Scott and Warren, June 25

[ax_angel]

After their first less-than-impressive meeting, Warren has another crack at his roommate. Scott allows it, and even cracks a joke or two.

Warren had spent most of Saturdaydicking around and exploring--and meeting a few of the other kids. It was going to be a really, really different experience than any of his other schools, but that was pretty much a given, considering the mutations and all.

Warren had sprouted wings. He didn't expect shit not to be weird anymore.

He did regret his first impression on his roommate, though. Scott didn't seem like a bad guy, just closed off. Maybe shy, maybe bitter, maybe both--Warren couldn't tell because Scott's conversation had mostly been about, uh, judging Warren. Which, in a very general and real way, didn't bother Warren in the least.

But in another, it did. At any other school, what one (obviously socially idiotic) guy thought of him wouldn't mean a lot. Scott was his roommate, though, and more importantly, he was a mutant. That was something that touched the lives of every kid here, and even if it didn't mean they had to love each other...

Warren felt like he could do better than he had. Loads better. So it deserved another try.

A few boxes from home arrived Sundaymorning, and Warren took them up himself, settling them in the corner near his closet, out of the way. As Warren brought up the last box, a small one full of books, Scott appeared in the room again. Warren kicked the door shut behind him, said, "Hey," and dropped the box on his bed.

"Hey." Scott watched his roommate put a box labeled 'books' on the floor like it weighed nothing. That was...unexpected. Not that The Third was scrawny or anything, but he didn't look like a body builder either. Maybe it was....the mutation? But wouldn't that make him heavier and make it harder to fly? Maybe it was compensated for some other way - bones or something?

He wasn't going to figure it out just by sitting there staring at his own navel. "Stuff got here, I guess?"

"Faster than I expected," Warren said, looking at the boxes appreciatively. He used his room key to tear open the tape on the books box and right there, on top, was, "Moneyball." Warren picked it up and held it out to Scott. "For you. Call it a peace offering, enabled by the lovely Mrs. Green. Don't worry, she said it was no trouble. She'd have told me if it was. Believe me."

"Mrs. Green tell you off often?" Scott wondered idly, accepting the book. He was actually kind of surprised Warren was lending it to him, considering...everything. Maybe he was just less petty than Scott knew himself to be.

Maybe he was just working an angle Scott didn't know about yet.

"Relative to how little time I generally spend at home, yes. All the time." Warren had no doubt that Scott thought 'housekeeper' was another word for 'indentured servant'. That was what happened when people watched Downton Abbey. Or whatever.

"Not a homebody?" Scott surmised wryly.

"No idea," Warren admitted with a slight shrug, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "My parents make sure my schedule is full enough that I never find out. Either way, it's where all my books go to be socked away where I can never find them again without a card catalog and three different ladders."

"Well....." Scott had honestly never been given something, like this, really. Not since he had been little, anyway. He hadn't really had friends in school, and no one would've lended him anything for sure. Pretty much just the Professor trusted him with stuff, and he figured it was more of a test the old guy was putting him through than anything else. So this thing where he had to....say something about it was....newish. "Thanks."

"Welcome." Warren smiled and shook his wings just slightly, then let them extend down to his calves instead of tightening them up. "Look, I know I didn't make the best first impression. It's true that I'm a spoiled rich kid. But that doesn't mean you absolutely have to end up hating me. I mean, maybe you do, but it's a little early to tell yet, right?"

Scott eyed his roommate warily. "I guess..." he said slowly. He didn't get much off of Warren, and it was disconcerting. Of course, it mostly had to do with the fact that, so far, Warren had (aside from a flash of personality yesterday) been completely bland.

So either he was boring, or he was a heck of an actor. Scott couldn't tell yet, and it rankled him a bit.

"So if you're willing to make even the worst possible attempt at looking past the fact that I'm a spoiled brat," Warren reasoned, straight faced but a smile playing about his eyes, "then I'm willing to make a slight attempt to look past the fact that you're a judgy dick, and maybe this year doesn't have to suck completely. I've lived with sucky roommates before. There's no reason to actively try to relive the experience. Believe me."

The only places Scott had shared a room had been in foster care, and there most guys were pretty upfront about what kind of jackass they were. He didn't know that yet about Warren (though he assumed he must be some kind of jackass). Still, the bird brain had a point. They were pretty stuck together, and living with someone you truly loathed sucked. He knew, too, from experience.

And hey, at least The Third already knew Scott was a dick. So that was out of the way. "Fair enough," he said, nodding a little.

Warren was kind of surprised that had worked, but at least it meant Scott wasn't into being a dick just to be a dick. So that was a relief. "Great. And upfront: I'm sorry for the other day. I definitely don't blame you for judging me. I make it easy sometimes, I'm sure." Just, he'd never spent much time around people outside his rich-as-hell peer group, so that particular kind of judgment wasn't often an issue. "But not always. I... hope." He made a face because... he wasn't actually sure. But in theory, there was more to him than a rich bitch who made stupid mistakes like that constantly.

God, he seriously hoped.

Scott smirked, not meanly, seeming amused. "I guess we'll find out."

"Inevitably." Warren snorted. "You going to the pizza thing tonight?"

Scott huffed a little, blowing poorly-cut hair off his forehead. "What about me made you think I was into social gathering?" He asked. "I'm a dick, remember?"

Warren bravely resisted an urge to offer to take Scott to his stylist. "Oh come on. All those new people to judge!"

Despite the hardened, acidic, dick coating, Scott actually genuinely laughed. Sure, it was quiet and you had to strain a little to hear it, but it was actually a laugh. "Doubt that would add to the ambiance. But thanks for the opportunity to judge the new kids."

Warren tried to politely cover his shock at seeing Scott crack just a little. Huh. Maybe this guy wasn't just a boring dick all the time.

Maybe.

He smiled. "Well, there's also the pizza to consider. I assume you are human and therefore like pizza?"

"Only pod people don't like pizza." Scott agreed, nodding solemnly. "I assume you intend to go?"

Well, that was a heartening response anyhow. Warren nodded. "I'm curious. And not a pod person. Of course I'm going. Come on, it might even be fun."

Scott sat on his bed, leaning back on his hands as he surveyed Warren. "Let's not go too far," he said, tone mild. "It's the Westchester version of Domino's in a school garden with a bunch of strangers who were sent to the Island of Misfit Toys. But....

"Well, I guess curiosity is warranted based on just that description alone, huh?"

Warren laughed out loud at the 'Island of Misfit Toys' thing because... so true. He still wasn't used to being the misfit, but he was working to get used to it. Not like the wings were going away--and he didn't want them to. The very thought was... disturbing, actually.

But yeah, he'd take what he could get, with this guy. "Exactly. Warrants investigation, right? What do you say?"

Scott sighed a little, as though he was making this commitment against his better judgment. "Sure, I guess."

Warren smiled. "A ringing endorsement if I ever heard one. Great. I should be done with all--" He waved at the boxes "this by then. And if not, the hell with it."

Scott eyed the boxes warily, as though any one of them might contain a venomous snake (presumably made out of platinum and precious stones, since his roommate was Richie Rich). He didn't want to offer help; Worthington could probably pay for the help if he needed it.

But, fuck. They were roommates. And, to Worthington's credit, he was at least trying. "Need help?"

For a split second, Warren forgot his manners and let himself look outright surprised. Then, quickly and with a slight shake of his feathers, he said, "Yeah, actually. There are more books in this one. Mind stacking them on the desk or that little shelf?"

"Sure." Scott pushed himself off the wall, where he had been leaning, and made his way over to lend a begrudging hand. Rather than using his beams - which could have resulted in significant book and house-based property damage - Scott pulled a flip-knife out of his pocket and sliced the tape out of his way. He pulled open the flaps, and began stacking books on the small shelf near Worthington's desk. "You want these in some kind of order?"

"I hadn't thought about it yet," Warren said thoughtfully, pretending he wasn't eying the knife with suspicion. Who carried one of those at all times? What was Scott's deal? "but I'm sure I will. Yeah, yeah, I never had to put my own books away before--well, no, I wasn't allowed to, lest I disturb the perfect zen of the library with Harry Potter."

"You sure it wasn't the Communist Manifesto you kept tucking in there?" Scott asked innocently.

Warren laughed, momentarily distracted from the knife. "No, but now I know what to do if I go home for Christmas. Thanks for that."

Scott flipped the knife shut, and tucked it back into his pants pocket. "See, I'm more helpful than I let on," he said dryly.

"You're damning yourself with faint praise, you realize." Warren chuckled. "Seriously, though, thanks."

"I doubt it'll be the faint praise that does me in," Scott said, shrugging.

Warren did not fail to notice the lack of acknowledgment for his thanks. He did, however, decide now was not the time. There was more to this guy--and some of it clearly a little scary--than Warren could grasp right now. Cool. He'd figure it out when the time was right... probably. "Yeah. It'll probably be the irony. That'll get you first." He pulled a pile of books out of the box he was currently hovering over and took them to the desk.

Scott snorted softly, in actual amusement. "Probably. What else can I do to help?"

"Here, take these." Warren handed off a pile of books, and they kept going until everything was finally put away.