ArchivedLogs:Mostly Harmless

Mostly Harmless
Dramatis Personae Hive, Kate, Joshua
In Absentia	2014-12-30 '
Location <NYC> The Unicomplex - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
Flicker and Hive split the basement in this apartment; coming down the stairs emerges into an open expanse of shared space, with a pair of desks on opposite walls and large cabinets holding an enormous library of board and card games. The bookshelves here are packed predominantly with sci-fi and fantasy as well as a mass of roleplaying sourcebooks. The walls are eclectically decorated. A replica of Arya Stark's Needle, a few bright-colored but anachronistically somewhat morbid paintings of Jax's, a Mega Man X poster, a stained-glass suncatcher hung in the window and a collage of feathers framed on one wall. Up near the ceiling there's a large square hanging frame strung with netting -- a nearly ceiling-wide sort of hammock though it's hard to immediately discern how to access it. A side door leads to the bathroom, small but neat in pale stone tile. Towards the back there are walls dividing off the actual sleeping areas, tiny-cosy rooms mostly only large enough for the bed-dresser-closet combinations they contain. It's generally easy to figure out which one of the bedrooms is Hive's from the large amount of /clutter/ contrasting Flicker's perpetually tidy space. Flicker's full bed can be folded up into a recess in the wall, while Hive's larger queen hangs from the ceiling by sturdy black chains. Hive’s basement, this afternoon, smells like coffee and Chinese food, delivery ordered from /somewhere/ around lunchtime and a small sprinkling of takeout containers laid out on Hive’s desk. Hive is not /at/ the desk -- he’s kind of graduated from spending most of his time lying in bed to actually sitting up, more! /Sometimes/ even moving around. On his /own/. And at the moment is curled into one of several large beanbags that serve as non-desk seating in the room. He is dressed in jeans, fluffy-warm black socks, a Grumpy Bear sweatshirt, and seems to actually be eating food, now. Soup, at least, egg drop with corn, a thermos of coffee sitting on the floor by his side. There’s a plate of cake beside the Chinese -- leftover from Flicker’s birthday yesterday, though the teleporter himself is not immediately in evidence. Somewhere upstairs, Joshua is probably also eating, at the moment; it leaves the basement temporarily a lot more emptied than it often gets during healing sessions. One of the other beanbag chairs in the basement is currently occupied by Kate, folded up with one leg tucked under her, the other propped so that she can balance a small plate of Mapo doufu on top of her knee. Her exceedingly large, pink travel mug of sugary coffee is within arms reach, though a water bottle is slightly closer as a reminder to lay off the excess of sugar in the coffee. Kate has opted for a fairly lazy outfit for her, wearing a pair of faded boot cut jeans and a lime green t-shirt from some marathon she had run back in Oklahoma, the black lettering on the front faded from repeated washings. Her fuzzy socks almost match, to the point they look like they were from the same package of socks, but one is striped lime green and pink, the other just all over lime green. After the first healing session of the day, she has been fairly quiet, initially looking very worn out - though coffee and food has brought her back to her normal perky, if more pensive, self. She quietly pokes at a particularly large chunk of tofu, mind wandering nowhere in particular, perhaps vaguely amused at the squishy tofu; there is a hint that she is intentionally trying not to think of the progress on healing, keeping her mind away from health concerns and her day job in general. “Did you actually run that?” Though Flicker tends to be a perpetual source of cheer and Joshua typically ready with humor, through these daily sessions Hive has been often just quiet. Polite enough, but actual conversation has seemed like something of a struggle, energy or attention span running too short for much past pleasantries. His eyes lift from his soup here, though, glancing over to Kate’s tee shirt with a quietly somewhat impressed note in his voice. “Sometimes I -- watch.” His lips twitch briefly upwards, a quiet wry note of humor in his tone here. “When the one here is finishing. S’about as close as I’ve ever gotten.” “Hm?” Kate responds, a touch of confusion as she glances up at Hive, but then looks down at her shirt, “Oh! Hah, yeah. I actually got huge into running when I was in college, at first for health reasons, and then just kinda got sucked into running a few half-marathons with some friends. This was the first full one I actually ran seriously in, though.” She smiles in amusement, shrugging, “I was on shift for this year’s New York Marathon, otherwise I was considering running in it. Had started to practice and run a lot more often in case I could, but, well.” A bit of a smirk at the watching comment, for whatever reason, “Can’t say I’ve really watched one before. Sort of ran head first into it.” Chuckling quietly, she shakes her head, “Granted, don’t know if they’d disqualify me for being a mutant. Seems to be a bit of a theme, lately.” “Sucked into running a half-marathon.” For a moment there’s a small flash of teeth with Hive’s wider smile, though it soon fades. “That sounds kind of intense. Just sort of /dragged/ along into --” His eyes lower to his soup, fingers fidgeting with his spoon before he takes another bite. “Flicker was trying to convince me a while back to do some crazy-ass mud race with him. Even signed up, though, life kind of -- got in the way.” He gives his head a small shake, lowering his spoon back to the bowl. “Heard the marathon turnout was pretty crazy this year. Like making up for being sort of… zombie-cancelled the year before. Do they check for -- freak? Hmm.” This thought furrows his brow deeply. “I registered,” he admits, “but I feel like I’ve been too damn /out/ of it to even know what that actually means lately. Consequence-wise.” “Yup, I was just running along with a friend, suddenly had a paper placard number pinned to my back and away we went,” Kate says with a giggle, shaking her head, “It wasn’t quite that dramatic, but they sort of signed me up for their team and then told me. Turned out well enough.” Taking a bite of her food, she nods as she listens to Hive, crinkling her nose at the mention of the crazy mud race, “Tough Mudder? Oh those things scare me something awful. Running I can do, but not so huge on the electric shock or ice bath.” She shudders, taking another bite of food, chewing and swallowing before she talks again, “Couldn’t concentrate, anyway - I’d just be getting nothing but flashes and diagnostics of everyone’s condition as soon as they touched me or came too close.” At mention of the marathon being zombie-cancelled, she blinks, a bit surprised at the realization, “Oh, wow, that was a whole year ago already. Yeah, explains why it was near impossible to get a spot.” Talk of registration earns a quiet sigh, and she shrugs, looking over at Hive, “Depends on your field and powers, I suppose. I’m registered, ‘mostly harmless’ I suppose, which keeps me employed, but conveniently passed over for raises. I imagine big name marathons will probably start checking soon, though I don’t know if they can access /what/ a specific person’s mutation is.” “/Surprise/ marathon.” This comes with a small chuckle. “I mean, if you’re in shape for it it’s probably not the worst thing to spring on someone. I could see /suddenly, marathon/ being pretty entertaining with the right friends.” Hive’s fingers snap together, forefinger pointing towards Kate at this identification. “Yeah. That’s the one. Sounded crazy as fuck. Electrocuting and running through fire and who the hell knows.” Another small grin. “... almost did it, though.” For a moment he is quiet, through another few mouthfuls of soup. Taking his time with them, darkly shadowed eyes fixed somewhere on the opposite wall. “-- Already a year,” he agrees. “Feels…” His head shakes, quickly. He rests his bowl on his knees, hand lifting from it to run against the side of his head. “Mostly harmless. I would be /so delighted/ if they actually wrote that on the cards, you have no idea. I would change the names of the tiers. I got -- 4P. Gamma. Don’t think that ‘P’ will earn a lot of friends. But how much better would registration cards be if they said. Mostly Harmless. Tread Carefully. This One Will Wreck Your Shit.” He sinks back against the beanbag, half-empty bowl resting against his stomach as his head tips back towards the wall. “In ur brainz stealing ur thoughts.” “I have considered signing Corey up for a surprise marathon, just to see if he could do it,” Kate muses with a smirk, “Pretty sure he could, he’d just be grouchy with me for that.” She shakes her head, “As a medical professional,” she says with a giggling snort, “I think the Tough Mudder challenges are ill advised. But if you want to do that, go for it. You might be up to it by this time next year or so, if all goes well.” There’s actually a note of hope to her tired voice, and a grin, “Though I’d still think you’re completely bonkers to do it, regardless of how healthy you are.” Kate takes the few moments of quiet to finish off her plate of spicy tofu, nodding solemnly. “A whole year. Been a hell of a year since then,” she says, shuddering, apparently not all of it being pleasant in that time. “Wouldn’t feel quite so much like we were being stamped for later processing if they had silly quotes and titles, instead of a number and a letter,” Kate says, running her free hand along her hair, smoothing the ponytail back into place. “Mostly Harmless. Occasionally helpful. Caution: Bites. That sort of thing. Instead, the whole of my powers are summed up with a single number. 3 - not dangerous, not a threat. Just a freak,” she stumbles over the last word, apparently rarely using that descriptor. She sighs, chuckling quietly, “Don’t think flashing a card with anything but a 0 is going to earn friends in some cases,” she chuckles, shaking her head at the thought stealing comment. “He looks -- y’know. Strapping. If there’s anyone you could /spring/ a marathon on I don’t doubt it’d be him. /I’d/ need to train for-fucking-ever to get back in any kind of --” Hive gestures towards his rather gaunt form with his spoon. “But if this Tough Mudder thing comes up again and I chicken out I’m totally saying it’s because I have a Real Medical Professional who cautioned me against it. Can’t say I’ve often been accused of sanity, though.” His arm curls loosely over his chest, other hand rested only lightly against his bowl to keep it steadied where it sits on his sweatshirt. “S’kind of ridiculous how many of my friends would get the bite warning.” This earns a small smile, too. “Mutant /or/ otherwise.” Slowly he pushes himself back up, so that he can drink down another small mouth of soup. His eyes flick back over towards Kate with the small stumble over freak, head tipping slightly in some silent mental note to himself. “Fair enough. In some ways, though --” He hesitates, considering. “I mean, the people who’re dickbags, probably not the friends I’d be wanting anyway. I /like/ the freaks.” He tips the last of his soup into his mouth, setting bowl carefully aside in favor of coffee. “Year’s almost over,” he adds, a passing thoughtful acknowledgment. “Think the next one’ll be less of a clusterfuck?” Kate coughs slightly at the description of Corey, but nods, “Oh, he’d be just fine. Hell, I still have to train to be in shape for any kind of distance running. He’d just have to wake up and go.” Setting aside her plate, she grins, “I’ll even write a doctors note for you, if anyone questions it. Well, nurse’s note - same thing, ish, as far as excuses go.” She shakes her head, grinning, “We’ll get you back on your feet proper, then start small. I really don’t suggest running through electrified water first thing. Wait a few months, maybe.” “I occasionally see it on charts at the hospital. The biting thing, not the mutant classification,” Kate says with a shrug, sipping from her water bottle, instead of her thermal coffee cup. “True statement. Mysteriously lost touch with a handful of family members and friends after my siblings and I found out we were mutants,” she crinkles her nose and looks down at her water bottle, “Their loss. I’ve made way more friends since then.” Not entirely true, as the mental image of eating alone at the work cafeteria surfaces readily to contradict her words, “Well, at least better quality friends. Who are not, ah, dickbags.” There’s another similar hesitation to that word - with a sense that she doesn’t use the word often, in anyway. “Goodness I hope so,” she breathes, setting aside the water in favor of her coffee. “What could possibly go wrong?” Kate asks with a wry grimace, taking a long pull from her coffee. “Drat. And I was planning on going and electrocuting myself first /thing/ to celebrate, once this is through.” Hive curls his fingers around his thermos, his voice somewhat wry. “But, okay, walk before running, got it. If electrocution’s out how about time travel?” His eyes have fixed on the coffee, thumb restlessly popping its lid and then closing it again. “... how do you feel about games? Like. Board. Card. Whatever. Or food…” Hive’s brows furrow, briefly, with this abrupt question. “It’s just, every Tuesday we have Game Night over here -- or /will/ again once this is all through, I guess -- and in the neighborhood as a whole there’s. Freaking. Always. Some communal -- thing. Going on. If you’re ever looking for people who -- aren’t dickbags. And sure as hell nobody’s going to ask to see your card.” "Uh huh," Kate responds with a smirk, resting her coffee cup on her foot and taking a long look at Hive at the time travel question. "Time travel? Well, I suppose it depends on how and when to. I imagine heading for the distant past would be bad too. Mosquitos the size of your head, dinosaurs, and the like. Bad plan." Perhaps for a moment, she starts to make a comment about the future, her mouth open to start speaking, but she just falls quiet and shrugs, shaking her head. "Games? Hm, I'm pretty good at poker, but never been much for tabletop stuff, outside of normal 'wholesome family game night' stuff. Like Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit," she muses, grinning. The invite earns a bit of a pleasantly surprised look. “Oh, huh. That actually sounds rather awesome. Maybe next time, after all the craziness of the end of the year and everything quiets down, if I’ve got Tuesday evenings off, sure. That would be cool,” Kate agrees, beaming, before sipping at her still warm coffee again. “I was thinking the future. The past I -- know.” Though Hive’s tone is a little distant, here, his expression briefly lost in some thought, he focuses on Kate again a moment later with a grin. “And I’ve /seen/ Jurassic Park a /few/ times I know how /that/ encounter goes.” He shifts in his beanbag, curling his legs up beneath himself. “There’s definitely some Scrabble that happens. My roommates and I are all huge-ass nerds but not everyone who comes is. Some people just come for the food. Or -- Scrabble. For /some/ reason nobody’ll play poker with me.” << (no idea why) >> presses up against Kate’s mind, more a concept than actual words: ?. WHO KNOWS. “Kinda put them on hold through -- this, been. A little tired for company but. After. Tuesdays. It’d be cool to --” He stops here, quiet for a moment, his fingers drumming for a moment against the side of his thermos. “Hang out,” he finally says, though it’s kind of slower and heavier than the casual words would require. “You know, some time -- not like this. Guess the end of the year gets pretty hectic in your line of work, huh?” Kate nods, wrapping both hands around her coffee cup, questioning, “To the future, then. Still no guarantee there aren’t mosquitos the size of your head there. But who knows?” She looks down at her coffee for a long moment, puzzling at something as though trying to remember. The press of the concept against her mind, however, brings her out of it, and she just laughs, shaking her head, “No clue why they wouldn’t. None at all.” She grins, still giggling a bit, but her smile starts to fade as Hive seems to have trouble with the words, “You doing okay?” The question comes with the obvious undertone of ‘okay being relative.’ Concern still knitting her brows together, she nods, “I’d like that. I don’t get to hang out with friends very often. Not since getting to New York. Sort of been hectic. But if things calm down, yeah, I’d like that.” The question about work gets a snort, and she nods again, rubbing her hand over her face in exasperation, “Pretty much. Any time of year that mixes alcohol and firecrackers results in an uptick in ER visits.” “Yeah -- yeah.” This first reply sounds hesitant and unsure, but Hive nods, a little more firm with this second one. “M’okay. Tired? I think.” His brow furrows, head tipping slightly to one side and his mind reflexively touching -- brief, but heavy, a firmer mental press -- up against Kate’s at that first moment of puzzlement. “/You/ alright?” There are footsteps on the stairs, unhurried as Joshua makes his way back down, food finished but a mug of coffee still in his hand. “... you pull a New Year’s Eve shift too?” He sounds sympathetic as he sets the mug down on Hive’s desk, spinning the desk chair around to drop down into it. “S’fucking /uncanny/ how often I draw the short straw. These days.” “I suggest plenty of post-shift booze,” Hive says with a small amused chuff. “Could make a date of it, if we both survive. Gotta be better than last year, though.” Joshua takes a hit from his mug, turning a hand up -- towards Kate, Hive, both. Questioning. “Want me to grab the next stretch?” “If you both survive your shifts,” Hive promises, “I’ll make you some hella tasty dinner.” “Alright,” Kate drawls, still not quite sure she believes Hive on that, looking askance at him over the edge of her coffee mug. When the question turns around to her, she shakes her head, “Yeah, I’m ok. Just, nagging feeling I’m forgetting something.” She sighs, closing her eyes, “Nothing important. No worries. Just tired, I suppose. It’ll hit me eventually.” She leans back in her seat to look at Joshua as he comes down the stairs, “Oh yeah. Absolutely no clue just /how/ I was so unlucky to get both Christmas /and/ New Year’s Eve shifts in the same year.” The sarcasm is heavy in her voice as she drinks more of her coffee, grouchily, a mental image of the head nurse cackling madly and picking out Kate’s name intentionally, over and over again. Eyebrows raise curiously at the date comment, chuckling, perhaps a little unsure how to answer. “Will see,” she says, sheepishly, “Here’s to an easy, quiet shift for all of us.” Shaking her head, Kate chuckles, “Can’t be as bad as it has been before. But post shift drink and dinner sounds awesome. Not looking forward to seeing just how messy New Year’s Eve gets around here with all the tourists.” “I’m sure it’s a total coincidence.” Hive’s head gives a small shake, the breath he snorts out just a little disgusted. The concern hasn’t /entirely/ left his tone but his mind pulls back in on itself. “More coffee?” he suggests with a small curl of smile. “More coffee’s always the answer.” Joshua wheels his chair a little closer to Hive’s beanbag, leaning down to take the other man’s hand in his. “Right, then. New Year’s /Day/. I’ll bring the booze, Hive’s got the food. And afterwards -- maybe about a year of sleep.” Hive sets his own coffee aside, closing his eyes as his hand curls into Joshua’s. “I’d give you both two years, if I could. Curry’ll have to do.” “Coincidence and nothing more. Most assuredly, that all the emergency responders who happen to be mutants /happen/ to be on shift that day. Yup. What crazy random happenstance,” Kate says with a muffled yawn, though she hides it badly. “Coffee sounds wonderful. And Joshua, if you’re up to take the next round that would likely be a good plan. Switching off helps,” Kate agrees, belatedly, attempting another sip of her coffee, only to find the enormous mug empty. “Sounds like a plan, then. Curry, booze, and I’ll stop and grab cupcakes somewhere along the way,” Kate says, settling in to the bean bag chair to watch, “Also sleep. Occasionally I miss sleep.”