ArchivedLogs:Technicolour Transaction

Technicolour Transaction
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Marrow, Micah
In Absentia	2 February 2014 Making a delivery in a /very/ colourful city. (Part of the Morpheus TP and the Thunderdome TP.)
Location <NYC> Guerrilla Garden - Lower East Side
Situated on the lot directly adjacent to the distinctive sleek form of the Mendel Clinic, this space was once abandoned. The chainlink fence around it is still rusty, dilapidated, and the signs affixed to it still unwelcoming -- rusty as well, reading KEEP OUT, and PRIVATE PROPERTY. For those who venture into the slitted gap cut out of the fence, though, the yard within tells a different story. Neat and cleaned of any garbage and weeds, the once-abandoned lot has been rebuilt. Packing crates have been broken down for their wood to create raised beds full of rich soil, each bed neatly tilled and tended. Stakes label the different plants growing -- a wealth of vegetables growing three seasons of the year in the carefully tended soil. Around the edges of the lot, smaller beds have had brightly coloured flowers planted, lending even more cheer to the little hidden garden. Very eclectically mismatched seating has been brought in; old packing crates, chairs scavenged from curbs, though it's all been brightly painted. Though winter still, it's hardly cold today, an almost balmy mid-fifties. And though winter still the city today is painted in surreal bright colours, swirling in rainbow oil paint shades. This garden right now favours peacock hues, ocean hues, packing crates in blues and purples, chairs with gold eyes, the earth underfood in rich iridescent shades. Jackson himself /glitters/, which is hardly unusual except that his /tattoos/ glitter, /glinting/ bright and metallic. He's not in much to shade him from the cold, a short-sleeved fishnet shirt (swirled in pink and purple mingling together) over a darker purple tank, UFOs that are metallic silver now, Doc Martens pink and purple swirled too. His ink glints in the light in a way tattoos really /shouldn't/. His hair shimmers like it should be shedding glitter when he moves. Each one of his piercings is a different rainbow shade. Around him there's a fierce heat. He's got a camera in his hand and he's snapping pictures. Of the garden. Of the sleek tall Mendel Clinic building beside it -- knifing up into the sky today in a pearlescent shade that glimmers, iridescent as well. His expression is /radiant/. Has been radiant through most of the afternoon. Hasn't stopped being radiant through any of the /many/ phone calls he's gotten -- a lot of them have been from people at his school. His art style is /distinct/, and they /noticed/ when it's been splashed around the city. One of the more recent calls was from an ex-Fight Club captive, and even that was more /cheer/ than depressing -- he's been feeling /better/ now that the funds are actually starting to get where they should be going. Stopped at the bank before stopping at the garden. Snapped a lot of pictures on the way. His cheeks might be starting to hurt from all the smiling. Despite this being a location Marrow has suggested there hasn't been any direct sign of the woman herself. Even a surreptitious peek under the nearest manhole cover reveals no clues as to her location. It's not until enough time has passed that she might be considered a no-show when a pale arm pokes out from a storm drain. Slowly but surely, with the popping and snapping of joints dislocating and relocating the Morlock emerges from a gap that'd give a regular human contortionist nightmares. "Fuckin' drains," she mutters as she shakes off the snow and starts rolling up a joint. Finally she eyes Jackson and shrugs. "You want one too?" The time that Marrow left them has been well-spent. Since returning home from church, Jax has been towing Micah around the city, often by the hand. Micah did not bother to dress in much of interest. He has on his Jayne hat, striped mittens, and jacket over jeans and sneakers. All of these items have taken on a bit of a colour-swirl appearance, however, enough to be /dizzying/ in combination. The hat is now watermelon-striped in shades of green and pink, the jacket a brilliant tie-dye of blue and purple, the gloves rainbow-striped instead of their usual simple gradient, the jeans brilliant sapphire blue with white and yellow starbursts on them, the shoes candy apple red with green laces. Unadorned with dyes or inks or piercings himself, Micah's clothing is the only thing about him to have taken on brighter colouration. The redhead has his phone out, in camera-mode, also taking pictures. Most of his involve /Jackson/ with the various items and locations in the city serving as his backdrop. Largely, he doesn't ask for poses from the other man, just taking candid shots of his clearly blissful enjoyment of the colourfully transformed city. "I still think we need t'get you...on the roof or somewhere with your shirt off while it's still relatively warm out. Can't appreciate all the new colours showin' up in your ink otherwise," Micah informs with a grin. And a brilliant /blush/ (all his own, without need for dream-magics) when Marrow appears. "Oh, um. Hello." His phone lowers to his side as his expression becomes more sheepish. "Woah -- woah you aright there?" Jax's eye widens at the cracking and popping of joints, though it might be a little hard to tell given how wide-eyed he already /is/. Marrow's clothes are likely adopting technicolour-brightness as she emerges, too, and he turns to /watch/ this transformation a little brightly. "Hihi! -- ohgosh, no, thank you though, I'm alright! Really it's fine hon I'm -- hi. Hi. Marrow. Hi. Right. I'm -- right." He blushes and lowers the camera immediately, clearly not intending to take pictures of /her/. "Pfft, rooftop, you can have that right there. An' Dusk when he gets down from --" He waves his hand up towards the /sky/, where presumably Dusk's got off to. Perhaps if they look high enough they can catch a glimpse of brightly swirling /wings/. He moves aside to set his camera down on a discarded (glittering-magenta and teal) backpack, and peel off his shirts to reveal rainbowy-oilslick tattooed wings, metallic-shiny-purple dragonfly, blue-and-orange AURYN, silver-and-gold peachtree. Tattoos on and on each more brilliant than the last, especially as freshly-redone as they are. He unzips a pocket of his backpack to pull out a thick envelope. "You wanted cash, right?" Marrow lets out a dismissive snort. "Bone control is good for more than just growing spikes," she offers by way of explanation. "And I needed to be sure you weren't being followed by anyone." Her rolling is swift and heavy on the illegal ingredients, at least until her outfit starts to change colour. "Have things gone all fucked up in this shithole again? And yeah cash would be good. Not like I got a fuckin' bank account after all." Micah may be a little more used to the uncomfortable sounds that bones and joints can make than most people, given the way in which ORs being used by orthopaedic surgeons have an uncomfortable way of sounding like a combination wood shop, auto shop, and butcher's. So it is that the woman's odd arrival doesn't get the attention it would usually deserve. A /little/ of this might also be owing to how he's /staring/ at Jax once he's peeled out of his shirt. His hand twitches a bit, but manages to have the sense /not/ to bring up the camera-phone again until the transaction is completed. His thoughts /might/ be a little full of what /gorgeous/ shots could be set up with the city backdrop and tattooed Jax and dyed-winged Dusk... He finally succeeds in pulling his eyes away and over to Marrow. "Oh, s'just been some things appearin' out of dreams lately. Hug Bank downtown a couple nights ago. Brilliant colours today. Nothin' /worrisome/, really. Just...happy an' pretty." "Screwed up? Oh gosh no. This is /incredible/," Jackson protests reflexively, but then ducks his head with a note of /guilt/. "-- maybe kinda screwed up, I think I mighta. Painted the entire -- alla New York. On, um, on accident." He scuffs a toe sheepishly against the ground, rubbing his free hand against the back of his head with a slow tensing of muscles that flexes the rainbow-swirled tattooed wings at his back. "But no, for once things up here seem to be slantin' towards -- /happy/." He rocks forward towards Marrow, holding the envelope out towards here. "Here. Ain't much, but it's -- maybe y'can try an' get a piece'a that happy for yourself." He turns his head, grinning over towards Micah. "/An'/ pretty. Though I'm way biased. This is my art s'all pullin' from." "Yeah well maybe it's all sunbeams and rainbows while you're having nice dreams. But if someone can do this to your dreams then they can do it with your nightmares too," Marrow notes dryly, sparking up her joint. She takes a few tokes, then offers it around before taking the envelope of money and tucking it into her jacket. "Money buys a lot of happy and no doubt revenge will cover the rest. Already a lot of dead cops thanks to the zombie plague. It's like that karma shit." "Ain't no kinda screwed up, honey. What's bein' colourful hurtin'? An' there's a good chance it's just temporary, anyhow. Give folks some colour an' change for a bit. In a good way. Could sure /use/ it, 'specially in the middle of grey-dreary wintertime." Micah moves to rest a hand on the back of Jax's neck, keeping himself in check where the hand would /usually/ have moved down his back on account of the recently redone tattoos. "S'all been nice things that we've heard of so far. An' one dream that I know of started as a nightmare, but this thing made it all happy /before/ any weird stuff happened. Maybe it only works happy. Ain't been no evidence t'the contrary so far." He nods at the mention of the money. "It's actually...a decent amount." No comment is made on the cops or karma. Jackson eyes the joint for a moment, when Marrow offers it around, For a moment he tips his head in thoughtful consideration, but then shakes his head politely. "No thanks. Today I kinda already feel like the world's a little extra-trippy." He waves a hand towards the colours around them. "An' yeah, I think there's a lotta us trying to figure out where this is all comin' from, I mean, if there's someone out there not in control'a their powers or somethin' -- maybe they'll want help. Specially if there's a chance'a this goin' sour but -- so far s'all only been happy-things. An' honestly, the way things'a been lately, I think all'a New York's been /due/ for a little bit'a happy." He leans gently back into the touch, his smile brightening. "I think it must be temporary. Like drawin' on the sidewalk." His nose crinkles up at the mention of the cops. "Well, s'all yours so you can buy yourself -- whatever karma y'like, I guess." Marrow flicks ash into the snow. "'S my job to expect things to turn to shit," she points out, her hand brushes against her jacket. Roughly where the envelope is. "The kid... Anole, his tuitions all covered by the school? Or would it help out if there was an anonymous donation on his behalf?" There is an emphatic scowl at the word anonymous. "Not that I care. Just don't want you trying to hit us up for repayment in the future." Micah just nods along with Jax for awhile. His expression falls a little at the mention of Anole. "His tuition's covered. School could always /use/ donations, either way, but... Have you /seen/ Anole? He's been missin' for quite some time. Kids said he left the school t'check on folks in the sewers durin' the whole zombie plague thing. But he never came back an' hasn't answered texts or voice mails or anythin'. Horus's also been missin' since then--kid looks kinda like a huge bird, don't know if y'know 'im. If any of your folks runs across /either/ of 'em, could y'let us know?" "We always appreciate donations, we gotta whole lotta kids as don't got nobody t'pay nothin' for 'em. But you don't gotta. School ain't gonna be comin' after anyone for Anole's tuition /an'/ if we /find/ Anole he's got his /own/ share'a this money comin' to him but -- yeah," Jackson agrees with the smile running away from his face. "He's been missin' since the zombies broke out. Went t'go check on you all an' never -- came back. So if any'a y'all see him we'd really appreciate knowin', he's got a lotta friends an' we been -- worried." He draws in a slow breath. "Real worried. Ain't heard nothin' from him since about November." "Ain't seen either of them. But I'll keep an eye out," Marrow offers, sucking in a lungful of smoke. "Not sure I wanna donate to a school that's lost it's only Morlock pupil though. No offense." She smiles. "Of course if I see 'em and they wanna live with the Morlocks and ask us not to tell... Well, first rule of the sewers is we look after our own. Even from people who they used to call friends." Another nod answers Marrow's comments. "Ain't required, for sure. An' y'don't gotta say nothin' they don't want y'to. Just...let 'em know that we'd like t'hear from 'em an' they can make that decision up for themselves, yeah?" Micah's calm words don't quite match the level of slow-simmering concern and worry in his eyes and etched across his brow. "'Cause we worry. When people disappear." "M'sure if they're -- doin' okay they can. Make that decision themselves if. They get found." Jax's voice is soft, but his shoulder is knotting up tense and hard beneath Micah's fingers, temperature slowly climbing under his skin despite the cool day. "That's up to them, though, honey-honey." There's a flutter of glittering light around him, briefly, the warmth in his skin settling back down. He leans over to nab his camera back. "Y'take care out there." Marrow chuckles. "Not me who needs to take care," she says with the confidence of youth. "'S the rest of the fuckin' city which needs to watch out. Us Morlocks are like the rats and roaches, nothing anyone does will wipe us out." As if to make a point a knifelike blade starts to sprout from her left shoulder. "Try to stay out of the big house in future. Makes it a motherfucker getting in touch with you."