ArchivedLogs:In Which News Is Delivered Without Saying Much At All

In Which News Is Delivered Without Saying Much At All
Dramatis Personae Jack, Shane, Taylor
In Absentia	2015-11-20 "{They're gone, now.}" (Part of Flu Season TP.)
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. Not long ago there was a whine, a hum, a sleek blue and silver hoverbike gliding down from the sky to park itself on the school's front lawn. It had two passengers originally -- but only one currently remains. Shane doesn't follow his dad into the school -- just, for the moment, stays out by his bike, slightly shivery, slighlty slumped against the seat. There's a shake to his hands as he reaches for a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his leather jacket, fumbling for his lighter to light one once he's tapped it out. He's not nearly so snappy today as he usually dresses -- no vest, no pinstripes, just heavy boots and somewhat oversized jeans and an also too-big leather jacket over an old grey sweater. Though most of his skin is covered there's plenty of nicks and cuts healing on his hands -- and a cluttering-obscuring amount of /pain/ layered over his thoughts, too, to tell of other injuries more hidden. Maybe it was the familiar hum of bike or maybe the familiar /mind/ showing back up on campus -- but it doesn't take long before Taylor is /bolting/ out the mansion's front door. A little underdressed for the chill, in jeans and long-sleeved knit shirt; no jacket, though. There's still bandaging covering up a good half his face; what can be seen looks mostly /worried/. Brow furrowed, lips pressed together. One of his arms lifts, wordlessly, to nudge beneath Shane's hand -- steady its shaking as the other boy lights his cigarette. It takes Jack a bit longer to get outside, partly because he was on the roof and partly because he wasn't running. But once he spotting those incoming familiar faces, Jack made his way down. In worn jeans, a dark black hoodie, and a pair of simple disposable gloves, he's just leaving the mansion itself by the time Taylor reaches Shane. He starts jogging too, feeling pretty worried as well. Shane doesn't thank Taylor. But he does press his hand into the support, cupping his /other/ hand around the outside of the taller boy's limb as he dips his head to light the cigarette. His eyes have closed as he takes a long puff, blows a stream of grey out towards the sky. His mouth opens -- hanging on the edge of a greeting to the others -- but closes again ultimately, in silence. Solid black eyes turn out towards the distant lake across the grounds. Taylor's arm falls down to his side. He follows Shane's gaze outward. Only for a moment. Soon looks back to the others, his brows deeply creased. Tentatively one arm lifts -- falls again -- lifts -- falls again. Lifts, and this time settles cautiously around Shane's shoulders in a slow uncertain hug. Jack slows to stop as he gets closer, one gloved hand starting to lift in a wave but ending up dropping when he gets a better look at Shane. He looks to Taylor and then back to Shane. No words from that empty hood but he steps a little closer. He's not sure what to say or do but he's willing to provide a shoulder if one's wanted. Shane's hand is shaking again when he plucks the cigarette back from his lips. His eyes turn downwards, fixing instead -- on his boots (very blood-spattered), on the ground. Jack's shoes. Away towards the roots of a nearby tree. On the wheel of his motorcycle. Anywhere but up at Taylor. He leans very -- very -- slightly into the touch. Then straightens. Then slumps back against the seat of his bike. "{We...}" A little gruff, hoarse Spanish that come with a cloud of smoke. Comes with a flare of the sick unhappy knot twisted up inside his mind. "{It's been...}" And then, again, nothing. "{Are people here...}" But this question doesn't quite finish, either. Taylor's arm stays where it is, coiled in gentle squeeze around the smaller boy's shoulders. Another smaller tendril lifts to brush against the bandaging on his face, then fall away. "{Hasn't been great, here.}" Matter-of-fact. White teeth press down against his black lip, his eyes darting to Jack, then back to Shane. "{I've been worried. Your house... and the zombies.}" "{Not great,}" Jack echos in Spanish, taking a deep breath. He nods as Taylor brings up being worried. "{I've been worried...too...}" he trails off, reaching out to place a gloved hand on Shane's shoulder. Shane's shoulder is rather trembly, beneath Jack's hand. A constant shiver that, given his leather jacket and general cold tolerance, is not entirely from the rather mild chill in the air. "{House is gone. Zombies gone. There were so many. There were so -- so many.}" Through the pain in his mind there are snippets of imagery, grasping hands, bared teeth, a courtyard seething with moving corpses, blood running down the blade of a sword, teeth sinking in against arms. "{... so many.}" Taylor's arm squeezes a little tighter. He exhales, soft and heavy, a shudder running through /him/ as well at the images in Shane's mind. "{But it's over? They're gone now?}" Jack squeezes Shane's shoulder when he feels the shiver. He doesn't have the telepathic insight as Taylor does but given the subject they're talking about, he can guess why the shivering is happening. "{And you're...not hurt?}" he asks. There's another question Jack wants to ask, various faces coming to mind but Jack not bringing them up right now. Shane nods. Then shakes his head. Then nods. Not particularly helpful until he finds /words/ again: "{Hurt. Yeah. Kind of. Yeah -- it'll heal. It'll...}" He fumbles the cigarette, drops it to the grass. His eyes follow it downward with a look of confusion, brows creasing uncertainly as he watches it drop. "{They're gone, now.}" The shuddering deepens -- then stills. His gills open instead, fluttering rapidly. His mental image now is a courtyard strewn with bodies. A bloodstained sword lying in bloodstained grass. "{... Daiki's gone, too.}" Taylor nods along with this, slowly. The nodding stops at those last words, though. His arm /clenches/ down hard, a fierce tight squeeze of barbed tentacle in against the thick leather jacket before he catches himself with a ragged breath in. Straightens stiffly, quickly. His arms drop down, drooping heavily behind him. He says nothing -- just swallows, and swallows again, and swallows again. Jack just tilts his head slightly, listening closely. He glances at the fallen cigarette just from the motion but quickly returns his attention to Shane. He grows more concerned as Shane shudders and stills, eyes flicking to Taylor but those last words make Jack freeze a moment. Taylor's reaction catches Jack's attention too and he looks between the other two slowly, trying to think of something to say but coming up blank. Shane's teeth bare, a soft snarl rising up at the clench of Taylor's arm. His claws have lengthened, hand shooting up -- he catches himself with a guilty /twitch/, turning aside with teeth still clenched and a sick haze of hunger clouding his thoughts. A soft keening noise sounds in his throat, his head just giving one very quick shake. Struggling against the dual impulse to hug and to /bite/, ultimately he just pushes both thoughts aside, head bowing as he hurries away from the others back in to the mansion. Taylor's arm jerks back away from Shane, all too used by now to Sudden Snaps Of Anger from those around him. It's reflexive; the rest of him still just looks /numb/, kind of blank, kind of dazed. His eyes slowly follow after Shane, but then return to the ground. The two /bony/ arms he has curl around his chest, squeezing tight like hugging himself. "{Sorry.}" It's mumbled -- maybe to Jack, maybe to the world at large -- as he starts to stumble off as well, in the opposite direction towards the trees. Jack jumps slightly at the the snarl, telekinesis ready to pull apart his friends if need be. When there's no fight or biting, he just deflates a little and watches as Shane heads inside. Taylor's apology prompts him to start to say something but give up without getting actual words out. He stands there as Taylor wanders off too, eventually just using his telekinesis to snuff out the forgotten cigarette. "{Fuck.}" he breathes out, wandering back towards the mansion as well.