ArchivedLogs:Over the Line

Over the Line
Dramatis Personae Hive, Iolaus
In Absentia	2013-09-19 '
Location <NYC> The Mendel Clinic - Lower East Side
With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most /distinctive/ new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building. Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction. It is wearing on past lunchtime, and most of the lingering crew putting the finishing touches on the Clinic's exterior have returned to work, though a few still linger outdoors enjoying the pleasantly crisp weather together with their lunches. Hive is out here, at the moment, though he seems neither to be taking lunch nor to be enjoying the weather; instead, he's scowling blackly at a tablet held on his knees, a cigarette in his other hand as his finger swipes at the screen. He's in sturdy workboots, jeans, a black t-shirt reading 'resistance is futile (if <1 ohm)', though no hard hat today, anymore. Just a scowl, and a long drag of smoke, where he sits perched on the back end of a truck that /has/ been delivering furniture though its movers are somewhere inside arranging it, now. Iolaus is with Daniel, today, followed at a distance by the slightly-hunched figure with a scowl to match Hive's. Iolaus, for his part, is smiling as he heads straight for the architect. "Hello, Hive. How are you doing, today?" he asks, eyes flicking up and down the other man. << No less cranky, it looks like. Careful, Io. >> "S'fucking bullshit contractor, you think they'd have to learn how to gorram /read/ a fucking order before they --" Hive's irritable snap of answer comes /before/ he bothers to look up, lips pressing together thinly as he looks Iolaus over. He huffs out a thick cloud of smoke, tapping at his cigarrete with a sharp flick of thumb. His other hand presses to his temple, eyes briefly closing. Only after another drag of cigarette does he answer, with /slightly/ less edge in his words. (Slightly.) "The cranky's built in. What d'you need, doc?" "Came here to find you, actually," Iolaus says, tapping a by-now-familiar Mendel fundraising folder against his chest. "Wanted to talk to you about the finishing up of the job, here, and what you're going to do next." << Since you won't take my other present. >> His lips pull into a smirk, mischevious. Flashes of a room - wood floor, a small glass window overlooking a street, exposed brick - flash briefly through his mind. "Didn't say I wouldn't take it. Said it wasn't /enough/ for --" Hive waves his cigarette-laden hand towards the gleaming building towering over them. "Already told you. Next, I'm sleeping for a fucking year." Though this mouth pulls into a grimace at the question, a tension curled through his shoulders. "Well, I've been talking to a few of the other people at the clinic about it." << The present, not the fellatio. >> Iolaus says. He hands the envelope over to the other man, extending it with a nervous look on his face. << I hope he isn't pissed as fuck. >> Inside the folder is /not/ the usual fundraising material that Hive has, no doubt, seen many times before. Instead, there are a few strange legal documents inside. A lease, already signed, with a cancelled check attached, for an office in SoHo. Articles of Incorporation, written and filled out but with a blank space for a name. An insurance certificate, made out to TBA, Inc., for professional liability architecture insurance covering a firm. Hive takes the folder with a suspicious look, directed more at Io and his unspoken thoughts than at the folder in his hand. His frown deepens as he opens it up, slowly leaving through the documents inside. His expression doesn't change, scowl still etched into his features while he pores over them. "What." It's a flat blunt syllable, almost entirely without inflection. << Oh shit. >> "I also have your first project as well, I think. A donor of ours who was impressed with how quickly we pulled the project together. Upstate New York, sadly, but still a fairly large job. Not this large, but..." Iolaus cuts himself off, mentally kicking himself. << Rambling. You're rambling. >> "No, back up, I mean what. Is this." Hive is still staring down at the papers, his voice the same flat tone. "I figured, after your job here, you wouldn't want to go back and work at someone else's firm." Iolaus says, a note of caution in his voice. "So, we helped get you started. You've got space for you - and maybe a couple other people, if you hire them - and our lawyers got your incorporation paperwork all set, and insurance, and licencing, and all that. Just needs a name and your signatures." << I hope we didn't step over the line. >> "You started me a company." There's a slight shake to Hive's hands; he closes the folder abruptly, setting it atop the tablet in his lap. He takes another long drag of cigarette, eyes closing. "You started me a company /by surprise/." His voice is still just toneless, shoulders tense. "Isn't that -- usually the kind of thing --" His breath shivers out in a stream of grey smoke, eyes opening again though it's the building he looks up at, rather than Iolaus. "Who's we," is his first question, and his next, "anyone ever told you you're fucking crazy?" "The clinic, but, mostly Melinda and I." Iolaus says, watching Hive warily. << Every single day, without question. >> "I figured you would need it for your next job. And the company doesn't officially exist, yet. You need to give it a name and sign the paperwork. Just all the fees have been paid for, and space has been leased. And insurance." "This is -- fuck. How much money did you sink into -- rent in SoHo's not /cheap/. I mean, the fuck are you thinking, I'm just some fucking -- upstart -- I don't know the first gorram /thing/ about running my own business, and you go and --" The flatness in Hive's voice is broken by a sudden hitch of breath, a sudden catch of sound. He lifts a hand, pressing his knuckles first to his lips and then to one (suddenly /bright/) eye. "Fuck, Io --" His voice now is a hoarser whisper, his hand shaking as he lifts his cigarette to his lips again. "I don't -- fuck. I don't know what. I'm supposed to say in. Shit. I'm bad at this." Iolaus looks at the other man affectionately, and he steps in to wrap his arms around Hive, angling to keep his clothing away from the burning end of the cigarette. << An upstart that just built an entire hospital in under a year. You're worth it, in spades. >> "I believe the traditional remark would be 'thank you'," Iolaus says down into the other man's hair, squeezing him a little bit tighter. Hive chuffs out a /snort/, extracting one of his arms from hugging so that he can ash his cigarette and pull from it again. << /Trying/ to smoke here, motherfucker, >> comes in a whipcrack of intrusion into Iolaus's mind, but Hive leans into the embrace for a moment with a tight squeeze of his eyes. "It's a clinic," he grumbles, "hospitals take a whole different licensing." His hand drops downward with the cigarette held in it, his face briefly turning to press against Iolaus's chest. Just for a second, before he straightens, turning his head to wipe his eye in a fierce scrub against his shoulder. "Thank you. Fuck. I'm shitty at naming things, too." Iolaus winces as the other man's voice cuts into his head, but he doesn't pull away until the other man does, straightening up. "Yeah, well. Me too." The doctor says, looking up to grin at the name of the clinic floating above them. "But, I'll tell you the same thing someone told me. If all you worry about is the name, you never get started. Just pick something; you can always change it later." << Of course, he did name his company Richard and Sons, and everyone just called them the Dicks, but that's another story. >> Iolaus muses on this for only a moment before he continues. "The contact information for the law firm is in there. Get back to them whenever - they'll wait for you to sleep." Hive snorts, standing abruptly and stubbing his cigarette out on the bumper of the truck. "You're still fucking crazy," he informs Iolaus. "And I'm not entirely sure if I'm more pissed or happy, this is a huge-ass leap to take without even asking me if I wanted it. But." He taps the folder against his opposite hand. "S'a lot to invest in --" He snorts, knuckles pressing once more to his eyes. The tears have stopped falling when he drops his hand; now he just looks tired. He gives Iolaus a small smile. "I should get back to work. You --" The folder taps against his hand again. "Thanks." "You're welcome, Hive." Iolaus says, softly, eyes flicking over the other man once. << You deserve it. >> The doctor looks up at the building towering over him, and he smiles, a wide look. "I'll let you get back to your work, now. Still more to finish, I'm sure." The doctor smiles and turns, giving the architect a little wave of his hand. "See you around." Even as he turns to leave, he answers once more in his head, grin visible coating his words, << Let me know when you want the mountain of fellacio. >> This just earns another snort. The smile Hive shoots Iolaus is thin. His shoulders hunch back up, one arm hugging the folder to his chest as he turns back for the building once more.