Logs:Of Ramen and Reunions (Or, Torture Memes for Lassi-Teens)

Of Ramen and Reunions (Or, Torture Memes for Lassi-Teens)
Dramatis Personae Kavalam, Roscoe	2024-03-27 "Pfft, imagine having a boat without a motor, that's for poors."
Location <XAV> Computer Lab - Xs First Floor
All modernism in contrast to the old-world elegance of most of the mansion, this room has been dragged into the twenty-first century wholeheartedly. Rows of top-of-the-line computers provide internet access to any students who lack their own in their rooms, and sleek tablets give the mansion's artists a place to practice their digital art when the art studio does not suffice. Whether knuckling down to pull an all-nighter on a research paper or simply killing time browsing, students can be found in here at all hours in front of the glows of the screens. Stacked high to Roscoe's left is a pile of what looks like work -- textbooks, notebooks, loose-leaf graph paper in folders and a slim but overstuffed three-ring binder, and Roscoe is skulking productively in the comfortable rolling desk chair, both feet pulled underneath him, with a beanie pulled low over his face, the hood of his bright-blue sweatshirt pulled up over his beanie, and dark gray joggers. Is Roscoe doing work? Resoundingly not. Two windows, each taking up about a third of his computer monitor, are open on Reddit and a third is streaming the Bruins game. Roscoe is ignoring the Bruins game -- at least, his activity is focused on the two Reddits, one of which is the mod queue of r/Assiter and the other of which is open to the top page of r/Assiter itself ("Torture Memes for Lassi-Teens"). Roscoe is not a very strict moderator -- he is automatically approving most of the reports in his feed, though he takes the time to remove one lengthy chain of comments with, 'Both of you shut the fuck up, torture memes only.' "Exactly how tortured do you have to have been to be supplying torture memes?" How long has Kavalam been here? Probably not that long; while he's got comfortable in another of the desk chairs, both the cups of cocoa he's brought -- one cupped in his hands and one set down on the corner of the workstation next to Roscoe's -- are still hot. Kavalam himself is slouched back in his chair in jeans, an orange checked button-down. "I don't know if Boredom Memes count." "Only if they're funny," says Roscoe, in a censorious tone to indicate that this is a high bar, before he turns his head to see who's interrupting him. His eyes widen -- "Kavalam!" Without his feet on the floor to steady the chair, he scrambles in his seat to face the other teenager, with the result that for a few seconds he swivels the chair in the one direction and himself in the other, before he finally grabs the desk to make it stop. He gives Kavalam a gleeful, searching look -- "Dude! It's good to see you, how long has it been? You, uh --" he crosses over from excitement to confusion with somewhat jarring speed, squinting with what is probably utterly fruitless mental calculation. "You made it out of the lab okay?" he says. "Seven months, give or take," Kavalam says, with a casual wobble of head. "And a few days. Only in passing, though, I have not been --" Another small wobble. Once Roscoe is done spinning, he nudges the second cocoa closer to the other boy's reach. "You helped greatly. And," his eyes lower to his cup as he takes a sip, "Mr. Joshua." His brows pinch and he is examining Roscoe critically. "They are not turning you into a nerd here, are they? They are very-big nerds." Roscoe hesitates a brief but noticeable moment before he takes the cocoa, a smile spreading slow and broad over his face as he considers it. "Only in passing?" he says. The smile falters a little at the mention of Joshua, pulling into a sudden, scrunching frown and then smoothing out again; he holds the mug close to his chest, both hands wrapped around it. "Glad I helped," he says. "I got my sentence extremely extended for that. By the way." This time the scrunch of his face is a dimpled smile -- "I would've did it again though," he adds. Then he glances down, maybe at the Dragon Ball Z design on his sweatshirt (though he mostly gets a faceful of cocoa steam) before he says, "No. If anything, they are really discouraging nerdery. I was explicitly forbidden to join the mathletes." "As first riots go I think it was an adequate disaster. And you got your sentence extremely cut very-very short for that, no." Kavalam replies, "I stole one guard's car and came straightaway here to send the cavalry. Swords and all." He's looking only briefly at Roscoe's shirt, his huff small and amused. "Nessie she is very-very fierce with her -- people. Have you considered Odyssey of the Mind? Maybe Cryptology Club. Cool kids only there." "Yeah, there were more swords than I expected," Roscoe agrees thoughtfully; he grins into his first sip of cocoa. "I don't know why they have to hide behind Chess Club when there are already clubs for gays and Asians and Jews and stuff, couldn't they just start the Monster Bog Alliance and call it a day?" This is probably not a serious suggestion; it is followed by a slightly theatrical sigh. "I'm not cut out to be a nerd at this place," he says. "Even nerd stuff here is snobby. I thought about pivoting into being a jock but I bet they only offer lacrosse and horseback riding." "You could show up at the next Mathlete session and ask," Kavalam suggests very seriously. "Oh! Mr. Jackson runs the horseback riding so it's less snobby but very much gay." Has Kavalam ever taken a riding lesson here, doubtful. "Don't forget crew, though. In spring now they have crew. For those who don't want to slum it with the lacrosse team." Roscoe blows a dismissive raspberry -- "Pfft, imagine having a boat without a motor, that's for poors," he says, refolding his legs in his chair to rest one knee more comfortably against the armrest, tilting his head owlishly. "You weren't -- here this whole time and I just forgot, were you?" "Oh yes, the whole time. It's very inconvenient actually because I have been kicking your ass regularly in chess but then you all shine cheyya," Kavalam shakes his head in exaggerated woe before clarifying, "stealing all my glories." After this he's looking back to Roscoe's screen, taking a slow sip of cocoa before allowing with a determined casualness: "I was actually staying this while with Gaétan's family. Very good food there for a white." Roscoe's eyes widen with dismay -- "No way," he says. Perhaps he is distressed at the possibility he has been forgetting Kavalam over and over for seven months. Perhaps he is highly distressed at the possibility that he has been losing to him at chess for seven months. He glances at the screen too, is even more distressed at the score of the Bruins game, and then looks back at his companion. "Is Gae okay? I haven't seen him either. Sucks about his brother. Sometimes at Lassiter you would see people going through withdrawal, if their source got moved or they were new or... addiction can get really ugly really fast." He furrows his brow slightly -- "I guess if you were there you probably know that," he adds, a touch apologetically. "Only but he wasn't --" Kavalam begins, immediate and vehement, but then he's slouching lower in his chair, his voice lower. "I mean, yes, he had had some difficulties with drugs. But through his whole show now he had stopped and he wasn't -- it just came very by surprise, you know? I thought --" His fingers clench tight around his cup. "I do not know what I thought. He was very kind to me. That takes a lot of work." He swallows another mouthful of cocoa and with it, perhaps, this undignified lapse into feelings. "It is rough for Gaétan. Lucien-uncle he was the good cook, now they are on their own with Mr. Matthieu's terrible catastrophes. He can manage some very rubbery egg and not much else." Roscoe's gaze darts away; though this is as much as he reacts outwardly, his voice rises slightly in pitch, lapsing into a hushed, appeasing tone. "Sorry. I bet that's -- sorry for your loss." He wraps his hands tighter around his mug and shrinks minutely into the chair. "I know where he can get some good instant ramen if he gets hungry. Feast of kings. It always makes me feel better." Kavalam blinks in surprise, glancing over brief and startled to Roscoe. His death grip on the cup is easing after this offer of condolence. "Your room, hopefully, or I will be very disappointed. Have you begun an underground Xavier's economy, yet? I suppose it would be maybe-difficult to compete with Nahida. She," he sounds very approving here, "cheats copiously." "I'm not telling you, you're a known ramen thief," Roscoe retorts -- he is bounding slooowly back into good spirits. Probably all the ramen is, in fact, in his room. He takes another sip of cocoa. "No," he laments, "if you try to barter here with cup noodles or cigarettes or toilet paper, you get looked at funny." Though perhaps this firm denial is negated when he squints and says, "Why, you need anything? I can probably pull some favors." "I am out of jail now. Turned over a new leaf. Proper citizen. But perhaps you are not thinking high enough. The restrooms are quite well stocked already with regular toilet paper. You may need a hookup for 4-ply. Secure your place in the economy by letting them share an experience that only royal asses have previously known." Kavalam is leaning forward and gesturing inquisitively towards the computer. "Do they even make 4-ply? Inventing it would take more work. -- Oh! If you do need a hideout, I know an excellent spot for illicit goods smuggling. Safe from almost everyone." Almost. Roscoe obediently opens a new tab -- 'do they make 4 ply toilet paper?' -- and wrinkles his nose. "Oh, it's just Charmin'. These bears should change their marketing strategy, yours was way more convincing." While he is here, he closes both Reddit windows, before peering over his shoulder again, eyes widening with strong interest, though his voice is a little skeptical. "There are so many teeps here," he says. "And I'm good at finding hiding spots. Usually. I keep forgetting where I already hid stuff. I'll go to use a stash spot and, wham, surprise ramen already there." "Was one of your ancestors a squirrel?" Kavalam is wondering, and then, hopeful: "Do squirrels have X-Ray vision? -- Anyway, I can show you but it will take a small bit of work up front. Gaétan found this spot at great pains to himself last year. Did you know the Professor's family used to smuggle alcohol? Perhaps that is how they became rich." He's waving a hand -- generically at one side of the computer lab walls; he could mean anything past there, the library, the school grounds, the woods. "The bootlegging tunnels they had on the mansion side have part-way collapsed. I am not sure if they would look still like tunnels to you or just -- some rocks now only. We were going to open this end back up but then he stupidly went in jail, a mistake I would never make." His hand turns up in front of him, tipping out in a small manual shrug. "The one good thing about hanging out with me is that the telepaths overhear nothing. I will show you, no? As long as you make some good use of it." "I don't think so," says Roscoe, though he promptly hedges, "It would explain my teeth." Already his front teeth are rather prominent, but the scrunched-up smile he offers makes him even more rodentlike -- it lapses a moment later back into a real smile. "Very bad judgment going to jail," he agrees gravely. "What a rube." But now he is swinging his feet down out of the chair, reaching for the mouse to log off. "Don't be stupid," he says. "There are many good things about hanging out with you."