ArchivedLogs:Getting by with More

Getting by with More
Dramatis Personae Hive, Merit	2013-01-28 Hive and Merit look kind of like two sociopaths on a date while they talk shop.
Location <NYC> The Monster
One of the venerable gay bars of Sheridan Square, the Monster is a lot less intimidating than its name might lead one to believe. The decor is retro and homey, the staff friendly and familiar. The long bar is always crowded, but patrons can find some measure of privacy in the booths along the back wall. The space downstairs hosts drag shows and dance club events almost every night. The confluence of Monday and wintry weather makes this a relatively quiet night at the Monster. Merit occupies a corner booth, sprawling across the bench seat with his arms stretched across its back. He wears a white dress shirt under a black leather vest, black leather trousers, and a leather collar with a prominent steel O-ring. Like half of the people in here, he looks like he belongs in the Eagle but got tired of the cruise-or-be-cruised atmosphere there. He holds a tall, blue drink in his left hand and sips it occasionally while he scans the crowd with keen, predatory eyes. In contrast, Hive doesn't look much like he belongs either place. Shabby old coat, fading bluejeans, holes in the sleeves of his long-sleeved gray tee where his thumbs are poking through. He has another t-shirt over it, with an image of Link perched Eddard-Stark-style on Westeros's Iron Throne, which is visible as he sheds his snow-dusted jacket and beelines for Merit's table. "Shit. I didn't dress for the occasion, seems like." "There is no occasion for which you must dress," Merit replies, raising his glass in salute. "Not unless you go downstairs, where willowy young men in drag will soon be lipsynching onstage to the jeers and cheers of their adoring hordes. I picked this location because it is dead on Monday nights--as dead as any Village bar gets, anyhow. Most of the regulars will assume I am on a date and leave us alone." Merit lifts his hand to attract the attention of a server, who saunters over to take their order. For some reason this makes Hive's lips twitch, amused as he regards Merit across the table. "Sure. Convenient. Maaan, you mean I could've come in drag?" Though his build might be more 'bony' than 'willowy'. "You bring dates here much?" He's frowning, slightly, as the server arrives. "Uh. A beer, maybe. Whatever's cheap." "Perhaps the Yuengling, if you still have that on tap?" Merit suggests. "And I'm good with this." The young man nods and wander off, hips swaying. "As much as I would love to see you in drag," he continues, sipping his drink, "I suspect it would attract more attention than you are seeking. Perhaps I assume too much about what you seek." "Yeah, most likely. Not really seeking anything except --" Hive's fingers uncurl, gesturing to Merit across the table. "Not sure I'd really look all that great in drag. I don't really have the legs for it." This is what he is saying, aloud, as he slouches back in his seat, absently looking around the room. Silently, his words hammer in a sudden hard /thud/ of mental energy to Merit: << Got a project kinda getting held /up/ in red tape. Apparently the city doesn't love mutant institutions much? Thought you might know the right people to, ah, lean on. >> Merit sucks in a sharp breath, lips curling in a strange, fey smile around the inward hiss. "Nonsense," he says softly, "few legs cannot be redeemed by the right selection of hosiery, or so I am told." << If you are looking at a new building, >> Merit forms the words deliberately in his mind, << you are probably being held up by the Department of Planning, which can make quite the labyrinth of the land use review procedure. I know one or two employees who are in a position to do something about that, but they might not bend as easily as Jacob did for my permit... >> He recalls a brief flash of his session with the city employee, a scream muffled by a gag. "And no, I do not bring my dates here," he adds, aloud, "although I might if I actually dated." "Guess I should invest in some tights." Hive's watching that smile, listening to that hiss; both these things make his lips curl upwards slightly, himself. << New building. I'm designing. Shit, if that's easy I'm not sure what hard is. >> His voice does not get any /less/ bludgeony with time. "No interest or no time?" << I've got my own ways of convincing, though. >> Lifting his very blue drink to his lips, Merit's eyes track the server as he return with Hive's beer. "I'm sure you can find your color at American Apparel." << Melissa Gonzalez. >> A recent night at District 36 wells up in Merit's mind, hyper-real and almost painfully vivid. A woman in her early 30s dances wildly, laughing and tossing her black curls. She is flying. << Robert Wakefield. >> This time the memory centers around a man at a bar--Down Under--watching football on the TV without much conviction. << Neither has any particular hand-holds to my understanding. >> "Plenty of interest, and time enough," Merit replies aloud. "I just haven't found the right person." << Everyone's got something. And the ones who don't -- >> This trails off into a quick smile -- hey! Beer! Hive nods his thanks to the server, curling fingers around the beer and letting his eyes slip briefly, indulgently closed. Maybe it's the beer. Maybe it's the imagery. "Story of New York," he says, wry. "Eight million people, none of them's the right one." Merit laughs, but there's no real joy in the sound. "I don't believe in destiny or soul mates, but a boy has needs." He dips a finger in the condensation on his glass and traces electrical patterns out from the soaked paper coaster. << Once your proposition is released from the Purgatory of city bureaucracy, the Community Board must approve it. Depending on your neighborhood, this will either be the easiest or most difficult step. If they're friendly, you've nothing to worry about; if not, that's a lot of people to convince. >> "Some get by with a little understanding, some get by with a whole lot more," Merit explains, meeting Hive's eyes, "I want more. I /always/ want more." "You ever considered dating a robot?" Hive asks, watching as Merit sketches the patterns on the coaster. "Or just straight-up, a generator." << Man, /are/ there neighborhoods friendly to mutants? It's aiming for Clinton. I don't think Clinton's friendly to /anything/. >> He drags his beer close, taking a first long drink. << I'm alright at convincing en masse. If leaning on a few people doesn't work. >> "Of course," Merit says with a smirk, "I have several live-in generators already. They're dreadful conversationalists." << Parts of the Village at a balance point between affluent and bohemian consider mutant establishments /fashionable/, but the costs of building in such places would be astronomical. >> "My last Mistress was brilliant at conversation," Merit says, but the recollection in his mind is an empty space containing only with the words he speaks. "She could talk you into slitting your own throat." << Well, maybe not /you/. With Community Board approval, your application goes to the City Planning Commission. Ideally, one of those bureaucrats I showed you--or Jacob--can hustle it through while the Commission is inundated with urban farming proposals for the spring. >> "Maybe you haven't learned their language. Knew a guy. Could talk to electronics as well as people." Hive smirks, slightly. "Better than people, in his case. Didn't have a lot of people skills." << The cost's already going to be ridiculous. I'm not footing it. I'm just the architect. Want this place built, though. I'll look into these people. >> There's a wry weight to /look into/, though he does not, at least, leak any additional nuance into his mental speech. "I dunno. Might be she could. I'm as weak to an eloquent woman as anyone." "I understand them, but perhaps there's more nuance to their song than I give them credit." Merit takes a long pull of his drink. << I'm sure you'll manage. Depending on how closely the Planning Commission looks, you may also have to pass a final review by the City Council. This should not be difficult, as no Council member wants to have to explain turning down a proposal for a /clinic/. If they do give you trouble, well...they /are/ politicians. >> "Oh, she was eloquent, all right," he says, without much feeling, "and intelligent, and beautiful." << As with any Council decision, the Mayor can elect to veto it, but that's not likely to occur unless someone whips up a perfect political storm around this project. >> "Sounds like quite a woman." Hive isn't saying this with much praise. It's more thoughtful curiosity, studying Merit's face with some consideration. << Fuck the Mayor, >> he says with a trifle of irritation. << Hopefully this won't draw much heat till /after/ the permits go through. Spineless twit swings whichever way people want him to. >> "Yes, she is." Again, Merit's reply seems perfunctory and arises from a place devoid of sensation or emotion, which is not at all typical of his mental space. << The political climate is volatile, especially regarding the topic of mutants. >> "But she was always so cautious, never letting me push my limits, never pushing her /own/." He is suddenly passionate, the vacancy in his eyes gone and replace with his wonted intensity. "Why bother walking at all if we must tiptoe? I would rather dance." "You do seem like the dancing type." Hive sips at his beer, eying Merit thoughtfully, but then just shrugs. "Don't know why anyone'd try to /contain/ that energy. Maybe they don't speak the right language, either. Eloquent or not." Merit mirrors Hive's shrug. "I have no idea. Some days I feel as though I never knew her at all..." << Which is not impossible.>> He snickers and shakes his head, taking a drink. "But I'll not start down that path. It leads to a tinfoil cap and a mountain cabin full of guns." He meets Hive's eyes. << Do let me know if I can help you out with some creative bureaucracy. Or if you need to hobnob with monied individuals at one of those mind-numbingly exclusive clubs. >> "Ah, well. To our ventures," he says, raising his glass. << I just might. >> Hive just raises his glass in return. "To dancing," he says, lightly, in return. And turns his attention to the drink.