ArchivedLogs:Fresh Air

Fresh Air
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Jax, Noah
In Absentia	2014-08-14 Some happy news for once!
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Courtyard - Lower East Side
This courtyard is the lush central hub of the surrounding Harbor Commons, bound in on three sides by rows of duplexes and triplexes, cutting upward at the sky with the sharp thrift of a minimalist's style, neat lines and bountiful windows, boldened with accents in wood towards the upper stories, stone towards the base, the whole of the compound sealed in by a low stoneworked wall that opens entrance gates to the streets beyond at its two far corners, smaller gates at building back doors. The fourth side of the courtyard is open to the East River, the ground forming a slight decline, controlled on one side by micro-retaining walls to form wide steps where picnic tables sit beneath the nominative shelter of a trio of dogwood trees, accessible by ramp. The other side is allowed to slope at its natural angle, a wide open yard space, until its cut off at the river's edge, where a massive pair of oak trees stand, a staircase leading away up one of their thick trunks. The yard itself is carpeted in an organic flow of emerald grass swirled through with wending channels of smooth-paved cement walkways, flowing naturally away from the building's front entrances, where some are arced by trellis, some flanked by hosta plants, fern and lilies, a few laid in gentle switch-backing ramps for wheelchair access, before forking off at matching angles to sites of small garden installments. Bird feeders and baths suspended from the necks of small lamp posts, a rock-lined koi pond, a sleek gazebo tucked to one side in simplistic varnished wood, its southern side overgrown with a mass of thriving grapevine and a caged-in barbecue pit under its sheltering roof. A play area and proper garden are within sight off another branch, until finally all paths spiral in like wheel spokes to a shared common house at the center of all traffic flow. It's cloudy-dark, humid, with distant rumbles of thunder that promise a storm shortly -- but at the moment the sky hasn't yet opened up, at the moment the rainy weather has just cooled everything /down/ to a blissful low-seventies temp to break the oppressive August heat. Dusk is enjoying the weather, perched with his laptop atop the /roof/ of the gazebo -- he doesn't seem at all to have /disturbed/ the grapevines that wind up its side so it's likely he descended to the roof from above rather than climbing up the sides. It's easy enough to see how he might have accomplished that -- though the young man looks normal enough in his wiry-lean build, blandly over-casual attire (black denim shorts, no shoes, no shirt), dark shadow of beardscruff, thick dark mop of hair, the huge black bat-wings curving up from his shoulders, gargoyle-esque in their sharp clawed points, are pretty hard to /miss/. Though they fold up compact enough when in repose, at the moment they're sort of /half/-unfurled, claws curled in against the roof of the gazebo to hold his balance where he perches, laptop on his lap and legs dangling over the edge (with bare feet and shorts it's also easy to see the boxy black ankle-monitor strapped against his leg.) He doesn't seem particularly concerned about losing his seating, exactly -- more just conscientious about making sure the /laptop/ doesn't fall. Beside him on the roof there is a gunmetal-grey thermos, which -- doesn't quite have the same stable footing as he does; an errant twitch of elbow as he types sends the thermos toppling to its side and rolling down to thunk into the grass below. Whups. Noah doesn't seem bothered by the possible downpour as he steps into the courtyard. In fact, a weight seems to lift off his shoulders as soon as he steps into the grass. He's dressed in his usual neutral colors, sleeveless worn flannel and pants with a large hole in one knee, boots dusty with dried mud. It's obvious when he spots Dusk, because he stops dead to stare for just a moment and blink. Just a moment though, because his mama taught him staring was wrong. It's then that the thermos rolls and falls. He jogs over to pick it up. "'Scuse me," he calls up, tossing up the thermos once he has the other male's attention. "'M lookin' fer Jax?" Noah has Dusk’s attention from about the time he comes into /view/, head tipping up from his work to regard the other man curiously from behind large dark glasses that shade his eyes despite the cloudy day. He reaches out easily to snag the thermos from the air, jerking his chin upwards in acknowledgment. “Hey thanks.” His smile comes warm and easy -- though the long sharp fangs revealed behind his lips may not be /everyone’s/ idea of comfortably friendly. There’s just the faintest dimming of smile at Noah’s question, a touch of cautious reserve creeping into his expression. His fingers tap quickly against his keyboard, brows slightly raised. “He know you’re coming?” "Yup. Called me in." Noah doesn't seem put off by the wariness. The fangs make him blink again, a curious look crossing his face before it smooths out. "And you're welcome. Rude to leave it if I could help." He shoves his hands in his back pockets as the wind starts up a bit, blowing hair into his eyes that he impatiently pushes away. (There is every chance that Noah needs a haircut, but Noah himself is not one to actually /notice/ these things.) "Anyway, you uh- You seen 'im? He's helpin' me look fer some people." “Mmm.” Dusk glances over at his computer, then back down at Noah. “Oh. Huh. OK. You Noah? ‘pologies, we just, uh, sometimes get people -- well, Jax especially. Gets a lot of people -- not really looking to be /friendly/.” One of his wings rolls upward in a shrug. “I live with him.” One long upper thumb-claw flicks over towards one of the houses by the riverbank. Slowly he pulls his legs up onto the roof, closing his laptop and tucking it against his chest in his arms. “Not answering his IMs though, s’maybe in the shower or something. He /was/ in the garden till recently. C’mon, let’s at least get some -- uh. You drink coffee?” He peers down at Noah thoughtfully as he stands. “So many freaking hippies around here we’re swimming in tea. But Shane owns a coffeeshop. Good shit.” His wings flex out -- at full extension it becomes clear just /how/ enormous they are, wingspan over seventeen feet from tip to tip. It causes a brief swoosh of draft as he flaps them once, not exactly taking /off/ so much as breaking his fall as he drops off the roof to land, rather lightly actually, on the ground a few feet from Noah. "Naw, ya ain't gotta - M'sorry people are asshats. But I ain't gotta problem with anyone here." Noah grins at the tea comment, wide and open, and it makes his face look less... mean. It disappears in shock at Dusk's /wings/ and he's still staring (his mama would be so proud) when Dusk lands. "Sorry," he blurts when he realizes. "Just. Ain't ever..." He trails off, motioning feebly to Dusk's wings. "Coffee sounds good," he weakly finishes. Dusk’s smile stretches bright and wide, sharp-fanged grin just /amused/ at Noah’s staring, at the apology. One of his wings curls out brushing a long spar lightly against Noah’s elbow (for all their size and clawed ends, the skin that covers the wings is /soft/, velvet-fuzzy to the touch) before it folds back in. “S’aright, they kinda take a lot of people by surprise their first time. Looks are deceiving, though. They’re /big/ but pretty gentle.” With a lingering grin and a gesture of his head he starts leading the way back towards his house -- though he shares it with Jax it’s split into multiple very distinct /units/, his own residence styled drastically differently from Lighthaus (though the brightly colourful house Noah has /been/ in before is visible through an open doorway between the two.) He holds the door into Geekhaus open for Noah with a wing. “Breakfast, too? Or just coffee? I can, uh. Do eggs and bacon without fucking them up much.” <NYC> {Geekhaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side There's an open airy feel to the floorplan of this unit. The door opens up into a wide expanse of common space that is not so much divided up into rooms as it is simply multipurposed. Ash-grey resin flooring underfoot runs up against the paler grey of the exposed stone in the walls; between the stone support there are wide floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the river on one side of the home and the Commons' central yard on the other. Half of the space has a ceiling at one-floor height, though half of the space is left open with a balcony up on the second floor overlooking the living space below. A slatted stairway heads up to the second floor balcony; on the other side of the room, a fireman's pole running straight down the the basement provides a quicker way /down/. The wide open space here is combination living and dining room; near the windows there are a pair of couches and large armchair around a wide coffeetable; further off a steel-and-glass dining table is surrounded by eight tall black chairs. A full bathroom behind the stairway is done up in dark granite; the glass-doored bathtub/shower is rather expansively large. The kitchen is tucked off in back, beneath the half-height ceiling; in here the appliances and cabinets and shelving recessed into the wall are in brushed steel, wide grey sweeps of tempered glass countertops running around the edge of the room and a large central island holding stoves and oven and deep double sink. Adjacent to the kitchen, beneath the ceiling as well, is a sitting area structured largely around the enormous television against one wall, a wealth of video games for a number of consoles held on the shelves around the television. Crates and beanbags and one low futon folded against the floor are arranged in good viewing distance; opposite the television, a sturdy large pen built out of wood shrines a couch amid a sea of brightly colorful playpen balls. A door in one wall opens up to the apartment next door; a door opposite leads down to the basement. Noah's shoulders miiiiight hunch up a little as they walk back inside. "Uh." The offer of breakfast seems to throw him, but his stomach growls - loudly - before he can answer for himself. His face turns pink. "Sure," he mumbles, shifting from foot to foot. "I 'ppreciate it." Noah glances around the apartment, shoulders going another half inch closer to his ears. "This is a nice place. Nicer than I'm used to." Then again, /everything/ in New York seems to be. “We cheated,” Dusk answers Noah with a small laugh, nudging the door back closed behind himself. “After the zombies shat on /everything/ in the city, property was dirt-fucking-cheap because half people who /didn’t/ die fled and half the buildings were a wreck. This place was just a torn-up lot with a few moving corpses still shambling around it. But my roommate, he’s an architect? Fucking good one. So we got the land cheap and the designer for /free/. What /are/ you used to, you sound like you’re from down Jax’s way.” He tucks his wings back in tight against his back, ambling further in to set his laptop and his thermos down on a kitchen counter and start bustling about the kitchen -- grinding coffee beans first to start the coffee brewing and then getting out things for the making of Breakfast. “How do you take your eggs?” Noah trails behind Dusk, leaning back against a countertop where he hopefully won't be in the way. "Don't matter to me none so long as they're cooked." He crosses his arms over his chest, shrugging a lone shoulder. "Ain't use to... this. Ain't just that it's /nice/, it's the... roof, the walls. I's raised in the woods 'til my daddy got out the service, then we got a house built. Even then, we didn't... Just come from an outdoor family. Prefer it. Guess you could say I've been in, uh. Wuzzit called. Survival camp my entire life." He shrugged again. "Ain't never minded it." “Thaaat’s gotta be a hell of a transition, New York City doesn’t have a /ton/ of what you’d call the, uh, outdoors. Upstate, though. Upstate’s fucking gorgeous. You should try out there sometime, maybe. Me and my -- housemates,” Dusk flicks a wing at the large house around him; there are no housemates in /evidence/ at the moment but it’s unlikely he needs all this space just to himself, “Jax, his kids, we do a lot of. Hiking, climbing. Hunting -- some of us anyway.” He drops a large pat of margarine into his pan, just watching it for a moment as it sizzles. One hand reaches up to push his sunglasses, finally, up off his eyes and tuck them into his hair; beneath his eyes are just slightly larger than normal, huge and very dark. “I like being anywhere I can stretch my /wings/. Most places inside, really can’t. There’s walls or shit to knock over -- but,” he admits with a crooked grin, “I’m kind of glad for a roof. Be different, maybe, if it was raised to feel like home? But I spent a bit on the streets after, uh, these grew in,” his wings rustle behind him, “and it’s maybe different when it’s not -- not a choice, yeah? But I don’t really /grudge/ anyone the life that’s comfortable for them. My neighbors -- Jax’s pups -- I think they’d be happiest with nothing but /ocean/ around them for a home. Everyone’s got their things, right?” Noah quite obviously perks up at the word 'hunting'. "Ain't ever seen the ocean," he admits. "But like you said. Can't grudge 'em for it. I love grass and woods and swamps m'self. Could see Shane in the ocean though. I think he mentioned he hunts. I like it - love it - a lot. Good way to spend time." Noah eyes Dusk's wings before he asks. "You hunt?" He can't see them being very practical for tracking and staying quiet, but he ain't the ones with wings either. Dusk would have more knowledge about that than Noah would. “The pups -- Shane and his twin -- they’re really the hunters. Better noses than bloodhounds, they track like fucking /beasts/.” Dusk definitely does not say this like it’s an /insult/, a fierce note of admiration in his tone. “I --” His teeth bare again, sharp and amused as he lays bacon in a second pan. “Kill.” One of his wings hitches up in a quick shrug. “/Deer/ aren’t really used to watching the /sky/ for predators.” Noah shifts at the word 'kill'. He's not uncomfortable with it, more... He doesn't know. It just doesn't bother him. A bit unsettlingly, it's the opposite. "Nah, they don't. Ain't nothin' natural can carry 'em off." He realizes his blunder almost immediately, flushing red. "Not that you're - Hell. I didn't mean nothin' by that. M'sorry." He tightens his arms over his chest, kicking at the floor lightly with a booted foot. A throaty low chuckle rumbles in Dusk’s chest -- it might be hard to immediately /identify/ it as laughter, the purring thrum sounds more like a /growl/, but the amusement in his dark eyes and smile on his lips marks it clearly enough. “I’m what, a freak?” Oddly the rumbling does not /stop/ when he speaks -- two sets of vocal cords means that his words can come, spoken in a higher tone set against the backdrop of the grating bass of growling. “We’re all freaks here. And I don’t just mean the gorram mutants, this whole fucking city’s out of its damn mind. Whole /world/, maybe. I don’t trust normal people -- but then, I’m not sure I’ve ever met any.” Noah nearly says that he thought he was pretty normal himself, before he snaps his mouth shut. He just told Dusk that he had grown up, in a way, homeless by choice. He doesn't want to stick his foot in his mouth again. He doesn't really know /what/ to say to any of that, so he shrugs one shoulder again and gets back on the topic of hunting. "Y'all, uh. Use any weapons when you go huntin' or... Are you the weapons?" The last question is hesitant because he doesn't know how else to word that. Noah has found it is much harder to embarrass yourself when you don't talk, but he also knew it would be rude not to talk. Since Dusk invited him in and offered to cook, conversation is the least he could do. This question just bares Dusk's fangs further, amusement sparking in his eyes. His wings ripple-shift, long claws at their ends flexing briefly. "What do you think?" He cracks eggs into the pan, turning aside now that the smell of coffee is filling the kitchen to pour two mugs full. "You take anything in it?" He sets one of the mugs down on the counter in front of Noah. From the next apartment there is a quick hurry of socked feet on hard floors; when Jax appears he kind of /slides/ his way in across the gleaming resin of Geekhaus's flooring, a little blushy, a little flustered-apologetic. He's /fresh/ out of the shower, skin still smelling strongly of citrus and cinnamon, fingers skimming over the smooth-soft skin of his his damp freshly-shaved scalp. He's dressed brightly, purple capris with silver dragonflies embroidered in them, vividly patterned neon mismatched ankle socks, a tight sleeveless top with silver studs at its armholes that hasn't actually /settled/ on a colour, shifting from silver to blue to black-with-rainbow-swirls and then continuing on. Jax can't make up his mind today, evidently; his makeup and nails are shifting just as quickly. The eyepatch on his eye (black with a blue-green starburst in its center) stays the same, though. "Oh! Oh gosh, hi. apologies, I. Lost track'a /time/ out in the garden an' then I was /all over/ dirt an' I had to -- I just jumped in the -- maybe I lost track'a time in the shower, too, it was. Hot -- water is nice after workin' an' -- gosh I'm ramblin' again, sir, /hi/." There's a laptop and a manila folder held against his chest, his mangled-missing-fingered hand drumming fingers rapid-nervous-jittery against it. Noah rumbles a low chuckle at Dusk's answer, and then shakes his head at the coffee question. He just picks the mug up when Jax comes rushing in, and Noah can't help but smile around the rim. It is hard /not/ to smile around the other Georgia boy, who is unlike anyone Noah has ever known. "Ain't gotta 'pologize," he says. "Ain't been waitin' long and I, uh. Found some company." He knows it's rude to just come out and ask, but he can't quite help it. The question slips out before he can help it. "You find anythin' out?" "He's a chronic apologizer," Dusk informs Noah; his smile has brightened at Jax's arrival (maybe it's hard for him not to smile around Jax, too?) and one wing stretches out wide to brush softly against Jax's arm. And then curl around his shoulders to reeeeeel him in for a fuzzy-soft hug. "This," he says, looking down at his stovetop, "is /so/ not vegan but I could toss on some grits too if you like?" Note: he will /probably/ go steal the grits from Jax's kitchen. Jax's makeup finally settles, silver-sheened green on his nails and a dark metallic black with purple-green-blue flecks over his eye. "Yeah I kinda got a --" His fist lifts to circle over his heart in yet /another/ apology before he catches himself with a deeper blush. "Sor -- ahhh. OK. It's like a /domino/ I jus' can't stop. OK-OK-- oh wow I'd love grits." He is easily roped in for hugs, nuzzling an overly-warm cheek against Dusk's soft fur. He disengages after a moment, wriggling out from the squeeze of wing to set the laptop and folder down on the table. /And/ to snag Dusk's coffee while he's at it, thankyouverymuch, dipping his head low and flicking the tip of his tongue into it like a cat before he hisses sharply at its heat. Whoops. He is still quite fidgety-restless, a jitter in his posture that is echoed in the trembling shift of /light/ around him, but for all his nervous posture he has a bright warm smile to turn on Noah. "I gave all the info you gave us about them to my P.I. friend? He's fantastic. He's outta the country jus' at the moment but he done sent me a bunch of. Everything he collected. So I guess I should jus' start off by tellin' you sure an' positive your folks is alive an' doin' jus' fine." Noah maaaaaybe stares into his coffee at the affection, a little embarrassed and unused to it. But he feels Jax's smile like sunshine and looks up, smiling again. It fades almost immediately in /shock/ at Jax's words and he nearly drops his mug. His brain turns back on and he tightens his grip at the last second, coffee splashing over the rim onto his hand, but Noah barely feels it. "What?" he asks stupidly. "I mean -- I -- /thankyou/ I had /prayed/ but." He sucks in a sharp breath, silencing himself. After a beat, he lets it out shakily and sets his mug down to bury his face in his hands. He /had/ prayed. And hoped. And told himself fiercely that his parents wouldn't let a thing like /zombies/ send them to meet the Lord, especially after Jax let him know that he had /seen/ them. Having it confirmed made Noah realize how scared he had been to lose them since the entire damn thing started. "Sorry," he says, muffled past his hands. He lowers them, eyes maybe a little wet. "Sorry," he repeats, apparently taking Jax's place on the sorry train. "Where are they?" "Oh man." Dusk turns the bacon over before gently shaking at his other pan, sliding the eggs in them up and over; on the flip side he lets them cook only briefly before slipping them onto a plate and getting out a fork and knife for Noah. "That is /fantastic/ news. It's been fucking /rough/ around here, it's good to hear something /happy/." He cracks a second pair of eggs in and then darts off -- to go across the way so that he can... steal grits. Hopefully he at least won't also make Jax cook them himself. Jax can't help a giggle as Dusk rushes off to go get grits from /his/ own kitchen. He sets the folder down in front of Noah, quiet for a moment now as, rather than speak, he squeezes the other man's shoulder firmly. His hand is kind of /uncomfortably/ warm, a fierce heat burning beneath his skin, but after a small pat, a small squeeze, he lowers his hand when Noah does. "Y'ain't got nothin' to apologize for, honey-honey. I can't imagine what the waitin' was like. But they're doin' good, they're upstate. Started some sorta -- camp? Teachin'-place? T'help city-slickers learn how to /survive/, looks like. Info's in the folder. Address an' everythin'." "Thank you. I - I don't know how to say enough, thank you /so much./" Noah hesitates a brief moment before he leans in to kiss Jax's cheek, like he had the last time Jax gave him good news. It's very brief, but heartfelt. It is also enough for Noah to again notice Jax's temperature. "Y'okay? Feel like you's gots a fever." Dusk is back in short order, a canister of grits in hand. He does not in fact make Jax cook them but puts a pot of water on the stove, setting out salt and garlic powder and margarine. "Jax," he informs Noah with a mischievous grin, "is just /always/ wicked hot." Between this and the kiss, Jax's blushing is raging out of control, his eye wide and his cheeks furious red -- the air around him, too, begins to tint faintly red as he answers the kiss with a small squeeze of hug. "Oh -- oh gosh. It ain't nothin', honey, it's -- I'm /glad/ t'help. Like Dusk was sayin', that -- the whole plague, everythin', it tore this city /up/, it's really a breath'a fresh /air/ t'be able to. To give some /good/ news." He blushes deeper at the question, shaking his head. "I -- /am/ always hot -- oh gosh no I didn't mean like --" His nose crinkles up, a brief scowl sent in Dusk's direction though it doesn't last long. "I mean it's my mutation. I run hot most'a the time? But in summer it's crazy-bad. I'm kinda solar powered so I soak in way too much energy when the days is long." Dusk's answer also makes Noah blush something fierce, or maybe it was the sudden thought that Jax was more /pretty/ than anything. The hug immediately after doesn't help. "That's int'restin'," he mumbles, red faced and glancing down at his feet. For lack of anything else to say, he grabs the folder and slides around Jax with a "S'cuse me." "Thank ya for the food," he tells Dusk, distracted. Noah lays down the folder on the counter next to his plate and flips it open with one hand. He starts to eat with the other, eyes scanning over the information. "How far of a drive is it to the Adirondacks?" "Yeah, maybe saying he's always sunny is more appropriate." Dusk pokes at the bacon thoughtfully, finally spearing a number of strips to go add to Noah's plate. He flips his eggs over, after, and stirs at the grits. "Kinda a hike, they're way the hell north. /Actually/ upstate. As opposed to 'just barely north of the Bronx', which half of Manhattan thinks is upstate." Jax's single eye tracks Noah as he moves to eat his food. "Yeah, s'pretty far upstate. Four -- five hours? Depends how deep into them you're goin'. S'a /lotta/ gorgeous hikin' up there, we -- sometimes make trips for campin' an' climbin'. -- Actually be kinda interested t'see what sorta lessons they're teachin', sounds like an interestin' place they got started." "Sunshine fits 'im," Noah says in response to Dusk, cheeks still pink. He quickly scans a few more things before he pushes the folder to the side and picks up his plate. "S'good," he says, quickly taking a few more bites. His overall demeanor seems to have lightened. "And that ain't so bad." The words are maybe said around a tiny bit of food that he quickly swallows. "Five hours ain't much compared to how long it took me to get here. An' I could maybe tell ya a bit. Prob'ly ain't too different from how I's raised." "Pfft what do /you/ want to check it out for you already know how to track and hunt and forage and grow your own food -- He may," Dusk informs Noah with a crooked grin, "be living in Manhattan /now/ but don't let that fool you, he's country as cowshit." Jax blushes at this, too, taking another sip of Dusk's coffee now though he grimaces and proceeds to slip further into the kitchen to /liberally/ sugar this. "Georgia up here is a /long/ hike, I done made that drive a couple times. An' -- it'd jus' be interestin' to see is all. I spend so much time in Manhattan s'/nice/ now an' then to get back to --" He shrugs again, with a small tilt of head. "How was you raised?" Noah grins at Dusk's choice of words, a low chuckle escaping him. "Outside, pretty much. Been trackin' and trappin' since I could walk, learned how to shoot a crossbow before I was in school. Grew what we couldn't catch." He gestures with his fork to the door and the New York beyond it. "It's... really weird, bein' up here. Everythin' is so damned noisy I's gotta bury my head to sleep, and gotta buy mosta what I eat. I... don't think I'da ever come up here if everythin' hadnt'a happened." "He grows plenty of our food." Dusk switches off the stove, seasoning the grits and spooning out a bowl for Jax, first, before raising his brows questioningly to Noah -- want? "But I guess we're kinda lucky here with the space we have. /I/ could probably use some of those classes," he admits. "I don't know shit about growing food." He baps at Jax lightly with one wing when Jax turns his coffee into coffee-syrup, but doesn't /stop/ this -- mainly because there's enough left in the pot for him to pour a new mug for himself. "It's so different here." Jax's agreement comes a little bit wistfully. "I miss home so much sometimes. But I come up here for school, you know -- if I coulda just lived on the farm /forever/ I'd'a been happy only but folks weren't too thrilled on me bein' around town after." He turns up one hand, a swirling dust-mote glow of light blossoming above it that resolves into a shimmering dragonfly and then fades away. "-- this happened. An' then with everythin' goin' /on/ in the world even now I'm graduated it's hard to -- to leave an' go back if there's good I can still do up here." He offers Noah a warm smile as he takes his grits and hoists himself up to sit on the counter. "But there is little ways y'can make it better. Like the garden -- an' it /ain't/ jus' here, we started a whole /ton/ of gardens around the city on empty lots, abandoned patches, plant food where there's space. Jus' gotta /find/ ways t'carve out bits'a home." Noah very gladly takes a bowl of grits, stirring them to cool them off while he listens. There is every chance Jax's smile brings another blush to his cheeks, for reasons completely unknown to Noah. Because he is oblivious. "That's really nice of y'all, the gardens. Can't imagine how many people it's helped. And it ain't hard to learn," he says to Dusk. "Just gotta have patience with it. Some people are bad 'bout that part, wonderin' why they can't grow nothin' overnight." He quiets and takes a few bites of grits, obviously thinking about something. "If y'all wants, you can ride with me up there. Be nice to have some company." "Those gardens /have/ helped a lot of people. Can be pretty hard for some people to -- get by especially if stores won't even let you /in/." Dusk shakes his head, wings shifting briefly. He perks, at Noah's mention of riding up together -- though evidently not on his /own/ behalf because he's quick to decline: "It sounds pretty rad but these wings don't do so great in cars for hours. That's just /asking/ for horrible cramps. It --" He stretches a wing out, nudging at Jax's arm. "Sounds like it might be a good trip for you, though. Fresh air, not a lot of people, you could -- maybe use it?" He sounds a little hopeful, for how long Jax has been holed up in the Commons. Jax blushes again, swirling his spoon around in his grits. "I like workin' with the earth, it ain't -- no big thing. An' that we're helpin' folks by it, all the better." He takes a small mouthful of grits, glancing over towards Noah. "... does sound like it could be nice," he acknowledges, slowly. "You -- plannin' on leavin' /straight/away?" The glance back towards his own door is a brief reminder of the husband and kids /he/ needs to be thinking about. "Nah. I kinda gotta--" Noah pauses, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. "Gotta clean my truck up. Been stayin' in it, so it ain't somethin' to show to no one right now. Maybe... Later this afternoon? Can wait 'til t'morrow if it's better for you." Dusk is quiet, here, nibbling on his breakfast (okay it's more like lunchtime) and watching Jax with an oddly intent curiosity. "I --" Jax hesitates, covering the delay with a mouthful of grits. "You know, that'd be real nice," he finally decides, slowly, "let me check in with my husband, make sure things'll be aright here 'fore I go traipsing off across the state. But -- tomorrow mornin'?" He gives Noah a quick smile before hopping off the counter to slip back towards his house. "I'll meet you here 'round eight," Noah calls, before Jax completely slips away. He takes his first few bites of grits, mumbling to Dusk around a mouthful that they were good. "Thanks, for everythin'," he says once he's done and puts his dishes in the sink. "I'll see ya t'morrow, I guess." He can't help but smile about it. He hasn't seen his parents in almost a year. One more day won't hurt.