Logs:Bitter Assholes

Bitter Assholes
Dramatis Personae Hive, Samuel
In Absentia DJ	2025-01-04 "Do you have ulterior motivesssssss for coming to a place like thissssssss?"
Location <NYC> The Refuge - Staten Island
The swath of destruction that the dimensional anomaly carved here in 2020 has been swept away and transformed into a large compound, practically a neighborhood in its own right. Much of the grounds are given over to meticulously landscaped parkland. Here are manicured gardens abutting half-wild groves, playgrounds and playing fields, a swimming pool as well as a fishing pond, and even a few acres of farmland. The residences, from the founder's house to the miniature arcologies and the slightly larger guesthouse, are styled like abstract beehives. So, for that matter, is the vertical hydroponic farm that produces far more food than the earthbound fields. In fact, there is a great deal of beehive imagery throughout, and even absent specific styling, hexagons are still more common than squares or rectangles in the construction of spaces and objects, all of which are thoughtfully designed with an eye toward community and comfort. At the heart of the Refuge is the meetinghouse that crowns the hill where the 121st Precinct once stood: architecturally distinct from most LDS houses of worship, this one looks from afar like an abstract sculpture of a conch shell in gleaming white quartzite. The floor plan is built on a Fibonacci spiral with a relatively gentle rise in elevation for the first four quarter-arcs before shooting up into a steep organic spire that can be seen for miles around. The guesthouse is a lovely, welcoming home away from home for pilgrims, visiting family and friends, and strangers in need. The central common area that spans all the levels is hexagonal in shape and comfortably appointed in warm earth tones. This floor has a game room, and media room, and a playroom for the littlest visitors to the Refuge. There are always a fair number of people around the Guesthouse, so perhaps one extra person doesn't stand out all that much. Hive does not look much like most of the cheerful and politely welcoming residents or the cheerful and politely curious guests, though. He's been sitting at a table in one corner of the media room -- there's a boisterous and cheerful round robin of Arms going on over on the biggest TV, where one small girl playing Lola Pop has just demolished a recently returned missionary's King Cobra. Hive has not been paying much attention to the gaming -- he's been talking for a while with a pair of Very Earnest looking young women, taking assiduous notes through their discussion. But the young women are heading off, now, leaving Hive (skinny, unassuming, blandly dressed in jeans, workboots, warmly lined corduroy jacket over a crimson sweatshirt bearing the greek letters Theta Tau in bold -- though he's been inside for a while he has not removed the soft black fleece beanie on his head, nor its matching scarf wrapped around his throat) alone at the table. He's still adding notes in his laptop, intermittently leaning back to frown up at the ceiling. His rough fingers are clenched hard at the head of a cane that he is currently repeatedly fidgeting with, idly tapping it against the floor or the table in between his work. Samuel is in the back of the group, watching the back and forth go on as players shuffle in and out. As a Springtron main, he feels pretty confident in his ability to win a couple of matches...but to be frank, he's never ACTUALLY played this game with another person, so he has no way to actually confirm that. Really, he just wants to think he's better then people at something, because if he isn't good at something, then he's worthless. ``I have to be better. It makes me something worth noticing.`` It's going to be a bit before its his turn, and his tail thumps at the floor. If he wins this, it gives him some kind of social clout. Winning a tournament like this would put him on the radar. He wants attention. But wait, what if he doesn't? What if they're all weirdos? ``Should I throw? Do I want this? To even be here?`` His thoughts begin to circle as his mind begins to envision a thousand different negative outcomes. It doesn't matter if he's a human or mutant at this second. This is a crowd of strangers, of people who he doesn't know and isn't sure if he cares about. People who will see him and judge him and oh god oh god... ``I can't win but I can't lose and this isn't where i'm meant to be is it but if i'm meant to be here why and i don't get it and i don't understand i feel sick i'm not sick why's my throat god god god`` Sammy retreats for a moment, to the back of the room. He slithers away as subtly as possible, knowing he's got time for the retreat. Crushing awareness of the preception of others is hitting. It's so stupid! ``I shouldn't care what people think but i can't stop being the FREAK and I don't want to be the freak I want to be me but who even is me anymore if I'm not good if i'm not of the faith if i'm not even cool what am i`` "If it helps --" this is coming in a raspy smoker's-rough voice, accent a weird bastard thing that is clearly Not Local but other than that hard to place, from the skinny Asian man at the corner table, "-- half of everyone's a goddamn neurotic insecure mess. In their own minds." The snake's tail sticks upright like a startled cat, his head WHIRLING around to look at the asian dude talking to him. For a moment, he's bewildered. ``How the fuck did he hear that???`` "How did y-" Then he clocks it. This is the second one he's met. It still kind of freaks him out though. ``He's like the snake hair dude. In my head! Hey now brown cow hey now brown cow hey now ok i think he's done`` "...Ahem. I'm pretty sssssssure it'sssss rude to eavssssssdrop." He attempts to prop himself up and not look like the ultimate hobo, his slithering becoming more dignified by the day. Samuel no longer looks like he's tripping over himself, but he's a little wobbly in the torso, disrupting his serious face. "Haven't ssssssssseen you here. Jussssssst arrived, I pressssssume?" ``God I have got to find a way to sound less like a fucking supervillain`` "This is New York, haven't you heard we're a bunch of rude motherfuckers here?" Hive's expression is sour, face twisted into a scowl, though in fairness it was like that already before Samuel came over. He's adding to his notes, eyes fixed on the screen -- he hasn't once so much as looked up at the large snake-guy. "Can't help it, though. I'd turn this shit off if I could." He is now tapping his stylus absently against the edge of his table, slouching down lower in his seat. "Guarantee you, though, those cheerful assholes do not give a fuck if you win or you lose." Samuel's flabbergasted by how outright rude hive is. He's always held suspiscions on if people secretly resented him or not, but to hear someone so callously speak with such venom is shocking. Most people where he came from would voice dislike in far more veiled terms...but this guy's direct! ``What am I suppossed to do with a guy who just comes at me like this???`` "I...haven't, actually. The new york I've ssssssseen on tv is a far more idealized one, to ssssssay the leassssst." He tries to regain a serious and dignified posture, trying to use his tail to assert some size here. It's not quite effective, but the progressively increasing control is letting him at least try to not look intimidated. "If you find thesssssse cheerful people sssssso grating, why are you here? Are you homelessssssss?" ``I don't know what to think of them myself. So kind, but...`` ``But I don't know. There's just...it's not for me?`` ``I feel uncomfortable in ways I can't word.`` "You look like you've got money. Do you have ulterior motivesssssss for coming to a place like thissssssss?" "Do I?" Hive is looking down, extremely skeptically, at his boring old boots, aged sweatshirt, utterly nondescript jeans and jacket. He slouches a little lower, stylus once more tapping at the table. He has not looked at Samuel's attempt to make himself larger, just shrugging a shoulder. "Didn't say they were grating. Said they were cheerful. -- Someone keeping you here? You uncomfortable, pretty sure you could go. Bet you one of these Boy Scout'd even try and help you find somewhere less kind, if it's more your vibe." Well. He doesn't really wanna go along with anything this guy says because he sounds like a dick. "You sssssseem to think I equate money and richesssss. You have enough to reliably own a place." A bit of a snort through his nostrils. "I don't have certainty yet. Maybe thisssss could be the place for me." ``Or maybe not. I want a place that's mine. Hard to get me time.`` "Or maybe not. It'ssss a processsssss. I'm trying to give a sssssshot, becausssssse it'ssssss got heatersssss and a bed." ``Hey, he dodged my question.`` "If you don't work here, what makessss you wanna be here anyhow?" Samuel is exceedingly nosy about things that are none of his buisness. "Right. And you got that from looking at me." Hive's voice is -- as it has been this entire time, actually -- aggressively venomless, tone as bland, really, as his clothing. "Don't want to be here. Do work here. You jump to a lotta conclusions, kid." He is closing his laptop (old, weathered, kind of beaten up, like pretty much everything else on him) to shove it in an also-old, also-aggressively-nondescript messenger bag. He doesn't stand up, yet. He closes his hand tightly around his cane. "Hope you find what you're looking for. Whether that's here or not." Kid. ``God, I am so sick of being called a kid. I am so tired of being devalued because I'm younger.`` "I-" He bites his lip. ``Fuck you. You do not get to call me kid. I am not some stupid kid. I am a man and I will be respected. I am so tired of people like you looking down on me and having to prove myself over and over again. When's it enough? When's it fuck hey now brown cow hey now brown cow hey now brown cow`` "...That wasn't fair to think, and I'm jumping to conclusssssssionsssss. You're right and..." Deep breath. "I'm sssssssorry for making judgementssssss and thinking unfairly of you. You're wisssssshing me luck in finding what I'm looking for, and that'ssssss nice. Thank you." ``I'm not any good with this mind reading stuff. I hate being so transparent. it's better when I can choose what people get to know and hear from me.`` Hive's eye twitches, his jaw tightening as his teeth clench. Then grind, slowly. He is leaning down, taking a prescription bottle from a flap of his bag to down one of the pills inside, dry. Once he's tucked the bottle back away he slouches once more in his seat. "Not on you to police your own thoughts," he says, finally. "That shit should be private. Like I said, I wouldn't listen if I could help it. Just --" There's a quiet crrk as his teeth grind again. He exhales sharply. "Feels ruder to eavesdrop without telling people. Sorry." His hand is rocking slowly back and forth, wobbling his cane from side to side. "... why's it uncomfortable. Here. I mean, with them," he waggles the head of his cane over towards the boisterous crowd around the video games, "pretty sure I already know what's uncomfortable about rude assholes listening to your thoughts." Samuel looks at the crowd, then back to hive. A look of shame is on his face. "Uh....being honesssst...they're probably good people. All the ssssstuff they ssssssay is nice and warm and fuzzy and all, but..." His posistion slumps. A general sadness becomes more visible. "Back home...I went to church every week. Wassssssn't 100% my choice, but I went. And I participated in the sssssunday ssssschool and ssssstuff, lissssstened to the long winded sssssermonsssss, and played gamessss I didn't really care for with other people my age. The people were like thisssss...alwayssss nice and friendly, and in retrossssspect, it doessssn't feel real." His arms cross. "And...well, one day they ssssshowed their true colors when I ssssshowed my true face...the face I guesssss I've alwaysssssss had under the flesh. And then everything I underssssstood was gone. Samuel lets the silence hang for a moment, before looking back to hive. "The people here are nice, in a fluffy and pillow ssssssort of way. I have difficultiesssss sssssocializing becaussssse I'm pesssssimistic and they're not, alwayssssss resssssponding with thessssse cotton candy fluffy wuffy puppy little sssssentiments about accepting and loving everyone and how wonderful I sssssecretly am...and it isssss ssssssso hard to believe thesssse people are sssssserioussss. That when thingssssss get tough, they aren't going to change up on me and throw me to the wolvessssss. I don't....how am I sssssssupposssssed to believe in thissssss? How the fuuuuudge am I sssssssuppossssssed to believe in anything now?" Hive finally looks up, here, pouchy half-lidded eyes settling for a long moment on Samuel. Studying him intently. "Don't think they're gonna be shocked and horrified when they learn that you're a snake-guy, if that's any reassurance." He leans back, head thunking back against the wall behind him. "-- shit's already tough, isn't it? You're a homeless fucking snake, it's below freezing out there." He just takes a moment to lean against the floor, breathing in and out a few times. "...Yeah, It'ssssss tough. I know that....it'sssss not doing me any good to be mad or frussssstrated, and that I'm ssssssupposssssed to look at this as a beautiful thing in life. And theoretically, joining another religious community ssssshould let me feel like it'ssssss going back to normal. I jusssssst can't sssssstop being all...frusssssstrated on how random and cruel it feelsssss. Like god just rolled the dice and sssssssaid, fuck you Ssssssamuel." Samuel shakes his head. "I'm...working on it. This whole thing. Of accepting what isssss ssssssimply issssss and what not. Peace and love on the planet earth, turn the other cheek...but I dunno. I just dunno. It'sssss...being honesssssst, I'm not sssssssure I believe in God anymore." "Your normal kinda sounded like it sucked. -- anyway, what's beautiful? Being a freak?" Hive lifts one hand off his cane, rubbing hard at his temple. "Dunno if freezing to death on the sidewalk is beautiful or not, but probably s'not a lot of choice about accepting. Don't think there's a rewind on -- snake." His eyes have closed, shoulders curled slightly inward. He breathes out a rough laugh here: "Say that a little louder and you'll cast summon Mormon." None of the Mormons are being summoned, though, Samuel's faithlessness notwithstanding. Samuel also finds himself laughing a little, for the first time in a month. "Haha. Yeah, I think that'sssss the big friction here. I need like...a break from thissss ssssssorta...y'know. But I alssssssso need a warm place that can keep me sssssafe. Permanent houssssing arrangementsssss aren't figured out yet." Weirdly enough, he feels somewhat more reassured in being able to talk more honestly with this guy. Asshole or not, he's like...real. "...I feel like everyone expectssssss me to jussssst be ok with the new me. Like I'm meant to find ssssssome beauty or greater purpossssse in it. And I'd...really like for it to mean ssssssomething, for there to be ssssssome reassssson or logic. But...I dunno. Issssss it weird that I like how blunt you are about it?" "Eh. I don't fucking know what's weird anymore." Hive shrugs, and -- kind of slowly, kind of shakily -- pushes away from the wall to sit upright. "People here been telling you to just be okay with it?" He sounds a little skeptical, but only a little. "Or they saying something else, and that's what you're hearing? Get stuck in your own head too long, can get hard as hell to listen to what people are saying, and not what you think they're saying." This doesn't sound any more critical than anything else he's been saying, just gruffly matter-of-fact. "One thing I will tell you for sure, though. Whatever the hell you think about your God, their God, or any other damn thing -- most of the people here --" His cane waves in a vague and expansive circle, gesturing generally to The Entire Complex around them, "did not come find this place because life was fucking easy for them. Being a bitter asshole doesn't make you or me more honest than them. Just makes us bitter assholes." Samuel feels a little humbled by that last bit. He looks flustered. ``Damn. I guess I am a bitter asshole.`` "...Well, I mean, I guessssss they haven't directly sssssaid that sssssort of thing. It jussssst feelssss..." ``Fuck. I can't actually think of anything off the top of my head.`` "......I don't really have a good jusssssstification, I guessssss. Maybe it'sssss jusssssst...when life pusssssshessssss me in a direction, I'm sssssso frustrated I jusssssst want to push the other way." "Think it's good to have some fight about the shit the world throws you. Sometimes that's a good way not to get pushed around. But sometimes --" Hive shakes his head. He rubs his knuckles at his eyes, looking towards the people playing together, then away towards the window. "Look, this place may not be your speed. I wouldn't blame you, they're real God-obsessed weirdos and that's not for a lot of people." He is, now, picking his bag back up, but his Preparation To Leave is slow. Unhurried. Each step of motion seems to take a ponderous amount of energy. "You got a raw fucking deal and that's shitty. Feel garbage about it, I think that's normal. But there's two things that have actually been pretty consistent in my years of being a bitter fucking asshole. The first is that the world will keep shitting on you at many, many opportunities. But the second is that pushing away the decent people who come into your life will definitely not make it suck any less." He just kind of looks at Hive. This is a lot to consider. God obsessed weirdos, bitter assholes, and new mutants. ``...It's nice to know I don't have to feel like a bad person for being mad about all this.`` "You're...you're definetly right on that ssssstuff. I can't really deny any of that." He fumbles for words. ``I really needed someone to validate my feelings. Thank you so much.`` "Uh...do you wanna, uh. Exchange phone numbersssss or ssssssomething?" Hive's mouth twitches. It's not really a smile, but his scowl is a little bit less. "Welcome," he answers. Then squints at Samuel, fingers going back to his temple. He is digging his phone out of his pocket, though, as he finally pushes to his feet. "You gonna be weird about it?" Maybe this is performative; he's already unlocked the phone, opened up a new contact. When he gives the phone to Samuel to fill in a number, there is no first name listed yet but the surname is labeled "🐍🌧️". Sammy shakes his head. "Probably not, no. It'd jusssssst be nice to have ssssssomeone to text about sssssshit." ``Though I should really get into social media. I hear that's a good place for making connections?`` "I forgot to give you my name, didn't I? It'ssssss Ssssssamuel. Sssssamuel C-Uh, Greene. Ssssssamuel Greene." ``Samuel Copra is not that name I want spreading around.`` "What do you go by? I didn't get your name either." "Hive. Just Hive, Americans really fucking choke on my last name." Hive is picking up his bag as he waits for Samuel to fill in his number, hitching it up onto his shoulder with a wince as if the slim laptop bag is some heavy burden. "... see, there's the fucking dilemma. Do I tell you I heard that," clearly he's decided already. "-- won't spread it around, though." ``...Wonder why Hive? I don't get what it has to do with brains.`` "...I can appreciate that. I, uh, have my reasssssonsssss." He sheepishly waves, unsure how to proceed. "It'ssssss been nice ssssssspeaking with you." "Has to do with bees. Admire the fuckers. Fantastic architects." There's a text coming through to Samuel from a new number once Hive has his phone back; the body of the text just says, 'sup, asshole? - 🐝' Hive shoves his phone back into his pocket after this. He resettles his weight on his cane and jerks his chin up to Samuel before he starts for the door -- though he pauses after only a few uneven steps to add, over his shoulder: "-- if it makes you feel any better. Guy who runs this place. S'pretty accepting of bitter assholes." Then, he's shuffling away.