ArchivedLogs:Nothing

Nothing
Dramatis Personae Micah, Melinda, Jax	14 November 2014 (Follows Logs:TKO)
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
Spacious and open, this coffee shop 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. It's cold and only threatening to get colder outside, especially since the sun clocked out near on 8 hours ago and plans on sleeping in for Saturday. Micah is curled on a sofa with a mug that more closely resembles a soup tureen with a handle than a cup. For all his intermittent slouching and anxious fidgeting, one might guess he's had too much coffee. The only scents coming from the mug are chocolate and spice, however. The back of the couch is housing his messenger bag, coat, hat, and gloves. He is left in boots, patchy jeans, olive T-shirt depicting a Darwin-inspired sketch of finches with adaptive /technology/ upgrades, and severely mussed auburn hair. The low table in front of him bears a tablet that he may or may not have been utilising recently. Mostly, there is just the Very Large Mug in his hands. Melinda seems much less well dressed for the colder weather. She is wearing a white button-down, untucked and partially unbuttoned, a white camisole underneath. The fabric billows around a pair of black skinny jeans that have been tucked into black boots. Her hair is pulled back near the nape of her neck, but a mess of tendrils frame her warm and slightly pink face. The way she stumbles down the stairs indicates a strong lack of full coordination skills and a high level of intoxication. She wavers when she reaches the coffee shop, looking around for a moment, red rims around her eyelids. Suddenly, drunk vision falls upon Micah, looking all cozy like a bug in a rug, and she moves in his direction. She settles onto the couch carefully, like it might roll away from her if she moves too quickly. "Hi." When Micah finally notices Mel (she /might/ be almost on top of him by that point; staring at cocoa is a tough job), the look he gives her is concerned. He shifts himself (and his cocoa) to assist her onto the couch without falling. “Oh...honey. You doin' okay? Have some water.” The mug moves to the table to facilitate retrieving a purple and white water bottle from his messenger bag, which he even opens before holding it out in offering. “If nothin' else, you'll be less headachy for it in the mornin'.” "Mmmm. Have had a lot to drink," Melinda confides in Micah after a moment, her gaze vacant as she settles onto the soft surface, trying to find something comfortable. Her legs are drawn up to her chest, the soles of her shoes kept off the upholstery for the most part. She wets her lips when he presents the water bottle for her consumption of the contents. "I'm fucking miserable, Micah. I'm s.. so.. tired." She accepts the vessel and moves it to her mouth carefully, half curling over it before leaning her body back to take the drink. When she finishes, the bottle is carefully guided down her chest to rest against her abdomen. "Everything is stupid. You okay?" "Figured as much. You eaten anythin'? Mightn't be a bad plan, neither. I could get y'somethin'." Maybe she seems like she really needs help or maybe Micah just wants something he /can/ help for once. He moves his curling up against Mel to support her once she takes the water. "I'm. Yeah. Full of bad ideas that ain't gonna happen no-how. Wanna punch a judge. Burn Themis down again. Go on tirades 'bout how...illegal an' inhumane all of... An'. Just. Knock Hive out an' bring in healers 'fore he wakes up." He half-mumbles the last, the topic particularly sensitive to Mel and he knows it. "Afraid everybody's gonna break each other t'night. Half went t'help make sure they don't, but if it's somethin' really serious, ain't nothin' /I/ can do 'bout it no-how. Just gotta sit back an' wait 'til folks is missin' pieces." His arm around Mel's shoulders squeezes a little tighter. "Um. 'pologies. You're already...didn't need all that, I'm sure." And he doesn't have the excuse of alcohol. Mel may not be the best at focusing right now, leaning heavily against Micah's side once he wraps an arm around her shoulders. Her temple rests against the point of his shoulder, her eyes half lidded as she nods along with Micah's string of concerns. "Living's not..." She shakes her head, abandoning the thought as she takes another sip, a little bit of water dribbling down the side of her face. She wipes at it inexpertly with her free hand. "Can't save them. Can't make things better. Just living through this. I... don't know. Both of us don't need any of this." Jax looks like he could seriously use some caffeine just right now -- or maybe just a nap? At any rate he's not walking into Evolve so much as /staggering/ into it, also underdressed for the weather in just jeans and a (bloody) (singed) Xavier's sweatshirt zipped up over bare chest. He looks -- like he's seen much, much, much better days, half his face puffed up and bruising, colourful hair singed at its fringes, bandaging wrapped around his head, knuckles and palms both kind of a /mess/ of scraped-up scabbing torn skin. Eyepatch missing, though he left with it. Distinct limp, though any other injuries are hid behind long sleeves and long jeans. He makes his way over to the couch, slooowly lowering himself to sit not on it but at its base, head thunking down on its less-puffed side to rest against his husband's knees. His eye (a little swollen, itself) shifts up to watch the others, though he himself is quiet. "Yes it is. It is 'cause it's the only thing there /is/. Y'stop livin' an' y'just...stop. Of course nothin'll get better." Micah's fingers clench and unclench with the effort of keeping his voice low. A strangled whimper answers Jax's shambling in, his muscles tensing and weight shifting as he very nearly stands to go to him. In the end, he isn't quite able to disentangle himself fast enough. His fingertips brush against an undamaged spot of skin on Jax's cheek...even if they have to find quite a small spot. "Oh. Oh honey, if you're comin' /out/ lookin' like this. What're the healers doin'? S'everyone in one piece? Y'need...ice. An'. Goodness, I just need t'fill the tub up half an' half with antibiotic ointment an' aloe an' set you in it." His teeth catch at his lower lip to stop the slight quiver that begins there. "Sometimes... it just stopping..." Mel takes another shuddering breath before putting the lid back on the bottle as Micah starts shifting at Jax's entrance. Her jaw sets against a small wave of nausea, and pulls away. It isn't fast enough to give Micah the ability to reach his husband before he sits, but the movement does give him a free arm to comfort him. She turns instead to drape more against the arm of the couch, curling her long limbs in close, letting the couple be. "Get better for the one what stops, maybe." Jax's voice is soft and -- very tired. His face nuzzles slowly against the brush of Micah's fingers, weight settling against his husband more steadily. "Joshua an' Mirror is kinda strainin' t'their limits jus' keepin' everyone ali--" He stops, frowns, shakes his head. "-- Bringin' folks /back/, some'a us." He looks up to Mel, frown deepening; the blush that spreads through his cheeks is mottled between the puffier darker-red stippling. Stiffly, a fist circles his heart. "'pologies. M'interruptin'." "Not better, just /gone/. /Nothing/," Micah...doesn't even /argue/, the words coming through clenched teeth more an expression of loss and frustration than any attempt to argue. His eyes squeeze closed at the description of the fight club aftermath. "Is. Are they still...? The kids?" His head shakes slightly. "Not interruptin'. Just. Not. Doin' anythin'." "Can't interrupt nothing." Melinda admits as she closes her eyes. She purses her lips for a moment, then draws herself more upright, turning to look at the pair. "Did you want to go home? I can call a cab." It seems like an almost lucid moment, where her words flow freely rather than stumble over each other out of her lips. "Or are you two still. Waiting on something?" Jax's shoulders sag, his eye closing. He curls his arm slowly around Micah's thighs, cheek pressing to his husband's knee. "Ain't hardly a walk. I can walk. Jus' need some sugar in me in a serious way. -- D'/you/ need nothin', you don't seem. All that." He pulls in a slow breath. "S'still goin' on, but I was gonna keel over I didn't get some food in me soon. The kids are --" The beat of hesitation here may not be reassuring. "Alive. Think Shane's checked out for the night. B's still spoilin' for a fight." Micah's jaw just clenches harder at the report, muscles visible bunching in front of his ears. He leans forward as much as he can, grasping the handle of his abandoned cocoa and dragging the mug to sit at the edge of the table just in front of Jax. "Sugar," he explains. "I can get y'somethin'. Solid." He doesn't move just yet, though. If nothing else, his legs are a little occupied. "I would get you something... but I'm drunk. All I can do is call a cab." This is the sum of Mel's skills. She turns a bit so she can settle in a direction that faces the other two, but her movements are still discomforted, her eyes having difficulty staying focused. Jax takes the cocoa, gulping down half of what's left in a few long hungry swallows that leave chocolate-moustache . "Sounds like possibly you might could use that cab more'n me." The words come with a small wince as he looks up at Mel. "An' maybe some food in you? Or --" He looks down at the water bottle with a small crinkle of nose. "Well, s'pose keepin' with that'd be good." His non-cocoa-bearing hand isn't relinquishing its hold on Micah's arm. "Think s'been good for Dusk. Tonight." "Offered food. Think we might be past that point." Micah's eyelids slit enough to regard Mel, eyebrows drawing further down at her unfocused eyes. "Honey, prob'ly we should get y'home. An' in bed. Y'look like you're gonna pass out." He glances at the counter, then back at Mel. "We got food at home as sure as here. Can feed this'n either way. Better y'don't pass out here." He doesn't move until someone comes up with some direction. "How... bout I call a cab... and go.. and you guys wait for B?" Mel starts to uncurl, letting her feet find purchase on the large expanse of flat ground in front of her as she searches for her cell phone in her pocket. She starts to fumble through the menus, looking for her contact for cab rides. "Dun wanna make ya miss hir." "Sweetie, we live ten blocks away. B'll get home jus' fine. Ain't a hundred percent sure we can say the same for you." Jax gulps down the rest of Micah's cocoa (sorry Micah!), pushing himself stiffly back up to his feet. "I'll jus' go flag one down, aright? It'll be faster. S'Friday night there'll be plenty." He leans up to dot a light kiss to Mel's cheek, taking Micah's mug towards the dishes station first. “May as well all go home at once, sugar. I'll just text...everyone. /They/ should all prob'ly be goin' straight home t'night from the sounds of things, too. Can take care of people better there.” When Jax gets up, Micah starts to wind his way back into his winter gear. “You got a coat or nothin', Mel?” "Yeah, Yeah, coat. It's in the office. I know the owner, you know... so they're nice to me." Mel grips the arm of the couch and pulls herself to her feet, directing that momentum she used to stand to head in the direction of the office to gather her belongings - or at least to the first employee she finds to get her stuff. It doesn't take her all that long, which is good, because she is definitely close to the end of her evening. The comment about the owner pulls a smile out of Jax. "Hear he's kinda a sweetheart that way." It's the last thing he says before he slips out the door to go hail them a cab.