ArchivedLogs:A Little Bit Monster-y

A Little Bit Monster-y
Dramatis Personae Anole, Peter
In Absentia	2014-05-21 Just a little.
Location <XS> Treehouse
Built by enterprising students of yesteryear, this treehouse has weathered generations of Xaviers' students coming up here to study -- or escape from studying. A cozy retreat, its wood planks are sturdy and well-sanded, fit snug together to keep out draft. Snacks occasionally find their way up here, and the roof keeps the rain off well enough to pass a night -- so long as the teachers don't catch any students at it. For anyone agile enough to make the jump, a lucky leap juuust might carry them from here to the school rooftop, so long as they're careful of the drop... It's warm out but a little drizzly -- not that that matters much in /here/, the sturdy treehouse is nice and dry even through the damp weather outside. In the period between classes and dinner Anole has tucked himself into a corner of the house, laptop out in front of him as he works on an essay for French class. He's dressed plain, bluejeans and an oversized RENT t-shirt that even in its baggy state strains a little bit where his lopsidedly muscular-spikey arm pushes through the sleeve. He has a Snack Pack pudding -- three of them, /actually/ -- beside him, which he's working his way through not with spoon but with lapping dips of his very long tongue straight into the plastic cup. Clunk, clunk, clunk -- that would be the sound of Peter, outside the treehouse, climbing his way up on the roof -- and popping his head down to hover, upside down, over the window leading in -- peeking in on Anole. The chitin-clad boy's face is a little flushed with effort; his hair dangles in a long whip underneath him. He's clad in a loose-fitting white tank-top and black summer shorts; little else -- leaving his chitin-clad arms bare and only semi-sparkling in the greyish drizzle outside. The rain doesn't seem to bother him much; he's damp, but grinning. "--oh my God you eat pudding in the best way, dude," Peter announces. Anole glances up with wide-eyed startlement that fades almost immediately into a quick smile. "You want one?" He picks up an unopened vanilla to offer it towards Peter. "I didn't bring spoons though." While some people might be content to climb in slowly, that's just not Peter's style. The boy's head bobs out of sight for a moment, followed by his hands both gripping the upper ledge of the window, and then -- SWOOP! -- in Peter comes, feet swooping in as he swings through the window backwards, legs rolling up, then down -- something almost liquid about the way his body immediately courses toward the ground, landing with a *whump*. Peter quickly turns to accept the unopened vanilla pudding -- well, first, he extends his hand out and makes the 'thwppy' gesture -- but then he wrinkles his nose and quickly just takes it 'manually', before plopping down on the ground besides Anole. "Thanks," he says, popping it open. He spends a moment looking at the pudding, then at Anole and his tongue, then at the pudding -- brows wrinkled, thinking… before, very hesitantly, he opens his mouth, extends his (much smaller) pink tongue, and dips it into the pudding. Pluh! Licking just a tiny bit of it up. Anole's grin widens; he watches Peter's FAIL!thwip and the subsequent pudding-lapping with equal amusement, nose crinkling up and his shoulders shaking slightly with quiet laughter. "You should do parkour," he tells Peter, curling his legs in beneath himself and taking another slurp of his pudding. "Also come with me later. To get more pudding. Salem's /far/." "I did, for a while," Peter responds, attempting the tricky tongue-pudding maneuver once more -- managing to get a speck on his nose. This time, at least, he gets a bit more of it out. "It just got kinda boring, 'cuz… I learned it so fast. I don't even have to practice." Another lick; a bit more on his nose, although he seems to have only noticed just now. "Salem?" he asks, before: "Sure -- you go there by yourself?" He eyes the room for a napkin or a towel, briefly considering his hand -- although it's with a mournful look. "/Haven't/ gone there alone since --" Anole shivers, gaze briefly dropping to his computer. "Since Rasa got --" His brow furrows, head shaking quickly. "I mean I used to." He looks back up at Peter. There's a sudden flash of pink, tongue /thwipping/ out to -- dart a tiny wet /lick/ against the end of Peter's nose. "Oh--" Peter begins, eyes widening a little at Anole's response, frowning. "Oh, right, sorry -- I mean. I will totally…" The flash of that pink tongue snapping against Peter's nose catches him by surprise; his eyebrows zip up -- and his cheeks proceed to burn a vivid shade of indigo. A moment later, though, and he's grinning at Anole, reaching up to touch where the tongue made contact. "--what do I taste like?" he immediately asks. "Besides, uh, vanilla pudding." "Vanilla pud--" Anole is /already/ starting to answer before Peter's final addendum. His cheeks flush faintly darker, smile skewing lopsided. "You taste like /nerd/." Peter grins a little more widely, before dipping his mouth down into the pudding cup -- now that he's gotten a bit of the level down, his tongue is free to *spear* into there and just lick it up. Soon, he's licking the walls. Licklicklick. When he's finished, he scoots a bit closer to Anole, reaching into the cup with his finger -- and producing a dollop of pudding on his fingertip! Which he proceeds to smear on the side of Anole's cheek. Right before darting his head forward to deliver a quick, chaste peck to the spot. Which actually doesn't manage to make the vanilla dollop disappear, entirely; it just ends up mostly on Peter's mouth, instead. But, apparently satisfied with this, he proceeds to lick it up, before announcing: "So do you. Lizardy nerd." "Ohjeez." Anole bats kind of halfheartedly at Peter when Peter comes close to PUDDING him, his smaller /non/-clawed hand thumping against Peter's chest. He doesn't resist the peck, though it does darken his cheeks further. "Ohno you /got/ nerd on me!" He's grinning brighter, leaning back against the wall. "Bastian's going to run a Shadowrun campaign," he adds cheerfully as long as they're on the subject of Nerd, "soon once his work schedule clears up a little." "It is," Peter announces quite proudly as Anole swats at his chest, "contagious." At the mention of the Shadowrun campaign, Peter grins. "You know," he continues, "I think he's been talking about setting up that campaign for like -- a year now? And I think it just kept getting delayed on account of everyone almost dying." Then, as Peter thumps his head against the wall, laying back -- he eyes Anole's other arm. The big, clawed, muscular one. His eyes drift back over to Anole's face. "I've never played Shadowrun, but I looked it up. Gonna play a hacker, hack all the mainframes." "Stay safe, then, and maybe he'll /actually/ run it this time. Oh and I guess that means we gotta keep the rest of his family safe too. And the school. And all his friends from the Lofts." Anole nods decisively -- totally no big deal they GOT this. He shifts his ungainly-enormous arm slightly back, as though trying to hide it behind his slim frame. "Mess with the best, die like the rest? I'm gonna play a drone rigger. Have a swarm of dragonfly-bots. Because I secretly want to be Bastian." "I don't think it's a secret if you say it aloud," Peter notes, though this sounds less like a criticism and more like a thoughtful observation, his eyes drifting up past Anole's face and toward the ceiling. "But, if you're going to be someone, I think you could do a whole lot worse than B -- uh, so long as you don't start, like, biting people's faces off," Peter says, with a slightly crooked grin -- eyes snapping back down to Anole, again. It's hard to tell if he's joking, or not; he says it like it's funny, but maybe he just thinks it's funny when people's faces get bitten off. "It's a secret if I whisper it," Anole -- whispers. He thunks his head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling, too. "I haven't craved face-eating since they shot me full of zombie-cure. Oh, man. New York's seen a /lot/ of facebiting this past year." The mention of zombie-cure and it's proximity to Anole causes Peter's crooked grin to fade away into something distant and slightly melancholy. He scoots a little closer. "--yeah," he says, the grin returning, though it's lost some of its edge. "Have you been practicing wall-crawling with your new arm? I can help, maybe. I've had to learn a lot about…" Peter glances at his own hand, flexing his fingers. "...not breaking things. Maybe can practice on the way to Salem…" Anole dips his head, cheeks flushing darker and his eyes locking down on his knees. He scoots his hand just a little further behind himself. "I haven't -- it's not. It's strange. And too heavy and too -- /bad/. Stupid -- huge fingers and. Ugly and. /Clumsy/ and I break a lot of stuff." Peter frowns a little at this, watching as Anole slides the larger hand behind his back, listening. After a moment, he clears his throat, and… "Anole -- can I… see it?" Anole swallows, too. His shoulder stiffens, skin starting to fade into the brown of the treehouse's wood. He lifts his hand only very slowly, extending the muscular arm to extend his huge clawed hand out towards Peter, fingers curled loosely in towards his palm. Peter reaches for the hand -- very slowly! -- taking it by the wrist in his own considerably smaller, darker hand -- curling his fingers around it, gently pulling it toward him. As he brings it closer, he reaches with his other hand, to touch one of the clawed fingers -- ever so gently attempting to uncurl the finger with his thumb, mindful of the claws, his own fingers gently brushing against the back of Anole's knuckles... Peter's cheeks darken, just a hint of violet entering them, as he does so -- presuming Anole makes no move to stop him, he works, diligently and slowly, to uncurl each of his fingers in a similar gesture, until his claws are extended -- his palm exposed. And then, with just as much caution, Peter lifts Anole's hand up, and lowers his head down -- placing a tinykiss at the center of Anole's palm. "...I'm really sorry that it happened," Peter murmurs, quietly. "But if it helps… y'know, I think -- pretty much all my best friends are a little bit monster-y." Anole's eyes fix down on Peter's hand, watching as his fingers are uncurled. His hand shakes just a little in Peter's once it is opened, his breath catching through that small kiss. There's just the faintest twitch of his fingers, curling in just a hair towards Peter's cheek -- but stopping without actually touching, as though nervous to even come close. He lets his breath out heavily again after Peter's murmur, blinking hard. "-- We should get to Salem. Before it's. Dark." "Okay," Peter responds, nodding slowly -- his hand still cupping the back of Anole's, for a moment. As if reluctant to move away; just holding it. Finally, he leans forward a little, and -- perhaps not entirely wisely -- darts forward to deliver another tinykiss on the edge of one of Anole's claws, after that twitch -- careful to avoid the edge. Before he pulls his head back, and releases Anole's hand, rising to his feet. Anole tenses at the small kiss, holding his fingers /very/ still until Peter pulls back. His expression relaxes into a smile afterwards, though. He closes his laptop to slip it back into his backpack. "Though," he adds with a brighter note of laughter, "/after/ dark /is/ the best time to be a little monstery." Not that that's stopping him from shouldering his backpack to head out.