ArchivedLogs:Digging In

Digging In
Dirt/Water-fights and...some Serious Talks.
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah	16 April 2013 Set after Good for Plants
Location <NYC> Guerrilla Garden - Lower East Side
This abandoned lot isn't much to look at right now. Next door to a construction site and ringed by a tall, rusting chainlink fence, the rumble of large machinery is a constant disruption. Equally rusty signs have been affixed to the fence warning passersby to KEEP OUT, that this is PRIVATE PROPERTY. Weeds are as plentiful as chunks of broken concrete but there is surprisingly little garbage to be found and what does appear seems to disappear just as quickly. Here and there stacks of scavenged truck tires have been filled with dark soil and some enterprising soul has begun to create raised beds to the rear of the lot using splintery wood salvaged from packing crates. Night is falling, now, and with the gathering dusk people have scattered from their gardening tasks. Of course, with fewer hands doing work, now, Jackson has decided it is clearly time to stop sitting and do work himself! At some point he left to go obtain More Colours to draw with, but that was then; now there are stakes and neatly-lettered signs marking the planted seeds, /pictures/ of what they will grow into doodled colourfully beside their names. He is in the process of planting, little clumps of seeds by a stake labelled and drawn with a pair of beets. Also, humming, quiet and cheerful. Country music -- Phil Vassar's 'Just Another Day in Paradise'. By now with the sun setting, goosebumps are prickling his skin, though his silvery jacket lies discarded with his backpack. With company gone and the sun setting, too, his clothes no longer look spotless, grubby-dirty flecking blouse and skirt alike. The large container of cookies is a good deal more emptied than it has any right to be, even for four people in the garden. Micah has been helping those cookies along as much as anyone. He has one in a grubby hand, biting from it now and then (dirt is delicious, apparently!) as his other hand drops seeds into a prepared furrow. Plinkplinkplink little seeds! Their label declares them to be baby kale…Micah is really getting on all of those items that should have been started weeks ago! At this point in the game, he looks like he might have been /rolling/ in one of the beds. Or maybe he upended a bag of soil over his head at some point. Gardening is a full-contact, messy sport for the overly enthusiastic! It's probably also a full-contact messy sport when your gardening partner has the maturity of an eight-year-old. Because in the neighboring bed Jackson picks up one loose clod of dirt, pinches it through his fingers to make sure it is /only/ dirt and not stray rocks, then loosely squishes it back together to toss it square at the back of Micah's head. And then return to his gardening innocently like psssh what who me it was clearly the /other/ person in the otherwise empty garden who did that. Gah, head-dirt! Not that anyone could /tell/ with as much grit as he's picked up, already. Micah stuffs the rest of the cookie into his mouth, freeing up the hand to find his own soft dirt-clump. Once located, he wings it sidelong over at Jax, with only a quickly darted glance for aiming purposes. Plinkplinkplink on down the row go the future kales. Jackson is gently patting dirt over beetseeds when a clod of dirt scatters into his bright pink hair. This earns quick retaliation. Although not in the form of dirt. He picks up his water bottle, squeezing it hard over towards Micah. ANTI-DIRT. Though with the amount of water left sadly a one-shot anti-dirt. Also holding the water bottle means he cannot cleverly pretend to be industrious. Micah...is now wet. With little dirt runnels tracing down his arm and a slightly soggied T-shirt sleeve. Totoro should have brought his leaf umbrella. Plinkplink go the last seeds, and Micah returns from the far end of the raised bed to the nearer end, brushing over a loose half inch of soil over the row. Approaching the other end brings him to a watering can. Clearly to sprinkle a light bit of water over the newly planted seeds? Or not...maybe to do so for the beets? Not that either. Jax, apparently, needs watering. Like a very gentle rain, from the low-flow sprinkle spout. Micah is just...standing there like this is normal. Jackson /squeaks/, despite the fact he has from the corner of his eye /watched/ Micah's approach this whole while. But after this squeaking he does not actually do anything to move out from under the sprinkling of water. It drips down into his hair, plastering pink hair to his forehead. But he still continues gently patting down soil over the last of his new-planted beet seeds. After the last is in place he shakes his head much like a dog, vigorously sending a scattered shower-spray of water out over the garden bed and Micah both. Aaaand now wetter. All the splashes of water are turning grit and dirt on Micah into muck and muddy drips. He finally levels out the can to stop raining on Jax's head when this new water attack is levelled. Yet, there is this /smirk/ that is tug-tugging away at Micah's lips. See...there's this thing that the watering can has. That is a large opening on the top. And water comes out of it faster than the sprinkle spout. He introduces Jax to this concept with a quick turn-throw-splash manoeuvre. Another squeak is curtailed, stopping after only a brief noise in Jax's throat as he throws his hands up, startled, like they will shield him from this. They don't, really, do much by way of protection but the brief shimmerglow that sprouts faintly in /front/ of his hands does. A shield blossoms, to slow to stop some of the splash from spluttering into his face but quick enough to catch the /bulk/ of it; shaped sort of curved, it funnels the rest of the water on a brief hovering ramp right back towards Micah's midriff. Micah’s eyes go wide at the sudden /magic shield/ that Jax has summoned. No fair! He’s too busy being surprised to bother with dodging. Splash! Poor Totoro gets watered right in the /face/. And now water is dripping down Micah’s legs to match his arms. Not to mention that he is now out of ammo! He sets the empty watering can on the ground and…slips behind Jax to catch him in a bear hug. A squishydamp bear hug. “Cheater,” he whispers in a…rather giggly accusing voice in the other man’s ear. The shield fades away almost as soon as it is made, spilling the last little trickle of water straight -- well, back /down/ onto Jax's shirt. But then he is getting squished up into a hug and trickles of water don't matter much in the face of /squelch/. One arm drops to rest back behind him against Micah's hip, the other lifts to curl his fingers against Micah's forearm. He leans back into the hug, head tilting back, and he answers this accusation with a bright grin and a -- kind of damp somewhat muddy-gritty kiss. Squish! Micah is so thoughtful. He shares all of his newly acquired clothes-damp with Jax. Fortunately, it had already been established that dirt is delicious, apparently… Micah pulls Jax against him that much tighter, taking kisses as they are offered. Jackson offers one and then offers /more/, his hand creeping up along Micah's bicep, curling around his shoulder, curling around the muddy-damp back of his head. It's only too much /happy/ that makes him break off, burying his face against Micah's neck and drawing in a shaky breath when a soft glow starts to blossom within him. "Ohgosh. /Um/. We should. Probably. Um. Ohgosh sorry." He swallows, scrunching his face up but not actually moving away from /hug/. Kisses /and/ a hand on the back of his head…Micah sort of /hums/ softly, almost less a sound a more a vibration felt through the lips. Jax’s sudden apology is what causes him to open his eyes and notice the glow. “Y’mean we should prob’ly get someplace less public lest y’start bein’ all glowy and attractin’ the Wrong Element?” He flexes his fingers loosely into claw-hands, tracing scritchy fingertips in slow circles over Jax’s back. "M'already glowy," Jackson says, and even in the dim light his blush is easily visible with the soft illumination of his skin. "Trouble's just a matter'a time, we stay." Which -- admittedly does not stop him from kissing Micah again, the slow touch against his back helping along his reluctance to move. The kisses aren’t helping /Micah/ feel any more like moving, either. Fingertips continue their wanderings over the other man’s back, glowy though it may be. “Hmm,” is all he manages to vocalise for a moment. “Really oughtta put the leftover seeds in the cooler. Tools in the box. Pull the plastic over the bags of soil’n such.” So many things need to be put away… "Yeah," Jackson agrees, though given that he agrees this between kisses it is hard to take his dedication to cleaning up seriously. The fence grows a murky curtain of darkness, dimming the view of the street in a deeper pool of shadow. "Hafta take the seeds down to the last plot tomorrow." He is shivering at Micah's wandering fingers. His own trace slow against the back of Micah's neck, and his glow is deepening with the last kiss before he breaks off abruptly, resting his forehead against Micah's shoulder. "Ohgosh." There is an ongoing inertia in the 'let's clean up' department. Micah is not discouraging any of Jax's kisses, and the hand sliding along his neck makes him melt into the other man all the more... But then Jax seems to summon enough willpower to withdraw, at least fractionally. "Mmhmm. Yep. Seeds. Should get 'em before it gets too dark to--" he cuts himself off, because there really isn't a lot of danger of not being able to see when one has a Jax Glo Worm on hand. "Or maybe not." He smiles a shy sort of lopsided smile, his cheeks colouring faintly. Jackson's hand moves, sliding around from Micah's neck to brush his fingers against Micah's blushing cheeks. He drops his gaze for a moment, downwards, looking at the soft glow that spills out from him. "We /should/, actually," he admits, with a crinkle of his nose. "I don't -- make light. Just /store/ it all the time -- but if I drain my, uh, battery, I'll be dark till mornin'. And," which is apparently the /worst/ of all this, "if I do /that/ 'fore sunup I'll actually need to sleep." Still, his hand is creeping around Micah's back, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to run fingers against his spine. "-- Micah." This is sudden and in contrast to the gentle touch, to the close lean of his posture, sounds kind of abruptly serious. "Oh, yes, that would be bad. I do have an LED keychain light," Micah offers because he is just /so damned helpful/. "An' you /should/ sleep. Regardless. Some time tonight, I'm not kiddin'." With this new resolve, he is actually stirring to action, ready to get things put away. But...completely halted by shivers with fingertips seeking out his spine. Then brows draw close down over hazel eyes, looking into Jax's with concern. "Yes?" "S'just been /busy/, I ain't had time -- I mean I slept on Friday," Jackson protests. His fingers press down, hand splaying and his palm flat and very warm against Micah's back. "I -- s'kinda a -- random question but have you seen the twins at all since -- um, Easter. Ryan's show." “Friday?” Micah repeats incredulously. “That was /days/ ago. No, you are sleepin’ tonight.” His arm snakes around Jax’s waist, supporting. “Just the time I told you about, where they came to get stuff out of their room? Was…right after Hive...” He mimes pulling something invisible away from his skull rather than trying to find words. Jackson's mouth skews to one side at this, his slow heavy nod just ending with his forehead kind of thunking down to rest against Micah's shoulder. "Had a visit from OCFS this mornin'. Checking to see if the kids were sneakily hiding with me. They, um --" Against Micah's back his hand trembles, fingers curling in to press harder against his skin. There is a distinct edge of /anger/ sharpening the worry in Jax's tone. "They /lost/ my kids. Don't got no idea where they --" He shakes his head. "We should clean up." Though he still doesn't move. Micah tugs Jax close again at the mention of OCFS, his other arm joining the first in circling his waist. The kids being /lost/ prompts another squeeze. “Oh…oh, honey. I don’t even know what to--I’m so sorry.” Micah isn’t letting go if Jax isn’t moving. Deadlocked. "Coupla kids from school stopped by just before I come here and /they/ said -- that the twins said -- they was leaving me because they think I ain't happy -- that I'm better /off/ without them. Which is the stupidest -- nngh." Jax's head lifts, then bonks again into Micah's shoulder. "S'weird cuz now I -- feel kinda /guilty/ for being happy when they ain't around but -- but I know /that's/ dumb, too," he is quick to assure, "s'just hard not to -- be kinda twisted up inside. I want 'em home. Whatever happy I got now'll be a million times /more/ happy if they was home /too/." His arm tightens, after all this, hand sliding further around to Micah's waist. "Sorry. I didn't mean to just kinda /dump/ -- it was nice. Being here. Better to not think about --" His head shakes again. "Sorry," he says once more, and then, nuzzling into Micah's neck with a tighter hug, "I don't want to move." Micah's arms offer silent support as words tumble from Jax. Micah does not speak until the other man pauses. "I kind of got that impression. When I talked to them. When they were leavin'. I tried to convince them to talk t'you about it, because exactly that...it just doesn't make sense. 'Bastian said he didn't want to...but I think he was afraid they wouldn't be able to stay away if they talked t'you in person. I mean...Shane actually /hugged/ me. They're just convinced that everyone in the world is better off without them." He sighs heavily. "Me sayin' anythin' wasn't helpful. They've met me fewer times'n I can count on one hand." He plants a kiss on Jax's head when he nuzzles closer. "Y'ain't gotta move 'til you're ready t'move. Then I'm takin' you home an' sleep is happenin'. You're gonna burn yourself out. Again." "They're such -- /teenagers/," Jackson says, slightly aggravated in tone. "-- but they're kids. And they're out there somewhere alone and there's people who'd -- who'd -- I know what people /do/ to kids like them." Which comes with a slight shudder. His fingers knead at Micah's back, a mindless-restless motion, and the kiss he presses to the older man's neck is fierce. And then another, on the lips, firm as well. "OK. Clean up. An' then we go. But there's gonna be /giant/ mugs of hot chocolate 'fore sleep, 'kay?" Micah is making scrunchyface out of worry. “Maybe the police could help…if they’re actually missin’ persons now? Y’could talk to…Creeper-Cop, whosit? Eric. Maybe he could help.” He returns Jax’s kisses, an eagerly reassuring presence. “Right. Let’s get everythin’ cleaned up. Get /us/ cleaned up. Then chocolate. Then…then there will be sleep.” This last is said like it is an Epic Event, foretold by wizened oracles. There will be Sleep.