21 February 2015
Accessible to all residents of the Commons via electronic keycard, this three-story building holds a number of facilities freely available for the shared use of all Commons residents. The stone-floored foyer is high ceilinged -- balconies on the two upper floors look down into this entrance, leaving just the wide skylit ceiling three stories up to trickle light down through the whole of the house. Through wide wood-and-glass doors the spacious dining area is visible on the left; on the right, heavier doors beside the elevator lead to the similarly large kitchens. There are four single-user toilets on this floor, two apiece by the foyer and the dining room.
Though a wide staircase runs all the way up, there is also an elevator tucked to one side. For the adventurous, though, there's another way up through the house -- through the center of the house where the balconies look down, an enormous climbing structure has been erected, solid wood platforms softened with carpeting, held together with strong spiderwebbed steel cables. Interlaced in an intricate maze that spirals up through the whole of the house and down to the basement, it provides a crazily winding path to duck and wriggle and worm through, with exits -- if you can /find/ them -- dispensed out onto each upper balcony and into the basement below.
Grocery shopping was the name of the game before the worst of the wintry weather could get hold today. Items all unpacked into cabinets and refrigerators in the kitchens, Micah ducks out into the main hall with a bundle of empty shopping bags to return to their home in the closet. He is dressed /weekend/ and /cold/: Batsignal hoodie over blue and green plaid flannel, turquoise tee on which Toothless is sharing a book with a horde of Terrible Terrors, pale blue henley, fleece lined jeans, thick-fuzzy blue and white striped socks, Wish Bear wristwarmers. The ridiculous muss of his hair can at least be attributed to keeping it under a wool hat while he was out.
The clomp of heavy boots and the soft clinking of metal shifting on a belt follows shortly after the sound of running water coming from one of the bathrooms near the dining room. There's a crackle of static and the brief sound of a mumbling voice that sounds not too much better than a soup-can-and-string connection before the volume fades to inaudible levels. When the owner of the boots steps out, the metal makes more sense - the clink-clink of handcuffs knocking gently against the heavy hand-held computer at his side as Eric quickly glances around the dining room.
Eric is in uniform, jacket unzipped but pulled around his body to ward off the slime and wet the weather is pissing down onto the boroughs. Gloves hang half-stuffed into a pocket, all in all hardly looking the well-kempt image of New York's Finest.
The particular combination of sounds sets Micah's teeth on edge, muscles in his shoulders bunching as he turns slowly from the open closet. That particular uniform doesn't do much to settle him, hip absent-mindedly pressing the door closed behind him but eyes staying fixed on Eric. As always, it seems to take a few beats longer for the /identity/ to sink in past the role. "Hey, Eric." His brow furrows slightly. "You here on official business? Somethin' goin' on?"
Eric's smile comes a little bit slower than it usually does, one hand rising to wave in recognition. "Heya, doc. Yeah, I'm workin'. Was lookin' to see if Flicker was around to give another statement 'bout the bombing that happened at the clinic, but he didn't answer his door." The police officer steps closer to Micah, shrugging his shoulders. "Ain't no thing. We got the guy already, so it's just paperwork, n' that can wait." Shifting the laptop off to his left hand, Eric reaches out and claps Micah on the shoulder. "How 'bout you? How's things?"
"Doc? Must've gotten a promotion again," Micah teases, finally relaxing at the assurance that nothing /else/ has happened to any of the Commons denizens. "Flicker's always crazy-busy. Might be off at school at the library or hidden away somewhere studyin', most likely...d'be my guess, anyhow." He pats his hand over Eric's gently. "Okay. Okay. Folks is recoverin' from the mess at the Clinic. Still...frettin' over some people bein' sick, but. Nothin' majorly catastrophic. How're y'doin'? S'disgustin' out. Can I get y'somethin' hot t'drink?"
"Weather like this, I'm just glad I ain't on the bikes anymore. Riding in this snow ain't fun. Usually the sarge would look the other way and let us stay in a squad car, but." Eric shrugs his shoulders and gives the other man a smile. "If ya have some coffee, I'd not say no. Been a long couple'a days." The younger man rolls his shoulders back, rocking his head from side to side to crack out his neck. "And I ain't tire easy."
“/Can/ y'even bike in this kinda mess? D'think you'd just slide. Get stuck. Not really get any functional speed or distance. Better off /walkin'/.” Micah gives a little shudder at the thought of being stuck on a bike in the worsening winter mess. “Don't think there's none pre-made, but it ain't nothin' t'get some brewed up. S'even one of those...Keurig dealies. Enough people wanted the little cup things.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “Can get you a place t'sit better in there, too.”
"Thanks, Micah." Eric's smile comes a little bit easier as he steps towards the kitchen, boots clomp-clomping against the floor. "How's Jax healin' up from this? I'm gonna have ta interview him, too, at some point down the road. Victim impact statement and all that." The police officer places the toughbook down on a counter, glancing around and eying the Keurig machine suspiciously. He opens it up with two fingers and peers into it. "Where'd ya say the cup-things were?" Eric asks, turning around to flash a smile at Micah. "Easier n' makin' ya make me some the slow way."
"No problem, sugar." Micah moves to open the cabinet just below the machine, where the little cups are organised by the (many) available varieties. "Figure you're better off readin' 'em than waitin' for me t'list all the kinds." Meanwhile, he collects a /large/ mug to be filled with the beverage. "He's doin' better. Fortunately, it's far from the worst kinda burns he's had t'recover from. Um...fortunate that it's not s'bad now, not that he's /had/ worse." He nods at the mention of further interviews needed. "Prob'ly easiest if y'text with 'im 'bout when he can do. So's he can poke about 'is schedule an' all. Y'take any kinda lighteners?"
"Christ, you ain't kiddin'." Eric mutters as he runs a finger over some of the little cups, turning them so that he can see the labels. "Midnight Express? Kahlua? Golden French Toast? Where's the /coffee/?" He laughs at his own little joke, shaking his head as he sorts through the cups. "Creme, if ya got it, thanks. Figured as much - I'll shoot him a text sometime in the next week or so ta get it on the calendar." Straightening up with little cup in hand - revv, apparently, counts as coffee - Eric jams it into the machine and shuts it carefully. Taking the mug and putting it under the spigot, he presses the "large" button and turns to face Micah once more. "Uh, how are Shane and B - and Spence?"
“Think they're sellin' based on havin' all kindsa wacky flavours y'can just switch up on a whim from day t'day. Most of the 'normal' coffees seem t'be just...Whatever-Roast. They like their cutesy names pretty good, though.” Chuckling a little, Micah wanders over to the not-vegan refrigerator to collect the crème and deposit it on the counter. “Pups're okay. Still got all that...turnin' eighteen business loomin', but. Think it's pretty much life as usual just now. Had a lunar New Year party a little bit ago that was a good time.” His head shakes along with another little laugh over Spence. “Spence is in /heaven/ with all this snow this year. Nonstop snow forts and snow fights and snowmen.”
Eric's smile looks a little bit forced around the edges for a moment as he pours some of the creme into the mug and looks down to watch the swirling color mixing into the dark liquid. "Thanks," he murmurs, sliding the creme back over towards Micah. "S' gotta be something like that. Or maybe they got a whole herd'a interns they gotta keep busy doin' somethin', so they just come up with new names all day." When Spencer comes up, at least, the smile spreads more naturally. "Yeah, I can imagine. It's been a great winter for sleddin'."
“'Welcome, hon.” Collecting the crème, Micah returns it to its spot in the refrigerator before it can get warm. “Y'wanna sit a spell? Know they can keep y'all on your feet quite a bit.” His hand slides over toward the table and chairs indicatively. “Pretty much anybody who loves winter's havin' a good year this time 'round.” He snorts at the mention of the interns. “If even that. Marketin' folks spend all their time just comin' up with names an' presentations for things. Frettin' over which /font/ s'more likely t'get somebody t'buy a coffee.”
Eric glances at one of the seats and, for a moment, his eyes dart off towards one of the walls in the general direction of Beachhaus. "Uh." He pauses for a moment then turns and smiles at Micah, shrugging his shoulders. "Sure - thanks, Micah." The younger man blows over the surface of the coffee, stepping over to the closest chair and sinking down into it. "Gotta say, I ain't understand any of that shit. I buy what I want, and the font ain't enter into it, ya know?"
One of Micah's hands scruffs fingers through his hair, watching the direction of that glance but not commenting on it. "Think they get themselves all tied up with the psychologists figurin' how makin' your food packagin' red's more likely t'make folks wanna eat more an' all that. Guess they figure there's a lotta subconscious things goin' on influencin' folks decision-makin'. Which...is /true/, but I think they take it a fair sight overboard, too." He settles into a seat across from the other man, idly sliding a cookie tin sitting on the table toward himself and pulling one out to nibble on. "Wanna cookie? S'chocolate chip macadamia nut."
"Yeah, maybe." Eric reaches out and takes a cookie, dipping an edge of it into his coffee and biting a hunk out of it. Om, nom, nom. "I guess for all I know, I only want the things I want because some egghead shrink got them to put hidden messages in the television advertisements or somethin'." Eric muses, though the twitching at the edges of his lips might indicate he is not exactly being serious.
Micah taps the lid back on the tin and returns it to its place to the side of the table once they both have cookies. “Mmn, yeah. Nothin' t'be done at this point. Too much imbedded mind control t'turn back now,” he plays back. “They got y'doin' a lotta weekend hours lately?”
"Weekends, nights." Eric waves a hand lazily in the air. "We ain't got many people on the team, so when some'a us got to help out on somethin' larger like this, we're short-shifted. Everyone's gotta pull together and run more shifts. N' we're under an overtime freeze ta' boot." Eric gripes, taking a long sip of his coffee. "So I've gotta go get a binder full'a paperwork signed just to get my shifts covered."
"Seems like more work t'do an' fewer folks t'do it with's just the way things run in gen'ral anymore," Micah replies with a little sigh and a shake of his head. "Hadn't been doin' quite as much weekend work m'self as previous, other'n workin' on some of the paperwork an' manufacturin' stuff for the reg'lar day job. Might be a good idea t'start pickin' up more again, though. We're still workin' on seein' just how high the fines're gonna get for not registerin'."
"Higher n' higher." Eric says, shrugging his shoulders. "Hopefully this bombin' will make the registry want to shy away from bad press for ticketin' you guys, but... I ain't get the feeling that this is just gonna go away, ya know?" He pauses, dipping the cookie into the coffee once more and swirling it around gently. "At least it ain't criminal, though. That'd be a whole 'nother level of problems. The city public display shit is bad enough already."
“Oh, ain't gotta ticket, s'much. They just send us a new, bigger figure in the mail ev'ry so often.” Micah's fingers flutter at his side to imply how simple a thing this is for the authorities. “Not really a lotta press or nothin' t'be worryin' over.” He quiets, nibbling more at his cookie and simply nodding agreement with the last.
Eric nods at this and then falls silent, sipping at his coffee and taking bites out of the cookie. He stares mostly into space, eyes roughly in Micah's direction but not really looking at anything in particular. It's not until the cookie has vanished into his mouth does he snap out of it and give Micah a sheepish look. "Sorry, what? I think I'm runnin' low on gas, even with the coffee." He raises the mug in a salute, taking another long, gulping sip.
“What?” Micah looks a little confused at the question. “Oh. Y'almost off duty yet? Seems like maybe y'could use an early turn-in t'day.”
"I'm off-duty as an hour or so ago, in terms of gettin' /paid/. But I should have relief comin' in about another hour or so, give or take. Then I can go home and catch up on some rest." Eric shrugs his shoulders and covers his mouth with his elbow as he lets out a yawn loud enough to almost be a roar. "Though I might just leave the city without MID coverage for an hour. I'm fuckin' beat."
“Mmn. Mightn't be the worst idea, if it won't cause y'no trouble, anyhow.” Micah finishes off the last of his cookie before continuing. “At the very least, this weather keeps more folks indoors an' doin' fewer things that need your attention, right?”
"Yeah, ain't that the truth." Eric yawns again, then lifts the coffee mug to his lips and drains it in one long set of gulps. He stands up a moment later, carrying the mug over to the dishwasher. "We don't want to be out in that shit, and as it turns out, s' the same for the criminals. Go figure."
Micah stands as Eric does, though he remains lingering near the table. “Small blessin's where y'can get 'em. You drivin' out in this? Better be /extra/ careful, if you're half-asleep on toppa all the winter happenin'.” His teeth press gently into his lower lip.
"Yup. Got a cruiser parked outside. Might take it home n' wake up early tomorrow to get it back. Not sure, yet. Probably that's better'n trying to take the subway home after I drop this back at the lot." Eric shrugs his shoulders and gives Micah a lilting smile. "Oh, don't worry about me, Micah. Worry about the car if you're gonna worry - it ain't as durable as me." The police officer winks and yawns one more into the crook of his arm. "Thanks for the coffee, Micah. Give everyone my best, and I'll be in touch with Jax to schedule the interview."
“Good, good.” Micah's lips pulls into a smirk at Eric's assertion. “Shoot, I know you're fairly indestructible, but there's always the /other/ folks t'worry 'bout. An' the /paperwork/, if nothin' else. Way's things usually go, I can't imagine crashin' the patrol car's an easy thing t'deal with from even a bureaucratic standpoint.” He nods, a little dismissive pat given to the air before him at the thanks. “More'n welcome, sugar. Weren't no trouble on my part. Take care out there, though.”