ArchivedLogs:Got It Bad

Got It Bad
Dramatis Personae Shane, Shelby
In Absentia	2013-06-24 '
Location <NYC> 305 {Teenhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a small living room. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom. Furnishings are more in line with broke students than established adults. Cast-off couches and chairs provide places to sit, and the walls have been decorated in a frequently-changed street art style that combines bright, layered colors with exaggerated proportions and abstract shapes. Unlike /some/ apartments in this building, this one is /not/ filled with the smells of delicious cooking at this hour. Maybe because the official grocery runner is running late! Hopefully no one is starving because Shelby is only /just/ getting off of the elevator, dragging four net bags by their handles along the ground--she lacks the arm strength to actually carry them. But they're tough! They make it to the front door without ripping or spilling, and then over the threshold after she kicks the door in like a boss. Shelby's only barely started working as an apprentice at the tattoo studio and already it's affecting her style. She's got streaks of blues and greens in her hair, a fake ring in one nostril, and is wearing a 40s bomber pin-up t-shirt over a short plaid skirt--she's /totally/ rocking the tattooist vibe, even if no tattoos are actually in evidence. She's also become /really/ loud. Or. Loud...er. "Oh my GOD someone come HELP me carry this shit or I swear I'ma feed it to the strays in the alley!" "S'good for you. Build muscle. Make you strong." Shane is so totally helpful! He even goes so far as to open the door to his bedroom so that he can demonstratively flex a rather unimpressive bicep. "Could just leave it there. Eat it all off the floor. I mean, you know, feeding it to the alley strays still means you have to move it again." He is dressed much more blandly than Shelby, black cargo shorts, a thin ribbed white tank. He leans unhelpfully against the doorframe to at least! /examine/ the bags on the floor. With long assessing looks. "-- We should get a cart. They make things much easier." One is full o' meat! Hams, bacon, a package of ribs, a side of salmon...much of it gleaned from the ON SALE! aisle at the butcher, but hey. The rest is just the usual staples, with the fourth bag holding the mysterious accoutrements of femininity like omg maxi pads and tampons and a few shapeless, wadded bits of cloth that might signal she swung by the second hand clothing store on her way home. This one Shelby lifts up, leaving the others to /sit/. "I could dump it out the window," she reasons, "but yeah. Cart. You should get on that. Or B, he's handy, right? Make him build me a remote control cart. I got you some Slim Jims, they're probably under the coffee." "But!" Shane glances from door across the room to windows, considering this. "To get it to the window you'd have to /carry/ it to the window." Slim Jims is the /magic word/ though that activates his helper mode! Or at least it makes him dart away from the doorframe to pounce on the bags. It's only middling helpful, though, in that rather than picking them up he just drops to his knees to start raccooning /through/ them. "I think that's pretty much what he's doing with himself lately. Maybe not robot carts, I don't know. Robot /somethings/. Did you stab anyone with needles yet?" "Nah, they got me working on learning all the basics. Health regulations, shit like that. It's fucking boring but if I pick it up quick I might get to start tattooing dead pigs!" What a treat! Shelby seems just /thrilled/. She diverts into the bathroom with the bag, returns a moment later sans feminine hygiene products, and just tosses the remaining stuff into her room. /Then/ she comes back to nudge sharkboy out of the way so she can move the perishables into refrigeration. "You're like, the /worst/ roommate. C'mon, I know you're stronger than me," she says with a grin. "/What/, I totally put the seat down." Shane tosses a glance back to the bathroom. There's a half-unwrapped Slim Jim dangling from his teeth as he does; it swings back and forth with the quick motion. He stands when he's nudged, though, and scoops up /all/ the rest of the bags to cart them to the kitchen. But then hoists himself to sit on the counter /next/ to them rather than be useful and help put them away. "What kind of things do dead pigs like in their tattoos anyway? Tattooing deadpig tramp stamps seems -- sort of /extra/ trashy." "Nuh uh, Bastian puts the seat down. And anyway, I put it /up/." Shelby begins stuffing the meat away in fridge and freezer, indicating that /some/ of the stuff is intended to last. For a little while, at least. "Whatever I decide! I guess dead pigs have skin just like humans do? So it's the closest thing to tattooing a person except it kind've smells funny and doesn't wiggle," she explains as she works through the might spoil stuff. Once she gets to the dry goods, she decides she's done--and makes a grab for dangling Slim Jim. Yoink! Shane's teeth clamp down, which really -- only makes the dangling half of Slim Jim easier to snatch; his sharp teeth sever it quickly. "Huh. So it's dead thing art. -- How come it isn't creepy when you're getting paid to do it?" He rummages through the remaining dry goods to get himself a /replacement/ Slim Jim. "... Wait, really? Why do you put it up?" He is /peering/ now at her crotch like maybe he's trying to x-ray her skirt. Aww, man. Shelby's a few steps away before she realizes he's going for what's behind door number two. So much for stealing and keep away. She returns to the counter, pulls herself up onto it beside him. "Dude, you've /seen/ what I got under here," she grouses--but that doesn't prevent her from flipping up the hem of her skirt either. Everything as it should be, beneath! "I leave it up for the dudes. S'only fair, right? Three of you, one of me. How's Daiki, anyway? He's like...keeping his head down lately, huh? He okay? /You/ okay?" "Oh, /after/, I thought you meant /during/ -- It could've /changed/," Shane insists, once he has reassured himself that her plumbing has not, in fact, changed. "I /totally/ know a chick who used to have a dick once -- uh. I wonder if it's harder going the other way, though." He frowns, considering this as he unwraps the snack. "He's always OK. Who'd bother him?" He shrugs, chomping off a bite of Questionable Meat Product. "Gonna beat up Dusk," he informs her almost cheerfully. "Anyone giving /you/ any shit?" "Now you're just making shit up so you win the argument," Shelby accuses, swinging her foot to the side to smack his. She makes quick work of the plundered Slim Jim, chomping away--less impressively, sad but true--and then scrubs her hands on her shirt to wipe off the grease. Or...perfume herself? Mmm, meat grease. "The only dick I want is the kind attached to /other/ people," she assures him before pulling a confused look. "Nah, I don't scan as a freak. /You're/ gonna beat up Dusk? Why?" "Am /so/ not, they've got surgery where they can --" Shane lifts a hand; presumably he is making scissorfingers with his first two fingers, although it loses some of its effect when they're still joined by webbing even when he pulls them apart. "Snip snip and then bam! Chick now. Pretty neat, huh? We're living in the /future/. -- I wonder if that's anyone's ability." This is a little more contemplative. "-- Yeah, they're less fun when they're not attached. B's still got Eric's but it's not hot just really fucking creepy. -- Well, he might beat up me instead. Like the consensual kind -- uhh." His brows pull together in a frown. "OK, not the /hot/ consensual kind. He's coming to our sparring club. -- You're a little freakish, dude," he adds. "Especially when you're angry and then bam! Sudden penisface." So much to respond to! But what Shelby seizes on is sparring club. She stops. She slooooowly turns her head. And she narrows her eyes at him. "...sparring club? Tell me you /aren't/. Seriously. Just...tell me you're bullshitting and I'll forget you ever said that, okay?" "Nope." Shane tears off another bite of Slim Jim. "If there was ever a time everyone needed to know how to /protect/ themselves it is right the hell now." "/Dude/." Shelby is displeased. Luckily, there's no sign of penisface. YET. "If anyone finds out...Jesus, we don't need to give them any /more/ reason to think we're gonna up and /kill/ everyone, Shane. /Jesus/ fucking Christ. You just got /out/ of that bullshit." "What the fuck ever." Shane's tongue run against his teeth. For all the dismissiveness of his tone, there's a tension tightening his muscles, and he's momentarily quieted as his gills flap open. "World of fucking difference between someone shoving me in a /cage/, and /choosing/ to try and make sure it doesn't happen /again/." "Yeah, I get that it's different but damn it..." Shelby pauses in her grumpiness long enough to reach out, to smooth her fingers down over gills to close them. "You know how fucking crazy everyone is out there right now. All it'd take is one nosy person snooping around and suddenly the Bugle's gonna be all, "Mutant Army Training Camps!". Then what? Then they start rounding folks up for /real/ and shipping 'em off." "Shelby, they already /do/ that." Shane lifts the half of a Slim Jim back towards his mouth, but then just lowers his hand to his lap, shoulders sinking downward heavily. He closes his eyes as her fingers run down against his gills. "I /know/ how fucking crazy everyone is out there right now. What are we supposed to do, just sit back and wait patiently /for/ them to come ship us off again?" "You know what I mean, Shane. Not like just snatching folks here and there but like...marching /everyone/ off the way they did back in World War Two." Holy shit, Shelby /did/ learn something in school! Or maybe she's just watched Schindler's List. Probably that. Though the gills have been flattened, she pets his neck again, the rumple in her brow closer to concern than anger. "We shouldn't be waiting for it but...I dunno. Maybe it's 'cause I'm a fucking wuss but it doesn't really...I dunno it's a good idea, dude. Seriously." "It's probably a terrifically shitty idea," Shane agrees. His weight shifts to the side, shoulder bumping up against hers as she continues to pet at his neck. "Like a really terrifically shitty idea, but holy fuck everyone is /really angry/ right now. /I'm/ really angry right now. And you gotta do /something/ or you end up like those fucking idiots who derail goddamn subway trains or murder a /cop/ in the middle of /Central Park/ or bomb /City fucking Hall/. S'not good, being angry and sitting around with your thumbs up your ass." Shelby is quiet for a little while. Petting. Leaning. /Maybe/ thinking, but there's no steam coming out of her ears so who knows. Finally she sighs and says, "I guess as shitty ideas go, it's not really up there with some of the other stuff going on. Me, I'm just smoking up more. S'working so far," she says, trying to inject a note of humor into things. "It's that or jump Hive's bones and he's all noooooo still. Telepaths." Shane loops an arm around Shelby's waist, lightly bonking his head sideways against her temple. "Is hard to stay properly angry while stoned." His lips curl upwards slightly. "-- was getting harder this weekend for me to even score any, though, jesus but I think half the city has the same idea. We should start growing in here, I think demand is skyrocketing. You could just --" Shane considers a moment, "-- think really hard about fucking him a lot while he's sleeping? Then he'll start dreaming about it he's sure to want it even more." "Sucks Jim's gone underground, he'd be perfect. Maybe we can get him to come visit." Shelby returns the bonk with one of her own, then just lets her head rest there against his. "He /wants/ to, I'm pretty sure. He's still scared he's gonna put me in a coma or something though. I kinda wanna work on it but...y'know, it feels kinda dumb? Everything else going on, he lost one've his best friends and I'm thinking about how to get him into bed. We were...we were kind've fooling around. When Ian went off. Y'know?" "Shit, still? Oh man ending sex with a coma would be the /most/ anticlimactic, that doesn't sound appealing at all. He needs to get his brain fixed. More-fixed. Anyway pot grows like weeds, I think we could just get Jim to /start/ it and then check in every once in a while and we could probably handle most of it fine on our own." Shane's mouth curls wider, his grin bright. "-- Too bad we couldn't just make Pa be the light source or we wouldn't even /need/ a bunch of lamps." The grin fades at the thought of Ian. His fingers curl against her hip. "I don't think it's dumb. I mean, shit, what, should you both just swear off fun forever? That sounds really exhausting. He can miss Ian /and/ find things to still enjoy, s'probably healthier /too/." His eyes have been closed but now they open, cutting sideways towards her. "-- and you've been trying to hook up with him a /while/ now." "Five months, twelve days and..." She mimes looking at a nonexistent watch--oh wait, no, there it is. The ink comes slithering up her arm and coils around her wrist until it's watch-shaped. "About an hour. I thought maybe I should like...lay off, y'know? I pushed B pretty hard and it was /nice/ but I dunno, maybe it was too much. And with everything else going on, the last thing he needs is a guilt trip 'cause I'm not gettin' any. It's supposed to be different." Shelby jostles him a little with a shrug, then draws her arms snug around his shoulder again and summons up a grin. "Anyway. Yeah. Figure we could sneak some into the roof garden?" "Jesus, are you serious?" Shane says this at the time count, "Man, you got it bad." His brows furrow. "-- not like you couldn't find a /bunch/ of willing guys if you go hit up a club. You're not, like, holding out for him are you?" This sounds more puzzled than disparaging. "Uhh -- shit I mean yeah we probably /could/. Except it's on the freaking roof that's not exactly hiding. Who do you think'd get in trouble if the cops busted the whole /building's/ garden? Fucking douchebag super, I hope." "Shut up." That's always her go-to when uncomfortable. Shelby shifts, her arm threatening to slide away--before she resorts to a different tactic. Light fingertips tickle the hollow behind his jaw, just above the gills. "What if I am? Like you said, if it gets too bad, I can go roll around with whoever. Hell, I don't even have to go to a club," she says, regaining her grin. "And if the cops bust in here, I think a little pot's gonna be the /least/ of our problems. Bigger problem is people wanting to snag our shit before it's ready." "Maaaan are you fucking kidding have you /met/ our neighbors? That shit'd be gone the second it was planted, I'm surprised everyone in this building who /doesn't/ smoke doesn't just have a contact high all the time." Shane's gills flick open, but only once, closing again afterwards. His head tilts down, briefly pinning her fingers between cheek and shoulder. "-- I don't know, what if you are? Are you into that whole, like, one-person thing?" His awkwardly curious tone on this implies it just might be some /bizarre/ new fetish. "Somewhere else then, like one of those garden places. Then we'd just have to fight off the junkies. Hey, cheating." Shelby squirms her fingers, but without the force needed to escape. More a low-grade, squished sort of tickling. "I dunno...never really tried it, and I've tried /everything/, may as well give it a go, right?" In spite of the who fucking cares tone of voice, all light and airy, she /does/ give her hand a firmer yank once that implication is heard. Followed by hoping down off of the counter and smoothing her skirt down. "He'd have to fuck me for that to work though so.../anyway/. Why're we talking about this? We were talking about you being a dumbass." "MMmmph," Shane squirms his /neck/ which does very little to get away from the squirmytickling because he hasn't yet unpinned her fingers. He drops his shoulder when she yanks, though, unpinning to hopefully free her fingers without the unpleasantness of scraping against his skin. "We /were/ talking about me being a dumbass but I'm a dumbass all the fucking /time/, dude, how often do you -- uh -- what the fuck do I call this anyway?" He finally polishes off the rest of his Slim Jim. "-- Oh holy shit you should get one of those uh -- rings?" His fingers snap together as he tries to recall enough to explicate further. "You know, like. Born-again virgin rings. Promise yourself to /Jesus/. Or Hive whatever. Don't think /that/ motherfucker can grow a beard though. -- But God /is/ supposed to know all your thoughts." "You just called Hive God, dude, you better hope he's not listening in or you're /never/ gonna hear the end of it. Anyway, I don't think you can wear those if you aren't religious, and we sure as /Hell/ aren't getting engaged. I don't think I could pull off the virgin thing if I tried either." Because when Shelby does try, adopting more of a sweet girl posture, it /still/ looks like a dirty girl just playing around. Especially when she pops her knuckle into her mouth to suck on it. Little scrape. Teeny one. ".../anyway/. You'n'Peter engaged yet?" "Do they check? Do you have to recite prayers when you buy them?" Shane looks genuinely curious here. "Pa goes to church /all/ the fucking time I bet I could sit in with him a couple times and then do a /great/ holy-person impersonation." He crumples his empty Slim Jim wrapper into a ball, and tosses it towards the trash can -- kiiiind of ineffectually, it has a /lid/. He frowns at the swingy-door dome lid. "... heavier shit pushes it in," he grumps at the wrapper on the floor. "Yeah, totally! Uh, except I'm marrying Dai too? And Eric if he wants in? So it'll probably be a /long/ engagement, I don't think New York's going to allow poly marriages any time soon. We could move to Utah and lobby for it, but they'd never let /queers/ so --" He shrugs. "I think you could pull it off, you're rocking the plaid skirt already! Just need a cross around your neck, perfect Catholic schoolgirl. "I dunno, my stepdad was an asshole atheist, and I never really fell in with the religious freaks." Shelby also looks genuinely curious, now that she thinks about it. "Maybe your dad'd know, huh? He's pretty holy for a gay mutant." The wrapper? Yeah, she's ignoring that because it's /his/ mess. Instead she makes her way into the living room where she can flop back onto the couch. "So when you guys /do/ get married, I'm like the best girl, right?" "Uhh can I have two? You'll have to fight B for it. Unless I just marry him too. And you. I don't want to /not/ have any of you guys." Shane pushes down to slide off the counter, too. He leaves the wrapper where it /is/ but does start to put away the shelf-groceries. "-- I dunno what his church says about mutants, actually," he muses, "though they pretty much hate fags with a passion. -- I always think of the holy nutjobs being the assholes but I guess assholes come in all kinds of whatevers. Who do we know who's good with brains?" "I think you'll probably be allowed to marry lots've people before you're allowed to marry your own brother," Shelby muses. She is shamelessly relaxing while groceries are put away, folding her hands behind her head and hanging her feet over the arm of the couch. "I'm flattered though...always figured I could turn gay guys onto boobs'n'pussy. Hive? And Lucien too, I guess, if you can put up with stuck up douchebags. Why, you gonna try to fix the church from the top down?" "Oh, shit, right, laws. Scrap the wedding idea, I'm just going to have an orgy," Shane informs her. "Trying to fix /Hive/ from the top down. I mean, he's kind of OK but kind of not, he's been fucked up as hell since the last -- raid thing and I don't think the world's slowed the fuck /down/ long enough to /let/ him be OK for good. But maybe if we can just /shove/ his brain back to healthy he can," He waves a packet of noodles towards Shelby and then tucks it onto a shelf, rearranging some cans to a /different/ shelf where he evidently feels they more appropriately belong. "You know, fuck you. Anyway, who /doesn't/ like boobs. I would play with those all freaking day." "Right, orgy. I'll pencil it in," Shelby quips, snickering to herself. "I...guess Lucien helped him that one time? I dunno what he did but it seemed to help, anyway. It was...kind've weird though. I mean, he used /my/ brain. To compare. I guess he's real messed up in there..." She sits up to look into the kitchen. "Dude, if you can pull it off though, you can play with my boobs whenever you want. Swear to God, even out in public." "I would /so/ take you up on that." Shane makes a little honk-honking motion with his hand, Very Classily. "-- Does that mean Hive is a little bit you now?" He muses this curiously towards the shelves, tucking away the last of the groceries. "In his /brain/? Frith that's terrifying, uh. Can you imagine /you/ as a telepath?" The thought makes him grin brightly. He closes the cabinet door, taking the empty shopping bags to head out of the kitchen and hang them by the front door. Shelby, equally classy, goes ahead and lifts her t-shirt when Shane air-honks. Long distance honks? Either way, he is /flashed/. Then she rights herself, clothing back in place, and hops to her feet. "...that better not be why he's decided he likes me," she says, the idea just occurring to her. Uh oh, worried now! She scowls briefly, then snorts at the idea of having brain powarz. "No one'd be safe. Hey, I'ma run upstairs, see if they need anything, 'kay? Don't eat everything, some of that's for B too." And then she's off, not bothering with putting shoes back on or anything. Why bother?