ArchivedLogs:Backwards

Backwards
Dramatis Personae Jim, Shelby	2013-04-02 After teenage chaos, Shelby retreats to Jim's place.
Location <NYC> 214 (Jim) - Sunrise Apartments - Clinton
Jim's apartment is not big, the living room area L-shaped with the entrance at one end and a kitchenette found at the other. Furnished by a scuffed wooden curb-found coffee table, a saggy green couch upholstered in a scratchy burlap material and two chairs, the habitat manages to just barely function as a one bedroom rather than a studio by merit of a walk-in closet sized bedroom you would have to cross through to reach his cramped bathroom. In here, water damage stains the walls. As does rust, around the showerhead in the cramped shower stall. The biggest mistake Jim ever made was letting Shelby know where he lives. Sure, sure, he probably thought who in their right mind would come here voluntarily? But that's the thing--when you've slept in drainage ditches and subway tunnels, anything with far walls and a roof looks pretty decent. Even if it does occasionally smell funny in the kitchen area. The evening is deepening and there is a stomping coming down the hall. It sounds like there is an elephant on a direct course with Jim's front door. That suspicion is borne out when said elephant slams against the door, kicking it with its toes. BAM BAM FUCKING BAM. Except when the door is opened--or the peephole is peeped through--it is not an elephant out there, but a shortish teenage girl with wind-mussed hair, roses in her cheeks and eyes that look red-lined and swollen. Also her nose is blotchy. Gingers do not cry pretty, okay?! << Open the >> "Open the fucking door!" Shelby orders, lifting her fist to "knock" again. "Gah!" Jim yanks open the door and /nyargs/ this at Shelby like it's his nature defense against TEENAGERS. Except he makes it /while/ dragging the door open all the way to allow entrance, "Get in." Anything startling means he wants to lock his damn door (all bazillion locks and latches and one swear-to-god eyehook on it - what's funny is he didn't even install those himself, the apartment was just MEANT for him). If she doesn't hustle he's hooking out an arm to /haul/ her in like a load of laundry, "What happened." He has been getting a clusterfuck of confused messages from the borgnet. Bees. Twincest. Argteenagers. He sets about LOCKING UP. First Shelby wants to /glare/ at him for a little bit like all of this is JIM'S FUCKING FAULT but since that means a delay and a delay means being hauled inside, she ends up speaking again. And then flailing, being liberal with hiking the elbows up until she's thrown him off. Flail! Fortunately she is in her big poofy jacket so there's plenty of padding if she connects, before the girl stalks off to /throw/ herself on the couch. Whumph! She takes up the glaring again but this time it's aimed at the opposite wall. "B'n'Shane came back. B'n'Shane left. /That's/ what happened. Jesus fucking /Christ/." Jim is often partially tree'd over, and in the comfort of his own home he has no fucks to give about letting his bark hang out a bit, so Shelby's flailing will be against a surface semi-hard anyway. He's wearing a pair of cargo pants, a classic white wifebeater and a blue and yellow hawaiian shirt printed over with hibiscus that he's just /barely/ pulled on before answering the door - one shoulder is still mostly escaped from it. Once finished re-fortifying his castle, he stares at Shelby over one shoulder with his mouth hung partly open and his eyes DEAD to her. His posture is all slumped-forward and shambly, fishing a pack of cigarettes form an inner pocket. He knows what he needs. "Coffee?" He's already walking past the couch without looking at it. He throws down his cigarette pack onto the cushion beside Shelby on his way past. "You got any vodka?" It is a vain hope. Shelby knows full well that Jim has given up booze. Woe! She'll scrabble for the smokes, though, and flop out of her jacket once she has them. Underneath, she's pretty bland. Cargo pants, a white babydoll t-shirt without a lick of design on it--though there's a smudge of blue chalk at the hem--and sneakers. Classic student. She tapes out a coffin nail, sticks it between her lips and fumbles in her jacket's pocket for a lighter. "This is such /bullshit/," she mumbles, cigarette bouncing before she holds it steady for lighting. Then the smoke, then the knuckling at her eyes, and finally a look that skates after him. "I think maybe they got expelled. They were only back, like...an hour." "Yeah, I ain't even following, princess." Jim is coming back to the couch with two cups of coffee. One in a chipped brown mug, one in a chipped blue mug. He wiggles either of them to let her CHOOSE which defective coffee receptacle she so desires. He drops his ass onto the coffee table - a real curbside steal, in that it was free - and makes an impatient flick of fingers at Shelby's lighter. He apparently can't find his. "So. The twins got back to school." Leading Statement. Fill in the the blank. "Then what." Shelby will swap him, lighter for blue mug. "We were all in the rec room and it was /awesome/. And then..." Well. There is coffee to be sipped and a cigarette to smoke, so the teenager just lets her mind speak for itself. The reel rewinds, and begins anew--the rec room, the twins on the floor with Shelby and Rasa, the goofing around, Shane's rare smile, all of the kisses and then THE kiss with Rasa, which sent Shelby fleeing in the hopes Bastian would come after her... "This shit is so convenient," she says, only a few seconds later, "it's fucking fast. Ivan came in while I was heading out. He had...he had /bees/ with him. I was up in the shower and then...I think one of them got stung, and Bastian...I think he bit Ivan. Or maybe tried? They're saying he's in medbay. Ivan, I mean." "Who the fuck is Ivan." Jim doesn't say it, but his mind is already betraying him that it's Xavier's. Weird shit is their bread and butter. He flicks, inhales life into his own smoke, has at least the courtesy to tip back his head and blow it at the ceiling instead of his conversational parter. "One of the other kids. His thing is bugs." Shelby's mind ever so helpfully provides him with a snapshot--an action reel!--of times she's seen Ivan. She didn't even have to ask it to do that, this is how these things work. The cigarette sizzles loudly as she takes a longer, harder drag on it. She does not cough as she joins Jim in targeting the ceiling with smoke. At least she's no longer glaring. Now the girl just puts out tired vibes. "I bet you'd like him. He could pollinate you," she says, without the usual twist of entendre--especially considering she's suffering weeks worth of blue balls. "No one's /pollinating/ me," Jim says this almost by default at this point, slurping his coffee and sniffing. "So what, the twins're expelled now? For getting stung by bees? Where to, back to their foster home?" Callous as it may be, frown isn't enthused at this idea. More disgusted. << Those kids should be back home by now. >> "Mel wants to," Shelby says, almost before he's even finished that statement. She follows this with a slurp of coffee that leaves her wincing afterwards, smacking her lips to help cool her tongue. "I dunno if they're expelled. Just know that they left. Right after. Didn't even stop to. Talk. Y'know." There's a hitch in her chest when she says this and she translates it into a sound that would be a growl from anyone else. /Now/ she's glaring again. Good job, Jim! "Guess all that BS with the party didn't really do shit to help things." "Argh," is all Jim has to say about Melinda. It's all he EVER says about Melinda out loud. His mind is a big angry /scribble/ over it with highlighted '/my/ business!' printed all over it. He throws up his hands when Shelby glares at him, leaving his cigarette lazily smoking up into his squinted left eye on its own, "Hey, don't look at me, babe." He gets up to wander back to the kitchen, "So what. You cut and run, too then?" << Ain't nothing just your business anymore. Hellooooo, telepathy? I saw you making out with her. I saw you /cuddling/ with her. You should just fucking kiss her already. /I'd/ kiss her if chicks did it for me. She's nice. >> Bossybritches is able to continue to be so while he's in the kitchen because hellooooo...telepathy? Shelby remains on the couch, jaw set. "If you're not gonna fuck her, maybe you can fuck me," she adds in normal voice. Her heart's not really in it, though she /does/ have a pretty strong memory of Jim's burly arm looped around her during the Masque incident. "I didn't run, I just...had to get out for a little while. S'like being in jail, there. All locked up. Not used to it." Jim has a pair of pretty solid arms, and the big manwrists that just beg for a big-faced manwatch. Sadly, Jim is poor and wears no watch. That's what cellphones are for. "I'm not fuckin' /anybody/ til Hive's got his shit back. I'm not your god damn soap opera." He's spreading apricot jam on toast, though he'd only been MAKING toast for one. "Also. Kid, you're like twelve." He comes back to /jam/ the plate of toast into Shelby's face. "And I guess the doctor'd want you t'go /back/ if you crashed at his pad, huh?" He then wanders back to the kitchen to put the last piece of bread in the toaster. Of course, it's the heel. << Appropriate for me. >> <Borg> Someone is radiating a slow inferno of building excitement. "Asshole," Shelby supplies, even as she /takes/ the damn toast, /fine/. A baleful bite is taken out of it--and then savored, because man, apricot ham is like the best, ohmigod yum. She licks her lips. "M'seventeen, jerkface. That's legal. I got a full bush and everything." That...was probably way more than Jim ever wanted to know. EVER. Even for a nosy fucker like him. But... "Yeah, he's big on the school thing. And busy right now anyway. I just...I dunno." She is stewing in lots of emotions--she /is/ seventeen--but they are mot of the mopey brand. Mostly she is pissed off and restless and << damn it, y'know a lay would fix this. >. <Borg> Someone is radiating embarrassment. <Borg> Someone is radiating /chocolate/! <Borg> Someone is radiating a lot of very /angry/-bright light. And apparently also fighting a horde of undead things? <Borg> Someone might be radiating chocolate now too. :/ << A thought that's brought about a few million teen pregnancies in its time. >> Jim shoots back blandly from the kitchen. "Y'know who else has got a bush? An /eighty/ year old. And I ain't bangin' one of them either. I got this sweet spot," he very seriously holds up either hand like two sides of a spectrum, "of /age/ I got a thing for. And it ain't baby pussy, and it ain't /granny/ pussy. Just..." he brings either hand down like he's CHOPPING OFF either end beyond what he prefers, "/lady/ pussy." Oh, hey - toast's up. He scoops jam onto it, "Guess you can stay here. I finally got a computer. It's shit, though. Hardly works." This MIGHT be because he doesn't know how to use it. He doesn't bother with a plate, wandering back into the living room just cramming toast into his mouth around drags off his cig. He's looking at the restless MESS of girl on his couch with narrowed eyes. "Y'wanna hit a movie?" "Yeah, s'funny but they got these things called condoms and morning after pills now. Fuck having kids. I dunno why our folks even had /us/." Shelby gestures widely, perhaps trying to bring Xavier's into the mix too. All of Jim's talk of pussy gets a faint and crooked smile out of the girl though--that, at least, is amusing. "I suppose you're right, I ain't no /lady/," she retorts however, with a roll of her eyes. The rest of the toast is pushed into her mouth, crumbs and jam licked from fingers, lips and scooped up from the front of her shirt where a glob landed. "...yeah. Sure." << Ha ha, shoots down the pussy then asks me on a date, fuck, you're so backwards, dude. Why does Mel like you? >> "If you're buying." <Borg> Someone is NOT asking Shelby on a date jesus christ she's twelve. <Borg> Someone says, "<< ... >>" <Borg> Someone thought Shelby was already dating his brother, didn't know she liked 'em so old. <Borg> Someone just got asked to a movie by someone /else/ then. <Borg> Someone thinks it's hard to date dudes that ditch their girls >:( "It is NOT a da-," Jim swallows the last of his toast and crams the cigarette back in the corner of his mouth, "Y'know what? FINE. Let's go on a god damn date." He chugs his coffee partway and then just leaves it sitting on the coffee table - he'll drink it cold when he gets back. Story of his life. He yanks his coat off the back of a chair, "You. Me. Dinner and a movie. Fuck it." <Borg> Someone is sad so many people seem to be feeling abandoned. :( <Borg> Someone says, "Is the band breaking up??" Shelby has been distracted by the head-chatter, eyes unfocusing, the last of her chewing slowly down. Then she blinks. Just once. And her eyes snap back to Jim. "Whoa, slow down, dude." /She's/ not chugging coffee. A near dainty sip is taken before she puts it down, crushes out her cigarette and then fumbles back into her jacket. The smirk? Firmly in place. "You don't have to make out with me when the lights go down," she promises, "'cause I'm not really into beards anyway." "Good," Jim grunts, grabbing his keys, stuffing his wallet into a back pocket. "'Cause I'm a fucking prude." He claps his knees shut demonstratively. "Well, c'mon, princess, pick up your heels." He's already /ambling/ towards the door, the thickest darkest portions of his treebarky skin absorbing inward out of sight for his journey outside. Some time later... <Borg> Someone swells open fiery-hot happy with REUNION. <Borg> Someone says, "<< ...we're trying to watch a MOVIE here, dude. Fuck! >>" <Borg> Someone prickles at the swell of happy, bristling cranky-angry-hurt instead. <Borg> Someone focuses really hard on chocolate. <Borg> Someone says, "missed these guys oh man missed this SMELL holy shit kyahahaha!" <Borg> Someone tries to bite all of you THROUGH THE MINDLINK. Sad. Futile. Empty chomps. <Borg> Someone says, "<< shut up shut up shut up shut UP >>" <Borg> Someone says, "<< Aaaand I missed that plot point. Thanks, assholes. >>" <Borg> Someone has /exactly/ zero fucks to give about your fucking movie. <Borg> Someone says, "<< Knock it off or I /will/ make out with Jim and no one wants to see that. >>" <Borg> Someone might... actually. <Borg> Someone says, "<< Never mind. Probably not. Just... Damn this thing. >>" <Borg> Someone kind of mentally /withdraws/, at this, a hard swell of hurt rising for a moment and then quieting into -- maybe silence. Maybe a sharp burn of whiskey.