ArchivedLogs:A Friendly Face

A Friendly Face
Dramatis Personae Micah, Shane, Sebastian, Chelsea
In Absentia	5 March 2014 Transform and roll out! (Only because of the last line... I'm /so/ sorry.) (Takes place soon after fighting.)
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- 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 living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. 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. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. It is a little past dinnertime, late enough that dishes have found their way into the drying rack after a good washing-up, but early enough that the apartment still smells of cooking spices. And also vanilla, as Micah has just settled onto the couch with a cup of vanilla tea doctored with agave and almond milk. His auburn hair is tousled, outfit speckled in tiny damp spots from dishwashing, though his Batsignal hoodie-faded bluejeans-Totoro face tee shirt is nothing special to be worrying over. Still too hot to drink, the green earthenware mug meets a coaster on the table before Micah retrieves his knitting from where it was tucked up beneath. He pulls out a pile of yarn and needles that resolves into a three-quarters completed baby blanket in a Bedtime Bear theme, giving it an appraising look before resuming where he had last left off. Vacation has started for the twins as of this afternoon -- /presumably/ celebration is what has kept them away from home until now. Presumably. The door is certainly opening with a bang, anyway, a loud /rattle/ of keys in the lock, a thumping slam to open it. "/Ba/." Shane is through the door first, rather wide-eyed beneath the brim of his top hat. He kicks off his shoes hastily by the door, scurrying over towards the couch. "{-- Um Ba I think we have a /problem/ something kind of went a little fucked up and I don't know how to fix it --}" His Vietnamese spills out in a rapid /rush/, his tone edged and kind of panicky. Behind him, a second teenager is -- kind of not-really-entering. Lingering uncertainly in the doorway, in Chelsea's blouse and Sebastian's coat (sleeves now far too short on longer arms) and cargo pants. A taller older version of Chelsea -- perhaps a sister? Dark-skinned, dark-eyed, dark-haired, hanging back in the entryway and staring down at her boots. Sebastian's boots. Stooping a little awkwardly to slowly fumble at the laces. Chelsea 1.0 is close behind, waiting out in the hall for her friend to enter. She puts a gentle hand on the taller person's back and says quietly, "C'mon B, it's gonna be ok…" Chelsea doesn't really sound convinced, but she's thirteen and she's /trying/. She's wearing a black tank top with a big rip in the side revealing a portion of her ribs. She also has on white jeans and a puffy white jacket, though both are smeared where blood has been wiped off - kind of hard to hide on white though. And the knitting gets shoved right back into its bag with the loud-distressed sounds at the door. Micah is already on his feet by the time Shane makes it to the couch. “Shane. Shane, I don't speak Vietnamese. Slow down an'...English if y'want me t'understand.” It takes him a moment to even register another person entering, fixed on Shane with his hands resting on the teen's shoulders. His head tilts slightly, not giving much attention to detail. “Chelsea? What's wrong?” Then there is /another/ Chelsea. With blood. His eyes widen at that little detail. “Oh/gosh/, tell me y'all didn't bite a limb offa her an' now she's bleedin' out. Do we need an ambulance?” He releases Shane to go to actual-Chelsea, moving to lead her to the couch so that he can inspect the wound. "Mmngh," Shane screws up his eyes in brief frustration, gills rippling along the sides of his neck. It takes a moment before they lie still and flat; he draws in a slow deliberate breath, finally trying again. In English this time: "She's /fine/, Ba, she heals like -- like fucking /Eric/ heals. Faster even. The blood's old and I think some of it's B's anyway." Bastian, for his part, is still silent. He leans back into Chelsea's touch, eyes welling up with tears again as he looks at Micah. He finishes pulling off his boots and then quietly just slips past when Micah starts escorting real!Chelsea inside, sneaking off towards his bedroom. "/Ngh/ --" Shane claps a hand to his forehead, dragging it down to dig the heel of his hand against his eye. "/B/ come /here/." "No no," Chelsea says, shaking her head when Micah comes near. "I'm ok. It's just…" She nods at Shane, and then Sebastian. "It's what Shane said. We were fighting. And then B started healing real fast. And then… this happened." Chelsea starts crying too, tears streaming quietly down her face. "I infected him or something… It's my fault. I'm so sorry." Micah's hands tighten into fists and then loosen again, not clear what to do if injury wasn't the issue. “Everybody inside an'...go sit on the couch.” He ushers them in, pulling the door closed and locking it. “Why were y'all fightin'? You /got/ a fight club set up where there's /safeguards/ in place. An' really y'should get her dad's permission for her t'do that. Where were you all? This kinda thing's dangerous, even /with/ healing abilities.” His brows furrow, eyes narrowing at the not-quite-Chelsea. “An' who is...?” He gestures at the not-quite-Chelsea as opposed to completing the question. “Why d'you keep callin' her B? Apologies...I'm more'n a little lost here.” Both hands reach for his forehead, resting there briefly before shoving up through his hair. “Who's infected with what?” "It was like a -- pre-fight-club. Fight. Club," Shane explains with a small frown. "We were showing her where fight club is and just showing her some -- basics so on Friday she can come and --" He shakes his head quickly, heading over to drop down heavily onto the couch. "Anyway she was fighting B --" His hand gestures to the taller girl. "And I guess her blood got in him and --" Sebastian has stopped en route to his bedroom; he turns at the instruction to go sit on the couch, head bowing. Curly hair falls down in a small poof around his face. Slowly, he walks back to the couch -- a little stiff, a little ungainly, like he's still not quite /used/ to these limbs. He folds himself awkwardly onto the edge of the couch, resting his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry, Ba, I --" His eyes fix on his hands, voice shaky. "I don't know how --" "/He's/ infected," Shane explains, pointing to Sebastian. And then to Chelsea. "With /her/." Chelsea sniffs and takes a breath still shuddery with tears, but follows directions and sits on the floor in front of the couch with Sebastian behind her. She reaches up to take his hand, and turns to listen to Shane's explanation. Her voice is shaky too when she looks up at Micah, not quite able to hold eye contact with him. "/This/ is Sebastian," she says, squeezing the hand that looks so much like her own. “Basics shouldn't involve /blood/, guys. What if one of you really got hurt?” Micah has already drawn in a breath for the next sentence, but it cuts off with a sharp snap of teeth on teeth as his mouth closes, eyes widening. “...is 'Bastian?” he repeats a little uncertainly. “How does that? I don't even know... You all were fightin'. An' Chelsea hurt B. An' B hurt Chelsea. An' they got blood all over each other. An' then Chelsea healed fast. An' B healed faster'n usual... An' just...suddenly looked dif'rent?” he tries to summarise, all of the statements having more air of question about them. “Honey, no. Nobody needs t'be cryin'. An' not apologisin' for /this/ part, anyhow. Maybe for the runnin' off an' gettin' into fights unsupervised. But not...for whatever this is. It was an accident. Are you /okay/, B? D'you feel alright, physically?” "I mean B kind of had his hand inside her so there might have been a /lot/ of, uh. Blood. In him. I think her rib sort of got stuck in his arm," Shane admits, pensive as he thinks back over this. "And well -- no it wasn't. Exactly /sudden/ or -- I guess it was quick but it was more like he started -- changing?" He frowns uncertainly, glancing over to his twin for confirmation. "My /teeth/ all fell out." Sebastian slips his hand into Chelsea's, squeezing back tight. "It /hurt/, I could feel my /bones/ changing and my /jaw/ and my /lungs/ and everything it felt /horrible/." He turns his head down to wipe tears away against his shoulder. "... but I feel fine now," he admits. His dark cheeks color faintly darker as he mumbles a lot quieter: "Maybe better than fine." "Well you are like a Chelsea-clone I mean she heals like a /motherfucker/ you're probably healthier than you've ever been." Shane shrugs, and pulls his knees up towards his chest, arms wrapping around them to hug himself tight. "I just don't. Is B just going to always be Chelsea now what the fuck do we /do/ this wasn't supposed to happen." Chelsea clenches her jaw to hold back the tears and rubs at her eyes to wipe them clear. She nods along with Micah's synopsis, and takes another breath when he reassures her. She's finally stopped crying for now, at least. She nods at Shane's explanation and adds, "We watched him change… like, /right/ in front of us." She winces when Sebastian describes his experience, with the teeth and the bones and everything, but she doesn't let go of his hand, holding it tight, and even hugging it to the side of her cheek briefly. When Shane asks about permanency she visibly pales and sags against the front of the couch, barely hanging on to B's hand. "Oh god… oh shit. What /do/ we do…" Micah's face pales at the descriptions of hands in chests and ribs in arms, his gaze briefly sharper with clear disapproval. His features immediately soften at 'Bastian's description of the traumatic transformation. “Oh honey, that sounds...terrible.” He moves in to hug the boy lightly around his shoulders, as if a firmer hug might hurt him. “But feelin' stable now is good. Don't know...if that'll last or not. If this is permanent or if it'll fade once the traces of her blood an' tissue are out of your system. Or...if they /are/ your system now. You already look dif'rent than Chelsea...older, taller. Don't know what that means. We're gonna go see Hank about it, let 'im run some tests. Try t'minimise any other...surprises.” Micah is already fetching his messenger bag, stuffing the knitting bag in it, gathering a few other items. “We're /all/ gettin' in the van an' goin' down. Shane, you're gonna call ahead t'Hank an' tell 'im what happened. Chelsea, you're gonna call your father an'...try t'do the same. We'll get this sorted.” "Well, B's sixteen. It might just mean that B's -- sixteen." Shane shrugs, tightening his arms further around his shins and digging his chin down against his knees. "So do you think you're just going to look like this when you're sixteen?" Sebastian looks down at Chelsea's face, considering. His head tips in against Micah's shoulder through the hug, an exhausted slump to his posture. "It was pretty horrible. Or it /looked/ pretty horrible." Shane shudders. "He just /spat/ out a mouthful of teeth and his bones were creaking it was fucking gross. Uh. Do you think Pa's gonna freak?" Sebastian sinks further down when Micah moves to fetch his things, posture slouching forward over his knees. His knuckles press in against Chelsea's cheek, and he swallows slowly. "I don't -- have to go live with Chelsea's dad now do I?" Chelsea nods when Micah talks about heading out to see Hank, but then pales when he says she has to call her dad. She sighs, sags, and nods. “Ok Micah, I’ll call him when we’re on the road, ok?” She looks at Shane briefly, and then up at Sebastian. “I dunno, I didn’t think of that. I mean, you look like me, but you’re taller, and…” She blushes and can’t stop herself from glancing at the blouse she loaned Sebastian. “And you got those…” It was as if she was trying to stop herself from saying it the whole time, but it all just tumbled out. Apparently it’s been on the thirteen-year old’s mind that B’s figure is more filled out than her own. But then in a surprising moment of maturity and clarity, Chelsea shakes her head. “No, B. You don’t have to come live with us. I mean, you /could/ if you needed to. But you’re not /me/. You’re… /you/, you know? You’ll always be you. It doesn’t matter if you get my skin or your old skin. You’re beautiful no matter what.” She reaches up to press her palm to his cheek this time. Briefly, Micah pauses to fire off a text to Liam to make sure that Spencer is taken care of, not certain when everyone will be getting back home tonight. “We'll call your Pa once we're at Xavier's an' things've settled down a mite bit. Think he'll be upset about the fightin'. An' prob'ly a little...confused an' all 'bout the rest of it. But he loves you all an' he just wants what's best for you, too.” He moves in to rub a hand against 'Bastian's back. “B, honey, why would you have t'go live somewhere else? You're still /you/. Don't matter if what y'look like's changed. Don't matter if what y'look like is one of your friends. Don't matter if it's temporary or permanent. You're not /her/, you're /you/. An' she's her. Okay? We love you. This is less like y'became someone else an' more like...y'spontaneously ended up with whole heaps of plastic surgery.” Leaning in further, he hugs 'Bastian again before gesturing people toward the door. “What I'm worried about right /now/ is that you're safe an' healthy. An' Hank's gonna help us make sure that's the case.” Sebastian blushes furiously when Chelsea gestures to the blouse, head dipping downward and shoulders curling faintly in. "Yeah I -- I guess I'm -- just a little -- little older --" His cheeks continue to burn, fingers sliding up to curl into his hair. The look of relief on his face when the others reassure him his home is still his /home/ is immense. His cheek is damp where Chelsea's hand presses to it; he turns his face to push in against her hand, drawing in a shaky breath. Shane slides in closer to Bastian, unhooking one arm from his shins to wrap it around Sebastian's shoulders. "Dude. You're still my other half, okay? You ditch me and I'm going to fucking /bite/ you." /This/ at least earns a very shaky smile. Sebastian relaxes, just slightly, leaning in against his brother. It takes a while before he brings himself to pull away from the others, slowly unfolding to get carefully to his feet. "Okay." "-- Hey on the plus side," Shane adds brightly to Chelsea, "you get to see that in three or four years you're still totally hot." Maturity what maturity. Chelsea nods along with everyone reassuring Sebastian, and joins in his blush over her inappropriate comment. She sighs though, and turns to half stand, and throw her arms around both of her young friends. Shane's final comment puts her completely out of sorts though. Her face flushes furiously as she releases the hug, and then moves to pick up her backpack and then turns to ask, "Oh um, could I borrow some… not-bloody clothes?" “Ohgosh, B...maybe some of your things might fit her?” Micah proposes, fingers raking through his hair again. “You might...need t'borrow some of Jax's things yourself. Y'went an' got /tall/, kiddo. Got a long drive up to school an' don't want y'all bein' cold.” "Oh -- oh. Clothes." Sebastian's eyes widen; he returns the hug tightly, but then disappears off into his room. He returns shortly, with a folded-up bundle of clothing -- a long-sleeved black shirt with purple embroidery on its hems, a purple t-shirt dotted with puffy white clouds, a long black skirt. Then disappears off into Jax and Micah's room, shutting the door behind himself. Shane returns the hug as well, considerably toothier in his grin. "Right. OK. I'll call Hank. And -- well, I guess Pa's still in class. But he'll probably /definitely/ freak if he just comes home to an empty house so maybe just text him. -- Jeez. S'fucking /weird/ as hell. I'm so used to B being like looking in a goddamn mirror and now --" His head shakes quickly, gills fluttering uncomfortably at the sides of his neck. "Right. OK. Calling." Sebastian takes a little bit to return. He's changed, into clothes of Jax's. Very identifiably clothes of Jax's, in his father's typically bright style; purple leggings with a black crushed-velvet knee-length skirt over top, tall brightly-coloured mismatched socks, a long bell-sleeved black-and-silver shirt layered beneath a black t-shirt adorned with vivid-bright dragonfly patterns. And his standard Herbivore sweatshirt he always steals from Jax /anyway/. His cheeks are flushed dark as he emerges, but despite the furious blush there's a shy -- tentatively happy -- smile on his face. "Okay. I think I. Found clothes." Shane's eyes flick back to Sebastian, slightly wider for just a brief moment. His lips twitch briefly, gills fluttering again. "-- Well, then. Let's roll."