ArchivedLogs:Laptops and Love Triangles

Laptops and Love Triangles
Dramatis Personae Doug, Hive, Shelby	2013-04-11 Shelby comes a-knockin', asks for a favor, pays with advice.
Location <NYC> 503 {Doug} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is, for the most part, laid out like most of the others in the building. A small entryway opens up into a living area occupied by a worn-looking leather sofa covered in a multi-colored afghan. In front of that, a low cost-effective coffee table is generallly littered with tech and gaming magazines, post-it flags stuck to various pages. The kitchen is separated from the living area by a bar-island with two high stools. Down a small hallway, two doors stand face to face, vigilant in keeping the bedrooms beyond secure, while a third, facing the living room, leads to the bathroom. Throughout the apartment, various gaming posters have been framed and hung carefully, most of them classic arcade titles. Homework....yucch! Doug might not be in high school, but that doesn't mean that he's immune from gross amounts of homework, from time to time. Today, it seems to involve a number of books, judging by the pile next to the coffee table. A stack that has been appropriated by Delete as a perching spot, as the black kitten lounges on what appears to be a coding book. Alt has opted for the arm of the couch, where she can see the laptop screen, and the incomprehensible number and letter soup that flickers by. It's all very studious-looking. Or it would be, if Doug was actually /amongst/ his studying supplies. Or if he was studying at all. Instead, he looks very much the anti-student in a pair of ratty sweat shorts and a very loose white tank top as he works the video game controller in his hand, sending Lego Tolkien characters into battle. He soundtracks the action with little grunts and oofs of his own in response to his avatar's adventures, and he uses one bare foot propped against the coffee table to lever himself backwards every now and then. Study breaks are /awesome/. Maybe they are! Or maybe not, because Shelby is /fleeing/ hers. Why else is she in the city? Or maybe she was responsible and studied on the train! But probably not. The elevator doors slide open and out she rolls on her skateboard, steering it down the hall towards Doug's door. She's street-casual today, all baggy clothes and hooded hoodie, looking every bit the thug--up to and including a face tat scrolling over one cheek, of a tribal-style series of bars with notes flowing across it. Literally. She doesn't knock so much as just let the board roll /right/ up to the door, heeling back only after a loud "bang!". "Hey! Doug, s'me. Lemme in!" Doug jumps when the bang happens at his door, and for a moment he GLARES at the empty air of his apartment. Accusingly. Then, there is Shelby-voice, and he pauses his game, tossing the controller on the coffee table next to his laptop as he stands and stretches. Maybe he's being mean, taking his sweet-ass time about getting to the door. Look at the way he spends a moment shuffling papers around before he begins to pad towards the door. "Shelby," he says, as he swings the door open, "Aren't you supposed to be in - what the hell is on your face?" He stares for a moment at the shifting bars on the girl's face before stepping aside to allow her entry. "You look like you caught the Cutie Pox." "/Art/ is on my face," Shelby fires back immediately. She is nothing if not quick on her toes, now that she's actually /on/ them and holding the board instead of riding it. She had waited patiently but as soon as the door swings open, she is pushing forward. Hi, she is here and coming in! It was wise of him to step out of the way. "None of that pony bullshit. You know all those bronies are like...into pedophilia and bestiality? Tru fax, I saw a documentary," she continues on, rather than actually /greeting/ the young man who has just allowed her into his home. She props the board beside the door once inside and toes out of her shoes--being partly housetrained--before padding over to threaten Alt with chin-scritches. "How's it going?" Doug smirks. "Art is subjective," he says as he swings the door shut. "As are documentaries. You can one to support just about any position." He holds up a finger. "And, for the record, I am proud to be a non-pedo, non-sicko brony. So mind your manners." There's no heat in his voice as he moves back to the couch, flopping down on to it and snagging up his controller. Alt is DOWN for the chin-scritches, pushing to her feet and arcing her back as she offers a rattly meow of greeting for Shelby. Lego figures begin moving on the TV screen again, although Doug's attention is only half on the action. The other half is occupied by Shelby and Alt, who is in fact the biggest traitor in the world, at the moment. "It's going okay," he says, pausing the game again and rubbing at his face. "It's finally starting to quiet down around here. What about you?" The kitten is scooped up and held babystyle before Shelby appropriates the other half of Doug's couch. It is a good thing he sorted papers and stuff, she is intent on sprawling with cat on her chest. "You're too pretty to be a brony," she observes with a critical squint at him. Scritch scritch scritch. "You're supposed to live in a basement or something. I think. That's the rule, I didn't make 'em. I'm doin' okay." So off-hand, so casual, it sounds pretty true! But her eyes stray towards the screen as she talks. Maybe the shiny moving images have distracted her. "I was wondering if you could hook a sister up with some hardware? I need a laptop for this project I gotta do. It's super important." "Mmmm." Whether this response is to the idea of living in a basement or Shelby's assertion of being fine is hard to determine; Doug's expression doesn't really change. "Okay, as in you came all the way into the city to ask me something that you could have texted me?" he teases, his eyes finally crinkling. "Your schooling is really paying off." He stretches out a foot to nudge at Shelby's knee. "I might have something you could use," he says. "What's the project?" His hip is on the receiving end of a poke from Shelby's foot, big toe sticking out of a hole in her sock. "You can't send a laptop through a /phone/," she points out oh so reasonably, flashing him a grin before dropping her head back against the arm of the couch. Alt's belly is tickled to provoke a kick-foot attack. "It's gotta have a webcam in it, I'ma set up a YouTube channel, y'know? Of me playing stuff, work up some more fans 'cause I kicked so much ass at Ryan's concert. And I don't wanna have to use the machines in the computer lab, there's like...noooo privacy." "Yes, but I can bring a laptop to my folk's house, and /give/ it to you," Doug points out. "Hell, I could skip it to you across the road from their porch." He grins, and scrunches his nose as Alt defends against tickling with RAWRBITES that don't have any pressure to them, and grabs at Shelby's hand. "Webcam, huh?" he asks, and stretches again as he stands up. "You promise you're going to use it for your /music/, and not to dirty Skype with weirdos on the internet?" Rawwwwwr, Shelby makes claw hand to attack back, rocking Alt on her back. It is a fierce and epic battle. "Swear to god. I'd cross my heart but your cat's eatin' my fingers," she says with a grin. "Any dirty vids I make, I'll send straight to you, how's that? Oh wait, you're allergic to tits." This strikes her as the height of comedy and she snickers as she returns to wrestling with the kitten. Who's a mean kitty cat? Alt is! Rawwwwr. "I already got the channel set up and everything, if you wanna check. Name's 'DeviantSpectrum'." That may or may not allay his fears about what she intends to do with the laptop. "You said it's been quieter around here, huh?" Alt is an enthusiastic wrestling partner, laying her ears back and /grabbing/ at the claw, pulling it in for a combo of bite/licks. You can almost hear the Mortal Cuteness announcer crying 'LOVE HER!' Doug bends over, skimming his fingers over the laptop's keyboard and opening the browser. Literally, three clicks later, and he's on YouTube, on Shelby's channel. "Okay," he says. "Just had to check." He flashes a grin at Shelby as he saunters towards the closet by the door. "And I am not /allergic/ to tits. They have a certain aesthetic appeal. They just don't do anything for me." The closet door swings open, revealing no less than three laptops stacked on the upper shelf. "You can have one of these," he says. "But you'll have to get the power supply replaced, and maybe one of the boards." The question gets a long silence, and then Doug nods. "More or less. Maybe people have just stopped talking to me." "You," Shelby accuses, "are a suspicious bastard." But it is not the biting insult it could have been, between kitten-wrasslin' and a return grin. She remains as she was while he ventures off to retrieve phat lewtz--even broken the laptop is probably THE most expensive thing she's ever had in her possession--but once the choices are put on offer, Alt loses her bitey toy. The cat is set aside and Shelby bounces up to go inspect the units. "I know someone who can probably fix 'em, she's like whoa amazing good with shit like this. Total tech geek, you'd probably like her." But with all of that chattering, she doesn't miss the pause between one statement and one answer. She ends up cocking her head to look up at him. "What?" "Guilty as charged," Doug says of being suspicious. "I don't know that it's suspicion, though, when it comes to you. More like...prudence." He chuckles, and reaches up to pull out the laptops. One is a Dell, one a Macbook, and the third seems to be a Frankentop, with no discernible logo on it. "If your friend can fix it, it's yours," he says. "I've already stripped the hard drives of anything incriminating, so they're safe enough." This might be a joke, only he doesn't smile as he hands over the Frankentop. "This one will give her fits. A buddy of mine built it." The shift of topics without gears doesn't seem to faze him. He lifts a shoulder, and wrinkles his nose. "I don't really /talk/ to people around here, anymore," he says honestly. "I had all that drama with Jax and Micah, and then all the shit with Hive -- WHO IS AN ASSHOLE." he says, raising his voice at the floor. "I don't think people are very keen to talk to me about anything, right now. Not anything big, anyway." He shrugs apologetically. "So, if you're looking for building gossip, the best I've got is that I turned in my V-card about a month ago." "Fuck you, I know what prudence means. I'm like, perfect now! I go to school, I take tests. I even follow the stupid dress code, you have /no/ idea." But there's a twinkle in her eyes that says she knows just what Doug is referring to--and Shelby takes the Frankentop without an immediate thank you. Instead it is held with reverence as she turns it over to give it a looksee, before retreating to the couch to pop it open. It means that any sympathy she can offer is at first delayed, and then /slightly/ distracted--but finally she glances up at him again. "Heeey," she warns, "that's my future fuck buddy you're calling names." Smirk. "Good on you for popping the cherry though! Was it hot? You maybe lost me with Jax and Micah drama? You mean them fucking all the time? You walk in on them or something?" "I'm sure you're the model student," Doug says, his tone wry as he heads back to the couch, flopping down in his former spot. "I bet you'll be valedictorian /and/ prom queen." His eyes crinkle, and he runs a hand through his hair. "It was pretty hot," he says, bobbing his head. "It was this older guy. A cop." He scrunches his nose. "Shane knows him," is a statement /dripping/ with meaning. "But we've hooked up a couple of times, and it was fun." He grimaces at the second question, and his mouth pulls into a frown. "Please don't talk about them fu -- doing that," he says in a slightly pained voice. "It's easier to deal with when I don't have to think about it." That statement deserves explanation, and Doug's lips press into a line before he offers it. "I really, /really/ liked Micah, for a while," he says slowly. "Still do. Only, he doesn't go for teenagers. He goes for guys like Jax, who..." he wrinkles his nose. "Guys like Jackson," he repeats. "It was a whole issue, for a while." He lifts his hand, palm pointed at the ceiling. "I'm trying to make it not be one." "Wait, you lost your virginity with /Musclepony/?" Shelby is delight. Enough so that she looks up from pretending to type on her fancy(!) new laptop. "Oh my god, is he good? I was /totally/ gonna fuck him but...y'know..." She waves a hand to indicate that Things Happened, No Fucking Occurred. It is a very illustrative gesture. Then she cuts a look between Doug and the ceiling before sinking back into the couch cushions. The older teen is given a considering look before she says, slowly, "So...you /liked/ Micah, huh?" There is a leading statement if ever there was one. "Musclepony?" Doug seems amused by this appellation, and he chuckles. "That's fitting. And yes," he says, fluttering fingers in the air. "He is good. I didn't have much of a basis for comparison, though. He might have been lousy, and I was just horny." He grins, and scrunches his nose. "Oh, no. Don't. It's bad enough with Shane. I don't need to share a hookup with /everyone/ I know." The question gets actual color blooming in Doug's ears. "I /do/ like Micah," he says. "If he asked me out tomorrow, I would totally say yes." He smiles a bit wanly. "But he won't. Not for anything other than friend stuff." He exhales. "Which kind of sucks, because I kind of wanted him to be my first real date." He slaps his hands on his knees suddenly, startling Alt of the arm of the couch. "Ah, well. There are other fish in the sea, yeah?" "Dude," Shelby says, in a tone of voice that warns of seventeen year old wisdom on its way. "Okay, like...I have this total /thing/ for Hive, right? But he's all, oh gross, you're a teenager and I'm a telepath and noooo." Yes, she is illustrating this story with hands gestures. She's a hand-talker, okay? At least she isn't being so energetic about it that she's threatening to knock the laptop off of her lap. "And he's /totally/ got this hetero-gay love triangle thing going with Mel and Jim. But I don't get all bitchy about it, y'know why? 'Cause fuck that, dude's gonna /totally/ see how awesome I am one of these days and man, that's gonna be a good day." She is apparently oblivious to the slightly creepy undertones that exist in this story. This is Shelby /trying to help/. Doug is poked at with a finger. "But he's never gonna /see/ that if I act like a shit just 'cause he's hooked up with someone else's ass right now. Just look at it like...he's getting practice time and /you've/ got practice time, so you can rock his world one day, huh?" "Ew," is all Doug has to offer for Shelby's thing for Hive, his nose wrinkling distastefully. "Hive? Really?" He exhales, and presses his mouth tight as he reconsiders. "Okay, I can see it. I was half-assed attracted to him, when he had me in there, so I get it." He leans back into the couch. "So, you're saying I should just bide my time?" he asks. "Even though it drives me bug-fuck crazy to see him acting with Jackson the way I want him to act with me?" His brow lowers, then raises along the bridge of his nose. "That. Sounds awful. And a lot like other advice I've gotten." He smiles weakly. "I'm trying to be better about it. I've at least mended my fences in that regard." He closes his eyes. "But it's really hard to fake being /happy/ about it." He runs his hands through his hair, suddenly, and looks over at Shelby. "So, you know anyone who'd be willing to practice with me that isn't fifteen years older?" "Dude is hot," is all Shelby has to say about Hive, punctuating the remark with a casual shrug. Surely it is more than that, but if so, she isn't sharing. "I dunno what to tell you, man. I guess when I got made, they forgot to put in a jealousy chip or whatever. I imagine Hive getting busy with someone and all it makes me wanna do is jump him more, don't wanna kick the shit out of whoever the other person is, you know? It's like custom-made porn," she says, the grin edging back in. "I get /off/ to it, I don't go around wearing murder-face." The sudden question sends her back into a considering silence, her hands roaming idly over the laptop. "I knew some dudes. They're kinda...rough around the edges though. I mean, they're guys I hung with before Xavier's took me." Hive's mental voice is no longer subtle; no longer /slipping/ in in a chorus of quiet echoes. It thuds heavily, slamming like a bludgeon into Shelby and Doug's minds. << I'm not fucking Mel /or/ Jim so you don't get any gorram brainporn, >> is wry, as is, << -- You go to Columbia. There's like /seventeen million/ gay boys there, I bet Flicker could hook you up with one. A /nice/ one. >> This is maybe in answer to Shelby's suggestion. "Huh," Doug says, considering Shelby's comments. "I'm not wired like that. I know it's stupid to be jealous about something that doesn't even have anything to /do/ with me, but..." he lets it hang there. "I sure as hell don't get /off/ to it." Which might not be /exactly/ true, the way he colors after he says it. Apples should be so red. "But I don't go around wearing murder-face, eeegah!" Doug grimaces as Hive comes slamming in, and he FROWNS, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Goddamn, but I hate that." There's no attempt to speak mentally to Hive; Doug just speaks out loud, his words mirrored on his mindscape. The offer is very much a surprise, though. "Hey, I'm all for meeting nice guys," he says, his smile tight. "I looked into the GSA and LGBT groups on-campus, but it wasn't my scene. If Flicker knows anyone, I'm happy to go for coffee." "Everyone's different, I guess. You don't see me walking around talking like...Chinese or whatever," Shelby says with a grin. Does she know why that blush appears? It is difficult to say but the musical notes that decorate her cheek /are/ jumping around merrily, more energetic now--as if she were laughing on the inside. "Maybe you could Jesusfuck!" No, Doug, don't do that. She clutches her temples, eyes narrowed to slits. "Nnrgh. Okay, maybe he had a point about the telepath thing...sweet nothings, my ass..." A sharp look goes ceilingwards. "So you're saying you /do/ wanna fuck me now, since you're not fucking them?" Innocence, thy name is /not/ Shelby Anne Wilson. << You know, >> Hive says, in lieu of answer, << Even if I /was/ with them, dating someone doesn't mean you can't fuck someone else /anyway/. I mean, you should be /honest/ about that shit but have you met half my friends? Polyamorous fucking hippies. I know monogamy's kinda the default but I assume people are open until they tell me otherwise. And Flicker knows pretty much everyone, he's disgustingly /nice/. >> This actually sounds like Hive is disgusted. << I bet he knows some rad queer geeks. >> "I'm not quite to the point of polyamory." Doug's grin is a bit wider, now, and he winks at Shelby. "But hell, if Flicker knows some good guys, tell him to set it up," he says cheerfully, ignoring Hive's disgust. "I'm just about finished with my term papers, so the rest of the term is pretty light. I'll have plenty of time for a geek date-fest." He chuckles, and rubs at his face. He /really/ doesn't understand this building and most of its residents, but he's not going to buck an upward trend. Shelby gets a grin. "I guess that's /that/ problem solved, yeah? You want a soda?" << Was that >> "Yes or no?" Because Shelby couldn't tell. But it does get her to thinking about a certain someone she /is/ dating, though with it comes a host of the unhappies--no butterflies or heart palpitations there. Those thoughts are shoved aside with a mental 'ugh' and she forces her attention back to the laptop, jaw setting bulldog style. "Nah, I'ma cut back to school, I guess. Get a start in these videos, get famous. Y'know, the usual." She snaps the machine shut and slides to her feet with it tucked beneath one arm. "Thanks for this, by the way. You got a spare backpack or something? So it doesn't get snatched on the subway?" There is not an answer from Hive, to this. Just a note of something that is probably laughter though it is likely overshadowed by the stab of his brain-touch. And then withdrawing into silence. Doug waves a hand. "It's not a problem," he says. "I was going to take it in and scrap it for the precious metals, but if I can help a struggling artist, all the better." He grins. "Besides, if you become a big-time recording artist, you can totally hire me for your out-of-country tours, as your translator. So I'll get my money for it, one day." He winks, and then makes a noise of mock dismay at the question. "Jesus. You want me to carry it all the way back to Westchester for you, too?" He stands up, and goes back to the closet, this time digging around in the bottom and coming up with a messenger bag that has an airbrushed photo-realistic image of the Justice League on the flap. "You may /borrow/ this," he says, stressing the word borrow like it was underlined three times. "And return it to me as soon as possible." "Yeah, that's right, you fucking tease," Shelby mutters under her breath. Sadly, she cannot rouse much ire at Hive, though. Instead she concentrates on--what in the Christ is he pulling out of the closet? His dismay was put on; hers is real. "Oh, man, you make me carry that, someone's gonna beat the shit out of me for my lunch money!" she exclaims. But it doesn't stop her from moving to slide the laptop inside. Beggars, choosers. He knows the drill. Afterward, she pushes her feet into her shoes and grabs up her board. "Man, I'll get it back to you /Saturday/, 'cause fuck if I'm gonna lose rep just because you've got a hard-on for Superman. If it /isn't/ back here by then, some geek at the school probably snatched it. The place is crawling. Need to get an exterminator out there." "Relax, dingus," Doug says without malice. "For one thing, I have carried that thing all over this city, and the only thing I've heard was 'cool bag, dude'." He holds up a finger. "One. Two, comic-book culture is /very/ chic right now. Trust a gay guy." Three fingers are raised, now. "And three, if anything happens to that bag, I promise the reprisal will be swift and terrible. Your YouTube page will be trolled like nothing you've ever seen." He lifts his eyebrows. "Every video will be a Care Bears video, and your voice will be chipmunked." He raises all his fingers solemnly. "This I swear to you." "Oh man, you fight dirty." Shelby sounds like she /approves/. Her grin reappears as she settles the bag's strap across her chest. "It's on, geekboy. I'll take good care of your baby, don't worry. And thanks, hey? I don't think I could've scored one of these on my own without snatching one. So this is like, super karma points for you, huh? I sense many coffee dates in your future." She hams it up a little with fingers touched to temple. Ommmm. Then she's going for the door to haul it open and drop her board to the floor, to wheel off. "See you Saturday! Up vote me!" "I am a guy with leet hacking skills," Doug confirms with a grin. "I /only/ fight dirty, electronically." He beams as he follows to the door, catching it in his hands. "Karma points are always a bonus!" he says, leaning against the wooden edge. "But I would have done it without the promise of many coffee dates. I like helping my friends." He levels a finger at Shelby's back as she rolls off. "Saturday," he calls. "Or it's on." He begins to withdraw, then pokes his head out again. "And don't let Mister Papadopoulis catch you boarding in the lobby!" Like /that's/ any sort of deterrent.