Logs:Rise up, O judge of the earth; give to the proud what they deserve!
| Rise up, O judge of the earth; give to the proud what they deserve! | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2021-06-27 "Maybe if they don’t go away in fifteen minutes. I will give in to temptation." |
| Location
<NYC> Cathouse - Lower East Side | |
Despite the intermittent showers, there's been a sea of reporters -- some from Respectable Media Outlets but most not -- gathered on the sidewalk in front of this unassuming apartment building since the early hours of the morning. Several news vans, marked or otherwise, are parked (illegally) on the street, plus one that has been slowly orbiting the block, having run out of even illegal spots. The taxi stuck behind said news van is tailgating it aggressively, the cabby leaning on the horn and pouring strident polyglot complaints out their window. From the back seat, Steve has been trying without success to get the driver's attention, and finally raises his voice above the noise. "You can drop us off here, Sir." He offers up a $50 bill. "Keep the change, please, and have a lovely day!" "Thank you, thank you Captain!" The driver accepts the fare and gives one last honk to signal their displeasure to the news van before stopping unceremoniously to deploy their passengers. "God bless!" Steve slips out of the cab into the steamy air, smartly dressed in a pale blue seersucker suit, his crisp white linen shirt cinched with a paisley tie in shades of rich blue, purple, and magenta. The great round shield slung over his shoulder is likewise done up in bi pride colors, in case anyone missed the more subtle flagging. A reporter spots him and urges his crew toward the cab, and an instant later the entire crowd of media is swarming up, cameras and microphones and smartphones straining and their shouted questions overlapping into a raucous din. The taxi doesn't immediately pull away when Steve emerges; from within there's a quiet exchange in Tagalog, that ends with a cheerful laugh from the driver. Leo is still smiling when he emerges, donning a white straw panama hat with a black grosgrain ribbon and pulling the brim *just* slightly lower over his face against the lightning-storm of camera flashes. Similarly to Steve he is still dressed from church, a slimline white linen suit, a peek of the burgundy vest beneath it stark before he buttons the jacket, leaving just two sharp red wedges to set the jacket off from the white shirt beneath it, his tie likewise burgundy with a subtle chevron pattern, and his black loafers plain but well-polished. It takes a second before the media crowd catches *up* to their quick-on-the-draw photographers, actually taking a closer look at Steve's companion. Though delayed, the result of this is unmistakeable; the crowd that had been pressing in at Steve parts in a wave, skittering back *several* feet to give the pair room. There's a very small twitch in Leo's cheek at this, his head dipping. (The shouted questions do not stop -- many overlapping incoherently but multiple reporters asking after their relationship with Taylor Marinov.) "Apologies, this is -- not what I was expecting." he murmurs, quiet, to Steve, two fingers light at the other man's elbow as he nudges them towards the apartment building door, sending a text as he approaches to buzz it.
Above Leo and Steve’s heads, half a head sticks out a window (whether the window is open or shut is difficult to discern) and groans. The sound is quickly lost among the chattering of reporters. Kitty’s head disappears back into the building. The front door clicks unlocked soon after.
'<PRV> Kitty and Marinov's Apartment {Cathaus} - Lower East Side' This high ceiling, fourth floor apartment is on its way to being well lived in. The walls are a light cream colour, the spotless hardwood floors stained a rich red-brown. The door opens into the living room, always bright with natural light coming in the windows or the glow of the twin pink rock salt lamps nestled on the one of the sills. Small succulents and other resilient, cat-safe houseplants dot the windowsills and nearby surfaces – one on the low coffee table between the faux-leather couch and the television mounted on the wall, another on a ladder bookshelf squeezed into a corner. There are no rugs, nothing that can collect fur, but the couch and floor are both covered in pillows. On the wall opposite the television, there is a framed poster of the Cat’s Eye Nebula from an astrophysics conference. To the left of this space is a small kitchen, just large enough to fit two people in it, if one of them can walk through other people. To the right is a small hallway, leading to the washroom and two bedrooms. One of the bedroom doors has a small blue mezuzah on the doorframe, held in place with wall putty. When Steve and Leo do get to the fourth floor, Kitty is already drinking, wineglass in her left hand as she tabs through twitter on her laptop with her right. She’s sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, barefoot and in jean cutoff shorts. She’s wearing a scoop-necked rainbow striped tank top, the remnants of bi-flag coloured eyeshadow flaking off her eyelids. “I hate Perez Hilton,” she says by way of greeting, still scrolling. “How was mass?” Steve is only slightly tense beneath Leo's touch, his eyes keen and alert, his expression stoically neutral as they walk briskly up to the apartment building. He does not answer any of the questions, or acknowledge them in any way, but does usher Leo through the door first when they reach it. Once inside his shoulders relax visibly, and after a quick sweep of their surroundings he lets Leo lead the way up to Cathaus. As they enter he blinks rapidly at Kitty's greeting, brows furrowed. "Perez Hilton? What..." He looks past their host at the window. "Did he sic the media on you?" He's already pulling his phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Looks down at his black oxfords. "Do you want our shoes off?" "Paris Hilton?" Leo's brows furrow; he's shutting the door behind them, already shedding his shoes (though with a faint blush after Steve asks about them.) "I didn't know you knew her, is that why all the --" He gestures vaguely toward the window. "Mass was --" He hesitates, removing his hat as well now, an awkward half-smile on his lips. "Well. Gospel today about Jesus healing sick people by touch -- I should really have left before the sermon." “Perez, no relation, I think,” Kitty corrects, putting down her own glass and pulling the open bottle up through the table. “Oh, whatever is fine, we sweep pretty much every day.” She looks up from her screen to examine the bottle- mostly full. She looks up at her guests at Leo’s comment, giving him a sympathie wince. “Yikes,” she says, a touch hesitantly. “Do you want to trade sermons? We did the bit about the donkey this week.” At this she gets up, fetching two more wine glasses, filling them, and holding them out to the men as they enter the flat. Steve blushes in tandem with Leo, but does after all remove his shoes. "Oh, no --" Then gestures his agreement to Kitty. "-- he's a -- professional gossip? Man makes a living bullying queer celebrities, as far as I can tell." He drifts further into the room, swiping (still left-handed, even though his right hand looks whole and functional now) at the screen of his phone with such casual ease someone could mistake him for an actual Millennial. His frown deepens. "Looks like he's after Ryan again? What the heck happened?" This to Kitty as he accepts the wine glass. "Thank you. I was still stewing about the second reading all through the gospel and didn't pay as much attention as I should've..." His blush returns, deeper. "Not so easy for you to do, I imagine." This sort of apologetically, to Leo. Leo takes the wine glass with an easier smile, a grateful nod. He's gulping from it deep even before he's sat down, detouring for a slow amble past the window to peer down at the gaggle of media below. "Are you getting bullied?" comes with an accusatory downward glance at the crowd, just before Steve's further comments. "What? Ryan doesn't live here, no?" He is not taking out his phone. Steadfastly committed to Having No Idea What Is Going On. He does take another swallow of wine, though, and the delayed crinkle of his nose clearly has little to do with his drink. "The staring was hard to ignore, let alone the --" He shakes his head, small. "I'd totally trade you but I didn't really think you had much use for --" He waggles the wine glass vaguely at Nothing. "Uh, Jesus." Though he does concede right after this: "Though if you wanted to take Paul's letters and chuck them right in the bin, for my opinion you'd be doing the world a favor." Kitty nods, curls bouncing slightly as she does, at Steve’s assessment. “Bingo. Has for years.” Something about Steve swiping on his glass screen amuses her - the corner of Kitty’s lips twitch upwards before joining “Leo at the window. “Ryan doesn’t live here,” she confirms, “but Marinov does. And they were seen out and about with Ryan last night.” Kitty doesn’t sound disapproving, really, but there is an edge of frustration in her tone. She downs half her glass before tearing her eyes away from the crowd. Smiles at Leo’s comment. “Yeah, got me there, guy doesn’t really do it for me. Down for chucking Paul -“ though it’s unclear if Kitty knows who Paul is — “in the bin. Maybe out the window? I keep wanting to dump things out the window.” She glances out again, mimes pouring her glass onto the heads below. “It would be so easy,” Kitty mutters. Steve's eyes widen slightly with the raising of his brows. "Taylor Marinov, the --" He falters for a fraction of a second. "-- Ryan's ah, fashion designer?" Scrolls down on his screen, eyes ticking up and down rapidly. "Oh, Ryan -- slugged the guy. And shut him up." He steadily drains half the contents of his glass at a go and finally settles into a chair beside Leo. "Well, if it's this bad here, it must be hell at Ryan's. Again." Finally a ghost of a smile as he glances at Kitty. "That's a good chunk of the New Testment right there." For all that, he doesn't sound particularly distressed by the suggestion. "Today he insisted Christ was just pulling our leg with that whole 'the rich can't go to Heaven' nonsense." His muscular shoulders flex beneath the jacket with his shrug. "I don't blame Ryan, so I can't blame you, either, even if I felt inclined. I'm sorry you're -- that any of your is caught up in this mess." "Oh-h-h." Leo grimaces, guys disapproving look to the window deepening. "That sounds obnoxious. I've gone through that whole sleeping-with-Ryan scandal before, too." This is near immediately followed by a deep blush, an apologetic look shot to Steve. "Sorry, I don't -- I wasn't -- actually sleeping with him, I didn't -- I meant the reporters just assumed we --" He dips his head, sinking down into a seat as he scrubs at one cheek. He's a bit more confident in his assurance to Kitty, "I would not tell anyone if you decided some wine was for their heads." Kitty grimaces. “Yeah, Ryan’s designer. Also my roommate.” She shoots a dark look in the direction of the window. “I deeply dislike when strangers know where I live. Can’t imagine how Ryan deals with this forever. How you two deal with it, either.” This is to her guests, as she sits down to perch besides her laptop on the coffee table. Leo’s flustered non-sentences get a tentative laugh out of Kitty, though her eyes also slide briefly to Steve. Down to his hands, the one with the phone and the other one too. Her brow creases, briefly, as she takes another swig of wine. “Paul sounds like a piece of work.” She lifts the bottle up to top her glass, holds it out for Steve and Leo. “What’s his deal, trying to make Heaven a country club or something?” She’s teasing, just a little. “Wine is too good for them. But. Maybe if they don’t go away in fifteen minutes. I will give in to temptation.” Her grin is wide and mischievous. Steve, pale as he is, blushes even deeper. "It's ah -- it's ok, I know what you mean. Just about impossible for Ryan to be seen with anyone in public and not court --" He cringes. "-- not attract -- oh gosh. Not garner that sort of attention." At Kitty's glance his right hand flexes, a bit self-consciously. "It's common for followers of visionary me -- people to imagine they can or should ground that vision instead of building a world where that vision is possible. I do think Paul spent a lot more time grounding than building." He quirks a rueful smile, tearing his eyes away from the window again. "Might want to get another bottle ready, because I can't see them going away in 15 minutes." "Nobody -- knows where I live since I moved out of Ryan's place so that. Probably helps." Leo's eyes widen, his cheeks growing even darker. "Yes, I think -- he was very early on the Prosperity Gospel train. His deal was kind of -- taking the Gospel and then adding a bunch of, um, homophobia and misogyny." He looks quickly to the window and then away, holding his glass out to accept a top up. "You don't happen to have water balloons, do you?" There is the clumsy clicking of a key against the door before it swings open and Marinov (with a quick look over their shoulder) closes the door behind them, using their elbow to push it back into the latched position. Their phone is in their left hand, held up in a vertical position as they seem to be scrolling with their thumb. "There's dick heads on the internet," they say, almost sounding as if this is some kind of new and surprising information that needs to be corrected. "They've started to pour into the streets." They tuck the phone away in their bag and start undoing the customized sandals on their feet, but when they actually notice there is some company, their ears redden. "Uhh. I will get out of your hair, yeah? I just need to..." They point in a couple of random directions without really making clear what they need to do. Kitty’s grinning as Steve stumbles through the sentence, barely suppressing a laugh. “Garner. Good word.” She tops up Leo easily with one hand, perhaps pouring a little too close to the rim. No matter. Kitty takes another sip of her wine, nodding along with the explanations like she knows what the Prosperity Gospels are. Water ballons hold her attention better — “I don’t think — wait, maybe?” Kitty stands up suddenly, walking through the couch and the wall behind it without a moment’s hesitation, just as the door begins to open again. “NYU was doing a physics camp for middle schoolers, surface tension thing, if I have any they would be right—“ Her sentence ends with a little cheer. When Kitty re-emerges, her face breaks out into a huge smile when she sees her roommate. “There are dickheads on the internet. And our block. And we—“ she holds the packet out to all assembled, beaming — “have water balloons. And friends. And functional throwing hands.” A little glance at Steve’s hand, again. “And! Wine!” "Yeah, old Saint Paul is not going to be too impressed with my afternoon plans." Steve drains his glass and sets it down on the table. "His loss, the Queer Liberation March is amazing." He's been swiping again on his phone again, though he hardly even looks at it and is making a visible effort not to frown. His right hand reaches for his shield and he's half out of his seat by the time the door opens far enough to admit Marinov, and there goes the blush again as he subsides back into his seat. "Oh, no, please -- we're the ones who are in your --" His mouth open, but he hesitates on the next word before correcting to, "-- way. I'm sorry you're going through all this." His -- functional! -- hand waves in the general direction of the window. "Oh!" Leo gets to his feet when the door opens, but hesitantly takes his seat again when he sees Marinov enter; his eyes linger several beats longer than is probably polite before he hastily looks back to his wine. "You must be Marinov. I'm sorry about all the mess outside, the medias are -- sometimes terrible." The mention of the Queer Liberation March just makes him sit up a little straighter, take a swallow of wine, fingers tracing fidgety against the edge of his chair, but his smile eases when Kitty returns. "We might throw water balloons on them. Wine balloons? Wet balloons, for sure." After Marinov's sandals are off, they look between the guests slowly, their eyes lingering on Leo in a return stare. "Uh. Yeah, Marinov, that's me. You're Ve-" They awkwardly stumble on the name into a pause. "Er, Leo, right? Yeah, these fucking media people. I like attention, but sometimes enough's enough, yeah? Maybe if they had something nice to say!" They brush their hand across their own cheek and then down their neck. "They absolutely deserve the wine stains, but between the wine and water, I know which one I'd rather drink and the one I'd rather throw." “Then it’s settled! Water balloons and top ups for everyone.” Kitty doesn’t stop moving after showing off her find, walking in the straightest possible lines to the sink, (where she deposits the balloons), the kitchen counter (where she opens a new bottle of red wine and pours a new glass), to Marinov (where she pressed the new glass into their hand), to Steve and Leo (where she goes to top up their glasses again, hesitating only long enough for a nod or shake of the head), to her own glass where it still sits on the coffee table. “Now you know Leo, that’s Steve, and that’s Marinov.” Goes back to perch on top of the coffee table, one knee pulled up to her chest. “I meant to just ask Leo about ocean mushrooms and drink before tonight, but the plans are flexible! You don’t need to bounce. We’ll instead fight the entire internet.” Her tone stays light and jokey up until the last point — it’s still light, but slightly more serious. Steve gives Kitty a small nod of confirmation when she comes to fill his glass. "Thank you." He glances at Marinov again. "We've ah -- we've met. The media is voracious, but seems worse than..." He gestures at himself and Leo. "They'll pounce on anyone close to Ryan who ends up in the public eye. But that Hilton fella is being vindictive, not just sensationalist." His head gives a short shake. "I'd've punched him, too. Water balloons'll probably do for those clowns down there. The internet..." He gives a small shrug. "Is the Internet, for better and for worse." Leo's head tilts slightly to one side when Marinov stumbles on his name, but he only gives a polite nod after this. "Leo, yes. I've seen your work, it's brilliant." He pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth. Brows hiking up, a small thoughtful frown on his face before he takes another gulp. "I don't think there are ocean mushrooms -- or. Well, there are some fascinating marine fungi but they don't fruit the same way we see on land, they -- wait, why?" He is getting back up from his chair, wandering back to the sink to set his glass down and start filling a water balloon. "Ah, thank you, this-" they hold up the glass of wine that Kitty has poured, "is exactly what I need." They take a sip. "Oh! You've seen my work? Thanks! I've always wanted to do design work, glad it's making a good impression!" They tilt their glass just slightly towards Steve and remark, "Punching him was the right thing to do. Firstly, his face is extremely punchable, and secondly, he was being a dick. I was a few seconds away from it myself, but better Ryan punching than me." Their ears perk up and they look towards Leo, "Oh. Are you like... some kind of mushroom guy? Like into mushroom science? Fungology or whatever?" The bottle finally leaves Kitty's hand, abandoned on a corner of kitchen counter. She makes no comment on the rest of the greetings and (re-)introductions, just a pleased hum when they seem to go well. "I'm not usually punchy, but his face is oddly compelling target practice. I get why you would." She floats (not literally, but her movement through solid objects always has a slightly airy quality) to Leo's side, hand out to take and tie off the first of the water balloons. "Oh, can't I just be curious?" She's teasing again, but then -- "I just saw something kinda weird last month? It was like, a bioluminescent fungus, and it moved?" Kitty shrugs, though her tone is just a touch less casual. "Thought it might be an ocean thing, thought I should ask my favorite marine biologist." Steve is working steadily on his second glass of wine, little though there's any hope of his actually getting drunk doing so. "I have punched guys for far less cause than that level of -- being a dick." The last words come out a bit unwieldy. "I am completely out of my depth when it comes to sea life and mushrooms, much less...sea mushrooms." He frowns. "Some jellies have a sort of mushroomy shape. And some glow!" His startled triumph is short-lived, and he glances sheepishly at Kitty. "I'm sure you would have known if it were a jellyfish." Leo is tying off the first balloon, moving on to a second. "Not that I want trouble for Ryan, but yeah," he agrees with a small wince, "probably he's going to come out of this bettter than you might have. Um -- no, I'm not a mycologist, I just --" He pauses as he ties the second balloon, sets it carefully beside the first, starts on a third. "I study jellyfish. They do sometimes glow." His eyes are growing slightly wider, his quiet voice more animated. "Was this around here? Are you sure it was a fungus? There are a number of bioluminescent bacteria in the ocean, many of them have symbiotic relationships with other marine organisms and some --" As he grows more eager about the possibility of Exciting Marine Life he is paying less attention to the balloon on the tap, which has been swelling -- and swelling -- until right about here it bursts, water splashing over the front of his vest. His nose crinkles up, his head dipping sheepishly as he brushes excess water off his clothes. "Sounds like you've got a real principled stance on punching whenever called for. I respect that." Marinov listens quietly while the conversation turns back to science. "Jellyfish are cool," is their major contribution to the subject, though they laugh delightedly when the balloon blows up in Leo's hands. They put down their glass to retrieve a towel, "I'll get you something to dry that off with." Kitty seems delighted by Steve's contribution. "Jellyfish are extremely cool," She agrees, then -- "I thought it was a fungus, it was underground and jellies didn't seem likely but, maybe?" The two finished balloons she moves out of Leo's way, listening intently to his list of possibilities. The balloon bursting takes her by surprise as well. She laughs, reaching for a dishtowel (which, predictably, has also been soaked by the explosion) and dabbing ineffectually with it at Leo and the countertop. "Good news, everyone! Our weapons of the day will work wonderfully." Steve had opened his mouth to warn Leo, but -- too late, and he hides his bemusement behind a long gulp of wine. "Symbiotic...bacteria?" he echoes, clearly intrigued if trying not to sound too incredulous. "So it's a -- good infection." Trying not to sound to skeptical, now. He drains his wine glass this time and sets it down. "Well, we can all take principled stances, but..." He carefully scoops up one of the unexploded water balloons -- carefully, cradling it like someone who has probably not handled such things often if ever -- and presents it to Marinov. "I think Marinov should get the honor of taking the first shot today." Leo accepts the towel with a nod of thanks, a subtle tension in his frame easing away at the others' reactions to his mishap. "No? There's no such thing as a good infection," he replies with a faint furrow of his brow, "it's only an infection if it's harmful. But there's plenty of helpful microorganisms living in all of us. Non-infectiously." His eyes skip up to Steve, back down with a blush. "Your body is full of helpful bacteria right now, you'd probably die if --" He stumbles briefly, missing a beat before he continues, "-- something cleaned them out." His voice is quiet but there's a bright amusement in his expression as he starts -- far more carefully -- to fill the next balloon, though he's eying the one Steve holds to Marinov. "That feels appropriate." "Oh yeah, there are lots of bacteria in the guts, right?" They place their hand on their abdomen and look down slightly with a bit of a quizzical expression, but get distracted by the presentation of the water balloon. They look from it, up to Steve's face, then back to the balloon and- just as carefully, conscious of their claws- reach out to take it. "It would be my honour!" They walk, in a cautious and graceful gait, to the window. They transfer the balloon to one hand to open the window, eyes scanning the crowd. They pick out a target and lob the balloon-- "Stay hydrated, fuckers!"-- which lands true with a satisfying splash. | |
