ArchivedLogs:The Roof is on Fire

The Roof is on Fire
Dramatis Personae Kay, Shane, Sebastian, Murphy
In Absentia	2013-05-04 '
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. KA-THWUMP. The rooftop door gets kicked open by the tip of Murphy Law's steel-toed boot; frankly, his feet are the only thing he's got left that /haven't/ been burned, melted, or stabbed. He wades out on top of the roof, wearing his black wool coat - white shirt, tie - and trademark scowl. A cigarette between his lips, bandages swarming his hands - a fresh one on his left hand - and throat. At the moment, he's trying to use his right hand to light the cigarette with a brass-colored metal lighter - one with the Marine Corps insignia on it. *FLNKT*, *FLNKT*, *FLNKT* - looks like it's outta juice. Mumbled /curse/. Kay in no way bothers to be a /stealthy/ man; he's tall and /lively/, his limp unspiked mohawk shamelessl showcasing his fresh brain-surgery scars and long monkey-arms swinging tattooed, scarred and /bare/ from where he'd ripped off the sleeves of his t-shirt, worn under his ever-present denim kutte - really, just a fancy word for motorcycle club jacket, Murphy's probably seen his god damn /share/. Maybe not the patch of this one, though, depicting a horned, fanged skull wearing a crown of /flames/ set in the center of stylized Jolly Roger - the words Mutant Mongrels explain some of it. His proximity can be felt, a low sense of rippling heat furnacing against Murphy's side when he draws near. 'Fwooom'; a thrashing little snarl of flame, pea-sized, kicks up from his raised palm, like a pearl in a sea of oil-smeary heatripples. He's stuffing a cigarette into his own mouth as well. "You're that asshole that was stakin' this place out, right?" Yeah. We SAW you out there, Murph. While Murphy is quintessentially made out of the embodiment of FROWN, Kay is constructed entirely of a manic-sparkling GRIN. Even when he's not actually smiling, it's there in his amber eyes. Murphy stops, freezing in his footsteps. The *FLNKT* goes by one last time, thumb rolling across the lighter's trigger. Still no flame. His eyes swing over to Kay, looking him over - just once - before he closes the lighter with a *clnk* and slides it into a pant-pocket. Just... /glaring/ at the mutant. With his ball of fire. Instead of answering the question, Murphy just... steps forward and /leans/ toward that burning ball of pearl-sized flame. Like he wants to sniff it. Except, instead, he's shoving his cigarette into it - letting the fire lick at the tip. And starting to puff. Puff, puff. Thanks for the light, /asshole/. Assuming Kay does not take this opportunity to BURN MURPHY'S FACE OFF, he then states - pulling back: "Yeah. You're one of the fuckin' labrats, right?" TOUCHE. The twins' entrance to the roof is a lot less lively. It's hardly early and yet with teenager laze they are looking kind of just-woke-up, yawny, blearyeyed. Sebastian looks rumpled, smoothing out a sunny yellow top embroidered with darker yellow butterflies, a dark teal skirt that hangs to his knees. He's barefoot, thin blue arms stretching as he emerges on to the roof. Shane looks yawny but far less rumpled; neat crisp pale linen pants (they're striped but it's hard to tell, pale-on-pale), short-sleeved button down, dark vest. Dark newsboy cap pulled down onto his head. Also barefoot, though. Sebastian /eyes/ the men already on the roof, slow blinking with inner eyelids but not outer. "The fuck are /you/ still hanging around for?" Shane wants to know. Of /Murphy/ it seems, not Kay; Kay he is ambling towards, fire or no fire, with one clawed hand out. "Can bum one off you?" Murphy's face manages to /not/ get crispy-fried. Parry and /match/, Kay grunts back - "What gave me away?" His voice is not actually terribly deep, but it's from the back of the throat and gruffed up from the lungs. The very fact that /neither/ of these people actually live in this building makes this whole thing rather like a casual trespassing. Kay props a bony-narrow hip against the border between the rooftop and a very rapid shortcut to the ground level, handing the flame dazzling on one hand over to his other palm (the original one has to be shaken out kind of quickly in an idle hot-hot-yow-hot manner. Like he'd just touched a stove.) Flame is then elevated for his own cigarette perusal, "So what did you in - staircase or doorknob?" Lie to him, Murphy. Lie to hid the bruises. The /threat/ of a grin makes good on its promise when the /twins/ arrive, flashing - okay, not exactly white, slightly yellow long-term smoker teeth at the twins, directing at Shane, "Gimme a dollar." He will... SELL him a smoke? Maybe he's just being hopeful because he's already pulling out the pack in his back pocket, "Which one're you." "Fought a guy. Set himself on fire," Murphy responds to Kay. Lie? This man never lies. /Reality/ just fails to reach the bar Murphy Law has set. "Then I pissed off a lady with a straight-razor." A few more puffs on that cigarette - relaxing, a moment. And then there are... twins. Murphy's eyes sling over to watch them - filing their image quickly. His response to Shane is brief, /pissy/: "Booty call." Then: "S'Shane." To Kay. Apparently Murphy can tell them apart. Despite the fact that he hardly knows them. "M'the one who smokes," Shane says. He does not produce a dollar. Possibly because he isn't even carrying his wallet. "You set this motherfucker on fire?" He's jerking his head towards Murphy in casual indication. Sebastian is just sort of orbiting, at the moment, wandering over to check on the Growing Things in the vegetable garden, perched on the edge of the raised bed with toes curling downwards towards the dirt. His head tips over in their direction, though, and he shakes his head. "Not a booty call," he says eventually. But then Shane is cutting in: "Oh, my /god/, is your booty call /Jim/?" "He doesn't live here," Sebastian points out. "He /practically/ might live with Hive," Shane objects. At this Totally Logical Point Sebastian considers Murphy again. "... Did /Jim/ stab you?" Shane's still looking hopefully at Kay's pack of smokes. "You have a booty call, /too/?" he's wondering of Kay. "Y'/want/ me t'set him on fire?" Kay asks casually, glancing Murphy up and down for flammability while shaking out his other hand now once the flame disperses. Really, it's rather like shaking out a match. The full scan of the P.I. turns up the logical conclusion, "Y'wanna be my booty call?" No indication that he's joking. Or rather... he's got his TEETH out so maybe it's just that there's no indication that's he's capable of not joking? "Shane. Right. So the other one's 'Bastian, then. Hey, Blue-Two!" He is shouting this at Sebastian, "C'mon over, meet this guys. S'good for you." He does apparently remember that 'one of them is shy'. And is all for cracking that egg. As if he'd just past a test of Not Giveing Away Money, he hands Shane a cigarette, his original flame-hand raised again and spinning up a little helpful fire to siphon embers from. "Who's Jim. Why's he stabbing people?" "Fucking hell." This is Murphy's response to Shane /and/ Sebastian's back-and-forth chatter. Eyes flicking between the two of them. "Jim did /not/ stab me. That was a bitch with a razor." And then, Murphy's gaze is set on /Kay/, narrowing to a point. Cigarette tip /burning/ bright, sucking in a snootfull of smoke. Letting it out of his nostrils. *FWOOSH*. "You takin' requests? Think you're gonna have to pick one. I ain't gonna be much of a lay if you /set me on fire/." On Jim: "PI. Old..." Friend does not work. Murphy does not have friends. He has people he has yet to try and BEAT to death. "...associate." His eyes drift back toward the twins, then. Lingering on Sebastian. Because he's quieter. "...hey. Hey, kid. Kids. Whatever. You hear anything. 'Bout freaks gettin' snatched off the streets. More than /usual/, I mean." "Sure," Shane answers Kay kind of casually, black eyes flicking over Murphy as he takes the cigarette, leans in to light it off Kay's flame. "Probably wouldn't be able to notice, he's basically a ball of mess right now anyway." Bastian tips his head up and over when he is called to. His eyes flick, too, first over Kay and then over Murphy. Quiet, he hops down off the wood, slipping around to give Murphy a wide berth and notch himself in near Shane. He sniffs at the cigarette curiously. "Some people are into being on fire," Shane says with a shrug. "I'm not gonna judge." This draws a small smile from Sebastian, closed-lipped, not nearly as toothy as his brother's grins. "-- More than usual?" He glances to Shane, glances to Kay. Glances to Murphy. His shoulders twitch in a shrug. "What," Shane snips, "You think just cuz /we're/ freaks we've got some kind of radar for --" "-- We've heard," Sebastian cuts this rather-insincere prickling short with a quick amused smile. But it fades, because the subject matter is not exactly /smiley/. "What've /you/ heard?" Shane is not very sincere in his prickling, it's true. Around the cigarette, his teeth flash in brightgrin. "You looking for booty calls?" he asks Kay, "cuz my pa --" "Oh my gosh Shane," Sebastian is perhaps exapserated, perhaps amused. "/What/, if you're looking for someone who can be on fire, he's like. The onfirey/est/. Except you," Shane says to Kay. Sebastian rubs at his face. "Jim's a friend," he finally answers Kay. "I mean our friend. Maybe -- maybe not /his/ friend," as he looks back at Murphy. "Hey, I /love/ shit on fire. They don't gotta be mutually exclusive, brother. Y'know a friend of mine could probably help y'out with healing those up a lil'," Kay jerks a chin at Murphy's palm, "Hurts like a bitch, but he's got this venom that'll speed up healing. Sure got me outta the hospital quicker after they dug out my fucking chip." He jerks a thumb at the gnarly snarl at the side of his head. "HAH, dude you pimpin' out your own dad? Not really sure I'm his type, kiddo." Is he sneaaaaking out another cigarette to hand to Sebastian? He's offering it over off the pinched grip of a fore-and-middle finger, while not looking at him; like how you lure in a wild /animal/. Shh. If he does reach out to take it, he'll find Kay gives it an unhelpful little squeeze for a moment to make him have to /pull/ it free. The far corner of his mouth is practically curling in on itself into spirals like the Grinch. It falls off instantly at Murphy's change in topic, his brows so... slowly pulling together. When he's not grinning, Kay is -- only shrewd, incendiary sharpness. "I hadn't heard about this." Then again, he's working mostly out of Jersey, so... "Wait, you mean you freaks /ain't/ got freakdar? I thought that was part of your whole fuckin' package." The thing with Murphy: When he's joking, he sounds exactly like when he's not. Also, the fact that he's standing on the roof with three obvious mutants - all capable of violence - and has yet to give them a reason to figure him for being one - well. Maybe Hive told 'em. Maybe not. Murphy doesn't seem to give a shit. "Huh. Guess I learn something new every day." Out of all the whoppers Murphy's told, that's the biggest one yet. The cigarette rises back up to his lips; the tip glows so bright it looks like it's going nuclear. At Kay's offer, Murphy just /grunts/. "They'll keep," he tells him. Because Murphy likes to /savor/ the hurt. But then, at the prompting - from both the twins, and Kay... "Been hearing shit. Same old about labs. Some new shit, about fights. Snatch 'em, cage 'em, shake 'em up, throw 'em into a pen. Like dog-fights, 'cept with muties. Sniffin' around to see if there's any meat to it. More kids /have/ been disappearing. That much I know. So, either old fucks are getting bolder, or new fucks are moving in." "Sure you're his type," Shane insists, "You're --" He looks over Kay and takes a drag of his cigarette with a widening grin. "Hot." Sebastian /was/ tentatively reaching for Kay's cigarette, but now he /facepalms/ instead. "Light /him/ on fire," he tells Kay, as he tuuuugs the cigarette frm the pyrokinetic. He doesn't put it in his mouth. Shane /does/ put it in Bastian's mouth /for/ him, guiding his brother's hand to his lips. Then leaning in, with a, "-- breath in. Close your fucking gills," out of the side of his mouth as he touches his lit cigarette butt to Sebastian's unlit one. Sebastian complies, sort of scowling as he does. "Cagefights?" His eyebrows raise and he -- actually looks /intrigued/. Shane elbows him in the side. "No." That's all. Just no. He ambles towards the edge of the roof to lean against the wall, elbows propped against it. "Someone paying you to find 'em, or are you just searching out of the /goodness/ of your /heart/?" Kay has probably gotten the 'hot' joke before; and has a short enough attention span he can /enjoy/ it still, heating up for a moment with a thick /thermal/ that ripples through his clothes like 'hell yeah!' He absently /flicks/ a tiny bit of Shane's hair - the far far tip of it smolders off a little sullen wisp of smoke. Totally counts as lighting Shane on fire, right? His amber-set eyes remain fixed on Murphy though; their foxy squint-shape is inherent, and when narrowed they are on full wartime analytical mode. "You're spoilin' for a fight, blue," both twins are 'blue' to him. But this is probably aimed at Sebastian, "You come on down t'the garage, we'll set up something /fun/. I got some guys you'd love." This is the absent part. It grows slowly, subtly less absent as his teeth grind hard, and harder, his toothed-laughter /remains/ even in a pure black fury. "But not for fucking /humans'/ entertainment." He jerks a chin at Murphy, "Whatever you need'a the club, we're in." "Don't cigarettes fuck you up," Murphy asks, suddenly, gesturing toward Shane and Sebastian - toward their necks. "With the gills an' all." Murphy, unaware of the wonders of HEALING FACTOR. "Turns out some folks out there don't like freaks goin' missing. Some of 'em are even willing to pay to know more. Freaklovers. Fucked up, huh?" This last bit is asked with just a hint of a smoke-choked cackle; something dark and hateful and full of /cynical/. Then, flicking ash off his cigarette and toward Kay: "Mostly, though, I just like pissing people off. You got a problem with the /normies/, Carrie?" he asks Kay, with /just/ an edge of ire to it. Like, you wanna fight over this? But then: "Just fuckin' with you. Burn 'em down. Whole city. You bring the fire, I'll bring a fiddle." "S'right," Shane says to Bastian, "Like /fuck/ are you bleeding for some goddamn flatscan's freakshow." He pats absently at his kind of plasticky not-hair hair, grinning wider at its brief smoulder. Sebastian presses his lips together. The look he gives Kay is considering. He starts to take a puff of his cigarette (Shane reaches over, as he does, and /presses/ down at his gills) and exhales the smoke just about as soon as he has puffed it. "We could make our own freakshow." "We /could/ make our own freak show," Shane agrees, dropping his hand away from Sebastian's neck. "Some warehouse somewhere, good honest -- pummeling." But he's looking the other men over, too. "No leads?" "If he had leads yet would he be asking /you/?" Sebastian hoists himself up to sit on the wall. "We could ask," he says, slow and considering. "Pa. Hive. Flicker. Ryan. They'll probably be --" "Pa'll burn the city down right along with you," Shane's teeth are flashing wide and bright, though there's more ferocity than joy in this grin, "if some fucker's been kidnapping freaks again." "Hah. Maybe your dad's my type after all," Kay murmurs behind his cigarette, his lips barely moving and eyes kind of... blank-staring across the rooftop at the pretty plants. "Hey, they had a problem first, Chuckles. I'm just down for bringin' the fucking /heat/." At this point, with a sluggish maelstrom of rising temperature weighting down the air around them - a /dry/ desert heat, not humid, so that the skin just so slightly constricts against it - either Murpy BETTER be a known mutant. "We're big on pummeling back at the club - y'can't fully patched in if you can't dish and take a lil'. We got a few freak recruits turning up," or /freakcruits/ as the MC likes to refer to them, "I'll see if they haven't heard anything. /You/ kids," he's -- oddly sincere in the angry furrow of his brow, with a hand on either Shane and Sebastian's shoulders, "Watch each other's back, huh? There's a fuckin' war coming." Murphy's just kind of /glaring/ at Kay. The sort of glare you give the jabbermouth in the bar who's said too much. The sort of glare you give a man five seconds before upright /decking/ him. But - maybe much to Murph's fortune - he doesn't take a swing. He just plucks his cigarette out, throws it to the concrete, and slams his heel down - *SKRRRTCH*. Like he's giving the poor little fucker a shallow grave. "No leads," he tells the twins, even though he's not looking at them. Murphy's fishing in his wallet, flipping out a card - a little torn and haggard. 'MURPHY LAW', Private Investigator. Phone number. Fax number. Not much else. Shoving it at Kay. Like, HERE. TAKE IT. Asshole. "You hear somethin', you call. Got some freaks mighty interested in doing damage. Maybe you can work with 'em, have yourselves a nice big happy /murder orgy/." There's a certain distaste with which Murphy says this last bit; like he's spitting the words out. But, then, he's heading for the door. To the twins, he waves a hand. "Don't trust anybody who ain't got freak all over 'em," Murphy says, which is a hell of a thing, because he's probably the least freaky looking out of /all/ of them. Shane's gills flutter, at the heat, at the hand on his shoulder; he tips his head back to look up at Kay, and then over at his brother. "Mnnhh," is not a very helpful response to any of this. It's Bastian who shakes his head, letting his hand drop with cigarette held carefully between two fingers. "The war's been here for a while," he says, softly. Shane's eyes fix on Bastian. He snorts. "Mnnh," he says again. "He never trusts anyone without freak all over them." "Would you?" It's a rhetorical question. Bastian already knows the answer. "Where is your club?" It's almost (almost) casual, this question. He's drifting away again, skirt swishing as he heads back towards the garden. For that dangerous moment, Kay seems /eager/ for Murphy to just try taking a swing, watching him with electric attention and his savage grin thin and clenched. Then again, he takes the card in a lazy swipe as he he'd been wanting it as well, so maybe all things are greeted with a vicious amiability. "Y'say that like I /wanna/ go on a spree. Ain't never been in a fight with a flatscan they didn't /start/. Though this ain't war yet," Kay turns to brace either hand on the rail of the rooftop, as though he's just restraining himself from climbing over it and leaping, "This is just warming up." His cigarette, contrarily, hangs lazy off the side of his mouth while tucking Murphy's card into the inside of his kutte - the safest place to keep something, as far as Kay is concerned. "We're working out of a garage over in Jersey," he nods out in the distant direction of the far-off bridge. "Not all of 'em are out here; we were figuring after last time we got hunted down, we should split up a lil so they can't take us all out in a go. Started up an East Coast chapter." "I've never been on a motorcycle," Shane says around a curl of smoke, "you should take me." He says this like obviously Kay would like nothing better than a teenage tagalong. "Where were you before here?" Sebastian is looking down at the plants. "Somewhere hot," he murmurs, half to the vegetables. Shane still leans against the wall, looking out at the city. "It's been war. S'just a lot of ways to fight it. Sometimes they don't drop bombs. Sometimes they send those --" His hand makes a little flying motion. Sebastian isn't smoking his cigarette so much as slowly letting it burn down. He does try another small puff. Just small. "-- Is that how they got you?" "Kinda eerie how you two do that twin-shit. Sure." SHRUG. "Take y'today, y'wanna." Kay is either banking on 'weekend' meaning Shane can go out wherever he wants, /or/ he's... yeah, he'd probably take Shane anyway. And adds after Sebastian, "You comin' along as well, Skirts? I got Eloquent Gerry nearby 'f you wanna catch a ride, and he /mad/ smooth. Got reflexes like you wouldn't believe." It's not envy that makes him say it - just blunt pride. "..." A long moment passes, smoking idly, watching the city unfurl out from the rooftop view, his bike far far below parked in the street. "Guessed it one - 'm outta Nevada. Hot enough you'd lick the sweat off a bull's balls. We were doin' our thing -- takin' in all the freaks that didn't have another place t'go, teachin' 'em to dig in and fuckin' /defend/ themselves. The bastards eventually came after us out in the desert. I hung back. Gave 'em hell on Earth, littered the god damn /sands/ with twisted shrapnel--." He nods with a sharp sniff at Shane's little flying motion, "But. ...Yeah. Thought it was over, that my ticket was punched one way or another. But wasn't. And I'm gonna make 'em /regret/ it." He pushes off the wall, "Let's get outta here." The twins exchange a look, at this. Shane griiins, slow and toothy-broad. "He's coming." He stubs out the cigarette against the wall. Sebastian's smile is a smaller thing, quick and somehow private in its tiny there-and-gone flash. "I bet you did," he says, soft as he hops down off the edge of the garden. "I bet you /will/." Shane's answer was probably answer enough for him; he doesn't /say/ he's coming, just heads to the door. Holding it open for the others. When his smile returns, it stays.