Logs:Queen's Gambit

Queen's Gambit
Dramatis Personae Leonidas, Nessie, Roscoe	2024-02-13 My people need me.
Location <XAV> Back Patio - Xs Grounds
This patio is expertly laid out for relaxing singly or in groups. The section nearest the back door is a more or less conventional veranda, the mansion's eaves--supported by elegant white wooden columns joined with matching railings--extending out to shelter the long porch swings, rocking chairs, and a chess table from the elements. Down the stairs or the ramp from this is a fan-shaped expanse of slate flagstones populated by clusters of deck chairs and picnic tables, always changing in number and arrangement, and stone planter boxes bursting with seasonal flowers and ornamentals. The centerpiece is an elegant pavilion with a hot tub open for use year-round, even if the transition in and out may prove chilly in snowy weather. Though chess club is not currently in session, surely there are chess boards inside, out of the windy winter chill, that Roscoe could be using, but he is playing solo chess at this table instead. He has his hood up, a beanie pulled over his ears, Airpods; probably the stone chair was cold enough he could feel it through his clothes, for he's crouching in the chair rather than sitting properly, his feet flat on the seat. He's paying most of his attention to the game, which he is playing perpendicularly to himself, but at length it becomes clear why he's out here and not inside -- he extricates one hand, entirely hidden by his baggy bright-blue sleeve, from the huddled bundle of his stooped posture, covers his mouth, and then blows a puffy, banana-scented cloud out over the battlefield as he's thinking, before he slowly slides the black queen and checks himself. Leonidas is announced beforehand by the crunching of snow, which sounds more akin to a bear running faster than it has any right to. Eventually his massive frame comes into view and it’s obvious he’s managed to bulk back up some since their release, looking somewhat closer to his pre-capture physique. Instead of wearing sensible clothes for the weather he’s dressed in a pair of tiny blue pt short and a black tank top with steam escaping his exposed skin. Upon spotting Roscoe he throws up a hand and changes course to approach, quickly closing the distance and hopping up next to the teen. “So, are ya winning son?” he asks between slightly ragged breaths as he drops down onto his heels, left hand dipping into his pocket to produce a small yellow box with ‘Lost Mary, Banana Cake’ scrawled across the side and takes a deep draw, holding the vapor in. The door is opening to dispense footsteps of an entirely different sort, hard and clicky on the slate. Nessie has a tatty old canvas jacket on over a zipped-up Xavier's hoodie, hard-shelled head softened today by a bright red slouchy knit hat. Maybe she was heading somewhere else, but several of her eyes narrow when she spies Roscoe and it's his table she's skittering over to now. "Did you stop chess cl -- ohhhh," her huff when she notices the vape is mildly disappointed. "You didn't quit, then?" It's a little hopeful. Her nose scrunches up at Leonidas -- maybe it's the steam, maybe it's the Tiny Shorts, either way her mouth is pursing in a brief and offput moue and she is backing up a few steps. Roscoe doesn't look up at Leonidas, just lets out a half-laughing breath. "Right now I'm losing," he says, then, somewhat hypocritically, "Aren't you cold?" He does look up at the click-click footsteps approaching them, his eyes going wide under the brim of his beanie. "No, why do you -- I still -- I'm practicing." His tone is just baffled, at first, but by the end it is decidedly defensive; he is straightening his spine as best he can, like a cat pulling back to pounce. “Just catching my breath.” Leonidas slips the back inside of the tiny drawstring pocket and pulls it closed. “Was before I started running, now I’m actually kinda hot.” His head tilts back to look up at Nessie, “Speaking of, what’s up?” despite her annoyed expression he still shoots her an upside down smile. "I think if you're going to keep yo-yoing in size like crazy you might want to get like, a range of clothing sizes?" Nessie is suggesting this very earnestly to Leonidas. Her next scrunchy-face of disappointment is short lived, and she is just nodding, resigned, at Roscoe's answer. Her lips purse and she asks, also hopefully: "Are you into math?" The scrutiny she is giving him suggests he looks unnervingly like The Kind Of Person who would be into math. "What?" Roscoe's movements, hitherto very slow and deliberate, stutter slightly with surprise, and he blinks at Nessie blankly. "That's racist," he says, before grimacing and tilting his head doubtfully to one side, like he is suddenly doubting whether it was racist. "I like math. I'm not that good at it anymore. I used to be." His eyes dart sideways to his stalled chess game, then back to Nessie. "...why?" “The funny thing is that these fit. Military style or some shit.” Leonidas says with a shrug watching the conversation, eventually cutting in, “And to be fair, they were starving me. Takes a lot of energy to turn into a demigod.” "Huh? How is it racist, are booty shorts important white boy culture?" Nessie is looking baffled at this accusation, and then, equally baffled, at Leonidas in demand of an answer. Her tail gives another small swish; her mouth twists to the side in consideration when Roscoe affirms he likes math. "What about cryptology? I need to find a club that's too dorky for the --" One of her lower arms flaps indicatively towards the chess board. "Regular dorks." Roscoe flicks a glance down at Leonidas, his mouth pulling up with amusement. "Do they?" he says. When he lifts his chin back at Nessie it is with another bracing grimace -- he moves his hand back toward his face, but evidently thinks better of taking another pull of the vape up his sleeve. "I didn't know we had a cryptology club," he says -- now he's watching his tone, has ironed it into a polite, cautious mildness. "That's kinda math-y, too. Very dorky." “Have you seen any pictures from the seventies and eighties? White guys love little shorty shorts.” Leonidas drawls out, his accent probably heavier than needed. “I know you won’t, but y’all could come work out too. You never know when you’ll need to carry somebody away from a fight here.” "Yeah! It's like, way mathier math, right? That's the point, I need to find a new club and it has to be even less cool than chess club. I figured nobody would join chess club but," Nessie is waggling a pincer again in the direction of Roscoe's table, "you guys have been invading." She's going much tenser as Leonidas speaks, and this time the flick of her tail is sharper, looming higher over her head as her arms cross over her chest. "Thanks," sounds stiff and cold where she's been casual, previously, "but I already know I'm good at that." "Ohhh," says Roscoe with suddenly dawning comprehension; he nods very solemnly, his eyes widening as if in alarm, his voice pitching slightly with anxiety. "I'm really sorry, I didn't know, I just like chess, I used to play chess every day so I just --" he cuts himself off with a tight shrug, glancing back at his unfinished match. He's tensing up too, his mouth pulling to one side in half a frown. "I mean, I could have just walked," he says. "QB was right there and she --" his gaze darts at Nessie again, and he shuts up. Leonidas stands up, face turning red as he realizes his mistake. “I, erm, must go. My people need me.” Awkwardly he lifts up straight into the air at an angle, disappearing over the building. Nessie's head tilts, and she gives Roscoe a long and intent look through his apology before allowing, magnanimously: "It's okay we're ceding chess club you you all but you can not start looking too hard at Math Club or we're going to have to take serious measures. We --" But what those Serious Measures might be is left to the imagination because she's backing up with a widening of eyes and a hand clapped to her mouth to stifle her sudden laugh when Leonidas takes off -- for the first time since he arrived steaming she's actually looking kind of impressed. "Okay sometimes his timing is great, seriously, not a funnier person around here to spontaneously develop rocket-powers. What's QB?" Roscoe shakes his head emphatically; he probably only wants to appear agreeable, but it comes off a little bit frantic. "I totally understand," he says. "That's -- hot damn!" He scrambles back too, but as he's squatting in a chair this just knocks his feet out from under him. His voice rises still more in an affronted tone as he gapes after Leonidas -- "He can fly? What the fuck was he doing in our broken-ass cell." He pulls himself back into his crouch. "Queen Bee," he says. "I knew her at Lassiter, she was like the monster pack alpha. I mean, everyone called her Queen Bee." "He could not fly when we were in hell world," Nessie assures Roscoe, "I think it's new." She cocks her head curiously before her eyes widen in understanding: "Ohhh you mean Auntie Gina? She is pretty cool." Nessie has brightened at the mention of Queen Bee, "she's been living with us and she's teaching me all kinds of things." She's vaguely squinting up at the sky in the direction Leonidas left, but then looks back to Roscoe with a quick smile. "Okay it is too cold out here I'm going --" But she only scurries a few steps away before turning to remind, sternly: "I mean it about Math Club, okay?" And then, with a startling quickness, she's disappearing off towards the workshop. "Auntie --" Roscoe's eyes widen too, a little fearfully. "Uh-huh," he says, nodding rapidly. "Super cool. Really great lady." Is he laying it on a little too thick? Fortunately Nessie is relieving him from this conversation; as she disappears -- maybe not from his view, he's still staring after her -- Roscoe slumps against the back of his chair.