Players:
Summary:Lucas visits Dallas to apologize. Or screw with his head more. We're not sure which.
Date: January 14, 2010
Log Title More Confusion
Rating: PG-13
Xavier Mansion - Dallas and Trey's Room
Slightly bigger than the old room, the new rooms fit two students comfortably. Each room has off white walls with a dark brown carpet. There is one window in the middle of the wall that looks out over the grounds. Each room has two beds, two dressers, two desks and two closets, one for each student.
There is a muffled knock on the door.
Dallas is sitting on his bed with a scrap of very dirty cloth in one hand and a baseball mitt in the other. A tiny metal container of oil is in his lap and he's working drops of it into the leather, apparently keeping the mitt supple even in the middle of winter. In fact, most of his sports gear shows signs of maintenance. The baseballs shine, the footballs look scrubbed, the hockey stick has new tape. It's as though Dallas is preparing for every sports season to start at once. He looks up at the knock and heads for the door, opening it with a faintly annoyed, "What?" before he sees who is on the other side.
Lucas is standing on the other side. He wasn't in any classes today, and he looks like he may have just woke up. His hair is a little mussy, and he's wearing only his giant gloves and a pair of Xavier sweats, draped loose and low around his thin waist. He's actually very toned, clearly built like a swimmer, but he's not large by any means. "Hey," he says, very flatly. There's no tension, sarcasm or unfriendliness to it.
From his suddenly furrowed brow and the tension of his shoulders, it is pretty obvious that Dallas is not particularly happy to see Lucas. He pretty obviously considers slamming the door in Lucas's face and then starts to close it with more control and focus. His voice is cold as he says, "Wrong room."
Lucas doesn't move. He just says, "Ah'm sorry." He nods a little, glancing off down the hall, and looks back to watch the door finish closing.
Dallas stops on the other side of the door, smacking the glove with his fist. He raises his voice enough for anyone on the other side of the door to hear. "Yea. You are." He stands there a moment longer and then turns away, still coldly furious at the sudden appearance.
Lucas stands there a moment longer, and sighs. Then he says, at the door, "Yeah… Ah am…" He sighs, and then begins the walk back to his room.
Dallas growls at that response and throws the glove across the room to smack into the far wall with a loud thwack. He opens the door forcefully, his shadow flickering there and gone again and the micro-second of superstrength causes the door handle and hinges to creak in protest at the pressure. Dallas steps into the hall to Lucas's retreating back and shout, "What do you /want/?"
Lucas stops. He's about ten feet down the hall. He turns, looking at Dallas, rubbing his giant left gloved hand on his right bicep, nervous. He offers a little shrug, "Nuthin'. That was it," he says, quietly. "Ah just… It… It ain't that Ah can dish it out and can't take it back. Ah just… You pushed a button what Ah… What Ah can't deal with bein' pushed right now, an'… That ain't your fault." He nods a little, and looks at the floor, "So… Sorry." He nods once more, and then turns to go once more.
Dallas shrugs and says, coolly, "It won't happen again." He shakes his head and says, "Just stay away from me. Forever. I'm sorry for your mom. But I'm sick of you pushing me." He shakes his head. "So save the 'sorry' and just stay away."
Lucas pauses again, turning to look back at Dallas. "Ah don't want your sympathy, Dallas," he says, still soft and kind of pitiable. "Ah just…" He shrugs, "Sure. Whatever you want."
Dallas shakes his head, his expression set and angry. "You /mom/ has my sympathy. And yea, that's exactly what I want. What did you expect? You've been on my case for the first minute we met. Why /wouldn't/ I want you to stay away so I don't end up hurting you."
Lucas turns all the way around, just watching Dallas for a long moment of silence. Finally, he speaks, stepping a few steps back towards Dallas, but not all the way. "If you need to punch me back, D, you can. Ah earned it, an' Ah'll take it. But, you're right. Ah've been on your case. Ah've been pushin' you." He shakes his head a little, "Christ, Dallas. You're perfect. You're good lookin', you're the best at every fuckin' sport, you're the captain of your team, you have fuckin' perfect control over your God damned superpowers and love the idea of bein' the next Scott fuckin' Sommers…" He has a look of exasperated disbelief and a touch of jealousy on his face. "Not every villain is gonna take you down with their football tackle. And no one else around here is pushin' you to deal with the couple of things that Ah can CLEARLY see are gonna get you or someone else killed." He shrugs, "Maybe that makes me the bad guy." He looks down at Dallas' feet, and adds, "Ah kinda hoped it'd make me your friend."
Dallas sighs, rubs the back of his neck and says, "If I had perfect control of my powers, we'd be having this conversation by ouija board." Which isn't strictly true. He didn't want to kill Lucas. Just hurt him. Lots. "And I'm not perfect. And all that stuff at home? That's at home. My squad here already has a leader. And he hangs out with Captain America! Going to be a little hard to convince them to follow me, not him. And yea, I want to be Cyclops. What the hell /else/ am I going to do? I can't play sports. Mutant testing." He frowns and says, "And the only thing that's going to get people killed is me not being good enough." A pause and says, "And have you ever /had/ a friend? Because believe me, you suck at it, if that's what you were trying."
Lucas shakes his head, "Ah don't mean leader like leader leader. But hell, you walk around the mansion givin' everyone pep talks and doin' the whole football captain of the team act. And it WORKS. Because you have it." He shrugs, "Ah don't. Ah get that. But what Ah do have, is the ability to understand you, and use it to get under your skin 'fore Ah've ever took a glove off. Ah'm pushin' you, Dallas, so you see it, and get better at not losin' it over it." He shifts his weight to his other leg, dropping his arms to his side. "Dallas. One day, when all these other freaks are grown up and super heroin', the Xman they answer to will be you. We all see it. And if you hatin' me is what it costs me to make it so you're the best fuckin' Cyclops since Logan, then… well…" He sighs, "Ah can live with that."
Dallas snorts and says, "So it's all for my own good and you just happen to be the guy who pushes my buttons for my own good? Screw you. /If/ I get through school and /if/ I become an X-Man and /if/ I work hard enough I might be a field leader one of these days. But it's not going to be because you did this weird 'come here, go away' thing. What the hell is that even supposed to /prove/?" He pauses and adds, "Okay, you psyched me out. Points to you. But not again."
Lucas sighs, "No. You're right. It won't be because of me. You have it. You'll get there because of you." He folds his arms over his bare chest, and he shrugs, "Ah'm gonna go now. And… Ah won't talk to you again. Like you want."
Dallas rubs the back of his neck, staring at Lucas for long moments. Finally he just shakes his head. "Just … stay away. I want to hurt you almost as badly as I want to hurt Topher, right now. And that's a lot." He turns back towards his room, looking more confused and unhappy than angry now, having let Lucas get under his skin again despite saying that he wouldn't. Apparently it's going to be another six hour workout night.
Lucas smirks, "Yeah, but Ah'm sexier than Topher, and would prolly put up a good tussle." He runs his glove over his hair, pushing it up off his face. "Nashville is playin' Calgary tomorow night at nine, if'n ya'll wanna watch. Ah'll be in the rec room. Quiet-like."
Dallas shakes his head and says, "Asshole." He closes the door behind him, not committing to anything one way or the other. Mainly because he doesn't know what to think at the moment. A lifetime habit of neatness with his equipment makes him cross to pick up the glove and return it and the cleaning rag and oil to their drawer before he starts changing. After a few moments, "I wish Batroc would attack again." Because it's just /simpler/ to get out one's frustrations by hitting somebody.
Lucas grins a little more as the door closes. No answer is better than a no. He nods, and turns around, heading back to his room.
