ArchivedLogs:Comportment

Comportment
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Isra	2013-10-03 Isra clothes Dusk; he asks her out, among other things.
Location <NYC> 403 {Geekhaus} - 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. A widescreen television stands against the wall opposite the couch, shelving beside it holding a host of video games from different consoles. More shelving beside the windows on the far wall carries stacks of board games, as well as sourcebooks from various RPGs. 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 and one bathroom situated between them, split between the three people who live here. Dusk's bedroom is a messy place as might be expected, cluttered with books and clothing, forgotten dishes, boxes of Magic cards, other miscellany. His bed is not 'bed' so much as 'mattress on the floor'; though there /is/ a full bed against the opposite wall, it's neatly made and has been untouched for a while. His desk holds the desktop -- somewhat literally. /Far/ more elaborate of a setup than his lack-of-bed, the desk /itself/, with see-through glass body and softly glowing lights inside, has been configured to /be/ the computer case. Closer inspection of a pair of small decorative aquariums sitting to either side of its three monitors finds them to /also/ be computer cases, their inner workings submerged in a pale blue liquid on a bed of aquarium pebbles alongside plastic plants and little plastic castles or fake coral. There is music playing in his apartment, blaring loud enough to be heard spilling, albeit softly, out into the hall. "I Choose", at the moment, by The Offspring, coming up on a shuffling playlist from Dusk's computer. Dusk himself is not at the computer, sprawled facedown on his mattress in faded old jeans and no shirt, one wing puddled limply against his back while the other droops downward onto the floor. He has a Stark tablet on the pillow in front of him, finger tapping at it at intervals; he's reading, at the moment, though not very quickly. His eyes scan the page slowly, occasionally slipping closed; the dark circles beneath them suggest that he and sleep have not been well acquainted lately. Isra gives the front door three firm knocks and takes a step back, clasping long, clawed fingers together around her insulated travel mug as if it could warm them. She wears a linen wrap dress in deep amethyst and a wispy scarf dip-dyed the color of turning leaves. Over one shoulder, she carries a laptop bag and over the other the canvas tote which has become as regular a visitor to the Lofts as she herself. Dusk is slow answering the door. For a moment he just stays on his bed, eyes drooping closed again. Eventually, though, he rouses himself -- kind of. His fingers scrub at his hair, leaving it in even more a state of disarray, and he closes his book. Opens a different application to bring up a security-camera image of the view outside his front door. This, at least, puts a smile on his face. Though he still doesn't get /up/; only taps at the screen a few times. The locks thunk open in unison. "S'open," he calls out loud over the music. Isra opens the door and slips inside, bumping it shut behind her with one unfolding wing. "I have brought some groceries. Mostly frozen foods and such." Her voice--still haunted by a gravelly bass undertone--is strained by her attempt to raise it, and she clears her throat before adding, "Something to put on your condiments." Leaving her laptop bag on the couch, she empties most of the tote's contents into the freezer and the rest into a cupboard. The only item remaining is a bundle of unbleached fabric. She carries this with her to Dusk's door and pauses just outside. "If you need to rest, I can go..." "Oh, hey, thanks," is Dusk's initial bright reply, though when Isra appears in the doorway this shifts to an uncertain: "Do those need cooking?" He grimaces as he pushes himself into an upright seated position, though apparently more at her suggestion than at any pain: "Oh, god, no, all I've been doing all week is resting. I have been resting my freaking ass off. I am so ready to not be resting, I am resting myself into insanity." He glances over at her bundle of fabric, curiously. "What's up? What's that? How're you?" "The granola and trail mix require no preparation, and the frozen items are microwavable." Isra cocks her head at Dusk, smiling. "Getting five thousand calories a day without cooking has taught me a thing or two. I...have been keeping busy. It is not difficult at the school. This is one of my extracurricular projects." So saying, she unfurls the bundle. It consists of at least a yard of fabric with relatively few seams, and its silhouette is not immediately easy to identify--something like a tabard with long, wide tails. The stitching, while meticulous, is clearly the work of an inexperienced hand. "It is a wrap tunic," she says, "which you should be able to wear, if you care to." Her ears press back and her tail twitches. "I know it is a rather poor showing, but it might be an improvement on a shawl." "You made me clothes?" Dusk glances over towards his closet; it's open and as cluttered as the rest of his room, though a sewing machine sits on one of the shelves at its back. He looks from it back to Isra with a slowly spreading smile, bright and fangy. "Shit. Wow. I've -- awesome. I didn't even know you knew how to -- awesome. Uh." He's getting to his feet, head tipping to one side to peer at the tunic. "How do you. Wear it? Do you want to go out? Like. Now. Get -- it's early for dinner but fuckit. There aren't /many/ places we can go but there are a few around here." "I have been learning--from one of my students, in fact." Isra's eyes light up with pride. "I am no better at sewing than cooking, but I /can/ follow instructions and modify patterns." She extends one wing around Dusk and gathers him to her, until he is close enough for her to drape the tunic over him. "The only tricky part for you will be getting this end..." Her fingers thread one of the tails through a slot in the front hem of the tunic. "...through. But if you can do that before putting it on. Then, you can either tie these two ends together if you are good at one-handed knots, or tuck them into your waistband. I could even add snaps." While Isra speaks--her voice sounding almost normal when she keeps it low and soft--she ties the tails off deftly. "If you like it, I can make others. This Indian summer will not last." The end result looks vaguely Asian-inspired, and exposes more skin around the base of his wings than is perhaps ideal. She looks down again, no blush evident, though she is obviously embarrassed. "I'll have to refine my technique, of course. If you wish to go out, I would love to. I have not been to a restaurant since..." The fingers of her left hand trace the horn growing out of her left temple idly. "Months, I guess. But you feel well enough?" Dusk steps in close to Isra, leaning for a moment into her wing before straightening. His head tips forward, forehead resting against her shoulder as she drapes the tunic. "I was a Boy Scout, once," he admits with a small laugh, "and I go climbing with Jax and Hive enough. Knots I can handle. And holy crap, yes, would I like it, I've been stuck in here all week cuz -- well." He grimaces when he lifts his head. "I thought about sewing myself new things but, uh, it turns out sewing one-handed is as difficult as everything else." His good wing flicks somewhat irritably towards the sewing machine in the closet. "I feel -- like I could murder an omelette, how do you feel about breakfast for dinner?" Isra smooths her hand over Dusk's head, making no attempt to straighten out his tousled hair. "I am glad that it is functional, but I have certainly left room for improvement. Perhaps you can offer some constructive criticism on my sewing." The hand rests for a moment at the base of his neck, then trails talons lightly down Dusk's good arm. " It would only be my /third/ breakfast today. Perhaps we can hunt down a waffle or three while we are at it." She tears her gaze and touch from him reluctantly and moves out of the way--rare is the hall that will let two winged humanoids pass side by side. Dusk's eyes close, head pressing up into the touch. "I've been sewing for wings for a good few years now. I think together we might -- improve on your pattern a little." His hand turns upward, fingers lightly pressing back to Isra's arm as her talons trail against his. "They have amazing waffles. Fluffy and thick and you can get them smothered in this -- really delicious banana butter. With walnuts. It's incredible. Plus they make whipped cream out of coconut milk. We used to always go at like. Three in the morning and Ian would get this ridiculous stack of --" His eyes flit across to the neatly made bed opposite his, and he quiets, his wing flicking out to brush against Isra's arm. "It's really good. I think you'll like it." Isra’s hairless eyebrow ridges climb higher and higher. "That...is quite the menu! I am sure I will enjoy it." She caresses the inside of Dusk's wing. "I wish I'd had the chance to meet him." Her neutral express lapses, her ears turning /downward/, if only by degrees. "Come," she says gently, curling a wing around his shoulders. "Show me what I've been missing." "I enjoy it until it's time to walk home. Then I remember I just ate my weight in food and probably need to /roll/ myself home." Dusk's wing curls around Isra's shoulders, rubbing there gently before withdrawing. "You almost could --" he starts, but then shakes his head quickly. His pensive expression is replaced with a quick smile. "Yeah." He starts for the front door, but stops with a hand on its handle. "-- I just want to be clear so there's not. Ambiguity. I was totally asking you on a /date/ just now, 'kay? Kind of -- more impromptu than usual but even so." Isra follows Dusk to the door and stops short, briefly motionless for a save for the flicking tip of her tail. "A...date." She tilts her head. "You want to go on a date with /me./" It doesn't sound quite like a question. Her eyes drop briefly to her flat chest and muscular arms, to the clawed feet beyond the flouncy hem of her dress. Then she looks back at Dusk, ears standing up again as she smiles a sharp smile of her own. "I would love to." She covers the distance to the door in two quick, gliding steps. "I've never...I don't really know how to comport myself on a date." "Yeah, I would love it if you'd go on a date with me," Dusk confirms with a quick nod of his head; his eyes follow the path of hers, flicking downwards from head to toe though this only grows his smile brighter. "Awesome." He pulls the door open, now, his posture straightening a little higher. "The same as you ever do, I guess. I mean, typically someone asks you on a date because they enjoy however you've already /been/ -- comporting yourself." Isra folds her wings down over her shoulders and sweeps past Dusk. "I suppose that means you'll want to hear all about the telescope mount the Astronomy Club is designing?" She spins around in the hallway, an unwonted lightness in her step. "Or the next computer I am building? Or the Demona costume that I might actually put together?" "I would, actually. I'd like to hear about all of it." Dusk stops to lock the door behind himself, following Isra down the hall afterwards. "People are kind of /especially/ beautiful when sharing things they're passionate about. Though if you get on the subject of computer I can't promise I won't talk your freaking ear off, remind me to show /you/ my rig when we get back. You planning to make the costume yourself?" "'Passionate' is not a word I would think to use in relation to myself." Isra shrugs--or tries to; the motion is truncated by the positioning of her wings. "It is something I admire about /you/, though. I should love to have one or both ears talked off about computers. They were a hobby of mine in undergrad, but since then I have not had as much time for the building and maintenance of elaborate rigs...until now, I suppose." The half-smile on her face seems not altogether conscious, nor entirely bitter. "Demona's outfit is...minimalistic! I mean try my hand at it, yes. Other than that, I only need a wig, some jewellery, enough blue body paint to coat the Lower East Side, and probably a stiff drink before I actually walk out into public." She casts a sidelong glance at Dusk. "Any Halloween plans yourself?" "Well, I'm using it. I mean, I hear the tone you get when you talk about your students, that's passion. Passion can be quiet." Dusk heads to the stairs rather than the elevator (technically big enough for a pair of winged mutants, but it'd be kind of uncomfortably cramped.) "If you want a hand -- uh. Well. I have /one/ at least. I kind of grew /up/ on tech geekery, I think I could put together a computer way before I could do long division." He shrugs one shoulder at the question. "Maybe? We haven't really talked about it, uh, the past couple years we had big Halloween parties but that was -- this'll be the first Halloween since --" He stops, considering quietly. "I guess we still should. Lord knows everyone could use more excuses to relax. /Enjoy/ being a freak for once." "My students are amazing, in ways I never imagined." Isra smiles fondly. "A lifetime in academia has not taught me as much as a few months with them. Or you." She clasps the hand he offered metaphorically, but gives it back when they reach the stairs. "I would appreciate the help, especially in terms of helping me hunt down hardware. I find I always--/always/--want better graphics, which I suppose is something you might have experienced, if for subtly different reasons." Her wings unfold from her shoulders of their own accord as she starts down the steps, shifting as her tail does for balance. "The whole idea of costuming boggles my mind a bit, but that just makes me want to explore it further--that's the scientist talking. I thought you always enjoyed being...a freak." "I know some good places to look. And probably have a fair amount lying around, too, we can look and see if any of it fits your needs." Dusk squeezes Isra's hand when she takes his, but then trots down the stairs ahead of her, two at a time with a restless energy. "/I/ always enjoy being a freak," he agrees with a tip of glance back over his shoulder, a /fierce/ bright grin, "but not everyone does. Halloween's a good time to share it. I mean you have kids like Bastian -- at home he's got so much energy and as soon as he's outside he'll barely lift his eyes from the ground. He needs all the celebration of freak-dom he can get.I mean, the world's getting shittier and shittier and it's not like we're getting any more /normal/." "I have been researching my hardware, but also know that no matter what I get, it will be inadequate in two or three years." Isra lags behind Dusk, but then hops down the last steps to the landing, wings--and skirt--flaring out just a few inches. "Most of my computing needs are mobile now, but for the heavy-duty image processing and 3D rendering, I still prefer desktops." At the mention of Sebastian, her ears flick back, then relax. "I kept my eyes down for so long. Never again. If only I could show Bastian what I've seen." She shakes her head. "No, it's the rest of the world that /needs/ to see it. We're /not/ getting any more normal." Her voice wavers and /rumbles/ a little on the last syllable. "And we /should/ celebrate...hopefully more than just one night a year." "Yeah. You can keep homebrew builds relevant for a bit longer a bit easier at least 'cuz it's easier to switch out obsolete hardware bit by bit. I think I've switched out enough of Thayet's organ she probably doesn't actually have many of her original parts." Dusk opens the stairwell door out into the lobby, holding it open for Isra. "The rest of the world won't see it unless we make them. Celebration is good, we should do it a lot. But the rest of the year," his smile sharpens, fangs baring in an expression closer to snarl than to grin, "we fight." "Like the ship of Theseus. The old Linux box I keep at my apartment uptown contains zero original components--yet still needs upgrading! It may get one, if suitable hardware cascades down from the new build." Isra turns as she passes Dusk and walks backward out into the lobby. Her eyes search his face with some mixture of excitement and perplexity. "Yes, we fight. Sometimes I'm not sure how literally you mean that." "As literally as I have to mean it." Dusk's smile fades into a more serious expression, his good wing gesturing out across the lobby towards the front door. "Violence against mutants -- /reported/ violence against mutants -- is higher now than it was this time last year by /several/ times over. And unreported violence? The bullshit government places that are state-/sanctioned/ torture farms? We just keeps dying trying to get people out of them and it doesn't seem like there's a lot of /end/ in sight. Some friends and I have been keeping an eye on the neighborhoods where things are worst. It'd be nice not to have to but when you have people getting beaten up for daring to /exist/ in public sometimes --" His wing lifts in a shrug. "Sometimes you have to fight." "If we remain quiescent, we are a threat. If we fight back, we are a menace." Isra's tail lashes the air a few times, hard. "I feel a fool for even going to court when it is plain that justice means so little where we are concerned." Her eyes narrow when they stray to Dusk's wounded shoulder. But then they are out in the warm sunlight and cool air of a perfect autumn day. She blinks, pupils contracting behind bright green irises. "I will see it through, nevertheless. We have to change the ways things are done, but until then, I am glad there are people looking out for those who cannot defend themselves." Her gaze locks onto him again, intense and unblinking. "How can I help?" Dusk shades his eyes with one hand when he steps outside, blinking and then tipping his eyes down towards the ground for a moment. His wing flexes behind him, extending out wide and then curling back in against his back. "Jax is still fighting that ticket he got," he admits with a small twitch of a smile. "It feels kind of pointless sometimes but I think it's important. If we stop fighting we'll /really/ never win." He stops on the sidewalk, looking up to meet Isra's gaze steadily. "Fight with me," he says, quiet but firm. "You were there in Harlem, you've seen -- none of this is going away any time soon. We need all the people we can get. In the streets or in places like Harlem. They're going to keep coming after us." Isra stops with him, and settles a couple of inches shorter, wings shifting to provide balance. "Me? A child of privilege, an astronomer, a high school teacher..." The sinuous swaying of her tail is distracting enough to earn a quick, accusatory glance from her. "...and neighbourhood watchgargoyle?" She extends one massive gray wing around both of them, blocking out the sunlight. "Surely I do not have the skills! Though I did not think I could bridge the gap carrying those two children, either." Her eyes are still not blinking. "I will. You can teach me what I do not know, and besides..." She looks down at her clawed hands with a slightly rueful smile. ".../I/ would not pick a fight with me." "My parents were college professors," Dusk admits with a soft laugh, "and I'm pretty much just a through-and-through nerd." He steps in close to Isra, good arm curling around behind her back, beneath her wings. "It's pretty amazing sometimes what you find out you can do when there's lives at stake, though. Five years ago I sure as hell wouldn't have imagined doing any of this. But you watch people die -- you see enough of what's going on in the world and --" His eyes still meet hers; he tips his head up to touch his lips to hers, softly. "I'll teach you." Isra draws in a sharp breath, eyes blinking at last, when Dusk pulls their bodies together. Her wings tremble around them, and wrap just a little tighter when their lips meet. Then she rests her forehead against his, smiling shakily. "I thought this was the sort of thing that was supposed to happen /after/ a date." Dusk's hand traces upward, against Isra's side, curling up behind her neck afterwards to curl fingers against the back of her head. "We're freaks," he says with a cheerful grin, "We don't have to follow all the rules."