ArchivedLogs:Gender Roles

From X-Men: rEvolution
Gender Roles
Dramatis Personae

B, Ion, Steve

2015-11-27


"{This does not mean I am look for the sex?}" (Part of Flu Season TP.)

Location

<NYC> Harbor Commons - Courtyard - Lower East Side


This courtyard is the lush central hub of the surrounding Harbor Commons, bound in on three sides by rows of duplexes and triplexes, cutting upward at the sky with the sharp thrift of a minimalist's style, neat lines and bountiful windows, boldened with accents in wood towards the upper stories, stone towards the base, the whole of the compound sealed in by a low stoneworked wall that opens entrance gates to the streets beyond at its two far corners, smaller gates at building back doors.

The fourth side of the courtyard is open to the East River, the ground forming a slight decline, controlled on one side by micro-retaining walls to form wide steps where picnic tables sit beneath the nominative shelter of a trio of dogwood trees, accessible by ramp. The other side is allowed to slope at its natural angle, a wide open yard space, until its cut off at the river's edge, where a massive pair of oak trees stand, a staircase leading away up one of their thick trunks.

The yard itself is carpeted in an organic flow of emerald grass swirled through with wending channels of smooth-paved cement walkways, flowing naturally away from the building's front entrances, where some are arced by trellis, some flanked by hosta plants, fern and lilies, a few laid in gentle switch-backing ramps for wheelchair access, before forking off at matching angles to sites of small garden installments. Bird feeders and baths suspended from the necks of small lamp posts, a rock-lined koi pond, a sleek gazebo tucked to one side in simplistic varnished wood, its southern side overgrown with a mass of thriving grapevine and a caged-in barbecue pit under its sheltering roof. A play area and proper garden are within sight off another branch, until finally all paths spiral in like wheel spokes to a shared common house at the center of all traffic flow.

With the unseasonably warm weather, today, New York -- mostly smells like rot, honestly, the springlike temperatures accelerating the decay that is everywhere in the city and leaving it bathed in a heavy cloud of stench. There are probably many places B would rather be than outside right now -- and yet. By the river bordering the property there have been a few pale and waterlogged bodies dragging themselves up onto the muddy shore, so at the moment the teenager is down by the banks, dragging /hirself/ back up out of the water and tugging a new body -- perhaps more recently dead or more recently water-bound, this one looks a good deal fresher -- out behind hir to add to a small collection she's amassed. Hir expression is twisted up in some disgust as she goes about this task, a soft growl in hir throat. All hir clothing is piled on a rock on the bank together with metal boots and gauntlets and a towel; though the water is undoubtedly cold the chill doesn't seem to bother hir. Hir skin is several shades darker than it has been in previous days, though, hir already thin form noticeably skinnier even now. Hir eyes linger on the body she's just added to the pile, contemplative.

Walking the perimeter of the Commons has become a twice-daily routine for Steve, and he makes his afternoon rounds now, dressed in a very tight black t-shirt that reads 'Let's Switch Gender Roles' and dark blue jeans over scuffed black combat boots. He has his shield slung across his back and a knife strapped to his belt. Here and there stops to assess any new damage to the walls, scribbling fastidiously in a pocket notebook as he goes. He looks up from his notes to see B's rather unsavory task, and heads toward her. He tucks the notebook away. "{Hello,}" this in Spanish, and whatever else he was about to say dies in his throat when he comes near enough to notice her state of undress. His eyes go rather wide and his face goes fiercely red, but he doesn't turn away. "Oh...uh..." He shakes his head, "{So-sorry, I didn't mean to...}"

B is just crouching down beside the body she's just dragged up, but looks up sharply as Steve approaches, a low growl in her throat. It fades away with a small darkening of cheeks, small flutter of gills. "Oh -- oh." Her eyes drop abruptly away, head ducking. "I --" She shakes her head, scurrying back from the pile. Then looking back up at Steve with a small widening of eyes, a tiny twitch of closed-lipped smile. "{Wait, are you. Not wanting to -- man?}"

VROOOOM. Or is that hummmmm. At any rate a glowing black hoverbike is sinking its way down from overhead, dropping in to park beside B's stash of clothing. Ion has his very weatherbeaten and beadazzled kutte, blinged-out bike helmet, blood-spattered singed and frayed fingerless leather gloves, shiny NEW (but already also bloodspattered) tall leather boots, thick jeans, a long-sleeved black denim shirt. "{Oh /man/ oh fucking man this place a goddamn fucking mess -- holy /shit/ little sister you look /wasted/ is time for your /dinner/ huh?}" As he hops off his bike, tugs off his helmet, his brows are raised. "{What's that? The captain needs a man? Is all good, there's plenty around here, yeah? Darkwing he's /always/ willing.}"

Steve's mouth drops open, though he quickly lifts a hand to cover it, eyes skidding to the pile of bloated cadavers and then back to B. "{Not want to -- what? I don't...}" He looks down at his shirt in sudden comprehension. "{Oh! No, I want to...man? I borrowed. From your father. Because not have...shirts. Though I should return now, he maybe need it more.}" The look of relief on his face is almost comically intense when Ion arrives. "{Hello! Yes, but it's...less mess than it's been and we...}" He blinks at Ion kind of helplessly. "{Wait, what do you mean I need a man?}" Though the way he's blushing harder suggests he has an idea. "{Dinner! We should...look into that.}"

"Oh! Oh." B's blush deepens very suddenly, cheeks darkening nearly purple as she suddenly scrambles to the side and reaches for her towel. "{I thought... sorry.}" Her eyes widen to enormous pools of black when Ion arrives, her head shaking fiercely. "{What? No, he -- /I/ don't know, I haven't asked? He didn't -- I just thought, his shirt -- I have no idea. If he needs -- wants. What he --} oh gosh. {There's not. A lot of dinner. Well. For you maybe. Not a --}" Unthinking, her eyes have slipped back towards the pile of bodies. She swallows, hard. "{Not a whole lot of meat around.}"

"{I don't know smallshark, she's the one who say you need! And tch, keep it, who the hell gonna complain about seeing Glitterbug with his shirt off more.}" Ion spreads his hands wide, eyes wide too in a slightly incredulous look. "{And what the fuck you mean, not a lot. Maybe we go /get/ some then. Before you starve to fucking /death/, yo, tiny shark only go so long without food. You outta meat, we're due a /shopping/ trip then.}"

"{It's...I thought that...I don't know how to say,}" Steve points at the words on the shirt, "{it means...man do women's work. Woman do men's work. That is very modern, yes? This does not mean I am look for the sex?}" He asks this, aghast. Somehow, he has gotten redder, even when his expression sobers. "{We've tried, out on supply runs. There is not much food in the city, mostly dry or can. Oh, but...}" He's looking at the hoverbike now. "{Can you get out? On those bikes?}"

B's gills flutter faster still as she hastily wraps the towel around her waist. Her head shakes very -- very -- very! emphatically in denial. "OH oh oh. Oh /no/. {I mean yes! I mean you're right.} Oh /gosh/. {Yes. No.} Augh. {No that's right. That's -- my dad wouldn't -- nooooooo. It doesn't mean looking for sex. It /is/ about --}" Her hand scrubs at the side of her face. Her voice is a little hitched, kind of fluttery and breathless with the rapid movement of hir gills. "{I just -- I mean, because /I'm/ --}" Her webbed hand gestures -- down along the length of her own body with a sheepish dip of her head, a small shake. Shoulders kind of hunched, ze hastily starts pulling hir clothes back on underneath the towel. "{The bikes can get out over the quarantine blocks without being noticed, yes.}" A little steadier in tone, now, if quieter. "{Only so much we can carry, though. A lot of people here to feed.}"

"{Psh fuck it. We can get /us/ out, yeah, then we can get the /food/ back in. /I/ can get the food back in. All we need is a big enough box, yeah? Cooler, trailer, fucking /truck/, I'll chuck the Boy Scout back across with the food no fucking problem.}" Ion's bright bright grin would probably be more reassuring if it didn't come with a few bright /sparks/ flickering across it. "{You looking to do women's work, soldier, because I don't know hardly anyone can keep /up/ with B. You're gonna need a little bit more modernization before you up to her standard.}"

Though Steve has finally begun to look less /mortified/, he definitely seems no less confused for B's reply. "{Because you're --?}" He shakes his head rapidly. "{Maybe, I can ask you some other time. If you do not mind. It is true, though.}" He does manage a smile, nodding in agreement to Ion. "{I need more modernization, yes. But I think I will never meet B's standard.}" The shake of his head is incredulous but appreciative. "{You are meaning like you disappear, move other places. You can do that to other people? Things?}"

B lets her towel drop, black and red plaid skirt in place; she tugs her black and red-strapped tee on after this. Then eyes Ion skeptically. "{... is that safe? I mean are you okay to... you're kind of. Sick.}" Hir teeth drag slowly over her lower lip. "{But a shopping trip would be /so/ useful. People here could use -- everything.}"

"{She means on account of being a ladyboy.}" Ion gestures in the direction of B's crotch; his tone is kind of /earnest/ here. "{You know like her dick and all only but she's not a dude anyway. -- the /fuck/ you saying?}" Now his eyes are narrowing on B, a snapping charge of electricity winding around his arms. "{You think I can't fucking /do/ it? I'll throw you to goddamn Jersey right the hell /now/.}"

Steve mouths the word '{ladyboy}' with a completely bewildered expression that goes right back to mortification when Ion explains. Then he looks down at the shirt he's wearing again. Blushes harder. "{If you say you can do it, I believe you. And I'll go, but please don't go throwing anyone who doesn't want thrown.}" He pauses, mouth twisting to one side. "{Not to /Jersey/, anyhow.}"

B presses both her webbed hands against her face, a tiny squeak catching in her throat at Ion's explanation. She shakes her head fiercely, turning aside from the others to tug on her heavy boots. "{How about we fly. Carefully. No throwing necessary yet.}"

"{Right-right-right. America-boy, you fly with me.}" Ion grins, bright, tossing his glittery helmet towards Steve and gesturing to his bike. "{We gonna bring Christmas early up in this place.}"