ArchivedLogs:A Light in the Dark
|A Light in the Dark|
28 December 2014
<NYC> Guerrilla Garden - Lower East Side
Situated on the lot directly adjacent to the distinctive sleek form of the Mendel Clinic, this space was once abandoned. The chainlink fence around it is still rusty, dilapidated, and the signs affixed to it still unwelcoming -- rusty as well, reading KEEP OUT, and PRIVATE PROPERTY. For those who venture into the slitted gap cut out of the fence, though, the yard within tells a different story.
Neat and cleaned of any garbage and weeds, the once-abandoned lot has been rebuilt. Packing crates have been broken down for their wood to create raised beds full of rich soil, each bed neatly tilled and tended. Stakes label the different plants growing -- a wealth of vegetables growing three seasons of the year in the carefully tended soil. Around the edges of the lot, smaller beds have had brightly coloured flowers planted, lending even more cheer to the little hidden garden. Very eclectically mismatched seating has been brought in; old packing crates, chairs scavenged from curbs, though it's all been brightly painted.
The rain has /finally/ let up for the evening, leaving everything damp and puddly, but at least still rather warm for the season. Micah is attempting to catch the last rays of rapidly-fading sunlight for a delivery to the Morlocks via Guerilla Garden coolers. Seeing as it is so warm, he has opted to make the relatively-short walk over with goods. He has a stuffed backpack on his back and a pair of canvas shopping bags slung over each shoulder. In addition to the tins of sweets and ninjabread men and sugar cookie spaceships resulting from a day-long decorating party with Spencer, there are some other foods in Tupperware containers, some toiletries, and basic clothing items. Micah is dressed for the growing evening chill, newsboy cap over his mussed auburn hair, olive jacket zipped up over layers beneath, faded-patchy bluejeans over hiking boots. "I texted Anole 'fore we headed out t'expect a delivery t'night. Evenin'-time's actually better for 'em t'collect in."
Flicker's backpack, similarly laden, hangs off only one shoulder; he has a shopping bag, too, in the crook of an arm. He is lightly dressed, only a Columbia sweatshirt on over his long-sleeved polo. Khakis, sneakers. "Kind of usually is better," he agrees, quiet and faintly amused as his gaze tips up towards the fading evening light. "Generally when the freaks come out, anyway." He hitches the shopping bag up to sit on his shoulder -- the same one as his backpack -- and reaches to pull the fence open wider to let Micah through. Briefly sparing a glance for the Clinic next door. "-- Things been quiet there?" Maybe just a small hint of fret in his voice. /Maybe/ someone doesn't take too well to being On Vacation.
"S'totally m'excuse for waitin' this late. An' not 'cause I wanted t'stay outta the rain," Micah offers with a little half-smile implying he /had/ waited to the last minute to avoid getting rained on. "Thanks." This is offered with a nod before moving through the opening Flicker provides into the garden. He walks straightaway to the line of old coolers against the far side of the lot, setting his bags down in front of them. "S'been quiet. S'the season for quiet. All the docs're on vacations. Most patients don't wanna come in just now, no-how. Better things t'be doin' with their time." He cracks open the first cooler before digging into one of his bags full of cookie tins. Anette's appearance only startles him a /little/, not even a jump but a pause given in his speaking. "Hi... Just makin' some holiday deliveries t'some friends."
"Good. I like quiet." Flicker blips in after Micah, letting the fence close /first/ and /then appearing on the other side of it. He slides his bags off his shoulder to set them down beside Micah's, stooping to open a second cooler, though he doesn't start filling it yet. "-- Hey, Anette." His smile is immediate, bright and warm. "Want a cookie?"
Anette grins to Flicker. "If you insist," she says, making her way towards them. "Anything I can do? I've got nothing better." She looks a bit tired, dark circles accentuating her eyes and her face is a couple shades lighter than usual but otherwise she seems same old.
“Eat a cookie,” Micah supplies, opening one of the tins. It has a number of offerings in ninja-shaped gingerbread men and sugar cookies shaped like spaceships and aliens. Most of it looks rather /accurately/ like it was devised by a nine-year-old boy with liberal access to icing and candy bits. “We just gotta put stuff into the coolers 'til someone can pick 'em up. It ain't like Thanksgivin', though, so it'll only take a minute.” The rest of the tins are already in a cooler. The bag full of Tupperware-protected foodstuffs soon follows suit. “Almost been /too/ quiet. Certain places. Makes me a little twitchy.” That /might/ explain the explosion of cookie decoration earlier in the day.
Flicker is kind of joining in with the tired. Too pale. Too shadowed under the eyes. But his smile is warm as ever. Same old. The hand that he lifts to gesture (stiffly) to Micah's cookie tin is definitely not the same, though, clearly a prosthetic where once upon a time it was flesh. "Eat a cookie," he echoes. "Micah went a little overboard with them." His /other/ hand (that one is still flesh and bone!) lifts to hold forefinger and thumb just a teeny-teeny smidge apart. Little overboard. He stoops, now, to unload his bags into the cooler. "I don't know about too quiet. Sometimes you need the peace."
Anette grabs the first ninja cookie on top and immediately goes for the head. "Ninja cookies? Really? You guys are nerds..." she teases, though the apparent nerdiness of the cookie doesn't stop her from going for an arm next. "I haven't decorated cookies since I was seven. Hell, haven't baked them since twelve." She catches a glance of Flicker's faux hand and frowns slightly. "Upgrading to cyborg or just making a fashion statement?"
Though Micah's eyes are decidedly raccoony, he is making every effort to stop with the future-dream and current-nightmare based exhaustion in his demeanour. “Was decoratin' 'em with m'youngest. He's nine,” Micah explains with a fond little smile. “Better b'lieve he got a kick out of 'em. M'husband was the one as did the actual bakin' parts, so they're /good/. I just participated in the sugar-'splosion decoratin' part. 'Cause I still wanted people t'be able t'eat 'em. Provided they ain't nowhere near diabetic.” He leaves the food cooler open, as well as the cookie tin, in case any additional cookie-thieving is needed. Instead, he moves to another cooler to unpack his backpack into. Soaps, shampoos, toothpaste, combs, toothbrushes, clothing, and assorted items on a similar theme stack neatly into this one. “If it were all /peaceable/ quiet, I'd be for it. But it's...Dusk back in jail. Waitin' for...whatever. With Hive. T'/be/ whatever. Without no news ever. An' just. Waitin'. With the egg. Waitin' an' not bein' able t'/do/ nothin' for what I'm waitin'...just makes me itchy. S'all.” An eyebrow lofts at Anette's question to Flicker, but he keeps working at his unpacking and lets the other man field /that/ one.
Flicker's eyes widen at this accusation. He finishes unpacking his things and closes the cooler, sitting down atop it with mechanical-hand over his heart and a /shocked/ expression. "/Nerds/. Us. Why I never. You hear these accusations, Micah?" /Tsk/, his tongue clicks against his teeth. But his smile is still bright afterwards. Even despite the shift of subject that makes his (good) shoulder tense just a little harder. "Guess that's why you find happier things. To fill the waiting. /Waiting's/ torture if that's all you're doing. But --" /But/. Cookiesplosion. His fingers flick out towards the cookie tin. His prosthetic hand drops back down to thunk onto the cooler beside him, grin tipping over to Anette lopsidedly. "Nerd, remember? Of /course/ I'm going to want all the best upgrades. Micah and B have promised to trick me /out/."
Anette grins at Flicker's response. "I won't be impressed until you can shoot lasers. Or force choke someone with that hand," she replies, finishing her cookie. "Right, quiet...yeah, it has been, hasn't it? Never was trusting of quiet, even during peaceful times. Especially with all the...weird things happening. Something's up, I just don't know what."
"I heard it. /Usually/ get the geek accusation. But nerd works well enough in certain circumstances." Micah's grin tugs lopsided with amusement at this line of discussion. "Been tryin' t'do more productive things where I can. Not just sit an' dwell on the waitin' an' the horrible. S'why the world is full of cookies now. An' Egg is gonna have /so/ many baby blankets. I'd knit other things, too, but I dunno what to... So, blankets. Lots of blankets." Micah gives Flicker an appraising look at the reminder of tricking out. "The experimental stuff is still in its nascent stages. But I'm plannin' the basics of the connections t'map with whatever current robotic neuroprosthetic y'go for, Flicker. S'far as I'm concerned as the prosthetics guy? You're strong enough an' workin' that mechanical limb well enough t'consider the surgery for the robotic limb. Should make an appointment with your physician...when y'/feel/ ready." Once the last cooler is full, he clicks the lid closed on it and bundles the empty shopping bags into his backpack for hauling back home.
Flicker tosses /his/ empty shopping bag over to Micah, slinging his empty pack onto his back. He lifts his mechanical arm, stretching it out and squinting as though sighting along its length. "Whatever neuroprosthetic I go for? So the Force-equipped model is a go, then?" He pushes back to his feet, head tipping to one side. "... are you guys going to need. Uh. Baby -- furniture? I made Tola a co-sleeper, I could --" He shakes his head. "Things." His eyes drop briefly to the ground. Flick back up to Anette, thoughtful. "Something's always up," he finally opines. "World doesn't really like staying quiet. You okay?"
"I'm far from needing baby furniture...talk to me in five years though, apparently." Anette looks over to Flicker as he shows some concern and shakes her head. "I'm fine...mostly. I think. Just...not sleeping as much lately. And confused by a lot of things. Nothing big." She suddenly turns to Micah with a grin. "If the one hand is going to be all murdery and evil, his other hand needs to be fun. A glitter or confetti cannon or something. Something sparkly."
"I'd still recommend the Ottobock. S'pretty much top of the line for things that're goin' out standard these days. But it's just the steppin' stone t'whatever B an' I come up with workin' with Taylor." Micah takes the other empty bag, stuffing it into his backpack before returning the lot to his back. "I don't know /what/ we're gonna need. S'part of the...waitin'. What size or shape or /when/ or how... Been considerin' makin' a rockin' chair, though. For the spare room. Which I guess'll convert into a nursery, too. I just... We haven't even really had a chance t'talk /baby/ yet. S'been so much goin' on with people bein' upset an' stressed just with /Egg/. I haven't felt right gettin' into baby mode. Not really. Other than the blanket knittin'." Going back to the first cooler, he closes off the cookie tin and locks the lot away for pick-up. "Think he's plannin' on keepin' the bio-hand on that side. 'Least for now."
Flicker doesn't look /entirely/ reassured at Anette's denial, but nods. "I hope it gets better," he offers. "And oh, no, I was offering -- /Micah's/ about to have -- well, not /Micah/, just." He stops attempting /explanation/ of Baby Furniture, his cheeks burning red as he fumbles with words. His hand rubs at the back of his neck. "Oh /gosh/ yeah. I'm keeping this one. Or planning to. Sometimes," he sounds a liiittle wry, "life doesn't agree so much." His shoulder lifts, falls. "We can just make the one hand shoot lasers and confetti /both/."
"Don't worry about it, just got babies on my mind lately," Anette replies, though there's a slight shift in tone that suggests there's more to this than she's letting on. "Anyway, congrats on...whatever baby thing you're doing," she quickly adds, smiling to Micah. "Well, it's just a plan, in case you -have- to upgrade your other hand. Or if you just want to, I don't judge. Fleshy hands aren't as exciting as confetti canon hands."
"We're adoptin' again," Micah says by way of simple explanation to help extricate Flicker from the complicated territory he's stumbled into. "Looks like we've got this all set." He pushes back to his feet, now, empty-bags backpack over his shoulders making this task much easier than the laden bag had. His hand slips into a pocket, fetching his (TARDIS-cased) phone to swipe out another message to Anole that the goods are ready for pick-up. "We should be walkin' back home 'fore it gets full-on dark out here."
Flicker's smile returns, bright. "If I have to upgrade the other, I'm going full on /Ghost in the Shell/ with it." He lifts his chin to Anette, hand raising as well to wave. "Happy New Year." With a small shimmer he is back over by the fence, holding it open once more for Micah. "-- It's alright, I'm pretty sure in the dark you can see our houses from /Canada/ anyway."
Anette looks up to the sky before nodding. "Right, I should get going before it's dark. Thanks for the chat...and the cookie. Hope to see you both around," she says, wrapping her coat tighter around her. "Take care, both of you."
“Have a good night, sugar,” Micah calls after Anette, waving before lope-jogging his way over to Flicker to exit the gardens. “'Least we still got our light in the dark, callin' us home.” He claps a hand on the other man's shoulder, leading the way on the walk back home.