ArchivedLogs:Really Bad Plans

Really Bad Plans
Dramatis Personae Shane, Jackson, Micah
In Absentia	5 April 2014 Later the same day as Bad Plans. Part of the Perfectus TP.
Location <XS> Forest
Quiet and shady, the trees rise all around here high and thick. In stillness, woodland creatures make appearances, though sudden noises scare them back into the cover. Dappled sunlight filters down between the thick foliage, and the ground underfoot is heavily overgrown, though here and there paths have been worn, by deer or years of students wandering familiar trails. Clipclop clipclop clipclop clipclop. It's a cool but pleasant day, mid-fifties and sunny and with no classes and good reason to be staying /out/ of the city, Shane is /here/ -- /way/ far out away from the mansion, making his way down a rocky path through the woods. The tinytiny blue sharkboy is perched on an incongruously /large/ sorrel Hanoverian mare; Zenith is one of the /friendliest/ horses for all her huge size. Shane is in jeans, boots, a black corduroy jacket, reins held only loosely in his webbed hands as he leads the way up-up-up towards the very /top/ of a path through the trees, breaking through into a clearing from which there is very suddenly a huge-wide view of -- everything. An enormous sprawl of woods and rocks and the world all around, the paths they've been riding on. The school somewhere far off in the distance. Jax is not far behind Shane, also dressed functionally more than fashionably. Boots, jeans, a sweatshirt that was once black but has faded to grey, a red-and-black striped knit cap pulled down over his bald head. He's mounted on Ramiel, a pair of saddlebags on the black and white mare undoubtedly laden with some variety of foodstuffs. He pulls her up short once they break out through the trees, eye widening and a smile breaking across his face. "That," he says, gaze skipping across the view slowly, as he wheels her around to take it in, "don't /never/ get old." Micah has chosen Cato for riding today, the ill-tempered grey-and-white not seeing as much attention from students as some of the friendlier or more easy-going horses. He has a Western saddle on the horse for his /own/ comfort given his prosthesis, knee set at a fixed angle of flexion for the ride. He is wearing borrowed boots from the stables, faded bluejeans, olive newsboy cap, and a hunter green henley mostly hidden beneath his army green canvas jacket. The horse takes some gentle reminding from time to time either to keep moving at all or to remain on the trajectory that the /people/ are aiming for. "Mmm." Shane swings down off of Zenith, not leading her yet to tie her up but just standing for a moment to /stretch/, patting a hand against the mare's neck and tipping his head back to look up at his dads. "I figured y'all could use a little --" His other hand sweeps out towards the view. "I don't know. /Gorgeous/. Not that you don't already /have/ --" /This/ time, his hand sweeps out towards /them/. "Plenty of gorgeous." He drops his head forward, now, forehead resting against Zenith's neck. This comment, predictably, darkens Jax's cheeks to brilliant crimson. He stays, at the moment, perched atop Ramiel, urging her forward alongside Zenith. "Y'ain't wrong," he answers Shane, and then /very/ hastily: "I mean about needin' -- about that we could use --" The air around him tints red. "I mean thank you. I mean this is nice. I mean." Flustered, he presses his lips together, lifting a hand to scrub at his cheek with a sweatshirt sleeve. "Wow. Right. Um. Sometimes I should shut up," he says with a little bit of a giggle in his voice. "Though --" His eye cuts over to Micah. "I /do/ got a whole lotta gorgeous in m'life." Micah stays his seat, for now. It takes some doing for him to dismount, so he tends to wait until folks are sure they're where they want to stop for awhile before he does so. "Aw, honey, that's sweet of you." His cheeks pick up a faint rosy hue that only darkens at the look from Jax. He chuckles at his husband. "Don't think any of us are objectin' t'you talkin', hon." Quietly, he just surveys the surroundings for a time. "S'this where we wanted t'stop for food?" "Yes." Shane sounds sure of this, at least. "Because /look/." This seems to be all the argument /he/ needs about Picnic Location. /Now/ he leads Zenith over to a sturdy tree to tie her there, quietly humming to himself as he does so -- a light cheerful tune that is possibly recognizable as his Micah-themesong from the dream they shared some nights ago. "I like you talking," he adds. "I like both of you talking." His teeth drag slowly against his lower lip. "I could try hunting Dusk," he offers, very abruptly. "Dogs can do it, you know. Even /with/ cars. They've tracked cars back across the /country/. And he was /bleeding/, I might -- be able to sniff out where they took him." Jax has a far easier time of dismounting, slipping down easily and leading Ramiel over by Cato. He offers a hand to Micah, cheeks still deep red. "I do a lotta talkin' without a lotta purpose. Signal t'noise ratio, not so great." His brows pull in deeply together at Shane's offer. "I don't doubt your nose is phenomenal but who /knows/ what trouble you're gonna run into on the other side? These people -- you might be walkin' right /into/ -- they'd kill you. 'sides, we already." His jaw tightens, slightly. "... got a plan." It takes awhile for Micah to accept Jax's hand, first shifting his knee to active range again and then working his foot loose of the stirrup before grasping hold to swing his leg over and dismount. He presses up against Jax briefly before moving to get Cato situated. "Talkin' is good. Oh...yeah, honey, it ain't a good idea for you t'be sneakin' about these folks. They're likely t'try an' add you t'their collection. In fact, it wouldn't be a horrible idea for you an' B t'spend more time on campus for a bit. I can drive B to an' from work as often as I'm able t'fit m'schedule t'his." He worries his bottom lip with his teeth. "We do got ideas." "But who /knows/ what the fuck they're going to be doing, the faster we find them the /better/. I can /help/. Pa, Ba, they could be /hacking/ Dusk and Ion to /pieces/ right the hell /now/." Shane trots over while Jax is helping Micah dismount to take Ramiel as well so that he can tie her up as well. He /eyes/ his dads, meanwhile, /suspiciously/. "/Ideas/?" His eyes narrow on Jax and Micah. "Are they /shitty/ ideas?" "-- Ummmm." Jax's long hesitation at this question maaay speak for itself. His arms slides around Micah when his husband presses up against him, firm and rather /protective/ in his hug. "They're -- ideas as ain't gonna get /you/ sliced up. Can you grab Ram's bags, honey-honey?" Micah frowns down at Cato's lead as he quick-release ties it off. “They ain't /good/ ideas, but they're the best we've got. Particularly with time bein' of the essence, like y'say.” He moves back over to Jax, speaking softly. “Hon, he's got a right t'know what we're doin' 'fore I do it, much as anybody. I think we should just /tell/ 'im.” Shane stretches up onto his toes, plucking Ramiel's saddlebags off and wandering back over towards his dads. His eyes are still narrowed, the bags held at his sides. "Are they ideas that are gonna get you /killed/? Because that sounds /pretty/ extra-special shitty, I gotta say. Do I get a vote? Because I'm voting against the kind of ideas where you get killed. /Or/ dismembered. Or even hurt. I kind of like you in one piece, you know?" He frowns, first at Micah's face and then down at his leg. "Well. As much of one piece as you ever /come/ in." Jackson grimaces, biting down on his lip at Micah's soft words. He turns aside to relieve Shane of one of the saddlebags, opening it up to take a blanket out from the top and spread it out on the ground. "Gettin' killed definitely ain't the /idea/." His tone is heavy, though, and though he /could/ easily do it, he doesn't /try/ to hide the worry in his expression as he looks towards Micah. "There's a church that -- s'far as we can tell, one'a the men what took Anole was real heavy affiliated with. Micah's gonna check it out. See what he can see." Grabbing the other end of the blanket to help smooth it out, Micah nods along with Jax's explanation. "It's just a church. May turn out t'have nothin' t'do with anythin'. But there's no way of knowin' 'til someone checks it out. An' that /someone/ should /not/ be a person with special abilities, for their own safety. 'Cause they're only kidnappin' people with special abilities for these experiments. I'll check it out, an' if they recognise me, I've got a whole story planned. 'Bout findin' Anole an' his arm /maybe/ growin' back an' how I've never gotten t'have two legs before. An' it ain't /right/ that only people who are born into abilities by accident get t'have 'em. Sing their own tune back to 'em. S'what people /expect/ of folks with disabilities, t'just wanna be like /them/, anyhow. An' on top of it, their wantin' t'/upgrade/ humanity with...wacky gene therapy or whatever kinda unethical science they're usin'...s'like a twisted version of what I do with tech t'begin with. Maybe they'll...eventually feel okay enough t'talk t'me an' I can get some information. But this is all speculatin', anyhow." He stands, regarding Shane with a little tilt of his head. "I'll have m'panic button on me an' all kindsa people on standby, okay?" Shane listens to all this in relative quiet. Reeelative quiet. But there's a steadily growing growl coming from him, rumbling up from his throat. It's growing louder as his fathers continue their explanation. He drops the second saddlebag down onto the blanket once it is all spread out, but then just /glares/ at the two older men, deep growl still rumbling. "What the fuck," he finally manages, "is wrong with your /brain/." Jax winces at Shane's phrasing, but answers it calmly enough as he starts setting out the rest of food from the saddlebags. A box of /cookies/ first of all (or, blondies, more specifically) because, priorities. A tupperware full of ancho lentil tacos. Grilled portobellos. Quinoa-black bean-mango salad. The other saddlebag is clearly more for Shane (though Micah's welcome to share if he likes) -- it is laden with spicy chicken tacos and a whooole heaping lot of barbacoa with onion and cilantro and lime juice. "Need someone who can get in an' talk to them /without/ bein' dissected," he points out quietly. "Ain't gonna help Dusk an' Ion none if you get yourself dismembered, too." "I know it's a bad idea, honey. Everyone I talked to has said it's a bad idea." Micah pulls off his hat to scruff his other hand through his hair before replacing it. "Ain't nobody said /not/ t'do it. Or had better ideas, though. We gotta do /somethin'/ without just /guaranteed/ gettin' other people killed." He finally kneels next to Jax to help with getting the food out. "This is quite a spread, honey, thank you." "Ba it's not just a bad idea it's a /hopelessly/ fucking /stupid/ idea. Have you forgotten who the fuck you are? Have you forgotten who the fuck /we/ are?" The harsh growl is in Shane's voice, now. He drops down to sit on the blanket, cross-legged beside the food. "You're gonna get yourself goddamn /killed/, Ba, and what the fuck are we going to do then? If we just -- just hunted this place down we could -- could raid the damn thing --" His gills flutter rapidly, his sharp claws digging down into the blanket. "Fucking Christ." Jackson's cheeks puff out, his breath expelled quick and heavy. The last things removed from the bags before he sets them aside are a pair of large thermoses -- one lemonade, one chocolate-caramel herbal tea. "Ain't like we don't understand how serious this all us. People been dyin', though. An' more people's /gonna/ die if we don't do nothin'. Includin' Dusk an' Ion, most likely. An' who knows how many others on top. Ain't like we're sendin' Micah in there alone." His voice is -- admittedly just a little bit choked, a little heavy. "He's gonna have his panic button an' first sign'a anythin' goin' sideways, he'll /have/ backup. We jus' -- don't exactly got time to sit 'round an' wait." Micah leans forward to wrap an arm around Shane's shoulders, petting down his gills if the teen will let him. "Honey. It don't /matter/ if they recognise me. That's the beauty of the...role I set up for me t'play. It don't matter if I'm me. Might even...lend some credence t'the ideas I'm gonna be feedin' 'em. I /study/ mutants, Shane. I live 'round 'em all the time, seein' all the amazin' things y'can do. An' I can't do any of 'em. Can't even /run/ without swappin' a foot out. That...I'm /not/ the kinda person who's bothered by that? But there are folks as /would/ be. Get real envious an' bitter 'bout that kinda thing over time. That's a story that'll make sense." He bites down on his lip again, wincing at Jax's choked tone. "I don't /want/ t'have t'do this. T'put m'self at risk when I /know/ y'all need me. But Dusk an' Ion an' everybody need me, too. An' /you/ need me...in this, too. These folks ain't Prometheus. They're quick, they get results, an' they ain't gonna putz around with all kindsa silly tests. They're just gonna get what they want an' maim an' /kill/ people. There isn't time with these folks. Sure, y'all can raid 'em once we got information, but we got /nothin'/ right now." He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Do we have...any things of Dusk's at all? Was his backpack on 'im when he was kidnapped? I was just thinkin'. We could also get some clues goin' t'Sean again. I know...we said we wouldn't but..." Shane's growling continues even as he leans in against Micah, gills still fluttering rapidly, though they start to calm under Micah's petting. Abrupt and without much warning he turns inward, burying his face against Micah's shoulder and opening his mouth to close his teeth against his father's shoulder instead. Firm but -- thankfully not /hard/, exactly, just a steady prickly press of sharptoothed pressure against Micah's jacket. Grrr. Grar. "I hate you," he complains, when he finally pulls back, to slump downwards into Micah's lap. "Godfuckingdammit. All you /do/ is amazing things." "No, you don't." Jackson's voice is soft, gentle, but heavy. Sad. He reaches out when Shane slumps down, brushing his fingers against Shane's gills as well. "I -- I don't know what was on him. Could be stuff of his at the safehouse. Could be -- I don't know. Hopefully his backpack's there cuz that's -- all he owned, just now, I s'pose." His brow rumples together uncertainly. "-- Oh, gosh, but we told Sean --" He bites down at his lip, the uncertainty in his tone growing. He draws in a deep breath, tipping his head back to look up at the sky. "Oh, gosh. I wonder if Maya could help." Micah's arms just wrap tighter around Shane at his claim of hatred. "Guess that makes me a real parent of a teenager, finally," he attempts to joke, lacking the appropriate degree of levity in his tone. "I know, honey, but...he was willin' t'draw pictures of you when he was worried, even though those were...not pleasant ones, mostly. Maybe he'd...do this for us again. We can ask, at least. If we've got somethin' of his." His eyes close in a sudden 'oh no' kind of remembrance. "Oh...ohgosh. Maya's s'posed t'be watchin' my an' Dusk's dreams for...tryin' t'figure out what's causin' those future dreams? Apparently she can /walk/ through dreams or somethin'. But we gotta make sure she don't do that with Dusk. She can't...if she shows up, these people'll take her, too. I'll call her t'night. If she can /talk/ t'Dusk in a dream, great. But she /cannot/ go t'him." CHOMP. Shane just bites down again. This time against Micah's leg, with a thunk of sharp teeth against prosthetic leg through the older man's jeans. Grrrrrrgrar. He's growling again, before he lets go. "Mngh," is all he finally says. "Let's – eat."