ArchivedLogs:Decisions

Decisions
Dramatis Personae Hive, Melinda	2014-01-11 '
Location <NYC> Melinda's Apartment - Lower East Side
The apartment is composed of four bedrooms, two baths, a living room and an entry space attached to the kitchen, near the door. That kitchen is covered in tile, from floor to countertop to back splash on the wall, all white, with light, thin blue stems and flowers. The cabinets are newish, with blond wood kept meticulously clean of fingerprints. It is also outfitted with an excellent coffee maker, or two, with all the accoutrement to go with it. The living room is mainly furnished by found pieces, two chairs and a couch. None of it was constructed at the same time, but it all has been reupholstered with the same cloth, the surfaces colored similarly and with a regular weave. The wood has all been refinished as well, dark and able to hide stains well. The walls are colorful, but that goes with the territory of having a mutant roommate with Tag's ability. Today, it is a sage green with some abstract blue and orange intermingling in different places. Tomorrow it will be different. A cursory inspection shows that five people live in this four bedroom apartment, so it's difficult to pick out what belongs to any one person. Melinda arrives home from work in the early evening, still smelling strongly of coffee and baked goods. She has a box of cookies from Happy Cakes under one arm and a purse under the other. It appears she didn't fully expect the weather as she looks utterly bedraggled from the wind and the rain. She rolls her eyes as she flops everything down on the dining room table then back tracks to the entry way to peel off her rain boots. Her jacket is hung up and her hair is coiled up into a bun on top of her head that secures itself in its messy weave. She wanders back to the table and opens up the box, slipping a ginger snap out and starting to nibble on it as she heads toward the kitchen. Inside the kitchen, Tove is cooking. He has a couple pots bubbling away on the burners while the third is browning up some 'meat' balls on a medium heat. It appears to be pasta night. "Hey, Mel, food'll be ready in a few minutes. You think you're going to eat any tonight?" Melinda walks up to Tove's shoulder and leans over the pots, taking a general whiff of all of the offerings, her eyes half closed. "Mmmm. Smells delicious. I'll have some, but only a small bowl, okay?" BZZT. Or ding? Or WHATEVER pings in Mel's apartment to signal someone from Outside desiring to get In. Outside there is a HIVE. Also kind of bedraggled and growing moreso; his hair (recently /cut/ from its previous shoulder-length state back into a shaggy mop that looks even choppier than its usual mess) soaked and his jacket dripping water and his jeans -- also kind of soaked where the mid-thigh-length jacket doesn't cover them. "Okay. I know I shouldn't worry. I see you eating all day... but still." Tove worries quietly, looking up and back toward the entry when when he hears the buzzer. He frowns at his work, and then looks to Mel. "Could you?" "Of course. The bell's my responsibility too." Mel shakes her head as she wanders back to the door. "Anyone else home?" "Nzinga's got another hour or two on her shift. I'm just going to bring her dinner to her," he replies. "Ah. Okay." Melinda presses the call button. "Hello?" "Augh fff fucking -- rain Mel it's /wet/ jegus who the fuck ordered this," comes back through the loudspeaker in a crackly-radio version of Hive's oddly unplaceable mutt-accent. "Yeah, I don't even," Melinda replies quickly before hitting the button that unlocks the door and leads Hive to the stairwell. She heads over to the door and unlocks it before heading to the bathroom. "Tove, Hive's here. Should I offer him dinner or not?" Tove continues quietly turning the 'meat' balls over until they are browned on all sides. "Sure, go head. I think I have plenty for four." He starts humming quietly as he stirs. Melinda returns to the living room with her hair up in a towel turban, another fresh towel in her hands. She waits by the door with it. Feet sound on the steps in short order, the door opening soon after with an announcing: "Ppppah." Hive is stopping by the door to take off his shoes, but this offers little help with socks and jeans and hair still drippy-wet. "-- Maaaan I don't think I can come in." His long-sleeved grey-and-black plaid flannel button down under the jacket is at least mostly dry, when he peels the jacket off. "I'm gonna turn your apartment into a fucking /flood/. Sup, Tove?" He jerks his chin upward to the other man. "Mel. Yo. How's --" His brows furrow for a second. "... everything?" "Oh, towel off your head and get in here. When you're done with your head, wrap it around your waist and I'll get you some of my sweat pants. The waist cinches." Melinda ignores his protest for the most part, moving quietly back to her bedroom. "Hey, Hive." Tove has 'Hallelujah' stuck in his head. It's quiet and he's humming it. The best part is that his memory of the lyrics is pretty good, so it's a fairly nice rendition and doesn't sound any worse than the radio being on. "We're having pasta and seitan, if you're hungry, or need a warm up. There's salad, but I figured that greens wouldn't be appealing, what with the weird downpour." Melinda is rummaging in her room, her mind running through a few different tacts, to directly tell him something that she hasn't really been able to vocalize, or just let him know what the doctor's told her about everything. There's a strong cord of denial running underneath her thoughts, unable to accept this thing yet, let alone speak it out loud, but there's also the fact that she is going to have to tell everyone soon because things are going to get... difficult and difficult soon. Six weeks of this okay feeling and then it's all downhill from there. When she reappears, she is wearing dry pajama pants and carrying a pair of generic sweat pants. "Everything's a big topic, Hive. Wanna narrow it down a bit? How are you?" She hands him the pants. Hive peels his wet socks off to leave them draped over his shoes and ducks his head, rubbing the towel over it. His hair is a tousled birds-nest mess when he lowers the towel. "Pasta and seitan sounds excellent, thanks. The weather's throwing me the hell off. Crazy-thunderstorm but then it's also like springtime temperatures again." He shucks his jeans right there in the entryway when Melinda returns with pants, taking them from her with a small furrow of brow. For a moment he wraps the towel around his waist /anyway/, though, letting it start to do the work of drying off his drier but still damp boxers. "/Wet/," he answers Melinda with a crooked grin, only now stepping further into the apartment. "Narrow -- uh. I dunno you've been feeling shitty. You were supposed to see a doctor. How's /that/, I guess." "Whoever says that Global Warming isn't real is extremely oblivious." Tove replies, shaking his head slowly as he moves the seitan balls one by one onto a side plate. "You get settled. I'm going to toast up some garlic bread." He peeks at the oven temperature and then slips the already sliced and seasoned loaf halves into the oven. "Yes, I did see the doctor." Melinda replies, her mind a swamp of overwhelmed feelings and brief moments of panic. Then a soft mantra about how she isn't supposed to be stressed. Stress will make everything worse. "I am... apparently, perfectly healthy." << for someone with my condition. >> She exhales softly and gives a little shrug, moving to the living room to sit down on the couch. There's an inherent invitation for Hive to follow. "Hah. Well, I'll take it. Today, at least. If it had been /freezing/ rain I'd probably have given up halfway here. Given you a fucking -- phone call instead." Hive follows Melinda over towards the couch, towel still wrapped around his waist and sweatpants draped over an arm as he settles down beside her. His eyebrows raise, eyes flitting over Melinda briefly and then settling down in his lap. "Well." He exhales heavily through his nose, a small meaningless twitch pulling at the side of his mouth and then settling back into blandness. "S'good, I guess. Uh." His gaze flicks back sideways, settling on Melinda's face. "Do you. Need anything." << It's so sweet you're not digging, >> Melinda admits, slumping against the cushions of the couch, her forehead resting there. << I'm not trying to hide it. I'm just so absolutely freaked out. >> "Phone calls are dumb. I barely phone call. It's mostly for work, you know? When it's friends, I rather drop texts and show up to talk face to face." She peeks up at him a moment later and finds him making eye contact. Her brows rise and she runs through a list of super healthy things she should be doing right now, vitamins and such while other tests determine if any prescriptions are necessary at this point. "I will. Right now? I don't know." "Yeah half the time," Hive admits, "I forget that you can /use/ phones to freaking talk. Do text a lot, though." He lifts one bony arm to sling it around Melinda, fingers squeezing in at her shoulder. << Just. Here for you, >> he answers, to the not digging comment. << If you're freaked out are you sure -- >> this starts, but then trails off into just another squeeze. "Though I'm actually pretty shit at help when it comes to all this," he allows freely, "I can't cook for shit. I have pretty much zero skills in the helpfully comforting department. I can, uh, play board games with you like a boss though." Melinda leans into Hive's embrace, "Phones are just sort of hollow. You can hear shit, but you have to pretend you're getting all the input. Texts, there's no pretense. It's flat words." << It's messing everything up. I can't even consider the co-housing co-op thing without worrying now that I'm only doing it because I'm going to need help. And we're all pretty up front about the notion that if any hate group decides to target us, it could get horribly messy, but being on my own seems so much more terrifying. >> "OH. Hell. I'm just flooding you with my freak out, aren't I? I will... Um, try to think about something else." There's a pause and then, "Board games are good." << Is -- this what you /want/, I mean. >> There's a faint tinge of awkwardness to the sledgehammer of Hive's mindvoice, largely -- drowned out by its bludgeony feel. << With -- most. Things. There's usually -- options. >> Hive's head tips back against the couch, arm just holding Melinda against his side. His other hand toys absently with an edge of his towel where it's folded over itself. "Pfft. S'alright. You can freak out all you want. I just dunno what you want to be talking -- uh. Thinking. About." "If I knew," Mel starts her mind still a feed back of quasi-denial and full on overwhelmed, "I swear I would be clear." Her arm drapes around his waits, partially because she doesn't know where else to put the limb (certainly not his crotch where natural gravity seems to guide it) and partially because she likes this feeling of closeness. "It's all so suddenly in my lap on top of everything else that has been going on. It's kind of easier to just focus on the fact that the doctor very clearly said that I am very healthy." << He was surprised, given all the shit that's been going on with available food and dangerous streets, but he doesn't know about the amazing friends I have. >> "It's just. Usually kind of a. Time-restricted thing. Making a decision. Before it's kind of made for you." Hive draws in a deep breath, head tipping to the side to rest against the side of Melinda's. "But healthy. Healthy is good. Just." Another breath. "... just." << I have apparently been oblivious to the decision making process. >> Melinda opines, her eyes closing as she presses her cheek against Hive's. "It's just... what?" "Nothing," Hive answers in another heavy exhale. "I mean, nothing that's any of my -- nothing." << Not oblivious now, though. >> "None of your business?" Melinda sniffs, amused. The air around them is starting to smell deliciously like garlic though. "Huh. Well, no, it's not particularly your business, but you're my friend and your input is valued, even if it's only weighed in the whole shitty scale of options, I've got right now." "None of my business," Hive agrees wryly. "Don't really want to make you feel any pressure one way or another. Not from /me/ at least. Just -- want to make sure whatever you're doing is what you -- want to do. For whatever value of 'want' you can find if you're kind of. Rock. Hard place." "If I had found out months ago, I might have just thrown myself into the process, gotten it taken care of, and out of the way and today would be a much different day. Now, it's worse. Everything costs more and is harder." Melinda exhales moodily and begins to gnaw on her lip. Rather than say it out loud, she gives Hive a mental run down of the doctor's office, the initial tests, the discussion, the further tests... the whole thing. "Longer you wait, the more that gets true. Not making a decision is just -- having it made for you." Hive squeezes Melinda's shoulder again and stands. "But you'll have people around. No matter what. I'm gonna put on these fucking pants and we can have. Dinner." Melinda leans back and lets Hive stand, her mind distracted for the moment. She does turn and get up mechanically when Hive isn't something she can trip over and stretches a little, refocusing. "Dinner is best. Let's work on dinner for the time being. And you not running around with a towel on inspiring dirty thoughts." She raises an eyebrow at him and slips into the kitchen to grab place settings for the three of them. To this, Hive just /snorts/. "Seems to be a knack of mine lately." It's a mutter almost to himself, as he slips off into the bathroom to make himself more presentable for Dinner. "Blame your genetics. They gave you a very cute ass." Melinda replies, with a smirk.