Logs:Not Helping

Not Helping
Dramatis Personae DJ, Lily, Polaris
In Absentia	2020-11-27 "Go sit."
Location <GA> Across the Rift - Holland Farm - Hiawassee
One of many such family farms -- though fewer all the time -- in this little Appalachian town, the Hollands' 160-some rolling acres are divided about evenly between peach orchards and yearly rotations of crops. A burbling creek winds along one edge of the property, which extends up past the arable portions into steep, wooded mountainside. There are several acres of vegetable gardens nearest to the farmhouse, producing enough food to feed the family and often with excess to sell locally. The barn and pasture adjoining this are likewise mainly for the family's own use, with just a couple of dairy cows, a pair of horses, and plenty of chickens. The farmhouse itself is a big rambling white affair with a generous wraparound porch, full of rustic charm even in its no-nonsense practicality. The furniture is sturdy and plain and well-cared for, the walls adorned with handmade crafts, children's artwork, and some of Jackson Holland's more whimsical original paintings. The kitchen is vast and airy and superbly organized, always redolent of rich home cooking and of the herbs hanging in bundles to dry. In addition to the main house there are two smaller outbuildings, used in the past to house farm hands during the harvest, though these days they mainly host the steady stream of mutant refugees passing through the farm on their way to an uncertain hope of safety beyond the borders. Black Friday means little in this remote mountain town, and even less out here on the farm. Certainly there are plenty of leftovers from yesterday still, but the animals and people alike needed feeding no less on Thanksgiving or today, and the less urgent chores that had been set aside for the holiday (and for the Allred's disastrous escort mission the day before) still need doing now. At least the weather isn't so bad today, balmy for late November even if overcast all day. Polaris has been bustling about with a vengeance, aggressively managing their guest--singular now, and not so big and green as before, to mixed receptions of relief and disappointment--in between her own tasks and some usually handled by DJ. She's just come in from the outbuildings with a sack of laundry slung over one shoulder, a black wool shawl draped around her shoulders over an off-white linen blouse, hunter green vest, and long black skirt over heavy black boots. She stops just inside the kitchen door to catch her breath and shed the shawl onto a peg by the door. Then narrows her eyes at the laundry sack and hefts it up again with considerable difficulty. DJ had not been bustling -- not when Polaris left, anyway, but now that she has returned the kitchen is occupied, a pair of toddlers perched in high chairs at the table with banana-laden cereal. Anne's is getting as much on the tray in front of her as it is in her mouth, though Lynne's is at least being consumed in -- semi-neat fistfuls. DJ himself is at the stove (too pale, kind of leaning against the counter), tending a pan of scrambled eggs and already dressed in his barn clothes, heavy jeans and boots and thick flannel with one sleeve hanging empty at his side. He frowns at the pan, then up at the sack. Back at the pan. "Do you want to trade?" The rattle of glass bottles announces Lily’s arrival, coming in the door just a moment after Polaris with a crate of freshly strained milk. Her tan barn coat is buttoned closed, thick jeans overalls already a little muddy, expression focused and determined. She wipes her boots on the mat at the door, holding the milk crate awkwardly on her hip before she looks up. Her look is approving when she looks at the twins - less so when she scans the kitchen. “DJ.” Her tone carries the air of a teacher who is not mad, just disappointed. “Go sit before you fall on the stove.” Polaris is still busy gawking at her husband, cooking as though he had not lost an entire limb and at least a quarter of his blood volume less than 48 hours previous. Lily's words seem to snap her out of her trance, though, and she leaves the laundry to go to DJ--planting kisses on the heads of the toddlers as she passes them. She lays a forestalling hand on his uninjured arm and says, gently, "Joshua was very firm that you needed rest. We can handle this." DJ does not answer either of these, first. He blinks, looking down at the pan -- stirring it awkwardly, then repositioning it on the burner when the stirring shifts it slightly off-center. "The eggs are going to get rubbery," he finally says, when Polaris sets her hand on his arm. "Have you all eaten?" “Good lord.” Lily tromps to the fridge, shoves the new milk in next to the other glass bottles in the back. Turns to DJ and Polaris, still at the stove, a worried frown on her face - but with every passing second her expression curdles more and more into frustration. “Step away from the eggs, slowly. I’ll fix you a plate.” She holds her hand out impatiently for the spatula. “Go sit.” Polaris's lips compress, her wide hazel eyes flicking to Lily, then back to DJ. "Not enough," she admits, a little reluctantly. "I'll have some eggs--whichever of you finishes that up, I'm not getting tangled up in any sibling rivalry. But..." She leans back against the recently repaired counter beside the range, blinking eyes huge with entreaty up at her husband. "Won't you at least go back to bed for a little while, after breakfast?" DJ's shoulder stiffens, his grip clenching on the spatula. "It's eggs. Take longer for you to nag me than they take to cook, I'm --" 'fine' withers and dies unspoken on his lips. He leans a little more heavily against the counter, blinking hard. The eggs are, in fact, starting to grow overhard now as he stops stirring them. "I can still cook some flipping eggs." Lily’s gaze flits over the eggs. “You can cook eggs when you aren’t recovering.” She reaches to turn down the heat on the burner. “You look like crap and you can’t stand up straight. Sit.” Her hand is still out, beckoning for the spatula as the eggs get closer and closer to rubber. “Or at least do something where you won’t set yourself on fire. Grab plates.” Polaris straightens with alarm when DJ slumps, but she does not try to intercept him. "Just let him do it," she tells Lily gently, though the woven wire bracelets on her wrists are writhing and re-braiding themselves in clearly agitated fashion. "You're plenty fast enough to catch him if he actually swoons." She's fetching the plates herself, now, stacking them on the counter beside DJ. "Dawson, my sweet, this'll be fine with some extra cheese." DJ turns aside from the stove fast enough that his already pale face loses what little color it has; his hand slams down to catch himself against -- first the stove, then the counter, in a shift of motion so fast it is mostly a blur. The spatula is still held in it, clacking against the countertop with a soft spatter of hard scrambled eggs falling from it. "I could have cooked them if you weren't so darn invested in hounding me like I'm some stupid child." Over in her high chair, Anne's eyes have gone wide when he says stupid; she's leaning over to cup an oatmeal-covered hand to her sister's ear to whisper not-at-all confidentially: "Uh-oh. Ouch." DJ's eyes flick to the girls; his side twitches where his sleeve hangs empty, and his eyes squeeze shut for a moment. The spatula blinks away, lands in the sink. "It's not -- fine it's not going to be fine I can't. Fix this now." She isn’t fast enough- Lily’s eyes go wide when DJ falters but she moves with human speed, can’t brace herself against her brother fast enough to prevent hand falling to hot stove. She sucks in a breath, whatever biting words on her tongue held back for a moment as she just moves the pan to a cool burner. “Cheese will help. Some toast too.” Her tongue clicks against the inside of her mouth as she moves to find bread. “And maybe some greens. For your iron levels.” By the time Polaris even registers DJ's slip, he's already righted himself. Her eyes are watering and an ominous rattle of pans and utensils rises all around the kitchen. "Lily Catherine--" There's a warning note in this, but then she sets her jaw hard and the noise around them gradually abates. "This is not about the frakking eggs," she says low and even, scrubbing a hand over her face. "And no, it's not fine. But we're going to get through this, together." She glances at her children, trying to keep her voice steady as she goes to DJ again, inspecting him for--further injury. "You don't have to fix anything right now." There aren't any further injuries -- DJ's reflexes more than up to the task of pulling away from heat before it can set into any real burns -- but he only grows more tense as both the women approach, blinking away to lean against the kitchen door. "Cheese is not going to help this. Nothing is going to help this. I can't sleep it off." “You running yourself ragged certainly won’t help either.” Lily’s tone is carefully mild. She doesn’t go to DJ again, now focused on cutting slices of dark bread off a loaf and carefully not looking at either her brother or his wife. There is a trembling in her hand- the bread knife gets quickly set down. Polaris backs off, her movements quick and sharp. "We don't need you any less because you're down an arm." Her eyes track to DJ's empty sleeve, then away again. "But we need you to heal and--that's hard work." She licks her lips. "If you have to keep busy right now, fine. I just worry you'll push yourself too far and...maybe I should have a bit more faith." "Right. You don't need me any less. But you clearly don't think I'm still capable enough to --" DJ shakes his head, his palm pressing to his eye. His breaths come a little harder, his weight sagging where he leans. It takes a visible effort for him to right himself -- only partway, his hand bracing against the wall when he does. "Sorry," he says, quiet and a little tight, glancing to Lily when his hand drops. "That this is frustrating. To you." A faint blur carries him out of the kitchen, through the family room and up the stairs beyond. Bread, eggs, salt and pepper get deposited onto the two plates, plates onto a wooden breakfast tray with cutlery. Lily doesn’t look up as DJ blurs out of the room, though she bites her lip at his last comment. “I’ll do the laundry,” she says, picking up the tray and offering it to Polaris, “if you can make sure he eats.” A sidelong glance in the direction of the stairs, the clatter of silverware betraying the tremble in her hands still. The ring on her left hand clacks against the tray as Lily's fingers curl around the handles. “Damn it, I can’t lose him again.” Polaris sinks back against the counter again, her face in her hands. "I cannot make sure of that." She drops her hands but does not look at Lily or accept the tray. "We should give him some space for now. I'll try after the girls have eaten and cleaned up." Her eyes do tick up to Lily now, brows gathering. "You're not going to lose him cuz he skips breakfast or keels over choring. Joshua knows his sh--stuff, but..." Her frown deepens. "Go a bit gentler on him, alright? I know you're stressed out, too, but he's--he's--" She throws her arms up. "I don't need to tell you, you were there!" Tray back on the counter. “Yeah. You’re right. Space.” There is a far away look in Lily’s eyes again, twisting the ring on her left hand absently. “I know, I know, it's just scaring me. He usually slows down.” Lily makes her way to the laundry bag, picks it up once to gauge the weight. “We’re going to have to go back eventually. If he slows down then? He’s dead.” Her grip shifts as she hefts the bag over her shoulder, beginning to pick her way out to the laundry. “I’m not interested in losing any more family.”