ArchivedLogs:The Grasshopper and the Ant

The Grasshopper and the Ant
Dramatis Personae Violet, Micah
In Absentia	29 June 2014 Surprisecat! Though, there's something to be said for lounging in the sun, as well.
Location <NYC> {Lighthaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
Bright and sunny-light, this house lives up to its name. With a plethora of enormous windows flooding the place with light and an open layout, the ground floor feels more spacious than it is. The small entryway has a closet space for shoes and coats, and doors at either side leading to the neighboring apartments. Past this it opens straight into the living room, a wide expanse of space bordered on one side by a curved set of stairs leading up (with colourful glass tiling on the risers between each stair) and next to these, the half-wall into the kitchen. Cool pale tile underfoot and many dark cabinets with a small walk-in pantry, plentiful custom granite countertops, black and speckled faintly with rainbowy flecks, lots of hanging space overhead for cookware, a large double-oven. There's a strip of rather detailed mosaic-work in the kitchen backsplash, colourful glass tiling depicting strange fantastical herbs and small faeries and firelizards darting among them. In back of the kitchen, a door opens up to a small sunroom, wide and two-stories high with a balcony overlook from the second floor; two of the windows here have cushioned windowseats, and there's a wealth of herbs growing in hanging pots and small window-boxes. The back wall of the living room is nearly entirely dominated by windows, huge and allowing a view of the river beyond with bench windowseats lining the sills. There are plentiful paintings on the wall, surreal and fantasy-inspired, mostly in shades of blacks greys with bright bursts of colour that are mirrored in the decor -- monochrome upholstery on the couch and armchair but colourful throw-pillows, black and white huge corduroy beanbags (and one large red doggie-bed,) soft throw rugs also in mostly black and white with splashes of rainbow woven in. The hand-built furniture -- tall chairs by the kitchen/living room counter, dining table and chairs in the kitchen, low coffeetable in the living room -- has been hand-painted as well, black with bursts of colourful abstract designs. Along the living room's other wall, doors branch off to a full bathroom -- in white and deep blue with one wall of the shower done in colourful intricate mosaic too, an underwater scene full of strange mythical water-creatures; tiny water-sprites have been interspersed at random points in the rest of the wall tiles, as well. There's a small studio space beside the bathroom, large windows as well and a gratuitous amount of shelving and cabinets along the walls; this room has very /little/ colour in it, just white walls and black furnishing. It was nice out today! That's the official word, anyway, and that means windows open to catch breezes off the water--hopefully filtered via oak leaves of any icky smells because New York, man. You can never really predict the aroma. But really, no, it's lovely out, early afternoon winding on towards late afternoon, a day filled with the special sort of golden sunshine and blue skies reserved for summertime. But Violet doesn't want to be out /there/ right now. An open window is a beacon and she's eeled right on through it, after scaling the building outside. Yes, scaling. Clad in khaki cut offs and a couple of dingy tank tops, she looks ever so very much at home--the beach bum come visiting, the shoddy aunt conducting a couch crashing--as she cycles through the room. A fingertip is dragged over a counter here, a stovetop there and voila, she's deep inside of the kitchen. Anyone entering will see her rump poking out from beyond the edge of the opened fridge door, tail just a-swingin' as she bends over to study the contents of the fridge. It has been a lovely day! That's why the windows were open to said balmy breezes. Micah, presently, is nowhere to be seen, however. Then there is a clump-clump-clump up from the basement, door opening from the nether-regions of the house to admit one red-headed cyborg and his pile of fresh out of the dryer scented laundry. Really, with all the open windows and breeziness, it could be a commercial for detergent. Okay, probably there would be a very generic woman filling in for Micah's role in some kind of flowy dress as opposed to a Doctor Hooves T-shirt and bluejeans. He deposits the basket by the couch and is all but ready to settle in for an exciting round of folding when sounds from the kitchen drift to his ears. "Spence? We'll be havin' dinner in a couple hours, so don't forage /too/ much." He spins on a heel to send himself back to the kitchen to investigate what the boy is up to. Growing a tail, apparently, is the answer. "Not Spence," Micah muses, brows lifted. "Hey, sugar. Did y'need t'borrow a shower again? Or just food?" It doesn't appear to matter that Violet is in strange territory, another person's residence; she is not startled by the sound of footsteps. Perhaps because she can smell their owner, or recognizes the cadence of the footsteps coming up from the basement. An ear twists back, her tail does droop but otherwise there is no panicking. Instead she rises, puts on her very best visitors' grin and closes the door as she turns to face her voluntold host. "Hi!" she chirps, "Just takin' a break from all the sun. Gets kinda warm when you can't take your furs off, y'know? How's it goin'? Y'need a hand there?" Truly she is the most considerate, for already she is stepping forward to sweep past the cyborg on a direct course for fresh laundry in its basket. There is a whiff of seawater about her, of fish left on shores, of metal left to rust and a hint of machine oil. Admittedly, Micah's footsteps do have a unique cadence with the prosthesis on his left leg. He doesn't seems upset or even /that/ surprised at people showing up in his house. Just that what he anticipated to be smallboy didn't turn out that way. “Y'don't gotta do chores 'less you're itchin' t'play with warm laundry. Know some folks as actually /like/ it. Can I pour you a sweet tea? Gettin' one for m'self.” He nods at Violet's explanation. “Midday does get a bit toasty if y'don't have plentiful shade or a roof. Y'been 'round the docks?” The question is conversational, not accusatory, as Micah is already moving to fetch two glasses to fill. Micah's timely offer of tea saves the laundry! For now. Violet stop and turns about again, perking at him. "/Real/ sweet tea? I'll have /two/, thank you!" And for that, she'll dance along after him. "You won't think I'm weird if I say s'one thing I kinda miss, being out on my own? Keepin' things up, I mean. Used t'help my sister around the house when she was at work. Tidy up, cook a little...not much call for that when you're out and about." The question about the docks earns him--or his back--a puzzled look before she clues in, and sniffs at her shoulder. "Oh. Yeah. Lots've nooks and crannies down there." "How 'bout I pour one for now an' just keep the pitcher out for refills? S'the real thing. Like t'give anybody fits who don't handle sugar well." As advertised, two glasses of /heavily/ sweetened sun-brewed black peach tea are poured. Micah hands one off to Violet before taking both the pitcher and his own glass to sit on the (newly finished!) coffee table, one resting on a cloth napkin and the other on a coaster since condensation is already going wild. "Well, I'm just foldin' for now. Gonna start up on makin' dinner 'bout soon as that's done. You're welcome t'hang 'round an' lend a hand much as y'feel like, if it's somethin' you're missin'." A little smile plays across his lips. "Yeah, it's kinda fun t'see all what's goin' on 'round there. S'all bustly." Violet is amenable to the one now, one later idea. She takes her own and presses the cool, wet side first to her fuzzy cheek--an act that is far less efficient in cooling her than she might hope. In spite of this, she repeats it with the /other/ cheek as she moves to settle down on the couch. The laundry...it is left to Micah, now that she's gotten a good whiff of herself. "See, now, I /know/ you're just sayin' that t'be charitable," she accuses with a return of her grin, "since I don't think ya'll are lackin' hands t'help around here. But maybe I can stick around. You've been down the docks? Kinda...a li'l rough around the edges for you, don't you think?" Micah takes a long drink from his glass before returning it to the table, settling in on the couch to start in on folding T-shirts. “Oh, nothin' doin'. Just hate t'see folks goin' homesick when they don't gotta.” His eyes tilt ceilingward for a moment. “Okay, maybe that /is/ bein' charitable, sorta. Offer stands, regardless.” A chuckle of bright amusement rolls past his lips at the mention of things being a little rough. “I get around a fair bit. An' seem t'manage pretty well.” "Yeah?" It isn't that Violet means to project skepticism. It's just...there. She samples the tea--the sweetness of it provoking a low purr of pleasure for that taste of home--and smacks her lips together before setting it before her on the table. Damp hand is rubbed against equally damp cheek, leaving the fur there mussed into uneven spikes. "Just figured...you bein' nice 'n the folks down there bein'.../not/ so nice. 'Cept this one kid, he's been leaving me sandwiches. /He's/ okay. Li'l starey but..." And that appears to be the end of that thought, as she flops backwards against the cushions and then twists sideways, to perform a sprawl. Mmmm, stretching out. Her head ends up hanging over the edge of the couch, of course. "What do y'do down at the docks?" The chuckles continue in a little-purring sort almost-laugh, just a soft rumbling suggestion of sound. Micah starts a pile on the arm of the couch to take his folded T-shirts one at a time. “Most places aren't as bad as their reputations chalk 'em up t'be. But I'm usually just there if I wanna pick up a big delivery of somethin' faster. 'Specially overseas shipments. Occasionally I'd run over for the auto shop I sometimes work at...less'n less now as /my/ business picks up. But y'can get things faster sometimes than waitin' on things t'come right to you. We get a fair amount of power chair parts from Germany, for example. Faster's always better on medical equipment, 'specially once folks've already had t'wait on insurance draggin' their feet like kids that don't wanna go t'bed.” "I dunno about that. Seems t'me most places, if they got a reputation, are 'xactly as bad as they're made out t'be." But Violet at least sounds thoughtful as she says this, as if she might be open to reconsidering. Possibly. Maybe. "Medical equipment, huh? So you're like...you work at the hospital or somethin'? I don't think I ever asked what it is you do." For some reason, that provokes a note of amusement, a grin offered upside down. "I figured y'just wander 'round th'city bein' nice at folks but I figure there's not much of a livin' in that, huh?" "Sometimes that's true. Sometimes. I try t'hold off any real judgement on things 'til I get t'have some lick of experience with 'em, where's reasonable, y'know?" Another shirt joins the stack. "I'm complicated for work. Mostly do prosthetics an' orthotics. Also general assistive an' adaptive technology. Pretty much any equipment from a medical standpoint that can make somebody's daily life easier t'navigate. I also do some moonlightin' as an auto mechanic, but...like I said, less an' less as m'main job gets busier. Do some volunteer work at a free clinic, an' with the gardens, an' taggin' along Jax's food service for folks in need when I can work /that/ into m'schedule. Keepin' busy." MIcah shakes his head at Violet's theory of his job, giggling a bit. "No, that don't pay well 'less you're willin' t'be /real/ friendly, usually." Another naughty joke! Really, Violet should know to expect them from Micah by now but this one leaves her spreading a hand over her face, hiding her expression. A sound is made, something caught between a snort and rumbly sort of laughter. "Complicated's right," she mumbles from behind her palm. "Y'ever think about maybe just havin' /one/ job? I'm tired just listenin' t'all that." Notice what she didn't respond to? That's /right/. The naughty. But when her hand drops, she is revealed to be grinning. "Guess it's balance though. You spend all day workin', 'n I'll handle all the nappin'." It's a delayed-reaction kind of blush, a sneaky bit of rose dusting across Micah's cheeks and the bridge of his nose at Violet's reaction. "Can't remember the last time I had just one job. Maybe just one job that /paid/. Usually was...volunteerin' for groups for kids with special needs an' helpin' out on the farm an' workin' at m'dad's shop once I was old enough /an'/ goin' t'school. S'just the way things've always been for me. Busy with work whenever I wasn't busy bein' /in/ hospitals, anyhow." He looks rather like he wants to give the catgirl a pet on the head at the reference to lounging about in the sun. "Y'can do both, y'know. Jax's one of the busiest bees I ever done met, but he sure makes time for sittin' in prime patches of sunlight." He laughs again, outright, as something dawns on him. "Ohgosh, yeah, an' I'm teachin' one class a term over at the twins' school now. I almost /forgot/ that." "Guess you wouldn't know how t'not be busy if it came up and hit y'over the head," Violet theorizes. Still upside down, she reaches across the gap between couch and table for her tea, then twists around to sit up for the drinking. She is careful to move smooth to avoid jostling or spillage. "Tried th'whole workin' thing. Wasn't much for me but good t'know someone's pickin' up the slack. Or more'n one someones. No wonder ya'll ended up with a place like this, all that /doin'/." Her comment is punctuated with a grin that bares her canines--though they're covered up soon enough again when she lifts the glass to drain it. Ahhh, that's the stuff. "...should probably get. I'm fallin' behind on my sun quota." "Yeah, ain't neither of us good at just holdin' still for /too/ long." A fond smile comes at Violet's talk of the building. "Nah, most of this is just...Hive bein' amazin'. He found the land, got it approved, built all this. Just perfect for everybody who was movin' in." Micah's eyes rove the room, taking it in again, just /wonderful/ and /theirs/. "Well, you're welcome t'stay or not. There's a sunroom in the back's good for loungin'. Common house has one, too. Or there's bunches of gardens t'pick from." Sun room? Don't mind if she doooes! Violet flows from couch to feet but pauses first to measure out another full glass of that tea. "Pretty amazin', found that climbin' thing in the big house? That was like...total genius. Think I wasted a coupla hours just playin' in there when someone left a window open." Note to occupants: start checking the windows! She sounds casual enough in this confession to feel no guilt whatsoever, which means repeat occurrences. "When y'finish up with that, y'oughta come stretch out with me," she adds, lifting the glass in a toast to its maker. Then, tail swishing behind her, she pads off on little cat feet to /explore/. “It's kinda a wild playground in there, that's the truth. I'm really not 'bout t'be found tryin' t'climb that, though. Like as not get m'self /stuck/.” Micah sounds more amused that upset at the prospect. Neither does he look like he's making plans to close windows against catgirl incursions any time soon. “Hm. If this gets done quick enough t'have a sit 'fore dinner needs makin'? You're on.”