Logs:We're All Mad Here

We're All Mad Here
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Erik, Scramble
In Absentia Cletus, Leo	2023-06-07 Drop by Scramble's workshop for your weekly neurotransmitter tuneup. Seize the means of serotonin production.
Location <BOM> Dusk's Cabin - Ascension Island
This cabin is tucked at the edge of the forest, well away from heavily trafficked areas. It has a wraparound porch framing a wide double front door. Inside it is largely a single space with a loft at the far end, walls adorned with beautiful woven tapestries themed around the mana symbols from Magic: the Gathering. The floor is strategically covered with soft, thick rugs. Lighting options range from the infinitely adjustable (smart) strip recessed along the edges of the ceiling to the Luxo (also smart) lamp by the bed. The kitchenette sports a single cooktop alongside appliances aimed at breakfasts, late night snacks, and caffeinated beverages. The living area centers on a low oval table, bracketed by a floor couch and orbited by floor chairs and beanbags. A projector overhead points to a retractable white screen on a wall otherwise lined with shelves of books, board games, several generations of gaming consoles along with their games, and a dizzying variety of geeky sundries. The sleeping area accounts for a full third of the cabin's footprint, its walls draped with soft quilts of scenes from classic NES games, and the whole of it can be curtained off by a black velvet tapestry dotted with jewel-like star. The king-sized bed is rich in pillows as well as storage. On one side of it is a fireplace and hearth rug with its own constellation of cushions. On the other side is an armoire, a dresser, and a simple, utilitarian wet room. The loft above the sleeping area is set up as an office/workshop, with fabric art supplies on one side and a custom-made (prone) computer workstation on the other. In between these is a casement window opening onto the roof, large enough to easily admit a a grown man and his wings. "Talking Body" is playing in the quiet background here, Tove Lo purring Our baby making bodies we just use for fun over the Very Good sound system. True to the mood the music sets it seems that very recently someone has been fucking in here -- the bed quite rumpled, several items of clothing still strewn haphazardly between the door and the large bed. Dusk has wrangled himself back into at least one clothing some time recently, though he hasn't currently gotten farther than getting his boxers back on -- he's just returning to his dinner companion now, setting down a tall glass of water and a cold bottle of Bawls on the coffee table next to the bowl of fruits (apples, bananas, pears, plums, clementines) that has already been sitting there. Erik can have Sugar and Hydration -- he's not quite through having Erik, wings draped languid at his back as he curls an arm around the older man, swipes his fangs lightly against the wounds at his neck to start a tiny fresh trickle of blood that he stops with a swipe of his tongue. There's a low rumble purring in his chest which doesn't interfere with his quiet, pleased: "Thanks." Erik -- still slightly sex-sweat-slick, stark white hair yet to be even finger combed back into place -- has managed to work his way back into his pleated cream linen trousers while his date was up, and very little else, bare otherwise save for the steel ring on a chain around his neck and the gold one on his right ring finger. He's not reaching for anything else on the floor right now, contented enough to pick up the Bawls bottle with a curious frown, abandoning his slow work at a clementine to investigate. Tilts his head up, almost absently, to allow Dusk a better angle. "The pleasure has been -- well, not all mine, I suppose." Erik runs the back of his other hand lightly down the membrane of Dusk's near wing, frowning at the text on the label -- "What," he asks, with great seriousness, "in God's name is a LAN party?" Does anyone knock on this island? Not Scramble, evidently. Her steps -- are falling into time with the music even as she saunters through the door. She's wearing a cropped red tank under a lightweight gold cropped jacket, slim black capris, and sandals with intricate gold straps, a black bag slung over one shoulder. Comes up short when she sees Erik in Dusk's arms. "Glad to see y'all having a good time up here." Her smile comes slowly, but there's a kind of fierce joy in it that even Dusk does not often see. "I brought the good shit. Ionno if you partake," she's hedging, presumably at Erik, as she roots around in the bag, "but you sure as hell earned it in my book. Pretty sure you'd like it better than a LAN party, which I imagine wouldn't last very long around you." Then, very casually and not at all as if she's just actively wandered into someone else's cabin, "Y'all want some privacy? The rumble in Dusk's chest deepens, thrumming where he holds Erik against him. "Mmm, I can promise you I had plenty of my own." He doesn't look up when the door opens, though his lips curl into a warm smile. His wing, currently brushing soft against the back of Erik's hand, extends wide to drape against Scramble, squeezing at her back before withdrawing. 'Nah, we're done, you can stay.' This he signs, one-handed -- maybe they're not entirely done, given the way his mouth still presses to Erik's neck, but though his expression is softened with pleasure there's no urgency lingering in the slow swipes of his tongue at the small trickle of blood. "Video game party, basically," he explains. "-- One day B's gonna make Ion a controller he can use and then we'll have the absolute joy of watching him play Infamous for ten minutes until he gets too excited lightning-bolting enemies and lightnings the whole damn television." His fingers trail down over Erik's chest before he releases the other man, trading one drink for the other as he swipes the Bawls, opens it to take a swig. "-- today is not the day for having a good time outside, shit. Cough myself into the fucking Atlantic trying to make that flight, might as well stay in and --" His eyes are flicking over Erik appreciatively. "Have a nice dinner date." "Good day, Scramble!" Erik did look up at the intrusion, but seems similarly disinclined to suddenly be Overcome by Modesty. Somewhere on the floor, there's a hint of movement -- abandoned steel link bracelet catches on a light linen button-down and floats that over to the bed, depositing the shirt in Erik's lap before lazily knitting itself back into place around his wrist. "I believe Dusk is just finishing his meal, here. No need to leave on my account." He's not making a move to work himself back into the shirt until Dusk has moved on from blood to Bawls, drops his free hand to run briefly down Dusk's side before reaching for the glass of water. "You might forgive me for lingering still -- my lungs are not what they used to be, and the air --" Erik's blue eyes flick to the window, where even through the trees the thick red of wildfire smoke and city smog hangs heavily in the air, "-- is also not what it used to be." He sips at his water, brow furrowed at -- several things, probably, does Erik know what a video game is? He mouths 'Infamous' once before giving that up. "What is," he is saying curiously to Scramble now as she digs around her bag, "is the 'good shit', and what have I done to deserve such bounty?" "Depends what poison you feelin' today." Scramble produces from her shoulder bag a a slender bottle the color of sunset and a smallish green zippered pouch. "I got Riazul Añejo and Dragon Fruit." She considers Erik briefly, her sidelong smile not unkind. "Tequila and weed. Dusk got a fancy high-tech vape, though even if you actually smoked it'd still be cleaner than the actual air out there." She says, having presumably just breathed the actual air out there, even if it was through the facemask hanging from the corner of the bag she also now sets down. "See, you gave my brother here full use of his hands again, and they are very nice hands." She braces her own hands on the edge of the counter behind her and leans back -- not actually as casual a slouch as it appears, the tension in her lanky frame stretching and easing with long practice. "He ain't been this well-fed since I known him. I'd go out on a limb and say probably since well before that." "Pff, nothing to forgive. This place," Dusk is indicating his cabin with a languid outward curl of wing, "s'made for company." His eyes light at the tequila, and, profligate, he is transferring his affections. His wing drapes around Erik's shoulders now, a velvety-soft blanket lingering there as he slides off the bed to swipe the tequila from the table. "Oh shit you did bring the good shit." He's reaching to offer Scramble a hug -- almost checking himself at her words, though not quite -- and when he does complete the motion it is, perhaps, a little longer than the tequila would have warranted. There's a deep flush in his cheeks when he pulls his wings back in and wanders off to get three glasses. Only from the small remove of his small kitchenette does he feel comfortable offering: "-- I was ten when the hunger first started. Almost twenty years -- before he ended it." "Twenty years." With the blanket of Dusk's wings removed from his shoulders, Erik has just gotten around to putting his shirt back on, but his fingers have stilled on the first buttons. "You were starving for twenty years." Sensible at the edge of Scramble's range, the spike of chemicals accompanying the flare of rage in his voice comes just a little-too-sharp, a little-too-fast even if nothing else in Erik's mind is currently betraying him. "I --" Erik's left arm tenses as he glances over to the kitchenette and the expanse of Dusk's chest, not with the appreciative eye of a lover but with something akin to horror. "-- am even more impressed, now, with your resolve. I did not starve so long." His gaze is drifting to Dusk's hands now, then back to Scramble with furrowed brow. "... This about his hands, Dusk has neglected to mention. What else has the hunger taken from our brother?" Scramble leans into Dusk's embrace, nuzzling him hard but still mindful of her 'fro. "Twenty years surrounded by a feast, no less." She pushes off and wanders over to perch herself on the back of the couch, a vigilance in her eyes belying her languid posture. "Was always some of us donating, but never enough to get him used to being half-starved instead'a full-starved." Her gaze settles back on Erik. "That up-and-down shit? Throws off a lot." "Twenty years surrounded by friends who would have helped if I just fucking -- told them. Was easier with you," Dusk is telling Scramble, "you know from being fucking batshit but most people --" Dusk's flush is still dark as he wanders back and sets the glasses down. "Feels so fucking stupid now, not a damn one of you given me any shit. If anything I'm closer to some Brothers than I was before, people like having chances to help each other -- but at the time it felt. Impossible, like if people knew how close I was to snapping all the damn time they'd..." He shakes his head, pouring three measures of the tequila. He offers Erik his abandoned clementine back together with a glass, setting the peel aside for the compost. "But yeah." One thumbclaw flicks indicatively to Scramble. "Twenty years of swinging wildly from not having the strength to lift myself off the damn ground to -- being able haul a fucking truck through the air. It made it hard to know when a hug would just -- break someone." His blush is fading as he takes his first slow-savored sip of the tequila. His wing flexes out just slightly, brushing gentle against Erik's arm before folding. "And I mean, I've said thanks but I never -- explained. How much you turned my life around." "Hm. It should have been done far sooner," Erik says, gruff as he takes the glass and fruit. "We should not have to beg to fill our bellies, even if those pleas would be heard. Do not thank me for making that correction -- I owe you more, still." There is something in the changing set of Erik's shoulders that suggests ... discomfort? Embarrassment? Sex with his subordinates triggers no shame, apparently, but this line of conversation might. "Up-and-down," Erik echoes, brows creasing, his gaze lingering on Scramble. "...Have your highs and lows been seen to, Sister?" His voice is serious, the intensity in his eyes clear as he leans forward towards her. "I had not thought your birthright troubled you in the same way as Dusk and Cletus, but..." This thought trails off as Erik sips at his tequila. "...your strength and stability should be constant also, if it is within our abilities to make it so." "I sure wish it had happened earlier. Maybe if you'd asked more or we'd pushed harder it might've, somewhat." Scramble shrugs , the gesture muted and softened by her posture. "But it's hard for folks to understand needs that ain't intuitive even if you do ask, and it's hard to ask when you got hangups about those needs, 'specially when they line up with a rep you steady tryna dodge. Your authority," she tips her head in Erik's direction as she goes to pluck up her own glass, "cut through a lotta that, on both sides." She's about to take a sip when she stops. Lowers the glass and studies Erik thoughtfully. "S'easier for me some ways, but my up-and-down's more complicated. My power always driving me crazy, but how fast changes with season and circumstance and the phase of the fucking moon. I manage, though." She does take a sip now, and when she speaks again her tone is less flippant, more reserved. "If I managed better, I could help other folks more. Here and out in the community." "Carefully distributed sanity bank?" Dusk's brows raise, thoughtful. "Between you and Leo we could be the healthiest damn freaks walking this earth. Drop by Scramble's workshop for your weekly neurotransmitter tuneup. Seize the means of serotonin production." He is warming to this thought. "I got myself a glut of sanity and nowhere to put it." Though here, after his next sip of tequila, he's adding with a sharp smile: "Not too sane, though, I think you gotta be at least a little crazy to sign up for our life. Gotta level everyone out to just, like, eighty seven percent sane, tops." Erik stands up somewhere in the midst of Dusk's workshopping, casually drifting towards a window while chewing on a section of clementine. Maybe this doesn't look like he's deliberately turning his face away from the others as he looks out at the smog, but Scramble can feel the jagged tear of paranoia pull through his neurochemistry, can feel the pace his self-regulation moves at to soothe the edges left behind as he passes her. It is slower than it ought to be at baseline, if only just. "And what would you require, then, to manage better? How many minds? How frequently, in your fastest seasons? If my word is what's needed to balance your mind, I will give it." Erik's jaw works -- no longer at the consumed fruit, nor at swallowing the very small sip of tequila he takes -- before continuing, his voice quieter but no less intense. "...I do not know that I could give to you as I do to Dusk and Cletus." Maybe that twinge disrupting his otherwise level tone is apology or regret -- maybe it's a warning. Scramble takes another sip, her smile curving wider and wider at Dusk's vision. "Damn, son! You heard 'go big or go home' and realized you was already home." She shakes her head. "You talmabout some neurochemical communism, now that's crazy. The best kinda crazy." Her gaze slides over to Erik, though he's facing away from them still. "Short answer's always gon be 'as many as possible'. The more minds I touch, the less touched I gotta leave each of 'em to get mine sorted. I ain't really thought about it quite like that until Dusk was riffing on it just now, but..." She looks up at the uncanny red sky through the window-door set into the loft. "If I had dozens of donors on the regular, wouldn't nobody have to know who was coming to make a donation and who was needing one they own self." Another sip, and a sort of lazy salutation with the cup in Dusk's general direction. "Not everyone has as much practice thinkin' 'bout unusual needs as him. Now, blood is plenty fraught, but the idea of donating it is common enough, and it can be done without gettin' bit. What I do is a bit more arcane, and I got to reach into a mind to do it. That can feel like a violation to folks, if they's being told to do it." "I think people aren't likely to end up here if they aren't at least a little invested in taking care of each other -- and they sure as hell wouldn't have lasted. We spill blood for each other, take a big-ass risk just signing on to this fight -- I feel like skimming just a little dopamine off the top is way less than some of what we ask." Dusk has settled onto the floor with his tequila, toes scrunching down into the soft pile. "Probably," he admits, wry, "anyone who's watched you fight might feel a way about it at first, but I think people would get used to it soon enough, especially after the first couple times they stop by and you don't leave them a gibbering mess on the floor." He's watching Erik curiously, for a moment, but drops his gaze to the table. "And sure as hell a lot of people who'd freak if you asked them directly aren't gonna say shit about an order coming from up top. Might help some people who would never even think to ask -- you know B doesn't ask anyone for shit and I can only imagine what's been screaming in her brain since Spence..." This trails off, a low rumble rising briefly in his chest. Erik is silent, but the faint hum of just-struck-steel (just his steel, thankfully for Dusk's electronics, just the ring hanging from his neck and the cuff of links around his wrist) might be an echoing rumble of his own. "... Perhaps a trial period, of sorts, may be a compromise." He turns back, glancing between the vampires in turn. "A command, first, for while our children are missing we must have all our wits about us." He resolutely does not look up to Dusk's computer. "After they are found, we may evaluate this experiment. See whether it is worthwhile to keep on." Erik tips out his glass to Scramble now. "You have my leave to balance my mind, and to take what you need from it when it can be found. If Magneto is the first to your door -- surely, like they did for Dusk, our Brothers will want to follow." "I ain't mean people wouldn't want to help. Even if they seen me fight and even if it scares 'em. It's just..." Scramble trails off into a brief, contemplative frown. "Shit. A lotta difficulties that you can cut right through when you're the Master of Magnetism." She turns fully to face Erik, straightening up fully, too, for the first time since she's entered. The surprise plainly written on her face transforms in the space of a breath to something like awe. "Thank you." The twitch of her free hand tells Dusk she almost signed it, too. Instead she raises her glass. "We might all be at least a bit mad here, but we got good reason wanting to follow you."