ArchivedLogs:Altruism and Ice Cream

Altruism and Ice Cream
"My food is problematic."
Dramatis Personae Micah, Corey
In Absentia	15 April 2013 The weather is nice, so Micah shows Corey some parks!
Location <NYC> High Line – Chelsea
Built on a freight rail, the High Line once was a railroad and has been reclaimed as green space in the middle of the city. A park situated high above Manhattan, what was once a rusty industrial wasteland is now a stretch of peaceful space to lounge and relax among grass and flowers and plant life. There are restaurants, ice cream sandwich stands, a beer garden, and the view all along the elevated parkland is unbeatable. It is a bright day full of the promise of Spring: sunshine beaming down on the City and glittering on every reflective surface. The brisk wind may bring a little shiver from time to time, but that has done little to dissuade the late afternoon crowds from getting their Springtime on. The people are brightly-coloured splashes throughout the greenspace, along the paths, on the park benches, and at the food shops, complementing the early blossoms that have deemed it safe to show themselves. Micah has commandeered a seat on a bench at a previously-designated corner of the park, having agreed to tour guide Corey about for the evening. He is clad in his same-old patched jeans and green canvas jacket, worn open over an olive T-shirt depicting a Darwin-inspired sketch of finches with...unusual technological upgrades. He is singing softly to himself while hazel eyes keep a sharp lookout for the other man's arrival. Having had to get directions to the place to begin with, Corey had arrived dressed for the improved weather, wearing simple teeshirt in bright blue, a pair of cargo khaki pants, and a pair of birkenstocks that had the show of long wear. He'd never seen the place, and in between the sky scrapers it would have been easy to miss without the help of the few people he stopped to ask along the way. At least he finally made it there, and he strolled along the path, eyes passing over those present as he looked for his friendly meet up. The tall blonde manages to stand out enough to draw Micah’s notice. His song meets a sudden end as he leaps to his feet and…climbs up on the bench to flail his arms around, for risk of losing Corey in the crowd in the time it would take to run over to him. Because, well…no running foot at present. It would have been more of a light jog at best. “HIhihi, Corey!” Wavewavewave. Micah is not afraid of attracting attention, it would seem. With a bemused grin at the sight of the fellow making a scene, Corey was shaking his head as he made his way over. "Hello there. You certainly do make it easy to locate you at least." Glancing around the park, and to the bench, he looked back up towards Micah. "Well it’s certainly a different kind of park at least, I've never been here before. We going to walk around? Or want to sit and people watch the crowds a bit?" Micah smiles broadly as Corey approaches, /jumping/ down off the bench. The landing is a little awkward due to decreased rebound in the artificial joints of his left leg, but he sticks it nonetheless. "Not everyone can be a giant amongst men," he teases in reply. "Some of us have to stand on furniture to catch ya at eye level." He sweeps an arm at the expanse of the park. "I know! It's a unique one. That's why I figured it would be a fun place to check out for ya. I have no specific aims other than...probably ice cream. Because it is finally not too cold for ice cream. Do y'like wanderin'? We can wander." "Can't fault good genes and healthy living. If nothing I can reach the top shelves." Corey smiled at that, not concerned with the height jokes. "Wandering is fine, I've wandered all the way up to this city after all, may as well wander about it and see what it contains." Gesturing for Micah to lead, he slid his hands in his pockets to look more casual. "So ice cream is on the agenda, and wanderlust. Gotcha. Oh, good news, I've managed to get a job at least for now. Working at a coffee shop, called Montagues. The owner seems nice enough, but we'll see how I fit in there." “No complaints here. There are benefits to the compact model, too,” Micah continues playfully. He /might/ be thinking about his ability to fit in his van for sleeping purposes. He picks a random direction and sets off at the kind of leisurely pace that drives the natives batty. “Oh yeah? I know a girl that works there, Melinda. You barista-ing?” "And dishes cleaning, and all the rest of the assorted mess." Corey gave a little shrug as he strolled alongside Micah, towering, but keeping his pace slow. "She said that she knows a bit about volunteer stuff in the area too, so that'll be good for me as well." He seems content to walk and talk, passing along by the assorted greenery and populace, the wave of life moving along with him. "At least it will give me a few options on figuring out where I'll fit best you know?" “Messy’s fun,” Micah asserts with a grin. “Yeah, Mel does a lot of work with the homeless. She’s a sweetheart. Prob’ly can hook ya up with all the helpin’ you’d wanna do and /then/ some.” A hand snakes through his hair idly, mussing the already windblown mess. “The gardens I’m workin’ in are for a similar cause. Healthful food for folks as don’t usually have access to it.” "Hrm, well helping the homeless is a noble cause I've got to admit. You'd think that the government would be doing more for it themselves, but guess it’s not really top priority. Guess it’s wavering back and forth between terrorism and mutants." Corey was shaking his head a bit, then let out a sigh. "Ah well, priorities and selfishness abound. So we can make our own change right? Plant a few gardens, feed a few people. Maybe volunteer at the hospitals to bring some cheer." “Well, folks as ain’t got much aren’t exactly a powerful voting bloc,” Micah offers, shrugging resignedly. “An’ now they’ve got /mutant terrorists/ to fuss over. We may never hear of anythin’ else from them again.” He nods at Corey’s assertions. “I can give y’some names to contact on that last one. They always need folks to play some board games or read some books aloud. Y’play any instruments or sing? One of the paediatric hospitals I work at sets up people from outside to perform for the kids an’ families on the inpatient unit once a week. It’s nice to have more folks to cycle through, or pair up.” Shaking his head no in answer to the musical queries, Corey sighed. "Fraid not, I can't carry a tune or play much of anything. I've tried, but never had much skill in it. I could do the board games or reading well enough at least." He smiled at that, and tallied things up on his fingers. "Alright, that’s a wide enough assortment at least. I probably couldn't focus too much on any one thing till I decide where I fit best. I find that I think best when I'm not directly thinking you know? Let the subconscious flow." He patted Micah on the shoulder. "But enough of my whining and soul searching, what of you?" “Ah, too bad. The group stuff’s the /most fun thing/ ever. I do…little sing-a-long things sometimes. The music therapy people have some stuff I borrow…keyboard, guitar. I’m not so good with those but the kids don’t mind too much. It’s more about everybody singin’ together.” Micah chuffs a self-deprecating sort of laugh. “You are a regular Zen Master, m’friend.” He jokes as he places a hand on Corey’s arm to steer him gently toward a little ice cream shop. It looks rather like an ice cream truck that decided to call one spot home for an extended time and branched itself out a bit. “What /of/ me? That’s an awfully broad question.” "A broad question can have any answer you want to give it after all. When you aren't sure where to start, best to just see what may come." Corey chuckled a little, and shook his head. "Hrmm, ice cream truck. Maybe they have those good humor bars. I swear, they've been making ‘em since I was a kid. I doubt they'll ever stop, even if for no other reason than nostalgia." Glancing over the truck he contemplated his choices, as he gave Micah more cues. "If you need more specifics, what brought you to your current life? Why here, doing what you do?" Micah’s eyes are darting over the picture menu tacked to the wall. “Ohmygosh, they do those ice cream cones that they dip in the chocolate and it turns all shell-y and doesn’t just melt everywhere somehow.” Ongoing menu-scanning prompts the question, “Chocolate Eclair or Strawberry Shortcake? They got both.” His lips pull into a grin. “Well, I have a tendency to natter away, so I make sure people /mean/ to give me as much leeway in their questions as it seems. Virginia…wasn’t a good fit for me. I wanted to start up my own business, so it seemed as good a time as any to relocate. I knew some folks up here. An’ the environment sounded a better match.” "The strawberry one. I'll go with that one." Taking out his wallet, Corey pulled out a ten, handing it to Micah to make the purchases. "And I'm fine with nattering. You hear all sorts of interesting things that way if you actually let some of it sink in." With the life story being passed on, he just hrmed and nodded listening to what came free. Micah waves away the offered bill with one hand, his other already producing a wallet from his pocket. “Oh, no. You sprang for the sugar last time I saw you. This one’s on me. New job celebratory ice creams.” He pauses in their conversation to order treats from a bored-looking young woman in an apron. As the order is rather simple, cash and foodstuffs are exchanged quickly. Coins clink into a tip jar. Micah passes the wrapped strawberry bar over to Corey as he steps away from the order window to make room for a couple waiting patiently behind them. “I been kinda ideally groomed for the work I do.” He taps at his left thigh with his non-ice cream cone bearing hand. “Got my first prosthesis before I was a year old, so I’m an old hand at it.” Unwrapping it and taking a bite, Corey gave an appreciative smile. "Celebratory ice cream indeed." Looking at Micah's leg as he tapped it, a brow raised for a second before it came back down. "Ya know, I never would have noticed it without you pointing it out. So something you were born with then? Or just something unfortunate for a small child to go through?" He had compassion in his gaze, but it wasn't the pity so many others would have. "Either way, you're better suited to knowing what other people go through and need. Tends to be why I get looked at funny when I volunteer for a lot of things. No cancer, so why cancer support group. No major diseases, not a minority, never committed any crimes. I'm not who they expect to be there." Micah's teeth crunch into chocolate shell, sending cracks spidering through it. Crunchcrunch. "Congenital. So I don't know any diff'rent, really. Y'know, I been gettin' more of people not noticin' since I got this most recent knee unit? I'll have to put that in my next report back to the engineerin' squad. They'll be tickled." He licks at a bit of exposed vanilla ice cream where it is threatening to drip. "It helps, but there's no need to be in exactly the same boat as other people to help 'em. Sometimes an 'outsider' is just what y'need. Different perspectives. Different skill sets. Different connections." "Yeah, but then you get people complaining that you don't understand what they're going through. Which is true, since well, the best I can do is imagine myself in their shoes. Or shoe and prosthetic device with a shoe on it." Corey gave Micah a grin at that as he took another bite out of his strawberry. "So, all your life you've needed some assistance in moving around. And now you're moving all over the place helping other people do the same. Pretty honorable there." A little plate of chocolate is trying to drift away on melting ice cream, and Micah chases it down. Nooo, chocolate, come back! Nom. He giggles at Corey’s cliche alteration. “Some people are always gonna grump about somethin’. Just gotta sail right on by it.” Mouth busied with preventing the latest bit of ice cream drippage, he simply nods at the last comment. “Hrm.” Swallow. “Does bear a certain symmetry that way.” "Guess that means I just need to work twice as hard then to make up for being a statistical outlier. So normal it hurts." Corey shook his head at that as he finished off the strawberry, leaving the stick licked clean. "Maybe I should take up smoking, or some other bad habit. Or just stop telling people that there’s nothing wrong with me. I could say I'm a mutant, though who'd believe me?" Running a hand through his hair he chuckled. "Or I can quit my bitching and just do the work that needs doing," he said grinning to Micah. "I think the last option sounds best, don't you?" “Some mutations are pretty subtle, though. Who’s to say y’aren’t? I wouldn’t go about tellin’ people that, though. More likely to start /trouble/’n anythin’, from what I’ve seen recently.” Micah pats Corey on the back with his hand that /hasn’t/ gotten all melty-sugar sticky. “I think that prob’ly is the right answer. Things would go better if everybody in more privileged situations used ‘em to help those as weren’t so lucky, I think. No sense in givin’ ‘em a hard time when they /do/ wanna be helpful. Helpful’s good. Need more helpful in the world.” He continues leading Corey through the sights of the park until the sun just begins to lower and redden, a prelude to the fall of night.