ArchivedLogs:In Which Support Is Recruited In The Matter Of... Support

In Which Support Is Recruited In The Matter Of... Support
Dramatis Personae Anole, Nick, Taylor	2015-12-28 "{Shouldn't we get, you know, credit hours for Salem? I think that's service.}"
Location <XS> Anole and Nick's Dorm - FL2
The influx of new students this year has led to a bit of overcrowding at Xavier's, and it is starting to show in the dorm arrangements, many rooms like this one refitted for three students where they had once been built for only two. The standard two closets have been joined by a large armoire against one wall; three dressers have been moved in, three desks. A bunk bed on the left side, a lofted twin with its desk underneath it on the right. With their temporary Morlock visitors gone and their former roommate moved out to room elsewhere, Anole and Nick once again have their pseudo-triple to themselves. Comfortably the double that it's /supposed/ to be, at least for the time being, which suits Anole just fine; he's luxuriating in some temporary quiet. Headphones on his head, tablet propped up against his knees, he's lying on his top bunk listening to the /Hamilton/ soundtrack and scrolling listlessly through Tumblr. Below Anole, Nick is lying prone on across his mattress, long muzzle propped up in the palm of one hand and a mechanical pencil spinning in the other. He's in a black t-shirt and Green Latern boxer shorts, a composition notebook open before him and covered in messy Vietnamese script. His eyes are closed, ears pressed back, his swaying slowly from side to side. Taylor doesn't knock -- not really, though a quiet mental touch brushes up against the other boys' minds in greeting/announcement before he clicks the door open. He's in a plain white sleeveless undershirt and jeans, barefoot, smelling kind of fresh out of the showers. He wanders over to the empty loft bed, pulling the desk chair out from under it to spin it around and collapse down. "{How's imprisonment treating you?}" Though his words come in Japanese, as usual he accompanies them with a blunt-force psionic understanding, meaning forced through even if the words don't quite get actually /interpreted/. Anole rolls over onto his stomach, tablet set on his mattress and the headphones still in. He props his chin on the railing of his bed, big green eyes blinking over at the door a moment before Taylor enters. "{I've been tearing my hair out.}" /He/ answers in Spanish. Kind of deadpan. Nick's ears stand up when Taylor approaches. He pushes the notebook off to one side and rolls up into a sitting position, revealing a Green latern logo on the front of his t-shirt, as well. "{Not too different from before.}" Furry shoulders shrug. "{If I feel like leaving I'll go. Did you got to talk to headmaster?}" "{Thought you looked a little scaly up there.}" One of Taylor's arms flicks vaguely up towards Anole's head. "{I talked to him this morning. Said I was ungrounded if I did a service project for the school instead. And I can get other people to help.}" He rocks back in his seat, tipping the chair back against the desk. "{Are you guys going to talk to him? Because if you do you should totally come join me.}" Anole tugs the headphones off his ears; even if the psionic translation means he's still /getting/ Taylor's meaning, the effect is still even more dissonant when he's not hearing the other boy properly. He taps at his tablet, turning the music off and setting the tablet aside. He rests one arm over the rail, chin poking down onto it. "{Join you? Servicing the school? Shouldn't we get, you know, credit hours for Salem? I think that's service.}" "{I wasn't /going/ to talk to him, but...}" Nick's ears fold back again. He's silent for a moment. "{Maybe. We did service, but not what they ask. They want us to listen, not to take initiative.}" He cocks his head at Taylor. "{What project you do? They assign you one? You make up?}" "{He didn't assign one,}" Taylor answers, sitting up straighter in his chair. "{Actually, he didn't...}" He hesitates, biting down on his lip. "{He didn't /assign/ the community service at all. He -- apologized.}" He says this with a tone of genuine surprised. "{For grounding me. Us. He said the administration was acting out of fear and it wasn't a well thought out -- decision. And he wanted my input on what would be a better way to handle the situation. I said it'd probably be better to do something productive instead of just making us sit around /even more/.}" Several of his arms lift in a shrug. His eyes turn towards the window, after this, fingers drumming against his knee. "{... I said I wanted to start a peer support group. For any student who wants a place to -- talk or whatever. After all -- this. Because the teachers aren't always good at listening.}" "{What?}" Anole straightens, too, fast enough that he thunks his head on the ceiling and immediately slumps back down against the railing of his bunk. "{Since when do the teachers apologize to /us/?}" He doesn't, actually, answer the /second/ half of this -- but his eyes narrow on Taylor, turning this thoughtfully over in his mind. << ... gotta be kind of a heavy project for /him/. >> Nick, meanwhile, does not answer the /first/ part aloud, save with an audible snort. Or perhaps he forgot whatever he meant to say when the sound of Anole's skull hitting the ceiling draws his attention upward. "{I'll help. Whether they unground me or not. Can listen.}" Taylor's eyes flick up towards Anole, though he doesn't answer this aloud. He just flashes the other boys an only slighlty strained smile, looong arms stretching across the room to clap each of them on the shoulder as he rises. "{Excellent. You guys talk to the old man, then. I'm talking to the school therapists, see when they can sit down with us and -- work out a. I don't know. Good and bad things to do when people have been through trauma.}" The corner of his mouth hitches up, twisting at his knot of scarring. "{They probably won't be in favor of fighting out our problems.}" Anole's fingers snap in mock disappointment. He nods, though, head tipping to one side to press his chin down against the arm Taylor claps onto him. "{Will do. This -- is a good idea, T. You're --}" His eyes close. He just nods. "{Will do.}" Nick's ears perk up only at the talk of fighting. "{Probably not. Can still fight it out, though.}" His wolfish mouth splits into a very, very toothy grin. "{As long as it's not for the service project, right?}" His tail thumps against the mattress rhythmically. "{Never had a therapist who was any good, but I'll hear them out.}" Then, tilting his head the other way, just a little. His tail wags slower, gradually stops. "{Thanks.}"