ArchivedLogs:Makeups and Makeup

Makeups and Makeup
Dramatis Personae Ivan, Kris, Shane	2013-05-03 '
Location <XS> Music Room - FL2
Wide and spacious, seating in this soundproofed room comes largely on the sweep of gentle risers that afford the teacher an easy view of all the budding performers, and add another dimension to the acoustics of the room. Instruments of all types are carefully stored around the room, and a grand piano, immaculately upkept, takes the position of prize near the back. In a nod to the eclectic studies of the students, digital mixing equipment and turntables rub shoulders with the classical instruments. Music stands sit in front of most of the seats, and the only windows look out out over the side of the school grounds. Classes are done for the day. There's still plenty going on, between sports and training and detentions and extra tutoring, many students' days are not quite /done/. In the music room there is -- music! Drifting out through the almost-but-not-quite closed door. It's a violin piece, Sarasate's Caprice Basque. Inside the music room, there is one tiny blue sharktwin, barefoot, damp, but dressed in neat pinstriped slacks, a dark vest (that he has not bothered to wear with a /shirt/.) His eyes are closed, and he is playing with his teeth /bared/. Maybe he is angry at his violin. His violin seems to be pleased enough with him, though; the piece being played is actually coming out reasonably /well/. Ivan has been /busy/ since the end of classes. He's not-- looking his best, hair sort of sticky uppy where it shouldn't be, and apparently no one told him to take his coat off when he got inside. It's just kind of hanging halfway across one shoulder over a simple white dress shirt and jeans. It might be that he doesn't have a Peter to follow around but it looks suspiciously much like he's just... aimlessly wandering the halls. Maybe somewhat too /quickly/ for it to be entirely aimless. Until... music. Pretty music. It interrupts his beeline-to-who-knows-where and draws him slightly more hesitantly over to that almost-closed door. Which then continues to be slightly less almost-closed as he pushes it open, slow and steady, and wanders further into the room, his steps quiet and calculated as he sidles up to the wall nearby. Staring right at Shane, head tilted slightly to the side, no clear expression. Look! Sharktwin! And it's kinda sorta wet... Kris is convinced this is probably a good thing! After all, it's wearing CLOTHES. "The clothes are nice, but I think I prefer the skirt and butterfly top. They matched you better." Then there's an Ivan and suddenly, Kris decides maybe she'd be better off leaving these two alone. She flicks her eyes between them, and then asks,"Um... Are you two gonna do, like... creepy guy stuff? 'Cause... I can leave ya'll alone and- Oh, Ivan, look at that. You're dressed so NICE. I bet it looks amazing with the coat on all proper." Shane's nostrils flare long before he opens his eyes. Keen scent, keen hearing, it's likely he is aware of the presences even before the speaking starts. Eventually the music cuts off, though, and he glances up with a slow blink of pitch-black eyes, head tilting slightly. "-- the fuck?" is his confused greeting. "Butterflywhat. Who're you. New chick. Shit. Don't know your name." He glances from Kris to Ivan, his clear inner eyelids shuttering. "Got any bees?" Ivan's attention turns up to Kris as she speaks, as if he hadn't quite noticed her there in the first place, and he looks /thoughtful/ for a moment. There's a brief smile at the compliment, but it never quite reaches his eyes before it's gone again. "There are two." He replies in his heavy accent, flatly, looking back to Shane again. "This one is Shane. Twins." Then, a shake of his head. "No bees." There aren't even any spiders on him, from the looks of it! Just an Ivan all by his lonesome. Staring again. For no particular reason. Kris can't tell the Sharktwins apart. This MAY or MAY NOT be a common happenstance. She points at Shane, though,"You... I... didn't I see you when Ivan was apologizing to you back in the forest? Bastian, right?" She clears her throat... not that it removes the throaty quality from her voice,"Kris. You already forgot my name, then?" When Ivan speaks of twins, she merely says 'oooooh' for a moment. She informs Ivan,"His brother's skirt matches their skin better." "OK," Shane tucks his violin beneath his chin again, when Ivan reassures him there are no bees. His bow lifts, positioned on the strings, but then he just exhales heavily. "Bastian's the nice twin," he explains to Kris. "And I don't do skirts." He stops, and considers this, amending: "I guess I /would/ if I had any with pinstripes but I don't. Do you play?" This kind of vague question is also kind of vague in direction, offered to either or both of the others. Fashion talk? Straight over Ivan's head, and the somewhat absent look Kris receives for it hints at this. He clasps his hands behind his back, which coincidentally nudges his coat back into place, and simply offers a shake of his head at Shane's question, regardless of whether he is watching to catch it or not. "Only chess." Not-- exactly an instrument. Kris considers this, and then answers,"I have a knee-length skirt that might be of appropriate length for you... And in pin-stripes." As for the violin,"Once... I was... eight? Ten. I have not touched it since then, though. I always hated the smell and taste of roslin." She makes a face, and then walks into the room proper, and tells Ivan,"You need something, maybe with shoulderpads, in block... Maybe a little eye-liner and some frost to your hair, and you would cut quite the dashing figure." "I have eyeliner," Shane informs them. He drops his bow-hand downwards. "Of /course/ you play chess." It's said with a snort, perhaps amused. "Fucking nerd. You should play Bastian, he loves that shit." He watches, as Kris enters the room, head tipped back slightly to look up at the much taller girl. "Knee length for you or for me?" He does sound kind of /intrigued/ by the thought of Pinstripe Skirt. "So what's your sob story?" The intrigue passes; his tone returns to dry-bland. Wait, what? When did the conversation turn to be about Ivan? Said bugboy looks a bit baffled, /maybe/ a little frightened when he's apparently given /advice/? It is entirely possible he doesn't even know what eyeliner is, nor this 'frost', and it only deepens his look of confusion. He draws back, a little further toward the wall, and presses his back against it. Listening time, apparently, eyes flitting uncertainly between the two individuals present. Kris taps her lips thoughtfully as she looks down at Shane. She's not used to anyone other than Logan being this direct with her. But she's not about to back down now,"Knee-length for me. Almost full-length on you, though, I think. My mother often said I was all leg." She looks over at Ivan appraisingly,"We will give you makeover that your personfriend will adore, I think." Then she's being asked what her malfunction is. This gets an irritated look from her,"I was kidnapped very young, blackmailed into killing a very great number of people under false pretenses, and I was born male." If he's going to be short? She's going to be equally short. Shane considers this, and the look he gives Kris is assessing; it doesn't end in horror or pity at her story, just a curt nod. "Sounds shitty. There's lots of other instruments here than the violin. You should try. Maybe piano. Guitar. Saxophone. What the fuck are you doing, Ivan? Did you come in here just to /skulk/ cuz you skulk like a fucking /pro/." For all his swearing his tone isn't actually angry. Just sort of chuffed out bluntly. Ivan just looks /more/ confused. It may have been Kris' story, or it may have been Shane's /skulking/ accusations. But then he snaps out of it, eyebrows raised. Right. Reasons. He has them. He straightens again, standing at attention once more. "I wanted to say sorry." This comes out a little distracted, even if genuine. Probably because of what he follows it up with, cocking his head to one side curiously "... I do not know what a make over is." Kris actually blushes,"It is what it is. I am learning to deal with it. Many other people have equally difficult problems, or worse. Your brother, for example. I think he is half ready to give up on seeing himself as human at all. It made me sad. I think he needs better friends, or a hug." A pause. And then she informs Ivan,"It is where we neaten up your appearance, sometimes with make-up and new clothes and show off your new 'appearance'." "Sorry?" Shane looks quite confused at this, eying Ivan blankly. "For what?" His eyes narrow on Kris, and this time his quiet chuff /is/ kind of irritable. "The fuck do you know about my brother or his problems?" is his first question, though his second statement doesn't exactly /contradict/ her assessment: "We're /not/ human." Nope. Straight over Ivan's head again. Whatever this make over thing is, he does not look like he fully comprehends it. "The--" He starts, but stops again, with a twitch that sends his eyebrows back down to a more neutral expression. He takes a small step to the side, toward the door, and his answer is slightly quieter, then. "For the bees." If he feels he has any part to play in the rest of the conversation, he is not showing it. "Human or not, he's a person, and people need friends. I know about loneliness and feeling isolated. He is a fellow at this school, and if one of my fellows is having a rough time, I choose not to ignore that. If I am wrong, then I will of course apologize for being a... 'know-it-all'. I have been before. But he SEEMS sad." Kris merely shrugs, and then begins searching through her pockets,"How dark is your eye-liner?" She pulls out her own, approaches Ivan, and examines his face carefully. "Black. Got silver, too. In my room, though." Shane shrugs. He's eying Ivan kind of blankly, and then shrugs again. "Dude, it was some bees. I've got thick skin, fuck your beestings. Do you know how many people at this school have fucking /decked/ me? It barely even hurt. You want silver? I can grab some." He lifts his bow again. For a moment there is a measure of music, then another, then he stops. "Everyone here's a fucking know-it-all." His smile is wry, kind of self-deprecating: he's apparently including /himself/ in this. "Fuck friends, though. Not goddamn worth it." The subject of bees and apologies swept aside, Ivan seems to calm slightly. He's /mostly/ back to a blank expression before the eyeliner is brought up again, which prompts another step toward the door when his gaze hits Kris again. Then the eye liner. His shoulders go forward, and concern creeps back onto his face. Double strength, aimed at Kris's face, then Shane. "What..." Apparently that's all he manages. Kris wonders of Shane,"Silver might be better. If you have some black polish for his nails, bring that as well? I would appreciate it. I have some blonde dye back in my room for his hair. OH. The pin-stripe skirt is in my top dresser draw. Feel free to stop in my room and grab it. I'm on the right side of the room." She pauses though,"If that is your wish. Noone can tell you what to value and how. That is folly." She reaches out to do Ivan's face in an experimental manner,"We are going to make you look prettier for your romantic interest." Suddenly, she gets an idea,"BE RIGHT BACK, I HAVE AN IDEA." Be afraid. "Silver. Sweet. I don't really have black cuz -- well --" Shane lifts his hand, waggling fingers at Kris -- his webbed blue fingers are tipped not with proper nails but with sharp black claws. "But eyeliner I'm so on top of. Ivan. Here." The violin is unceremoniously thrust at Ivan. HOLD THIS. Shane is ducking out of the room. Probably to return with Makeup. At least their simultaneous disappearance buys Ivan time to flee. That is assuming Ivan is not tremendously confused, and thus at a complete loss for what's going on. SHOULD he flee? The violin thrust into his arms sort of dictates no. He peers around, the room now empty. Should he put it down? Would that be rude? It had better not be, because after a glance toward the door? That instrument is carefully placed down on the ground near the wall, next to the entrance. And he's /out/. Hoping desperately, /desperately/ they don't find him.