ArchivedLogs:Corps de le Fantome

Corps de le Fantome
Dramatis Personae Jack and Teague
In Absentia	2015-08-07 "Quit your looming over me and sit if you're going to stay."
Location <NYC> Upper West Side
One of the greenest parts of the grey iron and steel of New York City, it is not merely the proximity to Central Park that makes this neighborhood of Manhattan so. Trees and small parks are scattered throughout the neighborhood, as well as memorials and pedestrian-only streets. There are many theatres in the neighborhood, second only to Times Square and the museum mile in its cultural offerings. The School of American Ballet just off of the Lincoln Center for Performing Arts is one of the most famous classical ballet academies in the world. Partnered with the New York City Ballet, it acts as a feeder for young talent. Needless to say, they don’t accept just anyone. Located just before an ornate fountain and several small parks, the building suddenly bursts with a swell of young dancers. Mostly female, beautiful, and in their late teens, they flounder out into the fountain as they chatter away. Among them, if not a bit alien, Teague adjusts his heavy gym bag on a narrow shoulder. With his hair up in a sloppy bun, he has foregone his usual black for the airy grey color worn by many of the other dancers. His sweat pants are cut to just below the knee and his tanktop leaves the tattoo on his neck still very visible. He has staked out this place many times, and although he was initially trying to lay low, it appears he couldn’t resist. Jack isn't much of a dancer, claiming to have two left feet off the football field. So he's not in the area for the school. No, the teen clad in jeans and a faded red hoodie is just sipping a slurpee of all things as he sits on the edge of the fountain and appears to be checking his phone. When the school opens and all the people spill out, Jack glances up. Keeping his hood down, he's set to go back to his phone when he notices Teague. Invisible brows arch and he lowers his drink a little. "Huh..." As the sea of willowy bodies disperses, there are a lot of chummy, cheerful goodbyes. Surprise or no, none of these are directed towards Teague, who appears to know noone. Feeling rather invisible himself, the teen drifts away from the other dancers in his age-group. Finding solitude on the brick that surrounds one of the accompanying gardens, he eases his legs out in front of him with a wince. Unknowingly sitting directly across from Jack with a look of great ennui, the boy lights a cigarette. Two of the other teen dancers pass between Jack and Teague. Both are lovely and blonde, with pastel pink accompaniments, “No, I don’t know who he is.” The girls peer over at Teague, “Whatever. The pas de chat at the end? There’s like, no way he’s making it on the list before us.” They both giggle conspiratorially under their breath and continue onward. Jack watches and listens, an unseen scowl forming on his face when he overhears the girls. Sure he may not be Teague's biggest fan but he never did like the whole 'highschool social system' way of doing things. He waits for the girls to pass before getting up and approaching Teague. "Never took you for a dancer," he murmurs, leaning against the wall as well. Alarm showing only through many layers of practiced apathy, Teague peaks up just as he folds his body down over his legs to stretch them out. Slowly sitting back up, he flicks some ash to the side, “I hesitate to think what it is you /did/ take me for.” Voice breathy and quiet, he lacks some of his usual narcissistic confidence. "Could probably guess," Jack replies but he shrugs it off. "So...you do the ballet thing? Take it your classmates don't know about the mutant thing," he guesses, keeping his voice down. "This was an audition," Teague explains, turning to look out over the stragglers, "For a coach." He gulps dryly, drawing one knee up to his chest, "I blew it, anyway." He takes a long drag. Months of combat training have given his movements sharper edges than he anticipated. "All these little slags are from here, aren't they? Probably grew up together dancing. So nobody knows me or anything about me. It's just the way it has to be." Jack glances at Teague. "So you had to...dance your way into a class?" he asks. "Dunno anything about dancing but your classmates didn't think too highly of whatever you did at the end from what I heard," he says. "Course they could just be trying to fool themselves so," he shrugs. "No idea. I'm not from around here so I don't know who is," Jack replies, looking out at the dancers too. "My pas de chat?" Teagen growls, "Fuck them, that was adorable. It isn't just any class. You can get into the corps from this class." He angry-smokes, continuing to look out as well as he gestures from the school, over towards the New York City Ballet. "I'm not good at American accents. You aren't? I certainly see you around enough, particularly for someone largely invisible if it isn't in poor taste to point out." Jack gives Teague as blank a look as an empty hood can. "I have no idea what it is but they said it," he replies. "Corps?" he asks. Looking over at the school, Jack nods. "Yeah...not a New York native," he says. Teague looks up, giving Jack a blank look of his own. He presses the palm of his hand into the area beside him before removing it in a clearing gesture, "Quit your looming over me and sit if you're going to stay." ... "The corps is ...the main portion of the dancers in a ballet company. Anyway, like I said, it doesn't really matter." "Looming came with the vanishing," Jack remarks. He considers a second before sitting down carefully. Nodding as things are explained, he lets out a hum. "Might not matter, but still might. Unless you've got mind reading on top of whatever you do with diamonds...won't know till that coach says what they think." Teague lets out a breath of a laugh at the remark, swaying where he sits so that his small shoulder bumps Jack's. "Maybe I have got mind reading, you don't know," raising both eyebrows, Teague presses up the corners of his mouth in the smallest of smiles. Jack considers the possibility after the bump before snorting a little. "Kinda doubt it," he says. At least it doesn't seem like Teague does based on Jack's encounters with other telepaths. “No, you’re right. I don’t,” Teague brings up both hands to let down his hair, combing his fingers through it. The smell of his leave-in conditioner wafts through the air, “Even if I did, I doubt I’d take advantage.” He turns to stare over at Jack, putting out his cigarette by jamming the butt into the ground, “It’s ruin the mystique.” Jack sniffs slightly, the mixed scent of conditioner and smoke prompting him to idly wave at the air in attempt to ward the smell off. "The mystique?" he asks. "Of an audition? Didn't know those came with mystique," he remarks, sounding a little amused. “No, you wanker,” Teague lets out another breathy laugh, bringing up a hand to tap at his own forehead, as if tapping his mind, “Of the invisible man.” His smiles without showing his teeth, drawing up his one stretched out leg to join the other at his chest, “Ballerinas are stupid, neurotic little squirrels. There’s nothing there.” Jack gives a little laugh too. "Not sure if I've got much either. But thanks for not ruining it," he says, leaning back. His gaze turns to the sky for a moment and he takes a sip of his drink. "Never met one before. Wouldn't really know," he admits. "Wouldn't want to read their minds though. Or most anyone else's for that matter." “Well, if we can only agree on one thing,” the dancer follows Jack’s gaze to the sky, “we can agree on that.” Bored of staring up, Teague glances around them, “Do you always just, you know, wander around all alone on your own like this?” Jack shrugs. "Sometimes. Not as much as I used to," he replies. "Was waiting to meet up with some people today." “Oh, yeah?” Teague runs his tongue along the inside of his mouth, tempted to light another cigarette, “What sort of people do you meet up with? Invisibles? That fit man I saw you with at Evolve?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively. Jack snorts a bit. "No, I'm the only invisible one. Only perma-ghost," he replies. "Just some friends I sort of live with now," he says. It takes him a moment to catch on to the suggestive eyebrow raise but when he does, Jack sputters a little. "Dude...no," he shakes his head. "He's a friend but -so- not that kind," he mutters. Teague holds up both hands in mock surrender, "Just checking. Didn't mean to offend." He purrs out a laugh, ducking his head to check under Jack's hood, "If you were blushing, you'd let me know? Wouldn't you?" "You didn't offend just..." Jack waves an empty sleeve. "Just some people you try not to think of like that..." he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. The question gets invisible eyes blinking. "I don't think enough about blushing to announce it." "No, I think of anyone I want, as much as I want, any way that I want," Teague scoffs, brushing his legs and rising, "Plenty of people trying to censor our minds already without us doing it ourselves." He leans down to hoist up his gym bag, his dark hair falling into his face, "Next time you see me, I'll try to be committing a crime that you can lecture me about. Instead of just feeling sorry for myself. Doesn't really feel the same without you getting all cute and huffy." Jack snorts slightly. "Didn't mean it in a censory way just...some people don't register that way and it'd just feel...off," he gestures vaguely with an empty sleeve. "Hey," he frowns invisibly, an equally unseen red tint coming to his cheeks. "I don't get huffy." Lingering, stooped over his bag at eye level, Teague’s lips curve into a cat-like smile. “I stand corrected,” he says smoothly before standing up straight. He adjusts the weight of his bag on his shoulder one more time, “Later.”