ArchivedLogs:Yarn Bombs

Yarn Bombs
And they had such a nice day. :)
Dramatis Personae Kay, Toru	2013-12-09 Toru and Kay go shopping, everything turns out fine.
Location <NYC> East Village
Toru and Kay have been /painting the town red/ today. What started as an impromptu meetup in the early afternoon, the bony teenager bringing offerings of lo mein, fried rice and szechuan beef has ultimately somehow ended up with the two of them wandering the aisles of a /yarn store/. The teen is dressed in his usual Toru fare; a blue hoodie, a dark blue t-shirt under that covered in pictures of a bright yellow cat in various stages of party along with the text 'ENDLESS PARTIES', and a long-sleeved black shirt under that. Layers. His usual opera gloves have been replaced by real-ass grownup gloves, and a pair of Chuck Taylor /boots/ on his feet betray the sort of brand loyalty to Converse that only a teenager can have. For the most part, back at the yarn shop, Toru is behaving like a miscreant teen in a library - being a /dick/ but trying to keep his voice down to avoid suspicion. Every so often he'll point out something to his co-conspirator that he finds particularly /amusing/, but otherwise he's actually being kinda /respectful/-like. Until he gets to the sock yarn, at least. /There/, he finds a twisted skein in shades of blue and gray, and he's just staring at the label for a minute before calling Kay over. "/Dude/!" Here, the teen actually raises his voice a bit! And he points, points!!, reading the text. "100% al/paca/ fingering, what the /fuck/, man!" It' entirely possible they ended up in here because Kay saw the name of the shop – The Knitty Gritty – which earned a flat "What." And a HARD LEFT into the shop, an arm fixed around Toru's neck like this had always been the planned kidnapping site. Right about now he's being considerably LESS good than Toru, bent at the waist and FACE DOWN in a back table of skeins, fingers kneading while moaning "Ohgod why's it so soft" while an anxious salesgirl hovers nearby. He's been off and on dominating her attention with inane questions and huge grins, letting her decide whether she's more horrified or /fascinated/ by his very high-end fitted black leather jacket with its myriad D-rings and shiny zipper, his fingergless gloves, expensive shit-kicker calf-high steel toes boots, his sun-beaten tattoos and his off-white teeth. Or his /energy/. She might have cracked a smile or two. Against her /will/. He emerges from the soft like a breaching bony /whale/, "Oh yeah," he says, loudly, to Toru from across the store. And he raises two fingers, fitted together and jabs them forward, "That's where they -- !! – the llama-things. Check this out." He over-hand tosses a gray skein over an aisle /at/ Toru, "This one's called fucking ‘Grey Area'. The hell does that even /mean/." "That ain't right, dude," Toru notes, regarding Kay's /explanation/ of the. Alpaca. Activities. But then there's yarn flying at him, and the teen /just/ manages to catch it before it can hit him. "Naw it's like when you got an area, right.." he rubs the skein a little, tossing it back at Kay, and holding up his hands to indicate a square ... area. "...and it's /grey/. Yeah?" Yeah. And then he's wandering around rubbing more /yarn/, staying in the same general /area/ as Kay but without staying too close - he'll let him hang out with the salesgirl for now - but he's still within earshot when he grumbles, "Damn, this shit is nice. How come regular clothes aren't nice like this shit?" A chunk of hoodie fabric is grabbed, held out to show Kay. "This is all like rough and stuff, I need a goddamn alpaca hoodie. Get all cozy. Do you even know what to fuggin' do with this stuff?" Another skein of yarn is held up, this one a multi-tonal blue. "Goddamn embroideratin' or whatever." "No s'like - /CROOK/hooking," Kay agrees, now stalking amongst the shelves, collecting up skein after skein – a dreamy teal with purple streaks, a silvery poofy tangle with /fuzzy/ bits. He snags the gray one thrown back to him as well. By the time he's coming up behind Toru, he has a soft, downy white one – named Cloud City – gripped in his fist like a WEAPON, and he lunges to try locking am arm around Toru half-nelson style, trying to smush the soft fluffy yarn into the kid's face like its laced with /chloroform/. He's even whispering "Shhhh... shhh it'll all be over soon. I will dress you," he's grabbing for MORE skeins, battening them down under his arms to HUG them all soft and pill-like against Toru, "in the /finest/ funerary llamaproduct. – Hey lady!" The saleswoman looks over at him. Weakly. Like oh-god-don't-rob-us. "How much for – d'you got those like. Hooky-snaggy things?" Kay makes a HOOK with one finger helpfully. "Ones that look like you use ‘em to scoop out mummy brains with?" Puffing up a bit with a bit of a glare, Toru grumbles, "I /knew/ that, I was just-- seein' if /you/ knew-- agh!" And with little preamble he finds himself GRABBED, struggling just for a moment but either coincidentally or /obligingly/ calming down when the yarn is shoved in his face. By the time Kay is hollering at the saleslady, Toru has sunk to his knees, arms wrapped loosely around the arm around his /neck/, but then he suddenly jerks his head away, covering his mouth with his hand and letting out a muffled, but still pretty explosive /WAHHHHH-CHOO/. Even /he/ looks a little started by the outburst, which is followed soon by a /second/ mighty sneeze, and he then wipes his nose on his sleeve, looking up at Kay sheepishly. "Maybe shouldn't be breathin' that in, yeah?" And, to the saleslady, "Yeah, fugg-- friggin'-- crookhookers. With the thing," he holds his hand up, index finger hooked over all 'redrum' style. "I saw a couple price tags on some of the /yarn/ this shit is like, /spendy/, y'know? I might grab somethin' just for like, havin' around. Bat it around like a goddamn /cat/." "Or SQUEEZE it," Kay thrusts out a hand and /grips/ in his fingers at the air Darth-Vader-choking style, "Like a really - /squeezable/ -- THING." You see this, saleswoman. This is what happens when you open a yarn shop after an apocalypse. At least these customers seem... semi-interested in making a purchase. Eventually. Not at the /moment/, though, Kay has just kind of semi-killed Toru, kneeling beside him like a prince over a really bony (more than anyone KNOWS) damsel. "Get it out, c'mon, get it all out," he's encouraging /more/ sneezes, Mafia-boss patting Toru's cheek lazily as though that were. Helping. He suddenly has a thought, saying blankly, "Oh, wait, they do have sweatshirts made out of yarn that's like a fucking... sweater, isn't it. Shit." Mind. BLOWN. "I'll squeeze /you/," Toru sort of.. half-mumbles, through sleeve, wiping at his nose a bit more and /sniffing/ snot up into his cavities. Where it /belongs/. Snffff. He also bats at Kay's hands, shaking his head and grumbling, good-naturedly, "C'mon stoppit I'm finished." And in true /finished/ form he proceeds to flump, dead, to the floor. Killed by yarn. In a slumped-up little pile, he paws at the yarn Kay is holding, and mumbles, "Mother, knit me a cheese." And eventually, opening his eyes and taking on a /slightly/ more serious expression, "Yeah don't like, white grandmas knit their kids awful sweaters for Christmas or something. That's a /thing/ isn't it. Maybe check your mailbox, yeah?" Kay honourably permits Toru his demise, unceremoniously dropping him (well - possibly he shifts a foot beneath the tender bowl of Toru's rearmost cranium so the kid doesn't bash his skull against the ground). And he leans back with a fist on his hip, using the other to dangle the yard for old Brother Bones to wage WAR with. "Pff, not my family. Anything they sent'd be laced with. Fucking - arsenic or something. VI's. /Crotchrot/. Herpagona/syph/ilaids." He draws back a foot to make a slow-motion football-kick towards Toru's shoulder. Even making slowmotion "Wsssssshhhhhhhh-paaaaah" sound effects. OH. And fishing around inside his jacket pocket to pull out a truly /horrible/ fifty dollar bill. It's crumpled up into a tight little ball like a pillbug, or some wounded animal. He tosses the poor filthy thing to the counter beside the saleswoman. "I will take your /everything/." He sniffs magnanimously. "--that that can buy me. You got anything in SLIME green?" Toru pulls his legs up against his /butt/ so that he isn't taking up a huge amount of space, but otherwise he's content to lie on his back for the moment, head on Kay's shoe, /pawing/ at that yarn. Being. /Sort of/ careful not to be a tremendous nuisance but at this point the damage has PROBABLY been done. "Are you sayin' your family fucks your mail? That's messed up, dude." He's got one eyebrow raised incredulously, his hand sort of dangling in midair. When Kay pulls out the cash, though, both eyebrows shoot up, but this is accompanied by the teen grinning toothily. "What are you seriously gonna learn how to do fuggin' crookery?" Pause. "Or do you already know? -- I mean that's-- that's cool it just y'know seems kinda. Weird but whatever, yeah?" Hands are then extended straight upwards, and with a shift of his weight backwards, he then /SHOOTS/ forward, /propelling/ himself up onto his feet. "I should probably get some fuckin'. Fuzzy or a pair of scissors or somethin'. Jerk toll." "Shit, man," Kay rotates his hip when Toru NINJAS up to his feet to make room for him - it's a casual movement, comaradic and instantly including, so that they're side by side, hip by hip and elbow to elbow facing the saleswoman. Who Kay is GRINNING at as he speaks, stead-even and cheerful-fierce, "You say it like that, and I'ma /have/ to learn now." The moment of chummy proximity ends with a bony-sharp HIPcheck to send Toru on his way, "Yeah, pick out a thing. It's not gonna go to that -- what's his face, the walking meatloaf that tried giving you the business." Like he'd /remember/ Trib's name even if he was told. He goes back to browsing, hands folded behind his back like he's proudly surveying his domain, "And fuck, for all I know my family just /might/. Only really knew my ma, and that was /enough/." He leans over to /squint/ at a skein that has little shimmery sparklythings in it, "Dunno if she's even still alive. Ain't seen her in over a decade." Toru is grinning at the saleswoman as well, a sort of ‘aw shucks' sheepish style affair. WHAT CAN YA DO. He has, however, apparently learned how to spot Kay's hip-checks by now, because while the teen /staggers/, he doesn't make it very far away. There's a bit of a show-pony-dance as he regains his footing and turns to face the older man, lifting a hand to run through his hair and rub at the back of his neck, that grin widening a little. "Well you were all talkin' like you were gonna /get/ shit, how'm I supposedta know what's goin' on in your freaky head." The /meatloaf/ remark gets a bit of a -- well, he's /trying/ to glare, but Toru can't help but let out a snicker, muffled into one glove, his expression /slowly/ hardening. "You mean my /roomfriend/," he notes, with a smirk. "I'unno how he'd feel about some dude doin' /yarn stuff/ for me. He ain't /bad/, y'know, he just..." There's a little shrug there, the teen slowly deflating. "He doesn't handle stress too good. Gets kinda... well, you saw." He takes his gaze away from Kay, turning to look at /yarns/, stroking a few of them appraisingly. "Sorry if that was a dick thing to say. About yer folks." "Pff, why. Some lady in Nevada might have squeezed me out." Coming around the other side of an aisle, Kay is right up /in/ Toru's grill now, chest to chest (or well, height difference considered, Kay's chest at Toru's /face/, looking down at him.) When he's not smiling, he looks older; the flexed lines around his eyes are deep and wind burnt. He taps a fingertip down hard against Toru's sternum. It stays compressed there with an inexorable, steady force behind it. "But /you/ all're my /family/." Then he turns sideaways and EELS past with a firm /thump/ to Toru's back. With a SKEIN. It's a kind of mud-ugly brown with orange and yellow bobbly bits on it. It looks like yarnbarf. "Dude /better/ be okay with people doing shit for ya. What, he be okay with it," he flops a bit golden mop of yarn on top of his head, raising his voice to a mocking falsetto, "if I were a /lady/?" He drops the yarn like it disgusts him, "Keh. You know what'd happen if /I/ didn't handle stress well? Shit - what happens to /you/, even? Far as I see it, /stress/ is when you need your fucking people the most. Anyone can be good if nothing's /wrong/." He thumps a fist into a fistful of string. It doesn't make a very satisfying thmp. Whuff. When Kay approaches him like that, Toru can't really help but look pretty surprised; the sudden contact resulting in him looking up at Kay, mouth open just slightly as he sort of mumbles, "Hi there." Sort of. Not sure what to say for a moment. The explanation about /family/ doesn't seem to clear things up any further, either; instead he just lowers his head, avoiding eye contact perhaps out of shame. Hard to tell, with him. "Well, seein' as how he knows I used to chase skirt, he probably wouldn't be okay with that," Toru eventually opts to address that point. "I don't think he thinks /I'd/ go lookin' down some other guy's pants, I think /he/ thinks like... I dunno, okay?" He lets out a bit of a frustrated noise with that last remark, shaking his head briskly. "He kinda acts like if he ain't around I'm gonna get stolen. Like... I'm pretty sure he knows I can take care of myself, but he don't wanna /believe/ it, or somethin'." Sighing, he smushes the heel of his palm against an eye, just sort of /rubbing/ that spot for a minute. "I dunno about you but I don't got much of a choice ‘cept to be good at handlin' stress. I get too outta control and shit kinda goes inward-like." "Mine kinda," with his back turned, Kay extends his long arms, and then his long /fingers/ outwards to either side like the opening of a pair of black-clad wings, "Fwoosh." He doesn't cause flames, only says this word in a soft too-casual breath. "Goes /outwards/." He looks over a shoulder and is grinning again, his lower row of teeth actually shoved forward further than the upper row ferociously. "Neithers good!" So cheerful! He tosses a skein back, one hand gesturing 'c'mere' to suggest Toru should toss it back to him. Clap-hands! He's open. "He's got a funny way of making you wanna /stay/." Not a lot that /isn't/ blunt amongst them. Toss iiiiit. Toru holds that skein for a moment, turning it over in his hands and sort of shrugging a little. "Yeah, well, you at least may not necessarily end up /killed/, mine's kinda a martyrin' sorta. Thing. ‘Cause I'm just so self-sacrificin'." He throws the skein a /bit/ roughly, not that it's going to hurt any more as a result anyway!!, and spreads his hands, palms outward, before cramming them into his hoodie pockets. "And not that it's any of yer /business/," the teen's tone is suddenly a bit sour, but he's nonetheless apparently all-too-willing to share whatever isn't Kay's business anyway, "but he... makes me feel safe, okay? It's-- nice. We just don't get all fuggin' lovey in front'a people on account'a how neither of us is into that PDA shit." "So what," Kay catches. And throws right back again. With Toru's hands in his pockets it'll probably go... 'whmp' against his chest. "You like gettin' treated like shit in public? -- He ever /apologize/ for that? - I want /these/." This last is flat-abrasively projected at the saleswoman. Holding up a pair of knitting needles he yanks off a shelf. "Actually /yeah/ he /did/ apologize. We're /workin'/ on it." With some exasperation, he bends over to pick up the yarn, striding over to hand it to Kay, giving an only slightly apologetic glance to the saleswoman; there's only so many expressions he can manage right now. "Is there some /reason/ you're tryin' to get me to dump my boyfriend or is this just you bein' fuckin' everybody's pal Kay like usual and I'm just on the receivin' end this time?" Kay's hand is open, palm facing out, in front of his chest. For Toru to place the yarn in. His eyes are dead locked on Toru's face. And he says low. Calm. "Not everyone's." For once, Toru does actually manage to meet Kay's gaze without looking away; he's still got that exasperated look, and finally just replies, "You know what I mean. And that ain't what I asked." For a moment, it looks like he's going to add something to that, but ultimately he just sort of jerks his chin upward, indicating that it is now Kay's Turn to speak. "I seen a lotta ugly shit, Bones." Kay's brows are raised, eyes still set /heavy/ on Toru's. "And I seen a lotta people stay on with really shitty situations 'cause they don't think they're gonna find better." He crams the yarn skein and the knitting needles up under an armpit and kind of /shoulder/ thumps his way past Toru, "And I don't like /anyone/ talking t'you that way. I don't give a shit how 'stressed' he gets. I hear him do it again," he collects up his PILE on the counter, making an impatient gesture for Toru to get his ass in gear and add to the collection of Random Crap. "And I'm melting his face to the wall." Toru grabs a chunky skein of wool in a not-quite-teal shade of blue, grabbing it almost at random and throwing it on the pile with Kay's Random Crap. He's otherwise silent for the moment, minus some irritated grumping, but does seem to some extent to at least be /listening/. That last remark is met with an uncomfortable grimace, though, and out of some level of desperation he just murmurs, as sotto voce as he can manage, "Look, there's somethin' I maybe oughtta tell ya and can you not freak out? Like... a private kinda thing." The saleswoman shifts uncomfortably at the subtle feeling of dry heat that drifts softly past the hairs of her arms when she she takes the horrible wad of fifty from Kay. He's not smiling again, assessing Toru's face as he SHOVELS his random purchases into a bag and slings it over his shoulder Santa style. "A'right." He says, heading for the door. It's chilly outside and swarming with flurries, but /that's/ never been a problem. Whoosh! When the door opens a swift wind ruffles their hair. In an alternate universe, this scene didn't work out very well for our intrepid heroes!! But due to the magic of how those alternate universes work, here's how it happened in our timeline. Hood gets pulled up over Toru's head, drawstrings.. drawn.. and zipper zipped /all/ the way up. Clearly the teen does not handle /cold/ well, or at least likes to be /dramatic/ about it, regardless of Kay's heater effect. He's also, temporarily at least, apparently feeling less chatty even now that they're out and away from /people/. A few steps away from the shop's doors, though, and he grabs one of Kay's arms, pulling the pyromancer off into a truncated alley, and standing there beautifully awkwardly for a long moment. He's /fidgety/ for some reason, all rubbing the back of his neck and, for what feels to him like an excessively long moment just standing there in silence. "Look..." There's a /sigh/ there, the bridge of his nose getting a firm pinch. "Look, maybe you're right. About Trib. I dunno. Emotions are fuckin' hard, okay? But-- fuck, what would you say if I was all getting on your ass about someone you liked like that, yeah? You just-- don't gotta keep poundin' it in my goddamn head. It's my problem." "Auuuaaaghhhh," Kay drops back his head, making a /zombiemoan/ while he's hauled into the alley like a kid being dragged passively to CHURCH. "Y'sayin all that like I ain't been right in your god damn shoes, dude. Look at me." He gets all up in Toru's face again, though less aggressive than it is just kind of habitual, bracing a hand against the wall behind Toru and using two fingers to point towards either of his /eyes/. "If I didn't have friends to /talk me out/ of half the stupid shit I was running towards with a fucking smile on my face, I'd be dead right now. So /yeah/. If I ever end up with someone like that?" He leans so far forward he bonks foreheads, "/GET/ on my ass." "I /am/ lookin' atcha," Toru mumbles at Kay's /directive/, and while up to that point it'd been mostly through furtive glances, he does lift his head to make it a bit more. Obvious. "I /been/ lookin' atcha. And it ain't like I /know/ that shit, I got no idea what you've been up to before I met you, man." He's still /mumbly/, sounding a bit /embarrassed/ by the admission, really, as he looks up at Kay. Squirming a little, under the older man's gaze, but less making eye contact and more looking at Kay's lips. With a little gulp, after that headbonk, he finally snaps out of the little reverie he'd gotten himself into and stammers, "It just-- you and him both're actin' like I can't take care of myself, y'know. Can we stop /talkin'/ about this?" "Pshhhhh," Kay GRINS wolfishly into Toru's face. "Kid, I don't think you're helpless." He raises up a hand and /pats/ Toru's cheek, leaning away again and folding his hands behind his head. Bony elbows point up at the sky, he strolls off in no particular direction, swinging his bony hips, "I think you're /lazy/." For no particular reason he makes a little /yow!/ sound up at the sky, putting a fist up against the enormous blue of it. Face burning red with embarrassment -- at the statement, /mostly/, but just as much for almost misreading that situation -- Toru kicks at a rock on the ground and /grumps/, "Yeah, well, it's /relaxin'/ bein' /lazy/ so y'know. /Whatever/." Hands are /thrust/ into pockets again as the teen rushes to catch up with Kay, giving /him/ one of those bony hip-thwacks as he falls into step beside him. "You're a good guy, Kay," he throws out, out of nowhere. "Thanks for havin' my back and all, I just... I have a hard time bein' /people/." He frowns, looking up at the older man, then down to the ground. "Let's get some shawarma or something." There's little answer - just Whump. After a kind of staggered few steps for the unexpected hipcheck, Kay's arm drops across the back of Toru's shoulders. Companionably at first, though that tense restless energy has always the slightest hint of aggression. Like he might drag him in for a noogie. Or to hoist him up onto a /shoulder/. Or CLIMB him. His eyes are ever-roaming, watching the city, watching the cars, watching faces, "You askin' me /out/?" He grins so much it's hard to TELL what's a joke. Toru relaxes a little when Kay's arm drops onto his shoulders, the teen allowing himself a tiny little /smile/ at the contact, even despite that sense of restlessness. But when that joke(?) is made, he's tense again, shoulders hitching up around his ears, gaze snapping forward as he makes his way to the motorcycle. "I ain't-- we're already /out/." Hands are pulled out of his pockets, both of them pointing to gesture as he speaks, "We can't be any more /out/. Except if we get food, then we'll be /in/, and after /that/ we'd be /out/ but we're already. Out. Now." Someone's defensive. "...I just wanna hang-- out. Is all." Kay just grins, jostle-prodding Toru forward onto the bike. And, hopping on as well - front seat for the driver, Toru has to sit /behind/, lock arms around his waist tight enough to compensate for the moment of acceleration. "You're payin." Since. Y'know. He did just buy all that /yarn/.