all," kind of cheerfully obligatory, Quite Sure there's little enough point to rehashing prison abolition with a liberal but is there harm in trying? Scott's small huffy breath, small twitch of lips -- not exactly a laugh, not exactly a smile, but maybe there's amusement in it all the same -- is kind of obligatory, too. He's running a finger down the checklist, head shaking. Whatever mirth was in him has faded, though, with the quiet acknowledging grunt he gives to Jax's musings about depowering. There's a short silence, as he sets the checklist back in its place and starts rearranging the tack to where it should be. Then: "Rougher on the kids, too." "Yeah." It's soft. Again, Jax's quick brushstrokes stop. "I never meaned for..." He breaks off here, swallows. "After Lassiter fell I didn't even know if I should come back, y'know? This had all blowed up so far beyond me. All I ever wanted was to keep people safe, and now --" He exhales a small pop of air. There's a small clatter as he sets his brush aside and picks up a different one, brushing the horse down with slower longer strokes, now. "I'unno what that looks like, sir." "The government's got a long memory for humiliation." Scott is wandering a little bit closer, so that he can once more get a proper look at Jax. He's holding -- a little awkwardly -- a saddle, still clammy and sweat-damp from a recent ride and not properly wiped down or hung back up. "We can't --" One of his hands lifts, and drops back to the pommel. "We make a promise to our kids. We can't keep them safe forever, but we should keep them safe here." Jax's gaze is drawn to the doorway when Scott hoves back into view, but his eye lowers slowly as the older man speaks. He swallows, silent, just fixed on the methodical brush strokes of the large horse. Her head swings over -- munch, munch, munch -- to drop a quiet patter of hay onto Scott's shoes as she investigates him, judges him less interesting than her trough, and returns to lipping another mouthful into her huge teeth. "M'sorry," Jax finally dredges up, quiet, still. "Are you..." Where is this question going, he's not entirely sure, and bites down hard at his lip while he tries to recalibrate. He doesn't find the end of the sentence -- just shakes his head again, his shoulders slightly slumped. "Sorry." The very slight backwards tilt of Scott's head is the only giveaway of the shift of his gaze, up towards the ceiling as if it holds some fascinating truth that will help him through this chore, or this conversation. He huffs out another breath, shorter, a little apologetic -- but there's no apology in his quiet and firm tone as he returns to setting away the tack. "You'll do the right thing." Jax just nods. Silent. Stays silent, through the rest of his slow and meticulous task. --- from: Jackson Holland <jax@xaviers.edu> to: Charles Xavier <charles@xaviers.edu> date: 15 November 2024, 21:45 subject: Resignation Professor, I would like to inform you that I am resigning from my position at Xavier's School, effective immediately. I immensely appreciate the opportunities you've provided me for personal and professional over the years, first as a student and then as staff. Sincerely, Jax Holland