Logs:Gossip Girls
| Gossip Girls | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2023-02-28 You should be gay, it's more respectful. |
| Location
<XAV> Nanami and Naomi's Dorm - FL2 | |
Dinner has come and gone and it is creeping up on quiet hours when Nanami stomps her way back to the dorm. She's dressed down, practical and work-like in black jeans now sprinkled heavily with sawdust, several-sizes-too-baggy Xavier's School sweatshirt unzipped over a tight pink tee dotted with cartoon strawberries with big anime eyes, chunky boots, her hair plaited neatly into two braids. Hayley Kiyoko's "s.o.s" can faintly be heard from the large over-the-head headphones she wears, their boring black profile heavily accessorized with added rhinestones so that her name is spelled out in pink and white across the band, a skull emoji dotted in rhinestones on one large earpiece and a pink heart on the other. She beelines straight for her bed when she enters, having to shove aside a plethora of stuffed animals before she flumps down onto it -- half dislodging the earphones in the process. She straightens in the very next moment, not to adjust the headphones but to unzip the side-zips on her boots so she can tug them off. On the other side of the room, Naomi is curled in her desk chair, a thin paperback of Le Petit Prince propped open on her knees while the stop motion film of the same name plays on her laptop. There is no audio leaking out of her battered silver over-the-head headphones, but the subtitles on the screen are, at least, in French. Her locs are twisted up on her head, though not yet tucked into a bonnet (it's not that late, yet), but otherwise she's dressed to go directly from homework to bed, in red-black checked flannel pants, a baggy tee-shirt with an overlayed W and C logo peeling off, and soft wool socks. She looks up at Nanami's entrance, pausing the film and stacking the book on top of the many other homeworks covering her desk. "Girl." Naomi slides off her earphones. "Your pants." She gestures at the sawdust, at the many many stuffies and their oh-so-likely-to-attract-dirt faux furs. Naomi has no brows to raise, but the ridge of scales where a brow should be becomes more pronounced. "What them sets do to you this time?" "Oh, shit." Nanami's eyes go wider at the reminder of the dust-assault she's just committed on her poor beleaguered stuffies, leaping up from the mattress and patting at the comforter and nearest stuffed toys (an odd mishmash of plush plague doctor, COVID-19 giant microbe, cerberus, and adorably smiling avocado) to try and salvage the situation. She's kind of one-leg-hopping to peel her jeans and sweatshirt off, then, tossing them... in the general direction of her laundry, though they fall flat on the floor beside the basket instead. "Sets is fine. Someone wen mess with my favorite drill," she's complaining, "Chuck neva go tight, now. Am I," she is demanding with a sudden frowning intensity, "scary." Naomi is beginning to grimace, mouth opening to say something possibly comforting about the state of the drill -- and then just hangs half open, eyes widening, a single confused dent in the scales forming above her nose. "...Uh." She wraps her arms around her knees, tilting her head to study Nanami's face. "D'you wanna be scary or 'sthis a freak-to-freak vibe check, cuz that some kinda trick question." That doesn't stop her, though, from looking from her roommate to all the stuffed animals. "...'sides, I think I got bias." "No!" Nanami is grabbing her towel from where it hangs over her closet door and turning toward her dresser next, but stops, wringing the towel uncertainly between her hands. "Yes. I don't know!" Her nose crinkles up, forehead scrunching briefly. "Not when I'm not trying." She flumps back down on her bed with a heavy sigh -- shifts briefly to remove a plush poodle moth from beneath herself, tossing it towards the pillow -- and returns to scrunching at her towel. "I wen put this doorframe together in the workshop and this girl come -- looking for a place to read like we no have comfy rooms all over -- and she like 'um, can you put down the drill, I don't want to be murdered.'" Nanami's tone shifts here from the low-relaxed cadence of her usual speaking voice to an exaggeratedly brighter-peppier-uptalk that leaves no doubt the mimed speaker is A White Girl. "Da workshop!" has a more emphatic incredulity than before. The ridges of scales are growing taller and narrower on Naomi's forehead, her expression incredulous. "The workshop," she repeats, baffled-amused at this White Girl Nanami is embodying. "What is with this years new freaks?" Naomi closes her laptop and moves to sit on the edge of her own (far less decorated than Nanami's, neatly made with a number of blankets arrayed over the comforter) bed. "You can be scary," she answers, slowly, "but like, you gotta try a lil harder than just pointing a drill at someone. That sound like some--" Naomi pauses, bites at her lip for a moment before settling on "--flatscan bullshit." "I wen point at the wood only." Nanami's irritation is fading into an easier amusement as Naomi reassuringly joins her in her incredulity. "I no know. Lolo these new kids. I hea Spence new roommate have one whole tantrum won't nobody eat his sweat-candy." Has this story gotten a little warped in the retelling, well! "This one say she got powers but we do have flatscan here." One flatscan, but who's counting. Nanami is wrinkling her brow thoughtfully at the thought that perhaps others are sneaking in. "Mm. I done heard he freaked when his regular ass cookies weren't kosher 'nuff for Spence, too." Naomi shifts back to sit on the bed fully, leaned up against the wall with her knees pulled up to her chest. "Loads of them new kids look cookie-cutter, you know that don't mean nothing." Is there a touch of discontent, there, on cookie-cutter? It's batted away soon enough when Naomi continues, her exasperation over the top and belied by fond amusement -- "Pft, Gaé done earned his Ally cred, you see what music he been writing he is down for some freak band with fifteen arms each." "Verrrry rude of Spence, stay Jewish at him," Nanami replies with a laugh and a roll of her eyes. And then, bright and excited, her previous encounter all but forgotten: "Is the new stuff, like, insane, I been all caught up in the workshop I no hea no practice yet. Your arms they gonna totally fall off?" From the eagerness in her expression, apparently this is a desirable quality of the music. "Somebody hands gonna fall off if them new songs stay like he write them." Naomi's smiling, warm and easy as she rests her chin on her knees. Adds on, with a touch of pride -- "Not mine, though." She looks at Nanami with a small appraising look. "He don't show you? I done thought yall so --" Naomi holds up a hand, middle finger crossed over the index, "-- he might go bring music to workshop." "Not yours, though," Nanami echoes, just a hint of that pride creeping into her own tone like she done good just by having excellent friends. Now she's getting back up, towel draped over one arm, and finally rummaging her pajamas out of a dresser drawer. She scoffs after this, waving her hand dismissively. Her grin is sharp and bright. "Pssh, he come interrupt my work time then I may turn that drill into a weapon after all. He know he want a good set, he leave us be." Naomi laughs, but when Nanami turns away her face -- doesn't fall, exactly, but turns some kind of serious-contemplative. Her mouth opens, shuts, opens again. "-- Ain't y'all some sort o' dating-item-thing, though?" Soon as the question leaves her lips Naomi is flushing dark. She grabs one of her pillows and wraps her arms around that behind her knees, leaving only her wide grin eyes and scales visible behind it. Nanami purses her lips, scrunching her socked toes down against the ground as she considers the question. "Wellll," she says slowly, "we do plenny hangs." This sounds decidedly undecided, though. "Gaé, he dress sharp-sharp for the dances I can't go show up someone look like a scrub, yeah? And," this sounds even more of a selling point than Gaétan's well-tailored suits helping her look dapper at dances, "Oddah boys they get all handsy, Gaé he don't want none that. Low-stress dancing, you know?" "He do have style," Naomi agrees, voice muffled against the pillow, "and done drunk his respect others juice." Does she think this is dating, though? There's a scrunch in her nose, just visible between pillowcase and scales, that makes this doubtful. "Do y'all like... Do dinner hangs, not like here but in the city, ever?" The flush in her cheeks, still hidden by the pillow, is spreading up higher to the tips of her ears, across her nose. "Cuz I done thought maybe you got like, dating advice, and, I ain't ever been on a date, and," the last part of this sentence drops so quiet as Naomi mumbles directly into the pillow, fast and nearly completely unintelligible, "Harm's-real-sweet-ion-wanna-mess-it-up." Is this a good time for visitors? No? Because the unlocked door is being pushed open at the same time as a knock sounds, a telltale skitterclick of feet behind it carrying Nessie into the room. She looks ready for bed, too, in an oversized soft vintage Super Mario Bros tee shirt and is starting to ask hopefully even before she's gotten all the way into the room, "You all will totally know, is it true that the new kid has been exploding --" This is as far as she gets before the conversation already underway catches up to her. Her eyes widen all six of them, and she drops a little lower on her many legs. "Woah," she sounds breathless and delighted, "are you and Harm dating?" And on the heels of that, curious: "Does that make you gay, is dating Harm like -- woah does that make them gay? Can they be gay?" Nanami is clutching her towel and pajamas to her chest, her shower forgotten in the way of this revelation. "Chee-hu you fo real?" It's a rhetorical question, fully excited now. "Let the richer person pay," is her sage dating advice. Matter-of-factly to Nessie: "New kid's been blowing up all the desserts, if you don't eat one of his things he might make it a bomb." This, apparently not nearly as interesting information as: "I'm pretty sure Harm was already gay before, so, yeah? But if you date Harm you gay squared. Like, say you date me we'd both just be bringing one gay to the relationship each but Harm got gay gender on top so, monsta gay." Naomi squeaks when the door opens, hugging her pillow just that much tighter as her eyes go wide-wide at Nessie’s assessment. Her “ohmygod” is mumbled also directly into the satin pillowcase, visible skin burning now. “We planning a date.” Emphasis on the singular nature. “I’m not — Harm def some kinda gay but ionno I’m gay I ain’t sure what — hey hold up!” Naomi points one accusatory finger across the room at her roommate. “Girl you gay?” The faint tone of betrayal in this is quickly clarified, “Then what was all that ‘well we just hang’ business why you ain’t say nothing d’you know how bad I been fretting ‘bout telling you?” "What if you're diabetic? Still bombs?" is Nessie's immediate question about the candies. She herself has a pretty well known sweet tooth but -- you know, what if. "Okay but if you're not gay and you date Harm is that, like, misgendering?" This is a very earnest question, followed up by the equally earnest advice: "You should be gay, it's more respectful." "Probably twice the bombs, Spence got it for being Jewish." Nanami's reply is glib and immediate. Her brows lift at the finger pointing. "How I suppose to know that was secret code for tell-me-if-you're-gay you no even come out yet!" she protests. "I thought, mebbe you like hook up with Gaé or something. Anyway, it's okay to be both yeah? Date girls, date boys." Her nose wrinkles. "Just not many of either worth dating at this school. Like you the coolest girl here," sorry Nessie!, "and you my roommate and chee but most the boys hell no." At Nessie's words she is nodding along as if this all makes perfect sense. "Or he gon try an' feed you his tear-gumdrops or something." This addition to the parallel thread of gossip is slightly distracted as Naomi withdraws the accusatory finger. She wrinkles her nose: "Gaé cute but he a white boy. White human boy." Which of these traits is more damning to Naomi, who is to say. Her face is still furiously flushed, but Naomi's disentangled herself enough from the pillow to defend(?) herself. "Ain't it actually misgendering for me t' be gay, cuz we know Harm ain't a girl. I gotta be one o' them other letters." Is Naomi flushing more at the compliment? Who can tell! "Lael," Nessie volunteers quite readily, immediately afterward flushing faintly herself: "sorry I know he's your brother but he's clearly the only good choice in that wing." She concedes verrrry reluctantly after this: "Avi'd be second if he weren't so..." This just trails off into a shrug, a vague gesture towards her own face. "Is there a word for like, gay for nonbinary people?" "You can be gay for both. All. Genders," Nanami tells Naomi confidently. Though immediately after this she's clambering off her bed, reaching for her phone where it's been discarded with her dusty jeans. "There gotta be a word for -- oh. Oh." These aren't good ohs, she's shaking her head emphatically. "Girl this flag junk you can not be no skoliosexual this ugly as sin. Oh! This one prettier." She's holding up her phone, the flag displayed on it now shades of green, white, pink. "You like try abrosexual, that flag would look good in our window." "Damn right he is," Naomi says, pleased and proud. "Lael's great and you're great do you like him I can put in a good word." She glances up to Nessie's eyes -- not the main ones, but the ones along the edge of her scalp-carapace -- and nods sympathetically. "Avi's a sweetheart but he ain't for everyone." Everyone ain't for him remains unspoken. Naomi looks at the flag on Nanami's phone, her face lighting up. "Oh that is pretty, what that one mean? Abra -- like the Pokémon?" "Skoliosexual sounds like a medical problem anyway." Nessie's forehead scrunches again, and she blushes still deeper at the question. "Oh! No I mean yeah I mean Lael's fantastic I mean nooo he probably wouldn't ever -- nobody -- you don't have to do that," she blurts in a rush, "thank you for the info I gotta go night." Wide eyed, still blushing, she turns to skitter out of the room. "Thought Nessie's saving herself for Leonid Concepcion." Nanami does not bother to stifle her smile as the other girl rushes out of the room. "Abrosexuality is having different levels of sexual or romantic attractions throughout your life. A person who is abrosexual may also have changes in their sexual orientation over time," she is looking back down at her phone, the careful shift in her tone suggesting she is reading this directly. "Good one, yeah? Cover your bases." Now she is finally remembering her shower for real, stopping to tug off her socks and toe on a pair of slippahs instead. Casually, on her way out, she adds, "-- hope she mean tanks about the explosions info or you two gonna be front page this week's Oracle." | |
