Logs:In Your Head (Zombie)

In Your Head (Zombie)
Dramatis Personae Cyan, Hive, Spencer
In Absentia DJ, Ion	2024-12-29 "Are you like a fungi...kinetic...? Mushroombender."
Location <NYC> Le Sanctuaire, Le Bonne Entente - Astoria, Queens
This café occupies what had been the sanctuary of the old cathedral, and retains some echo of its solemnity without any sense of severity. Two additional levels have been installed in the trefoil footprint, but do not extend all the way to the walls, supported instead by a sturdy steel frame. This gives the impression, as one enters, that the space is fitted with scaffolding and perpetually under renovation--but in a deliberate, beautiful way. The harsh lines of the load-bearing frame are softened by wrought iron fleur-de-lis scrollwork accented in gold. The tables and seating are also of graceful black iron relieved with cushions in red velvet. The long counter is curved along the back wall, and to either side arched doorways lead out into a colonnaded patio in the garden. In one lobe of the trefoil, a square spiral stair ascends to the upper levels, while a platform lift does the same opposite, both balancing utilitarian design with aesthetic sensibility. The most striking addition is the immense stained glass window, masterfully marrying to the neoclassical splendor of the original structure and the Parisian café ambience of the added levels. Its colors are rich yet pellucid, its lines clean and decisive, and its subject decidedly not Christian. The towering figure of Apollo gazes down serene and benevolent, three golden arrows clutched in his right hand and and a golden lyre cradled in his left arm. He's bare to the waist save for a sumptuous red mantle and gold pauldrons, and wears a white skirt overlaid with gold pteruges. He is crowned with a wreath of living green laurel, the great silver bow across his back like the arc of a crescent moon rising across the bright sunburst that halos him. A great serpent encircles the pedestal upon which he stands and lifts its sleek head toward the god in obedience if not adoration, visually recalling the legendary staff he gifted his brother Hermes. It will be raining later. It isn't raining now, though, grey and overcast but stunningly mild for December. The mild weather has not stopped Hive bundling up excessively -- thick soft beanie (crimson with the greek letters Theta and Tau stitched in gold on the front), thick soft sweatshirt (somewhat too big for him; it sports the Xavier's School logo), a huge fluffy blanket wrapped around him. Despite the mild weather, the impending rain is keeping most people off of the patio -- he's got it nearly to himself save for one other occupied table and a couple hopeful pigeons lurking at the periphery. He's been ensconced in a patio chair for a while now, working his way through the latest of several coffees that the staff are keeping flowing for him. There's a glowing holographic set of blueprints pulled up on the table in front of him -- intricate in-progress plans for an extensive arcology, somewhat sci-fi in its ambitious scope; he's adding notes to the plans right now with a stylus, drawing glowing letters in midair. There’s a slight limp in Cyan’s gait as he makes his way across the patio. It’s too warm for him, his many layers making him feel excessively sweaty as he crinkles down on a chair, twisting his neck to get a satisfying pop out of one of his joints. For once his hoodie is not pulled up, leaving his hair free to reenact the silhouette of a family of meerkats on watch. He’s also left his scarfs behind, wrapping his face in two layers of very warm-looking face masks. The only specks of colour in his appearance being his greyish skin, the streaks of green-blue that flutters across where his skin is visible and a pair of hot pink fluffy gloves that aren’t nearly as warm as they look. His thoughts do not come in images, rather a cacophony of voices never entirely getting to the point. Frogs were the first creatures to develop vocal chords. Fuck my foot hurts. Keep your head down. If you need to run this is the path you take <overly complicated mental map>, if I ran naked through Times Square how many people would go insane? I wonder if you can actually eat a pencil? I should contact the Couch to see if I can crash there before I got to leave and not postpone it until after, fuck I shouldn’t drink coffee but it’s SO good. I wonder if I DO smell minty? Spence is walking -- not teleporting -- out onto the patio with his somewhat extensive lunch and a big cup of something that's hopefully not too caffeinated. He's wearing a red corduroy shirt jacket open over a black shirt with a red circle-aleph symbol on the chest, well-worn blue jeans, and red sneakers; the kippah pinned to his slightly tousled hair is embroidered with a red-on-black Rebel Alliance starbird. His thoughts are vague and scattered, a quick review of the day's itinerary almost sidetracked by << right, I left my Switch at Gaé's should I go get that -- >> and << -- wow it's warm I don't even need this jacket -- >> and << -- wanted to invite Harm over for dinner keep forgetting -- >> and << ooh that person has pretty colors! -- >> When he spots Hive he brightens and -- -- just appears at his table. "Hey! Sorry I know you're working but I won't bother you and --" << -- okay but I probably will though (but I never see him anymore) slow down slow down psionic defenses go! >> The latest rendition of his psionic defenses consists of Hashkiveinu sung softly in an endless round, which doesn't really cover his flitting disorganized thoughts but is, at least, kind of pleasant and relaxing in itself. Hive's eyes were scrunching up even before Spencer's appearance. He's slouching down lower into his blanket, his knobbly calloused fingers gripping tight at his stylus. One of his eyes has squeezed fully shut, the other only a thin slit through which he is glowering at his work. Spencer's sudden presence does not help this -- his shoulders go up around his ears, teeth starting to grind. They don't grind for long, because he's speaking up. Not to Spencer, voice pitched past the teenager to ask a little more crabbily than he ought considering Cyan has said nothing at all: "-- why the fuck would you eat a pencil." He reluctantly opens his other eye further so that he can glare at Spence and demand, in an extremely aggrieved kids-these-days tone: "Is that a thing now?" Cyan jerks up, looking around <<--was that for me?>> “Erhm...” he turns to them, his head slightly crooked to one side. <<--mushrooms are genetically more similar to humans than they are to plants, why would you eat a pencil? -->> “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” <<-- you’re being weird, doesn’t matter, act polite, no need to aggro, is that a Star Wars kippuh?-- >> there’s suddenly music, the Pas de Deux from Don Quixote playing loudly in his brain as his entire body itches to move and he fixes Hive with a look of suspicion <<--did I say the quiet bit out loud again?-->> "Why would you eat a pencil?" Spence is wondering aloud at the same time Cyan is wondering it silently. "I mean that definitely wasn't a thing last I checked? But things can trend pretty fast and I'm not like, the most online." As he sets his tray down on the table he's reaching for his phone to look into this alleged Pencil Challenge, but he hasn't even unlocked the screen yet when he turns to look at the person Hive's addressing. "Oh hey you have really cool --" << -- wait no don't say it what if they're self conscious about the trippy colors -- >> "-- gloves! They look so soft and cozy!" << (great save keep it up) >> "How the fuck should I know." Hive's grumble seems to suggest that both these youngsters are personally responsible for his current state of befuddlement. He digs his knuckles in against his eye, rubbing there hard. "You were the one asking about it. -- no, you didn't say shit, your brain is very loud." “Thanks, they’re uh...” Cyan looks to his gloves as if it’s the first time he’s seeing them “-a Christmas present!” The little wrinkles around his eyes betray a short warm smile, in his mind there’s a sudden flash of a man that seems to be an amalgamation of a biker, Santa, a mad scientist and a pirate, with the distinct feeling of warm soup lingering about it. “Brain...?” he pauses, << what do you mean my brain is loud, I know my brain is loud, I can’t get the damn thing to shut up, but you should not know that--PSIONICS-- >> the last word is the mental equivalent of a loud shout. <<--okay chill, don’t think about anything -->> There’s a pause, Cyan’s dilated pupils making him look slightly like a deer caught in headlights. <<-- wood frogs use glucose as anti-freeze so they don’t die during winter in arctic environments, mushrooms can create their own airflow in order to spread spores, is my mind being read right now? Wait pencils?-->> there’s a visceral feeling of biting into wood splinters and dry paint radiating off his thoughts, quickly shut down but even more Certified Frog Facts. “I don’t think the Pencil Challenge is a thing, sounds unpleasant.” "He means --" Spence is starting to say, a little defensively, then feels badly for being uncharitable. << Not everyone is lucky enough to have so many mutants in their life, maybe they've never even met a telepath! >> "He overheard you thinking about eating a pencil. Which does sound unpleasant. But I mean I think about stuff I'm not going to do like. All the time. So." He's not sure where he was going with that, and kind of just dithers awkwardly. "Kshhh," sounds also very aggrieved, eyes squeezing shut as if they could shut out the image of Biker Santa (it does not help). "That guy." Hive's shoulders are still tight around his ears. "Trust me, I wouldn't be listening if I could help it, you think I like hearing every random bullshit-ass --" Though somewhere mid-grumble he's easing up on the scrunch of his shoulders, sitting up a little straighter. "Wait, what the fuck? What are mushrooms even, that sounds fake. Like, a mushroom-goddamn-airbender?" This is still grumbly, but there's a very different caliber to the grouching, now, like how dare they be That Cool. By now Cyan has moved over to their table, with slow careful steps, being very careful about putting too much weight on his left foot. He still makes sure to keep an especially safe distance to Hive, as his eyes fixate on Spence, trying to figure out what his whole deal is. “I wasn’t thinking about eating a pencil, I was just thinking if you could.” This comes out a little defensively, as if he’s been accused of something he hasn’t done. <<--be careful...-->> one of his inner voices grabs more focus than the others, a sort of defensive yet dangerous sense of warning to it. <<--psionics don’t do well with you, don’t you fuck dare forget-->> Cyan pulls out another face mask from one of his pockets, carefully putting it on top of his two already existing layers. A flash of images rapidly cycle through his mind. A girl in a bright red dress jumping off a rooftop, another girl in lab scrubs repeatedly bashing her head against a wall. A line of living bodies with empty, soulless eyes. “No, for real mushrooms can create their own airflow.” <<--wait does this mean I can talk about mushrooms?-->> he pulls over an empty chair and sits down with them, his right foot drumming rapidly against the ground. “They do it via water vapors, like, chilling down moisture in the air so it falls down as rain which is cold then heating that up so the air rises and thus mushroom winds!” Spence breaks into a bright grin first at Hive's comment and then Cyan's explanation. "Whaaaaat!" This is less a question than an exclamation of gleeful interest. << Wow that's so cool! >> he thinks, only a split second before saying, "Wow that's so cool!" He finally pulls out the chair he's been standing behind, but cannot be fussed to step around it and instead blips -- -- hardly a couple of feet forward to drop himself down directly down into the seat. The extremely short-distance teleportation looks like a rendering glitch in reality. "Oh my gosh how do they change temperature like that much much rain and wind can they make if you have a whole bunch of mushrooms can you make a mushroom storm?!" "-- Chhhhfuck, labrats really coming out the fucking woodwork these days. You gonna zombify us?" Hive bats irritably at the glowing blueprints in front of him -- maybe this was meant to minimize them, but his hands are shaky, his aim off, and all he does is set the entire image briefly to spinning. He gives up on this, instead pulling up a browser, his blueprints shrinking down as the browser opens. He is looking up mushrooms create airflow and grimacing at the article he pulls up in response. "Holy shit. Mushroom goddamn wizardry. The fuck else can these things do?" Cyan blinks for a moment, staring hard at where Spence was and then at where he is. <<--Am I high or did he just teleport-->> There’s a brief mental image of commando clad men repelling off rooftops, a man in khakis suddenly turning into an odd person-shaped flickering blur. “I don’t think they’re big enough to make a storm exactly, it’s just to spread their spores and those things are really light-weight.” “Wha? Fuck no!” There’s hurt in his voice as Cyan responds to Hive, something that’s reflected in how he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning away from Hive. <<--fucking psionics this is the problem you try to calm them down and they read your fucking thoughts and scare themselves and you can’t even blame them cause they can’t help it goddamn little shits-->> For a moment there’s a hint of something painful there, an abyss seeking to swallow up everthing before it’s quickly and purposedly drowned out by Dance of the Willis from Giselle -- merry classical music -- blasting at full volume through Cyan’s brain. Taking a brief moment, Cyan seems to calm himself, rubbing his hands before putting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, still at a safe distance. “Mushrooms are really just the fruit of fungi, and fungi also allows trees to kind of talk to each other. Like, that’s what their mycelium network is all about, sharing nutrients and communicating. Only they can also let trees tap into that." Spence looks briefly even more excited at the mention of being zombified, then quickly rethinks this and puts on a very severe frown about it, until Cyan confirms otherwise. "Oh yeah I read about mycelium!" His excitement is inwardly overlaid with a half-remembered exposition-dump from Sense8 about psycellium. "I didn't know they have trees all hooked up in there, too! That's so awesome!" He's peering out at the trees dotting the hotel grounds as if expecting to see the fungal network linking them together. "We have this mutant plant at my school that's zombifying all the plants, I bet a mutant mushroom could like out-zombie it. Are you like a fungi...kinetic...? Mushroombender." For just a moment, there is an odd squeezing pressure at Cyan's head, like a terrible headache about to come on. It's gone again soon. "-- fuck you, too." The next bat of Hive's hand is harder -- this time it actually does collapse the holographic image, and immediately after he scoops the compact projector it was coming from into his pocket. He is shaky as he stands -- his first fumbling reach for his cane sends it toppling it to the floor. He does not bother to pick it up. Just picks up his coffee hastily, claps a hand to Spencer's shoulder. "Gimme a lift?" To his room, presumably; he doesn't specify, but there's a strong urgency in his voice. Cyan looks at Spence like he’s studying a small but adorable alien <<--oh boy this kid is really...something-->> but he does laugh at the suggestion he might be a mushroombender. “Nah, not so much mushrooms as...” <<--How do I explain this to a teenager without him wanting to try it out?-->> “I’m highly poisonous to touch. I just like mushrooms, they’re kind of neat.” <<--fuck I wish I was a mushroom bender, better that then this fucking curse-->> He winces at Hive’s squeeze, giving him an annoyed look, but not saying anything. <<--fucking amateur, you want to go you come over here and give me a hug, I’ll have you forget all about being a sourpuss in seconds-->> there’s a brief mental image again, this time of an old lady’s shivering hands calming down, a blissful look on her face as she leans back and relaxes for the first time in years. He leans back, looking nowhere in particular, but specifically not looking at Hive. In his mind Giselle is dancing, facing off against the vengeful spirits of the ballet as the drums grow ever louder. "I'm sorry, that sounds really tough." Spence's eyes go very wide, and he sounds extremely sincere. "Mushrooms are pretty neat, though." His eyes bounce back and forth between the two others as he mentally scrambles to figure out what had upset Hive before he abandons it in favor of worrying about the magnitude of this reaction. << Oh no oh no we made it worse I should not have gotten so excited. >> He touches the edge of his lunch tray, which disappears with everything on it. "Thanks for the mushroom facts, you seem like a fun guy I hope you have a nice day and a happy..." Something in him twinges hard when his reflexive check on whether it's New Year's Eve yet reminds him of the actual date. "...New Year." He scoops up Hive's cane and they both abruptly vanish.