ArchivedLogs:Normal

Normal
Dramatis Personae B, Jax, Micah
In Absentia	15 July 2014 /Little/ bit of a fight over the Themis House.
Location <NYC> {Beachhaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
Enormous windows and an open floorplan give this house an airy-open feel. Much of the wood-and-stone of the walls has been left exposed, and the flooring underneath is done in a mix of sandy-stoney tile in the bathroom and kitchens and foyer and natural wood throughout the rest. The front door opens into the small foyer, an open doorway leading to a small office space at one side and a sunroom looking out over the river at the other. The office is done in dark wood and deep red accents, a desk built right up against the wall beneath a connected also-built-in arrangement of shelves; there's a pale futon sitting on the ground against the opposite wall. A connecting door in the office space, usually left unlocked, leads to Lighthaus next door. The foyer opens out in back to a large sitting room, the kitchen connecting sitting room and sunroom at their corners; the furniture here is in pale natural colours, all built low to the ground. The kitchen table is low-set, too, kneeling cushions rather than chairs set around it. The sunroom and foyer, unlike the other rooms, have no ceilings at ground-level, instead having balconies between the first and second floor. A curving stairway leads up from the foyer to the second floor, while a door between foyer and sitting room heads down to the basement. A powder room sits off the back of the sitting room, opposite the kitchen. With the last of the refugees de-chipped yesterday and a slow trickle outward as people drift back to whatever lives and homes they had before the labs (or work with the Clinic's social workers to start building /new/ ones) it is, for the first time in nearly two weeks, /quiet/ in the teenagers' house today. A temporary quiet, admittedly, there's dinner going on over at the Common House and Beachhaus's two remaining strays will likely turn back up some time after food has happened -- but for now, quiet. B has only very recently returned from work, slipped off shoes, peeled out of some of hir clothing -- prooobably contemplated dinner but instead has draped hirself in the darkening sunroom. Ze's still half-dressed, anyway, in a chequered black-and-blue skirt, though hir shimmery silver-grey top has been peeled off and dropped over an arm of the futon ze's currently sprawled hirself over. A spritzbottle (like for training /cats/) in one hand and laptop nearby, ze pages slowly through email that is conveniently floating in /front/ of hir, now. Holographic interface is all the better to mist water along hir gills without having to worry about spritzing the computer along with it. Jax must have some kind of /radar/ for his kids not showing up at mealtimes. Because when there is no B at dinner, /soon/ after there is an onslaught of /dad/ making their way through the unlocked door between their places. Jax's arrival is easy to mark, the stump of his crutches and casted leg making his entry rather noticeable as he makes his way through the house. "Hey, honey-honey. There was this chili-lime chicken at dinner Ines whipped up, didn't think you'd want t'miss out on it." /He/ may have already gorged himself on chili-lime tofu in a very similar marinade. He's brightly dressed as ever, lime-green and black skirt, a nice /new/ 'All My Heroes Have FBI Files' t-shirt, metallic nailpolish, glittery makeup. He's traded his earlier sunglasses for an orangey eyepatch with Applejack's cutie mark in its center. Micah's entrance is a little quieter, following through the opened door with an armload of food tray, laden with a plate of the aforementioned chicken and a glass of limeade to go with it. The dishes and utensils are all borrowed from the Common kitchen from the look of them. "Thought maybe y'got wrapped up in work an' forgot about food." He looks like he's been home from work for a little while, hair dried a little spiky from a shower before dinner, work clothes swapped out for bluejeans and an olive T-shirt depicting Darwin-inspired sketches of finches with adaptive upgrades, but technological instead of biological. "How're y'doin'? Not interruptin' too much, are we?" He pushes the door closed with his hip before carrying the tray over to deposit on the table in front of B. B is tapping at one of the emails -- it's from Horus -- flicking it open curiously to pull up the link that it carries inside. Ze's barely had a chance to look at it when there is Approaching Dad, eyes skipping up towards hir fathers with a small smile pulling at hir lips. "I got wrapped up in tired and forgot about food," ze admits, a slow pleased flutter of gills rippling down hir sides at the smell of dinner. "Oh, wow, that /does/ smell good." Ze's just nudging hir holographic windows to the side out of the way when ze stops to actually /look/ at the link pulled up, curiously skimming it as ze moves it to one side of the futon. A website for Themis House that ze scrolls through in faint distraction, gills fluttering faster before ze looks back to the food. "... You seen Horus around today?" "Think everyone's been a bit short on sleep lately," says the man who has slept possibly three or four nights in the past month, "you ever want to tuck some folks over our way -- or I know Zombie's got some space freed up, those two sisters shipped home this morning." Which Jax sounds quite pleased about, less because he's in any /hurry/ to get everyone out and more because it's always kind of a pleasant thing when people have homes to return /to/. He leans in to curl one arm around B in a quick hug, head shaking after. "Today? I ain't seen him in a -- he gets kinda skittish with the crowds he's been a bit scarce." He's kind of habitually not looking at B's floatycomputer, never /quite/ sure with the holographs how much eavesdropping is rude and how much is unavoidable. "Mmn, yeah. Had trouble sleepin' last night m'self." For some reason that offhand comment comes with a hint of a smile. "Haven't seen 'im t'day, but he does hole up or run off a lot when we got folks all over like this." Micah reaches out a hand to pet down at B's gills along one side of hir neck, then the other. "Y'look worried. Did he send out a worryin' text or somethin'?" There /might/ be a little heightened tension at that, considering how Horus's /tweets/ ended before he got 'birdnapped'. "Mmn. No. He -- he sounds -- alright. He just sent me --" B leans in to the hug, quieting briefly to nuzzle hir face into Jax's shoulder, gills slowing into lazy contentment under Micah's fingers and then lying flat. Nuzzling is short-lived with /food/ set out, and ze wriggles away quickly to pluck a drumstick out of the plate of chicken. Hir other hand moves to grab the browser, shift it over to place it definitively in /front/ of Micah and Jax in open invitation this time to look. "Do you know anything about these Themis people? I saw some ads on the subway but I didn't --" Ze shrugs a shoulder, taking a hungry chomp of chicken. Micah's hint of smile is answered with a dusting of /blush/ from Jax, his own smile warming, here. Once B starts to eat, he settles down to lower himself to the futon too, eye skimming over the website. A brief grimace presses his lips thinner. "Yeah, I've seen their ads too. An' Rilla linked me at some woman talkin' about their --" He can't really keep the disgust out of his voice as his fingers flutter towards the browser window. "S'like all that ex-gay /conversion/ therapy garbage only for /us/. Go to their place, learn t'be /normal/, it's a bunch of --" Suddenly his eye widens, gaze flittng over to B. "Oh, /gosh/. /Horus/ ain't goin' in for these people's spiel, is he?" Well, now that Jax is blushing, Micah is, too, though only in the faintest whisper of pink. He looks down at the page once he is directed to it, nose crinkling in distaste. "Oh, /those/ ads. I ain't paid 'em any mind on account of they seem like 'pray the gay away'. Only mutants 'stead of..." His hand flutters in Jax's direction to second what he says. "An' I'm extra skeptical of random places with odd flyers sayin' they wanna help people with abilities since that whole /Sublime/ fiasco." B's gills are starting to flutter again, his shoulders tightening and eyes lowering at that tone of disgust from Jax. "I don't think -- I mean, he says they. They were really nice to him and. /Horus/ doesn't say that about -- he's scared of /everyone/ he'd have run screaming from Sublime's cult. But he says they were --" Ze shakes hir head, tearing another mouthful of chicken off the drumstick. "He thought maybe they -- they could help me." Hir voice has dropped a good deal softer with this, eyes fixed on the food and not on either of hir dads. "That -- that maybe next time he goes by I could. Go with. And see -- if they --" Ze buries the end of this sentence in another bite of meat. "Horus went to -- /you're/ goin' to --" There's a sudden sharper note in Jax's tone, but he bites back the rest of his thought, instead taking a deep breath. His eye fixes on the website, his fingers fidgeting with a zippered pocket on his skirt. Another breath. In, out. "Sweetie, what do we even know about these folks? Y'can't -- make mutants human, how do we even know what they're /doin'/ to folks there outside'a teachin' them to hate who they are?" "Horus done already went t'see these folks? We should...talk to 'im 'bout it 'fore y'do /anythin'/, sugar. An' I wanna research 'em more. You should, too." Micah draws in a quick breath at the anger in Jax's tone, head shaking at his husband from where he has moved a little /behind/ B to keep petting at hir gills. "/If/ it's entirely on the up'n'up, Jax. They been talkin' 'bout...suppression. Maybe like the chemicals that were in those darts that turned your team's abilities off, y'know? An'...plastic surgery." Micah doesn't sound entirely /happy/ at this, but there is nothing of real anger or judgement in his tone; just...worry. "I don't see how it's much dif'rent than somebody born lookin' male as don't want to no more decidin' t'seek medical assistance with that, t'look more like what they are t'themselves, y'know. /Provided/ it's entirely on the up'n'up. Which I got m'concerns over." B cringes at Jax's tone, ducking hir head. Hir fingers clench around the half-eaten drumstick, tightening hard and fast enough to snap the leg with a crackling of breaking bone. Hir mouth opens, but closes again with no words spoken. A sudden sharp swat at the air crumples the floating browser window out of sight. Hir eyes fix on the plate of chicken, gills starting to ripple again rapidly, sharp edges shifting against Micah's fingertips. "Suppression. Do you know how many people even got the power to do that? If some /legit/ folks had invented some way /everyone/ woulda heard about it by now, they'd be makin' a /mint/. Prometheus is the only ones yet come up with a /way/ to turn us off an' if these folks are out there --" Jax's voice had gentled but now it's sharpening again, his fingers curling against his leg into a fist. He breaks off with another deep breath, the back of his wrist pressing to his lips in the face of B's silence. For a moment his eye turns up, studying the ceiling. When he finally speaks again his tone has eased back down into quieter. Calmer. "B, I'm --" His fist circles over his heart in apology. "This jus' sounds all /kinds/'a dangerous and --" He trails off, fingers clenching at the hem of his skirt. Micah's fingers don't leave off their petting at the gills. He leans in to press a kiss to the top of B's head, on hir spiky hair. "I'm not sayin' it's not...suspect that these folks cropped up this way. Or that I'm not concerned that they're usin' /experimental/ processes on people. Or that it might all be snake oil. I'm just sayin' that if it's /not/ any of those things we shouldn't write off what B wants here. Provided ze's comin' to an informed an' not-rushed kinda decision." There's a brief pause in the gill petting just for Micah to squeeze B's shoulder gently. "We should talk t'Horus 'bout what they said. Research more. Maybe go talk t'these folks for ourselves, honey, feel 'em out." "Horus sounds -- sounded excited, he." B's words are a little choppy, gills taking a while to settle down. Hir eyes slant over to Jax, then back down to hir hands. Ze leans forward slowly to set the chicken bone back on its plate. "I don't /care/ if it's dangerous." This is a little more vehement. "I just -- if these people, if they can help --" Ze swallows, pulling hir knees up by hir chest. "Help." Jax exhales this word kind of incredulously. "I can't believe you're /encouraging/ this, Micah. Was you even /reading/ this garbage they --" He gestures to the air, though the website has gone away now. "You /can't/ compare these people to /gender/ reassignment, that's a crock of bull. They're like folks sellin' skin lightenin' cream through Africa. Like conversion therapy for queers. They'd -- that would /be/ a valid comparison if we was in a society where people wanted to /exterminate/ all women an' gender reassignment clinics opened up that /only/ offered 'help' to change women into men because /being a man is better/. Because that's /normal/ an' /normal/ is the goal. In a ideal world you might have a point. In this one this is jus' /sick/ it's /preyin'/ on bigotry an' systemic discrimination an' exploitin' a society that has you," his eye darts back to B, "thinking riskin' your own safety is a better path than bein' yourself. This is --" He rubs his hands over his face, hissing out a sharp unhappy breath and standing abruptly enough that it draws a /second/ sharper hiss as his weight shifts to his casted leg. "There's /such/ a world'a difference in tryin' to help folks be more comfortable in their own skin an' tryin' to /make everyone normal because that's what's better/." "I'm not encouragin' nothin' neither way. I just think we shouldn't be makin' a decision at this point. We should research what's goin' on more. 'Specially if Horus is already goin' there an' B's wantin' t'go there an' more folks are gonna /go/. We need t'know what we're /dealin'/ with. An' we need t'be calm enough about it t'/do/ all that, /please/." Micah slips onto the seat next to B, curling an arm around hir. "An' I think we need t'/listen/ t'what B's feelin' an' why. 'Stead of just assumin' what's goin' on with /hir/ is also representative of some bigger systemic so-an'-so. Maybe this /place/ is that, but B's our /child/ an' I wanna know what's goin' on with /hir/. Not...society. Why ze isn't happy. What's makin' hir unhappy. What's the best way t'/actually/ help." B's shoulders stiffen under Micah's arm, and ze lapses back into silence. A shiver of breath, a quick flutter of gills. Ze starts to reach for the plate of chicken again but drops hir hand, instead just wrapping hir arms tightly around hir shins. "Normal /is/ the goal," ze finally whispers, a little shaky, a little hoarse. "Hhh -- don't you dare make out like I --" Jax stops, hand scrubbing against the side of his face again. His palm drags upward to press against his eyepatch, the light around the room shivering unsteadily. "Fine. You want to pretend this is comin' up in a vacuum, go ahead. This jus' ain't -- I jus' -- can't. Right now, I --" He presses his lips together, pulling in a breath and circling a fist over his heart again. The light is shivering again and he turns aside, still rubbing at his eye as he hastens out of the room and back towards their apartment. "Honey, I'm not /sayin'/ that there ain't other factors at play here, but we ain't /heard B out/ yet. Can we just...listen to hir first?" Micah reaches a hand out toward Jax, patting at the air but not quite to the point of touching him. "An' I know this is every kind of a touchy subject for you but we /have to/ keep calm 'bout it so we /can/ listen. We need t' /be/ the safe place for B t'talk..." He nods as Jax exits, though this comes with a somewhat defeated sag of his shoulders. "Maybe that's best. Take some time an' come at it cooler-headed." When Jax has left the room, he wraps both arms around B in a hug. "You talk t'me, okay? Maybe not right now. I know that was just a /lot/. But /talk/ t'me. I wanna know everythin'. An' /don't/ just go runnin' after this by yourself, okay? Shouldn't be doin' none of this alone /or/ hastily. Can y'promise me that, at least?" B sags into the hug, turning hir cheek to press up against Micah's chest. Hir eyes close, gills fluttering unsteadily. "He left his crutches," is all ze finally answers, snuffling in a shaky breath. "He might maybe need those." “He'll figure it out or I'll take 'em to 'im later,” Micah replies simply, hugging B closer. “I'm feelin' like maybe you need me more just now.” B just nods, here. Slow and silent. Hir eyes stay closed, and ze tucks hir legs up to nestle half onto Micah's lap. No more words, just slow careful breaths as ze curls closer in at hir father's side.