ArchivedLogs:A Wild Ivan and Peter Approach

From X-Men: rEvolution
Jump to navigationJump to search
A Wild Ivan and Peter Approach
Dramatis Personae

Jackson, Peter, Ivan


X-kids talk to Jackson about situation. Also, hugs.


<NYC> 303 {Holland} - 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 bright coloured sealife has made its way into being painted on the 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. 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.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK. A little steadier than usual; Peter is learning! On top of this, once again, he's not attempting to come in through the window (that might have to do with a strategically posted sign that says "USE THE DOOR PETER", however). The teenage mutant is at the door, and this time he's brought an Ivan; clad in a red hoodie, blue jeans, sneakers, and his nylon back-pack -- and those /rebonkular/ glasses of his. This time, he's not dragging giant bags of candy with him. Instead, he's got a small bag of AIRHEADS, because he recently discovered airheads somehow manage to count as vegan. (Also, he may be eating some of the airheads. And rapidly moving to stash the evidence in his pockets. Crinkle, crinkle)

Ivan trails not far behind, in black coat open to a white dress shirt and jeans. He has decided /not/ had any of the Airheads, even if he was offered them. He's a little blankfaced looking, and though his default mode is pretty much 'never speak', he is /extra/ not speaking now, standing halfway behind Peter when they arrive at the door, hands restlessly by his side as he /peers/ at anything that moves and everything that does not.

It takes a short while before the door is opened. Jackson looks sparkly-bright as ever; yellow skirt, cloud-patterned blue-and-white blouse, a dusting of shimmery blue makeup, hair that is an oddly metallic blue shade that hairdye really shouldn't be able to achieve. He answers the door barefoot, a cheerful if crooked smile on his face as he looks over the teenagers. The house smells like baking. Something citrusy. "Hi!" He holds Obie back from bolting out the door with his ankle as he gestures the two inside. "What's up, y'all? Everything aright?" Obie's tail is thwapping against the door. Jax is /eying/ the Airheads with extreme interest. The fingers of his left hand are dusted with dark charcoal smudges.

"Ivan's in trouble /again/," Peter announces, right before shoving /AIRHEADS/ at Jackson's chest, like HERE TAKEITTAKEIT. He /might/ filch a watermelon flavored one very sneakily under his wrist in the process; Peter's fingers are quick and he's been practicing his ledgerdemain. "These aren't made out of animal-meats, I checked online and even /PETA/ says they're okay so they must be okay," Peter announces /right/ after, and then: "Um can we come in -- also?" He might give a sly little look down the hallway, as if inspecting for naer-do-wells.

As much as Obie is looking to spring OUT, Ivan is willing to stay /right where he is/. Jackson is offered a smile, genuine but quickly fleeting, before the spider-wielding teenager's gaze turns downward to the enthusiastic canine instead. Maybe so as to not look at anyone else, apparently not in disagreement with Peter's announcement.

Jackson takes it and is pulling ont out -- BLUE -- to open it even before Peter is assuring him of their veganity. "Oh, man, /awesome/, thanks. -- /More/ trouble or the same, uh --" He is continuing this sentence with an Airhead dangling from his lips like a long blue tongue. "I mean, yeah, sure, c'mon, I got citrus cookies if y'want? Not any, uh, actual food though. Just cookies. Maybe a banana." He holds the door open, waving them in. "-- Anyway, um, /more/ trouble or the Faelan thing? Cuz, Ivan, we really gotta have a talk 'bout respecting folks' boundaries."

"Ohno it's with Faelan I didn't think you'd find out already, anyway I already apologized for shaking him 'cuz when he did it I kinda freaked but yeah," Peter goes on and on as he marches right into Jackson's apartment. "Lena didn't die though - nobody died so it's all okay, and um, I kind of wanted to ask if you've seen, um, the sharktwins recently, like have they come by to talk to you or anything?" Peter asks, barreling /right/ into it as Ivan blocks off Obie from a quick exit.

He can try, anyway. Ivan is not terribly experienced with dogs and it shows in the way he enters the apartment and crouches down to /stare/ at Obie rather than stick out a hand, arms crossed across his chest. "I know what I did wrong." He admits between sentences of the more chatty individuals, quietly and devoid of any easily detectible emotions tied to his statement. "I will not do it again."

Obie barrels forwards to thrust his face in against Ivan's chest anyway, jumping up to place paws on his legs so as to better NOSE. Nosenosenose. Jax closes the door, locks it tight, and then freezes, turned away from the boys with his hand still resting on one of the locks. There are a few beats of silence broken up by Obie's whuffling, and then he turns. "Ain't seen 'em, no." His head shakes, waggling his Airheadtongue as he looks at Peter. "Have you seen 'em lately? Either'a you?" He sidesteps around Obie-Ivan to head back into the apartement, plucking the Airhead out from between his lips to chew off a piece. "What did you do wrong?"

Peter watches as Ivan demonstrates a CATASTROPHIC FAILURE concerning Dog Handling. He proceeds to hop down besides Ivan and help by way of example - his own hand reaching forward to scritch-scritch between Obie's ears, the other hand descending to apply a rapid series of firm, almost slapping pats to the center of Obie's back. "Three days ago," Peter admits, almost absently. "They were in a warehouse - um, sparring. Really violently." He leaves out the bit concerning his webshooters, for now. Though...

WAIT oh god DOG. Thump. Ivan flails his arms forward when the is headbutted (nosebutted?), and promptly falls back from a crouch onto a sit-on-his-butt, looking momentarily alarmed. What-- happened. Still in a state of mild panic and giving Obie a curious stare, he answers a little absently and a little rehearsed, "I caused another student to do something they did not want to do. I made them use their powers involuntarily, and I used my own abilities to make them do it, knowingly." The bigger words leave his mouth a little awkwardly, heavily accented-- it may be he's never said them before. He may have looked them up, prior. He watches Peter's interaction with Obie closely, though his eyebrows lower slightly at the news of the sparring.

"Waityousawthem? Three days ago?" Jackson's sudden rushed spill of words is far too pouncing-quick to match his earlier calm. "Where a warehouse where what where they -- what were you -- do you know where they went? After?" It taks a moment, a shaky drawn-in breath, before he looks back at Ivan. Swallows. "Sorry, I -- right." His eye scrunches shut, opens again, and he gives his head one quick shake. "That's -- I mean, aright, that's a pretty clinical way of looking at it, but it ain't -- /why/ did you do it, Ivan?"

"Three days ago," Peter responds, repeating the words, much more slowly than Jackson; he scritches and scratches Obie, meanwhile, nudging his head with his palm and squeezing the back of his neck, as if to show Ivan how you /properly/ scritch a dog. "It was - somewhere in Brooklyn, I think. I was, um, doing webslinging stuff. I don't know where they went. I, uh," and now Peter looks up to Jax, frowning. "They said they were going back to the house. Is something - wrong? I, uh, I did something I probably shouldn't have done," Peter mentions, /blushing/, but honestly what else is new. He gives a glance to Ivan - as he has /yet/ to tell Ivan this particular part.

Ivan turns, for a moment, to look between Peter and Jackson as they speak. Conversations are difficult on him, sometimes, and he seem to have trouble fitting in his answer, waiting patiently for a time in which to say, "Curiosity." The glance from Peter is missed entirely, as he turns to look at Obie again. This time, he reaches out, somewhat hesitantly, like he's about to give it a handshake in the face. Hello dog. How are you.

Obie's tail keeps thwapping under the petting, and he wriggles excitedly when Peter pats at him. His tongue sluuuurps out when Ivan extends his hand, sloppy-wet dog-kiss against Ivan's palm. Jax is shifting, meanwhile, leaning back against the back of the couch and then getting up again immediately after to go to the kitchen and get a large tub of cookies. But he doesn't open them. He chews on his Airhead. "Ain't real safe to be doing that in the city, Peter, y'could get yourself in a heap'a trouble. Um --" He's fidgeting, bouncing slightly from heel to toe, glancing up to the ceiling. Wiggling at a lipring with a tongue that is slowly turning blue. "What -- what did you do?" Despite his usual hyper-flitting from topic to topic here he seems to have trouble changing gears, taking a moment to look back to Ivan. "Curiosity's great. Y'should have a lot of it. But -- with your powers and with /anything/ -- respecting other people comes first. I mean, there's a question of safety and that's important /too/, but, even if it was totally safe and someone just weren't /comfortable/ with it you still gotta remember that -- you need to make sure you're not violating someone else's boundaries when you're trying to grow your own."

"I -- kind of, um." The mention of Peter's web-slinging getting him in trouble seems to make him suddenly /more/ tight-lipped on the subject of What Has Peter Done Now. He gives a look to Ivan, as if Ivan might be able to help him with this, but then he gives up on looking for answers and just shoves his palm to scritch at Obie's belly. "I didn't think - I made a bet with them. That I could tag them with bandaids before either of them could catch me," Peter explains, carefully selecting a word /other/ than cut. "And, uh, they might have... a set of webshooters now." A little quieter as he makes this admission. Glancing at Ivan, again, as if expecting his roommate to somehow /bail him out/ here.

Ivan's hand stays right where it is, for a moment, through the licking. The boy looks utterly puzzled as to what this could mean, but he does eventually move his hand palm-downward to extend it past Obie's head to try and reach for the dog's ears instead. Learning!

This stops, however, when Peter continues talking. The look on Ivan's face soon reaches nothing short of incredulous-- though admittedly it sits on his face a bit weirdly and supressed, managing to hit his eyes more than anything else. /Peter/. /Peter, Peter, Peter/.

Obie pretty much keeps licking even as Ivan reaches for his ears. These licks end up licking the AIR as Ivan's hand moves but that does not stop Obie from licklicklicking at absolutely nothing. "Ivan, this is important," Jax says, and he is very much /not/ looking at Peter right now. Just fidgety-bouncing between heel and toe, slurping the rest of the blue airhead into his mouth to suck on it. Maybe stick it to the roof of his mouth. "Possibly the most important thing you'll learn at school. If every student graduated with a healthy dose of respecting other people and understanding that consent applies to /all/ situations -- I'd be real happy." It's only after this that he -- breathes in. Breathes out. His default smile has been replaced with a /puzzled/ look when he looks at Peter. "-- You -- why?"

Beneath the combined force of Ivan-stare and Jax-stare, Peter semi-wilts. "If I won they had to come back and be honest with you," he tells Jax. "Tell you why they left - everything. And I /did/ beat them, I mean - it was almost /simultaneous/ - but," and Peter looks up to Jackson now, frowning, fingers grinding just underneath Obie's jaw, grind-grind-grind. "They left because they think you're better off without them. That's what Sebastian told Shelby, and I'm not supposed to tell /you/ but I beat them and they haven't come by to tell you so I'm gonna tell you /anyway/. They think you'll be happier without them and that's why they're doing all of this."

"I needed a mistake to learn from. It is the quickest way to learn." Ivan replies, as though this is common knowledge. "So I made one. Now I have learned." His flat tone is a stark contrast to the way he's trying to imitate Peter's enthusiastic pets from before, now reaching both hands to scratch experimentally at Obie's ears. After Peter explains, he stops, leaning to thunk against a Petershoulder in a vague attempt at support. Maybe taken a little too literally. His look of disbelief has disappeared, replaced by thoughtfulness.

Obie is at least happy, here. Still lickslurping and mostly /missing/, still tailthwapping (and occasionally hitting Peter's legs.) "They -- you bet them --" Around the room, the light is fluttering, shivering; there are a few fuzzysmokey shadows blooming grey at the edges of the room. Jax's expression shifts, slowly, away from puzzled back into easy-casual, not quite smiling but not quite /not/. The smokeyshadow is shifting, vaguely, into people-figures that form and then melt away before becoming well-defined. "But why would they --" His voice, in contrast to his expression, is shaky-quiet, and he doesn't finish this. He turns aside, drawing in a slow breath. The murk at the room's edges begins to fade. When he turns back to Peter it is with a very small twitch of smile. "I -- that's -- that was real sweet of you. Not -- maybe not the /webshooters/ -- I mean maybe the webshooters -- I mean tryin' to get them to come -- ho -- come back." Sadly, for the moment his conversation with Ivan is forgotten. The light around the room is still kind of seizureyfluttery.

Peter watches the lightshow with wide-eyed confusion. When Ivan head-thumps on his shoulder, Peter's arm instinctively /coils/ around his waist; he's just /staring/ at the misty shapes and apparitions that seem to flick in and out of the room - eyes slipping between them. Afraid? Not quite - more /confused/ than anything. He gives Ivan a squeeze, then mumbles: "It didn't work. They didn't - and now they have webshooters. I mean, I don't think - you shouldn't be /worried/ they're really strong, and /crazy/ tough I mean tougher than /me/, and they heal really quick and they're /really/ fast - I've been doing this forever and I haven't gotten hurt. Also, they only have - just the cartridges that were loaded. Enough for like, eighty lines, maybe." Peter's arm retracts from Ivan self-consciously. "I thought, too, maybe - if they really get into it - they'll need more cartridges, right? And I'm the only one who can give it to them. And, um, I'd probably use that to keep in touch with them, maybe." Shifty-eyed Peter. All CUNNING. Doling out his goop like it was drugs.

Nope. Nope nope nope. Ivan does not like the seizuryfluttery, his brows knitting together the moment it starts happening. He abandons happy Obie to get to his feet almost immediately after Peter's arm slips off of him again, his gaze landing on the smokeyshadows with a tensing of his muscles. Below him and in front of Obie and Peter, there is a rainstorm of tiny little specks of black and dark brown. Tiny little spiders, hardly visible if not for the sheer number of them, falling from his sleeves like people being thrown over the railings of a tilted, sinking ship. Every baby spider for themseeeelves. They scuttle around in panic once they hit the floor.

"Mister Jackson." Ivan tries quietly but somewhat uncharacteristically /sternly/, his eyes fixed on his advisor's face. A beat later, and he speaks again, a pinch of sadness merging in his tone, "Jackson... /Jax/. Are you o--" He promptly changes his mind, amending, "You are not okay."

"They're strong, but they -- I still worry, you know? There's a lot out there that --" Jackson stops, curling an arm around his chest. He looks at Ivan a long moment, and then looks down at Obie's happywriggling. "Oh, I'm --" He starts out, lightly, but then quiets. Swallows. His head shakes, his hand lifting to press knuckles against his eye, swipe his hand sideways. "I want them home," he says softly. "They're my kids. I ain't been okay since they got took away."

Peter's eyes narrow. Not /suspiciously/, but /focusedly/. As if thinking. He even starts to sway, a little; back, and forth, back, and forth. Still sitting even as Ivan stands. "I will tell them," he tells Jackson. "I will find them and tell them that you are secretly /miserable/ and might die of sad unless they come back."

The rain of little spiders continues, but lessens either due to there being an end to their numbers or Ivan calming slightly. They panic harmlessly, but slow in their movements when Jackson speaks. A quick glance to Peter later, and he adds, "But they do not want to listen." A hard truth, but the truth nonetheless, as far as Ivan is concerned. "Maybe we... need to trick them into confrontations. They will not /like/ it but maybe they /need/ it." He sways as well, then, and reaches a hand, slowly, to grab for Peter's hoodie. To gently /urge/ his dorm buddy toward Jackson should he manage, walking with. Something is impending, Jackson!

"They ain't always good at listenin'. They ain't real used to having anyone who cares, you know? They /literally/ never lived outside a cage before I --" His voice shakes, and tendrils of shadow wrap around his arms. "Sorry," he says, shaking his head as he watches Ivan's spiders rain down and giving the boys a quick smile. "I'd -- I'd appreciate it. If you see 'em. I'd -- thank you."

Peter is on his feet as Ivan nudges him forward by the hoodie; thereafter, Peter nudges Ivan too, pulling him in /with/ him. "We'll get them back, Jax, we will /find/ them and /make/ them come back. I know they are worried about you they were asking me about you so we will yell at them about just how sad they are making you. And other stuff."

Jackson is now approached by a wild Ivan and Peter.