ArchivedLogs:Danger Bros (cont)

Danger Bros (cont)
Dramatis Personae Ivan, Peter
In Absentia	2013-04-22 The legend of Danger Bros continues.
Location <XS> Ivan and Peter's Dorm - FL2
The first thing one might notice upon entering this dorm room is the almost constant, low drone that emanates from almost a dozen terraria, situated mainly on and around one of the two desks present. Inside of them are plants, sand, bits of driftwood and a /lot/ of different insects and arachnids, all making their respective little noises. Krrt, chkk chkk. The other desk houses no such creatures, but it does have a laptop. There is a poster of a Dalek hanging next to a small television perched atop a few game consoles, a three-seater with a dark brown coffee table in front of it, two dressers and beds on the far side of the room. One is made quite neatly, the other... not so much. Books are strewn across pillow and sheets, mostly English and Russian-language. An even greater number is piled precariously next to the bed. Numerous postcards depicting well-known European and some Russian cities are taped to the wall above it. As prophecy'd - Peterreturn! After city-side STABBING, Peter's got himself fresh stitches - and a new set of crutches! He doesn't seem to desperately be in need of them, but they help him amble along as he returns to the room - hup, CRUTCH, hup! - rather quickly, having already mastered the art of putting very little weight on his leg. He knocks at the door with a rapid tap-tap-tap, using the rubber-tipped end of one of the crutches - clad in his usual black hoodie and blue jeans! "Ivaaaaan. IVAN. Are you iiiiin there IVAN." He /might/ be wearing hella sweet sun-shades. Okay, he absolutely is. And he's got a second pair looped down around his neck on a cord. FOR HIS DANGER BRO. The moment that knock sounds, there is a FUMBLETHUD. It may be Ivan literally falling off of his bed in his haste. Because /PETER/. The door opens! To a happysmiling Ivan, having apparently dropped the book he was reading at the time of the knock right on the floor. It has been a good day and now there is a Peter! He steps back to let Peter in, but then promptly /changes his mind/ and goes in for a hug, awkwardly between crutches. Peter is hugged! By surprise! He attempts to reciporcate with crutches, but instead ends up just /flailing/ with one of them instead. Well, it is half-of-a-hug. Grinning a bit before resteading himself, and - leaning his weight down on the other crutch - he reaches to pluck up the shades and hold them out to Ivan. Getting a /very/ serious look on his face as he states, emphatically: "DANGER SHADES." There is even a little sticker dangling from their end, with their brand name crossed out - and 'FOR DANGEROUS DUDES ONLY' written in felt-tip marker. Peter then adds: "Oh Iolaus said the stitches'll probably come out pretty soon, Dr. McCoy can check them out, he just wants me to, like, not put a lot of weight on them. You seem cheerful," Peter suddenly says, peering at Ivan - as if Peterreturn was insufficient for Ivancheer. "Did you hold hands with Rasa s'more?" Ooh, shades. Ivan grabs for the shades as soon as they are presented to him! The claim on the sticker is met with a decisive nod, and-- on they go. After he nearly pokes himself in the eye with them, that is. Now he does stand back to let Peter in properly, picking up the book he dropped earlier. "No. But. Maybe I /will/." He sort of sounds like he's taken it as a /challenge/. Hands shall be HELD, Peter. The shades help him look /extra/ determined about this. "I will maybe get more bees. It is good news." ".../more/ bees?" Peter asks; now that both Peter and Ivan are sufficiently SHADED, it is officially ON. It is /so/ on. It is on so hard that it becomes impossible to imagine a time when it was off. If you look the word 'on' up in a dictionary, you'll just see a picture of Peter and Ivan, back to back, arms folded, donning their Danger Shades. ON. "You mean - like - they aren't gonna - I mean," Peter begins, blushing just a /bit/ as he ambles over toward his bed, plopping down - the crutches swung up to be propped up against the dresser. "I thought they might not let you do too much with bees after - y'know. That's /great/ news, though! Man you will have even /more/ bees, jeez," Peter adds, thinking. "You'll be the Beesmaster. We should - oh man you'll be like that guy in that video game. The PAIN. He has bees, and he does this dance to control them. He shoots bee BULLETS it's nutso Ivan." Peter's now hiking up his left pant-leg, rolling up the cuff, apparently intent on showing Ivan his wicked-cool SCAR. Ivan's smile wanes just slightly, but he nods several times during Peter's verbalized concerns. Something in one of the terraria behind him scrambles through some woodchips, a little excitedly. Yet others move more sluggishly just to /stare/ out into the dorm room through their glass cells. A few tiny grey moths erupt from a drawer. A curious tilt of his head at the mention of The Pain suggests he may not be overly familiar with the character. Or at all. "It is not /certain/ yet. But I will be very careful. And I will ask to practise before anything happens. A lot." Again, the shades must help make him look like he talking serious business, here. Ooh. His eyebrows shoot up over the shades, and attention is promptly turned to Peter's leg as he wanders closer. "Yeah, I think you should practice a lot I mean from what you said and others said it's kinda like the bees nibble on your brains? But man if you could get them - like all working together - man Ivan that could be /so/ awesome, I mean you'd be the best beekeeper /ever/, you wouldn't even need a /beesuit/," Peter natters on, already rolling up the cuff of his pantleg up to the knee; then a little higher. A big, nice white patch is strapped on top of it, carefully fastened with flesh-toned wraps that use a combination of velcro and metal clips to maintain pressure - Peter is now in the process of unfastening them. "I was running on roofs," Peter explains, "and there was this girl up there? She talks to birds - I dunno if she talks to them, like, just talks to them, or if she /talks/ to them," Peter adds, glancing at the bugs as they chitter and shift in their terraria - he's gotten used to the idea that they respond to Ivan's mood, but it's always fascinating to /watch/. "Like, you, uh talk to bugs I mean. But anyway, suddenly there was this noise from below and all these /guys/ showed up with knives and crowbars chasing this other guy - so, I like asked her if I could get her out of there and she was like 'sure' and I did, then when I turned around to make sure the guy wasn't hurt they started throwing /knives/ at me. That's when I ran - the, uh, guy he wasn't hurt, he got away too," Peter quickly adds. Aaand back to happycheerful Ivan. He sits down onto the floor to watch Peter with great interest, listening to his every word. The inhabitants of the various terraria, meanwhile, continue to somewhat restlessly stir, climbing onto plants or decorations. There's even a few tiny little cricket chirps, though they quieten down soon afterwards. "You saved more people. This is good." Ivan announces, his eyes darting between Peter's face to his leg and back to his face again, through the shades. "Soon you will save people and /not/ be hurt." This is fact. Or his tone implies so, anyway. "Well I'm gonna ask Dr. McCoy if he can set up the danger room so I can practicing catching /knives/," Peter explains, offhandedly, "cuz catching knives is /awesome/ holy crap but - also I figure - maybe he can make them like, non-dangerous soft knives? Or something - but - you mentioned bullets? In the DR? And that lady - Ms. Walters? You mentioned..." Peter's voice trails off. He just finished unstrapping his bandages; inch by inch, he's peeling them back from the wound - just a tiny grimace! There's some gel under there, and... huh. Peter stares. The wound is there - stitched skin, a neat little slit of puckered flesh with black Xs criss-crossing through it. But the flesh around the wound is notably discolored - a darkish grey blotch. It doesn't look - infected - or worse still, necrotic. But it also does not look like it's /supposed/ to. Ivan doesn't always pick up on social cues, this much is known. But when his dorm buddy goes quiet? Things are very wrong indeed. His smile instantly vanishes, shoulders drop, and he hops to his knees to get a closer look, concern spreading across his danger shade'd face. Inquisitive looks are shot at that leg, then Peter's face, then at the leg once more. Most of the critters in the terraria quieten, now. Pressing downward or disappearing back into cover. "What is wrong." Peter doesn't look extraordinarily /concerned/, but he does seem a little thrown off by it. His response? Poke it. Poke. Poke. Poke. "It's not numb," he announces to Ivan, still peeeeeeering at it. Poke, prod, poke. "And it isn't hurting more than it was before. I -- dunno. I'll ask Dr. McCoy about it. Weird. Maybe -- ? I dunno, I've never been stabbed, maybe it's /supposed/ to look like that," he finally decides. "I mean - actually I was stabbed in the shoulder by the Quill, but I never /saw/ it, really, so yeah maybe - this is what stabbings do?" He goes about recovering the wound, then, re-asserting yet again: "I'll ask Dr. McCoy about it." Ivan gives this theory some thought, apparently. He takes a deep breath, sits back, and just /stares/ at Peter while he talks. Then, slowly but surely his expression sinks into something Peter should know by now means that something is about to /happen/, though part of it may be nullified by the newly acquired shades. Still, his actions should make up for that; Ivan gets to his feet, then, announcing, "We can ask him /now/. He will know."