ArchivedLogs:Impolite

Impolite
Dramatis Personae B, Ion, Kay
In Absentia	2014-08-12 '
Location <NYC> BoM Safehouse - Lower East Side
Tucked away off a little-used side street in the Lower East Side, sandwiched between a youth drop-in center and a taqueria, this narrow three-story townhouse has very little to catch the eye. Boarded-up windows, a door peeling its paint, shabby grubby brickface; from the outside it does not look like much. Inside someone has gone to great lengths to renovate the building into something more habitable. It isn't glamorous but it is comfortable, old furniture dragged in, the place generally swept clean. The first floor holds a large living room, a smaller dining room, a spacious kitchen, a half-bathroom. There are three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor; the attic is just a large empty space crammed full of boxes with a window out to the large flat roof. The basement, much like the attic, consists of a lot of empty space. A bare concrete floor, no windows, occasional poles running up to the ceiling. A tiny half-bathroom down here, too. Not a whole lot else. The Safehouse has always been a place of strange hours and rotating company; beyond the usual suspects keeping an idle eye on the security of doors and boarded windows, you can usually get an idea who's around by their choice of detritus by the entryway. Kay's steeltoe boots, his thin gray hoodie, his baseball cap, are all loaded up here in a general pile of leavings. The smell of campfire smoke and FAINTLY burnt meat, stronger the nearer one gets to the basement door, suggests what he's been up to. Or at least, HAD been up to. There's also humid showery smells that are following him down the stairs, ascending with only black sleeveless compression shirt and workout shorts on. Beyond the ever present black bandana tied around his upper arm, he's adorned by nothing else aside from the red dragon tattoos encircling his arms and twining down his back. They don't look half bad for all the scarring - Jax probably had been involved in their repair at some point. Scrubbing his hair dry with a towel, he's heading for the kitchen. Somewhere tucked off in a corner is a very large suitcase, purple and sturdy and possibly expensive; it heralds B's presence here of late, though -- judging by its weight and the metallic clinking sounds it has made intermittently when people move it to more convenient locations, it isn't large because of some stereotypical obsession with /clothes/. B just travels with robots like some people have /security/ blankets -- and, indeed, as she opens the door to slip back in late at night there is a cobalt blue dragonfly perched on her shoulder. She's dressed simply, pleated grey skirt and cap-sleeved pink blouse. As she nods to the lanky girl on door-watch duty she closes the door behind her she's already shedding chunky grey-and-pink platform sneakers before heading towards the kitchen, /too/. She stops, wide-eyed (but then she's often wide-eyed) in the doorway to flick her gaze over Kay with abrupt bashfulness. "... you make the house smell like dinner." "You're welcome," Kay loops an arm out absently - well, for Kay it's with a bit of extra physical broadcasting in his movement - to hook around B's head. Drawing her in against his side, if she doesn't seem opposed. "What we got in the way of food these days? Feels like you'n me have switched places lately, how often I been raiding your dad's fridge." B doesn't seem opposed -- rarely /initiating/ but generally quite glad to soak /in/ stray snatches of affection, she bumps her head up against Kay's side with a slow-content shift of gills. "My dads have a good fridge for raiding. They always fill it with delicious." She sounds a bit wistful, but perks as she nods towards the fridge with the announcement: "Shane gave me a ribeye /and/ a porterhouse steak this morning. He got a forty-pound box of /meat/ as a gift this morning in celebration of Shark Week." This thought makes B giggle. ZZZzzzp sizzle pop. Where there were two in the kitchen now there are three, Ion /appearing/ near a wall with a faint tinge of ozone in the air and a /thump/ as he leans back against the wall. And promptly vanishes again. A moment later there are booted feet thumping up the stairs from the baseme -- no wait now he's upstairs. /Eventually/ though he makes his way down to the kitchen, gripping at the doorway and casting a bright-bright grin towards the others. He's in his kutte worn over a plain undershirt, jeans, ridiculous stompy boots. Smells considerably of cigarette smoke and whisky -- /certainly/ to B's sensitive nose but likely kinda noticeable even to Kay's. "Leetleshark. Big -- shark." This is his greeting to them both. "And you ate it all on the spot, right?" Kay's side is hearthside warm, and for a moment when B tucks in, he abandons the towel draped over his head - like a NUN - to wrap both arms around the little sharkbody and kind of just. Squoosh her to him in silence, a hand cupping over the back of her head in a long spidery-fingered cradle. Which transforms into OH SHIT SQUEEZE and a kind of shrill fox-bark squawk when there's suddenly an ION. Which then turns into a LURCH at the other Mongrel once he's back in the doorway, yanking for his kutte to drag him into the kitchen, "Oh shit, you're /circuit surfing/ again!?" He's apparently set to show Ion the ways of Sharkattack. MAUL. B giggles again, blushing darker with a shake of her head. "No he made sure to give me breakfast /first/. Also he's throwing a Shark Week party tomorrow night? At the Commons. In the media room. It's going to be a meatfest-and-sharkwatching... extravaganza, I hear. People might need to remind him that most people like their beef cooked." Her huge eyes open even bigger at Ion's erratic entrance, and for a moment her teeth actually bare in a small smile. They get tucked back away shortly, and she hangs back to open up the fridge and retrieve Steaks as Kay greets Ion. "Maybe booze jumpstarts mutations?" "Booze jumpstart /life/ yo." Ion /topples/ forward into the dragging, thumping a hand against Kay's back -- the hug comes with a /jolt/ of electric shock a good deal larger than the usual static charges Ionhugs come with. "I don't. I think it was coming -- was come. Before? My brain got. Happy -- woahshit dinner." His eyes have lit. Maybe /he's/ forgotten about the cooking part. Or maybe not!: "Kay /sear/ those. Nice and light. Touch-touch. Still bloody inside, yeah?" "Kh!" Brief electric muscle convulsions down one side of Kay's still semi-wet body means his weight -- kind of /sags/ down to hang a little /harder/ on Ion's kutte, dragging out a ragged, /relieved/ laugh and blinking rapidly, "Ho - ff! HO, shit man. We could use you as a /defibrillator/ all jazzed up like that. {Champion the hearts of ladies everywhere.}" A rapid shake of his head - still not managing to shake free the TOWEL on his head, and he's rubbing his hands together like they need to be WARMED UP and EXTENDING them to receive RAW STEAK. Palms up. "Don't gotta worry about Shane, you want some meat cooked, /slap it/ on me." "Oh gosh you /are/ all juiced up aren't you? Are -- are you okay?" B is a little fretty, a steak still held in each hand. She finally unwraps the ribeye, looking a little bit amused as she sets it on Kay's extended palms. "A little salt, a little pepper, this will be perfect. Did you not /eat/ before all your boozing?" "I --" Ion stops to reach up, tug at the ends of the towel and pull them down around Kay's chin, hijab-style. "I am. A. Fantastic, right? Been waiting for --" /His/ eyes open wider, his smile brightening again. "For /steak/. Shit. You like a tiny shark /angel/." "Pff, 'm fine, just got /zinged/." Kay lifts his chin with /dignity/ to allow Ion to tuck in his towel properly, "Do worse to myself lighting a cigarette." With a steak on either hand, he hefts either, and a high thin 'eeee' of moisture being released lets it be known when the cooking begins. The smell helps. "/MeatShark/angel. Think I burned off about a million calories throwing down with Josiah in the basement, this is what I'm /talking/ about." His eyes remain in Ion, the bright-bright edge of his smile, the electric energy in his eyes, and Kay's own smile fades for a pensive moment - before zip! he's looking back to B, "So we're gonna have a whole /week/ of this right? 'Cause you know my ass is gonna be front row for shark-watching." Beat. "--Shane tell you about the meeting?" B draws in a long hungry breath as the steak starts sizzling in Kay's hands. "If you go over every night I bet Shane would load you up with so much meat. Shark week is the best week all year." The smile fades, though, at the talk of the meeting. She turns away to busy herself with retrieving salt, pepper -- even some garlic powder from a drawer, score! "He emailed. I didn't read it past the subject." "What's a shark week? You guys get a /holiday/?" Ion looks abruptly so charmed by this thought. The edges of the towel are a little bit singey by the time he's done tucking it; the wall is soon to follow when he leans back against it, small cracklepops of energy dancing around him. "We hadda meeting?" Charmed turns into -- okay, not alarmed, admittedly. His evident caring about missing meetings is not high. "I didn't. Meet." "Why /wouldn't/ you wanna Sharkholiday? Nah-nah, bro. Harbor /Com/ meeting." Kay moves towards the sink to avoid dripping delicious meatjuice on the floor, the edge of his tongue poking out in his concentration to toss each steak up to catch it on the uncooked side. The right hand manages easier than the left. Leaving room for B to access and properly /salt and pepper/ the cuts, he adds, "I wouldn'ta been there if I hadn't almost barbecued a houseguest." He adds to B, "And not like you gotta read it. Emails don't like... curdle if you leave em sitting." "He says Neve's staying." B is quiet with this, smile faded into a reserved expression as she lightly seasons the meat. There's a small crease to her brow at the mention of barbecuing a houseguest, her gills rippling faintly. All she says aloud though is: "Sharkholidays are definitely the best of holidays. But I kinda prefer mine actually /in/ the water." Ion closes his eyes, drawing in a deep hungry breath as the steaks start to become /food/. Behind him the wall smoulders more, and he shakes one arm out as stray skitter-sparks dance over it, singing at the dark hairs in his forearm. "Naaah, I'll watch. Watch on safe dry /land/, you guys can have the ocean adventures. You ever /tussled/ with a shark in there, yo?" His eyes stay closed but his brows lift, mouth curling up. "/Almost/?" His tongue clicks against his teeth in mock disappointment. "... don't supposed they smile on that there, huh." "Not so much." Kay is watching Ion's face over a shoulder in brief, neutral glances off and on in between shifting steaks to get them evenly seasoned. They make soft spitting sizzling sounds, dripping juice into the sink basin, "Think I'll stay with you on dry land, yo. We can work on our tans." With the meat settling nicely into rare edging towards medium rare, he jerks a chin at the plate cabinet, asking B in a tone drifting absent, "Not sittin' so well with you, her being there is it." B slips away, actually having to clamber /up/ onto the counter to reach the cabinets properly to retrieve a plate. Just one, they're not doing this like /civilized/ people. She puts the dinner plate down on the counter and slides it towards Kay, turning around to sit on the counter and thump her heels against the lower cabinet doors. "She tried to /feed/ us Matt," is her frowning answer to this. "Tear out bits of him to. To make our lives..." She trails off, frowning down at her webbed hands. Ion's tongue clicks against his teeth once more. "What's that, /better/? Being human --" His expression is shifting into a slow frown, his words peppered with small intermittent /hisses/ of breath from the dancing sparks around him. They die out, settle down, then flare back up again more strongly. Smoke curls up from the wall behind him. "-- it ain't gonna make your life better. Ninita, you one of the smartest motherfuckers I /know/. You maybe let some your fire out now and then, use them brains to get angry /smart/, that -- that'll maybe make your life a better." Flopping steaks onto the plate, Kay makes a soft hiss and shakes out his slightly-burned red hands, though the red mottling is already fading. "Hey. She came here," Kay points out, "Didn't just sit back and /smile/ at folks. Hell of a good start." One meat-flavored hand cups itself firmly along the curved side of B's jaw, coaxing her to look /up/ from her hands. To his face, which for a moment is not smiling, "You stay here long as you want, yeah? {Our home is your home.}." He hands the plate towards Ion, a whisk-soft 'fft!' sound and a jerk of a chin indicating the smoking wall. "S' a lotta dazzle, going on. It like that, when your freak-factor first started up?" "That's what Shane tells me," B admits with a small blush, a small flutter of gills. "That sometimes I just need to. Get angry." Her head tips up (maybe after /nuzzling/ slightly in against the blood-scented palm) to meet Kay's eyes with her huge black (slightly too liquidy-glistening) ones. In answer she just tips forward, thunking her forehead against Kay's chest. The close of eyes spills tears down her cheeks -- just once, then they stop -- but despite this there's a crooked smile on her face. "He /is/ drunk." "I only just had -- some. Bit. Whisky," Ion protests, taking the plate and lifting it up beneath his nose to sniff deeply. "Ah-ha-ha. When I start out yeah, I leave a /wreck/ across Argentina. Ssssssizzle. Hard to stay in one place. Hard to stay /dark/. I never subtle." He steps forward, lifts a hand (sizzling! sparking! Jolt!) to clap against B's shoulder (his other hand is still holding the meat /close/ for sniffing.) "You listen to him, hermanita. You got no end of family." "Angry's /good/," Kay's abdominal wall rolls softly under B's forehead while he breaths, draping an arm around the back of her head to form a warm shadowed shelter. "People talk about it like it's all just flying off the handle and making fucking -- pff, messes. And fuck yeah, it /can/, it's /gotta/ - sometimes that's what we gotta do if we wanna keep living in these fucking bodies." It's not a very familiar touch, but Kay kind of just… /pat/? Lays a hand over B's gills, using a callous thumb to -- smooth /downward/? Is this RIGHT? He has his head turned and chomps TEETH at Ion and his steaks (feed meee) while he continues, "But angry's also /love/. Angry's /family/ and /life/. It's a /choice/." Pet-smooth? His lowEring voice sounds just faintly like it might be spoken through teeth. "One everyone in this house /celebrates/." B /twitch/-jerks against Kay, not pulling away from Ion's cherged touch but briefly tense-spasming for it with a sharp clench of sharkteeth that bare fiercely. Kay's smoothing thumb relaxes her again, head tipping slightly to press flattening gills up against the touch much like a puppy butting up against petting. Aside from the pleased reaction Kay's touch itself will easily discover that downward is very much the right direction; against his fingers the edges of B's gills are slitted and razor-sharp, very much discouraging rubbing against them the /other/ direction. Her bared teeth slowly prise back open, head lifting from Kay's chest to chomp as well in the direction of the steaks. "It's not much of a choice," she finally answers. "I feel like after a point the choice is get angry or give up. And I --" Her cheeks flush again, dark and purpling. "I think I was trying that giving up thing. With the Themis --" A shiver runs through her. "But I don't want. That." Ion sets the plate down, shaking out his hands like he can /shake/ himself free of the charge; it takes a long moment before his arms aren't /visibly/ sparking with electricity. Even so there's a faint sizzlepop when he picks up the steaks (doublefisting them one in each hand!) but he manages to calm it before he's ruined the cuts of meat. He holds the ribeye up to Kay's mouth and the porterhouse to B's. CHOMP away. "Everyone sometimes, need a rest, yeah? But you get tired, you lay down around people who /love/ you. 'Cuz we be there to pick you back /up/ when you ready to fight again." "I got plenty of angry for everyone," not really one for /resting/, Kay. Blank-eyed and grinning-snarling, he bites down on the steak and /worries/ loose a chunk with aid of canines. It requires a bit of effort and a long string of gristle extended between his mouth and the steak. He slurps it up like a noodle. "So you wanna get mad - fuck man, get mad around the people that love you, too. Out there, shit's /ugly/. But out there isn't where we /live/." CHEW-CHEW. His grin grows wider, looking to Ion's face, "Not yet." Settling a hip on the counter next to B - his own long legs reach from the ground /to/ his perch - he raises his brows at the little sharky face, "So. You mad?" B's teeth tear into the steak with a lot more ease, sharp and serrated and ripping off a mouthful of meat readily. A low purring growl rumbles in her throat at the taste of steak, tongue swiping up against her lips. Her black eyes tip up to Kay's, gills briefly fluttering then flattening again. "I think I've been mad a long time." Ion is busy trying to gnaw at the other end of the ribeye, chooomp chew, though it's possible he's forgotten briefly how meat works, it's giving him a good bit more problems than the other two. Eventually he works off a piece to chew over it hungrily. "Maybe we get you a little kutte. Build you a chopper of your own. Let you be mad /everywhere/." "Paint a fucking sharkface on the front like a Warthog jet?" Chewing with his cheek pouched up, the corners of Kay's eyes are crinkling deep for his savage grin. "You ever try /yelling/ about it?" B's eyes /light/ at the suggestion of her Very Own Motorbike, a sudden bright animation to her face. "For real? /Would/ you? I'm -- I'm pretty good at building things," she offers shyly, eyes flicking over to where her dragonfly has perched itself on a counter. She bites down at her lip, blush returning. "I -- but. That's." Her head dips sheepishly like she /knows/ this is probably not a particularly valuable objection in this company: "... not polite." Ion snorts, switching the steaks to the opposite hands so that this time he can offer Kay the porterhouse and B the ribeye. "Whole fucking world it ain't polite, hermanita. It yell at you plenty, sometimes maybe you gotta yell back." Kay's eyes light right back, midway into collecting the porterhouse to grip with both hands and RIP at with his teeth like a carnivorous chipmunk ,"Oh /hell/, kid. You wanna come get dirty with us greesemonkeys, bring some toys. We'll trick the /fuck/ outta some bikes. Maybe you can help me fit up a set of wheels that doesn't end up a twisted pile of scrap metal first time HAMMER looks at it. Fit me out with some /lasers/." His foot is urgently /knocking/ on the side if Ion's leg like OMG DO YOU HEAR THIS. He hops away from the counter, bumping up against Ion's side so they're /both/ facing B like a fucking lineup. Handing steak over to fellow Mongrel, his expression /boyishly/-bright and excited, he curls his fists against his chest like he's FEELING it and happy-shouts a little loud for the indoor enclosure, "Say '/I'm MAD/!" "I have some pretty great toys," B admits softly, a small beckoning of fingers summoning the dragonfly up from the counter to flit back over to her shoulder. "Better than lasers, the beams they use for flight stabilization can propel /and/ shoot." She reaches to snag the ribeye, holding it in a fist to tear teeth into it again. Her cheeks are flushed deep purple, gills fluttery, but her voice has edged out of its quiet-shy deference into a little bit (little bit) bolder: "I'm /mad/." Ion /yips/, eyes wider, steak starting to sizzle again before he drops the porterhouse -- kind of unfortunately onto B's pretty pleated skirt when his hands clap eagerly together. "Ohshit oh/shit/ can you make our bikes /fly/ hermano, hermano," he's bapping Kay back with the backs of his fingers against Kay's bicep, "We could take the /air/ we could be --" But here he's maybe a little /too/ excited because, midsentence, he has vanished again, sizzle, pop -- hopefully he's still somewhere in the house. Who knows. "-/Airpirates/," Kay finishes for him breathlessly. His excitement is tangible in a heat shimmer, eyes winking ember-sparks. He curls up his fists, closes up his eyes like he's SINGING and howls at the ceiling, "Tell me again! Are you /mad/!?" B giggles, reaching for the dropped steak with only the smallest of frowns for pepper and /blood/ on her clothing. Her claws extend, sinking into the meat so that now /she/ is doublefisting steaks. "/Airpirates/. OK. I've never made a /motorcycle/ fly but it -- it might be /easier/ than the hoverboard I've been making, they run on gas I don't /need/ to figure out how to make them power themselves. I could just --" But she cuts herself off with a blush before delving too deep into the /engineering/ problem of this, instead nibbling at the edge of a steak with a faster whickering of gills. She swallows a mouthful of meat, and announces to the kitchen louder: "/I'm mad/." That familiar blank-eyed stare that must meet B frequently when she delves too deep is NOT present in Kay, who claps his hands together (making a loud WHOP!) and then points at B, "Doll, you wanna talk /engines/, I can talk to you about /engines/. I been building bikes since before you been born. We are gonna make some /music/." B-BAM, his hands land on either side of the counter, B's legs between them, which lands with them face to FACE, and he gleefully bares his teeth, "Now gimme a RAAGH!" This time B's laugh is deeper, bolder, and her teeth bare in return, sharp and bright in answer to Kay's grin. It may not be a particularly /harmonious/ duet but in answer to his RAAGH her rumbling animal growl simmers to the surface, bubbling over to fill the kitchen with the tones of this odd fierce duet.