video;

[shifting]

[there's a frazzled shapeshifter on your screens today, imPorts. He rubs a hand against his mouth and the scruff of his chin awkwardly, like he's going to make an effort to collect his thoughts - then promptly throws that plan out the window.]

Hey, uh. Sorta a specific question, but has anyone ever... lost track of a day and shown up at the Porter? With somethin' changed? Is that just - somethin' that happens on top of all the other weird shit this place does to a person?

Comments

[hostage]

Should I head over to your place?

[shifting]

That works. Whenever you get time.

[hostage]

I'm free now.

[shifting]

Now's good then. I'll send the address.

[hostage]

[It's a short journey to Sam's place, thanks to the porters, so Jesse shows up just about fifteen minutes after Sam sends the address. He finishes off a cigarette and tosses it before knocking on Sam's door.]

[shifting]

[it probably wasn't difficult for Jesse to pick out which home was Sam's, considering it was the only one around, down a small path off the main road.

Sam lets Jesse inside his small, rustic abode with a smile and a nod, the former only slightly nervous. Sam's had his whole life to adjust to being a shifter (which was difficult enough on its own), but playing around with brand new freaky abilities has him understandably wary.]

Hey, glad you found the place okay. Get you somethin' to drink? Whiskey, beer?

[the glass on the counter suggests Sam's already started with that first one himself.]

[hostage]

[Jesse, on the other hand, isn't remotely nervous. He experiments with his powers almost daily, pushing himself to his limits on a regular basis. He's mutilated himself in just about every way imaginable, so whatever Sam needs from him, it's not likely to make him so much as blink.]

Whiskey sounds great.

[He doesn't need the drink, but Sam's started already and no one likes to drink alone.]

Love your place, man. It's gorgeous out here.

[shifting]

Whiskey it is. Ice cubes are still chillin', hope you don't mind takin' it neat. [but he'll assume the answer is 'no' and go about pouring his guest a glass in the small kitchen. The whole home is nearly open- the kitchen leads right into the living room, sparsely decorated and centered around a wood stove fireplace. A wooden, slotted staircase leads up to the open loft holding his bed, visible from the ground floor if you're standing at the right angle. The only closed doors lead to the bathroom or the front porch.

He sends Jesse a smile over his shoulder.]

Thanks. It's about the same size as where I was livin' before I came here, but I think it's got more style. Sorta like a vacation cabin. Only without the wood ducks and singin' trout on the wall.

[he delivers Jesse's drink before settling in an armchair clearly bought secondhand, rolling his own glass between his hands.]

Mostly glad I didn't have to share an apartment with a bunch of people I don't know. You ever have to do that here?

[hostage]

[Neat suits Jesse just fine, and he gives Sam a grateful nod as he accepts the glass. He takes a seat facing Sam, most of his attention still on the rest of the room as he sips his whiskey and admires it. There's something very appealing about a place like this. No room to feel empty and lonely.]

For a while, yeah. Nowadays I just... I move around a lot. Seems safer.

[shifting]

[he cocks his head at that.]

Safer? How's that?

[he doesn't know much about Jesse. Nothing, really, except that he heals and it hurts him every time he does it. And that, Sam's thought before, that says something about a person. Something about altruism, repentance, guilt, or masochism. Maybe a combination.

Who casually offers to be hurt, just so someone else can practice healing them?]

[hostage]

[Sam isn't wrong about him, though Jesse hates that kind of speculation. It gives people the strange idea that he's looking for redemption, which is a stupid concept if there ever was one.]

I was murdered last December. In my dorm room, over at the Xavier School. The guy who did it knew everything about me. Knew where my room was, knew when I'd come back there, waited for me and hit when nobody could save me. I don't wanna make it that easy for anybody ever again.

[shifting]

Holy shit.

[that takes a moment to sink in. 'Murdered last December.' Says the guy standing here, talking to him. In one piece. (And without fangs.)

This place is still so fucking weird.]

Yeah... shit, yeah, I can see wantin' to be wary after that. [hell, he's surprised Jesse came all the way out here to meet with Sam now, considering they'd only met in person once before.] They get who did it locked up?

[hostage]

Nah. He killed himself.

[Jesse speaks so candidly about these things. They're old news. Whatever he feels about what happened, he's worked hard to bury it deep.]

[shifting]

[he's not sure which is more disturbing - the story or Jesse's reaction to it.

But Sam supposes people deal with their shit in all different ways. God knows he does.]

Fuck. Hell of a way to end a story. [good thing he started this by getting them both some whiskey to sip on - this isn't a conversation for the sober.]

I'd heard about it - people dyin' and comin' back because of the nanites or the Porter. Still hard to wrap my head around. And that's comin' from a world with vampires.

[hostage]

[Jesse sips at his whiskey, but he remains unfortunately sober.]

It only works like fifty percent of the time. The odds are pretty bad when it comes to the nanites. Don't count on coming back. And even when you do, you come back fucked-up. I was dead for a long time, and when I got back, my powers wouldn't work for almost a week.

[shifting]

Not that I was real eager to go testin' the immortality theory anyway, but... that's good to know. Everyone else has made it sound like it's damn near guaranteed. It's good to have a different perspective on it.

[even if it seems a damaged, oddly nonchalant one.

Sam licks his lips, tries to think of a better segue, and fails. So he simply asks:]

Speakin' of powers, you ready to try this thing out?