Logs:Do As I Do

Do As I Do
Dramatis Personae Kitty, Roscoe
In Absentia	2024-02-26 I think I am obligated to say, as a local responsible adult, don't attack government facilities.
Location <XAV> Back Patio - Xs Grounds
This patio is expertly laid out for relaxing singly or in groups. The section nearest the back door is a more or less conventional veranda, the mansion's eaves--supported by elegant white wooden columns joined with matching railings--extending out to shelter the long porch swings, rocking chairs, and a chess table from the elements. Down the stairs or the ramp from this is a fan-shaped expanse of slate flagstones populated by clusters of deck chairs and picnic tables, always changing in number and arrangement, and stone planter boxes bursting with seasonal flowers and ornamentals. The centerpiece is an elegant pavilion with a hot tub open for use year-round, even if the transition in and out may prove chilly in snowy weather. The last days of February seem to want to remind everyone that Punxsutawney Phil is just a groundhog, not a meteorologist. The air is crisp and cold even in the bright afternoon sunlight. Out here on the patio it’s warmer — at least it is on this porch swing, given the portable space heater that is positioned strategically in front of it. On the seat itself is Kitty, typing away angrily at her laptop and occasionally writing something in a notebook on her lap. A red peacoat is draped against the back of the porch swing between her back and the wood, a flannel blanket spread over her lap, a duffle bag and a smaller backpack tucked underneath the swing. She’s wearing a knit navy blue headband that covers her ears, fingerless black gloves, and a thick Chicago Cubs hoodie. There’s a jade bangle on her left wrist, and a gold Magen David twisted up in the drawstrings of the hood. A comment appears on the word document on her screen — Kitty scowls and writes down in her notebook: tell reviewer 2 to go fuck himself, politely From somewhere else on the school grounds, Roscoe is clomping back toward shelter, bundled in his blue DBZ hoodie and, for once, an actual coat, bright orange and puffy; he also has a bright red beanie pulled low over his face, and bright red sneakers, so he is not exactly sneaking up on anyone as he mounts the steps to the patio. He does not seem to be paying Kitty a shred of attention initially, walking in an aimless series of figure-eights around the patio furniture before looping his way back to say accusingly, "Who are you?" Kitty’s not paying much attention to Roscoe either, so while she doesn’t jump, exactly, when he addresses her, the expression on her face is very confused. "— who are you?" She’s flushing red immediately, probably this is not what she wanted to say. "I’m Kitty." Her face scrunches up for a moment, before adding on: "I’m one of the X-Men. You started here kinda recently, right?" "In October." Roscoe is not offering up his name so easily, and perhaps the judgmental look he is levelling at Kitty now is because she did. He puts his hands in his jacket pockets and rolls his ankles to stand on the outer edges of his shoes, tilting his head at her curiously. "What are you doing?" "October," Kitty repeats. "I guess that’s why we haven’t met, I was out of town working on —" Kitty gestures at the screen in front of her. "— this. I’m writing up some of my research. Science stuff." She’s squinting, now, tilting her head before asking uncertainly, "What’s your name?" Roscoe wrinkles his nose, as if unconsciously, at either 'research' or 'science'. "You working on a PhD?" he says. He glances at her notebook, and though he doesn't smile his eyes narrow with probable amusement. "Roscoe," he says. "What kind of research?" "Yeah! Finishing up, I officially graduate in May. This is part of my research." Kitty sounds gently proud as she looks back at the document, though her cheeks flush again when her eyes drop to her notebook. She quickly closes it (little does she know that it doesn’t matter to Roscoe). "I’m an astrophysicist," she explains. "I study planets, mostly. Where they are, how to see them." Kitty studies Roscoe for a moment more before adding, self-deprecatingly, "It’s pretty nerdy. And not like," she tips her head towards the logo on Roscoe’s shirt, "pop-culture nerdy." "Cool," says Roscoe, then more uncertainly, "...congrats?" He rolls flat on his feet again, locking his elbows and hunching his shoulders. "I don't think I've ever met an astrophysicist before," he says, though it takes him some time to decide this is the case. His eyes drift back to her (closed) notebook, then to the back of her laptop, then -- startled -- drop to look down at Goku on his sweatshirt, like he forgot about that. "Oh yeah," he says. "I'm not really pop-culture nerdy either, anymore. Or nerdy-nerdy. It's too hard to catch back up." After a moment, he adds almost hastily, "On anime. Do you know how many episodes of JoJo there are now?" Kitty is contemplative after Roscoe's correction, looking over him for another long moment before venturing, "... over a hundred now, surely? I assume it's still airing, but it's not, like, One Piece. Do you want to sit?" She sticks out one leg out from under -- no, scratch that, just through the blanket over her lap, to nudge the heater so it's radiating the whole bench and not just her side of it. "Get warm before you go -- where were you heading, before you started a one on one AMA with your local mutant astrophysicist?" Roscoe's eyebrows shoot sharply upward when Kitty puts her leg through the blanket, then quickly furrow again; he stares hard at her leg, like he is trying to make sense of this. Then he breaks into a mostly genuine, toothy smile. "Inside where it's warm," he says, though he is quite happily availing himself of the other half of the porch swing, rocking it slightly when he sits down, though he carefully avoids touching Kitty or her blanket. He holds both hands out to be warmed by the heater. Was Kitty giving him an invitation to keep asking questions? Roscoe is taking it as such. "Did you go on the Lassiter raid? Or any of the others?" Kitty tucks her leg away under the blanket again. "I was on the Lassiter raid," she confirms. She closes her laptop, folds her arms so that her hands are cupping her elbows. If Roscoe is looking at her right elbow, where her hand is gently massaging the skin above, he can see the metal joint where bone used to be. "A lot of new students here have been through Prometheus." It's not quite a question, but Kitty is looking over Roscoe again. "A lot of old students, too. Friends of mine." Roscoe nods; he is staring hard at his hands, turning them around now to warm the backs of his fingers. "Sucks to be them, huh," he says. This is probably a joke; his tone is almost unkind. He cuts a short, shrewd glance aside at Kitty, then looks back to his hands as he rotates them back, his palms facing outward at the heater again. "Sucked to be them, too," he adds, though his tone is markedly different now, quieter. "Did they go on the Lassiter raid, too, is that why you were there?" Kitty nods -- stops nodding with a brief furrow of brows. "It's not like it was, like, friend bonding time, you know? I went for a lot of reasons. For a lot of loved ones." She glances sidelong at Roscoe, corner of her mouth twitching up into a lighter half-smile: "-- I think I am obligated to say, as a local responsible adult, don't attack government facilities. It is scary and difficult and life-threatening." The smile fades a touch. "Double-obligated, as an Xavier's alum. Do as we say not as we do, or something." "Uh-doy," Roscoe counters at once. The childishness of this retort bleeds into his voice when he goes on, vicious but petulant. "I'm not some Lassiter Sixteen-ass wannabe superhero, I saw how that went down for them. I saw how it went down for you, too, you people got your asses kicked." Once he's said this, he seems a little surprised at himself -- he darts another look sideways, wide-eyed, before dropping his gaze back to his hands. "I went home less than a week later, so, you tell me what my takeaway should be," he adds. "Really mixed messaging." Kitty is staring right back at Roscoe at that darting glance. Her fingers curl harder into her right elbow for just a moment. "Your takeaway is up to you, isn't it? If you actually saw the fight, I think you have more data to draw conclusions from than a lot of other people." She looks away, out onto the picnic tables. "We did our best," is not admission that they got their asses beat but it's not denial, either. "...How did you--" Roscoe's shoulders have hitched up, either in a shrug or with apprehension. "I think my takeaway is that 'Do as we say not as we do' is always bullshit," he says, getting back to his feet. He holds one hand to the heater to grab a last moment of warmth, giving Kitty a searching look, his head tilted. There is nothing like a smile in the press of his lips, but there is still a trace of lightness in the way his eyebrows quirk upward. "How did I what?" he says; he is already backing away, around the heater toward the door. "--See the fight?" In the break between where Kitty cut herself off and now when she finishes, Kitty's cheeks have flushed red. There was a reason, probably, she cut herself off, for now she looks pretty sheepish at the asking. But Roscoe is already leaving, so Kitty flips back open her laptop with a small smile and shake of her head. "All right then. Keep your secrets." "Oh, I was just messing with you. I was in my cell the whole time." Roscoe is grinning now, though it is eclipsed when he turns his back; the door shuts behind him with a click.