ArchivedLogs:Stronger Stuff

Stronger Stuff
Dramatis Personae Ash, Natalie, Scramble
In Absentia	2016-03-12 "Family, though, I'm down with that."
Location <NYC> Sunyata - Bronx
The construction of this squat office building in Port Morris ground to a halt over a year ago. Since, a group of punks have taken it over and converted it to one of the more impressive squats in the city. From outside, the building is wildly colorful, covered with massive interlocking murals. The roof supports a thriving urban farm with a sizeable greenhouse and beehives, while the offices below are homes to both long- and short-term residents, who are encouraged but not actually required to contribute supplies, income, and labor to the community. The cavernous lobby has no glass, but has become a partially indoor skate park/playground, including a rather popular free-running circuit. Dogs and cats and children wander the grounds, shamelessly soliciting food and attention from any who will give it. Summer's brief visit to March has come and gone, and left New York in the care of a cool but comfortable spring day. Half a dozen teenagers are fooling around in the skate park that occupies the better half of Sunyata's partly open lobby, and there's a handful of children are chasing around on the playground nearby, watched over by a pair of crusties sharing a pipe. High above them on a third-storey balcony (intermittently in the sunlight but still sheltered from the wind), Scramble is tipping back a dark brown liter glass bottle labelled 'NORTHERN SPY 2/14/16 <3'. She's wearing a red canvas motorcycle jacket over a black cropped top, tight black jeans, and worn-out black Doc Martens. Nods. Passes the bottle to her companion. "It's on the sweet side, but it's not bad! Strong." This last sounds more like a compliment than a warning. "Strong, eh?" Ash eyes the bottle skeptically, as if he is now concerned the liquid within will punch him in the mouth. He's leaning heavily against the ledge, dressed in his darker, nicer jeans, only moderately worn but still tinged brown. He's got a new tee shirt on and has forsaken a flannel which is now draped over the railing. He tips the bottle to his lips and drinks down some of the cider, smacking his lips after he swallows. "Mmmmm. That is nice. I like it. Could drop a little habanero in there. That'd be good. Or cinnamon, I guess, but that's more expected." He hands the bottle back, intent on taking turns. "I'll let 'em know." Scramble accepts the bottle back, swishes it gently, and takes another swig. "The person that make this," she adds, by way of explanation. "They live here. Probably don't need much encouragement to add habanero, they also make their own hot sauce." She offers the bottle back, smiling thinly. "Ain't none of it strong enough for the kinda week I'm having, but I'll take what I can get." Ash takes the bottle back and takes a longer drink this time. "Hmmmm. I bet a donation of actual habaneros would be an encouragement. I've got some growing in the green house at home. I try to make sure that we have some with the herbs so that we have flavor during the colder months." He doesn't hand back the bottle immediately but takes another drink. "Your week has been bad? You want to talk about it, or do you want to go find a stronger bottle?" He offers the cider back. "I bet it would." Scramble leans more heavily on the elbows she's braced against the railing. "We got tons of peppers up in the hoophouse, too, but it can't hurt." She's staring down at the playground, or maybe through it. Smiles indulgently. "It's just that time of year. I've tried a stronger bottle. /Several,/ when I went celebrating with Ion." She takes the bottle back. Studies it for a moment. "Don't think talking's gonna help, either. It's about Peace, you know?" "Yeah," Ash replies quietly. His eyes go out of focus as he lets his gaze drop as well. "It's a tough time. I'd say this year is different -- but every year seems different. Still, I am prepping my liver for when Ion comes out again." He exhales and wets his lips and glances up at Scramble's face, head tilting as he studies her. "Did you want to talk about her - to remember?" Natalie's steps are thumpy as she emerges from a stairwell door -- workboots, olive-drab cargo pants, a plain white tee under a black leather jacket. Multicolored cloth backpack, motorcycle helmet tucked under her arm, fingers raking through her hair which has just recently been de-ponytailed. She sets the helmet down on the ground, swings her backpack off her shoulders to hold it lazily in one hand as she leans back against the railing beside Scramble. "Tacos?" It's like a greeting. "Every year is different," Scramble agrees easily. "Thanks, but I got no trouble /remembering/ her." There's a tightness at her jaw, a quick swallow. "It's just...in a way I hate getting over her." She shakes her head sharply. Finally takes another drink as Natalie comes in. Her smile is maybe a touch less bright and fierce than usual, but it looks genuinely happy. "Yes, /please/." She's passing the bottle to Natalie now. "I didn't plan this bender very well. Have you two met?" "Oh, I didn't think you'd forget - but formal remembering, I guess," Ash mutters, embarrassed. He raises an eyebrow as he peeks around Scramble to look at Natalie, a small friendly smile spreading across his face as he glances between the two. "Ah. No. I don't think so. But she does seem to travel in style, or at least packing multiple tacos. I like her." Natalie opens the flap of her backpack, loosening its tigtened drawstring and pulling out a large spicy-smelling paper bag from inside. The foil-wrapped packages inside are labelled, somewhat: V on most of them, C on a few, P or CA on a couple. Some tubs of various salsas on the side. She trades the bag to Scramble for her bottle, taking a swig as she hooks one foot back up against the railing. Her tongue clicks against her teeth, head shaking. "Scramble carries /all/ the style for the both of us. -- Fff, this sweet." It doesn't really sound like a /complaint/ -- surprised, though, her brows lifting. She takes another gulp anyway, stretching past Scramble to offer the bottle -- and her hand -- to Ash. "Natalie." Scramble is making grabbyhands at Bag O Taco before Natalie even offers it, and -- triumphantly -- pulls out a package that reads 'V', along with a tub of salsa verde. "{Thank you,}" she switches smoothly to Spanish, "{girl you have saved my life.} Or at least my /head/ from the hangover I'd probably have in a few hours if I didn't eat." The bag she now offers to Ash, shaking it a couple of times by way of encouragement -- man's got two hands, he can handle both taco and booze. "Yeah, that's the Valentine's Day cider Shay had brewing. Got a kick, too." Ash does not need encouragement. He does need the hand eye control to wrap his fingers around the shaking bag. When she stops, he is able to take it from her and dig down into the taco bag to find a 'P.' He unwraps it and takes a long, deep inhale of the delicious aroma. "Ah Dios! I wouldn't say Scramble has all the style. One needs some flavor in their soul to find good tacos." He takes a bite at an inappropriate time and is unable to respond to Natalie's name. He chews quickly, trying to clear his mouth. He speaks up at half full, most of the food tucked into his cheek. "Ash." "That's how I roll. With the life-saving. There are /enough/ Bad Drinking Decisions made around this place," Natalie waves her hand generically /around/, "may as well make them with good tacos." She lifts her chin when Ash introduces himself, tipped up in a nod as she leans back against the rail once more. "Maybe my soul was feeling spicy today. I made so many deliveries from this place, after /smelling/ all the delicious tacos I just had to grab some." "Ash is a Commoner," Scramble adds, grinning. "Hell, he just about /built/ most of the place. See we all got a thing about building -- build solidarity, community, build a whole fucking future worth living for, yeah?" Her speech isn't slurred /yet/, but the cider (or whatever she had before that) is definitely having an effect. She levels a flat look at Natalie, though, one black eyebrow raised. "Don't front, your soul spicy /every/ day." "Oy, hermana, you don't have to sell me quite so hard. I have to let my natural charm shine through a little bit on its own." Ash could be blushing, but it's a little difficult to tell under his usual coating of dirt. Apparently that stays even when he's wearing his nice jeans. "But yeah, the future we build is important. So, you deliver these tasty morsels? Perhaps your spicy soul gave you the intuition to lead you to the job. The universe, man, it's all connected some how." He pauses to extend his hand toward the liter of cider, grabby fingers until he can get a hand around it for a swallow or two. "Well, this city's got a lot of flavor. I been here a while, /some/ of it had to get into my soul by now." Natalie shrugs a shoulder, one side of her mouth tipping up in a quick smile. "Not selling. Scramble's /chock/-full of love. -- Especially when chock-full of cider." There's a touch of amusement lightening her tone. "I deliver whatever. Anything people want -- that I can fit on my bike. But what people want mostly ends up being takeout, as it happens. You build that place? It's badass." "I ain't hurting your natural charm," Scramble assures Ash /very earnestly/. "And I don't never sell my brothers and sisters. /Ever./" She snags the cider, takes a swig of it herself before delivering it to Ash's grasping hand. "How we earn a living ain't necessarily building no future. But how we raise each other up? That /is./" "Ahh, well, I guess it's okay if she's just gushing drunken love, I will clam up and take it." Ash grins and then finishes off the taco in his hand, washing the mouthful down with some of the cider before he offers it to the other two. "And no. I would never accuse you of selling anyone. You're a fantastic being and amazing to your familia." He grins and throws an arm over Scramble's shoulders. "I did a lot of building. I mostly did what the plans told me. Don't know how amazing that makes me. I mean, it's quality work and it's super strong. Good materials." Natalie snags one of the tacos for herself -- this one marked with a C! -- unwrapping it carefully and drizzling some red sauce onto it. "Raise each other up -- through the power of good building materials and drunken love?" Her brows lift, considering. "I might not be following cider-logic well, forgive me." She doesn't sound intensely apologetic. Mostly amused. "Family, though, I'm down with that." Scramble leans into Ash -- maybe not entirely due to intoxication, but that's certainly a good part of it. Then she very abruptly remembers the food she still holds in her hand and starts to unwrap it. "And /tacos/," she adds to Natalie's list. "But no, really. It's amazing. You're amazing. Both of you." She slings an arm around Natalie's shoulder, too, and bonks their heads together (perhaps a little harder than she meant to, though the thick fluffy cloud of her hair cushions the impact admirably). "To family." She raises her /taco/ for the toast, grinning broadly. Ash grabs another taco at random and lifts it in toast. "To family!"