ArchivedLogs:Don't Travel Alone

Don't Travel Alone
(Good advice for anyone in a TARDIS.)
Dramatis Personae Micah, Kay, Jackson
In Absentia	12 April 2014 Part of the Perfectus TP.
Location Micah's TARDIS-Van – SoHo
The TARDIS-van is, unfortunately, not bigger on the inside. It is downright claustrophobic. The general feel is akin to the interior of an ambulance, minus the luxury of space for a stretcher. Instead, there is /stuff/. Like a mad combination of garage, clothier's shop, and storage facility, every inch of space is being put to its most efficient use. There is a single work station at the far side that resembles a workbench bred with a sewing table. Cabinets, bins, and drawers that all latch (or even lock) for secure transport are filled with a plethora of rolls of hook-and-loop materials, sheets of neoprene, sheets of thermoplastic, assorted padding and foam materials, thread of vastly varying thicknesses, collections of metal rods and other metallic trinkets, a large garage-style toolbox, moulds, containers of casting supplies, a heat gun, dozens of types of scissors and shears and razors... It would take /forever/ to catalogue everything. If one looks hard enough, they may also discover some personal effects neatly stowed: clothing, blankets, a gym bag, maybe half a box of cereal. Micah hasn't made it very far, seeing as his van was parked close to Hive's office and he didn't really have anywhere to /go/ once he got there. So, he's simply settled in the back with a weekend-bag retrieved for him from the rooms at Xavier's: his laptop and e-reader, a few days worth of clothes, toiletries, some simple foods that require no preparation or nothing more than boiling water to be food. Currently, he is back to wrapping up e-mails and letter writing and tap-tapping information into spreadsheets that had been neglected the past few days. Music plays quietly on the radio, Carole King singing unobtrusively in the background preferable to just random street noise, but not enough to distract. Inevitably, for every ten engines that roar past in the muffled New York land outside, there's one or two motors that can be heard slowing down, shut off their engine, roar to life or accelerating away as well, the daily parking flow chugging along its congested rhythms. Something scratchier, more insistent, the high whine of a dirt bike or a sporty smaller motorcycle, joins it in time, putt-putt-putting fiercely up /onto/ the curb to park alongside Micah's vehicle. Then the engine cuts off. "Heyhey h'lo?" The van doesn't so much receive a knock as it does a /bodyweight/, Kay hopping up onto the monster-vehicle's back bumper to bounce-test its suspension. THEN he knocks. It's not a very hard nor angry knock - a casual rap from the back of the knuckles, "Anyone home?" It takes awhile for Micah to answer, seeing as he has to get /up/. And that means coordinating that leg that doesn't quite work as part of his own body yet. He saves work, closes the laptop and sets it aside, and grabs for his neon orange forearm crutches to help if he has to move away from the vehicle at all. The van /bouncing/ during all of this doesn't help, knocking him against a set of storage cabinets once in the ponderous process. Then he finally moves to open the rear doors of the van, just a crack, so as not to slam into anyone with it. "Hello?" The question is tentative. Luckily, Kay isn't bouncing hard nor for terribly long once he's mounted the vehicle, standing with one hand loosely hung from the roof, the other swung down and hanging loose off his side. When the door creeps open, he monkey-swings clear of it to the opposite side and hops down to make himself more visible. He's dressed down for city anonymity; a gray hoodie, aviator sunglasses. The warm weather has kicked him down to cargo shorts and sneakers, until the only original Kay-related articles of clothing are the wallet chain, the gaudy watch - a black bandana tied around his bicep. Fingerless gloves. His steady, grim smile, "Hey, ginger. I wake you up?" "Oh, Kay, hi." Micah relaxes a little, a small smile offered with the greeting. "No, I was just workin' an' I'm a little...slow. Gettin' around lately. Did y'need t'talk? Rather...come in or is it okay t'talk outside or...? The front seats aren't bad for just sittin' or whatever." He opens the door further now that it isn't in danger of being a bludgeoning weapon. "Some things I should prob'ly tell you since you're over at the safe house sometimes. An'...wouldn't mind hearin' how Dusk's doin'. He ain't really answerin' his phone none." "Need? Nah." Kay pulls off his sunglasses, using his chin to fold them up again. "Been swingin' around, making sure everyone's..." In one piece, Kay? He makes a sharp exhale through his teeth and spirals open a long-fingered hand towards Micah, "Well. I'll settle for sucking wind, I guess. That is /way/ too many options, bro. Sit where you wanna." He's not muscling his way into the vehicle, standing comfortably with a hip cocked and hands crammed in the kangaroo pouch pocket at the front of his hoodie. His head is turned to look out at traffic, "Dusk is -- well. Alive." It's not said evasively just - with a shrug. "He's got shit to work through." The cavalier ease doesn't mask the thin way his mouth presses together, nor the muscle that clenches in his jaw. It just exists alongside these phenomenon, both honest. Both allowed. "Yeah, it's gotten real hard t'keep track of people..." Micah's brows dip slightly at this. He nods, pushing the other door open, as well, to create space for them to just sit off the back if they want. He slips out to sit on the floor with his legs hanging over the edge. "I'm sure. Has he...talked with any healers yet? We know a person who does some healin'. She might...be able t'do somethin' 'bout his eyes or...somethin'. But we're gonna have t'move quick 'fore things've progressed too much." He digs his teeth into his lower lip for a second. "Wish I could go see 'im, but I shouldn't be. 'Round the safe house right now. S'complicated." He pauses again, fingers drumming against his right knee. "Y'don't refer folks at the houses t'the Sublime centres if they need help with things, do you?" "Healers?" Kay runs a hand over his mouth, looking up at the sky, where small clusters of birds flap amongst the tall buildings. He follows them with his eyes, "...I dunno. Don't take it the wrong way but," Kay fetches a hip and shoulder against the open door frame, "I don't really refer folks to this established-fucking-system if you get me. Why?" He's running a quick assessing gaze over Micah... and down to his leg(s) as well. And he inquires, "--someone been giving you a hard time around the 'house?" "People with special abilities that heal. Helped fix up Jax an' Flicker after the explosion at the Lofts. Might be...strong enough to /make/ new eyes, I dunno. Think Jax was meanin' t'talk to 'em 'bout what they might be able t'do." Micah's head shakes /firmly/ at the question of people giving him trouble. "No, nothin' like that. Y'all are wonderful, doin' good things for folks. It's just...kinda tied up in all the rest of it. Don't know if it's safe for /you all/ havin' me 'round." The hand moves over to his (not his) left knee, resting on it more delicately than the right. "When we needed information, I went t'the church where the people are...that're doin' this t'folks with abilities. Told 'em I wanted 'em t'help me. They kinda took me in...completely. Believed what I was sayin'. I met the guy who's been doin' the...faith healin' thing. Puttin' parts on folks. He's John Sublime. I'm fair certain those centres were just set up t'collect information for 'im on the whereabouts an' habits an' abilities of mutants. Folks should /stay away/ from 'em." He takes another slow breath before adding the last. "He...put a leg on me, Kay. I'm...sorry. I didn't want this. An' I'm gonna do everythin' I can t'get things back right with the person they /took/ it from. But I'm afraid maybe he did somethin' t'my head that'll make me a danger t'folks. So I'm avoidin' places y'all are stayin' for safety. Hive checked m'head an' said he couldn't sense nothin'...hidin' there. But I dunno." "Yeaaaah, think I've seen a little of what healers can do, in my time," Kay says it low, his smile smaller but his scratchy voice remaining hard and fond, if distant. He is looking down at the bandana tied around his arm -- then he isn't again. Shifting his hips, he looks out at the traffic and just listens... for a while. "John Sublime..." he sucks his - bright! bared! - teeth, and then lets out a sigh that's almost a /laugh/, crumpling to sit down beside Micah with his fingers shoved through his hair, "Fffffhhhh. You know. All this... shit, looking like freaks attacking other freaks -- how much they knew about even fucking /Ion/, I was getting to think there had to be spies in the god damn /safehouse/. Hhaah." And then, after a moment, his eyes close and he says, quieter, "...bastards." Then his eyes open again and he turns his body to face Micah, laying down calloused, overly warm hands atop Micah's. They do not flinch to hear about the leg beneath, nor draw away as the news reaches conclusion, but he's not smiling now. "Look. I'm hearing you, dude. Loud and clear. But this?" He jerks a head up towards the vehicle above and around them, "This ain't a solution. Any one of us, have one of these," he tosses aside his hair where the thin curl of scar tissue encircling the side of his head dwells, "Knows a little about where your at, man. What it's like to be cut up an' controlled. But this is the time to be around /more/ people. Not less. Hear me?" "Spies, yeah," Micah replies with a bitter laugh. "That's what I'm afriad of. He was in my /head/, Kay. He made a leg on me an' changed my /brain/ t'use it an' t'have a psionic ability I ain't never had... An' the first thing I heard with it? Was /Him/ thinkin' how him /havin'/ me was gonna get 'im...Hive an' Flicker an' the twins an' everyone. So either he's insane beyond reason an' thinks I'm plannin' t'just /give/ 'im /any/ of you...much less my /sons/ willingly. Or he's done somethin' t'me. They checked my head for me an' didn't see nothin' they thought was...like mind control or sleeper agent triggers or... But if he's usin' me t'spy on y'all? Or somethin' like that? I can't go any of the places where y'all are gatherin' for /safety/. It's too risky for all y'all." He turns his hands up to squeeze at Kay's. "I appreciate it. Your concern an' your /bein'/ here. An' I'll spend time with folks as much as I'm able just not...at safe houses. Or the school. Or...anyone's home with kids. Or any of that." Being around /more/ people is about to be increased by one. Jackson is, today, somewhat back to his old colourful self; in dress if not in his actual person. Tall silver boots and glittery peacock-hued nailpolish, bright sparkly purple eyeshadow, silver-studded black skinny jeans, a tight purple top, sort of spaghetti-strapped though it has attached pseudo-sleeves that don't so much /sleeve/ as just bell out in gauzy butterfly-flowy wings that flutter against his arms down to the elbows. There's an enormous canvas shopping bag hanging over his shoulder as he heads up the street -- maybe he was heading for Hive's office, perhaps, but at the sight of Micah's open van he beelines for that instead, thumping a warm hand against Kay's warm shoulder and then leaning in to climb /up/ into the back of the van, settle in alongside Micah, press a kiss to his husband's temple. With the brief touch to Micah's skin comes a very brief transfer of thought. There's anxiety in it, sure enough, but at the moment, out in the /bright-warm/ sun, tucking in beside Micah, it's necessarily very much /eclipsed/ by far more /present/ things. Warmth and sunlight, a /fierce/ bright energy flooding through him, a surge of very immediate close-happy-(worry)-love. "Ka-ay." It's almost singsong, as he unhitches the bag from his shoulder to drop it onto the floor of the van beside him. "Got cookies. And chili. And --" He frowns into the bag like he's forgotten, but then immediately /forgets/ to say whatever the last thing is /anyway/. (It's kale, sauteed with garlic and tiny new potatoes.) And, less singsong, "... went by the Clinic. Might could get you sorted sooner'n later." "Nah, I'm not saying we just go blindly into this on /faith/, yo," Kay laughs, a soldier's humor on the battlefield, and with their hands linked and channels open, there is no sign of innocence nor naivete in him. Even now under the warm open sky old habits guard his tongue, hiding a deep well of ancient and steady love and fury. "What I'm saying is you should be /watched/, man, if anything. Twenty-four seven. One lucky difference between whatever you got in your melon and what we /labrats/ had in our chips is," he grins huge, reaching up one hand to coax Jax to clasp hands with him, a good ferocious squeeze in it, "We could /take/ your ass. If you go all activated sleeper-agent on us, you're gonna WANT a few of us freaks around to sit on you." And while he's casually picking around IN Jax's bag like a raccoon, he pauses to look up. And say in dead seriousness, "--We don't need them calling you back to homebase. They're not gettin' you without a fight either." Then back to rooting, murmuring, "Not another fucking soul." "Jax!" A genuine-bright smile finds its way onto Micah's face as his husband appears, looking cheerful-glittery-sunny. Micah's kelly green cartoon red panda T-shirt and jeans, hair mussed, certainly seems less put together next to him, but there's nothing unusual about /that/. "The sun finally came out for spring. S'gotta be doin' you a world'a good, sugar. An' Kay came t'visit me, ain't that thoughtful? You brought food? /That's/ right thoughtful, too. Love you, honey." He reaches to return a hug, a kiss to the corner of Jax's mouth. "Oh, I /am/ bein' watched. I had Hive pull me in like he does with the brain-chipped refugees. T'keep an eye on me. So he'll know even if I start doin' subtle weird. Like druggin' people's drinks or anythin'," Micah tries to reassure. "I just...want t'protect y'all. They don't want t'/hurt/ me. They wanna /use/ me. As one of their culties. The danger t'me ain't the same as it is t'you. I got nothin' against someone sittin' with me, either. I just gotta...not go t'places y'all are usin' for safety. S'that make sense?" Jax's hand swings up to meet Kay's in /firm/ heated clasp, squeezing tight before dropping to rest beside him on Micah's -- /real/ leg. He drags a leg upward, hooking the heel of one boot against the lip of the van. "Espresso chocolate-chip cookies," he agrees. "I dropped some'a the food off with Kate an' Corey. I -- talked t'them a bit already." There's a beat of hesitation here before he continues. "'bout Rasa. An' Dusk." His foot bobs lightly up and down, eye fixing outward at the sunshiny-warm day. "Think spring wakes /everything/ up a fair bit, huh? Me not /least/." His eye turns back to Kay, and the small twitch at the corner of his mouth -- where Micah's just kissed -- isn't exactly a smile. "Pretty sure it's a /fight/ they're gettin' no matter what. We got everyone out now but s'only a matter'a time 'fore they try /again/, we don't shut 'em down for good. These Foundation centers is all /over/ the city." "For /now/." Kay, dressed in unassuming gray hoodie and cargo shorts, doesn't really need his attire to convey just how natural hanging out from the back of an open van is. His bad teeth, lank hair and rangy features scream blue-collar labor, "You say 'y'all' like you aren't one of us." He breaks a cookie in half and crams the whole thing into the side of a cheek, "MMH. Ohfuck yeah." Excuse him a moment, he needs to /swoon/ back at the taste like Jax is now his fainting couch. Extra-heated photokinetic or not, Kay is rather well built to resist contact heat. Gleh. Dead. But still talking even in DEATH, just letting it up at the ceiling, "None of y'all kicked us out. When we were chipped. And you didn't know us from mother fucking Adam." Except Adam didn't /have/ a mother did he. His eyes finally open, amber and bright and looking intently up into Jax's face, "I've done this too long, guys. It never makes it better, going off on your own. It's how you fail. From Day One, that is how you fail." "Oh, y'brought me cookies, too? Thanks, honey, but are you doin' /anythin'/ but cookin' for me now?" Micah jokes, leaning against Jax's arm. "Y'talked t'Kate an' Corey? Oh, thank goodness. Thank goodness. What did they say? Can they help? Dusk don't even...return m'calls t'the house. We need t'/move/ on this 'fore it's too late. An' it'd be helpful t'know our options 'fore I ask Rasa 'bout...what ze wants t'do. So we can give hir a reasonable idea of what t'expect. This is /hir/ leg. It's /hir/ decision what gets done with it. But I know ze...is prob'ly in a rough place an' I don't wanna overwhelm hir with it. S'just...we need t'hurry." A darkness crosses over his eyes at the mention of the centres. "They're gettin' shut down. An' we're /stoppin'/ these people. I need...t'meet with folks t'figure out if I need t'keep goin' back t'the church. T'help fight these people." Micah nods in answer to Kay. "I...know. I didn't mean it that way, sugar. I'm not tryin' t'separate m'self out from everybody in that way. S'just...I'm acknowledgin' where things are dif'rent or easier or /whatever/ for me. Where I can help in ways others couldn't. Like bein' able t'go /near/ these psychos without havin' t'worry 'bout bein tortured an' mutilated." His teeth dig into his lip again. "I won't go t'the school. Not with so many kids who can't make that decision. An' there's /so many/ people at the safe houses. Y'think they'd all want the risk of me bein' places like that, too? I just don't wanna put nobody at risk without their permission. I...used t'live in my van when I first got here. It ain't like it's somethin' I'm not used to. An' it ain't for /long/. 'Cause we're takin' these guys out." /Pat/ pat, Kay receives a firm pat to the head for his fainting-flopping. Jax squeezes his other hand against Micah's thigh, shaking his head, nope. "Stayed up all night. Only-just cookin'. Quit m'jobs jus' t'cook -- /oh/ no, wait, /already/ quit m'jobs, I was two steps ahead on that one." He leans his shoulder up against Micah's, and there's a little more distance to his gaze as he looks back out the open door into the city beyond. "Kate thinks 'tween Corey an' Joshua's help she can /grow/ Rasa hir leg back. Might take a few sessions, but she should be able t'get hir walkin' again, she says. Dusk's eyes too, most like." He reaches over to fish out the cookies off of Kay, offer the container whole to Micah. "Do we even got an idea what sorta numbers we're dealin' with, really? I mean, y'know how many folks was there on the weekend, an' again Wednesday, but that -- weren't alla them, cuz -- cuz there was more where we was /at/ an' --" He exhales heavily. "-- Kinda wonder if y'take out John Sublime if the whole cult'd just fall apart. I mean, at the /least/ they can't make no /more/'a them without him, right? Cut off the head an' –" "So what. Is he controlling them like worker bees?" Kay snorts, looking down at Micah's legs, "Yeaaah, no fear of torture or mutilation for /you/." He holds up either of his palms, adding, "Look. I'm not gonna preach at you, s'your business. But if this guy can mind-control, he can /make/ you do whatever he wants. I'll tell you this though - going back's not gonna /lessen/ the chances of him data-mining your brain worse. And if he doesn't know we're onto him /yet/--," he is spraying cookie EVERYWHERE while he talks, scratching an itchy chin on Jax's knee. His hands are too busy. He swallows, "Could also just--..." Thinking out loud slows. He has to lick his thumb first. "No stayin' up all night. Y'need t'be sleepin' at least a little bit, sugar." Micah squeezes at Jax's arm with this. "Just...grow new eyes an'...a new leg? Would it be...does...is it better t'have this one or not? I don't even... I'll have t'ask Rasa what ze wants. Did...Kate say anythin' about Dusk's wings?" Micah shrugs at Kay's question. "I don't think he's mind controllin' everyone. I think he's mostly workin' on...worship. Of people who don't even really know what he's doin'. When he heals someone, it just looks like he's creatin' parts out of /thin air/. So it sure /looks/ like faith healin'. I'm not sure /how/ he's doin' what he's doin' but I suspect mutant abilities. Ain't no other good explanation I've thought of so far. An'...people are real /grateful/ when y'save their lives or give 'em /sight/ or...so I'm sure people help 'im just out of that. But I can't see how he'd think just...gratitude out of /me/ would be enough t'bring 'im my /sons/. That's...why I suspect the mind control." His fingers clench slowly into fists. "Yes. I think if y'take Sublime out, the whole thing'll go down. He's the one that does the healin'. There's no other way for it to...keep goin' like it is. Um. But it's gonna be hard. I got a suspicion that he's /keepin'/ all the abilities that he steals, too? He had Rasa's. An' /other/ ones. I think he's /collectin'/ 'em. Goodness knows how you'd be able to...imprison or restrain or kill 'im." "There's been tell in the news of these disappearances for a /while/ now." Jax's teeth sink down against his lip, brows rumpling. "And if he keeps /everyone's/ powers that he takes -- gosh. Even jus' the folks we /know/ they've took -- an' the ones we've run into -s'a whole lotta people. Add in the rest'a the disappearances an' that's -- Months'a people." He draws in a slow breath. "Whose powers we don't even --" His fingers drum absently -- against Kay's forehead, it's a convenient drumming-post. "Could also jus' --?" His brows lift, a hopeful lilt to his tone in this question. Less hopeful, when he answers Micah, quieter, here. "She -- said that. She can't. Do wings. She said she can't do nothin' with physical mutants. Nothin' with anatomy she ain't studied before an' -- well, she ain't had much opportunity t'study no bat-wings. I asked her if -- if we /got/ her someone with his wings t'study if that'd help an' she said she'd /see/ -- but I don't want to get his hopes up. S'like as not she can't help him. 'Specially not in /time/. With how fast he heals hisself." "There's been tell in the news of these disappearances for a /while/ now." Jax's teeth sink down against his lip, brows rumpling. "And if he keeps /everyone's/ powers that he takes -- gosh. Even jus' the folks we /know/ they've took -- an' the ones we've run into -s'a whole lotta people. Add in the rest'a the disappearances an' that's -- Months'a people." He draws in a slow breath. "Whose powers we don't even --" His fingers drum absently -- against Kay's forehead, it's a convenient drumming-post. "Could also jus' --?" His brows lift, a hopeful lilt to his tone in this question. Less hopeful, when he answers Micah, quieter, here. "She -- said that. She can't. Do wings. She said she can't do nothin' with physical mutants. Nothin' with anatomy she ain't studied before an' -- well, she ain't had much opportunity t'study no bat-wings. I asked her if -- if we /got/ her someone with his wings t'study if that'd help an' she said she'd /see/ -- but I don't want to get his hopes up. S'like as not she can't help him. 'Specially not in /time/. With how fast he heals hisself." "Agh, Dusk." Kay's teeth show slightly, eyes closed as though Jax's tapping were a gentle rain to his heated brow. "--- we can keep him from healing." Just - a calm statement. While he chews. "If he wanted." One eye slips open, and instead of directly answering he rolls his eyes to Micah, "All this just feels like we're going about it ass-backwards. You're going in there, next to no defenses, where your whole family is threatened for it, with the hopes this Sublime guy is stupid enough to let you in on all his organization's secrets /without/ using his possibly god-power mutation to vet you for doublecrossing." His eyes rise up to the sky and he finally completes, "Could also just stop waiting. Grab a few of /their/ guys, /take/ the fucking information off them. Might be a little harder to catch, if they're all freak-posers but hey," he's cleaning around in his teeth with a tongue, "Humans been catching /us/ for ages." "That's my thought. I've seen...a /lotta/ folks that got new pieces on 'em at this thing on Wednesday. If he's got /all/ those abilities? S'gonna be near impossible t'plan what t'do with 'im. 'Less y'know somebody whose ability is magically /turnin' off/ other people's abilities, by chance? That'd be handy...if he just /couldn't/ access his potentially dozens of abilities." Micah's head starts to shake slowly at just how ridiculous those sentences got and the number of times he's repeated 'abilities'. "Could try t'capture some of his folks. Y'gotta get the right ones, though. Ones who /know/. If y'got folks like...Grace an' Richard? I get the feelin' they don't know as much. Y'need somebody like /Anna/. I get the feelin' she knows as much as anybody, from bein' around her." He lifts a hand to gesture at Kay in a 'good point' kind of admission. "Honestly, it /might/ be a bad idea for me t'go in again. Not knowin' what this guy can do. If he's been collectin' information the whole time I've been out here an' is just waitin' for me t'come back t'get it out of my head...if he needs touch, like Rasa. Or somethin'." "Would it help her t'figure out wings faster if she had an exact copy of Dusk's? If we can't find /his/ fast enough t'fix them. Someone who takes on other shapes, if they'd let her look at a copy of his wings. Like Mirror. Or...well, probably not Rasa in hir current condition, but that kinda thing, maybe?" It sounds like Micah has been thinking of this for /way/ too much time. "Might could want to ask him. I been bringin' him up --" Jax shakes his head, exhaling slow. "Food, when I bring in dinner for Micah, but he don't even barely -- I don't think he's even /said/ a word since --" He shrugs, fingers still tap-tap-tapping on Kay's forehead. "'least till we know for /sure/ there's no chance, be best to /keep/ that option open for him. An' -- yeah. I -- I don't know. But havin' a person like that on hand -- might be the best hope he's got right now." His other hand lifts, now, from Micah's leg. Curls around his shoulders, to pull his husband in against his side, squeeze him close. "An' /you/. You might should stay away from that place for good. Cuz -- cuz yeah, if -- if he /is/ in your head? An' jus' waitin' for some infodump an' -- an' we don't even /know/ what he's operatin' with an' you go back there, who's to say he don't jus' take it an' /kill/ you?" He can't repress the shudder that /this/ thought comes with. His eye drops back down to Kay. "You gonna try at catchin' someone who knows somethin', this'n," he's jostling Micah gently, "prob'ly knows best who's /likely/ to have info worth learnin'. I s'pose Hive could --" But here he stops, grimaces. Doesn't actually finish going down that road. "He doesn't gotta say a god damn word," Kay folds his arms loosely over his abdomen, crossing an ankle at the knee. Tipping back his head and just takin' the forehead tapping. Being warm. "You guys just get him his eyes back, huh? I'll talk to him about the rest. See how he --." Gh. His sprawl is kind of leaning into Micah as well, something light and even playful here in it. Even if the brief moment of skin contact when his ear brushes past Micah's is full of simple callous-pragmatic thoughts: how does one best keep a wound open and unhealed... "I'm seein' that, yeah," Kay agrees with Jax, grinning at Micah, "You scribble me names of whatever people you think might be useful - and hell, whatever people you're pretty sure /aren't/, save us some time. I'll see if I can't get Raspy on a few tails. Birds-eye view, see what kind of schedule they keep." "Maybe we should ask Kate an' Mirror or whoever we're workin' with t'see if it'd work, first?" Micah suggests softly. "That way we aren't askin' 'im if he wants somethin' we can't give." He nestles into Jax's side, just /appreciating/ how he fits there. "I'll stay away for now. Seems like the best thing t'do for now. I'll get y'the list of folks that seemed t'know things. Anna's at the top of it." He musses at Kay's hair when he sprawls across them. "Pressure," he answers the silent question of how to keep a wound open. "An' moisture. It's what we try t'avoid for wounds. S'the ones in high-pressure areas an' skin that stays wet a lot what take forever t'heal." "An' stop feedin' him. 'least, cut back as much as he /can/ an' still live. It'll be hell in the short run, but not the kinda hell he'll live with long-run if that heals up for good," Jackson suggests quietly. His hand squeezes at Micah's shoulder, head turning in again to press another kiss to his husband's temple, softer and longer this time. No less /love/ there than before, a good dose of desire, even, mixed in. Layers of thought over that; Kate's ability to help Dusk, /anyone's/ ability to take out John Sublime, whether or not Hive and Flicker have had lunch. "-- He's a /right/ useful pair'a eyes, ain't he." "That he is," Kay grins, patting Micah mafia-boss style on the cheek, grinning into his hair ruffling - kind of BUTTING his head into it like he's daring Micah to do his WORST. The contact comes with a flickered steely thought - if Dusk has already begun to heal too much, there are always knives- Hup! Kay hops down from his seat in the van, taking a final cookie with him, gripped in his teeth. Like a coyote fleeing a henhouse. "'kay. I got a few more folk I wanted to peek in on while it's still sunny out. Email me those names soon as you get 'em down, right?" CHEW CHEW, he makes double-pistol fingers at Jax and Micah like he's gunning them both down with coolness. Tucking on his sunglasses to do so, naturally. "Stay in touch, huh?" “Ugh, poor guy. Puttin' 'im through /anythin'/ else seems exceedin'ly cruel at this point, but...anythin's better'n givin' up on 'im gettin' back 'is wings.” Micah's hands /both/ move into Kay's hair at that nudge, proceeding to give him a spectacular bed-head look. “I'll...get 'em t'you on paper, maybe. If a bunch of people're 'bout t'get kidnapped or worse, maybe digital trails with all their names on 'em ain't the best of things. Just in case. I can send Flicker with 'em later.” /His/ head nuzzles into Jax's shoulder after the second kiss. “We should bring food up t' Hive an' Flicker. An' /I/ won't touch anythin' that other people're eatin'. Y'can serve mine out separate. In case of mind control.” This last he says half-jokingly, at least. "Yeah, but -- I mean, he's lived for a long while afore on less blood than before the Clinic started feedin' him." Missing the unspoken thought, Jackson just shrugs, and crooks a lopsided grin at the Kay-hair-ruffling. In answer to Kay's DUELING gunfingers, a black ten-gallon hat appears on his head, bound about by silver cord; he tips it cheerfully to the pyrokinetic. "/Will/ do." He recovers the cookies, tucking them back in with the rest of the food as Kay tucks his sunglasses back on. "Tch. /I'm/ eatin' with you. Don't be stupid." "Yow!" Kay makes a delighted /noise/ when Jax tips a hat to him. The smiles don't fade for Micah's words, nor Jax's even then. But they aren't carefree, either; they carry weight and decision. And a deep breath taken in and let out. And with a final wave, he slips around the side of the van where is little Japanese sports bike perches like a grasshopper. The engine roars to life and then he's off cruising the roads once again. Micah just chuckles and waves at Kay's departure. “I figured maybe I could eat with all three of you? Just...not near the food other people're eatin'. 'Tween the three of you an' Hive already bein' in m'head, should be okay, right? Not much bad I could do.” He bonks his head against Jax's shoulder again. "Ohmygosh you /are/ serious. What /would/ you do ain't like Hive's office is riddled with /cyanide/ for you t'lace our food with, honey-honey." Jax's arm curls around Micah, /shaking/ him -- albeit gently. "I cooked the food an' I brung the food an' /you're/ gonna sit with us an' you're gonna eat the food cuz 'less you've started /makin'/ mind-control poison with your magic /eyebeams/, sittin' an' eatin' with us ain't gonna hurt nobody." He pulls Micah in closer, a small edge of strain to his tone born less of exasperation and more of: "-- 'cuz, 'sides, I /miss/ you, sweetie. Jus' kinda want a -- meal with you like normal. /Hold/ you like normal. /Be/ with you like -- ngh." His chin digs in against the top of Micah's head in hard NOOGIE. “M'van's full of dangerous chemicals! It ain't like I don't got access,” Micah replies, though lightly. “An' /yes/, I already said I'm eatin' with y'all. Just makin' /you/ serve me m'food so I don't get near anyone else's. That's all.” He nudges against Jax's shoulder again, like an insistent puppy. “Oh/man/, I forgot t'ask the evil cult leader for magic eyebeams. Now I gotta go back,” he teases, though this is cut off in an /eep/ at the noogie-attack. "/Uh/ oh," Jax is scooting back into the van, pulling Micah back in along with him, "an' now I'm in here /with/ you. Surrounded by danger." His eye widens, huge and alarmed. His arm curls around Micah's shoulder, lips pressing in, now, against the other man's. Soft, and light, but the brief touch is more than enough for the /fierce/ rush of desire to spill through, bright and hot and intense. "-- always do love servin' you." “S'pose I can let y'have just a /little/ bit of peril,” Micah replies to Jax's alarm with a grin. The grin presses then against Jax's lips, soft kisses then slightly deeper. His arms wrap tight around Jax. “Love you, too. Mmn...but much more'n this is prob'ly...too perilous. Also, five more days.” He nuzzles against Jax's neck as he makes this report, voice low. Jax's thoughts, when his forehead rests against Micah's again, swirl powerfully coated with /love/, first and foremost, with desire achingly strong, a deep throb of need that he has to wrench away from. His arms tighten hard, mouth capturing Micah's again in a kiss long and deep. "Should go feed folks. Right." Micah's thoughts echo Jax's pretty exactly, even if his husband can't read /his/ thoughts. He returns the last kiss hungrily, breaking away only with reluctance. “Food. Yes. Very important.”