ArchivedLogs:Enjoying Adulthood

Enjoying Adulthood
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Ghost, Josiah, Scramble	2014-03-03 '
Location <NYC> The Batcave - Greenwich Village
Nestled in a basement of the meatpacking district, a hybrid of arcade and cybercafe, 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. One corner of the establishment is a perpetual LAN party with a projector screen-equipped lounge area for spectators. Along the opposite 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 growing late in the evening and on a Monday night this place is probably not as crowded as it gets on other days. Still, there's a generous number of people scattered through the room, filled with the various musics and beeps and explosions of the games being played. Over towards the back, Dusk's current game of choices comes with less /digital/ sound, more old-fashioned clacking -- an air hockey puck ricocheting rapidfire between one side of the table and the other. The young man is hunched low over the table, one hand resting on its edge as his other grips his mallet tight. His dark eyes are focused intently on his game, swiping his mallet back to send the puck careening towards the other side -- a young woman, tall and dark-skinned and lean with an elaborately curling afro is playing opposite him. Their game has drawn more spectators than is probably usual, mostly hanging /back/ to kind of -- gawk. Very likely /not/ at the game itself but at the truly enormous wings that sprout from Dusk's back, currently draped down over his clothes (boring, otherwise -- plain black sweatshirt over green-and-white striped tee, faded old brown corduroys, Vans sneakers) like a long fuzzy /cape/. But every so often the large bat-wings shift and twitch in restless agitation on particularly near-miss shots. Score currently tied, when Dusk finally sends the puck slamming through the opposite goal to end the game his lips pull back into a broad -- and very /sharp-fanged/ grin. The Batcave isn't the kind of place Josiah typically visits, and that's clear probably the minute he walks in. He's dressed in slim-fitting attire, boots and a denim jacket with the sleeves rolled up. A watch that doesn't attempt to hide it's pricetag. The scent of cologne. His features are that of a man exploring, his eyes grazing the room as he walks into it, slowly as to get accustomed to the surroundings before diving in. The crowd in the back eventually catches his eye, and he makes a beeline. Snaking through the noise and lights, a few heads turn quizzically towards him, albeit briefly. Stopping just short of the crowd surrounding the table, Josiah takes in the scene a moment, resting his gaze on the young man with the wings, of course. A grin of his own crosses his face, not as fangy, but equally broad. Ghost doesn't visit here much either, but that's usually because there's a closer arcade in Westchester. She's dressed in a brown jacket, thick jeans, a scarf, and SHOES (GASP)! Yes, she is wearing shoes. The newly minted adult is also getting gawked out, most likely because of her noticable purple skin and yellow eyes, which mesh kind of nicely with her long brown curly hair. She's noticing the other gawkers, before moving up to see what's being gawked at, getting some more gawks as she is spotted. "Oh, hey, Dusk!" 'Mother/fucker/ --' Dusk's companion is signing this curse at him rather than saying it aloud, but profanity in any language is often easy enough to discern from expression, from body language. She's laughing, though, even as she clangs her mallet back down against the table, easing around it to offer him a hug and firm thump of back pat, a quick (also signed) '-- Next week, then?' before she's heading off. 'Definitely.' Dusk adds a peck on the cheek to the hug (he returns it with /wing/ rather than arm, one flexible-soft wing curling around her shoulders before dropping. His grin is just as broad as it was before when he leans against the table, fishing a new pair of quarters out of a pocket to rub them together. "C'mon," drops light and amused back into verbal speech rather than signing as he tips scruffy-bearded chin up to Josiah, "you down for a round? -- /Woah/ hey look at you." This last is to Ghost; one of his wings stretches out wide and far to brush against the teenager's shoulder in amiable greeting. "How is /life/?" Josiah watches the exchange between the two competitors, noting particularly the graceful movement of the wing. Impressive to watch. When he's called out by Dusk, he blinks more rapidly, perhaps expecting to remain an observer longer than he has. "Yeah, sure. Why not?" is his reponse. As he moseys over to the table, he notes the other newcomer thoughtfully. Seeing as the two mutants obviously know each other, he has time to look over the table as well what's left of the crowd around it, smiling at those he makes eye contact with, but engaging noone. "Not much, I'm now legally capable of buying cigarettes and guns and registering..which I'm not sure if is a perk or not of adulthood.". Ghost shrugs, a grin as Dusk brushes against her shoulder. Ghost is smelling both Dusk and his new competitor, a short wriggle of her nose. "Well, seems like you see cigarettes as a perk, atleast.". Ghost moves to watch the game, curious now. She really just came in to check out the arcade, and now she met a familiar face. "Then again, from what I heard adulthood is terrifying anyways. Need someone to tell me what I'm getting myself into." "Registering, /pfft/," Dusk scoffs dismissively, both wings hitching upwards in a shrug. "/I'm/ totally human I'm just cosplaying. I've just -- /been/ cosplaying for the better part of a decade. -- And okay don't get me wrong bills suck and are shitty but being an adult is /lightyears/ better than not. It's pretty much cigarettes and terrorism, 24/7." Which -- apparently according to his amused tone is a /good/ thing? "/Life/ is terrifying, anyway, adulthood's just fun. Besides, you've already gotten the worst of nightmares over with, I'd think." He leans foward to drop the pair of quarters into the machine; the puck is dislodged on Josiah's side of the table. "If you were going to be standing and gawking anyway," he tells Josiah, sounding light and cheerful about it rather than hostile as his wings roll in a slow stretch, "you might as well do it from there. Give /me/ a good view to enjoy, too." Josiah chuckles, offers one of his wide, goofy smiles, and reaches down to handle his puck. "Yeah, sorry about that," he says, looking over at the table at Dusk and Ghost. "It's just been a while since..." he trails off a moment and shrugs. "Well, I'll just come out and say it. I'm not much a gamer." He sets his puck down in front of him, flicking his eyes between the two, eventually landing on Ghost. "He's right, you know. Being an adult can be a lot of fun. Take it from me." Another look around the room and he nods. "Yep, probably the oldest guy here right now." "Unless you're like me, that is. I don't even know what I'm going to do after graduation. I want to be a journalist, but sure as hell the Daily Bugle won't hire me, hell, the Times probably wouldn't even hire me.". Ghost tilts her head, cracking her fingers for whatever reason. "I'll play him, if you're chicken.". A taunting grin from Ghost, a flash of yellow eyes from him to Dusk. "And, Dusk, I know so many cosplayers it's crazy. A lot of them are just as good as you.". Another flash of a grin. "/Pfft/," Dusk scoffs again. "No freaking way, dude, /I'm/ like you and I still love my life. Everyone else can fucking bite me. I wouldn't trade my wings for Tony /Stark's/ goddamn salary. Freelance, s'what I do. There's plenty of shit you can get done online that does not require a single freaking person to lay eyes on your -- pretty /awesome/ purple." His dark eyebrows hitch upwards as he looks Josiah over, a slow appraising sweep of eyes. "Not much a gamer? What're you doing here then? Just come to make my night that much prettier?" He reaches down to curl his fingers against his mallet, eying the puck across the table watchfully and waiting for Josiah to make the first move. "I'll go easy on you, if it's been a while." "You would be so lucky," Josiah tosses out to Dusk, still smilng. If there's any recognition of either of two from the media, he doesn't show it. "I'm here doing some research, actually. I have an idea about arcades I'd like to pitch to my editor this week." On saying that, he can't help but give the journalist-to-be a knowing wink. "Don't worry, if you can write and hold a deadline, you'll make it." He drops the puck on the table, watching it dance across the surface a bit before smacking it with his mallet. It's not a graceful shot at all and flies toward Dusk's side of the table in a wild arc. "It /is/ pretty spectacular. Sometimes I feel bad that not everyone is purple like me. Poor souls.". Another grin and a tease from Ghost, who glances at the puck launch. "Heh. I can do both of those, doesn't stop discrimination. And it's not like I'm unknown and can hide, I /am/ all over the internet. And real names are boring. Amirite, Dusk?". Another grin. "Am feeling pretty lucky tonight." Dusk says this with an almost lazy flick of his wrist, knocking the puck in an easy slanting slide back towards Josiah's goal -- aimed well, at least, though it's a rather /slow/ shot. "Does that mean you can write off arcade money as a business expense? Getting paid to play games is pretty lucky, /too/. Where do you work?" His fanged smile pulls upward at one side, lopsided and amused with the look he shoots to Ghost. "Just means you're a /celebrity/. Play it up. /Inside/ viewpoint on one of the biggest stories of -- freakdom. And how do you know," he adds, "that my /parents/ didn't name me Dusk? Maybe they were /hippies/." Josiah goes after the puck with too much gusto. He overreaches, taps it lightly, and sends it on a course right into his goal. He groans, reaches down, and slides it over for Dusk to serve. "Sure, it doesn't stop the discrimination. That means you can't let the discrimination stop you." He doesn't ask about her celebrity status, which is the first clue to his knowing just who she is. "I write for the New Yorker. And, yes, I can write all this off. Those probably should have been my quarters you stuck in this damn thing," he answers Dusk, giving the table a rap of his knuckles. "Heh, wonder what perks celebrityship gives me. Or how long before I'm famous for overdosing and setting stuff on fire in apartment buildings." Another teasing grin from Ghost. "No, I'm pretty sure Jax is the hippie of your group. Anarchist hippie superhero.". "Oh man, the New Yorker. That's like, woah. What do you write? I'm kind of..well, so far my biggest school piece has been on discrimination, I'm like a SJW for mutants but I'm not sure if that is the best title.". Dusk lifts his hand, dropping his mallet down atop the puck to stop its slide. "You want to drop me fifty cents I won't complain. Quarters are /valuable/ currency. I've got laundry to do later this week. -- Y'know," he adds in the same casual-amiable tone, "s'probably a hell of a lot easier to talk about discrimination not stopping you when nobody spits at you in the street just for looking like --" One long thumb-claw atop his wings twitches down and inward in indication of his own fangy smile before his wing flicks out to gesture to Ghost. "I mean, you're not /wrong/. Like I said, the haters can all bite me. But it's not quite as easy as pulling up by your own bootstraps or anything." He chuckles at the mention of Jax. "I didn't say /I/ was a hippie, I said my /parents/. And maaan his parents are /so/ un-hippiesh it's terrifying. I don't know how the hell they spawned /him/." He flicks the puck over towards Josiah again, a languid unaimed tap this time just to get the puck moving again. "New Yorker?" His brows lift, impressed. "Pretty sweet. Air hockey and laser tag hot issues these days?" "I never said it would be easy," Josiah says in a sing-song voice, reaching into his pocket to pull out a shiny new quarter. He flicks it across the table to Dusk and grins. "That depends on how I spin it, but no, probably not as hot as of an issue as I'd like it to be." He walks over to the two and hands his mallet to Ghost. "Here, you guys play. I should actually run and meet some friends of mine up town." Again, he dips into a pocket - the back one this time - and retrieves his wallet, from which he flourishes two of his business cards. "I'd love to chat more, though, if you guys have the time." To Ghost, he adds, "Or if you want some notes on the biz." "Hell no, it won't be easy. I'm too beautiful for them, this flawless skin, these beautiful eyes. Though, hair's a bit bland.". Ghost is grinning madly, as she looks at a text message on her phone. "Crap. Gotta get back to school. Cya 'round, Dusk.". She's grabbing the business card with glee. "Awesome.". Ghost is then off, a wave, pocketing the card. "The eyes are incredible. And don't sell yourself short, you rock the hair, too." Dusk claps a hand down on the quarter with a grin. His wing unfurls to brush lightly against Ghost's shoulder in absent farewell. "Sure will." Stepping forward, he reaches to pluck the business card from Josiah's hand, eyes flicking slowly over the other man. He pockets the quarter and business card both. "Pretty sure I could make time. Enjoy your night."