ArchivedLogs:Closing the Gap

Closing the Gap
Dramatis Personae Cage, Hive
In Absentia	2014-03-27 '
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Courtyard - Lower East Side
It's /slightly/ warmer than it has been, which means it's crept a /little/ above freezing, today. Sunny, at least. Here on the lot that one day /will/ be the Commons it is, at the moment, a mess of heavy machinery and treacherous footing -- in mid-excavation, foundations being set, it's a lot of sudden deep /holes/ in between the machinery. The lot itself has had numerous CONSTRUCTION ZONE and NO TRESSPASSING and HARD HAT AREA signs posted around it though. /Just/ at the moment, though, with his crew on lunch break there is no actually /constructing/ going on and Hive is in flagrant violation of these signs. He's perched up on the yellow body of a Caterpillar near the fence, in heavy jeans, heavy workboots, tatty canvas jacket worn open over shabby denim shirt and a plain white shirt beneath. Fleecey red Theta Tau hat pulled down over his fuzzy-short hair. He's sitting crosslegged, not actually looking inward (somewhere far off in the back of the lot there's a lunchtime poker game going on between some of the workers while others have fled to eat their lunch somewhere warmer and indoors) but with eyes focused out towards -- the fence? The city beyond? There's a thermos held in between his bare hands, and his shoulders are hunched faintly inwards against the breeze coming off the river, a little tensed, a little shaky. His eyes close a moment later, but his mind is still brightly alert -- even /moreso/ than usual, with his current stable of hivees amplifying his power and range, the mental sounds of the city filter into his mind in stark crispness from a block and a half away in all directions. /Possibly/ leading to the slow headachey-squeeze of eyes. Driving onto the worksite is a now-familiar black humvee. It navigates the dirt and ruts without any problems, because unlike 90% of the SUVs in any city, this vehicle is actually meant for Situations. One might even call it a Situational Utility Vehicle. 'Sport' isn't in it's vocabulary. All of this commentary? This is the train of Luke's thoughts as he grins, bumping his way through the construction site. When he spies Hive, he actually guns the engine and jerks the wheel at the last moment so the car spins a 180, and comes to rest in a small dust cloud, but facing in the right direction to leave. Luke gets out wearing a suit for some reason, sleek gray with a black collared shirt and no tie. He has some fancy shoes on too, but he doesn't seem worried about the fact that they're getting dirty here. "Hey," he says, looking up at Hive perched on the dozer. "I guess you already know why I'm here." There are many things on Cage's mind, but foremost is the fact that the project is going to come up short this month on income. << Because, >> Hive's answer /doesn't/ come in his usual grating-painful hammer-thud of mental voice -- today it is quiet, gentle, rippling in on a multilayered echo that sounds like /many/ voices softly chorusing in unison. He doesn't move from his position cross-legged atop the machine, doesn't open his eyes. He -- still looks like he hasn't slept in about a year, but maybe that's just how he /always/ looks, a little wan, very raccoon-eyed. << Manhattan doesn't give you many chances for offroading otherwise. >> Luke blinks at the mental voice, already cringing at the expected headache of mind-talking, and then he looks up again, surprised. << Didn't know he could do that... >> Cage doesn't really understand that he can just think at Hive. He thinks he'd have to be a telepath as well. He shakes his head and sighs. "Nah man," he says, folding his arms across his chest. "It's about your email from the other day. About the finances." He looks around and then back up at Hive. "Are we ok to talk about that here? I guess you'd know if someone was listening in, right?" << S'a lot we can do. >> Hive's fingers clench and unclench around his thermos, bony knuckles shifting their grip to set the thermos down between his legs. His hands shake; he hunches just a little bit more forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes stay closed. << Know every mind on this block. S'nobody coming. >> His eyes scrunch tighter closed, and then relax. "Shit blew up," he says, aloud this time. "Tends to derail plans some. I'll have to budget for explosions next time around." "Yeah and renter's insurance is complete bullshit, too," he says, shaking his head. He feels the loss deeply, almost like it happened to him personally. "It's fucked up, I'll say that much. Man, if I ever get my hands on the people who did that... There were families in there. /Kids/ for fuck's sake." A series of rough mental images flick through his mind, only half of which he'd /actually/ go through with. He sighs and climbs up into the driver seat of the bit Cat to speak with Hive at eye level. "Look, here's the thing man. Everyone's at their worst right now. A thing like this... Nobody comes out right, even if they weren't injured. So it's like this: I wanna make up the difference this month. But you gotta keep my name out of it. I'll funnel money into the shell company, and you can tell everyone we just bumped along in the finances, but we'll scrape by until everyone gets on their feet. I mean, I can't even pay the whole thing, but I think I can... close the gap a little." << Yeah. There were kids. >> For a brief moment Hive's echoing mindvoice comes with a drifting background mental image of Spencer, pale and lifeless and burned. << Some people just -- >> His head sinks down to rest his face in his palms, fingertips sliding up beneath the brim of his cap and his palms pressing hard against his eyes. "Heh." This just sounds heavy. Tired. "Seriously?" His palms dig in harder against his eyes, his tone briefly hopeful before it just sinks back into exhaustion. "I'm not lying to people for you, dude. Everyone's in this thing together, it's their project as much as mine. Been open with them about everything till now." Luke ponders Hive's point for a long moment, his mind clearly in conflict. Finally, he shakes his head. "No I get it man. I didn't even think of it that way. That I'd be asking you to lie. Kinda just figured it didn't have to come up, but I see what you mean." Luke closes his eyes for a moment, thinking briefly about his options, and for some reason the mental image of his prison break swims to the surface for just a moment, but then it's gone again when he opens his eyes. "Well ok, can I just ask you a /favor/ then? Will you let me know if the project seriously starts to redline? I'll kick in some cash if you need it, and we'll go from there." << Suppose we could just say you're An Anonymous Donor, >> Hive muses slowly, hands dropping back downwards. His eyes finally open, a small shiver running through him. "Haven't -- really talked about donations yet but I suppose after this is all in /place/ we could set the group up as a --" He stops, shaking his head slightly. "Thinking aloud," he mutters apologetically, slumping back against the windshield of the vehicle. "If this project starts to go all to shit," he assures Luke, "you'll feel /my/ goddamn mind screaming it out from clear across this godforsaken island. I've been working till my fucking hands bleed on this shit I don't want to see it fall apart. /Especially/ not now. Because holy shit do people need homes." "That's all I meant before," Luke says. "I just want to be anonymous this time. But I also don't want you to be in a position where you have to lie, because you /know/ it's not anonymous. Well hey, now that you mention it..." Luke's mind works at the problem for a long moment, actually trying to remember something he saw on the /internet/ which is generally not a familiar place for him. "Yeah, can't we set up a PalPay account or some shit? Do a whole Commons website and let people know they can donate if they want to?" Hive's head rolls to the side; through the windshield his expression in profile can be seen turning up into a grin at Luke's suggestion. "Palpay. Dude do you actually own a computer?" He reaches down for his thermos, though he doesn't drink, just moving it up to rest on his chest instead. "Yeah. Yeah, we could do that. Dusk -- um, my roommate, he's kind of the techie in my apartment. Old -- apartment." He frowns at this, briefly. "-- anyway he was already on board to build a Commons website once we were /open/ for people to come live here. Could just ask him to bump it up a bit, set it up for donations. That shit's easy, probably shouldn't take him long." Luke shrugs. "I've broken two laptops. So I gave up. Smartphone's good enough for email and shit." He grins at Hive, but is grimly aware behind his facade of the 13 years of technology and everything else that passed him by while he was in prison. "But anyway, that sounds like a good plan. Just make sure the donations all filter through the shell company. It has to look legit." He hops down from the cab in one jump with a very noticeable /THUD/ and walks to the back of his truck. He opens it up and says, "I got something just for you though. Figured you were out," he says, and hauls a flat of 24 protein shakes out onto his shoulder. Looks like it doesn't weigh much, but that can be deceiving in his case. "Where should I leave this for you?" "It'll look legit." Hive struggles upright, hitching one knee up towards his chest. His eyes widen, slightly, at the case of protein drinks, and he snorts. << Dude, not sure we could even -- >> He hesitates at this, pressing his knuckles against his temple. "Shit. Just. By those blocks," he gestures a little bit off to the side. "You are a very persistent motherfucker."