ArchivedLogs:Fish Out Of Water

Fish Out Of Water
Dramatis Personae Isra, Sebastian, Shane	2013-10-30 (Part of Infected TP.)
Location <XS> Roof
The view from up here is phenomenal, a panorama of the expansive Xavier's grounds, forest and lake and rocky cliffs alike. Even without the view outwards, the rooftop itself holds its own delights, in the form of the tiny jewel of a flower garden tucked away up here, tended by one of the school's teachers. From the edge of the roof, with a veeery careful jump, it looks like it just might be possible to reach the treehouse in the old oak tree. It's quiet up on the rooftop, at the moment. Somewhere, there is probably class going on. Shane should probably be /in/ class somewhere. And yet. AND YET. Here he is, up on the -- no, wait, that's Sebastian, in long grey sweatshirt-y skirt, black hoodie reading ‘HERBIVORE' in a yellow cross over its chest, tall purple combat boots, huddled kind of /pale/ and shivery in the cool autumn afternoon. For /him/ missing class is entirely out of the norm but possibly his constant sniffling and occasional coughing might explain /that/. There is a curl of cigarette smoke drifting up from somewhere /beneath/ the overhang of the roof, this might be a telltale sign of Shane's. Also the way Sebastian's eyes constantly dart over towards the edge like he's expecting something to go SPLAT. But nothing splats. Yet. Isra climbs out onto the roof in a cobalt blue dress and a massive sky blue shawl held shut against the wind by her folded wings. Other than swaying her tail and curling the talons on her feet, she gives no indication that the rooftop poses any challenge to locomotion. She carries a steel canister in one clawed hand. It looks like some sort of hazardous materials containment system from a science fiction film. "Sebastian." Her nose twitches, and she glances in the direction of the smoke. "Shane. I have brought soup." She hesitates, then adds. "I made it myself." Coming from anyone else, that might have sounded like a bid for approval. From her, it is a statement of fact, and perhaps a mild warning. Sebastian turns to blink bleary eyes over at Isra, stifling another cough in the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "I'm not really -- hungry just now." Which is probably a sentence that has never passed Bastian's lips before. "I am," pipes a voice from over the edge of the roof. Shane takes one last long drag of his smoke before making his way over to a corner to clamber back up, a sort of precarious enterprise that nevertheless doesn't seem to worry him overly; he's more cautious of his crisp neat vest than he is of his footing. "What kinda soup? -- Jeez dude you haven't eaten all day you need to eat." Sebastian just shrugs. There's a book perched in his lap that he taps claws lightly against -- China Mieville, /The Scar/ -- and then looks up at Isra. "No, I'm --" There's a scratchy roughness to his voice. "I don't know. Thirsty maybe. Hi. I have," he says this kind of apprehensively, "a note from Doctor McCoy." Presumably, to be out of class. "/Pfft/." That might be Shane's response to the idea of doctor notes. He plunks himself down alongside Isra. "How's your house looking lately? We've cleared a lot of the visitors out of our building. Always still a few who take longer to find lives for than others, though." Isra's ears press back as she settles into a crouch that looks comfortable, if not particularly demure. "I have not come to chastise you--either of you. I was merely concerned." She unscrews the top from the steel jar. Surprise, it's a bowl! "Other than the influenza, how do you feel?" "This is a Chinese herbal soup, consisting largely of water and salt. The rice noodles sink and are easily avoided." She removes the thick inner lid of the jar. Dense white steam, redolent of an apothecary, rises from within like a djinni unleashed. "My parents' cook used to make this every time I got sick. I do have water, if you would prefer that." "I have not had time to stop by since Tuesday, but my guests have begun to trickle out. I do not need the space, and so have not been pushing them." She unscrews the bottom of the jar--another bowl--and holds the soup out to Shane with eyebrow ridges uplifted. Someone has been learning the value of facial expressions. "I guess it was kind of inevitable," Sebastian says with a grimace. "Tons of people sharing not much space. Our apartment building is probably a delicious petri dish for the start of flu season." His nostrils flare at the rising scent of steam, and he shivers again. Shane reaches out to take the soup from Isra with a grin, and settles in alongside his brother, wrapping one arm tight around Bastian in a quick squeeze. "We hardly ever get sick so this is like. Novel. I'm stronger than him for once." Sebastian sticks his tongue out at Shane. "I could grab you some water," Shane offers helpfully. "But really you should probably get in out of the cold." He takes a sip of his soup. /Cautiously/. "I like it out here. Inside there's -- people. Out here just --" Sebastian taps his fingers against the cover of his novel again. "Though I did just finish my -- my book." "Could get you a new book," Shane replies. "Thank you," Sebastian remembers to add, belatedly. "I'm not really good at being sick." "We could go hunt you something delicious," Shane offers cheerfully, gesturing with his bowl between himself and Isra. "I had noticed at game night that a lot of people were sick." Isra's tail twitches beneath the hem of her dress. "I mean to bring some soup to the lofts in case the usual soup purveyors are themselves ill. If the soup is any good." Good or not might be a matter of individual taste, but the soup is quite salty and herb-y. "If not...there's always hunting down something delicious, I suppose." "Though quite sickly as a child, I have since grown into a rather hardy sort of gargoyle, and rarely fall ill anymore. I do not miss it." Isra stretches her wing--and part of her shawl, which is, intentionally or otherwise, hooked its thumb talon--over the boys. "I am sure you can find some peace and quiet somewhere in the vastness of this mansion. If not, you are welcome to hide out in my room while I work." "Think Dusk's getting it too," Shane affirms with an unhappy wrinkle of his nose, "he must not be eating right, he's harder to en-sicken-ate than we are when he /does/. But when he stops he's practically a fucking chemo patient for how bad he gets hit by every-damn-thing." "Oh, good." Sebastian leans back into the shelter of Isra's wing, nestling comfortably up into its blanketing touch. "So I probably won't get you sick? -- hopefully it'll pass soon anyway even when we /do/ get sick we kind of. Shrug it off pretty quick I guess, comes with -- being faster to heal maybe." He shrugs a shoulder, leaning over to sniff at the soup but then just resting his head on Shane's shoulder. "Do you? Um I mean. Heal -- faster I don't know. If you're hardy --" "It's soup," Shane judges, "it tastes soupy. I bet Dusk'd be pretty thrilled if you stopped by to bring him some -- comfort." "Or blood," Sebastian says lightly. "Though I guess even if you're hardy, getting bitten right in a vein is a pretty good way to pass on germs. Much worse than --" He reaches to take the cup of soup from Shane, sipping gingerly at the bowl though he returns it after only a small taste. "-- sharing food." Shane bonks his head lightly backwards against Isra's wing, spiky-hard hair prickling against it. "Daiki got up sniffly today. Taylor, too. Our entire wing is like some kind of plague --" He frowns, suddenly, and falls quiet. "That's dramatic. It's flu season." Sebastian shrugs. Isra's wing tightens a fraction around the twins at the mention of Dusk. "I think it unlikely you will infect me. A side effect of not habitually falling ill is that I have a poor notion of how quickly I mend." She shrugs, resettling the shawl a little. "Judging by remnant injuries from sparring, however, I do heal physical damage quickly--mind you, in comparison to human average." The corner of her mouth quirks. "I'm no Logan." "I will be going to the Lofts, and I know Dusk needs blood, but I doubt he would be willing to feed from me again so soon anyway." There is a note of disappointment in the bass undertone of her voice. Her tail twitches again. "If he is, though, the issue of infection can be ameliorated with more conventional venipuncture. In any case--it /is/ flu season. Crowded conditions and stress can both exacerbate this sort of epidemic, and we've had plenty of both. It will pass." "My --" Shane starts but hesitates, amends his next phrasing to the oh-so-polite, "-- this guy I fuck, he's basically like Logan. It's pretty great how much of a beating he can take and it vanishes two seconds later. It's kinda nice to not have to /worry/ for once about tearing the hell out of someone I'm with." Sebastian relaxes a little further with the tightening of wing. His head lifts, just enough to nuzzle to one side against Isra's wing. "He does keep more, uh, sanitary phlebotomy gear around. Some people aren't into the fangs." "Though how anyone could be not into the fangs is /beyond/ me holy shit he can penetrate me any time." Shane sips at his soup again. "If you do heal fast then -- maybe he can bite you again. I mean most people he likes to wait -- over a month but with us he can do. Every week or so and it doesn't hurt us at all." Sebastian closes his eyes with a small shiver, dipping his head to cough again before resting back against Isra's wing. "-- either way he'd probably be glad to see you." "He has offered, but I..." Isra flushes a slightly darker shade of gray. "The fangs have distinct advantages. Not least of which is convenience. You do have a point, though, and I will offer, at any rate. He would not be the only one glad of such a visit." The barest hint of a frown creases Isra's brow at Sebastian's cough. "You really /should/ get inside and get some water." Sebastian's brows furrow deep. "-- Water," he echoes. "Yeah -- um -- water --" "The fangs have the distinct advantage of being hot as fucking hell, /tell/ me when he bites you you don't just want him to --" Shane punctuates this sentence with a demonstrative hip-thrust. Sebastian drops his head forward into one palm. "Shane that's /so/ --" "/Accurate/?" Shane takes another sip of soup, slipping his arm around Sebastian again to squeeze his brother in closer against his side. "You want to go in? Lie down, get something to drink? You're starting to chafe anyway, water would be good." "Water -- would be good," Sebastian agrees with a small frown. "Right." Isra arches one eyebrow ridge at Shane. "No comment." She is saved from further mortification by Sebastian's repetition of the word 'water.' Hunkering down a little--with surprising ease considering her lankiness--she examines the boy more closely. There is an odd stillness to her body language that bespeaks alarm. "Let us go inside." She runs a hand over his head and rests it on his shoulder, gently coaxing him to rise. "Come." There's a rough dryness to Sebastian's too-pale skin that stands in sharp contrast to the healthiess of Shane's, a testament to how long he's been /out/ of water (and how much staying away from it is unhealthy for the amphibious teenagers.) He closes his eyes, shivering again beneath Isra's touch, and for a time just sits there, nodding agreement but not moving. Shane moves first, unhooking his arm from around Bastian and getting to his feet, offering his brother a hand up, half-finished soup in his other hand. "C'mon. Into the shower with you. Then bed." Bastian takes the offered hand, rising with no further protest, his novel clutched against his chest. "Am tired," he agrees. "Okay." Isra follows close behind, wings mantled around the twins as though she expects an errant gust to blow them off the rooftop. "Fluids and rest," she agrees, brows knitted. "Still, keep a thermometer handy and call Dr. McCoy if there's any sudden change."