ArchivedLogs:Saturday Night Plans

Saturday Night Plans
Dramatis Personae Sebastian, Shane, Shelby
In Absentia	2013-04-06 '
Location <NYC> Howard Johnson Express Inn - Bronx
The Howard Johnson Express Inn in the Bronx is... not the nicest place to stay in the city. In fact, it is probably down near the bottom of the list. All the classic warning signs are there: bulletproof glass in front of the clerk, small rooms with rickety beds, shabby, cigarette-smoke yellowed walls, and their rental prices - cheap, and by the hour. Still, for those with no money to stay someone better, and for those who want to stay out of the eye of the police, it is a frequent destination. It's getting a little late but still Sebastian and Shelby have not checked out of the room they rented. Who knows what went on in there! But it has kept them for several hours and now evening is coming on, and it is mild and pretty outside. The door to the room has been propped open with a hand-towel shoved beneath it, allowing some of that sweet New York City fresh air to drift inside. From the distant end of the room, where the bathroom is, the sound of the shower hisses through a closed door. Shelby is outside of the room, dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a sweatshirt. She's got her back propped up against the wall beneath the curtained window, her knees drawn up and her sneakered foot set wide. A cigarette is pinched between the fore- and middle-fingers of her right hand but said hand is set loosely over one knee. Her head is tilted back while she studies the sky, looking somewhere between thoughtful and sleepy. Stompstompstompstompstomp. That is Shane's approach, hello! He is stompy. Not as stompy as he /could/ be, really, he is wearing neat black shoes instead of proper boots. His hands are in the pockets of his dark peacoat, and he is scowling. But he removes a hand as he approaches the room, in order to hold it out imperiously towards Shelby and curl his fingers up. Wagglewaggle/gimme/. "Hey." Manners first! Shelby offers up a greeting and only /then/ does she pass over the cigarette. Then she waves smoke away from before her face and tilts her head back up, eyes on the sky. Grimy thing that it is. "You smoke my smokes, you're not allowed to be a dick," she remarks without looking at Shane. "I've got a bitching headache still, don't wanna deal with assiness." "You fuck him?" Manners, what manners. Shane's looking through the door to the room beyond, squinting at the closed bathroom door as he takes a long drag of cigarette. His other hand makes grabbing motions towards Shelby's /head/. "I give good head-rubs." Shelby side-eyes the grabby motions, only a /little/ suspicious. Then she tilts her head towards fingers in a careful offering up of herself to head-rubs. "Shit...it can't be any worse than anything else I've tried. Only morphine's taken the edge off and fucking McCoy wouldn't give me anymore," she grumps. Question? What question? Notably, one of the queen-sized beds in the room is rumpled--the coverlet has been pulled off entirely and left on the floor--but there are no clothes scattered around. No condom wrappers to be seen. Which bolsters her claim of, "Didn't fuck him," when she finally deigns to answer. Shane blows out a slow stream of smoke, probably mostly in the direction of the room as he gives it a very critical inspection. "Mngh," he grunts, dropping his hand to offer the cigarette back. His hand moves to Shelby's head, fingers starting at temples and working their way down towards her neck with firm slow circular rubbing. "Got some Vicodin," he offers, "not quite morphine but." One shoulder shrugs. He's back to eying the shower door. "You got plans tonight?" "Vicodin /and/ massages? You falling for me too?" Shelby keeps her head down but peripheral vision allows her to reach unerringly for the cigarette. She takes a drag of her own, and upon the exhalation releases both smoke and a host of pleasedrumbly sounds. "Next you'll be bringing me flowers, asking me to dance again...oh man, don't stop," she orders. "Mm. Was gonna try to get B to stay the night but I guess maybe not. So...dunno. Go check on Hive, maybe? Crash with the doc." She pauses for a beat. "Usually I'd just go hang with ya'll at Jax's." "Gave Mel a headrub yesterday. Guess I'm in my experimenting phase. Bi-curious. You wanna dance?" Shane slips around behind Shelby so that he can do this massaging thing with both hands. "Think Hive's awake yet? -- You see the news? Is Io even out of jail?" He's ignoring that last line it's clearly not relevant. Shelby shuffles around to provide Shane with a better vantage as well, though her pleasurable grumbles turn to a half-hearted snicker. "Kissing Rasa too. Better be careful, you'll be...wait, what? What news? The doc's in jail?" Headache or no, her head jerks up and she turns to squint up at his face. Score one to Shane, for pulling her off of the scent of reunions. "What the fuck happened? He got /arrested/?" "Yeah sure he's like a fuckin' terrorist now too." Shane sounds unconcerned about this. Looks unconcerned, too, though he answers her turn of head with a "/Pff/, down, you want this fucking headrub or not." His hands are kind of guiding her head back to its previous position. "Was giving a speech about his freak clinic. Police tried to stop him speaking. Spoke anyway." "Son of a bitch." Shelby only reluctantly turns her head forward. The tension has ramped up again, undoing all of his previous work and leaving her neck stiff, her shoulders locked and hunched up. "That's so fucking /dumb/. I thought they were allowed to build the damn thing, why would they arrest him for /talking/." She says this in much the same tone that adults use when saying "/teenagers/". /Adults/. Sheesh. She rocks to the side, reaching towards her rear pocket for her phone. "Man, I gotta..." "It's pretty dumb. You're not allowed to just, like, give speeches in Central Park I guess? I dunno it's really stupid what you can do and not do. I'm not really sure why they were pissed from what I saw online it was /basically/ a giant crock of bullshit." Shane gives another shrug, at this. He is kneading slowly, one hand at her shoulders and one at the base of her skull. "But. Yeah. Totally jail. I mean you have a key though, right, you don't need him to be /home/ to go there." "/Lots/ of people give speeches in Central Park. Hell, you gotta wade through all the weirdo religious people up on crates to get to the good hot dog stands in there," Shelby huffs. Ever so slowly under Shane's ministrations, she is relaxing again. Also she is squinting at her phone's screen and thumb-typing. Type type type. "It's total bullshit, they're just giving him a hard time, I bet...mmph. I guess..." Actually. She pauses to consider. "You got any plans for tonight?" Then her phone dings and she is reading. "Well, yeah, I mean he's like a fucking /race/ traitor. That's maybe even worse than being a freak himself." Shane shrugs a shoulder. "I mean you should /see/ the fucking looks people give when I'm out in public with someone who can pass. I'm used to terrible but people give /them/ even /more/ shit. I bet your doctor's gonna get a whole shit /mountain/ dropped on him, you should get him to write you into his will." "Yeah, I know, B and I get it sometimes. It's fucking stupid, I'ma start going out with pictures on my face again, I think." But this is absent-minded, Shelby dividing her attention between Shane and the buzzing phone in her hands. "He says he was only in there the night. They threw the case out this morning. Stupid bullshit...anyone /does/ kill him, I'm gonna rip their goddamned heads off." "Oh! Oh, are we ripping heads, can I rip heads?" Shane doesn't actually sound as eager at this prospect as the words would imply. His fingers curl absently through Shelby's hair for a moment before returning to rubbing. "He's got bodyguards, though," he says this almost reluctantly, "they'll probably keep him safe." Shelby absently flicks ash off to the pavement--it's grown long due to the cigarette being ignored--before taking another pull from it. Then she offers it back up to Shane to finish off. Her exhalation is part sigh. "You'd probably be better at it than me but you take 'em down, I can soften 'em up," she says, only faintly amused. "You'd be a killer bodyguard too, I bet. Maybe if you ever grow up." Pause. "Get taller, I mean." Suuuure she means it that way. "Or maybe a masseuse, you do got the magic touch." "Yeah, I hear that a lot," Shane says, wryly. One of his hands halts in its massaging so he can reclaim the cigarette. Puffpuff. "Think most of my clients would flee the second they saw a giant freaking shark was their masseuse though. Claws aren't most people's idea of a good massage." One last drag, and then he drops the spent butt to crush it under his toe. "Maybe. Dunno. His bodyguards have, like. Useful powers. I mean like they can work at a distance and shit. Probably the most useful kind of bodyguard means you never /have/ to get into a fight." "You could be a specialty masseuse. Like specialty hoes except you don't have to fuck anyone you don't want to fuck oh my /god/, Doc, you're no fun." This last, said without apparent pause for proper punctuation, is grumbled at her phone. Shelby's thumbs fly over the little keyboard in response. "Or you could be the last line of defense. They get through everything else, bam, shark tackle. I guess maybe Bastian'd be better at it though. Hey..." She pauses, looking back around at him and disturbing the massage again. "You didn't say what you're doing tonight." "What's he doing. Or not doing." Shane peers downward, over Shelby's shoulder at the phone. "I'll have you know I've kicked my share of ass. Although, uh, the one time we tried to go help p-- Jax and everyone out that -- didn't -- end so well for me I guess." He frowns, and his hands drop as Shelby turns again. He shifts back to lean against the open room doorway instead. "I dunno. Swimming." The phone's screen is lit up and continues to light up as texts scroll by. Shelby has continued typing--mad skillz, yo--and Iolaus is now expressing some concern over her having been in a "coma". "Oh, I was giving him hell for not getting a sweet prison tat while he was in jail...um. What happened when you went to help your dad?" Subtle emphasis on "dad", or as subtle as she ever gets. She even shimmies around to eyeball him--before scrambling up and gesturing him inside to the room. Beds are comfier than floor. "We should all hang out." "I died." That is Shane's answers, bland as though it is something that just happens all the time NO BIG DEAL. "A prison tat, wasn't he in jail for like, a day? Two?" He snorts, kicking the towel to toe it away from the door and let the door swing back closed. "Hang out? I dunno I'm not playing any of Bastian's fucking geeky-ass dragon-games." Shelby is already toppling towards the more mussed of the beds when Shane shares this tidbit of information. It leads to flailing, and a momentary ignoring of her chiming phone as she thrashes around to sit up. Can't stare at him if she isn't facing him. "You /died/? What the hell, Shane? What happened?" she demands, looking him over as if marks of death might linger even now. Shane doesn't take a bed. He paces around the room, poking absently at its walls. TV. "Does this thing get anything except porn? Some of these motels don't even try to /pretend/ people are here for anything else." If he's still dead it's hard to tell! He is up and about. Moving quite a bit. Not chewing on any brains. "I, uh, there was a kid who -- you know it's not really that important, they have mutant guards, some of them are stronger than me." Shelby is on the bed that's had the coverlet kicked to the floor, sitting on the edge of the mattress with her phone held loosely in one hand. It's chiming and reflex drags her eyes away from Shane to check it. She frowns as she reads what's on the screen, types quickly, then sets it aside. "Dunno. Maybe some of the cable movie channels...wait, why the fuck am I even answering that. You /died/. /Mutant/ guards? We /work/ with them?" Unfortunately, agitation has the side effect of making her head throb. She reaches up, wincing, to rub at a temple. "Ugh...so how come you're not dead yet?" "Um, yeah. I mean it's not always on purpose, sometimes they put these things in people's heads to control them. But sometimes I guess they just pay well?" Shane shrugs. "People are pretty much dickbags, mutant or human. I had a friend in there though who, she --" He hesitates, shrugs a shoulder. "Brings people back to life. I guess she did me." The shower has shut off. It's not long after that the door opens again. Sebastian doesn't really /bother/ with drying off, that would defeat much of the purpose of showering in the first place, and so he has not even actually bothered with a towel as he creeps out to reclaim his clothing. Though he stops at the sight of Shane in the room, brows hiking up, more at the subject matter than any false modesty. His expression shutters, and he slips past Shane with a press of fingertips to back to head towards the bed and scoop clothing off the floor. "Oh." Insufficient for such a miracle but it's what Shelby has available at the moment. She peers at him with squinted eyes--then opts to finally complete the flop she'd begun a moment before. Whumph. The springs squeak but it is more comfortable than being upright. "Well...I'm glad you're not dead," she says, hand clasped over her eyes. But only for a moment! When the door opens, she peeks through her fingers to ogle Sebastian. Her other hand makes grabby gestures. "Shane said we should all do something." Liar. "I think he's bored." "She's lying, I didn't say shit like that." Shane's head shakes. He shifts out of the way at that prompting touch, and turns to track Sebastian's progress across the room with narrowed eyes. The narrow-eyed gaze stops on Shelby. "/She's/ bored. I told her I'd give her Vicodin though. You know, orgasms are also good for headaches. /Maybe/ you weren't doing your /job/ well enough." This statement flushes Sebastian darker, though he answers the grabbyhands by dropping onto the bed beside Shelby, clothing temporarily ignored. "-- All do something?" His eyes wiiiiden. Dart between Shane and Shelby. "Um -- I, uh, what kind of something are you talking?" He sounds very wary of this suggestion. "Shut up," Shelby tosses at Shane, "he does plenty good enough. Not everyone's a slut like us." But headache means this reprimand lacks any heat and she's not that interested into tearing into Shane anyway. Scootching into Sebastian is far preferable, even if he's all damp and she's clothed. Her head rolls against his shoulders and her eyes close. "I don't /think/ he meant we should have an orgy," she points out helpfully, "but he said maybe swimming. It's probably still too cold for me though, and I can't handle a club tonight." "Totally meant we should have an orgy," Shane says, despite a moment ago denying wanting to do anything at all. "You've already got the room and everything." Sebastian just purples further. He turns, looking away from Shane as he presses his face against the top of Shelby's head instead, his arm snaking around her. "Too cold for most people to swim," he agrees. "Can't we just stay somewhere quiet and --" He shrugs a shoulder, and nestles a little closer to Shelby. "It wouldn't even be an orgy anyway, it'd be a threesome and it's /illegal/. B isn't Rasa." Shelby loops an arm up over Bastian's chest, seeming content with this arrangement. "Cuddling isn't illegal though. C'mon in, Shane, the water's fine." "Cuz legal always bothers you so much before," Shane says, but it seems to be snarking mostly for the sake of snarking. He's turning the TV on to idly flip through channels rather than /actually/ follow through on any suggestions of twincest. "-- I'm pretty sure freaking Law & Order is basically on any TV on earth no matter what time you turn it on. You could probably fucking unplug the set and it'd still play Law & Order." Which is apparently what they're /watching/. At least he has turned the volume nearly all the way down. Out of respect for headache. Still loud enough for his ears, though, if not most other humans'. He sheds his coat, finally, NUDGING Shelby and Bastian over with a long push at Sebastian's side, to make room on the mattress. Hi. Cuddlesnow. "Just so long as it's not SVU, half of those make me want to cry and the other half make me want to hurt someone." Sebastian doesn't weigh much. He is easy to push. Especially unresisting, just sliding along to make space. And hold an arm out, once he has re-settled himself comfortably against Shelby. Because yes. Cuddlesnow. Shelby makes a quiet sound deep in her throat. It could be a grumble. Could be suppressed laughter. Maybe a mixture of both? She's quick to adapt to shifting over though and once Shane is tucked in close, lets her hand rest on him. Her eyes have yet to open and the volume--or lack thereof--of the TV doesn't even seem to register. "No more hurting anyone," she comments before lapsing into melty quiet, content to rest. Cuddlesnow all around.