ArchivedLogs:Conversations With Dead People - Peanut Gallery
| Conversations With Dead People - Peanut Gallery | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2013-02-01 The other side of the seance |
| 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. Eveningtime, in the Freakhouse, comes with a healthy dose of MUSIC, blaring loud from one of the two bedrooms and spilling out into the living room. Soundgarden. In the bedroom, Dusk is air guitaring like a pro. Despite the fact that a Real Guitar is sitting /right there/ beside him. The living room table has been cleared off of its general assortment of detritus, replaced instead by a large game board, some game ('Android', going by the empty box and thick novelette-length rulebook kicked under the table) set up there instead. Nobody's playing it. Hive's in the kitchen, FROWNING at the last beer in the fridge, and behind him Flicker is resting one hand on the small of Hive's back to reach around and pluck a half-finished bottle of cranberry juice out of the fridge instead. Ian's nowhere to be seen, but that's pretty typical. A corner of Dusk's bedroom is Particularly Dark. BAM BAM BAM BAM. "Hey. Guys." Somehow, Jim's poor luck is exempt when it comes to arriving at the apartment complex just in time to piggyback into the building with a resident. "I got donuts." Maybe this is the password. If no one is home, he is already forming Plan B: Jackson. Jackson will take donuts. He's too nice to say No even if he doesn't want donuts. Jax doesn't bother to knock. He shows up shortly after Jim, emerging from the stairwell to the tune of Jim's BAMing. "Oh, hi, sir!" He smiles at Jim, cheerful-bright, and he has a /key/ to Hive's apartment so he, he uses THAT. Jim can tag along. "What've you got there?" He wasn't, apparently, in time to hear the announcement of Donuts. He's as colourful-bright as ever -- red t-shirt with a glittery black heart, very brightly patterned mismatched thigh-high socks, swishy black knee-length skirt, silvery jacket, hair purple-green-blue. Purple eyepatch. He comes bearing gifts in the form of a very LARGE thermos and a box tucked under one arm. "Dusk, Ian, Spence /stole/ Alanna again. I don't know if he's planning to bring her back." Still carrying the cold of outside in her heavy clothes, Shelby comes stomping down the hall from the elevator--Son of a bitch, I think I lost some toes--with two large clear plastic bags in tow. Inside? A wealth of popcorn plucked from the dumpster behind a downtown movie theater. The inside of the bags are smeared with liberal amounts of salt and grease but there is no way to tell how old the stuff is...does movie popcorn mold? Huh, who cares, s'free. "Hey! HEY! Hold the fucking door!" she yells at the backs seen disappearing into her target apartment. Huffing and puffing, she makes with the running, bags of popcorn bouncing and rustling in each hand. "Oh, is that where she went?" Dusk ceases his air-guitaring to crouch down, wings folding against his back (they were enthusiastically air-guitar-ing along /with/ him) and peer under the bed. "Huh. I thought she'd just found somewhere new to sleep." Flicker is disappearing from the kitchen, reappearing by the door, just in time for it to open itself anyway. He greets the newcomers with a smile as bright as Jax's, lifting the cranberry juice to swig it straight from the bottle. "Hey! Do you guys know anything about seances? How does one... se. Ance." "With ghosts." Hive hasn't left the kitchen. He does shut the fridge grumpily though. "Where's Tag?" He's frowning at Jackson with the same disgruntlement he gave the fridge. And, "Holy fucking shit, did you bring an entire popcorn machine?" This comes before Shelby's even visible from his position, though it sounds impressed rather than his previous disgruntlement. And Jim rolls another 20 for Entering People's Homes! He bold-casual makes with a second piggyback entry into the apartment right along with Jax, as though it had been the plan all along - getting buzzed up and /invited/ in is for chumps. "Man, stuff it with the 'sir' already, I bled all over your damn apartment. Jim's fine. James, if you wanna get formal." Though he says it like 'if you wanna get /personal/'. Mr. Morgan if you want to get tossed out a window. How old do you people think I am? He glances over his shoulder, frowns at the girl running up the hall and then just resigns himself to the idea that he's apparently part of someone's bizarre... social circle... suddenly. And he thumps the door to keep it from closing, tossing a bag of donuts on the table next to the game Not Being Played, "Uh. You mean like lights-flickering, doors rattling kinda seance? Or Poltergeist kinda shit." We're heeeeerrreeee... "You /did/. I wouldn't advise doing it again, s--" Jackson cuts himself off with a sheepish twist of smile, but under it he just looks amused. "I mean next time Shane might /for-real/ bite you. Hi, Shelby!" Jackson frowns at the donuts Jim tosses down, and frowns at the box under his arm. "I brought donuts," he announces, too, setting his box down beside Jim's bag. And then the thermos. "We're gonna be /so donutty/ woooah that /is/ a lot of popcorn!" He puts the the thermos down beside the box. "Yeah I guess there's -- dead people? And you talk to them? We're not /really/ gonna have ghosts, are we?" He doesn't look at all apprehensive, nope. He's just kind of frettily smoothing at his skirt because Wrinkles. What the hell, is he stalking me or something? Shelby's mad dash through the door is halted when Jim turns enough to be recognized. She scowls--but not as fiercely as she could have. There's breath to be caught, and bags o' popcorn to offer up to any willing to take them off of her. "Would've...would've been more but some asshole tweaker grabbed a bag off me coming off the subway. Phew. Hey Jax! Hey!" Check it out, roommates! She sizes up the visible roommates, the way some girls might size up another girl's outfit--in other words, how does my mutation stack up? Damn, how come I couldn't have the wings? "Who's got the Ouija board?" "Only gonna be ghosts if one of us /dies/." Flicker makes spookyfingers at Jax. Rendered less spooky by his grin as he flops down into an armchair. By way of mutations he doesn't currently look like much. Dark hair, green eyes, warm smile, he looks pretty Normal College Student. Especially in the way he immediately gets back up to POUNCE on Jim's donuts. "Score! Popcorn!" Dusk, though -- shirtless likely because of the wings, for all his bony-skinny form is not much for ogling -- manages Mutant pretty easily. Very pale. Very large soft-furred bat-like wings. Very... fanged. And in the corner of the room he's been in, the darkness is coalescing into something almost approaching a human form. Almost. << I'm going to be the ghosts. >> It's a softly amused whisper of voice to the others. "Uh, like, fifty?" Hive ventures a guess in response to Jim's thought. "Fifty-five, maybe? Thanks for the donuts, Mr. Morgan. They're getting ready downstairs. Candles and shit. -- /We're/ not seancing," he tells Shelby with a grin. "Shane and Bastian told the apartment above us that their apartment was haunted." << We're obliging, >> Ian's amused voice comes again. "Your kid's got my /coat/ by the way." This is what my life has become, Jim realizes dryly, when a dude in a skirt isn't the weirdest thing in a room. Fuck it, I'm relaxing. The flaky-dry portions of his hands and neck coarsen and darken, with an odd increasing smell of /spruce/ tree. At his temples and throughout his hair he develops a few green needles, all while he helps himself to opening /Jax's/ box of donuts, rooting around for a chocolate glazed, "So who're you." Presumably, this is to Flicker, gruff-amiable. Less amiable, and with a cheekfull of donut: "/Fuck you/, jackass, I'm not even forty." I just /feel/ like it. << Shit, I'm old enough to be you people's father. You should respect my ass. >> "Wait." He raises his brows, "Really? Fuck yeah." "Which kid? You're seriously going through with this." Jackson looks like he /wants/ to sound disapproving. He does not sound disapproving. He sounds quite entertained, ignoring food for now and ambling over towards Dusk for a hug. A bony one. "Huh. You smells good." Even from mid-Bat-Hug he is turnng back towards Jim to -- sniff. Sniffsniff. "Ian does make the best ghost. Though Dusk's pale enough. I didn't know this was gonna be a whole /party/, I'd've brought actual dinner. I did bring cocoa, though. I just made it. Hey," he's saying to Shelby, brightly, "coulda been worse. Coulda been a jerk tweaker /shooting/ you. I hear they do that." Shelby is happy to give the bags over to Dusk, more interesting in checking out his wingspan and fangs than in ogling everything else. She is admiring--and then a little oogy over the human shadow over there in the corner. Whoa, okay, so that's maybe a little extreme. "Fuckin' kids, huh? Wish I'd thought of that. You got the spooky shit down, dude. I'd buy it," she says as she struggles out of a few outer layers. The sneakers are toed off too, and she drops down to the floor beside the couch to begin peeling off socks. Thank goodness for the sudden fresh pine scent. "I'm down for cocoa..." Oooh, here comes a fresh scowl. "Hey, aren't you supposed to like, be all grr I'm the dad at them for pulling shit like this?" "I think you're confusing Jax for someone boring," Hive answers, smirking as he leans against the kitchen counter. "I mean, who do you think he is, /Jim/?" << I'm sure Hive has the utmost respect for your ass, >> Ian is whispering back, shrinking slightly farther into the bedroom as Jax comes towards Dusk. << I'm sorry, does this bother -- >> The shadows are getting more solid, slowly, and eventually settle into the very normal-looking form of a young man, twenty, perhaps, shortish and plain and freckle-faced. And still staying back from the living room door. "Jax, are you going to go all dad on us?" This is aloud, now, also pretty normallish. "Some people are into that." Dusk is returning the hug tight and squeezy, more with wings than with arms -- they're occupied with sudden bags of popcurn. But the wings fold easily enough into a squeeze, and then he's moving aside to drop the popcorn on a crate and open a bag, scooping out a handful. "Flicker," Flicker introduces himself, offering a hand out for a handshake. "I think tonight I'm ghost #2." Jim almost describes Shane as 'the bitey one', but facts don't actually seem to indicate this case as accurate when Sebastian has /won/ a few bite-a-thons, so he goes with the boring truth, "Shane. Gave it to him a few days ago. Corduroy. Brown. Seen it?" He is greatly cheered to think of Jax as The Father Figure of this group, retrieving a handful of popcorn to doublefist with his donut, the first kernel of which is thrown at Hive, head turned towards Jackson, "Yeah, that's me. I was screwing around down at the park, sprucing up." With real spruce, "It kinda lingers. Jim." Said to Flicker, and since he has no hand to shake with, he thrusts out an elbow to tap with. "Corduroy -- um." Jackson blushes slightly, ducking his head with a hint of guilt. "Yeah, I've seen it. It might have grown a -- couple claw marks?" His nose crinkles. "Sorry. I can, uh. Maybe. Find you a new -- the boys are a little /poky/." He's wandering towards the kitchen to get a mug -- several mugs. Many mugs. Armload of mugs, there's a lot of cocoa to distribute. "Sprucing up the park? Like guerilla gardening in your spare time? I could be all grrr dad if you /like/," he adds to Shelby, cheerfully, "but it tends to be kind of a damper on fun. Plus I'm /really/ bad at grring. Nobody takes me serious for some reason." It might be the glitter. "If Jim's boring, and boring's normal, the world is screwed," Shelby decides. She settles into a half-lotus and rubs her right foot to restore something like circulation. Ian's transformation is observed with interest throughout. Freckles are an automatic win for acceptance and his crack at Jax doesn't hurt either. Her pique vanishes. "Cool trick. Shelby," she adds for the current round of introductions--even though no one -asked-. At least the popcorn is a hit. "...man, I wish my dad'd been like that, I maybe wouldn't have been such a fuck up. So how's this ghost thing work? You gonna broadcast it, Hive, so we can watch?" "Yoooou don't want Hive to broadcast," Flicker says, elbowtapping Jim and slumping back down into his armchair, +1 donut. "But Ian will." "I'm liking the snow," Ian murmurs, glancing towards the window, "rattling. Windowpanes. Really sets the mood." He is sort of blurring out around the edges, though he stays solidified long enough to give Shelby a grin in return for her introduction. "Ian," he says, of himself, and then, unvoiced, << That's Dusk. >> This comes with imagery rather than pointing, since he has just decorporealed his arms. "I'm pretty sure the world's screwed anyway," Hive says with cheer, moving back to the living room to take a seat right /on/ Flicker. Or a /drape/, really, sprawling lengthwise across the arms of the armchair and stealing a piece of donut. << They're starting, >> says Ian, an amused chuckle rippling through the words. And then there is imagery, too: a young blonde man, a young bright-red-haired woman, apartment lit all around with candles. A table's been draped with a silk scarf, a crystal ball put atop it. Doug looks skeptical. Anwyn looks eager. "Crystal ball?" Dusk grins, "man, she's /into/ this." "Boy-/s/? Like both of them have been at it?" Jim's eyes are popped open but he shrugs mildly, "Eh. Don't bother. I was thinking of getting a new one anyway. They can have it if they want a... scratching... pad." Internal, he's grimacing a little more intently - it's not like Jax has all that much scratch to spare buying jackets for MORE people. And the mental image of the twins huddled together and industriously digging at a pile of shredded material is oddly endearing. "Kid, the world is screwed anyway," imparted to Shelby while he /toes/ at her collection of socks, saying at the almost exact same time as Flicker, "You don't want Hive broadcasting shit." He settles in to get cozy, commenting idly, "Oh, hey, I met that kid in Chinatown." The blond. "Total nerd," Hive is saying, of the blonde downstairs, pilfering another piece of Flicker's donut, "he thinks /computer thoughts/ all day. The chick's cool, though. You sure you wouldn't have been a fuckup? We're all kind of fuckups I think it might be in the genes." Flicker frowns, maybe at this sentiment, maybe at the donut-stealing. He shoves at Hive, though it's a pretty halfhearted effort to dislodge the other man from being draped over his lap. "Dude there's like /seventeen million/ donuts /right there/." "Hive /could/ broadcast. Instead of television it'd be like BDSM." Dusk is reaching for another handful of popcorn, and then perching gargoyle-like on an arm of the couch. The leathery wings don't hurt the gargoyl look, either. Ian doesn't say anything. The room gets briefly darker, and then it is bright once more. The mental images continue, though. Downstairs, Anwyn is calling for the ghost to reveal itself. A shadow is creeping in at the edges of the room. A candle snuffs out. "Why's it like BDSM?" Shelby asks, ever the curious one. She hikes her eyebrows up at the guys but is distracted by a sudden *bzzz* in her rear pocket. She jumps, and then goes for her phone. Ha! Oh my god, he actually texted--what the fuck, both of them. She tap tap taps away, head bowed and attention focused on the little screen to the point that she misses the beginning of the show--all the while broadcasting mental lolspeak. Talk about painful. There are rofls aplenty until she happens to glance up and blinks at the picture Ian is providing. "Holy shit, I know that guy! And the chick, she's supposed to do my..." Hair. Where's the pink? Oh man, if she catches on to this I won't get my fucking spa day. Jackson blushes at the mention of BDSM, scowling over at Dusk. "It's /nothing/ like -- wooah. No. Holy cow it's /totally/ like bondage actually." A beat, and then he adds, "-- kiiinda also like pain. Uh. Hive, you should be a dom. You know him?" His eyebrows raise curiously. "I just met him the other day. Doing laundry. He was real sweet. Uh." He scrubs knuckles at his cheek, glancing over towards Hive. "Is someone gonna tell them eventually there's /not/ really a ghost just creepy telepathic neighbors?" Shelby's eyes cut briefly towards Jackson then her head ducks again. She snickers behind the shield of her scruffy wings of hair. "Totally with you on the telling them. Seriously, they're nice. Dude might be a freak too," she says after, absently. Her fingers are still flying over those keys, her focus divided between watching the festivities and arranging a later date with blue twins to smoke out. La la la, life as usual for this teenager. "...wait, bondage like...? No shit?" Her poor brain can't cope. Too. Much. Stimulation. "It's a lil' rough," Jim grunts, around DONUT. He will take a cocoa, washing down his current bite and toasting the general ceiling, "Candle was a nice touch." Hive hooks a crooked smile towards Jax, but does not answer this suggestion. He just closes his eyes, smirking slightly at the telepath-tv. "Yeah. Sure. I'll tell 'em. /After/." Downstairs, Anwyn is still calling out for the ghost. The shadows are spreading. /All/ the candles wink out save one, which leaves Anwyn initially nervous but then excited again shortly thereafter. Until the candle illuminates a humanoid figure, made entirely of shadow. That gets a wide-eyed look from Anywyn. And a confession from Doug that he might have wet himself. They're asking Ian if he is the ghost that lives there. Flicker shoves Hive off his lap. "/Lives/? Man it's a ghost, c'mon, that's practically begging for snark. He takes a bite of donut, shoves the last bite in Hive's face. And, promptly, vanishes, looking sort of ghosty-shimmery himself for a brief moment before even that image vanishes, too. "Well, sure, we'll tell them," Dusk agrees. "They're our neighbors. I'll want to meet them for /real/ some time. He's a mutant, too?" He peers over at Shelby. Hive is grimacing. At Shelby's PHONE. "Are you guys seriously gonna get Bastian /high/." This might not pain him as much as the lolspeak. "The kid could probably use it," Jim demonstrates his not-fatherhood-material instinct, while casually popping one popcorn bit after another into his mouth. "Probably have to stock up on a shit-ton of /lox/ beforehand." Sharkmunchies would be the gnash-iest munchies. Shit, now he's considering asking for a bud to glean the seeds from, and whether he'd be able to grow an instant thriving bush of hash. And if he'd end up smelling like pot for it. He'd have stoners following him out of the subway for miles. He cough-laughs at poor Doug's confession, "Oh, man." "There's usually plenty of meat in the freezer --" Jax is frowning, too, even if he can't see the text messages. He frowns at Hive, and then at Shelby, and then rubs knuckles against his eye. He pulls out his /own/ phone, to jump on the texting bandwagon. "Might be a mutant," he acknowledges as he texts, "'least that's what he was thinking when I met him -- oh /gosh/ oh gosh. That'd freak me out and I /know/ Ian." Shelby's phone. Will not. Shut up. Bzzz bzz bzzzzz! Even on vibrate, it's disruptive and no matter how she cups her hands around it, it remains so. "He might be. Dude can like, understand any language. Oh man, that's creepy," she comments at the shadowy-ghost, distracted enough to stare. "Jesus. I'd totally wet my pants t--shit." Busted. Hive gets a look--until Flicker's disappearance drops him from line of sight--and she goes back to furiously texting. In ALL CAPS. "...only if he -wants- to," she mumbles. "Cool, isn't it?" Dusk's grin is not quite as toothy as the blue twins downstairs, but it still glints pretty /sharp/ with his twin pairs of fangs. "We should haunt people more often." Downstairs, Ian is fading out of existence, reappearing by a window. The edges of the room are dark, and a figure flickers rapidly through the shadows there, leaving an echoing trail of laughter behind him. "/Lived/ here," Ian is correcting. Anwyn and Doug are whispering to each other as the shadow-figure shifts. Shadows growing. Ian reappears behind Anwyn. "Maybe I'll tell 'em in the morning," Hive muses, picking himself up from where he's been rudely dumped from his chair. "Hey, I bet Shane'll share," he adds, to Jim. And to Shelby: "Ask Shane if he'll share. Hey, your kid's not wrong, Jax. You /need/ to fucking unwind." "Any language? That's -- so /useful/." Dusk taps his fingers against his knees. "There, see, if he's one of us this is just like his introduction. To Freakland. I'll send him cookies as apology." Jim had missed Flicker's exit - so his idle glance in that direction gets a double-take, that explains itself (/somewhat/) to see another shape flickering through their MindTV view. Right. 'Flicker'. Hah hah. I'm starting to see the theme here. Wonder why 'Hive'. He snaps back to the conversation going on, a sudden pokerface dropped down, all narrowed-eyes and critical thinking -- "Shit," not said angrily, but rather /wry/, "/That'd/ explain a lot. He spoke fluent fucking /latin/ at me - though he was just a really studious med student or something. -- Sure, if he'll share, I'm in." << Though I guess if I'm able to grow it, maybe it'll be me sharing. >> "This is a /terrible/ introduction," Jackson says, caught somewhere between grin and grimace at the mental images. "He's gonna think we're all /terrible/." He wanders over to grab a handful of popcorn, and press a cocoa mug into Dusk's hand. The rest are left on the table next to the thermos. He takes a seat on the couch, leaning up against Dusk's legs where the other man perches. "You speak Latin?" He's tapping at his phone, again. It's buzzing, too. He frowns at it. "Maybe we are all terrible," is added, wryer. "What is this, get high at my house night?" "Hell yeah. Like haunt the White House," Shelby suggests. So that would be a pro-haunting, though she's showing rather more sympathy for the pair in the shadow-vision. The shiver she experiences at creepy-Ian appearing where he does is not feigned. "Pretty much all of them, yeah. Even computers. Man..." Bzzz bzz bzzzzz. Thank god for distractions--shit, this is why I don't watch horror movies, I'm not gonna be sleeping tonight. "He's cool with it," she says after glancing at the screen--not having actually asked. Right, dancing later, pot tonight. "But you gotta go in halfsies. Like. You know." Her thumbs, meanwhile, continue to type. She's a ninety pound weakling but she could probably lift a truck with those thumbs. She adds, "Yes," without looking up. "Field trip to DC, anyone?" Hive snorts from his chair. "Cuz that wouldn't get us all shot or anything. /Ian'd/ be okay at least." The lights downstairs extinguish altogether, entire room filled with shadow. Then it returns. Flicker is speaking from a pool of shadow behind Doug. Anwyn shrieks. Footsteps shuffle. Flicker reappears in the room, half-wincing, half-grinning, too. "Oh, /gosh/," he says, "Guys, we need to do something /super nice/ for them like. Apology. Hey. Dusk." Dusk is leaning back against Jax. One wing's stretched out, curling around the more colorful man's shoulders. "Yeah?" Flicker's reaching out, already, to rest a hand on Dusk's shoulder. "C'mon. I think they could use a BAT." Hive, meanwhile, is just kind of eying Jim. Thoughtful. His lips press together, and his eyes lower to the table. He gets a cocoa for himself. "Americans can't pronounce my legal name anyway." Quietly, in the corner, Shelby makes a small strangled sound. "That an invitation?" Jim shoots back to Jackson, while, in /fact/, idly comparing Dusk's teeth with the smallSharkFaces downstairs, "Cause we got the donuts and popcorn for it. I speak Latin /badly/, kinda - four years of part time law school in Cinci and the only thing I really advanced in was a dead-language class. -- Think maybe haunting the White House'd be a bad idea. Nothing ruins a good prank like getting shot." He says this at nearly the exact same time as Hive. Geez, it's like they're married. Or both just obnoxious kill-joy pragmatists. In the sea of laid-back college-frat-kid energy jiving through the room, Flicker collecting up the toothy Dusk, Jim's an island of grim frowning, looking back at Hive. Even after he looks down. << Think that's the first time I ever heard you prevaricate. >> "Sure. I'll make brownies." Jax seems kind of amusedly resigned to the way his evening is going. His eye widens as Flicker returns to collect Dusk, and he looks a little miffed at the removal of his WINGHUGS. "I'll make brownies for /them/, too," he adds, nose wrinkling. His gaze darts towards Shelby. Towards Hive. Curious. "I, uh...gotta go." Mostly because Shelby can't stop thinking about dancing moobs, a thing that keeps her from noticing the mood shift in those remaining--with not one but TWO telepaths in the room, she has no desire to inflict that pain on people. Three guesses as to whose fault that is. But Dusk being pulled from the room is an excellent opportunity to escape. She scrambles up and goes for the door, barefoot and coatless, typing -furiously-. Hive is grimacing /further/. "/Moobs/," he says, in a strangled /voice/, glaring at Shelby's phone. Dusk is vanishing, in company with Flicker, his wings spreading wide even as he is pulled. Downstairs, something large and batlike flutters against the window. Anwyn runs from the room. The room floods with darkness. And then light. Flicker returns, dropping Dusk back in the living room. Ian takes a moment longer, shadow rushing in to the bedroom rather than the living room. A whispering suggestion of laughter ripples through their minds. "You ever watch any Star Trek?" Hive is asking Jim, casual-like. Very much NOT looking at Jim's chest. "Uh." Jim's head is turned towards the door Shelby just ran through, "Brownies're... good." Did that just happen? Fuck, am I already high? He turns back to Hive, his grizzled-neutral face embodied with New York spirit to make his response as casual as the question, "Yeah." He bites a donut, "Grew up with it. Deanna Troi can counsel me any day, y'knowwhatImean." Jax scrubs his hand against his face. "Maaaaan. I don't know if I should congratulate you all or -- uh. I don't know." He winces. "-- Moobs?" He frowns directly at Jim on this. "What. Are they. Saying to you. Her. You." He watches Shelby leave with another wince. And then drags Dusk back down to the couch for more HUG. With wings. He's watching Hive now with a slight frown, biting at his lip. Dusk is happy enough to be dragged. His wing curls around Jax's shoulder with automatic habit. "Tomorrow," he says. "Tomorrow we'll apologize. With cookies." "Noooot looking forward to their /dreams/ tonight, though," Hive says wryly. "Ian you're fucking terrifying." The shadows become human-shaped enough to bow, from the doorway. No further than that, though. Flicker's trading places with Hive, now, draping over the /other/ man where once he had been the drap-ee. Flopping along the armchair. Stealing Hive's cocoa. "You know the Borg?" Hive still is casual. He doesn't fight the cocoa-theft. "Bravo, guys," Jim isn't /downplaying/ the ART of the CreepShow Three, his applaud and raised brows genuinely impressed, applauding when Ian bows with the side of his mouth quirked up for just a moment. But he's skipping eyes speculatively over each person in the room, noting a subtle change in atmosphere and responding not by bracing himself, but settling in looser. He crosses an ankle over his knee and leans back his head, eyes closed while tipping up his cup in a lazy toast, "Yeah. 'Prepare to be assimilated' and all that." "Cookies," Jackson agrees absently, closing his eyes and nestling against Dusk's side. "Or brownies. Whatever. You think they're regretting moving to New York? You guys should do haunted houses at Halloween." The way he's Not Looking at Hive or Jim is kind of deliberate. << Toootally thought about it. Maybe this year we will, >> Ian answers easily. He's sort of vaguely coalesced himself onto a bed, formed enough to look lazily sprawled, not enough to make out anything like facial features. Flicker is looking, though. He's watching both of them, careful, refilling the cocoa from the thermos to sip it and give it back to Hive. "Yeah. Assimilated. S'kind of --" Hive shrugs. Looks up at the ceiling. "What I do." Jim continues to watch and categorize, Jackson's closed eyes, Flicker's careful attention, Ian's pooling, Hive's overt casualness -- lining up in his mind as one would lay down rows of cards in a game of solitaire. He pulls in a breath, "So, what. That's on top of..." he draws a circle vaguely beside his temple. << The mind reading. >> It's like chewing food carefully before swallowing. Jax sort of nuzzles. Against a wing. It's soft. He eventually cracks an eye open towards Jim. And then Hive. And then Jim. He eventually unfolds to struggle to his feet. "I should check on the kids." He wanders towards the armchair, leaning in to kiss Flicker and Hive in turn, on the foreheads. Jim -- does not get a kiss. But Jax does hold one arm out to offer a hug. Flicker grins. He lazily lifts an arm to hug Jax when Jax comes near. But stays where he is, draped across Hive and quietly -- definitely not lazily -- monitoring the conversation. Hive sips at the cocoa. He doesn't give Jax a hug. He plants a kiss right BACK on the other man's forehead. "Yeah. On top of that. I guess. Along with that. It's easier than the mindreading. It kind of goes together. S'complicated. Hard to explain without --" He frowns. Jim's default reaction is to turn a neutral-hard city-look at Jax when he approaches that all but radiates 'you're fucking kidding me'. Followed by a sigh, and leans in to give Jax a hard back-thump that transfers maybe a little of the tension built up in his body. THUMP. And with an awkward-reluctant pang of protectiveness: Fuck, I don't even know what to do with these people. "I'll be down in a bit." Then, it's just him, cocoa... and this mess. He swigs his drink as though there were a splash of whisky in it, and prompts bluntly, "Hard to explain without what." One shoe's already dropped, man. Let's do this. Jax is SO not kidding. Hug. HUG. It has a back -- pat, more than thump. "Cool." And then he's heading out, grabbing an entire one of the plastic bags of popcorn. For the ROAD. The long road down one floor. << Hug them. Duh. >> Ian answers Jim's protectiveness.
"If you think his /speaking/ voice is bad." Flicker's face screws up into a grimace. "You doooon't want him in your head when he's -- trying to get /in/ your head." << It isn't bad sometimes, >> Ian says, << but that's when it's scariest. >> "Fffffff." This sound is also in Jim's mind, older, ground down and world-weary, harsh: "Well, shit." He finishes his cocoa off with a deep swig. "I thought I had it shitty, turning into a tree." His relaxed roughened portion capping the sides of his neck and the backs of his hands hasn't been making him uncomfortable all evening, in fact. Shadowdudes. Batmen. Borgminds. Sure, houseplant's not so bad. They could use some greens. Hug them, huh. Yeah, whatever. "I'm gonna go smoke some weed." He sets his cup down and begins to collect up the donuts. "You comin'?" You, is to all of them. "Yeah." Hive taps at Flicker's chest. "Upupup." "Naaaah, I got work mad early." Dusk does hold out a fist for a knuckletap, though. Flicker shrugs. "I'm going. Jax probably needs /sober/ company." He grabs Hive's cocoa to gulp it down, and then stands to grab the donuts. Other popcorn. Thermos. He vanishes with all these things. Hive winces and stands, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Yeeeah. /Totally/ need a hit." He starts for the door. To head down the normal way. | |
