ArchivedLogs:Vetting

Vetting
Dramatis Personae Hive, Dusk, Micah	30 September 2013 Talking politics! Um...sort of. >_>
Location <NYC> 403 {Geekhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here, split between the four people; the fold-out couch in the living room (often folded out!) suggests that at least one of them does not actually claim a room as their own. Here is Hive's Very Exciting Monday evening: sitting in Dusk's armchair by the large gaming table in the living room (currently covered with a host of Flicker's biology notes), laptop in his lap, /glaring/ at its screen angrily. There's a browser open, gmail, linkedin -- it's this former that he is scowling at as he slowly pages through his emails. With the clinic /officially/ finished, he's reverted to non-work mode. Insofar as there is a /change/ in wardrobe it is only to trade sturdy thick clothing for shabbier older jeans, worn to holes in the knees, his favourite brown hedgehog shirt paired with them. On the table beside the wealth of notes there is a pack of cigarettes and a large mug of coffee. Maybe this is Hive's dinner. Keys thunk in the lock and the door is pushed open, more with Dusk's heel than his hand as he fumbles the key back /out/. His thoughts are -- /well/. Probably Hive's heard more than enough of them over the past couple hours but as it is they're still /pretty/ happy. A strange mix of exhausted and /wired/, barely any sleep lately but recently-fed-energy. Even as he pulls the door open his wing is brushing against Micah's arm; he leans in to steal another kiss before pushing back into his room. "Dude you eaten? You need actual food c'mon how's Chinese will that get rid of your scowl?" Micah wheels himself alongside Dusk, returned to his outfit from earlier in the day of brown dinosaur T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. Somewhere along the line his cartoon frog sock got switched out for one dotted with multicolour flamingoes. As the day has cooled and he is actually leaving his apartment, his Apple family quilt is thrown over his lap in case of chilliness. Micah pets at Dusk's wing when it comes close, reaching up to curl his fingers around the back of the other man's neck for the duration of the kiss. He looks up when the door is opened and Dusk starts speaking to someone inside. "Hey, Hive. Ooo, Chinese sounds awesome. Man cannot live on coffee alone." His hands spin his wheels the few strokes needed to carry him into the living room. "Though that might be some magical takeout if it actually cures Hive-scowls." "Who the fuck says I can't live on coffee alone just you fucking watch me." Hive doesn't look up when the others enter, shoulders just tightening slightly. "I ate," he grumbles. "I had a pack of Cheez-its." His finger draws down against his mousepad, scowl deepening. "Sure you've both worked up an appetite, though. Where's Jax, you wear him out?" "Cheez-its. Really." Dusk snorts, closing the door behind them and meandering further into the living room; he doesn't stray far from Micah, dropping a hand to trace lightly against the other man's neck. He doesn't /need/ to get too close to Hive, though, to /reach/ him; his enormous wing extends to sweep in a dark curtain in front of Hive's laptop screen, blocking the view. "Preeeeetty much yeah. S'alright, Liam got Spence while he --" His smile is sharp. "Recovers. And holy /shit/ did I work up an appetite we're doing Chinese, executive decision. What are you scowling about /today/." “Pretty sure s'biology, man. Take it up with evolution; I don't make the rules,” Micah offers with a shrug and a smile. “Do Cheez-its count as an actual food-item? I mean, even if we grant that, y'still need t'eat somethin' /else/.” He nuzzles back against Dusk's hand as he watches the wing extend across the room with an uptick of one eyebrow. “That just never stops bein' impressive t'look at, does it?” "Look, I ate actual -- dinner -- food. /Impressive/ he's fucking annoying." Hive frowns, /whapping/ his hand up against Dusk's wing. "Yesterday. Fuck. When did Monday happen?" He leans forward, a heavy slump that bops his head up against Dusk's wing. "Good." His expression is hidden against Dusk's wing, though his voice now is just quiet. "Good, I'm glad you. Had. -- Fuck Chinese, though, I'm not hungry. You guys enjoy your --" He stops again, evidently not really keen on finishing thoughts today. He lifts his head, glares at Dusk's wing, and shuts the laptop before thunking forward again. "Micah. What do you think Jax would say about running for office?" "Yesterday. You know you're supposed to put food in you /every/ day, asshole." Dusk nudges Hive a little more upright, his wing pulling away from the telepath's face to curl around behind his back instead. He squeezes in gently, one edge of his wing slowly brushing down against the side of Hive's face. "Yeah, you're hungry. You're just too contrary to admit it." A faint touch of colour flushes his cheek at the comment on his wing; it curls more snugly around Hive. "Office? What? Cuz he needs a seventeenth job? Besides, Micah's way more palatable for public. You kinda /look/ like someone everyone wants to meet their parents," he explains with a small grin down to Micah, fingers kneading harder at the back of Micah's neck. “Mmhmm. Pretty sure y'don't get t'eat once an' let it cover the rest of the week. Y'want somethin' /not/ Chinese? Y'can totally pick if it means you'll eat a thing.” Micah's smile widens appreciably at Dusk's blush. “What would...runnin' for office? I'm not sure if he'd just gape at you or laugh. Y'remember the whole anarchist thing, right? Doesn't exactly mesh with /bein'/ The Man.” He rolls his eyes, making little finger-quotes around 'The Man'. “I'm--wait, what? Why are we suddenly tryin' t'push people into politics now? I mean. Yeah, /everybody/ seems t'think I'm good for introducin' t'parents. Let me tell you exactly how many times that's been true when /everybody/ wasn't also Jewish girls.” He shakes his head, realising he's been sidetracked. “I don't know the first thing about politics, other'n it seems t'be full of jerks, anyhow.” His nose starts to crinkle, but doesn't quite make it there because Dusk's fingers pressing to his neck trump with a more contented expression. "Full of jerks or idiots. Or both. S'why we need you guys. Smart and not assholes." Hive's scowl doesn't fade but there's an almost immediate note of relaxation to his posture at the curl of Dusk's wing; he nestles into it with his eyes closing. "I mean jegus have you seen the assclowns currently in office? Or running? Seriously every time this Cage dude is in front of a camera I feel ashamed for my entire species don't these people usually have someone telling them what to do?" His eyes stay closed, weight sinking comfortably into Dusk's wing. "I mean he seems genuine so that's /still/ preferable to the /rest/ of those assholes. But Christ do I want a candidate that's not a joke." "You can't even vote," Dusk reminds Hive, amused. His fingers slide down beneath Micah's shirt, still just rubbing slow and gentle at the muscles in his neck and shoulder. "I don't know, maybe you could sell it to Jax. Take down the system from the /inside/." His smirk implies that this is probably not a serious suggestion. "Hey, we could run Daiki. If we just introduce him to enough people everyone will forget he's not of age." “This is why they say that anyone worthy of office wouldn't want the job,” Micah asserts, yet another nose-scrunch aborted before it is fully realised. A pleased little hum comes from his throat as he nuzzles into Dusk's touch. “Oh, Cage seems like a nice enough guy. He just has...unfortunate luck with the state of his /clothing/. An' is /surprisingly/ trustin' for someone who's been knocked around by the system as much as he has.” He grins at Hive's suggestion. “Ohgosh, I'd hate t'see the marathon of convincin' that would take, seriously. But...man, Daiki in politics could be a /scary/ thing, couldn't it?” Micah's shoulder blade wriggles slightly beneath Dusk's fingers. He pets at the other man's stomach, since it is right within reach and all. "Daiki in politics would be pretty unstoppable. His classmates tried to elect him school president his first year. He wasn't even running." Hive scowls his way through this, too. "Nice enough, yeah, but you need to also not be a fucking moron. He's naive as /shit/. If we're going to have someone who gives a fuck about mutants in office, I want them to be /even remotely/ in touch with what life is like for those of us who /aren't/ invincible." Dusk dips his head lower with a small happy sigh at the stomach-petting. He presses soft kisses to the other side of Micah's neck than where his fingers knead. "A politician that's not sickeningly out of touch sounds kind of like mythical fantasy territory again there, dude. -- /Hey/. Are you just sidetracking? I'm not going to forget about dinner, you know. You're not off the hook for eating." Micah gives a little snort of laughter at the Daiki write-in story. “Hm. So. We need a pro-mutant candidate with some life experience, an' brains, who isn't a jerk, an' who's got enough of a clean image t'actually have a prayer of gettin' regular folks to vote for 'im.” He chews at his lower lip in thought. “What about Io? The cute, single young doctor with a penchant for charitable causes angle wouldn't /hurt/ with a pretty sizeable demographic.” He chuckles again, lighter this time. “Okay, now I dunno if it sounds more like I'm tryin' t'get 'im an elected office or a TV series.” Micah proves far easier to distract than Dusk does, his eyes starting to slip closed, fingers curling against Dusk's abdomen with the kisses. "You're all fucking queer," Hive grouses, his eyes still closed as his cheek nuzzles gently against Dusk's wing. "You can be a mutant or pro-mutant /or/ queer but /both/ and you're just inviting twice as many people to hate you. Dammit. We need some totally whitebread all-American -- man, it's too bad Lucien's a whore. He's incredible at --" He snorts, preemptively wincing at his own inadvertent pun, "-- selling himself. OK. Io might be our next best bet. He's a fucking lunatic, though." "Hive, Jesus himself could stroll in here offering to run and you'd find a reason he's inadequate." Dusk's wing rubs back against Hive's cheek. His own nuzzling is continuing, kisses pressed lightly to Micah's neck and his fingers still working gently at his shoulder. "Politics, television, it's -- pretty much about the same in terms of marketing." The fact that it takes Hive a while to come to the /queer/ conclusion earns another little laugh. "What can I say? We tend t'congregate. An'...um. I hate t'tell you. But I wouldn't exactly call Lucien straight, either." It's hard to tell just which thing Micah is giggling about now. "What part of bein' a lunatic is a /downside/ t'runnin' for office? I think it might be a prerequisite. 'Specially on any kind of pro-mutant agenda." Dusk's Jesus comment sparks a louder laugh. "Oh man, Jesus would never get elected t'anythin'. Jewish, son of an unwed teenage mother, an' spends all his time talkin' about the poor. That's every kind of not happenin'." Oh, more kisses! Kisses can override both the laughing and the snarking. Micah's free arm snakes around Dusk's waist while the fingers of the other hand uncurl just enough to rasp fingernails gently against skin. "Don't really know what I'd call Lucien. I don't know how much it counts towards /your/ sexuality when it's just work. Do we even know what he does in his off time?" Hive grimaces, for a moment. "Nox, I guess." He snorts at Micah's evaluation of Jesus's election chances. "Besides, dude, do you remember what they did to Jesus? I imagine it'd go about the same, if any mutant actually looked to stand a chance to get far in politics." "Drinks expensive Scotch," Dusk suggests. "Swishes around looking posh." He buries his face against Micah's neck, his soft laugh breathed out against the other man's skin. "Yeah, okay, fair, Jesus is kind of a hippie socialist, it wouldn't go over well today. Mmm." His muscles tense beneath Micah's fingernails, clenching up harder as he draws in a quick breath. "I swear we came up here for some /other/ reason. -- Ohshit we're forgetting the food again. That's it. What's everyone's order, I'm doing this. Now." Though the fact he isn't moving away from his small kisses kind of belies the 'now' part of this declaration. "Oh, c'mon, guys. He's a person, not a prop," Micah scolds gently in Lucien's defense, the arm around Dusk's waist giving a little squeeze concurrently. "He...gardens an' reads an' cooks an' listens t'music an' plays chess an' goes t'shows an' takes care of his little sibs an' just...stuff." The breath against his neck brings a light dusting of pink to his cheeks. His nails run a longer path up just to the tip of Dusk's sternum before reversing course. A little 'hm' is about as far as he gets to his order because...ongoing kisses. Not conducive to thinking about takeout menus. "C'mon even you have to admit he /does/ kind of ponce around." Hive's scowl finally vanishes in favor of a smirk, instead. He doesn't seem particularly keen on leaving his comfortably nestled spot against Dusk's wing. "Something with shrimp," is his contribution to takeout order. "Jegus, you two are gorram insatiable." "Yeah. OK. He is." Dusk nips lightly at the side of Micah's neck. "A very /swishy/ person." His smile stretches sharp and wide at Hive's last words. "If you'd tasted him, you would be, too." Though here he punctuates the words with another kiss and then finally leaves off, squeezing Micah's neck one last time and digging his phone out of his pocket to open foodler. "Right. Food first." “You're both kind of horrible,” Micah returns with a chuckle that turns into a catch of breath timed to Dusk's nip. The other man's ministrations handily silence any other protests, though the comment on tasting turns him a more brilliant red. “If they have eggplant in plum sauce, I'm all about that. Otherwise, whatever you guys are gettin' is fine with me. An'...I think we /actually/ came up here about the stuff y'needed sewn.” He blushes deeper at his own distractibility. “Ohgosh, I'm kind of horrible too, I guess,” he admits, though this is with yet another little laugh.