Logs:Tangled

Tangled
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Hive
In Absentia	2019-06-24 "You're home."
Location <NYC> Apt 403 - Village Lofts - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. A widescreen television stands against the wall opposite the couch, shelving beside it holding a host of video games from different consoles. More shelving beside the windows on the far wall carries stacks of board games, as well as sourcebooks from various RPGs. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here and one bathroom situated between them, split between the three people who live here. Up on the roof there's a buzz of activity, large communal dinner prepared and ready for those Prometheans (and adjacent community) who are in the mood for company with their dinner. Geekhaus's resident refugees -- tend to keep to themselves, somewhat. Which is maybe why Flicker is heading down with his arms laden, several plates seemingly precariously balanced in his arms as he blinks his way in from the fire escape to the kitchen. He sets the food down, first. His backpack second. Takes a moment to pour out glasses of water. Drink one, himself. Rub, hard, at his eyes. Then go to knock on the door to Dusk's repurposed bedroom. He waits a moment, listens, knocks again. When there's no answer, just exhales heavily, and heads to his own room. Hive is sitting at the desk. But, judging from the look of things, Hive's been sitting at the desk a long time. The half-filled mug of coffee sitting beside his keyboard has gone long cold. He may have been working at some point, but his computer's screen has gone dark, now. He's not asleep, really. Upright in his desk chair, his eyes open -- but unfocused, staring glassily ahead at the blank screen. Flicker squeezes Hive's shoulder as he passes by. Goes to his bed, drops down onto it heavily to take off his shoes. Each gets lined neatly beside the other under his bed with a small blink of motion. He's slower to unbutton his dress shirt, tugging it off and flicking it into his laundry basket. Flopping back to lie down in khakis and a plain white undershirt, arm draped across his eyes. Only for a few long slow breaths, though. Then he gets up. Blinks over to Hive's bed instead. Scoots to the end of it, sitting cross-legged on the foot of the mattress. He reaches for one of Hive's listless hands, takes it into his own in a tight clasp. Eyes closing, his mind reaches out, insofar as he's able. Questing, questioning. What he brings to the forefront of his chaotic-jumble of thoughts is simpler, though. Just a quiet retelling of his day, so far, in snapshot images of a hospital, a droning attending physician, of long lines in the cafe and a skipped lunch, of the bright warm walk back home, of the gathering up on the rooftop above. Hive's stirring comes inwardly long before it shows any external sign. His hand doesn't tighten in Flicker's; his vacant gaze does not shift. His mind does, though, slowly rousing itself at the familiar comfort of Flicker's presence beside him. Curling out, settling in against Flicker. The soft push that melds the other man's mind to his comes without any of its usual attending pain; just a dizzying rush of the other minds currently connected to Hive as well, spread out in a tangled messy web of overlapping identities. At the moment, the near-catatonic pair in the adjacent bedroom might be just a little more noticeable than the rest. Flicker's head tips forward; he rests it against Hive's temple with a quick quiet pull of breath. His own steady litany of thoughts hitches -- briefly -- but doesn't stop, continuing firm and constant against the incoming tide. He starts to reach for Hive's keyboard, but pulls his hand back. Far more adroitly, now, through the shared mental connection, his mind reaches out again. Quietly tracing the knotted threads of personhood, the messy chaos of feelings and thoughts and experiences. It takes him some searching. Longer than it might have taken Hive himself, no doubt. But eventually he finds what he's looking for, among the tangle. One mind, stuck in a small and extremely drab and institutional room, reading a well-worn copy of Me Before You. Flicker's thumb traces against Hive's knuckles, his breathing slowing. His steadily calm mental rendering of his day hitching briefly again. Then continuing. The work of picking back along this one thread is harder, a more precarious balancing act, settling just far enough into someone else's mind -- (days of uncertainty) (fear) (a sudden transfer in the wake of the raid -- not that this is the first time, for him) (so much questioning, before that) (who was there what could they do) -- when Flicker sits up again his breathing has quickened. It takes him a good long while to calm himself. Breath deep. Pray. Squeeze Hive's hand again. Then lean forward, tap at the keyboard, wake the screen back up. The calmer deliberate layer of his forefront-thoughts shift. Looking over the designs in progress on Hive's screen, starting to mentally think through them instead, clearer and louder. Here, now. This is what we were doing. This is what we are doing. There's a while before there is any response. The reorganization of the muddle within them comes as a slow shifting, some core facet of Hive's self stirring. Shifting among the rest. After some time, Hive slowly blinks, moves -- reaching for his mouse to pick up where he -- they? -- left off however long ago. This is what they were doing. Right. He gives no acknowledgment to Flicker's presence in the room, just returning to his work and, at length, reaching for the cup of coffee. Flicker reaches out the moment just before Hive does. Drags the coffee just out of Hive's reach. "I brought dinner." He smiles. Quick, warm. "How about I refill this, and you make sure our guests actually get the food inside them? You, too." Once again, his hand claps onto Hive's shoulder in passing. Lingers, this time, squeezing gently before he vanishes back out of the room. Hive blinks, only looking up from his screen now when the coffee doesn't make it into his hand. "You're home." His voice is kind of scratchy, rough after too long unused. He tips his head to the side, bonking his cheek lightly against Flicker's hand while it's on his shoulder. His brows furrow, his knuckles rubbing hard at his eyes for a moment before slouching back in his seat to try and pick through the jumble in their mind.