ArchivedLogs:Hopeless

Hopeless
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Jackson, Micah, Tag
In Absentia	2013-09-30 Content Warning: Lots of suggestiveness, some biting. Some nerdiness.
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. Jax's workdays have been somewhat shorter, the past few days; though he's still got class and had a bodyguard shift over the weekend, these have been unaccompanied by any time spent at the studio. It's much earlier than usual when he gets home on Monday, still within an acceptable lunchtime bracket. He has more than a little /bounce/ to his step as he makes his way inside, cheerfully singing along with the earbuds currently connected to his phone even if the lyrics are a little more militant than cheerful ('We won't take it anymore/this is class war/ we'll fight you in the streets and we will dance on your defeat/¡Ya basta!'.) His clothing is bright as ever, neon orange UFOs with black mesh pockets, a light blue t-shirt that reads 'Let's switch gender roles!', though the blue of his shirt is melting away into black cloth instead as he shuts the door behind himself. His fuzzy scruff of hair has adopted fall tones, vivid flame hues of red and orange and yellow. "I think Obie's defecting," he announces to his apartment at large as he toes off his rainbowy Chucks by the door, "he goes an' hides in Shane's dorm when I try t'take him home." Micah has been making lunch! He has all the materials spread out on the kitchen table because it is easier to reach from his chair than the high counters: diced tomatoes and cucumbers and green onions and little broccoli florets wait in piles on a cutting board and bowls of garbanzos and couscous soak next to them. Bottles of spices and lemon juice and olive oil sit in various stages of having been used or waiting for such. Micah is adding spices to the couscous bowl between fork-fluffings. He is dressed as has been his usual the past few days: a T-shirt (chocolate brown with a stegosaurus cursing a T-rex's 'sudden but inevitable betrayal'), pajama pants (green and brown plaid flannel) tucked and tied as his left thigh, and sock (light blue and covered in cartoon frogs) on his right foot. "Hi, Jax!" Micah calls out with a grin, not pausing in the stirring as his head turns to regard the door. "We're about 75% of the way to some...kinda like pasta salad but not exactly." The door has barely had time to close behind Jax when it is opening again. Dusk looks a lot more drab and a lot more scruffy than Jax's bright colourfulness; wavy dark hair growing shaggily over his ears, beard working its way from fuzz up to genuine scruff. His jeans are faded, fraying at the bottoms, and the somewhat modified sling that is both holding his right arm in place against his body and holding his wing against his shoulder has prevented donning a shirt even now with the temperatures dropping. Dusk pokes his head in, first, before pushing the door open wide enough that the rest of him can fit as well. His good wing brushes softly against Jax's arm as he slips in, but it's Micah his attention turns to. "Seems like rumours of your death have been kinda exaggerated." A clatter of steps out on the fire escape precedes Tag's entrance through the window. He wears a loose, simple blue tunic and purple-pink-orange plaid skirt, but leaves his muddy sneakers outside. His hair, bound in a ponytail, is the bright magenta of fresh beet juice, as are his /hands./ Over one shoulder he carries a mud-splattered neon green reusable grocery bag, upon which 'EAT ME' is printed in giant black letters. "Oh, wow! It's like a /convention/ in here--" He breaks off, staring aghast at Dusk. "Someone told you Micah died? Why would they...oh, wait, that's just a uh..." Blushing now, he offers Dusk a careful hug. "Hi, are you feeling ok?" "Ohgoshfood food sounds like /the/ most amazing thing right now." Jax has plucked one earbud out of his ear and is starting to flit over towards the kitchen when Dusk enters behind him; he turns mid-bounce to stretch up onto his toes and peck Dusk on the cheek. /Then/ continue making his way into the kitchen, giving Micah a light cheek-kiss, too. "S'anything I can help with?" He shuts off his music, taking out the other earbud now and wrapping the cord around the phone before he sets it down on the counter. His bouncing doesn't stop, though; over to the cabinet and then the fridge to get a glass and pour it full of orange-carrot juice. "Don't think it's so much a convention as we got kinda a full house I mean this -- s'only half the people who live here anyway," Jax points out with a quick grin. "What'd you do to your hands that's --" He leans over the counter to squint at them. "-- Pretty and mildly alarming." Dusk's entrance finally interrupts Micah's cooking process and he returns the bowl and fork to the table in favour of waving Dusk over for hugs. "Nope, definitely not dead. Thanks t'some thrillin' heroics on your part, or so I'm told." Micah's expression trades bright grin for knitted eyebrows as he regards the sling. "How's your shoulder? Has Joshua checked it out yet?" He does chuckle a bit as Tag clatters in through the window, eyeing his bag. "Please tell me you're not haulin' groceries in through the window. That's way more work'n it needs t'be." His hand brushes over Jax's hair-scruff when he bends to kiss Micah's cheek. "I like the hair colour. Goin' for autumn or fire or both? S'hot either way." Yay, bad puns! He steals Jax's hand for a nuzzle and a little kiss to the knuckles before the other man heads for the fridge. "I wanted a little bit of red wine vinegar t'balance out the lemon juice'n olive oil, but it's up on a top shelf." He gestures at the cabinet in question when Jax offers aid. Dusk's good wing curls around Tag in a quick squeeze. "You know there's a door, right? Like the kind that you have a key to?" He's eying the window with a small frown. "Do you always leave that window unlocked?" There's a quiet edge of concern in his tone as he drifts over towards the window, peering out of it down to the ground three floors below. His head shakes abruptly, and he reroutes towards the kitchen, leaning down to actually wrap his /arm/ around Micah's shoulders, pressing a kiss to the other man's forehead. "I slapped some bandages on you, it wasn't particularly heroic. -- Hey how /much/ inorganic parts does someone need before they get to be part of the cyborg army? Can I at least be honorary if they loaded my scapula up with metal?" "Oh man, you're right, it's /always/ like a convention here." Tag holds up his pink-stained hands, grinning. "I chopped like five million beets and didn't even cut myself! It's a nice day and Micah's here so I knew the window would be open, and I'd've used the door if I had /actual/ groceries." He hefts the bag as if to underscore its insignificance, but it looks, in fact, rather heavy. "This newish co-op out in Flushing needs help harvesting and preserving, so they're running a labor-for-food program." Slipping into the kitchen, he bumps his head, catlike, to Jax's shoulder as he passes. "So anyway, I got a metric frakton of beets and potatoes and carrots." He bends to give Micah a one-armed hug, then peers at the food in progress. "Bit late to put those into kinda-pasta-salad, though." Leaving the vegetables behind, he ducks back out of the kitchen and flops over on a beanbag. "Sorry I was out so long, I'll definitely cook tomorrow." "I --" Jax sets his glass down on the counter, heading to the cabinet to reach up and grab the red wine vinegar, passing it down to Micah. His teeth drag against his lip; he shoots an almost guilty glance towards the window, "-- 'll keep it locked more. Oh! Potatoes! I can make potato leek soup for dinner." He picks up his juice again, hopping up onto the end of the counter to face the kitchen table. "Autumn, maybe. Autumn on fire? Y'like? I was kinda waffly about what pattern to give the colours." Though the way the colours fade into each other does call to mind a fire somewhat more than the season. "Not /always/," Micah answers about the window before reaching up to hug Dusk around his uninjured side. "Flew people out of danger through windows, helped haul my unconscious behind t'safety, an' kept me from bleedin' out, all with a bullet in his shoulder, an' he's sayin' no heroics?" This is directed at Tag, who happens to be the closest by at the time. He presses the side of his face against Dusk's chest before letting him escape from the hug, voice going quieter and tone more serious. "I owe you. So much." A bit of a smile returns at the cyborg question. "You are /so/ in the cyborg army... Or, well, I'll give you a recommendation, anyhow. Horus kinda /stole/ it out from under me not five minutes after he started talkin'." "That sounds kinda fun," Micah comments on Tag's new project. "S'okay, though, root veggies would've taken all kindsa boilin' an' such anyhow. I'm sure Jax'll--" His hand waves to Jax as the other man is already planning soups, the other accepting the bottle of vinegar. "Definitely. I like the blendy, it's kinda...sunset, before the purple'n all sets in." He wheels back closer to the table to finish combining ingredients in the big mixing bowl. Dusk's head tips down to press his cheek to the top of Micah's head through the hug, his eyes closing and his arm tightening a little around the other man's shoulders. "You make it sound a lot more --" His tone starts out kind of dismissive, kind of amused, but his words break off long before the hug does. "...I was just fucking terrified," he admits quieter, muffled against Micah's hair. He steals another kiss when he pulls back, this time properly on the lips before Micah moves back to the table. He moves towards the counter instead, leaning his elbow against its edge and dropping his head to bonk against Jax's shoulder. "There are not nearly enough games here to make a good convention. Guys, you're slacking. -- Oh hey speaking of we're starting a new campaign soon though it's still kind of a toss-up what game I'm running. Some small press thing. Dread or Misspent Youth. Any of you down?" His hand is shifting, fingers trailing absently against Jax's arm. "Though I dunno if we're starting a cyborg army maybe we should start a Shadowrun campaign back up. Invite Horus. I bet he'd love it." "Ooh, I love potato leek soup!" Tag flips himself over on the beanbag in a wild flurry of limbs. "I can chop, I am a vegetable chopping /machine/, but not literally enough to join the cyborg army, probably. Can I join your USO instead?" He wiggles hands and feet like a turtle that has flipped over. "You guys have so many games and you're /right up there/, so it's kinda hard not to just mooch." The mention of roleplaying games has him bouncing up onto his feet, colors noticeably flaring bright. "I am so in. I don't even care what system, it's been so long I'm like in tabletop /withdrawal/." Just as suddenly, he dims again, slumping against the kitchen doorframe. "I mean, as long as you're not running it on a week night." "If you're a vegetable chopping machine maybe you can just be a /robot/. -- Do you think there's a big, um, robot-cyborg rivalry?" Jax's brow furrows as he considers this question. He gulps down more of his juice, turning his other hand over to brush fingers lightly against Dusk's arm in return. "-- Don't think people usually get called heroes for doin' stuff when it's /easy/," he adds, quieter, shoulder nudging lightly back against Dusk's forehead. "Misspent Youth? Are you makin' a game about my /kids/?" He hides his smirk behind another gulp of juice. "Seriously, you guys have so many games upstairs, it would just be redundant to gather more 'round here...other'n Spencer's. Those other systems'd be new t'me, but I am down for whatever. Should invite Horus either way, I'm sure he'd be up for it." Micah picks up another fork to taste test his food mixture, looking thoughtful before adding another couple squirts of lemon juice and a handful of pine nuts and mixing again. "This is pretty much done. Gotta...get all my mess off the table. Then it's just a matter or whether you guys prefer pasta salad type things room temp. or chilled." Micah /giggles/ at the robot-cyborg rivalry. "Nah, we've already embraced our robot brethren an' added their technological distinctiveness to our own. They're welcome t'stay all roboty, or we can always work in some biological systems for 'em, Data-style." "Actually I think it's a game about /you/," Dusk says with a small crooked smile. "You play a group of kids fighting against THE MAN." His head lifts; he nuzzles against Jax's neck, a sharp nip punctuating the affection. His lips are just closing against Jax's skin again when Micah says he's finished; he pulls away to help clear the table. "Um -- it was probably going to be Wednesday or Thursday night," he says with an apologetic frown. "Is that -- oh right job. Um." His frown deepens. "I could see what people's weekends look like but Sundays are usually bad for Flicker and Saturdays I -- hmm." He falls quiet, considering. "Is Jerusalem part of this army? Bastian could probably field a whole battalion on his own." Tag rubs absently at the pink stubble on his chin. "I've always /wanted/ to be a robot, but I don't think we would have rivalries. Except maybe hilarious musical-style rivalry where we have dance-offs or whatever." He starts shuttling the utensils used in food prep to the sink. "Don't worry about it, man. Maybe I can join you after I get a day job that's uh...actually in the daytime. I could go either way. About the pasta salad, I mean." Jackson gulps down the rest of his juice, though his last mouthful turns into a bit of a splutter with the sharp breath he draws in at that nip. "Oh --" His eye widens, cheeks flushing a brilliant crimson. He slides down off the counter, reaching up to get out plates and enough glasses for everyone while the others clear the table off. "Whatever temperature it is now is a perfect temperature, I think I might pass out if I have to wait for food." Given his metabolism this is probably not much of an exaggeration. "I can't tell if that game sounds fun or depressing. I mean you're playing a game about what we do in actual life?" His nose wrinkles. "I guess it might be cathartic if you /win/, we do enough losing out here." Micah catches his lower lip in his teeth for a moment as he is distracted by Dusk's Jax-biting. "Oh. Oh, is there bitin' goin' on? 'Cause this can definitely sit'n wait in the fridge if there's bitin'..." That is about the time that Jax proclaims his near-starvation. "Or now. Can't have Jaxes wastin' away. Not allowed." He loads a pile of spice bottles into his lap to tote them back into the kitchen, lining them up on a countertop once he gets there. "Y'think 'Bastian would make a robot dance gang? That sounds kind of entertainin'." "There /could/ be biting going on." Dusk's eyes flick to Tag thoughtfully. "-- Tag, what are your opinions on biting?" His teeth flash in a wide smile at Jax's assessment of the game. "Pfft, /depressing/, you haven't even heard the best details. Like you have to choose convictions as your -- stats, basically. And you have the option to sell out your morals to win fights. It's kind of a balancing act in the end of how much of your ethics you want to sacrifice to win. /You'd/ --" He squints at Jax appraisingly. "-- either really love it or want to slit your wrists after the first session, I can't really decide." Tag returns to the table with clean utensils. "Thing about role-playing is that it can be tons of fun--and cathartic--whether you win or lose the fights. Sometimes you learn stuff. I would watch a robot dance gang. Or biting." His tongue passes over his lips. "I'm very much pro-biting." So saying, he affects a comically ineffective serious face, brows slightly wrinkled and lips pressed together. "Uh, as in I /support/ it, not like I'm a professional. Anyway, I'm sure we can arrange some way for Jax to both get bitten /and/ not pass out from hunger." "I think Bastian would make most anything y'asked him to, honey-honey, t'ain't like it's work he don't enjoy." Jax sets plates on the table, returning to the kitchen to stow the spices from the countertop to the kind of obsessively alphabetized lazy susan cabinet they live in. "Think he might'a meant biting /you/ sweetie," he adds to Tag, "he did me a week an' change back, I can't --" His cheeks flush dark for a moment. "Um, I mean, he /bit/ me a week and -- mmnh." His eye scrunches shut, and his nose wrinkles up again. "OK, that sounds like the /most/ terrible game, so it basically actually just /is/ our life? Can we play a group of mutants tryin' t'get folks outta the terrible government torture-labs they're bein' kept in?" He refills his glass, bringing it along with the empty ones back to the table and then just dropping down into a seat to start filling his plate already. "Yeah...that game sounds about as depressin' or worse than Changeling. It's kinda yay, faeries! Oh, wait the entire world is tryin' t'kill us all with its sheer banality. Bleh." Micah sticks his tongue out in a sort of Mr. Yuck face at that. "I'm pretty sure Dusk gets t'count as a professional biter." His lips pull into a little smirk as he wheels back up to the space at the table where a chair has been pushed out of the way. "An' there's bitin' an' then there's /bitin'/. Didn't mean t'imply one specifically. Though, yeah I'm off-limits for another month on the latter, too." He claims a plate and fork to place on the table in front of him. "Hee...I'm not really gonna ask 'Bastian t'make dancin' robots. I'm sure he's got more important stuff he's workin' on. Just. S'fun t'think about." "I mean yeah, you could totally play that setting if, uh, you were feeling masochistic, there's a lot of leeway to make it whatever kind of world you like. We were thinking probably Avatar-y." Dusk's smile brightens at Jax's choice of words. His wing stretches to brush Jax's arm again. "I don't need to wait a month to do /that/ again. -- But yeah, Tag, I was talking about the kind where /you/ get bitten." He spins a chair on Micah's other side from Jax around to sit backwards at the table. "C'mon, what's more important than dancing robots?" "Avatar the Last Airbender, or space Pocahontas Avatar?" Tag rocks forward onto his toes a few times. "Cuz if it's the first one, I would so play a waterbender. And bend /paint/. Which is kinda like what I do anyway? So maybe not." He licks his lip again as he collects plate and chopsticks. "Oh, right, you gotta let your erythrocytes regenerate." A snicker and a roll of the eyes. "Heh, /regenerate./ But, yeah, I do like /being/ bitten, too..." He quirks a lopsided smile at Dusk as he sits down. "So, sure. You can show me how the pro does it." "Wait there's a game with faeries?" A riot of colour explodes above the table, a host of tiny humanoids with bright coloured hair and wings, some translucent and veined like dragonflies, some large and butterfly-colourful, some feathered. Some batlike. Jackson quiets while they appear, head ducking to start in on his food somewhat ravenously, not bothering with his usual courtesy of waiting for everyone else to get their food. "I want to play one with faeries," he decides when he pauses in his food-demolishing. "What's funny about regeneration?" His cheeks flush deeply, prooobably helped along by Dusk's commentary as he adds to Tag, "when the pro does it it's -- kind of. Incredibly hot." "I could prob'ly think of some things as are more important, but dancin' robots are certainly more /fun/," Micah concedes to Dusk. "Airbender Avatar or--" he cuts himself off, deferring to Tag who has already gotten further in the sentiment. "Ha. I was gonna say 'blue tree people' instead of 'Pocahontas', but same question." His amused-chuckle at that turns into a more delighted-giggle at the faeries flitting about the table. "Mmhmm. Whole system on faeries. S'just...kinda sad. I heard the more recent edition is less depressin', though I haven't played it any t'say m'self." He reaches for the serving dish to spoon a small pile of couscous salad onto his plate with significantly less urgency than Jax. "I'm guessin' Doctor Who reference on the regeneratin', but I might be a little quick t'guess that." Micah had been doing so /well/ with not blushing much this conversation, but Jax seems to set it off this time. "Not t'oversell it, but, don't really need the 'kind of' in there." "/Airbender/," Dusk clarifies emphatically, feigning a look of surprise afterward to question, "-- There's another Avatar, I've never heard of any other Avatar." He also is less urgent about serving himself. One wing stretches out, absently brushing against the outside of Micah's arm as he does. "There's a -- yeah, I think you might be disappointed though if you want --" He tips his gaze upwards, for a long moment just admiring the host of faeries overhead. "-- No nevermind I forget that all your art is fucked up as hell too what is with the teeth on that one? OK, if you are expecting /creepy/ faeries then you'll be pleased." He picks up a fork to start in on his food. "Takes some time to do it again safely, yeah, most people don't regen quite as fast as I do." Though here he looks at Micah thoughtfully, for a moment. "-- at least not on their own." This sounds briefly pensive. He shakes his head, glancing over to Tag. "How long's it been since your last STI test? Uh -- maybe not polite lunch conversation sorry. Just kind of necessary for -- drinking someone's blood, you can't really put a /condom/ on that. -- Anyone want something to drink?" He's standing to pick up his own glass so that he can get water. "/Kind of/, pssh. It's as hot as you're in the mood for. I draw some people's blood with a freaking needle like it's the Red Cross. Other people --" His wing shifts to rub gently at Jax's fuzzy hair. "Are more into penetration in /stereo/." "New Changeling is...weird?" Tag sounds remarkably uncertain about this. "You play /humans/ who were kidnapped by faeries but then escaped, but are super frakked up cuz...um, faeries are /scary/." He helps himself to some couscous. "Not sure, I only played it once and I was pretty high at the time." Micah gets a chopstick salute. "Yep. Light, or Space-Time or whatever, shooting out the sleeves and all that. I had blood work done...about two weeks ago? They checked for /everything/, even though I said I wasn't doin' anything that would expose me to infection." This earns a tiny, helpless shrug. "I'm squeaky clean and full of all the right chemicals except kinda low on vitamin D." It may have been going on for a while, but Tag's hair has shifted visibly closer to purple than pink. "I'd like some water, please." One of the tiny batwinged fairies swoops down to light atop Dusk's wing, perching there for a moment before leaning down to CHOMP sharp teeth (thankfully painlessly) against one long edge of his bone. "Horrible faeries sounds like my kind of game." Though after this he just returns to eating, the blush in his cheeks spreading out to tinge the air around him deep red, too; Dusk's commentary has his eye wide, though this does not stop him from butting his head up against the touch of Dusk's wing. "It's just -- even nicer when you --" He can't finish this sentence, though. He fills his mouth with couscous instead. Micah pets back at Dusk's wing with the back of his hand when it strokes along his arm, a sort of idle-habitual motion. "Yeah, I wouldn't worry about scarin' Jax off with terrible faeries; he'd be fine." He takes a bite of food that is ill-timed to coincide with Dusk's asking if people want anything to drink...right in the middle of the particular conversation that was occurring. He coughs a little, nodding and turning to Dusk to mime drinking from a glass, not really caring what's in the cup at this point. Dusk's continuing descriptions ensure the red isn't leaving his face any time soon, either. Dusk takes all three of the empty glasses to the sink to fill them, though with one arm out of commission he can only /return/ them one at a time. Micah first, because coughing; he hands the glass to Micah together with a kiss to the top of his head. "Nicer for me, too," he answers Jax with a sharp flash of a smile. The attacking fairy on his wing gets an amused look. "Kinda remind me of the twins. Adorable. And then chompy. Oh, man, if you think /I'm/ bitey in bed you should see -- wait, you two -- probably don't want to hear about /that/ uh." Now /he/ actually flushes, if considerably fainter than Jax and Micah. He returns to the sink to get Tag his water. "-- If I ran Changeling instead would you seriously delve into the land of geek and play with us?" He sounds mildly surprised at this. "Cuz I bet I could get Flicker and Hive on board with that if I dangled /you/ actually roleplaying as bait." "Well, folks it looks like we're headed for a severe outbreak of the blushing." Tag interrupts his forecast to shovel food into his mouth. "Partly sunny with scattered faeries. Oh frak I forgot, I should have gotten the water myself thanks though! You should definitely play." This last part is directed at Jax. "Do it for me!" "Should see wha -- oh. Oh no I don't --" The blushing is definitely not letting up at all, from Jax's side, air around him still tinged red. "Sometimes I forget that you --" His nose crinkles. He is slowing down with his food, at least, having mowed through most of his large plate in short order. "-- /Is/ there going to be biting because I'd -- like to --" He glances between the others, but then just takes a gulp of his juice. "For you?" His eye widens at this, slightly. "I -- I could play. If -- but with my work schedule I can't really promise a -- much. Time-wise. About regular meetings." Micah signs his thanks rather than trying to speak before drinking from the cup that Dusk brings him. Once that is accomplished, he clears his throat gently. "Hm. Yes. Thanks. I prob'ly shouldn't make a habit of needin' you t'rescue me." He smiles at the little head-kiss. "Ohgosh, hon, have you /met/ Shane? I think I've heard a fair amount of what there is to—I mean, I've lost track of the number of times he's tried t'convince /me/ into bed, as it is." While he sounds mostly amused at this, he is blushing /again/. "I'd say Jaxes make pretty good bait. I think it'd work out even if y'didn't make every session, hon. Storyteller system's pretty flexible that way." Although it is /Jax's/ incomplete question, Micah's eyes dart over to Dusk at it, briefly, the colour in his cheeks deepening, true to Tag's predictions. "Sweet. I'll talk to them about Changeling, then. And email everyone to try and find a time that works for all of you. I've got some of the books upstairs, Jax, if you want to --" Dusk pauses, looking at Jax a long moment. "-- nevermind, I'll just explain it to you." He brings his own glass back towards the table, taking a deep gulp and setting the glass down. "I can't really blame him, you're both /delicious/. -- There could totally be biting. It /is/ lunchtime." It's Tag his wing curls around, now, brushing up against Tag's shoulder. "-- Jax, could you bring me a first aid kit? And, I mean, if there's /more/ you'd like --" He looks away from the table, down the hall towards Jax and Micah's bedroom. "-- There'll be time after, right?" Tag bites his lower lip. "Man, if you make that face every time I ask you to do something /for me,/ I'm gonna have to watch it. Or Micah can watch it. /For me?/" He gulps down half of his water at once, and manages only to blush a little--it /is/ contagious, after all. "Oh, sweet! I get to /be/ lunch, too." He hooks one arm over the back of the chair and levers himself up to kneel on the seat. Then, leaning back into Dusk, he pets the inside of the huge wing wrapped around him. His brows wrinkle just a little. "You are kinda literally /cool/..." Jax's nose crinkles up with some amusement, at Dusk's reconsideration. "You've already resigned yourself to me bein' hopeless, haven't you?" His expression scrunches up further at Micah's assessment. "... Yeah Shane's pretty open about, well, everything. You're just the first person who --" He shakes his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. "-- First aid kit. Yessir. And um --" He ducks out of the kitchen, taking his small aura of red with him and raising his voice slightly to carry back even as he heads to the bathroom, "-- I don't got work the rest of the day so. We. Have -- time. After." "It's not that you're hopeless, it's that rule books are long and systems are complicated t'understand, 'specially your first one. So it's nicer t'have somebody explain it t'you 'stead of just readin' a pile of books," Micah assures, patting Jax on the shoulder. He snickers when Tag starts adding 'for me's' again. "Are y'tryin' t'see if I'll make that face, too? 'Cause I'm not sure I could pull it off quite the same. I /can/ watch 'im for you, though. Ain't like it's far outta my way." With that, he does watch Jax...duck out of the room. "Ohgosh, I think the whole apartment's slowly turnin' red," he observes with a giggle, not that he's helping the situation any with his continuing blush. "I been sittin' around here most of the day as it is, just waitin' on flesh t'knit itself back together. Made progress in my own knittin' on the most recent blanket, though. But...not exactly deadline-oriented stuff." His fingers fuss through his hair as he looks back to Dusk. "He's /also/ going to be hopeless," Dusk adds, cheerfully, "but everyone kind of is their first time. We'll help you learn, you'll be fine. -- Oh man. When I have my hands back I should learn how to knit. I can /sew/ but --" He grimaces. "I was just in the middle of some warmer things for fall but it turns out /basically everything/ is hard to do one-handed. Sewing included." His wing curls more snugly against Tag, his hand lifting to tip Tag's head to one side. He dips his head, nuzzling gently against the side of the smaller man's throat. "S'OK. Red's a pretty excellent colour." His lips press to the side of Tag's neck, tongue flicking lightly against the vein. "Mmm. Good. It's a /while/ till Spencer's gotta be picked up." His thumb brushes gently along Tag's jaw. "You ready?" he murmurs, softer, and, "-- Don't forget to breathe." "Nobody's really /hopeless/." The blue of Tag's tunic fluctuates smoothly through several shades of purple, then pink, before settling on a rich cinnabar red. "If you don't like that system there's a thousand and one others. It's just a matter of what formatting you like on your make-believe." He rests one small hand, warm and calloused, on Dusk's chest, the other gripping the elongated phalanx that edges the wing cradling his body. A soft whimper escapes him at the touch of lips on his neck. "Right, breathe..." He draws a slightly trembling breath and lets it out, smiling. "I'm ready." This last comes out high-pitched and a little giddy. "What face did I make a face? I make a lot of faces." Jax's face has not gotten notably less red when he returns to the kitchen with a first-aid box tucked beneath his arm. "And I really like doing things /for/ -- oh. Ohh --" The small breath he draws in is /also/ slightly trembly, as he watches Dusk with Tag. He sets the first aid kit down on his chair, not sitting again but standing behind Micah to lean down and slide his arms gently around Micah's chest. He dips his head to kiss Micah's temple softly, though his eye is focused on Tag and Dusk. "Spence ain't -- yeah. We. Got the place to ourselves for -- hours." Micah's ears would be perking up if he were a puppy. He sits up taller in his chair. "Y'need sewin' done? I can sew a thing for you. An' teach knittin' once you're bimanual again. It's...kinda maddeningly borin' at first. Lots of...washcloths an' potholders an' plain scarves. All the rectangles you ever wanted'n then some." He chuckles as Jax returns, asking about faces. "The...well, /one/ of the really wide-eyed ones." He reaches up to trace his fingers along Jax's jaw when he bends for the kiss, then settles in to nuzzling against the other man's arm where it conveniently wraps around him. "Yeah, s'kinda...odd. Usually ain't any of us just hangin' around here," he observes mildly--somewhat distractedly--before falling silent. "The pretty one," Dusk explains to Jax, with a small curl of smile; by this point he might be /aiming/ to make the blushing never-recede when he further clarifies this with: "The one that looks like it would suit you best when you're on your knees. -- And oh /man/ Micah if you have time I would love the help. It'll be a lot colder by the time I have my arm back." His hand slides down, resting over Tag's over his chest. His wing stays curled snug around the other man, warm and supportive. Any further efforts to provoke more blushing are cut off as his mouth opens, and closes again with fangs sinking in in a swift sharp puncture at Tag's vein. A /painful/ bite, to be sure, though it comes with a soft tingling wash of fuzzy-happy feeling that doesn't reduce the pain so much as flavour it. His lips press flush to Tag's neck, a softly pleased growl rumbling in his chest as warm blood starts to flow. Tag gasps when Dusk sinks his fangs in, back arching and grip tightening briefly. He /might/ have struggled more, except that his arms are more or less restrained by a powerful wing and his legs by his own weight. /Might./ Instead, he slumps against Dusk with a beatific expression on his face, flushed with warmth and excitement and autonomic processes that are less pleased about blood loss than he is. Dark brown eyes flutter and lose focus, but do not close all the way. "-- Oh." This is quieter still, at Dusk's explanation; Jax buries his face briefly against Micah's hair, pressing his head to one side to nuzzle into the touch of Micah's fingertips. His fingers press against Micah's chest, his breathing a little bit quicker. He uncurls one of his arms to reach for the first aid kit, setting it on the table within reach of Dusk's good arm. "I, um --" It takes a long moment for him to tear his gaze away from Dusk, head finally dipping instead to press his lips to Micah's neck. "Can we -- go. Bedroom. Sir. Please." His words are less broken up by hesitation and more by the repeated press of his lips to Micah's skin between each. Micah dissolves into a fit of blushing and giggles, hands scooping up over his face as Dusk manages to go from blatantly suggestive to 'oh, yeah, sewing things' within the same breath. Though his eyes do peek up over his fingers afterward, head and shoulders pressing against Jax where he stands behind the chair. A grin tugs at the corner of his lips at Jax's question. "Yes...either push or sit," he answers, tapping his knee to indicate that he's able to propel the both of them if desired. Dusk's quiet rumbling growl strengthens, at Jax's words. His fingers squeeze harder against Tag's, tongue swiping against the other man's skin. His wing holds Tag securely to himself, eyes flicking up for a moment to watch the other two. His lips barely move off of Tag's skin when he speaks. "-- meet you there." It might be a request. Or perhaps just a promise. For the moment, though, his attention is rather occupied.