Logs:Sustaining

Sustaining
Dramatis Personae DJ, Hive, Polaris	2022-04-03 "Anyway, it's a lot easier to make trouble when you know there's people who've got your back."
Location <PRV> VL 403 {Geekhaus} - East Village
This is a small, two-bedroom apartment, the living room semi-open to the kitchen and dining area, a single bathroom situated between the doors to the bedrooms. The common areas are beautifully appointed with solid, matching handmade wooden furniture in intricate geometric mosaics. The kitchen table is ringed with coordinated but not identical chairs, two of them modular with low scooped backs, designed with winged bodies in mind. The wide, low coffee table fits neatly into the corner of a modular sectional couch, and the immense television is enthroned in an entertainment center that also houses various consoles and video games. The walls are lined with bookshelves laden with comics, roleplaying supplements, board games, speculative fiction, and a grab-bag of technical texts. The walls in between are adorned with some framed posters of classical science fiction and fantasy media along with a few pieces of gorgeous if unusual original art. Spring has finally embraced New York City in earnest, and even come midnight the chill in the air is more bracing than sharp. The remnants of a somewhat late and leisurely dinner are laid out across the kitchen and the coffee table. Polaris is glowering at the water in her glass, though she is presumably not talking about that. "Like where the everliving fuck does he even get off talking about guidelines for women to begin with?" She gulps down the rest of her water with a vehement will. << I'm hydrated now can't I just have one more drink (I'll regret it in the morning) (I'll regret being sober before that) >> She's in a three-quarter sleeve dress in pastel rainbow stripes--the v-neck is arguably too deep for the strictest standards of modesty, though certainly not scandalously revealing--with a wide green fabric belt that matches her hair. Her fingernails have been painted in slightly pearlescent pastels and her makeup soft and natural with just a touch of shimmer. "Go through all the trouble reminding us Heavenly Mother has her own divinity that is especially important to women then being all 'psych, you can't pray to her lol'. Ugh!" Hive is in jeans and a Theta Tau sweatshirt, comfortably ensconced in the corner of the couch with Cat on his lap and a large glass of Thai iced tea in hand. "Okay, but," he says with a small hitch of brows, "what if you just prayed to her anyway. I'm pretty sure they don't have Church-employed telepaths to monitor that shit. I'd have noticed if they did." "I mean I will but like..." Polaris set her empty glass on the coffee table and shifts and wiggles without a whole lot of grace or dignity to recline with her head pillowed on the arm of the couch, legs curled up beneath the voluminous skirt of her dress. "Like. What about all the girls, and young women, and--and--" She briefly loses her train if thought here. << How are Debra and Brookelyn just like okay with this shit maybe they actually aren't? >> "--and like wholeass grown women who've been worn down by this kinda bullshit and punished their whole lives for questioning? For receiving revelation and sharing testimonies that don't happen to match what The Menfolk say? That's harmful, socially and spiritually." << Ecumenically. Grammatically. >> One of The Menfolk is fast incoming, a bright jittery strobe against Hive's senses. Something in DJ's thoughts is straining outward as he nears the Lofts, reaching desperate and hungry but tamping down on the feeling with a heavy guilt and forceful reminder to himself: << not my Hive not my Hive -- >> -- which isn't stopping him from rocking up unannounced on the fire escape, a chaos of hurt and anger and righteous indignation cluttering his thoughts. He doesn't knock -- only a short beat of pause outside before he appears in the kitchen, in brown suede jacket over a white button-down and khakis, his arm folded around his chest. A new mental reminder joins the first when he sees Hive has company: << not my Polaris >> -- somewhat less forceful. << -- am I interrupting should I go will they even want to see me -- oh leftovers, thank goodness he's eating -- wow she looks good in that dress -- >> He doesn't leave, nor come further into the room. He glances to the others -- to the television -- back to the couch. "Did you watch it?" Hive's mind is unfurling before DJ has appeared. Gentle tendrils wrap themselves around the other man in a familiar touch, pulling back a moment later. Hive shifts uncomfortably on the couch, teeth grinding slow; they're still grinding when DJ appears in the kitchen. "Got plenty of food if you're hungry," he offers first, looking down at Cat and not at DJ. His nostrils flare at the question -- just a small derisive huff. "Near the whole damn way through. Do you," he wants to know, "pray to your Heavenly Mother?" Polaris senses DJ's approach a moment after Hive probably does, that first instant of startled reflexive joy at his bright bioelectric signature fading every time. She pushes herself slightly more upright, suddenly self-conscious of her appearance. << Oh my fucking God Lorna why are you like this >> But at DJ's question her head thunks back against the arm of the couch again, and with a snap of her fingers she points at Hive by way of agreement. "I think I would have lost my ffffffffrakking mind if I couldn't flail at him about it." << ...or if I was sober (already lost my Goddamn mind why the fuck am I doing this) >> "Anyway sorry," she tells Hive, lifting her head again with difficulty, trying to ignore the pounding behind her eyes, "for the flailing. And the screaming. And the Conference, tee bee aech. I'mma still pray to Her." This is presumably directed at DJ now. "I'm already a heretic I don't think that's the worst of my sins." DJ melts into the brief touch with a small indrawn gasp and a sudden spike of longing. << (please) >> just comes as a soft flutter of thought drifting in the wake of the mental contact. He looks away from Polaris with a faint flush when she sits upright, his desire muted but persistent. "Of course I do. I was raised to honor my parents. Here and in heaven." << ...not here they're not here >> << families are eternal we'll see each other again >> << families are eternal and my wife is right there -- >> He lifts an arm, wrapping it tight around his chest. << real heretics were out in Salt Lake, >> sounds bitter, but his voice is mild when he speaks aloud: "There's nothing heretical about reverence for the divine. Heretical is men on earth thinking they can shove our Heavenly Mother to the background." "See? Straight from a bona fide saint." Hive's heavy mental touch settles back -- though stopping short of pressing himself fully into the other man. "If you're not gonna eat at least sit the fuck down I feel like you're gonna rabbit off at any moment." He slurps down a sip of his tea, crunching on a piece of ice. "S'cool, I am," his jaw is tightening slightly as he says this, "old hat at General Conference Flailing. You need Advil? This seems like a four-advil evening." Polaris breaks into a smile, the swell of solace in her chest warm but touched with loneliness. "It's a relief to hear that, honestly, but I don't think a lot of people are gonna agree with you. I mean. Queer loudmouth anarchist investigator versus an apostle of the Quorum of the Twelve?" << Bet I could hand that guy's ass to him, though. Without powers. >> The sorrow that lances through her at remembering why Hive is so used to General Conference Flailing adds to the throbbing in her head. "Yeah, no. Probably some Advil. I've been popping those like candy, though. DJ can you get me some more water please?" She sits all the way up and waggles the empty glass in his general direction. "I mean. If you're staying." << am I staying? >> Despite the uncertainty, DJ is removing his shoes, tucking them neatly against the wall. He crosses the room to take Polaris's glass with a small dip of his head, muscling down the aching familiarity that comes with the simple act. "I haven't spent a lot of my life concerned about if other people agree with me." Subdued in the background here are memories -- of cages, of crumpling robots, of explosions and searing pain. "We all can access revelation, right? We all have the scriptures. Men who spend more time punching down at gay people and women than they do trying to truly build Zion -- well." He returns from the kitchen, setting the now-filled glass down on a coaster. "My Heavenly Parents' kingdom has never been built on hatred." << Stay. >> There's pain in Hive's voice here, but warmth, too. He nudges a bottle of Advil down to Polaris's side of the coffee table. "Fuck," he whispers, quiet, at DJ's answer. "Sometimes you're nothing like him but sometimes --" His teeth grind again. "Fuck." Polaris tips her head back and blinks her eyes clear as she accepts the glass. "Thanks." She slide her feet off the couch to make space between her and Hive, then looks back at DJ and indicates the seat with a tip of her head. "C'mon, sit. You've been blipping for like--how many hours?" << Alright, be kind and loving without making this weird. (is it terrible that I want him) (he's hurting) (he has a wife and children) Yep, instantly made it weird. >> She plucks the bottle of Advil off the table, shakes a few out, and tosses them back. "The Church can't make the same claim, they don't even make a pretense of actually operating by common consent, and they clearly aren't willing to accept any revelation that doesn't just reinforce their position." She takes a long, slow drink of water. "What the frak can we even do? The power that the apostles hold is blatantly against the scriptures, but that doesn't matter when those apostles don't care about any scripture that doesn't reinforce their position." "Blipping for like five minutes." << less than that >> << don't boast >> DJ flushes deeper as he takes a seat on the couch, stifling the immediate urge to curl up against either Hive or Polaris. "You're -- always like him." It's his Hive's arm that he's imagining now around his shoulder, some hollowed-out part of him yawning open wider. He reaches over, one finger scritching gently at Cat's cheek. "The Church bends over backwards to seem like the most flag-waving, apple-pie-loving Americans to ever set foot on this soil but our theology shouldn't be beholden to the ideals of some state. If they don't want to actually follow the Gospel, we find people who do." Hive's hand clenches around his glass. His eyes are a little glassy, a little too bright, fixed down on the cat in his lap as DJ reaches over to pet it. Crrrrk, the heavy grind of his teeth again. The slim tendrils of his mind curl down further, push slow and deep to root themselves in DJ's thoughts. The grief that comes with this is briefly overpowering, fury and despair not far behind. There's love, too, confused and reluctant but deep. Hive pulls in a breath as his thoughts meld with DJ's. Blinks hard. "So what," he finally finds his voice again. "this gonna be like the -- re... Restored Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints?" Polaris cocks her head to one side. << Five minutes how the fuck--oh, maybe he didn't go to Salt Lake? >> Her intention to ask this out loud and her struggle to not lean against DJ are immediately derailed by his understated proposition and Hive's somewhat more blunt one. << Can we agree on what the Gospel means, though? (figure it out together) (together) (don't have to lose the many to be one) (...beehive) >> There's a small delay before she can sort her rapid tumbling thoughts out into words. "The Church calcified--for safety and expedience and power. It's not..." Her anger is fierce but her determination even more so. "Not the Living Church anymore, but we can restore it. Re-restore it. Maybe it needs more than just restoring. << wait am I cycling (nah) (maybe) (it's still true) >> "I have no idea how we'd go about that, but we gotta workshop the name." DJ draws in a breath in time with Hive's. His hand clenches down against his knee, and he releases the grip deliberately as he adjusts to the flood of pain. "LaGuardia isn't that far," he answers Polaris's unvoiced question. << just got on a plane >> still incredulous in his mind -- still tinged with a faint worry that this simple act will have brought some kind of danger down on him or those around him. Tentatively he lifts his arm, offering the half-embrace to Polaris. "That's not --" << not trying to start a movement >> << not a prophet >> << (might be a prophet) >> << God calls all of us to build Zion >> His brows furrow at Hive's suggestion. "The Church is supposed to grow and progress. I'm just trying to help." << can't gather Israel if we're telling half the planet they don't belong here. >> << La Guardia, shit, you'd've been better off teleporting. >> Hive swallows, takes another deep breath and a sip of tea. "Revolutionize the Church itself, then. S'a tall order. What do you do when your leadership says go frak yourself." Polaris's << LaGuardia, shit, >> comes almost exactly in time with Hive's. Then, aloud, "I hope it wasn't too bad, middle of the night and all." << (oh they're together thank God) >> She tucks herself against DJ's side with a soft relieved exhale. "It's s'posed to, but it keeps growing into fascism. A lot of people are mad, not just anarchists and queers and unruly converts. But Church hierarchy is built to maintain power and stifle dissent--or heck, dialogue." She tenses beneath DJ's arm. << How much longer can I do this? >> "They'll definitely tell you to go frak yourself. They already have." There's a rightness to the feel of Polaris tucked in at his side that steals DJ's breath again. He doesn't try to stop the flood of grief that follows it. His arm curls gentle around Polaris's shoulders, fingers trailing lightly against her arm. "Being told to go screw and keeping your faith anyway is a proud Mormon tradition. At least I doubt anyone will be signing extermination orders against me for being a troublemaker." His tone is light but there's a real undercurrent of anxiety in his mind. << probably not gonna exterminate us >> << probably >> "The Church can't actually stop us talking to each other. We'll just make sure folks have a direction to be mad in." Some of the fire in his mind is, admittedly, not directed at this Church; he's thinking back to a different revolution entirely, to the networking and organization it took to keep an uprising going in the middle of fierce repression. << taken on more intimidating people than the Prophet >> Hive's mind flexes outward as Polaris settles against DJ, reflexively coiling itself around hers and then pulling back. "This is New York, I don't think there are enough Mormons here to get up a proper witch hunt against you." << I'll fucking stomp anyone who tries. >> There's a very reluctant admiration in his mind that isn't quite reflected in his gruff, "From one revolution to another, don't you ever want to fucking rest?" Polaris breathes in quick and out slow, not quite able to quell the surge of desire at--the touch of DJ's hand or the press of Hive's mind. She cannot tell which, and in some distant nebulous way isn't sure it matters. << I'm sorry (oh fuck I'm totally not) (haven't they got enough pain) >> "Probably no extermination orders, but I have a feeling you're gonna to catch a lot more heck than the average Mormon troublemaker." She squeezes her eyes shut, lays her head on DJ's shoulder, and tries to relax. << Maybe he's called to this >> flows readily into "doesn't mean you can't--or don't need to rest." "I rest." << this is rest >> And he's thinking of the warmth of Polaris at his side and Hive in his mind, thinking of a farmhouse kitchen table a world away, thinking of many hands helping to build new shelters in Riverdale, thinking of Steve's facial contortions while watching Cats. "If you can't find rest in the middle of chaos you'll never any. I rest." Polaris's desire stirs another fierce flush of his own, and he doesn't lean into it or try to push it back down. His cheek rests lightly against the top of her head; with his soft exhale buries himself further into the blanket of Hive's presence. "Anyway, it's a lot easier to make trouble when you know there's people who've got your back." Hive didn't seem particularly restful before, tense and fidgety on his side of the couch. He's easing as DJ speaks, eyes half-closed and his tension bleeding away. The next touch of his mind against Polaris's sinks in deep, roots itself there with a flood of mingled feelings, protectiveness and hurt and love and arousal all tangled together across the shared mindspace. << (got you) >> is a quiet affirmation echoing through them.