ArchivedLogs:Social Lives

Social Lives
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Jack, Shane	2015-10-17 "Been...too messed up and busy?"
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
Spacious and open, this coffeeshop has a somewhat industrial feel to it, grey resin floors below and exposed-beam ceilings that have been painted up in a dancing swirl of abstract whorls and starbursts, a riot of colour splashed against a white background. The walls alternate between brick and cheerfully lime-green painted wood that extends to the paneling beneath the brushed-steel countertops. There's an abundance of light, though rather than windows (which are scarce) it comes from plentiful hanging steel lamps. The walls here are home to plentiful artwork available for sale; though the roster of prints and paintings and drawings and photographs changes on a regular basis it has one thing in common -- all the artists displayed are mutants. The seating spaced around the room is spread out enough to keep the room from feeling cluttered. Black chairs, square black tables that mostly seat two or four though they're frequently pushed around and rearranged to make space for larger parties. In the back corner of the room is more comfortable seating, a few large black-corduroy sofas and armchairs with wide tables between them. There's a shelf of card and board games back here available for customers to sit and play. The chalkboard menus hanging behind the counter change frequently, always home to a wide variety of drinks (with an impressive roster of fair-trade coffees and teas largely featured) though their sandwiches and wraps and soups and snacks of the day change often. An often-changing variety of baked goods sit behind the display case at the counter halfway back in the room, and the opposite side of the counter holds a small selection of homemade ice creams. A pair of single-user bathrooms flanks the stairway in back of the cafe; at night, the thump of music can be heard from above, coming from the adjoining nightclub of the same name that sits up the stairs above the coffeehouse. Saturday night and today Evolve /is/ thumping. There's a heavy beat that can be felt coming through the club from upstairs; over the speakers, the music reflects that, echoing what the DJ is spinning -- though much, /much/ less loudly. The cafe isn't exactly busy -- there are people coming through it, steadily enough! But mostly just heading for the upstairs, dressed in bright clothes or tight clothes, pre-game-buzzed or made-up pretty, some coming back down for a small break from the noise but heading back up soon enough. The cafe /itself/, really, is pretty sparse in /actual/ population, save for the vagrant clubgoers clustered around the comfortable couches and chairs in back. A few people at tables, snacking or drinking, getting ready to head out into the suddenly-frigid night for sleep or getting enough calories /in/ them to head upstairs for a night of dancing. Dusk is not really either of these things. Tucked at the same table he was yesterday, he has his laptop once again. A Very Large mug, which is sadly currently empty. A smattering of bruises dusted across arms and cheek, the membrane of one wing torn and raw where it is knitting itself back together. His face is kind of pale, his eyes kind of shadowed, his stare kind of glazed from too-long fixed onto the screen as he types. Shane is trotting down from upstairs -- though very likely /he/ hasn't been dancing. Dressed in sharply tailored vest, slacks, dress shirt, bow-tie, he bustles through the room in a habitual whirlwind of cleanup, picking up after those who forgot to bus their tables, straightening chairs, flitting back to wipe the tables down afterwards. He stops when he gets to Dusk, frowns at the empty mug. He doesn't actually give a greeting -- just whisks the mug away, returning soon after with a large refilled coffee that he tucks back into its place at Dusk's table. Jack's not been up dancing either. He's been waiting at the counter for what he's ordered, but now that he has it in hand he's looking for a place to sit. Right now he's just a pair of jeans, some old sneakers, and a blue hoodie. Peeking in the sleeves or the hood might let sharp eyes notice bandage wrapped around a few places on his arms and torso. He's not too bothered by it, heading in Shane's direction when he sees him on the floor. He's got a sandwich with him when he approaches the table, lifting his free sleeve to wave. "Hey," he greets, wincing a little when he sees Dusk's injuries. "Mind if I join you?" Dusk doesn't glance up when Shane arrives with his coffee, but actually being /addressed/ drags his eyes away from his screen -- a little wide, a little startled, blinking owlishly at Jack together with a reflexive low rumble of growl. He drags the tip of his tongue across his teeth, rubs the back of his knuckles against his eyes. "Woah -- oh. Shit. Yeah -- uh -- yeah. No. Yeah. Go ahead -- holy crap." His wing curls out, snagging Shane and tugging the sharkpup close against his side. "It's like my own goddamn /coffee pixie/ holy shit. Magic." There's an odd dual quality to his voice -- throughout all this speaking, the soft growl hasn't /stopped/, second set of vocal cords grating underneath the first. "Sup?" There's a small delay before Shane's teeth flash in quick smile to Jack. "Recovering alright?" His eyes widen as Dusk's wing snags him, but he relaxes into it, letting himself be pulled into the other man's side. "Shit, you need more than coffee? When the hell did you last eat?" His eyes are narrowing at that continued growling. There's a pause at the growl, Jack blinking a little himself. He relaxes a moment later though, dropping into a seat across from Dusk. "Feels like I am," Jack replies, tugging a sleeve up to examine one of the bandages. "Doing way better now than I was last night after the fight," he adds with a little laugh. "Shane is awesome that way," he agrees. "Are you healing up okay?" he asks Dusk now, following Shane's questions. Dusk takes a large swig of his coffee, hissing slightly at its heat but swallowing a second gulp afterwards anyway. "I had curry. A sandwich. I don't know. Soup. I ate a lot you keep freaking feeding me /and/ your pa when he was getting here." The growl is deepening, though, his wing tightening hard around Shane. His face tips in, nuzzling up against the side of Shane's neck before he pulls back. "Mmng. Not so quick as I'd /like/." His torn wing shivers, the wound and his bruises -- still far /more/ healed than they would be in an ordinary person, one day out. "Haven't slept much yet, though, that. Might help." He rubs his hand against his eyes again, looking over at Jack. "Out late. Doing anything fun? Hopefully," he says wryly, flicking a claw towards his computer, "more fun than work." "More fun than work," Shane grumbles, gesturing around /his cafe/ they're sitting in, "fuck you." He shivers, inner eyelids sliding shut and a quick breath pulled in at Dusk's nuzzling. "I didn't mean /food/, Orlok." He raises his brows towards Jack. "What /is/ there to do on weekends these days? Tell me what it's like for people who still have the freedom to have a social life, I've forgotten." Jack takes a few bites of his sandwich, focusing on it for a few moments. "Probably should at least nap," he says, looking at some of Dusk's bruises. "Went to a movie with some of the others, decided to stop by here instead of heading back," he says. "Not sure how much of a social life I have." "Oh." Dusk's growl grows harsher, then fades away. His eyes cut sharply away from Shane, breath catching. He snatches up his mug, gulping at it as his wing drops back behind his back, folding there tightly. "Shit. Not all day. Get so fucking distracted --" He sets his mug aside, resting his elbows on the table and dropping his head into his hands. "Movies with people sounds like a social life. -- I hear some people like to go clubbing," he informs Shane solemnly. Shane bares his teeth at Dusk, a small growl of his own answering that last statement. "You gotta feed, man." He pulls back reluctantly when Dusk's wing falls away, rubbing fingers up beneath the starchy collar of his dress shirt. "B wanted to go see /The Martian/ but we didn't make it while she was down here." He sounds regretful. "Got pulled out of town --" His brows knit together for a moment, but this clears up as his eyes cut back to Jack. "No?" One side of the movie hooks up. "Why, was it that shitty of a movie?" Jack offers an unseen frown at the talk of Dusk needing to feed. "Shane's right...gotta make sure to take care of yourself," he says. "Yeah, went and saw Pan. It was pretty bad," he replies. He takes another bite of his sandwich before shrugging. "I've heard good things about clubbing. Haven't tried it yet though." "Man yeah I heard that was fucking shitty. Though it did lead to hilarious reviews that were just an exercise in who could use the most pan- puns." Dusk's tongue flicks over his teeth again, another growl rumbling briefly and then dying. His eyes drop back to his screen at the mention of being pulled out of town, but then lift again. "-- Wait, /you/ were out of town?" "My /pa/ won't even go see it and /Peter Pan/ is like, his favourite. He has the guide stars to Neverland /tattooed/ on him." Shane's lips press together -- their corners twitch almost like a smile, but without quite managing. "Yeah. With Flicker? Hawai'i -- ish." He shakes his head quickly, a small tensing to his shoulders. "Not for long." He glances towards the door as it opens, straightening with a small wince. "/Seriously/, eat something." And with a grin to Jack: "/I/ card like a motherfucker, lo siento, but over in Chelsea the place my Pa used to work -- Heaven? I swear you could roll up in there with a fake drawn on construction paper in Crayola and they'd be like sure whatever come in. Music's pretty good. Lots of eye candy. -- Looks like that's me." He nods towards the trio of new customers heading towards the counter, rolling his shoulders in a kind of tired stretch as he claps Jack on the shoulder and meanders off towards the register. "It was a big mess. Lots of flashy effects but that's about it," Jack remarks, hood nodding. He chuckles a little as Shane mentions carding. "Don't worry about it. I can wait. Only a couple months till I can see what the party's all about up there," he pauses. "Provided I can get an ID," he rubs the back of his neck. "See ya," he offers as Shane heads off. Taking a breath, he turns back to Dusk. "Got a lot of work still or did an all-nighter help knock most of it out?" "/Hawai'i/?" Dusk looks a little bemused as Shane departs. "-- With Flicker? Oh, god. Oh, /shit/." His eyes have gotten wider. Rather starkly wider. "I didn't know they -- have they already started sending him out on -- oh, god. His first fucking mission and --" He falls silent abruptly, what little colour was /in/ his face draining from it, leaving the bruise on his cheek more noticeable in comparison. His palm scrubs against his scruffy chin, slow. There's a harsher note to his next growl -- but this cuts off quickly, too, as he shuts his laptop decisively. "Fuck. I've got a /mountain/ of work. May as well break now, right? It's never fucking ending." He offers a small crook of grin to Jack. "Party up there is only what you make of it. Much like all of life." It takes Jack a moment to piece things together but the word 'mission' is what does it. "Oh...they...oh man," Jack looks in the direction Shane went for a moment. "That...wow," he murmurs, impressed. He looks back to Dusk at his growl and he blinks when the laptop is closed. "Got to pace yourself," he agrees with a chuckle. "You go clubbing often?" "They're just too fucking young." Dusk's wings shift restlessly against his back, his hand a little jittery when it reaches for his mug. His eyes flick up, focusing with uncanny accuracy at Jack's invisible throat. "Uh -- not. Not lately. Used to. The past little while's been -- fff." He drops his gaze sharply, downs the rest of his coffee in a long chug. "Why, you like to dance?" "Young but...I dunno. Would the people at the school let them do stuff if they weren't ready?" Jack asks. "Been...too messed up and busy?" Jack guesses. He laughs a little at the question, shaking his head. "I'm not a big fan of it. I'm pretty bad at it," he chuckles. "Jax and Flicker were still /in/ high school when they broke /me/ out of the labs," Dusk answers quietly. "Flicker wasn't even sixteen yet. And he died on that raid." He gives his head a quick shake, wings wrapping in around himself as if this will repress the shiver that passes through him. "But Shane's tough, right?" Kind of like he's trying to convince himself of something. His smile is returning when he drops his wings back, though. "No dancing, alright. Drinking? Flirting?" His brows lift in hopeful amusement. "Karaoke? What'd be the club-draw for you, then? Anyway not like you have to be /good/ at it. Not about skill, just -- /enthusiasm/. Which," he confides cheerfully, "tends to go /up/ with the boozing, so they're a good match." Jack is a little surprised by the idea of Jax still being in high school. He just can't imagine him being younger than himself. He shakes it off when Dusk mentions a death though. "Wait, what? What happened to Flicker?" he asks, confused. "Shane's way more than tough. Kicked my butt every time we...trained," he says, meaning the fight club. He snorts a little though. "I don't really drink. Could try karaoke...as for flirting..." he trails off, shoulders slumping. "I'm not so sure on that," he shakes his head. "I could give dancing another try if people don't mind their toes getting stepped on." "Prometheus, they used to hire people -- or torture people -- or straight up mind control them if that didn't work. I mean, like, other mutants? Into guarding the labs. Since other mutants were most effective at keeping each other in check. So it was --" Dusk shrugs one wing. "A lot of my -- a lot of our team died on the raids. But Flicker took the worst fire a lot of the time." His cheeks puff out, his breath exhaled sharp and his eyes lifting back to Jack. Then quickly away. His wings fidget again, claws twitching and his fingers tightening around his empty coffee mug. He lifts it -- lowers it when his attempt to drink nets him no coffee. "No worries. Just get a dancing partner with stompy boots." "That...I...damn," Jack breathes out, both hands lowering to the table. He's feeling his appetite fade at this news. "But...you said he /died/. And he's...pretty clearly not dead," Jack's still confused about that. "Stompy boots...got it." "There's a girl who -- has the ability to. Resurrect people after." Dusk hitches a wing upward again. "'pologies. Kind of a tangent. My mind is --" His eyes lower, another growl rumbling in his chest. "Fff. Not -- not. I should -- I should --" His eyes scrunch tightly shut, shoulders tensing as he draws in a slow breath. He swallows, setting his cup on the table; his boots thud to the ground as he stands. The growl lingers in very soft but continuous undertone. "I don't know. Get out, I guess. Maybe gets some air. Been in here for like -- ever." "Wow," Jack murmurs. He's not sure how to process that information. The apology gets him pausing and waving it off. "No...I...Lo siento. Shouldn't have been asking about bad memories like that," he says. He watches Dusk stand. "I can watch your computer if you just want to go for air and come back to work," he offers. Dusk's tongue runs briefly over his teeth again. He looks down at Jack with a slow blink -- then nods, pulling quickly away from the table. "Yeah? That'd be -- right. Thanks. I'll be -- I'll try not to be long." His wing brushes against Jack's shoulder in passing, though he's already hastening towards the door. "Don't worry about it. Have a good...have some good air time," Jack offers, figuring Dusk may be going to fly. He leans back as Dusk goes, getting comfortable and settling in.