ArchivedLogs:Ideal

Ideal
Dramatis Personae B, Shane	2014-07-15 some while after talkin to the dads.
Location <NYC> The Grotto - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
The basement of this home does not much resemble the upper levels at all. Stony and rather cave-like, its flooring is rock -- where it has flooring, anyway. The majority of the space in the center of the room is taken up by an indoor pool, of sorts, though the stone ledges around its edge and the tiny ripples of waterfall burbling down into it from stone steps leading in give it more the feel of an indoor /pond/. Somewhere in the side a door leads out to the riverside, and around one rocky wall a small bathroom /also/ has the feel of being carved out of the stone. For the most part, though, the room is just taken up by Pool -- though in the wall on the farthest side away from the pond there's been recessed shelving and storage space cut right into the stony facade. It is late, by the time B comes down for the night, long past since when their visiting labrats have gone to sleep. She's dressed still in black-and-blue chequed skirt and -- /probably/ forgotten her shirt upstairs somewhere where one of her two more /conscientious/ roommates will have to pick it up later. Her gills flutter briefly as she closes the basement door behind her, pausing on the stairs with laptop tucked beneath an arm to just take a deep breath before continuing down. It's clearly evident that Shane's already here, /been/ here a while -- there's violin music, somber and slow, drifting up from below. Down here in their domain he's long since shed clothing for bed though with violin in hand he's steering well clear of the /water/, tucked onto a rocky ledge-bench along the wall. His eyes are closed as he plays, though he marks B's arrival with a flare of nostrils and a small curl of smile, shifting just a little bit on his seat to make room for his twin. It's a moment yet before B progresses further, slipping down the steps to pad across the stone floor in bare feet and set her computer on a shelf by Shane's seat. She settles down onto the bench, a boneless drape that sprawls legs out over Shane's lap kind of /proprietarily/. Her eyes close, gills shifting in easy slow contentment as the music washes over her. Shane is not particularly fussed about his lap being /claimed/ so long as his arms are still free for playing. The music continues, winding up into a more intense crescendo before it breaks, fading off into quiet. He lowers his violin to -- well, /B/'s lap now since his own has been compromised. He sets his bow down next to himself on the bench, hand dropping to trail fingers against B's gills slowly. "{You look tired. Why are you awake.}" "{Why are /you/ awake.}" B doesn't open her eyes, but she does press just slightly into the petting against her gills, relaxing a little further. "{I took a nap. Kind of -- /on/ Ba.}" "{You smell like him,}" Shane agrees with a flare of nostrils. "{And like chicken, oh god, that was good. I need more of it do you have any leftovers?}" B just /snorts/ at the mention of leftovers. Come on. Leftover meat. As /if/. Shane's sigh is deeply disappointed. He lifts B's arm to chomp at /that/ instead, sharp teeth gnawing down against tough blue skin. "Tcch." B's teeth bare sharply but given that her eyes don't even open and there's no corresponding tension in her posture it's an empty threat. Tough skin /weathers/ gnawing just fine, holding up to serrated-sharp teeth without so much as a scratch. "{I made Pa mad.}" Shane's brows hike up at this. Gnaw? Gnaw??? The chewing gets a little slower before he lowers B's arm again. "{/Pa/? For serious? /You/ made Pa mad? Fuck you that's my job.}" He sounds almost amused but it fades after this; he draws fingertips against B's side again as his eyes fix down on her face. "{How'd you manage /that/?}" For a very long time, B doesn't actually answer this question. Just curls her arm back across her chest, and breathes slow and deep, pressing back into the gill-petting. Eventually she finally wriggles her way a little back on the bench, opening her computer though she leaves it on the shelf where it sits. Its holographic interface wakes up, though; it doesn't take her long to navigate back to Horus's email pulled up alongside the Themis House website full of welcoming smiling faces promising a warm safe environment for mutants to explore the possibilities of becoming more human. Counselling and suppression therapy and help with plastic surgery geared towards helping mutants achieve the goal of normalcy. Shane falls back into silence here, his gills working slowly as he scrolls, first through Horus's enthusiastic account and then through the website. Back through Horus's email. The fluttering of his gills grows faster. "{What in the fuck.}" B's eyes are fixed up on the rocky ceiling above. Her gills flutter, too. After a moment she carefully moves Shane's violin off her legs to sit beside the bow, sitting upright a little more though one leg stays draped over Shane's as her other slides to the ground. "{Horus thought they could. Maybe help me, he's been there. He says they're nice -- that they offer. Help. To be --}" "/Normal/?" Shane spits this word out in English together with a disgusted snort. "{The fuck does normal even mean. I don't know any normal people. /You/ don't know any normal people. This looks like a crock of fucking bullshit to me. Garbage about how we all have the true /potential/ to be human like that's some --}" He flicks clawed fingers sharply towards one glossy-pretty section of the website, "-- /ideal/. {To aspire to.}" "{It /means/ going out of the fucking house without people /spitting/ on me, Shane.}" There's a sharper edge in B's reply, now, too. "{It means not having to fucking worry about when's the /next/ time someone's going to stick me in a goddamn cage. It means knowing that when,}" not /if/, mind, "{I get into Harvard and MIT I get to /choose/ where to go and not just hope they don't slame the door when I show up.}" Shane wraps his hands against his sides, palms pressing down at the fluttering gills there. "{You know all I hear in that is a lot of shit about how /other/ people feel about you. And that's the whole bullshit problem, isn't it? This fucking --} /normal/ is the goddamn watchword {crap, great, so the /world/ thinks we're freaks and that /human/ is the ideal. What do /you/ think?}" This just pushes B back into quiet. Her own gills flutter faster and then settle, and she lifts her hands to press them slowly down against the sides of Shane's neck to help calm /his/. "{I think I want a /life/.}" It's very quiet, black eyes shining a little too bright. "{I think there's no way /to/ think about that outside of trying to build on in /this/ shitty world. You think I don't want -- god. Somewhere out deep underwater with you, that's the /only/ time I feel like /myself/. But we're not /going/ to make a life there we're stuck making one /here/. And /here/ I want to tear my fucking /skin/ off every time someone --}" Shane cuts these words off with a hug, wiry arms tugging B in close against him, practically crushing his twin's head in against his shoulder. His head tips down, teeth pressing in against B's shoulder in a small digging bite. A low whine tears up out of his throat, long and pained. "{I'd go. With you. There. Fucking /anywhere/ if it meant you were --}" "{/You/ wouldn't be happy,}" B cuts Shane /back/ off, head turning to rest her cheek against her brother's shoulder. "{You /wouldn't/. Away from Dai? From Peter? From Dusk and Flicker and Karrie and /Spence/ and Pa and Ba and -- you'd go crazy, Shane. You /love/ --}" She exhales sharp. /Almost/ irritated. "{Everyone. I couldn't. Couldn't /ever/ ask --}" "{-- You're not asking.}" But there's a slight desperate twinge in Shane's voice, already kind of conceding this point. His face presses down against B's spiky hard hair. "{I love /you/. More than all the rest /together/. And you're already fucking going crazy you lost /your/ goddamn marbles ages --}" B swats a hand against Shane's gills, chuffing out a quick snort. She settles closer, curling her arms around him as she relaxes into the hug. "{I'm trying. I'm trying to make this /work/, okay? I just -- there's not. Many places to /turn/ for --}" Shane's knuckles push up beneath B's chin, tipping his twin's face up towards his own. "{You've always got people to turn to.}" B's black eyes meet Shane's a long silent moment. Her forehead thunks forward to bop down against his, shoulders deflating. The next close of her eyes spills tears in twin streaks down her cheeks. Shane's hand slides around to B's back, running slow down along her spine. His own breathing is hitching a little unsteady, fingers pressing a bit harder than they need to to keep B close. "{Just -- fucking. Let me /know/ if you're going to go check this crock of self-hating horseshit out, okay.}" There's a distinct grumble to his voice. "{I'll take the day off. Go /with/ you.}" B lets breath out in a ragged broken burst, fingers curling in as well to prickle claws tight against Shane's side. Her head nods once, and then there is quiet. Shane is perfectly content to let the quiet hang. His arms stay tight around B a long while, before he nudges her back down to rest in his lap. Picking his violin back up, his eyes close again as the room starts to fill with gentle music once more.