View source for Logs:S: Pt. states they are "sick and tired of breaking" & has no safety net w/o parents. O: Pt. has been w/Morlocks 3mos. A: Anxieties may inhibit capacity for relationship-building. P: Explore anxiety-mitigation tools (snowsuit, padded armor, bubble wrap?)

{{ Logs
| cast = [[Gino]], [[Lumin]], [[Zack]]
| mentions = [[Anahita]], [[Toni]]
| summary = "''Bruh''." (some time after [[Logs:Cut Flowers|a chat in the park]].)
| gamedate = 2024-07-17
| gamedatename = 
| subtitle = 
| location = <MOR> [[Welcome to the Freakshow]] - Morlock Tunnels
| categories = Gino, Lumin, Zack, Morlocks, Mutants, MOR Welcome to the Freakshow, NPC-Zero, NPC-Chairman Mao, NPC-Crassus
| log = 
Wider and more spacious than many of the surrounding nooks and niches, this chill cavern is the central hub of the Morlock's underground network. With tunnels branching off in many directions, it takes a while to learn to ''navigate'' from here to where you want to go, but there's generally plenty of more experienced people around to teach newcomers the ins and outs of the pathways. Here, though, is a safe place to come and relax, for what value of relaxation can be found among moss-covered walls and the occasional stagnant puddles on the floor. There's been furniture brought in, a mismatched assortment of crates, mattresses with busted springs, a few broken and subsequently repaired chairs, a folding table in a corner. Shelves along a wall hold entertainment; books, a smattering of board and card games, sometimes snacks. There's even electricity, wiring none too safe and visible in places where the wall has been broken open; the naked light bulbs flicker often and the lone outlet has had so many power strips attached it is undoubtedly a fire hazard.

It's five o'clock somewhere, is that how the saying goes? Whatever time it is, chronologically, geographically, spiritually, Topside, is of no importance to Gino, who looks a little like he ''juuuust'' woke up, his chair tilted with baffling stability onto its back two legs, his feet propped up on a sagging milk crate. It may be gloomy and damp down here but he's dressed like he has plans to enjoy a bright summer night, a pink-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt with only two buttons done, baggy shorts. There's a black cat drowsing in his lap, which Gino is lazily (though excruciatingly ''carefully'') stroking with one three-fingered hand. His other hand is gesturing emphatically with his can of Genny Light, "-- like ''I'm'' the weird one for knowing that? Motherfucker, why don't ''you'' know what Davy Jones looks like."

"I thought everyone knew that," Zack is saying with great incredulity, "like, tentacles ''everywhere'', hard to forget." He's flopped on the floor, head pillowed against the immense broad side of his snoozing pitbull, and paying it forward since he is in turn being used as a pillow by his drowsy gremlin of a cat. He's dressed casual, faded old jeans and a green checked button down open over a sleeveless undershirt. He's got no beer but he does have a vape in one slightly mangled but oddly bloodless hand that ''he's'' been waving to punctuate his speech, but he drops his hand now to take a small puff.

Lumin enters the cavern, a pastel purple windbreaker already taken off and slung over their arm, along with some sunflowers (that are starting to see better days) also tucked between their arm and chest. Their black joggers have accumulated some dirt already from their trip in, and for once don’t seem to mind this. 

They wordlessly make their way over towards the two, kicking a folded cardboard box over closer. They toss the windbreaker then the flowers down next to it, before carefully seating themself on the cardboard pad. They spread out backwards on the ground, still carefully, but sufficiently broadcasting their current state. “Who’s got tentacles everywhere?” They ask.

Gino pushes with one foot at the milk crate, which -- rather than tipping his chair further back -- slides the milk crate almost out of reach; his hand freezes on the cat as he painstakingly drags it back into place with one foot -- "That's from the Pirates of the Caribbean, you cultural illiterate, I'm talking about Peregrin Pickle's Davy Jones," he says, as he resumes stroking his cat, and then -- to Lumin, as though this is all they will need to be caught up, "Davy Jones. The sailors' devil. Accursed of the ocean. You know." His dark eyes alight on the flowers, linger there, then flick over to Lumin. "Damn, did your mom give you back your flowers? What a bitch."

"Wait what the hell is a Peregrin Pickle? You don't mean that like, 60s teenybopper do you? How's the devil figure into -- YO, Lumin," Zack is twisting his head around to fix his eyes on Lumin, his tone ''very'' much one of someone who is ''keen'' to drag an innocent bystander into his bullshit, "what you think Davy Jones looks like?" He looks at the fallen sunflowers with a frown. "Wait, your mom? I thought..." He trails off without explicating what he thought and despite having None Information about the situation is immediately joining in with Gino's assessment: "Should give those to someone who ''deserves'' 'em."

A smile is gracing their face as they bunch their windbreaker up into a pillow like shape and bring their head down to rest against it, “He’s green and see through right? Big hat, hair that sticks out to the sides. The guy with the smelly locker?” Their hands are up to help gesture the shape of the hat and the hair. 
“And nah. Chickened out.” They glance over towards where their own damp mattress sits, some long dying flowers along side them, “''Again.''” they add. 
They grab two flowers from the bunch and stick them out towards Zack and Gino, “Want one? You two seem pretty deserving by my account. Tried to share some with some folks top side also.” They shrug, “Wouldn’t take them.”

"You know what, I'll take that," Gino is saying, to Spongebob Davy Jones; he lets his chair tilt back to earth very slowly, arching his brow with a grinding scrape of shelly plates on his face -- "I swear to God, do you want me to glue you to your own porch and ring the bell for you? I'll do it. I don't want your mom's flowers." The cat in his lap, unhappy with this change in position and Gino's sudden distraction, twists his head around to ''mrow'' at him, and Gino slouches lower, straightens his legs to slide the milk crate with a louder ''scrape''. He shakes his head as he reaches in a ''low'' slouch to grab a sunflower -- "''I'' deserve this? I already know you're not dead."

"What'd ''I'' do to deserve this?" Zack is taking the flower regardless, and immediately tucking it into Zero's collar as adornment. "Is Lumin supposed to be dead? That's my thing. Dead is not --" he waggles his vape in Lumin's direction, now, "that glam."

“Oh ''absolutely'' not. If you did that I think I’d break my legs off at the ankles and crawl away.” Lumin says, and maybe they’re only half joking. They smile at the flower adorning Zero’s collar. 
“And I might be. You’re a doctor right? What makes someone uh- dead?” They tap their chest with a ''tink tink'' sound, “I don’t think I’ve got a heart or anything.”

"Do you even want to go home? You don't sound like someone who wants to go home." Gino says -- his flower is probably much too big to actually balance behind his ear, but when he puts it there it stays put anyway. "Who cares? Both of you have, like. ''Metaphorical'' hearts."

"Ah-ah-ah," Zack's hand is lifting in negation. "We are not changing the subject onto some navel-gazing bullshit. Dead people can't move fast enough to dodge the subject like you're trying to." He takes another puff of his vape and exhales towards the ceiling. "Didn't home like, lock you up in a statue display case or something? Iiii didn't want to judge but why were you going back at all?"

Lumin grumbles dramatically, “I- of course I ''want to''. I just don’t think being ''glued'' to the porch is the answer…” They consider this, and raise their eyebrows slightly “…Maybe it ''is'' the answer…? I might take you up on it.” 
They loll their head back towards Zack, “I’m not ''dodging''! I’m genuinely curious.” They defend, weakly, “And I’m not going back ''there''. I had a, ''family'' family before I was- uh- kidnapped. Three other siblings and my parents.” They tilt their head curiously, “They probably think I’m dead though since it’s been about four and a half years. What uh…do you…hmm…” They trail off, unsure how to ask, “Do you have…relatives?” They ask carefully.

Gino, cheeks puffed out with a mouthful of beer, shakes his head before gulping it down -- "''Nuh''-uh, not after you said you'd break your fucking feet off. Now we're talking about your sad feels, like adults." Having said this, he doesn't look all too comfortable with Lumin's prod at Zack, giving his friend a wide-eyed grimace.

"Wait, you were ''kidnapped'' as a kid and your parents don't even ''know'' you're ''alive''?" Zack is sitting up at this, and its ''his'' cat's turn to protest the abrupt movement; Chairman Mao makes an indignant mew before resettling (huffily, though) on his lap. "Were your parents... worse?" is the most charitable conjecture he can summon up at this new information. His brows pinch, and his, "of course I have relatives, I wasn't ''made'' in the labs," is probably not as jocular as he is aiming for.

Lumin covers their face with their hands, “I won’t actually break my-” They pause, “Okay ''maybe'' in the moment I would. I’d reattach them ''later!''” They wince at Zack’s questions, and drop their own at Gino’s grimace, “I mean, yes? That about sums it up. And no- they were-“ A glass bottle nearby rattles, and they push themself up as well, “They were wonderful. They had their moments obviously but, they were great. A million times better than the people who kidnapped me. But I-” they look away, briefly, eyebrows scrunching as they try to bring up the memory, “I overheard they were gonna send me off to some school I think. I panicked and ran. Got kidnapped. Rest is history.” They shrug.

This has taken Gino aback -- he squints across at Lumin with a sudden crunch of his eyebrow plates. "Like, military school or something? Would that have been so bad? I mean --" he also adjusts in the chair, pushing himself up higher (this time there is no corresponding scrape from his milk crate ottoman.) Shoots another glance sidelong at Zack. "You just speak really highly of them," he finishes.

Zack lowers his hand, thumb tapping against the button on his vape. He's shooting a look back to Gino, and bites down on his lip. "They were wonderful," he's echoing, slow and careful, and he turns his eyes now toward the tall grimy ceiling. "You didn't even -- ask? They were great and you just assumed --" His fingers has curled tighter around his cooling vape. "I'm still trying not to judge," he says in the awkwardly polite tone of someone who's judging ''real'' hard, "but -- that's your ''parents''. Do you have any idea --" He shakes his head and this time bites his lip hard enough to leave a light set of toothmarks. "Just feels like you should maybe think about how they, y'know. Feel."

Lumin watches the glance between them, and winces. The empty glass bottle rattles again, more aggressively this time, and Lumin reaches out a hand and pulls it towards them. It rolls along the ground, and shoots up into their hand. They spin it, and allow it to rotate in a hover above their palm, “No. I’m sure it wouldn’t have been that bad.” The bottle rattles against their palm, “I nearly went crazy wondering the same thing after my first year gone.” 

They grip down on the bottle so it can’t rattle against the glass of their palm again. Their eyes linger on Zack, then drift down to his mangled hand. “I wouldn’t blame you for judging, feel free to speak your mind. Granted, I wasn’t…ah…in a ''fantastic'' head space when I was turning to glass. In the manuals they never talk about the- midway stages.” Their tone is joking, light, but their empty hand makes its way upwards and taps idly against the back of their neck in a fidgeting manner. 
“But rest assured, I ''am'' thinking about their feelings. Trust me.” They look up, and their hand drops back down, “I can’t risk ''not'' thinking about them.”

Gino takes another sip of beer, eyes fixed back on Lumin. "You in a good head space ''now''?"

"Oh, Iiii don't think we want me to speak my mind," Zack demurs, and with a nod toward Gino, "seems like you're dealing with, uh, a lot, and anyway I'm sure I don't know the whole story."

Lumin raises an eyebrow at the two of them, and their eyes dart back and forth between the two, “…Are ''any'' of us in a good headspace?—nevermind. Stupid question.” They say, dryly, and wave the bottle noncommittally, “I’m in a different headspace than I was, I can at least say that. Better in some ways.” They shrug, and smile a bit, “''Probably'' worse in others.” They rotate the bottle in their hand, thoughtfully. “''Overall'' better, though. I mean, you ''gotta'' be when the alternative is barfing up glass and-” They pause that line of thought there, and abandon it.
“Anyways. I don’t see how hearing your completely unfiltered thoughts can go wrong at all.” They say, amusement ringing in their tone.

"Dodging the question," says Gino, pointing one finger at Lumin (the cat -- is this Crassus? Caesar? meows at him again.) "Look, Zack's being nice but ''I'm'' judging. I may not know you from ''Adam'' but I get the sense you don't think your parents are gonna try to kill you or get you arrested or checked into rehab or what the fuck ever, you're scared of going back because you know you ''miiight'' have fucked that one up. But I'm telling you, if you don't give them the benefit of the doubt you're going to fuck ''this'' one up too."

Zack's brows hike high at that truncated question, and he does approximately a millisecond of introspection before deciding conclusively, "Yeah, my headspace is fine." He rubs his finger idly against the bitemarks in his lip, and his hand comes away just ''slightly'' more tatty as the cuts heal themselves up. "Kinda hope you're ''lying'' about really thinking about it because I --"

He shrugs, and nudges Chairman Mao gently off his lap so that he can contemplate getting to his feet. It's kind of a ''process'', between the weed and the amounts of himself he had to redistribute inward in order to ''get'' high. "Just honestly having a hard time getting my head around being that ''cruel''. Four and a half years and you couldn't make a phone call?" He worms his phone out of his pocket and toss it lightly in Lumin's direction, less of a mic drop than it was probably intended to be given that he has not successfully gotten to his feet and, also, the reception down here is for shit.

Lumin stiffens, and their easy smile from earlier drops once they realize their deflections haven’t worked out for them. 
They fumble with the tossed phone briefly before managing to get a grip on it. Their eyes dart up to Gino and Zack, then back down. They flip the phone over so the reflective screen side is facing away from their face in their hands.

“Cruel.” Their face pinches briefly, and they hum. “Yes, you’re both right. You’re right, I messed up. And yes I’m ''scared''.” They admit, finally.

They put down the bottle, with warped indents from where their fingers had wrapped around it, and begin pushing themself up, “I’m ''sick and tired'' of breaking. I can’t have someone use it against me again.” There’s an uncharacteristic anger in their voice, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at either of them, “I thought- If my family doesn’t happen to like all this—“ They gesture towards themself with a hand, mid motion of throwing their windbreaker back on, “Then I’ve got no safety net—it was the only thing that kept me safe at my last place. I dont ''think'' they’re gonna do anything but- believing it is harder.” Their rambling turns from panicky to aggressively even. They wipe off their joggers, like they’re preparing to leave for somewhere. 

“But I’m not gonna fuck this one up too.” They hold out a hand towards Zack to help him up, and also hold up the phone,  “Can I borrow this?” They ask, jaw clenched in determination.

Gino moves his feet back onto the floor; he is much less gentle than Zack in picking the cat off his lap and just dropping it off the side of his chair. "You ''do'' have a safety net now," he says, and gestures grandiosely around the dim, mouldy sewer chamber, rotting cardboard and ramshackle furniture and zombie companions all, with a broad (if shit-eating) grin that doesn't ''quite'' disappear even as he polishes off his beer. "That's not gonna work down here," he says with amusement, but, "You going topside, get this pothead some grub."

"Did this man not go ''with'' you on your last -- are you not ''living'' with -- No safety -- bro you ''hearing'' this." Zack is looking around the grimy chamber as Gino gestures around it. He gives up on attempting to get up -- maybe this is more tacit permission to borrow the phone he just directly gave to Lumin because he's just flopping back against Zero, eyes turned up to the ceiling. "No safety net. ''Cold'', man, cold."

Lumin looks around with Gino’s gesture, and matches his smile. They nod, “Thank you. I’ll be back.” They say genuinely, like a promise. They do let out a sigh at Zack’s words, “And not what I meant. Even if things go well, I’m still coming back here. But, thank you.” They say, and slide the phone into their pocket. 
“If you don’t hear from me…” some panic has dipped into their tone that they don’t try to hide this time, “Assume I’m probably kidnapped again or something.” 
They walk backwards, slowly, “I’m gonna bring back some killer grub though. They’re probably having dinner right now, maybe I can convince them to let me bring back some of the left overs.” They spot the flowers, and swipe them off the ground. They brush off the wilting petals, “I’ll see you guys soon.”

Gino lifts one hand in a lazy, three-fingered wave, then drops it back down to his lap, shifting himself lower in his chair and crossing his ankles. Is Lumin leaving imminently? Is Gino going to wait for them to do so? He's already turning to Zack with a ''salacious'' tone, shelly eyebrow ridge rising up-up-up on his face: "''Bruh''."

Zack has put his vape away though his hand stays in his pocket, digging in there a moment before he pulls out a crinkled plastic bag (Pup-Peroni Rounds, it's proclaiming, together with a photograph of a Jack Russel licking his lips) and digs out one of the flat pieces of beef to lay it quietly in front of Zero's sleeping face. The dog doesn't even bother opening his eyes, just snuffles sleepily and sticks out his tongue to slorp up the treat. Zack nestles comfortably back against the dog, his head shaking and his brows lifting back to Gino. He digs another pair of the dog treats out, and as he settles down, sticks them over his eyes like he's at the worlds grodiest spa. He's exhaling a kind of disbelieving breath, and the shake of his head does not dislodge the meat rounds at all. "''Bruh''."
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