ArchivedLogs:Sound and Light

Sound and Light
Dramatis Personae Jax, Steve	2015-12-08 "I'm... kind of a city boy."
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Courtyard - Lower East Side
This courtyard is the lush central hub of the surrounding Harbor Commons, bound in on three sides by rows of duplexes and triplexes, cutting upward at the sky with the sharp thrift of a minimalist's style, neat lines and bountiful windows, boldened with accents in wood towards the upper stories, stone towards the base, the whole of the compound sealed in by a low stoneworked wall that opens entrance gates to the streets beyond at its two far corners, smaller gates at building back doors. The fourth side of the courtyard is open to the East River, the ground forming a slight decline, controlled on one side by micro-retaining walls to form wide steps where picnic tables sit beneath the nominative shelter of a trio of dogwood trees, accessible by ramp. The other side is allowed to slope at its natural angle, a wide open yard space, until its cut off at the river's edge, where a massive pair of oak trees stand, a staircase leading away up one of their thick trunks. The yard itself is carpeted in an organic flow of emerald grass swirled through with wending channels of smooth-paved cement walkways, flowing naturally away from the building's front entrances, where some are arced by trellis, some flanked by hosta plants, fern and lilies, a few laid in gentle switch-backing ramps for wheelchair access, before forking off at matching angles to sites of small garden installments. Bird feeders and baths suspended from the necks of small lamp posts, a rock-lined koi pond, a sleek gazebo tucked to one side in simplistic varnished wood, its southern side overgrown with a mass of thriving grapevine and a caged-in barbecue pit under its sheltering roof. A play area and proper garden are within sight off another branch, until finally all paths spiral in like wheel spokes to a shared common house at the center of all traffic flow. There's a crisp nip to the air, early in the morning. Some other time, in some other world, early or not, Manhattan would be noisily waking up. Traffic on the road, voices arguing in the streets, a siren here, a rattle of subway rolling by underground there. In some other world. This one is quieter, dark and -- not /quite/ still. Far, far off, there /is/ a rattle, groaning, echoing through the buildings. Then silenced. Here -- the ripple of the river washing by, splashing over stones and trash alike. The crrrkcrrrk of teeth against bone -- Obie has been leashed under one of the Treehaus's oak trees, one empty bowl and one water bowl beside him and paws pinning a large thick and very well-gnawed bone (long stripped of its venison) into place. Nearby Obie is -- well, at the moment, nothing; the riverbank beside him /looks/ empty. Doesn't sound empty, deep and careful breathing, booted footsteps heavy and regular in the grass. Occasionally leaving an impression flattened down before the grass starts to slowly unbend. Obie intermittently snuffles at the air. Mostly chews at his bone, at least until it rolls away out of the reach of his leash, at which point he mostly just whines, chewing unhappily on a rock instead. See the depths he is forced into. Steve is jogging along the bank -- at least his gait looks like jogging, even if his actual speed could rival many people running flat-out. He wears a black zippered sweatshirt, black sweatpants, and black combat boots. His shield is on his back, hanging from a sturdy webbing harness, the belt of which also supports a long knife snapped into its weathered sheath. His breathing comes easily, puffs of steam in the morning air, and he slows as he approaches, brows knitting at the sight of the dog without a guardian. He frowns deeper at the noises without visible source, and lifts one eyebrow when he catches sight of a booted imprint in the grass...but no boot. "{Who goes there?}" he says, quietly, in Spanish. The challenge does not, admittedly, sound /all that/ alarmed, but he does settle into a low, stable stance. Obie is still chewing (mournfully) on the rock when his bone lifts itself up, tossed back up the bank towards him. "Oh my /gosh/ you are the saddest of all sad puppies," Jax's heavy drawl, warm and amused, is readily identifiable as footsteps trudge back up towards Steve. "-- Obie, um, not /you/, though oh wow can you just greet everyone that way? It's real --" There's a smile on Jax's face and a red blush dusted through his cheeks as he appears. "Sets a kinda /atmosphere/, don't you think?" He's in hiking boots, olive drab hiking pants, a plain black sweatshirt over gray shirt below. Steve relaxes when he hears the voice. The flush of color in his cheeks is probably not all from the exertion of his workout. "Good morning," he says, straightening. "Might come off just a /bit/ peculiar, greeting people I know that way. Like I just did." He rolls his shoulders and stretches his arms. "In my defense, I didn't know you could turn invisible." "Yeah, well, 'round these parts we got ourselves a reputation for normal so we wouldn't want to ruin that." Jax's smile has only brightened. "It ain't usually a bit of info I lead with. Been outta practice lately anyway. You got any idea how hard it is /staying/ invisible while you're moving?" There's a faint disgruntled wrinkle of his nose with this question. Steve laughs, the noise quite soft but the puff of warm air visible as a cloud of white condensation, there and gone. "You've spoiled me for normalcy. I wouldn't know 'normal' now if it hit me in the face and taunted my fashion sense." His smile is warm and reaches all the way to his pale blue eyes, which stray from Jax to scan their surroundings briefly, then return to him. "I think I've got at least /some/ idea how hard it is -- you've seen my old uniform. What you do is on a whole different level from sneaking around in the brush, though." His eyebrows hike up even higher. "I could see right through you!" "Fashion sense?" Jax's brows have hiked up now as well. "Do you mean the uniform, 'cuz that --" He stops quickly, the red in his cheeks deepening. "-- Has a certain charm," he finishes hastily, rubbing at the back of his neck. "An' what I do is like a cheat code, I guess. An' you wasn't technically -- I mean, I was jus' bending the light so that --" He shakes his head, scuffing a palm over his scalp. "Kinda a challenge keepin' it up an' staying any kind of coordinated. Back in school I used to practice till I near couldn't see no more." There's a ripple of distortion in the air around him as he fades from sight again. "Kinda just takes working out, though, y'know? Like --" His voice has gotten closer, now, up behind Steve. "Like anything you want to get good at --" There's a very faint bump of pressure, two quiet 'paf's rapping against the shield. Before a sudden and startled: "Woah. /Huh/?" Jax has reappeared now. Knock? Knockknockknock? He is looking Quite Fascinated as he taps his knuckles against the shield. "Well, I hear the stars and stripes are a bit old fashioned now, except to folks who think they can justify anything if they drape a flag over it." Steve's sigh is also easier seen than heard. "Probably the winged helm is a /little/ passe, too." He frowns again now, the expression one of intense thought rather than distress, as such. "But if you're bending light /around/ you, shouldn't I see...I don't know, a dark shadow where you are?" His eyes follow Jax's voice even after he vanishes again. "Remarkable," he mutters, still obviously /straining/ to see the invisible man. Then, "What? Something wrong?" Glances over his shoulder at Jax. "Did it change colors again? Or, if you mean how it sounds...I'm completely unqualified to explain the properties of vibranium, though Howard always made it sound so absurdly simple." "I don't know as 'old-fashioned' is the word I'd use. And I /like/ the wings, honestly." Warm amusement lightens Jax's tone on this -- less so with the following, "I'd love the red, white, an' blue more if people hadn't been so bound and determined to soak it in blood for so long. Takes a lotta work t'scrub out, y'know?" The curl of his mouth has skewed a bit crooked. He still taps at the shield, though only for a moment longer. "It just sounds so -- well, it /don't/. Sound. Vibranium? Howard?" His brows lift again, questioning, now. "An' -- depending on where you was standing you just /might/ see a dark shadow. Or a weird distortion of the world behind, it depends. I ain't /really/ invisible, though -- I'm hoping to work on that if I can spend some more time studying some folks I know who /are/. But I'm mostly just -- fooling you into thinking you're still seeing the rest of the world behind me. Which is -- way over-complicated and only works for if you're looking from certain directions. If I know people are there, I can do it accurate. Kinda slips to a sorta approximation for any other direction. Like when you're watching B's holograms and sometimes they're sharp head on but you look from the side and the light goes through 'em funny? I can't make it perfect at every angle at every second or I'd probably give myself some kinda aneurysm." "It's why I stopped wearing it, you know -- the uniform. Much as I want to win the country back, I know there's a lot of work to do. I don't want to be held up as some kind of icon for...how the flag's /been/ used, but that doesn't mean I've given up on it." Steve turns around fully to face Jax, pulling the shield from his back and flipping it over in his hands with the effortless grace of long familiarity. "That's why I always ask Tag to paint it back up like this, eventually. Even if I /like/ what he's done with it." He raps on the red, white, and blue dome of the shield hard with his knuckles, eliciting the same soft paf that Jax had. He holds to shield out for Jax to examine. "It's a prototype, the only one that was ever made, out of a rare metal called vibranium. Howard -- Stark is.../was/ the most brilliant man I'd ever known. You know, I'm not actually sure to this day whether he designed this shield, or was just testing it for SSR, but he tried explaining to me why it's so light and durable, and how it absorbs vibrations. All I can remember is uh...there are molecules?" He gives a crooked grin and a somewhat embarrassed shrug. "Having just demonstrated about the limits of my scientific acumen...so you're sort of taking the image of what's behind your." His eyes flick to the riverbank beyond the other man. "And you kind of project it...between you and me. Right?" "Essentially, yeah. There's gotta be an easier way, I know other invisible folks an' what they're doing with light is way different but --" Jax shrugs. "One day I'll learn." He reaches to take the shield, eye widening with interest as he grips it. Raps his knuckles harder against it. "Molecules. I got some of those, too." He slants a grin over at Steve. "How tough /is/ it, anyway, I've watched it take /some/ kinda abuse lately." In his hands it is changing colour again -- still red and blue though those shades are starting to glitter, bright and faceted. "If I'd given /up/ on this country I'd be home on my farm living a much quieter life right now. You do wear the colours well, that much's true. -- Howard /Stark/? Huh. My kid works for /his/ -- son, y'know. I didn't realize you'd... knowed him." His cheeks have reddened again, eye lifting in a flicker of apology that does not quite gel into words. Still iridescent-bright, he hands the shield back. "By 'invisible folks' you mean they're just...invisible /all/ the time?" Steve's eyebrows only lift up slightly this time. "I think I've finally arrived in this century, because that doesn't really surprise me anymore." His eyes drop to the shield again as he takes it from Jax, and he smiles with childlike wonder at the play of glimmering light across its surface. "During the war, it saved me and mine from small arms fire more times than I can count. Some armor-piercing rounds, even. Plenty of shrapnel from grenades. Anti-vehicle weaponry. At least two anti-tank rockets." His eyes defocus for a moment, looking at something far off that only he can see. "Howard was...a good friend. Part of my team...part of my family, really. Judging by what little I've heard of his son, I'm guessing it's B who works for him." This with a small smile. "You have a farm? I was beginning to wonder whether those still existed. Where?" He flips the shield over in his hands again before returning it to its place on his back. "Well -- I've knowed two people who was invisible all the time and couldn't turn it off, one person who's invisible by default an' when we started school together she couldn't turn it off but now she can control it enough to be visible when she's trying to be, an' --" Jax hesitates, fingers lifting as if trying to tally something before he fails: "At least seven people aside from me who could choose to be invisible or something like it. Discounting folks like Joshua. An' discounting blurry lines like someone whose power is being real not-noticeable." His nose crinkles up in time with a crooked smile. "There's a fair few of us, we could start a club." A small ball of light is starting to glow, now, between Jax's hands. "Does make me curious --" He is eeeying the shield speculatively, but then lifts his gaze back to Steve's face. "B, yeah. I don't know if -- if meeting him is something that you'd -- /want/ to -- um, though," he adds with a duck of his head and another blush, "I don't know what Howard was like but /Tony/ Stark is a tiny bit of a -- rude." His expression lights back up at the question about the farm, though. "They sure do still exist! Mostly kinda struggling, huge companies own most of the agriculture now, but." Another shrug. "There's some of us left." Around them the muddy riverbank and trampled ruin of courtyard is starting to transform -- lusher, greener, the river now wending its way past a stand of peach trees, neatly tended rows of vegetable garden spread out wide and far all around to their sides; off beyond, the Commonhaus has become a very quintessentially /farmlike/ farmhouse, large and white with pointed gables and a wraparound porch. "My family's down in Georgia. Where I grown up. My folks still run it, back there." Steve's eyebrows go up just touch further. "Glad it's not more people than that, otherwise I might have to start seriously worry about walking into people I can't see." He turns back to glance at Obie, smiles faintly. "Howard was...complicated. Not what I would call rude, but he didn't care to downplay just how much smarter he was than everyone else. Once this crisis was over, I was hoping to find all the members of my team who are still alive...and their families, if they aren't. So no, I don't much care about Tony Stark's manners. God knows I owe my life to plenty of difficult people." He shakes his head, chuckles, and looks up at the world changing around them. Turns slowly in a complete circle. For several long moments, he doesn't speak, mouth hanging slightly open. Finally, his head shakes again. His hand sweeps out over the idyllic vista. "All this...and you have trouble with invisibility?" But he's broken into a boyish grin. "This is like a fairytale. Something out of a picture book. I'm…" He scruffs at the back of his head. "...kind of a city boy." "Well, those are only the invisible people I've known /personally/. I can't speak to how many are out there in general. Plus, /I've/ been able to see all those invisible people? So even if there are others wandering around just in general I might not be able to tell they were supposed to be invisible till I got to know them," Jax muses, glancing away past Steve as the peach trees begin to flower, budding pale and pink before opening up their blossoms. "So maybe there's a ton of invisible people out there. You should probably be on guard." "Invisibility's /different/. I mean, this, /I'm/ makin' up the picture, I'm /imposing/ it on the world, I'm -- it's so much easier to just /shove/ my vision of things over -- but actually /feeling/ how the world already is, getting in /tune/ with that, matching it so exactly can't nobody tell --" Jax blushes, though, lapsing into quiet at Steve's grin. He's looking away from the flourishing farm, now, watching /Steve/ instead as the other man turns around. A few pink petals detach, fluttering, downward to swirl around them. One curls insubstantially against the side of Steve's face, falling to light on his shoulder. Jax wraps an arm around his chest, hand curling against the opposite biceps as he looks back to the not!Farmhaus. "Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' a city boy. I fake it, but I ain't never quite /got/ cities. Not even after so many years. All the buildings and people and lights an' noise, /that/ always feels like the surreal part t'me. Maybe some time when things ain't quite so dire --" This just trails off, though. His hand lifts, catching another petal against his palm, though it vanishes soon after landing. "All those invisible people must be real light on their feet, but you know I'll be keeping an ear out, going forward." This a bit distractedly, as Steve is still gazing around him in wonder at Jax's illusory farm. "Invisibility may be useful sometimes, but whatever this is, or isn't..." He touches his cheek where the petal had fallen, as if trying to discern what he can and cannot feel. "...your vision sure is beautiful. Thank you, for showing me. If it's ever in the cards, I'd love to visit -- some time," he echoes, "when things are less dire. And honestly, who knows. Maybe I won't /get/ cities, either, as they are now. Maybe I only /get/ all this because it /is/ so dire." He does not sound particularly troubled by this, musing absently. His eyes return to Jax, finally. "I have a distinct impression that's a pretty adaptive thing to get, these days." Obie has gotten to his feet, now, bone abandoned as he tries to snap at stray petals in the air, jaws clicking on the substanceless pink flowers. A smile flits across Jax's face, the flurry of falling petals picking up. "Dire?" He chuckles, his smile oddly warm, for this. "Bein' able to roll with /dire/ is maybe the only way t'survive lately. I don't honestly know if things is ever gonna be less dire," he admits, arm still wrapped around his chest as he tips his face upward. "So this --" He slowly uncurls his fingers, gestures to the transformed world around them. "You kinda jus' gotta take beauty where you can. Or make it." Steve watches the dog chase flower petals he will never catch. "Dire, I understand. Surviving, I can do." He closes his eyes and stretches out a hand into the storm of falling flowers, fingers flicking as if they can feel the substance of the light that passes over them. "I don't think I can make beauty, but…" Opens his eyes, smiling again. "...I cherish it when it finds me." There are faint brushes of warmth, when Steve reaches his hand out. Not petals but the touch of Jax's fingertips, dancing lightly against Steve's upturned hand. His hand has dropped when Steve opens his eyes again, a dusting of pink along his cheeks as he looks up into the trees. "Ain't so. I been watching. May not look like mine, but you make plenty." Steve tilts his head. Looks at his hand as if trying to divine something from the pattern of lines on it. "If you mean the sketches, I'm just copying life, but..." His shrug is barely visible. "...Life can be beautiful." He stretches out the same hand, rests it on Jax's shoulder -- a little hesitant. "Forgive me if it's a strange thing to say but...I'm glad I woke up."