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Latest revision as of 15:21, 21 April 2020

Of Boredom and Birthright (Or, A Forgettable Interlude)
Dramatis Personae

Glen, Kavalam, Lael


"Well, bless your heart, I'm sure she's awful proud you've. Made it."


<XAV> Art Room - Xs Second Floor

Smells of paints and chalks and turpentine mingle freely in this room, well-used, well-stocked. Natural light flows in, plentiful through the large windows. The long counter-like tables are speckled with spots of color, and half finished projects often stand on easels or propped in corners. The many cupboards lining the walls are crammed full of art supplies.

With Xaviers' art teacher recently arrested and still MIA pending his terrorism charges, the art room has been -- quiet. Less brightly cheerful than its usual. Not quite deserted but certainly less lively than when all its classes are in session. Right now the door stands ajar, the lights are on, a plate of carrot halwa sitting on the edge of one tall table and a tray of charcoal pencils left out of the normally neatly-kept cabinets. The room seems deserted otherwise, though.

Glen hadn't had much time to look around the school, he has glad quarantine was finally over. Making sure he doesn't wreck any of the supplies in the art room he opts to open the door and walk in. Looking around he takes in the whole room "well this is definitely better than normal high school.." he mutters to himself

The only apparent occupant of the room has dozed off at one of the tables beside a few clay bowls and cups recently glazed and left to dry. Lael is wearing a heather gray Xavier's hoodie and loose, sturdy carpenter jeans, his head pillowed on his arms, chin-length dreadlocks writhing and squirming slowly, He starts awake when Glen speaks, though, his locks moving faster. His eye are wide and wild for a moment, disturbing in both their serpentine appearance and unblinking steadiness. "Howd--hello there," he says at last, at a delay, his southern drawl slow and strong despite his word choice. Finally, recovering his wits a little. "You the new kid?"

There's a quiet gasp when Lael wakes. Though just a half-second ago the room looked emptier, very suddenly now there is another boy sitting at the counter just beside the plate of sweets. Kavalam's eyes are wide behind his half-frame glasses, his fingers clenched around a charcoal pencil that has just snapped in his grip. "Who are you." He's staring at Glen, brows knitting. His thoughts are a jumble that seems -- if not quite sleepy himself at least just-startled out of reverie; he's paying little attention to the half-finished sketch in front of him (row of low-slung houses along a lakeside) but instead trying to untangle thoughts of news broadcasts about the numbers of dead in the city, the exhaustion of yet another new face that will probably never be a friend, the anxiety of emails left long unanswered, the disturbing writhe of Lael's hair, the current spread of vaccine in New York.

Glen looks at the two students "I'm the new kid, Glen Harper. I just thought I'd wander around and see what I could find around the school" Glen slow edges away feeling a lot of hostility "I mean what was I meant to do? Study?" He chuckles a little bit and then sighs "in all seriousness it's nice to meet you"

Lael starts yet again when Kavalam appears, actually jumping back this time and upsetting the chair he had been sitting in. He winces when it crashes to the floor, his hair tangling together as if actually pained by the noise. "Lord ha' mercy," he mumbles, running his hand through his dreadlocks, soothing them back into their usual slow, unsettling motion. "M'sorry 'bout that. Pleasure makin' your acquaintance, Glen Harper. Lael Winters." He rights the chair, his eyes narrow slightly as Glen backs away. Still not blinking. "Study? Ain't nobody telling you to do that, and I don't see no teachers around." He frowns, his eyes darting to Kavalam. "I s'pose that don't necessarily say much 'round here."

Kavalam's eyes drop to his sketchbook when Lael starts, and though something almost contrite flutters up in his mind it never actually makes it to his lips. Just a thin hard press as he sets his charcoal down. He gives Glen only the most cursory sweep of a glance, a very dismissive << White boy. Of course. >> flitting there and gone in his mind with barely enough acknowledgment to even rise to the level of scorn. Just a sort of mental sniff that coalesces, verbally, into a question asked in an exceedingly mild and curious tone: "This is a school. What -- ah. What did you expect to -- do, here?" Kavalam's English is fluent and crisp but his voice carries a heavy South Indian accent. Through his mind there are more news flashes; spider-looking robots and talk of terrorism. "... certainly, though. The art teacher will not be bothering you."

Glen gives Kavalam a confused look then he starts looks around the classroom "I do expect to do my classes, but I have other reasons for being at the school. First of all I'm a legacy student"

Lael's eyes skip back to Kavalam, his hair writhing faster again. Then start to drift away before he does a double take. "Oh! Are you new, too?" He sounds vaguely dubious about this, admittedly. He looks back at Glen. "I think everyone got some other reasons for being here, on account a' this being a mutant school an' all." He raises his eyebrows at Glen, finally remembering to blink, though the action is clearly artificial and draws more attention when it happens to the fact that he doesn't blink nearly often enough. "Didn't know there was legacy students here, though. It -- I mean, mutancy -- it runs in families, I reckon?"

<< Of course, >> echoes again in Kavalam's mind -- although this time it does manage to achieve a certain level of disdain. "Oh?" He looks up, eyes wider, head tilting with such curiosity. "A legacy student? I didn't realize we were in the presence of royalty. Good thinking," he tells Glen, earnestly, "leading with that." His gaze drops back to his sketchbook, though when he picks up his charcoal again it is rather desultory, the halfhearted shading he starts adding to the rooftops in his drawing. His mind skips back to other conversations -- other classes -- other introductions. Something sags inwardly, but outside he just flicks lightly, placid, at his page. "I am not new."

Glen laughs a little "my mother always intended me to go here" Glen starts messing with a pair of green sunglasses that were sitting in his pocket. Staring at the sunglasses the one thought that goes through his mind is <<hopefully my father went here too>> Glen inhales and lets out a huge breath "all I mostly want to do is understand and control my powers"

Lael's eyes snap back to Kavalam before he even answers out loud. Somewhere in there he's forgotten to blink again. "M'sorry," he says, frowning. "Don't mean to mistake you. I ain't been here all that long m'self, dunno why I can't recollect." He regards Glen for a beat, his dreadlocks twisting and squirming hard. "Well, bless your heart," he says finally. "I'm sure she's awful proud you've. Made it." But then, a bit more gently, his mouth pulling aside in dismay. "Don't we all?"

"You don't say. At a mutant school. How unique." The earnest! bright! curiosity in Kavalam's eyes shutters just as fast as it had lit, leaving his expression profoundly indifferent. << always intended me to go here >> -- he catches on this phrase mentally, turns it over in his mind as an oddity but then discards it. Tries slightly less successfully to discard the uneasy crawling of his skin as Lael's hair twists harder. He pushes up at his glasses. Fixes his eyes down on his sketch. "That's it, then? In the middle of --" (unanswered video calls -- morgues full to capacity -- a tweet, of all things, from the President promising to suspend 'all' immigration -- his jaw tightens as he tries to keep his thoughts from spinning) "-- everything lately. Just. Yay, mutant school. That must be pleasant."

"I'm trying not to think about everything else that's going on I had to sit in a room for two whole weeks before I could even meet people" Glen quickly looks at Lael for a second <<is his hair made out of snakes?>> he quickly dismisses the thought looking back at Kavalam "so...what you drawing?"

Lael's gaze drops away from his schoolmates, and for a brief moment his hair lies--almost quiescent. Then it goes right back to its slow, sinuous writhing. He lifts a hand to massage his right temple. "Hate makin' you think about what you rather not think about," he says dully, his brows wrinkling deep as he transfers his pottery to the queue for the kiln, "but I do pray both y'all's families is aright out there." Returning to his seat, he picks up the worn canvas satchel and notebook he'd left there, pushing the chair in. "I'mma--get going. Nice meeting you..." He glances from Glen to Kavalam, then adds, uncertainly, "...both. What's your name, now?"

Kavalam looks up from his drawing, very briefly meeting Glen's eyes directly. "Two whole weeks. And now you just. Try not to think about anything. That sounds --"

He never says what it sounds like. He just looks back down at -- well, it's hard to say what he looks back down at. It's hard to say anything about him at all, really; even as he is turning his attention away from Glen, Glen's attention is slipping away from Kavalam, the boy fading not from view but from notice. Attention just slipping off of him -- and, within a very short while, even the memory of his part in this conversation dispersing smokelike from the others' minds.

Glen looks around the room and then back at Lael and smiles at him "The names Glen and it was nice meeting you too." Glen picks up his bag and then smiles. His eyes start to glow green and as he holds his breath he shifts into the alternate dimension, keeping his breath held he moves through the door.