ArchivedLogs:Coffee

Coffee
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Hive, Isra	2015-06-06 << I'm glad that you're still here. >>
Location <NYC> {Geekhaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
There's an open airy feel to the floorplan of this unit. The door opens up into a wide expanse of common space that is not so much divided up into rooms as it is simply multipurposed. Ash-grey resin flooring underfoot runs up against the paler grey of the exposed stone in the walls; between the stone support there are wide floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the river on one side of the home and the Commons' central yard on the other. Half of the space has a ceiling at one-floor height, though half of the space is left open with a balcony up on the second floor overlooking the living space below. A slatted stairway heads up to the second floor balcony; on the other side of the room, a fireman's pole running straight down to the basement provides a quicker way /down/. The wide open space here is combination living and dining room; in a recessed pit near the windows there are a pair of couches and large armchair around a wide coffeetable; further off a steel-and-glass dining table is surrounded by eight tall black chairs. A full bathroom behind the stairway is done up in dark granite; the glass-doored bathtub/shower is rather expansively large. The kitchen is tucked off in back, beneath the half-height ceiling; in here the appliances and cabinets and shelving recessed into the wall are in brushed steel, wide grey sweeps of tempered glass countertops running around the edge of the room and a large central island holding stoves and oven and deep double sink. Adjacent to the kitchen, beneath the ceiling as well, is a sitting area structured largely around the enormous television against one wall, a wealth of video games for a number of consoles held on the shelves around the television. Crates and beanbags and one low futon folded against the floor are arranged in good viewing distance; opposite the television, a sturdy large pen built out of wood shrines a couch amid a sea of brightly colorful playpen balls. A door in one wall opens up to the apartment next door; a door opposite leads down to the basement. Some people favor going out for strolls on such a mild, balmy night. Not so Isra, winging in to land on the balcony, then making her ponderous way downstairs. A weary slump has invaded her usual predatory grace, her tail thudding softly on the steps behind her as she descends through the gloom. The color of her skin shifts constantly depending on the angle of the lighting that wends its way in through the windows, but seems to average out to a glimmering iridescent violet. Her wings are patterned in fractal twists of every color, and her talons and horns silver with a powerful blueshift. She wears a pale pink wrap dress and carries a black satchel, which she deposits on the kitchen counter on her way to the refrigerator. The quiet that has dominated Geekhaus lately isn't -- /quite/ broken. It's stirred, a little bit. A rustle in the living room, a faint rush of displaced air. A shift of fabric on fabric as Joshua lays a body out on the couch. Leaves another standing beside it before vanishing. Hive is looking -- much as he had, upon leaving, really. Too much sharp boney angles, skin sallow and hanging too loose on them, Eyes far too sunken, far too hollow. These things haven't changed. What /has/ is that he is the one standing upright, narrowed eyes (lively and /alert/) fixed down on the couch for a long moment before, slowly, he turns aside. << I don't suppose, >> in Isra's mind his voice is gruff and dry, slipping in soft with none of his usual sledgehammer force, << we have any coffee? >> On the couch, Flicker is -- looking a little worse for his vacation. Down an arm, unshaved, unwashed, unkempt. /His/ eyes just fix up on the ceiling with the same blank stare Hive's had had for so many months. Though half-blinded by the light from the refrigerator, Isra's ears swivel toward the new arrivals. The alarm that flits across her mind lasts only the fraction of a second. The perplexity that replaces it shows more resilience, however. She closes the refrigerator door, plunging the house back into shadow, and stalks into the living room. A spike of terror and grief breaks through the dull, tightly controlled undercurrent of her concern when she comes close enough to see Flicker. It subsides somewhat when she sees him draw breath, fading into an uneasy worry. Green eyes, shining with borrowed light, snap to Hive. One of her wings curls around him, still cool with the night air, and clasps him gingerly to her. A long moment passes before she can compose either mind or voice to form a coherent reply. "We've plenty of coffee," she manages at last, softly. Then, looking down at Flicker again, with more hope than confidence, "Sleeping?" Hive's eyes close. There's not much /weight/ to his stick-thin form as he sags into the wing that curls around him. His cheek presses up against Isra's arm, his breathing slowing. His mind presses up against hers, too -- this weight is much heavier, a tight hard squeeze that bears down in a heavy press that likely does not /help/ speed up the process of finding coherent reply. << Sleeping. >> It's not an answer; it doesn't even come in Hive's voice but in a quiet echo of Isra's own, taken, turned over, and ultimately dismissed. << Like I'd been sleeping. >> Hive's shoulders tense, slowly. There's a slow press of his mind to Flicker's, too, heavy as well. << I put him to sleep. >> From Flicker there's only a twitch. Fingers shifting against his chest as Hive's mind crushes in against his own. His eyes don't move. Something in his mind does, though, retreating further into itself. No anger accompanies the barely audible growl in Isra's throat or the rumble in her chest. The talons tipping the phalanges of her wings press inward, and then abruptly relax again with a very deliberate effort even as the wonted discipline of her mind eases, giving where Hive pushes. Flotsam and jetsam from her week drift through her thoughts--the unseasonable chill, Eridani ill again, her thesis published at last, her outfit for the XS commencement, the empty house too clean beneath the broom, the warm drape of Dusk's wings on her skin. She rests her gaunt, angular cheek on Hive's head. Her other wing droops to the couch, a massive gleaming thumbclaw nudging gently under Flicker's hand as if to reassure her that he has tangible form. "Will he wake." It hardly sounds like a question at all in her quiet alto voice, but the sense of it comes across clearly enough. Somewhere in her mind, the urge to pull away and make coffee wars with a fierce need to hold onto Hive. The question elicits a harder squeeze. Hive's mind clenches, fierce and tight around Isra's, mental claws starting to sink inward before he catches himself, pulls back. In counterpoint, /physically/ he presses closer still, face mashed up hard against her arm and his body leaned up against her side as if he might not be capable of holding up his own weight. << I don't know, >> comes his answer; beneath it, softer, there's a quiet whispering undertone of << (no.) >> After another moment of thought, though: << Maybe. >> There's a slow grinding of teeth. << Not on his own. May -- not want to. >> Isra does not flinch and does not fight--she knows she cannot, in any case, not in the realm of the mind. She coils an arm around Hive, too, although her wing alone could hold up his weight, even in his less emaciated days. << But you came back. >> The thumbclaw of her other wing pulls from Flicker's hand and brushes aside an errant bit of hair with startling delicacy for such a heavy digit. "What woke you?" Where Hive's mind presses to Isra's there is a sudden wrench, a heavy pulse of sick-hurt that does not make it through to his expression. << (may not want to) >> echoes again, whisper-soft. Over it, reluctant: << I came back. >> A tremor runs up his spine. His head turns aside from Isra, eyes locking onto Flicker's face. There's a gravelly rasp to his voice when he speaks, rough from disuse. "... he asked." Isra growls softly, a noise more easily felt than heard. "It's a lot to come back to." The growling does not cease when she speaks. "A lot of pain, a lot of loss." Her hand rubs a slow circle over Hive's back, talons scraping lightly. << He brought me -- >> There's something uncertain here, a dissonance in the words that jangles uneasily in Hive's mind. << Back. With him. From -- >> His head shakes. There's a clamor in Isra's mind, a painful din of voices -- many voices, far too many voices, surging upwards and then subsiding. << There's always been pain. >> Hive's shoulders tremble beneath Isra's wing. He steps forward, kneeling down beside the couch to trace fingertips against the side of Flicker's face. "It hasn't been easy, has it?" Simultaneously with this: << I'm sorry. >> "Bringing you back from that..." Isra releases Hive reluctantly, her wing remaining cupped around him as he knees, as if she expects him to collapse at any moment. "...it hurt him very badly, then." The thumb talon of her wing caresses Flicker's cheek, and she tears herself away from her housemates at last. << Coffee. >> That thought comes alone, with perfect confidence and clarity, as she goes to put a saucepan of water on the stove. Then, more quietly, though she could have raised her voice enough to carry, << He would not fault you. >> << We were in his head. >> Hive's brows crease. << The other me. Too. The five-years-from-now -- came back here. With him. Don't think his mind was meant to -- >> His jaw clenches. "I've been here, you know? I just -- couldn't -- m'sor --" He breaks off, head dropping to rest against Flicker's chest. The heavy press of his mind to Isra's is less /crush/ now and more /lean/. Tired. Wilted. << I'm glad, >> sounds dredged up from somewhere very far away, << that you're still here. >> Isra scoops coffee beans into an antique hand-crank coffee grinder--new to the house, though not to the world. << So much quieter. >> She does not seem to intend the comment for Hive, but, having thought it, she looks back at him over her shoulder. The ground coffee goes into the water just as it begins to boil, and the rich aroma of it blooms to fill the house. She stretches her wings, their iridescent fractal patterns catching the light from outside. << It's probably selfish to think so... >> This, with a brief but wrenching wash of terror--for Flicker, for Jax, for the children at XS and the ones about to leave it. << ...I'm glad you're back. >> She draws a deep breath, and her mind returns to its wonted calm. Hive's eyes just close, his fingers curling in against the edge of the couch cushion. There's a small tremble to his shoulders, a small hitch to his breath. It calms soon; he takes a slow deep inhale as the scent of coffee fills the house. He pushes himself to his feet, dragging slowly away from Flicker. << We should get him cleaned up. >>