ArchivedLogs:Disquiet

Disquiet
Warning: Some bloods.
Dramatis Personae Ion, Isra, Shane, Monsterling
In Absentia	2015-11-15 'Fight fight fight!' (Part of Flu Season TP.)
Location <NYC> Lower East Side
Historically characterized by crime and immigrant families crammed into cramped tenement buildings, the Lower East Side is often identified with its working-class roots. Today, it plays host to many of New York's mutant poor, although even here they are still often forced into hiding. The hum of Ion's bike is distinctive, an thrum that zooms not through the streets but straight down off a rooftop. The electrokinetic doesn't land /on/ the street, precisely, hovering a few feet over it and careening down the block to pull to a stop nearby Evolve. There's blood on the toes of his heavy boots, drying in a few spatterson his beaten old kutte; there's a crowbar slung across his back, a long Bowie knife at his hip. "{-- fucking /God/ it's like these goddamn /tourists/ don't even /want/ to fucking live where the hell do these people /come/ from I swear to fucking -- sss.}" This last hiss is as his bike suddenly /drops/ out of the air the last couple feet to the ground, a rather abrupt parking job in time with a skittering surge of sparks that roll across his skin. Shortly behind Ion, Shane's bike has a much smoother landing. He eases down to the street, the humming stopping as he pulls it into park with/out/ any sudden thud. "{/Christ/, man, /watch/ yourself.}" His hand waves to -- Ion. The bike. Everything. He's in black hiking pants, boots, his own kutte oddly neat despite the spatters of blood and brains on the toes of his boots, a denim jacket under the vest. A pair of wakizashi is crossed across his back. "{Gonna get yourself fucking killed. Better /you/ stay on the goddamn /ground/. It's like /you/ don't even want to fucking live.}" Perhaps hearing the bikes from a distance, Isra has emerged from Evolve to meet their riders. The black cowl-necked dress she wears contrasts sharply with the pale icy blue of her skin and the glimmering snow white of her wings, horns, and talons. She carries a black messenger bag over one shoulder, and a baby carrier in the opposite hand. The pile of colorful knit blankets in the latter stirs as the bikes descend, and a fuzzy black head pokes out--long ears droopng, huge green eyes flashing in the twilight, mouth slightly open to display a mouthful of sharp white teeth. Egg emits a rapid stream of excited clicks and signs 'Ion-dad' over and over again. Isra only arches an eyebrow at the two men. 'Zombies, then,' she signs. 'Are you hurt?' "{The fuck are you, now, my goddamn mother?}" The hum of Ion's bike /whines/ to a halt as he swings his leg over it to get off it. "{Fucking /fine/. Goddamn /starving/. More than starving. Was a mess, though, no lie. Apartment building six blocks over, /swarming/. Motherfucker got my arm but good. Eyyy, little monster.}" His grin flashes bright; there's a lively gleam in his eyes as he leans in, the kiss he presses to Egg's forehead comes with a heavy zap. Even the /air/ around him feels charged, staticky, crackling. "{Out here, it quiet?}" "{Asshole fried the power in half the fucking block. /Were/ other people there to help us out but that much harder for them to work in the goddamn dark. Just glad it didn't hit this far down. Last thing I need is this place losing more money, too.}" Shane is noticeably limping as he gets off /his/ bike, but he shakes away Isra's question. "{This isn't quiet. This is just -- waiting.}" 'Just your sister,' Isra replies calmly. 'Quiet, waiting, whatever you want to call it--we can get you some food.' But her eyes lock on his arm, studying how he carries it. 'And get that cleaned up.' Gremlin props themselves up with both arms and wings to lean into Ion's zap. Or maybe they're leaning up to snuffle at the scent of fresh blood. 'Starving,' they sign, whether just echoing Ion or expressing their own hunger. Ion's arm is held a little stiff, curled protective against his stomach; there's a tear in the grungy flannel of his shirt, some blood spotted against it though not /much/ is showing through. "{... sister.}" Something in him relaxes; the set of his shoulders, the clench of his teeth, even the skitter of sparks dancing around him eases off. "{What we waiting /for/, then?}" '/Starving/,' Shane agrees emphatically, a low growl accompanying the sign. His hand reaches up and behind him, touching lightly against the hilt of one of his swords. He shakes his head slowly. "{Nothing. Fuck. We need to eat. I'm just worried. I'm just -- not good. At -- this. All this.}" Isra mantles her frosty white wings, curling one gently around Ion and the other around Shane. 'Worry is acceptable. You survived. You brought your brother home alive. And your cafe still has power,' she ticks the points off on her sharp, glittering talons. 'Good enough.' There's another series of zaps, shuddering in small jolts through Isra as Ion leans back into the touch of her wing. "{That's a bullshit. You fought damn fine out there.}" His eyes close, a small breath sucked in; he turns his head sharply towards Isra's wing, cheek pressing to it. "{Maybe I brought /him/ home, huh? Tinyshark. Why you gotta assume.}" "{Fighting's not going to be /enough/. Not good enough. Not once the city runs out of /food/ and -- /fuck/ --}" Shane swivels sharply, snapping at the wing Isra curls around him in a sharpquick chomp of teeth. 'Brothers bring each other home,' Isra's hands move through this sentence with the fluid ease of much repetition, and though her expression remains placid her ears press nearly flat against her skull. She flares her wing back out from around Shane--though perhaps not quickly enough to avoid the bite altogether. A soft warning growl issues from her lower vocal folds. 'One thing at a time,' this signed firmly and precisely. 'Right now, we eat.' "/Hey/! {No fucking biting!}" Ion's voice is sharp; he turns sharply as well, a sudden arcing bolt of electricity coursing out from him towards Shane. A few smaller residual sparks skitter out in other directions, scattering into the air around him. "{/Watch/ yourself. That ain't --}" Though now /he's/ looking towards the wing that Shane had bitten, eyes widening at the sight of red droplets of blood. His tongue swipes against his lips, /his/ lunge aiming for Isra's arm. Mmm chomp? Shane's snarl is lower, harsher. His teeth scrape against Isra's wing, and he's just gearing up to swipe in again, bite down further, when Ion's lightning hits him square in the chest. He stumbles back, muscles twitching as the leg he had been favouring gives way beneath him. There's another snarl, his claws lengthening when he hits the ground. He's scrambling into a roll after this, claws swiping out for Ion's legs above where the tall boots end. Isra's growl spikes in pitch and volume when Shane's teeth scratch her, and hops back from the brightness back when Ion's lightning arcs out. Blinded by the flash, she does not see /Ion's/ bite in time to avoid it. "{Stop this, both of you!} this in Spanish, rough and harsh. Omelette clicks loudly--not actually in complaint, if their excited signing of 'Fight fight fight!' indicates. Her wings snap down hard and lift herself and the baby into the air. "Ion! Shane! {Stop!}" "{/Fuck/.}" Ion /yelps/ when Shane's teeth sink into his leg. The bite comes with another sharp jolt, surging out from him and though the pup. He drops, hard, one elbow slamming downward toward Shane's back. "{Stop your fucking. Bossing. /Around/.}" On the last word there's a burst of energy -- unfocused, now, it radiates out from him in /all/ directions. Arcs of blue-white energy shooting out, up, around, in strong currents. Shane just hisses. His claws latch in, yanking up to pull him up towards Ion -- though the slam of Ion's arm shoves him back down. He twists around, snapping at the arm that hits at him, teeth sinking in hard to Ion's forearm. The current that jolts through him just /locks/ his jaw down, clamping harder into flesh. Isra's wings beat down again to gain altitude, but Ion's electrical outburst catches her and she seizes up mid-air. The loud clicking from Egg sounds almost like electricity discharging, too, stuttering as the baby carrier falls and spills its passenger onto the sidewalk. Isra herself comes crashing down a moment later, wing talons thrashing rather indiscriminately. Her growl turns into a snarl of pain. Egg rights themselves and stares wide-eyed at the spectacle. 'Hungry,' they sign urgently, 'finish eat then fight!' Ion pitches backwards towards where Isra and Egg have fallen, crashing down onto the sidewalk when Shane's claws dig into his leg. He twists around, arm bearing down /harder/ into Shane's mouth when the sharkpup's teeth clamp down -- slamming the back of the boy's head into the ground as his other fist lifts. Comes back down to pound into the side of Shane's face. And again. And again. Though the heavy voltage each strike comes with likely isn't helping the pup's teeth /un/lock. The ground around them is dancing with light, small showers of sparks skitter-hopping out along the sidewalk in erratic pulses that soon dissipate. Beneath Ion Shane twitches. Jerks. For a moment his hand is lifting in an attempt to claw back at the electrokinetic -- but then this just falls back to the sidewalk, limbs spasming against the concrete. His teeth clamp down harder -- and harder, ripping /off/ the mouthful of flesh they have closed around as his head thuds back against the ground with a small choked whimper. Isra picks herself up, not entirely steady on her feet. She seizes Ion's arm mid-strike--heedless of the electricity it probably discharges into /her/ instead of his intended target--just as Shane's teeth finally tear through the flesh of his forearm. One of her wings clamps down around Ion, hard, as she separates the two combatants by force and her own sheer reach. She sinks down to check on Shane, though she does not touch him until Ion stops shocking /her/, lest she pass the jolt along. "{Are you done?} The question sounds startlingly neutral, even though the growl in her throat never completely abates. The cry that comes from Ion is ragged. As is the flesh that drips bloody and raw from his mangled forearm, now. But as he slumps heavily against Isra the wide-eyed look on his face is horror, now, more than the anger that had previously been there. "{-- Oh. Oh god. Oh, god, smallshark. We. Need --}" There /are/ jolts, rapid and dwindling but shooting in small quicktwitch pulses through Isra. Ion's breathing is kind of erratic, too, labored and hitching. "{Fuck, I didn't, I --}" He doesn't quite answer her question. Or if he /does/, the answer comes -- somewhere else. There's one last skitterspread of sparks but then Shane -- and Egg -- are left on the sidewalk. By the time the sparks have faded only a moment later, Ion and Isra have vanished.