ArchivedLogs:Vandal's Vigil

Vandal's Vigil
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Tag	2013-03-30 There's more than one way to help; there's more than one kind of vigil.
Location <NYC> 303 {Holland} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late bright coloured sealife has made its way into being painted on the wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. Jackson has /fled/. There is gaming going on upstairs but he is down /here/, attempting to return himself to some semblance of not-red. It's not working so well. He's still pretty red. His outfit today is all in black -- tight black jeans liberally adorned with zippers and straps, black fishnet shirt, black tank; his nails are glittery red, though, and his black hair has a red streak in it. It makes the deep blush and the red glow around him almost fit in with his attire! He has sent a text on his way down, to Tag: 'You know, I pretty much never go to Game Night if you're not there and now I know why it's because /everyone is terrible/.' Up above the cityscape but beneath a brightly lit billboard, Tag pauses in the midst of his vandalism to gaze at his phone. He cocks his head and texts back, ‘Game Night? But it isn’t Tuesday! But that explains a lot. Game Nights are great though! Who’s terrible?’ While he does this, the polyhedral images on the billboard fill in with a wandering swirl of psychedelic colors, their geometric shadows blotting out the AllState advertisement that was. Just as he was about to put the phone away, he adds, ‘Want company?’ He does not wait for a reply. Leaving his masterpiece in lights--his rainbow-spectrum tag fading into existence even as he turns away--Tag scampers down the nearest fire escape and heads for Village Lofts. His hoodie shifts through several color schemes and settles into a pink, blue, and purple plaid with a few dashes of bright yellow. Neon green vines climb the seams of his indigo blue jeans, shifting and blossoming as he runs. He is panting by the time he gets to the window of the Holland residence, and breathes a polychromatic onto the outside glass as he taps on it. The answer Tag gets is just: 'Yes', so it's probably good he's heading over. By the time Tag arrives, Jax is settled at his easel, set up in his living room. The room is /very/ bright, multiple lamps and sunlamps illuminating it brightly. He glances up at the tap on the window, a quick smile lighting his face and the air around him still pretty red. The painting on the easel is his neighborhood, though the buildings of the East Village are wrapped in brightly coloured vines climbing their way up their walls, stretching up in a rainbowy forest of plants towards the sky. He hops up from his stool when the tapping comes, easel balanced on his palm as he goes to open it. "OhTagHi!" he chirps, brightly. "There were brownies but I left them upstairs? But there's cookies, do you like cookies? Also, um." He frowns towards his kitchen, even as he's extending an arm in offer of Hug. "Bread? Banana bread." Climbing in through the window, Tag brightens from silver sneakers to electric blue hair as he wraps Jackson in a tight hug. “Hi Jax are you okay I missed you!” The words come out practically on top of each other. “Thanks, but I’ve eaten tonight. Twice. Hive makes me. Eat, I mean. But I /do/ like cookies. Also maybe some water, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble? Ooh, pretty!” This last might refer to either the person or the painting, but seems to be directed at some combination of the two. "Hive makes you? Oh. Oh, right, he -- you're also -- right." Jackson is blushing all over again at the hug, his arms tightening around Tag. He holds it longer than probably necessary, squeezing tight before finally letting go. "No I'm fine we were just playing a game and everyone was joking about -- well it was -- I was blushing I needed a break." From blushing, apparently? Except he still /is/. The Hive-link leaks at least some of his feelings, a flush of attraction and a flush of guilt nearly on top of each other. "I've missed you kinda like crazy. You been aright?" His brow is creasing, looking over Tag with a hint of worry. “I wasn’t doing so good,” Tag admits, looking down. “I couldn’t help anybody when there was trouble. Drawing on stuff isn’t much good when there’s...you know, /actual/ trouble.” The vines on the cuffs of his jeans send verdant roots down onto the metallic fabric of his sneaker. “But Hive has been...um...looking after me? Helping me look after myself? It’s hard to...well, you know.” There, incongruously now, comes an echo of attraction. Tag blushes faintly, but overcomes it with startling speed, meeting Jax’s gaze again. “Anyway, I was crashing at my sister’s place because she’s in law school and I thought maybe I could figure I could pick her brain, or her text books, or...um, actually, her refrigerator, mostly? Also, it turns out I’m kind of terrible at law.” He shrugs. "But you didn't need to -- I mean, just seeing you is -- I mean." Jackson's nose wrinkles, looking down at his toes, blushing as he wiggles brightly-coloured socks against the floor. "I mean, I'm real glad someone's lookin' after you, I'm sorry /I/ ain't -- sorry I kinda fell off the -- Do you want to sit?" He glances back up, brushing hair back out of his eye and gesturing towards the couch. “I /want/ to be useful, though...” Tag says, but flops down onto the couch as invited all the same. “You guys risk your lives and your happiness to do stuff for people you don’t even know, and I can’t even help people I /care/ about.” He kicks off his shoes and pulls his feet up onto the couch, setting his chin down on his knees. “I am going to do better.” There is no uncertainty in his voice or in the faint ripples of his thoughts through the collective. “I just have to figure out how.” "Probably," Jackson suggests, quietly, moving to settle down beside Tag on the couch, "take good care'a yourself to start. Kinda gotta, before you'll be much good helping anyone else." He hesitates a moment, then slips an arm out around Tag's shoulders. "If you /want/ to help there's always so much stuff needs doin'. Mostly kinda tedious. I mean, I spent most'a the past couple weeks cooking and doing toilet paper runs." Tag snickers softly and curls into Jackson’s side. “I don’t I would help /anyone/ by cooking, unless you want a never-ending stream of ramen and tea. Toilet paper’s easy, though. I’m always running or riding somewhere or another anyhow, delivering suspicious packages and all.” He glances up at Jax and quirks a slightly self-conscious half-smile. “You know, when I’m not drawing /dice/ on billboards. Is there anything that needs getting tonight? It isn’t even cold out!” "I wouldn't half mind a never-ending stream of tea, I ain't had none in weeks. Can again tomorrow, though." This thought brightens Jax. His hand squeezes Tag's shoulder gently, and he relaxes into the couch, nestling back into Tag's side. "Tonight's quiet. It ain't cold out?" He brightens still further, this time literally, a soft glow spreading around him. "-- I mean, this ain't, um, /helping/ nobody 'cept me I guess except um, I mean maybe we could go out? And -- make some art. I ain't made a single building prettier in /weeks/." “If it’s helping you, that’s better than I’ve /been/ managing,” Tag says. Then, more quietly. “I sure don’t mind it, myself.” He rests his head down on Jax’s shoulder and indicates the painting. “It looks like you’re making plenty of pretty without breaking the law, but personally I like my art with a bit of victimless crime.” He pauses, closing his eyes and summoning a mental map of the city pieced together from vivid memories--all colors and angles and movement. “I saw some buildings that could stand being made prettier during my deliveries earlier. Not exactly the usual sort of Easter vigil, though.” "I ain't really generally up for the /usual/ sort of most things," Jackson admits, with a quiet laugh. His hand lifts, fingers stroking lightly against Tag's hair. The mental image that echoes through to him draws a small smile. "I mean, our first /date/ wasn't hardly --" He shrugs, focusing on that map. "Could we?" he asks, almost shyly. "I mean, I -- lately s'been -- it'd be /nice/ to just kinda enjoy a quiet --" His cheeks flush, slightly. "Uh. A quiet night'a /crime/ I guess." The glossy electric blue of Tag’s hair changes to purple where Jax’s fingers brush against them, as if absorbing the red from his nail polish. “We can...” Tag replies almost meditatively, leaning into Jax’s hand like a cat. “We can, and we /will./” He kneels upright, all shyness and uncertainty fled. “C’mon, let’s go do some colorful crimes.” Jackson's smile stretches bright-bright-bright, the glow around him deepening. For a moment he just sits, relaxing against Tag and his fingers still brushing at Tag's bright hair. He turns, pressing a light kiss to the top of Tag's bright hair, and then getting up with a /bounce/ on the balls of his toes. He offers his hand out to Tag to get off the couch. "I /missed/ you," he says, "c'mon. Let's go make the world a little brighter."