ArchivedLogs:Paternal Protectiveness

Paternal Protectiveness
Dramatis Personae Eric, Jackson, Sebastian, Shane
In Absentia	21 January, 2013 The morning after Evolve. Jax is none too pleased to find Eric in his house. Warning: Violence.
Location <NYC> 303 {Holland} - Village Lofts- East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. It's early in the morning when Jackson returns home from work; peeling out of his bulky winter coat reveals another beneath, dusty gunmetal-silver worn over a very tight white sleeveless shirt, shimmering faintly with pearlescent white pinstripes. His jeans are white, too, metallic silver-dusted at the thighs. Above his eyes, on his lips, on his cheeks, there's a lingering shimmer too, pearly on his cheeks and lips and silvery on his eyelid and nails; amidst all this white his large sunglasses are the only hint of darkness about him, his hair a cheerfully pastel pink-and-purple. Though he slumps briefly against the wall upon entry, he does not go to bed, instead slipping out of his boots and heading to the kitchen, starting to draw vegetables out of the fridge and slice them. Onions. Garlic. Peppers. Kale. He grinds coffee, too, setting it to brewing. Sebastian has been asleep, in the bedroom he shares with Shane. Probably with earplugs in. Even these do not stop him rising when there is movement outside, and, after a brief laggard moment of lying in bed he gets up, hastily pulling on clothes -- deep purple yoga pants, at least, if nothing else -- to slip outside. He heads first for the bathroom, water running briefly in the shower, then in the sink, and emerges damp to slip over to the kitchen. He curls arms around Jackson from behind, resting a cheek sleepily against the man's back. The hug lasts longer than it might have at less sleepyeyed parts of the day, Sebastian slumping a long moment before straightening with a yawn. Wordless, he fits himself up against the counter beside Jax, reaching to take the knife from his father's hands and take over the Chopping. Shane's been asleep, too. No earplugs. Shamelessly driving Sebastian to use them, though, as is evidenced by the fact that he's currently entangled with another Warm Body in his own bed, burrowed in against the much larger chest and blatantly vampiring warmth in the cold winter morning. Sleep doesn't last long after Jax has gotten home and Sebastian's gotten up. Kitchen noises (and coffee smells) draw him out of bed eventually, gently untangling himself with a soft groan and a quick twitch of grin at the other man in bed with him. Then he's slipping out, too, though unlike Sebastian he does not have the decency to dress first. Clothes, who needs clothes? His sole concession to this is slippers on his feet, it's a /cold/ floor, and then he's heading out, too. Like Sebastian, he stops in the bathroom first. The water runs. The toilet flushes. The water runs again. He's a damper when he emerges, towel -- well, wrapped around his HEAD for all the modesty this provides. Less so, once he takes it off to drop it on an arm of the couch en route to the kitchen. He nips at Sebastian's EAR in passing, squeezes Jax one-armed around the waist, and starts to retrieve Things from cabinets. Mixing bowl. Flour. Almond milk. Brown sugar. Can of pumpkin. Putter. Eric wakes up at the same time as Shane. He stretches lazily after the other man departs towards the shower, before getting out of bed. He pulls pants and belt back on, but does not bother with either the shirt or jacket before he, too, emerges from the twin's room, musculature on display. "Mornin'," he says, cheerfully, accent thicker from the sleep still clogging his brain. He wanders towards the others, giving Shane a hungry look and the other two a once over as well. Jax gets a little extra, and a slightly puzzled expression its way onto his face. "How are you?" he asks, the question targeted at no one in particular. Jackson has no objection to Extra Hug Time, a brief smile twitching at his lips. He surrenders the knife willingly to Sebastian, moving instead to continue the putter, navigating the small kitchen space with the other two like a dance. He sets his sunglasses down on the counter, grabbing measuring spoons to start scooping the ingredients Shane procures into the mixing bowl. The sound of further movement, another voice, makes him stiffen, back turned to the kitchen entrance as he reaches to put his sunglasses back /on/; thankfully this means he misses the look Shane gets. He turns, eyebrows hiking up as he looks Eric over. Still mixing, his whisk thwapping against the side of the metal bowl briskly. "-- I know you." It's a little puzzled sounding, too. His own accent is thick. It's /always/ thick. "Shane's," Sebastian notquiteidentifies Eric as though this is all the introduction /needed/. His clear inner eyelids have shut as he chops onions, but through them he does look over at Eric. At his sides and the sides of his neck, his gills flare when the cop looks at his brother. "You /know/ him?" He chops a little faster. Chkchkchk. Flicking the gas under the cast-iron skillet on the stove, he scrapes his onions off a cutting board with his knife, moving on to the garlic. "You know him? Shane echoes, returning Eric's look with a quick flash of teeth as he sets out more things for Jax. "Not like he knows /me/ though. I hope." Oil. Vanilla. Coconut milk yogurt. Jars of spices -- cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves. Salt. "I think he goes to your club sometimes," he helpfully fills in, after a moment of thought. "You do look familiar," Eric says, looking over Jax with a smile. "I never forget a pretty face. And sadly, no." he adds, to Shane. He taps a finger against his nose thoughtfully as he leans against the counter, muscles shifting along his shoulders as he does so. "Not from work, I think. Maybe I met you out clubbing sometime? Do you spend any time at Evolve, maybe?" he says, though he shakes his head even as he says it. "No, not Evolve." A pause. "Heaven?" Jackson's expression is hard to read behind his sunglasses, though the blank gaze is evidently focused intently on Eric through this shift of muscles. "I'm at Evolve now and then," he allows easily, "but I sling drinks at Heaven." He finishes adding in wet ingredients, whisking again with quick hard circles. "S'your name? S'your story?" Sebastian's gills flare again. He finishes chopping the garlic and frowns at the pan, the onions unhelpfully not nearly browned after their short stint in the heat. Maybe frowning at them will brown them faster. "Eric," he supplies, "He's a cop. He's the one who helped Shane after the -- Open Door. Thing." He's still frowning as he says this, looking down at the pan, but then he moves on. There are other vegetables still to chop. Shane sets the last of the ingredients down -- baking powder, baking soda, and starts putting /away/ the ones Jax has already measured. He reaches out in passing as he slips behind Sebastian towards the fridge, brushing a fingertip down the flared gills. "Yeah, that's about the sum of it." He's smirking in counterpoint to Sebastian's frown. "I ran into /him/ last night at Evolve." Eric chuckles as his life is so succinctly described. "Unrelated, though, to my presence here." he says, with a smile at Jax and a twinkle as he glances for a moment at Shane, then at Sebastian. His eyes flicker over Sebastian's face, and though his expression does not change, there is a faint note of concern in the back of his eyes. He turns his attention back to Jax. "I remember, now. What was it, now? Princess Thor McHardBody or something?" "Somethin' like that," Jackson agrees, setting the bowl down to carefully measure out the rest of the ingredients, sifting them into his bowl with slow handle-cranks of a large sifter. "Whatever happened with Shelby? You an' she seemed pretty cozy." He dusts flour off an arm when he is done sifting, where it has powdered up to sprinkle him in /more/ white. "Cop. Huh." This furrows his brow, briefly. "Eric. How old are you?" "/You/ know Shelby /too/?" This earns quick surprise from Sebastian. Under Shane's finger, the flaring of his gills subsides, flattening against his sides, though he frowns still. "Wait, did you and she --" His teeth scrape against his lip, brow furrowed as he looks between Jax and Eric. "Everyone knows everyone," Shane says with a careless shrug, disappearing behind the counter briefly to rummage through a cabinet. He reappears with a waffle iron, setting it on the counter by the fridge and plugging it in. "New York's the smallest town there is. Anyway, there's only so many of us out there. I'm pretty sure all the mutants in the city are connected by two degrees of separation or less. -- Do you know," he says, on the subject of Mutants with a nod to Eric, "he heals like, wicked fast. I sliced his arm open and it was closed in a /second/. Like Logan." "I'm 23. Just had a birthday last month." Eric pouts at Jax for a moment, eyes twinkling playfully. "And you didn't get me a present. Shame." He glances over a Sebastian and shakes his head. "Nah. We danced, but she was..." he gives the modest twin a faint smile and a shrug. "In no shape to consent one way or another, so I didn't even ask." He glances over his face and grins. "All yours." he says, raising his hands in surrender. He glances over to Shane, looking curiously. "Logan? Sounds like a cool guy." "Twenty-three. And a cop. Did you know," Jackson is still mixing, here, slower now that all his ingredients are together; once the batter is /batter/ he sets the bowl down to nudge Sebastian gently aside and stir at the onions. Add the garlic. "-- that sex with someone under seventeen is a felony in this state if you're over twenty-one?" His lips press together thinly, head turning to look at Shane. Look back at Eric. "You should put on clothes," he says to Shane with a brief frown. In the living room, the light seems to get subtly brighter, though the sun hasn't changed its position much. Something shimmers, glowing faintly in a soft translucent ripple in front of Eric. And then closes in, and /squeezes/, uncomfortably tight at Eric's crotch. "-- Heal. How fast can you grow back testicles?" Sebastian's eyes widen. Where his gills had just flattened, now they flare hard again. "Pa!" It's a nervous squeak. Shane, contrastingly, grins, leaning an elbow up against the counter and watching this with evident /amusement/. "How fast /can/ you grow back testicles?" Eric's teeth grit as the pain spikes through him, hands digging into the counter. He gives Shane a glare, even as he responds, "Criminal sexual act in the third degree, penal law 130.41. Class E felony, if I recall." he says, voice tight. "I've never had them crushed before," eyes fixing themselves on Jax's face. "But I imagine just as fast as anything else." A muscle in his cheek twitches and the tendons in his hands and arms stand out as he grips the counter harder and harder. Something flares, bright and hot and searing /through/ the fabric of Eric's pants (and likely singing flesh beneath.) And then /definitely/ searing through the flesh beneath, harsh and quick in a slice of laser precision to drop two orbs of flesh to the previously spotless floor with a meaty thud. The air around Jackson is glowing a dull red. He doesn't look at Eric. He looks back down at his pan. "Shane," his voice is tight and less than happy, "/clothes/." Sebastian yelps, and lifts a hand to cover -- /Shane's/ eyes. "Ohmygosh/pa/." His nostrils flare, sniffing at the air, and then he ducks his head to hide it behind Shane's shoulder. "Can he do that?" he whispers to Shane, nervously watching the cop. Nervously watching Jax. "I think he just /did/." Shane sounds oddly /appreciative/ of this. He slips around from behind the counter, trailing a hand against Eric's back as he moves past. His claws rake thin lines into the man's muscles, his lips twitching as he watches Eric's face. Watches his body. He is disappearing into the room to return in /short/ order, wriggling into a pair of black terrycloth pajama pants, a t-shirt tossed over his shoulder. Eric lets out a choking groan of pain that almost brings him to his knees, dropping for a moment before, unsteadily, he rises. Powers perhaps distracted by keeping the man from bleeding out on the floor - though he is certainly /bleeding/ on the floor, the cuts do not immediately heal as quickly as they did previously, though they do quickly scab over. From where he was just castrated, blood still drips, though the beginnings of a scab can already be seen at the edges. His hand rises and slams down onto the table, a loud cracking sound echoing through the room. "God fucking /damn/ it," he swears, giving Jax an angry glare. He looks down at his pants and testicles on the floor, a little bit pale in the face, before he returns his attention to Jax. "These were fucking nice pants!" "He's /fifteen/, Eric," Jackson answers through his teeth. Sebastian is /breathing/ through his teeth, his fingers gripping the counter when Shane moves away. "You just /castrated/ a /cop/." He sounds a little dumbfounded by this. His eyes are locked on Eric's rapidly healing skin. "-- I mean. I guess he /deserved/ it but you just /castrated a cop/." "C'mon," Shane sounds nonchalant still! Amused, even. He leans back against the back of the couch. "Who's he gonna tell? I think you need /evidence/ of this kinda shit. 'sides, it's still official policy not to /allow/ mutants on the force so he'd have a hard time reporting. 'Sorry, guy took my testicles. S'ok though I got better!' -- not gonna go far. Pretty badass, though, huh? My dad," he tells Eric, with a /toothy/ grin, "is kind of badass." "Kind of hypocritical to lecture me on a class E felony when you just committed a class B felony." Eric bites back, voice strained slightly with pain still, though it is slightly less than before. Indeed, his mutation is already stitching together skin, rebuilding the internal structures of Eric's body. "Fuck, that hurts." he says, a plaintive note in his voice. He shakes his head, straightening up and giving Jax - then Shane - a dirty look. "Thanks for the moral support," he drawls, just the merest hint of amusement sparking in his eyes. "You might want to grab a mop. Messy as hell." he murmurs, taking a step back from the counter as his skin forms back over fully, still red and irritated. There is still some movement underneath the skin, indicating, perhaps, that healing is not yet complete. Or spiders. Could be spiders. "Hypocritical isn't castrating the man who just /raped/ my /child/," Jackson says, the red around him deepening. "Hypocritical is putting on that badge and uniform like you're supposed to uphold the law and then picking up /fifteen year olds/ in nightclubs." "It's totally different things," Sebastian agrees after some consideration. He opens a drawer to pull out a rag, dampening it in the sink. Moving around the counter, he crouches down to wipe at the blood -- and frown with deep uncertainty at the globes of flesh on the floor. "UH." He pokes one with a claw, and looks up at Shane, wide-eyed. "I think I picked him up," Shane muses, switching on the waffle iron so that it starts heating. "-- Hey, I'm /keeping/ those." He darts around the counter to swat at Sebastian's poking hand. "It was pretty consenting, anyway. You want waffles?" He asks this of Eric, finger swiping absently at a patch of blood Sebastian has missed. "You can't consent," Sebastian objects immediately, "Not legally -- /don't/ lick that." Shane licks his finger clean. Slurp. "Then pick up the phone and call the rat squad." Eric says, straightening up. He brushes off his clothing, giving Shane a look. "You're pretty twisted, man." he drawls, bemused. He rolls his shoulders and his neck, cracking the muscles out, then turning. "I think I'm all set. Not gonna want to eat for a bit after that." he says, taking a step towards the bedroom and wincing. Still, he takes the next step surer, stepping back towards the bedroom. Jackson slumps against the counter as Eric starts away. Behind the wall his hands are trembling where they rest against the countertop, and his head bows, shoulders squared tense. He sprinkles generous amounts of spices in to the pan, letting it sizzle for a moment and then splashing in water together with a block of tofu that he crumbles with a spoon. By the end of this, at least, his hands are steady again. He leaves his pan to follow Eric towards the twins' room, shutting the door behind them. Sebastian watches this, his shoulders wilting slightly. He curls an arm around Shane's shoulders, dropping his head forward to bonk against his brother's. "You gotta stop this, man. You'll turn him grey. I thought he was gonna puke when --" He glances towards the DISEMBODIED TESTICLES on the floor and then glances away. Shane closes his eyes, one set of lids and then another. He doesn't answer this. His hand drops back to the floor in a heavy thud, and he doesn't return the embrace but leans into it with a tired sag. "He was mad," he says, softer, looking towards the closed bedroom door. "Not at you," Sebastian answers. "Not this time." Shane quiets again. Leans heavier into Sebastian. Even as Jax steps towards the door, Eric is preparing to leave through it himself. He has pulled on his shirt and jacket once more, brushed off the flakes of blood as best he can, though despite having gained shirt and jacket, he has taken off his pants. His underwear is back on, though turned front-to-back to cover his crotch, and the pants are half-back on. Jackson stands in front of the door, hand gripping its handle and his sunglasses-shaded gaze staring at Eric. "I want your ID." "You want to press charges?" Eric says, tone somewhat surprised. "I'm not here as a police officer. I am under no /obligation/ to give it to you." he says. The look he gives Jax hardens, and he shakes his head. "If you want to press charges, call the police. Let's get it done." "No," Jackson agrees quietly, "you ain't under no /obligation/." His expression isn't hard, anymore; mostly just tired, though his stance is firm in front of the door. He doesn't move. Eric sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Look," he says, voice softening. "I didn't know he was how old he was. I assumed he was... 17, 18, based on him, and based on what his brother was working on when I met him. I didn't force him or coerce him in any way." he says, sitting down on the edge of the bed and looking up at the other man. He pauses, for a moment. "And I think we both know that I'm hardly the first. Though I do hope I'm the first you've /castrated/." He fishes into his pocket, tugging out his wallet. He opens it and leafs through it for a moment, coming out with a receipt. He glances at the front of it then turns it over, bracing it against his wallet. "You have a pen?" Jackson doesn't move from the door, sagging back against it, slightly. His hands flick towards Sebastian's desk nearby the bed, a wire-mesh cup of pens and pencils perched on it. "You're the first I've hurt," he says, thin and tight. "Wouldn't be the first I've reported, though. D'you know what happens when you go to the cops an' say some man screwed a kid like Shane? D'you know what happens if that man's a /cop/ himself? You ain't the first on neither count except for the last cop /did/ --" His jaw tightens. "Nothing, I would imagine. Open a case, not much else." Eric says, standing up with a wince and walking over to the desk. He pulls a pen out and shakes it for a moment, before he scribbles his name down on the piece of paper. He steps over to extend it to Jax, looking down at him. "If it was a cop... my guess is he probably got harassed, maybe demoted. But that's for having sex with a mutant, not because he's underage. Guy in my unit ate his gun afterwards not a half-year back because they found out his girlfriend was." "They did make some jokes about bestiality," Jackson says in a clipped voice, "with the first time we tried. Second they threatened to charge /him/ with assault if we didn't get lost. Didn't open a case. No idea what happened to the guy." He takes the paper, drawing in a slow breath and pushing it out again through his teeth as Eric looks down at him. "I just want to keep him safe. Do you have any idea how hard that is? He talks big and flashes those teeth around but he's still /just a kid/." "You're not going to get much help from the police." Eric says, softly, with a shrug of his shoulders. "And fighting him and the rest of the world at the same time ain't gonna help you neither." He gestures to the edge of the bed next to him. "Mind if I smoke?" he asks, even as he continues, "The next time one that isn't consensual comes along, give me a call. I'll deal with them myself." he says, voice hardening back once more. Then he shrugs again and chuckles. "Though I somehow doubt you'd want to see me again." he says, lips quirking into a small smile. "There's no safe place out there for any of us." "Ain't safe for none of us," Jackson agrees tersely, "but not everyone heals so fast." He straightens, tugging the door open sharply and gesturing out. "I mind. You can smoke when you're back outside." Eric nods and stands, pulling his wallet out once more. He fishes into it, pulling out a business card which he holds out to Jax. "If you do need help." he says as he steps out of the door. "My number's on there. Careful with the desk line, though. The Sergeant monitors that one. My cell is mine." Eric Sutton, Patrolman. Jackson takes the card, curling it tightly into a fist and following Eric out. His gaze stays trained on the police officer, but he doesn't speak any more. Outside, the floor has been cleaned up! Sebastian is monitoring the tofu scramble, though once the bedroom door opens he monitors the other men instead with quick shifts of his black eyes. Looking to them. Looking to Shane. He frowns at the food. Shane has been leaning against the counter, helpfully picking at bits of spicy tofu and eating them. SO HELPFULLY. He straightens when the others appear, though, expression rearranging itself swiftly into a toothy grin. "Sorry about your balls!" he chirps. "You really should watch after those better, they're /fun/ when they're attached." Sebastian elbows Shane in the side, grimacing and looking at Jax. Shane's grin dims, but only slightly. "See you around, maybe." Eric gives Shane a small smile. "I like them attached as well." he murmurs. He gives Sebastian a little wave. "Be good, you two. See you around, maybe. Shane. Doctor." With that, he steps towards the door with a little wave of his hand.