ArchivedLogs:Bath Time

Bath Time
Dramatis Personae Ion, Scramble, Dragonlord
In Absentia	2017-03-30 People keep trying to grab me!
Location <BOM> Common Room - Main Lodge - Ascension Island
The common room's rustic-lodge feel has been somewhat mitigated by the modern amenities inside its sturdy wooden walls. It has comfortable couches, several chairs, a refrigerator (stocked with snacks and drinks!), a pool table, a pinball machine (METALLICA!), an assortment of books, a television -- with several game systems! -- and a splendid view out the windows (when their lacy yellow curtains are drawn open) for the rest of the island. The pale wood floors have been covered in places -- by a pair of soft thick blue rugs, by a large squishy pair of beanbags that stand in front of the stone fireplace. There's also a board up on the wall, half corkboard, half whiteboard, with a variety of community notes (and occasional insults) to other Brotherhood members. Large doors on the right-hand side lead off to the kitchen and dining room. In the back of the room, the council room's heavy oak door bears solid locks that are almost never actually barred. A short hall adjacent to the council room's door leads to a trio of multi-stalled bathrooms; these might once have been marked with the typical man-woman-handicapped signs, but someone has given them new plaques on the door; a stick figure with horns and a long tail, one with wings. One -- the large single-user toilet -- has instead been given a helmet and a cape. "{-- not a}" "{game, I don't --}" "{know how many time}" "{gotta go through all this --}" "Yo anyone seen a --" There's a series of flashes around the lodge -- zap down in the basement, up in the kitchen, back in the meeting room, Ion's gravelly-grumbly voice sounding choppily from different corners of the building before he pops back into the main room. "... shiiiit guess ain't none of you seen jack fuckshit{god/damn/.}" Combing his fingers through his hair, Ion gently nudges a lean shaggy-haired young man over to one side of the couch so that he can flop down heavily in the man's place. The youth he has moved offers little resistance, wilted and unconscious where he lies sprawled and bleeding from small bite marks on his forearm. Slumped against a beanbag nearby, a stocky woman is similarly dozing. Ion digs his palms in against his eyes. "Ay, mi queride. Why you don't come sit a minute, hm?" The door opens to admit one Scramble, shaking her black-and-chrome umbrella out on the porch before folding it up and bringing it inside. She sheds her black crop motorcycle jacket by the door and hangs it up near her umbrella. Underneath she wears a slim-fitting yellow blouse, a black vest with gold embroidery, and black jeans that lace up the outseams (wet from the knees down) over gleaming black boots. "I'll sit down however long you need, Hermano. What's eating you?" Half a beat later, she stops mid-stride when she realizes the two unconscious people might not be /just napping/. "Whoa. I can guess what's eating /them/, though. Where /is/ the Dragonlord, huh?" The Dragonlord in question is lurking well out of sight, coiled around the banister just below the second story landing. Their ears swivel to and fro, tracking the movement and speech of the adults below. Their eyes are huge and green and blink only infrequently, their tail weaving slow and hypnotic through the air. They are on the /hunt./ "{Oh god and fucking rain too.}" Ion slumps further into the chair before sitting up again. Straighter, taller. He props their unconscious brother up against the arm of the couch, tucking pillows in beside the man to cushion him as he makes room for Scramble. "Our mighty dragon they got their own ideas about how this evening gotta go. Like fuck a bath time we rampaging through all the damn island now. /Where/ we hunting at --" Ion's eyes cast briefly around the cabin. "{Anyone's guess.}" Scramble drops down beside Ion, draping a long arm across his shoulders. "So this ain't even about /hunger/, they're just having a fit? That's about right for the age, I guess, but most toddlers don't come with wings and venomous fangs." She glances at the two unmoving bodies, her lips pressing together tightly. "They're out /cold/. Shouldn't be for long, right?" There's a faint waver of doubt in the way she says the last word. Egg licks their lips and edges down slowly along the banister, eyes fixed on Ion and Scramble while they talk. They shake out their wings, mantling them wind care, and makes a might leap into the air, aiming for Scramble's head--or, more accurately, the poofy ball of her afro. "No sé, I think always they hungry. These days like I can't feed them enough of --" Ion's eyes open wider when there's a swooping from above. For a moment he's just tenser, a faint crackle of energy sputtering weakly about his arms -- just for a moment, though. A heartbeat later his hand clamps down on Scramble's knee, and with a painful jarring blackness, a jolting moment of shock, they reappear with a thump against the wall across the room. "Dragonlord, ey, o, nice of you to. Join, Us." Ion hasn't stood up from where he's landed in KIND of a heap beside the television. "What I tell you about hunting on people?" Scramble doesn't have the benefit of seeing her rapidly descending doom. It's only when she's collapsed into a twitchy pile with Ion across the room that her eyes go wide with understanding. "I ain't food, Small Monster," she manages, rolling onto her knees. Aside, to Ion. "Lemme help you wrangle them." She rises, a bit unsteadily, and circles around one side of the couch, cautiously. The gargoyle toddler lands (with a modicum of grace) on the back of the couch. They emit a long series of harsh clicks as if in complaint. 'People keep trying to grab me!' they sign rapidly, one ear rotating to follow Scramble. Shaking their wings out, the look just about ready to leap into the air again. "{That's because you trying to eat them, little friend.}" Ion's Quechua, if calm, sounds a little tired. 'People don't like to be eat. When Sugar bite you did you like that?' He's getting himself up to his knees, hands planting on his thighs. Scramble has stopped, a quarter of the way around the couch. She tilts her head and studies Egg for a moment. 'Maybe,' she has switched to signing, too, 'you don't eat me and I don't grab you. We can get you a bunny, yes?' 'Don't like. But--' Egg's long, pointed ears press back against their bulbous head, and they subside a little. 'But they taste so good,' is kind of /plaintive/.' Scramble's offer meets with big, big eyes with a skeptical light in their depths. 'Don't want bunny,' they insist. 'Don't want bath. Want to go /hunt./' Though these declarations start out calm, they're quickly getting worked up again. 'Don't want bunny don't want bath no no no no no no!' They're still repeating 'no' even as they launch themselves into the air again, wings flailing too erratically in their agitation to sustain proper flight. Landing on the floor again, they scurry with disturbing rapidity toward the stairs. "{You seen what Dusk does? He /asks/ people first. Gets you more friends than hunting them. You can't just --}" Ion pushes out a sharp breath when Egg starts to scurry, slumping back against the wall. He vanishes, reappearing almost at the same instant at the base of the stairs, his hands tipped out toward Egg. "Yo está bien no bath this evening, hm? But tomorrow, though, bath. Tonight we do something else. Will you come a moment sit and talk with me about what we can do tonight?" Scramble bites a corner of her lip, considering. "Dusk had it easier, though. Didn't have to deal with wanting to eat everyone til he was...well, old/er./" She sits down on the arm of the couch, slightly adjusting the head of the passed out brother next to her so he might breathe better. "No bath is a bargain, kid, I been there." This with rather sincere sympathy. Egg skids to a stop, claws scrabbling. They prop themselves up by bracing the long index phalanx of their wings on the floor, freeing their hands to sign. 'No bath tonight,' they repeat cautiously. Staaaares up at Ion. 'Sit talk ok.' Their lanky body coils and then springs up into Ion's arms, claws on all six limbs digging wherever they find purchase on their father's clothing. 'No bath!' comes the stern reminder, one handed. "No bath tonight." Ion's eye scrunches up briefly as sharp needly claws dig into him in the climb, but he just hooks one arm up around Egg, shifting a leg to serve as a better support for the toddler to rest on. "{Maybe you, me, sister-girl here, we find something else to do? What you think? But we can't hunt /people/, okay? That's the deal. No bath, no people hunting.} We hang out we make other fun." His chin has rested, briefly, just atop Egg's fuzzy head. When he presses a small kiss between the child's hornbuds his eyes skim across to the two unconscious Brothers across the room; the tension that curls through his shoulders is brief, as is the small squeeze of his eyes before he lifts his head again to look down at Egg. Scramble hops off the back of the couch. Claps her hand once, rubs them together. "Aight, so how bout we get out some cars?" She's pulling out the appropriate drawer in the toy bin even as she speaks, picking out Egg's favorite vehicles (a heavily modified black Dodge Charger, a Batmobile, and a friendly smiling Sally from 'Cars') "Aaaaand some blocks?" Lifting the whole box of well-loved wooden blocks out of its usual niche and waggling it. Egg considers Ion's offer long and hard, their ears slowly perking up. 'Fun? Go for a ride?' Excitedly now, all thoughts of hunting people evidently forgotten for the moment. They emit a string of low clicks almost like purring, then twist their head around to watch Scramble pick out the toys, the clicking growing louder and more rapid. 'Race let’s have a race we can put up blocks and /crash/ through them yes yes yes!' They unlatch one wing from Ion and flails it in the air as though by so doing they might /propel/ their father closer to the would-be obstacle course. 'Come Dad come have a /race/!'