ArchivedLogs:In Which There Is Briefly A Welcome Home And Bad Plans Are In The Making

In Which There Is Briefly A Welcome Home And Bad Plans Are In The Making
Dramatis Personae Anole, Taylor	2015-12-02 'You're crazy.' (Part of Flu Season TP.)
Location <XS> Roof
The view from up here is phenomenal, a panorama of the expansive Xavier's grounds, forest and lake and rocky cliffs alike. Even without the view outwards, the rooftop itself holds its own delights, in the form of the tiny jewel of a flower garden tucked away up here, tended by one of the school's teachers. From the edge of the roof, with a veeery careful jump, it looks like it just might be possible to reach the treehouse in the old oak tree. The school has been recently invaded, and down below it is all over grumbling. Whining, fighting, complaining, sniping at the teachers for letting the influx of sewer-smelling horrormonsters into the already underfed and overcrowded halls -- and not just the humans complaining, either, students none too pleased with the skimpier rations or additionally crowded dorms or /smell/ stinking up their hallways from mutants kiiind of far on the spectrum of what many of them are comfortable being around. Amid all the complaining, Anole has done what he does best. Away from the bickering and noise, the skinny green teenager is seated cross-legged on the edge of the roof, in the middle of texting Shane as he huddles in a threadbare and too-big coat (that kind of reeks of the sewers, much like all of him.) Blissfully away from anyone, human or mutant, who has problems with the detritus he's brought in with him on his return to his campus. Several long black snakelike limbs coil their way up over the edge of the roof. Lock their, grasping. Then several more. Taylor's hands join them next, his head following shortly after as he hoists himself up. 'Welcome home.' His smile is warm. But crooked. Talking coming once he's settled himself up here safely and solidly so as to free his hands. He -- scoots kind of farther from Anole. And upwind! 'Can't say I blame you. Been hearing --' The tip of an arm taps at a temple. 'Crazy down there.' Anole's cheeks darken, and without really being asked he shifts farther down the rooftop away from Taylor. 'Didn't know guests already here. But my people, many sick. Try to go clinics. Always fights start. Humans scared. Doctors will treat, but cannot wait in lines. Get attacked.' His head dips. 'Sorry for make trouble.' Taylor shakes his head, dismissing this apology with a wave of one club-tipped tentacle. 'Fuck the f-l-a-t-s-c-a-n-s. Fuck the complainers. You need medicine. We have medicine.' Shrug. 'Be glad to see them gone though.' He slumps down to sit, one knee folded to his chest, the other folded beneath him. 'Not glad your people sick. But glad to see you okay.' Anole sets his phone down in his lap. The smile he gives Taylor is thankful. 'Glad you're okay, too.' His nose wrinkles up, eyes drifting in the direction of the woods, far across the grounds. 'Drove through S-A-L-E-M on the way. Many dead. May be long time before they're gone. Might have to get used to each other. My people, maybe go first. After medicine.' This puts a grin on Taylor's face. Quick. Sharp. 'I got plan for that too. Maybe if they have homes back, will go away from ours.' He shrugs, gesturing to Anole. 'You live through this before. Lots of fight club. Lots of zombies. Useful in a scrape. I'm taking some people to Salem. Help with their zombie problem. But,' he holds one forefinger to his lips. 'Have to be careful who we take. Don't want to get anyone killed.' Anole's eyes widen at this idea. A tiny squeak, a skittering back slightly across the roof. 'You're crazy,' he says. 'I've fought many zombies, terrible, gross, want to eat you. Bad plan. Plan for getting hurt. Plan for getting dead.' Suspicious, he eyes Taylor with a small narrowing of eyes. '/You/ don't want to tell many people because don't want anyone to tell /teacher/.' Two of Taylor's clubbed tentacles spread outward. 'Fought many zombies! And still alive. Why I need you.' At Anole's last accusation he just shoots the other boy a sidelong smirk, stretches out an arm, jostling the smaller boy's shoulder lightly. '/You/ want to wait around forever for the teachers to fix things? What I /want/ is to get it done.' After a long pause, though: '... and maybe afterwards, a beer.'