ArchivedLogs:Happy

Happy
Dramatis Personae Micah, Shane	7 April 2015 "I'm entitled to a little mystery."
Location <XS> Classroom One
Desks arranged into neat rows make up this, a fairly typical classroom. Chalkboard in front, teacher's desk in front of that. Windows along one wall look out on the grounds, providing plenty of opportunity for distraction for daydreaming students. The rain pitter-patters pleasantly on the windowsills and streaks the windowpanes on the far side of the room, the light that said windows provide diffuse and grey on this early morning. It is partly for this reason that Micah can be found finishing his breakfast at the large desk in the front of the room rather than one of his more typical outdoor haunts for the task. Though not yet at his day job, he is already dressed in his ubiquitous TARDIS-blue polo and khakis. His somewhat-damp olive canvas jacket hangs from the back of his chair and his messenger bag and Bladerunner-style umbrella are in evidence leaned agains the desk. A remnant pile of scrambled eggs, a few strips of bacon, and half a lemon-poppy seed get picked at by one hand as the other scrolls along the track pad on his laptop. Glancing over lesson notes one last time, one might hazard to guess. Soon, maybe, there will be more Incoming Students filtering in as it is closer to bell-ringing time. Soon. But right now there is just one small shark, face and hair damp but clothing neatly pressed. Knee-length brocaded silver-on-blue tunic, white pants. Bare feet. His messenger bag slung over one shoulder. His eyes are focused down on the cellphone in his hand. Probably he's already eaten -- though that doesn't stop him from skirting by the desk to steal a strip of bacon, kind of on autopilot as he goes to drop his bag into a seat. Micah looks up from his eating and his reading at Shane's entrance, lips curling upward at the entirely not-unexpected bacon thievery. Reaching for his thermos, he takes a large swallow of his coffee before speaking. “There's a fee for bacon delivery, y'know,” he offers instead of a greeting, laughter apparent in his hazel eyes if not quite given voice yet. Shane's eyes narrow. He chomps down kind of /aggressively/ on his bacon. OMNOM. With his other hand he opens up his bag, plucking his tablet out of it. He returns to Micah's desk to deposit the tablet in front of him. Turned on, with a tidy-neat spreadsheet pulled up on his screen. Also, steal a /second/ strip of bacon. In exchange for the tablet, of course. Micah isn't doing anything to prevent further bacon-theft, clearly. He just holds an arm out for a hug, seeing as no other students have arrived yet. "Double-delivery," he teases again. His head tilts at the tablet, nodding toward it. "Y'got a question on this or just turnin' it in /with/ the tablet 'stead of the drop box?" "I already turned it in." Shane answers easily, finishing up his first strip of bacon and starting on the second. "I'm just showing you. Like proof. Of payment." He waggles the bacon, explanatorily. “Oh, good!” Micah returns, smiling broadly. “I didn't mean homework, I meant /hugs/. Homework's for the class, not for me.” He glances down at his watch. “Though we've got enough time b'fore classes start... Would y'mind if I got some measurements for somethin' for you? I kinda need t'fit your head.” Random-seeming proposal, ahoy. "/I/ meant homework. Isn't that how you pay teachers? I have a strict no-teacher-hugging policy anyway and you're all -- desky." This is probably not true. Shane has hugged -- okay, maybe not /many/ a teacher. But the same few teachers many times, at least. Shane's brows lift at this question, his hand lifting, too, to touch to his forehead. "What do you need my head for? It's doing fine." “You've hugged enough teachers, sugar. If you don't /want/ to, just say so.” Micah's arm drops as he stands. “I know your head is fine. I just need t'fit it for somethin' I want t'make for you. S'best not just t'estimate on these kindsa custom things. It'll only take a minute.” Shane opens his mouth -- then closes it again, chomping down on the last of his bacon. "Is this, like, a mystery? I don't get to know what you're making? It's not my birthday or Christmas or anything any time soon." His shrug as he steps forward to stand still is probably acquiescence, though. “Hey, I don't even get hugs. I'm entitled to a little mystery. 'Less y'wanna ruin the surprise. S'somethin' for you an' B both.” Micah gestures to the chair he has just vacated for Shane to sit in. Digging through his messenger bag, he pulls out a smaller black cloth bag, then from it removes a pair of finely tuned cranial calipers with soft-flexible beads at the tips to make them comfortable against skin. He flips open a blank text document on his laptop to take notes. “So, yea or nay?” "Dude, Ba, you're like the least mysterious person to ever --" Shane cuts himself off here, hoisting himself up to sit on the desk, nudging his tablet aside and hooking one leg up underneath himself. He licks his fingertips clean, shoulder lifting in another shrug. "I don't like surprises. B likes 'em less. She reads the last pages of books first and looks up spoilers before watching anything." He eyes the calipers with mild suspicion. "Sure, whatever." Micah's eyebrows just bounce at the claims of mystery. "I can give y'all finished products or I can make y'promises 'bout 'em. Wouldn't the finished product make a better presentation?" It's a precise sort of quickness with which he takes multiple measures, far easier on a compliant (more or less) teenager than the wiggling infants he's used to fitting in this way. "You're tellin' me y'never got a gift you weren't expectin' an' it made it better for not knowin' what it was first?" Within a few minutes, he has all of the numbers jotted down with a few other notes in medical half-abbreviation jargon. "Are you okay?" This last is asked as he puts the calipers back into the bag, eyes turned back to Shane. "Better like 'more likely to put us into respiratory distress'? Sure." Shane's teeth flash in a small-quick grin. "Exciting doesn't exactly translate one-to-one into a net positive with us." His brows lift again. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" "I promise, it's a good surprise an' unlikely t'be such a big deal as t'make y'not breathe correctly. Okay?" Once his gear is packed up, Micah rights himself and reaches a hand up to ruffle at Shane's spiky hair. "I dunno, just checkin'. Sometimes you're a little gruff 'cause y'feel like bein' gruff. An' sometimes it means you're upset. Was makin' sure it weren't the latter." "Okay." Shane's gills flutter against the side of his neck. He rubs a hand against his head once Micah is finished, sliding down off the desk. His hand gestures out, around the classroom. "I'm in school. Am I supposed to have /more/ reason? It's --" Shrug. "Almost over, at least." Micah's hand reaches out to pet down the gills out of sheer habit. “Okay. Like I said, just checkin' t'be sure, sugar. I know it's a lot, but yeah. Almost over.” His head tilts slightly, a small, fond smile on his lips. “M'real proud of you.” Shane looks up at this, frowning. "Huh?" Even with the petting, his gills flare open a little wider, a little faster. "At me? What for?" “What /not/ for, honey? Y'been workin' so hard. Stuck with finishin' school, an' that's been a lot of effort, I know. Found somethin' that you enjoy doin' an' is a service t'the community an' been just...amazin' at that.” Micah tries at another stroke to calm the gills' fluttering. “I love you, an' you're a good kid. I guess...not really kid, anymore.” The fluttering slows but doesn't stop. Shane's frown does not fade. He shrugs uncomfortably, shaking his head and picking his tablet back up. "Whatever. I don't really know what the /point/ of finishing school was. Is. And I haven't --" He shrugs again, moving aside to go shift the bag out of his chair and onto the ground so that he can drop into the desk instead. "Just not exactly like I want to spend my life serving coffee. Which is fine, I don't have to." His grin is a little crooked. "I can just wait for B to graduate and be a billionaire and spend my life mooching off all its money." “So that you'll have that option if y'ever need it, honey. You're almost done.” Micah gives one last pet to Shane's gills before letting him move away. “An' it ain't like you're just /servin'/ coffee. That place's your baby, your whole business.” His grin a is a faint echo of Shane's. “Hm, I'm sure ze'll love that.” He pauses at the uncomfortable shrugging. “Honey, you're sure there ain't nothin' y'might wanna talk about?” "I'm, like, halfway there already, she and Dai mostly just pay our mortgage." Shane's claws trace against the edge of his tablet. His gills flutter again, eyes shifting out the window. "I got into college." His tone is pretty flat with this announcement. "It ain't like you're not doin' anythin', sugar," Micah starts but doesn't finish due to the unexpected announcement. "You did? I didn't even know you'd applied! Where was it? I... y'don't seem real excited." His eyebrows knit in concern. "Is somethin' wrong?" "Well, yeah, that's because I didn't tell you," Shane replies levelly. "I only applied to one." He shakes his head, looking away from the window and back down to his tablet. "No. I don't know. I guess not. I mean it's good, right? ... expensive. But good." “But which one?” Micah asks again, a little torn between being excited on Shane's behalf and concern over his lack of excitement. “It's good! If you wanna go t'college. An' that'd be part of why finishin' high school was a good, so you /could/. Don't y'worry 'bout the expense. We'll work it out. Just...if that's what y'want. Then it's good, right?” "Juilliard." Shane's tone is still flat. He swipes a finger against the screen, gives a noncommital shrug as his gills ripple quickly open again. "Sure. I guess it's good." “That's...amazin', honey. I just don't understand why y'sound like it's a sentence an' not an accomplishment or an opportunity...” Micah gives a helpless little shrug. “All I want is for you t'be happy.” "Huh?" Shane looks up with brows knitted together. "A sentence? When did I say that?" “I dunno, sugar. Y'didn't /say/ that, y'just been...completely flat about it. Like there's somethin' wrong with it.” The helpless shrug makes a comeback as Micah regards Shane. “I'm just not sure what t'think. I'm happy /for/ you.” "There's nothing wrong with it," Shane answers, fidgeting in his seat. "It's just not a big deal. Which is why I didn't say. Before. Because then everyone'll /act/ like it's a big deal." “Okay. Y'don't /want/ people t'act like it's a big deal? I'll...try not t'be too excited. But if it's somethin' y'/wanted/ an' it's happenin'. I am happy for you.” Micah turns his palms up, tucking back into the seat at the desk to quickly make his way through the rest of his breakfast before students start to arrive. Shane shifts slightly in his seat again. He opens his mouth -- closes it -- opens it -- closes it. Slouches lower in his seat, sitting up only when the warning bell rings. "Thanks, Ba," he just says, quiet, eyes lowering back to his tablet. “'Welcome, sugar. I love you.” Micah gets his plate cleared of the desk, computer opened to the lesson. “If there's anythin' else y'wanna talk about, I'm here, right? An' your Pa. We love you an' we just wanna...help. Want you t'be happy.” "Uh-huh." Shane's brows lift. "You're in the teacher desk again," he points out with a lopsided twitch of smile. "I don't talk about my problems with teachers." “S'cause class is startin'. Later then? When we get home.” The issue can't press itself further due to imminent class time. Shane doesn't answer this. PROBABLY because Micah is a TEACHER. Or because other students are trickling in. One or the other.