ArchivedLogs:Conversation
| Conversation | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 12 January 2015 ' |
| Location
<XS> Auditorium | |
It's all bustle and fuss backstage, a lot of busy though with little of the actual urgency that will come when rehearsals are in full swing. Kids still in shorts and tees from the racing here from sports practice poring over their lines, running through vocal warmups, play-fighting with prop swords, sitting with their math textbooks open on one knee and scripts open on the other. Anole is in basketball shorts, a black and white sleeveless athletic shirt, sneakers, a bit of restless bounce to his stance where he leans against a wall in the hallway just outside the door to the backstage area, sipping from a thermos before he tucks it beneath an arm, stands up straighter, massages at a cheek with his palm as he rotates his jaw and slips through the door. Lia is in a rush, as well, only time to throw on a black Xavier's hoodie and sweatpants after swim practice. Her galaxy-patterned backpack is slung over only one shoulder, thudding along with her as she doesn't /quite/ run. Despite an (also rushed!) shower afterward, she still has the tang of chlorine clinging to her damp hair, which she is swiftly braiding as she walks. Spinning, she catches the door with a hip to follow along behind Anole without having to use her hands, which are still tying off her hair at the bottom. “Oh goodness, thanks!” she offers in a quick chirp. It doesn't really matter that the door wasn't being held open /for/ her. Jaw-stretching is sliding into a trill of lips, the raspberry sound trailing off into a surprised, "-- Woooah hey." Anole may not have been intending to hold the door open for anyone but the rush of feet and thudding backpack behind him finds one foot sliding backwards to bump the door open a little wider, thunk it more to let Lia catch it and follow him in. "Clothes. Backpack. You're way more together than I am I just bolted here from the gym." "-- Yeah we can smell that," pipes up a taller boy with a crooked grin. For a moment Anole looks briefly miffed, tipping his head down to sniff at one armpit in perplexion. "... I don't even /have/ sweat glands, dude." “Only half-together! I was covered in pool water and had to get out of my swimsuit and shower. If I did not put on clothes, I would be naked. Which we are not supposed to do. Also, it would be cold.” Lia continues her spin on into the room, finding a safe spot and depositing her backpack there without pausing. “I can only smell chlorine. Is that better?” Perhaps she needs to answer this for herself, since the girl slides back over to Anole to sniff at the outside of his shoulder. "Yeah, people get a little twitchy if you're naked. I hear Shane got in trouble for it like. A lot." Anole's forehead wrinkles upwards at Lia's sniffing, a small amused smile twitching on his lips. He sniffs /back/, at the side of her head. "Pretty chlorine-y. I don't know what's better. I don't even know what I smell like. I feel like after a whole day I can't smell myself anymore." “Shane is very good at getting in trouble. He should have an award. Sometimes his trouble is very creative.” It takes Lia a moment to pull away with an assessment. “Smells like...shirt. Also...bread.” This last comes with a little snap of teeth in Anole's direction that transitions easily into a smile. "It's sort of his forte, he could teach a class." Anole drops his thermos back into one hand, his script into the other. "Nooot that most people around here need one Trouble is pretty much the most preferred extracurricular already." He pops the top on his thermos, one eye squinching up in amusement at the snapping. "You can't eat my shirt. It won't taste like bread. /I/ don't taste like bread." Though he follows this up with a small thoughtful nibble at one forearm. “Perhaps the Trouble would be less troublesome if it were regimented Trouble. For Trouble Class,” Lia returns with a giggle. “Sure we could try. Whole people get swallowed in this production.” She gestures broadly to herself, somewhat less effective without the red hood on. “I get eaten enough. Maybe we should try the other way.” Her hand slips up Anole's arm. “Hello, little boy...” The mimicry of their Wolf is good enough until it dissolves into more giggles. "Regimented trouble? Could we start, like, a Trouble Corps?" A grin breaks across his face when Lia's hand moves to his arm; he pulls the bottom of his (very much not red but who's counting) shirt up and over his head. "I think you need to look a little hungrier, Miss Wolf." "We should ask Shane. I think he might start that. We could get him a very fine hat to wear. And the troops would try to steal it." Lia's ideas of what constitutes making Trouble could still be a bit lopsided from the severity of her...upbringing. Her eyes widen at Anole's tugging up of his shirt and demands for improved performance. "Will you pick me flowers?" she asks with a grin that becomes only toothier as she then resumes her role. Still rather heavily favouring dance as her means of expression, her foot slides forward as her hand slides down to grasp Anole's, pulling him in close up against her, hip to hip. Her other hand finds the skin exposed by the boy's shirt being pulled up, trailing up along his spine then tracing to his belly. "Look at that flesh, pink and plump." Her grip moves to the boy's low back, to bend him backward a little and make herself seem taller right on top of him, words spoken close at his ear and softer, "Hello, little boy." "/He'd/ like a fine hat but Horus would nab it like --" Anole snaps his fingers. Bam-quick. For a moment his grin gets toothier, too, when Lia's does, but it fades as she slides in close to him. He leaves his shirt draped over his head, muscles tensing, eyes opening wider, mouth opened into a small O as he is pulled back. His eyes dip downward, a faint flush tinting his cheeks darker green as he pivots away, a little bouncy on his toes (his tongue snaps out as he moves, a lightning flash of pink to nab a twined-together bouquet of fake flowers from a table across the way and scatter them on the ground in front of them.) His head dips in a polite (flustered) bob as he pulls away. "-- Good day, Miss Wolf." “Horus has many fine hats,” Lia observes evenly. She releases her grip on Anole, but with an assist at his hand to get more upright without stumbling before she steps away. Her clear amusement at the flowers being strewn settles into a simple head tilt, watching Anole pull back further. “More scared than excited. Too much?” One foot sweeps out to gather the better part of the flowers into more of a pile. Anole stoops, trading out his thermos for one of the flowers. He twirls it idly beneath his nose, sliding back in a step closer to Lia. "For the opening, maybe. I don't know." His brow rumples thoughtfully, and he twitches the flower out instead to brush up against Lia's chin. "How do /you/ feel when the wolf is approaching you? I feel like too much hands first would tip my danger-meter towards scared more than excited. Like innuendo /then/ groping." "I did it out of order. It is harder to know where to be that way," Lia admits, head tilting back the other way. Her smile broadens once more at the tickling flower. "I think I get too used to dancing and need to back down to acting. Dancing is very...touchy. Usually no talking." Her foot goes after the last stray flowers, gathering them in a bunch to scoop into her hands. "I feel like...he kind of has a point. About the flowers. Even if that is not what he means." She taps the bouquet playfully against Anole's chest.
"Well, he /is/ hungry. Poor wolf." Lia's sad-sympathetic look is a little exaggerated for comic effect. She laughs outright at the repeated scattering of the flowers. "This is the opposite of flower picking." A nod answers the recommendation. "No words, okay." The girl backs away a few steps, only to provide more opportunity for watching Anole's movements intently, head following along with eyes. She begins slightly crouched, one corner of her mouth twitching upward, leading the rest of her into standing taller. Gliding out in front of the boy, casual as you please, her smile spreads a little as she tries to catch his eyes with hers. Sweeping into a more masculine bow rather than a curtsey, her dipping arm collects one of the flowers blindly, her gaze not breaking. She holds the flower out in front of her, presenting it to Anole, allowing the petals to come close to him rather than her body. Anole's trotting steps hitch as Lia approaches, stopping altogether when he lifts his eyes to meet hers. At a faint stutter-hitched note of delay he smiles, dipping in a small curtsey and leaning in to give the flower a sniff. He takes it from Lia, brushing its petals against his cheek and glancing to the ones on the ground as he rocks back on his heels. His teeth catch at his lip; he gestures with the flower to the imaginary path he's been walking on, the imaginary basket draped over his arm, weight rocking back up onto his toes as his eyes lift to Lia's again -- body leaning iiiin until he shifts forward into another step. Kind of on his original path, kind of sideways. Flower still held to his cheek. Oh, there's a wider smile, answering the one from Anole. The flower is not given so easily, a subtle backward shift of Lia's torso making Anole reach for it without any appearance of snatching it away, given her still casually outstretched arm. Once it is given, Lia slides aside slightly, arm gesturing to the flowers on the ground. Her body moves first, always, head drifting along a moment behind, not losing eye contact. Further down that sideways path, she uses a foot to catch another flower, lifting it up to her hand. She traces the petals along her own cheek, nuzzling faintly, before holding it out again. This time a further reach for Anole, requiring another step off the path. Anole's teeth sink lower into his lip. He teeters uncertainly where he stands. His head turns over his shoulder to cast a look down at his path even as his foot slides forward as if drawn in the direction Lia's motion. He clutches his first flower against his chest, finally committing to the step and shifting after Lia. He brings his flower back to his face, then reaches out, stretching forward to curl fingers around its stem. Lia's eyes stay fixed on Anole's, save for the time when his head turns away. When she gives over the flower this time, it is a slower process, her hand maintaining hold and fingertips brushing as she shifts a little further to the side before releasing her grip. Again, the slower movement of head to follow body invites Anole's gaze to follow her movement. The next step to retrieve a flower requires her to move in a little closer, foot sweeping toward Anole to scoop the flower up and hand reaching in the boy's direction to retrieve it. As this next flower is offered, she begins to turn, leading Anole not just to the side but turning /away/ from the path he had been on. Anole's fingers curl in against his palm, only pulling the flower slowly towards himself as Lia's fingers brush his. His eyes stay fixed on hers, head following the path of her movement as this time his own steps follow hers more seamlessly, weight shifting to have the slide of his feet follow after hers. He's quicker to take the next flower, quicker to traipse after Lia, and this time it is he and not her who dips first to start collecting the flowers, transferring the first three into his off-hand so that he can bend to pluck another from the ground. Lia collects one more flower, foot transferring it to hand behind her with virtually no movement of her head or trunk. Her eyes widen, smile sharpening slightly as she glides in close to Anole while the boy's head is down. When he rights again, he'll find her at his shoulder, hand with flower placed about the level of his chest and arm poised to wrap ever-so-slightly around the boy in the process of delivery. The slightly-surprised upward tweak of Anole's shoulders at finding Lia so close at hand slips into a shift of head, tilted up and back to look up at her, a shift of posture to angle his shoulders just a little bit back in towards her as he curls his arm up to add the flower to his collection. His head tips down, a smile only half-buried behind the deep breath he takes of his growing bouquet. Already so easily poised, once Anole claims the flower, Lia's arm does encircle him. Her movement up alongside him is easy, almost gentle in press of body to body, inviting the boy into a bit of a sway. Then a hint of a step. And another. And once he moves along with her, a twirl of their bodies both together to turn him, fully around once, and end facing entirely away from his path. Further into their sideways detour and quite firmly held to her, her own steps backward and leading him both /away/ and further into her hold. Anole's weight leans back, shifting to prop slightly against Lia's, let her motion rock his own. He eases into the steps, one tentative step and then a more ready one, finally spinning to face Lia with a catch of breath, a sharper widening of eyes as he leans up into her hold. And then breaks into a sharp grin to the sound of a teacher's voice out past the curtain on the stage proper, calling them to begin their warm-ups For Real. His arm, flowers still held, curls around Lia's back, bulky and knobby-spiky but he's getting better at moderating its /strength/ to a normal level. "See? Totally a conversation." | |
