ArchivedLogs:Not Apparent

Not Apparent
Dramatis Personae Julie, Melinda, Steve, Sprout
In Absentia	2015-12-03 "{You. Will. Be. A. Good. Father. I believe it.}"
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Commonhaus - Lower East Side
Accessible to all residents of the Commons via electronic keycard, this three-story building holds a number of facilities freely available for the shared use of all Commons residents. The stone-floored foyer is high ceilinged -- balconies on the two upper floors look down into this entrance, leaving just the wide skylit ceiling three stories up to trickle light down through the whole of the house. Through wide wood-and-glass doors the spacious dining area is visible on the left; on the right, heavier doors beside the elevator lead to the similarly large kitchens. There are four single-user toilets on this floor, two apiece by the foyer and the dining room. Though a wide staircase runs all the way up, there is also an elevator tucked to one side. For the adventurous, though, there's another way up through the house -- through the center of the house where the balconies look down, an enormous climbing structure has been erected, solid wood platforms softened with carpeting, held together with strong spiderwebbed steel cables. Interlaced in an intricate maze that spirals up through the whole of the house and down to the basement, it provides a crazily winding path to duck and wriggle and worm through, with exits -- if you can /find/ them -- dispensed out onto each upper balcony and into the basement below. The sun has set in the city and the chill is setting in. The lights in the building are on and providing a little warmth to the large empty space of the CommonHous's main room. While a lot of the occupants of the Harbor Commons have trickled off to their respective domiciles, there are a few here and there handling chores, keeping patrols, and -- well, playing. With her normal schedule completely thrown off, one little munchkin has made it her soul purpose in life to make it higher than she ever has before in the climbing sculpture. It isn't all that high, to be honest, but when one is less than three feet tall, being seven feet over the ground is magical. Small grubby little green hands grip the protective web of steel cable around the maze as she laughs and tugs and shakes and squeals gleefully at her success. She is decked out in living purple stripes, with green pants underneath, her soft white shoes showing signs of wear. The child's probably less than two years old and green, except where white petals cover her head where hair should be. Steve walks in from the kitchen, where the sounds of food preparation continue in his absence. He's dressed in a blue-and-green plaid flannel, its top two buttons undone and a white A-shirt just barely visible underneath, and dark indigo jeans visibly mended in several spots and in need of more mending in others. He's not wearing his shield, just carrying his shield over one shoulder kind of casually as one might a jacket that is a little too warm for the weather. He's carrying a yellow legal pad under his arm, and has a pencil sticking out of the pocket of his shirt. Spotting the child, he waves with his free hand, smiling brightly. Meanwhile, tracking in is Julie. No need for enhanced acceleration, she is tromping in. The now commonly carried, bent and beaten crowbar is back in the basement in the place of honor. The woman has a nice little backpack stuffed full of supplies (thank goodness for relief aid!) and other requested sundries. Still, her left hand is covered in blood and gore from an encounter not too far from the place. So when she sees a CHILD climbing seven feet up, she sticks that hand in her pocket and slows as much as her vibrating, blurry self is able. As usual, she addresses the kid in Spanish. People seem to have a pretty good grip on it around here anyway. Still, as ever, her words run together monstrously, as ever. '{Hey kiddo, training for a future as a mountain climber?}' Oh, look, it's Steve Rogers. Okay, maybe she experiences a little hero-geekery here, BUT... It's short-lived. Since her face is usually a blur and she works through things quickly, it's unlikely very visible. '{God made Steve Rogers because there weren't enough Marines to go around.}" It begins. Tola tends not toward words, but noises at this time of night, but there is a small repetition of "{climb climb climb!}" in the string of nonsense. She gathers her noodly little legs underneath her body and presses herself up into the little nook she has placed herself in, fingers and hands moving up slowly with her so she can really test her weight against the netting keeping her safe. "Wheeeee!" She grins and waves at the people who waved at her, before becoming distracted by the fact that 'up' does not lead anywhere. "{You have the good idea,}" Steve's Spanish is slow, awkward, and very Italian-sounding. He listens to Julie speak with a look of intense concentration on his face. "{Marines,}" he repeats, brows knitting. This does not appear to stem from any attempt at interservice rivaly so much as simply a limited vocabulary. But the sudden widening of his eyes suggests his has figured it out, whether by context or intuition. "{The...Marine jokes about me from the war? Much less... flattery.}" He smiles, shaking his head. "{I see you, come, go. So fast. Not had chance to introduce myself, but...maybe not need?}" He extends a hand anyway. "Steve Rogers." "Juliette Reyes. Julie." The woman looks over at Tola, clapping for her,"{You climb well! GOOD GIRL!}" The woman returns her head to Steve, though,"{You think they stopped when you were gone? I was in the Marines myself for a long time. Iraq War.}" Julie asks,"{Keep an eye on the kiddo while I go wash my hand? It's covered in zombie-stuff? I'm sure the mom is around here somewhere, but when a kid is climbing like that, I get nervous. Really, it will only be a few seconds. You were right. I am fast. That's my thing.}" Going time? Tola turns her head toward Julie and studies her for a moment before looking back to the problem at hand. She turns around in the little narrow space she's occupying and pats her hands flat on the next level, slowly starting to crawl up it. As her diapered back side starts to make its away onto the platform, a head appears underneath it, followed by shoulders, and finally a torso, taking the space the child was previously standing it. The woman is at least twenty, maybe more years older than the toddler, with long brown hair, tied at the back of her neck, with a lanky body and a long face. She studies the pair on the other side of the net quietly, but also keeps looking after her child. "{Not sure what you could do, from the outside,}" she remarks quietly, "{But no get nervous.}" Steve looks at his outstretched hand, then looks at Julie's bloodied one. Blushes. Maybe he has gotten a little blase about blood. Maybe he was blase about it already. He might have planned to say something else to Julie, but by the time he opens his mouth she's no longer in the room. He shakes his head, hoists himself up easily by one arm to sit on the outer edge of one platform, a few feet down and a few over from mother and daughter. "{Hello...Melinda, right?}" He glances at the child, smiling again. "{Little one's name, I cannot remember.}" It really is only a handful of seconds before she returns, having run upstairs, washed off her hands, and returned. It's a soft 'woosh' of air that leaves her at a stop, watching Tola's guardian make an appearance,"{More than some think, probably less than I tend to think I'm capable of.}" Julie looks at Steve, offering him a handshake with a now-clean hand, and then looks back towards Melinda,"{Does she require new shoes? I can grab some on my next run if you like.}" After a brief second of contemplation, she nods. "{She is a cute child.}" Her foot taps in an impatient manner. It mostly produces a prolonged humming sound as she does so. "{You are still learning spanish, I take it, Rogers?} "{My daughter's name is Tola. Yes, I am Melinda. Call me Mel. It's... okay to call you Steve?}" Melinda peeks through the netting at the grace in which he performs an arduous physical fete, her brows rising. "{Kids are terrible. I always thought I was good at things. Can handle kids. Then I had one. Never get ... too far away.}" She yawns a little and turns her head, watching Tola climb higher. "{Um, no shoes yet. She'll grow soon. Then shoes.}" With that, Mel continues contorting herself in small ways to follow the child's progress up the climbing maze, slow as it may be. "{Steve is good, yes.}" Steve nods. "{Rogers is good, too.}" Then accepts Julie's (newly clean!) hand with a nod to her, as well. "{Still learning. Ash teaches class, here. Helps. But also, talking, helps.}" He looks up to follow Tola's progress. "{I think...maybe no one can handle kids. Can give them food, give them clothes, give them love. But handle?}" He shrugs. "{Tola safe, happy, fed. You have handle not bad.}" Julie nods as well to the man, retracting her hand, then. "{Steve Rogers. This must all be a trip for you. What do you think about the US Military's current choice of firearms? They practically die in rugged conditions, but economic imperatives being what they are...}" She shakes her head a little bit, then begins to pace back and forth, causing more of that same humming sound. "{Wouldn't know. Never spend time around kids. I'm not the best influence on them. She's a good mommy, though, I'm certain. Doing more than I ever could. Doubt I could have them anyway.}" Steve blinks at Julie kind of helplessly. "{I...not used guns, in this time. Don't know...?}" He watches her pace, perhaps not the wisest choice, given her rapid movement. "{I...don't think I understand all you say. Sorry, my Spanish not so good.}" But then, perhaps he understood enough, because he adds, "{I don't know if I could do good. As a dad. But I like kids. Maybe someday.}" The woman nods slowly. Which means she's still vigorously bobbing her head by normal standards. Careful not to get dizzy while she paces. "{I talk very very fast. It's not your fault. Still, I suspect you would do the requisite 'dad' stuff. Protect the kid, feed it, teach it, play with it. Deal with discipline problems as best you can. You'll do fine. Me... I'm just a washout and a junkie. Improper environment.}" The question of guns is abandoned for now. Steve sort of squints at Julie, chewing on his lower lip. Pauses. Finally shakes his head, blushing. "{You mostly lost me after 'play with kid.' Those things, parent things, not always easy. My mom, good mom, but not easy.}" He pauses, pale blue eyes focusing on the wall as if it might show him the right words, "{I think, maybe, nobody ever ready. For kids. But do anyway. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad.}" Muscular shoulders roll in a small shrug. "{Maybe. I not have kids. Maybe all wrong.}" The woman keeps pacing for a while yet before she stops and stares right at him. A rare moment of her NOT blurring or vibrating. She's a weatherworn woman. If anything pleasant could be said about her appearance, it'd be handsome, rather than pretty. Still, her expression seems... intent. Earnest. Certain. "{You. Will. Be. A. Good. Father. I believe it.}" And then, her patience apparently at its end, she is a blur as she clambers up the climbing edifice in the direction of her room.