ArchivedLogs:Jaded

Jaded
Dramatis Personae Shane, B, Micah, Daniel Ketch
In Absentia	29 October 2014 '
Location <NYC> Chinatown
One of New York's oldest neighborhoods and the oldest Chinese enclave outside of Asia, Chinatown is a vibrant ethnic community, which draws throngs of tourists annually as well. This neighborhood is packed with Chinese-owned businesses, from restaurants to groceries to theaters to fashion. It's not a very /pleasant/ day; it's been wet and rainy and promises to be wet and rainy again soon. The rain has let up for the moment though the city is still kind of /glum/; maybe this explains the less-than-cheery looks on the faces of two tiny blue teenagers tucked into a tiny quarter-block patch of parkland on the edge of Chinatown. There's a reflecting pool in its center and at the moment /one/ of the pair is looking, well, reflective, perched on the edge of the pool and staring down into the water. This one is dressed in a neatly-tailored vest-and-slacks, bow tie, suit jacket folded neatly and draped across his lap at the moment. His mirror-image counterpart is not looking reflective, but instead tearing (rather ravenously) into a laaaarge helping of pork dumplings. Skewering them on claws and ripping into them with razor-sharp sharkteeth, B's method of eating is not very elegant -- in sharp contrast to the /very/ elegant attire ze wears, a long silk ao dai, dark grey with intricate pink embroidery (its colouring almost exactly /matches/ hir twin's outfit, today.) Aside from the vast discrepancy in outfits the sharkpups match each other to a tee, identical down to the slowly fluttering gills alongside each of their necks. There's not much in their very-much-not-humanish features to identify things like age or gender -- though when Shane finally breaks the silence it is in a voice that doesn't /sound/ like it has dropped much. "-- Well. Fuck." B answers this with a (much lower!) growl, harsh and guttural. But no words. That would require a break in tearing apart porkbits. Micah is not eating, ravenously or otherwise, where he has flopped onto a bench by the twins. His contribution to the meal was acquiring it from the vendor, truly not in the mood for the possibility that they wouldn't /sell/ to his kids if they placed their own order today. He has a teal thermos of hazelnut tea in his hand that he's staring at more than drinking from. It's /almost/ like participating in lunch. His overall appearance is...deflated, mussed-hair and work clothes (TARDIS blue polo shirt, khakis, serviceable shoes) not being helped by the damp any more than his mood. "That pretty much says it." Daniel walks up quietly and takes a seat on one of the benches here not that far from everyone else. He's pale and carrying several boxes of takeout. It only takes him a moment to select one and bring it to his lap. He is wearing an old white wife-beater and sweatpants today, and looks like he hasn't been sleeping. After a few moments of (rather ravenously) going at boneless chicken and rice he mutters something that sounds a lot like, "Another day in paradise." Shane's head tips up from the pool, glancing over -- across the park, across the street, to the courthouse nearby. Then back down to the pool. His hand dips, fingers flicking against the cold water. "... Geekhaus is going to get /real/ quiet from here on --" "/Shut up/." B's sharp snap is quick and edged. It quiets Shane pretty much instantly. He reaches for a dumpling instead, plucking it out of the container more delicately (he grabs himself a pair of chopsticks /first/). "Hive's not going to -- this is just going to be rough," B says, less sharply but more uncomfortably. "I don't know how Isra's going to -- I mean, with her --" "-- {Shut up.} This time it's Shane who says it. Not sharp, just a bland /reminder/ in Vietnamese. B sinks teeth into a dumpling, growling again. Hir eyes slant over towards Daniel at that muttering, but then drop, narrowed, gills fluttering faster. "Shh," Micah agrees, but softer, more of a soothing sound than an admonishment. "Hive's still got options. Just 'cause it's not...done yet. Don't mean there ain't things t'/be/ done." He lifts the thermos to his lips, actually drinking a bit of his tea. "We still gotta hope, maybe. Sentencin'. We don't know yet, 'bout anythin', really." The tension of his fingers on the thermos might betray a little less of that hope than his words do. "How is Isra? I didn't really get a chance t'talk to 'er t'day. An' last I saw she was passed out on the balcony after attackin' folks. She looked...better? Less bad." Daniel just minds his own business, alternating between various take out boxes and whatever is in that cup he brought along. Something catches his attention and he fishes his phone out to check it, only to promptly replace it and dig into an egg roll. "They were talking with him about /palliative care/," Shane answers unhappily. "That doesn't sound like options." "... are we forgetting who his doctor is? Who /knows/ what Dr. Toure is doing with him anyway." B's gills flutter again. "Isra is..." Hir lips press together. "Stressed," Shane finishes seamlessly where his twin leaves off, "I mean, shit. How could she not be?" "It's a really bad situation. For everyone. But." B chomps another dumpling. "But his family moreso. -- She looks starving. Should've eaten the fucking /jury/," Shane decides. "Dusk looks starving," B adds. "They could've made a feast of it together." “/They/ don't got the options /we've/ got. In healers. We haven't tried /everythin'/ yet,” Micah reiterates. “An'...who knows how much truth there is t'the rumours with Dr. Toure? I think...Matt's plannin' on findin' out. On account of it really has a lot t'do with 'im personally. He's beyond shaken up over it.” He frowns at the news on Isra. “They think she just had a break on account of malnourishment an' stress? I just. Need t'know how likely that is t'happen again with her bein' 'round an' how safe it might be for people what couldn't defend themselves from her if it happens again. In addition t'worryin' about /her/.” His shoulders slump at the talk of eating the jury, only managing a headshake in reply. Daniel finally looks towards the others having finished up one of the boxes he's brought. "Hive.. Real name Jetsadayut, or something like that?" he actually comes close to nailing the pronunciation. "He alright? Aside from the cancer.. But there's always hope with that." A hand comes up to cover an emerging yawn before he takes another sip from his cup. "Hope I didn't frighten him the other day." This time it's Shane who snarls, sharp and irritable. He turns around where he crouches, facing outward from the pool now so that he can actually see Daniel. "/No/. His real name is fucking /Hive/, dipshit." B just goes silent. Tensing at the use of that name, eyes narrowing and hir nostrils flaring to sniff at the air. "And fuck your /always hope/ bullshit, what the fuck do you know? Cuz lord knows what we need is stupid /platitudes/." Shane /stabs/ his next dumpling with the tips of his chopsticks. B draws in a slow breath, nudging hir twin in the side with an elbow reproachfully at his acerbic reply. "His real name is Hive, sir," ze confirms, quieter and gentler than hir brother, "and he doesn't frighten easily." Shane's growling subsides at this quiet physical admonishment. He huffs out a sharp breath in counterpoint to the one B draws in. "... The Clinic's taking care of Isra," he assures Micah, "I don't think that's going to happen again." "We've been havin' a spectacularly bad week," Micah explains to Daniel, not even bothering to rein in the growling and the language, considering. "But they're right. Hive's Hive. An' it ain't a simple task t'be scarin' 'im off nothin'." He nods at Shane's explanation, though some skepticism shows through in the tension of his jaw, a thinning of his lips. "If they're /sure/. It's just...I mean. If she'd go after Hive an' Horus of all people? That makes me worry 'bout Spence an' Tola an' Mel..." Might could be he's not much of a stranger to worrying. Daniel winces a bit, hand coming up to the side of his head. "Apologies." is all he says in reply to the twins, moving for another box. "Just what his medicine bottle said. Rider showed up, didn't want him to, but he did. Didn't stick around to see how we reacted to him though." He exhales lowly and nods lightly towards Micah before finishing off the rest of his drink. "Huh?" Sans any actual context, mention of Rider just earns a completely blank look from B. From Shane: "I can pretty much assure you, you're /so/ not the scariest thing he's ever seen." "I'd put money on sarcasm," B muses, regarding Hive's likely reaction. "Is how he reacts to most things," Shane agrees. "... anyway," he's changing track again, back to Micah, "she wouldn't go after Tola, she doesn't smell like food." So reassuring. “Who?” Micah asks simply, one eyebrow lifting a fraction toward his hairline. “I don't know if bettin' on Hive bein' sarcastic is a bet anybody else'd take you up on. Odds are too skewed.” His nose crinkles at the mention of Tola not smelling like food. “Well. I guess that's reassurin' for her? Maybe.” "It's not an everyday thing that a man's skin melts off in front of you." Daniel replies quietly, clearly not caring to continue the conversation on that topic. He reaches into his other pocket to pull out a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, pulling one out and placing it between his lips, but not currently lighting it. "More like every other week," Shane replies with a snort. It's had /not/ to continue the conversation on that topic, given that Daniel says nothing /else/. B's lips twitch, briefly. "C'mon, we haven't seen anyone melted in at least a /couple/ Fridays." Shane frowns, now. "No, there was definitely that --" "-- a month ago," B cuts in lightly. "Pa's been slacking on people-melting." "Hrmp." Shane is grumping again, but that's unsurprising. His eyes slant back to Daniel, looking him over once and then looking away with a careless shrug. "Looks like you got through it fine enough." "Only the real people meltin'. Be around when he's sleepin', you'll get it about every day. Well, every day that he /sleeps/." Micah sounds remarkably /blase/ about the idea. He takes another sip of tea before looking back at Daniel. "Apologies, sugar, we're a little jaded. An' have /a lot/ of bad weeks, come t'think of it." Daniel nods lightly. "That's a good thing. Living here anyway. Zombies, terrorist attacks, vigilantes, and even the wannabe villain." He does light the cigarette now. "People that don't adapt go nuts." He looks back over at Shane, "But, yeah. No worse for it. Actually a little better off. My knee and back were giving me a little trouble. Silver linings, I guess." He doesn't seem overly excited about it though, rather jaded himself. "I think you kind of have to be nuts," Shane says with a crooked grin, "to want to stay here. Adapting kind of --" "-- /necessitates/ going a little crazy," B agrees, chuffing out a breath of -- almost laughter. Notquitelaughter. Ze sidles sideways along the ridge of the pool, moving closer to Micah's bench to poke at hir father with a claw. Offer the dumplings hopefully. "Did you even eat today?" "Maybe that's the problem. Whooole city full of crazypeople." Shane tips his head back to scrutinize the buildings around them thoughtfully. "Chicken-egg problem." B shrugs. And squints at Micah. "... /you/, jaded? Oh. Oh gosh. What's happening to the world?" "There's a lotta crazy here, one way or the other," Micah agrees with a chuff of sardonic laughter. "I ate breakfast." His look at the dumplings is visibly queasy. "I just can't...think of eatin' just now. The way Dusk's been lookin' an' what might..." His shoulders hunch, head shaking again. "Looks kind of like he's going to die before sentencing." Shane sounds level when he says this, though to those who know him his agitation is apparent in the flutter-shift of his gills, the rapid (but hard to discern) shutter-blinking of his clear inner eyelids. "I'm watching you to make sure you eat tomorrow though." B shrugs, turning the rest of the dumplings over to Shane and scooting cautiously over /onto/ the bench -- close to Micah though doesn't quite actually touch. Hir arm shifts like she /wants/ to offer a hug, though. But is then distracted by Daniel's question. "... /huh/?" This is blank, too. "What the fuck?" Shane's brows hike upward. "Do I look like fucking Google? Buy your own damn newspaper." Micah only hunches further at Shane's proclamation, folding his knees up to his chest on the bench. “Gotta get Io an' that lawyer workin' harder on makin' sure he gets his /transfusions/. Make a bigger fuss. I'll...talk t'Elliott an' see if I can't skate a favour, maybe. Mayor's influence couldn't /hurt/.” His teeth worry at his lower lip. “I'll eat...later, maybe. Tomorrow. Just not right yet.” Daniel just nods a few times. "Think I'm going to do that. You guys take care. As well as you can anyway." He takes another drag from his cigarette before knocking the cherry off and tucking it back into his pack. Pushing to his feet doesn't quite work out at first though, causing him to sit back down and bring a hand to the side of his head. "Fuck." he mutters lightly before pushing himself up (carefully this time) and grabbing his takeout before heading out. "You -- too." B still looks a little bemused, regarding Daniel uncertainly before turning attention back to hir family. Shane wolfs down the last of the dumplings, /his/ appetite evidently unharmed by current stressors. "Io's probably got hella shit on his plate right now." "He's still a doctor," B replies with a small shrug. Ze curls hir arm veeery tentatively around Micah when he hunches further, squeezing gently. "C'mon, Ba. Let's go home, okay?" “Maybe you should make that call over at the Clinic, hon. Have a good night.” Even being a little miserable doesn't shut off Micah's fretting and pleasantries, it would seem. “It's just...I /know/ they're busy, but they were the only way we were able t'get Dusk an' Jax taken care of last time. An' we /need/ to... I'll talk t'Elliott,” he repeats, tone somehow both determined and defeated. He leans into B's hug when it is offered. “Okay. If y'all are done eatin'. Home'd be good.”