Logs:Hall of Fame

Hall of Fame
Dramatis Personae Bryce, Dallen, Roscoe	2024-01-25 I think there are heroes everywhere.
Location <XAV> Playground - Xs Grounds
Set on the still-expansive grounds around the side of the school, this area is to the outdoors rather what the rec room is to the indoors. There's a large basketball court out here; a fenced-off tennis court adjacent. Further distant there are setups for other sports -- a large track, a soccer field. Closer in to the school, though, in its own large enclosure adjacent to the basketball and tennis courts, is the playground, a huge expanse of equipment set up on alternating plots of slightly squishy flooring and mulch. Centrally there is a large sprinkler-fountain, not always on but it can be turned on with a push of a button; spreading out around this is the actual playground equipment, sturdy and varied. A huge dome constructed in honeycombed interlocked poles and rope netting rises hiiiigh for climbing; a large swingset holds four pairs of swings. A large roundabout in bright colours stands in one corner near a long see-saw. The huge bridge-and-tunnel castle structure at one end has many routes of entry, from poles to climb up (or slide down) to a small climbing wall. Monkeybars. Four different slides of varying lengths and spiraling. For the adventurous, between things to climb on and jump between and bounce across it is probably possible to skirt one end of the playground and back without touching the ground, though it might take a particularly adept feat of balance and agility. Or possibly wings. The weather has done some whiplash, going from the bitter cold of the weekend to a relatively balmy 55 degrees. It is probably not quite warm enough to be out here in short sleeves, but then, probably the thick silky tricolored fur coating Bryce's arms provides some extra protection against any passing chill. His head is still covered with bold red feathers, his previous snuffly-squat dog muzzle reverted, thankfully, back to his more human (and easier to breathe through) nose. There are scales over his face now instead, orange and red and black in striking replica of a pet corn snake one of the newer freshman has brought with her. As his basketball circles the rim of the hoop -- teeters -- then careens back away, he doesn't seem all too disappointed with his loss. He's kind of gleeful about it, squinting off in the direction of the distant stables before scrunching up his nose with an amused: "Aw man I was hoping I could be horse for real but they're so far." One furry hand is scratching at his feathers where horse ears are stubbornly refusing to grow. "Oh wow can you see the horses from here, that would be so cool I wonder if you saw the horses and I saw your brain..." He's trailing off with an intent peer at Roscoe like maybe he will magically develop either X-Ray Vision or Telepathy. Roscoe, closer to the basket, catches the ball on its way back down and bounces it a few times, maybe just to stay active enough to scare off the chill -- his arms are goosebumpy where he's pushed up the long sleeves of his shirt and he's been bouncier than usual on his feet since abandoning his sweatshirt by the side of the court. "How close do you have to be?" he says, fascinated. "I can see them, they're just really tiny from here." He bounces the ball twice where he's standing, then passes it on to Dallen. "You don't want to see my brain," he adds. "It looks basically the same as other brains." "Oh wow, you would be able to hear so well!" Dallen sounds almost more enthusiastic than Bryce is about the prospect of Horse for Real. "Do I get to pick next?" Does he? He's picking anyway, dribbling around to the other side of the court and squinting at the hoop. "Nothing but net," he declares, and makes a decent jump shot that only narrowly misses the rim. He tries to sort of slide his squee into a slightly more manly "yessss." Then retrieves the ball himself and passes it to Roscoe. "How do you know your brain looks the same as other brain?" He gasps. "Does your -- your power work in a mirror?" "Oh wow." Bryce is still staring at Roscoe, but it's more wide-eyed now and less like he is trying to see into the other boy's head. "What's his brain look like, what's my brain look like -- oh great shot!" Where Dallen is enthused about Horse For Real, he's excited about the basket. Solidly H-O-R-S-E himself now, he's ambling to the side to get his water bottle. "Can you see through anything? Can you see like, all the crystal's before a geode is even open. -- ohhhh," now his eyes are rolling as far back in his head as he can manage, "when you look up can you see your own brain?" Roscoe's teeth press (ironically horselike) against his lower lip as he catches the ball. "I've had fifty thousand MRIs," he says, dribbling twice and then taking his own shot. He, alas, does not make nothing but net -- the ball bounces off the backboard and then off the rim before it swishes in, putting him at H-O-R-S-E too -- he chases the ball down, also aiming toward the courtside. He doesn't try to roll his eyes up and back -- "Naw," he says. "Actually, maybe the rock thing, I don't look at rocks that often. You get a lot of geodes in Utah?" "Why did you have to get so many MRIs?" Dallen blinks at Roscoe uncomprehendingly. "Were you sick or -- ohhh..." He bounces up onto the balls of his feet and back down, hands flapping at his sides in what he probably thinks is a subtle way. "Oh yeah, there's so many cool rocks in the high desert. There's even places where you can find a ton of them on the surface, mostly down inside canyons." He droops a little, then immediately perks back up. "We went hiking in a geode bed with our scout troop." "No I don't think he was sick," Bryce is saying in an equally not-subtle stage whisper at his brother. He's quickly moving back on to, "-- you don't look at that many rocks? Oh oh oh there's so many cool rocks -- well okay Utah is far but, um, I think there's a natural history --" His brows scrunch. "... are you still grounded from museums? Those are like, extra school." A second after he's said this he maybe realizes how it sounds and tacks on hastily: "But cool!" "To look at my brain," says Roscoe, swooping down to tug a plastic water bottle from the net pocket on the side of his backpack; it crinkles loudly as he uncaps it. "I think rocks out here are usually just rocks. Maybe if I grew up in Utah I'd look at the rocks more often." He takes a quick glug of water, screws his face up skeptically as he's screwing the cap back on his bottle. "I could probably be like. It's for school." "I'm sure there are cool rocks here, too." Dallen doesn't actually sound all that sure, but he seems excited at the prospect that it might be true. "It's probably just like. Covered in dirt, more. And you can see them underground, right?" His brows crinkle. "I mean. It could actually be for school, if you're taking a science class. Or an art class. Oh! You could get a teacher to write you a note!" He says this very earnestly, as if it were something normal teenagers actually do. "Be like..." Bryce is slowly echoing this like he's trying to puzzle out what Roscoe means. There's a slowly creeping worry in his expression but he is spared from quite arriving at the scandalous conclusion he was heading towards by Dallen's suggestion, which he picks up eagerly: "Oh yeah! I bet lots of teachers would even happily go along with --" This time he's clearly proud of catching himself before he says something so Transparently Uncool in front of this gentile and smooooothly morphs this suggestion to: "... the idea, like, there's so much science to learn there. Do you want me to ask, I bet Mr. da Costa would give us all notes." He taps his water bottle idly against his thigh as he considers and adds: "And maybe if your parents see how educational the city can be they'll ease up a little?" "Why would I want it to actually be for school?" Probably Roscoe is teasing -- his voice is smothering a laugh. He squats to set the water bottle and the basketball down, then worms into his sweatshirt again -- he leaves the hood up, but pushes it back just enough that his face is visible at the front. He tilts his head up slightly, not quite enough to be looking at either of the Allreds. "If we can get extra credit for it that would really sell it," is this even a lie that needs selling, once extra credit is involved? Unimportant. "I'm not in a science class, though. Maybe I can spin it as history, my parents won't know the difference. Probably." "There are history museums," Dallen points out. "And art museums, and...weird museums that maybe are about politics?" It probably comes as no surprise to either his brother or his roommate that he has been diligently researching nearby museums. Whatever research he may have done, it doesn't stop his eyes from widening at the academic side of this. "Can you just ask teachers for extra credit?" Perhaps, given his grades, this has never been particularly relevant to his schooling. And yet. "I'm going to ask for extra credit. What museum do you want to go to? Or what kind of -- anything in New York City?" "There's so many weird museums, there's museums that are just for math, or the subway, or," Bryce's voice is lowering like this is scandalous, "witchcraft, there's probably museums for everything. Sports or rocks or --" His head tilts uncertainly to the side. "Is there a museum for mutants? I think a mutant history museum would be so cool, they'd have..." But now he's trailing off uncertainly, shifting from one foot to the other. It's decidedly less cheerful when he continues, but there's a quiet pride in it: "I bet our brother'd be in it." Roscoe picks the basketball up before he gets back to his feet, rotating it slowly in his hands. "I don't think there's a museum for mutants," he says, his eyebrows pressing down over his eyes. "Yeah," he agrees, "Your brother would be in it for sure. The way people would talk about him in the labs --" this train of thought doesn't cut off abruptly so much as it trails away. What is abrupt is, "I mean, it was just so unbelievable, you know? You never think there's just... real-life heroes like that." Dallen nods his emphatic agreement to Dawson's inclusion in a hypothetical Mutant Hall of Fame. "It would have to have Dr. MacTaggart in it. And Mr. Jackson, obviously. And Professor..." He frowns. "Wait, why does everyone here call him Professor Xavier? This isn't college, and all the articles and stuff definitely say Doctor Xavier." He plucks at the cuffs of his Xavier's School Athletics sweatshirt, frowning. "Why is that unbelievable?" sounds a bit uncertain. "I think there are heroes everywhere." Then hastily adds, "In real life!" Bryce sucks his cheeks inward, chewing on their insides as Roscoe trails away. He looks like he's going to ask something but instead just pulls his upper lip between his teeth and looks up at the sky. "This place seems to kind of make heroes," he ventures finally, and now he's finding a little bit of cheer again: "Maybe one day it'll even be us."