ArchivedLogs:Men of the Mancave

Men of the Mancave
Dramatis Personae Mal, Ash
In Absentia	2013-06-15 Mal visits Jim, sees Ash instead. Lunch is once again made.
Location <NYC> 214 {The Mancave} - Sunrise Apartments - Clinton
Jim's apartment is not big, the living room area L-shaped with the entrance at one end and a kitchenette found at the other. Furnished by a scuffed wooden curb-found coffee table, a saggy green couch upholstered in a scratchy burlap material and two chairs, the habitat manages to just barely function as a one bedroom rather than a studio by merit of a walk-in closet sized bedroom you would have to cross through to reach his cramped bathroom. In here, water damage stains the walls. As does rust, around the showerhead in the cramped shower stall. Today, Malcolm White is in a good mood. Today, he has actually bothered to dress with a marginal fashion sense, a confusing meld of trashiness and classiness. Midnight black jeans, a darkly themed plaid shirt and a pair of moccasins would have contributed to an image of casual elegance, if not for the state the clothes are in. The jeans look so worn, you'd think they at some point belonged to a stage-surfin' rock star, the plaid shirt is wrinkled enough to suggest he put it on straight out of the dryer, while the moccasins are falling apart. Completing the picture is, of course, a halfway smoked cigarette, limply hanging from Mal's sneer. His good mood is definitely hard to detect, if only because the man looks absolutely bored to death. His empty gaze burrows into the very soul of the poorly aged door ahead of him, as if his boredom stemmed from the mere fact that he's been watching the paint come off it for decades now. Swiftly, he throws up his hand in a serpentine sideways motion, before it gently lays down the fist against the wooden surface. And then he twists the hand sideways and slams the fucking thing four times. Knock fuckitty knock knock. At length, there is the sound of the chain being slid into place and a number of other locks being retracted before the door opens up a crack. On the otherside, a brown, somewhat bloodshot eye, surrounded by a dark, purple bruise peeks out into the hall, looking over the person who seems insistent on getting the intention of people inside. The eyebrow over the eye rises high in recognition and surprised words issue forth. "Oh! It's you." The door then closes again. It's another moment, in which that chain is then retracted, before the door opens and Ash leans against the edge of it, intent on conversation. "Hey," he offers politely, looking very much like the victim of impoliteness. His lip is split, but that looks a couple days old, around the same time as the shiner on his eye. His clothes are clean, though covered in a layer of dirt, jeans looking very much like a construction worker's while his tank is brown and fresh from the laundry. His feet? Bare. "How have you been? Ain't seen you in a while." When the door opens timidly at first, the very first thing Malcolm notices about the person who heeds his call is that it's not Jim. The disappointment is palpable and easily read on the man's face. The second thing on the list is the curious collection of injuries Ash has manages to gain. Setting that matter aside, however, Mal lifts up both arms to flank his frame expectantly when he is recognised, as if to say, "Open the damn door already." Those arms flop back to his torso. While he listens for the chains and locks to be dealt with, he chugs a lungful and then some of smoke, before it comes rolling past his grouchily halfway parted lips. The half that is open is changed intermittently, the cigarette rolled around from one corner of the mouth to the other. A trick he's had plenty of times to practice, no doubt. When the door opens, Mal practically barges in, striding deeper into the mancave. "Like fucking shit," he answers. "Fucking city sucks dick." He searches for the nearest (and relatively cleanest) place to sit, claiming a chair in which he sprawls over lazily like a bored kin, legs stretched all the way forward, hands buried deeply in the pockets of his jeans. "Why the fuck come here? I mean, seriously? Besides-- Idon'tfuckingknow, clean water and a smaller chance of VDs. This place fucking /sucks/, man." The random rant is punctuated by another exhalation of cigarette smoke. "The fuck happened to your face, anyway? Jim being an abusive husband again? You can report domestic violence, y'know? Shit ain't legal in the US." "Nah, it wasn't Jim." Ash closes the door behind Mal and throws all of the deadbolts before following Mal into the living room, perching on the arm of the couch. "And I don't know. I didn't really come here. Just sort of happened and don't really have much of a where to go to, you know?" He runs a hand through his scruffy hair, making it stand up in the back, his other hand gripping the edge of his perch between his legs. "What about you? You made a conscious decision to come, right? Not born here?" He then gives a little shrug and stands up, turning toward the kitchen. "I was just about to make some food. You hungry?" And then he's in the fridge and rooting around inside. "I have sandwich meat, some veggies... lots of peppers. I suppose I could throw together a curry if you have enough time? Or maybe you could have a sandwich now and come back for a curry dinner." Ash peeks his head back up and looks toward the living room. "Hey, you didn't get harassed on the way over here, did you? It really is a shitty time to be out on the streets. I swear everyone is just itching to mess someone up for any reason." Lazy as he is, Mal finally decides to lift a hand grab hold of the cigarette. The other, however, remains to limply droop toward the floor. Some more of that noxious nicotine is inhaled and savoured within the poisoned lungs, while the cigarette is carried aside and flicked. As the smoke is exhaled back, the filter is crammed in between his lips again. "Don't have much of a where to go either," he responds curtly. And when the matter of food is discussed, he yells back to Ash somewhat more enthused: "/Sandwich/. Curry for dinner." Shifting in the creaking seat to get more comfortable, Mal ponders the response to the next question for a moment. "That why your face is all fucked up? Thought it was just good old fashioned racism." The anti-mutant issue, it seems, is covered by a word different from 'racism' in this man's messed up head. "I don't know, I think it's a pretty good time, y'know? Personally, I hope it escalates a lil' bit," he explains, wagging his hand in a so-so motion. "Otherwise is too early to go looting, y'know?" As if it wasn't clear enough, Mal decides to lay it on thick. "Try stealing s'much as a carton o' milk 'n' you'll get a nightstick up your ass." The cigarette occasionally slurs his speech, but he corrects his tone's grip soon after. "Vandalism's fine, though. What I like to do? Spray some shitty graffiti about slanderin' mutants, then go to the other side of the same building and spray some pro-mutant stuff. Clever, huh?" "Some guys were picking on some kids. The fight wasn't fair, you know? So I put a stop to it. Unfortunately, Murphy hasn't really taught me good dodging yet - just how to throw some mean punches." Ash gets out a couple plates and busily starts creating sandwich fixings. "Anyway, it was a good opportunity to practice, as Murphy seems to be avoiding me. It's this weird thing, right? The last two times we were in the same place, the world kind of exploded with crazy. The first time, this gunslinging chica with knives blew some shit up with her teeth, and the second time, giant ass bugs ate part of the diamond district." He falls into a moment of thoughtful silence, his knife slicing quietly against the cutting board. "Sure is funny, if not clever," he remarks, his words softer. "Hope you don't get shot doing one side or the other. It's kind of explosive out there and shit. Hard to loot with bullets in ya." He clears his throat and looks up from his work. "Condiments? We're having roast beef, usually goes good with mayo and horseradish mixed, but I also have a spicy brown mustard if you prefer. Also, do you like tomatoes? I've also got some spinach and black olives. Everything's ready to come together now, so food'll be up in a moment." When Ash sinks into a moment of thoughtfulness, Malcolm finally summons the willpower and strength to lift himself off his seat, after which he lazily makes his way towards the kitchen. "A gunslinging 'chica' who blows shit up with her teeth, giant bugs-- I don't think a few abusive asshole cops is far from the norm." The dismissive tone carries on as he adds: "Besides, I'm not a mutant, worst that'll happen is I get beat up." The guy walks over to Ash and examines the art of sandwiches. "Tomatoes, spinach, a couple of black olives-- That'll do." He looks up to the battered host. The lit end of the cigarette flares up as he inhales more smoke, and when he speaks again, it seeps out. "Where the fuck's Jim?" "He had some shit to do out of town," Ash admits as he starts compiling Mal's sandwich on a clean plate. He leaves it free of condiments and slides it over in Mal's direction. "He probably needed to clear his head too, his last job, which he told me very little about, was a doozy. I think he got out before the city got feisty, but it's hard to say with him as he's kind of not a big talker." He then starts constructing his sandwich, going to the fridge for the mayo and horseradish. "He has his phone if you really need him. Call'em up?" "Nah, he'll think I'm desperate," Mal responds, conveniently timing the last inhalation of smoke. The cigarette is through, and as he exhales the smoke, he looks for a rubbish bin to dispose of the fag. When he does, it's time to eat. "Hey, this is pretty good," he notes as he takes the first bite. Despite the compliment, his face remains largely unimpressed, barring perhaps the mild elevation of his brows. "You're up for some vandalizing next week? Opportunity like this doesn't come often, y'know? We could probably blame it on mutants and you can pretend you're a human so we get off easy." "Vandalism? What? Painting more walls with big angry words?" Ash raises an eyebrow as he finishes tossing his sandwich together and cuts it in half for easier handling. He raises the fist half and pauses, scrutinizing Mal. "Wait. Pretending to be human? Suddenly I'm a mutant now? What makes you think that, the decor?" He looks back to the living room , frowning. "I didn't know indoor landscaping was so much of a give away." "Graffiti, property damage-- You know, the /works/." Another couple of bites of the sandwich are hungrily devoured. When he vacates his foul mouth, Mal replies with a casual shrug, his tone making his words seem like it's something painfully obvious, "The little chink turns sponges into gold, that's her little shtick. So, that either leaves you or Jim." There is a brief pause as Mal considers his next few words; as he does, a grin starts to stretch his lips thin. "Besides, hear that 'innocent until proven guilty' thing? Well, I live by 'mutant until proven human'." A hand leaves the sandwich to point accusingly at Ash. That grin vanishes, and that weary face suddenly grows far more serious. "Which why you're not touching me. Touch me, and we have a problem. If I am on fire, I want you to let me burn alive, got it?" "Wow, you don't even want me to throw water at you? I was going to say 'piss on you' but that's rather crass and I suppose it could be construed as physical contact if the stream coming out of me is still connected to me when it hits you. Though, now I wonder if it would actually be connected to you, or if the fire would cause it to evaporate first." And then Ash stuffs his sandwich in his face and munches quietly, letting Mal ponder the very serious ideas he posited. When his mouth is clear, he speaks again. "So, you're a mutant, too, by that logic. Neat. Always wanted to meet a mutant off the street, or well, I guess you came in through the window first. That works." He takes another bite and then starts fetching more vegetables out of the fridge. He really does have a lot of peppers in there. Upon being accused a mutant, Mal initially offers what could be seen as mild surprise. That vehicle is turned around when the grin from before returns, stretching wider still this time. "You're a quick learner," the man admits with an amused (yet somewhat derisive) snort. Before he takes another bite of the sandwich, he shakes his head, still holding onto that grin. "And if you ever piss on me, my last act while burning alive will be to fuckin' make sure you burn /with/ me." Which might be the only exception to his touching rule. Tearing at the sandwich with his teeth again, he leaves his spot, slowly and leisurely making his way towards the exit. "I'll come back tonight for that dinner. If y'see Jim, tell him to come over to Maria's place up one floor. That curry you promised better be good." "I don"t know if I can make it /really/ good now. You don't seem to want to be set on fire." Ash replies, smiling a little to himself as he starts cutting onions. It's like he wants to clear the room. "Bring some plain yogurt to extinguish the tongue flames and I'll make some curry that'll knock your socks off." He waves his knife hand as Mal exits. "See you for dinner."