Logs:Practice Makes Parent

Practice Makes Parent
Dramatis Personae Damien, Dallen
In Absentia	2024-11-14 "It isn't every day I run into children who need help becoming little girls. Perhaps I'm just not looking hard enough."
Location <XAV> Bootlegger's Landing - Grounds
Here at a bend in a stream that flows through the Xavier family's vast property down to the Hudson, there's a picturesque swimming hole that would likely to be popular with students if it were easily accessible from the mansion. A much-decayed boat launch on one side hints that it saw more use in the past, though no actual boats are now evident. An observant eye can pick out a path that leads down from an old cellar dug into the side of the rocky ravine where the bootleggers of old presumably stashed the contraband they smuggled up the stream. It's a crisp but sunny fall day, and given classes have only recently let out it's a good bet Dallen didn't stumble upon this hideaway just today. She's dressed in a baby pink blouse under a rich purple vintage corduroy jacket, a long gray a-line skirt and black suede boots. Even with a soft magenta ombre scarf around her neck she will probably be cold once the sun sinks behind the hills, but for now her high desert upbringing trumps the weather, and she looks comfortable enough sitting on a boulder just beside the boat launch. She has a slim volume of poetry by Christina Rossetti open in her lap, but she's absorbed by a brilliant flame-colored maple leaf, twirling it around and around between two fingers. There's a light flat-bottomed boat making its leisurely way down the stream, a unadorned wooden thing with oars and no motor, currently being propelled only by the very languid current at this stretch of the waterway. The person in the boat is a fripperous contrast to the simple craft -- black velvet fencing cape lined in violet satin over a faintly pearlescent white shirt with generous sleeves, its collar cinched with a purple silk cravat, tight waistcoat or possibly an unstructured bodice of blue and pink paisley on a purple ground, a fancy embossed black leather belt, and and white leather trousers tucked into black turn-down boots with gold hardware. He's been drinking from an ornate flask and offering something too small to be easily discerned to an elegant silver cat with dark leopard-splotched fur. The cat looks disdainful, but Damien does not seem to mind that. He does straighten, wider-eyed and intrigued, when he spots the young girl sitting along the shoreline, and he's plucking up his elegant walking stick rather than one of the oars to push lightly off a large rock and veer closer to the boulder. The cat, once they're within leaping distance of shore, is quickly snatching whatever-it-is from Damien's hand and taking a graceful leap onto the boulder. It regards Dallen for a long slow moment, and then slips off into the woods. Damien is back to letting the quiet waters push him up to bump against the boat launch, from where he can give a more critical appraisal to Dallen. "Did you enjoy it?" he's asking, pleasantly. Dallen looks up from the leaf, wide-eyed with delight at the sight of the boat. She gives a small gasp when the cat alights nearby, and is so distracted she does not seem to recognize the boat's other passenger until her eyes catch on the walking stick. "Oh!" She looks down at the leaf in her hand, then at the book in her lap, then back up at Damien. "Yes," she says firmly, though her expression is scrunched in thought even after this. "Which one is it?" Damien's head tilts to the side, brows pinching quizzically. "Why, you, of course." "I'm not an 'it'," Dallen inform Damien without much apparent offense. "I'm a 'she'. You helped me with that. On my birthday." She closes the leaf in her book and stands up, smoothing her skirt down, obviously pleased with the simple act. Maybe she thinks this will help him recognize her. "I was a boy at the time.” "Yes, I was there. Did you enjoy it?" Damien straightens his head, then tilts it the other direction as if perhaps this angle is better. "What are you now." Dallen turns a full circle atop her boulder for Damien's benefit. "I enjoyed it!" She tilts her head now. "I'm a girl. I like it, even if I can't be a priest anymore. I think my parents want me to change back." "Oh!" This sounds delighted, looks delighted; Damien claps his hands together jovially at the turning. "Why so you are. Still! After all this while. And still enjoying it, how splendid. I myself," he confides, "have a very difficult time remaining the same for long, I admire your comittment." He's shifted forward nearer Dallen's bank in his boat, leaning up against its side now and trailing one hand down into the lapping water. "-- Do they have a say in that kind of thing?" "Thank you. Being a girl is hard work, but I am committed." Dallen sounds very serious, but she's smiling. "They have a say in a lot of things that make it easier to be a girl, but I don't think they can decide whether I am or not. What are you right now?" She's studying his outfit. "I know you can't always tell by looking." She reconsiders this and allows, "Maybe you can, but I can't." "Oh, no, eyes can be extremely tricksy, I am quite wary of trusting them too far." Damien turns his hand up, watching the water run down off his fingers. "That is my problem, I so rarely commit. I am trying, I think, to be father. I don't know if I am quite as good at it as you are at being a girl." Dallen looks Damien over again, very intently. "Well...you look like a pirate," she concludes. "You have a boat and everything. But pirates can be fathers." She hugs the book to her chest. "I think a good father helps his kids become themselves. You did that for me, and I'm not even your kid." Her brows furrow. "I guess that's only one thing. And one kid. But you can practice. That's how you get good at things." "Well," Damien replies, considering Dallen's words with a great seriousness, "it isn't every day I run into children who need help becoming little girls. Perhaps I'm just not looking hard enough." He is pushing back up, reaching out with his stick to nudge himself away from the dock, like perhaps right now he's embarking on a quest to find more kids to trans. "I'm so very glad you are enjoying it." Dallen giggles, and her shadow laughs harder. "You told me I could be a star, too. There's probably lots of kids who need help becoming something." She looks back in the direction of the school she can't see beyond the hills, then turns back and waves as the boat departs. "I hope you enjoy being father. And get better at it, even if it's hard." Then she gasps and hops down onto the launch, walking out to its edge so she doesn't have to shout her advice, but speak it hushed as if it were a secret, "You can ask for help!" "I suppose I could, at that." There's a light wonder in Damien's voice, his eyes wide, very much giving the impression that this is the first he's considered this option. The current is catching his boat, sending it back on its languid way -- slow, still, but steady enough that he does have to raise his voice: "If you do decide to become a star, find me again. Perhaps I'll be well-practiced by then."