Logs:Go Home

Go Home
Dramatis Personae K.C., Matt	2019-04-25 "Trust me, playing hooky isn't new to me."
Location XS - Grounds
Xavier's School is situated on grounds as luxurious as the mansion itself. The tree-lined drive brings you up to the lush green sweep of front lawn and the wide front porch with its bench swing, often frequented by students studying in pleasant weather. The large oak tree in the front yard is home to a tire swing, installed long ago beneath the sturdy old treehouse. The lawn rolls out all the way down to the thin rocky pier at the edge of the glittering lake. The water stretches huge and wide off into the distance, the boathouse a small blip at its shore. Along its bank, forest stretches dense and shady to one side; to the other cliffs start to rise, high and rocky, providing trails for hiking or climbing, for the adventurous. With May just around the corner, April seems keen to crank out as many drizzly dreary days as it can manage. Although it is it particularly cold at the moment, the unpleasant dampness has kept most of the students inside during lunch. Matt has the front porch to himself for the moment, but he is still sitting far enough to one side of the bench swing to broadcast his welcome for anyone who might join him. He is dressed smartly in a lilac pinpoint shirt, brown twill vest, matching slacks, and darker brown Oxford shoes. His actual lunch is nowhere in evidence, but he's sipping from a silver thermos while he reads from a hardcover library book. There's a thump-a-whumping of paws, a black and white blur that launches herself OVER the porch railing with a somewhat startling agility given her size. Suga Mama, at least, is taking full advantage of Matt's implied welcome; the large pitbull leaps up onto the swing beside him, sliding and regaining her footing when the bench starts rocking with her abrupt jump. And where the dog goes, K.C. is typically soon to follow. Slower, trudging, she climbs up to lean against the outside of the rail that the dog just vaulted. The busy background noise of /whatever/ it is her mutation does is providing just as much static as always. One of her elbows hooks over the railing to keep her in place, her other hand bopping abstract patterns at her side. "Cross the whole yard," she says with a shake of her head. "Zoomed here. You want a dog? Yours now." Matt looks up, his bright green eyes lighting with glee, before Suga Mama even comes into view, and he snaps the thermos shut to brace for her arrival. "Oh! What a good pup you are!" he coos, scritching behind both of her ears. "Faster than an ambling student. More powerful than a lounging teacher! Able to leap tall railings in a single bound!" His smile grows wider at K.C.'s offer. "I'm sure Flèche would be delighted. She's always trying to bring other dogs home. Or go home with them. But you--" He's addressing the dog again. "--will probably lose interest once you realize I've finished my lunch." "Yes, delighted. Flèche, delighted. Suga Mama, delighted." K.C. nods along with this, swaying slowly in place where she's hanging on the railing. "Wrong. You're so wrong. Suga Mama will eat all your /home/ food. All Flèche's food too. Then steal cuddles, also. /Never/ bored." Indeed, the dog is shoving her huge squarish head up against Matt's chest, reveling in the pettings /even/ though no food is in evidence. "A mighty rogue she is." Matt drapes an arm around Suga Mama's solid torso and hugs her to his chest, pressing a firm kiss to to top of her head. "Flèche would look so /very/ betrayed, even though by her estimation she doesn't have any food. Indeed, she has surely never tasted, never even /sniffed/ food, in her short, short life." He cups one hand beside his mouth and stage whispers to K.C., as though the dog whose ear is right next to his face wouldn't hear, "It's all an act. She gets /so/ much food." Suga Mama wriggles, licking up toward's Matt's chin even /while/ she's slowly, slowly, sliding downward along the bench. It's difficult to say if it was intentional or not when she ends up whumphing down onto her back, half draped over Matt's lap with her belly /ever/ so conveniently positioned for rubbing. One of her large paws, less conveniently mashing up against the side of Matt's face. K.C. nods along, fingers still flicking at the air. "Mighty, mighty, mighty," she agrees. "You should go. Feed her. Go home." Matt turns his face away from the licks, laughing all the while and not leaving off the petting. "Goodness, a belly--oof!" This last is probably a commentary on getting a paw to the face. Even so, he's obliging the dog with bellyrubs. "It's a /bit/ early to go home just yet. Flèche may /think/ she's eternally starving, but she'll survive until the evening, somehow." K.C. shakes her head, rising up onto her toes to lean over the railing a little further. "No," she insists a little more stridently, "go /home/." Matt's brows wrinkle with perplexity. "Why do you think I should go home?" His tone is more sober now, though he hasn't /stopped/ petting the dog. "Go home," she says again, more insistently, frowning into the air somewhere above Suga Mama's belly. "You really need to try something new." "Trust me, playing hooky isn't new to me." Though as soon as the words are out of Matt's mouth, he frowns again. "Has this got something to do with Gaétan and those junior boys?" K.C.'s fingers clench tightly, flick back open. "/You/," she insists sharply. "Getting sick and dying shtick. Way too long. Go home." Now Matt's eyebrows go way up, his expression serious. "I'm not sick /now/, K.C." He studies her critically. "Do you have some reason to think I might get sick if I stay at school?" K.C. clicks her tongue, calling Suga Mama over to the railing. She lets one hand drop over the rail onto the dog's broad head, stroking the short soft fur slowly. "Getting sick and dying shtick," she says softly to the dog. Then, with a furrow of her brow: "New student." Matt gives Suga Mama a final scruff about the head as she departs. "The new student--I haven't met her. If she's sick..." He frowns, idly plucking dog hair from his sleeve. "Does Dr. McCoy know?" "Dr. McCoy. The Professor." K.C.'s eyes have fixed down; she continues petting gently at her pup. "New student. Stupid anti-vaxxer. You should go /home/." Matt's "Ah" is barely voiced. He draws in a long, slow breath. "I see. Thank you, K.C. They hadn't told me." His jaw tightens, then relaxes as he rises. "I think I will go give Flèche her dinner, after all." "/I'm/ telling. Yes. Good. Good..." K.C. hesitates, head bobbing as Matt stands. "Good dog," she says quietly.