ArchivedLogs:Body Language

Body Language
Dramatis Personae Doug, Sebastian, Shane
In Absentia	2013-04-02 Teenagers.
Location <NYC> Central Park North
Central Park North is slightly quieter than its southern counterpart, being further uptown and slightly out of the bustle of the City - insofar as one can escape the bustle of the City even here, in the acres of green and blue that make up Central Park. The reservoir is in the northern half, providing miles of jogging and biking trails along the clear water, as well as benches for people to sit and rest. It's not quite late enough to be /late/, but it's late enough by far to be /dark/. And quieter, in the park, more people passing /through/ than lingering. The day was warm enough but nighttime has put a sharp bite in the air, temperatures falling back down towards if not actually /to/ freezing. Somewhere near the water, there's a splash. A rattle of chain links as one and then a second small form climbs over the fence separating reservoir from jogging paths. Rustling of bushes. But then one and then a second small form is heading back /towards/ the path. Maybe not entirely steadily. The twins lean on each other; Shane's arm is looped around Sebastian's back, tucked beneath his shoulders. Water still glistens in the spiky-hard mess that passes as /hair/ for them, although their clothes (black butterfly-printed skirt, thick bright-coloured socks, purple corduroy jacket, for Sebastian; black jeans, white tee, grey vest, dark peacoat for Shane) are dry. Sebastian stumbles slightly, upon nearing the path. But doesn't go sprawling; Shane's quick tightening of arm keeps him up. "{You need to hold your liquor better,}" comes in Vietnamese, with a snort. "{Not drunk,}" Sebastian protests. "{Cold.}" He /is/ shivering, under Shane's arm. He leans closer to his brother. It's late enough that Doug should have already been home, by now. There's probably two cats who are not speaking to their life partner/valet due to the lateness. This is why he's moving through the park, backpack slung over his shoulder and dressed in jeans and a grey sweatshirt under a denim jacket. His phone is out, and his thumb skims over the screen, his nose twitching a bit as he reads what's there. But then there are familiar voices near the path, and the blonde pulls up, listening intently. "{Shane? Is that you?}" He asks in Vietnamese, putting his phone in his pocket as he wanders in the direction of the twins. "{What are you guys doing out here?}" "{What the fuck.}" Shane is glaring at Doug like somehow the words have offended him. He pulls Sebastian a little closer. "Hi." Sebastian doesn't resist the pulling, but he's not glaring. Just looking at Doug, and then back towards the water. "Swimming?" he says, in English. "We're here a lot." "The fuck are you, my dad? We're here. Why are /you/ here?" Shane answers in English, too, dropping his arm from around Sebastian's back so he can shrug off his coat. Trade coats with his brother. Purple corduroy doesn't really go with his vest but /oh well/. Doug blinks at Shane's reaction, and furrows his brow. "Whoa, dude. Dial down the hostility, yeah? I'm not busting your chops. I was just asking." He nods at Sebastian's explanation, and lifts his shoulder. "Subway got stalled, and I was cutting through the park to get to another station," he says, lifting his eyebrows at Shane. "It's Tuesday. I have late classes on..." he trails off as he studies the twins, and he adjusts his backpack, frowning deeply. "Are you guys okay?" "Fine," they both answer; Sebastian quietly, Shane sharply. "I don't care about the /question/," Shane answers irritably. "You're not Vietnamese." Sebastian shrugs into Shane's jacket with a slight reduction in his shivering. Slight. The shivering has already set in deep it will take some time to undo it. "No, he's a polyglot --" His brow furrows, teeth scraping at his lower lip. "Game night is Tuesday," he offers hopefully to the sky. Maybe it will rain games down on him? But it does not. "Fuck game night," Shane grumbles. "Gorram geek." If he sees any irony in pairing these two words together it does not show in his surly expression. Doug seems confused, at Shane's sharpness, and frowns. "I don't really see the connection," he says. "I'm not Spanish, French, Italian, or a computer, and I can speak those languages." He lifts an eyebrow. "It's reflex. I didn't mean anything by it." He lifts a shoulder, and squints upwards after Sebastian's gaze. "Well, it's Tuesday," he says. "I don't know if there's a game going tonight, though." He presses his lips into a tight, worried smile. "You sure you guys are okay? I can totally listen, if you need to talk or whatever." "Games every Tuesday," Sebastian says, shrugging a shoulder and offering Doug -- well, it's almost a smile. Not quite. Little twitch of lips that fades into a leeeean up against Shane. "You're fucking kidding me, right?" Shane is just staring blankly at Doug. "Talk. To you." Sebastian's nose wrinkles. "Sorry, he just -- is -- we're okay," he says, a little apologetically. "How's, um -- how're -- things with you?" "Bullshit," Doug says, the smile fading into a line. "You guys are not okay." He waggles his fingers at his head. "I can read body language, too. And you are Not Okay." He exhales through his nose, glaring at Shane. "And you can just knock it the fuck off with that hostility act. I'm not doing anything to you but trying to be a friend." He lifts his eyebrows, and juts out his jaw, expression hardening for just a moment before he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I've been good," he answers Sebastian. "Busy with school and stuff. Working on developing a couple of apps to earn some steady money while I finish up my game." "Go fuck yourself, asshole." Webbed fingers mean Shane cannot flip Doug off. Alas. His teeth bare, though, which is body language clear enough. He tugs at Sebastian, but kind of halfheartedly. Kind of wobbly as he steps away. "Mnngh," Sebastian says to this, his hand lifting to press his knuckles to his eyes. "Sorry, he's a little --" His head shakes. "Reading body language doesn't mean jack/shit/ if you can't read /people/, dumbshit. Anyone with half a fucking /clue/ would stop pressing at the /first/ 'fine'. You're not our fucking /friend/, you barely know us." Shane says this more in a grumble than in a bite, digging in his pockets for -- "Fuck," he mutters. He digs in Sebastian's pockets, instead, because he has recently traded coats. Sebastian reaches to pull out the pack of cigarettes before Shane needs to rummage far, offering it and a lighter out towards his brother. "-- mmn, rude," he finishes apologetically. "It's not you. Sorry. Um. Sorry. I hope your -- game's coming -- sorry." Doug's face darkens as Shane goes on, and his nostrils flare. "Fine," he says in a flat voice, flicking towards Sebastian almost apologetically. "I'll leave you alone, then." He begins to turn, and looks as if he might /be/ leaving. But then he turns back. "No. Y'know what, Shane? Fuck /you/, you selfish prick. I've been nothing but friendly to you." He flaps a hand in the twins' direction. "I /like/ you guys. And your family." He sniffs, and hawks a wad of phelgm to one side with an athlete's precision. "But I can see now that I'm just wasting my fucking time. Sebastian, if you want to talk, you know where I am," he says, turning on his heel. "Shane, you can go piss up a rope." Shane actually /flinches/, when Doug hawks up that spit, visibly and abruptly; Sebastian does, too, stiffening and instinctively backstepping as it hits the ground. At their necks, both twins' gills are flaring, rapid-fluttering open and closed. Shane's cigarette falls from his fingers to the ground, his claws unsheathing long and sharp, reflexively. Sebastian just hooks his arm through his brother's, head ducked low into the collar of the coat as he murmurs an uncertain-unsteady, "C'mon." Tugtugtugtugtug/tug/, he is pulling /Shane/ away, this time, and not halfheartedly; his grip is firm, his pull with /strength/ to it. "Sorrym'sorry," he mumbles to Doug, but he is ushering his brother /quickly/ in the other direction. At least as quickly as he can be with kind of a bit of wobble to his steps. Still, given the twins' abilities, it's still Pretty Quick.