ArchivedLogs:Going Feral and Thwippy Things

Going Feral and Thwippy Things
Dramatis Personae Hank, Peter
In Absentia	2013-05-31 '
Location <XS> Medical Lab - B1
Gleaming and sterile, the school's medical facility is all cool science in contrast to the mansion's old-world old-fashion. All stainless steel and antiseptic tinge, the room is filled with the quiet whir-click of the various implements that comprise its medical equipment -- all state-of the art. The hospital beds are curtained off for privacy when they have patients, and in one of the alcoves there is a small operating theatre visible. More heavy-duty equipment is visible in the lab in the back, where the securely locked cabinets keep sensitive equipment out of the reach of teenage fingers. It's mid-morning, the day after the art show, and Peter would have woken with a request for an 8 am meeting with his advisor, Dr. McCoy. Whether he woke up early enough to /see/ that message in time is another question altogether. But either way, Hank is /sort/ of at his desk, in that he's sitting near it, but he has pushed away for the much more comfortable position of being hunched back like an ape in his chair. Each of his hand-hands is holding a different reference book on insects, while his left foot-hand is holding a spiral bound notebook, and his right foot-hand is holding a pen and making notes about what he's reading, as he glances back and forth between the volumes. A small tray of pastries has been brought down from the kitchen for the meeting. It also has a coffee pot, tea service, and a carafe of cherry limeade sitting out. The tray has two plates, two small glasses, and two mugs, as well. Peter arrives, right on time! He /does/ get up pretty early, and though he's groggy for the first few minutes, it isn't long before he's zipping and zooming like some sort of mad ping-pong ball. By the time he arrives in the med-lab, Peter's dressed for class -- tan dress-slacks, white collared shirt (short sleeve!) and a black clip-on tie. He's wearing his funny two-toed socks -- and he's got something stuffed in his front pockets. /Probably/ those wrist-watches of his. His hair is combed back, recently cut; it looks unusual against the black chitin that coats him -- gleaming a delicate, metallic blue in the lighting of the med-lab. "You wanted to see me, Mist--Doc--Professor McCoy?" Peter still stumbles over what the etiquette is here when it comes to Dr. McCoy's proper title. He is -- a little nervous! Today is, after all, the day of the dance, and apparently -- he's going with /everyone/. He eyes the tray, eyebrows crumpling together, perusing -- is that cherry limeade? It looks like cherry limeade. Sniff, sniff. Peter doesn't have super-smelling, regrettably. "Good morning, Mr. Parker," Hank says, still a little distracted as he finishes an important bit of notetaking before it slips away from him. Finished, his expression changes into a broad, toothy smile, as he seems to remember why he called Peter down here. "Peter!" he says this time, "Please have something to eat. I will begin with this: /You/... are not in trouble." Hank seems quite pleased with his ability to state the important bits first. "Grab a bite, and take a seat please. We'll be done here in time for class." Peter... sits. THWUMP. In the chair. Kind of like he's, well, just /throwing/ himself into it. He has this way of just hurling himself from point to point, yet somehow managing to end up /not/ collapsing into a heap on the floor. It's both graceful and not very. He inspects the food a moment, before -- RROWRMP. Peter eats /fast/. One of the pastries is... yep, pretty much half of it is down Peter's throat already. A few crumbs clinging to his chin as he glances up at Dr. McCoy. "Mmmrmph?" SWALLOW. "What's--uh. Up, Doc?" OhGod did he actually just say that. Hank grins. It's a knowing smile, probably half-wondering if Peter even knows the cartoon character Hank is suddenly reminded of from his youth. But the doctor doesn't comment. He pours himself some coffee, and says idly, "You know, Peter, sometimes I wish we /were/ at Hogwarts. Have I ever told you that?" "Hog--oh. Uh." Peter's face tints a little violet. Just a /smidge/. The second half of the pastry is now /gone/. Just like that. RROWRMPF. "--I dunno I always figured we kind of were I /mean/, uh. I guess we don't -- there's no such thing as /magic/, but." Now he's eyeing that cherry limeade, next. Fingers creeeeeping toward it. Creep, creep. "But. Some of the stuff that happens here is /pretty/ amazing. Actually I don't think Hogwarts had a holodeck," he adds, fingers curling around that glass. GOTCHA. Hank snorts good-naturedly at the word 'holodeck' and nods. "Ok, fair enough, they didn't have a Danger Room. But it's days like today when I'd love to stride into the great hall and announce, '20 points to Gryffindor!' or some such." Hank takes a sip of coffee and adds, "I received a glowing report..." He glances down and mumbles something about 'no pun intended' and continues, "From Professor Suresh, regarding your behavior on the outing last night. He said there was a particularly tense moment and instead of just standing idly by, /or/ leaping to punches, you helped a fellow student restrain his baser impulses. Based on his description of events, I have to agree that you deserve recognition, and thanks. Well done, Peter." Hank's smile couldn't be more proud as he reaches across the desk to shake whichever of Peter's hands isn't full of pastry and/or pouring cherry limeade. "Man I thought the /houses/ were kinda dumb too I mean--" Peter begins, but then clamps his mouth shut and proceeds to SWALLOW HALF THE GLASS'S CONTENTS IN A SINGLE PULL. Cherry limeade is very sour and very /sweet/; the stuff's basically made of sugar mixed with lime juice mixed with cherry flavoring. Peter downs it like it's a glass of milk. /Maybe/ his left eyebrow makes a little spasm. At the mention of helping a fellow student, Peter's eyebrows shoot up; the glass is set down -- he glances slightly to the left, violet intensifying. "Sebastian wouldn't have -- um. Oh, thanks," he says, taking Hank's hand -- gingerly! Peter's skin feels a little like plastic -- warm and flexible, yet smooth and /hard/. "I mean. I didn't -- I just -- he's /really/ protective," Peter says. "I mean, he -- doesn't have a lot of friends. And -- you know he -- kind of comes from a place where--" Peter's voice gets much lower, /peering/ at Hank's hand. "--if someone goes after a friend, you either lose your friend or kill them. From where he came from, that's the choice, I guess? And -- I don't think it's easy for him to leave that place." Hank raises an eyebrow, listening to Peter describe where Shane and Sebastian come from, and watches the boy levelly. Sitting back in his big chair, folding his hand-hands and his feet-hands together respectively, he sighs when Peter is done and offers a gentle smile. "My point is, Peter, I know very well what it is like to struggle with base instinct. It will be a lifelong struggle for both of them, I'm sure. I also know if I had not had a friend like Professor Xavier, some time ago, I don't think I would have faired so well. You did well, and I think we teachers spend so much time pointing out mistakes, that we ought to put as much effort into recognizing the /successes/ of our students. I don't fault your friends for their instincts. We can't help those. We /can/ however help how we respond to them. This is why the school was founded Peter. So that no one would have to struggle through learning about their mutation alone." "You do?" Peter's eyes snap up to Dr. McCoy, slightly wide; something slowly begins to settle over them. A realization, maybe? "Oh, right. I guess -- I mean, I kinda forget, 'cuz you look. Really, uh." He finishes the rest of the limeade with one more massive GULP. "Doctor-y. And I mean you don't -- I don't even think I've ever /seen/ you go all feral," Peter adds, before giving a side-long glance toward one of the slabs. "I've seen /them/ go -- feral. Oh, man. Do you ever get like -- oh, /jeez/," Peter says, looking at Dr. McCoy with wide eyes. "Do you ever -- have you ever /eaten/ anybody?! OH, oh man, that is a /horrible/ question I'msorryIshouldn'taskthat--" The question is insensitive, but then, Peter is young, and Hank is so very, very old. He'll be /40/ in July. Practically ready for retirement. However, his years have afforded him a great deal of patience, combined with his experience working with teenagers over the last several years specifically, so he just smiles and shakes his head. He holds up a hand to Peter's panic, "No, no it's alright. The question could be phrased differently, but I understand what you mean. I've been so involved with monitoring your stages of mutation, Peter, because my own came in two significant stages." He turns his hands over in front of himself, as if examining them for the first time. Claws extend and retract. "I was born more or less human looking, though... shaped differently. I had long arms and legs, and my feet were always..." He hoists a foot and waggles his toe-fingers at Peter. "And my... temper, was manageable. It was only later," It seems Hank will leave out the bit about actually /causing/ his own progressed mutation. "When my mutation advanced... to this. The fur. The coloring. The claws and teeth - which I've come to quite like, actually. But in the beginning! It was a difficult adjustment. Because along with the physical characteristics of a ravening beast came also the... frame of mind. My temper was a match over dry twigs piled high with TNT." Hank looks down briefly, and then back up even, and calm. "To answer your question, I accidentally hurt some people, in the beginning. Some were even bitten. But no, I've never /eaten/ anyone." Hank fiddles with his coffee for a moment, adding a little cream to it. "It was only with Professor Xavier's help, and time, that I was able to overcome such feelings, for the most part. But it is something I will always have to struggle with. Don't be afraid of a struggle Peter, especially when it's a worthy one. The hardest things to do are usually the most worthwhile." "Oh, /oh/," Peter exclaims, remaining a steady shade of violet throughout Dr. McCoy's explanation. He /peers/ at those wiggling toes when Dr. McCoy lifts them; he wrinkles his nose at the mention of accidentally biting people. But! At the end, he's smiling. "Oh yeah I mean, uh. I don't have to struggle with /that/ I don't ever feel a need to /bite/ pe--" Peter stops here. And suddenly, inexplicably, goes /deep/ indigo. "...I mean, I don't have. I don't get, like. Like. I don'thavethoseissues," he finishes with, "but yeah I think I know? What you mean. Um, thank you." Then: "OH. Oh, I meant to ask you, did you ever -- have you ever had any -- um, luck with -- the bioadhesive paste?" Hank nods and holds up a furry blue hand again to try and calm Peter's nervousness. "Not to worry Peter. And /please/ don't hesitate to come to me with any questions you have. I've devoted my life to studying mutations, and there's no reason to hold back information." Hank raises his eyebrows, and looks surprised, and then he remembers, "Oh well, yes of course I -" Finally figured it out while you were away. Which would not be something nice to bring up. "Actually after several visits to the chemical shower to detangle my fur, I /have/ developed a reliable, repeatable system for synthesizing that glue of yours." He sits forward, flicks something on his xTab and the big screen on the sidewall of his office lights up with chemical diagrams and even some relatively amusing testing video footage. Hank. With goo in his... everywhere. "However, I have a condition for you. You must practice in the Danger Room, in circumstances of graduating difficulty, before I will release it to you en masse. Deal?" "Huh? Oh," Peter says, blinking and tilting his head at the diagrams -- /and/ at the glue-laced Dr. McCoy. "Oh, sure. I mean -- um. Have you ever seen me with -- I mean, sure, just. I am already pretty much, /crazy-awesome/ with them," Peter adds, grinning. /Maybe/ a little cockily. "But I mean sure I could do that you just, uh. Will probably have to crank it up a bit to start with. I mean I can basically /fly/ with these things," he remarks, his hand moving to touch the interior of his pocket. Where WEBSHOOTER lurks. "Well, very good," Hank says, taking Peter's bravado at face value. Apparently he doesn't want or expect false modesty. "Also, while on campus, I'd like you to just wear them openly, and feel free to move around school with them. You say you're very good, but I want them to feel second nature to you. I like students to embrace any passive aspects of their mutation, and I think this one suits you." Hank raises an eyebrow, and his forefinger, "However, I do /not/ want to hear about you using these in the city for fun. It is one thing to flee when you are in danger, but not for showing off, or just larking around. Are we on the same page?" "...oh. Oh, /oh/. That'd be -- yeah, cool," Peter says, nodding /very/ rapidly. "I mean, I've wanted to use them in the school more openly just, uh, okay." And then, at the mention of the city, Peter turns a /bit/ violet. "...oh, right. Yeah. I'm -- probably -- yeah. I won't, I mean. Do that," Peter says, peeeeering at the floor beneath the table. "Just, um. Around the school, and if there's danger maybe or something." "Very good," Hank says, pulling open the middle drawer of his desk. He scoops something out that clatters like marbles in his hand, and then he sets two metal pellets on the desk, in front of Peter. "Take two of these and call me in the morning." Hank grins at his own joke. "I believe they are the right size to fit the current model you're working with." Peter peeeeeers at the metal pellets, before -- SNATCH. "I'mgonnatryemout," he announces, before -- blinking! -- up at Dr. McCoy. "...after class, I mean. I should -- probably /get/ to class. Ohman /thanks/ these are gonna be -- /awesome/ if they -- oh uh -- is there anything else?" Hank glances at the digital clock on his wall and shrugs, smiling. "Well, it looks like you still have 10 minutes before class. And besides, isn't it on the second floor, anyway?" Dr. McCoy winks, waves the boy off. "Go, GO! Check in with me later for your practice session."