Marie-Ange and Forge, in the band room, with the screwdriver.

[x-forge.livejournal.com]

In which priorities clash involving the use/destruction of an amplifier, and the establishment of certain social cliques are realized. At least by one person.



Marie-Ange had headed down to the music room with the intent of
practicing. Even with Alison injuried, she thought she should, and she
certainly needed an hour or two with headphones and something loud.
Not that she would admit it if anyone asked.

Except that when she got there, -her- amp was on the floor, in pieces.
Admiiteddly, it wasn't her personal amp, since she didn't have one,
but it was the one Doug had so thoughtfully labeled for her before
she'd gotten a handle on what went where. She cleared her throat and
crossed her arms, waiting for the destroyer-of-amps to look up. "Was
there some reason, perhaps, that you thought taking apart equiptment
was a good idea?"

Forge didn't bother looking up from where he sat cross-legged,
attacking the amplifier with screwdriver and pliers. He needed speaker
magnets and high-quality core wire for those white noise generators
the doctors had asked for. Of course the high-end amps in the music
room would suffice. Besides, with class canceled for at least a week,
no one would miss them. Except, apparently, the French accent behind
him.

"Life saving hero stuff," he announced, reaching into the shell of the
amp to violently rip a handful of wires from their moorings so that he
could get to the copper-wrapped core. "More important than a jam
session, you know."

"Life.. saving.. hero stuff.." Marie-Ange said slowly. "Of course.
And life saving hero stuff means ripping up Alison's music equiptment
into tiny bits and strewing them all over the floor." She sounded
skeptical. Because she was skeptical. What on -earth- could he need
with the amp, or as far as she could tell, the remaining bits of the
amp that were in pieces all over the floor.

Forge rolled his eyes and pulled his hand out of the amp. "First off,
'strewing' isn't a word. Second, yes, it's necessary. The doctors say
she needs an environment devoid of sound, and they asked me to help
with that. And the parts I need are right here. And what I'm doing is
more important than whatever the stupid music class needs them for.
Any more questions?"

"Yes, it is a word. An English word, and one that I am sure you could
find in a dictionary if you bothered to look at anything that was not
a screwdriver and a pile of wires." Marie-Ange rolled her eyes.
"Amazing how the American education system turns out children who are
not half as fluent in their native tongue as those of us who have
learned it as a second, or even third language."

"Some of us have more important things to do," Forge retorted, peering
into the innards of the amplifier, switching on the penlight he had
taped to his glasses. "If you need an amplifier for something, though,
there's still the twelve-inchers over on the far wall. I'm sure when
Ms. Blaire's out of danger, the music department can just buy more.
Until then, they're really best served elsewhere."

Finding the screws holding the coil wires in place, Forge bent his
mechanical fingers around the circuit board and lifted, poking around
with his screwdriver. "Unless you've 'seen' another pile of
low-resistance .5 millimeter copper wire around here?" Forge made the
quotes sarcastically audible as he began winding the wire onto a spool
on his belt, smirking to himself.

"No, I have not 'seen' any low resistance copper wire." And the only
reason she didn't stumble over those words was because she'd heard
Doug and Jamie use them more than once in discussing how best to
re-wire one of the kitchen appliances to do a polka, or whatever they
were trying to make it do. "Nor have I seen much of -anything- in
relation to Alison, otherwise this mess may have been preventable, and
you would not be ripping up amps for spare parts."

"Well, what good are you to me, then?" Forge said dismissively,
continuing to wind the wire onto his spool. When he finished, he
scooped the extra parts back into the amplifier shell, then pushed it
back into place against the wall. Making sure to keep the magnet on
his right side, he tucked it into the satchel he was carrying and
stood up, eyeing Marie-Ange as he did so.

Good lord, she even LOOKED like a stuck-up preppie bitch. Pleated
skirt and all.

"I'm done here. Room's yours for your clarinet or violin or
what-the-crap-ever practice."

"Bass guitar." Marie-Ange said, flatly. She wasn't giving him the
satisfaction of knowing about the cello. She didn't even like the
blasted thing. . "And I have no intention of doing you any good
personally, since I do not see the point in ripping up music equipment
when I know very well there is a well-stocked engineering lab. Doug
-certainly- spends enough time singing its praises."

"And it doesn't have what I'm looking for," Forge announced plainly.
"This does. You're a musician, not an engineer. Don't pretend to be an
expert on things you know nothing about. Genius isn't spread by
osmosis." Forge looked Marie-Ange up and down with a frown. "And I'm
beginning to have my doubts about 'Doug' on that score as well."

Marie-Ange returned the look and frown with a cold glare. "I am sure
you will go on thinking whatever you like about Doug without -my-
help." She smirked. "Argueing with anyone as obviously socially
maladroit as you on the subject of, well, anything, I suppose, would
be a waste of my time." He'd insulted her intelligence, ruined
-perfectly- good equiptment, and by the looks of him, Forge was one of
those people who belived that it didn't matter if you -bathed- or wore
decently presentable clothing, so long as you were some kind of
genius.

Forge smirked more openly, amused that she'd think that accusing him
of being socially maladjusted would hit a sore spot. "An obvious waste
of everyone's time," he agreed facetiously. "Now, if you'll get out of
my way, I have to take this to my workshop. You know, to help out the
doctors. Feel free to play your music or whatever."

"Oui. Of course. Anything for the life saving hero." Marie-Ange said,
putting a bite in her words. She wasn't convinced he was even telling
the truth - gifted or not, she couldn't see why they wouldn't just
-order- him the whatever it was he needed. But that would be easily
cleared up with a few emails, and if he -was- doing it for Alison,
fine, but if he wasn't, then there would be a world of detention in
his future. She smiled thinly and waved an indifferent hand at the
door.. "Good luck with your machines, John Henry." Turning her back
to him, she rolled her eyes. At least -Doug- wasn't -this- obsessed.
He had social graces.

Forge reddened briefly at the use of his given name. Marie-Ange had
this knack of sounding exactly like the condescending "student
counselors" at his old school, which did little to further endear her
to Forge. With a scowl, he stalked out of the music room and into the
hall.

Not that it mattered what she thought, he figured. Once Ms.
Blaire was out of the medlab and walking around again thanks to his
genius, they'd all appreciate him. They'll have to, right?, he
thought.

Comments

[x-catseye.livejournal.com]

That last paragraph? Woah. :)

[x-siryn.livejournal.com]

Engineering room, nothing. What about the well stocked hardware store in town?

(And yes, that last paragraph? Wah)

[x-forge.livejournal.com]

Matter of time. Do *you* want to go send someone running for supplies for a medical emergency when they're perfectly available and MUCH less important on-site? *grin*

[x-siryn.livejournal.com]

There are at least three teleporters in the school. Buying wire would take lots less time than ripping apparent expensive equipment for parts.

[x-forge.livejournal.com]

But it's not as much fun. :) Besides, the music class is canceled.

Think of it this way - if someone's bleeding and you know there's bandages 10 miles away, or you think there might be bandages in the closet - you check the closet first.

[x-siryn.livejournal.com]

Music class is never canceled for obsessive girls who aren't allowed to use their primary instrument due to the threat of permanent vocal damage.

The analogy doesn't work. This is more taking bandages from someone else instead of getting fresh non-used ones.

[x-forge.livejournal.com]

Well, yes. You're assuming your local inventive genius thinks that far ahead. :)

[x-siryn.livejournal.com]

He's just lucky Terry can't yell at him right now.