ArchivedLogs:Evolutionary Reflexes

Evolutionary Reflexes
Dramatis Personae Hive, Isra
In Absentia	2013-10-07 '
Location <XS> Conservatory
Tall panes of glass keep this large indoor garden warm year round. Tended to by the school's groundskeeper, the conservatory is lush with plant life, a carefully cultivated paradise within Xavier's walls. The room serves as a classroom as well; in the center of the garden a ring of seats forms a small circle, a favorite locale for some teachers to hold court. Hive is not an /un/familiar face around the school but he certainly isn't a regular one, either, generally seen frequenting the place often for weeks at a time and then vanishing again for months. He's here today, though, and though he is dressed decidedly casually his attire is sturdier than his usual worn and patched shabby gear; heavy black boots, black cargo pants, a white tank top that at the moment is damp with sweat. He has pilfered a glass of juice from the fridge and is tucked away beneath a lemon tree, legs crooked up towards the ceiling and one hand tucked beneath his head. His other is curled around his glass, which rests on his chest, condensation trickling over his fingers. He might be sleeping, perhaps, from posture, but his eyes are open, glaring up at the tree like he's pissed off at it. Isra's long, gliding step makes her look like a predator hunting amidst the vegetation--or would, if she were not draped in a flowing white linen dress and a massive shawl of soft blue and purple homespun. She pauses by a bench, eyes tracking to Hive even while the rest of her remains still. Then her head tilts slightly to one side. "Good evening, Hive." Her body resumes normal animation and she sits down at one end of the bench, diagonally, so that her tail and wings have room to move. She unwinds the shawl from her shoulders and shrugs off the strap of her laptop bag. "What brings you to campus?" "Fucking Jax," Hive grumbles, not shifting his gaze though his /attention/ -- psionic, if not visual -- focuses on Isra. "Uh. I don't mean /fucking/ Jax that was an adjective. Not a verb. I wouldn't have to come all the way out to gorram Westchester to fuck Jax." He slides the orange juice glass further up his chest, resting its base against skin now instead of shirt. "You wouldn't think it to look at him but he's like a fucking drill sergeant in training, god. Don't go to the DR with him, you'll regret it." Isra folds up the shawl and lays it across her lap. "Noted, though I suspect I could benefit from some drilling." A beat later, a warm flush of embarrassment floods her mind, followed shortly by excitement, the vivid memory of Dusk's body against her, then /more/ embarrassment. The only outwardly manifestation is a slight wrinkling of her brows and a quickening of her tail's idle meandering. "In terms of /physical training,/ I mean, not in the colloquial sense of...aforementioned adjective used as a verb." She withdraws her notebook computer from--and sets it on top of--the bag beside her. "I do not imagine he twisted your arm. To get you to come here, that is." Her tail does not cease twitching, but she wrenches control of her thoughts by main force of will. << My apologies. >> "Yeah? Well, if you /want/ some I am /so/ sure Dusk would be more than happy to --" A thin smile cuts across Hive's face, sharper , but his words cut off when Isra clarifies. "Oh. Hey, that's /pretty/ physical." His eyes droop half-closed; for a moment the surliness slips away from his expression, almost -- /almost/ pleased with the thoughts coming from Isra's mind. "Fuck are you apologizing for, being happy?" His smile has shifted back into a sour grimace. "Never apologize for that." "Why would I apologize for being happy?" Isra's brows lift high, her confusion genuine, if brief. "I can experience happiness without beaming arousal at someone whom I know can--or must?--receive it. Though I suppose you must be rather /used/ to it." << Do you enjoy it? It would be...fine...if you did. >> A faint rosy tint blooms across the gray skin of her cheeks, climbing up onto the points of her ears and the tight skin around the roots of her horns. She ducks her head and pecks at the keyboard without any particular resolve to add to her midterm draft. Her thoughts flit back to Dusk--the warm drape of wings, the sharp touch of claws, the firm pressure of his lips on hers. "I /am/ fond of him." She speaks so softly that the bass echo to her voice is inaudible, making her sound suddenly timid and young. "I don't know I know plenty of people who do." Hive's eyes close the rest of the way. He exhales a sharp snort. "And I know people who guilt-trip other people for /being/ happy so I guess that's why they started apologizing for it." His fingers tense and relax, and tense again against the cool side of his glass. "I am so fucking used to it, oh my god. Riding the gorram subway is like constant brain-porn. People get bored and it's all sex, grocery list, sex, work, sex, sex, sex. Fucking hell." His head shakes, slightly, against the ground. "It doesn't bother me. I --" His brows furrow, at the mental question. "Enjoy it. I don't fucking know. Doesn't turn me on. I like when my friends are happy, though. So yeah. I guess I enjoy it." For a moment he relaxes, breathing slowing as her thoughts shift back to Dusk. "Always kind of interesting," he comments, after a moment, "seeing how /other/ people see him. See each other." There's a small tug at the corner of his mouth. "Though with my roommates I get that a whole fucking lot, actually. Half of everyone through my place wants to fuck Flicker or Dusk. Except with Dusk they actually get to." One eye cracks back open to peer at her. "Yeah, I could tell." Isra smiles, the tips of her fangs showing briefly. "Seeing through another's eyes...I have never excelled at doing that, even metaphorically as most do. It takes practice that I lacked." Faint flashes of a lonely childhood, isolation enforced by pain and terror. "I do not know that I wish to get as good at it as you are, though." Then she goes still again, ears flattened back. "It...does not surprise me that they are popular." Wordlessly, however, she fights her own doubts. What, after all, could he see in /her?/ "I do it whether I want to or not. I think you get more practice when you -- are allowed to have more practice, doesn't sound like you had a lot of chance at that." Hive doesn't sound particularly either sympathetic or /un-/, just bland and straightforward, his eye closing again at those childhood flashes. "Popular, maaan, Dusk is a freaking hobag. Maybe as a counterpart to Flicker, /he's/ saving it for marriage. Dusk is mostly just saving it for, uh, any time he gets bored and needs a break from work." His lips press together, after this. "You serious? He adores you. You're brilliant. You're interesting. What else do you need to be?" "I...I do not know." Isra's looks down. She is listing off plenty of qualities in her head she could be and is not, but when she gets to 'beautiful' she stops and writes the entire line of thought off as ridiculous. "We don't really have much say over who we like, do we?" << Or how many. >> Her long, clawed fingers are picking at the fringe on her shawl. "I do not begrudge him. I may be sheltered, but I am not a /prude./" There is a dull ache in her chest that she ignores with practiced ease, but her wings and shoulders droop a bit. "I had just hoped--or imagined--that I meant more to him than a break from boredom. Besides, we have not even--" << --/had/ sex... >> She is now more perplexed than hurt, and looks up at Hive. "Pretty sure he thinks you're beautiful." Hive's eyebrows raise. He pushes himself upright with a small grunt and wincing protest of muscles, taking a large gulp of his orange juice and then setting it down on the ground beside him. "Wait, you haven't?" He sounds genuinely surprised by this. "I kind of just assume he's boning everyone he knows. Seems to be his habit. Uh." He peers at Isra curiously. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I don't think I've ever seen him hook up with someone he /doesn't/ care about. He's just kind of --" Hive's smile is thin, and wry, but his voice softens with something very like affection. "He has a lot of love. He's just pretty /physical/ with showing it a lot of the time. And you? The way he thinks about you --" He hesitates, here, eying Isra for a long moment. "You know, your mouth's saying one thing but that ache you just grew is saying another. Does it bother you?" "Not /everyone/ he knows, clearly." Isra smiles thinly, but not unkindly. "At least Flicker has an excuse!" 'Funny' had topped the list of qualities she lacked, and she feels foolish for even trying at humor. "It does, but that is only an evolutionary reflex that serves me less than most." Khalida's voice telling her gently she will never have children, as if that should have mattered to her somehow. "We owe each other nothing." The knot of pain in her chest loosens with acceptance, but does not fade away altogether. "In truth, that abundance of passion is one of the things I love most about him. I would not want to tell him how to love anymore than I would tell the stars how to shine." << I still /want/ him, though. >> "Flicker has God, that is a bullshit excuse," Hive says with an amused snort. The smile fades away at Isra's explanation, lips compressing. "Oh. Shit. No fuzzy vampire-gargoyle kids running around, then." /He/ sounds disappointed at this, at least. "/Owe/ each other I don't know if it's a question of owing. People just get expectations. It's pretty normal. You should talk to him. I /know/ he wants /you/. When you're around, he --" Hive grimaces, turning his eyes down to his glass. He takes another quick gulp of orange juice. "Fuck. I just like feeling my friends happy." "Admittedly, that particularly diagnosis happened before the sex hormones." Isra raises one hairless brow ridge. "You do not seriously...ah, what is that word.../ship/ your friends on the basis potential for interesting offspring?" Inevitably, though, /she/ tries to picture tiny sharp-toothed gargoyles as well. Her lack of familiarity with young children is instantly and disturbingly obvious. "Perhaps it is for the best." She rubs the root of one horn, the way some people rub their temples. "I will talk to him, though it seems awfully /forward/ to go from first date to 'why will you not sleep with me.'" Cocking her head at Hive, she leans forward a little. "Thank you." Then, hesitantly, fighting that ever-present urge to disconnect. "I am...happy to call you friend." "Of course I do holy fucking /shit/ have you /seen/ baby bats, cutest goddamn things." Hive is pulling his phone out of his pocket, now, to bring UP a photo. Baby bats all in a row, tucked into little cloth pockets. He stands to tilt the phone towards Isra. "I don't even like kids but I think I'd like /yours/. /If/ they come out like you guys. -- Ehhhh I don't think Dusk would think it's forward, he's usually gotten to sex /before/ any dates. S'possible," he muses, "that he likes you too much, worried about pushing too hard. Too fast. -- Oh fucking /shit/." He's looked back at his phone, now, finally noticing the /time/ on it. "Crap, I should get back to the fucking city the train schedule gets /stupid/ if you wait too long. Dammit. Uh --" He turns a look of /surprise/ on Isra for this last sentence. "Really? That's not a thing I hear much." One closed fist bops down lightly, not on a shoulder but on an upper edge of wing. "You're pretty awesome yourself. See you tomorrow?" Isra blinks at the photo and cocks her head in the other direction. "You do realize we are not actually /bat people/, from a genetic standpoint?" She does, however, find the baby bats adorable enough to allow a fangy smile. "This is...more complex than I gave it credit. I might sit in on Jax's human sexuality class after all." Her wing meets his fist bump, and raises him one quick hug. "Really really. See you tomorrow."