ArchivedLogs:Meanwhile, at Xavier's...

Meanwhile, at Xavier's...
Dramatis Personae Mariot, Shelby, Ivan's pets.	2013-04-15 Shelby has an unfortunate encounter while Ivan is away.
Location <XS> Girls' Bathroom - FL2
Bright and clean, this bathroom is designed for communal use. Toilets and sinks to one side, showers on the other. The shower stalls are wide, designed with space inside for hanging clothes and changing. The sinks have, by habit, had space claimed by them with people's own personal toiletries, a small basket of goods here, a toothbrush and toothpaste there, a large overflowing basket there, name tags appended to all of them, though that does not stop the occasional friendly (or not so) pilfering of a bit of someone's face wash here and there. Lo, that most holy of holies: the girls' bathroom! Note the clean floor, the sweet scent of mingled perfumes in the air, the lack of pee spatter around nonexistent urinals or crude graffiti on the walls! Truly this is a blessed place. At least until the sound of a toilet flushing brings us all back down to reality. The door to the third stall from the right bounces open and Shelby emerges, swinging her backpack onto her shoulder--only to drop it to the floor again as she reaches one of the sinks + mirror. Why yes, she washes her hands, is this surprising? After handwashing, she leans her hands on the edges of the sink and tips forward to get a nice close-up look of herself in the mirror. Unlike her usual animated expressions when in public, the face she wears right now is flatly neutral, with a touch of tired. She frowns at the start of a blemish on her chin, then bends down to rustle up a brush from her bag to handle the flyaway hair. So lovely and peaceful in here! So very lovely. So-- spider. SPIDER. There is a tarantula on the floor, crawling very slowly toward Shelby's bag. Pale blue body, like cobalt, with the legs a darker colour. But it's still a tarantula and it's still fist-sized. Shelby has seen it before, though not up close - perhaps hitching a ride on Ivan's shoulder. It is creeeeping closer, and may be going for the small grey-winged moths that have taken residence upon its fabric since it was put down. It really /should/ matter that Shelby has seen this particular spider for. It should. She should remember it, how many blue tarantulas are there wandering around Xavier's? Unfortunately for the spider, when Shelby's phobia is triggered, things like memory don't kick in at all. There is only fight or flight. And the damned thing is /hunting/ her--or so she thinks. That is why there is a sudden loud yell--too undignified to be a proper girly scream--and the soft rubber brush she'd pulled out of her bag is /thrown/ at the spider. Aa! If spiders could scream, this one looks like it might do so /right back/ at Shelby. It freezes at a poorly aimed brush just narrowly missing one of its legs. It turns to Shelby only to throw its abdomen upward along with its front four- six- limbs? WHO KNOWS. CLEARLY IT IS THREATENING and not at all in a defensive stance. The brush hitting the floor sends something else up, however. The moths do what moths do best, fly in stupid little circles going /absolutely nowhere/. Which just happens to be straight at Shelby's face. OH GOD IT'S THREATENING HER! Shelby recoils, no doubt cursing her aim and lack of upper body strength. What's it going to do, what's it going to--AUGH SOMETHING IS TOUCHING HER FACE OH GOD OH GOD IT ATTACKED HER WITH FLYING THINGS! This time she /does/ scream, an ululating cry worthy of Hollywood horror flicks. Her voice, after all, is well trained and oft-used. The girl has /lungs/ on her. There is a mad scramble away. And since the spider is between her and door, that means retreating back into a stall. The backpack is left. The door slams. And Shelby perches on the toilet, scrabbling madly for the phone in her back pocket. Don't worry, spiders don't generally give chase. In fact, the tarantula backs /away/ from the bag now, crawling sluggishly toward a corner. It's totally safe in there, Shelby. Good job, you've survived. Thumple. Thumplrr. An African giant centipede, over a foot long and /fat/ and shiny and segmented, crawls from atop one stall to the next, legs latching onto the sides of the thin walls and moving in waves to propel it forward. Overhead. Hello Shelby. There are precious few seconds to radio for help. Seconds while Shelby is /certain/ the spider is going to slam the door open like the dude from The Shining. It might even have an axe. You can't trust tarantulas. So her fingers fly over the keys of the phone: IVAN U ASSHOL UR FUKIN SPIDR IZ IN TEH GRLS BTHRM TRYN 2 EET ME She has just hit send when skitterskitter, the pitter patter of too many feet are heard. Cue the screams. Cue the screams and the cowering. Unfortunately bugs that are just being bugs are not very interesting. They do not turn pages or sit very willingly on shoulders or scare people because they are told to-- no, they just crawl about and occasionally scare people by accident. Like this one may be doing at the moment. The foot-long, thick black millipede crawling over the walls of the screaming Shelby reeeaaches out over the top of the stall, perhaps to get a better look at things. Perhaps to get a better look at SHELBY. Does it want... human flesh? Meanwhile, the fist-fized cobalt tarantula has found corners to be /boring/, and makes a U-turn right for the backpack Shelby left on the floor earlier. Maybe there's food in there. The spider is not used to /roaming freely/ and clearly this is the most logical place for food. Maybe that train of thought is Ivan's fault. Speaking of which, a text reply comes back, shortly afterward: lena !! please don't hurt her I will give you so much food please please please It would seem that taking shelter in one of the stalls has /not/ helped Shelby in the least. She does not respond to Ivan's text, leaving him to think what he wants. Her phone has been dropped and she is curled up in a little ball on the toilet. Hyperventilating. Staring at the millipede. Waiting for her death. But hey, at least the screaming has stopped? Her curiosity-fuelled exploration of the school having been interrupted by sounds of abject terror, Mariot arrives at the door of the bathroom at some speed - though as yet without the slightest notion of what might be happening. The sight of an abandoned backpack and a hairbrush is in some small way reassuring, given the lack of horrible damage or pools of blood... though a glimpse of something scuttling towards one and a complete lack of visible girl combine to be rather less encouraging. "Is there someone in here?", she asks in a distinctly British (and adult) voice, hoping to get at least some clue as to what's going on. The millipede-- is not interested in your death, Shelby. Its body is heaved back onto the top of the wall and it starts moving forward again toward the door of the stall to crawl across that instead. The spider finds its way into Shelby's backpack, prickly legs navigting it with some difficulty. BZZ. The phone on the floor has received another message. BZZ. And another. BZZ. BZZ. TWO MORE. All of them from Ivan. And all of them just say 'please'. With another voice heard, Shelby's hitching breaths become slightly more broken. She sounds like she's choking but that's actually her attempting to force out words. Her eyes are tracking the millipede's every move--apparently they are no more trustworthy than cobalt blue tarantulas. "...h-help?" is finally croaked out from the third stall over. The one right there, with the huge fucking creeepy crawly wiggling its way across the top of the door. "...bugs." This is not Shelby's finest moment. Ivan is just going to have to /wait/ for a response. This... is not exactly what Mariot had expected. In all honesty, she's not sure what she +had+ been anticipating, but... well. After a few deep breaths, she cautiously moves into the room, scanning all around for anything that might either fall under her or scuttle under-foot. "I'm a teacher", she says. "I'm going to open the door. Is that all right?" There is fortunately only that spider, a millipede, and a couple of moths that have gone god-knows-where. The little things do have a habit of disappearing and reappearing at the strangest of times. That millipede creeeeps across the door above, perfectly content! A teacher? A /teacher/. Teachers around here are a sort of safe haven, when Shelby isn't giving them a hard time. On the other hand...that thing is on the door and the owner of the voice wants to open said door. "D-don't it might fall on me oh god this is Ivan's fault oh my fucking god just.../kill/ it!" The toiletseat rattles against porcelain as she shifts her feet. There is an ominous plastic creak. "So... this would be some kind of prank?", Mariot ventures, eyeing the millipede with a combination of mild distaste and consternation. "Do you know where this Ivan is?" BUZZ. BUZZ. Shelby's phone comes back to life. This time with texts that are less 'please' and more repeated variations of 'plesae pleaes please pelase please pleaes anything'. Whether or not she sees it. Millipede, eh. It does what a millipede does. It crawls further, reaching the end of the door and once more moving on to a stall wall. Is it going in circles? Very probably. BAM! That is Shelby, who has judged the moment finely, slamming the stall door open the /instant/ all of those creepy legs leave the door. She is out like a shot, aimed directly at Mariot with the attention of latching onto the woman and clinging. Like a lamprey. Or a terrified teenager who has had the /shittiest of weeks/. "Theymust'veescapedohgodcanweleavenowI'mgoingtokillhim!" she babbles all in one breath. "Oof", is Mariot's first response, but she wraps her arms around Shelby, holding her close - and making sure that she can be kept away from her backpack and +whatever+ it was that scuttled into it. "Let's get you out of the room. I can handle things in here", the Briton suggests softly, attempting to gently turn Shelby +just+ enough that the exit will be in her view if she ventures to peek out. "...gonna /kill/ him," Shelby blubbers as she's led out, leaving backpack, phone and brush to their fate. The teen does not look back, nor does she let go until the bathroom is far, far behind.