ArchivedLogs:Garbage Harvest

Garbage Harvest
Dramatis Personae Micah, Violet
In Absentia	20 June 2014 Cleaning up the garden.
Location <NYC> Guerrilla Garden - Lower East Side
Situated on the lot directly adjacent to the distinctive sleek form of the Mendel Clinic, this space was once abandoned. The chainlink fence around it is still rusty, dilapidated, and the signs affixed to it still unwelcoming -- rusty as well, reading KEEP OUT, and PRIVATE PROPERTY. For those who venture into the slitted gap cut out of the fence, though, the yard within tells a different story. Neat and cleaned of any garbage and weeds, the once-abandoned lot has been rebuilt. Packing crates have been broken down for their wood to create raised beds full of rich soil, each bed neatly tilled and tended. Stakes label the different plants growing -- a wealth of vegetables growing three seasons of the year in the carefully tended soil. Around the edges of the lot, smaller beds have had brightly coloured flowers planted, lending even more cheer to the little hidden garden. Very eclectically mismatched seating has been brought in; old packing crates, chairs scavenged from curbs, though it's all been brightly painted. It has been a gorgeous day, bright and sunny and warm, but not overwhelmingly hot. Micah is taking advantage of the weather to get in some groundskeeping at the Guerilla Gardens. They may have been missing a little TLC as the Commons grounds needed a great deal of attention lately. Unfortunately, this means a lot of gathering up /trash/ before anything else can be done. The redhead has changed out of work clothes into one of his spare clothes sets kept in his van: a kelly green T-shirt with a cartoon red panda on it and a pair of grass stained bluejeans. An olive newsboy cap perched on his head keeps the sun out of his eyes as he works and a pair of gardening gloves keep his hands clean even as he gathers assorted refuse into the industrial sized trash bag he's hauling with him. He's also singing "My Freeze Ray" from Doctor Horrible to himself. To the rear of the gardens, chain link rattles. This is probably not an uncommon occurrence. Sometimes it will be brat kids shaking the fence or bouncing basketballs off of it. Sometimes it will be a rare but hopeful raccoon squeezing under to get at the nibblies. And sometimes it's a human-sized catgirl intent on the same things that the raccoons, though /her/ hunger is also tempered with a craving for the thick air that surrounds green growing things. After that initial rattle there are no further disturbances until Violet slinks on silent kitty feet to take up a pacing position with Micah. "I changed my mind," she announces, "ya'll aren't odd, you're just like...mad scientists, right?" The rattle earns a bit of a half-glance from Micah, just alerting to the sound. But it's the cat-girl right by him that truly catches his attention. "Violet, hello! Y'get around a bit, don't ya?" His already pleased-to-be-outdoors expression only brightens further with the broad, sincere smile that draws itself across his lips. "Mad scientists...y'might could say of me. An' B. An' Peter. Maybe not so much most of the others. /Just/ mad. Other things. Y'into gardenin' or just happenin' through?" "You were the one singing 'bout freeze rays," Violet reasons, as if he hadn't just said hello--a thing which by rights of point of origin, she really /should/ get around to replying to. "But B went a little mad science too, yeah. Hey Micah." She is looking bright and sassy, as such things go, though more of her is covered in spite of the season's warmth. Leopard-print leggings and that hooded hoodie both, though the latter has its hood pushed /back/ to free ears for swiveling and fur for ruffling. Her face is clean, its fur neatly ordered; her feet are bare and much less so. "Never did do much gardening but I was gettin' around and smelled tomatoes. Just so happens I love tomatoes. You on convict duty?" Orange eyes flick towards the garbage can. "I was indeed. You'll note I didn't deny the charge, neither," Micah points out playfully. "We got some nice li'l cherry an' plum tomatoes that're perfect for just snackin' on." He gestures to a bunch of caged tomato plants just over there. "Sun-warm tomatoes're kinda hard t'beat. 'Less you've got fresh basil t'eat with 'em. Which just so happens." Another handwave indicates the fresh herbs growing. "Convict? No, no. These're community gardens. We grow fresh food for folks as don't have it. Started primarily for people with special abilities who're houseless a while back." Oh look! So there are! Violet pulls a hard left to sidle over. By the time she arrives she is creeping on hands and feet to sort of poooour herself onto the ground beside the nearest plant, draped bonelessly over the edge of the bed. She isn't going for the higher fruits but the smaller ones, nearer the ground...those that show as ripe anyway. One, two, three are plucked, the first popped without ceremony into her mouth. "Was a joke," she mumbles through the act of chewing. "Just needed...mmfff. Orange jumpsuit. S'/good/." Another tomato disappears, serving the cause of keeping this person with special abilities who is also houseless going. "'k, I'm impressed." Micah watches Violet's melting and munching with clear amusement in his eyes. "S'okay, just explainin' things. Gotten help an' given it both just by lettin' folks know 'bout this place." He ducks to retrieve a discarded styrofoam cup and a newspaper bag. "Impressed by the tomatoes? They /are/ comin' along nice this season." The items go one-two into the trash bag before he moves on. "Y'stayin' 'round here?" "By ya'll," the catgirl clarifies even as she helps herself to a few more pieces of fruit. These are cupped secure in the palm of her hand as she inches out from the shade of the tomato plant. Rolling to her feet is accomplished with boneless grace, and a twist that leaves her on a course to intercept Micah again. He too is offered one of the tomatoes. Like a /gift/. "Y'got a pretty great set up, y'know? Like the whole world was /normal/ and you're just livin' in it." This is perhaps a feline-flavored joke, given the way her ears tilt back and eyes narrow--bittersweet humor, soon shattered by a canine-baring grin. "Here and there." "Oh." Micah's cheeks tinge a pale pink at the delayed understanding of the compliment. Or the compliment itself. This doesn't stop him from appreciating the dancer-like movements that bring Violet back to his side. "World ain't normal an' neither're we. We just...decided t'try an' get what we want out of it." He accepts the tomato, tucking it into his mouth to pop between his molars. "Mmn. Few things better on a summer day." His brows knit slightly at the answer to where Violet is staying. "There's places, y'know. If y'ever need? Safehouses, 'specially for people with special abilities. An' I'm sure folks wouldn't mind y'crashin' at the Commons sometimes once we get it set up." She joins him in continued munching on fruit, the last few tossed wholesale between those sharp teeth. That requires Violet not speak for a moment; she fills the time by proceeding to dip and grab, dip and grab, scoring a deflated plastic grocery bag and half of a plastic tab bundle for holding soda cans together. Someone has considerately snipped all of the circles and triangles so sea life won't get their head caught inside. These go into the garbage. "Safe is wherever I lay my head," she quips. "But the shower was nice. And all bets're off if you folks ever get around to planting that catnip. Or just plant that one guy, the tree fella. How's your friend? Dusk." "Can plant some catnip. There /are/ folks as have cats an' might want it, too. S'easy enough t'do." Micah smirks a little at that, ducking to add a few empty beer bottles and a chip bag to the collection. "Not pushin'. Just offerin'. If y'ever find yourself lookin'." He snorts at the recommendation to /plant/ Jim. "Jim does...kinda plant 'imself sometimes. He ain't usually catnippy, though. Guess he /could/ be. Dusk's...okay. He's...had some rough times I won't get into. But things're maybe gettin' better." "Yeah, he showed me. Thought I'd died and gone to Heaven until I remembered he was holdin' a baby and it's not real polite to tackle a guy you just met, y'know?" There's that grin again--the glint of teeth, the glimmer of eyes. Violet scores a tatty slip of paper--receipt? Wrapper?--and into the bin it goes. "Didn't figure you for pushing, nah. I'll keep it mind too but right now I'm mostly okay, except for the showers. Ya'll got good soap." Light, pleasant chatter, no? She's good at it, until she decides to stop being good at it and slide a thoughtful glance Micah's way. One claw-tipped hand hooks over the edge of the bin to assist with the dragging. "Better's good. Maybe...maybe, not so much. Sorry to hear it. Guess this place's been hit pretty hard by everything." "Oh/gosh/. Save for the holdin' a baby part, I'd've liked to've seen that." The comment comes with a bit of a giggle, the laughter sparkling clearly through his hazel eyes, as well. Micah works at untangling what sure /looks/ like fishing wire from a bean trellis. "Maybe we /should/ plant some, if you're likin' it that much. S'good. You're welcome t'stop by. I got /cards/ if it'd be handy for you t'have a number, too?" He doesn't reach for it unless she seems to want one. His teeth meet with his lower lip, pressing into it enough to blanch the pink skin. "A lotta folks been through an awful lot. We try t'be there for 'em an' do what we can. But...there's some time needed, at least. An' some things that just gotta come from /inside/, too." "Lookit that, not even a couple weeks up here and already I've scored some 'nip dealers. I'm movin' up in the world." Violet's voice shivers with those last words, but only because she's caught mid-purr. The giggling, it would seem, meets with her approval. But it doesn't interfere with her efforts to continue helping. She dutifully trundles the bin along to make it an easy reach for fishing wire once it's untangled. "Been awhile since I had a steady supply. No phone, though. Hey, if you could get me some /stamps/ though, I'd sure 'ppreciate it." Earnest and soulful, this request; the shift of expression makes it easy to slip again into that more thoughtful place. "...sure. Gotta want to change 'n all that. Or get better. Sometimes it just goes right out've people, I guess." "Dealers, nothin'. It'll just be there if y'want. Ain't peddlin'." Micah eventually gives in and pulls out a pocket knife to /cut/ the line loose, tossing the remnants into the bag with an air of finality. Likewise, he clicks the knife closed again and returns it to his pocket. So much for /that/. "I got stamps in the van. Use 'em for work mostly. Y'lookin' t'write home? Always willin' t'facilitate that. Got family back Georgia-way still?" He gives a discarded sneaker a look that seems to ask it how it /got/ there. However it did, it finds its way to the same place as the rest. A simple nod answers the more thoughtful commentary. "My brother," Violet answers promptly. "He's still locked up down there, can't call him or anything. Six months left and I haven't written him in awhile. Y'notice stamps got expensive? It's all that email folks use these days, I figure." Marking her as one of the non-email folks, from the sound of it. She turns to get both hands around the bin's edge, gives it a healthy tug and scraaaapes it a few feet closer to their path of de-clutterizing. Her tail lashes with the effort; the tip comes close to whacking Micah in the leg. "Y'ever think about going back? Virginia, wasn't it?" "Sorry t'hear it. S'good that he's got the end in sight, an' a sister as keeps in touch with 'im, though. S'been long?" Micah shifts to help with the moving, though he's chuckling again at the near tail-whipping. "I just buy the Forever ones all the time now. Price goes up 'fore y'can use a book up all the time. Annoyin' buyin' little one an' two cent things t'stick on everythin'." His nose bunny-crinkles in time to the mention of annoyance. "Leavin'? Not likely. Jax's pretty firmly set up here. An' the kids've been here for so long... Don't think anyone means t'be goin' anywhere. /Do/ always talk 'bout hidin' out on a farm down Jax's folks' way whenever things start gettin' rough 'round here, though. Don't know as we ever /would/, short of a retirement plan..." Bunny-crinkles? For that he earns a little sneezesnort of amusement. Violet does /not/ let instinct take over for any pouncing; there's a whole yard to be cleaned up here. "Couple've years, yeah. He /was/ peddlin', and stuff harder than catnip. But he's mindin' his manners, y'know? So just six months left if no one corners him. Maybe I can get him up here, after. S'bad down there right now. Real bad for folks as can't pass, 'least where we're from. A farm'd be better. But this isn't bad either. How 'bout this," and throughout she has been dipping, grabbing, dropping, rinse, repeat, "I help you finish this up and we share some've those stamps and we call it even, yeah?" Oh! Kittysneeze! Micah is struck with cuted-face for a moment before he returns himself to the conversation. "Mm...s'kinda crazy the amount of time they'll give folks for drugs. Whole system's set up backwards. Hope he gets out soon as that. He's visibly expressin' an X-gene, too?" His hand moves generally in front of his face to clarify his meaning. "That's gotta be...extra hard. Dealin' with jail." Another bite at his lip comes at the thought of Dusk and Jax in jail before. Dusk potentially in jail again. "Aw, sugar, there ain't nothin' t'even. You're welcome to 'em. But I ain't gonna turn down the help, neither." "Nah, I got all the looks in my family." And here she'll grin again, merry and quick to skip along the surface of unconcerned. "He got all the mouth. Might piss someone off but maybe not, guess we'll see." This time, the fluffy whip of tail towards leg /is/ deliberate as she strolls past him towards a fresh patch of plastic bags, gathered on a bush like crinkly loud blossoms. "C'mon now. Let me have my pride, fella, hey?" But Violet will say no more on it--there's garbage to harvest, and letters to silently compose in mind. "S'only so much looks t'pass 'round, an' y'do seem t'be hoardin' quite a bit," Micah returns playfully, lopsided grin coming in answer to Violet's. Giggling again, he mock-bats at the tail that lashes at him. He moves to help pluck the plastic blooms. "Beggin' paradon, miss. 'Course that'll work fine."