Rplog Secret Spots

Log Info

Title: Secret Spots, Bloody Ears, & Mick Jagger
Emitter: -
Characters: Sunday, Miranda, & Ian
NPCs: -
Place: The Quad
Time: May 1st, 2010
Summary: Sunday and Ian stumble upon each other, and the conversation turns to music and the secret spots to play it. Things soon get serious when they discover a bloodied Miranda.

Saturday was a time to get away from the grind of a week. And really, for those school bound, it was a high holy day. Some spent it in town, others sneaking away to private corners as teens were wont to do. For Ian's part, the Green suited just fine. It offered plenty of green and open space to sate the need for 'freedom', but still close enough to his dorm in case of anything unfortunate happening. Unfortunate meaning, dunno- embarrassment maybe, or perhaps a severed arm, or transformation. Normal teen stuff, really.

This time he brought out his guitar for the time, thumb idly strumming against the strings as he hums a tune to himself. The point? None really. It was a chance to pretend at normalcy. And in this new life, such things were truly a rarity.

A High Holy Day indeed. For the first time in weeks, Sunday has felt a little more comfortable in her surroundings, just a little more adjusted to this New Normal, and also a little more willing to adjust. The weather being as nice as it is, she ventured in to town this morning to check out the local farmers market and get her fix of locally grown, organic, non-gmo and practically stinking of environmental friendliness produce. A carry-over from living in Portland all her life. So as she trudges back on to campus, she bears a canvas bag in one hand, full of various fruits and veggies, and slung over the other shoulder is her precious guitar case. Farmers markets tend to bring out Hippies in the West, so she was rather hoping for an impromptu jam-session (not at all unheard of in her neck of the woods) but found East-Coasters to be slightly different than what she's used to. No worries, it was nice to carry it around and beyond that, it served as a flag for fellow musicians. She got a couple e-mail addresses! Local contacts are always a good thing.

Upon reaching the grassy area of the quad in her trek back to her room, Sunday Knight notices a somewhat familiar face sitting only a short distance from her chosen path, his own weapon of choice being plucked at idly. For a moment, she thinks she'll just continue on and enjoy her Saturday all to herself.. but a few steps shy of being past him, Sunny stops, glances to her side, then makes the turn. ".. Am I interrupting? Ian, right?" Making Friends. Mom says it's a good thing. Might want to try it.

"Newp. Johnny Lau," Ian replies back without a beat, so dry one might consider him being serious. A second later, however he looks up from the ground, and to the bleached blonde. "Or Ian, whichever one suits. Just some crappy attempts at making music, is all, Sunday." That was one thing he was thankful for: No dog memory. "What's up? Didn't expect too many others to be chilling out at campus when there's a free day." The guitar is shifted just so and he gestures to a spot nearby. Not too closely, mind, but still close enough so that they might carry out a conversation with anyone passing by to know it as such.

The guitar slides down again, as Ian begins to play a simple melody, fingers moving as if he had played it a thousand times. He was self taught, and to someone trained, it showed. And his fingers acted as if there should have been distortion or some other paddle effect instead of acoustic, but he did have a knack for it. "Getting used to the House of Mirrors yet?" he inquires neutrally, voice either either condemnation or acceptance. Just a matter of statement really, and a without a hint of care on either side of the fence. Oh, but, "Probably best that you got your own grub in the city, I think the food at the caf right now is half on the poison side." Yeah, he could smell her wares even from a distance.

Sunday side-long glances at the spot indicated for her, but for whatever reason does not yet take it. A little half-grin appears on her lips as he mentions adjustment to their present condition. "I suppose. I mean, it's not like I'm any less freakish than anyone else, right? Kind of the Pot calling the Kettle black to try avoiding it." She shifts the bag in her hands enough to reach down inside, plucking an apple from it's confines and offering it up to him. She doesn't ask about how he knew what was in the bag, she's already got an inclination. It's hard not to hear around school that there's some Werewolf kid, you know, but considering Sunday's also heard that her name is made up and she's really just on the run from something, she doesn't give undue weight to the rumors. "Well, considering all the chemicals they pump into that stuff you get in the grocery store, you're not far off the mark. Want one?" If it takes it, so be it. If not, it's put back, and no harm is done. Still, she does not take the spot offered, and instead shifts her burdens a little to make them more comfortable before turning back towards the quad. "C'mon Mr. Lau, this stuff is heavy and I don't have all day."

"Black's a good colour," Ian remarks. And no, that has nothing to due with the chosen moniker in his new life. "Anyway, I've hung with plenty of freaks. Most of these kidlets barely fit the desciptor. Now some modern primitives…" He trails off, as does the melody on his guitar when he reaches to accept the offered apple. Without muss of preamble, the fruit is bitten into, held firm between jaws as Stoker looks up at Sunday again. Rumors? All things considered, Ian had done a fair job avoiding people all together, but apparently that only helped the propagation of such innuendo. "Mmgmgm," is the next thing out of his mouth, before he decides it better to pull the apple out, and swallow the chunk still in his mouth. "Never say I'm your Beast of Burden," he murmurs a second later, in a neutral tone. Still the guitar is slung over shoulder and he's picking up a share of the groceries. Okay, more than a share if she allows him - Because really, if the curse allowed him to lift a car with little trouble, why not take advantage of it? "Hey. Chemicals are good for you. Uncle Sam says so. Rumor is that it's one of the reasons for Neo-human population spiking."

Good boy! The thought hits Sunday's brain and in instant later she's glad he can't read it, and that little smile on her lips could mean anything. Is it true? Lord she wants to ask, but he's not yet offered up anything about himself and she's not the kind of push. Not when she wants to make a good impression, anyway. "So says Moody and Mysterious?" about Black, that is. He wants to take her bag of produce, Sunday will not protest - she is woman enough to admit that it's awfully nice when a boy wants to do the heavy lifting. Though it cannot be avoided that his choice of words has evoked memories in her, and with a big grin Sunday recites words like poetry even as her fingers twitch involuntarily with the chords, "I'll never be your beast of burden. My back is broad, but it's a'hurtin. All I want is for you to make-" Oh. Uh. Sunday manages to recover from her choked lyrics by just humming the rest, pretending that was totally on purpose. As she leads him down one of the paths and into a building, the humming ceasing, Sunday listens to him banter about the chemicals in food and laughs softly, tossing a grin back at him. "Hey, I did get /really/ sick when I got my powers. But considering my parents were feeding me organic quinoa and Kefir smoothies before it was trendy, I doubt it was my diet." Down hallways they weave, up a flight of stairs, and finally to a room that looks like it could be a living room, or a reading room, except there are not enough books or proper lighting to read well and no television or other electronic devices that her generation requires for rec-room enjoyment. Consequently, it's usually pretty empty - as it is right now. Sunday swings out her arms, turning towards Ian. "Welcome to Secret Music Spot Numero Uno! Weeknights, or right before an exam, there tend to be some people here studying. Pretty nice for that too. But otherwise, empty as can be, and removed enough that I can turn my amp up a bit and not bother anybody. Much." And she grins at that last bit, obviously not TOO bent up about the fact.

"Moody perhaps. Mysterious? In this age, all one has to do is Google and you know anything about a person." The question one always had to deal with in such occasions is whether the evidence was manufactured or actually factual. Without much of a pause he begins to haul the load towards the dorms, only pausing on his stride when Sunday stumbles over the lyrics. For a moment there's a ghost of a smirk, before it's gone and he's looking straight ahead. "Oh my. And we barely know one another either." All done drily. Still, nonetheless he hums along the melody with the girl, seemingly without a trouble in the world. Only, too many. But that's another story. Now though it was easy walking until they weave into a little quiet spot. Once there, Ian looks about with a little whistle, setting down the sack of goods gently on a nearby cheer. "Not bad, kid, not bad. Probably decent for acoustics, and out of the way. All one would have to worry about is sneaky little couples tryin' to use this place for a littl' Fred Durst time." He shakes his head ruefully. Ah amps. "To be honest, I feel a bit naked with the guitar without a good amp and peddle effects. Now if we could only fit a good Baldwin in here…"

When Ian makes the comment about googling people, she has to wonder, for just a second, if he's actually done that. .. Nah, he doesn't know her last name. Surely this near-to-a-stranger has not dug up her somewhat embarrassing all-too-recent past. Sunday slings down her guitar case on a table and shakes her head, still smiling. "You know you can't believe anything you read online! All lies and gossip. Just like the newspaper." No, she's not being serious, but the point is she takes all that with a grain of salt. "And really," she turns towards him more fully, a brow arched and finger pointing, though her half-smirk softens the otherwise stern look, "You set me up, and it's The Stones! It's classic. You can't tease me about it. It's forbidden. Jagger will materialize and," Sunday does her best Mick impression with a weird hand wave and pouty face thing that just makes her look stupid. "All OVER your butt." The bit about couples does get a snicker. "Yeah, I ran into that problem once. It was kind of embarrassing. I didn't even notice them trying to sneak back out until I was maybe half-way through my tab sheet. I tried to apologize, but.. yeah." Couples caught making out in the study room doesn't respond well to acknowledgment of their existence. One thing, though.. "Fred Durst? .. I don't get it. Bad rock-rap and baseball hats?" Do people sneak around for that? If not, they should.

"But don't all lies begin with the truth? For example Al Gore really did make the internet. And it is, indeed, created with a series of tubes. I know. I've been there." Sagenod. Ian's little fibs come as clean as his truths moments before, and taste just as clean on his tongue. He enjoyed being glib, gave him a chance to get a bearing of a situation before it was too far ahead of him. "And please. I fear no Jagger. Now Zombie Richards on the other hand?" Faux shudder is thrown, before Stoker is bending down to pick up the bag of produce. "So lead the way back to the delivery spot." As much as he doesn't mind hauling thing (Read in: Being a literal Beast of Burden. Ayuk yuk yuk), he would rather have it done with for good and all. It's not until they're stepping back out to the Quad that Ian deems it worth to answer Sunday's question. "Y'know, Fred Durst'in." He even pops an imaginary collar and turns his hat backwards for the next comment: "I did it all for the cookie." Yes, also said straight faced, before he immediately slumps again to a normal Stoker pose. "Teens will be teens after all."

As Ian and Sunday re-entering the Quad a group of students are leaving, looking around and looking like their looking for trouble. A few minutes after that, as Ian and Sunday are crossing the Quad, Miranda drops out of one of the trees. Her hair is a bit disheveled and there is a trickle of blood, mostly dried now coming from her left ear.

Sunday's nose wrinkles in distaste. "I believe the lyric is 'Nookie', but point taken. Also, you shouldn't ever do that ever again. Ever." No, not a Limp Bizkit fan. And only moments after he 'insulted' the Rolling Stones other half! Moment of pause over with, she picks up her guitar again and motions him back out, into the quad and towards her dorm. They can, at least, drop off the groceries in the kitchen so she can peck at them later. A side-ways glance is given to the group of roving youths that pass them by, but Sunday isn't interested in whatever it is they're looking for, and would really prefer to just stay out of their line of fire. Still, they are in her mind when the stranger drops out of the tree looking like she just got drug up it, and those blue eyes widen in slight concern. One hand lashes out to hit Ian's shoulder and get his attention as she says, "Ian, look!" A few steps are taken in the girls direction. "Jeez, are you okay? You're bleeding! .. Out your ear!" Which Sunday is pretty sure is not a good thing.

"I was trying to be tasteful." But honestly, a popped collar was anything but. And any mention of a certain red-hat wearing rapper. "But lets be honest that…" Whatever was to be said next is lost as Sunday points out the youths and a girl dropping from the trees. Almost immediately, Ian's expression changes from mild amusement and disinterest for the world around him to a sudden lowering of brows, nose flaring for just the lightest of moments. He hurries quickly behind Sunday, looking first at the girl and then to the departing kids. "They do this to you?" Yeah, that was Stoker speak for "Hi, How are you. Gee your nose doesn't look so swell."

Miranda touches her ear, even as she winces. "I'll be ok. I'm really vulnerable to sonic powers. I just need to get back to my room." She flinches at almost every little sound. "They're… trying to convince me to drop out. It doesn't matter, really. Please don't mention this to the staff?" She's wearing a nice white silk blouse tucked into brown slacks and a pair of cute brown suede ankle-boots. Not really suited to tree-climbing, but not that much worse for wear. She takes a brown suede backpack off her back, and fishes in the side pocket pulling out a tissue and dabbing at her ear.

"Luckily, I'm just a Baritone," Ian remarks, before inwardly flinching. Yeah, he was irreverent and all of that, but now wasn't probably the best of moments for being glib. Not when there was blood in the air. "Anywho, why would they would they want to do that?" Pause. "Let alone group going against one girl." He shakes his head slightly, feeling his teeth grinding for a moment. Annoyance was giving way to anger, and with the New Black, that was never a good thing. After a moment he lets out a very long breath. "Tell you what, I won't tell staff. But if you want to make things even…" He shrugs, passing a quick look to Sunday and then back at Miranda. "At the very least, let us make sure you get to nurse alright. Or bearing that, to your dorm."

Sunday looks quite concerned at Miranda's words, a frown on her lips. "Convince you to drop out? Who are they?" she glances back over her shoulder, towards where the band of ruffians went off to. When she looks back to Miranda, she does notice the girl seems sensitive to sound and softens her voice appropriately. "Yeah, we won't tell," Sunday agrees with Ian, though looks a little sour at the idea of evening the score. "Nobody is evening anything. We're not /them/. But Ian is right," she turns back to the girl, "We could take your back to your room, or the nurse..? But really, you should think about telling a teacher about this. This is supposed to be a school, not a battle-ground." And Sunday doesn't like the idea of them getting away with it any more than she likes the idea of somebody going to pound them into the dirt in retribution.

Miranda sighs, "It's… a long story. Some of the students don't feel I belong here, and I don't have the kind of power that's good for fighting back." She grimaces. "It's not the first time bullies have come after me. And trying to defend myself only got me kicked out of my previous school… If you can just get me back to Baldwin, that will be enough." She looks between the pair, "I'm Miranda Weisse." And she is really hoping that the last name doesn't set off any bells. Her parents were murdered a year ago, and the murder made national news due to the fact that the terrorist group Venom was involved, and that her parents were revealed to have been the villains Driveshaft and Heartbreaker back in the 70s and early 80s.

"And since when is 'fighting back' a requirement here. Chem, Calculus, Ultra-Violence." Ian snorts lightly, as if he himself hadn't offered to 'even' things only a few moments before. "Ian Stoker," Reb offers the girl, along with a hand should she want it. If the name means anything, it doesn't show on Ian's face. Then again, with a name like 'Stoker', perhaps he was used to trying to debase the significance of a last name. Doubly so now that he had a bit of occult in him. That would only add to the annoyance of being related to a certain horror writer. "The way I figure it, Miranda, you got class - something apparently not given with every kid at this fucking place." He shakes his head again, troubled equally for the attack and the fact the others were getting away with it. "But yeah, we'll lead you there and if anyone else wants to make something of it," Ian shrugs before nodding to Sunday again. "She'll do her Jagger impression and they'll be stunned silent."

While Sunday may know about the murders, the name itself doesn't ring any bells. The only news she ever looks into in depth in music news. "Sure, we can definitely do that." Get her back to Baldwin, that is. "Sunday Knight. Nice to meet you. Wish it was under better circumstances." She shifts the guitar case on her back before motioning for the group to begin moving towards Baldwin hall, and keeps in step should the others decide to head there now. There's another slightly curdled look towards Ian at the Ultra-Violence comment, for various reasons, before Sunny turns her attention back to the injured girl. "Really, my Jagger impression is quite horrific," she adds, totally straight-faced. "They'll run like the wind. Also, I'm pretty sure this one," she tilts her head towards Ian, "sparkles in direct sunlight rather scarily." Two can play this game!

Miranda actually manages a small chuckle at the joking. "Well, it's nice to meet you both. My foster-parents dumped me here a few weeks ago, and I've only started to try to meet people." She shrugs, "As for class… I'm not really sure about that. I was home-schooled as a kid, so I… really don't have a basis of comparison." She grins at Sunday, "I think a Jagger impression would trump sparkles any day. Though I don't know… I'm trying to imagine someone with a power-weakness for sparkles… Trembling in terror before rainbow-makers and glitter…"

Sparkles? SPARKLES?! Dude, Ian was literally on team Animalism, and not in the fan type way. He shoots Sunday a look for a moment before shaking his head. "I Forgot to get out the glitter today," Ian murmurs flatly before nodding to Miranda. "I've just gotten here myself, and can't rightly say I've been going out of my way to say hi to most folks." He pauses a moment, listening to the comment about schooling. "Trust me, I went to 'normal' high school. You didn't miss a thing. Well, unless you think soap operas are fun." As the girls continue on about the sparkles, Ian gives an emphatic roll of eyes before finally rubbing the back of his head. "Perhaps I needed to get the power to turn to Robert Patterson. Seems you ladies are into that thing." He even does a momentary emo-vampire look before continuing to walk with them. "Though to be fair, I'd pay a good mint to see Sunday do a full strut to 'Can't Get No Satisfaction'" He flashes teeth momentarily before sobering. "But seriously Miranda, if you need anything at all, if even an ear or listen to, or someone to watch you back if those asses come back - I'm at Rider hall. So's Sunday." Yes, he looked it up Sunday.

"Oh trust me," Sunday continues, purposefully heedless of Ian, "moody musician boys who sparkle, it's enough to send grown men into panics. But, the Jagger is indeed mighty." She pretends to put some thought into this - deep, meaningful thought - while Ian sputters in his very subdued, Ian sort of way. The whole thing is dismissed a moment later, however, as topics change. "One home-schooler, one member of the establishment, and one certified drop-out! Anyways, high school and class are kind of like oil and water, so it's not much of a reference point. Just my opinion." She glances back at Ian for just enough time to throw out the word "Stalker," as he reveals he knows where she lives, then begins to tap out the finger motions to the requested song. She would totally do it! Just.. not right now. "Whatever. Girls are mostly ninnies. The werewolf was way hotter." She has no idea how much she's going to regret saying that the next time they meet. But not today! Because something begins buzzing in her pocket, and Sunday stops to fish out a small, PAINFULLY out-dated cell phone, sighing at what she see's. "Crap. Parents. I really have to take this. If I don't, they just keep calling and then they call the school and.. Yeah." She offers the pair a helpless smile, then wrangles her sack of veggies from R-Patz. "Nice to meet you Miranda, see you around! And you," She points at Ian, "You better watch your back, Sparkles." And with the flash of a grin, she's turning and hitting the answer button on her cell phone as she jogs off towards Rider. "Hi M- What? I picked up as fast as I could! .. No, I'm /not/ in /jail/, jeeez!"

Miranda shakes her head, "I've never liked soap operas… I honestly don't watch that much TV. I like to read… Classical music and jazz… And fooling around with my computer and such. I'm really rather boring." She waves to Sunday as she darts off to talk to her parents, and looks a little envious. She'd give anything to have her parents back and able to nag her again. "I've been in four different public schools since my parents died… the longest I lasted in any of them was four weeks. If I don't make it here…" She sighs. "I think I'll just get my G.E.D. and wait to age out of foster care."

"Classical ain't bad, but not my thing. Jazz though…" Ian whistles lightly nodding. It was definitely in his niche. "Root for all good Rock n' Roll if you ask me. And believe me, whoever thinks adventure is all that it's cracked up to be hasn't been on a proper adventure." Ian soon frowns as Miranda looks away for a long moment, telling her story. "I'm sorry." Pause. "About your parents. I've been two a few schools myself, but had a year break between then and here… had to do a bit of traveling. Figure out my life a little." Or rather, how to cure himself of the Lycanthrope condition. "Anyway, don't let them get to you. See what this place can get you. From what I hear, they know their shit. And it might just surprise you."

Miranda nods, "I'm working with Mr Mason on learning self defense… Doing well in all my classes except neohuman ethics. Mr Collins hated me at first sight I think. Starting to meet people… might even be making a few friends." She smiles, "Or it might be that my dorm mates like me because I keep them supplied in good coffee. I built a coffee maker that makes a cup up to my standard…" She giggles a little, "When Jack had his first cup, he looked like he had found religion. I don't think he'd ever had good coffee before."

Ian takes note of each name, not truly familiar with each yet, but determined to link faces to names. "Your standard? We talkin' Starbucks, or a league up from that?" He dabbled in coffee a time or two - though never as heavily as most. Like other substances, it took a massive amount for him to show any real effects. Thank you Werewolf metabolism. Or healing factor. Or both. "Jack? Don't think I know him. But I've been here a week on the outside. Barely even taken a class." He lets out a dry chuckle before looking over at the girl, "At some point I want to try this magical cup o' ambrosia."

Miranda wrinkles her nose, "I can't stand Starbucks. I buy Kona Gold, then roast and grind it myself. If you want, I'll make you a cup when we get to the dorms" She grins "Jack… looks like he's out of a film noir detective movie. Trenchcoat, suspenders, fedora, the works… and he calls girls doll or dame. He definitely stands out, but he's really nice." She looks over at Ian, "If you have to take neohuman ethic, try to avoid Mr Collins… he's a jerk. Mrs Blake in the English department is great though."

Ironic. Ian's moniker was Noir, though he hadn't yet let it slip in the school confines. Though, in deeper reflection, the two meanings were probably completely different. "I'll take a look out for him. Maybe pass a Sam Spade reference to him." But Doll? Dame? He'll have to remember that. Chicks probably dig the old school reference. "In all honesty, I'm gonna try to avoid as much as the ethics and Hero-y things as possible. I'm only here until they can figure out the best solution for me. No interest in using my powers outside of this little University." He does pause though. "Blake? Now that I'll remember." The way to Ian's heart: Music, and baring that - Good poetry. Read in: English.

Miranda smiles and nods, "I'm trying to avoid the hero-y things as much as possible too… I just don't want to go back into foster care." She looks up at the night sky. "College, then I think I'd like a job teaching at a small college someplace… work on my inventions in my garage. It's not a big dream, not when all the other students want to be off saving the world. But it's mine." She laughs softly at herself. "Sorry, I'm babbling… it's probably the ringing in my ears. It's starting to fade though."

"More than fair." Ian hadn't ever experienced foster care, though there were plenty of times when it might have been a decent options. One could never accuse Stoker-Mac clan of being particularly good parents. Probably one of the reasons Ian ended up the way he did. "And good plan. Me?.. Well." Pause. "T'be honest, never thought that far. I'm thinking maybe a small tropical island, plenty of seclusion. Something like that. Baring that, rock star." Yes, he even delivers that with an earnestness that verges on sincerity. There was a seed of honesty there though, somewhere. "No worries about the babble. Makes for good blackmail material later." The small smile on his lips fades at the mention of the ringing though, as he slows - Dorms not far away. "Seriously, you sure you don't want to go toe the nurse?"

Miranda nods, "If music is what you love, go for it. You've got to have a dream to hold to… I believe that." Her lips twitch in a smile, "Blackmail wouldn't work, all my dirty secrets are out in the open." She shakes her head. "No… they'll want to know how it happened. And if I don't rat, they'll just call in all the students with sonic powers and go from there. I've got a sensory deprivation pod in my room, I'll curl up in it, and sleep as much as I can. I'll be fine."

"Nah, I'm good enough to know I'm not good enough to make it big time. My si…" He pauses then, for a tic longer than normally acceptable. With his transformation, Maggie, and the wanderlust, it had been awhile since he thought of his deceased sister. He was almost surprise the hurt was still there as sharply. And it was a wound his powers couldn't heal. "I'm not the one in my family with the talent for that." Head shakes his head and lets out a breath before nodding, as if shaking away the bad memories and facing the present. "Okay then, no ratting. Just rest up. And give me a ring when your up and about, or I might start getting worried." He looks about for a moment, almost conspiratorially. "And if you want to get even with them, let me know. It wouldn't be a sweat." And though he would never say it out loud - his powers were perfectly suited to payback. And violence. And Ultra Violence.

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