ArchivedLogs:Education
| Education | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2014-11-19 Teaching the teacher. |
| Location
<NYC> {Geekhaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side | |
There's an open airy feel to the floorplan of this unit. The door opens up into a wide expanse of common space that is not so much divided up into rooms as it is simply multipurposed. Ash-grey resin flooring underfoot runs up against the paler grey of the exposed stone in the walls; between the stone support there are wide floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the river on one side of the home and the Commons' central yard on the other. Half of the space has a ceiling at one-floor height, though half of the space is left open with a balcony up on the second floor overlooking the living space below. A slatted stairway heads up to the second floor balcony; on the other side of the room, a fireman's pole running straight down the the basement provides a quicker way /down/. The wide open space here is combination living and dining room; near the windows there are a pair of couches and large armchair around a wide coffeetable; further off a steel-and-glass dining table is surrounded by eight tall black chairs. A full bathroom behind the stairway is done up in dark granite; the glass-doored bathtub/shower is rather expansively large. The kitchen is tucked off in back, beneath the half-height ceiling; in here the appliances and cabinets and shelving recessed into the wall are in brushed steel, wide grey sweeps of tempered glass countertops running around the edge of the room and a large central island holding stoves and oven and deep double sink. Adjacent to the kitchen, beneath the ceiling as well, is a sitting area structured largely around the enormous television against one wall, a wealth of video games for a number of consoles held on the shelves around the television. Crates and beanbags and one low futon folded against the floor are arranged in good viewing distance; opposite the television, a sturdy large pen built out of wood shrines a couch amid a sea of brightly colorful playpen balls. A door in one wall opens up to the apartment next door; a door opposite leads down to the basement. There's soda (blackberry Izze) and soda (Bawls) and coffee (steaming hot and black and strong); these things are scattered on crates together with satay and edamame, tod mun and an impressive amount of lightly crispy tofu triangles. The beanbags are large in themselves but at the moment they've been shoved all together to make the floor into kind of a large squishy pile, perfect for optimal tv viewing. In the center of this pile Hive is just nestled, tucked down against a wing; he looks like he could almost be dozing except for after a minute he reaches out a bony hand to /beckon/. Imperiously. For another fishcake. Gimme. He could, probably, reach them himself, but he's just gotten /so/ comfortable. Blip-blip. Did Flicker move? He must have moved. There is another fishcake in Hive's hand now. The fabric of the beanbag and skin of wing barely had time to be disturbed, though. He's nestling back in with the others, snagging his Izze again to take a long swig. Sets the soda back down, turns his attention back to the -- orgasm? -- happening onscreen, with a very small smirk. Settling closer to Hive, he's holding out his arm, not even flinching at the small pinch of needle in vein that's soon to follow. Snacktime for /everyone/, after all. A cold swab of alcohol, a tiny pinch of needle. Dusk finds a vein like a /pro/, he could make a career of this. Only the other end of this is not going into any collection tube. While the others nestle comfortably into Isra's wing he sprawls himself straight /over/ all of them, draping himself facedown the other three and tucking the other end of the extension tubing straight between his lips as the blood starts to flow. Mmm. He watches Zhaan onscreen with half-lidded eyes, a faintly pleased expression that might be from the show or might be from the blood filling his mouth. One wing wrapped around Hive and Flicker, the other drooping off of the the beanbag pile--uncharacteristically sloppy form, admittedly--Isra watches the screen with rapt attention. Her tablet is balanced on Dusk's posterior, displaying an outline. Without looking down at her stylus or the keyboard upon which it traces, she adds yet another bullet point: 'Delvian response to powerful ionizing radiation analogous to orgasm.' This done, she tucks the stylus behind one pointed ear and picks off a piece of Hive's fishcake. She stretches out her other arm and brings her coffee to her lips, eyes still fixed on the screen, unblinking. Isra's note-taking draws a chuckle from Hive. He glances over the words on her tablet, glances back to the screen. His eyes fix for a looooong moment on Zhaan's face -- the slow hike of his eyebrows, the upward curve of his lips, after a moment these things probably qualify as an /ogle/. His eyes drop back down to Isra's notes. He gives them an approving nod. Then reaches up, not exactly /stealing/ Isra's coffee so much as guiding her hand towards his mouth so that he can take a sip. In payment for the piece of fish, of course. His other hand flexes finger downward afterwards, kneading slowly between Dusk's back in lazy casual massaging. It's not as though this bullet point is news and yet there's a faint trace of pink in Flicker's cheeks anyway. He eyes the food -- there's a moment where he has to /check/ himself from just teleporting the admittedly /very/ short distance to pick some up. Normally would, but it'd do bad things to the IV line, so he wriggles forward to snag a pair of tofu triangles and a skewer of satay, bundling them onto a paper towel and then settling back. Into Isra's wing, against Hive's side. He curls up there, head resting oddly comfortably against Hive's bony side. 'J-SUNSHINE', Dusk's sign is coming out a little bit lazy-slurred where he lies. He doesn't actually elucidate further on this. Just watches the sungasm on the screen, his own expression (his own mindscape) more than a little bit euphoric as well in some melty-blissful combination of the massaging and the company and the inherent chemical high of feeding. His lips close around the plastic tubing, scruffy cheek rubbing absently against Flicker's knee. All his touches are similarly absent. Fingers drifting against Hive's leg, wing brushing slowly where Isra's droops over the side of the beanbag. Isra's wing relaxes out to give Flicker room to move, then curls back around him once he is again seated. She surrenders her coffee without a struggle, head slowly tilting to one side until it rests lightly on Hive's. Her eyes do finally stray from the screen, instinctively following Dusk's hand, and that off-handed comment--not the transparently sexual subject matter upon which it was made--manages to draw color to her cheeks and ears. The embarrassment is brief and genteel, however. Her unoccupied wing scoops around Dusk's, absurdly long phalanges gripping his. Picking up the stylus again, she continues taking notes. | |
