ArchivedLogs:Hugsplosion
| Hugsplosion | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
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2013-05-22 Shortly after rescue, kids get a Jackson. |
| Location
<NYC> Chinatown | |
It is a local no-name brand moving van of the variety typically used for moving... furniture. Except instead of conscripting friends with the promise of pizza and beer there is, instead, the promise of getting /other/ friends out of cages. Oh my. The back of the van is sort of furniture-laden. The floor is padded with a hodgepodge of old mats and mattresses left over from keeping the Prometheus refugees, in hopes of making things a shade more comfortable for the... fight club refugees. Oh. Peter and Anole were the first in. Since arriving, the former has not done anything beside... lay on the floor of the van. The strangled sobbing sounds have more or less ended; Peter doesn't seem to have the /strength/ to make any more noises. Just, occasionally, shuddering little breaths. Just a collapsed little pile of PETER on the floor. Someone might have to mop him up or something; maybe a sponge would work. His torso -- a chitinous black, with a metallic blue tinge -- is rattled with /bandages/ and /stitches/ and two of his fingers are in a metal brace meant to keep them from bending on account of BROKEN. He is wearing sweatpants, and otherwise just -- quietly raspy-wheezing. Wheeze. Wheeze. Head buried in his arms. Nightcrawler has taken up a sentry post near the open back of the van, where the doors are. He's stuck to the ceiling at the moment, ready to drop down in some kind of vicious elf-attack should the people inside find themselves under assault by unsavories. But, as there's no assault right now, he's just...watching. There if the boys need him in any capacity. He's also most likely bone-weary from having bamfed a lot of terrified people free of their cages. He doesn't have much, but he /did/ seem to have at least been aware of the presence of...several boxes of Capri Sun packets. It made sense to the elf, even if he finds it nearly impossible to get those verdammt straws into the packets. He has one in his hands, held carefully so that he can drink it while /he/ is upside-down and /it/ is not. The only sound he makes other than the sound of drinking his juice is the susserous swish-swish of his tail against the top of the van. Kurt's calm veneer is just that: a veneer. There's a little ball of scaly green curled up next to Peter. He's not really doing any mopping. Not any sobbing either, though. Just tucked in against the other boy sort of -- blankly. Numbly. He's staring not so much at Peter as at a distant point somewhere past Peter's elbow. Anole is a /world/ of fun at the moment, really! The twins haven't been curled up, just yet. They've been talking, quiet, to other kind of shellshocked rescuees. Explaining the situation better to help people calm down and understand while the rescu/ers/ can do their jobs. But eventually this is through -- either because the situation is sunk in as much as it /can/ be in the chaos or because the twins are /tired/. And this finds them slinking back, over towards Peter and Anole. Shane curls up against Peter's other side. His hand squeezes at Peter's shoulder. Sebastian sits, knees tucked up against chest. His head tips back to look up at Kurt. "How'd you find us?" he asks, quiet. Peter makes a whisper-quiet sound at Shane shoulder /squeezing/. An arm that was loosely curled around Anole suddenly becomes much tighter, /pulling/ at him. Squeeeeeeeeeze. Peter makes /another/ sound, this one louder, kind-of-strangled. "M'sorrym'sorry," he croaks, voice tiny. "Can't--breathe--think." He kind of gives up trying to explain it after that. He roughly BUMPS back against Shane's chest. Kurt comes back from his own reverie to focus his expression on Sebastian. His tail flicks again, and he looks to Peter for a moment, mouth turning down in a frown. Shane and Sebastian are forestalled with one hand. "Peter? I need you to listen, okay? You need to breathe. I know this is difficult. /Trust me/, I know what you are going through. I do not have a bag. But I wish you to put your hands over your mouth and nose, like thus." The elf demonstrates for a second, pressing his digits close together and matting down his fur. Then he moves his hands. "Then breathe. Slow count to five in, slow count to five back out. Do this until you feel less dizzy." He looks back to the sharktwins a second later, expression solemn. "Peter's webshooters, actually. They have a tracking chip, ja? Very clever. Very vital. We tracked them back to the police station. Then we discovered that the police were less upstanding than I might have hoped." Kurt's expression darkens, his tail thumping again against the ceiling with a solid 'FMP' sound. "We, ah. /Questioned/ them. Politely." Maybe. "And that lead to your location, thank God." Shane tips his head down, when Peter bumps against him. He presses a small kiss to the top of Peter's head. "Breathing's good for you. C'mon. Look. We said we'd all be out together and we /are/." "Didn't even have to fight each other," Bastian says, with a tiny smile. It fades, quickly. "People wonder why we don't trust cops." His nose wrinkles. "Nooooot the first time the NYPD's beaten me for no -- uh I guess they had a reason, actually, just a shitty one." Shane frowns. One hand stays on Peter's shoulder; the other lifts to rub at his neck uncomfortably. "... Hey." He looks up to Kurt now, too. "We found a lizard." His chin tips towards Anole. "Can we keep him?" "He climbs on walls," Bastian informs Nightcrawler, like maybe this will be the tipping point? Peter -- tries, he really does! He's /listening/ to Kurt. And he's watching -- with quick, flicking glances -- the thing Kurt does with his hands! And, maybe, /maybe/ he is starting to pull a hand away from Anole, sloooowly, starting to shove it against his mouth, and -- no, he's just shoving a balled up fist into his mouth. That's not... really helping, is it. When Shane kisses Peter on the top of his head, he makes a little whimper-sound, and. "Yesbreathe," he says, raspy and panicky, before beginning to repeat it: "Breathe. 5. Breathe." Wheeze, wheeze, wheeze. "4. Nnngh." Eyes just close, and... yep, he's back to closing his eyes and shuddering and wheezing again. Jackson has been -- in and out. Helping figure who needs to stay and who needs to be taken to immediate care, helping scour the building for last refugees and last shreds of /evidence/, rounding his team back up. Checking in on the rescuees piling in to be driven to the clinic. But now he is returning. Not quite so colourful as his usual, black cargo pants and a blue t-shirt, black hair, black eyepatch. "We're all set to go." It's a kind of perfunctory announcement to the driver, his usual easy warmth not so much /gone/ as subdued under a layer of careful determination. By the time he finally makes it back to drop to a crouch beside his children, he is looking -- not really tired; /his/ part in this took little by way of /physical/ exertion. Just -- quiet. A little /shaky/. "Y'aright, Kurt?" PROBABLY he wants nothing more than to squeeze the twins -- a lot. But instead what he says is: "Peter. Eyes open. Look at me." "/Peter/." Kurt's voice is still gentle, but there's an undeniable firmness beneath it. "You must do this. You are stronger than this. You cannot let them win. Put your hands like I have sown you. Not /in/ your mouth. In and out. In and out. You can /do/ this." Of course, then there is Jackson. For a split second, there's a terrible expression on Kurt's face as the tiny group is disturbed. For that split second, it's easy to see why people think he's a demon, those bared fangs, the angry fire in his eyes--but he recognizes his friend and fellow teacher before he's quite gotten to the state of rebounding off of the ceiling to wrap his tail around Jackson's neck and strangle him unconscious. His shoulders slump, which while he is upside-down makes them go /upwards/. "I am tired." But he's otherwise alright, this much is certain. Kurt gives the twins a baleful little look, eyebrows steepling. "I have never wondered that, only been sad for it. I think that is up to your friend, whether he wishes to stay or not. Does he have parents who are looking for him?" The elf's expression makes it clear he thinks he already knows the answer, as he looks at Anole's sleeping form. The twins fall silent, when Jackson returns. Sebastian's muscles tense. Shane's gills flare as he stops, for a moment, breathing. It's Kurt's shift of expression that breaks this; the bared teeth towards their father earn a sudden /snap/ of composure. Sebastian drops from sitting into a crouch, his claws lengthening; Shane's head turns and there's a sharp baring of his own sharkteeth. Just a split second, and then Kurt's shoulders are slumping, and Shane's expression /crumples/. His eyes squeeze shut, tears slipping down his cheeks. Sebastian doesn't cry. But he does kind of /slink/ around the other boys to rest his head against Jax's leg. His eyes scrunch closed as well. "N-no, he -- doesn't --" "... he has Nox," Shane answers. "But she's here. With him." "Nobody outside looking," Sebastian affirms. Muffled. Against Jax's knee. His hand creeps around Jax's knee to squeeze it tight. Jax's presence seems to have an effect on Peter; for a moment, his eyes pop open to stare up at him, and he actually seems to get /worse/ -- a harder, more violent shuddering gasp -- but then, something seems to settle over him -- someone mentioning something about Anole -- maybe the sound of Jackson's voice -- and Peter's arms are squeezing the sleepy lizard boy, his breath still too fast but intelligible words bubbling out: "We /have/ to take him we have to we told him we would we--" BREATHE. Peter seems to slow down. Just a little. "...we're out, we're out, m'sorry we're out and I'm still /freaking/ is Ivan okay." Jackson tenses; there's a faint shimmer in the air in front of him, pretty much in time with the twins' baring of teeth and Kurt's. But just like the others, it fades straightaway. His breath catches when Shane's expression crumples. He drags Sebastian up from his knee to just /squeeze/ him, tight. Probably uncomfortably so, given lingering injuries. His cheek presses maybe kind of painfully to Bastian's prickly-spiky hair. He eventually -- doesn't let go, really. But unhooks one arm to leave only the other slung around Sebastian's shoulders. His freed-up one gestures to Shane. "Ivan misses you," he answers Peter. "He's doing alright. Be a sight better when you're back." He doesn't repeat Kurt's exhortions to breathe, this time; this time, he only -- breathes. A little too slow, a little too exaggerated, while Peter is staring at him. In. Out. In. Out. "You got bluer. It looks good on you." Maybe Kurt doesn't notice quite how close he comes to getting sliced and diced. Maybe he does and just doesn't comment on it--everyone's nerves are frayed, after all. He smiles, his expression very weary and a little rough around the edges. "Shane, Peter. I understand. Absolutely I want him to be safe. But I will not take anyone anywhere againt their will. If we take him and treat his wounds and he wishes to leave, I will support him leaving. You understand." "Oh," Sebastian says this like it is only just occuring to him, "... he might not /want/ to. Go." He kind of /buries/ himself in this hug when it comes, bruises or no bruises, and when Jax's hold loosens his does not. "Everyone wants to be a wizard." Shane doesn't throw himself into this hug. He looks like maybe he kind of wants to, but instead he stretches up onto his knees and leans over Peter and Anole to MOOSH his face against Jax's hand for a moment. Nuzzle. And then settles back down, hand resting again on Peter's shoulder, absently trailing webbed fingers against smooth blue-black chitin. "S'already a wizard. Just doesn't know it yet." Sebastian is still burrowing. "You look tired," Shane tells Kurt. "I think maybe --" "-- you need a hug too." At least Sebastian's current opinions seems to be All The Hugs. "He'll want to--" Peter begins, to Kurt, or maybe Sebastian -- still quick-gasping in erratic breaths -- but he's watching Jax, /staring/ at him -- "--he wants to I mean we'll..." Peter breathes a little slower, now. "--talk to... him, when he wakes up..." The rhythm of breath comes closer to Jax's. "--I got blue. Blackish. Blue. We were, going to -- escape," Peter says, still tensed, but breathing -- much more /regularly/, now. His tone manages to sound -- almost sheepish. "If, if. They put us --" He arches, back into Shane's fingers, and. "--back in the. We were fighting--oh. Oh, wow. I'm--we're. Not. We actually got--I didn't think," Peter admits, "I thought we were all going to..." Several long, slow, /shuddering/ breaths. Peter squeezes his eyes shut, grip loosening on Anole. And suddenly /elbows/ Shane. "...why are you not hugging him. /Harder/." Eyes pop open. /Peering/ at Sebastian. "You." Wheeze. "Too. I'm okay now, I. I thought maybe we were. Dead." "Plenty'a time to figure that out when everyone's got some rest an' food," Jackson's lips curl up into a quick smile, tired but /warm/, "-- an' hugs into them." He glances up to Kurt, head tiiiilting to one side like trying to look at the upside-down man right-way-up, but he rights himself before he makes it all the way. His breathing stays rather deliberately steady, even if the arm that is slung around Bastian trembles slightly. "Y'ain't dead," he adds, a little lighter. "Ain't nowhere near. Think B's right, though, probably /everyone/," his eye flicks for the briefest moment back towards Kurt, "could do with some hugs. An' maybe cupcakes. Once things're settled a bit." "...ja, I can almost always use a hug." Kurt allows, his face softening. Maybe the hug is for his benefit, or the boys', who knows. Either way, he detaches from the roof of the van to do an impossibly tight somersault, landing next to the growing hugpile on both feet, neatly. He probably shouldn't be able to do it, but he can. Also a fun fact: Kurt Wagner hugs involve tail. Deal With It. "Of /course/ we were getting out," Sebastian tells Peter, "I mean, come on. Did you /really/ think they'd --" He waves his hand vaguely -- towards Jax, towards Kurt. Towards the people up in the front seats. "-- put up with us being stolen?" "Yeah, mmm. It's like, uh, we were saying. Kinda -- important to have --" The end of this is cut off, though. Shane is blinking back more tears, despite (or perhaps because of?) his professed confidence that they would be rescued. He doesn't get up to hug Jax; he takes Jax's hand and drags him /in/ to the amassing hugpile. Hugs for /everyone/. Tailhugs are the best hugs, anyway. | |
