Logs:Of Piers and Powers (Or, Southern Charms)

Of Piers and Powers (Or, Southern Charms)
Dramatis Personae Kavalam, Zeke
In Absentia	2020-11-16 "You got a name, stranger?"
Location <XAV> Lake - Xs Grounds
Bright, bright, bright; the lake glitters wide and expansive here, stretching off into the distance. Sunlight, moonlight, starlight, it catches them all. Lapping at the rocky shore, its deep waters are frigid in winter and cool even in summer. A stone pier stretches out a ways into the water, wide and smooth, though often icy in winter. The water teems with life nevertheless, home to myriad species of fish that provide for ample fishing or just lazy watching on a slow summer day, for those who want to take a boat from the boathouse out to the center of the lake, or perhaps lounge on the pier and try their luck. Zeke walked across the sprawling grounds of Xavier's School. For the first time since arriving at the school, Zeke had left his art supplies alone. He had hit a wall with one of his paintings and he knew from experience that staring at the canvas wouldn't help him push through said wall. "I just can't get the feelin' of that painting right," he muttered. Without realizing it, Zeke had wondered to the large lake at the back of the school. A few students were milling around within earshot, but none were close enough for Zeke to hear clearly. "What a pretty little picture. I've gotta come out here and paint sometime." A cool breeze blew across the grounds; Zeke pulled his leather jacket tighter against his skin as a bastion against the cold. If anyone was within earshot they would hear Zeke cursing against the cold. Zeke turned away from the quiet bustles of students and walked onto a lonely dock that stretched out over the sleek black lake. The dock certainly seemed empty, when Zeke arrived, quiet and chill -- but, now, as he walks out onto it, there's a skinny bespectacled teenager seated cross-legged on the end of the pier. It doesn't feel so much like Kavalam Suddenly Appeared, more like he has been there all along and somehow against all odds Zeke simply did not notice him sitting in openly plain sight -- though there's a weird mental dissonance, a wrongness to his presence as he writes himself back into the mental landscape. He's dressed blandly in thick black corduroys, chukka boots, a heavy canvas jacket, a camera hanging on a sturdy lanyard around his neck. "If they had any mercy," Kavalam is looking out across the lake and not at Zeke. His words come crisp and easily, with a thick South Indian accent, "they would have built this freak school somewhere decent, no? California, maybe. Hawai'i. Flo -- no. Maybe not Florida." Zeke stopped in his tracks the moment he noticed the boy at the end of the dock. Taken aback only for a moment, Zeke took in the boy; skinny, about his age—not a teacher, not an adult, not a threat. "My Mama used to take me down to Florida every Summer," Zeke shrugged. "It's a fine place to visit, but I'm not so sure I'd set down roots there; it's the South, but without the charm." Zeke's Alabama drawl sounded richer and more prominent in contrast to the other boy's crisp South Indian accent. "I'm Zeke," he said as he closed the gap between him and the other boy. "It's a pleasure to know ya." Zeke took a seat to the side of the mysterious boy, hung his legs over the edge of the dock, and took in the view of the smooth lake beneath their feet. "You got a name, stranger? And uh, mind splainin' why it took me so long to notice you earlier. I've got damn good eyesight, but if it's startin' to go I reckon I oughta get that checked out." Zeke flashed a wry smile at Kavalam—his signature icebreakers; humor, a smile, and a few Southern colloquialism. "I have heard much of the charm in the South." Kavalam returns the smile. Small, brief, his head dipping in acknowledgment. "Kavalam," he replies, an odd weariness in it when he gives his name. "I do not believe we have met." He turns just enough to look Zeke over, properly, when the other boy sits. "I am easy to miss." This sounds a little bland. Matter-of-fact. "It is not your eyes. Only my --" His lips thin, slightly, a note of mild distaste creeping into his voice. "Mutant. Thing." He shakes his head, quick and jerky. "You have been here not-long, no? Are you liking it. Cold aside?" Zeke smiles at Kavalam's acknowledgment; this time the smile is smaller—more genuine. "You're right, we haven't met yet. I haven't met too many folks here, to be honest," Zeke fiddles with the zipper of his leather jacket. "I've only been here about a week. So far I like it here though; everyone is very...open." Zeke looks Kavalam over once more. "Easy to miss huh?" Zeke quirks his head as if that will help him discern Kavalam's power. "Funny of you to say that. I get that a lot too," Zeke pauses for a moment. "I'mma be honest. I'm not sure what the etiquette is on this, but...what exactly is your Mutant Thing?" Then the wry smile is back. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." "Give it a few weeks." Kavalam's smile now is slightly wry. "Then you will know everyone and be quite tired of it. Overwhelming, at first. And once you settle it it's -- very, very small." He rests his elbows on his knees, fingers lacing together. His brows lift, head tilting to one side as he gives Zeke's question some thought. "I do -- not know if there is an etiquette. Some people, I think, don't like to talk about their thing. Some people will not shut up about it. I don't," he says -- though he sounds uncertain about this, "think there is a harm in asking." But here he frowns -- more unsure than upset. "That is my thing. I am easy to miss. People don't see me. Forget me. It is not," his shoulder lifts in a small shrug, "very flashy." The look he turns to Zeke is curious. "You?" Zeke nods slowly. "That actually sounds kinda nice," his lips turn down into a forlorn frown. "I'm from a small town. Everyone knows everyone. Thing is I haven't really felt part of things for a while," Zeke turns away from Kavalam. "It's lonely bein' the odd one out in a place where everyone else seems to belong." Zeke runs a hand across the smooth wood of the dock, then he looks up suddenly, as if Kavalam's words just registered. "Wait, you're pullin' my leg. Who put you up to this?" Zeke thinks back to the few students he's met, before remembering that he's never actually shared his power with anyone but the Professor and a few other teachers. "I reckon stranger things have happened," Zeke mutters. "From the sound of it our powers are sort of similar." Zeke stands up and looks down at Kavalam. "I'mma just show you. I doubt you'd believe me otherwise." Zeke takes a huge gulp of air, filling his lungs with living-giving oxygen, then he shuts his mouth. Then he's gone—not just from sight, but from hearing and smell and touch...and memory. A few seconds later Zeke exhales; his presence instantly returns to all living senses and his existence reasserts itself in the memories of all who know him. Zeke smiles down at Kavalam. "It's gotta be the lamest power ever, no offense, but my power makes it impossible for livin' creatures to perceive me with any of their senses and everyone forgets about me too...as long as I'm holdin' my breath. I'm like...a sensory void." "Lonely. Yes." Kavalam's lips compress after this musing, but whatever else he was going to say is derailed by Zeke's disappearance. For a moment he just turns back to looking out at the lake, expression vague and a little distant; when Zeke reappears his eyes go wider as the memories flood back. Wider -- then narrow, sharp. He's silent several long moments, staring up at the other boy. "I'm sorry, you what." His voice has gone very flat, now. "And you just. Turn that on and off." Zeke watched Kavalam's expression during those brief moments when the other boy forgot Zeke's existence. Zeke hated this part. He could practically see his existence fading from people's minds; it was instantaneous, but for the briefest of moments Zeke could see the transition from perceiving and remembering to disregarding and forgetting. Zeke waited until Kavalam went back to looking out at the lake, then Zeke had seen enough and he brought himself back. That was mere seconds ago. Now he was looking down at Kavalam and Kavalam sounded...upset? "Uh, yeah. It's my Mutant Thing so I gotta turn it on I guess," Zeke shrugged. "That's how it is for most people, right? Isn't that how it is for you?" "No." Kavalam's tone is just a little sharper. "We didn't all win that lottery." His shoulders have tensed, his eyes still narrowed on Zeke. "I have to turn it off. I don't get to just hold my breath and vanish when I want, I have to work all this time to stay here. Half this school doesn't know I exist. My parents don't even remember I --" His mouth snaps shut, nostrils flaring as he gets to his feet. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. You won't even remember this conversation." Zeke didn't have time to speak, hardly had time to react at all, to Kavalam's sudden tirade. Zeke had messed up—had gone against a rule he hadn't even known existed; comparing powers was bound to lead to moments like this. Of course, there were Mutants at this school with powers more inconvenient, more life-altering, more tragic than his own. "Christ, Kavalam I feel like an ass—" Zeke began. The blaze of cold anger in Kavalam's eyes silenced Zeke; this approach wasn't the way. "You're right, I won't remember this—not until you decide to speak to me again," Zeke's shoulders slouched for a bit, but then he remembered himself, remembered the importance of this conversation and he squared his shoulders. Zeke forced himself to meet Kavalam's eyes, to accept the anger, not knowing when he'd have the chance to do so again. "The control I have over my Powers is a privilege—it's not perfect control, but I recognize now that things coulda been harder. I just want you to know that...I know what it's like to watch people, people you love, forget about you," Zeke spoke without breaking eye contact with Kavalam. "So if you ever want to talk to someone who understands even a little of what you're going through, please find me and help me remember you." Zeke raises his hand and holds it out for a handshake—a small hopeful smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to know ya, so I wanna keep knowin' ya, Kavalam." Kavalam's eyes are bright and wet, as Zeke speaks. His head bows; he swallows around a hard knot in his throat. He bites down hard on his lip, eying Zeke's outstretched hand for a long silent moment. Whether he responds, whether he takes it or not, it's hard to say -- the same wrongness that accompanied his initial presence is there when he goes, and with it, the very memory of the encounter is slipping away.