Logs:Millennial Thing

Millennial Thing
Dramatis Personae Dawson, Kitty, Steve
In Absentia	2020-08-16 "I don’t think you could keep me away now."
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Backyard - Greenwich Village
Living in the heart of Manhattan means space is precious, and as such, the yard behind this house is small. It is as exquisitely well-kept as the rest of the place, though; all available space has been meticulously cultivated and transformed into a lush retreat from the concrete and asphalt of the city. The borders of the garden are lined in a wealth of flowers, the selection chosen to provide a panoply of color in all seasons save winter. A grassy rock-bordered pathway separates these from the raised-bed vegetable garden that dominates its center. The far left corner of the garden plays host to a tiny rock-lined pond, goldfish and a pair of turtles living in its burbling water. To one side of the pond is a garden table and set of chairs and presiding over the pond, a large oak tree with a hammock underneath, its branches spreading out over the tall brick wall that screens the entire area off from the city outside. Game Night is winding down now that it's fully dark and some of the less hardcore participants are departing -- or at least thinking of departing -- for home. A game of Battlestar Galactica has just wrapped up in the dining room, discharging its tattered remnants of humanity into a quieter party. A colorful game of Dixit is still going around the tea table in the living room, but Steve is taking a break and stepping outside. The strings of lights overhead are on, lighting the yard well enough that a game could be brought outside. Dressed in a purple Chimaera Art Space shirt and blue jeans, shield slung over one shoulder, he seems content just to take in the air, however, and to watch Flèche trot around the yard, snuffling with her tail flagging high. "Did I make a good Cylon? I'm still not sure about the lore, even after all that explanation," he's asking his companion. "But...the dining table is free now, if you want to maybe give that bird game another try..." "A good Cylon is a little bit of an oxymoron," Dawson is replying with a laugh, "but you did fine." He's dressed as bland as he always is -- neatly pressed khakis, a grey polo shirt ringed with green. His mechanical arm is the most decorative part of him, intricately painted in a lifelike birdfeather pattern, beige with black speckles and a bright flash of yellow feathering on the underside of the arm. At the suggestion of playing Wingspan his cheeks flush deep crimson, the sudden stark red throwing the webbing of scars on his face into sharp relief. "Ah -- uh --" He blinks, looking back over his shoulder towards the dining room window with wider eyes. She really had been doing well at Dixit, at first. As they went, though, Kitty found her word choices becoming more and more esoteric- how was she supposed to know everyone else would hear Taurus and not torus? Still, she manages a respectable third place. “Good game,” she says to the others. They offer to deal her in for another game- “I’m gonna get some air, first, maybe next one.” She stretches, the hem of her Columbia U shirt raising up and creating a gap between it and her distressed denim shorts. “Be back in a sec.” She pops to the kitchen first for a glass of water, spies Steve and Dawson as she walks through the dining room. Whether Dawson means to catch her eye or not, Kitty takes it as an invitation, waving at him as she walks through the window to join them. “Can’t believe I’ve been blowing these off this long,” she says both the men, a grin on her face. Her breath smells faintly of beer, but it’s been a while since she last had a drink. Steve hadn't been blushing until he saw Dawson's reaction, but now he too is red in the face. Then struggling to look and act normal as Kitty joins them outside. "Hey there!" he says, perhaps a bit too chipper. "Did you enjoy Dixit?" He pronounces it in French fashion, almost like 'deceit'. "It's Kitty, right?" Flustered, he...keeps talking. "I do enjoy these parties, and the Tessiers are such gracious hosts." "Oh! You actually meant --" Dawson's blush is not fading, nor does it after Kitty arrives. He does smile, though, bright and warm. "Hey! Glad you could make it. Kitty -- you've met Steve, then?" With a small gesture between the two. "It's definitely a lot comfier here than in our tiny apartment. I might have to impose on Matt to keep it going here even when he's back on his feet." He takes a seat on the lowest of the back steps, watching Flèche as she (perhaps ill-advisedly) worms her way under the raspberry bushes. "Think you might come back now you've made it out here once?" “Dixit?” Kitty repeats, now unsure of the best way to pronounce it. “It rules, but I think my vocabulary is either too small or too big in a very specific way for me to be any good at it.” She chuckles. “Yeah, you got it. Telescope girl.” To Dawson- “Ran into your buddy Steve while I was studying the other day.” She raises her eyebrows on the word Steve and looks directly at Dawson. “Been meeting a lot of your friends this week.” Kitty sits down on one side next to Dawson, setting the glass down on the step. “I don’t think you could keep me away now. At least not until I beat you at Ticket to Ride.” "Oh -- it's also 'dix-it'," Steve agrees. "I just default to the way I heard it first. I'm awful at it, but it's so delightfully whimsical." He nods his agreement. "Yeah, I was out picnicking with the Tessiers before baseball." Casually leans against the railing beside the others. "How do you two know each other, if you don't mind my asking?" Lapses into an easy smile, his blush finally receding. "I've never seen this guy lose Ticket to Ride, but ah -- I guess that bodes well for you continuing to grace game night!" "Oh yeah! Hive mentioned." Dawson leans back, one arm propped on the stair above him. "Maybe everyone's just being -- extra rebound-social again now that we can." He tips his head back, looks up towards Steve. "School -- high school. Wow. Was a while ago." His frown is -- very fleeting, mechanical fingers curling down against his knee. "Was definitely a time I figured by now we'd all be --" This thought doesn't quite finish; he shakes his head instead, smile returning. "Guess you'll be running into a lot more of 'em if you keep coming. I apologize in advance for Hive's manners. Or -- lack of." “Makes sense to me,” Kitty says, looking with amusement at Flèche as she tries to escape the bushes. Almost at the same time Dawson says school Kitty starts to say “Xavier’s-“ but she stops at the first syllable, instead nodding in agreement. “Jeez, yeah, it’s been a minute.” She lets out a short bark of a laugh. “God, I cared so much about being valedictorian- I wanted to be better than you or something. Didn’t make any sense, you had already graduated by then.” She has an easy smile, only slightly dropped at Dawson’s unfinished thought. “I’m sure I’ll get used to him and the rest of your gang in no time.” "I know about Xavier's," Steve offers. Then hastily adds, "I don't mean -- the way you would, of course. Just that you don't necessarily need to censor yourself about the kind of school it is. Even if I'm...human." The hesitation before that last word is almost long enough to be awkward, as if he couldn't quite make up his mind what word to use. "Hive -- can take some getting used to, but he's an amazing guy, honestly." "Hey, some competition's healthy." Something complicated briefly dims Dawson's expression, his eyes shifting distant -- kind of past Flèche where she's worming out from the bramble with a wayward few leaves stuck to her fur. Dawson's brow furrows in thought at Steve's assertion of his humanity, his eyes lifting pensively. Mouth opening -- closing again with a thought unspoken. Far less complicated is the smile -- softer, pleased -- that blossoms at Steve's praise of Hive. "Yeah, he is. Kinda wish he didn't get in his own way so much but --" His shoulder lifts. A cascade of subtle expressions - a furrowed brow, a twitch of the eyebrow up, the corner of her lips sliding finally into a half smile - pass over Kitty's face as Steve stumbles through his declaration. "Gotcha," she settles on saying with a nod, but she's still looking at Steve for a beat long before turning back to Dawson. "What's, like, you and Hive's deal, anyway?" she asks, bumping her shoulder against his. "I've heard roommates, husbands, something about aggressive heterosexuality..." She's grinning, a teasing tone in her voice. Steve pats his thigh lightly, calling the dog over to him. She stares at him for a moment, then bounds over, shaking herself ludicrously mid-stride. He kneels down and brushes off the remaining plant matter, checking her over for any obvious cuts. "We all get in our own way about some things," he says thoughtfully, not quite looking back up at the others yet. "Sometimes it takes having folks to help steer us around those stumbling blocks." He ruffles the fur on Flèche's head, making her large, half-flopped ears waggle. Looks up at Kitty, one eyebrow raised. "Husbands?" Then he blushes. "I ah -- also thought that, or something like that, for a while." "Good thing we're here, then, huh?" Dawson's blush is returning -- not quite as fiercely as before -- at the questions about Hive. He takes his time about answering, his gaze turning out across the garden. "It's complicated," he starts. "I mean, he's straight --" He stops here, catching himself with a short laugh, a shake of his head. "Oh, wow, sorry, that makes it sound like I -- it's not like that." Only a small hesitation, this time, before he continues: "We were roommates. Before I came to Xavier's, we were locked up together in the labs. He looked out for me. I looked out for him. Friends never really seems to have the right weight, you know? Pretty sure he's stuck with me for life." "Oh good, so it's not just me," Kitty laughs as Steve admits similar confusion. She looks up briefly, catches the blush and glances away again. Her smile fades as Dawson explains. "Oh, shit." Kitty's eyes slide to the ground, biting her lower lip. "Shit, man. I didn't know. Well, I mean -" She's fumbling her words, gives up. "This how you felt a second ago?" This is to Steve - she gives a small nervous laugh. "I bet that would be more complicated than whatever I thought was going on, anyway." Steve sits down in the grass, the fingers of one hand buried in the thick fur at the back of Flèche's neck, scritching sedately. "There are always some relationships that defy easy classification." His gaze is for a moment glassy and far away. "I wish we had more words -- or that the words we have could be more flexible. If 'friend' didn't always imply someone less than family or if 'partner' could be -- any kind of partner." His wide shoulders give a minute shrug, and his smile returns wan but sincere. "So, yeah. I often feel at a loss for words. I think that's OK." "It's alright," Dawson says, "it's just hard to find the words. Partner comes with too many assumptions and brother comes with -- not enough." He shifts where he sits, leaning forward now, one elbow resting on his knee and his mechanical arm reaching to rest on Steve's shoulder. Brief squeeze. His hand drops to join with the other. "I guess this just means we have to make our own families. I've heard that's the Millennial thing to do, anyway."