ArchivedLogs:Tricksy Thieves
| Tricksy Thieves | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 7 December 2014 This is his hair! This is his dry cleaning bill! Four sweater-vests! |
| 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. What is that yellow thing up in the sky? It's the /sun/. Clear skies and bright sunshine are making an appearance this afternoon, proving that New York hasn't forgotten how /not/ to be under a blanket of clouds and dismal rain, sleet, and snow. Micah makes his way out of the Common House meeting a bit after the main group has already dispersed, generally hanging about after large group things to take care of his dining room cleaning chores. With the nice weather (though still chilly!) he is moving at an amble, path entirely more maundering around the grounds than he might take to get straight home otherwise. Still dressed for warmth, he is layered in a Firefly hoodie with the hood up over a pumpkin-coloured henley shirt, hands covered in Wishbear wristwarmers /and/ stuffed into the hoodie's pockets, lined jeans, and boots. His humming is faint, half under his breath as he walks, eyes to all that unexpected clear-blue sky. Unexpected clear-blue sky with an unexpected shape flitting about in it. Flutter of feathers, rustle of wings. /Huff/. Horus is restless, darting from the top of the gazebo over to his balcony at Birdhaus. From there to the steps of the Treehaus, from /there/ over to Dusk's balcony, from /there/ over to pace restlessly back and forth atop the playground's jungle gym. Horus was not at the meeting, hasn't tended to be at them since the steady influx of New People to the Commons. Instead he's here, at the moment sans tablet, talons clicking quick and restless against the metal in his pacing before he relocates again, this time to perch on the edge of a birdbath and /eye/ Micah. Keenly. Attentive. All of that flitting about of such a /large/ bird-shape is enough to catch the attention of any daydreamer, no matter how caught up in reverie and sunshine. Micah's head tilts to regard Horus's agitated circling. The obvious concern and curiosity on his face are briefly softened by some amusement at Horus...sitting on a birdbath. Hee. He approaches and crouches down a bit to be more at eye-level with the teen. “Hey, sugar. Somethin' wrong? You ain't got your tablet.” Clickclickclick. Horus's feet tap against the stone lip of the birdbath. Click. Click. He takes off in another rustle of feathers, this time circling and then dropping to the ground in front of Micah. To peck at a lace on the other man's boot. Tugtugtug unravel. Pull. Then flit a short distance away back to the roof of the gazebo and continue his watching. Micah's eyes follow all of this movement like a cat's at a tennis match. He chuckles a bit at the boot untying. "Hey, now. I don't need no help trippin' over m'own feet." A pause is taken for him to kneel down on the ground, retying the laces before he follows after Horus. Not to the /roof/ of the gazebo, of course. But just outside of it, neck craned back to observe the teen for the next hint of what to do. Micah following after him earns a small pleased warble. Horus takes off from the roof just after this, swooping back down to land halfway across the yard perched precariously on a metal dispenser for holding dog-poop bags. Then, provided Micah follows this far, another short hop to land on his own front patio. His chest ruffles up, wings stretching out towards his front door with a /flourish/. Like, ta-da. My house. And the warble earns a small, pleased smile in return. As soon as Horus lands again, Micah follows after. Then again, as the teen moves on. He giggles, smile wider and brighter at this final presentation. “I /do/ know where y'live, sugar. Were y'wantin' me t'come visit? I got some time just now.” Horus ruffles up his feathers again. His head cranes up to taptaptap at the lock to his door -- unlike most of the /private/ residences here, Birdhaus has been fitted with the same style of electronic lock that the common spaces have rather than traditional turnkey locks. Tap, tap, tap. His beak nudges at the lock sadly. He flits upward, tapping at a windowsill, too. Tap! Then back down to the ground to tip a so-very-hopeful look up at Micah? Micah observes all of this tapping again with head tilted, bird-like in the gesture, himself. "Ohgosh, did you lock yourself out? Um. I dunno that my Commons card'll open your house, though. I can try." He fishes around in a pocket, pulling out his wallet and pressing it to the lock. Red light, no dice. "'pologies, sugar, it don't look like mine works. S'anybody else got one who's around? I could text at 'em for you. Clarice was at the meetin', but I dunno where she went after if not here. An'...maybe Dusk. He was just at the meetin', too. Maybe if it's about /you/ he'll actually answer a message from me for once." The wallet goes back in one pocket, phone sliding out of another. The redhead waits for direction before deciding who to message. Horus's head bobs, up and down, quick, a rapid affirmation. Taptaptap! A little more insistently, at his door. Its paint has enough scratches worn in it to suggest this may be something of a habit. His head shakes slightly at the mention of Clarice, wings fluttering outward. Somewhere outward. Away from the Commons. He does perk at the mention of Dusk, though, hopeful once more. “Ohgosh, so she's off somewhere? I'll text Dusk an' see what he's up to. He should be able t'program another card t'open the door. Or give mine permission, if y'want. Somethin'. If he's here an' he'll look at a text comin' from me.” Micah swipes about at the screen of his phone with the tip of his index finger for awhile. Horus's next warble is just a little more eager. His flitting is resuming, though. Up to the windowsill, back to tap on the door, /high/ up to perch on his balcony, back down to settle /on/ Micah's head (the hood is probably a blessing, those talons are hard) for just a moment before returning to the ground to to an antsy little side-to-side dance. Taptaptaptaptaptap. Against the door, as if this will make it open faster. His head cranes up to peer nosily at Micah's phone with a curious chirp. Swipeswipeswipe. With all the swiping and the chirping (less curious, more alert) from Micah's phone, one might assume he has reached Dusk. In fact, there is plenty for Horus to peer at. Nosy-beak.
In the end, Micah trades out phone for wallet again, pressing the duct-tape thing up against the lock once more. Green light! Success! “Hey, there we are!” /Hff/ hff hff, Horus's chest feathers are getting SO VERY ruffled up at the suggestion he might just be trying to score new keys to hoard or /eat/. /Tap/, his beak pokes at the /spurious/ accusation that he Eats All The Things, puffpuffpuff, wings fluffing out as well. To register just /how/ disapproving he is of these aspersions cast on his good name, he closes his very large mouth around Micah's phone, /snatching/ it up as Micah goes to put it away. Mmm, phone. The phone is still held fast in his beak as he headbutts the automatic door opener on his door, waiting for it to swing open so that he can hop his way inside. "Oh, Dusk's just teasin', sugar. No need t'...ruffle your feathers." Ha! Unintentionally literal. What Micah /wasn't/ expecting was the phone-thiefing. "Hey! I need that! Also, I /totally/ defended you." He sounds mostly surprised and a touch amused, not really upset. Provided he can actually get the phone /back/ in one piece. He is chasing after the winged teen, after all. In most houses Horus tends to /lose/ his advantage when it comes to Being Chased, having little by way of Place to retreat to. This one, though, he does just fine; designed with him in mind there's plenty of wide-open space and large perches protruding from the walls high up out of normal people-range. Whoosh! Horus whisks Micah's phone off to go sit overhead, beak clicking against it as he adjusts his grip. And then shifts side to side once more, almost immediately coming back /down/ off his perch so he can go slip his head into the neckloop of his tablet where it's been left on a table. And now there is dilemma. Picking up his stylus means putting down the phone. /Hmm/. Undaunted, he turns to Micah for help resolving this Problem. Not that most people /need/ much advantage when they're being chased by a Micah sans running foot. He lope-jogs his way into the house after Horus, gets to the middle of the room, and...looks up a little helplessly. /Up/ is not his strong suit. “Sugar, I really /do/ need my phone back...” At least there is still a hint of laughter tracing through his words. Which converts readily into /actual/ laughter when Horus looks to him for /help/ in stealing his own phone. “Y'could just give the phone back. Then you'll be able t'talk.” Perfectly reasonable, really. This suggestion is met with a /very/ suspicious look. Horus edges forward, slowly pressing the phone back down into Micah's hand and then backing away as though it might explode. He picks up his stylus quickly after this to tap out a rapid message, voiced for him in robo-monotone. 'Sneaksome. Tricky beast. Never trust a robot. Thiefed my phone.' Micah very /quickly/ gets his phone into his pocket once it is returned. "What tricky sneaksome things've I been doin'?" Just /look/ at this innocent face. Really. "An' /you/ thiefed /my/ phone. I only just got it back now. Think you're re-writin' how this all just went. I was very kindly helpin' you get back into your house after y'got locked out. An' you took m'phone 'cause Dusk was teasin' you. Now I'm the tricky one." 'Tricksy beast,' Horus reiterates, fluttering over to a more Micah-level perch to bonk the man lightly in the shoulder. 'Tricked your way into the house to thief my hard-won phone. I worked for that. Worked hard. Oh look now you're in my house. How did that happen.' Another small bonk. 'Come play Tsuro with me I will make you cocoa.' “Hm,” the sound comes, somehow, with both amusement and skepticism. “I /chased/ you into your house to retrieve my /stolen/ phone. Is about the colour of it.” Micah reaches up to skritch at Horus's head fondly. “Absolutely I'll play a game with you an' drink your cocoa. I haven't had the best luck keepin' the thieves outta m'cocoa lately. Such thiefing.” 'And now tricking your way into my cocoa,' Horus continues blithely as though he didn't just /offer/ Micah cocoa. It comes with a happy nuzzling up into the scritching, a soft cooing warble burbling in his throat. 'I'm going. Cocoaquest.' Flutter-flap! It's probably even more useful for him than most people, having a roommate rich enough to /afford/ an extravagance of space; it means huge rooms and high ceilings and doorways wide enough for him to /swoop/ through as he darts off. To make cocoa for Micah to /steal/. | |
