(2016-11-15) Friend Status and Clay
Friend Status and Clay
Summary: Friendships are confirmed and some secrets revealed.
Date: 2016-11-15
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://coralsprings.wikidot.com/logtitle)
NPCs: Players go below, other chars that deserve mention can be listed here
Scene Runner: Who ran this scene, NA if no-one or mutual


The School's library spans the very bottom of the old fort to the top of the Admin Hub. The center is open so one can see all the way from the bottom to the sun roof that lets the rays in, some full three to four stories in total height, no matter what level the student is on. It has several smaller alcoves with tables and comfy chairs for reading on the upper levels. A small cluster of research computers is set up for students who prefer internet searching to page turning located on the main school floor. Anywhere there's isn't bookcases inspirational posters are plastered against the walls. The check out is near the bottom, always manned and in order, the insignia for Coral Springs and the starting date on 1991.

The large grouping of such eclectic books leaves a dryness to the air and in some sections a faint musty odor. Anyone caught talking above a whisper will first get a stern glare and then be asked to leave if they can't quiet down.

The school library should really be a safe enough place for Whitley to hang in after class hours. He hopes so at least (can't be sure in this school). Still, he couldn't imagine Grayson showing up here. All bronze and no brains, you know? The pale adolescent is in a chair, slumped over his leatherbound notebook, perhaps taking notes. He will sometimes pause and look over the scattered writings, then continue.

Oh, ye of little faith. Besa knows better, so is staying away from the poetry section. Instead the small teen is in the history section, looking up at the books near the top shelf. Isn't that always the case? He's dressed in his school uniform, but his yellow tie has been loosened and his hand is resting on his chest as he looks up. Floppy, magazine perfect hair frames his face as he frowns slightly. He used to be considered tall, this is frustrating.

On one of few occasions when Whitley actually looks up from his notebook, he spots Besa struggling. Grey eyes study the Egyptian for a moment before Whitley's lips break into a wicked smile. His dark brows furrow as he concentrates on the book at the top shelf. He's actually a crappy telekinetic, which explains the slight wobbling as the book defies gravity, so there's a real risk in this (probably would've been easier to just lift the skinny guy), but it turns out alright. The book descends softly into Besa's hands.

Besa's eyes widen as one of the books suddenly starts to move, he takes a small step back, unsure if it's falling or what. But then it wobley floats down and he takes it before turning to see who helped him. It's not hard to pick out Whitley, so he walks over, Book of Ancient histories held against his chest, "Thank you Whitley." He keeps his voice soft, maybe from his chest, maybe because they're in a library. Dark eyes glance down to what he's working on , but don't linger.

Chaotic records and poorly drawn doodles over them are what Besa's quick glance would show him. Whitley's back straightens considerably as the younger student approaches. His eyes move to look at the book in Besa's hands. "Fitting," He is not as concerned with being quiet, but keeps his tone on conversational levels. "You're very welcome. It's the least I can do after you-" He just gestures vaguely to his face. "I'm too pretty to be sporting black eyes."

Besa's head tilts, unsure what the fitting is about. "You are my friend." Well, Besa thinks so, anyway, "I do not like friends to eb in pain if I can help it." The quip about him being to pretty gets a small smirk, hard to say if Besa thinks that's true, or funny.

"It's fitting because you're all, you know…" Whitley starts, noticing the head tilt. "Ancient Egypt-y. I wouldn't think you'd need a book though since you were, like, there." Whitley smiles. Friend status! What an accomplishment, but probably one that's easily handed out. As for the pretty thing, Whitley doesn't seem to bothered. He thinks he's friggn gorgeous and that's all that matters. "Still, I'm glad you were there. Hey," He bites his lower lip, hoping this isn't a personal topic. "When you…cut yourself. Does it have harmful effects? If it does, I'd rather you not use it. At least on me."

Besa's eyebrow raises slightly at the description of himself, "I was. But I was not everywhere." He's searching for soemthgin specific, but doesn't think he'll find it in this library. Besa is very easy to get along with, but he doesn't have as many friends as one would think. Hair flops to the side more with another head tilt, "Harmful effects? It is a cut…if I do not bandage it, it could become infected. Or bleed more than is needed." Is that what he means? The smiles fades a touch, unsure if he means Besa should not have healed him. "I…should have explain better, i am sorry."

"No no no, I'm definitely glad you did it," Apparently, it's Whitley who needs to start explaining things better. "I just thought that there might've been some negative repercussions on your end. Like a dark taint or something…" That's what happens in all the movies. The sophomore smiles sheepishly. "I don't really know how magic works, sorry."

Besa blinked, "Dark Taint? No…unless there is something unbalanced on your end that would cause it. The healing is part of my blood." He smiles back, "I did not either, but I started watching my priests. Rune magic is different than other types." He doesn't clarify if his blood is rune magic, or something different.

"Yeah, not a fan of the whole voodoo stuff. It likes messing with my powers." Whitley runs a hand through white hair. He examines his journal for a bit before closing the notebook. Grinning, he says, "Does that rune magic keep your hair all pretty?"

Besa's dark eyes rise to watch Whit's fingers go through his hair. But then he sighs in a slightly annoyed that it's even been brought up, "No. I do not do anything to my hair. it just is." Seriosly people. The book in his arms is hugged a little tighter to his chest, "My runes do not work like that. I can give myself strength , like I did in the gym, or speed or….concepts. It is not for hair care."

"Hey now," Whitley puts on his serious face, but his eyes still light up with some amusement. "I was only teasing," He really didn't mean to ruffle feathers. "That was rune magic?" The fight in the gym turned bad so quickly he forgot about Besa's part in it. "Nice," He offers quietly, thinking now.

Besa has a hard time telling when people re teasing or not. He's never really been teased till this life. A small, soft nod, and then he nods again, "Yes. I had a feeling the two of you were not going to be able to spar without losing your heads…" A shoulder rises in a quick shrug, and then he winces, pulling the book tighter to his chest. Someone has not been healed yet, apparently. "Perhaps I should have used a speed rune instead and just moved you." Instead of whatever he did to move Grayson.

"Yeah maybe," Whitley leans back in his chair. "You probably could've done at lot better in the fight than me." He notes to no one in particular, just staring off into the distance. His eyes slowly return to Besa. "The guy was on top of me. Speed wouldn't have helped. And I wasn't the one who needed moving." His hand goes to touch his no longer swollen nose. "Regardless, I'm glad you were there to be my knight in shining armor."

Besa's locks wove as he shakes his head, "I do not…fight, usually." He's wrestled before, but that is not what they were doing, at all. The idea of Besa being the hero at all makes him smile, amused. "I do not know that I am all that shining." He does smell like dirt all the time! "I just did not wish to see either of you hurt." He was too late for that, unfortunately. The Egyptian teen's expression flashes to worry, "Does your face still hurt/ Do you need further healing?"

"Nah, it's just kinda weird that it's gone," Without a trace, like it was never even there. "Even the bruises on my stomach are gone." He rolls up his light button up revealing pale flesh. There's actually a lot of pink scars on his lean belly, some light and flat while others are jagged like the remains of sword cuts…but there no bruises, so Whitley thinks the display sufficient and lets the shirt fall back down. A reddish color rises in his cheeks. Looks like he may have forgotten what was down there. "Uh…yeah," He quickly pivots the direction of the conversation. "So are you planning on healing Grayson?"

Besa's gaze drops to Whit's stomach. The corner of his lip quirks slightly, his chest is one giant bruise. "I am glad you feel better." The scars are noted but not mentioned, as is the pink flush. "If he wishes I will. You were both out of control." Although Grayson more so than Whit, so says Besa's chest. "I do not know if he would even speak to me, much less ask." Hell, Gray may not even remember Besa's a healer, especially after the rude comments he made about it last time they talked abut powers.

"And what about you? Did birdman heal you up?" Whitley's eyes narrow at the 'both'. "I was not out of control," He says firmly. "And I doubt he would be completely unwilling to speak to you. Last time I saw him, he seemed…well, he apologized? Maybe?" Whitley doesn't sound too sure himself and does not bring up the tears.

Besa's head shakes, "No. Someone interrupted us." He smiles, trying to show it's ok. It's just bruising. An eyebrow raises, "Very well." Clearly he doesn't believe that, he saw the sword twitching. But it's also not worth fighting about. The eyebrow stays disbelieving, "He maybe apoligysed to you?"

Whitley frowns, "Oh darn. I'm really sorry you got hurt defending me," Or maybe he was defending Grayson; Whitley isn't too sure anymore. "I didn't mean for that to happen…" He looks a bit sheepish,but nods a little. "I don't know. He didn't actually come out and say sorry, but I kinda feel like he tried. Maybe." With a grin, he adds, "This is Grayson were talking about here. I'm not expecting miracles."

Besa just shakes his head and sighs, not wanting to even try to understand Grayson. "I would gladly be hurt again. I do not like to see my friends in danger." He smiles, "I did not think you did anything to get me hurt specifically." Anotehr sigh and Besa glances towards the potty section, "It does not matter. He does what he wishes, not caring for anyone else's feelings." Besa's had enough run ins to believe that. Trying to change the subject, "What are you doing?" The scribbles and doodles nodded to.

"I know, but I still feel partially responsible." Whitley shrugs, the notebook is already closed. "It's a journal," He prefers that word much more than 'diary'. "My father gave it to me." His lips tug into another frown. Persistently, he says, "You and Grayson seem to have a history." He doesn't even try to hide the suggestive tone in his voice.

Besa ohs, and lets it drop. He's not trying to be nosey. And so much for his changing of the topic. "I thought we could be friends, but he does not wish that." There's a very small shrug, like he's trying to not aggravate his bruise, "He used my friendship to try to make his ex jealous, and I do not like that." Besa's used enough by people, he's starting to get a backbone. Slowly. "We have not dated. We will never date." It's forbidden, to start with. And Grayson's blown any chance of Besa breaking that.

Whitley, on the other hand, is totally trying to be nosy. "Oh. That's never fun," He's assuming, of course. Whitley has never been in that exact situation. Being used, however? He is very familiar with the concept. "Are you even allowed to date? I know you broke some of your priest's rules already by having friends…"

Besa's head shakes, looking away from the older boy, "No…I am not." He takes as deep a breath as he can with out wincing (It's not very deep), "And I think perhaps they are correct. I am not meant to have…anyone like that." It's just too complicated. Even friendship is probably too complicated, but he's already in too deep with that to stop now. His fingers twitch on the book in his arms and he looks back, forcing a smile, "I think I am going to go throw some mugs later. If you are not doing anything else, would you like to join me in the Arts room?" Besa is a barrel of fun. The arts room. Slow down there, buddy!

Whitley grins, standing up and collecting his mysterious journal. "To the Art Room!" He calls out, a little too loudly. Someone out there shushes him, and he glares back. On the way there, the sophomore expresses his disapproval in Besa giving into his priests in matters of romance. "I mean, if it doesn't work out, you'll be dead, right? No regrets." A bad joke perhaps.

Arts Room

Besa blinks, surprised. He didm;'t mean now, but ok. He can do it now. As they walk, the book is held to his chest still, like a shield. "That is not funny. I would not wish to do that to anyone else. that is horrible." He shifts the book, frowning slightly. When they get to the room, he set it down on a table and starts rolling up his sleeves. His left arm has a band aid, nothing too much. But those other scars are there too. Besa's looking at the silt barrel, a hint of nerves before he turns away and starts taking off his yellow tie. No need to get it dirty.

Whitley shrugs, not surprised that Besa didn't find it funny. "I wouldn't either, buddy," The teen pulls up a chair near Besa's table and sits in it backwards. Without much else to do, he just watches Besa in action. The hair's nice to look at too. "Besides isn't dating just like friendship with…I don't know, kissing. Maybe that's friends with benefits?" He's not an expert in the romance department clearly.

Besa makes a low noise, slightly strangled, "Why does everyone say that? Friends with benefits? that makes no sense." He looks over to Whit, adjusting his sleeves, "I think as soon as kissing is added in it gets complicated." Or not, Besa is no expert either. Anotehr glance to the Silt barrel, like he's afraid of it or something, and he turns back to the kick wheel. A complete change of topic, "I am trying to make mugs to sell to the coffee shop…There is a present exchange on the winter solstice…" He's never had anyone to buy presents for!

"Maybe," Whitley's shoulders shrug, and he follows Besa's gaze to the silt barrel. "Something wrong?" This time Whitley does allow the change of topic without pushing. "I think you mean Christmas." He says, amused. "Planning on getting anything special?"

Besa straightens, trying to shake off the feeling, "No, it is in the past….I should not dwell." The smaller teen steps over and gets himself some clay before sitting down at the wheel. "Yes, The Christmas. I would like to get something for the twins, they have been kind to me." His leg starts kicking the wheel at a steady pace.

Whitley gives Besa a curious look. That's weird. "Alright…I'm always here if you want to talk about it," He tries to not pry, but nudges instead. "Drop the article, buddy," He corrects, chuckling softly. "Yeah, Rain seems pretty nice." Or pretty and nice. He purposefully leaves out Schuyler. Telepathy is bad on its own. The ability to not control it…scary.

Dark eyes dart from Whit to the barrel, "You were not here when the murder happened, were you?" Cause that's not a terrible topic! He finally lets his hands touch the clay, and that seems to relax him almost instantly. His torso is stiff, but his hand has been healed. Fingers almost immediately push down on the top, letting the ball of clay start to take shape. "Rain is very nice. She and Schuyler have envied me to Thanksgiving."

Brown brows raise in surprise. Then they furrow, and Whitley gives Besa a look of skepticism. "Someone was murdered…here? And you still hang out here all the time?" Whitley doesn't look all that disturbed at the murder itself, just at the fact that it happened here.

Besa shrugs, "They say to face your fears…" And it's definitely a fear. He smiles, but it's forced, "Besides, it's the only place I can make my mugs."

Whitley nods, looking over to the slit barrel. It takes a long moment for him to pull his eyes away from it. Once he does, his grey eyes move to carefully regard Besa. He can't tell if this something he should be pushing or not, but it is what they are talking about, so he gives it a shot. "Who died?"

Besa doesn't look up, eyes staying on the clay that's forming underneath his fingers. His voice is steady, too steady for what he says, "I did." The Egyptian's leg keeps kicking at a steady pace.

"Oh." Somehow Besa's unwavering words are enough to assure Whitley that this is not as bizarre as it sounds. His eyes move from Besa's face to his hands, letting Besa work his magic. After a few minutes, the sophomore probes a bit more, "Your priests killed you, then? I thought you were only sacrificed for the Demon. And how'd you come back so quickly?"

It's much easier for Besa to talk about this when he can concentrate on the clay, "It wasn't my priests. they do not murder me." Apparently sacrifice is different in his mind? "They have not found out who yet, but the teachers are investigating." A quiver in his lip, he's trying so hard to not be scared. "It's my curse. If the proper ritual isn't preformed I come back…rather quickly. At this age." The name Zomboy was floating around him for a while.

The lip quiver is noted, and Whitley places a soft hand on Besa's shoulder. "We don't have to talk about it." Normally, Whitley might continue to pry, but he doesn't like seeing Besa sad. "So how many mugs do you have to make before you've got enough for gifts?"

Besa is tense, despite trying play it off. His head swivels, gaze landing on the pale hand and then up to Whitley's face, "I am trying to be brave…." He's not crying at least. The kicking has stopped, the mug wobbly on the wheel. "I do not know what to buy yet." He swallows, big eyes blinking up at him, "I do not think i will be able to afford anything they would like." Having friends is hard, having rich friends is even harder.

Whitley retracts his hand; he didn't mean to make Besa uncomfortable. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. You seem to know them very well." Good thing Whitley isn't rich anymore. Or bad thing depending on the perspective. "They'll like anything you get them. It's the thought that counts."

Whitley isn't making Besa uncomfortable, dying in here did. Besa focuses on the change of topic, presents are better to speak of. "Rain would like anything. or at least pretend. Schuyler…I am not so sure." A soft, sad smile, but then he chuckles, looking back to his wobbly mug, "I will have to think on what to get you, and Tabitha." He's got a few friends to think about. Or maybe everyone gets a mug!

"It'll be fun to find gifts nonetheless." Presents are a much nicer subject, yes. Whitley smiles a very genuine smile. He's never been given real gifts for Christmas. Or any occasion really. "It means a lot that you'd think of me." A look of worry spoils his radiant expression. Oh no! That means he'd have to get Besa a gift too. His brows furrow, indicating this internal conflict.

Besa smiles up warmly at him, but that dissipates when something clearly bothers Whitley. "Did…did I say something wrong?" Maybe the tradition isn't to tell people? Another thought hits him and he blinks, "If…if you do not wish to be my friend, that is alright. You have been very kind, but please do not inconviennce yourself…" His dark skin picks up a light flush and he looks back to his mug, feeling suddenly foolish for dumping all of that on poor Whitely, who was just trying to be polite.

"No no, I certainly want to be your friend. I like you. A lot…if you couldn't tell." Whitley blushes a bit at the admission. "I've just never given a gift to anyone. Ever." The teen brushes a strand of snowy white hair from his eyes and realizes who he's talking to. "Oh, I guess this will be a new experience for the both of us."

Besa's gaze ways on the mug, but his brow furrows slightly at Whit's words. He has such a hard time reading people anymore, last time Rissa laughed at him, so it's better to fall on the side of no assumptions. The taller boy does get a glance and then smile, "Good. We will exchange gifts then. it will be good." or not, they'll just have to see. His hands are covered in wet clay, so he does one of those awkward, rub of his chest with his upper arm. Always in that some spot, near his heart. "I am sure Rain will help us. There are supposed to be bows…" At least, from what he's seen.

Whitley grins. "Yeah, there's bows. And wrapping paper," Despite never giving a gift, Whitley knows the basics of how Christmas works. It'd be hard not to know living here. "I can help you wrap if you want. I couldn't wrap mine for obvious reasons."

Besa fears Rain will probably have to wrap most of his gifts, although something tells him she'll be ok with that. He nods though, "Deal." Looking back at his mug he shakes his head, squashing down the crooked piece to try again. "I will need to make many mugs." Who knows what he's thinking of buying, and for who at this point.

Whitley lowers his chin to the backrest of the chair. "I've never made anything out of clay before. Think you could teach me how?" He grins a bit. His father would disapprove. In the end, he might just end up being a burden, but he's willing to try. The Ares watches Besa…sometimes the pottery, sometimes the boy himself.

That chases away any lingering doubts Besa had on if Whit wanted to be his friend. He practically beams and will start over, showing him the basics.

(feel free to tag the log with character names of those involved!)

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