ArchivedLogs:Safe, as Safe Goes

Safe, as Safe Goes
Dramatis Personae Melinda, Tag
In Absentia	2013-05-20 Mel worries too much; Tag could probably stand to worry a bit more.
Location <NYC> Melinda and Tag's Apartment - Lower East Side
The living room is mainly furnished by found pieces, two chairs and a couch. None of it was constructed at the same time, but it all has been reupholstered with the same cloth, the surfaces colored similarly and with a regular weave. The wood has all been refinished as well, dark and able to hide stains well. The walls are colorful, but that goes with the territory of having a mutant roommate with Tag’s ability. Today, it is a sage green with some abstract blue and orange intermingling in different places. Tomorrow it will be different. A cursory inspection shows that five people live in this four bedroom apartment, so it’s difficult to pick out what belongs to any one person. A clatter and rattle out on the fire escape signals Tag's arrival. He seems loath to use the front door when he has any other option, however inconvenient. He lingers outside for a moment securing his bike--clearly meant for a teenaged girl even before Tag changed its paint scheme from faded blue to glittering purple. Today, it is swirled with fractal patterns in neon pink to match his outfit: a short-sleeved pink tie-dye t-shirt over a threadbare long-sleeved black shirt over bright yellow cargo pants. His hair, shoulder-length now, is the same shade of powder blue as his sneakers. Slipping in through the window, he looks like a high-speed collision of the '70s, '80s, and '90s rendered into anime form. He is also back uncharacteristically early--as in before 3AM. "Hey," he calls out, pushing a fall of blue hair out of his eyes. "Anyone home?" Melinda peeks out from from her bedroom when she hears someone calling, a furrow forming on her brow, her lips pursed. She wets her lips as she rounds the corner into the living room and raises both brows when Tag comes into view. She smiles and waves and moves to sit down on the couch. "Hey, Tag. How've you been?" She is dressed simply in pajama shorts and a large loose tee shirt, looking as though she never really bothered to get dressed today. She grabs great swaths of hair and twirls it into a bun at the base of her skull, using the hair itself to secure the bun so it does not come loose again. "Um...okay, I guess?" Tag returns an almost embarrassed smile. "Hungry! I skipped lunch. Maybe breakfast, too. I was running late." He was always running late. Shrugging off his backpack, Tag drops it beside the coffee table and wanders over to rifle through the refrigerator. The pack slumps over, one of its worn zippers puckering open just far enough to reveal an ancient brown paper bag full of sealed syringes. Emerging from the fridge with a container of leftover stir-fry, Tag looks back at Mel. "You want some?" Then, abruptly, before she had a chance to reply, "Also, I got fired." He stares down at the container for a few seconds as if he had forgotten what it was, then snaps out of it and fetches himself a bowl. Melinda's gaze may have been caught by the falling bag and the contents there in, but Tag's final announcement catches her attention. "You got fired? Shit, man. That's terrible. What happened?" She gets to her feet and makes her way toward the kitchen, concern etched upon her features. "Anything I can do? And no. I'm good on food." Tag sighs, dumping a large clump of of rice and vegetables--held together by some kind of sauce--into his bowl. Close up, there are dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep. “I messed up, is all.” The bowl goes into the microwave, and leans against the counter. “A client this morning was being a racist asshat, and I called him on it. Couriers aren’t supposed to do that. You bring the parcel, they sign for it, you go. They guy called my boss and chewed her out, so she cut me loose.” He shrugs. “She was pretty nice about it, actually.” The microwave beeps, and, retrieving his food, Tag tries to eat it at once as is his wont, only remembering to set it aside after burning his tongue. “It’s okay,” he adds, fiddling with his chopsticks. “I was starting to get a bit burned out anyway. I’ll freelance for a while and find another agency.” He darts a guilty, apologetic glance back up at Mel. “The thing is...I might not be able to scrape together all of June’s rent in time.” Melinda's lips purse in thought again, arms crossing under her chest as she looks the other man over. She lets out a sigh and leans against the countertop between the dining room and kitchen, thinking quietly. "Okay," she exhales again, rubbing at her eye tiredly. "I guess... give me what you can and we'll talk about it?" She skirts by him in the kitchen and heads to the cabinetry, seeking out a glass for water. "Are you doing okay, Tag? We've been noticing... stuff lately. And we're kind of concerned about you." Tag takes up his bowl with a hopeful gleam in his brown eyes. “I am sure I can get you half by the first. Thank you for understanding.” He mixes the stir-fry up and takes another, more careful bite before putting the bowl down again. “Me? I guess. Um...things have been funny out there.” Suddenly, he brightens--literally, from tousled hair to scuffed sneakers. “It’s really nice that you care, though!” His colors dim again, just as quickly. “Maybe I should watch it, with some of the stuff I’m taking. People have vanished. But you must know that, with the shelter and all. I mean...that’s /always/ happening, I guess. But now? It’s gotten scary.” He rests the palm of his hand on the countertop and turns a coffee ring of recent vintage into a golden sunburst. “I’m still here. So...I’m okay.” He looks back up at her, canting his head to one side like a confused cat. “Are /you/ okay?” "No, honestly, I'm not okay at all." Melinda admits, some of the tension in her shoulders tightening them up and bringing them closer to her ears. "Some people I really care about are missing. Things are looking bad." Her eyes go out of focus for a while, watching Tag's feet more than the rest of him. It takes a long, deep breath to raise her gaze once more, and then she is studying his face. "Tag, I care about you, too. Please, be careful. The stuff you're taking... I'm not one to frown on people's recreational activities, but it seems to be getting worse now. Or... more dominant at least. It's a little scary." She presses her lips together as she attempts to find the right words. "I don't want you think just because... the disappearances and the way the world just seems to be getting worse is too much for me and you can't add any more weight on my shoulders. I'm your friend. We've been living together for a while now. If you need me, I'm here for you." Tag twirls the chopsticks in his hand absently. “You don’t need to worry about me, Mel. I’m bad at a lot of things, but very, very good at running away.” He allows a rueful smile, dipping his head. Blue hair falls across his face again and he pushes it back, showing a rare touch of irritability. “Maybe /too/ good. But as for the drugs, it’s not really serious. Just some E, the occasional joint...okay, yeah, maybe I should cut down on the other stuff.” He seems to remember his food again and starts picking at it listlessly. “The kids on the street all think it’s the government, you know. Homeland Security or FEMA or whatever the MIB of the Day happens to be.” He frowns, puts down the chopsticks. “They say that about /everything/ from nasty weather to toilet paper tearing in the wrong place, though.” "I'm willing to believe secret government conspiracy, what with some of the stories our roommates tell, but at the same time, that doesn't help." Melinda exhales and finally turns to the sink to fill her glass. She turns off the water and takes a sip. "Please don't take this the wrong way. I'm sure you're very good at running away, but I'm scared. I'm really, really scared. Murphy says that they are after mutants and … well, you're a mutant. Your schedule's erratic at best and sometimes I don't see you for days. Do you think, while this shit is going down, you could check in on some type of consistent basis so I know you're okay? Maybe just a text? Consider this the flailings of a desperate woman, but I don't want to lose more people. I really do care what happens to you." “Well, the government actually /is/ after mutants,” Tag agrees, “but I don’t think they’re making us vanish. Not the police, anyway. They just wanna fine us, and maybe beat the crap out of us. Which shouldn’t be so comforting. But you’re right, it’s probably a good idea to at least...” He pats down his pockets and fishes his phone out of one with a sheepish smile. “...keep this thing charged. I keep forgetting I even /have/ it.” Setting the drained device down beside his food, he leans against the counter again, as if he lacks the strength to hold himself up. “You’re not flailing; you’re being reasonable and responsible and stuff. It’s like...” Hand pushes hair back again. Tag really needs a more robust hair management strategy. “Like you’re mother to the whole community, almost. That would be bad, except we kind of /need it./ It’s not really fair to you, though.” Melinda cringes a little and takes a sip of water, shoulders hunching as she tries to duck that comment. "Shit. I must be doing something wrong if I come across as mother." She draws in a deep breath and shakes her head. "I... I guess it's fine. I don't know. I mostly feel useless and badgering people to not get lost is... about all I can do." She runs her fingers up and under her bun and scratches at something in that tangle of hair. And then, unconsciously, as if she doesn't realize what it looks like after protesting the title, "Do you want some coffee? Tea? Is the food bad or are you just not that hungry?" “You’re more helpful than /I/ am, I just worry and get stoned,” Tag mutters. “I would love some! Coffee or tea, whichever. Something caffeinated. No, the food’s fine. And I’m hungry! But...I don’t feel like eating, for some reason.” He pokes around for a bottle of sriracha and spikes his food before tackling it again. Despite his declaration about his appetite, half the bowl is empty before he puts it down. “Wait...” His hair starts turning purple from the tips up, as if the pink of his shirt were coming off on it. “Who’s this Murphy and why does ze know or care that someone is after mutants?” "He's a private investigator. He's looking for Jim and the kids." Melinda explains quickly, then frowns up at Tag. "You know Jim has disappeared, right? And Jax's kids, Shane and Sebastian?" She moves over to the coffee maker and starts filling the filter with freshly ground coffee. She takes the carafe to the sink and begins to fill it. Then she moves over to the coffee maker and fills it with the water from the carafe, before putting it under the drip and turning the machine on. “I thought they /ran away/,” Tag replies, wide-eyed. “The twins, I mean, not Jim. And he’s a PI, too. They’re not supposed to get kidnapped. I hope they’re okay.” He looks back down at his half-eaten meal and pokes through it with his chopsticks to find broccoli florets. “I’ll text you.” This last statement sounds determined. “Especially if I’m going to be out all night. Or...maybe I shouldn’t be out all night so much. But I figure a rave is pretty safe, right? You might get batted around a bit, but no one’s going to /snatch/ you. It would be kind of obvious.” "The twins ran away a while ago, then they came back." Melinda explains quietly, watching the coffee machine as it starts to bring the water inside to a boil. There's really nothing to see, but she's staring at it anyway. "Then they went out for coffee in broad daylight on a Sunday and disappeared. Jim was... looking into another kid's disappearance and when he found the spot he was last scene - well, that's where Murphy lost his trail." She draws in a deep breath and reaches out for her water glass again. "I don't know what is safe anymore, Tag. I really can't comment. You'd think getting coffee on a sunny day in the East Village would be /safe./" She lets out another breath and shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be encouraging you to live in fear. I hate this kind of shit." “/Gan,/” Tag mutters. “I guess...nothing is ever /really/ safe. I’m always dodging cars, and they’re pretty dangerous! But we’re not afraid of things because they’re dangerous. We’re afraid of the unknown.” He has joined Mel in staring at the coffee maker. “It’s okay. To be honest, I already live in fear--of really /dumb/ things, mostly. You kind of get used to it. Forget it’s there. Then you don’t pay as much attention to real danger anymore.” With a great deal of hesitation, Tag reaches over and rests a hand on Mel’s shoulder. “Please try not to worry about me. I’m a screw-up, but I promise I’ll be careful and check in.” Melinda responds well to the touch, shifting her weight a more into it, relaxing a little. There's a soft laugh and another shake of her head. "Telling me not worry is like telling you not to change colors. I kind of do it whether I'm paying attention or not." She finishes her water and regards him. "So, tell me... anything good happening in this world these days? There's got to be /something/ good out there." Tag snickers, and looks up as though he expects to find the answer written on the ceiling. “Um...apparently some scientists from Sweden invented cold fusion?” He pauses, a look of intense concentration on his face. “Wow, not much else, though.” Then, all at once, he straightens up and /blueshifts/--the hair goes purple, as does the shirt, and the cargo pants bright green. “My sister is graduating from law school!” He bounces up onto his toes a couple of times, and then stops and darts and embarrassed glance at Mel. “Did I mention...I have a sister?” "You don't talk much about your family," Melinda gives a little shrug, a hint of a smile in the corners of her mouth. She reaches up and grabs two mugs from the cabinet and lays them out for coffe consumption in a few minutes. The rich dark liquid is starting to collect in the carafe, but it is not finished brewing yet. "Congratulations to your sister. Law school is a lot of work. I really can't imagine all the hours that a person needs to put into such a thing." She then moves over to find the sugar bowl. It needs filling, so she squats down to another cupboard to find the larger bag. "Not, that it's a bad thing that you don't talk about them. I don't talk about mine much, but that's generally because they are kind of busy. I don't want to press about yours if you don't want to talk about them. “I don’t really have much to do with my family anymore,” Tag admits. He forces down a bit more stir-fry, chews pensively. “Talk to my sibkin sometimes, but not my parents.” He shakes his head, then shakes it again harder to get the hair away from his eyes. “Bigotry aside, they’re involved with some bad stuff. I don’t want to get drawn into it. So...I’m not going to Tian-Shin’s graduation. Maybe take her out on town afterwards, though.” This last he says with a shrug before finishing his food and washing the bowl out in the sink. “She’s kind of like me before I went walkabout: all study and no play.” He brightens again. “Maybe I can bring her by Montegues! She pretty much runs on caffeine and stubbornness.” "Oh, did I tell you? Barring disasters, I won't be working the night shift anymore. I've got the head daytime manager position now." Melinda smiles a little. "So, we can take her out, if you want and I can totally take care of the goodies, but I won't be working, which will be great." She grabs the coffee carafe and starts pouring the dark goodness. "It could also just be a stop on your night on the town. I am not inviting myself along for all of it." "I am sure she would love to hang out with you, café or no," Tag says, watching the coffee eagerly. "She hasn't had much of a social life with school and all. And then maybe she will finally believe that I am living somewhere /safe./" He makes a face and adds, "As safe goes." Melinda slides a mug of coffee over to Tag before taking one for herself. "Mmm. Yeah. As far as safe goes." She adds sugar to her mug then turns away to look in the fridge for milk. "Well, if you want me to come along, that's great. I'd like to meet your sister, Tag. Did you want milk?" "If you're up to it, sure." Tag picks up his mug and starts to sip it before flinching away. "Yeah, maybe just a bit, to cool it down. After this I have an art fight!" He bounces a couple of times, then forces himself to stop before he spills coffee everywhere. "It's not a real fight! The weapons are markers or spray cans, or my brain, I guess. Like a rap battle, except...with drawing." "Art fight? You'll have to let me know how it went and where you guys ended up so I can see the aftermath." Melinda sets the milk carton down next to Tag and leans back to sip her coffee carefully, unsure of the temperature until it hits her mouth. "Unless you're talking about painting each other - then I'll settle for hearing about it." She smiles quietly and inhales the coffee aromas, getting lost in it. "Oh, no, the fight happens on the walls," Tag assures her, splashing a little milk into his brew, "or paper or canvas tacked up on walls, sometimes." He finds a spoon, stirs the coffee, and once again drinks it without much regard for possible tongue-scalding. "I will be sure to point you at it before it gets painted over." Wandering over to retrieve his backpack, Tag stops dead and steals a sidelong glance at Mel. He kneels and jerks the zipper on his pack shut before slinging it over the shoulder of his free hand. "Thanks for the coffee! I had better um...get psyched for my fight." "You're welcome. I'll talk to you later!" Melinda smiles a little and watches him leave. When he gets to the bag and glances back at her, her brows rise and quirk in an concerned expression, but she does not look away. Well, not at first. After a moment or two, she looks down and away.