ArchivedLogs:Dump the Bosses

Dump the Bosses
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Tag
In Absentia	2013-10-24 '
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. It is mid-afternoon, when the Lofts enjoy a lull between lunch cleanup and dinner preparations. The rescuees who remain there have fallen into their various pastimes, leaving Lighthaus relatively quiet for the moment. Tag comes in the door, breathing hard and half-blinded by bluish-purple hair escaped from a sloppy ponytail. He wears an oversized hoodie in a gradient of sunset colors, dark blue lightening all the way down to ruddy orange. His black cargo pants and pink hiking boots are as they often are after a trip to the farm, and he carries the fruits of his labor in a bright yellow knapsack. Jax hasn't been home long; he's gotten in from school and has just been in the process of changing for work, switching out skirt and thin flowy sweater for dark jeans, heavily adorned with zippered pockets and silver straps dangling from large metal D-rings, red 'All My Heroes Have FBI Files' t-shirt over a long-sleeved fishnet shirt. His makeup hasn't quite settled on a shade, yet, flickering between blacks and silvers and reds, purple, blue. Rainbow. Shifting kaleidoscope of nails and lipstick and eyeshadow. His hair stays the same, though, vividly flame-coloured still though it's growing out dark near-black brown at its roots. Tag's entrance prompts a reflexive ripple of tension from the labrats scattered around the room, glancing up, /steeling/ themselves; it snaps back into their former routines when Tag is noted and dismissed as Not A Threat. Jax takes more note of Tag's arrival than most, though. Quick smile, bright and warm. "Hey, honey-honey. Y'had lunch?" /He's/ eating. Healthy meal. A pile of cookies on a plate. "Hey, Jax!" Tag looks up from the precarious task of standing on one foot to unlace his boot. At the first shift of illusory makeup, he grins and brightens from head to toe. "You look awesome." He finally just struggles out of the boots, still tied, and trots over to hug Jax. His hand also sneaks a cookie while he's at it. "Lunch? Oh, yeah, at the farm, it was nice. I was gonna just drop off the produce and go down to the agency early, see if I can get in on some warehouse work that's coming up." A flicker of apprehension passes over his face, but then he smiles. "Need me to pick up anything?" "I what?" Jax looks puzzled at this compliment, his makeup settling down -- black eyeliner, frosted silver mascara, black eyeshadow that glimmers with sparkling dark-red glitter. A silvery frosting to his lips, his nails metallic red with black striations through them. His arm curls around Tag, returning the hug in a quick tight (very overheated) squeeze. "Mmm nah I'm good. We're good. I think? I mean there's like -- actually /people/ in charge of inventory and supplies there's lists by the doors if we're running low on anything. Y'just -- sign off if you're gonna pick up anything we need." His pierced brows crease faintly at Tag's expression. "Everything aright?" "You /always/ look awesome, I just...like it when you're still messing with it you know?" Tag smiles and looks down at his cookie, slightly sheepish. "Well yeah, but I don't mean for the /house/ necessarily." Tag hefts the knapsack. "I already got stuff for the house right here. Kohlrabi and squash and potatoes the likes of which...you've probably seen, actually. I guess should have asked what you /wanted/ instead." Dark brown eyes blink at Jax from behind the curtain of hair. "Um, yeah, I just...don't really like dealing with my boss." He darts into the kitchen and sets down his load, pouring a glass of almond milk and waving the carton in the air. "Anypony else want some almond milk?" "Oh -- oh." Jax blushes. The red in his eyeshadow brightens, standing out more noticeably than its previous more subtle shine. "Me? I don't --" He follows after Tag, setting his plate of cookies down on the counter so that he can start putting away the vegetables Tag has brought. And so he can, additionally, /note/ the new vegetable additions on a sheet affixed to the fridge; somewhat more compulsively organized than his house is in /normal/ days but exceedingly helpful for those on kitchen duty. His nose wrinkles at the answer. "I'm often not a fan of bosses. S'wrong with yours?" Tag downs half of his glass and then devours the cookie whole before pausing for breath. "He's not..." His lips scrunch up and quirk to one side as he piles fresh vegetables onto the counter for Jax to inventory. "Well, he's kinduva creepster, is all. I sure will miss working at the farm after harvest is done. No bosses there." The potatoes that emerge from the knapsack are dark blue. "I love these, sometimes they're purple inside!" "Oh, ugh. My boss at the club is pretty much a giant creepster, too." Jax's nose wrinkles further at this. "He ain't messin' with you at all is he?" He huffs out a quiet laugh, after this. "Be nice if there were more jobs out there without bosses. Guess you could start business'a your own. Seems to be all the rage lately." By which he means he knows a whopping three people who've done it. "I'm sorry about your boss. I dunno why people have to be like that." Tag chews on his lower lip and stacks the kohlrabi beside the potatoes, pyramid fashion. "Heh! What kind of business would I start?" He grins at Jax. "Maybe house painting or auto body detailing. Or I could dye clothes. Rag-Tag Clothiers..." "That weren't an answer," Jackson says with a crooked twitch of not-really-smile, gaze slanting over to Tag to linger there for a moment. He continues putting the vegetables away, quiet now as he marks them down. Tag's hands stop moving. He stares fixedly at the large yellow squash remaining in the bag. "He's not messing with me, exactly. He just keeps...implying I owe him something cuz he hired me without documents." The colors on his clothes fade subtly as he speaks. "I don't think he's gonna /do/ anything. It's just uncomfortable to be around him." He lifts the squash out and sets it down on the counter. "It's such a minor thing. Soon I'll be outta there and never have to see him again, so it's OK." Jax's lips compress, and he takes the squash to tuck the last of the vegetables away into the fridge. "You don't." Just that, crisp and blunt. "Soon? You got a lead on somethin' more permanent?" He sounds kind of hopeful, here. "Maybe." Tag upends the knapsack over the trashcan to shake out the dirt. "Been talking to someone at the farm, a member of the collective that runs it. Gonna refer me to someone they know who might need an experienced courier. On /retainer,/ which is a little weird but whatever." He washes his hands and ties back his hair, though his colors do not return as brightly as before. "Still should go with some of the new folks when they go get their IDs done. Soon." "Soon," Jax agrees, "there's been a lotta that work happenin' lately so fittin' you in with everyone wouldn't even hardly take any work." He turns to lean back against the closed fridge door once he's returned the inventory sheet to its place. "Courier on retainer?" His smile is quick and crooked. "Why does that sound kinda-sketchy?" "I dunno, cuz that's the sorta thing a criminal syndicate would want?" Tag chuckles, hugging himself. "It's probably nothing sinister, but I'll check it out before I dive in. I can deal with sketchy, but I've had enough of organized crime for one lifetime." He glances at the window. "I should probably...head down. To the agency." One thumb jerks in a south-easterly direction. "Hey I...um...have a good evening at work. I'd like to...talk to you some time, in private. Maybe when we're not both running out the door." He seems to startle himself by laughing. "You know, some day." "Oh -- right. Agency. Work. Right." Jax bites down on his lip with a small frown. "Some day." It's a little rueful. He steps away from the fridge to curl his arms around Tag, briefly, pressing a kiss to the shorter man's cheek. "Y'have a good evenin' too, honey-honey." Tag turns to go, but then doubles back and throws his arms around Jax, burying his face in the taller man's chest. He says nothing, though. Just smiles brightly and flees again.