ArchivedLogs:Cupcake Confession
| Cupcake Confession | |
|---|---|
is good for the soul...maybe. | |
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-02-03 Hive and Jackson come clean about the seance, and everyone learns something new and horrible. (Part of Prometheus TP.) |
| Location
<NYC> 503 {Doug} - Village Lofts - East Village | |
The apartment is quiet, this early afternoon. Not even music fills the small space. Quiet. Sunlight, hazy and sluggish-looking, filters in through the small windows that look out on the fire escape, illuminating Doug's hair as the blonde lays on the couch, two kittens curled on his stomach. The young man is trying to get some studying done, but can't quite seem to focus. I should call Anwyn, and make sure she's all right. Can't tell her about the stuff that's happened, though. She'll never come back. I should go back to Mt. Sinai and talk to that good-looking doctor again, even if he is too old. Wow. I'm a mutant. That's weird to think. He thumbs a page slowly, his eyes tracking the words and sifting them for importance to his classes before he finally exhales, and tosses the book across the coffee table and into the seat of a chair opposite. This is boring. I should go somewhere. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Brusque and impatient, outside the door. Hive is dressed scruffy-casual as ever. Tan t-shirt (it has a dotted outline of Link, with a message across the top: 404 LINK NOT FOUND), faded jeans, beaten old sneakers. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he is sideeying Jax as he knocks, murmuring under his breath. "-- Guess Shelby was right about him." Jax is much more brightly-coloured than Hive. He has fishnet tights -- one leg neon green, one leg bright blue, visible over his equaly bright-colored tattoos (one leg has Care Bears. The other has illustrations from the Lorax) where his capri jeans end beneath his knees. His shirt is plainer, black tee embroidered with blue dragonflies, and on his arms there are armwarmers, one black with rainbow stars, the other featuring skulls wearing tophats. He has on sunglasses, dark and mirrored, and a tray in his hands full of cupcakes glazed in chocolate ganache. << Think that'll make this better or worse? >> he's wondering, with a quiet tinge of amusement. The knocking at the door is enough to startle Doug, and he jumps up from the sofa, ignoring the squeaky protests of Alt and Delete as they're dumped into the soft cushions. Huh. Wasn't expecting anyone. Maybe Anwyn forgot her key. He pads barefoot to the door, running a hand through his hair and squinting through the peephole before he swings it open. He stares, briefly, at the two men on his doorstep and cracks a wide grin for the one he knows. "Hey, Jackson!" he says brightly. "Cool outfit!" Oh, hey, cupcakes! He gives the other man a polite nod, eyeing the tray with a hopeful look. "What are you guys doing, selling goodies door-to-door?" His grin slips wider. "Because I have to tell you, I've seen cuter Girl Scouts." "Don't front," Hive says, jerking a thumb towards his more colorful companion, "You'd be hard pressed to /find/ a cuter Scout than him. Seriously, look at that smile." Jackson is smiling! Bright and cheerful, though this skews lopsided together with a flush of cheeks at Hive. "Hi, Doug!" he says, warmly even through the bashfulness. "This is Hive. He lives just over you. And we're not selling. These are for you. They're, um, raspberry shortcake with chocolate ganache. I hope that's – okay." Doug flashes a grin at Hive, and swings the door wider. Okay. This guy seems all right. "He's pretty cute," he agrees. "Although, I'd have to see him in the Scout uniform before I made any final decisions." He nods in greeting to the other man, and motions for the two to enter. Wow. Those cupcakes sound fancy. Anwyn's going to hate it if I don't save one. "C'mon in," he says. "I don't have any coffee, but I've got milk. Milk is good with cupcakes, right?" He turns, then to pad towards the kitchen area. Hope I have enough clean glasses. "Make yourselves at home." "Pretty cute," Hive scoffs lightly, amused, slipping inside when he's invited. "He's got a uniform. Well, /Boy/ Scouts, dude's a fucking Eagle Scout. I bet he'd rock the Girl Scout uniform, too, though." He's not really looking around, much, though he does amble in with almost a sense of familiarity. Jax glances at Doug. Glances at Hive. He smiles a little brighter, as he follows Hive in, and his clothing shifts and changes. White collared shirt, khaki skirt, green sash dotted with badges slashed across his chest. The fishnet tights stay. He offers the entire tray, a dozen cupcakes, out to Doug. "S'Anwyn home? These are just for you guys. They're kind of apology cupcakes." He says this with a NUDGE at Hive, elbow poking at the other man's side. Doug rummages around in the cabinets, coming up with three glasses that he sets on the counter. Okay. Two glasses and a jelly jar. The question about Anywyn causes him to freeze as he reaches for the tray. Dude, she is /gone/. Poor kid. Wow. He did that with /light/? Kind of cute, in a kinky way. "Oh, hey, thanks," he says, taking the tray and setting it down near the glasses. "Nice look, by the way. But Anwyn isn't staying here, right now." He wrinkles his nose. "We had an...occurrence, the other night, and it kind of freaked her out." He frowns, and moves to open the refrigerator, extracting a carton of milk to sniff at it carefully. "She's staying with her friend Kelsey for the time being." Hive's lips quirk up, shooting an amused glance at Jax. The amusement fades afterwards, though. He winces, scrubbing his hand against his eyes. "Yeeeeah, um, wow. About that. Occurrence." His hands shove into his pockets, his eyes skipping up towards Doug. "It's, uh, what we're -- I'm -- here to apologize for. Anwyn should come back. Apology's for her too." "M'okay without milk, thanks," Jax says lightly. "Just come for the delivery." << S'that look for? >> "Yeah, y'like it?" He smiles, doing a small curtsey before his clothes fade back to his previous outfit. "Oh, gosh. Poor Anwyn. Um." << You should make this apology /good/, you terrified the poor girl out of her /house/. >> "No milk for Jackson," Doug says with a nod, pouring milk into the two glasses. Hive's admission and his movements get a furrow of the blonde's brow, and he frowns. "What did you do, kill the previous occupants?" he says lightly. Please don't have killed the previous occupants. "Because there was some grade-A ghosting going on." /Still/ going on. Weird shit starts happening, sorry we ever woke up whatever was lurking here. He wrinkles his nose, and holds out a glass of milk for Hive. "I don't know how easy it'll be to get her back here. She's talking about getting a priest in here." Like the Exorcist or shit. "Which is kind of a big thing, for a good Jewish girl." He leans against the counter, and twists his mouth up. Everyone in this building acts weird. Hope that's not a side effect of being a mutant. Have I met any mutants that weren't weird? Huh. Have to think about that. Oh, yeah. Guests. "What did you have to do with it?" "I didn't kill the previous occupants," Hive says with a press of his lips and a shake of his head. "I -- well, we. There's no ghosts." He takes the milk, but doesn't drink it, tapping his fingers against its side. "My roommates and I heard you were planning a seance to talk to the ghosts and, uh, messed with you. We didn't mean to scare Anwyn /away/. We were gonna come by yesterday to apologize but you were out. M'sorry we freaked you out." Jackson winces, rubbing his knuckles against his cheek. "Nobody killed the previous occupants, they --" He is saying, but then he just frowns, looking up at the ceiling. "There ain't ghosts. It was just a prank. Can you tell Anwyn it's -- okay. Ain't nothing freaky here except, uh." His fingers flick between himself and Hive. And the ceiling. Doug stares, his mind as blank as his expression as he struggles with the confession. Wait. No ghosts? But that doesn't explain any -- "A prank?" he says slowly, his brow furrowing. "Like, a joke?" He frowns, and digs his phone out of his pocket, his thumbs already moving as he texts his roommate. "So, this was all just mutant trickery?" he says, once the text is sent, and flicks his gaze between Hive and Jackson. Man. They're good. Keeping it up was a nice touch. Wonder how they did it. "How'd you guys do it? You got someone up there that can make illusions or something? And who's been moving my stuff around and leaving messages in the bathroom mirror fog during my shower?" He wrinkles his nose. "Because it would be helpful if the mirror messages told me where the moved stuff was, instead of being all creepy. I need my flash drive."
"We did it -- hold on," Hive says, "don't freak out, he's /not/ a ghost, he's my roommate." He's looking at the ceiling, for a while. But then he looks over at Doug with eyebrows hiking upwards, even as, at the back of the room, a shadow starts to gather. "-- Messages? We didn't leave any messages, dude." "Messages?" Silently, Jackson is wondering if Doug is For Real or just pranking them right /back/. A question which he directs to Hive, a moment later. Despite the promise about Not A Ghost, he takes a few steps back when the shadow appears, over towards the opposite wall to put some distance between them. "Yeah, um, it was just cuz -- the twins were pulling your leg and then everyone kinda went along with it. I think they'd've said something right /away/ if they knew Anwyn'd get so freaked."
Doug's phone quacks as Hive begins to speak, and the blonde looks down to read the incoming text with a frown, and misses the warning. Ugh. Can't believe she'd pass up free cupcakes. When he looks up, the gathering shadow sends him backpedaling into the kitchen with a muffled shout of alarm. HOLYFREAKINGJESUSITSTHATTHING. Wait. Roommate. Doug's expression returns to something closer to normal (although he's still a bit pale), and he steps forward tentatively. "You guys didn't leave any messages," he says, his brain rolling that concept around, trying to attach the jagged handwriting in the fog to /one/ of these three. "And you're not moving my stuff around. And that guy's your roommate." He takes a deep breath, and leans against the counter. Man, this building is weird. "Okay. I think I'm up to speed." The shadow in the corner is growing more solid, forming itself into a humanish shape. And then more solid, still, resolving into the form of a freckle-faced young man, who tosses Doug a crooked grin. "Ian," he introduces himself. "Sorry about freaking you out. I'm kind of /built/ to ghost around places." "-- He's for real," Hive is saying, with a slight frown. "Dude, woah, someone left you messages? Uh. That wasn't us, no lie. What kind of messages?" He's frowning towards the bathroom door. "My other two roommates helped. They're sorry, too. And yeah, this building's weird as fuck, the last people who lived here -- well." He frowns. "Really, okay, no, what messages?" "... really messages?" This seems to puzzle Jax, too. "I mean, no, my kids like a good prank but nobody's been -- no. Um." He might be a little perplexed. Maybe a little nervous. << You don't think someone's /really/ messing with them? >> His glittery makeup fades, as Ian solidifies. His hair shifts, too, going from its bright-purple shock to a plain jet-black. Doug watches with a kind of fascinated look as Ian coalesces, and he nods at the shadowy mutant. "Doug," he says, although he probably already knows my name, if they were pranking us. "You're a scary dude," he says with a grin. "You could make a fortune with that gig, if you hooked up with one of those shame fortune tellers. Can you do other voices?" He blinks as Jackson's look subdues, and pauses. Wait. "Wait. Your kids? Shane and Sebastian are your kids?" He doesn't look old enough. Huh. That's kind of cool, actually. Oh, yeah. They asked about the messages. "Just stuff in the mirror," he says, picking up his milk and sipping at it. "Like 'You'll be sorry' and 'Don't mess with us' and stuff. All of it in this serial-killer looking handwriting. I don't know –" There's a tingling in the air, just then, and the empty jelly jar shoots off the counter in Ian's direction, passing close to young man on its way to shatter against the wall. A plate from the dish drainer immediately follows. Holy shit! What the hell?! Doug yelps, and ducks out of the way of flying crockery, peering over the counter at Hive and Jackson with wide eyes. "That's new." "I'm nothing. My roommate's a vampire. I just kind of shadow around." Ian's smile gets a little brighter. "I can do other voices when I'm shadowy. I can't telepath as a person." "Yeah, the sharkboys belong to him. He's not old enough," adds Hive. "They're foster kids. Uh -- thaaaat's fucked up, dude, you want me to look into if anyone's -- poking around here when you're out or asleep or -- holy /shit/." He /twitches/, startled-jumping at the crash. Ian promptly vanishes, poofing into nothing but a pool of shadow once more. "Yeah, they're adopt --" Jax's eye widens, too, and he ducks back towards Hive at the first crash. The second is met with a shimmering wall that stops the plate before it gets far, encasing it in a nearly-transparent bubble that lowers to the counter. "Holy what -- on -- earth -- Hive who --" He's eying Doug right back, warily. "-- That wasn't any of /us/." The tingling subsides as soon as Ian goes shadowy, and the room suddenly lightens, as if there were a pressure in the air that had been unrealized. Doug pokes his head up and stands slowly, frowing deeply. "Things moving around by themselves is /definitely/ new," he says. Maybe Anwyn is right. I should call Father Henries...wait, he's Episcopalian. Who's that priest at the chapel four blocks down? Father Delgado? "It's like that movie, Poltergeist." He frowns. "There's not a mutant in the building who can move stuff around with their brains, is there? Maybe I'm being double pranked." He wrinkles his nose, and moves to grab a paper sack from under the counter. That would be awful. Like, the worst hazing ever for a new mutant. "Uh --" Hive frowns, slightly. "No. I mean, not /now/. The last guy who lived here --" But his expression darkens at this, and he shakes his head. "I mean, if there is I don't know about it. And I know most everyone here." The shadow at the corner of the room is slinking away. Insofar as shadows can slink. It's trickling out the window. "The last guy who lived here wouldn't be leaving cryptic messages and then tormenting folks. Plus he'd probably say /hi/, not chuck dishes around. Uh. /Did/ someone die here?" Jackson frowns, considering, his tongue poking up at his upper lip. "-- I know some priests. At my church." "Hey, Ian, don't go!" Doug calls after the retreating shadow. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Just...stay shady, I guess." Man, bad first meetings all around, I guess. What the hell is /doing/ that? Doug moves around the counter, towards the shattered glass. "I don't know if anyone died here," he says. "Although, I have my suspicions. The super looked nervous when I asked him about it. Weird body language." He wrinkles his nose distastefully. Dude smelled like week-old garlic, too. And he had that spaghetti stain on his chin that I couldn't look away from. "Well, the last people here kind of disappeared," Hive says with a shrug of his shoulder that is stiff and not at all nonchalant. "But they weren't here long, I don't know what happened with the people /before/ them." He's frowning towards the shattered glass. "We should look into that. I'm sure it'll say somewhere who was here before. We have computers, we can do this." "Computers can tell you?" Jackson looks skeptical of this. "The last people --" He frowns down at the ground, thoughts a rather chaotic jumble of apprehension for the Missing Occupants. This moves on, though, to pondering the mystery at hand. "Well, who's been in the building a /long/ time? Maybe they'll know if someone died." "I haven't had a chance to look into the building's rental history," Doug admits. "I've been busy with schoolwork.” And finding out that I'm an actual mutant. Still seems weird to think that. "But I'll bet you're right. It's got to say /something/, and then I can tell the computer look for those names in any news articles or police reports. Other than the Missing Persons report for the last people, if anyone filed one." Man, this is awesome. Like, detecting and shit. Like that Jim guy I had lunch with. I should call him and see if he's got any tips for digging up information. He was pretty nice; I bet he'd help. He starts picking up glass, then, and dropping it into the paper sack. "How long have that old hippie couple lived on the second floor?" She seems like a busybody. She'd probably know. "I bet they could probably remember something." "We filed one," Hive says, a little grim, "for all the good it'll do. Shit, you know Jim, too?" Despite the 'shit', he says this like it doesn't really surprise him. "He was just at my place. He's usually down for most things." "Jim?" Jackson raises his eyebrows. He leans against a counter, though, looking /just/ a little pale. "Um -- since longer than we've lived here. /Years/, though, at least, I know they mentioned checking in on their neighbors after 9/11. That was a /billion/ years ago." Or, like, a dozen. Whatever. "Dude," Doug says, turning to look at Hive. "What the hell." He waggles fingers between the two of them, at temple-level. "Are you reading my mind? That's like the fourth time you've said something in response to what I was thinking." "Yes," Hive answers, plainly, shrugging bony shoulders. "S'kind of what I do. How we knew when the seance was gonna be." His smile quirks, a little wryly apologetic, though there's no apology in his tone for: "It's probably why everyone wigged out about your apartment number. The twins are right under me. They're used to me hearing /them/ and you're right over me. I dunno which is freakier, a ghost or a telepath. 'least you can exorcise the ghost." "You could try exorcising a telepath," Jax muses quietly, though he's kind of focused on Doug, watching for his reaction. Fretting for Hive's sake. This is kind of the point where most people freak out on him. "Huh," Doug seems kind of impressed with Hive's ability, and he pulls a rueful face. "/That/ explains it," he murmurs. "Well, I don't blame you," he says, with a shrug. "About the seance, I mean. I probably would have done the same thing. We'll just call it 'welcome to the building', and leave it at that." Well, except for the flying dishes. That still needs checking out. He finishes cleaning up the glass, and pads back to the kitchen, dropping the bag into the garbage can. "Just do me a favor, and stay out of there when I'm in the shower," he says with a broad wink. "That's /me/ time, if you know what I mean." He fetches a broom from beside the fridge, and heads back to the scene of the smash. "But, to answer your question, I do know Jim. We got stuck together at a table in a restaurant. He seems like a good guy." "Hey, Jax," Hive has been relaxing subtly through Doug's response; he hadn't seemed /overly/ tense before, but there's a faint tick of easing through his shoulders and he casts a casual smirk in Jax's direction, "you want a replay of Doug's shower-time?" He's probably not serious. He bobs his head in agreement with Doug's assessment of Jim. "Yeah, he's good people. If Shane tells you we're getting married, don't believe him. Jim's /strictly/ my affair on the side." Jackson just /blushes/, at this. /Furiously/. The air around him turns pink, too. << ! >> is his general mental thought. As well as picturing Doug in the shower. And then furiously attempting /not/ to picture Doug in the shower ohgosh he's right /here/ HIVE I HATE YOU. There's deeper blushing. He rubs at his cheek as he turns aside. "Dude, I'm telling you," Doug says with his own blush, holding up a finger. "Me time. No one gets to know what goes on in there unless they're invited." He grins, and makes quick work of sweeping up the remaining glass. "So Jim's available?" he asks in a playful voice. Not that I wouldn't mind maybe hitting th -- ohshit. Hive can /hear/ me. Fluffy bunnies. Pink clouds. Calculus. Jackson's reaction gets a narrowing of eyes, but the blonde says nothing as he snags up a cupcake. "So, we're going ghost-hunting. Don't we need a talking dog, or something?" His grin slips wider. "Say 'Jinkies' and 'Zoiks' and all of that?" "Wait, who's it you wouldn't mind tapping?" Hive's smile slices wickedly wider at this. "Nah, I try not to spy. I just can't help overhearing shit sometimes." Though his grimace now says: a lot of the time. "Jax's got a dog. Not nearly the right kind, though. I think we know a kid who can talk to dogs. But no dogs who can talk. Jax, you want to wear a cute little Velma sweater?" Jax's blush is not subsiding. "Jim's Jim," he answers, a little bit strangled in tone as he tries to wipe Naked Cute Boys from his mind. "Hive, you're basically the worst person ever. Um. Obie doesn't talk. I bet we could fake it. I could make Obie /look/ like a Great Dane." Doug blushes as deeply as Jackson at the wicked smile, and wrinkles his nose at Hive. "None of your business,' he says, trying unsuccessfully to adopt a prim expression. Man. Hive's going to know every time I like a guy. That could get awkward. Hey, Jackson's kind of cute when he -- CRAP. Differential calculus. Complex computer code. MAGNETS. "I guess he doesn't /have/ to talk," he says slowly, and wrinkles his nose in thought. "In fact, that would probably earn attention. Maybe we're more like the Ghostbusters." He grins, the blush easing as he bites into the cupcake. Holy God, this is delicious. He echoes the thought by making a hummed noise of pleasure in Jackson's direction, closing his eyes blissfully. Hive's wicked smile slices just a bit wider. He glances over at Jackson, humming quietly to himself. "Tasty, innit?" he asks, lightly. "Hey, I've got some pretty kickass Ghostbusters outfits upstairs. The roomates and I did a thing one year. For Comiccon." Jackson's blush only now begins to ease, and he brightens -- literally, the red glow around him fading into a cheerfully sunny-yellow one for a moment before the light returns to normal. "I'm glad you like it," he says, happily. "I cook a lot so it's kinda a danger of living in this building, sometimes things haunt you, but sometimes cookies just show up at your door." Doug gives Hive a warning look for his smugness, and pictures the building super in a thong -- spaghetti stain, heavy belly, and all -- before lifting his eyebrows pointedly. The best part of talking to a telepath has got to be the ability to keep eating delicious cupcakes. "And etoufee," he says, swallowing and reaching for his milk. "This girl on the second floor -- Alexandrine -- she's supposed to be making a big pot of it and bringing some up." She was really classy. Like you'd expect a dance teacher to be, really. "She teaches dance, and I guess she's a high school teacher, now, too. But she's looking for a job, and I kind of pointed her at this place near my folks' house...oh, hey!" he says, brightening at Jackson. "It was Shane's school! I didn't know if they were taking on new staff, but she was grateful for the tip, so, etoufee." Hive gets a grin. "That would be awesome," he says. "And this building /sort/ of looks like the firehouse in the movie. I think we're good to go." He holds up a finger in playful stern warning. "But I am /not/ Egon. I'm Ray, or no deal." Hive grimaces, pressing a palm to his forehead. "You're as bad as Jim," he grumbles. "Alexandrine --?" He's frowning, contemplative, glancing at Jax and then shrugging. "Hah. Everyone's gonna want to be Ray. You might need to duke it out with Flicker." "You pointed her at the kids' school?" Jax's eyebrows raise, and he presses his tongue into the side of his cheek. "I don't think they're taking on new staff," he says, slowly and thoughtfully, "but you never know." Shrugging a shoulder, his expression relaxes into an easy smile. A giant white marshmallowy FOOT starts to descend through the ceiling. "She seemed really nice, and smart," Doug says, lifting his shoulder and giving Hive a 'serves you right' smirk. "And she really seemed to be frustrated that she couldn't find work. And, even if they're not taking on staff, Westchester is beautiful in the winter. She'll have a nice trip, at least." He grins, and frowns at the foot coming through the ceiling. "Oh, great. It's the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man." He says this in the same tone used in the movie. and he turns to Hive. "Know where we can find a hundred foot tall holographic hooker?" "Know a couple, uh, but they're not a hundred feet tall." Hive eyes the FOOT with a smirk, and then starts to turn towards the door. "Yeeeah I can dig the work frustration, man, this fucking economy. Guess we've all gotta pay our rent. Hey, look, I'm really sorry about the ghost thing. Tell your roommate there's no -- uh, /maybe/ no haunting." He kind of sideeyes the wall where the jar shattered, "and that we're sorry and that Jax makes the most delicious cupcakes in the entire gorram city. See you 'round?" He takes a step forward, holding out a FIST rather than a hand towards Doug. Knuckletap. << -- Know a couple or /know/ a couple? >> Jax is kind of absent-wondering, as the foot descends the rest of the way -- neatly /squishing/ Hive, or at least it would if it had any substance to it, and then vanishing. He blushes at the compliment to his cupcakes, and hums thoughtfully to Doug. "I teach there," he says, "one trimester a year. Maybe I'll talk to her. Can't help to have an in, at least." "I just know one," Doug admits. "But not very well. He goes to my gym." He watches the foot squish Hive, and leans over the counter to tap the knuckles lightly. "I'll tell her," he promises. "But she probably won't come home for a while, which is just as well. I'd rather have this new wrinkle ironed out before she gets back." He nods, and straightens back up. "Hey, now that we're such close neighbors, feel free to stop in any time," he says, waving a hand. "Ian, too, if he can give me a heads-up, so I don't pee myself." Jackson's information gets a lift of eyebrows, and his mouth pulls into a mild frown, briefly. That's really cool. This is like the most interconnected building in the world. "I bet she'd appreciate that," he says. "She's really nice. I can't speak to her cooking. When she brings by the etoufee, you guys come up and have some, and we'll make our judgements based on her culinary abilities." Because that's how you judge dance teachers, right? "Haha. S'two others up there but they're not so scary as Ian. Kinda. I guess Dusk is sort of vampirey and Flicker has a tendency to ghost around -- uh." Hive scrubs a hand against his hair, fingers running along the side of his head. He doesn't answer Jax's question, except with a smirk. "I guess we're all kind of freaky. I'm gonna be all /over/ the etoufee, though, man. See ya." He bops Jax lightly on the shoulder, and heads out. "Well, hopefully we'll get to the bottom of this. Um. And hopefully nobody'll make you pee yourself again." Jackson straightens from where he's been leaning, bracing tattooed arms against the counter. "Oh, gosh, is culinary ability how we're judgin' folks now? I shoulda stepped up my game. What gym do you go to?" Doug grins. "Well, now that I know the score, I'll know what's mutant and what's supernatural," he says with a lift of one shoulder. "So, there'll hopefully be much less peeing." He snickers at Jackson's dilemma, lifting a hand after Hive. "Later, dude!" he calls, and turns back to the other man. "You've got nothing to worry about, man," he says with a grin. "Because these cupcakes are fantastic. Maybe you /should/ sell them door to door. You'd never make it out of the building." He licks a bit of frosting from his fingers, and moves to claim his milk. "Oh, it's a couple of blocks over," he says. "One of those all-night places? It's called Sweat." He sips his milk, watching the other man. "It nice. Good mix of people. Do you know it?" "Oh, yeah! I go there. I swim, their pool is nice." Jackson smiles easily, bobbing his head in a nod. "S'good, I like a gym where it's not just /always/, uh, macho --" He shrugs. "Maybe I'll run into you there some time. But I'm usually there kind of early, it's hard to find time to squeeze it in between school and work." He waves fingers towards the cupcakes. "Maybe I'll bake something new when Anwyn comes back. I wonder what kind of flavor goes well with exorcisms? I don't know what's traditional." "Tell me about it," Doug says. "I barely find time to get down there more than twice a week. I usually just work out. I'm more of a soccer player, and it's too cold right now to go to the fields and kick the ball around. But I like that place. And I should do more swimming." He grins, and motions at the fridge. "Are you sure I can't get you something to drink?" he asks. "I have more than milk. There's some bottled water, and some kosher soda pop that Anwyn loves." The question gets an amused snort, and a lift of eyebrows. "Duh. Angel food cake, of course." "S'Anwyn keep kosher?" Jax asks, curious. "My kid does, my neighbor across the hall's been teaching me about it proper but s'always cool to find people who he can --" He blushes, slightly, shaking his head. "UM not that most people want to hang out with a seven year old! Uh --" The answer makes him stop. For a second his brow furrows, and then he laughs, bright and warm. "Oh. Oh, of course! Oh, gosh, now I have to make it devil food just /because/." "Oh, yeah," Doug says, moving to the fridge and opening it. "She's real strict about it. Goes to her dating life, too." He grins. "She won't date anyone who wasn't bar mitzvahed. She runs J-Date ragged." He grins, and lifts a shoulder. "How old /are/ you, dude?" It's a mild question, with just a little incredulousness in it. "Ahn likes kids, so you could probably snag yourself a baby sitter once in a while. Sounds like they'd get along pretty well." He reaches into the cold box, and extracts two bottles, one a popular brand of water, the other a glass bottle with orange soda in it. Both are waggled inquisitively at Jax, and the blonde grins. "Maybe a mix?" he suggests. "Like, half angel food and half devil's food, to represent the demons fleeing in the face of the Glory?" "Has she met Liam? He lives across the hall from me. 304. He's way Jewish. Way pretty, too," Jackson adds, with a faint blush. "Me?" He blinks at the question. "Um. 21. Oh, gosh, I'm always looking for sitters but uh I hate imposing on people." His blush deepens and, after a moment he reaches out to take the water with a quick "Thanks. Hee. I could totally. Mix cakes. Cake miscegenation." "Pretty /and/ Jewish? Anwyn might be home by dinner." Doug grins, and puts the soda back in the fridge and closes the door. "You're not much older than the twins," he notes. "That's pretty awesome, that you took them in. They're cool." He grins. "Shane's interesting. He asked if I would trade my kittens for his roast chicken. I think he was only half-joking." As if mentioning them invokes their presence, both Alt and Delete appear, mewing pitifully and twining about Jackson's ankles. "They're what was living in the dryer," Doug explains, leaning over the counter to grin at the kittens. "They're already looking better than when I got them out of the laundry room." He stays bent over the counter, resting his weight on his elbows. "So, what do you do besides teach? I don't think we got that far the other day." "Naw, I'm not much older. I just, um. I mean, they'd been through a lot and they needed a place --" Jackson's nose wrinkles. His head ducks a little sheepishly, even as he stoops to extend fingers and scratch the kittens under their chins. "Oh, wow, they're adorable. He, uh, yeah, he'd probably totally eat them. He'll eat most anything that moves. What are they called? They're such sweet little things." He stays crouching, rubbing at the little kittens' heads, and tips his head back to look up at Doug. "Me? Uh -- I -- do a lot of things. I tend bar at a club in Chelsea some nights. I do --" He lifts one very colourful arm. "-- tattoos and piercings at a studio on the Lower East Side. Mostly I'm just trying to finish school, though." "The calico is called Alt, and the little black fellow is Delete," Doug says, getting a mew from each as they're named. "They're pretty cute, and friendlier than I thought they'd be. Warmed right up to me." He grimaces, and wrinkles his nose. "I named them on the fly, so that Shane couldn't eat them," he confesses. "But he assured me that he wouldn't mug me for them or anything. I can trust him, right?" He leans forward to study the tattoos with mild interest, and grins. "Those are sweet. You did those yourself?" He extends his right arm, jerking up his sleeve to reveal a strip of tiny numbers tattooed near his elbow. "This is the only ink I have. It's a binary string." He grins. "Shelby offered to give me one of her special tattoos, but I said no. But I might get another." "He won't eat them if he says he won't eat them," Jackson assures Doug, still rubbing at the kittens. He extends one hand, though, so that the tattoos can be better seen when Doug leans forward. There are paintbrushes, worming their way in and out of his skin, threaded down his forearm, and an A circled with a wreath of thorns at the inside of his wrist. Near his elbow are a pair of stars, one half black, half red, the other similar but purple instead of red. Above his elbow the skin is sleeved in a collage of plants, various herbs disappearing up beneath the sleeve of his shirt. He leans in to examine Doug, too. "It's a what?" he asks, peering at the numbers. "What's it mean?" His nose crinkles in amusement at the mention of Shelby. "Oh, gosh. She gave Hive one the other day, though I think it's temporary. He promised he'd go under my needle if he ever wanted one permanently. What were you thinking 'bout getting? -- I didn't do all these myself, the man I apprenticed with did, but I designed them all. If you run into Ryan on floor three -- he's the musician, tall, /gorgeous/ green eyes -- he's got some of /my/ work on his arms." Like a living advertisement! Doug studies the tattoos carefully, wrinkling his nose as he follows the curve of vine and plants to the point they disappear under Jackson's sleeve. "It's a binary string," he explains with a half-grin. "It's a computer line code that says 'Cypher'." He grins. "That's a nickname I got in high school." He nods at Jackson's assessment of the tattoo, and grins. "She gave Anwyn one when we met her, but it's pretty faded, now. I think the way she moves it, the pigments don't fuse with the skin properly." He laughs at the description, and wrinkles his nose. "There sure are a lot of good-looking people in this building," he drawls, sliding back a bit and letting his eyes dance at the older man. "And most of them seem to be on floor three. Maybe I should change floors." "Cipher like encrypting things?" Jax eyes the tattoo a moment longer, then drops his hand back to kittenpetting. "I mean, fading happens with real tattoos, too, 'specially if you move them too much while they're healing -- huh. I'd be interested t'see how her stuff is different than -- sorry." He dips his head, sheepish, and it stays dipped at Doug's last comment. "Oh! Oh, um. I -- I mean, Liam and Ryan live together so that's -- it's just their apartment down there. I think the other floors are doin' alright for themselves too," is added with a slight pinkening of his ears. "Yeah, only more like /de/-crypting them, in my case." Doug grins, and winks. "There's very few firewalls I can't sweet talk. Just have to find the right language." He tilts his head, and rests his temple on a fist. "What are you apologizing for?" he asks. "Professional curiosity isn't anything to apologize for." He seems to be enjoying Jackson's embarrassment, and he offers a playful smirk. "Oh? Maybe you should give me the skinny on who's hot and who's not." He waves a hand at the artist, chuckling. "C'mon. Give me your best Joan Rivers, and let it rip." "Firewalls?" Jackson repeats this a little blankly, but then just darkens again at Doug's smirking. The pink spreads out to the air around him. "I don't -- I mean, I don't know. Hive's apartment is kind of full of pretty, too. Flicker has basically the best smile of any person ever and Dusk's wings were made for cuddling. The people who had your apartment /before/ you were megapretty so I guess you're upholding tradition." He's still kind of looking downwards at this, shrugging a shoulder. Doug frowns, and pushes back to stand up, widening the distance. "I'm sorry," he says earnestly. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable." He purses his lips, and reaches over to grab a cupcake and hold it out in perhaps an apologetic offering. "But thank you for the compliment." Jackson smiles, looking up now with a quick laugh. "Nah, I just -- basically live in a state of perpetual blushing. Sorry." He grins at the offer, waving a hand. "They're all yours," he says, cheerfully, "I tripled the recipe for home an' Ryan's an' Hive's apartments. I am /so/ cupcakeful downstairs." He stands, brushing his fingers against his pants to rid them of some cat fur that has taken up residence there. "Hey, um," he says, a little more quiet, "let me know if you're still -- getting -- scary messages and all." Now he /does/ shift a little uncomfortably, biting down on his lip. "We had some friends who used to live here and they kinda -- I don't know. S'kinda -- we should figure out what's goin' on." "Well, as long as you're cool," Doug says, watching Jackson carefully, in case his body language says otherwise. "I'm kind of new to the whole witty banter thing, so I have trouble knowing where the line is, sometimes." He grins, and puts the cupcake back on the tray. "Man, you've got the luckiest apartment in the world," he says lightly. "Getting to have cupcakes all the time. I'm going to have to go to the gym tonight to work off the six I'll eat before midnight." He frowns at the sudden shift of tone, and nods. "I'll let you know," he says. "I want to know what's going on, if only to stop the flying dishes." He leans forward again, resting against the counter. "But tell me more about the people who lived here before. Were they mutants, or regular humans?" Jackson is relaxing again already, his shrug loose and easy. "Naw. I mean, I just. You should see me in Hive's apartment I basically never /stop/ being red, he's terrible." He tucks his thumbs into his pockets, teeth wiggling at one lip ring. "Ain't always cupcakes," he says. "Sometimes. Sometimes, s'cookies." His cheeks puff out, breath let out slow, and his brow furrows. "Mutants. Was all mutants. I don't think nothin' /good/ happened to 'em, I just don't -- I mean, I don't see /why/ anyone'd be makin' trouble for /you/ but just -- in case." "Cookies are good, too," Doug says. "I'd like to try your coo -- you know what? I'm not even going to finish that." He has his own blush as he ducks his head. "I like cookies," he says lamely, and drowns the rest of his embarrassment in the last of his milk. "Mutants, huh? That actually could be significant. I mean, it's not /insignificant/, anyway." He wrinkles his nose, and looks towards his bedroom. "I'll have the computer do the looking tonight. If there's anything to find, she'll pull it up." He grins. "She's sneaky like that." Jackson blushes, too, nose crinkling up in a sheepish smile. "M'sure I'll bake some for you sometime." His head turns, following Doug's gaze towards the bedroom. "She? S'your computer have a name? It -- I mean, I think it's significant. There was kind some people -- after them. We been looking but ain't had much luck." He shrugs again. "I'll look forward to it." Doug grins. "Man, I'll get spoiled, living here. Good desserts, good Creole food...the gym is going to be my church." He wrinkles his nose at the question, and lifts a shoulder. "I call her Betsy," he says with a chuckle. "I know it sounds silly, but musicians name their guitars, right?" His grin falters as Jackson explains about the people, his lips finally pressing into a tight line. "People after them? Like, a hate group or something? Or was it worse?" His fingers tap idly, and he fishes out his phone, fingers flicking over the keys. "Gimme a name. Something I can turn Betsy loose on." "Musicians name their guitars," Jax agrees, easily, "I don't think it's silly." He hesitates, lips pressing together, and almost subconsciously his fingers curl inwards, thumb brushing over the missing stump of finger on his right hand. "Sort of worse," he says, slow. "I don't know what the people are called who're after them. The three who gone missing were Eli -- Elijah Renfrew. Joshua Martes. And Halim -- oh, gosh." He frowns. "I don't know Halim's last name. That might not even have been his first name. That's not very helpful, is it? But he didn't even know where he was from. Um. Joshua was a city paramedic and Eli was an EMT. If that helps." Doug glances up from his phone, and his eyes light on the gentle movement of the older man's hand. His lips press tighter, and he jerks a nod at the information, already typing the names into his phone. "It does, actually," he says. "I can call up their records with the city, and find out what their last calls were, annual reviews...stuff that might turn up a clue." He types a few more strokes, and pockets his phone. "Okay. So Betsy's looking for them now," he says, leaning back against the counter. "She's going to be scouring the entire internet, so it'll take a while." He tilts his head at Jackson, then, his brow knitting slightly. "Tell me the truth," he says with a lift of lip that might be intended as a smile. "Is there a danger, living in this building? Should I just tell Anwyn to stay where she is, and get another mutant to move in here with me?" He lifts his eyebrows. "'Cause I'll do it, if it keeps Ahn safe." Jackson hesitates, for a moment, brow furrowing in thought. When he shakes his head, though, it is firm. "No. T'ain't the building or nothing. I think it's just -- being a mutant. She ain't, is she? Cuz there ain't no danger from these folks to humans. And ain't like mutants is in more danger here than nowhere else." Doug watches Jackson in silence, his mouth twitching at one corner before the other man speaks. "Well, being a mutant is kind of a danger," he says. "Doctor Saavedro told me as much, but I'm not stupid. I know there's all kinds of people that hate us. But, as far as I know, Anwyn's a regular human, like eighty-five percent of the world's population." He manages a grin, then, and shakes his head. "I'm glad the building's safe, though. I mean, aside from the ghosts who apparently /actually/ haunt my apartment." He frowns. "You seem to know a lot about these folks," he notes carefully. "You sure you don't know who they are?" "Doctor -- oh. Did you go? Did you see him? Did he -- I guess you found out for real." Jackson says this with a tinge of heaviness, rather than any sort of excitement. He scrubs his hand through his mop of black hair, exhaling heavily. "I said I didn't know what they was called. Who they are is -- I mean I know who they are. What they are. But I don't know much 'bout how to find them." "Yeah, that's where I was yesterday," Doug says. "Getting my results. Which weren't all that surprising." He doesn't seem as sad about the future the results provide as Jackson does, and he reaches over to pat the man on the arm gently. "It's good to know for sure, though. And don't worry," he says. "Whoever these people are, they're not completely trace-proof. We'll find them, and your friends." "Halim used to -- be the one to help do all the searching," Jackson admits, relaxing slightly under the patting. "He was pretty --" His smile is a little crooked. "Pretty wicked awesome with the computer stuff, too. Um. But." He shrugs a shoulder. "These people have labs -- like. Science type labs? I think he looked for things like where shipments of supplies were travelling, where their energy intake didn't really match what the grid said it should -- though, um, with that we mostly ran into a /lot/ of pot growers before finding what we were looking for." He rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Labs?" Doug actually perks up at that, coming to a full standing position. "These people have labs?" He smiles, a wide crescent of white. "Dude. I can totally find them. Especially if you know what kind of supplies they use." "Yeah?" Jackson's brow knits, a little confused at the sudden perking. "You -- can?" He doesn't /quite/ sound hopeful, but there's definitely a quiet note of interest growing in his tone. "I mean, I -- what makes --" His teeth bite down at his lip, and he frowns. "It depends. They have a lot of places. I don't have any idea how many. I'm hoping they're still at least somewhere /around/ here but that ain't -- certain. Uh -- they use supplies like -- like a hospital might use. There's all kinds of stuff. Things to scan brains and look at DNA and -- drugs to --" He shrugs. "They take mutants. Study them." "I totally can find them," Doug says confidently. "It might take some time, but if they've got labs, and get supplies regularly, I can track them." He wrinkles his nose. "My dad is a government contractor," he admits, and runs a hand through his hair. "He has a stable of scientists that he moves around from project to project. He has to set up the lab every time." He grins. "Even if these people are shady, they'll have to get the same supplies my dad gets, which have limited places of origin. It shouldn't be that hard to hack my dad's computer system and use that to track down the suppliers, and their customers." He lifts his eyebrows, grimacing at the revelation. "That's shitty," he says. "Real Nazi party stuff." There's a snort, and the blonde moves to put his empty glass in the sink. "Humanity at its finest." "Oh -- oh." Jackson straightens at this information, turning his sunglass-shaded gaze towards Doug. "Oh -- wow, I mean. If you really could --" He presses his lips together, thinly. "They were good friends," he says, quiet. "Kinda horrifying thinking of them back in one of those places. I just -- just be careful, okay?" This is soft and quite serious. "Don't -- do nothin' that could get you in trouble with 'em. I don't want to get nobody else mixed up in all this." "Sure I can," Doug says confidently. "My dad's systems are good, but they aren't the best; it's kind of like talking to Frankenstein. So, it shouldn't be anything to trick them into giving up the information." He comes back to the counter, and frowns, reaching over to squeeze Jackson's shoulder gently. "Hey, I'll be careful," he says. "I'm like a ninja, when I get in there, though. Start talking to computers in their own language, and they forget you're there." There's another gentle squeeze, and the blonde withdraws his hand, letting it fall to the counter between them for a moment before he slides it to brush it against the hand that lacks a finger. "Did they do this?" "Good. Be the ninj-y-est ninja. I wouldn't wish them on /nobody/ 'specially not someone /nice/ and -- and these people ain't messing around." Jackson turns his hand over, fingers stretching out against the countertop. His brow furrows, slightly, and a moment later his plain nails colour themselves a deep near-black blue. "Yeah," he says, quiet, "that and --" His head tips down slightly, looking at his hand, looking at Doug's, and black hair falls down over the large sunglasses. "Like I said, they ain't the kind of people I want nobody mixed up with." "I'm the ninja-y-est," Doug says, covering Jackson's hand with his own and squeezing gently. His mouth twists as Jackson confirms his suspicion, and there's another squeeze. "I'll be careful," he promises again. "I can't get abducted, anyway. Who else is going to live in a haunted apartment, even if it is rent-controlled?" He grins softly, and tilts his head to regard the artist thoughtfully. "I'm sorry you and the kids had to go through that," he says. "I can see why you'd be skittish." "The boys had it much worse'n I did." Jax's hand squeezes back, his weight leaning down against the countertop. "They was in there a long time. M'hoping in time we can find all these places. Get the whole thing shut down." He exhales heavily, his other hand lifting to brush his hair back. "You get abducted and s'gonna be terrible for my waistline, Anwyn ain't home an' there's a /dozen/ cupcakes there need eating." Doug grimaces, and screws his mouth up. "Well, they're safe enough now," he says with a small smile that's a bit over-cheery. "That's thanks to you. And if I'm right, and I can track these folks down, we'll /know/ where most of these places are." He grins. "And then we can find the scariest, most dangerous mutants we can find and tear them down brick by brick." He laughs at the warning, and tugs at Jackson's hand gently before releasing it. "From what I can see, you've got a ways to go before you're in any danger," he says, leaning forward and making a show of looking. "Unless you just balloon up at the slightest calorie." "Actually, my --" Jackson's fingers flutter, a trail of pale blue light glittering in their wake, "-- thing. Burns sugar like a /hummingbird/, I kinda just rail sweets half the day just to keep going. M'like an anti-diabetic. I think I'll probably be aright but, still," he says, with a quick grin, "you should stay unkidnapped an' eat the cupcakes." "Well, that's handy," Doug says, grinning. "Although, I can see where that would be inconvenient. Like hypoglycemia to the nth degree." He grins, and leans back against the counter. "Is that all you care about? That there'll be extra cupcakes if I go missing?" The tease is clear in his tone and the way his eyes dance at the older man. "I thought I was /pretty/."
Doug laughs. "Eat them? Is that an actual thing they say, or was that Freudian?" His eyes dance as he grins widely at Jackson. "You're welcome to bring me food anytime," he says earnestly. "Especially cupcakes and cookies." He wrinkles his nose. "I can...grill burgers? I can also make mac and cheese that's pretty edible." "Eat -- the /cupcakes/," Jackson says with a blush, "cuz what's the point of making them if I don't feed nobody?" He rubs at the back of his neck again, ducking his head apologetically. "I don't eat burgers," he says, "or mac an' cheese, but you're welcome t'my place for dinner if you're ever in the mood, s'long as you don't mind vegan food." He bites down on his lip, pulling his phone from his pocket to glance at the time. "-- Speaking of I should get back up there, or I won't never get nothin' cooked 'fore I gotta duck out to work." "Oh!" Doug pinkens a bit, and wrinkles his nose. "So much for communication powers, huh?" He laughs, and runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know that I've had vegan food," he admits. "I might take you up on that." He moves around the counter, then, to lead the way back to the door. "Of course, you don't have to wait for baked goods to stop by, if you just want to hang out," he says, pausing to wait for the other man to catch up. "If I'm home, unless it's mid-terms or finals, I'm always up for a little company." Jackson waves his hand towards the cupcakes. "You have now!" he says, cheerfully. He follows Doug towards the door, stopping once he's there to open an arm in offer of a hug. "I just might! My schedule's pretty all over the place but I usually like company. Hey, d'you like board games? S'a games night every Tuesday up at -- er, /down/ at Hive's place. We're always pretty happy t'have new folks. Won't nobody ghost at you or nothin'." Doug steps into the hug, wrapping his arms around Jackson's slender frame and hugging him warmly. "Oh, hey, those cupcakes are vegan? I wouldn't have known it." He grins, and offers another small squeeze before taking a half-step back. "I like board games," he says with a bright grin. "All kinds. Have you ever played a game called Blood Royale?" He waves a hand. "Never mind. I've got it, and I'll bring it next time. It's really interesting." He grins, and releases the hug completely, stepping back to rest his hand on the doorknob briefly before he swings it open. "I'm usually back here by 3 every day," he says, leaning against the door. "Y'know, if you need to unload some cookies or something." He can't hide the pinkening of his ears, although he attempts to swing the door into shadow to cover it. "We like interestin'. Look forward to it. Starts 'round about seven, Tuesdays." Jackson squeezes Doug back, flashing a bright smile at the other man as he steps out. "I'm chock-full'a cookies, lotsa times. M'sure won't be long before you see me again. Later!" His fingers curl in a wave, and he turns to head off towards the stairwell. Doug lifts a hand after Jackson, grinning as he swings the door back, catching it with his shoulder to lean out and watch the man leave. "I hope not," he calls lightly. "Those cupcakes won't last the week!" He watches until Jackson disappears, then retreats back into his apartment and closes the door. Glancing about the living room, he inhales deeply. "Okay, Bets," he mutters as he moves towards his bedroom. "Let's see if we can find Jax's friends for him." That should be worth /all/ the cookies, if the math holds up. | |
