ArchivedLogs:Grey

Grey
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah, Dusk	12 February 2014 Injured Dusk. :(
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. Rattlerattlerattle BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE. "Ohmy/gosh/." Jax's voice manages to be /excited/ even as it's hushed for the sake of Not Waking Spencer, this late at night. He doesn't really bother with Not Waking Micah, fully expecting his husband to be still awake at the /totally early/ hour of half-past midnight. That's early, right? At least he's still fidgety with energy, returning from work and wriggling his way out of boots and winter gear to /bounce/ his way to deposit /kiss/ on Micah's head and buzz off to the kitchen for requisite after-work sugar (today in the form of lemon squares and juice) "-- those snowfolks is jus' /darlin', mine has the most /charming/ glittery-rainbow-black tophat an' hir face is all-a-glitter too. An' hir scarf matches m'hair, I could about jus' die. I mean the /squee/ kind. S'even got a /eyepatch/ Micah." /He's/ -- glittery, of course, though the bulk of his glitter is fading as he enters, makeup melting away, nailpolish melting away. Ombre-pink hair stays. Sky-blue and black-mesh UFOs, 'Let's switch gender roles' t-shirt over a long-sleeved purple -- no, wait, it's fading to black -- long-sleeved shirt under bright pink and purple striped -- no, that's his standard rainbow hoodie again now. "Can /every/ month be dream-month?" “Evenin', hon,” Micah calls to the rattling door with a smile, though he doesn't immediately jump up with the greeting this time. He is already in pajamas: steel blue henley over Mane 6 cutie mark pants and fuzzy grey tabby cat socks. His lap is full of yarn, being worked into a white and yellow and many-shades-of-blue Bedtime Bear themed blanket. It's early enough in development that it would take...well, /Jax/ would probably figure it out. “Just a sec. I've got t'finish this row. Tryin' t'get this one done in a reasonable timeframe for Mel,” he explains in half-distraction. “Oh, the snowmen? I...felt bad for mine. I spend most of my day in and out of a van. Sent 'em off to go play in the park.” Loop, loop, loop. The needles clack steadily a few moments more, then he stabs the ends into a yarn ball and stuffs the whole bundle into his knitting bag. “You'd have t'ask Maya 'bout that one. Not sure how long she's intendin' t'keep this all up.” Dusk is soon behind Jax at the door. Quieter, less bouncy in his arrival. One wing trails down lopsidedly behind himself, lightly scritching talons against the floor until he remembers to lift them. He's in pajamas, too, soft black pants, soft black socks, no shirt; there's bandaging down one side past where there's /also/ butterfly bandaging holding a loooong flap of his wing /together/ where it looks like an entire segment of it might otherwise just be hanging right /off/. He stops by the couch, leaning down to nuzzle at Micah's neck with a very small nip to one side of it before he, too, trails off to the kitchen. "Tell me you have something delicious for me." He sounds so hopeful, as he pulls out a stool to plunk himself down onto it. "-- I haven't met my snowman yet. I should go outside. Maybe it'll have wings." "Maybe it'll have wings all torn-up oh /gosh/ sweetie Flicker told me you got roughed up but he didn't say --" Jax /has/ put lemon squares on a plate for himself but now he is turning right around to set them down in front of Dusk with a face full of /fret/. "Oh my /goodness/ what happened?" He turns around, setting the juice down in front of Dusk as well. "Do you need -- what do you need. Blood? When did you drink from me last -- that was when we got outta jail. It ain't been /quite/ long enough but -- but I drank from you /too/ then so you can probably, it'll be fine right? C'mon. C'mon c'mon." Micah responds to Dusk's touch before his mental processing can catch up, chin tilting to allow better access to nuzzling and a soft purr answering the nip as his eyes start to slip closed. Then open wider, focusing on Dusk's wing. "Oh/gosh/, honey, how'd y'go an' get all torn up? It ain't been...not a month for me yet, either, but maybe you could just take half of what you'd usually, from both of us? T'help heal? You're gettin' the wound checked regular, right?" He /does/ hop up now, joining the other two in the kitchen, leaning on the counter close to Dusk to inspect his wing more closely. "I don't know much about mendin' for wings, honestly. Not somethin' they usually /cover/ for first aid courses or people dealin' with human-medicine." "Guys it's me. This time tomorrow I'll be right as rain. Not," Dusk allows, "that I'd say /no/ to some fresh blood. I've had packets from the clinic and they pretty much taste like the difference between living on hardtack and a fresh cinnamon roll from Hanna's bakery." A pleasured shiver ripples down his back at this thought. His good wing unfurls, spreading out over Micah's back as he reaches for one of the lemon squares -- with a wince as the muscles shift in his side. "Or one of your lemon squares. And I ran into an /archer/ in Harlem. Can you believe that. Someone shot me with a bow and freakin' /arrow/. Kind of impressed, actually. It's sort of -- classy." He pinches a corner off the lemon square, licking citrus filling off his fingertips with an almost orgasmic moan. "Micah. I will always take whatever you want to give me." Jax's cheeks flush dark, and he gets out another plate to put a /second/ pair of lemon squares onto, pours out a second glass of cranberry juice. "-- Well y'know you're always welcome to my --" His flush deepens, hand rubbing at his neck. "-- honey-honey?" He glances to Micah. "'kai get y'anythin'? Specially if you're gonna be --" He rubs a hand up beneath his dark glasses, head turning for a moment to look between Micah and Dusk before he pushes the glasses up into his hair. "We're still talkin' about blood, right?" "That's not a /scrape/, honey. S'really gonna be better that fast?" Micah's brow remains furrowed, his eyes stuck on the wing. "Apologies...I'm kinda. Incapable of /not/ frettin'. Wait...why? Did y'get /archered/ at? In /Harlem/? That seems incredibly random." Though Dusk's reaction to his desserts is also somewhat distracting. At least it gets Micah's eyes off of the wing. And the last comment swaps out worried-confused face for more bright blushing face. "Y'know I rely on your experience with what's okay t'take. Ain't like /my/ judgement's so great on the issue once y'start...that. Ain't /likely/ t'tell you t'stop." The blush continues to darken steadily. "In all seriousness, though, you're welcome to. If it'll help /that/ get better." He nods to Jax as he pulls up a seat next to Dusk's. "Yeah, prob'ly a good idea, thanks, hon. Same as what you're havin'?" "OK, maybe not quite that fast. Half my damn wing came off," Dusk grumbles, wing shifting restlessly in its limp droop against his back. "So it might take a little bit." His smile flashes, warmer and brighter. "Still talking about blood, but you /know/ I'm not going to say no to the rest of you, too. Before, during, after." His wing curls more snugly around Micah. He takes another swipe of lemon bar, sucking his fingertip clean again. "Not fucking kidding. /Archer/. Bow and /arrow/. In the middle of Harlem. /Good/ shot, too, it was /dark/ and I'm -- assuming she was human, they didn't seem to have /any/ love for freaks so I don't think seeing in the dark was exactly her /thing/. Cool, huh? Came across this kid they were beating on. Shredded this wing all to hell getting him out and safe." Jax prepares one more plate of dessert, one more cup of juice, sliding them across to Micah. "Cool? Honey-honey, she shot you, are you -- forgetting the part where she shot you?" He watches Dusk with a little bit of bemusement. "Cuz you're more'n a little bit dinged up, sweetie belle." He slips back around to the living room side of the counter, ducking beneath Dusk's wing to tuck himself against Micah's side. "Guess the whole zombie thing did lead folks to pick up a whole range'a weapons, though. Luci was carryin' his bow an' arrows through it. Maybe some people jus' didn't get out the habit." “Don't take kindly t'/anybody/ messin' with these wings,” Micah grumbles as he nestles into the tighter wing-hug. “Not...cool. If there's humans with weapons teamin' up t'beat on kids. Physical mutation, I'm guessin'?” His upset expression fades into a warm smile as Jax delivers food. “Thanks, honey.” He wraps one arm around Jax, pulling him in closer, and occupies the other with transporting lemony deliciousness to his mouth. "Kind of -- teal. Scaly. Definitely looked like a freak, yeah." Dusk chomps down half of his first lemon square, washing it down with a swallow of juice before finishing the rest of it. His good wing curls a little wider, nestling around Jax as well. "-- You and me both, man, it didn't feel too great when that arrow was ripping through it either. And yeah, I'm not forgetting that part. But come /on/, an /arrow/. Tell me that's not sort of hot? She was pretty funny about it too." Jax has somehow contrived to make his lemon squares vanish in the time it takes Dusk to eat half of one. Some secondary mutation, perhaps. He's gulping down his juice even as he snuggles happily closer to the others, nuzzling his cheek up against the fuzz of Dusk's wing. "-- Dusk. Were you flirting with the woman what was shootin' you full'a arrows." Maybe he sounds horrified. Maybe he sounds amused. He licks cranberry juice off the side of his mouth and rests his cheek against Micah's shoulder. "... archers are kinda hot," he will allow. "ApocaLuci was --" His cheeks flush deep crimson. “Dunno. Kinda hard t'find anybody hot who'd beat on kids.” Micah shudders faintly, leaning into Dusk's wing harder. He works his way through one of the lemon squares quietly. “Do kinda wish I'd /seen/ that,” he says of archer-Lucien with a slight uptick of a smile. His hand moves up to pet at Jax's hair. "Be nice to see it some time without the zombies." Dusk sips at his juice, nibbling his way more slowly through his second lemon square. "Wasn't exactly a kid. Think he might have been mugging them. Scrawny homeless thing. Got him some food and a place to stay. Still didn't need to beat on him like they did. World's not really so black and white." He rubs at his eyes with his knuckles, shaking his head with a heavy exhale and licking his fingers clean again. His injured wing shivers briefly. "Never really has been, I guess. But these days –" Jackson purrs, a soft rumble in his throat as he rubs his head up into Micah's touch, letting the older man's fingers muss at his pink hair as he nuzzles catlike into the petting. "Naw, I like my world in plenty'a colours." Unlike Dusk, /his/ purring has to stop when he talks, but there's a quiet shimmer of glow that blossoms around him instead to take its place. "Guy's doing aright now? Better'n you, I hope?" “Yeah, definitely prefer the zombie-free option, if at all possible.” Micah chuckles, pausing for a swallow of juice. “I guess that's /slightly/ less bad. But still. Is he okay? Mightn't be a horrible idea for 'im t'visit the Clinic if he's not so spectacular at healin' as you are.” Jax's purring only encourages more petting, fingers scritching down through the pink hair and massaging at Jax's scalp. "He'll be okay. Needed some bandaging. And I think the world's a little -- greyer than your typical --" Dusk shakes his head, eyes slanting sideways towards Jax but quickly dropping at the glowing. He finishes the lemon square, sucking at his fingertips slowly. "Shit, man, you're like a god in the kitchen." He slides down off his stool, sliding closer to nuzzle at Micah and then Jax's necks in turn, eyes closed and his breathing shaky as his lips press up against the stronger pulses there. "You weren't planning on sleeping soon, were you?" Jax's purring returns, deeper and stronger than before, head still rubbing up happily into the petting. The glow inside him deepens, too, though it dims again as Dusk turns his eyes away. The purring fades off, though his nuzzling doesn't. "Need to sleep. But not /yet/. Don't have to -- /stay/ in the kitchen." This comes with a quiet note of pleading in his tone, a quiet /tug/ of Micah's shirt. Not that he's hinting or anything. The second lemon square disappears a little faster than the first, chased by a swig of juice. "Good. That everybody's gonna recover, then." Micah's head tips back again at the nuzzle to his neck. "Should...prob'ly help y'with that whole recoverin' thing. Ain't even...really late yet." He slips down from his stool at Jax's tug. "Think everybody's done eatin' their lemon squares, anyhow." Dusk pulls Micah in close, when the other man slips down off his stool. His mouth presses to Micah's, full and long, hand lifting to curl up into Micah's hair and pull him close. When he finally does pull back it's with a soft purr and sharp-toothed grin. "-- You taste pretty lemony." Unlike Jax, the quiet growling purr in his throat continues to rumble even underneath his words. Wing still hooked around the others, he starts to usher the way off towards the bedroom.