ArchivedLogs:Rekindling

Rekindling
Dramatis Personae Anole, Kyinha, Nick	2016-04-19 "Professor, maybe should probably sit down."
Location <XS> Lake
Bright, bright, bright; the lake glitters wide and expansive here, stretching off into the distance. Sunlight, moonlight, starlight, it catches them all. Lapping at the rocky shore, its deep waters are frigid in winter and cool even in summer. A stone pier stretches out a ways into the water, wide and smooth, though often icy in winter. The water teems with life nevertheless, home to myriad species of fish that provide for ample fishing or just lazy watching on a slow summer day, for those who want to take a boat from the boathouse out to the center of the lake, or perhaps lounge on the pier and try their luck. It's a beautiful, sunny spring day, warm in the light and cool in the shade. The trees in the forest surrounding the lake are blossoming in a sudden wealth of light green young leaves and long, powdery catkins. Tiny, bright-colored wildflowers dot the lakeshore and the edge of the woods. Butterflies and dragonflies flutter and flit, and riotous birdsong fills the air. Kyinha is sitting on the pier, legs immersed in the water, leaning back, propped up by his hands behind him. He has stripped to the waist, his blue ombre swim trunks and chin-length black hair damp from an earlier swim. He shivers every so often -- the air may be warm, but the water is still quite cool. Near him sits an insulated red lunchbox, a folded towel (bright pink with red hibiscus print), and a small, neat stack of clothes. He's sitting with one side toward the shore, but his head is turned to gaze out over the water. There's laughter coming from further up the rocky stretch of shore, a scampering of feet, a bright (red white and blue! There's a star in the center --) disc spinning neatly into Kyinha's peripheral vision. And then in front of it, zooming veeeeeeeery close by the teacher's face as it whizzes by. With the frisbee whirling out half out over the water it seems almost like it might be a lost cause -- almost, but then one wiry green (and patchily rocky-grey in places) teenager is skittering down the pier, one loooooooooong pink tongue thwipping far (far-far-far) out over the lake -- and just past Kyinha's face /too/ -- to yoink it back. "Oh -- /oh/," Anole's now-muffled laughter is tempering itself abruptly into only a crooked smile, all the more lopsided for the disc still dangling from longstickytongue before he snatches it away. "{Sorry -- sorry,}" the first one in French, the next in Spanish, "didn't mean to interrupt your -- uh -- your -- uh --" His wide green eyes are just skittering up-down-up-down over Kyinha before amending instead, "S'Nick's fault." "Is not!" Has Nick's voice gotten just a little lower and gravellier this week? Perhaps he's just trying to sound indignant. The lanky teen is wearing a green t-shirt with the Green Lantern emblem on the chest, and black cargo shorts. His normally glossy brown fur is looking a little dull and uneven, coming out in soft wisps from time to time as he moves. "It was a perfectly good throw." His amber eyes fix on Kyinha for a moment, then skip back to Anole--not really nervous, but awkward. "Or it /would/ have been if you'd caught it back there." He jerks one thumb over his shoulder toward the field where they had been playing before. "You alright, Professor?" Kyinha starts when the frisbee zips past him. Starts /again/ when Anole's tongue zips past him. By the time said tongue returns with the frisbee, though, he seems to have made his peace with random objects moving past his head at high velocity. He turns to face the students, pulling one of his legs out of the water so he doesn't have to twist quite so hard. He has a tattoo that they probably have not seen, on the left side of his chest: an abstract red-orange flame inside a blue drop of water. The colors stand out bold even against his brown skin, pale from winter as it is. "Nice catch." His tone is light, though he's a bit slow to smile. "No harm done -- and really, I'm sure I could have survived a direct hit from /that/ shield, at least." Though he's lifting a hand to rub at the side of his head as though he /had/ been struck there, his brows knitting. "Well, maybe, but it still wouldn't have been --" Anole's voice is a little distracted, eyes dipping down to glance to the ink etched into Kyinha's skin. He blinks, though, shakes his head quickly, pulls his eyes back up when the teacher rubs at his head: "Wait, I didn't hit you, did I?" Abruptly chagrined, head dipping slightly. His brows knit together as well, claws ticking a little restlessly against the stone and his shoulders shifting in small fidget. "/Are/ you alright?" Nick's mouth has half-opened and he looks quite ready to argue the point with Anole when the other boy trails off. He looks back at Kyinha and cocks his head, ears pricking up as if hearing better will help him discern the source of the teacher's discomfort. "The real thing is a /lot/ bigger," he agrees, cautiously. "But I'm not Captain America, either." "Hm?" The look Kyinha levels at Anole is /maybe/ a little blank. "You didn't hit me," he assures the teen, pulls his other leg from the water. "I'm fine. It's...the water's still a bit on the cold side for swimming, I suppose, but it's such a lovely afternoon." He snags his towel and slowly rises, drying his hair in somewhat desultory fashion. He considers Nick, his smile slow to come, again, but quite warm. "I don't know, I can see it. Though you're more inclined to a different brand of superhero, I guess?" This with a nod at Nick's shirt. Suddenly he gasps, pressing one palm to the side of his head. His shoulders tense violently beneath the towel and he sways on his feet. "Oh come on /everybody's/ been a Green Lantern you can be Captain America /and/ a Green Lantern, no problem." Less fidgety /here/, now, Anole perks up with this opinion, grinning back at Nick as he considers this possibility. "And you've already got plenty practice throwing -- shield-like objects so you're pretty much a shoo-in I mean what else does it /take/ to be -- /uh/?" He's whirling back to look at Kyinha, Frisbee dropping to the ground as he stands /up/, two feet instead of all fours, to hesitantly reach a hand towards-but-not-quite-touching the unsteady teacher. Kind of hovering a few inches from his back warily. "Professor da Costa? Are you ummmmm do you need a should I call Doctor McCoy you look a little like maybe going to die don't fall into the lake okay? Wait can you breathe water? Can he breathe water," he's asking this uncertainly of Nick, now, "he's in there a /lot/." "/Maybe/. There are lot more Green Lanterns than Captain Americas, though," Nick points out. "Captains America? Anyway, I'm pretty sure there's just the one, and I don't think he's planning to /retire/ anytime soon." His hackles go up when Kyinha sways. His weight sinks lower, though he does not drop to all fours, only slinks up to the pier and sniffs at Kyinha. "Professor, maybe should probably sit down." Then, perhaps more to Anole than to Kyinha, "Breathing water won't save him from hitting his head." Kyinha does not reply at once, though the question clearly registered at some level, for he looks toward Anole when he speaks. Agony twists his usually cheerful features. His pupils have dilated so far that only narrow rings of his brown irises remain, and it's hard to tell what he is focusing on, or if he is focusing at all. "No, no need, to call, Hank -- Doctor McCoy. This was expected. I'm only surprised it did not happen -- gah!" His shoulders curl inward sharply and he looses his footing, drops to his knees. He mutters a string of words in Nheengatu which, though incomprehensible to the others, sound in tone and execution like profanity. To Anole's outstretched hand, the air around him feels suddenly warmer, a leaked preview of seasons to come. 'Expected.' Anole mouths this to Nick, his frown only creasing deeper. Now his hand /does/ move to Kyinha's back, quick and startled at the next inward curl of the older man's shoulders. Sort of bracing as he goes to the ground, teeth pressing down to his lower lip as he crouches down beside Kyinha. "/Um/." The worry hasn't really left his expression, though as his hand drops to press knuckles down against the stone he scoots back -- just an inch or two. "You haven't been, like. Particularly angry lately have you?" Nick's eyes have gone quite wide, and the hair on the back of his neck has never settled back down. He comes up level with Anole and exchanges a nonplussed look with his roommate. His "Um" is not /quite/ in unison with the other boy's, but close. "Yeah it feels kind of really /warm/ here...is there about to be fire?" Kyinha's skin is feverish to the touch, but he seems to recover a little once he's settled down onto his knees. At Anole's question he actually laughs -- a quick, pained chuckle, his eyes still screwed tightly shut. "Not uncommonly so. But fire, yes. You two -- back up a few steps." He drops both hands to brace against toppling sideways, trailing most of his towel off the edge of the pier and into the lake. The next wave of whatever is happening to him is /visible/ as a faint luminscent halo that ripples over his body. And then he bursts into flames. Fire /erupts/ from him in every direction, and though it does not reach far -- a few inches at most -- it renders his skin and hair all jet black, as if instantly charred into preternatural featurelessness. Kyinha screams, dragging the soaked towel from the lake to wrap, around himself, quenching the flames. When he finally squints his eyes open they're glowing bright, fiery yellow. "See?" He's breathing hard, his voice raw and shaky. "I'm -- fine." Though the rest of his face may be harder to see now, his /grin/ is bright and backlit and unmistakable. "I /really/ don't want a /fire/ zombie out here last time I had one of /those/ it --" Anole is backing up in a /hurry/ when prompted, scampering over close to Nick and muttering quiet to his roommate. He cuts off at the ripple of light around Kyinha, though. The rest of the green in his skin fades quickly to the same rocky mottled grey as the pier, hands pressing down flat against the stone. His body drops further at the burst of fire -- or maybe at the scream -- eyes widening and his shoulders tense. He doesn't return Kyinha's grin. Just -- stares. Nick actually does drop down to all fours now, crouching beside Anole. A low, low growl rises in his throat and his ears press back, his tail hanging low enough to brush the pier. At the scream his ears flatten even farther, though the growl kind of trails off into a soft whine that fades only when the flames abate. "Oh!" he says in sudden comprehension, though his ears are still pressed back and his tail still tucked low. "Well," he says, finally, "I'm glad you're not a zombie."