ArchivedLogs:Feed Your Head

Feed Your Head
Dramatis Personae Micah, Hive, Flicker
In Absentia	5 September 2013 Micah shows up with food but ends up staging an intervention for Hive's brainmeats instead.
Location <NYC> 403 {Geekhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here, split between the four people; the fold-out couch in the living room (often folded out!) suggests that at least one of them does not actually claim a room as their own. There is a knock at the Geekhaus door in the early evening hours, accompanied by a deliberately-thought, << Hive! I brought food! >> Said doorway is occupied by a Micah in a powder blue smiling Totoro-face T-shirt and a pair of repeatedly-patched jeans, holding the handles of a plastic bag with a paper bag layered inside of it. << S'pretty much mystery noodles, but in vast quantities. Wasn't sure who all might be home when I got here. >> After that much of an introduction, Micah figures there has been enough lead time and lets himself in. The opening door is greeted not by Hive but by Flicker, a warm smile on his scarred face. He's dressed like he's been at work, slacks and a button-down shirt though this latter has been unbuttoned all the way, hanging loose over the white sleeveless undershirt he wears beneath. "Heeey! Micah!" He gestures the other man inside, setting down his controller -- he's paused in the middle of Borderlands -- and getting to his feet. "Can I get you um. Drink? Hive's --" He gestures towards the couch. Hive is there! Maybe napping; at least at first glance it seems like he might be, floppy and immobile. His eyes are open, though, fixed somewhat glassily ahead at Flicker's game. He doesn't look up when Micah enters, though there's a small brush of mental contact acknowledging his words. << You had a good vacation. >> It isn't really a question so much as just statement. “Hi, Flicker!” Micah chirps, closing the door and then half-bouncing his way over to collect a Flicker-hug. “Sorry t'interrupt your game. I brought food.” He holds the bag up again for the non-telepath's benefit. “Noodles. Some kinda sauce. Veggies. Meat-things. I kinda like not knowin' /exactly/ what's in food. Got pretty much no expectations to either meet or disappoint that way.” He pauses a beat at Flicker's question. “I didn't bring any drinks, actually, so if y'wanna grab somethin' t'go with it, that'd work.” He chews at his lower lip for a moment, regarding Hive and his thousand-yard stare. “Yeah, it was a good time. Hectic an' crazy but good. You don't...look so hot, though. You holdin' up, man?” Flicker waves away the apology, leaning in to hug Micah tight. "That sounds -- much better than what I've eaten all day." The hug lasts a beat longer before he releases Micah, vanishing immediately to reappear in the kitchen and collect glasses. "You had fun at the con?" << A week with no kids around to interrupt alone-time. Be disappointed if they /didn't/ have fun. >> Hive's eyes slip half closed, though they don't shift from where they are directed. << What. >> This sounds almost irritable, a prickly annoyance in Hive's chorusing mindvoice. << We're fine. What did you /do/ there, we've never been. >> "This is why I randomly stop by here with food. Not one of you guys is any good at keepin' himself fed. Also, meat-things. Not safe in a lot of the other apartments." Micah perches himself on the arm of the couch next to Hive. "Mmhmm. S'all kinds of busy. Art shows an' celebrity panels an' science talks an' gamin' meet-ups an' concerts an' parties, mostly. I was kind of off an' on helpin' Jax out with sellin' his work. S'pretty much /no/ alone-time outside of hidin' in hotel rooms, though. S'wall-to-wall people. Think there was somethin' around 60,000 people there in a relatively small space. Don't know how well..." He just gestures vaguely at his head while continuing to watch Hive. "Might be even louder'n usual." "Hey, I cook --" Flicker starts to protest, but amends this to, "... ed. Once." He gets a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge, filling three glasses. He blinks back into the living room with the first two, setting them down on the table. "That sounds like --" His brows crease; he glances briefly to Hive before disappearing back into the kitchen. "Fun." << Sounds like hell. >> Hive's eyes shift, just slightly, tracking Flicker's erratic movement. << Sometimes we forget you eat meat. You /seem/ like a hippie. >> "Exactly that," Micah chuckles at Flicker's failed protest as he pulls three of the five total containers out of the bag, setting them on the table with a pair of disposable chopsticks on top of each one. "Should have leftovers for Dusk'n then some." His lips quirk to one side at that thought. "Has he been...okay, lately? He was a little out of it the last time I talked t'him, too." Hive's comment earns a hint of a smirk in reply. "I eat everythin', really." "No." That's all Flicker answers, returning with the last glass to seat himself on the floor at the base of the couch, leaning his head back against Hive's knee. << Nobody's been okay, lately. He's been -- least okay. >> Hive /does/ move, finally, when Flicker settles down; not much, but his hand shifts slightly to rest fingertips against the younger man's shoulder. << You should take more vacations. >> “Oh.” Micah frowns at that information as he settles himself on the floor by the coffee table. “Should check up on him, maybe. S'a lot of,” he pauses, not quite sure how to end that thought, “stuff. Wasn't too much craziness up here while we were gone, I hope?” His fingers work the paper wrapper off of the chopsticks, then break them apart. He cants his head slightly at Hive's last comment. “You tryin' t'get rid of me again already?” << Yeah. >> For a short while, that is all Hive says. Flicker leans forward to commandeer a pair of chopsticks of his own, grabbing a container to pry open the top and sniff at it curiously. << Next time, >> Hive continues eventually, << don't come back. >> Flicker winces at this, head dropping back against Hive's knee again. "It's just nice," he clarifies. "People going out -- enjoying themselves. Not – dying." One of Micah's eyebrows ticks upward with Hive's answer. “Ain't remotely that easy.” He picks up the remaining container and chopsticks, stretching up on his knees to plunk them into Hive's lap. “You should eat a thing.” Flicker's clarification prompts a slight nod. “I know. It's rough when there don't seem t'be enough good news t'go around. Classes started up again for you, yeah? How's the leg been treatin' you?” "Just started. Joshua fixed it up pretty well." Flicker pats his once-broken leg with his free hand, his others settling the chopsticks into his grip. "You get back to work yet or did you need a -- post-vacation-vacation?" << Sure it is. Go -- somewhere quiet. The goddamn /farm/. Take the kids. /Stay/ there. See? Easy. >> Hive is ignoring the food plunked into his lap, eyes still half-closed and vaguely fixed ahead of himself. << Why the fuck does anyone stay in this city? >> “/There's/ a touch of good news, see?” A bright smile is offered to Flicker, along with a pat of the young man's arm. “I started back a little late on Wednesday. Can only afford but so many days off when I'm the only thing bringin' money into the business. Ain't been around long enough t'have much of a cushion. Only worked out goin' on account of the long weekend as it was.” Micah shakes his head at Hive. “Kids are kinda set t'need t'be up here for school, if nothin' else. Ain't like we can just transfer 'em to a local school system an' expect that t'go over remotely well.” He sets his own chopsticks back on their container, reaching for Hive's to prepare them for use. Then he pops the container on Hive's lap open and taps the chopsticks against the telepath's hand. “Seriously, y'should eat somethin'.” "How /is/ work going?" Flicker dips into his own bowl of noodles, head bowing over it as he starts to eat, rather hungrily. "'We' -- are you guys --" This trails off into another mouthful of noodles, his brows creasing in thought. << We ate. >> Hive doesn't seem to notice the tapping chopsticks; at least, his fingers do not so much as twitch. << Serious? >> he finishes Flicker's unspoken thought. << These days -- what /isn't/ serious. >> "Alanna," Flicker replies promptly, glancing towards a -- large colourful /octopus/ lying on the floor. The octopus's mouth has a small ferret-nose poking out of it. "Did /you/ eat, or was that a different body?" The frown on his face suggests he's already well aware of the answer. /Hive/ might not be aware of it, though. Slowly, a frown creeps into his expression. << We -- >> he answers, and then the frown settles in properly. << Twins are home, >> he says instead, and then, << Don't you do enough taking care of people at work? >> “Pretty okay, actually. I'd set up a goal t'be in the black within a year of startin' out an' managed that, much to everyone's surprise.” Micah grins a crinkly-nosed sort of grin at that. “Got plenty enough business now. Once the local medical personnel caught on t'there bein' somebody who'd do /all/ of their equipment orders in one place, make house calls, /and/ draft their letters of medical necessity for them? Turns out there was more'n enough market for me to move into. This keeps up I might actually need...t'hire...help.” His head ducks a little bit with that assertion, his tone clearly a bit intimidated at the thought. Micah /hees/ when his attention is brought to the ferret-nose. “Is she sleepin' in an octopus? That is impossibly adorable.” He gives himself a little shake to bring his attention back to the present discussions. “Um...it's kinda. Things...have been a lot of 'we', I guess.” The chopsticks tap against Hive's hand again. “Been a lot of 'we' with you lately, too. If there's any room in your stomach, food needs t'go in your face now. Don't make me start you a schedule, too. Already got Jax on for sleepin' an' Dusk for...also eatin'. S'never enough people t'take care of all the people as need takin' care.” "Have /employees/? Of your very own?" Flicker smiles at that, around a mouthful of noodles. "That's -- pretty exciting. /Hiring/ people." << Firing people, >> Hive answers so optimistically. << All the power. Going to your head. >> Flicker breathes out a soft laugh, head shaking. "Micah on a power trip? I can't really see it. -- And yes. The octopus is one of her favorite beds. It's even better when she stretches herself out into one of the tentacles." << /Is/ hard to be serious around a ferret, >> Hive will at least allow. "-- Is that bad?" Flicker shakes his head again. "Not -- Alanna. Just -- a lot of 'we'. I mean it's -- fast. With living together and /kids/ and --" He waves the chopsticks. << Dying together. Getting exploded. A lot of 'we'. >> "Excitin'...more terrifyin'. The only person workin' with me right now is Janine, an' she ain't really dependent upon the income from this little venture. I'm more worried about what happens once this /really is/ somebody else's livelihood. Prob'ly would end up startin' with somebody part-time, though." Micah's free hand snakes through his hair, sending tufts of auburn off in different stick-out directions. "I don't...I wouldn't say it's bad, no. Just everybody tends to..." he cuts himself off as Flicker continues talk of 'fast' and 'kids' and so forth, "that. It's just been a lot of /unique/ situations. An' seems like it's been longer'n it has been, time-wise, y'know? It's..." He pauses again, lips thinning for a moment at Hive. "Look here, Sunshine. Either you eat or I'm gonna have to try an' feed you like y'don't have two perfectly good arms." It's actually hard to tell whether that is a joke-threat or not. << Already /really is/ someone's livelihood. Think you'd upset a lot of people if you starved. >> Hive's brows crease again, just a faint brief wrinkle of confusion before his expression evens back out. << No -- Sunshine lives downstairs. >> "I guess we do have a lot of unconventional, around here." Flicker pokes at his noodles, now, pushing them around his bowl without taking another bite. "-- You happy?" “S'different when it's about somebody else. I already know I can handle when there's more goin' into the business than comin' out. S'what the whole sleepin' in a van an livin' on cheap ramen deal was about.” Micah shrugs, then sighs at Hive. “Sarcasm is wasted on you right now. Who all d'you have in there an' when can you cut some of 'em loose, anyhow?” He does not, in fact, make good on the threat to force-feed the telepath. He does shove the chopsticks in his hand and leave the open container on his lap to create an extremely low-resistance path to him feeding himself, however. Help going rather unaccepted, Micah slinks back to his spot by the coffee table to open his own food container. “Yeah, it does seem that way... But yes. Even with all the crazy. The parts that are about /him/ are all good.” "Good." Flicker accepts this with a small smile, a small nod. He takes another bite of his noodles, then rests his head against Hive's knee once more. "Good." Hive's fingers twitch tighter around the chopsticks, but then go slack. << Guards, mostly. Whenever -- whenever the next raid is through. >> "After which you'll have a new crop of refugees to babysit." Flicker's smile fades into a deep frown. << Most likely. >> This comes with the quiet mental suggestion of a shrug, though Hive doesn't actually move. << Hire someone used to poverty, then. >> Micah returns Flicker's smile with one of his own before shoveling noodles into his mouth. He chews quietly for a minute before responding to Hive. “D'you have t'keep /all/ of 'em the whole time? I mean...couldn't y'just hold on to a few key players an' use them to re-collect the others closer to go-time? You are /wiltin'/ under all of this, man. It's only gonna get worse with the head full of brainchipped injuries an' PTSD that's sure t'follow. An' in the meantime, you're not gonna be at full force goin' into the operation. We gotta do somethin' about that or this is gonna go even uglier than it's already set to. What can we do t'help?” His chopsticks have returned to resting across the noodle container, Micah's excessively earnest gaze fixed on Hive even if eye contact is not returned. << Not wilting, >> Hive answers, his own typically gruff voice a soft whisper nearly drowned out by the chorus of other voices that accompany it. << Stronger now than ever. /Get/ stronger, the more we grow. >> The chopsticks roll out of his loosened grip, clattering down to the floor beside Flicker. Flicker twitches, at this sound, a brief spasm of tension before he reaches to pick them up. He doesn’t return them to Hive, just curls his fingers around them tightly. “He doesn’t have to do /any/ of this.” Hive’s hand moves again, now, slow and stiff and tentative in its motion. He reaches out to brush fingertips down the side of Flicker’s face, tracing against the acid-etched scars that pit his skin. << You could sit out the next raid, too. Any of us could. All of us could. Just pack up. Have normal lives. You going to stay home next time around, Micah? >> “I'm not talkin' about your ability t'pull in more people; I know that's fine. I'm talkin' about /you/. How much of /you/ is bein' allowed to exist right now. What kind of condition you're in, mentally an' physically.” Micah shakes his head again. “I'm not askin' you not t'help. I'm askin' you t'have half a thought about keepin' yourself together while you do it instead of...this. The people y'all are helpin' are important but we still love /you/, too.” Abandoning his food on the table as well, he scoots a little closer to nudge the telepath's knee with his shoulder. “Jerk. I'm gonna do what I can, too. But y'don't see me jumpin' into the thick of it, either, do you? Gotta do /somethin'/ t'weight the scales slightly toward /not/ imminent death for everyone or what's the point?” << We’re -- >> That’s as far as Hive gets before trailing off. His hand falls from Flicker’s cheek to shoulder, and then shifts when Micah comes near, resting against Micah’s shoulder instead. << Is no point. >> This draws an unhappy hiss of breath from Flicker; he lifts a hand to jab the end of his chopsticks against Hive’s leg. “There’s always a /point/. And we get people out of there so they can /have/ lives. What you’re doing isn’t -- having a --” He shakes his head. “This isn’t what we rescue people for.” << We rescue people so they have a /choice/. About their lives. >> Hive’s fingers creep upwards, tracing along the back of Micah’s neck to rest in his messy hair. << -- Or at least so they can pretend they do. >> “There has t'be a point or there's no...” Micah's attention is drawn away by Flicker's hiss and attempt to use chopsticks as a pseudo-weapon. He places a hand over the younger man's, guiding the chopsticks away from Hive. “I don't think that's the kinda /point/ we're discussin', hon.” One arm wraps around Flicker's shoulders to give a reassuring squeeze. “That's great for them, but how many more people are gonna be rescued if the rescuers are doin' nothin' t'keep themselves goin'? Y'never did answer me if you absolutely /must/ be holdin' all these people right now. Think it would do you some good t'be less full of other people wherever the opportunity presents...'least until the mission is on.” “He deserves it,” Flicker protests, though his protesting isn’t strenuous enough to reject the hug; he leans into it, his hand dropping down to his lap. His eyes fall to stare at his half-eaten noodle bowl. “No. He doesn’t. /Need/ to be --” Hive’s fingers press down against Micah’s head in a slow absent rub of pressure, tousling his auburn hair still further. << They’re part of us now, >> he answers. << Would you want to -- lobotomize yourself. >> “Pretty sure he deserves t'have his own /mind/ back, but that doesn't seem t'be happenin' any time soon, either.” Micah draws Flicker in closer to soften the admonishment, before addressing the telepath again. “Anybody you pull in is always a part of you for the time they're there. That mean you're never lettin' these people go again? They're just stuck with you an' you with them forever? I don't think /any/ of you signed up for that.” He chews at his lip, looking oddly childlike cuddled against Flicker, with Hive's hand on his head. “/This/ is more like bein' lobotomized for you, Hive. You don't /speak/. You don't eat. You hardly move. It's like you're not entirely there. We're worried about you.” << Speaking right now. >> These words come sharply prickly again, bristling up crankily in Micah’s mind. “Not with your /face/,” Flicker corrects unhappily. His arm curls around Micah, his head tipping backwards against the couch to look slightly upside-down at Hive. << If we let them go -- >> Hive’s fingers still, hand just resting in Micah’s hair. << No guarantee we could find them again. >> “You’ve been with them for weeks. You know where they live. You could find them.” The chopsticks clack together in Flicker’s hand, fingers rolling them restlessly back and forth across his palm. Hive’s eyes close all the way. << It’d be ugly. >> “You know what I meant. Stop bein' all petulant about it. I'm talkin' about /anythin'/ that gets you out of your own /skull/ for a second.” Micah dips his head at Flicker in a sort of 'what he said' acknowledgement. He nods again at Flicker's fielding of the next issue. “That's the thing. The longer you hold onto people, the worse it gets for them /and/ for you. We still don't even know when y'all are goin' in there! S'gonna break /everybody's/ brains if this goes on too long. Wouldn't it be better t'let 'em go now that you know where t'find 'em, an' pick 'em up again later? I'm askin' this /legitimately/, now, 'cause you know your abilities better'n any of us do. But I need t'know that you are actually considerin' things on their merits an' not just clingin' t'your toys 'cause y'don't wanna share.” << We’re in -- so many skulls. >> Hive doesn’t sound like he’s arguing, this time, though. He just sounds exhausted, his own voice muting still further beneath the echoes of other voices. << -- Don’t really know how to -- find the way back to -- >> And then silence; his hand slips down off Micah’s head to rest on his shoulder again. “/We/ know who you are. Even if you don’t.” Flicker’s grip tightens just slightly against Micah’s side, a faint tremble in his hand but none in his voice. “If you forget we can just -- show you. The way back.” “Honey, if you actually /want/ to try, we're here t'help. Just give us the word. Let us know whatever it is you need.” Micah steadies Flicker again at that trembling. “We got all kinds of memories of you an' feelin's about you. If you need to access that, there's plenty here. 'Specially with this one.” His hand pats at Flicker's back, the slightest hint of a smile stealing across his lips. “We /want/ t'help. As long as you /want/ help.” << Don’t know if we want some of the memories /he/ has. >> There’s a whisper of amusement that ghosts through Hive’s words, but this soon fades back into solemnity. << Please. >> The touch of his mind to Micah’s is quiet enough it’s almost hard to /tell/ when he goes from just talking to actively digging in, soft mental fingers closing in against Micah’s mind with a touch much more subtle than the heavy one he often has. << Just -- don’t -- go. Anywhere. For -- now. >> Micah actually chuckles at that bit of a joke from Hive, taking it as a good sign. He shifts again, though not releasing a loose hold on Flicker completely, to rest his head on Hive's lap. Not that any increase in contact is likely to help; he wasn't exactly putting up any resistance to the mental intrusion begin with. << It's okay. Do what y'need to. >> He smirks at the last request. << See? I knew you weren't /actually/ tryin' t'get rid of me. What would make this easiest for you? Should I think of somethin' specific, or just shut up an' let you poke around without me distractin' you? >> << Just stay. >> Hive’s fingers trace through Micah’s hair, slowly. For a moment his eyes open again, as Flicker’s hand finds his free one, but then close once more. Even if the initial connection is quiet and painless, there is an uncomfortably jarring /wrench/ shortly after, a sharp yank that pulls at Micah’s mind and then tears away. Beside Micah, Flicker tenses. His eyes close, too, his breathing slowing. << Not going anywhere. >> In mental space, his voice is warmer, brighter, coming through with its own quiet cheer. There’s another twisting wrench; for a moment, Hive’s breath catches, his teeth clenching. << -- Just stay, >> he says again. << It’s -- not going to be fun. For a while. >> << We're right here. Not to worry. >> Micah's eyes fall closed, as well. His grip tightens around Flicker at the wrenching in his own mind, the tension in the teleporter's muscles. << Don't gotta be fun. Just gotta get you back an' break as few heads as possible in the process. Love you, hon. /You/ stay with /us/, too. >> Then Micah quiets to let Hive work.