ArchivedLogs:Peace and Quiet

Peace and Quiet
Or something like it
Dramatis Personae Mallory, Martin, Thomas
In Absentia	2014-01-20 Down time in the teacher's lounge.
Location <XS> Teachers' Lounge - B1
Running a school for mutant teenagers just taking control of their powers is not an easy job, and the teachers at Xavier's deserve a place to come and relax. This lounge is their place to come and de-stress, and it does not skimp for relaxation. The room is elegant and luxurious, plush couches making up the seating in the lounge and a glossy glassy bar wrapping around one wall, well-stocked with alcohol (and perpetually fresh-brewed coffee, for those so inclined.) A large-screen high-def television hangs on one wall, stocked with about as many movies and games as the childrens' rec room upstairs. High bookshelves hold a wealth of books. The fridge here is always well stocked, and the cook is always willing to make deliveries down to this level. Far in the back, a hot tub is submerged into the floor, for still more unwinding. More days than not, there's some variety of snacks to be found on perched on an end of the bar -- quite often in the form of fresh-baked desserts. The teachers lounge was quiet and sacrosanct, separated and away from the rest of the school and the students that would bring more questions and noise. Taking advantage of this quiet, one of the teachers is perched up at the glossy bar with a highball beside him and a stack of papers in front of him. He looks fairly normal, at least until you see his skin, as he has on a pair of slacks and a button up navy blue shirt, but his skin is a dark dark charcoal grey, and small black horns barely peek out from his hair. Drumming a pen against the bar top as he looks over the assignments he was grading, he mutters to himself a bit and shakes his head. Martin isn't always the most frequent visitor to the teachers' lounge, but the lure of a quiet place with its own fridge well out of the way of the usual hustle and bustle of the school in the daytime sometimes proves strong enough for him. He makes his way in just as he finishes looking at something on his smart phone and pockets it, dressed in his usual attire of choice when he isn't teaching: work boots, jeans, a flannel shirt thrown over a henley. And those thin, black leather gloves. His hair is still damp from a shower after being down in the gym for his two classes that happen there. Finding the room already occupied, he says a, "Good afternoon," as he heads for that before-mentioned fridge. Mallory's approach to the teacher's lounge is anything but quiet, with her cloven hooves clacking against the flooring outside before she even opens the door. There is no question about her status as a mutant at first glance, with her darkened red skin and curling black ram-like horns. She is dressed casually, in a pair of simple black yoga pants that covers the majority of her unusual legs, leaving her long tail free to sway behind her as she walks, paired with a dove gray tunic top. In one hand she is carrying a paperback book in one hand that declares itself to be a guide to visiting India, her attention focused entirely on the small tome, muttering quietly to herself as she reads. Realizing that the room is not vacant, the librarian glances up, blinking her dark eyes repeatedly at Thomas and Martin. "Oh, goodness. Popular place this afternoon," she comments with a smile, her Oxford accented voice somewhat surprised. Thomas, unfortunately, gets a mindful of rather mispronounced Hindi words in a somewhat nonsensical jumble, eventually coalescing into a << Greetings, brother of mine. >> after several moments. Glancing up as Martin addresses him, Thomas raises his highball in greeting as the chap heads for the fridge. "Afternoon there," he says, his accent obviously pegging his origin as from England. "Hrm, you'll have to forgive me. Still learning the names of the rest of the teachers. Was it Morris?" he asks, his eyes squinting slightly a moment then offers a small shrug. "Thomas Winthrop, I'd offer to shake, but well I'm sure there are more important tasks at hand." He gestures at Martin's beverage acquisition, then tilts his head back at the incoming of his sister. << Hello sister dear. The students I believe are trying to kill me. At least three of them got the formulae so wrong it would have synthesized a neurotoxin >> he thinks at her, though visually all he does it wave his pen back and forth as he makes red marks on the papers in front of him. "Good afternoon," Martin winds up repeating, when he glances over his shoulder to see who else has come into the lounge. His expression maintains a mask of general neutrality. "Yes. Morris. Martin Morris," he says to Thomas, even as his icy blue gaze turns back to the fridge. "You are Mr. Winthrop, I believe." There is little doubt to his tone. Although they haven't really encountered each other but for brief passings before, considering his duties outside of the classroom, Martin has taken an interest in the school's security and knowing faces that should belong. Opening the fridge, he ducks into it to rummage around, bottles clinking faintly as he does so. "Good afternoon, Mr. Morris," Mallory greets with a cheery, if slightly fangy smile, and a polite wave. They have likely passed each other in the hallway at some point, given that she is hard to mistake for any other individual. Since Martin is currently rummaging through the fridge, Mallory opts instead to take a seat on one of the bar stools beside Thomas, setting her guide book down on the counter after slipping a bookmark into place. Side by side, the family resemblance is likely quite notable, horns aside. << Probably are. Guess you are quite fortunate to not need to breathe, then? >> she thinks to Thomas, offering a smirk in his direction. She attempts to peek into the fridge when Martin opens it, politely waiting her turn, though, "I don't believe we have been formally introduced previously. I'm Mallory Winthrop, the senior librarian." Because there are so many other women matching her description in the school. She doesn't extend her hand for a handshake at this point, though, given that Martin is still digging through the fridge. "Better at names than I am. Least the winter term isn't nearly as class heavy as the regular school year, time enough to learn faces and names more while some of the students are still away." Thomas leans back in his barstool and shakes his head. "I do however feel bad for the hardships my sister and I had laid on our tutors." Glancing back with a grin to Mallory he chuckled, "Which one was it we had brought the lizards in for? The stuffy guy, with the pinched nose?" He shakes his head, passing the image in his mind over to Mallory as he takes a sip from his drink. << Was that math or history? >> With the thought from her on not needing to breathe, he rolls his eyes << That wouldn't help the rest of the students. >> "Mallory is better at names, I blame it from her habit of memorizing all those plays. I never had the head for it myself, odd that chemical equations fit better." Truth be told, Martin would be a liar if he ever tried to claim that the faces and names of the two siblings hadn't stuck a little more easily than some others in his Catholic-infused mind. For his part, though, he seems completely at ease as he finally settles on a bottle of white Gatorade and pulls away from the fridge to get out of Mallory's way. "Yes. I'm a fan of your library," he says, cracking open the cap of his chosen drink with a gloved hand. "It has a decent Latin selection for a private school." The Latin teacher would like Latin books being around. As he finally takes a sip of his drink, he cocks a brow at Thomas. "Lizards?" His eyes drift sideways for a moment after that, and he belatedly admits, "Frog in third grade teacher's desk for me." "Agreed, the Latin section is decent, though I wish we had a larger selection of writings in original Latin as opposed to translations. There is always something lost in translations," Mallory says as she rises to head for the fridge, leaning against the counter as she takes her turn locating a beverage - in this case, a glass of cranberry juice which is then topped with a lime slice from the bar area. "Let me know if you have any books or papers you are interested in. I have been working on establishing ties with some local libraries for an exchange program." She takes her seat once again, offering an impish smile to Thomas, "You just described most of our childhood tutors. It was the history tutor, though. The second one, would have been... eighth grade." She smiles brightly, quite proud, "A pair of common wall lizards which we found in the gardens. They were adorable." Thomas is treated to a memory of the lizards, discovered on a warm rock and coaxed to perch on Mallory's new horns for warmth instead. "He was not pleased with us in the least." There's a faint grimace that winkles the librarian's features, "I suppose I should be careful what I wish for - we are in a position to get our comeuppance for the pranks we pulled as children." Mallory’s buzzing phone catches her off guard, and she glances down, stepping aside and excusing herself quietly to answer the call. "I can't say as I remember much more Latin than was required to get through classes." Thomas smirks at that, then chuckles at the frog comment. "Ah yes, the karmic backlash or whatnot. I am pretty sure that we can more easily redress grievances than our tutors could." Letting out a sigh, he finishes off the highball he was working at, then looks at the papers. "I swear we were better students than this at least. I know that chemistry isn't the most interesting of topics, but they could at least try." Martin's features shift to a considering interest at what Mallory says, before his expression then grows thoughtful, brows dipping down and together as he looks at nothing in particular at a far point of the floor. "Will get you a list," he says, eyes lifting back to the librarian. As for the lizards, his thoughtful look turns more amused, a faint touch of it here at the corners of his mouth, there at the outside creases of his eyes. To Thomas, he admits, "Can't say I did that well in chemistry myself. Except when we got to blow some stuff up." He sniffs and rubs a gloved thumb against the side of his nose before taking another sip of Gatorade. "Latin's not for everybody, though, really." "Oh I know, everybody likes the explosives and acids. Its the big and showy parts, like the alkali metals." Thomas shakes his head and smirks. "Unfortunately, there are only so many lessons you can actually teach on those subjects before you start getting questions on your lesson plan. Also, do you really think the students here should really be focusing so much on such damaging things? Constructive knowledge would be more appropriate even if it may be more boring." He smiles at that, and makes a vague gesture with his pencil down the hall. "The holographic room is fairly useful though for demonstrating the more boring reactions in a more interesting manner." A chuckle escapes Martin around another sip of his drink. "Didn't say it was a good idea to blow everything up. It was just the part I remember the best when I was in high school," he says. It's probably be hard for some of his students to believe, but once upon a time, he was a teenaged American boy. Blowing things up was the height of fun for a few months there. His humor fades some when one memory trips over another, later one, though, and he drinks some more of the Gatorade. "I'm sure they'll get it. One thing will click, and then everything else will fall into place. Each kid'll just click on a different thing, is all." "I know, I know. I have an educators certificate. First time teaching though, well outside of the mandatory student teaching that had to be done as part of the certificate." Thomas shakes his head, then looks to Martin. "What about you? Did you have much teaching experience before you got here? Or was it part and parcel to the package?" He tilts his head a moment, then puts the graded papers into a folder. "I believe Professor Xavier was doing a tad bit of charity in bringing us to somewhere that we would be safe to be ourselves. The students aren't the only ones who have challenges in the world." When Martin makes an attempt at scratching an itch along his stubble-threatened jaw, his expression goes very flat and, with a slight, muted frustration, he sets his bottle down on the bartop and proceeds to strip the glove off of a hand. Once free, he then uses that hand to scratch in a leisurely way. Fingernails are far superior for the task than smooth leather. The hand in question is practically cross-stitched in scars. "Nope," he says. "First time teaching for me, too. Was in the military before this." Once his itch has been thoroughly satisfied, he tugs the glove back on, fingers clenching within to ensure a snug, comfortable fit. "Think he's pretty big on charity." After a beat, he agrees, words measured, "No, they aren't." "Hrm, guessing the military isn't exactly a good place for any mutant. My condolences, and I hope you find what you need here." Thomas raises his empty glass in salute a moment, then looks to it recalling it is empty. "I should probably refill that. But it may be kitchen time, grab a protein shake." He slides the glass along the counter top in its condensation, the longer his hand is on it the more it begins to steam up. "At least without any apocalypse going on there is plenty more food at hand. And internet deliveries of plenty of protein powder." He shrugs, and his voice has a trace of gruff to it as Martin says, "It was good while it lasted. But all good things." It does not quite seem that leaving the military was solely his choice, by that tone. With the movement of the glass, his attention shifts to it momentarily, and then lingers when he spies the steam. Although he finds it interesting, he doesn't find it quite interesting enough to actually comment on it. Instead, he picks up his Gatorade again for another sip. "Yeah. I'm a bigger fan of things being closer to normal." Mallory slides back into her seat at the bar, offering an apologetic smile as she slips her phone away and picks up her beverage again. "Apologies. Rather unexpected phone call," she mumbles guiltily, taking a sip of her cranberry juice. "If you're going all the way up to the kitchen, you may as well get something moderately more flavorful than a protein shake," Mallory snorts at Thomas, eyeing his empty beverage glass, then her own, which is now sweating considerably in contact with her skin. There is precious little the librarian can offer to the discussion of military conversation, however, though she raises her glass at the talk of a return to normalcy, "Seeing things returning to somewhat normal once more is decidedly welcome. Perhaps there will even be some peace and quiet for once." There is a touch of wistfulness to her tone, a smirk on her lips. "Normal as life gets at least. Course, well, I guess the daily existence here is the norm for this place." Thomas chuckles at Mallory's statement and he shakes his head. "More flavorful, like chocolate biscuits? Or a tub of ice cream? I just need a bunch of calories really. I've gotten used to not being quite so picky on how the tasty of it is." Sipping down the now melted ice, he lets out a sigh. "A couple shakes, or a proper seven course meal? The shakes are faster at least, and not as expensive. Maybe if I can figure out that cloth and patent it, then yeah, the school will have naught but filet mignon and lobster. Or whatever the equivalent is for vegetarians. Truffles?" He shakes his head not entirely sure. Martin waves a gloved hand at Mallory's apology; it's nothing, not to worry. A sly sort of amusement pricks at his mouth, his icy eyes, at the idea of peace and quiet, and he says, "Not sure if that's even possible around here." Considering the student body? Quiet here must be loud everywhere else. After another swallow of Gatorade, he gestures with the bottle and says, "Toss it in a blender with some fruit. It's what I do. Bananas are pretty decent for it. Strawberries." He means, of course, the idea of a protein shake. "Whatever's fresh works, really." "Pfft, given the choice? Yes, I'll take chocolate biscuits over protein shakes," Mallory chuckles, swirling her juice around in the glass, nose crinkling at the remembered taste of poor quality shakes, "I don't like the taste of them, caloric needs or not. I'll eat a jar of peanut butter first. With biscuits. Possibly ice cream too, if it doesn't melt too fast." It is likely a good thing that Mallory is not the health teacher, or the cook. At the mention of the fabric Thomas is working on, Mallory shakes her head, snorting, "Truffles are a flavoring, not a meal unto themselves. I... honestly don't know what the vegetarian equivalent to traditionally fancy food such as that is. I'll ask Aloke about it, because now I'm curious." She plays idly with the condensation from her drink, smirking at the quiet comments, "True. As quiet and normal as it gets around here, I suppose. Which is almost anything but what it has been of late." "True enough. A bit of fruit, chocolate and peanut butter into the shake mask the flavor of almost anything. I just don't want to rely on it." Thomas itches at one of his horns with a little frown. << I don't want to eat everyones treats just because I don't want to lose more weight. >> Drumming his fingers against the counter, he shrugs then slides out of the stool. "Might depend on the culture I guess. Mainly the treat things tend to be rarer and thus more costly, turning them to treats instead of every day. If the school was up in Maine, we would be having lobster quite a bit more I'd imagine, since it's probably cheaper than other things. Saffrons the most costly thing, but like truffles, are just a flavoring agent, not a meal unto itself." << Do find out. Would be nice to know. >> "A whole jar of peanut butter, huh?" Martin casually questions, in that faintly amused, mildly disbelieving way. With very little knowledge of what vegetarians get into besides not meat, though, he keeps silent on that bit of the conversation. Instead, he tips his head back for one last, large swallow of Gatorade, and then finds the trashcan to pitch the bottle into with a hollow, plastic thunk. "Well. Better get to grading homework. No point in assigning it if I don't keep up with it." He rolls his shoulders to square them away in small stretch, and then starts for the door. "Have a good evening, you two. See you around," he bids, before heading out.