2010-06-16: The Race Card


Hosea_icon.jpg Lucas_icon.jpg

Summary: Hosea finds Lucas crying in the music room. Lucas' racism is exposed.

Date: June 16, 2010.

Log Title: The Race Card

Rating: R

Xavier Mansion - Music Room

The music room has four levels of tiers that each sit one row in a semi circle. On the floor in the semi circle is grand piano. There is a large closet on either side of the room, one filled with string instruments and the other filled with various wind and brass instruments. There are a few guitars in the back of the room next to a large variety of percussion instruments. All the instruments here are for the students to use provided they take care of them and clean any necessary parts after they use it. The room is sound proof, so once the door is closed, the music being played will not interrupt the other classrooms.

The computer plugged into the soundboard is blasting Nirvana full volume through the giant amplifiers. The windows rattle a little from the heavy guitars, and the door is locked with the little window covered with sheet music. Sitting on the carpet at the front of the room, right in front of the wall of sound, is Lucas. His knees are drawn up tight against his chest, arms wrapped tight around his legs in an upright fetal position. He's rocking slowly, front to back, the earbleeding music all around him.

The tall African, Hosea, had intended to spend some time relaxing and playing the drums in the music room. That's his instrument of choice. But outside he stands, finding the door locked. He only views such an action as a way to keep people from stealing things, and doesn't quite grasp that it might be for privacy. He hesitates, looking back and forth, and then sticks his head through the door at the back of the room. He looks back and forth, and then spots Lucas at the front of the room, and steps inside, passing through the wall. He cocks his head to one side, wincing from the incredible volume.

Lucas doesn't notice the company. Between the music, the confidence in the lock, and the fact that he's crying as he rocks sort of keeps him from hearing the other kid enter. The song hits a chorus, and just gets a little louder.

Hosea knits his brow as he notices Lucas crying, and though he doesn't know the youth, he feels compassion for him. He walks down the steps of the graduated room until he reaches the first tier. He frowns, not a common expression for him, and walks until he feels that he is in Lucas' view of range once he looks up. He quietly sits down in a seat at one end of the front row.

When Lucas notices Hosea, he does a double take, clearly not having thought anyone would ever be in the room with him. And then he jumps, startled, hopping to his knees and then tumbling back into the drum set. The bass drum falls over underneath him, and the cymbals crash down on top of him as he rolls to the floor in a burst of noise almost audible over the music.

"I am sorry!" he calls out over the music, "I was trying not to startle you!" He failed, clearly. There goes the drum set. He winces as the cymbals collaps upon him, hopping to his feet, and cautiously approaching to try to help him out of the percussion mess. "Are you all right?" he asks, still speaking loudly to be heard over the music.

Lucas wipes his eyes as quickly as he can, "Ah'm fine!" he yells, angry and loud. He doesn't make any effort to allow Hosea to help him get up and out of the tangled mess. He does manage to finally stand, a little cut on his forehead above his left eye from something he hit on the way down. There's a little bit of blood beginning to run over his eyebrow. "The door was locked, asstard!" he shouts, and then he moves to the computer, turning the music off.

Hosea, though he is significantly taller than Lucas, shrinks back a little. "I did not understand," he answers. "I am sorry. You are cut, you should get something to stop dah bleeding," he suggests. He's not sure what an 'asstard' is, but he can get the general idea.

Lucas furrows his brow, "Whatever." He scowls a little, shutting the computer down. He taps his hand to his cut, sees the bit of blood, licking it off his fingers and sighing. "Ah'm fine." He glances back at Hosea, a quick glare, and then finishes powering down things.

"Why were you crying? Have you received bad news?" Hosea asks. Perhaps a little personal, but he seems genuinely concerned. He steps a little closer toward Lucas as he closes down the computer.

Lucas just scowls, "Ah weren't cryin'." He turns and faces Hosea with a confidence that defies the fact that Hosea is bigger than him. "An' if'n you tell ANYONE that's what you THINK ya'll saw, Ah'll fuckin' kick your ass," he orders, with a little poke of his finger at Hosea's chest.

The threat brings a confused, but not intimidated look to Hosea's face. "You are afraid to be seen crying?" he asks. "If dat bothers you, I shall respect it and keep it to mahself," he promises. "Have I done something else to make you so angry?" the dark-skinned teen asks in his deep voice. The level of hostility seems disproportionate to being simply startled.

Lucas just shakes his head, "Ah wasn't cryin'," he once again reiterates. He walks over to the amplifiers, powering them off. "Maybe Ah just don't much like you," he says as his left hand casually makes sure his wallet is still there. "So what? You come down here to fuck with me? Or you decide to come play some blues?"

Hosea shakes his head. "I do not know much about blues," he says, his eyes not moving to follow Lucas' hand, but he notices it. "I think I prefer hard rock," he answers. "Have I done something that offends you? Make a comment dat has been unkind?" He remembers his earlier encounter with Lucas, and didn't understand the dislike then, but it seems to bother him enough he wants to address it. "I must make right if I have done somting unkind."

Lucas looks back at Hosea and scowls,s "Look, Ah just don't need one of you rippin' off my gear, alright?" He rolls his eyes, and picks up the guitar case that, judging by the Nirvana sticker on it, must be his.

"I do not understand. One of me? Dere is only one of me, and why would I rip your things?" Hosea asks. "I do not undahstand why people want so many tings in America." The African smiles again. "In Africa, people do not need so much. Dey need only to live. A bowl, a knife, a speah." He shrugs. "I do not want to break your tings, it would not be kind."

Lucas shakes his head, "Wow, you ARE stupid." He sighs, "Look, Ah just prefer if you keep your distance." He steps past Hosea, heading for the door. "And Ah weren't cryin' none, neither."

Hosea doesn't seem to want to let it drop, however. He reaches out to catch Lucas' arm as he passes, a possibly unwise move. "I must know, for I should be your friend. We are both mutants, yes?" he contests. "We are brothers. Many people hate us, we should stand together."

Lucas yanks away, "Don't fuckin' touch me, ni…" He stops himself before he says the word. THE word. He makes a face that's a little dissatisfied with himself, then shakes it away. "We ain't brothers. Just… Forget it." He walks to the door and unlocks it.

Hosea is washed in understanding. "I see," he says. "You do not like me because I am black!" he accuses, but his tone is not angry, though it is intense. "You think I will break your tings because I am from Africa, and we are violent, yes?" He laughs, which might not be the expected response to recognizing racism. "It would be right for most of my people, I undahstand. I promise you, I am not a violent man." Then again, if Lucas has been observant, he might have seen a few scars upon his arms and neck that may disagree with the statement.

Lucas opens the door, looking back at Hosea. "Look, where Ah'm from, Ah was raised with you people-" He sighs, rolling his eyes at himself. "Ah ain't proud of it, okay? But it is what it is." He shakes his head, "Ah wasn't cryin'." And he slips out into the hall.

Hosea wishes to pursue the conversation, but he realizes that it may take time before he can scale that wall. He looks back at the heap of drums, and steps back down the tiers to them, and begins to right them. Another time.

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