ArchivedLogs:Terrorists and Whackjobs

Terrorists and Whackjobs
Dramatis Personae Doug, Ion	2013-12-11 '
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Lobby - East Village
Bright and sunny, the lobby of this apartment building is clean and unassuming. Requiring an electronic keycard for entry, the pair of elevators dings cheerfully when one arrives. A small sitting area has bright yellow couches and small coffee tables, though the nearby vending machine is perpetually running out of /something/. Tall windows let in plenty of light during the daytime, and the building maintenance keeps the common areas spotlessly clean. A bank of mailboxes near the sitting area collects mail for the building, a recycling bin right at hand for the unwanted spam. Beside the mailboxes, a large corkboard serves as informal meeting space for the announcements, perpetually flyered with notes and notices from the various apartment residents. It is a /cold/ night, in New York. Temperatures dipping below freezing mean that most anyone who's smart is indoors, enjoying the heat. That is, if you /have/ heat. Which Doug doesn't; and might explain why he's dressed kind of bulkily in a thick sweater and jeans as the elevator doors open, and he hops out. He heads for the mailboxes, keys in one hand and his phone in the other. The latter he's smiling at as he reads whatever's on the screen. He stops in front of the bank of mailboxes, tapping his finger on the side of his phone as he contemplates whatever he then begins typing rapidly with one thumb. Doug was alone in the lobby when he got into it, most certainly, but a short moment later there suddenly /is/ an Ion where there wasn't one just before, standing by the wall past the couches. He has a faint /electric/ smell to him, like a frayed wire starting to smoke. He's dressed -- well. Jeans and tall steeltoed boots and a leather jacket, cashmere scarf, all oddly /expensive/. He's starting to wander off towards the stairs but stops at the sight of Doug: "Ohhhh, you /live/ here, /that's/ how you know Dusk." His fingers snap like suddenly something has just clicked. The smell of burning electronics is a thing that Doug is (pardon the expression) wired to respond to immediately, and he wheels to skim his eyes over the lobby. His gaze goes first to the door, then the tiny camera above it, then to the ones stationed around the lobby. He seems really focused on determining where the smell originates, so he might be forgiven for not noticing Ion immediately. At least not until he speaks. Then the blonde levels his emerald gaze on the other teenager, his brow furrowing. "Yeah," he says, confirming the statement. "He lives right below me." He glances at the door, then back at Ion. "You just come down the stairs or somethin'?" "Was just about to head /up/ the stairs, actually, got people to see, food to -- mooch." Ion puts his fingertips to his lips, kissing them before flaring them in the air. "Jax's cooking, man, that could call me from a world away. -- You a freak, then?" He sounds strangely amiable with this question. "Whole fucking building. So full of freaks." "But how...did Dusk give you a card?," Doug asks, frowning at the door before he holds up his phone and punches his thumb at the screen. Then he begins slowly waving it around the lobby, watching the screen as he speaks. "Jax's food would be worth the trip," he agrees. "He's some kind of magician in the kitchen." He wrinkles his nose and lowers the phone to frown at the screen. "Mmm," is his initial response to the query, and he looks up to nod at Ion. "Yeah, total freak," he confirms. "Not as showy as some of the others in the building, but freak all the same." "Card?" Ion looks blank at this question, and shrugs a shoulder. "I'm down here all the time, man. And that's no bad thing, yo, I mean. I love showy as much as the next guy and your building, it's /full/ of the showy. Giant vampire bats and lasers and blinking around like --" His cheeks puff out and he lets out a quick breath. "But sometimes, sometimes subtle is the thing. Sometimes subtle works." "It's just odd that you got in without a card," Doug says, lifting a shoulder. "Security door, and all." He doesn't seem overly bothered; in fact, his tone borders on bland. "But, if you're a regular, I should probably learn your name." He grins, then, and lifts his chin. "I don't think I caught it the other day." Ion's comments on the showiness of the building get a laugh, and the blonde bobs his head. "Yeah," he says. "There's all kinds of stuff to gawk at, if you're one of them." This comes with a jerk over his shoulder at the door, and the few intrepid reporters beyond. "But subtle is totally my thing. They don't even know I've been there." "Should you? Why? You security here, you don't look like much." Ion's gaze skips over Doug with some amusement. The amusement lingers as he looks to the media circus outside. "Oh, shit, yeah, I know, right? Those out there, they circle like vultures. I don't know how anyone here stands it. Hassle people coming and going." "I'm /head/ of security," Doug says with a fierceness to his grin that's probably meant to be somewhat intimidating. It doesn't quite work, in the face of Ion's amusement. Then he, too, is looking at the door. "Oh, yeah. Easy to get around them, though. I just act like I don't speak English. Totally flummoxes them." He lifts his chin, again, and knits his brow lightly. "Seriously, man. What's your name? I'm Doug." Ion's brows just raise at Doug's fierce grin. "Really? Now what then, you card me? Throw me out?" He just snorts at this, shaking his head again. "Tss. I get around them too and my English, it -- ok it for shit but fine enough to understand. Just think I would go a little bit of crazy if they camped out my house. Or -- maybe just fry them, harassing people is rude." "I'm just trying to be friendly, man," Doug says, lifting a shoulder. "You're Dusk's friend, and you like cats. That's good enough for me. But I'm not going to go around saying 'hey, you' whenever I see you." He skims his eyes over the other teenager's frame, bringing them back up with just a /bit/ of speculation in his gaze. "You get used to it," he says of the reporters. "They're a pain in the ass, but eventually they'll smell blood somewhere else, and it'll be peaceful again." He grins. "You should have seen it after Jax saved the mayor. The weather was warm, then, so they could stay 24-7." "Tss," Ion answers this kind of /disgusted/, "why anyone would save that rat bastard is beyond me, I love Jax like my own brother but that was some /bad/ judgment. I tell you I shed /no/ tears when the zombies did for him. Though watch, someone worse will come and take over. Not sure I've ever seen such thing as a good politician." "That's just the kind of person Jax is," Doug says with a lift of his shoulder. "He's not a fan of violence being done to anyone, regardless of how they feel about him. That's part of what makes him awesome." He moves back to the mailboxes, opening his and peering inside to frown at its empty state. "As for politicians...I imagine there are a few who start out with good intentions. Those seem to fall away, the higher they climb." "Awesome, maybe, yeah, okay, the man is pretty fly but also pretty stupid, those maricones they want to kill all of us." Ion pulls out a pack of cigarettes from the inside of his jacket, sticking one in his mouth. He watches Doug head to the mailboxes, mouth hooking up in a lopsided grin. "There mail yet? Should hope no mail. Always it's bills. -- And good intentions, they mean for shit too. Can have all the good intentions on earth, they're still running all of us into the ground." Doug wrinkles his nose, and shrugs before he locks the mailbox back. "I don't know how stupid it is, but I'm glad that there are people like him in the world. Shows not all of us are terrorists or whackjobs." He frowns, staring at the front of the mailboxes intently. "Or lab rats. Better to try and prove our worth than confirm what they already think about us." He tucks his keys into his pocket, and shakes his head at the question. "No mail yet. Which is good, 'cause no bills, but sucks because I'm not getting other stuff, either." He motions at the stairwell as he heads in that direction. It might be an invitation for Ion to join him. "I have to believe there are still people like Jax somewhere out there who are trying to help in the same way," he insists. "It's too bleak to think about, otherwise." "You kidding, dude, Jackson Holland /is/ a terrorist. Will be as long as those motherfuckers are in charge. And what the fucking hell is wrong with being a lab rat, you class that in with terrorists and whackjobs." Ion shakes his head at the gestured invitation, chuffing out a sharp snort. "Though, world like it is, is not a damn thing wrong with being a terrorist or a whackjob either. Crazy world we live in, you need to be a bit-of-crazy to get through it." He digs a lighter out of his pocket, flicking it open and closed as he glances to the reporters outside. "See-ya." "By /their/ standards," Doug says, shaking his head. "Not mine. And there's nothing wrong with being a lab rat," he says. "I've known enough of them to know that. But to /them/," he says, pointing at the doors, "it's practically the same thing." His smile is amused, if a little wary. "You get off on being contentious or something?" He laughs at the assertion of the need for crazy, and pushes open the stairwell door. "You're the second person this week to make that sort of suggestion," he admits. "Although, the other was in a different sort of context." He lifts a hand as he enters the stairwell, and tips his head. "See you around, Dusk's friend. I'd say don't be a stranger, but you seem pretty insistent on staying one. Be careful with the pappos." He offers another grin, and a small wave as he goes. "Nah. Some people just say enough stupid shit it's easier than others to argue with." Ion's brows furrow. "Careful with --" For a moment he just looks at Doug blandly. It doesn't last long; as soon as Doug's back is turned he vanishes, as quickly as he came.