ArchivedLogs:Frogs

Frogs
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jack, Shane, Hive	5 December 2014 Wherein Shane has 37 boyfriends.
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Music Room - Lower East Side
Small and soundproofed, this room is a comfortable place to come practice music in relative peace. A large digital keyboard stands in one corner; opposite it are a number of speakers and amps available for use. There are a cluster of chairs in the center of the room, with music stands set up in front of them. On the far back wall, a tall painted-black cube-shaped block of shelving leaves plenty of room for storing music and equipment; a row of lockers flanking it leave space for instrument storage as well. The last side of the room has more comfortable seats along the wall; a pair of deep crimson microsuede couches, a low-slung table between them, an armchair similarly upholstered. The music room is fairly well soundproofed, but faint strains of sound can be heard from close proximity to the door out in the hall. The piano (well, keyboard) playing is not particularly /good/ but not terrible, either. Serviceable might be the best description, accurately-enough reproducing the soft singer-songwriter accompaniment to Carole King's 'So Far Away'. The singing is a fair sight better, combined tenor and alto voices from Micah and the speakers on his laptop. The guitar playing coming through the speakers is also far more adept. The screen displays a Skype window on which a short-thin middle aged woman with curly silver-streaked red hair is providing the other voice and instrument to pair with the younger redhead's. As the song ends, he smiles over at the webcam. “Mmn, my turn t'pick for next week. S'gonna be somethin' /happier/. I'll e-mail you when I come up with somethin'.” “S'the dif'rence in playin' what you're feelin' an' playin' what y'wanna feel, isn't it?” the alto voice replies a little wistfully. “Love you, sugar. Be /safe/ up there, y'hear?” “Love you, too.” Micah kisses the back of his hand as a proxy, the woman on the screen returning the gesture before switching her camera off. He clicks out of his window, as well, quickly pulling the Wish Bear wristwarmers he'd set aside for playing back onto his hands. It's still fairly cold out there. As his Batsignal hoodie layered over brick red henley and lined jeans might attest. Speaking of hoodies, there's one with no person inside peeking into the music room. Jack had just been walking by the room looking for any other chores or tasks that needed doing, having been happy to do the work when he heard the music. He blinks when he finds only Micah in the room but shrugs it off. "Hey, Micah," he greets in his usual quiet tone. "Was that you singing?" he asks, pulling his hood down slowly. Shane's clothes don't show all that much deference to the cold, really. Deep charcoal slacks, polished black-and-white saddle shoes, a trim blazer over vest and dress shirt and bow tie. The neat attire doesn't match the way he's /hurtling/ down the hall, hands fastened on to the handles of a wheelchair that is being pushed before him, complete with thrumming "Vr-r-r-r-oooooom!" noises as he rushes down one side of the balcony and up the other. Skkkkkkkkkkkid, he kind of screeches to a /jarring/ (sorry, Hive!) halt by the music room, "-- what's it you /want/ to feel?" Soundproof? What? That wasn't really made quite up to code for mutant ears. "Hey. You're still here." His nose twitches in Jack's general direction. He politely doesn't ram Hive's chair into the invisible teenager. The wheelchair currently holds a pile of blankets. Maybe it held a Hive, too, but he's just slumped low in the pile, gripping on for dear life to his armrests. Hiding his face from the /world/. "... Jegus. Fucking. Christ." Yes, that's all that's forthcoming from the telepath right now. Maybe he's waiting for his stomach to stop churning. Maybe he's getting ready to puke on Jack. Micah's fingers continue pressing distractedly at keys on the keyboard here and there until the door opens. He only startles a little, chin tipping up faster to give him a better look at the door. "Oh, hi, Jack. Um...yeah. Was me. An' m'momma on the line." His hand lifts from the keys to gesture at his open laptop. The vrooming precedes the newer arrivals into the room, lofting one of Micah's brows. "Hive? Y'okay in there?" He might be biting back a bit of a laugh as he asks, but the concern in the question is genuine. "Y'got ears like a bat, kiddo. Was just talkin' t'm'momma 'bout pickin' songs for next week. Told her I was pickin' somethin' happy 'cause this week's was a little on the depressin' side." "It was really good," Jack replies with a smile. He'd only heard it faintly but it did sound good. The sudden vrooming arrival makes Jack jump and he ends up staring. "What..." he trails off. Shane's greeting gets a little nod. "Back actually. I ran into Micah and a guy named Peter the other night and got invited back," he explains. "I can go if I'm not supposed to be though," he says quickly, hoping he hasn't overstayed his welcome. He casts a concerned look towards Hive too. "Hey, Hive." "Peter. /My/ Peter?" Shane's ridged brow quirks upward curiously. He reaches over the top of the wheelchair to bat lightly at Hive's blanketpile. "Pfft, quit your whining, I can run /way/ faster than that. Next lap I'm doing double-time. -- Oh man next week you should do --" For a moment Shane perks up, but then he frowns. "... no, you only listen to shitty music with words in. I can't help you there. How's Gramma doing?" He skirts around in front of the wheelchair, starting to tug blankets down to rearrange them /around/ Hive instead of /over/ Hive. Trying to excavate a /face/ from the pile. "... uh. Are you not supposed to be here?" He sounds kind of ambivalent about this. Maybe he has no idea either. "Hrrgh." Even once excavated Hive is just scowly, eyes scrunched up beneath the brim of his fleecey red beanie. /He's/ bundled up warmer than Shane, oversized Grumpy Bear hoodie and a grey scarf and grey fingerless gloves. And his pile of blankets. "We're decorating." He just announces this. Gruff. Still frowning. His eyes crack open just enough that he can /direct/ this frown towards Jack; the squinted-up nature of his eyes makes his subsequent question come out almost /suspiciously/: "Do you decorate?" "Ohgosh, thanks," Micah replies to the compliment with an excess of blushing for what it is, clear pink picking up in his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. "Think that was just an observation, sugar. Shane don't really do passive-aggressive. You're fine bein' here." Though he is making a mental note to check in with people on the duration of Common House guests. "Yes, your Peter." The label seems to amuse him somewhat, drawing the corners of his lips upward. "Gramma's fine. Think she was disappointed folks didn't go down for Thanksgivin' this year, though she understands why we didn't." Hive's announcement earns a head tilt. "What're we decoratin' now?" If empty clothes can look relieved, that's how Jack looks now. "Your Peter?" he blinks a few times and shrugs. "He was cool," the invisible teen adds. "Err, I can lend a hand decorating if you want one. Can't say I'll be any good but like I told that Dusk guy last night, I'll help out however. Dishes, windows, decorating," he says. "Which reminds me," he looks to Hive again. "I heard you designed this whole place and I wanted to tell you it's really awesome. I mean I don't know much about buildings or designing them but this is one of the nicest looking places I've ever been." "I do just plain aggressive alright, though," Shane says with a very toothy grin. "So you'd know if I meant to say 'get out' because it'd sound a lot more like 'get out.' -- Yeah, my Peter. He bangs me. Uh. /Cool/ isn't -- really a word most people use to describe him. Awkward as fuck, dork, giant fucking /weirdo/face. I'll tell him you think he's cool, that'll be a new one." He nudges the music room door further open, pushing Hive past Jack to throw the brakes on the wheelchair, parking the telepath next to Micah's keyboard and plopping himself down beside the bench. "Did you know it's zombieproofed? Best part. -- Decorating isn't a /chore/," he adds with a puzzled look to Jack, tacking on after this, "... weirdoface." "Think Dusk added that to this week's meeting agenda." Yes, Hive is just answering Micah's mental thoughts aloud. In fairness, he's on enough drugs these days it's probably hard for him to /distinguish/. "Peter's one of his. Thirty-seven boyfriends." He scrubs his knuckles against his eyes, slouching down further in his chair again. He props his elbow on his armrest, his head -- /missing/ entirely in his attempt to rest it in his palm. Whoops. Oh well, it only ends up lolling against some stray folds of blanket. "... I don't want a hand decorating. I want people to decorate for fun. If you don't like decorating fuck off and do something you like. We're decorating --" He frowns, uncertainly. "The holidays. Everything, I guess. Jim's making a tree. Also the Treehaus? And --" He shrugs. "This. House. Uh." He glances over at Jack. "Thanks. It was Jax and Micah's idea. I think. I forget. I just -- built it." Micah taps his finger to the tip of his nose when Shane elaborates on his meaning of various types of aggression. And promptly finds a rosier hue of blush at the other elaboration on Peter. He clears his throat, moving right /along/ to a safer topic. "Y'know she'd prob'ly /really/ like if y'wanted t'play with her, too? She plays...pretty much all the things t'various extents. But flute's her go-to classical instrument. If there was somethin' not all stupid an' wordy y'were thinkin on. We're usually /mostly/ singin' on account of /my/ ability limitin' the playin' parts." He nods thanks to Hive for his answer, unperturbed by the replies to mental questions by now. His forehead rests in his hand for a moment before the fingers continue on to rake through his (now even messier!) hair. "Thirty-seven the official count now?" It's a half-teasing kind of rhetorical question. "We do a lotta community gatherin's an' projects here," he explains to Jack. "Like dinner on Thanksgivin'. S'there a time folks's gettin' t'gether for the decoratin' party? Jax'll wanna bake a thing or twelve." Jack ends up blushing at Shane's answer, not that anyone can see it. "Oh," he squeaks. And then Hive just makes him stare again, even more surprised. "Thirty-seven?" he's surprised anyone could have that many boy or girlfriends. There's a little jealous pang he tries to ignore too. Clearing his throat, he's still a little flustered when he speaks again. "Well I've never decorated before so I don't know if it'd be fun. And still looks well built," he says to Hive. There's an invisible nod from Jack as Micah explains things though. "Makes sense. Parties do need good treats." Shane shrugs, leaning back against Micah's legs and crooking one knee upwards. "Nah. Really only got two and -- a half, right now. I don't -- really know how to figure Dusk he's basically." Another shrug. "-- He gives the /best/ hugs. I'd totally play with your ma. There's some decent duets out there that we could -- hm." For a moment he's thoughtful, mind filling up with classical music. His head lifts, thunking back against Micah's robo-knee. "... never decorated /anything/ before? Did you live in, like, /Dorothy's/ Kansas before you went invisible? -- Oh man I was /going/ to try being a Jehovah's witness for a bit but it turns out they hate all fun so I skipped on to Buddhism. Hive likes fun." "I hate fun," Hive objects. "It's Tag that likes the fun. /He's/ from the fun branch. All /we/ do is meditate all day. Learn to /transcend/ fun." He attempts once more to drop his head into his hand. This time he makes it! Though his chin slides /off/ his hand again a moment later. "-- We decided on special brownies. If we give /Tag/ pot brownies the decorations'll all look like an acid trip." Which Hive seems to find Definitely Acceptable. His eyes slide closed again. "No idea on time. Before Christmas. Ideally. More ideally before I die." His tone is oddly light as he says this. "It's fun. If y'like workin' with other folks on things. Or pretty. Or parties. S'prob'ly pretty much gonna be a party." And thanks again, Shane. The red finds its way up the back of Micah's neck and into his ears at the contemplation on Dusk. "Y'got sheet music, send her an e-mail with what y'wanna try. She'll be tickled." Micah's eyes widen at the Jehovah's witness bit. "Also. I think y'goin' door t'door might be less than ideal for your well-bein' an' not gettin' arrested." His lips twitch into a smirk at Hive. "Ah. Transcendin' fun an' meditatin'. I thought that was just you bein' grumpy. I stand corrected." An actual chuff of laughter serves as his opinion on the brownies. "Ohgosh. I don't think that's the kinda 'special' that Jax usually whips up. Think y'may be on your own for that'n." The mirth drains from his face at that last. He doesn't say anything, but the pang of feeling is sharp enough. Sorry, Hive. "No just...well...with my mom, everything had to be done a real specific way so if anyone else tried to help she got mad," Jack explains. "And according to my father things like decorating were 'women's work' anyway," he pauses to roll his eyes, "so he'd get annoyed if I even offered so I just helped carry the decoration boxes in and out of the basement," he shrugs. He's not too fond of thinking of his parents' attitudes. "Wait, half?" he looks at Shane, wondering if there might be a person running around that's only half visible. He then falls silent as the talk of special brownies and death comes up, just listening with a frown. "Shit, man, we should've scheduled this decorating party like /yesterday/ this heap-of-bones might kick it any fucking minute." Everyone /else/ can be glum as they want, Shane will gladly pick up the slack with irreverence, one of his legs stretching out to kick lightly at a wheel of Hive's wheelchair. "Should start with this boring-ass chair. Hook you up with some EL wire. Maybe some star-lights on strings. -- Hey, if Pa supplies the brownies I can supply the pot. Also," he adds to Jack, "your parents sound like douchetrucks. You want to borrow mine? I have spares." He flicks a claw against Micah's jeans. "Fucking lousy with dads. -- I do like arguing with people." He sounds a little wistful on this. "I'd make a fucking awesome Jehovah's Witness." "Seems like he's already been borrowing yours some." Hive's shoulders twitch faintly, his lips thinning briefly. "You ever think they might..." He cuts himself off, fidgets with his blankets instead, hands a little shaky with this work. "Yeah. Chair could use. Could use -- brightening. I -- think there's. More to being a Witness than, uh. Being a fucking asshole. But if that was all you'd be golden. -- Nobody's half visible." His head shakes sharply at this, a frown creasing his brow. "What the fuck would that even -- he just means Dusk doesn't count as a. Boyfriend. Since Dusk is boning – everyone." Micah's teeth dig into his lower lip. Gnaw. “Got some experience with chair decoratin'. Can get y'tricked out pretty easy. Imagine we'll need t'do some /shoppin'/ t'decorate since all of just about everyone's stuff pretty much exploded 'fore we moved here.” He just shakes his head at being offered out by Shane yet again, reaching over to scruff at the boy's spiky hair. The headshake transitions seamlessly into a head/tilt/ at Hive's half finished sentence. Though mostly, he's just...discovering new shades of red. Because there is still talking about boning. "Yeah, that sounds right," Jack replies, agreeing about his parents. "Especially considering that the last time I saw them Mom was calling me a demon and Dad was talking about finding cops or some government place to hand me over to because 'no son of his would be a mutant freak'," Jack goes on. Light objects in the room tremble with a little telekinetic disturbance from Jack. Not a happy subject but he quickly gets his power under control. He takes a few deep breaths before forcing an invisible smile onto his face. "Is that how you're going to buy the pot? A dad-rental service?" he tries to joke. Hive gets him blushing too and Jack stares once more. "I...what?" "I don't -- think you have to /pay/ for them that would be a different kind of --" Though now Shane stops, leaning back a little to look up at Micah's face. "You /could/ pay for them if you wanted. I bet my dads would fetch a pretty good price." His thoughts here would undoubtedly make Micah blush even worse. His gills rustle against his collar as things around the room tremble, though. "It's okay, sometimes you have to kiss a few frogs to find the good ones. I /won/ the shitty fucked up parents lottery. I like to think there's some sort of karmic balance in it though. Like the next time around I got these ones to make up." The memories of /his/ parents that shiver through his mind -- well. At least it's nothing Hive hasn't /seen/ before. It doesn't dim the crooked grin from his face. "What what?" The hair-scruffing has his head tipping slightly back with a low rumble of play-growl, his teeth clamping in against Micah's leg. Rrrgrar. Chomp? "/What/." Hive's a little snappish, sinking down further in his chair. His palms rub against his temples, eyes narrowing, then closing entirely. "You asked about. Fucking. Half-invisible -- something. Hrgh." He is pulling blankets back up over his head as though /this/ might keep thoughts out and make conversation easier to track. Micah frowns at Jack's description of his parents, brow furrowing. He glances around at the trembling objects, concern growing until...oh, okay, that stopped. Unfortunately, he doesn't need to be able to /hear/ Shane's thoughts to have a fairly good idea of what he's thinking. Witness the hopeless level of blushing. He finally just brings his free hand up over his face. There is no attempt to stop the chewing on his leg, just a vaguely amused look and a fond patting at Shane's head. Apparently this happens often enough. The concern-face returns as Hive burrows into his blankets. "Hon, s'there anythin' I can get for you?" Drinks. Painkillers. Whatever. Jack will probably try to apologize later for the little trembling outburst. He needs to work on his powers so he can control them better and not do things like that. "Can't say I've kissed any frogs before," he remarks. He's still blushing a bit as well and he rubs the back of his neck. "I did?" he's a bit confused and concerned as well at the way Hive burrows back into the blankets. Rrrggrrrraaarr-- "Sure you did." The growling only cuts off when Shane dislodges himself from gnawing on Micah's leg in order to speak. "The frogs were your first shitty-douchebag parents. It's like. Metaphor frogs. Well, unless your parents were /actual/ frogs. Who knows. I'm not judging." One more harder CHOMP at Micah's shin and then he rolls up to his feet, making kind of a -- blech, denim! -- face as his tongue swipes against his teeth. "I should get. Places to go, people to -- bite. Dai'll bite /me/ if I don't have dinner with him first. Can you drop this one --" He flaps a hand towards Hive, "back home, he doesn't like my driving." "Hallways need a fucking speed limit." Hive shakes his head, both palms pressed against his temples, now. "-- It's not like you /broke/ anything, who /gives/ a fuck if shit. /Shakes/, it -- hrgnh." His hands drop to his lap. "No. I don't know. I'm on. A lot of. Drug. Now. Don't want..." He trails off with a tired mumble: "Frogs." "Hmm, I'll hafta get a better tastin' fabric softener or somethin' for you," Micah reports dryly at the face Shane makes after chewing on him. Everyone's a critic. "S'cause you drive like a crazy person. I'll get 'im. Don't worry. Gotta maximum speed on this particular model of foot, an' it ain't a high one." His teeth find his lower lip to worry at again. "Should prob'ly just get y'back home now, sugar. By way of the kitchen. Fill a thermos with some soup for you in case y'want it now or...should keep warm a few hours, too." He's already on his feet, moving to unlock the brakes on Hive's chair. Jack just nods little, watching the others quietly. He pulls his hood back up and glances towards the door. "Should go get ready myself. Going to check out that club tonight," he says. "Sweet. Guess I'll see you there, then." Shane tips his chin upward to Jack, tossing a crooked grin to Micah. "You could just season them. Salt. Sriracha. Cilantro. You're not very considerate -- also you should consider switching to the racing foot for Hive-duty. He likes it fast." For a... given value of 'like.' Humming brightly to himself, the sharkpup bounces his way out the door. "You into fucking. Bloodsport. Too?" Hive sounds amused. Briefly. He doesn't leave off his nesting into blankets, though. His head shakes, under the cloth. "... can that soup be made of. Coffee." There's a pause after this, considering uncertainly. "-- Hey. Does Folgers come in. Metal tins?" Micah makes a quick detour to gather his laptop and charger into his messenger bag and sling this over his shoulder before taking up the pushing position behind Hive's chair. "Yep. Just wander 'round covered in food. That'll not go terribly." He lifts a hand to wave to Shane as the teen heads out. "Can get y'soup /and/ coffee. Pretty sure all that horrible battery acid grocery store coffee comes in cans, yeah. Why would y'/want/ that?" His brows knit as he looks back toward Jack. "Hon, y'be careful goin' t'that, okay? Mightn't be a bad idea t'just...maybe watch. What happens 'fore y'get yourself into anythin'." Jack chuckles a little, a little nervous about the fight club. "I just think I need to practice the whole defending myself thing," he says. An unseen smile is offered to Micah. "That's a good idea. Figure I can hang back and watch to make sure it's something I can handle. Wanna talk to their medics, too, just to be sure about some things," he says, heading for the door himself. He pauses on the way and glances back at Micah. "Umm, before I forget. Can we talk later? Like tomorrow or something. I wanted to ask a couple things about that school." "You know there's like. A half-dozen people who live here who. /Go/ to that school now. Or graduated from." Hive's voice is a little wry. "Might be better people to talk to about the place. Than the one dude who never actually went there. Just. By way of suggestion." He shakes his head, fingers curling against the armrests of his chair. "I -- don't. Want it. Just. Just coffee." "S'prob'ly not a bad idea," Micah agrees with a nod at Jack's plan. "Sure, sugar. Y'know where t'find me when I'm home, anyhow." His head tips in the general direction of Lighthaus from the common building. "I'm not the /only/ one as never went there, but he's got a point. Got plenty of folks t'talk to on it, if y'want. Could even discuss it with several, get dif'rent perspectives. Like Jax an' Flicker graduated from there. An' Jax is teachin', now, too. The twins an' Horus're all current students." The smile he offers Jack is warm. "Like I said, I'm more'n willin' t'help if you'd rather talk at me. But prob'ly...someone actually part of the X-gene team might also be a good person t'get a perspective from." Micah reaches down to pet at Hive's shoulder. "Sure, honey. Coffee. Comin' right up." That's the cue to roll out. "I'm going to ask some of the others too but you said you taught there so I figured you'd be able to answer some of those uhh...like...paperworky, official, administrative type questions," Jack replies with a little laugh. "Thanks though. Bye," he offers, heading out as well. "The only one who /lives/ here who's /officially associated/ with the school who never went there," Hive clarifies, sharper and irritable. "Not the only one on the fucking planet. Christ. -- Dai's in college now. Ines goes there still." His shoulder twitches beneath Micah's hand, shrugging the touch off as his head slumps down further. "Nevermind. Fuck coffee. Just want to slee --" He cuts this off suddenly, frowning and reconsidering. "... just want to go home." "I know, honey, I just meant even 'round here I'm not the only one." Micah nods to Jack at that, waving as he moves through the door. "Can help with that, too, sure. Be safe, sugar." His hand moves back to the push handle, the better for steering, anyhow. "Okay. Just home."