ArchivedLogs:Idle Talk

Idle Talk
Dramatis Personae Neve, Micah
In Absentia	4 August 2014 A little confrontation while gardening.
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Sunroom - Lower East Side
Bright and warm, this room is set up to enjoy a little bit of the outdoors even year-round. Tall glass panes make up most of its wall in between wood supports, providing a wide three-sided view of the garden and yard outside. As well as the inner doors leading back into the kitchens and dining room, an outer door leads out to the outdoor gardens, as well. Inside, the room is airy and green -- a plethora of potted herbs and plants hang from the ceiling, as well as ring the room in a series of narrow wooden raised-beds that provide growing space for a selection of herbs year-round. Outside of the herb beds that ring the room, this place is designed simply to come and relax; quiet and simple, with clean stone floors and neutral-toned wicker furniture adorned with comfortable cushioning. Some of the chairs ring stone-and-glass tables for eating or conversing; a few more solitary seats come in the form of rocking chairs or netted hammock-chairs hanging from the ceiling. It's hot outside. Like, not just a little hot but /hot/ hot, the humidity spiking and the day laid waste under a punishing amount of sunshine. This is proper summer, and even as evening winds towards night, it hasn't cooled yet. That makes the sunroom no true pleasure to occupy, at least not for those who enjoy cooler climes. The light might be fading outside but it seems captured here, lurking the way shadows might in other rooms--and the plants love it, thick and lush and putting out their soft green perfume. At loose ends, Neve has found herself with time to wander. She didn't have very many things to unpack and so her home has been sorted. It leaves her with time to explore and in this lull, when many folks have retreated home or to more entertaining pursuits, she's opted to wind through the garden and from there into the sunroom. Dressed in seafoam and black, a peasant blouse worn over capris, with those much loved ballerina flats on her feet, with a pair of Audrey Hepburn style sunglasses on to complete the look--in spite of now being indoors--she winds through the herb beds. Where the mint has gone crazy, she crouches down to pick a stem free for nibbling on. It's well after dinnertime and as such, Micah has /other/ tasks to tend. A small canvas gardening tote with pockets around its outside housing assorted indoor-appropriate gardening implements hangs from the fingertips of one hand and the handle of an elephant-shaped watering can finds itself grasped in the other. His auburn hair is tousled, still a shade spiky from where it air dried out of the shower. As is usual, he wears no shoes indoors, blue socks on his feet both declaring 'I <3 <3 the Doctor' in red and white. The socks match his Doctor Hooves Nouveau T-shirt, worn over faded bluejeans. The watering can finds a new home on one of the tables as Micah moves to trim some basil that is attempting to flower in tiny purple buds. He pauses before the trimming shears even come out of their pocket, eyes caught by the other presence in the room. "Evenin', hon. Just comin' t'tend the plants. Not interruptin' nothin', am I?" Neve is likewise brought up short by someone else coming in. She draws herself up and turns but finds a small smile to offer when Micah is recognized, lips curving after a pause. The snip of mint is lifted and its stem rolled between thumb and finger, making the leaves spin. "Micah, hello. Nothing important. I saw the plants and thought maybe I'd try my hand at recreating mint lemonade but I see I didn't come adequately prepared." Not as /he/ had, which she indicates by tipping her head slightly forward to mark many pockets he sports, with its many tools. "You're a paragon of industry, I think. Never idle." "I'm just doin' a little trimmin' over here. There's some honest-to-goodness shears in here y'could use if you're harvestin'." Micah's fingers seek out the shears in question, his feet carrying him away from the basil (but a temporary reprieve for those flower buds!) to offer them handle-out to Neve. "S'been hot'n'humid as all get-out lately. Feels kinda like home." There's a twitch of smile! "Does make a body want some good lemonade or sweet tea somethin' fierce, though." The smile blends well into a chuckle. "I'm idle eventually. Tend t'spend out all m'not-doin'-things time on cuddles or readin', though. So you'd be less likely t'run into me then." His head takes on a bit of inquisitive tilt. "You been doin' okay?" "Idle eventually sounds like the perfect title for your autobiography. If you can find time to write it." This little stab at humor bolsters her smile, briefly. Another hesitation ensues before Neve reaches out to accept the offered shears. "I don't believe I've ever had sweet tea. How...how much mint do I need for a proper lemonade?" Yes, she is at a loss, but after a bit of turning Neve gets the shears settled comfortably in hand. It gives her something to do beyond standing there awkwardly--she turns to take a knee again, reaching out with her free hand to sift through the tangles and spikes of the plant. It also means that her expression is doubly protected--face averted and sunglasses still in place--as she speaks a frighteningly convincing lie: "I've been doing well. As well as can be expected. I don't think the reporters have realized where I am yet, which is a boon. Or they'd be sieging us at the gates wanting statements on Themis burning down." "Hm," serves as Micah's answer to that, through a little closed-lip smirk. "Been thinkin' on writin' a book, but not about me. Also eventually." Hands freed of the shears, he moves back to his previous task, smaller trimming shears snipping off basil flowers where he finds them. "Depends how much you're tryin' t'make, which'll depend mostly on how many lemons y'got. An' then how minty y'want it. I'd rough estimate it at...maybe half a cuppa mint leaves to two cups of lemon juice that I do, thereabout." The teeth digging into his lip betray his state of mind best just then. "Yeah. That was...folks've been less than pleased. I'm glad we've stayed a secret for you." "Oh? What about?" Neve doesn't wait idle to hear his answer, nor does she look back at him to gauge mood by expression. Tone is enough and if Micah calls for half a cup of mint leaves, half a cup she will cut. She snips quickly and neatly, spreading the harvest out through this plant and that one--not that they'll likely notice, brisk as they're growing. The stems taken are set aside on the paving stone by her foot, to be gathered into a green bouquet after. "I'm glad they waited until everyone had gone home to vent their feelings. There /are/ good people there. People like Krystal." The last stem is snipped and she sinks back onto her heels, tilting her head to frame him sidelong from the corner of her eyes. The shears are lifted to offer back. "Were good people there, I suppose." "Considerations in assistive technology needs for people with special abilities. I've managed t'rack up quite a bit of experience that I'd imagine most folks don't have. S'gotta be at least one other person in the world who'd like t'help /someone/ but maybe don't quite know how." Micah's eyes squeeze closed a moment, breath a little heavier. "I'm rather sure that was their intention. Not t'hurt nobody. An' it may well've been more'n a political statement. Certainly more'n.../ventin'/. They quite likely was tryin' t'prevent that place from /hurtin'/ anyone else. S'good people who go there thinkin' they're gonna get help. People like Horus an' B. An s'good people who got /used/ by that place t'make what they claimed t'be help. People like Matt." Snip, snip, a few more basil plants lose their flowery crowns. "I ain't sayin' the way they went about it was right, but I sure's anythin' get the reasonin' behind it." "More than one, I'd think," Neve says quietly. "I'd read it, when you finish it." That's all she has to say at first. What follows is simply listening as she gathers up her chosen mint leaves on their stems. Sure enough, she collects them together in a little bouquet. When that's done she rises but makes no move to go. Instead, the lenses of her glasses flash as she turns her head to watch Micah at his own harvest. Her lips roll together, tuck in, caught between the hard press of her teeth--it's the look of someone trying not to say something, something that's pushing hard at her tongue, wanting to shape the words. And she gives in, eventually. "How is Matt?" "Gotta start it first," Micah returns amusement lacing the words. Once he is finished with his trimming, he trades shears for watering can and goes about giving a little drink to the plants with dry soil, small tips of the can bringing a stream of water out the elephant's raised trunk. "Not well." Apparently we're just being honest without any dressing today. "Lucien says he has terrible nightmares. His thoughts are clearly troubled. He lost a great number of friends in the raid itself when all of the chips detonated, too. He's been tortured an' he's in mournin'." There go those teeth again, pressing into his bottom lip until the pink blanches. "Think he mourns your friendship, too. He asks 'bout you. Then I upset 'im largely through misconceptions 'bout you. Though that might not be entirely the right word. Misrepresentations, maybe." Neve looks down at her makeshift posy. Her mouth has grown pinched and pale. "Nightmares. They do come standard in those places." One mint-scented hand steals towards her hair with talk of chips, fingers just brushing against her nape before she forces them down again. At that, she tilts her head and seems to focus on him again. "Beg pardon? They...detonated? Misrepresentations?" There are several threads in this conversation that prove problematic--topics that she might otherwise want to pursue entirely, but with more than one to choose from the young woman is left at a loss. Her weight shifts from one foot to the other and her head turns, in a clear look towards the exit. It must be tempting, the possibility of fleeing. But she doesn't. "I don't understand." "Imagine they do. He was there quite a long time." The water sloshes in the hollow elephant each time it visits a new plant. "Almost everyone. No one's told you this? There was a reason only Matt and one other came out of that last raid. The chips they put in their heads were rigged t'/explode/. Not Matt, though. He was too valuable as a manufacturin' plant for anti-mutation drugs t'risk it, I imagine." Micah's head shakes, sidelong glance sent Neve's way between waterings. "I'd said somethin' to 'im 'bout you gettin' your memory back. He seemed rather surprised, since t'his knowledge y'never lost it. Just. Seems an odd thing t'me that y'keep actin' like y'don't remember a thing 'round me, if your memories were still intact, is all." "I...I saw the footage. Maybe I...I've been..." Neve's hand creeps back and this time, it stays there, behind her ear, fingers curled to push through her hair. Her brow rumples, a shift that nudges the glasses further down her nose. She pushes them back up and jerks her head back. Her lips purse as she breathes out. "I...don't. Micah. When...after Vermont. We stopped somewhere else. And there...when I look at you, there's a voice. When I look at Lucien, and at Jackson too. It says...it tells me that. My name is Neve Leone and you're a stranger. It's.../easier/. To listen to that voice. Which...that was the purpose, I suppose. To make it easier, to be me. If I saw someone I knew. There's a great deal I'd /like/ to forget but from what you've said, you're not one of those things." "I haven't watched it. S'been enough just hearin' 'bout it from everyone..." There's a shudder to Micah's shoulders, the water shivering in the can along with it, merry little slosh-splashes not matching the mood in the least. "So when you're 'round me it's like y'don't remember /anythin'/? But around Matt, not so much? I just...need t'know what's real. What's actually goin' on in your head, honey. 'Cause it changes how I act an' how I relate t'people an' the things that I say. With as sensitive as all this is? I can't keep workin' off faulty information. It's hurtin' folks as are already beat down an' that's not fair t'them. Or t'me, t'let me keep doin' it not knowin' any better." Neve fidgets with the mint she's holding. If she keeps that up, it'll be bruised long before it's pressed into a jug with lemon juice and sugar. "I told you. It's...easier. To be Neve. I can /be/...I can stand here. And speak with you. No one wants to know what's going on in my head. /I/ don't want to know what's in my head. If I looked at all of that, it would just..." She tilts her head back as if she were suddenly interested in the ceiling of the sunroom. "I remember Matthieu. I remember...Anole." Much as it pains her to say the name, she does so quietly, with her jaw clamped tightly. "I remember Malthus. And the place they took...her. Before Vermont. Before Matthieu. And the things they did there. If that helps you...not upset people. Then I'm glad for it. If you would...please. Give Matthieu my best. Tell him I apologize. I should...get these back. Before they wilt." "Okay. I'm not tryin' t'make things any harder for you. Just...clue me in when you're doin' somethin' that's makin' it easier? When it's not somethin' /true/? I only know what other people can tell me, so it's...hard to know. What's happenin', really." Micah looks a little wilted, himself, his shoulders sagging and eyelids drooping closed. Perhaps he could use a splash from the watering can, as well. "I want t'be here for you, sugar. I know y'don't got a lotta folks t'do that for you right now. But I got a lotta people who depend on me. An' I gotta think about them, too. I'll...tell Matt as much as he seems ready t'hear." He nods at Neve's taking her leave. "Please, don't let me keep you. It is a night for lemonade, after all." "Perhaps it's best to focus on them, for now. They need you. I would rather you not be caught between." Neve rolls her shoulders back, pulls her posture straight. It's a shift that makes it easier for her to take on a small smile. Voila, composure--or maybe this is that something he was referring to, to make things easier. "Things are well enough for me, right now. Thanks to Mr. Tessier. I hope your idle time is soon and you can enjoy your evening. Good night, Micah." On that note, she turns to venture back the way she'd come, through the garden door with her harvest of mint. "It ain't gotta be either-or. Just...try t'be honest with me." Micah's eyes stay fixed on his task, moving down the row of plants with the water. His tone is flatter, sadder when he speaks again. "G'night, hon."