ArchivedLogs:Drunk Dance Revolution

Drunk Dance Revolution
Dramatis Personae Alexandrine, Hive, Shelby, Tag
In Absentia	2013-01-14 Drunk arcade > Sober arcade
Location <NYC> The Batcave - Greenwich Village
The Batcave is far more sociable a place than its name would suggest. Filled at all hours of day with the beeps and music and explosions of a myriad of arcade games, as well as the laughter and conversation (and curses) to go with it, the dark theme in decor is broken up by the bright lights of their game machines. Along one wall, a counter serves soft drinks and greasy junk food, and off in the back a door leads to what is by far the larger part of the establishment; a fully-equipped laser tag arena. It's a school night, which has cut down some but not /all/ of the teenage crowd that frequents this location earlier in the evening. Hive seems half a teenager himself in the very /serious/ intensity he is currently giving to an air hockey table, hunched down with dark eyes /fiercely/ boring into the green ones of his opponent, a younger slender dark-haired man with a wide and cheerful smile in answer to Hive's determined grimace. Possibly the smile is because the other man is currently winning, six points to four. Six points to five, a moment later, with no dimming of his opponent's grin or of Hive's determined intentness. The puck zings and clatters its way around the table, the noise broken up by a /stream/ of invective when it slides through Hive's goal again. "Motherf -- tch. /Next/ time, you're mine," might sound threatening if they were not talking about air hockey. Also, if it were not accompanied with a thumping back-pat of a hug, as the other man leaves with excuses about homework that earn him a grumpy scowl from Hive. He leans against the side of the air hockey table, absently jiggling quarters in his pocket as he looks around the room contemplatively, sipping at a cup of soda that has sat on the table's rim. Tag tumbles out of the cockpit of his X-Wing--well, Luke's X-Wing, technically--and throws his hands up into the air. "Red 5 saves the day!" he cries, and performs something that could be mistaken for a victory dance by those similarly intoxicated. His black vinyl jacket and pants are veined with fluorescent patterns reminiscent of circuits in some places and vines in others. Before those nearby have a chance to congratulate him, he gravitates toward the air hockey table. "I sensed a disturbance in the Force," he says, "a presence I have not felt since...a couple of days ago. HIVE!" He almost pounces on the man in question, but checks himself abruptly at the last minute. "Areyouahugperson?" he blurts. You know those super annoying people who hog the Dance Dance game? Those sheer assholes who, by dint of ability or luck, are -really- good at it, so it doesn't matter how many tokens you line up to take over when they fail, they just keep going and going and going? Yeah, that's Shelby, currently kicking the ass off of Anti-Matter by Orbit1 & Milo. She's got the stomping, and the kicking, and the spinning down as if it were second nature. She's even worked up a healthy sweat, enough to have stripped out of the outer three layers of her gear, leaving her in a couple of dirty tank tops, some dress shorts and (God in heaven) a pair of shimmery gold tights that disappear beneath two scrunched layers of socks and some hi-tops. Every time she turns, her hair flies up and reveals a flash of color on her upper back but it surely couldn't be a tattoo; she looks too young for that! But when a yell explodes nearby, that whir of limbs becomes uncoordinated--she misses a step and in mere seconds, the teenager -loses-. "-FUCK-!" "Woooah," Hive says, grumpy-scowl morphing into a quick grin as Tag approaches. He holds his drink a little bit tighter, sucking soda up through its straw as, in answer, he hooks an arm out to curl around Tag's shoulders, pulling the other man in to complete the pounce. He offers this hug /while/ saying, "Nah fuck hugs. Taaag, nice jacket. D'you fly better drunk?" His chin tips over towards the X-Wing, and as his gaze shifts it skips by the DDR machine, eyebrows raising rather abruptly. "Well, shit," he murmurs, under his breath, and louder towards Shelby: "Could be karma. Get a dude shot, fuck up DDR. Balances out, yeah?" "I...um, maybe? I do fighting games better drunk, but I think the trench run was just the Force guiding me," Tag says, leaning into Hive, then following his gaze to the girl storming away from the DDR machine. Pretty colors... "Oh, no, no, no, I dance like /crap/ when I'm drunk. I would need totally different substances for dancing. There's clubs around here, and I know a guy--wait, who's getting shot where now? Oooh!" He gasps and takes off, snagging Hive's hand as he goes. "C'mon, you gotta play Time Crisis with me!" So she lost the shot at taking the high score; Shelby's still patted on the shoulder and high-fived as she steps down from the podium, her rancor easily lost in the face of admiration. Check out all of those kids who think she's hot stuff! And then check out how her grin bleeds away, along with most of the color in her face. Those freckles stand out in sharp relief, punctuating two separate thoughts: 'Maybe that means he didn't die' and 'Shit, I knew he'd hate me'. Before she can muster an out loud reply, though, Tag's ADD kicks in and he's off! Leaving one very shell-shocked looking teenager, who stares after them then turns to gather up her fallen gear. "Heeeey, no, with a statement like /that/?" Hive lets his hand be snagged, but only gets a few steps before he is tugging Tag right /back/. Towards the DDR machine. "Now I /gotta/ see your moves. Though clubbing sounds fine enough, later. /Hello/." He says this last to Shelby, with a thin flash of teeth in a smile. "How've /you/ been? Alive, I see." Alexandrine heads on into the arcade, lured by the muted sounds of video games and the scent of greasy junk food like french fries. Which is what the redheaded telepath needs, with or without gravy, after she went to a party one of her fellow dance teachers threw in a bar down the way. She's pleasantly buzzed, cheeks flushed, unzipping her jacket as she wades in to look around at games. "Wheeee!" Tag's voice takes a brief trip into falsetto when he squeals, letting Hive pull him along, pleased despite his complaint. "My 'moves' might involve my face plowing into the floor!" he protests, then notices Shelby. "Oh, hi! Are you one of Hive's friends? You're pretty!" The fluorescent lines on his outfit glow a little brighter, and it isn't altogether intentional but wow she has /brilliant tattoos and is his hair still rainbow? "I'm Tag!" There's a whole lotta clothes to gather up. Shelby simplifies the process by shrugging into things as she picks them up. Long john shirt, sweater, sweatshirt and finally her prize, the black puffy jacket. As she dresses, empty cloth arms flail about; Alex better watch out! Fwap! But the kid is oblivious. Fingerless gloves are produced from a pocket and are being tugged on when the guys approach and she is addressed. Her thoughts, which are weasel quick, are not pleased. Goawaygoawayfuckyougoaway. But damn she can put a smile when she needs to--she just aims it at Tag. "Hi! Tag? Oh my god, how do you -do- that, I -love- your outfit." Gush gush gush. "I'm Shelby. I think Hive wants me to crawl into a hole and die." Except she's just going to stand there and grin because -no-. "Gorgeous, isn't it?" Hive is tipping a nod at Tag, though it's hard to tell which part of the colorful arrangement he is referring to. His smile gets a bit /sharper/ at Tag's question, and his answer is light: "We've met. Had dinner together the other night. It was pretty unforgettable. Man, though, you'd /know/ it if I wanted you to crawl in a hole and die, I'm not subtle about that. The guy's alright, ish, by the way. I'm sure you were concerned." His teeth clamp down on his straw, soda slurped up from a bed of ice, and he fishes coins out of his pocket to press them into Tag's hand. "Here. That way if you faceplant it's on me." Alexandrine does dodge some flaily arms, because DDR is always a draw. Not that the dancer would ever play that game or anything, nooooo. She's still eyeballing the game, even as she's wary of the flaily one and is sort of not intentionally eavesdropping. Her shielding is more or less intact, though a bit wibbly-wobbly from drinking and a long day and being hungry. Food. She should consider food. But music and lights and possible mock dancing...not that she can call DDR /dancing/. It offends the classical that's been engrained. "Thanks! I...it...I like colors!" Tag replies, trying to following the exchange bewteen Shelby and Hive and somehow not quite managing it. How much did he drink? The guy at the place bought him at least two, but then he got a bit too handsy in the bathroom and Tag is just not a hooking-up-in-the-dance-club-bathroom sort. The current occupant of the DDR machine descents, laughing and shaking his head. Tag hops up onto the platform and inserts the tokens. "Alea iacta est!" he cries, and chooses something randomly because he has not played DDR in /far/ too long. The screen flashes, he readies himself, and does the bidding of the music and the beat and mostly the colors but wow they are colorful and somewhat faster than he remembered and some corner of his mind focuses on not changing everything different colors, but it is a small and shrinking corner. Shelby's emotions are about as subtle as her thoughts: first there is an undiluted pulse of guilt, but it is quickly--very quickly--replaced with anger. She's got some oomph in her head; it makes keeping a good grip on her smile difficult. But she steadfastly keeps it bottled in while Tag is shining his happy rays at everyone. "Go Tag!" Because that's what strangers-turned-friends do, right? She waits until he's been swallowed by colors and music before turning a narrow look back at the other gentleman. "Fuck you, you don't know me," she informs Hive, a split second after she's thought the very same thing. That, at least, is authentic. "Because -everyone's- supposed to just keep their shit together when someone pulls a gun and waves it around. You win at life. Or whatever." "That's easy enough to see," Hive answers with a quick laugh, eyebrows raising as he watches Tag at the machine. "S'good, they suit you." He is turning his attention away from Shelby, gaze fixed on Tag and his DDR game. The grin is draining from his face, shifting slow into a thin-set not-quite-grimace. "No, I don't," he says simple and a little tired. "Sorry. It was a shitty night. I might still be bitter." One corner of his mouth twitches, slightly; not really enough to be a smile. "Keeping your shit together is usually the safest way to go, though. For next time some crackhead waves a gun around." While Alex has been enjoying watching Tag, because he's so clearly more inebriated than she is and so happy, she's been sloppy and let down her shielding a bit too far. Which at this proximity will not only suddenly make her surface thoughts hit Hives, while everyone else's emotions and stronger thoughts hit her. Shelby, though she's name unknown to the redhead, is especially abrasive. In her current altered state, Alex reacts more out of reflex than rational thought, empathy put in motion to start trying to stamp out that anger. No harshing the mellow, por favor. The music is starting to outstrip Tag, but he just throws himself into it harder. The slightly dingy Day-Glo-and-steel frame of the arcade cabinet grows brighter and start flickering in time to the music, which is not at first very noticeable because the flashing of the screen itself colors everything nearby. The moment Tag's eye catches it, though, /he/ knows he's doing it, and he really, /really/ doesn't like doing that randomly and missing one beat throws everything else off, and he is out! "I toldya!" he says in the direction where thinks Hive is standing, and almost takes a spill climbing down from the platform before hooking an arm around the rail and pushing himself upright again. "Eep! Sorry!" he yelps, almost stumbling into the red-headed girl. "Your turn if you want it!" The timing is perfect--off to the side, the cartoon emblazoned on the side of one of the machines begins to twitch and swell to the exact beat of Shelby's heartbeat. But as Alex lays down the soothing touch, the image stills and so too does the teenager. Her lips twitch too, though they don't quite succeed in smiling. "Yeah, well...I'm sorry too. It -was- a shitty night and I was still jumpy from losing my guitar. Jumpy and dumb. I've been bugging Melinda about how he was doing, y'know? You said he made i--" Whoa, hey there's a Tag. She startles and puts out a hand, more to keep the young man from tumbling into herself than to really -help- him. "We, uh. My friend and I got him to a hospital. They fixed him up well enough," Hive says with a shrug. "You ever find a pawn shop or anything? That fucking kid, man, I just wanted dinn-- heeey." He lifts his hand, too, though he does actually seek to help, reaching for Tag's shoulderblade to try and stabilize him. He's laughing, though, as he takes a quick half-step back out of the way of the stumbling. "You were right! It was fun to /watch/, though. -- Were you up for a turn?" This is to Alexandrine, his eyebrows raising. "We're kinda hogging all the space." Alexandrine carefully put a hand to Tag's arm to steady him, a ready smile there and shining. "Nothing to be sorry for, we all have clumsy moments, right? Naw, Ah was just watching. Ah've never actually played it, not sure Ah'd be any good at it." She's more used to moving as the music wills, not as arrows and things tell her to. Which is what she's thinking about, at the moment, for Hive's amusement. "You all right, sunshine?" She asks Tag warmly. Then blue eyes dart to Hive, that smile rising again. "Just watching, right now. Thanks." ThankfuckingChrist. Shelby's cheeks puff out with her breath. The sheer level of relief there probably has more to do with Hive's remark than Tag not tumbling into her. "Good," she says, with far less inflection. Careless, almost. "That was crazy, fella! I mean, like, seriously. You almost had it. We oughta go head to head sometime, you know?" There's a little of the pool shark about that suggestion, both in thought and grin--she gets her arm up and leans against the machine, all protective-like. There's a brief pause while she studies Alex, before she finishes with, "You're not allowed to -just watch- in a arcade. Seriously. It's, like, against the rules. C'mon, you gotta try it, just once. You can play me. I'm shitty at it." She's also lying. "So yeah, you totally hafta play Time Splitters with me now," Tag insists, still keeping himself (somewhat) upright with one hand on the rail. He blinks a few times at the redheaded girl, rapidly, trying to process her question. Every time he blinked, the room rotated about five degrees from its previous orientation, which was pretty distracting. "I am...great, actually! Never been better! Because of this guy!" He gestures sloppily at Hive. "An' I don't care who knows I'm a mutant. Because I am! And I'm a freak, too! And you should play--dance, whatever. It's awesome!" This last was spoken with a vague gesture in the DDR machine's direction. When he removed his hand from the railing to point, however, he lost his balance and actually did fall this time, and the room rotated a /lot/ this time, turning funny, beautiful, unthinkable DMT colors all the while before fading to black. "So about that /alright/ --" Hive's hand is still on Tag's back as the other man loses his balance, and though wincing he is quick to slip it beneath an arm and at least make the path between upright and horizontal less conducive to head injury. "Maaan." He is kind of scrubbing at the side of his face as he looks down at Tag. "Guess we'll have to raincheck that Time Splitters. Uh." His eyes dart around the arcade, curious, but return back to present company when he does not see anyone coming immediately to /claim/ the unconscious mutant. "You all should fight." By which he means dance, evidently, as he is gesturing to the DDR machine. "It's basically mandatory for the arcade." He seems remarkably unconcerned about Tag's outburst, though he /does/ seem concerned about /Tag/, crouching down to shift the young man a little more out of the way of foot traffic. "Freak," he is muttering under his breath, though if this is /derogatory/ he says it a little too quiet to tell. Alexandrine lifts her eyebrows. "Funny, Ah didn't see that rule posted anywhere." There's a smirk. "Ah teach dance, but nothing like that. Ah also saw you before you stopped. Nice try, though. Give you credit on the good, smooth delivery." Then she's looking at Tag, and Hive will notice her thoughts turn to alarm, and Alex will actively reach out with telepathy to see if there's anyone /anti/ mutant around that might try to hurt the young man. Then he...well, he falls over. "Oh!" This isn't good, and that quiet little mutter has her attention, gaze suddenly razor sharp on Hive before mental fingers do the walking to try and find out if he has ill intentions towards the passed out Tag. It's all fun and games until someone hits the floor! Shelby's head is a -mess- at the moment. There's the stream of thought that is analyzing what Tag said about him feeling great because of Hive--getting kids drunk, huh? Classy--and then there's the panicked little animal that goes a little nuts when Tag announces his, uh, condition. OhshitI'mgonnagetrunoutofheretoo. Without really thinking about it, she steps into the space Hive has just vacated, Coincidentally, it's a position that blocks his efforts at dragging from most of the rest of the arcade. It's an unconscious attempt to help that quickly sours when that one little word is heard. "Hey...why don't you let -me- do that?" Prying mental fingers find themselves quickly /bristled/ at, mental shields /snapping/ into place like quills on a particularly ill-tempered porcupine; from where he crouches over Tag, Hive's muscles tense, though with a slim sliver of grin to accompany it. "You don't want to do that," he says, still half under his breath and seemingly directed at the unconscious person; it's anyone's guess who he addresses, though Alexandrine might guess /better/ than most. "He was already smashed as hell when he ran into me," he corrects Shelby's -- unspoken -- assumption with a snort, "I honestly don't know how I get any credit for this. I just came to get my ass kicked in air hockey by my roommate. Guess it's just a /week/ for my evenings not going as planned, eh?" He is only now looking up, perhaps more mentally than visually, to scan the (thankfully /loud/) room for any attention Tag's outburst may have drawn. Alexandrine can feel her mind trying to slough off the warm, fuzzy buzz and kick into high gear. Between Shelby's inner monologue, and her mental spelunking into Hive's melon, it's enough to give her a bit of a boost towards a clear thought. Those shields snapping up that way, while more than enough to make her stop prying and reassure her that he's not about to hate crime all over Tag. Empathy is exerted again to calm the panicked little animal of Shelby's self preservation, as she moves to kneel down close to Tag. "Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you weren't... you know, anti-freak." She says quietly. "He seems like a nice guy, wouldn't want him hurt. You need help with him or anything?" This is the second time Alex has saved Shelby from doing something everyone would regret. In this instance, after Hive answers something she -didn't say-, she's on the verge of just taking the hell off. Again. Because that's what she does. But with the panic blunted, she sort of...shuffles ineffectively on the outskirts. I swear to god, I'm like a mutant magnet or something...can you have two powers? Whoa, that'd be... "So long as you're not gonna drag him home to do him or anything." Shelby, she is blunt. She is also speaking dead seriously and with far too much knowledge on the subject, whether it's insulting to poor Hive or not. At least she's keeping a weather eye out for eavesdroppers and interlopers but so far, the coast seems to be clear--just the usual happy chaos. "Hah." Hive says this dryly, and without much actual mirth. He doesn't seem particularly insulted by the suggestion, though, answering it blunt and just as serious: "No. Just seems like a nice kid. Be a shame to leave him here after -- what he just said." His jaw has tightened, but the longer they go without any outbursts of mutant-directed anger, the more he relaxes. Somewhat amused, somewhat /resigned/, as he looks down at Tag. "Perfect. Bringing home drunk stray freaks, I'm sure my roommates will be /thrilled/. You can have two, by the way. Most people don't. Never seen someone with /more/ than that," he muses, thoughtfully. His teeth flash quick to Alexandrine. "Very not anti-freak. I dunno. I should probably get him out of here. Doesn't seem to have friends he came with and I don't know /his/ address. Uh. Shit, that means a cab." A little disgruntled, he scrubs knuckles against his cheek. That's Alex for you, everyone's happy place provider. Call 1-800-Red-Head to secure your place of happiness now! Shelby does garner a look for her statement of the worst case scenario. "Ah don't think anyone would get anything fun out of that sort of interaction with him this intoxicated." Maybe the southerner is a little more naive about these things...or it could just be that she prefers to not think the worst of everyone. She's biting her tongue as Hive is reacting to unspoken thoughts, eyes darting to him, then Shelby and back. << Might want to cut down on answering the unspoken. People will notice. Ah'm trying to keep her from freaking out here, and making a scene. >> "Will you knock that off?" Cut it out already! Jesus. Shelby's jaw is set but she is at least not freaking out. For the moment. At least until it occurs to her that she has a better way to keep a telepath from snooping. SexsexsexsexsexsexdaterapeLancethatfuckersexsexsexsexsexsex. "Plenty of people would get fun out of it. You gotta watch your drinks around half of Tampa," she mutters as she slithers past Alex and crouches beside Tag. Her hand slips under one loosey goosey shoulder. "C'mon. Maybe he'll be able to walk when the cold air hits him." Hive's thin smile quirks a bit wider, but his voice drops quieter for only the two women around him. "Sorry. It isn't on purpose. You'd be amazed, though, at how much that sounds like /everyone else/ around. Bored minds are worse than the internet, for porn." Skinny thing that he is, he as a quiet grunt of effort for even Tag's small frame as he slips his arm under a shoulder, too, helping Shelby hoist the unconscious man to his feet. "I hope so. Didn't plan to lug a body all the way back to the East Village. I hear Tampa's kind of a cesspit. That true?" Alexandrine flinches lightly from the sudden shift in Shelby's thoughts. "You should always watch your drink, when you're around anyone you don't know." Blue eyes look at Shelby. "You know, when you're old enough to drink." A little bit of emphasis on that, shaking her head. "He's out. Cold air, despite popular belief, does not sober one up." She moves out of the way as they move to get Tag to his feet. "Ah could help, if you wanted. Ah have to go that way, Ah'll spring for a cab if you'll take him home and keep him safe until he wakes up." Shelby is no bruiser, herself. It is only by virtue of Tag being pretty slight that she's able to help with the heaving. "Oof...what'd he drink, cement?" Further grunting ensues, none of it helping to create an image of a delicate feminine flower. "I'm...fuck...old enough." Except there's a big flashing neon *17* in her mind that puts the lie to that, layered over some grousing about Alex being a know-it-all. I knew him, ha, you don't know everything! "You could get the door," she huffs out. "Tampa...is God's armpit. True. Story. And God's not big. On deodorant." "Shit, you sure?" You don't have to be a telepath to hear the relief in Hive's voice at Alexandrine's offer. His faded threadbare jeans and patched jacket are probably telling of why he was not looking forward to springing for a cab. "I mean, that'd be awesome. I'd just budgeted the subway." Despite the unexpected turn to the evening, he's smiling quick and easy as he looks over to Shelby, heading for the door. "Sounds appealing. I'll make sure never to put it on my vacation stops. At least you got out, eh?"