ArchivedLogs:Animals

Animals
Dramatis Personae Kyle Whelan, Sebastian, Shane	2013-05-05 immediately following ericshelby time the grocery run do not go so good. (Part of Thunderdome.)
Location <NYC> East Village
Historically a center of counterculture, the East Village has a character all its own. Home to artists and musicians of many colours, this neighborhood is known for its punk vibe and artistic sensibilities. The birthplace of many protests, literary movements, it is home to a rather diverse community and vibrant nightlife. Shane is dawdling. Not apparently in much hurry to return to the apartment, his path through the neighborhood in the waning afternoon is a meandering one. Lazy and wandering, a fabric grocery tote held in one hand, he's just sort of -- ambling. Maybe he's enjoying the spring weather, though he doesn't really seem much like he's enjoying anything; every passing wide-eyed stare or disgusted glower he receives from other pedestrians just puts a deeper scowl on /his/ face. He stands all the straighter for it, though his diminutive height means he can't really achieve Standing Tall, all pint-sized swagger in his pale crisp subtly-pinstriped linen trousers and neat-tailored vest and crisp short-sleeved button down and black corduroy jacket. His black oxfords were not meant for stomping. And /yet/. Sebastian has an opposite tack with glares and stares and mutterings, tucking himself deeper into the black hoodie he wears (it says 'HERBIVORE' in a yellow cross over the chest and, /several/ sizes too big for him is no doubt purloined from his father's wardrobe.) The rest of his clothes are cheery-bright, swishy black skirt batik-printed with pastel flowers, thin pink t-shirt with a large monarch butterfly on it. Chunky pink-and-grey platform sneakers and Care Bears socks over his pink fishnets. He sticks by Shane's side, hood pulled up over his head as if with his swaggery twin beside him this will help in avoiding attention. "{Are you going to be OK?}" Shane is quietly concerned through his scowlybluster, eyes flicking sideways towards his twin. "{I mean, there. On your own.}" Sebastian is quiet, for a while. Eventually he just hitches a kind of jerky shrug. "{I don't know,}" he admits. "{But I'll try to be. You shouldn't have to stay somewhere where --}" His teeth bare, for a moment. He hisses softly. Shane shrugs, too. "{Whatever. I mean, I can /handle/ it. It's not like /everywhere else on earth/ doesn't already tell me --}" "{But that's the /point/,}" Sebastian is abruptly sharp-edged with this, both in tone and in the claws that are creeping out longer from his fingers, "{It's not /supposed/ to be Everywhere Else On Earth it's /supposed/ to be /safe/.}" Shane shrugs, again. "{I'm an asshole,}" he reminds his brother wryly, "{it's not supposed to be a safe place to be an asshole.}" "{It's supposed,}" Bastian says irritably, "{to be a safe place to be /you/. You know it's possible to tell you you've done something wrong /without/ --}" But once again a sharp angry /hiss/ just finishes this sentence in lieu of words. "{Pa manages. To tell you you're an asshole and /not/ tell you you're a /monster/.}" "{Animal,}" Shane corrects, quiet-mild. But his gills flare rapid-flutter-quick. He looks down at the ground. Another hiss, from Sebastian. He curls a hand through Shane's arm and squeezes. Squeezes all the harder, nudging Shane to one side when a taller broader teenager seems intent on shouldering right /through/ them, though there's plenty of space on the sidewalk. This just makes Shane's gills flare faster. Annoyed, he half drags Sebastian aside, cutting through an alley instead. Or cutting /into/ an alley instead; he pauses halfway into it to take a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket. Tap one out. Sebastian drops his hand from Shane's, instead running his fingers through the spiky mess of what passes for hair on his head. "{It was easier in the water.}" "{Easier,}" Shane puts the cigarette between his lips, "{for us. Not for everyone else.}" He pats down his jacket for a lighter, lights up his smoke, his grocery bag held on the crook of his arm. Sebastian chuffs out an irritable breath at this. His arms tighten against his chest. "{Yeah,}" he grudgingly acknowledges. "{But --}" This time it's not Shane who cuts into his sentence but a man tall and broad, short-cropped blond hair and a familiar blue uniform peeking out beneath his suede jacket. He is wandering into the alley from the direction the twins have been headed, sauntering closer with hands in pockets. "Aren't you a little young for that?" His eyebrows raise, glancing between Shane and the other man with him, a little shorter, a little less broad, darker haired, darker skinned. Shane doesn't have hackles but if he did they'd instantly be rising; he steps back a half-step, closer to Bastian. "Yeah. Probably." His eyes flick to little slip of blue uniform, to little slip of blue brother. "You gonna arrest me for it?" "Shane," Sebastian murmurs, low and warning, and he reaches out to gently tug his brother closer. "Sorry, sir," he reflexively apologizes, "He doesn't mean to be -- sorry. We're just on our way." "Not going to arrest you, kid," Kyle says with a shake of his head and a glance towards his partner. Just that, and then his partner is extracting a taser from his belt in one quick motion, barely even registering a change of expression before he's shooting it at Shane. Kyle's reaching for his, too. "Thefu--" Shane's claws are unsheathing but he barely has time to twitch before he's -- well, twitching, a lot more, a lot harder, the end of the cigarette bitten off in his suddenly clenching teeth and his bag of groceries -- a tin of cocoa, bars of chocolate, a bag of coffee beans, a small thing of coconut-milk creamer, a bag of beef jerky -- is spilling across the ground. Sebastian is quicker; he shoulders his bother aside but not fast /enough/ to stop this attack; fast enough, though, that he is /launching/ himself towards Kyle, claws and sharp teeth and a snarling (animalistic) growl. Shane twitch. Twitchtwitch, his gills flickerfluttering and his sharp teeth clenched. "Fucking hell --" Kyle doesn't have time to go for his taser when there is /shark claws/ flying at him; he growls, too, sharper and more pained at the sudden rake of claws into chest. His elbow comes up hard towards Sebastian's face, body weight shoving back into the much smaller boy. Sebastian's head turns, sharp, at this blow, one eye squinted up against it. But then it turns back, teeth sinking against the arm that elbows him. The hard fist he drives towards Kyle carries -- /far/ more power than his small size suggests it should. "Jesus Christ put it /down/," Kyle is snarling towards his partner when he suddenly has a small shark attached to his arm. There's a distinct look of shock on his face when Sebastian's punch sends him stumbling backwards. His partner's taser has shot its load and so he ignores Shane twitching on the ground and draws his baton instead, unfolding it to bring it up hard towards Sebastian's side. "Kkhhh," Sebastian crumples kind of inwards at this blow. His hand is flailing, clawing towards jacketshirtchest whatever he can /reach/ though his other hand is fumbling in his pocket. Fumble fumble. They're not going to let him fumble for /long/. The baton cracks down again, thwack-thwack, ribs and then hard against his hip where his hand is fumbling. Sebastian detaches himself from Kyle's arm to swipe towards this new attack, now, raking claws out towards the baton-wielding arm, sinking /in/ deeper if he can find purchase. His breath is hard, hissing pained through his teeth, posture a little coiled against where those blows have landed. His hand reflexively jerks back from the blow, clenching a cellphone tight in his fingers. This time it's Kyle who has his baton out, once he's released. Sebastian's claws do find purchase, do sink /in/ rending jagged torn strips of flesh from the officer's arm. Kyle just hits, now. Smacking at that cellphone, thwacking against Sebastian's back, his cheek, his knees. "Fucking -- get -- /down/ --" Which Sebastian does. Eventually. His grip weakens on the other officer's arm, his posture wilting to his knees, though even then he is swiping out again, towards shins, calves, whatever he can reach. Until he /can't/ reach anymore, dropping to hands and knees and then just to a crumpled ball on his side. His eyes slice away from the men, over towards his brother. Past the pain he mostly looks -- apologetic. Even after Sebastian has crumpled the blows do not /stop/, raining down against him possibly now out of sheer anger for the torn and bleeding flesh. They only stop after the boy has stopped swiping, stopped /moving/, and Kyle drops his kind of /tired/ baton-hand to his side. "Jesus," he mutters, hand held against his chest loosely. He glances to his partner even as he's taking out cuffs, not metal ones but plasticky zip-tie sorts to not just cuff the twins but hog-tie them, plastic tightened not just snug against skin but slightly digging in. "Let's get you stitched up."