ArchivedLogs:Maybe

Maybe
Dramatis Personae Ion, Jax
In Absentia	2014-07-17 '
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Kitchens - Lower East Side
Gleaming and polished and new, the common house here boasts an enormous industrial-sized kitchen for preparing communal meals. Set up as two mirror-image fully equipped kitchens, both left and right halves of the room contain a trio of enormous ovens, each topped with twelve gas-powered stove burners. There is a wealth of cabinet and drawer space ringing the walls, and separate side-by-side fridge and freezer to each side of the space as well. Both halves of the room contain their own large central islands, black granite countertops providing a large expanse of space for food prep; beneath the center islands are stored a well-stocked supply of pans and pots and cutting boards and kitchen gear. The pantry is shared, a large walk-in room along the back wall, its shelves all carefully labelled and organized. The opposite wall has sinks, deep three-compartment ones for each side of the room. There are very clearly labeled signs in the kitchen, denoting the left half of the room strictly for preparation only of foods both vegan and Kosher; there are no restrictions on the foods prepared in the right half. Equipment from each side is color-coded and should be kept separate. Instructions request that any prepared foods served or stored in communal space keep /strict/ lists of the ingredients used for those with dietary concerns and that leftovers are marked clearly with dates before being stored. It's been a long day, from the tattoo studio straight to training, practice session as grueling as they ever are. And from training back to home; Jax has taken a /shower/ to clean the sweat off himself but it hasn't done enough to sooth overtaxed muscles, ease bruises, dampen the bone-weary exhaustion that lingers beneath the layer of over-wired frenetic energy that summertime gives him. Training, though, means that his team is as tired as he is and so with a chunk of the Commons recuperating this means that post-shower it is straight to the kitchens, to deal with feeding the dozen and a half refugees still lingering. He is at the moment whipping up a very large batch of fried rice; there's a plate of freshly toasted cashews beside him and right now his enormous cast-iron pan is searing a large number of green beans. He looks a little fried himself, a shiver of light hovering around him, shoulders sagging, leaning heavily on the edge of the stove as he stares down into his pan. Not colourful, today; post-shower he's just changed into lightweight grey hiking pants zipped off at the knees and a plain blue tank top, silver-trimmed blue eyepatch covering his left eye. Where there is free food to be found there is also an Ion, catching the sunroom door as a stray labrat leaves it to clump himself on into the room. Unlike Jax, he's on crutches, still, one leg and one arm both still in black casts. /New/ black casts, he /somehow/ managed to soak the other ones. "Ey, colibrí, you lost your --" He waves towards Jax's clothing, "{Plumage} -- color today." He stumps his way over to the counter, shamelessly nabbing a few of the cashews off the plate. "You look like shit, muchacho. Maybe you sit? You tell me where I chop. Stir." Jax ducks his head slightly as a new person arrives and there is a ripple of colour that blossoms around him, glittering makeup dusting his lips and eye, a twisting silver design spiraling over his tank, shorts shifting to a marbled green and black. "Hey, honey-honey." His smile comes easy and automatic, his thickly accented voice as warm as ever. "Ion-honey, /you're/ in the cast. Casts. How's about you sit an' I'll get you some lemonade." Ion doesn't really put up too much of a /fight/ on getting refreshments served to him; he hoists himself up to sit on a counter opposite the stove, resting his crutches up against the island and leaning forward to prop elbows on his knees and just watch Jax at work. "You don't /got/ to brighten up just only for me, dog. Your smile, that's plenty-bright." Jax shakes his head at this comment; it does brighten his smile though it also puts a pink flush in his cheeks. His hand glows brighter as he reaches for the handle of the cast iron, picking up the heavy pan to tip the green beans out onto the plate with the cashews. Scrape onions in off a cutting board after this and then trot over to the fridge, the fierce-heat-glow in his hand fading, to retrieve a pitcher of basil lemonade and pour a tall glass for Ion. The blush hasn't /faded/ when he heads over to hand it to the other man. "I don't know. I like bein' colourful. World get grey enough, sometimes." Ion reaches to cup the lemonade, fingers brushing down along Jax's hand as he takes it. There's no corresponding zap of static energy with this touch, still, though his fingers linger a moment longer than they need to on Jax's knuckles. "Round you? Never." Though he sounds a bit /wistful/ when he adds, "My world lately, it been so bright." The touch deepens the blush, creeping up towards Jax's ears. He doesn't return to his pan, letting the onions sit where they are on the stove. "Seriously?" His eye skips down to the cast on Ion's arm, on his leg, his nose crinkling up as a lopsided grin curls at his mouth. "Cuz I woulda said the same'a you. I ain't /never/ seen you -- not-bright. How come y'sound like that's a /bad/ thing?" Ion lifts his lemonade, taking a small sip. "Soon, you be lead your soldiers back in the battle, huh?" His hand (cold, now, with condensation) moves to curl fingers around Jax's wrist. "I ain't got nothin' in me. No charge left. Some the others they starting to -- fire back up again. Me no. This battle coming, I --" "-- can take a while to recharge from the /last/'n," Jax interrupts with a shake of his head. "Ion-honey, I don't think the world's gonna be short on fights for you to take up. You sit this battle out an' heal up an' get back t'yourself and," his lips twist, a little wry; he turns his wrist over in Ion's, fingers (fiercely /hot/ with his interminable stores of summertime energy) wrapping back around Ion's arm in return, "I'm fair sure there's still gonna be a whole rest'a the war waitin' for you." Ion's head tips forward to rest against the other man's. "Is the problem, dog. First I missed it, right? The charge, the /power/, but this. I been thinking /straight/. Thinking clear the first time I can remember. Make choices with my head on /right/. And I don't --" His fingers tighten around Jax's wrist. "I never thinked I be /scared/ of getting my spark back. I don't know if I --" "-- Oh --" Jax's voice is very quiet, with this explanation. He lifts his free hand, curling it around behind Ion's shoulders. Resting fingers at the back of the unplugged electrokinetic's neck to knead there slowly. "Are -- would you. Are you happier? Like this?" Ion's breath hisses out, sharp and quick. "Happy. Querido, I always happy. Only sometimes I can't /not/ be? It turn me /on/, I got no /off/. Now I happy, sometimes, sometimes not. But is /me/, yeah? I just -- you all my /family/, vato. How I ever leave /that/?" Jax squeezes Ion a little bit closer. "You think you're only part of this family because of your /powers/?" There's something just a little choked in his voice at this, thicker than it might otherwise be. "You'll /always/ be family. People are always going to love you. Powers or no powers." Ion squeezes his eyes shut, here, for a moment. His fingers still squeeze at Jax's wrist, hand eventually loosening just so that it can slide lower and curl properly /around/ Jax's hand. "I don't -- I don't know, man. And is not just. /Love/ me maybe, maybe no. But how I /do/ that to all you? How I /leave/ you? You right, dog, there /gonna/ be a war on. Long-ass-time, there gonna be a war on. And what, I just go desert-y in this fucking army? I don't roll like that. Sit by and watch mis hermanos fight and die? I don't, I couldn't -- but." But. He dips his head lower, lifting Jax's hand to rest his lips against the other man's knuckles. "But someone could give me a /switch/. On-off. Off-on. Life be a lot less fucking messy then." Jax's fingers uncurl when his hand is lifted, cupping in against the side of Ion's face. His eye closes slowly, opens again just as slow. "I think your family would rather /have/ a brother than a soldier. I think anyone who loves you'd want you do to what's best." There's a small tremble in his hand before he drops it, turning aside to stir at his browning onions. His shoulders are a little hunched, the faint glow around him a little flickery. He tosses on garlic, ginger, some ground up spice or other, some red pepper flakes, tossing this all together before he adds quite a large amount of rice to the mixture. "Have you tried talking to doctors at the Clinic? We brought them a bunch of -- of those. Um. The darts that you were -- we were. They might be able to help. Figure out something. I don't know." Ion returns to sipping at his lemonade, eyes following after Jax when he moves away. "Rather my family didn't got to choose. If /I/ got to choose --" He shakes his head, looking down at his drink. "Don't always get those choices though, huh." He swallows a large gulp of lemonade, wiping at his mouth to clean the trickle of it that drips down his chin. "Nah. Not so much love for the doctors -- but. But I go, okay. Maybe. Maybe go. Maybe talk to them." His head shakes again. "Maybe." Back turned, Jax's expression can't really be read. He's just working. Tamari, hot sauce. Chopped tomato. Lots of stirring. "S'a lotta maybe." Ion's tongue clicks against his teeth. "Ay, querido. Life /always/ is."