Logs:Grab a Bite

Grab a Bite
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Kitty	2021-10-12 "I don't think I'm a zombie."
Location <NYC> Lower East Side - Lower East Side
Historically characterized by crime and immigrant families crammed into cramped tenement buildings, the Lower East Side is often identified with its working-class roots. Today, it plays host to many of New York's mutant poor, although even here they are still often forced into hiding. This corner has been a colorful place for most of the past year -- frequently decorated with flowers or small statuettes or pictures or other trinkets, home more recently to a fresh large mural on the side of the dumpling restaurant (bold and bright and whimsically painted, it features a northern flicker in flight across the sky overhead, Dawson looking up with an expression of simple delight from where he's been kneeling under the protective aerial roots of a not-entirely-earthly looking banyan tree, in the middle of constructing a beehive box.) This week it's gotten even more bright, even more noisy -- a march passing through one afternoon, a rally setting up on the corner the next, signs being waved and speeches being speeched. It's cool this evening, overcast but not rainy, and the group of speakers (passionate, fiery) have devolved into an equally fiery dance party in the middle of the intersection, much to the chagrin of the local motorists. The music is turning up and up and up to drown out the sound of the honking. Throughout the speaking Dusk has had a post by the makeshift stage, dressed today in threadbare black corduroys, a lightweight grey hoodie over his black and blue striped tee, his huge wings (rich crimson in the inner velvet nap, the rest of the thick skin a deep black) pulled tight against his back.) He seemed passionate-fiery enough himself to match the tone of the speakers while he was interpreting, animated and alive, but now that his hands are no longer occupied with this work he has just sagged against a bus stop, rolling his shoulders slowly and taking a Very Long Time to pack himself one cigarette. Kitty Pryde has looked better. Despite the unseasonal addition of a thick red trenchcoat and crocheted earwarmer headband to her outfit, she is still shivering in the cool air. The bags under her eyes are darker than usual, and her eyes are slightly bloodshot as she looks up at the stage during the speeches. The toes of her chelsea boots keep tap-tap-tapping on the concrete. The tap-tap-tap turns into Kitty pace-pace-pacing around the perimeter of the dance party as it gets into gear, looping through the crowd over and over until she spots Dusk. There are a few yelps of surprise from people as she moves briskly through them. "Hi," she says when she's close enough, accompanied by a very clumsy attempt at signing the same word. "How are you holding up?" She glances down at the cigarette, pats at her pockets until a little Bic lighter is located -- this is held out to Dusk without comment. Dusk's chin lifts in a quick jerk -- by this deep into the year he's almost started to wear his gauntness like an aesthetic, all bones and claws and a pallor that just accentuates the sharp-fang smile he flashes Kitty. If there were a time in his life he tried to downplay The Vampire Thing, that time was -- probably before last October. "Better now," he says with a quick swipe of the lighter, flicking it and dipping his head to the flame. He signs his thanks in tandem with his first long drag of smoke, turning his head aside to blow it downwind of Kitty. "You look like hell, though, cold getting to you or all the --" One long thumbclaw twitches, flicking around at the dance party beyond. "Both, maybe." Kitty's returning smile is wane and fleeting. "Just -- haven't been sleeping well. Figure it's stress and the --" she gestures at the dance party, at the signs and banners bearing Dawson's name, "-- the everything, I guess." Her fingertips are twitching at her side, tap-tap-tap against her jeans. "Wasn't prepared for dancing tonight, either. Did I miss the memo on that?" She leans back against the bus stop next to Dusk, one arm pressing lightly against his. A soft growl rumbles in Dusk's chest as he looks out at the dancing. "I think that was, uh, impromptu." His smile is fading, posture slumping back against the side of the bus stop. "People come out here with so much fucking energy but --" The growl has grown deeper on these words, and he cuts himself off, cuts his eyes away from the crowd with a hard shake of his head. "Just a weird fucking vibe, you know? I can't tell these kids how to feel, how to mourn, how to -- you're out here in this fucking city, you're a freak, it is your tragedy too, you want to dance and flip off the cops and I dunno I can blame 'em. But..." His head just shakes again, thumb tapping quick and irritable at the end of his cigarette. "School stress? Or --?" "But the vibe remains fucking weird," Kitty fills in. Her eyes scan the crowd again, narrowing slightly on a group of bright-haired teens on the edge of the crowd. "Shit, those kids are freshmen at NYU. Were they even here last year?" Tap-tap-tap, fingernails against the bus stop. She nods. "Fucked things up with a friend, too. Plus, Mercury is in retrograde." Tap-tap-tap. "You done interpreting for the night?" A beat. "Want to go -- literally anywhere else?" Dusk's sharp huff of breath isn't quite a laugh but it does come with a nod of agreement. "He just wasn't exactly a dance on a cruiser, flip off the pigs kind of guy." His eyes follow Kitty's toward the teenagers. "Fuck I would love to go anywherethefuck else." He straightens, pulls away from the heavy plastic siding he's been leaning on, one wing stretching out toward Kitty in offering of warm capelike embrace even if it doesn't quite drape uninvited. "Sorry about your friend. Is it -- fixable?" Kitty ducks under the offered wing quickly, leans against Dusk's side. She's still shivering every once in a while, but her face is warm. "I think so, I just haven't fixed it -- yet. Been busy. It'll be fine." This last sentence comes out in a rush. Kitty gives the teens and the dance party one last irritated glance before they walk away. She glances sideways at Dusk, look lingering on his mouth, his gaunt cheeks. "I got wine at home if you want to wander to a destination -- not as good as eating but its something to take the edge off everything." "Hey, no food and wine just makes the wine hit better." Dusk's wing folds down soft and warm around Kitty's shoulders, pulling her close against his side as he starts to lead them away. "Let's do it, I could stand to forget at least half of that ranting." His gaze drops down to Kitty, meeting hers as it lingers on his face. "You want to grab a bite, though, we could pick something up on the way." "Oh I meant --" Kitty's face, already warm, flushes more with embarrassment, " -- I don't have blood in the fridge and you look like you haven't been eating but none of us are looking great these days, so. Wine is good." She looks forward, speeding up her pace. "I don't need to grab a bite --" -- she says, grabbing at Dusk's arm and attempting to bite down. "Prefer my blood fresh, anyway. When I can --" Dusk's eyes open wider when Kitty grabs at his arm. He doesn't move to pull away, though he does growl, low and harsh, his wing unhelpfully clenching tighter in surprise. ""Shit." For just a second he's gone very still, before -- with a perhaps unnecessary amount of caution he does try pulling his arm back. "You tryna expand your diet? The fangs help. And, uh, probably the metabolism? I was thinking more like you could order takeout but if you're into biting -- I usually -- like it if people ask first?" When Dusk pulls away, Kitty's eyes are -- not glassy, but unfocused, distant, as if she's focusing on something just behind Dusk. There is a bit of blood on her teeth, and her mouth hangs open, slack. She blinks once, twice, then -- "Oh my God." Her focus snaps back and she steps back, colliding with and then moving through Dusk's wing, wiping her mouth with one hand. "I -- I'm sorry, I don't know what that-- shit yeah I mean I'm not usually into biting in general but I'm very into consent --" She shivers again, staring at the blood. "That's not -- I don't know why I did that." Dusk glances down at the blood beading on his arm, and then to Kitty, his brows knitting with more worry than pain. He pulls his arm in against his chest, wings wrapping close to his back once more. "You really don't look so good. Are you sure about the wine, maybe we should -- get you a nap or -- this isn't some kind of zombie thing, is it? We are in the season for it but we don't need a whole new plague right now." "I don't think I'm a zombie," Kitty says, brows furrowing as she considers this. "And I definitely don't feel tired, which --" she frowns, "-- maybe is not a good thing. Um. We should go clean that at least." She gestures at Dusk's arm with a helpless flap of her hand. "And then. Maybe a nap." "Alright," Dusk sounds just a little skeptical, "but if you do start to get a hankering for brains, just. You know. Give me the heads up first." He's a little more tentative about the unfurling of his wing, now, gentle when it drapes back around Kitty's shoulder. "Definitely a nap."