ArchivedLogs:Terrible Baseline
| Terrible Baseline | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2017-06-05 "How hairy is a /little/ hairy?" |
| Location
<NYC> {Workhaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side | |
Dusk's answering text doesn't come for quite a few hours, response only given as sunset approaches.
It's just over half an hour later that Isreael turns up to knock on Workhaus's door. He wears a light green jacket unzipped gray t-shirt with a black Rebel Alliance emblem on the chest, blue jeans, and sturdy black boots. His white hair is wind-tossed and he carries a canvas tote emblazoned with the Battlestar Galactica seal. It's not long before the door opens. Dusk's hair is still damp from the shower, a light sheen of water beaded up on the fine fuzz that covers his wings (returned, for the moment, to their natural brown-black.) He's dressed only in a pair of black jean shorts, hanging low on his hips. "Rain done?" He peers out past Izzy into the darkness. "{Thank God}, I was not looking forward to flying in that tonight." One wing gestures Izzy inside. "You eaten?" Izzy wobbles one hand. "Stopped for the moment, but I wouldn't be too surprised if it picked back up later." He steps inside and hands Dusk the tote before shrugging out of his jacket and unlacing his boots (both only slightly damp at this point). "I ate...a couple hours ago? So will need to again, soon. Beer is calories, right? I pretty much just picked it for the name, hope it's alright." There's a six-pack of Other Half's Galaxy IPA and a bag of Kettle salt and vinegar chips in the tote. "Well, you're not wrong." Dusk takes the bag, peeking inside it with a quick grin. "Excellent. -- Uh, we got mad food, leftovers mostly I can heat something up. Jax keeps us pretty well stocked in delicious. You do meat or nah?" He's ambling off toward the kitchens, setting two beers on the counter and tucking the rest into one of the fridges. "Vegan." Izzy follows Dusk to the kitchen and rests his elbows on the counter. "Not super picky beyond that. Though I doubt it'd be an issue even if I were, from what I've experienced of Jax's cooking." His smile is wide but just a touch reserved. "I apologize if my request was kinda...outta nowhere. I mean, from your point of view. Anyway, how you been?" "/My/ point of view?" Dusk pokes his head out of the fridge, flashing a sharply fanged grin at Izzy. "Friend, if you knew the half of my frakking life -- I feel pretty confident yours won't even register on the scale of bizarre and left-field texts I get this week. Uh," He's looking back into the fridge now, "how d’you feel about peanut -- eggplant sweet potato stew? Stew seems like a rainy day food." "And the week's barely started. Clearly my bizarre texting game needs some work." Izzy's grin is -- less sharp, less fanged, but less reserved now, too. "It's not really that I thought it was all that bizarre, actually, II just didn't want to assume you wouldn't. My sense of what is normal is...well, you've met my sibs. And I've been quite close with at least two obligate hematophages." He cracks open one of the beers, though, and takes a sip. "Stew sounds /perfect,/ gracias." "I have met your family." There's a lightly amused note in Dusk's voice. He turns aside from the fridge, hands laden with tupperwares, and grabs a pair of bowls to dish stew and rice into before popping them into the microwave. "Still, you want to keep up with the strange around here, you got your work cut /out/." He leans forward against the counter while the food reheats, elbows propping against it and his wings draped languidly back behind him. With a curious tilt of head, a questioning lift of eyebrows over eyes that hold no small measure of interest now: "Two others? They around /here/?" "I'm up for a good challenge." Izzy says, stroking his hairless chin. "But I'm keen to avoid being /too/ over the top. I have a /tendency./" To the question he shakes his head. "Far, far away. I was a regular donor to one of them and more occasionally to the other. I realize you probably have your own blood-related needs, preferences, and habits, but /broadly/ I'm familiar." "Oh." Briefly, Dusk's shoulders droop, wings settling further behind him with a quiet click of claws on the floor. "Yeah, I have sort of a routine with my regular donors." He straightens when the microwave beeps, snagging the bowls out of it and tucking spoons into them. He hands Izzy one with a paper towel folded underneath. "Make sure they're getting tested regularly, set up a schedule. Crash phlebotomy lessons if they're not so into biting." "Gracias." Izzy accepts the bowl and takes an overly hasty first...three bites. His "ow" is kind of perfunctory, but then, "This is delicious!" He nods, proceeding more cautiously. Sets the bowl down and takes a long drink from his beer. "I don't have a doctor here yet. If you have any recommendations and a list of tests I'll get on that. Should do that anyway, if I'm gonna be hooking." His smile goes slightly awry. "Whether I'm into biting is a complicated question, but I should probably learn to stick needles in myself and not just keep making Matt do it." Dusk presses his lips together, brows knitting at the mention of doctors. "I got shit for recommendations, but they probably won't kill you or turn you away at the Mendel Clinic. S'the best I can do." One eyebrow quirks up at the question of biting, head tilting to one side. He just picks up his own beer, though, taking a long gulp. "Wouldn't you rather just sell drugs or something safe? You need quick cash, the Mongrels are looking for gophers. The world of hooking-while-freak gets a little hairy." "I figured, more or less -- about Mendel, I mean." Izzy returns to his food at a more leisurely pace, his brows knitted, considering. "I do need quick cash," he agrees finally. "I have experience with sex work and not with selling drugs, but that was...well, before I looked like this. Which is why I wanted your opinion." Takes another sip of his beer, white brows hiking up. "How hairy is a /little/ hairy?" "Mmn, so this is a new way of being for you." Dusk's eyes flicker briefly over the other man, then lower. He picks up his own bowl, starts into it slowly. "Somewhere higher than /Tangled/ but shy of /Planet of the Apes/." After a bit of considering: "Not /much/ shy, though." Izzy wobbles one hand in the air, but says, "Yeeeeah" all the same. He looks at the hand for a moment before setting it back down on the counter. "I mean, /I/ love how I look. It's how /other/ people take it that I haven't quite gotten the hang of." He runs a hand through his hair, leaving the white mop little shaggier than had been before. "I don't suppose there are reliable red flags for clients who would make an appointment specifically because they want to beat me up. Non-consensually. Or worse." Takes up his bowl again. "Maybe I had best stick to camming. And ask Ion whether he wants an extra pair of hands." Pauses a beat. "With the drugs." "From you?" Dusk's grin is swift. "Likely Ion'd take those hands wherever you want to put them." The smile fades into his next gulp of his beer, wings pressing tighter against his back. "It is a lot, isn't it? And that's the hell of it, there's not really a good way to screen. You're human, you're hooking, most of your clients want sex and you can more or less learn to trust your gut on the creepsters. There's no neutral ground if you're hooking while freak. It's not like there's not plenty of sex for sale out there. If someone comes you us it's not because they want sex, it's because they /want/ a freak. /All/ your clients are going to be awful dehumanizing fetishization and weeding that out from the dangerous like -- nah. They start at a baseline of not seeing us as people. If you're lucky, you find a few other freaks thrown into the mix who come to you because you won't get squicked by them in bed. But there's not enough of us out there with money to live on, especially not tricking as a dude." Izzy's cheeks flush a curious shade of magenta, and he hides his smile behind the bowl, which he empties in short order. "/Not people./" He sucks in a sharp breath, taking his bowl to the sink to wash. "That's a terrible baseline. Not just cuz some people take it as a license to hurt us, but too many others don't care if they do. It /is/ a lot." He flick some water from the bowl and fits it into the drying rack. "But it's also been amazing, meeting people who find this --" The sweep of his free hand encompasses his face and torso. "Beautiful, I guess? Other than my family, and I know it's no small thing to have family that not only accepts but /embraces/ the...freak." He returns to his beer. Plays with the condensation on the can. "I really appreciate the food. And the information. Even if it's scary A-F." His grin is quick and sharp. "The information, I mean. The stew was not scary." Dusk's eyes open just a little wider, guileless as his wings mantle in just enough curve to encompass Izzy as well. "You are beautiful." Simply. "And the stew was Jax's so that's like a gimme on deliciousness." Izzy's eyes also go wide, the clear, watery blue of his irises looking all the brighter for it. The "oh" that escapes him sounds almost involuntary, and then he adds, in sign, 'You, too.' His blush is a bit fiercer this time, and the rapid shift of emotions on his face is hard to read. "Is it -- do you --" He chuckles quietly, gathers himself. "May I give you a hug?" The sudden warmth in Dusk's smile is all the brighter at the signing. One wing curls out a little farther, inviting. "I'd like that." Izzy steps easily into the curve of Dusk's wing, wrapping the smaller man in a tight embrace. His breath hitches, then eases from him in a shaky sigh even as the tension in his shoulders relax. "Merci," he murmurs softly. Dusk's wing curls in, close and warm where the supple skin wraps around Izzy, rubs gently between his shoulders. His hand lifts, fingers hovering just shy of the other man's jaw. "You could stay a while?" Izzy's smile is maybe a little self-conscious as eases off from the embrace. Dusk's wing rubbing at his back elicits a soft noise that speaks purely of comfort and solace. "Oh, that's --" His nod is minute, jerky. "Yeah. I'd like that." | |
