ArchivedLogs:Spring Beginnings

Spring Beginnings
Just /look/ at all the Captain Hammer jokes I am not making! XD
Dramatis Personae Nox, Micah	9 April 2013 Micah joins Nox for some late night Guerrilla Gardening. /Ninja/ Gardening! There may also be /more meddling/.
Location <NYC> Guerrilla Garden - Lower East Side
This abandoned lot isn't much to look at right now. Next door to a construction site and ringed by a tall, rusting chainlink fence, the rumble of large machinery is a constant disruption. Equally rusty signs have been affixed to the fence warning passersby to KEEP OUT, that this is PRIVATE PROPERTY. Weeds are as plentiful as chunks of broken concrete but there is surprisingly little garbage to be found and what does appear seems to disappear just as quickly. Here and there stacks of scavenged truck tires have been filled with dark soil and some enterprising soul has begun to create raised beds to the rear of the lot using splintery wood salvaged from packing crates. Order has been brought to one of the beds in progress. It has been squared off, secured, filled with soil. This leaves several others, however, and there are far more unbroken down packing crates than there are beams ready to be fitted together. Night has fallen and Nox has set herself to this task. There are no streetlamps here, the only light a distant spotlight from the adjacent construction site, left on to deter thieves from raiding the equipment. Foot traffic is likewise low. As such, she's able to move freely, shedding robes and hat to become...herself. So. Near the rear of the lot is an immense stack of old, splintery packing crates. One at a time these are pulled from the stack and slapped to the ground, where tendrils of shadow begin to work to pry nails loose from pale wood. It is taxing work, time-consuming work, but she's intent on making sure that none of the rusty things remain, lest any of the children be caught by them. The nails that are pulled free are dropped in an empty coffee can, clink clink clink, and the fresh boards set aside in a separate pile to be built into boxes on the morrow. Micah is singing as he wanders down the street, “My Freeze Ray” from Dr. Horrible…and he’s not even doing laundry, which is what /usually/ prompts that song for him. A sort of percussive accompaniment is provided by metal items shifting in a TARDIS blue travel toolbox that is dangling from the end of his arm. His other arm is full of sheet plastic that looks like it is of the Repurposed variety. He makes his way past the fence and starts to negotiate the many obstacles between himself and Nox. Once within comfortable earshot, he switches from song to greeting, “Hiii, Nox! Jax told me I could find you here and there were /garden/ things!” His face is veritably lit with smiling, despite the darkness of the hour. Oh no someone is coming! Nox's initial instinct is to flatten to the ground and play possum. But once that voice is recognized--and it doesn't take long--she lifts up to take a more human form. "Micah...oh my goodness, did you bring all this for the garden?" her smile cannot possibly compete with his for wattage but she gives it her dark best, gliding forward with hands extended to take some of the load off of him. The sheet plastic is targeted, because she knows well enough not to get between a man and his toolbox. "You and Jax are blessings. Thank you. It is only very little like a garden still but soon, hopefully. With so much help..." “Yes!” Micah grins, resting the toolbox against his patched-denim-clad knee. “I can keep everyone and his /brother/ in plastic. They wrap a lot of the equipment I get in so many yards of plastic, you’d think they never wanted you to get to it. Might as well find a use instead of landfillin’.” Micah rubbernecks at the various stages of things being put together. “What needs the most help with doin’ the most urgently, Boss?” The title is offered with a playful wink. Nox is not as accustomed to carrying loads of plastic so she simply grows more arms to keep it all from slithering to the ground. "I...I think we will need more beds," she says, almost shy in the face of that wink--or maybe being given that title. "I was breaking the crates down so they could be built. So many nails. The children will be here and I thought. The nails should go. But this is my first garden, perhaps something else should be done first?" She too twists her head to get a look at what's been done--and there's precious little, really, except for the bed that Jax prettied up for them earlier. "What do you think?" Micah looks thoughtful for a moment. “Honestly, I’m more used to larger-scale plantin’ than I am container plantin’? But it makes sense to get containers together to plant /in/. I’m a fair hand at breakin’ /and/ buildin’. And I got at least one claw hammer in here could help with pullin’ nails.” The toolbox finds a resting spot on top of a plank of wood, and he opens it in search of Hammer. "Then we shall attempt to do both." Was that relief in Nox's tone of voice? It's so difficult to tell; she cheats with the whispering. She also drifts off to place the plastic sheeting in safe place, in the lee of the already-finished bed. Upon her return, she has lost much of her height and grown several more appendages, more shadow than being. Another crate is removed from the stack, ready to be hammered. Or tugged at, as the case may be. To each their own tools! "It seems sometimes that with spring, time speeds up. There is less for everyone and everything," the laboring darkness hums. "You have been well, Micah?" Micah locates the hammer in question and settles himself on a clear patch of ground near Nox, kneel-sitting. He pulls on a pair of protective gloves and sets about claw-tugging on the heads of nails on another crate. "It does seem like time's goin' breakneck lately, doesn't it? I've been...mostly good. Tangled myself in a few of the minor crises over at the Lofts. But they seem to be slowly unsnarlin' with time an' lots of help, mostly. How about you?" Almost reflexively, he touches a hand to the side of his face. "Healin's takin' well, I hope?" As she has no face of her own, it would be an easy thing to sidestep the question both spoken and indicated with Micah's gesture. But there's a smile in her tone when she says, "I am healing well, thank you. It was not deep, only ugly." There's a brief pause. "More crises?" Nox sounds concerned, not surprised. There is a low "mmm" from the deepest patch of shadow, while the tendrils begin their tugging and pulling dance again, prying each board apart and plucking out the nails. "Is this the...the problems, with Mr. Holland and his children not coming home yet? He seemed..." But it's difficult to describe a man whose primary ability is illusion--how to tell what was real from what was projected? Instead of searching for the right adjective, she slides another board onto the pile. Nox’s answer earns a smile. “I never rightly know what to expect from people anymore. So I just start off frettin’ until directed otherwise. Glad it wasn’t as serious as it looked to be.” Micah’s shoulders rise and fall at her question. Shrug. “I don’t know as it’s /more/ crises so much as extended crises. The one with the kids, yeah…that’s the one that seems to be stayin’ most extended. Got complicated.” Micah continues to make steady work of nail removal. He pauses intermittently as he speaks to put adequate force behind the hammer. “Jax is…mostly good? I like to think so, anyhow. Ain’t gonna /stop/ bein’ tore up about the kids, though.” "I do not mind fretting though I dislike causing worry. A strange contradiction, don't you think? Comfort from the one, guilt from the other. It is hard, having feelings." Nox curls one of her many limbs around the coffee can and lifts it to set it within range of Micah and his hammer. "I think if I were to lose the people I loved, if they were kept from me, I might also lose my mind," she murmurs, returning to her own crate. "We are given so little that we can count as our own in the world. If there is anything I can do, Micah, I know Mr. Holland would not ask but please...let me know." "It's nice to know that people care, but worryin' to worry 'em... I know that feel." Micah grins, plunking liberated nails into the can and receiving a pleasant, almost musical metallic clattering in return for his donation. "Believe me, if I had any ideas of how to help..." He shakes his head, frustration visible in the lines of his brow, if not in his unfaltering smile. "I'm mostly just bein' moral support an' tryin' to convince everybody involved to /communicate/, myself." On a less serious note, "Think Jax'd prob'ly start by askin' you not t'call him Mr. Holland. Sounds so...not Jax." Micah's nose crinkles with amusement. Another "hand"ful is added by Nox, extending the melody and earning a low hum of amusement for the harmonizing. But she soon sobers. "I remember to call him that, sometimes. Today, he was not pleased with me. It makes it harder to remember. Communication..." The shadows swell, a silent sort of sigh, before they move again to the next board, the next nails. "And what of you, Micah? To be moral support, the unfailing shoulder. Does it tire you? Have you found time for yourself, in all of this?" Nox’s purry hum-laugh is what draws Micah’s gaze at first. He still can’t quite help himself from smiling fondly when he hears it. But her words are what hold the look. “Jax? Displeased? With you?” One of his eyebrows is drawn upward a little bit more with each consecutive question, clearly incredulous. “I can’t imagine…” He does remember his task at this point, hurriedly plying hammer to nails again. “Oh…no. I… I’m not /just/ helpin’. I kinda…lean back, too. It’s a…thing.” "Somewhat displeased, though it ended on a positive note, I believe." It /is/ difficult to imagine a displeased Jax, which is perhaps why Nox slides so easily onto the other topic. "Ah yes...leaning back. You are close now." She has many and more tendrils occupied with the task at hand. But what is one more, when it's aimed to ruffle at his hair. That touch transfers some of her humming, mingled pleasure and amusement. "Thing is so inelegant a word though. You need a better word. A more suitable word." "As long as...no one is still displeased?" Micah's inquisitive eyebrow hasn't returned back to base yet. It is still investigating since Nox is being /slippery/ about it. But, she is also moving on to topics that make him blush. Clever girl. "Uh...yes. It is a /Thing/ thing now." Clearly /that/ is a better description? Micah bops his head into her hand-tendril when it fusses at his hair, instinctively inclined to seek out touch. And humming! "But it's so delightfully /vague/. One step above 'noun', really. It's all in the intonation, I guess?" Assuredly he is toying with her at this point. The tendril curls around his hand, allowing itself to be held and sharing its continued buzzing. An able distraction! Perhaps more so when her voice rises from it. "I would think "love affair" a better descriptor, given how you light up around him? Your passion, perhaps. He is your inamorato, mm?" If Micah will toy with Nox, she will toy right back--and she has more tentacles, one of which is sneaking up behind to ruffle his hair again now that he's secured the first and rendered it immobile. Another board, in the background, is shunted onto the pile, more nails are added to the can. Micah’s eyes slip closed a moment at the pleasant buzzyfeel. Nox’s voice suddenly springing up closer does remind him to open them again. The words associated with said voice coax out a deeper blush. “Oh goodness, now you’re speakin’ in /fancy/! We…uh…kinda settled on ‘boyfriend’ feelin’ about right.” With all this attention, Micah has to remind himself now and then to busy himself with actually /helping/. The clatter of nails is a handy prompt. "I am so very glad for you, Micah. More than I can say." Tendrils become arms and arms loop around him from behind to administer the strangest of hugs before slipping away. So as not to interfere with the workings. Yes. But Nox's amusement lingers, especially now that she has been accused of fancy. "It is a good thing, to know there is room for happiness. And it is even the season for it. Gardening and love affairs. I will be so sad when spring has gone." Strange hugs are /nice/ hugs, as it turns out. Micah sort of pets at the arms before they slide away, lacking a torso to really apply hugs /back/ to her. “Can be happiness in every kind of place‘n time. Don’t gotta stick to no seasons… Ohgosh, I’ll start singin’ ‘Rent’ at you if I keep up this line o’ talk. Spring’s nice.” Micah’s hands are back to more diligent work. Fit. Tug. Pull. Metal clatter. “Couldn’t help but notice, maybe Lucien had eyes for you at that party? Pretty green eyes?” His tone is light and a little teasing, not prying. Prying is for disassembling crates. "Spring is nice. Summer, not as much," Nox murmurs, even the season's name enough to steal the hum from her voice. "But you may sing to me all you like. I enjoy it. 'Rent' was very good, I enjoyed it as well." And then silence springs up between them, filled just with labor. It's as if Micah hadn't made his teasing observation--maybe she's become distracted by needing to reach up and tangle herself around another crate, tug it down from the pile to begin the entire process anew. The creaking of nails in splinter wood is louder than her eventual answer. "Mr. Tessier has been very kind to me." Micah’s head tilts very briefly before realisation dawns across his features. “Oh. Long days. Short nights. Lots of sun. Not so good.” His realisations come in telegraph sentences, apparently. “Trouble with singin’ is y’can’t really talk at the same time. An’ if anybody’s tried, it’s me.” He scrunches his nose up with this self-deprecating playfulness. “You’re quite ‘Mister-y’ tonight. It’s nice…findin’ folks who are kind. An’ helpful. An’ attentive. An’ a bit hand-holdy…” No pushing! See, he’s speaking in /abstractions/! "Mmm, yes. It will be the tunnels for me, during the day. I sleep more. I have..." But Nox drifts away from that subject, because Micah is proving to be as terrible as she is, with introducing others. If she had a face right now, she might well give him a Look--but would probably be unable to maintain it. A playful Micah is formidable indeed. As is her way, she inflicts honesty upon him: "You are terrible, Mr. Zedner." There. /That/ for his observation on her formality tonight! But it has, at least, won further elaboration. "He is...all of those things, yes. But he is also a man with a very sick brother, and many other concerns. I have also displeased /him/ recently as well. So." So. She tears another board from its resting place and tugs at the nails. Tug tug. “It’s kinda…reverse hibernation, I guess. Hm.” Micah pulls a face at her ongoing Mistering. “That’s not even my /Pops/, that’s /Gramps/.” But! At least his busybodying is earning /something/. “As it turns out, men with lots of worries also appreciate a little springtime now and then.” Micah might have had this conversation /recently/ from the sound of it. “And choosin’ what’s worth worryin’ over for themselves.” His eyes are on his work in the dim conditions, not pinning Nox with anything but words. “He’s a little…easier to displease, it seems.” By now, the stack of boards is approaching the height of the stack of unbroken crates. Nox appears to deem this sufficient unto their purposes because after she finishes the last, and sets it aside neatly, the nails deposited in the can, she gathers herself together. First just a shape, and then she, sitting on the ground with indistinct arms curled around indistinct knees. "He says I help him to relax and it is dangerous," she whispers, also not looking at him. "I did not truly understand. Until he told me what it is that he does, to keep his family...safe. Off of the streets. Do you remember, Micah, when you gave me that lovely flower?" Micah collects another little pile of nails to clatter into the can. He lets himself sort of topple from his kneel-sit into a side-sit, closer to Nox. More specific and serious talks seem to be forming. “I suppose it could be…complicated. With what he does. But certainly not impossible. He wouldn’t be the first.” Nox is a good hand at colouring Micah’s cheeks tonight! Whether it is visible in the darkness or not, she’s managed to paint him a rosy red again. “Of course I do.” Oh, but she can see so very well in the darkness. She might even be able to feel the heat pouring off of his cheeks, given the gloom that surrounds the pair. The blush earns him a soft smile, the first visible smile of the night! So maybe that was worth it. Nox looks over at him, cheek turned to rest against her knees. "I said I was not very good at all of that, I think? Which was unkind to you. I should have perhaps said I was very new to all of that. To...overtures. And sweetness. I have no idea of what to do. How to be. Even how to...to understand signals that are perhaps basic to others. I wonder if perhaps a man as learned and...and beautiful as Lucien would not be better supported by someone who knows these things, mm?" Nox's smile reflects on Micah's features, as well. "It's okay to be new. Everyone is...some time. It might be up to the other person whether they are capable of handling newness? So long as y'let them know about it. In the same way that it is up to you whether you can handle...more experience. I usually find it best just to tell people what I'm feelin'. Though I do talk too much. An' sometimes that's messy in itself. But at least it's an open'n honest kinda messy, when it is. Sometimes it isn't messy at all, though. Sometimes it's just all that's needed to...let things happen." "Mm, you are one of the most honest people I know. I think that is why I like you so much, Micah." Nox clearly doesn't intend to help the blushing situation at all. "I wish I had that facility." She considers for a moment before testing those waters--honesty, and messy, both combined. "I do not mind his experience. Underneath it he is...there is something so...tender in him. Something new as well. But...I made him unhappy, I think, because I have...because I do /not/ know. What is proper. Up here. I have been...I watch his house. Sometimes? On patrol. As I watch the Lofts. And because...maybe I distract him. From what he must do. And..." So many words! She sighs, instead of finishing them. No, she isn’t helping the blushing at all. But Micah is well used to it by now. This is almost a /pleased/ blush, besides, with the most subtle hint of preening. “It could well be there’s a separation between work-experience and,” Micah pauses. What to call it? “…/not/ work-experience.” He is so very skilled at Wording. “Best advice I can give you on relationships? As a person with more’n his fair share of experience… Throw ‘proper’ right out the window. Write your own rules. /With/ the other person. Makes for less… Frustration. Game-playin’. All of that.” His hand flutters dismissively at the concepts. “Distractions can be /real/ nice sometimes.” "Perhaps." All of that excellent advice, and this is the only answer Nox can muster. She really /is/ bad at this. But at least she's smiling. "I do not want to play games, no. I...feel. A great deal. For him." And the advantage in regards to blushing goes to the shadow--her cheeks might darken but it is so dark out. In that darkness, a hand slips over his shoulder and presses lightly. "Thank you. For letting me try to talk. For being honest and for having experience that I can draw from." “Well… I’d say, first thing is to decide whether you’re okay sharin’ him. The way that…would be needed. Some folks are equipped for it, some aren’t. Just gotta settle it right off the bat, ‘cause it’s usually a deal-breaker. And if you /are/, then decide if it’s /worth/ tellin’ him how you feel. And if it /is/, then tell him. All of it. Worse that can happen is that y’find out it /won’t/ work that much faster. Best that can happen is it /does/ work.” Micah slips a hand onto Nox’s forearm and leans his head to the side such that he can nuzzle his cheek against her hand. “You’re more than welcome. It’s helpful…to get thoughts out of your head sometimes. They tend to echo and confuse themselves if they get stuck in there too long.” Nox brushes smoky fingertips against his temple, the nuzzling drawing a deeper and lingering smile. "It is very helpful. In the quiet and the dark, they just chase themselves." A thumb traces his cheekbone and then she is sighing again. "I do not mind his trade. What he must do. But to know he is...perhaps not happy with it...to...imagine him...ah. I think I would rather finish this bed, than think of it any more. Will you help me, Micah? Show me how to use these tools you've brought." Micah nods his agreement with her words and does not press the topic any further. "Breakin' stuff can be fun, but the buildin' part is way more /rewardin'/. We might even be able to reuse whatever nails aren't bent." Micah flips open the toolkit to locate and describe the basic parts that will be needed. It is all fairly basic, for building rectangular boxes out of existing materials. It is a good sort of project to start on, for a beginner.