ArchivedLogs:We Need to Talk

We Need to Talk
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Shelby	2013-02-06 '
Location <NYC> Iolaus's Apartment - East Harlem
Down a hallway and overlooking a open air market in El Barrio, Iolaus' apartment is not particularly a large one. It is three rooms - the main room shaped like an L with kitchen at one end, a small bedroom large enough for a full bed and a dresser, and a bathroom barely large enough to fit the bath inside it. The walls are a light yellow in the main room, with a large bookcase sitting against one wall and occupying much of the space, stuffed with books as it is. Two couches sit across from it, pressed up against the corner of the L shaped room. The kitchen is separated only by the transition from wood floor to grey tile and is sparsely filled with food and cookware both, and the bathroom is equally sparse of accouterments. In fact, were it not for the full bookcase and the clothing hanging in the closet, it would look almost as if the occupant had moved out and left some few things behind in a hurry. Shelby's comings and goings are not a thing that are easily mapped. Sometimes, when Iolaus is at work, things are moved. Occasionally, there will be food in the fridge when he comes home, and sometimes food has gone. Her guitar has been here without exception in the past week or so but the corner she keeps it in has begun to grow a pile of belongings that won't fit into her duffel bag "closet"--a couple of sketchbooks, some art supplies, something that looks suspiciously like a small, light-weight bola and a pile of books borrowed (read: stolen) from the library. The only constant, besides the guitar, has been the way she continues to follow the do not touch the bookshelves rule. That has been unbroken. The spare key rattles in the lock, this evening, and a moment later the door swings open to admit Shelby. She's got a to-go cup of coffee from Montague's in one hand and a carry-out box from the same held between her other arm and her hip. She shoulders the door shut and calls out, "Hey Doc, I'm home!" but proceeds towards Her Corner without a pause--or seeming to expect an answer. Business as usual, then. Iolaus emerges from his bedroom as she calls, smiling at her even as he finishes tugging a shirt on in the doorway, half of his stomach visible for a brief few seconds before the shirt is pulled down over it. "Heya Shelby." he says, with a bright smile. "How are you doin'?" he asks, leaning against the door frame and sweeping her over once with his gaze. He turns to glance back into his room and vanishes back into it, only to return a moment later, teacup in hand. "Oh my god!" It's slightly dramatic, her doubletake at Iolaus but then, it isn't her fault he's both present and flashing abs. Shelby gapes at him before giving into open amusement, switching to a grin instead. "I'm good! Just got those stitches out," the box is set on the arm of the couch so she can wave the hand in question, "and Mel says I'm good to go for Thursday if I don't push it. How've you been? I heard you totally shot down the cute dude I sent your way." Iolaus gives her a bemused look. "You didn't send a cute dude my way, you sent a cute /patient/ my way." he says, lips quirking into a playful grin. "He was cute, though, I'll certainly give you that." he says, lifting the mug of tea to his lips and briefly hiding his smile behind the edge of the cup. He studies her, and when he lowers the cup, his face is slightly more serious. "I'm glad to hear about the stitches, and the performance. Actually, ah," he says, hesitating for a moment. "I wanted to talk to you about something." Shelby might have continued the banter, is in fact drawing breath to do so, but then serious makes an appearance. She looks less concerned than wary. "Okay. Um...I swear to God I haven't touched your books?" There's a definite vocal question mark to the end of that, which could be worrisome. The teenager sits down beside the box of whatevers she brought home and curls over and around her coffee cup. " Iolaus laughs and shakes his head, making a dismissive gesture with one hand. Unfortunately, it is the hand that the mug is in, and he has to move quickly in an odd little pattern to keep from sloshing hot tea all over himself, the floor, or - god forbid - the bookcase near him. "No, no. It's nothing like that." He glances to the bookcase to confirm that it /shouldn't/ be about that, and finding nothing obviously out of place, picks back up. "I was wondering what you would think about going back to school. I've recently started working with a school that I think could offer you... a lot." As ominous talks go, this one has opened with /hilarity/. Shelby's eyes go round--and then she ruins the poor doctor's attempts to move forward by cracking up. "Oh man...oh man...I gotta take you dancing sometime, you can /move/..." Giggle. Snort. She finally settles down--wiping at her eyes is probably an exaggeration--and plays back what he's just said, her smile lingering. "...wait, what? You mean like, school school? Dude, I wasn't ever /in/ school." Iolaus glowers as he's made fun of, but he recovers and makes a desperate attempt to pull the conversation back on track. "I know. That's alright - they're used to working with people who have not had... traditional educational paths," he says, looking over her face. "Trust me - I think it's definitely worth you checking out and talking to some of the staff there. If I set that up, will you go and listen?" "What, just like that?" The smile gradually fades as it becomes apparent he's not just goofing around. Shelby sits back against the couch, her forehead developing a number of deep lines. There is a moment of uncomfortable shifting. "Um. You want me to go talk to folks at some short bus school? Just like that. Go sit in a classroom with a bunch've...what, asshole kids? Oh my god...oh my god, are you trying to get me in one of those juvie places? Holy /shit/, dude! You're gonna lock me up?" Iolaus pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment, then rubs his head. "It's not a school for /short bus kids/, or /assholes/. It's not juvie, and it's not a mental institution. Though I suspect, after this conversation, that is going to be where I would like to go." he mutters this last sentence to himself. "It's an /extremely prestigious/ prep school which is friendly to mutants. It's worth talking to them. If you don't like it, you don't like it. Such is life." "Prep school!" Shelby says this in exactly the same tone she'd used to say short bus and juvie. "With like, /uniforms/?" The shock, the horror! The harsh, cold betrayal of it all! She sets the coffee down and bounces to her feet. "I don't give a fuck about prestigious!" she says, stumbling on the word because hey, lack of education. "Man, if you didn't want me staying here any more, you should've just /said/ so." "That's not it at all." Iolaus says, voice sharpening slightly. His eyes flash, but the fire burns out quickly, and he sinks slightly. He lets out a long sigh, and his free hand rubs up and down at the opposite arm. "Listen, Shelby," he says, taking a seat on the other couch and looking at her. "I don't mind you staying here. I just want to make sure that you won't /have/ to stay here forever, you know? If you don't want to go back to school, that's fine. I think you should talk to them - you just might /learn something interesting/," he says, emphasizing the words strongly. "But if you do hear them and it's not for you, that's fine." Flashing eyes succeed in shutting her up. Shelby rocks back a step and though she's glowering, she's doing it while stealing a look at the door as if gauging how fast she can make it there. When Iolaus calms himself, she follows by gradually sinking down to sit as well--but on the very edge of the cushion. "I learn plenty," she mutters but it's a sulky statement, not intended as a response. She huffs out through her nose and shifts her glare to the floor. "If I gotta wear a uniform and like...follow dumb rules, I'm not gonna like it," she has decided. "And seriously, I haven't been to school since I was thirteen, dude. There's no fucking way they can catch me up." But. She pauses for a beat. "They take freaks?" "They take mutants, yes." Iolaus says, with a faint smile. "Look. It can't hurt to ask. And if you go and look and it's not your thing, I'll do my best to help you find a job that you enjoy." he offers, with a little shrug of his shoulders. "Something a little bit more stable than busking on the street." Shelby somehow manages an awkward shuffle while seated. She makes a skeptical sound deep in her throat but does say, grudgingly, "I maybe know a couple of kids who go there. If it's the same school. If you swear to God you aren't gonna like, lock me up and leave me there, I can go see it. I'm not gonna like it but I guess maybe I owe you this /one/ thing." She holds up a single finger to emphasize the point of it being one thing. One. Then a thought occurs to her, in the same moment a very, very odd expression claims her face: "...a better job than busking? Shit. Did Lucien put you up to this? That asshole never texted me back yesterday." To his credit, Iolaus' face does not even shift a hair when Lucien's name is mentioned. "I promise I won't leave you there. I don't think they would let me even if I wanted to," he says, a bemused expression on his face. "I swear, I'll drive you there and then drive you back, unless you want to stay." he says. "And even if you do, I suspect I'll still have to come get you for at least a little while." He shifts against the couch, carefully not answering her question. "What do you mean, at least for a little while?" Shelby, who has made an art of dodging certain question, knows the signs of one not being answer. Signs beyond just, you know, the lack of answer. Her eyes have narrowed into bright blue-green slits. She's quiet for just long enough to make it seem she expects a legitimate answer--then snaps into action. Her guitar is grabbed and some of her things knocked over to clear its case so she can shove it inside. "/Fine/. I'll go, I said I would. But I'm not /staying/ there." "I mean, if you went and said, 'Oh, please, let me enroll at your fine institution'" - here, his voice rises in pitch, light and teasing - "they would still need a week or two, I'm sure, to get all the paperwork straightened out." He watches her move her guitar, lips pursing into a disappointed expression, but he makes no move to stop her. "Have you thought of talking to one of the clubs and seeing if they'd let you perform live to cover a show?" he asks, curiously, out of the blue. "I mean, if you want to really commit to it, /commit/ to it." "That's not a /real/ job." Shelby aims that at him like a spear. After the guitar is pack, she stands up and swings the strap of the case over her shoulder. She fumbles in her pocket and produces a card that's tossed at the table; it flutters to the ground just shy. "Eight o'clock, Thursday. If you can make it." That too is more a weapon than a proper offer, made before she stalks stiff-legged towards the door. It's a good sign that the rest of her stuff is left there in the corner? "I'll be there." Iolaus says, picking up the card off of floor and turning it over and over in his hands, reading both sides of it before slipping it into his pocket. He looks up at Shelby, giving her a small smile. "Break a leg practicing." he says, friendly enough, lifting the mug to his lips to take another sip of his tea. The card is from Montagues, emblazoned with logo, address and phone number. Not a /club/, per se...which is a shame, because it would heighten the effect of Shelby's dramatic exit. "Whatever," she mumbles as she slips through the door--and then closes it with another mumble of, "Fucking Lucien."