ArchivedLogs:Welcome to the Neighborhood
| Welcome to the Neighborhood | |
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| Dramatis Personae | 2013-05-05 Morlocks meet Peter, vice versa. Also OMG THWIPPY THINGS. (Part of Thunderdome.) |
| Location | |
It's a basement, somewhere, that much is clear from the slightly musty-cool feel, the lack of windows, the stark-bare cement decor. What purpose this place originally served is hard to discern; something industrial, judging by the heavy reinforced eyelet hooks still set into the ceiling, now devoid of any loads to bear. Of late the place has been repurposed, though. Around two parallel edges of the room, sturdy cells have been constructed, heavy reinforced metal segmenting off large cage-like cells. The enclosures are largely identical: two sets of bunk beds with pillows, thin sheets, identical grey wool blankets. A pair of large covered bedpans, a bucket usually filled with fresh-ish water. The center of the room is divided in two. One half is large and open, a spacious expanse of cement floor and emptiness. The other half holds long trestle-tables, long benches, both riveted into the cement floor. The ceiling -- of the room, of the cages -- hold very noticeable dark security-camera bubbles. There is one door leading out of here, heavy steel that is securely chained and barred from the outside. MEAL-TIME. Peter is rather quick to emerge from his cage when food is carted out - the boy keeps his distance from all the other captives, darting here and there hesitantly as he awaits the receiving of grub. Even among the mutants, he's a bit of strange one; a scrap of a boy wrapped in a tattered black hoodie and dress slacks - funny looking two-toed socks - and with a face full of bruises and clusters of black blotches - they look like moles, except there are /way/ too many of them and some of them are as big as a silver dollar. Once he has a tray of food, he is quick to scurry with it toward somewhere quiet and distant from the others, /watching/ with a nervous, energetic apprehension. It was a long night for the most recent captives. Not just because the lights in the cell were not turned off all night, not just because they have been tased, kidnapped and thrust into a strange, dangerous situation, but also because Nox spent the night awake and muttering and rocking on her bunk. The shadow lady has yet to regain her smoky hair, and her charcoal skin has faded to a dull cloud-grey shade. She was "kindly" provided with an ill fitting tank top and stretchy-waistband set of shorts, which hang loosely on her; less kind are the collar and bracelet set that she wears. Not leather, like the other captives, she's been fitted with tight cables that hug her skin and are clear, threaded with bright LED lights. Where they touch, they've left stark white marks on her skin. They are not comfortable. When the doors clang open in the morning, Nox is somewhat steadier on her feet, if only because she has Anole to assist her. Her huge black eyes are wide and not entirely focused. They flit around without really ever settling on anything. "...not the lab? Are we in the lab? This is not the lab, Anole..." "This isn't a lab," Anole agrees, though for this agreement he isn't exactly very /reassuring/, nervous-unhappy in his tone. "This is a -- it's not a lab." His head shakes. He's not gone far throughout the night, leaned up against the base of Nox's bunk with a constant low-level worry that keeps him awake moreso than the lights and tasing and kidnapping. When the morning food arrives he doesn't move, not even when their cage door is opened; he watches it warily and stays where he is, faded into the mottled colours of his surroundings as the others move to eat. It's only a low-grade shock when he /fails/ to move that gets him on his feet. "-- Um -- there's --" he rests his hand tentatively on Nox's shoulder. "I think we -- there's /food/ I think we --" He doesn't really /sound/ entirely certain of much of anything. "To. Eat." Even though he came in with Nox and Anole, Masque hasn't shown any sign of actual attachment to the pair. He hasn't spoken a single word, and the night was spent soundly asleep on a bunk of his own. As far as anyone could tell, anyway, because he's had the hood of his red coat up and over his face the entire time he was here. A collar of his own shows near the front of it, bulking uncomfortably at the back of his neck. He's behaved, in the sense that he basically hasn't /done/ anything since he got here. Now, he sits in a corner of the cage with his elbows on his knees, resting casually, head raised just enough to stare blankly ahead of him while most of his face remains hidden. He looks... pretty much at home, actually. When the food is wheeled in, he simply stands, looking to it as the disfigured side of his face is rubbed with a palm. Mmngh. Peter is about to crawl back into his own cage and /hide/ with the food - but then, just as he is darting toward the entrance - he catches the sound of Anole's voice. And stops. And scoots back, just a little bit, /peering. First, at Nox - who stands out - then, at Anole. Eyes widening. And then, ever so slowly, Peter is scooting /toward/ the group and the entrance to their cage. Tray gripped tightly in his hand. Edging his way over. Trying to be sneaky, but. Well, there really isn't any place to sneak around in here. So. "...Anole?" Very quietly, from the other side of Nox, as Peter reaches the corner of the cage. "Food," Nox echoes almost inaudibly. "Yes. Yes, you should eat, Anole. Masque...there is food. We should...we should go and eat. This is not the lab, perhaps it will..." The woman trails off and drifts forward to the cell's entrance, pausing only when Peter appears. It isn't that she heard or recognized his whispering. But he is there and her eyes skim over him with a lack of recognition. "He has food." Anole startle-twitches at the sound of his name, skittering back a few steps and regarding Peter warily. Eventually he creeps back forward, to Nox's side to linger at her elbow. Peek? "... you know me?" It's confused. He peers at Peter, and then peers at the food. "You have breakfast." He's very astute. "I think we're supposed to eat," he tells Masque, and he's hesitant as he he looks between the older man and Peter. "What is it?" He's creeping towards the cage door with a tug at Nox's elbow, to peeeer at Peter's food. Warily, too. But his stomach growls. Masque's scowl deepens when he spots Peter, his eyes locking on the boy /scuttling about/ as though it is a personal insult. But a moment later and he's looking toward other cages, other people, and - when in Rome... well. When in Rome, move toward the food to collect a tray, apparently. Though he's got a slight limp whenever weight comes down on one of his feet, there is no hesitance in his movements. Just /getting it over with/, his hand moving to somewhat gingerly press at his side, through his coat, where he'd been kicked the night before. Anole and Nox? Might as well not be there. "Yes - you - should go get food, or they might shock you. Or you won't get to eat," Peter says, and for a moment he seems indecisive about which possibility seems worse. He's /peering/ at Nox's collar, though - eyebrows crumpling - but, after a moment of staring, he seems to realize that - this is /rude/. He steps aside for Masque as he moves toward the trays, and... "We met in that lot - don't you remem-- oh, man, /duh/ yeah I was - I was wearing a mask," Peter says. Glancing back at the trays, then to Anole and Nox. Making little 'come on' motions with his own tray, swinging it in their general direction. "...'Spider'? We talked about. Coccoons. And--" Peter is about to say one thing, but suddenly - almost /violently/ - he cuts himself off. "--/discretion/. We talked about discretion. My name's - my real name's Peter. Or Spider. Actually I don't... care. Hi," he finally says, to Nox. "...come on you... you probably should eat." It isn't difficult to steer Nox forward. She goes where Anole's hand nudges her, wincing a little with the movement of turning her head. The collar chafes but reaching her hand up to adjust it causes her to flinch away. "Yes...you should eat, keep your strength...you're hungry." A step forward, then another and then she's moving under her own power to follow in Masque's wake. While the boys whisper to each other, she directs her own question to the man's red back. "...where are we?" Anole stays by Nox's side until she is moving of her own volition. After this he is following, scuttling more towards Peter than the others. He sniffs at Peter's breakfast plate. Steals a potato. Nibbles it /testingly/ before deciding to get his own plate. "Oh -- oh." He studies Peter's face with deep confusion. "But you said -- I thought you were -- like." His nose wrinkles, hand gesturing (still with half a tiny potatocube) to Peter's face. "Normal." Then skitter. To collect a tray of his own. "We're," he tells Nox, looking around, "-- in a cage. Did we get arrested? I think we may have gotten arrested because, um," His face crumples into something pained, something /guilty/, "I was. I mean I took a wallet. UM should I not say that without a lawyer, I gave it /back/." "Fuck if I know." Comes an answer, quick and concise, from Masque to Nox as he turns around again, tray in his hands. He almost walks straight past her, but stops to wrinkle his nose and to look her over. His voice is lowered, even more unpleasant than usual due as he grates with a certain amount of disgust evident, "But, little spy. You don't keep it together, you ain't getting out of whatever 'here' is." Words that may lead some to believe he is attempting a 'tough love' routine to try and convince her to shape up. His tone implies no such thing, however. It implies that he may enjoy /so much more/ if she doesn't. Peter watches as Anole skitters. Most people are so slow it's almost painfully boring to watch. Peter has to force himself to be very, very slow with everyone. Seeing someone zip around at high-speed seems to /fascinate/ him. When the potato is nabbed, Peter shows little concern; when Anole mentions his face, Peter blushes. "Ohyeah uh that started a few weeks ago I don't... know." At the mention of stealing a wallet, eyebrows zip up; when Anole mentions to Nox that he thinks they've been arrested, Peter promptly looks very, /very/ worried. So worried he puts the tray down and reaches out to touch Anole's shoulder. "...Anole you are not in jail this is /not/ jail." A glance at Nox, then, and at Masque, and: "...guys you are - /okay/ I have basically just been here for two days, but - they're /kidnapping/ mutants. The police. And they're - this is some sort of - mutant fight ring. Like, they're - going to put us in a ring and zap us unless we beat the /crap/ out of each other." Peter may not have been the best choice for breaking this news to the others. "...also you have to be careful, and do what they say, they are not messing around - with the collars." Nox looks up at Masque. Blankly, at first. Then, as her face twists with another twinge of pain, with slightly more comprehension. "Yes. You are right. I have to...this is very bad," she murmurs. Which means more effort is made to at least /focus/, to think past the glare of light on her face. No easy thing but she is able to turn of her own free will to look at the boys and even to listen to Peter's explanation. An arm extends to curl over Anole's shoulders. "...the police. Yes. It was police who took us. The men with the lights. And we...but...fighting? No, how can that be? You are only children." "What is it?" Anole is peering at the spots of Peter's face with open fascination. "It's a /pretty/ colour." He has hurried back over to offer his tray of food toward Nox? Uncertainly? Have a potato? But the thoughts of food are pushed from his mind with Peter's explanation, which earns a stark widening of his green eyes. He looks at Masque and Nox as though they might /refute/ this. "But -- but I just took a /wallet/ --" His brows crease. "I'm sorry I didn't -- mean to --" His mouth closes. Then opens. "I don't even -- know -- how to fight why are they doing this." Amongst all the shock and confusion? Another noise bubbles up-- a laugh, from Masque. Rasping its way out of his throat like a cheese grater over solid rock. At least it's brief, and his expression slides oh so easily back into one of discontent. "Fight?" He eyes Peter incredulously, eyebrows up, one eye hanging open slightly more so than the other. "They're picking up feeble old men and--" He grimaces, as if the following is something foul, something he would rather /toss/ at Peter and Anole with the subsequent gesture of his hand than speak aloud, "-- /children/? They've gotta be either desperate, or fucking /stupid/." "...they're not--okay," Peter says, and now he's /sitting/ at a table, and the tray is in front of him - and he's reaching for a plastic fork because he is /hungry/. Peter eats fast - swallows fast - everything about him is fast. He seems to be in a perpetual rush to do /all the things/ at once. He speaks in-between chews: "First off, I am pretty sure, they are--terrible people. Like, the terriblest. Second off, it's chitin, like--bug exoskeleton? And--pretty color?" Peter's hand reaches up to touch one of the marks, like this thought has never even /occurred/ to him; it prompts a flush of color - and self-conscious spot-scratchings. "--when it first started it was just eating my leg and I hoped it would stop there, but /now/ I guess--I hope it doesn't I mean, right now it probably looks wei... /okay/," he interrupts himself. Clearly very easy to distract: "Third off, if--you don't know how to fight, some of the people here can - help. There's - I'm roomed with - Sloan. She's, um. A dog. Kind of. She's--" Peter's blush continues to creep through what skin remains beneath the speckled map of splotches. "She's... not /nice/, but... not mean, either. She might - help you learn. Um. I can, maybe help a little too, I don't know a lot, I just -" Peter looks to Masque, then. Much quieter: "...be careful, they /listen/ and will just /shock/ you." The potato is taken but passed on quickly by Nox to offer to Masque. Food is less of a temptation for her, and though she looks chalky and unwell, eating is not likely to help. Then, when Peter moves to sit, she drifts after him. The bench beside her is patted--probably for Anole rather than Masque. "Children should not fight," she murmurs, head bowing and eyes closing to protect them from the glare of her collar. "...Masque. Come, please. Sit." There is a brief pause before she adds, with some distraction, "We will need you." "It's pretty," Anole insists. "Like it's -- sort of -- shiny and if you look there's --" One hand kindof sortof reaches a finger towards one of those chitin-spots before he pulls back apologetically with a faint blush and /skitters/ off to seat himself beside Nox. "I don't think it's weird," he says quietly, for whatever weight the weirdness-dar of a scaley spikey green lizardkid is worth. "-- Does she eat lizards?" This is a little apprehensive. He starts mowing through his breakfast, with fingers instead of itensils. "/Why/ are we fighting?" He's still clearly confused on this point. "I mean they're /cops/ aren't they supposed to -- is this legal?" The more Peter talks, the more disgusted Masque looks. It might not be at his /words/ so much as the sheer amount of them, though. At the warning, the hooded mutant's head dips, lips giving a twitch in idle thought. The potato he is then offered is accepted /instantly/, and stuffed into his mouth soon after with very little regard for how graceful that may look. He looks like he's about to wander off with his tray, still chewing, when Nox mentioning his name causes him to turn toward her again. The word 'please' almost instantly elicits a potato-y scoff, but he limps forward to drag himself onto the bech and sits down next to Anole, sinking down with all the finesse of a /badger/. A blind one. He listens, staring down at the tray in front of him and occasionally stuffing a forkful of food into his face. Peter's blush ratchets up about three degrees when Anole reaches a finger toward one of those blotches; when he skitters away, he turns back to his food. And, for several moments, he proceeds to deal with said blush by /eating/ his way out of it. CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP. But he also listens, and answers, slowly: "...I don't think so. She eats - the stuff here. And /no/ this is /so/ illegal. But..." Another glance to the camera. "...I don't think a lot of people care. They're -- for entertainment. Like, dog-fights." Peter shakes his head, then, and looks up at the three of them very sternly: "Listen I don't know what you're capable of, /but/ you shouldn't - you shouldn't let them know /too/ much. About anything. Where you came from, or what you can do. These guys - I don't think they're very /bright/, so if there's any chance of--" *ZZZZPT*. Peter stiffens a moment, teeth clenching. Then, eyebrows crumpled, he goes back to /shoveling/ food in his face. Sullenly. /Now/ who's the smart one, Peter? Nox folds her hands in her lap and sits quietly while others eat around her. Her eyes remain closed but she's certainly listening. Else she wouldn't murmur, "These are bad people," during a break in the conversation. "We are not..." Whatever else she might have said is bitten off when the zap is heard. It takes a monumental effort but she opens her eyes, turns her head to study Peter and in that moment she looks /so very sad/. A hand creeps out over Anole's back to touch the boy on his shoulder. "..." Anole glances up and sideways towards Peter, but then quickly looks back to his food. SCARF. He is eating rapidly, shoveling food with his fingertips into his mouth. He /squeaks/, though, when Peter is zapped, a bit of egg falling from his lips back down to his tray. "Ohgoshno shh shhh," he quiets as Nox reaches around behind him, but -- only slightly. Wide-eyed, a little trembly, he looks like he is about to bolt back into his cage. "... entertainment? Is -- is -- but -- fights aren't -- how is that --" He is frowning deeply. "Cops aren't supposed to. Do. Illegal things." The zap brings Masque's attention back up in the middle of him lifting his fork, though the look he shoots Peter is one of idle observation. His eyes lower to the table in thought, before his turns his head below that hood, and settles his gaze on Nox, then Anole. "If you tell 'em anything about me or what I do..." That fork comes down now, kindly illustrating how easily a potato is mashed against the place, then scooped up and stuffed into his face. His eyes linger on Anole's particularly, the unspoken threat easily reflecting within his expression... Anole squeaks again. /Quieter/. "Tssst," is all Peter says, finishing his /meal/ in sullen /silence/. He doesn't look afraid; he mostly just looks - angry, now. /Frustrated/. Poke, poke at remaining potatoes. As if he intends to take his frustration out on them. Frigging potatoes. Then, at Masque's implied threat, /eyebrows/. He's not even sure if /is/ a threat. But then, quieter, and with a much more slow pace - as if electricity has a way of /focusing/ him: "No, they aren't supposed to," Peter agrees, and his eyebrows /squeeze/ together, like he's still trying to reconcile this himself. He /might/ sound just a mite bitter about it. "But they are. But - it will be okay. Just - do whatever they say. And, just, learn how to - fight. And - /stay alive/. And everything will eventually be - okay. I promise." Peter doesn't say that last bit with a great deal of confidence, but he /does/ say it, and - by the look on his face - he /does/ mean it. "Masque." Oh look, Nox has shaken off some of the fog she's been operating within. She is looking not at the potato demonstration but the man himself, her arm still around Anole, her hand still curled over Peter's shoulder. For that moment, she is the woman she was on the outside--calm, quiet, but /firm/. "We are not the people you should concern yourself with. I would rethink this...this..." She trails off as the darkness in her eyes grows dull again. She reaches towards her lighted collar, winces, lowers her hand. "I should. I should lie down. Perhaps. They will turn off the lights soon? Yes. Finish...please finish your breakfast, Anole. Peter. I will be...there. If you need me," she murmurs as she makes an aborted attempt to stand. The second attempt is more successful. Anole stands when Nox does, putting a hand at her elbow to help with this process, his eyes wide and concerned. But once she is /on/ her feet he sits back down to finish off his plate of food. "Do you know how to fight?" He asks Peter this, uncertain. "Do /you/ know how to fight?" To Masque, but -- softer, hesitant. He fidgets. Glances at Peter again. "... maybe you can. Teach. But. I don't want to hurt -- I mean." He frowns. "I want to stay alive." "Tch." This is all Masque replies to Nox, not even looking up from his food as he crams some more down his throat, though he watches her get up from his peripheral vision as he does so. Anole gets a lopsided but level stare back in return for his question. Another potato suffers the marred faced mutant's wrath. It's MASHED, then prodded. And mashed again, for good measure. Look what you made me do, Anole. Look at this. Peter watches Nox with worry as she struggles to her feet; he doesn't seem bothered by the hand on his shoulder - if anything, he seems /happy/ to have some sort of physical contact that isn't - grabby, or punchy, or just /scary/. He doesn't get up as she does, though; he just watches, frowning a little, shoving around that last morsel of un-squished potatoes. He asks - to Anole - "...will she be -- okay? She seems -- is she hurt? Not sleeping? She hardly ate..." He looks to her plate. Simultaneously worried /and/ trying to hide his first instinct - to eat her share, too. As to Anole's question - Peter's eyes flicker down to his potatoes, like he's just been caught in a lie. "I've fought... a couple of times. People who wanted to kill me. Mostly just ran away. Some of my - friends - taught me a little. I can show you that." He thinks back to Rasa, and Doctor McCoy; now he's shoving the remaining potatoes around /and/ nibbling on his lip. "...I don't want to hurt anyone either but, you might /have/ to. I..." Peter's mouth closes, twisting into a crooked line. "...you /will/ have to. I'm sorry. Sloan can - we can learn how. Together?" He looks to Masque, too. As if he is going to even extend this invitation to SCARY OLD MAN. Albeit, Peter's glance is nervous; he doesn't seem to want to maintain eye contact with this guy. Danger sense, /tingling/. Nox pats Anole's shoulder lightly--almost clumsily--before she turns to return to their cell. Where she will curl up on her bunk and /not/ sleep, no doubt. Anole doesn't hide this instinct. He glances to Nox, then glances to Nox's share of food. His tongue /shoots/ out from his mouth, a looong unfurling of pink that thwp-scoops at the tray. A large mouthful of food is no longer on it. "She's not -- I mean she's not okay but I don't think we can --" He's speaking a little muffled through a full mouth of food and then swallows, glancing upwards at the lights. "-- don't think we can help it. Can we. Can you -- show me?" Now, maybe? Who knows. He is done with /his/ food anyway though. He glances at Masque uncertainly. Watching the SMASHING of potatoes. "You should practice too," he practically whispers. "I ain't have to do nothing." Masque replies with startling eloquency, swiping a fork across his food to stuff a last bite of food into his mouth before he, too, rises. Peter is angrily glowered at on the way up, but Anole receives a look that is slightly more... thoughtful. When he speaks again, it's like the words don't want to come out, lowered and scrapey and scratching to get back down his throat, yet shoved out anyway. "That shit I told you, pup? After the police station. Remember that." With that, he turns and walks. Maybe after Nox. Maybe to creep at a perfect stranger. The latter is more likely. "...holy/crap/." is what Peter says when Anole's tongue /snaps/ out for a big chunk of food. And - "...holy/crap/!" - is what he says, again, a moment later. "You -- that is awesome -- that is like my /thwippy/ things!" Peter exclaims rather excitedly; at once, he's making a thwp-thwp motion with his wrist, at the food plate. Complete with a tiny thwp-thwp sound made by bouncing the tip of his tongue off his upper front teeth. Except, of course, nothing happens. "...oh, man. They took my /thwippy/ things." Sad, all over again. But then, Peter is /hopping/ off the bench, landing on his feet. "Yes," he tells Anole. "I can show you. Um. /Yes/." Bright red blush. "I will show you. All the things. Uh, not all the things. I will show you - all the things /I/ know." | |
