Logs:The Wrong Foot

The Wrong Foot
Dramatis Personae Naomi, Chloe	2021-01-05 "Whadya mean, like us?"
Location <XAV> Study - Xs First Floor
Quieter than the neighboring library, the study actually is a retreat for those who want to sit and work. Lacking the larger social tables, this room has only single solitary chairs, individual soft lamps assigned to each. The high bay windows allow plenty of light, and the understated elegance of the room with its grated fireplace (often crackling, in winter) is an invitation to quiet work. The first day of the term has not exactly filled the library with returning students. While a steady trail do come in, they often soon leave with whatever textbooks they require. Some may browse the stacks before taking their leave, but very few have chosen to take refuge from damp and dreary day outside around any of the wooden tables. The study is much the same. A warm fire keeps the room pleasantly warm, and illuminates more than the cloud-dimmed sunlight that comes through the windows. Only the chair closest to the fireplace seems to be occupied, going by the green and black Jansport and water bottle resting beside it. Whoever is occupying it doesn’t seem to be in the room, however, and the student that enters when the door opens isn’t them. Dressed in an ivory cable knit sweater that folds over around her shoulders to let her wings loose, a beige pleated a-line skirt, black flannel tights and suede beige Louboutin boots with a block heel, Chloe Corlioni looks over the study with wide, black eyes and seems to find it acceptable. Going by the scowl that mars her face, she hasn’t found much else to be. She starts for one of the empty chairs, stops with a considering look at the one closest to the fire. She settles into it and turns sideway, carefully maneuvering her wings to rest over one arm of the chair and just above the Jansport. Her crossed legs end up over the other arm, feet bobbing up and down, while her own backback—a Paris Saint-Germain—is placed at the foot of the chair once she has an iPhone out of the front pocket. With a sigh, she starts scrolling through Instagram. At the entrance of the study, Naomi is returning from her excursion, wiping her damp hands on the hem of her shirt - an old Ryan Black tour shirt for a tour she never saw, tucked under a blue and black flannel and over black jeans. Her knockoff converse squeak slightly as she walks back to her seat. Stops when she finally sees her seat is occupied. Her eyes drop to her ratty Jansport bag, open, green trim bright on the black bag, clearly set as an occupancy marker. Her gaze rises up to the green girl in the armchair, a slight grinding noise emanating from the scales on her forehead as she frowns. “I was sitting there,” she says eventually. “My stuff is there.” Chloe doesn’t look up from her phone as Naomi comes in. “You weren’t sitting here when I came in,” she replies when Naomi speaks, continuing to scroll. “I wanted to sit by the fire a moment.” It’s another moment before she looks up, eyes widening even more as her spine straightens in surprise. With no discernible pupil, it’s difficult to tell where her gaze exactly rests but easy to see she’s assessing Naomi head to toe. “Did you want the seat back…?” “Yes.” Naomi’s face is curling into a frown now as Chloe gives her a once over. “Obviously.” Her enunciation is carefully precise, but her Southern accent is still peeking through. Her eyes drop down quickly to the bottom of Chloe’s boots. Look back up with more clear annoyance. “My stuff was there. Meant I was sitting there. Seems pretty clear you should move.” Chloe shrugs without much feeling. “If you say so.” Gracefully swinging her legs around, she’s slow to rise, wings abruptly fluttering as they graze the arm of the chair anyway. She slides her bag toward the next closest chair with her foot, taking the same pose in it when she sits again. If Naomi is disturbed by the flutter of wings or the other girl's green skin, it's quickly buried again under the expression of annoyance plastered on her face. She sits back down in the armchair, squirming to get comfortable again as she pulls her water bottle, pencil bag planner out of her pack. Naomi looks up at Chloe again, a faint glow forming in the back of her pupils that is quickly extinguished. She just scowls, flipping open her planner. After a beat, filled with nothing but the quiet clicking of typing on a phone keyboard, Chloe speaks up. “So what’s with this place?” she asks, tone casual and friendly. Though she doesn’t look up from her phone. “It’s supposed to be a school for mutants or whatever, right? Why aren’t there more students like us?” A manicured finger points between the two of them. Naomi has gotten as far as clicking out lead in her cheap mechanical pencil - her thumb hits the eraser with a little extra force at the interruption. She doesn't look at Chloe - her eyes drop to the shoes with the red bottoms, the fancy bag. "Whadya mean, like us?" “You know,” Chloe answers, as if it’s obvious. The small role of her eyes is not visibly discernible, but comes through in her body language anyway. She motions between Naomi and herself again, this time with her hand. “Mutants who are more. Physically effected, or whatever the term is. I thought there would be more.” “Physically...” Naomi snorts. “Just say freak-looking or something, it’s faster.” Now she does look up, at Chloe’s dark filled eyes. “Ionno. Either most mutants don’t look like freaks or most freak children don’t make it to here.” She scratches at the dry skin under her scales. “There plenty of ‘us’ ‘round campus, though.” Nose wrinkling, Chloe’s carefully curled hair bounces lightly as she shakes her head. “No, I don’t think I’ll be saying that,” she answers. “I’m not a freak, my genetics are. Anyway,” she continues, returning to the same friendly tone as she sits up to look at Naomi. “Maybe you can introduce me to some of them? Before this, I had the same classmates since I was four, and I don’t seem to be making any headway here.” “You are freak now, though.” Naomi insists. “Maybe just your DNA was freakish before, but everybody can see you green as hell now. Weird flex to deny that, but whatever.” At Chloe’s next question Naomi just stares at her blankly. “I… I don’t think I can help ya. I ain’t in the Monster Clique or whatever. Not sure there is one.” Eyes flicker over the red bottomed boots again. “An’ I don’t know that anyone ‘round here is gonna be like your old buddies.” Her mouth twisting with displeasure, Chloe frowns. “Still. I’m not calling myself, or anyone else, either of those words.” Her expression smooths over as she looks from Naomi down to the fireplace. “You say that, but it may not be a bad thing. Since... things changed, I haven’t heard much from any of my friends. Some new ones would be nice.” With this, she looks back to Naomi again, offering a picture perfect smile. “I’m Chloe, by the way. Chloe Corlioni.” Naomi shrugs, pulling her legs under her on the armchair. “Ionno you want me to be your friend. Good luck finding some.” Her attention is dropping down to her agenda, displeased at the prolonged interruption. Stabs at the page with the tip of her pencil. She doesn't seem to recognize the last name for a moment. “I’m Naomi. Ask around ‘bout me, then see if you still wanna hang out with some freaks.” She clicks her tongue once. "An' don't steal anybody's seat, if you want people to like you more than I like you."