ArchivedLogs:Later That Night

Later That Night
Dramatis Personae Ivan, Peter, Rasa, Shane, Shelby
In Absentia	2013-03-07 The teens raid the fridge
Location <NYC> 303 {Holland} - Village Lofts - East Village
(follows Logs:Meanwhile,_Back_at_the_Ranch...) This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late bright coloured sealife has made its way into being painted on the wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. Clunk, clunk. It is late at the Holland household. Clunk, clunk. The childrens have retired to bed. Clunk, clunk. Well, so they say, anyway -- Shelby is probably still up somewhere and who KNOWS what the Shark twins are up to. Clunk, clunk. Parker, at least, has an /excuse/. Clad in a loose-fitting DEATH OF SUPERMAN T-shirt, flannels, and those incredibly /awkward/ glasses, he is raiding the refridgerator. Clunk, clunk. Jar of pickles, peanut-butter (oh man they have the /good/ kind, the kind that's just straight peanuts, nothing else, with oil on top...!), something that resembles (?) jam. Butterknife in his mouth, two pieces of toast shoved into whatever qualifies as a toaster. He looks a little tense. More tense than usual, anyway. Rasa is in the living room, definitely not with Shelby and definitely not one of the... errr, with the twins. Ze wears pajamas that are likewise loose fitting - flannel pants with a long sleeved teeshirt, no real decal on them. Perhaps Shelby will fix that later. When there is clunking in the kitchen, ze rises from the fiddling with a laptop ze was doing and skulks over to see what Peter is doing. Ze is quiet and curious until ze is only about a foot away and staaaaring at Peter. "Hungry?" There's the faint shuffling of more feet. It is Ivan, dressed in baggy black pajama pants and the simplest of white t-shirts, and he's looking like he might be regretting not sleeping- lower eyelids already darkened from the lack of it. But he's up anyway, and when in doubt? Gravitate towards your dorm buddy. It is as such that he ambles sluggishly into the kitchen, no greeting or questions, blank expression. He peers around for a moment, then positions himself near the sink to start-- stacking dirty dishes? Okay. It is perhaps *shocking* to see just how high Peter can jump. One instant he's in front of the fridge -- and in the next, he is -- /literally/ -- on the ceiling. His back smacks into it; the jars clatter and fall. And then, in the next instant, he's on top of the kitchen counter -- bare feet gripping its edge, crouched down like a frog -- having somehow managed to recatch all the jars on the way down. Glasses now crooked. Butterknife now protruding out of his left fist. Despite having just been scared witless, he gives Rasa a hesitant smile: "Oh, hey. Uhm. I eat when I'm nervous," he tells hir, sounding apologetic. And then... there's an Ivan. Another jump -- slightly less high, slightly less surprised -- and he's hopping down to the kitchen floor. Watching Ivan. Stacking... dishes. "...oh. And Ivan, uh, cleans? I think. Hi, Ivan." One does not gravitate toward ones dorm buddy when that dorm buddy decided to hit on ... Rasa covers hir mouth with hir hand to stifle a surprised cry when Peter jumps and then jumps again, eyes wide as saucers. "Oh. Hi Ivan. Yeah. I ... um. I managed to figure out that Sebastian is upset that everyone is going to die and there are murder drones, but his thoughts weren't exactly clear as to what /is/ going on. All I have is all this unrest and concern and... does eating help?" Ivan /freezes/ but remains remarkably calm when Peter goes crashing into the ceiling, almost but not quite dropping a plate in the process. Chances are he's come to expect this sort of stuff around Peter, and he barely even looks to see if everything is alright, after the fact. There is a brief wave of his hand when he is greeted, barely lifted to his shoulder, before he continues the stacking. Unsure of whether /cleaning/ them would wake any potential sleepers up, which pauses his actions. Hm. Then, he looks to Peter. DOES eating help? "Everyone's not going to die," Peter tells Rasa, his toes clenching on the kitchen floor; the jars are laid out on the counter-top with a clatter. The toaster goes 'click'; two slices of bread are swept up in his hand -- the jars, their lids already loosened, are popped open and the spread begins. Peanut butter mixed, slathered -- jam mixed, slathered -- and pickles... oh God, wait. What? No. Peter, DON'T YOU D-- "But," he adds, oblivious to the crime against cuisine he's committing: "People /are/ gonna die. Maybe even some people he knows." Peter looks at his P&J&P sandwich, then to Rasa -- then back over to Ivan. Then, somewhat meekly: "Not really." He takes a sad bite anyway. And chews. "What friends did you bring, Ivan?" Rasa asks quietly, moving over to stick hir hand in the pickle jar. Ze pulls out a few chips and nibbles on them after ze's shook off most of the brine. "Yeah. But why? What is going on?" Once ze starts eating, ze finds hir stomach is quite empty, gurgling greating the pickles inside. Ze skirts around the others and starts poking around in the fridge. Forget cleaning. Ivan stares at Peter, now. Or more specifically, his sandwich. His expression changes very slowly but very gradually into something almost a little-- panicked. WHY would you do that, Peter. But Rasa's question snaps him out of it almost instantly after it's asked, and he shakes his head, swinging his hands behind him to lean back against a countertop to offer Rasa a direct stare, instead. "I am alone," He states before quietly clearing his throat, voice a little hoarse. "... They do not listen when I sleep." Peter thinks over Rasa's question as he chews on his peanut butter and jelly and pickle sandwich, hiking one flannel-clad hip up against the counter. "They're..." he starts, and then he swallows -- his tastebuds apparently oblivious to horror -- "...they're being superheroes. Rescuing people. They, like -- they all came from these labs that torture mutants. And there are a /lot/ of these labs. And they're tracking them down and finding them and -- rescuing people from them." Another bite, then -- with his mouth half-full: "When they come back, it's gonna be with a lot more mutants. And... um. Some of them will be hurt. And..." A nervous chew. "...some of them /won't/ come back." Rasa stands up from the fridge with a tupperware in hand, slowly peeling back the top of something colorful - it might be a bean dip - and staring at the Peter. "OH." There's a few minutes where hir skin grows quite pale and hir eyes out of focus, but no words are written upon hir flesh. "Are you asleep right now, Ivan?" The toilet in the bathroom flushes. A moment later, the door opens and Shelby steps out, looking squinty and mussed. She's in a tank top and a pair of boy's boxers, along with her sling and opera glove. She's also scratching her ass--there's something about boxers that makes ass-scratching necessary, according to underwear commercials--as she ambles towards the kitchen. "..whafuck, guys." Somewhere in the twins' room there has been a pile. A pile of sharklimbs and littlebrother and stupidbeagle and most likely knowing Spencer also a pile of robospider. The twins are probably not sleeping so much as nervously fretting while Spencer sleeps but then, eventually, the other voices draw one small blue face out of the bedroom. Shane is in soft black pajama pants and no shirt, and wanders over with a frown to lean against the low wall between kitchen and living room. He doesn't say anything. He just eyes the others. Momentary confusion. Ivan blinks sluggishly, lifts a hand in front of his face, peers at it, then peers back at Rasa. "... Nyet?" He mumbles as sleepily as it is uncertain. What if he IS? But then Shelby and Shane come to join them, and his hand goes back down again, wedged between his back and the countertop. The confusion on his features only deepens, and the two newcomers get stared at for a moment. Does no one sleep? Maybe it is a culture thing. Or maybe worries. There seems to be a silence descending upon the room, now. Peter chokes on his sandwich as Shelby emerges in boxers. He /double-chokes/ when he notices Shane who is /half-naked/. And then he carefully chews -- swallows -- and takes another bite. And doesn't say anything. No, he just keeps... chewing on his sandwich. And lets the silence /stew/. And then, suddenly: "Hey. HEY. Uh." Swallow. "What do you call it when Pinocchio goes to a funeral?" "Uh. I don't know." Rasa goes to find a spoon to start digging in the dish ze found. "Something something wood," Shelby mumbles as she knuckles at her eyes. /She/ was having no trouble sleeping; maybe that is a street kid trick. "Mourning," Shane volunteers, hitching an elbow against the counter. "We'll probably get new students. After this. Usually do." Ivan's eyes flit from face to face as words come out of their mouths. When the punchline hits, his expression stays unchanged. Oblivious. What Shane says afterwards causes him to knit his brows together in thought, eyes lowerign to the floor instead. "Things change so quickly, here." Something in his tone suggests he doesn't just mean here, in this apartment. "MOURNING w..." Peter begins to announce, looking quite *pleased* with himself -- but then he realizes Shane's pre-empted the punch-line. "Oh." Now he looks /sad/. He bites his sandwich again, and chews. Crunch, crunch. "Yeah," he adds to Shane's comment, "that'd be -- that'd be pretty cool, I think." About the only cool thing he can think of. At Ivan's comment, Peter offers a rather feeble sounding "...yeah." "So." Rasa considers this for a moment. "That was a penis joke." Shelby, having completed her waking up ritual, looks from face to face to face before /making/ a face. "Jesus tapdancing Christ, you guys," she comments before turning away to go rummage through the bags left on the coffee table. "Where's my phone, I'ma fucking text someone..." But that was just a red herring because when she straightens up, she does so with a can of Silly string in her hand. Or maybe that's just all she could find. She aims at Shane's butt. Ssssssssssssssssss! "Find me my phone or get shot again," the girl intones. "It's penis jokes all the way down," Shane confirms. He is stifling a yawn that turns into a yelp at the silly string, grabbing it off the seat of his pants to reach over and deposit the goop onto Peter's head. "I hid your phone down Bastian's pants," he tells Shelby, darting forward to try and wrest the can from her hands. At the hiss of the silly string, Ivan promptly presses further his back further against the countertop. Oh no. His attention darts upward and off the floor once more, and almost immediately he's pushed himself away from the counter and starts heading in a straight line out of the kitchen with an expression of mild panic. And just a /bit/ of amusement. /Social situation/ spotted, ESCAPE. "Peni--? Oh," Peter says, and now he's blushing. "OH. OhGod, I--I guess--" He didn't realize. That this was a penis joke. It only seems to occur to him now. "Oh man, I'm sorry--" he's APOLOGIZING for it. But then there is a glob of silly string on his head and he is like 'wait what?' and then he remembers, OH WAIT, he has silly string too except it is the /best/. There is a slight ruffle of fabric as he slips on his gloves and then THWP, a strand of gray is snapping out for a distant silly string can on the table, then YANK it is in his hands and there is a look of GRIM DETERMINATION on Peter's face. Rasa nods in confirmation of Shane's pronouncement and hir eyes widen when there is silly string and goop and a highly uncomfortable Ivan. "Oh, no, Ivan. It's okay. You have to think of it like spiders, right? You just think of the can as a spinneret or that you can make your own web with - like Peter's..." And ze yelps a little when Peter demonstrates. Ze eyes Peter and then the can, and then Peter once more before dropping low and scurrying out of the kitchen to arm hirself as well. The only advantage Shelby has on Shane is about an inch or two of height. So she does what comes naturally--holds the can way up high out of sharkboy reach. "Liar, Bastian's not wearing pants," she retorts as she is jostled. "Seriously, where is my phone, I can--whoa!" The other can goes zipping by, putting her struggles on pause while she tracks it visually back to the kitchen. "Damn, Pete." "Peter how did you not know that don't you /have/ a penis they're there for making jokes about." Shane /tackles/ Shelby towards the couch. Likely not as hard as he really could but still with a not-insignificant amount of oomph behind it. "Rasa get /all the cans/," he is saying, "these are things that should never be allowed in Shelby's hands." Peter proceeds to go *COMMANDO*. He has a can and a PLAN and oh jeezus he just backflipped over the kitchen counter what the hell FSSSSSST right at the back of Ivan's head and now he is chasing what is likely to be a yelping Ivan out of the room just HOPPING ABOUT as he runs and FSSST FSSST FSSST you cannot escape the SPIDER.