ArchivedLogs:Unimportant Nonsense

Unimportant Nonsense
Dramatis Personae Jax, Steve
In Absentia	2016-01-25 "Did you have fun in your abject defeat?"
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Courtyard - Lower East Side
This courtyard is the lush central hub of the surrounding Harbor Commons, bound in on three sides by rows of duplexes and triplexes, cutting upward at the sky with the sharp thrift of a minimalist's style, neat lines and bountiful windows, boldened with accents in wood towards the upper stories, stone towards the base, the whole of the compound sealed in by a low stoneworked wall that opens entrance gates to the streets beyond at its two far corners, smaller gates at building back doors. The fourth side of the courtyard is open to the East River, the ground forming a slight decline, controlled on one side by micro-retaining walls to form wide steps where picnic tables sit beneath the nominative shelter of a trio of dogwood trees, accessible by ramp. The other side is allowed to slope at its natural angle, a wide open yard space, until its cut off at the river's edge, where a massive pair of oak trees stand, a staircase leading away up one of their thick trunks. The yard itself is carpeted in an organic flow of emerald grass swirled through with wending channels of smooth-paved cement walkways, flowing naturally away from the building's front entrances, where some are arced by trellis, some flanked by hosta plants, fern and lilies, a few laid in gentle switch-backing ramps for wheelchair access, before forking off at matching angles to sites of small garden installments. Bird feeders and baths suspended from the necks of small lamp posts, a rock-lined koi pond, a sleek gazebo tucked to one side in simplistic varnished wood, its southern side overgrown with a mass of thriving grapevine and a caged-in barbecue pit under its sheltering roof. A play area and proper garden are within sight off another branch, until finally all paths spiral in like wheel spokes to a shared common house at the center of all traffic flow. The carnage has come and gone, leaving the grounds a mess of footprints and brightly-coloured snow. Dinner has come and gone as well, hearty stew and plenty of cider and cocoa to warm everyone back /up/ after a day spent getting thoroughly frozen outdoors. The Commonhaus lights are warm and bright, many other homes lit as well as people scatter now back to the rest of their nights. Across the courtyard the wreckage of Funfort is, even in its destruction, brilliant. Here, though, where Jax's house once stood, Workfort still stands impressively proud and strong, high watchtowers untouched, walls still glittering icy and secure. They're glittering even more at the moment than they did even under the daytime sun -- somewhere within one of its carefully sculpted rooms, a flutter of lights shimmers and dances, refracted over and over off the frozen walls. Tucked inside, Jax is lying on the floor, a thermos of cocoa in the crook of one arm and his hands folded on his chest. A host of tiny glowing creatures flit and dance along the ceiling, the walls, some sharp-toothed and sharp-fanged, some with large feathery wings, some scaled and horned, some cloven-footed, some that seem little more than wisps of smoke and flame shaping and reshaping themselves ceaselessly. His fingers play lightly against the front of his coat, eye half-closed. Kind of watching the light shift off the walls, kind of not really watching anything at all. Steve's initially aimless wandering has drawn him inexorably to Workfort. He still wears the navy peacoat and combat boots that had borne him through the battle of the day, though they've had time to dry over dinner, and thick brown corduroy trousers. His head is covered with a knit cap patterned after his shield, his hands with red knit gloves, and though he has a rainbow-band scarf draped over his neck, he's not cold enough to need to wrap it. He slips into the ice palace and, making no attempt at all to move quietly, finds his way directly to Jax. Lingering in the doorway, he watches the creatures play across the ceiling, a faint smile on his lips. Then his eyes drop to the photokinetic himself. The smile widens briefly, then fades. He stretches out a hand and knocks on the icy door jamb. "{May I join you?}" in soft, Italian-accented Spanish. Jax's eye closes all the way as Steve approaches, his smile curling a little bit wider. A few of the dancing creatures flit over to the bigger man, trailing dustmote-glimmers of light behind them as they twirl and spiral in around Steve. Tiny taloned hands beckon in invitation -- come, here, closer -- before the sprites whisk back off towards Jax, dissipating into a shimmer of multicoloured light that is caught and echoed off the icy walls as well. "Everyone spent so long jokin' all day 'bout the forts. The last ones standin' anyway after the rest crumbled. The artists' fort an' the engineers' fort but that -- that ain't /hardly/ right, is it? I mean, have they looked at where we /live/, lately?" Jax's voice is a little bit faraway, his eye still not opened again yet. Steve steps inside as if drawn by the tiny beings of light, sinking down smoothly to sit beside Jax. "People have fun with making up narrative in a game where the sides are basically arbitrary, but I don't think it really escaped anyone that Workfort is also a work of art. Just..." He tips his head back and marvels at the ceiling. "...a much sturdier one." A pause. Pale blue eyes stray back to Jax. "Did you have fun in your abject defeat?" "{No, I was in here sobbing miserably.}" Now Jax cracks his eye back open, a faint glow blossoming around him as he looks up at Steve. "{Our fort had a /slide/.} You can make up what narrative you want. {I don't feel defeated.}" "Don't need a narrative." Steve pulls off one glove and passes his hand through the light, flexing his fingers as if he expects to be able feel it. "{It was a good fight. I didn't come to gloat, though.}" Jax plucks up his thermos, rolling over onto his side and resting one cheek against Steve's knee as he holds the cocoa up towards the other man. "{You came for this, right?}" Steve sighs softly. Runs his fingers lightly over Jax's head and takes the thermos. "{You read my mind.}" He uncaps it and drinks. "{I...there's so much I want to talk to you about. All the time.}" He chuckles, a little self-consciously. "Mostly unimportant nonsense." A quiet happy sigh shivers out of Jax, his breath steaming up in the cold air as his head presses up into up into the touch. The figures dancing around the ceiling melt away, replaced instead by just a muted diffuse shift of light, formless and multicoloured that fills the room around them with faint glow. "I ain't no telepath. Just a constant compulsion t'take care'a folks in the form'a -- tasty treats. S'a Southern thing." He turns onto his back, tucking his head more firmly onto Steve's lap. "{What did you want to talk about? My head's /usually/ cluttered with -- all kinds of nonsense, so I don't mind.}" Steve sets the cocoa down and rests his hand on Jax's head again, fingers splayed out to rest at the back of his neck. "{I /want/ to talk about food, God, music...}" His thumb traces the curve of a chimera wing etched into Jax's skin. "...Ink." He bites his lower lip, his brows gathering. "But I /need/ to talk to you about something a lot less pleasant." The glow around Jax flutters deeper, wider, at the trace of Steve's fingers. "-- Oh." His voice is very soft, almost wondering, his fingers lifting to trail slowly down against the outside of the other man's arm. They drop away at the last, though, eye faintly luminescent as it lifts back to Steve's face. "... not pleasant?" The furrow of his brow is uncomprehending. A moment later, though, his cheeks flush abruptly dark, and with a noticeable reluctance he pushes himself upright, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "Oh. Oh, um, oh. {Sorry, um, I -- sorry. What -- did you need?}" Steve draws a deep, trembling breath and closes his eyes. His cheeks are turning pink even before Jax gets flustered and sits up. He lowers his eyes, reluctantly drops his hand away from the side of the other man's neck. Pulls the cap from his head, choppy blond hair lying all askew underneath. "{There's probably surveillance. SSR has robots, to watch me.}" He pulls off his other glove, too, tucks it into his cap. Close his hands tightly around the bundle of fabric. "{But this they already know: what your powers can do. Told me. Yesterday.}" "Oh, honey-honey, the government's been watchin' this whole place since we started buildin' it." Jax's nose crinkles up, but he seems overall unbothered by this. The red doesn't leave his cheeks; his eye follows the path of Steve's hand as it moves away from him. Unconsciously his own hands mirror the tight grip, though he has nothing to clench, fingers lacing together and then restlessly untwining and retwining. His head shakes, pierced brows hiking up. "{Everybody knows what my powers can do, you can look that up on Wikipedia.}" "I didn't want to assume you knew. /I'm/ pretty new to this constantly-being-watched thing." Steve looks a little sheepish. Lets go of his hat and reaches to touch the back of Jax's hand. Opens his mouth again, but hesitates. "It doesn't say on Wikipedia that you can destroy a city." Jax's hand turns up, smile softening again as his fingers curl around Steve's. Only for a moment, though. His eye opens wider a moment later -- the sudden hard clamp of his hand around Steve's comes with a sharp inward hitch of breath, a sudden brighter flare of the soft glow of light around them. His hand jerks sharply away from Steve's, lifting to press fingers to his lips as the light blinks out entirely. Eye closing, he takes one deep breath. Slow. Exhales just as steadily. Steve shuts his eyes tight, lets go of Jax's hand precisely as the other man pulls it away. He draws and releases a breath in time with Jax. "{I'm sorry, to say it like that,}" he says softly. "That's a burden I cannot even imagine. But they know -- SSR does." Jax's hands move to cover his face, his head shaking as Steve speaks. He breathes in again, breathes out again. His fingers splay, one eye peering through at Steve before he drops his hands, shaking, to his knees. Low and unsteady: "/You/ know." Steve nods, his eyes still fixed on Jax in the darkness. "I know," he agrees. "They -- /she/ told me. To frighten me." He pauses a beat. "It worked." But he rolls up onto his knees and puts his hands on Jax's shoulders. "And I still love you." "You -- oh. You -- even though --" Jax lifts his hand slowly, fingers trembling as they come to rest over Steve's. He tips his head back, looking up at Steve. "If -- if they know, I -- I don't even know how they /could/, don't hardly nobody know. But if they -- Steve, that's even /more/ dangerous, they could -- some day they're /going/ to -- to -- I don't know. I don't --" His head shakes quickly. "... not. Not t'mention what. I could. Do." "I won't let them." Steve's hands squeeze down on Jax's shoulders gently. "Or at least, I'll do anything in my power to stop them if they try." He rests his forehead against the smaller man's. "I'm going to tell them my concerns and offer work for them -- on /my/ terms. To make sure they don't pre-emptively go after people like you. Because what you /could/ do isn't important. It's what you /do/." Jax's shoulders relax slowly beneath Steve's hands, his own hand sliding down along the other man's arm. Dropping to rest at Steve's waist, his breathing slow and deliberate. "... You're going back t'work for them? Are you sure that's -- that you --" He shakes his head, his other hand lifting to cup the side of Steve's face. "I love you."