ArchivedLogs:Pretty The World

Pretty The World
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Tag
In Absentia	2013-07-15 '
Location <NYC> 403 {Geekhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here, split between the four people; the fold-out couch in the living room (often folded out!) suggests that at least one of them does not actually claim a room as their own. Knock knock knock! It's a perfunctory polite knock, it's not a knock for admission. Jax has his own key and he's not shy about using it; the knocking has only just ceased when the key is turning in the lock and he is coming in! Barefoot, in short pleated skirt (black, with purple plaid in the pleats and purple straps hanging from thick silver D-rings) and a black t-shirt dotted in stars (it says 'believe in faeries' in it, with blue butterfly wings on the back and blue and purple stars dotted around the words on the front.) His keys are dangling from one forefinger; there's a tray balanced on his other hand (still /hot/, not just warm) with strawberry brownies cooling in it. "Hihi," he is greeting the apartment at large as he weaves his way through towards the kitchen, "I brought a thing! -- for eating," in case that wasn't patently obvious. A heap of clothes on the couch stirs but does not rise. Tag's hair is a sort of faded powder pink, covering most of his face. He wears an oversized t-shirt in washed out spiral tie-dye, and his cargo shorts are powder blue. He looks /muted/. Only when Jax speaks does he make any significant effort to get up. "Hey." His voice is weak, but his smile genuine and his eyes less sunken than they have been. "Um, I dunno if there's anyone around, I fell asleep...er..." His eyes dart to the window. "Is it still Monday?" "Hi, Tag!" Jackson chirrups brightly, slipping over to the cabinet to peer into it with a slight frown. And then at the pile of dishes in the sink. His lips purse. "S'still Monday, yeah. D'you want a brownie, they're strawberry." He plucks a glass out of the sink, scrubbing it clean and rinsing it out before filling it with water to deliver it to Tag. Along with a light peck to the forehead. "Afternoon on Monday. Not quiiiite on its way t'evenin' yet, I only got back from school -- mmm --" He glances over towards the cooling brownies consideringly, "-- maybe forty minutes ago? Fortyfive?" However long BROWNIES take to make, apparently. "How y'doing, honey-honey?" "Oh wow, brownies!" Tag's eyes light up--literally, though only to a kind of iffy slate gray. "I would love that. I am so hungry I don't even..." He accepts the water and chugs the entire cup in several long gulps. "Um, I don't feel great," he admits, looking down at the drained glass. The small puddle of water gathering in the bottom from droplets sliding down the inside suddenly fluctuates in reflectivity, acquiring a sort of metallic sheen. "But I'm...doing better?" This sounds more hopeful than uncertain as such. Eyes upturned again--green now, with that same tired smile. "How 'bout you?" Jackson reaches a hand for the glass again once it's emptied, though his hand just rests on it without actually /taking/ it. "More?" His nose crinkles up. "If you're hungry-hungry, maaaaybe somethin' a little more substantial than brownies, p'rhaps. I got some chickpeas cooked at my place but -- soup might be better if y'ain't feelin' good?" His eyes drop to the glass, watching its sheen. A faint swirl of also-metallic rosypink spirals its way through the lingering puddle. "Kinda melty," he says. "Sun don't burn me but the /heat/ still kills I think all my clothes fused onto me on the trip home. Also kinda behind in work Micah," he says this like it is such a BURDEN, "is makin' me sleep every other day!" THE NERVE. Tag nods slowly. "Probably /should/ drink more water. You're right about the heat, and he's right about the sleep. Not sleeping is a problem after a while." The silver sheen in the water turns bright gold, and for a moment almost seems to /glow/. "Hm. Gotta work on that," he mutters, releasing the cup, leaving it in Jax's hand. Instead of subsiding into the couch, he actually drags himself up and pads to the kitchen. "Soup is kinda...I dunno, it's a bit warm for soup! But I should probably...um...cereal?" He quirks his mouth to one side as he surveys the cupboard. "/May/ I just have brownies for breakfast?" "Ain't much a problem for /me/. 'least not in summer, in winter s'murder." Jackson trails off into the kitchen, refilling the water and setting it aside. He starts in on the pile of dishes, washing them while Tag looks through the cupboard. "I mean -- y'can have whatever y'want for breakfast, I guess. Uh. The brownies got fruit, that's like healthy, right? And most cereal's basically nothin' but sugar nohow. But I don't got no say in what y'eat so --" He hitches up a shoulder. "There's cold soups," he adds, pensively. "Maybe I'll make. Fruit soup. Not now. I'm done with cookin' for now. Fruit soup tomorrow." "I like fruit! I know how to make this awesome raw fruit and avocado soup in a blender. So pretty..." Tag's clothing actually brightens a little, though his hair stays baby pink."Though it always seemed more like a smoothie than a soup to me, since you don't actually cook it and it's sweet!" He snags a plate from the drying rack only mere seconds after Jax has deposited it there, drying it with a dish towel and a sheepish smile. "Sorry I'm kind of undoing what you're doing. I can help you with those after I stuff a brownie in my face." He fishes fork and knife from the utensil drawer and attacks the brownie. "Thank you. For the brownies, I mean, not permission to eat dessert for breakfast. It's a hard habit to break...being told what to do." "I don't think I gave you permission," Jackson points out with a blush, "I just didn't -- /deny/ you it neither. But I don't think s'mine to deny. Or give --" His blush deepens, head bowing over the dishes. "Fruit and avocado soup sounds delicious. Or -- I guess that's just fruit soup, avocado /is/ fruit, um." Cheeks still deep crimson, Jackson rinses soap off another two plates and sets them on the drying rack. "I ain't usually in the habit of, um. Bein' the permission-giver anyway. Does Hive --" The red in his cheeks shifts outward, tinting the air around him slightly, and very /quickly/ he amends: "Nevermind, sorry, that really ain't none'a my business. I hope y'like them. Um. The brownies. I think there might be almond milk in the fridge. S'it workin' out alright? Breakin' -- the habit." "I know you didn't mean it like that, and I know it's not anyone's job to tell me what to do," Tag says softly, almost wistfully. "It's working alright--Hive helped a lot, through the worst of it. But I still keep looking for orders to follow. Kind of ironic that I just wouldn't do what my /parents/ wanted." He shrugs, lifting a lopsided chunk of brownie from the corner of the pan and depositing it on his plate. "Avocado seemed more like its own /food group/ back when I could afford it on a regular basis." This last with a slightly weary grin. Apparently forgetting about the fork, Tag just picks up the brownie with his bare hand and takes a huge bite out of it. "Mmph mm-mmm," he says, rummaging through the refrigerator fruitlessly and then just drinking from the glass of water Jax had set aside for him. "This is fantastic!" he pronounces after a bit more spirited chewing and another gulp of water. "Probably should have taken a smaller bite." He does not actually follow his own polite suggestion, but devours the remainder of his brownie as though his life depended on it. "It's not -- /wrong/ to want orders to follow," the air around Jackson is getting deeper red. "Just." His head shakes. He has cleared most of the dishes from the sink, working his way through scrubbing down a last skillet. "I don't know. Just probably healthier when it's cuz you want it an' not cuz you need it?" He rinses the skillet, sets it on the drying rack, too, and uses the sponge to wipe the sink clean. "I wouldn't hardly mind treatin' avocado like s'own food group. Practically dense enough to be." His teeth drag against his lower lip; for a moment his eye slices sidelong to Tag, but then he just. Continues cleaning! Moving from sink to counter to start straightening /that/ and wiping it down, too. "-- Though in some senses of it s'real hard to get a much /Dom/-ier Dom than Hive. But. He ain't," he says with a quick laugh, "really, uh. Much for orders, is he?" Plate empty but still balanced in the palm of one hand, Tag pivots in place and fixes Jax with an appraising gaze. "I don't know that I ever /wanted/ to be controlled. I just decided that I needed it because I everything I did went so wrong." He shrugs, the intensity in his pale violet eyes gone as quickly as it had come. "Hive /is/ kind of perfect for that, but no, he didn't order me around. He was just /there/, and I couldn't just smile and lie and say I was fine. I probably owe him my life." This last he says matter-of-factly. "I think that goes above and beyond being a good Dom." Jackson stops in his counter-wiping, turning to look at Tag, meeting his gaze steadily. He takes a step forward, tips forward onto his toes, pecks Tag very lightly in the center of his forehead. "I'm glad," he says quietly. "That he did. I don't -- imagine it'll. Be /easy/ still for a while but." His blush is fading, the red receding from the air around him, though it still lingers faintly in his cheeks. "But we're all still -- y'don't gotta do none'a this -- alone." His nose crinkles up. "What're y'gonna do now?" Tag smiles, and his baby pink hair brightens to a vibrant magenta. "I don't imagine so," he agrees, stepping past Jax to wash his own plate in the sink. "There's a lot to do. I'm gonna tell Jason--the ex who wants me back--thanks but no thanks. I'm gonna let my parents know I'm okay, and I have to live my own life. I'm gonna get a freaking job so I can actually pay my rent. Also I'll probably fall apart again the next time crisis hits, and start over." He chuckles self-consciously, looking back at Jax. "Mostly, I'm gonna make my art, and eat another piece of brownie. It's really good." The brightening of hair draws a smile from Jax; it's reflexive, his gaze pulled magnetically towards the shift in colour. He returns to his cleaning, finishing wiping down one counter and turning to the next. "S'fruit in there, that's /like/ healthy," he says, lightly. And then, with a slight crinkle of his nose, "-- y'know, speakin' of art, I'd heard a friend mention -- mmnh, was a while back now I guess, there was. Some police cars was havin' -- turnin' up with some -- weird trouble with --" His eye cuts over to Tag, head shaking. "Be nice t'have someone to get out an' make the city colourful with again," he says instead. "It's healthier then what I've /been/ eating." Tag puts the plate on the drying rack and cuts himself a piece of brownie, cupping one hand beneath it while he devours it in two bites. He quirks one bright pink eyebrow at Jax when he mentions the patrol cars. "You know, the funny thing is, even though I've been pretty messed up, I've gotten so much practice just...tagging stuff compulsively. I had this nagging fear that I was /losing/ it, like there was only so much color in me and I might run out." He looks down at the faded tie-dye of his shirt, and taps the center of the spiral, just above his sternum. The colors intensify and /swirl/,appearing momentarily like a rainbow hurricane, before settling into a fresh pattern. "But my head is clear now. Tired, but clear. I've got a thousand and one ideas for brightening up the city, if you're up for it." "If you've been living in here I don't doubt it, I don't know what they live on," Jackson is /frowning/ at an old pizza box, a dried out single slice of pizza still remaining inside it before he throws the whole box away, "but I don't think it's real food. "-- Can you run out of colour oh my gosh it'd be like that Powerpuff Girls episode with the mime." Jackson looks horrified for a moment. Around him, colour starts to leech out of the kitchen; starting with his ink and his clothes and spreading to the flood and counters around him, the world turns shades of grey. "-- I'm /always/ up for brightening things up, though," he says in contrast to this. "Well, okay, not /always/ my schedules still ten thousand kindsa crazy, but -- always when I ain't workin'. /Sometimes/ when I am." When the colors start fading out, Tag stares for a moment in wide-eyed panic, looking as though he might actually flee the room. Then he bites his lip, swallows hard, and throws his arms around Jax, scrawny shoulders hunched tight beneath the loose t-shirt. "It's okay we can't /really/ run out of colors!" He pauses a beat and peers around the kitchen a bit nervously. "I hope? /You're/ doing that, right? With light? 'Cause that's...kind of scary." He suddenly seems embarrassed and loosens his grip. "Of course, I will make art with you any time it's convenient for you--I've got nothing but time." "Oh! Oh, gosh, yes --" Abruptly, the room floods with colour, not just returning but returning /brighter, than before, counters painted in technicolour swirls and Jax's tattoos /glowing/. "M'sorry," Jax's arms, stronger by far from a good deal of daily training, curl back around Tag tightly, "I didn't mean t'startle you that was totally me, honey-honey." The colours around them are brightening still, faint flicker-swirls of light dancing (upon closer inspection, they turn out to be very, very tiny jewel-bright dragonflies) in the air. He loosens his grip when Tag does, but does not quite let go, head tipping down to press a light kiss to the top of Tag's hair. "-- I do a lot of things with light. Usually s'brighter. Sometimes I'm Murky Dismal." Though his quick-bright smile hardly calls to mind any character by that name. Tag gasps, rising onto tip-toes to gaze around them in wonder and delight. "Oh, wow! That is /beautiful!/ I had almost forgotten what you could do with that..." A grin spreads across his face. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with things that aren't colorful and shiny, but I sure do like the colorful shiny kind better." He stretches out a hand to touch one of the glittering dragonflies. "/This/ is how I want to make other people feel." The dragonfly grows a touch brighter, a touch bigger, lights to perch on Tag's fingertip with tiny glowing veined wings slowly opening and closing. A hint of colour touches Jax's cheeks, and his arms drop as he rocks a half-step back away from Tag, a crooked half-smile on his lips. "-- it is how y'make people feel," he says quietly, his blush deepening. "Some people, nohow." The storm of dragonflies expands, brightly coloured insects fluttering to drift around the room, perch on available surfaces or just flit through the air. Jackson dips his head, returning to cleaning. "-- definitely agree, though, /I/ enjoy the world better when s'bright."