ArchivedLogs:Working The Earth

Working The Earth
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Micah
In Absentia	11 March 2014 Playing in the dirt. (Part of the Future Past TP.)
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Backyard - Greenwich Village
Living in the heart of Manhattan means space is precious, and as such, the yard behind this house is small. It is as exquisitely well-kept as the rest of the place, though; all available space has been meticulously cultivated and transformed into a lush retreat from the concrete and asphalt of the city. The borders of the garden are lined in a wealth of flowers, the selection chosen to provide a panoply of color in all seasons save winter. A grassy rock-bordered pathway separates these from the raised-bed vegetable garden that dominates its center. The far left corner of the garden plays host to a tiny rock-lined pond, goldfish and a pair of turtles living in its burbling water. To one side of the pond is a garden table and set of chairs and presiding over the pond, a large oak tree with a hammock underneath, its branches spreading out over the tall brick wall that screens the entire area off from the city outside. The balmy-warm day has started to /actually/ feel springlike, though the forecast promises that is soon to change. Still, with the temperature climbed up into the sixties Lucien is taking advantage of the pleasant weather and extra saved-daylight to spend time out in his garden. He's outside in jeans, short-sleeved v-neck grey shirt, black sneakers, an unbuttoned black denim long-sleeved shirt over top. At the moment he's getting his hands dirty, crouched down near the vegetable bed to dig his fingers thoughtfully into the soil. He squeezes the dirt together into a ball in his palm, fingers working into it afterwards to watch, assessing, how it crumbles. Out here there's a quiet relaxation to his expression and posture; it carries through into his voice, as well, singing to himself -- Pippin's "Extraordinary", rich baritone filling the garden. Micah is dressed more lightly for the weather, newsboy cap and olive canvas jacket (rescued from their bloodied state by copious soaking and washing) worn mostly in concession to the unpredictable nature of the temperature in this season and a /serious/ dislike of the cold. His shirt depicts a Starry Night inspired sky with Serenity flying through it peacefully and his bluejeans are patched at the left knee. Wandering out to the garden where Desi had indicated Luci could be found, Micah lingers awhile not far from the door with a warm and pleasant smile. Perhaps at the weather or the garden or the sight of Luci therein or the singing...likely some combination thereof. It takes him some minutes to move on unless he is first acknowledged, finally lifting a hand as he steps nearer. "I had a dream," he observes idly, "praisin' your singin' of that song. Rather rightly so. Mind a hand?" His head nods toward the soil Lucien is working. With a gaggle of children lurksome about the house, Lucien doesn't pay much attention at first to the opening of the kitchen door, just focused on his work. It's only when Micah actually speaks that he looks up to note that this is /not/ in fact one of his siblings; his brows raise, expression slowly shifting from its easy-relaxation to a more thoughtful curiosity. "/Did/ you?" His lips twitch faintly. "The current production is truly delightful. You should catch it, if you have not yet. It may well be the best Broadway production I have seen in --" His lips curve, slightly. "... funny, though," this is a softer murmur, "I had a dream where you were praising just the same thing." He gestures towards the garden bed with his soil-filled hand, letting the soil crumble-clump back down to the earth. "I was just gauging. It may be /just/ on this side of still-too-wet to really start preparing. It is borderline, though. What do you think?" Wandering over into the garden, Micah kneels at Lucien's side with little care for how this might impact the state of his jeans' knees further. "I did. Jax was /ravin'/, an' I certainly seemed t'like it, as well. Shame it didn't come with the actual show part. Been meanin' t'take Jax out t'the theatre, but...time an' money, like anythin' else." His head tilts curiously at Lucien's mention of the dream. "Did you? Was a real...nice dream. Didn't nothin'...manifest on your end, did it? I didn't notice nothin'." He reaches out for his own fistful of earth to test the soil. "/Is/ a little on the damp side. Also got the concern of possible snow loomin' still. Gonna get below freezin' again the next few nights, with precipitation expected." He scrunches his lips over to one side pensively. "Would be nice t'get started workin' on it, though, wouldn't it?" Lucien's brows furrow as Micah clarifies further. "-- Yes, he was -- rather enthused in my dream, as well. Would you like to go, some time? The production /is/ truly spectacular. Even if," he says with a small twitch of smile, "I am not in it. Did we by any chance go out for hot dogs?" He asks this with a mild tone of distraction, turning his eyes down to the earth. His head shakes once, and he gives a heavy exhale. "More snow. I may as well not bother for another week or -- two, then." His lips press together in some disappointment, and he dusts his hands off over the bed, turning to sit perched on its edge. "It would be delightful. I spend all winter itching to get back out here. I suppose there is not a /great/ deal of point in you and Jackson planting his roof garden, this year, you'll be out of there before you have a chance to harvest much, won't you?" “Of course...we'll have t'set aside the time at some point. Even if it /ain't/ t'see you, after all.” Micah matches the smile with a more obvious grin of his own. “We...did. But no...things happened, out here? I should ask Jax if he had this dream, too.” He plays his hands through the soil awhile more, a hint of longing in his look as he watches it slip through his fingers. “It ain't /guaranteed/ more snow. But certainly some kinda weather. An' cold the next few days. Yeah, there wouldn't be much point plantin' /that/ garden. Could get t'some of the guerilla plots 'round town, though. Be awhile 'fore we can plant at the new place. Kinda in awkward garden limbo this year.” He chuckles a bit at a thought. “Though Jim's gonna be livin' at the new place, so he could likely ent-magic a good crop even out of a late start garden. Feels like cheatin', though.” "I have had Pippin's soundtrack stuck in my head all day long. Does that qualify as a manifestation?" Lucien leans forward, resting elbows on his knees and lacing his dirt-speckled hands together. "I had not thought much of it until now," he admits softly. "I have -- many." A hint of flush creeps into his cheeks. "-- such dreams. But if you --" His head shakes, and he turns slightly to one side, watching Micah's fingers play through the dirt. "You'll have your rash of terrorist-gardens. They will certainly need tending. And if you really get the urge to get dirty, you are welcome to stop by here. Take a share of the harvest in return for your work." A small smile curls at his lips. "If the food is what you want it is efficient, certainly. He magicked me up a beautiful crop of basil, once. There was a pesto emergency. But the food is really just a side bonus, for me. It is the work that really --" He exhales quietly, head tipping down. "-- Forgive me. I /am/ rambling on today, aren't I." "Hm...it qualifies as /nice/, but not s'much a manifestation. An' ain't nothin' showed up at our place. Odd. I /will/ have t'ask Jax. Hm." Micah's cheeks colour in faint rose before he even speaks further. "You /should/. You're /kinda/ captivatin'. People'd watch you for sure." His fingers trail through the soil. "Maybe we'll keep a small garden by our house, too, aside from the common one. The harvest is sure /part/ of the goal, but... I was raised growin' food with my own hands. S'got a dif'rent...feel to it, right?" His grin broadens. "Ain't got no objections t'comin' by t'get dirty here...crop-sharin' or no." He finally leaves the soil to rest, dusting his hands off before moving over to Lucien's side. "Ain't nothin' t'forgive. I like it when y'speak your mind. S'nice." His forehead bonks lightly against Lucien's arm, rather than using his slightly-dirty hands for the job. Lucien's head stays bowed but his eyes lift, settling on Micah's face with this compliment. "I have had a lot of training. Even some experience. It would not be my first stint on Broadway, just --" His lips twitch, the brief curl of smile there a little melancholy. "It has been some while. Why /you/ would be sharing my foolish fantasies, though, is a mystery to me." His eyes fall back down to his hands, fingers lacing tighter together. "There is something powerful about working the earth. Watching things grow, conjuring /life/ out of the dirt. Matt always thought it was the strongest magic that --" There's a slightly darker tint to his cheeks, now. His fingers unlace and twine back together. "-- Surely you didn't come here to listen to me ramble?" "Why's it gotta be foolish? An' it was a good dream for me, too." Micah leaves his head resting on Lucien's shoulder, just rolling slightly so that he can actually look at the other man. "Think Matt was prob'ly onto somethin' there. We're workin', honey...we'll find 'im," he assures softly after that. "I like your ramblin'. Might not've been the goal, but worth hangin' 'round for." Pausing, he looks back down to his hands, inspecting the dark half-moons of soil that caught under his fingernails. "Wanted t'check on you after the other day. We didn't...mean t'badger you about that. An'...y'left /way/ more money than y'needed t'cover the meal." "It seemed a little off, though. It was happy -- /I/ was happy, at least. And Matt was home, and --" Lucien's brows pull inward, and his weight leans up lightly against Micah's side as the other man rests against him. "But it felt like something had gone /wrong/ somewhere along the way, no? Or perhaps I am just mis-remembering. It did not feel particularly /dreamlike/ at all, though." His lips thin at the mention of the other day. "I did not really care to spend the time calculating my share." "Those are things that can happen, though, right? We can still save Matt. An' you /are/ capable of bein' happy, yeah?" A soft sigh escapes Micah's lips as he nestles against Lucien's side. "I mean, it sounded like...Matt was still recoverin' from all of it. But with bein' in those labs an' havin' t'get freed from 'em. S'pretty traumatic, so that just makes sense. The only thing that seemed kinda odd was how sad I got when Jax was talkin' 'bout the way the Commons was built. Weren't like there was nothin' wrong with the Commons, I mean we were both sayin' what great buildin's they were. An'...okay, Shane an' Evolve was strange, too, but he's been talkin' 'bout buyin' it, so I thought that was just my head pluggin' things in." He nods in agreement. "Was a pretty not-dream-like dream, true." He bites his lip a bit at the talk of the uncomfortable conversation. "Apologies, honey, we just didn't...know what was goin' on, really. Would y'be offended if I calculated it for you?" "{I do not know,}" Lucien answers this first question, very softly in French. His head turns in to press his lips to the top of Micah's head, but after a long pause for thought he volunteers gently: "If your -- or my? -- brain was just plugging things in, it is entirely possible there would be a fair bit of /sad/ wrapped up in the Commons architecture, Micah. Considering the current state of its archi/tect/. Perhaps your dream simply extrapolated from Hive's current --" He cuts off, though, with a puzzled: "What about Shane and Evolve? /Buying/ it? Why ever?" He lifts his head to look down at Micah with no /less/ puzzlement: "Micah, do you really imagine I need the money back? I make it back in --" He has to pause here for a brief spurt of mental math, "-- three minutes of work." "Shouldn't give up on it," Micah replies simply, whether of the dream or of being happy or some combination thereof. "Oh." His eyes press closed for a moment at the mention of Hive. "I think. I may still be in enough denial 'bout that. Still clingin' t'my faith in modern medicine a little hard. Or...in there bein' a person whose special ability is curin' cancer out there. Somethin'." He opens his eyes again, looking up. "Shane wants to buy Evolve an' reopen it. Quit school t'run the place. Oh/gosh/ was he ever mad at me when I said he was too young for signin' contracts or gettin' a liquor license for the club, an' that he'd need a business partner who was older an' had some business /know-how/ t'pull it off." The last question earns a brighter blush. "I don't...think y'/need/ it or anythin'. Just seems terrible presumptuous t'go takin' money from people like... I mean, it wasn't just too much for /your/ meal. It more than covered the whole check." "Giving up on it, Micah, implies I ever held some hope of it to /start/." Lucien presses his palms together, hands rubbing slowly against each other; a faint leftover trickle of dirt patters down lightly against the grass. "If that picture of Matt is accurate, there just might be someone of that nature." His brows raise as Micah explains about Shane, but at first he just answers this with a thoughtful-soft hum. Eventually, though: "-- Your boys /are/ wonders. Given some classes, perhaps, in business management I have -- oddly little doubt he would surprise everyone with his efforts. My dreams seem to agree with me." One side of his mouth twitches faintly upwards before he answers, "Presumptuous would be /expecting/ me to pay for your meals. It is hardly presuming when the initiative was mine, non? Consider it an apology. It was terrible manners to let a small question of ethics get in the way of a perfectly pleasant meal." "Fine then, /I/ won't give up on it on your behalf," Micah retorts with a small twitch of his lips. Some things /do/ bear being presumptuous, after all. "I'd say it's accurate. The one of Horus was spot-on." He nods at the ongoing talk of Shane. "I'm not even tryin' t'discourage 'im. Just...think he needs a business partner is all. We been tryin' t'think of someone who might be willin' t'do it. 'Cause it's good just t'see Shane excited about somethin' for once. He ain't never been one for havin' a lotta /direction/. Just don't know..." His brow furrows deeply in thought, recalling a very small detail. "Wait. Who's Aly? I don't...think I know an Aly. D'you?" He nods again at the answer of what is to be done with the extra money. "Okay. But only so's y'believe the apology's fully accepted. You were obviously upset, honey. We all got...things we feel strongly about." Lucien's hand shifts over at this initial retort, slightly dirt-gritty fingers resting lightly against the back of Micah's hand. His eyes stay fixed forward on the ground, but a quiet pulse of happy-warm-pleasure flutters out from his touch. "He seems to get excited enough about music. At least, largely the only time he engages me in much conversation when he visits Desi is on the subject of violin-playing." He gives his head a small shake after this. "Aly? I know more than one Aly. Wh --" He stops this last question as he thinks back to the dream, and amends: "-- I do not believe any of them know Shane. Or business." His hand drops away from Micah's, and he exhales a slow breath. "After the things I have seen children endure --" His lips press together, and he pushes himself to his feet, extending a hand to Micah. "It is Tuesday. Don't you have social obligations? Come, I'll get you a cup of tea before you have to leave, at the least." “Mmn.” Micah leans a little heavier against Lucien at the loaded touch. “He loves playin'. An' /would/ love playin'. Shuts down any talk of 'im takin' it t'more'n just a hobby, though. He's...had so much of bein' shoved down by the world on account of how he looks, he don't trust it t'let 'im do...anythin', really. He shuts the doors on any possibilities 'fore the world can slam it on 'im. But then he's left with a lotta nowhere t'go. S'why I wish this thing could pan out for 'im, somehow. I'll have t'ask Jax about the Aly thing. If it was our dream, she had t'come out of one of our heads, yeah? Maybe she's /really/ someone who would be down for it.” He shrugs slightly. “Think he might have an old friend as goes by Aly. From school or somethin'...'fore I met 'im. They still talk on the phone. Hm.” Micah brings the back of Lucien's hand to his lips, kissing it lightly, dirt or no. “I know, honey, I've seen...b'lieve me, I've seen a lotta. Horrible. For kids. Just seen a lotta good, too.” Accepting Lucien's hand to help him out of the somewhat awkward sitting position he's ended up in, Micah takes to his feet. “Game night,” he confirms, then giggles. “Feels a little too fancy t'call it 'social obligations'. I won't trouble you with an invitation t'join. If y'weren't comin' when Matt did, doubt /I/ can tempt you. Oh, tea, though. Definitely tea.” "In his defence, the world is an abominable shithole. He is likely not wrong." Lucien says this with a quiet trace of resignation, eyes shifting upwards to the fading light in the sky. He helps Micah to his feet, the curl of his hand through the other man's coming once again with a stronger flush of warm pleasure. "I came when Matt did." He offers Micah a very small twitch of smile. "Once or twice." His hand stays in Micah's, other moving to touch fingertips very lightly to the small of the other man's back, ushering him back inside. "There's some truly wonderful things about the world. S'just some real awful people in. An' not all people even qualify for that." Micah's reply is light, not really arguing, just observing. It takes him a moment to get moving toward the house, hand just squeezing a little tighter in Lucien's. "Well, let me amend. You're /welcome/ t'come. But I won't be offended if y'don't." His smile aimed at Lucien is warm and a little lopsided. "You in the mood for an oolong? I could do with some oolong." "Most people do. On the whole the balance of truly awful to wonderful is severely skewed towards the former. I have found very few people who --" Lucien's eyes skip briefly over Micah, a faint touch of colour dusting his cheeks. "I am not sure I am up to a party. But -- oolong," he murmurs, opening the door back into the kitchen, "I can rarely get enough of in my life."