ArchivedLogs:Leaky Minds

Leaky Minds
Dramatis Personae Micah, Hive
In Absentia	13 March 2014 News on Anole's location and...there's a weird common narrative coming out in these dreams. (Part of the Perfectus TP and the Future Past TP.)
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. Well, it's /cold/ again in New York, with temperatures barely cresting freezing all day. Lighthaus is warm, though, with the smells of artichokes, sun-dried tomatoes, and garlic sauteeing in olive oil and spices. This blends smoothly into the sounds of boiling water mingling with Micah singing along with as many of the parts in /Dr. Horrible/ as he can without running over himself. His hair is still air drying from the shower and he is dressed in after-work casual clothes: chocolate brown Firefly dinosaur T-shirt over a lighter brown henley, faded bluejeans, socks with the Cat in the Hat on them. Turning the heat off under the boiling pasta, he moves quickly to pour the penne into a colander on standby for adding to his vegetables and sauce. << Knock knock. >> Hive's standard greeting sounds even harsher than usual, a /sharp/-stabbing jolt of pain beneath which his actual /voice/ sounds oddly fragmented, less like there are any other people in along with it and more like /he/ simply isn't quite all there himself. There's a scraping outside the door -- a key not quite /in/ the lock but perhaps scratching up /against/ the lock. Rattlescrape. Rattle. The door doesn't open, though. Micah startles slightly at the mental knock, losing a couple of noodles into the sink before he unhands the pot and moves to the door. << I got it, hon, put your key away. >> He throws the locks and holds the door open for Hive. "Got dinner goin'. Should be ready in a few. Makin' pasta 'cause it keeps well an'...I'm really the only one home yet." Once the telepath is inside he closes the door behind him, re-latching all the locks before he gestures Hive toward a chair in the kitchen. Hive has given up on the door by the time Micah opens it, hands fallen back to his sides and his keys just rattling against his palm. He's dressed as shabbily as he ever is, faded fraying jeans over (new! warm! blue!) socks and his Grumpy Bear hoodie, no hat on his head today though he's pulled his hood up over his fuzzy-short crop of dark hair. He looks -- like he's seen better days, even for /him/ lately, darkly shadowed eyes as though he hasn't slept in some while, unsteadier than usual on his feet. He doesn't actually make it all the way to the kitchen, instead dropping heavily down into one of the living room beanbags. << -- Oh. You're the only. Fuck. I usually check. >> His eyes have closed, bunch of keys dropped against his stomach. << I have to -- tell you. >> He cracks an eye open, brows knitted into a frown. "... don't need dinner. Just came to talk." The way Micah watches Hive slump into the living room is full of concern, but he's at a stage where the food cooking can't really be abandoned. << Did y'need someone else? Sorry t'disappoint. >> He retreats to the kitchen once more to stir at the sauteeing vegetables before they start to stick, adding chopped spinach and basil before squeezing lemon on top. "Came t'talk. Got dinner. Otherwise I'm eatin' by m'self. So you might as well. Also, s'good for you." << Have t'tell what? I'll be over in just a bit if this needs more attention, almost done. >> A small pan of cooked cannellini beans finds its way into the mixture, followed by the penne. One spice mill and then another is used to grind black and red pepper on top before tipping in a handful of pine nuts. Mixmix. << No. Need you, >> Hive answers, eyes shutting again. "Pups are out?" His head turns in the direction of their door for a moment and then just rolls back to face up towards the ceiling. << You'll just have to tell Jax for me. >> One leg extends in front of him, the other awkwardly crooked to tuck halfway under himself. "Smells good," he admits, but follows this up with: "Not hungry." His fingers twitch absently against the stormclouds on his sweatshirt. << Might need attention. Found Anole. >> << Okay. >> Micah agrees simply, pouring two glasses of cranberry-peach juice. "They are unless they sneaked into their room while I was in the shower an' I didn't notice. /Usually/ they aren't quite that subtle." He switches the heat off under the pasta, spooning a small amount into one bowl for Hive and a larger portion into another bowl for himself. << Be right there. >> The whole lot is carried over in two trips and deposited on the coffee table in front of Hive: cups followed by bowls and forks. "Y'should try t'eat what y'can. I don't mind if y'just pick at it. Tryin' t'eat frequently in small amounts is the best way t'make sure...y'get /somethin'/." Sitting down on the floor beside the table, he pulls his bowl closer. "You found 'im? Where? Is he okay?" Hive grimaces as Micah comes over with food; his hands pull in closer against his chest, briefly, but then relax to just fall limply down against the beanbag. "Ngh," is his answer to the question of food. "You can eat twice as much. /For/ me." The grimace does not fade for the next topic, either. "The Bronx. Some -- fucking. House. Just a -- normal-ass house. He's --" His brows scrunch inward. << Not okay. Don't know. Felt hurt. Was some other kid there too. Scared. Some people -- not sure who. Minds were -- >> His grimace deepens uncomfortably with the admission: << Hard to read. >> "I can help you t'eat it, but not that way...nutrition don't work quite like that." Micah takes a couple bites of pasta, followed by a swallow of juice. "I mean, if your hands are too shaky or whatever." He nods at the revelation of Anole's whereabouts. "That's...good, right? It'll be an easier place t'get 'im out of than some kinda institution." His brow furrows slightly. "Their /minds/ were hard t'read or /you/ were havin' a hard time readin' 'em? Ain't quite the same thing, y'know?" "Flicker had to -- goddamn -- dress me this --" Hive's teeth clench, shoulders tightening up as he nestles back further into the beanbag. "I don't -- fucking know. It's strange as fuck why the -- goddamn hell is someone -- keeping the kid in their." His head shakes once, hard. "I don't know. I tried and I couldn't get more than just -- fff. Just fucking. /Impressions/. Just -- fuck, if my /telepathy/ is going, too, I --" There's another slow grind of teeth, his jaw gritted tight. Micah slides closer, petting a hand over top of Hive's where it rests on the beanbag. "Honey, y'know we don't mind. We've taken care of you before when y'hived too many folks." He picks up Hive's bowl, holding it up. "May I help?" A thoughtful 'hm' comes at Hive's description of the place and trying to read the boys there. "Why does anyone ever lock somebody in their basement? Could be a lotta things. None of 'em /good/, so I won't speculate. S'there any chance they got that anti-telepath stuff blockin' you out? Or that they're unconscious or somethin' an' that's makin' 'em hard t'read?" "Not hungry," Hive answers again, uncomfortably opening his eyes to look down at his hands. "-- Just going to puke it up anyway. -- He's a goddamn /lizard/ what sick fuck is into --" He exhales sharply, starting to wriggle a little more upright but then just slumping back against the beanbag chair again. "Last time I ran into the telepathy -- shit it just. Was like a fucking. Void. This was -- fuzzy. Like I'm just losing my goddamn --" An unhappy twinge spasms in his cheek, and he lets his eyes close again. "Jim's staking the place out. Gonna need you guys though to. Actually go fucking /get/ him. And --" He cracks an eye open to look at Micah for this, "-- do your. Medic shit. He definitely felt /hurt/." "Have they tried you on any anti-nausea medications? Or...we could try ginger. Or rooibos, it's got anti-spasmodic properties that can be helpful for GI issues. Even could make you a ginger-rooibos tea." Micah's hand squeezes Hive's gently. "What's it sound like when y'try t'listen t'people that're drugged?" he asks quietly, looking down at the floor for a moment. "When d'we think we're doin' this? Jim an' Jax an'...Flicker? For the extraction team? An' I'll sure be there for medical support." "Yeah I have. Pills. They don't really. Give me an appetite though. Just --" Hive shrugs a shoulder, twitchily quick. His hand in Micah's is mostly just limp, fingers twitching slightly too but not managing a proper squeeze. "Drugged? I don't know. Fuzzy. But there were other people in the house. And /they/ were goddamn -- /fuzzy/ too." His brows knit again at the question of /when/. "Sooner better than later, I'd think. Jim's trying to figure out what kinda -- schedule. Whoever lives there is -- figure out when a good /time/ is. What kind of patterns. Tomorrow? -- Ffff." His smile is very small, and very brief. "... Guess I'm going to have to cancel that. Groundbreaking party." "Yeah, but y'/can/ eat without an appetite. /Can't/ really if you're just gonna bring it all right back up. 'Least not any way that's gonna keep y'from starvin'." Micah frowns at the description of others being fuzzy. "S'it like that when y'try t'read people 'round the buildin' here, too? If it's not...I just have t'wonder if it's somethin' strange about that buildin' or the people in it." His head shakes at the mention of cancelling the party. "Might not...depends what time works out best. An' whether t'morrow /is/ the best, or if mornin' is, or evenin', or a weekend. It'll depend what those people do with their time, for sure, if we're tryin' t'minimise whatever kinda altercation might happen." "Maybe," Hive says with a sudden sharp baring of teeth in a thin smile, "we're trying to maximize it. Sickass motherfuckers locking /kids/ in their -- they don't need to be goddamn. Walking around and --" He exhales sharply, fingers twitching in Micah's again. "-- I hear /you/ loud and clear. Everything there was just. Muted." "I dunno." Micah's brow creases more deeply, worried. "What're y'all gonna /do/? I mean...ain't like this group's keen on killin' folks. An' who knows what turnin' 'em over t'the cops would even accomplish?" He brings Hive's hand up to brush a light kiss to the knuckles at that twitch. "Just...y'all need t'be careful. It sounds like there's somethin' /off/ 'bout these people or their place. If they're comin' across that strangely t'your ability...it's...odd." His lips twitch, expression a little strange as a thought crosses his mind. "If it ends up we're doin' this t'morrow night...let me know as soon as possible. Luci bought tickets to a show. Should...let 'im know as early as we can if we can't make it." "No. Guess we're not really all that keen on --" Hive's eyes flick to Micah, and then drop away. His hand tugs gently at Micah's, starting to pull the other man closer but then giving up and just returning to its previous limp state in Micah's hand. "Careful's what Jax is for. He's pretty much a fucking. Power -- power --" He trails off, frowning uncertainly. "... a show?" He looks puzzled, turning an uncomprehending glance up at Micah. "What – huh?" Micah moves over to the beanbag, settling in next to Hive after the tug at his arm. "Okay...I just worry 'bout y'all goin' into situations blind. An' we don't seem t'know /nothin'/ 'bout this one." He reaches a hand up to pet gently at Hive's head. "Yeah, a musical. Pippin. We all had this dream where Luci was starrin' in it. An' I guess...he wanted t'take us t'see it for real. But they're for Friday night, is what made me think of it. If we're goin' after Anole Friday night, I need t'let Luci know we can't use the tickets." "We don't really know shit. But what else can we do, leave him?" Hive nestles in against Micah when the other man settles beside him, head tucking in against Micah's shoulder and his hair fuzzy-soft against Micah's jaw. "Wait. You two had a dream about Lucien in Pippin? /Both/ of you? But --" His eyes track to the twins' bedroom again. "... huh." "Goodness, no. Gettin' 'im outta there's top priority. Didn't mean t'make it sound otherwise. S'just...one of those things that pops up in m'head. Mental calendar. Schedulin' conflict." Micah's chin joins his hand in rubbing, soft-subtle movement over Hive's hair-fuzz. "Three. All three of us had the same dream. But didn't nothin' disappear or nothin' manifest that any of us noticed." Hive closes his eyes, head nestling in closer. His hand moves slowly, a little fumbling-unsteady as he attempts to drape an arm around the older man. "The three of you -- fuck. Fff. I don't. But." His brows wrinkle deeply. "You're not the only ones who dreamed about him in Pippin. That's odd, right? Nobody else had -- fucking. /Overlapping/ dreams." Micah wriggles over a bit, shoulders dipping to assist Hive's arm around them without simply /placing/ it there. “Who else dreamed 'bout that? That /is/ odd.” One eyebrow lifts slightly. “I mean, by far not the oddest dream thing t'go on 'round here. Didn't change New York into a jungle or Jax's art or a sci-fi movie or nothin'. But it's odd.” "Couple days ago. One of your pups -- in his dream was telling someone /you/ two had gone to see Lucien in Pippin. Whose dreams share a -- a fucking. /Narrative/?" Hive gives his head a small shake. "Not the /strangest/ thing but it's. Not. Fucking. /Normal/ either." “Huh,” Micah says with a pensive expression. “Anythin' else interestin' happen in that dream that y'know of?” He leans in to kiss the top of Hive's head. “Don't know as any of us really do much of /normal/ anymore, really.” "Dunno. Shane was running Evolve, I guess." Hive frowns uncertainly. "... actually it was fucking -- /really/ goddamn strange. He was -- in our new home. In the Commons. But --" He trails off, here, chewing at his lip slowly. "Was he runnin' Evolve with Jax's friend Aly, by any chance?" Micah asks curiously, eyebrow sliding up further. "'Cause that'd mean our dreams had a /lotta/ common narrative." He nods slightly. "Jax an' I were both talkin' 'bout the Commons in that dream, too. It seemed like it was set further in the future a bit... We were livin' at the Commons. 'Bastian was gettin' ready t'go away t'college." "-- Yeah. Her. She was with him --" Hive's teeth grind slowly. "Dusk dreamed about the Commons, too." His voice has dropped lower, here tired. "Our house looked fucking amazing." Once more, his teeth grind. "... but Shane and his friend were in the fucking -- treehouse. Big -- treehouse, overlooking the --" His brows crease further. "Micah, I haven't even /designed/ that fucking thing yet." "Huh. Is it possible the folks 'round here have...established some kinda psychic connection when they're dreamin'? I can only think that it...reached out t'Luci, too, after we had breakfast with 'im the day before." Micah shrugs, a little skeptical over his own wording of the fledgling theory. "Oh, big treehouse. That sounds nice. You designed it in your /head/ yet? Maybe s'just a thing that came outta /your/ mind..." "No. I mean, I've /wanted/ to build one, but I thought I'd get the /practical/ shit done first. Save that till /last/ like a -- like a /present/ to myself, you know? I've always -- always fucking /wanted/ to build a fuckoff-huge treehouse. Trick it out, make it /awesome/. So I'd toyed with --" Hive exhales heavily. "I wasn't even fucking asleep how would his dreams steal /mine/? I was playing EVE. It sure as hell looked like something I'd build, though." “Dunno...you're a telepath. Maybe your head connects t'other people's more so's y'didn't have t'be sleepin' or somethin'.” Micah's chin nuzzles into Hive's hair again. “S'a good thing for you t'get t'see, though. If you use the design from the dream, does that count as stealin' from yourself? Or just...nonconventional design?” Hive exhales a sharp laugh. "'least I'm not getting graded. Nobody'll give a fuck if I plagiarize myself. Plagiarizing /Shane/ would be strange as hell though." His arm tightens, just slightly, around Micah. "Dusk's dream had details he couldn't know about the house, either. But at least they were details /I/ actually put on paper already." His brow creases, deep. "His -- his was." But now he just falls quiet. His cheek presses against Micah's shoulder, his breathing a little shaky. Hive's laugh turns Micah's lips up in a small smile. “I think /either/ of those things is odd enough.” The smile fades at talk of Dusk's dream. “S'gotta be that they're connectin' t'you t'get that information, I guess. Dusk...did say he'd had some less than pleasant dreams.” He turns in to Hive a little, hugging the painfully-thin man close. “Are you okay?” "His dream was just quiet." Hive's fingers work in against Micah's shirt, then relax, erratically twitchy against Micah's side. "Was our house. But it was fucking -- empty. Dark. Collecting goddamn dust. No sign of --" His eyes lift to the ceiling, and then close. "Nothing but blood in the fridge. Just --" He draws in a slow breath. Lets it back out unsteadily. "No, I --" He doesn't finish answering this question. His mind presses in against Micah's, mental claws curling in sharp with a yearning-tugging hunger leaking out from the touch. “Oh. That's...disquietin',” Micah observes softly. “They're dreams, though, honey. Ain't like they got any control of what's /actually/ gonna happen. Know that don't help the disturbin' /feelin'/ from it none. But...it's dreams.” His arms squeeze tighter at Hive, reassuring-supporting-strong and wanting the reassurance of the other man's solid presence, as well. “You're still here with us. An' we're gonna fight t'keep you.” "It was just vivid. It's just disconcerting as fuck having to watch -- having to watch --" Hive hisses, turning his face in against Micah's shoulder. "Motherfucker /must/ have stole that from /my/ brain. /His/ dreams are usually as alive as he fucking is." He presses in at Micah's side, bony but solid, if shaky; his /mind/ presses in more hungrily, too, with this tighter contact, claws digging down deeper and latching in tight. "Don't feel very /here/ sometimes." “I can imagine.” Micah grimaces slightly, imagining rather well. “D'you think y'could be...leakin'? Like...psychically? On account of...y'know. It seems like a lotta the things t'do with the Commons an' such are based in things only you would know. 'Cept for Jax's an' mine an' Luci's. That one wasn't as much, I don't think. I...just don't know.” One of his hands rubs tight little circles on Hive's back. “You're here, honey. An' you're still with us an' we love you. Maybe we can try that tea later? With your meds. An' y'can try t'eat somethin'?” There's a sharp and sudden rush of sensation, disorienting and far from pleasant. A sick wrenching stab pulsing at the back of Micah's mind, a powerful wave of nausea. An uncomfortable /disjointedness/, thoughts sluggish-slow to catch up with where they should be, the world now too-bright and too-fast. Hive presses in closer, relaxing with a soft sigh as these sensations subside. << Not hungry, >> insists a voice, quiet and unobtrusive now rather than sledgehammer-heavy, in the back of Micah's mind. << This, >> comes with the shared-warm feel of Micah's hand against Hive's back, << this is enough. >> Micah's shoulders tense, hands gripping a bit tighter as he holds on against the wave of disorientation. He kisses the top of Hive's head when it passes. << Okay. >> “Okay, honey. For now. But if we wanna /keep/ you, we gotta feed you sometime. Love you, hon.” Hive doesn't answer this. At least not in words. He doesn't really need to; where his mind has melded itself to Micah's the fierce bright flare of love is strong enough.