ArchivedLogs:Place

Place
Dramatis Personae Natalie, Scramble
In Absentia	2016-08-23 "Aren't we moving a bit...slow?"
Location <NYC> Chimaera Arts - Brooklyn
This is just one of the many abandoned warehouses in DUMBO, and like many of them it has recently changed hands. /Unlike/ most of those, however, it does not have some corporate developer's sign out front promising a transformation into luxury condominiums or a boutique shopping center or the latest concept restaurant. Instead it's marked by a piece of weathered but wildly colorful plywood propped up on a stack of broken pallets, which reads "Chimaera Art Space!" above "chimaera.org" in smaller letters. The warehouse is moderately large and decorated with graffiti art in various styles--some of it recognizable as the work of renowned local street artists. A pair of monstrous scrap metal sculptures, perhaps still works in progress, flank the entrance. The building itself has undergone significant renovation recently, complete with wiring, plumbing, and a modular partitioning system. The grounds, too, have been cleaned up, ramshackle fences torn down and rusting detritus removed in favor of reclaimed (and brilliantly repainted) outdoor furniture ringing an impressively engineered firepit. Chimaera Arts has been a hive of activity these last few weeks. A huge white banner with blue letters over the front entrance declares 'Welcome to the Evolympics!' Both inside and out on the grounds various ball courts and other sporting facilities have been set up and torn down as needed by chaotic swarms of volunteers who have the benefit of flight, teleportation, telekinesis, and immense strength to compensate for the absence of heavy equipment. It's a beautiful, balmy night outside, the moon not yet risen and a cool breeze drawing in from across the water. Despite the hour there's a crowd milling in and out of the warehouse. Lights blaze bright on the cluster of gymnastic apparatuses at the center of the space: currently a vaulting table, uneven bars, and a balance beam. Two large banks of bleachers flank the floor, the third side sports rows of folding chairs for the athletes and their entourages, while the fourth side is reserved for judges, announcers, volunteers, and medics. An amplified voice can be heard enthusiastically commenting on someone's balance beam routine. The gymnast in question is unquestionably skilled, though she wobbles a little on landing her backflip. She wears a gleaming silver leotard that really brings out the glitter in her translucent white skin, which leaves a very faint rime of frost on the surface of the beam wherever she touches it. Finally, she performs a tumbling dismount to uproarious applause, and flees the floor to the arms of her waiting friends, ducking her head at the compliments from her fellow athletes. Natalie is perched on a folding chair to one side, dressed herself in a black-red-and-silver leotard, comfortable red yoga pants over top. There's a dusting of chalk on her hands and bare feet; her red hair is pulled back into a bun that was maybe once neat but now has sweaty damp straggles of flyaway hair wisping out from it. She has a water bottle in one hand, a small towel draped around her neck, but she sets the bottle aside when the woman on the beam dismounts, her clapping and whooping loud and enthusistic. "You nailed that scissor leap, like, /damn/. -- You see that?" Less loud, the latter question is to her companion rather than the just-finished competitor. Sitting beside Natalie, Scramble is not dressed to compete tonight. She wears a black crop top trimmmed in gold, tight black cut-off jean shorts with a gold vinyl belt, and gold sandals that lace up her long, muscular calves. To match, she wears a simple gold ankh on a black cord aroudn her neck, gold bangles on her wrists, and sun disc earrings that nest in the thick black poof of her hair. The bangles jingle as she claps hard for the gymnast presently distrbuting chilly hugs to her entorage. "I sure did!" her reply comes with a manic grin. "There's just all /kinds/ of talent here tonight. Flatscan Olympics ain't got nothing on this." Her dark eyes skip from the icy woman to Natalie. "Their loss." "Yeah, guess they're missing out." There's a very faint tightness to Natalie's smile -- brief, sharp, but it eases out into just a warm brightness when her eyes meet Scramble's. "This shit is a whole other level. I know it's a fundraiser and all, but you think they'll keep it going? Next year or something? Be a lot of people glad of a place to do our thing." "Shit, I sure hope so." Scramble looks back out at the floor, where volunteers are cleaning off the balance beam. "I started out thinking, this just a great way to get Evolve back up and running, have some fun while we're at it, right? And sure, some of us are just in it for Evolve, and some probably get their kicks making damn fools of themselves on streaming video, but then there's that sister --" She nods at the woman who had just left the balance beam. "-- come down from Canada. And so many others ain't never met another mutant athlete, much less one in their own field." She shakes her head, earrings flashing like small, captive suns against her soft black hair. "And what /makes/ a place, or an event, or a movement, is the people in it." "There's going to be a lot of new friends coming out of this for sure." There's a brief lightness in Natalie's tone. "The afterparties are going to be /wild/." She lifts her water bottle for a long gulp, nodding her head with a firm approval when the latest scores are marked up on a screen on the wall. "... I feel like I've been finding a /surplus/ of community, this past year. It's... it was unexpected. It's good. You all seem to /collect/ good people around here." Scramble takes the clapping back up as applause ripples through the gathered athletes and the audience. "Next on the uneven bars, from Scranton, Pennsylvania..." the announcer continues after the noise dies down. Scramble turns back to Natalie. "We do /try/, but having the /physical/ places helps, too. Like here. Like Evolve. Like the Commons." She pauses, traces the tips of long, slender fingers over the geometric patterns etched onto her bangles. "You know I've been looking into moving there, and I got the scratch for it now. We been kicking it for a while now, and..." Her chuckle comes so abruptly that she cuts herself off. "Well. You wanna come with me?" Natalie watches the next woman get up to take her place short and muscular, her bold golden-yellow leotard standing out against her deep brown skin. Her eyes pull away as the woman mounts -- dip down, following the path of Scramble's fingertips against her bangles. "The Commons? Wait, like. Move in with you?" Her nostrils flare -- just slightly, brows lifting, a small twitch pulling her mouth up as she looks back up. "Aren't we moving a bit..." There's a beat, two three, "... slow with all that?" Scramble's nod itself is barely perceptible, though accompanying bob of her hair and flash of her earrings is harder to mistake. "Yeah. A bit." Her eyes are also following the athlete as she mounts the uneven bars and begins her routine. "I been warned I might get my dyke card revoked, but that ain't why I'm asking now. I just..." She might have meant it as a brief pause, but it draws out into seconds as she watches the woman tumble gracefully in the air between the bars. "I want to make a home with you." "A home." Natalie pulls in a breath, slowly. Her fingers curl tight around her water bottle. The jangling of the bar as the woman finishes her spin, catches the lower bar, pivots around it, briefly fills the silence between them. "It's been a long while since I -- I don't know that I'd be much good at -- I've never really --" She cuts off, nods, looks back up at Scramble. "... I'd be glad to try." The wild gleam in Scramble's eye eases. "The great thing about making a home somewhere like the Commons is that other folks have already laid the ground work, but..." She darts an appreciative sidelong glance at Natalie. "...I also think you're better at it than you give yourself credit." She reaches out and clasps the other woman's free hand tight. "We'll try, together."