ArchivedLogs:Exhaustion

Exhaustion
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah, Dusk, Kay
In Absentia	29 October 2013 Return home from mission, collapse.
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 gotten very late at night, by now; late enough it’s really straight back into morning, again. Outside in the rest of the house, refugees are still scattered around, largely just sleeping. Jax and Micah’s bedroom is usually somewhat of a haven from the crowd, but today it finds itself as crowded as any place. There’s a kind of /puppy-pile/ of people on the large bed, the twins and Karrie and Eloise all crashed out exhausted, full-dressed atop the covers together with the larger figure of Kay. There are lingering traces of Sebastian’s injuries in the newer rawer skin on his face and gills, but for the most part they all look -- /asleep/, a little pale, but healthy. Jax perhaps looks worse than the rest of them, drawn and exhausted where he sits very much not-sleeping at his desk. His laptop is open, tablet in his lap; he’s working on a drawing at the moment of a young girl, dancing on a rooftop; her arms are outflung and there is a large outsweep of -- perhaps flames, perhaps flame-hued feathers -- extending from her arms. Jax has changed into more comfortable clothes since getting home, purple yoga pants and a black tank top, a red-and-black sweatshirt with silver butterflies down its arms worn over top. There’s a mug of tea on the desk with him, half-full and long since cold. Micah has made the trip back to the Lofts to drop off a wounded Dusk, fully planning to move on to Lucien's at some point since he has left small child there sleeping. Convenient co-location of friend group members means that he is afforded a stop-over at home to visit with Jax, too! His auburn hair is /beyond/ tousled, to the point that it looks more like he has been asleep and gotten back up again rather than not been to bed at all. His rumpled brown Firefly dinosaur shirt and patched jeans seem to tell much the same story. After tiptoeing his way past the assorted sleeping (and some still-awake) refugees in the living room, he gives a soft knock at the bedroom door before entering. For all that he has been shot in the side, by the time they arrive back at the Lofts Dusk is actually looking a good deal better than before. Still -- pale, still stiffly avoiding much jostling of his injured side, but he is not leaning on Micah to walk anymore. He follows the other man through the house quietly, slipping in beside him to look for a long hard while at the pile-of-people on the bed before he looks to Jax. “Holy shit.” His voice is quiet, sighed out in a way that might be relieved or might just be exhausted. One wing extends across the room to brush lightly at Jax’s arm before pulling back in. “You found him.” His nostrils flare, one brief quick sniff. He frowns at the bed some more. “-- Bastian alright? /He/ alright, I was worried Malthus would’ve --” His wings shiver, and pull in tighter at his back. Kay is less snuggly than he is loose and lanky and utterly careless, even dead asleep. He's sprawled out, his movements accommodating any puppy piling purely for comfort; letting possibly Karrie tuck up under his arm to lay her head on his chest, draping an arm around her as he respirates slowly, heart thumping, body very much no longer dead. That doesn't mean his past five hours aren't still visible; new burn scars line up his arms pink and waxy, two notable /bald/ spots to either sides of his temple. His clothes - burnt rags. He smells like a camp fire but then - he rarely doesn't. It's just even more prominent now. "Mnhgh…" he makes a sleepy-waking sound, stretching his long body so hard his back arches up off the bed. Like a lazy HIP thrust at the ceiling. The relaxes again then. For about five seconds. Then he LURCHES UP, dumping teen girl into his lap with a MASSIVE GASP, eyes wide. Jax glances up when the door opens, scars and pallor and shadowed expression reflexively vanishing under a much-practiced makeup-layer of illusion, tattoos restored, colour returned to his face, a hint of glimmer accenting lips and eyelid. “Oh -- oh you’re back.” This /definitely/ sounds relieved; Jax gets up from the desk, setting his tablet aside to cross the room and fold Micah into a /tight/ fierce hug. He buries his face against Micah’s neck, relaxing a little bit further at the soft touch of Dusk’s wing. He straightens, though, at the noise on the bed from Kay, eye widening slightly and a renewed tension in his posture. “Kay -- can -- I --” But his words falter, a deep flush flooding his cheeks. Karrie makes a muffled noise of protest at her jostling, but it is probably a testament to her exertion tonight that it doesn’t actually wake her. She promptly turns over, away from Kay to nestle up to Shane instead. Zzz. At signs of impending Jaxhug, Micah opens his arms wide, wrapping his arms around the other man and squeezing tight. One hand slides up to pet at Jax's hair when he hides his face against him. “Are you okay, hon?” he asks with a hint of concern lacing his voice, only deepened into a furrowing of brow as Jax's tension grows and becomes aborted attempts at speech. Dusk’s wing curls out again at Jax’s tension; it wraps loosely against Jax and Micah both in a slow squeeze of hug. He exhales in a sudden rush at Kay’s grumbly noises, looking over towards the bed. “Holy shit, dude. You made it. That’s like -- fucking -- I was worried as hell leaving you with those people.” His brows knit together at Kay’s sudden lurching, though. “Woah hey take it easy. Are you hurt, /were/ you hurt --” This trails off with Karrie’s quiet shifting. His eyes drop from Kay to the twins. Eloise. Karrie. Colour drains further from his face, his wing tightening around Jax and Micah. His mouth opens and then closes. “... can I get you. Something.” There’s an odder stilted quality to his voice, now. "-the kid." Kay says this, sharp, flat, immediate to Dusk. Or at Dusk. He doesn't seem to even notice Jackson or Micah, he's suddenly fumbling through the arsenal of teenagers strewn across the bed like an underaged orgy, jaw clenched. Tossing them like a salad until he finds - well fuck there are two of them, but he lays a long-fingered hand splayed out like a spider atop either twin's head - and then /heaves/ out an exhale. And lays both hands over his face, dropping backwards again in a boneless heap, "-ohfuckfuckshitshit/SHIT/, Dusk." “Yeah.” Though Jax’s voice is scratchy-rough with this answer; he doesn’t /sound/ all that okay, his fingers tightening in Micah’s shirt and his weight leaning slightly into the curl of Dusk’s wing. “Yeah no I -- yeah.” He swallows, glancing up. “-- I. Hurt him --” A small shudder ripples up his spine. “It’s okay,” he might be telling himself this as much as Kay. “He’s okay. He’s okay now and you’re okay and I -- am sorry.” Micah pulls Jax closer as he seems ever more /not/ okay. “Honey, I'm sure...whatever happened, it was t'get everyone outta there as safe as possible.” He leans in to place a kiss on the other man's forehead when he looks up. “Everybody seems t'be okay, yeah. Everythin's gonna be alright. Everyone just needs t'decompress a bit an' sleep, prob'ly.” Dusk looks between Karrie and Kay once again, his wing squeezing and then relaxing. Then pulling back to fold in at his back. “Who did you -- who did she --” His lips compress thinly. “Is someone else dead?” His arms curl in against his chest, his brow furrowing. He moves over closer to the bed, leaning over pile-o’-teenagers to scrutinize Kay /critically/. His fingers prod at the bald scarred patches at the side of his head. “Fuck. You -- right.” He looks from these scars to Bastian, another involuntary shudder passing through his wings. “What happened to B?” is immediately followed up by: “Micah’s right. Everyone’s here. Everyone’s safe. Should just -- sleep.” Kay is kind of scowling when he gets poked, even /while/ looking at Dusk at an utter loss. "Uh - shit, the kid. I was in the woods - that /shitfuckingCUNT/ HAMMER guy, I'd have had his ass." He's very warm up close, not burning to touch but radiant-feverish, reaching up to grab onto Dusk's hand, to drag him near, to seize at his shirt front, "I don't need to fucking /sleep/, /Christ/ - then the kid… Jesus, Dusk, he came up on me in the dark and I just. I was half passed out and I just /fragged/ him. I didn't even think." He's squirming to get off the bed, "-Jax. What the fuck --?" --is wrong? happened? are you on about? am I doing in your room? Any one of these could work. Kay asks it while kind of - holding his shirt together, when the movement makes it slide off one shoulder. Jax shudders, too, at the mention of /fragging/ Bastian. His eye squeezes shut, a flicker of light at the edges of the room very reminiscent of flame before it dies away. “The -- the kids. We came --” His voice is a little shaky, and he takes in a deep breath before continuing. “The pups are good at -- tracking, they were just trying to. Find you, we -- wanted to get you. Home.” He’s straightening, slowly, stiffly pulling away from Micah to instead curl his arms around himself. “Nobody else is dead,” he assures Dusk, “She -- Shane -- he can handle more than. Most people.” His fingers press hard into his biceps. “You might need sleep, Kay, I -- you were --” His knuckles lift to dig at his eye. “Should at least rest. Or eat something. Drink some water.” All of this talk just seems to /confuse/ Micah, his eyebrows making their best attempt to squish into one another. “Bastian was hurt? He seems...” He peers over Jax's shoulder at the people-pile on the bed, resisting the urge to go /check/ because people have had a stressful day and need to /stay/ asleep. “Okay now? Somethin'...happened t'Shane, too? I mean...everyone /is/ okay, right? What...what do people need? I can get food an' drinks?” "Bastian looks like he was hurt. Kay was dead." Dusk relates this flatly, eyes skipping between the teenagers. "I'm getting you a fucking drink, man. That takes a lot out of you." "/Water/." Kay doesn't say it like he wants it, he says it like it's a bone caught in his throat, shaking his head hard. A ragged joyless /chuckle/ can be heard from the depth of him, stooped over and backing away, "Sssssaaagh," not a word. Just a sound, "Kay was dead, yeah. Okay. Nhhaaahah." He puts out his hands and /pushes/ Dusk, in the chest, like he wants to corral him out the door, bandages or no bandages. "I feel /fine/. Let's get some--." His face drops blank. His hands drop to his sides. "--that." This isn't said to anyone. He turns. Walks out of the room. Some of the labrats are stirring from the noise, raising their bleary heads to peer over at him. He ignores them, heading for the kitchen. "I killed him." Jax says this with distinct discomfort, faint wisps of shadow twining around his arms. "Everyone's -- fine. I'm sorry. I just -- sorry. It's been a -- night. Maybe sleep. Maybe sleep would be good." “Kay was...he looks pretty /spry/ for a dead guy?” When Kay asks for water, Micah perks. “I can get water. An' Dusk, y'shouldn't be fetchin' any...you're still injured. An' need t'eat, /too/. I can. I think maybe I'm the only not-hurt person, I'll get things.” But then Kay is pushing out of the room and Micah isn't about to /physically/ prevent a recently-dead-guy from leaving to get his own drink. Jax's comment stops him worrying about what Dusk and Kay are up to, at least. “Honey, what? You... But everyone is fine.” He hugs the other man tighter again, not really understanding or knowing what to do. “I think I’m the only /hurt/ person,” Dusk contradicts Micah, after surveying the bed. He watches Kay head out, his hand lifting to drag his palm slowly against his face. “He’s alive now. Everyone’s alive now. You -- did what you had to do. Fff--” He pulls in a slow breath, tightening his wings against his back. “You’ve got a full house down here. I’m going to my own -- /I/ need sleep even if the zombie over there doesn’t.” He leans in, kissing Micah and then Jax in turn on the forehead. “Stop fretting. It’s late as hell. Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s -- today’s -- still a work day.” He turns, too, following Kay for the door. Kay is in the kitchen now. With the tap running, he scoops his hands in the water, drags out handfuls, thrusts his face into it. Making vigorous 'fffwah' sounds to himself. When Dusk appears, he shakes his head vigorously, scattering water droplets and falls in alongside him, tossing an arm around the back of Dusk's neck and confiding, softer, breathlessly, “Oh my fucking god.” He plants his face in the side of Dusk’s neck and /moans/. “Nobody’s hurt. Anymore.” Jax leans into the hug gratefully anyway, face mooshing up against Micah’s shoulder. “Micah it was -- a mess, Bastian got to him first and he -- didn’t know. It was Bastian. And just -- attacked and then -- Eloise couldn’t heal them /both/ so I -- killed him.” His eye screws shut tight. He makes no move to stop the others from leaving, just curls his arms around Micah tightly. “-- We should go, um. We’ll have to -- get Spence. Mngh.” “You /are/ hurt. An' you bled a lot. An' you need... If you fall asleep first, fine, but I am trackin' you down /tomorrow/.” Micah's tone still has more of worry and confusion in it than sternness. Everyone's stubborn lack of accepting help has him fidgety, like a dog pawing at the air and whining when its people speak in upset voices and it doesn't know how to make it stop. He holds Jax because that's the one thing that he /can/ seem to do right now. “I just...I don't get how that'd be helpful?” His hands pet along Jax's back. “He's long since been sleepin'. Lucien was plannin' on havin' me over...bed's already made up. Sure it couldn't be too much trouble for you t'come with just...t'have a place t'sleep for a /little/ bit. There's a million people here.” “Tomorrow,” Dusk agrees, over his shoulder. His wing curls reflexively around Kay when Kay falls in along side him. “Jesus Christ, I know, right?” And that apparently is that, as he carts the other man off to the -- still pretty crowded upstairs of Geekhaus. Where at least Dusk has his own bedroom, for now. “I don’t know what’s helpful.” There’s a ragged edge of laughter in Jax’s words, though the sudden inward-curling tremor of his shoulders feels closer to a sob. “I just /killed/ a man trying to be helpful I don’t think I’m the best judge of --” His fingers curl tight into Micah’s shirt, dark tendrils curling further up his arm. “Right. Sorry. OK. We should go. There. And sleep. -- No there’s not time for sleep. Maybe -- breakfast. I’ll have to get all the kids back to Westchester -- not too long from --” He scrunches up his face again, shakes his head quickly. “Sorry. Sorry, no, we’ll just go. Lucien’s?” His hands drop, one catching at Micah’s hand to tug at it almost plaintively. Micah squeezes Jax tighter, no longer even bothering to try to get clarification on what happened or why. He kisses him repeatedly on the top of the head, then his forehead. “I'll get you an' overnight bag together an' we'll go right over. Straight t'bed.” He places another kiss on Jax's forehead before pulling back. “I love you, hon. We can...figure out the things what need figurin' later. The important thing is that everyone's okay now. An' you have t'go sleep.” Jackson just nods. Once, tired. Hugs Micah tighter for a moment, and then pulls back. “Love you,” he says, quiet. And then offers Micah a small crooked smile. “One of these days we’ll have a nice, quiet, normal night. We probably won’t even know what to do with it by then.”