Logs:Getting Serious

Getting Serious
Dramatis Personae Lael, Naomi	2023-04-25 ...sure looks like interest to me.
Location <XAV> Auditorium - Xs Grounds
This building, its elegant stone exterior coordinating with the nearby athletic center and the manion itself, contains the largest single indoor space on campus: the theatre. It can seat just over 300 in a mult-section wide fan arrangement, is accessible to mobility devices and a range of physical mutations, and has state of the art lighting and sound systems. The tech booth is fully computerized and the backstage is shockingly capacious, connecting directly to a series of dressing rooms. Beyond these, wrapping around the outside of the building, are a number of other spaces for the use of performing arts students and staff: a scene shop with access to the back of the building via a loading dock, a rehearsal room, a break room, and a number of office and storage spaces. On stage, the set that is slowly approaching completion is a little abstract, a wee bit modular, but that's in keeping with the spring musical's themes. The black curtains have been flown up and out for the various installations happening today -- of the upstage multilevel platforms in front of the cyclorama, a nervous tech theatre kid trying to make sure nobody is drilling where the lights go; of several not-quite-white flats to the downstage flyrails, a very tired senior reweighing the line yet again; of extra projectors in the house, the occasional BANG of heavy lights hitting the iron grid a reminder to anyone in the seats to watch their heads. "Come on, big guy," Naomi is saying when she pushes open the door to the house, tugging just a little bit on the lead in her hand. Said lead is attached to -- well, that's not her dog, is it? Nevertheless there is a dog following her, a big tan-and-white lump of muscle and drool looking around this New Location with some suspicion. "Don't you wanna see Lael?" Dog may or may not want to see Lael, but he's following Naomi down to the front three rows of the auditorium and -- not all the way to the ramp up to the stage, actually. turning in a circle and plonking down onto a particularly interesting? comfy? part of carpet. Naomi frowns, eyes briefly glowing. "Bruh. 'Come on, chonky boy. This way.'" Mind control evidently does not affect this animal, alas. Dog's tongue flicks out to lick the edge of the near seat. Naomi sighs, shedding her Xavier's hoodie and backpack onto an aisle seat and parking herself, for the moment, next to Dog on the aisle floor. Her sleeveless DIY crop-top with a lightning bolt on the front and XAVIER'S PLAYERS PRESENT THE LIGHTNING THIEF on the back is probably not set-build safe, though her red hightops are closed-toe and her high waisted wide-legged jeans have no visible holes. Her locs are pulled into twin loose buns at the back of her head, a new coat of silver nail polish on her short fingernails. Twin patches of black scales are visible on the back of shoulders -- larger patches than a month or two ago, to the eyes of those who might notice such things. << We here when you can take a break, I brung Coke >> may or may not make it to her brother's mind amid the other noise (sonic and psionic) of the set build. Lael is, for just a moment at least, nowhere to be seen. But soon enough he's popping back out from behind--inside of?--a large black box whose role in the play is rather opaque. He's wearing a soft faded green tee with a creepy image of a pointy-hatted gnome statue bracketed by the words "Rock City" above and "Lookout Mountain, GA" below, heavy carpenter's jeans with an actual hammer in the hammer loop, and sturdy brown work boots. His hair is writhing slow and lethargic, their motion no less disturbing to most people but clearly signaling to Naomi, at least, that he's tired and badly in need of the refreshment she's brought. He descends the stairs and half-sits, half-leans on the arm of an aisle-end seat beside Naomi. His eyes linger briefly on the scales visible around her admittedly somewhat revealing top. "You come just in the nick of time. I was fixing to keel right on over." He glances back at the bustle on stage. "It's gettin' there, though. You excited?" The drooling pup gets an affectionate scritch on the head before Naomi stands up, wiping her hand dry on her jeans. She digs out two cans, still cold but damp with condensation, out of the water bottle pocket of her bag and holds the red one out to her brother. “Shouldn’t be that rattled, I wasn’t going nowhere fast with this chonk of a dog.” Not for lack of trying, it seems; recent memories of attempting to cajole Dog to run, with and without her powers surface and fade quickly across Naomi’s mind. Her own can of Sprite doesn’t explode with carbonation when she cracks it open, anyway. “Damn it looking good up there." The credit is squarely with Lael and Nanami in Naomi's mind, even thought she knows, distantly, they cannot be the only people working on the set. "Imma be more excited once band sounds half as good as set looks. I talked Gaé outta some nonsense but --" her face scrunches up, thoughts drifting across sheets of music Nearly Unplayable By Mutant Hands, "-- I think poor Echo gonna need t' play and do her echo thing all the same time if rest of winds don't shape the hell up." Naomi doesn't miss when Lael's eyes drift to her scales, a brief spike of defensive-self-conscious-anxious-fear reflexively cutting across her thoughts. << (should cover 'em up) (okay but if Harm don't mind them) (other folks mind) (it's Lael calm down) >> Her eyes drift to the undulations of Lael's hair, focusing on the familiar comfort of each loc's uncanny movement. "Thanks." Lael is still careful opening his can. "This ain't really like woodworking at all, but some of it ain't so different from Uncle Jason's carpentry, and it's just about as fast and loose. Reckon it don't need to last all that long." He's quiet for a moment, sucking down half of his soda and sighing with relief. "You don't got to cover 'em up on my account. You shouldn't have to cover them up on anyone's account but your own." He levels a very serious look at her, and his voice in her head sounds just faintly sibilant and gives her a strong sense of deja vu, << That include Harm's opinion too, and mine. >> The hesitation is very brief. << You planning to tell ma and pa? Not about the scales, I mean. The gay. >> "I ain't --" comes fast and reflexive and out loud, Naomi just managing to avoid letting the rest of her gut reaction ( << -- a gay I ain't >> ) make it out of her mouth. Her cheeks flush dark, ashamed of her own reaction, ashamed of still wanting to be anything but, << "You should be gay, it's more respectful" >> ringing in her head with far more seriousness than Nessie probably intended. Naomi sinks down into an empty seat, fidgeting with the tab of her soda and not looking into Lael's eyes. << Ain't planning on it, >> is carefully projected thought-speak to her brother, cast out over her strong sense that literally anyone else could be gay and that's totally!! fine!! But She, Specifically, Is Something Else That Is Not Gay. Naomi reaches for her hoodie and drapes it over her shoulders. A little more worried, out loud this time -- "You reckon I should?" << (they gon' hate Harm anyway) (Pa gonna think Harm is a boy ain't no point to it) (they gon' hate me not jus' the scales) (best case they'll pray on it) >> These here-and-gone thoughts ripple over into a new fear that Lael, somehow, now disapproves of her -- queerness? bisexuality? pansexuality? Perhaps that she's dating Anyone At All? She stares down at the dog, who is helpfully non-judgemental but is drooling Just A Bit on her shoes. "All this noise, ain't nobody gon' hear you." Though perhaps the fact Lael had to slightly raise his voice to be heard above all this noise demonstrates the superiority of speaking mentally, all the same. << Again with the should. Look, Nae, I love you. >> He drops himself into the chair next to hers and bumps her shoulder, his hair reflexively rippling out toward her like seaweed in a lazy current. << You a brat, but I love you more than anyone in this world, and I don't care what you call yourself. Same goes for ma and pa, just different reasons. They don't believe in no "bisexual" and you're right, they (probably?) gon' think Harm's a boy anyhow, unless you really get into the weeds on the... >> He bites his lower lip and guzzles down some of his Coke as if occupying his mouth would stop him continuing that line of thought.. << If they do believe you, best case they pray on it. Worst case, they pull you out of school to stop them "liberal coastal elites" poisoning your mind. I'd wait until they can't do that, if I was you. >> He's quiet for a moment, also staring at Dog, his eyes still and unblinking. << Harm' a nice kid, and I do believe they really like you, scales and all. I just worry... >> His locs are squirming uncomfortably tight, and he suddenly switches back to speaking, though not so loudly now that he's sitting closer, "You might settle on account of that. If y'all get serious." << I ain't a brat >> is more clearly amused than petulant in Naomi's mind than it would from her mouth, the whole thought uplifted by relief at the affirmation. She bumps his shoulder back ( << I love you too >> ) and lifts one hand up towards his hair, fingers outstretched. << ...you seen what they saying 'bout trans folks back home? I do not think Ma'n'Pa gon' be receiving a they or a them into their hearts any time soon. >> There's a (resigned, bitter, sad) agreement with Lael's assessment twined in there, a faint hope that << (well maybe for me they'd try) >> under active painful deconstruction. She's trying to figure out how to phrase her thoughts about whether it's safe to tell their other siblings without the word 'should' worming its way back in when the new line of thought pulls her up short. "Settle?" The images of Harm that rears up in her mind are tinted with affection (the delight on Harm's face when Naomi finds them Just The Right Shade of makeup), attraction (Naomi's fingers entwined with Harm's, sweaty from dancing but her heart pounding from the contact alone), and awe (Harm wobbly on their feet in a jail cell Somewhere Else yet still coming to Naomi's side without hesitation) -- all connected by a deep sense of gratitude that Harm both trusts her and sees her. << why would I settle hell that s'pposed t' mean >> Her other hand curls tighter around the aluminum. "... I done thought you liked Harm." She's not convinced yet that Lael doesn't, but the confusion is trending towards this conclusion in her mind. Lael's locs curl delicately around Naomi's fingers, vine-like--only briefly, but the vague suggestion of discomfort in their movements quiet a little after. << Maybe they'd try. I just don't like the idea of finding out while they still got legal custody of you. >> He sits up a little straighter, blinks for the first time in almost a minute. "I like them," he says firmly, then adds, slightly indignant, "You'd've heard about it right quick if I didn't!" << This ain't about Harm, it's the whole damn world. If someone was interested in me... >> His hair pulls in tighter, wriggles slow and uneven in an utterly abortive attempt to keep still. << I'd try real hard to reciprocate, whether I was actually interested or not. But all this... >> There's a faint sense of riffling across Naomi's memories of Harm. << ...sure looks like interest to me. >> He studies her sidelong, forgetting to blink again. "Are y'all gettin' serious?" Nessie's face pops up briefly, a question mark against the 'if' in Lael's hypothetical -- the focus flickering from << "ooo he probably wouldn't ever -- nobody --" >> to Nessie's carapace, to the touch of familiar locs against a smaller Naomi's hands, to Naomi's own face in the mirror as she peels away dead skin, trying not to cry when it's once again a row of scales underneath. "...I'm confused." This is not, in fact, accompanied by a great swell of confusion -- Naomi's thoughts are settling into some tentative and uneasy certainty about the nature of her brother's objection, hand dropping from beside his temples to her lap. << I like Harm. Harm likes me. >> The brunt of her focus is on supporting that last statement, on drowning the doubts Harm has so many times already tried to put to bed. A faint frustration creeps up around it, Sera and Avi and Nanami and more faces shuffling through her head with the certainty her feelings towards them, before she ground them into Just Friendship, were no more or less intense than how she felt about Harm at the beginning of all of this. << I ain't stupid. I know how I feel and I ain't getting swept along just 'cuz Harm's sweet on me. >> Externally she's biting her lip, focusing sort of determinedly down at Dog instead of Lael. Who is bringing to mind Suga Mama, long since left Xavier's grounds, and the second freak like them Naomi ever met. << You just don't like it 'cuz they ain't Marcus. >> The name comes with accusations she can't form into words, internal or external: that Marcus was okay because Lael knew him first (but the same, here, could be said of Harm); that Marcus never met an objection because they never were anything (coming with a stab of dull pain, still); that it was because Marcus Was Just Like Them, and what kind of rotten deal is that when there are only two other freaks at the school and neither of them Black; that not even Marcus would have been good enough for Lael, who clearly still thinks that she’s the same stupid girl flaunting her powers she had been at thirteen. Out loud, the defensive edge of her thoughts more pointed in her tone, Naomi only says, "So what if we are?" Lael's expression crumples at Naomi's memories, and the riffling susurrus of his psionic attention intensifies for just an instant. There's a distant suggestion of actual words in that voiceless murmuring that Naomi has never felt before, a sense that if she listened closely enough, she might just make them out. But as quickly as it's come, it quiets again. "You ain't stupid," he agrees, aloud. << You know how you feel, and I'm sorry I doubted you, but I didn't object. >> He scrubs one hand over his face and then through his hair, his locs coiling reflexively around his own fingers, too. << Ionno there's any body out there good enough for you, but that don't mean I want you to be alone. And yeah, I'd feel easier if you was with someone like us, and I don't just mean monsters. Marcus was Black, too. >> His hair coils in on itself, twisting as if in pain, then uncoils and starts reaches for Naomi even without her moving closer to him. << Harm will never ever be able to understand what you go through, no matter how much they want to or how hard they try. >> "But that don't mean they can't love you, and support you, and believe you. And if they're down for that? Then I'm glad y'all gettin' serious." Some psionic muscle flexes out towards those half voiced words, just out of Naomi's immediate awareness, a grasping hissing flick out towards them before they're gone again. << what, like we understand each other? >> There's a doubt here, the we encompassing more than just the Winterses -- Black folks, Other Monsters, that small overlap and the hundreds of differences between experiences within it. A memory -- playing in the woods behind their grandmother's house, of catching their reflections in the glass door on the way in, muddy and grass-stained, Lael's hair brushing against Naomi's forehead, the skin there just warmly brown from the summer sun. A memory -- Naomi sitting in a cafeteria much less grand than Xavier's, the only Black person in the room, now that her brother's up North. A memory -- somewhere far far away but also only about a day's drive from where they sit now, the dialogue compressed with time, Lael says "But Lord, Naomi, I am scared of you." << Ain't like we perfect at this, neither. >> "Ionno if we are. Serious, I mean, I want --" She swallows, shifting her foot just so its out from under Dog's slobbery tongue, conscious of her own's terrifying power. "...wayment. You ain't gearing up to give Harm no shovel talk, right?" There's no answer forthcoming at once, but then, Lael is perhaps a little preoccupied with the memories drawing him along. << Ain't nobody perfect. >> There's something calm and philosophical, here. "Anyhow why would I threaten Harm, you think I'm fool enough to pull that with someone can put the root on me?" He looks very serious, but a billow of psionic laughter sweeps through them as he drapes his arm around his little sister's shoulders. His locs brush over the scales on her head this time, but somehow the sunny warmth of the corresponding memory makes it into this moment inside the theatre. "Look at how far I'm gettin' ahead of us all. You don't gotta decide nothin yet. Serious or not, just--try to have some fun." He presses his cheek against her temple, his hand tightening just a fraction on her shoulder, but careful of the tender new scales there. << And if you decide to talk to ma and pa 'bout this? I'll be right there with you. >> "I know that's right." Naomi's serious face cracks with the wave of laughter in her head, her own giggles coming bright and clear even amidst the noise of the auditorium. She slouches in her seat to tuck under her brother's arm a little easier, the faint ache against her new scales not so much a bother under that slow southern sun-feeling. Her eyes roll at this advice, the grumbling in her mind ( << boy fun? what kinda “chin up sport” ass advice >> ) unserious, familiar, and fleeting. Her memories slide from that reflection in Georgia to red couches in Manhattan to woods far far away away from here to the cushiest jail cell of all time to this auditorium, Lael beside her in each place, the awful year of separation seeming so far away, now. It’s mostly a reassuring pan across the memories, though there is a question behind it — she wants him to be right there, yes, but does Naomi need her brother’s protection anymore? A cop and a menagerie both fell under her control, and hers alone. She leans into her brother’s touch, trying to make what she says out loud confident and content: “I know you will be.”