Logs:Depth of Field

Depth of Field
Dramatis Personae Roscoe, Tok
In Absentia Spencer	2024-09-22 "That's quitter talk. Your reputation is what you make of it."
Location <XAV> Forest - Xs Grounds
Quiet and shady, the trees rise all around here high and thick. In stillness, woodland creatures make appearances, though sudden noises scare them back into the cover. Dappled sunlight filters down between the thick foliage, and the ground underfoot is heavily overgrown, though here and there paths have been worn, by deer or years of students wandering familiar trails. The occasional gusts of wind on this otherwise warm sunday carry leaves through the air in sign of fall weather on the horizon. Mid-day sun manages to streak through to the clearing they’ve found themselves in, a slightly rotting overgrown bench sitting near the treeline, and the forest around them is alive with the movement of birds, squirrels, other students tramping through the trails, and of course bugs—there’s always bugs. Tok is perched carefully on a nearby rock, using their tail to counterweight as they lean for the perfect shot of a cardinal fluttering in the tree beside them. Their camera shutters, then they lean back to idly hook their tail around the nearby bench where they’ve placed their camera bag. “Hey! Lookie that!” They unloop the camera from around their neck and stick it out towards Roscoe to see. On screen is a somewhat blurry photo of the bird. There’s some leaves and branches in the fur of their tail, and they wear a backwards hat that they’ve shoved over their mess of hair—of which holes have been hastily chopped into for their horns. They’re in a dark green shirt, and black joggers which, luckily due to their dark colors, manage to hide most of the grass stains and dirt they’d most definitely be sporting. “Not bad right?” Roscoe obediently lookies that, hastily tucking his phone against his chest to tilt his head at Tok's camera screen. "Not bad," has a mildly just-saying-that roteness to it, as he cranes his neck at the cardinal itself, with a slightly critical squint. He steered well clear of the rotting bench -- he's been shooting it suspicious glances ever since they arrived in this clearing, and is sitting on a raised, gnarled tree root instead, bundled-ish in a blue-and-orange hoodie and blue-and-orange basketball shorts, the sleeves pulled to hide most of his hands. "You doing some kind of artsy motion-capture thing or is the bird too fast for your shutter speed?" “Uh…” Tok brings their camera back and clicks a few buttons to check their settings. They grin, “Totally an artistic choice. Totally…” They spin the dial up top, and lean forward again—practically lying down on the rock—to try and snag the shot. Their tail wrapped around the bench causes it to creek as they lean. Their camera clicks, and they bring it back to observe it. “Better. Thanks.” Their ear flicks in the direction of a squirrel skittering through some bushes, “You already take this class or something? Or just—good with cameras?” "Naw," now Roscoe is just back on his phone, his elbows on his knees and his back curved, swiping sort of restlessly through a webpage. He glances sidelong at Tok, then back up at the cardinal, then back down at his phone with a slight frown. "I got no interest in photography. I've never took a picture that was as good as the real thing, you get such a tiny frame of view with a camera. And even if you want a tiny frame of view it ends up looking all sad and grainy, anyway. I think I just --" the frown is deepening, sharpening with alarming speed as he thinks about it, though he doesn't actually arrive to any conclusions. Tok has glanced up from their camera now to Roscoe from their downturned head, allowing their hands to drop down by their stomach with it. They shift to bring a knee underneath them and rest on their heel. They click a few buttons on the camera, but this is more fidgety in nature rather than deliberate actions. “I guess that makes a whole lotta sense, for you.” They say, maybe as a sort of offering so he doesn’t need to consider too hard. “S’like when you try to take a picture of the moon with your phone and it’s a lil tiny dot.” They make a pinching motion with their fingers by their eye and squint the other one. “But probably times a thousand for you.” They drop their hand and their eyes jump curiously towards his phone, squinting briefly, then back up to Roscoe, and then quickly direct back down to their own camera. Roscoe dips his head between his shoulders, in either a shrug-like cringe or a cringe-like shrug. "Sure, if you like," he says -- this has lapsed into a polite just-saying-that tone again. "I mean... either way. If something is cool enough I'll remember it, and if I don't I guess it just wasn't cool enough." He explains this like it totally logically follows. He turns the screen of his phone off this time, when he tilts his head upward, propping his chin on one floppy-sleeved hand. "You got a good memory?" Tok taps their claws against the camera, “Nah.” They decide on, finally, “Some things though—I can remember something someone said to me from years ago. Real specific things. But names, or when people ask me to take care of somethin’-” They mimic something passing through their head and out their ear with a finger, “Pchoo. Gone. Doesn’t stick. Gotta write it down.” They shrug their shoulders in a roll, seemingly unbothered by this. “I heard memory stuff gets better when you’re older though. Maybe I got that to look forward to.” They scratch at their neck as they peer over at Roscoe again, “How ‘bout you? Can’t be that good if it’s just Cool Dependent.” They suddenly grin, mischievously, and raise their eyebrows. “I must be pretty cool if you remember that I exist then.” They tap a claw against their own chest, very proud. "I shouldn't have asked, you got the ADD." Roscoe is still staring up at the sky, posture even saggier with his chin propped in both hands, his phone in one sleeve smushing his cheek flat, though his eyes are narrow with amusement for at least a second. "Not what I said," he says. "My memory is very good, actually, I --" he cuts off with a wrinkle of his nose, a pinchy frown. He's still staring off into the distance. "Why, you worried you're not memorable enough?" “You what? Got a mind palace?” Tok snorts, “And hey don’t count yourself out just yet! You’re just as fidgety as me sometimes.” Their eyes narrow on a squirrel—perhaps the same one that was making noises earlier—and they shift into a weird angled crouch and peek an eye through the viewfinder of their camera. “Just a different kinda fidgety.” They snap a few photos, and glance up at Roscoe, untwisting from their contorted crouch. Their eyes track off in the direction Roscoe’s looking, and they’re quiet in thought before responding, “Nahh I think that’s something I don’t ever gotta worry about. For better or for worse you know what I’m sayin’?” They say brightly. Roscoe screws his face a little scrunchier. "I can hold still like a pro though," he promises -- despite his scowly expression this is oddly good-humored. Though his eyes tick toward Tok it is a moment before they actually seem to see them again, flicking quickly up-down. His face is smoothing out again. "Better and worse," he says. "I think." “And worse.” Tok nods in agreement with the correction. “Well—at least I always get a little bit of the Better in that case.” Tok is back to looking up off to where Roscoe had been looking, maybe in hopes of seeing anything he had. They aim their camera up towards it and take a few shots. When they move the camera away, they’ve begun to squint against the sun, and they spin their hat around—slotting their horns through holes they’ve cut out on this side too. “Even if it’s only a little bit.” They joke, and look down at their camera and zoom in on the photo they just took, “And you hold still like a shaken up bottle of soda.” They say with a jerk of their head. "That's quitter talk. Your reputation is what you make of it." Perhaps out of sheer stubbornness Roscoe is holding very still, though the effect is less serene than it is suggestive of a pent-up coiled spring, with his hunched posture and narrowed eyes, his hands knobby in his sleeves where his fingers have tensed. Tok scans Roscoe and their eyes narrow, then they can’t stop the grin that slowly expands a little wider when they clock the self imposed challenge he’s taken on. “Maybe you got some mentos thrown in there too.” They themself seem to be now attempting to hold themself still as they click through the camera, but they repeatedly lose over and over as their tail starts waving, leg starts bouncing, or hands start tapping subconsciously, stopping, then starting again. “I ain’t no quitter! Weirdly enough, turning into a giant freakin’ bug-alien my first month here just ain’t doin’ me a whole lotta favors.” They say sarcastically, but they don’t actually sound particularly upset about it. “What’s the reputation you’ve made for yourself? You think it’s been what you’ve made it?” Roscoe blows a rude raspberry, but he's still otherwise not moving from his seat, though his eyes are pointedly following Tok's movements with something like amusement. "Okay," he concedes, "you mighta whiffed it with that one. Usually big and scary is a gimme but you're not actually big and scary." He tilts his head somewhat twitchily at Tok, grinning -- "Aw, you know this already, I'm a hardened mutant criminal." Tok lets out an easy laugh, “Big ‘ol difference between what you think you are, and what other people think you are.” They waggle their head in a teasing manner. They’ve brought their arms to wrap tight around their legs, tail wrapped around their waist, and grip their forearms with their hands in an attempt to keep everything still. This works for maybe about two seconds before their fingers start idly tracing against their arms without their notice. “And then what you actually are. I know you’re a hardened mutant criminal-” They say lightheartedly, “-But I dunno if alotta people here see it that way.” They say with a jerk of their head in the vague direction of the school. “Also wait- you don’t think I’m scary anymore?” "Well you're definitely not big and I've seen you throw a punch." Roscoe is still staring sidelong at Tok, face serious and contemplative now, the bright glint of amusement in his eyes schooled neatly away. "Right, right, you know that, as opposed to the rest of the school, who all still think I met Spencer Holland at space camp, totally fooled them." He unfolds himself onto his feet in one spine-unfurling motion, stretching his arms up over his head in a catlike yawn. Tok watches him stand with angled tilt of their head, squinting their eyes against the sunlight that manages to shine past the brim of their hat. “Alright alright I guess you do got that goin’ for you.” They concede. They roll back, then spring to their feet, mimicking his stretch, then quickly sling their camera bag over their shoulder. They twist their hat backwards again, “And I did tell you while ago that I wasn’t scary. I’d say I’m living up to expectations.”