ArchivedLogs:OhEmGee
| OhEmGee | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
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2013-06-14 TONYSTARK! |
| Location
<NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village | |
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late bright coloured sealife has made its way into being painted on the wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within.
Answer does not come by text. It comes in a rattle of keys in Jax's lock, a small blue shark (he looks pretty much like Shane at the moment, in borrowed NiceClothes: pinstriped slacks, dark vest, dress shirt, newsboy cap tucked onto his head. No shoes, though; he's probably just come from right next door. His phone is in his hand still and he is /beelining/ for Peter wherever he may be: "OHMYGOSH Peter ohmy/gosh/." The tone of his voice is solidly into /squee/. He also smells a little bit like wine? MAYBE HE IS DRUNK. Peter is in his room; well, a Jax-room. Maybe the room the twins had been in previously! He hears the jingle of keys, though; in an instant, he's emerging from that door, eyebrows /shoved/ together in a rough expression of puzzlement -- not just because Bastian smells of wine, but because he's wearing. What? Why is Bastian wearing ShaneClothes? For a moment, Peter is /very/ confused. "...Sebastian? What--" Peter's dressed in a red hoodie, black dress slacks -- and two-toed socks. He's also carrying what looks to be a roll of reddish fabric in his right hand; he throws it aside to the door as Sebastian bee-lines toward him: "Are you /okay/? Are you --" Sniff. "--drunk...?" The idea of Bastian being drunk makes Peter's eyebrows /dart/ up. Peter should brace himself for IMPACT because he has incoming SHARK in 3... 2... 1... Sebastian flings his arms around Peter in a tight squeeze that actually lifts the other boy off his feet for a moment. "No! Maybe. No? I don't think I'm drunk I don't know! I only had some wine. PETER. Peter you are never going to /believe/ who I just had dinner with /Peter/ this is /the best omg/." He actually says. Oh-em-gee. Peter braces! And catches! Well, not so much 'catches' as 'is caught', because suddenly he is off the floor, eyes /wide/ as saucers, toes wiggling above the carpet. "Wh--you just said oh-em-gee," Peter points out. "Who -- did you have dinner with?" he asks, trying to maybe-sneak an arm around to hug Sebastian back -- as best as he can manage, anyway! Sebastian's excitement is infectious; Peter's getting excited and he doesn't even know what he's getting excited /for/. But then, he's rolling through the list of people who 1) He'd never expect Sebastian to have dinner with, and 2) Would prompt Sebastian to /squee/. It's actually, uh, probably a short list. "Somebody -- uh, famous?" "/Yes/ I said it because /oh em gee/ //Peter//." Sebastian sets Peter back down but does not let go, just: SQUEEEEZE. "Peter /Tony Stark/ just bought me dinner." There's only a brief hesitation before he adds: "... and wine." That infectious excitement of Sebastian's has managed to get Peter wide eyed and interested; the utterance of Tony Stark's name, though -- Peter just /freezes/. His own arm, around Sebastian's waist, proceeds to SQUEEZE. "...you. Dinner? ...wine? What?" Pause. Jaw slightly lowering. GAPING at Sebastian. "...are you -- are you dating. Tony Stark?!" Sebastian's eyes widen: O.O! He squeezes Peter again, his gills fluttering. "... ohmygosh I /wish/ Peter I would /totally/ date men if they were /Tony Stark/." He finally lets go so that he can FLUMP back down on the nearest of the beanbags scattered around Jax's living room. "We have /another/ date coming up." This makes him grin, bright and toothy-broad up at the ceiling. "On /Tuesday/." When Sebastian's gills flutter, Peter's hands snap up to stroke them down without even thinking! He flushes violet a moment after his hands move to do this; /probably/ because, uh. He didn't /ask/, first. When Sebastian retreats toward one of the bean-bags, Peter's still wide-eyed and staring, trying to -- just assemble what Sebastian is saying into a coherent narrative. "You... you had -- Sebastian why would -- /why/," Peter finishes, a little more firmly, "do you have a date with Tony Stark on /Tuesday/?" Then: "Did you. Oh my God did you go to Stark Tower and he wanted to hang out with --" He give a start. "OH MY GOD. Are you -- and Tony Stark -- /bros/?!" Peter scrambles toward Sebastian. Scramble, scramble. Bastian does not seem to mind the gill-stroking; his head tips to allow it and when Peter scrambles towards him he hooks an arm upwards to drag the other boy down! And share beanbag. "We /might/ be bros," he says, "but I didn't go to Stark Tower, /we're/ --" he indicates Peter, too, "supposed to go to Stark Tower I wouldn't go /without/ you. I, um. I kind of. -- Peter, Tony Stark had an /appointment/ with my /pa/. At his studio. I maybekindof -- waited um, around outside to. Stop him. And talk." He giggles, knuckles pressing to his lips. "-- And wine. He invited me to /dinner/." Peter is a pretty draggable dude. DRAG. Down. Whump. Squirm. "Ohyeah, uh--" There's a flutter of violet in Peter's face. "--I'm not allowed out of the Lofts or my house /anyway/, so you might have to... well maybe if Jax was there," Peter adds, thoughtfully. At the mention of Jax having an appointment with Stark -- WIDE-EYES. Staring at Sebastian. Hand reaching for a shoulder, to give it a squeeze, Peter's chest compressing against Sebastian's opposite shoulder. "Your pa -- you. Tony Stark had an appointment with /Jax/. And you -- crashed. And he invited you to -- ohmyGod. Sebastian you have to show him your webshooter. Did you already?! Is that why he invited you -- ohmy/God/ you're going to be bros with Tony Stark." "Not allowed -- oh gosh what /happened/?" Because obviously there must have been TROUBLE. Sebastian looks Peter over intently. For signs of TROUBLE. "Ohmygosh," though it doesn't take long to jump back into /squee/, "ohmygosh, /yes/, /Pa/ had a tattoo appointment -- well I don't think he got a tattoo but he bought a /painting/ -- and then we went to /dinner/ and -- and I didn't show him Jerusalem /or/ the webshooters but I'm /going/ to next time we're going to totally be -- I, um, I kind of actually went for work?" Sebastian blushes at this. "But next time it'll be brotime, I think he liked me, um -- he -- I got him to um give money. For. The clinic." "Oh, nothing, um. I'm staying in the city -- for break," Peter admits, his tone taking on a sheepish edge. "But my folks are like. Super-strict about where I can go, because of the whole -- city thing? I, uh, told them. About," Peter flails his arm in the direction of the door. In the direction of TEENHAUS. "...me and Shane." Dark violet, threatening on indigo...! And then, immediately: "Money for the clin--oh, /holycrap/, I think somebody mentioned -- you're working for the clinic. You got--" Staaaaare. "...you got. Tony Stark. To give you money?" Peter /grins/. "You should show him Jerusalem." "Give the /clinic/ money -- one of their big donors backed out and Dr. Saavedro had to go to /Switzerland/ to try and convince them to come back but. I thought if I got TonyStark," (it's one word, now) "to give money it could -- make up for that other guy. He gave -- he's gonna give a whole --" But then Sebastian stops, derailed from squee to stare at Peter. "You told them? Ohmygosh," that's a different kind of ohmygosh entirely, "um, how. Are they. With it?" "...how much is he going to give?" Peter asks, suddenly -- /very/ curious. Just how much money Sebastian managed to SQUEEZE out of Tony Stark. At the mention of his folks, Peter produces a -- weak smile. "They're, uh. They're not /angry/," he tells him. "Just -- kind of baffled? I guess? I'm allowed to visit, so. Jax talked to him -- my uncle. Um," and /here/, Peter proceeds to rub rub rub at his brows, that smile immediately evaporating: "...I think he -- he wants to /meet/ Shane. Formally, I mean. Dinner, or something." Sebastian's eyes widen. Biiiig. His gills start to flutter again. "... Your uncle wants dinner with Shane, is that a good -- no," he is already answering his own question, "that pretty much sounds like the most /terrible/ idea, um, do you think we could. Coach him?" "Yes, it is a /terrible/ id--coach?" Peter's rubbing immediately ceases. Peeking between his fingers at Sebastian. "...do you think we -- would you? Help me with that? Maybe -- if we just, like. Cue cards. Or I could kick him. Under the table. Or," Peter says, violet rapidly swelling back to his face, "I could just -- convince him not to say /anything/ to do with sex." "We can /try/ -- cue cards might be good or maybe if we just put a shock --" Sebastian's teeth clamp down together for a moment, "-- ok maybe no, cue cards. Oh! You could get a dog whistle, we hear really good! Press it. Any time he should be quiet. BEEP. Nobody else'll notice!" He lifts a hand, fingers brushing against Peter's cheek. "You turn purple almost as easily as my pa and Micah turn red. How long do you think Shane can /go/ without saying something about sex?" Peter twitches, trying not to /grin/ when Sebastian's teeth clamp down over that first idea. "...dog whistle? Oh, man. You guys can hear those? That'd be a good idea--" When Sebastian's fingers brush over Peter's cheeks, they heat up back to violet /again/, risking indigo! "I, uh, yeah -- I've been trying to -- with Shane, /not/ blush all the time, because... but, yeah." At Sebastian's last question, there's a snort, followed by a grin, and: "...about forty-five seconds, I think?" Like he's actually timed it. "Y'know I don't think -- it's not even that he's /obsessed/ with it, it's just. He's never embarassed about it." "I think he's actually kind of healthy about it," Sebastian admits, his hand falling back to the beanbag chair. "I mean he's /safe/ and he's good about making sure it's -- /everyone/'s enjoying -- themselves --" Now /his/ cheeks are flushing darker, "-- I mean a lot of the world is really /screwed up/ about it." His nose crinkles. "People could do a lot worse than consensual enthusiam. But um. Until /everyone's/ not-embarassed he's just going to. Get a lot of /weird/ looks. Maybe! Maybe you could just steer the conversation to /other/ things he gets excited about and then he'll /forget/. To talk about sex. Talk about environmental conservation instead. Or, um, talk about weird dystopian sci-fi. Or rock climbing. Or fencing. -- no not fencing he'll probably make some inappropriate comment about Professor Wagner." "Yeah, he's really -- I mean, just in a week, I learned /way/ more than I've ever--" Peter starts, but now he's turning /vivid/ indigo, diving headlong into this next blush. Briefly turning away to stare at the door. "...um. I don't have, y'know. A lot of -- he taught me a bunch of stuff," Peter says, apparently content to just. LEAVE IT AT THAT. At the mention of environmental conservation / dystopian sci-fi / rock-climbing / fencing, Peter brightens, before adding, a little meekly: "Man my folks just get baffled when I talk about stuff like -- but that could work, yeah. Oh, right. No fencing," Peter notes, before suddenly adding, rather /forcefully/ -- with a squeeze to Sebastian's shoulder. As if to remind him: "You're having dinner. With /Tony Stark/." Sebastian bumps his forehead lightly against Peter's at this recurring blush. "Yeah," is all he says, still a bit too-dark himself, "he's good at that. -- Oh my gosh, you'd be the /best/ at rock climbing," he abruptly realizes, his grin returning. "We should take you sometime -- and Anole." Suddenly his eyes widen. "Oh! Oh, do you think -- with all this, that Anole's -- I mean he'll be OK, right? In the tunnels?" FRET. But his fret is derailed by shoulder-squeeze, by a fiercer smile. "Ohmygosh Peter I had dinner with /TonyStark/." His gills flutter again as he wriggles with excitement. "Dr. Saavedro didn't think I'd be good at my job." This is maybe JUST a little smug. But then he stops, turning onto his side and looking at Peter with a little bit of -- concern. "Um. Peter. I think the whole. Fight club thing. It might be -- all over the news soon. Maybe." Peter happy-content-squirms at the head-bump, followed by shoulder-squeeze; he shifts and relaxes, sinking into the beanbag. "..mmf. Oh," Peter adds, blinking at the mention of Anole, as if this hadn't even occurred to him. Probably because -- it hasn't! "...we should check on him. /Someone/ should," he adds. "He was going to school for the summer, right? And holycrap," Peter says, /laughing/, "if you get Tony Stark to foot the bill for the clinic nobody can ever say you're bad at your job /ever/." The bit about Fight Club gets Peter to stiffen a moment, though; he frowns, glancing at Sebastian -- meekly. "...I figured. Do you think -- Jax said. There's videos. Of some of the fights." Much more softly: "Ours." "The clinic has a /big/ bill," Sebastian admits with the kind of disgruntled nosewrinkle of someone who has been going through a /lot/ of clinic paperwork lately! "... But I got him to promise. A few. Million. Um. Maybe more later? Peter I didn't even know mortgages /came/ as high as sixty million --" He drops off into silence, then. Still and quiet, though his gills flare rapidly. And he sinks in closer to Peter, nestling against his side. "-- Videos. Why would they. Why." He swallows. "-- Pa saw. Our fight?" Peter's instantly scooting closer; a hand reaches out for those fluttering, flaring gills. When his fingers stretch across it -- when his palm is compressed to it -- he /clamps/ his palm down, squeezing -- clinging to it to keep it shut. The other hand reaches to wind around Sebastian's waist, pulling him closer on the bean-bag. Slow but /fierce/ hug. "...yeah. It. He shouldn't have -- he saw it. He's not -- you /know/ he's not angry with you or anything right? I mean, /duh/ why would he be but," Peter's voice is getting progressively lower, softer, as he speaks. "...he um. He set the stairwell on fire. The other day. After seeing it." "-- ohgosh is he mad at --" is in fact the /very first/ question Sebastian is asking, tiny and -- he kind of sounds genuinely scared of this possibility! His eyes close, gills pressing up against Peter's palm but eventually settling back down. His arm curls around Peter's waist, squeezing back tight. "... he shouldn't have seen that," he agrees next. "Oh, gosh. Oh, /gosh/, is he -- he shouldn't have seen that. That's -- is he OK? He always. Um. Hides." "-- dude," Peter rumbles, a little darker, /squeezing/ at the base of Sebastian's spine, fingers -- almost denting! -- inward. "He would /not/ be mad at you. If anyone is mad at you -- I will /punch/ them," Peter says, his grip tensing, his chin descending for the top of Sebastian's head, against spikeyhair. "...well okay maybe not punch but, I will totally. Web them. Or something. He -- yeah, I think. The other night, after he did it -- he didn't have enough -- um, juice? To hide his -- scars." Peter draws in a ragged sigh, and... "...if this all goes public people are going to -- see it. They're going to..." Peter /squeezes/ again, closer. "...say stuff. About, you guys. Probably. Ugly stuff." Peter's head shifts; his chin slides -- pushing his lips against the top of Sebastian's temple. "...I just. Whatever they'll say. They'll be wrong." "Yeah, he -- he burns out when he -- oh, gosh, you /saw/ them? He doesn't usually --" Sebastian squeezes Peter tighter. "-- He had a meeting with TonyStark first. I think pa -- told him all about. Everything. TonyStark is going to have a -- a press conference. And talk about fight club. And donating to the clinic." His eyes squeeze shut at the press of lips to temple. He burrows closer still. "-- I tried to /eat/ you, Peter. I don't think. That they're wrong." "Oh, man," Peter mumbles, at the mention of press conference. He doesn't know Tony Stark well enough to know how much of a media circus it will be, but. He knows /enough/ to know it'll be a media circus. "Oh, /man/," Peter repeats, but then at those last words -- Peter kisses again, hard and pressing against Sebastian's temple, even as he /squeezes/ as hard as he dares -- which is a lot harder than he dares with anyone who actually has bones. "You tried to eat me," Peter agrees, but then: "They're still wrong. You were fighting to /survive/. Even if -- even if Shane didn't stop you -- if you had --" Peter's hand moves from Sebastian's back to the base of his skull, squeezing and pushing his head deeper against Peter's throat and chest. Almost as if intent on compressing it. "Peter I still need to breathe," though Sebastian sounds more amused than put off, here, curling his arms tighter. A shudder runs through him. "-- if I had." He swallows. "God, if I had -- I don't think I could --" His fingers curl into Peter's shirt, dragging the other boy half on top of him with his tight clinging. "... it's going to be ugly. I think I'll just. Not. Watch the news for a while." "Sorry," Peter mumbles, a little meekly; he loosens his grip, just a little. Kind of -- flopping, half-on-top of Sebastian. "...yeah," Peter agrees, then, with that next sentiment, a little more quietly, a little less fierce. "Probably, uh. Not watching the news for a while. Would be a good plan." Sebastian's grip on Peter's shirt loosens, and his eyes close. "Friday there'll be school again," he says this really quiet, "I hope. Nobody there. Watches the news either." But then he smiles! Bright. Quick. "-- Do you want to come to the press conference?" he asks, with another squeeze. "Pa'll be there, so maybe -- maybe your folks won't mind? And. And TonyStark. Will be there. I bet he'll want to be your bro, too." Peter squeezes his fingers at the mention of students at the school seeing the news. But then -- he /laughs/, a little, at the idea of TonyStark being Peterbro. "I think I'd just. Totally spaz out. Because, /holycrap/. TonyStark. I -- maybe," Peter says, at the idea of attending the press conference. "...yeah if Jax is there. I guess. I guess I could be there. I could see him in person. Would be cool." "I just," Sebastian's concerned tone has the feel of a warning, "just, um, he's kind of -- a little rude? So don't. Be sad. If. -- I mean OK you're used to /Shane/," he finishes with a breathy laugh. "I guess you can handle rude. It'll be awesome though. We can /both/ show him your webshooters, I mean, come on, you made them /first/. -- WellOK I guess Micah made them first --" He frowns uncertainly here. "-- I don't know if he'll be there, though. Micah's kind of /everyone's/ bro." He says this /worried/. Like Micah will steal his bro-thunder. "Kisha made the updated design too," Peter mentions, before grinning a bit, and: "Is Stark one of Micah's bros /already/?" Peter asks this question as if a response of 'yes' wouldn't really surprise him. "I can handle rude," he adds, "I've had some practice with rude. Besides it's /Tony Stark/ he can be -- rude. Um. Maybe." A faint flicker of violet. "I've been working on, other stuff too. I dunno though it would be -- you know, with Professor McCoy, I've been--" Suddenly, Peter whispers, head bobbing closer to Sebastian's ear: "Don't tell anyone, but I've been working on body armor. Ivan gave me a bunch of webbing to experiment with. Dr. McCoy thinks it's just a summer project, but. I'm making it on my own, now. For me to wear. Dude it can block /bullets/. And taser-proof," he adds, as if this last bit was a /major/ selling point. "Probably," Sebastian says, "and TonyStark probably likes him better." This comes with a longsuffering /sigh/. He cannot outcool Micah. His eyes shoot open wide. "-- Youhavebodyarmor?" he squeaks, squeeeezing his arms tight around Peter. "Ohmy/gosh/ you're going to be the /best/ super -- no wait Peter you /can't/ you're supposed to be staying /out/ of danger." But this fretting comes immediately before: "You made it with webbing? I mean, yeahok, spider silk is strong -- but. What -- webbing and Kevlar?" he posits uncertainly. "Webbing and kevlar," Peter says, nodding rapidly. "Interlocking disks -- um, yeah the webbing -- it's too /elastic/ to deflect blows on its own. It's kinda -- honeycombish? Also," Peter adds, reaching down to -- /friendly/-bite -- Sebastian's shoulder, "I'm /gonna/ stay safe, I just. You know. No matter how hard I try, danger's probably gonna find me /anyway/ so. I'm going to be ready. And I'm not gonna hide forever," Peter adds, a hint of boldness creeping in. "I'm /going/ back out. On the streets. Doing the stuff I've been doing. Just -- not right now," he mumbles, his tone softening. "Because, um. All this stuff." "I'm going with you," Sebastian says immediately. "When you do. /We're/ going with you. Solo superheroing is stupid anyway. You need a team." The bite earns a laugh, and a sudden -- gentle but /firm/ push backwards, shifting positions. Now Sebastian's hand pins Peter at the shoulder, back against the beanbag. "You're kind of a badass. But you still need someone at your /back/." Peter is! Easily pushed down into the bean-bag. The mention of going as a team seems to surprise Peter; his eyes flutter open wide, and. Tiny-grin. "...Rasa mentioned that. I should -- I mean, I didn't think -- man I could make us /all/ armor, maybe. It would be /wicked/ cool. Plus, respirators, and -- and yeah," Peter admits, a little more weakly, violet creeeeping up on his face as Sebastian pins him, and mentions bad-assery -- glancing to the side. "...you're probably right. At the very least there should be -- someone, who's -- listening. Knows where you are. A team would be /awesome/." "I can help," Bastian offers, "I'm good in the -- building things -- /Peter/ how come you're not in robotics club?" This is sudden and comes with a bite of his own! Well -- a tiny nip that is really more a small /press/ of teeth to the juncture of shoulder and neck; it pulls back before his sharp teeth can pierce through dark chitin. "Pa is a /total/ badass and /he/ still has teams. I bet Kisha could be, like, our /eyes/. Rig up cameras for us and give us advance warning of things and have spydrones to tell us where trouble is. -- Jerusalem's a great spy but he doesn't. Fly. /Yet/." "I /should/ be," Peter agrees, at mention of the robotics club; the violet flush remains, furious and sustained! "I was -- gonna try for summer, maybe, if it's still open -- oh man /yeah/, she could. Do drone stuff. That would be -- I was gonna add little webcams? To the mask, so. People could see where I was. What I was doing. That sort of stuff." The faint nip manages to turn violet back to indigo; Peter's grinning right through it, though. "/Yet/," Peter agrees. "We could totally make mini-flying Jerusalems." "Yeah! It's totally still open. And totally still /awesome/." Sebastian settles back down, alongside Peter now though his hand still drapes over him in a lazy sort of hug. "... we're going to make it awesome." Smaller, more hopeful than confident. "Because. It's summer. And summer's /supposed/ to be /great/." | |
