ArchivedLogs:Reasons To Stay

Reasons To Stay
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Micah
In Absentia	1 July 2014 Preparing for the rest of the team to head out in the morning. (Part of the Prometheus TP.)
Location <NYC> {Lighthaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
Bright and sunny-light, this house lives up to its name. With a plethora of enormous windows flooding the place with light and an open layout, the ground floor feels more spacious than it is. The small entryway has a closet space for shoes and coats, and doors at either side leading to the neighboring apartments. Past this it opens straight into the living room, a wide expanse of space bordered on one side by a curved set of stairs leading up (with colourful glass tiling on the risers between each stair) and next to these, the half-wall into the kitchen. Cool pale tile underfoot and many dark cabinets with a small walk-in pantry, plentiful custom granite countertops, black and speckled faintly with rainbowy flecks, lots of hanging space overhead for cookware, a large double-oven. There's a strip of rather detailed mosaic-work in the kitchen backsplash, colourful glass tiling depicting strange fantastical herbs and small faeries and firelizards darting among them. In back of the kitchen, a door opens up to a small sunroom, wide and two-stories high with a balcony overlook from the second floor; two of the windows here have cushioned windowseats, and there's a wealth of herbs growing in hanging pots and small window-boxes. The back wall of the living room is nearly entirely dominated by windows, huge and allowing a view of the river beyond with bench windowseats lining the sills. There are plentiful paintings on the wall, surreal and fantasy-inspired, mostly in shades of blacks greys with bright bursts of colour that are mirrored in the decor -- monochrome upholstery on the couch and armchair but colourful throw-pillows, black and white huge corduroy beanbags (and one large red doggie-bed,) soft throw rugs also in mostly black and white with splashes of rainbow woven in. The hand-built furniture -- tall chairs by the kitchen/living room counter, dining table and chairs in the kitchen, low coffeetable in the living room -- has been hand-painted as well, black with bursts of colourful abstract designs. Along the living room's other wall, doors branch off to a full bathroom -- in white and deep blue with one wall of the shower done in colourful intricate mosaic too, an underwater scene full of strange mythical water-creatures; tiny water-sprites have been interspersed at random points in the rest of the wall tiles, as well. There's a small studio space beside the bathroom, large windows as well and a gratuitous amount of shelving and cabinets along the walls; this room has very /little/ colour in it, just white walls and black furnishing. In the evening before the raid the team has not /quite/ returned from their last training session, though no doubt they'll be back soon enough -- Jax is unlikely to keep them out /late/ tonight. Full nights' sleep > a few extra hours of practice. Dusk is not off with the team; he's here, instead, amid a rather organized chaos in Lighthaus's living room. Piles of supplies that probably look like utter disarray to the untrained eye -- though really they've been carefully separated and now are in the process of being set into neat kits to be shipped off with the vehicles. Dusk is working in silence, checklist on his tablet to make sure he's filling his current bag appropriately. He's dressed in his usual at-home attire; barefoot, shirtless, in denim shorts. Relatively new blonde streaks in the bangs of his dark hair. Against his back his wings are restless, ceaselessly fidgety, his eyes narrowed and pale lips pressed thinly together as he works. Micah has spent much of the evening putting together first aid supplies, but parental duties call around smallchild bedtime. He disappeared for the better part of an hour making sure Spence was all bathed and brushed and had all of his things together for camp in the morning, then reading a chapter from the novel at the boy's bedside. Some things still have priority over storming the castle. He creeps back down the stairs, stopping at the kitchen to pour a pair of sweet teas and carry them back to the increasingly /stuff/-covered living room. "He's out," comes as a soft announcement as Micah delivers one of the cool glasses to Dusk. "Good." It's sharp and clipped and doesn't, admittedly, sound like Dusk is very invested in the current state of the Spencer despite his usual caring for the smallest of the Holland-Zedners. He doesn't look up, at first, just reaching out to snag the glass from Micah quickly -- a little too quickly, cold tea sloshing down over his fingers. "Should be able to load the vans up soon." A few steps produces a cloth napkin from the dining table that Micah passes along for the spill. "It's gonna be okay, hon. It's hard t'wait but there are things t'be done /here/, too." He nods at the more informative comment. "S'nice havin' more space t'get things ready in. Both here an' /parkin'/. S'lookin' good." He kneels near the other man, eyes finally shifting from him to the piles of items, catching up on the progress so that he can jump back into sorting. Dusk wipes off the outside of the glass first, rubbing his fingers clean with the cloth after this. He folds the napkin in half and sets the glass aside on the floor, resting on top of it. His teeth clench hard as he returns, too, to the task at hand, just letting Micah's words end for a while in silence. He does eventually break the silence, though, sharp and frustrated: "It's not fucking /okay/. This is all so much bullshit." “Someone has t'stay here. Either way. It just so happens y'/can't/ go this time, so it works out that y'can stay with us. We need the help, too.” Micah's tone is earnest, not placating. He gathers collected items to make a complete first aid kit, then checks over the list to ensure nothing was left out. “I get that y'wanna be there. We all wanna be there,” is softer, spoken down at his work. "/Someone/ has to stay here," Dusk answers back in a harder snap, wings quivering once more behind him. "But that's my fucking team and twice in a row now I've been too goddamn /useless/ to fucking go. I should be /there/, not stuck here with the fucking flatscans and cri --" His mouth snaps shut with an audible click of teeth, hands both lifting to press palms to his eyes, curl fingers into his hair. "... fuck." Micah winces slightly at the last few words. "You're not /useless/. It ain't /useless/ folks they leave behind. You'd be all kindsa use fightin' in there. /I'd/ be all kindsa use tendin' t'injured folks there. We don't /stay/ 'cause we got no reasons t'go. We stay 'cause we got reasons t'/stay/. We need you /not/ in jail. An' t'be here if things go south an' folks don't come back. An' y'can still share blood with the folks as is goin' before they head out. An' y'can be /here/ t'monitor the Commons an' make sure the rest of us /here/ is safe when most of our fighters are leavin'. We /need/ you here. Get it?" He bats at Dusk's hair, somewhere between a play-hit and petting. There's a brief moment when Dusk's eyes finally skip back to Micah that he looks /intensely/ skeptical of the statement that it isn't useless folks who get left behind. It dissolves in a short quick huff of breath, though, his shoulders sinking. "Fuck. I --" His fist drops to circle over his heart, head dipping but not really trying to avoid the batting. "Shit. You -- didn't deserve that. I just. Just want to get back to –" Micah's hand closes down to /actually/ pet at Dusk's hair. "It's okay, hon. It's frustratin' an' it's nerve-wrackin' an' it's hard. An' you just want things back t'/normal/ already. It's a hiccup. Hopefully we get you past this an' then we don't gotta worry 'bout you goin' outta state no more. Meanwhile, I'm glad t'have you here. We need you." His head dips down to bonk against the other man's shoulder. Dusk's lips twitch slightly at Micah's words, a soft exhale of laughter accompanying the word 'hiccup'. He closes his eyes, briefly tipping his head up into Micah's hand. "Hopefully --" As the laughter fades away, though, he doesn't sound particularly hopeful. He curls a wing up to wrap it around Micah's shoulders, finally dropping it away to stand. "C'mon. Let's get this shit – loaded." The petting becomes more of a /mussing/ by the time Micah is through. “We got this,” he reiterates, nuzzling up into Dusk's wing. “Operation Haulin' Junk, ready t'commence! See how much we've been able t'get done already? Totally helpin'.” Micah loads his shoulders up with the straps of first aid bags. Dusk shakes his head out after the mussing, hair falling back into some semblance of In Place. It's hard to tell, really, just a mess of waves that hasn't really been tended much today /anyway/. He only gives a quick /snort/ in answer to Micah, moving off to take some of the heavier boxes -- likely plenty of water in those -- for himself before heading out.