ArchivedLogs:Domesticity
| Domesticity | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
29 January 2015 ' |
| Location
<NYC> {Geekhaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side | |
There's an open airy feel to the floorplan of this unit. The door opens up into a wide expanse of common space that is not so much divided up into rooms as it is simply multipurposed. Ash-grey resin flooring underfoot runs up against the paler grey of the exposed stone in the walls; between the stone support there are wide floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the river on one side of the home and the Commons' central yard on the other. Half of the space has a ceiling at one-floor height, though half of the space is left open with a balcony up on the second floor overlooking the living space below. A slatted stairway heads up to the second floor balcony; on the other side of the room, a fireman's pole running straight down to the basement provides a quicker way /down/. The wide open space here is combination living and dining room; near the windows there are a pair of couches and large armchair around a wide coffeetable; further off a steel-and-glass dining table is surrounded by eight tall black chairs. A full bathroom behind the stairway is done up in dark granite; the glass-doored bathtub/shower is rather expansively large. The kitchen is tucked off in back, beneath the half-height ceiling; in here the appliances and cabinets and shelving recessed into the wall are in brushed steel, wide grey sweeps of tempered glass countertops running around the edge of the room and a large central island holding stoves and oven and deep double sink. Adjacent to the kitchen, beneath the ceiling as well, is a sitting area structured largely around the enormous television against one wall, a wealth of video games for a number of consoles held on the shelves around the television. Crates and beanbags and one low futon folded against the floor are arranged in good viewing distance; opposite the television, a sturdy large pen built out of wood shrines a couch amid a sea of brightly colorful playpen balls. A door in one wall opens up to the apartment next door; a door opposite leads down to the basement. Light snow drifts down from a sickly looking sky outside the window, laying a fresh dusting on the the Commons walkways. Clinging to tree branches and unpaved surfaces, the old snow has not receded altogether, though the brief warm spell has made it damp, soggy, and ripe for refreezing. Inside, however, it feels cozy enough. Someone has turned the living room lights down low. The strains of a slow, peaceful violin and piano duet drift through the house--Ashokan Farewell performed by James Galway and Phil Coulter. In the kitchen, Isra has just finished tidying up, loading a few straggling cups and plates into the dishwasher. She wears a simple, slinky wrap dress of cerulean blue--possibly her own design. Her skin, light purple this week, has a subtle shimmering blue-and-pink colorshift that changes with angle and lighting. Her horns and talons are a deeper bluish-purple, their hard gloss almost metallic in appearance. She wipes down the counter with a rag and rinses it off in the sink, her tail swaying to the music. Dusk is being totally unhelpful in the realm of Dishes. He's just gotten Hive situated comfortably in a nest of blankets and pillows on the couch, following a bath and change into pajamas -- now he's settling down in an armchair, wings draping over one of its arm and his legs hooking over the other. Laptop on his lap, glowing headphones on his ears, as he settles in to work. He's -- far less dressed than Isra, in that he hasn't actually bothered dressing at all. His laptop (on a slim laptop desk by way of /heat/ protection) provides a modicum of modesty, though this is almost certainly incidental. There's a small bounce in Jax's step as he enters, trotting his way over from next door. Likely accidentally he's in a somewhat similar colour-scheme to Isra, purple-blue fairy-skirt over a lighter purple pair of leggings, brighter blue tee over long-sleeved dark-blue shirt. Metallic pink-and-purple nails. Very brightly glittery blue lip gloss and eyeshadow. His hair is deep purple, streaks of pink and blue shot through it. "/Hi/hi how's --" There's a small hitch in his bounce as he looks over towards Hive. His teeth drag against his lower lips. ".. y'all?" Micah is dressed for a weekend evening in Batsignal hoodie layered over powder blue Totoro face tee, grey henley, patchy bluejeans, and soot sprite slippers. He has a thermos of cocoa in hand, pushing the door to behind him with a hip as he enters the room after Jax. His eyes settle on Hive first, perhaps the primary purpose in this particular visit. “Everythin' goin' okay?” he adds to the introductory questions. “Need help with anythin'? Also, I have cocoa if anybody wants.” The thermos receives a sloshy shake, lofted in illustration. Isra's ears swivel toward the door to Lighthaus before it even opens, and, drying off her hands, steps out from behind the counter. "Good evening. Nothing new to report, just having quiet night in with some..." Bright green eyes flick to her own laptop, sitting on a milk crate. "...work, mostly. And how goes your night?" She mantles both wings--their membranes a darker shade of purple than most of her skin--curling one around Jax and the other around Micah. "I don't think we require much help, unless you want to don some white gloves and inspect my cleaning. I will, however, accept cocoa." Jax leans into the wing with a quiet-happy purring noise, curling an arm around Isra for a quick squeeze. "Oh /gosh/ honey-honey I think by Geekhaus standards /any/ cleanin' is pretty much tip-top. Like, you /did/ the dishes. That's --" His eye darts over towards Dusk and Hive, lips twitching in amusement. "Back at the Lofts I had them raidin' my apartment on /several/ occasions jus' for dishes cuz' their dishmountain was too high t'even try washin'." "Oh, good. Quiet's good. So's cocoa." Micah wanders into the kitchen to fetch a few mugs for the cocoa, returning to the coffee table to start pouring and distributing. "An' /goodness/, no. I ain't gonna fuss after no housework what's been /done/ already." Chuckling, he holds a mug out at arm-height for Isra to claim. "S'he been about the same?" A slight nod of his head indicates Hive, perhaps unnecessarily. "I don't...know what t'expect this time. Not sure what he's...up to."
Dusk's claws twitch as the room becomes /invaded/ by people. And cocoa. His head turns to squint towards the mugs in some small surprise. He shifts a hand to knock the earphones back, pushing one side off his ear. "You're learning to sew now. That's /two/ claims." His brief glance towards Hive slides away just as quickly. "Up to fucking insanity. Christ. Dude's got a fucking deathwish." "Kind of seems like," Jax agrees, quieter, less bouncy, trailing after Isra to the living room. He tips his head down to look down at Hive, chewing briefly on his lip. "All I know is Flicker's been sick with worry." The squint earns Dusk a mug as well, delivered to his seat. “Think y'don't quite give yourself enough credit there, hon,” Micah replies to Isra with a warm smile over his shoulder. “Yeah, it's. When I've been with 'im. A lotta the same, too.” His lips thin with a nod regarding Flicker. “Tryin' t'make sure he takes care of 'imself some, too. If y'all wanna be part of that operation. He won't admit when things is hard on 'im.” "Hm, I suppose sewing does qualify as domestic, though the hacked-together onesies for Eri won't earn me any accolades from Good Housekeeping." Isra curls up around her cocoa, wings drooping down to rest long phalanges on the beanbag. Her eyes fix on Hive, unblinking and intense for a moment. "I just don't know, but I trust his reasons." This spoken softly and wearily, only her higher vocal folds engaging. Her tail lashes slowly, and her wing talons grip the upholstery. "Flicker...yes. Pushing food in his general direction isn't quite enough. I'm not the best at advocating self-care, but I'm here for...any of you, really." Her wings hitch up, a half-shrug. "Even if all I can offer is a clean kitchen." "S'aright, /my/ onesies are fucking /fresh/. Eri might be a terrifying freak but they're gonna be --" Dusk curls a wing out, brushing lightly against Isra. Tracing a claw absently against the wrap dress. "/Hella/ styling." He glances back up, looking faintly surprised. The wing lifts and falls in a quick shrug. "Flicker's alright. I mean, no, he's not /alright/, but he's not like -- /Jax/." He gives Jax an apologetic crooked smile. "He talks. It's just quiet." "M'sure Eri's gonna be the pinnacle of baby couture." Jax's cheeks burn deeply red after this, his gaze dropping down to his hands. His fingers lace together, fidgeting. His nose crinkles, teeth wiggling at his lipring. "I got shift with him t'night. Think stayin' busy's good. Keep his mind offa --" /Frown/. "/Whatever/ this is." Micah's almost-smile takes on an odd quality at the talk of Eri's onesies, something part-fond and part-pangy. “They grow out of 'em so fast. I can...help make new ones if y'need, too. An' if their glasses aren't fittin' or any of the hedgies need...anythin'.” He bites down on his lip, moving back to the previous thread of conversation. “It's just...ev'ry time he started talkin' 'bout 'imself t'me he apologised an' clammed up again like it weren't allowed. S'good, though, if he's talkin' t'other people. Just. So long as he's doin' it.” He shifts closer to Isra to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Clean kitchen's the first step t'havin' food t'eat, so. That's super helpful, really.” Isra quirks a hairless eyebrow ridge at Dusk and leans ever so slightly--perhaps not even consciously--into the claw as he drags it over her. "I shall prevail upon you to teach me some of your /fresh stylings/ at the next opportunity." She flashes a faint, fangy smile over the rim of the mug, then takes a cautious sip. "Ion would know better what they need, materially. So far they've just needed more clothes--what they don't immediately outgrow, they seem happy enough to chew up." She rests her head lightly against Micah's forearm, mindful of her horns. "Maybe I'll reconsider running a Role Playing Game... But really, I don't think anyone is hurting for things with which to keep busy." Her gaze shifts to Hive again. "Certainly not him." "Micah." Dusk's tone is heavy. SERIOUS. His gaze levels on Micah somberly. One hand turns out towards Micah's -- all of him. "I don't know if you can keep up. With the standards of fashion I'm setting for Eri." The shake of his head is equally Serious. His wing presses a little more firmly to Isra's back. He holds his laptop in place on his lap with his other wing, leaning out of his chair to snag a mug of cocoa. "Maybe talks is the wrong word? I think I'm just really goddamn used to people who --" His lips purse. "Communicate a shitton without needing to. Talk. Which is /different/," this time the narrowing of his eyes actually /is/ serious, on Jax, "than just not bothering to let anyone know fucking anything." Jax's blush deepens. He does stifle a giggle, though, looking over at Micah, lips pressing to his lips to smother a smile. "M'sure you could give him patterns t'work off? Make sure it's up to snuff. -- ohgosh." His eye goes wider with abrupt delight. "... I jus' pictured Eri in tiny-tiny wing-an'-tail-friendly versions'a all Shane's -- everything." Which just prompts another laugh. Even if he's still blushing. "Look I'll totally concede that Flicker's jus'. Kinda. Better. Than me. At bein' a people. I jus' ply people with delicious meals t'distract 'em from where I fall short in all the important parts'a, um. Bein'. A friend." “Unfortunately, Ion's 'bout as reliable as an alley cat for gettin' in contact with. I been meanin' t'talk at 'im 'bout...how this arrangement's workin'. If, even. When there's been kinda...a thing. With Kay.” Micah ruffles at his hair. “Hey, m'sewin' skills're /awesome/ an' m'designs're super practical. If y'wanna get /fancy/ with the fashion, I can follow a pattern in m'sleep.” His head shakes at Jax. “I /promise/ I ain't coercin' 'em into sayin' that. Flicker ain't a better person or none of it. S'just good. T'maybe actually talk 'bout how you're handlin' things sometimes.” "Vests and dress pant with wing- and tail-holes that look /good/ definitely lie beyond the reach of my skill for the time being." Isra lifts a hand, still quite warm from holding the mug, to caress the edges of Dusk's wing where she can reach it. "I'll just sit back and watch these master seamsters do battle in the name of tiny monster fashion." She indicates Dusk and Micah with a tilt of her head--horns work for pointing, too. "Failure or even unwillingness to express one's feelings does not a bad friend make, though it may inspire worry or foster misunderstanding." Her eyes flick from Jax to Micah, then back. "At least that's what I gathered from the last social psychology paper I read." The upturned corner of her mouth alone might suggest that she intends this last facetiously. Might. "Nah you're right on the money. Ion's /just/ like a cat. Leave out food for him he'll turn right the hell up." Dusk's wing stretches out this time to brush against Jax's arm. Then /curl/ against it, wrapping around the other man to pull him in closer. "You're fantastic. Don't lie. Just worry about you is all -- holy shit, I want to make Eri tiny vests." His eyes light. "Tiny suits. Tiny cuffli -- oh they'd eat the fuck out of those." Alas. "... did someone write a psych paper about our lives because fuck that." Jax moves in along with the tug of Dusk's wing, settling down onto the edge of the armchair and leaning back against the other man. "Honey-honey, m'pretty sure there's been /more'n/ a couple case studies written up about us. But not this latest --" He bites down on his lip. "... thing. -- I can talk t'Ion Sunday if y'like. Or tomorrow. If he's at Fight Club." “Heh, not t'worry, hon. Figure if you're wantin' t'learn...'tween the two of us and the complexity of Eri's sartorial needs, we'll get y'sewin' up a storm in no time.” Micah offers another pat before moving his hand. “I usually track 'im down at church, yeah. If he's at Fight Club an' y'wanna let 'im know, that'd be good, too.” He shifts back over to Jax, circling an arm around his shoulders. “You're awesome. We love you. That's the important part here.” Leaning in, he delivers a quick kiss to the tip of Jax's nose. "No, I was joking...although yes, papers have been written to that effect. I don't usually read social psychology journals." Isra nurses her cocoa. "But I do mean that styles of communication do not necessarily reflect on your capacity to give and receive love. To the best of my understanding." "Hoshit. Probably yeah. There were a couple shrinks kicking around Prometheus." A shiver ripples though Dusk's wing, and he curls it tighter around Jax. "... throw your love into the air like glitter." He murmurs this with a small crooked smile. He sits up just a little straighter to take a gulp of cocoa. "I think we'll be okay. Clothes-wise. Other shit, I dunno. Kay and Ion would know better." He lowers his mug, letting his head drop back against the chair, his eyes sliding over to fall on Hive again. His lips press together, and he sets the mug aside, pulling his gaze sharply back to his computer. "Right. Tomorrow's Friday. Thank God." Jax's cheeks just still burn red, deeper still, here. His head tips down, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his skirt. "More'n a couple." He stands quickly, dipping his head to the others. "Should get to work." He stoops on his way out to press a kiss to Hive's forehead, but after this just hurries off to change. Micah nods agreement with Isra. He gives the two little half-hugs before returning to claim his thermos. “Which means I should get back home t'Spence an' let ev'ryone do all this nighttime workin' you're up to. Love y'all. G'night.” | |
