ArchivedLogs:Ground Zero

Ground Zero
Dramatis Personae Jax, Micah, Dusk, Violet, Eric	11 July 2014 Surprise cops. Yay. -_-
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Garden Plot - Lower East Side
The smell instantly changes here to something greener, herbally sharp and mulchy; paved walkway drifts at angles through raised multi-tiered garden beds, reaching varying elevations of a mere foot above the ground to three feet, each held up by retaining walls of leftover stone from the houses, riddled here and there with spiraling mosaic dragons. While companion flowers of red geranium, fuchsia bee balm, violet petunias, pastel-and-white sweet pea, are sprinkled throughout and alongside each box, it's primarily vegetables; between tall eerie trellis spires of fixed animal bones, clung over with curlicues of lush vine sheets and okra, delicate netting protects lower levels of melon and tomato, kale and tomatoes and a number of other edible foods, with a separate box of sand-loving root vegetables sending up frondy foliage for carrot and onion and garlic. To one side, a compost heap lets of faint shimmers of heat and steam, to the other, a strongly scented bed of myriad herbs, both medicinal and otherwise, flanked on one side by a large healthy swell of coneflower. With a shed nearby housing gardening tools, the whole of it is watered by a network of hidden hosing that gives off faint tickles of mist when in use, ribboned with rainbows, and there are structures in place to suggest the garden can be enclosed in winter months. It's going from hot to quite pleasant out, as evening sets in and the sun creeps lower, and over in the courtyard the grounds are sprinkled with strays, as they often have been lately. The garden is quieter, empty at the moment except for one brightly-coloured photokinetic just recently home from work and on the verge of starting dinner cooking. Dressed in a sarong wrapped to knee-length (black and batik-dyed with rainbowy lotusflowers) and light blue tank, glittery makeup, rainbow cast still on his leg, huge mirrored sunglasses shading his eyes, he leans against a single crutch where he stands among neat rows of vegetables. There's a large basket draped over his non-crutch-wielding arm, currently already laden with a large bunch of kale; at the moment he is examining a broccoli plant with critical assessment. To pick or not to pick. Micah has been home /just/ long enough to pop inside, drink a little sweet tea, and hop in the shower for a rinse. He's changed now into not-work clothes: Reading Rainbow-Dash T-shirt over rainbow patchy jeans and sneakers, his olive newsboy cap put /back/ on over still wet slightly-drippy hair. Following along toward Jax's row, he has a woven basket over one arm (look, they match!) to assist with the gathering. Nevertheless, he also poaches his husband's when he comes near. "Y'got your hands full enough. Figured I'd come give you another pair." And also a kiss in greeting, right on the cheek. SWOOSH. A sudden draft of air sets a colourful pinwheel stuck into one flowerbed to spinning, rustles leaves, gently sways one of the bright stained-glass-winged brass dragonflies that keep vigilant watch over the vegetables. Dusk lands on the edge of one of the far beds with a whump and a snap of folding wings, less colourful and less dressed than Jax in just jean shorts, no shoes, no shirt. Sunglasses too, though, protecting his photosensitive eyes, and a white strip of bandaging wrapped around one wrist. "Yes," he answers Jax's evident appraisal. "/All/ the broccolis." Though unlike Micah he's totally not being helpful at all. Just /watching/ the food collection hungrily. Violet would vote pick if polled but not in the case of broccoli. She is here to stock up for weekend drugginess, intending to plunder the catnip patch. It's been growing like gangbusters! Time to plunder! And the only thing keeping her from zooming in and sprawling in the /middle/ of the patch is someone's foresight in planting it 1) in one of the taller raised beds and 2) planting it amongst other herbs and such which manners dictate she not ruin. Plus, the whiff of plaster and personsmell scented as she saunters on down the path means /witnesses/ to overeagerness. So. Here is lazy walking, practically a sashay as she moves through beds, decked out in denim short shorts and a pink tee that says (with all of the glitter) 'That's Princess Diva to you!'. The wind's been at her fur; it stands up here and there in drifty spikes along arms and legs. "...hey fellas. I interruptin' th'tree huggin'?" "Naw Jim ain't here right now s'only the husband-huggin' at the moment." See how Jax's now-freed-up arm is slipping around Micah's waist for a squeeze? "Been /spoiled/ by Jim too, I want leeks for my soup so bad but they ain't quite ready jus' yet." He is casting a /sulky/ look at the leeks as if they're out of season just to /spite/ him. "D'we still got garlic already-picked? Could you grab me a head if not?" He does answer Dusk's decisionmaking, though, by -- okay actually he doesn't take the broccoli himself. He plucks a knife out of the basket Micah just liberated from him to offer it to Dusk, instead: see, /he/ can get to work on broccoli-harvest. "Though I was thinkin' on movin' on to bat huggin'. Cat huggin'. I got /all/ the hugs on offer t'day." The glittery front of Violet's shirt puts a grin on his still-scarred face, and a sparkly pink tiara that unfortunately only the other two can see sprouts on the catgirl's head. “I was just talkin' on Jim-huggin' the other day,” Micah recalls with a giggle. “Don't know how much he /likes/ hugs, though.” He chews his lip for a second at the garlic question. “We got some? But s'prob'ly not enough. We'll use more if I dig it, so might as well.” There's a garden fork handy in his basket that he carries over to the garlic, finding one with the leaves gone brown on it. After loosening up the soil around the bulb, he digs it up and shakes loose soil from the roots before adding it to his basket. “Can have /so/ many hugs. Better in /sets/, I think.” An amused smirk tugs at his lips with that tiara's appearance. "I think he pretends to dislike hugs a lot more than he actually dislikes hugs. But maybe hugs in moderation. He hugs /Hive/ anyway but they're practically married." Dusk unfolds himself from his perch on the stone wall, hopping down to take the knife from Jax. And then /frown/ at the knife and /frown/ at the broccoli. "... the hell do I do with this?" Violet's crowning puts a crooked grin on his lips, too. "Sup, princess? With these two around it's /always/ tree-hugging time so you may as well just interrupt." Blissfully unaware of her swanky new headgear, Violet continues her meandering path. By this bed, by that one, fingers trailing to dapple against leaves as she goes. Anyone watching her go would have NO IDEA that she intends to make it over to the catnip patch sometime this century. "Not big on huggin', m'self. Feels like bein' locked in a room. Don't figure your friend'd move fast enough to avoid hugs right now though," she says, tone far more chirpy and pleasant than the sentiment expressed. But she is not above /touching/. Winding past the menfolk /hard at work/, her tail flirts out to flick tip against an elbow here, a leg there, a wingspar, an ankle. Surrounded by on all sides by green growing stuff, she does not leave curls of homeless smell in her wake, thank goodness. "I came by for th'catnip. /Some/ of th'catnip. Got any scissors in those baskets?" "Don't gotta move fast, I ain't /forcin'/ no hugs on nobody. Hugs for the consentin' only." Jax's arm snakes out, though, to curl around Dusk when he comes close, /one/ person at least who is always in hugging-mood. There's a giggle from him, maybe at the tickly brush of tail, maybe at Dusk's cluelessness. "You cut the broccoli, sugar. One nice clean swipe. Gimme like six or eight inches'a stalk. -- Uh. M'basket's got scissors -- well. Micah's basket now." The colourful pink shirt is slowly /growing/, creeping out to unfurl pink glitter-dusted fabric like it's /blossoming/ open against Violet's fur. Not a t-shirt now but a gown, puff-sleeved and full of lacey-tulle-y frippery. Though it still bears the sparkly writing across its front. "Y'/slice/ it, hon," Micah instructs Dusk through amused-giggles. He nods confirmation of Jax's instructions. "It'll look like a head of broccoli from the store, just leggier'n what they tend t'sell." The tail-swipes don't seem to bother him any. Once his garlic is collected, he follows along behind Violet to offer her a pair of shears. They're a little /overkill/ for herb harvesting but sure will get the job done. The illusion gown is fully in place when he looks up from grabbing the shears out of his basket, resulting in a sudden /snort/ of laughter. Dusk's crooked grin returns at Jax's instructions; his wing curls out to wrap around the other man's shoulders in a small return-squeeze of hug. He takes the knife, crouching down by the broccoli. "You know I'm always glad to give you /that/. Don't think it's entirely appropriate for right in the middle of the garden, though." He pushes his tongue up beneath his upper lip, staring down the broccoli for a good long moment before he reaches out to grasp it and slice through the stalk. "How much of this do you want?" Looking up elicits a quick snort from him, too. "Stylin'. Think it needs a little more /frill/ before it really suits Vi, though." It will not help the laughter situation that, as Violet becomes aware of her changing attire, she goes poofy and /hops/ backwards. And then hops around. And backwards again! Her hands slap at the whimsy that is the gown's skirt, bat bat bat! She is /alarmed/! Where did this /come/ from aaaaa! But as the sudden shift from streetwear to ballroom dress doesn't appear to be intent on /eating/ her, the hopping stops with her fetched up against the side of the herb bed, all bristly and wide-eyed. What was that about consent? "...um." Fingers curl and rake against the fuzz decorating the curve of her jaw, combcombcombing in some self-soothing smoothing. The effect allows a game smile. Right. Gardening. Awkward reach for the shears is awkward. "I'm all about th'frills, y'got no idea. How much y'figure I should cut? Ain't never had m'own patch before." "Oh-oh-gosh." Jax presses fingertips to his lips with Violet's sudden poofing. Batting at the dress accomplishes very little, no actual tangible fabric there to bat /at/, but a moment later it shivers and fades away. "'pologies s'a, kinda a -- bad habit I jus' --" The apology probably is made a little less helpful by the laughter desperately trying to push through in his voice. "Oh, gosh, that stuff's like /mint/ you can take what you like you ain't gonna kill it." He glances back to Dusk with an almost distracted: "I think two big heads should do me jus' --" Though here he trails off, only finally registering Dusk's comment; it's apparent when it sinks in by the sudden fierce-crimson blush that floods his cheeks. Dirty jokes told around Jax and Micah really maximize their punch when it comes to blushing. Micah picks up his own few shades of red. "Oh, honey. Honey, it's just an illusion. That's Jax playin' 'round," he explains as Violet begins her scared cat hop. "Depends how much y'want." His nod to the catnip indicates his meaning. He bites his lip at Jax's ongoing slightly unfortunate instructions, just /waiting/ for Dusk to respond to that. "The world has a tendency to get a little stranger when Jax is around." Dusk is unapologetic about his laughter, either at Violet's sudden poofing or about Jax's follow-up instruction. "Gonna need your husband to pitch in there." Though he is, at least, moving on to a second stalk of broccoli, quirking his brows upward in questioning -- this one okay? -- to the /actual/ gardeners before he cuts it. Violet does not hesitate to look relieved at how easily distracted they are by naughty banter. It means she can take her shears and slink off towards the catnip in /peace/. Once there, the clippers are set on the edge of the bed to give her time to comb down her arms and legs with extended claws to re-order her fur--but before she gets to combing, she may or may not pick one small serrated leaf and place it on her tongue /first/. If anything's going to help with ambush teasing, it's getting high, right? "Oh/gosh/." Jax is /very/ easily distracted, the deep crimson in his cheeks spreading out to tint the air around him redder, too. He leans a little more heavily on his crutch, its tip braced against one of the rocky retaining walls of the vegetable garden. "I -- jus'. Meant. Mmmph that one's /fine/. How d'you make /everything/ dirty?" The door from one of the buildings opens into the courtyard - the building that Jax and Micah lives in. It is probably not a friendly visit by Eric, this time, as he is once more in uniform. The body armor on his chest is probably more evidence of that. Still, he doesn't seem to be all that concerned for safety as he steps into the courtyard, looking at the gathered people. His greeting of a raised hand and a 'hey ya'all', is probably not standard police greeting either. The two, rather more wary looking police officers following him, have their hands rather more pointedly free than Eric's. "Sorry ta' interrupt your evenin', everyone." His eyes look over to Jax, smirk hanging off of his face. "So, how do I look?" He spreads his hands off to either side, as if at the end of a musical number. Less hand-shaking, though. "S'a little more /interestin'/ with 'im around," Micah corrects with a lopsided grin. "He forgets not everybody's used to 'im doin' all that." He keeps Violet in his peripheral vision, aware of what she's up to but not /watching/, really. "S'a special skill Dusk has." The red /might/ have found its way right up to the tips of his ears by now. The /multiple/ police uniforms entering the courtyard register before Eric's face does, Micah's muscles suddenly going tense, posture more alert. He shifts a little in front of Violet where she is harvesting the 'nip, the movement largely subconscious. He glances at Jax, then back over at the new arrivals, uncertainty broadcast clear in his features. Dusk has just finished slicing off the second head of broccoli when the trio of police enter; it makes it kind of /unfortunate/, then, when he stands very /abruptly/, fangs baring in a reflexive snarl and his fingers closing tight around the very sharp knife still in his hand. In his other hand, the bottom of the broccoli stem gets kind of crushed with his abruptly fierce grip. It takes a deliberate conscious effort for his lips to close over his fangs, his head tipping down to look at the monitor strapped around his ankle as though making sure it's still there. "You look like a gorram pig again," is his sharp-tinged answer to Eric, huge wings quivering at his back. "When did they stick you back in uniform?" How's that for timing? One nibble on some 'nip and in come the cops. She'd had her fur mostly sorted but at the first sight of multiple official looking uniforms pouring into the garden, everything goes poof again and Violet drops. Just /drops/, coiling down to make herself as small as possible behind the slight cover offered by the corner of the herb bed and Micah's own person. Cat? There's no cat here. The glowing red haze around Jax shivers, darkens to coil instead in wisps of shadow around him. He takes an automatic step back away from the entering cops, shivering and wincing as this instinctive motion brings his casted leg down a little too hard against the stone. His head turns, just slightly, looking over towards Micah and Violet (or sudden suspicious lack-of-Violet) with his tongue darting out a little nervously to wet his lips. /He/ shifts closer to Dusk as Micah shifts in front of Violet, hand moving out to geeently nudge down at Dusk's knife-holdng hand. Nope no knives here. "Evenin', officers." His tone is level though that doesn't really stop the twists of shadow curling around him. "Can we help you?" When Eric sees the knife in Dusk's hand, he turns his head sharply in a snap towards the officer's behind him. "Martinez!" He shouts, authoritatively, at one of the two officers whose hands had drifted quickly towards their side. "Easy there," he says, voice gently chastizing. He turns his head back towards the little crowd, tilting his head to one side. "Just a few days ago, actually," he says, brightly enough. "They reinstated... some 'a the officers they had dismissed, and set up a new unit. The Mutant Incident Division. I think they buried it on page seven somewhere of some press release," he waves one hand in the air, then pats at his chest. "Yeah, actually." He pulls out a blue sheet of paper, extending it towards Jax casually. "The Mutant Affairs Division wants ta' have a word with ya about registration." Dusk's posture and then particular choice of comment earn the start of a wince, then a true one. Thankfully Jax is stepping in /there/. The tension doesn't get time to lift when officers are reaching toward hips and Eric is /shouting/ in cop-voice. Micah's fingers tense, feet planted firmly in their place. He very /deliberately/ is forcing himself not to turn and check on Violet, eyes staying fixed on the officers. There /might/ be a hint of a glare at the paper when it comes out. Dusk's hand lowers easily, head ducking slightly when he /remembers/ the knife he's clutching. He crouches to set it down on the stone, wielding only his heads of broccoli when he stands again. "You fucking serious? You send /three/ goddamn officers because his /paperwork/ isn't in order? Christ." He's frowning towards the paper when Eric extends it. He pushes out a small sharp hiss between his teeth. "S'alright, Vi, they're just. Throwing their fucking weight around. You all on this freak squad, then? Bunch of goddamn Uncle Toms." The corner of the garden that absolutely does not hold a Violet somehow gets even more quiet, more still, at the uttering of Certain Phrases. All that /does/ move are her eyes, where pupils have swallowed irises. They tick between the backs she can see--Micah, Jax, Dusk--on a course to read the things not being said, but are still being broadcasted. Not that it takes a creature fluent in body language to see that things are tense, oh no. And that tension just increases by leaps and bounds when Dusk calls her out. At the sound of her name, she bites down hard on her lip--but that does nothing to stifle the bubbling catgrowl that starts in her chest and clots somewhere in her throat. "Wait, /what/?" Now Jax just sounds a little incredulous. "You gotta be kiddin' me, I jus' got that citation this /mornin'/. It said I had thirty days t'pay --" Now he's looking a little -- helpless? Apologetic? -- towards his husband. "-- I swear it just come /today/ it said --" He reaches to take the paper from Eric kind of hesitantly, his brows knitting together. "You seriously need three cops over a /ticket/ that ain't even late?" The shadows around him are coiling darker. "... m'I at least allowed t'put shoes on?" There's a hard tension in his shoulders, his fingers crumpling at the page. "Guess you're kinda on your own for cookin' dinner, honey-honey." One of the two police officers behind Eric lets out a low laugh when Dusk speaks, and Eric turns to flash a smile at him. "Ya know, it's funny. That's what they call us t'our faces back at the station too." Oddly enough, this seems to relax one of the pair of officers, as Eric turns back to Jax - and gives him a puzzled look. "Citation? This ain't about any citation. It's an investigation into the deaths of some federal employees. Employee's in charge'a registerin' people." His eyes move past Jax to look at Violet, giving her a small smile, before turning his eyes onto Dusk. "I'm sure ya ain't had nothin'ta do about it, Jax. We should have ya back before the dinner leftovers get cold." His eyes break away from Dusk and he nods. "Yeah, sure. They upstairs?" And there's another /wince/ as Dusk calls Violet out, when that catgrowl rumbles out. "Somebody /else/ gonna hafta deal with dinner. I'm comin' t'the station /with/ you. An' he needs sugar 'fore he goes or folks is gonna hafta make sure he gets it /timely/ an' vegan." That last is directed toward Eric. Micah leaves his baskets on the ground as he steps to Jax's side. "S'he under arrest? S'that a warrant?" He nods at the paper now in Jax's hand. In contrast to Eric's smile, Dusk only has a hiss and another baring of fangs in Violet's direction for that growl. The tension cording up his muscles increases at Eric's explanation; his wings shift against his back once more, the broccoli getting a little bit more pulped in his hand. "It's a summons," is all he says, terse and sharp as he steps away to pick up the baskets, drop the broccoli and the knife both back into one. He has nothing else, evidently, to say, just hanging back now with claws twitching atop his wings. Violet slides a hand over her mouth to muffle any further rumblings. A little. No sense in risking antagonizing the gentlemen with the guns, right? Nor the fellow with the wings. Nothing can be done about the raised hackles, the ears that tilt back against her skull. But she can hunker into a smaller package and try to keep quiet. Jax hands the summons over to Micah kind of mutely, his expression paling noticeably at the mention of /deaths/. He wobbles, a little unsteadily against his crutch, and bows his head in quiet acceptance. "They're just -- in there." He nods towards the community's common house adjacent to the garden. His head is still bowed as he hobbles his way inside, dinner forgotten as he goes to get his shoes (well, shoe, really, with the cast on) and go along. Probably silently, too, for the trip down to the police station. "No, just'a summons. He ain't under arrest. They just want'a talk to him." Eric shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head once. "The feds ain't tell me anythin'. Just that we should come and give Jax a ride in'ta see them about some murders." The officer nods back to the other two, turning around. "Pull the car up. Martinez, get the truck ready'ta go. If we're gonna go ta the MRA buildin' anyway, I want'a do it in full gear. The fuckers should get used'ta us." With that, Eric goes to follow Jax, and help him to the car, and beyond. Micah takes the summons, scanning it before following along behind Jax, a steadying hand on his back at that wobble. His jaw tenses, biting back his opinion of what /reasons/ they could have to want to talk to Jax about murders. “I'll follow y'all in with a thermos of tea,” he informs Jax just above a whisper, voice softened only long enough to impart the information. Dusk stays quiet, not moving again until the others have left. His teeth are clenched, still, fangs still bared to see the officers out. His claws are still twitchy after they're gone, a brief harsh growl rumbling up from his throat. "Fff." The look he tosses over in Violet's direction is brief, growl trailing off as he consolidates the contents of his baskets. "Fucking hell." Violet joins the twitchy club. She waits, counting silently to herself, and when it seems certain that the cops won't be detouring back into the garden...she sloooowly uncurls. There'll be no getting her fur to lay flat again, not for awhile, nor do her eyes seem to want to undilate. Quite against her will a little hiss of breath escapes in Dusk's direction, but much of it is lost behind the fingers she keeps clamped over her mouth. It takes an effort, and an audible click from her throat, before she can manage a hoarse but human, "...yeah. Yeah. Ya'll..." Well. Never a dull moment, right? "You have a fucking problem," Dusk isn't looking at Violet anymore but down at his vegetables, muscles still taut and his claws still shifting in restless agitated tics, his own growl rumbling back up beneath his words at that inadvertent hiss, "maybe you should find other people to mooch off. This is what life is like around here. And it's probably going to /be/ what life is like a long fucking time. There's a goddamn war on and it's not like we didn't /tell/ you this was ground fucking zero the first day you showed up." A slow blink is performed. Then another. Violet opens her mouth to answer...then shuts it again and just reaches out instead. Not for him, but to pluck another sprig of the good stuff. Both are tucked into the rear pocket of her shorts. "Sure thing, fella," is what she finally gets around to saying. Just that, before turning--with tail thumping and flicking against her own legs--to venture out of the garden. Over the wall, naturally.