ArchivedLogs:Company

Company
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Melinda
In Absentia	2013-07-30 Pre-Gaming.
Location <NYC> 403 {Geekhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here, split between the four people; the fold-out couch in the living room (often folded out!) suggests that at least one of them does not actually claim a room as their own. Tuesday evenings mean GAME NIGHT, but the geek invasion is not due to begin for at least another hour. The apartment has been relatively tidied -- at least, there's plenty of space on both the wide living room table and the smaller kitchen table for running actual games. Dusk is just finishing up the last of the table-clearing, stacking a group of Shadowrun sourcebooks neatly to transfer them to a bookshelf. Typically for being at home he is shirtless, in camoflauge cargo shorts, wings folded in cloaklike against his back. He's put on a bit of muscle, in the past month and a half, lean but wiry-strong in contrast to his previously-default practically emaciated state. There's not much colour to him today, though, that much is the same, unhealthy pallor standing in inadvertently gothy contrast to his dark hair and the dark shadow of beard that shades his jaw. He moves slow. Deliberate. Tucking the books into place neatly, returning with a canister of Lysol wipes to wipe the table down. Despite the earliness of the hour, Melinda appears a knocking at the door. She's already been buzzed up, so her appearance is not unexpected. She's wearing a faded navy tee shirt where half of a store's logo has faded and flaked off, with light washed jeans over bright orange flip flops. She is once again contributing to game night, or general hanging out, with her reusable shopping bag, stuffed this time with corn chips and a tub of home made guac. Her hair is down and straight, looking brushed, but not overly fussed with. Her face is pale, but healthy, her energy low for the time being. Dusk is also slow in responding to the knock. Perhaps slightly unused to them with the large number of people who are less polite and just barge in. Possibly just sluggish with lack of energy. It takes a moment before he turns towards the door to go open it, the canister of wipes still held under an arm. The pair of wipes he was just using on the table is balled up in one hand. "Hey." His fangy smile comes at a delay, too, once the door is opened, but it's warm once it appears. "Hey, food." This is warm, too, if not quite as warm as his greeting to Melinda herself. But guacamole /also/ deserves its own smile. One wing stretches out, clawed end twitching to beckon her inside. And offer a hug as well, soft and fuzzy and fairly freshly showered, if the smell of Old Spice on him is any indication. "Hive and Flicker are out getting -- drinks. Things." Melinda walks straight in when Dusk opens the door, sauntering slowly, if you will, allowing him to take the food as she closes the door behind her. Shoes are slipped off and she steps forward to hug Dusk, her arms going around his neck. "Hi. Oh good. Drinks are nice. I hear dehydration causes headaches." Dusk's wing curls around Melinda, squeezing tight around her back. He draws in a slow breath as he hugs her close, and there's a wry note in his voice when he answers. "Dehydration causes a lot of things." It takes a moment longer before his hold relaxes. He lets the bag of snacks hang down by his side, held loose against his fingers. "S'good to see you. We sometimes think we should cancel this when --" He trails off, giving another quick squeeze before stepping back. "I'm glad. You came." Melinda leans into the hug and closes her eyes, her fingers playing lightly against his neck where his hair starts. When he releases, Mel squeezes a little tighter, then lets go as well, smiling a little sheepishly as she does. "Good to see you too. I am also glad I'm here. Couldn't imagine sitting at home, worrying. I like that you guys throw these things consistently. I mean, sure, some people get busy, but you never know who really needs it. Hell, if it was just me and you guys, it'd help." She stops yammering after a moment, looking embarrassed. "How are you?" Dusk's head tilts, slightly, during that hug, pressing back into the play of Melinda's fingers with a very quiet indrawn breath. "I do a lot," he says wryly, glancing over towards his laptop -- sitting on an armchair, currently open to a notepad and a terminal both full of code, "of sitting at home worrying. It's -- this is better." His eyes slide towards his closed bedroom door, for a moment. He is slow to move away from Melinda, moving to set out the chips and guacamole on the counter. "-- I think I've needed it more than -- usual. I'm -- glad it's Tuesday." "I'm glad it's Tuesday, too." Mel leans against the counter Dusk puts the chips and guac on, in no hurry to leave his side either. "Anything you want to talk about - or anything I can help with? I don't know if you want to vent a bit or maybe find something distracting. I'm good for both, or even something else." Dusk leans against the counter, too, arms propping against its surface. His wing stretches out, resting in a loose drape against Melinda's shoulders as his head slumps forward. "You do make kind've a great distraction," he says with a small curl of smile. "Everything's just been -- nonstop. No time to process one horrible thing before the next comes up. I think my feelings kind of switched onto autopilot back in June." Melinda smiles when he wraps a wing around her, leaning a bit against his shoulder. "No. There really hasn't been much time to process and it's got to be impossible to get moving if you are stuck here all the time. You should come over some time. Stretch your wings - figuratively and literally some evening." She pulls away after a moment and smiles brighter. "How about a back massage?" "I go on the roof sometimes --" This trails off, too. Dusk's wing tucks closer around Melinda, brushing in a slow squeezing stroke down the outside of her arm before she pulls away. "From you or for you?" he asks with a small flash of teeth. "I'd be pretty down either way. I feel like you could /probably/ use one lately, too." "I was offering, but we can switch off. I will not say no to a back massage. I am... flat out overwhelmed right now, but the simple things, basic actions, I find them soothing and restorative." She reaches out for his hand and leads him over to the armchair, beckoning him to sit on the floor. "I'll do you first. Is there anything I should keep in mind with your wing muscles?" Dusk's fingers curl through Melinda's, hand a little cool to the touch. Settling down to sit, for him, involves a somewhat gargoyle-esque crouch, wings folding in against his back, a fuzzy thin cloak laid over his back. "They're murder on my shoulders," he offers with a soft laugh, "but otherwise --" One wing shrugs, then folds back in over his shoulder -- given their enormous size it is rather difficult to find a resting position for them that does /not/ hide most of his back. They're thin enough, at least, to just drape kind of sheetlike /over/ his back, though, save for the long thin finger-bones that run down their length. "You should come over more often. It's -- do you have a key, yet? We are /really/ good at mindless simple repetition if that helps relax you." This comes with a hint of self-deprecation, a flick of hand out towards the television and all its gaming consoles. Melinda moves some things so it is much easier for her to climb into the arm chair from the side, moving to rest a leg on either side of him as she settles her weight on the seat of the chair. She brings her hands up and rests them lightly on his shoulders, fingers splaying in the velvety fur. "Is it okay if I rub through the wing sail?" When he nods his acceptance, her hands start to move, slow and light at first, then deeper and with more pressure at the muscles underneath. "Let me know if anything hurts or starts to feel tender - and whether that's a good thing or not because... sometimes knots hurt like hell - and have to in order to get them to release." "Everything kind of hurts," Dusk admits. Beneath the thin veneer of wing muscle his back mostly carries -- a lot of knotted-up tension, perhaps a byproduct of recent stress but per/haps/ just a byproduct of carrying around fourteen-foot wings all day. "But it feels good, too. You do this often?" His hands drop to rest on the floor between his feet. "What's your usual simple-things fallback?" "Oh, you know, heading to the soup kitchen and either cooking or serving up food. I can handle most general stress like that, but when it gets personal and I need to be extra careful I don't take something out on someone who may actually deserve some strictness - I have to actually get out of there. I go way overboard." Melinda uses her hands to rub at the muscles, but also uses her forearms to apply some weight, forcing muscles so used to pulling upwards to release and relax downwards. "I do it from time to time. We used to do a lot of circle massages back in theater. I am really not an expert, so please let me know if I need to stop something." "I didn't know you were in theater," Dusk admits with a sheepish duck of his head. "That's kind of neat. Do you still do any?" His weight rests against his curled fists, shoulders lazily starting to droop under Melinda's treatment. "I've been falling back on hitting things. I don't know if that's -- the best stress relief, really. But it's definitely stress relief." "Well, if your hitting is making you tired enough that you don't pick foolish fights with random assholes on the street, then it seems to be doing its work." Melinda smiles as Dusk beings to melt under her ministrations, hands shifting from the harder pressure to a warm rub, moving the muscles a little more now that they aren't quite so hard. "You're looking pretty fit, so it seems to help in the exercise department." Dusk exhales slowly, something tensing briefly in his posture but then relaxing back again. "Yeah, it'd be pretty stupid to -- it's tempting sometimes, though, you know? Especially right after Ian -- it was hard. Not to --" His fists curl tighter. "Thanks. I think actually /eating/ has helped, there. It's weird how little starvation does for your figure. -- Hive and Jax drag me rock climbing once in a while, too. But -- hitting things /vents/ the best. You should," he suggests lightly, "try it sometime. You're always so -- kind." Melinda smiles and nods, moving her hands up to press deeper against the muscles at the base of skull where they come together and then rub downward. "I'll think about it. And don't make kind sound like such a bad thing. I can be kind and authoritative. Kind and strict. Kind and... um... well, we all know Jax is kind, but that doesn't mean he just rolls over and takes abuse." She shrugs a bit and takes a deep breath. "Oh, no theater right now, except for watching it. I do that a fair bit. it's just a huge time commitment to be in a show and you've seen how busy I get. Oh, by the way - I have to agree. Eating is good for you. I would like to volunteer... for eating. I know it's a weird topic, but I don't know how else to bring it up." "Oh -- no, I'm sorry, I didn't -- I didn't mean that as. 'Kind' definitely doesn't mean 'weak'. Some of the kindest people I know are some of the strongest. I think --" Dusk swallows, and his weight leans just slightly back into Melinda's touch as his fists clench harder, the muscles in his arms cording up tight. "Sometimes it's so much harder, really. To be kind. Than to be cold. Or angry. I only thought you might sometimes be able to use a break. It's not easy to always be the strong one." There's another swallow, slow and hard. "Watching's still good," he manages a little lighter. "And -- thanks. I don't really like to press but I do appreciate -- being able to eat. I got so used to not doing it I forgot how good it felt to -- actually be alive." "Ah. That makes more sense." Melinda's rub down Dusk's shoulders and hang across his chest as she stops, leaning forward against him. "It's strangely humbly to spend time with you guys, people who have different abilities, scientifically measurably greater strength, and oh hell, things I would have regarded as magic when I was a kid. I may get frustrated and angry, especially when things are shitty like this, but I have come to grips with the very real notion that I... cannot hit worth a damn and verbally picking fights may just get me killed. I may be right and righteously angry or out of my mind with grief, but I am not strong at all, physically. I'm basically the cook of this revolution - and not a cool one like Stephen Segal." She slouchs a little more and looks away. "Maybe I'm just a coward underneath it, but I find myself fighting complacency more than rage and violence." She pauses then adds. "Yes. Put me on your rotational or phone list or what have you. I am available and the Red Cross is not banging down my door for my blood type." Dusk lifts an arm, curling up his hand against Melinda's head. "I think they're both dangers, times like this. I don't -- know if that's." He swallows again. "It might be just as much 'cowardice' to give in to rage. I know for me, anyway, being angry has shit-all to do with being brave. It's just -- being angry." His fingers uncurl, threading into her hair. His head tips back, cheek brushing against hers as he rests his head back against her shoulder. His other hand lifts to rest over hers. "-- Can't have a revolution on an empty stomach, anyway," he adds, a little more amused. "So we're each fighting the bad in our own way. We're both fighting the desire to stop caring about what we believe in for the sake of convenience." Mel rests her cheek lightly against Dusk's intentionally, her smile felt in the way the muscles move gently against him. She moves her hand to grip his and closes her eyes. "Nope. Food makes people strong and able to fight. I feel like I'm doing a hell of a lot, even when I'm not protecting people with my own two hands. But, if I ever stop, please call me out on it. Come find me if I don't come around and shake some sense into me, okay?" "I'll find you." Dusk's hand slides back, through Melinda's hair to rest against the back of her neck. His fingers knead downwards, gently rubbing at the muscles there. His head turns, slowly; he brushes a light kiss against Melinda's cheek. "S'your turn," he murmurs. Melinda begins to melt when Dusk starts rubbing at her neck, the relief starting to work its way down her arms when he kisses her cheek. It takes her another deep breath before she straightens up and starts to get out of the chair. "Okay. Do you know what we're playing tonight?" Dusk is slow to let his hand drop. His wings stretch, slightly, once he also starts to stand. There's not enough room in the living room to unfurl them completely; one curls out to bump up against the kitchen counter. The other wraps around Melinda's shoulders. "Mmm. Whatever people want. S'really the company more important than the games." Melinda leans in close to Dusk and smiles as they begin the process of turning and switching positions. "The company is nice." Dusk's wings wrap snug around Melinda. There's a long moment of delay, where he just holds her close. His lips brush her cheek once more before he lets go. Taking the seat she just vacated, he flexes his fingers, smiling at her. "The company is more than nice."