Welcome to the New Normal

Log Info

Title: Welcome to the New Normal
Emitter: None
Characters: Sunday, Ian, Amber, Nicholas
NPCs: None
Place: Steranko Institute, Quad
Time: April 23, 2010
Summary: A game of Toss the Boulder is Ian's introduction to his new school and classmates.

And I wonder sometimes if you weren't the best thing in my life. And just as often wonder if you weren't as bad as I remember. Yeah, you know I miss you. Doesn't mean you're going to stop dating….
No. No. All wrong. Sometimes, in those low manic times, Ian Louis Stoker had wished the thing that gave him his powers was a demon or something. Oh, sure it might mean ugly devil horns, and a hell of a bill from a Cobbler. But then he could emit fire or something, instead of just fangs. Fires burned things, and in Stoker's opinion, that was the only proper way of disposing the sheet of paper full of emo lines. He crumpled it, and tossed it at his feet, near where a half dozen haphazard paper balls lay.
Not that the middle of the green was exactly the safest of location for OMG Soul Baring letters to ex-girlfriends. But he had been at this school a total of three days. All three days had been spent in a padded locker he called a dorm, and there was nothing short of Ricky Martin coming out of the closet that would keep him inside. Er. Wait. Scratch the last one. He needed the air, and more importantly, the New Black needed it.
More importantly, it gave him a chance to scope the other inmates. They had told him upon admittance that there were others. And despite it all, he was curious. More than. Just how different was this place than any other school? Just how crazy could it get? Ian couldn't rightly figure. And you know what they say Curiosity killed the Wolf. So here he was, writing bad letters and people watching. Totally not creepy at all.

"HEADS UP!" shouts Amber as a giant boulder hurtles towards Ian. She flies up and punches it right in the dead center, showering the area with little pebbles. "Sorry, that one got away from me. Me and The Pummeller were having a rock tossing contest. Have you seen that guy's hands? They're big as Hummers!" She laughs and lands.
Well, Ian did want to learn how crazy things get around here.

For all the normality of what would otherwise be considered beyond weird in this place, Sunday has often wondered (in the month or so she's been here) if she shouldn't get somebody to build her guitar into some kind of super weapon, or at least strong enough that she could swing it around and baseball some bolders with the real Super's. All FLCL style. Sadly, the short, waify, bleached-blonde and freckle-faced girl can't really engage in a safe game of dodgeball with Amber and Big Pum, so she watches from a safe - and I do mean SAFE - distance. It's not until EmoBoy almost gets hit that she starts to jog forward, not really out of alarm for his physical saftey (Amber can handle that), but concern for how someone she knows is a New Kid might react. "Hey! Is, um.." The jog slows as she reaches them. "Is everybody okay?"

There's soon another face on the scene jogging towards everyone - but more because Nick is actually on a jog than because he wants to see what's going on. Hoody, loose shorts, trainers, earphones, the works. Of course, as people begin to collect he slows to a stop and turns down the volume so he can hear.

Strangely enough for everyone involved, when the warning hits Ian's ears he merely looks up. Not panicked expression, or a suddenly alarm. Just a sudden exhale, all to similar to one Wiley T. Coyote. But then there's a sudden breeze and a shower of pebbles. The boulder? His luck, but the later is quite a bit more surpising. He just takes a moment there, mouth a bit agape, despite his outfit suddenly becomming a bit more dusty. It's only a moment later that he feels the sting on his cheek; the leftovers of an errant sharp pebble against tender flesh. He is quick to scrub it, and the trickle of blood, in hopes no one would notice. By the time his hand is away, the only indications of the cut was faint trail of red dew. "Remind me," he says after a moment, as calm as if boulder catch was a common sport in the South. "Remind me next time to re-up on the accidental death and dismembership insurance that came with the school enrollment form." It's all drily, though his expression lacks a sign of displeasure. Instead he nods his head to Amber. "The plan mainly in case you think I'm gettin' fresh with you, Supergirl." And then he notices that they're the center of attention. Awkward. He gets to his knees and quickly begins to pick up pebble covered papers before anyone said it. "I'm fine, though the girly's hands over there might be a bit bloody after that left jab." He only looks up after that, pausing. Huh. Familiar somehow, though he couldn't think of why.
"So this the norm? I left my motorcycle helmet at that last institution."

Amber oohs and stares, "You, umm, you got a boo boo there. I'm, like, totally sorry, I didn't get one thing you said. Something about insurance?" She's 14, she just doesn't get it. "You ok? Really, I'm sorry about that, I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. We was only playing." As people come to check up, "I think we're ok, just light scrapes. It's all part of the training games I was playing." She coughs and says, "Sorry," a little more sheepishly. Then kneeling down to help pick up papers, "It's not the /norm/, just…something that happens."

"That's why me and my parents never played Meteor Catch in an atmosphere. Too much chance for accidental damage," Nick says almost off-handedly, like he knows how that whole thing works. He looks over at Ian though, who looks fine, and Amber who looks also fine, and … hell, people gathered over THIS? "Doesn't look like anything worth tattling over."

Well, alls well that ends well, right? Sunday looks a touch releaved that nobody is hurt, and the guy she doesn't know - as opposed to the other guy she doesn't know - seems okay. When Amber starts to babble apologies, Sunday smiles reassuringly, kind of Big Sister like as she touches a hand to Amber's shoulder. "It's okay, nobody got hurt. Not really. Just have to watch where those things go from now on." She glances up to Nick as he offers his.. um.. understanding.. and blue-eyes blink a few times trying to find some common ground. Uh, nope, sorry! Never even played softball. But there is something she can relate to, and nods as he mentions not tattling. "No point. Right?" She glances around to see if all are in confirmation. No use getting Amber in trouble.

"Boo Boo? What. Me?" And indeed, with a second wipe, there's little evidence. No, despite the fact he had witnessed a girl punch a bolder into rubble, Ian wasn't into the mode yet of letting slip secrets. And being able close up little wounds tended to be up there on the Secrets list in the lay man's world. "But don't worry about it, I'm all for proper calisthenics." And god knew he didn't need the bad karma of getting Amber upset, or more aptly, in a mood to reproduce the situation with say - his head. He's about to say something else before he pauses, mouth agape at Nicholas' statement. In fact he mouths the words again: "Me and my parents never played Meteor Catch." Apparently this was a popular sport amoung neo-humans. Was there a pro league? An annual draft? Ian decides the better option is instead to drop it, shaking his head and letting slip the lightly of grins. "I agree with that. Nothing worth nothing to inform about." He looks then to Sunday, the only other person who deemed it worthy to close in on. "So, I suppose you also heft large objects as well? Is there a try-out to Rock-Out team, or is it straight JV/Varsity?" He finally shakes his head ruefully. "I suppose after a formal dusting, it's only proper for a name exchange. Ian." As in his-name-is.

Amber grins and says, "The Rocking Out Team is really different. They usually play Rock Band or Guitar Hero in the student lounges." She nods and says, "Hi, I'm Amber. Really, I'm sorry I got you all dusty. But we all have to have fun, some of us like…well rock tossing." She shrugs and grins. "Hey there guys," she says to the other. "It's just one of those days, right?"

"Me?" Sunday asks in surprise, pointing at herself as her eyes enlarge. As if simply thinking it was crazy! C'mon honey, look at the company you keep these days. "I'm from Oregon!" As if that explained it all. The pointing finger now turns into a vague gesture to those Sunday deems 'Supers'. "I don't do what they do. Can hardly lift a television set. The old ones, I mean. Not the new thin ones. I'm not /that/ lame." The grin those fuchsia-painted lips sport is rather sheepish, but in a moment Sunday is shrugging and dismissing the whole thing. Oh, introductions time. "My name's Sunday." Really, it is. She can proove it! And sometimes, people ask her to.

"I can't lift a truck anymore either, really," Nicholas admits. He adds, "But I can read your mind," with a smirk. Totally different brand of fun. Amber he's met, but since the other two he's only seen once or twice around, he adds his name to the mix. "I'm Nick."

"Oregon? Been to Portland - nice town - but I can't rightly say anything about the rest of it. As for the weight… on a good day, lifting a flat screen looks flat out tiring," Ian replies flately. Nevermind the fact that when he was fully in his other form, a car was a good benchpress. "So I'll leave the boulder toss to Amber here." He turns then to Amber, studying her for a moment before letting out a light snort. "Rock Band. I swear, equals parts the salvation and downfall of music. Oh sure, kids these days hafta learn some classics. But 'clickity-clackity' does a real instrument not make." So Fact: Stoker was a musician. Fiction: He didn't play Rock Band. Okay, yeah, he was guilty. But Drums only! Really! "You gotta show me the sign up sheet. And don't worry about the dust. Adds to the appeal, it's in this season. Y'know, anti-Twilight. Dust, not glitter. Gets the ladies hot." Ian's eyes return to Nicholas when he speaks up, quirking a brow at the 'anymore' bit before he drops the T bomb. As in Telepathic. Which, in Stoker-speak always meant Barney Rubble. Trouble. "I'd pass on my mind, Nick. Full of cob-webs in the like. Nothing interesting going on." Except for the extra whisperings of dark entities in him. Nope, nothing interesting at all. "So we got a Supergirl in Amber." He gestures. "Thought reader in Nicky boy in here. What's your schtick then, Sunday?" And no he isn't going to offer his up. Not yet at least.

Amber shakes her head and says, "No, no, the glitter's pretty hot. Not as hot as American Indian werewolf though." She giggles and says, "We all know everyone around here does something, Sunday…by the way, that's a cool name. Anyway, You must do something cool we don't. And Nicky, did you used to lift trucks before?"

Nicholas has disconnected.

Amber has disconnected.

The comments about Rock Band draw an arched brow (brown, like her natural hair color) from Sunday, and she does wonder if he's for real or just spouting some crap he heard the 'cool kids' saying. "It's a game. It's not supposed to be real. That's like saying Mass Effect is the downfall of NASA and that one with those two guys who go fight huge bugs is the downfall of the modern military." A moment later she's realizing that sounded a little mean, and her expression goes back to sheepish. "Not that I'm trying to pick a fight, just.. y'know. Some people like playing at being a rock star instead of trying to actually go be one." She makes it sound like she identifies with it, which she doesn't, though she DOES enjoy rock band. As if doing so would avoid pushing her foot farther into her mouth with the stranger named Ian, Sunday pushes her hands deep into the pockets of her loose-fitting jeans, shoulders slouching. She's similarly curious about Nick's past-tense powers, but figures it's best not to pry. The telepath bit.. well.. is there anyone in the world who'd react well to that? Addendum: Who is NOT a telepath themselves. Fuchsia lips purse, but Sunday's not rude enough to presume he goes around reading minds at random. No point asking him to stay out of hers. Glitter? American Indian Werewolf? Lost again. "I'm not saying I don't do anything, just.. nothing that impressive. I make things hot or cold." Thank God for Little Girls, asking the questions nobody else wants to! Yeah Nicky, asks Sunday's curious gaze, did you used to lift trucks before?

"Difference bein' that kids might rather go for the toy guitar than the real thing." Though one could easily argue the opposite: Like in Star Trek, with fiction inspiring the want to do it in reality. "South Park did an episode about it so I'm definately right about the psychological repercussion. Definately. I'll stick to keeping my mind safe by staying with the traditional non-plastic option." Dry still. "And for the record, pick fight away. You'd probably kick my ass," he murmurs, straight face through it all. Self -deprecating? Nah. "Rather, butt. Gotta stay censored for the younger ones." Nevermind the fact that he isn't much older himself. He turns as well to hear Nick's answer, though that revelation will have to wait for another day as a faculty member comes by to investigate, soon gesturing to Amber and Nicholas that they're needed elsewhere. Strangely enough, all dust clad Stoker isn't identified as a need-to-be-questioned. At least not yet that is. "Hot and Cold? What we talking about? Icy/Hot, or full on spontaneous combustion meets human icecicle?" Ian shrugs, as if neither way matters much. "I never did get why powers had to be a dick measuring contest. They is what they is, as the Zebra says."

"If somebody really has a passion for music, they won't let the ease of a game stop them." Sunday glances away, towards the approaching teachers and does her best to look Very Not Involved while people are being repositioned and removed. When the proverbial - as opposed to the literal - dust settles again, she pulls her hands out of her pockets finally and gives a tug at the bottom of her t-shirt to fuss at some bunching, the shirt tight in contrast to the loose jeans. It's the one saving grace that keeps her from looking thirteen, as everything else about her conspires to create a very child-like appearance. When attention is put back on Ian, who she now finds herself mostly alone with, she smiles and shrugs. "Little bit of A, little bit of B. I know what you mean, though. It seems to be the first question after asking your name, though.. Guess when we're all freaks, it's nice to have that common ground to start from." Again, a shrug. This is not a topic she likes expounding upon. Fortunately, he's given her a fall-back. "So you're a musician. And I'm guessing those," she flicks a finger towards those papers he was trying so hard to keep to himself, "are lyrics. How long have you played?"

"I suppose. Plus who can't help asking someone if they can emit cosmic green fire lasers from their nostrils? It's the type of opening you rarely get in the lay world." Indeed, the best one really could ask for there was funky hair colors, or piercing. Or if one was risky, favorite American Idol contestant. He tilts his head to the side as he's left with Sunday, a glance askew as she fixes her shirt, but little other comment until she replies to his query. When it's turned around he gives the slightest of nods, stuffing the last of the papers into his pocket. "Not exactly lyrics," he repleis honestly. Fire fodder, more likely, but that bit doesn't get added in. Instead. "A few years. Keys, a bit of guitar on time to time. Nothing to speak home about. So what about you? Guiter Hero, or Guitar, Hero?"

Sunday actually laughs at his lame joke, brushing back a bit of that bleached blonde riot of hair to tuck behind her ear. "I'm nobody's hero. I'm really just here because my parents don't know what else to do with me. The powers, this whole.. Neo-Human thing, it's just kind of a side-line." She rubs her fingertips against the thumb of the same hand, feeling the familiar roughness from years of playing until her hands gave out. It ellicits all sorts of memories that soften her smile, and make her feel a little more comfortable in the current conversation. "But yeah, I play. I used to be in a band!" She giggles. "We weren't very good though." A lie, but one born out of modesty. They were not good, but SHE was good. Is good. Obviously a bit more animated, and with no desire to pry into why he hasn't bothered to share his particular supernatural gift, Sunday tilts her head in towards him just a hint, shifting in place to face him a little more squarely. "Remind me to show you the best places to play on campus. The right accoustics can be a little tricky to find, and there aren't a lot of spots where everybody and their brother isn't constantly roaming, but there are a couple good places."

Supernatural was a good way to describe it. There were plenty of natural mutations here, a handful of technological genius, wizards and those rebuilt to be super robots. He was in that other list. Though really in the grand scheme of things, he probably wasn't even remotely the oddest duck in the institute. "Nothing wrong with not being a hero. Odds are most who wannabe here aren't either. I hear there's a cap, the rest have to join a waiting list. And you know how that goes. They lose your number, or when they call for the hero thing you're in the middle of dinner…" He trails off, almost as if he were serious before shaking his head. "It's hard enough getting on getting on. You do what you gotta do." In other words. Nothing wrong with not being a hero. Not right now anyway. "A band eh? Not bad. I played in one for awhile, a year or two back. Just local bars and stuff. Good time though." He pauses then, cocking his head at her offer of secret spots. "Were I not one to take everything at face value, or not so dasingly grizzled I would almost take that offer as innuendo. But consider it a deal. I don't mind an audience when I want it. Another story all together when you just want to get a chord right, or try to figure out a song."

It's really a curse to be as fair skinned as Sunday is, and Ian is about to find out why: The tiniest blush erupts into roses onto her cheeks, even as she's pressing her lips together trying to repress that immediate reaction. She tries making her face cold, but it doesn't do a lot to stop the blood rush. "You are such a flirt!" she declares, swatting his shoulder with one of those small hands. "And you do it so stone-faced. I guess now I know *your* secret power." Once certain she won't break into something that looks goofy and childish, Sunday relaxes her face and smiles again. "Yeah?" A band? "Yeah, I had a good time too," she offers up before even thinking, which is really both the problem and the result of that problem. If she'd thought first, she wouldn't have been so enthusiastic about how she enjoyed her time as part of Carmen's Etc. But because she was, her mind snaps on the reasons she shouldn't have been, and her smile, as well as the glint in her eyes, dims with an unpleasant memory. Idly, one hand lifts to rub her cheek, a move that might be mistaken as thoughtful. But this train hasn't finished it's run yet! As she looks up at Ian's face, haggard for someone so young, in the context of her memory.. "Hey, have we-" Eh, don't be stupid. Her lips press shut again. "Nevermind, sorry. So, yeah, I can show you rehersal places if you'd like sometime. Totally innocent-like."

"Yup. Flirtery + 3. The stuff of legends," and that too is spoken stone faced from Ian, though he looks up with the lightest of quirked brows. Flirt? Perhaps, though he hadn't been called such in quite awhile. Or if at all. "Don't be spreading it around though. If too many people find out, I might be forced to save the world the next time the world's invaded by Aliens who were raised watching the dating game." He puffs his cheek a moment to blow an errant patch of dust that has settled on his shirt before looing back up. Have we? It's an itch in the brain, but Stoker couldn't yet place it. Not yet at least. "Like I said. Deal. Show me the places, and I'll pay with copious amount of gratitude. All innocent like of course. Wouldn't want to make today even more scandelous. A near death experience is enough." Pause. "And by that I mean the fact I made Twilight references twice since the start of this whole chain events. And if that isn't enough cause for sponatenous combustion, I dunno what is." Another pause, and a chin rub, definately a thoughtful one. "Except maybe displeasing someone who can causes spontaneous combustion."

Sunday makes a motion over her lips as if zipping them, then throwing away the key.. which is apparently a requirement of lip-zippers. "Your deep, dark secret is safe with me, Ian. That, and the fact you know enough about Twilight to even make references about it." Sunday, on the other hand, is clueless. "Never had the pleasure myself, but my super powers of logical reasoning lead me to believe this means you're the type of guy to let a girl drag you to a movie." She shrugs. "Or maybe that's just girl logic?" He's being given an out, should he decide to take it and kill that line of conversation. Some guys would consider it better to leave a person wondering if they read the Twilight series and huddled in the back of the theater than to talk current or, gasp, PAST relationships. Not like Sunday's into that particular topic anyway. "If you'd like some help with that spontanious combustion thing, though.." Is it getting warmer out here? Sunday just smiles.

"If it were a decent movie, I certainly consider it very hard. And probably accept." In Guy Logic, yes. Though Ian wasn't necissarily the prototypical guy. Plus, if nothing else, he could never claim that Sunday wasn't one of the more interesting people he's met. Nevermind the fact he's only really formally met three. But she definately had an ease on him, and in his life, such rarities were best clung to. As for the rest? Well the Twilight thing is met with a shrug, and sudden heat a backhand to the forehead as he wipes off a bit of suddenly burgeoning sweat. That when the quirk brow raises just a tad bit more. "I suppose then that ability use isn't banned. Women beware, Flirttery + 3 might be used at wanton will."

"Yeah right, because guys totally care about the movie some hot girl wants to drag them to. You'd probably go see Remains of the Day if the boobs were big enough," Sunday teases as gently as she can, eyes sparkling with delight at the entirely normal banter they're experiencing. Aahhh, it's so awesome to not feel obligated to talk about things that people back home would look at her funny for. Trying to adjust to this new version of normal hasn't exactly been easy for Sunday. It's a LOT of change in a very short period of time. She's not exactly one to scoff at change, but, hey.. a girl needs a break once in awhile! Incidentally, it's back to normal temperature, as Sunny has no desire to roast a potential new friend. "I thought it was plus five earlier? Losing your edge already?"

Perhaps the adjustment time isn't quite the same for Ian. After all, he's just gotten here, and the time spent has almost been exclusively within the confines of his room. Before that, he was doing quite well hiding what he could from the general populace. And, quite frankly, he was living in a weird not of his choosing at all, with an entity that was not his friend. Normalcy was something worthwhile any chance you got. "Hey, in men's defense, I know a woman or three who'd go for the same reason. But… what is Remains of the Day? Sounds like a Metalcore band to my ears." Whether he was serious or not, one would never know. As for the decrease in plus? "Perhaps I don't do well under pressure. Or maybe I don't care about people knowing about the +3, while the extra +2 is the mystery." Pause. "Okay that joke sucked." Which made one wonder exactly just how serious Ian was this entire time. "And for the record - You did just hypothetically ask me to see some movies, and a breath later say guys would follow Hot girls with Big Boobs. Fruedian, or implicit planning?" Once again straight faced, until a twitch of the lip hints at amusement. This. Well, this playing normal thing wasn't so bad. It took the mind off a pocket full of crappy letters, and the inevitability of facing inner demons later.

Metalcore? Sunday outright /laughs/, covering her mouth with two hands to avoid unattractive tonsil exposure. Once she's composed herself a bit more, she assures him, "It's about as far from Metalcore as you can possibly get, trust me. It's old British people and their idea of romance, all tortured and subdued. About as girly as you can get without actually having ovaries. But if a movie COULD have ovaries, I'm sure it would." Smiling brightly as he tries to pull himself out of the little hole he's digging, in regards to the stat boost he gets from flirting. Thank god she's been around enough D&D nerds to get these references! But wait! He's a little quicker than he seems at first! Those blue eyes are blinking again and here comes that flush. "What? I did not! Besides, I-" Mouth clamps shut, as her brain senses impending foot. She does her absolute best not to look down at herself, and her teenage figure. Or mentally compare herself to absolutely every cover-model she's ever seen a guy she liked drool over. "You.. just.. you behave yourself in regards to my, my.." Her hands gesture vaguely around her torso. "Person!" But that grin is still there, still horribly amused. "You don't even know me. I could be a very mature looking twelve year old! You cad."

"Sounds lovely." Really not, but who knew once again. He's been surprised by quite a few things. So no judgement — at the moment at least. When she flushes, he actually grins enough to be in danger of flashing a bit of white. "Behave myself? That sounds no fun. Plus, if I can get you flushed so easy, seems like reason enough to keep going." But perhaps luckily for the girl, he actually pushes no further than that, except to correct her. "With your vocabulary, I'd say you're a savant of a twelve years old, talking about Cads and British Romances. That's definately pushing 13 at least." He puts up hand, with scant space between thumb and forefinger. "So movies, and showing me secret spots. Not a bad deal for a first conversation. I better cut and run before rescend said offers."

The girly part of Sunday wants to squeek and smack his shoulder again, giggling all the while. Fortunately for her image, she manages to refrain from being quite so.. uh.. twinkly? "Award winning," she replies to his assessment of the movie he hasn't seen, and no doubt will never see. "I do not flush easily!" she cries, a little flustered with her own.. fluster! "I'm just /pale/. We don't get any sun in the pacific northwest!" Hoooonest! At his assessment of her academic level, however, she smirks softly and manages to calm herself somewhat, looking slightly more serious with her next words. "Well, my parents always liked pushing the vocab, and my mother is a sucker for period pieces. Probably the only thing she watches, considering TV 'rots your brain.'" Gah! She did not invite him to a movie! But, she's not about to let him rile her up again, as he seems to take way too much enjoyment out of it. There is just a hint, just a touch of disappointment in her eyes though as he mentions bailing, but she hides it well, offering up a smile. "Well, I'm pretty easy to find when you want your tour. So just lemme know."

"Strange that, my parents said TV was good for you. I was wondering why my head hurt so much." He rubs his head at that, before standing slowly. It wasn't all lie with that one, with the TV being a replacement for semi-absent parents at times. But that was a conversation for a much more serious day, and something best reserved for occasions which aren't first meetings. He notices her eyes at his declaration of departure and gives a wan - if brief - smile. "Ditto. I'm in Rider if you need to look me in the directories. Otherwise I'm in class. Haven't really gotten a chance at finding anything else. So whenever you want to show me, it works for me."

Rider? .. Sunday would mention that she also happens to be in Rider, but for some reason that revelation, coupled with how less-than-eager she knows she seemed to end their conversation, makes her feel a little.. stalkerish. So she'll just keep it to herself for the moment, and smile. As always. "Will do. And I'm.. probably the only 'Sunday' in the school, so shouldn't take that much looking." In any student directory, that is. "So um," one hand lifts, about shoulder-level, to offer a little wave. "See you around, Ian. And welcome to the school." And to keep from seeming, well.. awkward, or anything, Sunday takes the initative of two steps back before she starts to turn and make her way over towards the gates of the grounds. She feels suddenly inspired to go look at guitars and tab books.

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