RPLog-Poison In The Air

Log Info

Title: Poison in the Air
Emitter: -
Characters: Alessandra Job, Reginald Hart, Sullivan Prieto
NPCs: -
Place: Steranko Institute — Quad
Time: April, 14, 2010
Summary: Three students come across one another on the Quad. Conversation ensues - philosophy, reality, and pride mix in the pollen, er… Poison-filled Spring Air.

Moving down the path from one of the dorms towards the Siegal Dining Hall, Reg's footsteps are quick and sure. He pauses briefly as a group of kids moves down the other path, probably towards one of the dorms. He seems content to wait, then turns, heading further down his own path.

Spring is working it's way into all aspects of the world - there are flowers, the grass is green, sunshine, light clouds, and periodically someone sneezes.

Glancing sidelong at the passing student from Talor hall as his head nearly explodes from the force of the sneeze, Sandra just peers at him, slowly taking a step away, as if, somehow, the young man had just done the most disturbing thing imaginable. A faint nod, and weak smile are given when the young man looks up and offers an apology before going on his way, leaving Sandra staring at his back in confused horror.

Liv sits on one of the benches, rubbing at a bruise on her arm absently. She keeps trying to tug her shirt sleeve down so the bluish spot is hidden, punctuated with the occasional wince. She has a laptop balanced at a ludicrous angle on her crossed legs and is typing with her left hand. She pauses, peering up through a half bang across the quad. One eyebrow arches at Sandra's behavior.

A curious glance is directed at Sandra. After a moment, Reg speaks in a soft tenor, "Something wrong, miss?" He pauses, digging into a pocket and coming out with a stick of gum, casually offering one to Sandra as well. A glance not far away and his gaze falls upon the bruised and abused Liv. His expression darkens briefly at the bruise, but all he does is offer the gum. "How 'bout you, miss? Gum?" Yes. He called them miss.

If anything was amiss by being called Miss, Sandra misses it. Having been at the school since the beginning of the year, Sandra has picked up on a few of the 'habits' of the students - gum being one of them. Eyeing the piece, Sandra reaches out her fingers with a faint dip of her chin for a nod. "Thank you," she notes in her Queen's English accent, pulling the piece from Reginald's fingers.

Then those blue eyes follow his gaze and words to the next person, and Sandra studies her for a long moment. A respectful dip of her head is given to the other female student, before Sandra places the gum in her mouth.

Eyebrows shoot up, at the unexpected flavor apparently, but Sandra does not make a comment as per the gum. "The young Taylor's man's … convulsion was … unexpected. That is all."

Liv puts a hand on the laptop lid to steady it and extends the other, crosswise, across her body - then stops with her fingers half-curled. "What kind of gum is it?" she asks without looking up all the way. She flicks a wry smile to Sandra. "It is? It's poison season. Going to be lots of sniffing and sneezing and hopefully, no spontaneous self-combustion." She drops her foot to steady the laptop and looks all the way up with a nod for Reg that freezes partway to chin-bob. She half-stares, then eyes flick to one side in hasty search of words. "What kind of -" No, you asked that, Liv. She clears her throat. "Hello."

"I think she means allergy season. No self-combusion," Reg assures Sandra, his voice light.
”I'm Reg. I've seen you both around, right?" He asks, sliding the packet of gum into his pocket as he glances between both of the young women. If he notices Liv's look, it's not obvious. He probably didn't, he tends to be the oblivious, polite sort.

"Poison Season? I did not realize there was such a thing u…uh, here," notes Sandra with an arched eyebrow at Liv, before turning to glance at Reg once more. "Mmm, it would be a pity if there was spontaneous self-combustion. It would stand to reason such a thing would be difficult to recover from," she notes in a deadpan before looking back to Liv.

"Oh, do not stop your query on my part," she notes with a half smile - trying to be helpful. Then she leans forward and whispers faintly, "I believe it is some sort of … mint, yes?" she suggests before straightening.

A hand is held out towards Reginald, a firm sort of gesture, as Sandra copies it from what she has seen. "A pleasure to make your name, Reg. I am Alessandra. Though it seems most around here call me Sandra or … Sandy," she says the last with a knotted brow. "Not that I actually have a sandy texture the last I checked." Then she looks behind her. "I do try to go to the beach … perhaps I bring sand back with me."

He adds after a moment, "Spearmint, by the by."

"Around here? One fire controller with a runny nose and there could be," Liv says with a slight smirk. She takes a piece of gum before Reg puts it away, starts to pop it into her mouth, acquires a self-conscious grimace, flicks a sideways look at him … and then pops it in anyway, chewing with as much ladylike reserve as anyone can chew gum. "Well, for some of us, pollen and blossoming flowers might as well be poison, so it amounts to the same thing," she explains.

Attention turns back to Reg - well, mostly. She's not looking up all the way. "I'm Sullivan - Liv for short. Good to meet you." A note of wariness ebbs into her voice. "You've probably seen me around, yeah." The attitude is as if he probably wouldn't have liked what he saw. She relaxes slightly to add, "You, too, Sandra. It's just a nickname, isn't it? Not like I'm …" Pause, consider. "… bad example."

Listening with amusement, Reg observes to Sandra, "You're not from around here, are you?" This much, of course, is quite obvious. He shrugs a shoulder, saying, "Sandra. Sullivan. Nice to meet you both." Yes. He just called Liv /Sullivan/! Gasp! He tilts his head to the side, asking, "Not like you're what, miss?" to Liv.

Sandra takes the time to study the, albeit one-sidely awkward interaction between the pair, holding onto her books lazily as she observes. "I suppose I am lucky I have not ever felt any adverse affects to … pollen, or shall we just call it what it is … poison, in the air."

Blue eyes flick back to Liv and Sandra narrows her eyes curiously. "Not like you … are a bad example? Since when is any example 'bad'?" she asks, peering at Reg, before looking back at Sullivan with a roll of her shoulders. "I am certain I do not know what you are speaking about, so it matters nothing," she intones firmly, and with a certain amount of fact tinging her voice. "As for the … nick name… well, … I've just never had a named nick before." Again, the comment is deadpan, perhaps the young woman just has a very obtuse sense of humor.

Back again to Reg, blue eyes chill faintly, and the woman lifts her chin upwards with a hint of a frown. "I was born in Atlanta," she states. "But I have never lived here until the beginning of the school year. So no, I am not from around 'here' at all. Is there a problem with such?"

Liv shakes her head, a brief flurry of bronze hair. "It's Liv," she repeats. "Sullivan is … no one calls me that." She shrugs. "I just was going to say that it's not like Liv means I'm alive, but - I am. Mostly." A sardonic turn of her lips. "I have a hint of allergies. Nothing too bad." She snorts. "Plenty of examples are bad. People who -" But rather than start in on a tirade, she cuts herself off, shrugging again, a turtle's retreat into the shell of her shoulders. She regards Sandra with narrowed eyes, not speaking for a moment, then two. Finally, slowly, she asks, "Are you for real?"

"I…see," Reg says to Sandra. He's not going to push: that simply wouldn't be polite. Instead, he chuckles, and says, "Atlanta, huh? That's a cool city. You ever visit the Fox Theatre?
Or the Museum of Puppetry Arts? I loved them both when I was there. Been to the Civil War Museum?" He wonders to the young woman. He appraises Liv, "Ah. Okay. Sorry about that, Liv," he tells the woman with a smile. He glances between Sandra and Liv, curious at that question. He won't ask it, but hey.

"Well, to my knowledge, yes I am real. I do not believe I was a clay doll brought to life as a babe, or some sculptor's vision, but I suppose there have been stranger things throughout history, no?" asks Sandra of Liv while rolling her shoulders. "I firmly believe there are no bad examples, so long as they are in the right context," she then clarifies.

An eyebrow is arched again then, and Sandra turns to look at Reg for a long moment, considering him curiously. "I have spent time at the theatre, though not this Fox Theatre you speak of. And I have not seen any Museum of Puppetry Arts. As for the Civil War Museum … well, you could say I practically lived in one," she notes.

"As for being alive, there are many symbolances of life, yes? The ability to move about this existence, communicate, express emotion … all that speaks of a spark of life, yes? I have seen one here who does not eat, but I would not say they are not 'alive'," she offers, trying to be reassuring to Liv.

"No problem." Liv offers a half-smile, then seems to think it's too wishy-washy and drops it into flat affect. "I mean, I assume Reg is short for something, too?" The pierced brow fits up a fraction … and stays elevated as she listens to Sandra's replies. "Some of them are probably attending this school, but that wasn't what I meant." The attempt at reassurance does draw a small, reluctant twitch to her lips. "Except sometimes, it's the threat of death that impels us most strongly to our attempts to communicate, express emotion - be something new."

"That sort of thing doesn't work as well as you might think," mumbles Reg. He shakes his head as if to clear it, clearing his throat as well as he listens. "I see." Again, not going to push. Though that's strange, right? He glances over at Liv, and nods. "Yes, indeed. Reginald." He wrinkles his nose, "I think my father was a bit old-fashioned." Like you aren't in some ways, Reg? His brow rises at Liv's philosophical statement, lapsing into silence.

"Then it is good I was not created in that manner, no?" offers Sandra to Reg. Then she turns to Liv and looks down at the seated woman for a long silent moment. "I have not had the fortune, or unfortunate, of being in such a position, so I cannot say. Though, I suppose it is similar to the thought of war and it's horrors turning the hearts of the people towards peace. I suppose it is the nature of life," note that Sandra does not say 'humanity', "to want to be happy, and leave behind pain and fear and all negativity as dust in the past. A sort of transcended state. But there is the converse of this - how does one know joy and peace, if they have not the experience of the inverse?"

"Reginald isn't so bad," Liv says, quick to encourage. "It makes me think of dashing English generals and naval battles." She starts to power down the laptop. "We want to be happy so much
hat we hurt everyone else around us. The ripple effect it creates is … frightening, when you think about it. We don't ever escape it." She gusts out a sigh. "I suppose you're right, though. If all you've had is cotton candy and ponies, it's hard to appreciate how lucky you are."

"It certainy is," Reg acknowledges to Sandra. He listens to her and Liv talk, his gaze flickering between them as he observes, "I doubt anyone here at this school have had only cotton candy and ponies." That's all he'll say on the matter. He tries to avoid philosophy, other than the bits that got pounded into his head. He's more of a doer. He does say, though, "It's really easy for people to forget the consequences of their actions. It's a kind of forced blindness."

"Until said consequences quite literally swallow one up in their own hubris," notes Sandra with a simple, yet stiff, roll of her shoulders - again another mannerism she's seen other students do. "I admit my life has not been all cotton candy or ponies. Why, I've never had either of those things in my entire life," she notes, quite seriously. "Though, my life has been a living mural of the mistakes made by my family in the past. Even now, my generation pays for it, is keenly, perhaps too keenly, aware of what the past did, with no way to change it, and perhaps a lack of desire," she says, frowning faintly.

Liv nods to Reg. "That's true. Some people are blind; some people choose to close their eyes." She smiles wryly. "I didn't have cotton candy. It was against my dietary restrictions." There's a hint of snark in her voice, acknowledging the turn of the metaphor. "You have to be able to recover from the past. You have to." Her smokey voice is fierce for an instant, but it passes just as swiftly. "I should be going. Got a class soon." Laptop gathered up, she stands.

Oddly enough, to Liv's words, Sandra stiffens, straightens, her back straight as a rod. "Recover has many different meanings," she notes, almost imperiously. "To some it means to ask forgiveness for what was not your own fault, while to others it means to cope and adapt to what has been given to you currently." Blue eyes flick between the two other students, and Sandra purses her lips before bowing her head.

"Well then, I have never had this cotton candy either, perhaps we could share it sometime?" she asks of Liv, trying to recover from her 'bout' of indignant pride to be friendly. "Or if you'd rather, there is a wonderful restaurant near here, which makes delightful rolls of raw fish, rice and other delectable. Until another time, calm to you, Liv," notes Sandra with a bow of her head.

"Yeah - my mother is a little crazy," Liv says with a shrug. "Homeopathic-sympathetic-organic something or other." She returns the smile shyly, not quite in line with her mannerisms. "Thanks. Good to meet you." She stares at Sandra, clutching the laptop more tightly. "Yeah, some of us don't need to be told that," she says sharply. You could cut the tension with a knife … but she also doesn't hold onto it, though her mood switch isn't as abrupt, easing into a sort of gruff wariness. "I suppose so. Good afternoon." She strides off.

Yeah. Reg's a coward. He doesn't want to upset either of the young women, she he flashes a smile at both and says again, "Nice to meet you. I should go eat before class." With a nod to each, he flicks a hand into his pocket and comes out with a pen, twirling it as he heads towards the dining hall.

This leaves Sandra alone, her lips pursed again. Then the woman takes a deep breath of air,pushing any sudden feelings of awkwardness aside. She hasn't the /TIME/ for such feelings, and simply makes a mental not of what 'worked' and what didn't for later use.

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