xp_logs | Jean-Phillipe and Vic, Tuesday evening (Reply)

JPC and Vic bump into each other, and Jean-Phillipe comes to a startling realization.

"Teaching assistant. Merde, what was I thinking?" Perhaps he hadn't been, and just jumped at the chance to do something for a man he'd hero-worshipped and crushed on in the past, Jean-Phillipe mused as he headed out of his room and towards the smoker's porch. Jean-Paul was definitely expecting more of him than he'd thought would be the case. Between that and beginning classes at Westchester Community College, the brain he'd let atrophy to an extent while working in warehouses was getting a rude jolt of awakening.

Vic looked down from his perch on the wall as the door below him opened and the TA for his French class stepped out--Monsieur Colbert, he remembered, one of the many people he hadn't really met until classes started. From here, he couldn't tell what kind of mood his instructor was in, whether he looked like he wanted company or not, so Vic decided to make his presence known. Besides, it was rude to lurk where people weren't expecting you. Careful of the ivy, Vic crawled down to the porch, making sure to make a fair amount of noise so that Monsieur Colbert wouldn't be startled. "'Ey," he called as he got close to the ground.

Jean-Phillipe paused in the midst of tapping out a cigarette into his palm, quirking an eyebrow at the unexpected direction of Vic's entrance. "Bonjour, Monsieur Borkowski," he said easily, fishing in his pocket for a matchbook. "Comment ca va?"

Vic shrugged. "Comme thi comme tha," he replied, his sprained tongue butchering his words and his accent. Unfortunately, he'd left his dry erase board behind when he'd climbed out of his window to take a study break, leaving him nothing but hand gestures and a thick tongue with which to convey his meaning. Some words were easier than others, however. "Et vous?"

Jean-Phillipe cocked his head at the unexpected lisp. "What on earth did you do to yourself?" he asked, startled. It was clear from the mannerisms that something had happened.

Vic frowned, trying to figure out how to explain in as few words as possible. "Thprained mah tongue." He turned his head to show off the bruise darkening one cheek. "Fun weekend."

"Sprained your -tongue-?" Jean-Phillipe was taken aback. "How did you manage that?" he asked, then paused. "I am almost afraid to hear the answer," he admitted. His brain only seemed to come up with the perverted possibilities.

The younger boy shook his head. "Fight," he admitted. "It'th a long thtory." He shrugged apologetically. "You should thee the other guy?"

It wasn't as though Jean-Phillipe was going to lecture Vic about fighting, given some of the scrapes he'd gotten into while working in warehouses. He was a bit confused as to the apologetic look on the young man's face, then he had a belated realization. "O merde," he muttered. "I am an authority figure."

His companion snorted in amusement at that. "Mmmhmm." Vic could sympathize; he still had trouble making sense of the strange blurring between public and private among the staff, teachers and students. "Th'okay, I won' tell," he offered puckishly.

"That is not reassuring," Jean-Phillipe grumbled. Even if Vic didn't tell anyone, he couldn't take away that depressing realization from his mind. "Ah well, I suppose that this is what growing up must be about," he continued, with a very put-upon and slightly overdramatic sigh.

"I wouldn' know," Vic said with a shrug and a smile. "Your thecret'th thafe with me."