ArchivedLogs:Hippie Freaks

Hippie Freaks
Dramatis Personae Eliot, Hive
In Absentia	2013-05-01 Eliot is gonna fit RIGHT IN in the Lofts.
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. The sun has set, but by this time of season it is still warm, more or less, even after dark. The roof is lit enough; by a bulb near the doorway back into the stairwell, by illumination from the buildings around, by faint glow echoed up from the streetlamps below. At the moment, too, by a flick of flame from a cheap convenience-store lighter, which Hive is currently using to light a cigarette; the flame illuminates his face in flickering orange-yellow, highlighting kind of sunken cheeks, kind of hollow eyes. He's dressed drably, but then he usually is. Sneakers held together with duct tape, faded jeans worn through at one knee and fraying at the hems, a think grey jacket hanging limp on his coathanger frame over a black t-shirt with an image of what seems to be a moon (beneath, cursive text reads, 'Ceci n'est pas une lune'). He is standing near one edge of the roof, his back to the garden (currently flourishing with a wealth of vegetables planted in the last month or two) and his eyes turned out towards the city. A curl of smoke drifts upwards. Eliot is exploring the building, since his new roomie is having her monthly 'Womyn's Spirituality Circle' meeting down in the loft. He isn't sure what that is, but the broad hint that 'masculine energies' might disrupt it have the amiable young man out and poking around. Stepping onto the rooftop, he pauses a moment, getting used to the view. And then his nose wrinkles at the scent of cigarette smoke. *Ugg. Terrible habit.* The thought comes and goes, followed by a stern, self-rebuking, *Don't judge!* Looking around, he sees, presumably, one of his new neighbors and gives the other young man a friendly nod and entirely un-New York smile of greeting. "Good evening." Hive turns, and his reflexive scowl is /totally/ entirely New York. This, despite the fact that when he speaks his accent /isn't/, distinctively Foreign but indistinct as to its origins. "You new?" He's turning, resting one elbow against the wall edging the roof, words exhaled on a stream of smoke as dark almond eyes look over Eliot in a slow appraising sweep. "Sup." Still grinning, apparently immune to New York attitude, Eliot nods. "Man, am I ever. This place is great, though. So much atmosphere. So cool." He returns the appraising look, albeit more circumspectly and cheerfully. *So many cute guys.* Unaware that the other man can read his mind, his expression only flickers a momentary amusement at that supposedly private thought before he sticks out a hand and says, "Eliot Bozeman. 602. I moved in with Annette. The, ah, healthy...." *Bigger shoulders than me!* "... girl with the mohawk and the army jackets?" "Yeah. Seen you. Got a friend in this building who is going to fucking love you. Third floor. Neon hair, generally. Fucking /hippie/." Though despite the cursing, Hive says this with more fondness than disparagement. "Hive. 403. I've got kind of a /pack/ of roommates, if you see the freaks --" He hesitates, his lips curling upwards slightly, "Actually, fuck, this is the East Village, /that/ doesn't narrow it down much. You're not an asshole, are you?" Eliot laughs in surprise, saying with a touch of a rueful tone, "Wow. I didn't know the hippy showed through that much." *Thanks Mom and Dad!* "Pleased to meet you. And hey, everybody is somebody's freak, you know? The trick is to be a good freak. Ah... I think I'm paraphrasing Harry Potter and wizards, actually." *Stop babbling!* And then, clearing his throat and shrugging apologetically, "And, I don't think I'm an asshole, but the state of being one suggests a fundamental lack of self-awareness. So I may be and not know it. But then I wouldn't actually worry about it. Which I do." His grin turns faintly sardonic and sly as he mentally adds, *Well, NOW I worry about it. Thanks, neighbor ... Hive?* The young man blinks. "Hive is an ...unusual name." "My friend on three is the hippie," Hive corrects, but he corrects this with a spot of amusement. "Actually, both of 'em. Maybe it's something about the third floor. -- Though I guess not, if you're on six and you're self-identifying as one, too." Hive taps his cigarette out over the edge of the roof and then takes another slow drag. "I like assholes just fine," he tells Eliot, "so long as they're the right kind. Cuz, like I said, we're pretty full of freaks and -- I have pretty short patience for anyone giving my friends shit. You know, the kind of asshole who pushed gay kids into lockers in high schools and spits on mutie kids in the street." Another drag of cigarette. His grin curls wider, though thin and sharp, at the comment on his name. "I'm Thai," he offers, like this /totally/ explains Weird Names. Eliot blinks and blushes faintly at the mistake. *Smooth! Me and Kanye, rockstar swagger.* His self-deprecating humor is apparently habitual, at least internally. "And I'm like second generation. Mom and Dad were honest to god Woodstock hippies." His eyes narrow at the idea of bullying people and he shakes his head emphatically, "Trust me, I don't have a problem with gay people. That would be a little self-defeating. And mutants are just the group it's safe to hate right now. Which sucks." *Wow! I may actually meet one! That would be cool!* And his expression goes distracted for a second. *Is it racist ...speciest... er ... anti-mutant to fetishize meeting a mutant? Shit. I'm going to bring that one up at the next ethics class.* Shaking his head, the young says, "Ah, cool. I'm, um, well, from Cincinnati. Which is almost as boring as it sounds." "You're queer." Much like 'hippie' and 'freak' Hive manages to say this in a manner more fond-amused than denigrating, for all his smoker's-rough New-York-gruff tone. "Yeah. You'll fit /right/ the hell into this building." Another long drag on his cigarette, and he looks back out over the edge of the roof with a snort. "Ohio sounds pretty much as close to hell as you can get without moving to Florida. Got some friends from there. They're, well, all /here/ now." His finger taptaptaps at his cigarette. It takes a long moment and then he turns, studying Eliot for a while in silence. "-- It's kind of obnoxious, yeah," he eventually -- answers un/spoken/ thoughts, "but there's sure as fuck a couple people around here who'd be down with being fetishized. Consensually. Think treating /anyone/ as their component parts rather than the whole is sort of a dick move but, shit, if wings are your thing. Or. Gills. Or glowing. Or whatever the fuck." He shrugs a shoulder. Grinning and shrugging, "I kind of think of myself as post-gay, really. Who needs labe...." *Wait! Did I say that out loud? No. I'm pretty sure I didn't! How the ... OH! Oh, shit! Oy!* Eliot blushes deeply and his thoughts are disjointed. Apparently when he gets very frazzled, he starts thinking (and mostly cursing to himself) in both English and Hebrew. After a moment, taking a deep breath and sighing it out, thinking, *Center. Focus. Breathe. Hold. And ... speak.* "Ah, sorry. Did you, ah... by any chance, and I apologize for the absurdity here ... are you reading my mind?" *I'll take 'Questions that make you sound like a nutbar' for $500, Alex!* "Post-gay, Jegus fuck. Please tell me you're not in art school." Hive's forefinger is tapping at his cigarette again. The ash blows away out to the city below. "Yes." It's a simple answer, followed by a drag of his cigarette. "And god help me if you do the I'm-thinking-of-a-number thing I will eat your fucking brain." The surprised young man blinks, still blushing. "Ah, actually, NYU. Double majoring in social work and creative writing." *Okay. Just ... don't think of sex. Don't think of sex. (SEX!) Argh! Get yourself together, idiot!* "I can't imagine how irritating it has to be to just be drowned in people's thoughts, since I'm guessing you don't invade people's privacy intentionally." *Poor guy!* His gaze focuses as his instinct to be helpful, combined with curiosity and sympathy drive back that first panic. (And the inappropriate 'elephant in the forebrain' as it were). "I can't turn it off any more than I can turn off my ears. Unfortunately, nobody's made psionic earplugs yet." Hive pulls at his cigarette again, and then stubs the spent butt out on the roof. There is a small trashcan in the roof's corner and he flicks the cigarette towards it. Misses, watching the butt bounce to the rooftop, and with a grimace pushes away from the wall to go over and pick it up. "But I do try to let people know. Feels less like spying through their windows and more like just, uh, barging into their living room. I mean, still fucking obnoxious, you know, but less of a creepster and more of an asshole." He stoops, picking up the cigarette butt to throw it away. "And don't worry. I have seen just about all the fucking brainporn you could imagine. Ffff. Of /course/ you're studying social work, shit. If you tell me you're a fucking vegan I will /make/ you relocate to the third floor with the hippie squad." Eliot clears his throat. "Vegetarian. Ovo-lacto, of course." He shrugs apologetically as he watches Hive retrieve the butt, "And you have nothing to apologize for. It's part of who you are, dude." *Never, ever playing poker with him, though!* "I can live with it if you can live with the, heh, brain porn." He tilts his head to the side a little and says, "Thank you for telling me, though." *Brave!* And then, his lips twitching with sardonic amusement, "And there's nothing wrong with social work. People need the help. And it's the family tradition. Mom and Dad are both therapists. My older sister is a civil rights lawyer and my older brother works with Doctors without Borders. So, you know, it wasn't like I could become an investment banker or something." *I do love their suits, though. Hmm.* "Thank fucking god." This might be because Eliot is Not A Vegan. "For some reason nobody'll play poker with me. Just the cross I have to bear. Frakking /Frith/ you were not kidding about your family being hippies." Hive shoves his hands into his pockets after he finishes cleaning up his litter, looking over Eliot for a long moment. "-- You know you can wear suits even if you're not a banker. Just. Because you feel like it. I once wore a suit," he confides this like it is something secretive. "And I have never done any banking. Social work's good. It'll be good to have people in those fields who, uh, aren't all bigoted assholes. Most social workers are bigoted assholes. When it comes to mutants, anyway. Ohio, mmm?" He settles back against the wall, hands still tucked into pockets and his elbows resting on the railing. "You liking it here?" Eliot laughs and says, "I can't imagine why they won't play." He nods to the comment about hippies and then grins at the comment about suits, "Yeah, but nobody but a crook can afford those suits." His brows lower at the comment about social workers. *Way to give the rest of us a bad name, assholes.* He nods. "It's age. And fear. And social workers get used to seeing people on the edge and getting cynical about it." He shrugs, "They aren't alll bad, though." And then he nods and says, "Ohio. And man, yes. I love it here. New York is ...alive. I can walk ten blocks in any direction and be in another world entirely. We don't get that back home." *Yug. I sound like a tourist.* "You do sound like a fucking tourist," Hive agrees. Almost pleasantly. His sort of default-gruff doesn't really do /pleasant/ well and probably the cursing doesn't help, either. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket, but then just kind of holds it, staring out towards the nearby park. "So which world do you want ti be in?" Eliot shrugs off the gruffness. He apparently has a thick skin, for all the insecurity that a telepath can see under the surface. His eyes shine and he smiles a bit wider as he says, "My world? I want to live in the one where we all help each other. And care. And nobody gives a damn who's queer or black or a mutant or whatever. I want to live in the one where all those things we tell ourselves about America are true!" His thoughts echo that almost painful sincerity, shining with optimism and hope. And then his grin turns a bit more sardonic. "And if you threaten to throw up, I'm going to start thinking about naked clowns until you go crazy." "Hey. This is New York. For all you know I'm fucking /into/ clowns. I might have a clown fetish. I might be imagining you as a clown right the hell now and getting turned on." Maybe. Hive is actually looking over towards the park, still, rather than at Eliot, but you never know. He puffs out his cheeks, tapping the bottom of his cigarette pack against one palm. "Yeah." Still gruff, more rather than disgusted he just sounds kind of tired. "You tell me when you find that dreamworld, kid, I'll come join you there." The young man winces as he briefly actually imagines naked clowns. *Arg!* And then, at Hive's words he shrugs, companionably silent for a moment. *Every cynic is that way because it hurts them to hope.* And aloud, he says, "Just going to take hard work. But I think we'll get there, sooner or later." And then, his stomach rumbling, Eliot grins and says, "But right now, I'm going to go find some dim sum and not ask what's in it. You're welcome to come along." Hive turns, here, away from the park to study Eliot's face a long moment, his own expression unreadable in the dim light. He slips the pack of cigarettes back into his jacket, without taking out a second one. "You know," he says this like it /hurts/ him to admit it, "I know a good place that has a lot of vegan options. C'mon." He saunters towards the door, holding it open for Eliot to head back inside. Eliot hides a grin, suspecting how hard it is for his neighbor to crack that gruff shell. *Hm. I knew he was a nice guy.* And then an apologetic shrug because he knew Hive heard that. "Works for me!" He heads off down the stairs with Hive, expression and thoughts both light and cheerful.