ArchivedLogs:Sandpaper

Sandpaper
Dramatis Personae Desi, Flicker, Shane
In Absentia	2016-05-12 "Shane, this is your problem: you want one huge bookshelf when you could have multiple, smaller ones."
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Makerspace - Lower East Side
It isn't huge in this workshop, but it's well-ventilated and well-equipped. Like the Common house, this building -- small and shedlike and tucked off to a side of the courtyard -- is accessible to Commons residents via their electronic keycards. Stocked with plentiful tools for all kinds of workmanship, it has a small number of workspaces along the side of the room with a fair amount of open floorspace that can be repurposed as needed. In different corners there are a couple more specialized sections -- one front corner has been walled off into its own darkroom, and farthest off in back, cordoned off and thankfully left empty when not in use, is a squat furnace with a tendency to look like a pot of glowing lava when it is filled with molten glass. It's noisy outside the workshop -- it's been a warm afternoon and it's turning into a pleasant evening, and out on the grounds there's a rousing game of -- something. There's a frisbee or two involved, and the treehouse, and most of the playground equipment, and at least two different balls, and one child who teleports and two on hoverboards and though it might be hard for outsiders to discern any structure or rules but there's /definitely/ a lot of excitable shouting going on. In the workshop it's noisy, too -- though this with the sound of Our Lady Peace's "One Man Army" currently blasting from a stereo, kind of (but only vaguely) muffling the outside noises. Flicker is in the woodshop, dressed blandly in jeans and faded old Xavier's tee. He's swapped out his tentacle arm for his old body powered one -- similarly emblazoned with a swarm of dragonflies -- as he works on sanding a tall bookshelf. Shane has only recently returned to the Commons, backpack still slung on his back and his violin case in hand. He's dressed far more dapper than Flicker, neat houndstooth vest and dark slacks, impeccably tied bowtie, polished saddle shoes. He is kind of stompy as he comes into the workshop, though between the noise inside and out it doesn't carry too far. He doesn't /say/ anything, though. Stops a short way from Flicker, the frown easing from his face as he watches the other man work. He drops his backpack from his back, finding a stool of his own to settle onto and watch in silence. Desi follows Shane in only moments later, her cheeks flushed and her breathing rapid, as if she's just been running. She wears a lavender jacket unbuttoned over a mint green babydoll shirt emblazoned with a stylized forest (the faint white outline of a stag visible amongst the trees). A long multi-tiered hunter green skirt swirls around the ankles of her soft brown slouch boots, and she carries a gray messenger bag decorated with flower motifs. She waves to Flicker even as she makes her way to Shane's side, leaning against him but not taking a seat. Flicker glances up, brow creasing as Shane approaches. He pauses -- long enough to turn the volume down on his music, though not down very /much/. Then back to his bookshelf. It's kind of mechanical work, steady, repetitive; his eyes flit up to Shane more often than down to the wood. Then up again when Desi enters, chin lifting in a quick nod. Lips pressing together again as he sizes up the stompy sharkpup. Eventually he turns the sander around, offers it outward. "Want to sand?" Shane's nose twitches as the door opens again -- his gills have started to flutter before the door opens, but they calm again as Desi enters. He sits up a little straighter on his stool, curling an arm around Desi when she leans in against him. His other hand lifts, too, snaking its way into her bag to rummage around. He pulls a thermos out of it, uncapping it to take a sip. "Were you playing? Is there a /winner/? Are there /rules/?" He's not actually looking at Desi with this question -- mostly out at the window as Spencer goes hurtling by. He eyes the sander for a long while, next. Then slides off the stool, shedding his vest and folding it neatly to set it out of the way atop his backpack before he rolls up the cuffs of his sleeves. "What if I fuck it up?" Desi bops her head gently against Shane's, strands of her brown hair catching briefly on his bristly head like velcro. "I came, I played, I...survived? I think it's some form of Calvin Ball." She snags the thermos back from him and takes his place on the stool when he vacates it. Her chin rests in the palm of her free hand, green eyes studying Flicker's project. "Is that for Geekhaus 3.0?" "Hard to. Start down here, you'll be fine. Like this." Flicker crouches beside Shane, putting his hand over the pup's to guide it through the motion a few times. "Doesn't need to be too hard. You just looked like you could --" Shrug. He stands. Leans against a table beside the stool. "From the sound of it, surviving pretty much counts as a win. And no, it's for Steve's new place. They -- commissioned me." There's a slightly puzzled note to his tone as he says this. "But I have a huge backlog of stuff the new place will need too. Are you going to be in dorms again next year?" "With money and everything." Shane clarifies this very seriously, tipping a wide-eyed look up ato Desi. "Are you sure you've survived? You might not have quite escaped it yet." His teeth grit together, fingers (webbing still slit and loose) curling tight around the handle of the sander. There's a quick flutter of his gills before they press flat again, and he starts to run it against the wood. "-- Could use a /much/ fucking bigger one of these," he finishes Flicker's abortive sentence. "But I don't think they make them quite that size." Desi lifts the thermos for a drink, watching Shane's hand move over the bookshelf. "Child's play does have a way of producing creepily incisive observations on Life, but I refuse to go existential over this. I made it in here, I'll count it as a win for now." She watches Shane's hand move over the shelves, her lips curling in a small, guarded smile. "Well, it definitely beats paying /Ikea,/ but I can also kind of imagine him just...living in a completely unfurnished apartment. Sleeping on the floor with a dog for a pillow." She slips the messenger bag from her shoulder, finally, and settles it to the floor beside the stool. "I don't know. I like my roommate and the bustle of dorm life, but it would certainly be cheaper to move back home." Her slender shoulder lift, the barest shrug. "Shane, this is your problem: you want one huge bookshelf when you could have multiple, smaller ones." "Just his shield for a pillow, really. But you're not far off on the state of his apartment." There's amusement in Flicker's voice, though somewhat tempered as he watches Shane. He hoists himself up to sit on the table by the stool, folding his legs up into a pretzel. "You know, on the plus side, an enormous bookshelf doubles as climbing tower." His brows lift -- very quickly, very slightly. Eyes flicking back up to Desi. "Clearly just mean you'd have to throw more parties at home next year. Make up for missing out on the dorms." "I'm sure Luci will love that idea. And you'll have to go back out." Shane reminds Desi. /Grimly/. But then he's just sanding. Steadily, a kind of /intense/ focus to it. But at length -- just as grimly: "I meant a bigger sander." "Doesn't need to be all that big to double as /Shane's/ climbing tower." Desi hugs the thermos to her chest. "Luci will whine, but..." Her head shakes. "Well, it's not like my brothers aren't seeing me every week, but it might be nice to live under one roof again." She doesn't sound completely certain about this. Then, somewhat more brightly, "I thought I might wait out the game in here. Or pester Flicker for a ride. And anyway, what are you looking to sand, if not a giant bookshelf?" "/Well/. I /mean/." There's a moment here where Flicker looks contemplative. Eyes dropping to study Shane at work. "There are definitely industrial-grade tools that'd..." But then he stops, squints briefly at the sharkpup. "... uh. Not that I'm advocating just grinding /all/ your problems away, in lots of cases that'd be -- illegal." He watches Shane work, brows faintly furrowed. "Just one of those weeks?" His eyes widen, a flush of red darkening his scarred cheeks abruptly. "I -- uh. I'm always good for -- a ride." He rubs idly at one cheek with the backs of his knuckles. "Might be?" "Goddamn everybody's ridden that." Shane hasn't looked up with this line, delivered through GRITTED teeth towards his increasingly smooth side of bookshelf. He does glance up quickly at the last question though, his own brows pulling together and brows briefly fluttering when he looks up at Desi's face. One small-quiet huff of breath, thoughtful. Then back down. "/All/ my problems." He doesn't sound quite so grim, this time. A little heavier. A little quavery. "Not to mention /messy,/" Desi adds lightly. "But dealing with problems creatively counts for something." Her eyes skid aside to Flicker, and her lips curl briefly into a smile. Very brief. "You'd think it would count for /more/, in the performing arts." Flicker's blush deepens. Creeping out into his ears, harshing the scars in his face. He drops his hand to his lap, twitches a crooked grin at Desi. "S'it working out well for you, lately?" He doesn't -- quite seem to stand back /up/, shimmering out of place and settling by Shane's side a heartbeat later. "I could get you a bigger sander." Though what he's /actually/ doing is curling his arm around Shane's shoulders. Squeezing lightly. Shane leans into the touch. His inner eyelids slide shut, gills rippling quickly. His motions slow -- still fairly mechanical but more ponderous, now, in his sanding, his arm moving heavily. He opens his mouth -- but ultimately says nothing. Just shakes his head, and finally stops, sagging in against Flicker's side. "Not really." Desi masks the slump of her shoulders with a shrug. "It's exam week, and for all the talk, I think they're much more concerned with technical proficiency than creativity." She looks tempted to expound further, but instead flips the lid of her thermos open and sips at her tea. Flicker's mechanical fingers curl inward, moving to his chest to touch in a stiff circle. "Sucks. Guess that's how school goes, sometimes." His wince is sympathetic. "But you've got -- juries, now? Exams? If you're both done /and/ B's back soon maybe... maybe you can at least all take some time together. Get away. Be creative together." A small quick smile twitches at his lips. "Make up for the whole frakking year." Shane's eyes drop to his violin case, his gills fluttering much faster and his jaw clenching tight. "That --" His words come through his teeth; his smile, when it comes, is thin and with teeth gritted and bared as well. "-- will be a lot to make up for. I'm up for the challenge."