ArchivedLogs:Roll

Roll
Dramatis Personae B, Ion, Kay, Shane	2015-03-21 "You say that like we got a PLAN."
Location Mutant Mongrels Garage
In here it smells like engine oil and rubber, electrical burns and metal. A large expanse of space with a whole bevy of tools all arranged in /actually/ some sort of order along the side walls, a number of motorbikes in various states of de- and re-construction near the back. Ion today is in black and white, plaid flannel unbuttoned over a plain tee, jeans, tall boots, his kutte over the flannel. He's perched with one asscheek hitched up onto a table -- it currently bears a cake, of sorts. Not /really/ a cake. Kinda a spicy block of meatloaf that's had SPARKLERS pushed into it like candles, sizzling and dancing in a multitude of sparking colors while his deep rumbling bass finishes, "{-- tinysharks, happy birthday to you.}" The tinysharks in question are more colourful. B is in black and /pink/, platform sneakers and bright fishnets layered over shiny oilslick-sheened tights, cargo miniskirt, a fringed black jacket over pink long-sleeved shirt, faintly shimmery scarf more decorative than warm. "... can we even blow these out?" Ze's eying the sparklers uncertainly. Shane looks like he usually does. Polished Oxfords, slacks, pinstripe vest, mandarin-collared dress shirt. He shrugs in answer to the question, reaching out to /pluck/ one of the blue sparklers out of the meatloaf-cake and -- en garde! -- make a small jabbing swipe at B. B yelps! Dances back a half-step, but nabs a green sparkler for herself, an arc of light cut through the air as she swipes it down to meet Shane's blow. "You could TRY." Kay, crouched up ON the table like a god damn rangy crow, behind the MEATCAKE so that its dazzle-light shines a hellish under-glow up into his face. He's wearing a tatty-singed black sleeveless compression shirt with his kutte - the real deal, with the full fiery skull-and-crossbones patch and torn-off sleeves, since he doesn't have to be incognito HERE. Skinny jeans with the knees blown out and a studded belt. His scratchy-ass vulpine tenor had been raking the upper notes over Ion's singing. "Or you could blow... /each other's/ out." The sparklers for SOME REASON glowing brighter and burning slower, leaving bright sulfur-arcs behind their jab-and-thrust motions. Like some bitchin' music video. There's probably some variety of rock music playing from the turned-down radio. "I think the fighting that work just fine. Bam-bam-bam. Get 'em." Ion makes small shadow-boxing motions with his fists as the sharkpups LIGHT-fence each other. He plucks one of the other sparklers out -- there's not actually eighteen of them, he kind of just shoved a whole PACK in at RANDOM -- swishing it to dance through the air as well. "What's the right-way-now, eat a cake first, open a present first, I 'ono how you people do these thing huh?" Thwack-thwack! B is falling naturally into step, a little bouncy with a forward thrust. She looks up at the question, though, wide-eyed. "... presents?" It sounds kind of surprised. "Hoshit," Shane is much more hasty in stepping back, parrying frantically, "you didn't have to get us /presents/ you made us /literal beefcake/." Maybe it's not actually beef but it's meat and smells good and he's not counting. "Presents WHILE cake." "What 'you people', pendejo," Kay doesn't NEED Ion's sparkler, but he'll lean over and half-climb over his shoulder to chase after it regardless, "You say that like we got a PLAN." He's radiant with bouncy energy as WELL, just all huge grins and kind of headlock-shakes Ion in a tactile version of sharing a LOOK. "Do we got a PLAN, Ion? HUH?" His wild eyes dart-follow the whipping lances of parrying sparkler light, and he extracts one hand to slooooowly reach back behind him where a crummy old tarp is draped over - WHOOSH. The tarp is swooshed aside, exposing a box. Or well - something box SHAPED. It's wrapped! Not in wrapping paper, though, it's more like something you might find in Ed Gein's house, all wrapped in scrap-leather and crudely stitched together with jute twine. There is no obvious... tape or dotted line at which it might be opened. Maybe it DOESN'T OPEN. "/You people/ you got all kinda strangeass tradition /I/ can't keep no track -- nnf." Ion's shoulders /shake/ like he's trying to buck Kay off. Or maybe move him closer to the box. "Yah we got all the plan, the plan it's stuff the leetle-sharks full of the beefcake. What's this, you goddamn adults now. You can eat /all/ the cake. Anyway /they're/ the adults, they gotta be the ones with the plans, /you/ got plans, leetlesharks?" B leans in to blow, hard, at Shane's sparkler as the present is unveiled. She bounces on the toes of her sneakers after this. "Wait," she says with a small giggle, "/we're/ the adults -- now? Where does that leave you?" "Juuuust where they've always been," Shane answers easily. "My plans are --" For a moment his shoulders slump. "Nebulous. B, though," more excitably, "totally college-bound." "Maybe totally. I'm still waiting to hear from some," B admits, pouncing over to the frankenwrapped package to trace claws liiightly against it. "But ze's already heard from the /important/ one," Shane clarifies. "MIT answers the earliest and that's the only one ze gives a shit about." B blushes, at this. Shane joins her at the package. He's less delicate. Rip-tear. "What the fuck is with this wrapping did you wrap it in the HIDES of your ENEMIES." "'Nebulous' says the booming business owner," Kay drape-armed rides Ion's bucking shoulders with a smile that has grown positively beatific. It turns into a more oni expression when his tongue drops out and his nose wrinkles at Shane. This is apparently his answer to his grown-up status. His impressed whistle has a few OOUFF cut-offs with all the struggling, "Man, B-Baby, you got the brightest mind /I/ ever seen. If those flatscan motherfuckers at MIT /didn't/ see it, I'd be - well. Can't say I'd be surprised, but damn if you ain't gonna kick their fucking ass up and down the block, they give you half a chance." The leather isn't exactly sturdy; light claw scrapes might just leave tracks in it, but more dedicated tearing opens the material with a satisfyingly velvety rrrrrrrrrip. Inside is - a crude wooden box! It's just kind of pieced together plywood, but this at least has a top that opens. It's been graffiti'd on with permanent marker, lots of skulls and crossbones and SNAKES and stars, simplified lapping waves with shark fins poking up out of them and messages like "NOW YOU CAN BUY PORN AND SMOKES" and "CONGRATULATIONS FOR NOT DYING". There's also a pair of signatures on it, oddly formal, on one corner. Like it'd been Officially Signed Off On. One of them is Kay's - apparently, his last name is Hesse. Middle initial: M. "What's a neblis?" Ion leans in to Kay to ask this a little uncertainly, frowning back over at Shane. "That's like a star thing, right? You gonna go even farther than B with that shit, huh? MIT that's a -- fucking, Boston. Is a good one, yeah?" He gives a SOLEMN NOD of approval to this news. "So this like a birthday /and/ congratulate cake. Both." His palm thumps down on the table to /cement/ this statement as fact. His own signature is just initials -- M.A.E. With a /lightning bolt/ drawn beside. Shane /snorts/ when he sees the box. "Shit man, yeah, now I finally get to find out what cigarettes taste like." /His/ hands drum against the top of the box. B blushes, fingertips tracing against it. "It's a good one. A little nervous about -- if it'll be -- okay once they actually -- see me but. But it's a good one. Shane's --" "... still waiting to hear." This is kind of /mumbled/. Awkwardly. Almost like Shane is bashful about it? Possibly because he hasn't actually even mentioned /applying/ to any schools to -- pretty much anyone at all. "And nebulous is like, uncertain. Undefined." This time it is B who is impatient, reaching out to pull open the box kind of eagerly. Kay snaps a finger and points at Shane - that definition. And clarifies, "Star thing's like. Nebu-... nebulo-...s. Or something. Fuck, I dunno, man, ask the Eggheads." He apparently means BOTH twins, since his sweeping gesture includes both of them. Hungrily watching B reach out to open the box, even if his smile grows harder, more gritted, "Kid, let /them/ worry about that. Maybe they /will/ cak their baby pants - s'kinda what cowards DO. 'Cause you're not just smart, you're also /tough/ as nails, and bold enough to get right up in their face and MAKE them have to deal with your ass. If they can't handle your raw-fucking-power, what good's a wolf gonna get from trying to learn form /sheep/ anyway." Inside the box, the supple-earthy smell of much finer quality NEW leather whaffts up into the garage-smells, clean and sharp. Set in a next of gray tissue paper are two black leather - vests? They're folded! Kind of hard to make out the details! Written in the same marker on the inside of the box are two letters - S above one. B above the other. "Waaat you the least-damn-nebulous person I fucking knowed. Fff." Ion shakes his head, folding one leg up beneath himself. He plucks a bit of meatloaf off the side of the cake -- maybe not quite /etiquette/, nibbling at it before it's officially /cut/, but he doesn't seem to care, popping it into his mouth as he watches the twins with bright eager eyes. "Nebula," B volunteers. "And Juilliard'd be lucky to have /you/. Besides there's no point stressing till you hear." "She says that now but she was /all/ just a ball of nerves until she heard back. She's gonna eat MIT fucking alive, though. C'mon. How many of /them/ make goddamn hoverboards, none of them." Shane slings an arm around B's shoulders, leaning in to peeeeer into the box. B reaches into the box, nabbing the vests. Shaking them out. Pressing the S one to Shane's chest. /Her/ eyes have lit, again. "... are these -- are -- are you really --?" Arm now just casually draped across Ion's shoulders, save a brief constricting of fist in the other Mongrel's sleeve, Kay's smile slips closed, the manic exposure of teeth hidden behind a stead, bold line. "Only if you want." His bright-eyed gaze shifts for an equal measure from Shane's face and B's, "We love you kids. You're /family/, and there ain't nothing that'll change that, /whatever/ y'all wanna do, /wherever/ you end up going. You're no fucking probies, here. But if you wanna roll..." He takes in a slow breath, lets it out ever slower, the heat across the back of Ion's neck increasing to a warm bake. The vests at first appear identical; black leather, a small skull and crossbones patch at the front breast, the letters MMMC beneath it. On the back, the patch is much bigger, crisp-clean and brand new, MUNTANT MONGRELS emblazoned on a swooshing banner-shap over the skull. Both skull patches have inhumanly sharp shark teeth, but... closer inspection notes that Shane's patch is GRINNING, a violin and bow forming the X behind it while B's is baring its teeth in a nose-wrinkling /snarl/, a pair of fencing foils intersected behind it instead. "Yeah we really. I mean, is up to you, eh, pups? But --" Ion waves a hand towards Kay in indication. "You family. This it just like, say it loud. You want 'em, they all-your." B opens her eyes wide. Her gills flutter, quick-quick-quick. Her mouth opens -- then closes again. She tugs her vest on quickly and /launches/ herself at the older Mongrels, teeth bared in a sudden fierce grin as wiry small arms fling around the both of them in a strong tight hug. Shane is slower. He lifts his vest, drawing in a deep breath. Sniffsniffsniffing at the leather. He turns the vest around, examines its back; examines its front again. "Shit, man, I've only still got my learner's permit. That," he asks with a crooked grin (even as he's pulling the vest on), "gonna be a problem?" "HAAGH!" Kay erupts with such a harsh, ugly-wet exhale it's hard to tell if it's a laugh, or a sob, or a snarl. Maybe it's just squeezed out from the sudden leap-constriction of abdominal muscles it takes to throw himself BACK at B, rushing forward at almost the same time to seize wiry arms around her. /Squeeze her/. Curl his torso down to /heave/ her up off the ground while thumping his bony chin down on her shoulder, just... /gleeful-whispering/ against her jacket like no one else matters, "You good good good good GOOD GOOD KID!" "/Fuck/no I don't even got no damn license boy. But we teach, huh? Teach you up good. How to roll with us." Ion's hugs come with a /jolt/. Zap-zap. But he returns it strong as well, his grin every bit as wide. "/After/ some goddamn cake, yeah?"