ArchivedLogs:Sausage Log

Sausage Log
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Melinda	2014-02-13 '
Location <NYC> Melinda's Apartment - Lower East Side
The apartment is composed of four bedrooms, two baths, a living room and an entry space attached to the kitchen, near the door. That kitchen is covered in tile, from floor to countertop to back splash on the wall, all white, with light, thin blue stems and flowers. The cabinets are newish, with blond wood kept meticulously clean of fingerprints. It is also outfitted with an excellent coffee maker, or two, with all the accoutrement to go with it. 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. (Dusk --> Mel): Got your email. You work today? You up for $meal? (Dusk --> Mel): You pick a place, I'll bring. (Mel --> Dusk): I want French Toast for dinner w/ a small log cabin of sausage, but you should prolly 1/2 that due to stomach size. Home? Lunch after 11am, dinner after 8pm. (Dusk --> Mel): Brunch it is. Lunch. Whichever. I'll swing by 11:30. With a sausage log... cabin. (Dusk --> Mel): And French Toast. The sausage alone sounds dirty. See you soon. (Mel --> Dusk): I'm pregnant. everything is food and uncomfortable arrousal. see you soon. DING. Or ring. Or whatever Mel's apartment buzzer does. At eleven... forty... three. Ish. Dusk isn't the /most/ punctual. Melinda wanders over to the door intercom wearing loose and comfortable sweats in yellow, with a long sleeved blue shirt, her bathrobe worn for warmth instead of modesty. She sips her tea and pushes the button. "Hello?" You know, just to confirm. "I brought sausage," says her intercom. "Amazing." Melinda pushes the button to give him access and sets down her tea, beginning to clear the table of her work stuff. Knock knock knock. Very shortly after, Dusk is outside Melinda's door. He's knocked the majority of the snow off his boots, the rest of his clothes largely dry. He's a little shivery in his floor-length black trenchcoat, a large plastic bag hung over his arm smelling a lot like Brunch. A green-and-white striped scarf is wrapped around his face, a fuzzy black-fleece-lined black hat pulled down over his hair. Melinda sets down everything that she's been stacking next to her lap top and briefly begins to tie her robe closed - then stops bothering. The side panels stick briefly to her shirt, then fall away around the shape of her belly. She wanders to the door and unlocks it, pulling it open to smile at Dusk's snow protection. "Goodness. We best get you inside and warm you up. And to think, someone tried to convince me this past fall that the weather would be mild this year." She pulls the door open a little wider then holds out a hand for the bag. "Did you want me to take that?" "Sausage and French toast. Maybe not a log cabin of sausage. It's maybe like a -- small shack." Dusk slips inside, turning the food over to Melinda. He stoops stiffly to unlace his boots and tug them off. He sheds the heavy trenchcoat -- beneath he's wearing a loose Columbia sweatshirt, one wing drooped limply against his back. It has butterfly bandaging holding its thin membrane together; there's tearing in the skin that looks like without the bandaging perhaps half the skin would just be hanging clear off. He unwinds the scarf from around his neck, tucking it and his hat and gloves into the pockets of his trenchcoat. "You met your snowman yet? Mine has little wood -- bat wings. And offered to carry the food on the way here." Melinda turns away and sets down the food packages on the table, opening one to fish out a sausage link to nibble on. She takes a first substantial bite as she turns back toward Dusk, looking him over. At first her brows are raised in an attentive listening posture, amusement in her gaze at the talk of snowmen, but then they crowd quickly over her nose, crinkles of concern covering her face. She hastily puts the sausage back down on the box and crosses back to Dusk's side, eyes studying the tear in his wingsail. "Shit..." she chews quickly to clear her mouth and lick her fingers clean. "You okay? What the hell happened?" "It's fine, I'll be better in no time. Plenty of blood." Dusk is a little fidgety once he's pared down out of the heaviest of his winter gear, meandering a little stiffly after Melinda towards the table. "Somene shot an arrow at me. Couple arrows. Uh --" His fidgeting grows worse, eyes flicking over Melinda. "Mel, your email didn't --" His fanged teeth sink down against his lip. "I mean, maybe you would've talked to me if -- not that you would've had to, it's your -- it's not like you /needed/ to -- just, there's no chance that -- this kid isn't, um --" His cheeks flush darker, and he lifts a hand to rake through hat-flattened hair, tousling it into disarray. "OK I mean November to May, I can /count/ but the last time I had a scare with a woman it wasn't exactly normal cuz, uh, /I'm/ not exactly normal so I -- have no /idea/ if -- um. It's just. Not. Er." His wings shift restlessly behind him, the uninjured one fluttering a good deal more than the listless motion of the torn one. "... mine, right?" Mel listens quietly, her eyes still studying Dusk in concern when he describes arrows. When he starts asking the important question, her lips part as she looks for an opportunity to interrupt his flow of words and concern. Eventually, she stops trying and waits him out, worry mixing with endearment on her features. "No. It's not yours. It's Jim's. I'm sorry to make you worry." She reaches up and caresses his cheek with the knuckles of one hand. "You should rest assured that I would definitely have a conversation with you if there were any chance I were .. well, carrying someone that was partially... yours." Her hand turns and slides down to rest on his shoulder, her attention drifting as well. "You know, as an emergency plan for any future ...situations." "Ohwow okay." The relief that washes through Dusk's features is nearly tangible, the sudden slump of shoulders and wings making him look half a teenager again -- not that he's really far out from one. His good wing slides out, curling around Melinda's shoulders in a gentle-soft hug. His fist circles his heart in apology. "I just -- didn't -- right." His black eyes close, cheek pressing into the caress. "Because I think I'd be a pretty shitty dad right now. But I'll try to be a good friend. Think I got some practice at that by now at least." "Don't worry about it. Panic happens. Worry, freaking out about the future, wondering how the hell to do this, but knowing its... important because it affects another's life - It's all part and parcel of this ridiculous package deal. I'm just glad I can release you from all that." Mel leans into the hug and closes her eyes for a few breaths, smiling up at her as she begins to pull away. "That last time sounded stressful. Did you want to talk about it, or would you rather move on? Whatever we do, we should do it while we eat." She glances toward the food and the bit of sausage as if it were beckoning her, then looks back at Dusk. "I appreciate your friendship immensely. Thank you." "Nah I think just breakfast. This is a good time for breakfast." Dusk flicks one thumbclaw towards the food, spinning a chair around to situate it backwards towards the table. His food is eggs, over-easy, and a large serving of corned beef hash. "You got coffee? Wait /that's/ a dumb question. You sit. I can get my own. I've been watching Hive work on all the houses. Saw yours the other day. Kind of neat, isn't it? Watching -- I don't know. Though I guess that's sort of a stupid question too, /you're/ creating something right there in you. He just does it without strange food cravings." "Don't compare what I am doing with the miracle he is performing. I could be pregnant in my sleep. I feel like half the time I am. Hive's thinking it through and putting effort into his work." Melinda turns the chair she has laden with pillows next to her work area, lining it up, instead, where she can eat without dripping syrup on her paperwork. "I had sex and then forgot about it. Though, if we could give him my food cravings, he might remember to eat more often." She starts munching on the sausage. "Yeah, he's -- barely eating these days." Dusk's brow furrows in concern. He slips into the kitchen to make himself a coffee. "Though when he does remember, actually, he does get some pretty specific cravings sometimes. Maybe he's pregnant, too." His eyes skip over to Melinda, teeth sinking against his lip while he waits for his coffee to brew. "You freaking out? About the future?" "Absolutely." Melinda sighs almost wistfully as she considers, dragging her tea from earlier over to sip at. "I'm basically committing the next twenty or so years of my life to an endeavor that will completely change my priorities and steal all my money and free time. It's kind of like changing careers and picking up additional volunteer gigs and promising everything I could ever own to charities - or at least that's how I can imagine it, because that's the only thing I have experience with." She sets down her cup and rests her temple in one palm, arm braced on the table surface. Her free hand is fishing another sausage link out of her box. "I can do all that. It's the subtle, quiet, but slowly growing biological link to this little one inside me that is so completely new... it's baffling." "I can't really imagine. I mean, the analogy to career changes and volunteer gigs but --" Dusk's wing gestures towards Melinda. "The link is beyond me. Seems kinda neat, though. In its own way." He rests his head in his palm, too, on the same side as his good wing; he's favouring his other side a little more stiffly. For a moment he's quiet, rousing again only when it's time to pour his coffee, taking it black but moderately sweetened and returning to settle himself down backwards in a chair and drag his food over. He chops up his egg and hash and potatoes together, mixing it all into a large gooey mess. "You going to be okay, though? I mean, New York is fucking expensive already. But -- you're gonna have a crapton of us around for help, right?" It's phrased like a question but his tone says this /decisively/. Right. /Right/. "Of course, Dusk." Melinda grins as she watches him cut up his food. "Moving into the Commons so that people are close and available. I'm still holding my own for the most part, but I will definitely ask for help when it starts to come to it. I'm already starting to feel tired. I can't imagine carrying ten to fifteen more pounds and getting through the work day. I don't sit enough as it is." She pauses to chew and swallow some sausage. "All that weight strapped to my front is going to kill my back. I'm going to have to seek out massage volunteers." Dusk leans in to inhale his coffee deeply, but still piping hot he doesn't take a drink yet. Instead he scoops up a large mouthful of eggs and hash, wing shivering pleasantly with his first bite. His tongue runs across his teeth, and he flashes Melinda a wide grin. "Massage, now, /that/ I can handle like a fucking boss. And my schedule's flexible as hell. You ever in the mood for massage, you call me right up and I will fly over. Or walk. Because it is way too cold for flying for a few months yet. But, hell, I'd do that even once you're not toting around a second person." "Thank you, Dusk. Part of the problem is figuring out how to. I can't really lay on my belly... and not on my back either. I'm probably going to have to prop myself up on a chair and hope for the best." Her eyes widen as they go out of focus, whatever thought that follows drives her to semi-horrified distraction. She inhales deeply and turns her attention on Dusk. "I'll return the favor while I can. I was going to offer today, seeing how stiff you are, but I'm not sure how much is still an active injury." "You alright?" Dusk's brows raise, eyes flicking over Mel as her eyes unfocus. "Lost you for a second there." He shakes his head at the semi-offer of massage. "I'll be good. Keep eating right, I'll be mostly alright by tomorrow, pretty much better by the end of the weekend." He scoops up another bite of breakfast, digging in hungrily. "Nicely cushioned chair. Mostly upright." "I'm ... getting flighty. It's really odd. Normally I can hold conversations for a good long while, but now a days, if I get sidetracked with another thought, instead of being able to keep track of what is being said, I lose where I'm at completely and it's awkwardly noticeable. And don't get me started on my memory. I had to reset my bank password three times this week. I actually failed so many of my security questions, they asked me to come in to the branch for identification. It's strange and unnerving." One by one her sausages are disappearing, the french toast picked at a much slower rate. "But it's also very normal and well documented. It's just ... all the stupid chemicals in my head. Hormones and the sort." She stops rambling on about her condition and just purses her lips at Dusk, watching him eat. "Glad you're going to be okay. Who the fuck shoots arrows around here? Do they think we're some sort of teen drama television show?" Dusk frowns, for a moment, head tilting slightly at Melinda. "Hive's been having --" But he shakes his head, quickly. "Maybe he /is/ pregnant," he decides with a quick smile, scooping up his coffee to take a sip. "You need a refill on that tea?" His good wing rolls in a slow stretch, the injured one lazily shifting in a lighter flutter. "I don't know, I thought it was kind of hot. Except for the blinding pain, I mean. But like this whole Robin Hood vibe. Archery's pretty sexy. Kinda tempted to learn. Not to shoot at people, though. Maybe just targets somewhere. Hear there's a range out in Queens." "You would find it hot." Melinda shakes her head, straightening up so she can start tearing her french toast into pieces. "I mean, conceptually I understand. There is artistry to the form when one thinks about archers - it's all arcs and lines and some type of grace inherent with being able to.. um, hit your target. Fuck, my brain's gone all gutter now." She blushes a little and wraps a strip of french toast around a sausage link. "I -am- worried about Hive. You're around him more. Should I say something? Should I move my office into his office and plague him with my food cravings all day? I never know how to act in these situations. Wanting someone to seek health care - it's difficult." "My brain starts out in the gutter," Dusk admits, grinning widers. "But that's because -- archers, man. /Graceful/. I wish it was easier to see /them/ in the Olympics but they're such a niche sport you have to prowl the internet for too many of the archery events." His brow furrows at the mention of Hive. "He's -- gone to the doctor." He doesn't say any more than that, though, just continuing to eat his food in silence for a few more bites. "At least the internet has it now. When I was a kid, there was no such luck. you just had to put up with the popular events." Mel pushes her food aside for now, licking her fingers clean quietly. "So, I should just leave it alone?" Melinda asks quietly, concern pursing her lips again. "I don't know. I've been fretting like hell. I'm sure when he's ready he'll talk." Dusk doesn't look /entirely/ sure, though, picking slowly through the remainder of his food, now. "I feel like half this past season's just been -- a lot of shitty secrets. Like a terrible soap opera. With /zombies/." "Well. That is about as succinct as one can be in describing the shitty misery we've all been wading though." Mel sounds frank, exhaling and leaning on the table, her chair scooting away a bit to compensate for her belly. "I just wish I could help. Plus, I have this rather large reminder that medical conditions don't just disappear if you ignore them." Her hand moves to rub her belly gently. Then there's a mrrrfg noise and she straightens, hand held in on specific location. Dusk's eyes widen at the noise. "-- Is it about to come bursting out of you alien style?" He doesn't -- look horrified at this. He looks /really/ hopeful. Melinda gives him a rather sarcastic and perturbed look before shaking her head. "No. Oh hell. are you going to ask for the placenta after birth too?" There's a beat of silence, her annoyance disappearing. "You can have it if you want." She wets her lips, still concentrationg on that spot with her gaze unfocused. "You ever been kicked from the inside?" Dusk's eyes drop briefly to his food; for a moment his expression shifts, brows furrowing as he pokes the tines of his fork into his corned beef. "Yeah." There's a rougher note to his voice; he clears his throat with a quick cough. "Never tried placenta. Uh. Woah. S'she -- he -- are they kicking?" He swallows, looking up with a wider-eyed expression. Melinda reaches over for Dusk hand, at first to squeeze it comfortingly, but then when he mentions the kicking, she starts tugging on it. There's a small smile on her lips. "Yeah. The little entling is kicking. Want to feel?" Tug, tug, tug, she guides his hand toward her belly if he doesn't pull away. Dusk leans forward, hand moving easily where Melinda guides it. "Yeah. /Entling/. That's -- pretty great. Much better than any alien things. And Jim really is to crotchety and gnarled to be any kind of dryad. You coming by for his funeral tonight?" There is some light thumping underneath all of the flesh and muscle in Melinda's belly, where a very tiny limb is repetitively striking at her insides for a bit of exercise. She covers his hand so he can find the right spot and doesn't say much at first, letting him feel it. "Yeah, I'm going. Planned ahead, got the afternoon and night off. I'll probably take a nap at some point, so I have more energy for the trek to and from you guys's apartment, but I should be all good. You going?" Dusk is quiet, fingers splaying out as his palm presses against Melinda's stomach. His teeth bare, smile curling up warm and delighted at the thumping. "-- /Huh/. Cool." He finally drops his hand, picking up his coffee to gulp it down and standing to go wash his mug out. "Yeah, I want to be there when Hive gets back from -- doctor. Shit." He shrugs his good wing uncomfortably. "See you tonight, then. Ping Flicker if you need a ride, they'll -- /maybe/ have plowed by then." Mel stays seated for a little bit, while Dusk is rinsing his mug, then gets to her feet and follows him half way to the kitchen. "Okay. And definitely. I could use a ride. Take care of yourself, hun, and that wing." Dusk wraps his good wing around Melinda in a warm hug, pulling her in closeer for a moment. He tips his head upward to press a kiss to her cheek, fuzzy wing rubbing gently at her back. "See you tonight." One last squeeze, and he lets go to let himself out, closing his takeout container on the way to take the remainder of his breakfast with him. "Mmm." Mel gives him a good hug, careful not to press up against his injured wing too much, eyelids fluttering closed while they are close. She releases him and follows him to the door to lock up. "See you tonight."