ArchivedLogs:The Other Lofts
| The Other Lofts | |
|---|---|
Impending sex-- heavily implied? | |
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2013-05-25 Some of the Georgia-vacation kids retreat up into a BARN LOFT for music, drinks, and sensitive subjects. |
| Location
Holland Farm - Georgia | |
The vast acres of farmland and garden, multitude of rooms of farmhouse, many buildings of the house for the fieldhands and stables and barns provide plenty of escape to get away and hide for those looking not to be found. Of course, that only applies for those looking not to be found. The twins do not fall into this category; they have let their friends know just where they are. Where they are, at the moment, is tucked into a hayloft in the nearest barn to the farmhouse. There is music playing, a slow soft violin tune; its quiet and gentle and Shane plays it like he is /incredibly/ glad to have his instrument in his hands again. He is dressed neat if casual, dark jeans, pale t-shirt, dark vest. Grey newsboy cap. Sebastian sits with him. His guitar is up in this loft, too. But it is in its case, still, unopened, untouched. His hand rests on it, but his back is to the wall, eyes closed, just listening. Here away from the world he is less flamboyant; cargo jeans and a tight black t-shirt with a peacock feather on it. Daiki's presence up here is quiet. He is today the most elegant of the three but then he often is, crisp silver-bordered blue tunic, white trousers. Barefoot, his sandals left somewhere down below. His head is rested in Shane's lap, eyes closed; he might be asleep but the soft smile on his lips at the music suggests otherwise. They have come prepared. Food (lots of bacon, sausages, ham, for the boys. Fruit, bell peppers, chips and fresh-made guacamole for Daiki. Juice and a bottle of 120 proof vodka. Perhaps one of them is aiming to go blind. Skitter, skitter. Peter is coming into the barn, possibly with an Ivan in tow; the latter would no doubt be FOLLOWING the chitin-clad boy as he enters the barn -- clad in a loose white t-shirt (boba fett, darth vader standing in for jules and vincent from pulp fiction), grey dress-slacks, and his funny two-toed socks. No sooner is Peter inside then is he up on the wall; now that he’s out in open spaces, it’s been an impossible challenge just to keep him standing still for longer than two seconds (and stop him from staying on the ground for longer than three). The violin intrigues him; he quietly crawls up the surface of the wall -- scamper, scamper -- head poking up into the hayloft. When he sees the scene of reclining, relaxing x-kids, he smiles -- and gestures down to Ivan. Coast is clear! Ivan is not far behind - at least until Peter leaves the ground. He's likely been following his dorm buddy all day, which has left him a little disheveled looking, to be honest. Who knows WHERE he may have been lead to. There may have been tree climbing. A twig and leaf or three or four sticks out of his hair, some dirt left streaked across his jeans and grey shirt informing through text that cities built on rock & roll would be structurally unsound. A small ragtag collection of moths and butterflies and (less conventionally pretty) gnats follows behind him as he /darts/ into the barn in calculated little movements. Wide eyes locking onto Peter when he's not /darting/ glances all around. Unfamiliar territory. But ooh, pretty music. As though connected through an invisible rope, he continues toward the chitinous teen in as straight a line as he can manage, given that he does not plan on crawling up any walls any time soon. There is, thankfully, a ladder up into the hayloft. It is good for facilitating climbing for those who do not climb up walls. Shane's violin playing continues as the others approach. He notices them, for sure; his nose twitches, his eyes crack open. A small smile plays on his lips. Daiki lifts a hand, fingers reaching towards one of the moths. His other hand reaches for the plate of foods, offering it out as the others arrive. "D'you drink?" Bastian speaks quietly, and might be directing this towards either of the newcomers. His fingers waggle towards juices and vodka both. Peach, orange. Vodka. Yum. “S’okay you can come up,” Peter -- kind of /stage-whispers/ to Ivan, head bobbing down briefly -- then, back up toward the loft, scampering up to the wall there -- chest close to the boards, slipping up somewhere to the immediate left of Shane, above Daiki, across from Sebastian -- a bit higher up, as if he were preparing to jump down atop of one of them. Although, that is probably not very likely -- he’s also taking a great deal of effort not to make much /noise/, as if fearful of disturbing the violin playing. At the question about drinking, Peter’s eyes widen; a flicker of violet swims over his features, like the rolling wave of a tide. “Oh, uh,” and then there’s just a rapid shake-shake of his head. Though his eyes /are/ lighting on the juice, maybe. And maybe some of the fruit and bell pepper chips. As though purely for the fact that Peter told him it's /okay/, Ivan makes his way upwards. Taking care to make as little noise as possible, though clumsiness brought on by a stark unfamiliarity with climbing ladders does little to help. Creak-a, creak. As he comes up, so do the insects he brought with him, lingering in the space more as a result of idle thought that direct command, occasionally landing when not simply exploring. When he finally makes it all the way up, he sits, slightly tense - shoulders forward like he's fairly sure he isn't supposed to be here in the first place. The offer of food is met with a skeptical sort of look. Again, not SURE. His unease is obvious but this does not stop him from throwing everyone but Peter a searching sort of stare. As an answer to the question asked, he gives a blankfaced, slow... one-shouldered shrug, as though to say-- well. He hasn't /not/. The violin music continues, though one song segues into another, a little bit /wilder/, a little more intense, as Daiki’s cheek nuzzles against Shane’s leg. Just for a moment, and then the teenager sits up to pass the fruit and veggies over towards Peter. “We’re hiding,” Bastian informs the newcomers; “I mean, it’s not very good hiding cuz everyone knows where we are.” “It is the best hiding,” Daiki tells them, “because the people they want to see know where they want to be found, and they told Jackson where they are and please do not come right now.” “-- so, okay, the best hiding. ‘Cause of it’s not really. He’s good at -- space.” Bastian tips up a small cup, squat sturdy earthenware, and fills it with a mix of orange and peach juice, leaning over to give it to Peter. Shane finally puts the bow down, though he leaves the violin tucked beneath his chin. He looks just slightly flushed, his eyes only opening a crack. “C’mon, dude,” he tells Ivan, though he waves his bow at Bastian with this, “I thought vodka was, like, your people’s national beverage.” He reaches an arm out for Peter -- but then checks himself. With QUESTIONING eyebrows and a glance to Ivan. Sebastian pours a second drink. A few fingers of vodka, this time, then the rest orange juice. This one he hands to Ivan. “I like your moths,” Daiki says, with a small smile. “What kind are those, do you know?” “Ah, oh,” Peter produces some sort of vague sound of agreeableness when he’s presented with the juice -- and when he’s presented with vegetables and fruit -- clambering down off the wall to land with a faint scuff when Shane’s violin playing comes to a halt. A handful of bell-pepper chips disappear in a flash; then, both hands are over the cup, as if unsure of what precisely he’s supposed to do with it. He /creeps/ forward with it, closer to the group -- throwing a few reassuring smiles at Ivan along the way. Maybe followed by a tiny sip from his cup. As if to say ‘IS OKAY, NO RADIATION POISONING’. When Shane begins to reach for him -- and throws that look toward Ivan -- Peter looks briefly confused, before it dawns on him. He smiles, then -- small and tentative -- before reaching for Shane with his own arm, one hand abandoning the cup. “I, uh, like your playing,” he confesses, before glancing back to Ivan: “...wait /do/ you drink?” Peter genuinely does not know. The drinking habits of all of his friends are a /mystery/. As is customary, Ivan's eyes flit from person to person as they speak, as someone may follow a conversation along on television, unabashedly just /observing/. Somehow disconnected-looking despite this time actually being part of the conversation. And then he has a cup in his hand. Huh. The glance toward him is met with no change in expression - if he is supposed to be answering or responding to something, he seems unaware of the social cues provided. "My brothers drink." He states this matter-of-factly, as though it answers Peter's question. Then, his attention is momentarily shifted to a few moths ahead of him. "... I do not know. I found them, outside. Maybe some day I will be a--" He squints in thought, before finishing meticulously carefully, "Lepidopterist." He flashes the fluttery moths a brief, timid smile anyway, and they lower in clumsy little back-and-forth flight paths. Then, he stares down at the cup, and /sips/ stoically. Not even a twitch. Maybe some stereotypes ring true. “I think you would make a wonderful lepidopterist,” Daiki says, and coming from /him/ his mutation accentuates compliments, makes them ring warmer still than they normally /should/. He snags himself a few grapes and then settles back down, head resting once more against Shane’s thigh. He eats slowly, peeling one grape carefully with his teeth, stripping the skin in thin lines. Shane slips his arm around Peter’s waist, pulling the other boy in against his side. He drops his violin -- resting it /on/ Daiki’s chest -- and his face nuzzles, briefly, against Peter’s neck. With this motion there is a relaxing, a quiet easing of his posture in against Peter. “You know, sometimes I kinda feel like it’d be nice to just --” “-- no you don’t,” Bastian cuts in. He’s taking Shane’s violin and bow from him, setting them neatly aside. He opens up his guitar case instead. “You’d get bored after a week, you love the city.” “I hate the city,” Shane protests. “You hate,” Daiki says, eyes closing, “the people /in/ the city. /Some/ of them. You love the city.” Shane sighs, exhaling heavily against Peter’s neck. He squeezes Peter tighter. “... be nice sometimes though. Just stay here. Drink /all/ the vodka. Do /all/ the lepidoptering.” “... that’s not a --” “-- fuck you,” Shane cuts off this protest, “I just mean shit’s better when it’s just all of us. And none of bullshit.” “Ivan,” Peter asks, head tilting now as he thinks, “if /you/ get drunk, do your -- bugs get drunk?” Eyebrows shoot up at this very idea. “...oh man could you, like. Make an entire bee hive act dr--don’t get drunk,” Peter finishes this thought /abruptly/. “I mean, if you do, /don’t/ go near any beehives.” The arm around Shane’s waist curls a bit more firmly as he nuzzles against Peter’s neck; Peter just -- semi-slumps against the wall, posture relaxing, jaw tilting up -- blinking sluggishly as he listens. His color wobbling somewhere between violet-and-blue. “Mmnf um you could -- didn’t Hive make all the guards walk out? Maybe you could do that to the whole city.” This does not sound like a serious suggestion. Peter has a slight smile as he mentions it. “...I mean, actually, the city probably would be. Kind of boring with nobody /else/ there I /guess/.” As Peter continues to slump and slide down to sit on the floor -- the process oh-so-slow, but oh-so-steady -- he might be dragging Shane /with/ him. “...I like it out here. There’s lots of space. I miss jumping on rooftops, though.” Lazily stated. Ivan's attention flits to and remains on Daiki for a moment, his smile returning as he straightens, just /slightly/ at the compliment. Who KNOWS maybe he will be the BEST lepidopterist. As if in response to this, the gnats have finally caught up-- hovering in a little cloud over his shoulder, while butterflies and moths still muck about semi-freely. Briefly, his eyes flit to Peter and Shane, and narrow in... hmm. Idle observation? Trying to piece something together? GUESSWORK? All of the above is likely. But then he is asked a question, and his semi-scrutinizing look is promptly aimed at a moth in somewhere front of him. His arm lifts, and the moth lands fumblyclumsily onto his forearm. He stares at it. And shrugs in response. He simply does not know. And proceeds to stare /pensively/ at his cup, eyebrows lowering as he listens to the rest of the conversation. /Hmm/. "Y-eeeah. We have a few hives out here but -- I don’t -- um, don’t think drunk bees -- don’t do that,” Shane says. “I mean, I’ve got thick skin and all but, uh, no.” He settles in beside Peter, nuzzling again at the other boy’s neck, this time with a light brush of lips to skin. His chin rests against Peter’s shoulder, fingers curling against Peter’s waist. “There are trees to jump on,” Daiki says. “Many trees. You could -- swing.” “Then he’d be a monkey-dude instead of a spider-dude,” Bastian says with a quick grin. He doesn’t seem like this is a /bad/ thing. “Though spider /is/ kind of cool -- um, I’ve been working on,” he’s a little distracted as he speaks, absently tuning his guitar, “kind of fine-tuning the webshooters, the splatty thing is kind of, well, splatty, that’s -- mmnh.” “The fuck is a lepidopterist anyway?” Shane finally remembers to ask. “A person who studies moths and butterflies,” Daiki answers. Shane frowns. “Yeah, but then what would you do with all the bees?” “Be a -- lepidapiarist,” Daiki decides. “But only while sober.” He dips a chip in guacamole, and munches. “Oh, um,” Peter suddenly seems to remember, as he succeeds in pulling Shane down -- jaw lifted to give him access to his throat, arm /squeezing/ briefly as Shane’s chin settles to his shoulder. “...I guess I didn’t -- tell you, Ivan, that--” There is a brief /intensification/ of color in Peter’s face and throat. “--IsometimeskissShane.” He awkwardly pauses here, as if trying to figure out what else to say about it. Nothing else seems to spring to mind! Peter soon adds, though -- to the bit Sebastian says: “...really? Cuz, uh, I’m -- officially -- down one pair of webshooters. The /best/ pair,” he adds, a little regrettably. “I need to -- make another set.” Glum. He proceeds to turn his head toward Shane’s reclining face, brushing his mouth against one of his brow-ridges -- before glancing up toward Ivan and making a little, hopeful wide-eyed puppy-dog look. With maybe a little ‘come over?’ gesture. Like he’s trying to get some sort of confirmation from Ivan that this is totally /not/ going to be weird for him. Or anyone. Well, probably the only people here who are at risk of Feeling Weird are Ivan and Peter. There's a visible tightening of Ivan's muscles as the conversation turns to bees, and Shane, and the combination of those two. Promptly, his cup is lowered again. And as it happens, so are the moths, butterflies and gnats - all moving down down down where they are until they hit something solid. And just /sit/. The Russian boy proceeds to watch with little input. Like the conversation's a tennis match. Person to person to person to person. Then, one vastly subtle /hint/ from Peter later, he's back to staring at his dorm buddy and Shane, as a collective. As though waiting for the punchline. When one doesn't come, he-- looks to the side for a moment, twitches eyebrows together, and then... just offers a small smile. It may be halfhearted, or he may simply not have formed a solid opinion on the matter yet. His subtler attempts at expression can be hard to read. Inching a /little/ bit closer, both hands now curl around his cup. Ssssip. “Well. I can make /new/ pairs, and they’ll be the /new/ best pairs,” Bastian offers, with a quick smile, his words given over the quiet plucking as he tunes his guitar. “I’m trying to tune the splatting so it’s a little more -- spraying? Like, so it’s easier to /wrap/ things and not just kind of /goop/ all over them.” “Maybe Peter likes spooging all over them,” Shane replies, turning his head up to press a kiss against Peter’s jaw. His hand curls around Peter’s waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of Peter’s shirt to trace against his side. “/I/ sure wouldn’t mind. Daiki looks up at the ceiling. Patiently. But then he sits up to pour /himself/ a drink. It has a slightly higher ratio of vodka to orange juice than Ivan’s. “I am sure you can construct more, but do you have the ammunition for them?” “Oh, I bet Peter can go all --” Shane is starting to say; Daiki cuts him off with just a quiet smile. “For the /web/shooters, Shane.” “Oh! Oh, right.” Shane crinkles his nose. But then he looks at Ivan a little more curiously. “You alright?” “I actually was -- yeah, working on a setting that lets you /cocoon/,” Peter tells Sebastian, manic energy threatening to return as he sits up. “It -- I got it to kinda work, but -- oh /man/, it would be awesome, you could--” Shane’s reply, followed by his kiss, manages to produce a /squeak/ out of him, followed by dark indigo. “...ohmyGod,” Peter mumbles, but then there’s a soft sss at fingers tracing his side, managing to briefly suppress his embarrassment. “Um--” “--I was hoping, uh, Dr. McCoy mentioned,” Peter explains, /still/ deep indigo, “he /might/ be able to synthesize it I dunno if he ever got to it.” Whether the full extent of the conversation's subject manages to get through the language barriers is not immediately clear on Ivan's side, but when Peter's embarrassment shows, he puts two and two together and his unease increases still - and he finally looks down and /away/ from everyone else. Shane's question brings Ivan's attention back up, though, eyebrows rising as though he's genuinely surprised at being asked it. For a moment, he looks to Peter, as though his friend might answer it for him. When his eyes lock back onto Shane's face, his expression is... almost fearful. Like he's /sure/ he's done something wrong, but he's got no idea what it is. Still holding his cup, he nods, and then for good measure, adds as if overly eager for the conversation to return to something that is not him, "/Yes/." “Yeah! I mean, we could totally --” Bastian stops his tuning, looking /eager/ at the thought of cocooning -- but only until he looks over at Ivan. “You don’t look alright,” he says, frowning slightly. “Is that --” “-- a problem?” This is continued by Daiki, glancing from Ivan to Peter and Shane. “That was a somewhat ambiguous ‘yes’.” “Am I not supposed to kiss you?” Shane says this /while/ kissing Peter, lips pressing soft to Peter’s neck this time. And then again, less soft. His hand skims up along Peter’s side. “Cuz I kind of -- I mean, I was hoping --” Another kiss, this time with a slight flick of tongue against Peter’s throat. “Do you think he’s gotten around to it?” Bastian is returning to his tuning like this kissing is not going on. He doesn’t seem like he’s trying hard to /ignore/ it; just like it is as much a casual part of the scenery as the glass of juice or Daiki lounging nearby. Daiki is less casual about it, though mostly only because he’s watching /Ivan/ and not the other two. “You seem uncomfortable,” he says, quiet. “-- because they are kissing, or because they are kissing /here/?” Peter is caught in a precarious position; on one hand, he wants to dart over and calm Ivan down with hugs, but on the /other/ hand, aah-aah-aah /kissing/ and--Peter is still vivid indigo, face still flushed, squirming in Shane’s grip -- eyes slinging briefly between Shane and Ivan, managing to produce a strangled /squeak/ after the throat-kiss, and: “Ngh it’s, um, o-okay,” is he talking to Ivan? Or /Shane/? He doesn’t seem to qualify, before: “Um maybe we could --” And then, suddenly, Peter’s on his feet, still flushing furiously, pulling back from Shane /very/ reluctantly. “Shane, whydon’twetalksomewhere, uh, private--” Peter is /moving/, now, toward the ladder -- pausing only briefly to give Ivan a sudden ambushing /hug/. “--Ivan I’ll, I’ll talk to you in a bit, okay? I, uh. Thisisweird, I know,” he adds, a little more softly, before glancing back to Shane, but: “But it’s okay I’ll talk to you, uh, later tonight--” Ivan responds to both of the potential problem factors with equal lack of recognition, visibly struggling to find an answer to Daiki's question. Perhaps the kissing is not the issue. But it isn't until he is hugged that his expression settles on apologetic, hugging back one-armed while admitting quietly, "It is /not/ weird. But I..." Uh. With Peter close, he lowers his voice to a whisper - though he does a terrible job at not looking at both Shane and Sebastian while he speaks, brow furrowing with both worry and fear, "Are you sure he does not just want to /eat you/." This. Is a genuine question. No joke. Just. Scared. “Oh!” Sebastian’s eyes widen in sudden realization. “Oh, gosh, no, he -- they --” “Fuck yeah, I want to eat him,” Shane says with a bright and toothy grin. “Except not the kind with blood, the kind with a lot of /moaning/ where I put his --” “-- I think they know,” Daiki interrupts quietly. He is dipping another chip into guacamole. Nibbling at it sort of delicately. “I don’t know,” Shane says honestly, “they /might/ not.” Sebastian presses his palm to his lips. To cover a small laugh. “There’s not going to be any of the bad kind of eating,” he promises Ivan. “Just the kissing kind. Maybe sex.” “I don’t know about -- well /maybe/ I mean /I’d/ like,” Shane says, and here he kisses Peter’s neck again kind of /hungrily/, “-- you know, actually, /he/ bites /me/ way harder?” “You two are talking,” Daiki points out. “You should go. Do.” “Right, doing.” Shane kisses Peter again. On the mouth this time. And scoots towards the ladder. “I promise,” he adds to Ivan. “No bloody-kind-of-eating.” Peter’s own face twists up with confusion at Ivan’s question, just trying to parse it as he pulls back from the hug. But when he realizes what Ivan’s asking, his eyes widen -- and he suddenly brightens, /grinning/. WHUMP. Descending upon Ivan with /another/ hug, this one a bit more fierce and maybe-threatening to lift the boy off the ground. Just a /little/. “Ohman,” Peter says, “nono/no/ oh /man/,” his voice breathy with unreleased laughter, “/No/ he’s not -- uh.” Peter’s released Ivan by the time the other comments are pouring in, his face still flustered when he scoots back with Shane toward that ladder. The mention of /other/ kinds of eating, and -- er, the /s-word/ -- along with Shane kissing at his neck -- manage to make it very hard for him to explain this in any more detail. He just manages, to Ivan, a quick little smile before -- tugged toward ladder. “I’ll, uh, talk to y--I’ll be /fine/ Ivan it’s okay,” Peter manages, before almost /tumbling/ down that ladder when Shane kisses him on the mouth. After that, Peter is /clambering/ down himself. The combination of Sebastian's promise, Shane's generous /explanation/ and Daiki's urging seems to do little to shoo away any immediate concerns from Ivan's brain, if his expression and tenseness is any hint. Then comes a HUG, which he lets himself be scooped up in somewhat unceremoniously, nerves keeping his own arms from returning it before it's already over. Oof. Then comes Shane's promise. And Peter's explanation, and laughter. And Ivan just... stands there, working hard to wrangle his expression back into neutrality, but not quite managing to get his eyebrows in check. The funny seems to escape him. Still holding his cup - now a little crinkly, having been caught between people and maybe held a little too tight. The moths, gnats and butterflies lift back up from where they'd landed, flying in hesitant little zigzags upward and inward until they've gathered on his arms, shoulders and sides of his head in what almost looks like a weird... messy... autobughug. One particularly stubborn moth chooses to land just above his eyebrow, instead, taking NO PART. And then he is left with Daiki, and Sebastian, peering at them head-on, swallowing hard. And for a moment it looks like that's all he'll be doing, until... somewhat apologetically, a little /fearful/ still, he asks, "... Is it okay if I leave?" The words come slowly, as if he suspects it may be a monstrously rude thing to say. Shane is ZOOMING down the ladder after Peter. BYE. Sebastian glances to Daiki, then to Ivan. He seems a little resigned as he picks his guitar back up. Pluck pluck pluck. "Of course it's okay," he answers, very lightly -- almost cheerful, even! "-- I'm not going to /eat/ you, you can do what you like." He switches from tuning to strumming, humming quietly along. "This is vacation," Daiki answers, turning back over to flop down onto his back. He rests his own cup on his chest, turning a small smile up towards the barn's ceiling. "You can go where you like." Ivan peers downward, at his crinkled cup. Then to the floor. Put it down still half full? ... Nope. He downs the drink in one go, /then/ leans to put it down, a few of the insects around his shoulders momentarily taking to the air before landing on his shirt again. "Thank you. For the drink." It's said more out of habit than actual gratitude, though it is accompanied by a very brief smile as his eyes flit to Sebastian first, and Daiki second. And then, it's gone again, and he's off to climb down the ladder. Stiffly, slowly, very much /not/ in a rush, likely to avoid bumping into other people on his way out, expression now settled on /determination/. With a pinch of befuddled thrown in there. Avoiding eye contact on his way out. Good bye. The others offer no further conversation to this departure. Sebastian moves from humming to singing, soft, Melissa Etheridge's "Breathe". The quiet sound of music follows Ivan out. | |
