ArchivedLogs:Orchestrating Romance

Orchestrating Romance
Dramatis Personae Shane, Shelby	2013-02-25 '
Location <XS> Boathouse
Perpetually filled with the quiet background noise of the lapping tide, the boathouse is a cozy escape from the mansion proper. The few boats docked here are small, but suffice for sails around the lake (or, in the case of the one swift powerboat, a speedy motor around it) -- posted signs by them remind users of the regulations required for their use. Tucked away in the back half of the boathouse are living quarters, small and spartan and snug, with a kitchen, bathroom, small sitting area, and a bedroom fit for two. Finding the more studious of the twins is easy--go where the books are. Shane? Not so much. Shelby has been /all over/ the damn campus--up to and including the roof nook where she managed to tear a hole /right/ under the seat of her jeans, scrambling back up off of the ledge--and has come up short. It isn't until she racked her brains for a mention, just in passing, of where else the sharky boy likes to hole up that it occurred to her to check the boathouse. So here she is. The first sign that she's come aboard is probably the rocking of the boat as she jumps from boat to deck-ledge. The second is the not at all sneaky shout of, "Shaaaane! Where the fuck are you, man? If you're back in the city, I'ma be pissed!" There's music coming, from in the boathouse. It's not overly loud, but it's audible, faintly, during the approach, the quiet strains of a violin playing slow and quiet. Massenet, the Meditation from Thais. It cuts off abruptly at the sound of approaching feet and then approaching yelling. "It's Monday," Shane yells back, from where he's perched on a chair in the sitting room, "the city's boring as fuck on Mondays." He's dressed pretty standard, for him; crisp-pressed grey trousers, grey vest, green button-down. His violin is resting, now, up against the base of the chair. Shelby also went the standard route but that means ragged--Mona Lisa t-shirt, the (torn) jeans, her beloved nasty sneakers. For a change, she's got her hair up in a ponytail which does nothing to hide her many split ends. There's a snort of amusement before she appears in the doorway, casting about for his perch. "That's what I figured but damn, I was starting to give up hope. Hey! Sounding good, there." Although how she heard it over her yelling is anyone's guess. She ambles on it and drops into the opposing chair, swinging one leg over its arm. "Bet we could /make/ the city interesting on a Monday. More than here, anyway." "/Here/ is bullshit," Shane opines, slumping back in his chair, "I hate everyone. Nobody comes out here in winter." Which is probably why he chose it and probably why Shelby is getting a /glare/. But it's a halfhearted glare; his grousing, "Next time I'm hiding /in/ the lake," is equally halfhearted. "What do you want." His tone is gruff but he's at least looking at Shelby curiously. "Yeah, me too. Everyone's so fucking...enh." What, he expected Shelby to include herself in the "everyone" category? The glare rolls off, water from a duck's back. She is swinging her foot, perfectly at ease. "What, I can't want to hang out with one of the only /cool/ people here? Screw you, man," the teen says with a grin. A hand is flapped at him and then at the instrument, dismissing gruff and encouraging curiosity. "Actually, I was gonna see if you can help me out with something. I'd owe you one...kinda need your mad skills on the violin, y'know?" The compliment (even if followed by screw you) mollifies Shane somewhat. Which he shows by slouching further into his chair. He looks down at the violin by his feet. "I don't have mad skills," he's forced to admit, "I only have, like, kind of annoyed skills. Somewhat irritated skills. Slightly miffed skills. You want mad skills, you should talk to Ryan, dude's like. Some kind of wizard." Despite this, he's still asking, curious again: "What do you want with my violin?" "I don't wanna talk to Ryan, I'm talking to you," Shelby says, using the voice of reason--and the hint of a second compliment. "Ivan's wanting to put the moves to Rasa, so he's like...gonna go all out. Candles, dinner down here by the water, and music to set the mood, right? So I figure with you, me and B, we could totally get hir panties wet," she goes on to explain before tilting her head at him. Sometimes it takes awhile but eventually she gets it. "What's pissed you off?" "Is he gonna use spiders to ask her out again, cuz that's both kind of cool and kind of freakish," is Shane's first question to all this. He leans down to pick up his violin again, though he just lies it across his lap. "I mean, the bug thing's neat and all but I feel like if you want to get somewhere in the crotchbumping sense you need moves that don't include things crawling out of your hair. And the new girl's a frakking twatwaffle." "I dunno, I think he's holding off on asking until he knows if we're gonna do the music thing. I mean, I /could/ do it myself but..." As for poor Ivan's chances, Shelby just shrugs her shoulders. Whether it works or not--NOT HER CONCERN. But going all out? Totally her idea, therefore it's important. "Like I said, dude, I'd totally owe you one. Name the price. I could hook you up with my dealer in the city, or give you an alibi next time you need one, or whatever...new girl? Oh wait, the crazy one? Keeshond or something? Yeah, she's a piece of work." "Yeah, I mean, the /other/ crazy new girl. Not you," Shane clarifies oh-so-helpfully. "Total hosebag." His fingers are drumming gently against the guitar, though, teeth dragging against his lower lip as he looks at Shelby. "Yeah sure whatever," he finally agrees, "both Ivan and Rasa could totally use a good lay. Um." In contrast to his nonchalant slouch his tone now skews towards the uncertain, eyes dropping to his lap. "You think in return we could, um, maybe do something -- arrange something -- nice like this -- for my pa? some time?" "Pfsh, I know you love me," Shelby says, all breezy-like. When he gives in to her demands, she squirms like a puppy in the chair and makes a sound like, "Eeee!" Success! Victory! But rather then throw up the touchdown arms, she sinks back and settles for beaming at him--until his demeanor shifts to the uncertain. That's enough to knit her eyebrows together in concern--here is a Shane she hasn't seen before. "What? /Sure/, dude. I mean...I've been totally thinking about that too, your dad has been /so/ cool. S'why I wanted to slap those turtles up in the living room, he really seemed to like them and...huh..." Thinking cap is /on/. "He seeing anyone?" "You're more tolerable than most assholes here," Shane answers in response to her breeze. "When are we doing this Rasa Ivan shit?" One arm is hanging lazily over the arm of the chair, his violin bow waggling absently in his hand. "Neh," is his disgruntled answer to the question, "He hasn't really dated a lot since he broke up with -- um -- my -- whateverthefuck. Other foster father. Man I don't even know what you'd call a sketchy-ass relationship like that." He considers this a moment, then shrugs. "I don't know. Him and Ryan seemed like they might be a thing once but no. There's a guy he went out on a date with who seems cool and Pa likes him but. He just always so fucking busy and stressed and he doesn't do shit for himself. So like. Maybe if we arrange something he can actually have a good time for once?" "I dunno, I gotta let Ivan know he's got his trio for music. He's supposed to be working on Savita for the dinner, then I figure he'll ask Rasa. She's all, "nooo, romance" but hell, maybe it'll trigger puberty or something." Shelby lets her head slump to the side, idly studying the ceiling. "Ryan's kind of a manwhore," she muses, "but if he liked this other guy we can like...I dunno. Trap 'em. Call 'em both, tell them there's some kind've emergency at home and when they show up, /bam/. Romance. You got the guy's number?" "Is ze all noooo romance because of not being interested in romance? Or is it like Bastian where he was all noooo romance because he figured he looks like too much of a freak for anyone to be interested? Cuz Ivan's interested so that's a step up already right there, yeah?" Shane tips his bow upwards, tapping its end distractedly against his temple. "Ryan's a manwhore but he's sweet when he's with Pa. They --" But he stops here, turning his head back to look at the ceiling, too. "I could get his number from Pa's phone. Oh man have you seen the garden on the roof of our building? It's kind of dead in winter but I bet Jim'd grow it up nice and pretty if we asked him. And then it'd be a /great/ spot for romance. Be better if it was warm out," Shane admits, biting his lip again, "but I don't want to wait that long." "I didn't even know you guys /had/ a garden. Shit, that's /perfect/. We could get some of those white Christmas lights on sale and dress it up nice. Maybe a couple of space heaters too? Near the table, anyway. Sheets, to keep the wind off..." Oh yeah, Shelby's excited about this. /Two/ romance opportunities masterminded--will there be no stopping her? "Tell you what, we can shop for it this weekend then set it up for weekend after. That's March, it could be nice...nicer? Fuck if I know, this is my first for real winter and it /sucks/" And lest he think she's forgotten his opening remark, she smugs, "B better not be thinking that way now...but I think Rasa's more like, she's never felt it so it's not real or something. I dunno." "It's like the whole building's garden but anyone can -- do whatever. Pick flowers. Sit and read. I'm pretty sure people fuck in it although if that's going to happen I'm /not/ playing violin during." Shane curls one leg up beneath himself. The other swings slowly, thumping his heel against the chair. "I don't think Rasa got out much before this school. Like, we took hir to the coffeeshop in town and that was this huge /excursion/. You should've seen how big hir eyes got the first time we took hir to the /city/." He falls quiet a moment, considering. "Yeah -- yeah. Maybe it'll be warmer by then. The weekend after next --" For a moment he is quiet again. His gills flutter, quickly, and then he nods. "It'll be good. He could use a -- nice night. Ummm are you any good at cooking, shit, I'll talk to Bastian. Maybe we can /order/ something nice." "Yeah?" Wheels turn in Shelby's mind but she doesn't really share what comes grinding out. Instead she flashes a grin at him, sharing her enthusiasm for this enterprise. "No prob, something like that...I can solo it. Some soft vibes on the guitar, some sweet vocals...it'll be cool. And /totally/ romantic. Also karma points, right? God knows I need some of those. Everything I cook comes with meat though." She squirms until she's sitting sideways in the chair, both legs now hooked over the arm and her head hanging down. The ponytail almost brushes the floor. "If she'd...ze'd...lighten up..." A glance towards Shane leads to trailing off. The gills, they have been spotted. "What's up, Shane? For real?" "Hey, you hook up Rasa and Ivan /and/ help out my pa, that's like enough karma points to cash in and get yourself a -- you know, I don't even know what the fuck they sell in the karma store. Some bullshit like /good will/ I bet." Shane turns, too, as Shelby does, not quite sideways but leaning, one leg hooking over the chair's arm. His violin lies across his stomach. "Can you keep a secret? Like a serious one?" "A halo," Shelby suggests but it is of the distracted variety. Her eyebrows go up but otherwise her expression has shifted towards the solemn spectrum. "Sounds heavy. How secret? You mean like from B and everyone or just everyone?" "Just everyone." Shane turns his head, cheek resting against the chair's arm as he looks over towards Shelby. "I'm not sure I have secrets Bastian doesn't know," he admits with a crooked grin. It's quick to fade. Shelby swings around in the chair, this time opting to pull her legs in against her chest. Her chin ends up perched on her knees, her arms looped around her shins. "I kinda figured, yeah." That's the only reply he gets for a long, long moment. Then, without any of her usual flippancy, she says, "I can keep a secret. Fuck, I'm full of them, you don't even know." "I don't doubt it," Shane says, and he doesn't sound flip here either. There's another stretch of quiet, another brief flutter of his gills. "I'm just not even sure he's still going to be alive the weekend after next," he says abruptly, looking away from Shelby to give the ceiling very intent study. "I mean you know I told you about those labs Bastian and I used to live in? He's going back." "What the /fuck/!?" Though Shelby remains in the chair, it's a near thing. She's starting, goggle-eyed, at the other teenager. "He can't...he can't just go /back/. What the hell, what's he gonna do about you and Bastian? Spencer? /Shit/, Shane. That's...Jesus." She runs out of things to say and settles instead for scrubbing vigorously, with much agitation, at her face. "I know." Shane's voice is quiet. Mostly steady, even! Mostly. He's still looking at the ceiling steadily. His clear inner eyelids blink rapidly sideways against his black eyes. "I mean, I know. But I -- I mean, we'd still be /in/ there except for he did his fucking /hero/ thing and broke everyone out of the ones we were in. But there's more, you know? More people in more labs who're gonna die. There's always /more/ and they think they found one so he's going -- and Hive -- and --" Now he shuts up, because his voice is veering rapidly towards /not/ steady and he's determined to pretend otherwise. It is not typically her way to do the huggy feely thing common to the Holland family. Shelby touches when high and/or trying to get something she wants. So she hesitates...before sliding out of the chair and crossing the floor to take a perch on the arm of /his/ chair. An arm is offered, a side to lean into. "That's fucked up," she says, quietly this time. "Seriously fucked up. So we can do it right for him. His own night." Shane is just quiet a long moment. It takes a while before he shifts to lean into her side, and even then he is quiet. His eyes close, gills still fluttering for a moment. "Yeah. It's -- it's fucked up. The last time they went -- I mean, people die. And he --" He draws in a breath slowly. "Yeah," he says, quieter. "He needs a good night." Shelby is quiet through that moment, and the one that follows it, and the one after that. After awhile, she rests her hand on top of his head, fingertips stroking the center of his forehead as if he were a cat instead of a shark--the right way, of course. "Gills, Shane," she says, just as quiet. Then, silence again. After awhile of struggling with something else to say, she offers what solace she can, from the dismal pit of her own experience--which makes it less than comforting: "People...everyone goes away, y'know? Sometime. You can't...you can't count on them. Staying. If he's doing this shit...it's better than ninety-nine percent of the reasons people leave." Shane's gills quiet, his breathing resuming normally. "Yeah," he says, tired, "Yeah." He swallows. "But he's still going away." He swallows again, hard, and sits up abruptly, scrubbing his knuckles against his eyes. "You want a smoke? I want a smoke." "I got a smoke," Shelby volunteers. She gives him a clap on the shoulder and stands up. "C'mon," she beckons, to lead him out into the cool, clear night for the healing power of nicotene.