2046-09-17 Not Just A Visit

From X-Factor

Not Just A Visit
Date Posted 2016/09/17
Location Ian's Apartment - Avenue B Apartments
Participants Knox, Ian
Summary Cousins catch up.
It's not unusual for Ian's apartment to be occupied. Especially considering there is a raccoon that has taken up a permanent resident as something between a pet and a nuisance. But the lanky figure that is stretched out across the length of the couch doesn't live here. Not as far as Ian knows, anyway. Not unless another member of the family has been unceremoniously dropped in his apartment for him to look after. Horrors.

Knox doesn't immediately look like trouble, feet crossed at the ankle and wiggling, His attention appears to be completely absorbed by whatever is happening on his Eyes, leaving him gesturing through the air like a conductor without a band. Over his shoulder, scampering across the back of the couch and then jumping off it, Mr. Bandit is similarly occupied by technology as he chases what appears to be a baseball-sized drone around the apartment. The robot is winning.

Ian's apartment has taken on a more occupied than not presence as of late with his younger sister and an erstwhile raccoon moving in. The sudden, unexpected appearance of his cousin is enough to make Ian pause as he enters, dropping his satchel on the ground next to the door. He opens his mouth to speak, before his gaze fixes on the baseball-sized drone currently zipping around the apartment. Mr. Bandit races after it at top speed, climbing up furniture and diving off in an attempt to catch it and wash it in the sink. (It's a racoon thing.) Eventually, all he can manage is a soft, "Dude?" Know. "I didn't know you were going to be in town!"

The drone, unaware of the sinkly fate Mr. Bandit wishes for it, buzzes merrily around, too high and fast for the raccoon to get at easily. Not that he doesn't try. It takes a second for Knox to react to Ian, wiping away what's in front of his vision and closing down programs before green eyes swivel his cousin's way. And then squint. Dude. "Did you not...get any of the messages?" A beat. "Did your mom not call?" Another beat and this time his face falls a little. "Have you not been keeping up with my feed?" Wah wah.

Dude. "What messages? Why does no one ever call me when people are coming into town?" Ian complains, moving towards the fridge to get a beer for himself and his cousin. Opening the door, he leans back so he can meet Knox's eyes. "I don't really check it that often? Work has been busy." Kicking the door closed, he walks over to the couch and offers his cousin a beer. "So what's the occasion?"

"I don't know!" Knox flails his hands briefly in the air. This was not the reception he was expecting. "I mean, I thought I sent you one, but maybe I just figured your mom would say something! Natalie knew!" That's probably just insult to injury, that Ian is the end of the phone call tree and frequently misses stuff. "Uhm...I probably shouldn't." Though he doesn't offer up a reason why not. He's focused on something else. It's bigger. More important. "...the end of my first two weeks of school?" His pale brows rise hopefully.

"Urgh!" That gesture must be genetic, because Ian echoes it - albeit with a curse as some of the beer sloshes out of the bottles. "My mom is the worst," he grumps about her sharing. "Natalie is… possibly worse. Unless you tie on a pigeon I'm not going to get it." He scowls for a minute and passes his cousin the beer. Drink that. "Then you /definitely/ need a beer, man. In celebration!" Grinning, he drops down on the couch next to Knox with a bounce. Cheers!

It makes for quite the sight when all of the extended family is gathered together and exasperated over something. So many flailing hands. "Sorry," Knox says, like this is maybe his fault. "I commented on her blog." Because that is a sure-fire way to relay information. Although not if you want Ian to see it also. "...I am not going to tie notes on pigeons," he says, sounding so horrified by the idea that he actually takes the beer he's handed without further protest. "Uh, heh, yes. Cheers!" Bottles clink, just a little awkwardly. "I can't believe you didn't know." He's fixated.

So many flailing hands and flustered freckles when they're exasperated or watching football. "It's alright. I'm sure moving was a crazy rush. Where are you staying at?" Ian wonders, taking a drink of his beer and settling back into the couch. "Dude. That's not a message. That's a blog." Grinning, he reaches out to ruffle his cousin's gingery curls the way that he's done since they were kids. "At some point I was decided as the last branch on the phone tree. I am accepting my place on that branch… unless you're moving in here. In which case we really need to reorganize some things, although that isn't a problem per say." Ian you're rambling.

There is a bit of a pause before Knox answers, like he's calculating something. "Near the Uni. Uhm, down on Mercer. A lot of the students who go are there...I mean, most of them are undergrads. But it's all, you know, close." He throws up another hand and huddles into the couch a little. "Hey-!" It's part protest, part whine and part resignation. Ian's been ruffling his hair for all of his life. "I think it's because you're so busy you hardly ever pick up the phone." A beat. "At least, that's what your mom says." It's not him! He didn't say it! He's passing the buck. "Uh, uh, no! I'm not moving in! I have my own place!" Sort of. Not really. Don't ask.

"Yeah. I know that area. I've had a few friends who lived in those - they're pretty decent," Ian acknowledges with a tip of his beer, watching Knox with a half smile. He ruffles his hair just a little longer because of the protesting. Hah. The comment of his mom's opinion of his phone skills causes him to roll his eyes. Seriously. "One time. I didn't answer it because I was in the E.R /one time/. And now she doesn't call me." Laughing at the protests, he nudges Knox lightly. "Ease up. That's what you said."

"Iiiiaaannn," Knox whines as the hair ruffling continues and he tries to lean out of reach. "Dude!" It does stop though and after he runs his own fingers through his hair which...does very little to it. It's maybe slightly less messy. "I didn't say anything! I just overhear stuff!" Because they frequently forget he's around. He does look a little dubious that it was only one time. Sorry buddy. "I did say that."

Finally releasing Knox from his grasp with a low chuckle, Ian watches him lean out of reach and attempt to fix his hair with a grin. It's not doing much. Taking a sip of his beer, he rolls his eyes. "Everyone has an opinion." He works hard. Okay! "You did. Got a roomate?"

Look, he can pretend his hair isn't going to do whatever it wants anyway. Knox holds out his hands--well one hand palm up, the other is holding a beer--and shrugs. Shrughands. "...your family loves you?" Her smiles in a way that is meant to be encouraging but falls short of the mark. Sorry, man. They /do/ love you. But both their mothers are chatty and picky. "Uh-huh. Two."

Ian can see the truth of Knox's unruly curls. He takes a swig of his beer, sighing in a melodramatic and put-upon fashion. "I know." That's what makes it kind of insulting, really… "Dang. Two?"

Knox curls his toes in his sneakers. "Maybe we need a more reliable message board just for the family," he says, already sounding like this will be a Project. Unless he gets distracted from it, which is possible. "...yeah. The rent is really affordable? Sort of. Do you know how much things /cost/ here?" He boggles a little. Sure, home wasn't /cheap/, but dang. Dang. "I see why you live in such a scary neighborhood now."

"Or you could just text or call like a normal person?" Ian suggests with a lift of his brows and a hint of a smile. That does sound like a Project. He knows his cousin well enough to be aware that this is how he ends up with singing appliances. Speaking of… "You didn't get into any of the kitchen appliances while you were waiting, did you?" Nothing is going to do something it shouldn't - will it? At the boggling at costs, Ian laughs. "Yeah. It's brutal." Nudging his cousin with an elbow he shakes his head, features falling a little bit. "It's not the neighborhood people you need to worry about around here. The Mutants are for the most nice people in bad boats."

"That's not normal anymore," Knox points out, glancing over at his cousin with a baffled expression. You are not that much older, Ian, how are you not with the times. Young people do much cooler things, come on. No one /calls/ anymore. "What? No. Is something broken?" He seems concerned and unaware that Ian actually wants him to /not/ touch the things. "Well, I lived at home. This is my first time with my own apartment." And all that it entails. Oh boy. "Oh, I didn't mean, that ,no I mean...I'm not trying to be /insulting/. I'm sure they are all very cool." He is very earnest. He also hesitates. "But...there's a lot of...trash...and broken windows...and your building has a lot of graffiti on it."

"Well - Eyemessage me then. You know. The equivalency," Ian suggests dryly, shaking his head at his not that much younger cousin. Seriously, dude. "No. Nothing is broken. Everything is fine," he says quickly. Please don't touch things. They don't need to sing. "Well, it'll be good for you. Probably. Sometimes roommates suck, but you can always come crash over here if you need?" Roommates sometimes suck is not the most philosophical of statements, but it is true. Frowning, Ian takes a sip of beer. His brows lift as Knox stumbles over an apology which causes him to sigh. "There is that. There was a neighborhood cleanup recently too? And halloween in this area is a /blast/." He snorts at the comment about graffiti. "You're going to have to get used to the graffiti. A lot of the city has it. This area just doesn't have the funds to clean it up. Sometimes I help… but one of the dudes did that and it's /art/."

"I do," Knox protests, because he does. Usually. Not always in a timely fashion, but he gets distracted. "It's not my fault no one calls you." It is, you know, /maybe/ his fault that /he/ didn't call. Okay, that is totally his fault. He's sorry. "Sorry." Okay, all better. "Good for me? Now you sound like mom." He looks so forlorn at the thought. How could you. "Oh, really? Thanks!" Ian may regret that offer later. Maybe. How many family members under your roof until you go crazy? "...this is what it looks like clean?" He is trying and failing not to look horrified by that statement. Halloween goes completely uncommented on as he imagines how dirty Mutant Town was /before/. "...uh. Right." He is decidedly not a City Boy. "...Van Gogh is art. I don't know what that is."

That comment gets a hard look before Ian just shakes his head and polishes off the last of his beer. His features soften a little at the apology. "It's alright," He says after a minute before grinning. "Nah. I just meant this will be fun. You might meet new people?" He's optimistic. "Yeah. Of course. That's what family is for, right?" He winces at the question of horror at the state of Mutant Town. "Well, usually the park hasn't been set on fire by /terrorists/," he says bitterly, standing up to get another beer. "It's street art!" He calls from the kitchen, shooing the raccoon away from the fridge.

Be nice, Ian. "I've already met new people. I /live/ with new people." It's a little exciting and also a little horrifying all at once. Usually people do not graduate college and then move /into/ a dorm-like situation. Especially if they haven't before. The things we do to save on rent. "I mean, I'd tell you to crash at my place, but I don't know where I'd put you. But if you needed! I would!" This is probably safely on the list of things that will never happen. "You have /terrorists/?" His voice gets a little higher at that and his eyes go wide. "...Don't tell our parents that." He does not want that phone call. Neither of them do. "...since when did you care about street art?"

"That does require meeting them…" Ian agrees with a look at the fridge, blocking Mr. Bandit with his foot. No. Grabbing another beer, he quickly shuts the fridge closed behind him with a laugh. "Knox! I don't need to crash at your place man. It's all good, but I appreciate the offer." Walking over to the couch, he drops down back next to his cousin. "Well. No. Terrorists /exist/. Extremists." He scowls, taking a swig of his beer. "They'll see it on the news or they won't." Sighing, he doesn't think of the phone call that will or won't happen. It can't be worse than the one he had to make when he got shot. "I have some friends that are artists. Some of it's nice."

"It does!" Like, in actual person. And not just using pseudonyms online. The tiny drone buzzing around comes to a rest on Knox's shoulder now that Mr. Bandit is more interested in the fridge. "Uh, yeah, I know. I'm just. You know. I mean...just offering." It's just polite. He knows that much, at least. He blows out a heavy breath, finally remembering /to/ breath, when Ian sits back down. "Still. That's terrifying, man," he says, brow all wrinkled and eyes wide with worry as he looks at his cousin. He takes another breath. Phone calls will or won't happen. "...there's art and there's Art," he murmurs, doubtfully.

Ian eyes the drone curiously for a minute before he points at it with his beer. "Did you build that? It's cool?" He asks, gently redirecting the conversation. The drone. It's pretty nifty. Taking another swig of his beer, he nods. His green eyes fall, not looking at Knox as he stares down at the floor and loses himself in his thoughts for a moment. "Yeah." Shaking his head, he takes another drink. "Semantics. If it makes someone happy, it can be art in my eyes."

"Yup," Knox confirms cheerfully, careful not to tip the robot off of his shoulder as he points at it. "Isn't he cute?" He says this with the same sort of fondness that Natalie speaks of Mr. Bandit. God help us all. Not someone generally comfortable with silences, he lets Ian have his, shifting around only a little bit. "Sorry," he whispers, still looking worried. He can't help it. His heart is out there, on his sleeve. "Oh. Okay." He's not so invested in the art argument to deny that.

"It's cool." Ian repeats himself but he does it with enthusiasm. He is not going to call a robot cute. He is also not going to call the racoon cute either. Those two… After a short silence, he lightens up and eases back into the couch. The beer may help. "Yeah." It's just not that complicated. "So how are classes?"

It's okay, Knox will call both of those things cute for you, Ian. Because they are. So cute. He doesn't ease up until Ian does, and even then, there is a sense of tension form his end of the couch. "Fine. I'm trying to juggle classes and a job again, but it's a little easier this time around. I wish I'd had this algorithms class when I was working on that threat detection program. There was so much data, but I wasn't as good at categorizing and making that data actionable." You asked.

"Job?" Ian asks curiously before Knox continues with an overwhelming wealth of information in regards to the kind of work he is currently doing. He blinks, staring at his cousin for a moment with wide green eyes. "Dude. I think I caught about half of that."

"Internship. New app company. Sparkzant," Knox injects somewhere in his explanation of some of the work he's doing. "Oh," he says when Ian blinks at him. His freckles fade a little as skin pinks slightly. Oops. "Sorry. Uhm. Rules for problem solving computations?" Does that help?

"What do they do?" In layman's terms, please. Ian smiles broadly at his cousin's new position, nudging him with a grin. "Alright. That makes more sense."

"...apps?" Was that not layman enough? Knox struggles for a moment. "They are up and coming...they've made a walking game for the Eye. And a file sharing system they're trying to get to take off. SnapFile."

That was /too/ layman. Staring at his cousin for a long moment, Ian sighs and laughs. "That does make sense. Is the walking game any fun?" He wonders, taking a sip of his beer. "You'll be awesome."

So picky. Too layman, not layman enough. Geez. "I thought it was pretty fun. It's one of those location using GPS games, but they do a pretty good job overlaying the virtual world onto the real one without it getting clunky. Although there was that car crash caused by it..." Knox looks concerned, tapping his bottom lip with a finger. "Heh, thanks. I'm...just try to get used to the place. And also set up all my social accounts again, after I accidentally erased...uh, everything.So if you can't find me on the internet anymore, uh, that's why."

Ian winces. "People /really/ need to not play on their eyes while they're driving. Pity you can't like - lock the game if that is the case." Driving? Pull over or no game. "Your social stuff… huh?" He blinks at his cousin in confusion for that last statement. Why would he need to find you on the internet? Ian is on very few social sites. "Oh hey. So Natters isn't home yet. You want me to order something in for dinner?"

"Mmm, you could probably set it to pause if anyone got over a certain speed. Of course, then you'd probably just have people driving slowly, and you'd have to be careful about how it reads speed, and..." He continues a bit before trailing off. Thankfully. "...yeah. I was working on a thing? So you could clean out a social site easily? Like, maybe if you were job hunting or something, hide it? But I messed up and didn't put enough restrictions on the program and it loose." It's not an animal, Knox. "Anyway, it erased me. But I'll be back!" Never fear. "Hm? Oh, yeah, sounds great."

Leaning back into the couch, Ian just listens as Knox continues his train of thought aloud - fascinated by the workings of his mind. He flashes him a little smile as he pauses. "That would be good but yikes. That's going to take some time." To fix. "Alright! I'll order in some pizza and you can pick something to put on? We'll snap Natters photos," he teases with an evil grin. She'll have to hurry home if she wants any pizza.

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