ArchivedLogs:Keep On Shining

Keep On Shining
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah
In Absentia	5 February 2014 Optimist-y. (Part of the Morpheus TP.)
Location <NYC> Candyland - Village Lofts - East Village
This bedroom is bright, bright, bright, a cheerful riot of colour in contrast to the more minimalist scheme outside. It, too, has a plethora of lamps to lend it even more light than what comes in from the large windows opposite the entry; many of them bear stained-glass coverings in cheerful mosaic patterns to add still more colour to the room. The walls have been painted in pale blue with darker blue trim, though one is instead a mural of surreal fantastical artwork, odd unearthly plant and animal life spread across it in vivid colours. There is scattering of furniture here -- a bed on the wall adjacent to the window (usually dressed in vividly patterned mismatched sheets), a dresser opposite the bed, standing beside the large closet, both in wood that has been painted black and then covered in a swarm of brightly coloured images, too. The wall near the door bears an enormous handmade shelving unit, similarly painted; it is filled largely with meticulously organized art supplies. By the window, a desk stands in as-yet-unpainted wood; besides laptops and drawing tablet it often bears an eclectic mix of items, too. Comic books, knitting supplies, a hiking pack of climbing gear. It's quiet, in Lighthaus. The teenagers off at school, dinner put away and the kitchen scrubbed down, Spencer put to bed for the night. Jax is off work tonight, /has/ been working on homework albeit with steadily growing distraction that he's recently caved to and left to go take a shower. His homework still stands by the desk, reference sketches and photographs pinned up around the window while the painting he's working on -- Zombie in one of the Mendel Clinic labs, labcoat open over an xkcd 'my normal approach is useless here' t-shirt, leaning forward with one elbow propped on knee and an animated expression on his face as he holds up a small tube in one hand -- is half-finished on the canvas, its completed state easier to tell from the references around it. /He/ smells cinnamony-fresh when he returns to his bedroom, hair (recently recoloured, no longer peacocky, just a vivid shock of pink that starts out deep and fades ombre-like to a bubblegum shade by the very tips of its shaggy mop) still a little damp where he's running his fingers through it. He's changed into pajamas, soft black terrycloth pants, black-and-red striped towel draped loosely around his shoulders. He stops en route through the bedroom to pluck a tube of lotion off a shelf. Very mild. Unscented. And a tiny medicated dropper that he tips his head back to drop into the socket of missing-eye before returning it to its place. He hangs the towel on his closet door as he wanders back over towards his easel, pausing briefly to give his window a small /frown/ where his crucifix is still missing. Uncapping the lotion, he squeezes a small amount onto fingertips, absently beginning to work it into fresh tattoos as he scrutinizes his half-finished work, lips pressing together critically. The work starts to complete /itself/, colours on it shifting and changing as he eyes it thoughtfully. Micah has been curled up on the bed with the exciting world of medical paperwork on his laptop for some time now, moving between spreadsheets and e-mails and letters of medical necessity and endless insurance appeals. Having showered and changed when he got home, he starts out in his usual hoodie, T-shirt, and jeans ensemble. Some time after Jax leaves to shower, he abandons the laptop, rubbing at his screen-bleary eyes and determining that it is definitely Pajama O'clock. By the time Jax returns, he's in fuzzy blue Cookie Monster socks and pajama pants with tiny TARDISes tumbling through space on them. He's still tugging on a robin's egg blue henley shirt when the door opens, leaving his hair a rather spectacular sticking-up mess afterward. He wanders over to Jax when the other man grabs the lotion bottle, holding his hand out for it. "Y'wanna do it here so y'can keep lookin' at your work? Or on the bed so's you're comfier?"'wanna do it here so y'can keep lookin' at your work? Or on the bed so's you're comfier?” Jackson's gaze slips over the other man, lingering, as Micah tugs on the shirt; his smile curls up bright and warm as his eye lifts from Micah's stomach to his face. He relinquishes the lotion with a brush of fingertips against palm, a lean in to steal a quick kiss. "-- Cookie monster. How come I didn't bake any cookies today? That was a terrible oversight on my part." He frowns at this, biting down on his lip. "I should do that now. Day ain't over yet. What kinda cookies should I bake?" He lifts up a hand, fingers -- still a little damp from straightening his /own/ hair -- now mussing Micah's further. He turns his attention to his easel, considering the question with a quiet hum. In the end he moves over to it, carefully turning it towards the bed, shifting it a little bit closer. With the painting now angled towards the bed, he returns to settle down on the mattress, carefully sliding his pajama pants down and folding them neatly into a pile on the end of the bed. "There. Best'a both worlds." The image on his canvas still slowly changes with minor adjustments in shading as he settles down on the mattress, arms folding gingerly beneath his chin as he lies down on his stomach, eyes fixed on the painting thoughtfully. "'Cause y'had work an' dinner an' homework an' that kinda ate all your time?" Micah returns with a grin, his lips readily pressing against Jax's for that kiss. "Y'don't need t'bake nothin' right now, sugar, s'late. Y'just settle in an' let me take care of you for a bit. Then y'can get on the rest of that homework...after. Y'need a little break." He watches the other man undress with a small smile, a soft, "Mmhmm," answering the 'best of both worlds' comment, though likely not with the same thoughts in mind. Sliding up to kneel at the foot of the bed, he uncaps the lotion bottle to squirt some into his hands, letting the liquid warm before starting to rub it in gently over the back of Jax's right leg. The colourful trees there briefly look like they may have been frosted over from the lighter lotion spread over them. "But if I /was/ gonna bake later -- or maybe just 'fore school in the mornin' -- what kinda cookies /would/ y'want? Jus -- hypothetically?" Hypothetically. Because it's totally not like Jax goes on baking sprees in the early mornings or anything. A soft shimmer of glow flutters warm in the air around him, his breathing slowing soft and contented as the lotion spreads over the prickly-sore ink. The painting settles int one configuration, and Jax's teeth catch at his lip. "Hm." He exhales heavily. "-- S'corny as anything," he finally decides. "This whole show m'putting on. Sometimes," he tells Micah, "I think I'm ashamed of myself." He doesn't, for the record, actually sound ashamed of himself at all. "S'harder with some folks than others. Or -- different, anyway. Findin' those moments. Whatever makes us --" His lips twitch. /Cornily/. "-- the most human. In some people it's these quiet moments where they don't look mutant at all an' in some people they look the /freakest/ of freak. I don't got no doubt people are gonna disagree so heavy in places. Think they ain't human at all." His eyes close. The picture of Zombie remains how he left it, for a moment, then fades out to its genuine half-painted state. "-- But then I guess they'd think that regardless of what moment I caught 'em at. How about maple pecan?" "I think...I'd want you t'take a break for now an' then finish your homework an' /maybe/ bakin' in the mornin' if you aren't /sleepin'/, anyhow." Micah softens the gentle reprimand by leaning down to playful-kiss the sole of Jax's freshly-cleaned foot, right at the apex of its arch. Once the rear portion of the Lorax scene is well moisturized, he repeats the process of obtaining and warming another dose of lotion for the left leg. Rubbing gentle circles over Jax's calf makes the little Care Bears scene a bit cloudier for a moment. "Ain't corny. You're capturin' those little...slices of life. Y'just are doin' your series on people with genetic enhancements 'stead of...little girl ballerinas or whatever other things painters get stuck on." His hands work steadily, lightly over the skin. "An' people as say /any/ other people ain't human need t'have a genetics lesson an' a...whatever the short-term equivalent is of an upbringin' that teaches people not t'be bigoted jerks." "A day with my ma," Jackson answers cheerfully, shivering pleasantly at the little kiss, his toes curling inward. "What about caramel apple? With a fair bit'a cinnamon? -- S'funny, go t'near any other school an' I'd jus' worry I wouldn't find no gallery that'd /take/ a portrait series on the humanity'a mutants. Kinda blessed where I am though. Get hooked up way easier'n most places with --" He trails off, eye closing in another happy sigh as Micah's hands rub against him. "/Might/ sleep. If I get m'work done. You done for the night, honey-honey?" Micah giggles at Jax's cure for bigotry. "I like cinnamon, for sure. But only...tomorrow mornin'. If you /happen/ t'be up." With Jax's calves finished, Micah's hands slide up the other man's legs, more firmly against the undecorated (and therefore not delicate-sore) skin over his hamstrings and gluts. He slides himself up to straddle the other man's legs for better access. Retrieving and warming more lotion, he starts in on Jax's back, working down from the shoulders over the entire expanse and the large wings covering much of the skin there. "Yeah, I'm done. Once the words start trying t'march off the page, there's no more good t'come of starin' at the screen." Jax's next shiver is deeper, his breath catching and a tiny rumble of purr sounding in his throat as he presses up against Micah's touch. He's briefly quiet, just relaxing underneath the attention, tense muscles starting to ease and the quiet purring rumble continuing. "-- Yeahno that's. Probably about Pajama O'Clock time, yeah. Oh. Oh are you." He unfolds a hand from beneath his head, reaching back to draw fingers gently against the side of Micah's thigh. "This weekend. You got time this weekend? I emailed. Sean. The artist. Asked if we could get t'gether. He said he'd take commissions for us. That we could meet up at Home this weekend for brunch an' talk details. Said I'd check on your schedule an' get back t'him." A smile curls at Micah's lips in answer to the little shivers and purring from Jax. His hands keep working in light, broad circles and lines over the other man's back, interrupted periodically to retrieve more lotion. "I could do brunch. The sooner the better, s'far as all that's concerned. Hopefully this'll all come together. With Maya tryin' t'reconnect dreamers for us. At the very least, I think it'll work for Matt. Not sure /who/ we'd go to for as...close a guarantee for Horus or Anole. Ain't exactly got blood family members t'volunteer. But 'tween the dreams an' the magical artwork, I'm feelin' pretty optimistic about 'em /all/ for the first time in a long time." Once Jax's wings are glistening-bright, Micah moves aside to let the other man turn over. "Ducky," Jackson answers straightaway. "She's been missin' him like crazy for months. Or Liam, he's --" He shakes his head. "But Ducky wants him back somethin' fierce. Anole --" His brow furrows, deep. "The pups an' Peter all want him terrible but dreams -- I don't know. They're all over the map." He turns over onto his back, lifting an arm out to Micah to let him do that, first. "-- From the sound'a her that's kinda the point, ain't it? Givin' folks -- somethin' t'. Be -- optimist--y about." A flush spreads pink across his cheeks, head ducking a little sheepishly at this fumbling choice of words. "Y'think she'd be okay doin' that? Havin' someone else use an ability on her, an' havin' t'remember t'ask Horus questions about where he is? The answer might not be /pretty/. An' I really...don't know her or her background so much. Would she handle it okay?" After warming another dollop of lotion, Micah takes the arm and runs his coated fingers over it in a gentle circumferential milking motion. He repeats this several times with more lotion, reorienting his palms over the different planes of the arm for each stroke. "Optimistic, yeah. Or just...cheerful. Happy. /Good/. I think she wants t'get New York back out of the depression it sank into from the whole plague...an' zombies. Maybe the whole of it, single-handedly. An' she might well /do/ it, too." His head shakes slowly to complete a half-bemused, half-/impressed/ expression. "I think -- I think if it meant gettin' Horus back safe an' whole an' well, there'd be a lot she'd be willin' t'try," Jackson says, after a moment of thought. "'leastways we can ask. Think she'd already resigned herself t'him bein' in a world'a ugly before this. Now there's a chance we might bring him /back/ to good. I think she'd be glad for a chance to help with that. Even if it means some struggle t'get there." His arm tips and turns with the motion of Micah's hands, helping along the coating until it is through and then lifting his other arm for the same treatment. "-- S'what I love about New York. Or maybe the world. All the beatin' gets throwed at it, all the /terrible/ and dark an' horrible an' -- then lights like this jus' keep on shinin'."