ArchivedLogs:An Education in Oolong (and RPGs)

An Education in Oolong (and RPGs)
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah
In Absentia	06 March 2013 All the cool kids are calling Micah's phone these days. ^_~
Location Phones, followed by <NYC> 303 {Holland} - Village Lofts - East Village
RING. Ringringring. This is Jackson calling on the TELEPHONE. In the background there's music playing. Sort of folkish. Sort of punkish. In the foreground there's -- well, nothing yet. Jackson is pacing. That's hard to hear, though. Micah glances at his phone. Unfamiliar number again. He brushes a finger over the ‘accept’ button after the third ring. “Hello? This is Micah.” His tone is even, somewhere between business and casual. "/Micah/ oh thank goodness Hive's sleeping and Tag's hard to get a hold of and I need help and I didn't know who I -- I have an /emergency/," all spills out in a /very/ earnest voice with a /very/ Southern drawl. "And I really needed to call, well, I mean, um, you're -- kindofanerdright?" Jax says this almost apologetically. But still quite earnest. “Whoa, hon, slow down. You need help? Can I meet you somewhere?” Micah’s voice softens with concern, trying to offer reassurance. “You’re havin’ a nerd-emergency? I might be able to help with that.” At least nerd-emergencies are usually less life-threatening, right? Unless they involve /Science!/ going horribly wrong. "Yes! I mean no. I mean maybe? I don't know where to meet I um, I'm just --" Jackson takes a deep breath. And slows down. "Just trying to get a present for someone." That's as much as he's managed to slow down before: "Except I don't actually know anything /about/ roleplaying games I only play the board games and I looked online and there's so /many/ books and how do I even know what's good or what he needs or oh my gosh you could /major/ in this and still not have learned anything." “Present?” Micah laughs outright, relieved. Some shuffling is audible as his posture relaxes. “I was worried you were in /trouble/ or somethin’. Um…there are about a billionty RPGs out there. It helps if maybe you know a name of one they play? Are we talkin’ tabletop pencil-and-paper gamin’ here, since you said ‘books’?” "I don't know," Jackson admits sadly. "I mean I don't know the name but tabletop, yeah, it's, um, kind of futurey and cyberpunky maybe? Um. I've never actually -- I just play a lot of board games," he says, kind of bashful like this is a failing of his. "But my kid started playing with some people at school except now he wants to branch out and I thought for his birthday I'd -- well but I don't even know what these things are I feel, um, old. Or unhip. Or something." “Hon, ‘old’ is nothin’ to do with it, never fear that. And I know it’s the Age of the Geek an’ all, but I’m still gonna be surprised the day that tabletop gamin’ qualifies as /hip/.” Micah is chuckling softly throughout this. “Well, you could /casually/ start a conversation about the game and get the name out of him that way. Most gamers’ll prattle on forever about their favourite systems at the drop of a hat. If he doesn’t have any books in his collection yet, a core rulebook for a game he’s playin’ would be handy. Uh…failin’ actually knowin’ which books he needs, gift cards and dice are both good options for your average gamer.” "What're your favourite systems? He doesn't have any books yet, he was talking about, um --" There's clicking in the background, now, Jax having returned to his computer to continue his fretting. Or browsing. "Maybe I just have a skewed picture of things," he admits with a soft laugh, "I mean, I've got, like, Hive and people as some of my best friends, I'm totally out of my element half the time. /Oh/. Here! Shadowrun. That was it. Um. Are there, like, places I can actually get these /not/ on the internet? Like if I walked into a store they would let me have them right /now/?" “I’ve done a lot of D&D...which comes in several editions that are pretty radically different from one another. Don’t try figurin’ all of that out on your own or your head’ll explode. Lately my group’s been into more White Wolf stuff…mostly World of Darkness. Old World of Darkness, not New. The New stuff does not get to exist in my reality,” Micah forces himself to stop rambling when he realises what he’s doing. “Yeah, you can usually find stuff in local games hobby stores, provided you have any still in business. I’m afraid I haven’t actually scoped them out up here. Been a little short on the pocket money lately, so I haven’t been buyin’ new stuff…” He pauses again. “Uh…Shadowrun is comin’ out with a new edition, but it’s not supposed to be released until this summer. I don’t know if his group is the kind that’s gonna want the newest stuff, or more classic-minded. That system’s been out for a hot minute, so it’s got several editions.” "World of Darkness, that sounds like basically the exact opposite of my world," Jackson says. /Brightly/. "-- Oh. Oh, gosh. I don't -- I don't know if they'll want -- new or classic --" He trails off for a moment, tone going from bright to dejected in a heartbeat. "I didn't expect this to be so complicated," he admits, sheepishly. "If I had the cash I'd just buy him /all/ the books and he could pick and choose. There's /so/ many though. Okay. Game stores. Right. I will have to trust in Google to locate me a good one." “Ha, yeah. You would make the baby vampires cry,” Micah jokes in return. There are some rustling sounds indicative of movement. “Well, basically just Googling New York and Roleplaying Games got me a place called The Compleat Strategist on 33rd street. They have Shadowrun books on their website, so I’m gonna assume they carry ‘em. If I had to /guess/ what a young group was runnin’ with right now, I’d say the 20th Anniversary Edition core book would probably be about right for the job. It was published in 2009. And just…uh…get a gift receipt in case that’s not what they’re usin’.” "My neighbor's a vampire," Jackson says seriously, "he still likes me though. Compleat Strateg - -" There's typing in the background, rapidly. "Oh, oh, okay. 33rd and fifth. That's not so bad. 20th anniversary edition, okay. Wow, um, thank you," Jackson sounds quite sincere about this. "I mean you're kind of a lifesaver. I guess that's what you do though, right? Just zoom around in your ridiculously awesome Tardis van making people's lives better?" “Really? Like…reallyreally? There are…really?” Micah is apparently stuck on the concept of neighbours who are vampires. It has temporarily eaten his vocabulary. Jax continuing to speak snaps him out of it. “That is my goal in life.” There is a long pause. Micah’s voice is lowered a bit, more serious when he speaks again. “Hey, Jax? That kid with the snow-colouring at the Snow War…smallish Asian guy, kinda,” his speaking is interrupted by swishy noises (Micah is gesturing wildly to indicate messy hair, as if Jax can see him), “uh…Rainbow Dashie?” "I mean, he's pale and has fangs and drinks blood and is kind of a bat? That's like being a vampire, right? Anyway if it's your goal I think you're succeeding, 'least, /my/ life is better now -- um." Jax pauses at this question, and he's quieter, not /quite/ matching Micah's seriousness but approaching it: "Tag?" This one word is warm at least. "I mean yeah? What about him?" “Tag, yeah. I got over-named that day, so I fail the name-quiz. Have you seen or talked to him at all in the past week? I don’t know how to get into contact with him, and…” And. Micah pauses, sighing breathily at the receiver. "Oh! Oh. Um. Yeah, I --" There's a pause in which Jax is probably busy being glad that blushing doesn't transfer through the phone. "I saw him on Sunday, why? Are you -- do you need to get in touch with him? I could pass along your number --?" “OHMYGOD, is he okay?” Micah interrupts, any thoughts of politeness pushed out of his mind by sheer /urgency/. He hasn’t had anyone to talk to about this, and the floodgates just come open. “Last Wednesday there was this taxi and it was foggy and raining and it was /completely illegal/ manoeuvring and Tag jumped out of the way, but then he was in the intersection and I /missed/ him, but I had my trailer hooked up and /that/ hit him. It wasn’t going fast but he was /down/ and he didn’t look hurt, but there can be internal injuries. He kept getting up and you shouldn’t and I almost had to /pin him/ but I didn’t want to because he might be hurt. They let me go in the ambulance because I told them we were engaged but as soon as they got there the police started asking questions and I’m the world’s worst liar. I think I only didn’t get in trouble because I started cryin’ and they were all ‘OH NO, boys cryin’ is weird.’ I didn’t know his name and so they /knew/ and then /no one/ would tell me anything because HIPPA.” It sounds like he doesn’t stop to breathe until the end of that mess, and then he’s gasping, rough and shuddery. "Oh -- oh gosh. Oh wow. Oh -- oh, no, Micah." For all he was stumbly-fretty before, with his words, now when Micah gets shuddery he gets calm, soft and reassuring. "No, I saw him, he was good. That sounds really terrible, and not knowing is -- that just sounds /rough/, I'm sorry. Oh. I can't give you a hug over the phone." Jax sounds kind of sad about this. "Boys crying isn't weird that sounds like a crying kind of situation. Do you want me to give him your number? He can -- let you know himself you ain't killed Rainbow Dash or nothing. He was cheery. He's usually cheery." “Please?” Micah’s voice is tight and small. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just /do/ that to you.” He takes a deep breath, composing himself. “I’m glad he’s okay. I didn’t have /anyone’s/ phone number or anything and I was havin’ all kinds of ridiculous worry nightmares. I’m sorry…and I’d just gotten you all /un/worried…” "No, it's okay," Jackson says gently. "I mean, that's a scary thing. But he's okay. /You/ sound like you could use a cup'a tea and some relaxing, though. 'Stead of nightmares. Don't be sorry." There's a hesitation, and then, a little quieter: "Where you at, tonight? Do you want -- um, a cup of tea?" he offers a little shyly, "And some relaxing?" “I’m…ha…still parked in the garage at the hospital where I was workin’ today. They have an orthopaedics clinic all day on Wednesdays and I got one of those pass cards to get in and out of the garage now because they /really/ like it when I stay late to get somethin’ made urgently. So I just kinda stay here sometimes… Um. It’s not far.” Micah gets a little hesitant, as well. “That actually sounds ridiculously appealing right now.” "You should come, then," Jackson says, still quiet but less hesitant as warmth creeps back into his voice. "It's totally gross out, that's good weather for tea. You know the apartment. You should -- um, right, I already said that. I mean, if you don't have some, uh, urgent work to do! But it beats the cold and the rain and stress and worry nightmares. I think. At least oolong usually helps me relax." “Oh, no, I don’t today. It’s just /really convenient/ parking here and the security guards are used to me so they don’t ask questions.” Micah chuckles a little. “I am unwise in the ways of tea that doesn’t involve ice and a ton of sugar. You’re gonna have to educate me.” His tone is already brighter. There is a steady stream of moving-noises as Micah gets himself from the back of his van to the driver’s seat. "I'm from Georgia, if sweet tea's your thing I could fix you up that too." Jax sounds amused at this. "I got my tea education when I moved up north. There's this whole wide world of delicious. Although I guess I blaspheme by putting sugar in most everything. I should let you go, cuz, um, phone, driving, don't crash okay? This is /anti/-trauma time. I'll be real disappointed if you show up all crashy." “Oh, no no. I like new things and it is /too cold/ for ice.” Micah grins at the phone, because he will never remember that people can’t see him when he does this. The distinctive /wsshh/ and click of a seatbelt being pulled and buckled can be heard, however. “Yes, hanging up. No more crashing. That is the /opposite/ of the plan. I’ll see you in a few.” "Good." Jackson is grinning, too, so maybe he's also forgotten this thing. "See you soon." The phone clicks off. Jax doesn’t have a long wait before Micah presses the button on his intercom, hurries in the door when he’s buzzed in, and makes his way up the stairs somewhat more slowly. There is a polite knock at the door to the apartment once he arrives. Micah doesn't have a long wait before Jackson comes skidding to the door, in socked feet (very colourful brightly-patterned mismatched socks that go up to his knees), purple cargo capri pants, equally bright mismatched armwarmers, a t-shirt that reads, 'I'm one of the bravest girls alive', his hair streaked in blue and green and purple. There are dark glasses on his eyes, large and mirror-lensed, reflecting Micah in them when he opens the door with a bright smile. "Hi! S'kinda quieter in here than last time you was here." Like a lot quieter, no crowds, no children, no beagle, just a sleepy cat curled up on a beanbag. The apartment has apparently been recently thoroughly scrubbed; it's never messy but today it gleams, the smell of recent baking mingling with a basily tang of cleaning product. "You didn't crash, that's good. -- You didn't crash, right?" This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late bright coloured sealife has made its way into being painted on the wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. Micah’s own broad smile matches Jax’s well. His auburn hair is its typical mess, perhaps a bit worse for having recently been under a woollen hat, which peeks bright-orangely from the pocket of Micah’s olive green puffy coat. The coat is unzipped, revealing a TARDIS-blue polo shirt and khakis underneath. The khakis have a strange weave-imprint on one leg in bright red...dye transferred accidentally from fibreglass casting material. He’s obviously still in work clothes. “I’m not gonna complain about quiet, f’sure. Sounds nice, actually.” If possible, that smile widens at Jax’s question. “No crashing, as promised. Hale and whole.” He taps his palms against his ribcage, as if to prove there aren’t any /holes/ there. Jax closes the door behind Micah, locking it securely as he looks the other man over. Maybe for /holes/. His smile warms, though. Behind him the apartment is very bright -- a pair of sunlamps, a desk lamp on the counter, the ceiling lights turned on full, two tall standing lamps in corners near the windows. "Quiet's nice, sometimes," he agrees, "do you do hugs, are hugs allowed? Do you like oolong, I -- oh right tea /education/ maybe I should just tell you this oolong is delicious um maybe you won't like it and that's presumptuous though." It almost sounds like he's gearing up for a proper FRETTING again, but his smile's still warm. Micah quits his coat and hangs it by the door...it is warm and bright enough in here not to need it! Jax's question earns a little giggle. "Are you kiddin'? Hugs are /encouraged/." He acts on that statement, wrapping arms around the other man. "Don't worry yourself. It'll be an experience. If I like it, that's an awesome new thing. If I don't like it you'll get to see me make funny faces." He crinkles his nose a little with this, bunny-like, as if in preview of potential future face-making. Jackson brightens -- literally, a soft glow spreading around him as he returns the hug in a quick squeeze. "/Good/ cuz I totally wanted to give you a hug ever since you got sad about Tag." To the touch he feels rather /feverishly/ warm, though he doesn't particularly look sick as he pulls back. "Funny faces? Cool! So it's a win/win either way. D'you like muffins? Cuz I have some muffins. They have cranberry and almond. I don't know if those are good things." He steps back, padding away to head to the kitchen and fill the teakettle. Micah grins dopily. “Ohgoodness, hugs /and/ food? I think I may be in love,” he teases, melodramatic hand over heart. “Those are good things. They are things that /aren’t/ Ramen or dry cereal. Therefore, good.” He rocks on his feet idly as he watches Jax bustle about the kitchen. Jackson blushes, slightly, turning to glance back at Micah. "Wait, ramen and -- oh, gosh, honey-honey, have you had /dinner/?" he asks, managing to sound /even/ more Southern than his thick drawl already allowed, "Cuz that don't sound like dinner and I can heat up some --" Definitely fretting, now, he opens the freezer, looking inside; it is packed rather /full/ with neat stacks of tupperware dishes of food. "Do you like, um, chickpeas? There's curry --" He bites down on his lip. "Or some sweet potato and kale stew?" “Oh no!” Micah closes the few paces to bring himself into the kitchen. “I didn’t mean to…please, don’t put yourself out. I was just bein’ silly.” His hands flutter a bit, a gesture between patting and waving at the air. “I’m already here drinkin’ your tea and eatin’ your muffins. You don’t need to go through all that /effort/.” He smiles reassuringly. "Food's already cooked," Jackson says, and it's no lie; he gestures to the stacks of Tupperware, cooked and ready. "Would just need to be tossed on the stove. But, um, muffins --" He's clearly /still/ fretting, because he doesn't get out the muffins; he takes out a container of stew, and gets out a pair of mugs for tea, filling them with hot water and setting them aside. "Sorry, I'm from Georgia, feeding people's in my /blood/. Ohgosh," he's suddenly remembering, "I didn't check how late that store was open --" He bites down on his lip. And gets a tin of tea from the cabinet. "Sorry," he says with a quick smile. "I jump around a lot. Um. In my brain." “10:30 to 6:00 today, the website said. Later tomorrow, because it’s Thursday.” Micah has insane recall for scheduling. “I’m not gonna try to stop you,” he relents, palms turned out submissively. “I have a Jewish mother, and apparently have been ‘too skinny’ for my /entire life/.” He grins with that statement. “Does her psychological damage not to feed people once she gets started.” "Oh gosh I ain't never gonna make that -- oh gosh." Jackson's smile drops into a deep frown. He puts a pot on the stove, tipping out the contents of the Tupperware into it and adding a little water as he sets it on to heat. "Maybe tomorrow morning." He gnaws on his lip, teeth clicking against a lip ring. "Right, no, okay, /tea/, /relaxing/, that's what's on the agenda. Though Jewish mothers sound a lot like Southern mothers with the food thing." He fills two teaballs with tea, emptying out the mugs and putting the balls in instead. The kettle is starting to whistle. His hand glows as he picks up the kettle, pouring water over the tea. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to keep you from errands.” Micah fidgets with his shirt collar. He’s not good at keeping his hands still. “Right. Relaxing.” He smiles again. “Mine’s both. Even better,” he adds in reply to the Southern comment. “How long you been out o’ Georgia, then?” "Too long," Jackson says wryly. He leans against the counter, though it's kind of a /bouncy/ lean, absently rocking up onto his toes and then back onto his heels. "I come up here when I was thirteen, for high school. Boarding school. I'd go back down for summers. You been up here long? Oh, man, double-mother-whammy. You should be well /used/ to being fretted over." Micah shakes his head in answer. “Nah. Just about 7 months now. I’m still new.” A lopsided grin tugs at his lips. “Oh, I’m well used to it. I’m just /also/ used to frettin’, m’self. Get into frettin’ competitions, if I didn’t know well enough when to give in.” A hand gestures between Jax and himself. Jackson laughs, quietly. "Oh, man, if fretting was in the Olympics I could fret for America," he says, though now it's less worried and more just warm, amused. He gets out a pair of small plates, square, black and red, and then a pair of muffins, too, to set on them. He pulls the tea balls out next, emptying them into a small bin and rinsing the mesh out. He picks up one plate and one mug, carrying it over to Micah to offer them both. "You are shiny new. Man. It took me forever to get used to this city, how're you finding it? Actually," he amends, "I still don't think I'm used to it." Micah giggles, probably picturing what an Olympic Fretting event would look like. “And likely do us proud…” he plays along. The plate and cup are taken gently. “Thanks… It’s different, but in an interesting way. Especially the variety of people. Mostly, it would seem that I walk too slowly and smile too much.” Really, he hardly ever stops with the smiling. “Traffic’s awful…but not as bad as D.C., actually. Roads actually look like they meant to have /cars/ on ‘em up here. Parking’s worse, though. Also, the weather is kind of ridiculous.” Jackson skirts back for his own cup and plate, then slips past Micah to head for the couch, curling into a corner of it. "Oh, /man/, I feel you there. People look at me like I'm crazy cuz I smile and say hi to strangers." He's smiling now, at least. "The weather's just too cold. What brought you up here from D.C.?" Glittery-nailed fingers are pinching off tiny crumbs of muffin to nibble on. Micah follows Jax’s lead, settling onto the couch cushion neighbouring the other man’s. “I honestly wasn’t prepared for moving to Hoth. I felt like I needed to keep an eye out for a tauntaun for emergency warmth during that last snowstorm.” He chuckles at his own joke, then pauses a moment to stuff a bite of muffin in his mouth. Chew. Swallow. “Oh, I just did a lot of work in D.C. because of the veterans’ facilities there. I’m actually from middle-of-nowhere southeastern Virginia. Here is…distinctly not there. Which was an appeal. Figured movin’ and startin’ up the business at the same time made sense. Build everything from scratch.” "You know, I hear electric blankets /smell/ a lot better than the inside of a tauntaun," Jax says, amused. "And are easier to come by when you ain't out in the wilderness." He hooks a leg up onto the couch, turning sideways to face Micah, his plate balanced on his knee. "That's, uh, kinda brave. I mean. Moving's hard enough if you know where you're heading! And just coming to a whole new city without, I mean -- making your own work and -- wow. I was nervous enough just going to boarding school. How's it working out?" “Y’know, I had the feelin’ there was an easier solution to my problem. Just got this instinct to hunt bipedal herbivores for some reason…” Micah’s dopey grin is back. He twists to mirror Jax’s posture, for ease of conversation. “Well, I have a small handful of friends up here that I’ve known forever, mostly from online. But we grew up together, so they’re kinda extended family. That’s helped a fair bit. I mostly was buried in all the /crazy/ of gettin’ a start-up off the ground, plus workin’ at an auto shop one of those friends owns, for so long… I’ve only really just started meetin’ locals outside of that group pretty recently. Was an honest gypsy van hermit for /months/ there. It’s goin’ better as I get associated with more programs, and more docs and therapists know me. So I’m gettin’ to relax a bit more, send some roots out into the community. Occasionally have enough cash on hand to splurge on a cheap dinner at a diner or down Chinatown. With vegetables and everything.” "Vegetables -- oh! You're /getting/ vegetables before you leave here," Jackson assures Micah. "There's some in the stew on the stove. That does sound -- I mean, well, a lot better than knowing nobody, having family around's good. I'd say it's impressive being a hermit in the middle of New York City, but." Jax's nose crinkles up, one shoulder shrugging. "Actually it's way easier'n it should be. Relaxing's good, though. I mean, work's good! But also not, um," he blushes, here, "just, y'know, fretting nonstop. That's what I always imagined starting your own business would be like. Fretting to the power of ten." “I am just gonna /stop/ describin’ my current lifestyle. It turns on your Papa Bear without /fail/.” Micah is just smirking at Jax, not even trying to stop him from fussing anymore. “Well, there’s a lot to fuss over, yeah. But when you’re a company of two, and your business partner /honestly/ doesn’t need this job… It’s only yourself to worry about, really. It’s kind of liberating in that way. What is it you busy yourself with when you’re not frettin’ and feedin’ folk?” Jackson blushes at the smirking, head tipping downwards sheepishly and spilling colourful hair down over his eyes. Or his sunglasses, at least. "Yeah. I guess s'different when you don't got people depending on you," Jax says, uncertainly, "but I still think it'd be scary." His eyebrows raise at the question, smile curling quick and amused. "Oh, gosh, by that question you seem to have got the misimpression that there's ever a time I ain't fretting over folk." Micah munches on another bite of the delicious muffin. “Gracious, seriously? You’re gonna give yourself ulcers at that rate.” His brow furrows, concerned. “I guess I meant to ask what you /do/ most of the time. As more than just a mental activity.” He sips from the tea cup tentatively. “Hmm…no funny faces tonight, it would seem,” he jokes by way of approval. Jackson's smile lights his face at Micah's apparent approval, and he relaxes back into the couch, taking a longer sip of his own tea. "Oh, I do a lot of things. I'm in school, still. Getting myself a properly useless degree in art. I work at a tattoo studio to pay the rent. Sling drinks some night at a club. Ain't nothing all that exciting. I paint, I guess, is the real answer. The rest's all just to let me afford my paints and a roof over my head while I do it." Micah takes another swallow from the cup, washing down another bite of muffin. “That’s admirable. It’s good to be able to find your outlet. I know I go a little crazy if I’m not makin’ somethin’ most of the time. Gets to the point that I start /knittin’/ if nothin’ else, ‘cause yarn is cheap.” "I go a lot crazy," Jackson agrees, smiling brighter still, "if I ain't doing /something/. I'd be bouncing off the walls if I didn't stay busy. But creating things's way better than just busy. Though I don't know that my paintings've ever really -- /helped/ nobody much." He shrugs, sipping at his tea, and for a moment his smile dims, expression slipping into something thoughtful. "You knit? What else d'you make? Hive mentioned robot arms." “I do craft a fair amount of custom orthoses, and some basic prostheses. I can also sew up pretty good compression garments and the like. The robotics stuff tends to come from other companies, though,” Micah chuckles a little at Hive’s description. “I’ll feed measurements and needs to those companies, they send me back the basic units, and then I help get ‘em custom and fit and programmed to the patient. Same thing with equipment like wheelchairs and communication devices and such.” "That /does/ sound wicked cool. Though I'm still gonna harbor fantasies 'bout your robot body you're upgrading to to take over the -- wait, um," Jax cuts himself off with a blush, "okay, fantasies about your -- that just sounds -- you know, I'm gonna check on the stew," he decides, nose crinkling as he rubs at the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. He leans forward to set his cup and plate down on the coffee table. Jax’s word choice draws a…very sudden and complete blush that starts across Micah’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose, easily spreading to the tips of his ears. “Oh! Um… Yes. Stew is a good thing to…check.” He stuffs the last bite of muffin in his mouth as a kind of means of gagging himself from saying anything too stupid. Jackson maybe possibly takes a little longer in the kitchen than need be. Stirring. Getting out bowls. Ladling the stew caaaarefully into them. He does return, though, with two bowls of stew -- kale and sweet potato, with black beans and corn, rich and savoury -- and /some/ small diminishing of his blush as he takes his seat again. "See, look. Actual vegetables. Kale's green, even. Y'know, it's nearabout time to start working soil for planting things, come spring there'll be green stuff in plenty right up on my roof for the eating. I built some raised beds on top'a the building." If he is a little /excessively/ chattery, well. He -- often is. Yeah, Micah’s blushing doesn’t fade that quickly. But he’s mostly ignoring it, it seems. “You are entirely too sweet,” he offers by way of thanks when he is passed a bowl. He places it on top of his now-empty plate before spooning out a bite, blowing on it to cool it some, and tasting it. “Mmm.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “You are like a kitchen god. This is amazing.” He sneaks another bite before speaking again. “Oh, were those yours? I was happy to see a space for plantin’ in the middle of all the concrete ‘round here. That’s one of the things I /do/ miss about back home.” The first comment returns Jackson's blush, his head bowing and bright hair falling down over his glasses again. "Thanks," he says, with a quick smile, "I had to learn to cook good cuz when I turned vegan suddenly restaurants didn't have food for me. /Specially/ not in rural Georgia. And they're everybody's, now," he says with a good dose of cheer, "but yeah, I built 'em first. Grew up on a farm. I can only take so much of concrete, too. Y'know, there's a lot of abandoned space 'round the city, there's a lot of us who hunt down empty lots and try and work them over into gardens. You miss places for planting, mebbe you could come be a terrorist-gardener with -- with us." His slight hesitation at the end of this sentence does not diminish his smile, and he starts in on his stew, his muffin still half remaining. “Yeah, I can imagine, if it’s anythin’ like home, most things are made of meat and meat accessories. With the veggies on the side, of course.” Micah chuckles lightly. “I’m used to havin’ pretty serious gardens, too. Also, chickens, but I don’t miss them /at all/. They’re just /mean/ birds.” He shakes his head at this. Jax’s invitation summons a bright smile. “Oh, absolutely! I’m not one to turn down an opportunity to go play in the dirt.” "The veggies on the side, sauteed in lard," Jax says, laughing quietly. "Aw, I /do/ miss the chickens. Dumb as rocks an' a lot noisier but they was always so lively. Though we had this one /ornery/ rooster liked to hide under the porch stairs and run out to scare people. He'd peck /all/ the shins. Terrible creature. Cool!" he adds, in cheerful chirrup to Micah's reply. "I'll --" And then he hesitates, biting down on his lip as his brow creases. "Well," he says, a little more subdued, "Soon. It'll be planting time soon. /So/ much getting dirty. An' I got your number." Micah’s laugh is deeper in response to Jax’s animation. “Oh, roosters’re just the /end all/ of mean birds. ‘Ceptin’, maybe, geese. It’s no fun tryin’ to explain /goose hickeys/ to people. Bitey little jerks.” He’s grinning despite the air of complaint to his words. “Absolutely. And I do have yours now.” He taps the pocket where he keeps his phone indicatively. "Oh, gosh, geese are terrible things." Jax's head shakes in apparent horror. "Though the /most/ terrifying birds are swans, everyone thinks they're so pretty and then they're charging at you with those huge necks and their wings suddenly ten times wider'n you are. It's like nightmarebirds." Demonstratively, a swan suddenly /appears/ on the coffee table. Admittedly slightly smaller than a real swan would be. It looks deceptively peaceful. "You got mine," Jackson agrees, with a small quirk of smile. “Yeah, swans are up to no good, but at least people aren’t keepin’ ‘em places you /need to go/ most of the time. Agh!” Micah /jumps/ at the sudden appearance of mini-swan on the table. He has to perform some fancy manoeuvring to avoid spilling the last of the stew in his bowl. “Where did the…nights /alive/ you about turned my hair white doin’ that.” "Oh gosh, sorry," Jackson says, cringing slightly and automatically reaching a hand out, perhaps to steady the bowl or perhaps to steady Micah. The swan shrinks down, changes from white to black. Then purple. Green. Streaked blue-purple-green like his hair. It is not the most swanlike swan anymore. "Sorry, I forget everyone ain't used to, uh, sometimes things just appear around me. Next time I'll -- well I can't /promise/ I'll warn you sometimes I forget," he admits with a crinkle of his nose and a slight blush. And then, his smile returning quickly, "-- plus I can't promise I'll warn you cuz it's kind of adorable when you're all suddenly squirmy /um/, how about more tea? I think it's time for more tea." Which he sets his bowl down to get up and /get/. Whether it's really time or not. Because maybe fussing over Someone Else /is/ relaxing for him. Micah giggles at the warping swan-image-thing. “No, no, it’ll be better now that I know it /happens/.” Compliments /and/ blushing are a fatal combination. Micah is beet red again. “I don’t mind bein’ all…squirmy… I just thought I was gonna get stew all over your couch and that is /not/ bein’ a good guest.” "No, you're kinda the perfect guest tonight," Jackson admits, a little softer. He slips into the kitchen to light the fire under the kettle again. "Okay. Tea. And you're /taking/ some muffins back with you. They might not be vegetables but they're tastier'n ramen." But first, tea. “Yessir,” Micah offers with a smart mock-salute, glad enough to let Jax fuss over him to his heart’s content.