ArchivedLogs:Not Bad
| Not Bad | |
|---|---|
Just...drawn that way? | |
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
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1 August 2013 Yes, that is a strange reference, I am meltybrain. >_> |
| Location
<XS> Phoenix Room – FL2 | |
The guest rooms at Xavier's are spacious and comfortable, well-furnished suites readied for visitors. This one is among the smallest of the available suites, consisting of a small sitting room, a bedroom with queen-sized bed, and a large bathroom. The windows look out over the side yard, with its playground and playing fields. The decor in here heavily favours rich reds and dark woods, and the artwork that graces the wall leans fiery in theme. There is a fireplace, here, stocked with wood in the niche beside it; on the mantlepiece above it, small glassworked figurines of birds in reds and oranges and yellow look half on fire themselves, when they catch the light. Jackson /had/ been up and about! And then returned to the medbay, after a rather unexpected expenditure of power on the previous day that undid a fair bit of the progress he had made. But today he is -- /sort of/ up and about again. In that he has, at least, left his bed in the medical lab! He's traded it for a guest suite, a little more comfortable, a little more /private/. At the moment, he's even not in bed! He /is/ tucked up into an armchair in the sitting room, which has been pulled over by the windows so that he can catch the last of the fading evening sun. Though intending to go back to class today, yesterday's misadventure put a crimp in those plans; he'll probably be teaching again /tomorrow/ but today he is just lounging. Black terrycloth pajama pants, a soft green t-shirt decorated with Lorax illustrations ('Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, Nothing is going to get better. It's not.' reads the text in between the pictures.) He has his laptop open on front of him, his tablet on his knees, but he's not currently drawing anything. He's mostly just staring out the window, absent-distant. Micah has been returning to the school some time after the worst of evening traffic has dissipated each night, bearing requested items from home and occasional treats. He has a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. He did take the time to change when he was home, into a powder blue Totoro face T-shirt and jeans. It takes him a little longer to find this room, being distant from the more familiar medlab. The door receives a largely ceremonial knocking, timed seconds before he opens it and steps inside. "Hey, hon. I come bearing sugar," he announces, withdrawing a few items from his bag. A container of candied ginger, another box with assorted dairy-free chocolates. "Figure they prob'ly had food-food covered for you for the day, but still gotta keep you all sugared up." He grins as he sets the items on the table, surveying the room. "This place is just...like...ridiculously huge." There is a Lucien arriving, not long behind Micah! He's arriving under /escort/, by way of one very chattery frizzily redheaded girl who is perhaps there as much to make sure Lucien doesn't get /lost/ as she is to make sure he doesn't deliberately wander anywhere he /shouldn't/. Knockknockknock! comes on the doorframe, largely ceremonial as well given that Karrie's already peeking in with wide eyes. "Hi, Jax, I have a /person/ he's here for you maybe? Are you sure you're OK for people because I heard you were /almost/ dead and if you get /all/ the way dead I'm -- well don't /do/ that, OK? -- I brought you a person. Sorry. Here." She gestures to Lucien with a /flourish/, like this is something she made just for Jax! "Micah!" Jackson brightens at the familiar voice, turning a bright smile towards the door when it is opened. He's still sort of pale-washed-out without illusion (or the energy for makeup) to give him his trademark glitter; his scars make a rather prominent mess of the bright tattoos that spread down his arm. But the smile: still bright. He sets his stylus down against his tablet, turning slightly towards the door. "Oh! Hihi! How was your day, sweetie? -- Oh ohgosh have I told you /you're/ the sweetest? Like way sweeter than all those candies /combined/ -- Karrie!" His smile for the girl is no less bright. "Hi, honey-honey. Y'want a chocolate? Micah brought me chocolate. It can be like a thanks for safe Lucien-delivery. Hi, Luci. You're lookin' just as dashin' as ever." "How are you doin' today?" Micah /bounces/ his way over to Jax, wrapping his arms around the other man's shoulders for a hug and placing a kiss on his cheek. "It was...tirin' has been the name of the game lately. I keep havin' to tell the car accident story an' I'm the worst liar /ever/." His nose crinkle and sigh at that blend easily into a smirk and chuckle, instead. "Ohgosh. I think it might not be safe for me to be in the same room as diabetics, then." His head lifts to regard the door when there is another knock and announcement. "Good timin'! Evenin', Lucien!" "/Chocolate/ of course yes I want chocolate who /doesn't/ want chocolate?" Karrie darts into the room to pilfer Jax's chocolate, snagging a piece with a wide braces-studded grin at Micah. "Thanks! Enjoy your delivery." She ducks out around Lucien, scuttling off down the hall with chocolate in hand. "You are looking ill." Lucien studies Jackson critically as he enters, gaze sweeping down over the others. "Melinda told me that you both nearly died." He says this somewhat like a criticism, as well. "Why would you do that." Jackson curls an arm upwards, snaking around Micah's shoulders to return the hug in a long squeeze. He answers the kiss, too, pecking Micah lightly on the very tip of the nose. "Y'could tell the truth. Say you was gettin' /hunted/ by a bunch'a /murderdrones/, soldiers, /grenades/, bullets everywhere. What's the odds anyone'd even believe you? You may's well tell folks you crashed your TARDIS." He lifts a hand, wiggling fingers in a wave to Karrie. Lucien's question earns a /laugh/, quick and bright. "-- Just seems like the thing to do sometimes, you know? Go to work, hit the gym, get near shot to death. Pretty much typical Wednesday." "Aliens," Micah explains to Karrie when she asks about the chocolate. "It's how you can tell." He isn't exactly attempting a straight face with the statement. "Thanks!" is offered to the girl with a wave as she departs. "Well, that wasn't exactly on the /agenda/ for the evenin'. Just sorta how it ended up. Was s'posed t'be a borin' old grocery delivery." Micah /snorts/ at Jax's suggestion. "I work with medical professionals. Of the variety that /must fuss over people/. Y'think they'd let me get away with that? I had t'come up with /somethin'/ plausible." He does laugh a bit. "Though the kids would be more than happy with the real story. Speakin' of which, how are you an' the family doin', Lucien?" "What is the real story?" Lucien's eyebrows raise, curiously. He closes the door again once Karrie leaves, drifting further into the room to give a closer, more thorough inspection to both of the men. "Murderdrones? Soldiers? It sounds rather extreme." His hands fold behind his back, gaze drifting towards the window. "The children are fine. Settling in. Not getting shot at. Much better than you and yours, I believe." "But it's so much more fun if they don't got somethin' plausible. Just somethin' more and more outlandish each time. Aliens. Lasers. Dinosaurs. Alien dinosaurs with lasers." Jackson shrugs a shoulder, leaning forward to close his laptop and set his tablet and stylus down on top of it. "M'glad the kids are aright. What about /you/?" "Mmn," Micah sighs, going for the shortest summary of the events. "Less interestin', more creepy. We went t'deliver the groceries, ran into a heap of soldiers'n Oscorp drones. They recognised Jax. Soldiers tried t'shoot us. Drones tried t'shoot /glue/ at us. When that didn't work, they threw a grenade. An' we barely got out, thanks only t'Jax makin' way more shields than he should /ever/ try t'do at one time." Micah leans against the back of Jax's chair. "The twins an' some of their friends also got chased out. As did some of the folks that live down there. An' a few people were kidnapped. It's...ugh. Incredibly horrific to the folks as were /already/ hidin' in a sewer, havin' their homes invaded that way." He scruffs a hand through his hair. "It's good the kids're okay. Sorry we weren't around t'help right after... I kept meanin' t'call. An' then /things/." "Soldiers," Lucien echoes, and now his voice has dropped quieter, /calmer/ but rather determinedly so. His fingers curl inwards towards his palm, his eyes staying steadily fixed out the window. "Right. They had come for --" He falls silent. For a long time, silent, before just: "Right." He draws a slow breath in. "That sounds horrifying," he eventually manages, "I am glad that you -- got out alright. And the children. Are -- Nox's people still down there, do they still need -- I imagine they might still need supplies. Perhaps more badly than before." His head shakes, somewhat abruptly. "No -- no apologies necessary, you two have had -- quite the week." He looks back to Micah with an abrupt narrowing of eyes. "-- Oscorp drones. Funny. It was Oscorp I had come to talk to you about." "S'folks still down there," Jackson agrees, "an' I imagine they'd be glad for whatever extras can be sent their way. They're kinda protective of their tunnels -- especially /now/ y'might not be able t'get so far, but we know a couple as might be able to arrange delivery if you wanted. We --" He gestures between himself and Micah a little guiltily, "ain't sent nothing down since." His brows crease, then, and he bites down on his lip as he looks at Lucien. "You an' Nox -- was a -- you were together, weren't you? I remember at the Gala --" His teeth wiggle at a lip ring. He curls a leg up towards his chest, wrapping his arm around it tightly. "Oscorp?" His head tilts, slightly. "What about Oscorp?" "I'm pretty sure people are still down there," Micah asserts, his brow furrowing with concern. "It ain't like they got anyplace else t' /go/. It worries me, though. That these people know where they are an' how t'get through their defenses if... Whatever it is that they want. If it suits them t'do somethin' like this again." He shakes his head, not having any recourse really to address the troubling issues. "I...ain't been back there since. Haven't thought it was a good idea to try. 'Specially not by myself, an' with as jumpy as folks gotta be down there. /You/ shouldn't try it, either," he directs the comment to Lucien. "I guess...we can try an' put together an appropriate team for deliveries? The twins' friend from there, he's been plannin' t'go back an' maybe he'd be willin' to act as a point of contact for us. To make this all as safe as possible." Lucien's mention of Oscorp manages to derail his cycle of worry-fret-plan. "Oscorp? What is goin' on with them now?" Lucien just shakes his head, at the mention of Nox. He moves nearer to the others, though only so that he can stand by the window, head dropping to rest against the windowpane as his eyes close. "Were, yes." It's very quiet. His eyes stay closed. It is a while before he answers again. "Yes. If your boys know someone. I would be glad to try and help." His head turns; at the mention of Oscorp he straightens, opening his eyes to look back at the others. "Norman Osborn has offered me employment." He says this faintly wearily. "Employment that comes rather entangled with a neighbor of yours. I came seeking advice, really. Hopefully before I land myself in a world of trouble." His smile is brief, thin. "If I have not already." Lucien's quiet answer pulls Jackson's brows together more firmly. His teeth continue to wiggle at his lip ring. His head tips back, eye flicking up to Micah before returning to Lucien. "Were. Was that before -- Lucien, she --" He swallows. Looks back down at his hands. The next announcement startles him, though; he looks back up with a wider-eyed glance. "Wait, what? /Um/." His frown deepens sharply. "Luci, I don't know as I have any advice for that 'cept don't get tangled up with Norman Osborn. What -- why -- I mean, everyone's gotta pay rent but that ain't seemed to be a --" He breaks off abruptly, sitting up just a little straighter. "-- Neighbor of mine." There's a sudden flatness to his tone. Lucien's past tense description of his relationship with Nox has Micah opening his mouth to speak, closing it again, and instead shooting a glance...to Jax, actually. As if asking for back-up or even permission on precisely what to disclose. He arches a brow, hoping that it communicates that question, at least in part. "Employment. With Osborn? I'd stay as far away from him as possible. I get nothin' but bad-creepy vibes off of him. Don't think he's exactly /stable/, either. Doesn't help that his tech's been helpin' kidnap an' subdue friends of ours." He leans more heavily against the chair back. "What's this got t'do with...who exactly?" he asks of the 'neighbour'. Lucien's lips press together thinly through the half-question about Nox. His eyes slip away from Jax to return to the window. He does not answer, just shakes his head once, slightly. "And tech that has helped murder mine." These words come soft, level though it's hard to say /calm/ given that they are spoken between his clenched teeth. "But -- this technology, this Institute of his. These things are happening, and will continue to push forward regardless. You are right to get a bad feeling from him; Norman Osborn is a /very/ dangerous man. It is dangerous to /leave/ such men unchecked." His hand lifts, forefinger and thumb pressing to the bridge of his nose. "-- And dangerous to try and be the ones to check them. Even so." His hand falls back to his side. "He has suggested I work with your neighbor Parley. Says that Parley is to be the /mascot/ for his new Institute. I was hoping, perhaps, you might give me a bit of insight into who it is I am to be working /with/. I have -- some small measure of reservation, in trusting anyone working intimately with Osborn." His lips curl upwards, small, self-deprecating. "-- Which includes myself, now, it seems. I hold some hope perhaps this friend of yours bears some of the same motivations." Jackson's expression is troubled, at that glance from Micah. His teeth wiggle at his lip ring, his brow furrowing deeply, but then it smoothes out and he answers the raised eyebrow with just a heavy affirming nod. His hand lifts, knuckles scrubbing against his eye. "He ain't no friend of mine." He says this reluctantly, uncomfortable and in no small measure kind of /sad/. "-- Mascot." This is flatter, fairly unsurprised; he follows it with a shaky exhalation of almost-laugh, his posture slumping back against the chair. "Wow. Um. OK. -- I honestly couldn't tell you nothin' about Parley's motivations, though. But he's --" Another troubled look passes across his face; he glances back up at Micah uncomfortably. "-- I been meaning to talk to /you/ about him, anyway, honey-honey, I don't -- think he's -- safe." "So, you're gonna work for him t'keep an eye on him?" Micah gathers from Lucien's exposition. His expression turns /baffled/ at the idea of Parley-as-mascot. "Mascot? Like...PR person? I guess? That's. Huh. You've honestly talked t'him about as much as I have. Our paths don't cross often." Baffled has very little time of its own before worry and concern vie for Micah's features once more. "Not safe? As in he's in trouble an' things aren't safe for /him/...or as in he /is/ trouble an' ain't safe t'be around? Or...ugh, since Osborn is involved, maybe both?" Micah winces at Lucien's mention of Nox's death, but looks more resolute at the nod from Jax. "Lucien, hon, I wouldn't trust what the news had been sayin' about Nox. Hive was...attached to one of her folks that got kidnapped an' has reason t'believe that they /took/ her. But that she was still alive, at least at the time." His voice has softened to deliver the news, pausing uncertainly for its reception. "All we really know is that they sold the media a false bill of goods with their story." "Mascot, he said," Lucien agrees. "Soft-spoken. Polite. Non-threatening. One of," his smile /thins/ sharply, "the 'good ones'. Osborn wants him to be the mutant face of the Institute." The breath he breathes out is sharp. "-- With Osborn involved, my first guess would be both." The news about Nox quiets him, though, his posture stiffening. "Nox --" The name is practically a whisper, just a soft breath drawn in quickly. Lucien turns back to the window, but then turns away, moving aside to find a chair and sink down into it. His elbows rest on his knees, his head dropping to rest forehead in his palms. "-- Oh." Unusually for Lucien's general quiet calm, this word is soft and shaky and -- small, his tone a little lost. Jackson bites down on his lip. For the moment the subject of Parley is left aside; his eye just focuses on Lucien's face. "We don't know exactly what they done took her /for/," he says quietly, "but seeing as they wanted the world to think her dead, it ain't --" His lips compress. He pushes himself upright, and then out of his chair, moving instead to sink down by Lucien's. He kneels beside the other man, resting a tentative hand on Lucien's knee. "We got folks -- we're already workin' on finding 'em, Luci. Getting 'em back." "Hm," is all that Micah manages to comment on the mascot job description, though the syllable sounds less than pleased. Lucien suddenly sinking into a chair prompts further action, however, a few steps taken to carry him closer and rest a hand on the other man's shoulder with a gentle, comforting squeeze. "I'm sorry...you had t'go through findin' out like that...an' then this. It's--I hadn't even processed the first news when Hive told me about what /he/ knew, so I can't even imagine." His teeth meet his lower lip, narrowly avoiding the healing skin there to worry a spot beside it. "They think they got a good idea of where they are now, an' when they're likely t'get moved. So there's a shelf life on the intel, but that just means we're guaranteed to act on it sooner." Micah chooses to make that detail sound entirely like a good thing. For a while, Lucien doesn't seem to notice the other men. His eyes fix straight down ahead of himself, locked onto the floor. It takes a very long silence before he finally moves, dropping one hand to rest on Jackson's on his knee, his other hand shifting to rest over Micah's at his shoulder. His touch comes as it so often does with a subtle-soft trickle of calm, gentle-soothing-warm. "Apologies," he murmurs, "I was taken -- somewhat by surprise. There are people. Acting. Good. I am not -- much for heroics, but if there is any way I can help, please -- she is -- very dear, to me." His fingers squeeze, gently, both men's hands, and then drop to his lap. His eyes close; when they open again, his expression has returned to its usual quiet calm. "Forgive me." He draws in another slow breath, and his voice eases back into level as he returns to the previous subject: "Osborn wishes me to drum up goodwill, for his project. Parley is to be a part. The /palatable/," there is distinct distaste in his tone, here, "face of mutancy. I suppose --" The faintest hint of colour touches his cheeks. "I admit I am somewhat /uneasy/ with this entire venture. I suppose I came to you for -- insight. With Norman Osborn I /know/ I am in danger. This other man is an unknown." Jax's head bows, through the brief squeeze of contact, touching a very light kiss to the backs of Lucien's knuckles. "No, you don't -- got nothin' t'be sorry for, honey-honey, this is. I can't even imagine what this is. /So/ screwed up. But we're working on it. We'll --" He swallows, a little stiffly. "Find her." When Lucien's hand moves away, his own lifts to rub against his face. He settles back, still kneeling by Lucien's chair but sitting more comfortably on his heels, now. "-- I think I meant it both ways," he says regretfully with a glance up at Micah. "I can't imagine the stuff he's involved in is safe for him. But /he/ ain't safe for folks around him, neither." He fidgets, slightly, bowing his head. "A couple months back he was -- trying to get into some pretty intense stuff. With Oscorp. Kinda stuff might coulda got him arrested, or killed. Nearabout did, actually," he remembers with a wince. "And he tried to get Peter to come along. Roped him into it, told him specific not to tell any adults he trusted. Peter's -- just a /kid/, he's /so/ influenceable -- an' telling /kids/ not to tell the adults in their life dangerous secrets ain't hardly real /trustworthy/ behavior from nobody." His teeth sink in against his lip briefly before he continues: "And I'm about ninety-nine percent sure that he's the one who went an' told Norman Osborn all about my family in the first place. Back -- before the Gala when he /suddenly/ got all creepy-interested in me. I don't for the life'a me know /why/ he wanted to sell me out to Osborn but --" He exhales, heavily. "I'd just feel a whole lot safer if that man was as little involved in our life as possible. The kids --" His jaw tightens. "I don't think nothin' good can come'a Norman Osborn's extra-special interest."
Micah somehow finds a way to look /more/ troubled at the telling of Parley's actions. "He tried to get Peter mixed up in Oscorp? Was this before or after the kid had already gotten himself in deeper than he should have stealin' his glue stuff? That's... I'd like to write it off to spectacularly bad judgement, but specifically tellin' him not t'let adults know what's goin' on. That's...deliberate." And there is the baffled expression once more! "What could he possibly hope t'gain from focusin' Osborn's attention on you? That makes no kinda sense." "No, I am fairly certain that drumming up goodwill for it is a terrible idea. But the Institute will happen with my PR assistance or no. And if there /are/ terrible things going on inside it -- I do not imagine they would be quite aboveboard about them. There is far more chance of it coming to light if someone involved in the project actually --" Lucien's lips press together, thin. His palm lifts to drag slowly across his face. "Cares," finishes more wearily, and then somewhat wry, "-- I have a feeling I will come to regret entangling myself with this." He drops his hand to his lap again, watching Jackson thoughtfully as he speaks. "Telling the child not to let those responsible for him know does, rather, push such behavior from 'irresponsible' to 'predatory'." He says this only thoughtfully, tipping his head back against his chair as he looks up to the ceiling. "There are many things he could have hoped to gain by coming to Osborn with information." Lucien flicks a brief glance to Micah. "Positive press for mutants. Norman Osborn's /favour/. A foot in the door at Oscorp. If you are the sort to value these things more highly than the safety and privacy of your neighbors, well. Information is -- valuable currency. It is really just a matter of where priorities lie, n'est-ce pas? I admit," his smile is thin here, again, "I hardly expect those working in Osborn's company to be shining beacons of morality. /I/ am hardly such, myself. I just like to know where I should tread more carefully." "Yeah. It was the telling Peter specific to hide it from us that -- I mean, don't get me wrong, I think he's --" Jackson hesitates again, wincing. "I don't exactly know what to think of him. I mean, in the labs? Talkin' to the other folks we got out? He -- worked /with/ the lab-folks a lot. Got a few people killed snitching them out to -- mmnh. But /in/ the labs don't -- always mean a lot, you know? Those are horrible situations, ain't hardly nobody gets outta there without doing horrible things, I'd /hoped/ -- I don't know what I'd hoped." He drops his head forward -- resting his forehead against Lucien's knee with a rather disgruntled 'hngh' in his throat. "I don't think he's /bad/. I think he's /broken/. The way he deals with folks -- half the time he apologizes just for existing. Cringes away from you like you're gonna hit him if he missteps. But I don't know how I can help someone I can't /trust/ not to throw me an' my family to the /wolves/ if he thinks it'll gain him something. Real -- real careful-like, I suppose." "I didn't mean they'd be aboveboard about exactly /what/ they're doin'. Just that they're doin' it. Make it look like somethin' more or less innocuous, as a front," Micah clarifies, scrunching his nose up, displeased with his own assessment. "Yeah, I have a feelin' there's no interactin' with Osborn an' comin' out of it with the warm-fuzzies after." He squeezes at Lucien's shoulder again. Micah nods as Jax explains Parley's role in the labs. "I don't think y'can fully judge what a person's like by what they might be forced t'do in extreme situations like that, yeah. But it don't seem like he's gotten much better about playin' along with the more dangerous side of things since he's been out...t'hear what you're tellin', anyhow. Bein' bad or bein' broken only matters for if /he/ can be helped. Don't matter for the outcomes of interactin' with him 'til such time as it happens. I'd...avoid givin' him any information that could be remotely useful." A deflating sort of sigh passes through his lips, as if this conclusion were immensely exhausting. "He came from those labs?" Lucien's eyebrows raise at this bit of information, and he nods, slightly. "-- Does that mean that /you/ were responsible for freeing him?" At Micah's sigh he lifts his hand again, squeezing at the hand that Micah rests on his shoulder. This time, the touch comes with nothing more than the simple contact, no habitual touches of mood-lightening. His hand stays, this time. "Many people can be helped, I am sure. It is not /your/ responsibility to help them all. You will run yourself ragged trying." His other hand moves to rest at the back of Jackson's head, when it rests on his knee. "-- and some people," this comes softer, more tired, "some people, I think, are somewhere past helping. -- I will tread carefully, then. Thank you." "Mmmnh. Yes. Be careful, honey-honey. I mean, you're sittin' here tellin' /me/ I can't save everything an' /you're/ talking about takin' on /Oscorp/ with a family of your own." Jax's posture relaxes in to lean more against Lucien's leg when the other man rests his hand on his head. "I think most everyone /can/ be helped. Even if I ain't hardly the right person to help 'em. But -- but yeah. He -- I don't know. I'd /like/ to help I just -- I don't. Always know how. And until we get there -- I think treading careful's probably a good idea in a /lot/ of the world, these days." | |
