ArchivedLogs:The Talk

The Talk
Dramatis Personae Ivan, Jennifer
In Absentia	2013-04-29 Jennifer wants to talk to Ivan about him punching a guy.
Location <XS> Great Hall & <XS> Kitchen
The largest room at Xavier's, the Great Hall is designed to hold all of the mansion's residents and then some. Built for the mansion's bigger functions, it serves as the school's dining halls on ordinary days, and ballroom when needed. On school days, long trestle tables stretch across the hall, high-backed chairs with plush cushions offering seating for the students. It is, for many students at Xavier's school, the most beloved part of Monday- that time when classes have come to an end and they can do whatever they please once again. Which, for certain students, means seeking out their friends and attempting to socialise. Such is the case for Ivan - having recently made a pit stop at his dorm room, he is is dressed in a plain brown shirt and jeans and he is positively /crawling/ with tiny little spiders, brown, black and red ones, some so tiny it's hard to even make them out on his skin. They dart in and out of his shirt at every available opening, either across his skin or across clothes, perhaps due to the distracted status of the boy. He's wandering the halls, squinting down at his phone. It's always been a bit of a mystery to him, but he's gotten down /texting/. Even if /as/ he's doing it, he's still mouthing the words as he taps them down with his thumbs, and he may... eventually walk into a wall at some point. Fortunately, the wall never arrives. What comes instead is something a touch more nefarious, sinister and dressed unassumingly in a pair of pale jeans, a yellow top and leather sandals. Jennifer seemingly appears out of nowhere, although if one absolutely had to guess the direction from which she came, it would be behind Ivan. Her strong hands land on the boy's waist, after which she unceremoniously drags him away from his intended path. Well, the teacher nearly carries him away, planting him against one of th enearby wooden supports to conceal the two from the rest of the Great Hall. The phone would have to be held on to. Some spiders would probably be lost on the way. Jennifer crouches down in front of the student, holding him by the shoulders. "Ivan. Ivan, we need to talk." Oh no - that phone? Ivan's hold on it lasts no longer than it takes for his eyes to go from squinting to as wide as they could possibly be. Which is /pretty freakin' short/. He yelps as he's grabbed, stiffens, and as such makes for an easy enough grab-and-drag. Except for the fact that the spiders once distractedly darting in and out of his shirt? As he's planted against that support, they start spreading. Rapidly. Up his face, across his arms, and onto Jennifer wherever she may still be in contact with any of him. They're teeny tiny little hatchlings, but the sheer number of them seems almost unending. Ivan himself-- well. He's still. No verbal response. Eyes locked on Jennifer's face. The 'we' in 'we have to talk' will have to start with her, apparently. From an indeterminable location within the Great Hall, there is a girly squeal. It is loud enough to attract the attention of anyone passing by, although seeing as its owner sounds more startled than distressed, few pay lasting attention to it. Spiders fly off Jennifer's arms as she desperately tries to shake them off. She might not be afraid of spiders, but she sure as hell won't let them crawl on her skin, which by now is covered in goosebumps. "God /damn/ it, Ivan", she squeaks, continuing her efforts even after the hatchlings would be rid of. "Into the kitchen, come /on/", she hisses within a failed whisper, gesturing wildly behind her to move. Provided Ivan follows, the two would relocate somewhere a little bit more private. And with food. The plethora of little spiders are more easily shaken off than they should be-- falling to the floor in a cascade of tiny legged specks. About half of them instantly scatter, disappearing where the wall meets floor, or into a minuscule crack in wooden decoration. But the other half rejoins Ivan only when he's managed to learn how to breathe again, pulling away from the support in uncertain steps. They've barely managed to crawl up his sneakers and into his clothes again when he makes his way into the kitchen, pale and somewhat /less/ spidery now that the arachnids have taken to hiding /under/ his shirt or in his hair, though the occasional daredevil still creeps along his neck. His expression is a little difficult to discern. Apologetic? Scared? Tempted to /run for the hills/? Perhaps all of the above. Once the two are finally in the kitchen, Jennifer heaves an irksome sigh. Perhaps it is due to the unpleasant nature of the imminent conversation, or perhaps it is because of the girly reaction she unwittingly displayed when the spiders crawled over her. Whatever it is, Jennifer marches straight for the fridge, scouring inside to fetch something. Anything. "Ivan, I've heard about what happened on Sunday. I mean, that shouldn't come off as a surprise-- Me hearing about it, not the actual /thing/ that's happened. We need to talk about it. I don't know if anyone did yet, but--" The first item is a bottle of a soft drink. It is held up for Ivan to see and examine. "Want Coke?" If it's accepted, good. If not, well, it'd be stuffed back in the fridge. "What exactly /happened/?" The kitchen staff at Xavier's tends well to the needs of its residents. Always cognizant of its students and faculty's dietary needs alike, the menu has a wide variety of choices, and the longtime cook works wonders in the kitchen. The pantry, too, is kept well stocked for those who want to come prepare themselves their own snacks. The shelf, fridge, and freezer space is ample, though if anyone wants to keep their own food there, they'd better make sure it's labeled clearly, and even that is no guarantee it'll last. Back into the fridge the drink goes, because Ivan's face makes it all too clear he's having a little trouble kicking the talking part of his brain back into gear. He sidles over to a counter to lean back on it, less out of laziness and more out of otherwise possibly falling over. "You're not my advisor." This is /not/ spoken with a tone of rebellion or refusal to answer, merely a curious observation on its own. He stares in Jennifer's direction as she goes about her rummaging, almost unblinking. Though he does not yet respond to her question directly, his brow visibly furrows in thought. Uncomfortable situation upon uncomfortable memories-- he looks like he's about ready to crack a window open and /escape/. "You're right, I'm not. So, we can either speak on equal footing, or I can pull the 'co-advisor' card. I'm not sure if you've been made aware, but the whole reason why I was allowed to drag you off into the Danger Room in the first place was because Jackson accepted my help." The second item to be taken from the fridge is a sandwich. The fridge closed, Jennifer immediately takes a bite. Fortunately, Jen isn't the kind to talk with her mouth full. "Either way, anything you say in this room, stays in this room. I'm not here to reprimand you, beat you or send you off to the Danger Room here. I am here to /understand/ you. I feel like I still owe you after that-- You know what I mean. Let me help." An uncomfortable curl of her lips is joined by worrisomely furrowed brows. "Please?" It takes a few seconds, but Ivan-- relaxes. Or he does a good enough job of looking like he does. He pulls away from the counter, though muscles tensing in his face paired with hands curling and unfurling at his sides make it clear enough that he may still have escape plans. To contrast that layer of anxiety, though, is his back straightening and his shoulders pushing back. As if that 'please' had been something that should be followed up with 'SIR, YES, SIR'. "I attacked a man." This is louder than his observation from before, though no less flatly. "It was wrong." "Yes. Yes, it was, Ivan. But we both know that." Here comes the barrage of questions. "Why did you attack him? What did he say-- Or was it something he did? Did he hurt Rasa? /How/ did you attack him?" Another bite. Munchmunch. Jennifer doesn't enjoy the sandwich as much as she should, considering the topic of the conversation. She looks like a terrified squirrel munching on a peanut that she shouldn't even touch. "He said Rasa should not show hirself." Ivan announces this in a less monotonous voice, but only marginally so. The twinge of anger now present in his voice creeps into it further still, as he speaks. "He did not /do/ anything - but he /did/. And he would have done something if we had not left. So I..." Just for a second, he turns his gaze away from Jennifer, to another counter, and then back again. Voice back in line once more, expression blank. "I do not remember how. I just /hit/ him." Whether or not he writes that particular part of his answer off as beginner's luck is unclear. If Jennifer had an appetite, it's gone now. That sandwich is held in her hand, a small distance away from her slightly parted lips. This is Jennifer's shocked face. It does not lend itself to much in the way of expression, but the absence of that in her ever-shifting landscape is a surprising sight in and of itself. "She shouldn't-- What?" The teacher sneers and swallows with some difficulty. The sandwich is lowered a bit. "I almost feel like telling you he deserved it, but I am supposed to be teaching you virtue." Another irritated sigh escapes her, and this time it definitely pertains to the discussion. "You just /hit/ him? Ivan, you're a teenager. No offense, but a scrawny one, at that. He was either hopelessly drunk or actually let you hit him. The guy /wanted/ you to react the way you did, maybe even to make you feel bad." "What happened after you hit him?" Colour Ivan puzzled. Something Jennifer said just baffles him, though it doesn't show far beyond his eyes. Then, "He was on the ground." Again, his gaze is averted. This time it stays to the side. In the pause between sentences, a few tiny spiders pitterpatter up and down across his neck and out his sleeves, seemingly of their own accord. "And there were cockroaches in his mouth, but they were /not mine/. I was thinking - he was dead. Rasa told me to leave. I did." With that, he looks back up to study Jennifer's face. Jennifer's face is one of focus and determination. The lawyer gears begin to turn and click into place. This sort of thinking is not something you can simply shut off. This sort of thinking stays with you as part of your instincts for the rest of your life. "Not yours, huh. Are you absolutely sure that - in your momentary fit of anger - you did not lose your sense of control over your power? Has that ever happened to you before? When you lost control of those bees before, did you /feel/ them as they spun out of control?" "I am sure." Ivan's voice and body language grow more confident now, showing determination of his own. He /is/ sure, as sure as he possibly can be. "I was not alone. I had insects, but they did not contribute. The cockroaches did not... they were not /there/. In my head." He moves, suddenly, as if that streak of confidence was the only thing he needed to help him to do so. Off to the fridge, continuing matter-of-factly, "The bees are different. They do not /spin/. They pull." That sandwich flails a little bit as Jennifer wags her wrist in thought. Miraculously, the contents of the sandwich do not escape their prison. "Another mutant with your ability, perhaps?" It is clear from her thoughtful expression that more possibilities are considered, but those are not voiced. The chain of thoughts leads Jennifer quite far away, by the looks of it. It's likely it takes her further than this ordeal, even. Eventually, however, her green eyes land on Ivan again. "Do you regret what you've done, or do you think what you did was right?" "I think it was right." The fridge is opened, and Ivan peers in. Past labels, past things that look like they might have gone bad, to-- the can of coke offered before. "But I think I was very lucky. And I would not repeat it if I was given the choice." He closes the fridge, can grabbed, and looks back at Jennifer again with a steady mix of determination and curiosity. Her appetite still hasn't returned, but the sandwich isn't dismissed just yet. To be honest, it's not just how Rasa was offended that put her off, but also mentions of cockroaches. "Okay. Good. Sometimes, we make mistakes. Now, we have to acknowledge the very fact we've /made/ a mistake, but-- It doesn't exactly hurt to enjoy that mistake a /little/ bit. Especially if it turns out no one was hurt in the process." Even as the words have been spoken, Jennifer already half-regrets them. And thus an addendum is born. "Ivan, I won't lie. Ignoring bullies does not make them go away. But there are more productive ways of handling them than physical violence." "Phones take pictures, y'know? You could have also called someone from the X-Team. I'm not going to tell you that you should just take it up-- /tolerate/ such behaviour, but you need to deal with in a way that does not incriminate you. Do you understand?" Ivan, having listened to Jennifer quietly this whole time, nods humourlessly. At the very least he's taking all of this very seriously, if his expression is any indication. A glance toward the door suggests his intentions to escape may not have left him entirely, but a moment later and he is staring at Jennifer again, cogs almost visibly whirring 'round in his head. His head angles back, and the coke is opened without looking down at it. Fssshh. Then, calmly, gaze inquisitive, "Ms. Walters. What would you have done?" Finally, another bite of the sandwich is savagely devoured. Well, that might be an exaggeration. As tempting as it is to imagine a woman as intimidating as her to consume a simple sandwich as a bear would, she is disappointingly mundane in her food consumption. When she is free to speak again, she ponders aloud, "Depends. Am I you? If not, how much alcohol did /I/ consume?" The lawyer mind demands details. But the act of attaching too much significance to a simple question is quickly caught by Jennifer, so she answers promptly afterwards. "In your case-- Hard to say. I would have either waited until someone called the police or done so myself. I would ask Rasa whether she wanted to leave immediately or whether she wanted to challenge the man and stay. /She/ was being insulted. It should have been /her/ choice." Again, a nod. Just one, firmly. Whether or not Jennifer's response sticks is hard to tell. Ivan just stands there, with his can in his hand, spiders only occasionally showing their presence. His eyebrows lower just slightly. Maybe in worry. "Do you have any more questions?" "Nope. At least, not for the time being." Then again, she has something besides questions. "Even though what you did was wrong, it clearly affected you badly. I know by now that you are stronger than you look, Ivan. I have to readily admit I don't fully know why you hide, because you're a smart and determined young man. So, don't let this get to you, okay?" Another bite. Finally, she looks like she's enjoying the sandwich. There's a flicker of something - it's brief - and it is eerily like sadness. Alas, by the time Ivan has raised his drink to his mouth to take a sip, it's gone already. "Thank you, Ms. Walters." A beat's pause. "I will try."