ArchivedLogs:Degenerates

Degenerates
Dramatis Personae Shane, Steve
In Absentia	2016-01-17 "{I don't think too many people had problem with dog collars...}"
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Kitchens - Lower East Side
Gleaming and polished and new, the common house here boasts an enormous industrial-sized kitchen for preparing communal meals. Set up as two mirror-image fully equipped kitchens, both left and right halves of the room contain a trio of enormous ovens, each topped with twelve gas-powered stove burners. There is a wealth of cabinet and drawer space ringing the walls, and separate side-by-side fridge and freezer to each side of the space as well. Both halves of the room contain their own large central islands, black granite countertops providing a large expanse of space for food prep; beneath the center islands are stored a well-stocked supply of pans and pots and cutting boards and kitchen gear. The pantry is shared, a large walk-in room along the back wall, its shelves all carefully labelled and organized. The opposite wall has sinks, deep three-compartment ones for each side of the room. There are very clearly labeled signs in the kitchen, denoting the left half of the room strictly for preparation only of foods both vegan and Kosher; there are no restrictions on the foods prepared in the right half. Equipment from each side is color-coded and should be kept separate. Instructions request that any prepared foods served or stored in communal space keep /strict/ lists of the ingredients used for those with dietary concerns and that leftovers are marked clearly with dates before being stored. It's snowing in New York City, fluffy white flakes drifting down from a gray sky to melt on the pavement and lay a fine dusting on dirt, cars, fence lines, and the tops of tree branches. It's grown cold, and gusts of wind are visible as swirls of dancing snowflakes. Inside Commonhaus it's warm and cozy, the smell of coffee blooming to fill the kitchen and spill out into surrounding rooms. Steve is pouring himself a mug of coffee, steaming hot and black. He's still dressed in church clothes, a light blue dress shirt that make his eyes look even bluer, a silverish tie with a subtle star motif, charcoal slacks, and black Oxfords. He isn't wearing the harness for his shield -- or the shield itself -- properly, just slung over one shoulder. A library book lies on the counter near him: John Birmingham's /Weapons of Choice/. Shane is dressed for warm-cozy indoors rather than the snowy outside, black corduroys (kind of ragged and full of far too many tears) trailing down too long over his bare heels. No shirt, though he's wrapped a towel around his shoulders that he drops into the sink, dampens, folds up to toss into the microwave. His steps are dragging slightly as he shuffles past Steve. Snags the coffee right out of the bigger man's hand. Hoists himself up onto the counter to steal the book as well and scrutinize its synopsis. "{Hello.}" Steve blinks as the shark boy snatches the coffee from his hand. Narrows his eyes at him even as he grabs another mug to fill. "{Does towel taste better when it's warm?}" The book is a hard cover, and the front jacket flap reads: 'A military experiment in the year 2021 has thrust an American-led multinational armada back to 1942, right into the middle of the U.S. naval task force speeding toward Midway Atoll.' "{Someone recommend that to me, don't know if it's much good yet. How are you doing?}" Shane takes a gulp of the coffee, only wincing slightly at its heat, and sets it aside as the microwave dings. His brows lift at Steve's question. He pops the microwave door open, shaking the warm towel out as he pulls it out. "{Who the fuck /eats/ towel, dude, is that some freaky human thing or were people just into all kinds of weirder shit in your day? I mean, not that I'm judging, everyone's got their --}" His webbed fingers flutter as he wraps the damp (/warm/!) towel back around his slim torso with a pleased flutter of gills. "{/things/.}" He's kind of taking a small /nibble/ at the edge of the book as he says this. Setting it aside, too. Steve turns to lean against the counter. "{People are /always/ into all kinds of weird things, but I don't think I heard of anyone eating towels. Paper, though...}" He taps his fingers across the cover of the novel thoughtfully. "{I've eaten some paper. Not whole /books/. That book, supposed to have some interesting parts about people from the future trying to adjust to the past.}" He shrugs, takes a sip of his coffee despite the heat. "{Is the damp towel a 21st century thing? Or a /you/ thing?}" "{Guess that's -- sort of up your alley.}" Shane's gills are still fluttering, a very small brief rumble of purr growling up from him as he smooths the towel down against his sides. He shakes his head, cupping his hands around the mug again. "{Swimming's miserable cold right now and you /don't/ want to see how we get after too long out of the water. This is more convenient than a dozen showers a day.}" His head cocks to the side, black eyes skimming down over Steve. "{/Are/ people always into all kinds of weird things, because the way most people tell it, /we're/ the moral degenerates and everyone from /your/ time was, well...}" He tips his hand out towards Steve. /Emphatically/. "Oh..." Steve nods, eyes widening slightly as he looks over Shane and his towel again. "{I understand. That way you not dry up, but also stay warm.}" He looks down at the book, at the black silhouette of a battleship above the title. "{Everyone from my time was /me/?}" He chuckles, eye bright with amusement. "{I guess if we were all the same, 'weird' wouldn't mean anything. But no. People used to say, /my/ generation was degenerate. We were lazy and} decadent {with our radio dramas and comic books and} swing {dancing.}" Takes a long drink of his coffee, shakes his head. "{No. I think, some things are better now than before; other things are worse. But 'weird'? That is not necessarily good or bad. Probably, people just hid it better in my day...}" "{Everyone from your time was /good/,}" Shane clarifies with a sharp slice of grin. "{A whole era of goddamn Boy Scouts. Which, honestly, sounds really implausible.}" His claws click rapidly against the outside of his mug. "{Hid it better? So, like, what, you cut a little deeper and underneath all the /totally wholesome/ swing dancing and radio dramas it was just swing/ers/ parties and dog collars all the way down, right?}" "{Good!}" Steve's jaw actually drops open, baby blue eyes wide. "{We had strengths, but all that scouting didn't save us from two world wars and all the other terrible things we did.}" He tilts his head at Shane, blonde eyebrows knitting. "{Well,} swingers {didn't really try to hide, it wasn't /that/...}unacceptable. {It was just dancing. I mean other things, people would hide because they were afraid of the law, or of being} ostracized. {Mostly things that a lot of Christians thought were...against God? Like a lot of sex things, or gambling, or alcohol -- for a while, anyway, when I was a boy.}" Though here he comes up short and blinks at Shane again. "{I don't think too many people had problem with dog collars...}" "{I didn't mean dancing,}" Shane answers easily. "{I mean swingers like couples who like to swap partners with each other for sex.}" His legs swing, heels thumping lightly against the cabinets as he takes another sip of coffee. "{Sex is a lot /like/ dancing, though.}" His brows hike up at Steve's explanation. "{Mmm. Right. So like drugs and being} queer as a goddamn three dollar bill. God, they would've hated my dad, huh?" His grin brightens sharply. "{Not to mention /me/. And I don't mean dog collars on /dogs/. I mean dog collars on /people/. You know. For those times when you just really want someone to tie you up and --}" His claws have extended, the curl of his fingers and low thrum of growl in his throat both -- somewhat evocative. "{Make you beg.}" "Oh." Steve's initial reply comes out very quiet, though he blushes only faintly. "/Oh./ {That. I don't know a lot about. /Swinging/. Like that. But there were many people who had not-traditional ideas about sex. It was just hard to...do those ideas /openly/, unless you were rich.}" He blushes somewhat redder at the mention of Jax. "{Some communities more and some less, but yes. I don't know if there were mutants like you then, but if there were...probably they were treated very badly.}" He leans forward slightly when Shane explains, eyes wide but not really incredulous. "Oh." Again. "{That...I know even less about. But it is uh...related to sadomasochism?}" The last word he speaks hesitantly, in German rather than Spanish, though the compound word is readily identifiable with the English word that derived from it. "{Not all /that/ different, now. I mean, being /gay/ is -- not /totally/ accepted but definitely a shit-ton more accepted, in some parts of the country, anyway. But a lot of other sex things, ehhhh.}" Shane's hand seesaws in the air. "{Unless you're rich and then fuck it. I mean, the tabloids just think it's /cute/ when Ryan does whatever-the-fuck.}" His brows hike up at Steve's question, a hint of surprise there in the slight widening of /his/ overlarge eyes. It fades momentarily. "{Related, sure. But not the same, necessarily. /Some/ people are into pain. Some people maybe just want to get tied up. Or ordered around. Or --}" There's a brief moment when his gills flutter, fingers pressing harder against the side of his cup before he takes another gulp. "{... any number of things. Even today, not /usually/ something people are all /that/ open about. Outside of, uh, certain communities.}" His grin is a little slower, this time, but no less bright. "{The degenerate ones.}" Steve nods, leaning back against the counter, lifting his coffee again. "{Well, sadomasochism was around, in my time. I'm sure other things like that were, too. Very hidden. Most people saw it as sickness, as...}perversion. {I didn't, but by the time I got around to thinking about sex, my job was killing people.}" His expression is kind of frozen through this particular explanation. "{If I ever thought something like the gender or number of someone's lovers or what they liked to wear in the bedroom was an ethical problem, I learned a...}sense of proportion {about these things, during the war.}" He studies Shane. "{This is...upsetting to you? We can talk about other things, if you want.}" Shane's gills flutter faster. His head tilts to the side, a small furrow between his brows as he looks up at Steve, studying the taller man right /back/. "... yeah. I guess that's -- kind of a whole different. Ethical scale to --" His lips compress, head giving a quick shake. He dips his head after, raises a hand, touches fingertips lightly to the gills at the side of his neck. "{What? Oh, no, I'm ...}" He stops short of actually saying he's okay. Stares into his coffee instead. Softer: "{I just miss Daiki. So -- goddamn -- much.}" His hand presses harder to the side of his neck. "{He and I...}" He swallows, looks back up with a lift of brows and a quick upward hook of smile. "{Some day I should just write you a tour guide instead. Everything you ever wanted to know about the twenty-first century and probably some things you didn't. Though I guess that's pretty much what Tumblr is for.}" "{I don't mean to be so...}invincibly ignorant." Steve somehow manages, despite his stature and musculature, to look small when he ducks his head. He takes a step toward Shane. Sets down his coffee. Opens his arms in offer of a hug. "{I'm sorry.}" Very softly, quietly. "{And you don't have to write me a guide -- don't have to always be walking me through these things, either.}" He gives a small smile here. "{I know how to Google. /Don't/ know how to Tumbler, though. Should I get that?}" "Invincibly? Not hardly. {You /want/ to learn. You're willing to learn. And willing to accept people as they are and not how you think they /should/ be. That's way the fuck more than a lot of people.}" Shane's hands are slightly shaky around his coffee. He eyes Steve for an uncertain moment before sliding down off the counter, tipping up onto his toes to lean into the offered hug. The flutter of his gills all down his sides is very rapid. His breathing is unsteady, shallow and hitched as his gills open and close. "-- Oh yeah totally Tumblr's -- Oh, no," his words are breathy and soft, broken up as well by his uneven breathing, "{no, you should definitely not have a Tumblr, it's. You'll cry.}" "{I guess /endlessly/ ignorant is not the same as} invincibly {ignorant.}" Steve holds Shane tight, not shy of the fluttering gills. "{But thank you anyway. For your patience.}" He looks down, raising an eyebrow at the smaller man. "{I have the /Twitter,/ there's a lot of hating there. Mostly ignore it. I can probably handle a little more and not cry.}" "Tch the hate is, whatever, there's fucking haters everywhere." Shane isn't actually letting go, yet, wiry arms clinging tight to the much larger man. The dampness of his skin probably accounts for a good deal of the moisture stippling Steve's shirt. Probably. "{Tumblr is worse. There'll be hate sure. Also though, there's a lot of /community/. You'll have a lot of fans. People write stories.}" Steve doesn't seem in any hurry to dislodge Shane. Holds him, comfortably and firmly despite their very different statures. "{Fans, sometimes that is uncomfortable, but community and stories... These are good things, no? How is that worse than hating?}" There's a long period where Shane is quiet. He buries his face against Steve's shirt, slightly shaky, gills taking a while to settle. Before he finally answers, though, his grip shifts -- not /clinging/ so much, now, fingers unfisting to pat Steve gently at his back instead. "{... good, sure. It's just really easy to stumble across shit on there when you're maybe not expecting it or in the right mood for it and --}" He shrugs, quickly. His voice still isn't the /most/ steady, but it's less uneven than it was before as his gills start to press back down. "{It's like you can go from here's a cute picture of cats and here's a really interesting post about growing crops in space and here's fascinating news about cleaning up the oceans and, oh, here's some really depressing fucking shit about how many people are getting murdered by cops and, oh, here is some /really beautifully/ written story that some huge Captain America fan decided to write about an alternate universe timeline where you weren't the only one that got teleported to the future and are imagining what that'd be like and --}" His arms tighten just a little bit around Steve. "{... you shouldn't get a Tumblr.}" Steve lifts one hand to smooth over the back of Shane's prickly head. "{The news is kind of a minefield,}" he agrees, "{and social media is...more random.}" His grip suddenly tightens, and a harsh shudder that passes through him. "{I shouldn't get a Tumblr,}" he concedes, his voice a little rough. "{Not into pain.}" This statement notwithstanding, Shane's fiercely strong arms curl tighter around the other man. Squeezing hard through that shudder, and not letting go for quite some time.