Logs:Layers of Ice and Bone

Layers of Ice and Bone
Dramatis Personae Bobby, Amo
In Absentia Scott, Cerebro,	2024-12-28 “Hazing shmazing"
Location <XAV> Danger Room - Xs Sub-Basement
The room is large and circular, a geodesic hemisphere of hexagonal ceramic panels. It is the Danger Room, and is thus often full of danger, but is presently not in use and is thus remarkably danger-free. Safest room in the school, probably. The room has just winded down from its latest simulation, a high intensity obstacle course with rope climbs, rock walls, balancing on beams over spike falls…jumps over lava, the usual obstacle course things! And of course, no obstacle course is complete without some robots shooting lasers for a little motivation. Amo is crouched by her bag, in her black tank top, joggers, and sneakers. Armor still ripples across her skin in snaking trails, as if it hadn’t gotten the memo quite yet that they’d finished. She’s, as usual, remarkably unbruised from any of the simulation, although plenty sweaty. Her clothes are sporting some holes from when she’d armored up and fell-landed-skid too hard, which she did a large amount of this session. Perhaps, due to her apparent habit of throwing herself into each challenge with little caution. She’s squirts some water into her mouth from her water bottle, and heaves out a heavy breath, “You think Cerebro’s got a fall compilation stored somewhere for that sim?” A warm chuckle rings out not too far away from Amo — emanating from the notably horizontal Bobby. He’s dressed in running shorts, usually favouring the thin material for faster ice-surfing speed, simple running shoes and an almost-matching tank to his teammate. His sleeveless arms are up my his head, scuffed elbows bent as his fingers lace through clammy hair. “Oh for sure,” He heaves a Big Sigh, bringing a knee up to stretch across the neighbouring thigh. The movement forces a wince through gritted teeth, the reminder of a particularly poorly timed jump earlier that introduced his kneecap to the edge of a solid metal podium still fresh. “- think you might actually take top spot on the leaderboard, I’m definitely close second.” Amo huffs out a short laugh, “Would pay to see that.” She brings her arm behind her head to pull down on the hand to stretch it. “We should do some sorta end of year awards ceremony, yeah? Most face plants. Most shots taken. Funniest expressions. Who swore the most.” She squints her eyes in thought, “Is that hazing? Damn I think that’s hazing. Does it count if this is all volunteer?” “Hazing shmazing, I wanna know where Scott places in the ‘most frowns in one session’ category. You’re onto something there..” Ironically Bobby then frowns, accompanied by a grunt as he lowers his leg and pulls his upper body into a seated position. A quick roll of the neck and he’s stood, reaching for his own water. “This shit’s like a video game anyway, why not give us stats. I’d kill to see how much damage you’ve taken, versus how much you should have taken.” He taps his bottle in a rehearsed sequence, three fingers ascending and descending, with each tap cooling the water to the perfect temp. He downs half of it with an unceremonious but satisfied ‘ahhh’. “How much do long frowns count for? Or s’that a different category.” Amo baps her hand against the cap of her water bottle to close it. She shrugs a shoulder, and armor snakes across it as if in reaction to the movement, then trails down and disappears again, “Haven’t died yet. That’s a hundred percent win rate.” She snap points, as if she’d made a very good point, “Must be doing something right, yeah?” “Least double.” Bobby’s response is nonchalant as he checks his arms for more scrapes and forming bruises. “Ayy look at you go! I don’t think they’d *actually* kill you in here but they’ll sure as hell make you feel like it.” He’s crossing his arms over his chest, satisfied that his battle wounds aren’t anywhere near serious. “Armor or not, you are *tough*. Where did you learn it all?* “Aye thanks bro, that’s real sweet.” Amo rubs at her neck, “Can’t take all the credit, my mum’s tough as nails, s’who I got it from. My dad not so much, big ‘ol softie he is.” This is said like an inside joke, a rare smile flashes bright across her face. “S’alright, they balance each other out.” She takes her hair out of the scrunchie ponytail—of which plenty of hairs had fallen out of—and begins re-tying it back up. She jerks her chin towards Bobby, “Don’t count yourself out, you’re pretty tough yourself. Feel like it’s a requirement before joining this lil’ group though, yeah?” “Sweeeeet, stereotypes are overrated anyway.” His smirk drops for just a second, before returning to his lips tenfold — the sudden out-of-body glance at the two of them not exactly backing up his statement. “Thanks,” He brushes it off, “wish I didn’t feel so fragile though. Swear Cerebro has a personal vendetta, I come outta these sims like a dalmatian. Call me Pongo the amount of bruises I get. You even remember what they’re like? Bruises, I mean.” Amo huffs out a short laugh, and finishes tying off her hair, “Shit, you do somethin’ to hurt Cerebro’s feelings? Maybe you should give a little gift, new keyboard, compressed air?” Her brow raises up, “How ‘bout a usb stick with just Doom on it?” She brings her hands up up up, and stretches far to the side. A few cracks sound from the stretch. Armor is still snaking around her body, all the way up her arms and then back down in a twin spiral, albeit a little more slowly now, like it’s finally winding itself down, “I sure fuckn remember’em when I do get them. Luckily my armor’s got a bit of a mind of its own but, still misses sometimes.” She winces now, and shakes out one of her arms. It looks completely fine, but armor blooms across it, then quickly fades. She brings it back up to stretch the other way, “And can’t protect against everything.” Bobby’s gaze is fixed on the armor as it ripples over Amo’s skin, “Dang. I should take a page outta your book — make ice armour or some shit. I did make a shield once, but that was years ago, you coulda just looked at it a certain way and it woulda shattered.” His brow knits, fetching a thought from the far recesses of his smooth-brain. He takes another sip of his water, almost forgetting to swallow before the memory slaps him in the face, “Hey, you do self-defence classes right?” Amo whistles, “Ice shield? That’s sweet as.” She brings herself back to vertical from her tilt, then leans back a little, brings her arms in a wide circle to rest on her back, “Maybe you could do some sorta layering or somethin’ to make it stronger? Not sure how much control you got over the structure of it all but, maybe worth a try?” She lets out a heavy sigh on the lean back forward, and swoops back up her own water bottle. She pulls the tab with her teeth, “Sure do,” She takes a swig, “Teach the class here and at the studio I work at. S’great workout.” She scans him up and down, “Why, you interested?” “Remind me to try that next session, think you’re onto something again — on a roll today dang,” His bright smile fades as a many-ring-clad hand raises to rub the back of his neck, “Yeah, definitely interested. Obstacle course sims I’m decent at, even offence. Defence could for sure use some work. Fancy taking on a new student? Buy you a drink as a thanks-“ Amo’s brow pinches a little, “Me take you as a student?” There’s surprise that manages to leak into her otherwise neutral tone, but still open, and she drums her fingers against the water bottle in her hand, “I’ll be honest, always feel like I got way more to learn from you guys than you can learn from me.” She rubs at the back of her neck, almost mirroring his movement, purses her lips, then does a whole body shrug with a quick flash of a smile, “But, yeah of course. More than welcome. Be a lotta fun I think.” She tosses her water bottle in a small flip and catches it, “In the meantime, if it’s defense you’re worrying about, I got plenty armor to spare.”