Scott and Warren - Friday night
Jun. 23rd, 2017 06:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ax_mainPART I: Warren arrives and goes for a good first impression with his new roommate. Scott is super unimpressed with the rich boy.
Well, that had probably been Warren's least dramatic school drop-off, and it had been the only one where he'd had wings. Pretty good start, he thought, even if it had meant an actual car ride with his father. God forbid anyone else see the wings. Anyone outside this school, that was. Where Warren was finally going to be allowed to stretch them out and see what they could do. Was it a weird set-up? Sure. But that didn't mean it wasn't an opportunity.
Warren wheeled two pieces of his Gucci luggage set to the door, then stuck the key in the lock and flicked it. The door swung open, revealing a nice-looking room, about the size he was used to at other schools, if a little more sparsely furnished... Or, no. Maybe that was just the emptiness of it. Warren rolled one of his suitcases in, already eying the closet and wondering if the stuff he'd had sent after him would fit.
And only then did he notice the other boy sitting there silently at one of the desks. "Oh!" Warren said, sliding his Givenchy sunglasses up his forehead to sit in his hair. "Hey, man. You must be Scott? I'm Warren." He held out his hand and stepped forward, wings flicking slightly behind him.
Scott looked up from the book he had been reading - Aerial Battles of WWII - and took in his new roommate. Tall, conventionally attractive, rich-person voice, and.....did his suitcases say Gucci? Gucci made suitcases?
He didn't actually want to know.
"Yeah, Scott Summers. You must be Warren," He said, reaching over and shaking the other teen's hand.
Warren squeezed the hand and offered his best, sincere smile. That usually seemed to do it, for him. "That's me. Sorry to ruin your sweet single-room action, but I promise to make up for it."
Scott shrugged. Sharing a room with a single other person? He'd definitely endured worse. Heck, even half of this room was far bigger than anything he'd been used to before. "Don't worry about it." After a long moment, he realized that he should probably be....welcoming the other person? Or something? "Welcome to Xavier's."
Slightly awkward, but Warren had been training his whole life to deal effortlessly with much worse. "Appreciated. I like the shades, by the way. Where'd you find them?"
Scott's eyebrows rose, just a touch. "Optometrist? They aren't really fashion statements."
Warren rubbed at the back of his neck and shot Scott an apologetic smile. "Right, yeah. Well, they're cool as well as functional." He should've realized Scott wasn't at the forefront of fashion, what with the... clothes. He'd have to watch his assumptions around here, especially about things that seemed different or slightly out of place.
Like his wings--which rustled again, betraying his flash of regret.
Rather than let his gaze linger on Scott's lack of fashion, Warren turned to examine the rest of the room. It was... spartan. Almost as if Scott had just moved in today too, which Warren knew wasn't true. "So the rest of your stuff is being sent along after you, too? Room will be kinda empty for a few days."
Scott looked around their room, hitting on his functional bedspread (blue? He thought it might be blue), plain sheets, and the couple of pairs of khakis hanging in the closet (all his other clothes, the few that they were, were in his dresser). "This....is my stuff," he said slowly. The rich boy remained unspoken.
"Right, yeah, I mean, this is my stuff too." Warren laughed, gesturing to his bags. "But I mean the other stuff. The books and coats and heavy stuff--I never like to bring that myself, either. You never need it for a month or two, even after classes start."
Though Warren had no idea how Scott slept like that. Maybe he was one of those military school guys, with the crappy bedding and one shitty pillow. Warren's second bag was almost entirely bedding.
Or... oh...
Oh. Shit. Warren's wings rustled more definitely now as he started to wonder if he'd just made a horrible mistake.
Scott met Warren's eyes, the movement of the other teen's wings caught his motion-sensitive eyes' attention but he ignored them for the moment, to say calmly, "This is all my stuff." Asshole.
"Right, yeah, of course." Warren kept smiling but it started to slip. This must be what his mother felt like when faced with disgraced members of the Hellfire Club she'd personally had removed. Shit. How had he managed to fuck up within 60 seconds of entering his own room. "Everything anyone could need, right? And I guess we don't even know what books they'll want us to use--what's that you're reading?" yeah, change the subject, smooth one, Worthington.
Well, the Professor had set him up with a real genius, hadn't he? Scott huffed a little internally. He knew Professor Xavier had been working with him to be more open-minded, but a rich moron? C'mon.
He held up the book so that Warren Worthington III (seriously, the Third? Were they inbred royalty?) could read the cover. Worthington....could read, right? Well, there were pictures of planes on the cover, so that might help. "Aerial Battles of World War II," he said.
Warren actually perked up a little, giving his wings a small shake as if to clear out the last few minutes. Didn't do the trick entirely but it helped some. "Nice. My--" Warren had been about to mention the collection of WWI and II books his father and grandfather had amassed, but thought better of it. Smoothly, barely a beat missed, he said instead, "--last history teacher has us watch a lot of news reels from back then. Pretty interesting stuff." He dropped his sunglasses on what he assumed was his night table and made to grab his other suitcase.
Scott eyed Warren cautiously, as though there was a chance he was being tricked. "You're into WWII?"
"I mean, into is a strong word, but I've read some things." Granted, most of those had been trying to see what his father and grandfather found so interesting, but he'd ended up thinking it was cool. Not so much the aerial battles, or any battles, exactly, but just the general economic and socio-political climate of the age.
Explained a lot about his father and grandfather, actually.
But again, Warren checked himself and just said, "I like history. It's a good subject for me." That, at least, was something his forebears had taught him that was useful.
"So what are you into?" Scott asked. If he was going to be trapped in a room with this guy, he should probably figure out what made him tick, after all.
"Music," Warren said, hefting one of his cases onto the bed and opening it. Basic clothes in this one, altered for his, uh, specific needs. Wings sprouting from the shoulderblades did weird things to the fit. No more couture for him... at least, not yet. "Folk rock, mostly. I like classic too though. Classic rock, I mean." Also classical, but let's not get into the nerd stuff yet. "Soccer. Football. Sports in general, really, hardly ever met one I didn't like.
"And I do actually like history, for the record. If we're talking school subjects. You?"
"In school? Uh...math, I guess," though Scott had not really thought about it. He hadn't excelled in school so far, and he didn't exactly see that changing. It wasn't his thing. Here, at Xavier's he'd been mostly just trying to catch back up to grade level. And, now that they were bringing in enough students to have actual classes, he suspected he'd slide right back to the bottom of it.
"Otherwise, I like rock too, I guess. Classic rock. Uh, and baseball."
Okay, so this wasn't quite as un-promising as Warren's immediate gaffe had made it seem. Good news. Warren opened the closet, frowned into it (he was used to the institutional close crunch, but that didn't mean he liked it), and started transferring things to hangers. "Love baseball. And I don't actually mind math--I'm more interested in what you can do with it than actually doing it, if you know what I mean, but it's cool. Have you read Moneyball?" Because math and baseball.
Scott shook his head 'no.' He had heard of it, at least, but he hadn't had nearly as much time to read (well, read things of his own choice) as he might have liked since...well, forever, probably. "What's it about?" Knowing the name Worthington, he imagined about draining the funds from and crushing friends and enemies alike, not to mention the poor.
"These guys who ran the Oakland A's in the early 2000s and basically changed the whole game of baseball. Instead of building their team around big players with big salaries, they started recruiting guys based on the number of hits--like using statistics instead of just the usual talent-scout methods of team-building. The A's had something like 40 mill, and they were competing with the Yankees who had--man, I forget, like 150 mill or something? Huge disparity." Warren wasn't always into business as much as he 'should be', but when he was, it generally related to athletics.
"Really interesting stuff. I can have it sent over with my other stuff, if you want to read it." Warren finished hanging his shirt and grabbed his phone out of his back pocket to text Mrs. Green, the Worthingtons' housekeeper.
"Right, the, uh...sabremetrics," Scott said, recalling the vaguest of things about the premise. The use of on-base percentage as opposed to homeruns as the like. "You don't need to go to any trouble, though. I'm sure if I need it the library will have it, or can get it."
"I'm sure you won't need it, regardless of the situation, but it's entertaining." Warren chuckled and tapped out: If you come across MONEYBALL by Michael Lewis, can you have it thrown into my things? <3 War "I just asked them to grab it if they see it--no special trips or anything."
Scott's face gave nothing away. Don't do it. DON'T DO IT. He couldn't help himself. "Your people packing for you?"
Warren rolled his eyes and grabbed another shirt to hang up. "My housekeeper Mrs. Green is delegating the packing to someone, but she's not 'my people'. She's the only one who knows where anything is in the house, and she's awesome."
Seriously, no one talked shit on Mrs. Green on Warren's watch. The way she dealt with his parents bullshit and made Warren feel like he actually had a home even tho he was only in it a month out of the year was amazing. God knows his parents had never mustered that for him.
"It wasn't her I was judging," Scott muttered, before he could stop himself.
Warren flushed, but he was too well practiced in this game to give up. He turned to look over his shoulder, smiled, and said, "Oh. Well, that's okay then." Then went back to hanging his shirt.
Scott blinked a little in surprise at that; he'd expected The Third to take at least some offense. Weird. Or - he looked at his book, though he didn't read it, to buy himself time as he thought - or his armor was as thick as Scott's. And probably gold-plated, too.
Who knew?
Well, that had probably been Warren's least dramatic school drop-off, and it had been the only one where he'd had wings. Pretty good start, he thought, even if it had meant an actual car ride with his father. God forbid anyone else see the wings. Anyone outside this school, that was. Where Warren was finally going to be allowed to stretch them out and see what they could do. Was it a weird set-up? Sure. But that didn't mean it wasn't an opportunity.
Warren wheeled two pieces of his Gucci luggage set to the door, then stuck the key in the lock and flicked it. The door swung open, revealing a nice-looking room, about the size he was used to at other schools, if a little more sparsely furnished... Or, no. Maybe that was just the emptiness of it. Warren rolled one of his suitcases in, already eying the closet and wondering if the stuff he'd had sent after him would fit.
And only then did he notice the other boy sitting there silently at one of the desks. "Oh!" Warren said, sliding his Givenchy sunglasses up his forehead to sit in his hair. "Hey, man. You must be Scott? I'm Warren." He held out his hand and stepped forward, wings flicking slightly behind him.
Scott looked up from the book he had been reading - Aerial Battles of WWII - and took in his new roommate. Tall, conventionally attractive, rich-person voice, and.....did his suitcases say Gucci? Gucci made suitcases?
He didn't actually want to know.
"Yeah, Scott Summers. You must be Warren," He said, reaching over and shaking the other teen's hand.
Warren squeezed the hand and offered his best, sincere smile. That usually seemed to do it, for him. "That's me. Sorry to ruin your sweet single-room action, but I promise to make up for it."
Scott shrugged. Sharing a room with a single other person? He'd definitely endured worse. Heck, even half of this room was far bigger than anything he'd been used to before. "Don't worry about it." After a long moment, he realized that he should probably be....welcoming the other person? Or something? "Welcome to Xavier's."
Slightly awkward, but Warren had been training his whole life to deal effortlessly with much worse. "Appreciated. I like the shades, by the way. Where'd you find them?"
Scott's eyebrows rose, just a touch. "Optometrist? They aren't really fashion statements."
Warren rubbed at the back of his neck and shot Scott an apologetic smile. "Right, yeah. Well, they're cool as well as functional." He should've realized Scott wasn't at the forefront of fashion, what with the... clothes. He'd have to watch his assumptions around here, especially about things that seemed different or slightly out of place.
Like his wings--which rustled again, betraying his flash of regret.
Rather than let his gaze linger on Scott's lack of fashion, Warren turned to examine the rest of the room. It was... spartan. Almost as if Scott had just moved in today too, which Warren knew wasn't true. "So the rest of your stuff is being sent along after you, too? Room will be kinda empty for a few days."
Scott looked around their room, hitting on his functional bedspread (blue? He thought it might be blue), plain sheets, and the couple of pairs of khakis hanging in the closet (all his other clothes, the few that they were, were in his dresser). "This....is my stuff," he said slowly. The rich boy remained unspoken.
"Right, yeah, I mean, this is my stuff too." Warren laughed, gesturing to his bags. "But I mean the other stuff. The books and coats and heavy stuff--I never like to bring that myself, either. You never need it for a month or two, even after classes start."
Though Warren had no idea how Scott slept like that. Maybe he was one of those military school guys, with the crappy bedding and one shitty pillow. Warren's second bag was almost entirely bedding.
Or... oh...
Oh. Shit. Warren's wings rustled more definitely now as he started to wonder if he'd just made a horrible mistake.
Scott met Warren's eyes, the movement of the other teen's wings caught his motion-sensitive eyes' attention but he ignored them for the moment, to say calmly, "This is all my stuff." Asshole.
"Right, yeah, of course." Warren kept smiling but it started to slip. This must be what his mother felt like when faced with disgraced members of the Hellfire Club she'd personally had removed. Shit. How had he managed to fuck up within 60 seconds of entering his own room. "Everything anyone could need, right? And I guess we don't even know what books they'll want us to use--what's that you're reading?" yeah, change the subject, smooth one, Worthington.
Well, the Professor had set him up with a real genius, hadn't he? Scott huffed a little internally. He knew Professor Xavier had been working with him to be more open-minded, but a rich moron? C'mon.
He held up the book so that Warren Worthington III (seriously, the Third? Were they inbred royalty?) could read the cover. Worthington....could read, right? Well, there were pictures of planes on the cover, so that might help. "Aerial Battles of World War II," he said.
Warren actually perked up a little, giving his wings a small shake as if to clear out the last few minutes. Didn't do the trick entirely but it helped some. "Nice. My--" Warren had been about to mention the collection of WWI and II books his father and grandfather had amassed, but thought better of it. Smoothly, barely a beat missed, he said instead, "--last history teacher has us watch a lot of news reels from back then. Pretty interesting stuff." He dropped his sunglasses on what he assumed was his night table and made to grab his other suitcase.
Scott eyed Warren cautiously, as though there was a chance he was being tricked. "You're into WWII?"
"I mean, into is a strong word, but I've read some things." Granted, most of those had been trying to see what his father and grandfather found so interesting, but he'd ended up thinking it was cool. Not so much the aerial battles, or any battles, exactly, but just the general economic and socio-political climate of the age.
Explained a lot about his father and grandfather, actually.
But again, Warren checked himself and just said, "I like history. It's a good subject for me." That, at least, was something his forebears had taught him that was useful.
"So what are you into?" Scott asked. If he was going to be trapped in a room with this guy, he should probably figure out what made him tick, after all.
"Music," Warren said, hefting one of his cases onto the bed and opening it. Basic clothes in this one, altered for his, uh, specific needs. Wings sprouting from the shoulderblades did weird things to the fit. No more couture for him... at least, not yet. "Folk rock, mostly. I like classic too though. Classic rock, I mean." Also classical, but let's not get into the nerd stuff yet. "Soccer. Football. Sports in general, really, hardly ever met one I didn't like.
"And I do actually like history, for the record. If we're talking school subjects. You?"
"In school? Uh...math, I guess," though Scott had not really thought about it. He hadn't excelled in school so far, and he didn't exactly see that changing. It wasn't his thing. Here, at Xavier's he'd been mostly just trying to catch back up to grade level. And, now that they were bringing in enough students to have actual classes, he suspected he'd slide right back to the bottom of it.
"Otherwise, I like rock too, I guess. Classic rock. Uh, and baseball."
Okay, so this wasn't quite as un-promising as Warren's immediate gaffe had made it seem. Good news. Warren opened the closet, frowned into it (he was used to the institutional close crunch, but that didn't mean he liked it), and started transferring things to hangers. "Love baseball. And I don't actually mind math--I'm more interested in what you can do with it than actually doing it, if you know what I mean, but it's cool. Have you read Moneyball?" Because math and baseball.
Scott shook his head 'no.' He had heard of it, at least, but he hadn't had nearly as much time to read (well, read things of his own choice) as he might have liked since...well, forever, probably. "What's it about?" Knowing the name Worthington, he imagined about draining the funds from and crushing friends and enemies alike, not to mention the poor.
"These guys who ran the Oakland A's in the early 2000s and basically changed the whole game of baseball. Instead of building their team around big players with big salaries, they started recruiting guys based on the number of hits--like using statistics instead of just the usual talent-scout methods of team-building. The A's had something like 40 mill, and they were competing with the Yankees who had--man, I forget, like 150 mill or something? Huge disparity." Warren wasn't always into business as much as he 'should be', but when he was, it generally related to athletics.
"Really interesting stuff. I can have it sent over with my other stuff, if you want to read it." Warren finished hanging his shirt and grabbed his phone out of his back pocket to text Mrs. Green, the Worthingtons' housekeeper.
"Right, the, uh...sabremetrics," Scott said, recalling the vaguest of things about the premise. The use of on-base percentage as opposed to homeruns as the like. "You don't need to go to any trouble, though. I'm sure if I need it the library will have it, or can get it."
"I'm sure you won't need it, regardless of the situation, but it's entertaining." Warren chuckled and tapped out: If you come across MONEYBALL by Michael Lewis, can you have it thrown into my things? <3 War "I just asked them to grab it if they see it--no special trips or anything."
Scott's face gave nothing away. Don't do it. DON'T DO IT. He couldn't help himself. "Your people packing for you?"
Warren rolled his eyes and grabbed another shirt to hang up. "My housekeeper Mrs. Green is delegating the packing to someone, but she's not 'my people'. She's the only one who knows where anything is in the house, and she's awesome."
Seriously, no one talked shit on Mrs. Green on Warren's watch. The way she dealt with his parents bullshit and made Warren feel like he actually had a home even tho he was only in it a month out of the year was amazing. God knows his parents had never mustered that for him.
"It wasn't her I was judging," Scott muttered, before he could stop himself.
Warren flushed, but he was too well practiced in this game to give up. He turned to look over his shoulder, smiled, and said, "Oh. Well, that's okay then." Then went back to hanging his shirt.
Scott blinked a little in surprise at that; he'd expected The Third to take at least some offense. Weird. Or - he looked at his book, though he didn't read it, to buy himself time as he thought - or his armor was as thick as Scott's. And probably gold-plated, too.
Who knew?
