ArchivedLogs:Under the Eaves

Under the Eaves
Dramatis Personae Shane, Shelby	2013-02-19 Shane knows all the best smoking spots.
Location <XS> Roof
The view from up here is phenomenal, a panorama of the expansive Xavier's grounds, forest and lake and rocky cliffs alike. Even without the view outwards, the rooftop itself holds its own delights, in the form of the tiny jewel of a flower garden tucked away up here, tended by one of the school's teachers. From the edge of the roof, with a veeery careful jump, it looks like it just might be possible to reach the treehouse in the old oak tree. It's after dark, and there's a creak from the attic, one window shoved open past a crust of ice; it doesn't open very /far/, but it opens far enough that one small figure is wriggling through out into the clear starlit night. Shane slithers out onto his hands and then holds the window open behind him, tugging it a little bit farther. His eyes have turned upwards, though, focusing for a long moment on the stars overhead as his breath puffs out in a white cloud. It's a courtesy that is /greatly appreciated/ because it's been awhile since Shelby conquered a rooftop. The puffiness of her jacket make squirming through the open window a tricksy business. There is grunting. An inelegant kick. A vast plume of breath once she's halfway out. After that it's just a matter of making certain of her handholds as she wriggles the rest of the way, huffing at the effort. "...fuuuuck," she breathes, careless of how close they are to pristine beauty, "I need to start working out. Thanks, man." Shane pushes the window behind them, although not all the way shut. He leaves it cracked just a little, and curls his arms around his chest. He's still looking up, for a moment, though he turns to glance over at Shelby, teeth flashing briefly bright in the crisp silvery light. "There's a gym," he tells Shelby, deadpan, "work off all that extra fat from having three squares a day for once. C'mon. You're getting another workout. Careful, it's icy. You might die." He's heading over towards the edge of the roof, seeming pretty heedless /himself/ of the ice. "I ever tell you I'm like, totally immune to your charm?" There's another gust of foggy breath when Shelby snorts, but the moonlight picks out her own grin. She stands carefully, arms out and sneakered feet poking hesitantly forward to be certain of each step. Dying: do not want. "All this climbing for some smokes," she grumbles in fits and starts. "Do they check the woods or something? Or you just like being taller than everyone for once?" "You notice how far the woods are, shit. Gotta cross /all/ that lawn out in plain sight and most of it's full of slush right now, too. Jeez. I don't want to work /that/ hard." Shane crosses around to the side of the roof, sitting down on its edge. "C'mon. Dying now." He turns, fingers clutching the frozen edge of roof as he drops off of it. Presumably not to his death, his voice comes a moment later, "Don't, uh, try this on the front or back of the roof, they don't have the same ledge. Only the sides. We're not dying for real, okay?" He's seated just below the roof's edge. Still maybe precarious, given that his legs are dangling off the edge of the ledge, but he pulls them back a moment later to tuck himself up /under/ the eaves. The girl mutters something. It almost sounds like "slush ain't no thing" but who'd say something that dumb? Not Shelby! She inches forward and watches the suicide drop Shane performs off the side. It's difficult to see but her eyebrows seem to be spelling out What.The.Fuck in semaphore and her head cocks, possibly so she can listen for the distant thump of body hitting ground. When it doesn't come, she scoots to the edge and carefully--and so very, very slowly--wiggles down with pointy toes to feel for where she's supposed to be dropping. "No dying. Right. Got it. Holy Jesus fuck. How often you do this? I'm..." Going to die. But when she gives one last push, down she goes, right where she belongs. The scramble that follows is undignified, to say the least. Shane gets a Shelby-shaped lamprey attached to his side. "Pretty much every day," Shane answers, snorting as Shelby drops into place and clings. "Shit, man, I thought street kids were supposed to be tough. You must be living on the /cushy/ streets." He's dipping a hand into his jacket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "If you die you don't get a smoke. Kinda defeats the purpose." He taps one out of the pack, offering it to Shelby. "It's a little easier in the daytime," he at least allows. "But remind me never to take you rock climbing." "It's icy! I don't do heights when it's icy," Shelby stoutly maintains. "I saw a kid fall once, /I/ know the sound people make when they hit pavement." Or grass. It's probably grass down there. Once their perch proves secure though, she eases up on the clinging and reaches for the offered cigarette. "I think I'd rather go swimming anyway." The filter is stuck between her lips and she amuses herself for a moment by flicking the smoke up, flicking smoke down. Up down, up down. Then she produces her own lighter for a pocket, cupping her hand around the flame to light up. "They don't know about this spot, huh?" Shane taps out a cigarette for himself, slipping the pack back into his jacket. "So don't fall," he says with a shrug, flicking the lighter and lighting his cigarette. "I never do. Well, maybe the once." He leans back against the chill brick of the wall, one leg pulled up towards his chest. "Nobody's ever busted me here. I dunno. The Headmaster's a telepath. He must know everything. Could be they don't care enough. We're not smoking /crack/." Add smoke to the fog being blown out into the air over the ledge. Shelby tracks the cloud as it rises and spreads. She settles for both knees drawn up, hands curled on top of them and cigarette jutting out between her fingers. "I heard that. About the Prof hearing thoughts. He's sneakier about it than Hive...didn't tell me, in our interview." But she is unconcerned and lets her head rest back against brick. "Maybe they figure we gotta blow off steam somehow," she says after another drag. "Better than flipping desks during exams, I guess." Speaking of. "How's Bastian? Last weekend freak him out?" "Guess they pick their battles. They don't," Shane says, with a thin grimace, "like it if you bite people though. Uh. For the record. Someone did break a wall during exams last year but it was cuz she had a cold, not, like, rage issues." He takes a deep drag of his cigarette, gills pressing flat against his neck as he blows the smoke back out in a thin stream from his nose. His eyes turn outwards, and his shrug is quick and jerky. "Bastian's alright. Mad, I guess. As much as he gets mad. Kinda freaked out. You go back to the Doc's after?" "What, even if they're asking for it?" Shelby coughs through her laughter, waving a hand in front of her face to clear smoke already snatched away by the breeze. "Mad at you or Eric or...?" It couldn't possibly be /her/, so she doesn't bother voicing that possibility. Her head turns slightly, enough that she can frame him in the corner of her eyes. "It maybe probably wasn't the greatest idea, bringing that dude home. I mean, he's hot and all, but he sure pisses folks off. Jim was all over him too." "/Even/ if they're asking for it," Shane grumbles, clearly quite put /out/ by this fact. His answer is delayed by another long puff of cigarette, his shoulders tensing up against the brick. He shrugs again. "Mad -- just mad. At me, I guess. Pa was pretty upset." His head turns slightly, glancing sidelong to Shelby. "Jim? I thought he was, like, all over /Hive/. How many dudes is he going for?" Shelby wrinkles her nose, her eyes dancing. "Oh god, don't. Not like /that/. I meant more like all over him like a dad. Didn't really like me hitting on him, y'know? He let him keep his balls though." She flicks her thumb against her smoke's filter, sending the ash out over the ledge. "Your dad's pretty cool. I mean...I /know/ shitty dads. Maybe Eric oughta go in the 'did it and got the t-shirt' group. The sleepover was fun and all, but..." She rolls her shoulders, making her jacket whisper. "Not worth the hassle. For you, or anyone." "Pa doesn't really /hassle/ me," Shane says, and says this with a slight frown. "He just kinda gets, uh, sad. Stressed maybe." He shrugs a shoulder, one leg stretching out to dangle over the edge of the ledge. "I mean, whatever, you know, /he'll/ realize it's not worth the hassle soon enough and --" He takes another long drag of his cigarette. His lips twitch up at the corners. "Yours, too? I mean, Jax is cool but my real dad's like a total fucking douchecock." "I didn't mean he would. Just the hassle of...everything, right? B being mad, Jax being sad and stressed out. Some lays aren't worth the hassle." Shelby taps ash off again before promptly creating some more with a long drag. She tilts her chin up and purses her lips, trying for a smoke ring. It fails. Miserably. "I had /two/. Real and step. Douchecock is a /great/ word for them, I'm totally stealing that," she says after, mustering the ghost of a smile. "Maybe I'd have stuck around if either of them were more like Jax, y'know?" Shane stretches his arm out against his knee, thumb tapping at the butt of the cigarette. "Eesh, /double/ the fuckwads? 'least I only had one to deal with." His brow creases into a deep frown. "Yeah, maybe," he says, "but would they have stuck around if they were --" He shrugs. "It seems kinda like a raw deal, you know? I'm never having kids. It's like fucking up your entire life for -- what?" "Yeah." Shelby's agreement is a quiet one. She can blame it, if asked, on looking to the side to stub out her cigarette. "I guess maybe not every kid's gonna be as shitty as us though, huh? I made one dad take off, the other hated my guts. Your dad was a douchenozzle. But...B's okay, right?" She intends this to be a joke and her grin a brave, bright thing. The elbow she aims at Shane is meant to jostle him. "One out of, uh, three. That's not bad?" Shane swallows, ignoring his cigarette as it slowly burns down towards his fingers. His lips peel back, maybe a grin, maybe a grimace. "Bastian's /good/." He says this like it's a dirty thing. "But we fuck up his life just by being there. I don't think a little E or a few guys more or less are going to make much of a difference." He chuffs quietly at the elbow, head thunking back heavily against the brick. "You don't have any parents anymore, anyway, and you managed alright." "Yeah," she repeats, looking down at the ground again. The filter is rolled between her fingers and then shoved into a pocket, to prevent evidence being found. She's quiet for a minute, maybe two. Then, briskly, she says, "I think Rasa has the hots for him. She hasn't said anything but she got all weird about me and him being in a room together. Right before the dance. Maybe we should hook them up. Dunno if my sort've /alright/ is the kind he needs, y'know?" "Ze's weird about a lot of shit," Shane says with a shrug. "But I dunno if Bastian's -- whatever. Into hir. Sure wouldn't last with you, though, he's /nice/. You're kind of a dick." The rest of his cigarette has burned down to his fingers, and he hisses quietly as he stubs it out against the ice. "'sides, nothing good lasts. C'mon." He shoves his cigarette into a pocket, too, and scoots along the ledge towards the corner. "Takes one to know one." After this masterpiece of a comeback, Shelby gets her feet under her and eases upright. She's less oogy about the whole roof thing now, or at least she's quicker about following. It helps that she can keep one hand on the brick wall. "Don't I know it." Shane's voice is dry. He offers a hand to Shelby when he nears the corner of the roof. "Step here," he says, kicking a toe towards the edge of the ledge, "and it's easy to pull yourself back up." He demonstrates, reaching up (not /high/ up, thankfully; he's -- pretty short) and, carefully, pulls himself back up over the roof's edge. A webbed blue hand reaches down a moment later, offering Shelby a hand back up. Shelby watches carefully before stepping up to take her place. Lacking the upper body strength he has, that hand is a good thing to have--she jumps, pulls and grabs for it before scrambling the rest of the way. Unwisely, perhaps, she glances backwards once she's up. "...okay, so, I'm not gonna be going down there by myself any time soon." He's flashed a grin. "Glad you showed me though. Maybe I can talk Taylor up here." "Taylor's great. Those tentacles are strong as fuck. And he can just /lower/ you. He doesn't smoke, though. But he does hate history class." Shane has pulled Shelby up easily, muscles tensing but his expression otherwise unstrained. He dusts his hands off against his coat once she's safely back on the roof, starting back towards the attic window. "It's easier when it's not icy, though. The foothold gets you pretty high. Uh. If you haven't falled off and splatted to your death cuz ice." "History. Gotcha." There's a dryness to this response that could mean she's only joking about Taylor. Maybe. Possibly. Shelby stuffs her hands back into her pockets as she trudges towards the window--her fingers are much less cold-resistant than his. "It's pretty cool though. Being out and hidden at the same time. So long as we stay away from the whole death thing..." As they near the window, she lets out a short breath. "Hey, Shane?" "If you are going to fall to your death, do it on the way back up. 'least then you got a good smoke in before you go." Shane's claws are slipping beneath the window's edge, wriggling it back open. He pries it out at the corner, holding it open so Shelby can wiggle back through, but turns at her words to squint at her. "Yeah, what?" "Nothing." Two seconds is about how long it takes Shelby to change her mind. It takes another two before it changes back. "Just...thanks for being cool about me hanging around so much." This heartfelt expression of thanks is diluted a moment later when she adds, "I'm glad I didn't get you in the balls that day at the bookstore." Then it's through the window, reversing the order of huffing and squirming and kicking. Shane /snorts/. "Yeah, sure, whatever," is his equally heartfelt response to this. And then he's squirming back in after her, pulling the window back snugly shut once they're safe and warm inside.