ArchivedLogs:Plastered

Plastered
Omnomnom.
Dramatis Personae Micah, Ezekiel, Hive, Doug, Joshua	18 March 2013 Micah demonstrates just how /messy/ plaster cast material gets when introduced to water. Ezekiel isn't sure /what/ is going on. Hive checks in /through/ Doug and Joshua, and...is still eating /all the brains/. And poor, poor Doug... D:
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Lobby - East Village
Bright and sunny, the lobby of this apartment building is clean and unassuming. Requiring an electronic keycard for entry, the pair of elevators dings cheerfully when one arrives. A small sitting area has bright yellow couches and small coffee tables, though the nearby vending machine is perpetually running out of /something/. Tall windows let in plenty of light during the daytime, and the building maintenance keeps the common areas spotlessly clean. A bank of mailboxes near the sitting area collects mail for the building, a recycling bin right at hand for the unwanted spam. Beside the mailboxes, a large corkboard serves as informal meeting space for the announcements, perpetually flyered with notes and notices from the various apartment residents. While the lobby might typically be bright and sunny, today it is dark and rainy. Gloomycoldrainy, which is the best kind! A slim young man in khakis and a blue polo shirt, beneath an unzipped olive puffy coat, is just entering the lobby from the stairwell. Micah is finally ferrying his Introduction to Prosthetics Prep kit out of Jax’s apartment and back to his van because, oh yeah! he needs that for other things. This would work better if he hadn’t just slid-stumbled on a little puddle that had been left behind by a resident’s drippy umbrella, because he dropped the Tupperware container he was holding, which promptly popped open and spilled weird bandages and pamphlets and ohno plaster casting materials on the floor. The plaster cast is currently being turned into a white soupy mixture by the floorpuddles. “Oh oh oh, oops! No, wait!” Micah is hurriedly trying to scoop things into the smallest pile possible before this becomes /impossible mess/. This process involves a lot of talking to the puddles. Ezekiel strolls, shoulders hunched, in the front door with his /not subtle/ hoodie, jacket, shades combination and sees the expanding mess before him. "Wow... uh... Paper! I'll try and save the paper first." He hunches down and attempts to clear the bandages and pamphlets before they get stuck to the floor. It's hard to tell where Joshua has come from; the young man is here, though, in the lobby rather suddenly when he wasn't a moment before. He's dressed casual, probably not going /out/ given that he hasn't even bothered with shoes. Just jeans, a dark polo, black socks. He doesn't actually offer any greeting when he sees the mess, just hurrying over to help with the gathering efforts, attempting to assist in reducing Impossible Mess to Manageable Mess. “Ohgosh! Ohgosh! Please, be careful, mister! And Joshua…ohgosh…barefeet! Careful! There’s plaster and it will stick to you and everything and it will ruin everyone’s clothes and make your skin all flaky and itchy!” That being said, Micah’s pants and hands are all /coated/ in the stuff. He flees to grab a small trashcan from near the mailboxes and returns to try scoop-pushing the white soup into it with his hands. "We need to find a dust pan or something to scoop up the goop," Ezekiel says, looking around. "Does anybody know where the janitor's closet is?" Seeing no such signs, he sighs and goes back to picking up, and piling up goopy paper and bandages. When Micah returns, he dumps the mass of plaster-paper-pamphlets into the trashcan. He looks up to Micah, then down to Joshua and says "Ezekiel, people have taken to calling me 'Ez'." "Think I've seen a bit worse than some ruined clothes," Joshua says, standing up to glance towards the laundry room. "Joshua. 603. I know you." But despite saying this to Ezekiel (after a careful scrutinizing), he is already sauntering away. Not barefoot! SOCKfoot. Presumably to get cleaning things for the soupy mess on the floor. The laundry room /has/ some, at least. Micah is busily attempting to scoopscoop white goop from the floor into a flopped over trashcan. His Introduction to Prosthetic Prep kit had an unfortunate tumble and has resulted in plaster casting material on the floor. Unfortunately, it is also raining outside, and the floor was slightly puddly...now forming plastermess. "Pleased to meet you, Ez. I'm Micah. Sorry to...uh.../plaster/ at you. Forgive me if I don't offer you a hand to shake?" A little, lopsided grin pulls at Micah's lips when he looks up briefly. Joshua's...introduction...earns an eyebrow quirk. Way to be kinda weird, Joshua. Ezekiel looks dumbfounded as Joshua leaves. Glances between the departing Joshua and Micah a few times and says, "Should I know him?" He props himself up on his knees and left hand. Extending his hand he says, smiling, "Anyway, it's not like our hands are going to get less messy. It's nice to have a proper introduction. I don't think we got to have one during the great Snow War." The door clicks open with the tinny beep that signal admittance, and then there is Doug. The blonde is soggy-looking, his hair plastered to his head and down into his eyes -- bruise still decorating the right -- and his clothing (jeans and a grey t-shirt with THE DARK BRONY inscribed over an image of Batman hugging Fluttershy under a denim jacket) is streaked with soaked places. His arms are loaded down with grocery bags and a backpack over one shoulder as he enters the lobby. His face is thoughtful -- a reflection of the inner monologue he's had going since class let out. Get the food, get upstairs, see who's stayed and who's taken off (everyone, probably), get the cats fed, start homework...holyfuckwhathappened. He blinks at the mess, and the plastered Micah and Ezekiel with a deep furrow of his brow. "Mister Papadapoulis is going to shit a brick," he declares. He really will, too. Doug's never heard a man who could bellow like the building super. Joshua is returning. With a dustpan broom /and/ mop, just for good measure. He mostly only uses the dustpan, though, and his /hand/ to scrape up the plaster mess into it. "Baseball," is what he finally says, after another long look at Ezekiel. "And he won't, because it's getting cleaned up." And Joshua is getting plasterier, too. In Doug's mind there is -- something else! It's been there for a long while. Quiet but waking up, now, kind of /squeezing/ at his thoughts. And listening. To Doug's thoughts, yes, but to everyone else in the lobby, too. “He lives here?” Micah supplies to Ez with a shrug, still hand-scooping whatever can be hand-scooped. “Doug! Hi! OhgoshIknowI’m/sosorry/,” he spills out all in one breath. “I’m gonna fix it! Need…like a big, wet sponge? To get the pastybits up off the floor and it should be better then. Ez and Joshua are /rescuing/ me from angrysuper.” Doug doesn't really /care/ about the floor, although that apathy might not be totally his, since he's not alone anymore. He nods at the explanation, drifting over to the mailboxes and dropping one handful of bags to extract his key and opening the mailbox. "He's probably in for the night, anyway," he says, pulling out a handful of mail and shoving it into a bag a bit wearily. << Just try getting him to fix something after five. Like pulling teeth. >> "Ez?" he echoes, the name filtering through the jumbling thoughts and registering as an unknown. "Isn't that a country in the Oz books?" "This mess just needs a bit of leverage and encouragement," boasts Ezekiel. He takes the dustpan in hand, and scoop/scrapes a swath of the plaster mess off the floor. "See?" he laughs, somewhat nervously, "Nothing to it." <<Oh God, Oh God, I've been spotted. Just keep smiling and working. Ignore the 'baseball' comment and /everything/ will be /just fine./>> "A country in Oz?" He ponders out loud, and lets the scoop of goop go splot into the can. "I don't know. You'd have to ask Alex, she's the one that gave me the nickname." Joshua's lips quirk up into a very amused grin. He waits as Ezekiel scrapes at the plaster, but then takes the damp mop to start scrubbing it over what's left. << He can hear you, you know. >> This doesn't sound anything like Joshua. It's a soft /chorus/ of voices, rather than just one, chiming together in a rather eerie echo into the minds of everyone in the lobby. Micah watches Joshua’s mopping like it is /magic/, because it finally does the trick to clean the floor. “Ohgosh, y’all are awesome! Everythin’s better except, um…” Other than the trashcan, Micah is currently the largest source of /plaster/ in the room. His hands are /coated/ and being held palms-up in a helpless sort of gesture. “I mean, I guess I could go stand out in the rain if someone wants to open the doo—“ <<Hive, man, are you /everywhere/ now?>> Micah’s thoughts are suddenly a mess of raid-scene. <<Are you /okay/?>> Doug leans to pick up the dropped bags, shaking them gently to add more water to the mopping. See? He's /helpful/. Then the name crystallizes in his mind, and he nods. "Ev. That was that name of that country. Not Ez." The mental reminder gets a wince. << Shit. I'd forgotten Josh was in the network. >> The echo of Micah's thoughts gets a tight press of lips, and then there are /walls/ going up. Not well-constructed ones, hastily erected as they are. "The janitor's closet has a sink," he offers, picturing the spot where Joshua got the mop and dustpan. "Although, it's pretty disgusting." "Ev... right..." The mental image of the janitor's closet he's never seen proves too much to bear for his mind. He shakes his head, still only 3/4 standing and off balance. Even though his shoes have all-but plastered to the floor at this point, his feet fly out from underneath him as if he were standing on ice. He lands on the tile with a resounding smack. "I could bring the rain to you, if you like, but I don't think that'd make management any happier. Why don't you come up?" Joshua suggests. "Have a shower. Change some clothes." He's leaning on the mop, his elbow curled around it, and he offers a hand down to Ezekiel. "You aright, ese?" << ... shower, >> is the next thought that slips into all their minds, and not without a slight tinge of hunger to it. A brief-flickered image of Micah -- showering -- follows the words. It lingers longest in Doug's mind. “Oh, no, let’s not rain inside. I’ve made enough of a mess.” Micah grins sheepishly, his hand reaching to rake through his hair…no, that’s a horrible plan. He is /so terrible/ at keeping his hands still and stands fidgeting for a moment. “That would actually be a lifesaver, Joshua, if you wouldn’t mind.” Hive’s brainpictures turn Micah instantly crimson: face, ears, neck, the works. <<HIVE. Whatareyoudoing?>> Ezekiel's sudden awkwardness gets a furrow of eyebrows from Doug, and he begins to step forward. << Fuck. Is he not in on this? >> It's a genuinely surprised realization that fades immediately under the new image. Micah's blush is nothing compared to the bright red that Doug turns, and he actually staggers, squeezing his eyes closed like it will render him invsible. He certainly /hopes/ that it will. C'mon secondary mutation.... << Holy hell. Hive, I'm so gonna kick your ass. >> Ezekiel, tries to stand, but fails a few times first. The floor is still acting like ice. He taps his feet on the tiles, the way a batter taps the dirt from his shoes. He grounds himself. His feet stop slipping. "Lets get this mess finalized, then we can deal with our /other/ mess. Shall we?" <<Hive. I know a Hive. No. Task. Task first, then awkward explanations. Not getting killed by the super trumps all.>> Joshua returns to scrubbing the floor when Ezekiel doesn't take his offered hand, but his brows are creased, worried. "Man, are you feeling alright?" Scrubscrub. The mop at least is doing fine by the plaster. His cheeks do go a bit red, too, though, and the sudden sharp flash of his eyes towards Micah is indicator enough why. "Shit," is all he grumbles. He looks at the floor and apparently considers it a job well enough done. "Come up when you need a shower," he says to Micah, although this just makes his cheeks tint darker. He disappears. Mop and all. But the mental voice stays behind. << Doing? >> it murmurs back to Micah. << Nothing, yet. >> But something /presses/ at Micah's mind, a heavy touch that makes no attempt at subtlety, just bearing down to probe at the other man's thoughts. Ohgosh, everyone is /blushing/ at Micah now. If it is humanly possible for him to get redder, it happens. “I…uh…will do…that.” Micah moves to…put the cleaning supplies away or move the trashcan or /anything/ to distract, but he can’t touch anything with plasterhands. He sort of…stands shifting weight from one foot to the other in a big ball of /awkward/. Doug is an unwilling hero, with every part of his brain urging him to flee. But. There is mess, and it must be tended to. Especially since Joshua fled. The blonde drops his groceries, and steps forward with a small grimace to lend whatever aid he can -- which is to say, whatever Micah attempts to do first and abandons, he's right on top of. Ezekiel gets a sympathetic look as Doug begins to drag the trashcan back. "This mess is probably the easiest to deal with, at the moment," he offers with a lopsided grin. << To say the least. >> "It's alright Micah, trash cans and cleaning supplies are supposed to be dirty." Ezekiel says, maintaining his focus, years of performing will grant you that... when mutant powers aren't flying like pigs. "Once we get the floor mess mostly squared away, we can take off our shoes, and finish the cleanup. It'll be fine." Ezekiel, seeing no mop, uses his hoodie to work the edges of the spill into the center. He cuts off Micah before he can object. "And don't worry about the hoodie, I was getting sick of it anyway." There's another ripple of -- something; it passes through Doug's mind and into Micah's. No words, this time, just a growing sense of hunger that, to Doug, feels more like his own than some external sensation. To Micah, though? It feels predatory. Just like the vicegrip closing down against his /mind/ feels, now. It drags both their thoughts slower, sluggish, briefly clouded by the pervading hungry feel that is taking over. Micah is pretty much bouncing in place with wanting to help and try to stop Ez from ruining clothing and do /anything/. “Ugh, I am useless, where is this rumoured sink? I need to at least get stuff off of my hands before I can /anything/.” <<Hm? Ow. What’s that?>> Micah was starting to head in the direction Joshua had taken to retrieve cleaning supplies, but stops dead in his tracks and just sort of /stares/. Doug stares as Ezekiel kills his sweet hoodie, and shakes his head. "Dude. That's a tragedy, even if you were tired of it." Hunger spiking, suddenly, he begins drifting in Micah's direction, abandoning Ezekiel to cleaning. "It's in the laundry room," he says, in an oddly purry sort of voice, moving around the redhead with a smile. "C'mon. We'll get you cleaned up." It sounds -- and feels -- like that's so /not/ what he means. The hunger grows. Cloying and heavy and then -- gone. Except there's still a strange new /weight/ pulling Micah's thoughts /just/ that much slower than his usual bounciness. And a quiet murmur of Other People's Voices somewhere buried deep in Micah's thoughts. For a moment, there's a sense of relief to replace the hunger. Just for a moment. And then it is there, still, if somewhat muted. Micah continues to stand still, head canted and eyes staring off at…something. He can’t seem to get his mind together enough to dictate action. But then there are thoughts, and if there are whispers…well, at least it isn’t paralysis. Doug walking by and indicating that he should follow serves as the first spark to ignite motion. He trails along behind the younger man. “Oh, good, you know where you’re goin’. I’m about to /lose it/ not bein’ able to use my hands for anythin’.” Doug's not so quick to shake off that hunger, although the muting does clear some of the smoke from his gaze. He quirks a grin, wheeling to walk backwards as he looks Micah over. That shower image flickers across his brain again, and his grin slips wider. "I'm sure we can find all kinds of things for you to do with your hands," he says, one eye closing in a brief wink before he's turning back and leading the way to the janitor's closet. It's a small space, and the sink is as filthy as advertised, but there is running water -- even if Micah will have to squeeze in next to Doug to get cleaned off. It might have been a plan. When that shower image flickers it stays, hung onto again in the forefront of Doug's mind. In Micah's mind, though, there is something else quite different. An image of a cell, overcrowded with people. A dragging sense of exhaustion. A quiet voice, jangling in chorus again: << -- Micah? >> The backdrop whisper of voices is getting louder, myriad warring thoughts and emotions clamouring in Micah's mind. Micah lets Doug direct him, in a kind of distracted way, like someone trying to do long lines of calculations in his head. He slides past Doug to get to the sink. It’s actually kind of a good thing that it is a mess, because there is no hesitation to get plaster all over it while Micah is turning on the water and scrubbing fiercely at his hands to get them clean. Scrubscrubscrub. Then all of the distraction is focused on that little voice. <<Hive?>> He remembers something. <<Hive, honey, you never answered when I asked if you were okay. What d’you need? Can I help?>> Oh. Oh, gosh. The closet is a lot smaller than Doug really counted on, and the fact that he can't shake the mental image isn't really helping. He, too, seems distracted, his hands dropping into the running water to help, His fingers run over Micah's hands in brisk movements at first, that slow over time and become...less helpful. More studious. If he's aware of that chorus focusing on Micah, it's lost in the persistent image of steam and...yeah. It's not getting through. In fact, Doug's not entirely sure what his original thought might have been. Hive hasn't let /go/ of that image, unfortunately for Doug. Still kind of turning it over in his mind -- or, well, Doug's mind. All the same, really, right? In Micah's head he sounds more tired. << We need -- >> ... an image of Micah. Still in the shower. Maybe it's been really rough on Hive living without conjugal visits for all of one day. He manages, for Micah at least, to shake that image away. << Just want to be home. >> And to Doug: << move. >> It surfaces as though Doug's own thought, less a /command/ and more a strong suggestion, since he has apparently forgotten what he was doing at the sink to begin with. Micah’s hands are just sort of hanging in the stream of the water now, as he retreats into the mental communication. He shakes off the mental image as irrelevant…and by some miracle is actually not even blushing. <<Where are you?>> His own mental image is of his van. <<Can I come to you? Would that help?>> He heaves the equivalent of a mental sigh. << I know nothing about immigration procedures. Can you be released pending…uh…trial or whatever? Like bail?>> Move. Yes. Moving. That's good. Doug was helping, wasn't he? Those movements become brisk again, Doug's fingers rubbing away bits of plaster. He's apparently either unbothered or unaware of Micah's withdrawal. << Skin's not /soft/, but nice. >> is a random thought that surfaces that's all his own, and there's a sudden wash of frigid water over Doug's mindscape as some sort of realization strikes him. << /Shit/. What am I /doing/? >> Then he's backpedaling out of the closet, slinging water as he goes. "Um. You've probably got this," he offers, his voice tight. Regret and self-recrimination begin to filter into his consciousness. << Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. >> "I, uh, should get my groceries upstairs or something." << Micah, >> comes Hive's answer to Doug's question. Just that, in soft murmur. << Come to me, >> sounds a little wistful, to Micah. << Be here. >> There's a subtler sense of squeezing around Micah's mind. Just gently, then relaxing. << Not stupid, >> this time, it sounds in both their minds, quiet and -- amused? << S'pretty, >> has a distinct image of Micah to go with it. At least he is clothed this time. << Why not look? >> It is really only Doug’s /thinking loudly/ that manages to bring Micah’s attention outside of his own head. He shuts off the water rather robotically, then turns for just a moment to watch Doug’s fleeing. “Thank you,” is all he comes up with to offer him…reflexively polite. “Good night.” With that, he’s already back in his head. <<Come now? How do I find you?>> << Don't want to look, >> is Doug's response, reserved for Hive alone, sent back in muted tones. His uncomfortable expression remains in place as he stares helplessly at Micah for a long moment. << Want to touch, and kiss and.../stop/ that. >> The command is more a self-directive than anything aimed at that amused voice. Micah's polite farewell gets another helpless sort of look, and Doug's jaw works for a moment. "...good night," he manages to strangle out, and he speeds out the laundry room door, the rustle of bags and his hasty farewell to Ezekiel punctuated by the slamming of the stairwell door behind him. << Not /safe/, but away. Good enough. >> << Want, >> Hive agrees with Doug, and the burst of hunger that comes with this is overwhelming. But then it dies, and for a moment things are quiet. << -- find us, >> Hive echoes, as Doug heads off. << No. Work to do. >> Images here. Ryan's face, Jax's, the twins. << Busy already. You -- okay? >> Micah stands leaning against the doorframe of the closet, staring at nothing again. <<Busy, yes, but not immediate. Someone needs to make sure you're not gettin' shipped off. Anyone been to help you? Can I send someone?>> << Send someone, >> Hive agrees, although to mental senses this comes with a heavy undertone of: /lawyer/. << Shipped off. >> It's tired, more than worried, when this affirmation comes. And then, reluctantly, << No. Just -- >> Jax's face again. Ryan's. << Look after them. >> And then a frown, a softer-echoed: << look after you. >> <<Jax found someone who will work with you. Not sure if she can handle /all of you/. Will check. Will have him send.>> With this, Micah seems to recall himself and starts heading back for the stairs. Ezekiel seems to have left. The lobby doesn't look much worse for wear. Offhandedly, Micah picks up the fallen Tupperware container and what supplies had /not/ fallen out of it. His thoughts are briefly crowded with restocking needs. Then he is ascending the staircase. <<Need to go be /not/ messy, anyhow... You...always heare now?>> His mind has meshed the homophones of 'here' and 'hear' into a hybrid concept, not fully choosing one or the other. << We always -- >> Here/hear, it finishes, concepts combining here, too. And -- that is all. There is this, and then the jangle of voices subsides into nothing. The feeling for being watched does not subside. It probably will not subside for a while.