ArchivedLogs:Hitchin' A Ride

Hitchin' A Ride
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Micah, Jim, Vector
In Absentia	28 October 2013 Completing the Vector delivery mission. (Set shortly after the first half of Vector escort quest.)
Location Somewhere outside NYC
It’s well into nighttime, now. Long after Vector left the hospital following his brain-surgery, and even though he probably should /still/ be in his hospital bed recovering, instead he is -- here. In the woods off some lonely stretch of highway, out nearer the school than the city now. Dusk has brought him here, whisked away from Malthus’s interruption of their ride -- but though his wings are /strong/ there’s still only so far he can go on his own steam. Especially carrying another full-grown person, especially carrying another full-grown person after getting shot. So. Rather than carry Vector to the safehouse still many miles distant, Dusk is -- here. Perched up in the branches of a large maple tree, his large dark eyes scanning the woods around. Intermittently illuminated by the screen of his phone. It’s been a good while since he contacted Jax and Micah and even here, off the side of the road with little around to provide helpful instructions for where he’s located, it’s nevertheless fairly easy to /find/ him -- thanks to his phone. He’s also long since shared his location with Micah, a helpfully GPS-tracked pinpoint in Google Maps. And now he just waits. Quiet and likely pretty /tired/, wings drooping at his back and his jacket torn, its fabric stained with blood together with some stray spatters on his jeans. The hand not holding his phone clings to the branch he perches on but even so he intermittently looks Kind Of Woozy. Though if he’s concerned about /falling/ it doesn’t show; he only occasionally glances to the ground below him to ensure that his escort-quest target is still in sight. Vector is definitely still in sight. He hasn’t moved from his seat on the ground in quite some while, propped up against the tree trunk, arms curled around his shins. His chin rests on his knees, and he’s largely still except for his gaze restlessly skipping between the trees off to the intermittent glimpses of headlights as cars pass by on the nearby road.Though he isn’t bleeding out of any new holes, he also looks tired; the bandages wrapping his head beneath his black knit cap might explain this even if his hectic evening didn’t. As company goes he’s pretty dull. No talking. Just staring. The call for assistance came in as Micah was finishing a bedtime chapter reading for a sleepy-eyed Spencer, tucked into bed in a guest room at Lucien's house. It worked out relatively well that they had been sent away for fear of Malthus-based dangers possibly presenting at the Lofts in search of Vector, as there was built-in supervision for the sleeping youngling when Micah rushed out on the Dusk-Vector rescue and recovery mission, equipped with one TARDIS-van, one first aid kit, and one phone with GPS enabled. Micah is only able to get but so close on the road, pulling the van well over onto the shoulder before eyeing the dark woods and texting Dusk. “At the side of the road. You able to come out or should I come in?” ‘Coming’, comes Dusk’s return text promptly. He’s pretty ungraceful in his thudding drop out of the tree he perches in, wings briefly flaring to break his fall somewhat as he drops heavily to the ground. “Ride’s here.” He extends a hand to offer Vector a hand back to his feet, though he seems a little bit shaky on his /own/. This doesn’t stop him from offering a supporting arm, too, as he leads the way back up towards the roadside. One wing curls out to wrap, supportive as well, around Vector’s back. “Sorry,” is his tired greeting to Micah. “Sorry, this -- wasn’t. The plan.” Vector does accept the offered hand up, and he leans into the shelter of Dusk’s wing perhaps as much for warmth as support in the cold night. His expression grows still more drawn as they approach the road, and Micah’s van. “I’m sorry,” he also offers, softly. “I don’t really know what I’m…” He trails off with a slow blink, a slight lean further into Dusk. “The man who was with us. Kay. Do you know if he -- he was back there.” Micah opens the door and climbs out of the van as he sees Dusk and Vector approaching, moving to open the door to the passenger side for the pair. He is dressed, still, in the after-work clothes he had thrown on in his hasty trip to gather supplies from the Lofts before picking up Spence and ferrying him to Lucien's. Against the chill autumn night, he has thrown on an olive green canvas jacket and a newsboy cap over the chocolate brown T-shirt (on which a stegosaurus is cursing a T-rex's 'sudden but inevitable betrayal') and patched jeans. He immediately goes to help Vector up into the van, shaking off the apologies from both men. “There's a couple of blankets tossed on the seat. Feel free t'bundle up in one. Water bottles are in the cup holders, too.” Micah glances over to Dusk. “Don't know if you'd be more comfortable squeezin' in with us up front or settlin' in the back with more room for your wings, hon.” His lips press thin at Vector's question. “Don't rightly know yet. Jax has gone t'collect somebody with healin' abilities an' one or both of the twins t'help in locatin' 'im. Boys are pretty good at sniffin' things out, 'specially if there's blood involved. They'll find 'im if he's still out there t'be found.” Dusk seems more than happy to turn Vector-shepherding over to Micah, letting Micah help Vector into the van as he just slumps briefly against its side. “-- Water --” He echoes this with a slight furrow of his brows, slowly struggling back upright. “Room. Right. That’s good. I was driving -- before. It’s not so comfortable.” He’s wearing a jacket, heavy denim, but he shivers and curls his wings more tightly against himself. “-- Why Lucille?” His fingers are trailing slowly against the side of the van as he moves down to its back doors. Vector settles into the seat he is helped into, picking up a blanket to wrap it around himself. “Thank you.” His tone is very subdued, shoulders hunching under the blanket. “It didn’t look good,” he admits. “When we left.” His eyes are fixed out the window, now, staring forward through the windshield at the road ahead. “And they’ll just keep coming, I should’ve --” He stops, frowning, and shakes his head. “Who’s Lucille?” Micah handles getting Vector settled, wrapped up warm with a bottle of water in his hand. Then he gathers another bottle, another blanket, and heads back outside to assist Dusk into the back of the van. He tugs the heavy rear doors open for Dusk, climbing in before him in order to deposit the blanket and water within, then offer a hand up to the other man. “Lucille's the fine lady providin' for our getaway this evenin',” he explains, patting fondly at one of the van's walls as he gets Dusk situated. “Watched a show a few times. Was a geek-tech guy on it who had a van he was just /in love/ with that he got all fitted up himself, high-tech gear. Seemed like a good name for a good van.” He inspects Dusk a bit closer now that he's inside. “You need tendin' to for your wounds here, or can you make it t'the house first?” “Should’ve nothing.” Dusk sounds kind of /sharp/ about this, an uncomfortable frown on his face. “We made the choice to be here. Kay, too. You’ve got a right to -- tssss.” This quiet hiss comes as Dusk reaches up to take Micah’s hand, pull himself up into the van. His teeth bare in a grimace, posture stiffening, but he shakes his head quickly. “No. No I can -- sorry. I just want --” His wings shift restlessly at his back. “-- Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of a nerd?” Vector shifts uncomfortably where he sits, and pulls the blanket more snugly around him. He toys with the cap of his water, but doesn’t open it. “Oh. Oh, I know that show.” He sounds very quietly pleased at this. “Just want what?” He turns in his seat to peer towards the back. “He got shot. Doesn’t that need tending?” Dusk's hiss as he pulls up into the van earns a frown from Micah. “Should at least take a look at it, sounds like. Lemme see,” he instructs Dusk as he gets the other man nested into a sleeping bag and the second blanket, spread on the floor of the van. “Yes, shot needs tendin'. Just will be able t'do a better job of it once we get where we're goin'. S'a matter of how much needs doin' just /now/. An' this one's bein' too stubborn t'trust his assessment of that without peekin' at it.” He grins at the nerd commentary. “Really? That's a new one. No idea where y'might be gettin' such an idea.” He pulls a first aid kit from its storage compartment, setting it beside Dusk. “I’m fine. I’m just -- fuck. I’m going to bleed all over your shit.” Not that that stops Dusk from getting settled anyway. Slowly leaking blood onto the sleeping bag. He pulls his wings in tight around himself. “We need to get him to -- at the house, Jim can -- he’s waiting. I don’t think anything’ll touch us if we’re in a /forest/ and he’s -- watching.” He slumps back, tired, down onto the floor. His eyes fix upwards, more at Micah’s neck than his face, but then they close. “Water,” he says again, and then, “We should go.” “Under normal circumstances I’d offer to drive while you tend him, but, um.” Vector taps a finger against the bandages peeking out from beneath his cap. “That’s probably not going to be wise for quite some while.” He finally remembers to uncap his water when Dusk mentions it, lifting the bottle to take small sips. “Is a forest better?” “If you're bleedin' bad enough that you're worried about it gettin' on things, should at least get a quick bit of somethin' pressed to it. Do it quick'n dirty if they're in a spot where y'can hold pressure on yourself.” Micah gives Dusk a stern look to match the order to follow. “Stop playin' around an' let me help so we can stop bein' a suspicious vehicle on the side of the road.” He shakes his head at Vector. “No, honey, y'just sit back'n take it easy while your /brain/ heals. This is already less than ideal for your noodle. I'll drive as soon as we stop some bleedin'.” Micah's fingers work to uncap the water bottle for Dusk. “Show me. Then you get water.” Dusk grimaces again, slowly unwrapping his wing from where it is cocooned around him. He pushes himself a little more upright, lifting a hand to start unbuttoning his jacket. He pauses halfway through, expression going somewhat vacant in brief distraction, but Micah’s offer of water pulls him back to focus on the other man. “Water,” he agrees, finishing his unbuttoning though actually getting the jacket /off/ requires a good deal more movement than he seems to care for just at the moment. He pulls one arm out of the sleeve though his wings stay pushed through their holes at its back; he lets the jacket dangle down at his back as he slowly peels his shirt up. Though there is no bullet left /in/ him, a fairly deep groove has been torn out of his side, just beneath his ribcage. His eyes slowly shift away from Micah, up towards Vector. “-- What did you do to that man?” he finally asks. “I think everything about this situation is less than ideal. I’m sorry.” Vector takes another sip of his water. He studies Micah more than Dusk, with a very faint puzzled frown. “How /did/ you -- get involved in all of this?” Dusk’s question makes him pale, freckes standing out further in contrast. He shakes his head uncertainly. “Possibly killed him,” he admits softly. “Possibly not. He was about to shoot you.” Micah assists gently with getting Dusk’s jacket and shirt away from the bloody wound. Once it is exposed, he opens the bottle of water and presses it into Dusk’s hand opposite the side of the injury. “You can hold this. Quick’n dirty it is! We’ll worry about cleanin’ it an’ makin’ it pretty when we get where we’re goin’.” He fetches some bandaging from the first aid kit, enough to cover over the gash, and tapes the edges down. Then he packs a lot more bandaging material over the top and holds it to Dusk’s side before pushing the man’s own arm down over it with the appropriate level of pressure. “You hold that just like this until we get there, okay?” Once the first aid kit is back in place, Micah clambers up into the driver’s seat to get /moving/ before story-time. “Met some interestin’ people not long after I moved up to the city. Was right before they did one of these raids...really got t’/know/ ‘em right after. Last one didn’t go as well. Needed me for wound care an’ plannin’ prostheses for folks as lost limbs in the escape. Ended up helpin’ out with food an’ clothes an’ all, too. Jax’s been doin’ this for some time, but I’ll let one of the team explain t’you how /they/ got started; ain’t really my story. He an’ I are engaged now. Y’met Shane an’ ‘Bastian an’ Spence? They’re his boys, an’ their adoption paperwork is up soon. Plan t’put me on there, too.” A little grin pulls at the corner of his lips. “I’m a /little/ invested.” Dusk is quiet at first, sipping at the water as Micah packs the bandaging in -- having something in his mouth somewhat stifles the soft hissing at the pressure on the wound. “Thank you.” He draws in another slow pull of water, sinking back down on the floor once they’re moving. His wing folds in against his arm, keeping /it/ in place over the bandaging. “Micah just kind of. Swept in like some sort of gorram angel and hasn’t stopped helping out since.” His eyes close, and he rests the bottle of water on his chest. “Our story’s kind of boring. They caught us. We got out. Came back with a vengeance. Jax and Ryan got this all -- started. Organized. Whatever.” Vector turns to settle back forward-facing in his seat once they start moving again. “That doesn’t sound boring. I think most of us who got out of there wouldn’t want to ever return.” He turns his head, looking over towards Micah in the driver’s seat. “Planning prostheses? Is this a thing you do often, then?” A small furrow creases his brow for a brief moment. “You and -- Jax are engaged?” His eyes close for a moment as he considers this. “I’ve seen the boys around. I knew Spencer was his. I didn’t know the others -- that sounds.” He trails off, lapsing for a moment into quiet. One hand lifts to rub at his head but then pulls back with an uncomfortable grimace as his fingers press against the bandaging. “-- like a wonderful sort of investment.” There is always time for blushing, apparently, which Micah demonstrates well as he gets back on the road, after Dusk’s comment. “Ain’t really doin’ nothin’ y’all haven’t been doin’ /longer/,” he counters. “An’ this group is /anythin’/ but borin’. Seriously. Could maybe use a few more dashes of borin’ from time t’time.” This last is said with a little smile to lighten the sentiment. “Oh, the prosthetics is a more-often for me, yeah. It’s what I do. Orthotics, prosthetics, adaptive equipment. Lucille’s actually my shop, in the back there with Dusk. An’ the raids...yeah, they do that kinda regular, too.” The smile grows, brighter and more genuine, at Vector’s question about Jax. “Yessir, been...not even a month yet since it was official. An’ you prob’ly met Shane or ‘Bastian around. Hard to miss. Twins. Very blue. Shane’s got the mouth like a sailor but is usually more up-front-interactin’ with people an’ ‘Bastian’s the quieter one as dresses...kinda like Jax.” He darts a sidelong look of concern at Vector when he grimaces, but lets it go for now. Not much to be done until they arrive at their destination, anyhow. “It is,” he replies softly. “Gets really amazin’ returns.” “No. But you started doing it with less personal investment and you kept on doing it with less --” Dusk hesitates here, a bit of colour creeping into his pale cheeks. “-- A lot of us are built to take these constant beatings,” he says, a little awkwardly. “And after what they did to us it gets kind of personal. You just -- do it. Because it’s right. Not a lot of people are willing to step up like that.” He pushes himself up with one wing so that he can take another gulp of water. “He makes people cyborgs,” he volunteers in addition to Micah’s explanation. “Pretty much just /makes/ the future, right here in this van.” “I can see how you might want more boring now and then.” Vector sounds a little wry as his hand drops back to his lap. “I’m not really helping with that.” His eyes open again, a little wider with a hint of startlement. “Oh. Oh they’re both -- /brothers/, I thought the quieter one was a --” He blushes here, too, and looks down into his lap. “Makes the future.” This draws a small smile from him. “That sounds -- fascinating. I was --” He lifts a hand to touch at the bandaging again. “A cyborg. For a time. How did you get into /that/ work?” His head turns further to look back behind him to Dusk. “What do you all do? When you’re not -- being heroes. I can’t imagine this work, ah. Pays. Particularly well.” “I know. I get t’be Fragile McNosuperpowersface,” Micah jokes back at Dusk with a chuckle as he flicks the turn signal to change lanes. “An’ it’s personal. Get a few friends killed by government agents, a few assassination attempts on your fiance, a few kidnappin’s of your kids, grenades thrown at you, shot in the back by a cop...hey, suddenly it’s kinda personal.” His fingers grip a little tighter to the steering wheel. “We still gotta talk about plans for our mutual friend,” the way that Micah says ‘friend’ implies anything /but/, his voice hardened, “once you’re not bleedin’ anymore.” Micah’s head shakes a little to clear the darker thoughts from it, the habitual hint-of-a-grin returning to his features. “Oh, I been in an’ around medical equipment long as I can remember. Got my first prosthesis before I was a year old, m’self.” One hand drops from the steering wheel to tap lightly at his left knee before returning to its previous position. “An’ no...the work helpin’ out other folks with special abilities does the opposite of payin’. But /goodness/ does it need doin’.” “Thought B was a girl?” Dusk guesses, with a hint of amusement. “You can stop blushing, I don’t think he’d mind that.” He gulps again at his water, and then sinks back slowly to lie down again. “Personal now,” he agrees. “Wasn’t when you started. And you stuck with us through --” He quiets with a heavy exhaled breath. “-- He was there. Tonight. I left Kay back there with him.” His tone is kind of leaden, here. “It’s really getting to be a habit of mine.” “You’re human.” Vector sounds surprised by /this/ all over again, eyes riveting on Micah to study him rather intently. His blush remains; he looks down at his hands again afterwards. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, much as though Micah had just told him he had some terminal illness, “I didn’t know.” He fidgets for a moment with his water bottle, head slowly dropping back to rest against the seat. His lips pull up in a small smile at the tapping of Micah’s knee. “-- Oh. Not just human. Also a cyborg.” His brows pull back together, his smile short-lived. “Grenades. Kidnapping. Assassination. It sounds like you all -- could use. A lot of help.” Micah laughs again, lightly, at the confusion about ‘Bastian. “Y’wouldn’t be the first t’think that. An’ Dusk’s right. Don’t think he minds it overmuch.” His lips press thin, squashing the little smile that had been there. “Was he there?” he asks a little tightly. “I shouldn’t be surprised. An’...left /with/ ‘im. Guess it would’ve been too much t’hope /he/ got taken out in this little venture.” A deflating sigh passes through his lips, his eyes just focusing on the road. “Y’didn’t /leave/ Kay. You continued on your mission objective as best y’could, considerin’. Kay covered your escape. Don’t make it sound like you’re tryin’ t’get your team killed, ‘cause that’s not it at all. Jax’n the boys are lookin’ for ‘im. That’s all we can do for now.” The declaration of human-status causes Micah’s nose to scrunch. “Y’know, we need a better official way of describin’ people with an’ without X-gene abilities? Don’t like this implication of some people not bein’ human. Ain’t a good sentiment.” He manages a small smile to offer to Vector. “Don’t apologise. S’good sides an’ bad sides t’bein’ on either end of that genetic lottery, dependin’ on what you’re talkin’ about. An’ yes, also a cyborg.” He nods at Vector’s assessment of the work they’re trying to do. “Yes. All the help an’ then some. Ragtag groups versus the government is never an easy game, an’ there ain’t ever enough players on our side t’make up for their side’s /resources/.” “First Jax and now Kay, it -- s’starting to feel a lot like I --” Dusk trails off, scrunching himself down lower beneath his blanket. “Yeah. He was there. More shadowy than before. At least fire makes a whole lot of light.” His mouth tugs upwards at a corner. “Some of us aren’t human.” And then quiet, again. He glances briefly at his phone. “-- We’re almost there.” “I mostly just hear ‘freaks’,” Vector volunteers, faintly amused, “but I guess there’s not really a good converse of that.” His eyes focus out on the road now, too. He swallows hard, at the mention of their upcoming destination. Maybe at the talk of Kay. “I don’t think you’re the one who got your team --” His jaw tightens; there’s a distinct brightness in his eyes that he seems determined not to let spill over. “I’ll go. As soon as --” His fingers wave towards his head. “As soon as I can. Somewhere far where this won’t keep --” But then he just trails off, too. And watches the road ahead. “Dusk. You’re the one with the /wings/, hon. That’s gonna make you the getaway guy. Take the others t’safety. It’s /not/ that you just /want/ t’leave people. I know that. Y’should know that. Ain’t nobody /else/ blamin’ you.” Micah frees up one hand to scruff it through his hair. “That’d be like sayin’ I’m not holdin’ up /my/ end an’ just lettin’ everybody else get hurt ‘cause I’m always waitin’ in the car or keepin’ down the homefront. We do what we have to, okay?” His brows dip toward each other. “More shadowy? What does that even mean? Is he turnin’ all t’shadow like Nox now?” He sighs again at the claim that some of them aren’t human, choosing instead to answer the other statement. “Let me know when t’turn off.” “Don’t like /that/ one, either,” Micah says of the ‘freaks’ label. “An’ you ain’t responsible for what’s goin’ on here, either. Everybody just /stop/… It’s Malthus an’ the other government.../people/. They’re the ones killin’ us. /Not/ any of us. So just stop.” He chews at his lower lip. “We do gotta get you somewhere isolated where none of us knows where you are, though. That’s for your /own/ safety. ‘Cause these folks won’t give up lookin’.” “Stop being reasonable,” Dusk complains, a touch of amusement lightening the exhaustion in his voice, “I’m /trying/ to mope.” His head shakes at the question, though. “I don’t even know. He was -- leaking. Shadows. It’s -- I don’t know what the fuck they’ve been doing to him.” He struggles upright, nudging his phone against Vector’s elbow to pass it up to the front and let its GPS handle directions the rest of the short ride. “/Someone/ should know,” he says, grimly. “So that we know if you vanish. But -- most of us shouldn’t.” He scrubs his fingers through his hair, too, sinking back against the wall this time and picking up his water bottle again. “I should be somewhere isolated,” Vector agrees, “for /everyone’s/ safety. Lucien kept an eye on -- my abilities before and after sedation. It would be useful having a leash like that all the time. But until then --” He shrugs, reaching around to take the phone from Dusk and set it up where Micah can see. “Next exit,” he says -- largely unhelpfully at the same time as the GPS. “If you’d told me five years ago that this is where I’d -- well. I guess none of us really plan this kind of life.” Micah /snorts/ at Dusk’s complaint. “There’s enough things t’mope about. Should mope about the /valid/ ones, at least,” he half-teases. “He’s gonna be even harder t’handle than we thought, isn’t he? I don’t...I still don’t have the first idea what to, or how to…” He grits his teeth against further discussion of that subject for now. “The fewer of us know where y’go, the better. That’s the fewer of us they can get the information out of. Sorry it’s gotta be like this, hon. You ain’t never asked for this no more’n anybody else did. But you’re right. S’for your own safety /and/ everyone else’s.” Micah manoeuvres into the right lane, taking the exit indicated by GPS-cum-Vector. “Don’t think anybody’s too good at predictin’ what we’ll be up to exactly anymore.” “I think this is a little bit more than any of us have dealt with. /Taking/ people’s powers it -- doesn’t seem like --” Dusk shrugs uncomfortably. His tone is a little wry as he admits, “-- I guess it’s not that unusual, /I/ give people /my/ -- oh. Oh, fuck.” He doesn’t have much colour left to lose but he’s managing to lose it anyway, his fingers crumpling in at the half-full water bottle in his hands. “When I was in the labs, that’s what they -- I mean they always seemed to think that enough studying /my/ blood and they’d learn how to -- Jesus what if they /did/.” He looks faintly nauseated at the idea. “I mean, I guess we /know/ that they did, just --” He closes his eyes, but then opens them again to peer between the front seats out the window. “Jim should be up there. If you can tell which is him and which is trees.” “It seems oddly hypocritical, more than anything. They don’t mind people /having/ powers, after all. They just want those people to be them.” Vector takes another sip of his water as well, and nestles down further into the blankets. “Thank you,” he adds, very softly. “All of you. This is -- above and beyond anything that --” His head tips to the side to rest against the window. “Thank you.” “Ain’t really no good in speculatin’ on that, Dusk. ‘Least not for now. Ain’t like there’s much we could do about it just yet, whether they’re...doin’ that or not.” Micah slows the van to assist with scanning for Jim. “Y’all keep an eye out if y’can. Think you’ve got the best eyes in the dark, Dusk. I got nothin’ yet.” He nods at Vector’s musing. “I was surprised by it m’self. Thought it was the genetics an’ the powers themselves that they was lookin’ t’...get rid of. Puttin’ it on themselves seems like it would be the /last/ thing they wanted. But Jax said that’s what their goal is. Ain’t that people /have/ the powers, it’s that the /wrong/ people do, s’far as they’re concerned.” Another nod is given in reply to the thanks. “You’re welcome, hon. Thanks shouldn’t really be needed. But you’re welcome, nonetheless.” Gravel pops and crunches under the vehicle’s heavy wheels, long branches having been idly dragging ragged fingers down Lucille’s sturdy sides where the forest walls close in. When finally a clearing opens, it’s into a circular gravel-laid parking area shot through with tall weeds. If one were to think about it, they might remark on how few autumn leaves actually obstruct view of the drive but so many overgrown plants certainly give it the sense of unkempt abandon. There is a small shed – not a real cabin, as these are not any public camp ground, this looks more like an abandoned seasonal hunting shed with sheet metal roof, a sturdy door with a padlock, a small window. Concrete steps that lead up to it. There is a fire pit, though it sits unlit, and while smoke steadily rises up from the chimney the lights are not on inside. But Jim is here. It will be difficult at first to make it out; one more branch swaying in the wind, then another. It might at first look like a tree is toppling slowly into the clearing, save that it isn’t really falling, is it. It’s more pulling loose, trailing long streamers of ivy and kudzu as it comes. The branches are already pulling in, absorbing and resolving into the shape of a man – a man in a kilt, though it’s only visible once enough foliage melts out of sight. The eldritch monster look is sort of ruined by the presence of a cell phone, which is being shoved into the waist band of the kilt. It’s coming towards the van at a brisk stride, a hand raised. Yo. – his head is turned to look back down the road. “Yeah. I mean, I can’t really be all /that/ horrified they wanted this guy,” with a flick of wingtip towards Vector, “to make a virus to wipe out all of us. And they see Jax as the most energy-efficient /bomb/ there is. It’s really fucking stupid you know. Harness Jax’s powers and you could solve the energy crisis. You -- do you heal things, too?” Dusk’s eyebrows raise. “It’s like they keep looking and seeing weapons where -- oh. Hey.” Dusk’s train of thought is quickly derailed by: “An Ent.” Vector nods, in answer to Dusk. “I -- can. In a way. I can’t actually remove diseases from people but I can --” He turns when Dusk says Ent, kind of puzzled in his stare out into the darkness. “... Wow.” This is the only reaction he has at first to Jim. “If I didn’t know better I would think I had had recent brain trauma.” Micah pulls the van up to a slow stop as Jim approaches, rolling down his window in case the man has something to say that he actually wants /heard/. They’re pretty well next to the building by now, so here’s as good a place to stop as any. “It’s on account of ‘em tryin’ t’keep things secret an’ lettin’ the government an’ military handle you guys. Leave things t’soldiers an’ politicians an’ all anyone ever sees is power t’control an’ weapons t’use against whatever /other/ group is botherin’ ‘em at the time.” He chuckles at Vector. “Smart alec. But, no. S’just Jim.” He ducks his head out the window a bit. “Hey, Jim. Anythin’ we should know before I unload brain surgery an’ gunshot wound over here? Still gotta get Dusk fixed up once he’s inside an’ settled.” “Christ are we calling people by their injuries now?” Jim folds up either arm against the rim of Micah’s window and leans on it, “Think we’re all gonna be going by ‘Gunshot’ before long. We got more that have than haven’t. – glad to see your goddamn face, Mickey.” He admits all flat-blunt and /sincere/, leaning forward to peer in at Dusk, Vector, “Not feeling so paranoid anymore waiting to see who’s /driving/ the car before I’ll come up to it, no matter how familiar the hunk of junk is. You’re good to go, I’ll come around ‘n help. The fuck happened, this all of you? Where’s the firebug, I wanna close off the road.” “I think Vector’s the only one in this van who /can’t/ go by ‘Gunshot’ just yet. And that,” Dusk says with a thin smile and a firmer press of elbow down against his side, “was a near thing.” The smile melts away as he nods. “This is all of us. Kay’s --” His teeth clamp down for a moment. “Jax and the pups are out looking for Kay. If they find him I don’t think they’ll be coming /here/, at any rate. You can close it, but --” His words come a little more strained as he pushes himself upright, wing still wrapped in against his side, “-- Micah should probably get back to the city tonight. Been quiet out here?” He studies Jim’s face for a moment before turning aside to scoot himself towards the back doors. “I think that’s one title I’m glad not to hold. I don’t think it would lead to anything good for the person pulling the trigger, either. -- Hello,” Vector greets Jim with a small tip of his head. “We ran into -- the man who was down in the labs. Malthus? He wasn’t all that pleased about the decision not to send me back.” His tone is quiet and flat, not a lot left to read into it now past a steady thread of exhaustion. “Dusk was shot. The car is a loss, Micah had to --” Shrug. He unbuckles his seat belt, but doesn’t actually attempt to get himself out of the car; though more coherent he’s still looking pretty far on the unsteady end of the scale. “Figured it was a concise enough summary of what we’re dealin’ with here,” Micah explains, unbuckling his seat belt and hopping down from his seat. “Just /current/ injuries. We start callin’ each other by /all/ the injuries an’ we’ll never get through sayin’ hello. Hi, by the way.” He smiles back at Jim’s greeting. “Y’wanna help Vector inside? He’s still a little wobbly. I’ll grab Dusk.” He moves to the back of the van, opening the doors and climbing up to help Dusk down. “Micah is stayin’ here until he cleans up that wound like he said he was gonna. An’ prob’ly oughtta get some blood in you so y’can heal, besides. Gonna hang around ‘til I hear from Jax. They’re s’posed t’call with the word once things get less hairy on their end. I ain’t gotta be home ‘til time t’get Spence up’n goin’ for school t’morrow mornin’. So we’re doin’ what needs doin’.” He offers an arm to Dusk. Jim's expression when Dusk looks to it is stormy with furrows and frowns, but calm and present, through the news of Kay, the mention of Malthus, to the point he almost looks bored with it all, starting right in at the end with, "Well. It'll be a little tight but I got the place heated up, you wanna come in n' do your bloodmagic whatever. There's chairs. How bad you hit?" He's presumably asking Dusk, even if he seems to have a habit of looking at a person he /isn't/ currently addressing. In this case it's Vector, whose arm Jim is levering around the back of his leafy neck to half assist, half hoist out of the van. Trailing down off his back like some strange cape is a tangle if vines that lead off into the woods. They make, now, a quiet creaking, squeaking sound of accelerated growth, leaves spiraling open, aging, withering and dying again. The deeper into the trees it goes, the thicker and more sinister the rustling; a few branches /popping/ as they grow. The road that opens into the clearing vanishes behind overgrown branches, the transference of energy visible, where other shrubs wither and droop. He's answering Dusk's question only now, casual-flat, "It's all quiet out here. Had enough time to carpet the area. Felt you coming in. I'll be standing guard out here if you guys want to tuck in a while." “Clean up wounds,” Dusk agrees, “but that’s all that needs doing, you don’t need to stay the night. -- It’s not bad,” he tells Jim with a brusque shake of his head. “Just a graze. And I heal fast.” He does accept Micah’s hand out of the van, though, turning to stretch his wings out wide behind him with a look of relief. His elbow stays pressed against the bandaging on his side. He looks out towards the growing branches, watching the shift of growth with a small nod. “Thank you. I’ll --” He stops, shaking his head. “Right. Thank you.” He leans on Micah just a little bit as he starts towards the shack. Vector doesn’t lean all that much, though he does definitely stabilize himself against Jim’s arm. He doesn’t say thank you. Just a small tired nod, blanket still wrapped around himself as he gets out of the car and angles himself towards shelter. “Good...quiet is good,” Micah replies to Jim’s assessment. “I know it shouldn’t take long. Just lettin’ y’know there ain’t no rush on it. Don’t got nowhere else t’be.” He leads Dusk off at a slow pace, off to the shack with the promise of further wound administrations and healing to come while waiting for word from the remainder of their party.