Logs:Regular Twenty-First Century Fellas

Regular Twenty-First Century Fellas
Dramatis Personae Jax, Steve
In Absentia	2020-10-04 "I think I got time for a cup."
Location <NYC> St. Martin's Church - Harlem
St. Martin de Porres Catholic Church is not large, but it has a quiet majesty to it all the same, in the way of many old churches. A tall stone building tucked into the center of Harlem, it is one of the earliest Catholic churches in the city, and it looks it. Inside, the wooden pews stretch off towards the altar, the crucifix an immense and solemn wooden carving that presides over it all. Most of the windows are stained class, rich and vibrantly colourful depictions of various saints and Biblical scenes. Small recesses along the wall hold the Stations of the Cross depicted in intricate stone carvings, and the prayer alcove holds real flickering votive candles unlike many modern churches who have switched over to electric. The vaulted ceiling has detailed painting done between its arches, and the distinctive scent of frankincense often lingers faintly in the air. Below, the basement of the church has been heavily modernized; there is a pair of meeting rooms for classes, a pair of bathrooms with showers, a door leading out to the tiny adjoining rectory building where the pastor lives. In tribute to the church's namesake, ministries for the poor are a large part of the church community; one room holds a wealth of donated clothing that is free for any to take. With the large dining room and industrial kitchen that serve hot dinners six days a week and distribute donated bags of groceries every Monday, there are frequent visitors through here who are often in need of the helping hand. It's a fine autumn day, but as the service lets out much of St. Martin's congregation heads to fellowship. Not so Steve, whose presence is near-guaranteed for donuts and coffee each Sunday -- but not today. He's impeccably dressed in a pale blue dress shirt, blue-silver ombre tie, and a slimfit navy suit, his great round shield slung over one shoulder as he exits his pew with smiles and greetings for his fellow parishioners. He has his eye on one figure in particular, and wends his way quickly toward the exit to intercept his mark. "Hey, there," he calls, blushing suddenly. But he sounds more confident when he repeats, "Hey." Jax is easy enough to keep an eye on, cheerful today in a coral suit, no tie, his bright peacock-toned hair neatly combed down, a dove embroidered into the eyepatch he wears. He's been just by the exit, a weekly bulletin in hand that he's scanning over quickly, but he looks up from it with a small widening of his eye. "Oh uh -- hey. Hi." The paper curls slightly in his hands; he taps it restlessly against the opposing palm. "Um," his smile is quick, a little crooked. "Happy Sunday?" Steve's blush had just begun to fade, but returns in force now. "Hey ah..." He chuckles self-consciously. "Happy Sunday. I don't mean to keep you, if you're in a hurry," he hedges. "I just wanted to..." He bites his lower lip. "...see how you were doing? Guess I could have texted you like a regular -- twenty-first century fella." "Oh, gosh, I got enough backlog in my texts already, this is probably -- way better." Jax bows his head, a touch of pink in his own cheeks. "Oh, no, I ain't -- I ain't in no hurry. Not today, nohow." His teeth catch at his lip ring, weight shifting a little uncertainly. "I'm -- aright?" He doesn't sound entirely certain. "I think I'm aright. How 'bout you?" "Good! Good..." Though here Steve's eyes widen slightly. "I don't mean to say it's good you've got a backlog! Just. Glad I'm not being a bother." His eyes dart to the bulletin in Jax's hand, then back to the man's face. "I'm -- fine?" He doesn't sound all that certain about this, himself. "All over the place, these days. Not that I'm complaining!" Hastily added here, embarrassed. "I've just...I know you've got a lot going on. My schedule's mighty flexible, and if there's any way I can help I would love to." Half a beat. "Help." "You ain't a bother." Jax stops fidgeting with the bulletin, setting it back down on the stack he'd just drawn it from. "You don't sound so sure. You're allowed to complain sometimes, you know. Cross my heart, I won't tell Twitter." Hands temporarily freed, now he's setting to fidgeting with the small knobbly ring on his right hand. "Thanks. I appreciate the offer. It -- has been a lot, but I think I'm -- mostly on top of the things I'm s'posed to be." "Feel like I haven't got a whole lot to complain about," Steve says earnestly. "Things are -- well." He looks down. "Important part is, some folks dear to me are having a rough time." The Tessier-esque palm-up turn of his hand indicates Jax, his cheeks flushing again. "I feel like -- it's nice to be able to get ahead of being on top of things? Have a little down time, now and then." His eyebrows lift. "If you could use another responsible adult in the rotation to sit with Spence during treatment and such -- I know the drill from keeping Matt company and...like I said, schedule's pretty open." "Thanks," Jax replies again, this time not really looking up from where forefinger and thumb twist at his ring. "S'gonna be Spence's call in the end when he wants company an' -- but I'll let you know." He drops one hand. Lifts the other to the back of his neck, rubbing at it slowly. "I should -- probably not keep you from coffee. His next smile is quicker, smaller, when he turns for the door. "I'll -- see you next week, sugar." "Of course. Just -- wanted you to know I'm here and..." Steve's brows furrow. He reaches for Jax, stays him with a hesitant splay of fingertips on his shoulder. "Hey. You're not keeping me from anything and, well. I would love to catch up properly and not just -- coming and going like this. Understand if it isn't in the cards today -- or ever, but you know I live nearby, and..." The rest comes out in a slight rush. "...I make a mean cuppa coffee. If you wouldn't mind coming over and. Listening to me complain. Just for a bit?" "Oh." Jax's eye opens wider, a slight and startled tension briefly creeping into his shoulders. His hand falls from his neck; the red in his cheeks deepens as his knuckles brush against Steve's, and he drops his hand the rest of the way more quickly, hooking a thumb into his pocket with another, "-- Oh. Um --" He blinks, looks up with a brighter smile. "I think I got time for a cup."