ArchivedLogs:Growing Hunger

Growing Hunger
Dramatis Personae Doug, Dusk, Hive
In Absentia	2014-01-27 '
Location <NYC> 403 {Geekhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. A widescreen television stands against the wall opposite the couch, shelving beside it holding a host of video games from different consoles. More shelving beside the windows on the far wall carries stacks of board games, as well as sourcebooks from various RPGs. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here and one bathroom situated between them, split between the three people who live here. Hive's been taking up a semi-permanent residence on the living room couch, lately. It's a cluttered mess, with a bucket of half-finished wings from the night before, a few Shadowrun books, two bottls of Bawls, a dice bags, a curled-up sleeping ferret, a large bottle of ibuprofen, a bottle of ghost pepper hot sauce, two different tubes of chapstick, a can of compressed air, a small tub of hand lotion, a few empty wrappers from old energy bars, chopsticks all scattered around the wide table around where he's set up his laptop and two monitors. Hive is sitting on the couch with one leg tucked up under him, keyboard on his lap and mouse beside him, the screens filled with the slowly developing plans for the upcoming housing project he's working on. He's in his dark blue hoodie, blue raincloud in a white circle on its stomach (raining down blue raindrops and red hearts), red Cornell sweatpants on his legs with thick grey socks on his feet. Dark bags shadow his eyes, his bony hand absently shaking where it clicks at his mouse. Dusk is here, too, in silence that would be companionable if he weren't with a telepath. His mind has been /hungry/ since he returned from jail -- it's been /difficult/ to drop back from his prison-diet of an /actually/ satiating quantity of blood to his normal starvation-rations, and ever since being around him has been like -- well, being around a starving predator. His thoughts scream red and hungry and today is -- almost no different, save that behind the constant growl of hunger there's a keening ache that tells more of mourning than the other carnivorous bent, thoughts of Thea trailing through the thoughts of work and thoughts of sinking his /teeth/ into Hive that keep encroaching into his mind. He's draped sideways in the armchair, legs hooked over one arm, wings hooked over the other, laptop in his lap, fingers flying over keys with their usual speed and glowing huge headphones tucked over his ears. Silverchair shifts into Our Lady Peace shifts into The Offspring. Perl dances in front of his eyes, off-beat with the music but in time with the pulse of his thoughts. As is /his/ wont, he's barely dressed, faded old jeans, no shirt, no shoes, a space heater pulled over and turned towards his perch to compensate for his habitual lack of clothing. Hive is probably aware of Doug coming down to the apartment before the blonde even leaves his own place in search of company. A quiet and overheated apartment has proven to finally worn him down as a nerdy loner. It's definitely his knock at the door -- a soft thumpthumpthump that's lazy and out of rhythm. Dressed in a black tank top and snug blue sweats with his red Converse shoes, he's got his laptop bag and a couple of books on coding with him, and he shifts them a bit as he waits for someone to answer the door. << Hive, you guys home? >> is an almost timid-seeming question that's as soft as the knocking. Which he repeats. "Eyap." Hive grunts this almost before the question's asked. << Door's --" he's answering in a heavy-thudding /thunk/ of mental hammering before he thinks to /verify/ this with Dusk after all the comings-and-goings their apartment has had over the course of the day: "Dusk, s'the door open?" A brief mental confirmation before the re-confirmation: << Door's open. >> He leans forward to open his tub of ibuprofen, shaking out a trio of pills and then grimacing at his empty coffee cup. "Motherfucker." Maybe this is to Dusk. He's (slightly) closer to the kitchen. He also grimaces to the empty couch beside him. "Why the fuck is Flicker at class." "Uh." Dusk blinks upward, nudging one of his glowing headphone-ears off of his head, rolling his eyes towards the door because unlike Hive, past the mental nudging for confirmation of its locked status he has not-much to go on to identify /who/ is at the door. "Because sometimes he has better shit to do than get your lazy-ass coffee, man?" His wings shiver behind him in a slow stretch, brow creasing as Hive reaches for the ibuprofen. "Dude, how many of those have you had today already." He nudges the headphones the rest of the way off, letting them hang around his neck. "Whozzat," he asks the door, and in offering to whoever-it-might-be, "we have -- cold wings. And leftover chili." In case they're vegan. "And. Bawls." In case they're ASLEEP and need a wakeup. Because he's not making Hive fresh goddamn coffee. Doug winces internally as well as externally as Hive comes crashing in with his answer, and he visibly shakes it off as he twists the knob and pushes the door open. "Food sounds good," he says as he closes the door behind him and bends to unlace his shoes. "If you guys don't mind me hanging out here for a while?" He glances up, offering a bright smile in Dusk's direction as he removes his shoes. "Hey, Dusk," he says, and then continues. "I found myself talking to the cats like they were going to respond, and thought I should probably get out around people for a while." Shoes removed, Doug moves into the living room, and wrinkles his nose at the state of things. "Dudes. You guys need a maid or something." This is said without judgement, his thoughts clearly amused at the frat-like state of the room. Hive's appearance is less amusing, though, and the blonde frowns at him with a spike of concern. "Jesus. When did you last sleep?" "Sometimes Jax comes through in a whirlwind and cleans up everything until it sparkles," Hive admits with a grimace. "Whenever that happens we get off our asses and help because it's shameful he's not our fucking maid he's just. Southern." He tosses the ibuprofen back dry, wincing as he swallows. "Dusk talks to Alanna all the damn time. Sit down. Sometimes we're just collectively antisocial in here. Everyone with their computers. I think it's good. It's like you get to be productive but also remember there's people at the same time. -- I sleep. I napped this morning I just, fff." Dusk /does/ actually rouse himself when Doug says food sounds good, unhooking his headphones and setting his laptop on the floor. He sets the headphones on top of them, wings slowly rolling behind himself. "Drink?" he offers Doug, meandering off to the kitchen to pluck a plate out of the sink and scrub it clean. "Chili? Wings? There's -- buffalo and. I dunno. Jamaican jerk sauce? I think they're both just out there on the table. People were watching the fucking Grammys last night. I don't think Jax had ever actually watched a live television thing in his life before. -- And dude you can't fault me, I /know/ a cat who'd respond, s'not that out of the question." Sneakily, while he's in the kitchen, he sets the water on the stove to boil for more coffee. He does frown, though, as Hive swallows more pills. "If you got a nap, how come you look like someone just dumped you out of a coffin?" Doug teases Hive as he swings his laptop bag gently to the floor, resting it against the sofa. "And there's a difference between talking to your pet where other people can hear you, and being the weird nerd who talks to his cats like they're people." When Dusk mentions a talking cat, the blonde swivels around to tip his head at him. "Oh, hey. Is that the cat that was at the pet store with you?" he verifies. "That wouldn't be so bad. At least I wouldn't get those empty stares." He places his books on the coffee table before he trails towards the kitchen. "I can just have wings," he says to Dusk. "Those actually sound good." He grins, and leans against the counter. "I only caught the highlights of the Grammys on my computer this morning," he confesses. "I was only interested in how Daft Punk did, anyway." "He sleeps in the coffin, not me." Hive jerks his chin towards Dusk. "The jerk ones are fucking delicious. They're both hot as fuck though but the buffalo ones come with -- whatever that shit is. There's sauce. In the fridge. Ranch and -- blue cheese or whatever." He waves a hand off towards the kitchen. He exhales /sharply/. Mostly amused but a little exasperated as well at the mention of Grammy highlights. "Think Ryan stole their thunder." "I'm getting cremated when I die. Just to save the expense, you'd need a fucking /bigass/ coffin for these things." Dusk stretches out a wing, just slightly in the narrow confines of the kitchen. He sets the clean plate on the drying rack while he waits for the water to boil, grinding fresh coffee beans. "You can always have wings, man." Goes to get dressing for the wings out of the fridge, leaving his wing outstretched to wrap it absently against Doug as he moves. "Yeah, that cat. Actually a person, though, so I guess it makes sense to talk to him like one." /His/ huff of breath is just straight-up amused. "I think Ryan stole /every-fucking-body's/ thunder. Holy /god/, that man has balls." Perhaps Hive will forgive his brief mental reminiscing that renders this turn of phrase yet more graphic in actual memory. "I'll try all of them," Doug says of wings, nuzzling briefly into the fuzzy warmth of Dusk's when it curls around him. /So/ fuzzy and warm. "With the blue cheese sauce. That stuff is friggin' delicious." He shifts his weight as needed, to keep that wing curled around him as long as Dusk wants to keep it there. "That guy was actually pretty cool, for a cat. He should totally come over and hang out with Alt and Delete. They wouldn't know what to do with him." His chuckle dies on his lips as he pauses, the thought of how appropriate that might be getting a wrinkle of his nose. "I mean, if he hangs out with cats." Comments on Ryan's big announcement gets a snort, and Doug shakes his head. "It was pretty ballsy," he agrees. "It was blowing up my Twitter feed all night." He shrugs. "The people I follow are split kind of 60/40 on it. Did you guys know he was planning to do that?" "I did." That's all Hive says about knowing, but the sort of wry twitch to his smile might mean -- anything. His finger still clicks rapidly against his mouse as he works. "The internet in general's blowing the fuck up over it. Funny, though, his iTunes sales fucking /skyrocketed/. At the same time as the internet flipped its collective /shit/ over how he's Satan and nobody should ever touch another thing of his again ever. And people are planning out his very gruesome murder. As well as offering their wombs for his firstborn children. As well as calling for his exile from the planet and the banning of everything he's ever touched and comparing him to Hitler. And saying he's the bravest person in the history of music and petitioning for the ritual slaughter of everyone ever associated with Prometheus so -- uh. You know. Basically SOP for the internet." "You in the mood for coffee?" Dusk asks absently as he sets the dressings out on the counter. With the water boiling he prepares coffee in a French press, wing still curled around Doug. Wrapping more snugly, pulling Doug in more warmly now against his side. Fuzzy-soft skin brushes against the teenager's cheek with the nuzzling. "Yeah, he's cool. And hangs out with cats, too, I think, but more like -- shepherding them around, I dunno. Catherd. Cat general. Army of cats." He shrugs his free wing. Shrugs again, at the question of Ryan. "I knew in the abstract. He was planning to go public for a while. Didn't know he was planning it --" His teeth flash in a grin. "So /explosively/. -- Man, the internet's /always/ flipping its shit about something. Honestly with the publicity it'll probably help his /sales/. I just hope it doesn't --" More somberly, more /seriously/ -- "Lead someone to /actually/ take a shot at him." A shiver passes up him. "Cuz you know someone will." "Coffee's good," Doug says, leaning into the warmth of Dusk and wrapping his arms around his waist to cling for a moment and savor the scent of fuzzy skin. "I'm out upstairs and haven't gotten to the store to replace it." He laughs at the thought of catherding, and grins. "Hey, if he can manage it, I'm already impressed. I can't even manage to get mine in the carrier for vet trips without a big chase scene. An army of cats sounds creepy, though. Like something from a fairy tale." He shivers at the image of thousands of cats amassing on a small town like stealthy, sinister floodwaters. Doug wrinkles his nose at the answer to his question, and purses his lips. "Yeah, that wouldn't be good," he says. "But I guess he knew what he was doing. I mean, I don't know him very well, but he's not super-rash about stuff like that, is he?" He considers that, running through his scant encounters with Ryan to see if anything went unnoticed and comes up empty. "Maybe he's got a plan." "Tch." This is Hive's initial answer to the question of Ryan. Just SCOFF. He follows this up with: "He's an anarchist." And then in further elaboration: "He's like the king of anarchist. Shit. Army of cats, that sounds like a -- like a fucking." He scrunches his eyes shut, shaking his head. "Fuck, dude, you're making -- fuck. Thanks." He squeezes at his mouse and then releases it, slowly toppling sideways onto the couch. "Good. I need caffeine." He tugs the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his hands. His keyboard slides off his lap and onto the cushions by his stomach. "Nightmare," he mumbles, half to himself. "King of anarchists, isn't that sort of a contradiction?" Dusk's brows raise as he smirks. "He's responsible as fuck with our lives but Iii wouldn't stake all that /much/ money when it comes to his own," he admits. His skin both fuzzy and smooth smells fairly recently-showered, the scent of Old Spice clinging to it as his wing wraps around Doug. In proximity the fierce ravenous /throb/ of his mind screams hungrier, to Hive's senses. Dusk's head tips downward, and he nuzzles at the side of Doug's neck with a low rumble of growl, lips closing gently against skin before he lifts his head. "Got caffeine." His wing shivers against Doug's back. "I dunno how you'd control an army of cats. Probably wouldn't have to. Just /unleash/ them, they'd be destruction enough on their own." "Anarchists have to have a king," Doug says with a slow, tipped grin. "Otherwise, who would they rebel against?" He chuckles, inhaling the spicy-fresh smell with a couple of heated (although less ravenous) thoughts of his own. He fairly hums when Dusk's lips find his skin, and there's another rush of heat that takes away any response about cat armies and makes his knees buckle for a half-instant. Heat cools quickly, to be replaced by a stab of guilt when Hive groans, and he winces. "Oh, shit. Sorry about that. How's this?" And then there are bunnies. SO MANY BUNNIES. The same floodwaters, only so much cuter. All delivered with a mock-innocent glee that mirrors itself on the blonde's beaming face. "Better?" he asks, in a similarly naive tone. Then he furrows his brow. "What are you working on, anyway?" "Cats are just bizarre nightmarecreatures. Like cute crossed with evil. I don't get it." Hive shivers, too. Entirely less sensual. Entirely more AUGH CAT ARMY. He grins, though, quick and amused at the flood of bunnies. "See, that's an army I could get behind. Though in a couple weeks you'd have way more army than you could handle." His grin fades as he turns his head to watch Dusk. "You -- okay, man? Need to -- sit down, maybe?" He starts to push himself up, slowly moving his hand back to his mouse. "Well, given we're all getting kicked the hell out of here we've been looking for new property. I'm kind of. Building us a new place, sort of working on -- that." "You don't have to rebel to be an anarchist." Dusk doesn't sound like he's arguing now so much as actually just slipping into a thoughtful musing. "I don't know Jax and Ryan are pretty serious about the anarchist thing on an /actual/ political -- philosophical level so we've gotten into this conversation a lot. Not so much about rebelling as --" His teeth dig down against his lip, head tipping in to rest against Doug's shoulder. "Eh. They're better people than me to talk about it with." His wing presses tight around Doug when the younger man's knees buckle, strong and supportive. He shifts his head to close lips against skin again, leg briefly sliding between both of Doug's, though he straightens at Hive's reminder about /coffee/. "Mmm. Right, I --" His face is flushed, thoughts flooded with another predatory-fierce spike of desire. "Should probably -- yeah." Extra limbs means he doesn't even have to remove his wing to wash out mugs from the sink, pouring three full of coffee. "What do you take in it?" He doctors his with almond milk and a little sugar. Sets the tubs of ranch and blue cheese dressing on the clean plate from the drying rack. Tries very hard not to think of tearing off Doug's clothes. Tearing /open/ Doug's throat. In his mind both these things carry an equal hunger. "Found a lot to build on," he says in a slow level tone. "That's step one of Not Being Homeless." "Anarchy probably has its uses," Doug says, leaning into Dusk and sort of /hanging/ there, supported as he is by the fold of wings. "Political stuff isn't really my area of expertise, so I'm not up on all the pros and cons. The word just makes me think of heavy metal bands and those 'fuck the establishment' types." He wrinkles his brow, amused by the thought that Jax might be in with that category of people. Ryan, maybe. Then there's just heated static as Dusk presses his lips to his neck again, accompanied by a low hum and a sort of /melting/ for a moment. "Yeah. Coffee," he says in a rough voice, and shakes himself as he reaches for a cup. "Milk and sugar's good for me," he says. "Not too much. I like the kick only slightly muted." That comes with a wicked kind of grin as the blonde holds up the cup. The revelation of the project gets a hike of Doug's eyebrows, and he turns his head to look at Hive with a small frown. There's a spike of sudden, lonely, looming.../loss/...that floods ice-cold through the teenager's brain, and he struggles to clamp it down. "Oh, wow," he says after a moment, smiling a bit too brightly, at first. "That's really..." Terrifying. "Cool. Like a commune, or a group house kind of thing?" "They're fucking -- crazy-political, it's." Hive's brow furrows. He shakes his head, struggling upright and curling his second leg up to fold it cross-legged with the first. "Houses. Not a house. More like a neighborhood really. We're buying a --" He exhales shakily, mouth twitching into a crooked smile. "Whole fucking block, actually." He shakes his head again, and lifts his hands towards it. He has to shake his hands out of his shirt sleeves in order to /find/ his fingers so that he can scrunch them into his hair, along the sides of his head in regular habit, scrunching through his choppy dark locks and pressing his palms to his temples. "Man that sounds like some fucking hippie communist shit. It's uh. Like this. Cohousing -- man, once again Jax could probably tell you better. He and Micah have the /ideas/ down better. I'm just designing the fucking buildings. /Dude/." This is sharper. His typically sleepy-lidded eyes open sharply wider. "Sit the fuck down." Dusk's breath catches, sharp. He presses his mouth to the side of Doug's neck again, sucking skin into his mouth, this time hard enough to bruise even without plying teeth to skin. He pulls back with a soft growl at Hive's sharper tone, swallowing, and pushes a breath back /out/ sharply as well. He tips a small about of sugar, small amount of almond milk into a second coffee. He leaves Hive's black and nudges one of the coffees and the plate with the dressings into Doug's hands. "Right. Fuck. Sorry." His dark-dark eyes are wide, pupils noticeably dilated. "It's not exactly communal. Like everyone has their individual homes, but there's shared facilities. Outdoor and indoor both. I don't know what --" There's a distinctly huskier growl to Dusk's voice, too, deeper still than his usual low tones. His wing loosens around Dusk, upper thumbclaw flicking towards the living room. "How much he's got done but he could probably show you the basic. Sort of idea." Doug whimpers under that suck of flesh, and he reaches up to curl his fingers into the tight skin of Dusk's stomach. There's a sense of willing prey that washes through him as he recognizes Dusk's hunger. When Dusk actually pulls away, he colors deeply, and rubs a hand over his face before reaching down to tug absently at the waistband of his sweats. He takes the plate and cup with a guilty sort of smile, and he forces his brain back to the topic at hand. "That sounds ambitious," he says as he trails after Dusk, sliding around (against) him as they near the couch. "Yeah, I'd like to see what you're doing," he says to Hive, genuinely curious about what's been crafted on the computer thus far. "I can get particulars from Jax or one of the twins later." He sets down his coffee before he drops in beside Hive -- HELLO HIVE -- and shifts to make room for Dusk, who gets an invited pat of the cushion next to him. "How many houses are you going to need, ultimately?" "Ambitious, yeah." Hive sounds a little wry, scooting over more towards an arm to make more room. "But fuckit after the shit I've pulled off this past year --" He shrugs a bony shoulder, absently switching windows to bring up the plans he's been working on sketching out. Part of his mind stays focused on Dusk, though, keeping an eye on that growing hunger. "You need a bite out of someone, dude." It's almost casual. Almost. He shrugs at the question of houses. "/Need/? I don't know. We've got a number of people who are for-sure moving in, so we'll /need/ houses for all of them. Probably build a number of places adjoining, a /few/ units separate for antisocial fuckers. But it's New York, so more rowhomes than not. But then past the people we know are in I'll probably just fill up the rest of the space with shells for units so there's space for more people to move in --" He shrugs. "I might not actually fill them in properly with /stuff/ till we get buyers -- or renters, whatever. So I can customize them better." He nods towards the sketched-out design on the screen, cursor kind of wobbly as it moves over what he's drawn out so far. Rings of houses facing streetside and waterfront -- the block of property is along the East River -- with a large open space in the center. "So the houses themselves'll be individual units. Or I mean shared units who the fuck can afford individual. Ryan, now, I guess. Not that he's taking one, I don't think. And then they ring all this -- shared space. For -- whatever people decide we want to do with it. A communal garden. And this building that -- people can also decide what they want me to do with the space. /Definite/ shit we're putting in is stuff like shared kitchens, eating space, gaming space, entertainment center. Probably like exercise space, a music room. Maybe an art room, maybe a small /inside/ garden for some year-round herbs or whatever. Maybe some guest rooms. Playspace for kids. That kinda shit. All depends how many stories I make the central -- shared building. So all the buildings around," Hive explains, cursor pointing to the buildings that ring the lot, "have access to both the outdoor space and the central building. But no street access to either." Dusk pulls back, breathing still a little heavy. He takes the other two cups, setting one down on the table on the side by Hive's non-mousing hand. "Workshop for nerding in. Little pond in the outside garden. Or maybe in the inside one. Still kind of hammering it all out. Part of the deal with cohousing is that it's sort of -- jointly constructed by the people involved so." He's still a little shaky, mentally more than physically. He perches himself not on the couch but on its arm, draping his wing downwards across both the others' backs. "And he's sort of tailoring people's /private/ houses to what they want, too. Which is --" He cups his hands around his coffee, trying very hard to focus on how overwhelmingly dreamlike this is. And not on how increasingly hard it is getting not to attack his friends. "Kind of do," he agrees. "Not sure I should, directly. Have kits." Doug leans forward to regard Hive's work, ignoring the niggling in his brain that isn't a huge fan of all his friends moving away. Instead, he lets the sketches fill his brain, his nerdy instinct looking at what cool things could be done where. There are a lot, apparently. Including, "You should plan on some bolt holes," Doug says. "Keeping the outside out is a great idea, but you should take a cue from our bunny friends and make a way to escape when it tries to come crashing in." He smiles through the furrow of his brow, leaning in a bit further. "Oh, man. A workshop. Sebastian will be in heaven. I bet he could even get the boss to donate stuff." Like fancy computers, maybe. When Hive mentions Dusk needing to eat, he turns to look at the other man, sliding closer to him. "Hey, if you need to eat," he says softly, dropping his hand to trail fingers along a denim-clad knee. "I actually got eight hours and had breakfast. I'm good to go." Which, from the trail of fingers and the rush of heat, could mean so many things. "Aren't really moving by choice," Hive answers the niggling almost absently. "I mean, the evictions aren't looking like they're going to hold up but they're sure as fuck not /renewing/ our leases." He grimaces, hand flexing, and drops his hand off his mouse once he is done giving Doug the overview. "I don't think I can make a workspace that holds a candle to what he gets at school /or/ work though. But I can at least make a nice place to get shit done in off-hours. And yeah. He really -- really needs to. Take the fucking edge off before you hurt someone, dude. Just. Do it out here /before/ you get a room." Dusk shivers as Doug's fingers trail against his leg. His eyes shift back to the other man's neck, with a soft growl. He reaches down to pluck Doug's wrist up, though, mouth pressing to it. His lips brush against it, a soft kiss that's soon punctuated by the sharp quick press of fangs. His tongue laps against broken skin, growl rumbling low again as blood starts to flow. Doug's niggling isn't eased by Hive's assessment, although there's a pragmatic cast to it that agrees with the telepath. "Yeah," he says. "Still, it's going to suck, with all of you gone. I mean, I know we don't spend a /ton/ of time together, but..." he shrugs, pushing away the odd sentimentality that attaches itself to thoughts of the other Lofts residents. "I bet B can fix it up," he says. "Between him, Joshua, and Dusk, that place will probably rival Stark Tower, by the time it's done...." he trails off as Dusk plucks up his wrist, his eyes widening as it's lifted to the other man's mouth. There's a soft hiss when teeth break skin, followed by the heady rush of sensual /surrender/ to the greedy lips and tongue. Doug can't stop himself from leaning into Dusk, brushing his lips against the feeding man's ear in sudden need that's only jarred by the thought that maybe sweatpants weren't the /best/ choice to wear down here. And that thought is enough for him to begin to edge Dusk up to his feet without breaking the contact. "I...we should probably..." he says, his breath ragged as he casts apologies in looks and thoughts at Hive as he begins leading Dusk towards his bedroom. "We'll be back." Probably not very soon. Which Hive surely knows.