[h2][color=a2d39c]Mason Crawford[/color] & Abbey Chessar[/h2][hr]Mason was enjoying the relative peace of the outdoors, and as he drew from his cigarette he gradually felt his heartbeat and breathing return to a normal pace. The incident in the canteen had shaken him considerably, but if there was one thing Mason was good at, it was hiding his feelings. It wasn't so much about deception as it was about maintaining a sense of security. Exposing himself made him feel vulnerable, and through his years of rejection he had learned that the closest he could come to not letting things hurt him, was to simply pretend they didn't and convince others it was true. 

As he surveyed the grounds, he was reminded of the elaborate country homes he had visited back home. Places like the grand halls of Hardwick and Woolaton, or the fine palaces of ancient nobility. He loved the heritage his homelands had, and the gardens here were designed in a similar style. He looked out to the woodlands... They were just perfect for exploring. He was sure if he brought his camera along with him, he would get some excellent shots. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a brief attempt at an introduction, though unfortunately for the person approaching him, Mason had just let out a long breath of smoke directly into the boy's face, causing him to cough and splutter violently. 

"[color=a2d39c][b]Shit, sorry,[/b][/color]" Mason said with an air of sincerity, before realising that it was the snobbish guy from the bus stop. Mason smirked ever-so-slightly to himself and felt slightly less guilty about the situation. "[color=a2d39c][b]It's [i]Abbey[/i], right?[/b][/color]" he asked, knowing exactly what he was doing. 

This was not at all how Chess had planned it. It took a good handful of seconds before he had finished coughing up his lungs, and even then he could taste the tar on the back of his throat. For a brief moment he wondered if this had been a good idea at all, and if the company of the artsy boy was worth the second-hand-turbo-death he would surely contract from just being around him. 

He turned his head away, gesturing for a pause with his hand before taking a deep, clean breath. Don't be silly, Chess, you've endured worse for less. When he turned back, he wiped his eyes of the moisture that had begun to collect there and gave Mason a nod. No, wait, no that wasn't correct, he'd said Abbey. Had he listened earlier, back at the bus stop? If he'd heard "Abbey" surely he'd heard "Chess for preference". 

"Erh...no. I mean, yes, and good for remembering, but it's Chess if you don't mind," he said, giving his throat one more round of clearing coughs. "Apologies, I hadn't anticipated such a...welcoming."

One hand extended out to Mason, he once again donned a grin, and his eyes once more took on their devious gleam. "You're Mason, right? The smoker without a lighter?"

Mason smiled as he shook the boy's hand, a glint of mischief in his eye. "[color=a2d39c][b]I'll keep that in mind,[/b][/color]" he said. "[color=a2d39c][b]And yeah, that's me. Though, I'm more than just a smoker, I promise![/b][/color]" he laughed, realising the impression that Chess must have had of him. Thus far, their two interactions had been based upon Mason needing a light and Chess being gassed by Mason's fumes. Abbey must have thought he was an addict or something, which Mason would deny profusely... However true it may have been. 

In fact, Mason specifically remembered some kind of comment being made back at the bus-stop. That kid Greg had pointed it out. Mason thought it best to address it; he was the type of person who recognised that problems were easily solved through discussion. 

"[color=a2d39c][b]Hey, Ab[/b][/color]--" he said, before correcting himself. "[color=a2d39c][b][i]Chess[/i]. I, uh, hope we didn't get off on the wrong foot back at the bus stop.[/b][/color]" he said, trying to keep his tone as far away from one of conflict as he could. "[color=a2d39c][b]If I annoyed you, then I apologise.[/b][/color]" In truth, Mason wasn't really sorry; he'd only wanted a lighter, after all. But he figured it was better to make friends than enemies. 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when Mason brought up the little bus stop fiasco. Dammit, Greg. Even far away from each other on campus and that power of his was getting him in trouble. 

"Oh that? Don't think anything of it, that was just...that's Greg. He's my roommate you see, real joker, that one. Telepath or something, you know how they are," Chess said, wanting to quickly dismiss the topic. "And I'm sure you're more than a smoker, just looking at you I can tell you've got an eye for the creative. What do you do? I mean, besides attending a mutant school, and saving odd-looking folks from bullies. And smoke, of course." Dumb tone, damn, he'd meant to make that sound more jokey. 

Mason smiled as Abbey seemed to squirm in the scenario. He nodded in agreement, though in truth he had little idea of just how telepaths 'were'. Until coming to the school, he hadn't really had much interaction with other mutants. Heck, he hadn't had [i]any[/i] interaction with other mutants. 

He laughed when Abbey asked what he did, mentioning the incident from the canteen. It seemed he was already making a name for himself... As long as people thought of him as the peacekeeper and not the brawler, he could handle the speculation. Though deep down, he knew that most people probably saw him as an interferring busy-body for getting involved at all. 

"[color=a2d39c][b]I paint,[/b][/color]" he said, matter-of-factly. "[color=a2d39c][b]I paint a lot, actually. Mostly acrylic and oil stuff, you know. But I dabble in watercolour. Aside from that, I uh... I don't really know. I read a lot of poetry, I guess; Renaissance stuff, mostly.[/b][/color]" He went quiet for a second. "[color=a2d39c][b]And yoga. I really dig yoga, I like to... Keep fit.[/b][/color]" he paused again, awkwardly, before cracking a joke to break the silence: "[color=a2d39c][b]And, [i]of course[/i], I smoke![/b][/color]" He chuckled, and dropped the cigarette butt to the floor, stubbing it out beneath the rubber sole of his shoe. 

"[color=a2d39c][b]And what about you, Chess?[/b][/color]" he asked. "[color=a2d39c][b]Was it '[i]Actor, entertainer, comedian[/i]'?[/b][/color]" he asked, smiling wryly as he recalled the boy's dramatically self-serving introduction. It wasn't something that alienated Mason; he was pretty pretentious himself, after all. At least when it came to the arts. 

An artist by more than his clothes, then. Good, Chess had suspected as much. He enjoyed art himself, though when it came to actually admiring it, or appreciating it for more than "this looks pretty" or "ah yes emotion in that one", he more or less had to talk out of thin air. Still, he had respect for people who could handle a brush with a level of expertise, the art department at his old school had been very closely knit with the theatre kids, working together on many of the productions' backgrounds and set pieces. He'd even gone out with an art-section fellow once, though it was more because Chess wanted a little more sway in the set management than anything else, and it had ended swiftly once the play had run its course.

Chess preened like a peacock when Mason brought up -more or less- what he'd said he did, smile widening ever so slightly. 

"Yes indeed! Though debator rather than comedian, never had the thing for stand-up. Acting since I could stand on a stage, haven't stopped since. Nothing like a good role, a nice set, and a full house to bring an evening together, I say."

He suddenly remembered the theater department here, and had to reiterate his previous mental note to stop by soon and get his foot in. Stupid, advantage was everything. 

"So poetry and yoga, you sound like a few of my old friends starting college. Always easy to pick out our kind, isn't it? If we don't smoke, we drink, if we don't drink, we exercise, or any combination of the three, really." 

Mason began to warm to Chess the more he spoke. He had lost touch with the art scene after he went into hiding back in Berlin, and speaking with someone as theatrically-inclined as Chess was brought Mason both a sense of nostalgia and a yearning for a similiar sense of community. So much so, that when Chess mentioned a decent set, an idea sprung into Mason's head.

"[color=a2d39c][b]Fuck, you know what we should totally do?[/b][/color]" Mason asked enthusiastically, his excitement getting the better of him. "[color=a2d39c][b]We should host like... Some kind of arts night. All mediums and practices welcome. We could show off students work...[/b][/color]" he said, getting lost in his trail of thought. He gesticulated dramatically as he spoke. "[color=a2d39c][b]You know, paintings, drama, poetry recitals... I make art-films too, I could screen one of those... Hey, you could even act in one![/b][/color]" 

It was at this point that Mason realised he was getting ahead of himself. He chuckled in embarrassment and looked sheepishly at the floor, scratching the back of his neck. "[color=a2d39c][b]Sorry, haha. I get a little carried away sometimes...[/b][/color]" 

Chess was taken aback by the other boy's enthusiasm, to say the least. He'd seen artists who enjoyed what they did, but never so quickly. It was a bit refreshing, and a pleasant surprise to find that there were still people who took their work seriously enough to go out and do something about it.

No one just remembers you for nothing.

"Well, I can't say I don't admire your initiative. It's been a while since I've been to any sort of gallery, I rather miss the atmosphere myself," he said, offering a warm smile. "Perhaps it's a bit early to throw one yet though, maybe a week or so in, we can get the lay of the land, scope out some good feature artists, see what we can put together. Might even be a good place for some of these students to put their powers to a more...creative use,hm?" 

A gallery did sound like a good idea, and what better way to show some talent, directive and contributive, to the school. Surely such an event would earn him some credit, maybe even just enough to get himself in with the theatre crowd. This meeting had certainly been a good idea.

"I like it, love it even. Here," Chess took a pen and pad from his pocket, tore a sheet free and scribbled his number onto it. "This is my business number, you think of any more ideas for this little gallery, text me, call me, whichever. I'll keep my eyes peeled for other artists, maybe plan out event lists, sound good?"

Mason beamed when he realised Chess wasn't going to shoot him down. It seemed that his first impressions of the guy had been deceiving; Chess was actually pretty cool, it turned out. He tooked the paper gratefully. 

"[color=a2d39c][b]Thanks, Chess,[/b][/color]" he grinned. "[color=a2d39c][b]That sounds great. I'll definitely be in touch.[/b][/color]" 

Chess nodded to him, then tucked the pen and pad away. Good meeting, good indeed, Mason wasn't nearly the black-lunged-junkie he'd imagined at the bus stop. Oh god, he wondered if Greg had heard any of that as well. Damned if he was gonna let that kid ruin anything.

Calm down, christ, it's just the two of you and everything's gone smoothly. He gave Mason one more smile, then started off.

"Good to know, hear from you soon, maybe see you in classes. Cheers, or however it goes," he said, and then made his way back inside. 

Where next, the cafeteria? No, already been there, maybe back to the room? No, Greg would be around, and on top of everything else he actually didn't want to disturb the kid. He didn't seem like he had it particularly easy in the head, probably could do with his own time anyway. The library then, he still had some time left before he'd find others or go to sleep, couldn't hurt to go there, or hell, even just meander the halls. 

[hr]
No sooner had Chess ventured off back into the academy, Mason's brain began whirring and he itched to translate his rapid thought process into something more permanent. Scrambling through the large pouch of his dungarees, he quickly found a pencil. It was relatively blunt, most of the lead breaking off within the pocket, but it would do. 

He flipped over the paper with Chess' contact details on it, and began scrawling over the blank side. A little sketch here, Mason's barely-legible handwriting there... It almost certainly wouldn't make sense to anyone else who saw it, but to Mason it was clear as crystal. He absent-mindedly lit another cigarette and placed it between his lips as he sat on the steps outside the academy, completely engrossed in whatever it was he was scribbling.