ArchivedLogs:Weird Timing

Weird Timing
Dramatis Personae Doug, Shane	2013-12-30 '
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. Doug hasn't been around the Lofts over the holiday. Away in Westchester, he's missed all the excitement of murders and arrests -- sort of. (Thank you, news-hungry media. And security cameras.) Today, he is returned, having arrived just a couple of hours ago. Now, unpacked and back down in the lobby, he's looking like he means nerd business in jeans and a blue long-sleeved t-shirt with Doctor Hooves on the chest. Around his waist is a toolbelt, but it lacks proper handyman tools. More like a hodge-podge of wire and computer parts. If he's attempting to look inconspicuous, he's not really doing very well at it, particularly given the fact that he's lurking by the door, fiddling with panel behind the keycard slot. Well. Maybe not fiddling. 'Potentially vandalizing' might be a better term for what it looks like he's trying to do. There's an approaching small blue shark coming up to the building door, peering in through the glass at Doug. Shane doesn't look particularly dapper today, doesn't look particularly anything except tired. His skin is a paler shade than usual, shoulders slumped; he's dressed blandly in black corduroys, black creepers, dark grey-black peacoat. He's starting to lift his keyfob towards the panel but he stops with uncertain frown as he watches Doug's fiddling. He taps his card hesitantly, like he's not sure it will /work/ with Fiddling ongoing, and as backup plan just knocks on the glass. When Shane approaches the building, Doug is aware -- mostly because his phone chirps a warning from somewhere in that toolbelt. "Resident approaching entrance. No unidentified entities in the vicinity." The blonde looks up at that, peering through the glass even as his fiddling produces results, and the panel comes free. Luckily, no card is needed to open the door from the inside, which is what Doug does, pushing the door open and holding it for the younger teen. "Hey, Shane," is warm, if not overly /cheery/, offered with a concerned expression. "Sorry about the door. Just doing a thing." Shane slips inside with a nod of thanks. He doesn't meet Doug's eyes, his own restlessly skipping around the lobby. "See that," he grunts noncommittally, finally looking back to the open panel. "What fucking thing." Doug closes the door quickly behind Shane, pulling it until it clicks into place. Then he's digging in his toolbelt as he watches the smaller youth, his brow knitting. "Well, I tried calling you guys, but no one was answering their phone," he says, fishing out a cable, peering into the guts of the doorlock. "But I got a weird ping on the cameras earlier today, when I was on the train. When I checked it out, there was this group of technicians in the building. Real generic-looking." He wrinkles his nose, and looks up at Shane, his eyebrows furrowing as he considers his next words carefully, slowing his speech just a bit. "They were in your apartment." "Yeah, we've been a little --" Shane just lets this sentence drop off into nothingness. His teeth grind, gills fluttering briefly. He looks over towards the elevators, and then back to Doug. "OK, but what are you doing to the /door/." Doug frowns as he turns back to his fiddling, digging in his toolbelt to come up with a weird card-like jack that he begins to wire the cable into. "Well, they weren't let in by anyone, so they had to get around the lock, somehow," he says. "So, I'm going to pull all the doorlock access information for the last twenty-four hours, and see if I can figure out how they got inside." He bends to peer back into the lock again, then looks at the card in his hand thoughtfully before he continues affixing the cable. "It'll be mostly timestamps, I'm guessing, but if they used an override or something, I can see that, too." "How do you know they weren't let in by anyone. Super probably did it. If they were here to work, probably did." Shane's gills just flutter faster, eyes skipping towards the door and then away. "Usually does, with -- whatever. Work people. Or the goddamn SWAT team yesterday. Probably did with them too." "Maybe," Doug says, tipping his head. "Cameras didn't pick it up if he did, though. Anyway, can't hurt to check it out, right? I'm not going to break it or anything." Doug demonstrates by delicately plugging the cardjack into a slot in the doorlock. Then he's pulling out his phone, and plugging the other end of the cable in there. "So, what were you guys having fixed?" he asks, skimming his fingers over the screen of his phone. He smiles a bit. "The horde of people finally wear out the fixtures?" "You know how when people buzz up to your apartment you can just push the button and unlock the door for them? He can do that, too." Shane actually /doesn't/ sound derisive for once. Just kind of distracted, eyes skipping around the lobby restlessly. He takes out his phone from his pocket, frowns at it, puts it back without unlocking it. "Weren't getting shit fixed. No idea who the fuck those guys were. Maybe they planted a bomb." He actually sounds like he legitimately wouldn't be surprised at this. "No explosions yet?" "Well, that'll probably show up, too," Doug says mildly, starting the download before looking up again. "Like I said, no harm in checking it out. It's probably nothing. Just...weird timing. And no, no explosions." He wrinkles his nose, then, and ducks his head. "Oh, hey. Speaking of weird timing. I know it's stupid, but have presents for you guys upstairs. I meant to give them to you before I left, but I got kind of busy...." He trails off awkwardly, pursing his lips and looking back down at the phone. "Anyways. It's not a big deal. I just wanted to remember to tell you." "Think Ba's home now. Probably would've exploded by now if it was a bomb. Maybe reporters?" Shane shrugs, his tense-worried expression and sharply worried gaze a stark contrast to the nonchalant slouchy laziness of his posture. "I mean they can't be coming to /take/ him they already -- fucking did that." The last announcement draws Shane's eyes back to Doug, clear inner eyelids blinking and his expression uncomprehending. "Presents?" Doug frowns, and lifts a shoulder. "Could have been reporters, but they seemed awfully...I don't know. Slick? For reporters. /Or/ technicians." He offers a small smile as his phone chirps at him. "Download completed. Creating folder." The blonde nods at that, and reaches out to disconnect the cable. "Yeah, presents," he says, putting his phone in a pocket of his toolbelt, cable and all. Then he reaches to reclaim the back panel. "I mean, you guys are my friends, and I wouldn't have gotten on at Stark without Sebastian helping me sort out Warlock. I just wanted to get you guys something." "Slick?" Shane echoes this word uncertainly, fidgeting with a distinct trace of nervousness. His gills flutter faster, for a time precluding talking as he tries to get his breathing in check. "Slick like -- what's that mean." His teeth drag against his lower lip, eyes shifting between front door and stairwell door and elevator as though he might still try to /see/ the long-departed workmen. His nose twitches, sniffing at the air thoughtfully. "Uh --" The continued talk of presents makes his eyes open wide again. Blink, blink, blink. "I -- huh. That's -- nice. Um. Thank you." He still sounds somewhat perplexed. "... I didn't get you any presents." "Like, they didn't seem like Garabaldi and Sons," Doug says, fixing the panel back in place and holding it with one hand while he fishes in his toolbelt. "They could have been in a commercial or something. Generic Brothers Heating." Coming up with a small screwdriver, he carefully begins to wedge the panel back in. It takes a couple of minutes, but when he takes his hand away finally, the panel stays in place. "It's okay," he says, his grin warm and wide for Shane's confession as he steps closer to the younger teen. "It's not like we agreed to exchange gifts or anything. I just wanted to do it." "Ngh. Now I'm just back to bombing the damn place. Past day we've had so many fucking death threats --" Shane's eyes scrunch up tight, his jaw clenching. "And Spence has been missing since yesterday and --" Here his words falter again, not quavering so much as unable to continue with the constant rapid opening of his gills, desperately gasping at air they are incapable of breathing. Doug frowns at Shane's flurry of tension, and he closes the distance between them, reaching up to stroke his hands gently over fluttering gills. "Hey," he says gently, using his other hand to grab at Shane's arm in an attempt to pull him into a HUG. "Calm down before you suffocate." Shane closes his eyes, relaxing faintly under the stroking of gills. His gills push back up against Doug's fingers but eventually press flat down, his breathing resuming with a sudden sharp gasps that suggests that he might actually have been in danger of suffocation. He doesn't resist the pull, forehead bonking down against Doug's shirt. "He didn't do it." His voice is low and unhappy. "Not in a million years he'd never." When Shane's gills flatten, Doug allows his hand to slide around to the back of his neck, pulling him into his chest and circling his other arm around him. "Hell no, he didn't do it," he says. "This Captain Rogers...he wasn't right. He had that video /made/. It wouldn't have mattered how he went out." He wrinkles his nose, dropping his head to nuzzle his chin against hair spikes. "If all they have is this video...that's not much in the way of damning evidence," he offers with what is hopefully encouragement. "I mean, I think it says more about Malthus' paranoia than it does about Jax's guilt. At least, to sane people." "He threatened us. My family I mean. He told me and B to --" Shane clamps his jaw shut again here unhappily. "-- and he ran into Pa last week and." But quiet here, again. His insignificant weight sags in against Doug. "It was a punishment. A /punishment/ for being a /good fucking person/ who the fuck /does that/." Doug's grip tightens as Shane speaks, and the taller boy sort of /melts/ around him in an attempt to maximize contact. "See, that's just not stable," he says quietly, running his thumb along the nape of Shane's neck in small, soothing circles. "It sounds like he just wasn't..." Whatever he wasn't gets clamped off, and Doug inhales slowly before he speaks again. "I'm sorry. That doesn't really help," he says in an exhale just as slow as the intake. "But he /was/ insane, babe. Just...buttfucking bonkers. And eventually, someone's got to realize that." "I don't know. Maybe. Just, you get accused of terrorism they can keep you a /long/ fucking time. With no evidence. Legally. I mean, how many people are still locked up after 9/11? And this zombie thing killed /way/ the hell more -- if they think he was involved he --" Shane trembles, leaning in further against Doug for a moment but then pulling back abruptly. "Fuck. Fuck I gotta go -- check on my -- what if they /did/ something to our apartment, I gotta. There's been. /So many/ death threats I can't -- I need to find my Ba." The back of his hand rubs at his eyes. "He's a natural-born citizen," Doug says, letting Shane pull back as far as he can and still maintain contact. "Mutant or not, he still has those rights. A good lawyer...you guys do have a good lawyer, right? They should be able to do /something/." Doug's eyebrows lift, and he nods as he moves towards the elevator, towing Shane along if he doesn't try to free himself. "You should go check," he agrees, fishing out his card and using the corner to punch the call button. "You'll feel better, and you should be up there in case Spencer turns up." He turns back, then, to haul at Shane once more for another hug. "If you need to hide out later, though, I'm home all this week." Shane returns the hug, quick and tight. His gills are starting to flutter again, though not quite as badly as before. He bows his head, drawing in steadying breaths as he waits for the elevator to come. "Thanks." Tired and small as his posture /deflates/, it seems as though his energy for conversing has just run dry, an unhappy tense worry settling back into his expression. "Hey, what are friends for?" Doug says, although the humor in his voice is strained and weak-sounding. He doesn't offer anything else before the elevator comes, and even once inside, he remains quiet. And, just before the elevator doors open on three, he loops his arm over Shane's shoulders to pull him in for one last hug and a light press of lips against his temple before he releases him into the hallway, holding the doors open and watching with a sad sort of expression until Shane reaches his apartment. Only then does he let the protesting door go, shifting his weight to watch until it slides shut, leaving him alone in thoughtful silence.