ArchivedLogs:Philosophical Differences

Philosophical Differences
Dramatis Personae Micah, Keira, Lucien, Jackson
In Absentia	9 March 2014 An...interesting breakfast.
Location <NYC> Home - Greenwich Village
Nestled into the heart of the Village, Home is an unobtrusive place, with an unobtrusive name to match. A nondescript storefront opens up into an equally nondescript cafe, plain tiled floors, an assortment of veneered tables with plain wooden chairs or booths with cracking vinyl benches. What it /does/ have to recommend it is the food, hearty solid breakfast and brunch served twenty-four hours a day, with a wide variety of menu to cater to specialized diets as well. Well-known to locals and little frequented by tourists, its friendly serving staff tend to remember their regulars, giving the place a warm feel that lives up to its name. It is a lovely Sunday morning in the City, with temperatures slated to reach near 50 degrees over lunchtime and the sun shining bright through a clear and almost cloudless sky. Thanks to a clean clothes delivery to the hospital, Micah is now in his Batsignal hoodie over Reading Rainbow-dash T-shirt and rainbow-patched bluejeans. He has an arm wrapped very /strategically/ around Jax to assist his wounded-and-recovering husband from their parking spot into the restaurant. "Okay, hon, just let me know if y'need t'stop..." He works the door open for both of them, a little extra support provided to help Jax through it. Then he glances around the waiting area to see if Lucien made it there before them or if they should put their names in with the hostess. The young woman just bursts inside. Her flaxen long tress curls, playfully tangled by the wind, are whirling around her shoulders, while long surcoat made out of snow white furs just blows in the air from the wind, raised by the angry hurrying of the girl. "No! I mean... I am waiting! I was waiting! It had to be our time! I /needed/ you!" She almost shouts at someone on the other side of her phone. "I /needed/ to talk to you!" And she just stuffs her phone angrily inside the purse. Long inhale, long exhale and Keira calms down, tossing a quick glance around the place and choosing the table. She takes off the surcoat and hangs it beside the table. She elegantly slips to take a seat and her long skirt of brightly red gown falls down on the ground as the light feather. The plunging neckline bares her neck, where expensive and posh necklace is hanging. Keira slowly runs across that neck with her gloved hand and then mannerly lowers both hands on her lap. The gloves are almost glinting, being made out of pure cashmere of color of silver like her neckline. Lucien is already here, tucked into a booth just adjacent to the table Keira seats herself at. He's sitting facing the door, dressed in well-tailored jeans, a dark button-down, a neatly tailored vest; his attention is split between typing a message on his phone and watching the door for new arrivals. He's just lifting a hand to gesture Jax and Micah over when Keira bursts in; his brilliant green eyes widen, posture shifting to face outward and look over the young woman curiously. "Goodness," he murmurs in quiet amusement, "would you like to repeat that? I don't think they quite heard you /everywhere/ in the city, just that time." Jackson is leaning up against Micah's side; outwardly now that he's /dressed/ he looks like he's doing just fine, actually. Brightly-attired in comfortable baggy sky-blue and black mesh pants, black sweatshirt that reads HERBIVORE in a yellow cross over his heart, green t-shirt with an image of a child hugging a cow, bright metallic-green nailpolish and a hint of glittery shimmer on his lips, enormous black mirrored sunglasses on his eyes. It's clear enough from how he /moves/ that he's not doing quite Just Fine, though, stiff and exhausted as he leans against his husband's side. "Oh! Oh there's Luci." His /tone/ is bright, at least, thick Southern drawl warmly cheerful despite the dragging of his steps. He stops halfway to Lucien's table, though, a blush dusting his cheeks. "-- Oh gosh. Um. Miss, are you alright?" Micah holds Jax just a /little/ tighter when the unexpected rushing-woman swoops past them. "Ohgosh, that sounds kinda serious." He does finally spot Lucien, just giving the hostess a greeting nod as he passes, free hand lifting in time with a bright smile to acknowledge their friend at the table. "Honey, let's get you sittin'. We can talk at folks once you're in less danger of collapsin', yeah?" His leading is gentle, but clearly directing Jax to the booth-seat across from Lucien. "Mornin', Luci, thanks for meetin' us. How are you?" "I am sorry!" The young woman brushes her hair, "Some people can make even the lady act like a... Ah! Crap... Whatever. I am alright!" Keira takes out her phone and types something, before making an order. Then she just concentrates on smoothing the fabric of her skirt or just swirling her necklace,or just looking around. The anger finally fades at all and just boredom fills the girl, making her yawn. Of course, she covers her lips with gloved hand. "Mmm." Lucien glances over Keira with a faintly amused curiosity, now. "What /makes/ a lady, exactly, then? Outside of your comportment?" A small smile crosses his expression as Jax and Micah join him at the table. "/Delightfully/ un-punctured, myself. Though I hear you cannot say the same." He turns a hand upward on the table, reaching out to offer his hand, palm-up, to Jackson. "I do hope you will at least be taking things /easy/ for the next little while?" Jax's nose wrinkles up at the question. "I don't know, /identifyin'/ as one?" His head shakes as he eases down into the booth, exhaling a relieved sigh once he is seated. "Personally, /I/ identify as a southern belle. Oddly enough they don't put that in the gender category on most forms?" He shakes his head like he is lamenting this fact. He taps shiny-bright nails down against his menu, wincing faintly as Lucien extends his hand. "-- sorry," he preemptively apologizes in quick Vietnamese, dropping his hand down to rest in the other man's. His touch comes with a wash of unpleasant feelings for Lucien to enjoy. Exhaustion and a good deal of apprehensive stress, guilt, worry. But more /immediate/ is the deep throbbing ache, concentrated around his left shoulder and lower down in his back, where the arrows tore holes through him yesterday. Hidden under his clothing, the wounds are nevertheless very readily apparent to Lucien's senses with the touch; even outside of the immediate wound sites his muscles are just /sore/ and unhappy. "-- 'f you're sure you're alright, miss," he adds warmly to Keira. "Just sounded a bit -- well. You'll /definitely/ be more alright after y'get some food into you, though, everything here is /delicious/." "Sometimes we all get...swept away in our emotions. Not t'worry, Miss. An' the food here /is/ excellent," Micah offers to Keira with a warm smile. He slips in beside Jax once his husband is seated, offering a close shoulder for the other man to lean on if he wishes. "Hey, I'm un-punctured, too...this time. Just got kicked in the shoulder an' clobbered over the head with a...actually, I'm still not sure what it was." His grin turns sheepish, a faint blush dusting across his cheekbones as his hand moves so-lightly to touch the site of the stitches on the back of his scalp, hidden under messy auburn hair. There is also a scab visible over his lower lip where his teeth had gone through it the day before, already mostly healed. "He's gonna spend the day /sittin'/, mostly. We got a little get-together in the afternoon that I'm cookin' for. Then dinner with friends that someone /else/ is bringin'. So much rest in store for this one." Lucien exhales quiet and amused at Jackson's self-professed gender identity. "You would." His lips press thinly together at the initial contact, muscles tensing and his own shoulder twitching in protest. His touch is soon followed by a wash of soothing, though, seeking out the worst of the ache to blunt it before carefully working back, to numb the throbs of pain and relax the ache. "You are still injured," he reminds Jackson mildly, "please do not /forget/ that. You'll feel immensely /worse/ by the time this wears off if you've aggravated the damage in the interim." He doesn't yet release the other man's hand, fingers curled firm around it, though now the work of making this effect /last/ longer is not particularly easily felt in comparison to the very /noticeable/ initial effects. "Someone else bringing? Goodness, you have /guests/ and he still isn't cooking? This must have been serious." "Ohhh." Jackson hums soft and happy, leaning in against Micah with a smile spreading across his face. "Oh, /gosh/, honey-honey, you're a miracle worker." For a moment he just relaxes, relishing the blissful pain-free feeling. He's straightening again before long, though. "I can still /bake/. Jus' cookies or somethin' simple. What else am I gonna do sit around doin' /nothin'/ I can't," he laments with -- an admittedly rather /intensely/ stronger surge of /worry/ than his tone lets on, "-- even paint this is gonna be dull. An' it's not like I get to go to a /million/ baby showers -- I'd've thought," he suddenly says with a lift of eyebrows to Lucien, "you'd be comin', you love Mel." "See? Still injured. Luci's gonna know just how injured better'n anybody right now. Gotta do what he says." Micah reaches for the menus at the side of the table so Jax won't have to, sliding one in front of each of them. "You're not bakin'. Bakin' involves mixin', an' holdin' heavy bowls, an' carryin' trays, an' stuff in an' out of the oven. No part of that is okay for you right now. Y'can...read an' use the computer an'...do art on the computer. An' we've got Mel's shower t'go to soon enough, anyhow. Sure you'll be okay for baby clothes decoratin' while sittin' at a table, anyhow. An' y'can eat an' chat an' all that everyone else'll be doin'." Micah's shoulders tense a bit when Jax addresses the issue of Lucien and Mel's shower, since Lucien was never on any of the e-mails Mel had self-selected. He runs a finger down the menu, perusing items. "Think I'll get the mixed berry French toast. Don't feel right doin' Sunday omelettes without Dusk here." "Baking does generally involve a considerable amount of /work/ for your shoulder-muscle. Stirring is more vigorous than that," Lucien tips his head towards Jax's shoulder, "is likely to enjoy. And you come standard with your very own cyborg to do the cooking for you. For a few days you should just sit back and let him. I am sure he will be happy to let you spoil /him/ when your muscles are intact again." There's a very faint twitch at the corners of his lips at the mention of Melinda's baby shower, a brief meaningless tug that soon fades back into neutrality. "I was not invited." His tone is mild, eyes lingering on Jax's face momentarily and then slipping back down to his menu. "I have no doubt Melinda has plenty of friends who will be looking after her already." Jackson scowls down at his menu, huffing out an exaggerated sigh. "Spoilsports." The worry hasn't faded from his mental scape though his tone is light enough with the admission: "-- just hope it heals up soon, not hardly any'a my /school/-work is digital. An' I sure can't hold my needle steady like this neither." His teeth drag over his lower lip, brows furrowing at Lucien's response. "Well you -- weren't --" His cheeks flush dark and he trails off into a briefly uncomfortable silence. "-- wait was that like. On. Purpose then?" His frown deepens, teeth sinking down harder against his lip. "I don't think you can never have too /much/ folks carin' about you." "Hey, I had to sit for /ages/ when I got shot last. At this rate, we just gotta keep takin' turns with takin' care of one another while we're injured." Micah's small smile with this comes paired with a sigh; the frequency of injury is a little too true. "Might be able t'get Corey t'sit with you for a couple of meals over the next few days, if he's free. Try an' speed your healin' along a touch. I can call 'im," he offers with a little shrug. "Ain't much t'be done otherwise." His fingers drum softly against his menu, his words aimed sort of down at it as his cheeks pick up a brighter blush. "We only invited the folks as Mel put on her announcement e-mail...she said it was better that way. She'd...selected the people she thought would be happy for her already." "You could," Lucien advises solemnly, "also stop getting injured." He glances up with a polite smile when the waiter comes to take their order, ordering for himself an omelette -- tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, spinach, cheese -- and cup of Darjeeling, English muffin on the side. "Have you considered retirement?" he picks back up once the others have had a chance to order. "Twenty-two is a respectable age for it in your line of work. At your rate you won't live to see twenty-three." His fingers still curl around Jax's, eyes drooping a little tiredly half-closed. "It was likely," he agrees softly, "better that way." "I mean, in an /ideal/ world --" Jackson shrugs a shoulder, also looking up at their server with warm smile and warm greeting. He gets himself vegan waffles (apple-cinnamon, today's special) and a hot cocoa with almond milk, an order of grits on the side. Lots of maple syrup. His expression is just a little paler at the return to conversation, a very /wan/ smile pulling upward at one side of his mouth. "Oh, every single day I consider it, honey-honey. Then I read the news." His brow creases as he watches Lucien's wilt of expression, his fingers tightening in the other man's. "-- sweetie --" He bites down on a lip ring, cheeks puffing outward before he expels a quick breath. "Better for who? Luci d'you even /have/ any other friends?" "Oh, was that an option? I forgot t'tick that box, apparently," Micah jokes drily at the recommendation to just...stop getting hurt. He pauses to order his mixed berry french toast with a side of scrambled eggs and a strawberry-orange juice. "S'hard /not/ t'do things. I mean...when y'know of things like the labs an' the police fightin' rings. How d'you /not/ try t'do somethin' about that?" He winces a bit at Jax's...surprising bluntness. "So I take it you're /not/ happy for her, then." "You could also stop reading news. It is bad for your health." Lucien leans back in his seat, eyes closing the rest of the way; he drags Jackson's hand a little closer to himself with this shift in position. "In an ideal world I would still find myself hard-pressed to act congratulatory over an act of negligence. In /our/ world --" His head shakes, just once. His eyes open again, swift and perhaps a little startled at Jackson's question; he breathes out a quick almost-laugh. "With the amount of time you two spend getting yourselves into trouble, where would I find the time?" "Not knowin' about it wouldn't -- make it not --" A small strangled noise of frustration catches in Jax's throat. "/You/ got involved when y'seen what was happenin', Luci, you gotta understand you can't just -- just /not/. /Could/ you, seriously? Jus' ignore the whole world an' let it roll on into -- into /whatever/? 'cuz there's so much /horrible/ an' --" His lips press together thinly, his head bowing slightly as he continues, softer, "... an' if you think that /our/ world is a horrible place t'bring new life into it ain't like you don't /see/ it. But that's why we /do/ what we do." His free hand lifts to rub fingers up beneath his glasses, digging in against his missing eye as he laughs, tired. "Oh. Oh. I don't want to just be trouble -- but s'all the more reason you need to keep yourself some friends that /ain't/. I mean. Is it -- are you -- /happy/ to just --" He frowns down at the table, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Not readin' the news don't stop it from happenin'," Micah agrees quietly. "An' you /do/ get yourself involved even when it's real dangerous for you. I think you actually know where we're comin' from on this one." His shoulders sag a little at Lucien's pronouncement about Melinda. "Y'sound like Shane... I mean, she got t'the point where it was too late...t'make any other decision. An' maybe that /was/ negligent. But...we can't just ignore the /child/ now that it's gonna be here. It's gonna need friends an' family an' love, too. Are you /really/ gonna stop bein' Mel's friend on account of this?" "It was never too late. There is a fundamental difference between being /unwilling/ and being /unable/. We always have choices. Hers is to /inflict/ this world on an innocent unconsenting human because she was too selfish and irresponsible to do otherwise." Lucien's voice is rather toneless, a bland tired quiet, his eyes closing again. He slowly extricates his hand from Jackson's, resting it shakily on the table. "You have very bright sons. -- I am certain," he says in the same neutral tone, "that her offspring will not lack for friends and family, I have no doubt your people will see to that. There is certainly no reason /I/ need to be a part of it." Jackson pulls his hand back, dropping it slowly from the table to rest in his lap. His other hand lifts higher, fingers scrunching through his shaggy mop of hair. "You be a part of it because that's what friends /do/." His brow creases deeply, hand thunking back down onto the table. "So what, you think people should jus' stop breedin' till we all die out? Cuz that's pretty much the logical end t'that line'a thought. Didn't /nobody/ consent t'bein' /born/." “There's a point past which...I think most people'd even consider that an option. An' Mel was pretty much /there/. But whether you agree with her or not...a friendship's somethin' pretty valuable t'throw away.” Micah's fingers continue to fidget along the edge of his menu. “I know it was worth a lot t'her. I'd assume it was worth somethin' t'you, too.” "Until this world is one worth living in, Jax, that doesn't sound like a bad idea to me at all. Until then, I will save my /praise/ for those of you," Lucien's hand tips outwards towards Jackson and Micah, "working to /make/ it worth living in and refrain from feigning /support/ for those adding to the misery." He exhales sharply, pulling his wallet from his pocket to tug a few bills from it. "I /disagree/ with my friends over our tastes in cuisine or what religion we subscribe to. The matter of toying with children's lives is not a question of having different /tastes/ or even different /beliefs/. Someone's /actions/ are the /only/ metric worth judging them on." He tucks the bills beneath his water glass, plucking up his jacket as he stands. "Its worth to me is irrelevant. Some principles are worth more. -- /Do/ take it easy on that shoulder, Jackson. You will regret otherwise." "Luci you don't -- have to /leave/ you ain't even /ate/ yet and you jus' -- brain -- doctored -- me you need food sit down." Jackson frowns up from the other man's recently shaky hand to his face, lifting his hand again sharply to scrunch fingers into his hair. "That has gotta be the /bleakest/ outlook on life I done heard in -- I mean, we don't know what this kid's life's gonna be like. But it sure ain't gonna be no /better/ if the folks that should be their family is cuttin' 'em off before they're even /here/." Micah sighs heavily, continuing to study his menu before looking up to Lucien. "Lucien, honey, we were just havin' a /discussion/. We can shelve the particular topic if y'don't wanna talk about it, but y'don't gotta run off. At least stay an' finish your breakfast, please? /We're/ still your friends, too. I love you an' just 'cause I don't agree with all your decisions don't mean I don't still wanna be friends with you an' have conversations with you." Lucien smoothes a hand down over the front of his vest, slipping into his lightweight suede jacket afterwards. "I have rather lost my appetite," he answers, a little distantly. "Enjoy your day, gentlemen." His head inclines politely to the others before he turns to head for the door. "Luci --" Jackson slumps back against the bench as the other man walks off, pressing his palm against his forehead. "Oh, gosh. I think I kinda ruined -- I shouldn't'a brung up -- I just didn't know he --" His fingers clench harder into his hair. "M'sorry," he mumbles. “Have a good day, Luci,” Micah finally gives in, another little sigh accompanying his small wave as the other man departs. He doesn't speak again until the door closes. “Y'didn't...it was somethin' that was gonna get talked about sooner or later, an' this was just sooner. He's 'bout the easiest person t'get t'walk out on a conversation as I've ever met. Just...runs away from everythin' he don't feel like dealin' with.” Jackson's hand does not drop from his hair, slow calming breaths taken rather deliberately. "He --" He shakes his head, slowly unclenching his fingers though his hair has turned into somewhat of a mess beneath this scrunching. His hand drops back to his lap. "S'the problem, though. I mean, look at all the stuff he /do/ hafta deal with. I mean, the stuff he /don't/ avoid. With his mom an' his siblings an' his /life/. You put all that on someone's plate an' what do they got /left/ t'deal with --" He frowns unhappily down at his lap. "... but that's why he /needs/ t'keep his friends close 'stead'a shovin' them away." Micah reaches over to pet Jax's hair into a less-mussed arrangement. "Not sayin' he's had an easy life. Anythin' but. S'just that he is /so/ damned quick t'shut people down an' push 'em away. Feels like I'm fightin' just t'get in with 'im most of the time." He finally abandons the menu to the table to stop himself from fussing at it. "I mean...I love 'im. I do. But it's hard t'watch 'im just /do/ this to himself all the time. An' it sure feels like he wants me t'just...go away sometimes." Jackson leans in against Micah's side, shifting his hand to rest on his husband's knee with a small squeeze. "It do -- kinda feel like an uphill battle with him a lotta times. Jus' to /be/ with him. -- You're cursin' you /must/ be upset." His nose wrinkles at this, hand rubbing absently against Micah's leg. "Maybe sometimes t'ain't nothin' you /can/ do. I mean, you can't /make/ someone -- let you love them. Can jus' -- be there if they're willin' an' -- maybe there's only so much fightin' t'be done if they ain't." Though this isn't exactly an idea he sounds very pleased with. It takes him a moment to muster up a smile when their server returns with their food, an apologetic explanation that their companion had to run out. He reaches over to pluck up the bills Lucien left beneath his water glass, grimacing at these, too. "-- Oh /gosh/. This'll be enough for all our food an' then some." A hand moves to cover Micah's lips with its fingertips, cheeks darkening again. "Apologies, I didn't mean... It's just that alla us keep losin' people t'things we can't really control. S'harder t'feel like people are /tryin'/ t'be lost." He pauses to mutter a thanks with a wan half-smile to the server. "It's also a real strange place t'be. 'Cause I feel like he pushes me away a lot but /also/ like...he prob'ly lets me in more than anyone else. I'm just never certain which way t'/go/ with him. An' he sure ain't gonna /tell/ me." The fingers move up to rub at his temples when he looks at the cash in Jax's hand. "An' then there's things like that. Don't even know if that was deliberate or... He'd prob'ly be offended if I tried t'bring any of it back, wouldn't he?" "Honey-honey, I -- think he's /been/ lost a long time. I think he just got no idea /how/ to be found. You know when he said we were his --" Jackson blushes deeply, looking down at the bills in his hand. "I jus' feel like we're his first /friends/, too. You an' Mel an' me an' now he's done pushed /her/ away so it's just." He shakes his head slowly. "S'funny how /deft/ he can be with people in some circumstances cuz I think when it comes t'his own /personal/ relationships he really just don't even /know/ how to start." He bites down on his lip, turning the money over to Micah. "I think he'd be puzzled. Don't know how far you'd get in a conversation with him." "I'm not...givin' up on 'im. /I'm/ just a little lost on how t'approach it." Micah's blush deepens a little, too, the food on the table a good excuse to busy himself with adding maple syrup to the berry-and-toast stack. "I'm not gonna try t'get into a conversation with 'im. 'Least not again t'day. We got a lotta things t'do yet." He spares a hand to brush over the back of Jax's. "We should eat up an' get home. Cookin' an' set-up for the party t'do. S'gonna start soon enough. /Somebody's/ gotta have some happy for Mel an' the baby." Jackson just fidgets a little uncomfortably at this, turning his eyes down to his own food. He picks up his fork slowly, his other hand staying on Micah's thigh as he starts to eat without a whole lot of relish. "-- Yeah," he agrees, belatedly forcing a smile onto his face. "Yeah, somebody --" He fills his mouth with waffle, quieting. Swallowing. "Happy I can bring her."