ArchivedLogs:Crush

Crush
Dramatis Personae Hive, Micah, Melinda, Mallory, Flicker, Horus
In Absentia	15 September 2013 Some picnic in the park, some flying, some heavy conversation, and some cuddles in the sunshine.
Location <WES> Croton Gorge Park – Westchester
Situated on the east bank of the Hudson, this large park offers events year-round and a plethora of activities for nature lovers. With playgrounds, facilities for camping and swimming, boating and fishing, plentiful trails for hiking, biking, horseback riding, cliffs for rock climbing, grounds for winter sports, and ample ground to just sit and enjoy the weather, these park grounds are a great place to relax year-round. The grounds are well-tended, and with a host of avian and herpitological life, early mornings often find animal lovers scoping out the grounds in search of a glimpse of some rare bird or lizard hiding in the trees or rocks as well. The park today is quite populated, a host of people outside enjoying the lingering warm weather before summer leaves for good. It's /large/ enough, at least, that well-populated does not translate to /crowded/. Hive is less cranky, then, than he otherwise might be, tucked away somewhere deep into the park among a wealth of enormous boulders. He has claimed the top of one rock for himself, sprawled out on the sun-warmed stone with a starfruit in hand. He's not /eating/ the starfruit, though. Just -- holding it. Dressed comfortably in lightweight black shorts and a sleeveless blue shirt, he has shed his shoes somewhere in the grass below. There is /other/ food besides the starfruit, also somewhere in the grass below, but he is ignoring that as well. Instead he's watching the sky, where somewhere far above a large winged shape soars. /Happily/. "-- You think he should wear a helmet?" Flicker is asking this from his perch dangling from the underside of one outcropping of rock about eight feet off the ground; he's stretching one lanky arm outward in search of a grip to pull himself higher. "Texting and flying seems -- ill-advised." "Said he wouldn't," Hive answers without opening his eyes. "Though I think he's more worried about dropping his stylus and losing it than about crashing." Micah is down in the grass below with that other food, having brought along curried sweet potatoes wrapped in rice paper, with a container of creamy coconut milk-cilantro-tamarind sauce. He drizzles some of the sauce onto the end of a wrap before nibbling at it. “See, now I'd have t'design a helmet that would stay on his head... I think he should be okay if he doesn't try t'use it /while/ he's flyin'. I made him promise /not/ to.” He plays with dripping more sauce on the wrap, slowly, from a spoon. Drip drip drip. “Should probably make him a spare custom one, an' get another spare flexible-shaft one. Already figured out he's gonna need at least one portable charger for the rate he's usin' the thing. Just gonna...have t'prioritise which thing happens when...” Melinda wanders in from further over in the park, still rubbing sanitizer on her hands, proof of a successful visit to the facilities. She is wearing bright aqua shorts and a baggy brown tee shirt, with sneakers on her feet instead of the usual flipflops she uses to enjoy the warmer weather. She moves to settle down into a sitting position next to Micah, reclining and lifting a hand so she can see Hive and Flicker. "Did I miss anything? Is he still okay or are we looking for his body from an elevation?" "Oh, he's having a great time, I think. At least my phone has been still buzzing off the fucking hook." Hive rolls over onto his stomach, head tipping over the edge of his rock to look down at the people below. "He's good," is Flicker's more concise answer, with a glance upward. He eventually just swings himself off of his current foothold, taking a small /leap/ to grab on to his next grip; after a precarious moment of dangling he manages to get a toehold against the rock again. "-- Not calling Joshua if you break your leg /again/," Hive cautions. And, down to Micah, "do you think he'd even /wear/ a helmet? I don't think Dusk likes having a lot of /things/ when flying." Another bite of wrap sends a bit of sauce dripping onto the head of Dr. Whooves, where he is depicted on Micah's TARDIS blue T-shirt. He swipes at it with a paper napkin before it can settle or stain. “No, no body-huntin', Mel. 'Least not yet.” He chuckles at Hive's question. “I think he'd wear about anythin' I'd put 'im in if he thought it would let him text /continuously/ while he's flyin'. Which I won't, 'cause he shouldn't. An' I'll fuss at 'im when he lands 'cause you /shouldn't/ be gettin' texts unless he's stationary.” He scrubs the fingers of his non-food-holding hand through his hair. “It's like havin' a teenager with a new car an' a cellphone, I swear.” "Too bad you can't just affix it to a wing so that he literally can't text while flying because his wing won't hold still." Melinda gives a little shrug and reaches out for one of those sweet potato rolls, and dips it in the sauce, before cupping a hand under it and bringing it to her mouth. She draws in a deep breath as she starts chewing turning her attention back to Hive and Flicker. "Guys, you should just let him figure stuff out. I'm sure the novelty will wear off sooner or later." "You see anyone actually messing with him, Mel?" Hive's brows raise. He tucks one arm beneath his chin, taking a large bite out of his starfruit as juice runs down his face to drip onto the rock. "He is a teenager," Flicker points out quietly, through his teeth as he reaches for another grip. Misses, slipping off the rock and this time not catching himself in time -- not that it results in any broken limbs. Just a small shimmer-blur of motion and he reappears much closer to the ground, fall reduced from eight feet to half of one before he whumps down into the grass. "Khh --" He dusts himself off as he stands, turning to face Mel and Micah. "I mean, he's barely older than the twins." He settles down into the grass beside Melinda, eying the rolls curiously. "What's in the sauce?" "Probably delicious. It came from their house, what the fuck else would be in it?" Hive is eying the distance from the top of his rock to the ground with a /frown/ after Flicker lands. “Figurin's fine, it's the /crashin'/ I'm worried about,” Micah replies, though he doesn't sound /exceedingly/ worried for all that. “I /know/ he's a teenager. That's what makes it more of a thing for me t'fuss over.” Speaking of fussing, Flicker is now falling on the ground! Micah tosses the remainder of his wrap back onto his plate, scrambling to his feet. “Ohgosh, Flicker, are you okay?” He receives the answer in the form of Flicker asking about /food/ and breathes a sigh of relief. “It's coconut milk for the base, with some ground cashews. Tamarind paste an' cliantro for seasonin'.” Settling back into his spot, he fetches a plate and adds a sweet potato roll to it before offering it out to Flicker. "No, Hive. You're just motherhen'ing." Melinda smiles up at him, before turning her attention back to her roll, drizzling the sauce on this time. She doesn't seem to be that worried, after watching birds dive and weave in and out of traffic most of her life without incident. << It'll probably take one good scare to teach him to not to be so casual with his flying. >> She finishes off her roll and moves away from the rolls and the sauce to let Flicker have access. "You want some? You should come down and get some." "He's been /flying/ since forever," Hive says with a small shrug, a small frown upwards. He's only crashed -- uh." "... few times," Flicker admits, accepting the sweet potato roll with a smile. "I'm fine. /I/ crash a lot more often." He drizzles sauce onto his roll, lifting it towards his mouth. But not actually eating it; he glances up to see Hive still atop his rock making grabbyhands down towards the plate. With a long-suffering sigh he unfolds himself back to his feet, disappearing-reappearing to land atop the rock and /give/ the plate to Hive. Then return to the ground for another one. "Hive motherhens everyone," he confides quietly to Melinda. "He's just so much crankier about it than you guys." “Yeah, Hive, we miss you down here,” Micah half-teases up to the telepath. He gives a nod of appreciation, watching Flicker's food teleportation act. “Man, you would be, like, the best delivery person /ever/.” The mother-hen discussion tugs his lips into a smirk. “Oh, I can get that. I mean, s'bad enough just /guessin'/ at what people might do t'themselves. That one can actually /hear/ all the bad ideas in the makin'.” "Oh, I know. It's why I had a crush on him." Melinda returns confidence with Flicker, giving him a little smile before looking up to Hive once more, with a slightly wider smile. << When I got my first smart phone, I simply could not stop staring at it. It loses its allure eventually. >> She settles back on her hands, and stretches her legs out in front of her. "So, Micah. What other medical marvels are you whipping up in that workshop of yours?" "Robot wings for the rest of us," Hive answers Melinda, biting into his roll with a bit more cheer. "And yeah holy crap some of the bad life decisions I hear from people -- jegus, sometimes I think the entire /world/ should be locked up. -- Holy shit this is good. Why isn't /everything/ full of coconut and cashew?" "Can we put coconut and cashew in everything? He might keep some weight on, if we do." Flicker settles back down cross-legged beside the others, claiming another roll for /himself/ this time. "-- Wait, you had a crush on him?" His brows raise, eyes shifting between Melinda and Hive in mild surprise. "-- Hey, I /still/ think smartphones are basically magic." Hive is saying this down to Melinda, with a crooked smile in return. “As far as anythin' beyond the regular stuff I usually do for work? I made a couple of, essentially, compression shirts for the twins t'help control their gills so they can remember t'use their faces for breathin' while they're on land. Those were a commission from Peter, though, an' I haven't seen him in forever t'be able t'deliver the things. Prob'ly end up makin' more of 'em if the first set works out.” Micah pauses long enough to pop the last bite of his sweet potato roll into his mouth and chew it over for a bit. “Shoot, I've already got /one/ flyer I'm worried about crashin' 'cause of tech I've put t'gether. An' this one wants me makin' everybody /wings/. Then complains about /other/ people's bad decisions.” He gives his head a shake, his lopsided grin returning. “I'd give you guys m'recipe if I thought for a second that there would be any cookin' goin' on in your apartment. How 'bout we just have you guys take the leftovers today? An' Jax'n I'll do some coconut milk dishes a little more often, 'cause yeah, scrawny-boy.” Micah's grin widens. “Flicker, you say that with /surprise/, like crush-worthiness were somehow in /doubt/ here.” "I even kissed him," Melinda admits, her tone secretive between the two on the ground. She smiles easily, a hint of embarrassed red against the pale skin near her hairline. she reaches out to grab another roll. "It didn't work out. These things happen." She turns her attention back to Micah, listening quietly. "Yeah, if you're worried about Horus, you're probably not going to want to worry about everyone going flying with Dusk on Tuesday nights instead of game night. Even if you made everyone fill out waivers, you'd still fret." "Look, you make everyone wings," Hive answers, "and then they'll all crash and die and I won't have to listen to all your sorry asses anymore." Flicker tips a hand upwards towards Hive in indication, eyebrows still raised to Mel and Micah. "-- See? He's kind of a jerk. And there's so many actually /nice/ people around. /I'd/ have a crush on Mel." His brows crease, his smile quick and crooked. "-- I guess you couldn't have a crush on yourself, though." "Flicker cooked, once." Hive moves to sit up, propping an elbow on his knee as his other leg dangles over the edge of the rock. "Oh and Dusk made ramen /just/ yesterday. Anyway neither of you are exactly /fleshy/. Mel," he brazenly invites her, "you should come eat at Jax and Micah's place more often." “That's because these jerks'd /sign/ waivers an' still go out an',” Micah's hand waves up at Hive-on-the-Rock, “crash'n kill us all.” He works the cap off of a water bottle to drink from it, a hint of pink working its way across his cheeks, as well. “You act like y'have t'pick /one/ person t'crush on. S'too many options for that.” Hive's assertions earn a playful-derisive snort. “Because ramen actually counts as cookin'? No hope for you. Y'all know it's pretty much an open-door policy on meals at our place. S'long as y'don't mind dealin' with the crazy an' the less-than-regular schedule.” "You guys are very sweet constantly inviting me over - and I thought I was over a fair bit as it was." Melinda laughs quietly, "I just don't want to wear out my welcome." She eyes Flicker for a moment and snickers lightly. "No, well, yes, a person could have a crush on themselves, but they'd have to be pretty full of themselves. While I have a good self esteem, I'm fairly sure I don't have it that bad." She leans over a little and presses her shoulder against Flicker. "I don't think the welcome ever really wears out around our building," Flicker admits with a soft laugh, leaning back against Melinda. Micah's comment earns a deep blush, his eyes lowering to his plate. "-- Yeah, I -- guess you can. Crush. On more than one -- I just --" "Flicker has very limited quantities of love." Hive downs the rest of his roll in a couple quick bites, tipping his gaze down towards the ground. "I bet Ryan's got a crush on himself. Along with half the city." "Everyone's schedule is kind of wonky anyway." Flicker shrugs, nibbling at his roll. "But it's nice. To just -- be able to drop by." “Hm, yeah. If we stopped feedin' people, I think most of our friend group might just /waste away/. It's sad, really.” Micah twists the cap back onto his bottle, tossing it lightly onto the ground. “Aw, sorry, didn't mean t'embarrass...” He nods in Flicker's direction, his own blush deepening to a soft red. “Ha! Right. I'm pretty sure Ryan's got enough crush-energy bein' sent his way t'overwhelm just about any other person.” "Are you saying Flicker's crushes are being absorbed by Ryan? Or that his ability to have a crush is being absorbed by his fans?" Either way, Melinda is amused. "Don't worry about crushes, Flicker. Every so often, you end up with a crush on an asshole. Those are painful to endure and hard to get over - at least for me." She nudges him a little with her shoulder and looks over to Micah. "I don't know, Micah. We might have a 'fish' vs 'learning how to fish' situation. If you guys stopped cooking, then surely they'd just find someone else to feed them. Now, if you taught them how to cook..." "I think his ability to have a crush was absorbed by /God/," Hive says drily. "I've never had a crush on an asshole." Flicker glances up towards Hive at this, crooked smile lingering. "-- I think if you stopped cooking, we'd --" "-- spend a /lot/ more in takeout." Hive licks his fingers clean, wiping his hand off against his shorts afterwards. "Probably." Flicker wrinkles his nose. "I should learn." "Sometimes," Hive looks a little more thoughtful, down to Melinda, "you actually make it /work/ with an asshole. I don't know if that's less painful, though." “I dunno about all'a that, Mel,” Micah giggles. “An' I think if we stopped cookin'...yeah. They'd either find another food dealer or live offa noodles'n takeout. When they bothered t'eat at all.” He /tries/ not to smirk at Flicker's glance at Hive, but, well...it doesn't work. “I ain't never really /taught/ cookin' before, but would be willin' t'try. Just...not bakin', I'm kinda hopeless at that. An' I'm sure Jax would jump all over the chance t'show you a thing or two in the kitchen, besides.” Melinda sits down in the grass with her two friends, Micah and Flicker. They are enjoying a snack picnic of rice paper wrapped veggies with dipping sauce. They are talking quietly about food and cooking with the occasional bits about crushes and relationships. Melinda keeps looking up toward the rocks nearby where she is talking with Hive, their conversation containing a little more bite than what is being discussed on the ground. "What? Sometimes when both parties want to make it work, it works. And sometimes the sweeter stuff is worth the occasional pain." She looks up at him. << this your way of saying you want it to work? >> << I'm not the only asshole you've crushed on, >> Hive answers silently. He sets his empty plate on the rock beside him, elbows propped on his knees as he looks down at the people below. "The last thing Jax needs is another project. The problem is if any of us asked him to teach cooking, he /would/. And sleep /even/ less." Flicker reaches for a second roll, drizzling it with sauce as well. "Have you found some of the sweeter stuff, then?" "An' sometimes people just /sound/ like worse jerks'n they really are," Micah asserts with a little eyebrow raise at Hive. "Oh, I wasn't thinkin' t'give 'im /any/ more projects. The useful thing about teachin' cookin' is that y'can just do it when you were /already/ cookin' anyhow. Just gotta have students show up at the right time." He snags one of the remaining starfruit next. "Anyhow, I /mostly/ meant t'volunteer m'self. S'good t'have more people able t'do the whole 'takin' care' thing." He just considers the fruit for a moment before bothering with eating it, sitting back and waiting for the answer to Flicker's last question. Mallory has been hesitant to venture far away from the place she has called her home for the past several months, but something has brought her out from her self inflicted sequestration. Fairly obviously mutated, with dark red skin visible where exposed, the tall woman walks slowly along one of the pathways through the park, wearing a flowing skirt in a matte black cotton that brushes the ground as she walks, paired with a blousey long sleeve shirt in a pale cream color. A coordinating, loosely draped head scarf and large sunglasses complete the look, if making her a bit overdressed for a stroll through the park. Judging by the slightly bulging reusable bag slung over her shoulder, the woman has been on a shopping excursion, and the leisurely stroll through the park is just one last stop on the day's agenda. Her path through the park takes her close enough to those gathered for the picnic, although the mutant minds her own business, her thoughts a somewhat unshielded mix of worry, nervousness at being so far out in the open, and an idle wondering if these cupcakes would actually be worth the trip so far from home. Melinda frowns at the ground, letting out a moody sigh. << Oh. this is your way of asking if I'm still infatuated with Jim. >> This... does not please Mel, but she tries to keep it to herself. "Sure, I've found some sweet stuff, but nowhere near the quantity to outweigh the other things." She clears her throat and pulls over a water bottle of her own and starts to sip at it. She notices the new figure in her peripheral vision, but doesn't lock in yet, distracted by the topic of conversation. "I can help you guys learn to cook, too. I could even put you to work during the process, making you come down to my shelter and whip up a meal. Then you'd actually make my workload lighter." "I'd /totally/ come to the shelter," Flicker agrees. "I've helped out with FnB a few times but -- um. I mostly -- chop things. I could chop so many things for you." "I /eat/ things," Hive volunteers from his perch on the rock. "-- Micah, what does it take for you to actually think someone's a jerk? Cuz I'm pretty sure most people /are/ worse jerks than /you/ think they are." He looks up, gaze shifting away from the others towards the passing figure of Mallory. "-- You don't need another project either, dude." His tone is a little distracted as his eyes follow Mallory. << Was it infatuation? There was kissing. I was just curious. >> Flicker's gaze follows Hive's, too. He looks back up to the telepath for just a moment, and then reaches towards the basket-of-food to /snag/ a cupcake. "We've got cupcakes right here," he offers her cheerfully. "They're --" Though here he stops, glancing to the others. "... what /did/ Jax send." "Margarita," Hive answers for him. "I keep meanin' t'help with those more often, but then there's always...watchin' Spence or gettin' supplies together for the Morlocks or Harlem or /takin'/ supplies or work or somethin' I'm s'posed t'be puttin' together or... Oh! Y'know I could prob'ly make--" Micah's fingers trace over the ridges of the starfruit idly. "No, that's a lie. I'm s'posed t'be startin' some sorta semi-regular hours over at Common Ground since Dr. Toure convinced me to durin' the last doctorin' session over at the church." His eyes scrunch closed for a moment. "Sorry. Wouldn't be a /project/ for me, either. Just sayin'. Got lots of folks need cookin' for, too." Like that whole list... "Um...d'you mean t'think someone's /actin'/ like or jerk or actually /is/ a jerk? 'Cause those are two very different things." He finally pauses long enough to sink his teeth into the waxy skin of the fruit, cupping a hand under his mouth to catch stray juice as it runs out. He gives Hive an appreciative look for answering the cupcake question because...mouth full of fruit pulp. For those who are looking more closely at Mallory as she walks, it becomes obvious that she has a somewhat awkward, slow gait, and the back of her skirt seems to twitch with each step. She ducks her head slightly as she passes the group, as though vaguely aware she were disturbing them by her presence. Her thoughts continue to dwell loudly on cupcakes - the mental image of an incredibly cheery bakery accompanying the word as she sways along on her path. When the conversation nearby turns to cupcakes, she stumbles slightly, head snapping up so quickly that the head scarf dislodges from one side of her head, sliding down until it catches on the point of one curled, black horn. Brows furrowing in concern that she had been talking aloud to herself, or that she had dropped the box carrying her own cargo of cupcakes; a somewhat frantic check of the bag brings a sigh of relief that at the very least the cupcakes were still safe. Tucking her scarf back into place while she is stopped, she hazards a glance at the seemingly happy group. "What? Do all of you know about that?" << How many people were watching us have sex? Or were you nice enough to turn a blind eye for a while? >> Melinda scowls now, grabbing a star fruit to play with. She's no longer in a mood to eat. She shakes her head and turns the fruit over and over again. "Micah, you're going to have to be specific about who you think is either acting or being a jerk and we can actually have a civilized conversa...tion." She glances over at Mallory, then turns back to the group. << I don't watch on /purpose/, >> Hive answers irritably, << I can't turn it the fuck /off/ when people are in my head any more than I could turn off my /own/ gorram eyes. >> "Jesus Christ," is what he says out loud, "does /every/ fucking person go to that gorram bakery?" His expression is shifting into his default scowl at the mental image of the bakery. He tucks his empty plate between his /teeth/ as he gets up, starting to precariously clamber his way down from the top of the immense boulder. "Not really a lot of places for a lot of people to go." Flicker shrugs, his smile -- dimming, but not vanishing, at Hive's words. "-- Sorry. Hi." This is to Mallory, with a faint blush; he moves to sit back down where he'd been. "I didn't mean to -- interrupt." "I mean to think someone /is/ a jerk. A lot of people are, you know. I mean, maybe you don't know you seem to think people are all great until they up and kill someone." Hive drops his plate into his hands as he drops to the ground in a heavy thud of a crouch. His smile cuts /thin/ across his face, sharp and bright to Micah. "-- or even after, I guess." Flicker's flush deepens at this. "He's probably okay," he says mildly, "at figuring out when someone's /acting/ like a jerk, at least." Micah sets the fruit on his empty plate, wiping his chin and fingers with a napkin as he finishes chewing. “Do all of who know about a what now?” he asks Mel, confused by the conversation that has been mostly telepathic coming out more verbally. “I wasn't thinkin' anybody's a jerk. I think that...might be what Hive is grousin' at, actually. I dunno... Guess I don't really think somebody /is/ a jerk unless it's their nature t'be consistently malicious. An' somebody's /actin'/ like a jerk if they're just doin' that temporarily.” The light blush that had all but faded from his cheeks flares brighter red again at Hive's last comment. “That ain't even fair, an' you know it. Things're almost always...complicated.” His fingers twist at the napkin in his hands, his eyes focused on it until he notices Flicker speaking to a new person. He looks up at Mallory from his seat in the grass. “Oh, hi, Miss. Are you alright?” Just as she was about to start moving off again, Hive's seemingly angry statement about the bakery catches her off guard, and she stops and just stares at him, mouth slightly agape. "I... I'm sorry," she stutters, her Oxford accent marking her as 'not from around here' decidedly, "Was, ah, was I talking to myself? I didn't mean to disturb your conversations. Or lunch. My apologies." She looks incredibly confused, neatly maintained eyebrows knitting together into a concerned look, echoes of past, apparently telepathic conversations filtering through, largely unshielded in her surprise. Flicker's statement gets a slight blush and she nods slightly, "I am rather new in town. It was the bakery that was suggested when I asked around, so it is where I went." There's a hesitation in her speaking, and she shifts her weight from side to side slightly, glancing down towards Micah, "Oh, I'm fine, thank you. Just, well, startled. Add that to poor balance, and it takes me a few to get going again." << Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I just... get insecure when it comes to Jim. >> Melinda tries to push the thoughts away of that night, refocusing on the here and now and the British lady they seem to have made stumble upon them. She smiles and listens quietly to the conversation, looking friendly and welcoming. << Everyone loves Hanna's place, >> she muses, << half wish I could harness good word of mouth in the same way. >> She bites into her fruit and nibbles down one edge. << It's mostly him, not you. The fact that he showed up, was wonderful, and went away. I could handle that, but I'm not going to let myself hope. It happened. I'm trying to move on. >> "I hate that fucking place," Hive answers Melinda's thought out loud, an irritable snap as he goes to set the plate down on Flicker's head. "She makes /really/ good cupcakes," Flicker says quietly. "Bakery's good," Hive allows, finally looking at Mallory with the same scowl on his face, "it's the neighborhood that's shit. You should be careful down there." His own accent is a difficult read, very notably Not From Around Here though past that it's a mangled thing that is hard to place. << Good. >> Just that one word, snapping hard and surly into Melinda's mind, a host of knotted tension tangled up into the one word. "Consistently malicious. That's pretty fucking ridiculous high bar, you know. The most sociopathic murderers aren't /consistently/ malicious, it's not even practical. You can be a saint three hundred sixty four days out of the year and rape toddlers on the last and by your standards you're still /pretty okay/." Flicker lifts a hand, rubbing knuckles against his eye. "You're not disturbing anything," he assures Mallory, "I just thought I'd offer -- sorry." His blush is still deep. “Sorry,” Micah apologises to Mallory sort of /reflexively/ for the confusing and irritable direction some of the conversation is taking. “We...there was a friend of ours who was killed leavin' that bakery. So it's kind of a sore spot.” He presses his teeth into his lower lip for a moment. “That's not even what we're /talkin'/ about, Hive. Was discussin' personality traits an' behaviour, I thought, anyhow. S'a difference between bein' a jerk an' bein' a murderer or a rapist or somethin'. You're takin' it a different place an' bein' extreme about it besides.” He pokes at the fruit on his plate but doesn't pick it up again. “Don't think we're ever like t'agree on this, an' that's actually okay, y'know? S'different ways of lookin' at things. Think it boils down to whether y'wanna give people the benefit of the doubt or not. An'...usually, I just find there's more /to/ things than people take the time t'see. That's all. I get not everybody's gonna see stuff the same way.” Mallory's look of confusion bounces between Flicker, Hive, and then Micah, biting her lip slightly in concern at the final explanation. "Oh," she says quietly, "I am very sorry for your loss. That neighborhood, I was not aware it was that potentially dangerous. How unfortunate, the bakery seems so... safe." There's a slight blush, difficult to see on her already red skin, "Thank you for the warning. I will be more aware, certainly, if I go back into the city." She offers a kind, if slightly fanged, smile to Flicker, and then to Micah "No need to apologize. I was just caught off guard - I'm not used to people actually /talking/ to me when I'm out in the world at large. And if anything, commentary on cupcakes and baked goods is probably among the nicest, if most confusing, I've had shouted at me in my life." The discussion of what makes someone a jerk, gets a concerned look, especially at the discussion of rape and murder, but if the woman narrows her eyes or looks anywhere in particular, the expression is lost behind the large sunglasses. << I'm glad you approve. >> There's amusement and sarcasm in Melinda's mind, but it grows comfortable with the stabbing pain of Hive's communication. She turns back to the fruit and the conversation at hand. "I thought we were just talking about guys I had a crush on. I really don't know how this escalated to rape and murder." She shakes her head and wets her lips. "And as far as I know, no one I've had a crush on has had truly antisocial tendencies. Just surly natures and gruff communication skills." She looks over at Mallory and smiles. "Would you like to join us? There's some fruit left too." << Didn't say I did. But I don't have to. >> Hive swipes the cupcake that Flicker had offered Mallory, bending down to swipe his shoes. "I don't have to give people the benefit of the doubt, Micah. I already see fucking everything. And you're really going to look at the year we've had and pretend talking about murder is /extreme/? S'become fucking everyday by now." He doesn't say bye, shoulders hunched as he walks away. Flicker's eyes follow after him, but he stays where he is, pulling his knees up towards his chest. "-- Um. Sorry. We, uh -- /were/ having a." He gestures towards the basket of food. "The bakery's delicious. I'm not sure there's anywhere /safe/, though. And places that are friendly to mutants are probably -- the least safe. Kind of targets." Micah sighs, shaking his head at Mallory's misunderstanding of the 'neighbourhood' warning. “It ain't...like it's a neighbourhood that would /usually/ get the 'watch out' warnin'. It's just hard t'be a known member of the Genetically Enhanced team pretty much anywhere in the city. That just...happens t'be a place where some of the awful as is always happenin' lately...happened.” He picks up his starfruit again, nibbling less messily at a ridge between speaking. “The bakery /itself/ is safe. I mean, the proprietors an' all. It's one of the few places that welcomes folks as look really different. S'just that people who /don't/ welcome it know about that, too, an' cause trouble. We do have plenty of food, though, Mel's right on that one. S'all vegan, if that matters.” With a nod to Mel, Micah explains further. “Yeah, that's mostly what I meant. That just because somebody acts kinda grumpy a lot of the time, doesn't mean they're actually a bad person. Just...gruff or whatever. It's possible not t'be captain of the Sunshine Squad, or t'slip up on things from time t'time, an' still be a decent person. Guess that's all I'm sayin'.” And down goes the fruit to the plate again, as Hive goes grumblier and stalks off. “Hive...I didn't... It's. Y'don't have to /leave/. Just...” He considers following after the telepath, his weight even shifting that direction momentarily, but he thinks better of it, slumping back into his spot. “Well now, /I/ feel like a jerk.” A confused but happy smile spreads over Mallory's features at the invitation to join the group, and she takes a slightly halting step forward before seeming to remember something. A glance sideways at the bag over her shoulder begets a sheepish grin, "Thank you very much for the invitation, I do appreciate it. But, unfortunately, I need to get back to home before I melt the icing off the cupcakes I purchased today." There's a nod at the clarification about the bakery, ans she offers a shrug, "I suppose I was lucky, in that case. But, regardless, thank you so much for the invitation to join you for lunch." She smiles, cheerily, although it falters as Hive stalks off, a look of confusion crossing her features again, "Enjoy the rest of your lunch." She seems genuinely shocked that random, perfectly normal looking, no less, strangers, invited her to join them, out of the blue. She offers a bemused wave, before continuing along her original path, shifting the apparently cupcake filled bag off to the other side as she does. "Some other time then," Melinda states as she gets to her feet. She gives Mallory a bit of a wave then looks to Micah and Flicker. "I'll go talk to him. It's not your fault, Micah. You know how he gets." She dusts off the backs of her legs and follows after Hive, in no real hurry to catch up, but definitely following his same path at about the same speed. "Micah, I'm pretty sure you're as far from jerk as it gets." Hive's abandoned plate slides down off of Flicker's head, but he catches it in midair to set it aside. The smile he gives Mallory is bright and warm. "Enjoy your cupcakes," he offers more cheerfully. The cheer fades back into solemnity as he settles back down, watching Melinda go. "-- Good luck." That is quieter. He reaches for Micah's fruit, taking out a pocketknife from his pocket to slice off a star-shaped segment of it. He nibbles one of the arms slowly. "... I want horns like that." “No, that's okay. Cupcakes are /very/ important,” Micah replies to Mallory with a little smile. “It was nice t'meet you.” Mel just gets a quiet nod as she heads off. “I know,” he sighs at Flicker. “Doesn't stop me /feelin'/ like it when we was pretty much havin' a nice afternoon an' now he's all--” Micah gestures off after Hive rather than coming up with a single adjective. “He's had such a hard time, I don't like feelin' like I made anythin' worse on 'im somehow.” Flicker's food thievery and voiced desire for horns combined manage to coax out another smile. “They were pretty awesome, weren't they? Think it'd be fun t'have 'em /sometimes/. Prob'ly hellish tryin' t'get anythin' done in public with those, though.” "I sometimes worry --" Flicker quiets again, head turning to look in the direction Hive and Melinda left. His brow furrows, and his nibbling at the fruit ceases. "I don't think you make things worse on him." His head drops forward, chin resting against his knee. His smile is a smaller echo of Micah's. "Yeah. Maybe have them and do what Jax can do. Hide 'em. Dusk has a friend with really incredible horns, too. And such great wings --" He almost sounds wistful, though this ends with a quick shake of his head. "... /pretty/ freaking rough for all of them, though." “I think we all worry a lot. Y'can finish that sentence if y'want. Helps t'talk it out sometimes.” Micah's non-fruit-juice-sticky hand reaches over to pet at Flicker's hair when his head drops down. “I dunno. Just seems t'happen whenever I get in this sorta discussion with anybody. Don't know if it's /me/ or just the subject matter bein' inherently kinda upsettin'. Never /there/ when I'm not there for conversations t'know the difference, after all.” He nods in recognition of Flicker's description. “I think I met her once at a party. Kinda quiet girl?” There is more nodding at that assertion. “Yeah, s'pretty rough. Bad enough when y'have t'hide things. Worse when y'can't, I guess.” "Everyone just feels kind of like they're falling apart, sometimes." Flicker shrugs a shoulders, bright green eyes slanting to one side to glance once more in the direction Hive and Melinda left. "Worry I'll wake up and find someone else -- gone." He returns the fruit to his mouth, teeth picking at it slowly. His eyes close at the petting, though his smile grows wider. "You never make /me/ anything but pretty smiley. So I don't know." His head tilts somewhat into the touch of Micah's hand. "If the world /wasn't/ so stupid, though, I'd love -- I mean, that was a really /striking/ shade of red." “It does feel that way a lot, doesn't it? S'a lot of why I keep fussin' over people so much. Seems like it gets t'the point of kinda-fallin'-apart where they don't even try t'stop it themselves anymore. S'like /somebody/ else has t'just notice an' push t'fix things or it ain't gonna happen.” When Flicker leans into the touch, Micah's fingers curl slightly to comb gently through his hair. “That's reassurin'. But you're kinda...a smiley person. I feel like I'm perfectly good at makin' smiley people more smiley. Then...just sorta makin' grumpy people grumpier, sometimes. I dunno.” He chuckles at Flicker's ongoing wishes for physical mutations. “Was a pretty red.” "Sometimes I think some of them don't want it fixed," Flicker admits, very softly. "There's been so much death other people bring, I'm always just waiting for the first time one of us --" He swallows, and takes another quick bite of the slice of starfruit. His head turns, pressing up against Micah's fingers. One eye cracks open together with a quick lopsided smile. "You could manage that shade and people'd hardly even notice a difference than usual," he teases lightly. Micah's fingers continue their idle stroking. “The way some of the talk has gotten sometimes, from a few of them. Yeah. I get that, too. They usually...change the tune once y'call 'em out on it. But once it's there enough for 'em t'say? S'pretty worrisome.” If Flicker was looking to summon a blush, he will find himself well-rewarded, red appearing quickly across Micah's features. “Ohgosh, seriously?” It's hard to tell whether /that/ was directed at Flicker or himself. Flicker's eye closes again. He finishes the rest of his slice of starfruit, his other arm curling around his shins. "Sorry. I'm not making this any more cheerful." When he opens his eyes, he straightens a little bit, licking fruit juice off of his fingers. His smile returns, bright. "-- There. See? It looks good on you." He tips his head back, looking upwards to scan the sky over their little picnic ground. "Mmn. Lost Horus. I guess," he sounds amused, now, "I could text him." “Maybe not, but it's good t'be able t'say what you've just been /thinkin'/. Sometimes.” Micah ruffles Flicker's hair, mussing it deliberately. The red on his cheeks deepens as it is pointed out again. “I almost hesitate t'start the textin' up again...that way lies /madness/.” Flicker pats at the pocket where his phone is tucked, but doesn't take it out. "Probably true. Maybe I'll just nap and see how long it takes his snuggle-radar to go off. Come try to pile in." He shakes his head abruptly, letting messy locks fall back into -- still-mussed, admittedly; it isn't until he actually reaches up to smooth his dark hair back out that it regains /some/ semblance of order. "... just wish it worked on everyone." This is a quieter grumble, as he looks off where Melinda and Hive left. Micah grins at Flicker's attempts to right his mussed hair. “May as well. Ain't like we're leavin' any time soon, with those two havin' wandered off. S'nice t'just laze in the sunshine.” Once that semblance of order is achieved, Micah's hand sneaks its way over to undo Flicker's efforts with a fond tousling. “Mmn. Only seems t'work on Hive once you've already dragged him into the cuddlepile. He won't go lookin' for one, but isn't about t'make the effort t'get out of it once he's in one, either. Pretty sure he's pro-cuddles, though, an' just won't /admit/ it.” Flicker scrunches up his nose at the repeat tousling, but this time he doesn't attempt to set it straight. He shakes his head to get hair out of his eyes, and then flops down into the grass, one arm lifting to snake around Micah's waist. "He's totally pro-cuddles," he admits quietly, "touch helps him -- remember." His eyes are closing, though, face turning up towards the sun. "C'mon. I /know/ that /you're/ pro-cuddles." Giggling, Micah touches a fingertip to Flicker's scrunchynose. He lets the arm-snaking topple him over into the grass as if it were a more forceful tug. “Mmhmm. If you hadn't figured /that/ out by now, I'd be concerned about your grasp of the /obvious/,” he asserts, nestling up snugly against Flicker's side. "I'm not /that/ slow." Flicker's eyes stay closed, but his smile is wide and warm. He nestles back against Micah, arm still draped around the older man's waist as he lets the warm sun lull him to sleep.