ArchivedLogs:Ice-Bat

Ice-Bat
Dramatis Personae Micah, Dusk	15 September 2014 Cold and snuggles and hover-devices and precognition weirds grammar.
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Treehaus - Lower East Side
A spiral of sturdy slatted wooden stairs winds up the trunk of an enormous oak, leading the way up to this treehouse positioned between a pair of trees at one side of the Commons yard, abutting the river. It's clear enough upon ascending that this is no ordinary treehouse, built sturdy-strong and with a polished finish that would rival most /regular/ residences. Spanning the distance between the pair of oaks, the treehouse is a long one-story building, equipped with both plumbing and electricity. The stairs lead up onto a wraparound balcony that projects out at one side to overlook the East River rushing by below. The doorway inside leads to a furnished sitting room, long low futon-couches on the pale wood floors, walls painted in leafy shades of green, exposed-beam ceilings that seem to have worked some of the actual branches of the tree into the curvature of the roof. The front room is bright and airy, large windows looking out on the Commons grounds and the river outside. Recessed lanterns in the wall give the room a warm glow, come nighttimes, and in the center of the room amid a stone-tiled patch of flooring there is a squat glass-encased gas fireplace providing warmth in winter. Off to one side of the room there is an elevated loft up nearer the ceiling, accessible by ladder and furnished with pillows and plush futon mattress and lots of blankets. The adjoining room is decorated in watery river-blues instead of leaf-greens; in here there's a small kitchenette to one side with sink and stove and toaster oven and counter space, cabinets on the walls. A long dining table in this room seats eight; by the windows, plenty of cushioning sits in the wide window-seats. Off in the very back, a tiny half-bathroom holds a sink and toilet. No stove in here; the wintertime tends to find this room much chillier, but there's generally plenty of warm blankets lying around the house. Autumn is sweeping in a little early this year, or so the night's weather seems to proclaim. The sky is the kind of gorgeous clear deep black that would form a perfect backdrop for stargazing were one not in the city. Micah is not /quite/ outside, though the treehouse might qualify as outside-adjacent. He is wrapped up a little more warmly this evening, a soft blue-and-green plaid button-down shirt worn open over his 'UNSTOPPABLE!' T-rex with adaptive reaching aids tee, and the typical bluejeans and sneakers. Curled into the corner of one futon, he has his laptop on his lap and a small thermos of tea sitting on a table close at hand. There have been a lot of late nights catching up on paperwork recently to make up for falling behind in production. Outside on the balcony there's a quiet whumph, a heavy thump of footsteps that precedes the door opening. "-- Oh, hey." Dusk's eyes widen faintly upon seeing Micah, a pleased smile flashing across his face. The crisper weather on the ground means it's /even/ brisker in the air -- as a result he's /kind/ of more dressed than he has been while it's been properly Summer, corduroys and boots on his feet though the loose-light black wrap shirt halter-tied around his neck is probably inadequate for the skies. As a result there's a considerable chill clinging to him when he closes the door behind himself and slips in. Generously, he shares this cold with Micah, settling onto the futon to unstay his boots and wrapping one ice-cold wing around the other man. "That tea I can steal? I can't /feel/ my wingtips." Which is why he's warming them on Micah. One long bone presses up against the other man's neck. "I should steal your /husband/ he's like a fucking furnace. 'kai borrow /him/ after dinner?" The thumps and thuds outside the door drag Micah's eyes off of his laptop screen. He returns Dusk's smile in kind when the other man enters, though this is quite /quickly/ replaced with wide-eyes and tense-shoulders at the cold hug. "Ohgosh, that is just...I'm not sure how you /got/ that cold. The outside isn't that cold." He slaps the laptop closed with one hand, moving it to a table and swapping it hastily for tea. "It's vanilla Assam with some cinnamon bark tossed in. Also /hot/," he adds as he presses the thermos insistently into Dusk's hand. "S'there cuddles involved? Pretty sure Jax'd be down for that. 'Specially wing-cuddles." "Not on the /ground/ it isn't." Dusk takes the tea once he's shed his boots and kicked them aside, pulling socked feet up to tuck snugly onto the futon beside Micah. The quiet sigh he breathes out is equally as he settles in at the other man's side and takes a sip of hot tea. "Plus holy shit do you know how much surface area these things have? They shed heat like a motherfucker up there." The /rest/ of him, at least, is far less frozen -- though still probably a good bit chillier than he /should/ be. He closes his eyes and draws in a slow mouthful of tea, a purring growl in his throat as the beverage warms him. "There could be cuddles involved. You catching up on work okay?" Micah shivers /visibly/ at the addition of cold toes to the cold wings. “You're an ice-bat. Just so you're aware.” Not that he /isn't/ snuggling in closer to share what slim body heat he has to offer. “I'd lead with the cuddles part, then maybe mention the ice-bat thing.” His nose crinkles a little. “Work's...gettin' back. I'd been buildin' like a crazy person just t'get things remade. Couple things got broke /and/ their moulds were wrecked, too, so I had t'set up appointments t'remould folks. It's been less than ideal. I was doin' pretty good catchin' up, but then I did the not-workin' on the weekend thing with Spence's birthday. Slowly-but-surely, I guess is the short answer.” "It's not even winter yet. I /really/ turn into a batsicle come January. I'm going to be vampiring all your heat." Dusk tips his head down, nuzzling in against Micah's neck to add Cold Nose in with all the rest. "Mngh. Wish you could bill the damn cops for your wasted time." The mention of Spence's birthday, though, puts a grin back on his face. "-- How long do you think it'll be before you're making a cast for /him/?" "Eh, what's a little extra vampirin' 'tween friends?" Micah asks with a chuckle that turns into a little squeak at cold nose on neck. "Pfft, wouldn't that be the day. Can't even bill 'em t'replace the /stuff/, much less m'time. At least the insurance is gonna cover the material losses...minus deductibles, et cetera, et cetera. I set up crazy-paranoid insurance since the vast majority of m'business is kinda...mobile. Easier'n most t'take out completely. So it's not a /total/ disaster." Where Dusk grins, Micah winces. "Y'know, I'm really not /qualified/ t'be providin' definitive treatment of broken bones? I think folks forget exactly what I'm /supposed/ t'be doin' a lot." His head shakes slowly with this. "But, yeah, I'm thinkin' the breaks are just 'round the corner. We only let 'im use it in enclosed an' not-busy spaces for now, so that should help a /little/ bit. Hopefully." Cold nose is soon replaced by warm mouth; Dusk's lips close against the side of Micah's neck with a soft growl, teeth scraping against the skin. Very lightly, though, and he just rests his head on Micah's shoulder after rather than bite down. "Qualified, pff, you've had plenty enough practice. And come on, broken arm by /hoverboard/ is so much frakkin' cooler than most of the reasons you've had to patch people up. I bet the first really spectacular wipeout he has he's going to be so /proud/ of. Injuries are like /trophies/ when you're a nine --" Dusk hesitates, his grin quirking wider. "... no wait who am I kidding, if I scarred better I would /still/ not have outgrown showing them off. I've taken some pretty epic skateboarding damage." Micah draws in a quick breath, between the sudden temperature changes on his skin and the half-kiss/half-bite. His head turns a little to kiss the top of Dusk's. "Still outside m'scope of practice t'be doin' without some kinda physician-type supervision." Another wince, only growing in depth, comes at all the talk of wipeouts and injuries. "Y'know skateboards're bad /enough/. This thing moves an' goes up in the air all on its lonesome. I been tryin' t'drill the whole helmet thing pretty hard. Last thing the boy needs is a brain injury." He scoots himself in a little closer against Dusk, perhaps to fend off protective parent images of spectacular injuries in the making forming in his head. "Scope of practice, bah. You gonna let /The Man/ tell you how to medic, what kind of rebel are you." There is a distinctly teasing note in Dusk's tone that does not lend this statement even a shred of earnestness. "It moves and goes up in the air when he's standing on it steering it. Flying is /awesome/, I'm so in favour of anything that gets more people into the air --" Though it's probably not /immensely/ reassuring when he stops to consider, musing, "... man, I've had some /pretty/ fantastic flying accidents too." “The kind with an allied health license attemptin' t'stay in good standin',” Micah replies with an also-teasing tone. “Flyin' /is/ pretty amazin', but. Ugh, I'd be so much more in favour of somethin' with...like, a seat. An'...some kinda protective...anythin'.” His tongue sticks out at Dusk's ongoing talk of wipeouts and accidents. “/So/ not helpin', sugar.” There may be a finger in the ribs timed with that 'so'. Dusk's side twitches at the poking, a soft chuckle elicited by this. His wing, not so icy now that it's had time to leech heat off Micah, curls in tighter around the other man, rubbing slowly at Micah's arm. "OK, I get the worry. But he's not /actually/ flying, he's -- well, hovering. Right? It's not like he's going to be way high up, just --" His lips twitch crookedly, face turning in against Micah's shoulder to hide his lopsided grin before he just drops his head back. "... though if the hoverboard worries you I /don't/ think you're going to want to see what else B's been working on, Ion won't fucking shut up about it though so it's probably unavoidable." “Dunno. Somethin' 'bout the whole lotta /nothin'/ t'hold on to at all makes it worse, somehow.” Oh, wing-snuggles. Less frigid wing-snuggles. Micah nestles in against the tighter wrapping wing with a contented sigh. “Lemme guess: hoverbike? Somehow that seems /less/ bad than the hoverboard. 'ceptin' for the likely faster speeds an' greater potential for encounterin' other traffic.” He manages a little smile. “Oh, when does Ion ever /really/ shut up 'bout anythin'? S'part of 'is particular charm.” "Maybe B should've made him a hover-scooter instead. That'd be kind of adorable." Dusk closes his eyes, grin fading into a relaxed easy smile at Micah's nestling. "Hoverbike. Pretty sweet, huh? At least till you remember ze's putting /Kay/ and /Ion/ on hoverbikes. I'm -- pretty sure they're gonna be going /fast/. The way Ion talks though they're gonna be recruiting B into the Mongrels any day." The comment about Ion earns a snort, though, bright grin returning. "Oh, you /can/ get him to shut up. Just have find something to fill his mouth with." "Mightn't be an awful idea t'add a handle. Could even make it retractable if they wanted. Just...somethin' to grab on to for fast stops'n turns'd be a /little/ less of a physics nightmare." Micah's head shakes, which really works out to be more of a /rub/ against Dusk's chest and shoulder given his current placement. "Don't know that Kay an' Ion on hoverbikes is any better or worse'n their regular rides. S'more /those two/ an' less the devices that're worrisome." His teeth press gently into his lower lip. "I had another one of those future-dreams. Further out'n a lot of the others, seemed like. B had one of those bikes an' one of their patches on hir jacket." As far as that last comment, Micah's response is at best a "hm" accompanied by a sudden flare of blush, which should at least make him warmer to lean against. The sudden flare of blush briefly pushes Dusk into quiet. Just a shiver, a slow inhale, a very soft rumble of a growl barely audible, less heard and more felt where Micah's head is against his chest. For a moment his wing squeezes tighter still, tight and hard where it presses Micah up against him before loosening back into just a comfortable soft hold. Dusk turns his head, lips pressing to Micah's temple. "Mmm?" His brows furrow as he pulls his thoughts back on track. "Wait, you what? B really /did/ join a -- does join a -- will join a -- fuck." His hand lifts to press forefinger and thumb against the hollows of his eyes. "I object so strongly to precogs it's hell on grammar. -- What happened? Will happen. May happen. Goddamnit." Micah's cheek nuzzles against Dusk's chest with the shiver and growl. He draws another quick breath at the tighter squeeze, muscles tensing slightly then relaxing even more to fall into Dusk's hold. "Dunno how much we can trust any of these future things anymore. So much's changed already from the way they were happenin'. But, yeah, that's pretty much the gist of it. B was visitin' from school up Boston. Came down on hir bike, had the jacket. Ze seemed...kinda troubled an' frustrated an' not really willin' t'talk t'me about it, but I guess that's not exactly a /stretch/." "You could ask her pre-emptively," Dusk suggests with a lopsided smile. "Hey, B, do you know what you might be upset about a couple years from now? That'll probably work out -- well," though here his tone shifts abruptly from amused to thoughtful, "if she had the same dream maybe she /would/ have a better idea of --" His shoulder lifts, and he nuzzles in against Micah's neck once more. "Oh, man. OK. I'm thawed. I think I need to eat before I --" Another growl, harsher, this time, rumbles up in his chest before he slides his feet back to the ground. "-- interrupt your work even /worse/." "Yeah, that wouldn't be the most confusin' conversation /ever/." Micah chuckles at the thought of it. "Ain't fair t'hold hir accountable for dream-things from an alternate future timeline. S'hard enough gettin' hir t'tell us what's goin' on with hir /now/. Think I'll stick t'the /real/ troubles an' not go beggin' more." His chin tips back at the nuzzling, eyes drifting closed. "Mmn. Right. Eatin'. I'm pretty interrupty for the night anyhow. S'a late dinner t'night as it is. I /should/ try not t'spend the /whole/ night with m'nose to a screen." Slowly, he pulls himself to his feet to follow, collecting tea and laptop on the way. "Hot food does sound particularly invitin' just now." "Do seem to find enough troubles without trying." Dusk's lips press to the hollow of Micah's throat when the other man's head tips back. "/Right/." He pulls himself away quickly though the soft touch implies a temptation to linger. "Eating." His teeth flash in a quick smile. "And cuddles. I'm not even an ice bat anymore. Might even get snuggles that aren't just from pity." "Mmn," is Micah's reply to the kiss, a little shake of his head needed to bring him back to oh-right, leaving. "Pretty sure y'can get /not/ pity snuggles just 'bout whenever y'want 'em. S'totally on order for after dinner." "A double helping. I'm extra hungry." Maybe for dinner, maybe for snuggles. Dusk leaves this ambiguous as he scoops up his boots to head for the door, holding it open for Micah before he heads down the stairs himself.