ArchivedLogs:Just Keeps Happening

Just Keeps Happening
Dramatis Personae Hive, Melinda	2013-05-19 Immediately after unparty.
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. Sunday night, after the food service is completed at the local Food Not Bombs park, Melinda has brought the dishes back to Jackson's apartment and cleaned them for him. Before heading home though, she has taken a brief excursion to the roof to check on the progress of the small garden there, marveling quietly at the produce and simple leafy greenness of the well tended plot. As the night falls, she finds herself drawn to the edge of the roof, looking out over the city and thinking quietly to herself. She is dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, with a jacket over the top and sneakers on her feet. There’s a creak from the door, a quiet pad of footsteps out. The soles on Hive’s sneakers don’t make a /lot/ of noise, worn down smooth and flat, but. He isn’t really trying for stealth. Just a quiet few steps and then he stops, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and his hands shoved in his pockets. “Mel.” Melinda hears the door, but is a little lost in thought, so doesn't react immediately. The footsteps barely cause a stir on her auditory senses, but the sound of her name does finally raise an eyebrow. She turns and looks at Hive, taking a moment to look the other man over, then her gaze settles on his face again. "Hive." Mentally, she's tired, but her thoughts are quiet and a little distant, almost as if she had been intentionally quieting them the entire time she had been on the roof, taking in just the city noises. "How are you?" “Pretty shitty,” is Hive’s bland answer; it doesn’t /sound/ sad, really, or tired, or anything but a simple fact. He pulls a lighter from his pocket, keeping his distance as he lights it. He looks -- alright, really, fleshed out a good deal in the weeks since de-hiving. Still sort of coathanger-framed but not /gaunt/ so much as wiry, color returned to his face, healthy gloss returned to his black hair. The belt holding faded jeans onto his skinny hips is -- still pulled all the way to its last hole but that’s an improvement over where he’s punched a makeshift /new/ one that he doesn’t need to use anymore. “You?” "Keeping busy, getting back into the throng of things." Melinda's thoughts carries with those words, 'worried sick' and 'depressed as hell'. "Must be getting back to my old self if I'm lecturing strangers on the rules and responsibilities of homeless shelter workers." She draws in a deep breath and looks from the flame to the city again, considering the weeks it's been since she had a cigarette. “S’good, right,” Hive is saying, but then he frowns. Huffs out a long stream of smoke. “That’s not good at all. I mean, keeping busy’s good. You sound like shit, though.” He taps ash from his cigarette, glancing from it to Mel. And taking another deep drag. "Well, it's kind of been a crap week. Possibly longer." Mel's pretty shitty at gauging time right now. "I guess two weeks now." << You know, I was supposed to tell you when you crossed the 'asshole' line, but I'm not sure I feel like it anymore. >> She muses quietly looking over at him. "Can I bum one?" “All those weeks clean and you’re falling off the wagon?” But Hive enables. He takes his pack of smokes out of his pocket, tapping one out to hold out towards Melinda. “What’s it take?” he wants to know. “To cross the asshole line. I have to be too harsh, or I have to be wrong? Or.” He frowns. “Both. I think I cross the asshole line a lot. -- It’s been a shitty week,” he agrees. “What on your end?” Melinda takes the cigarette and places it between her lips, then waits for Hive to produce the lighter. "Oh, You were not wrong. Insensitive. Too harsh. I certainly knew I was in the wrong last time we were out here, and I was already kicking myself for what happened and eager to find a way to make amends, but you had to point it out anyway." The speech is dispassionate and quiet, describing the event without deviating from facts. "I believe that's across the asshole line, but take it how you will." << I got dumped. People I care about disappeared. It's a pretty standard shitty. >> “Maybe across the asshole line,” is as much concession as Hive will make. He swaps out cigarette box for lighter, flicking it and leaning in to let Mel light it. “Standard.” He chuffs out a hard harsh breath at this. “Shit. Mel. The fuck kind of world we’re living in. Dumped is standard. People getting fucking kidnapped to --” His head shakes abruptly. “Shit shouldn’t be standard. And. Yet.” "And yet, this is where we are." Melinda pulls on the cigarette until it is lit, then releases the smoke uninhaled, taking a clean pull with less lighter fluid in it. "Sometimes, I think that I should be more upset than I am, but I think I'm just numb because this shit just keeps happening." She turns back to look at the city again, perhaps just down to the park this time. Not an active smoker, she lets the ash build up slowly. "How is everyone holding up?" “Just keeps happening, and keeps happening --” Hive shrugs. He seems a little intently focused on his slow pulls of cigarette. More of a lifeline than a simple distraction. “Well as can be expected. Jax’s only lit /one/ set of clothes on fire all week.” "Ah, well, I guess that's good. He has a rather extensive wardrobe, though I fear he likely likes most of his pieces." Melinda takes another drag off hers and leaves it trapped between two fingers as they rest on the railing. "Are we good? I can't quite figure out where we're at as friends or what have you, given the week or so we've had. I'd like to be friends, at least. I know I fucked up and things have been hurty, but you're not..." << God, how did Jim put it? Giving up? >> "Done with me?" “Less extensive than you’d think,” Hive says with a dry amusement, “but yeah.” And another pull of his cigarette. He exhales a stream of smoke through his nose. “Tch,” he answers, one sharp cchk of sound through his teeth. “Fuck that. We’re good.” There’s nothing gentle, still, about the sledgehammer-pound of his mental voice: << World is way too fucked the hell up to ditch the /good/ friends you find in it. >> Despite the pounding, the relief in Melinda's mind is palpable. She lets out a breath she barely realized she was holding and smiles weakly, relief in her gaze as well. She turns away blinking for a moment and takes a long drag off of her cigarette, taking in just enough regular air to keep herself from coughing. "Good. Glad to hear it. Thank you." She takes a deep breath and glances at Hive. "I'll have to take Jax thrift store shopping now that his classes are out. Get him an end of the school year outfit or something." << not that shopping is a cure for what's going on, but … sitting at home doesn't help much either. >> “Finished his year this week,” Hive says. “Flicker and Ian, too. Everyone’s got a shit ton more free time to -- fucking worry.” He runs his fingers through his hair, scrunching his hair briefly into a tight fist. “Sitting at home doesn’t help shit,” he agrees. “Might be -- nice. Soon. Soon when -- this is all --” He trails off, his hand dropping to his side. His cigarette is burned down to nearly a stub, the embers creeping towards his bony fingers. “Might be nice,” is all he says again. "Soon?" << Do you know something, or am I just being blindly optimistic... or hopeful? >> Melinda takes another drag, her cigarette only halfway gone, though, mostly by no help on her part. "What? I need to take you shopping too? Here I thought you got all of your shirts off the internet. Though, I guess you could use some new jeans." She eyes his pants suspiciously. “Might have a lead. Won’t know if we /actually/ know something till --” Hive’s jaw tightens. “Later tonight.” There’s something in his expression -- closed off. Tight. He stamps his cigarette out with a hard grind of toe. “I --” He draws in a quick breath, head shaking. “Yeah,” his smile is quick, but doesn’t touch his eyes. “Could use a new lots of things. I gotta -- I should --” His voice seems oddly strained. “I’ll let you know,” he says. “If we -- hear anything.” "Okay, Hive. I appreciate it. Do... Be careful, but get them back, you know? I just can't imagine if more people disappeared looking. Not sure..." Melinda is dismissing him, but doesn't want him to leave, but figures he needs to. "If you need me for anything - I can have the shelter on standby for some rooms, you know, if you need them. Hopefully, it's nothing like the last place, but you guys need space, your homes, too." Hive does look sort of like he needs to leave; a little tightly wound, shoulders tense, kind of fidgety. “It -- might not be. Might be. Don’t -- know yet.” He dips his head in a quick nod, and then abruptly steps forward. The hug he gives Mel is a brusque thing, quick-squeeze, back-pat. Then he turns to head back inside. Melinda hugs him back, brief as it is, then lets him head back inside. She is content to stay outside, finishing her cigarette, then making her way home.