Logs:Visual Learner

Visual Learner
Dramatis Personae Scott, Tok
In Absentia	2024-12-15 “I’ll be sooo careful.”
Location <XAV> Scott's "Office" - Garage
There's a Residential Dean's office on the administrative level, and Scott Summers is the Residential Dean, but his de facto office is here, in what was once just a utility room for the auto shop. "Cramped" might be uncharitable, but it's not large, more an extension of the shop than anything else. One wall is half glass and looks out onto said shop, one given over entirely to a pegboard sporting meticulously organized tools, one lined with sturdy wire racks laden with supplies and components, and the last, beside the door, almost completely papered over with colorful safety posters save where an almost comically large first aid cabinet is mounted. A workbench is kind of like a desk, right? It's quiet out in the main garage, but there is bright light and classic rock spilling out of the utility room, from the window and the propped-open door. In the "office," the center workbench is currently home to most of a motorcycle engine that Scott is carefully taking apart, a thick and well-loved comb-bound manual flipped open to an exploded-view diagram sitting on the table closest to him. His motorcycle jacket and parka are both hanging on a hook by the door, but there's a tall space heater parked a little bit away from him; he's wearing sturdy work pants, a brown flannel, and a dark blue beanie, whistling sort of tunelessly along to the radio as he works. Tok is appearing, as they tend to do, first by peaking their head in through the propped open door, then slipping in fully. Their hair is tucked back by a backwards cap with the holes for their horns, and they wear their usual sweat jacket—some holes they haven’t patched yet near the bottom—unzipped over a faded blue t-shirt. Any proper sort of greeting is immediately whisked away once their eyes land on the motorcycle engine, “Heyyyy Mr. Su- Whoa! Dude that’s sick!” They’re darting over to get a closer look, hands impulsively raising up to touch but then stopping to just hover over it, “Can I touch it? What’re you doing to it?” Their tail, that’s coiled tight about their waist under their sweatjacket, twitches here and there like it’s moments away from unwinding all at once. Scott, Sharpie in one hand and ziploc baggie of parts in the other, glances up at Tok, then back down to finish labelling this selection of parts before he looks up again to answer: "Hi, Tok." He probably does not want them touching it -- though he doesn't say so he's reaching with one hand to fend off theirs, but he says, "If you're careful, sure. I'm just cleaning it. What's up?" Tok looks to his reaching hand, “I’ll be sooo careful.” They sing song, carefully side stepping his hand to very gently poke at the engine with a claw, creating a tink tink noise. They pull away, then, and make a show of clearly shoving their hands into their jacket pockets. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be doin…paperwork.” They side glance at Scott, probably very obviously, but steamroll on ahead, “Anyways! Had some questions for you.” They stare very harshly up towards Scott’s eyes—or more specifically the glasses, “What happens when you go- zap zap zap.” They flick their fingers out from their own eyes in time with the sound effect, “Can you see when you’re zapping?” "No, not in here," says Scott mildly -- obliviously? just not taking the bait? -- "Ask away." In the meantime he is continuing to work, carefully pulling several gears off the engine's chassis, seemingly unbothered by the staring. "Well, it doesn't really go 'zap, zap, zap'. I'm not sure what you mean by 'what happens?' It blasts stuff." He tilts his head, like, there you go, like this should be perfectly satisfactory. To the second question: "Well -- sure. Yeah. I can see what I'm zapping, at least." He sets the gears in a neat stack, taps with his fingertips at the work surface on either side of them. "Why do you ask? Just curious?" Tok’s eyes widen a little, “Right, not in here. Obviously. No good place for the…papers.” They tilt their head and maneuver about the workbench beside Scott to get a better look at what he’s working on. Then impulsively, almost instinctively, they snake a hand forward to pick off a gear at the top of the neat stack between their claws. They hold it up to their eye to inspect it curiously, “S’Just some research for a project!” They glance up at him, and quickly replace the gear back on the top of the stack—slightly off center than it originally was, “Can you do it? Some zapping? Please pleaseplease?” Then they add hastily, “It’ll help soo much for my project.” "What?" Scott seems a little perplexed, his brow furrowed over his glasses -- he glances down at a filing cabinet bolted under the work surface, before his gaze snapes back up at Tok; he reaches for the gear, though it's back in his stack before he can finish saying, "Please be careful with that." Once it's been restored, he shifts it over with one finger, until it is recentered. "Your -- project?" he echoes, with an air of faint amusement. "What project." Tok waves a hand, “Sorry sorry! I’m bein’ careful. Habit.” They laugh in a high pitched nervous manner, and shove their hands back into their pockets. They tilt their head back and forth in consideration, “It’s an independent project for extra credit.” They hesitate, “I picked..uh. Eye related mutations…” They’re already removing a hand from their pocket to point at their own dark sclera white iris eyes, “I got some too! And I got all sorts of weird vision things. So I thought it would be a cool topic.” They lean on the table on their elbow, watching his glasses eagerly. “It wouldn’t have to be nothin’ big if you don’t wanna!” "Have these 'weird vision things' bothered you, at all? You might want to get Dr. McCoy to look at that, don't let the big words scare you off," Scott is saying, a small pinch forming between his eyebrows. He taps his fingers on the worktop again, mouth twitching but unable to commit to a smile, then, at length, "Sure. Why not." The cadence here, along with the slow way he's nodding his head, has an air of one convincing himself, but he's rooting into the pocket of his jeans for a visor, which he swaps out with his glasses, one-handed, with practiced ease -- for barely a second, his entire face is visible, eyes squeezed shut. He glances around, as though checking for anybody else in the room that might get caught in crossfire. While he was getting his visor he's also produced a penny, balanced on his thumbnail, which he's flipping up into the air, flip-flip-flip-flip -- Before it hits the top of its arc, his other hand flexes on the visor, and then there is a bright but very narrow flash of red. It doesn't hit the coin directly, though the zig-zag flare is so nigh instantaneous it might as well -- it pings off a shiny surface of his partially-disassembled motorcycle engine first, then off a shiny car component on the wire shelves across the room, before it punches the penny (with, in fact, a ZZAT sound). “Oh- S’not so bad- I’ll uh- check. Maybe.” Tok answers, quick. Their eyes light up (metaphorically) at Scott’s agreement, and they hiss out an excited: “Yes!!!” They lean forward more against the table with bated breath. Their tail unwinds in the excitement, waving behind them as they watch, unblinking. There’s a flash of white coming from their own eyes at the moment the first flash of red appears, and in an instant, there’s a twin flash of red that ZZAT’S through the air right past Scott’s nose—close, much too close. The beam now flooding from Tok’s eyes is slamming into the wall with the peg board, and they let out a shout of surprise-panic as tools begin falling. “Oh SHIT-!” Their head, reflexively from their own powers, whips down and away, and the beam rips in a sharp downwards diagonal across the wall and garage floor. “FUCKFUCKFUCK-” They’re whipping their head up again—now through some of the wall with the wire racks, as if in attempt to correct their mistake—and it tears up towards the ceiling, “AHH WAITWAITWAIT-” "What the --" Scott starts to say, with an odd and uncharacteristic note of outrage, though this is quickly drowned out as his (so, so neatly organized!) tools clatter down onto the table under the peg board, as the wire racks collapse and then as chunks of ceiling begin to collapse on top of that. (Somewhere through all of this, the penny rattles back onto the desk with a single hole punched through it.) Scott is very quickly at Tok's side, one hand reaching for their shoulder; his tone evens back out, firm and commanding. "Listen to me, Tok, close your eyes. Can you close your eyes?" Tok’s hands have come up—in an instinctive attempt to cover their own face, but they stop before getting too close to the beam. “What do I-?!” They flinch at Scott grabbing their shoulder, and their head begins to whip around towards him, making a clean line through the room as if it was being split in half. But then they immediately snap their head back the other way in a wild swing, “Shit! Shit! Okayokay!” They slam their eyes shut and scrunch them even harder for good measure, and the silence that follows in comparison is almost deafening aside from another panel of ceiling crashing to the floor. Tok’s breath comes out in sharp huffs, and barely there click click click sounds from their throat. “What- heh- I’m- I’m so sorry-” The wide, uncontrolled blast of red splits around Scott's body, in the instant that he's still visible to Tok, before they close their eyes. Then there is no sound, for a moment, save for Mr. Summers's quiet breath, closer to Tok than it was before, and the more distant clank of settling glass and debris. Scott's voice is a little abrupt when it cuts into the silence, quiet but even and businesslike. "Stay calm. Has anything like this happened to you before? Do you know how to reverse it?" Tok’s breathing turns into a strained, high pitched laughter, instead of immediately answering, “Holy shit. Are- Are you good?” Their anxious laughter gets cut off by a cough against some of the dust that’s still settling, “It’s never- I mean- Not like this!” They gesture up vaguely around with a hand, as if that could fully encompass what ‘this’ is. “I-I can reverse it. Promise. Just gotta…” Their eyes begin to open, and a beam has enough time to jump out and slam into the opposite wall before they’re quickly squeezing them shut again, “Sorrysorry!” They rattle out with a wince, and they press their palms hard into their closed eyelids, as if that might help keep them closed, “What the hell? Thought it was done! Why is this- how do you turn it off?” Scott sounds unhurt, at least, his voice still doggedly level even if he is wholesale ignoring this question of is he good, though probably he would sound exactly this level if he were bleeding out. "Okay," he says. "I want you to carefully --" carefully what? He cuts himself off at the ZLAP-crunch, letting go their shoulder. His voice is slightly more distant a moment later, though it's growing louder like he only stepped away for a second. "I don't," he says, then, "I can't. I'm going to give you my glasses, but I want you to keep your eyes closed until I check on them, they might not fit you right. I'm holding them in front of your face." (He is holding the glasses, unfolded, by the bridge.) “You don’t?” Tok’s eyebrows scrunch down at this information, and they seem like they might want to ask more questions, but for now they just nod quickly to his instructions, and after a moments hesitation they remove a hand from their eye (still shut!) to reach up for the glasses. Their fingers are slightly curled in so their claws aren’t the first thing to make contact, and once they find the glasses they carefully remove their other hand from their face to properly slide them on. They do, in fact, manage to keep their eyes closed throughout it. “What d’you mean you don’t? Wait- Is that what the glasses are for?” They ask in bafflement, carefully removing their hands from the stems of the glasses so Scott can check them, “Thought they were a-a fashion statement or maybe you had like- real sensitive eyes- or freak eyes you didn’t like- or something.” The glasses in question seem to sit normally, but occasionally shift slightly when their ears idly twitch or twist to try and track Scott, or the various sounds about the room. "What did you think the glasses were for?" This is remarkably unsarcastic, just a little baffled. For a moment Scott's voice is closer, a low rumbling "Mm" of acknowledgment before he straightens up again. "No, they're not a fashion thing. How quickly can you reverse it? Try opening your eyes. Carefully." Tok looks doubtful, as much as they can with their eyes closed, “These things seriously stop your zappers?” Despite this, they’re reaching up to hold the glasses steady, sensing the way they shift on their ears. “I can reverse it pretty quick, I think.” They very slowly open their eyes, only a sliver at first, then all at once. They blink in surprise at the explosion that doesn’t follow. “Heh- No way.” They take in the disaster about the room, and their eyes widen a little more in surprise, and they blow out a breath, “Oh shit.” They’re then hesitantly looking up towards where Scott is, “Are you tellin’ me the only thing stopping stuff from blowing up around you all the time are red tinted glasses?” Scott -- still wearing the visor -- has moved back, propped himself against the central workbench, his arms folded over his chest; there's no light behind the visor's slit even with his gaze pointed directly at Tok. "No," he says. "There are two things keeping me from blowing things up around me, the other is myself. It's a destructive ability. I work hard not to hurt the people I care about or damage this place. It's not enough to have my power in check if my judgment is poor." He pauses here, only for a moment, his lips pressing thin, before he adds, "So. You said you can reverse it. Try it now?" Tok’s ears dart down, and if not for their hands holding the glasses steady, they might have fallen out of place. “…Sorry, Mr. Summers.” Their tail has dropped down to wrap around one of their legs, “I didn’t mean to…break things.” They hesitate, and their head darts about the room, “Uh- yeah I can reverse it! And I-I can help clean this all up, promise. I could even do it right now! I got like, real thick claws, they won’t get all cut up on glass or nothin!” They insist, and… it could certainly be their usual distractibility, or maybe it even seems like they might be stalling. Their head ticks minutely in the direction of the door, as if they might be glancing towards it under the glasses. "You are definitely going to help clean this up," Scott says -- for the first time his Resting Disapproving Face lets slip a glimpse of very wry amusement, though a moment later it's tightening up again. "But we're not doing anything until I know it's safe, and you're not walking around with a dangerous power you have no experience handling. Can you reverse it?" A half grin flickers onto Tok’s face, “Heh- Okay got it got it. I got a big ‘ol history of poor judgment.” They raise their hands in surrender, then very quickly return them to the glasses, “Alright uh…Get ready?” They stare intensely at Scott, there’s a soft pink flash, and for a long moment nothing happens, based off of the red glow their eyes still have. Their ears pin back, and a few more of those high pitched nervous laughs bubble out, “That didn’t- Hold on hold on! I got this...” There’s another sudden bright pink flash from behind their glasses, and perhaps there’s a feeling of something slotting back into place, mostly easily, like a puzzle piece in which the tolerances were ever so slightly off, but then with a little force snap satisfyingly perfectly into its spot all at once. All glow coming from their eyes a moment ago is gone. “Ha! There we go. How’s that?” For a moment, Scott's expression looks a little pained, a little stressed, but then as the faint flare of light returns to his visor he exhales. "Thank you," he says, then -- straightening up, reaching with one hand to pat the motorcycle engine he's abandoning in the dusty, crumbling garage, "Let's get out of here while it's still standing. I have to fill out a student incident report, and then we can discuss detention." Tok splutters, “WHAttt detention? But I didn- ah fine.” They very quickly give up whatever spiel they were about to give, and move to follow Scott while sliding the glasses off. They slow by the workbench, and pick up the coin with the hole in it, “Oh sick-” They quickly slip the coin into their pocket, and hold up the glasses, “Heyhey Mr. Summers I know I’m in so much trouble but how much do I gotta trade you for these cool glasses?”