ArchivedLogs:Right Now

Right Now
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Kay	2014-01-24 '
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. Knockknockknockknockknock. It's not a very hard pounding. Really /rapid/ though. Like someone is hunkered outside the door /fiendishly/. Or. What's the other word. Giddily. It takes a little bit for Jackson to open the door. Slow. Little sluggish in contrast to his usual exuberance like he's dragged himself out of BED; he's scrubbing his palm against his eyes as he pulls the door open, though he's not dressed for sleep. COLOURFUL, in soft swishy ankle-length skirt of some crushed-velvety material dyed in a rainbow-on-black batik pattern over purple yoga pants, a greyish hoodie with torn rainbow fabric overlaid, pink Pinkie Pie t-shirt underneath. Mismatched armwarmers with skulls printed on them (one set of skulls sports mohawks, the thers little tophats with flowers on them), brightly mismatcheds socks; his nails glitter in black and his eyepatch has a manticore strutting across it. "Woah." He moves somewhat stiffly as he pulls the door open. "Woah." His smile spreads bright across his face in an instant; his hand moves from scrubbing at his eye to scuffing through his freshly re-coloured peacocky purple-green-blue hair as he takes a step back. A tall, narrow shape /looms/ in the doorway in a tan trenchcoat, one arm propped up against the doorframe. The other long-fingered hand is formed dynamically in the universal hand sign for 'OK!', with the thumb and middle finger pinching downward on the frontal brim of a fedora with a LONG-ass pheasant tail sweeping back from the brim. The only feature visible beneath the brim is a huge ferocious GRIN. "Hey, tiger." The figure says. Pushing back the brim of his head, exposing Kay's upturned amber eyes. "You wanna buy..." He slowly begins to open up one side of his jacket. Watch out, he's FLASHING! "A news paper?" ...no really. He grabbed one off the front stoop. It's rolled up in an inner pocket. "Dude." Jax's grin spreads wider. He slides back slowly on one foot, which simultaneously serves to hold back the little beagle that has barreled his way over towards the door. His hand falls from his hair to gesture Kay inside. "I was in prison for weeks and my husband refuses to let me go back to work yet. I am so broke. You can scrounge my couch cushions for spare change though, you might turn up enough for a newspaper though." "I think," Kay's grin remains FIXED, raising the newespaper, rolled up and secured by a rubber band, to hover next to his ear. And then - /flick!/ he tosses it pinwheeling over Jax's shoulder to land on the couch, "We can work something out." And then the fixed grin breaks into something open-mouthed and cackling, and Kay is excitedly /bounding/ through the door like a gleeful hound, arms thrown open like a TRAP, "Oh my fucking GOD, holy SHIT, man!" Obie is /infected/ by the enthusiasm and he seems quite eager to /intercept/ Kay's bounding before Jax can. He charges around Jax's ankle, tripping over himself in his glee to /frisk/ about Kay's legs, tail thwippity-thwipping; he's not nearly big enough to actually accept hugs so he just crashes around legs, leaning up into Kay's shins with a thunk. Thunk-thwip, thunk-thwip. "Oh man." Jax's bright-bright smile doesn't fade. He's still a little stiff-slow as he opens his arms, gently nudging Obie to one side with a foot so that he can wrap his arms up around Kay's ribs. He seems to actually have put /on/ some muscle in prison, weight /shed/ prior to it with stress and lack of sleep and put back /on/ in the weeks inside with nothing to do but eat properly and sleep and exercise. "I know, right? It's so straight. Hard to process all of this. I think my cheeks have been hurting from /smiling/ so much." It's kind of hard to tell if Kay /meant/ to throw himself bodily upon his host or if he just tripped over Obie and came crashing in like a burning fighter jet - he was already making vulpine sounds of excitement, so what's one more yelp before he's cast upon Jax's shoulder, locks arms around him partially to try and keep /Jax/ from falling and kind of climbs himself back onto his balance, "Fucksorry, ahahah, look at you." He finally manages to ease up and less violently leaves either hand clasped to Jackson's shoulders to place him at arm's length. "Out of the /jaws/ of the WOLF once again. How's it feel? Was it bad? Your roots grow out?" He pushes up onto his toes to look for the top of Jax's head. Then finally stoops down to seize onto BOTH of Obie's ears to SCRUB them, "HEY POOCH." Jackson lets out a sudden yelp, too, half stumbling back as he tries to find his own feet again in a sudden tangle of Kay and overexcited beagle really wanting to get in on all the love; his back tenses up in sudden clench, arms squeezing abruptly /way/ too tight around Kay with a huge widening of his eye before he straightens, too, drawing in a sudden shakier breath of laughter. "Oh -- wow oh hi." He claps a hand to his eye, biting down on his lip and lowering his arm slowly to drape loosely across his chest, fingers wrapping light around his opposite elbow and his shoulder still tight under Kay's hand, a fierce-hot heat to it that -- probably, really, feels just like normal under Kay's own usual warmth. "Ohgosh." There's still a bit of shaky-breathy-laughter to his voice; he wobbles over onto one foot so that he can absently /pet/ Obie with the other as Kay scrubs at his ears, scritching the beagle's side with his toes. "My roots were horrible, /all/ this black you got no idea. Was pink an' purple before. I had Tag re-dye it when I got back. Bein' home feels like -- /wow/. The pups hugged me so hard I think I /broke/. Thankfully there's folks around good at mendin'. Um -- d'you want a -- food? I got food. There's cookies an' like -- leftovers. A lotta leftovers I ain't exactly done much cookin' aside from bakin' lotsa sugar." "That why you're all, uh," Kay tips back his head to look up at Jax, his gaze /frank/ while clapping a hand over one of his /own/ eyes, mimicking with the side of his mouth /quirked/. While dog-scritching. "--Kinda stiff?" He drops his hand off his face and rises again, placing a warm, warm hand absently beneath Jackson's elbow - the heat coming off the illusionist doesn't seem to repel him anyway, though he /does/ glance down to it for a moment. He's not gripping, but the tensile coiling down his forearm makes it a rather sturdy shelf, turning eyes towards the /kitchen/. Kiiinda hauling Jax off with him, "Hell yeah, I'll have a cookie. You hear about all the folk that came forward when you got nabbed? Good times, man." Probably not many people would agree with that. Jax's cheeks just burn furiously red at Kay's question, his head dipping down to spill brightly colourful hair over his eye. From beneath his peacocky fringe he peeks over towards his and Micah's bedroom, shaking his head quickly once with a sheepish half-smile. The /heat/ coming off him may have more to do with the rather exorbitant number of lights and sunlamps scattered around the living room that he has been /basking/ in like some brilliantly coloured lizard, soaking in heat indulgently. "I got mocha fresh-baked an' some almond shortbread left-over from yesterday." His nose crinkles up, smile stretching even wider at the mention of the videos, though it softens soon after. "I heard -- it was strange hearin' about it from inside. Cuz y'know, I got tooken in without ever even -- I had no /idea/ what was goin' on, I never /saw/ that -- crazy video that /started/ it all, I jus' had the prison guard hurlin' accusations at me of tryin' to kill the world. Then later comin' to me sayin' -- that everyone was sayin' I was some kinda hero. I still ain't watched everyone's videos," he admits softly, dragging out containers of cookies to lay them on the counter. "Just heard that --" He clicks his teeth down against his tongue ring. "That folks was comin' out of /everywhere/ to -- it's staggering, I don't even know where to begin to. Feel like I owe everyone so much. Everything." Kay's grin sprouts the tip of his /tongue/ between his front teeth when Jax flushes red; it's a prankish coyote-grin, even if the initial springy /enthusiasm/ has finally settled about him into normal guest-eating-Jax's-FOOD mode. "Ffff," even grinning, this isn't a /happy/ exhale, even if it sounds almost like a laugh, "Dumb bastards. - how was it, for real. They get rough with you?" Another person might sound angry, or protective, or - something other than frank and casual. "Doesn't matter how high up they go in rank, cops are fucking cops. -- what. Owe everyone so much?" He /eyes/ Jax with his brows hiked up, "Brother, we wouldn't be /out/ here if it weren't for you. This all just," he greedily leans over the cookie container to POKE through them for whatever is biggest, "how it goes. Family doesn't work in debt." Jax's blush deepens a little redder at that tip of tongue. He slips further into the kitchen to move towards the coffee machine, start grinding coffee beans to prepare a new pot; he doesn't speak again until the whir of the grinder has quieted down. "Nah, not -- exactly rough, people keep askin' though. I mean, it wasn't. Like they was friendly either. Wasn't like they was /beating/ on us but I near died anyway after a few days when I got in, they didn't feed me. Turned off the light in my cell. I starve /way/ faster'n most, too." There's a tension through his shoulders here but his tone is frank to match Kay's. "Dusk, too. I didn't get to see him none but from what I heard he weren't in no better shape cuz -- no blood, near dead." He turns back around once the coffeemaker has been set to start percolating, propping elbows against the counter so that he can rest his weight there in a lean. "But then Dr. Saavedro come down from the clinic to make sure they given us what we need and after that it was just --" He shrugs a shoulder, his smile flashing again. "Y'know. Prison. Think everyone was worse off out here than we was. Was borin' an' that was about it. Once all y'all's videos started comin' out they even started gettin' almost friendly. Was a little surreal." He props his chin in a palm, fingers splaying out against his cheek. "Family don't work like that, true. Think family works on cookies. An' a lotta hugs. S'it been like out /here/?" "Christ, even when they're not trying to kill you they're doing it wrong," Kay actually is flatly chuckling at this, while picking at his teeth with a thumb nail. Darting eyes over Jackson assessingly for only a spare moment over a shoulder - then it's gone! He's shrugged out of his coat, exposing a slightly toned down variety of his usual wear - a black t-shirt that sets off all the red and orange and yellow of a dragon tattoo winding up one arm, out of sight, and then back down the the other, with an absurdly shiny silver chain around his neck, skinny jeans with wallet chain, a gaudy diamond-crusted watch on his bony wriest decked in primary colors and white gold, and calf-high steel toe boots. The HAT he pulls off from the top, and reaches across the counter to set it on Jax's head. Tugging down the front of it to sit at a rakish angle that favors his good eye. "Out /here/? Pffff. We're survivors." He drapes over his end of the counter, pressing down on elbows in a way that hikes up his shoulderblades to either side. And whispers while their faces are close, like it's a secret, "Some of us just haven't realized it yet. - there's coffee for me, right?" "S'funny they run a whole freaking prison for mutants and they don't really seem to understand how to -- not kill us. Once they got the hang of it though --" Jax tips his eye up to peer at the hat that is being set on his head, an amused smile curling up wide. "I think Dusk looks healthier than I've seen him nearly /ever/. Three pints a /day/ that's more'n he can ever manage. He's all -- full'a /muscle/ now." Jax flexes demonstratively, an arm that -- is admittedly now rather full of muscle /himself/. "Totally coffee for you, how d'you take it? Get y'nice an' energized -- y'gonna go throw down t'night? The pups're /rarin'/ for a fight, s'been weeks since they -- think they're /spoilin'/ for a good tussle. I gather the past little while's been kinda rough," he says with a wince. Though his smile's fond as he glances towards their door, absently bonking his forehead against Kay's. "But we are all survivors. Holy /carp/, boy, what's that you gone and crusted onto your arm there looks like you froze Care-a-lot an' painted it on." He clasps Kay's wrist to drag it in and /examine/ the watch somewhat /incredulously/. "Damn straight, son - survivor's long as we're /alive/," Kay practically fox-yips these words, flashing his stained teeth, "S'what I want on my fucking /tombstone/." He rocks to one elbow so that he can THRUST his watch-strosity out for Jax to appreciate. Kind of... mouthing the words 'holy carp' to himself, before pressing DULY onward, "Badass, right? S'got diamonds and shit. You should see Ion's, he is one styling mother fucker now. -- You can bet your rainbow /ass/ I'll be there." He squints for a moment, staring at that center point of the bridge of Jax's nose that suggests he's looking at /either/ of the younger man's eyes. If he had two to look at. "You should come. After those videos were released? Better than any therapy, man, seeing those kids put their fucking /fists/ up." He's sliding vaguely into a /grit/, "Guess it'll kill me a little. Going up against old 'Bastian. After blowing his damn face off back before all this started." Just - says it. Unflinching. Eyes lowering to his cookie - which he rotates over to check out both delicious side. "All the more reason to do it, I guess. Rematch. Owe'm that much." "Heh," Jackson breathes this out quick and amused, "wouldn't /that/ be an epitaph." The diamonds on Kay's watch actually twinkle with sudden cartoon-like DING, bright sparkle-shine glimmers of light. "That is -- definitely. A watch." He turns to grab a pair of mugs from the cabinet, square-shaped, black with a red-tiled pattern. He pours both full of coffee, setting them down on the counter and turning towards the fridge. "What you take in your coffee, hon?" His hand lingers on the fridge door handle as he looks back to Kay. "Yeah, I -- gotta admit, I gotta kinda /joy/ to watchin' 'em there. They come alive when they can just -- unleash a little. Last time I gone up against the pups t'gether /I/ lost most'a my face though, those teeth are vicious." "/Sugar/," Kay raps his knuckles on the counter like he's prompting /himself/ when he realizes he's been asked twice, "Sorry. Just a metric /fuck/ton of the sweet stuff. These teeth aren't gonna rot themselves." He rolls around against the counter to face the living room instead, fishing a thumb around inside his teeth as though marking his /progress/. "And fuck if I don't know it - that's the thing, isn't it? I go up against them, I'm /gonna/ be set full-throttle on trying to do it all over again. This world isn't gonna go easy on 'em. I'm not doing them any favors making them think /I/ will." He's rolling his head around, checking out the living room with a genuine and open curiosity for what might have changed in the month or so since he'd last been here. His eyebrows all perched up? "--who taught you?" He asks abruptly, glancing over a shoulder. "When you started in fighting?" Jax grabs a carton of almond milk from the fridge; one of the coffees he doctors with milk and an inordinate ton of sugar, the other, just with an inordinate ton of sugar. He stirs the second and slides it across to Kay before stirring the first and returning the milk to the fridge. "They'll take it. They wouldn't love you any for taking it easy on them. I don't. Though it took a while for me to work up to -- stepping in the ring with them cuz --" He shrugs a shoulder, dropping his eye to his cup. "Most nights I still don't. They got plenty of others for that. Every once in a while they want to, though. Most nights I won't," he admits with a crooked smile. "Cuz t'ain't fair for me t'hold back and s'hard for me not t. But when I know Joshua an' Karrie's both there an' I'm feelin' up to -- a couple nights I have. An' I gotta admit s'exhiliratin' really watchin' 'em go. Cuz I /worry/ about 'em every moment'a my life. But then, uh. I mean, I'm their dad, I ain't never gonna /stop/ worryin', but there is somethin' about knowin' how good they are at tearin' a body apart that helps that a bit," he says, a bit /wryly/. He still stirs at his coffee slowly, hand just moving in restless circling with a slow clink of metal against stoneware cup. "Me? I, um." His brow furrows. "I mean, out at the school they taught self-defense but that weren't quite exactly --" He looks down into his coffee cup. His tongue rings click against his teeth, and he catches the twin barbells between them. "The school started teachin' me defense," he answers finally. "Was the labs that started in on teachin' me how to be a weapon, though." "They're good at that!" Kay says cheerfully. Full marks! Would be tortured again! The coffee cup slides easily into his open palm before he turns back to facing the living room again. His head rolls to the left, then the right, stretching out the visible lumps of tightly wound muscle clustered up where the back of his shoulders meet the back of his neck. It puts a yawning-strain edge to his cavalier tone, "You can learn all you want, in a safe place. And there's no promise they'll teach you jack shit for the times when you're /not/ safe. Or I'd guess. I didn't really /find/ safe til after I had a few rounds outside it." Mmmmcoffee sip. You can almost hear it coming, when he arches waaaaay backwards to almost be lying down on the table, looking at Jax upside down, "You'n /me/ should go at it sometime. I still owe you one for Of Mice an' Men-ing me, huh?" He tips up his cup like it's something to toast. "Kinda are," Jackson admits with a quiet laugh. "I mean, I /thought/ I'd learned so much about control an' then I got the labs and holy smokes, the things I learned to do there that I never knew I could do --" He shrugs a shoulder stiffly, and lifts his spoon from his cup to suck it clean of coffee and drop the spoon into the sink. "I'm not sure anywhere's safe. But I'm glad they're learning somewhere anyway." His head ducks suddenly at the reminder, red flooding his cheeks. He takes a small sip of coffee, nose wrinkling up. "I -- guess you. Do, I didn't. I mean I just was trying to -- Um -- that was a bad -- I didn't really know what to -- B was --" He swallows. "Yeah we can. I'll. Fight you. There. Some time. Um. I guess I never. Apologized for. That." He rubs at the back of his back sheepishly. It's not really helpful, the way Kay just snickers and lets Jax squirm, throwing open a hand to offer blithely, "Hey. Couldn'ta been killed by a nicer guy, right? It's new. I'm used to /almost/ dying plenty. Actually dying?" He shrugs, "No reason to apologize if it worked out. 'Safe' is really a kind of peace of mind. You? Me?" He uses his cup to gesture between the two of them. "Right now? S'good enough. I'll /take/ it." He stoops to sip; it obscures line of sight to his features. "Kind of got to." The red in Jax's face deepens, one hand lifting to splay out across the blind side of his face, though his mouth curls up into a crooked smile. "Do kinda get used to grabbin' up peace'a mind where we find it." He lowers his hand so he can take another sip of coffee, the red easing from his face as he relaxes. "And right now --" Another, slower-longer sip, his eye slowly drooping half-lidded, bright blue lazily focusing over on Kay. "Right now can stay." "It will," Kay abruptly throws back his head and downs ALL of his coffee in a go, his throat working lustily at each gulp, then he - well doesn't SLAM the cup down, but he does set it down with a flourish. And drag the back of his wrist across the front of his mouth. "Can't undo it once you had it." He stands, breathing slightly hard from sudden-rapid-drinking, and for a moment he's not smiling. Just eying Jax sharply through the natural sun-baked squint that constricts his eyes into crescents. It's a livid meeting of gaze; bright sky blue against tarnished sunset amber, "...remember that. When things're ugly. When it feels like barely scraping by." He pokes out his tongue to wet dry lips, shaking his head. "We're not doomed men."