ArchivedLogs:Next Year

Next Year
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Hive, Isra
In Absentia	2014-08-28 '
Location <NYC> Mount Sinai Hospital - Harlem
On the cutting edge of many medical technologies, Mount Sinai Hospital is often ranked as one of the nation's best hospitals. The medical school attached is one of the best in the world, meaning that even your med students know what they are doing. Chin up, then -- when you come in here badly mutilated after the latest terrible catastrophe in Times Square, you're in good hands. Hive's room is quiet. It often is; though he's speaking more frequently than he had been when he first awoke, he's still not speaking all that /much/. Not even staying awake all that much, alert for brief intervals before inevitably drifting back off again. At the moment he's actually kind of awake -- ish, eyes at least open more often than not, vaguely focused on his laptop which is, at the moment, streaming /Adventure Time/. Even these episodes have proven a little much for his attention span to handle. He isn't alone, in his room. He rarely has been, though his rotating cast of guests have been more than glad to give him space when he seems less in the mood for company. Dusk has been ensconced by his bedside for some time now, folded into a large reclining chair in a snug curl that would look very comfortable if he lacked his extra pair of limbs. As it is, his wings are scrunched behind him awkwardly, fidgeting restlessly every so often. He also has his laptop in front of him, the terminal and document full of code on the screen both implying he's working. The slow droopy nod of his head, though his eyes are hidden behind dark glasses, implies otherwise though. Surprisingly quiet save for the clack of talons on the floor, Isra ducks into the room with a much-abused Columbia University tote bag slung over one shoulder and a colorfully embroidered black satchel over the other. She wears an asymmetrically cropped tank top and handkerchief skirt, both of gauzy hunter green cotton. Her skin color of the week is a palette of purples, ranging from soft mauve and lavender about the hands and face to a deep violet marbled with gray on her back. The scent of Thai food and coffee follow her in. "My apologies for the delay," she says, stretching one wing out to wrap around Dusk and the other around Hive--the latter more gently. "I was not able to pick up food after all, but I got beverages and snacks from Evolve." So saying, she sets a drink caddy on the table. It houses a ginger ale and two coffee, one sweetened and lightened, the other black. Hive's eyes shift only slowly towards Isra, opened wider as though startled. The look he gives her at first is blank; it shifts into comprehension only when her wing curls around him. His eyes close again and he leans into its touch with a small pleased exhalation. "Evolve." The corner of his mouth twitches up. "S'still. Standing?" Dusk, too, half-asleep in his chair, doesn't react until he is burrowing into the wing around him, scruffy cheek rubbing up against Isra's leathery skin. His nostrils flare before he tips his head up, his own bright fangy smile quicker to appear than Hive's crooked small one. "Shane was worried," he clarifies, amused. "S'like a fucking new parent. Thinks the first time he leaves his baby in someone else's care they're gonna hurt her." He sniffs again, this time turning his head more into the purple wing. "/Smell/ like food. You sure you didn't just eat it all on the way in?" He is opening his mouth to nibble on Isra's wing like this will give him some evidence. "Still standing, and still serving excellent coffee and delicious pastries." Isra removes the last items from her tote bag, a stack of paper takeaway boxes labeled 'coffee cake', 'raspberry torte', and 'baklava' in Isra's elaborate cursive. "I promised Shane I'd help keep them in business through this convention. I also /tried/ to pick up Thai from a restaurant that had been pointed out to me as quietly mutant-friendly, but..." She leans into Dusk's nibbling with a sigh. "I got as far as placing the order before the manager informed me that I violated their dress code and had to leave." The talons tipping her toes click against the floor as if by way of illustration. "I can have Omar pick something up if desserts are not adequate." "Motherfuckers. I'll make you. Good Thai. When I get --" Hive trails off, letting his head drop down to rest against Isra's wing. "Had to threaten to sic nurses. On Flicker. To get him to go." To the con, presumably. Hive's crooked smile remains. He finally opens his eyes, lifting an unsteady hand to make small grabbing motion at the ginger ale -- though judging by the uncoordinated weak grasp of his fingers he'll probably still need some /help/ managing the bottle. "Ohshit. Delivery food. We're getting fancy." "All we ever eat is delivery food," Dusk replies with a snort. "Though it is definitely fancier with your own personal. Deliverer." His teeth dig a little harder against Isra's skin before he presses a kiss where they'd just bitten and straightens, reaching for the ginger ale and twisting off its cap. "I should take a picture. Show Shane proof you're fulfilling your promise. They're probably around North Carolina now he's gotta be bored as fuck." He only sounds the /tiniest/ bit bitter about missing out on the con, hand unthinkingly dropping to rub at the monitor around his ankle. "What restaurant? I could punch them," he offers, though his cheerful tone doesn't make this offer sound entirely serious. Isra's wing curls a little tighter around Hive, though it is not clear whether she is reacting to Hive's offer to cook or Dusk's bite. "/I'm/ not overly fancy today, but Omar, I don't think he knows how to dress otherwise." She fishes her smartphone out of the satchel and scribbles something across its massive screen with a stylus. "I'll have him bring some mezze from my cousins' place. It was Little Bangkok, but no need for punching. They were civil enough, and there are others who more badly need your punching. Might have to ration it out." She finishes writing her message and turns her phone sidewise. "Now, smile for the photo, if you will." "Lot of motherfuckers need punching." Hive's agreement is gruff. "And these days Dusk has to. Hold down the punching for our. Whole apartment." He wriggles himself a little bit more upright in bed, briefly using Isra's wing for support to get himself there. "I'm in a. Fff -- ucking paisley gown. You're fancy." "You're setting a low bar, dude." Dusk waves a wingtip towards Hive in all his kind of gross unshowered hospital gown glory. He does, afterwards, turn Vanna White hands towards the Evolve cache in display, obligingly giving the camera a fangy smile. He unfolds himself from the chair after, eeling his wing behind Hive in place of Isra's so that he can hitch a hip up onto the bed and hold the ginger ale up to his roommate's mouth. "I've /always/ held down the punching, this motherfucker," he jerks his head accusingly at Hive, "could never throw a punch if his life depended on it." Isra snaps a photo, then another two for good measure. A smile quirks the corner of her mouth as she reviews the shots. "...And sent. The pups told me that this convention has an entire space track. Perhaps one of these years I'll finally put together a Demona costume and attend." She slips the phone back into her bag and takes up her coffee. "That's quite a lot of pressure, but I'm sure you're up to the task. I should be glad to lend additional punching, however, if you require it." Hive closes his lips around the mouth of the bottle, sucking one swallow down but then wincing and pausing with his head rested against Dusk's shoulder. "Never needed. To throw any punches. When I could just." He scrunches up his face, wincing again. A shudder runs through him, his breath hissing out in displeasure. "You'd look fucking awesome." It takes a while for him to get around to this response. "She always looks fucking awesome." Dusk lowers the ginger ale, wing rubbing slowly against Hive's back. "Next year. Next year we'll both go. You can present awesome shit and I'll be your arm candy." His grin softens as he looks back down at Hive. "You'll get your mojo back. Even if Joshua has to rebuild your whole damn brain. Then you can get back to being a goddamn weakling who punches people in the /brain/ and we," his thumbclaw flicks between himself and Isra, "will take care of the fisticuffs." "And we shall look splendid while we are at it. But we're not asking you to punch anyone in the brain right now." Isra fixes Hive with an appraising look, green eyes keen and unblinking. "Give yourself some time." Isra speaks gently enough that her quiet, lower voice comes through clearly. "But yes," she agrees at last, "Next year: DragonCon." Hive's eyes close, his head tucked closer to Dusk's side. His shoulders sink, a faint tremble in them before it settles into calm. Very quietly, finally: "Next year."