Logs:Fire's Light
| Fire's Light | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2020-10-24 "Did we miss it?" |
| Location
<NYC> BoM Safehouse - Lower East Side | |
Tucked away off a little-used side street in the Lower East Side, sandwiched between a youth drop-in center and a taqueria, this narrow three-story townhouse has very little to catch the eye. Boarded-up windows, a door peeling its paint, shabby grubby brickface; from the outside it does not look like much. Inside someone has gone to great lengths to renovate the building into something more habitable. It isn't glamorous but it is comfortable, old furniture dragged in, the place generally swept clean. The first floor holds a large living room, a smaller dining room, a spacious kitchen, a half-bathroom. There are three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor; the attic is just a large empty space crammed full of boxes with a window out to the large flat roof. The basement, much like the attic, consists of a lot of empty space. A bare concrete floor, no windows, occasional poles running up to the ceiling. A tiny half-bathroom down here, too. Not a whole lot else. It isn't too rowdy outside just yet, but if patterns hold, that's likely to change the longer the night wears on. For the moment, though, the mood is almost (almost) festive; drummers, dancing, songs now instead of chanting. Joshua looks no less tired for the respite from violence as he slips into the safehouse, today in blue flannel shirt, khaki cargo pants and a red and black kippah, shucking his medic pack and vest and sinking down into an armchair. Briefly. He's back on his feet soon enough, leaning forward to unzip a back pocket of his bag. The small box he digs out of the very bottom of his pack is carefully crafted, a deep red pomegranate design set in glass among the polished wood. His head tips back against the chair, eyes driiiifting in the direction of the kitchen, though he doesn't yet rise again. Alma has been here a little while, and is presently busying herself unloading containers from a silver insulated tote with "KOSHER" written across the side in bold black marker. Shortly she emerges with a bottle of Kedem grape juice and a sleeve of paper Dixie cups. She's dressed down by her standards, a fitted black button-down with red cuffs, buttons, and stitching, black jeans, and no-nonsense black lace-up boots, a red kippah with an upraiesd black fist embroidered on it. "Looks like it's pretty much cut fruit, hummus, and pitas for the vegans tonight," she laments, setting down the bottle and cups. "The meal is 90% potato kugel. This is the last time I'm leaving food arrangements up to white folks. You know how many we're expecting?" Joshua shakes his head, pulling himself slowly out of his chair. He lifts a shoulder in a shrug as he opens the small box, extracting -- an even smaller intricately inlaid box, a small candle braided in purple grey and white, a slim silver lighter. "If it's just us, that's fine, too." He sets his items down on the table, wandering over to the window to peer out of it. "Though I don't doubt people need a little light, right now." Alma also looks unconcerned. "I can't imagine we'll have any trouble finding people to foist the extra food off on. You going back out medicking after?" Her eyes drop to the havdalah set on the table. "Things are pretty dark," she agrees softly. "I'm honestly surprised they haven't called in the Guard." "Not medicking, no." Joshua scrubs knuckles over his eyes, leaning his shoulder up against the window. "Spending some time on patrol out here, though. Neighborhood's real dangerous for mutants who can't --" He stops. Tenses. His mouth pulls down into a grimace. "... just real dangerous." More flatly. "This keeps up, guessing they will." Alma nods slowly. "Hope you stay safe out there, keeping people safe. Heard they're not just getting bold, they're getting methodical -- going after medics and --" She looks up at Joshua. "-- organizers. Guess you don't need me..." She sighs, glances up at the clock. "Just about that time." The door open just as Alma says this, spilling in another pair of young women. Wendy is holding the door open for her companion before she drifts over towards the table. She's blissfully un-maced or gassed, only a bit sweaty and flushed after whatever was just occupying her outside. Her fingers trail against the table, her head bobbing in greeting to the others before, with a questioning lift of eyebrows, she plucks the spice box from the table to cradle it careful and expectant. Kitty is in similar state, a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead and collarbone, cheeks a little red. She reaches under her collar to adjust her golden Magen David pendant, swinging it from hanging down her back to its proper place. When she gets to the table, standing nest to Wendy, she gives both Alma and Joshua a tired smile. "Nu, so?" she says. "Did we miss it?" Kitty is joking, humming the melody under her breath already. There's a very small smile that touches Joshua's lips. "Naw. Got fire to spare." He's pouring out the wine as the others approach. Lighting the candle to hand to Alma. His voice lifts just enough to be clear over the wash of sounds from outside as he starts, "Hinei El yeshu'ati, evtach v'lo efchad --" | |
