ArchivedLogs:Testing Parameters

Testing Parameters
Dramatis Personae Peter, Mary	2014-12-02 '
Location <XS> Gymnasium - B1
For a mutant school, this is a pretty standard gym, even if its sturdy construction to handle mutant powers is less standard. Still, it is designed along normal lines; setup for a basketball court, standard equipment -- punching bags, rubber mats, standard assortment of balls, weight training equipment, the usual fare. It is large, and as well-appointed as the rest of Xavier's tends to be. She's in her gym clothes as usual, puttin' in the hours in the gym. She doesn't need the exercise, though she tests herself from time to time. Right now, though, Mary has a THING. She's got her working-out eyepatch on, too! So what is the thing? Well, apparently a very acrobatic student has some devices. Some dangerous devices! She's gotten some specs, and the high-level update on the student, but nothing (as she is keenly aware of) beats first hand experience. So she's waiting for her student's arrival. How did she get this gig? Well, even Hank ends up with stuff he needs to be doing from time to time that is NOT teaching. For that? He has colleagues like Mary. Look, she even brought a whistle and a clipboard and everything! Peter does not keep her waiting. He's dressed surprisingly formally, considering what he's here to do; a blue collar shirt, with the sleeves rolled up -- dark dress-slacks! He looks almost like your standard Catholic school student. Except, of course, for the chitin -- it covers his head, his face, every inch of his skin -- coloring him a shade of deep, pitch black. Except for the mousey brown hair, of course. He's wearing what appears to be a pair of -- wrist-watches. A little bulkier than you might expect wrist-watches to look, though. As he slips into the gym, he pauses at the sight of the teacher; a faint hint of indigo tints those cheeks as he makes his way toward her, giving her a quick, acknowledging bob of the head. And... "Good morning, Ms. Carruthers -- er," his eyebrows scrunch together, "you're not -- related to the mayor, are you?" "No, I am not. Mr. Parker. And it's Dr. Carruthers if you're going to stand on formality. Or just Doctor. Or DC. Or any number of the nicknames you younglings seem to label things with. This isn't technically a class, so I don't really care. I'm classifying this as supervised self-study." She's parked right there in uncanny valley with her complete lack of normal human body language and tone, so it may be impossible to tell if she's irritated or just always like this. Either way, Mary approaches the boy, "I'm from Texas if you must know." The woman looks down at the boy, then speaks up,"I'd like to examine your hands, and feet, as well as your... web-motive devices." Pause. "Web-slingers." It just sounds so... unscientific! "I'll watch you for a while. That should give me a good idea of your methodology." "Oh. Doctor -- Carruthers. Right. Pardon." The unusual body language doesn't throw Peter off too much; the mention of examining his hands and feet, though... that causes an eyebrow to spring up. "Hands -- feet? Oh, those are web-pistols," Peter corrects rather cheerfully, looking quite proud for the name. Before he adds, a little hesitantly -- as he extends his chitin-clad hands out to her: "I mean, everyone else calls them web-slingers, so yeah, I guess that's what they're called." "Don't worry. You'll find I say exactly what's on my mind. If I am displeased, you'll know. I prefer web-pistols to web-slingers, actually." The woman carefully studies Peter's hands, apparently checking for scuffs, slippery marks, and chinks in the chitin, before moving to do similar for his feet. "If you're going to be performing at a high level, I'd rather verify personally that you appear fine, Mr. Parker. Many of our students are over-performers, and tend to ignore pertinent signs of damage or discomfort." After geting up from kneeling, she rises, and checks her clipboard,"Do you require the normal requisite 'warm-up', or is your need for such obviated? Also, are there any pains or discomforts you are currently experiencing that a reasonable person might use to disqualify themselves from strenuous activity?" Pause. "Barring that, I suppose you should... ah... have fun." "I -- huh?" Peter's head quirks to the left, then to the right; he gives Doctor Carruthers the look of a confused bird. His palms are a little rough, but the chitin is pretty much exactly as you would expect; the same goes for his feet. He's been molting a bit, recently; bits and pieces of it scraping off to expose fresher, smoother chitin underneath. "--warm up? I guess, I mean, I'm just going to -- pain? Discomfort?" Peter's face splits into a crooked grin. "Uh, I mean, I'm pretty much always uncomfortable." He clenches and unclenches his hands as she stands back up. "Fun," he says, and there's a hint of a laugh, there. "Will your... molting cause any slippage issues, or are you accustomed to working around it." She pauses again before continuing,"I will be very vexed with you if you end up requiring a trip to the infirmary." A joke, right? Maybe? Mary takes a few steps back, examining the boy,"I assume you've seen Dr. McCoy for the discomfort? I'm not qualified to advise you on that beyond 'see a doctor'." The woman looks long at the web-pistols, then gesture for the boy to go on,"Personally, I find the principles behind the device fascinating. You're blatantly taking advantage of physics in a way most people can't manage. The spatial awareness required must be phenomenal. It's... Impressive. What is their provenance, if you don't mind me asking?" "--no, the molting is pretty slow, actually, it doesn't cause any slipping. And yeah, Doctor McCoy suspects there isn't much that can be done for it, besides investigating dampening my mutation -- it's neurological pain, part of a product of how my mutation works." As she looks at the webbers, Peter's eyebrows drop back down; he lowers his gaze to them, then gives a slow, thoughtless shrug: "Basically? I stole a glue-gun from a lab, and one day just thought, 'oh wow like spider-web'. Somebody I know helped me cobble together a prototype -- I've been improving and tinkering with them ever since. Also, yeah, prioperception is part of my mutation, I think. Or, a symptom of it." "Well, maybe when and if the process completes you'll see some relief. One can hope the best for one's students anyway." Mary nods to herself though,"Proprioception, at least, I have the framework to understand. My peripheral vision hurts the effect over all, but this is life. Still, stealing aside, it's quite impressive an accomplishment. How do you usually warm up? Do you require me to clear off the exercise area?" She seems to consider for a while a thought,"With the high tensile strength and density of webbing, as well as the layering of 'glue strands' for the insects, it's a good model to shoot for based on your goals. "--oh, no, the neurological pain -- it has nothing to do with the molting -- it's -- my brain," Peter says, a hint of laughter in the back of his throat. "That's probably not going to get better, not unless I dampen my power, and I kind of... don't --" He shrugs, before glancing toward the exercise area, and... managing another shrug. Along with a crooked little smile. "Actually, I think it'll be just fine the way it is," he responds, moving forward. "I work best with clutter." "Aaah. Three-dimensional navigation. Without actual flight, more objects introduce opportunity, rather than stifle it." Mary begins walking towards a bench to have a seat,"I suspect you would benefit from a more simulated urban environment, but that's a question for another day." Once she is settled, she confesses,"I must admit, I am curious to see how much of your personal performance is possible to emulate. If you hadn't guessed, the physics of it fascinate me. As it is, I will... keep hope that you achieve results you find agreeable to you. Safely. Remember. No pointing that at people unless otherwise directed."