ArchivedLogs:So Much

So Much
Dramatis Personae Jax, Tag	2016-01-14 "{You can burn, if you want.}"
Location <NYC> Chimaera Arts - Brooklyn
This is just one of the many abandoned warehouses along the western shore of Brooklyn, and like many of them it has recently changed hands. /Unlike/ most of those, however, it does not have some corporate developer's sign out front promising a transformation into luxury condominiums or a boutique shopping center or the latest concept restaurant. Instead it's marked by a piece of weathered but wildly colorful plywood propped up on a stack of broken pallets, which reads "Chimaera Art Space!" above "chimaera.org" in smaller letters. The warehouse itself is moderately large but not much to look at. Though it has clearly gone without maintenance for some time, it seems to be in reasonably good repair. The grounds are still littered with debris, but a cleanup effort is underway. There are three piles out in front: one labelled "Recycle", one labelled "Rubbish", and the third, in big, fiery-exuberant letters, "BURN!" It's afternoon on an unseasonably mild day, but it's still a little chilly inside the vast, cavernous space of the warehouse. Tag is dressed in a dark purple hoodie shot through with vivid green vines on which alien flowers bloom and wither and give way to equally alien fruits, black cargo pants with bright yellow lightning bolts shooting down the outseams, and glossy pink boots with electric blue laces. His rainbow hair is tied back into a short ponytail, though the fringes have worked their way loose to hang across his face whenever he stoops to pick up some piece of rubble to add to a seafoam green basket woven from plastic strips. He's singing softly under his breath, "{In your own time, there's no map to guide our way; so I say nothing, you say nothing in your own way...}" Jax can be heard before he can be seen, stompy-booted steps racing down the street before he turns in towards the warehouse. There doesn't seem to be any particular /reason/ for his running; certainly nobody is chasing him and the trash isn't going anywhere in a hurry. He's only minimally colourful today, black skinny jeans, tall stompy black boots, an asymmetrically cut black jacket; there's a hint of oilslick shimmer to his black makeup, though, gleaming iridescent rainbow on lips and nails and over his eye, when it can be seen behind his large dark glasses. "Ohmygoshohmygosh." He's bouncing slightly on his toes, hands clapping together once as he arrives. "{Do /I/ get to burn?}" So hopeful. "Hey!" Tag's grin flashes quick and bright as he strightens up. "{You can burn, if you want. I think will be nice to wait. Get /big/...}" He can't find the Spanish word, but the shape of a /mountain/ he outlines with his arms is clear enough. "{Get many people. /Then/ burn. /Big/ fire, dance, party. Balloons!}" At the last word his eyes light up...kind of literally, going from dark purple to a lavender so pale it looks luminous. "Oh! Oh! You see the news? About the balloons?}" "{Definitely need to have dance party in here. When we open maybe.}" Now that his running is over Jax seems a little spent, the wilt of his posture abrupt and quite noticeable as he moves in to the warehouse and out of the sunlight. He perks back up at the question, though /his/ expression lighting -- less literally. Just a wiiide grin, sharp and wicked and in time with a gleeful bubble of laughter as if this question has confirmed something. He swoops in to /nab/ Tag, scooping him off his feet into a squeeze-twirl of hug: "OH MY GOSH ARE YOU CRAZY {that was awesome I saw yes I saw if you are trying to make} portal {you know that will not be allow. Tumblr had many pictures though, some those designs were /great/.}" "Eeeeee!" Tag flings his arms around Jax. "{Yes, totally crazy. But sad, right now cannot make new} Portals." His dramatic sigh doesn't quite succede at long-suffering with the huge grin still written across his face. All around them splashes of colors dance along the walls like two-dimensional fountains of magical ink, leaving in their wake all manner of pro-mutant symbols. "{Thank you. I really proud.}" He gives Jax another squeeze, less excited, more fond. "{How are you doing?} Jax sets Tag back down, squeezing once more and then letting go. The grin on his expression remains as the colours spread along the walls. "{You should be. That was excellent. News not make me /smile/ so much in -- long. Long time.}" He kisses the top of Tag's head, arm curling around the smaller man's shoulders. "{Winter. /Tired/. Has been a long --}" He shakes he head. "{Happy to have some colour.}" Tag leans in against Jax, nuzzling his shoulder. "{/Good/ lights, is going to be important, here. So much to do.}" He tilts his head back to look up at the taller man. "{Going to have so much color. So much!}" Then, a bit more seriously, "{I know, you have...difficult. Time. Can I help?}" "{So many lights. Sunlamps. A million of them.}" Jax glances around at the mess, drawing in a breath a he pulls himself up straighter. "{I'll be okay. Be good to have this place cleaned up and ready. Shane says he wants to use it. For some...}" He trails off, his smile a little crooked. "Mayhem." "{I can add 'one million sun lamps' to the Collective's wish list, on the website.}" Tag's mouth tugs to one side, his head tilts to the other. He opens his mouth, but then closes it again, shakes his head. "Mayhem {for a good cause, too. Very exciting. Is good first project for} collective." "A /million/?" Jax bounces, spreading his hands with a small twirl as the ceiling suddenly sprouts a forest of colourful lanterns, bright and glowing. "Mayhem {is always excite. Hard to decide what events to have, though. Both fun and safe. Could get dangerous. Many detail to think.}" Tag cranes his head back and spins on his heel, gaping with undisguised childlike glee at the lanterns overhead. "{Yes, yes, like that!} He spins faster, then stops and bounces in place again. "{Should have uh...medics, anyway. But, I think it will be great.}" Jax's nose wrinkles up, hand scrubbing at the side of his cheek. "{Medic, yes. Always good idea at sports -- but not going to be like /fight/ club. I -- /hope/. Safer. More for -- fun.}" The breath he draws in is slow. Deep. The lanterns overhead turn to balloons, bright and colourful and still glowing. "Lord knows we could use a little fun 'round here." "No way!" Tag frowns /very seriously/, but he just can't keep it up when the laterns become balloons, and breaks into a broad, candid smile. "We need a /lot/ of fun."