ArchivedLogs:Longing & Belonging

Longing & Belonging
Dramatis Personae Doug, Hive, Shelby, Dusk
In Absentia	2013-03-22 '
Location <NYC> 403 {Hive} - 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. The first day of Spring has come and gone. You know what that means? That means that pretty young things all over the state are bringing out the cute clothes in a primitive sun-summoning ritual. Shelby's no exception, and she has her first official two days of school to celebrate as well, which means she's gone for punk schoolgirl--an outfit she didn't bother to change out of before venturing "home" for the weekend, because why? Everyone loves little pleated skirts and tailored buttonups with skinny ties! She must have made a detour by Ryan's apartment on the way up, because she's got her guitar instead of her backpack hung over her shoulder. There's also a Twizzler hanging from her lips like a cigarette, bobbing as its hidden end is chewed on. Thump thump thump! The toe of her sneaker connects with the door. By now, the occupants should recognize that announcement. Shelby has come calling. Let her in, dorks. The elevator dings, then, and the doors slide open to reveal Doug, clad in black rugby shorts and a white t-shirt with a picture of the world and an arrow pointing to it reading 'You Are Here.' He's in flip-flops, and his legs look wet up to his knees. He also does not look happy as he beelines for 403. That Shelby is already there doesn't even register until he's exactly next to her, and he blinks. "Well, hey, stranger," he says, scrunching his nose. "Where have you been, lately?" He also knocks -- maybe he missed the kicking part, earlier. "Ian -- anyone in there? It's kind of important!" "Hey one second." There's a loud clamor of music from inside the apartment, Chili Peppers playing loud enough to spill out into the hall. It doesn't actually get any less loud when Dusk opens the door -- /probably/ it'd be polite to turn it down but PSH. With most all his guests (save one very /colourful/ Tag intermittently crashing) gone, he has returned to his default half-clothed-ness; jeans but no shirt, his wings unfurled large behind him. "Hey-o, Shelby!" This is cheerful, with a fanged flash of teeth. And a 'gimme' hand towards her Twizzler. "You got any more candy for me?" It's no less cheerful but a bit more puzzled as he looks over Doug. Down at the wet. Back up at Doug's face. "Uh, hey, what happened to you, dude?" Shelby's eyes flick down over Doug--she is not above admiring the merchandise even if it's off limits--but when she reaches the wet legs, a crooked smile appears. The Twizzler is removed and wagged at him. "Saving the world," she answers. "You spring a leak or something?" But before he would have time to answer, the door opens and there is music and half-naked boys and omg her Twizzler is /stolen/. Except no, she hands it over to Dusk without quibble before easing past him into the roar of RHCP. "He sprung a leak," she supplies on Doug's behalf, "and sure, I got some gummy worms in my guitar case. Whazzup?" "Saving the world." Doug seems amused by this explanation, and he might have a follow-up question, but then there is the door opening, and he makes an exasperated sound at Dusk's question. "What happened to /me/?" he asks, looking past Dusk into the apartment. "Has your bathroom ceiling come crashing down, yet? Mister P. /just/ got my water shut off. It's like the second reel of Titanic up there." He waves at Shelby when she explains, lifting his eyebrows as if to say 'see?' while he follows. "I don't know what happened. Just suddenly, there was water /everywhere/." "Uh, yeah, what --" Dusk's smile fades into wary-caution at Doug's exasperated answer, no less puzzlement in his expression as he gestures Shelby inside. He doesn't gesture Doug inside, just looking kind of /bemused/ as the other teenager enters, his wings folding in flat against his back. He takes a chomping bite out of his Twizzler, Shelby-spit be damned. "Shiiiit, damn." He doesn't close the front door, just heads back through the living room -- his vault /over/ the back of the couch is aided by a flutter of wings as he heads towards the bathroom to look inside with another, "Oh, /hellshit/." Meanwhile there is -- well, nothing, really. Quiet invisible presence rustling to life at Doug's exasperation, Dusk's caution, mental senses reaching out to touch against each mind in turn. Hellohellohello what is /up/. It's as if Shelby lives here, the way she's making herself at home--but then more and more, she's coming to consider all of the apartments open to her in the building as /hers/. Om nom nom. She toes her shoes off, leaves them near the door and then walks herself up onto the couch before curling up. /After/ Dusk has vaulted it, of course, but she does watch him venture off with some interest. "Fuck, I wish I had wings...is it all Titanic up in there?" she calls out. The case is snapped open in her lap, a large package of gummy worms pulled out and torn open. Notice that she does not immediately spring to with offers of assistance--sugar, hellooooo, that is what's up, and besides, there are boys around to be all plumbery. Doug follows the bouncing Dusk, scrunching his nose when he hears the cursing. "Yeeeah, that's what I thought," he says, pausing by the couch, because a) bathrooms are private and b) there are gummy worms to pilfer. Which he does, leaning over to shove his hand into the bag, offering a tiny little mental return brush as that other presence surfaces. "Mister P. will probably be down in a bit to check on it. The ceiling didn't come down, did it?" He pops a red gummy worm in his mouth and pulls until it breaks with a snapping sound. "Mmm. Geek food," he says, giving Shelby a wide smile. "What are you saving the world from? Insulin shock?" "No, we've still got a ceiling, just one that's fucking /raining/, shit." Dusk is dragging things around. A bucket from under the sink. All the bathroom's towels dumped onto the floor to soak up the mess. And then -- then that's apparently /good enough/, because he returns to the living room, Twizzler still hanging from his lips, to hop back over the couch and drop onto it beside Shelby. To steal a gummy worm. "You don't want wings, you know how hard it is to /shirt/ with these things? Go Jax's route, /ink/ yourself a pair." He's still kind of giving Doug a little bit of a bemused look like he's only just noticed the teenager still standing there. "What happened up there?" There's more poking, at Shelby, this time. Quiet. Thoughtful. << watermelon? >> It's /so hopeful/. Dusk is suddenly looking at the bag of gummy worms again, despite having the Twizzler still in his mouth and the gummy worm (cherry!) in one hand. Shelby holds the bag steady for pilfering. There are plenty of gummies for everyone. Hers is lemon, and dusted with sugar, which she licks from her fingers after popping the whole thing into her mouth. "'m sooo no' a geek," she mumbles, the candy tongued into her cheek, "bu' I know wha' they like." The smug is strong in this one, accompanied with ever so naughty images of Sebastian against a seedy hotel-room backdrop. Before she can reminisce /too/ happily about the romping and giggling and blushing though, Dusk is back and she leans up against him. She rummages absently for a watermelon flavored gummy. "I could go around topless all the time," she suggests, "since it's legal up here." "The water's shut off upstairs, so that should stop in a bit," Doug offers helpfully. /His/ gummy is watermelon, and he chews it thoughtfully as he stares at the bathroom. "I don't know," he answers Dusk's question, scrunching his nose. "I was sitting on my couch, and suddenly there was this banging noise, and then it was flood city." He shrugs. "Mister P. thinks one of the pipes burst, because of all the crazy weather." He frowns. "Which seems feasible, I guess." He so sounds like he doesn't think that's feasible. But he moves on. "Topless would get pretty uncomfortable in the winter," he notes, sitting on the arm of the couch. "I would think." Dusk takes a moment to /actually/ get settled on the couch, wings stretching, pulling back in, resettling again. One unfurls to curl around Shelby in an absent drape that pulls her in closer against his side, the other just kind of folding downward in lazy droop. "Weather hasn't been /that/ crazy," he says, puzzled. He glances at Doug, a little discomfited, but then is distracted by the search for /watermelon/ gummy. << Jegus what the fucking shitcock, >> is rather /less/ unobtrusive than before. << -- oh it's you. Sweet. Way to go, Bastian. >> There's a pause, and then, << the fuck are you doing in here, >> is probably /not/ to Shelby, given that it comes with a quick mental /poke/ at Doug's brain. "Or maybe you've been having too much shower sex," Shelby tosses towards Doug with one of her patented gap-toothed grins. Trust the younger teenager to always be bringing the sex into it. She's got hormones on the brain. Ah ha! A watermelon gummy is found and offered to Dusk, in return for the snuggles. "Anyway, I wouldn't have to worry about the cold 'cause all the guys would be wanting to cuddle me. Like him, se--whafuck. Oh. Hive." She looks up at the ceiling for some reason, grin lost to a frown. Said ceiling is subjected to a chiding waggle from a lime gummy before she returns to nibbling. << We didn't fuck, >> she shares silently, << Mr. Nosy. >> Doug blushes at Shelby's suggestion, and blows air out through his nose. "Please. There has been nothing going on in that shower beyond washing, for the record." Nothing. How sad. Dusk gets a shrug. "That's his theory," he says, chewing on his gummy thoughtfully. "I'm not a plumber, so I can't really offer any credible theories as to what caused it." << Dude. I'm here to make sure your bathroom ceiling didn't cave in. >> This comes with an image of Doug's bathroom looking more like a scene from Das Boot, with water spewing from a hole in the wall. "Cuddling is fun," he agrees, after a long moment. "I suppose anything that promotes more of it can't be a totally bad idea." << Yeah, this motherfucker, >> with an image of Doug for clarification, << s'boring as shit. S'/Jax's/ shower getting all the action these days. >> Hive sounds cranky today but /well/. He sounds cranky most days. << You made sure. What are you doing here /now/? >> This comes with a quiet echo of discomfort, not Hive's but relayed-Dusk-awkward. << -- You took him to a sketchy-ass pay-by-hour motel /not/ to fuck? >> Puzzled Hive is puzzled. "Cuddling is fun," Dusk agrees quietly. Munching on his gummy worm. His wing shifts slowly, gentle fuzzy-soft rubbing against Shelby's shoulder. "Why wouldn't anyone want to cuddle you? She gives good cuddle," he informs -- his gummy worm. Seriously. << Really? Who's Jax getting busy with? >> No teenage girl worth her stripes can resist a good bit of gossip. << B and I were playing hide and seek. He's like all worried about hurting me 'cause shark, so I let him uh...practice. 'n find his birthday tattoo. We only /had/ an hour. >> Shelby looks up at the ceiling again and grins at it--because telepaths are like ceiling cat?--before popping the new gummy into her mouth. The bag is offered around to the boys for fresh selections. "I give /seriously/ good cuddle. You should get in on this, Doug. Dusk's wings are like..." Words fail. She finger wiggles instead. Descriptively. Translation: meant for rubbing against? "I got this doll from a fair once when I was kid, it was like velvet on the outside, plastic on the inside? Kinda feels like that except all sort. You're the best freak, Dusk. So not fair." << I'm leaving. >> is Doug's response to the silent question, hot and snappish back along that tether. << I got shit to do, anyway. Or not. >> He offers a tight smile to the duo on the sofa, and pushes to his feet, shaking his head at Shelby's offer.. "Thanks, but I'd better get back up and check on Mister P.," he says in a weary sort of voice. "Don't be such a stranger," he says to Shelby, and lifts a hand in Dusk's direction. "Later, dude." And that's about all he's got to offer in the way of farewells, beelining out the door with ears burning red. << I really hate this, Hive. /Really/. >> And then the door is closing behind him. Back to the floods. << Hate what? Making everyone uncomfortable the second you walk into a room? >> This cranky statement comes kind of on /top/ of an oh-so-comfortable mental image in answer to Shelby's question: Jax, shirtless and /glowing/ (his tattoos seem rather stained-glass-like, the glow backlighting them from /inside/ him), pinned to his couch by Micah straddling him. There's a lot of kissing. Because Hive Totally Cares about everyone's comfort. << ... Bastian got ink? >> Dusk seems fairly oblivious to this, still -- giving Doug kind of a puzzled look. "Oh, I -- oh. Um. OK. Thanks for -- telling me." His free wing gestures back towards the bathroom. His other still just is being a Shelby-cloak. His pale cheeks tinge a little pink at Shelby. "Well, definitely the freak part's true." "Stop being such an asshole, Hive, Jesus. You don't have to go, Doug. He's just being a dick. Like /usual/." Shelby's remark is echoed by a mental, << Knock it off, this place'd be flooded if he hadn't come down. >> Of course, her scolding loses some of its impact when she is sidetracked by stain-glass Jax, her eyes going round and another gummy pausing on the way to her mouth. Like Dusk, her cheeks go pink--but she's certainly not /disapproving/ because << ...whoa, hot... >> If she had any morals at all, she would clear her throat and move on. But. Instead she nestles in closer against Dusk's side and switches to offering /him/ the gummy--only to yank it away at the last possible moment. "Bastian has my sorta ink. I drew him something for his birthday." Sadly, Doug misses Shelby's entreaty, being in the hallway, although he picks up the echoes. It's no good, though. << Fuck /you/, Hive. >> It's a bitter, sharp thought from Doug that sears around the edges. << I didn't used to do that, until you started riding fucking herd in my head. >> There's another white hot burst at the images of Micah and Jax, and then a flood: << GETTHEFUCKOUTGETTHEFUCKOUTGETTHEFUCKOUTGETTHEFUCKOUTGETTHEFUCKOUT. >> Immediately followed by rows and rows of computer language. Not any /one/ language, but /all/ of them. Loudly. Like listening to /all/ the dial-up modems at once. << Yeah, but he came /in/ being snippy to Dusk and then just fucking stayed. He's like the kind of socially maladjusted geek that gives geeks a bad name. >> The computer language -- doesn't actually bother Hive, or at least no /more/ than it bothers Doug. << And yeah. Yeah, you did. Long before me. >> "-- Hive?" Dusk frowns, suddenly, wincing. "Oh, fuck, god, I forgot he -- /Hive/ fucking /behave/." He looks bothered, though admittedly not bothered /enough/ to be distracted from eating his gummy worm and reaching to grab another when Shelby pulls /hers/ away. He eyes Shelby's pinkening cheeks, and eyes the closed door. "-- what the fuck just happened?" "I dunno, he's got some kinda hair across his ass about Doug?" Shelby does look at the door, now shut, and heaves an immense sigh. /Boys/. She's been thinking that a lot lately. Also she is pretending that she is /not/ blushing, though her mind insists on flicking back to the image in a way that will never, ever, EVER be shared with Bastian. "I guess I'd be kind've bitchy too if I was locked up but he was always sorta bitchy," she muses as she chomps down on the offered-and-withdrawn gummy. Flecks of sugar are licked from her lips after as she glances towards the bedroom doors. "I'll go up later and cheer him up. How's Flicker holding up?" There is no response from Doug. Just dull lines of computer code that don't seem to match the images in his head. Most of which involve Hive in a variety of cartoon-like death scenarios. It will continue that way for most of the night. << Doug is such a fucking /teenager/, >> Hive says. /Crankily/. ... but then he kind of pokes at that mental image, thoughtfully /watching/ Shelby flick back to it. There is quiet /pressing/ at her mind, fingers reaching in in absent curiosity for her blushing. << -- Jax, really? >> "/Shelby's/ a teenager," Dusk murmurs, apparently finally tuned in to the mental radio. "Flicker's -- okay. He sleeps a lot. Joshua's been working with him, though. S'up and around. Getting back to class soon. How's school been?" "Yeah, but I've got tits. Rumor has it Hive likes tits," Shelby says, wry and amused. Her brow crumples as she tries to poke back at the pressing--not in resistance but more in annoyance that he would find it surprising. << What? He's hot and that'd be a fucking amazing lay, all the glowy and shut up I'm a teenager, I'm /supposed/ to get turned on easy. >> All right, so the blushing wasn't an isolated incident. The stain spreads. She soothes herself with more candy and nestles down deeper under Dusk's wing. A light clearing of the throat follows. Right, serious topics. "Good. Soon as I find another stash of pastry, I'll have to come by, he seemed to like it. School is...enh. I have to sit in with the younger kids, it's stupid, but they think I'm cool so that's okay. I got so many books to lug around I think I maybe broke my shoulder though." "Don't know why they don't just give everyone ebooks, be so much lighter." Dusk's wing is curling in, again, to rub at Shelby's shoulder with this information; it's flexible and velvet-soft, yes, but those things also make him fly. They have some muscle to them. His cheeks are slightly pink, but he does have a small grin for this: "-- Hive likes the tits, yeah. Even if it's been like /ten years/ since he got /laid/." Thiiis might be more to Hive than Shelby. << Pfft yeah uh s'not what your /mom/ was saying last night. >> It's reflexive. Hive is still poking. << ... guess he is. >> He seems to find this thought surprising. He pokes /back/ at the poking. Because >: