Logs:No Cookies
| No Cookies | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2021-10-28 "But uh. I messed up. Pretty bad." |
| Location
<XAV> Treehouse - Xs Grounds | |
Built by enterprising students of yesteryear, this treehouse has weathered generations of Xaviers' students coming up here to study -- or escape from studying. A cozy retreat, its wood planks are sturdy and well-sanded, fit snug together to keep out draft. Snacks occasionally find their way up here, and the roof keeps the rain off well enough to pass a night -- so long as the teachers don't catch any students at it. For anyone agile enough to make the jump, a lucky leap juuust might carry them from here to the school rooftop, so long as they're careful of the drop... It's quiet in the treehouse, right now, late enough that most of the school who cares to has gone to sleep. A light is still shining back here though, where Gaétan has made himself cozy in a pile of blankets and pillows, a thermos and half-eaten plate of cookies tucked at his side, his bass guitar beside him, untouched at the moment. His attention is split between his phone -- a conversation currently underway in WhatsApp between him and Asher Angel about Halloween costumes -- and his laptop, where he's intermittently giving Twitter a slightly baleful look. Several texts ping Gaétan's phone in rapid succession:
Apparently this is the only part of Spence's text Gaétan deigns to reply to.
Spencer is not, apparently, waiting for a reply to this question, because in the very next instant -- -- he's in the treehouse. He has a tupperware container, but hasn't even bothered to put a lid on it, the cookies inside still warm to judge from the wisps of fragrant steam curling up into the chill air. They do, as promised, smell like ginger and other spices as well. Possibly Spencer did not anticipate the chill, considering he showed up in pajamas. At least they're *winter* pajamas, thick soft blue flannel covered with cartoon rockets and planets. He is, despite this, still wearing a kippah, this black with a grinning orange jack-o-lantern. "Is this what it takes to get the treehouse to yourself these days?" he asks brightly, but then adds, sheepishly, "I guess you don't anymore oops." Though he was probably expecting to materialize somewhere else, Spencer doesn't seem much put off. He drops down to sit beside Gaétan, setting the tupperware between them and eyeing the plate with keen interest. "To yourself?" is Gaétan's reply, a beat before Spence's more sheepish continuation, one eyebrow lifting. He hasn't looked up from his dual-screening, but he does nudge his plate of cookies nearer Spencer, pulling some of his blanket nest closer around himself. As an afterthought he dislodges a thick blanket from the pile: "You gonna be warm enough in that?" Spencer is happy enough to help himself to Some Kind of Citrus Fig Thing. He swallows way too hastily. "Oh man this is so good. Someday I'm gonna learn all of ba's baking secrets and Luci's and I'll become more powerful than anyone can imagine." Though here he's chewing on his lower lip, unexpectedly preoccupied. "Oh! Yeah um, probably not once the heat from the oven wears off. Thanks." He takes the blanket and wraps it around himself. "Are you like, studying? Engineering the next hot TikTok trend Writing a song?" He sounds more excited with each suggestion, though this does not distract him from taking another cookie. "Only thing I'm working on is how to not look like a massive dweeb in front of a million cameras at my brother's Halloween thing. Tell me you're doing something actually fun this weekend?" Gaétan leans back against the wall, reaching for his thermos and finally looking up at Spencer. "Isn't that like. Fun work, though? I mean have you seen Daiki's costume it's awesome. Who are you trading places with? I bet you'll look great, I have never seen you look like a dweeb." Spencer sounds completely confident on this count, and his enthusiasm does not dim when he admits, "Maybe that's not super reassuring coming from me. I kinda want to go trick-or-treating, but that's no fun alone and apparently I'm too old?" He gives an exaggerated if not particularly concerned shrug. "So I'll probably just go to the dance. Without a date. Like a dweeb." "Fun work. Right." Gaétan sounds very unconvincing in this agreement, none of Spence's enthusiasm managing to catch. He does find a small crook of a smile after this, though, together with the offering: "Lemme teach you this one weird trick about finding a date to the dance: it helps if you ask someone. Have you tried that?" "I guess if your person isn't that interesting to dress up as, then it's not so fun. It's not fair only the actors get to like, go as characters." Spencer stops and considers this for a moment. "Though some of the non-actors are kind of characters all by themselves." His wide eyes get wider. "Whoa, mind blown! It's not like I have a problem with going without a date, or being a dweeb, but maybe I'll give that a try." He does not sound very committed to this strange new way of doing School Dance, but perhaps that's because he's once again chewing on his lower lip, thoughtful. "So...I promise I didn't bake the cookies to butter you up. I mean if I were gonna do that I'd have made citrus sparkles, which, you already have citrus cookies and they're amazing, so. It worked out?" He's scrunching his fingers into the edge of the blanket, slow and rhythmic, his eyes fixed on the plate of cookies and not on his friend. "But uh. I messed up. Pretty bad." It takes him another breath to actually say, all in a rapid staccato spill, "I outed you. To Peter. By accident." "What? Oh, my person is fine, I just -- haven't really --" Gaétan starts, but then just shrugs, taking a small sip from his thermos and letting Spencer talk. His brows hitch up when Spence says butter you up, and he's leaning just slightly forward, watching the other boy a little more attentively now than before. His eyes get a little wider at the end of this, the smile dropping away from his face. Very, very flat: "You what." Spencer's shoulder hunch up reflexively at the question, but he straightens them again. "I didn't come right out and say it but I said something that -- made it pretty easy for him to figure it out, in the context of -- well I can't tell you the context because I'm supposed to keep his secret and he swore he wouldn't tell..." He shakes his head, slumps a little. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, just, he was freaking out, and I didn't tell him anything else -- well, I don't know anything --" He stops. Takes a deep breath. Just settles, decisively, on, "I'm sorry." Gaétan just snorts, disgusted, when Spence says supposed to keep his secret, his head shaking. He backs further into the corner, knees pulling up to his chest. "Peter, of all fucking people. I'm surprised it's not all over the goddamn internet by now. Christ. The fuck is wrong with you, are you --" He bites the last word here back sharply, eyes dropping away from Spence as his mouth presses into a hard grimace. "Well." His voice is several degrees cooler, now, "I'm glad you could help him when he was freaking out." "He won't -- he knows it's important." Spencer does not sound as certain as he'd probably like to be, here. A little more quietly, "I was freaking out, too. It's not an excuse, just..." He looks up at Gaétan. "Oh." Curls in on himself tighter. "I'm sorry about that, too. Between the sick and Dawson and -- and Sera -- I had no idea how to even help." His shoulders slump again. "I still don't. But I coulda tried harder." Something tightens even further in Gaétan's expression as Spencer keeps talking. "Sure," he says, levelly, "I know Sera being here's been really tough. For you. A totally understandable mistake." He shakes his head, turns his focus back to his phone. "Just get out of here, okay?" "I didn't mean it's harder for me, just th -- that --" Spence sputters for a moment. "Just. Didn't know what to do, and I know I should have tried anyway but. I don't resent that you weren't there when I --" He bites back whatever he was going to say next. Blinks. Looks away. Sniffles. "Yeah. Ok. Sorry." He vanishes, leaving blanket and cookies behind. There's a clatter, shortly after this, as Spence's cookies are summarily tossed out of the treehouse, thunking against the side of the mansion en route to the ground. Then silence from the treehouse once more. | |
