ArchivedLogs:Good Boys

Good Boys
Dramatis Personae Ion, Kay
In Absentia	2013-12-01 '
Location <BOM> The Allspark - Ascension Island
Small and compact in the manner of most cabins on the island, this place is solidly built. Hardwood floors, sturdy log-wood walls, fireplaces in every room. It consists of a small sitting room, a bathroom with claw-footed tub, and two small bedrooms The furnishing in here is eclectic, to say the least; it looks somewhat as though it has been scavenged piecemeal from what you might find if you did a google search for 'luxury home decor'. There's a plush dark sofa with a round marble-topped coffee table in front of it, a wrought-iron and red-glass side table beside it with a colourful Tiffany lamp on top. A full-sized tiger pelt as a throw-rug in front of the sofa. A large dark-brown leather recliner near the fireplace. Binding most of the room together, though, is the /scorch/ marks, floor and walls and furniture alike permanently rendered a little /crisped/ around the edges. It's pantsless o'clock in the Allspark, and in due respect Kay us shoving down his pants at the door with a businesslike absentmindedness, a duffelbag hanging off one shoulder and perfectly dressed from the hips and up in tshirt, kutte, leather jacket, beanie hat with a skull and crossbones on the side. Boots were shocked first, pitched one after another at Ion's door. HONEY I'M HOME. The door opens. Ion /frowns/ at the boots chucked to his door. He turns promptly around to disappear back into his room with /purpose/, returning with a pillow in each hand. The first one he throws at Kay; the second he /marches/ forth with, lifting it to THWUMP Kay upside the head. Kay swipes the pillow from the air and duck down to helicopter it over his head to semi-deflect, buy mostly just /complicate/ Ion's pillow swat. He bounces on the balls of his feet, long hairy chickenlegs tensing up, shuff-shuff-shuffling left foot to right foot, then dropping his pillow down over a shoulder like a riot shield and lurching forward. His dufflebag drops to the ground behind him. Ion might not be playing by the kosher rules of pillowfighting, because he answers this charge simply by charging right /back/, shoulder tucked in to thump solidly into Kay's pillow shield as he just /tackles/ the taller man back towards the (kind of singey) couch. "That pillow makes you like, /twice/ as big, vato, you should have kept those boots on your scrawnyass legs." "Who you callin scrawny UFF!" the impact probably comes with a crackily spark, the two of them go toppling semi onto the couch. Kay is making use of all that LIMB to twine up his legs with Ion's, locking an arm around Ion's neck while WHOPPING at him with -- actually his hat. It's versatile that way. "Fuck are these then, pendejo," Ion's leg kicks backwards in its semi-leglock to whap a heel against one of Kay's calves, "Is like someone just tied on two sticks here." He's already holding a pillow in one hand but he's decided Kay's is /better/, he's wresting it out from between them to smoosh it down into Kay's face. "I tell you what, maybe you shoot twice next time your man-juice, it'll grow you up proper." A dry papery crackle can be heard with a faint black rippling spreading across the couch cushion. On more singe to add to the collection. "Maumph!" The pillow also licks up with a few merry flames, Kay's voice managing a ferocious snarly laugh even muffled, "One for-mff!-either leg? Boy, I'm too much man for you-" Kay's legs shift tactics and wrap around Ion's waist to try and HIPTHRUST him off, "- already!" Ion is in for a TREAT, Kay's been raiding the wealthier houses again, and has leveled up to SILK boxers. Ion oomphs, and the hip thrust is rewarded with a quiet crackling jolt. It twitches like a small pulsing kick as it seizes up leg muscles momentarily where Kay's legs wrap around Ion. The younger man tumbles back from singed couch to singed rug -- once no doubt majestic, a large tiger pelt that has since just amassed crisped edges and burn marks. "Legs, arms, you need that juice all over you." He sprawls on the tiger, tucking a hand behind his head. "You been up by the houses? Gonna start fight nights back up, Friday. Little sharks are pretty excited." "It's been a week. How they been? They doin that," Kay had made a frantic oh-fuck-shit face for a second when his LEG had seized-spasmed, but now he's (fallenCRASHED onto his ASS) down on the floor as well, fluttering a hand alongside his neck, "Gill-thing?" He absently pats out a few live embers still ribboning along the side of Ion's pillow. Also fallen around them are a ripped over caddy of very fine golf clubs, still bearing the logo if the club they'd been liberated from, and an expensive gentleman's cane that LOOKS as though it's been recently used as a golf club. Kay is hooking for this with a toe. "Shit, yeah, they work themselves up so much they don't breathe. Still manage to /bite/ though." Ion champs his teeth together demonstratively. He stretches out his leg too, dragging at the cane with his heel and nabbing it when it's close enough. He PRODS Kay in the ribs with it, setting it on the other man's chest after this. "Good kids. {/Good/ kids.}" This point evidently bears emphatic repetition in Spanish. The fierce grin he wears by default when fighting fades into a deep creased frown. "You have spent plenty enough time around there, yeah? With them. Jax. Micah. Yeah?" "Rrf." Kay states like the prodding HURTS. But then, he'd also grinning. And chomping his teeth right BACK, "{Good kids.}" He drops back his head and /breathes/ the words in the slow simple bad pronunciation to suggest he understood it. And likes it. Lounging decadent in all his leather and silk and overgrown mohawk and unshaven stubble, he holds the cane doublehanded, as a man preparing to swing for a baseball. He even does the little butt-wiggle. All while lying in his back. "Yeah, sure. {Good} people." "{Good people}," Ion agrees, but this time it's slow and uncertain rather than fierce as it was for the twins. His frown remains, deep, eyes canting sideways to look at Kay. "Good people, sí? Risk everything to get us out. Helped much at Harlem. Don't think I've ever seen them say no to helping anyone." He sounds like he is trying to convince himself of something. "Micah and Jax," he finally says with sudden deep seriousness to Kay, "you think they'd hurt those niños?" His hand turns up, fingers making a small pushing forward motion. "Like the sort of people who might take some boys in and then just fuck them." Kay is still mid swing. But now he's paused in this position, sighting down the length of the cane. His head eventually turns towards Ion, and he's not grinning anymore. "What." Ion rakes his fingers through his hair, exhaling slowly. "I was over there a couple days ago. Just stopped for food, yeah? Dropped them some groceries, nab some of Jax's cooking. Fed Dusk." He shrugs uncomfortably. "Twins were home, and Micah. Shane was saying --" His frown deepens. "I don't know, hermano, you know how he is. But he was talking about wanting to fuck his own papá like it is no big thing. Micah he stopped that talk but it was like --" His fingers scrunch up harder into his hair; around the room the lights crackle. One bulb in Kay's room sputters and burns out with a pop. "Like reminding him don't talk like that around strangers, yeah?" Though with face turning back up towards the ceiling, Kay's eyes are active. They flit from one light to the next, the flickering reflecting against his pupils like embers, while a faint smell of brimstone and dry heat develops. "—Shit like that happens," he mutters – it sounds flippant. Callous. Except that he's not blinking, giving the cane a slow swing. Homerun. Then abruptly sits up, thunking the cane down against the floor. "Grab my pants." "It happens." Ion's fingers stay fisted up in his own dark curls, his eyes sliding closed. "But those boys --" In this room, now, too, the bulbs splutter and crackle out. A colourful Tiffany lamp on their new end table gives the loudest snap of protest before leaving them now in darkness, save for the eerie flickering of blue-white dancing between Ion's fingers once they release his hair. He bounds up to his feet, hopping over the couch to toe around on the dark floor for Kay's pants and toss them in the other man's general direction. "Spence he keeps asking to join us. When he is big enough to ride." It's not dark for long; Kay has only to roll onto his knees and fumble along a tabletop where myriad mismatched candles have cemented themselves down with rivulets of melted wax. The wicks all hiss to warm flame when his hand passes over them, illuminating... well, /some/ of the candles are old and cheap. Some scented, most of them dime store fare. It makes the expensive sculpted-wax candles of naked women and delicate flower bouquets and little birds and puppy dogs and stylish modern sculpture stick out like sore thumbs. His thumb might cop a crude little feel on the waxycandleboobs. Honk-honk. He grabs up his pants, dragging them up over his bony hips, "S'funny!" He comments, sharp-aggressive like a kind of vulpine bark. "I was just thinkin' of takin' all three of 'em out for a spin. Our leetle cheeldren." Yes, Ion, he's overdramaticizing your /accent/ at you again. Zip! Up goes his fly, and he tosses his hair off his brow, "Y'wanna help me pinch my bike back from the porkhouse?" SMOOTHsmoothsmooth, he probably has to shove down his arm hairs standing up on end in the crackling atmosphere. Ion answers this with one middle finger waving in Kay's direction while he sits by the door to get his own boots on. "Do I ever. 'course, we'll just be pinching you a new one inside a week, ese, you run through those poor girls like toilet paper." "Not the length of life, bro," Kay vaults over the couch as well, dragging on his hat. He grabs for his boots, "It's the /quality/." He lovingly grabs his crotch at Ion, "And pressed right up against /my/ love machine? C'mon. Don't fuck around." He throws out a hand towards the candles without looking at them – they gutter and the room goes black. In the dark, his voice sounds less joyful. Old. Flat. Stating, "...An' if it's like that?" Thmp. A hand pats down on Ion's shoulder. "Ashes."