ArchivedLogs:Outlet

Outlet
Dramatis Personae B, Regan	2015-09-30 "Sometimes I just want to --"
Location <BOM> House of Leaves - Ascension Island
A small log cabin halfway between the main clearing and the beach, this little lodge is nestled alongside a twist in the stream. A large mulberry tree by the water has had a tire swing hung down over the creek; its branches seem in occasional need of pruning for how they butt up against the side of the cabin. Inside, the cabin is small and neat. Its entry room is a small sitting space, an eclectic host of artwork hanging on the walls. It holds an old but very comfortable black leather couch, a sunny yellow throw rug in front of the fireplace, a pair of large bookshelves on the back wall, a small oak coffee table in front of the sofa. A little dining table along the left side wall stands next to a window; pushed up against the wall, it has room for only three chairs. There's a tiny kitchenette off in the back. The right wall has a door leading to the bedroom. Its queen-sized bed is usually covered in an abundance of pillows and blankets, bright yellow and dark blue. A desk stands against the window, often littered with books and notes. The bathroom is small, tiled in pale stone, with a claw-footed bathtub. Rain is pattering down heavily against the windows. There's a creaky scrape of branches against glass, a steady fall of raindrops on roof. A crackle of fire in the fireplace -- and, now, a steaming mug of coffee sitting on the coffee table. Regan looks like she could use it, expression a little drawn, shoulders a little slumped; she's still in scrubs though her shoes have been kicked off first thing upon arriving home. She settles down onto the couch with a heavy sigh, rubs knuckles against her eyes, takes a long -- long -- pull of her coffee. For a moment she eyes her bookshelves almost longingly. Eventually she does stand, does head over to the bookshelves. She doesn't take a book off them, though. Just a small robot in the shape of an orb weaver, heading back to set it down on the coffee table beside her computer. She taps lightly at the spider's back, fingertips dancing against its shell as she settles back onto the couch, lifting a hand to straighten absently at her hair. The spider wakes up, quickly enough, legs unfolding to push it up into a standing position on the table, eyes lighting to a dim glow. After this, though, there's a long stretch of nothing. Just quiet. Regan is unbothered by the quiet. She leaves the spider where it is, opening up her laptop and settling down to a very cluttered inbox. It doesn't take long to drain her coffee. She gets a second mug. Continues weeding slowly through a backlog of work emails. There is, eventually, a small skittering from the spider, the bot reorienting to face Regan. A holographic projection sprouts to life from it, blossoming into an image of B, a little apologetic as the sharkpup folds herself into a seat beside Regan on the couch. She -- or her avatar -- is dressed brightly, silvery leggings under a purple miniskirt, huge very stompy chunky ankle boots emblazoned with skulls (the skulls have tiny little hair bows perched atop their heads), a high-necked lacy see-through black and silver blousewith frilly neck and sleeves, cut-out bust, purple bra underneath. Chunky studded wristcuffs. B tucks hir legs up beneath hirself, smoothing out hir skirt with one hand. Hir black eyes flick up, down, up. There's a small flutter of hir gills before a quick-small smile. "... long day?" Regan glances up from her computer at the sound of tapping feet against the table. She sets the mug aside, her brows lifting. "It's had the standard complement of hours." There's a touch of amusement in her voice. "I can't say I'm sad to be through with work. How's life at the nerd farm?" B's gills flutter faster, here. Her fingers press down at her skirt, curling against its hem. "Busy," ze eventually answers, a small smile of hir own on hir lips. "I mean, /you/ know how it gets. I think I'm still -- getting used to the --" Hir head shakes slightly. "Workload." "I do know how it is." Regan leans forward, lightly closing the lid of her laptop. She rests one foot on the edge of the coffeetable, leaning back and tipping her head against the back of the couch. "Which is why I thought I'd check in. If it's anything like it was when /I/ was there --" A dry note has slipped into her tone. "Well. There were a lot of times I could have used an escape." B's brows lift. The fluttering at hir gills presses down slightly, hir fingers splaying out flat against hir skirt. "You? Really?" Hir nose crinkles up. "It /has/ been a little bit rocky," she admits, quieter. "My roommate is /so/ -- awkward you have no idea." This comes with another rapid flutter of gills, though it's brief. "Awkward." Just a level repetition of this word, though Regan's brows lift again. B bows hir head, rubs slightly at the side of hir neck. "... awkward." The breath ze expels is sharp. "I /contacted/ hir before the school year even started to make sure she'd be okay with --" Hir webbed hand gestures towards -- hir whole body. "But I think mutants-in-concept is different than. Me." Shrug. "She brings people over like /all/ the time. Like she needs /protection/ from being alone with me? Or sometimes just to gawk." There's a determined lightness to B's tone. "It's cool I really love libraries anyway you know? But sometimes I just want to --" Her cheeks puff out, claws raking briefly through hir spiky hair. Regan reaches to pick her mug back up. Takes a long slow sip of her coffee. "Bite her?" she suggests, with a low chuckle. B's teeth flash. Bright. Wide. Grinning. Regan's smile echoes this, for a moment. Quick and warm. "Not that I would /recommend/ it, of course. I'm sure you'll find plenty more creative ways to deal with your frustration." The holographic sharkpup presses a palm to hir lips, shoulders shaking in a brief ripple of silent laughter. Hir hand drops to hir lap afterwards. "It's nice to dream, though. And I don't really want to bite her..." A beat of delay. "/Most/ of the time. I just. Want to a break, you know? From homework and a million and three Really Calm Discussions with people about why I even deserve to be allowed in class." Regan lowers her mug to her lap. Her fingers tap slowly against its side. "If you're looking for a change of pace," she says, after a moment, "there's a project that I think we could use your brain on." "Me?" B's brows draw together briefly, slightly puzzled. After this, though, she sits up a little straighter, pulls her shoulders a little squarer. "I mean what kind of project? I mean what kind of help?" Regan takes another sip of coffee. "Have you ever been to D.C.?"