ArchivedLogs:Summer Plans

Summer Plans
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Shelby
In Absentia	2013-06-06 '
Location <XS> Art Room - FL2
Smells of paints and chalks and turpentine mingle freely in this room, well-used, well-stocked. Natural light flows in, plentiful through the large windows. The long counter-like tables are speckled with spots of color, and half finished projects often stand on easels or propped in corners. The many cupboards lining the walls are crammed full of art supplies. Exams for art class consist less of sitting down taking exams and more of turning in final projects; as such Jax's students have been trickling /in/ with theirs. Some overachievers long since finished last week, some last-minute students hurrying in Thursday before the final bell rings and projects are Officially Due. This means that with classes ended in favour of exam time, Jackson often has the art room more or less to himself! Sans any /official/ office he has largely set it up as His Space for dealing with students. At the moment it doesn't look particularly official, though; kind of messy with many other students' projects leaned up against the walls, half-finished on tables. He himself is perched on a stool by the window, drawing pad laid out on his lap. There's a series of images flickering across the otherwise blank page; a thorny bramble of knotted-together branches that largely stays the same in theme though it shifts through a host of different quirks of linework and shading. Naturally, Shelby has waited until the last minute to turn in her final project. Not because she's concerned about how it might be received--she /knows/ she's the bomb when it comes to Jax's class--but due to EVERYTHING ELSE AUGH that's been going on. It was probably almost done weeks ago, knowing her ability to cheat with these mediums. The teenager who shoulders open the door and swings herself into the room bears little resemblance to the street rat who inflicted herself on Xavier's a few short months ago. She's washed, groomed, wearing clothes whose only holes are intentional. She's also looking much more somber and less well-rested than she'd seemed out on the streets--or maybe it's just a quirk of the lighting, washing out pale skin in contrast to the black on black attire, making her eyes seem shadowed and her cheeks hollow. In her hands is a large, thick cardboard tube. After she's marked Jax as being present and by the window, she raises it slightly too high above one of the tables...and lets it drop. WHUMPH. "Fucking /done/," Shelby announces, insufferably smug. "This better be an A /plus/." Jax glances up at the opening of the door, his smile curling immediately bright as the image on his page freezes where it is. "Won't have grades out till the week after next," he says lightly, dropping down off his stool to set his sketchbook down and head to the tables. He plucks up the tube, fingers tapping against it in quick rolling drum. "So you'll just hafta be in /suspense/ 'bout whether it's -- just as good as all the /rest/'a your work's been this class." He's already opening the tube, though, to PEEK. And maybe also peek over at Shelby. With another tap of fingers against cardboard tube. "Is this the last? I mean, for the year, rest'a your exams done yet?" /Surprise!/ There's a roll of thick paper inside! Should Jax tap it out, he will find she opted for colored pencils as the medium--hard to really pull off super bright saturation, but she's managed. Probably by cheating. The picture is of a sewer tunnel, directly below a street grating, allowing for lances of sunshine to cut sharply through the gloom. The light pools around the crumpled figure of a water-sodden ragdoll. In the darker corners, there is street garbage--melting newspapers, syringes and naked, dirty needles, used condoms, a flyer for a show at some club--/her/ show at some club, though the water has also spotted and softened this to near ruin. A plus indeed. "Yeah, s'the last. Figure in algebra and bio, I'm fucked. Maybe passed health. And this 'n acting." Rather than remaining standing--signalling only a brief visit--Shelby plops herself down on a stool. Hooking her toes around the legs and curling her hands over the seat between her legs, she leans forward and peeks at Jax in return. "I think...I'm gonna skip summer term." Jax does tap it out, and as such he is eying the drawing rather than Shelby for this announcement. His eyes stay fixed on the picture, though, carefully taking in these details before he glances up. "Ain't mandatory," he says, slowly, but there's a reservation in this admission. "You got plans for the summer?" Why yes, yes she does. Which is why there is no hesitation before Shelby says, "I wanna get my own place. In the city. Maybe get a job, work on my music. I promised Hive I'd come back after." This last is said more quickly than is warranted, perhaps with the impression that he might be drawing a breath to interrupt or protest. "I can't stay out here for summer. I just...fucking /can't/. I'd go crazy." "Mmm." It's a quiet considering noise -- Jax's eye has returned to the /drawing/, deeply thoughtful before he carefully re-rolls it and returns it to its tube. "Yeah, you, uh," His smile is a little crooked, "ain't really never struck me as the country type. And summers here are /even/ slower than the school year. Y'know, a term off here'll just mean an extra tacked on at the end somewhere but --" He shrugs, slipping onto a stool himself to prop an elbow on the table. "Breaking it up with other things is probably healthy. Especially with --" The smile thins out. "Everything. Be kinda surprised if things weren't kinda pushing y'halfway towards crazy /already/, I know /I've/ been kinda tearing my hair out." At this he glances over Shelby with a little more consideration. Shelby matches crooked smile for crooked smile. "I already got a million years of being stuck here to finish," she agrees, "I figure one term's not gonna kill me. And maybe I'll get a record contract and get rich, anyway." Not that she's able to say this with her usual gusto. Some of the vim, the vigor, is lacking. At that final look, she hoists her eyebrows up. "What? You trying to say I'm crazy?" Wait, don't answer that. At least, she hurries on before Jax can answer. "Hive thinks I oughta pay you rent for your loft. For the summer. Instead of get my own place, 'cause it's so expensive. I...dunno if that'd work too good though?" "Yup," Jackson answers this /crazy/ question with /cheerful/ affirmation: "I think there ain't a single person I love who ain't a little crazy. Normal people get kinda boring." But after this cheer he shakes his head in contradictory negation. "-- but right now I'm just sayin' /life's/ been crazy. Feel like you might could use a -- /quiet/ summer." His fingers curl into a loose fist, cheek propping against it. "Places in Manhattan /are/ mad expensive," he agrees easily enough, "you'd practically need the record contract /first/ just to pay your rent. 'least, if you want to live anywhere even halfway decent. Would you /want/ to live in my loft? S'pretty roomy up there, but --" He doesn't complete whatever the 'but' is, here. Instead he looks at the cardboard tube she brought. "... you had any thoughts on the job front?"This is a little too thoughtful to be entirely an idle question. Snort! Snort snort. But she doesn't /deny/ the charge of crazy. Instead, Shelby mumbles, "Don't get mushy on me." After that, she tilts a look towards the ceiling and idly swings her feet, apparently deep in thought. There is a trick unique to teenagers, a tone of voice that bundles up wistful, skeptical and scornful all in one angst package. Shelby deploys this tone of voice now. "I don't think quiet is a /thing/. I think it's like, a fairy tale people make up so they can /pretend/ shit gets better. And I'd probably be a shitty roommate, anyway. Once the five grand's gone, I was gonna...I dunno. Play gigs or whatever. Make that my job." "I teach art," Jackson points out, "it's actually required in the job description that I be a /totally/ mushy hippie." His feet lift to tuck onto a rung of his stool, one leg bouncing rapidly up and down. "Quiet's a thing, it just don't never last long. Kinda gotta grab it and hold it when you can 'fore everything blows up again." His teeth click rapidly against his lip ring, and he adds: "Things don't necessarily get -- /better/, really, but. They do change. Y'fix some of the problems and then there's /new/ ones. Means nothing's all perfect at once, but -- things do get fixed." His smile is definitely skewed, now. "Just in time for new things to break. So y'kinda steal the quiet /moments/ where y'find 'em." The mention of being a shitty roommate actually earns a laugh. "I live with the twins," he comments. "Probably good to start thinking about the job thing /before/ the five grand's gone." He stretches one arm out, the drawing pencils that are ink-wormed through his skin shifting in colour for a moment. Rainbowy, instead of their usual charcoal-dark. "How'd you feel about sticking needles in people?" "Whatever." Yeah, Shelby isn't buying it. But she gives him an (annoyingly) indulgent look that at least thanks him for making the attempt. "/Someone/ out there's having an easier time of it. And they probably don't even /know/ it. The bastard." As for the twins, well... She shakes her head. "S'different when it's your /kids/, dude. I mean, like...you gotta put up with /their/ bullshit. But if that's all I can afford..." The teen isn't /entirely/ comfortable with the idea, showing it in small ways--a fidget here, a shifting of position there. She avoids his eyes--only to have them snap back with Jax's final question. Shelby blinks. "Better them than me? You mean like tattooing folks? I could probably do that, yeah. Maybe." Jax exhales, quick-sharp but kind of amused. "-- Someone probably is. You meet a person with /no/ problems, though, well. They're -- probably just lying to you." His eye drops back down to the tabletop, considering. "Yeah. Like tattooing folks. I mean, your /art/ is incredible, and that's the most important first step. The rest of it's just so much learning -- /safety/ and technique. Y'got the talent, though." And then -- kind of maybe not-entirely-comfortable himself, a mirroring fidget, a hesitation in his voice: "Y'know, Shane and Bastian both got themselves jobs, this summer. An' half the time I feel like /they're/ kinda -- cramped, my place ain't none too big. Ain't nobody got the apartment next to ours, though." Color Shelby interested! Literally--doodles that had been hidden beneath her clothes bounce up to decorate throat and cheeks. Sugar skulls, cartoon mice, a daisy fleeing a lamppost, a Japanese-style heron...they all crowd in to listen just as intently as she is doing. "...does learning /pay/?" she wants to know. "Like, between us if I was doing that, could we pull it off?" "Yeah. It'd pay. And y'all could do it, probably. Think it's the same setup as my place. Might could get Dai or someone in on the last room if the twins are gonna share." Jax shrugs a shoulder, still a little fidgety, but he smiles. Kind of crooked, kind of small. "We keep it up, we'll take over the whole freaking building. Might be good, though -- uh. Less drive-you-crazy than living at school all summer, anyhow. I'll," he promises, "try not to /hover/." "That'd be /sweet/. Like, /totally/ sweet," Shelby gushes, some of the shadows reversing as she contemplates this new image of the future. "I got an ID says I'm twenty-one so we could like, sign the lease and shit. And that way I could record stuff with Ryan when I'm not stabbing people with needles." Win-win! "Everyone's probably gonna be over at your place to eat all the time /anyway/, so you can like...do your stuff then." Hovering. She grins at him. "You think the twins'd be cool with it?" "I'd be cosigning your lease anyhow, with the twins there, most likely. And yeah. S'convenient for music." Jax smiles a little brighter in answer to her grin. "/And/ for mooching off my food. Think the twins'd be down. Bastian's got himself a /proper/ job." He's still a little fidgety, but something in his manner eases slightly at Shelby's gushing. "Might be good," he is perhaps telling himself as much as Shelby, "be near friends all summer." "I'm gonna mooch /all/ the food. Saves money, right? /And/ you get to still take care of 'em." See? Shelby is generous and sensitive to Jax's need to mother people. This isn't all part of some huge personal comfort scam at /all/. She slides off of the stool and shoves her hands in her rear pocket. "Hive said that's what summer's all about, right? Chillin', having fun. Being with friends. Oh my god, my own place...holy /shit/. I'm like.../real/," she says with equal parts bemusement and delight. "Man...can we do it next week?" "Saves /you/ money," Jax says, but his smile is easy, now, warmer and genuine. "I'll just sneak cupcakes over to your kitchen in the mornings 'fore work. Totally not-hovery-at-all cupcakes." He scuffs fingers through his hair, absently fingering its shaggy length with a frown. Brief frown. It evens out into a smile again soon enough. "Uh -- I mean, sure, I'll go with y'all to deal with the management if you want. 'less you don't want. Handle all the being /real/ yourself. It's, uh, mostly a lot of tedium." But he still sounds cheerful. "S'pretty much the point of summer, yeah. -- I might could," he says thoughtfully, "even get you a class credit for the apprenticeship." "Oh man, you gotta come. I haven't done shit like this before and if I /say/ shit they might not let me take the apartment." He's already said he would but Shelby clasps her hands together and gives Jax the most soulful eyes. Please. Pleeeeease? "I swear, if you do, I won't fuck up at work. I won't even like...make fun of the chicks who come in for butterflies on their ankles. Swear to god." The amusement in Jax's voice only grows at this pleading. He props an elbow on the table, his chin resting in his palm. "Said I would, didn't I? Wouldn't want this venture shut down 'fore it started. 'Tween you and Shane I bet /someone/ could manage to piss off the management." The mention of butterflies on ankles makes him /grimace/. "Oh man -- I at /least/ have the consolation that we only do custom work at my studio so folks can't come in and pick out butterflies an' roses or pseudo-Celtic armbands but." His nose wrinkles. "They still come /in/ with their really terrible /flash/ art printed out that they want me to redo for them and /ngh/." His head shakes. He slides down off his stool to retrieve his cellphone from nearby the window where he was originally sitting. "Next week, then?" His eye flicks up from the screen to look at Shelby. "You gonna crash out here or in the city till then?" There miiight be an edge of concern creeping into the cheer in his voice, even if he tries to hide it. Because Not Hovering! "Yeah, gonna have to make B like...the talking guy, after we move in. Or Dai, if he snags the last bedroom." Hand clasping becomes hand /rubbing/ as Shelby delights in this thought. She is purely, unreservedly happy for the moment--and probably doesn't even /realize/ it. "Fuck their retouches...I mean. Cover ups'd be easy for me. No problem. I got it," she assures him with a grin. "City...if you're going back, can I catch a ride with you? Might check in with Doc, then see if Hive wants to hang out. Oh man, I gotta tell Rasa." Cue Shelby edging backwards towards the door. "We're good, right?" "You pretty much can't get better at talking to folks than Daiki," though Jax says this with a faint wrinkle of his nose. He taps something into his phone, then pockets it, ambling back over to pick up the tube with Shelby's final project. "Yeahsure. Probably won't be outta here till three thirty or so. Swing back here and I'll take you." For a moment, he has a grin to match Shelby's. "It'll be a good summer," he says, cheerful-light; his gaze lingers on her for just a moment before he goes to tuck her project in with a host of others. And get back to work.