ArchivedLogs:Rooftop Visitors

Rooftop Visitors
Dramatis Personae Violet, Micah, Anole
In Absentia	8 July 2014 Micah gets a few visitors while picking up an order from the docks.
Location <NYC> Pier 64
The Hudson River Greenway is the longest greenway in Manhattan, running along the west side. It's known for its bike trails and green space. Amidst these trails, Pier 64 juts into the Hudson River and is a popular site among those who enjoy pretending they're communing with nature without leaving the city. It's an odd combination of the organic and concrete, of water and glass, earth and steel. On Pier 64, foot traffic is at a low ebb--there have been thunderstorms through the day and though the rain has paused for now, the clotted clouds overhead promise more. Lightning flashes somewhere in the distance, far out over the water. The trees have turned their leaves up, greedy for more water. What pedestrians there are tend to be dockworkers who use the pier's parking lots as a convenient carpooling collection, fitness junkies determined to make their evening run no matter the weather and the usual itinerants attracted to one of the island's prettiest green spaces. A few paunchy fellows linger in the parking lot, talking shop and having a smoke. One squints at the sky while a co-worker speaks and gestures. Another one is squinting off towards the entrance to the wide, smooth trail meant for bicyclists. There, at the mouth of the trail, a large steel drum has been set up as a trash can. A hoodie-clad figure is bent over, head hidden within the drum, one hand braced on its edge for balance while the other rummages around inside. A precarious pose--but the Tortie tail that lifts and hangs high in the air behind her helps with preventing a tumble. No doubt it's /this/ that the dockworker is squinting at, though whether that attention is curious or negative remains to be seen. So the parking is downright /convenient/ over on the Pier. A large blue converted cargo van, painted up like the TARDIS with a logo of a gorilla propelling a racing wheelchair on one side, pulls into one of those spots. It's hauling a small trailer unit, mostly white but with paint accents of grey and black to make it resemble a squat AT-AT. The driver's door emits one slight redheaded figure clad in a polo shirt to match the van, khakis, and an olive newsboy cap. Micah scurries back to the AT-AT, opening the sliding back door to check a series of cardboard boxes and crates inside to make sure all the pieces of his delivery arrived, and intact, before driving away entirely. Better to address these issues right up front when they arise. A TARDIS. Pulling an AT-AT. That's worth a look /too/, maybe even moreso than some homeless chick with a tail. One of the dockworkers glances over, performs a classic doubletake and elbows one of his compatriots. Soon enough they're /all/ looking. One guffaws. Another shakes his head. The third...well, the geek might be strong in that one because he's grinning and making driving motions, making some comment to his buddies--and that shatters any tension that might have been brewing. They all laugh and then they disperse to their cars, mostly old clunkers held together with hope and rust, a couple of big-wheeled trucks. And then there was Violet. She /also/ looked up, perhaps sensing the shift in mood, or maybe just responding to that flash of blue color. Spying the ginger at his labors, she rolls back off of the drum and steps around it to begin padding across the parking lot. With the workers gone, there's no one to intercept--or even call a warning as walk becomes lope and lope becomes a spring, building up the speed she needs to jump! Hop! Right up onto the hood of the van, and from there the top. A perfect place to stretch out belly down, chin on folded hands, to gaze at the young man fussing over the cargo in the trailer. "...seriously, this is your van?" It takes a little box-cutter here and garden shears there to get the boxes open, some peeling of packing materials to visualise their contents. And then there's a jumping and a hopping and a voice from above. Micah steps up onto the deck of the AT-AT to peer over it back at the van and the catgirl thereupon. "Violet, hi! I see y'ment Lucille. She must like you. Don't let just /anybody/ sit on /top/ of 'er like that." Is he serious? It's hard to tell when he's kind of /always/ grinning like that. Violet is just not sure! It shows in the way her eyes narrow and shift to the side as if suspecting that the lady in question might buck her off at any moment. Claw-tipped fingertips lift and drop in a succession of taps. Tap tap tap. No? Still here? That's all right then, she resumes lounging. "Who doesn't like me, yeah? I'm a likeable sort've person. Should've figured you for drivin' somethin' like this. What y'got there?" A tiny scootch brings her closer to the edge, far enough to sort of hang over and drop her head down to try to peer through the van's rear windows. Again her tail lifts to provide balance--though if it goes much further up, she'll drop...yes, head over tail, if not careful. "...looks like an episode of Hoarders in there." "True enough," Micah concedes with a chuckle, ducking back into the AT-AT and his inventorying as Violet moves in closer. "S'a power chair, mostly. They ship 'em all in /bits/ an' y'have t'assemble it like IKEA with a /motor/. So it's in a number of boxes. Just makin' sure they didn't leave anythin' /off/ before I get t'where I can't fuss at people in person. Best t'make a claim 'fore y'even get all the way off site. Do assembly at m'storage unit, usually, but s'pose I could use the workshop at the Commons now. Be a lot nicer, for sure." Mentioning the Commons has Micah peering right back at Violet. "How're y'doin' after all that debacle?" It's an easy hop from van top to trailer top, yes indeed. Violet pours herself on over and with Micah busying himself inside, she pops her head down to peer at what he's up to. The hood covering her ears sags loose and still damp from the earlier rain. "Yeah? Always did like puzzles when I was little. Put together all m'sister's furniture when she moved t'her place...mmr." Yes, she just transitioned from people to cat speak. It comes with a brief disappearance, her head pulled back so she can swing around and hop to the ground. "Didn't come out've it bleedin' like your friend did, so I figure I win," she returns to being human, folding an elbow atop one of the boxes. "They all okay?" "Mmhm. There is somethin' satisfyin' t'gettin' all the parts of a thing put together proper." Micah cuts into a smaller box to eyeball the parts inside. His grin might widen /just/ a touch at the mmring. "Everyone's okay. Physically, at least. It's...the folks from those labs've had it rough, an' shovin' 'em back into the world is rough an'...things were especially complicated between the rescue team an' the rescuees this time. There's a church that's stashed some of our people in the past we're gonna get t'take anybody who ain't fully comfortable stayin' with us." He slides his hat off and folds it in half, cramming it into his back pocket since it's not exactly overly-sunny inside the trailer. "Think Hive an' Flicker took off, too. M'best guess is they're waitin' out some tension at his office, but...not the best plan with both of 'em in less than stellar shape. Maybe they'll come back once folks as /want/ separation get it. I dunno." "S'good there's options, anyway," is her opinion on /that/. Violet is making with the nosiness, joining Micah in eyeballing the parts even if the chances of her recognizing anything are minimal. To non-existent, yes. But still she looks and if her nostrils quiver a little as she hangs her head over the open box, well...at least she isn't chin-rubbing on the raised edge of cardboard flap? "City like this, money like ya'll have, they oughta be okay. Just order a lot've takeout, yeah? Your folks really kill one of 'em?" The question is such a casual one. "Yeah. Ain't always /had/ so many options, so it's kinda a luxury." Micah shrugs at the thought on Hive and Flicker. "Hive's...just, I'm sure y'could /see/ he's been sick. Not too mobile lately. Flicker's recoverin' from bein' almost-dead an' /just/ lost an arm. He ain't used to it yet. So I worry." His head shakes at the question, a little tension picking up in his shoulders despite the casual tone. "No. Well, sorta. S'complicated. They /rescued/ this group from government torture labs as /would've/ killed 'em eventually. But this time the lab had more tricks up their sleeves'n usual. Lotta the team was near dead. Lotta the rescuees were injured an' near-dead, too. There was one of the folks that got rescued who can transfer injuries from one person to another. Hive kinda...used his mind-control t'appropriate that guy's ability an' take the worst of the injuries from our team /and/ the rescues an' shunted 'em off on the person who was the closest t'dyin' already. Just happened t'be one of theirs. If he hadn't, a /lotta/ people would've died /includin'/ that boy. It just don't...look good. An' emotionally, don't always add up with the same logic as a cool head comes up with, yeah?" "Figured you for a worrier, yeah." This with a grin tilted towards him--or maybe Violet means that to settle the tension that's slipped into the redhead's posture. If so, she did not think this through given the bright, bright teeth on close display. Idly, helpfully, she curls a forefinger and drags that clawtip along the seam of another still sealed box, cutting neatly through the tape. This one's flat and she just goes ahead and opens it to peek inside. Having apparently promoted herself to official assistant. "Guess if it was me, I'd be a li'l head sick 'n heart sick about it too. But scenes like that...what's th'good choice, right? Glad y'can shift 'em off elsewhere. Save you on /some/ headaches," she muses. "Don't none of you look like you've got full batteries, not really." "I tend t'be a little transparent, I guess." As if to illustrate, this statement comes with a rising ruddy blush in time to Micah's hand rubbing at the back of his neck. Contrary to just-stated fact, the teeth don't seem to worry him any. Sorry, kitty. They might be impressive pointy bits but this one's got sharks for kids and is rather /intimately/ acquainted with some legitimate vampire fangs. The grin is taken at...face value, hm. "It'd be hard, I know. Just...Hive an' Flicker an' everyone's sick about it, /too/. Don't do nobody no good. An' you're also right 'bout that. Folks is pretty run down just now." There's a parking lot adjacent to the Pier, with its many trails. It's mostly empty now, nature lovers fled due to the threat of thunderstorms--those clouds overhead look nasty but the rain is holding off for now. The same can't be said for lightning, which flickers out over the water. The threat of both downpour and electric shock are no competition for the multitude of boxes Micah has in the trailer, however. Violet, she is continuing her foray into playing assistant. Another box is peeled open. Peek peek peek, until she's told to knock it off or he shakes a can of pennies at her or something. "Nice thing about being so fuzzy, I dunno if I can even blush," she remarks. Yeah, sorry back atcha, Micah. She totally saw that. "S'okay though. Doin' what ya'll do, someone needs to worry, I guess. Give it some time." Because she's suuuch an expert on recovering from these ordeals. Right. THUDbump. There's a sudden whump of weight, something falling down onto the roof of the trailer with a heavy thump. Something that, very shortly, is /moving/, a skitterslide of motion across the top of the AT-AT. And, shortly thereafter, a spiky top-of-head and huge green eyes peeking in for just a second, upside-down at the open back of the trailer. SNEAKpeek. The eyes disappear a moment later. Ach, and attention has been drawn to the blushing! Micah's cheeks take on a brighter red, assuredly /this/ close to improving the lighting inside the trailer by sheer /glow/. "Worry we got plenty of. Time...not s'much, usually." He checks on the contents of the boxes that Violet opens. And /thud/. "Man, there's been a lotta things landin' on me t'day." Micah moves to peer out the back of the trailer when, oh hi, /eyeballs/. He startles back a step, nearly thumping into a box. Violet's startle reflex is as one might expect--poof! Bristly cat. Also quick cat, leaving the quips to Micah when that thump is heard in favor of backstepping quickly to eyeball the roof in turn. For a moment it seems she might crouch down, wary...but then no, that was just coiling to leap /after/ the intruder. There's a /squeak/ from the roof at sudden catleap; atop the AT-AT one wiry teenager is suddenly scrambling back, one arm -- /massive/-muscley and clawed and covered in scaley armour and spikes on contrast to his other quite normally-proportioned (if, also, green and scaley) hand -- lifting in front of his face defensively. Anole is barefoot, in rather filthy jean-shorts and black RENT tee; the clothing and the boy in them both carry a distinctly unpleasant sewer-smell. "Aaa don't eat me," tumbles out all in a rush. All this leaping and clambering about on top of the small trailer unit is doing no one any favours. The trailer shakes and lurches a little under all the movement. Micah takes a few moments to regain his balance before stepping out to the edge of the deck and raising his head over to survey just /what/ is going on atop his roof. “Can we not? With the roof, please?” The voice more than anything else clues him in as to the identity of the newer arrival. “Anole?” Ever see a kitten faced with a surprise moving thing? It's a little like that, when Violet finds herself faced with the huge muscle arm attached to little smelly lizard boy: she goes from leaping for to hopping /back/ from...and then just incidentally complies with Micah's request by sliding right off the side of it when her feet come down on /nothing/. Grace! Beauty! Agility! At least she lands on her feet, scooting immediately to stand at Micah's side when it appears he knows the critter up there. Her eyes are like THIS BIG for real. "Like th'lizard?" Anole, at least, holds his place easily enough through the lurching, toes and his normal-sized arm pressed down flat against the rooftop. /Most/ of him is pressed flat against it, really, bellied down to the trailer with huge green eyes peeking out from behind the spikes on his arm. He relaxes when Violet has slid down off the roof, dropping his other hand. "-- 'pologies. I just. Your car's really noticeable and I thought -- I didn't. Mean to interrupt I swear I just. Um. Hi -- Micah. And Micah-friend." His head tilts slightly to one side at Violet's question, green eyes dropping to scaley green arm. "I'm -- pretty lizardy yeah." “S'okay, honey, just... Why don't y'come down from there? S'always kinda startlin' when folks land on the roof of a thing you're /in/.” Micah waves Anole down as if the verbal invitation weren't clear enough. “Violet. An', yeah, s'like the lizard-name. S'everythin' okay?” With more time to eyeball the boy up there, and Micah not freaking out, Violet relaxes. Not that it's immediately evident--all of that fur doesn't just go sleek again on its own. But she's pulling a smile on to answer the redhead's question--shooting him a look that in cat speak might translate to, "ha, see, you're such a worrywort,"--before tilting that same smile up at the roof. "Not gonna eat'cha," she promises, sketching a cross over the heart of her hoodie. "Yeah I just. I haven't seen you in a -- since, um, school. Ended. So I wanted to --" Anole climbs down when he is invited, tipping himself head-first over the boxy side of the trailer to crawl down and off onto the ground, moving to sit in a crouch on the ground behind it. "-- say hi. I don't eat people either," he informs Violet solemnly. "I heard they don't taste so good anyway." Micah's headshaking lips-twitched to one side grin might resemble the kind that siblings give when fondly play-teasing at each other when Violet shoots him that look. “Nobody's eatin' anybody. Not t'worry, okay? All friends here.” He gestures broadly at the gathered group, again as if the words needed clarification in gesture form. “Oh, I guess y'ain't doin' summer classes either, then. I'm actually teachin' a class over the summer term. How's things?” "Depends on how you cook 'em, I guess." That...was probably a joke. Feline humor? Violet gives Anole a slow blink just to drive home the point that all be well between them. And why not? They wear the same body spray, though hers carries notes of machine oil and seawater rather than sewer. "Sorry for tryin' t'pounce you. Hard t'stop th'twitchy, y'know?" But she pays the price for it, grooming required. She engages in that while talk of school comes in, combing curled fingers down over her head, her nape. "Oh -- no I. I'm staying -- away for the summer, I don't really --" Anole shakes his head, tipping his head back to look up at the sky. "Anyway people need me at home it gets hard. Feeding everyone. And stuff." His fingers curl down against his toes, and he seems to actually give Violet's answer a bit of thought. "-- I think the person who was telling me just ate them raw. I'd probably go for a stew, though. Let it tenderize a bit. Lots of onions. Cover up that kind of toxic flavour, human diets are terrible. And it's okay I've been pounced a lot before. But not -- by a personcat." Micah's nose crinkles at the talk of how to prepare human. “Higher level predators, never a good plan for eating. Full of all kinds of nasty toxins.” He shudders, moving on to the happier talk of /cats/. “Cats /do/ make the best pouncers. Y'all still rememberin' t'collect from the gardens? We been tendin' 'em in all the old places an' they're doin' real well this year. S'a pretty good start 'tween them an' the bakeries that'll give you end-of-day throw-outs. Let us know if y'need help gettin' stuff as actually costs, though, yeah? Just 'cause we ain't allowed t'deliver it t'your front door no more don't mean y'can't come /get it/ an' take it back.” Violet tilts to the side to shake a leg out, tilts to the other side to repeat the process. She's looking less chubby by the second. And it helps mask the rather odd look sent at Anole for his oh so earnest response to her joke. "Hope it don't get /that/ hard feeding your folk," she remarks. But this is just an idle remark, the exchange between Micah and Anole leading to a silence that is more thoughtful than curious. Then, like a switch being flipped, she grins. /Grins/. "Think I'm gonna go see what I can pounce for dinner. Y'all take care, yeah?" No sooner said than she turns to proceed off across the parking lot, away from the Pier, and the pair...and hopefully away from the lightning flashing, coming ever closer. Anole doesn't seem to register the odd look -- or maybe he's just inured to them. He hitches up a shoulder at Violet's passing remark, eyes still fixed up on the flashing sky. "We're harvesting, yeah --" He sounds a little distracted, frowning at the delayed clap of thunder that rolls in after the lightning. "Oh -- oh. Have -- good -- pouncing." He gives a shy-small smile in answer to Violet's grin. "Maybe I should try to pounce a dinner, too. Before the storm scares it all away." "Evenin', hon," Micah calls after the already-half-gone Violet, waving a hand in her wake. When Anole mentions doing the same, he cants his head to one side. "I'm about t'head back t'the Commons. Looks like this shipment came through intact." He takes a moment securing the boxes for transit again. "Why don't y'come? We're covered in refugees again, so there's folks sleepin' everywhere, but also tons of food an' a pile of donated clothes. Could stay with us or the twins an' Dai for a night if y'want." Anole tips his head back down, eyes lighting -- kind of in time with a sudden darker-green blush that floods his cheeks. "Oh! Oh, do you think Sh --" He stops, fingers curling tighter against his foot. "-- Um, think that. All of them. Wouldn't mind? Me crashing? That --" He draws in a breath, quelling some of the hopeful-bright note in his voice to finish more sedately, "-- would be pretty nice." “We are /so/ fulla crashin' right now? One more ain't even the slightest bother. An' I know they like havin' you around. S'get you some dinner an' maybe even some company an' a nice mattress for the night.” Once everyone is out of the AT-AT, Micah rolls the door back down and locks it, then moves to settle himself in the driver's side, indicating the passenger seat for Anole. “If we're lucky, there /might/ be some of the ice cream left if it survived all the famine faces.” The mention of /ice cream/ perks Anole up even more than the mention of spending the night at the teenagers' house. His smile returns, not shy this time but bright and wide and like lightning there is one (unfortunately still sewer-smelling) lizardboy in Micah's passenger seat. "Oh man. One day we're gonna get a /freezer/ at home and I'm going to steal /all/ the ice cream in New York." “I'm gonna breeze right past that whole 'stealin' ' part an' just hope we got some at home,” Micah replies, chuckling as he starts the van up and points them in the direction of home.