ArchivedLogs:The Best Club

The Best Club
Dramatis Personae Peter, Regan, Sebastian, Shane
In Absentia	2013-06-06 SO HARDCORE. (part of fight club.)
Location <NYC> BoM Safehouse - Lower East Side
Tucked away off a little-used side street in the Lower East Side, sandwiched between a youth drop-in center and a taqueria, this narrow three-story townhouse has very little to catch the eye. Boarded-up windows, a door peeling its paint, shabby grubby brickface; from the outside it does not look like much. Inside someone has gone to great lengths to renovate the building into something more habitable. It isn't glamorous but it is comfortable, old furniture dragged in, the place generally swept clean. The first floor holds a large living room, a smaller dining room, a spacious kitchen, a half-bathroom. There are three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor; the attic is just a large empty space crammed full of boxes with a window out to the large flat roof. The basement, much like the attic, consists of a lot of empty space. A bare concrete floor, no windows, occasional poles running up to the ceiling. A tiny half-bathroom down here, too. Not a whole lot else. Creepcreepcreep. Lookit! That is Shane, scuttling around the side alley beside this townhouse like a /creeper/. "Are you /sure/ that we --" Bastian is starting a liiittle uncomfortably. "Brett said nobody was using this place!" Shane protests. Other Teenagers: Totally Reliable Source. "I mean, come on, look it's a dump. "It could fall down on us," Bastian's worry is changing tracks. Breaking and entering abandoned buildings FINE okay, buildings collapsing on you Not So Cool. "Could!" Shane reassuringly agrees with this as he taps claws lightly against a window. Rattattat. "... one day I'm gonna learn to pick locks." The teenagers are out in the city! On the PROWL. OK, mostly just /relaxing/ with school finished, Bastian's last exams complete this morning (unlike Shane, he probably did great on his!) They are twinned up again in summer-casual clothing. Black cargo shorts, plain green t-shirts. Black Keen sandals on their webbed feet. What they're on the prowl /for/ might make some of their teachers cringe, but HEY school's out! And they have been assured by one liquidy-silver formerly-homeless classmate that this building is ideal for Getting Up To No Good. So: here! Prowling. Shane rattles at a window-board thoughtfully. "... maybe easier to get in if we could melt down into puddles, too." Some students have all the luck. "Could teach you to pick locks." Peter offers, his tone a little frayed and tense. It has been a /while/ since he's committed any serious acts of breaking and entering; the boy's nervous to be here. He's also been growing increasingly apprehensive concerning a still-missing Ivan. He's clad in his red hoodie -- he dropped the hood once they came in -- blue jeans, and two-toed socks -- the sandals he was wearing have been tossed into his black nylon backpack. Both his hands are shoved deep in his pockets, mostly hiding the curious looking wrist-watches he's got on. "I learned how, a while back. Been practicing. On our dorm room locks." /Sneaky/ Peter. "Mnh, screw the locks." Bastian just YANKS a board off the window, and then a second, setting them on the ground before he shoves the window up. Just a crack. It's /enough/ of a crack for a pretty tiny rubbery shark-kid to wriggle his way through; on the inside he opens the window further to beckon the others along. "Can you teach us?" Shane's eyes light at this thought. He's /also/ got wristwatches on! A kind of clunkier older design, but still. He gestures Peter in first. "C'mon," he cajoles (reassuringly! So reassuringly!), "we wouldn't get you into trouble." "Yeah, um, you know you're kind of beating us both on the being kidnapped front," comes Sebastian's voice from inside. A liiittle more distracted. Thoughtful. The house inside looks at the moment much like you might imagine an abandoned house to look! Dusty. Beat-up neglected old furniture. Cobwebs. "I can -- yeah, I can totally teach you," Peter says, pausing at the window -- forced to give it another shove, because unlike the twins he is not TINY and BONELESS. He wriggles, but soon, he's slipping through, behind Sebastian, in front of Shane -- wriggle, twist, /yoink/. "It's actually really cool, learning how the locks work -- I bet you guys could even maybe do it just with your claws. You might need, uh, a torsion wrench too, but --" Peter shuffles, rolling up to his feet, eyes sweeping back and forth along the cobwebs and abandoned furniture -- eyebrows crumpling together. "--man abandoned houses are creepy," he says, a little breathlessly. Dusting off his dress slacks with his palms, WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP. "...but yeah, it's -- handy. Man with your boneless fingers I bet you could even pick the lock on a pair of cuffs." Then, suddenly, straightening, as if in realization: "Wait you can probably just /slip/ out of cuffs, can't you?" "Oh, yeah, uh, I just pull my hands out of them. If the officers are bright they'll put them really tight -- I can still get out then but it hurts like a /motherfucker/," Shane answers with a grimace. Looking around. Sniffing around. "He's been handcuffed a lot more than me," Bastian seems a little amused at this. "They /are/ kind of creepy, aren't they?" "I think they're neat." Shane is continuing inside, poking around. Peek? Bathroom? Peek? Kitchen? PEEK! Basement door. "Like, just a lot of potential. This big empty space to --" "-- beat people up in?" Sebastian asks this dryly, with a quick flash of teeth. "If you want!" Shane's voice is DISAPPEARING down the basement steps. "I was thinking make your own. -- /Guys/ this is like perfect." The basement also looks -- well, basementy! Oddly less dusty, though. Pretty clean, in fact! But bare. Empty of much of anything. There's a chair in one corner. A folding table closed up and leaned against a wall. "Oh," Peter says, in response to Bastian's comment re: handcuffs -- but then: "/Oh/." He only turns a /little/ violet. Maybe he's getting used to it! Or maybe he figures that isn't what Bastian meant and doesn't want to give it away. "Are you guys -- like, seriously -- fight club? I mean," Peter's eyes sweep over to where Shane is disappearing down those steps -- his eyebrows crumple as he follows. "I guess it's kind of cool but -- I dunno it could be /dangerous/ I mean you know I don't heal like you guys do--would it be, like, against the rules for me to use my thwippy things? Because I really like my thwippy things. But, I dunno, is that cheating?" With a glance toward Sebastian, he starts down the stairs after Shane, to see what's just so perfect. "Hey, I've only been arrested like --" Shane stops and considers this. "Twice." "Twice more than me!" Bastian answers, more cheerful as he continues down the stairs just behind Peter. "Woah. Hey this /is/ -- I mean there's space and -- do you think the plumbing in here works because working bathroom is /way better/ than no working bathroom. "Yeeeeah /our/ club isn't going to have gross bedpans," Shane agrees. "... I don't know, I was /thinking/ probably no weapons but --" He frowns. "We'd have to agree on the rules before we start, I don't. Want it like a /terrible deathy/ fight club. Just." "Just the fun practice kind. You think maybe Joshua or Eloise would come along to help -- uh, not that fights need to be -- the kind where you need healers," Sebastian amends quickly, glancing at Peter as he hops over the staircase railing to the concrete floor. "Fight club?" This voice comes from behind them. There was decidedly no sound or smell of person /before/ but now there is one; a woman perched halfway up the stairs the teenagers have /just/ come down. She's dressed pretty summery, too; a black halter top, tight and practically backless; a pair of white linen pants, strappy black-and-white sandals. Short-cropped black hair, deep brown eyes. Her elbow is propped on a knee and she's surveying the intruders with every evidence of amusement. Lips upturned slightly, a quiet note of laughter in her voice. "Like, the first rule is we don't talk about --?" "--people keep telling me I gotta learn how not to rely on the thwippy things," Peter remarks, kind of idly, as he walks down the stairway -- watching Sebastian hop over the railing. He grins, a little weakly, at the mention of Joshua and Eloise helping. "Yeah I /hope/ you wouldn't -- like, if you /need/ them, I think we--" He's at the bottom of the stairs when that voice comes from behind them. Peter's already on edge; the sudden appearance of a voice nearly pushes him over it. He spins -- fast, hard -- one wrist pointed up at the woman. It probably looks quite ridiculous; he's shoving his wrist up at her like he wants her to /cuff/ him or something. But two of his fingers -- the middle and ring fingers -- are down, pushed up against what looks like a tiny plastic strip that runs down to the center of his palm. Eyes slightly narrowed, nose wrinkled, mouth tense and thin. "...who?" "Wooooooah." Shane /whirls/ on a heel, eyes wide and claws lengthening at the sudden voice. Sebastian's claws are out in a heartbeat, too; he is shifting to stand juuuust a little bit in /front/ of Peter, edging up onto the first stair, but he doesn't get any closer. "-- Uh -- s -- orry we --" His polite-apologetic tone is a sharp contrast to the bared teeth and sharp claws. "... is this your place, it didn't really look like anyone was using it." Shane's claws are retracting -- halfway. He straightens, shoulders back, chest puffing out slightly as he steps just a little closer to the stairs. "I mean, sorry, if it is. My bad." Sebastian is looking still wary. No bluster, just a decidedly uncertain look. "Nobody was home. Two seconds ago." "Kid," Regan is glancing at Peter's outstretched hand dubiously, "/you/ broke into this place, the hell are you pointing at me?" She unfolds, standing -- not all that much taller than Peter when she gets to her feet. "Home now. Sometimes people use it. Did /you/ want to use it?" She's eying all three odd-looking teenagers a little skeptically. "Did you all /really/ come here to start a fight club? Isn't that a little -- before your time?" At the mention of having broken into this place, Peter goes violet, color swimming over his dark face; the wrist lowers -- /slowly/, but surely. A muffled "sorry" comes in under his breath. He shuffles, perhaps thoughtlessly, a little closer behind Sebastian; also, a step closer to Shane. "...um, they're -- /we're/," he corrects, straightening /just/ a smidge, "are kind of hardcore." Sebastian's claws are also slowly retracting, the longer it looks like they're not about to get /shot/. "... /is/ this your place?" He still doesn't sound /really/ sure, glancing towards the stairs upwards towards the (dusty? disused?) first floor they came in on. "We're /totally/ hardcore, dude, we went through /real/ Fight Club this is just like /practice/ fight club." Shane tucks his hands into his pockets, eying Regan. FROWNYfaced. "We /did/ want to use it, but, uh. Not if someone's using it /already/ I guess." "You're really hardcore," Sebastian is assuring Peter under his breath at Peter's correction. "-- We just wanted a place where people wouldn't, uh. Give us --" "-- shit," Shane finishes. "Are /you/ gonna give us shit? Cuz we're not here for the shit. Giving. Taking. /Any/ transferrance of shit at all." "/Real/ Fight Club?" Regan, admittedly, still doesn't look all that impressed by their purported Hardcoreness. Still a little amused. She leans against the railing to the stairs, shaking her head slightly. "What's /real/ Fight Club, then?" She glances away from the teens, down around the empty basement space. "I mean, this /is/ my place. Sometimes other people use it, though. But," she shrugs a shoulder, one lazy twitch of motion. "Only if they're kind of hardcore." A slight hint of creeping color comes to Peter's cheeks at the twins' comments; the bit about transferrance of shit manages to pull his face into a tiny-grin. At the question of the Fight Club, though, Peter tenses, just a little. "...should we be telling people about...?" he asks, /very/ quietly, although it's likely Regan would be able to hear. Then, a little louder: "Um, just, y'know, people. Being terrible. S'okay though, s'all shut down now." Peter straightens, as if just realizing -- a glance, quick and sudden, from Shane to Sebastian: "...it /is/ shut down, right? I mean." "Why shouldn't we? /We/ didn't do anything wrong," Shane answers with a slight scowl. "It was the fucking /pigs/ who --" "Cops," Bastian corrects reflexively, "I /like/ pigs." "/Real/ fight club is the kind where they kidnap you. We just wanted a place to /spar/," Shane explains. "Except, uh, doing that anywhere people can see --" He gestures to himself, the other sharktwin, the dark chitin-covered spiderkid. "Tends to lead to a lot of shit transferring." "Which we're /not/ here for," Bastian re-emphasizes, hasty and with the fervent reassurance of someone who fully /expects/ that /someone/ here is going to be looking for shit. "Right. No. This was like, the /consensual/ kind of fighting, not like punching random strangers," Shane explains, and then his grin skews lopsided, "... whose house we broke into." "Sorry about -- um should we be going?" Sebastian looks very concerned, now. "-- /Kidnap/?" This fades the amusement from Regan's face. Her lips thin, somewhat. "That sounds like an entirely different grade of terrible." Her fingernails drum against the stairway railing. "Is what shut down?" Her eyes fix on Peter with this, curious, and with this shift of attention there is a shift of /her/ -- she grows a few inches taller, her dark pixie-cut hair lengthening to long-straight-blonde, eyes lightening to blue, heart-shaped face narrowing. "Look," new!Regan says with an air of admitting a secret, "I don't actually own this place, but I do look after it. It's /kind/ of been a place for people who don't want any shit, alright? Not giving, not taking. You're not planning on bringing the cops down here, /are/ you?" "I, uh, the thing. The Fight Club thing. I think, it's not still going on, but, uh. Um." Peter's words dwindle away into idle confusion, eyes widening as he just /stares/ at Regan's changing form. Shoulders roll back; he takes a cautious step /away/. "...um, guys, I think she's. Am I -- are you seeing--? She's, uh. Changing. I think she's -- yep. She's changing." And then, /much/ more quickly: "Weare/not/bringingthecopshere." "/Woah/," Shane says, while Sebastian judges: "/Cool/." His claws retract the rest of the way, his smile easing. "We're /so/ not bringing the cops here," Bastian assures her. "Actually, you should probably just stay away from cops altogether?" Shane suggests. "They kidnapped us. It was /pretty/ shitty. It wasn't a /real/ fight club more like a torture you if you don't fight each other club." "Doesn't have the same ring to it," Bastian adds, with a small smile. It's a short-lived smile. "We just wanted, like, a real one. Not the death kind. For -- practicing in case --" "You know, in case of the /next/ time someone thinks it'd be a great idea to round up mutants and shove them in cages." Shane squints at Regan thoughtfully. "Is /that/ really you now or are you a fake-you again?" He sniffs the air curiously. "A place for -- do other people live here?" Bastian looks at the stairs again. "Sometimes," Regan answers, lips still thin. "When they need to. Did you say the /cops/ kidnapped you?" Her fingers tighten against the stairway railing. "The /actual/ police? For a -- torture --" Her brows are deeply furrowed, here. She is repeating these words slooowly, like she doesn't quite believe them. "Look, if you need a place to practice, you're welcome to it. Just be careful who you bring, we /don't/ want trouble. But if there's /cops/ -- kidnapping --" Her jaw clenches. /She/ glances back up the stairs, too. "They're not still doing it, are they?" "I don't think so," Peter says, and -- as the twins relax, so does Peter. Just a rush of breath, suddenly, and his shoulders are un-hunching; he's standing a little straighter, both of his arms now sliding down, hands slipping into his pockets. "I mean, I'm pretty sure they -- some of our friends, um. They stopped them. I think. They stopped the whole thing. I don't know." A little more tensely, then: "If they /do/ start doing it again, we'll find out about it. And, uh. Do -- /something/." Peter isn't sure what 'something' is, but judging by the harshness with which he speaks the word, it isn't going to be a very /nice/ something. "...um, there are other people? Here? People like --" Peter pauses, glancing to the others, then back to Regan: "...are you, uh, I mean -- safe? Here? There are some places -- I mean." He stops himself before he proceeds to blab to a perfect stranger about MORLOCKS and XAVIER's and OHGOD. But he looks sorely tempted to do so anyway! "People like us?" Shane suggests in finish to that pause. "Cuz, uh, cool. A friend of mine told me this place was here but I guess nobody was there before he's also -- you know he's kind of /silver/. And it's /convenient/ here because Evolve's nearby and," "and you probably want refreshments after a bunch of fighting," Bastian says with a quick closed-lipped smile. "At least I do." He is more fidgety than the other two -- relaxed, but relaxing back into a restless /energy/ in contrast to Shane's more languid slouch. Bouncing on his toes. Eyes flicking around the room. "/Are/ you safe? Cuz, uh, the city's /pretty/ shitty like. You know. Cops kidnapping mutants to stick them in /murder club/." Shane scowls for a moment, down at the floor. "Don't ever go to murder club, it's pretty much the crappiest club." "Torture club isn't much better," Sebastian points out. "But I'm /pretty/ sure it's shut down, although I don't -- I mean the cops who did it, they --" "-- come /on/ they're /cops/," Shane's eyes are probably rolling. His tone /sounds/ like his eyes are rolling, even if it's hard to tell. "Who the fuck is going to bust the /cops/ for stealing a bunch of /freaks/." "People like us," Regan affirms with a small thin smile. Her shoulder rolls, a slow lazy shrug, this time. "Safe enough. Where's /safe/ these days, anyway? Anywhere's only as safe as you make it." The smile widens, slightly. "But we try to make it pretty safe, here." There's another rat-tat-tat of neatly trimmed nails tapping against the banister. "The city can be terrible. Probably /is/ important, learning to fight back. Because you're right." Her eyes are turning up, looking towards the ceiling with, contrastingly, a wider smile. "Who /is/ going to bust the cops for stealing a bunch of freaks?" "...someone has to stop them," Peter says, a little more firmly, jaw tensing up. "I mean, even if they don't get busted or whatever --" Whatever tenseness is building up seems to immediately deflate, though: "--but they will. Find a way to make sure -- I mean, I'm sure there's gotta be a way to keep them from doing it again. He'll figure something out." "We can make this place pretty safe," Peter tells Regan, /puffing/ up a bit more. "I mean, they only managed to nab me cuz they came when I was all /stabbed/ and burnt and choked up on smoke and stuff. If they'd come after me before all that? I'd have kicked their asses. Or, uh." A hint of violet. "...just gotten away." "Yeah uh we're, like we said, /pretty/ hardcore -- still nice," Shane admits, "to have safe places. Or places it's easier to make safe. We really /really/ could use it here?" "We don't want to do anything terrible," Bastian assures Regan. "Just have a -- like a sparring club. For. Freaks," his smile is a little lopsided here. "How do you keep the cops from doing things, though?" Shane is less optimistic about this than Peter. "They're /cops/ they do whatever the fuck they want." "They /couldn't/, if they started that again people would -- /we/ would --" But here Sebastian trails off, a little uncertainly. "... do. Something." He doesn't entirely sound sure /what/. "Really /really/," the excitement sounds kind of drier in Regan's tone, shorn of incredulity and left just a little blandly amused. "How /do/ you keep the cops from doing things?" Her eyes shift down to the teenagers. "Are /you/ all safe? It sounds like you've, ah. Already /had/ your share of shit-taking." Her eyes flick back to Peter. "He'll figure something out? Who'll figure something out?" "Uh. Oh. Uh, just some guy," Peter says, suddenly -- flipping his hand distractedly, waving it like -- oh yeah pffsh just some nobody. "I mean, uh -- we have a lot of friends. People who can -- help. Um, we're pretty safe, I /think/, I mean. We're safe-/er/," he adds, thinking -- eyes lingering briefly on Shane's new clunky looking wrist-watches. Then, back to Regan. "I mean, I'm sure as hell not gonna get snatched again. Even if they send /ten/ guys." There is, perhaps, an unusual sense of /confidence/ with which he relates this information. "They can send a hundred," Sebastian doesn't sound /confident/ exactly so much as abruptly fierce, "I'd take them all out before I let them take you." He might be talking to either of the others, really; his weight has shifted closer to them both. Shane just hooks a crooked smile upward, slinging an arm lazily around Peter's waist. "They're not taking anyone. That's the /point/ we're working out. Make anyone regret it who fucking /tries/." This burst of confidence, of ferocity, draws Regan's attention back to the teenagers. Her eyebrows lift, and there's a distinct note of appreciation in the gradually wider creep of her smile. "/Good/." Her head dips, in a nod. "You should make them regret it. If you don't, who will?" She moves down the steps, hand offered outward. "I'm Regan," she introduces herself. "And I think I want to join your club." Peter leans back into Shane as his arm slips around his waist; as Sebastian slips closer, he drops an arm to his shoulder. When Regan mentions joining their club, Peter blinks -- brightens -- and grins. "...uh, seriously? I mean. I, uh -- cool," is all he manages. "/Woah/." This is unexpected, judging by Shane's sudden blink. Sudden /grin/, fierce and bright. His arm stays around Peter's waist but his other hand reaches out, accepting Regan's in a /firm/ shake. "/Awesome/. I mean, of course you do, it's /pretty/ much the best club." "He's Shane," Sebastian offers, "I'm Bastian. We're brothers." "This is Peter." Shane's hand squeezes a little tighter around Peter's waist. "And -- thanks." Sebastian's smile is shyer than his brother's, smaller and closed-lipped. "It /is/ going to be the best club, though." "Brothers." This curls Regan's lips into an amused smile. "Yeah. You kind of are." She steps back up onto the next higher step, gesturing the others along after. "Come on upstairs. Probably have a lot of details to work out." She turns, gesturing the others along as she heads back up the stairs. To /plan/. For The Best Club.