ArchivedLogs:Furnishing

Furnishing
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Savannah, Steve
In Absentia	2016-04-23 "We're a bit of a blank slate minus the boxes, I suppose."
Location <NYC> Firehaus - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
The sunset ombre walls are the most striking part of the Firehaus common room. A deep, dark purple - almost blue - starts at the ceiling and devolves in even, shaded spreads into a healthy violet, a spunky pink, a sunny yellow, a warm orange, and finally to the namesake: a firehouse red. Otherwise, the spacious common area is quite bare for the time being. An antique maple-wood coffee table sits squarely in the center of the room, enshrined by two armchairs made solely from packing boxes and reinforced with a slew of duct tape. Their ability to actually hold bodies seems dubious, particularly since the "seat" of the armchair to the right has a hole in it. A large packing box sits to the side of the room as a faux-dining table surrounded on each side by smaller boxes of various sizes. Lamps are sprinkled throughout the room on various surfaces. It's not quite dinnertime on a Saturday afternoon, and the definite sense of industry about the Commons is beginning to wind down as volunteers peel away from the Workhaus construction project and drift back to their various residences. Having arrived home hardly ten minutes ago, Steve has already showered and changed (his hair still damp, but neat and combed and pomade'd) and is pouring himself a tall, icy glass of lemonade in the kitchenette. He's wearing a bright yellow t-shirt with skeletal T-rex dancing above the word 'FOSSIL' spelled with bones, well-fitting indigo jeans, and perhaps unexpectedly bright rainbow-striped socks. Having heard some movement, Savannah pops her head out of her room, and in seeing Steve, walks out. Wearing a pair of worn basketball shorts and a gray tank top, she slinks over to the kitchenette and grabs an empty glass. "Nice socks," she quips, with a smile. There's a knock at the door, quick and sharp. Rap-rap-rap! Unfortunately for the Firehaus residents, Flicker /hasn't/ showered or changed post-work. Still kind of grubby, still preeetty sweaty. Dressed construction-work drab in heavy workboots, jeans, a grey Columbia University tee that has definitely seen better days. What color he does wear, he wears in the form of the very brightly painted arm -- or at least it's in place of his right arm, the tentacly prosthetic /thing/ he wears, pincery claw-tipped at its end, doesn't resembled human anatomy in any way at all. /That/, at least, is bright sky-blue, a veritable storm of brilliantly metallic dragonflies drawn all down its segmented length. Running his fingers through his hair after he knocks doesn't really make him look any /more/ presentable. He does it anyway, though. Steve fills Savannah's glass, as well. Looks down at his feet. Wiggles his toes through the socks. "Sometimes I wear them to work and it brings me an irrational amount of joy, like I'm getting away with something." He goes to the door, pulls it open. "Bienvenue! Come in, come in." He doesn't sound at all surprised, but pleased all the same. If he has taken any note of the state of Flicker's grooming, he does not comment on it. "Would you like some lemonade? We also have orange juice and water. I'm not sure if you've met my housemate?" Savannah nods in thanks at the filling of her glass, takes a sip, and sighs with some contentment. At the sound knocking, she quirks an eyebrow - though, given Steve's friendly overture, she moves to the door and takes in the stranger for a moment. "Hi, I'm Savannah." Right hand out, going for the shake. "Lemonade? Oh /man/. I am so all about lemonade right now." Flicker's scarred face has already creased into a smile but it brightens further at the introduction. His chin lifts in a quick nod, eyes dropping for a moment to Savannah's hand. Then skipping back up without much discernible hesitation, left hand reaching out and turning upside-down to return the handshake a bit lopsidedly. "Flicker. And now, we haven't met. Though it's about /time/ Steve got himself out of the Commonhaus there's only so long you can live there before we have to just stop calling it a guest room. -- Welcome, Savannah. You settling in okay?" Steve closes the door behind Flicker and fills it, too, with lemonade. He waits for handshake to conclude before offering it to their guest. "It might be a bit on the sweet side," he warns, his smile a little sheepish before it suddenly fades. But he turns aside to return the bottle to the refrigerator. Then, picking up his own glass, now bejewellwed with beads of condensation, nods at the somewhat empty living room. "So ah.../that's/ what I meant when I said we need furniture." "Yeah, it's quite a great community. Glad to be here." She turns to look over the cardboard landscape. "It's a start with the coffee table..." With a few steps, she hops back to grab her glass as well. "I made the armchairs," she says, both proud and slightly embarrassed. Flicker's grin skews slightly crooked, too. "I have lived on years of Jax's drinks I can handle /whatever/ lemonade you throw at me. Like, you actually include water, right? You don't just mix the lemon juice straight into the maple syrup?" The more colorful of his arms snakes out, a quiet clink as it twines around the glass to pluck it from Steve. Then he's meandering off with the lemonade, scrutinizing the living room. He throws Savannah a quick smile as he stops by the (un-holed) armchair. "Really? This is excellent. Are you looking to keep this uh." He /squints/ at the cardboard. "Aesthetic with new furniture?" "As ingenious as the makeshift furniture is," Steve sounds completely earnest about this, "I'm not sure it can handle my weight for long." Which seems like a /very/ optimistic estimation of the cardboard furniture's resilience. "Honestly, I don't have much of a sense for interior decoration. Or...style in general, I guess. But people have pointed out to me other furniture that you've made and I think it would be excellent to have seating that accomodate a wide range of unconventionally shaped bodies." He glances at Savannah, raises his glass at her. "But it's Savannah's living room, too." "Well, I don't have a particular leaning one way or another for a certain style, but I certainly see Steve's point about having sturdy seating that isn't easily destroyed." Her eyes flit over to the hole in the other 'armchair' and her face scrunches a bit in thought. "As long as it's functional, not crazy ostentatious or ugly, and fits with the color scheme, then whatever fine by me. That's not too specific, right? We're a bit of a blank slate minus the boxes, I suppose. What do you think of the space?" "I think we'll be able to manage the color scheme just fine." Flicker takes a long swig of the lemonade. Eyes briefly slipping closed. Then open again to glance thoughtfully at the walls. "Wait, so you're giving me pretty free reign with your living room, then? I'll make you the /best/ of furniture. Do you have an idea of what pieces you're going to want?" He's pacing the room now in jittery-quick steps, fingers a little twitchy at his side. Tapping restlessly against his jeans as he scrutinizes the coffee table and then the floor space around it. "I'm biased, I think /all/ these units are the best units. I guess the real question is if you're going to want to put this room to any specific purpose. I mean, I had to build entirely different pieces for all our gaming stuff than for Ryan's studio or Daiki's tea room or --" He pauses for a moment. Quieter. Then back to examining the room. "Well. /Horus's/ living room was fun." "Around here, color schemes are pretty easy to match." Steve's eyes dart to Flicker's draonfly-dotted arm, his smile warm...and maybe just a little wistful. "But yes, you are the artist, and I trust your sense for these things more than my own. We'll want -- well, two armchairs, I suppose." He nods at the existing cardboard armchairs. "And a sofa. Bookshelves..." Here he looks to Savannah. "I /did/ mention that I tend to accumulate a lot of books, right? I hope you don't mind some of them living in the common space. I expect we'll mostly be reading in the evenings here. Maybe lightweight entertaining of the hanging-out-and-chatting variety?" He shrugs. "For anything more involved, we'd probably just use the Commonhaus." Savannah's eyes light up in excitement. She smiles at Flicker, "Please, free reign away. I'm sure you'll do a much better job than I did." Nodding in agreement with Steve's list, she adds, "You did mention that, and I've got a bad habit of trolling used book stores myself so bookshelves would be nice. Maybe a bar too? I can't speak for you, but I like a drink every now and again. Nothing too insane though, I highly doubt any ragers are going to happen here..." She takes a sip of lemonade and lets the last part marinate, just on the off chance. "Reading and chatting?" Flicker's teeth catch at the inside of his cheek before he nods, almost to himself. To /Steve/, though, it's a quick grin: "Better slow down with that or you'll ruin that wholesome image." His eyes are darting back to the walls -- and then /he/ is, vanishing from where he's been standing in an abrupt shimmer of movement. Movements, really, a quick series of blinking jumps that leave momentary ghostly silhouetted afterimages in his wake as he traces the periphery of the room. Eventually settling down into just one stable place again, near the kitchen. "A bar I can do. And don't worry, once my house is rebuilt I'm sure we'll take care of the ragers again. I'm all about the wild --" He hesitates, brows pulling together. "... board game nights. /Uh/. Is it just the living room or are you going to want things for elsewhere too?" "So, /several/ bookshelves, then." Steve chuckles, sipping his lemonade. "A bar, certainly. I'm effectively immune to alcohol, but I still have a taste for it. But if I ever get it into my head to throw a.../rager/," he overenuciates the word a little, as if unfamiliar with its use, "it'll happen elsewhere." To Flicker's question he scruffs at the back of his head, blushing a little. "I suppose I really ought to think about getting a /bed/ at some point." He nods back at his open door -- only half of the bedroom can be seen through it, but it appears to be occupied only by a large (Captain America shield-motif) beanbag and a drafting table that might just predate Steve himself. Savannah rubs her eyes and is rather taken aback for a moment, before breaking out into a wide grin. "Wild board game nights sound fun. And I vote that we should test Steve's immunity. You know," she smirks, "for science." She cranes her neck to peer into Steve's room, "Yeah, you need quite a bit of help." "Every Tuesday night!" Flicker is brightly enthusiastic about sharing this bit of information. "It's usually in our house -- uh, that's me and Hive and Dusk and Isra -- but our house is a little --" His lemonade-bearing arm waves. Generally in the direction of Ongoing Construction outside. "So it's up in the Common house for /now/. It's not /required/ to rage while board gaming but there's generally good food and copious alcohol. I'm not entirely sure the alcohol /improves/ people's gaming skill but it seems to improve their mood when they lose, anyway." There's a faint dimming of his smile at the suggestion of testing Steve's limits -- for science -- but it's brief. He's leaning back against a wall after this. Turning an amused chuckle down into his glass. "You /know/. If you /really/ want to Science this there's probably a half-dozen people we know who could actually -- help. With the drunk. Thing." After another sip of lemonade he's blipping off again. To poke his head into the open door of Steve's room. "...Does that just bleed off you onto everything you own?" "I don't need science," Steve replies evenly, though his explanation sounds just a little grim, somehow: "I've stress-tested my resistance extensively." The wrinkle between his brows smooths out again quickly, and the eyebrow he levels at Flicker is whimsical. "Maybe the next time you trounce me, I'll find someone to help me drown the sorrow of my defeat in liquor." He follows the teleporter to the door of his room, looking in. Blushes harder now. "I...people keep gifting me with merchendise. Though the beanbag is Tag's handiwork, and when he gets in a mood, yes. It really...kind of does just. Spread." Savannah trails after the others, the only obvious sign of such being the tinkering sound of rapidly shrinking ice again one another. She attempts to catch Flicker's attention and mouths silently, but as obviously as possible to get the message across: "That was a joke, right?" She makes a fist and punches the air silently to communicate the point. "Which part? I think it was all dead serious. Especially the part about Tag bleeding --" Flicker nods towards Steve's beanbag before disappearing to reappear back by the coffee table. "Color. /Everywhere/." He takes another long gulp of lemonade, fingers trailing lightly against the cardboard armchair curiously. "You get used to it, though. If you notice the Commonhaus -- walls, furniture, dishes, whatever -- is different colors every time you go in it's /not/ because you're going crazy." Though after this he taps a finger lightly against the cardboard. Thoughtful: "-- How on /earth/ do we not have a Madhaus around here yet?" "Tag is the little rainbow-haired fellow who did the walls," Steve explains, holding out a hand to indicate someone about a foot shorter than himself, "not sure if you've seen him around, but his handiwork is everywhere, much like Flicker's and..." He shakes his head quickly, sigh. "Well," this kind of philosophically, "Scramble hasn't moved in, though I've heard she might soon." He cocks his head at Savannah, though. "You've an interest in boxing? I did cover the Commonhaus gym during the tour, I hope." Pink gives way to a redder blush in Savannah's cheeks. "I've seen him around. I'll have to thank him next time. And yeah, uh, kickboxing..." She makes her way back to the kitchenette. " You did cover the gym, it's great to have one so close and private. Beats having to run all over the city." Pulling out the bottle of lemonade, she refills her glass just partway and waves the uncapped container in the air. "Refill anyone?" "Kickboxing? That always looks like so much fun." Flicker eyes his glass contemplatively. Eyes the lemonade. Bites down on his lip, but then just gulps the rest of his drink down. "I /want/ more but I am in such desperate need of a shower. I don't know how you all stand me this long." His next quick-hop takes him to the kitchen, to wash his now emptied glass. "How about I work up some design ideas for you and run them by you to see what you like best? I kind of just dropped /surprise/ furniture on a couple people here but that -- maybe. Isn't everyone's jam." "Kickboxing...is newish, right? I don't know much about it, but I'd love to consult you about that sometime." Steve holds out his mostly empty glass, nods to Savannah. "Merci." He looks like he has half a mind to intercept Flicker, but the other man is already washing his cup. Steve only smiles a lopsided smile, shakes his head. "That sounds excellent, and I would much appreciate it. Although personally I'm actually quite comfortable with surprise furniture. As long it is not being /literally/ dropped on me. I do apologize for keeping you from your shower. Maybe I'll make some lemonade to bring to the worksite next time." "Sort of newish, considering the circumstances. Happy to talk more on it later, I think you'd find it interesting." Savannah obliges with a generous pour before capping the bottle and sliding it back into the fridge. "I don't mind surprise furniture either, though thanks again for your help, Flicker." She shoots a beaming smile his way. "No problem. I'll -- try not to drop it /on/ anyone. That would be a waste of good workshop time." Flicker vanishes toward the door, pausing to return Savannah's smile, together with a wave of his colorful prosthetic... hand. "Good to meet you. And I was serious about Tuesdays, too. Usually pretty fun." And then he is gone. Not actually bothering to open the door -- just blinking out of sight.