ArchivedLogs:Communication Issues

Communication Issues
Do you like me? circle Y or N
Dramatis Personae Jim, Melinda
In Absentia	2013-04-07 Mel asks too many questions, Jim tells her to shut up.
Location <NYC> Melinda and Tag's Apartment - Lower East Side
CLUMP-CLUMP-CLUMP. This is a men's shoe - granted, water-damaged and kind of battered - ASSAULTING Mel's door. Not with great enthusiasm. But making a very pressing argument to be heard. A minute or so later, Melinda appears at the door, shrugging into the shoulders of her bathrobe, her hair a mess and her face showing signs of just waking up. She did peek through the hole before opening the door, but doesn't look entirely convinced it is Jim standing before her. Brows climbing her forehead, she takes a step back and allows Jim admittance into her apartment. "Oh. Hey. Um, come in?" Her pajamas are soft cotton and cover from short sleeves all the way down to the hems of her pants that brush the ground. The bathrobe is for warmth, not necessarily modesty. Jim has two large to-go cups, not of just coffee but a pair of Starbucks caramel macchiatos, with a laticing of caramel sauce over the whipped cream. It's quite festive, especially paired with his expression, which at best is pensive. At worse, /disgruntled/. "Yeah." He doesn't look her in the eye when he says it, scanning her apartment interior. Maybe he's trying to see if anyone else is home while he invades. If anyone else is home, they are holed up in their rooms. The living room and kitchen areas are empty. Melinda closes the door behind Jim and locks it, tying her bathrobe closed around her midsection. "So, how has your head been? I can't imagine that it's at all been good, what with what I've been experiencing of Hive withdrawal." She heads in toward the couch and settles down into it slowly, lazily, maybe mildly headachy still. "Don't think a lotta people are happy right now." Jim grunts, which is somewhat affirmative enough. Follows after Melinda, setting one of the macchiatos down in front of her and /crumples/ down beside her like a collapsing building. "Hive's not doing so well either. I've been over there." And it means he swigs his own drink like he's hoping there would be /booze/ in it. "Oh?" Melinda is curious, it's plainly obvious in her tone, but she doesn't ask more, on account of Jim probably providing all the information he already has on the subject. Instead, she leans over and picks up the coffee given to her. She takes a tentative sip at it to gauge its heat, then sips more. "I've still got some vicodin if you're still a mess in the head. It takes the edge off, but you shouldn't drink while taking it." "Not a problem with me," Jim assures dryly. He's been on the wagon for a dog's age. Though he shakes his head, "But nah, you keep 'em. I cheated; put down some roots, settled into branches. Trees got a different kinda idea about headaches." Not having heads and all. He scrubs at his face, "Where'd you go?" "Went to the back room - I guess I didn't understand how bad it would be. Fell, hit my head, got sent to the hospital. They had all the good medications for me - but were utterly confused by the cause." Mel draws her knees up to her chest and curls into a ball as she speaks, taking a long draw from her cup as she finishes. "I'm glad you had ways around it." She sounds perhaps a little jealous, but what can a body do? Jim bares his teeth in kind of a 'yikes' face, "Agh. How much is that gonna take out of your wallet?" He isn't balling up, though he is leaning back, crossing an ankle over a knee. "And I'm /also/ glad I got ways around it; can't exactly go to a hospital. That day I got shot, that mutie doc had to smuggle me into the friggin' morgue to even dig the bullet out. Hospitals aren't really set up for houseplants anyway." He eyeballs the side of her head, "Y'alright now?" "I have insurance, so a lot of it is covered. It also happened at work, which taps into the company's insurance benefits. I'll still have some copays, but at least the bulk of the headscans and really expensive stuff will be covered by other people." Melinda seems to be losing interest in her coffee and lets it hang from one hand a little a kilter. "I'm mostly okay. Feeling like I was run over by a truck, but I am okay. The bump is on the back of my head, so... I don't have to worry too much about looking like I was in a fight and scaring off customers." "/Scans/," gah, Jim leans over, reaching towards the back of Melinda's head, "Where at? You have to get stitches?" Melinda takes Jim's hand and carefully guides it to the spot where there's a raised lump on the back of her head. The skull is thick there, so there's not much damage, and there's no break in the soft flesh. "No, no stitches. I was doing my best to break my fall, but it was just... well, it wasn't pleasant." She releases his hand when he's found it and sits very still while he investigates. "And they scanned my head the week before too, and the cafe's had a team in to make sure that there wasn't an environmental cause of my sudden migraines. They are being very thorough." Oh, good - increased interest in the /brain/ functions of a person suffering from psionic interference. "Thorough," Jim repeats to himself, "Yeah." Really, what /are/ you gonna do, though. He opts to EXPLORE... the back of Melinda's skull, careful not to press down where it's warm and swollen. "Listen. Uh. About that time, when Hive - y'know. Borg'd me." Melinda seems quite content to let Jim probe her skull in silence, so when he speaks up again, she is slow to answer. "Hmm? When you were here, or the whole experience?" "Argghhh." Jim takes back his hand to SCRUB at his eyes, middle and forefinger working the right eye, his thumb taking care of the left. "What the hell happened with all that." ALL of it, apparently. "Before I just ... well, commiserate, are you asking about something you forgot - like memory loss or are you doing the 'throw your hands up in the air thing?' Because..." Mel possibly explains too much, but also looks tired. She leans forward and puts her cup down on the coffee table. "There are so many things I don't really remember right now or are fuzzy or are... I don't know, a mess in my brain. I can try to answer specific questions, but... maybe not." "Oh, I remember it all just fine," Jim mutters, speaking somewhat like a convict, with lips the barely move over gritted teeth that do not move at ALL. His eyes directed across the room. "What I wanna know was which part was /me/." There's a long pause. "And which part was /you/." "Which part of the kiss?" Mel jumps straight to the punch. "Nrg." Jim tries to take it like a man, a muscle in the side of his jaw twitching. "Yeah. Guess that's what I mean." "I wanted to kiss you." Mel admits simply. "And I've wanted to do it again." "Woman," Jim shakes his head over his coffee, sips it and then /raises/ his cup at Melinda as if toasting her, "You got terrible taste." Melinda rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She reaches up and rubs at her face with one hand and grumbles softly under her breath. "Never mind." "Also," Jim picks at a bit of /lint/fluff? stuck to his bottom lip? And looks /horrified/ by this discovery? "You keep doing /that/." "Doing what, Jim?" Mel pulls her hand away and places her feet back on the floor. "Being shocked at how little you think of yourself, or how you're using it to insult me? Yes. I like people that are assholes. I don't get it. I don't know why. It's just the way it is. Luckily, I don't put up with much, so crushes like these fade pretty quickly." She leans forward and gets her coffee once more, drinking a couple large gulps down. "You want something to eat?" "I was meaning more th' part where a single /push/ sends you curling away like your power's been cut." Jim shoots back with /roaring/ exasperation. Jim exasperation actually DRAPES DEEPER on the couch, too, as if home invasion were a natural part of vengeance. "Christ, you gotta be able to take a punch without it /changing/ you." "A single push, Jim? Maybe your memory is fuzzy." Melinda sets her cup down and turns to face him. "I've been throwing myself at you the past few weeks, trying to get a sense or a feel if you're at all attracted to me too, and all I've gotten is a half hearted hand on my shoulder and string of quiet avoidance. Yeah, maybe I haven't been tearing off my clothes and screaming, 'Take me now, you great surly, burly man,' but I have been putting myself out there. So I think, maybe you're bringing it up now, because you want to actually talk about this shit like it meant something, but you just make another joke about how crappy you are. This isn't the first punch or the second or the third. This is me, searching for incentive and finding things... confusing." She lets out a sigh and sinks into the couch as well. "Agggh, then don't /throw/ yourself," Jim drops back his head, "Just fucking /relax/. It's called 'easing' into shit. I been around the fucking block, I've had enough just jumping into things to last me." "I'd be more relaxed and /able/ to ease into it, if I knew there was something to ease into." Melinda frowns and looks away, taking a couple deep breaths as she fidgets with her coffee cup. "/Fine/." Jim says this and shoves down on his knees to STAND UP. Maybe he's going to storm out (again). He throws out his hands, "You wanna get a movie sometime, then?" He asks it /angrily/. "What? You're asking me out on a date?" Melinda turns to face him kneeling on the couch, not quite getting up yet. "How is that easing into something? Why don't you just come back here, sit down, shut up, and hold my hand?" "What." Flat 'what'. Jim stares at Melinda with his eyes popped open. "For how /long/?" "What? I don't know. Why don't you just treat it like a swimming pool. If you're not going to jump in, stick your toes in, see if it feels right, then make up your mind later?" Melinda places one hand on her hip, then sticks the other one out toward Jim. "Maybe we can watch TV if you're bored." "Wh-," Jim has an oddly /childish frown/ on his face now, "What if I don't /wanna/ sit around holding hands?!" He says this /while/ awkwardly wrapping his fingers around Melinda's. Like - what am I now supposed to do with this? He -- /shakes/ it a little? "I'm not really the 'hand-holding' kinda guy." "Okay. Fine." Mel squeezes his hand and then lets go - not shaking him off precisely but letting him let go. "But I don't do movies. You just sit there in the dark, staring at something and forgetting who you're there with." She thinks. "Why don't we get a pizza? Out, not here." "You are the /hardest/ fucking woman to ask out!" Jim erupts, throwing up his hands. "Yes, Yes, I am." Melinda accepts with annoyance, hands grasping the back of the couch. "If you don't like me or don't like the challenge, there's the door." "Are you /serious/?" Jim STARES. "Yes, Jim. I'm serious. I like you, but I'm not going to put up with these comments all the time. I'm a difficult woman. I'm a pain in the ass. I'm this, I'm that. I'm whatever you're annoyed at today. Fuck it." Melinda shakes her head. "Why can't you just be happy that I've told you repeatedly, and with great emphasis that I. Like. You?" She steps around the couch and faces him down. "Instead, you're pissy because I didn't jump at the chance to see a movie with you. Boo hoo. So. Like me or don't. Stop being a child about it." "Why can't /you/ even notice I been showing up here /every week/ tryin' to bring you shit!" Jim is a tough man to face down, sticking out his big scruffy /jaw/ right in Melinda's face, "It's like if I don't hold your fuckin' hand and talk to you about /feelings/, you huff off to the kitchen. It's like you're big way of saying you're pissed is to offer me /food/." "I'm sorry." Mel's tone is rather short still. "Thank you for the fucking coffee." "BAH." Jim doesn't /say/ it so much as completely LOSE CONTROL of it until it explodes up from his chest while wheeling to stalk for the door. "And /Thank you/ for the flowers." Melinda replies loudly at his back. "They're pretty fucking beautiful." They just happen to be in her room by her bed. "BAH!" Jim yells again louder, kind of fails at the door-opening, pushes instead of pulls - /hard/ too, with a slam of his shoulder that makes a really loud thump - "FUCK!" - and throws it open. "Please don't go." This, however, is quiet and sad. Jim pauses at the door, one hand dramatically wrapped around with the intention of slamming it shut behind him. And he stands there for a long time, like an angry tree taken root. Then he sighs, and the door is closed - but with him inside, the latch clicking quietly free of violence. And he turns, walks back to Melinda with his jaw clenched in frustration, puts a hand around either side of her jaw and presses his mouth to hers. Melinda's hands curl into the open edges of his jacket, pulling him a little closer as she kisses him back, the pressure of her lips constant and hard, her eyes squeezing shut. It's a kiss that lingers, Jim's thumbs running, rough-textured and scratchy, over Melinda's cheeks, his fingers curling up to one side in a tanglehold of her hair. When it finally breaks, he breathes slowly, with his forehead against hers. "Let's just shut the fuck up and go into your room." "What happened to easing ourselves into it?" Melinda laughs quietly, one arm slipping under his jacket to wrap around the small of his back. "Okay," she replies after a little silence and turns to lead the way down the hall to her room. "-god/damn/ what'd I just say," Jim mutters, but quietly, and then just shuts the fuck up. And follows along. Looping an arm around Melinda's back as he goes. "If you really think I'm going to shut up, in my own bedroom, you're going to be sorely disappointed." Mel keeps tugging him along. Uh oh, "What," Jim digs in his heels, so Melinda is now more tugging /herself/ against him, because he ain't moving. He's not shrugging her /off/, but he apparently can't wildly eyeball someone and walk in tandem, "You saying you're gonna be pulling this shit the whole freaking time?" "I'm not pulling shit." Melinda looks at him seriously. "Look. You make me nervous. I've been rattling around in this apartment for days and I speak my mind too much when I'm nervous, okay? I'm sorry." She reaches a hand up, dragging a thumb along the edge of his jaw to his chin. Eyes study his mouth, then his eyes. "I think I'm making up for not having you in my head anymore." "Well knock it off," Jim says this while clapping a hand on top of Melinda's, pinning it to his FACE. "It ain't exactly soothing for me either. Either you think I'm a shit and I scram, or you you want me to stay and maybe cut me a little slack, huh? I'm not your fucking -- male... oppressor... guy. I just." His hands open out to either side like he's going to Flip Shit again, and then just clap onto her shoulders, "Like you, a'right?" "All right." Melinda leans forward and kisses him, focusing mostly on his lower lip this time. "My room?" Was Jim going to argue more? He kind of says "rmph' into Melinda's mouth. And then kisses her back, arms wrapping around her. "Yeah."