ArchivedLogs:Making Amends

Making Amends
Dramatis Personae Jack, Jax, Tag	2015-09-12 "It all ends in murdercats."
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Makerspace - Lower East Side
It isn't huge in this workshop, but it's well-ventilated and well-equipped. Like the Common house, this building -- small and shedlike and tucked off to a side of the courtyard -- is accessible to Commons residents via their electronic keycards. Stocked with plentiful tools for all kinds of workmanship, it has a small number of workspaces along the side of the room with a fair amount of open floorspace that can be repurposed as needed. In different corners there are a couple more specialized sections -- one front corner has been walled off into its own darkroom, and farthest off in back, cordoned off and thankfully left empty when not in use, is a squat furnace with a tendency to look like a pot of glowing lava when it is filled with molten glass. The cloudy, drizzily day has cleared up into a chilly evening, the rain drying in the grass. The sun has set, but the city is wide awake and bustling. There's a jam session out in the courtyard of the Commons, but the workshop is a well-let spot of quiet. Tag is wearing a rainbow swirl apron over a bright magenta shirt a black tiered skirt with dip-dyed magenta creeping up from the hem. His hair is black with a fringe of magenta, as well. He has a mannequin at his workstation modeling something that looks like some kind of plastic or composite armor, currently cycling through metallic hues like an oilslick on moving water. He steps back from it (and the colors stop shifting for a moment), scrubbing the pink stubble on his chin. Jax lets in a burst of cool air with him when he enters. He isn't really dressed for any kind of heavy duty /workshop/ work, not at all -- dressed all in white, his immaculate clothing probably wouldn't take well to much of the kind of work that goes on in here. His jeans (embroidered up the sides in silvery vinework) look like they took some work to get into; they're paired with a sleeveless mesh top, also white and dusted in shimmery silver. His makeup glimmers, black and sheeny with a pearly flash, and his boots are tall and silver and stompy. The bright bird-of-paradise tones of his hair and goatee stand out against the monochrome of his outfit. "Hitag." He's scurrying by in a breeze of white, chill air and damp-wet after-rain smell clinging to him as he heads for the back to peer into one of the kilns. Then pick up a pair of tongs -- and promptly forget about his open kiln door as he levels the tongs on Tag instead. "Oh! Oh can you fix me. This hair is terrible it doesn't work at all." Jack isn't a common non-site at the Commons and an even less common one in the workshop area. But tonight he's come by to see some people and take care of something he's been thinking he should have awhile ago. Pointed in Jax's direction, he jogs to catch up when he sees the older mutant heading into the workshop and manages to catch the door before it closes. He's dressed how he usually is when he ventures out from the school. Old sneakers, worn jeans, and a light hoodie. Today its a blue one. He's also got a plastic bag hanging from the space where his free hand. Stepping into the workshop proper, he makes sure his hood is still up before speaking up. "Umm...hello." Tag's armor glimmers with a sudden burst of reflectivity as Jax blazes by. "Hi, Jax!" He waves. "Sure can do." He turns around and hops up onto the table beside his mannequin, studying Jax's outfit intently. "Going for the Snow Queen look? Silver with a touch of sparkle?" He gestures dramatically with one hand, and Jax's hair begins turning white as if frosting over. "Maybe with a touch more rainbow..." His fingers waggle, and the glimmer in the hair he just frosted turns iridescent. "Hiya!" His other hand waves at Jack's entrance, and his smile bright and friendly. "You getting ready for battle?" Jax's tongs wave towards Tag's armour, now. "Because if there's going to be a battle /here/ nobody told me. I'm not prepared." He bites down on his lip uncertainly as Tag works. "I don't know, do you think more white is too much? I'm way too pale anyway. I was thinking maybe black and then frost it over with silver or opal-y. Does it look okay in white or am I like a corpse now?" His nose crinkles up as he turns back to the kiln, reaching in with the tongs to pull out a dark tangle of glass that looks like a writhing mass of purple and blue tentacles. He transfers it from one kiln to another beside it, turning back around with a small bounce of surprise. "Oh! Jack, hi." Jack stays quiet as Tag works on Jax, invisible eyes wide. He's heard of Tag's power and seen the results before but this is the first time he's seeing it in action. "Wow..." he trails off. "That's cool," the invisible teen says, smiling even if all anyone sees is an empty hood. "I don't think you look like a corpse," he offers quietly. His hooded head tilts to the side in confusion at the sight of Jax's glass project but he doesn't ask just yet. "Hello, sir. I apologize if I was interrupting anything," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks between the other two mutants. "S'my new art fight costume, so...kinda!" Tag tilts his head far to one side like a quizzical dog, studying his handiwork. "Not corpselike at all." Though he is still tweaking with the color as he speaks. "It's shiny icy white, not powdery corpsey white. Still..." He makes a flourish in the air. The base color of Jax's hair goes from silver to glossy jet black, and the shimmer softens from a hard, cold iridescence to diffuse opalescence. "Hmm... Honestly, I think this makes you look *more* pale, but in an ethereal way." He tips his head at Jack with a mercurial grin. "Hey, thanks! And you're not interrupting. You're helping! What'd you think, huh? Which goes better with the outfit? Maybe *both!*" A rime of silvery frost creeps into the tips as he speaks. "Oh man in that case I'm definitely unprepared. Unless I'm gonna fight you as some kind of -- rave -- angel --" Jax looks down a little bit uncertainly at his clubbing outfit, considering. "I could make a huge glowing marker-sword and make it work." He closes the kiln door on his mass of tentacles, setting the tongs back in a tray with a range of other tools. A bright smile lights his face. "Ethereal?" A soft glow shimmers around him, making Tag's handiwork in his hair glimmer all the brighter. His tattoos glow deeper, faintly backlit. A pair of diaphanous wings sprouts behind him. "I can live with /ethereal/. Ethereal'll probably bring in some decent tips. -- Oh gosh. Oh gosh am I gettin' /sir'd/? It's Saturday, I can't be /sir/ on Saturday. I ain't adjusted to the pups leavin' yet," never mind that Shane hasn't actually /gone/ anywhere for college, minor details, "am I really that old?" "Art fight?" Jack looks to the armor curiously. "What's what?" he's never heard of it before. All the flousishing and the color changes have Jack watching with interest, the teen wondering if the gestures are just for fun or required to use that power. "I'm not sure how much help I am when it comes to this sort of thing. I'm told I have terrible fashion sense," he chuckles. When the silvery frost creeps in, he perks up though. "Oh wow...that looks even cooler than just the dark one," he says, leaning to the side so he can check out Tag's work on Jax's hair from another angle. He whistles a little when Jax adds backlight and wings. "Ethereal brings in tips?" he paises and blinks, rubbing the back of his neck again. "Ah...Lo Siento. It's habit. You're not that old," he says. "I was actually hoping to talk to you." "There's time. Next organized match isn't for another couple of weeks, though you can fight *me* any time, glowing marker-sword or no." Tag hops off of the table. "Though, now that you mention it, that sounds *entirely* awesome. Which is also the best way to describe an art fight. It's like a pro wrestling match, except you draw things at your opponent instead of hitting them." He takes a blank white business card from a pocket of his apron and holds it out to Jack. A couple of URLs and email addresses appear on it below the heading 'Gotham Art Fight' in jaggy, colorful letters. "Check one out sometime. And don't pay much mind to folks saying you've no fashion sense. Find your own fashion, you know?" He glances between the empty hoodie and Jax. "If you need some privacy, I can step outside. The armor's not going anywhere." Even while he says so, fine traceries of organic spirals appear across the breastplate, growing like a magical vine. "It's kind of ridiculous," Jax admits cheerfully, of the Art Fights, "and fun, and fantastic. Performance art. Competitive art. Flashy silly competitive art with costumes and trash talking and at the next one Tag is totally going down... as soon as I decide on a stage persona." He wanders closer to Tag's armour, fingertips dancing lightly across one of its shoulders as he shrugs his own shoulder. "Nah. Being friendly brings in tips. Being flirty brings in tips. But being pretty sure don't /hurt/ none. That's where Tag helps me out." His head tips to the side, pierced brows furrowing curiously. "You were? What's up?" "Draw...at someone? How do you do that?" Jack's still confused. "I was thinking it might be like that game the guys at school were playing with the kids that turn into squids and all the paint," he admits with a laugh. The card gets a confused look until all the text starts appearing. "Oh man that is the most awesome business card I've ever seen," he says, accepting the card and looking it over as if expecting there to be some kind of trick to it. "I'll try. I've honestly never thought much about fashion until I got to Xavier's," he says. He ends up blushing invisibly at the thought of flirting with people at the bar but he shakes it off. "That makes sense I guess," he says with a nod. "Oh...um, no. You don't have to go anywhere," he says to Tag before taking a deep breath. "Yessir...I um...here," he says, offering the bag he's been carrying to Jax. Inside is a box from a bakery in the city with a few vegan cookies inside. "They're probably not as good as yours but giving you some of your own baking would probably be tacky and well...about awhile back in the pool? I feel like I owe you an apology for all that...I mean I was mad but that's...not an excuse and um," he rubs the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly. "Lo siento, sir. I'll stop babbling now." "No words can truly convey how ridiculous it is; you have to see it for yourself." If Tag is aiming for solemn and mysterious by lowering his voice an octave, the grin on his face ruins the effect. Also, he drops the affected tone at once at the mention of the game. "Oh boy, Splatoon? I *love* that game, but no, it's not quite like that. More like drawing stuff that attacks or changes or even incorporates what your opponent draws." The vine pattern on the armor grows more distinct, and the rainbow sheen on the surface of the material seems to gather *into* it, giving it a bit more contrast even as it spreads its way down the breastplate. His magenta eyes dart to Jax at his explanation of getting tips. His mouth twists to one side, and he looks about ready to object, but ultimately falls back on a rueful smile. "I'm happy to help," he says quietly. "Nah it's like you got a giant canvas t'both cover together an' you each got a topic to be drawin' an' maybe /Tag's/ subject is dragons --" There's abruptly a marker in Jax's hand where there was none before; it is painting in midair, a glowing sketch of a rainbowy firebreathing dragon, "an' maybe /my/ subject is spaceships -- so I could do this --" Now he's sketching a UFO in the air, shooting tiny missiles (though they look an awful lot like chocolate-chip cookies) at the dragon, "or maybe this --" and now instead he is drawing a bubbly spacesuit /around/ the dragon to incorporate it into a new drawing, sketching his spaceship around the dragon, perhaps to send it off on grand adventures. "... only you're doin' it all onstage with music an' cheerin' an' stomping and super fast and the matches are timed an' it's silly." The dragon is now riding the spaceship up through the roof of the workshop. The marker in Jax's hand dissolves, vanishing into a puff of glowing light. His eye catches Tag's at that rueful smile and a small blush dusts his cheeks, head tipping slightly downward. "Ain't bad money," he says quietly, rubbing at the back of his neck. He looks back up at Jack, scuffing his fingers through is hair. His brows crease deeply, teeth dragging over his lip. The hand he reaches out for the cookies is tentative; he looks down at them with a faint air of confusion. "Wait, you're apologizin' for --" His free hand curls into a fist, rubbing against his chest. "'pologies, I don't -- understand what -- did you do somethin'?" Jack looks as confused as empty clothes can at how serious and mysterious Tag gets. The sketches in thin air had him staring though. "Whoa...I had no idea anything like that even...okay, yeah. I think I should check it out sometime," he says, excited now. "Maybe I should ask Ash if he wants to go," he murmurs as the idea pops into his head. His attention is drawn by the shifting rainbowness on the armor and Jack smiles. "I don't know fashion but I know that looks awesome," he says. Jax's confusion has Jack staring. "You...don't remember? About the...plea...how I got all angry and was yelling then stormed off and..." he trails off, feeling even more awkward. Tag clasps his hands behind his back as he gazes up at Jax's demonstration with undisguised glee. "Well, now I want a dragons vs. spaceships art fight." He hops back up to sit on the table that holds his costume-in-progress. "Thanks for the vote of confidence! I haven't often been accused of having good fashion sense, either, but I know what I like." His eyes track from Jax to Jack and back, blinking rapidly. His sandal-clad feet swing from the table, languid as if kicking at water. This movement slows to a stop, though, as Jack explains his peace offering. He chews on his lower lip, frowning behind the half-curtain of his hair. "Well, /that's/ gonna be up t'the Wheel of Death. You don't want to go toe t'toe with me on spaceships, though, after doin' up Spence's room I've had some /practice." Jax has a curious headtilt at the mention of Ash, though he doesn't ask. The scruff of fingers through Jax's hair just leaves the glimmery black-and-shiny mop even more of a mess. "N... no, I /remember/ jus' fine, I jus' --" He trails off, hand waving through the air as he falters. His head shakes, and he leans against the table beside where Tag is sitting. "I jus' -- don't understand why you're -- I mean, you got every right t'feel how you feeled, y'don't gotta apologize t'me for speakin' your mind or for havin' feelings. An' I ain't used t' --" His smile hooks upward to one side kind of crookedly. "Folks is mad at me pretty much all the /time/. Don't usually get no cookies out of it." Dragons vs Space ships would be a really cool fight. I mean...especially if you got all genreblending," Jack replies, gesturing with his empty sleeves. He's imagining space dragons and fantasy versions of space ships. "Wait...there's a Wheel of Death? That sounds like it makes things more exciting," he says, looking to Tag curiously. There's a pause at Jax's reply and Jack rubs the back of his neck again. "I...I just felt like a real tool once I calmed down. I mean...the whole reason I was mad..." he sighs. "it was selfish and I didn't even think about how the whole thing was making you feel or how it'd effect Shane and B and Spence and...I really felt like I should apologize so," he gestures at the cookies. "I appreciate a good challenge." Tag seems undaunted by Jax's expertise in spaceships. "Yep! The Wheel of Death spits out randomized topics," he explains, "you know, switching things up in the middle of bouts and all that. So you might *start out* with dragons vs. spaceships and end up with musical instruments vs. murdercats or something. But most artists blend their topics so maybe your dragons are wielding musical instruments and your killer cats are flying around in spaceships. Or maybe the cats are playing instruments while riding in dragon spaceships. You get the idea." "It all ends in murdercats." It's kind of a distracted murder, a vague side-note tacked on to Tag's explanation. Jax is still worrying at his lip ring, looking down at the cookies. He looks up again to offer Jack a quick smile. "Oh. I -- well. I -- thank -- you. For the cookies an'... I don't think. Most folks usually /do/ stop to think about how..." His cheeks flush dark. "Well, thank you. Ain't been an easy summer an' I -- appreciate it. A lot." He combs his fingers through his mop of hair again, rocking up from the table onto the toes of his chunky boots abruptly. "Oh, gosh, /is/ m'hair alright? I should get t'the club." "Murdercats," Jack repeats. "And a Wheel of Death. Okay, I'm sold. I'm going to check these art fights out for sure. I have got to see this," he says firmly. "Especially if you two are going up against one another," the grin is unseen but almost audible. "And you don't have to thank me, sir," he adds for Jax. "Your hair looks great still. I should probably get moving too. Want to see if Ash is home..." he trails off with an unseen blush. "It was nice meeting you finally," he says to Tag. "And I'll probably see you later," he adds towards Jax, heading for the door to exit. "Oh man, is it nightclub o'clock?" Tag perks up, bopping Jax on the shoulder with his head before sliding off of the table again. "Maybe I'll try to drag Tian-shin dancing, she's had a bit of a Week. Well, I guess you guys know all about that!" He then strafes around the taller man, eyeing his hair critically. "It's beautifully tousled," he concludes, "you look splendid." Waving to Jack, he adds, "See ya! Be sure to come say hi to us if you do make it to the show, it'll be fun times!"