ArchivedLogs:The Rain in Spain

The Rain in Spain
stays mainly in the fuck you
Dramatis Personae Hive, Jim, Shelby, Horus
In Absentia	2013-04-15 '
Location <NYC> 403 {Geekhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here, split between the four people; the fold-out couch in the living room (often folded out!) suggests that at least one of them does not actually claim a room as their own. BamBamBam. Jim tends to knock like he's initiating a polite raid, three firm raps that /are not/ followed up with a yell of "LAPD!", even if they imply it. Instead, it's just a ragged tomcat yowl, "Hiiiiiiiiive." He'd nearly walked into the building with his cigarette again and had to throw it into the street to catch the downstairs door when it opened. You can usually tell by how hard he pounds on the door, when this happens. Or, y'know, you could cheat and be a telepath and HEAR it. The door is answered with a thudding series of flaps. Flapflapflapflap. Scratchscratch flap. Thwapthwapthwap. Clickclickscratchscratch. The handle rattles a lot before it finally turns, pulled open by what appears to be at first blush a very large bird. Four feet and change, a mottled mix of blue-grey, black, white, brown feathers. Talons. Laaaarge beak. He is resettling his wings down against -- well, save the feathers his torso has more human proportions than birdlike, really. And the eyes that are watching Jim are brightly intelligent. His talons click against the floor as he nudges the door open further with his beak. The apartment behind him is its usual mess. There's leftover Chinese -- lo mein -- congealing in its container on the table though a fair bit of it has spilled out onto the table. A scattering of biology notes half underneath the food. One bedroom door is closed, the other pushed almost-but-not-quite-closed. When something /attacks/ at the door handle (well, rattles it), Jim draws back his hand and eyeballs it, lifting gaze when it finally opens to - "--/Jesus/." That is an /actual/ bird. Like, right there. Jim's 'freaked-out' face looks an awful lot like his 'non-plussed' face, save that his eyes are a little more popped open. "Uh," he zeroes in on those... huh, rather bright eyes looking out at him, and feels compelled to admit, "Yo. Don't think I've met you." << And so. My life has gotten weirder. Christ, I thought the spiders were bad. >> "I'm Jim. Is, uh," all of the low humming mantra of << what the fuck fucker what the hell is going on what the fuck >> has been blasted out of his mind with << Bird Boy >> (as he's instantly begun to mentally refer to him as) in front of him. "Is Hive in?" Horus's head is tilting to the side; he skitters back as Jim enters, flutter-hopping up to perch on the back of the couch. He watches Jim steadily, tucking his wings flat against himself. And then turning his head to brush his beak down against the top of one. It takes a while before he answers, head darting in a quick stabbing point towards the not-quite-closed bedroom door. "Thanks." Jim jerks his chin at Bird Boy and, impulsively on passing him, extends a fist - for to KNUCKLETAP (wingtap? talontap?). Because bird. FINE. << ...I am never gonna get used to this shit. >> And then, he's in Hive's bedroom doorway, with one hand gripping the doorframe. And he's /frowning/ into the room. If scowls were a paint, he'd have enough to give the walls three solid coats. No wingtap or talontap; for a moment as the fist is extended Horus's wings quiver, feathers rising at the back of his neck. His tail fans out slowly, head starting to lower, but then his feathers settle back into place, tail relaxing as he glances towards the bedroom door. His head darts forward and in lieu of wing or talontap he bumps his beak up against Jim's fist. He flutters away immediately after like this daring contact is Too Much for him, flutter-hopping over to the table to sit on that instead. And peck at the spilled noodles gracing someone's biology homework. The room is messy, too. There are papers scattered around one of the two beds, scratched full of notes and diagrams though the words are written in Thai. Hive is in bed. He is in faded jeans and a grungy white undershirt, propped up on his elbows as he works. His laptop sits on his pillow, a second monitor standing on the nightstand; with the back of his head to the door it is not possible to see his expression. But his hand is tightening hard around his mouse and there's a heavy press of mental pressure against Jim's mind that touches and then withdraws. Only to slam back in a moment later with his stabbing-sharp mindvoice, harsher and harder than even its unpleasant usual: << Horus, >> he says. << Is the kid you just met. >> "Ow," Jim grits out, more of a whitenoise default as he enters, "Yeah?" He glances over his shoulder, "Hope I didn't spook him." << what the hell. what the /hell/. what the hell. >> It's just kind of streaming along the back of his mind like a NASDAQ marquee. Only now that he's here in the tangible reality of this room does a bloom of concern start to curb it, looking at the back of Hive's shoulder. When around telepaths, there's no point, really, in beating around the bush when you have something on your mind, "/Shelby/, man? Really?" << Everything spooks him, >> is just as hard-sharp as before, << though he's asking me when you're gonna -- >> Ffff, is the quiet hiss that follows this. Hive saves his work, and doesn't so much sit up as flop over, looking at Jim from eyes still kind of sunken-shadowed. Face bonier than before. << Yeah. Fuck off. I know. It was stupid as hell. >> This is tone-less flat, for all it still icepick-stabs its way inside. "Can you talk with your freakin' /face/, man?" Jim has a hand pressed /hard/ against the side of his head and just... drops bonelessly to the edge of the bed, stooped forward like a caveman, elbows cast off either knee. He hisses out a stream of air through his teeth. "What happened. And /don't/-" eyes squeeeeze up, "-tell me about whatever fucking thing it was you did with your tongue and her fingers." << I'm already trying to UNknow that shit. Christ, that girl needs /family/ right now, not just another horny asshole. >> << The fuck, I didn't -- she brought lemon squares, >> Hive answers crankily. << I ate them. And then she was -- fuck. I kissed her. Once. Then it stopped. >> Hive is dragging his pillow over his face; for the last moment that it is still visible his expression is scrunched up tight. << Go fuck yourself, >> is his answer to that last comment, irritable-sharp. << I know I fucked up. >> "Don't," Jim says - the only /spoken/ voice, almost as soon as Hive starts answering, fingers curling into fists, "blame this on the seventeen year old. She's a year older than the freaking /twins/, man." The look he turns to Hive, his lower eyelids twisted up into snarled lines, is one of nearly pain, and even if Hive can't see it, his growing concern and -- /helplessness/ is as easily felt with or without pillow, "Why'd you /do/ it, man?" << Where in that did I blame this on her? Go. Fuck. Yourself. >> That's all Hive says, his voice sharpening harder. Outside there's a scratching of talons on wood, a pair of wide eyes and a sharp beak peeking in around the door. And then backing away hurriedly. Hive's fingers scrunch hard into the pillow, holding it tighter. Jim looks up at the avian face peeking into the room, crinkling his brows together and opening his palms interrogatively like '/whut/?' Whup, then it pops away. He gets up, goes over to the door to quietly shut it the rest of the way with a soft click. "Welp. She's broken up with 'Bastian now. It wasn't gonna last, all the baggage they both got right now." His mind: a low murmur of surface latin recital, the sense of it /hard/ and rough as any other time he's on the job. "She's thinking of going after you now that she's got her books wide open." << Fuck, >> is just as sharp-hard. Hive's fingers scrunch into the pillow, relax, scrunch again. And then again, << fuck. >> One hand drops away, resting across his chest. << You talked to the twins lately? >> "Huh?" Jim's mind had been going in a different direction, and comes back around, confused (and gritted against the sharp hammerblow of Hive's mind voice), "Uh, no? Haven't seen 'em since before they got taken away. The hell's that got to do with you and Shelby?" << Nothing, >> Hive says, tone bled of anything much past exhaustion. << Just giving them one more reason to stay gone. >> His fingers are clenching down against his shirt, balling grubby white cotton into his fist. He drags his pillow back up off his face, tucking it beneath his head instead. His eyes are closed, sunken dark shadows in his tan face. << There is no me and Shelby. Was one fucking kiss and it's not happening again. >> "Yeah," Jim mutters, "That's /her/ only worry, too." He's looking at Hive, on the bed, and looks him over /closely/, bony and prone in his bed... Jim's jaw is tight. << Quis custodiet ipsos custodes, my /ass/. Who's going to worry about the fucking /worried/? I'm shit at this. >> Hive just shakes his head. His fingers clench into a tighter fist. His other arm lifts to crook his elbow across his eyes. There's another heavy press at Jim's mind, pushing there and then pulling away. The push /back/ in Jim's mind is instant and hard; it isn't revolted but it doesn't apologize either. He stands there by the door for a long moment in the profound silence following. And then he sighs. << /Aghhhh/. >> No really, that's about all his mental communication articulates, which is practically a gruff dismissal. But of what, who knows, because he turns from the door and walks back to the bed. Sits down /hard/ to send poor Hive practically bouncing and reaches over to drag Hive over onto his lap. He's even preemptively shoving a pillow down, complaining, "You gotta get it under control, Hivey." Hive twitches, jolted at the sudden bounce in his bed. But he accepts the dragging, shifts to curl /into/ it, eyes squeezed shut as his arm falls off his eyes to rest on the mattress. His head shakes, even as he's saying << I know, >> in contrast to this denial. << It's just -- fucking -- hard to think. >> He's relaxing, if slightly, after he is shifted to Jim's lap. It's both physical and mental; his mindvoice comes not just with words now but with a trickle-leak of feeling, less shielded than before. The feeling is mostly /pain/, even above its default stab, a washed-out echo of throbbingblindingstabbing that even in its muted remission is -- not pleasant. "I know, buddy.' Jim /pats/ Hive. Kind of blindly. Have a shoulder... pat. And then just kind of scrubs his arm with his fingertips, sighing. "I know." He doesn't make a lot of major adjustments. But he hunkers, tight-jawed, and sits for a while. Sort of angry. Sort of protective. Mostly frustrated -- because there are no simple solutions. << Damn. >> There's a period of quiet. Sort of. Not that Hive has been /speaking/, anyway. But no words. Not /entirely/ mental quiet, though, because there's an intermittent push, a periodic pulse of pressure that bears in hungrily and each time pulls itself sharply back. << ... can't even blame it on this city, this time. >> This is as wry as it is irritable. << Just my own fucking -- >> But this stops, because. Because. There's a distinctly frustrated edge to his words, too. << ... never gotten this bad, >> is quieter in tone if not in stabbiness. Jim's fingers grip down slightly at the hardest point of these hungry pushes, digging in and resisting steadily until it fades again. It's second nature enough to almost happen beyond much surface notice, save the occasional << Hey. Easy. >>He scrubs Hive's arm again in a vague physical prompt, grunts, "You really gotta get used to using your voice again." Hive draws in slow and shaky breaths, finally opening his eyes to turn his head slightly to one side and look at Jim's hand on his arm. For a long while he just seems to focus on that, eyes locked there as the pulses of mental pressure slowly weaken and fade. "Hard -- to remember. That it's -- mine." These words are slow and halting, scratchy-rough from a voice little-used lately. Hive is still watching Jim's hand, his jaw clenching and unclenching but the rest of him relaxed. "Doesn't feel like -- ffff." The slow upward creep at the edge of Jim's mouth is kind of grim, but also amused. He keeps scrubbing, mostly relaxed beyond vague hovering. He suggests, "The rain in Spain..." This earns a puzzled frown from Hive, a reflexively confused << whatthefuck. >> His eyes close. His shift of posture is very slight, but it leans a little more into the scrubbing of Jim's hand. It takes a while before puzzled frown shifts into slow hook of smile. << Like fuck am I -- >> "-- singing. Or," comes after another pause, either for thought or to collect his scratchy-uncertain voice into words again, "marrying you." "Don't speak too soon," Jim doesn't /seem/ cognizant of Hive leaning into his scrubbing, but he does so incidentally (read: not incidentally, to a MIND-READER) dig in harder like he's scratching itchies up and down Hive's arm. "I'll turn you into my fair lady yet. Still, dude, s'not a bad idea, practicing speaking exercises. You could get King about it, if you wanna be a gloomy bastard. 'He thrusts his fists against the posts--?'" << When do I /not/ want to be a gloomy bastard. >> It takes a bit longer before the somewhat disjointed, << and still >> "insists he sees" << the ghosts. Jax got me into a dress once. >> "Make a pretty hot..." This starts off wry, amused, but just peters out into quiet. Hive's lips twitch again, amused again even in the middle of a sharp wince, the arm Jim is not rubbing lifting to press fingers at his temple with a hissing breath sucked in through his teeth. "Could get my greencard," he grits through this somewhat /fierce/ smile, clenched teeth and dry tone. "By what, flashing thigh at the USCIS?" Jim sounds surly-drab as ever. But he rests his not itchying hand on top of Hive's head when he rubs his temples. "-- say it again." << You used your mind part of it. >> << Getting married, >> comes right on top of "Huh, yeah, didn't try that. Bet he'd let me << borrow a dress. >> This time his press up into the touch is less subtle, /butting/ up at Jim's hand. Bonk. His head tilts back until Jim's fingers rest against his forehead. << The rain >> "He thrusts his --" << in Spain >> "fists against the --" His words still come through gritted teeth, a hard swallow in the middle of this. "-- posts and still insists" << stays mainly >> "he sees the" << in the plain. >> These things are layered over top of each other, as he squeezes his eyes shut tight again. A muscle twitches in his temple, and it takes a long time before, "ghosts," is gritted out, over a steady backdrop of << fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. >> That might not have been in the original lyrics. "Good." It could easily sound unemphatic and gruff, but Jim has a mind weighted with a relief. Just a sliver. Shh. He pushes his fingers into Hive's (<< god ridiculous boyband >>) hair, kind of ruffling it, kind of just rough-buffing his scalp like a magic 8 ball. Maybe he can tell the future off Hive's scarred, screwed up head-shape. Or profile him criminally. "Keep doin' that. I'm fuckin' serious. Maybe your doc-boss likes you pounding him in the head, but once you start work, you're gonna have a team of people that might not be so thrilled about it. We gotta get you out and working before you turn into /veal/." Hive's ridiculous boyband hair is even shaggier than usual; it's been a while since he actually got it cut. << Team of fucking mutielovers, >> is his commentary on the clinic. "-- though I guess." << At Hellfire they won't be so thrilled. To even /know/ I'm a mutant. >> There's a reflexive /cringing/ at the idea of getting out, his posture actually tightening in on itself, in closer to Jim. << Got any morphine? >> "You wish. Fuck that, even mutielovers'll get a god damn headache if they got to get kicked in the brain every time they talk t'you. -- And c'mon, that wasn't hardly three words out loud, you can do better." Jim punishment is noogie-esque, though maybe he didn't get the memo noogies are supposed to be hard enough to /hurt/. Because this one isn't. Just low-scale abusive. And kind of... gathery, when Hive cringes in << -we'll go easy. >> This isn't directed at Hive so much as plotted to HIMSELF. Firmly. He compresses his jaw, looking across the room, "-- workin' for Hellfire now?" << Redesigning their ballroom. That >> "Oscorp shit fucked it up good. Need to" << bring it back. More swank and pretentious than before. Thing was set up like >> "a fucking chessboard. They have a /thing/, I guess." Hive's teeth aren't really ungritting, so much, and his fingers have returned to rubbing at his temple as his face scrunches up, a small twitch-shudder tensing him as he fights back a wave of nausea that leaks faintly through in his mindvoice. << You eaten? >> he eventually uncomfortably asks. "Had a bagel," but this is Jim, so, "Could eat again." And more importantly, "So should you." He's gathering up the Pathetic Bundle that is bony-spiky Hive, to deposit him back in his natural habitat of blankets and pillows. "Recite it one more time an' I'll go rustle us up a dinner.." By rustle, he is thinking 'raid your kitchen', and by 'us' he means 'me, and maybe Hive can choke some down'. He is also wondering if Horus would be out there, and whether he should make him something too. What the hell does a bird eat. Should he offer him BREAD? Is that rude? What the hell is bird-man faux pas? << I am never going to get the handle of this dealing with mutants shit. >> He says it a lot. It never /isn't/ true. FLAIL. << He eats a lot of things. No meat though. Lot of grain. Likes -- fff. Loves bread. Granola. Cereal. Fruit. Healthy shit I never have. Pasta, though. Bet he'd love some dinner. Kinda skittish but he's -- you get to know him, he's nice. Smart as fucking hell. People get surprised at that, >> comes with a wry quieter echo of, << birdbrain. >> Hive nestles back down into the pillows, sinking down in a loose slump of bonygangly limbs. << He thrusts, >> he is starting, and then, << fuckshithell, >> and then, "He thrusts his --" He's interrupted here by the rattling buzz of his phone, vibrating against the nightstand. He glares at it. Flails an arm lazily outward and misses the phone entirely. Uh oh, invalid-Hive just let his phone go off within reach of a consumat snoop. Jim picks up the phone, glances at the screen while already pondering whether he'd be able to remember to bring a fruitbasket for the birdkid outside in the, "Go on." Hive is not /dodging/ his face!exercise.Jim has the phone hostage. Though he's already got it half-handed to the telepath, so clearly he is expecting to give it to him /shortly/. << Might appreciate it. Hard for him to get to the store. Or. Cook. Since they took his arms. >> The 'go on' is met with a blank expression, Hive looking uncomprehendingly at Jim until understanding dawns with an irritable "tsssss". His eyes close again, scrunched tight, both hands now pressing his palms in against the sides of his head like maybe he is trying to hold his skull /together/. << fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, >> echoes beneath his slow gritted, "-- his fists against. Posts. And insists." His breath whistles in strained through clenched teeth. "Insists he -- sees. Ghosts." He has maybe forgotten the phone by now, which buzzes a second time in Jim's hand. Watch Jim be NOSY. When the phone goes off, he looks down at it again - is someone calling? If it's a call, he'll toss it on the bed and let Hive sort it out. If it's a text, he's READING it. Peeeeek. It is in fact a PAIR of texts, both from Shelby. Although he'll have to be quickish about reading them, because although they pop UP for a few seconds each on Hive's phone, after a five-second delay the popup goes away and then the phone returns to being locked. (Shelby --> Hive): hey hive bout wut hpnd Sat can we like pretnd it dint hppn? i mean i kno ur stil prty fuked up so its ok ykno? no biggy k? (Shelby --> Hive): also um b n i brok up but not cuz of u plz dnt think that so r we cool? plz say yes Although actually by now it's entirely possible Jim knows the swipe pattern to unlock it. Hive is /often/ pretty lazy about answering his own phone. Most of the people who have keys to his house also know his phone passcode. Not the laptop though. They might get into his large stash of PORN. Psh, all of Hive's porn is just trees growing taller and thicker in FASTMOTION. Jim reads those texts; he will go in /after/ them to read them. A very slight nerve pinches at the side of his cheek - it is /kind/ of a smile, just gritty. "S' Shelby." He says, and is quiet again, rereading. << --she's growing up. >> He tosses the phone down onto the bed next to Hive, "You should read it. I'ma go make the /shit/ out of dinner." Which is better than making shit INTO dinner, if you think about it. He heads for the door. Hive gropes around for the phone, squinting at the screen. The texts make him scrunch his eyes shut again, and for once not because of the atrocious language-mangling inside. His fingers curl tight around the phone, and he doesn't smile. His cheek twitches, too, though mostly because he is gritting his teeth harder. << Yeah, >> comes his reply, both harder and stabbier than before in its intrusiveness and more /distant/ in tone. It takes a while before he unlocks the phone again to answer. (Hive --> Shelby): (It takes a while before an answer comes to Shelby, but there is one ten minutes or so later.) Yeah. We're cool. (Shelby --> Hive): (Likewise, her reply is delayed. Twenty minutes? Twenty-five? Then:) cool it nvr hppnd thx. hows teh hed? (Hive --> Shelby): (Once more, a long delayed answer.) Got rid of it. THUNK. Guillotine. Feels much better now. You OK? (Shelby --> Hive): u txt prty gud 4 a dude w/ no hed. ur lyin huh? im ok. awsum evn. mite evn pass my bio test yay me. (Hive --> Shelby): Awesome. Huh. Text is pretty easy to lie in. When's your bio test? Flicker's pretty awesome at science if you need to study. I fucking hate bio. (Shelby --> Hive): shutup u lied 1st. test is fri. rasas helpin me study w/ b gon. tel flickr thx tho. (Hive --> Shelby): Yeah. Sorry to hear about you and B. That's pretty shitty. (Shelby --> Hive): welcum 2 high scool. dummest fukin idea i evr had. (Hive --> Shelby): Dating, or dating him? (Shelby --> Hive): hangn out w/ teenagrs :P b's got 2 much shit 2 deel w/ 2 hndl my shit 2. n vise versa. u mebe ntcd im not so gud @ bein all "aw evrythins gona b alrite" (Hive --> Shelby): You are a teenager. And things usually aren't alright. The world is pretty much shitty. (Shelby --> Hive): (Rather than her rapid-fire responses previous, the next text is a long time in coming.) thx 4 rimindin me asshol (Hive --> Shelby): Yeah, I'm not so good at it either. (Hive --> Shelby): I've given up on everything being alright, though. Shitty's a lot more tolerable with the right people around. (Shelby --> Hive): yeah...gess thats tru. ur not pissd i brok up w/ b? n vry1 els? (Hive --> Shelby): Everyone else? How many people did you break up with? Was there some kind of breaking-up spree? (Shelby --> Hive): u kno wut i meen :P i meen is evry1 els pissd @ me 2 (Hive --> Shelby): It's just Jim and Horus over here right now. I dunno what everyone thinks I didn't send out a bulletin. (Hive --> Shelby): I'm not pissed at you, though. (Shelby --> Hive): k gud (Shelby --> Hive): jim wuz prty pissd. dont evr let him driv u neware omg. (Hive --> Shelby): Yeah, he was pissed at me too. I'm not going anywhere for a while. No risk of angrydriving. (Shelby --> Hive): ugh sry bout that shuldnt hav told him knew hed get jelus :P (Hive --> Shelby): I don't think he was jealous. He is just like my Jiminy Cricket reminding me when I am a fuckup. (Hive --> Shelby): I guess Disney isn't allowed to say fuckup but if it was you know that cricket would have constantly been like Jesus, Pinocchio, what the fuck. (Shelby --> Hive): shutup ur not a fukup, ur fukd up thers a diff. n it wuz niec. (Shelby --> Hive): ur gonna maek me laff n im guna wak rasa up damit (Hive --> Shelby): Yeah. Was nice. Sorry, I'll try to be as dull and unentertaining as possible. (Shelby --> Hive): dont think u can be thers a reeson i like u u kno (Hive --> Shelby): You have a thing for assholes? (Shelby --> Hive): sur looks liek it huh? gud thing ur cute (Hive --> Shelby): (This text, again, comes agter a considerable delay.) Yeah. I get by in life on my looks. I dunno, though. There's something to be said for having nice people around, too. (Shelby --> Hive): i gess so. liek teddy bares huh? (Hive --> Shelby): ... Jax is *basically* a care bear, maybe that's appropriate. (Hive --> Shelby): I mean, OK, a care bear who could nuke New York but. He'd do it so colorfully. (Shelby --> Hive): lol oh man tatd b awsum id pay 2 see it (Shelby --> Hive): mebe from outsid teh city tho (Hive --> Shelby): Hah. Yeah. With a lot of sunscreen on. (Shelby --> Hive): n sum unpopd popcorn (Hive --> Shelby): Jim made me dinner. It's... toast. (Shelby --> Hive): he maks gud toast speshuly w/ jam. u beter eet it or ill cum ovr ther n steel it (Hive --> Shelby): Good luck, Horus will eat it first. (Shelby --> Hive): horus is luky taks so long 2 get from heer 2 ther (Hive --> Shelby): How the fuck do you make 'good toast' anyway, though. You put that shit in the toaster. DONE. (Shelby --> Hive): cuz he maks it w/ luuuuuuv (Hive --> Shelby): Somehow when you say that it sounds dirty. (Shelby --> Hive): story of my lief man (Shelby --> Hive): u dont hav ne room 2 talk neway mr big gunz (Hive --> Shelby): What can I say. Jim's got nice weapons. (Shelby --> Hive): he hasnt showd me teh big 1s yet ur luky :( (Hive --> Shelby): Gotta get lucky somehow. OK. I apparently have to eat this before Horus does. Later. (Shelby --> Hive): yeah sumhow. kk c u