ArchivedLogs:Fourth of July

Fourth of July
Dramatis Personae Peter, Shane, Shelby, Sebastian, Rasa, Mirror, Parley, Anima, Sloan	2013-07-04 Celebrate your independence! WITH MEAT AND WEED.
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. The concrete wall that rings the roof has been decorated, painted in vivid bright shades by some artistic hand to add colourful cheer to the rooftop. The mural shifts in terrain One wall sports a beach, flecked with grass and seashells and driftwood and shore birds. Beach transitions into meadow, colourful with wildflowers and butterflies and dragonflies; meadow shifts into snow-capped mountains, subsides into piedmont and sprouts into a verdant forest on the fourth, alive with animals. It's -- still ungodly hot! Ohno. Hot. The heat has not /improved/ with the presence of grills on the roof, a trio of them (two are cooking meats; the third has been reserved for veggie-products only) that are providing EVEN MORE HEAT. The presence of many people on the roof is /also/ probably not helping! But it is a holiday and SO. There is merriment. Someone's brought up an extra folding table, laden with the non-grilled side of foods (pretty typical cookout-fare, salads and cole slaw and fruit and lemonade and iced tea and BOOZE and cookies and cupcakes) and. Also. a box of tiny paper American flags on tiny wooden sticks. Admittedly, many of them have been drawn on. Or chewed on. And yet. There's /also/ a box of sparklers and Shane has currently stolen one of them as the sun starts to fade. He hasn't lit it yet; he's currently leaning against the wall, dressed in black cargo shorts and nothing else save a thick red collar buckled around his gills at his neck. Sparkler in hand and a cigarette between his lips, he's currently /eying/ another sparkler -- lit! -- in the hands of a willowy-tall girl beside him. "-- You think," he is wondering curiously of Desiree, "I could light a cigarette on that?" On his other side, Sebastian -- facepalms. He's dressed identically save for his lack of collar -- also he's very wet! There's a sprinkler on the far side of the roof from all the food. He's been lounging in it. A lot. "Sure," he says, "and then you could get an eyepatch to match Pa's." Shelby is high as fuck. Ostensibly she is self-medicating for a sunburn. In reality, she's just really, really fucking high. In spite of the sunburn--which covers her shoulders and most of her back, visible courtesy of a bikini top--she's sitting in the dying sunlight, in a chair tipped back near the railing. Bare feet are up against that rail to help keep the chair balanced on two legs. Tweezed between two fingers is the teeny tiny roach she's working on finishing. "...oh man. We should like. All have eye patches. Soli/darity/." Snerk. Heat means /opportunity/. To test! Peter's clothes actually look a bit oppressive, considering the heat; a red hoodie and blue jeans -- with those little wrist-watches of his (the Kisha model; he's still working on the new variant post-train-incident) and -- a funny looking gray box clipped to his jeans, about as big as a walkie-talkie and with unusual ventilation grooves on it. It's making a tiny little whirring noise. Peter's nose is wrinkled in thought, at the moment; he's close to the /MEAT/ grill, perched on the concrete ridge of the roof, knees popped out and hands clasping the edge firmly. "...eyepatch is cool. You know," he adds, "I totally think Jax should like. Get a robo-eye. /Sebastian/ we could build him a robo-eye," Peter suddenly says, apparently /smitten/ with this idea. "With. A laser-beam thing. He said he wanted a robo-eye laserbeam thing." Once. As a joke. To Micah. Doesn't matter. Off to the side, leaning against a far rail, Parley lurks in the background quietly. He has an iced tea supported as the bridge between either of his fingers and... one of the tiny American flags. Tucked under one thumb. He wags it on occasion. Getting into the spirit. Watching various faces and interactions and generally contentedly lurking. Rasa runs up the stairs to the roof bringing with hir a bag of chips that was left behind. Ze carries them over to the food table and glances around at the group. Ze is wearing an aqua colored wrap skirt, hir top covered in a basic cotton tanktop, one that is white and isn't that girly. Ze turns to peer at the sparklers as ze runs by, but really focuses on them when hir hands are free. "You going to surprise him with it? How are you going to fit it? I'd think eyeballs are tight fits." Ze considers this and moves toward the sprinklers instead of the sparklers, looking for cool relief after hir jog up the stairs. The stick of another tiny American flag pokes into Parley's arm. This one has been defaced with a Sharpie drawing of a maple leaf on it. It is held by a young woman, dark-skinned, dark hair pulled up in a twist, a light cotton sari, green with white accenting, wrapped around her. Mirror is not filled with patriotism today so much as thoughtful curiosity. "Some of them," she informs Parley gravely, "have been eaten." She's eying the paper flag consideringly. Littlenibble? Frown. It doesn't really taste great. "Peter, dude, you know he can /already/ make lasers without a fucking robo-eye?" Shane turns to squint up an eye at Peter. "His eye needs to webshoot or some shit he /can't/ do yet." He doesn't light his cigarette off the sparkler. Yet. He leans forward to make grabbyhands towards the stump of roach Shelby has left. "I could put your eye out if you really want," he offers, "but you might regret it later." "... you can wear the eyepatch without actually losing an eye," Sebastian points out. With a worried frown, like he's concerned Shane might /do/ it. He sliiides a little closer just in case. "Anyway Rasa's right, fitting eyes takes -- it's not just that easy. Besides, /surprise/ eye? That sounds incredibly creepy." "I didn't say lose the eye, I said wear eye /patches/. Duuuuh." Shelby drops her head back to give Shane an upside down grin. The roach? Held just out of reach. "B got it. I dunno though, I bet a goth'd probably think a surprise eye was pretty hot. Put a little bow on it, nice box, maybe in a ring setting...nnnn!" This last is a blatant whine, made while she grabbyhands in the directions of the chips that just raced by. Parley furrows his brow pensively at Mirror's comment. He leans over to nibble on ... Mirror's as well. Nip? Chew? He's using his own flag, turned upside down, to stir the ice cubes in his drink. The stars and stripes drown amongst the tea. "I'm sure it's considered disrespectful." He says. Mid-nibble. "Many of them are... bitey." He's watching the twins, Shelby -- Rasa's arrival? "I don't know that one." Rasa. That is. Head-tilt. Houndish with an elongated jaw and protracted nose and dense white-blonde fur that spreads across every invisible expanse of skin is Sloan, the fourth enigmatic member living in the Greyhaus. She, like her roommates, lurks, leaned against the railing, long pink tongue lolled out from the corner of her mouth, panting with the heat. A straw feeds into the /other/ corner of her mouth, pink lemonade siphoned up from her glass to keep her hydrated. Alert, scanning, sniffing, she tilts her head in a curious canine tilt towards Rasa. Raising a clawed hand, she murmurs to Parley and Mirror, "I could find out who she is." Large, sharp-toothed smile. Rasa runs through the sprinkers just enough to drench the layers of clothing ze is wearing, before wandering back over to the group, still apparently having listened to the talk while ze was getting hir thermo-regulation on. Ze eyes Shelby's grabby hands and calls out, "which flavor? Sour cream and cheddar, Salt and vinegar, or that other one." Ze may be too lazy to look. Ze is too fascinated with sparklers again. Every so often, hir gaze is dragged back over to the other people, hir head tilting to one side. "Huh. I would have thought dogs would have been kept inside for this, on account of explosions." "Tssss." Shane hisses this in kind of sudden-sharp /annoyance/, and he baps a hand -- well, it's in Rasa's general /direction/, the /intent/ to hit is there but he's too lazy to actually move away from the wall and within reach. "S'a fucking person, asshole," he grumbles without any real bite to it. "If you bring chips here I will /steal/ them." He's shifting closer to Shelby to make good on this threat! GUARDING. No chips till smoke. Parley's mouth thins into a neutral hyphen - eyes remaining set on Rasa, he curls his fingers AROUND Sloan's raised hand. Mine. NO touchie /other/ people. "Come with me," he murmurs softly to the canine woman and slips forward, towards the /teenagers/. He nods passingly to Shane, Shelby, but that's not the lure that's brought him here. "Excuse me," he bows shallow at the waist to Rasa, watching her face, "--What's your name?" "But it'd be a laser made out of SCIENCE, not," and Peter pauses here, apparently at a loss to explain what, if not SCIENCE, Jax's lasers are made of. He just flails an arm helplessly. "--okay yeah maybe there isn't -- much of a difference. Maybe an explosive /eye/ grenade, though," he says, quietly glossing over Sebastian and Rasa's comment about needing a very careful fitting, and-- "--Sl--Sloan?!" Peter comments, suddenly bolting up right; in an instant he's /barreling/ toward the fluffy furry canine-lady. A boy covered in metallic black-blue chitin with big wide eyes and arms thrown out as if to HUG. Actually yeah, that's pretty much /exactly/ what he's going to do. "SLOAN! You're -- ohmanohman I didn't know if you made it out--" "Salt and vinegar to distract Shane, sour cream and cheddar for me," calls Shelby from behind the shark barrier. Oh look, is the roach too /hiiiigh/ for him? Not really, since she's sitting, but she continues to maneuver it out of reach. Mirror does not follow. Ze stays leaning against the wall, tucking the stick of the Canadian-USA flag in hir mouth. Ze leans with elbows propped on the concrete railing, sort of watching Parley and Sloan but sort of just watching the city. "An explosive eye grenade -- ummm. I mean maybe but I wouldn't want to accidentally blow up his /head/." Sebastian lapses into quiet when Peter bolts, watching him with a slight uncertain frown. "Peter --" He doesn't finish this. He taps at Desiree's arm, gesturing over towards FOOD and slipping off to claim himself a pile of hamburger. Not yet cooked. Anima emits a whuff, retracting the moist pink tongue that hangs out during her genial grin, hand closed into a fist when Parley declines her offer. Instead, the hair that hangs around the sides of her head /shifts/ with the perk of ear flaps, the bushy tail fitted through a custom hole in her shorts wagging as she bounds after her roommate with sure strides. That is until a teen waylays her, breaching the just-imposed rule of no contact with his sneak-embrace. Glass raised high to avoid spilling, Sloan reacts with a mechanical closing of one arm around Peter. Buying time. Mental cogs spinning until a memory is retrieved: "/Peter/" sounds surprised, masking revelation. "/Yes/, I was rescued- not long after." Skin to skin /also/ means surface thoughts are probed, unbeknownst. Parley, wherever he is, has sad puppy dog eyes directed at him. << rescue-me >> "Yeah, Obie freaks the fuck out," Shane acknowledges. "Then again he freaks the fuck out at /everything/ he's dumb as bricks." He snatches the chips out of the air, yanking them away from Shelby. "Heyyy Peter dude you want some chips?" He offers this lightly but there's an automatic protective-wariness lurking in his thoughts as Peter goes to hug Anima. Here in the middle of PARTY it is not all that /pronounced/, though. He waggles the bag of chips -- towards Peter! Out of Shelbyreach. "Or /food/ oh my god I am going to put all the hot dogs. In my /face/." "Ze's with me, dude." This is from Shelby, to Parley, in regards to Rasa. /And/ she's tossing this out there while getting up to chase the chip thief. Multi-tasking for the win! "Okay hey a trade on three, all right? No fucking around. One...twooooo..." Roach is held a little closer, other hand is extended to make grabby at the chip bag. Reading Peter's mind is like watching six different TV channels, all in different languages -- his brain is a /whirlwind/ of thoughts, all rushing with breakneck speed to overcome the last one. SLOAN is in there /somewhere/; big and fluffy and grim, with arms like /tree-trunks/ -- gruffly greeting him months ago in a dank cell -- sharing space with him, showing him basic fighting moves -- sharing her food with him to feed to the twins -- a flicker of occasional kindness in a starkly unkind place. The thoughts are intermingled with about a hundred others; worries about Sloan being dead or lost or worse or-- "--so glad to see you're okay," Peter admits, /squeeeeezing/ even harder, face SHOVED against Sloan's shoulder. Apparently the idea of personal space is novel to Peter? He releases a moment later, stepping back, face slightly flushed! Violet. A glance back toward Shane at the mention of chips, and-- "/Dude/ this is --" Wild, flailing gestures at Sloan. "--she's okay I thought she was, like, /missing/--" Back to Sloan! Grinning. "Ohman I bet /you/," he says, almost like he's starting up a sing-song taunt, "thought we would never get out of there /did/ you." "-Rasa." The name dings in Parley's memory, glancing back and forth between the young metamorph and Shelby, "You're from... Xavier's as well? -- /Mr. Parker/." He sounds -- well no, not pleasantly surprised. Kind of censuring, laying a hand lightly over Peter's arm to try and COAX him back even before he withdraws on his own with a brief downward tip of his head towards Shane - yeah. Wry eyebrow-twitch. He kind of twists an apologetic expression back to Peter, saying wearily, "I know you're excited but - Sloan is still a little twitchy about. Touch. From her experiences. She's my roommate, for now." This is said to both Peter /and/ Rasa, who he is finally turning back to, "I'm Parley. I..." Aaaagh, unceremonious roll of his drink, "Well. Live here." "You know about Xavier's?" Rasa queries of Parley, skin shifting slowly from a sun-kissed bronzish flesh tone to something a little with a hint of metallic bronze in it. Ze sweeps dark waves behind hir ears, the ends still dripping. "I'm not really surprised. It seems like everyone knows everyone in this building. But, did you go there, like Jax?" Ze glances back to Shane. "OHh. Hotdogs? Are the burgers ready yet?" Sloan cords one thick arm around Peter, patting the top of his head before she tries to disentangle herself - only to have the carapaced youth step away from her, at last. Nostrils widen, overlarge to absorb the myriad odors that comprise city air. "Ya, all is well with me," she assures him, passing a bemused laugh from the back of her throat. Calmer, once a physical barrier of space exists between them, she scratches at the back of her head, /smiling/ with all those TEETH. Slanting a grateful glance at Parley, she addresses Peter still, "Of course I did. I am a /fighter/." Intervention staged, she shakes herself out some, like a wet dog drying off after a bath. "Yeah. She's okay." Shane echoes this a little wryly, a little /regretfully/. But then his attention is on WAR and he clutches the bag of chips to his chest, holding out /his/ hand for the roach. "No freaking way, you hand it over first and /then/ chips." Which he is HUNCHING over. Arm curled around them protectively. "-- I don't know I was just gonna eat mine raw. But /Ryan/ was on burger grill you might want to, uh, grill your own that dude could fuck up ramen." "O-/oh/," Peter quickly relents at the sound of Parley's voice -- and the presence of his hand! -- immediately taking several /more/ steps back, apologetically. The flush of violet threatens to deepen, but for just a moment: "Ohyeah I could totally -- I mean uh sorry I didn't even -- I just kind of, got excited to see you again--I /guess/," Peter adds, with the facial equivalent of a foot-scuff, "that means you don't want anybody scritching you between the ears." He looks to Parley at this, as if for CONFIRMATION. Maybe with the sliiiiiiightest bit of bottomlip quiver. "Holy shit." Shelby does a very convincing shocked and appalled face, the direction of her gaze aimed over Shane's shoulder. It helps too that she's /pointing/ suddenly. And...making a grab for the chips. Apparently high Shelby is single-minded Shelby. "Peter --" Sebastian returns with a plate of hamburger. Raw. He reaches to squeeze Peter's shoulder, give it a little SHAKE. "You eaten?" There's a slight tense discomfort in his mind as he looks between Peter and Anima. "Not sure she wants headscritches, it's like. Seventeen million degrees out here I don't think /anyone/ wants to be touched." Parley is /heartless/ against lip-wibbling, Peter. He could bathe in the blood of lip-wibblers. He gives the poor kid a small slant-wise twitch of his mouth - well, okay, he /is/ also making a palm-lowering gesture like shhh, it's OK, but does nothing to dissuade the boy from this grudging possibility. He loops an arm through Sloan's elbow absently - protector or warden? - which makes them look like the odd couple as he answers Rasa, "No. I've only been in the area for a few months." "I see. Well, I hope you like fireworks." Rasa gives a little bow and then runs over to find Sebastian and his plate of raw meat. "Hey, is that for cooking or is that your dinner plate? It's cool either way, but I thought I'd ask." Ze gives a little smile and then looks over at Peter and Sloan. Then glances to Shane and Shelby. Finally, Mirror is glanced at, but as ze is hanging back, ze does not approach. There's a tiny widening of Peter's eyes as he catches sight of Parley's arm slinging around Sloan's elbow -- a sudden uptick at the corner of his lips -- and, very quietly, he huffs: "ohmyGod areyoudating that'd be like--" A hand clamps down on his own mouth, as if to stop himself from saying it. When Sebastian squeezes his shoulder and shakes him, Peter's grinning, head swinging over to face him, whispering (quietly, but let's face it: Half the people here have /excellent/ hearing): "Cats dating /dogs/ Bastian -- huh?ohyeahno," Peter adds, voice returning to a normal volume, eyes dropping down to the raw hamburger. A little disheartened by Sebastian's explanation, even though he quickly accepts it -- eyes quirk up from the plate back to Sebastian: "Are you -- gonna eat that raw?" He mirrors Rasa's question, sounding simultaneously disgusted and maybe a little hopeful. Because GROSS, but also: Interesting! "--ohright, I meant to ask you--" A /faint/ flush of violet. "--about uh," Peter gestures to his throat. "--did you want me to make you a collar like Shane's? Or -- um. Athletic tape might work--" There aren't a lot of /diplomatic/ ways to ask this. Ono her ploy has failed. Shelby huffs but gives over the roach, /then/ snatches for the chip bag. /Successfully/, this time. It is promptly ripped open, and greasy carb goodness popped into her mouth. Cronch cronch. "I'm gonna see if I can find some cold beers before the fireworks start," she mumbles around masticated chips, ambling off towards the doorway. Parley and Sloan are given the most /speculative/ of looks as she goes--<<(Jesus Christ she'd break him in bed)>> is high girl's theory. Shane makes this exchange happily, surrendering the bag once he has WEED in his hands. To take a hit, and offer the tiny end towards Peter. "Iiii don't think they're --" His eye scrunches up. He leans briefly against the wall but immediately straightens with a wince and a slight stiffening of spine. "Fireworks are awesome but they sound like fucking gunshots. Still. Let's --" He squints towards the refreshments. "Beer before fireworks sounds like a good plan." The mention of his collar earns a small curl of smile, his hand lifting to brush fingers against it. "S'pretty comfortable," he assures Bastian. Rasa teeters off and finds more hamburger to grill for those who do not eat meat raw on a daily basis. Ze returns and sets up camp at the closest meat grill and thwaps some of the patties onto the grill, the heat causing the fat in the meat to start sizzling immediately. Ze then leans left and right to find a spatula. "Anyone else want cooked meat?" Sloan bends her arm out, folded like a wing to let Parley interlock his with hers. Cat and dog in co-harmony, it is more than size disparity that renders them an odd couple by appearance. Not that Sloan(or Anima) registers this irony, eyes grown wide and lower jaw dropped with a small canid whimper as she smells /meat/. Raw meat, awakening the carnivore in her, all /but/ drooling with the practice of self-restraint as she follows the olfactory trail from Shane's /plate/ to the grill, swarmed by adults - less desirable company. Turning back to Peter, the unseen flaps-for-ears flatten against her head, hair volume deflating. Good-natured, she laughs with a clarifying, "No. We are /not/ dating. Parley is helping me get back onto my feet. And also consulting me on the re-opening of my gym /soon/." "...soon." Parley says, compressing his lips. The pang of hunger felt from Sloan is enough for him to lean nearer, to murmur, "Wait by the railing. I'll get you something." He makes a kind of - semi-communicational look between either of the twins and exhales, dissolving from the party like a smoke bomb of anti-charisma had been set off. Off to get a plate of MEAT for his canine roommate. And maybe a - single broccoli or something. He can't be /entirely/ helpful, after all... The offer of the blunt gets Peter's eyebrows /shooting/ up. OhGod, Shane, are you trying to. CORRUPT Peter?! He grins a bit at it, before quickly shaking his head and waving a hand: "I'm, uh -- good," he says, though now he's eyeing Rasa as COOKED MEAT is dropped on the grill, and -- "/Yes/," he insists. Sloan's explanation gets a meek, nervous smile out of Peter -- it soon comes with another uptick of that grin. "Ohokay. That's cool, maybe we could --" A glance to Shane. Tiny little fist-swing. "--check it out sometime." That upward tick of his lips threatens to turn his smile into a grin as he turns fully toward Shane, Sebastian, and Rasa. Flicking a thumb back at Parley and Sloan as they separate: ".../Mass hysteria/," Peter stage-whispers. Yeah nobody's probably gonna get that one.