Logs:Meditations on Love

Meditations on Love
Dramatis Personae DJ, Hive, Polaris	2024-05-16 "Can we visit?"
Location <NYC> The Refuge - Staten Island
The swath of destruction that the dimensional anomaly carved here in 2020 has been swept away and transformed into a large compound, practically a neighborhood in its own right. Much of the grounds are given over to meticulously landscaped parkland. Here are manicured gardens abutting half-wild groves, playgrounds and playing fields, a swimming pool as well as a fishing pond, and even a few acres of farmland. The residences, from the founder's house to the miniature arcologies and the slightly larger guesthouse, are styled like abstract beehives. So, for that matter, is the vertical hydroponic farm that produces far more food than the earthbound fields. In fact, there is a great deal of beehive imagery throughout, and even absent specific styling, hexagons are still more common than squares or rectangles in the construction of spaces and objects, all of which are thoughtfully designed with an eye toward community and comfort. At the heart of the Refuge is the meetinghouse that crowns the hill where the 121st Precinct once stood: architecturally distinct from most LDS houses of worship, this one looks from afar like an abstract sculpture of a conch shell in gleaming white quartzite. The floor plan is built on a Fibonacci spiral with a relatively gentle rise in elevation for the first four quarter-arcs before shooting up into a steep organic spire that can be seen for miles around. It's been a warm day, but there's a front coming in, the temperature dropping far too quickly to be explained by the setting sun. It's not cold yet, still pleasantly mild, but nevertheless DJ is plucking up the light jacket that he certainly hasn't been wearing. Preemptively draping it around Hive's skinny shoulders before he settles back down to lounge on the large picnic blanket that's been spread beneath the trees in this copse. He's finished with his food some time past, kind of slowly picking his way through dessert though distracted by the beginning chirps of the mellower dusk chorus. He's mentally picking out several tanagers and flycatchers, propping himself up on his elbow to try and see if he can spot a lone vireo somewhere in the mix. "... can we visit?" It's sort of a passing curiosity that has far more to do with the (immediate, exciting) possibility of Tropical Birds than it does with the (abstract, distant) possibility of missing Hive. Polaris has been idly wondering the same thing while straining to recall the last time she traveled outside the tri-state area for any reason other than activism or terrorism. It hasn't marred her enjoyment of this leisurely picnic amidst the greenery. She's wearing a violet swing dress, its dubiously modest illusion neckline and three-quarter sleeves in translucent mesh dotted with stars, barefoot for the moment where she's sitting with her skirts and crinolines arranged around her. Her pixie cut is getting long on top, though she's kept the sides trim, and she wears intricate woven-wire bracelets coiled into with no visible seam or clasp. She sips at her very fruity herbal tea. "Can we visit?" Her emphasis is very slight, and she doesn't even bother gesturing at her head to indicate she means "visit" à la Sense8. "My mae will stuff you with so much food you won't be able to get out your chair to find the goddamn birds, but, sure." Hive's already been wearing a long-sleeved button down that is probably more than adequate to the mild weather, but that doesn't stop him pulling DJ's jacket on gratefully. He's following DJ's eyes to the trees, an absent outward coil of mental roots twining down through the other man's mind for a brief moment -- just long enough for him to briefly internalize (and probably, not remember) which birdcall belongs to which bird. "Shit, you want to spend forever meditating you can hang out all you want. Dunno if it lands the same when you're, so fucking, uh," he's squinting -- first in the direction of the distant meetinghouse but then at his partners. "white." "That sounds like an amazing vacation." DJ is thinking equally of sunbirds and sangkhaya, coucals and khao phat. It's hard for him these days to separate Hive's own memories of his family from his memories of other-Hive's family from Dawson's memory of Hive's family from other-Hive's memory of other-Hive's family and aside from a brief pensive reflection on this fact, it has largely stopped bothering him -- just blending together into a comfortably homey mix that he's aching to return to. He is thinking about a pleasant vacation, primarily, but he's also pensively leaning into the home feeling as he follows Hive's eyes briefly toward the meetinghouse. When he looks back to his partners it's with a quiet laugh; his next words at once feel entirely natural and yet unexpected enough to almost startle him: "We should get married." Polaris makes a show of weighing the options. "On the one hand, meditating is pretty great..." isn't actually sarcastic, but neither is it nearly as appealing as "...on the other hand, delicious food and awesome family." She's largely successful in steering clear of thoughts about her own parents, but the dull ache of << (oh for three) >> slips through anyway. It finally comes to her the last time she traveled outside the tri-state area for any reason other than terrorism or activism was to visit Wendy's family. Suddenly she's considering with some trepidation what Hive's family will think of her, hardly the image of a proper lady in any culture she's aware-- This anxiety doesn't have a chance to fully wind up before it's derailed altogether by DJ's casual...proposition? Was that a-- "Did you just propose?" "You're white," Hive replies, blasé, "they'll forgive a lot from white people. They have low expectations so as long as you don't start a genocide you're probably doing better than they'll think." He's looking apologetically to DJ: "-- you might be a little more fucked, though." His brows are hiking, and he's sitting up a little straighter. "You don't mean now, do you? Because I have a stupid early flight." "I know. I'm driving you." DJ doesn't seem particularly bothered about the early wake-up call, though he is fretting -- just a little -- about how he will live up to the Dawson Hive's family knew, how they'll take this weird new addition to the family. He pushes this aside and shakes his head. "Please. When I propose it'll be a lot fancier than this. I just --" He's gotten pretty good at pushing his old memories down, though not so much the spike of grief that comes with it. It's familiar now, though, soon to be pushed back into a warm contentment. "Seems like a big thing to surprise someone with, right? Big question. Big answer." His smile is amused, a quick twitch that blossoms far brighter in the amusement in his mind. "We're going to have a few months to meditate on it."