ArchivedLogs:Learning

Learning
Dramatis Personae Doug, Sebastian
In Absentia	Wednesday, April 1, 2015 Part of the Future Past TP.
Location <NYC> Little Italy
Like the original but smaller and with a much greater density of flags and also mostly restaurants and in retrospect rather nothing like the original at all. The working day is done, and it has been a beautiful one, with the air a comfortable temperature and the clear skies making even the trudge home enjoyable. Here in Little Italy, this time of day sees the return of a lot of the dockworkers, a mass of blue-collar laborers that shout at each other good-naturedly as they peel away one by one to their own homes. It's a culturally varied group, and not every response is in English, but the general camraderie seems to need no translation. Among the group is a vaguely recognizable Doug, laughing along with the others no matter what language the joke is offered in. He doesn't offer any himself, though, remaining otherwise silent. The blond has a bit more mass on his frame, the rangy muscle bulked up to something that looks fairly solid under his blue workshirt and heavy denim pants. His hair is darker, possibly dyed to the current almost-brown shade. He has a jacket looped through his arm, and in his free hand he carries an honest-to-God lunchbox. It probably has a thermos and everything. Eventually, Doug's stop comes up, and he peels away from the group in front of a cheap (but clean-looking) apartment building, stopping at the bottom of the stoop to kneel and re-tie his boot. There is someone coming down the sidewalk in Doug's direction, moving along with a low thrum that -- has become a good deal more prevalent around the country in the past months, ever since B began /marketing/ the creation ze rides upon. Perched on what looks like a wheel-less skateboard, though it's /hovering/ almost a foot off the ground; the hoverboards have been a wild success since their release. On this balmy-pleasant day B is dressed /springlike/, a green-and-white wrap skirt dyed in a vine-like pattern, chunky pink and grey platform sneakers, knee-high bright-colored mismatched socks, HERBIVORE sweatshirt over a purple tank. The teenager is paying only middling attenion to where ze is /going/, a lot of hir attention focused on a small flexible band worn around hir wrist -- with a screen on it. Perhaps some sort of phone. The lack of attention makes B have to abruptly swerve so as not to crash into Doug, but rather than continue on ze stops very suddenly, teetering for a moment right in midair and black eyes widening huge. "... you." It's not said accusatorily, exactly, just /startled/ and abruptly uncertain. It might be instinct borne of living in a neighborhood where kids occasionally smack into the unwary pedestrian that makes Doug actually shift his weight forward as B swerves the other direction. The blond comes to his feet with a deep furrow of his eyebrows as he turns. "Hey, watch wher--" he says, his voice a little deeper and rougher-sounding. He breaks off as he spies the near-collider, and his eyebrows lift in similar uncertainty. The lunch box gets hefted nervously as Sebastian IDs him, and he clears his throat. "Oh. Hey." "Yeah, I know," B answers, leaning back to send the hoverboard gliding /just/ slightly back from Doug. "Get thoughtless and someone might get hurt." For a moment ze teeters side-to-side unsteadily, but eventually pushes the hoverboard down to the ground and shuts it off. "You live here now?" "'s cool," Doug says, gesturing at the hoverboard with his lunch box and ducking his head. "See the commercials for it. And around town." He nods at the question, looking up at the building and waving at a rotund woman who appears in a first floor window. She studies B for a long, impassive moment before she disappears behind the curtains again. "Been here about eight months. Since I left...." There's a furrow of brow as he trails off, and shakes his head lightly. "You still at the school?" "It's -- fun." B's gills flutter rapidly at the face in the window, and ze dips hir head to look down at the ground. "You want to try?" Hir toe nudges the board a little closer to Doug. "Graduating this year," ze answers the question. "College in the fall. Staying on at Stark till then. Probably'll work at their Boston office once I move --" Ze shrugs a shoulder, looking over Doug's clothes and then up towards the sky. "What /have/ you been doing?" There's a flicker of desire in Doug's eyes at the offer, and he eyes the board for a long moment. Then it disappears in a guilty, pained look, and he shakes his head. "Better not. Looks cool, though." His lunchbox gets wedged between his knees as he begins patting at his jacket. "You're going to M.I.T.," he says, as if B is unaware of this fact. "Good fit for you. You'll do well." The question gets another wince, and he busies himself with extracting a pack of cigarettes. He shakes one out and tucks it between his lips before he answers. "I'm working down on the docks. Shifting heavy-ass boxes around." "It could've been Harvard," B says with a very brief curl of smile, but then, "-- no, yeah, MIT. Just hoping they don't freak when I show /up/. But they have a long and storied tradition of encouraging all kinds of freaks so maybe --" Ze sounds -- a little hopeful. A little nervous. Then just blinks rapidly at Doug's answer. "You're -- what? Why?" "They'll take you," Doug says, and he sounds certain about that. "You show 'em the hoverboard, and Blackberry, and they won't give a shit what you look like." He rolls a shoulder as he digs in his pants for a silver Zippo lighter that he flicks open and strikes against his pants leg. Bringing the flame up to the cigarette in his lips, he lights it with a long, slow drag. He exhales a plume of smoke when B appears confused, turning his head to blow it away from the teen. "Because it doesn't involve computers," he says simply, rolling the cigarette in his fingers before he lifts it for another puff. "And it's kind of fun. Tiring, but fun." B looks blank, still. Ze steps back onto hir board, but doesn't turn it on, just frowning at Doug in confusion. "But -- why." Hir gills flutter once, and ze looks down the street and then back up at Doug. "I mean, computers is what you're good at. This -- that. Anyone could do /that/. It's not like it's a /bad/ job it just -- doesn't -- really seem like it suits. Uh." Ze fidgets a little uncomfortably. "I mean, I guess if you're having fun..." B's words trail off into awkward silence. Doug is quiet for a long moment after B stops talking, his expression one of pained thought as he smokes. His cigarette is nearly half gone before he answers. "I'm good at computers," he agrees. "But I've been shit with people. Didn't know how to be...normal." He takes another puff, exhaling the smoke as he continues. "So, no more computers. Thought I'd try living in the real world, and learn how to be a real person." His expression goes bleak, and he looks down to mumble at his feet. "Maybe not get people killed." "... oh." This quiets B for a long time. Ze looks down at hir feet, ankles bending to twist hir feet inward in a shift of weight that looks like it /should/ be terribly painful, feet turned at nearly right angles to hir legs; it doesn't seem to bother the cartilaginous teen, though, rocking back upwards a moment later. And again: "Oh." This time, hir weight rocks back onto heels. "... have you learned anything, then?" The question gets a sudden, shy grin from Doug, and he rolls a shoulder. "Well, I don't feel like I'm being constantly tested. Don't know if that counts as learning anything. Other than how to cope." His eyebrows lift, and he taps the ash from the end of his cigarette. "Which is something, I guess. Also learned to keep my mouth shut and think for a minute." There's another roll of shoulder. "Got a couple of shiners before that one took." "Tested?" B echoes this with a puzzled tone. Hir arms curl against hir chest, a small shiver passing through hir. "Thinking is good." Hir voice is very soft. "Especially when other people's --" But here ze stops, looking down at hir shoes. There's another fidgety shift of weight, feet turning inward and then lifting back. "So are you just going to do this forever? It seems like -- kind of a waste. Are you still in school at least?" Doug colors around the ears at that soft voice, and he looks pointedly at his shoes, puffing at his cigarette. He nods ever so slightly in agreement, though, and looks off down the street. He squints a bit with the question, and lifts his eyebrows. "It's actually not bad," he says. "Dock work pays really well, once you're union. And I'm dating this guy, Stan, who's pretty great." There's a bit of a smile at the name, although it's pushed aside quickly. "Don't know if it'll be forever, but it's good right now. Even without school." Which answers the second question, although he looks a tiny bit sad for a half-second. B nods at this, tipping hir weight back onto hir heels again, briefly. "Good," ze finally says, with a small nod. "Good, then. I'm -- glad that's. Working out well for you. Maybe not where I'd have -- expected but. Sometimes unexpected works, too." Doug nods, taking a final drag of his cigarette before he drops it on the sidewalk and crushes it under the toe of his boot. "Yeah," he says, squatting to claim the ground-out butt. "Unexpected works, sometimes." There's a small crinkle around his eyes, soft enough as to be barely noticeable. "Hope it sticks." His gaze shifts to Sebastian, and his expression is sincere. "For everyone." B's lips press together thinly, and there's a small quirk at their corners that seems like it's /trying/ to be a smile. It -- doesn't quite succeed. Instead ze just nods, pressing at the tail to hir board to let it rise back into the air. "Yeah," ze says as ze balances hirself back atop the hoverboard. "It -- yeah." Another nod, and ze steers the hoverboard a few inches on down the sidewalk. "-- Take care." Doug watches the board rise with a tilt to his head that's familiar as his thinking-cap mode. His eyes are thoughtful for a long moment before he catches himself and visibly shakes it off. "Yeah," he says sheepishly, fidgeting with his jacket and eventually slinging it over one shoulder. "You, too." He starts up the steps, then, and pauses on the second to look back at the younger mutant. "Tell anyone who wants to hear it I said hello." He lingers for a long moment, as if there might be more to that message. Then he exhales sharply, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Right. Better go. Poker night tonight." But he's still not moving immediately. "You look good." B's black eyes fix on Doug through that head-tilt. Ze dips hir head in acceptance of this first; the conclusion makes hir eyes widen, though, sudden and surprised. A darker flush floods through hir cheeks. There's that same almost-smile twitch that flees before it can fully resolve. "{Thanks}," ze says in awkward-shy Vietnamese, and then in English, "Good luck with your game." Doug chuffs at the sentiment, and closes one eye in a wink. "From your lips," he says. "Fuckers soaked me for fifty bucks last week. Need to win it back." He lingers a moment longer, then raises his lunch box in salute before he turns and heads up the stairs. He pauses, looking back once more before disappearing behind the building's faded red door.