ArchivedLogs:You're...

You're...
Dramatis Personae Hive, Jax, Melinda, Tola
In Absentia	2015-06-09 << back? Obviously. Okay? Probably not. Oh. Oh-oh-oh. >>
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Treehaus - Lower East Side
A spiral of sturdy slatted wooden stairs winds up the trunk of an enormous oak, leading the way up to this treehouse positioned between a pair of trees at one side of the Commons yard, abutting the river. It's clear enough upon ascending that this is no ordinary treehouse, built sturdy-strong and with a polished finish that would rival most /regular/ residences. Spanning the distance between the pair of oaks, the treehouse is a long one-story building, equipped with both plumbing and electricity. The stairs lead up onto a wraparound balcony that projects out at one side to overlook the East River rushing by below. The doorway inside leads to a furnished sitting room, long low futon-couches on the pale wood floors, walls painted in leafy shades of green, exposed-beam ceilings that seem to have worked some of the actual branches of the tree into the curvature of the roof. The front room is bright and airy, large windows looking out on the Commons grounds and the river outside. Recessed lanterns in the wall give the room a warm glow, come nighttimes, and in the center of the room amid a stone-tiled patch of flooring there is a squat glass-encased gas fireplace providing warmth in winter. Off to one side of the room there is an elevated loft up nearer the ceiling, accessible by ladder and furnished with pillows and plush futon mattress and lots of blankets. The adjoining room is decorated in watery river-blues instead of leaf-greens; in here there's a small kitchenette to one side with sink and stove and toaster oven and counter space, cabinets on the walls. A long dining table in this room seats eight; by the windows, plenty of cushioning sits in the wide window-seats. Off in the very back, a tiny half-bathroom holds a sink and toilet. No stove in here; the wintertime tends to find this room much chillier, but there's generally plenty of warm blankets lying around the house. The Commons has gotten a lot brighter, this past couple weeks. Brilliant vivid mosaics swirling through the pathways and climbing up the stone walls, bright stained-glass suncatchers throwing scattered rainbow light through the Commonhaus. The workshop has been a swirl of heat, unpleasantly baking in the already summer-like weather. Jax, too, is something like a furnace -- out of deference to his company the windows in the Treehaus are all thrown open wide, a pair of huge fans brought in to reduce the heat that is rolling off /him/, in here. He is minimally dressed, a pair of short cutoffs (one leg red, the other leg black and red checked), and a loose black tanktop. No shoes. He's seated on the floor, a large case of glass and one of tools beside him; there are sunglasses on his eyes and he's working, slowly, on refinishing the top of one of the Treehaus's end tables with an intricate glass mosaic. At least that's what he /has/ been working on. At this exact moment he's put down his tools to pick up, instead, a glass of lemonade, pulling up the hem of his shirt to wipe at his forehead. Mel and Tola enter quietly, watching Jax while he works and hoping not to interrupt him. Mel has her arms full - a small picnic dinner in one bag, hanging from one arm, while the diaper bag with the usual supplies hangs from the other - with a wiggly toddler in between. The mother is wearing a soft gray jersey skirt with a mint and aqua stripped shirt on top, while her daughter is wearing a tie-dyed onesie and not much else. Tola is left on a blanket she fetches from the diaper bag and lays out on the floor, while Mel goes to fetch supplies she has left in the Treehaus - namely a floor level chair designed to help keep the child upright while her mother feeds her. More supplies are laid out after the kid is strapped in, glances over to the artist from time to time to see how his work is progressing. There are light sandwiches of smokey tempeh, lettuce, and tomato, whit tahini sauce, as well as a couple dishes of pureed veggies and fruits. "Oh man. You're the best." Jax takes another large gulp of his lemonade, scooting away from his work to settle by Tola's blanket. "Anyone ever told you your mom is the best, tinyflower? I don't remember when I ate last." His head shakes quickly, and he adds with a sheepish-crooked grin and a glance to his lemonade: "... probably whenever you brought me snacks before." "Considering I just got off work?" Melinda raises an eyebrow and hands Jackson a TLT. "You need a better reminder system." She smiles and leans over to press a quick kiss against Jax's temple, practically ghosting over hot skin. "So, what are you making? You've put together so many pieces lately, I'm curious." She fishes out a spoon from inside her dinner bag - or what is supposed to be a spoon. It looks more like a big, yellow duck head, with a spoon crafted out of the bill. She opens one of the containers with a green mixture and stirs it up. "I'm not good at remembering -- things. When I'm workin'. 'till I look up an' my eyes start swimmin' an' I remember --" Jax's nose crinkles. "I'm makin' -- I don't know. Colour. I fret in colours. I'm externalizin'. How was work?" He takes a hungry bite of the sandwich, licking a stray drop of tahini from the corner of his mouth. "Oh, it was a regular day, I guess," Melinda offers as she presents a goopy spoonful to her darling daughter. The child seems interested in attempting to take the spoon from her mother, or at least to stroke its head. "Not that I am really one to criticize. I have been in that place where time passes far too quickly while busy. If the cafe didn't have a structured break schedule, I might not have eaten myself today." Half of the mixture she is trying to feed to Tola ends up on her chin - but that's what bibs are for, right? "Yeah -- work days is definitely easier for that. I mean, work -- uh. The kind where /other/ folks is deciding my schedule." Jax's nose crinkles. "Got a shift at the Clinic t'night. S'breaks there. I'll /almost/ definitely remember t'eat." His teeth scrape slowly against his lip. "... in between the frettin'," he admits, quieter. "Flicker took two weeks offa work after his graduation which -- s'/good/ he don't take near enough time for vacation only but then he didn't never come back? An' that ain't hardly like him at all." Here there's a small ripple. A mental shiver, fluttering up against the others' minds. Against Mel and Jax's it is light, a small but /familiar/ touch, brushing there and then gone. For Tola it lingers, settling in a slow heavier squeeze that in minds less accustomed to Hive's might be painful; in hers, probably more akin to a hug. "It isn't like him at all." Melinda inhales deeply and shakes her head, the spoon spending a little longer than it needs to in the container of peas. "I apologize for not... well, for ignoring it the first time. I just -- I don't want to worry. He's strong and intelligent and if he needs more time off, then he needs more time off - I just wish he'd call." She stirs the veggies once more before straightening up at the mental touch, inspired to inhale. Tola lets out a squeal of delight and claps her hands, arching her back as she wiggles in her chair, her young mind clinging to the feeling as best a non-telepath can. "He's been through so much lately. Jus' kinda worried like. S'been hard for him --" Jax pauses, brows furrowing at that brief touch. He dips his head, taking another bite of sandwich. He huffs out a quiet laugh, a small smile flitting across his face. "Tola's /real/ into peas." There are footsteps on the stairs outside -- quietly. A gaunt bony form hitching a shoulder up against the doorway. Quietly, too. Hive has shaved, pulled his hair back into a ponytail, put on a pair of faded old jeans and his favorite blue hedgehog shirt. No shoes for him today, either. His eyes are characteristically half-lidded, but beneath their heavy lids and deep shadows they're alert, bright, /alive/. "Can you blame her? Peas are excellent." Mel wets her lips before trying to get her daughter's attention. She does a fair Horus impression - that getting Tola's attention better than the food. Green eyes fix on the yellow face - not the right color - but does allows the bird to feed her. Once the spoon-bird is pulled away, Mel glances back at Jax. "It's been hard for you, too." She opens her mouth to say something else, but she's now distracted by the figure in the doorway. "There's some spinach in there, too. The girl loves her greens." "Well -- I guess, I mean, this ain't been easy for /none/'a us, but for -- for -- for --" Jax's words trail off as his head turns towards the doorway. His breath catches, hands lowering towards his lap with fingers digging squishily into his sandwich, scattering crumbs against his thigh. Light quivers around him, his mind flooding -- << -- when how -- >> disbelief, relief, confusion, worry, joy. Bright and blinding and searing, that last. Outwardly he only lifts a hand, slowly, pressing the backs of his knuckles to his lips. "-- Oh --" Hive's head tips down. There's another brief flutter, lighter, shivering out against their minds. It comes -- visibly, now that he's actually in sight -- with a tremor of bony shoulders, an unsteady hitch of breath. He straightens quietly, swallowing, and slips acros the room, crouching down beside the blanket to scoop Tola up into his arms, press his cheek down against her petally head. His eyes close. Melinda's torn between leaping up and running to Hive and trying desperate to pretend everything is normal and fine and no big deal. Part of her is dearly afraid of picking the wrong option, so just sits there... stiffly. That fear starts to abate when he focuses on Tola, a breath of relief leaving her lips. Tola giggles as he walks, watching his progress with rapt attention, arms waving long before he gets close. Once she is in his arms, her fingers start entwining in his hair and clinging to him. She doesn't want to let go. Jax is struggling with similar -- not that there is much in him inclined to pretend things are normal, but he is tamping down the overwhelming urge to throw his arms around Hive, squeeze fiercely. Probably burn the poor man in the process. His teeth wiggle at his lip ring, and he slides a little bit /back/ on the floor, as if the few inches of distance will lessen the desire. "You're --" << back? Obviously. Okay? Probably not. Oh. Oh-oh-oh. >> The heat radiating off of him is growing. He slides a little farther back, still. "... there's food." Hive's eyes don't open. Not for a good long while, anyway; his shoulders tense up, his jaw clenching as well. His head tips a little further, allowing the small fingers to curl into his hair. It takes some time for his eyes to open again, for him to settle back, settling Tola into his lap. He looks down at the blanket, first, only slowly managing to lift his eyes, to Jax first and then to Mel. << Food, >> echoes, slow and ponderous. "That's. As good a place to start. As any." Melinda moves behind Hive, helping to disentangle those little fingers from his hair, easing the transfer to his lap. She wets her lips again, not stirring until after the word echos in her mind. She shuffles a little, back to the food, drawing out a sandwich and putting it on a napkin for him. She stays close and reaches out a hand, staring at his ear before finally giving in to one impulse - she brushes his hair behind it, straightening out the bits that Tola messed up. "I... can run and get something else, if you want. I don't know what you've had to eat yet - I don't want to give you anything that'll upset your stomach." She pulls her hand away and looks over at Jax, swallowing against the lump in her throat. << Is he okay? Oh, he's been so hot lately... >> it's not intentional, but the very focused thought slips out. "Eat up, honey. You still need food, not just sunshine." "I need -- right. Right." Jax looks down at the squishy sandwich still in his hands, slowly lifting it back towards his mouth. "Right." He takes a bite, deliberately. Chews just as deliberately. His mind still throbs with too many emotions jangling discordantly up against each other. He tries not to think of the school, tries not to think of Flicker, tries not to think of -- "Right," he says again. "S'a good place t'start." Hive's eyes slide closed again, at Mel's brief touch. There's another shiver of mental contact, though outwardly he is only -- still. Quiet. A slow breath in -- held a long moment before exhaling. He doesn't say anything. He curls an arm securely around Tola, swallows hard, and reaches for the sandwich.