Logs:Stains

Stains
Dramatis Personae Jax, Steve
In Absentia	2019-07-07 "I can be dangerous, too."
Location <NYC> Chimaera Arts - DUMBO
This is just one of the many abandoned warehouses in DUMBO, and like many of them it has recently changed hands. /Unlike/ most of those, however, it does not have some corporate developer's sign out front promising a transformation into luxury condominiums or a boutique shopping center or the latest concept restaurant. Instead it's marked by a piece of weathered but wildly colorful plywood propped up on a stack of broken pallets, which reads "Chimaera Art Space!" above "chimaera.org" in smaller letters. The warehouse is moderately large and decorated with graffiti art in various styles--some of it recognizable as the work of renowned local street artists. A pair of monstrous scrap metal sculptures, perhaps still works in progress, flank the entrance. The building itself has undergone significant renovation recently, complete with wiring, plumbing, and a modular partitioning system. The grounds, too, have been cleaned up, ramshackle fences torn down and rusting detritus removed in favor of reclaimed (and brilliantly repainted) outdoor furniture ringing an impressively engineered firepit. It's the coolest afternoon in days, and with the fan-assisted cross-breeze the warehouse is downright pleasant. Steve had volunteered to set up the space for the painting class, and is almost done, having just brought out the easels and begun unfolding them one by one. He's wearing a black t-shirt and blue jeans, each with a scattering of colorful paint spots, and singing 'Green and Growing Things' softly as he works. Normally here a good deal before his classes, today Jackson is rushing in only a short while beforehand. He is dressed today in capri jeans liberally adorned with pockets and straps and a red t-shirt screenprinted with a monkey wrench, the text around it reading 'ALL MY HEROES HAVE FBI FILES', red streaks in his dark hair and a glittering red hummingbird in the center of his eyepatch. A heavy canvas FreakAngels messenger bag is strapped over one shoulder, and a much (much) larger canvas shopping bag held in his hand. He starts humming along quietly with the song as he draws near -- around the edges of the room, a forest of rather fanciful trees is springing up. Somewhere between them there's brief intermittent glimpses of a tall dark-hooved figure, leaf-green coat flashing between glimmering tree trunks. "Thank you so much," he's dropping his own bag at the front of the class, "I feel like I been having trouble catchin' a minute to breathe lately let alone set up classes -- this is a huge help." Steve blinks at the surprise forest, the elusive figure, then turns to smile brightly at Jax. "Oh, it's ah -- it's nothing. I was already planning on being here anyway, and I'm glad to help out." He finishes setting up the easel he'd stopped in the middle of unfolding. "What's been keeping you so busy, if you don't mind my asking?" He suddenly blushes. "I mean, other than the whole -- working three jobs business. Four?" "Have you seen it yet?" Jax gestures around the forest -- which is now slowly fading from view. "He deserved every bit of that award." He shakes his head, setting the other bag down as well. "Oh, work is /plenty/," he says lightly. "I got something of yours, by the way. I think it might need a little bit of love, though." The disc that he pulls out of the bag is grimy, coated in filth and soot, but somewhere underneath its blackened layer the concentric-circle and star pattern can still be made out. "Luci's show? I'd love to, but haven't, and I hear it might be a /bit/ harder to get tickets, now!" Steve's smile turns a little sheepish. "Their performance for the Tonys was /amazing/, though and -- of course -- I've heard the record." He dusts off his hands and comes to the front of the classroom. "What --" He breaks off mid-sentence and sucks in a breath. "Oh!" He blinks several times, hard. Reaches for the shield, but hesitates, his brows wrinkling. "Those kids -- they haven't had any more trouble with government agents over this, have they?" "It's sold out for a while, but sometimes he can wrangle tickets for people. Or you can try the lottery if you got the time. It's /so/ worth it." Jax offers the shield forward when Steve hesitates. "I know it's a little mussed but I don't think it's nothing some hot water an' polish won't fix." He rubs a thumb against an edge of the shield, leaving a lighter streak against the grime. "I ain't heard about no more issues. It does seem an awful fuss to make over a shield but --" His nose wrinkles up as he shrugs. "Cops've killed mutant kids over a lot less." "I'll check that out -- thanks for the tip." Steve takes the shield with both hands, turns it over slowly. "This? Oh -- no, no, this thing's seen far worse than a bit of soot. Thank you. It's just --" He shakes his head, quick and sharp. "Sorry. I know, and I don't fully understand it, myself, why /they'd/ care about it that much. But I'll be sure to let them know /I/ have it now -- so they know who to harass if they just /have/ to harass someone over it." Now that he /has/ the shield, though, blacked and absent its straps, he doesn't seem to know what to do with it. "Actually can I just -- leave it up here with your things, after all?" He blushes faintly. Jax holds up both hands, his eye wider. "I mean, sure, but no promises as to what might happen if you /do/," he says innocently. "M'sure you've seen the news, I'm real dangerous, you know. Leave it up with me and that thing runs a /real/ risk of getting splattered with paint." The corner of his mouth is twitching as his gaze skims over Steve's own paint-flecked clothes. "Do you think they're gonna? Harass you?" Steve's eyebrows raise up slightly. His gaze follows Jax's to the state of his own clothing. When he looks back up he's wearing a crooked grin. "You know, I think it's also seen worse than a few spots of paint." He leans the blackened shield against the wall beside Jax's bags. "To be honest, I really don't know anymore. But at least now I can be pretty sure they'll confine it to harassing /me/." His muscular shoulders hitch up and his eyes flash. "I can be dangerous, too. They better get ready for those paint stains."