Logs:Community Spread

Community Spread
Dramatis Personae Daiki, Marinov?	2020-10-07 "Gets a bit tiresome, always cooking for myself."
Location <NYC> Chimaera Arts - Dumbo
This is just one of the many abandoned warehouses in DUMBO, 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 is moderately large and decorated with graffiti art in various styles--some of it recognizable as the work of renowned local street artists. A pair of monstrous scrap metal sculptures, perhaps still works in progress, flank the entrance. The building itself has undergone significant renovation recently, complete with wiring, plumbing, and a modular partitioning system. The grounds, too, have been cleaned up, ramshackle fences torn down and rusting detritus removed in favor of reclaimed (and brilliantly repainted) outdoor furniture ringing an impressively engineered firepit. It's a cool autumn afternoon at Chimaera, still some time yet before the evening classes. The kitchen smells divine, a large pot of karē simmering on low and the scent of rice low and subtle beneath it. Daiki is washing the cutting board at the sink, humming softly to himself. He's dressed down today, just a white button-down shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up beneath a black sweater vest, black slacks, and brogues. He shakes excess water from the board and sets it gently on the drying rack with the other accoutrements he'd used for cooking, then dries his hands on a towel. A familiar figure is making their way through the warehouse on long strides, ears pricked up as they head toward the kitchen. Today in a bold vermillion sweater, buff trousers that scrunch at the ankles, and dark brown leather foot wraps to match the wide scarf carefully draped about their shoulders; they've removed their oversized chestnut houndstooth duster and carry it draped over one arm. "So it's definitely really obvious," they're saying in Marinov's voice, now, slitted eyes shifting between the pot and Daiki, "what this place gets out of having you here. But -- what're you getting from all this?" "Oh!" Daiki looks up from the towel, his smile restrained but clearly pleased. "Hello, there." His eyes dart to the pot, his lips thinning. "That's not going to be very friendly to your stomach, if you're sticking around for dinner, but I think there's barbeque in the refrigerator still." He stretches. "It fills my yearning for community, when I haven't got enough of it from Evolve? Gets a bit tiresome, always cooking for myself." He pauses half a beat, as if searching for more, then hazards, "I take a class, now and then. You look splendid, by the way. Better proof than the leaves that fall is upon us." The Other!Marinov's eyes squint slightly closed; they give a small half-bow at the compliment. The comment on dinner just gets a dismissive shrug: "Didn't really plan to stay... but what are plans for if not changing?" They lean back against a wall, holding their jacket close to their chest. "So with Shane and B..." This statement trails off into only a small shift of shoulders, a small flick of ear. "... does that mean people here'll be seeing even more of you? Feels like sometimes this community tends to -- shrink." Daiki draws a deep breath, leaning back against a counter. "Some weeks, probably. Others..." He bites his lower lip, looks down. "It'll probably depend a bit on how often Spence needs me. But I'll be around some, either way." His smile returns, mild. "Why? You planning something?" "Oh, shit, yeah, that's..." !Marinov lifts a hand, scratching at the back of their neck awkwardly as they look down to the floor. "Uh, probably tough to plan around. I was... planning something a little less..." Though here the insides of their ears turn a bit pink. "Actually maybe kind of more sick. Fuck, sorry, what I meant was, how much time do you have? 'cause I could kind of use your help." "Mmm." Daiki's eyebrows lift quizzically. "Do you mean 'sick' in the metaphorical and badass sense, or the literal and unpleasant sense?" He lapses easily back into the gentle smile. "Either way, you've piqued my interest! What's this project of yours?" "Woah! Yeah! Actually!" The Not!Marinov's ears prick up again, and they stand a little straighter. "I mean sick like. Take your pick of outlets for this story, they're all gonna want you and also sick like --" Their hand falls to fold against the other arm, claws stippling lightly into the coat that's draped over it. "We're still in a pandemic. Even if it doesn't always -- feel like it. Here. But out there..." Their tailtip flicks a couple times. The brightness of their voice is a little more forced when they plow on ahead: "You know Leo, right?" Daiki's dark eyes widen. "Sick," he echoes, and it's unclear which meaning his emphasis reflects. "Leo -- oh, yes. Not well, but I know him." He crosses one arm over his chest, his other hand pushing his glasses up delicately by the bridge. "We owe a lot to him. All of us." "Yeah, exactly. A lot. Like, holy shit, how do you even start paying that back, right?" !Marinov's eyes have widened, too, a yellower mirror of Daiki's. "I'm trying, though. Or... I dunno, I want to be trying. Like." Their eyes turn down, as if searching the floor for words. "Like help set the record straight. There's just. So much. Conspiracy theory bullshit out there, right? But how long could they keep up that witch hunt if the real story was more -- out there?" Daiki nods, slow and even. "Sure would be good to get that story out," he agrees. "Attempts were made, back when he was working on -- this." He gestures grandly at everything around them. "His vaccine. But that was before the whole world knew it would work." He cocks his head, studying Marinov closely. "I'll ask him for an interview. Try to do right by his story, if he wants to give it." "Yeah." The unMarinov nods once, then again more firmly. "It's just -- it's hard sometimes. When you're really --" Once more the tip of their tail twitches, quick and sharp. "Real visible. Everyone has all these assumptions, but -- I think it's always better. To be seen how you want and not... whatever style people are trying to make you fit into." Their ears perk in time with the upbeat lift of their tone. "I'm sure you'll be great. See you at dinner?" They're already turning, shaking the jacket back out as they start to exit the kitchen. The sharpness in Daiki's gaze softens again. "I'll accept your wisdom on that front," he allows. "I'm sure he's got quite the perspective on that, too. I'll see you soon." He drifts back over to the industrial stove, picking up the long bamboo spoon beside it to stir the pot. "And hey -- thanks for the tip."