Logs:The Jackson 5
| The Jackson 5 | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2024-06-12 "This planet of yours mixes up beetles with boys way more often than anywhere else I've been." |
| Location
<NYC> Clint's Apartment - Hell's Kitchen | |
Though small, this studio has tall, stately windows that let out onto a fire escape with a commanding view of the streets below. The entryway is flanked with a closet on one side and a bathroom on the other, and is the only uncluttered space in the whole apartment. Brightly colored banners adorn the walls and all manner of puppets and stuffed animals line the shelves such that the entire place looks like a carnival in miniature. The floors are covered with busy Central Asian carpets and littered with plush cushions, except in the kitchenette, where the narrow counters are crowded with jars upon jars of custom seasoning blends and locally roasted coffees, all with ridiculous names. A tight spiral of floating stairs leads up to a loft half taken up by a big, fluffy bed and an armoire, the remainder of the space there given over to an L-shaped workbench below a pegboard laden with tools. Rocket is seated (or rather, standing on a chair) at the workbench, presently with a few deconstructed arrows laid out in front of him, mumbling, "How'd you even get a whole net in-- ?" The tools that he has set aside for this task have been laid out and cleaned to Rocket's satisfaction, though many of them are just now resting on the bench not yet having seen use. He's currently wearing a Green Arrow costume, which might make his current project more or less understandable. The sound of I Want You Back is currently playing from a nearby portable speaker and the occasional mumbled lyric indicates that he is probably actually familiar with this particular tune. There's no real warning when Rocket suddenly gets company. Joshua is looking kind of exhausted, kind of wilty, some bandaging still on his arm and his other hand shoved into his pocket. He's in jeans and a purple tee that features the shruggie emoticon with piles of books stacked atop each of its upturned hands; beneath it says "behind on daf yomi". His watermelon-design kippah is slightly askew on his shaggy hair. He just jerks his chin up to Rocket when he and his passenger arrive, frowning at the arrows but saying nothing. "Oh! Splendid. My spacefaring friend." Damien is here tagging along with Joshua, his smile bright and fully unconcerned about this intrusion. He's dressed more elaborately than his companion -- cropped red jacket with intricate gold embroidery along the cuffs and hem, worn open over a violet charmeuse shirt, framing an oval mirror pendant in which the reflection always looks just a little off, and gold leather trousers tucked into black riding boots. "This wonderful beetle," he's indicating Joshua with a flourish, little though the man bears any current resemblance to a beetle at all, "has agreed to help return you to your ship. How his method of travel works I have little idea but he assures me it can be done." Rocket swivels around on the chair, his fur standing on end to make at least his face and tail look a little bigger, hammer raised as if he means to brandish it as a weapon. He also stands a little straighter, but relaxes upon seeing familiar people. "This planet of yours mixes up beetles with boys way more often than anywhere else I've been," says Rocket, eyeing Joshua suspiciously. "How would you be able to do that? You seem able to bloop around, but I'm guessing you need some kind of coordinates or reference point when you do." He points upwards, "Since it's orbiting, it's not sticking still." Joshua snorts, quiet, at agreed to help. "Beetling's contagious." He's shoved his other hand into his other pocket now that he's let go of Damien, and is slouching closer to the workbench to peer down at the arrows. He's scrutinizing them intently, though while he does so there's a slow -- reluctant -- mental touch that is reaching veeeery tentatively out, not particularly identifiable but still a small pressure like a headache that wants to come on but is not quite developed yet. "Just. Take my hand and. Think real hard about your ship." "You've tucked your hands quite away," Damien points out, gesturing towards Joshua's -- well, pockets -- as he slips closer. "He seems to do his targeting with some kind of emotional magic. I've no idea what its limits are but am excited to find out." "Just think about it?" says Rocket suspiciously, and he switches hands that he is wielding the hammer in, and reaches out his other in Joshua's direction. The sound of the name, The Jackson 5, a vague impression of the visual landscape of the interior. But more powerful than that is the memory of the sensation of the controls, every surface, every scratch, every bump. The weight of the tools, the vibration of the engine, the pleasant clickiness of the panels. Other vague memories, the texture of wood, the feeling of a heavy slap on the shoulder, and the sight of the endless stars also mix around in these impressions. This ship is home more than anything else in the galaxy. "... The Jackson 5?" This part is, evidently, more perplexing to Joshua than any other part of his Encounters With Talking Space Raccoon has been so far. It takes him a moment after this informational shock to extract one hand from his pocket. He exhales hard. "Fuck. Let's get you home." He kind of ignores Damien as he reaches down for Rocket's hand. As the odd pressure of his invisible mental touch vanishes, so too does the world -- -- but only for a bare instant before they reappear in the cold but familiar interior of the ship, leaving the fae somewhere in the not-so-wilds of New York. Joshua's eyes are darting -- to the side? Up? Down? Here in the odd gravity-less ship it's hard for him, at least, to immediately determine. He doesn't look particularly alarmed by his current surroundings although, tensing, he does look a fair bit less comfortable. He is nevertheless humming, low but easily distinguishable as The Jackson 5's "ABC". Somewhere far (far) below, Damien is throwing a glance to the place Joshua and Rocket had just stood. His huh sounds quiet and pleased, though not half so pleased as his warm, "Oh, hello there!" when he discovers the dog shaking himself as he gets up from a nap on the couch. "What a mess," says Rocket, his voice somehow mixing grouchiness and relief. He swims through the air down to the floor, and then kicks towards the front panel. "The gravity'll come on gradually, so don't knock your head and right yourself as quick as you can." The ship has suffered a fair bit of damage, and the front viewport has a large crack in it and a steel panel has lowered to keep the cabin airtight. He exhales as the vents start to blow fresh, clean air, and looks back over his shoulder at Joshua and speaks softly enough to give some plausible deniability to any show of emotion or vulnerability. "Thank you." Joshua is not nearly so adroit in this medium, being far more disused to his lack of gravity. He very nearly does knock his head despite the forewarning, but manages to push a hand against the wall and turn himself around in a move that assuredly would have gone disastrously just a few days ago. He is holding on to a bit of the ship as his feet start to find a surface. His chin jerks up, at a small delay, and maybe his quiet answering grunt stands in well enough for a reply. "This is probably a one and done kind of thing for you, huh?" says Rocket, his head turning back forward to face the console. He begins pulling the levers and pushing buttons, "So how do you feel about helping me take this thing down for a landing? I need a navigator to get back to that city. It took a lot of damage from the Brood ships, but it should stay together for re-entry. And I've got just enough fuel to get there and repair it on the surface." "Dunno. I stay pretty busy, but if people need help --" Joshua hitches a shoulder up, slowly chancing letting go of the wall. He's started to explore the cabin slowly. His eyes dart, wide, to Rocket with his offer. In an instant he's blipped to Rocket's side, looking altogether too casual for someone who just teleported the short distance in sheer eagerness. His mouth twitches. "Hell yeah." | |
