ArchivedLogs:Post Work Pick-Up

Post Work Pick-Up
Dramatis Personae Melinda, Tag
In Absentia	2013-06-22 '
Location <NYC> Alley Behind Montagues - SoHo
The alley behind Montague's is as nondescript as most other alleys in the city, especially one behind a restaurant. There are old shipping cases ready for delivery people to pick up, a large dumpster, probably filled with nearly edible food, and a couple metal folding chairs for smokers or overheating kitchen staff. The ground is kept, for the most part, clean, swepted and hosed down regularly, and after hours, all of the ammenities are locked up tight against pilfering. It's not exactly a cry for help that is electronically sent to Tag's phone in the later evening on Saturday, but instead a meek request for assistance. 'Hey, Tag. Was wondering if you could swing by work and help me get home. Not very good at getting there on my own tonight.' When accepted, she adds, 'I'll be around back.' When Tag arrives, the restaurant is calm and the customers scarce. It's a little too clean inside, as if the staff stopped service to disinfect the area around the register. There's a sober mood in the shop, but they are also just plain giving away lemon merengue tarts with a cup of fruit tea. When asked, the manager is initially said to have gone home for the day, but if pressed, one of the baristas will lead him through the back to the alley, if he does not go there directly himself. There, Melinda rests in a folding chair, hands holding a bag of ice to the side of her head, the towel around it obscuring most of her face. She is still dressed in her usual work uniform of white over black, but her heavy comfortable shoes have been switched out for flipflops to help mitigate some of the heat. She stirs slowly and looks up when the door opens, smiling in recognition of her roommate. "I hope... I wasn't interrupting anything?" Tag has been /running/, which admittedly does not seem to be out of the ordinary for him. Being dressed like a Hot Topic scene kid, however, is. His pants are baggy and black with white stitching and he wears a massive Avenged Sevenfold t-shirt that has been truncated at his beltline with dull scissors. He has either stooped to using actual temporary hair color from a bottle or has mastered the art of making it look like he has, for his hair is an ambivalent shade of blue that does not quite blot out the black, which one can only assume is his natural color. "Interrupting...? " he echoes as if trying to fathom what the word means. "Oh! No it's fine I wasn't doing anything!" The denial tumbles from his mouth all at once, and he bites his lip self-consciously. He approaches closer, frowning at the towel. "Are you okay, I mean are you hurt or just overheated? Did someone /hit you?!/" "Not on purpose," Melinda replies with a wry smile, small and only mildly amused. "I tried to break up a fight. I just happened to catch someone's elbow as he was winding up to hit. Didn't really stop the fight immediately. Don't think he even realized what he did." She pulls the ice bag away to show off the lump that is starting to swell on the side of her forehead, the skin discoloring something red. "We managed to pull them apart later." She shakes her head and pulls herself to her feet. "And call the cops. It's been a very stupid day." Tag gives a sympathetic wince when Mel removes the ice. "Elbows /are/ kind of crap," he agrees. "My face is about elbow-height for most people in mosh pits. But fighting in a coffee shop? What happened to' taking it outside'?" As he speaks, he is re-coloring his shirt to a tie-dye spiral in blue, green, and purple. The trousers turn buttercup yellow with three pink cartoon butterflies on one hip pocket. The bad dye job on his hair is replaced by a soft baby pink. "I hope the police didn't...I mean, I hope they did their jobs, you know." An odd, pensive look crosses his slightly grimy face. "Say, how was their response time? I mean the cops, not the people who were fighting. Clearly /they/ weren't that quick on the uptake." "Hell, I don't know. It felt faster than normal, but still not fast enough to apprehend the mischiefmakers." Melinda waves goodbye to one of her coworker who has been hanging around to keep an eye on her. She then starts meandering home with her companion/guide. "Though, I think they lost their fervor when the figured out that it was mostly a fist fight and not some big explosive mutant display of powers. Sure, one of the guys was a mutant, but he didn't really have flashy'powers' like the media paints them. He prettu much bolted when we announced the cops were coming. The asshole mutie hater tried to turn on the staff for 'protecting him.'" Mel let's out a disgruntled sigh and pauses near the entrance to the alley. "I wasn't protecting anyone but the shop. It's all bullshit." She swallows and looks over at Tag. "How do you want to go?" "Not like you would have done any different if it were two humans, or two mutants, or whatever," Tag grumbles. "But some people seem bound and determined to be the persecuted minority even when they're not. I don't get that, 'cause it basically sucks when you actually are. Anyway, I'm glad you didn't get hurt worse. Some of those guys are pretty extreme. I mean...on both sides, I guess." He looks down at his green canvas sneaker, then up at the busy street, then over his shoulder at the alley. "Well, I don't think you want to go the way /I/ usually go, since that involves some climbing and some trespassing. How 'bout we just walk out on the street like normal folk? S'posed to rain tomorrow, but it's a nice enough evening for now." He leads her down the shortest /legal/ path to the apartment. Melinda nods as Tag speaks, lips pursing against more angry comments. Eventually, she just shakes her head and let's out a low grumble. "Nah, not with my head like this. When I feel better, I will totally follow you wherever you want. It's getting to the point where getting around substandard ways may be more important to learn." She gives him a little smile as they start walking. "I need to check in on Shane at some point. He did a great job staying out of it and in the back, but I can't imagine that he's too happy now." "It's funny, in a way," Tag muses, stretching out his arm to run fingertips over someone's tag on a lamp post--a tiny, intricate stencil of a pigeon taking flight. "I have been walking out in the open so much more since all this started happening. I mean...when I /do art/. I just...go slow and casual and do it from across the street or something. Maybe it's the practice, but I have gotten better at controlling it, you know? Even back when I did it unintentionally, though...I know I didn't have it that bad." He hugs himself, as if feeling the chill add they pass through the brief stretch of darkness left by a malfunctioning streetlight. "Even when I don't /pass/, nobody looks at me and assumes I'm going to /eat their face/. Not like the twins, not how they keep getting hurt, really just because of his they look. So, I guess, in a way, I feel like it's...insulting for me to be afraid?" He darts a sidelong glance at Mel and quickly adds, "Don't worry, I'm being super careful, just...not out of fear, is all." "Well, there is something to be said for a healthy recognition of the danger they face on a day to day basis, or the level, but don't declare yourself too free from danger, hun. The world is a pretty fucked up place these days." Mel stops holding her ice bag against her head for a while, as it is easier to walk with both eyes unhindered. "Sorry. You're right that your level of insta-mutant-bashing isn't too high. I just... had it in my face today, so I'm going to be hyper protective for a while." She reaches out a hand to take Tag's and squeeze it. "How are you doing, by the way?" Tag smiles in what might be considered a reassuring manner and squeezes Mel’s hand back. “I’m...intermittently okay? Keeping busy with /art/. Less good when I’m not doing that. My sister is just convinced I’m going to turn up arrested or maimed or dead at any moment. Especially after she saw those videos... If I could talk her into coming out on town, you two can commiserate!” He chuckles without much mirth. “I guess I’m mostly angry? About all this crap--the haters, the police, the government. But in a weird, /detached/ kind of way. I always joke that I’m such a terrible Buddhist. A /good/ Buddhist wouldn’t be angry at all. Just all...full of loving-kindness and stuff.” He punctuates this with a kind of helpless shrug. "I think - and forgive me if I'm completely inappropriate as I am not at all Buddhist - I think that a person in your shoes may look at this as an opportunity to find joy, love, and kindness when all else turns to shit and others need encouragement." Melinda keeps a hold on Tag's hand and raises her ice bag with the other, soothing her head for a while. "But you do have every reason to be angry. There is so much wrong out here right now. It would definitely challenge the heart of any Buddhist, if not in regard to themselves, then for the hardship all the others have to endure." Tag is silent for a long stretch, but he does not pull his hand away. "Jax told me the same thing, more or less," he replies at last. "I just wish I had any kind of confidence my art can actually encourage or inspire people. But I can't really control that, so...I just have to be okay with doubt, I guess?" He looks up at the clouds gathering in the night sky. "And, you know, maybe try a bit harder to find a proper job. I have a couple of odd commissions and stuff, and freelance courier stuff, but that's pretty unreliable. I'll get it together, though!" He sounds more confident about this than usual. "It can't rain /all/ the time." "If not /just/ your art, then perhaps your actions can inspire others." Melinda adds quietly, lips pursing briefly. "Just coming down to pick me up today has improved my evening greatly." She falls silent after that for a little while, staring at the damp, cold towel-lump in her hand. "If you need a hand staying busy, I have some volunteer opportunities you can do, maybe put you in touch with other people in the city who maybe need art for their papers or posters for marches." A paler ghost of Tag's old mercurial smile flashes across his face in the bluish glare of a new LED streetlight. "I'm glad to help, even if only a little. You're always the one taking care of people, and--I mean it's not like I'm happy you got hurt!--it’s nice to give back sometimes." His eyes trace a faded sidewalk chalk drawing of Long Cat stretching over the space of six or steps. "I would really like that. I mean, drawing my own stuff is awesome and all, but honestly a lot of people probably look at it and think it's a nuisance. I love making art for people who actually /want/ it." "Okay, I'll drag you along the next time I go out and try and introduce you to people that could use your skills." Melinda smiles and leans against tag lightly. "I appreciate all you- Oh! I bet I could also throw you name into the hat at my old university and recommend you to some of the alumni. They could also use posters and art work promoting shows." She smiles as she drifts into distracted thought. She is only silent for a few moments before she starts regaling Tag with stories of alumni she thinks would be a good match with his work and what hijinks they got into during their university days. There are quite a few stories of giant foam fig leaves over strategic places and flesh toned body suits.