ArchivedLogs:Can't Have Nice Things

Can't Have Nice Things
Dramatis Personae Hive, Shelby, Flicker, Dusk, Ian
In Absentia	2013-02-27 Shelby brings a send-off gift.
Location <NYC> 403 {Hive} - Village Lofts - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here, split between the four people; the fold-out couch in the living room (often folded out!) suggests that at least one of them does not actually claim a room as their own. For once it's quiet around Hive's apartment, tonight. Dusk is curled up in an armchair, half his attention on a laptop on his lap and half of it on trying not to nod off. With middling success. Flicker has a laptop, as well, and a spiral-bound sheaf of papers that are apparently the required reading for an Existentialism course. /His/ laptop is perched on the very edge of his knees, mostly because of the fact that the majority of his lap is taken up with Hive's head. The telepath is stretched out on the couch, having long since lost the battle with not-nodding-off. A trickle of drool is streaked out the corner of his mouth. He is oblivious to Flicker's arms stretching over him occasionally to type, or to the movement of the mouse, his chest currently being used as a mousepad. Ahh, domestic harmony--destined to be shattered. With Hive asleep, it is quite possible that the young man will miss the thundercloud even now approaching his door. It is Shelby and she is full of disgust for creepy old men. Perverts, all of them, Jesus Christ you'd think they'd have more imagination and hitching a ride is totally not worth the "talk dirty to me" and demands for handjobs or worse. As she raises her knuckles to rap on the door, she is seriously wondering if you can pick up STDs just by riding in cars and whether it would be bad for her health to bathe in that squirty alcohol hand rub stuff. But other than that, the kid seems great! She's filled out with regular meals, there are no unintentional holes in either her jeans or Mona Lisa t-shirt--and check it out, just the one layer of clothing under her jacket--and the backpack she has slung over her shoulder is new. Also new is the neck and face tat of a Chinese dragon, curling over her cheek to scowl at the door. Open! OPEN! "Mngh," is Hive's answer to the rapping at the door. He gropes around for a pillow, but the only one he can find is already behind Flicker and Flicker is not giving it up. In the end he hides his eyes beneath Flicker's arm, instead. Flicker looks up at the door, looks down at Hive. Looks over at Dusk. Dusk looks /right back/ at him. For a long moment they just /sit/ there, mutually staring, and then with a sigh Dusk breaks first, setting his laptop aside to get up and head for the door, wings folded in rather cloaklike against his back. He peeks out the spyhole and then, with a lift of eyebrows, unlocks the door to pull it open. "Hey. Shelby." His voice is quiet as he jerks his head, gesturing the girl inside. "Hey, Shelby? Where's the, "oh my god Shelby it's been so /long/ and you're looking super fine, did you grow /tits/, holy shit!"?" It's a rhetorical question--the teenager breezes right in without waiting for an answer or respecting the peaceful atmosphere. Maybe she's immune to sleep vibes, because if any place is going to be full of them, it is /this one/. "Hey Dusk. Flicker. Faceless." That last one is for Hive, in case they couldn't tell. But since he's not looking and might have missed it, she thinks << Dude, your wang is hanging out of your pants. >> at him while slipping the backpack from her shoulder. And toeing her sneakers off--make a note, she intends to stay. << Did you grow tits? >> This is more /skeptical/ than holyshit, quiet voice drifting in amused from whereverthefuck Ian is hiding. Possibly under the bed or in the closet like a good monster. "'f my cock was out I'm sure Flicker would've --" Hive doesn't /actually/ finish this thought. He just kind of grumbles and /burrows/ down into the couch, squeezing his eyes shut. "Shouldn't you be at school? Did they kick you out already?" "They didn't kick her out, she just missed us." Dusk is settling back down into his armchair, wings flexing and refolding as he begins the process of getting comfortable again. It is a tedious process. Chairs were not designed with wings in mind. Flicker's eyes widen, abruptly alarmed by Hive's almost-thought. "I would -- uh -- /Hi/, Shelby." His is the warmest, coming together with a quick smile. "How's everything?" "I'm up a cup size 'cause holy fuck, food," Shelby says, because who /doesn't/ want to know that. In fact, after she strips off her jacket, she reaches back to bunch up her t-shirt to emphasize the fact. Model pose! "It's crazy what eating real food does to you, you guys should try it, see if it helps with dick size too." After this affectionate assault, she hooks a milk crate closer to the coffee table and cops a squat, dragging her backpack over as well. "Flicker would've..." she prompts while unzipping the pack and tilting to reach inside. Try as she might, she can't keep her brain quiet about what she's searching for: where'd that baggy o' good stuff go? Shit. "And I /did/ miss you. You don't even know. See, Dusk loves me. He gets first dibs." As to whether she is welcome at Xavier's anymore, she doesn't dignify that with a response. But then, she doesn't have to. Damn telepaths. "First dibs, don't say that, he might take you serious, he hasn't fed in a while," Hive says, still attempting not to look at the world as he hides against Flicker's shirt. Dusk /is/ looking /even/ paler than his usual, but he just scowls at Hive's answer. "Ohshit, real food? I guess we're pretty much boned for a while after the rent clears." "You /are/ looking good," Flicker says, with a slight flush and a quick smile. He immediately looks /away/ because, tight shirt, but then looks uncertainly back like he is not /really/ sure where the polite place to put his eyes is. "Did you come here just to smoke up, cuz, uh, man, I know school has rules and all but I'm sure you could've found nearer places for a joint just ask Shane." Hive is only now deigning to open his eyes, turning onto his side so he can look at Shelby. The baggie she's searching for is found, holding not only a twist of pot but also an assortment of little pills and bagged powders. Shelby shakes these at the boys before she tosses the bag onto the table and closes her bag. She radiates triumph, the pride of a hunter who's dragged the kill back from the savanna. "Aww, Dusk, seriously? You never said you wanted to nibble on me. I'm anemic though, school nurse said. Fucks my blood up, doesn't it?" She's grinning at /Flicker/ as she confides this, having caught the twitchy eyes and blush. The grin remains even as her thoughts shift into something more somber--hiding it from the roommates if not from Hive, and possibly the lurking Ian. "Well, see, I heard you guys were up to something and I figured, it's kinda like a tradition for soldiers to get a good send off before they march into battle. Or whatever. So, here's your party, dudes." << And if you turn it down, you owe me my allowance, dude. Seriously. >> Under that lurks a quieter sentiment, << You deserve /something/ nice. >> Which, in Shelby's world, equates to illegal narcotics. << Anemic's not as good but it'll do. He likes the boys downstairs. Ryan. Jax. Fucking hippie vegans taste better apparently, who knew? >> There's a brief curl of shadow wisping in the bedroom doorway, but then it's gone again. Flicker just blinks, wide-eyed, at the sudden appearance of drugs on his coffee table. "Um -- wow, thanks, you -- uh -- didn't -- have to --" "Soldiers," Dusk says solemnly to him, "going into battle. That's you and Hive, dude. That means you /gotta/." Flicker blinks again. From one bedroom door there's a faint suggestion of laughter, more felt than heard. << You know he's Mormon, right? That means /caffeine/ is too hard a drug for him. Serious. Boy doesn't drink coke much less /snort/ it. >> Flicker blushes, deep. Hive is just kind of rubbing at his face with his palm. "You -- uh -- wow," he says in bemused echo of Flicker. "Doesn't Hallmark make cards for shit like this? Heard you're about to die, here's a picture of a kitten?" "Sure, yeah, they'll even put a slot in it to stick a joint," Dusk says. "Hey, I like steak and that's vegan," Shelby says with laughter in her voice, craning her neck to get a look at the doorway. "Can't really blame...wait, what? Mormon? Seriously, they don't...? Well /fuck/." Her forehead rumples as she whips around to stare at the baggie. The wheels turn in her head but nothing is coming up except for mild annoyance, because even /Catholics/ chug wine. What kind of dumbass religion is that? When she looks back at the chair- and couch-bound roommates, the girl does not seem pleased. You try to do something nice for people and... "Whatever. I mean, if you guys don't want it I can split it with Shane or something." "You use a weiiird definition of vegan," Dusk says. He is totally not studying Shelby's neck as she cranes it, honest. He's watching his computer /intently/. << Hey, sure, give it all to Hive, >> Ian is snarking, << I bet that'd turn out -- >> He stops, though, abruptly enough it is probable one of the others in the room has said something. Probably Flicker, judging from the frown that comes almost in time with this cutting-off. "It's just," Flicker says, giving Shelby a sheepish half-smile, "I mean, it was nice. I -- things have been really stressful and it's really cool of you to think of us. Ian's just -- I mean, you've felt Hive, right? Him out of control isn't really a thing anyone wants to be around for." "Be fucking hilarious though, wouldn't it?" Hive says. "Do a line and suddenly shit the entire neighborhood's --" His fingers gesture towards his temple, and then squeeze abruptly into a tight fist. "You know, that doesn't sound like a half bad idea. Shane'll probably need it," he adds, and this time he doesn't sound like he's joking. His head falls back down to rest his cheek against Flicker's leg, expression sinking back towards exhaustion. Shelby thought of that! That's why she... "S'why the weed." Her jaw has set, feelings that should /not/ be bruised turning black and blue over the refusal of her gift. She musters a smile for Flicker though because he is at least trying, and being so earnest about it. "I figured he turned down a lay so weed'd be like the next best thing to relax him," she adds in explanation, with << What, I'd have fucked you on the first date >> providing an equally defensive counterpoint beneath that. But, seeing as no one is taking, she leaves over to snag the baggie again, memories of Shane's and Bastian's faces painted with fierce dread snapshotting through the surface of her thoughts. 'Everyone leaves,' lurks beneath that, unconsciously. "It's not a big deal, anyway. I got something for Ryan too, if you guys can drop it off for me," Shelby's saying as she replaces the baggie in the bag. A small box is taken out next, flipped open to show the fancy guitar picks inside--only barely used! "It does help relax," Hive admits, eying the baggie as Shelby snags it back, "sometimes." His eyes squeeze slowly shut at the images of the twins' faces, shoulders tensing. "Thanks, Shelby," he says, a little more tired as he curls an arm around Flicker's knee. "Sorry, I think this whole situation is just kind of fucked up. We'll get it to him." Dusk glances at the picks, but only briefly. Hive looks at them a moment longer "Aren't those --" he starts, but then shrugs. "Right. OK. You not gonna see him yourself?" The box ends up where the baggie had been. Shelby is not sad to see it go--it inspires a host of conflicted emotion, none of them positive. "Nah. I mean, I /was/ 'cause I figured it'd be all party! in here but if you guys're just gonna sleep," her eyes cut towards Hive, the glance carried on a well-hidden pulse of concern and a less-hidden wave of hmph, "then I may as well go see if anyone's running a ladies night out there. Make the trip out here /worth/ it, y'know? I had to pull some serious spy shit to get out, I dunno how Shane does it so often." But first, she curls her hand, knuckles down, and extends her wrist towards Dusk. Two parts curiosity and one part amusement. "Wanna sip?" "S'always a party in Ryan's place," Hive says, wryly. "But he's been working hard as fuck lately, he might be as beat as the rest of us." "I think Ryan arranged his /own/ party," Flicker says, with a slight crinkle of his nose. "And mmm, I think Shane /does/ it often I think he just doesn't get /away/ with it often. You could probably do it a lot too if you wanted to join him in detention from now till you graduate," he teases. It's not a very enthusiastic teasing, though, he's looking down at Hive's face with no small concern of his own. The tip of Dusk's tongue flicks out, very pink against his very pale lips. He looks at Shelby's wrist, and then looks at Hive. "Are -- wait, really?" He just seems a little /puzzled/, studying Shelby's expression uncertainly. "Sure. It'll be cheaper to get a buzz if you can stand stinky steak-eater's blood. It's kinda hot." It's not the /weirdest/ thing she's done with a guy, anyway, and at least /someone/ will get a thrill out of this visit. It's a thought which leads Shelby to grin encouragement at Dusk as she wags her arm at him. While waiting for the grab and bite, she tilts a look towards the pair on the couch. The grin is still there, flawless, but her mind is rolling into less happy places, try as she might. Fucking /downers/ up in this joint, Jesus. If /I/ was gonna die in a couple of weeks... "They can't give me detention until I like, actually start going to classes, I figure," she remarks, confident that this is truth, "so I got a little while yet to practice the sneaky. And I'm really good at sneaky." Except around telepaths. Visions of candles and sparkly lights and white linen tableclothes are there--not memories, but rather the hazy imaginings of a Soon To Come. "Can you get a contact high off blood?" Hive absently wonders, even as Dusk has evidently decided Shelby is not joking. He scoots forward in his chair, his hand reaching for hers. He does study her expression a moment longer, but then brushes a thumb against the vein in her wrist, head dipping to it. The pierce of fangs is quick and sharp, a brief twinned jab that withdraws soon after. Hive is largely ignoring what is probably fairly routine around here. He glances at Dusk only incidentally because he is right /there/ with Shelby. "That's a terrible way to look at it," he says, after a moment. "I'm throwing the biggest fucking party /afterwards/. Until then we're training like it's time for the fucking Freak Olympics because, shit, if we're all on the ball we're /not/ going to die. What's with the candles, you got a date?" "S'it Bastian?" Flicker says, with a quick smile. Shelby is not joking but she is a wuss, making with a wince and a yelped, "Ow!" when Dusk does his thing. She doesn't try to pull away though, suspecting that might make him bite harder. "I'm not even drunk yet, shut up," she faux-grumbles, peeking at the head hovering over her wrist--mostly fascinated, and checking to see if it's as messy as some movies make it out to be. After she's proven to her satisfaction that she's not going to hurl, pass out, or spray blood everywhere, she looks back at the couch twins. "Not dying is good. I'm kinda hoping for that." But not really, you know, pinning her hopes on it because shit, man. And look! There's plenty of blood left in her system to help her face go beet red when Sebastian's brought up. There are butterflies in her stomach which she quickly drowns by swallowing hard. "Shut up," she repeats at Hive, "it's not Bastian. It's for Jax. Shane...it was kind've Shane's idea. We're gonna give him a /nice/ night, so don't make any fucking jokes about it." It is not a particularly messy process, really, at least not at the moment. Kind of wet. But whatever blood there /is/ is going down Dusk's throat and not dripping all over everywhere. "I think you should get drunk and do it again. For /science/," Hive sugests. "Maybe you should save your stash for the afterparty." His lips curl upwards at her sudden blush. Flicker's do, too. "Oh!" he says, bright, "that's really -- that's /really/ sweet, I bet he'll be really touched. He -- yeah. He could use -- that's /nice/." He's saying this overlapping with Hive: "Shit, you and Shane are gonna give him a nice night? Like together? I mean, I know they're not like his /blood/ kids but that's still some twisted shit there. Plus you know he's gay, right? No offense. I mean your new tits'd sway most guys." He apparently missed that last memo. "And /I/ think you're trying to tell Dusk to kill me or something." Shelby eyes Dusk. "Don't kill me, du--what the /fuck/, Hive." This time her arm does twitch in the dark one's grasp, just enough to rattle the drinking process. A mental stream of disgust and offense serves as a battering ram, meant to whack the telepath upside the head. << Jesus Christ, you sick fuck, that's not /even/ >> "It's for Jax and some guy he's seeing! It was Shane's idea to give him a perfect night and /mine/ to make it like, super romantic so he could /relax/ and /enjoy himself/ and I'm just /singing/ at it and /fuck/, you're worse than the old guy in the car." Hive cringes at this offense, rubbing his palm against his temple. "Hrngh," he says eloquently, and then, "-- That's. Way prefera -- wait, Jax is seeing some guy?" His brows knit together for a moment. He finally pushes himself upright, off of Flicker's lap to stand with a slight wince and /both/ palms at his temples, now. He trudges off to the kitchen, disappearing behind the counter to crouch down. "I mean, when? He works like a fucking dog." "Dusk's careful," Flicker assures Shelby earnestly, pulling his laptop more firmly onto his lap now that Hive has vacated it. "Hardly anyone ever dies." Dusk tightens his grip on Shelby's twitching arm to stabilize it. His other hand flips Flicker off. "I dunno, some guy he saw awhile back. Shane knows him," she says after a moment of resettling herself. Dusk's efforts help, somewhat--she's starting to feel the effects, the loss slowing her down and returning her color to its normal dull pale. A breath is taken, released slowly; she swallows with a click of her throat and then she adds, "It's important to them, okay? And it's important to me too. So don't be a jerk about it. They want him to have something nice. In case. So I'm gonna make it happen, and if you wanna make jokes..." She'll kick him in the ass...if he walks close enough because really, she just wants to sit right now. "...seriously, don't kill me." "Tag?" Flicker suggests, after a moment. "I hope Tag," Hive answers, sounding a good deal lighter from behind the counter. He surfaces with a small box tucked under an arm, and stops to pour a glass of orange juice from the fridge, heading back out to press the glass into Shelby's free hand rather insistently. "No, that sounds great," he says, more sincerely. "I mean, fuck, if anyone deserves a nice night --" He's opening the box, which turns out to be a first aid kid. Largely stocked with bandaging. He's getting out fresh gauze, handing a few folded squares towards Dusk. Dusk's mouth presses to Shelby's wrist a moment longer, but then he lifts his head with a quick lick of his lips, pressing the gauze to her skin instead. Still no mess. Maybe TV vampires don't have enough /practice/ at this. While Shelby looks paler there is a good deal more color in his cheeks, now -- apart from the fangs (and, well, the wings) he actually looks almost normal. "Thanks," he says, his smile a little bashful as he holds the gauze in place. "You should, um, drink. Sorry." He nods to the juice. "You really going to -- I mean, for Jax -- that's nice. What are you guys gonna do?" "I dunno, Shane didn't say." Shelby /almost/ remembers Tag but the memory doesn't quite surface, beyond an impression of flashing lights and loud noises. She takes the glass when it appears in her hand, blinking at it for a moment before doing as instructed--just a few swallows at first before she rests it on her knee and draws another of those deep, lung-filling breaths. "That's almost kinda like Tylenol 3s," she comments on the way she feels, "except without the happy. S'okay, you're welcome." Whoa, manners. That could be due to the edge being off, though. Being suddenly tired will do that. Her eyes flick in Hive's direction but since << I'm ignoring you >>, she focuses instead on responding to Dusk--without a thank you for the telepath. "Gonna set up the garden upstairs with lights and stuff. Some food, once we figure out what. And I'm gonna do the guitar thing. Y'know. Serenade them and all, so they can dance or whatever." She sips again. Juuuuice. Dusk doesn't move for a while, leaning forward still with his hand wrapped around Shelby's wrist -- not restraining anymore but just holding the gauze there. "You know any pieces you can swing to?" Hive asks, heedless of the fact he is Totally Being Ignored. "He's a pretty kickass dancer. Doesn't get enough opportunity for it." He offers Dusk new gauze, which gets switched out for the old. This time after the squares he gives roller gauze, too, which Dusk wraps carefully around the fresh gauze to hold in place. "He really likes Thai," Flicker adds. "You know when you're doing this?" Shelby is docile as a lamb for the staunching and then the bandaging. She flexes her fingers afterwards and gives Dusk a pale smile to show that everything is All Right. "You're pretty good at that...Thai, huh?" Yes, Hive, you're still being ignored. What, you think she's an amateur? Of /course/ she knows stuff they can swing to and it's totally just been added to the list but she won't thank you for that either. "Weekend after this one. Before ya'll head out," she answers Flicker as she stands--carefully, at first, and then with more confidence when she finds herself not about to faint. The last of the orange juice is downed and the glass set on the table so she can go for jacket and backpack. Drained she might be, but that's no reason not to take advantage of night life! Or maybe just heading down to Ryan's. Or Jax's. Mm, sleep. As she goes, she rummages in the bag and before she hits the door to slip out, the baggie of pot goes sailing over her shoulder without the teen looking back. "See you guys later." Ever the optimist, she is.