ArchivedLogs:Needles

Needles
Dramatis Personae Melinda, Tag, Micah
In Absentia	5 July 2013 Delicious foods and nagging worries...
Location <NYC> Melinda and Tag's Apartment - Lower East Side
The apartment is composed of four bedrooms, two baths, a living room and an entry space attached to the kitchen, near the door. That kitchen is covered in tile, from floor to countertop to back splash on the wall, all white, with light, thin blue stems and flowers. The cabinets are newish, with blond wood kept meticulously clean of fingerprints. It is also outfitted with an excellent coffee maker, or two, with all the accoutrement to go with it. The living room is mainly furnished by found pieces, two chairs and a couch. None of it was constructed at the same time, but it all has been reupholstered with the same cloth, the surfaces colored similarly and with a regular weave. The wood has all been refinished as well, dark and able to hide stains well. The walls are colorful, but that goes with the territory of having a mutant roommate with Tag’s ability. Today, it is a sage green with some abstract blue and orange intermingling in different places. Tomorrow it will be different. A cursory inspection shows that five people live in this four bedroom apartment, so it’s difficult to pick out what belongs to any one person. Melinda is in for the night, for once. She's slipping out of the bathroom after a shower, her hair still twisted up in a towel, her body trapped in a lightweight cotton top and shorts. She is padding quietly into the living room instead of her bedroom, looking around the room before heading toward the kitchen, ducking her head into the fridge to find some already cold coffee hanging out in a pitcher. She grabs milk and leaves both things on the counter before going into a cupboard for a glass. She pours herself mostly coffee with a bit of milk, until the liquid takes on a caramel color. Then she adds some chocolate syrup she gets from the fridge as she puts everything else away. Finally, she finds a spoon and stirs. Mmmmmm. Coffee. Tag is a heap of garish colors prone on the couch, one arm curled almost protectively around his head--only visible as a mop of brilliant variegated green hair from behind--and the other dangling down. He wears an ancient-looking purple t-shirt with bright green vine patterns creeping up from the hem and off-white drawstring pants with the same pattern emerging from the cuffs. Stirring occasionally in his sleep, he murmurs words that are either not English or simply unrecognizable due to the muffling effect of the cushion mashed against his face. He does not sound like he is having very pleasant dreams. Mel's phone received a very cheerful text from Micah some twenty-plus minutes ago. Along the lines of “Mel! Let me bring you food! I am at an Indian restaurant full of delicious and there must be a thing you want.” Which is why there is now a chipper knocking at the door to Mel's apartment, three sharp raps. And also why there is a Micah on the other side of that door, in his black Reading Rainbow-dash T-shirt and multicolour-patched jeans. With /two/ paper bags in hand that might even smell fragrant and spicy straight through the door! Melinda is ready for Micah's arrival, having showered quickly so she wouldn't be quite so stinky for company. It's been a hot day and she needed to wash some of it off. Before the rapping knock, she wanders over to the couch and reaches over and gently shakes tag's shoulder. "Hey, hon, Micah's on his way over. Don't know if you want to move to your room or not, but if you're hungry, he bringing food." She releases him and takes a sip from her glass. Then there's knocking and Mel is summoned to the door, twisting the lock without looking because she knows who it is. "Hey, Micah! Come on in." Upon first being shaked, Tag only grumbles something--definitely not English--and wedges his face deeper between arm and cushion. At the door-knock, however, he starts awake suddenly and shoves the couch away as though it were some kind of monster. He succeeds brilliantly at this maneuver, which has the unfortunate side effect of tipping him over onto the floor with a flat THUD. There is a bright yellow Elder Sign scrawled across the front of his shirt. It is almost a full second later that he emits an anguished “Ayyyyyyya...” and then promptly sits up, rubbing his leafy-green head and sniffing the air with sudden interest. “Whaaa...hey, food!” “Hihihi, Mel!” Micah greets, bouncing up on the balls of his feet just a little as he steps through the doorway. There are Mel-hugs! Albeit somewhat careful ones to avoid bludgeoning her with take-out bags. He continues bouncing his way over to the table to deposit the bags thereupon, and start unloading boxes of food. “How have you--?” One imagines that 'been' might have been the intended conclusion of that sentence, but instead Micah is distracted by a body /thudding/ into the floor. Blinkblink. “Rainbow Dash?” No, wait, he has his own name! “Tag? Are you okay?” Micah does not have a great track record regarding Tag and injuries. Melinda hugs Micah back and opens the door wider, giving him a little bit of an extra squeeze when Tag moves the couch. She looks over at him and raises an eyebrow, releasing Micah and heading over, letting Micah lead the way. "I thought I woke him up gently, but I guess not. Yeah, Tag, we've got food. You hungry? Come eat." She reaches out a hand to help him up. "I have iced coffee, if anyone is in the mood for caffeine. There's also caramel and chocolate to go with it. Granted, if I didn't have it already, I would always make it for people." Tag picks himself up, wobbling a little here and there. His eyes are a little bloodshot, and his irises change from seafoam green to magenta. “Huh?” It seems to take him an inordinately long time to identify Micah, but several beats later he breaks into a grin. “Oh! Hey, fiancé!” he cries. “Yeah, um, I am okay. It wasn’t you Mel, it was--the floor!” He actually looks down at the floor accusingly. “Why was I sleeping out /here/, anyway?” Then, shaking his head rapidly like a wet dog, he bounds over to the table--grabbing a chair to steady himself along the way. “That smells so good! I am...pretty much starving? Also, caffeine would probably help. Brain.” “Ohgosh, yeah. There is always more than enough food from this place. Also, I got /assorted/ samosas, and they're always so much more filling than you think they're gonna be, so /definitely/ plenty of delicious to go around!” Micah goes a bit starry-eyed at the description of iced coffee /plus/ chocolate /and/ caramel. “That sounds like /heaven/ in a cup! Mel, you are a /goddess/.” Tag's choice of monniker brings a rapid blush to Micah's cheeks, skipping any shy little pink and blooming full-on into red. “Um. Hi?” He busies his hands with setting up the boxes. One full of samosas, a second of jasmine rice, a third with baingan bharta, a fourth with bhindi masala. There really wasn't any exaggerating the quantity of food. Melinda returns to the kitchen and fetches glasses, "what do you guys want in yours? Milk? Syrups?" She leaves the glasses out and starts filling them with coffee first and foremost as everyone seems interested in that. "Mmm... That smells delicious, Micah. I am pretty much starving as well." She glances over at Tag and tilts her head to one side, examining him. "The floor startled you or woke you? Not sure why you're sleeping out here. Were you watching something earlier?" “Um...no milk, just something sweet, please,” Tag says, /falling/ into a chair and kind of flopping onto the table. “A /lot/ of something sweet.” He turns his head so that his temple rests against the table, then pushes aside a curtain of green hair so he can see his housemate and their guest. “I...yeah, I guess I was. Watching something?” One of his hands is creeping out to snag a samosa--not actually very stealthily--and he emits and yip of pain when he succeeds. Instead of letting go of the food, he just starts eating it and making this-is-too-hot sounds in between bites. “Oh, the chocolate an' caramel sounded perfect! Thanks, hon,” Micah replies to the beverage question. “Are there plates I can put out? They give you napkins and flatware, but I guess they think you're going to just eat out of the serving containers. So no plates.” Essentially without thinking, Micah places a napkin in front of Tag, then rests a hand on wrist holding the samosa and guides it (almost without applying force) down to the table. “Hot. Open it up an' let the steam out. You can eat somethin' else while it cools, once I get you a plate.” Someone spends entirely too much time around children. He darts his hand back, cheeks flushing red again when he realises there was a /grown person/ on the other side of that. “Ohgosh. Um. Sorry, that was a force of habit.” Mel begins drizzling the tasty syrups into the glasses, putting away the coffee when she's done. She sips from her glass and leaves it in the kitchen before transfers the other two glasses toward the dining room, presenting them both to their respective recipients. "Here you go. And sure. I'll get the plates in a second." She turns back to the kitchen and starts hunting for plates. They are easy to find as she knows where they are. "Hah. He's probably just not awake yet. I mean, searing pain might wake him up too, but … well, oh. Hey, is that bhindi masala? I love that." Tag makes a faint whining sound and relents, probably as much due to the arrival of coffee as any concern about pain or chastisement. “Thank you. I like...coffee.” He actually hesitates as if he expects the /cold/ coffee to burn him--oh irony--but then take a long gulp of it. His hair starts turning electric blue from the roots outward. “I wasn’t /really/ gonna burn myself. I mean, it’s not that hot. I mean...” He suddenly looks just a touch embarrassed and mumbles a “Thanks” before subsiding to the table again, tracing flowers on it with the tip of one wandering index finger. “Whoever said there wasn’t a...dragon...” The flower is breathing cartoon fire, which trails off as his eyes slide shut again, mid-sentence. His head flops over again, and his face relaxes into something like a peaceful smile. “Mmm, thank you!” Micah has to sip from the coffee /immediately/ because it is /required/. “You just sounded...like it hurt. An' I...between work an' Spence. Just. Sorry.” He scrunches up one eye for a moment, almost like a wince. “Don't think nobody said nothin' 'bout dragons, hon.” It takes him a few beats to notice the change on the plate. “Oh, that's...” Then Tag's head lands on the table. “Did he just go crazy an’ fall asleep?” he asks Melinda, quirking an eyebrow in mild disbelief. "Uh, it looks like it." Melinda frowns, looking Tag over. Her gaze shifts quickly to Micah, brows quirking in concern. Her voice drops to a mild whisper. "I'm worried about him. Not sure how intrusive to be about his life." She swallows hard and distributes the plates, settling down into a chair. She reaches for the rice first, set on feeding herself. "You're really getting into the dad thing," she remarks at a more conversational tone. "Everything going well for you there?" Micah sighs at that answer, watching Tag for a moment before looking back to Mel. He switches to watching her fetch rice. “If you're his friend? It would be worth at least sayin' somethin'. 'Cause whatever he's doin',” he frowns back over at Tag's passed-out form for a moment, “he don't look okay.” Mel's word choice draws a slight deepening of Micah's colour again. “It's...um. I just been /workin'/ with kids for so long? With m'job now, an' camps'n things when I was younger. An'. Yeah, I guess it does make a difference havin' a little guy at home, too. Makes me forget, because there used t'be a firmer line between where the 'adult caretaker' role happened.” He shakes his head at sleeping Tag. “He just seems kinda like he /needs/ one, sometimes, I guess.” Thoughts of Spencer result in fond chuckling. “Spence is good. We keep destroyin' Jax's kitchen on science experiments. I mean, nothin' permanent. Just lots of /mess/. He's a crazy-bright kid.” "Friends and roommates are often difficult to figure out. I've had friends that make great roommates and friends who I would never live with, given any choice. I've also had some roommates whom I am closer with than family, but once they moved out, I didn't really hear from them again." Mel exhales and looks Tag over before reaching for the bhindi and scooping a heaping spoonful over her rice. "I will probably bug him about it when he's a little more conscious. Seems a little, well, pointless if he’s thinking about dragons right now." She looks back to Micah, obviously worried. "Actually, can we talk in my room really quick? I have a question you may be able to answer, with your experience in the medical field." Micah selects a random samosa, breaking it open to cool before setting it on his plate. Other food must happen first. “So y'all weren't friends before bein' roomies then, I take it?” He reaches for his own rice, dishing a pile of it onto his plate. He grins as Mel goes for the bhindi masala. “I miss okra sometimes. It's harder to get hands on this far north. Pretty much the most likely bet around here is Indian.” For all that, spoons of the baingan bharta are what find their way onto his plate, covering just half of the rice, so that he can trade containers with Mel afterwards. “Sure, hon, what d'you need? I mean, I'm not an actual /doctor/, but if it's somethin' I can help...” Little worry lines start to show on his forehead as he abandons dishing food in favour of standing up, prepared to relocate. Mel does hand over the dish, but sets down the baingan when Micah agrees to go with her. She stands quietly and leads the way to her bedroom. The room is just large enough for a bed, nightstands and a dresser near the closet. There is a nightscape of the city on the walls, with the recent addition of fireworks to commemorate the recent holiday. She closes the door most of the way behind then and frowns at the door knob, still speaking quietly. "I saw Tag with a bunch of syringes the other day, but I don't know that I've seen any meds. I have been trying to figure out if there is any medication that one takes with a syringe that doesn't require refrigeration. I can't really think of any. Can you, or is it drugs?" She looks over at Micah. "I'm kind of floating him on rent, too, so I'm kind of stumbling repeatedly into warning signs. I'm having trouble not jumping to conclusions." She unwinds the towel from her hair and drapes on a hook on the back of the door. Micah follows along, leaning against the dresser as he waits for Mel's question. “Hm. Insulin can be stored at room temperature for about a month at a time. Just isn't supposed to get /too/ hot. Like, over 85 or so, I think. But...being insulin-dependent diabetic is really somethin' you oughtta tell roommates about. So they don't feed you things you shouldn't have an' maybe have an idea what to do if you have an emergency.” His eyes track back to the door. “There's a chance it's somethin' medical? Just. Ugh, I can see how this would get a bit touchy. Does he fall asleep just anywhere an' pass out like that a lot? Those aren't good signs.” He hooks a finger through a belt loop to give his hand something to do. “You could always start a conversation around bein' concerned about his /health/ instead? If he's maybe been seemin' /sick/. Might sound a bit less like an accusation that way?” "Yeah, this narcolepsy is kind of common. I'm all over worried about him, but I should focus on the medical, thank you." Melinda sighs and lets her gaze drop the floor. "Sorry. I don't mean to pepper you with questions, but it feels a bit uncomfortable going at this alone too - but I don't how close he is with the other friends that I know, so I don't want to start throwing information around insensitively." She starts to twist her damp hair up at the nape of her neck to get it off her shoulders, securing it in on itself. "But I did have to ask someone about medication. Should we... go back out there and eat?" “Not to worry, at least about that. He's your friend and you're concerned about him. That's good of you,” Micah reassures, moving the one step it takes him to cross the room and placing his hand on Mel's shoulder. “I'm glad for whatever small help I can offer. That one seems /terrible/ twitchy about hospitals, though. It may be hard to convince him to get help whether for medical /or/ addiction-related issues. But it'll be better, with friends supportin' him either way.” He nods, patting Mel's shoulder once before withdrawing his hand. “Oh, definitely, food. My stomach is trying to figure out why there are all the food smells and it still hasn't gotten in on the action.” "Yeah. I just want to support him, help him be well, not freak him out and send him packing." Mel brushes her cheek lightly against Micah's hand when it is on her shoulder, then she pull the door open and starts back out toward the diningroom table. "I would also hate to think everything's gone cold now, after all the hard work you did trying to get it here hot." She winks at him and moves back to her chair. “It is hard to walk that line sometimes. Not everyone receives /concern/ well,” Micah concedes, following Mel back toward foodsmells. “Oh, there's no way it went cold that fast. You could prob'ly still burn yourself on the samosas. 'Leastaways the ones as haven't been cracked open yet.” Speaking of which, he has a bite of his cooled samosa in his mouth before he even manages to settle back into his seat. "Then I shall have to have a samosa!" Melinda stretches across the table and snags one of the triangular fried goods and pulls it back to her plate, breaking it open and letting the scalding steam escape. "Thanks again for bringing dinner. You're a real lifesaver, hun."