ArchivedLogs:Be

Be
Dramatis Personae Hive, Isra, Jax
In Absentia	2015-07-07 "Maybe that ain't much, but it's --"
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; in a recessed pit 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. The room is fairly dark, lit mostly at the moment by the light of the television screen. Not currently playing anything; it's on a Netflix splash page, instead. There's a half-finished plate of cookies perched on a milk crate, some scattered bowls of dal and rice in various stages of Eaten on the crates or the floor as well. Hive's own bowl is barely touched. It sits next to where he is curled up in a beanbag, in jean shorts and a black ribbed undershirt, rubbing slowly at his temple with his other hand still on the remote where he -- some while ago, now, actually -- turned off the show. Beside him, Jax is providing his own very wan illumination in the room. A very faint glow lights his skin, pale and mild where he's tucked into the beanbag beside the telepath. Absently, his hand reaches over to rub at the back of Hive's neck. His own bowl has been long since totally emptied. He probably ate more than a few of the cookies, too. He's dressed pretty plainly; light blue denim cutoffs and a strappy asymmetrically cut yellow tank top. His mind /has/ been bustling -- pretty much constantly, these days -- but at the moment it's mostly just fretting over Hive's untouched bowl. Isra returns from the kitchen with three bottles of Izze all clasped in one long-fingered hand. Her black wrap tunic barely reaches the bottom of her ribs, and a matching black skirt doesn't quite cover her knees, exposing a great deal of green skin in subtly varying shades that accentuate rather than diminish the sharp contours of her body. Her horns and talons gleam gold in the dim light, and a dusting of the same covers but does not obscure the rich arboreal green of her wing membranes. She hands one bottle to Jax and reclaims her place on the other side of Hive. She curls one wing around him, delicately moving his hand off of the remote with the clawed tip of an index phalanx, and tucking a soda into said hand once freed. << You should eat. >> Not worried; matter-of-fact. << We ate. >> The words come with sense-memory. Doro-wot and injera -- a spicy bowl of pho -- mashed potatoes and fried chicken -- a very greasy slice of pizza -- a thick reuben -- a falafel wrap washed down with a diet Coke. Even the rich garlicky flavor of the dal (as it rolled over Flicker's tongue.) The flavors don't really collide so much as all just coexist alongside each other in the multitude of Hive's minds. His head tips forward, a soft pleased sigh pushed out at the kneading of Jax's fingers. "Those were other you. This body ain't ate." Jax's free hand waves shiny-metallic nails towards the full bowl. "Flicker ate during the show. Far as I can tell the two'a y'all don't share a /body/ yet." His fingers continue to knead, as he tucks the bottle between his knees, pincering it there so that he can twist the cap off. "You sure y'wouldn't prefer some other show, honey-honey?" The temptation to eat /that/ bowl of dal as well flashes briefly through Isra's mind. She does not try to suppress it so much as nudge the sense of hungry--nigh ever-present, for her--at Hive. << See? >> "I ate, as well," she points out gently, "and in this body, no less." She twists off the cap to her soda and sips at it daintily. Her eyes drift back to the screen. "I should not mind at all to watch more of that cartoon--Steven Universe--if you would like a break from this particular show." A small smile curls across Hive's lips. "I do like Garnet." He settles into the curve of Isra's wing, slowly lifting the soda bottle to his lips and then frowning slightly when his mouth encounters Cap. Frowning /at/ Cap. Not actually moving to unscrew Cap. << Yes, >> he agrees. << We should watch that one. When Flicker gets back upstairs. He likes it. >> "... this one is just..." Head tips back to press back into Jax's hand. "Complicated." "Who /doesn't/. Square Mom is best mom. Though I love them all." Jax leans in, pressing a light kiss to Hive's temple. "Break, then. /An'/ dal. Somethin' less -- complicated." For a moment he hesitates, forehead resting lightly against the side of Hive's head. "It's okay to say, you know. If you need -- less complicated. If y'need anything. You don't always gotta jus' be -- fine with things." "This show," Isra indicates the screen with a tip of /horn/ as much as her head, reaching over casually to uncap Hive's soda, "seems to delight in its own complexity, though I imagine the complication runs deeper for you there. I do find the writing a touch heavy-handed." She picks up the dal and sets it down in Hive' lap, flashing a sharp-fanged smile at Jax. "Indeed, Square Mom is best mom," this rather mildly, belying the considerable pleasure she takes in the prospect of watching the show in question. << It just keeps reminding us... >> Hive trails off, sipping slowly at the soda and this time smiling when the drink makes it into his mouth. "What if I don't know." His voice is low, here. Kind of flat. "She really is. Though Shane will fight you on that, he is a strong defender of the Fun Mom camp." Jax wiggles at his lip ring with his teeth, considering the screen thoughtfully. "I'm still undecided. I like the /concept/ a whole lot. I think I /want/ to like it..." He shrugs, flicking an uncertain glance at Hive. "Don't know what?" "Shane would fight me over a lot less." A certain note of pride creeps into Isra's voice. The tip of her pinky talon traces intricate curlicues in the condensation on her soda bottle. "It pleases me that this show exists, anyway." Vivid green eyes flick back to Hive, appraising. Her wings stretch out and relax again, one mantled out to the side and the other draping easily around the shoulders of both her companions. << It doesn't take much, >> Hive agrees softly on the subject of Shane. His eyes fix on the television screen, then tear away to stare down at the dal in his lap. "... What I need." His fingers twitch, fidgety at the edge of the bowl. "What I am." Jax opens his mouth -- closes it again. He tucks in closer to Hive's side, snaking his arm around the telepath's waist. "Oh -- oh. You don't -- gotta. I mean, if you don't know -- that's --" He draws in a slow breath. "You can jus' be. We'll still be here, okay? Maybe that ain't much, but it's -- we still. Will be." Isra's wing tightens fractionally around the two men. Only that and the thump of her tail against the side of the beanbag give any outward indication of the sharp twinge that shoots through her, wordless and fierce--something almost like maternal protectiveness. In her wonted way, however, she smooths over it with the firm hand of reason. When she speaks, her voice comes out soft and even: "You need food." Hive exhles, a shuddery counterpoint to the breath Jax takes in. His shoulders tighten, hunching inward; the slump of his form nestles him both further against Jax's side and further into the fold of Isra's wing. It takes a long moment before he draws a new breath. His fingers dip into his bowl, neatly pressing a small ball of curry and rice together in his fingertips. "I need food."