ArchivedLogs:Some Kinda Iniquity

Some Kinda Iniquity
Dramatis Personae Jax, Sam, Steve
In Absentia	2017-04-28 "I would say it feels good to know I'm /not/ just paranoid, but -- I admit, it really doesn't."
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Garden Plot - Lower East Side
The smell instantly changes here to something greener, herbally sharp and mulchy; paved walkway drifts at angles through raised multi-tiered garden beds, reaching varying elevations of a mere foot above the ground to three feet, each held up by retaining walls of leftover stone from the houses, riddled here and there with spiraling mosaic dragons. While companion flowers of red geranium, fuchsia bee balm, violet petunias, pastel-and-white sweet pea, are sprinkled throughout and alongside each box, it's primarily vegetables; between tall eerie trellis spires of fixed animal bones, clung over with curlicues of lush vine sheets and okra, delicate netting protects lower levels of melon and tomato, kale and tomatoes and a number of other edible foods, with a separate box of sand-loving root vegetables sending up frondy foliage for carrot and onion and garlic. To one side, a compost heap lets of faint shimmers of heat and steam, to the other, a strongly scented bed of myriad herbs, both medicinal and otherwise, flanked on one side by a large healthy swell of coneflower. With a shed nearby housing gardening tools, the whole of it is watered by a network of hidden hosing that gives off faint tickles of mist when in use, ribboned with rainbows, and there are structures in place to suggest the garden can be enclosed in winter months. The heat of the day has faded, and though it is still warm, the cool breezes that ripple off the water promise a comfortable evening. There's a picnic in the Commons's garden -- fresh green pesto, plump white gnocchi, chocolate hazelnut mousse, and a tall pitcher of strawberry basil lemonade. It all looks rather /classical/, laid out on a red gingham cloth. Steve himself looks pretty classical, too, as he brings a bowl of brightly colored fruit (heavy in strawberries) out from the Commonhaus dressed in a blue-and-white striped seersucker shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and faded blue jeans, perfectly fitted. His shield is slung across his back, and a huge brindled pitbull mix trots alongside him, eyeing the oversized Kong he carries under one arm. Jax is ruining the Norman Rockwell setting, in his neon green UFO shorts and bright purple fishnet tank, rainbow-flecked black hair, glittering makeup, sunglasses with pink star-shaped plastic frames. A one-eyed beagle frisks about his bare feet as he lays out silverware, "Pup, /I/ ain't even got the food. I got /forks/. Steve got the food. Steeeve. See? Zenobia knows." "You sure there's nothing I can do?" Sam's contribution is a six-pack of Strongbow sitting on the table. He's already drifted away, though. Examining one of the trellises with a small and growing frown as he looks at it closer (and closer.) Then turns back toward the table. "I mean you all seem like you went that extra mile already." "I really do appreciate the offer, but you are our guest. Honestly, Jax did most the work. All I did was throw a lot of basil in a blender and chop up some fruit." Steve sets the bowl of fruit down beside the mousse and tosses the Kong, which lands on its side and rights itself, though not before scattering some kibble across the ground. Zenobia bounds after it, vacuuming up a few pieces of kibble before attacking the Kong directly. "We're about ready to go anyway, apologies for the delay." His eyes follow Sam's gaze to the trellis. Studies it closely for a moment. "Everything alright here?" "My kid built those," Jax volunteers, with a crooked smile and a tip of his head toward the trellis. "They're a little, uh, unique." Obie whuffles with excitement, prancing eagerly at the telltale sound of scattering kibble. He puts his head to the ground -- right where he is, snuffling hopefully around Steve's feet now, his tail whisking the air frantically. "Can I get y'a drink? A plate, even? Think we're pretty good t'go. You're lucky t'was Steve what got zombied at with you an' not me or you'd'a been fretted at and drug out here long back, I can't but /help/ but fuss at people." "Interesting art." Sam heads back toward the table, shaking his head slightly at the spread. "Lucky?" He gives Steve a quick grin. "All this time you been holding out on me and this man says lucky? No, really, this looks fantastic." "There's a /lot/ of interesting art here." Steve sounds completely sincere about this. "If you want to walk down by the riverbank after supper, I can show you the rainbow face boat." He looks down at Obie. "It's over there, boy," he points in Zenobia's direction, snapping his fingers to get the beagle's attention. "That way!" Meanwhile, the larger dog is still gleefully knocking the Kong around, not bothering to stop and collect all the kibble she spills along the way. The smile he returns Sam is somewhat sheepish. "I kept meaning to invite you over, honest. Just every time I had a spare minute there was some to-do here, and I figured Game Night or Dance Night or the like might be a bit much as an introduction to the Commons." He sticks a serving spoon in the pesto and steps back, considering Sam. "Maybe I'm just generalizing my own sense of being overwhelmed when I first came here. " "Not all of it's dead," Jax assures Sam. "Some of it's just bizarre in other ways." In addition to Steve's helpful indication, he gently nudges Obie with his toes, giving him a small push in the direction of the kibble. It takes a moment for the beagle to reroute his snuffling, but eventually he heads in the right direction, gleefully crunching up leftover pieces that the larger dog has left behind. "Maybe Sam likes games or dancin' how do you feel about games or dancin'? I mean, for starters I wouldn't exactly invite anyone to, like, the meetings where we sit 'round an' plan out terrorisms but dancing's pretty safe right?" "Rainbow -- face boat. Huh." Sam takes a seat at the table, head shaking. "You all have a dance night? This place has its own whole thing going on, huh?" His eyebrows are lifting at Jax's commentary, though. Eyes skipping from Jax to Steve. "I should probably stick with the dancing. Uh. Those, uh, is that why there's those -- drones hovering around this place? I never know how much to believe from the news, but..." "Dance night is a recent addition to the social calendar, but yeah, we definitely have...things going on. I'll make sure you're on the invite list for the next one." Steve sits down, pouring himself a lemonade and lifting the pitcher with uplifted brows at Jax and Sam. Tempt, tempt. "Depends on which drones you mean." Glances up at the sky, unconcerned. "Some belong to residents, others are media of various stripes, but there are also a number of law enforcement agencies, federal and local, that watch a number of people here. Ostensibly because of terrorism, in most cases, but it's hard to say. All they have to do is yell 'national security' and pretty much anything goes." "We have a lot of things going on." Jax picks up his glass, holding it out towards Steve with a wide hopeful puppy-eye. "Community meals, work parties, dance time, game days, arts and crafts, um -- but no actual terrorism planning, I think all the feds spying on us probably get real bored. Or maybe real entertained listening to jam sessions in the music room and folks trash talking over video games? I don't know." Shrug. "It's mad creepy honestly but what can you do. Enjoy pesto and get on with your life." "Oh, th -- gracias." Sam pushes his glass forward, too, at the offered lemonade. "They really just keep those? Here? All the time? Is that even -- is that /legal/?" A deeper frown has settled into his face. "You know, lately around my place, I been seeing --" He stops, hesitates, shakes this thought off. "They're just /always/ here?" he echoes, a little incredulous. "Watching you -- dance?" "I'm sure the feds spying on us actually spend most of their time on Facebook and just tune in when something interesting happens." Steve fills the other two men's glasses. "It makes me furious. I've taken down a couple of drones that came too close, but they've no shortage of funding or other forms of surveillance." He sucks in a deep breath. "If I understand correctly, it doesn't matter very much if it's legal or not. Counter-terrorism ops seem to be above the law, for the most part." He considers Sam for a moment, lifting his lemonade for a long drink. "You think you're being watched?" "Legal?" Jax shrugs. He starts collecting the other men's plates to dish out generous servings of the gnocchi, ladling roast peppers and mushrooms and pesto over top. "Once they throw around 'terrorism' they mostly do what the like. Do you -- you been seein' something out where you are? Is that new?" "Even so that's such a massive invasion of --" Sam breaks off, looking suddenly a little bit chagrined. He casts a vaguely apologetic glance to Jax. Takes his plate back with a tipped up nod of thanks. "What am I saying, you're the last person needs /me/ explaining at you how shitty the system is for your rights, man. But damn." The look he gives to the sky, now, comes with a sharp exhale, a heavier shake of his head. "Sounds kind of paranoid, huh? I mean, I'm not nobody. But there's just been all these /things/ they start to add up. I don't know who the hell'd be watching me." "Merci." Steve receives his plate from Jax with a dip of his head. "I don't think it's paranoid, but then, as you've gathered, we're rather used to over-the-top government surveillance. All sorts of innocuous things can get you on a watch list with some law enforcement agency or another. Associating with the likes of myself, for example." "You are friends with a bona fide terrorist who invites you into the den of -- wait, what are we a den of again? Definitely some kinda iniquity anyway." Jax settles back down once he's finished dishing up his own plate, ignoring the food for the moment to take a large gulp of lemonade. He gestures toward the pack of cider hopefully. "I suppose if you're real worried I could ask my kid to check an' see if you're being spied on, she's good at that kinda -- um. Thing. But honest there's not much to be /done/ about it. She mostly just is like yup, that's goverment tech. Yup, they're doing a lot of snooping. An' then you feel paranoid times /ten/. The end." "Bona fide --" Sam's head is shaking once again. He passes a cider over to Jax, taking one for himself as well. "Man, if Captain America is up on your terrorism watch list you maybe need to reconsider how you're doing --" There's a brief upward bob of his eyebrows as he takes his first bite. "Well. America. /Damn/. You all made all this? I usually plan to go out after eating at white boy's houses but this is for real." There's a brief pause while he just makes his way through some of his gnocchi, washing it down with a swallow of lemonade. "Been a time or two I've spotted a drone like those. This van here and there that just -- been around more than it needs to. I don't know. Things just /off/. I would say it feels good to know I'm /not/ just paranoid, but -- I admit, it really doesn't." "I think America's needed to reconsider that for a long, time." Steve pokes at his food thoughtfully before taking a bite. He blushes at Sam's praise. "Like I mentioned, I've been taking lessons. Mostly from other white boys, actually but --" His eyes flick to Jax fondly. "-- they're both rather extraordinary people. At any rate, I hope they leave you be. Decide you're not the kind of trouble they're worried about." The corner of his mouth twitches. "Whether that's true or not."