Logs:Plenty

Plenty
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Flicker, Steve
In Absentia	2020-04-21 "I can't really picture your wayward youth."
Location <PRV> VL 403 {Geekhaus} - East Village
This is a small, two-bedroom apartment, the living room semi-open to the kitchen and dining area, a single bathroom situated between the doors to the bedrooms. The common areas are beautifully appointed with solid, matching handmade wooden furniture in intricate geometric mosaics. The kitchen table is ringed with coordinated but not identical chairs, two of them modular with low scooped backs, designed with winged bodies in mind. The wide, low coffee table fits neatly into the corner of a modular sectional couch, and the immense television is enthroned in an entertainment center that also houses various consoles and video games. The walls are lined with bookshelves laden with comics, roleplaying supplements, board games, speculative fiction, and a grab-bag of technical texts. The walls in between are adorned with some framed posters of classical science fiction and fantasy media along with a few pieces of gorgeous if unusual original art. The smell of coffee fills the small apartment, strong and rich. Eggs, too, currently being scrambled on the stove together with some turkey bacon and English muffins. Bright eyed, neatly coiffed, his button-down and khakis crisply pressed; Flicker looks surprisingly awake as he tends the food, given the late hours he's been keeping and the fact it's still quite early in the morning right now. He has a spatula in one hand (today, cheerfully painted with fluffy white clouds against a blue sky), the other scrolling through his phone. Steve is already halfway through his second mug of coffee, which he's savoring now where he sits at the dining table, chair half-turned toward Flicker. He is also looking well put-together, freshly showered and shaved, in just a soft white t-shirt and black slacks for the moment. He's studying a brightly illustrated volume he pulled from the shelves in the living room -- Wild Magic by Tamora Pierce, interest written in his light blue eyes. "May I borrow this?" he asks, holding up the book for Flicker to see. "Uh --" Flicker's eyes dart up from the pan. His brows lift at the cover of the book, flick over to the shelves. "Not mine, but I can't imagine Dusk'll miss it, he's read it like. Thirty times by now. Uh -- there's a whole series that comes before that one, though, if you want to grab it too. Starts with --" He's over by the shelves in a rapid shimmer of motion; almost too quick to track he's back in his place at the stove, although a new book (Alanna: The First Adventure) sits on the table by Steve's elbow. "That's the beginning of the first. Quartet." Dusk's door has been closed but now it opens slow. In contrast to the others Dusk looks kind of haggard. Shuffling, slow, eyes shadowed, hair mussed. His wings are wrapped close around him; it makes it hard to tell what state his clothes (if they exist) might be in as he trudges blearily towards the kitchen. Freezes short of actually entering, eyes catching on Steve with a slight widening. His head bows as he continues toward the fridge. "Thank you. Let me start from the beginning, then." Steve sets down the book he had been perusing and picks up the one Flicker just brought him. "Oh! So the ah, polecat? Is named after this..." He trails off when Dusk trundles out of his room. "Good morning," he says, half a beat too late. Winces. His hand lifts to the nearly-healed puncture wounds on his neck, then quickly drops back to the table, his eyes dropping to the book in his other hand. "The what?" Flicker's blank-eyed stare at Steve is maybe testament to the sleepless nights where the rest of his appearance is not. He blinks, looks down at the pan, eventually scrapes the eggs off onto two plates. His shoulder bumps up lightly against Dusk's wing as his roommate passes. He sets the bacon and muffins on the plates, too, but then just stares at them for a moment -- at the pan -- at the table. Shoves his phone in a pocket, scrubs at his eyes. "Can Steve borrow those?" He waves his spatula toward the books. "Ferret," Dusk supplies gruffly. His hand stalls on the fridge door, eyes skipping to Steve. He turns aside from the fridge, nudges Flicker gently away from the stove with the edge of one wing. "I'll wash it, go eat." His wings shift, fold behind his back as he leans up against the sink to start the dishes, his movements sluggish. Underneath, his plain black boxers still sit low on hips that jut out too much; his ribs still sharply defined, his whole frame not noticeably less gaunt than before. "Eh? Yeahsure. I've read it like. Fifty times by now." "The --" Steve blushes. "-- ferret, right. Come to think of it, I haven't seen her around lately." His eyes scan the floor as though expecting Alanna to just materialize upon being discussed. Then his gaze lifts slowly to Dusk, his eyes widening fractionally, then his brows furrowing. "Thank you." Then, again at a delay, he adds, "For the books. And thank you for breakfast," this last to Flicker as he sets both books aside. Flicker's shoulders ease at Dusk's touch. He takes the plates off to the table, returning briefly to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of cranberry juice before he goes and takes a seat beside Steve. "Yeah, she's -- gone." He nudges the larger of the plates close to Steve. Bows his head over his own before he picks up his fork. "I'm just glad to have someone to eat -- with again. Dawn breakfast was getting hard to choke down solo." Dusk's wings press tighter against his shoulders. His eyes lift toward the table, then drop heavily to the sink. Just watching the water run. "She -- I didn't. Ryan's taking care of her." It's stiff, a soft rumble underlying his words. "Sent her over to him a -- a couple. Couple weeks back." Steve waits for Flicker to return to the table before saying grace himself. He picks up his fork and glances from Flicker over to Dusk, his mouth opening in a silent 'oh', blushing deeper. "Ah, I see. Sorry, I didn't mean to -- imply that you...did." He digs into his breakfast eagerly enough, for all his embarrassment. Gulps down some coffee. Then forces himself to slow down. "It is certainly more pleasant in company. Does Hive not...eat breakfast?" "I think Hive has been mostly living on cigarettes and fury for weeks now." Flicker's nose wrinkles, his eyes darting towards his bedroom door. "But I -- just wasn't home for most of. Most all of -- this, anyway. Too big a risk being in the hospital every day, with Dusk --" One shoulder lifts briefly. "Not only," Dusk protests. "He's thrown coffee in there now and then." He's scrubbing steadily at the pan -- longer, probably, than it really needed before he rinses off the soap and turns it up on the drying rack. His eyes don't lift, claws twitching at the tops of his wings. His fingers flick sharply, shedding water from his fingertips back into the sink. "S'cool. I mean, I'm sure I would have. If she'd stayed here. It just -- kind of. Kind of sucked." Steve gives a quick shake of his head. "I tried that diet in my callow youth. It didn't agree with me." His mouth twitches to one side as he lifts his mug for another drink. "Kept the coffee and the fury. Swapped the smokes for whiskey." He studies Flicker sidelong, then glances at Dusk again. "You're at high risk from the coronavirus, too -- or were, before the vaccine?" "In your --" Flicker pauses eating, peering intently at Steve. "Wait, how old do you think you are now?" A small smile tugs at his lips, but it fades away again soon enough. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine. She'll be back here soon, yeah? And we're sticking around now, too." His mouth presses into a grimace. "You know. Outside of work." "There's been like seven million jokes about his age on Twitter when he and Ryan started -- uh --" Dusk's brow furrows. "Whateverthefuck but if we're looking at actual time walking around this earth I think Ryan's the one robbing the cradle." He shuts the water back off, his wing trailing lightly against Flicker's arm as he shuffles back out to the living room. Drops heavily onto the couch. "Eh." One arm folds down over his eyes. "S'Complicated." For a moment it seems he might just leave it there, but then his arm drops to his chest, brow rumpling as he tips his head back toward the others. "If I actually eat, I hardly get sick, but if I don't --" A small shrug. "Twenty-five?" Steve sounds far from certain. "I was talking about my adolescence, though." He stacks some bacon and eggs onto half of a muffin and picks up his knife awkwardly with his right hand. Then, darting a baleful glance at his uncertain pinch-grip, puts it back down. Looks up at Dusk. "That's -- I'm sorry. It sounds like this virus has been a plague on more fronts for you than for most. But now..." A brief hesitation. A deep frown. "You never really do get enough, right? To eat." The dart of Flicker's glance toward Steve's hand is almost too quick to catch; his mechanical fingers twitch a bit tighter around his fork in response. He washes some of his egg down with cranberry juice. Looks Steve over long and thoughtful before deciding, with a shake of his head: "... I can't really picture your wayward youth." "Psh, what?" One of Dusk's eyes scrunches up. He snorts, shakes his head at Flicker. "You're seeing plenty enough of his wayward adulthood." The crook of his arm settles slowly back over his face, not really successfully hiding the flush that creeps up into it. "Please. All I had to do was sit in my room like half the rest of New York, I wasn't -- in an ER sixteen hours a day saving lives or risking my ass with the cops to get that vaccine out into the world or any of the shit my fam was about." The low growl in his chest has returned, though, deeper than before. "It's not really an -- easy diet to keep up even in non-pandemic times though, no." Steve's eyebrows hike way up. "Really?" He tips a nod in Dusk's direction. "As he says. Though I suppose I got into more fights, back then." His face is suddenly blank, lips pressed together tight. "More than one way to go through an ordeal," he says soberly. "I think for some folks, just surviving it was a pretty heroic feat." He takes a bite of his egg muffin sandwich, his eyes distant and thoughtful. Sets it down. Picks up his coffee again. "I ah...apologize if this a difficult topic, but I'd be willing to contribute." He hesitates, his expression difficult to read. Looks down into his mug as he takes a sip. "More than just...on an emergency basis." "Oh, no, I mean like. Literally can't picture it." Flicker's brows have crinkled just slightly inward, now. "It's easy to imagine you making all kinds of bad life choices but I just keep trying to visualize --" He gestures towards Steve. "You? But -- smaller somehow? What parts do I shrink? In my head you're the same proportions but around --" He holds his hand about waist-high off the ground, "and that's a very strange mental image." He falls silent at Steve's offer, shooting Dusk an uncertain look. Busying himself intently with his meal. Dusk's laugh is quick and sharp. He levers himself up on a wing, squinting over towards Steve before letting his head settle back on the arm of the couch. "Legs. I'd just shrink the legs." He draws in a slow breath, turning his eyes up toward the ceiling. "I --" There's a sharper edge to his growl, and his cheeks flush deeper red before the rumbling quiets altogether, abrupt. "You don't -- have to -- I mean. Like I said, I -- I've gotten pretty used to --" A swallow, slow and hard. "I'm not going to let it get like that again. I'm sorry. About what -- happened." "Oh, that..." Steve lifts a hand to his face, but stops just short of touching it. Chuckles self-consciously. "I wasn't that short, but I was ninety pounds soaking wet on a good day. Luci found photographs, if you're curious." He goes very still when Dusk's growl sharpens. "I was frightened Saturday night, but I didn't offer out of fear then, and I'm not offering out of fear now." He finally lifts his eyes back to Dusk, steady even if their pupils are slightly dilated. "I wanted to help, and I still do, whether or not your life is in immediate threat." His hand turns palm up in the air. "Anyway, I have plenty to spare." "What can't Luci find?" Flicker is carefully mopping up the last of his egg yolks with a bit of muffin. He dabs at his mouth with a paper towel, picking up his juice but not drinking it. Tipping the glass slowly from one side to the other, eying Dusk half through the filter of the bright red liquid. "I've gotten very good at drawing blood, but most of us -- can only donate so often. It wouldn't be so bad to have another person in that rotation, would it? Especially if he can spare a bit more than most." Dusk's gaze stays, steady, on the ceiling. His wing curls around his chest, folding in tightly. "Yeah." This word comes soft, pushed out on a sharp puff of breath through his teeth. "More friends to regularly chow down on. Perfect." He is slow to sit up, rubbing the heel of his hand against his cheek. "Look, I do appreciate it, and I --" His words stutter here, eyes catching not on Steve but on Flicker -- lingering there a long breath before he drops his hand to his lap. Drops his gaze to his lap with a barely-voiced, fuck. "Yeah. No. You're right. It would. Be good." A little rough, a little clipped, as he gets to his feet. "Luci --" Steve frowns, but the expression softens soon after. "He's -- very competent." He almost manages to disguise his flinch at the words 'chow down on'. Drains the rest of his coffee. "I'm sure Dr. Allred can help me figure out the details." He watches Dusk rise. "And Dusk, I --" He dips his head slightly. "I forgive you."