ArchivedLogs:Treats

Treats
Dramatis Personae Hive, Jackson, Jim
In Absentia	2013-10-16 (Just after the Prometheus raid.) (Part of Prometheus TP.)
Location Safehouse, somewhere between Virginia and New York
The sun hasn't set yet, but it's on its way, the light growing worn and soft, shadows scattering and long amongst the pine needles of the secluded cabin grounds. Shut down for the season, it's dead silent in the forests, soft lazy warbles of birds making with their autumnal songs fade in and out and down below... There is a LINE outside the restroom. Located in the small central shack surrounded by four small cabins, it's not treated nor heated from the growing late-day chill, and many odd mutants are wrapped in blankets, donated jackets - one of JIM's jackets, too, not like he was using it. He's lurking around the outsides of the (make-shift) medical truck, where he can offer help wherever it's needed. Lurk. Hive hasn't stirred a lot, from the medical truck. Unconscious, it was hard to /notice/ the bullet that shattered the window and lodged in his arm (there are bruises beneath his vest, too, to prove that without the bulletproof garment he'd likely have been dead in that final onslaught), but the blood leaking down over his arm after a while has soaked over the door that he leans against. It took a while for /Hive/ to rouse himself from unconsciousness enough to care. When he does, he is still -- quiet. Breathing slowly. Staring vacantly glassy-eyed off into space. By the time they pull into the rest stop he's -- still vacant. << We make it? >> It whispers quietly out to Jim, not sounding like Hive at all -- just a soft cacophony of unfamiliar stranger's voices. Jackson isn't saying anything, just yet. Though this raid came out with relatively /few/ injuries compared to most, the ones it had have been -- bloody. In the mattresses in back he lies, hole shattered through his jaw, a gauge torn out of his upper arm, a rather dangerous amount of blood seeping from another furrow torn into his thigh. He tries to open his mouth; is met only with pain at this, registering fuzzily through his on-and-off consciousness. << Dusk >> is his first thought, laced more with regret than with anger. And then, << Hive? Jim? Who's there? >> Out loud, just a slow groan. "Easy, Jackie." Jim's voice can be heard nearby, "You've been a little shot." He has, gradually, imposed himself in a corner between the two, where an overturned bucket serves as a seat. Until someone needs a finger over here, or a hand over there, he's on help STANDBY, leaving the work mostly to those that know more about what they're doing. When Jackson groans, he puts a hand kind of carefully at the top of the illusionists head, kind of... gently ruffling. Petting? PLACING a hand there. Pat. "Take it easy, man. You made it. /We/ made it out. Don't start thrashing around and die NOW." Outwardly, his voice is all calm, laid-back bravado, even ragged-worn and a little raspy. Inwardly... even the deep rooted plant parts of his mind are restless, like leaves in a high wind, alarmed in strange plant-ways and churning with confusing non-nerves. It grasps at the touch of Hive's mind and then firmly STOPS itself. Presses against, but does not welcome in, << can't afford it >> - And RAGGED-laughs. "Yeah, man," he speaks aloud, instead. Placing his other hand just... on Hive's FACE. It's the first place his hand reaches as he leans back. "We're out. In the god damn woods." It's automatic and reflexive; Hive relays Jax's thoughts to Jim fluidly, so used to relaying his orders in the facility that he hasn't quite turned it off outside. His mind presses softly against Jax's, against Jim's, touching there like reminding him they're around. << Everyone out? >> he presses again, his mind flitting -- to Liam, helping with first aid in the back, to the labrats taken, to their other teammates in the other bus. << No, >> he answers this question for himself. << Not everyone. >> Jax's head presses back against Jim's touch, bright yellow-orange-red hair incongruously cheerful still. << Made it, >> he echoes this tiredly, his eye closing again, his thoughts fuzzy. << -- Not everyone? Who --? >> A shiver passes through him, jaw flexing again; there's red spotting through the bandages wrapped over the lower half of his face. << No thrashing, >> he agrees, head just resting up against Jim's large hand. << You all OK? Where's Dusk? >> Flicker -- Ryan -- Liam -- his sluggish thoughts are already turning over his teammates in his mind, with a sick kind of resignation wondering who it was this time who didn't make it out. "Dusk's out herding the kids into lines at the john." Jim has withdrawn the hard bark of his palms and fingers, giving Jackson simple human callous and warm skin to press into, a primate-level of tactile communication. It makes his words come with a gentleness raw tone has so little room for. "--Josh didn't come out." Just blunt, quiet, like settling leaves. On the other side, he's a little less /gentle/ as he just... pats on Hive's cheek as though some monkey-instinct could smooth out some quintessential /tangle/ inside him. "...it's a good thing you were wearing that vest, man." << Turned into a ferret, >> Hive recalls this like it's the most pertinent detail. << -- Vest? >> He hasn't really noted his vest past a heavy ache where his ribs are bruised. He looks down, blood-sticky hand shifting towards the vest though it falls back to his lap without making it as far as touching. His head turns, too, similar to Jax's in its instictive /press/ towards this tactile grounding. << Jax, >> he informs the others. << Motherfucker insisted. What happened down there? >> << Nox -- >> is the first thought Jax has, too tired even to attach much emotion to this past the red haze of /pain/ his thoughts have to work their way up through. << The man. Who took her. He took her and he took her /powers/. He was down there. With the dark. >> A swirl of shadow clouds his thoughts. << All shadows. >> There's not even surprise at the thought of Joshua, just a heavy settling that -- will probably eventually work its way towards grief; right now it's just a sick weight thudding into the pit of his stomach somewhere. "Oh --" It's the most he can manage towards words. "-turned into a what?" Jim rolls a solid 17 on his Disbelief save; heartworn and on the downward side of a massive and prolonged adrenaline spike, it's just confused, like a whine. << What, Jimmy. So shocking? After all you seen? >> Leaving a loosely cupped hand around the side of Hive's cheek he's just kind of petting the side of the telepath's nose rhythmically with a thumb pad, smoothing down Jackson's brow, both of them alive and /here/, dropping back his head. "--we could try going back to look, later. Once we get the kids settled." But he's thinking about the military, marching heavy boots through the ruins of the facility, scouring it of all evidence. Maybe the woods surrounding, but my god, even if he survived and somehow got out, how do you find a-- The news of Nox seems to settle into him insidiously. His eyes closing; thinking of her dark impossibly wide eyes, the soft rustle of tangible shadows slithering through his leaves in a communion of elemental... "Yeah, vest." He reaches down to hook a finger to prod - lightly - at one of the faint star-shaped dents where a bullet had been repelled. Poke. << Turned into a ferret and disappeared, >> Hive clarifies, as if this is perfectly normal. Or as if he's so far past normal that he's not even processing strange anymore. << Woman. Fucks with powers. Josh's powers absorb those around him. So -- >> He leaves this hanging where it is, a slow scrunch shutting his eyes tight. His head sort of /faceplants/ sideways into Jim's hand. "Ffff." A soft hiss of breath, at that poke; the light touch probably doesn't hurt as much as he implies it does but he grimaces nonetheless. << Dusk's got, >> he says after some thought, << Ferret treats. >> Jax's eye closes, head still pressing softly into the absent smoothing of Jim's hand. << We could try -- >> But this goes nowhere. It's lost, in a mist of red blood and dark shadow, a shudder passing through him. A soft moan escapes despite himself; it's obvious to Hive at least how much he's trying to /contain/ the pain. The shadow is rapidly /eclipsing/ everything else in his thoughts, though. << Be nice. To -- be. Settled. >> His mind is fading, thoughts fogging back up beneath a haze of pain and darkness. "That's what we got coming next." Jim assures wryly, fingers drumming absently on Jackson's skull. There's deep ache and an unhelpful aggression, hind-brain 'fight' reflex that hasn't yet accepted there aren't still things that need to be fought. To protect His Things. But they're background to what makes up Jim as ... just Jim. Deep-rooted and solid. And already thinking of the coming next steps as he murmurs, "You got so much settling coming up you'll choke on it. Just. Try and rest for a while, huh?" This is to Jackson, mostly, eyeing the bandages layering over his tattoos << - those're gonna need to get touched up again - >>. "We're safe. Fuck, we're in the god damn woods. I could take on an army out here just myself." Firm-smooth. He wraps his fingers loosely around Hive's face - moosh-moosh. << Think we all need some fucking treats around here. >> << You are an army out here. Just by yourself. You wanna make us some berries? >> Hive's face mooshes right back into Jim's hand. And just stays there, for a bit, breathing slowing; maybe he's sinking back into blissful unconsciousness, too, or maybe just lapping in all the minds around him in tired contemplation.