ArchivedLogs:Sharpening Tools

Sharpening Tools
Dramatis Personae Parley, Sebastian, Shane	2013-07-04 '
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. The concrete wall that rings the roof has been decorated, painted in vivid bright shades by some artistic hand to add colourful cheer to the rooftop. The mural shifts in terrain One wall sports a beach, flecked with grass and seashells and driftwood and shore birds. Beach transitions into meadow, colourful with wildflowers and butterflies and dragonflies; meadow shifts into snow-capped mountains, subsides into piedmont and sprouts into a verdant forest on the fourth, alive with animals. It's /hot/, this morning. Not as hot as it is likely to /be/ -- it's not even noon, yet, the sun still has /plenty/ of baking to do -- but hot all the same. Around the city there are likely cookouts galore -- there will /be/ one up here, later, even; someone's already brought out a few grills lined up on the far side of the roof, as well as an extra folding table and some chairs. But for now there's only the soft pattering of -- rain? No, wait, a sprinkler, hooked up to a hose winding around from the fauced near the little garden. It isn't set to /move/, spray of water directed at one angle only, a cool arc of water pattering down to the concrete near one side of the roof. Beneath it there are already two people lying in a wet puddle, hogging all the cool for themselves. The twins are dressed in very little -- dark boxers, both, plastered to blue skin -- twined in a blue puddle of tangled skinny limbs themselves. One wears a wide red fabric collar buckled snug against his neck and covering the gills on his neck, but save that there is little to distinguish them. Shane lies with head on Bastian's chest, arm draped around his brother's waist; Sebastian's arms twine both to hold Shane loosely against him, fingers trailing absently against the uncovered gills down Shane's side. "{-- hard to imagine,}" Bastian is admitting in thoughtful Vietnamese, "{He's so. Skittish. /Polite/. With people.}" "{So are you,}" Shane replies, a small smile playing on his lips. His face is turned, one cheek pressed to Sebastian's chest and the other just soaking /in/ the chill spray of water. "Haaah." One short quiet breath. "{But you're happy.}" Sort of a question, sort of not. Sebastian's eyes are open where Shane's are closed, clear inner eyelids protecting them from the falling water. His hand trails up further, touching against the collar thoughtfully. "{Does it /work/?}" Shane's initial answer is a soft quiet /hum/ -- very /decidedly/ happy. "{Micah's making whole -- shirts.}" He shrugs a shoulder. "{Though maybe we could just make -- little. Flying. /Hoverpools/. Portable ocean. Zoom around. You can do that at your work now, right?}" "{I'm not /exactly/ working on hoverpools,}" Sebastian answers with a quicker smile. "{But I'll put that on the list.}" The door to the roof isn't theatrically opened, but it's not /trying/ to be stealthy either. Chk-clik. Nor is the figure slipping through it, though he /is/ considerably more muted in presence, head tipped down and eyes making a single quickscan of the rooftop mostly to confirm the flavor of the minds he recognizes. (Maybe a quick moment to also make sure the look-alike blues brothers are, in fact, the full set and not just a twin and /Mirror/.) He's sort-of wearing a thin wife-beater style undershirt, but he took a pair of scissors to cut a large square window out of the back of it to limit the material constricting his fur, cargo shorts, bare feet. You can just /feel/ the sense of him coming up for a breather from the hot apartment, already smelling like heated pelt and damp-den sweaty fur. "--someone actually brought up a sprinkler." He sounds - bemused? Surprised? He's just -- coming right over suddenly, mouth in a set LINE, as though he's discovered a new purpose to dedicate his life to, "--can I come under there?" CLOTHES AND ALL? "{On the list right after you finish your --}" This cuts off, though, as Shane cracks an eye open to peet towards the opening door with an abrupt /tension/ tightening his arm around his brother -- it's a reflex more physical than emotional, nothing is really cutting /in/ to his lazy-languid enjoyment of TWIN and SPRINKLER and NO SCHOOL but there's an automatic wariness for New Presence. One shared by Sebastian, perhaps moreso -- his arms pull Shane closer automatically, eyes cutting sharply towards the door with a sudden honed alertness. But in both of them, this fades nearly as quick as it came, identification tripping an instant return to lounging. Sebastian's fingers trace against Shane's gills again; Shane melts back into utterly contented bonelessness with a happy shiver that /were/ he more feline would probably come with a rumbling purr. "Pa did," Bastian answers, and Shane /gripes/: "We lobbied for air conditioners but no dice." Shane's eyes narrow on Parley in /consideration/: "-- Do I have to /move/?" The answer is probably yes; the sprinkler spray is wide but the twins have elected to SPRAWL right in is very center in an apparent endeavour to take up the maximum space their small frames will command. "I'm not moving," Shane decides a moment later, and Bastian /baps/ him lightly on the shoulder for this: "C'mon, yes you are, /scoot/." Shane's automatic reflex with this /is/ to scoot, as obediently as if it were a command, but /movement/ comes stiff and with an odd sudden prickle of pain although he doesn't look at all injured. He doesn't move far though. He scoots more on TOP of his brother. "Look no you can just puddle TOO." He pats -- Sebastian's other side. In indication. As if his brother were a COUCH cushion and he was inviting Parley to sit. "Oh. No, you don't have to do anything," Parley assures distractedly, pausing in a crouch just outside the spray of water, looking up at the drops raining down. Watching them twinkle along their arches like tiny crystal dolphins. His fur ripples and, kind of prissily, he creeps tented fingers along the ground into the puddle (the /water/ puddle, not the sharkpuddle) and slowly eases his way under the downpour. It makes wet little splatter-sounds as it plasters down his back fur, earning a kind of breathy /hheh/ from him. Aaaaa, acclimating. Mmm, cool. He doesn't just instantly cast himself across Sebastian, but he doesn't seem to mind sitting with a hip flush alongside him, drawing up his knees to cross his forearms atop. He has his back to the spray to let it run in rivulets off his shoulders. He's... quietly side-eyeing Shane, looking for signs of injury that are not -- there. Brows furrowed slightly, "--List?" "Of totally awesome shit that B's going to make now that he has access to crazy future technology," Shane explains cheerfully. "He's planning to take over the world like a /proper/ mad scientist." This time, Bastian's swat thwaps lightly against Shane's boxers with a wet-fabric smack; it's barely hard at all but it comes with a /sharp/ flare of pain that -- makes Shane /smile/ rather than upset. "I'm not a /mad/ scientist," Sebastian insists. "I'm just. A scientist. Who is /slightly/ neurotic." "He's wicked neurotic," Shane whispers towards Parley. His eyes are closing again, his cheek nuzzling back down against Sebastian; his hand strokes in slow lazy motions down Sebastian's gills and this time it is Bastian who /does/ purr, a low happy rumble in his throat. "There's going to be a thing later," Bastian tells Parley; his melting relaxation settles him more flush against Parley and now his eyes close, too. "Barbecue? Thing. You should eat food. Also you can see a lot of fireworks at night from up here although it /might/ --" "-- be cloudy by then," Shane finishes this sentence with a wrinkle of nose, "but if it's /clear/ --" "-- you can see like three different sets." Oh. /Ah/. That second flash of pain corresponds with a chuff of softened air through Parley's nose, the tension between his brows relaxing entirely. He sets his cheek down atop his forearms, openly watching the twins tactile interaction from beneath his halfmast eyelids without censure. All the little warmths of tactile communication perhaps needing little empathy to read at all. "There's nothing wrong with being neurotic," he suggests blithely, cupping his hands to collect water in, and using it to slick his hair back from his face like a greaser, "/Scientist/, is it. Is this a job you've -." A loose smile starting to form slowly forgets to finish, droplets build up on the side of his face, trickle down, build up again in little glitter-bits along his eyelashes. And he finally exhales, "Fireworks. It's the Fourth of July, isn't it." "Summer job," Sebastian says in a kind of diffident-dismissive tone; it comes with an oddly strong surge of fierce happy pride that does not carry through at all to his absent tone or still quietly lazy posture. He scoops up water, too, in one upturned hand; webbed fingers make a neatly secure boat for it that he carries to trickle down against Shane's gills. "He's working in Tony Stark's genius labs," Shane explains, and in /his/ tone there is all the fierce pride that his brother downplays. He patpats! at his brother's side. His gills flare beneath the extra water. He wriggles happily over a little more onto his side, turning so that the sprinkler spray patters against them instead of his back. "Most people I know are a little neurotic." A faint creep of darker color tints Sebastian's cheeks. "Some people just hide it better." "Independence Day," Shane agrees with a sudden /bright/ flash of teeth. "You feeling patriotic?" "I'm waving a tiny American flag right now," Sebastian assures his brother with amusement. "In my /heart/." "Aaa?" Parley lifts up his head to give full appreciation, brows rising up, "That's incredible. Especially for someone your age. And practically gold, on a resume. What sort of projects are you working on?" Thoughtfully, he cups hands once more, and holds them over the side of Sebastian. He doesn't pour it, but does bloom a small << (pour/trickle/want?) >> to seek its level of welcome. "Will there /be/ tiny American flags to wave?" He asks this very solemnly, like it could be a deal breaker if there ISN'T. "-- nheh. I haven't seen fireworks in -- a rather long while. It's strange. Day to day, I feel like I've mostly gotten used to all of this. And then I remember /Independence Day/. Or fireworks. And it's all surreal again." "It's just a summer --" Sebastian starts with a deeper blush. -- s'bullshit it's like a /real/-boy job. With benefis and a --" Shane's brow furrows. "What's that retire-thing?" "-- 401(k)?" Sebastian suggests. He answers Parley's question kind of shyly, but his smile is warming, that happypride blooming again: "I work in R&D, um. Everything I've been working on is mostly concerned with robotics and AI." His eyes light at the offer, and he shifts slightly to PRESENT one side to Parley, gills already flickering open in anticipation. "There is going to be a whole /box/ of tiny American flags," Shane answers brightly. "The paper ones on sticks." /He/ moves, too, though mostly only because Sebastian's shifting slightly dislodges him; he is forced to readjust so that he can find a better /snuggling/ angle, face nuzzling up into Sebastian's chest again. "But yeah it's --" This is quieter, thoughtful mostly, "-- always sort of weird," Sebastian acknowledges. "You think you've got it but then --" "-- suddenly there's /normal/ shit happening? And suddenly you remember that OH FUCK HOW DO I NORMAL." This draws a chuckle from Sebastian, though internally he's less amused, more -- carefully /considering/ that probably, this is one of those times that laughter is appropriate. It's not so much forced -- the /warmth/ his brother's presence inspires is genuine for sure -- as it is sort of tentative. Uncertain. How /do/ I normal? "Sometimes Pa makes fireworks," he says with a soft smile turned up towards the sky, "his don't sound like gunshots." "We're going to have the little ones, too," Shane waves a hand in the air like he's conducting a /symphony/. "The -- fzztfzzt ones." This is apparently how he explains SPARKLER. Such an interesting effect; the dual communication of the boys, pouring through Parley's filters. Individual, but entwined. "I think your brother may be right," he lets water trickle down Sebastian's gills, leaning in and kind of squinting nearer to watch how the gill flap works, what micro-muscles flex, how the skin appears through the trickle of water. /Wettin' down/ the shark. "World domination can't be too far off, if you're already researching how to build a robot army. Will you program them to love?" Put flowers in the barrels of their guns? "May I bring my roommate as well?" Parley has many, but only one referred to without a name. "Mmh. I don't think I believe in blanket state of 'normal'. Just." Did he trickle a little bit over Shane as well? Just a TINY bit. He had extra. "What different people are used to. There's just." He goes to collect more in his palms, and his tone has a humor in it as well, just shy of a quiet laugh, "a /lot/ to get used to, isn't there. And to remember what others are used to, I guess. That's easier for me. It's other things - even walking up and down the stairs in the building... I hadn't realized how out of shape I was. I finally just joined a gym. Even if I have to cover up." DRIPDRIPTRICKLE watch out, he's getting /artistic/ in how he distributes the water now. Mostly gillward. Sometimes random, hands held up high. Flapflap/flap/, Sebastian's gills contiue to work under the trickling, quietly hungry. Sharp-edged and clean. His blue skin glistens with a sheen of wet. "I'm building an army of robot /kittens/," Sebastian explains; his gills shift closed when he actually starts to speak, lungs not well working while his gills do. "World /peace/ through mass --" "-- /distraction/," Shane finishes this with a snort, "everyone's going to be too busy chasing them off the countertops and replacing all the drapes they've torn up to bother with war." "Can bring anyone!" Sebastian adds, "I mean it's open to anyone in the building but you could bring outside guests /too/ I don't think anyone'll care. There's going to be. So many cupcakes." "And cookies," Shane adds lightly, "but also like a stack of burgers and hot dogs up to --" He stretches an arm upupup but then gives up and flops his hand back down against Sebastian's belly, splishsplishing in a puddle of water pooling on his skin. "Good gyms are hard to find. Pa's kicked him out," Bastian says with a grimace. "S'OK, you just gotta find your /own/ exercise, then." Shane opens his eyes, distracted by Parley's water pouring. His attention rivets onto the play of water against blue skin, his fingers following some of the trickles to chase wavy patterns against Sebastian's torso. "I mean it's kind of important --" "-- staying in shape. Especially /now/ with --" "-- all the freaking ridiculous /assholes/ out there. If you work out enough," Shane's teeth flash in a grin, "-- You can /run away/ from trouble faster than the other guy." Sebastian's lips twitch slightly. "Yeeeeah you should try that sometime dipshit." Shane punctuates this insult with a HEADBONK of forehead against sternum, but he's soon returning to just -- watching. Water on skin. There's an odd-soft-happy contentment here, too. "-or people could learn to climb onto counters and shred drapes themselves," Parley suggests, voice /sanguine/. He's watching the corresponding movements of gills, how they relate to speech in a kind of curious wonder. Triiiickle, he's pouring a stream over only ONE GILL at a time, moving down the parallel row, to see if they all move in tandem, like lungs, or if they can move individually like eyelids. Only when Sebastian isn't talking. Possibly for fear it might CHOKE him or something. "I'll bring hir," << (him/her/roommate/<3) >>, "then. Hn - do you forget to run?" He sounds bemused, tickling a line of water down the center of Shane's back, "I haven't really a choice. I've considered taking up some of the gym's self-defense lessons but. Mn. I would probably need to pay for a private instructor. At a distance, I only really need a high collared shirt but--. Well. I try not to take risks." He adds, brighter, if with a self-aware laugh, "I've taken up /fencing/." The gear covers /ever/ so much more. "But. I doubt that would do me much good if I were attacked in an alley." The gills move in tandem, all of a pair open or all closed; the large sets flanking either of his his sides flare as a unit, the smaller ones at his neck a separate one. Sebastian lapses into easy quiet throughout trickling, and Shane continues to watch, continues to play fingers lazily across Sebastian's side. But the quick eager, "-- We fence!" comes from both boys in unison, Bastian's gills sliding closed again. "This motherfucker fights like a wildthing," Shane adds, rapping knuckles rapraprap! against Sebastian's rubbery ribs. Sebastian chuffs out a breath at this though the sharp fierce flare of -- hunger? Anger? Something harsh and TOOTHY inside him -- really preempts any /argument/ with being called a wildthing. His fingers tighten kind of abruptly against Shane with a sudden flare of pain that is -- admittedly /deliberate/; there's a smile on his face as his chin tucks down against Shane's head. Deliberate, but perhaps not in a cruel way; at least, Shane just shivers happily, letting his eyes close again, soft-contented here too once it has subsided. "I just /mean/," he says then, slower, lazier, "that soooometimes it's good to just let the motherfuckers rail at /nothing/." "Mmm," Sebastian hums quiet agreement with this; his next touch is not the same hard dig but a light trace of fingers down Shane's gills. "Sometimes. Sometimes it's good to be able to defend yourself, too, though." "And yeeeeah fencing doesn't do a lot for /that/," Shane agrees with a quick flash of teeth that doesn't manage his usual ferocity. Too busy boneless-melting with the happylazy drape of /yay petting/. Sebastian turns his head towards Parley with a thoughtful curiosity. "Would you /like/," he wants to know, "to learn how to fight?" Parley's eyes shiver quietly closed at the wash of primal flavor that drifts up, breath shallow. "Mmh, both of you?" The sides of his mouth have turned up, "It must be fascinating to watch a match between the two of you." His eyes open, turning to Sebastian, "Mmh? I -- would, I think. I hope that doesn't sound trite. I can't really imagine what either of you have had to endure /because/ of fighting." "Both of us, yeah," Sebastian agrees. "Bastian's better," Shane says. "Watching him is like --" << (poetry) >>. He doesn't finish this sentence aloud, just letting his eyes drift close with a thoughtful /memory/ of watching a match, two figures in white, quick-lithe-agile. A dance with weapons. His fingers splay flat against Sebastian's gills, and then curl in, a gentle squeeze of touch that pulls himself more snugly in against his twin's side. Sebastian tips his head back, opening his mouth to catch some of the sprinklerdrops in it. "No," he decides, after a pause, soft and thoughtful, "it's fine. We haven't had to -- it's not because --" "-- not because of fighting," Shane finishes this thought. "Just because of people." Sebastian's hand tightens, too. Harder than Shane's, protectiveness flaring in him as he squeezes the other closer; but a sharper /possessiveness/, too. "But it's still good. To --" "-- use your body." Shane opens his eyes to squint over at Parley. "I mean that's what they're for." Sebastian shrugs. "They're tools. It's good to know how to use them." "And when you aren't doing it at /gunpoint/ it's fun." Shane's happyflare is not quite so /fierce/ as Sebastian's, his enjoyment of the concept of fighting less primal, more /indulgent/ -- there's a sense that to him it may as well be hunting, may as well be sex, may as well be sitting right here with the water flowing over them. Just one more thing to /luxuriate/ in his body being able to do. The twins exchange a look, briefly, just one short glance that seems to be all it takes to come to the consensus that Bastian voices: "We'll teach you." "We have a thing," Shane offers less helpfully; Sebastian clarifies more helpfully: "Sort of like a club. For sparring? Cuz we figure there's --" "-- kind of a lot of us right now that could do with being able to defend themselves." "They're tools," Parley agrees, distantly, looking out at the sky through the thin wavering rainbow flickering in and out of existence through the broken droplets of water falling past him. "All things are. Ability. Mind. Body. If you're not using them, you're wasting them. -- /Have/ you?" He kiiiind of breathy-laughs, looking back and forth between either twin with his brows raised up. Are they having him on, "Don't let Ms. Basil find out." He opens a palm while he considers, water merrily drip-drop-ploiping along his lifeline. Fingers twiddling slightly. "...could you really? I'm likely not as strong as either of you. Nor as quick." More pensive than self-conscious. Hmm. "Why the fuck would we tell her?" Shane is more baffled than anything else. "Maybe she wants to learn how to fight," Sebastian suggests. Shane considers this, then nods. Accepting. Sure. Fighting for everyone. Sebastian's dark eyes flick over Parley. "Likely not," he echoes, in mild agreement that internally is just brightly amused. "But that's OK. Everyone's at different levels. Skills and strength /both/." "We'll just," Shane considers, "make sure you don't fight /Taylor/." The mention of fighting Taylor draws a smile from Sebastian. Small, outwardly. Inwardly, fierce-sharp flare, something a lot like lust but stripped of anything sexual. "He's," he allows, "Kind of tough." "But other people aren't. Joshua only sometimes is. Dusk hasn't been but he's --" Shane's lips twitch and in /him/ at the thought of Dusk the lust is definitely sexual, "-- getting stronger." "Anole's supposed to be there and he's not strong at /all/. But other people --" Sebastian shrugs a shoulder. "Flicker. Liam. Pa. They're not any stronger than anyone." "Just have to learn," Shane echoes, "how to use it." Shane shrugs. "Just friends. Just practice. You'll be fine. You'll --" "Learn," Sebastian finishes. Parley remains seated, arms folded atop his knees, ankles crossed, staring out across the rooftop and beyond. Or maybe at nothing really. There's no sign that he's troubled by the assessment, nor aware that the scanning-over Sebastian makes is evening happening. Though he /does/ sit still for it, save another brief shortening of breath at the bright-pulse of Sebastian's mind. His silence presumably is one listening. Especially since he's slowly nodding, by the end. And says, mutely, "I learn." Slightly different phrasing - but it is unquestionably an affirmative. "Tomorrow night, then. Should I bring anything? Do you," he blinks, returns to the world of nice soggy wetness and looks between either boy, "erm. Take donations?" "Sure," Shane says immediately, bright and cheerful; overlapping this, Sebastian is looking puzzled: "Donations?" "We could," Shane is sitting up slowly, gingerly with another stiff flare of pain; he pats his hand against Sebastian's stomach, "pay El and Josh for their time. And /us/ for organizing it. And for the house it's at." Sebastian considers this. "-- we could," he eventually decides uncertainly. "It's in the Lower East Side. Um --" He reflexively pats at himself for his /phone/ but oh right, boxers, and his dry clothes are way far away on a chair across the roof. "Your roommate knows where." In Shane's mind this comes across as Joshua, not Mirror! "-- He came to help." "Cuz it's sparring club not /death/club," Sebastian clarifies. "You should," Parley nods to Shane's explanation, though his eyes are on Sebastian. It's his own turn to be a little brighter about the eyes, leaning forward a trace with a gaze focused but pupils slightly snapping back and forth as he mulls it over, "I /would/ otherwise need to pay a mutant-tolerant private trainer. At an exorbitant price, likely. Think of it. Equipment as well. Even food and water. Fans. Towels. /I/ can buy my own but. If you're bringing in other mutants..." Well. Not many mutants can afford much. "What sort of house is it in?" "Just a house," Shane says with a shrug. Starts to stand, winces, rocks back into a crouch. "Like, a woman's house. Big basement space she lets us use," Sebastian explains. He does stand, reaching a hand to help Shane up, and if earlier he was deliberate in his pain-causing now he is /just/ as deliberate in his care. "Sure. We'll take. Donations." Shane hauls himself to his feet, leaning for a moment against Sebastian's shoulder once he has stood. "Tomorrow evening," Sebastian reminds. "But we'll see you this afternoon? For --" Shane makes another fzzzt noise. A swish of hand. SPARKLER. Parley follows Shane's swishy invisi-Sparkler hand as though /entranced/. "I'll be there." So. So there. As the twins stand he's crawling across the puddle they vacated to louuunge out across his stomach, arms folding under his chin. Eyes closed. He could be DEAD. "...thank you." Shane's answer to this is just a bright toothy smile. He loops his arm around his brother's waist, half leaning and half /tugging/ as they head off, scooping up clothes and splishsplishdripping their way back inside.