ArchivedLogs:Are You My Mother?

Are You My Mother?
Dramatis Personae Billy, Hive, Shane	2014-11-07 '
Location <NYC> Geekhaus - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
There's an open airy feel to the floorplan of this unit. The door opens up into a wide expanse of common space that is not so much divided up into rooms as it is simply multipurposed. Ash-grey resin flooring underfoot runs up against the paler grey of the exposed stone in the walls; between the stone support there are wide floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the river on one side of the home and the Commons' central yard on the other. Half of the space has a ceiling at one-floor height, though half of the space is left open with a balcony up on the second floor overlooking the living space below. A slatted stairway heads up to the second floor balcony; on the other side of the room, a fireman's pole running straight down the the basement provides a quicker way /down/. The wide open space here is combination living and dining room; near the windows there are a pair of couches and large armchair around a wide coffeetable; further off a steel-and-glass dining table is surrounded by eight tall black chairs. A full bathroom behind the stairway is done up in dark granite; the glass-doored bathtub/shower is rather expansively large. The kitchen is tucked off in back, beneath the half-height ceiling; in here the appliances and cabinets and shelving recessed into the wall are in brushed steel, wide grey sweeps of tempered glass countertops running around the edge of the room and a large central island holding stoves and oven and deep double sink. Adjacent to the kitchen, beneath the ceiling as well, is a sitting area structured largely around the enormous television against one wall, a wealth of video games for a number of consoles held on the shelves around the television. Crates and beanbags and one low futon folded against the floor are arranged in good viewing distance; opposite the television, a sturdy large pen built out of wood shrines a couch amid a sea of brightly colorful playpen balls. A door in one wall opens up to the apartment next door; a door opposite leads down to the basement. Kind of dreary, kind of cold; it's not actually raining outside but the sky is looming slate-grey like it /wants/ to. It's not a good day for much of anything -- except, maybe, hot drinks and movies and possibly some cuddles. Which is possibly what brings one small sharkboy to Geekhaus, late in the afternoon once school is out for the week. Shane is dressed dapper as ever, deep green vest with a grey dress shirt and slacks, dress shoes and socks abandoned probably in his own part of the house to leave him barefoot as he pads his way over. He slips through the door that connects this unit to the next, a canvas shopping bag draped over one arm and a drinks caddy in one hand with three steaming to-go cups from Evolve. His nose is twitching as he enters, and he beelines for the sitting area, setting the drinks down on a crate. "Brought coffee, or chocolate chai if you're swinging that way." Hive has curled himself up in a beanbag, dressed in an oversized Theta Tau sweatshirt, a soft black fleece beanie pulled down on his head, also fleecey-black pajama pants, thick fuzzy socks. The television is on -- playing /Gotham/ -- but he isn't really paying it much attention. Maybe he's dozed off, his eyes closed and posture slumped into the chair. He stirs at the sound of Shane's voice, though, grumbling something sleepy and incoherent. "... always swing towards coffee." He eyes the three-drink-laden caddy with a small frown, even as he shifts slightly to make room in the beanbag for Shane. "Flicker's not home." Billy has wasted no time in breaking out the cold-weather attire. He runs cold. His hat is a knitted twi'lek looking thing, with two stuffing-filled white lekku that drape around his neck in lieu of a scarf. A cream-colored, long-sleeved thermal clings to his scrawny form and blends into his similarly colored slacks. "Yoohoo! Anybody home?" He calls cheerfully from the doorway, keys jingling as they make their way into his pocket. He knocks, but the white leather gloves he wears to contain his power dampens the sound. "Why not? The cocoa is his. Motherfucker let things like /school/ and /job/ get in the way of cocoa, slacker." Shane sets his shopping bag down beside the beanbag, plopping himself down to nestle in beside Hive. He tucks himself at the older man's side, poky head resting on Hive's shoulder. "I brought soup, too. S'like a -- black-eyed-pea -- kale -- thing. Pretty fucking tasty." He lifts his head at the voice at the door, brows furrowing. "-- Should I get that? I should get that. They can drink Flicker's damn. Cocoa." "I know. Man has no fucking priorities, right?" Hive uncurls an arm from beneath himself, wrapping it around Shane. "Soup sounds --" He exhales slowly, shaking his head. "I'll try some. Sounds tasty." His head rolls back against the bag, eyes squinting up towards the door. "Nah it's. Open I think Flicker left it -- had a friend. Maybe coming. I think." He doesn't sound particularly certain. "S'open," he calls towards the door. Billy noses the door open, lekku flapping up into view before his head. "I figured it would be," he muses, shivering theatrically, "Boy, it's like, really cold outside. Right?" Rubbing his arms to warm them up, he hip-checks the door closed. ...or at least, just as closed as he found it. Breathing in the warm air deeply, he nods a smiley greeting. To everybody. "Hey." "Nooo priorities --" Shane shakes his head regretfully. He tips his head back, too, nose shiver-twitching as Billy's familiar chemical scent hits his nose. "... huh." His eyes narrow, gills fluttering against his neck as he snuggles in closer to Hive. "M'not a fan of winter. We should start a fire. Live in a place with fucking /fireplaces/ now how badass is that? You want a cocoa?" He doesn't actually look up again when he offers this, one webbed hand flicking out towards the drinks. "S'hot. Soup's hot too." "Haven't been outside," Hive admits, before also admitting: "... internet told me it was too cold." He struggles to sit a little bit more upright, but kind of fails at this. Instead he slumps back into the beanbag, shivering and pulling a blanket up further over himself. "Yo. Howsit?" Billy widens his eyes at the prospect of cocoa, "Oh, thank you!" The sterile smell trails after him as he crosses the room. Cupping the hot drink close to warm himself up, he collapses gracefully into a seat. "Oh my God, it's so warm," he hunches over the cup, shivering. "I'm doing alright. Just thought I'd shake up your day," Billy laughs. It might seem like he's doing a little better okay, but knowing him he'll be terrified soon enough and the annoying cheerfulness will pass, "How are you two?" Shane at least doesn't seem annoyed by the cheer, just nestling back in and tucking the blanket over Hive more snugly. "Day: Shaken. Cocoa's kinda cinnamony. Pa made these fucking amazing pumpkin cookies for the shop today and I -- s'some of those in the bag, too. I'm -- fucking glad it's Friday. Need to goddamn. Throw the fuck down." "You have a strange way of starting your weekend, dude." Hive shakes his head, making a small grabby-hand motion towards the drinks. Need caffeine. "Dying," he tells Billy -- almost blandly, really, if not for the small /shiver/ that Shane can no doubt feel pass through him. "But I have -- coffee. And soup? And --" He squints at the television like he's forgotten what's even on. "... a. Entertainent." Rubbing at his eyes, he drops his hand after to his side to touch fingertips down onto a camera bag resting beside the beanbag. "Are we shaken?" "I guess dying people don't have to say please," Billy muses, gesturing for those two to remain comfortable while he fetches all that grabby-hands desires. He pantomime-motions to things, not sure of who is drinking what. "You're tellin' me. This week like, kicked my, m-my ass." He hesitates to curse but juts his chin up slightly. It felt good. "Wait, throw-down means, like...?" "Dying people get to do whatever the fuck they want. I mean, they're not going to be here for the repercussions." Shane sounds flip. He flicks a claw to one of the cups. "Plain-ass coffee's for the invalid. Dude this isn't fucking /entertainment/, this is shit. I'm putting on Leverage." He leans forward, closing his hand around the remote. "Kicked your ass literally? Cuz I save those for Friday nights. Throw-down means throw-fucking-/down/. Tear some motherfuckers /open/." "I always thought the first rule of Fight Club was --" Hive doesn't actually finish this (most likely doesn't /need/ to finish this.) He tips his head up in a -- maybe thankful? nod. "Coffee me. Thanks. What's this week done to you? -- Jesus. Dying people get to do whatever the fuck they want except choose their own t.v. shows, I guess. Asshole." Not that he's stopping Shane from changing the show. Just /grumbling/ about it. "It's for your own good," Billy reassures Hive sweetly, twi'lek hat bobbing as he nods towards the channel being changed. He kneels down to hold out the coffee at a convenient level, as if offering it to the Gods, "I can't imagine what you would have to be thinking to try and fight a shark." Quite frankly, the fact that there's a fight club and that Shane is in it is not the surprising part of this. "/My/ fight club's different. How the fuck would people know about it if we didn't talk about it? We didn't start it to just sit around in a basement fighting each /other/." Shane shakes his head. His teeth bare sharply, a moment later. "Man, the people who show up to /our/ fight club? Half them could kick our /asses/ one hand tied behind their backs. I mean, you ever seen my /pa/ take someone on? Jesus fuck, I wouldn't want to be in the same /city/ if he's got his blood up." He pokes through Netflix, finding Leverage to start an episode. "You should come some time. S'good for you. My boyfriend is build like a fucking stick and didn't know how to throw a punch to save his life and /he/ -- owns." "Your boyfriend's a little bit of a cheat. I don't see how it counts if you get someone else to fight /for/ you." Hive takes the coffee gratefully, wrapping his hands around it tight like he's trying to draw out its warmth. "You know Taylor? Tentaclekid? Friendly? /Nice/? He goddamn /dismembers/ the pups. /No/ hands." "/I'll consider it/," Billy laughs, moving to primly reclaim his former seat. "Cheat? Seems like it'd have to be all's fair as far as powers go. I mean, not everybody has tentacles." He presses a hand to his chest, being an example of a non-tentacled individual. "Pffft, s'no such thing as cheating. We don't exactly have a lot of rules. And s'a place to practice your abilities, be kinda dumb if we told him he couldn't -- anyway don't fucking /pretend/ like if you showed up you wouldn't just march other people into battle /for/ you. Everyone /should/ have tentacles. My dad's gonna make a tentacle for Flicker. Robo-tentacle. Gonna be badass." Hive's lips twitch. "If I showed up, the whole damn place would forget about fighting and decide it's time for coffee and a smoke instead." Though the smile fades, /fast/. "... well. Once upon a fucking time, anyway. These days..." His eyes turn towards the ceiling. "Are robots fair game in your fighting?" Though here he's sounding just a little bit more thoughtful. "... had a dream about that. OctoFlicker. Guess not octo. Just the one." "What's wrong with a /regular/ robot arm?" Billy puffs on his cocoa, sipping and more observing the conversation than anything. ...He tries not to wince at the cursing. "I really ought to train with my powers, soon. I don't think I have at since like, I graduated." The blonde's eyes bulge. "Y'know. ...not at a fight club." "Doesn't look as badass," Shane explains cheerfully. "I mean, /everyone/ has /regular/ arms that's nothing special." He grins over at Billy, brows lifting. "Why not at a fight club? But anyway I think you can do that at school, now that you're all fucking /staffy/ over there." He doesn't /directly/ answer Hive's regret at the loss of his powers, but he does lean in a little closer to the other man. He drops the remote control -- maybe he's trying to drop it onto Hive's lap but instead he just sort of drops it on the edge of the beanbag, sliding to thunk down atop the camera bag. "No robots. Just yourself. Robo arms would be okay, though, if you wear them all the time. S'part of you. What would training with your powers look like?" He peers back at Billy curiously. Hive snorts at Shane's reply. "Nothing's /wrong/ but human bodies aren't very efficiently designed. There's so much better ways to fill all the functions of regular-arm and /then/ some. And long as he's getting an arm /anyway/, why not an upgrade?" He takes a small sip of his coffee, looking over to Billy curiously as well. "-- Can you control it? I mean, make it -- harsher? Or make more of --" But here he cuts off, eyes widening suddenly with the dropping of the remote. /He/ drops his /coffee/ in his fumbling haste to catch it, though the thankfully short fall doesn't make the /lid/ come off; it does spill a decent amount of hot liquid into his lap, though. "Shitshitshit." He is just as fumbly in passing the cup off to Shane, sliding out of the beanbag to open the camera bag and peer inside with concern. "I-" Billy closes his eyes to explain, but doesn't get a chance to. Reopening them, his paternal instinct jolts awake and pushes him up off his chair to mother-hen Hive. "Are you okay?!" He grabs a stray napkin, probably discarded there from a bag of take-out. Brandishing the sad little paper square like a sword, he moves in to help. "Woooah, dude, what the fuck, is that like Jim's /most precious camera/?" Shane is slower about moving to help, leaning forward to set Hive's cup back down on the crate and wipe a hand against some spilled coffee on the beanbag. This doesn't accomplish much besides spreading it around. He flops down over the beanbag, peering at the camera bag, puzzled, with a small sniff-twitch of nose. "It's not /Jim's/, it's -- Hive stops, relaxing as he brushes his hand over the -- rounded surface of what appears to be an incredibly large /egg/, grey and leathery, inside the bag. "I'm --" His head shakes, quickly. "... sorry. Uh... baby... sitting?" He seems just a little puzzled, too, by this phrasing. But with the egg not cracked he relaxes, accepting Billy's square of napkin to dab it somewhat futilely against his stained pants. "-- Right. It's fine. Just don't fucking sit on this or something. And be /careful/." This is also a little mother-hen sharp. He settles in against the side of the beanbag, now, looking up at Billy. "-- You what? With your powers. You were saying." Billy raises his eyebrows high into his forehead, "Babysitting? Babysitting what?" He cranes his neck over the bag. He sounds way more surprised about Hive nurturing something than he did about the fight club. Hand-flapping dismissively, he adds, "When I perspire more from like, 'activity?' My sweat and spit burn people-" "-but I've never been good at hand to hand." The blonde plants both hands on his hips, pouting at Shane, "HEY! I'm not 'all staffy,' I'm like, bottom rung!" "You're allowed in the teacher's lounge," Shane answers Billy, "you're staffy. -- Woah could you, like, spit into someone's /eye/, that's gotta be useful in a fight. Though, uh, less useful in fucking, that gets people hella sweaty." His brows hike up as he looks into the bag. "... That's not Jim's." This is startled. "... he know you been cheating on him, then?" "I'm not fucking cheating on," Hive starts to protest sharply before amending to, "we're not even -- ngh. It's not /mine/ either do I look like I've been in a position to -- lay some -- eggs. Lately." His eyes scrunch up, the heel of his hand scrubbing against his eyes. "Egg... sitting," he clarifies uncertainly to Billy. "Doesn't do much but sit there, though." With his pants not actually any cleaner and now getting /cold/ where the liquid spilled on them, he twists slightly in place to wriggle /out/ of them, now in plain black boxer shorts instead. /Dry/ shorts. "... blinding people s'the most useful. Gives you time to run the fuck /away/." “I try not to resort to that,” Billy frowns, though the glimmer in his eye more or less confirms that eye-spitting is definitely in his repertoire. “And yes, thank you for that, Shane. Every power comes with it’s own set of impediments.” He tilts his head as if to flip his hair, waggling his eyebrows, “Who is Jim?” "I can relate," Shane admits with a quiet note of sympathy. He lifts one arm, fingers brushing lightly against the back of his hand. "My skin cuts people. If you brush against it. Doesn't make it easy to --" He shrugs, folding his arms back against the beanbag and resting his chin on them. "Hive's husband," he answers that last question. "Then whose --" His nose twitches again. "-- Oh." Maybe he answered that question for himself. "... what do you think is going to come out of it?" "I dunno, a fucking kid?" Slumping back again, Hive tosses the pants aside carelessly, groping behind himself for his blanket to tug it out from under Shane. "Jim's my friend. -- Try not to resort to running away? Running away is the /best/ option." "You don't want to know what I do to cuts," Billy tries to pull them out of their pity party, returning to his hot cocoa and peering over it with big, innocent doe eyes, "I don't understand. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...Did you lay this egg?" "Burn them all to fuckin hell I'd imagine." Shane's teeth flash again. "Also useful. -- oh man. I just had the /oddest/ fucking mental image of Hive shitting this thing out." "... I'm /glad/ I missed that one." Hive grimaces, shaking his head. "Jesus fuck, no. A friend laid it, I'm -- sitting. While she, uh, informs the -- father." He also sounds juuust as awkward-uncertain about /this/ terminology. Billy blinks, hesitantly shaking his head, "Shouldn't it be in-in like, an incubator? Or something?" He arches his neck for another peek, "That's so cute that you're watching an egg. Someone should write a children's book about this. Oh, that'd be so cute! You know, because you're always so grumpy!" "Shouldn't you be sitting on it?" Shane asks about the same time Billy asks if it should be in an incubator. "Ohshit. You any good at drawing, dude, that book would be gold. You could be the prickly old hedghog who gets roped into caring for this poor abandoned egg and along the way you find your heart in there after all." In response, Hive thwaps his hand against the back of Shane's head. Given his current condition, it's not a very /hard/ thwap. He /eyes/ Billy like he's considering doing the same but has expended all his energy on that one slap. "Jesus Christ, you people." But maybe there's amusement buried under the grump. Billy giggles, "Did you ask what to do if it hatches on your watch? Won't it like, think you're it's mom?" The blonde bounces up and down in his seat, slapping the armrest, "I love hedgehogs!" Billy's excited peak drops into a dramatic frown almost immediately, "But I can't draw at all." "Well, can you write? I bet my pa would illustrate and he's like. All /official/ about his -- art. Ing. -- Hive's favourite tee is a hedgehog shirt. S'because he knows what his Patronus really is." Shane doesn't even attempt to dodge the /feeble/ head-thwapping. Though /afterwards/ he does roll aside, reaching for his chai and settling back in to finally look at the television again. "He's a good dad, actually. You met his /actual/ little girl? Adorable as fuck oh my god. -- Oh shit. I love this episode." "How the fuck do you /art/ officially? Is there some goddamn art bureau where you need to get your license?" Hive doesn't contest the comment about his Patronus. "I dunno. It's pretty recent, though, I don't think it's gonna hatch any time soon. Don't those things usually have a gestation period? Though I don't know if anyone knows what that even would /be/ for a fucking -- gargoyle. Christ." He settles in, too, pulling blankets around himself more comfortably. "... I don't remember this one." Which pulls his interest more focused back to the television. Smiling along with what’s being said, Billy fixes on the television as well. He keeps himself hugged around his cocoa like a security blanket.