Logs:Vaguely Corporeal

Vaguely Corporeal
Dramatis Personae Bryce, Hive, Tok
In Absentia Charles, DJ, Dawson, Jax, Quentin	2024-09-06 "... is it a crime to be a superhero?"
Location <XAV> Gardens - Xs Grounds
From indoor gardens to outdoor, though without the protective greenhouse glass the back gardens do not last all year round. Still, the gardens out here are well-tended and well-worth spending time in, as well. The paths wending through the beds of flowers and herbs and vegetables spread out through the school's back grounds, tended by students as a credit class. Benches offer seating and a small pond is home to koi and turtles, as well as a few frogs. At the far back edges of the garden, a droning buzzing marks a few stacked white boxes as beehives. It's quiet out in the garden this afternoon, or at least, it's quiet in this corner. Maybe it's because school has still been in session; maybe it's because it's a fairly tucked-away corner reasonably far from the mansion proper. Probably the lack of children (for the moment) has been why this particular man has chosen this particular spot to come out here and enjoy his cigarette. He's definitely not a teacher, or at least hasn't been around campus in any official capacity this term yet. He's perched on a bench near the Dawson Allred Memorial Beehives, in tatty old jeans faded and fraying at their hems, old workboots, old t-shirt (once black, now faded to grey, hanging somewhat baggily on his skinny frame) reading 'ceci n'est pas une lune' in cursive script beneath a picture of the Death Star. His head is shaved down to the skin, which leaves bare an ugly thick collection of several ropey scars ringing his skull. His eyes are narrowed off somewhere between the beehives in front of him, calloused thumb flicking at the butt of his cigarette, and his shoulders kind of reflexively tightening against the distant sound of the Last Class Bell. Tok is beelining it for the gardens after their final class, mind buzzing in a mixture of exhaustion and a growing energy for the weekend. Their tail hastily unwinds itself from under the sweat jacket they wear, which is also shrugged off and wrapped around their waist over on top of a stained navy t-shirt and cargo shorts. << Finally finally finally finally.>> Hums strongly in their mind, over thoughts of << quiet shirt scratchy skin ouch feathers should get feathers one day seems softer what about feather shirt. Million dollar idea! Buzzzzzz bees bees near.>> and << interesante. Interesante. Interesante.>> repeating in the voice of their teacher. Amidst the buzzing in their mind, they pick at the fur on the end of their tail. The thoughts are whisked away suddenly, to be later remembered in a rush at three am, when they stumble upon Hive. Their eyes widen momentarily, tracing the scars down his head, << Sick.>> then to the cigarette in his hand. “That’s bad for you y’know.” Tok is saying before thinking, pointing at the cigarette with a claw. “Rot your lungs.” By the time Tok comes near Hive's shoulders have pulled in still further, posture hunched up tight on his bench. He takes a longer pull from his cigarette, pushing open a small metal pocket ashtray, engraved on its lid with a tangled banyan tree motif, to ash the cigarette into it. "No shit?" His accent is an unidentifiable mutt of a thing, definitely not New York but fairly unplaceable past that, his voice smoker's-rough and given to mumbling. "You should tell the FDA. Shit's gonna be big news if people find out. Might start putting warnings on the boxes and everything." A quick flash of a grin appears, and Tok blows out a breath with their hands raised in mock surrender, “Just saying!” << The hell is this guy? New teacher? t-shirt ough scratchy. Whats up with the scars? Ask! Don’t ask!! Bees.>> Their attention is quickly drawn to the buzzing of the beehives, and they stand on their tip toes to get a closer look, tail whipping back and forth curiously, “You one of the new teachers or something?” There is another young Xavierite now racing through the gardens, though this one more familiar at least to Hive. Bryce's mind is as bright as he is, right now, spinning giddily with the thoughts of all the many (many) things he needs to catch Hive up on about summer and school and Dallen and << no not that don't tell him that it's secret >> and oh the missing teachers!! and never mind that he's already sent many (many) emails with a lot of this information, it's Different in person, and why didn't Hive tell him he was back on campus and, and -- He's skidding to a more sedate walk before he actually comes into view but this lasts only a short while after he turns the corner; he barrels the last few steps towards Hive's bench to fling colourful-feathery arms around the older man and squeeze tight. "Hive When did you get back you didn't tell me!" << he doesn't look like a monk >> sounds very critical, as does << are monks allowed to smoke >> << Dawson does not like the smoking >> and he's immediately wondering if you can only be a monk when you are at the monastery, is this a location-based holiness? His scaley face scrunches up in thought and only a moment later does he remember to add, cheerful, "Hi Tok! You met Hive already?" "I know this place has low fucking standards but absolutely the hell I am not a teacher." Hive is bracing again, taking a long drag once more from his cigarette before Bryce comes into view. One of his eyes scrunches up tight, his teeth gritting, and he stays in this firmly clenched position until the hug has been thoroughly endured. "First of all, I'm in so many time zones at once right now I can't possibly answer that question. Second, yes, monks are allowed to smoke. Third, are you only a priest when you're at temple?" He taps his cigarette into his ashtray again and finally adds, with a considerable reluctance: "... anyway, I met Tok about three seconds after they got to this school." Tok’s ear flicks in Bryce’s direction before he arrives, and they watch the one sided hug silently, some confusion permeating their thoughts as they attempt to pull any context. <<….It’s his dad! Wait no->> The confusion only grows, as Hive continues to speak. “Yo! Just met-“ They squint their eyes at Hive, attempting to place him, “We have? You did? You invisible or something? Dunno if that counts as meeting.” Their mind runs through the events of their arrival, significantly more intense and epic in their reflection. "What? No I'm always a priest, you don't just..." Bryce is a little bit flustered at this question, not just because of the inherent ludicrousness of it but because he is mildly offended at the comparison, quite obviously being a priesthood holder is something significant and important and being a monk is... well, he is not sure exactly what it is, it all seems very mystical and a little bit heathen. He's redirecting his thoughts to the much firmer ground of: "Does he look invisible? I can see him pretty good." He's poking a finger at the side of Hive's head, just in case Tok needs assistance locating the man. "Are you visiting? Are you staying?" "Ffff I'm not his fucking dad, this boy could not be any fucking whiter." Hive takes a last puff of his cigarette and stubs it out into the ashtray, snapping the tray shut and pocketing it. He rubs his hand against the side of his head where Bryce just poked it, fingers kneading absently against the thick scarring there. "Dunno yet. Ch -- Xavier asked us to help look for all your. Missing. Teachers." He's frowning, and rubbing his first two knuckles against the crease in his forehead. "I am kind of invisible sometimes. Vaguely incorporeal." His eyes, still narrowed, flick briefly in Tok's direction, and he adds gruffly: "You were trying to sneak into the school. Badly." Tok’s torso leans closer, ears perking up in curiosity, then they swivel on the spot away from the bees, “So…You know anythin’ about what happened to the teachers?” They ask, innocently. Tok’s face then scrunches towards Bryce, “Hold on, you’re a priest? I didn’t know you could be a priest at our age—” they turn look at Hive, “And I never said you were his- Wait-“ Tok stares, something about Hive’s voice sparking connections in their mind, something familiar. Suddenly, it clicks, “You’re the one who called me dumb.” They accuse, tail bristling defensively, “I nailed my finals by the way!” It’s true, but memories of all-nighters, wasted hours of waning focus and rushed spurts of productivity flicker through their mind, unsustainable. “And I got in, in the end. I count it as an absolute win.” They grin, full of sharp teeth. "You called Tok dumb?" Bryce sounds a little scandalized at this -- not, mind, because he has any particular opinion one way or another about if this is untrue, just because he's quite sure this is not the sort of thing you should say to people. And then, even more hushed: "Wait, have you found them?" He's conflicted here, uncertain; probably if DJ and Hive have been called in it's Much More Serious than they had feared but, also, probably if DJ and Hive have been called in, they'll fix things in no time. He shifts from one foot to the other, his forehead creasing with a slow scrunch of colorful scales. "Why were you trying to sneak into the school?" "Yup. That's me." Hive sounds very blandly unapologetic about this, unfortunately. << we're looking >> rustles in manylayered echo over Bryce's mind, Hive's voice and not-Hive's-voice, a multitude far too many to count. The flatly sour expression he has been wearing this whole time looks little moved by Tok's bristling or by the assurance that they nailed finals. He still just rubs at his temple, and then drops his hand with a whumph back into his lap. "Sure. A win." He is plucking his cane up from where it's been resting against the arm of the bench -- not actually to stand up, just to fiddle absently with its head. "Well, this place is normally pretty hostile to mutant kids in need. And they definitely hadn't explicitly invited the kids from Freaktown here not long before so obviously the only possible option was sneaking around. Front door was right out." Hive lifts a shoulder. "Congrats." Tok crosses their arms and rolls their eyes, “Wanted to scope it out, and plans change! It’s called being adaptable.” They say with a raise of their eyebrows and tilt of their shoulders, as if they’ve said something profound here. They are very proud of themself in their own mind, at the very least. “Anyways. I ain’t dumb.” << calling me dumb. I can show you dumb! Wait no->> << Are all telepaths bald? Oh no! Quentin!>> An image of a bald Quentin forms in their mind. They nod to themself, not bad. They crouch down to watch a bee crawling on the ground. “Do the teachers disappear a lot here?” "Scope it out for what?" Bryce's brows are still scrunched in an uncertain confusion. << don't they give campus tours? >> << does he mean crimes? >> and he hasn't gotten quite as far as being scandalized at that thought because he's stuck on how mutant school is a terrible choice of crime target, not only are you guaranteed to get caught by the superhero teachers but there's built-in well-practiced lecturers once you do, if he did crimes (which he totally wouldn't) they would be cool crimes at museums or zoos or -- "... is it a crime to be a superhero?" sounds a little distracted, once he's speaking aloud. Hive is pushing himself back to his feet, now, and -- well, the look he is giving Tok hasn't gotten any flatter, at least. Holding very, very steady in its level of sour. "Has it sounded," he says, after several beats of silence, "from anything you've been hearing from the other kids. Other teachers. Like the teachers disappear a lot here." His grip is adjusting on his cane, weight shifting as he turns to go, but then he lets out a scratchy heh of a laugh just a moment before the actual question. The question itself tightens his shoulders, and he's turning back -- not quite toward Bryce but toward the beehives, his hand tightening hard on the head of his cane. "Bunch of humans make the laws, kid. You think real hard for a while about the Avengers, or the X-Men, or Jax, or your brother, and what you think the cops would say." And then he's actually heading off, unhurried down the path. Tok raises their hands in mock surrender again, “Just checking. Things are weird here.” They’re mentally disappointed their master plan at attempting to gain more information failed. They shrug towards Bryce, “And was just checkin’ if it was a good place to crash for a bit. Wasn’t gonna enroll. But like I said! Change of plans.” Their eyes dart curiously between Bryce and Hive, lingering a little longer on the former. Their tail slows its waves as Hive begins to leave, and they wince, “See ya Hive!” << Oof. nice going! sorry sorry>>. They turn to Bryce suddenly, once Hive is gone, “Sorry. Hey, why d’you wanna be a superhero?” It’s nonjudgemental, head tilted curiously. "I mean, in the news the cops seem to like the Avengers fine, but..." Bryce is trailing off in a muddle of introspection, here, jagged and raw around the horrific news footage of Dawson's death, around the hateful things people said about Mr. Jax on the news, and though he has not entirely drawn any conclusions the ones he is edging towards sit very uncomfortably. He is looking, long and hard, at the plaque by the Dawson Allred Memorial Beehives, and Tok's question shakes him out of this, yanking his eyes hard away from the name to fix, blinking, on the other student. A moment later he's smiling, bright and warm. "Oh! I mean, we're all asked to serve in our own ways, right? We're the Lord's hands here upon the Earth." His hands wring together once, brief, and he glances at the beehives again just quickly before giving Tok another quick smile. "I gotta go grab lunch or I'm gonna be soooo dead at cross-country. See you later Tok!" He waves, quick and friendly, and then is jogging back away. Tok’s eyebrows knit together and they scan Bryce before looking towards the beehive. “Yeah! Right. Lord’s hands and all that. That’s uh…cool. Was just curious.” They glance towards him once last time, “Oh yeah yeah! Goodluck with your running.” They wave, watching Bryce until he’s gone, and go back to crouching to watch the crawling bee.