ArchivedLogs:Tending

Tending
Dramatis Personae Jax, Jim
In Absentia	2014-06-30 Part of Prometheus TP.
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, 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. Summer has landed like a leaden weight on the city of New York, oppressive humidity and heavy sunlight melting sticky channels down the spines and chests and necks of the city residents. Somewhere in the distance, a fire hydrant has probably been cracked open but here in the Common's gardens, the plants seem to be flourishing unharmed by heat or baked earth. Jim stands amongst the plant boxes - technically you'd call him shirtless, but for all the rough bark around the long puckered seam lined up down one side, an odd patch of branches that have been cut off close to the base making a handful of broken bough stumps, assorted moss, a few clusters of leaves, it's not exactly a racy baring of flesh. He's carrying a bundle of something wrapped in burlap under one arm, trundling slow and ponderous to a place where mist from the water system is sprinklng exceptionally high. And then just STOPS there, to let it pepper his surface with little droplets. Eyes open and STARING OUT over the progress so far while it peppers his face. Jax is /also/ shirtless, though in his case there's no 'technically' about it, brightly colourful ink and lean (oddly pale for the amount of /sun/ he gets) muscles bared to the sun's syrupy-heavy glow. He's barefoot, in a black Utilikilt and his ubiquitous light-lined collar and wristcuffs. "Just how fast can you grow trees?" He is shamelessly interrupting Jim's misty reverie, climbing up onto the rocky side of a garden bed wall to hook his (shiny duochrome silver-blue) toes over the edge of the rocks down towards the soil. He's -- probably tired? Maybe tired? Between Xavier's classes starting again and work at the Clinic and work at the studio and long rather intense training sessions in between, he /should/ be tired. But instead his eye is a little tooooo eager-bright, a fidgety restless twitch-bounce in his posture. Jim's eyes - human, faded-hard blue with human eye whites - swivel towards Jax with a swift enough reflex to suggest he was normal-person woolgathering and not just... vacant plantminded. And then his eyes scrunch up and thoughtfully. He opens a mangled hand over his burlap /cargo/ and raises it upward at a slow, steady pace of somewhere around an inch a second. But not for long, because then he shrugs very pointedly and grimaces, gesturing dismissively once upwards, towards the sky, and again downwards, at the soil (or well, pavement for this particular location.) And then, not looking at Jax, he almost shoves the bundled mess into Jax's arms, then stops and instead sets it down next to him. It makes a metalic-clink-clink sound from within. And whup, then Jim is off a few feet north to thrust an open fingered hand into the dirt where a dandelion has begun to put up root. And GRIPS it until it chokes and withers. Nom. Ahem. With that business done, he looks back to Jax and raises inquiring(/interrogating/) eyebrows, opening a palm towards him like - why. Jax continues his restless bouncing for a few moments more, feet sliding down slightly to wiggle toes into earth before he settles his balance more squarely on the rockwall. He drops into a crouch when Jim sets the bag down, opening it up to peer inside at the source of the clinking. "Cuz things are like -- pretty set now, I think there's room to -- play around some? I don't know, a couple fruit trees would be /so/ excellent around the courtyard or at the edges'a the garden, don't you think? Some varieties of cherry are hardy enough t'thrive this far north an' -- apples do /great/. Mulberries. Pears. The darker sorta plum. Might even be able to keep up an apricot. Only well we've really already passed mulberry season so --" He shrugs, brows lifting as he tosses a pointed glance up to Jim. That pointed look is already fully formed and deployed BACK via JIMFACE - plants on these premises live by whatever season Jim /tells/ them it is. Well... okay, this second shrug is more an acquiescence to some unspoken argument, and while his actual ASL is clumsy and limited he at least nails it with loosely gathering his fingers against his thumb and gesturing them towards his mouth. He then turns away for a moment, to consider the landscape - possibly to envision the potential fruit trees the lands could yet bear. Or maybe he just doesn't wanna see what's in the bag. Maybe it's a HUMAN HEAD. Actually no, it's a pair of garden decorations - set at the top of dainty poles intended to be sunk into the ground are two brass-bodied dragonflies, their wings shimmery with stained glass. See Jim over there? He's scratchin his ASS. Bits of bark fall LOOSE and patter against the ground. Jax does look /very/ faintly concerned that it /might/ be a human head, it wouldn't be out of the realm of feasibility for Strange Things Morlocks Have Delivered Him (thanks, Marrow!) He crooks a quick grin up towards Jim though, nodding at the gesture. "Right? I feel like we're gonna save so much on money jus' havin' this -- replenish-y -- stock'a -- how long into winter can you keep this place /alive/ anyw --" He isn't doing well at finishing his thoughts, eye skating off towards the edge of the garden. "Though actually I think Hive might have some notion on converting this to indoors once the cold --" He trails off as he actually works the burlap open, whumping back on his butt on the stone as he pulls one of the dragonflies out of the bag. "Oh --" His voice has gone quieter, a shimmer-soft glow around him as his fingertips trace against the colourful veined wings. "/Oh/." Jim's lips pull back to show ivory human teeth in an expression that would make a soft hiss if it had air pass through it, and he looks thoughtfully down at the ground - well, once again it's actually the pavement of the path leading between the vegetation zones, but he first pushes fingers into the soft dirt pointedly... and then stamps his heel against the hard, hard pavement - not /frozen/ hard, but its texture is a likely comparison. Shrug. Though the thought of it being closed indoors earns a thoughtful consideration along the parameters of the site. If he was trying not to look at Jax still, he fails miserably - never has he won a fight against curiosity, and he instead goes on a judgmental offensive. And GESTURES his hands out at the garden around them like WHAT, it's shameful they weren't here already this is PROBLEM solving. Something twitches in his jaw, eyes locked on Jax's face. Twitchtwitch. Jax is a little bit lost, for a moment, a warm-bright smile making his face look actually /animated/ right now instead of just /manic/-wired like he has been lately. "Oh. Oh these are /perfect/. These are so all the perfect." He carefully shakes the other dragonfly free of its burlap, bouncing up to his feet to scan the garden eagerly for /where/ to home the new critters. It takes a moment, a dusting of blush, a sudden wide-eyed glance back to Jim, to remember there had been a /conversation/ ongoing: "-- /oh/ mmm, yeah, I will talk to him about -- when we'd need this place to get covered to /keep/ the ground from freezin' up solid." His nose wrinkles up slightly, head bowing with a note of almost chagrine: "... talk to him -- soon. Some time when he /ain't/ half-dead from trainin' I think today was a li'l. Grueling." His teeth drag across his lip, eye flitting over to Jim with a thoughtfulness that suggests he is on the /verge/ of saying Something Else that does not quite come as he returns to eying the plot fo the Perfect Dragonfly Homes. The sort of grueling where an ill-timed fugue had taken Jim out of the last hour or so of the training session? Jim ALSO for a moment looks like he's about to say something, mouth opening and the soft whistle of air being inhaled -- while watching Jax's animated face, then turning to look for a long moment towards the Workhaus, Hive's upper windows. And the air is let out. He breaks away from his position (a few tendrils of root tear loose from a crack where they'd squirmed between pavement and plant box while he was standing still) and trundles along kind of... with Jax. EYING the dragonflies. The man holding them. And general places to STICK 'em. The furrow of his brows doesn't promise he's found much conclusive yet. Jax meanders from one rockwall to the next, finally picking his way between rows of growing things in sandy soil to plant one dragonfly in watchful guarding over the sandy root vegetables, post stuck straight into the center of the bed. He hops down out of the bed, trailing thoughtfully in wandering erratic path until he finally arrives at the herb garden -- no /symmetry/ here in his decorating decisions, this dragonfly creeps its way into a corner of the herb bed to peek out at the plants below from a shyer angle. Decisions made, he hops back up onto a rock wall, toes curling once more against the warm stone as he looks back to Jim. "Been pushing people kinda rough. I think I made Flicker sick." OK, there's no 'think' about it, the teleporter started puking near the end of training and poooossibly has not quite /finished/ yet this evening. "Rough's kinda part'a the --" His gaze is flitting off towards Geekhaus, too, for a moment, jaw tightening as though he's reminding /himself/ there's a reason he pushes them hard. "Out in Pennsylvania we're gonna need to /rely/ on you bein' -- you know. Present. With us. Cuz when you're on, you're /on/, but when you're off --" He turns a hand up. Then reaches it back out to trail colourful fingernails against the stained-glass wing again. Just /because/. So close. So shiny. That soft whistle of air again, and Jim's voice is rough as cedar bark, watching the dragonfly installation, "-- y'worse than useless." He finishes. "Yeah." If he's already here, he may as well put his lungs to good use questing a hand pocket of his own kilt - considerably rattier than Jax's and stuck over with burrs and leaves - to locate a pack of cigarettes... before remembering /right/. The garden. No smoking here. There's of course the option to wander out of bounds but he instead shoves the pack back in. Steps back enough of a ways to see the placement of both dragonflies in one vantage. Frowning. Jax pulls in a slow breath, pushing it back out as he laces hands behind the back of his head to also look at the dragonflies. His tongue presses up beneath his upper lip, weight bouncing jittery once more on the edge of the rocks. "You should see, maybe, if Lucien's free tomorrow. He can do -- kind of a lot when it comes to fixing issues." His fingers unlace to flutter. /Brainwards/. "/Khhh/," an immediate soft-hiss exhale meets Jax's words, even before he's finished with them. And Jim's eyes remain set out across the yard, hands slowly opening, and folding. "Yeah." Yeah /what/. Jax's brows hike up faintly at this terse response, though he tips his head in a small nod of acknowledgment. "D'you want me to get in touch with him, or should I jus' give you his number? Callin' sooner rather'n later might be a good, he tends to busy an' we'll be shippin' out Wednesday early afternoon." Jim's eyes close; for a moment he his hand raises like he's about to make a gesture - doesn't. Drops it, and turns his face away, "I'll fucking do it." Then snaps his head back again, "Happy?" "I'm happiest when m'family's takin' care'a themselves. An' when I can rely on my team in the crunch, yeah." Jax's voice is even despite the jittery bounce of his posture. "I should go get dinner started. You're welcome t'come by if y'--" A small furrow in his brows accompanies this statement, glancing over towards Jim like maybe? Maybe this sentence is going to end 'if you grow a digestive system'? "-- get hungry." His fingers brush lightly against the dragonfly once more time, a faint smile flitting across his face. "See y'at practice t'morrow." Jim's shoulders tighten up, just briefly, heard pulling in a soft breath. Then releases it, posture relaxing with a rattle-clicking of bark and branches settling to the new position. "Yeah." Just the one word, once more. Yeah, Maybe he /will/ grow a digestive system. Bring a fucking... tomato. To help. Yeah. Bitches love tomatoes. His eyes linger for a moment longer on the dragonfly where Jax's fingers had last brushed -- pffff then he turns to head towards his own place. God knows it's not nearly put together yet. But it /does/ have a shower. And what guest comes over for dinner unwashed...