Logs:Tilt Warning

Tilt Warning
Dramatis Personae Roscoe, Tok
In Absentia	2024-11-22 "And no one ever sees it coming."
Location <XAV> Rec Room - Xs Second Floor
School this may be, but life for Xavier's students certainly isn't all studying. Outside classes, this is a popular spot to find students in their downtime. An enormous tribute to slacking off, this room is a wealth of fun and relaxation. Comfortable armchairs, couches, and beanbags offer plentiful seating scattered throughout the room, and the cushioned windowseats by the high windows offer a cozy nook to curl up and look out on the grounds. The room is often filled with the noises of gaming -- whether it comes from the big-screen television (tall racks of DVDs beside it, if nothing can be found on the multitude of cable channels), tricked out with consoles from retro to the latest releases, or the less electronic clatter and thump of the pool table, air hockey, or foosball. For those a little more subdued in their gaming, the cabinets hold stacks and stacks of board and card games, ranging as classic as chess and go to as esoteric as Dixit, Catan, and Gloom. More days than not, there's some variety of snacks to be found on a table beside the gaming cabinet -- quite often in the form of fresh-baked desserts. There’s an energy in the air as vacation kicks off, long after the last of finals. Plenty of students populate the rec room, but it’s already showing signs of quieting with students either packing or already heading off for break. Tok is doing their part to help contribute to the waning noise at least, the pinball machine they’re playing on flashing and dinging as the ball rockets through a tunnel near the top. They intermittently snatch some chips from the bag they’ve pilfered from the kitchen—funyuns—and eat it quick between hits of the ball. They wear their cargo pants that are patched at the knees, and sweatjacket unzipped over a faded t-shirt, some sort of restaurant printed on the front. Their ears are pinned back in concentration against their disheveled hair, tail twitching by their feet in time with the pinball—which rockets past the paddles at the bottom. The machine makes a sad round of beeps, and Tok is loading and launching the ball back into the machine before their score can even appear on the LEDs. Roscoe doesn't look like someone already packed and ready to go -- camo joggers, waffle-knit thermal under a baggy END OF EVANGELION t-shirt, black beanie pulled low around his face -- but probably he dressed himself this morning with the specific aim of falling asleep in the car. He slouches himself against the foosball table, not exactly behind Tok, though not quite in peripheral view either, hands in his pockets, to watch the pinball zing itself back into the playfield (it doesn't seem like he should be able to see the pinball from this vantage point, but his eyes are tracking it nonetheless.) Finally, with great solemnity, he is deeming this, "Not bad." It would almost seem like Tok hadn’t heard him at first, if not for a twitch of one of their ears in his direction. Their head subconsciously turns slightly, eyes still locked onto the game as if they’re having trouble looking away, but eventually they manage to fully turn away from it and break whatever trance they’d been in. When they look at Roscoe, their eyes stretch wide in surprise, “Oh- Hey!” The ball bounces against a few bumpers until it slots between the paddles again, sad chimes announcing their defeat. They don’t seem bothered by this though, as they attempt to lean casually back against the machine, “Heh- thanks. Kinda addicting…” Their gaze darts around Roscoe’s face unsure, and their tail twitches in a stuttery wave behind them, “How’s it- what’s up? How’d your uh…finals and stuff go?” They ask, casual but still unable to hide that higher pitched hint of unsureness. Roscoe digs his hands a little deeper into his pockets -- his eyes are still on the pinball machine behind them, exaggeratedly following the ball and widening in mock dismay as it finally disappears, back to the trough from whence it came. Only then is he glancing up -- at Tok? through Tok? never easy to say -- with a fleeting, buck-toothed smile. "Pinball is all practice. And control." He shifts his weight onto the sides of his shoes, shrugs -- even with his hands in his pockets this movement has a lot more elbow in it than any shrug needs. "Be real glad to see the back of this term," he says, "this really was not the moment to challenge myself academically. Howboutchu," this in one breath, like it's only one word. A small slanted smile twitches onto Tok’s face at Roscoe’s fleeting one. They nod their head towards the pinball machine, “This how I find out you’re secretly a professional pinball-er?” They ask, but seem wholly unsurprised. They shift over to lean more on the side of the machine so Roscoe can give it a go if he wants to. “Heh…you’re tellin’ me. How many math classes was it again?” They ask wryly, claws tapping rhythmically against the side of the machine. They’re still watching Roscoe a little too closely, but their stiff posture and twitching tail has smoothed out some. “And I only tried to climb out one of the windows once so…” They shrug, “Not too bad I guess.” Are they joking about this? Hard to tell. "I dabble," says Roscoe, probably he too has devoted long hours to bettering himself on this game of kings. He's not moving to accept the offer, though he does roll his feet flat on the ground again. Twitches his head sideways in not-quite-a-nod; whether that was a joke or not it's getting not-quite-a-giggle. "Kinda seeing the versatility of this tactic the more you hype it up," he muses. "Just, yeet. Do you -- not like this place, or something?" “And no one ever sees it coming. Fool proof plan.” Tok grins. Their head cocks to the side and they scan Roscoe once more, eyes narrowing briefly, before finally their gaze jumps away towards the ceiling. “Nah I like it. I mean, exams suck, and so does homework, and a buncha other stuff but-” They hesitate, “A lotta stuff make it worth it.” At this they’re glancing at Roscoe again, only to quickly look down and away. Their grin falters, and their tail ticks upwards into their hands so they can comb their claws through the fur. “…Are- are we-” They’re cutting off the higher pitched tone with a bite of their sharp teeth into their bottom lip, and instead are asking, “D’you like it here?” "You talk about running away a lot." Roscoe seems a little amused by this, if anything, though he says it as a bland observation, in slightly incongruous response to their answer. This time the twitch of his head comes with an accompanying twitch of shoulder that doesn't make it all the way to a shrug, a short snorting laugh, "Pffeh." His eyes wander upward, too, toward (out?) the ceiling. "Yeah. I like this place a lot." “I’m really good at running.” Tok says this with a hint of pride, but still managing to carry the amused tone in it. At Roscoe’s response, they’ve leaned more relaxed against the machine, fingers curling into their fur, but there’s no tugging that usually accompanies it, just a gentle release, comb, and repeating again. They share Roscoe’s laugh, a soft outward breath, still a little hesitant, “You going home for vacation? Gonna miss it here?” "I got involved in one jailbreak attempt one time, you're never gonna guess how that one worked out for me." Roscoe's hands have migrated out of his pockets to fuss absently at the hem of his shirt. He drops his chin down and shrugs, loose and overly elbowly again, tilts back onto the sides of his shoes. "Sheesh, 'course not, I'm only gonna be gone for a week, 'schump change. Enjoy the quiet while it lasts." “A week is like, forever though.” Tok sighs dramatically, slumping a little more against their machine. “Gonna be soooo boring.” They pause to prolong their dramatics, then pop back up all at once. They subconsciously mimic the tilt of Roscoe’s shoes with their own, “…What happened? During the Jail break.” They narrow their eyes, “Was that the same time you got stabbed? Know you said that one happened during a riot.” "Damn! I was gonna try and play it off as a totally separate stabbing incident." Roscoe doesn't sound all that disappointed. He props his hands against the foosball table behind him, lets his shoulders hunch up to his ears. "This place is like, easy mode boring. Just play pinball. Maybe by the time I get back you'll be better than me." Tok rolls their eyes at Roscoe, their grin coming back full force slowly. “Why would you- you getting stabbed on multiple different occasions is not impressive. It’s only cool if it’s one time.” Tok says in full amusement. “Just for that maybe I will- hey hey you wanna do a lil’ competition when you get back?” They ask, hopefully, relieved. Their tail twitches, “We’re- We’re good right? I’m pretty sure but I’m- I’m really bad at this.” They gesture between the two of them, “This friends thing. You’re my first— or longest at least.” Not for the first time Roscoe looks quite uncomfortable, his shoulders hunching up toward his ears. "Don't be weird. We're fine," he says. His shoulders hitch briefly even higher, his eyes darting much more obviously off into the distance. "You should make better friends," he says, "I'm a liar and a thief." And with this dubious farewell he is just hopping back around the foosball table toward the door. Tok’s tail flicks back and forth in an eager sort of way, and they don’t even argue against Roscoe calling them weird. Instead they’re breathing out a relieved breath that they attempt to tamper into cool casualness, “Cool. Thanks.” Their eyes then twitch into a narrow, and even as Roscoe is leaving, they snort and shout after him, “Psh- don’t want any. See ya next week Roscoe!” Their tail flicks in a farewell, and they turn back to their pinball machine, where they will likely be stationed for most of break now with the challenge in mind. They pull the knob back and launch the ball back into play.