ArchivedLogs:200 Miles to Cambridge

200 Miles to Cambridge
Dramatis Personae B, Isra, Shane
In Absentia	2015-03-22 "So I'm thinking /lots/ of weekend trips."
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Space Station - Lower East Side
The soft grass and paved walkways of the courtyard give way to rubberized flooring in black and blue tiled squares, marking out the boundaries of the playground. The equipment that stands on the softer flooring is brightly-coloured, a definitive space theme going on. To one side a tall rocketship takes the place of a more traditional castle, handholds on one side to climb up to the inside and a tall sliding pole and wavy long slide on the other sides to get back down; its inside holds an abundance of platforms and nooks for climbing and hiding. The rocketship-castle is connected to a twin one by a swaying bridge and a set of monkeybars or, in a more roundabout fashion, a series of tunnels to climb through; on the other side, the ship is a tall climbing structure composed of cross-crossed beams and netting. Separate from the elaborate climbing structure, a swingset holds two side-by-side pairs of swings, and over to another side a large sandbox has a retractable cover to roll up over it when not in use. Someone has neglected to tell the /weather/ it is spring, really -- it's not snowing anymore, at least, but that hasn't stopped the nights from being freezing cold and the days from being not /much/ warmer. Still, it's -- /sunny/, that's something, anyway. Not a lot of something. But something. Over on one of the higher-up platforms of the otherwise-deserted playground is a tinyshark, currently setting out an eclectic spread of LUNCH. Some leftover heavily spicy meatloaf, lemongrass pork, a small pile of raw shrimp, a a bowl of rice, some sort of sauce in a small dish. Chopped up garlic. Dressed in Oxfords, neat-pressed slacks, a dress shirt, a brand-new sleeveless leather vest with large skull-and-crossbones patches on it, Shane is setting FOODS out on a blanket. B is making hir way over to the playground from the gardens-turned-winter-greenhouse, a small fistful of scallions in hand as ze clambers up onto the structure. Ze is brighter-dressed -- purple galaxy-print leggings with silver and black legwarmers, stompy boots, a black velvet skirt, pink-and-purple sweater, silver-and-black denim jacket. Similarly new leather vest on over top, though. Hir claws extend as ze drops down onto the platform, and ze uses them to shred the fresh-picked scallions into the bowl of rice. Launching from a Geekhaus balcony like some massive bird of prey, Isra glides in a broad, lazy arc over the Commons. Her shadow on the ground turns follows B, expanding dramatically as she nears the spaceship. She backwings hard to break her descent, hovering near the platform momentarily. "Mind if I join you?" This with a quick-crooked grin, as she could easily take up most of the platform all by herself. Though marred by some healing wounds from Fight Club, her skin remains a spring-y lavender striped with iridescent silver, the latter color solid on her wing membranes. She wears layered handkerchief skirts and a long-sleeved wrap tunic of her own design, both royal purple. She also has a tough leather backpack across her torso, two long black ears protruding from a mess of blankets at its opening. "Did you know you have a goblin in your backpack?" Shane skewers one of the large shrimp on a claw, holding his hand up to offer the shrimp to Isra. B continues slicing the scallions, mixing them into the rice once she's done. "Have you had lunch? We're lunching." "Ion made the meatcake," Shane explains with a gesture towards the meatloaf. "It's goddamn delicious." "I noticed, somehow." Isra alights with surprising delicacy for so large a creature and plucks the shrimp from Shane's claw to pop into her mouth. Settling her wings close to her back, she folds herself down to sit at the edge of the platform. "Thank you. I've had lunch, but I will never turn down second lunch. Or...meatcake?" Eridani stirs and makes a few faint, drowsy clicks, burying their face deeper in the blanket. "Happy birthday, belatedly, and congratulations." Then, with a brighter, fangier grin. "Should we expect shark-bikes on the streets in short order?" B turns around, displaying the back of hir vest to Isra with its scowling shark-toothed scull, its fencing foils in place of crossbows. Shane just scoots to one side, settling in face-down on the blanket. The back of /his/ vest is grinning bright and toothy, a violin and bow crossed behind the skull. "There were sparklers." He's mixing pork into the rice and scallions, drizzling sauce overit all. He sets it in the center of the spread, propping himself up on his elbows. "Soon enough." B's smile is quick. "Pa was teaching us to drive but like. Cars. You need a whole separate --" "-- /need/ is a strong word," Shane cuts in. "Ion doesn't even have any kind of license." "Very good." Isra looks from one twin to the other; her fond smile might have more to do with /their/ happiness than any personal appreciation of artwork on leather, but as always she gives little indication. She does, however, partly unfold one wing over each shark and gather them close. The iridescent membranes glitter bright in the sunlight. "You may not /need/ a license to physically operate a motorcycle as such, but you do need training. Also, you do realize that you will likely get pulled over with far greater frequency than Ion, if for no other reason than your size." "Plus, you know --" B turns up a hand, fingers spreading and claws stretching out. She nestles back against the wing, reaching out to skewer a chunk of meatloaf. Shane plucks up a pair of chopsticks for himself. "No other reason." His teeth are bared, grin broadly amused. "Anyway if B finishes hir hoverbikes it'll be sharkbikes /over/ the streets." B blushes, head dipping. Then bonking up lightly against Isra's shoulder. "... you have a good vacation?" "I hope that you will be wearing enough in the way of helmets and protective clothing to obviate most other reasons." For all that, Isra says this without any hint of admonishment. "Hoverbikes will probably make your size and blueness of less concern to the cops, while they busy themselves losing their minds over the /hovering/ part of the equation." She slices off a bit of meatloaf with the talon on her index finger. "I did, despite the roller-coaster weather." Her wings squeeze down gently on each twin. "And how did you like your break? Not much of an actual break, I imagine." 'Helmets,' mouths Shane, like this thought is a revelation to him. "We'll be okay till they make hover-cruisers." B nibbles on her meatloaf, curling her legs up beneath herself. "Shane just worked mostly straight through break." "And yet still better than school." Shane rolls over onto his back, folding one arm below his head. His other reaches out to skewer a pair of shrimp on his claws. "Do you think the Omelette is going to have their own tiny little kutte?" "Tiny little hoverbike." B whooshes a hand through the air. "How long before they actually fly?" Shane tips his head over to the side to look at Isra. "Hey how far can /you/ fly? Like. At once?" "I thought as much, on both counts." Isra scritches Shane's head absently and, picking up another shrimp. "If how they react to other clothing serves as any indication, they would just try to /eat/ it." On cue, the gargoyle baby tilts their head back to snuffle at the shrimp in her hand, huge eyes squeezed shut against the sun. "They can't even really crawl yet, so it's hard to estimate learning to fly. Also, I probably should not feed them raw shellfish." The shrimp goes into her mouth, much to Eridani's evident displeasure, accompanied by grumpy clicking. "Usually, when Dusk and I go on trips, we stop regularly." She tilts her head and stares off at a corner of the playground, thoughtful. "I have flown 100 miles without a break at least once--from my parents' house in Ithaca, nearly 200 miles in all, and in a cold rain. In good weather, with water and snacks on me and little else to weigh me down? I expect I could go much further." "Oh, good." Shane perks up, at this. "It's only like two hundred miles to Cambridge." B's cheeks just flush dark at this, hir head dipping in a small bow. Isra goes still, the twitching of her tail against the side of the platform plainly audible. "Cambridge," she echoes, both vocal chords engaged so that it sounds like two people speaking at once, one alto and one bass. "MIT." This last without the least note of questioning. She scoops B up bodily in one wing and kisses hir on the forehead. "Congratulations, dear. I knew you would get in. I knew it!" B's gills flutter rapidly, a small rumbling purr in her throat. "Caltech and Georgia Tech said yes this weekend too. But. MIT's the only one that matters." Shane chomps down a shrimp, his own gills fluttering once quickly as well. "So I'm thinking /lots/ of weekend trips." B doesn't bother getting back /down/ once she's been scooped. She clambers up to take a perch on Isra's shoulder, half propped against her wing. "I hear there's some pretty good hunting in western Mass, too." Shane is licking one fingertip clean. "Can we visit /that/ part?" "Absolutely brilliant, though not in the least surprising." The long phalanges of Isra's wings quiver faintly, and she stretches them out. "Certainly we will visit often. The trip would not take so long even by car--or by motorcycle." The last with a quick-sharp grin at Shane. "If I fly, though, I will /need/ to do some hunting before and after. Or order simply /absurd/ amounts of delivery." She bumps B lightly with the curve of one glittery silver horn. "I'm so proud of you." B's gills still flutter. The quiet purring rumble continues. She curls an arm loosely around Isra's head, teeth clamping in against the glittery horn to gnaw on it with a crrrrrking scrape of teeth on bone. The flutter of Shane's gills settles, though a similar purr is rising in him. He scoots in to nestle closer to Isra's side, plucking up the bowl of rice and pork to chomp at it. "They /probably/ have delivery in Cambridge." He sounds a /little/ skeptical. Little bit. Isra curls her wing tighter around Shane. "Probably some of it even edible. It's a college town, so the businesses surely cater to enormous appetites at odd hours." She unzips a side pocket of the Egg-toting backpack and fishes out a moist wipe for her hands. "Before I forget, though..." She unzips a pocket on the other side and pulls out a flattish rectangular box of heavy dark blue cardboard. It has no wrapping paper, but a bright silver ribbon holds it shut, bearing a tag that reads 'To S & B, many happy returns' in Isra's elaborate cursive. Shane's eyes widen in some surprise, gills briefly opening again. B doesn't actually /stop/ gnawing on Isra, but she does stretch downward to yoink the box up by its ribbon and untie it. She drapes the ribbon loosely around Isra's horn. Shane scrambles straight /up/ Isra to perch on her other shoulder, peering over her head so that he can examine the contents of The Box as his twin opens it. Lifting the lid of the box reveals two bright silver cuff bracelets nestled in a bed of sky blue satin. Identical in design, they look like sleek, stylized sharks circling. "You can adjust them quite a bit, but even so, they might fit better on your upper arms than wrists." Isra picks out a piece of pork from Shane's bowl. "If you do not find them to your liking, though, I can find you something else." Shane's purring grows deeper. He doesn't put on the bracelet, though -- at least, not onto /himself/. He tucks it onto Isra's horn, sliding it down to the base. B /has/ been immediately sliping hers onto her wrist, but giggles at this. She leaves off her gnawing so that she can do the same on the other. "No," she tells Isra, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of Isra's head. "They're totally perfect." "Sharkgoyle," Shane proclaims, claws scritching down against Isra's horn. "Fantastic."