Logs:SITREP: Der Kinder Are All Right

SITREP: Der Kinder Are All Right
Dramatis Personae Scott, Kurt	2024-04-17 Kurt returns home and seeks out Scott.
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? Scott has the afternoon free and is happily filling it with work; the radio is playing, there's a half-dissected engine on one of the workbenches surrounded by tools and parts and greasy rags, as usual the door is left open for anybody to wander in that might like to help or to talk, but at present he's in here alone, whistling tunelessly along to some 70's dad rock as he works. He's wearing a dark heather gray tee over sturdy, dark-wash jeans and work boots; his motorcycle jacket and a flannel are both hanging on a hook by the door. He has a little smudge of oil on one cheek, under the ruby quartz lenses. If the door had been closed, Kurt would have had the decency to knock. But as it’s open and strolling through the doorway is boring, he teleports inside. “Guten tag, mein fearless leader,” he says as the magenta smoke clears. Scott looks over his shoulder quizzically, then breaks into a broad smile -- "Whoa, Kurt!" he says. "When'd you get back? Here --" he wipes his hands hastily on one of the rags lying around, and reaches to turn down the radio, settling back against the bench and folding his arms. "How was -- were you in Germany?" This might have been an off-the-cuff guess. “Not long at all, maybe a few hours? I beg your pardon for not coming earlier but LaGuardia is hectic the best of times, und when one is blue and fuzzy…” Kurt motions to himself with a grin before giving Scott a brief hug and pat on the back. “I grabbed food with Shane before seeking you out. He has caught me up to speed for the most part.” Kurt finds a perch on the bench as well, crouching down part way into a comfortable (for him) pose. “Germany, among a few other places, ja. I spent time on Muir Island and stopped by to see old friends in England, too.” Scott accepts the hug a little stiffly, but he gives Kurt an awkward backpat in return, his hands flexed slightly to keep from getting grease on the younger man. "Ah," he says, folding his arms across his chest. "Yes, I'm sure he caught you back up -- good to hear you've eaten already, bet it was a long flight." He pauses, nodding -- "That sounds fun." But then Scott is all business; perhaps this is where he feels most comfortable. "You planning to stick around, get back into teaching? Guess you might've noticed --" he unfolds his arms again to gesture vaguely back at the school, "student-faculty ratio took a big hit while you were gone." “I was planning on staying. In truth,” Kurt amends, his tail whipping behind him a bit, “I did not mean to be fine for so long. The business in Germany took longer than expected and by then, I could not leave for some time.” He leaves it, not terribly vague, but also not pouring the entire contents out. Scott is a man who shoulders many burdens, why tell him more than necessary? A trip to Kurt’s motherland to investigate what might have really happened to his foster brother Stefan was not high on the list. “So I have seen!” he declares, a note of happiness in his voice. “Shane explained it to me in great detail.” There’s pride on his shadowed face at the mention of his former pupil. "Mm." Scott does not ask, but he does twitch one shoulder in an understated half-shrug -- "Busy few years for all of us. Talk to Jean and I think she can figure you out. Don't suppose you know much about French or the history of paganism? Matt's on bereavement leave, it's been a bit complicated finding someone to fill in for him, but -- making it work." His voice is a little bit strained at this but perhaps this is just for effect. He pauses, swallows; his thumb taps lightly against his forearm once, twice, three times, then smiles, briefly. "I like that the school is growing, but it's gotten hectic -- and for here, that's saying something. Shane tell you we had to resort to triple rooms?" “There are so many kinder, ja?” Kurt also smiles again, his voice a tad softer, almost reverent. So many mutant children, alive, vibrant, looking… well, happy to be here. “It felt like… like what we have been fighting for all these years, does it not?” At least a little, in part. Kurt shifted back, his hands resting on his knees while he contemplated. He spoke French, passably, but teaching…. “Hn. I mangle French enough to get by in Lyon, but I know more about history und perhaps drama. But I am here to help.” He taps Scott’s shoulder with the spade of his tail lightly. “I have even signed up for a Danger Room training tomorrow morning. You should be proud.” Scott nods; maybe behind the opaque glasses his gaze drifted away before his head turned, but who can ever tell. "So many," he agrees, also a little softer, perhaps less reverent -- over the glasses his brow furrows, then smooths out again. "Not just us," he says, after a moment. Then he smiles -- "Ah, don't worry about it. It's good enough just having you back." His already very straight posture lifts a little when Kurt mentions the Danger Room, and there is just a trace of (warm?) amusement in his voice now -- "Did you? Getting right back into the rhythm, then. 'Course I'm always proud of my team." Though this, too, is followed by a tiny frown even as he gives Kurt a friendly pat on the shoulder. “How have you been with all of this,” Kurt asks, making a wide gesture at the door. He means all of it, of course, not to mention the change in the teams. “Shane told me about the raid….” He tapers off, unsure of how much he wants to ask, though part of him desperately wants to know at the same time he doesn’t want to know at all. Scott tilts his head, manages another smile. "I manage," he says. "The raid was pretty rough on the team, but -- mmgh. Can't -- complain. Lot of good came out of it, more than I expected when we..." he shakes his head, exhales. "Well. What's done is done, I can't -- I have to keep looking forward." “That is something you are rather skilled at doing,” Kurt says, giving a small nod. His fangs or his accent changes the words, making ‘something’ into ‘some-sing’. He’s not going to borrow worries, or hand them out. There will be time to worry later. Whatever trouble lay on the horizon, Kurt has no problem believing it will be here soon enough. “Ach, I did not tell you. I met one of the students, Nessie. Did you know some of the more physically mutated students are calling themselves monsters?” Kurt has always felt fairly untuned with the students. But this was perhaps the first time he felt “old”. "Ah, you met Nessie?" Now there is a strong chord of amusement brightening Scott's tone. "Spirited kid. Yeah, I can't really wrap my head around it either, but I guess it makes them feel empowered. Turn the language on itself, or whatever. I guess back in my day I thought of 'mutant' as a bad thing, too." “I’m afraid my initial reaction was not one she was hoping for. But, I think I understand.” Maybe. He’s not entirely ready to claim he’s the authority on the matter. “I never thought of myself as a monster, which I know many people find hard to believe. But I know others thought of me that way, sometimes loudly. Until I came here, with you all….” Kurt trails off for a moment. “Anyway, she’s asked me to help run the math club— it’s more for the physically mutated— uh, I think Shane said ‘monsterlings’.” Kurt gives an uneasy smile. “It will take some getting used to, I think. I am woefully behind the times.” Scott's laugh is surprisingly unreserved. "You don't have to do that if you don't want to, Kyinha runs the Math Club. But --" he sighs, perhaps contentedly, and gives Kurt another pat on the shoulder, this time with a light shake, lowering his voice conspiratorially: "We're always behind the times, man, we teach high school." “I suspect it’s not really a math club at all, but more a gathering place for just more mutants who look different, even amongst their fellow mutants.” Kurt snickers, leaning into Scott’s shoulder shake. “Mein fruend, I think my eyes nearly popped out of my eyes when she called herself a ‘monster’ in such… such a proud way. The ‘love an accept yourself’ sermon was right here,” Kurt gestures to his throat with the flat of his tail, fully laughing himself now. “It took me a moment that she absolutely has. And it wasn’t Nessie who needed to rethink that word.” Despite being an adult, despite being comfortable with himself, Kurt had not had an idea that his reaction to that word would have been so strong. So maybe he’s the one who needs to work on his reactions. “Der kinder are all right, as the saying goes.” "Mm-hm." This is mostly contented too; Scott pulls back, hands falling on either side to the worktop again. "Well, that's the goal, isn't it." “Indeed.” The silence that follows is comfortable, and Kurt revels in being back. “So tell me— what’s new with you? What else should I know before forging into the fray?” In contrast to the silence Scott looks a little uncomfortable, maybe bemused -- "Oh, you know," might have sounded sarcastic from anybody else, but Scott means it with incredible sincerity, "Not much, I'm just -- one day at a time. Thinking about a vacation one of these decades." He grins again, briefly -- "You heading down for some training? We've got some new Sentinel drills I keep meaning to run." “Ja!” Kurt answers brightly, and if that isn’t a sign as to how happy he is to be home— enthusiastically pleased with a training session! Wonders ceasing and all that. “I promise, I kept myself busy und in form while I was away, but…” Kurt shrugs his shoulders in a fluid motion. “There’s no substitute for the real thing.” Scott presses his mouth thin, flat -- not really a smile, not really not. His eyebrows draw in over his opaque glasses. "Well. Let's hope we won't be fighting the real thing for a while, yet." But then his smile eases -- he puts his tools away with quick, precise movements and closes the toolbox, moves the dissembled engine to the corner of his worktable. "C'mon -- Kurt Wagner's excited for training? I gotta see this. Promise --" this, now, is a real smile -- "I'll go easy." Kurt shivers briefly. “Ach— from your mouth to God’s ears.” He suppresses a brief pang of read, like someone has summoned a boogeyman. But no— the combined luck cannot be that bad. “It’s true! I’ve even missed your drills,” Kurt replies, just more to an a tad cheekily. “I may have even learned a few things— Brian and Meggan put me through the paces.”