ArchivedLogs:Demona

Demona
Dramatis Personae Hive, Isra, Horus
In Absentia	2014-10-24 '
Location <NYC> The Roost - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
The second level of this house takes up less floor space than the ground floor, owing largely to the open sweep of balcony that overlooks half the home below. Up here the floors are in natural hardwood, polished and smooth. At one side of the balcony, again, a door leads over to the adjacent unit in the house. One door off the balcony leads to a quiet office space, with a wide metal-and-glass desk, long sofa and armchair opposite a large pair of bookshelves. A tall glass door in the large windows on the back wall leads out to a wide outdoor balcony overlooking the river. The second door leads to Dusk's bedroom, dominated by greens and greys. He has finally actually gotten himself a /proper/ bed to pair with his dresser and bookshelf, king-sized and settled low to the ground onto a solid wood base with a number of drawers built into it. His desk holds the desktop -- somewhat literally. The desk /itself/, with see-through glass body and softly glowing lights inside, has been configured to /be/ the computer case. Closer inspection of a pair of small decorative aquariums sitting to either side of its three monitors finds them to /also/ be computer cases, their inner workings submerged in a pale blue liquid on a bed of aquarium pebbles alongside plastic plants and little plastic castles or fake coral. In this bedroom, too, a door leads out to the same balcony outside. Capping off the balcony at its other end is a guest bedroom, large wood-frame bed with a small end table, dresser, a hammock-chair hanging from the ceiling in a corner, a desk by the window. There's a flutter of wings outside on the second-floor balcony, a quiet squawking after talons click down onto the railing. In the grey day outside Horus is preening his feathers, settling them back into place once he has settled /himself/. Hive has been out here for a while already, settled on the end of the balcony near the office -- perhaps at first this morning he was working, judging by the laptop resting in his lap, but now that lunchtime is here he's long since fallen back asleep. He's bundled up warmer than he really needs to be on the mild afternoon, fleecey Theta Tau cap and a blue and grey striped Ravenclaw scarf paired with his oversized Grumpy Bear sweatshirt, black handwarmers, thick soft socks, thick warm black pajama pants. The arrival of the bird-boy on the balcony doesn't, immediately, seem to rouse him; he twitches in his seat but doesn't move. It's only when Horus flits over to land on the arm of Hive's rocking chair and gently close his beak around the edge of Hive's hat, tugging it down further over the older man's ears, that Hive grumbles quietly, head shifting first away and then closer to Horus. "Mmngh." That's all he says at first. Horus answers it with a small bonk of forehead to forehead, and then returns to carefully rearranging the hat. There's a clatter of upset books followed a louder crash from Dusk's room, which, though intermittently occupied by Isra throughout the week, has been dark and quiet all day, though. Another thump, this time against the inside of the closed door, then a scrabble of claws. The next thump is less tentative. The one after that tears the latch out of the door in a shower of splinters. Isra tumbles out of the room in a flurry of gleaming purple-gold wings and talons. Completely nude, she looks more than ever like some creature of legend. She flinches from the meager daylight, green eyes turning greener as her pupils contract. Righting herself, she twists her head toward Hive and Horus. And growls. Horus's feathers ruffle up further at the crashing, chest puffing out in time with an alarmed squawk. Isra's actual appearance garners a louder squawk, the birdboy fluttering up and off of Hive's chair to return to his perch on the railing. Puff. /Puff/puffpuff. His feathers floof out larger. Horus's sudden movement -- wings fanning against Hive's head in the flurry -- drags Hive all the way awake, head curling in and his eyes scrunching tighter before opening. "Huhmwha --" Bleary, he turns his head towards Isra, brows hiking up and then pulling back together as he squints towards her. "Don't you wear a clothes for. Court." His hand moves to his mouth to stifle a yawn, dropping afterwards to rest against his laptop. "... how's. Things. Down there?" "Court..." Isra echoes the word like a curse, but the growl dies her throat. She stalks toward Hive, wings wobbling for balance--occasionally hooking one thumbclaw over the railing just to keep herself upright. Perhaps it is a trick of the gloomy weather, but she looks pale and gaunt. "...is a farce." She stops and leans against the wall, tail lashing the air behind her. "The prosecution...is still presenting." One pointed ear swivels to Horus. "Yes, I wore clothes. Splendid clothes, for all the difference that makes to those--" She sniffs the air and growls again. "Sorry. I'm famished. I should..." She curls one trembling wing around Hive. "How are you fellows, hm?" Now that the growling as subsided, Horus's chestpuffing does, too. He straightens up on the balcony, head dipping to Totally Nonchalantly start preening his feathers back into place, though beneath him his talons still shift restlessly in quiet clicking against the railing. There's a soft cooing warble, low beneath his breath and perhaps not directed to anyone but himself. Hive's eyes close again, and he leans into the curl of Isra's wing. "You look like shit. You know we have food downstairs, right? And the pups always have a fuckton. -- You look like half as much shit as /Dusk/ has been and I don't think they're actually feeding /him/. Is this like solidarity starvation, because there's better ways to be supportive." "No, I don't think they are. Feeding him. I'd like to..." Isra's wings tense and pull in a bit, one tugging Hive with it. "/I've/ eaten. As much possible. They'll not allow it /in/ the courtroom. I stuffed myself when I got back. I still /feel/ full but..." Isra's gaze drifts toward Horus. Her pupils, barely visible before, suddenly dilate as she goes utterly still. "Like to feed him? You try that /in/ the courtroom I don't think it'll help his case much. Everyone's already thinking vampire they don't need to --" Hive's fingers flutter in the general direction of Horus's neck. "See." Horus's warbling gets just a little bit louder, wings pushing up around his neck. Fluffing the feathers out /there/, larger. "Fff, I wasn't /volunteering/ you," Hive reassures Horus, eye cracking back open. His brows furrow, rumpling inward; he tips his head back to squint up at Isra again. "Stress?" he wonders. "Maybe you should sleep more. Take a fucking day off of -- well, I guess tomorrow's the weekend anyway. Maybe spend it thinking about -- not... court. Shit." If Isra hears the advice at all, she gives no indication. She stares at Horus, eyes unblinking fever-bright. When she moves again it is an almost imperceptible settling, drawing inward, lowering her center of gravity. And then she lunges, wings snapping in to propel her forward, talons splayed and fangs flashing. Horus's squawk is sudden and alarmed; there's a quick flurry of wings fluttering, a quick gust of wind down onto the balcony with the haste in which he takes off. Hive sits up, startled, his eyes suddenly narrowed on Isra. "What the /fuck/ dude that's /Horus/. Jesus fucking -- /seriously/ you need to goddamn chill." The failed attack ends in a snarl and a snap of wings. Isra climbs onto the railing and looks ready to launch herself after Horus until she whips around to roar at Hive for having the audacity to address her. There is no recognition in the fierce green depths of her eyes as she gathers herself and pounces at Hive. "/Jesus/fucking --" Hive /scrambles/ out of his chair, his laptop spilling to the floor with a rather unpleasant-sounding crack and a stray few crumbs of plastic (hopefully nothing important!) skittering away from it. "Isra what the --" His scrambling isn't particularly /effective/, given his current state of Tired and Not Particularly Coordinated, stumble-tripping backwards and thumping -- right back down against the arm of his chair. There's not much /in/ his emaciated-bony frame that is really /built/ for fighting off feral gargoyles, so instead his shoulders just tense-curl inwards, bracing for impact as one hand fumbles into his pocket. Isra, also less nimble than usual, crashing into the recently vacated rocking chair. Its broken arms and legs dig into her, leaving a red gash here and here, though she hardly seems to notice. Not even bothering to right herself, she lashes out at Hive with one slightly bloodied wing--less dexterous than her other limbs, but by far the longer. Hive's shoulders curl tighter; at the impact of the wing he thuds back away from the chair and against the railing. His scarf and sweatshirt provide at least some minimal cushioning from sharp talons -- which mostly means a huge /rip/ in his much-loved Grumpy Bear hoodie and somewhat less blood than there might otherwise have been. Somewhat less. There's still a decent amount seeping into the torn fabric. There's also a decent amount of /panic/ in his expression, eyes wider and his fingers fumbling at the phone in his pocket -- aptly, jamming at the panic button once he manages to grab it. His other hand is lifting -- not actually to try and fend off this attack. Just to press to his /temple/ as though somehow that will help. Isra scoops Hive back toward her, bringing the other wing around to prevent his escape--though one is more than sufficient to contain his bony frame. Her long, gleaming nails, impeccably manicured, close around his hunched shoulders and suddenly stop before digging in. d d Dusk's room. Distant and muffled, but still recognizable: the opening theme to Buffy the Vampire Slayer blaring at the limits of her phone's tinny speakers. She starts to straighten up, then looks back at Hive as if completely baffled as to why she is holding him and why they are both bleeding. "Panic button," she mutters, though the growl in her lower voice never falters. "I...I need to...go..." Without completely disentangling herself from Hive--or the remains of the rocking chair--she takes one wobbling step toward the door before toppling. It's around this point that there's another flutter of wings -- Horus is returning. From /somewhere/ he has acquired one Very Fine top hat, and, with this dapper new piece of haberdashery he has evidently decided he is Armored Enough to take on gargoyles. As such he is /divebombing/ Isra. Squaaaaaaaaaaaaa-- though his battle cry turns puzzled as she topples and in the end he perches more carefully on one wing spar. His head cranes down, eyes huge and wide as he examines Isra in puzzlement. Then Hive. Who is kind of /slouched/ against the still-folded curve of Isra's wing, shivering and holding his arm defensively across the bleeding cut down his chest. His other hand still rubs against his temple, his throat rolling on a slow hard swallow. "... well," he says, as much to himself as to Horus, "fuck."