ArchivedLogs:Mechanics

Mechanics
Dramatis Personae Micah, B, Dylan	20 October 2014 '
Location <XS> Workshop
A large barn-like building situated at the far end of the gardens from the mansion proper, this makerspace functions as a classroom for many of the more hands-on classes. An expanse of workshop space, it is subdivided into smaller segments for the different types of activities: Woodshop, Welding shop, Machine shop, Electronics, Bike shop, Screen Printing and Photography, Fabric Arts, and the Rapid Prototyping Lab with a trio of 3D printers. The space comes complete with a large host of tools available for use, although many of the more dangerous require prior clearance from administration to use -- students with appropriate clearance to use them can gain access to locked equipment with their student IDs. From sanders to MIG/TIG welders to soldering stations to industrial sewing machines to its own darkroom, though, this space is well equipped for teaching students how to /make/. Even on days where class happens, Xavier's typically gets a Micah straight from his day job. As such, he is still dressed in his usual work gear: TARDIS-blue polo shirt, khakis, auburn hair that looks like he may have attempted to put it in some semblance of order with a comb a few hours ago. He's thrown a Batsignal hoodie on over the lot for the trip from the school building out to the workshop, the /cold/ rather making itself known in the deepening autumn. The workshop is a frequent enough stop for him before he makes his way back into the city, seeking out a certain small blue sharktwin who tends to spend a predictable amount of time there. The door opens (minimally) and closes (quickly) to allow his slim frame through with a limited amount of the chill wind along with him. Sure enough, there /is/ one tiny blue sharkpup to be found tucked into the workshop. In almost all things B looks like a proper clone of hir twin; same gleaming blue skin, same sharp-slitted gills, same eerie water-demon face, same webbed hands tipped in pointed black claws. There are differences, though, to be sure; in place of Shane's dapper pinstripes-and-vests-and-bowties sort of style, ze's kind of pretty in punk today. An eclectic mix of softly feminine in blue and silver ao dai matched with stompy-heavy combat boots and thick silver-studded wristcuffs. Ze lacks, too, Shane's typical sharptoothed grin, lips pressed together into a thin line and brows deeply knitted where ze perches on a stool, fingers fluttering against a holographic display hovering above the table in front of hir, lines of code being quickly edited by dint of an (also holographic) keyboard. Ze isn't /entirely/ alone in the workshop; keeping hir company there is a cobalt blue metal-bodied dragonfly, watching the goings-on impassively through blank robot eyes. Scattered on the table is a clunky collection of pieces taken from the large hunk of what appears to be some sort of (heeeeeeeeavily modified) gutted motorcycle engine in front of hir. /Also/ on the table (thankfully not scattered) is a plastic tupperware full of Dinner. Which, in this case, is just meat, raw and bloody in hunks that look like, rather than butchered, they were just /torn/ off some poor creature. B's nose twitches as hir father enters, though the familiar smell only draws hir brows together further. "Fix this," ze greets Micah, frowning at the project in front of hir. Not very long after Micah's closing of the door to the workshop does it open back up. Dylan steps inside, bundled up in a very used army field jacket. His normally unruly mop of hair is in an even more disastrous state from the wind blowing outside. He is only half paying attention, so when he sees the blue fish-esque mutant he immediately assumes it's his roommate. "Oh, Shane-dude, look before you get back to the room and bite my head off - figuratively or literally - I wasn't going through your stuff... I just knocked some of your stuff off the top of your desk, and I knew that there was no way that I could put it back exactly the way it was, so I didn't really bother. I just stacked it up neatly." He then pauses, cocking his head slightly, "Um... You're not Shane, are you?" Not really giving B a chance to reply, "You're the other one, huh? I was told that there was two of you... " He rubs his hands together and blows into the hollow of his hands. He smirks slightly, "I'd be the new roommate that you probably haven't heard anything about." Micah's lips tug into a lopsided grin at that greeting and he ambles up behind B's stool to provide a (chilly!) tight-squeezey hug. "Hello t'you, too, sugar. What's it needs fixin' now?" His eyes narrow a little, inspecting the items on the table over his kid's shoulder. "Engine trouble?" He rights himself quickly when the door opens again, disentangling B from the hug, since /usually/ teenagers aren't looking for parental affection to happen in front of their peers. "Not Shane," he confirms, twisting to regard the new arrival. "You're Shane's new roommate, I'm gatherin'?" A little chuckle comes with the return of amusement to his features. "I'd be the dad." A small nod in B's direction gives clarification, if needed. Which it /might/ be, considering that Micah doesn't look like he left his teenage years behind him all that long ago, himself. "But prob'ly callin' each other New Roommate an' The Other One an' The Dad's gonna get old fast. Micah." His index finger indicates himself. "An' B." It shifts over to point at B in turn. B sinks back into the hug with a /shiver/ and a flutter of gills, closing hir eyes and thunking hir head back against Micah's chest. "I'm pretty sure I'm going to light something on fire," ze kind-of-explains, "which -- I guess, might not bother Kay much. But it wouldn't /help/ anything either, not if --" Hir words stop abruptly at the entry of A New Person, gills shifting faster and hir black eyes opening huge and sudden. Hir nostrils flare, mouth staying closed as ze slowly extricates hirself from Hug to lean forward against the table in a small hunch. "One of the dads," ze finally corrects, in a much meeker tone. Hir hand lifts to flick fingers at hir holo-computer again. "Maybe /Pa/ gets to be The Other One for once." Hir eyes skim over Dylan, only briefly, though hir nostrils are flaring again. "Why would you think I haven't heard anything about you? I've heard about you. The whole school's heard about you. New Kids make the best gossip. It's," ze says apologetically, "not a big school." Dylan shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Micah, huh? So you the dad or the spare dad? Shane said he had a spare. Wassup, B." He offers up a nod. He shrugs his shoulders slightly from under the slack jacket, as he glances back over to Micah. "I don't know. I probably won't be around long enough for anyone to bother learning my name... I think the carpet is more likely to pass the classes than me. " He glances over at the engine, "You did that intentionally?" “Um. That's not a /real/ specific issue description. Maybe we should haul this over to the auto shop? Gonna have better tools for diagnostics over there. Maybe tomorrow when it's not already dark an' freezin' out?” Micah's eyes are busy scanning over the materials spread across the bench as he continues to speak. “Y'know, Jax's always been 'Pa', so that didn't even cross m'mind.” He hmms softly. “Even if you're only here short-term, s'worth an introduction. Also, your advisor should be able t'help y'with class placements an' tutorin' t'get y'into a level that'll meet y'where y'are. We're kinda used t'folks comin' here /not/ on the typical educational pathways.” Another grin is aimed at the engine parts. “Might could be the spare one. I'm newer. An' got more replacement parts, so...” Shrug. "He's the cyborg dad. The other one is the fairy dad. Shane has a habit of lending them /both/ out, so I guess they're both -- spare?" B's teeth drag slowly over hir lower lip, and ultimately ze turns attention away from the dismantled engine to instead haul hir tub of meat closer. One claw extends, growing longer so that ze can skewer a hunk of meat and bite into it. "Your name's Dylan," ze adds with another small flutter of gills. "And I was in auto shop but a lot of my robotics stuff was in here and none of the cars in auto shop -- fly. I think my problem isn't a, um, very typical. -- Do you /want/ to be here?" Hir attention suddenly reverts to Dylan. "Did I do what intentionally?" Dylan snorts slightly and shakes his head. He mimics B, "a lot of my robotics tuff was in here and none of the cars in the auto shop -- fly". He shakes his head once again, "Yeah, not sure that there is enough tutorin' for me to catch up." He looks over at B, "Well, not really sure that I want to be here as much as I want to be here more than I want to be in juvie." He smirks slightly, "And I was referring to the mutilation of the...engine." He shakes his head, "Sorry, it was just a lame attempt at conversation." "Either way, /I'd/ be better at helpin' in the auto shop. For what that's worth. More of a four-wheels-on-the-ground variety of mechanic, m'self. Usually just cars-trucks-vans, tractors, occasional kids with four-wheelers an' dirt bikes back home. Not s'much of the last three up this way. Definitely no flyin', before or now." Micah scruffs a hand over B's spiky hair. "Y'should prob'ly take the time just t'eat, anyhow. Usually don't mix well, food an' real involved mechanical work. Tell y'that one from personal experience." His head shakes slowly in answer to Dylan as he slides another stool over to sit on, back to the workbench. "Nothin' doin', sugar. You're speakin' English. Even if you're not readin' it yet, that puts you a step up on a good number of the kids as come through here. Honest, your academic advisor should be able t'help you. Y'all should be havin' or should /have/ had a sit-down t'discuss where y'are 'fore your classes even get assigned. An' they can even get y'through some nice, borin' tests that'll help folks know where y'need individual attention an' where your strengths are. Promise it's less intimidatin' than jail." A nod indicates the engine parts behind him. "An' sometimes y'gotta take things apart t'get 'em back t'gether in workin' order." B opens hir mouth at the mimicry, closing it again sharply with hir eyes dropping abruptly back to the table. Another swipe of hand through the air collapses the holographic interface of hir computer, display vanishing into nothing. "I -- m'not --" But wherever this sentence was going, it doesn't finish, also trailing off into nothing as B nibbles at the hunk of meat. "I mean when we got here..." But ze doesn't finish /this/ sentence, either, just shifting uncomfortably on hir stool and then nodding mutely at Micah's suggestion to move. "'kay," ze eventually mumbles, licking hir claws clean when the meat is gone and pressing the lid down onto the tupperware. Hir gills are fluttering rapidly again; when ze speaks hir /voice/ is a little fluttery, too, hitched as though ze is suddenly out of breath. "You don't have to. Do robots. Or engines. But you /do/ have to try. I guess it's your call which is better. I've never been to -- to. Juvie. Not -- exactly anyway." "Engine's ain't the problem... cars make sense. I was helping out in one of my uncles' ch--garages when I was like ten... that kind of stuff makes sense... It's the rest that don't." Dylan cocks his head once again looking at the parts. He smirks at Micah, "Nah, jail makes sense. The rules are pretty simple. Here it's like... well... this place is like a different world than the one I'm used to." Hazel eyes flicker back over to his fellow student, "Don't get me wrong... I'm not sayin' that I'm not gonna give this place a shot... just I don't think I really have what it takes to fit in here... " Micah's brow furrows at B's obvious distress, hands moving to pet down the fluttering gills in a rather habitual manner. "You're fine, sugar. S'just that y'do a lot of impressive stuff s'all," he reassures softly, voice returning to normal volumes as he rejoins the main body of conversation. "There's elective classes auto mechanics an' the like here, too. Might be you'll settle in better if y'start with some things you've been exposed to more sprinkled into your schedule. D'you know who your advisor is yet?" His gaze slides over to where his fingers are stroking at B's gills before looking back to Dylan. "An' fittin' in here's a bit of a dif'rent matter'n most places. Think you'll find a whole lotta unique folks 'round. Give yourself some time t'get your feet wet, find your entry classes an' tutors, make some friends. /Then/ decide how you're fittin' an' what's over your head." B's gills slowly press down flat under Micah's hands. "Okay." It's listless-quiet, eyes still downturned, not evidently particularly invested in /arguing/ with Dylan's repeated assertions save for an (also-quiet): "... none of us fit in, here." Ze slides down off the stool, smoothing hir hands down over hir ao dai. "You don't have any advisees yet, do you?" Ze glances up to Micah with this question. Dylan's eyes move between Micah and B, noticing the two's interaction. He takes an almost silent step further away, giving the two a little more space. He smirks slightly, though it's a little less snarky than the one that seems to normally adorn his lips. "It's not so much a matter of here as opposed to anywhere else... I know I'm one of the lucky ones and can pass for normal... Hell, even when I do use my powers, even I can't tell it... " He glances around "I meant more in this kind of world...from what I heard...the teachers at my old school had a betting pool on whether I'd end up in jail or just dead...Miss McAllister was almost right by three weeks..." He seems more amused by that than upset. “I don't.” One of Micah's eyebrows climbs a little at B's question, thoughtful. “Not sure if they /want/ me to, considerin' I'm not here all that much an' the possible...dynamics...issues of me not really havin' /experienced/ the whole Mutant Experience. Well, not really. Other than...um.” He shakes off the rest of that thought with the air of someone whose mouth gets ahead of them relatively often. A smile that is an odd blend of self-deprecating and reassuring replaces the uncertainty quickly enough, though it is accompanied with a faint-pink dusting of blush. “If it makes y'feel any better, /I've/ been arrested twice just in the past month. Y'might fit in better'n y'/think/.” B's gills stay closed, though hir discomfited posture doesn't ease. "I don't -- understand," ze admits, awkward and apologetic, "what kind of world you're talking about." Hir fingers clench against the tupperware container, slowly gripping and relaxing. "Both my dads have arrest records way longer than -- well. Long." Hir cheeks darken slightly, tinting closer to purple. "Probably half the students, too. I -- certainly haven't," ze picks hir way through this sentence carefully, "historically gotten along with the police." Dylan chuckles softly at Micah, "Yeah, me too. First time, it didn't stick... Second time, my luck didn't hold out." He shrugs, "Let's just say that most of my family is firmly situated on the wrong side of the law." He cocks his head, looking at B with a bit more of an intense stare. "You okay, Dude? You need me to disappear or something..." Micah leaves off the petting once B's respiratory system seems to have straightened itself out, though one hand lingers on hir shoulder. "The ah...police talk. Can be a little sensitive. S'a number of folks from this school an' elsewhere had some uniquely traumatic experiences with the local police force." His teeth meet with his lower lip as his shoulders shrug slightly in an apologetic gesture. "Yes, but I don't understand what kind of world you think /we're/ --" B shakes hir head, shoulders curled inward and held there, somewhat tense. "Nevermind." Ze scoops the tupperware bin of meat into one arm, saying something that is distinctly Not English to -- evidently the metal dragonfly, because it wakes up to lift itself into the air with a quiet hum. "You don't have to go. I have to eat dinner anyway. Not-here. Cuz it doesn't mix well with engine parts." Hir fingers lift, curling in a small wave before ze ducks hir head to start for the door. Dylan nods, "Ah...okay. You can just tell me to change the topic. I don't mind." He smirks to Micah, "You tellin' me you never finished your lunch while under a car? Hell, a little motor oil never killed anyone." He offers a bit more of a genuine smile, though at the same time, his expression seems almost more guarded. "Well, nice to meet ya, B." Now, the mechanical dragonfly moving around seems to be more startling than the blue skinned, fish-gilled, clawed, raw meat eating student. "I've got stories...which is exactly /why/ I don't recommend food'n'mechanical work at the same time. But maybe another time, hon. Make sure y'get set up on that advisor next time whoever's been workin' with y'so far talks with you, okay? Should be a good help. Have a good night." Offering a little waggle-fingered wave, Micah slides off of his stool to follow B out the door...more than likely with the goal of checking in on hir whereve ze's planning on finishing dinner.