xp_logs | LOG: Monday after lunch, Scott and Forge in the garage

The first attempt at 'mentoring' one of the new students meets with good results, as Scott and Forge enjoy a mutual appreciation of fine motorcycles. Offers are made and accepted, and some insight into Forge's reading habits is given...

Sedans, SUVs, minivans. Bah, Forge thought to himself. Stuff like this he could have seen in the suburbs. But the sleek lines of the RX-7 had some appeal to him. Just by checking out the custom tires and slightly-lowered ground clearance and profile, he could tell that whoever had customized this machine built it for speed and handling. It would grip the road without the need for a gaudy spoiler, and those tires looked as if they could not only stop on a dime, but leave you change.

But the crowning glory of all the vehicles would have to be the Bike. Just looking at it, Forge could tell this was someone's pride and joy. Custom throttle, suspension... "Now THIS," he announced, "is a work of art."

"Thank you." Scott emerged from the storage room, unable to help a smile at the kid's choice of words. "She and I spend a lot of time together," he said, inclining his head at the bike. "You might say she's kept me sane upon occasion."

At the sound of Scott's voice, Forge turned, hands immediately clasped behind his back in the timeless "I didn't touch a thing" gesture.

"Some things," he offered, "you just can't improve on. But that doesn't mean you can't use them to their fullest." Realizing he wasn't going to be yelled at for checking out the bike, he turned back to it, taking a knee and cocking his head to check out the engine more closely. He whistled under his breath, tracing the lines of the machine with his finger.

"All those guys who used to ride up the Santa Fe on their choppers would shit themselves over this ride," he remarked. "You'd have to have nerves of steel to ride it flat-out, though."

"Don't tell anyone," Scott said amiably, leaning against the doorframe, "but I have gotten a few speeding tickets. I've also nearly wrapped her around a tree a few times, which would have been a real shame..."

"No kidding," Forge mumbled, walking around the motorcyle, repressing the urge to grab a socket wrench and get down and intimate with the drive train. "One day," he declared, standing back up to look across the garage at Scott, "I'm going to be able to handle something like this. Once, you know..." he rapped his knuckles against his leg, letting the sound of metal-on-metal echo off the walls.

"I'm Scott, by the way," Scott said, coming over and offering his hand. "Of course, you probably knew that already."

Forge nodded, reaching over to shake Scott's hand, the bike between them. Once he realized that this wasn't some kind of shakedown or boot camp lecture, the boy seemed both more at ease, and at the same time, calculatingly defensive.

"I talked to Ms. Munroe about testing for my classes," he said, folding his hands behind his back again and walking around one of the sports cars, frowning occasionally. "I don't think that'll be a problem. I was pretty ahead of the curve before my accident. I ought to be able to..."

He paused, dropping into a push-up position next to the hood of the RX-7 and glanced under the wheel well. "Hmm," he interrupted himself, "nitrogen-compression shocks. Not exactly mounted for performance, but the parts are good."

Coming back to his feet, Forge continued his sentence. "...able to soar through whatever you guys have on the curriculum. So," he came to a stop, coincidentally placing the length of the car between him and Scott. "what's this about, Mister Summers?"

A real charmer, Scott thought wryly. "I thought you might like to take a look at the garage," he said easily. "We like to encourage some extracurricular work with your mutations. This might be at the very least an entertaining venue for you."

Forge paused, then nodded. "Doctor MacTaggart mentioned that. I noticed the machine shop over there," he jerked his head to the door Scott knew well. Forge paused a moment to admire the exhaust manifold on the RX-7, then he turned to take in the look on Scott's face. "One of yours, too?"

Scott nodded. "I do work on all of them if they need it," he said, "but I do have a few special pet projects. You see anything in here you'd like to make yours?" He grinned suddenly. "Excepting the bike, of course. She's something of a jealous mistress."

Blinking back a yelp of surprise, Forge looked around quickly, so that Mr. Summers wouldn't notice his eyes about to jump out of his head. "Oh, I think I'd handle her fine," he deadpanned, "but I just don't have the balance to treat her right."

He walked over to the machine shop, running his hand over the lathe slowly. Hanging from the walls and ceiling were sheets of aluminum and various steel alloys, waiting to be worked into life.

"This." he announced simply.

"Prefer to start with the raw material, do you?" Scott smiled again. "I'll give you a key," he decided finally. "And let the rest of the staff know you're allowed to be in here whenever you like." There wasn't much that was precisely dangerous in here, so he didn't say a word about supervision. "I'd like to be able to check in on you from time to time, see what you're working on."

Forge nodded absently. "You'll see most of it in the halls." He held up his hand as an explanation. "Some people hit the gym to do bodybuilding, Mister Summers. I do it right here." He ran his metal hand over the sheets of aluminum almost reverently, as if divining what they could become by some intangible texture or aura.

Turning back to Scott, he cocked his head curiously, taking a half-step forward, then stopping. Finally, he asked quizzically, "What's with your eyes?"

"My mutation," Scott told him, just as amiably. "I produce--well, we settled on calling them optic blasts. But I was in an accident when I was younger that resulted in some brain damage, which unfortunately affected the part of my brain that regulates my mutation. Ruby quartz blocks the blasts, so I have to wear the glasses permanently."

"Ruby..." Forge took three quick steps towards Scott, peering intently at the glasses. "Well, of course. Force acts on the crystal structure, piezo effect converts it into... I'm guessing zero-frequency EM? Obviously, or you'd be a walking flashlight..." He drew small circles in the air with his metal fingers. "Ever considered contacts?"

"Hank's tossed around the idea a few times. Never seemed to feel it was workable." Scott shrugged. "I've learned to cope with it," he told the kid. "Glasses for everyday use, goggles for sleeping..." He left off any comment about his visor.

"Hmm." Forge seemed lost in thought, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was nearly chest-to-chest with Scott, peering intently at the construction of his glasses. "I bet if you worked an iris-type shutter into them, you know, like a camera, you could probably shoot those blasts like bullets. Pow!" he exclaimed loudly, then realized how close he was standing and backed away with a shuffle.

Forge's fingers closed around a coil of wire and he began working it through his fingers experimentally. Yes, this workshop would do just fine. He'd just move in some of his electronics equipment, and it'd be easily as good as any mass-production line. It would be studio, smithy, and factory all in one. All for him.

"I... I really appreciate this, Mister Summers," Forge stammered out. "This is, well... I can do some good things here."

"That's the idea, Forge. But you're welcome, in any case." Scott pondered. "You'd be way beyond my mechanical engineering course - how would you feel about some independent study? Just to see how far you can push your mutation..."

"How independent?" Forge asked in return, genuinely curious. "I mean, you're right. My mutation's no good if I can't understand the theories to base it off of. I might be a genius at mechanics, and chemistry, and physics, and electronics..." Forge began counting off disciplines on his fingers, finally concluding with "...differential calculus, and thermokinetics. Oh, speaking of thermokinetics, Mister al... ali..." he plucked his PDA out briefly and zoomed through his email. "Al-Rashid, right. Where could I find him?"

Scott checked his watch. "He's got Arabic right now, I think. Hit the classroom wing and you might catch him on his way out. If not, drop him an email and you could arrange to meet up somewhere else." He wasn't about to send the kid down to the hangar. If he liked the garage, they'd never get him away from the Blackbird. "As for independent study..." Scott shrugged cheerfully. "Haroun and Hank and I should put our heads together, see what kind of curriculum we can come up with for you."

Forge nodded, then frowned down at his PDA. "I had Hstory with Miss Monroe this morning, English Comp tomorrow and Thursday, and..." he screwed his face up as if he'd had to swallow an entire lemon. "Intro to Music Theory? For the love of..."

Scott laughed. "Consider it a different sort of math," he suggested lightly. "We do like you to be somewhat well-rounded, even if your strengths might lie in certain areas."

"Electives," Forge spat out the word like an epithet. "My father would tell me it builds character. At this rate, I'll have an entire opera full of characters." Admittedly, Forge did like his music. He just tended to like it incredibly loud.

Sense of humor. Nice. Scott grinned. "I hated electives myself," he confessed. "But you'll survive. Get them over with, pay lip service - " Ororo would be smacking him right about now. " - get yourself settled with what you know you want to do."

Forge was surprised to hear that coming from a teacher, but took it in stride. Scott Summers, he decided, could probably be an okay guy. After all, anyone who put all that effort into such a beautiful motorcycle couldn't be bad.

"I think I know," Forge replied slowly, "but this is where I'm supposed to learn more and figure out goals and stuff, right?" He shrugged. "I'm going to build stuff, Mr. Summers. I'm going to do it better than anyone else, because I can. We are defined by our mutations," he intoned, obviously quoting. "to ignore them would be to ignore the very core of ourselves. I'm lucky enough to like what my mutation does, Mr. Summers. if you guys are going to give me the chance to develop it, well, can't argue with that."

"That's what we're here for," Scott said, still grinning. "And to be honest, I can't wait to see what you come up with." He chuckled, then tapped his glasses. "I'll try very hard not to have mutation-envy."

Forge smiled, then jumped as his PDA warbled, alerting him to his next class. "Looks like I have to run, sir. But thanks. For everything." He strode over to the garage steps that led out to the main house, then leaned back to look over at Scott. "Deny not our faults, rather define them, Mister Summers." Forge tapped his temple with his mechanical hand, grinning sardonically.

"Don't envy me, sir. Be proud of what we are." With that, he walked out into the hall, making a small note in his PDA to get Mr. Summers a copy of the Lensherr Manifesto that he'd downloaded off the Internet. He'd appreciate it.