ArchivedLogs:Dangerous

Dangerous
Dramatis Personae Ivan, Peter
In Absentia	2013-05-31 Peter and Ivan discuss twins. And DANGER.
Location <XS> Ivan and Peter's Dorm - FL2
The first thing one might notice upon entering this dorm room is the almost constant, low drone that emanates from almost a dozen terraria, situated mainly on and around one of the two desks present. Inside of them are plants, sand, bits of driftwood and a /lot/ of different insects and arachnids, all making their respective little noises. Krrt, chkk chkk. The other desk houses no such creatures, but it does have a laptop. There is a poster of a Dalek hanging next to a small television perched atop a few game consoles, a three-seater with a dark brown coffee table in front of it, two dressers and beds on the far side of the room. One is made quite neatly, the other... not so much. Books are strewn across pillow and sheets, mostly English and Russian-language. An even greater number is piled precariously next to the bed. Numerous postcards depicting well-known European and some Russian cities are taped to the wall above it. GUESS WHO GOT MORE WEB-FLUID, IVAN? If Ivan guesses 'Peter', he gets a cookie! And a Peter: Who is currently dangling from the ceiling, upside down, peering at the book that's out on the table (where Ivan is sitting). Just kind of -- /hovering/, there, as he peruses the text. Peter's clad in a white collared shirt (currently untucked!), dress-slacks, two-toed socks -- and his funky wrist-watches. His clip-on tie is off, tossed to lay over a nearby bed. And his glasses are perched on his nose, /slightly/ crooked thanks to the fact that he is hanging upside down. "{You dance are Rasa?}" Peter asks, in very /stilted/ Russian, apparently just making a stab for a complete sentence mid-study. It ends up coming out, well. A little mangled. Peter is maybe not a Russian expert yet. He also hasn't even touched it for -- three weeks. Ivan, dressed similarly except for the fact that his shirt is blue and he has never been quite so much into alternative footwear as he has been into /converse sneakers always/, has been sitting on the three-seater with his proverbial cookie, occasionally looking up to Peter when not leafing through the book to find the apparently very /specific/ thing he wants to teach today. That said, he can't help but smile just a little when Peter speaks up- even if it's shortly followed by a twitch of his eyebrows to insinuate that this maybe wasn't one hundred percent the correct way to say a thing. "You are missing words." Ivan answers, quietly, though his voice is noticably raised when he speaks again, in Russian, "{I'm going to the dance with Rasa,}" he corrects, slowly, before asking a question with similar structure - smile fading but voice remaining steady, "... {Are you going to the dance with Shane}?" "{I'm going to the dance with Rasa,}" Peter repeats, very /sloooowly/ feeling out the words, pondering each one on the tip of his tongue. He's watching Ivan as he speaks, eyes on the movement of his mouth. At Ivan's question, Peter proceeds to briefly flicker violet, the color creeping into his face: "{...yes. I'm...}" Sloowly, eyebrow crumpling. "{...going to the dance with Shane.}" Then, immediately afterward, in English: "Actually Shane's, um. I think he's going to the dance with /everyone/. I -- he's, uh. Kind of asked -- he's getting an /entourage/," Peter says, before: "What's the Russian word for 'everyone'?" He glances back to the book, still violet, as if it might have the answer. Unfortunately the book is of little help right now, stuck on a chapter about the weather! "{I'm pretty sure he's not going to the dance with /me/.}" Ivan mumbles upward, eyes ever so slightly narrowing for just a second before he continues. "{The word you're looking for is -- 'everyone'.}" He looks at the book again, reaching a hand to rub at a temple. His other hand reaches for the book to leaf through it again, though, making it looks less like a sign of exasperation and more one of-- perhaps just a headache. "{I talked to Sebastian.}" Peter tilts his head, getting -- snippets of what Ivan is saying! 'dance', 'he's', 'not', 'me'. It is enough for him to assemble together a /basic/ understanding. At which point, Peter -- grins. Maybe not a cheerful grin. Actually maybe a little nervous: "Actually, uh. I mean. I think -- {he will,}" Peter finishes. "I mean, if you asked -- he's very, um. I'm pretty sure he would," Peter finishes, as if this summarized the situation well enough. At the mention of 'Sebastian' and 'talked', Peter perks -- eyebrows snapping up (or is it down? Hard to tell from this position). There is, /maybe/, a brief flicker of worry on his face. But then: "...you did? I mean. {You do?}" TENSES. Still working on those. "He's. He's really sweet, you know. I mean. He's also. Really /scary/," he adds, "I mean, you don't..." Peter's hand reaches out for Ivan's shoulder. "It would be /awesome/ if you two were friends but... you don't /have/ to be." Ivan stays pretty much unmoving where he is, finger scrubbing at his temple before his hand drops gently back onto the table. He might be slightly distracted by something, perhaps - something to do with the fact that he got up and out of the dorm room several times last night, only to return a short while later. "{I'm well aware of all that,}" He finally replies, a /little/ too quickly for his liking, then adds both more clearly and slowly, "{I know, Peter. It was scary at first,} scary in the beginning, {but he had beetles,} but he had ants." His face does little to signify he's noticed the fact that apparently he's teaching Peter the /wrong thing/. "Ants?" Peter repeats. His hand gives a tiny little shoulder-squeeze. /Trying/ to follow Ivan's Russian. It is, slow-going, though. Piecing together the meaning from the words he's managed to understand is a prickly process. Ivan translating parts of it into English helps a lot, though. "Okay," he says, followed by: "That's good, right? You /like/ ants." Peter's face scrunches up. "...wait not /giant/ ones, right." Oh, God. Not /giant/ ants. Ivan's eyes pop back open into staring mode at Peter, eyebrows lifting. Ants? He doesn't quite seem to understand what's just happened, until his mouth opens in a sharp inhale-- OH. "/Beetles/. I meant- beetles. Dermestid beetles. They are small. And I like them, yes. /Beetles/." Beetles, Peter. Apparently this is a subject he would rather not linger on, because without so much as a beat's pause, he continues with, "I helped him carry them. I think he was glad." ... For the beetles. "That's... that's good. Dermestid beetles," Peter repeats, eyebrows crumpling together. And then -- suddenly, Peter drops. /WHUMP/. Onto his hands, on the floor. FLIP! Back on his feet. Like it isn't even a thing; he's just trottin' around the room. Then, whump, Peter drops into the seat besides Ivan, sitting all /proper/ now. "I mean, it's cool that -- yeah. Um. I've been -- do you want me to tell you about them? The twins, I mean. I don't know if -- do you know what their deal is?" Peter gestures into the air, as if there was some magical /thing/ he knew, and was willing to let Ivan in on it. Their /deal/. Yeah, Peter knows all about that. "...you were kind of, scared of them, back in Geo--oh, man, I meant to apologize to you for that. I kind of just -- left you, uh. Yeah, {sorry,}" Peter says, turning violet and peering at the book -- he says it in /Russian/ like this is somehow better. Peter's acrobatics fail to get much of a rise out of Ivan - predictably, he just watches it happen, as patiently and closely as he generally tends to listen to his chatter. Such is the case now, and he waits to reply to Peter's question until he can find a spot of silence long enough for him to feel comfortably cutting in. Just after a bit of Russian seems appropriate enough. "Sebastian attacked me." He then cays, calmly and somewhat disconnected, in much the same tone as he was trying to teach Peter things before. Only this time, nothing but more English follows. "I do not want to be scared of them. But they have--" Finally, emotion creeps back into his voice and face, both at once. Fear and frustration, quite uncomfortably and against his will, manages to snake its way through before he turns his gaze downward to his own hands. "I do not know. Their- 'deal'." Peter's eyes suddenly /widen/ when Ivan mentions Sebastian's attack, head swiveling to focus on his roommate. "I -- oh. /Oh/, Ivan. Oh, man, I totally forgot -- oh man yeah, I, oh," he repeats, a little softer, peering at his book, now. "I'm sorry. /Man/. After all the stuff that happened, and I've been like, with them for two or three weeks, and -- I dunno I just. It didn't even /occur/ to me. I just, it totally -- I totally forgot about that. He /did/ attack you. /And/ he bit you. And," Peter lets out a slow breath, /staring/ at his book. "Last night, at the art show? He would have maybe bit somebody else, when they tripped Shelby. He's..." Peter draws in a slow breath, propping his head up on his hands, /squeezing/ at the side of his head. "He's dangerous. /Really/ dangerous. Have I ever told you? I can -- I can kind of get a 'vibe' for danger. Before it happens? It's kind of, this prickling? And sometimes... just standing around him? I get it. I got it last night, when that guy tripped Shelby. S'why I--" Peter twists his mouth into a frown. "--but he's--he's not /bad/. He doesn't /want/ to -- hurt people. He just." HURGH. Peter throws his arms out in front of him and leans back in his chair, /glaring/ at the ceiling. Like it might help him explain this. For all the world can see, though, it does not. And Ivan seems to follow its example, still sitting relatively straight on the couch, as if he were in class, listening to the teacher prattle on as opposed to his best friend. His expression doesn't much change, but suddenly-- he reaches over to the book in front of them, carefully and silently flips it shut, and gets up. To wander over to the largest collection of piled up terraria in the dorm room, the only three words on his way there leaving him in a breath outward being, "Why /does/ he?" "I don't know," Peter says, weakly. Followed by: "BLURGH. He's -- they kept him in a cage for a long time. His parents. I think. Then he got sold or something. To murderlabs. Where they /still/ kept him in a cage, but also poked him with needles. And other stuff. Pliared out his teeth. Just, I mean," and now Peter's hands rub rub rub at his own face as he leans forward, over the table. Elbows whumping down. "I mean I'm surprised he's as good as he /is/. He, he /really/ tries. To be good. I think. Just, if he thinks you're threatening one of his friends? He. He doesn't respond well. Shane's--" Peter hesitates here, hands unfolding atop of the table, peering at the surface in front of him. "Shane's better at it. I think, Sebastian, I dunno, I think he still sometimes expects one day somebody's gonna show up and say 'Whelp, experiment's over, back into your cages'." Ivan busies himself with opening the latch on one of the glass cases on his desk as he listens, sliding the glass out of place to let one of his larger pets crawl its way out- a vinegaroon. A large, black thing with way too many long spindly legs on top of a nice, solid body, small head with /claws/ and a little whip-like tail at its back end. It's offered to sit in Ivan's cupped hands, and does so obediently. The boy looks back to Peter only after his pet settles down close against his chest, eyebrows furrowing as he takes in the words. When he next speaks, he does so quietly, /carefully/. "If they are dangerous. Why are they--" Hnnh. He stops, eyebrows crumbling further toward each other still. "Why is no one helping them?" Simple as that. As if they're struggling to get up a /ladder/. The presence of the horrifying VINEGAROON doesn't phase Peter a bit; if bugs freaked him out, he would have run screaming from this room a long, long time ago. He turns, though, to watch the spindly critter as it snuggles up against Ivan's torso. Frowning. "Some people are trying," he offers. "I'm -- I guess I'm not really. Good at it. But, I try to--Jax tries. The teachers? I dunno if there /is/ any way to help them, beyond just... I mean, counselors, maybe? But --" Peter shifts, chair creaking under him, turning to face Ivan. "They've been in cages for so long, y'know? And, I guess. I don't want them to be in a cage. Ever again. Even if they're dangerous. I don't want them to hurt anyone, either," Peter says, "/especially/ not you. But --" He frowns, holding his hands up helplessly to Ivan. "--I mean, I can't promise that -- Sebastian /is/ dangerous. Holycrap he's dangerous. But we all kinda are, Ivan." Peter's mouth quirks, maybe nudging its way toward an unusual smile. "What would you do if someone came after Rasa? Or me? I bet you'd be -- /really/ dangerous." Ivan's eyes lower to the creature in his hands, his shoulders pulling forward as he watches it move, so tentatively and gently back and forth. Then, it stops, freezing completely. "Someone did come after you." Still calm. Still composed. But... a little rigidly so, perhaps. Three glass cases all at once suddenly exhibit a sudden jolt of movement from their inhabitants, but it's stifled almost immediately afterwards. Ivan does not move, save for his fingers slowly curling inward. That tentative, gentle smile of Peter's fades into something more straight when Ivan replies with those words. The jolt -- his eyes flicker to the terrariums, but he otherwise doesn't respond. "...yeah," he agrees. "I guess they. Did." Peter draws in a slow, steady breath, and... His voice is suddenly very, very quiet-tense: "Ivan? If they ever -- come for you. Like they did, for me. Don't -- hold back." Something in Peter's voice trembles. "Be dangerous."