ArchivedLogs:Dry Summer

Dry Summer
Dramatis Personae Lyric, Taylor
In Absentia	2015-08-22 What did you think Cerebro was /for/?
Location <XS> Gardens
From indoor gardens to outdoor, though without the protective greenhouse glass the back gardens do not last all year round. Still, the gardens out here are well-tended and well-worth spending time in, as well. The paths wending through the beds of flowers and herbs and vegetables spread out through the school's back grounds, tended by students as a credit class. Benches offer seating and a small pond is home to koi and turtles, as well as a few frogs. At the far back edges of the garden, a droning buzzing marks a few stacked white boxes as beehives. There's a certain tension around the mansion today -- a veritable media storm online and on the television -- but the expansive grounds mean that while people are all too /aware/ of the crowd clamoring at the gates, none of it touches the peaceful haven of the actual grounds. Kept thankfully remote at the grounds' entrance, far out of eye- and ear-shot from anywhere at the actual school buildings, it's at least possible to /pretend/ things are normal. If you're someone so inclined to do so. If you're not -- well. Lyric is wandering down out of the mansion with tablet in hand. She's wearing her usual trademark bright colors, purple and blue ankle-length dip-dyed skirt and white and purple tank top with a very lightweight white blouse over top, white headscarf draped neatly elegant around her head. Her feet are bare as she heads into the garden, eschewing paths to dig her toes into grass and dirt. There's a lot of clutter in her mind; worrying about how this announcement will affect her brother out at college, worrying about if people outside will stick to /journalism/ or escalate to violence, worrying about how boring the break will be if they aren't allowed off-campus. Her eyes skim the tablet screen, running over the news. Somewhere in the back of the gardens, a tall black figure is standing beside one of the beehives. Pale jean shorts and a very modified green henley shirt, white net hat over his head as the only protective gear. Two of Taylor's arms are carefully adjusting one of the frames in one of the hives, resettling it gently before closing the box back up. His head tips at the sound? feel? of someone approaching. Still wearing the veil-hat, he wanders (barefoot, too!) back down the path. 'Your brother ok?' Signed, not spoken, once he's waved a tentacle at Lyric in hello. Lyric stops, scrunching toes into the ground and looking up to watch Taylor with the hive. Her eyes have opened wider when Taylor approaches. She sets the tablet down on a nearby bench, freeing up her hands better to converse. Not to immediately answer the question, though. Instead: 'Bare arms? They don't sting you?' She's leaning a little closer, frowning uncertainly at Taylor and the screen-draped hat. Taylor lifts one limb to pluck the hat off his head. Shakes his head, gesturing vaguely back over shoulder with a different arm. 'Honeybees? No. Super gentle if you're gentle with them. Someone had knocked one of the frames crooked, I was just fixing. When did you get back? How was dry?' Lyric giggles, shaking her head. '/Summer/,' she emphasizes, reaching out her free hand to nudge Taylor's up higher and correct his signing, 'was great. I went to dance camp and saw my grandma and grandpa and rode about seven million rollercoasters. And my brother's okay. Right now. His school hasn't started again yet.' 'Summer.' Taylor repeats this, grinning crooked. 'Summer. OK. How was summer --' Though she's already /answered/ this, now the repetition seems mostly just for committing it to memory. 'You're back early now. Not usually here till classes start?' This puts a ripple of disquiet in Lyric's mind. 'Well, news.' Even though there is nothing to be seen or heard of the crowd at the gates she gestures -- off in the general /direction/ of The Front. Somewhere. 'Wanted to get in before the stupid started. Though the actual article was good!' Her grin is a little wicked. 'Wonder who the Professor bribed.' 'Bribed?' Taylor needs to ask for confirmation on this word before understanding comes. When it comes it comes with a snort. Amused. 'Why bribe? Just brainwash some reporter into thinking nice things.' His brows hike up a little. 'Or. Just write the article himself! Brainwash someone into printing it.' Lyric widens her eyes. Disquiet is pushed aside in favor of amusement, her shoulders curling in as a few rough hoarse barks of laughter escape her. 'He /could/.' She seems /delighted/ with this idea. 'I've always /wondered/ how the school stayed hidden this long /anyway/.' Taylor's chuckle is half-hidden behind one of his limbs. 'What did you think Cerebro was /for/?' His arms drop to his sides, head giving a small shake. 'Really no. I met the reporter here who wrote the piece. Not the Professor. Sadly.' Though here his lips purse uncertainly. 'At least not that I could /tell/. But. Maybe that's just what he wants me to think?' 'Met them?' Lyric's wider-eyes, higher-brows, look kind of impressed. 'Did you talk to them? Did /you/ brainwash them? Maybe you're why they think this is the /greatest school ever/.' One of Taylor's tentacles points to his own chest in mild shock. 'Me?' The pah! he makes with his mouth is sharp denial. 'I can't brainwash. Only brain -- hear.' Shrug. 'And I didn't talk to them, really. I don't think,' now his smile is just a tiny! bit! wry! 'I'm exactly the face the school wanted to put forward. Other kids did, though.' << 'But it's a nice face', >> runs through Lyric's mind side-by-side with a pensive turning-over of how the General Public might react to the -- not-face parts of Taylor. Hm. << '... okay yeah probably good plan.' >> 'Which other kids? I can't /wait/ to see /those/ interviews.' Only it's sort of a /wicked/ kind of glee in her mind. What if they talked to SHANE? Max? DENNIS? << This school will be on fire soon. >> It starts out as an amused thought but just ends -- heavy. Somber. Taylor shudders briefly. He curls the beekeeping hat closer to his chest. Crumples its netting. Shakes his head. 'Teachers will keep the fire away.' His expression is /resolute/ in this. Some of his tentacles are coiling tighter around him. He turns kind of quickly! Away. Back towards the building. Doesn't turn back to add in parting a genuine: << Welcome back. >>