Some weeks later...(tag Mr. Row) on Tumbleweed

Jean-Loup Arceneaux

April 16, 2020 8:52 PM

Some weeks later...(tag Mr. Row) by Jean-Loup Arceneaux

Jean-Loup stared at the coffee in front of him. He had felt obligated to buy something, and coffee was his go to, although the first sip had felt acrid and wrong in his mouth, and he hadn’t touched it since. He was probably already on edge enough without adding caffeine to his system.

He wondered whether he would have given up if it hadn’t been for Choux. He might have done… Just bolted out, gone back and tried to cover his tracks before anyone noticed. But Choux was already on her way to Sonora. And that wasn’t to say that anything would come of it. She might return alone and then… then he supposed he would have to go back.

He hoped the letter he had sent wasn’t…. all wrong. Both in terms of its composition, just… between his awful handwriting and his bad English, what if it was totally unintelligible? But also what if he was really crossing a line here? He probably was. He wasn’t sure what else to do though.

Give up. Go back.

He nudged the duffel bag slightly further under the table with his toe. He was grateful at least for the degree of cover that the table provided him, a thin veil that might for a moment create an illusion that stopped this looking exactly like what it was. If he came.

He wondered how long he would have to wait. How busy was Mr. Row, on any given day? If he would come at all… If he couldn’t, surely he’d reply at least? Send a note back with Choux?

He was pretty sure the letter had been dreadful. It had been hard to convey how grateful he was for the help that had already been provided, and to try to be clear that this was important and he really needed for ‘no, sorry’ to not be an answer right now, but also stay polite when he recognised he shouldn’t be doing this at all – all in English. All whilst feeling like every last one of his nerves was being shredded.

Dear Prof. Row,

Sorry for writing to you.

I have come to Tumbleweed. I need your help, and it is urgent. I know this is not your job, and I am sorry, but I hope you can come. I am at the saloon.

Jean-Loup Arceneaux

PS I am Dorian’s boyfriend. You have been helping me already by talking with Dorian. (Thank you).

And now there was nothing to do except wait.

13 Jean-Loup Arceneaux Some weeks later...(tag Mr. Row) 1506 Jean-Loup Arceneaux 1 5

Killian Row

April 16, 2020 9:23 PM

Ooh, a nice satisfying cup of follow-up. by Killian Row

Killian's messy office was made all the messier by the fact that he had a habit of leaving his window open if the weather was remotely decent. Considering where he'd grown up, he had a pretty low bar for that. He also left it open for practical reasons; the easier it was for owls to get in and out, the faster he could confer with job sites, internship sites, schools, families, and more. As a result of maintaining such relationships over time, Killian recognized most of the owls that came and went. Thus, when a lovely speckled owl arrived, he was eager to find out what new correspondence was beginning. Who was writing to him? About what? What sort of opportunities were presenting themselves for the students he'd grown to care so much about?

Happy also to have an excuse to stand up after so much time spent on the floor sitting on his knees, various piles of files and papers around him in a circle of arm's length radius, Killian pushed himself to his feet and stretched before greeting the owl with a nuzzling hand and a treat.

"You're very pretty," he said, smiling as he took the note from the owl.

He read it twice, to make sure that his surprise didn't cloud his understanding of the letter. A whole lot of thoughts crossed his mind at once, including a pretty good feeling of excitement, in which he was mostly just thrilled that any of his students were telling anyone else about him and what he was doing. Other than that, he was a bit nervous, as missives from strangers requesting an immediate meeting were always a bit sketchy. Finally, his mind began racing with all of the information he and Dorian had most recently exchanged and everything that might apply to Jean-Loup. Also, he regretted that he didn't know how to say that name out loud.

"Can you take this back to him?" Killian asked the owl as he scrawled a note on the back of it:

See you soon.

Tying the letter to her leg again and giving her another nuzzle, treat, and quick "thank you," Killian quickly went about the room to collect all of the information he could think of that might be immediately relevant. He retrieved the papers he'd taken notes on about Dorian's boyfriend from Dorian's file, deciding that for privacy and confidentiality it would be best to leave student files themselves in his office. Packing the whole of it in his briefcase, Killian darted out of the room and off to Tumbleweed.

He wasn't exactly sure how long it would take the speckled owl to get to the saloon, as Tumbleweed itself was a bit of a mystery to him and he wasn't entirely sure how an owl could get in and out of the town at all. In any case, it didn't take Killian long to arrive there himself and he picked his way through the streets to the saloon, doing his best not to run. He was very very very excited. If what Dorian said was true, this young man didn't have others to talk to and didn't have a counselor or family to support him. Yet here he was, self-advocating the heck out of life, ready to talk to a stranger in a language that he wasn't native to, just to get a leg up in the next part of life. That proved determination, dedication, and a strong work ethic. Of course, Killian couldn't be sure that he wasn't asking him there to murder him, or else to ask about something unrelated, or any other such thing, but he doubted that was the case. Jean-Loup's "thank you" implied it was at least a friendly visit.

Killian was debating whether or not to correct the young man that he was not actually a professor, and whether he should actually just ask to be called by his first name since Jean-Loup was not a Sonora student and not underage, when he approached the saloon and stepped inside. Taking care not to look around the room just yet, Killian stepped up to the bar and ordered tea for himself. He had found that young people did better when they felt a little more at ease, and staring usually helped with that; he wanted Jean-Loup to have time to take in his appearance and demeanor before he sat down, and he wanted him to have a second to breathe. He also thought that having a drink was a good idea. Either Jean-Loup had a drink already, in which case they could both mutually enjoy the distractions of their chosen beverages, or Jean-Loup did not yet have a drink and Killian's purchase might serve as a gentle "go for it."

Finally, equipped with a briefcase, tea, and winning personality (hahaha), Killian turned to face the young man who must be Jean-Loup. He approached with the same easy grin he always wore.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Killian Row. Are you here to meet me?"

22 Killian Row Ooh, a nice satisfying cup of follow-up. 1450 Killian Row 0 5

Jean-Loup Arceneaux

April 16, 2020 10:05 PM

Not sure I can swallow it by Jean-Loup Arceneaux

Jean-Loup watched the people coming and going, trying to work out whether any of them were looking for him. Wondering whether and how he and Mr. Row would recognise each other… He guessed they might have seen each other in passing. He guessed Mr. Row could just look for slightly sick-looking teenagers. There weren’t really many people his age around. A couple of times, he thought a face was somewhat familiar, but it never turned out to be a Sonora teacher. He guessed he’d seen plenty of the Tumbleweed inhabitants in passing too…

Choux appeared whilst he waited, tapping on the glass. She was not allowed into the bar, but he at least got the reassurance that someone was coming.

He waited a little longer. Though there was some tourist footfall, there weren’t that many people coming in on their own. People tended to do fun things together. He noticed a young guy with a beard come up to the bar but he seemed relaxed enough that it didn’t seem like he was looking for anyone. Except… he was holding a briefcase. Which was not very touristy. Jean-Loup looked him up and down, somewhat surprised – if this was indeed Mr. Row – by the fact that he was pretty young and not at all bad-looking. Which was not at all an appropriate thing to think about his boyfriend’s teacher.

He was quite glad he’d had the chance to banish that thought to the back of his mind by the time the person came over and introduced himself as… something-strange-and-unpronounceable-that-sounded-like-Killing Row.

“Yes. I am Jean-Loup,” he answered. He stood, clumsily and nervously, offering a hand to shake. He settled back into his seat, for a given value of the word ‘settled.’ His hands fidgeted with the coffee cup in front of him. His foot jiggled. His shoulders hunched as he gave a defeated sigh.

“Thank you for coming. And for helping. I…” he hesitated, not really sure what to do. What to say. “My parents are fighting. Since a week. With the subject of me,” he chopped out each little sentence due to nerves and a lack of fluency. He tried to find something else to articulate about that subject. That he understood it wasn’t really Mr. Row’s area, and that he wasn’t asking for that kind of help – he didn’t need to talk about his feelings or be fixed. He just hadn’t really been sure what else to do. “I don’t know… Maybe I will make everything worse by doing this. I… I don’t want that I have less choices later because I do something stupid now. But…” he trailed off with a shrug.

13 Jean-Loup Arceneaux Not sure I can swallow it 1506 Jean-Loup Arceneaux 0 5

Killian Row

April 16, 2020 10:23 PM

It tastes a bit like second chances, sweet relief, and bitter regret. by Killian Row

There were a lot of sad teenagers in the world. Nathaniel Mordue - 15, Teppenpaw, prefect, Cleo James - 17, Crotalus, prefect, and Dorian himself - 16, Teppenpaw, prefect (okay but were all the prefects sad?) just to name a few if general posture and trajectory were anything to go by. But this was different. Jean-Loup did not look like a sad teenager; he looked like an utterly defeated old man in the body of someone too young to do much about it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Killian smiled before he took a seat and decided that he was very glad that he thought to get tea first. He allowed his grin to fade into something no less friendly but certainly less happy. There was no pity in Killian's expression because he had not yet found anyone in his life pitiful, save his own brother and that dynamic was changing too.

Jean-Loup's sentences were heavily accented and even more heavily truncated, but he was clear enough for Killian to track and he nodded understandingly. When the young man shrugged, Killian took a sip of his tea, trying to give time to think. To breathe. To throw up. Whatever Jean-Loup needed to do.

"I am happy to help," Killian said first, wanting to set the tone. He made every effort to smush his accent into something a little closer to standard American, since he assumed that would be closer to what Jean-Loup was used to hearing, and he spoke a little slower and with greater enunciation than usual. "I'm so sorry things are not good at home," he added, offering an understanding smile. It was the only thing he ever offered that was fake, though it was still based in reality. Killian did not understand. Killian had a lovely home with lovely parents and a mostly lovely brother and the worst that things ever got were well past the age of the students he worked with. He also didn't have relationships with other men, or have parents who would have had a problem with that should he have chosen to. Of course, the fact that he didn't really have relationships with anyone wasn't their favorite thing, but that's why they had two boys, right? That was not the point right now.

Killian's mind raced as he thought through his resources again. It seemed less likely that Jean-Loup was here on account of his career choice now, so he dismissed some of those resources as less important. The McLeod foundation and some other sites quickly became more relevant, as well as some shelters that would accept men and some religious or spiritual healing options, should that be the sort of thing Jean-Loup might benefit from. "'Doing this?' What are you doing? How can I help?"

22 Killian Row It tastes a bit like second chances, sweet relief, and bitter regret. 1450 Killian Row 0 5

Jean-Loup Arceneaux

April 17, 2020 12:48 AM

Do I get to choose which? by Jean-Loup Arceneaux

Prof Row used pretty short sentence. Happy to help. Sorry about home. He did not ask simple questions though. What are you doing?

"Talking to you," Jean-Loup answered, his shoulders still tight. It was in some ways, an honest answer - the question really having been 'what are you doing wrong?' 'why might you be in trouble?' - and not just an overly literal one. Still, he could hear the defensive tone in his own voice, and could only hope it was so buried under his accent that Prof Row could not. Otherwise he was sure he was coming across as the typical sulky teenager. The one caught, wand in hand, graffiti across the walls. Just what do you think you’re doing? ’Casting a spell…’ He wondered if Prof Row’s toes had intruded into the space under the table occupied by his duffel bag, and whether asking the question out loud was merely a formality.

The next one was even tougher. How can I help? Jean-Loup had rather formed the impression that Prof Row knowing the answer to that was the point of his job. And he was also worried that the answer was ‘nothing.’ Jean-Loup had looked over some of the stuff Dorian had sent. From what he could make out, it was a mixed bag. There was some stuff in there that he definitely didn’t trust, and whether that was unintentional on Prof Row’s part or whether he really was willing to put those options on the table, Jean-Loup didn’t know. He weighed up the question, rolling his tongue over his teeth. He found himself glad for the lack of fluency to hide his silences behind, as he grappled with the idea of what was sitting across the table from him. A trustworthy adult. It still sounded like an oxymoron.

“There is more chances with my school to move between the school and the home,” he offered, deciding that expanding on his answer to the first question was easier than thinking about the second one. “So… I said I would go back to school for use the library and things. I guess I have… nine days?” he did the approximate maths based on a certainty of when term ended but not being totally sure what day it was right now. “Or until they find out. I could just go to school,” he added, sounding both anxious but tempted. “But I also think… maybe spend nine days around people who don’t make me want…” he searched, but was pretty sure any attempt to articulate just how much he wanted to put his head through a wall right now was not going to come across clearly in his broken English. The last thing he wanted to do was sound like he was crazy, anyway.

13 Jean-Loup Arceneaux Do I get to choose which? 1506 Jean-Loup Arceneaux 0 5

Killian Row

April 17, 2020 12:46 PM

Mostly. But you always get a little of each. by Killian Row

Jean-Loup - 17, medical student, alone.

Oh. Oh.

Killian cocked an eyebrow, amused by Jean-Loup's first answer, as he didn't strike Killian as a rebellious, defiant, or impolite teen. However, he knew that that mean it was probably either fear or defensiveness - often the same thing - that was bringing that answer out, and that was sort of awful actually. Still, he was seeking help and he was making grown-up decisions, and he was going to be okay. Whether his own idea of "okay" and Jean-Loup's were the same right now was another question, which brought them to what Jean-Loup was actually doing.

"You want nine days to breathe," Killian said, sincerely understanding that feeling. It was a crappy feeling. "You are an adult," he added a little more softly. "You're allowed to do that."

Killian retrieved his briefcase from the floor, ostensibly ignoring another bag sharing the space with his own, and opened it on his lap so there was room on the table for the papers he withdrew. Three shelters - one co-ed, one for men only, and one for LGBTQ+ folk specifically; the McLeod Foundation brochures; information about local hostels; and a food bank. He also had a printed infographic about adult transition and your rights upon turning seventeen. "This one might be different in Canada, but it's basically the same," he added, tapping the infographic as he set it down.

Killian took a deep breath because people forgot to breathe when they were scared and Killian wasn't scared so he had taken on the job of de facto breathing reminder. Iiiiiiin....... oooooouuuutt....... Just like that. Not like birthing breathing because then people would pass out, and it would be much funnier than Killian was supposed to admit.

"You have options," he said, pausing to allow Jean-Loup to take in everything that was in front of him. "I'm sorry they're all in English. I can explain them or answer any questions. Let me know if you don't see what you're looking for here."

22 Killian Row Mostly. But you always get a little of each. 1450 0 5

Jean-Loup Arceneaux

April 17, 2020 8:06 PM

Can we prioritise relief? by Jean-Loup Arceneaux

Nine days to breathe. He nodded. Yes. He wanted that very much. Preferably whilst not screwing up his entire future. Preferably- but Mr. Row had some ideas to show him. Along with the reminder that he was an adult. That was… complicated. He appreciated the tantalising promise of freedom that offered but it felt illusory. The idea that he was an adult, and therefore his mother couldn’t force him- it didn’t work like that. It also had the alarming possibility that he was going to be responsible for himself. No one was going to have to look out for him or put a roof over his head if they stopped wanting to. Schools, for example, might be closed to him.

He looked at the leaflets Prof Row spread out. Living in shelters. Food donations. He imagined sitting there, with absolutely nothing to do except stare at the walls and think about how alone and screwed over he was. Accepting other people’s charity. And, worst of all, being useless. Not a member of the Quidditch team. Not a student. Not a medical volunteer. And That Leaflet was back.

“Dorian sent me this one,” he gestured at the McLeod leaflet. He was determined to remain polite, even if his stomach was turning worse than ever and he wanted to just grab his bag and run before Prof Row could force him to go stay there. He stared at the ‘you are an adult’ sheet again, trying to remind himself that he could not be forced to do anything against his will. He was sure that Dorian thought they meant well. There was a possibility that Prof Row did too, though he didn’t know him well enough to grant him the benefit of that doubt. “I don’t want that,” he stated. In spite of his efforts, the defensiveness in his voice had ratcheted up several notches, and he was watching Mr. Row intently, as if looking for some kind of tell as he reacted to that rejection. Jean-Loup had an idea. And Mr. Row had said he could say what he wanted… He wasn’t being pushed to accept that the McLeods were good people, nice people, who were going to ‘look after’ him. Mr. Row was just… breathing. Waiting. Jean-Loup realised he wasn’t doing the first one and started again.

“How about… Sonora?” he asked, his hand hovering in a way to forestall immediate rejection - he had more to say. “It-it can make sense. There is the medic. I can help. I can work on English. I can… I can maybe actually tell my parents that I go there. My dad anyway….” His dad had been almost listening. That was what the fight was about, really. His parents' marriage had definitely been one of convenience rather than love. The Arceneauxs had the name, but his grandfather had been a wasteful man, and his father was struggling to prop up the crumbling family estate. A new money match. She got the status, he got the resources. And given that she was bankrolling the family, she had been the one to call the shots on what it meant. She had pushed to make sure that no one thought any less of the lot of them. She would have the husband, the house, and the two perfect children. And what if Jean-Loup wasn’t perfect? She had been the driving force in how they were going to deal with that, and now he wasn’t playing ball any more. And his dad… There was a possibility that he was on his side. He was fighting back on his behalf. Had dug his heels in and for once not let his wife sweep along like a hurricane. Jean-Loup felt kind of bad for running out on him. Not that he had been contributing any weight to the discussion. But it felt like a poor show of faith to have left - like he wasn’t convinced his dad would win. But he wasn’t. “It is acceptable. A little strange choice, maybe, but it is something they can say to other people. And I will do work. I will work hard. I... don’t want nothing to do,” he added, his eyes again straying over the shelter leaflets.

(OOC - permission to say Killian waited it out acquired from his author)

13 Jean-Loup Arceneaux Can we prioritise relief? 1506 Jean-Loup Arceneaux 0 5

Killian Row

April 17, 2020 11:53 PM

Let's do it! by Killian Row

Killian cleared the pamphlets that Jean-Loup had had a negative reaction to and waited for him to continue. This was not the moment to ask about that, because no one wanted to talk about why they were feeling unsafe about something when they were actively feeling unsafe in that moment. It would be like standing on the side of a bridge, trying to get over a fear of heights, and then being asked to talk a bunch about spiders. Spiders were gross and no one could convince Killian otherwise.

"Sonora sounds like a good option," Killian agreed, his brain cogs doing a quick lube up as they changed gears. There was a theory he had heard about a hierarchy of needs and he had a tendency to start at the bottom and work his way up. However, sometimes, things that looked very much like a higher order need were actually the very foundation. Killian had been looking at shelters and options for food and housing, but Jean-Loup, and Dorian in retrospect, needed to know that they would have those things tomorrow, not just right this moment.

He considered the young man in front of him and the myriad of complications that this could cause for Dorian. He doubted Jean-Loup was a good enough actor to try to fool him into getting into Sonora just to see his boyfriend, or just to go to the Ball, or just to whatever. He wouldn't be able to get into the Common Rooms roadless, and Sonora really could use someone interested in keeping up with the medical side of things. Plus, Dorian was of age, too, and other than the power dynamics of an employee or intern at the school being with a student, there wasn't annoying wrong there. But housing . . .

"I'll have to check with Deputy Headmistress Skies," he explained. "Selina," he added. "But I think we could figure something out." But housing! He couldn't very well find a place for Jean-Loup to stay in the dorms at least until summer; if he stayed on that long, he could probably be given temporary housing there. But the current healer was a lady who probably didn't want Jean-Loup's imposed presence in her housing, and setting him up with his own staff quarters didn't make a lot of sense when things were up in the air and he didn't have anything.

He sat back in his chair. There was another option and he really wasn't sure what Selina would think, but she knew he was no dummy; Killian was one to think through the options, the risks, and choose the best option for the students he was serving. That was literally what he was paid to do. And he was good at it; Selina knew that.

He eyed Jean-Loup, trying to do some mental calculations. The younger man was taller and thinner, but Killian was sure he could offer some clothes that would be more comforting than whatever he'd packed for himself, and there was plenty of food at Sonora . . .

"Long term, we can work on having you apply for a staff or internship position at Sonora," he said, turning over the infographic to write some keywords on the back for Jean-Loup if he wanted to look them up later, or just wanted the reminders. "For the next nine days, though, I have a couch." He said this matter-of-factly. He had thought it through. He was already thinking several steps ahead, well past his conversation with Professor Skies. "You can stay with me. Probably. I will talk to Professor Skies, to Selina. If that's okay? I'm a little messy."

22 Killian Row Let's do it! 1450 0 5

Jean-Loup Arceneaux

April 18, 2020 7:39 PM

Okay then by Jean-Loup Arceneaux

He took the pamphlets away. Jean-Loup had said ‘no’ and he had just… taken them away. He wished it worked that easily with his parents. With his mother, he corrected himself. It had taken stronger words than ‘no’ with his father. Words along the lines of ‘the last time-’ he cut the thought off. His shoulders had untensed a little with the removal of the pamphlets, and he could feel that it was all going to come screaming back in if he thought about those places and those conversations.

And then, better than that, better than anything he could have hoped for, Prof Row was saying… well, lots of stuff. But none of it was ‘no.’ None of it was the door of the only place he really wanted to go right now being slammed shut in his face.

It seemed conditional, of course. On the deputy headmistress. Jean-Loup felt a knot of questions twisting in his stomach. What sort of person was she? Was she… alright with people like him? How did they ask her - when would she answer? He knew things might take time. He might be faced with sneaking back home this evening, or heading back to his own school to wait for the answer. But there was a possibility that the answer would come.

His brain stumbled through the rest of what Prof Row was saying as he also tried to work out how to phrase those questions. Internship. Job. Couch. His brain stumbled along only realising that this last one was not ‘coach’ (another person he would be perfectly willing to assist) when Prof Row said ‘stay with me.’ Oh. He blinked. That sounded… strange. It was strange as an arrangement but it was also strange that this person, this virtual stranger, was willing to offer. He had plenty of questions, plenty of practicalities that he had to untangle, and they could work through those in a minute. Before that though, he recognised there was something else he needed to say.

“Thank you,” he stated, still sounding stunned, but for the first time in the conversation, not totally lost or hopeless.

13 Jean-Loup Arceneaux Okay then 1506 Jean-Loup Arceneaux 0 5