Logs:Sky High

Sky High
Dramatis Personae Joshua, Roscoe	2023-10-04 "Would it help or hurt if I started skipping school again? Hypothetically."
Location <BOS> Peters Park
It's getting close to sundown, and the breeze is just starting to pick up, but most of the crowd playing basketball at Peters Park don't seem affected by the oncoming chill -- the court supplies a low, constant babble of conversation and the bap-bap-bap of the ball to the surrounding area, only occasionally interrupted by dogwalkers with overexcited dogs or a particularly crude bit of banter. More and more of the players are starting to trickle off -- drifting to their bags and water bottles at the sidelines, or on their way home for the evening. Roscoe is not playing -- he's sitting cross-legged against a chain link fence watching, in sneakers, side-stripe joggers, and a bright blue hoodie, with an orange-and-white design barely discernible around his folded arms; he has pulled the hood up and the drawstrings tight, tied neatly in a bow below the small window of his face still visible. The sleeves are much too long for him, but maybe this is deliberate -- he is exhaling puffy white clouds every time he puts his hand up to his face, and it's not that cold yet. Joshua doesn't look like he's come for basketball; doesn't look like much of anything, old worn jeans, comfortable old sneakers, a baggy FDNY hoodie, red and black kippah. He has a coffee in his hand, steaming and hot in its to-go cup and Evolve-branded paper sleeve. As he drifts over towards the fence he's offering it out to Roscoe wordlessly as he drops down to a crouch nearby. Initially Roscoe just scoots away, like he's making more room on what is an otherwise completely unoccupied stretch of fence, before he seems to register who this is -- he first reaches for the coffee with the hand hiding the vape before he switches to his free hand. "What's this about," is how he greets Joshua, eyeballing the cup. Then -- "Oh! Shoot, did you call me and I missed it? Sorry." "Call... you?" Joshua looks blank at this, like he is trying to carefully puzzle through the meaning of the words. Did he just have the one coffee? He's produced a second one in his other hand after Roscoe takes the first, and lifts it for a small and cautious heat-testing sip. "Told you. Wanted to hear about your crummy new jail." Roscoe hasn't taken his eyes offJoshua; when the other coffee appears, he blinks, like he's recalibrating -- he looks immediately regretful about bringing up who was supposed to be keeping in touch with whom. "Oh," he says; his gaze is not wandering away, but it is somewhere behind Joshua now. "Told you there's not much to tell." "Mmnh." Joshua's fingers flex with a quiet crackle of knuckles before he switches the coffee into his other hand. He takes a longer sip, watching the stragglers take a last few shots. "S'cool. I was also due to remind myself how much Boston sucks." His head tips back against the chainlink fence, and he lowers the cup to one knee. "You play at all?" The lift of his head is small as he nods towards the dwindling game. Roscoe shrugs -- grins, maybe, though he's ducking his head to hide it behind the knotted hoodie drawstrings -- "It still sucks," he assures Joshua. He tilts his head to the court, too -- "I used to, with my friends," he says. "People did not pass me the ball in Lassiter." "Brought the coffee from home." Joshua's eyes cut to the side, briefly sizing Roscoe up before he looks back towards the game. His small huff is almost a laugh. "Shit. You rusty, then. Hindsight. Shoulda brought a ball. Make up for all the --" The poke of his finger at the air probably does not even slightly signify Any Type of board game in most normal gestural indexes and yet. "Chess." Roscoe laughs just a little -- "Next time, then. 'Sokay, you didn't know." Then he stops, tilts his head with a sudden suspicious squint -- "How did you know where I was?" "Didn't." Joshua is glancing around the park, the emptied court, the darkening yard. "Still don't. Some teleportation is --" His brows pinch as he considers this, settling finally on, "Intuitive. S'handy." His frown hasn't left, though, kind of pensive as he adds, "... awkward when it misses. Useful when you've gotta track an exploding kid around New York." He takes a longer gulp of the coffee now that it is somewhat less than scalding hot. "Just a guess that you wouldn't be busy." "Oh, okay." Roscoe doesn't seem to care about the particulars of teleportation -- he's saying, with clear relief, "I thought maybe you talked to my mom." This turns into a tiny, guilty grimace; he unties the drawstrings and tug his hood away from his chin to try a sip of his coffee. Maybe Roscoe is not much of a coffee drinker -- he screws up his entire face at the taste, and takes a long moment to recover enough to say, "What would I be busy for. I'm not in school, it's almost six." "I work at boarding school for freaks. Normal school might be now, for all I know." Joshua looks up, rocking slightly back on his heels with a quiet rattle of chain. "'sides, getting out can feel kind of --" He bites down on his lip, thumb flicking idly at the tab on the top of his coffee lid. "Fucked up mix of people who care way too much and not enough at all, about what happened. Got to me, after a while, the first time. Sorry to get demonstrative," his voice is flat as ever, here, "just didn't want you to have to deal with that shit --" A beat, another flick of his thumb. "You know. In fucking Boston." Roscoe sucks a breath in through his teeth as he listens to this, staring at the steam rising from his coffee, but after a moment he just lets it slowly back out. "I mean, I know Boston sucks," he says, with a faintly dismissive roll of his eyes, "but I was -- really looking forward to being back. Out. Whatever." "I know." For a beat Joshua is silent, just absently popping the plastic tab in and out of the mouth of the cup lid. "I'm not going to pretend that bougie-ass school is going to fix things, but there's --" His jaw tightens, just briefly. "-- lotta people there who get it. Enough to give a shit you were in Prometheus without -- giving a shit you were in Prometheus." When he lifts the cup again it is unsuccessful, and he frowns at the cap as if it betrayed him by closing itself. He quite immediately forgets to actually open it and take a sip, though, instead adding: "... dorm also has doors." "Lassiter had doors," Roscoe grouches, but this ill temper trickles away before he can commit to it -- he looks sideways at Joshua, through his hoodie, then back down at his coffee. "That sounds," he begins, but Joshua does not find out how this sounds to Roscoe -- he's shaking his head to cut himself off almost immediately, changing tack -- "I don't know," he says. "I mean -- my parents do not feel good about the last time they were like, maybe we should just give Roscoe to these certified freak handlers." Does Roscoe? He's chewing contemplatively on his lip, then blowing out a tired raspberry. "This blows," he says. "How old were you when you got out? Like -- the first time." "Oh, I --" Joshua blinks, his breath catching for just a moment; he lets it out with a puff of cheeks, a sharp puff. "Nineteen. Tried to finish high school anyway, but --" Just a small shrug, here. This time he remembers to open his coffee, gulping down a long swallow. "It blows." There's a small pause before he adds, kind of pensive: "Most parents don't love my pitch but the, uh, actual teachers there have lotta experience convincing wary parents. Shiny brochures and everything." Roscoe nods, his eyes narrowing with amusement, flicking to scan Joshua up and down -- "Why, what's the matter with your pitch," he says, though he's probably not seriously asking. "We can workshop it. It's like if a gated community was a school. It's like Sky High. It probably only needs to be better than what I'm doing now." He gives this a moment of thought, his lip caught between his teeth. "Uh, would it help or hurt if I started skipping school again? Hypothetically." "Mine's honest." Joshua's brows lift at Roscoe's question. "Might help the pitch. Hypothetically." There's a small pause, a small frown. "...What is Sky High." "Good." Considering this is hypothetical, Roscoe looks slightly relieved at Joshua's answer. He tilts his head at the question, not so much like he's surprised, but maybe like he's in deep thought about what is Sky High. "Just this really old Disney Channel movie," he says. "From 2004 or something. It's not that good. They don't even have a plane." Joshua is frowning deep at this explanation. His expression is very disgruntled, and it's only after he's given this some thought that he complains: "... why Sky High, then." He probably doesn't need an answer for this. He's draining his coffee, paper cup dimpling now as his fingers close tight around it. "I'll send someone respectable up. Give the whole spiel. Probably not in the --" Here he pauses, though. Flicks a glance sideways to Roscoe. "Maybe in the jet." Roscoe watches Joshua finish the coffee and then looks down at his own barely-touched drink with vague dismay. Valiantly takes a very tiny sip. "You're not gonna find parking for a jet," he says. "Boston sucks."