ArchivedLogs:Taste In Friends

Taste In Friends
Dramatis Personae Hive, Melinda
In Absentia	2013-09-15 (Immediately follows picnicking.)
Location <WES> Croton Gorge Park - Westchester
Situated on the east bank of the Hudson, this large park offers events year-round and a plethora of activities for nature lovers. With playgrounds, facilities for camping and swimming, boating and fishing, plentiful trails for hiking, biking, horseback riding, cliffs for rock climbing, grounds for winter sports, and ample ground to just sit and enjoy the weather, these park grounds are a great place to relax year-round. The grounds are well-tended, and with a host of avian and herpitological life, early mornings often find animal lovers scoping out the grounds in search of a glimpse of some rare bird or lizard hiding in the trees or rocks as well. Melinda follows after Hive quietly, still brushing grass off the back of her legs. Her mind announces her approach in a way that she can't help, her thoughts full of quiet concern for Hive, but she's working to keep it quiet. For this reason, she doesn't jog after him or attempt to catch up. She just plods on quietly and waits for Hive to want to pause or turn around. She won't wait forever though. If he's intent on being alone, she won't bother him. There's a while when it seems like he won't stop, just slouching on ahead with his shoes still held in one hand and his shoulders hunched. He works his way slowly through the cupcake he took, though, and by the time he finishes it and crumples the wrapper to throw it into a trashcan, he evidently also decides it is a good time for stopping. He does so on a large rock nearby, lean arms flexing as he hoists himself up to sit atop it and put his shoes back on. << What. >> It's the first he's addressed Melinda since leaving the picnic, a prickly short stab of word. Melinda walks up and leans aganst the rock, watching him as he puts on his shoes. She starts braiding her hair, fingers moving busily, keeping the quiet for a little while longer, verbally at least. << You have had a shitty time lately. I wanted to check in with you. Haven't really had a chance to talk one on one for a while. >> She exhales and ties off her hair with a band from her pocket, turning to look up at him now. << Worried about you. >> Hive leaves his sneakers untied, leaning back on the rock to dig into his pocket and pull out his pack of cigarettes. << Everybody's just full of worry lately. >> It sounds irritable, too. << And /everyone's/ had a shitty time, I -- fuck. I'm fine. Just kind of -- fucking -- sick of people. >> Melinda frowns, her gaze moving downward, a small tug of craving at the sight of the cigarettes, but it disappears quickly into a slightly nauseated feeling. She shrugs it off and draws in a deep breath. << Fine. No more worry. >> She straightens a little and looks back at his feet. << You should know I miss you. Maybe, when you don't hate people so much, we could hang out. Reconnect. >> << No more worry. >> Hive echoes this with a wryyyy note in his words that suggests he doesn't quite /believe/ it. He dips his head as he flicks his lighter, drawing in a slow deep breath and holding it a long while. << When'll that be, you think? When people stop being so shitty? Might be waiting a longass time. From where I sit, they just keep getting shittier and shittier. >> He exhales his lungful of smoke in one abrupt breath. << You're nice. You should save your energy for /good/ friends. >> << Maybe. >> Melinda agrees, arms crossing over her chest, her attention elsewhere. << But, in the end, I get to pick who gets my energy, and I pick you. >> She pulls her braid over her shoulder and starts to investigate the ends. << and now I'll rephrase: when you're feeling up to company, let me know. We should hang out. I enjoy your presence in my life. >> << Been a longass time since I felt up to company, >> Hive admits blandly. << But no matter what I do, I can't get the fuck away from it. Might as well -- >> He shrugs a shoulder stiffly. "Want to put a drill through my fucking skull most days, just to get the world to /shut the hell up/." His cigarette dips up and down between his lips with the actually voiced words. He drags one foot up onto the rock so that he can tie his shoelace. "You got /shitty/ taste in people, you know that." "Deal with it. It's my taste." Melinda shakes her head, eyes fixated on the small movements that she watches him make, the way his fingers move to grab string and tie his shoes. "People don't give me nearly the same amount of shit about the food I actually eat. I suppose that may be because my food doesn't talk back" Thoughts of pickled ginger, fermented beans... the occasional anchovy, and mustard on her mac 'n cheese float to the surface, but only vague flavors. Nothing too overwhelming. "Look, if you want, we can pass a hat or something, send you on a boat or something into the middle of no where... tropical no where. Then maybe you can get a break from all this." Hive's small movements are kind of /shaky/, fingers unsteady in their movements. The knot he ties is messy, and he drops his foot back down without bothering with the other shoe. His hand still trembles as he plucks his cigarette from his lips to ash it. "Your food's less likely to hurt you. Stomachache here or there, maybe." He puffs out another stream of smoke. "God. You find me some deserted fucking island and I'm so there. Probably -- starve to death pretty quick, but it'd be worth it." "Well, either I have to teach you how to cook or make sure your boat is loaded with noodles enough to last you at least a year, and then some. I'm sure I can organized a supply drop once a year." Melinda scratches at the back of her neck before turning around to face Hive more fully. She reaches out and begins to tie his untied shoe. "And some people eat food that hurts them. I never saw the appeal of something like blowfish." "Wouldn't last a fucking year. Too much shit still to do here. How many people are those labs gonna murder in a year? How many of /you/'ll be dead in a year?" Hive sucks at his cigarette again, and then snorts, jerking his foot away from Melinda. << Jegus, you really are mother-henning. >> "Blowfish is overrated. Give me a fucking shrimp any day." "Fine," Melinda is amused as he yanks his foot away, her hands opening wide to stay out of the way. "So you'd prefer a cabin in the woods for the weekend? You could use the break and it wouldn't be long enough for you to starve - or miss out on your heroic rescuing." She eyes him evenly. "Or we can go out for sushi and sake when we get back to the city and get some shrimp. It'll be delicious and maybe the sake will help you forget for a couple hours." "Haven't actually had a drink since Ian died." Hive's jaw tightens, here. He crushes the end of his cigarette against the rock, sliding back down to the ground. "Not real great loosening my self-control when that could mean the whole city turns zombie. What I'd /prefer/ is --" But he breaks off here with a catch of breath, a hard swallow. He mashes the palm of his hand against one eye, his shoulders tensing back up. "... fuck it," he mutters, almost to himself. "Yeah. Sushi. Right. Look, I gotta --" His head shakes again, harder. "You should get back to -- Micah's got the car." Which doesn't seem to bother /him/, at least; he's turning to stalk back off again. "You'd prefer?" Melinda asks, curious now, brows furrowed. She doesn't push though. She just lets out the breath she didn't quite realize she was holding and stuffs her hands in her pockets, turning to follow him back again. Instead of trying to work out what it must be, she tries to still her thoughts with quite observations of the grass and leaves around them, and then finally, she just listens as she walks.