ArchivedLogs:Almost as Good

Almost as Good
Dramatis Personae Isra, Shane
In Absentia	2015-12-20 "{You look -- festive.}"
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Music Room - Lower East Side
Small and soundproofed, this room is a comfortable place to come practice music in relative peace. A large digital keyboard stands in one corner; opposite it are a number of speakers and amps available for use. There are a cluster of chairs in the center of the room, with music stands set up in front of them. On the far back wall, a tall painted-black cube-shaped block of shelving leaves plenty of room for storing music and equipment; a row of lockers flanking it leave space for instrument storage as well. The last side of the room has more comfortable seats along the wall; a pair of deep crimson microsuede couches, a low-slung table between them, an armchair similarly upholstered. There's piano music coming from the music room. Some sort of Romanian folk dance, not exceptionally complicated. Even so the music stumbles, halts, begins again a few measures back. Halts again in the same place; this time it doesn't start over, just keeps going through the mistake until it reaches the end of the piece and begins again. Shane is seated at the piano, dressed in plain black corduroys, a cream henley; he's had a crimson v-neck sweater, though this is discarded neatly folded atop his messenger bag, sitting beside his piano bench. His teeth are gritted, eyes fixed on the music in front of him as he plays. Isra sweeps in, her movements for the most part quiet, though her talons click on the floor of the hallway outside before she enters. Freshly re-colored, she looks festive in deep forest green with gleaming metallic gold horns and claws. The wings mantled behind her show a rich gold filigree over glittering snowy white. She wears a simple long-sleeve white cowl-neck dress that pools around her as she folds herself neatly onto one of the couches to watch Shane play. Try to watch Shane play, at least. There's a flutter to his gills as the door opens, a faint widening to his eyes. His nostrils flare, music stopping shortly as his hands drop to his lap. "{I'm pretty sure I aced music history and my ethics class and I'm not really worried about /one/ of my theory classes but this bullshit,}" he nods towards the piano. "{I hope we have some fucking booze around after tomorrow.}" Isra stretches out one immense wing and rubs the knuckle of an index phalanx across Shane's bony shoulders. "{I hadn't meant to interrupt you.}" She speaks clipped, awkward, heavily Argentine Spanish. But, since she has interrupted him, after all, she rises and stalks over to him, wing curling around him as she comes to his side and looks down at the music over his shoulder. "{I'll make sure we have plenty.}" Her eyes flick from the sheet music to his webbed hands. "{This final--how much of your grade?}" Shane shrugs, shoulders lifting quickly underneath Isra's wing. "{Was getting tired of practice anyway. About due for a break.}" The sheet music in front of him is Bartok; he's glaring at it as she stalks over, though his eyes drop back to the keyboard after. His hands fold together, fingers curling inward to press his knuckles against each other as he tucks his hand against his shirt. "{A third. I'm good. I'm not drinking /now/ or anything.}" His eyes lift to the wing that drapes around him. "{You look -- festive.}" Isra's wing squeezing down on Shane as she perches herself on the bench beside him. "{Tag seemed...well, I gave him full license to decorate.}" She reaches for his hand, her long fingers tipped with bright gold nails filed sharp with care. "{It isn't for lack of practice,}" she murmurs softly. "{I'll drink with you when it's done.}" "{Good. Got plenty of free time. Evolve doesn't have shit for food and I'm kind of on probation with my team.}" Shane's grin is kind of lopsided. It doesn't fade when Isra reaches for his hand, though his gills flutter briefly once. His hands unclench from each other, slowly turning up. there are thin lines, red and raw, split down the webbing between each of his fingers, leaving the thin membrane hanging loose between them. He swallows, fingers tightening faintly against Isra's. "{A little festive is good. I just didn't know you swung that way. If you sit still too long Ion might hang lights on you, though.}" Isra growls, soft and low, as she turns Shane's hand over in hers. "{Why is that--with your team? Did you hurt another teacher's feelings.}" She does not sound in the least facetious, her ears pressing back against her skull. "{I do not...swing that way,}" she negotiates the unfamiliar phrasing with care, "{but some people I care about very much do. If Ion wants to hang lights on me, he may do so.}" "{I lent Taylor my bike. Escorted him into the city. Thought it was a bigger priority than his dumbass fucking grounding. They get kind of big sticks up their asses about /disciplinary/ actions.}" Shane's gaze shifts, now, looking down to where his fingers rest against Isra's. His hand is trembling slightly against hers, his gills still giving a small unsteady flutter. "{Excellent. Pa'd be glad of it, too. Almost as good,}" he says with a sharptoothed grin, "{as having a tree.}" Isra's growl hitches up in both volume and pitch, then quiet again when she speaks, though it never fades away altogether. "{I don't think they understand discipline much better than they understand compassion,}" she says evenly, her tail sway faster behind her. "{I'm not sure if I give them too much credit or too little to wonder if they have even noticed Daiki is gone.}" Though her voice does not waver when she speaks the name, her ears do press down even lower. Then, with a sharp smile of her own, a touch indignant, "{/Almost/ as good, but only because it would be hard to know where to leave gifts.}" "{Well, yeah, I mean. It'd be really inconvenient if you had to bring all the gifts /around/ with you. Though if they were small? And you put them in your pockets?}" There's amusement in Shane's voice, though his /does/ hitch around the quicker fluttering of his gills. His other hand curls in his lap into a small fist, inner eyelids sliding shut. "{Well. He.}" He swallows, smiles just a touch sharper, "{hasn't been showing up to training, so. They've probably put him on probation, too.}" "{Stockings. On the horns,}" Isra suggests, deadpan. "{A sleigh for the larger gifts. I can be tree, reindeer, /and/ Santa Claus, all in one.}" Her wing shifts up and, an elongated metacarpal pressing against the gills on Shane's neck. "{They'd think he has /reason/ for his absence, at least. But you...}" She bends and plants a kiss to Shane's spiky head. "{...are clearly too busy corrupting the students.}" "{Ion's bike is tricked the fuck out, he is ready to Santa all over the damn place.}" Shane's gills flatten when Isra presses against them, his weight shifting slightly in towards her. "{Yeah. No. I spread bad influence like a goddamn plague. Up to no fucking /good/ helping Taylor go visit Karrie. He -- he'd have done it the right way. Made the proper arrangements. With administration. Filled out paperwork like you're supposed to. Or brought Karrie there. Something sensible, he was always on top of...}" He trails off, shoulders tensing hard. "{I should probably leave Santa duty to the professionals,}" Isra agrees. Her wing coils the rest of the way around, clasping Shane to her tightly, heavy talons digging in against his skin. "{He would have. You'd have both done right by Taylor, which is what mattered--and he would have understood that, too.}" Then, after a pause, steadily still, "{How is he? Taylor.}" Shane sinks in at Isra's side. He seems unbothered by the press of talons against him, his cheek mooshing up against her arm firmly. "{Killed himself,}" he answers oddly blandly, "{so about that good.}" He shrugs. "{He got over it, though. He's.}" His jaw tightens. "{Moving on.}" Isra goes still at the mention of Taylor's death. "{It will take time,}" she says; the blandness of /her/ response is more characteristic and less, probably, to do with her awareness of the unique circumstances under which the boy had died and returned. "{And you?}" "{Me?}" Shane's brows hitch up. He looks down at his hands, flexes his fingers -- apart, watching the torn gaps between them as he wiggles them. "{Well. I've got exams to pass.}"