ArchivedLogs:Heads Up

Heads Up
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Steve	2015-11-12 "Can you -- commune with bees?" (Part of Flu Season TP.)
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Fitness Room - Lower East Side
This exercise room is the epitome of 'intentional design'. It has been carefully crafted with the mutant physique in mind, which is saying a lot because physiques can vary so drastically these days. The room is a high-ceilinged cube allowing for extreme range of motion movements. And the walls are blissfully free of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors common in commercial gyms, having instead a couple of narrow mirrors off to the side if one needs to double check their form for a particular lift. Instead, the reinforced concrete walls are covered in resident paintings, the designs done in a graffiti style, changing over time as murals are modified or painted over. At the entrance one finds a few standard-looking treadmills and rowing machines for anyone needing an indoor cardio workout, from which the speed governors have been removed. They allow for anyone who would benefit from a more 'vigorous' pace, but they also operate perfectly well at more normal speeds. Past the machines, off to one side is a collection of large, rolled up mats to be deployed for light sparring sessions. A sign on the wall asks simply: Be gentle with our space! Further back in the space is a large collection of free weights lining the walls, dumbbells and bars with assorted plates. Most standard exercise machines would be too limiting for many mutants, but the free-weights can be used for any strength level. The room also features an expensive pair of shiny, Olympic class weight bars, capable of supporting up to a metric ton with a minimum of flex. Sitting with them is a matte black, custom-order bar rated to support four metric tons. On the wall near where the bars rest is a sign requesting: "Don't overweight the bars. Put away your plates when done." Wearing a sweat-soaked white A-shirt and navy blue athletic pants, Steve looks like he's been working out for a while already. At the moment he's doing push-ups. The movements seem to come easily, but his breaths less so. Every few reps he coughs noisily. Doesn't stop, though. The door pushes open. Dusk slips inside, though he lingers near the door, propping it open with a doorstop and staying nearby the doorway. He is barefoot, in threadbare old brown corduroys and no shirt, his snowdrift-patterned wings folded tightly behind him. A tablet is tucked under one arm, faint bruises splotched yellow and fading against his ribs, chest, shoulder. Though at first he starts to shift the tablet in his grip he stops, tucking it back under his arm. Just watching Steve with a small furrow of brow. A very faint dilation of pupils. Hopping to his feet, Steve grabs his towel to mop his face and his water bottle for a long swig. Nods at Dusk in greeting. "{Hola,}" he ventures, flashing a brief smile, pale blue eyes scanning the bruises on the other man's torso. His breathing is still labored, but recovering pretty fast. Dusk's eyes linger on Steve, tracing down over the other man. His shoulders curl in, his breathing slow and audible itself, though not quite so labored. At a delay, his gaze lifts to Steve's /face/ when he is greeted, his smile answering the other man's slow but warm, fangs flashing in return. "{Isn't being sick usually an excuse to /rest/?}" His teeth scrape down against his lower lip, wings shifting slightly behind him. "... we're already both infected. This seems..." This trails off, his head bowing as his smile skews slightly lopsided. Steve's brows knit as he tries to parse Dusk's words. Head shakes, though judging by his expression he isn't /that/ bothered by his failure to comprehend. "{Sorry, my Spanish is not so great yet.}" So not-great that he keeps filling in Italian words for ones he doesn't yet know. "Oh, I didn't know you were also ill." He starts walking across the gym to Dusk. "I don't think we got properly introduced. I'm Steve Rogers." He dries his hands, drapes the towel over his shoulder, and offers his hand. Dusk's fangy smile only grows. He takes a step forward, grasping Steve's hand firmly in his own. "I -- know who you are." There's a hint of amusement in his voice. "I'm Dusk. I apologize for my exit the other night, I -- wasn't feeling --" His eyes have strayed back downward again, lingering on Steve's neck before they snap back up. "... great. I hope dinner was --" Though here his smile just crooks back into a brighter grin. "Wait, what am I saying, Jax is a frakking amazing cook. Dinner was fantastic, I'm sure." "Nice to meet you, again." Steve's hands are calloused, his grip strong and warm enough to feel feverish. "It's fine. Would be fine whether you were sick or not. This is /your/ home." He nods, face lighting up with almost childlike joy. "Oh, gosh, it was the best meal I'd had since '43, no lie. And that apple pie, I've never had better in my life." Dusk's eyes snap open wider as Steve speaks; his hand clenches down, arm yanking forward to jerk Steve suddenly off-balance and towards the wall as a growl surges up in his throat. His wings have flared out -- unfolded, now, it becomes far easier to see just /how/ wide his wingspan really /is/ as one long claw-tipped wing swipes low and in towards Steve's legs. But just as soon as it happened, it passes. His shoulders relax, his brow furrowing. "... apple pie?" This sounds just a little fuzzy, here, his head -- turning, confused, like he's lost track of -- the conversation? Lost track of /Steve/? "Go figure." Perhaps somewhat counterintuitively, Steve doesn't seem either particularly startled or upset by Sudden Violence. He does not fight Dusk's manhandling, but he bears down on the hand, ready to leap, even as his left arm winds back for a jab. It's only when Dusk stops that he actually looks confused. "Yeah. Apple pie. Was that..." He looks down at the clawed wing. "...an effect of the sickness?" "Was what?" Dusk looks down at Steve's arm, then out at his wings. His cheeks colour slightly darker as he pulls his wings back in. "{Fuck.}" Muttered low, his shoulders shivering. One hand lifts, his fist circling against his heart. "I didn't -- mean to --" He shakes his head. "Been getting harder and harder to... sss." This last isn't a word so much as a sharp and irritable hiss. "I don't usually. Just. Attack guests." This sounds a little stilted. Almost defensive, the slight tension creeping into his posture -- shoulders tightening inward, wings mantling slightly -- more guarded than before. "S'all right." Steve rolls his shoulders, shakes his arms out. "I believe you." But he is watching Dusk a bit more carefully. "Did you come here to work out? It's a nice gym, by the way." Sweeps his hand at the wide-open expanse of floor and the free weights. There's another snarl from Dusk, his fists clenching up hard. His weight shifts back, teeth gritting as his muscles tense against a visible /twitch/ toward Steve. "I --" One arm is still hugging the tablet against his chest. He looks down as though only just remembering it is there. "No, I came. To find you. The Strategic Science Reserve, that's -- /your/ people, right?" Steve blinks. "Yeah. Or, they were." His eyes follow Dusk's gaze to the tablet. "I quit on Monday. Why?" "They're watching you," Dusk answers. "At least I guess they're watching you. I don't imagine they're watching /us/." "That...doesn't surprise me at all," Steve admits, running a hand through spiky-damp blond hair. "It also wouldn't surprise me if they were watching you. Some of you, anyway. But how'd you know it was them?" "In a vacuum, I wouldn't be surprised. Usually at least three different government agencies /are/ watching this place. But they only just started, and only when you moved in. Smart money's on them keeping an eye on their investme --" Dusk presses his lips together, ducking his head. His fist circles his chest again. "{Sorry}. That's crass. I run the security network here. B and I track --" One of his wings hitches up in a shrug. "A lot of things. But B's drones alert me if they detect any /new/ surveillance hanging around, and there's been a new feed that we tracked back to them." Steve doesn't bother hiding his distaste at the half-spoken word. "They did invest a lot in me. I'm frankly a bit surprised they bothered. Could have gotten their samples whether I was dead or alive." He shrugs, a hitch of muscular shoulders. "Who knows. The guy in charge, he plays his cards close to his chest." Then he frowns again. "Bees...drones...feed...?" His eyebrows raise up. "Can you--commune with bees?" A tremor ripples up through Dusk's shoulders as Steve shrugs; the soft growl that rumbles in his throat has an edge of whine to it, low and unhappy. His eyes squeeze shut, lips peeled back silently in a brief pained grimace. He slowly pushes out a breath, the expression relaxing. Relaxing into a huff of laughter, quick and startled. "Bees? Oh -- oh. Uh -- n -- /B/. B is -- is. No. B is a person. Shane's twin. Builds robots. Works with computers. So do I. I commune with /those/. Her drones are -- also robots. Some of them scan for signals other electronic equipment might be sending out. And SSR's had a drone of their /own/ posted around here since you got here." "Are you..." Steve's eyes narrow slightly. "...of course you're not ok, but can I get you something." He doesn't wait for an answer before bringing Dusk his water bottle. "So there's a robot with a camera stomping around? I haven't been outside much..." A little sheepishly. "Thanks for the heads-up." "Flying. Around. Just thought you should know. And wanted to see -- I mean, you know these people. Better than we do, anyway. Mostly the government seems to like voyeurism but if there's a chance they'll make trouble here I'd like to be prepared." Dusk swallows hard at Steve's offer, nodding as his hand, now pressed flat, circles against his chest. "{Please.}" His voice is a little rough; the growl hasn't /stopped/, a strange sort of effect with one set of vocal cords grating underneath his spoken voice. His hand reaches out for the water bottle, another tremor in his arm. It's a tremor that only grows at Steve's thanks, his growl deepening. One huge wing curls around and in, surprisingly strong for its flexible-thin looking membrane as it yanks sharply inward. Trying to pull Steve closer as his teeth bite down towards the other man's neck. "/Flying/ around! Maybe my first impression wasn't as mistaken as all that." Steve huff of laughter comes with a wince. "I don't know them all /that/ well, honestly, but I also doubt think they're going to make any trouble. They want me back, so probably don't want to make me more furious than I already am." He tenses when the timbre of Dusk's growl changes, and is already dropping into a fighting stance by the time the wing extends out around him. "Stop!" he barks the word like an order. His hand sweeps up with an open palm to fend off the fangs questing for his neck even as he sidesteps in the opposite direction of the wing. "Talk to me, this isn't you!" Dusk's hungry-whining rumble shifts to a snarl when Steve's hand connects with his chin, his weight falling back onto a rear foot as his wings shift slightly back behind him and outward to keep his balance. His talons scrape back along the floor, breath hissing inward as his eyes refocus -- actually on Steve's eyes, this time. One hand stretches out to grip the doorframe behind him; the tablet tumbles from his grip to clatter to the floor. "... oh. I -- sssor..." This word ends in a rough growl. His head bows. His wings snap back inward with a rush of air stirred up in the room. "It's always me." One side of his mouth has hooked upward, wryly amused. "Gorram disease just brings it front and center. ... think I might starve to death before it manages to..." He shakes his head, quickly, fingers lifting to scrub through his shaggy hair. "I should let you. Uh. Gym." His thumb claw twitches out towards the workout room in vague indication. Steve slowly uncoils himself from his fighting stance. "It's okay." His eyes follow Dusk's wings with undisguised fascination. "Though...I'd be interested to spar with you sometime, when we're both well again. If you're into that sort of thing." He nods. "Right. And I should let you. Feed. There's some delicious...mix...of vegetables? With sauce." A helpless shrug. "It's delicious. In the refrigerator." He gestures vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. As if Dusk wouldn't know where it was. "See you around." "Vegetables." This draws a soft breath of laughter from Dusk. "Unless that sauce is flavoured heavily with blood, not -- going to help so much." His grin is still crooked, warm despite the subsequent shudder-twitch of muscles that he forces back down. Forces himself another step back towards the door. "Appreciate it, though. And for sure. On the sparring. I'm into it." When his wing stretches out this time it isn't for a blow. Just a light brush against Steve's shoulder before it folds back behind him and he turns from the room.