ArchivedLogs:TinyBerzerkers

TinyBerzerkers
insta-besties
Dramatis Personae Dorian Siccavil, Dynamite, Shane	2014-01-04 '
Location <XS> Music Room - FL2
Wide and spacious, seating in this soundproofed room comes largely on the sweep of gentle risers that afford the teacher an easy view of all the budding performers, and add another dimension to the acoustics of the room. Instruments of all types are carefully stored around the room, and a grand piano, immaculately upkept, takes the position of prize near the back. In a nod to the eclectic studies of the students, digital mixing equipment and turntables rub shoulders with the classical instruments. Music stands sit in front of most of the seats, and the only windows look out out over the side of the school grounds. With no classes on a Saturday, the classrooms up here are quiet. Mostly quiet, anyway; from the music room there is a melody coming, though its soundproofing means that it's barely heard in the hallway outside. Inside, though, the room is filled with sound from a single violin. Wieniawski's Legende, being played -- a bit more /angrily/ than it has any right to be. Shane is near the windows, looking out at the snow-covered grounds as he plays, his back to the door. He's dressed in his usual style, grey houndstooth vest over dark dress shirt, neat-pressed slacks, bow tie. A darkening bruise on his cheek probably hard to immediately /identify/ as such with his gleaming blue skin. Blue on blue. Wandering the halls, the strains of soft music through the halls draws Dorian's attention to the music room, ears curiously perked forward at the muffled, angry music. He peeks his head curiously around the door, just quietly watching Shane play for several moments. Dressed casually as ever, Dorian wears the faded blue jeans and a gray blue tank top that leaves his dark furred shoulders exposed to the chill air, his webbed feet bare. He fidgets with his hands in front of him, wringing them as he listens, waiting for a pause in the music to offer greetings. Shane's head turns, slightly, at the arrival of a new person; he doesn't turn enough to likely be able to see the door, but his nose twitches in quick sniffing. He doesn't stop his playing, not till the end of the section he is playing, anyway. He keeps the violin tucked beneath his chin, rotating on his heels to face the door with eyes narrowed and shoulders tensing. At first his mouth opens, but then closes again; he just /watches/ Dorian, a little warily. Dorian frowns slightly when Shane stops playing, dropping his head apologetically, shoulder dropping. "I'm sorry," he says, the offending word in accented French, "I didn't mean to interrupt. It was pretty. Was... just curious who was playing." He ruffles his hair anxiously, tensing slightly when Shane does, "If you don't want company, I can keep on with my wanderings and let you keep playing?" A shrug of a furred shoulder at the offer, though he doesn't actually move to leave. He continues fiddling with his hands, looking as unthreatening as possible in the doorway. Some of the tension leaves Shane's muscles at Dorian's explanation; whatever he's been bracing for, it evidently isn't this. He exhales quick, a sudden deflation of his bristled-up posture. "No, it's okay. You can stay. I just was --" One corner of his mouth twitches upward briefly. "Getting ready to punch you. If you said something dumb. A lot of people say dumbass shit to me lately. You like it?" The bow gestures back towards the violin. "S'-- Wieniawski. Polish composer. Wrote a lot of my favourite shit to play." "I dunno what I'd say that's dumb. I mean, I'm not that bright, but usually it manages to not eek out into conversation /that/ quickly," Dorian says, ruffling his hair and grimacing, "But I appreciate the not punching me. I like not being punched." Relaxing more comfortably against the door fram at the invite to stay, Dorian offers a somewhat nervous smile, fidgetting his hands in front of him still. He takes a deep breath and nods, gesturing to the violin, "I like it. I dunno much about composers, or, um, music. Kinda sorta remember about Motzart and stuff? But it's really pretty sounding. How long have you been playing?" "Mostly how they think my dad should get executed. Shit like that." Shane moves to drop down to a seat on one of the risers, legs stretched down along the rows in front of him. "S'okay, you're not alone, /most/ people aren't that bright. Have a lot of punching to do recently." He shrugs at the question of how long he's been playing. "Fff. Dunno. My whole life," is quickly clarified by: "-- My whole life out /here/, anyway. Friend started teaching us music once we got out. Helped -- keep things calm." He twirls the bow in the direction of his temple this time. "In here." "Wait, what?!" Dorian asks, his voice squeaking slightly, his eyes wide, "Who would say that, around here?! I mean... your dad's a /hero/. Seriously." The thick fur on his shoulder ruffles up slightly, and he frowns, ruffling his hair nervously. "Please don't punch me," he says quietly, looking nervous, "But I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. Half the school wouldn't be here if not for him." Dorian nods, looking at the violin, "That's good. Getting to have something to focus on like that." He sinks to the floor, crossing his legs at the ankles and letting his tail wrap around to his lap, sighing softly. "To /you/ he is. To other people he's just the faggy art teacher who wears girl-clothes and keeps getting in the news." Shane closes his eyes, head thunking back against the steps. "What've /you/ been doing with yourself? Found anything to focus on?" "Well, yeah, to me. But..." Dorian pouts, hanging his head, letting out one very long breath and then leaning back against the door frame. "Studying? Trying to catch up?" Dorian ruffles the fur on his arms and shrugs, "Waiting for my parents to answer. If they will. I know they got the letter. Mr. Suresh showed me the tracking number and everything." He looks over towards Shane, "Played in the snow a lot. Even though the lake is frozen, the snow was kinda fun and fluffy. Hadn't been around it in a while. Long while." "To you. To everyone else he's just a freak. Even /here/ he's a freak and we're kind of made of freaks." Shane speaks quietly, though it's not particularly /calm/, kind of angry-through-his-teeth. Very /sharp/ teeth. A lot of them. He closes his eyes, sitting up straighter on the risers and putting his bow back against his strings; the melody he starts in on now is slower and quieter than his previous. Prokofiev, a symphony in E-flat minor. Sort of /funerary/. "Oh, good." His teeth unclench as he plays. "You wrote to them. Uh, though by now they'll probably be /hearing/ the stories, s'kinda getting -- all over the damn news. Probably good you wrote to them first." He grimaces at the mention of the frozen lake. "Was thinking of cutting a hole. Retreating in there for a month or two." She plays an instrument! Sort of! It's a theramin. At a full foot tall, however, there are some unique issues. So when she comes carrying a stool in her hands with said theramin perched atop it, it's with a sort of precarious balance, suggesting she does not, in fact, entirely violate the natural laws that govern things like leverage. That she's strong enough to hold it up might be baffling to non-mutants. As it is, she seems under no real strain to carry it otherwise. Getting the door open... That was the real challenge. Soon, though, Dyna's in and peering around the stool,"I'm sorry... I didn't realize this was occupied... Is it going to bother you if I practice?" Shane and Dorian both get wide-eyed looks... but her eyes might also just be big. Chance is about fifty-fifty. Dorian pouts, and just lets the subject of Jax's hero or villain status drop, leaning back against the door frame with a sigh. "I did. Letter got there, certified and everything, day after Christmas," Dorian says quietly, a twinge of pain in his voice, "They just haven't responded. Or answered. I don't think they believe me. But... maybe once they hear the stories, the videos. The one I'm gonna send in. They'll answer." The fuzzy young man is leaned up against the doorway, dressed in jeans and an unseasonable tank top that leaves his furry, occasionally scarred shoulders, easily visible. He starts slightly when Dyna enters, quirking an eyebrow at the small girl, his ears perking forward in confusion. "Lia?" he asks, blinking his dark eyes several times, as though trying to focus, his voice confused. Shane's playing stops again the moment another person enters. He lowers his violin to his legs (clad kind of overly-nicely, he's in neat-pressed slacks and dark dress shirt, houndstooth vest, bowtie neatly tied) and narrows /his/ enormous black eyes towards the door. His nose twitches once. "Yes," he answers the question of if it will bother him sharp and blunt. "Who the fuck are you." She recoils visibly when she hears the sharpness in Shane's voice and turns for the door,"I'm sorry then. I'm Dyna. People call me Dynamite. Not Lia. Swearing is rude." As if Shane totally didn't know. At least she's leaving, though! Dorian jumps and recoils at Shane's response, pulling his knees up to his chest and curling his tail around his ankles. "Oh, not-Lia. Uh, Sorry," he offers, the last word in French, "She's the only one I know who can be that small. Didn't know if she was trying tomsething new or something else." He rubs the heel of his hand into his eye, blinking repeatedly and trying to look at Dyna again, behind the theramin and stool. "Oh, I... um..." he sputters, looking confused, he tilts his head at the chiding about being 'rude', letting out a tiny snicker at that. "Jesus, don't /say/ that word." Shane just gives Dynamite a disgusted look when she says 'sorry', gills flaring out briefly. "Swearing may be rude but risking disease is fucking stupid." He puts his bow back to his strings. Though this time he's left of funeral-dirge for a sharper angrier melody again. "Fucking hell. See," he says to Dorian like he's just been /validated/ in something: "Like I said. Lot of dumbasses." And like that, it's like throwing a switch. The stool slams down on the ground, shattering into pieces, as does the theramin on it, as she screeches at the top of her voice at Shane,"DON'T YOU CALL ME STUPID! DON'T EVER CALL ME STUPID!" Dorian also winces, but nods in agreement with Shane, "Uh, yeah... there's kinda, y'know, that whole zombie words thing? I mean... it's curable and all... but still kinda shitty in general. The flu part isn't good, and then you get all angry--" And then Dyna explodes, so to speak. Dorian's eyes go wide, and he whimpers quietly, curling into a tighter ball and protecting his face from the splintering wood with his scarred arms, the tiny fuzzy ears flattening into his rumpled hair. "Please calm down, miss," he squeaks quietly, hazarding a peek. "It /is/ fucking stupid to use that word," Shane answers, without ceasing his playing. He nods towards Dorian. "/Mega/-shitty, and I've had enough of goddamn death to last me /many/ lifetimes already. -- Jesus /Christ/ get a fucking grip, go breaking shit all berzerker-like and I bet /I'll/ get blamed for it." He lowers the violin and stands, brushing his vest down into place with sharp teeth bared in grimace. Dynamite glares at Shane, and screams again,"DON'T CALL ME STUPID. I don't care what you get blamed for! I've known you for less than a minute and you've been as mean as anyone in my entire life! I have no reason to care about you or what you get blamed for." She points at Dorian, then,"HE has the common decency to say please without insulting me!" And with that, she turns out, without cleaning up, slamming the door behind her with a shiver that suggests she slammed it just short of breaking THAT too. One can even here her stomping down the hall. At her size, it's not very fast or anything. Dorian shakes his head, repeatedly, hugging his knees to his chest and staring in terror at Dyna and her tyrade. When he's pointed at by the pint-sized berserker, he flinches away, a worried look on his face as he looks between Dyna and Shane repeatedly. "Hey! That's pretty rude too. He didn't do anything to deserve that!" Dorian grouses, still pulling away from Dyna. There's a visible cringe at the slammed door and the repeated stomps away from the little room. He glances up at Shane, anxious, "You're not gonna get blamed. Seriously. That was all on her. Not you. I... I'm gonna go find a dustpan, 'kay? Least it was only her own shit that got busted." He looks nervously at the pile of smashed supplies on the floor, wincing. Shane's bow-hand lifts to press knuckles against the backs of his eyes. "Ngh," he answers Dorian heavily. "I've just. Lately. Not -- really in a mood to deal --" His teeth clench, and he shakes his head quickly. He looks towards the door but then looks away sharply, tucking his violin beneath his chin again. "Thank you," is all he says, much softer than his previous sharp tone. And puts bow back to the strings, to slip back into the music.