ArchivedLogs:Frivolous

Frivolous
Dramatis Personae Jax, Tag
In Absentia	2015-04-06 "Art is life, too."
Location <NYC> {Funhaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
The house might have started out looking capacious and respectable, but it has since moved through various incarnations, always colorful, but never colorful the same way for longer than a few days. There is little in the way of what most people would call furniture: a sectional couch buried in fluffy cushions, three bean bags of varying sizes, a scattering of bookshelves, what looks like a human-scale cat tree in one corner, and a low, square table surrounded by zafus. The floor plan is largely open, criss-crossed by rope bridges linking small elevated platforms to the landing of the second storey, beyond which lie the bedrooms. The kitchen is separated from the living room only by a long counter, lined with stools. Even the appliances are decked out in unexpected hues, edged with designs that change on a daily basis. A row of tins and jars runs the length of the breakfast counter, none of which match and all of which bear brightly colored text describing their contents: teas, coffees, mates, and various herbal blends. Outside the sun is setting, but even in its last moments the day is warm and pleasant. Inside, the space opera wonderland that has been Funhaus for the last week is also undergoing Changes. The swirls of colorful nebulae on the walls are fluctuating and gathering into new shapes: cresting waves of many-colored light, sweeping across the walls. In their wake the starfield is transformed into a twilit spring forest. The sun that appears on the horizon beside a bookshelf near the door shadows the sun outside. Bright green vines climb the trunks of trees slower to wake from their winter sleep, though flowers and newborn leaves adorn some branches already. The floor is carpeted with wildflowers whose petals look drowsy in the fading light, and on the ceiling a few stars remain from the previous color scheme. At the center of the living room, Tag sits cross-legged on a gray boulder of a beanbag, eyes half-lidded and fingers laced together in his lap. Probably just home from work, he still looks reasonably professional with his hair well-groomed and jet black, though he has unbuttoned his black shirt to reveal a lilac ribbed tank underneath, and his black slacks are starting to turn green at the cuffs. KNOCK knock knock. It's a very /chipper/ knock. It's a very chipper Jax, really. Probably some of his current splash of COLOURFUL is Tag's own doing; his hair and goatee are both brightly Easter-dyed in pastel green and purple and blue with an iridescent flash to it, his nails striped and spotted and zig-zagged and swirled like Easter eggs, though the way his tattoos are glowing and /moving/ is all his own doing. He's in chunky purple and grey sneakers, black cargo capris, a white tank top spotted all over with flowers of its own. A messenger bag is slung over his hip, a Tupperware full of cookies under one arm, huge mirrored sunglasses on his eyes. Knock -- /knock/. Tag launches from the beanbag and makes a beeline for the door, yanking it open without checking to see who's outside. "Hi!" He goes onto tip-toes and throws his arms around Jax, rainbow colors creeping into his hair from the tips up. "Ooh, cookies! I'm decorating. Come in!" He does a little pirouette, unshod feet stirring the two-dimensional violets blooming in the floor. "Oh! D'ya want some tea?" He waggles bright purple eyebrows, as if he were offering something naughty. "/Real/ tea?" Jax's free arm wraps back around Tag once he enters, squeezing tight. "I can see that. It looks real spring. It's real spring out /there/, too, have you seen?" He gestures with the tub of cookies back towards the door to Outside. One toe steps at the other heel, pressing his shoe off and then removing the other in turn. His grin spreads wide and bright. "Oh /gosh/ do I. Tea me. I jus' come from Luci's an' /everyone's/ plyin' me with caffeine I feel like s'my birthday. His garden's /so/ bright oh my /gosh/ I jus' wanted t'roll around in it -- well, I /did/ roll around in it. Hey, do you want t'get /paid/ for a graffiti?" "I /have/!" Tag leans out the doorway with one hand hooked to the doorframe, Singing in the Rain-style. "I biked to work, it's what inspired me to..." He comes back inside, closing the door at last. "...bring spring to Funhaus, you know? Oh, and happy belated Easter!" He pads across the living rooms with his arms spread wide, and a faint mist rises in the forest-walls around them. Got any suggestions? I haven't decided what kinda fauna yet. Reaching the counter that divides the dining room from the kitchen, he snatches up a black canister adorned with misty blue mountains and the odd pterodactyl in flight. "We have a new Nilgiri, wanna try?" "I biked t'Luci's an' then the studio an' oh /gosh/ the world's jus' -- so. Excellent. An' /thanks/ -- oh I always want hummingbirds. An' maybe some naga. Or like some flowers that got accidentally crossbred /with/ the naga so they're jus' pretty toothy scaley petally snakemonsters blossomin' to life. -- I don't know if that's a fauna. I want all your Nilgiri what kinda milk do you got?" He trots oer towards the kitchen, hopping up to sit on the counter. He sets the cookies down beside him, unslinging his bag to lower it down to thump to the ground. "Luci an' Matt want their garden wall mural'd. You want in?" Hummingbirds flit into view on the walls and the side of the counter as Tag spoons tea leaves into a glossy black teapot. As well, two or three svelte figures with humanoid torsos riding atop serpentine bodies appear, lurking in the mist. More gradually, new plants sprout from the ground in serpentine motion, their blossoms full of dripping fangs. "I think they qualify as /both/," he muses, flashing a quicksilver smile as he fills the teapot from the electric kettle. One of the snake-plants looks to be in the act of snatching a hummingbird mid-flight. "We got almond, coconut, soy...real soy milk, not the bland American stuff, but I don't think it goes well in tea. Oh and something else my sister brought. Cashew milk?" He is wandering to the refrigerator as he speaks, but comes up short. "Ooh! I'd love to! I mean, if they're okay with my style. Some people find it a little..." One slender hand, tipped with glittery purple nails, gestures at the walls, "...gaudy?" "Perfect. What say springtime more than poisonous serpent flowers?" Jax's legs swing against the counter. His tattoos glow a little brighter as the scenery changes. "/Oh/. Cashew is the most superior milk. I mean, I change my mind on that pretty much on a quarterly basis, I'm a fickle creature. I used t'give oat milk my undyin' love an' then it was hazelnut an' then coconut, but /this/ season I'm professin' that my one true love is cashew. No loyalty with me, for serious." He shrugs a shoulder at the last question. "Bright an' cheery. I checked like ten times that they was sure cuz I'm pretty sure Luci ain't /never/ wanted nothin' bright an' cheery in his life but maybe he's had a change'a heart or maybe s'for the kids. I'm fair sure I'm not supposed t'go with the creepsome gore I tend to so I gotta stick with the /whimsy/ end of my spectrum an' not the -- whimisical tearin' out of organs." "Ooh, hazelnut milk!" Tag licks his lips even as he emerges from the refrigerator with a carton of cashew milk. "We gotta get some of that. Not that we really /need/ more..." He sets down the carton and snags two handmade mugs from the drying rack. By the time he transfers those to the counter, they have changed colors entirely, one to a white Chinese dragon swimming across a swirl of rainbows and the other to an iridescent blue dragonfly perched on a bed of silver-spotted purple begonia leaves. "I'm /always/ game for bright and cheery. Also for making art with you." His smile melts from enthusiastic to fond. "Feels like forever, huh?" Another naga appears near the dining table, stooping to caress a snake-flower that nuzzles up into her hand in evident pleasure. "/Been/ forever. My art dries up all winter. At least, the outdoor kind." Jax is getting bouncier again at the sight of the dragonfly-mug. Te nuzzling flower. His own dragonfly-tattoo has... migrated. Off his shoulder to flit around and glow against his cheek. "... I been thinking," he admits, a little brighter. "About makin' art with you. Or -- well. There was this dream once --" His nose wrinkles. "But we're both like Real Adult People with Real Adult Jobs an' all now an' I kinda maybe started lookin' at, um, property? It's startin' to get expensive again I think the worst of the zombie-crash is over but there's still some affordable places an' maybe we could buy some up -- wait hold on wait," he stops with a deep blush. "I'm gettin' ahead of myself. I jus'. Wanted to come talk t'you about startin' a -- doin' a -- art. Thing." Tag rests his elbows against the counter across from Jax, holding up his chin in one palm. "I know, right? We got mortgages and taxes and the whole nine yards. Kinda surreal." Thin green vines have made their way up onto Tag's shirt, little white flowers blooming along their length. His eyes, though, follow Jax's runaway tattoo. "Dream? I had one where we were setting up for an art fight." He smiles broad and bright again. "We had this place all painted up like...and not just with your work and mine, either." He straightens up, bouncing in place a little. "And it's not like we'd even /need/ a physical place, to start an art...thing. Though it sure would be nice, and I've been building up a customer base with my own business, maybe we /could./" Then, in his fashion, he goes from dubious to an emphatic, "Let's do it!" "Yeah -- we wouldn't /need/ one but it'd be nice. To have a place of our own, you know?" Now Jax's expression is skewing towards wistful. "I sometimes kinda feel like --" His blush hasn't faded. He looks down at his hands, fingers lacing together in his lap. "Life gets so crazy, you know? An' I do so much that's --" He shakes his head, quickly. "Bein' not in school no more I feel like if I don't /do/ somethin' to /make/ space for art in my life I'm jus' gonna get so lost in all the crazy I forget to be an artist. I don't never want that. I want to always have that space. I kinda put off comin' to talk about it cuz I think I felt a little selfish like -- like I /shouldn't/ -- I don't know like. Like I'm jus' /supposed/ to go do trainin' an' teachin' an' --" His nose wrinkles, self-conscious and awkward even as he says, "... superheroin' about. An' the rest of it's all jus' extraneous an' frivolous." Somewhat tentatively, his smile peeks back out. "... but maybe I want to be frivolous." "It's fine to want to be frivolous." Tag takes up the teapot and decants the rich amber brew into his freshly decorated mugs, the motion of his hands perhaps surprisingly formal. The black backdrop of his shirt has faded to a dark blue like the eastern sky growing brighter with dawn even while the walls around them settle deeper into twilight. "Even if sometimes you just can't. But art? I don't think that's extraneous." He adds a splash of almond milk to each mug. "In some ways we need it like we need food and shelter and love, and if wanting those are selfish, I don't think anyone can claim the moral high ground." He walks Jax's tea around the counter to him along with a glass sugar bowl painted up like an iridescent soap bubble. "Art is life, too. Moreso for some than others." Jax's smile settles in more comfortably, warmer and relaxed. He starts spooning a truly gratuitous amount of sugar into his tea, stirring once he's got enough to possibly have concocted himself a tea-syrup. "Well, then. We can think 'bout other folks what might be interested in a collective and get t'plannin'. But I want t' make -- life with you." Tag brightens, quite literally, from rainbow hair to violet toenails. He reaches over for his own tea, to which he adds only a shallow spoonful of sugar. "Me, too," he says at last, blushing faintly but smiling broad and joyous. "We are gonna be /so/ awesome."