ArchivedLogs:Shark Anatomy

Shark Anatomy
Dramatis Personae Shelby, Peter	2013-05-25 Punchline: Somebody in the Holland household will soon be very tentatively googling 'shark penis'.
Location Holland Farm - Georgia
Creep creep creeeeeep. Peter's creepin'. He's managed to avoid Shelby (more by accident than intent! Honest!) since re-arriving at Xavier's; he's even managed to avoid her during the train ride. But now that they're there -- in the sunny fields, winding hills, and running rivers of Georgia, snuggled up in the sprawling comfort of the Holland household -- Peter /might/ be creeping around, looking for her. Where does he find her? Maybe in a living room. Maybe in a hallway. Doesn't matter - wherever she is, Peter will CREEP till he finds her. Said creeping is committed in the creepiest of ways: Peter's wall-crawling. Sometimes ceiling-crawling. He /loves/ this place; it's a farm, which means it's built to last -- no loose fitting tiles on the ceiling that risk getting torn out when he puts his weight on them! He's clamboring along an upper wall, right now -- clad in a black t-shirt that has ZOMBIE BATMAN -- loose jeans -- and those funny two-toed socks of his. He is, /also/, notably castless, injury-less, and currently /gleaming/ a metallic black-blue. In the sunlight, he's actually /dazzlingly/ bright; to the point that he's been avoiding going out sometimes because the chitin is OHGOD so shiny. Still, /eventually/ he will sneak out. But for now? Creep. Creeeeeep. Shelby, where ARE you. Creeeeeeep. The idea for this trip was rest, relaxation and time to bond again with friends and loved ones. All very noble ideas, and certainly necessary for several of those who've come along. Shelby's quite enjoyed the bonding part, in fact. Everything /else/ is a little much for her city-loving soul. Sure, it's pretty--being able to see stars at night, the hazy contentment of a field buzzing with green growing things and (ugh) bugs, cool shadows between trees, the sound of running water in a natural stream. But...she's a creature of neon and concrete, of skate parks, movie theaters, and convenience stores. Notably, the farm lacks all of these things. So when the sun reaches its peak on Saturday, she retreats to the coolness of the house. In particular, she's found her way up to the attic, where a lifetime on the farm has created interesting nooks and crannies filled with chests and boxes and sheeted furniture. She may or may not be inappropriately nosy by opening up a box that has been markered with "JACKSON". Sitting in the middle of the room cross-legged, she has a lap full of photo albums and old report cards, opting to rifle through history instead of venture out into the great outdoors. "OhmyGod," Peter's voice soon emerges from -- somewhere /above/ her. OhGod. He's clinging to -- the ceiling. Clamboring up along it, his back pressed to it, hands behind him, knees bent. Like he's /rubbing/ his spine over it. Somehow, he's managing to both slide up over it /and/ peer down at Shelby at the same time. "Are those -- Did you find his old REPORT cards?!" INSTANT interest. "OhmyGodohmyGod I wanna see his highschool pictures," and then WHUMP Peter is descending. Aiming to land on a chest beside Shelby, a few feet away; crouched, knees poking out, hands down. Like a little frog. /CHITTER/. So Shelby's a little jumpy, see. When Peter /squeals/ above her, she /squeals/ back--with surprise and fear rather than excitement. Pictures and old paper plume into the air when she tosses them, scrambling up ready to run. It takes a her a moment, a long long looooong moment, of staring and heavy breathing before she realizes this is probably /not/ a giant mutated Southern bug come to eat her. She actually ends up crouching much the same way he is. "...you. Oh my god. They said...holy /shit/, Peter," she sputters instead of answering his questions. "You're.../shiny/." "Huh?" Peter blinks, wide and confused. Just -- /peering/ at Shelby. His head even quirks to the side! "What ar--oooh, /oh/," he says, hefting up one of his hands to peer at the back of it -- suddenly grinning. "RIGHT jeez you know. I guess -- it seems weird but I keep forgetting. That, um. This is new to -- YEAH. I'm shiny now," Peter agrees, turning his attention back to Shelby. "Figured I'd give it a try, y'know? See how it looks, if it'll net me all the /ladies/." This might be a joke. Peter's certainly grinning like it's one. The grin flickers, shifting into something more straight-lipped. "It -- started. A few weeks before I got napped. Finished while I was there. Actually kind of good timing 'cuz, it's -- not really STRONG but it's a bit more tougher than skin, y'know? So." He gives his chest a rap with his knuckles. "It's, uh...different." Such a terrible predicament for Shelby. Bug like = bad but she has an artist's eye too! It leaves her with rumpled brow, mouth set in a troubled line, studying Peter with a look that could be mistaken for dubious. Eventually though--because it /is/ Peter under all that and he's /never/ one-upped her--she creeps back towards her original spot on the floor. Jax's old records crunch beneath her hands and knees before she settles to begin picking them up once more. Small looks are, in the meantime, tossed towards her classmate. "It's cool, I guess. I mean...weird. But cool. Didn't think it was /ladies/ you wanted to impress though," she remarks--even fear cannot keep The Mouth from doing what it does best. But her grin is probably a good sign. "It's /awesome/," Peter corrects, with a cock of his head upward and a brushstroke of fingertips toward his chest -- as if he were /presenting/ himself for Shelby's judgment. "I'm--" Something seems to only now register in the back of Peter's head, firing up a warning flare: "--wait. W--w--" And now, Peter's metallic blue shifts, a swelling tide of violet starting at his face and spreading down. Eyes widening as he /peers/ down at Shelby. "...uh wait what do you mean by --" Brow crumple. "WHO TOLD YOU THAT." Whooooa. Chitin was kind've creepy but this color changing stuff? Now /that/ Shelby shows some real interest in. Papers are dropped and without thinking, she reaches out to try to follow that sweep of color with her fingertips. "Holy shit, it /is/ awesome," she finally agrees. Score one for the Spider Dude! Of course, she might be taking that point right back from him, considering his reaction to her teasing. "Oh c'mon. It's like, my second mutation, dude. Anyone starts gettin' busy and I /know/. S'okay, just means we got the same taste in guys, right? And he /is/ pretty fucking hot." Peter /straightens/ up a bit when Shelby reaches out for the places where the color-sweep begins, but does not withdraw; the skin beneath is -- /smooth/, in an unusually flexible way -- almost like plastic, but far more malleable, even porous. Like latex, or a less dense rubber. The violet intensifies, bordering on indigo. "...um. /Yeah/ I -- guess, just." One hand moves to scritch scritch at the back of his skull. Peering at the papers Shelby dropped. "--kinda weird, for me? But, um. He -- totally. It's just, aw man, just totes ba-nay-nay," Peter announces. "You know he totally -- well they /both/ I mean -- saved me in there. A couple of times. I wouldn't even be --" His nose wrinkles. Uh oh. FEELS. Peter looks a little choked up. "--man every time I tell anybody about this stuff I get like this, uh. M'sorry." It might be easy to guess that Shelby is trying to exert her own power on Peter, by the way her brow crumples in concentration as those colors shift and swirl. When it doesn't work--damn bioorganics--she huffs out through her nose and settles back to resume the tidying up. One sheet of paper--a Jax report card--is handed over for his perusal. "You're allowed," she says simply. "I mean, fuck, dude. If you /didn't/ get a little worked up over it, I'd wonder if you were a robot or something. No one just...walks away from that sort've thing and acts like nothing's happened unless you're..." Oops, wait. She pauses, head cocked, expression considering. But whatever thought popped into her mind is dismissed with a short headshake. "Anyway. Everyone grows up and gets naughty feels down there eventually." Peter watches Shelby's attempt to exert her power with -- well, /interest/. His eyebrows are doing the pinch-down-together thing again. Thinking himself, for a moment. He accepts the report card quickly, however -- SNAG -- and /peers/ at it, as if hungry for whatever CRITICAL INFORMATION it might impart. "PFFFFffft," Peter responds to Shelby as he reads. "You know /everybody/ wants me now when I was in the medlab like TWO DIFFERENT GIRLS asked me to the dance? And that's when I was like in a full body cast and stuff." Okay, maybe an exagerration. "Unless you're what?" Peter prompts her, continuing to scan the report card. "...jeez I guess science really /isn't/ his thing." "Nothin'." Oooh, see how easily she dodged that question? Like a BOSS! Shelby tilts her head to grin up at him. "So you going to the dance with all these girls /and/ Shane? Man, you're gonna be the pimp walking in there like that. We need to get you a cane and a feather hat and everything. Guess it was my tits you were allergic to." It's the pictures she's more interested in, over the report cards. She's collected a number of them and tamped them into a tidy pack between her hands, before flipping through. "Didn't need to be his thing, check out how cute he was? Kind've weird seeing him with two eyes though." Peter goes violet again at the mention of going to the dance with Shane. Suddenly very intent on peering at that report card. The very idea of this is, in fact, so distracting that it manages to /completely/ make him forget about that 'Nothin'. "...I, um. I dunno. Who I'd take to the -- I mean. I -- haven't even thought. About that." He /does/ peek over his report card a little, peering at Shelby a moment at the mention of ALLERGIES and certain parts of the female anatomy. "...man no are you kidding I had -- /jeez/," he mumbles, SHOVING his face back into that report card. "--I had -- after I grabbed you out of the alleyway and -- all that stuff?" Violet shudders near the edge of indigo. Still /peering/ at Jackson's grades. "I just, y'know. Figured you were -- I mean, kind of out of my /league/ or something. But," JUST in case Shelby gets cocky, "I guess I used to think /everybody/ was." Oh reaaaaally. You may as well have waved red in front of a bull, Pete! Even a partial confession is enough to catch her attention. If Shelby had /actual/ devil horns, they'd be all perky right now. "You had a /crush/? Oh my god, seriously? You /liked/ me? Damn, dude, you should've said something!" Wait, wait, she's thought of something... "Did you /cop a feel/ when you grabbed me?" It all happened so fast, she can't remember! "WH--No! No. No. No! NO!" Peter says, and now the report card is /shoved/ down, crumpling in his hands as he stares at Shelby with what might be -- a look of sheer, abject /horror/ "No! I wouldn't -- I -- I was trying to -- you're not allowed to -- ohmy/GOD/," Peter says, and now he /shoves/ the report card in his face -- no longer trying to read it, just MASHING it against his nose and eyes. Like he's trying to bury himself inside of it. "It was /accidental/ okay I wasn't trying to -- like -- I kind of grabbed your butt I am /so/ sorry I was in a rush okay and it was like my /first/ time saving somebody so I didn't even know what the heck I was doing!" It is not easy to keep from laughing. Not easy at /all/. Somehow Shelby manages it. Behind his little paper shield, Peter might hear her rustling around--standing up, from the sound of it? Should he /lower/ that shield, he would then see that she's turned around and pointed her ass at him. It is a pretty skinny butt; cutoff denim shorts are not helping with that impression. "Yeah, it was all so fast. Here y'go, you can get a real handful. Take your time." She wags her rear end to punctuate this invitation. C'mooon. Touch it. THWUMP. That is the sound of Peter Parker /leaping/ for the ceiling. And hitting it like an incoming splat-ball. The documents are on the floor, now; his back to the attic roof -- palms out on either side of him, his feet /squeezing/ a wooden beam under him. Just /peering/ down at her. First, in terror. Then, with a wrinkled nose and /glower/. YOU WIN THIS ROUND, SHELBY. "...you're kinda /terrible/ you know," he informs her, but then -- crawl crawl scuttle scuttle -- he is making his way, /slowly/ back down toward the floor. Flipping over to move with his belly to the surface he's climbing; it makes it easier and faster. "...have you ever tried moving pictures onto smoke?" Peter suddenly asks, just -- out of the blue. She wins, /and/ she gloats. Terrible indeed. It isn't often that Shelby laughs, but she does so now, hard enough that she collapses onto the floor in a bed of paper and pictures. One hand claps over her face, the other arm curls over her stomach. "Oh man, oh /man/, your /face/...oh my god, I'm gonna wet my pants..." That's just an idle threat though, thank goodness. Eventually she pulls it together again, sitting up and wiping at her eyes as laughter trails into snickering. "Huh? Um. I dunno. I don't think so. You changing the subject?" "Kinda," Peter admits, still /glaring/ at her as he crawls. "I guess. Just. I had a lot of time to think, y'know? In that cell. And y'know, it was terrible because -- we couldn't even -- /talk/ about you guys? I mean, without codenames and stuff. We were terrified if they found out -- y'know," Peter says, glancing toward a window. "...I mean if they found out the twins' were Jax's kids? They'd probably have -- done something about that. And if they found out about -- the school? But, /anyway/," Peter adds, pulling his attention from the window back to Shelby -- crawling down to her, back up on top of the chest. "I had a lot of time to think? And I guess one of the things I thought about was your power and, I was wondering if. Because, y'know, smoke is just -- coloured /air/, basically," he says. "If you could move pictures onto smoke, you can move pictures through air. And if you can move pictures in air, you can make them /three-dimensional/." "Seriously?" Oddly enough, that wins a more somber study from Shelby. The amusement has dried up, leaving her to study Peter with uncharacteristic intensity. The expected question is, "What was my code name?", and sure, she goes ahead and asks that. But it's everything /else/ he's said that's snared her attention. "...didn't think you'd really spend that much time thinking about me," she remarks, sounding...oh my god, is that /awkwardness/? Or just stiffness? She isn't telling. She pulls her knees up to her chest and curls her arms around them. "I...guess so, yeah. It'd be kind've like sand drawing. I've done that." Lines etch themselves in her forehead, she gnaws on her lower lip... "Wanna have a bonfire?" "Sebastian thought of yours," Peter informs Shelby, giving her -- a very serious, very intentful, very /thoughtful/ look: "Lord Voldemort." Two seconds of silence. And then: "Pffft I'm messing with you we didn't even /need/ a codename for /you/ we just had to be like, 'You-Know-Who'." That might be a lie. Peter's grinning. The grin flickers in-and-out at signs of Shelby's brief foray with awkwardness, though; at mention of time spent thinking about her, he responds -- a little reluctantly, a little slowly: "I thought about... all of you guys. A lot. Pretty much every minute. There wasn't really -- anything else /to/ do. 'Cept, y'know. Not /die/." At the mention of a bonfire, Peter brightens -- then looks baffled. "Wait, bonfi--sure. I think? What -- you mean like -- okay," he finally decides. "Sure." "You ass." Shelby's not about to take that lying down, and as Bastian is not here to assault, she snatches up a handful of papers to throw at /Peter/. But she's grinning too and--when it seems he might lose his sparkle--she gets up to approach the chest. This time not to wag her butt in his face, but to sling her arms around him in a hug. A huge hug. Those skinny arms are good for short bursts of oomph. "Sure, why not? S'about the only /good/ thing you can do out in the country that you can't in the city, right? C'mon, if we tell the others we can all go ask Jax's folks and they'll have to say yes." FWUMPH. Peter's arms sling around and underneath Shelby's arms, /squeezing/. Very fierce; very /hard/ -- but not too hard. Peter's been practicing the fine art of how not to hug /to death/. Still, when he hugs her, he almost manages to lift her off the ground. "Okay," he says, voice a little muted, "um okay. I'm really glad -- I mean, I didn't think I'd see any of you --" Uh oh. Dangerously close to FEELS zone. Peter's throat constricts, and he adds just an /ounce/ more strength to his hug. All signs of Feels are promptly BURIED into Shelby's shoulder. "Okay. Thanks, Shelby." Shelby squeaks as she loses her breath /and/ almost contact with the ground. He earns himself a few solid thumps on the back for that. Fortunately he can take them. The hair-mussing, maybe less so, but she does it anyway while he hides himself away. "Dude, I totally got your back. If those jerks had /told/ me what was going down, I'd have been there too. Kicking ass, taking names. I think they were scared I'd just wipe 'em all out instead of...whatever it was they did." There is nothing quite like false bravado to cover up for a feels moment. Shelby's good at them. "Just...try not to sneak up on me, looking like that, okay? I got this thing about bugs and you're...well...y'know...maybe you should wear a bell or something." "Okay. But I'm not wearing a bell," Peter responds, muted -- head still firmly attached to her shoulder, showing NO SIGN OF MOVING. Um. He might need a minute or two, just to. Y'know. Make sure Shelby's shoulder is alright. That's all. "Not even a little one? They come in different colors, doesn't need to be girly gold. We could get one that matches your...stuff," Shelby negotiates. While standing still. And occasionally patting him on the head or the back. Just to make sure he's still alive, of course. "Maybe with little skulls on the collar. To match the leash we're gonna get for Shane." "Nnnghngh," Peter... says? Mumbles? /Grumbles/? Against Shelby's shoulder/neck. The mention of Shane on a leash seems to get him bristling against her, a little. The head-patting, too. "Iwanttotellyou--" he starts, his voice almost /chattering/ against her neck. There's a ragged, sharp breath, before, a little more slowly: "...all of you. A lot of stuff. That happened. Really intense, though. Told Rasa. Some of it. But I don't want to--scare you, I guess? I'm -- okay, just. Some of it, still freaks me. Just /saying/ it." Shelby bows her head until she's got her own face tucked against his shoulder/neck. Her sigh is short, soft and cool. "Pete..." She pauses. "I'm pretty tough. I mean...maybe I don't have teeth or armor but. I've seen a lot of shit out there, while I was on my own. And everything that's happened since...what I'm saying is, don't worry about /me/, okay? I just ignore stuff. Act like it's all normal, and it works for me but if you gotta talk about it, you can talk to me and I'll listen. But only when you're /ready/, right? And if you /don't/ wanna talk about it, that's cool too." "Nnrrgh," Peter repeats, and now it's a bit of a struggle /not/ to squeeze harder -- as he's pretty much reached the point of 'squeeze much harder and this might start to hurt'. The side of his face just starts to /rubrub/ against the back of Shelby's neck as she tucks closer, smearing a warm dampness there. "I /do/ want to. I kind of -- still have -- really, /really/ bad dreams about some of this stuff. And, I feel so silly because every time I talk about it with somebody I -- get like this all over again. Like, I just want to get /over/ it. And, I know I'll be fine, eventually, but... but ohmyGod I can't stop /crying/ just thinking about this stuff. They--" There's a hitch in Peter's voice, and then--things just start bubbling out in a chaotic, clustered rush: "They starved the twins. Sebastian -- attacked a prisoner -- they beat him so bad we thought he was /dead/, for two days we just, thought -- and Shane was -- then they starved them /again/ and made me fight them and Shane attacked /Sebastian/ to save me, opened up his throat, and -- the twins had to /kill/ a guy, it was so bad, they -- they ate him -- then they tried to make the twins eat /me/ --" "Whoa, hey...you don't get over shit in a couple've days, man." But that's the only not-really-a protest Shelby makes, and it's not even directed at the sudden tension in his arms or the goop smearing her neck. She might make a /bit/ of a face but he can't see that, and besides, she's squeezing Peter tighter anyway so he can't hop off again. Then she just...listens. Just that. Not really acknowledging the way he's babbling, or crying, or even the /horror/ of what he's saying. Just listening. Quiet and squeezy and maybe a little bony to cuddle with but steady, at least. Peter wheezes a little after that, not adding anything else to the pile -- not immediately, anyway. But the wheezing starts to slow, and the rub-rubbing against her neck gets a little less frantic -- and his harsh, /solid/ grip on her starts to slacken -- particularly when he notices she's squeezing back, not letting him slip away. "--they were so good in there," Peter finishes. "The whole time -- they knew Jax was coming. I, I didn't think -- When I first saw them there, I thought, oh man Jax is coming. Shane even -- he was /totes/ bad-ass in there, Shelby. But, near the end, I thought -- I was trying to make plans with them, to escape. To get us all together in a fight, so we could -- because I didn't think, they'd come in time, I thought we were going to die and the plan was -- I don't think it would have even /worked/. Most of us would probably have died. But I just didn't -- if I was going to die I didn't want it to be like... from the twins. They wouldn't -- that would have just -- /broke/ them, I think." A few more, slower wheezes. Peter's head is lifting, now. "I'm okay. M'sorry. I'm okay. I just -- superheroes get kidnapped all the frigging /time/," Peter says, maybe a little glumy, a little sniffly. "I could have been -- I /should/ be -- stronger." When he draws back, Shelby does as well. Not all the way, just enough that she can get her hands up to frame his face. Her expression is...very serious. Tension runs through her jaw, her already thin lips are nearly nonexistent they're being held together so tightly. /Some/ of that hard squeezing came of having to hide the shaky. Even street touch isn't enough to completely compensate for everything he's just shared. But she's focused less on thta now than on poor sniffly, glum Peter. "Hey," she says and, "hey," again. "Lookit me, okay? You did fucking /good/. You don't get tough sitting on your ass. Shit /happens/. And then you cry and get it out of your system and you keep /on/, Pete. /Fuck/ those assholes, right? Fuck 'em right up the ass with a rusty bar. /Twice/. You did good. You're right here and you did good, okay?" "Okay," Peter sniffles, initially /not/ looking at Shelby, even when she tells him to look at her. He's -- kind of a mess, really. The new skin helps obscure the worst of it; instead of flustered with color and saggy peepers, he gets -- violet-colored, with just a visible wetness around his eyes and shimmering over and around his cheeks. But then, he slings his eyes back up to her, /gnaws/ on his bottom lip, and: "Okay," he says, the wheezing subsiding completely, stirring up a bit more gristle behind that word. "I did--good," he agrees with Shelby. And then, as if to demonstrate this point!: "I, I scavenged more meat for them. From the cafeteria. And -- I faked all my fights. I mean, 'cept the one with the /twins/, holy crap um. Um," he says, suddenly /snorting/ what might be half-way between a giggle and a gurgle. A girggle. "Shelby they frigging /brutalized/ me it wasn't even --" And then, Peter's hands /both/ snap up out of the hug to grip Shelby's shoulders. And /squeeze/. And give her what might be the worst attempt at a 'I-Am-Totally-Serious-Now' face he has ever made: "Shelby. If Sebastian /ever/ asks you for a steak. GIVE. HIM. STEAK." See? That's right. Shelby is nodding along at the examples he finds as proof--she /knew/ they existed. Because she is smrt. But...not smart enough to see the grab and squeeze that's coming. "Erk!" See, she's good at sound effects too. Startling, she loops her hands around his wrists and gives him a look that is best translated as O.o. "Uh...sure. Yeah, I figured. Like...it's gonna be steak and blowjob day year round pretty much from here on out, okay? Calm down, dude." Peter flickers between violet-and-indigo at mention of /blowjobs/ in addition to steaks, but -- he's grinning, at least. And -- sliding his arms around her neck to give her /another/ hug, this time much more brief. "Thanks," he tells her, before adding: "You're doing pretty good too, Shelby. Um." /Back/ to indigo. "Ishould. GopesterIvan." Squirm, squirm, /attempt to scuttle away/. Shelby is not above snaring him for a kiss when he goes in for he hug. Peck, right on the cheek! Ambush kiss. "Don't gotta tell /me/," she scoffs as she lets him go. "You want any tips on how to...y'know..." Oh god, she's not...nope, yes she is! She raised her hand, curled, and pokes her tongue into her cheek several times to simulate the act that just made Peter turn such interesting shades. "Just lemme know. They're kind've different down there, if you know what I mean." And she thinks he /does/. If that doesn't send him /fleeing/ rather than scuttling, nothing will. The kiss catches Peter by surprise, prompting a wider grin. But the mention of SHARK ANATOMY -- a flicker of shock, followed by HORROR, followed by: "OhmyGOD--" And then he is almost /entirely/ indigo, /hurtling/ for the nearest exit on all fours. RUN, PETER, RUN.