ArchivedLogs:Housewarming
| Housewarming | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2013-06-12 (many hours after iandeath and kind of concurrent with jive; other half of JimShelby phonecall.) |
| Location
<NYC> 305 {Teenhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village | |
This apartment is bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a small living room. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom. Furnishings are more in line with broke students than established adults. Cast-off couches and chairs provide places to sit, and the walls have been decorated in a frequently-changed street art style that combines bright, layered colors with exaggerated proportions and abstract shapes. Shelby has three ways of keeping her mind off of the unpleasant business of living: drugs, sex and creative endeavors. Since Sunday, she has made it her mission to get the new apartment up to speed by the occupants' admittedly less sophisticated standards. It helps that she can pass for human, it's made scavenging easier and provided them with a table to eat at and matching chairs--the table wobbles but has been steadied with folded cardboard under the short leg--and an old (old OLD) Ikea desk for one of the bedrooms. Then the fire at Evolve happened and she switched focus to more /indoor/ pursuits. Thankfully she is well stocked on art supplies and the walls show it. At this present moment, the teenager is in a baggy pair of men's boxers and a thin white tank top--her pyjamas!--as she orchestra conducts colors over the living room walls. Yellows and pinks are fracturing into confetti shapes against a swirled backdrop of layered greens and blues. It's all very grand, all very BIG GESTURES, all to the tune of "Born This Way", which she's humming under her breath. Bastian is only just getting home -- at work, he's nevertheless reverted for the day (since Iolaus had no external appointments to keep in this chaos) from business-formal to his preferred style of clothes; purple capri pants and a pale yellow sleeveless top with darker yellow embroidered butterflies. He actually knocks before he remembers oh yeah! I live here! and just unlocks the door to slip inside, sandals left off by the door. His eyes are wide, his expression -- none too /pleased/. Tired, stressed. But he greets Shelby with a small smile and glance at the walls. "That looks pretty -- awesomely trippy," he says, slipping in bare feet further into the living room. One quick look around the apartment before, observing more than asking, "Dai's still at work." There's an uncomfortable tension in his shoulders. "Hey B." Shelby doesn't look away from the work in progress because large area requires large amounts of concentration and she's looking a little glassy-eyed. It takes a few minutes to withdraw; when she does, she briefly pinches the bridge of her nose. "Was thinking I could do you guys' room in abstract underwater style. I dunno. Maybe. Anything's better than plain walls, right?" Once her hand drops, she lets herself fall back onto the couch and gives Bastian a good looking over. "He'll be okay," she says of Daiki. "Where's Shane? I figured him and the others'd be back by now." Shelby does an /excellent/ 'I'm only asking from idle curiosity' voice. See? "Underwater would be cool. I like colors, though. You could do more colors in there. Shane'll probably want something /boring/ though." Read: something classy. Sebastian moves over to the couch when Shelby drops onto it, perching himself onto the arm, feet resting on the cushions. "Daiki'll be OK," he agrees, nose wrinkling, "he always is. You know, if we just let /him/ talk to the cops --" His head shakes, and the lightness in his tone /crumples/ away into a slump of shoulders, a slump of /expression. "He -- he got. Arrested. Pa says that -- I -- I think he's. Getting out though. Soon. I thought he'd be home already but." What is the point of having snazzy powers if you just go boring? Shelby joins Bastian in disapproving, wrinkling her nose. "I'll sneak some fun stuff onto the ceiling then," she says as she twists on the couch to lie down. Her bare feet are lifted, her toes wiggled under Bastian's leg. Casual, affectionate and ultimately, pinning her in place when he relays the bit of news he has--which prompts her to do a sit-up. "/What/? What the /fuck/? /When/?" He's left to answer that or not. She is squirming away to look for her phone. Under cushions, under the couch... "This afternoon. I don't. I don't know what -- they didn't tell Pa a lot." Sebastian's legs tuck down, a little bit, against hers; casual affection too and serving better to hold her feet in place when she sits up. "But they /told/ Pa. So. So it's not like. Before. I mean I think it was -- /actually/ just. Plain. Arrested." The phone is found under the couch. Shelby returns then, swiveling to sit with her shoulder against his hip and screen held before her face. Her frowny face. Thumbs are applied to the keys, quickly enough to blur. "/Fuck/ this shit, it's getting /stupid/ out there. Y'know they wanna name the registration thing after that asshole now? The one that got dead?" It must be dire if this particular teen is paying attention to the /news/. "It's pretty terrible out there," Sebastian agrees, hand dropping to rest against Shelby's shoulder. His fingers trace against her collarbone, an absent shift of motion as his brows dip into a crease. "Like -- really. Really. Iolaus's appointments keep cancelling on him, people don't want much to --" He shakes his head. His fingers kind of /jitter/ against her shoulder. "... yeah, I heard. I keep waiting for someone to. Point out. What he -- what he. But I guess who would. Besides -- us."
Her phone beeps, prompting a great outward rush of breath. Good news, apparently. Shelby says, "He's with your dad, coming back now. Holy fuck." A message is typed back. Then the phone is dropped into her lap and she tilts her head to rest against him as well, freckly hand settling over blue one. "If they catch whoever did him, maybe they'll tell," she theorizes. Silence follows for a moment, then she adds, "Maybe we should...like...can you do what you do for Doc on the computer? I can do grocery runs or anything else out there. 'Til this cools down."
Sebastian's jittering calms at that relieved breath, if -- only a little bit. Less rapid. His fingers squeeze down gently against her shoulder, and he exhales, too. "OK. OK good. I -- oh god if they'd -- OK. No. He's coming back," he says this to remind himself. "I -- I, maybe, yeah. I mean after -- after term starts I'll be out of the city a lot /anyway/, I'm taking classes and Io's /teaching/ classes so -- a lot of school time. But until then I --" He frowns. "I need to be there for a lot of his appointments but -- they're -- a lot of them are /ditching/ so." He's craning his head downwards. /Peering/ unabashedly at Shelby's phone. "Then you need to figure out with him a way you don't have to go out as much. He'll understand, he's doing all this shit for us anyway." The phone buzzes again and Shelby leaves Bastian's hand with a pat--stay--to reach for it. The terse response draws a furrowed brow rather than any show of relief. "...guess he'd probably be pretty fucked up by being surrounded by cops. But they're coming home. They're coming back. We should see if Ryan's got any pot. Or Dusk. He's gonna need it, I bet," she says as she types.
"He'll understand," Sebastian agrees. But it's soft. He looks up towards the ceiling -- it's habitual, Dusk's apartment isn't /exactly/ on top of this one anymore but it still feels like it /should/ be. "They're coming back." His gills flare and settle, flare and settle. "... could actually use some, too," he admits. But then he just quiets. And waits. It's not a /long/ wait. Shane has been -- not running, admittedly. But hurrying. He doesn't knock. He fumbles at the keys, /shoves/ the door open, doesn't bother shedding shoes as he races into the apartment. He's been dishwashing-casual plain jeans, sneakers -- the white tee he was wearing in the morning has been traded out for a cheerful Rainbow Brite tee in Jax's size. His jeans are not plain anymore but /liberally/ adorned with blood rust-red-drying in spatters down one leg, against the knees most heavily. He moves kind of /stiffly/ as he hurries across the apartment, drops down to the floor in front of the couch. His arms curl against Bastian's leg, face mashing up against his brother's shin. And so the world has come to this: Shelby taking in the news, and Bastian volunteering to smoke up. Shelby sighs as she lowers the phone, tilting her head to rest against him again. Content, for once, to wait. Topsy turvy week--but she brightens when the key is heard in the lock and is on her feet in /almost/ the time it takes for Shane to burst in, go right for his brother and then collapse. She freezes, staring at the rusty mess adorning his clothing. Then she shakes herself free of that and rushes to close the door, doing up the locks with a /swiftness/. "Are you hurt? Shane?" Bastian's nostrils flare, this time. The next breath he pushes out is harsher, but doesn't quite make it all the way to growl. He slides down to the floor, arms curling around Shane's shoulders. Pulling him close. "Where are you --" He glances towards the bathroom door and then frowns, squeezing his eyes shut. "Oh -- no do we even /have/ bandages." His lips press to Shane's forehead. He glances towards Shelby's locking with a faint relieved exhale. Shane sinks into the hug, not returning it so much as wilting into it. There's silence for a spell, gills fluttering too wildly to manage speaking. "... m'fine," he finally attempts, hitchy-quiet. "Already. Bandaged. It's not. Mine." He doesn't move away, but he does turn his head to look at Shelby. "M'fine," this time a little bit louder. "Is. Have you. Talked to." He swallows, and then instead: "S'Dai home?" "I can tear some up." Shelby, always the practical one when it comes to survival. In fact, she's already on the way towards her bedroom when Shane speaks up and gives reason not to continue. So she diverts, returning to the couch to sit and leaning in to try to get her arms around /both/ of them. "Talked to who, Shane? Dai's at work, I guess," she says with a glane at Bastian, "but he can pass so he's probably fine. What happened? Whose...whose blood is that?" The color is gone from her face, making the freckles stand out like tiny glowing embers. Sebastian unhooks one arm from Shane if only to hook it around Shelby instead, curling her in. Down. Closer to them. "... Dusk?" There's no small measure of dread in his tone; it's the strongest of the other-people-smells lingering on Shane where Dusk's wing had folded around him. "Shane what happened." "No -- yes. Yes. Not his." Shane continues not-hugging-anyone through this decidedly unhelpful answer, but his weight shifts to nestle up against Shelby as well, tucked small and /shaking/ in between the two of them. "S'wing's broken -- they shot him. Was. Arrested too -- he's out. Home. Also. Just now." His words are coming more /steadily/ now, at least in terms of his slightly more regular breathing, but they still come out stiff. Stilted. "... we were getting cupcakes. We left them. On the sidewalk." "Oh fuck," Shelby breathes. Her arms give a convulsive /squeeze/, and it is fortunate they have cartilage rather than bone, though she loosens up quickly when panic and suspicion strike. "...whose is it, Shane? Is it Hive? Where's Hive? Was he with you? Where is he?" The questions come tumbling out as she goes for her phone /yet again/, though this time her hands are shaking so badly she has trouble texting--which might be a first. Sebastian's arms tighten in their grip, too, though thankfully not very /fiercely/. "Who --" That's all. He quiets, pressing his lips to Shane's temple again as his gills start to flutter. And again. And again. His squeeze around his brother slowly tightens further. "I -- ohfuck oh god I don't /know/," Shane admits this with a sudden ragged edge to it, "He didn't come with us I don't /know/ -- I was with Dusk and Hive and Ian and they -- Hive stayed. Back. They didn't. Arrest him, after -- after -- they took me and Dusk and they --" He pauses again. Gills fluttering too rapid to continue, for a moment. "-- Hive didn't come, but he. It's not. He wasn't. /Hurt/ he just. I don't know is he /home/?" In reply, Shelby just whines. It isn't a clean whine. It's broken, crumbling, breath pushed through the knot in her throat and making voice. She's still making that sound as she stares at the beepless phone then /dials/ this time--also perhaps a first, making a /call/--and presses it to her ear. Those shapes she'd arted on the walls earlier begin to move, bouncing around without purpose or much respect for the /boundary/ of walls. "I don't know," Sebastian answers, "I don't -- I only just got back, I haven't -- checked his apartment. He might be. Home." He's thinking REALLY LOUDLY at Hive right about now! For all the good it does the non-telepaths around. He watches Shelby's dialing -- kind of apprehensive, kind of /expectant/. His kisses continue, and then stop, mouth just resting against the side of Shane's head. "... Shane what happened." It's flat, this time. Low. Shane draws in a slow breath, hitching-uneven. The next one is steadier, the one after that steadier still. His eyes close, head resting heavily to the side against Sebastian. "... we were just getting cupcakes," he says, and this time it's flat to match Sebastian's. "The cops. Stopped us. They -- freaked out because of --" He swallows, and, softer, his muscles tightening: "... because of me," he says, lower, "Oh god if I'd." Another pause, his fingers clenching up tight into fists. The phone is ringing. And ringing. And ringing. Shelby isn't even shaking anymore, just keeping it her ear from numb reflex. If Hive /is/ home, it's a sure thing he'd hear the racket the teens are making. But...nothing. Slowly her eyes shift to Shane and there are tears there. "...he's not answering," she says, voice barely there. "Shane...oh god, Shane...B..." "Shane you --" Sebastian doesn't get anything out more than this. His eyes are lifting to Shelby, jaw clenching tight. "Shelby, he said Hive wasn't hurt." He's saying this /firmly/. Kind of /emphatically/. Kind of -- trying to convince himself. The arm not curled tight around Shane snakes its way back tighter around Shelby's shoulders. "Dusk and Ian were -- are they OK? They came home too?" Shane's fists clench tighter. Silence. A continual flap of gills that finally breaks into a desparate gasp for air. And then more silence. "They didn't arrest Hive. He wasn't hurt. Just. Dusk's home." He swallows again. Draws his legs up to his chest, arms curling around his chins. He's pretty toneless when he finally finishes, "-- They shot Ian. They took him. His body they /took/ it. They think he killed that cop." Shelby meets Bastian's eyes with a look that says she /wants/ to be convinced. Then her posture straightens, as she makes a funny choking sound. "...Jim? Why...where's Hive?" she says into the phone. Shane's here, he's covered in blood, he's not...he said Hive wasn't hurt but he wasn't with them either. He..." She stops then, focus shifting from phone to Shane. Her jaw sags at what's said--and when she speaks again, her voice breaks. "Ian's /dead/?" Bastian goes very still, and very silent. The hard tight curl of his arms around Shelby and Shane's shoulders now is probably getting kind of painful. Shane leans into it /regardless/, with a wince and a quiet whimper but with a /press/ into that touch. "They shot him." His voice is only a whisper, now. "They hit Dusk and they hit /him/ and he ghosted and they thought he was. Shadow. They thought. They /shot/ him." "But...but he can't...no. No, Ian was /nice/, he didn't /do/ that shit." Shelby doesn't appear to be registering the pain of the clinch she's been pulled into. Her hand relaxes, the phone coming away from her ear slightly. She's staring at Shane. "They can't just...you can't just /do/ that." How far she's come from her street days. As she denies, denies, denies, her voice grows progressively thicker until the tears are flowing freely and speech becomes incomprehensible. Bastian's gills continue to flare, his arms still wrapped tight around the others. His eyes close. His head tips down, pressing his cheek against the side of Shane's neck. It's stiff and deliberate when he lets go, stands, reaches in his pocket for his own phone. "It's fine. It's -- it was just today. We can. Fix this. We can fix it." Shane nestles. Against Sebastian, though he curls tighter into a ball when his brother stands. He unwinds an arm from his leg, sneaks it around Shelby instead. There's a moment when he just looks at Bastian completely blankly, pulling Shelby closer. "-- no," he says eventually, when understanding dawns. "No, it won't. They think he /killed/ that -- we don't even have his body they /took/ it we can't. Get to him." "If they...if they took him, maybe he's not dead. Maybe he's at a hospital," Shelby says, still stuck firmly in denial. "I seen it on TV, they take you and keep you in handcuffs but at the hospital, right? Right?" As Bastian stands, she slithers off of the couch to curl into the arm offered by Shane. It's only then that she seems to remember her phone. She presses it tightly to her ear again. "Jim? You...oh. Oh...yeah. Yeah, Dusk's home, Shane said...get him here? Please? Please, we...we're...it's my...our new place. 305, next to...next to Jax. Bastian's gonna call someone, maybe...maybe Ian's at the hospital. We'll figure it out, okay? Just get here." "-- Right. They think that." Sebastian has been in the middle of swiping out a text message, but he stops and pockets the phone again instead. He leans in to kiss Shelby on the forehead. Then Shane, too. "I gotta go. Talk to Pa. And." He kisses them again. In reverse order, this time! "Love you." "{No don't go,}" comes startled and quick from Shane, his eyes snapping open wide and a desperate edge to his voice. He holds Shelby tighter. "... come back quick." His eyes shut again, tight. "He's not. In the hospital. He. Hive felt him. When he. They took him for /evidence/." Shelby closes her eyes and leans into each kiss as it lands, though neither of them smooth out the lines etched in her brow. She sags, the phone dropping and her arms going around Shane to cling to him. "No. He can't be," she gulps through the mess of crying. "Come...come back quick, okay B? They're coming now. Jim and Hive." Sebastian just tightens his shoulders, and hurries out of the apartment. | |
