ArchivedLogs:Late Delivery

Late Delivery
Dramatis Personae Blink, Jax, Steve
In Absentia	2016-03-10 "So...no live scorpions or fire or anything." (Warning: fire scorpions.)
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Commonhaus - Lower East Side
Accessible to all residents of the Commons via electronic keycard, this three-story building holds a number of facilities freely available for the shared use of all Commons residents. The stone-floored foyer is high ceilinged -- balconies on the two upper floors look down into this entrance, leaving just the wide skylit ceiling three stories up to trickle light down through the whole of the house. Through wide wood-and-glass doors the spacious dining area is visible on the left; on the right, heavier doors beside the elevator lead to the similarly large kitchens. There are four single-user toilets on this floor, two apiece by the foyer and the dining room. Though a wide staircase runs all the way up, there is also an elevator tucked to one side. For the adventurous, though, there's another way up through the house -- through the center of the house where the balconies look down, an enormous climbing structure has been erected, solid wood platforms softened with carpeting, held together with strong spiderwebbed steel cables. Interlaced in an intricate maze that spirals up through the whole of the house and down to the basement, it provides a crazily winding path to duck and wriggle and worm through, with exits -- if you can /find/ them -- dispensed out onto each upper balcony and into the basement below. It's never really dark in Manhattan, but there's no moon in the clear sky tonight and the glow of the city lights is no so overwhelming. It's dark enough also that the misty purple glow that appears in front of the house looks very striking. It expands into a swirling disk in the middle of the walkway, and through it steps a young woman dressed in a long emerald tunic with handkerchief hems and earthy brown wrap pants. The portal shrinks behind her and vanishes. She carries a bulging rucksack on her back and a smartphone in her hand. She looks down and studies the phone screen for a few seconds before going up to the door and ringing the doorbell. Inside, the ground floor of the Commonhaus is brightly lit. Steve has just finished putting away the last of the leftovers in the kitchen. He looks very neat -- if not freshly showered, then at least recently enough to seem notable -- as is often the case these evenings. Wears a bright yellow tee with a dancing cartoon T-rex skeleton and the word 'FOSSIL' spelled out of bones, and clean but somewhat chewed up blue jeans. He's collected his cocoa and his book and is heading for the sunroom, but reroutes at the sound of the door chime. Sets down mug and book, scoops up his shield instead -- casually! -- and pulls open the door. "Hello." He doesn't seem in the least surprised by the complete stranger at the door, and offers her a warm smile. "How can I help you?" Jax pokes his head out of the kitchen after Steve, a dishtowel held in still-damp hands from where he's been finishing with the washing-up. He is dressed brightly -- wiiiide-legged purple jeans with black-and-lime-green mesh detailing, heavy chains hanging from them, a strappy lime green tank with black capsleeved fishnet over top. Vivid purple and pink fuzzy hair, enormous mirror-lensed sunglasses, despite it being nighttime and indoors. He's drying his hands on the towel, slinging it over his shoulder after. "Company?" There's a very thick Southern drawl hanging heavy over his words. "Good evening." Blink dips her head slightly as she speaks, Bahamian accent layered over northern Chinese. "I have a delivery for Steve Rogers." Her large green eyes drop to Steve's shield momentarily, then lift back up to his face. "Could you sign for it here?" She's blushing a little as she taps the screen of her phone and hands it to Steve once it shifts to display a signature box. "With your finger." She lowers the rucksack and sort of shucks it down over the box inside before lifting the box out. It's bulky but plain, with very little on its packaging except an address in the Lower East Side and a return address at Stark Towers. "Oh!" Steve's brows lift up with surprise. "That was...fast. I mean, thank you," he adds hastily, taking the phone, not looking much perplexed by the idea of producing his signature with a fingertip. Returning the phone and signature to Blink, he accepts the box and sets it aside on a table near the door. "Thank you," he says again as he fishes his wallet (black nylon, decorated with a cartoonish purple pterodactyl wearing a silver tophat) from the back pocket of his jeans with a sheepish smile. "I confess, I'm not sure if it's appropriate to /tip/ a courier? Or would you like some cocoa?" He peers out past Blink into the courtyard. "It seems a bit dark out to be biking around..." "It's fresh made," Jax pipes up from the kitchen doorway. "Got cookies, too. Mocha. If y'want -- cookie. You was expectin' a package, honey-honey?" One glittery-nailed hand curls around the doorjamb, his weight tipping forward onto his toes to hang against an outstretched arm as he peeeers over towards the box. "You're welcome." Blink hands over the box with another slight dip of her head. She swipes something else on the screen of the phone before tucking it away in a small, rectangular black purse edged with purple trim. "Some people tip, but mostly I do business deliveries, so I don't expect it anyways. Mocha cookie sounds great, though, thanks! Funny story, this isn't the first time I've been offered snacks here. Is everyone here just always feeding random people?" She glances over her shoulder when Steve looks, then grins. "Oh, but I didn't bike. My way is much faster." Steve tugs a five dollar bill from his wallet and offers it to Blink with raised eyebrows, quite unabashed by his ignorance, apparently. "I was expecting a package, just not quite so soon." Then, to Blink with a faint chuckle, "Feeding everyone /is/ kind of standard operating procedures -- around here in general, and with him in particular." This last with a nod and an indulgent smile at Jax. "I didn't mean to assume, I just...figured couriering to be more of a daytime thing." He looks a bit more closely at the young woman. "What /is/ your way, then, if you don't mind my asking?" "Oh! Oh, you been here before? Yeah, it's, um, it's kind of a /thing/. We do. Sometimes. Oh! Oh cookies right -- right right." Jax straightens abruptly, darting off to vanish back into the kitchen. Blink bows a little more deeply, accepting the five. "Thanks! But yeah, my company operates 24/7. Night and weekend deliveries pay better. My way is..." She tilts her head and smiles brightly. "I'm guessing you know Flicker? He invited me here for cupcakes a week or two back. I do what he does, just slower. And with more purple." "Oh, Flicker! Yes, he's a good friend, and...being slower than /him/ isn't any serious mark against your own speed." Steve's grin is a little crooked as he tucks his wallet away and looks aside at the package kind of pensively. Shakes it off, turns back to Blink. "Forgive me, I...well, you already know /my/ name. What is yours?" Jax comes trotting back out of the kitchen, now. This time with a paper cup -- the kind you might get at a coffee shop, plain and white with a black plastic travel lid though the brown cardboard heat-sleeve around it says Evolve Cafe in multicoloured graffiti-style lettering. In his other hand, a small foil-wrapped bundle; he offers cup and cookies both out towards Blink. "Oh, y'know Flicker? He's a doll. Here. I know it ain't even slightly cold out no more but cocoa's nice /any/ season, right?" "Blink," she replies, with a sudden and amused smile, "my name is Blink. Maybe it's a teleporter thing. I haven't met very many, in real life. And I just ran into Flicker the once. Kind of serendiptiously." She smiles again and takes both cocoa and cookie with a small bow. "Thank you! Cocoa is always nice --" She breaks off when she gets a better look at Jax. Then her eyes open wider, thin slivers of white visible around the huge green pupils. "Are you...you're Jackson Holland." "Nice to meet you, Blink." Steve glances at the box again, as if he expects it to do something on its own while his head is turned. "New York is the capital of serendipity. Or maybe I'm prejudiced, being a local boy." Blushes faintly. His eyes skip aside to Jax at their visitor's (expected, perhaps inevitable) recognition, but he says nothing. "Real life? Do you meet many in --" Though if there's an end to this question, Jax doesn't finish it. His cheeks flush deep red, head briefly shaking as he rocks back on his heels. His nose scrunches up, fingers skimming through his short scruff of bright hair. "I -- yeah, that's me." His head ducks, one socked foot crossing behind the other. "Pleased t'meetya." His pierced lips quirk up in a lopsided smile, head tilting slightly at blink's widened eyes. "Y'shouldn't pay no nevermind to what the news says, the most criminal thing 'bout me is my fashion sense. -- Sugar," his brows are hiking up, now, from behind the sunglasses, "you're /eying/ that box like it's gonna attack you." His tone is lightly amused (ignore the faint tensing of his posture) as he glances towards Steve's package, too. "Internet," Blink answers the half-voiced question. "Not just teleporters, either, there's more and more resources for all kinds of mutant kids online." She nods, tucking the wrapped cookies into her purse. "Nice to meet you both, and I don't care what the news says. Far as I'm concerned, you're awesome." This is to Jax, though she turns to Steve, shoulders hunched, blushing all the way up into the tips of her pointy ears. "Um, you're pretty cool, too." She looks past the two men at the box she had delivered. "The senders have to declare anything potentially hazardous, and this wasn't marked for that." She sips at the cocoa, not looking too worried. "So...no live scorpions or fire or anything." "I have come to the conclusion that you can find just about anything on the Internet." Somewhere along the way, Steve has learned not to pluralize 'Internet'. "But often you have to sift through a lot of chaff to find it." He grins widely, though, at Blink's evaluation of Jax and himself, respectively. "You're right, though: he is by far the more awesome in my book. And the box..." He looks at it again, eyes distant. "The man who sent it...well, we are not friends. But I don't expect him to send scorpions or fire, either." "Oh! Yeah, I have a blog for -- though I really want to expand into /more/ resources cuz when it comes to education for mutant kids there's just not /nearly/ enough stuff out there and it's so hard to find good resources." Jax has straightened, bouncing a little on his toes, though his blush deepens at the others' evaluations. "... and, um, thanks. I don't..." He rubs at the back of his neck, shaking his head quickly. His smile brightens again a moment later: "I gotta admit, fire scorpions would be /pretty/ neat." Speaking of which there /are/ some, glowing fierce and hot like embers, crawling their way out of the packaging, claws and tails wreathed in flame. "I've read your blog," Blink admits, kind of quietly. "A couple of them. There's been newer resource groups popping up the last few years. Mostly in social media." She stares in blank amazement at the fire scorpions, maybe not immediately realizing they are illusions. "See, /that's/ awesome. I should go; have a couple more deliveries to run." She doesn't seem too frantic about this. "Havea good evening, and tell Flicker I said hi." She waves as she turns. Her hand begins to glow purple as she's lowering it, and she kind of casually /flicks/ the light from it, which then shoots out in front of her and coalesces into a nebulous purple vortex. A street corner is visible through it, though, not enough for easy identification. Blink steps through the portal and it closes behind her. Steve /certainly/ knows the creatures climbing out of the box are of Jax's making and have no substance, fire, or venom. He still leans back away from them by reflex. "As civil as our last meeting was, I suppose I can't put it past him /entirely/," he hedges, smiling. "Oh, please don't let us keep you. Have a good night!" He watches Blink go, brows upraised and lips pulled down, impressed. He closes the door once she has gone and returns his attention to the box. Settles a hand one it, heedless of any remnant fire scorpions. "G'nigh... /oh/ wow that's neat." Jax's brows have lifted again as Blink vanishes. The scorpions (some of which are scuttling through Steve's hand) vanish, too. He turns his attention back to Steve once the door is closed, curling an arm around the taller man's waist. "Who's it who wants t'send you fire scorpions, then?" Steve kisses Jax on the forehead. "Tony Stark. But I exaggerate..." He produces a small folding knife from his pocket (an antique, by the looks, its hilt polish jet) to slice through the tape holding the box shut. "We don't get along, and I'm certain now that's more to do with his father's ghost than me as such." Inside the box is a neatly folded stack of heavy-duty fabric, matching helmet, belt, gauntlets, and boots nested beside it. Steve lifts up the top piece of the garment. It is predominantly blue, with vertical red and white stripes along the lower torso beneath the silvery white star at the center of the chest. The colors may be more muted, less election-day bright than shown on the posters and trading cards and comic books, but the pattern is very recognizable: Captain America's uniform. Steve swallows hard, runs his fingers over the articulated armor plates beneath the fabric, surprisingly thin and streamlined, for a second world war relic. "Every time I got hurt," he says, his voice soft and a little hoarse, "Howard would pore over the damaged armor, trying to find some way to improve it." He turns aside and nuzzles the bright fuzz of the Jax's hair. "God, I miss him." "Oh, if it's Tony Stark I'm sure he'd send something -- no, wait, he'd send somethin' every /bit/ as flashy as fire scorpions, they'd just be real high tech ones." There's a faint twist of smirk to Jax's lips, kind of amused as Steve cuts the box open. "He's kinda an ass but he ain't a bad guy. I mean. He's been real good to B when most people wouldn't never have -- and through some of the worst stuff this city's flung at me he's had my back when I been trying to -- oh." He falls quiet when the box opens, his arm tightening around Steve. His head turns in, cheek pressing firmer against the other man's side. "That ain't no scorpions." He reaches out for the uniform, fingers running over it lightly before he pulls it out of the box to hold it up curiously. "What was he like?" "I don't think he's a bad guy," Steve admits, "our baggage just...intersects in unfortunate ways, I think." The uniform is certainly much heavier than regular clothing, but also lighter than one might expect of pre-kevlar body armor. "Howard...was suave and handsome and brilliant -- and he knew it. /So/ cocky, but he didn't act like he was better than everyone...if that makes any sense." He looks down into the box and pulls out a manila folder that had been tucked beneath the other contents. A post-it note on the cover reads, 'These won't keep you safe, per se. Thought you might want them anyway. -Tony' Steve lifts one eyebrow slightly, then flips the folder open. It contains photographs, for the most part -- black and white, but fairly well preserved -- and letters. Jax would recognize many of the people in the pictures, from Steve's extensive sketches if nowhere else: the Howling Commandos and their support personnel, in wartime but not /at/ war, in London between missions. "No," Steve agrees, "it's not scorpions." Though by his look of distress you might think he would have preferred that. There's a shot of the Commandos at breakfast, all drooping and hungover save for Steve and Lord Falsworth. One of Steve lifting a bench with Jim Morita and Jacques Dernier perched one at each end, striking pin-up poses. One of Gabe Jones and Dum-Dum Dugan at tea -- the former nibbling on a scone while trying not to grin, the latter sipping from a delicate china cup that he holds between his massive thumb and index finger. One of Peggy Carter and Howard Stark playing chess -- she's winning, and looking very pleased with herself. One of a scruffy, dark-haired man unknown to Jax, sitting at a table, mug in hand, smiling warmly and tilting his head to watch Steve, whose mouth is parted and eyes are half-lidded as if in song. Steve stops flipping there, hands shaking, breath catching in his throat and coming out as a faint whimper. Jax lowers his hand, uniform still gripped in it. His gaze track the photographs that Steve flips through, intermittently lifting to watch the other man's face. He sets the Cap suit back in its box at that breath, though, his other arm tightening at Steve's waist. His head tilts slightly as he looks from Steve to the picture and back -- his hand moves, fingertips resting lightly on the back of the other man's shaking knuckles. "That's him?" Quietly. Steve's expression passes through shades of fondness, amusement, and wistful longing as he sorts through the other photos, but his face is blank as he regards the image of the dark-haired man smiling at them from acoss the gulf of decades. He nods jerkily, pale blue eyes brimming. "It's his birthday, today..." Jax nods, cheek returning to resting against Steve's side. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine..." He tips his head up, studying the taller man's face. "Is there anything that would -- help? Talking or -- just sittin' with cocoa an' drawing or. Punching things?" In contrast to this violent suggestion he's stretching up onto his toes to peck Steve on the cheek. "Whatever you need. It's okay if that's just some time alone. There'll be other times for cocoa." Steve shakes his head slowly, closing his eyes and then closing the folder, holding it to his chest. He curls an arm around Jax, hugging him tight. "I don't know what I need," he whispers. One tear breaks free and rolls down his cheek when Jax kisses him. "I don't --" He sobs once, softly, and blinks away the tears. "I don't think I can draw but. Maybe cocoa. Maybe."