Time Warp: Southern State of Mind

[Beau LaRoux]

Sometime in the far back time of 2011

This was stupid. Beau knew it was stupid, but it wasn't his idea, and he wasn't about to go against the powers that be. They'd heard that Beau was a Southerner, from Louisiana, no less, and it just so happened that they had another Louisiana boy on the premises. That seemed unlikely to Beau, but they kept saying that the two boys had a fair amount in common. Small toy boys shipped far from their families, with the fun meta abilities, of course.

So here Beau was, polishing the end of a pool cue and thinking that this was stupid. He'd figured that if they were going to be "forced" to hang out with one another anyway, they might as well spend time doing something. The pool table had seemed the most obvious choice to Beau, though he didn't have quite the experience at this as he had at other things. Beau'd been in enough bars to have learned the basics.

He felt a strange... slithery sensation and turned to see that his "playmate" had arrived. Beau figured that whoever the guy was; and he'd been given the name but he'd be darned if he could remember it now, that guy had to be about as perturbed about this as Beau, possibly more, since Beau didn't mind meeting people. He smiled his friendliest smile and nodded to the newcomer.

"Name's Beau LaRoux," he offered, "an' I think we're supposed to 'associate with each other'," he offered the air quotes for this, which should have summed up his opinion of it pretty darn quick.

[Erik Stewart]

This would be one of the last attempts to get him to ‘socialize’ before the powers that be realized that they were entirely futile. Erik was ornery and angry and he’d a bone to pick with the entire world. It was needlessly cruel to subject other students to him, as Beau would soon find out. He greeted him with silence and not much else. Beau would get the sense that Erik was sizing him up; his blue eyes flitted down to the other boy’s toes and then up to his beaming face, where he halted, conspicuously un-smiling.

Erik ran his fingers over the pool table’s edge. The strong overhead light always made for some dramatic lighting, and it made Erik’s cheekbones stand out and his eyes seem a little sunken in, which, combined with his sour attitude, really wasn’t helping his image. He was a thin, stick like thing too, with long fawn-like legs and lanky arms. While he was far from people’s popular conceptions of the Southern boy (cowboy hat, tan lines, muscular) he did wear the plain, mostly-denim wear that sprung from his region.

His voice, too, carried that southern drawl. “That what we’re doin’?” It sounded odd coming from him.

Erik took out one of the cue sticks. He didn’t know how to play. Erik had lived most of his life in an old rotting southern home and its surrounding swampland, until men and women in sleek black cars pulled him away. “Associatin’?” he scoffed. “Is ‘Beau LaRoux’ an actual name? Sounds like you pulled it right out your ass,” he said, “or a Dr. Suess book.”

[Beau LaRoux]

He looked mean and ornery, whoever he was. Beau kept a careful eye on him, glad that he had the pool cue just in case. whatever that ability was wasn't helping either; Beau kept feeling like he should be flaking his skin off or something. He really, really hoped that despite the similarity in their age, the other guy had better control of whatever it was than Beau did his own power. Though he supposed they would've thought of that.

Apparently they didn't think much about how well the two Southern boys would get on. Three sentences in and Beau could already feel his hairs standin' on the back of his neck. His smile got a little strained; it probably wasn't the other guy's fault. Some people had chips on their shoulders; heck, Beau would rather be back home himself. Still, his name? "Sorry to disappoint you," drawled Beau, "but it's actually Beauregard LaRoux. My parents decided they liked the idea of havin' a son named Beau, an' they went the long way to get it."

Beau gave his cue another quick rub before moving to rack the balls. He glanced over at the other boy, just realizing that he actually didn't know with certainty whether or not he could play. Beau didn't even know the other boy's name, though he had a feeling that they'd told him that much. "Figured we could shoot some pool, unless you wanted to sit 'round an' make more cute references," okay, so maybe being compared to a Dr. Suess character had rankled a little. Just a little though; Beau was polite, he could handle a little... name calling? was that even what you called that?

[Erik Stewart]

‘Beauregard’ didn’t sound all that plausible to him either. He snorted.

Whoever he was, he needn’t worry about him shifting. His power was still new to him, and the few times he’d done it had been traumatic: it was very painful, all those bones shifting around, his meat and muscle twisting, and his first time had been unexpected at that. It’d felt like his veins had been laced with napalm. His heart had constricted – it felt like it was going to burst. Then nothing. Erik’s body wasn’t the only thing that shifted: his brain underwent changes, too, and his time as a water moccasin was often riddled with blank pieces of memory.

Therefore, Erik tended not to shift very often. He refused to during training, too. They had gotten nowhere with him.

“Don’t tempt me,” he told him.

There was one thing Beau had going for him, however. Hearing that accent out of another mouth was, indeed, somewhat comforting. Moving up here – even in a city that wasn’t even considered large – had been a culture shock, and it had left him confused and lonely; there were people who laughed, people who thought he was plain stupid. There was a connection here, even if it was a small one.

“I don’t know how t’play.”

Yes, Erik was much more comfortable with the cute references thing, though, luckily for Beau, he refrained from spouting any more. He instead frowned at the other boy as he racked the cue balls, then at the stick in his hands. It confounded him, and it felt clumsy in his hands. Erik leaned over and placed the edge of it under chin. He watched Beau.

He was curious. “Where ya from?”

[Beau LaRoux]

"Ain't hard," offered Beau, gesturing toward the pool table, "that's why they let drunk people play. You jus' gotta hit the white ball," he pointed, "at the colored ones," another point, "an' get 'em in the hole. There's a buncha variations an' all, but we ain't gotta mess with that crap," especially because even Beau didn't know them all. He knew dirt basic pool and maybe a few of the fancier tricks, but again, he usually spent his time on stage, not actually playing the game. Watching only gave you so much, even if it was just through a haze of cigarette smoke instead of a television screen.

Beau lifted the rack from the center carefully, making sure to leave the balls more or less where they lay. Once he was certain of that, he nodded and backed up a little, leaning on his own cue. "Small town outside'a West Monroe," offered Beau, "uh, Louisiana, but ya probly already figured that much."

He paused, looking at the balls. He could break, he was pretty sure of the term. So why the hell not? Beau took position, adjusting the stick and taking a good whack. Balls scattered and hit one another, but none got into holes. A few got close, which just made Beau chuckle. There, that should be good for Erik.

[Erik Stewart]

Erik watched him point out the rules as he picked anxiously at his lip. From what he could gather, all he had to do was hit the white ball so that it hit the other balls. Everyone knew that much. The problem was, he’d never picked up a cue stick in his life and he was sure he’d look foolish trying to hit it. He didn’t want to look foolish in front of Beau – or anyone, really.

“Banks Springs,” he said.

He didn’t know of West Monroe. Erik had never gone very far from his hometown – just took a thirty minute bus ride each day to a public school before being carted off to places unknown. It’d been an old swamp of a place, and his parents had to seal off the room with the piano in it because it was growing a community of mold.

Beau was bending down in front of him. Inwardly, Erik frantically willed him not to: Please don’t. Please don’t, but of course he did anyway, and he had to subtly move around to the other side of the table. He hadn’t been at it since he’d got here, and while he knew how to control himself, there was always a chance that someone might catch him looking. There’d be explaining to do. It was an awkward situation all around.

The cue stick felt awkward in his hands. It was too large and unwieldy and he wasn’t sure if he could hit anything with it; he backed up and held it to his chest. “I can’t,” he said, obstinate.

[Beau LaRoux]

Beau watched the balls bounce around the table for a few moments, listening to the click. He'd caught the name of Erik's town, though it made him frown. He hadn't heard of that one, and Beau had gotten further from his hometown than a short bus ride, having done his share of touring or following his father around in various tours. They'd even talked about heading further out before, well, Beau's ability had manifested itself.

As for Erik's awkward shifting, Beau hadn't notice, and he wasn't likely to have said anything even if he had. Where he was from, you just sort of ignored that, or maybe mumbled something about needing lots of prayer. Beau wasn't the sort to call anyone out on that, since that struck him as being needlessly cruel. Didn't matter anyway, as Beau didn't even look over at Erik until the other boy said he couldn't.

"Huh? You ain't gotta worry about it," said Beau, waving a hand. "It ain't nothin', an' it ain't like we gotta keep score or anythin'. Jus' gives us somethin' to do. 'course," Beau rubbed his chin and looked about, "we could do somethin' else, if ya really want. I ain't about to make you play if ya don't wanna," Beau shrugged. He'd just thought it was something easy they could do to wile away the "mandatory socializing time." Wasn't like their lives depended on their ability to play pool or anything. They could just as easily do something else.

[Erik Stewart]

Erik frowned, and gave him a not-very-convincing “Okay,” but he decided that he’d go ahead and hit it anyway. He’d successfully made contact with it, so that was something, but he didn’t exactly score; it rolled around lazily over the green carpet instead. It gently nuzzled up against another one.

Erik tilted his head at it, not finding much to celebrate there. And people did this for fun?

He guessed it was Beau’s turn now. He rested his hips against the table, half-way sitting on it, though the sense of futility was setting in and Erik wondered why he didn’t just leave; even he was aware of how sad and insulting it was that they had to go out and make someone be around him.

“So they put you up to this?” he asked, as he watched Beau get into position. Erik tapped his fingers against the cue stick. “I thought they’d given up.”

Erik narrowed his eyes at him, gauging his reaction from his vantage point. “I had th’ last guy they sent packin’ in ten minutes.”