Logs:Bug Meat

Bug Meat
Dramatis Personae Jax, Roscoe, Tok
In Absentia Charles	2024-07-08 "Nobody's normal before we come here."
Location <XAV> Stables - Xs Grounds
The distinctive smell of hay and sawdust and horses greets visitors to this large barn, kept well-tended by the stablehand and those who have a passion here for equestrianism. The horses at Xavier's are well cared for, stabled in comfortable stalls. The walls host a plethora of tack for those who wish to take a jaunt around the grounds. It's sweltering in the city, but out here away from all the claustrophobic concrete it's actually a fairly pleasant summer day. Inside the confines stables it is a bit warmer than outside, warm and musty despite Jax's best current efforts -- he's opened all the stalls and doors, set a huge fan to blow in addition to the ceiling fans. Most of the horses are currently out in the paddock, though there's an aging Appaloosa stallion with a bay blanket coat in one of the stalls still and -- not in a stall at all but tucked up in the hayloft -- an enormous metallic blue dragonfly. Jax has been refilling the hay troughs; he looks like he's recently come in from a ride, kind of tired, kind of sweat-damp though is blue-green colorshift makeup is very much unsmudged. His hair has been somewhat recently shaved off, though the brightly coloured chimaera tattoo on his scalp is even more colorful than his hair dye usually is. His riding clothing is colorful -- bright coloured stars embroidered on his fitted black jeans, tall red riding boots tooled with intricate plantlife design, quick-dry athletic tee that reads "not gay as in happy, queer as in smash the state" over an image of a rainbow-colored molotov cocktail (it's somewhat improbable that this is a design REI actually sells, despite the small-print branding still visible the back of his neck.) Tok’s hands wave animatedly as they chatter away to Roscoe, nearly walking backwards for periods of time in their approach to the stables. They wear a faded yellow tank top today, if there were words on it once they’ve cracked and peeled off by now through multiple washes. They wear a pair of basketball shorts, ones maybe just a little too long for them and end by their knees, tall black socks and sneakers. Their tail, while currently wrapped around their waist, is shifting in a way that indicates it won’t be there for long. “This is gonna be SO cool, trust me. We only ever had one guy with a horse who joined for a while and then he had to leave- BUT we used to do super cool stuff.” They stretch their arms upwards, bending backwards slightly and head facing the sky as they walk—probably not advisable, “You should’ve seen it the first time I pulled off the trick—Nearly fell off and cracked my skull- but the second time-” They slow, suddenly, upon entering the stable. Their eyes widen at the metallic blue dragonfly above, “Holy shit. Is that real?” They ask, pointing up at the bug. Slogging in after Tok, hands buried in the pockets of his basketball shorts (his are slightly short on him, probably he stole them from his sister) and his Celtics cap flipped backwards, is Roscoe, face fixed in a wrinkly, crooked frown, his mouth pulled sideways and down as he peers around the stables. He takes in the relative dearth of horses with what looks more like relief than disappointment, eyes also drifting up at the hayloft. "You didn't know about the giant dragonfly?" he says. Jax squints towards the doorway, shaking his current forkful of hay off into its trough. "Is what real?" There's a very distinct Southern drawl to his words. He follows the path of Tok's pointing, and looks up towards the dragonfly perched up above. "Oh, that's Sugar. She," in case this wasn't obvious, "ain't a horse." His nose crinkles up on a quick amused smile. "A lotta kids think they're being trolled when people tell 'em about Sugar which -- given the kinda things new kids get told 'bout this place overall, s'pretty understandable." Tok splutters, and begins in mock casualness, “Oh yeah of course the giant dragon fly how could I forget- NO I didn’t know the giant dragon fly was real!” They gesture upwards with both their arms. They spin on their heel when they hear Jax, and their ears perks upwards, “Oh- hey!” Their eyes look between Jax and the dragon fly, “Sugar? She even has a name? Can she actually fly? Can you ride her?!” Their voice progressively rises slightly in excitement with each questions, but they quickly bring their voice down again, eyes darting up nervously towards the dragonfly, “Sorry sorry- is she friendly?” "I thought it was a normal dragonfly the first time I saw it," says Roscoe conversationally, "But it was just really far away. Bummer. -- Hi, Mr. Jax." He does not remove his hands from his pockets, but wags one elbow in kind of a wave in greeting, offers a flash of brief, buck-toothed grin as well. It takes him another very long moment to start, kind of reluctantly, meandering over, like he's still making up his mind if he wants to help with a chore. "Where do you get a giant dragonfly?" he asks, while he is still in a plausible-deniability no-man's-land between Tok and Jax. "They making these in a lab?" "'course she has a name." Jax's eyepatch -- plain black, previously -- has sprouted a small bright dragonfly in metallic-blue embroidery, flitting idly from one edge of the patch to another. "'course she can fly. She, uh, ain't really a sociable sort. I wouldn't go trying to go pettin' on her 'less you don't like your hands too much." The dragonfly doesn't seem particularly aggressive right now, at the least, though she is unfolding herself at all this movement below and flitting down from the loft to land in the large corridor between stalls, behind Jax -- the better to keep an eye on the newcomers. "I'on think she grew in no lab. Her, um, her last person died and she just kinda turned up on my doorstep." Does this actually explain where she came from, ah well. Jax leans his pitchfork against the ground, leaning lightly against it. "Was y'all kids looking for the horses? Didn't know neither of you rided." Tok’s eyes widen even more when Sugar flies down behind Jax. Their ears droop slightly at the mention of her previous person, and they wander closer towards Roscoe and Jax. They tilt their head to watch her, curiously. It takes Tok a moment to process Jax’s question, “Oh yeah yeah! I learned for a few shows ‘round Texas. I didn’t really ride it, I like, did a handstand on it- which I definitely wasn’t gonna do…Here.” They glance at Roscoe nervously and cough awkwardly. They wander over to a pitchfork, “Just wanted to look at them.” They allow the pitch fork to tilt back and forth between their hands, before testingly poking at some of the hay with it. "I don't ride," says Roscoe, "I came to film --" he says this slightly too fast to back up Tok's claim, and rather than unconvincingly try to retract it, he just shuts up and plods reluctantly after Tok toward the troughs, though he leaves his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched (Tok is holding the pitchfork anyway.) He keeps his eyes on the dragonfly up in the rafter, head tilted sideways -- "All the stories I heard about you and you turned out way the hell weirder than any that," he says, to Jax. This is (probably?) complimentary. "You came to what?" Jax's eyepatch has turned into a large cartoon eye, which is blink-blink-blinking at the teenagers. It fades back into a regular patch in short order. He is twirling the pitchfork slowly against the ground, one tine drilling a small hole in the dust. It's a considerable moment before he speaks again, and though his voice hasn't lost its gentle cadence there's a definite additional firmness to it. "Tok, we -- don't treat our horses here like circus animals here. I do offer lessons for kids who want to get to know how to interact with them -- the right way -- but I'm gonna have to ask that you don't take the horses out none -- don't do no riding, tricks, nothing, until I signed off on it. I got a responsibility to you and the horses to keep you both safe." He's returning to filling the last of the troughs, and a smile is returning, crooked, to his face. "Think it's hardly possible to get through this school an' turn out normal." Tok’s eyes jump up to the eyepatch and their eyebrows shoot up. They’re smiling, and opening their mouth to maybe comment on it, but their gentle poking at the hay freezes, along with the rest of their idle movements, at Jax’s additional firmness. Their eyes watch him nervously throughout, but slowly their idle movements relax back into place when he finishes. They nod, rapidly, “Oh- yeah. I-I won’t, I promise.” They reassure, determined, eyebrows scrunched. “It was my idea- swear.” Their claws click against the pitch fork in their hands. They tilt their head curiously, “So-You sayin’ you were normal before you went here?” Tok shrugs, “I dunno, magic eye patch is way cool in my opinion.” They look at Roscoe, “Ay, maybe that means you’ll have stories too when you graduate. It’ll suck all your normal out and you’ll have uh…I dunno. Giant mouse you can ride around on.” Roscoe looks from Jax to Tok with a squinty side-eye, anticipatorily statue-still; he says with sudden timidity, after Tok shoulders the blame, "I didn't think it would be unsafe for the horse," is this as exculpatory as he means it to be? Probably not. He is looking out at the horses now, past the walls of the barn to the pasture, a strange effect of both focus and unfocus in his expression. The shift when he looks at Tok is far more noticeable than usual -- "Nobody's normal before we come here," he says, with a tone of polite bemusement. "Horse vaultin' takes loads of training for the horse before a person can even think 'bout doing tricks on 'em," Jax offers kind of offhand, and after this, brighter: "Oh, yeah, 'fore the Professor come down and turned me into a bona fide freak with his brain-powers I was just a super regular human farm boy. Very normal. Loved -- uh, football and girls and America," Jax is assuring the kids even while Roscoe is offering his blatant contradiction. "And my eyepatch ain't magic." As if to demonstrate, the dragonfly is returning to it and then -- flitting right off, winging over to alight, jewel-bright but substanceless, on the end of the pitchfork in Tok's hands. The stars embroidered in his jeans are shifting and warping, running together to become stylized flowers instead, one of which peels itself off and flits up to take the dragonfly's vacated place in his eyepatch. "World's just kinda magic sometimes." Tok snorts, “Is that what super regular humans do? I gotta work on my disguise. Uhhh- woo football.” They cheer halfheartedly and look over at Roscoe, “And sure no one’s normal but I mean- having a giant super human dragonfly is kinda a jum-” Tok’s eyes suddenly light up at the sight of the eyepatch-dragonfly on the tip of the pitchfork. Their tail has fully unwound itself at this point, waving back and forth not unlike a cat about to pounce at something. Despite this, they very gently lean the pitchfork tip down lower to admire the dragonfly closer, as if they’re scared to disturb it. They watch the colorful display of warping of stars to flowers on Jax’s clothing, “It really is, huh? You would’ve been a show stopper in the troupe.” They bring the tilt of the pitchfork tip towards Roscoe’s direction as well so he can also admire it. “Or at least real convenient for the costume changes. Ay- Is this one real too?” They ask, narrowing their eyes between Sugar and the tiny dragonfly, “I don’t wanna uh…hurt it- not that I’d try to.” Their words turn sheepish as they tack on, “On purpose.” As the flower flits upward, Roscoe watches it closely, following it with tiny darting glances, but he looks away as it settles on the eyepatch. He doesn't-exactly concur, just says, "Sure," noncommittally. He is reaching one hand out to prod at the dragonfly, though he doesn't sound totally confident when he says, "Naw, it's more like a hologram, I think. Like real-life CGI. What are the insides of dragonflies supposed to look --" he doesn't even finish asking the question, just tilts his head back up at the loft for a Very Large object lesson. "I didn't choose to have a giant dragonfly," Jax protests, as if this somehow excuses the weirdness. The dragonflies are multiplying -- one turning into a whole dazzle of them in different but equally vibrant metallic shades. They're taking off to perch various places around the stables, noiseless and weightless -- some on the stalls, on the hay, on Sugar herself. Then dissolve into little clouds of glitter, each tiny speckle growing vivid metallic flowers where they fall in odd unearthly shapes. "They ain't real." Jax's reassurance is probably unnecessary after all that, but he's offering it anyway. He nods at Roscoe. "S'just like. Kinda like those fancy holo-computer things." Though now he's giving Roscoe a very curious look, his eye gone a little wider. "What are the insides of dragonflies like?" He's going to open a cooler set beside the hay, dragging out a very large plastic tub of raw meat and beckoning Sugar down closer as if Roscoe needs the better view. Even though he doesn't, Sugar is happy enough to come get fed (unlike the illusionary dragonflies, her wings make quite a buzz when she moves, intense enough to be felt in the low thrum in the air). Tok steps back at the dragonfly show, eyes wide. A grin makes its way onto their face, and they reach out to the glitter that falls, and bending down to observe the metallic flowers. “Whatever it is, it’s so cool.” They say genuinely, poking at the light illusion flowers. Tok perks up at the mention of seeing the insides of a dragonfly, and stands back up to wander closer. “Yeah yeah, are they all gooey inside?” They ask curiously, voice pitching up in excitement. Their ears pin back at the buzz and low thrum of Sugar’s wings, and their grin grows even wider. “Do dragonflies usually eat uh…” they squint at the tub to attempt to identify it, “Raw meat or is that just Sugar?” Roscoe does not like bugs -- at the sudden flurry of dragonflies off the pitchfork he takes a hasty step away from Tok, cringing, cringes again with embarrassment as he recomposes himself, cringes again when Sugar alights nearby, hands coming out of his pockets only to wrap across his stomach, leaning over despite himself to eyeball the enormous insect, one foot almost coming off the ground. "Pretty similar to the insides of other bugs," he says, as though this is very disappointing, but after a moment he grins fleetingly -- "Reminds me of someone I used to know. Pretty similar to your insides too," this is to Tok, "just without bones." "Dragonflies eat a lot of meat. Most effective predators on the entire planet." Jax is wandering closer to absently pat the hungry dragonfly along her side. "Wouldn't be surprised if they're up there with the most on any planet but hopefully we won't be finding out any time soon." The myriad alien flowers around the room are melting, running together to just leave abstract glimmering whorls of color where they've all spread. "So just like -- meat and goo?" Jax also sounds like this is Kinda a disappointment. "Guess that's what most people got in there." He is going to hang his pitchfork back up, closing the inside doors of the stalls as he goes. He fishes a chunk of carrot out of a pocket, stopping by the one occupied stall to offer it to the elderly Appaloosa inside. "M'gonna be getting back to the city soon, but -- do let me know if you want the crash cou..." He frowns, looking at the horse currently nibbling from his palm. "Well, hopefully, no-crash course with these fellas." “The entire planet?” They ask excitedly, “Dude, I wanna be a dragonfly.” They crouch down and inch a little closer to Sugar as Roscoe observes her, “Someone you used to know? Who’d you know that bug insides reminds you of th-” Tok’s eyes widen momentarily, and they twist to look up at him, “Wait wait- I got bug insides?” They ask, maybe sounding a little concerned. A moment passes before the words seem to process and they grin, shoving lightly at his leg, “I bet your brain looks similar too.” They tease. They push themself back up into standing as Jax begins closing up, and wipe the lingering pieces of hay off their shorts. They nod enthusiastically at the offer, “Yeah yeah! And uh- no more handstands, promise.” "Most people have insides," Roscoe informs Tok seriously; he keeps a respectably straight face through this, but cracks a small smile when they push at his leg. "Thanks, Mr. Jax," he says -- he probably has no intention of taking Jax up on this offer, ever, but he promises solemnly anyway that -- "No tricks of any kind." "Even here most people do. Kinda unoriginal of us, honestly." Jax's midsection has gone briefly see-through, an odd hollow tunnel that thankfully displays no insides -- just a strange window to the other side of the stable behind him before it shifts back to solid. He flashes the kids a grin as he goes to get some of the tack down from the wall (far more ornate than most of the saddles here in its intricate tooling, it's also not quite shaped like the horse saddles; it has SUGAR etched in elegant script along the side of the saddle.) "Thank you kindly. Me an' the horses both 'ppreciate it."