ArchivedLogs:Transitions

Transitions
Dramatis Personae Chelsea, Sebastian, Shane
In Absentia	2014-03-05 warning: blood and violence
Location <NYC> BoM Safehouse - Lower East Side
Tucked away off a little-used side street in the Lower East Side, sandwiched between a youth drop-in center and a taqueria, this narrow three-story townhouse has very little to catch the eye. Boarded-up windows, a door peeling its paint, shabby grubby brickface; from the outside it does not look like much. Inside someone has gone to great lengths to renovate the building into something more habitable. It isn't glamorous but it is comfortable, old furniture dragged in, the place generally swept clean. The first floor holds a large living room, a smaller dining room, a spacious kitchen, a half-bathroom. There are three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor; the attic is just a large empty space crammed full of boxes with a window out to the large flat roof. The basement, much like the attic, consists of a lot of empty space. A bare concrete floor, no windows, occasional poles running up to the ceiling. A tiny half-bathroom down here, too. Not a whole lot else. It is not Friday. Friday is not happening for a couple days yet and normally, then, the twins would not /be/ here for a couple days yet -- /but/. But /exams/ have finished today and /vacation/ is starting today and that /deserves/ a little celebration, doesn't it? And maybe when you're a sharkpup "a little celebration" comes in a bloodier way than it does for other people. "-- I totally fucking failed math." Shane is scowling about this as he tromps down the stairs to the basement, peeling out of his coat to fold it neatly and set it on a chair in the corner. He has a gym bag slung over his shoulder that he sets down beside the chair -- presumably with better clothes to fight in than what he's currently /wearing/, very /neatly/ tailored pinstriped slacks, a dress shirt, a vest, a bow-tie. A top hat perched on his head. "Did you even ever go to class?" Sebastian is dressed comfortably already. Dark cargo pants, hiking boots, a long-sleeved black henley shirt once he removes his own peacoat and lays it down over Shane's. Shane's scowl /deepens/ at this perhaps very pertinent question. "I -- went to class." SCOWL. "... once." He scuffs the toe of his polished Oxford against the cement floor. "Or twice." Sebastian's gills flutter in something very like a sigh. "I can help you over break. You can pass it next time. You're not /dumb/. You're smarter than I am." Chelsea follows the boys down the stairs, tromping along and staring around at the unfamiliar place that is so familiar to them. "Yeah, my grades {screwed the pooch} too," she says, punctuating her point with some colorful Spanish, but she doesn't seem overly upset about it. "But, I didn't go to school all last year, and the schools before were pretty shitty, so they kind of didn't know where to put me. But I guess they do now." She had come to the last day of school in all white - jeans, converse, and a button-up blouse. She also had a clean, white puffy jacket, and a rich lavender-purple scarf wrapped around her neck, the one splash of color. She also has a white backpack full of the workout clothes the boys told her to bring, which she drops at the foot of the stairs before walking out into the basement space and looking around. "Yeah, that kinda happens a lot. People show up with all /kinds/ of fucked up school --" Shane waves a hand dismissively in the air. "Histories." "We hadn't actually ever been," Sebastian says with a blush. "Before we got here." Shane unzips his gym bag, starting to peel out of his clothes unselfconsciously to trade the nice ones for, instead, a pair of cargo pants to match Sebastian's. "Yeah and now look at us." His smile is /thin/ and sharp. "Proper fucking educated. At least he is." "Hey!" Sebastian's eyes suddenly widen like he's only just remembering something. "Does your dad like sweets at all? Like um. Like baked -- things. This," his cheeks are darkening again, "-- isn't, um, related to the whole. Fighting. Thing. I'm just supposed to -- find out." Chelsea nods about the various school backgrounds and shrugs. She doesn't seem very worried about Shane changing out in the open, but she grabs her backpack and heads for the little half-bathroom. Inside, she swings the door shut enough to obscure her, but leaves it open to keep talking while she changes. "Oh god yes," she says from inside the bathroom. "Both of us do. I mean, he likes to make this big show about how he wouldn't /normally/ buy cocoa puffs, but he gets them for me. And /then/ he pours out half the box into a fucking /mixing/ bowl to eat with me Saturday mornings. So yeah. We like sweets." Some rustling indicates she's still struggling with her clothes. "What kinds of things?" Shane pulls on a Xavier's sweatshirt together with his cargo pants, though he leaves it unzipped with no shirt beneath. "I mean, what kinds of sweets? Because my pa --" "-- is an /amazing/ baker and wanted to make him something nice," Sebastian explains more shyly, leaning back against the wall and starting to slide downwards so that he can start unlacing his boots. "Because he's done so much to help us with --" "-- a lot of stuff for the new -- home. That Hive's building us. So he wanted us to find out what your dad likes so he can /surprise/ him with it. So shhh," Shane adds, "don't tell." "Oh! That's so cool," Chelsea says, stepping out of the bathroom. She's wearing board shorts with a white and red hawaiian floral print on them, and a black ribbed tanktop, with a starter sports bra underneath. Her hair isn't really long enough to pull back anymore, since Jax was kind enough to cut the worst of the snarls out a couple months ago, but she has a teal head band on pushing her curly hair up and back from her forehead. "Well, he likes really basic crap. Like, brownies, and rice crispy treats and stuff, you know?" She thinks for a minute and remembers something else. "Oh, and he took me Happy Cakes once, you know, in Tribeca? I /do/ know he /doesn't/ really like cupcakes. He wanted to know if the lady there had any pies. She didn't, so he got cookies instead." Chelsea crosses while she talks and asks, "I guess that isn't really much to go on? Does it help at all?" "Sure. Pa makes awesome brownies. /And/ awesome pie." Shane grins at this, bright and toothy. "He teaches the baking class at school so I guess he'd better." "I guess he can't just bake your dad /everything/," Sebastian muses. "But we'll let him know." He slides off his boots, pulling his socks off to shove them into the boots and then standing. He peels off his shirt, barefoot now and just in his cargo pants, gills rippling at his sides. His shoulders roll in slow flex. "Did you get a chance to take self-defense or anything this term?" "/Pfft/." Shane snorts, head shaking as he drops his sweatshirt to sit atop the coats. "Bullshit class anyway. Come here, it's way more fucking practical. Out in the real world nobody's fucking pulling their punches." Chelsea shrugs her narrow shoulders. Somehow, maybe due to her mutation, or just good skin care, her complexion is remarkably clear for a thirteen-year old. She's also barefoot as she pads over to Shane's invitation. "Nah, I didn't take it. It seemed like it would be mostly kid's stuff. Dad's teaching me some boxing, but… it's not really fun. Or practical for me." She shrugs again, her skinny body punctuating how much she is /not/ a boxer. She grins at Shane, and says brightly, "But at least you don't have to worry about hurting me! So how does this work?" Shane beckons his brother closer, his toothy grin still very much in place. "It's pretty much kid's stuff. OK so forget boxing. Forget -- fucking everything, alright, basically, what you do is --" Sebastian has padded over, stretching his arms behind him as he slips into place in front of Shane. He doesn't actually let his twin /finish/ this sentence, though; before Shane has finished speaking one clawed hand is flashing out, hand slamming hard into the sensitive gills that ripple down Shane's side. "You find what hurts," he explains, remarkably calmly as Shane's grin suddenly transforms into a clenched-teeth hissing grimace. "And you just go for that. Hard and fast, every time. You're small. You have sharp angles. Use those. Elbows. Knees." Shane's gills are quivering, his breathing cut off momentarily as he doubles over, but eventually he flicks claws upwards towards his brother's throat. "Fingers. At eyes. Throat. Joints. Fuck boxing until you're built like your pa you're not gonna be throwing /knockout/ blows but you sure as fuck can cave someone's windpipe in those things are weak." Chelsea winces when Sebastian sucker punches his brother, but she listens closely as they explain, nodding her agreement. She bends her arms and examines her elbows briefly, and swings one as an experiment. "I got in a fight with the last asshole foster-dad I had, before I said 'fuck it' and ran away. Got him in the nuts pretty good," Chelsea says, jerking her knee up in pantomime. "Don't worry, I won't hit you guys there though. I know it's kind of a shitty thing to do if I don't have to." "No, totally do," Shane tells Chelsea seriously, "you get any good shot you take it, because we --" "-- aren't going to be holding back with /you/. I mean, maybe while you're learning the basics," Sebastian says with a small frown, "but once you start fighting in here for real you're -- fighting. So fight like you mean it. 'Cuz we do." "Besides," Shane adds cheerfully, "Sharks don't have nuts so I really won't care knee me all you like." Sebastian just blushes at this, cheeks tinting near to purple. His arms stretch behind him again, then lift loosely in front of him. One clawed hand beckons Chelsea closer. "Totally go for the gills," Shane advises brightly, "because that motherfucker deserves it." POSSIBLY his hand is moving to the spot Sebastian just /hit/ him in. "But they're sharp so watch out." Chelsea nods again as the twins explain, a little confused at the explanation of their nut-situation, but when Sebastian starts stretching, her face telegraphs the whole thing. She thinks she sees him distracted, and a split second before she moves, a half grin tugs up the corner of her mouth. Then, in a flurry of knees and elbows, she launches herself at Sebastian in an attempt to drive her shoulder into his gut, and hopefully tackle him to the ground. Go ninety-five pound girl, go! Chelsea's tackle hits home -- at least, Sebastian doesn't seem to make a whole lot of effort to get out of the /way/ of it. He draws in a slow breath as it connects, body rolling along /with/ it to bear down to the ground as Chelsea launches herself at him, teeth bared abruptly fierce. He slams back into the floor with a thud, and his hands come up, sharp claws aimed to sink into her sides as his -- admittedly less than ninety-five pounds but deceptively strong for all that -- weight pushes back to try and push /her/ onto her back, now. Chelsea grunts as she and Sebastian hit the floor, and she is entirely off balance and at his mercy when they come to a stop. She chuffs as his claws sink in. She doesn't experience pain the way most people do, but it hurts a little. She squirms, but isn't able to overpower Sebastian as her instinct pushes her to. Chelsea is pushed onto her back as Sebastian counter-tackles her. When they land she scrabbles at his chest with her fingers, scratching at his chest and gills if she can reach them. Shane moves around to Sebastian's side; he reaches down, tucking a claw underneath one slitted gill to pull upwards. "They're weaker this direction. Sharp as fuck, but you can tear them the fuck off." Which evidently hurts like /hell/, because Sebastian's teeth have clenched down hard, a shriller keening sound coming from his throat. His muscles tense; beneath Chelsea's fingers the skin of his chest is far tougher than most people's, sandpaper-rough and prone to abrading /her/ skin if she's not careful. His gills are are a definite weak point, fluttering unhappily when her fingers scratch at them. A low growl rumbles in his chest, and his claws dig into her further, tearing downwards before he drops one hand to his own side, blood-tipped claws pressing to his side. His knee comes up, slamming up hard against the inside of Chelsea's knee. His teeth snap, but it's not an actual bite -- just an angry petulant /grar/. Chelsea squirms as Sebastian's fingers dig in, and grunts in surprise when his knee pins her leg down. She tries to struggle another moment longer, when a devious expression crosses her face. When his one hand comes free, the wounds in her side are already closing, and she twists towards the hand still stuck in her side. She grabs his wrist and tries to shove his hand /deeper/ into her ribs, trying to pin him while her elbow snaps up in the direction of his jaw. It's sloppy, but she's probably hoping to catch B off guard a bit. Sebastian's knee presses down hard against Chelsea's leg. His other hand is sliding away from his side; it trails blood red against his blue skin before bracing against the ground, starting to lever himself up more. Or at least he /was/ before Chelsea starts dragging him back closer; his claws reflexively /tighten/ which only serves to pull them /deeper/ into flesh. His black eyes open huge and wide, and he growls harsh -- more /startled/, perhaps, than anything else. His teeth clack together hard, head turning when Chelsea's elbow snaps into it. He snaps his head /back/, teeth clamping down towards her arm. "Jesus /Christ/." It's hard to tell if Shane is disgusted or impressed. Possibly /amused/. He's looking at his twin's hand in Chelsea's side with wide eyes and knuckles pressed to his lips. "Are you going to /fuse/ like that?" Chelsea is not well-coordinated, nor prepared for biting assailants - at least not ones that are faster than zombies. Her eyes go wide as Sebastian's teeth sink into her arm and she makes a yelp like she just pricked her finger rather than someone being mauled by a shark boy. She starts to laugh then at Shane's question, but the noise turns wet and she coughs a little. His claw must have gone deep enough to nick her lung. "Ok ok," she says, grimacing, grinning, and coughing all at once. She tries to push away and says, "Gimme a sec…" Sebastian prises his teeth out of Chelsea's arm, licking his lips like he's just tasted something /delicious/. It takes him considerably longer to dislodge his /hand/, though -- there's a wriggle, an unpleasant /crack/ -- he winces at that apologetically, though it comes with a pained hiss of his own. "I think we did fuse," he laments, slowly tug-tug-tugging at his hand; it takes a good bit /more/ pulling before he finally extracts it, a long scrape running down his wrist and along his palm when he finally pulls his hand free of her side. "/Jeez/." Shane is wide-eyed, enormous pools of black dominating most of his narrow face. "Uh, do you still have lungs in there, Chels?" "At least one, I should think." Sebastian is eying Chelsea's side uncertainly, though. Blood drips from his hand down onto the concrete -- though where the cut is it's already starting to heal up. He blinks at it, brows raising. "-- /Huh/. That's -- faster than usual." "Yeah, I think so," Chelsea says, sitting up on the floor, coughing wetly. The ribbons of flesh visible through her torn tanktop are wriggling and writhing as they rejoin to close the wound. The healing is punctuated by the sound of a wet /snap/ which makes her jump a little, and then she stretches her side experimentally. Turning, she hacks up and spits a wad of blood and then really seems no worse for wear. The bite wound on her arm was gone before she remembered to check it. She turns to look at Sebastian's arm when he points it out and tilts her head. "Oh, is it not usually that fast? Maybe my blood speeds it up?" She smiles broadly at the thought and gets to her feet. "Whoa, wouldn't that be cool if it did?" "Oh, yeah, that might be -- that /is/ kind of cool," Sebastian agrees with a quick smile. "No, we heal quick but not -- not like /this/ quick, this is --" But now he's frowning, jaw working slowly like something is feeling /off/ about it; his hand lifts to press slowly to the side of his mouth, teeth clicking together. Shane is just -- staring. Creeping slowly closer to his twin to press fingers to Sebastian's side, run his hand tentatively /up/ against skin that -- should be blue and /gilled/ and sandpapery and is looking slowly smoother and browner. "-- er." Chelsea blinks when Sebastian cuts himself off, and squints like maybe the basement light is playing tricks on her. "Wait, holy shit, wait…" She takes a step closer, but doesn't touch him. "B… are you ok? Shane, what's happening?" "I don't --" There's an edge of panic to Sebastian's voice; he doesn't /sound/ very okay. His words come out muffled; a little pained, a little /creaky/ perhaps from the fact that his skeleton is currently /calcifying/. His hand clamps down over his mouth; when he pulls it away he's spit out a generous handful of sharp shark-teeth into his palm. Not that he's currently /toothless/; there are others coming in to replace them. Neat and /flat/ and un-serrated. "-- B --" Shane /does/ touch him, curling an arm around his twin protectively as though that will /do/ something. An unhappy whining growl rumbles in his throat. "B what the hell --" His hand lifts, brushing down along Sebastian's hair -- once plasticky-hard and spiky, growing out into softer curls, now. "-- uh. /Uh/." He's looking, now, from Sebastian to Chelsea. And back. And back. And /back/. "Oh. Oh. Oh /shit/." "Oh no…" Chelsea says, breathless, eyes wide. "Oh shit, no no no no…" she whispers. "Oh fuck, B, I'm so sorry. Goddamnit, what do we do?" Her eyes are brimming over with tears, and she reaches out to touch Sebastian's shoulder. His - brown shoulder. "I've never- I mean. Uh…" She trails off, clearly in panic mode. Sebastian's shoulder is tense and trembling beneath Chelsea's fingers. His eyes are wide, his breaths starting to come in quick panicked gasps, a little ragged and uneven like he's not -- /entirely/ sure how to operate lungs. "I -- I don't -- I don't --" Somewhat belatedly, he seems to remember that he is only half-dressed -- more acceptable in his /old/ form than his new one, he curls a hand across his chest uncomfortably. Shane growls again, stepping in to wrap both his arms around Sebastian now, pulling his twin into a tight hug. "Fff. Fuck I don't -- I don't know {I don't know what the fuck I don't --} Jesus what. {How did this even --} Okay. Okay okay we'll just. {We'll go home we'll talk to Pa we'll --}" He slips between Vietnamese and English in a rapid stream, head tipping in to rest against Sebastian's arm. "We should -- we should go home we should. My Pa will know." "Pa won't even be home," Sebastian says unhappily, "it's Wednesday he'll -- he's got class and work and." There are tears in his eyes, starting to slide down his newly brown cheeks. "What if they're mad?" "They're not gonna be /mad/ they're just -- ngh." Shane shakes his head, looking up at Chelsea. "You have some /strong/-ass blood, girl. Fuck. Ohfuck." "It's gonna-" Chelsea starts, but can bring herself to say 'be ok'. "Just… breathe B. Shit you even /sound/ like me." She takes her hand back when Shane hugs his brother, not wanting to get in their way. She doesn't have to know Vietnamese to catch the general drift of what Shane says too. Her shoulders slump and she shakes her head, in shock. "Fuck, this is all my fault B, I'm so so sorry…" She takes a shuddering breath as tears run down her cheeks. "Look, maybe-" Chelsea swallows hard and continues. "Maybe you should call your Pa? He might… you know, ditch class for this. It's kind of an emergency." Chelsea does not look at all sure about this plan, but then she does see how uncomfortable B is in his current state of dress. She nods to herself, and goes to the clothes she hurriedly stuffed into her backpack, retrieving the blouse she wore to school that day, and returns to offer it up. "I can't breathe your lungs aren't /right/," Bastian answers with an edge of panic to his voice. "Actually I think her lungs are actually finally right for the first time ever." Shane's smile is a little bit crooked, but it soon fades. He just squeezes Sebastian tighter. Sebastian's breathing grows faster and more ragged still. Apparently this has failed to reassure him. Shane releases him, taking the blouse from Chelsea when she returns. He shakes it out to help Sebastian on with it. "Okay. Okay, okay. We're -- we're going to go home, okay, B? We're gonna go home, and we're gonna talk to Pa and Ba and -- fuck. We're going to figure this out." Sebastian's breathing doesn't calm, exactly, but he does scrub a hand quickly against his eyes, rubbing the tears away fiercely. "... I guess nobody's going to give me trouble on the subway now."