ArchivedLogs:Everybody Dies

Everybody Dies
Dramatis Personae Peter, Shane, Sebastian	2013-07-26 ...EVENTUALLY.
Location <XS> Workshop
A large barn-like building situated at the far end of the gardens from the mansion proper, this makerspace functions as a classroom for many of the more hands-on classes. An expanse of workshop space, it is subdivided into smaller segments for the different types of activities: Woodshop, Welding shop, Machine shop, Electronics, Bike shop, Screen Printing and Photography, Fabric Arts, and the Rapid Prototyping Lab with a trio of 3D printers. The space comes complete with a large host of tools available for use, although many of the more dangerous require prior clearance from administration to use -- students with appropriate clearance to use them can gain access to locked equipment with their student IDs. From sanders to MIG/TIG welders to soldering stations to industrial sewing machines to its own darkroom, though, this space is well equipped for teaching students how to /make/. In the intervening day -- nearly two -- since the events in the sewers, Sebastian has been rather sparse from -- life, really. He hasn't been by Stark today or yesterday; more startlingly perhaps he hasn't been to /class/ in those days, either. At the moment he is tucked away at a table in, for a change, the fabric arts section. There's a bit of /jittery/ to his motions, a tense-wired energy that might be explained by the small empty bottles of energy shots in the nearby trashcan. A strip of turkey jerky hangs from his mouth, but his attention is on a black strip of synthetic leather in front of him. Or, more accurately, on the small boxy silver casing at one end of the strip of leather. He gnaws at the jerky absently, very carefully stitching slim wiring into the synthetic fabric. "...Sebastian?" Peter's voice is careful, guarded; he peeks into the workshop as if he were sneaking into a high-priority military facility. He's got on his black 'ZOMBIE BATMAN' T-shirt and blue-jean slacks; also, his nylon backpack. Which is currently stuffed with his BODY-ARMOR. "--is it okay. If I come in?" Sebastian is dressed blandly, for him. His skirt is simple denim, paired with a black tank top. It takes him a minute to reroute his attention, huge eyes looking up to blink owlishly with first one then the second set of eyelids. "Oh -- oh. Peter. {Hi. Yes. Come.}" For a moment he sets down his work, reaches instead for a nearby spray-mister, sitting back on his stool to spritz-spritz-spritz over his face and arms -- kind of too-dry, kind of in the initial stages of faint-thin cracking. "{Are you okay?}" "...yes. {Yes.}," Peter says, starting in English but switching to Vietnamese. But now he's frowning, moving toward Sebastian kind-of-quickly, his approach -- almost with a certain /aggressiveness/. When he reaches him, he throws down his backpack -- and reaches in, shuffling with one hand. Until! He pulls out a plastic bag. Full of /bacon/. Carefully sealed, probably cold by now. Baked in the oven earlier. Shoving the bag toward Sebastian's chest. /Insistently/. "Are /you/ okay you look. {Eat.}" "{I'm fine}," Sebastian insists, though he takes the bacon gladly. He chomps down the rest of his jerky before opening it up to devour /it/, too, making quick work of half of it before he speaks again. "Are you -- you got shot did you." His eyes sweep over Peter, quickly up-down. "Are you /sure/ you're okay? Did you -- go to class?" "--yes. Bruised. It didn't --" Fingertips flutter to Peter's chest, just over the mid-left, as if in memory. "--even penetrate. The armor's dented, but. I never tested it on bullets. But, now I know," Peter adds, with just a /hint/ of a smile. But that smile is quickly evaporating as his hand reaches out for Sebastian's waist. Veeeery tentatively. Slow, tiny-grab. "--Bastian you haven't been to..." He sucks in a breath, before: "--I know this has been... rough. But. You're not in class you're not at work how long has it been since you slept your skin is /flaking/." All of it just kind of /pours/ out on a single breath. "I slept," Sebastian insists, wide-eyed, "when we got back -- no." He frowns down at the table, and leans into that grab in a tired sink. "When Pa got back -- have you been to the medbay? Did you see --" His claws drum against the table. He spears another piece of bacon, making it disappear quickly too. "-- That was a terrible way to test it, Peter." There's a ragged edge of laughter in /this/ at least. "Next time, go to the DR." Once Peter's got a handhold on Sebastian, it isn't long before -- /yank/. He's pulling him toward him, his other arm sliding around his upper chest, under his arm -- trying to sneak him into a /hug/. Tight, sudden, his chin descending for his shoulder. Squeeeeeeeeze. "--no," Peter admits, with just a tiny little squeak, followed by a sigh -- warm breath rushing down the side of Sebastian's neck. "He hasn't -- woken up I don't want to. See him until he's... awake." Sebastian folds into the hug willingly, just a tired boneless drape up against Peter, his face pressing in against Peter's shoulder. His eyes close, his gills rippling slowly. "They almost killed him, he still -- might --" Slowly his arms creep up, curling back around Peter. "-- Oh gosh did I get fired?" His eyes suddenly widen. "I mean I'm not behind on anything I just -- I didn't think about -- I was trying to make -- I'm not fired, am I?" "--you are not," Peter informs Sebastian, with just a /hint/ of a breathless laugh, "fired. You're--" Whatever Peter's going to say next, he's cut off; his face is suddenly smothered against Sebastian's shoulder, mouth pressed firmly there. Just. Tinybite. Before: "What are you working on." Very quietly, not even bothering to look at the strap of leather. Not that he didn't notice! His arms still wrapped tight around Sebastian, almost lifting him off the ground. Slight rocking. "Have you seen Jane? She's Iolaus's bodyguard -- well, /one/ of them, she's -- Pa's boss I guess now that he's one too. Um. Kinda -- scary woman who -- shows up with him sometimes?" Sebastian doesn't let go, curling his arms tighter and exhaling a short sharp sound at that bite. His gills flutter again. "The day before. All of that. She brought him a thing. A -- you remember what they put on Nox in the cages?" "I don't think I've met Jane," Peter admits, and now he /is/ lifting Sebastian -- as if he were just. A bite-sized package! Plopping down on one of the nearby chairs, not far from Sebastian's work, /pulling/ Sebastian down with him, apparently intent on /keeping him from his project/. "--but. The light things? Around her neck? Yeah I remember those," Peter says, frowning at the memory. "Light hurts her, right?" "Light hurts her," Sebastian agrees. "Pretty terribly. But, um, /Pa/ it -- helps. Makes him stronger. Jane brought him a collar? With really powerful LEDs in it? The night before all this. And he didn't -- he wasn't /wearing/ it because it's not --" The quiet noise he makes might be a laugh or it might be a sob. He sinks into the chair, half on Peter's lap. "-- It wasn't /pretty/ I'm trying to. I'm trying to make him -- make it. Make a /pretty/ one." "..." Sebastian's last bit -- the bit about it not being pretty enough -- coaxes out a sharp, tiny animal sound from Peter's throat; suddenly he's /shoving/ his face against Sebastian's neck, hard and rough, fingers /digging/ into skin enough to burrow tiny divets. "--dammit," he says, voice slightly hitched, breathy and hoarse. Sebastian draws in a sharper breath, when Peter's fingers burrow in. He turns a little bit more to face Peter, tucked up sideways onto the other boy's lap. "Yeah," he says, and this time it's definitely a laugh in his words though it's a little hysterical-ragged. "I'm making him a new -- collar. Cuffs. Bright. But /pretty/ and -- maybe. Maybe he'll wear it and next time --" His gills flutter again, quickly. "-- I might just ask Micah to put it on. Then he'd /actually/ wear it. And not --" "Sebastian--" Peter begins, his own face still buried against his throat, not lifting it; his fingers loosen a /little/ bit, no longer trying to burrow into Sebastian's skin -- but still tight enough to probably be uncomfortable. "--/dammit/," Peter repeats, and nothing more. There is a /slight/ dampness against Sebastian's neck. "--can help. Maybe? I. Learned a little about -- fabrics. While I..." He goes silent, again; then, he presses his mouth against one of Sebastian's gills. "Help. I'd -- please. Yes. I'd like that. It has to be -- good. And strong. And bright and -- and perfect. For him." Sebastian lifts a hand, slowly running up Peter's back to curl against the back of his head instead. And then /he/ is silent, for a while. The shifting of his gills ceases, flattening out beneath Peter's mouth. He closes his eyes, resting his head against Peter's shoulder. "-- What do you think they wanted?" "--can," Peter begins, a little more quietly, "make it out of kevlar. S'what I used for -- the other ones -- I -- not good at /pretty/ but. Strong. I'm good with..." Peter's mumbling the words against Sebastian's throat; his head rises up into Sebastian's fingers. "--dunno," Peter says, in response to the question. "Those were. Oscorp drones. Same ones that chased me, way back. Think they were -- searching for someone? Don't think they were there to kill, but." The words fade, before he speaks again: "Think I might have really hurt that guy. The one who shot me." Peter's mouth presses a bit more tightly, now, to that closed gill. "He /shot/ you," Sebastian reflexively answers, a touch defensively. But then he quiets, again. His breath calms, posture relaxing in some ways -- sinking in more against Peter, less wired-taught -- and tensing in others, where his arms curl protectively around Peter. His fingers rub slowly against Peter's hair. "They were shooting, I -- think they would have killed us. You don't -- always have a lot of time to think, in moments like that. I don't -- you didn't /kill/ him, it was just. Really -- terrifying, Peter." "--they had vinegar grenades," Peter adds, his tone slightly tense. "They were. Expecting me. Us? The thwippy things. I don't want to --" Peter's mouth pulls back from the gill, before he suddenly -- quickly! -- kisses it. And drags a hand up to Sebastian's shoulder, to squeeze into the muscle. Less tense and fierce, more kneading. "--I know," he says, with a ragged sigh. "I thought. I was, like. Actually /shot/ shot. For a few seconds." "They weren't expecting Anole." Sebastian's mouth twitches up into a smile at this. "-- But yeah. They -- knew you. Or of you." /His/ arms squeeze tighter, his breath coming out shakily at that kiss. "Mmph. I --" His /voice/ comes out shakily, too. "I thought you were, too." His mouth presses to Peter's shoulder. "You're not allowed to die, alright? -- Ngh. You weren't even doing stupid superhero things, that time!" "--won't," Peter comments, and then he kisses Sebastian's gill again. More firmly, more heatedly; his mouth presses, long and hard. Before, muffled against Sebastian's neck: "--die. No one. Dies." The fingers at Sebastian's shoulder squeeze, then release; squeeze, release. "{Love you.}" The next kiss draws a shiver, a tight squeeze of eyes. A tight squeeze of /arms/, probably edging towards painful by now. "Everyone dies." Sebastian's correction is soft. "Like, a /lot/, Peter, so many -- so many -- it just feels like it's always death lately and --" Another shaky exhale. Shane's entrance is not as careful and polite as Bastian's. He's kind of stompyface as he enters, thudthudthud! in heavy boots and cargo shorts and ribbed grey tank top. "The fuck dude you need to sleep," he is preemptively grouching at Sebastian. "And if you're not going to sleep, you're going to come beat the crap out of someone." Both the others get FIRM decisive KISSES on the tops of their heads. "Nnngh," is Peter's only response. First to Sebastian, but then to Shane, with the clomping and the /stomping/ and when he is suddenly in range to deliver kisses to heads Peter is /reaching/ to snatch, snag, /drag/ to that chair, kind of /mooshing/ him against Sebastian's side. Mooshing together. Just, sharkmoosh. "--okay," Peter says, a little tiredly, before. "Lemme get -- my armor. S'actually. In okay shape. Don't think I'll -- fight tonight anyway. Kind of -- fighted out." "You don't have to fight," Shane says, "/he'll/ feel better if he does, though." He accepts mooshing more gracefully, ceasing his stomping about to sink in against the others. And then, bluntly: "-- The news says Nox died." Sebastian stiffens, but then relaxes. "Everyone dies," he says again. "We should find Anole. He'll --" "Yeah." Shane is quieter now. "--oh," Peter says, in response to Nox's death; sharp and quiet. And -- nothing else. Just, oh. He closes his eyes and leans back in the chair, and... "--will get. My armor," Peter says, a little more /insistently/, pushing up to his feet. Sebastian slides down off Peter's lap first, Shane next. Bastian holds out a hand, resting against Shane's shoulder for balance as he finds his feet again, a little wobbly. "Okay. And when we come back we can finish Pa's --" "When we come back you can fucking /sleep/." This is halfway to a growl; it does not sound like Shane is /suggesting/. "-- Oh. OK. And /then/ finish," Sebastian says, a little more meekly. "Um -- I'll -- find. Taylor." For a moment he leans more heavily into his brother, arms curling around Shane for a tight hug. But then he releases him, shoulders sinking down heavily. Just standing, for a moment, expression a little blank. "We're going," Shane prompts gently. "Right," Sebastian says. "Going." Peter gives Sebastian a tiny hip-nudge, when he just stands there blank-faced. And, quieter: "I'll work on it. While you sleep. Okay? Let's -- go." HEAD-BUTT. For solidarity. "Right." Just that. Sebastian's hand lifts to ruffle at Peter's head. Shane slips an arm through Peter's. And then heads off! To perpetrate some violence.