ArchivedLogs:Visitors

Visitors
Dramatis Personae Hive, Melinda, Horus	2013-04-13 '
Location <NYC> 403 {Geekhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here, split between the four people; the fold-out couch in the living room (often folded out!) suggests that at least one of them does not actually claim a room as their own. Melinda is in the building. There are so many reasons and so many people she could just happen to be visiting, but that's neither here nor there. Instead, let's focus on her as she walks up to Hive's door and begins knocking. She's dressed in jeans and and a long sleeved tee shirt, a spaghetti stringed camisole on over the long sleeved shirt, begging spring to finally bloom on the city and make it comfortable to wear alone. She's got a couple jackets layered over that, with a reusable shopping bag over the other shoulder. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. The knock is answered with scratching noises. Flapping noises. THUNK. More flapping. More scratchscratchscratch. Some clicking. More rapid flapping. Eventually the handle wiggles, wiggles, wiggles, turns. Inside, there is -- a very large bird? Talons, wings, a downy coat of feathers along what is -- actually kind of a human-shaped chest. Horus's head is tilting to one side. Then the other. Eying Melinda. His very large beak nudges the door open a little more. Then pecks towards the shopping bag in curiosity. Nice to meet you, Melinda's -- food? Melinda has very little of interest to Horus in her bag, perhaps. There are a couple roast beef sandwiches with horseradish, a couple bags of chips. A bottle that provides no smell and a couple oranges. Her purse, which is also in the bag, smells of granola. "OH. Hello." She blinks at the new face and gives a little smile. "I thought I'd stop by and check in on Hive. I am Melinda." She starts to extend a hand, but pauses when she sees he doesn't have any. Horus sticks his whole head in the bag, beak pecking at a bag of chips. CRINKLE. Crinklecrinkle. Then pecking at the purse to -- SNATCH it. Nab it? He looks at Melinda hopefully, wide-eyed, though doesn't say anything. Because beakful of purse. He does scoot back further into the apartment, talons skittering on wood. He meets Melinda's hand with a lift of a wing, a touch of feathers to hand. The apartment is otherwise mostly empty. One bedroom door is closed. The other is open. Hive is inside, flopped out on the bed, a pillow over his face. And a small container of lemon bars sitting on his chest. "Hey..." Mel blinks as Horus snatches at her purse and blinks. She gives a quick shake of her hand against feathers and smiles. "Nice to meet you. Did you... are you going to keep my purse?" She glances around but doesn't give up on Horus yet. He's got what is hers after all. Horus inches forward, dropping the purse on the floor at Melinda's feet with an apologetic bob of head. He chirrups something quiet, small and hesitant, and backs up again. But still looks at it hopefully. Melinda lowers herself to pick up the bag, but finds the grocery store bag of granola inside and blinks at it. "Oh, you want me to put this in a bowl for you?" She raises an eyebrow at him. "The bag can't be tasty." She gives a little smile and watches him, waiting on his agreement before moving to the kitchen and fetching well, a cleanish bowl if she can find one. "Damn. Every time I'm here, I have to fight the urge to clean." Horus's next chirp is brighter, an amused warble. He glances back towards the bedroom, but then flaps over to perch on the counter. He watches the granola bag happily. << Horus. >> This word comes slamming stab-sharp into Melinda's mind. << And he says thanks. And he'd clean, too, except -- hands. >> Melinda lets out a little yelp of surprise/pain when Hive finally speaks up, eyes widening for a moment then squeezing shut as she adjusts to the sensation of Hivespeak without the Hivemind. "Nice to meet you, Horus. Maybe I'll come back later and clean for you, okay?" She puts the bowl of granola on the table somewhere... where it isn't in danger of falling off or ruining someone else's stuff. She then snatches up her bag and heads toward Hive's room, leaning against the door frame to look him over. "Hey you." << missed you >> follows after, unconsciously. She's been worried and a bit frustrated at his absence. Another amused croon. Horus flaps over to land beside the bowl, bobbing his head in thanks. Hive looks -- like himself. Scrubby faded jeans. A dingy white undershirt. Skinny -- too skinny, skinnier than before. Also a pillow over his face. << He doesn't live here. Downstairs. Ryan's roommate. Cleaning's our job. You don't have to. >> His words get no more comfortable with time. There's a heavy dragging weight to them, exhaustion that leaks through. << Hi. >> "It doesn't look much like you're doing anything these days," Melinda comments, frowning. She walks in further and sits down on the edge of the bed, her bag banging against the side of her legs as she lowers herself down. The bag is deposited on the floor. Mel's hips may be touching Hive's side, depending on how much room there is on the edge of the bed. << Let me look at you. >> She is reaching to peel the pillow away from his face. She eyes the lemon bars but mostly focuses on the human below them. << I did -- a thing. >> Hive doesn't much resist the pillow-peeling. Beneath, his brows are creased into a frown. He sort of leans a little into the unintentional touch, and there's a brief /push/ of mental pressure against Melinda's mind. It pulls back quickly. << Went outside. Visited -- >> But this trails off, his frown deepening like he can't remember. << Tired, >> is his explanation. << How're you? >> << God, you're a mess, >> Melinda remarks, half caringly, half worried. She sighs and lets her hand brush against his cheek and caress it gently. "You went out or someone visited you? I suppose it could be both." She picks up the lemon bars and moves them away. If there's a nightstand, they are placed there, if not, on the floor by her bag. "I brought food. Are you eating enough?" << properly? >> "Do you need special food?" << not going to throw up on me, are you? >> There's a pause and then, << Maybe the tequila wasn't such a good idea. >> << Went out, >> Hive answers. << Iolaus. Check in on -- work. Way behind. Supposed to break ground -- >> He chuffs out a quiet breath, turning his face to press against her hand. << Soon. Ngh. >> That is to the thought of tequila. But he cracks open an eye to search for a bottle. << Probalby not good. To get drunk. >> Which he sounds kind of reluctant about admitting. << But I want to get drunk. >> << Then do so sensibly. Eat a sandwich, drink some water, have the booze, >> Melinda replies, smiling down at him, amused at the mild perking up. "Can you sit up?" She tucks the pillow behind him and leans over him, wrapping her arms under his arms to start to help him up. << Come on, up you go. >> she goads lightly, trying not to hurt him as she lifts. Her mind busy, with a small running commentary about how she came here to ask him questions but he hardly looks to be in a state for questions, but she might not have to ask questions if she just kisses him, but he might not be in the mood for that either. Damn. This all did a number on him. Wish there was a way to help. Hive is not very cooperative in the sitting-up department. He's sort of a limp weight that leans into Melinda with a quiet groan. It takes quite a while before he sits up straighter, to lean back against the pillow. There's a puzzled look on his face. << ... You want to kiss me? >> is what he takes away from all of this. << I... >> Melinda blinks at Hive for a moment, red rushing into her cheeks. She releases him and sits up straight, her mind burning with embarrassment. << Yes, because >> she manages to think after a while, the justification flashing through in images. He was there when she kissed Jim. He was /why/ she kissed Jim. Maybe. Needs to know. Thinks were easier with Hive there. In there. In her. Liked him there. Felt special with him there. Unless they are just close, not-kissing friends. Wants to know. Maybe all the things. "I got you a sandwich. Do you like roast beef?" Hive is quiet. His hand shifts, closer to Melinda, but then just falls to the bed before reaching her. << -- But you and Jim --? >> It's a hesitant question. As much as he can be hesitant with the brainstabbing. << Jim is complicated. >> There are flashes. They had sex. There was smoking and coffee. That wasn't at all like that night. It was different. << Why does everyone think I'm married to Jim? >> That's a side note. Mel is not going to sit around hoping and waiting on that frustrating man and his arguments, not with the queer way she feels like she always has to defend herself around him. << Is it so wrong to want to figure out if there's anything with you? >> There's a pause, << unless you're worried he'll hate you. >> She leans over and pulls out a sandwich, half unwrapping it and handing it over, before leaning over and getting one for herself. << I don't think you're married to him, >> Hive answers, frowning deeper. << But I don't know /what/ you were with him and I've already had /one/ person-with-significant-other kissing me today. >> Which makes his frown deeper still. It eases away at the sight of sandwich. He accepts it with a quick smile. << It's not wrong. It's just -- I didn't think you -- it's just I don't know. >> He eyes the sandwich, but doesn't bite. << Been a /long/-ass time since I really -- >> This trails off. He lifts the sandwich slightly in indication. << Thanks. >> << Having sex with someone once does not make him my significant other. >> That thought/said, Melinda drops the subject, a bit frustrated again. She pushes it back and stops thinking about it. Instead she offers him a toast with her sandwich. She takes a bite, eyeing him until he does as well. Her mind moves on to the idea of challenging his kitchen for glasses of water. << I didn't -- >> "Kssh," is an /audible/ hiss to follow this up, sharp and irritable. << How the fuck am I supposed to /know/ what's up with you without asking it's not like I'm still in your -- >> This breaks off again. Hive is failing at finishing sentences. He drops his hand with the sandwich into his lap, unbitten. << Fuck. >> It's a drained tired sort of tone. << Oh fuck. >> Melinda just seems to have this affect on men. She sets her sandwich down on the floor, on its wrapper and turns back to frown at Hive. << I'm sorry, I'm sorry. >> She wets her lips. << It's okay to ask, I promise. Please ask questions. It's just you, the twins, everyone I seem to talk to thinks I'm suddenly Jim's and only Jim's and isn't it so strange I might possibly be interested in someone else and I'm sorry if I'm making your headache worse. I can go. >> Hands that were reaching out to do something helpful ball up in fists on her thighs. "I'm sorry." << Don't go. >> This is immediate. Hive's eyes closer tiredly. "Don't go." This is quieter still. << You're not making my headache -- no. This is -- good. I -- thanks. >> He lets go of the sandwich with one hand, reaching to rest his hand (a little gritty with sandwich-crumbs) over Melinda's. Kind of tentatively. << Missed you. >> is what springs to mind when Hive rests his hand over hers. Her hand relaxes underneath. "I won't. I'm here. Nothing else to do today." She gives him a little smile and rests her other hand over his. "Eat up. Food will help." Hive squeezes Melinda's hand gently. There's another press of weight, pushing down against her mind. He winces as it pulls back and takes an almost savage bite of his sandwich. Fierce. Focusing on it instead. << Missed you, >> he allows eventually. << I'd let you in, but it seems like it hurts you in the long run, >> Mel observes, then releases his hand to grab her sandwich, leaving her other hand where it is, maybe turning it over to actually hold his hand. She begins to eat as well, one handed. << But -- >> That is all. Just but. Hive swallows. He focuses on his sandwich, also one handed, fingers lacing through Melinda's. And probably not letting go for a while.