ArchivedLogs:Helping Hand

Helping Hand
Dramatis Personae Shania, Shane, Taylor
In Absentia	2015-10-04 "You blow up planes a lot?"
Location <XS> School Grounds
Xavier's School is situated on grounds as luxurious as the mansion itself. The tree-lined drive brings you up to the lush green sweep of front lawn and the wide front porch with its bench swing, often frequented by students studying in pleasant weather. The large oak tree in the front yard is home to a tire swing, installed long ago beneath the sturdy old treehouse. The lawn rolls out all the way down to the thin rocky pier at the edge of the glittering lake. The water stretches huge and wide off into the distance, the boathouse a small blip at its shore. Along its bank, forest stretches dense and shady to one side; to the other cliffs start to rise, high and rocky, providing trails for hiking or climbing, for the adventurous. The cold and rainy spell has broken, for the moment; afternoon today is actually pleasantly mild and -- if still grey -- at least not /wet/. Without classes today, there are a fair number of students out on the grounds -- a pick-up basketball game on one of the courts, a small knot of students farther away down by the pier, a group congregating on the playground. On the front porch there is, at the moment, one very small blue teenager tucked into the porch swing. The markedly inhuman composition of Shane's features is perhaps all the more striking given the oddly /proper/ choice of attire the sharkpup wears -- pinstriped vest over a crisp silvery-blue dress shirt, well-tailored slacks, polished saddle shoes, a neatly tied bowtie. Where he sits in the swing his toes don't quite reach the ground; he braces one hand against the railing of the porch instead, lazily swinging the seat back and forth. There's a plastic Tupperware and a thermos sitting on the chair beside him; his attention, at the moment, is on the Nook resting in his lap. The press might have largely packed up and gone in search of bloodier waters, but those that remain have had their attention fixed on the road for a couple hours, now. A tip had been slid their way, of a mutant involved in at least one bomb scare in an LA high school would be arriving, and the possibilities for a story are legion. Soon enough a cab emerges, and the small cluster gathers to pounce the moment the cab reaches the gates. "Miss Morgenstern, any comment--" "--truth to the allegations that you hospitalized--" "--responsibility to register early--" "--safety of Salem Center at risk?" Through it all, the teen in the back of the cap sits stone-faced, hood up to conceal the bulk of her expression as the gates open and the cab starts down the lane, leaving the reporters with nothing but rumor and speculation. Which, it must be admitted, they would probably be happy to go with anyhow. Though Shane remains alone on the porch, there's a familiar voice sounding poking into his head. << Shit sorry I'm late. >> Despite the words, Taylor doesn't sound overly apologetic. A little exhilarated, a little amused. << Can you be polite until I get there? Already been assholes at the front /gates/. >> Shane glances up at the taxi rolling in down the driveway, shifting to sit up straighter in his seat. He taps at the corner of his nook to bookmark his page, dropping his other hand to stop his rocking of the swing. << Like you need to ask. I'm /always/ a gentleman. >> He leaves the ereader on the swing, picking up the tupperware and the thermos instead as he slides down out of his seat and saunters to the edge of the porch steps. Solidly black eyes track the path of the approaching cab, one webbed-clawed hand lifting to gesture it towards the front side of the drive rather than the side or back parking. The cab swings around to the front side, the back door opening moments after it comes to a halt. "Just pop the trunk," the girl mutters, voice low and sullen. "I got it." As she gets out, she peels a few bills from a small bundle taken out of her jeans pocket, passes them over, and moves to the trunk to collect her things. Suitcase, Suitcase Two, Heavy-Looking Plastic-Cased Thing, HLPCT2, Lumpy Garbage Bag One, Lumpy Garbage Bag Two... *Someone* seems to have tested the limits of a cab's storage space. "Yo. Hey." Shane's smile is quick and easy (and filled with a rather exorbitant number of very sharp serrated teeth) as he waggles the thermos in a wave. "Morgenstern, yeah? Do you -- want a hand with --" He turns to set his food down on the porch railing, looking over the packages emerging (and emerging and emerging) from the trunk. "All that?" The voice seems to startle the girl, head whipping around to face the speaker... which point her eyes all but bulge, at the sight of a very, very toothy shark-boy smiling at her. For a good few heartbeats, she looks *just* like a rabbit watching a speeding car get closer and closer, but she snaps out of it with a hard shake of her head, and turns back to her work. "...S'fine," she says, apparently only just remembering to speak. "Just need like a dolly or something." "Mmm." Shane's brows furrow briefly together. Contemplative, perhaps. There's a brief flicker of resignation that skitters across his mind at Shania's wide-eyed reaction, though, rather used to it, the feeling passes quickly. A faint question rises in his mind -- more deliberate this time: << YO. Squidward. You got a dolly? >> Externally: "I'll see what I can do. How was the trip in? You hungry? I'm Shane. By the way." << Uh -- I got /me/. >> Taylor's responds sounds a bit bemused. A moment later the front door opens -- very potentially giving Shania more cause for staring. His smile, admittedly, WAY less toothy. Just the normal kind of teeth (seeming all the whiter against his jet-black skin.) Taylor is in jeans and sneakers and a plain blue tee in contrast to Shane's more dapper look -- /his/ shirt, though, has been heavily modified to allow for his extra sets of limbs to poke out. Slender tentacles and thick tentacles and huge wide enormous tentacles with sharp hooks tucked into the suckers that line them; he's currently wound one pair around his midriff and draped another pair up over his shoulders, the rest just hanging loosely behind him. "No dolly, sorry. Plenty of extra arms, though. Yo." The telepath's chin jerks upward in a quick nod. "I think I'm supposed to be showing you around." "...Fine," the girl says, crouching down to unlock one of the plastic cases to reveal what looks like a reasonably old sewing machine, frowning hard as she checks it for damage. "Prolly th'first time anyone's ever had to threaten TSA with a lawsuit just to get fuckin' trip. Not hungry, though." She closes and locks the case, moving to the next one before she remembers something, and looks up again, face hot. "...Thanks though." About to turn back to her inspection, she's left staring at Taylor's emergence. The chin-nod is returned reflexively, but her eyes move from Taylor, to Shane, back again, and then fall on Shane's tupperware. "Were they assholes? I hear they're assholes a lot." Shane's nose wrinkles up in faint distaste. "Where were you coming in from, anyway?" He follows the path of Shania's glance down towards the tupperware. "There's dal. And rice. Some kinda greens? You sure you're not... cuz, I mean --" His smile twitches up a little lopsided as he gestures to Taylor. "I'm pretty sure he can handle being pack mule. And you can't even joke about /bad/ airline food anymore because I'm pretty sure they've just stopped feeding people altogether --" He cuts himself off with a small dip of his head. In his mind there's a wry cringing at his feeding-people impulse: << ... aw fuck I'm turning into my pa. >> << Worse people to be. >> Taylor curls one tentacle around Shane's shoulders in passing, a quick light squeeze of hug as he hops down off the stairs. "You want the tour, or you just want to rest? You're going to be in the guest wing for tonight, they're still --" A brief look of annoyance crosses his expression, but it passes quickly. "-- Doing some rearranging in the dorms. It's a hot mess but the furniture situation should be settled soon." "LA," the girl grunts, locking back the case on something that looks *like* a sewing machine, but not quite, and stands. "...Tried to keep me off 'cos they didn't want me blowin' up the plane in midair, an' settlement was I hadda have armed police sittin' on either side. ...So yeah. Assholes." Pushing her hood back to reveal bubblegum-colored hair, the girl blows out a short sigh. "...Tour I guess," she says, swinging both garbage bags over her shoulder, and stops. "...Thanks for helping." "You blow up planes a lot?" The nonchalance in Shane's tone suggests he already expects the answer to be no. He's watching Shania check over her luggage, tipping his head in curiosity at all the machinery. He steps in to lift one of the plastic cases once it is locked closed again, leaving -- all the rest of everything for Taylor. "In my experience having armed police around just makes situations /worse/, really. Glad you made it in. You sew?" He nods down to the case in his hands. Taylor's cheeks puff out, one quiet laugh. With a small shake of his head he starts gathering the rest of Things. Two suitcases. Other plastic case. Two of the smaller tentacles snake out to pluck Shane's thermos and tupperware off the porch. As an afterthought he even snags the Nook off the porch swing as he climbs the steps back towards the door. "People handy with a sewing machine can make bank around here, if they want. Mooore than a couple of us need --" He looks down at his own shirt. "A lot of custom tailoring." The reaction to Shane's idle question is fairly nonstandard; rather than brushing it off, the girl just looks away, watching Taylor lift the second case and suitcases. "...Could," she says, voice quiet. "Pretty much how I found out what I am, blowin' up a classroom." Jamming her free hand in her pocket, she trudges after the boys, lifting a shoulder. "Yeah, I sew. Cosplay shit, mostly. Nothin' special." Shane's lips press briefly together. There's a faint whispering rustle at his collar as the gills along the sides of his neck open up, flutter open a few times. "Sucks. We build our classrooms pretty strong." He follows after Taylor, brows lifting in mild amusement as the other boy picks up after all his mess. "No shit? That's awesome, like what kind of thing? I was just at Dragon*Con last month with some people from around here. Some /hella/ rad costumes down there." Taylor's brow wrinkles at the mention of blowing up a classroom. He doesn't comment, just tugs open the front door. "Shane," he explains this with a lowering of his voice, as though he's letting Shania in on an /Unfortunate/ Secret, "isn't much of a geek." He sounds like he's apologizing for the other boy, though slightly mitigating this statement a moment later with: "But he's like, nerd-/adjacent/, there's plenty in his family." One of his spare arms holds the door open for the others, letting them into the huge foyer. "I don't know if the sewing class here does /fun/ stuff or just. Functional." Shania arches an eyebrow at Taylor, shrugging a bit. "WonderCon, mostly. Comikaze, once. Anime stuff, did a couple contests." Hefting her bags, she slips through the door, waiting for Shane and Taylor to lead her along.