ArchivedLogs:Geek Social Fallacy

Geek Social Fallacy
GSF4: Friendship is Transitive
Dramatis Personae Nox, Micah, Hive
In Absentia	2 March 2013 Wouldn't it be great to get all my groups of friends into one place for one big happy party?! Hey, guys? Guys?
Location <NYC> NY Public Library - Midtown East
Guarded by two lions nicknamed Patience and Fortitude, the main branch of New York's public library system provides a space for New York residents to do more than just check out books. The reference library holds thousands of works, and the reading room is a majestic work of architecture in its own right. The computer lab and free internet access is available to all who need it. When one looks as Nox does, it is best to keep a low profile. This means avoiding the reading room, which is far too large and far too open. The computer lab is also not an option--the librarians keep a closer eye on it, due to the high number of patrons who use the computers to try to access porn. That leaves the stacks themselves. Fortunately, it is not a hardship to have to wander the aisles, generally ignored and unseen. Nox is short today, short and slight and easily overlooked, with a knit cap pulled down low on her head, her baggy sweatshirt and matching pants, both in stained heather grey, hanging loosely on her frame. She's in non-fiction, the DIY aisle, browsing the sustainable living section. The book she wants is four shelves up and just outside of reach. After glancing around to see if anyone is in the aisle and might spy her, the woman rises up onto tiptoes and reaches...while her arm extends, longer than the sleeve of her shirt, to tug at her chosen volume. It comes off of the shelf, but so do three other books that had been packed in with it. They fall in a tumble around her, provoking a dancing backwards step and a whispery little yelp. Micah is in the process of wandering back to the reading room, having bagged his desired book-quarry. He has the first three volumes of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman comics tucked into his arm. Being indoors, he is without his standard coat and hat. Instead, he is sporting a lightly bleach-stained, very faded black T-shirt with the words ‘Stand back, I am going to try Science!’ written in bold letters around a stick figure wielding a calculator and an Erlenmeyer flask. His blue jeans are likewise faded, with an assortment of patches in random colours actually covering holes in the fabric. The sound of books tumbling to the floor catches his attention, and he detours into the stacks to investigate. “Everything okay in there?” he offers sotto voce, appropriate to the library setting, by way of announcing his presence. Nox's first instinct is to vanish, but as that would leave a bundle of clothing on the floor, she follows her second--dropping into a crouch and tucking her head down as she scrapes the books into something like a pile. "Fine, fine," she's murmuring even before Micah has finished his question. It takes her that long to realize that she recognizes the voice, and then black eyes are peeking over her bowed shoulder. Relief comes with a soundless sigh and a smile that appears as she rises, the books clasped to her chest. "Micah. Hello. Such a large city to keep running into you." A huge, goofy grin lights up Micah’s features as he recognises Nox. “Nox! Hi. I tend to be a little all-over-the-place with my gypsy livin’, so I’m kind of obnoxiously everywhere. Increases your chances of runnin’ into me.” He ambles closer, within arm’s reach, to facilitate quiet conversation. “Do you need some help with those?” Auburn locks bob as he nods to indicate the pile of books. "Or perhaps it is fate. Fate sounds better than obnoxious, yes?" There is her trademark gentle humor. Nox slides the books she had retrieved onto the nearest shelf and crouches again to begin gathering the others. "I was careless, I did not mean to bring these down. I forget sometimes to move slowly. When I'm like this. I forget a lot, sometimes. Are you here for business or pleasure, Micah?" She spares a quick upwards glance at the graphic novels he's carrying, expression curious and full of a complete lack of recognition--her geek cred is so very low. “Fated to continuously rescue one another from minor incidents of life,” Micah muses softly, grinning still. “I like it.” He takes a knee to assist Nox with gathering the books on the floor, now that she has announced that she did not intend for them to be there. The graphic novels he had collected are set on the floor to facilitate this process, revealing the rather creepy cover on the first volume: a yellow face that might belong to a baby doll, a disembodied red hand, ‘Preludes and Nocturnes’ written in an eggplant-coloured font. “Oh, definitely a pleasure run. I can get most of my business references digitally. There are some things I like to have my hands on physical copies for, though. Those,” he gestures to indicate the graphic novels, “are re-releases from just a few years ago. The colouring has been completely redone since the last version I read. It was time to check ‘em out again.” The cover is eye-catching. So much so that Nox stops in the gathering process--Micah is very efficient in that, at least--and reaches out instead to touch her fingers to the glossy surface. Pressure is applied to turn it slowly around so she can study it from the proper angle. "It looks like a bad dream," she says slowly, fingertips sketching the shape of the doll face. After a moment she tears herself away from the artwork to give him a small smile. "But poetry for the title. Thank you, Micah. I should have been more careful, this is a silly thing to be rescued from. But it is good to see you again." Micah works fastidiously to shelve the fallen books in their designated slots. “Yeah, Gaiman is first rate at morbid and creepifyin’. Even his kids books are pretty spooky.” He arches a brow at the cover Nox is inspecting. “Those…are not for kids. Graphically morbid and creepifyin’.” He seems extremely amused by this, at least. “And you’re quite welcome. It’s a good thing that we don’t /always/ have to rescue one another from life threatening situations. That would be entirely more excitement than either of us needs, I think.” A bit of a teasing sparkle is in his eyes, their hazel more of a green shade in the well-lit library. “I’ll take easy excuses to see you any day.” "Creepy-fying," Nox echoes, with rather more diction and her typical show of amusement. There's a hum in her voice. "One would think that would be right up my alley, as they say. What do you suppose is the human fascination with the frightening? Not /true/ frightening, but...false frightening. The fantasy scare. People are so strange." She looks down, stroking the cover again while letting herself slip into a thoughtful place. It isn't until Micah says that last bit that she glances up again, distracted at first, then puzzled. And then the slate grey of her cheeks darkens into charcoal. Her head ducks again, Gaiman's books gathered up to be offered to him when he's finished filing the others. Nox’s somewhat awkward repetition of the made-up word earns a delighted little chuckle from Micah. “I think people like to get that tiny burst of adrenaline vicariously. All the delicious brain-chemicals with none of the threat to one’s body. It’s like artificial sweeteners.” He’s watching her reaction and notes the…darkening of her cheeks. Was that a blush? Now /he’s/ blushing faintly. It’s contagious. “Ah…is there something that you /were/ actually looking to get off of these shelves? With less interference from gravity?” He takes the graphic novels, curling them up in one crooked arm again. "Yes." She doesn't indicate which this is in reply too, being too busy in keeping her head down and swiveling partly away to retrieve the books she'd placed on the shelves before the clean-up. The one on top is turned towards him, while Nox works on finding her smile again. The title is "Guerilla Gardening". "Your...your conversation. With Mister Tessier. It made me think that perhaps we should focus on...staking a claim on parts of the city no one is using. If we plan now, then by spring maybe we will be able to grow some of our own food," she explains. “That sounds like a great plan!” Micah smiles at the book. Or Nox holding the book. It’s in that general direction. “I don’t know much about the urban planning end of things…gettin’ permission to use the lots and all that bureaucratic nonsense. But if you need help with clearin’ and plantin’ and tendin’, I’m pretty handy at that part.” A portion of Nox’s statement takes a minute to percolate in Micah’s brain…the ‘we’ part. “What group are you working with?” "Oh. Oh. Yes. Permission." Nox looks down, catching a number of pages beneath the pad of her thumb and ruffling them. Whiffle. "We shall see. Nothing might come of it. Not all carry the desire to be farmers in a new age," she murmurs. Some thought disturbs the clear expanse of her brow but those lines are gone when she looks up at Micah again, smile recaptured. "No group. I...we...I mean, those of us who are without homes. Anyone who might want something fresh and green, who hasn't the money to pay for it. As you said...you come to crave greens. After awhile." Micah nods emphatically. “It’s an excellent vision. Healthful food for those who don’t have much otherwise. Hopefully some of the politicos involved would consider it good press and things will move along at a good clip for you.” Micah’s free hand fusses with his hair, leaving it spiked up a bit. “D’you...um…have somewhere safe you’re stayin’?” It isn't the easiest thing in the world to tell when Nox's eyes widen--there are no whites to surround her iris. But this time, they widen enough that it is easy to see, doll-like. Like the cover on his book. "Oh no, no politicians. No police. No press. It's...no." That idea: officially dismissed, coffin nails sealed when she shakes her head and hugs the gardening books to her chest. "It is...mostly safe, yes. I am not so easily harmed as others. I come and go in ways they cannot." Her smile makes a weak reappearance. "It isn't a gypsy van, alas. Not all are as interesting as you." Micah’s teeth meet with his lower lip, biting down gently as Nox obviously gets spooked. “Sorry, I…um.” He’s not exactly sure what to apologise for, but feels the need to be apologetic anyhow. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I just wanted to make sure. Not that I have a lot to offer if you’d have said ‘no’. Passenger seat’s usually free.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “It is a glamorous life I lead.” "No, I am sorry. It has...it has been an..." Nox's tongue tangles. For once, she doesn't finish a sentence, or smile. But she draws a hand away from the books to lightly touch Micah's arm. The gesture seems to help her find the words. "There was a time when I would have been grateful for a van. There might be a time when I will, again. One never knows. You have a certain freedom that many would envy, I think." Micah smiles at Nox’s touch, gently sliding his fingertips over the back of her hand in return. “Well, you’re always welcome. If you ever find yourself in a tighter spot than usual.” A little chuckle punctuates that statement. “It is rather liberating. And, honestly, this is all my own choice. I could always go back down home, work for someone else, and make all the ends meet neatly. Wait five years or so to gather enough resources to start this up in a /saner/ fashion. But…I didn’t want to wait. Not so much impatience as…I knew I could do it now. No waitin’. No risk of puttin’ things off ‘til they don’t happen at all.” There it is again, the darker color in her face, as if she'd stopped beneath a cloud. Nox doesn't lower her head this time but she lets her hand slip away, returning to clasp the books she's chosen. "It is nice to have a choice and to follow one's dream. To choose between options," she murmurs. "Why New York? Why not...California? Arizona? Somewhere warmer. Kinder." As she talks, she begins to stroll down the aisle. The pace is conversational, the path aimed at a clump of chairs placed at the very end of the shelves, meant for browsers needing to rest their feet. Micah lets Nox’s hand slip away easily, but follows at her side when she moves toward seating. “A couple of reasons, actually. I’ve known a couple of folks up here since forever, but more from online-land than meatspace. One of them is my business partner. She handles all the insurance and billing. The practical stuff.” His voice says ‘practical’, but his face says ‘boring’. “Then there’s the siren song of My People. We either end up in New York or Florida eventually, and bleh…Florida.” That lopsided grin dances across his lips again, clearly joking. “And this city has its own appeal. Honestly, when I told my momma I was buyin’ a van and takin’ off to New York, I almost think she was more disappointed by the lack of ‘Broadway’ in the plan than in her li’l boy movin’ away.” "Online-land. You moved here for people you had never met?" The question is more curious, more puzzled, than judgmental. Nox glaces over at him before looking forward again. "It seems computers are everywhere now. They seem a bad influence, to me, but perhaps if I had not missed their rise in importance," she murmurs, not quite amused but dancing close to it. "Your mother has good taste though. Of course, so many plans involve Broadway and so few come to fruition. Yours is the more lucrative choice, one supposes. Eventually. What do you mean to do when it becomes successful?" “Well, we had scheduled some in-person meet-ups here and there, but it’s not always so feasible when you’re kids, really. So we had seen each other in person a couple of times. I did a lot of online gaming, especially when I was younger. Uh…’cause I didn’t always fit in with the things other kids were doin’. It took me awhile to learn how to walk. And runnin’ and sports were even harder. I found this group of kids with disabilities online about a million years ago. CP, autism, spinal cord injuries, genetic conditions, and stuff. A core few of us just never quit bein’ in communication with each other. Janine’s like my big sister. And she and Sam actually hooked up. And Sam’s brother Jake runs an auto shop where I work sometimes for extra cash. It’s like extended digital family.” Micah settles into one of the chairs, tapping the other seat for Nox to sit next to him. “Yeah, momma is the one that got me interested in all that. She teaches music at the elementary school level…” He diverts that line of conversation to answer Nox’s next question. “I’m lookin’ to make it a bigger operation. Well, /after/ I manage to be able to afford rent. If I can get things covered well enough, I’d like to be able to do more work with uninsured folks. It’s a shame how different levels of care can be just based on who’s payin’.” After all of that, Nox's observation is short and soft: "It is easy sometimes to forget that there are other genetic conditions. Even for those whose memory is not so poor as mine." She makes a light joke of it as she sinks into the chair--the pair of them have found a small seating area at the end of the reference aisle, between do-it-yourself and fashion design. The woman is short today, diminutive in stature and dressed in baggy heather grey that's seen its share of wear. The books she'd been carrying are set on her knees and covered with folded hands after she absently tugs the knit cap further down on her head. Maybe it is a special cap--few realized thoughts are escaping her head. "I met a doctor," she says abruptly. "Who says he believes the same. Or something similar." Hive is looking much like his generally scruffy self as he makes his way through the library. Perhaps a little scruffier than usual for his somewhat sleep-deprived pallor, his hands-in-jacket-pockets slouch. He wears faded old jeans, weatherbeaten shoes that are kind of really falling apart, an olive-grey t-shirt with "BLUE SUN" written over some Chinese characters. His eyes are fixed on the floor, and he almost skirts past the table without noticing the people in it; it's Micah's voice that draws his attention upwards, with a puzzled frown that shifts into a quick, brief smile. He stops to extract a hand from his pocket, clap it down against the back of Micah's chair. "Rent, pfft. I haven't afforded that in months, the trick is being able to sweettalk your landlord for /just/ a little while longer." Micah is slouching back in the chair, posture relaxed as he chats with Nox. Finally in out of the cold, he is not in his standard hat and coat. Instead, he wears a bleach-stained old black T-shirt with ‘Stand back, I’m going to try science!’ written in bold letters around a stick figure wielding a calculator and an Erlenmeyer flask. His faded blue jeans are patched in several places with multicoloured fabric patches. He is so relaxed, in fact, that he almost jumps out of his skin when Hive’s hands come down on his chair. “Gah!” His head spins around to observe the newcomer. “Hive! Hi. I think you might’ve taken a few years off my life there…” Nox might have seen the hand coming but she is no less startled. Still too quiet in the brainpan though, for someone who is watching Hive as closely as she is. The books go from being held on her knees to being pulled to her chest, black on black eyes locked cautiously on the stranger--the only thing keeping her in the chair the friendly tone he uses and Micah recognizing him. With escape off the table, she settles for shrinking again. The baggy sweatsuit becomes more so, and the hat sinks down almost over her eyes as her skin darkens. "Guess you'll just have to pack all that much more living into what you got left, then," Hive answers, unabashedly unapologetic about his Micah-life-shortening. "Are you disappearing?" He frowns over at Nox. "I mean, sorry, I'm interrupting, shit." Though he sounds /about/ as apologetic about this as he did about startling Micah. "You're quiet." He says this with a /deeper/ frown. “No, Hive, it’s okay,” Micah is turning from Nox to Hive and back again, like a cat at a tennis match. “Nox…it’s fine. Hive is on my superhero team.” He tries to reassure her with a lopsided grin, recalling the conversation from the diner a few nights ago. Micah decides that jumping off of each of the others’ last comments will help to ease nerves. To Hive: “I don’t have a landlord to sweet-talk yet, though. That’s still in the glittery future.” Then to Nox: “A doctor? Don’t suppose you know where he works? I always need to assault more like-minded docs with fistfuls of business cards.” "Always." Naturally, Nox answers him...in a whisper. Her smile is /genuinely/ apologetic though--maybe she can't help that. "A pleasure, Hive," she adds, the shrinking coming to a halt and the books slowly lowered to take up their perch on her lap again. Micah's question doesn't entirely erase the tension but it does get her talking, at least. "No...I mean. Yes. Mount Sinai. But perhaps not for very long, he means to open a clinic. It may not happen. Better, one supposes, to wait and see. There are likely more lucrative prospects to chase, Micah." "Fuck doctors," Hive says, kind of offhand-bored. He leans against the back of the chair, still looking at Nox thoughtfully. "Mount Sinai? A clinic?" His eyes narrow, slightly, brow furrowing. "Thought we established I'm not a fucking superhero," he adds, fist absently lifting to thump down on the back of the chair. "Takes some fucking heroics for that. Your /mind/ is quiet," he adds to Nox, more curious than anything else. “Pshht, we know how well I tend to choose the more lucrative options in life,” Micah replies to Nox with a chuckle. “I’ll have to look this guy up, if you know his name? New clinics are actually great to get in on the ground floor of. You get to be part of the team-building process. Make the systems run smoothly. And I’m spread out all over the city, so I wouldn’t be puttin’ all the eggs in one basket or anything.” Micah pulls another chair closer to himself and Nox, using a foot hooked around the leg. If everyone is sitting on the same level, it may feel less threatening to Nox. He taps the seat indicatively. “Tough luck, man. We determined that all it took to be a superhero was havin’ superpowers and not using them for The Evils. There was a meeting.” Micah grins with the recollection of that ‘meeting’. For some reason, he’s associated an image of Lucien in a Green Arrow outfit with it. Hive’s commentary on the state of Nox’s mind makes Micah feel the need to explain. “He’s a telepath,” he informs her quietly, tapping a finger to his temple to illustrate. Nox slowly shakes her head. "No, Micah. I will not tell you his name." But it's there in her head, like a name whispered in a room several doorways over or heard while a pillow is pressed around the ears. San Pedro? No, definitely Saavedro. She's smiling at the young man though to take some of the sting out of her refusal. And maybe because he's grinning and it's a happy thing, to see him happy. "The bar for inclusion is set low...ah. I am...less here than most people?" She holds up one hand, grey skin fading until the fluorescents overhead flicker through it. "I'm sorry. If it bothers you." "Not a bother. Just curious." Hive plunks himself down in the chair Micah drags over, rocking it back onto its back legs almost reflexively once he's seated. "You know," he adds to Micah with a lopsided grin, "superheroes usually have, like, secret identities. Kinda shit for you to just /tell/ people you meet when someone's on your superhero team." His tone is light, perhaps joking, though it might not be quite so joking when he adds, "-- had friends get killed over saying that shit to the wrong person." Possibly he isn't quite so respectful of the happygrinning. "-- Iolaus?" The overheard thought startles the answer out of him, eyebrows raising. Micah doesn’t press Nox for more information. There are a lot of reasons people might not want to discuss doctors they have met, particularly if they are their own doctors. No need to invade privacy unnecessarily. “Well, how else are the team members gonna know who else is on the team? I mean, for those who are less obvious than others. Just wanted to let you guys know that the other one wasn’t gonna freak out on them for bein’ who they are right now, y’know?” He shrugs. “Promise not to shout from random rooftops or anything.” "He meant no harm, Hive." Nox regards the telepath levelly, her smile softening the look slightly. Just a little. "And no, that was not his name at all." It's a lie. Probably a lie. No, not a lie, the name was Seracruz. "Although," she says as she looks at Micah again, "I believe I had explicitly stated that I refused to be a hero on account of not being able to maintain a uniform. That being one of the prerequisites, yes?" "If I thought he meant harm, I wouldn't have said it /nicely/," Hive says, and now he doesn't sound light. Just flat and blunt, his chair rocking back down to all fours. "I get your intention," he adds to Micah, still blunt if at least still shy of angry, "but that /isn't/ /your/ call to make. Not everyone who's one of us is, uh." His lips thin. "One of us. You're lying." He doesn't say this as accusation to Nox, really. Just bland fact, returned again to flat. His head tips back to look up at the ceiling, blowing out a slow breath. "What do you have against Saavedro?" “Uniform’s optional. The only way out for you now is to start kickin’ puppies. Or stealin’ candy from babies.” Micah is still smiling at Nox, oblivious to the mental cat-and-mouse going on between Nox and Hive. “That’s fair, Hive. I get you. I tend to be a little too trusting sometimes. Beggin’ pardon for the Hayseed McTurniptruck moment.” Micah’s a little lost as to what Nox and Hive are talking about. Cat-and-mouse engaged. All that's left to determine is which one of them has the claws. Nox turns her head and looks at Hive again. Her eyes have gotten slightly larger, slightly less reflective. She's getting foggier within her clothes. The books on her lap teeter precariously. "Because within six months, he will be dead." Dead. The word brushes like velvet against Hive's mind, soft and cool and dark. All dead. "Everyone around him as well. Dead or in the cages. Are you an ally, Hive? His first name. You knew his first name." Poor Micah. Hive shrugs a shoulder, his quick smile indication that he has dismissed this misstep without managing to work his way up to real anger. "Yeah, well, life's got me a little overparanoid. But. Some folks out there --" He shrugs again. His eyes are narrowing on Nox as she fades, and he snorts when she is done talking. "Aren't you a font of fucking sunshine," he says with a rather thinner smile to the shadow-woman than the one he offered Micah. "Possible he's dead. And a better man than most. Better to die actually bothering to do some fucking good for the world than live doing shitall like most assholes." And we’re back to the cat-watching-tennis between Nox and Hive. What in the /world/ are they talking about? Cages? Who’s dying now? Didn’t these two not know each other mere minutes ago? Micah looks like he’s about to say something a few times, then realises he really doesn’t have a clear idea of what to offer. The books finally do fall, the covers rumpling as they collect on the floor. Nox stands and it should be almost funny the way her pants try to slip, until she remembers herself and phases back into something a little more solid. Even then she has to tug them up again, and then straighten her cap. Her hair is escaping it, its tips waving in inquisitive--or grabby--fashion towards the telepath. "Your wit is astounding," she murmurs, "as are your assumptions. Micah..." She smiles at him, strained but apologetic. "I will see you soon, I hope." "Fuck you," Hive says, not particularly bothering with wit, just an irritable scowl towards Nox. He pushes his chair outwards, legs scraping against the ground. "I didn't make any gorram assumptions about /you/; I don't need to to say he's a better man than most. I don't know who the fuck you are and I don't particularly actually care. Forgive me for being fucking /glad/ that there's /one/ fucking doctor in the entire fucking country trying to /help/ us instead of dissect us. Jesus fucking Christ, I hate New York." Poor Micah. Hive does not look apologetic at all. Just kind of narrow-eyed jaw-clenched -- well, too tired to manage /angry/ but certainly far from pleased. Um…people are upset now. Micah fills time by popping up to retrieve Nox’s fallen books. He holds them up for her, a little offering, like a puppy performing random tricks in hope that this will be pleasing to its owner. “Yeah…uh…sorry if I kept you from your…stuff. My turn to need help next time. Maybe I’ll have a jar that I can’t open.” He submits a little smile for approval. Nox is quiet as she accepts the books, looking from Micah to Hive. "No," she murmurs after a moment, "no, there's nothing to forgive you for. It should be worth gladness. Please forgive me." For having lost her glad? She doesn't say and the only thought that swims to the surface is that Hive looks as if he needs rest--and she hopes he gets it. "You have kept me from nothing, Micah. Please, be careful out there," she says in lieu of parting words, before turning to venture off into the stacks in search of an exit. Hive slumps, one hand resting on his chair as though perhaps it is supporting him. His other scuffs through his hair, fingers tracing a path along the side of his head. "Fuck," he mutters, still kind of irritably, his shoulders sinking downwards. "Sorry I fucked up your -- whatevertheshit," is as good an apology as he mutters to Micah, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Micah nods at Nox’s call for caution, a small wave given by way of farewell as she walks away. He looks back to Hive once she is gone, his mouth quirking over to one side with concern. “Hey, no, it’s okay. We just ran into each other by accident, so it’s not like important stuff was goin’ on. That was obviously somethin’ seriously heavy you guys were discussin’ there. It’s important to talk about…important stuff.” Stupid statement is stupid. He chews at his lower lip for a minute. “I was just a little lost. Is…uh… I don’t suppose I can help with anything?” Hive's fingers curl hard against the chair, his other hand pressing still to his eyes. "Lost? You get found yet?" His eyebrows lift, questioning, even with his eyes still kind of scrunched up against his fingertips. "Just kinda a shitty time," he says with a stiff shrug of one shoulder. "Think my temper's -- okay, well it's always short," he admits, wryly. "Shorter. Why'd you want to get in touch with Iolaus?" Micah screws his eyes closed tightly for a moment. “Really, no. Y’all were talkin’ right over my head.” He plops back into his chair heavily. “That’s understandable, though. You’re havin’ to deal with everyone else’s unfiltered mind-mayhem. Bound to make anyone’s nerves a little raw.” For the love of God, is he actually smiling again already? Yes, yes he is. “Is that the doctor, Iolaus?” He might be picturing an old episode of the ‘Hercules’ TV series. “I was just talkin’ to Nox about work. She wanted to know what my goal was if I get all successful with the business, and I mentioned wantin’ to do work for uninsured folks. She said she’d met a doctor who felt that way recently. Figured he’d be worth knowin’, my line of work. Good to know people with good intentions, right?” "Little raw, yeah," Hive agrees, his smile decidedly crooked. "Doctor. Yeah. Prettier than the Hercules version. Kinda suicidal. At least, he's starting a clinic for us freaks." Something about this presses his lips thin together. "Bet you and he might have a fair bit of overlap. I know a shit ton of us who've been hurt bad enough to need your help and they're all sure as shit not insured. I don't know where the fuck /he's/ going to get money. Lots of people out there'd need his help and not a lot able to pay for it." Micah’s eyes go wide at the mention of a mutant specialty clinic. “He is? Oh, that’s a /fantastic/ idea. Just like having paediatric hospitals, or LGBT clinics. You’re gonna have really unique concerns to deal with, and bein’ able to gather up a group of really creative minds to help with those issues is /crucial/. And bein’ a specialty place means you won’t end up with any employees who are grouchy about the Genetically Enhanced crowd…oh, God, that’s why you think he’s gonna die.” The lightbulb clicking on in Micah’s head is practically /visible/. “Oh, dammit. But he’s got funding? Maybe they can get a super security team?” "Yeah, it'd be a pretty sweet deal. I know a number of kids who -- I mean, shit, they're just gonna have a hard /time/ with a regular doctor even if they /weren't/ hated on sight. Like I know this one kid, he's diabetic, that's a normal problem, yeah? Except also his entire body is made out of some kind of fucking liquid metal. How the shit do you check his blood sugar then? Tricky." Hive seems to relax, a bit, as he talks; at least, he looks less irritable and more just droopy. "Got a betting pool going on how long after the clinic goes public he sees his first assassination attempt. His security better be fucking awesome. The building, at least," he says, with a sudden brighter smile, "is going to be pretty fucking tight. Built with an eye to defense." “Huh, yeah, that would be tricky. It’s like tryin’ to get an IV started in Superman.” Micah’s look is pensive, brows knitted together. “So they’ve got building plans and everything? This is really under way, isn’t it?” He runs his fingers through his hair, sending its messy-spikiness in another direction from where it started. “I really ought to talk to this guy. I’d like to help. Like your friend you told me about before. It’s /not okay/ for people to be sittin’ around with perfectly solvable problems not bein’ solved just because people feel like bein’ ignorant jerks.” "Got building plans," Hive agrees, "I designed them myself." Which he sounds /just/ a little proud of. Honestly just a little; he'd probably sound smugger if he wasn't wilting down into his chair with a yawn. "I got his info. I could hook you up next game night." He frowns at this, for a moment. "-- Which isn't this week, I should send an email. /Next/ week, though. This week's cancelled. But I'll hook you up. And yeah." One corner of his mouth hooks up. "You should talk. The world's got /plenty/ of ignorant fucking jerks, you good people need to band together." “You’re the architect?” Micah doesn’t realise that’s funny until after he says it. “Whoa.” He manages to hold a straight face until that is said, then grins broadly. “Sure thing, just pass me the date and I’ll do my best to be there. Thanks for the info, in advance.” He watches Hive kind of /sinking/. “Man, when is the last time you /slept/?” Hive looks at Micah for a long moment, blankly; for a moment perhaps it seems the reference has gone over his head before he comments, almost like it's an offhand non-sequitur, "Man, you know, I was really glad they never made any sequels to the Matrix. It's good that they just knew they had something awesome and knew when to stop." His hand passes against his cheek, and he shrugs. "Thursday night, I guess." Micah giggles at Hive’s bit of self-defined reality. “Oh, right, that was a good thing,” he plays along. He gapes at Hive’s estimated last date of sleep. “Man…man. Can I drive you /home/ or somethin’? You’re gonna melt /your own/ brain if you don’t sleep. Like, now.” "Actually more likely to melt everyone's brain around me," Hive says wryly, "if my control slips. Probably you're right, I need some fucking sleep." He pushes himself to his feet, clapping hands down on Micah's chair to give it a light shake. "Games. Tuesday after next. See you there?" Micah chuckles as he is shaken. “Yeah, you go now. I /need/ my brain. Otherwise I’ll end up sittin’ around all day watchin’ reality TV. Cruel and unusual, my friend.” He nods at the games request. “Be there with bells on.” Micah gathers the nearly-forgotten /Sandman/ graphic novels to take them to check-out. “Sleep now,” the order serves as a farewell. "Jegus. I wouldn't inflict a fate like that on such an enjoyable brain." Hive drops his hand from Micah's chair, leaning down instead to plant a light peck on the top of the man's head. "Soon," he promises, "I will be so fucking unconscious you have no idea." His chin jerks up in a nod, and he is pulling out his phone to send a text as he ambles off.