ArchivedLogs:Lucky
| Lucky | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2 October 2014 Dropping off some doughnuts, picking up some cocoa... |
| Location
<NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side | |
Spacious and open, this coffeeshop has a somewhat industrial feel to it, grey resin floors below and exposed-beam ceilings that have been painted up in a dancing swirl of abstract whorls and starbursts, a riot of colour splashed against a white background. The walls alternate between brick and cheerfully lime-green painted wood that extends to the paneling beneath the brushed-steel countertops. There's an abundance of light, though rather than windows (which are scarce) it comes from plentiful hanging steel lamps. The walls here are home to plentiful artwork available for sale; though the roster of prints and paintings and drawings and photographs changes on a regular basis it has one thing in common -- all the artists displayed are mutants. The seating spaced around the room is spread out enough to keep the room from feeling cluttered. Black chairs, square black tables that mostly seat two or four though they're frequently pushed around and rearranged to make space for larger parties. In the back corner of the room is more comfortable seating, a few large black-corduroy sofas and armchairs with wide tables between them. There's a shelf of card and board games back here available for customers to sit and play. The chalkboard menus hanging behind the counter change frequently, always home to a wide variety of drinks (with an impressive roster of fair-trade coffees and teas largely featured) though their sandwiches and wraps and soups and snacks of the day change often. An often-changing variety of baked goods sit behind the display case at the counter halfway back in the room, and the opposite side of the counter holds a small selection of homemade ice creams. A pair of single-user bathrooms flanks the stairway in back of the cafe; at night, the thump of music can be heard from above, coming from the adjoining nightclub of the same name that sits up the stairs above the coffeehouse. There is no denying that autumn chill that is sweeping through the state in the wake of the previous day's rain. Leaves are turning brilliant colours and starting to drop and catch in the brisk breezes. The nights are growing darker earlier and earlier. Micah is appropriately wrapped up in an olive jacket, collar slightly upturned, with a matching newsboy cap perched on his head and green gradient fingerless gloves on his hands. He's layered beneath the jacket in a button-down shirt in blues and greens, white T-shirt underneath that, faded-patchy bluejeans, and sneakers. He stops at the door to hold it open for Jax, since his husband is the one toting /goods/ and his own messenger bag just hangs easily at his hip. Off work and out of uniform, today Jax looks very much /brighter/ than he had at the Mendel Clinic. He's in skinny jeans, blue with a silvery-metallic sheen to them, and a black tank top underneath a silver fishnet shirt; over top he has a very brightly colour-blocked sweatshirt in rainbow shades, stenciled with all kinds of (hippie! peace sign! swastika! om symbol! lotus flower!) designs in the various blocks of colour. Over-the-knee boots, velvety black with silver studs. His short fuzzy hair has changed shades, autumn-coloured in fiery red-orange-yellow. Once again he's in sunglasses, despite the dark evening hour. His arms are loaded up with two large containers, donuts visible through the semi-transparent plastic of the Tupperware. "... was hard gettin' these all here I swear half of them got et before I made it outta the /kitchen/." Jerome is hanging around the door to Evolve going over an application. He's dressed about the same as alway, dark skinnies, skate shoes, and a white tank partially concealed under a black trench coat. When Jax and Micah walk up he moves out of the way and inclines his head, "Evenin'," he greets lightly, tucking the application in his coat pocket. "Been doin' well?" “"I swear I only stole the one!" Micah assures with...exceedingly effective wide-eyed innocence. Once the door closes, he takes the top Tupperware to help Jax with hauling it the (so /very/ long) distance to the counter. He tips his hat in greeting to Jerome. "Hello again, hon. Doin' pretty good. Jax made doughnuts, which is always a good thing. Unless you're on a diet. How's the job hunt goin'?" "S'apple cider donuts in the box he jus' done nabbed from me," Jax informs Jerome cheerfully, "an' the ones I still got is maple. Unless I'm backwards on that. -- An' mebbe /you/ only stole the one but /your/ son filched like three under the guise of Joshua helpin' him with teleportin' practice. An' that ain't even getting into what Joshua hisself done took." "Been decent, putting in an application here with Shane." Jerome says lightly, moving to follow the pair into the cafe. "We had a chat the other day... Don't exactly see eye-to-eye with things though. I still give people a little credit... He seems like he's firmly past that point." A hand comes up to brush through the little bit of hair he has before tugging a beanie on. "Going to head over to see about getting an application to work guard duty over at the clinic too." "Nabbed, he says, t'me bein' helpful. Like I'm runnin' off with 'em." Micah's head shakes, exaggeratedly disappointed with the State of the World. "I like how he's /my/ son whenever he's startin' mischief." He finally lets his amused chuckles roll out. "Joshua's not t'be trusted 'round desserts. Should know better." Jerome's response earns a nod. "Good, good. Ain't exactly people beatin' down the door for jobs here on account-a the place's history. Though /enough/ folks come just 'cause the hirin' practices aren't discriminatory an' it's hard t'find places y'can say that about." His teeth press into his lower lip, but only briefly and lightly. "Shane's been through a /lot/. A lot for /anybody/, an' he's still just a teenager." "/Your/ son," Jax repeats, firmly but definitely /amused/. With a rather long-suffering sigh he turns his attention back to Jerome. "D'you /know/ how hard it is keepin' treats outta reach of a teleporter? Or a /pair/'a teleporters? I should jus' be thankful they didn't press Flicker in to their theifery." He rests his box of donuts against his hip, weight shifting to rock back onto his heels. His teeth press to his lip, too, wiggling at a lip ring as the other corner of his mouth pulls upward. "Seems kinda a snap judgment to come to when you only jus' met him, don't it? Like p'raps you ain't," his crooked smile twitches a little bit bigger, "-- givin' him much credit." "Perhaps." Jerome allows. "He doesn't like the government, I know that much. Not that I can blame him there, it's a bunch of fuck shit." He gives his wrist a light roll before moving to lean against the counter. "Never really had to deal with other mutants. So I've never had to hide stuff from a teleporter." "Oh, Flicker'd be /scandalised/. Stealin' food. They prob'ly quite /calculatedly/ kept 'im out of it." Micah still seems largely entertained by the banter. "It's like hidin' treats from a nine year old. Then take away all the benefits of puttin' it somewhere up high or behind a closed door or under some kinda lock or where y'think you'd /notice/ if they sneaked in..." His lips pull into a lopsided grin. "Then add the adult /conspirator/. It's hopeless." Micah leaves his container in the care of one of the baristas, giving her a friendly one-armed greeting hug before moving back out of Employee Space. "Seriously, though, who /does/ like the government?" "Totally hopeless." Jax does not go through all the trouble of going off to unload his desserts. He just... foists his container off on Micah so that /he/ can handle it. "Never had t'deal with other mutants?" His head tips slightly to one side, his teeth digging down into his lip again. "Are you -- um, are you sure that workin' security at the Mendel Clinic is -- really the way to go? That ain't like --" His weight shifts back to his toes, then down to his heels again. "Just kinda like tryin' to run 'fore you can walk. S'ten different kindsa chaos there." "Meant growing up. Been in a little bit of contact since I left home," Jerome explains, gaze shifting around before turning to his phone. "Shit. I have to run. I'll stop in to say hello another time." He taps out a brief salute before jogging to the door, opening up to a sprint once he's out (which might get him ticketed; he's obviously faster than your average human). Micah blinks down at the second container appearing in his so-recently emptied hands. His eyebrows bounce up and down once before he turns and hands them off to...the barista just returning from the back. He offers her a sheepish grin along with the container, which she totes away with an extended shake of her head. Task completed, he returns to Jax's side, slipping an arm around the other man's waist. “Clinic guard duty /is/ kinda trial by fire, in more ways'n one. Oh...have a good night, hon!” His free hand lifts to wave as Jerome darts off. Jax gives his husband a sheepish grin when he returns, bonking his forehead lightly against Micah's shoulder. "Right, but a little bit'a contact is waaay different than knowin' how to handle a --" Jax gives his head a small shake, breaking off as Jerome excuses himself. "'Night!" He leans in to Micah's side, tipping his head to press a kiss to the other man's neck. "... I've only /actually/ been on fire at work a coupla times," he adds to Micah with a quiet chuckle. "I swear we spend half our security budget on issuin' everyone new uniforms when some poor kid with a cold melts their old one offa them." The headbonk draws Micah's hand over to scruff at Jax's fiery-hued hair. His chin lifts to bare his neck more readily to kisses, a happy smile curling his lips upward. “Oh, just now an' then, eh? I s'pose that's /one/ way of gettin' y'out of your uniform...” He gives the front of Jax's shirt a playful little tug. “Did y'wanna pick up drinks or somethin' while we're here?” A flush of pink creeps into Jax's cheeks, the kissing followed by a small nuzzle. "Like you got any trouble gettin' me outta my clothes. All /you/ gotta do is ask." Though this is followed by another small kiss and a quieter, "or order." And another kiss, and, soft too: "... or, okay, really jus' /look/ at me the right way." He straightens, pushing his sunglasses back into place where the nuzzling has skewed them. "Cocoa. T'/go/." "Did say /one/ way. Not that there weren't plenty of others'n easier ones, besides," Micah teases, a hint of pink showing on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, as well. A pleased hum buzzes in his throat at the continued kisses, his hand moving to half-scritch/half-grip at the back of Jax's neck. "Cocoa sounds nice. Should go stand at the actual /counter/ for that." He shifts forward, arm gently encouraging Jax to follow. "You sayin' I'm easy, sir?" Jax is easily encouraged, bouncing along at Micah's side. "Oh, oh gosh, can I get my cocoa with a shot'a Almond? /An'/ coconut?" He is asking the barista this eagerly, as though there's a change she'll say /no/. "Oh oh oh an' if y'still got that cashew-milk whipped cream then like a /ton/ of that. -- D'you think Shane's really gived up on people, that sounds like nonsense t'me. Shane loves people." "Nothin' of the kind. /I'm/ just lucky," Micah assures lightly as he accompanies Jax to the counter. He chuckles under his breath at his husband's order. "Almond milk spicy cocoa for me, please, sugar." The shake of his head in response to Jax's question is hesitant. "Not exactly. He likes...person. Many individual persons. /People/ I think he's a bit skeptical of. /Humanity/ even more so. But he's had enough /reasons/ t'be a little gun-shy." Jax slips his phone out of his pocket, swiping his thumb against it and holding it near a scanner by the register to pay for their drinks. "Thanks, honey-honey, you're the best." He tugs Micah away from the counter, leaning back against the pastry case (freshly stocked with donuts!) and curling his arm around the other man's waist. "Mmm. I guess maybe -- maybe. Maybe yeah. I jus' -- there's a difference 'tween bein' /angry/ an' bein' /bitter/, y'know? An' I know a whole lotta folks who got so much reason for both but --" He frowns, uncertain. "Feel like he hates people how Hive hates people. Like under all the scowlin' they still wouldn't hesitate t'jump in the line'a fire if someone needed helpin'." Micah nods-and-smiles his thanks to the barista before being pulled away by Jax. He wraps his arms around the other man in turn, leaning in close. “S'definitely angry. But also scared.” Some of the word choices furrow his brow, tugging his lips a little straighter and slightly downward. “Wouldn't even go so far as t'say /hate/, even. Not Shane. He's just...wary. An' understandably not optimistic.” "Mmnph." This sounds a little more disgruntled. Jax tips his head forward to rest his forehead lightly against Micah's collarbone. "... does get hard, sometimes. Stayin' optimistic after -- after everything that --" He exhales slowly, fingers scrunching into the back of Micah's shirt. "I mean, I try t'stay positive but I sometimes feel like I'm always jus' -- holdin' my breath. Waitin' for the next thing to blow up on us." His brow furrows, here. "... sometimes literally." Micah's arms move up higher to hold Jax closer and tighter. “It /is/ hard. We done taken a /lot/ of knocks, just this past year. Individually an' as a group an'...as a whole class of people for y'all.” He presses light kisses along Jax's jawline. “An' yeah, there's been enough of blowin' up, too.” The next breath Jax draws in is shaky, his fingers fisting up even tighter into Micah's shirt. "I jus'..." He breaks off, mooshing his face further into Micah's shirt until their order comes up. There's a deep flush in his cheeks as he pulls back. "Oh gosh, m'sor -- apologies," he says sheepishly, ducking his head as he turns to claim their drinks and dip his head in nod of thanks to the barista. "I don't mean to -- I don't even know /why/ I. Jus' out of the blue get -- I keep feelin' like I'm doin' better an' then all of a sudden everything feels too /much/ again." “Oh, honey, don't apologise. These things don't just get /better/ all at once like magic. S'a process. An' y'can't always /predict/ what can trigger...” Micah takes the drinks from Jax, wrapping his other arm around his husband's shoulders as he leads him toward the door. “I love you, honey. I don't mind havin' t'rush home a little quick now an' then, or hold off on certain topics for a minute.” Jax relinquishes the drinks tray to Micah, sliding his arm back around the other man's waist. "I jus'. Been tryin' to be more of a person lately an' not. Always fall apart if --" His teeth sink down against his lip, a fierce heat from his skin warding off some of the autumn chill as they head out. "They're actually gonna have a trial for -- for folks arrested from Prometheus. I still get reporters writin' or callin' lookin' for interviews an' I feel like I should -- actually be answerin' 'em. Like if I can help push all this along? /Stop/ my folk from havin' to go get shot and blowed up an' have limbs lopped off all over again -- an' then I choke an' jus' keep lettin' it all slide." Micah snuggles in close to Jax, just from the want for closeness of course, but also...warm. "You been doin' /so/ much better, honey. Y'been leavin' the house. Even without me. Goin' t'work. You're doin' better." He nods along with the talk of reporters and interviews. "I can answer some of the e-mails for you again if you're lookin' t'do written. Or just...be with you for actual interviews, if y'think that'll help." "I think that'll help." Once out in the small alley outside Evolve, Jax pauses, turning his face up to touch a small kiss to Micah's lips. "Ain't really without you. I mean. I jus'. I don't think I'd'a even come this far if you wasn't always --" His cheeks flush again, visible even in the dim light owing to the very faint glow starting up on his skin, far more visible out here than it was inside. "Jus'. I think I'm the lucky one. Love you, honey-honey." “Good.” Micah's smile warms as he leans in to return the kiss. “You're /so/ strong, honey. Y'been doin' this for years 'fore I knew the first thing 'bout any of it.” His arm squeezes tighter around Jax's waist. “I'm glad I can help. Love you, too, sugar.” | |
