ArchivedLogs:Glasswork

Glasswork
Dramatis Personae Jax, Steve
In Absentia	2015-12-15 "I really wouldn't know from normal, in this world."
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Makerspace - Lower East Side
It isn't huge in this workshop, but it's well-ventilated and well-equipped. Like the Common house, this building -- small and shedlike and tucked off to a side of the courtyard -- is accessible to Commons residents via their electronic keycards. Stocked with plentiful tools for all kinds of workmanship, it has a small number of workspaces along the side of the room with a fair amount of open floorspace that can be repurposed as needed. In different corners there are a couple more specialized sections -- one front corner has been walled off into its own darkroom, and farthest off in back, cordoned off and thankfully left empty when not in use, is a squat furnace with a tendency to look like a pot of glowing lava when it is filled with molten glass. It's been a warm day and even after sunset it's mild outside, only a faint chill in the air. Inside the workshop, though, it's kind of sweltering, a warmth in the air that grows to a fierce heat by the back of the room. In the back, the glow coming from the squat furnace is joined by a glow coming from Jax. Dressed in plain black jeans, hiking boots, a ribbed black undershirt, darkened safety goggles on his eyes. Right now his skin is positively luminous -- the brilliant tattoos that cover him have taken on a stained-glass quality, backlit as they are. He's at a work bench, one foot planted on it, an also glowing flute of molten glass gathered at the end of a pole rested across two wooden supports. He turns the pole with one (glowing) hand; with his other he actually /works/ the glass, eschewing tools, currently, to twist and pinch at the waxy melting glass directly with his fingers to shape it -- though into what, it's too early yet to tell. The door opens and Steve peers inside, then enters, if a little hesitantly, eyes wide and fixed on the glowing photokinetic and his project. He's dressed in a green-and-blue flannel shirt and indigo blue jeans, both a bit dusty, though not as much so as his combat boots. He wears his shield across his back on its own carrying harness, and a long knife on his belt. "Good evening," he says, keeping a respectful distance from the work in progress but gazing at it with undisguised wonder. "Will it distract you? If I watch." "Oh!" A flush of red spreads -- oddly glowing as well in its stark bloom up Jax's cheeks as he looks up at Steve. "Oh, no, that's -- that's aright. You can -- you can." On a table nearby his bench there are piles of coloured grains -- sandy looking, deep crimson and dark yellow-gold and he runs his hand across the glass before rolling it carefully through each of these piles in turn. Then returning to the furnace to dip it again, gathering more clear glass over top of the swirls of colour. "See you got your shield back. I'd half thought Horus was gonna start nestin' in it." "Didn't mean to stare, I've just never seen glassworking before and...well, you look like you're worked glass, yourself."Steve comes to rest by one of the work tables, bracing his hands back against it but not quite sitting on it. The position looks perhaps oddly casual for him, and the boyish smile he flashes matches it. "I asked it back, as a gift, and found it at the window this morning. He's really an extraordinary child." Though here a frown gathers his brows just a touch. "He /is/ a child, right?" The flush of red spreads further, tinting the air around Jax briefly with a faint reddish glow before fading. "Oh, I'm very much flesh an' blood." Jax's own smile is quick, soft and seeming all the warmer for the light that illuminates it. "Most glassworkin' don't happen /quite/ this way, but --" He hitches a shoulder up, eyes focusing back down on his work as his fingers slide over the glass, pulling it out into a bell shape. No, longer, flowing, opening it up into the swirling hem of a gown. His other hand keeps turning the pole, never keeping the piece too still for too long. His brows lift when he looks back up at Steve. "Mmm? Horus? Oh, gosh, I don't know. How do you measure childhood? Are my pups children? They ain't barely younger'n I am, but they're /my/ kids --" His head shakes, slightly. "It's a strange thing, ain't it. I don't know. Didn't none of them ever hardly get to /be/ children. He's older'n my bo... my twins," he catches himself with a small dip of his head. "By a month or two. Are any of 'em children? You ain't wrong on extraordinary, though." "I kind of figured. Most people don't glow, but..." Steve watches the glass take shape under Jax's hand, glancing up at the man's face now and then. "Well. You're not most people." He blinks, eyebrows upraised, though he doesn't actually look all /that/ surprised. "I guess it's pretty subjective, but at first I thought he was...maybe twelve? Thought that about Shane, too, the first time I met him." It's his turn to blush now, though his is nowhere near as spectacular. "After the siege I started putting together he was probably older, but the first impression lingered and I kept forgetting to ask. He has a way of fluttering off." Jax's breath catches, his lips quirking up into a small smile. "Lotta folks around here ain't quite most people." He is touching a second piece of glass to his first, breaking the wide hollow base off of the glob of glass still attached to the metal pole with a small /tap/. Unfinished, this piece is only a flowing swirl of red and glittering gold and crystalline whirled together in a flowing robelike drape -- already starting to cool, though the touch of his hands is heating it back /up/ so that he can mold slim arms, start to pull wings out of its back. "Gets hard to peg ages when you don't got no standard physiology to map to." A small shrug. "An' lotsa the kids 'round here, their /experiences/ ain't hardly been standard neither. So I don't know. They ain't children. But I ain't gonna grudge 'em all the love they never got, either." Steve nods, slow and thoughtful. "Not like people really outgrow needing love and family, no matter their circumstances." He smiles again as Jax forms wings on his glass sculpture. "A lot of extraordinary people here," he agrees at last. "Which reminds me...not that I'm all that extraordinary, but I'd be interested in looking to /actually/ rent a place to live here." His smile is a little crooked, a little self-conscious. "If I can afford it. I found some work in construction, and I am still drawing...well, not a pension. My own survivorship benefits, technically." "Wait, what?" This time the glow around Jax sparkles, a warm dustmote-shimmer radiating outward in time with a startled breath of laughter. He looks up, briefly, brows lifting. Then turns back to his work, picking up a pair of tweezers to feather texture into the wings. "You don't think you're extraordinary?" Steve smiles broader again at the sparkling light around Jax. "Well, I'm awfully strong and fast and quaintly old-fashioned, but that's not..." He pauses, considering. "Well, it's unusal, but that's not what I meant when I said extraordinary. I'm just a poor boy from Brooklyn whose life took a strange turn." "That," Jax's voice has slipped softer again, as has his smile, "ain't what I meant by extraordinary, neither." He's working, now, on the head of his angel, not quite human but feathered and beaked as well. "You want to stay, then? Once this -- I mean, now this -- is all over. Now things is back to -- normal. You --" He darts a small glance back up to Steve. "... still want to stay? Here?" "I do -- though I really wouldn't know from normal, in this world. But I love this community: the people, the values..." Steve's expression now is hard to read. A little distant. A little wistful. "I'd like to be a part of that, if you'd have me." Jax's mouth opens into a small O. For a time he is quiet, putting finishing touches on his sculpture. As it cools he holds it up, letting the light flow through the very large birdlike angel; glittering and delicate, it catches the light in veins of red and gold threaded and spun through its robe, gold woven into a harp held in its taloned hands, gold and blue-black feathered into its wings. The belled-open base to its robe seems perfect for topping a Christmas tree. Jax looks up, now, glancing over to Steve. "-- I'd have you," he answers -- then turns aside with a sudden flush of red, correcting abruptly: "Um, we'd. We'd -- have you, I'm sure -- I mean, there's. An application process, but. It ain't -- it ain't all that /stringent/, it ain't like we're a real exclusive /club/, it's mostly -- to weed out people who are gonna be /hostile/ or awful or don't have no interest in the community aspect -- and you've already showed you ain't -- that." Steve stares fixedly at the angel for a long spell. "Oh, gosh, that's...splendid. Is it for a tree? I haven't seen many around, wasn't sure if that was because of the outbreak or if the tradition's just not popular anymore." He nods, though. "I appreciate your vote of confidence, anyway. I'll apply, then -- I think I saw a link for that on the Commons Internet page." "People still have trees. Jus' with everything going on ain't been a lotta time for decorating." Jax brings his angel over to a large kiln, setting it carefully on a foam-covered tray inside and rapping once sharply at the smaller metal pole joined to its halo, now, to sever /it/ neatly from the glass. The glow within him fades after the door has been shut, skin cooling down to its usual colourfully inked shades. He starts to gather his tools, setting them back away in their places. "Did you have an idea of who you wanted to -- I mean, did you want to rent a place alone or -- I don't know how much your new job is paying or what. I -- imagine rent prices have gone up a -- /bit/ since your day. Most people around here share with roommates, it's pretty much the only way to afford, uh. Living." "That's reasonable, if unfortunate. Just with how much things have changed, I'm never sure which traditions people still observe anymore." Steve runs a hand through his short blond hair, which looks like it's just gotten trimmed up around the sides and back, the lines still crisp. "My job seems ridiculously high-paying to me, considering it's unskilled manual labor, but yes, I'm aware things cost a /bit/ more now. I'm certain I'll need to share roommates, which is fine by me." He grins now. "Even having furniture and running water is unthinkable luxury compared with my living arrangements these last few years." "Well, we --" Jax hesitates, his teeth scraping over his lower lip with a click of enamel against metal. "There's more'n a few vacancies." His gaze has dropped, briefly; it lifts again only once he reaches up to pull off the safety goggles and rub at the impression they have left in his skin. "-- an' oh gosh but we'll have to be building a whole new /house/ -- Hive's probably the best person for you to talk at about logistics of renting, um, he's -- I guess the one handling finances, now, it used to be -- Daiki and my husband used to -- handle -- but clearly they -- don't. Now." His cheeks have darkened again, a furrow creasing his brow deeply. "... so. Hive. Probably." His hand rubs at the back of his neck, and he offers Steve a small crooked smile, slowy forcing his frown off his face. "Or, right, the application. Online. I forget sometimes people do things the, uh, normal way." "I'll talk to Hive, then -- though I imagine he'll be very busy, going forward. Building new houses and such." Steve chuckles, looks down. "So will I, for that matter, and plenty of other people." Though the small glimpse of mirth fades quickly. He looks back up, meets Jax's eye. "Your husband?" For a moment he is very still. Blinks rapidly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." He takes a step forward, stretches out a hand, but stops short. "Did you lose him recently, as well?" "Oh, gosh, yeah, the apocalypse'll be good for business for /him/ at least." Jax chuckles here -- though it also fades soon, his eye widening slightly when Steve goes still. A faint tension tightens his muscles, his fingers clenching around the pair of goggles he recently removed; his weight tips back onto his heels, brows creasing again. "You -- didn't -- oh. I -- 'pologies, I always... assume... that it's kinda, um, obvious --" He lifts a hand, scuffing his fingers over his scalp. His brow furrows more deeply. "Huh? Oh. Yes. No. We -- he left. Kinda good, really. I mean not /good/. I'm not -- /glad/, I -- miss... but it's good. The divorce." His arm starts to fall back to his side but only makes it halfway, instead curling around his chest to wrap fingers around his opposite biceps. Softer: "Jus' means he was away from all this. Good and /safe/, this time. Didn't have to go through..." He shakes his head, fingers tightening as his eye lowers. "It was good." Steve looks briefly /more/ perplexed at Jax's attempted explanation. Eyebrows lift slightly. Head tilts. Then nods, slow and uncertain, lips parted in a silent 'ah'. "It's not particularly obvious, no," he says, finally. "Or I'm just /really/ oblivious." Runs his hand through his hair again. "I'm glad that he's alive..." He's silent for a moment, leaning forward on the table beside him so that he's about eye-level with the other man. "I hope this isn't out of line for me to say, given I don't know much about the circumstances, but it doesn't sound as though it's been all that good for you." Jax's cheeks darken, burning crimson. "You jus' looked so --" He shakes his head again, quickly. "Been an /age/ since /I/ had to come out to nobody, I thought..." He falls into silence when Steve leans forward, though, pulling in a slow breath that catches for a long moment. His eye meets Steve's, his fingers tightening further in their grip on his arm, short-trimmed nails digging hard into skin. He swallows, gaze slowly lowering again. His mouth opens, lips working slowly on words that don't quite come. Just a slow shaky exhale, his shoulders settling downward and the light around him shivering unsteadily. After a moment he pulls himself up straighter, pushes a crooked smile onto his face. "I mean, ain't exactly been the kindest of times around here, you know? I'm sure things'll -- things'll get better." Steve mouths the words 'come out' just a little quizzically. Then shakes his head, blushing. "I look like that...kind of a lot, I think. It's certainly no reflection on you." His shoulders roll in a lazy shrug. "/Pretty/ sure I've never heard a man say the words 'my husband' without it being a direct quote, but that doesn't mean we didn't have...uh..." His lips press into a thin line. "...the way people throw around the word 'gay', I'm really not sure whether it's a slur or not." He leans on the table just a bit more heavily -- it might not be all that noticeable except for the creak as the metal bends under his weight. He straights at once, looking chastened. "I hope so." This doesn't really sound like a platitude; maybe more like a prayer, but he smiles again, if faintly. "Christmas is coming, after all." "Well, gay marriage ain't been /legal/ all that long so it ain't been long that we /could/ say --" Jax's smile curls a little wider, a little easier. Though slants slightly to the side again with the following admission, together with a shrug of one shoulder: "Slur or not, who knows. Depends on context. Depends who's saying. But it ain't /generally/ a slur, no. It's usually fine to say and considered a perfectly acceptable term. Anything /can/ be hurtful, you put enough disrespect behind it, though." His nails still squeeze down hard into his arm, but the tension in his posture is starting to ease. "Christmas. Right..." He draws in an unsteady breath, leaning slightly in towards the table before he catches himself and pulls up straighter. "Things will..." One firm nod. Steve blinks rapidly at Jax. Again. "Legal? Strange to even think about the law entering into marriage, except to forbid certain kinds, justly or not. But I'm starting to get the impression this is an age that has a law for everything." He frowns deeply at this, looking down. "Sign this form or you can't get married, sign that form or you're not even a person." He reaches out to steady Jax when he leans, either heedless now or having already forgotten the other man was glowing hot only a few minutes ago. "Sorry, I'm...probably not helping your mood, Christmas or no." "Well, it /was/ forbidden. Until recently. Weren't all /that/ long ago it weren't even legal to /be/ gay, so --" Jax shrugs, a blush darkening his cheeks again. "There is a law for everything. Lots of this country -- here included -- it ain't even legal to be -- us. I mean, there's a law against being /mutant/ in public. So. You ain't far wrong. We're not really people -- /oh/." His breath catches when Steve reaches for him, eye closing. Unthinking, he leans back into the contact -- though his skin is still fiercely hot to the touch. His hand relaxes its grip, falling back to rest on the table; his nails have left deep half-moons sunk into the sleeve of herbs inked into his upper arm. "No, you're --" His voice is quieter, now. "... you're good." "Wasn't exactly legal to be gay in my day, either," Steve admits. "I just don't think banning gay /marriage/ had occurred to anyone yet. I read about the anti-mutant laws. Would like to believe it would have been different in my time but...I think not." His voice is even, but his shoulders tense, perhaps more readily felt than seen, for he does not draw his hand back. He does, however, shift it to Jax's shoulder -- a gentle pat, unself-conscious. "Probably it would have been worse, as if we didn't have the most blatant demonstration on hand for why you can't just outlaw /people./" His eyes track to the marks Jax's nails left on his arm. "I was about to ask you if you're alright, but I guess, more to the point...is there any way I can help?" "'Tween all that an' registration I'm just kinda waiting for them to --" Jax shakes his head, his jaw tightening. It unclenches again at the pat to his shoulder. His head tips to the side, cheek touching lightly to the back of Steve's hand as a warm glimmer of light blossoms briefly in the air around him. "Hm?" When he opens his eye again it is glistening bright -- if only for a moment. His eye shifts, following the path of Steve's towards his arm; his cheeks flush pink, briefly. The blush fades a moment later -- as do the crescent moons in his arm and the bright sheen in his eye. "Oh, I'm -- late startin' dinner," he answers lightly, a crooked quirk of smile flitting across his lips as he straightens. "Sure wouldn't mind a sous chef if you got some time for chopping." The firm set of Steve's jaw suggests that he's got his own idea about the sentence Jax didn't finish. "We've done worse before, to our own." Quiet, but tight with controlled fury. The tension fades from him somewhat at the touch. He leans forward, and for a moment looks as if he means to say something else. Then, eyes widening at the subtler illusions, he gives a very small shake of his head. "Yeah. I've got time."