Logs:In Which a Birthday Celebration and a Conference Call Both Necessitate Additional Fortification

In Which a Birthday Celebration and a Conference Call Both Necessitate Additional Fortification
Dramatis Personae Daiki, Taylor
In Absentia	2021-12-17 "Do I hear doubt? I am sorely wounded, Sir, wounded."
Location <NYC> Chimaera Arts - Dumbo
This is just one of the many abandoned warehouses in DUMBO, and like many of them it has recently changed hands. Unlike most of those, however, it does not have some corporate developer's sign out front promising a transformation into luxury condominiums or a boutique shopping center or the latest concept restaurant. Instead it's marked by a piece of weathered but wildly colorful plywood propped up on a stack of broken pallets, which reads "Chimaera Art Space!" above "chimaera.org" in smaller letters. The warehouse is moderately large and decorated with graffiti art in various styles--some of it recognizable as the work of renowned local street artists. A pair of monstrous scrap metal sculptures, perhaps still works in progress, flank the entrance. The building itself has undergone significant renovation recently, complete with wiring, plumbing, and a modular partitioning system. The grounds, too, have been cleaned up, ramshackle fences torn down and rusting detritus removed in favor of reclaimed (and brilliantly repainted) outdoor furniture ringing an impressively engineered firepit. The trapeze rig with its two layers of safety netting takes up most of the warehouse's configurable multi-purpose space. The class for which it had been set up has concluded, but the instructors are showing off moves still a bit too advanced even for the intermediate students. Daiki is sprawled bonelessly on one of the foam mats that had been set up for warm up and cool down. His outfit is perhaps a bit staid for circus arts, just a black athletic tee with an electric blue stripe down each outseam and leggings yo match. He has an equally unspectacular black towel draped around his shoulders, his normally impeccable hair spiky-damp with sweat. "We could probably do that one," he opines, nodding at a catch that the instructors just landed with apparent ease despite the hair-raising distance bridged by the flyer. Taylor is propped up against a wall, one knee crooked to his chest, his red tank clinging to him and his inky skin beaded with sweat. His head rolls to one side, brows lifting as he watches the catch. "Please." It's a bit dismissive, two of his looooong arms snaking out demonstratively. "If you catching, though, then it might be a challenge." The corner of Daiki's mouth quirks. "Do I hear doubt? I am sorely wounded, Sir, wounded." He sits up straight and squirts water into his mouth from a Chimaera Art Space water bottle (adorned with the collective's cartoon mascot) before tossing it to Taylor. "We'll see. Next time, though. I should get back to work." He sounds neutral enough, but he jerks the towel off or himself more harshly than is necessary, the attendant fluttering of his power only recognizable to Taylor as such from long familiarity. A few of the other students lounging near the rig turn to look at Daiki, some briefly and others -- collective members who know him, mostly -- with lingering interest. He takes a deep breath. "Maybe I'll stay to help with teardown." "I'm just sayin'," One of Taylor's slimmer arms lifts casually to snag the water bottle out of the air, "it's not your usual jam is all." He squirts some of the water into his mouth, too. Frowns over at Daiki, then casts a casual glance towards the other students turning to look at him. "Work can't at least wait for a coffee? Maybe a cupcake in it for you. Friday and a birthday should mean like a triple lunch break." Daiki huffs a soft, indignant breath. "Well, I could if I felt like it." His smile is easy but maybe a bit wan. "One of the few great things about the freelance work is making my own schedule. Unfortunately, I am a far more ruthless boss than either of my actual bosses, so..." He takes another deep breath. "It's just a difficult piece, but it can wait, really. For a coffee and a cupcake, at least." "We talking difficult like you been playing phone tag for three weeks with your sources or difficult like the goverment's gonna disappear you for it or difficult like writer's block or difficult like your therapist's got nightmares now?" Taylor stretches, slow and languid, several of his arms coiling beneath himself and starting to push him to his feet. He offers Daiki a hand, his other arm offering the water back, as well. "'f you on a deadline I ain't tryna jam you up. Could bring the coffee back to yours." Daiki's unhappy moue is fleeting, though his powers waver again, more subtly this time. "Two and four, with maybe just a touch of three. My therapist probably already has nightmares." He takes Taylor's hand and rises. "I'm not staring down any deadlines. I haven't even really started writing properly yet. I'm just outlining and putting together interview questions. That's hard enough and..." He blows out a breath. "Actually, let's do coffee at my place, I've --" The whisper in their minds is familiar enough, the sharp dread spilling from Daiki less so. More curious eyes are turning his way. His next words come in a whisper, and it's hard to say whether he's continuing his previous sentence or just giving voice to "-- got news" One of Taylor's arms drapes bonelessly against Daiki's shoulders, squeezing there tighter at that spill of dread. In him there's just a prickle of discomfort, annoyance warring with curiosity. He scoops up their things, starts to steer Daiki toward the exit. "He do this often?" Daiki leans into the pressure of Taylor's arm, keeping his breathing even without much apparent effort, though there's an urgency in his steps to get away from the not-exactly-crowd, his anxiety easing with distance. "Depends. More so around raid time. Or when something's gone horribly wrong. Neither this time, though." The << I don't think >> is quiet, certainly not hidden from Hive, but meant for Taylor and somewhat lost in the greater susurrus of the hive. << But this might be upsetting, anyway. >> Taylor is just listening, until they get out of the warehouse. His eyes have gone slightly wider, and a sense of foreboding creeps into his thoughts. "... shit." He turns to look square at Daiki. "This your difficult piece? Boy..." He sucks at his teeth, looks up at the sky. "You sure about this?" Daiki relaxes fractionally as they step outside. The midday sun may be faint with the solstice so near, and the "sea" breeze coming off the East River may draw cool over sweat-damp skin, but the air temperature is a balmy 60° Fahrenheit, all threat of the rain that had driven their class inside evaporated. "Yes. It wasn't an easy decision to take it on, but..." His lips press together, thin. His mind churns with fear -- for himself, for Taylor, for everyone else in their minds right now. He looks over at but does not actually watch a trio of stoned punks swapping patches a safe distance away. "Were you sure, when you charged into Dirac?" Though his voice is trembling, he has dissociated enough that his mind is reasonably calm. "But you knew we needed you. We all knew it. Maybe we need me, now." Taylor doesn't even have to think back to Dirac to answer -- though there's still a flash of panic in his mind all the same that he tries gamely to push back down. "Helllll naw. Whole damn time I thought elsewhere was the where to be. But all Dirac could do was get me dead. This, though, this the kine shit could change everything." His arm hasn't left Daiki's shoulders, and he squeezes down again absently. "Think you're losing it a little. This might be a two-coffee situation."