ArchivedLogs:Nurse Shark

Nurse Shark
Dramatis Personae Paige, Shane, Steve	2016-11-19 "S'how things go here in FreakTown."
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Rooftop - Lower East Side
An open-air escape especially popular with smokers and fliers, the Common House rooftop makes good use of its limited space. The railing that circles it has child-resistant gates where walkways can be extended to connect to the other buildings in the development. A colorful and ever-changing table with sometimes-matching benches provides an ideal spot for an urban picnic. There are two garden boxes on the south-facing side, one for vegetables and the other for herbs and flowers, a tool shed and small patio table with chairs between them. It's been raining intermittently all day, which, along with the mild temperature, feels positively spring-like. Some flowers and insects have been fooled into an early revival, and so have many New Yorkers. There's been a gap in the rain, the sun struggling to break through the clouds and not quite making it, though the world looks brighter for it all the same. Steve isn't appreciating the unseasonable weather or the almost-sunlight. He's in a fighting stance, weight low, shield braced. There are several parallel rips in the fabric of his black t-shirt, showing the pale skin of his shoulder and back in shocking contrast with bright red wounds. His jeans, already much-mended, are also torn in a few places, some bloody and some not. There's a ragged scuff along the outside of his right forearm as though it had been scraped across the ground, though it's hard to see clearly as said arm is at the moment swinging through an inhumanly fast hook. It's a hook met with a solid smack-thud, a guttural low growl, harsh and feral. The blow has hit home, connecting heavily with the shoulder of a small blue figure who is rolling swiftly with the punch. Shane's teeth -- rather a /lot/ of them, serrated-sharp, crammed into his wide mouth -- are bared and blood-streaked; his eyes have widened to two solid-black pools dominating most of his narrow blue face. /He's/ not wearing a shirt, gills fluttering all down the length of his neck and both his sides; he does have black shorts on, though his clawed feet are bare. There's a bright red gash torn along one flank, spatters of blood dotting the rooftop around them; one lean blue leg is stippled darker with incipient bruising. His long black claws are splayed out from webbed fingers -- one hand of which is coming up rapidly in the wake of Steve's blow, raking across the arm that just hooked at him. Paige wanders into the rooftop area, head bowed over a device that looks like a tiny smartphone. She's wearing her usual attire - sweatshirt, jeans, boots - though her hood is down, revealing the horns on her head. Her eyes narrow at the display on the palm-sized phone and she mumbles to herself, low and quiet, "How would I even---" The sound of flesh hitting flesh followed by growling easily catches the young woman's attention and pulls it away from the screen. "Holy fuck," she gasps under her breath as she takes the scene of the rooftop in. Paige's eyes sweep across the area, focusing first on the shirtless blue creatu---person, and a shiver goes up her spine. Gills, teeth -- sharp and many --, extremely scary void-filled eyes. The horned woman is pretty much frozen in her tracks as she watches the claw-footed, blood-dripping mutant. As she watches it attack ... "STEVE!?" It seems she cannot hold her astonishment in check. "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!" Shane's claws tear into Steve's forearm, drawing vivid red lines in their wake. Steve pays no mind when Paige first emerges onto the roof. Grits his teeth (or is he grinning?) and swings the edge of his shield down in a vicious slice toward Shane's shoulder. But when Paige cries out, his pale blue eyes flick toward her. Quick scan of their surroundings. Then he spins away from his opponent, the fresh wounds on his forearm trailing droplets of blood. "It's alright!" he assures her brightly. "We're friends." Shane ducks low, springing forward underneath Steve's swing. The shield does clip him -- though on his hip rather than his shoulder as he dives under the arc of Steve's arm. Snarling, teeth snapping towards the much larger man's triceps. His nostrils flare, gills flattening down smooth against his sides. He whirls, huge black eyes and bloodied sharp teeth both turned now towards Paige; his lips peel back further in an impossibly sharper-wider-fiercer grin. "He says that /now/. Ask him again when he's down a few more chunks of flesh." "FRIENDS?!" Paige doesn't seem to care that she's basically screaming while Steve's voice was disturbingly calm. "That's not...that's not...that doesn't even make any -sense-!" The expression on her face is a mixture of disbelief, concern, and horror. She about to shout more when the blue one turns to her. Instead, she simply lets out a strangled squeak and there's now only fear on her countenance. Then she stumbles back, her legs buckle, and she's sitting on her ass. Thoughts bodies with pieces -- no, CHUNKS -- of flesh torn off then proceed to torment her mind. "You...friends...right," she whispers in attempt to convince herself everything will be okay. "Oh, come now." Steve quirks a half-smile at Shane. "I've fought your sibling. These are like a nurse's tender ministrations." He lifts his right arm and turns it, examining the newest slashes. His smile fades fast at Paige's reaction. "Oh, gosh! Don't be alarmed, {please.}" He lowers his shield and walks rapidly toward her as she stumbles back, though he does not reach her in time to stop her from hitting the ground. He slips the shield from his arm and sets it aside so he can offer her his unbloodied hand. "Are you hurt?" His brows gather slightly. "Since when does the world make goddamn /sense/ -- shit yeah okay no she's in a whole other league though." Shane is lifting his hand, tongue flicking out to lick blood off his long claws. The hairless ridge of his brow lifts, quirking higher as Paige stumbles back. "... you got a problem?" Paige appears to be quite alarmed. "N-no, no problem," she replies to Shane, her eyes very wide while she watches him...lick his claws. With her gaze rivetted on the blue one, she doesn't notice Steve's approach until his outstretched hand appears in her field of vision. "Hurt?" the horned woman echoes, looking at the Captain's bloodied form. "I...no. No, you're hurt. And...he's hurt. I'm--I think I'm just confused." This confession arrives as she takes the man's hand, allowing him to pull her up. "She's...very new around here." Steve helps Paige to her feet and offers her a smile. "Don't worry. We're both tough, and we both heal fast." Once she looks steady, Steve steps back. "This is, ah...for fun. Like sparring." "Uh huh." Shane sounds kind of dry. Kiiind of unconvinced. His huge black eyes stay fixed solidly on Paige, watching her as she watches him. "I can see that. It's alright, NewGirl. S'how things go here in FreakTown." Another brief swipe of tongue against claws, and then the wickedly sharp black points are retracting back to small tips. "Fun, hell. This is therapy. Who the fuck can afford a shrink." "Not me," Paige whispers to herself in regards to the scary-shark-person's comment. Somehow she manages to pry her eyes off of Shane to look at Steve. "'Fun'? I don't...I just don't get guys. How is pain -fun-?" Her body is tense, Steve's smile doing little to put her anxiety at ease. "I'm...I'm Paige, though apparently half the Commons already knows that," she volunteers to the blue one, eyes still wide. Steve wipes the blood on his left arm against the tail of his shirt, a bit self-consciously. "I have therapy every other week. Doesn't do much good. But this?" He nods at Shane and steps back to the shield he'd left on the ground. He stomps sharply on the edge of the shield and flips it up into the air, catching it deftly in his left hand. "Not just the pain, though that's a part of it. It's...cathartic." "I know who you are." Shane's hands drop to his sides; his tongue swipes against his teeth. He ambles -- at a noticeable limp, bruised leg dragging a bit -- over to the table, swiping a water bottle from it. "How is pain fun?" His teeth bare again, another sharp slice of grin. "I got a few sex ed resources you could check out some time, NewGirl. The /fuck/ does this have to do with /guys/ though. Christ." "-Cathartic-?" Paige repeats anxiously. Her face reddens rapidly at Shane's comment and she takes a step back, slightly behind Steve. "N-nothing?" she offers, her voice cracking upwards with the inflection. "Nothing to do with...I'm sorry?" The apology is meant to be an appeasement, not a question. "I, uh, think I'm good on the sex-ed stuff." The horned woman looks rather terrified still, blush not fading a bit. Usually her moments of visceral fear pass, but they are normally assuaged by the relevant mutant being nicer than she expected. This one appears to be the opposite. Steve picks up a towel that had been hanging over the back of one of the picnic chairs and mops the sweat from his forehead, the blood from his right hand, and then wraps it around his bleeding forearm. "It's not for everyone, but...ah..." He blushes kind of fiercely. "Look, people have all kinds of different ways to entertain themselves and cope with stress." He pivots so he can keep Paige in his field of vision, but the movement also has the effect of removing himself from between her and Shane. "Sometimes those ways are awful -- like those people who were harassing you when we met. But this?" He drops his hand to Shane's shoulder, gives it a rough squeeze. "This is strictly consensual, and it's not hurting --" A sharp chuckle. "-- well, not /harming/ anyone." A brief growl rumbles in Shane's throat, gills fluttering for a moment in a rapid ripple. He pulls open the top of his water bottle, not drinking but instead splashing water down against his sides. "We all blow off steam our own ways." The growl deepens, a lower rumble accompanied by a small shake of shoulders, a quick flash of grin, at Steve's correction. He leans into the touch, weight sagging in against Steve's side. "Be hella amused if you pull that fighting-is-for-the-menfolk crap around some of the women here, though. At least /I/ leave Steve /standing/ when we're through." A small bop of head against Steve's side before he straightens, still watching Paige steadily. "You plan on /staying/ here long?" "I didn't...mean it like that," Paige offers meekly and quietly to Shane while looking a bit betrayed as the Captain moves out of the way. "I...I don't know how I meant it. It was just a stupid thing to say." Her hands fidget, one rolling the small phone around in her palm. "I'm just...I'd get beaten up -easily-." She looks to Steve and back to the blue one. "I'm, uh, glad that this is a way the two of you can relax. It's good to have...outlets." The horned woman's face has not paled as of yet. "Staying here? I don't -- I mean I really don't know. I don't have anywhere else to go. Unless you mean if I'm staying here on the roof. I can-- I can leave if you want me to. I just didn't know what was going on and I just freaked out. I'm really sorry for interrupting you two. And, thanks," this last part is directed at Steve with a wince. "For...picking me off the ground again." “You know, it was a woman who first taught me how to fight?” Steve offers. “And I don't mind an audience, but you're going to have to get used to stumbling across friendly violence if you stay a while.” He snags Shane's water bottle. Take a sip. Returns it. “{It's nothing.} I've a lot of experience getting beaten up, though, and I've needed plenty of picking up off the ground. No shame in either, but…” He shrugs. “...if you want to get better at fighting, there's plenty of folk around here who can help you. With a minimum of bleeding, if you prefer.” "I meant staying at the Commons." Shane's voice has leveled out into merely bland. "Because if you /want/ to hang around here, you sure as fuck are going to have to learn how to unstick those eyes of yours. If I want people staring at me like I'm some goddamn savage about to maul them, I'll walk the hell /out/ my own damn home, right?" Profanity notwithstanding, Shane's tone and expression are both mild, neutral and lacking in any edge as he snags his water back from Steve and takes a gulp. "So did you learn to fight before you got all enbiggenated, then?" "I-I'm not sure," the young woman replies to Steve, face still burning. Paige bows her head when Shane calls her out on her behavior, eyes on her boots. "I...I'm an asshole. My brain is still trying to acclimate and I'm just a fucking asshole. I'm not saying this for pity, either. I have a lot of things I need to get out of my head and I --- sorry. There's really no excuse." Despite the fact that she still appears rather cowed, her quiet tone sounds sincere. Steve nods. “In your own time.” And here he does a quick double-take, eyes darting from Shane to Paige, then back. Then going a little wider. “Oh! Oh, I didn’t...” He wrinkles his eyebrows. “But she’s...” His gaze settles on Paige’s horns. Then slides back to Shane. He shakes his head, evidently dismissing whatever objection he was about to make. “I -- oh, yes, I went through some very intensive basic training with America’s finest...as a 90 pound asthmatic. I /couldn’t/ fight like them, so I learned to fight like a girl.” Shane's head tips slightly, a small agreeing nod at Paige's concession. "True," he allows readily enough, a faint sliver of teeth bared once more in small-quick-smile. "But everyone's sometimes an asshole. I mean, we all got our shit to work through, right?" The smile stretches wider -- distinctly amused at Steve's confusion. "Goddamn flatscan." KIND of grumbled. Kind of fond. "Whoever the hell taught you to fight, seemed to work out pretty-damn-good for you." There's a quiet sigh of relief that comes from Paige, the tension in her shoulders slackening a tad. While her visceral fear of Shane is still poking around in her head, at least she didn't piss him off...too much. "Yeah, shit," she mumbles, putting her hands into the large pocket of her sweatshirt. Although the horned woman winces slightly at Steve's 'fight like a girl' comment, she remains silent. Lost in her own thoughts, it takes her a rather delayed moment to process the dialogue. "Wait, what? Ninety-pounds?" A confused eye-over is given to Steve. Steve ducks his head and starts to run his fingers through his hair, but stops when he sees the blood on his hand. “I’ve got some -- things to work through, too.” But he’s smiling, too, if less toothily. “I guess you haven’t seen the before-and-after pictures? I was tiny and weak and sickly before the...procedure. Only Agent Carter,” Aside, to Shane, “-- Peggy -- really took me seriously from the start.” The smile fades but does not vanish. “She taught me how to fight. And she taught me that fighting like a girl was not a /bad/ thing.” He shakes his head rapidly, as if to clear it. “But that’s all ancient history. My point is...I’m sure you can learn, too.” "Yeah he was a scrawy-ass wimp before they supersized him." A quick ripple passes through Shane's gills, fluttering them briefly. His lips press together, and a moment later he shakes his head. "I should get some food. You in? You make me work up an /appetite/." His chin tips up to Paige, quick and jerky before he starts back for the door. "Good luck. Can't fight, can't stand the rest of us, seems like you might need it." Paige raises her eyebrows and shakes her head at Steve's question -- she hasn't seen any such photos. "No n-no!" Shane has easily captured her attention with the comment. "No! I have---I can--I'm sorry!" Her expression is one of panic and confusion on its way to contorting into despair. "No! They---my parents, they--the--" she continues to stammer in exasperation. "I'm just a pathetic fucking freak and I get all fucking frightened when I see someone different! And then I'm usually a fucking ass about it because of the way I react. And fighting?! I can barely even stand on my own two fucking feet! How could I ever -fight-?!" “I’m always hungry, and all the hungrier after fighting you.” Steve sounds /pleased/ with this, though. “I’m in, once I clean up.” He might have been about to address Paige, but stops short at her outburst. The gathering of his brows is distinctly sympathetic, but when he opens his mouth no words come out. Instead, he glances sidelong at Shane, lips pressed together, the faint lift of his eyebrows at once questioning and a little resigned. Shane's black eyes widen, huge-huge-huge in his narrow face. "Shitty parents," he echoes slowly, pausing halfway to the door. "Well, in /that/ case I guess you get a pass. None of the rest of us had /those/ to get over." His hands turn up in front of him, webbed fingers spreading. "You can sit there and wallow in how pathetic you are all you want but come /on/. Nobody in /here/ is going to hurt you. You keep treating /us/ like the freaks, though, and you might not find many of us standing at your side when the /real/ monsters come after you because of those pretty horns of yours." He tips his water bottle towards Steve, his smile hooked -- just a little crooked now. "There's a couple different group sessions that meet at Evolve. Newly manifested. Adjusting. I'll give you cards. Might be a better resource next time you're feeling charitable." Paige watches the blue one's face as he speaks, this time not with fright, but shame. Shane's words ring unerringly true and maybe that's why they sting so much. The young woman makes no attempt to counter, argue, or fight him on any point. She stands silently for a while before quietly asking, "You don't hate me?" Then she actually cringes at her own question. "I mean, you really mean it? There are? I would...that would be...really helpful." She glances at her boots again. "Thank you." Steve’s frown deepens, his mouth twisting slightly to one side. Then his eyes drop down to the floor of the roof, as if examining the pattern of blood droplets scattered there. “{Sorry,} I guess I was too hasty.” He studies Shane for a brief moment. “I was figuring if you gave /me/ a chance...” But now he just shakes his head again and looks back up at Paige. He’s still frowning, but there’s no animosity in it. “I hope the sessions help you.” "I don't hate you." Shane's answer comes direct and simple. "There's /plenty/ enough terrible in this world I save my hate for. I just -- we put a whole lot of work into building a home here and I don't have time for --" His head shakes, once. "But yeah, I mean it. I'll get you the info." Now he turns back to the door, pulling it open so he can head back inside. He flashes Steve a grin before he goes, though. "Hasty? You?" /Totally/ incredulous. "Fucking Gryffindor."