Logs:Hands On

Hands On
Dramatis Personae Jax, Lumin, Ryan
In Absentia	2024-05-07 "Hold your arm out?"
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. Things have been busy around Chimaera, lately, and they show no signs of letting up. There's an efficient assembly line of people in the kitchen preparing hundreds of burritos to hand out to protesters this evening. An armor making workshop is taking up the courtyard, a whole lot of rubber tubing and thick foam mats and trash can lids being recrafted into body armor and shields. Regular art is still ongoing, the renters in the cubicles hopefully by now used to the clamor. Off near the stairs leading to Storage and More Workspaces on the upper level, Jax is a cheerfully bright and readily identifiable figure from the news these days-- bold peacocky blue-green-purple hair, tons of piercings, a vivid array of intricate tattoos stylized somewhat like stained glass art on his skin; his eyepatch is black with a gleaming metallic dragonfly that looks embroidered but is not sitting still, intermittently flitting to different angles of the patch. Jax is looking down with a faintly bemused expression at a heaping messy pile of Various Donations. Some quite useful -- pallets of water bottles, bulk boxes of nitrile gloves, spare plywood for the shieldmakers, a whole lot of coffee cans. It's a large crate of milk that he is currently frowning at, though, his single eye scrunched up as he unearths the crate from beneath a bunch of donated bandaging. He does not say anything, but though his soft hngh is barely audible, it rings loud to his current companion with a bemused exasperation. His companion today is -- less bright, possibly more identifiable. Admittedly, in his wheelchair, plain black jeans, dark purple tee (it reads SOCIAL JUSTICE BARD in bold print across the front and, beneath, 'rallying the revolution'), Ryan does not look quite as flashy as his magazine spreads tend to be. He's got a crooked smile on his face, hand rubbing absently at the scruff of beard along his jaw. "I mean, we wouldn't'a used it anyway, but we double not gonna use it when then -- how long you think that's been sitting? The fridge was right there." Lumin enters Chimaera Arts, or more so stumbles in, relief clear in their body language that they'd finally made it. Their ratty drawstring bag is slung loosely across their back, and their glass skin, while sporting some new dirt smudges from the sludge of the Morlock tunnels, refracts any light in the room and bounces it along the walls in a colorful splay. They would immediately begin asking around the busy warehouse, carefully weaving through the people and avoiding the busier parts where possible, looking for someone with the name 'Mister Jackson'. Eventually, they're probably directed to the upper levels where they finally spot....maybe the person they're looking for??? They approach, hesitantly, a high pitched nervous, yet determined energy coming off of them in waves along with the low hums naturally generating from them as they make their way over. Lumin takes in Jax, eyes unblinking as they take in the piercings, the brightly colored tattoos, the eyepatch. They don't say anything right away, almost an awkward amount of time staring before they speak up, "I'm looking for a Mister Jackson." Their voice has a subtle underlying ring to it, almost metallic or echoey in a way. Their tone is formal, but stilted in a way that sounds practiced as opposed to natural. Lumin then looks at Ryan once, then does a double take. They blink a few times, "...Are you Ryan Black?" They ask bewildered. "You know what I always want right after gettin' an eyeful of pepper spray, is spoiled milk on top." When Jax speaks it's with a heavy southern drawl; at least the exasperation is giving way to bemusement in his tone. "Guess we could put 'em with the coffee, I'm sure some folks'll want to be considerate of the pigs who --" Here he breaks off, looking up as Lumin comes into view. He's staring at Lumin for less time than they are staring at him, but only slightly. He smiles bright when they speak up, but he's looking to Ryan, pierced brows hiking. "Are you Ryan Black?" "I have been asking myself that question for months," Ryan answers Jax, cheerful, and just as bright to Lumin: "Used to be. Trying to be again. Who are you I feel like you have a face I would recognize around here." He leans over, poking a finger at one of Jax's bright tattoos. "Feel like you stealing some valor there." Lumin watches the interaction between the two bewildered, maybe a little amused, mouth hung open slightly. At Ryan's comment about Trying to be again, a wave of a feeling that's...something complicated, maybe an abrupt understanding. It's quickly, hastily, tamped down. Their attention is drawn to the the stained glass tattoos Ryan points out, and a small smile just barely pulls at the corners of their mouth. Eventually they huff out a short laugh, "I should've thought of that--just getting tattoos instead. Would've saved me a lot of hassle." They tilt their head, "I'm Lumin. It's a pleasure to meet you both. I was ah, told about a Mister Jackson who works with glass, I need some advice. ...Taylor told me to check out here." "I could be Ryan Black if you want a break." A moment later, the men have seemingly changed places -- Jax bright and colorful in the wheelchair, Ryan standing beside the donations and nudging the crate of milk gingerly with a toe. It's still Jax's voice that "Ryan" is speaking with, though: "Jus' don't ask me to sing else the gig is up." He's peering over towards Lumin, and as his head ducks he rubs a hand sheepishly at the back of his neck. "Can't say as I ever gave a lot of thought to what being actually made of glass would be like, it just looks so pretty. Lumin? Oh, gosh." The illusion is vanishing in a moment, apology etched on Jax's (actual) face. "Taylor told me you might be looking for me, it's just -- right after that with Freaktown an' -- things been wild since then, y'know? I -- can't quite remember what he said I could help you with though, I'm real sorry." "Can't say it ain't tempting." Unlike the illusionary-Ryan, when Ryan is illusionary-Jax he does talk with Jax's Own Voice. Ryan is leaning back in his wheelchair as his own face is returned to him, eyes flicking between Lumin and Jax. "You one of Taylor's fam, then." His voice has quieted, his easy smile dimming. Just for a moment, though. His lips quirk back up with amusement a moment later: "Tell me it ain't glasswork lessons 'cuz you seem to have a natural knack." At the illusion, Lumin takes a small surprised step back, eyes darting rapidly between the two, trying to comprehend what they were seeing. They maybe look a little starstruck, “That was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.” They admit once they swap back. They shake their head at Jax, "And wait wait. Absolutely no need for apologies--I wasn't all too keen on coming out of the tunnels myself until we started to get some things under control down there." Guilt hums in their speech, "Honestly, I still feel a little bad taking up your time as it is--things seem extremely hectic here. Otherwise I'd want to hear all about how you two swapping places worked just now" They shrug at Ryan, "And you would think I have a natural knack wouldn't you? But ah...well..." They reach into their ratty drawstring bag, and pull out something wrapped in a bundle of towels, newspaper, and even some bubble wrap. They carefully remove the layers, and reveal...a glass hand! Frozen in a half formed fist. Now's probably a good time to mention that Lumin's left hand is entirely missing, sharp shards all that's left at their wrist. They smile a little hesitantly, "So- I won't go into it all. I can re-attach smaller things that break off, but I haven't gotten all too good at being able to re-attach really big things yet, and this is the biggest thing I've lost. I was hoping that ah..." They hold out the broken off hand, "You could help me reattach it? When you get the time that is- it's really not all that important. Not as important as all of this" This gesture to all the supplies. "Oh, s'just a trick of the light." Jax flutters a hand towards the glimmers of light on the wall that are reflecting through-and-off of Lumin; the colorful speckles are now rearranging themselves completely independent of Lumin's motion, flowing down off the wall and coalescing into a rainbowy stained-glass butterfly that, in a moment, dissolves back into the myriad bright-glow specks. "I'on blame you for wanting to keep your head down, things been kinda a chaos. But if --" Here his eye goes wider. He's looking down at the hand -- then the end of Lumin's arm -- then the hand again. "OH. Oh-oh. That seems a little important," he finally says, wincing. "Um -- how do your reattaching. Work? Like if I just work that like I work, uh, non -- people -- glass? Will that fix it? An' won't hurt you, glass gets -- real hot if you want to fix it up." "Hang around Jax enough you'll get real jaded about the wild-ass shit your eyes gonna see." This is bright and oddly almost proud, though Ryan mellows after. "Lotta people loved Taylor." His voice is quiet, but there's a faint trickle of feeling that washes over the others with his words; a flutter of grief, a whisper of anger. "If we got anything to say about it it'll be a while yet till shit's quieted down. Probably not till woahshit," this, startled, comes when Lumin unwraps their hand. "I mean holy shit. I mean -- I can see why riots might not be your jam. Does that hurt -- fuck, your hand's off, that's a stupid question." Lumin watches the light display, admiring the butterfly that coalesces and disperses, “Can’t imagine growing jaded to that—at least not for a long time.” They pull their attention back to their hand, the flutter of grief and anger Ryan puts out seems to amplify in Lumin for just a moment, “Taylor was uh, I didn’t know him long. Like, at all. But, he left an impression on me to say the least. Can’t imagine what it’s like for the people who actually knew him knew him. So, you have my condolences.” They duck their head a bit, “He sent me to you guys though, so he’s still watching out for us in a way, I suppose.” As they say this, a hint of surprise at the fact they actually said all that bubbles up, “Sorry-didn’t mean to uh. It just- it all hit harder than usual for a second there.” They clear their throat, or more so they make the sound of clearing their throat. “As for how I usually reattach stuff…Hmm…well! Usually I-Well….” They seem conflicted, as if they don’t know how to explain it themself. Eventually, they reach up, grab the very tip of one their hairs, and cleanly snap off a tiny piece. They then hold it back up to the spot they broke it off of, “So I kinda just. Focus really hard on….the….stuff that makes up the glass….and just kinda….shove ‘em’ together—The stuff inside the glass that is. I can feel them shake and ton until they all just kinda merge together.” It’s probably become very clear Lumin has no goddamn clue how glass works. After about a minute has passed, the very very tiny piece they broke off is seamlessly back in place. “Ta da! It kinda ah…homogenizes with the rest of me. I’ve tried things like superglue before but, it’s harder to feel it when I do that? It’s like, the connection is spotty, so if it were my hand I wouldn’t be able to control it all that well. The pieces need to homogenize.” They explain, probably very badly. “It doesn’t really hurt when stuff breaks off, I’ve never tried super heating it but I imagine I won’t feel much?….I think…. And if it doesn’t work then worst case I break it off again and try a different way.” They say casually. "Ryan's hadda put up with me a long time," Jax confirms with a laugh. "An' Taylor we done watched grow up, broke him outta a cage when he weren't but -- what, twelve? Just a little squid then, gosh. Already had a solid idea of taking care'a people even back then, though." His eye is already wide but when Lumin snaps off and reattaches their hair he widens a second eye -- the dragonfly in his eyepatch vanishes for a moment, replaced by a very cartoony blue eye that blinks several times. "Woah. Handy -- uh, neat. Well, this gonna be way less messy than the last time I helped someone replace a hand, then. I tell you what, I can probably help you get this back on right quick right now, but if you want to learn how to do it yourself, some time after things've got a little less hectic you wanna come down to the hot shop downstairs, I'll teach you how most folks do this." He's starting to reach for the broken-off hand but then checks himself with a blush. "Umm -- d'you mind if I --" he's asking Lumin with a lift of brows. "Put up with you, yeah, I've definitely gotten the raw half of this deal." Ryan's tone is a light scoff that is slightly at odds with the gentle flush of warmth his voice brings. "Taylor was twelve when you went in. Thirteen when you came out. Much smaller then but his heart was just as big." He is leaning down, pushing in the wheel locks on his chair so that he can back up. Then, giving Jax and Lumin and The Hand a considering look, back up a little further. "How many times you gotta do this kinda thing before severed hands becomes your niche?" Lumin eyes are drawn to the cartoony blue eye, perking up, “Really? Right now? I mean- yeah if you’re free.” They grin excitedly, “And I’ll absolutely take you up on learning more at some point. Figure maybe this whole thing might even help me figure out more of—all of this.” They gesture to themself. They pause when they realize what Jax is asking for, maybe seeming surprised, “Oh. Yes. Thank you, for asking.” Despite their words, they hesitate, a sudden anxiety, maybe even fear spiking up, but determination seems to win out. They hold out the hand for him to take. They look between Ryan and Jax, “So you’ve reattached hands before?” They ask. “Why are so many people coming to you to replace hands? I know I’m one of them but I feel like this situation is pretty specific.” Jax takes the hand carefully, like he's worried it might break. "Hold your arm out?" He's set the hand down again on -- apparently nothing, but it doesn't fall; a closer look shows that there's a small curved platform, now, like a sling hanging in midair. It looks ephemeral -- glimmering faintly iridescent very much like a soap bubbly -- but is quite solid where it cups the hand in place. "If I had a nickel for every severed hand someone done hand me," he says to Ryan, "I'd have two nickels. Which ain't a lot but, s'weird it's happened twice." He's cheerfully reassuring Lumin after this: "Oh, no, yours is the first I done reattach, last one I just severed. S'probably 'bout the same in reverse, right?" "The last one was full of blood, I feel like this process is gonna be a skosh different." Ryan's edging back just a little bit further. Just In Case. "I promise he's an expert, though. At glass, not at hand dismemberment. Purely recreational on that front." Possibly between the two of them all this chatter is not the most reassuring, but there's a quiet sense of calm projected now along with Ryan's words. "I do feel like our particular circles lose limbs a bit more often than the average, though." “Well. Shit. Depending on how this goes though you might get the chance to add another hand chopping to your repertoire.” Lumin says nervously, but sticks their arm out anyways as instructed. “Then you’ll get to be an expert at glass and hand dismemberment.” At Ryan backing away some more, a few feelings probably roll off of them in rapid fire, regret probably being the most prominent of them. They are, however, easily distracted and make a little “oooo” sound at the iridescent curved platform, tilting their head curiously to get a better look at it. “So uh, are we doing this right here? Didn’t you say there was a room downstairs with all the uh, glass heating stuff?” "Boy you gonna unnerve this poor person, act like body parts just get lopped off round us left and right." As Jax says this his eye is kind of popping out of his head -- also cartoonish, the eyepatch is gone now and the eye is hanging on by a spring which sproings down closer to Lumin's arm as if he's trying to get a closer look. "Oh, sure, yeah, whole glass shop down there, but that's -- the way most folks do this." The iridescent platform extends to support Lumin's outstretched arm; Jax is, very carefully, fitting the broken hand to the limb it came from. "Don't mind him at all," he says, a little abstracted, when Ryan backs away further. Jax himself is starting to glow, soft at first but quickly far brighter and far more noticeable, concentrated mostly in his left arm -- it makes the wealth of tattoos on his pale skin look even more like stained glass, backlit and luminescent. "He just ain't heatproof." The glow is growing a fierce heat, now, fiery and blistering. Jax is delicate with his touch, when he reaches to the sharp shards of Lumin's hand and arm. He presses a finger down against it, waiting kind of cautiously as the eye that's still in his head flicks watchful glances to Lumin's face. "Please just holler if you suddenly discover you ain't, either, probably ain't spent a lotta time lounging around a kiln before." The heat in his hand is, at least, enough now to start glass to melting, focused carefully on the broken shards and angled as much as possible away from the rest of Lumin. "Rude," says Ryan as he pulls the brakes on his wheelchair again, parked now a safe distance from his incandescent bestie, "calling attention to my disability like that." He's propped his chin on hand, elbow on his armrest and his gaze fixed curiously on Jax's work. "Anyway, I'm not fireproof but if you being hot as hell was gonna do me in, this friendship would've had a tragic end years ago." Lumin’s eyes widen to saucers as the glow that begins to emit from Jax. They laugh out in surprise, shifting their stance as if they need to brace against something. They glance back at Ryan to see how far back he’s gone, and back to Jax, “Yeah no, can’t say I have! This’ll be the first.” Once the shards on their arm begin to melt, Lumin grips at their upper arm near their shoulder, as if they’re instinctually trying to hold themselves together but aware enough not to grab at the molten glass itself. Their face shifts, maybe a little uncomfortable at the moment but not in pain. “You’re good.” They say sharply. “It’s- weird. But you’re good. No pain yet at least.” They reassure, giving a nod for good measure. Jax's mouth quirks up a little, and though he doesn't look away from his work to Ryan the fond amusement in his voice is clear. "Boy, you read the gossip pages? Hot men been your Achilles' heel a long time." The cartoon eye has disappeared, Jax's eyepatch (now plain black) back in place and his expression focused. "Yeah, imagine this is a bit strange. I'll try not t'take long," he murmurs, carefully working his way over the fracture now as its edges run together. "Just turn your arm slow and this should hopefully be right again right quick." "Nah, Luci expressly forbid it." There's still a determined empathic calm projected when Ryan talks, despite the slightly tense worry in his expression. The anxiety is easing off when there's no immediate screaming coming from Lumin, though, and he leans back in his seat again. "Did you know," he's adding, lighter, "that it makes music when you move? It's almost as colorful as the whole light show." Lumin clenches their teeth as the process continues. However, they turn their arm slowly. They manage a strained smile at the banter between the two, and decide to hop in, “Y’know if those gossip pages are true then the logical conclusion is that that you mus-“ their face twitches in discomfort, “-You must not be a hot guy then right?” They say to Jax. It takes them a moment to process that Ryan is talking about them, and they shoot a quick look over to him, “And wait, I make what when I move? Music? I don’t hear anything.” Speaking of music, Ryan might be able to hear the symphony of frequencies they’d been giving off at this point begin to turn into a cacophony as it seems to try and readjust its frequencies to accommodate the new hand addition and rapid changes in temperature. Jax is biting down on his lower lip, brow scrunched deep in focus. "Oh, well, m'hot right now but it ain't gonna last. Sometimes a guy, though, I guess." His finger is still tracing carefully along the line of fracture, cautious as the glass melds. Once he's made a complete circuit he's straightening, backing up. The heat rolling off him is slowly receding, though the room around them is still quite warm. "... music?" He's tilting his head as if he could hear it himself. Probably this isn't working. "Music," Ryan confirms, "like. Inside you. I think Jax is cooking the music, though. You aren't doing it on purpose, then? Because it's like --" There is music now, audible but quiet, a turbulent dance of violin and piano. "-- okay it's not like that but it makes a real good harmony. You don't have like, a volume switch? Cuz if glass art doesn't work out for you you could totally join some music classes." Lumin watches Jax complete the circuit, not yet risking moving their arm even as he begins to cool down. “No I-I have no idea. Let alone how to control the volume.” With the glass cooling the frequencies probably begin to stabilize. “Other people don’t make music then?” They look between the two. "I don't know if none of our music classes really cover, like, your mutation unconsciously giving off..." Jax is starting to say, but then he is considering Ryan with an uncertain wrinkle of brows. Considering Lumin. Considering Ryan again. "-- alright okay if anyone could teach a class like that s'probably you," he allows easily enough. The glow in him is fading. "I hope that do the trick. An' I really will teach you how to do that yourself in the shop, if you want, though I kinda hope you ain't needing no hand replacement any time soon." His expression scrunches back up as he looks back down to the heaps of donated goods, nose wrinkling as he looks back down to the crate of milk. "We should probably get back to this. You don't happen to want a whole crate'a spoiled milk, do you?" "Everyone's kinda got their own rhythms, sure, but most people do not have their own vibrational symphonies. Like playing the wine glasses without the wine glasses. It's pretty intense." The music is fading away, and Ryan slowly wheels closer in to the others. "Thought we were coming around to, it'll be a solid refreshment for the cops." Lumin perks up once the glow fades, and they hold up their newly attached hand with anticipation. They stare at it, and for a moment nothing happens. Then one of their fingers twitch. “Oh my god it actually worked.” They scrunch their face, and the hand very slowly opens and closes, a little stiffly, but it seems to grow easier and smother the more they move it. They laugh, relief sinking into their shoulders, “Thank you. So much. Seriously I owe you.” They say, looking at both of them, “Anytime you guys need anything from me, let me know. I’ll be there.” They promise. They study their hand. “I feel like I’ve learned more about my mutation from this one conversation than I have in the last 5 years. I’m definitely taking you up on the offer. And Ryan if you’ve seriously got music classes, I’ll sign up for those too. I’ve got a lot of learning to do.” They look over at the spoiled milk and cringe a little, “Ah….yknow I don’t think the others will appreciate me bringing that down if I’m honest.” "Oh, gosh, you ain't owe us nothing, it was a good break from sortin' through this junk. 'sides." Jax offers Lumin a smile, warm if a little lopsided. "Don't know what the point of all the protesting would be if we ain't looking after our people. Jus' -- stay safe out there, yeah?" "He's a teacher." Ryan is nodding toward Jax. "Just kinda radiates learning like he just can't help himself." He is looking over Lumin -- and their newly reattached hand -- with a small concerned frown. "And if you do get anywhere near the action, I hope you got a buddy to stick with." Lumin scans over all the supplies, “Yeah I uh…I’ll be safe. Learning that everyone kinda looks out for each other, it’s a nice change of pace.” They smile, “You guys stay safe too. I’ll be seeing you both again.” They say, like a promise. They nod their head, “I won’t keep you guys much longer, I know you’re busy. But seriously, thank you again.” They’ll begin to walk away, but pause one last time. “……By the way I’m a big fan and listened to No Strings on repeat for like 10 months straight when I was in highschoolOKAYBYE!!” Lumin then skedaddles on off as fast as their little legs will carry them.