ArchivedLogs:Delicious Relaxation

Delicious Relaxation
Dramatis Personae Melinda, Lucien, Micah, Jackson
In Absentia	11 September 2013 Party at Lucien's! Okay, there are /some/ concerns. But mostly party!
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. There is nothing in the world better than a large bath tub, filled nigh to the brim with hot water - especially when that water has been mixed with pleasant smelling scents and skin silkening solutions that have the pleasant effect of adding bubbles to the surface. These bubbles were only added after a nice, invigorating pummeling by the jets embedded into the walls of the tub, so that the frothing motion does not create an insane amount of suds that could escape the confines of the tub. After at least an hour of luxuriating, Melinda finally surrenders the bathroom back to the owner of the house, hair wrapped up in a towel, body wrapped in a bathrobe borrowed from the proprietor. She pads her way down stairs and heads into the kitchen, looking for something cool to drink, her face red and rosy from the heat she absorbed during her stay upstairs. She may be a touch woozy too, given the way her steps sort of weave this way and that as she heads toward the kitchen. She fetches a glass from the cupboard and checks the fridge for cold water. The fridge /has/ cold water, in a tall filtered pitcher. It also has a bottle of Riesling, chilling in the door of the fridge. Lucien has been tucked into his study, closed in with the door shut though the music he is listening to -- a Shostakovich string quartet, at the moment -- is piped quietly through the house. He emerges soon after Melinda heads back downstairs, slipping over to stand in the kitchen doorway, shoulder leaning against the doorframe. He has yet to change from his last appointment, dressed in dark jeans and white button-down, lightweight and shot through with faintly pearlescent pinstripes. "All that hot water, would you like a snack?" He slips further into the kitchen to retrieve a pair of wine glasses from the cabinet. There is a /cheerful/ sort of knock at the door, for all that a knock can sound cheerful, announcing the presence of a Micah and a Jackson. Micah is dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a chocolate brown T-shirt depicting a stegosaurus cursing a T-rex's 'sudden but inevitable' betrayal. He also wears a mild smile (for no reason in particular) and mussed auburn hair and holds the handle of one of Jax's cupcake carrying cases in one hand. Finished in its task of knocking, his other hand fusses through his hair while he waits, rocking back and forth from heels to toes. Jackson comes bearing NOTHING. Empty-handed, save for the phone that he is currently texting on, he lurks (as much as BOUNCING eagerly on his toes can be said to lurk) a step behind Micah. Cheerful-bright in a lavender t-shirt with illustrations from the Lorax on it (today it reads, 'Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.') and black jeans embroidered up their legs with green vinery, metallic purple nailpolish, a glittery dusting of green eyeshadow. Bounce. Bounce bounce bounce. There's a cheerful smile on his face to match, and he slips the phone back into his pocket, hands clasping behind his back. "Oh, only if the snack is easy," Melinda admits with a small smile, slowly moving to fill the glass with the gloriously chilled water, the glass starting to frost, conflicting wildly with the heat coming off her hand. "You know, like cheese and fruit and things small and not requiring cooking. Unless you'd like to cook. I'm just... going to float for a while." She puts the pitcher back in the fridge and turns to follow after Lucien, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, by the way. That was amazing." When the knock is heard at the door, she steps back and looks toward the portal in question. She steps back to the counter that holds her glass of water, picking it up and sipping quietly. "Are you expecting someone?" "I was thinking perhaps some risotto. Some shallots, some asparagus. A little truffle salt. Some lemon zest, maybe." Lucien returns the kiss, pressed lightly to Melinda's cheek with a soft flush of warmth to accompany it. "You float. I'll cook." He does not seem surprised by the knock, at least, glancing towards the door briefly. Though he moves further into the kitchen before answering it, opening the fridge to retrieve some vegetables from inside. "Applejack and Pinkie Pie," he answers Melinda drily. "They come bearing gifts, I do not doubt." He sets the asparagus on the counter, heading out through the living room towards the entrance hall to unlock the door and open it. "Micah. Jackson." His voice is warm, a smile curling briefly across his face. "Good evening. How are you?" "Heya, Lucien!" Micah chirps when the door opens. He lofts the cupcake carrier simultaneously, his smile widening. "I'm excellent. I /stole/ Jax's cupcakes." The announcement is somewhere between gleeful and conspiratorial, as if this were some great /accomplishment/. An epic battle or a Mission Impossible theft scene must surely have preceded. He steps into the entryway and to one side, already working on removing his shoes. "How are /you/ doin'? You're lookin' a bit less worn around the edges." "They're lemony. Half'a them have blueberry an' half'a them have raspberry," Jackson chimes in from behind Micah, bouncing in as well to toe off his chunky platform sneakers. "Thought you an' the kids might like a little --" He waves his hand towards his /stolen/ cupcakes. "Plus I mean after the other day I --" His smile curls a little brighter, kind of self-directed amusement as he admits: "Had some fretting to do. Wanted to check in, make sure you're doin' alright." "Mmm. I will eat your delicious risotto, Lucien. Fear not. And I will continue to float." When the topic of the mystery guests comes up, she jokingly asks, "do I have to guess which one is which in your book?" Melinda finishes some of her water and stays in the kitchen for now, still only in a bathrobe and a towel. Her eyebrows rise when she hears the other two names that Lucien utters and the sound of familiar voices. She peeks around the corner between the kitchen and the entry way and smiles a litle at the new comers, curious but quiet. "Mmm. They /are/ both sort of overworked hayseeds," Lucien admits back over his shoulder to Melinda (nevermind the fact that Jax and Micah are /there/ now), "and both -- somewhat ridiculously exuberant. -- Please. Come in." Now he gestures to the two men, closing the door behind them. "Blueberry lemon, that sounds exquisite. Melinda." Lucien says this like it is a SURPRISE, "they brought us cupcakes. And fretting." He takes the cupcake carrier from Micah, carrying it back towards Melinda in the kitchen. "/I'm/ not frettin' this time," Micah assures as he straightens, leaving his shoes tucked away neatly. "Just checkin' in. In a completely friendly an' non-worried way." In truth, there doesn't seem to be much aside from /bright/ and /smiling/ about his demeanour. Micah rubs at his ears with a look of mock concern. "Why do I feel like my ears should be burnin' right now?" The stolen pastries are handed over without ceremony. "An' is that Mel? Hello, again, Mel! We keep meetin' like this." He chuckles lightly, trailing along behind Lucien. "Luci's house seems t'be the place t'be. Hi, Mel!" Jackson chirrups cheerfully kitchen-wards. He bounces along after the others, stopping by Melinda to offer a tight hug. "Hayseed, me?" His Georgia drawl is growing thicker in time with the laughter in his voice. "What gave me away? -- Oh gosh, we /do/ keep meetin' like -- /um/." Abruptly his cheeks are flushing, and he darts a glance between Melinda in her bathrobe and Lucien. "We ain't, um, interruptin' nothin' are we? Ohgoshsorry." "We'll just call'm Pinkiejacks and Applepie." Melinda is over all relaxed, smiling tiredly at the cupcakes in question start to make their way over to her. She steps out of the entry way to let Lucien back in to his kitchen and receives a hug from Jax, her form still radiating heat from her bath. "Hi, Micah. Hi, Jax. Hush now. You're not interrupting anything. I can go get dressed if it will make people feel better?" She purses her lips as she steps out of Jackson's embrace and studies his face, before casting a glance back at Lucien. "Tch." Lucien is quietly dismissive of Melinda's offer to get dressed. "We are firmly into acceptable clothing-optional hours. And if you were interrupting something, I would have told you not to come. Do you really think," the smile he gives Jackson is neat and small, as he puts the cupcakes on the counter, "that I would invite you over just to be /polite/?" He sets out a saucepan on the stove, grabbing a cutting board as well and tossing some butter into the pan. "Applepie. Goodness, now /I/ am hungry. -- Would either of you care for wine? There is an excellent Riesling chilling." "You talkin' Ponies again, Lucien?" Micah asks though ongoing soft laughter. He slips in for a Mel-hug once she steps away from Jax. "That one definitely gets to be PinkieJax, in that case." His head tilts in Jax's direction because, well, /obvious/. "An' /no/, Mel, you stay comfy. Pajama O'clock, and its equivalents, are /sacred/. Not t'be taken back lightly." He bounces right back to the previous line of conversation in that way of the easily distracted. "Guess that makes me ApplePie?" he manges to inquire at the same time as Lucien declares that to be making him hungry, and finds some reason to blush (if ever-so-slightly) at it. "Ohgosh. I can only imagine any wine you're callin' excellent is /way/ too fancy t'be wasted on my lack of...fancy wine appreciation." His head just shakes at that. "Y'need a hand with anythin'?" "You're sure delicious enough." Jax pecks Micah on the cheek lightly with this, nabbing the kiss during his Melhug. "You're hot!" His cheeks flush darker here, "-- Um, I mean. Warm, you -- oh, right." His nose crinkles, eye skipping over the bathrobe. "Hot water." The blush spreads, faintly tinging the air around him with Lucien's comment. "I -- no, I don't expect you would. Good, then." He slips further into the kitchen, glancing at the cutting board. "Oh! Is there choppin' of things? Can I help with a choppin'? -- /I/ think a good apple pie deserves a good wine to go with." Micah's hair, meanwhile, is colouring vibrant pink, and a trio of apples appears on his cheek. "How've things been goin' 'round here? Desi's been -- settlin' into school alright." "Oh, you did know they were coming." Melinda smiles and nods, moving from Jackson's arms to Micah's, leaning into each hug a little more heavily than normal. But after such a glorious bath, snuggliness is bound to follow. She doesn't make it awkward though. "Micah, dearest, you aren't going to be able to tell what a really good wine is until you taste one. It's how you start to appreciate things. Have some." She giggles softly at Jackson's exclamation and confirms, "Lucien has a magnificent bath. Kind of why I came over," when he mentions hot water. "I am off the helpful duty as I am still all blissful from my bath, but I suppose I could pour wine if everyone's partaking." "I had advance warning," Lucien admits. "Things have been --" His eyes slide towards the kitchen's other entrance, the stairway upstairs lying not far beyond. "The children are doing well. I did not ask about whether or not you were a wine connoisseur. If you enjoy it, it is not wasted. Perhaps," his lips twitch as he retrieves a knife, slides it and the asparagus both towards Jackson, "/I/ enjoy sharing it with pleasant company. It was, after all, a night for relaxing." Another knife, another cutting board, and he proffers these with a few shallots to Micah. "There. Look. Now I barely have work to do." He gets out a second saucepan, though; this one receives oil instead of butter. Micah is exceptionally full of smiles this evening, and little Jax-kisses serve as yet another excuse. "Better watch out for Jax t'night. /I'm/ delicious. /Mel's/ hot. Goodness," he teases, walking tickly fingers along the blushing illusionist's back. The changes in his own colouration seem to go unnoticed for now. "Glad t'hear the kids are doin' all right. You continue not t'mention how /you've/ been, though," Micah points out, his tone remaining light. "Okay, okay! Apparently I'm tryin' the wine." He holds his hands up in surrender before using them to take up the knife and shallots, moving them to the cutting board for appropriate preparations. "Yup. Hardly any work for you. That might be the point, y'know." Jackson blushes, deep, his head ducking as he starts to chop the asparagus. "I'd say somethin' 'bout Luci too only but I don't think I've /ever/ seen him look less than heart-stoppin'." A small shiver passes up his back at Micah's fingers, cutting pausing for a moment as his head turns to give the other man a quick smile. "-- Ain't but a quick subway hop home, if it's /relaxing/ night could indulge in excellent wine all y'like. Think we might be all in for this'n, Mel. -- Did you really come over to use his bath? How excellent a bath are we talkin' here?" He returns to his chopping, quick and precise, though this time his smile is a little lopsided. "He's right, honey-honey, I was askin' 'bout /you/." "The best kind, Jax. Large and deep enough that you feel like you're swimming on your own, which is a bit of an accomplishment when you're as tall as me. I suppose it could fit two, but I've not tried it." Mel fetches two more glasses from the cupboard and puts them next to the pair Lucien grabbed earlier. Then she turns toward the fridge. "And there are jets that pulse in a variety of relaxing patterns or just gush like a jacuzzi and - Oh, the water stays warm forever." She shrugs when she sets the bottle down. "I feel a teensy bit horrible, indulging when it's so very hot outside, but the weekend before gave me a chill and my muscles really needed it." She steps over to catch Lucien's attention, what with his devotion to his heating oils. "Cork screw?" It's possible that she hasn't actually opened a bottle of wine here before, but also likely that she's scatterbrained in her relaxed state. She is also checking his demeanor, given the questioning nature of the other guests. "Is it a compulsion?" Lucien opens a drawer, retrieving a corkscrew from inside to hand it to Melinda. "The constant helpfulness, I mean." He lifts a hand, fingers brushing through Micah's messy pink hair with a twitch of amusement on his lips; his fingers drop to Micah's cheek afterwards, tracing against one of the apples with a small accompanying flutter of pleasure. "It fits two quite comfortably. Three, if you like each other. And never feel horrible about taking care of yourself. You are welcome to indulge here any time." He's looking to Melinda as he says this, faint smile still curling his lips, but the warm pulse of pleasure flushing through /Micah/ grows with the words. "This house does tend to encourage it." He drops his hand back down, slipping over to the stove to flip the burners on beneath the two saucepans, turning them on low to let the butter start melting and oil start heating. "Heart-stopping. I certainly hope not. Having to call for an ambulance would likely put a quick end to the relaxation." His palms brace against the edge of the counter, eyes fixing on the stove. "You two are quite persistent with your questioning." It doesn't sound like a complaint; there's no discomfort in his tone, just soft and thoughtful. "Perhaps I only tend to follow your good examples in my answering. The /both/ of you tend to take some hounding if I want to find out how /you/ are doing. Mel, you could give your friends some lessons, some day. Learning to tend to your own needs is a fairly important skill." "Ohgosh, we've gone straight from /tryin'/ the wine t'needin' a ride home," Micah announces...to the cutting board, since that is where his attention is focused at the time. "I'm kind of a lightweight, but /still/." He finishes his chopping, nodding along to Mel's descriptions all the while. "That sounds like it was a nice way t'spend some time…ain't nothin' horrible about it if it was what y'needed, right?" His listening-nod for Mel turns into more of a /solemn/ nod at Lucien's compulsion question. "Yes, yes it is. Terribly serious, too." Any vestige of solemnity melts at the hair-tousling, however. He still doesn't know about the illusions--for all he knows, this is just /random/ contact. Someone is either going to have to point it out or get him a mirror at this rate. The apples have some competition for /redness/, given the blush that is also growing on his cheeks. "Sure, it's the /house/ encouragin' it. Let's go with that," he says wryly, tone gently teasing as he looks sidewise at Lucien. The knife finds a resting spot on the cutting board before Micah makes his way to the sink to rinse off his hands again. "Dunno which is the worse stubborn, us for keepin' up the askin' or /you/ for keepin' up the non-answers." One eyebrow ticks up slightly with that, though Micah doesn't ask the question again /directly/. "That sounds incredible," Jackson admits, smile growing as he glances to Melinda. "Hot or no hot. Nice long bath is one'a the best indulgences there is." He's certainly not pointing out the pony-makeover, though the apples on Micah's cheek /glow/ faintly as his blush spreads, a very soft luminescence that distinguishes them from the red skin around. "An' given everything sorta throwin' tumult at you lately I don't think nobody can hardly blame you for wanting a good relaxing evening. Has -- have things been -- safe at home for you?" "S'a good kinda heart-stoppin'," comes with a slightly darker flush of cheeks, "just the -- fluttery kind. 'Sides, if y'stopped hearts for /real/, 'least folks'd die happy." He continues with his chopping, sliding the cut asparagus to one side. "Ride home is what the subway's for. -- I mean, heck, it's nice out, we could /walk/." His nose crinkles up at Lucien's answer, his head bowing slightly in acknowledgment. "Alright, so maybe all of us could stand t'do a little more looking after ourselves. I'll answer you straight if y'do the same for us." He presses his chopped asparagus into a neat pile with the flat of his knifeblade, joining Micah at the sink afterwards to wash the knife and his hands both. "Oh. You know about that?" Melinda is a bit surprised when Jax speaks up about her home life, blinking rapidly as she moves over to take the corkscrew from Lucien. "Um." She turns her attention to the bottle, peeling off any tamper resistant labeling before plunging the corkscrew into the cork and starting to drive it deeper inside. "His dad came by. Murphy took care of it. I … got Tian-shin out and got her in touch with the woman who fixed my head and I haven't seen her since. I mean, we arranged it that way, so I'm not concerned. Okay, well, I am still concerned, but there are other people helping her out that are a lot better at it than me, so I trust she is fine. Tag, too, wherever he is." She looks a little sheepish and distinctly uncomfortable, but channels it all into getting the cork out of the bottle. There's a soft popping noise when she finally gets it free, then she tilts the bottle to carefully serve a small amount into all four glasses, nudging the cork back into the bottle and replacing it in the refrigerator when she is done. "Guys, it's just a little wine. One bottle between four people isn't going to cause rampant intoxication. I think you're possibly setting your expectations a little high." "Perhaps you are underestimating how much of a lightweight he is." Lucien's eyes skim down over Micah with a small twitch of laughter tugging at his lips. He takes Micah's chopped shallots, scraping most of them into the butter and a small portion into the oil. His gaze cuts to Jackson briefly, lips pressing together before he interjects lightly, "He and Tag are close, non? No doubt he has heard his own version of the story, at some point." He retrieves two wooden spoons, slowly stirring at each of the saucepans. "I do not know," he says eventually, quiet, "what answer you would like me to give. It has been a tumultuous summer. My brother died. My mother was murdered. Nox --" This breaks off with a thin press of lips. He draws in a slow breath, eyes slipping back towards the stairs up to the second floor. "I am hardly an ideal caretaker. How do you imagine I should be doing?" He swirls his spoons in tandem through their respective saucepans, drawing absent patterns in the cooking shallots. "Because /I/ do not know. How I should be doing. I am managing. I always do. People keep asking me how I am feeling but I do not think -- that I am." "I think we'll be /fine/ unless there are plans beyond that one bottle, guys, seriously," Micah concludes, shaking his head at Jax. "We'd heard about...some stuff from Tag's end, yeah, but not so much what was goin' on from yours. Since he couldn't exactly go check. We'll just leave it at 'he's doin' okay'…" He waves toward Mel in agreement with her wine assessment, scrunching up his nose at Lucien's rejoinder. "I'm not /that/ bad, for goodness sake." The knife and cutting board find their way back into Micah's possession once Lucien has finished with them, for the purpose of washing in the sink. Micah dries his hands as he listens quietly to Lucien's answer, now that it comes. Moving closer to Lucien again, he rests a hand lightly on his back, likewise tracing absently. "Ain't any /should/ about it, hon. Y'feel what an' how y'feel about things. We just want t'know...what that is. An' /you/ not really knowin' is a valid answer, too. But we gotta at least think'n talk about it t'be able t'deal with anythin' as needs dealin' with, y'know? Otherwise how's anyone s'posed t'be able t'figure out where you're overwhelmed, an' help...or if you're actually /not/ an' stop pesterin' about it? Or...just knowin' whatever it /is/ so we can acknowledge that." "Tag's doin' aright, yeah," Jackson affirms, resting back against the counter to watch Melinda pour the wine. "Worried 'bout you, too. S'just kinda a worrisome situation all 'round." A crooked smile pulls at his lips, head tipping towards the glasses of wine. "Kind that calls for plenty'a relaxation. You need anything at all, hon, y'know we're here for you, right?" He lapses into quiet at Lucien's answer, eye tracking over to watch Lucien's expression. "Don't think -- that you're feeling? Like, anything?" There's a small frown pulling his pierced eyebrows together. Melinda pauses when Lucien starts talking, her attention locked on him for a moment. She quietly picks up a glass and slides it across the countertop to rest next to the stove, where he can grab it while he's work. "I really appreciate it, guys. I also appreciate not talking about it too much. I'm … not actually supposed to know where the Hua kids are just in case there's a problem. I mean, even Murphy has let up and left my apartment, so everything's fine, but I'm just going to keep doing what I'm supposed to do until the interested parties feel safe enough." She turns and starts handing out the other glasses, leaving herself leaning against the counter, cradling one by its stem. A thread of tension curls up Lucien's spine at the touch of Micah's hand, but it eases away as he reaches for the wine, setting one of the spoons down to rest against the side of its saucepan. "Trading Tag for Murphy as a roommate does not seem a large step /up/." His tone is dry. He swirls the wine in its glass, pausing in his stirring to take a small sip. For a moment his eyes close, weight settling just slightly back into Micah's hand. He straightens shortly after, though, setting the wine glass down to move aside and retrieve some rice. Both pans receive some of this, poured in with a casual eyeballing for measurement. "Yes. Like anything. I am not sure I am overwhelmed. I am not sure I am anything. I am quite adept at playing other people's feelings. My own --" He shakes his head, stirring at the rice to mix both pans well with their shallots. "With Matt gone it is difficult. To hold on to any at all." "Glad t'hear that things seem t'be normalizin', Mel. I'd definitely say you got the raw end of the deal in the Tag-Murphy trade. I hope it wasn't too," Micah looks up at the ceiling for a moment, searching for an appropriate word, but coming back with only, "Murphy." Lucien's brief tensing is not unexpected; he waits it out, unbothered, allowing the other man to choose when to break contact. "I'm not sure what t'do about that, hon. It sounds...like a /reaction/ t'bein' overwhelmed, to /me/ anyhow. But that's still my spin on things. Don't know what you usually do t'help yourself...decompress an' just think at things clearer. Does it help more t'talk or /not/ talk? D'you need us t'take the kids for awhile some time? Or...just some pleasant distractions? 'Cause y'got people willin' t'help y'get whatever it is you're needin'." His free hand scruffs through his hair a little self-consciously. "Sorry t'keep kinda repeatin' at the same themes. Just want /everybody/ t'know they're not alone." "Murphy's not so bad," Jackson starts to protest, but then wrinkles up his nose, admitting sheepishly: "... maybe not the best person to have crashin', though, for sure." He picks up one of the wine glasses for himself, though he doesn't actually sip it, yet. He watches Lucien's food preparations, fingers curling tighter around the stem of the goblet. "With Matt gone --" He echoes this slowly, his teeth dragging against his lip. His brows pull deeper together, and it's quiet when he says, "-- You don't feel that, at least?" And then, uncertain: "-- Do you /want/ to?" "No, I'm really, truly grateful that he was there. Really appreciate the fact that he sort of dropped everything and helped me out. I never thought of him as a roommate though." Melinda frowns lightly against the side of her glass and inhales the aroma of the Riesling before moving to take a sip. "I owe him a lot." She gives a little smile as she slowly awakens from her revelry and turns to watch Lucien's hands at work. She doesn't say much, letting the guys question him. "It does seem like he can be counted on," Lucien allows, a little dry, "to drop everything if the opportunity to meddle presents itself." He stirs at the rice a moment longer, then nabs the bottle of wine, pouring a little of it into each pan and stirring again. He sets the spoons down, returning to the fridge to grab a carton of vegetable stock from inside it. "I think you mistake me, Micah," he murmurs, "I am hardly overwhelmed. I think far too clearly, if anything." His hand tips the carton slightly towards Jackson in indication. "With Matt gone, I feel very /little/. I think whether or not I want to is fairly irrelevant." He pours some of the stock into each pan, turning the heat up slightly and then just leaning back against the counter to wait. He picks up his goblet in one hand; his other reaches out to brush against Micah's arm. This time the touch doesn't come with anything but a strange calm numbness, emotion levelling out into a flat void and even the touch of Lucien's hand felt as little more than a vague sort of pressure against his arm. "Every ability comes with its own peculiarities. Matt helped circumvent mine." Micah nods at the various takes on Murphy, finally giggling a bit at Lucien's choice of phrasing. "What you /want/ is prob'ly the /most/ relevant thing, Lucien. There's a difference between /needin'/ t'avoid a thing an' havin' it /taken/ from you. This is..." He frowns, eyes sliding to Lucien's hand and then seeming to get stuck there. Eventually, his hand slowly raises to rest itself on top of the other man's, sort of cradling it against his arm. "That's a side effect of usin' your abilities? Does it wear off if you use 'em less, or...? Sorry, I'm not always so good at how these things work. It's just. If this is a /problem/, it'd help t'have an idea what t'do about it. If...this is what you /want/, for now, that's your choice an' I should stop meddlin'." The corner of his mouth tugs upward just a little. "I promise, I'm capable." "I ain't sure he can stop himself -- gettin' involved." Jackson says this with a small twitch of smile, though it fades soon. He taps the rim of his glass against his mouth, a small clicking accompanying the motion as the glass dings against his lip rings. "Might be one'a the -- peculiarities'a havin' /his/ brain." His attention shifts to watch Lucien's hand against Micah's arm, teeth clicking now against his glass. "Side effect?" he echoes uncertainly. "Not -- feelin' things? I mean -- I don't think there are no painkillers that work half so good as you but -- pain is." He hesitates, lowering his glass. "I mean, we feel it for a reason. Usually -- let us know when somethin's wrong, needs tending to. Y'just shut it all off, y'might could end up bleeding to death 'fore you even notice you've been cut." Melinda draws in a deep breath, head tilting a little at the extended touch between Micah and Lucien, lips pursing. "Sometimes, peoples emotions shut down even if they don't have mutations that tax them. All of this stuff has been pretty recent, too. It might just be okay for a while, especially while still working through custody issues, to just be for a while and make it through the days before tugging at open wounds." She takes a sip of her wine and sets her glass down. "You want me to take over cooking, Lucien? I'm pretty decent at stirring things. I practically have a degree in it." "It's a side effect of /having/ my abilities," Lucien answers with a small shrug of one shoulder. "I have to work at meddling with other people's brains. I have to work /not/ to tamper with my own. It happens whether I will it or no." The effect fades, calm numbness vanishing as quickly as it came. A wry curl of amusement tugs at his mouth, green eyes slanting towards Jackson. He does not elucidate upon the source of amusement, though, just sipping again at his wine. His head shakes -- perhaps to /all/ of them, one hand lifting to pinch forefinger and thumb for a moment at the bridge of his nose. "It is a problem. Perhaps, occasionally, a helpful one. But on the whole, likely more a detriment to life than a boon. It turns out," he confides this with the same wry amusement, stepping back from the stove to allow Melinda access to it, "that in most personal relationships people prefer it if you interact with them with /some/ sort of genuine emotion." His eyes close on the next long sip of wine, his smile curling just a touch wider. "Of course, most people tend not to notice the difference. But it is the ones who do --" His hand tips upward, an open-palmed gesture to the three of them, "who I would most prefer not to alienate." Micah's hand finally pats at Lucien's a few times before letting up, in case Lucien actually wants to reclaim that hand at some point. "I'm not pushin' either way, Mel. It just...oughtta be a choice, not a /forcibly/ flattened emotional plane. It's...kinda eerie feelin'." Lucien receives a slightly apologetic look at that last remark. "Is there anythin' that ever helps it? Or...d'you know what...kinda baseline looks like t'try an' tug yourself back that direction? I don't know how t'counteract somethin' your brain is /actively/ doin' to itself without your consent. That's kinda eerie, too." He does finally pick up his own wine glass, taking a tiny sip. "You're not gonna alienate us, hon. We'll...have t'think of somethin'. In the meantime, now we understand what it is you're goin' through, an' can work with that." Not that he isn't thinking about giving Lucien hugs. /Again/. "I've known a person or two -- I mean, 'sides Matt," Jackson says with a faint flush, "who could -- turn off people's abilities. I mean, if that's -- helpful. For you. For it." He leans back against the counter a little more heavily, wrinkling his nose but nodding agreement to Melinda. "-- People do it all the time. T'deal with things. T'get through life aright. But it's -- different when --" He waves his free hand towards Micah. "When t'ain't your choice." He starts to reach a hand for Lucien's, but drops it back to his side instead. "But, Luci, don't feel like y'gotta -- I mean, if you want to deal with this -- should be 'cuz that's what /you/ want. You don't gotta change nothin' to suit /other/ people's expectations. I don't think none'a us /want/ nothin' from you 'cept --" His blush deepens, and he shrugs a shoulder awkwardly. "'Cept you." "I think that's what he's saying, Jax. Maybe." Melinda exhales uncomfortably and attempts to continue. "When there's nothing to draw from, no real emotions to share, is he really giving us any bit of himself? Seems more like he's present and empty and knows it." She looks down at the ground for a moment, then looks over at Lucien. "If I'm completely wrong, please let me know. I just - That's what I understood from what you said and I'd rather know what you really mean." Lucien turns up his hand, fingers spreading in a somewhat uncertain gesture. "That depends, I suppose. On what you mean by --" His hand falls back to rest against the counter. "This /is/ me. Perhaps not the, ah, /me/ that I would most like. But the one that is here now, all the same. I am not sure I cease being myself just because I --" His eyes lower, scrutinizing his glass, for a moment. In the end he sets it back down on the counter, moving to retrieve a plate, and a cheesegrater; fishing out a hard block of Parmesan from the fridge, he unwraps it partially to start grating it. "Then again, perhaps I do. But I have been this way enough years now that if anything I think it is /more/ me than the alternative. Matt just -- provided welcome respite, here and there. When I needed to remember how to be a --" His smile is quick, and thin. "Person. /Are/ people defined by their emotions? That seems awfully messy." "Would it be helpful for you t'be around one of these folks who...turns off abilities? Would you /want/ t'try that?" Micah asks, somewhat awkward in the particulars of phrasing as he really has no idea how any of this works. "Not /empty/. Still thinkin'. I'd say emotions are /part/ of a person, but thoughts are prob'ly the bigger part." He sips from his wine glass again, like one /does/ while philosophizing. "An' you're obviously still /thinkin'/. Ain't like you magically got turned into a machine or nothin'. Just...kinda like somebody with severe depression or a brain injury still gets t'be /them/. You're /you/. An' I'd /definitely/ call you a person." Jackson's frown deepens, head shaking at Melinda's answer. "M'pretty sure you're still you. I mean, what your brain does is -- /part/'a you, ain't it? Even if it's a part you don't always want." Cheeks still red, he lifts his glass to take a sip of the wine. "-- M'sorry, I've gone and ruined the relaxin' again. S'just -- been a long summer. Sometimes I worry folks fall by the wayside, when everyone gets all busy an' swept up in chaos." Melinda shakes her head and rubs at her nose, turning to take another drink from her wine. She finishes half of what is left and stirs the risottos quietly. "I … didn't really mean that people who aren't feeling aren't themselves. I just meant more that it's harder to form connections without emotions and while ones connections don't define them, it's harder to get who you are across without a connection." She keeps staring at her work and just keeps stirring. "Forming connections." Lucien's motions are quick and sharp, as he grates the cheese, eyes focused on the steadily growing pile of Parmesan shreds. "That is the problem, isn't it. Sometimes I think I might like to." His smile, now, is quick and sharp as well. "Other times I think the world must be a good deal more manageable, this way. From my vantage point, so /many/ minds look like Hive's. All these -- severed connections, torn and leading nowhere. Still, if there /is/ a way to -- take a break from this." He glances to Micah, briefly, a small frown flitting quickly across his face. "If you do know someone, I wouldn't say no to meeting them." He shakes his head, lifting a hand to meet Jackson's aborted gesture; just a quick squeeze of fingers before he drops it again. "Nonsense. I am sure we can fit plenty of relaxation into the night yet." He picks up Jackson's cutting board, sweeping most of the asparagus into the larger saucepan and the rest into the smaller. His head tips in, when he is by the stove, lips pressing light to Melinda's temple with a small thread of warmth accompanying the touch. "The wine will not drink itself, after all." Something that Jax says causes Micah's brow to furrow, and he closes the few steps between them before wrapping his arms around the illusionist's waist. He pulls Jax closer, mouth near to his ear but not /quite/ whispering. "Y'know all that with Hive wasn't your /fault/, right? He was doin' everythin' he /could/ t'keep people from noticin' what was goin' on in his head. You would've had t'be starin' at him constantly...or be a telepath /yourself/ to've caught it sooner. Even his /roommates/ hadn't figured how bad it was." Micah doesn't look back at the others until Lucien addresses him directly. "Oh, the knowin' people part is more Jax'n it is me. I just wanted t'make sure it was somethin' you'd want before askin' 'im t'check into it for me." He releases his tight hold on Jax, but does leave a hand to stroke idly at the back of the other man's neck. "An' there is /certainly/ relaxation t'be had. Fun, even. Good friends, food, an' drink are all just /waitin'/ t'be enjoyed." His smile returns with the assertion. "I think we'll manage." "Mel, m'sorry, I didn't mean -- that you thought -- mmn. I ain't always so great at words." Jackson's blush deepens, his head shaking slightly even as he leans a little bit into Micah's hold; his voice drops lower to answer. "Fault -- I don't know. Was my /responsibility/, either way. He's my team -- with as much as I ask of them, it /is/ on me t'make sure --" His eye scrunches up, and his soft words trail off, chased by another drink of wine. His eye stays closed, head tipping back into the other man's touch. After a moment, he opens his eye, smile returning. "Lucien, if this is the kinda thing you just whip up casual for a snack you put me t'shame. /All/ relaxation should come with delicious." Melinda leans a little into the kiss and gives a small smile. "Oh, definitely. Nothing's ruined. The risotto is coming along nicely… and yeah. There are friends and wine. We just need to get off our collective feet and indulge and we'll have a great night." She makes sure that the asparagus is folded in gently so it gets a chance to heat through, and keeps the rice from sticking to the bottom. Lucien's eyes linger on Jax and Micah, through that small exchange, but he says nothing. Re-wraps the remainder of the Parmesan, sticking it back in the fridge, and sprinkles the cheese into one of the saucepans, though not the other. "Jackson, I have never had relaxation around you that does /not/ come with delicious." He reclaims his glass, sipping from it as he heads to a cabinet to pick up four plates. "Thank you, Mel. I do believe we just might." "You have /got/ t'stop beatin' yourself up, hon. Y'can't do everythin' an' anticipate /every/ need all the time. You do amazin' things every day an' don't get credit for the half of it." Micah pauses to place a kiss at the centre of Jax's forehead. "An' everythin' is gonna be fine. So it's all taken care of in the end. An' /now/ y'should actually enjoy some time with friends not in the middle of a crisis." A wide grin stretches across Micah's lips at Lucien's comment. "Mmm, s'true. I haven't either." His eyebrows tick up a second before he clacks his teeth together in a playful chomp in Jax's general direction. "But I --" Jackson starts to protest, and then just shakes his head. His blush deepens fiercely, more at Micah's comment than at Lucien's, and he turns aside to rummage silverware out of a drawer. "Oh, /gosh/," comes in still fiercely crimson answer, "let's -- just. Eat."