Difference between revisions of "Logs:He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler."

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Latest revision as of 16:17, 28 June 2020

He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler.
Dramatis Personae

Leo, Sam, Steve


"Yo, you order delivery?"


<PRV> Sam and Steve's Apartment - Harlem

This is a third-story walkup in an aging historic building which, while not entirely crumbling, has a certain worn and shabby look, its plumbing and fixtures often in need of repair. The apartment has two small bedrooms, but makes up for it with capacious common areas. A single long space serves as living room and dining room combined, is semi-open to the kitchen, and has a surprisingly large bathroom with an antique claw-footed tub. Tall, drafty windows let out onto the fire escape from the living room and both bedrooms, and let in excellent light from the southern exposure.

The sleek art deco motif that runs through the living room furniture, while not strictly matching, has clearly been worked to coordinate. The dining set, coffee and end tables have been crafted with complementary geometric patterning, ebony accents providing a dark contrast to the warmer swirls of maple burl that feature most prominently. The sofa, love seat, and chair fill out the rest of the living room, a matching set upholstered in plush burgundy. The numerous lamps do not all match, some of them clearly temporary supplement for the inadequate overhead lighting.

Harlem is still and quiet, locked down tight while the specter of a modern plague creeps through the city. It's grown late, well past night, and the cold drizzle has put off even those who might otherwise feel tempted to go for stroll during the quiet hours. Distant sirens and the intermittent flash of red light through the haze from the beacon atop the Empire State Building lends a surreal reality to this first night of Passover.

Steve has been quiet, too. He didn't eat much by the way of supper earlier and shortly thereafter excusing himself to disappear into his room with a bottle of Jameson's. He's since been at his drafting table, starting and abandoning several sketches of the same dark-haired young man with a roguish smile. Finally he gives up and just sits on his bed, staring blankly out of the window into the fog while he sips his whiskey.

Sam has been mostly quiet, too. Mostly. His work schedule has become a little more erratic than it was when he was working in person -- now his scheduled video-chat therapy sessions come at occasionally odd hours in deference to some of his client's newly destabilized living situations. But, barring a temporary disappearance into his room for a quiet call, he's been zoning out on the couch, watching Schitt's Creek with the volume on low and more or less successfully resisting the urge to pick up his phone and mindlessly scroll. He's just finished one bottle of porter and recently cracked open a second, wiping condensation from his hand onto his jeans and taking a swig.

Knockknockknock. KnockknockKNOCK. It's not the loudest of knocks but it is persistent. Outside there is a thin young man who would be neatly dressed -- slim dark purple button-down with subtle yet startling flashes of crimson on the underside of the spread collar and the insides of the the cuffs and plackets, slender black plainfront trousers with red contrast stitching -- if not for the overall rumpled disarray of his clothing and hair. Eyes wide and red and watery in his gaunt face. A lingering distinctive acrid burn of tear gas clinging to his clothing. Leo has one arm wrapped against his mouth, although it probably isn't much helping his cough given the fumes still wafting off his shirt.

Sam startles when the knock comes. His head snaps up; he rubs at his eyes before checking his phone. "Yo, you order delivery?" At first he doesn't actually bother to get up. It's only when the knock persists that he stands, brows creasing as he heads to the door. "S'alright, you can just leave it --" he's saying as he looks out the peephole. Stops, frowns. Looks again. Veeery casually, as he thumbs his phone on: "Hey, man, you sure you at the right house?"

Steve also startles at the knock, then relaxes. But his brows wrinkle at Sam's question. "No," he calls back, setting his drink down and going to the door. He steps out of his room as Sam is checking his phone. He lifts his eyebrows and taps his housemate's shoulder so he can take a look for himself. "Elijah," he mutters softly, and starts to unlock the door. Then stops mid-motion to glance at Sam. "I know this man. He's -- he won't harm us." Quiet and low, almost pleading. "He needs help."

Outside the door, Leo is just coughing into his elbow again. Looking around the small landing a little desperately before he knocks again. "What? Leave what?" Even through the thick rasp in his voice his confusion is clear. "Please, I thought -- is this Steve's house. I'm sorry."

"What?" Sam is saying at almost the same time as Leo, giving Steve a quizzical look at that mutter. His hand goes to the door when Steve starts to unlock it, resting on the security chain with his brows lifting. "We just forgetting this pandemic now, then? He can't get help on a phone? Or a doctor? You hear that cough, right? And --" His voice has dropped lower. "You reading the news lately?" His other hand waggles his phone in the direction of the door. "Maybe lockdown's just got me paranoid but that guy's looking real familiar."

"He --" Steve breaks off, then pitches his voice to carry past the door. "I'm here. Just hold on a minute." He turns more fully to Sam, lifting up both his hands as if to demonstrate he will not try to open the door by force. "I know this sounds outlandish, but --" Lowers his voice yet further. "That's Leonid Concepcion. He's on the run because he has the power to control diseases, but it's not what you've seen on the news. He can heal people, too, and he's trying to help -- a lot of people." His ice blue eyes dart to the door, then back to Sam. "We can help give him that chance."

"He can what." Sam's dark eyes fix on Steve's blue ones for a steady moment, his teeth pressing down at his lip. His fingers clench tighter against his phone, then slowly ease up as he returns it to his pocket. His hand drops, his breath exhaled long and slow in time with the motion. "Whole lotta people gunnin' for him." It doesn't sound like an objection; at least, he's pulling the door open, now. Sweeping a hand to gesture Leo inside, eyes flicking briefly to the hallway beyond. "Look like you been through the wringer."

"Just federal, state, and local law enforcement," Steve replies lightly, "and possibly some secret government mutant research program." When Sam opens the door he ushers Leo inside, nose wrinkles slightly at the scent of the tear gas. "Oh God, what /happened/?" He's not waiting for an answer, already striding to the windows and twitching the curtains shut. "Sit down, please."

"{Oh thank God.}" Leo stumbles through the door gratefully. Coughs into his arm again -- wipes his sleeve against his eye as it starts to water more. Immediately scrunches his eyes shut, clearly regretting this decision. "I think they -- maybe they shot Jax, I don't --" He blinks watery eyes open. Looks at Sam, brows slowly creasing. "I'm sorry, I didn't -- I shouldn't have... who is... I didn't know where to go," he fumbles.

"Oh." Sam's eyebrows hike higher. He closes the door, locks it securely. For just one brief breath of time, rests his forehead against it. Straightens with a small and crooked smile. "Guess we won't have no problems then." He is side-eying Steve at the invitation to sit down, though, his own eyes squinting up as he pulls his t-shirt up to half-cover his face. "Shot? -- Look, I don't know what you been through tonight but I do know that explaining it will be easier if you can breathe again. Bathroom's through there --" He's pointing, as he goes to get a plastic bag, "you're going to want a cool shower, rinse your hair off first so the gas doesn't run back down into your eyes again. I'll get you some clean clothes. You can put yours in here."

Steve turns, freezing in place for an instant, his eyes wide. "Shot?" he echoes in time with Sam, though much quieter. Shakes his head, short and quick. "Sorry -- no, he's right, ah." He glances at the door. "Unless they were -- still chasing you? Just now."

"Maybe. I don't know. They were arresting him -- they had guns -- I don't think they. I don't think they could have followed, we --" Leo takes the plastic bag. Stares at it blankly before, slowly, nodding. "Oh -- shower. I'm sorry, I -- yes. No. Yes, that... would be good. Thank you." He's holding the bag with an unnecessary care as he turns abruptly, disappearing off where Sam has pointed.

"Clean towels in the cabinet," Sam calls after him.

Then stops. Takes in a breath. Looks at Steve thoughtfully, after Leo's disappeared into the bathroom. "C'mon," he says, quiet. "Help me get some soup on."