Logs:Roommate Hospitality

Roommate Hospitality
Dramatis Personae DJ, Hive, Skye
In Absentia	2021-12-02 "Think I'm gonna head out. You good?" (set the morning after trying something new.)
Location <PRV> VL 403 {Geekhaus} - East Village
This is a small, two-bedroom apartment, the living room semi-open to the kitchen and dining area, a single bathroom situated between the doors to the bedrooms. The common areas are beautifully appointed with solid, matching handmade wooden furniture in intricate geometric mosaics. The kitchen table is ringed with coordinated but not identical chairs, two of them modular with low scooped backs, designed with winged bodies in mind. The wide, low coffee table fits neatly into the corner of a modular sectional couch, and the immense television is enthroned in an entertainment center that also houses various consoles and video games. The walls are lined with bookshelves laden with comics, roleplaying supplements, board games, speculative fiction, and a grab-bag of technical texts. The walls in between are adorned with some framed posters of classical science fiction and fantasy media along with a few pieces of gorgeous if unusual original art. It's quiet, in Hive's room, now. Has been for some time -- probably, hopefully, the occupants are getting some rest. It certainly wasn't last night, and not just audibly -- though the small space, thin walls, left little to the imagination there either. Such is crappy-apartment life. Most roommates probably don't also have to deal with the intermittent pulses of brain-squeezing, sometimes sharp and painful, sometimes dull-squeezing pressure, always hungry in its clawing reach -- furling out strong tendrils to grasp at whatever minds it can find with a spillover of euphoria, usually pulling back some moments later with a self-conscious kind of guilt. Hive isn't generally an early riser without meetings on his docket but today it's solidly the early morning hours when there's stirring in his room. He's very quiet as he slips out, shirtless, bleary-eyed in soft black pajama pants, to fumble his way to the bathroom. He doesn't immediately return to the bedroom when he's done -- stops by the couch to rub at his eyes, pet the dozing lump of Cat, lean against the back of the sofa with a heavy slump of shoulders. There's already -- or still -- light under Skye's door, which is actually not all that unusual for a person of her professional and recreational persuasions. Just now her mind is quiet, sleepy but at peace with not sleeping or attending to any of her five large monitors (two dedicated to security data, one displaying Steam's home screen, one opened to one of her guild discords, and the last playing David Lynch's Dune with the volume off), but scrolling Twitter on her phone instead. She too, comes drifting out into the living room when the door to Hive's room doesn't immediately close again, dressed in a loose fleecy one piece pajama styled like a cartoon bear, the hood with its little round ears thrown back at the moment. Her hair is twisted up into an extremely messy bun and held in place with a slender screwdriver, her eyes drooping. << You want coffee? >> She's starting the coffee regardless of his reply, trying not to be curious, trying not to think about not being curious, but quite curious anyway. Hive's cheeks flush dark when Skye emerges, though he doesn't move from where he's slouched himself against the back of the couch. His fingers scrunch against a sofa cushion. His fingers scrunch against Cat. His head dips, spilling shaggy hair down over his eyes. "Coffee'd be great. Thanks." Though immediately after this agreement he's frowning, darting a kind-of-guilty look back at his slightly-ajar bedroom door. He doesn't amend his opinion on the coffee, though. "... sorry if I. Kept you up." Skye waves the apology off, but seems to take his reply as leave to speak aloud, if very quietly. "Dude, you know what my sleep schedule is like. And I coulda peaced out." << Shit, would that have been better? Was it rude to stay? >> Now she's blushing, too. "It was shaping up like a no-sleep night anyhow." She stifles a big yawn and slumps back against the counter. Looks over at Hive, her thoughts not exactly opaque but momentarily difficult to parse while she tries to wrestle them into words. She finally settles for, "You alright?" "Try to give you some warning next -- I mean, not that I'm planning on a next time, but." Hive's brows scrunch deep. He flinches at the question, which might be answer enough in itself -- though the answer he gives, aloud, is a slightly defensive: "Why wouldn't I be alright?" The bedroom door pushes open further. DJ is a little more dressed -- jeans, white undershirt, he's just buttoning up a soft flannel over top as he steps out. He nods, politely, to Skye, with a quiet: "Good morning," skirting past Hive with a small boop delivered to the cat on his way to the bathroom. "Like, I'm not judging you either way, but the not-planning is the part that makes it hard to give a warning," Skye points out with an exaggerated shrug that's still almost swallowed up by her fuzzy sleepwear. Maybe she was about to answer Hive's question, mild indignation still loading, when DJ comes out. "Good --" is out her mouth before her brain has fully processed anything beyond << ?!?! >>. The "-- morning" only follows after the man has gone again. She blinks wide brown eyes at Hive and flails one arm silently in the direction of the bathroom. << I didn't know it was him but I just meant -- like you don't usually -- not that there's anything wrong with -- (I was worried) >> She's blushing again and busies herself with the coffee. "Sorry. I guess that's pretty condescending, huh?" << There's a lot of reasons I don't usually / (probably felt some of them) >> comes in reply, Hive's bony shoulders tightening briefly up against his ears. "Yeah," comes out, just a little gruff, "him." And then in the next moment the tight clench of his shoulders is deflating in a heavy rush of breath, eyes slightly wider. << -- oh, god, him -- >> thumping hard and half-panicked into Skye's mind in time with a (barely) audible, "Fuck." He presses the heel of one hand hard against an eye. "I don't know if it's condescending. This is --" He glances to the bathroom door. "Fuck." The toilet flushes, the faucet runs. DJ emerges a little hesitantly, glancing between Hive and Skye and lingering by the far end of the sofa. << Oh god do we talk now? Do I go I should go I don't think this is a stay for breakfast kind of situation is this a stay for breakfast kind of situation -- no that's really awkward oh my gosh she definitely heard us last night I should definitely go do I text him later will he even answer what have we done -- >> He rests his palm up against the back of the couch, fixing his eyes on the dozing cat. Casually: "Think I'm gonna head out. You good?" Skye goes from being embarrassed about having worried to actually just worried again. << Look it just seemed really intense and um (I mean, he's not Dawson) (Ok but) (BUT) >> At least she's stopped flailing by the time DJ comes out of the bathroom. "Don't mind me if you guys wanna --" She glances at DJ, and then Hive again. Manages to not blush this time. "-- talk?" Maybe she didn't mean for this to come out like a question, but she definitely sounds very uncertain. << I swear this doesn't usually throw me, I'm literally a whore. >> "I could make some eggs?" Again, not waiting for an answer. "Imma make some eggs." << He's not Dawson. >> This reply is swift and fierce. Hive is just blushing again, looking steadily downward and not at either of the others. << Clients are one thing, this is -- >> There's no end to this statement. "Thanks. I could eat some eggs." His fingers are clenching hard against the sofa cushion. "You should eat," he tells DJ, softer. And, at something of a delay, grudgingly pushing himself up away from the couch to head back towards his room so that he can rummage for a shirt: "... and we should talk." "Thank you. I really appreciate the --" DJ is blushing, too, but finishes easily enough, "-- hospitality." << tolerance I appreciate the tolerance not freaking out that the mirror-Flicker is fucking your roommate is that hospitality? >> << eggs are good too >> << talk talk talk we're supposed to be talking what do I say >> << (don't want to be alone) >> << should I tell her how I like my eggs no that's impertinent she can make any kind of eggs I'll eat em this isn't a freaking diner >> << (was this a bad idea) >> He's trailing after Hive with a small nod to Skye. Pausing in the doorway, very briefly. "-- we can talk." The door shuts behind him. (They do not talk.)