ArchivedLogs:Possessive

Possessive
(And Thievery.)
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah, Doug
In Absentia	4 October 2013 Little bit of violence, little bit of awkwardsauce, little bit of...elevator.
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. The concrete wall that rings the roof has been decorated, painted in vivid bright shades by some artistic hand to add colourful cheer to the rooftop. The mural shifts in terrain One wall sports a beach, flecked with grass and seashells and driftwood and shore birds. Beach transitions into meadow, colourful with wildflowers and butterflies and dragonflies; meadow shifts into snow-capped mountains, subsides into piedmont and sprouts into a verdant forest on the fourth, alive with animals. It's quite late at night, the city -- not exactly quiet. But quieter. Fewer cars in the street, fewer pedestrians passing by down below. Music still drifts up faintly from the park across the street, a lone saxophonist improvising some jazz. Up here, the roof has sprouted a lightshow to go with the distant music. There is a fire dancing along the concrete of one wall, bright but heatless; a progression of changing shapes are taking life in its flames. A group of lionesses stalks an antelope through the fire; their quarry morphs, when they pounce, into an enormous multi-headed chimaera who eats the lionesses up. And is in turn hunted by a group of somewhat orcish archers, though these are subsequently dessicated by a swarm of flying vaguely female shapes who unfurl long mosquito-proboscii and suck the archers dry of blood; the whole shifting production kind of keeping /time/ with the distant melody. Jax sits /in/ the flames to one side of the wall, legs swung down to the outside of the wall, palms braced on its surface, watching the city below and not the fire around him. He's dressed still like he's been working out -- sleeveless athletic top (that reveals kind of a wealth of bruises on his arms, a bandage on one shoulder,) black lightweight cargo pants, sneakers. He smells like it, too, no longer damp with sweat but definitely still smelling of it. Micah is just returning home from a stint out in his van, visiting with his sewing machine. He is dressed in typical not-work attire consisting of a TARDIS blue Doctor Whooves T-shirt over patched jeans and sneakers. There is a stray bit of grey thread caught up in his tousled auburn hair to betray his recent activities. His bright orange forearm crutches are tucked into the bar on the seat back of his neon green ultralight wheelchair, ready to be used in a short leg-stretching trip to the roof. Micah opens the roof door by coming up to it at a backward angle, reaching behind him to turn the knob and then backing through the entryway using the chairback to hold the door open as he wheels through. It's only a few minutes after Micah's arrival on the roof that the door bangs open again, releasing one annoyed-looking Doug onto the roof. The blonde is dressed in jeans and a maroon shirt with a picture of a solar system and inscribed 'Miskatonic University Department of Astrophysics: Devouring worlds since the dawn of time' and carries a laptop one hand and a baseball bat in the other. The teenager might not be aware there are others actually up here, focused as he is on the laptop. He drops it on the roof surface, and steps back, resting the bat across his shoulders and hanging his hands from it thoughtfully. What to do. The first opening of the door tilts Jax's head slightly, listening; with his back to the roof perhaps he cannot see what is behind him but there's an easing of his posture a moment later all the same. "Hi, love." The fire continues flickering, mosquito-people shifting into enormous mothlike creatures, huge wings with hypnotically swirling patterns, long unfurling tongues curling out of insectoid mouths. The dropping of the laptop turns his head, finally. He looks from the bat to the computer and back, eyebrows raising silently. Once he's through the door, a little tap with his foot serves to ensure it is closed all of the way before he turns to face the roof. The flickering light startles him for a moment, oddly...only /until/ he notices the giant bug-people forming in it. “Ohgosh, I thought somethin' was burning for a second there. Hey, hon. All done with people pummelin' for the night? I lost track of time a little while I was out, but still wanted t'do a little walkin'. Turned out it was completely dark out, so I figured up here was a better place for it.” He brakes his chair a few feet from the door, retrieving the crutches to push himself to his feet and walk over to Jax. He only makes it a step or two before there is slamming, and Doug, and things being thrown. “Um...s'everything okay?” Micah stays in place for a moment, just watching. Doug regards the laptop, pulling his arms tight against the bat with a wrinkle of his nose. When Micah speaks, he pivots his body at the waist to look at the older men, his gaze taking in bruises and crutches carefully. "What the hell happened to you two?" is probably not the correct answer for the question posed, but it's the one he's offering at the moment. "I think m'all done bein' pummeled for the night," Jackson agrees wryly, his head turning back out towards the city. "S'nice an' light up here if y'want t'stretch your legs." Which isn't exactly true, largely dark save for the flickering firelight by Jax's end of the roof, but soon after it /becomes/ true. A score of floating lanterns comes to life overhead, little hollow glasslike orbs filled with small -- lizards, wreathed in flames as they skitter around the walls of their globes. "Happened? Nothin' happened. Friday night happened. Ain't it a bit late at night for baseball?" “Went that well, did it?” Micah questions with...something combining a wince and a hint of a grin. “Not as worried about it bein' too light up here. Kinda know where everythin' is. Fewer surprises than just out on the street or in the park. Well, mostly.” This last is said with another brow-lifted look of curious confusion at the bat. Micah is soon distracted by watching the new illusion light show, however, head tilting back. “Ooo. Salamanders?” Doug's return-question brings his gaze back to the others. “Oh. Um. Not the same thing. Jax's was more...voluntary. Mine was more...poor judgement? I guess? I'm gettin' better.” Since bats don't seem to be swinging perilously any time soon, he resumes his still relatively slow walk in Jax's direction. Doug's mouth screws up to one side as he considers the responses and then shrugs. "Well, as long as you're more or less okay, I guess," he says, and swings the bat down to tap it against his shoe. "I," he says in response to Jackson's observation, "am about to beat the ever-loving holy /shit/ out of this piece of junk before I pitch it into the dumpster in the alley." He sounds very matter-of-fact about it, and he seems about to make good on his promise when he ahs softly, and reaches into his back pocket to extract safety glasses which he slips on. Pushing them up his nose, he looks over at Micah and Jackson and frowns, realizing maybe that further explanation might be appreciated. "I burned out some of the boards," he offers, peering owlishly through the safety plastic. "And doing that tends to make me grumpy." "I use fireflies too often," Jax explains of the salamanders, "besides, they're kind of like adorable little geckos." Though Doug's explanation makes him fidget, slightly, where he sits; he swings his legs back over towards the inside of the roof, hopping down stiffly as the fire vanishes. "You burned -- what? -- Er. OK. I -- won't interrupt your -- violence, then." His hand scuffs over his short crop of hair, still flame-hued even if the fire has vanished, and he starts back towards the door, pausing by Micah to give the other man a kiss on the cheek. "Y'sure you're alright minus the light?" Micah giggles at Jax's explanation. “I wasn't complainin', hon. Just seein' if I had it right. They're /extremely/ cute.” He nuzzles at Jax when he stops by for that little kiss. “Might be a bit of that goin' around.” The light question earns a nod. “Yeah, what's out here is enough t'see by for a familiar environment. City an' all.” Doug's explanation of his intentions and donning safety goggles makes him reconsider, however. “On second thought...it might not be a bad idea t'give you an' the offendin' equipment some alone time for your own pummelin' session.” Doug doesn't seem terribly concerned that his imminent violence is clearing the roof. Instead, he holds out the bat helpfully. "You want to take a swing at it?" he offers. "It's /amazing/ for relieving tension." Jackson blushes, faintly, bumping his forehead up against Micah's temple lightly. "With you 'round cute ain't never in short supply," he says lightly, "just tryin' to do my part." He shakes his head at Doug's offer, grimacing faintly with a small twitch of his injured shoulder. "I've had my fill'a beating on things for the week. Y'have fun, hon." He heads for the roof door, pausing to hold it open with a questioning lift of eyebrows at Micah's apparent intention to leave as well. “Maybe havin' more success at that than at the pummelin', I think.” Micah giggles at the headbonks. “Pretty sure I'm not up t'the sports'n violence level of m'rehab. just yet, thanks,” he replies to Doug's offer with a quick glance down at his flank, where the bandages are concealed yet under his T-shirt. “Have a good night...try not t'hurt yourself with flyin' computer bits.” He lifts a hand from his crutch grip, flipping up the forearm cuff for a brief little wave before re-situating it for walking...slowly back toward his chair. “Sorry, hon. Still on the pokey side.” It takes him a minute or two to return to the chair, settle his crutches in the back again, and follow Jax through the opened door. When Jackson and Micah get cute and cuddly, Doug is unable to contain the annoyed sound that slips from his lips. "Ugh. Get a room." Muttered, it...is not a tease. It sounds like a genuine sentiment, although the teenager has turned back to his doomed laptop. "See you around, then," he offers, raising the bat to bring it down with more than a small amount of force, cracking the hard plastic shell. "You guys have a good night." Then more beating, and more cracking accompanied with the sound of glass giving way. It goes on for some time. It's probably best that there's no witnesses. "I'm sorry, excuse you?" Jackson's eyebrows raise, and he pauses with one hand on the door to give Doug a rather incredulous look. "/You/ really need --" He stops, and slowly the look shifts from incredulous to just pitying. "... that tension relieving, I guess." The heavy door thuds closed behind them as he heads for the elevator. "He's," he says wryly to Micah while they wait, "still kinda a teenager." Micah mostly just...blushes at this last exchange, shifting through shades of red at a much faster pace than he moves, unfortunately. He is more than a little grateful for the excuse of fussing at his equipment and navigating through the door to be looking away most of the time. His hand reaches back to brush fingertips against Jax's arm as he passes by, waiting a moment to let the other man follow. Though it is light in the building, a pair of the salamander-lanterns follow them inside, the glass of the globes shifting to an intricate colourful stained-glass pattern now that actual luminescence is less important. Jax follows Micah, pressing at the elevator button with an elbow and then leaning back against the wall beside it. His knuckles rub at his eye. "I should -- have ignored him." And then a somewhat more puzzled, "how does he burn through computers so fast? Mine tend t'last me, that must get spendy." He drops his hand to his side, looking at Micah with a brighter smile. "...can't say as I'd mind gettin' a room with you, though." That blush doesn't appear to be going anywhere soon. Micah reaches for Jax's less-injured arm, bringing it to his lips to place a light kiss on the inside of his wrist. "I just...don't get the jealousy thing? I mean...I guess that's what that is. Was. Maybe still is. I dunno. Mine never did work normal, though, so might be I'm a bad judge." He shrugs, a hand ruffling through his hair. "I got that he had kinda a crush on me a while back, but it ain't even like we was ever...any kind of thing. Y'think he's /still/ upset about that?" Jax's smile wipes much of the worry out of Micah's expression. "We do have one just downstairs. S'pretty nice, actually." "I can't say as I really understand it, either." Jax's fingers unfurl to rest warm against Micah's cheek, thumb slowly tracing against a cheekbone. "/Does/ kinda seem like he's still actin' like I done /stole/ you. I mean, I ain't real big on bein' possessive of people /anyhow/ but it seems even less -- sensical when y'all weren't /never/ a Thing." He reaches up with his other hand to touch lightly against the collar around his neck. "-- Well. OK. Some kindsa possessive I can get behind." He leans in, at this, to kiss Micah softly, breaking off only when the elevator dings behind him. Micah nuzzles into Jax's touch, a lopsided grin pulling at his lips. "Oh, y'so did. Snatched me up. I didn't even see it comin'," he teases lightly. "Mmn." His eyes track to the collar, and Jax's fingers on it. "Guess it is a kinda possessive. Don't mind sharin', but I know you're always comin' back." His own fingertips brush against the cuff on the wrist that he had claimed, face turning up eagerly into the kiss when Jax leans into him. The ding of the elevator actually startles him into a little jump. "'Course y'didn't see it comin', I'm pretty sneaky when I want t'be." Jackson's fingers trail against Micah's cheek as he steps into the elevator, promptly vanishing as he passes into it. Only for a moment, though; he reappears just inside, pressing the door open button to hold it for Micah. "It's a kinda possessive, but I think s'different with someone that /wants/ t'be owned." His gaze skips down over Micah, his smile softening. "Always comin' back," he agrees. "You kinda snuck in an' stole me, too, y'know." “So sneaky,” Micah agrees solemnly, pausing that moment for Jax to reappear before wheeling into the elevator so as to avoid potentially running over toes. He twists the wheels in opposite directions to turn quickly in the small space. “Wantin' does make a /lot/ of difference...pretty much always.” He takes hold of Jax's hand again as they wait to reach their floor. His nose crinkles in amusement at Jax's declaration. “Worst type of sneakthief. Sneaks right into your bedroom an' never leaves.” "Worst? Oh no trust me you are by far the most amazin' sort of burglin'. You are welcome t'burgle me every night." Jackson's fingers curl through Micahs. He glances around the elevator once he's pressed the third floor button and the doors close. "This is -- /like/ a room, right?" He doesn't entirely wait for answer on that, just leaning in to steal another deeper kiss. Micah can't help but snicker at the...burgling invitation. "Think I might could find somethin' worth stealin'," he teases as his free hand slips into one of Jax's back pockets. "Not so good at the goin' unnoticed part of sneakthiefin', though, as it turns out." He glances around the elevator. "/Very/ like a--" Then kisses are being /stolen/, and Micah is busy melting into them. As it turns out, much like with possessiveness, /wanting/ makes a lot of difference in stealing, as well. Jax's breath catches with a soft happy hum, and he shifts slightly to press into Micah's touch. "Thief," he murmurs, lips curling against Micah's into a smile. It's a somewhat hypocritical accusation; he follows it only with more thievery -- maybe with a touch of possessiveness in the hunger of his own kisses as they head back towards home.