ArchivedLogs:Finding Warmth

Finding Warmth
Dramatis Personae Doug, Mirror, Parley	2013-03-24 WHOOSH.
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. With sunset comes a sharp increase in /cold/, the roof at night carring a crisp bite in the air. Despite this it is a common enough place for the building's smokers to come when they get the urge to light up. Kay is - not exactly an apartment resident, though he's been a frequent enough face around here since the raid. And is up here now, or so it seems. It's quiet up here. Possibly it's a bad time for smoking. Unless you are Kay. In which case it's /always/ a good time for smoking, and so he is. Sitting with a discarded pile of news papers, he has crumpled a sheet into a ball and is -- lighting it on fire. Sans matches. Just FWOOSH. He flicks fingers at the paper. It ignites. There's a lot of ashes around him. Some scorch marks on the roof. Probably some scorch marks on his clothing. He might have been up here a while. The presence of a fire extinguisher tucked quietly off into a corner might be easily overlooked. But it's there. Possibly reassuringly or possibly very /not/. Doug is not a smoker, admittedly. But he is a resident of the building, and the roof is also a good place to get away from things like empty apartments that smell of new grout and paint. The blonde emerges from the stairwell, wincing at the cold breeze in spite of the thick peacoat he wears. "Holy shit, it's cold as balls up here." Which might be a greeting, or just an observation as he pulls the door shut behind him. The (mostly) unfamiliar figure lighting stuff on fire gets a concerned look as the teenager moves towards him cautiously. "Dude. Please don't set the building on fire," is offered in an amiable enough tone, though. "It's where I keep all my stuff." "-ah!" A light sound from the direction of the garden. A shuffling, and Parley's head pops up into view, a small paperback book - 'The End of Oil: On the Edge of a Perilous New World' - gripped in his teeth and hands behind his head where he's tying up his hair into a small ponytail. "Rgh nrf akay," he muffles, then, with book withdrawn, "Hello, Mr. Ramsey." He must surely know Kay is up here, but doesn't seem concerned by it. "Plenty warm where I am." This comes with a side-flicked glance, a rather large grin accompanying the look, his teeth illuminated by the flicker-dance of flames. By way of demonstration (of /warmth/, of course!) he kicks another wadded-up ball of crumpled paper in Doug's direction. A moment later it -- well, okay, it doesn't burst into flames a moment later. Flames sputter along the roof beside it. And then over closer to Doug's shoe. But on the third try the skittering paper goes up in flames, which is probably not much more reassuring given that it's just kind of rolling-blowing towards Doug. All aflame. "Here. Take the chill off." Doug blinks at the noise of Parley emerging, and he quirks a grin at the smaller man. "Hey, Parley," he calls, wrinkling his nose in the direction of the garden. "You know, you can call me Doug," he says, ducking his head. "Mr. Ramsey is my father. What were you doing back there?" The New Guy gets a thoughtful frown. "I guess it would be warmer," he agrees, watching the tumbling fireball as it rolls in his direction. He doesn't seem overly alarmed, doing a weird sort of mariachi-type move when it's close enough to threaten in an attempt to snuff it out. Hopefully, it will not catch his pants on fire. New Guy gets a deeper, less thoughtful frown. "See. This," he says, punctuating each word with a fire-stomp. "Is. Why. We. Can't. Have. Nice. Things." "I was watching the sun set-- oh. Oh, be careful." Parley is catching an air current to drift towards Doug, and then /skirts/ him to avoid fire and stamping to instead wash up on Kay's shores. "You're getting reckless," he observes to the taller man, absently raising his hands to hold near the /inferno/ heat Kay seems to give off at any given time. "You heard the man, it's cold up here!" Kay says this like /justification/ for the skittering fires -- another flame-licked newspaper ball is rolling its way right over the edge of the roof. Hopefully the wind will put it out before it falls onto someone's head. There is a sort of quiet /glee/ in the man (whoosh! Another crumpled paper-ball ignites. He kicks it towards Parley.) though underneath a soft awakening of care. Taking note of Parley's caution, /remembering/ caution himself. "What're you doing up here?" He glances to Doug, then back to his newspaper-stack, crouching to crumple himself a few new balls. The fire out, Doug is free to resume his forward press, offering a smile as he drifts close to the other two. "Wow, you're warm," he notes when gets close to Kay, and he closes his eyes a moment in appreciation of the unexpected heat. The question gets him to peel one open, and peer at Kay. "Mmm? Oh, I had to get out of my apartment and get some fresh air," he says. "They had to repair the walls in my bathroom, and the whole place stinks of building materials." He lifts a shoulder. "I've got the windows cracked, but it was still suffocating." Parley gets a speculative look. "Have you seen the sunset from some of the taller buildings?" he asks. "Like the Empire State?" Eep! Parley dances around the fiery bit of paper kicked his way; though there's not a huge shock for it, being an empath with a specialty in sentiment and intention makes it hard to be /shocked/, and he even gives Kay's shoulder a light swat-pat. And from there, crosses his arms, tucking hands under either elbow and, leaning towards the heat, he brightens so slightly towards Doug, "I haven't. I've been so busy lately settling into my new job I haven't had much time to see the city at all." And then, as though Kay could answer the question better /for/ him, he looks up at the taller man, "Have you?" "Like I said." Kay's teeth flash, grin bright but teeth oddly yellow-orange in the city-light, lamp-light, fire-light. "Always warm where I am." He rolls one shoulder and then the other, rangy-ropey arms dangling loose and easy at his sides. His fingers flex. "Busy myself. Never been. Y'wanna go?" It's night. But something in the eager-pounce on this line of thought suggests: like, now? Doug grins at Kay. "Hey, there are worse things than always being warm when it's cold," he offers lightly. "And the fact that you /radiate/ that heat is just that much icing on the cake, yeah?" Parley's question gets a thoughtful press of lips. "I haven't been to the Empire State Building in a long time," he admits. "Not since last year, when my cousin came for a visit." He grins a bit wider. "If you want, I can take you on a nickel tour," he says. "At least the high spots." The inadvertant pun makes him laugh, his eyes crinkling merrily. "So to speak." "-high spots. Oh - /oh/. Hah." Pause, "What, now?" Parley, absently amusing himself with a rotation of body near Kay to rotisserie-heat all of his sides equally pauses, brows bouncing up and looking between either man, "Do you have a car?" "Could get a car," Kay answers, cheerfully ambling through a swirl of ash to glance out over the roof's edge down at the city. Parley's empathic interpretation will likely pick up that this is talking more along the lines of hotwiring than picking up a zipcar like their more /responsible/ (at least at the moment) last roommate is prone to do. "C'mon, man, how much of this city have you /seen/, really. More to do than just work all the damn time." Not that Mirror can /talk/, really, hir hours in the apartment have not been quite lazing-around present either. He rests his palms against the rail, rocking up onto the balls of his feet. A slow rotation of head catches Doug and Parley both in his glance. "You down?" "A car?" Doug sounds almost offended at the idea, although there's excitement bubbling along the surface of his thoughts. "Parley, dude. This is New York. There is no need for cars, when the majesty of the subway awaits." He smiles widely, and bobs his head in Kay's direction. "I mean, if you're going to experience the city, you should do it right. Not spend all of your time in traffic." He rocks onto the balls of his feet, and lets his weight drop. "I'm in," he says brightly, and scrunches his nose at Kay. "What's your name, man? I'm Doug." With /two/ flows of excitement trickling along the outskirts of his mind, Parley surrenders bloodlessly with a soft laugh, opening his channels to let it pour in, "Okay. /Okay/. I'm in." He curls a hand around the inside of Kay's elbow, hooking an arm off, "Let's do it the New York way then. We should learn to use the subways better anyway." And maybe with the Not Stealing Cars, he doesn't say. He doesn't have to - for once, he has a smile that's kind of young and happy. "I know you are," Kay sounds almost a little puzzled by this introduction, but doesn't have long to consider it because he's being tugged off of the rail. "Kay," he offers his own name. His hands clap together. Well, he kind of just brings /one/ in towards the /other/ because Parley has commandeered an elbow and he's sauntering along towards the doorway. "Right, yeah, okay, I did the subway thing a couple times. Where the fuck's the Empire State Building on it, anyway, let's do this." It's -- almost offhand, the hand he tosses back behind him. The flames that /whoosh/ out to not just ignite but obliterate the newspaper-stack are -- probably a bit of overkill. Even Kay seems kind of /startled/-surprised by them, twitch-jumping but then just laughing at the fire now dancing over nearer the roof's edge. "Still cold?" he asks Doug. "The subway is definitely an experience," Doug says. "I know it pretty well, I guess. It's my primary mode of transportation, after all." He grins, and tilts his head to say more, but then there is FIRE, and he makes a dismayed noise as he casts his gaze around the roof for an extinguisher. "Dude. What did I say about my stuff?" he asks, giving Kay a flat look. He doesn't sound too bothered, though, as he spies the hidden canister and snatches it up. The obliteration of the newspapers is as quick as their ignition, and a couple of FWOOSHES later, there is no danger or fire. Or, worse, fire/men/. And cops. Doug sets the extinguisher down, and shakes his head. "Dude, if you set fire to the subway, I'm letting the MTA have you," he threatens good-naturedly, and motions the trio towards the door. "C'mon. If we scoot, we can catch the next train." And with that they're off, to truly see New York. It is, after all, a hell of a town.