ArchivedLogs:Redundant

Redundant
Dramatis Personae Hercules, Hive, Isra, Steve
In Absentia	2016-01-01 << They think you mean to eat it. >>
Location <NYC> Central Park South
Central Park South is home not just to the park itself, but also to the Belvedere Castle, the Alice in Wonderland statues, and the Central Park Zoo. These areas tend to draw tourists like a magnet - it is, perhaps, for that very reason that places like Bethesda Terrace tend to attract more New Yorkers than not, if just to escape the press of tourism that infiltrates the whole city. New York may have woken up a bit late, but once the hangovers have cleared and the lazy brunching done, people pour out in droves to enjoy the sunny, brisk New Year's Day. Here, a wide expanse of grass (not quite winter-dead even in January) has been cordoned off here, populated by volunteers, a great many dogs, somewhat fewer cats, and a scattering of less common pets -- a few rodents and reptiles in plastic terreria, two ferrets tumbling about in a crate, and one somewhat nervous green parrot. The visitors are mostly young couples, with or without children, though there are also quiet, solitary browers, crusty punks in threes and fours, and a flock of nuns fawning over a scrawny pit bull. A large banner over the information desk at the entrance reads 'A NEW LEASH ON LIFE', and below it are attached the names of several animal rescue services. Anyone who stops to read the literature or ask the volunteers will learn that this is massive city-wide adoption drive for pets orphaned by the recent outbreak. Dressed in a dark blue pea coat and brown corduroy pants with his iconic shield slung across his back, Steve is drifting between groups of volunteers and visitors, He wears a volunteer badge ('Hi! My Name is Steve!') Hive doesn't much stand out in the park, just one among many come to stare at cute animals -- or maybe at Steve -- kind of nondescript as he slouches his way over towards the volunteers. Threadbare old canvas jacket, beaten up workboots, faded scuffed bluejeans, choppy mop of dark hair hanging down half over his eyes, hands shoved into his pockets. "{Who's that?}" His French is gruff, not much preamble, sharp chin jerking towards the mutt and one hand emerging to hold out towards the dog. Walking a bit of an opposite path from Steve is a large teenager, wearing a blue winter jacket with the Xavier logo on it, and faded blue jeans. Opposite the logo is a nametag with 'HERC' written in. A reserved tan boxer leads the tall teenage via a black leash, the dog pausing every so often to enjoy the attention of children and adults alike. Its tail wags a mile a minute though her body language indicates a slight nervousness. Hercules path leads him slowly in the direction of Steve. Many of the two-legged attendees of the fair (and some of the four-legged ones, as well) give Hive a wide berth, but probably not out of any desire to avoid him /personally/ so much as the gargoyle monster walking beside him. Isra wears a red cloak, her wings--covered with gold filigree on a snowy white field--protruding from a smaller pointed capelet in a such a way that one could almost mistake them as a part of her outfit. Her completely hairless pate, rich green skin, and gleaming gold horns, however, cannot. Spotting Steve, she gives him a nod, her expression placid and her green eyes watchful. "{Oh! I'm so glad you made it!}" Steve's French is quite fluid, if country, his smile growing wider when he spots his neighbors. Then -- remembering Isra does not speak French -- he switches to considerably more unwieldly Spanish, "{I'm happy you come here. This,}" gesturing at the dog, "{is Camlan.}" Camlan's very curly tail wags as he stretches out his nose to snuffle at Hive's hand, darting a tiny furtive (hopeful!) lick at his palm. "{I have food, for the dogs. If you want.}" With his free hand, Steve waves at Hercules, too, as he approaches. "{How could I miss it. You posted it on the Internets, that means it's serious business.}" Hive doesn't switch to Spanish, his own Quebecois French gruff and lazy and /oddly/ perfectly intelligible to Isra, imagine that. Somehow. He crouches down in front of Camlan, bony calloused fingers curling up to scritch at the dog's chin. "{Have you fallen in love yet. Are we going to have new mutt at the Commons. Hey, boxer.}" He's glanced up, eyes not lifting from their permanently half-lidded sleepy state as he peers from behind his curtain of hair towards Hercules and the approaching dog. "{Flicker had a boxer. When he was a kid.}" Led along at a leisurely pace by the dog, Hercules appears lost in thought. << I miss you, mom. Another New Year come and gone. >> He gives a bit of a start, glancing down at the young girl who has run up to hug the boxer. "Goggy!", she yells happily. Laughing, Hercules nods to her. "Her name is Hannah." The girl stares up at the large teen, eyes wide, and beats a retreat to her parents. Grinning, he shrugs and gives the leash a little shake. The boxer begins to lead him along once more. Herc's thoughts once more wander to past New Years celebrations. Hannah slows as the dog takes in Isra, leaning in to sniff at the woman, the dog's tail wagging. The tall teen waves to Steve, smiling. "Hey, Mr. Rogers." Hercules nods to Hive and Isra, "Hello! Her name is Hannah." "{Hello, Steve.}" Isra's Spanish is rough and carries a gutteral Argentinian accent, her tone very neutral, and her thoughts likewise. "{Legend has it King Arthur died at Camlann, except in the versions where he gets carried off to Avalon.}" Though this does not stop her from leaning down to scratch--gently, with long, gold talons--beyond the dog's ear. << It would be /nice,/ having a dog in the house. >> The musing comes rather abstract, not specifically directed at Hive, though she is conscious enough of him--like thinking aloud where a companion can here. Just not aloud. << Once we have a house again. They'd have to get along with Obie. >> "{There are /so many/ things in the Internets,}" Steve seems to pluralize the word completely unironically, "{not all serious. But this event, is good. Important.}" His mind's first reflexive response to Hive's question has nothing to do with the dog at his feet -- or any dog, for that matter. Just a brief snapshot of Jax taking his hand for the Lord' Prayer at mass earlier. He turns a little red -- not for the recollection itself, but the realization that Hive...was Hive. "{Uh, no I...I mean, I just helping out here. Camlan is great dog, but -- I not have my own place yet. Maybe. Later.}" He's grateful for the distraction when Hercules approaches. "Just Steve is fine, really. Hola, Hannah!" Though he lets the dogs sniff at each other before he pets Hannah. Hive's eyes flick up from the dog to Steve, the faintest curl twitching at the corners of his mouth. "{... good, yeah.}" He pushes to his feet, hands tucking back into his pockets. << {/Obie/ gets along with everyone. Not sure other dogs are so keen on being jumped all over and chewed on.} >> "{Don't think anyone'd care if you kept a dog in the Common house.}" His eyes slide towards Hercules at the greeting; his jaw tightens, quick and hard, as he takes a reflexive step back away from the others and further into the fuzzy encampment, but there's a short puff of laughter in time with this too. "Mr. Rogers. {Never thought about it before. Suits you.}" Hercules looks down at the two dogs while the three converse in Spanish, and the large teen bends at the knees to offer the yellow mutt his had for sniffing. He grins up at Steve and nods. "Steve it is then. It's awesome to meet you, by the way. And even more awesome that you've volunteered for this." The boxer sniffs at Steve, and then Hive, her tail still wagging briskly. The large teen straightens up a moment later, glancing at Hive and Isra for a moment, "Not a bad day for winter, yes?" Smiling warmly, he looks back to Steve. "If you wanted to talk to your friends, I could take Camlan for a bit." Isra snorts softly. << Obie does well enough at the dog park, >> she offers, << not that I really know much about dogs. >> She studies Hercules, her face still voice of expression, though she gives him a small nod of greeting. "{A fine day, indeed.}" As accustomed to Hive's telepathic translation as she has become, she does not really think about the fact that she spoke those words in Spanish, still. "{Have you found homes for many of your animals today?} Steve's blush has faded somewhat -- he's relieved Hive either didn't read that particular bit or has chosen to hold his peace about it. "{I'm thinking about it,}" he assures Hive, smiling. "{What are /you/ looking for, though? Dog? Cat? /Rat?/}" Though here he frowns just a touch. "{Funny how many people say things like that. It /is/ my name.} Steve Rogers." He stoops down to pet Hannah, slipping her a small training treat from a plastic bag in his pocket. "{You are a /strong/ girl, aren't you? Good thing Hercules is a strong boy.}" Meanwhile, Camlan has crossed leashes with the boxer to nose at Hercules's pockets in search of more treats, his tail wagging faster. "Camlan's fine," Steve tells Herc, straightening up, "very calm. I can handle him." "Hercules." Hive echoes this with a very faint lift of eyebrows -- first eying the /boxer/ before lifting his eyes to the teenager. "Why is it awesome?" He sounds genuinely curious about this, half-lidded eyes flicking between Hercules and Steve. "{There was a show,}" he explains. "/Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood/. Essentially about -- being. Ridiculously goddamn fucking nice." His arms fold across his chest, eyes skating around -- from the dogs to the cats, to the lizards, brows narrowing. "{... looking to make our nonexistant house less empty.}" "No hablo espanol.", Hercules says to Isra, an apologetic expression on his face. He chuckles at Camlan's insistence on having a treat, and the young man fishes two out of his pocket, offering one to each of the dogs. As expected, the treats vanish instantly. << I wonder how many people have thought that and never told him? >> The thought runs through Hercules' mind when Hive mentions Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. "Yeah, the man was ah, uhm, a priest I think, and his show was always about sharing and kindness. He was a gentle man, and a gentleman.", the teenager says to Steve. Looking to Hive a moment, Hercules grins. "Oh, all the stories about Captain America during World War Two. He's a hero. It's neat to actually get to meet him, considering he was thought to be dead, you know?" He reaches down to being untangling the two leashes, weaving the one he holds in and out. The dogs only slightly make the knot worse in the meantime. "{Having Dusk makes a cat somewhat redundant.}" Isra smiles, her wings rustling up more snugly under the capelet of her cloak. The sense-memory of his velvety wing passes over her. "{Lower maintenance, though, in certain ways.}" She eyes Hercules again, briefly. "You have a rather apt name yourself," she finally allows in English to the teen. Then, with a sympathetic look at Steve, "{I've never seen it, either.}" "Oh..." Steve nods slowly. << Gosh, I'm never going to get through that list. I'll be catching up on media for the rest of my life. >> "Sounds like a good sort of message for a show to have. World needs sharing and kindness." Though at Hercules's explanation to Hive, he's blushing again, looking down. Shakes his head. "Most the stories you heard were probably made-up. Propaganda." << Or I /hope/ they were. The stuff we actually lived... >> A howling snowstorm, a prison camp, a red flag with a swastika whipping in the wind, a laboratory full of human subjects. He shakes his head sharply to snap out of it. Deliberately fills his thoughts with literal puppies. He remembers the last time Hive read something like that from him. But the lapse in his attention gave the dogs enough time to get their leashes even more entwined. "Lo siento," he mutters, quickly moving to help Hercules. Hive's breath hitches sharply at that final image, his fingers tightening against his sides. His teeth grind with a soft creak, head turning aside to look over towards the cats. "{Lower maintenance? Than Dusk? He doesn't take much upkeep.}" He's kind of drifting off towards the cats, /eying/ them with some suspicion. "Bet he'd give you an autograph," he adds absently, frowning deeper as a scraggly grey cat glares at him through his kennel. An enormous fluffy one is coming nearer, rubbing up against the bars and purring. In Steve's mind, some of the puppies are joined by purring cats. "The story behind my name is amusing, and very appropriate.", the young man says to Isra with a grin. "And I must say, your wings are spectacular." << Beautiful. >> Hercules grins at Steve as they untangle the two dogs. Who continue to be helpful in making the knot worse. Hive's comment has the tall teen shrugging. "I wouldn't pester him like that, he probably gets requests like that all the time." "{Than /dogs/,}" Isra says, though she's entirely confident Hive knew what she meant. << But also, cat food is easier to come by than fresh human blood. >> She watches the cats placidly, and stretches out one wing to caress the fluffy cat through the bars. One of the young woman watching over the cats spots the wing and follows it back up to its owner, eyes wide and mind simmering with disgust, though she says nothing. "{Thank you}," she says absently to Hercules. "I have a talented body artist." Steve takes hold of Camlan's collar and just lets go of his leash, tugging it free from Hannah's. "There we go." He looks up at Hive, arching one eyebrow, then arches the other at Hercules as the two discuss him. In the third person. << I'm...right here? >> A bit perplexed. But he smiles over at the cats in front of Hive. He's never kept a cat before, but his mother fed plenty of strays. They keep the mice under control, at least -- not that he's ever seen a mouse in any of the Commons buildings. "What's the story?" << Are you? >> Hive's voice in Steve's head doesn't sound mocking. Just curious, a little unsure. Rather distant, himself, the whisper-soft echoing sighing through Steve's mind. The fluffy cat is stretching a paw through the bars, hooking against Isra's talon to curl there. Tug closer. Rub his chin up against the edge of her wing. "... story? Oh." He looks back to Hercules, rubbing his knuckles against his eyes. << Name, >> this time it's broadcast to all three of the others, that same shivering echo of many-voices speaking together. << Right, yeah. Story. >> "I think this one's claimed you." Hercules grins to Isra and nods. "Well they are an excellent artist." As the dogs are freed from the tangle of leash, the tall teen chuckles. "Thank you. I think she does that on purpose, she has gotten my legs more than once.", he says to Steve. Hercules rubs his cheek and looks a little uncomfortable at Steve's question. "My mother went to Greece on her..." The large teen blinks and straightens, going a little pale. "On her gap year... did you guys uh hear that?" Isra arches a bare eyebrow ridge as she looks at the teenager again. "It seemed rather straightforward, given your stature, but I didn't count on that being a birth name." Her still-folded wing shrugs oddly under the cloak. She doesn't place any more or less value on such names, of course. For a moment she finds amusement in her own inadvertantly appropriate name, given at birth by parents who could not have known how their daughter would turn out. She looks down at the fluffy cat, now. << A lot of animals find me unsettling. The domesticated ones usually /tolerate/ me at best, but... >> The proprietary curl of the cat's paw around her wing talon puts a faint, sharp-fanged smile on her lips. << Perhaps. If they will let me adopt it. >> Her fierce green eyes snap to the volunteer overseeing the cats. << Probably think I mean to eat it. >> "I...what?" Steve looks at Hive, brows knitting. << Yes. I'm here. I guess that might not mean the same thing to you. >> He kneels down again and wraps his arm around Camlan, scruffing at the soft, tawny fur for his /own/ comfort as much as the dog's. << You and me, buddy. We're both just getting by in a world we don't /really/ understand. >> "{If you want to adopt a cat, I can get you some paperwork...}" Then, to Hercules, frowning. "Didn't mean to put you on the spot there, you certainly don't have to talk about it. Hear what?" There's plenty of talking, cooing and purring, and more occasional barking or shouting, he isn't really sure what Hercules means. He doesn't realize that Hive had included the boy in his last broadcast. << They think you mean to eat it. >> Hive, though, is opening the kennel; reaching in to run a finger down the top of the cat's head. << I often forget where /here/ is, >> this thought comes nearly at the same time as the first, overlapping his other words but oddly just as distinct, thoughts intelligible where audible words might be hard to comprehend at once. He's still frowning at the cat, which is climbing, now, straight up Isra's arm to drape against her shoulders, huge and fluffy and still purring. "Is that the whole story?" Hercules looks to Isra a moment and nods. "Before I hit puberty, I was a runt. Then the mutation hit and well, here I am." He rubs at his temples a moment, and glances to Steve. "I swear I heard someone else talking a moment ago. But..." The large teen blinks again and shivers. "That. Like multiple voices speaking at once. In my head." Hercules looks to Hive. "No. She met an older man there, and spent the summer with him. When it came time for her to head back home, he was no where to be found. Seven or so months later, I was born. As I said, a runt." Isra grins sharply. << Nonsense. Obligate carnivores taste awful. I prefer prey with less fur, anyhow. >> She retracts her wing, but does not hide it back under the cloak, reaching it up instead to rub the cat's head with a massive thumbclaw. "Ah. You've a couple of things in common with Mister Rogers, then." Then, nodding slowly. << Hive. You're confusing the boy. >> "Oh!" Steve runs a hand through his hair, smiles faintly. "I've got and idea or two about that. Not quite the same, though. They called /me/ a medical miracle, a hero, even, but you..." The Prometheus videos flash through his mind. Shakes his head rapidly. "Still an appropriate name, if I remember my schoolyard classical mythology right. But that -- uh, that's telepathy. Not /me/, I'm not a --" He looks at Hive. << He /does/ mean you, right? Is there some other telepath here? >> Hercules glances to Steve for a moment and then to Isra. "I suppose you're right there." Looking back to Steve, he nods and grins. "That's why it is amusing. I am sure my mother was thinking of the classical stories of Zeus running around impregnating women when she named me. I think she was surprised to see me grow into the name." He rubs at a temple again. "Oh. I know a little bit about telepaths. I've just not had one so uhm loud. In my head. It was a bit confusing. Sorry." "Mutation." Hive echoes this with a sharp huff. His hands pull sharply away from the cat, lifting to rub at his temples. His teeth grind again, hard, shoulders tensed, eyes narrowed. "... this one's coming home with us." It sounds more like a statement of bemused fact than any sort of decision, once the cat has scaled Isra. "I need to... papers." He pulls away from the others, slightly unsteady as he drifts off towards the volunteer table. Isra watches Hive's unsteady progress, her expression placid but her ears pressed down low. She gives no name to her concern, nor the faint ache of adoration in her chest. Just accepts it as she begins to follow in her housemate's wake. But she pauses to nod again at Hercules. "Take care of yourself, young man. Use your strength well." With a thin smile at both of the other men, "Find these animals some homes, you two." Then she catches up to Hive in two long strides--particularly uncanny as the cloak disguises her digitigrade legs--and wraps a wing around him, the cat draped across her shoulders like a living fur fringe. "{Careful.}" Steve lifts a hand, but drops it again when Isra goes after Hive. "{Congratulations on new cat. I'll see you around.}" To Isra he nods, smiling again. "Working on it. This one's adorable, he'll have a home in no time." To Hercules he shrugs. "Not your fault, it takes some getting used to. Still throws me off, every time." But now a pair of preteens are coming up, squeeing with delight at Camlan, whose tail is whipping fast again. "Back to work, though," he tells Hercules, grinning.