ArchivedLogs:Biting Society

Biting Society
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Micah, Billy	19 August 2014 It's a long wait for Hive to get out of surgery. Fortunately, there's banh mi! Provided you don't have wings. :(
Location <NYC> Harlem
Harlem's gritty reputation has become less and less earned over the past decade or so as gentrification has set in. Its reputation as a hub of jazz and culture, however, is still very much earned -- throughout the years Harlem has been renowned for its contributions to music, from its swing dancing and jazz culture back when speakeasies were prevalent to the many hip-hop artists with Harlem roots in modern day. The heat of the day is dropping off as afternoon slides into evening, leaving the streets just a little bit more crowded both in a post-work rush and with people just out enjoying the pleasant twilight. Dusk doesn't look like he's enjoying much of /anything/, fidgeting, restless, on the sidewalk just near Mount Sinai. His wings twitch uncomfortably at his back, his cargo shorts actually joined today by a green-and-white striped tee and pair of Vans sneakers. He /has/ been attempting to procure some form of Dinner, having just recently texted Micah in a prompt to come eat, but his efforts at obtaining banh mi from a nearby food truck have been thwarted by his wings. Or at least by the proprietor's refusal to /serve/ someone with wings. It -- isn't improving his mood any, wallet thwacking irritably into his opposite palm as he turns his head (gaze shaded behind dark glasses) to explore other nearby options. For once, Micah isn't being /part/ of the post-work rush. He is dressed down already in sneakers, bluejeans, and a black T-shirt bearing a reproduction of a parchment page full of sketches of Toothless and prosthetic tail designs. There is an olive newsboy cap crammed over his beyond-messy auburn hair for being-outside purposes. His bunched shoulders and demeanour torn between tension and exhaustion don't betray the /best/ of days off, however. As he approaches Dusk, he reaches out to pet at a wing. "Hey, sugar. What place were y'thinkin'?" Billy doesn't much look like he's enjoying much of anything, either. With his already narrow shoulders slumped down to a physically impossible low, he trudges down the block. His fair coloration and attire glowing dimly from reflected city lights, he has quietly been struggling with some discrimination of his own - if not the slightly more bureaucratic sort. He's been carrying around the same stack of internship papers for a blocks and blocks, now. So, when his puffy, tired eyes finally happen upon a garbage can, he stuffs the papers into it without a moment's thought. His expression is open for all to see, behind the thick, clear lenses of /his/ glasses. Dusk's wing curls out instinctively, though the more obvious flex of wing earns him a good deal more /glares/ from passersby. He curls his wing around Micah at the petting, exhaling sharp and annoyed. "I was /going/ to get us banh mi but that motherfucker wouldn't /sell/ to me." His voice is distinctly cranky, though it softens -- slightly -- to ask, "... has there been any. News. On progress or --" He trails off, brows furrowing at Billy's approach. Then lifting. "Well, shit." This just sounds /surprised/ initially; it levels out to a quieter concern when he asks: "Bad day?" Okay, so it isn't /much/ of a stretch for Micah to make a /show/ of snuggling into Dusk's wing, but he does so anyway. Stupid glaring people can get over themselves. "Did y'want me t'go buy it an' not tip? Or are we in a place where we can say forget givin' the bigots money at all?" His teeth meet with his lower lip. "If I get the 'neurosurgery is a delicate an' lengthy process' speech outta that intern again, I might have to flick 'im in the ear next time." This coupled with a headshake implies that, no, there's no news outside of /ongoing/. Micah's eyebrows lift, also somewhat surprised by Billy's presence. "Oh, hello." The overt snuggling does nothing really to immediately improve Billy's outlook. His eyes, already wet, widen perfectly circular as he both confirms and announces, "I have had a bad day." His thin, barely flesh-toned lips part as he sucks air into his lungs for a few seconds and then with a quiver, releases it. Pathetically, he turns to Micah and raises his own eyebrows in a mirror-move, "I-I'm sorry," he shakes his head, stammering and moving step past the two as if to move on, "Hello." "... what are you apologizing for?" Dusk sounds starkly baffled at this. His head turns slightly back towards the stand. "... I /really/ like banh mi." Grumble. "Plus options around here that'll be /quick/ are -- mmnh. Not slim but largely equally likely to be bigots?" His other wing shrugs, the first staying curled snug around Micah. His mouth hooks up crookedly into a thin smile. "There's a lot of that going around," he tells Billy wryly. "What's up?" “It's one of those days,” Micah confirms to Billy with an empathetic sigh. “Ohgosh, no need t'apologise for /existin'/, sugar.” He offers a small smile with this. “So... I could go buy the food, not tip, /and/ we can hang 'round to eat it. If you're feelin' ornery.” Meanwhile, there is wing to pet. Billy visibly holds in what could only be an apology for apologizing. Chest swelling, he sways his doe-eyed gaze from one man to the next, "You're not going to tip someone?" Billy honestly doesn't know who he is more disappointed in. This might put him over the edge. He can't breathe. He makes a weird sound duck trying to suck in a breath. Okay, it was successful. He can breathe. "I'm always feeling ornery." Dusk's smile thins further, which at least serves to neatly hide his sharp fangs once more. "Not tip a motherfucker who won't serve me because I have wings? I feel pretty comfortable with that. Tipping is for people who /don't/ shit on me just for existing." “Tippin' is for /good/ service. Even mediocre service. /Not/ for bigoted behaviour.” Micah offers Billy a playful smile. “Y'wanna banh mi? An' how many y'want, Dusk?” He does manage to finally /start/ pulling away from Dusk's wing, one hand already fishing for his wallet. One eyebrow hikes up again at Billy's laboured breathing. “You okay, hon?” There is another swell of the blonde's chest as he sucks in air through his nostrils and releases it slowly. "Yes," he answers. Quietly, he takes a step to distance himself from the pair while he dries his eyes with a finger. "I'm sorry. I-I've been feeling sorry for myself for being discriminated against for being a mutant and-and here, you can't even eat," Billy gestures towards Dusk, the pathetic helpless Dusk, before letting his hand fall limply to his side. Dusk's wing curls tighter against Micah -- not so much /snuggling/ as neatly pinning a long bonespar against Micah's pocket to block it while he instead presses his own (already in-hand!) wallet into Micah's palm. "Just one. Grilled pork. And maybe the tofu spring rolls." His nostrils flare, head shaking in answer to Billy. "Pfft. Discrimination is shitty no matter where it happens. Anyway, I --" This time his smile is widening, another glinting flash of fangs, "-- eat plenty. Who's giving you shit, anyway? You need me to bite someone for you?" “Goodness, honey, just 'cause it's happenin' t'more'n one person don't mean it ain't /wrong/ an' horrible in both cases.” Micah is also taking Billy's ongoing breathing difficulties as a 'no' on the food. The insistent press against his pocket lights a bit of red glow in his cheeks. A grin appears, tugging lopsided, as Micah offers a shoddy mock salute. “Yessir. Comin' right up.” There /might/ be some deepening of blush at the mention of Dusk eating fine, but Micah is already escaping to retrieve foodstuffs. Experiencing just a pang of jealousy at the two's familiarity, Billy holds back unloading his woes in all. Sullenly, though less so than he was a few minutes ago, he shakes his head, "No. Thank you, though." His eyes shyly trail after Micah as he fetches food, "Unless you're willing to bite /society/ for me." "You show me where to sink my teeth and I will bite society /so/ fucking hard." Dusk's wing rolls in a slow languid stretch as Micah slips off, curling back so as to avoid blocking the entire sidewalk with it. He pulls both wings back in to tuck neatly at his back. "Not really into answering questions, are you? S'cool. I'm not gonna /pry/. You got my number if you ever want someone to talk to, though, I'm pretty familiar with how shitty society can be." Micah returns soon enough with the food, having duplicated Dusk's order for himself. If Dusk was paying close attention, he /will/ note that Micah sneaked out his own wallet, but only to pay for his half of the meal. He hands one of the paper bags over to Dusk, rather /hi/-openly-full-view of the guy who'd just refused to sell it to him directly. “You tryin' t'bite everyone an' everythin' at once?” There is a trace of amusement to this question. Billy pauses to consider Dusk for a moment. By the time Micah returns, a small smile is forcing it's way up into his expression. "He is," Billy confirms, dreamily peeking back over his shoulder towards the trashcan he just dumped all of his papers in. "You two enjoy your dinner, I'll uh, get out of your hair. 'Really should probably get home." He widens his eyes and waggles his eyebrows as he steps to the side and forward. "Can't help it. S'what I'm built for." Dusk probably didn't notice the sneaky payment; he's been pretty focused on Billy while Micah went to retrieve food. He /does/ unwrap his sandwich with a large fangy grin towards the food truck's proprietor, though, demonstrating What He Is Built For with a CHOMPY bite of delicious sandwich. It takes a moment for him to chew, swallow, lick breadcrumbs off his lips. "Mmkay." His chin jerks up in a nod to Billy. "You ever need a break from shitty people you're welcome to drop by our place." His wing snakes back with absent familiarity around Micah's shoulders, head turning back towards the hospital; his quiet follow-up, "... glad for the company around there anyway." is more to himself than to Billy, really. "Don't know that I'd wish your bites on everyone. Some folks just don't /deserve/ it." Micah's tone implies the exact /opposite/ of what one would typically expect from such a statement--/earn/ your Duskbites, people! He unwraps his own sandwich, just peeling down the top edge enough for him to take much less impressive nibbles off of it. "Have a good night, Billy." His free hand waves the other man off as he burrows back against Dusk's side for the walk back, waiting until the pale young man is out of earshot before speaking again, a hint of amusement in his words. "Company's nice. S'he nursin' a bit of a crush on you?" "Fine, okay. Bites for you. /Claws/ for society." The sharp long claws at the top of Dusk's wings flex briefly. His wing rubs slowly against Micah's arm as they start back towards the hospital, head giving a small shake. "You know, I don't -- know. Which is strange, I /usually/ know. But he's kinda -- mmnh." His brows furrow momentarily. "I kissed him once," he admits slowly, "but I'm not sure I'd want to again unless he got more, um. Spine? He's really sweet but it's a little awkward, between all the stammering and blushing and heart racing and nervous I can't actually /tell/ if he's flustered because he's /into/ me or if he's flustered because he's /scared/ of me and that is -- so /very/ not a place I want to be navigating without clearer signals." "Seems the better plan until society shapes up," Micah agrees with a nod, leaning into the rubbing wing. "He just got kinda starry-eyed lookin' at you back there. But...fair. He /also/ seems like he's terrified of the universe so it's hard t'do much past that." The lopsided grin returns. "Why'm I not surprised y'managed t'get 'im not terrified long enough t'kiss you?" "Yeah, it's the scared of the universe part that I -- I don't know. It's hard to know, right? And I always kind of feel like I have an /even/ huger sort of, uh. Obligation? To be super conscientious about that shit? I could snap most people I know in half with one hand, I /so/ don't want to put anyone in a place where they're just /intimidated/ into --" Dusk huffs out a sharp breath, tipping his head down. "Feel like /someone/ should kiss him, though. Someone incredibly not-intimidating. Like if /Horus/ was older and, uh -- had. A mouth." Dusk lowers his sandwich, dipping his head to brush a soft kiss to the side of Micah's neck. His lips have curled back into a smile, maybe all the stronger for the look of disgust that a woman exiting the hospital gives /Micah/ at this. "Maybe because you're well versed in wanting to kiss me." "No, that makes sense. Don't want any confusion on that kinda thing." Micah giggles at the idea of Horus trying to kiss Billy, mostly for the skittish meets terrified match-up. "S'got a mouth. Think it's the /lips/ part that he'd hafta figure out for any traditional kissin'." Micah's blush rises again, but only at Dusk's commentary. The woman's look just makes him nestle a little closer, chin nuzzling against the other man's shoulder. "/Definitely/ not worth your bitin'," he assesses of the woman. "... s'pose that's going to be rough for him, if he /is/ into. Traditional. Kissing." Dusk's tone is distracted as his thoughts stray to Horus, but it focuses again as his attention turns back to Micah. Mostly for a /proper/ kiss this time, soft but brief. "S'alright. I got enough people who are /well/ more than worth it."