ArchivedLogs:Like That
| Like That | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2014-12-20 Part of Future Past TP; set just after futuredream. |
| Location
<NYC> {Beachhaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side | |
Enormous windows and an open floorplan give this house an airy-open feel. Much of the wood-and-stone of the walls has been left exposed, and the flooring underneath is done in a mix of sandy-stoney tile in the bathroom and kitchens and foyer and natural wood throughout the rest. The front door opens into the small foyer, an open doorway leading to a small office space at one side and a sunroom looking out over the river at the other. The office is done in dark wood and deep red accents, a desk built right up against the wall beneath a connected also-built-in arrangement of shelves; there's a pale futon sitting on the ground against the opposite wall. A connecting door in the office space, usually left unlocked, leads to Lighthaus next door. The foyer opens out in back to a large sitting room, the kitchen connecting sitting room and sunroom at their corners; the furniture here is in pale natural colours, all built low to the ground. The kitchen table is low-set, too, kneeling cushions rather than chairs set around it. The sunroom and foyer, unlike the other rooms, have no ceilings at ground-level, instead having balconies between the first and second floor. A curving stairway leads up from the foyer to the second floor, while a door between foyer and sitting room heads down to the basement. A powder room sits off the back of the sitting room, opposite the kitchen.
No explanation or response is incoming. Peter arrives within an hour of his text messages; unlike his past entrances, this one is rather decisively *un*-theatrical. When he gets there, there's a gentle knock -- a rattle of keys -- and then he's stepping inside, quietly searching for B. He's clad for winter -- a dark hoodie, hood pulled up to disguise his face; underneath, there's a hint of red -- wearing his bright red-and-gold Captain Marvel t-shirt. Black dress-slacks, and his peculiar wrist-watches -- no sign of the 'armor' he's worn before, though. "...B?" Peter's voice is quiet. A little hesitant; a little nervous. Right now, he smells -- a little sweaty (he obviously rushed to get here), a little tired, and... apprehensive. Not afraid, but close to it; there's a tenseness in his body. Though early, the smell of coffee is already brewing strong in the house. Food, too. Sausages, bacon, eggs. Daiki is looking a little bit sleepy-eyed in the kitchen where he tends the stove, still in pajamas, still kind of yawning. Glancing up quietly to gesture Peter into the sunroom. In the sunroom, the twins are curled up together underneath some blankets. Dressed only in a wealth of mottled bruising from the previous night's fighting there's not a lot at /first/ to distinguish the tangle of blue limbs and gills and claws. The sound at the door pulls them alert, though. There's a flutter of gills from B, a low growl that's edged in a /whine/, just curling in closer to Shane to bury face against chest. Shane wraps his arms tight around B, looking up with narrowed eyes and a sharply protective growl. Teeth baring as he pulls his twin closer. Peter flushes at the sight of Daiki, but quietly nods his head, quickly following the motion of that gesture -- almost hopping forward, toward the sun-room. And then, when he arrives -- and sees the twins -- he pauses, freezing. Nibbling at his bottom lip, not quite stepping *in*... When B growl-whines, Peter winces, slightly; when Shane makes that protective growl -- he edges back in the room. The scent of his apprehension dwindles, lingering only as an after-effect; it is replaced with other scents -- the scent of worry, nervousness, and a hint of guilt. "Shane..." Peter says, his voice tiny, small -- then -- "--Shane. B, it's -- I'm -- {Sorry.} I didn't... {...want to see you like that.}" This time the sound B makes is definitely a whine, only a quiet edge of growling to it. Her face presses harder to Shane's chest. "That wasn't /you/." Shane's voice is firm. Soft, but strong. "These -- they don't have to /happen/. They haven't happened, they /won't/ happen." "{It was /me/.}" B's voice is sharper. Snapping, harder, but the edge to it is more fear than anger. "It's always been me." "...Shane--" Peter starts, taking another tentative step forward, his brows furrowed. Very quiet, now, as he watches B. And then, taking in a slow, deep breath: "B... {I know that was you. That that's what you would probably be, without him. Them.} Shane, Jax." Another, tiny-step forward. And another. Veeeeery slowly. "...I always knew. Back from when we were in the cages... and later, when we fought each other in Fight Club. That..." His voice is just above a whisper, now. "...that you might one day kill me. And..." His voice hitches; his eyes drift down to the floor -- there's an uneasy shakiness in his tone, in his breathing. "...and it's okay, B. You -- {I love you.} I kind of just... I just, wish you didn't have to -- see it. Show it. {I'm really sorry.}" All of this just tightens Shane's arms around B still further. His growl is low, unhappy, soft; his shoulders curl in as if he could wrap himself protectively around his twin. "{But you have me. You have all of us. We're /here/ and we're with you and we're /staying/ with you,}" spills out quick and hot and /fierce/, "we're staying and I'm not letting go we're not letting /go/." "... I don't think you /let/ go. I don't think you get a /choice/." B's words are muffled against Shane's chest, hitched and broken up around the developing flutter of gills. "{I think everything just goes to hell and we're all fucked. And what then? What /then/? I don't want -- I don't want. To. Be. This. That. This.}" "{We won't let it happen, B. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. These dreams are happening for a reason. Script we see. But not following it we do.}" Peter's own tone is fierce, too; so fierce that his grammar gets a little jumbled, for a moment. "Maybe that's the point," he adds, taking a bolder step toward them. "You were building robots, B. In a post-apocalyptic New York." His mouth twitches upward, a hint of a smile. "...if you can do that, I think -- between all of us -- we can save... the world. Or," Peter adds, a little more quietly, "at least... the people we love." When Daiki slips back out from the kitchen it is quietly. A very large tray with a very large amount of food on it, scrambled eggs with onions and tomato, huge heaping piles of sausages hashed with peppers and potato, a very large pile of bacon. A huge carafe of coffee, another of juice. He sets the tray down on the low table, still quiet as he settles, kneeling, beside the twins and brushes his fingertips down along B's fluttering gills. "{Like Yoda you sound,}" he informs Peter. /Very/ small curl to his lips. B exhales, soft and slow and almost laughing. She wriggles a little bit more upright, nestling her head against Shane's shoulder, now, instead. Making room beside them in the blanket-nest for Peter. "... we are," she allows, hesitantly, "a little bit awesome." "Fuck that, dude," Shane corrects, "have you checked us out lately? We're freaking /badass/." The sight of so much food sends Peter's stomach instantly grumbling; his brows lift as Daiki sets is nearby, on that low-table -- his eyes darting back to Shane and B. When she wriggles aside to make room for him, Peter releases a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding -- and with a relieved, heavy sigh, steps forward to join them. Clamboring forward, tug-tugging at his hoodie, to leave it behind -- exposing his bright red-and-gold Captain Marvel t-shirt. "...oh. Thanks, Daiki," Peter comments, as he clambors into the blanket-nest-pile, peeking out to examine the food on the low-table -- a hand tentatively extending -- for bacon. As if to silently ask if this is allowed -- his cheeks turning just a hint of violet! "...I had wicked burns *and* I was all Mad Max'd up," Peter says. "...also, have you -- like, B, in your dreams, have you seen enough stuff to, like... build any of the stuff you're building, then? Because it is totally badass, you could fly." "I can already fly. On -- my hoverboard, anyway," B says with a blush. "... which are going to market now. Should I be excited about that?" She stops to consider, then shakes her head. "Maybe I'm excited. I guess that means --" "That you're kind of badass?" Daiki interjects. B blushes, gills rippling softly. Her eyes lower, and she nestles closer between her brother and Peter. She reaches out to tug the tray a little closer, silent invitation when Peter reaches for the food. "It'd take some work. But I could do it." "Flying sharks. I'm down. Flying -- freaky-ass spiderthing?" Shane squints at Peter assessingly. "Aerial assault team. Swoopin' in to save the world. From /what/, I have no fucking clue. But we'll be ready." | |
