ArchivedLogs:Trial and Error

Trial and Error
Dramatis Personae Jax, Tag	2015-11-26 "{This is fine.}" (Part of the Flu Season TP.)
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 still a lot of work left to go, once-neat grass a torn-up mess, the koi pond more just a shallow mud puddle, the gazebo deconstructed, the workshop's windows sheeted over with plastic. But the things that /matter/ are structurally sound, doors and windows on the residences sturdy and new. Jax looks -- a little less sturdy, honestly, kind of wan and kind of pale, looking all the more washed out for his lack of usual makeup. Just black eyepatch, red fleece cap, canvas jacket, jeans. He's kneeling on the patio of one of the houses near -- what /used/ to be Workhaus, frowning as he traces his fingertips over the wooden post that holds up its overhanging roof. Recently sanded and re-primed. His teeth drag slowly over his lip, a small unsteadiness in his touch. Tag, in contrast, is even more raucous with than usual. His hoody fluctuates through bright rainbow hues right before the eyes, sometimes slowly and sometimes not. His old, worn cargo pants also cycle through a variety of colors that coordinate with the hoodie, but at a rather different pace. The hair that hangs down over half of his face is bright, bright pink, as are his boots at the moment. Not unsturdy, perhaps, but certainly jittery, he stands a few steps behind Jax, chewing on his lip and staring at the same timber with intense concentration. The post turns vivid canary yellow under Jax's fingertips. Up close, the colors can be seen saturating individual fibers of wood and creeping deep down into the natural crevices of the material. Jax's brow creases as the colour spreads through the wood. His teeth wiggle at one of his lip rings, and he rocks back onto his heels, giving his head a small shake. His fingers brush down against the wood, then lift off it to rub against his cheek as he looks up at the house. Back at the wood. Up at the house. 'Maybe green,' he signs uncertainly. 'Like leaf.' The cycling of colors in Tag's clothing speeds up momentarily, then settles down into a hypnotic pace. Threads of green creep up from the base of the post and curl around it, vine-like, spreading and unfurling fantastical leaves that grow and overlap until they obscure the yellow entirely and then slowly, slowly become more uniform in color: a deep, living verdure. Jax scowls, pounding a fist against the post. His knuckles lift to scrub against his eye, his head shaking quickly. "It's not /right/." His voice is sharp, edged and irritable. "It doesn't feel --" Here his teeth click together, a small hiss pushed out between them. "{It doesn't feel anything.}" He pushes to his feet, leaning against the wood frame and now looking out across the rest of the courtyard with narrowed eye. Tag jumps when Jax strikes the post, flinching. The newly-minted green muddles a little, cycling through different hues and settling on a lighter leaf color, more springlike. But Tag himself dims, if only a touch, his clothing settling on a combination of cerulean and lilac for the moment. His fist circles his heart. "{I don't think I can fix it.}" His voice is quiet and small. Jax exhales heavily, his head tipping to the side to rest against the newly lightened wood. He closes his eye, hand lifting to wrap fingers against the post. He's not even looking at the change in colours when he answers: "{This is fine. This is fine.}" "{Can always change it, later.}" Tag shuffles up to the patio to stand beside Jax, his hands shoved deep into the front pocket of his hoodie. "{It's not forever.}" "{Right.}" Jax draws in a breath. Slow and deep, his fingers clenching tightly against the post and then relaxing. "{Right. None of this is --}" Only here he just trails off, a small tremble in his shoulder as his wait slumps in against the wood. The colors of Tag's hoodie swirl into a rainbow vortex, spinning slow and meditative. He pulls one hand from his pocket and presses to Jax's arm. Just holds it there, calm and firm. Jax tenses, at first, his head turning towards Tag with a sudden snap of teeth. But after this initial bristling he relaxes. Slowly leaning into the touch, his arm shifting cautiously to curl around the other man. Tag doesn't flinch, this time. Probably he was expecting the snap. He leans into Jax, his small frame fitting neatly under the other man's arm. "{This is fine,} he echoes very, very quietly.