ArchivedLogs:The Secret Life of Students

The Secret Life of Students
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Spencer	2017-07-06 "Bees are way better than dead people."
Location <NYC> {Workhaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
The wide entryway leads into a semicircular sitting area with plush modular chairs, sofas, and huge beanbags arranged around two low tables. The bright, open expanse of the house fans back and out from here, executed in stunning industrial style with extremely conservative usage of rough stone walls. Through a door on the right is a library boasting an eclectic but extensive collection of books, a cozy reading nook, as well as a state-of-the-art computer work station. Opposite this is a media room with a projector mounted overhead and a formidable sound system on all sides, the windows still admitting plenty of light when the blackout curtains are pulled back. Beyond the sitting area, toward the back of the house and separated from adjacent areas only by plentiful black granite counters, are a pair of kitchens, each stocked with their own appliances, cookware, servingware, and utensils. Adjoining the (vegan and kosher) kitchen on the right is a simple dining room with a long oval table and chairs designed to accommodate a range of body shapes. On the other side, tucked between the general-purpose kitchen and the media center, is a guest room and a full bath. At the center of the entire house is a cylindrical elevator shaft of steel and glass with two floating stairways coiled around it like an immense double helix. Both elevator and stairs lead down out of sight and up to a circular landing joined to the second storey wings by walkways that leave the space above the sitting area open. Above the kitchens is a sun-drenched split-level recess, the lower half a conservatory enclosed by glass and the upper half a rooftop garden. The whole is walled with glass and lets in copious quantities of natural light softened by lush greenery. The air conditioning is shut off, at the moment, windows thrown wide open around the house instead. In the sitting area, Flicker is sprawled face-down over a large beanbag, laptop nearby and a hefty textbook in front of him very excitingly titled /Forensic Medicine And Toxicology: Principles And Practice/. He wears dark khaki shorts, a lightweight short sleeved blue henley. His current arm actually looks fairly armlike in anatomy, though its mottled green and brown and grey wet-leaves plastered fallen over concrete look doesn't go far toward emulating flesh. A tall iced glass of lemonade stands near his elbow. Or where his elbow just was, anyway. He hasn't been flopped here all that long, really, when he's up again. Book in hand, holographic computer display inadequately jerkily trying to keep pace with him as he relocates to an ottoman. Shortly thereafter: a windowsill, leaning only half-perched against it. His attention stays focused on his book, even when he reaches for his hopeful-puppy of a keyboard (finally settled waiting beside him) to jot down quick notes. Spencer is practically a study in stillness by comparison, draped over an arm of the couch with a library copy of Sue Monk Kidd's /The Secret Life of Bees/ balanced in one hand and a rainbow LED fidget spinner whirring in the other. His blue T-shirt is emblazoned with a huge red heart flanked with lightning bolts and bearing the words "Compassion is Invincible", and his jean shorts are (whether due to fraying attrition or the wearer's growth) getting a bit too short to be altogether fashionable. His own lemonade is sweating on the end table beside him, and he periodically spares a finger from spinning to doodle in the condensation. Every time Flicker change locations, Spence darts a surreptitious glance before returning his attention (such as it is), to the book. Finally, he puts the book down /firmly/ on the table. "You want a snack or something?" his tone is decidedly /hopeful/. Flicker has changed position again, here. A quick flit-jump over to sit on the lip of the conversation-pit style sitting area. One knee giving a rapid bounce-bounce-bounce as his eyes track over his page. Up to Spence. Back to the page. Up to Spence. "Oh man what time is it?" doesn't really seem to expect an answer. Flicker is darting a glance to the sun-drenched windows, back over to Spencer -- or down to his abandoned book, anyway. "Do we still have any spring rolls left? Those were so good." Spence perks up instantly and vanishes to reappear in the kitchen, poking his head into a refrigerator and coming out with a flatish tupperware container and a smaller round one. "You don't have a lot classes in the summer, right?" He's arranging the rolls carefully on a plate and pouring the peanut sauce into a small crock. "It seems like you have /more/ homework though, are they just cramming like a normal semester's worth of class into two months?" He jumps back across the house. Hands the plate, a pair of chopsticks and a napkin to Flicker, then steals one of the rolls for himself. "Only got the one, actually. This month, at least." Flicker glances to his textbook. "It's a killer, though." He perks up brighter when Spence returns with food. Sets the textbook aside, grabs the chopsticks instead. "Bees just not doing it for you, huh?" "All that homework for one class!" Spence's face scrunches in obvious disapproval. Briefly. The spring roll banishes the expression. "Mm! I guess that's not so weird. I don't have /any/ classes and /still/ have homework." He points at /The Secret Life of Bees/ on the table. "It's /alright/, but it's not actually /about/ bees," he warns Flicker. "So far it's mostly about racism, but I'm only a few chapters in, and maybe it has bees in it /later/." "Will they be racist bees?" Flicker's brows furrow. He leans over, nabs the book off the table. Opens it up to read its jacket blurb. Other hand occupied with dipping a roll into sauce for munching on. "You should just write a report on bees," he advises, after a brief perusal. "Likely learn more." "Whoa I hope not!" Spence's eyes go wide-wide. "I'm sure they won't be. Well, /maybe/ with other bees? But they probably don't care much what /people/ look like." He picks his fidget spinner back up and whirs is it restlessly. "Oh wow totally, I've been reading so much about bees. I think we're /supposed/ to write the report about books from the school's list..." He nods at the book in Flicker's hand. "But they probably won't care as long as I write /something/." Glances back over at Flicker's textbook. "That's not gonna work with /your/ teachers, will it?" "Guess there's no books actually /about/ bees on your list, huh?" Flicker's wince is sympathetic. "Do you think they'd accept it if you built a beehive in place of a report?" He pops the rest of his roll into his mouth. Grimaces at his own book. "No, I think my teachers are pretty set on me just writing about dead people. Any unpermitted research could get a little dicey." "I don't /think/ so, but I didn't look all of them up." Spence suddenly sits up straighter. "Maybe there /is/ one and it just didn't /sound/ like it was about bees." He picks up his lemonade, but does not get around to actually drinking from it. "Oh, oh, I want to build a beehive! I don't know if my teacher will accept it as a report but /who cares/ bees are awesome do you wanna build one with me?" The sentence only actually ends because he has physically run out of breath. "Though I guess you still have your own homework to do huh?" Flicker's leg is restless-bobbing again. Jittery quick. He swipes another roll off the plate, munches hungrily. Eyes darting to his own textbook. Which, a moment later, is plucked up from its place. Closed, disappeared along with his computer in a few blurry hops -- he's back a moment later, having stashed them neatly away. "Bees," he declares firmly, grabbing his own lemonade to gulp it down, "are way better than dead people."