ArchivedLogs:Unprickly

Unprickly
Dramatis Personae Quill, Shane	2014-04-08 '
Location <XS> Quill and Shane's Dorm - FL2
A standard, if comfortable, dorm room. Two beds, two closets, two desks, two dressers. It may late, but Shane and now Quill's dorm room is seeing a flurry of activity tonight. Bags lay strewn across one half of the room, belonging to its new occupant and the latest addition to Xavier's. Quill, dressed in a pair of sweatpants with the school logo on them, is emptying the contents of said bags. Clothes, electronics, and framed family photos are all haphazardly finding their place. Despite the chaos of it all, Quill has been respectful of Shane's half of the room. "I'm not supposed to do 'dis shit, but I forget -- " plays some 50 Cent from Quill's open laptop. The kid plays with the words himself, but he's no rapper, mostly bobbing to the beats, semi-flacid quills bristling against each other. Shane's half of the room is /alarmingly/ neat for a teenager's dorm room, desk tidied with textbooks arranged according to size and a closed laptop sitting atop it, closet impeccably organized with rows of (very new-looking, possibly unworn) crisp suits and vests an dress shirts and neatly organized shelving beneath the clothes, bed (dressed in black and blue sheets) dressed with tidy hospital corners, a violin case the only thing that might be considered Out Of Place propped up against the side of the bed. The /occupant/ of that half of the room is only just now appearing -- Shane looks as neatly made up as his room does. A pinstriped vest over a crisp silvery-grey button-down with mandarin collar, black slacks, all the clothes very elegantly tailored to his very diminutive frame. There's a slight droop to his posture that seems worn, exhausted, but it straightens as he opens the door on all the activity within. He stops in the doorway, hairless ridged brows hiking upwards as he observes his new roommate. His head tips to one side, huge black eyes just watching Quill for a moment as his foot (clad in neat wingtip shoe) taps to the beat of the music. "Need any help?" Shane closes the door behind himself, wandering over to his side of the room to set his messenger bag down inside his closet. On Shane's entrance, Quill's head, resembling a children's toy sea urchin with its wide eyes and overbearing smile, swings to meet him. "Oh, hey!" the other boy says, twisting his body around to align with his gaze. "No thanks. I'm good. There's, like, a method going on here." The prickly teen crosses the room toward Shane, oblivious of any fatigue coming from him. He lifts a close to his face and waves it. "I'm Max, but everyone calls me Quill. Well, not everyone, but you can. If you want." "I can't imagine why." Shane's eyes skip up over Quill, his sharp teeth baring in a brief-bright smile. He eyes the waving hand, then sticks his own webbed-clawed hand outward in offer of handshake. "Shane. That's -- really all anyone calls me. At least all anyone calls me that's /polite/. It's late as fuck where'd you just get in from?" Quill laughs at Shane's response to his nickname, shrugging at its simplicity. "Alright, Shane, nice to meet you." He takes a look at the back of his hand and the spattering of teeny quills there, then carefully gives Shane's hand a brief shake. "I've been around here all day, exploring. This place is awesome!" He turns away to head over to his desk, where he lowers the music some, since it was probably playing a little /too/ loud for this time of night. "But I'm originally from Florida, if that's what you mean. How long have you been here? Cool chompers, by the way." He turns the desk chair so it's facing away from Shane, then straddles it, staring at the other kid with his chin propped up against its back. Shane doesn't seem particularly concerned about the quills there -- /his/ skin, anyway, is considerably thicker-rougher to the touch than most people's; he squeezes the other boy's hand briefly and then turns back to flop back onto his bed. "Place is /pretty/ rad," he allows, turning his toothy grin up to the ceiling. "Uhh -- three years." He props himself up on an elbow, glancing over to Quill's half-unpacked things; it's the family photos his eyes linger on, curious, before his gaze shifts back to Quill. "Florida. I've only been /almost/ that far, my Pa's family's from Georgia. S'your family still down there?" "Georgia? Never been, but I'd like to some day. For the peaches, I guess." Quill starts to rock his chair back and forth, slowly, studying Shane from across the room. "Yeah, my family's down there. It's just my mom and dad." He looks down and spots one of the framed photos at his feet. Picking it up, he holds it out so Shane can see better. "That's them there. We've never been apart until now, but I think it's gonna be okay." He turns the picture toward him, smiles at it, then sets it up neatly on his desk. "Where's yours?" "The peaches are incredible. My grandparents have a farm. /Delicious/ peaches." Shane peers closer at the photo. He sits up long enough to slip his shoes off, lining them up neatly beneath the bed, then flops backwards again on his bed. His hands fold against his chest, legs dangling down off the edge of the bed and feet swinging absently against it. "It'll probably be okay. They can come up and visit, right? Taking the trains is fun. S'a pretty ride. How come you came up, then? I mean if they're cool and all." The question of his gets a small quirk of a smile. "Uhh. Mine? Down in the next hall over." Quill thinks about that, eyes lifting up and to the right. "Yeah! I guess they can. Sometime, sure." He doesn't entirely convinced, but appears to like the idea of his parents coming up to visit. "I got into some trouble back home. I don't really like to talk about it. Besides, it's about time I went to school!" He chuckles and turns his head as if able to look down the hall. "Really? They're here? I didn't think anyone's family would be here with them." "School's alright." Now /Shane/ doesn't sound entirely convinced. Maybe a little bit amused, though. "My brother loves it. I mean, I guess the learning part's fun. And there's /hella/ interesting classes you can take here. I mean I don't know many other high schools that teach you circus arts so that's --" He shrugs, looking back up at the ceiling with a sudden frown. "Pretty cool." He fidgets, turning his head in the same direction as Quill. "Oh -- yeah, no, most people's aren't. My Pa's a teacher here, though. Actually both my dads are -- um. Though they don't normally live here but this semester they are. /Most/ teachers live here, though. And a /couple/ teachers have kids here. But we're kinda the exception, not the rule. -- Have you not gone to school before? You know what classes you're gonna take yet? There's /about/ eleventy billion to choose from." "/Both/ your dads? This place really is wild!" Quill laughs and stands, his voice betraying not homophobia, but earnest excitement. "Oh, no, my mom homeschooled me. These guys," he motions to the quills on his arm and head much like a game show host assistant would, "are just too dangerous for public school." He giggles and shakes his head in disbelief. "So, I have no idea what I'm going to take. I mean, I looked at the class list, but you're right, there's so much to choose from. Everything blurred." He places his hands on his hips, almost posing, and says, "I think I could really shine in that circus arts class, though." "I've had about eleventy billion /parents/," Shane informs Quill with a bright grin. It brightens further at the pose, and alongside his neck his gills flare in a quick ripple that soon flattens out again. "I think you'd rock it. If you didn't get tangled the fuck /up/ in the silks. My claws do /nooooot/ agree with those. Between the two of us we would shred the fuck out of those things." He sounds fairly amused by this thought, webbed fingers spreading wide and the tiny black claws at the ends of them extending out an inch or so and then retracting. "Take beekeeping," he finally advises. "Show those motherfuckers what a /real/ stinger looks like, they don't have /anything/ on you." Quill laughs, jumps, and does a few backhands to the air in front of him. "Yep, shred 'em up good. Damn silks." He giggles some more, then slumps back onto the chair. "Beekeeping sounds kind of lame. Besides, I might be allergic. I've never been stung before, but you never know." Quill spins his chair - it being of the swiveling variety - around once, then sighs. "I think I'm going to sleep. Think you could show me how to sign up for classes tomorrow? Pretty please. I don't want to accidentally end up in something horrible." "I dunno, dude here once /killed/ a fucking zombie with bees, I wouldn't underestimate them." Shane stands, heading over to his dresser to retrieve a set of pajama pants from it, then grab a towel and a shower caddy from his closet. "I'll put you in all the best classes. Or at least help you avoid the asshole teachers. Night, dude." He tips his chin up in a nod as he heads back with his shower-things for the door.