ArchivedLogs:Broken Glass

From X-Men: rEvolution
Broken Glass
Dramatis Personae

Jax, Dusk, Violet, Micah

6 July 2014

Many ways to be busy these days...


<NYC> Harbor Commons - Makerspace - Lower East Side

It isn't huge in this workshop, but it's well-ventilated and well-equipped. Like the Common house, this building -- small and shedlike and tucked off to a side of the courtyard -- is accessible to Commons residents via their electronic keycards. Stocked with plentiful tools for all kinds of workmanship, it has a small number of workspaces along the side of the room with a fair amount of open floorspace that can be repurposed as needed. In different corners there are a couple more specialized sections -- one front corner has been walled off into its own darkroom, and farthest off in back, cordoned off and thankfully left empty when not in use, is a squat furnace with a tendency to look like a pot of glowing lava when it is filled with molten glass.

Jax is looking slightly better, this afternoon, than he has been in days past -- he's still in his rainbow tie-dyed cast from the knee down but he's not /moving/ quite so stiffly, not quite so pale; likely the effects of Dusk's healing-boost are helping the small fractures in his ribs along nicely; there's still bandaging swathed over his face, though, but the peppering of scrapes and burns down his arm are healing up pretty well.

Somewhere over against a wall there's a wheelchair but he's not in it, at the moment, instead seated on a bench between two wooden stands, dressed in sneakers and an ankle-length wrap skirt and cheerful yellow Little Miss Sunshine t-shirt. There's a long metal pole in one of his hands; on its end is a glowing orange glob, fiercely hot and kind of slowly oozing though a continual rotation of the pole keeps it balanced. There's a pair of dark goggles over his eyes, a large metal set of tweezer-like tongs in his left hand that he's using to quickly pinch at the molten glass, pulling shapes out of the waxy hot ball.

It's hot, in here, the furnace in the back lit and a small sea of lava-like orange melty inside it. Not as hot as it /could/ be, though, the door propped open and the windows open, too, airing the place out considerably as he works.

Open door means people wandering in to gawk -- or, in Dusk's case, with a large thermos full of lemonade and a plate of leftover waffles. Who cares if it's way past breakfast. He's not really dressed for /workshop/ safety, shirtless and barefoot and in cargo shorts, wings trailing along the floor behind him. "You know, I've never actually /seen/ you do that?" He's setting the plate and bottle down on a table nearby, propping a hand against it as he watches Jax work. In contrast to the other man's improvement, /he's/ looking paler, less steady, though in terms of injuries he's fine. A bandage swathed around his wrist and skin otherwise unblemished.

Open doors are an invitation to certain subsets of people. Drifters, the curious, and sometimes both, in the case of Violet. A minute or two after Dusk appears with his wafflegram, the catgirl comes ambling through the door as if it wasn't no thang to just appear. She too is not dressed for workshop safety, in her khaki cutoffs and tank tops, without shoes or goggles or anything else that would safe her feet from cuts or her arms from splashes. There is a Twizzler bobbing from her lips like a limp cigarette, moving up and down as she works on chewing the end that is in her mouth. "...oh hey." That would be her sighting Jax with his glowstick, beyond Dusk. La la la, up she strolls to place herself beside the batman. Her hands are in pocket and--recognizing the heat and purpose of the place--she lifts one out to grab for her flicking tail to likewise tuck its end in pocket and keep it from lashing about. "I saw this on TV once."

Jax's head tips up, briefly, looking over at the newcomers with a quick smile. "Y'all should so wear shoes in here." His eyes return to the glass on his pole, and he sets aside his tongs for a moment, his /hand/ glowing now as he reaches to pinch just a little bit more precisely at his work with bare fingers instead of tools. "I mess up a /lot/ an' -- well s'kinda fun watchin' what happens to all the mistakes but. Maybe less fun for your feet. Whoa waffles. Y'both eated yet?"

Micah seems to be in a bit of a hurry as he makes his way to the workshop. He is dressed for /weekend/, still, in a Doctor Hooves T-shirt and jeans, auburn hair a tousled mess. His alert posture deflates as soon as he's through the door. “Oh, it's you guys,” he declares, immediately sagging back against a wall, expression just a little haggard. “Mmn. Didn't mean that like it sounded. Was afraid a bunch of the rescuees wandered in here an' were gonna hurt themselves on somethin'.” Both hands move up to scrub over his face. “Eventually I'll back out of panic mode. Just...assumin'. Worst things all the time.”

Dusk curls a wing outward, bumping amiable-light against Violet's shoulder when she arrives beside him. He scoots the plate and bottle over, putting them within easy reach if she is so inclined towards Waffle or Lemonade. "What /does/ happen to the mistakes?" He seems brightly curious now that he's been /warned/ of dire consequences to his soles. "Pfft," he adds when Micah comes in, "nah, it's just /us/ hurting ourselves on shit. Jax is gonna light us on fire he's dipping into like. Fucking Mount Doom over there." One claw flicks towards the pit of lava near the photokinetic.

Oh, shoes. Violet looks down and simultaneously lifts one foot, studying the furry sole. "S'kinda /like/ shoes?" But even so, she obligingly shuffles a little backwards--but only after reaching out likewise to knuckle-brush the wing that just bumped her. Just a whisper of touch and then she's sliiiiding over towards the waffle plate showing keen interest. "Most sane folks'd go th'other direction from all this," is her remark for Micah, accompanied with a toothy grin. "S'hot out there, hotter in, this is lookin' good." This being the waffle she's plucked from the plate, rolled into a tube of goodness to nibble on.

"'pologies, honey-honey. I'd cook m'self in here if I didn't --" Jax glances up with a small cringe, an apologetic wince, when Micah comes hurrying in. He pulls his hand back from the glass, rubbing his fingers together before the glowing fades from them. "Y'should have a waffle. Some lemonade. Less panic. Dusk -- you been eatin'?" Now he's actually /looking/ at the vampire, with a deepening frown. "Much blood as you been /losin'/ you really need to --" He presses his lips together, looking down at his cooling glass and picking up his tongs to start pulling at it again. His expression soon shifts into a grimace, though, the part he'd been working too-cold and too-stiff now for proper working.

He shakes his head dismissively, rising carefully from his bench to hop one-legged over nearer the furnace, where he just taps the glob of glass down off his stick to leave it in a metal tray near the wall. "Don't think nobody /sane/ hangs out here," he adds cheerfully to Violet. "'leastways, nobody sane /stays/ that way long." His teeth grit as he moves closer to the furnace, dipping the end of his pole into it and spinning it slowly. "'sides, folks is findin' plenty'a ways to get themselves in trouble without no fancy tools, I had t'stop a couple kids earlier tryin' to jump off the top'a the climbin' tower."

Hazel eyes slide up and down Dusk appraisingly...perfectly innocent-appraisingly just at the moment. "Y'should really wear shoes. An' a shirt. Well...could strap a heavy apron on y'without havin' t'worry 'bout the wings, actually." The appraisal also results in a furrow of brow, reddish eyebrows pushing toward one another in added concern. "You been /eatin'/ right, sugar? Y'know I don't mean the waffles. Gotta keep up your strength, too," the query nearly /overlaps/ with Jax's. Violet's comment catches his lips, tugging a corner upward into a lopsided grin. "Don't think there's many folks as would toss accusations of sanity 'bout here. I spend a lotta time in here, actually. Woodwork, metalwork, plastics...not s'much the glass." His eyes widen as Jax starts /hopping/ with molten glass. "Honey. Honey, oh /gosh/ that weren't your best plan ever, let me help. Or we /should/ get crutches for you if you're gonna insist on bein' up." Micah, at least, snags appropriate protective gear while Jax is collecting fresh glass. Then he stands at his side, ready to assist him back to his bench. "I know folks is findin' plenty of ways t'get into trouble lately," he half-sighs under his breath.

"Lately? Dude people have found plenty of ways to get into trouble for years." Dusk's eyes slide over to the abandoned piece of glass cooling at the side, /hopeful/ like he expects it to put on some sort of dangerous show for him. Maybe it's about to attack? Maybe? "Don't think I've been eating to balance out what I've been /losing/, there's -- a /lot/ of people around hurt and." His hand with its bandaged wrist turns upward. The continued reminder about shoes at least does have him climbing up to crouch /on/ the table beside the waffles, wings draping down over its edge to rest along the bench beside it. "Sanity /is/ in short supply around here. It's okay. Don't need it when you have waffles. -- Why didn't we build a /pool/ it's only going to get hotter, too."

"Climbing tower?" Oh dear. Was that a flicker of possible guilt in Violet's eyes? /Maybe/. It's so hard to tell though, nuances lost beneath fuzz and the movement necessitated by chewing. But oh good, they're moving on! And with Dusk earning the brunt of attention and concern, she finally turns her eyes up to studying the winged man. Thoughtful like. That study is made easier when she follows his cue by padding over to pull herself up onto the table's edge, leaving her feet dangling and swinging idly. With her hands busy with waffle, her tail has slipped free of her pocket and also dangles, just the tip curling this way and that. An ear is kept turned towards Micah and Jax, on the off-chance something explodes or someone topples. "Ya'll sure keep yourselves busy."

"M'alright, sugar," Jax answers Micah's concern with an easy laugh, "I don't burn easy. 'sides I need both hands for the tube I can't use crutches /and/ this thing well anyway." It is quite a long piece of metal. He accepts -- probably a hand at an elbow by way of stabilizing as he returns to his workspace since both his hands are pretty full. Not the bench, at first, but to a metal table, rolling his small collection of glass against it to shape it smoothly. He twitches a small smile over to Violet, crooked and amused. "Huge crazy sculpture Hive put in the Common house. Y'see it? Spence could scramble around in that all /day/ I think." The mention of busy earns a small shrug as he rolls his glass, tipping the edge of the tube up to his mouth once it's shaped to blow carefully into it. "Life gets kinda unbearable when I ain't busy. Go a li'l stircrazy. Fret at /everything/ --" OK, maybe he does that /anyway/. "I mean, just gets /restless/ not fillin' the time, y'know?"

“Just seems t'be a lotta things comin' to a head all at once is all,” Micah answers Dusk's correction with a half-smile. “Sure the pups'd let you visit their room if y'need a dip real quick, though. An'...let me know if you're hungry an' out of what supplies the Clinic'll give you, okay? I ain't been hurt like just 'bout everybody else has.” He giggles outright at Violet. “We're surprisin'ly good at busy. Even when we shouldn't be.” This last comes with a chin-tilt at Jax as he assists him to his next station. “We'll hafta get you back on bakin' with somebody t'tote things for you. Y'can do most of it sittin' at a table if y'got someone fetchin'.”

"Holy shit you actually blow it." Dusk seems rather /enchanted/ by this process, eyes opening wider as he watches the glass taking form. He reaches out a hand to snag the lemonade, popping it open so that he can take a sip. "Dude, you fret no matter what. -- Also I think when some people around here don't stay busy, shit starts to explode." One side of his mouth hooks upward as he glances over towards Violet. "Anyway. /You/ stay busy prowling around finding new places to drape yourself. -- Also gumbo. That gumbo was excellent."

Violet swallows past a suddenly congealed lump of waffle. Hack. Cough. "I...yeah, was maybe jumpin' off it, m'self. If they saw me...well..." She is sorry but she lets the lifted scrunch of shoulders speak the word for her. It is easy to forget that not everyone is as springy as herself. So easy. But amends can be made, right? "'m not hurtin' either," she tacks on, to Micah's comment for Dusk, though rather than look at the winged man she's letting her eyes wander everywhere but. Mostly the ceiling, or the tube-wielding Jax. The last of the waffle she'd stolen for breakfast is pulled to shreds, each popped into her mouth to make one cheek bulge out. "I've go' a pretty strenuous nappin' in sunbeams schedule too," she mumbles around that mouthful, "takes a lot out've me. Work work work...makes shapin' glass and bustin' out prisoners look easy." But then ears prick up, and despite herself there's a pleased cat-in-the-cream smile. It /was/ excellent, wasn't it.

"Had some folks stuck down at the clinic appreciated that gumbo /right/ good, too. Think you just 'bout made Jim's week. An' Flicker was smilin' fit t'burst. -- Y'want t'hand me that stick of glass, honey-honey?" Look Jax is being so good and not hopping around to get it himself, now; just indicating to Micah a slender green rod at the other end of his table. "Oh, I do my fair share'a catchin' sunbeams. Just feels like once y'soak 'em in enough y'gotta let 'em back out sometime, huh? Help pretty the world up a bit. Tasty food. Shiny things. S'like some kinda karma."

“That'd be why it's called 'glass-blowin' ',” Micah observes with an amused smirk at Dusk's observation. “Was pretty excellent. Should've seen the pups tuckin' into that. Seafood's kinda a /thing/.” One brow ticks upward slightly at Violet's offer, but he doesn't comment on it directly. “Just let us know, sugar. Gotta take care of you, too. 'Specially when you're so busy givin' of yourself t'others. Y'know?” Literally. “Mmhm. First-rate glass fetcher here.” Micah looks pleased that Jax actually asks for help when he needs it, moving to retrieve the glass rod and only taking a moment to look at how the light plays through it before delivering it to him.

"Well -- I mean. I know what it's /called/ I just. Never -- saw --" Dusk's shoulder slump with a small /grump/, accompanied with an exaggeratedly huffy baring of teeth to Micah. His brows lift, too, as he looks back to Violet, curious for a moment before a small flush darkens his cheeks. "Not hurting is good. Um. How long's it been since you've been to a doctor, though, I kind of -- need to know if the blood I'm drinking is safe." The blush doesn't fade, one wing rubbing at the back of his head as he sets his lemonade back down awkwardly. "-- Busting out prisoners /is/ easy. Anyone can punch a dude. Art is like this unfathomable /mystery/ to me."

"Yeah?" Violet's smile deepens, and she performs a little full-body wiggle that somehow comes off as coordinated in spite of being seated. "Glad it worked out, didn't figure I'd be cookin' for so /many/ but...yeah. S'good they weren't payin' much attention down th'market." She licks a few crumbs from her fingers, then uses those moistened fingerpads to sort the fur about her temples, above her ears. All is well, and all is well, and...wait, doctor? That gives her pause, leaving her with cocked head and thoughtful eyes lifted briefly to Dusk and his blushing. She sniffs once. "Makes sense, lots've nasties out there these days. Guess you'd best bite elsewhere though." Easy come, easy go? She certainly moves on without an apparent second thought, straightening up and returning attention to Jax'n'helper. "You do requests? Like those fellas who make balloon animals?"

Jax takes the glass from Micah with a peck on the cheek in thanks, setting his pole along the table so that his hands are freed. One hand resumes its glowing, fierce and bright-hot; bringing his fingers close to the bigger piece of glass he begins melting the thin green stick onto the other piece, in a carefully swirled pattern.

Somewhere off behind him Dusk's expectation is /finally/ given a delayed reward; the trashed piece of glass he'd set aside before abruptly shatters with a loud crackle-pop, tinkling of broken glass. Some small shards explode out of the container and onto the floor -- /mostly/ in the cordoned-off glassworking /section/ but possibly a few have escaped. Hence his closed-toed shoes and long skirt. "Sure," he answers Violet cheerfully. "This bit here'll actually be for a neighbor. You had somethin' in mind?"

And now it's back to standing, though he does accept Micah's help again once his pattern is melted on to return to the furnace for a second gather of clear glass over the colour. And then finally back down to sitting, once more. To blow and widen the piece a little more, finally popping the end open to start shaping its now-opened edges. "Nah. Fightin' /is/ an art. You can do /anything/ indelicate but it needs just as much study as anythin' else to get it /right/."

Micah offers Dusk a softer smile at his huffiness, though not within easy reach of him the pat-pat that should come with it is strongly implied. "'round here it kinda always turns into cookin' for a crowd," he observes, smile still fond, just skipping /right past/ that whole 'not paying attention at the market' bit. Sometimes you just have to overlook the details. "I'll hook you up later, sugar. Just lemme know when's good." No need to trouble Violet with doctors, see? He leans in to watch Jax work but is soon torn away by shattery glass sounds. "Oops. Barefoot folks, don't move. Lemme get that up 'fore it ends up in a foot." There is a broom and dustpan set up for just such eventualities, and Micah avails himself of these to sweep-sweep away all the glittery shards and dump them in an appropriate bin. His clean-up tools are replaced in time to help Jax to the furnace and back. "Plus side, I'm always fifty percent less likely t'get glass in m'foot than other folks, shoes or no." Though he /is/ wearing sneakers.

"Apologies, just. I'm not /actually/ a vampire, I still -- Oh/shit/." Dusk looks thrilled when the glass explodes, brows lifting and his eyes lighting; this shattery distraction helps his awkward-blush to fade. "Can you fuck up another one that was great." He tears off a small corner-square of waffle, nibbling at it and staying crouched atop the table as Micah sweeps. "Built in glass protection. And protection from tiny Lego pieces, too. Pretty handy."

His expression shifts more thoughtful as he looks back to Jax. "... should spar in the gym here when you're back on your feet. I've been /missing/ Friday nights. How're you?" He asks this rather abruptly of Violet. "With your fists, I mean. Or claws. Teeth. We're not picky about staying, uh, /civilized/." His own fangs bare in a quick-sharp smile.

Before the sound of tinkling glass has even passed, Violet pushes down against the table and seems to hop at the same time. Up she goes, feet beneath her so she lands in a gargoyle's crouch. It is less impressive without the wings, but she's gained a few dress sizes thanks to her follicles going /zoop!/ and leaving her fur sticking out every which way. This doesn't count as moving, right? "Cookin' and blowin' stuff up...never a dull moment, yeah?" In spite of the floof, she sounds near laughter--a condition that Dusk is responsible for with his bright interest in more destruction. "I didn't have any specific request, was just wonderin'. Nowhere t'keep nice stuff like that but maybe down th'road...mmr?" As she speaks, she's busying herself to running hands over all of the upright fur, smoothing it down again. This pauses with a curious look at Dusk. "Y'mean that fightin' thing ya'll mentioned. Yeah, keep meanin' t'come by. I'm pretty good. Maybe not ya'll's level of good but I can hold m'own."

"Uh --" Jax wrinkles his nose, shaking his head as he rolls his steadily widening piece of glass -- kind of a wide-flat ball, now, with an open top -- gently against a tile on the ground. "I think I'm keepin' this one, I could jus' blow up a /different/ glob of glass for you?" He looks more than a little amused, too, at the contrasting reactions from Dusk and Violet. "Can make things tiny, too. Bit'a jewelry or somesuch don't need to be kept nowhere but /on/ a body." He turns his head to wipe sweat off his forehead against his shoulder, rolling one arm carefully in a wincing stretch before he gets back to opening his piece up wider and returning to shaping its edges with fingers and tools. "-- Anyhow I teach teenagers cookin'? An' let me tell you, cookin' an' blowin' stuff up go /hand/ in hand sometimes."

His chin lifts to Micah in thanks for the cleaning-up. "S'right, half of all cookin' around here turns into feedin' a /crowd/. Even before this week. People jus' kinda. Have a /knack/ for turnin' up 'round mealtimes." There's amusement in his voice /here/ too but he's totally not looking at Violet. "There's all levels, come down on Fridays. Point is to get better so it don't much matter where you're startin' from. S'different /kindsa/ good, besides. I think Daiki's won a few rounds barely liftin' a finger."

"Ohman, yes. I am so much better at navigatin' Lego minefields than most folks." Micah's body language has lightened considerably since he came in, looser, more casual, lips drawn upward with general amusement at the conversation. "Mmn. Can I have a specific request? Since you're always makin' dragons. Little glass Toothless. I can make 'im a tiny prosthetic tail-sail. Ooo, scratch that, we could prob'ly make an entire model an' have the parts actually /work/ on it. Glass is a little delicate for movin' bits, usually. Was s'posed t'be buildin' things with Spence over the summer, anyhow. Once things settle down a bit with the rescuer/rescuee crowd a little so's there's less need for wound care an' mass meals." Really, once you start him rambling... The sparring talk finally drags him back to the conversation. "Might need t'clear out quite a bit t'spar in the gym. Sorta...lotsa heavy equipment in there, wouldn't feel good t'get run into."

Dusk's wings quiver, shoulders shaking in quiet laughter as Violet suddenly grows three sizes. "I'd do a lot more cooking if I got to blow shit up." Not that anyone would want to /eat/ it, mind. "Dai cheats, he /made/ me fight for him once. And I'm pretty sure he got Taylor to knock /himself/ out. -- You have no idea how badly I want to /spritz/ you right now." He's glancing over, amused, at the smoothing-down of fur, though after this he's wiping a wingtip against his forehead too. "... maybe that's just the heat talking. Oh shit. You could make a tiny glass Micah to go with the dragon, nobody'd ever know it's not Hiccup."

"Jewelry." Not a question, or a request, more a verbal expression of amusement. Jewelry, for /her/. Violet quirks a smile over at Jax but shakes her head without further inquiry into the concept. "Tell y'what, I'll come down next Friday, ya'll can see how well y'do against me, yeah?" The rest--Daiki, Toothless, references she is unfamiliar with and unable to speak to--go unanswered. Now that she has her fur sorted, or at least the most uncomfortable patches on face, arms and joints, she rises. Yes, standing on the table, like a kitty who knows itself to be safe from spritzes. Sniff. "S'gettin' hot in here," is her only comment before she /vaults/ from table towards the door. The distance covered means she need only sashay a few paces to reach the egress, leaving them with just a flirt of her tail in lieu of parting words or even a wave.

"Could make a tiny glass dragon /an'/ you could build a model, ain't nothin' says you can't have both." Jax twirls the pole more, letting the piece on it widen out, bigger, flatter. "An' t'ain't cheatin', the /point/ is t'use whatever -- skills y'got." Another few tiny pinches of shaping, a trace of thin metal against the glass to add texture, and finally with another sharp exhale he's just holding the thing carefully in a pair of tongs, tapping it firmly against the stand beside his bench to snap it off the narrow neck by which it's still attached to the pole. There's a plate in his tongs, now, dinner-sized, rounded though its edges swell out in a careful pattern that looks like feathers make up its border, the inside detailed in a swirling green pattern laid into the glass. He lifts his hand to Micah again -- actually /has/ one free hand now to lean against the other man as he carries his plate over to the pre-heated kiln to let it anneal slowly.

"Does kinda /bake/ in here. Take care." He lifts his chin as Violet vaults off, leaning heavily against his husband now that his work is done. "Dusk can handle movin' heavy things to the side, m'sure. /If/," he adds pointedly, "he gets back t'eatin'. -- /Oh/ an' yeah I told Micah he done gotta make a Hiccup cosplay for Dragon*Con this year." Micah's clothes are /changing/ into Hiccup's boots and furred vest and tunic. "I'd make a pretty aright Astrid, I think."

"I think people'd ask you for a lot /less/ cookin', y'start blowin' up our kitchens," Micah teases, a little mock-shudder added at the thought. "Catch y'later, Violet." His little wave at the exiting cat-girl is light enough to imply he rather expects to stumble on her again soon enough. She's not precisely a scarce figure, even just around the Commons. "/Could/ do both." His eyes light with that revelation. He falls quiet, watching the plate take shape with a certain wonder, support offered in the form of an arm here and there as it's needed. "Mmn. Bakin's kinda the point, but it /is/ rather warm." His arm lifts to drag the sleeve of his T-shirt across his brow as much as one /can/ with a short sleeve. "Yes, eatin'. An' also costumes. We just gotta get you in some long, blonde hair. I almost wanna say y'/have/ a skirt that's close to hers already." It's hard to tell from his grin whether that's truth or teasing, as well.

"People don't ask me for /any/ cooking right now so it'd be hard to ask less. Have you tasted shit I cook, you don't want to. Unless you like eating bricks of charcoal." Now that Jax is done, Dusk holds out the lemonade, waggling it in offering towards the others. "-- Christ. That's like fucking magic." His wing stretches to brush against Violet's twitchy tail as she rises. "Oh shit you're going to Dragon*Con again this year, I hate you." He grimaces over at the others once Jax's plate is cooling. "I'm pretty sure B has one like Astrid's, at the least. But nobody'd fit into B's skirts."

"It's good money. Got some things closer to home, too. Some sci-fi thing in Newark next weekend. Some furry thing upstate. Thought about one in Connecticut but I don't know summer gets packed. -- Anyway, this year we thought we should make a /vacation/ of it. Bring /everyone/." Jax leans in closer to Micah for a moment before stooping slowly to pick up the metal tray full of shattered glass from his other failed piece. The bulk of the glass that got /caught/ in the tray rather than shooting out over the floor, he simply tips back into the furnace to melt back down. "-- Is pretty much bakin'. Might take a break for eatin' an' /coolin' off/ 'fore I finish off the set." There had already been a few pieces of dinnerware cooling in his kiln. "-- Though I think the second I leave here I'm gonna find /other/ ways t'be busy, food needs makin' pretty much nonstop an' there's cleanin' an' folks need so much help jus' --" He bites down on his lip, looking between his furnace and the door uncertainly. Ultimately he keeps leaning against Micah as he moves out of the furnace area to take a seat on the bench at Dusk's table and accept the lemonade gratefully.

"You did manage Ramen that one time," Micah reminds with a chuckle, though his expression falls when Dusk sounds upset about the Con. "Oh. Ohgosh, y'don't think you'll /still/ be waitin' on your trial by then?" He chews at his lip, moving to assist Jax with his tasks where he can. "Break sounds good. But none of that other stuff for awhile. hour cool down break. Everybody gets fed an' drinks an' /rests/ for a bit. The work can wait for folks t'be /ready/ t'do it." He reaches requesting-fingers out toward the lemonade once Jax has had a sip. "Mmn. Might could be we need to go /outside/ for the cool down part."

"Dude you're broken. Get off your /feet/ for a minute the world won't fall apart." Dusk nudges the waffles towards Jax, too. His eyes widen slightly, head shaking. "No I -- I just didn't know you meant -- I thought you mean /you/ all were going, not -- that I was also --" Now a smile is creeping back onto his face, though it skews crooked soon enough. "Trial should be done by then. 'Course, I can't go to a con from jail either so who knows." He hops up to his feet when Micah mentions going outside, picking /up/ the waffle plate instead. "Come on. I'm fucking melting."

"Oh -- oh gosh, yeah, we jus'. Jus' talked th'other day 'bout makin' a /trip/ of it, I --- things been so /busy/ I forgot that people don't just. /Know/ what's in m'head --" Jax flushes deep-dark crimson, shaking his head as he passes the lemonade off to Micah. "You're /so/ invited, was gonna see 'bout bringin' the kids an' getting some rooms for /alla/ us." His brow furrows deeply, shoulders slumping, too. "We don't know what's gonna happen with the trial, you could -- maybe by that weekend we'll be /celebratin'/." His hand rests on Micah's shoulder, steadying himself as he pushes slowly back to his feet. "Yessir," is quiet (relieved) response to the mandatory cooling-down. "Outside in some /shade/ mebbe."

"You kiddin'? We wouldn't be bringin' /everybody/ somewhere an' not mean you, too. This plan /just/ got made, though. So we ain't had a chance t'tell folks." Micah's fingers close around the lemonade with a look of relief, the cool glass against his skin a help even before he drinks from it. "I wasn't gonna go if it meant leavin' the kids up here, but they'd likely come with us. Think the hardest part's gonna be gettin' Shane away from the cafe for the better part of a week." He nods along with the others' plans. "Mmn, yes, shade. Trees. Or the gazebo."

"B and Spence would be in heaven." Dusk's smile has returned, warm and easy. "I'll be pretty fucking glad if we have something to celebrate, by then." His wing brushes gently against the other men's backs, and he steps a little lighter as he heads for the door.