ArchivedLogs:Going Your Way

Going Your Way
Dramatis Personae Jax, Micah, Shane
In Absentia	9 July 2014 Revelations from Shane.
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Laundry - Lower East Side
Warm and bright and often warmer still from the running of the machines in here; with neat tile underneath and a soft yellow paint on the walls this room strives to make a necessary chore a little more cheerful. A long row of top-loading washers is mirrored by a long row of dryers along the opposite wall; they come in mostly standard sizing though there are a pair of much larger-sized ones at the end of each row for bigger loads. Residents' electronic keys can operate these machines, rather than coins; the money for each load is automatically added to their share of common utilities each month. Over top of the machines, shelving on the wall leaves space for people to leave their detergents; it's a good idea to mark them with names if they are not available for anyone to use. A collection of magnets along the wall carry the names of all residents who frequent this room; when leaving laundry it's customary to stick a name on the side of machines in case of forgetting a load in one of them. Large cloth bins beside the machines are available for storing leftover clothes forgotten in a machine by other residents. Off to the side is a small seating area for people who choose to sit and wait with their laundry; a couch and a loveseat sit perpendicular to each other by a low coffee table. Beside this there's a folding area, long wide table and a number of folding chairs situated around it. It’s been kind of sweltering all day, but now that the sun has set the world is starting (slowly) to cool. The world /outside/, anyway. In here it’s still warm, the running dryers filling the room with (fresh-scented!) air though at /least/ there is the thankfully mitigating factor of air conditioning to prevent the basement from turning into an oven. Jax hasn’t actually been down here all /that/ long, really; drop in a few loads, go back /upstairs/ to help with dinner. He’s only recently returned to the basement to empty two dryers and change a last load over. It’s pretty easy folding, at least; a lot of towels, a lot of bedding; the influx of guests (/injured/ guests, guests with bizarre and intermittently malfunctioning abilities) has meant these things are seeing quite a bit of use. He’s looking a good deal better, by now, the combined influence of Dusk’s blood and Joshua’s healing touch means that while there’s still a cast on his leg the tiny fractures in his ribs are gone; the bandages are off his face, leaving only a (rather unsightly) mottling of scarring behind that already looks considerably older than it actually is. He’s humming to himself quietly as he dumps the fresh-warm laundry on the folding table. Florida Georgia Line’s “Get Your Shine On.” Which, predictably, kind of fits how he’s /looking/ at the moment, brightly metallic nailpolish and glittery-shiny makeup, sleeveless blue top dusted with a swirling silver pattern, kind of sheeny-denim shorts. He’s barefoot, sunglasses still on even indoors; there’s a small flutter of light around him that isn’t really taking /shape/ so much as just twirling and dancing, colours shifting in time with his humming. Micah hasn't been home very long, judging from the spiky-wet auburn head that comes peeking through the laundry room door, water still beading at his temples. Just long enough for a post-work shower and change out of hospital-y clothing. He is dressed now in patched jeans and a chocolate brown T-shirt on which a stegosaurus curses a neighbouring T-rex for its 'sudden but inevitable betrayal'. Since he doesn't come bearing laundry, smart money is on that he's searching for Jax. The quick, bright smile that overtakes his features confirms this handily. “There's m'husband,” serves as a greeting, door thumped closed behind him with a hip before he slips in behind Jax to wrap arms around his torso. Sorry, was he trying to work just now? Not until after /hugs/. “Mmn, an' out from behind all the bandages's a good sight t'see. Should start doin' a little scar massage now it's all knitted t'gether, make sure y'don't gotta feel no pullin' from it.” He leans in a little closer, delivering one tinykiss to Jax's cheek. “How y'feelin'?” Shane /has/ actually been home for a while, for once only working a /normal/ shift at Evolve -- starting at opening means today he has been home since the afternoon. His plans for a /nap/ ended up falling by the wayside in favour of shepherding some of the rescuees down to the Clinic and then helping with the parts of kitchenwork that don’t actually require /skill/. As such he smells kind of strongly like fresh-chopped garlic and basil when he trots down the stairs and into the laundry room, nudging the door back open and peering in shortly after Micah’s arrival. “No way, he looks like Two-Face,” is /his/ opinion of bandage-removal. “What’s scar massage?” No doubt something that falls safely in the territory of Things He Never Has To Worry About! Mutant healing is handy that way. Jax doesn’t seem particularly put out by the interruption of work, really. He tips his head back, smile bright and warm as he leans into the hug and nuzzles up against the side of Micah’s neck. “Naw, we replaced your husband with this new fixed-up version? Old one was broke.” Though Shane’s comment earns a giggle, one hand lifting to touch the wax-melt scarring at one side of his face. “... okay, not /that/ fixed-up.” He dots a /return/ tinykiss to Micah’s jaw, resting his hands over top of his husband’s. “Feelin’ like I’m real grateful for some’a the folk we know. -- Also kinda like I’m itchin’ t’get back to /work/ I feel like I only jus’ got /done/ bein’ on leave an’ then went an’ exploded m’self again. How’s your day been, honey-honey?” “No such thing. Ain't no snarly grump face over here,” Micah answers Shane's accusations of resemblance. “S'pretty much what it says on the tin. Scar tissue's kinda...dumb. Just lays down any which way s'long as it closes up the damage. But it'll listen t'pressure if y'coax it flat, line up nice an' move more natural.” His fingers pet across Jax's stomach where his hands rest. “We do got some real handy an' real generous friends, for sure. An' y'got /way/ too much habit of blowin' up, for /surer/.” Scritchscritch. “Day's been fine. Run o' the mill kinda work day. Emphasis on the 'run' part. All over the state gettin' things delivered.” “I bet you’d get a grump face out of him if you stopped with the bellyrubs.” Shane slips into the room properly, shutting the door behind him and heading over to start helping with laundry-folding since Jax is currently getting /distracted/. “Maybe you should stop doing raids in summer. It just means you’ll be laid up /right/ when you have so much energy /you’re/ practically exploding already.” His nose wrinkles with the addition: “... plus I don’t think the heat’s good for anyone’s tempers. You know I heard one of the labrats today saying Hive started that whole fight. And then /you/ kicked him out.” His chin lifts to Micah. “I swear this whole neighborhood needs like a giant fucking time-out.” A quiet happy purr thrums in Jax’s throat, body melting back against Micah’s with the rubbing. Though Shane’s prediction is accurate in that even the /suggestion/ of ceasing with the tummy-rubs makes his expression scrunch up in what is almost certainly a scowl behind the huge glasses. His hands press just a little bit more against Micah’s as though discouraging them from /leaving/ their current position. “Yeeeah, but in winter I’m just that much more likely not to even make it /through/ a raid. The sunlight’s good. Just.” He shakes his head, touch easing against Micah’s hand to just trail fingertips lightly against his husband’s. “-- Settlin’ people in after this ain’t never easy but this time especially --” He lifts a shoulder. “I’m thinkin’ on askin’ one’a the counselors from the Clinic to do like a. De-escalation. Trainin’. For everyone as is gonna be -- in close workin’ quarters with this group. S’a lot of stress all around.” “Blasphemy!” Micah accuses with a tone of artificially-inflated shock, fingers just scritching all the more. “Ohgoodness. See, now we're all tied up forever. You're gonna hafta do the foldin', Shane.” This is light-teasing, not really expecting the teen to take over all the folding forever. “Hive was a slumpy-lump in a chair durin' that fight. Kinda glazed over for it. What good would it do 'im, havin' t'feel the punches thrown from /both/ sides?” His eyes widen further at the rest of it. “Where'd anyone go gettin' the idea that I could throw people out? M'I in charge now an' no one notified me? Jax...when did I get t'be The Man?” He cringes and nods along at Jax's idea of training. “Honestly, it wouldn't hurt. I'm gonna offer rides t'the church over Harlem t'anybody who's not comfortable bein' here, too, complicated as things are this time 'round. An'...” A heavy puff of sigh flutters his lips. “/Should/ know not t'throw /punches/ without needin' a seminar. But 'parently that's not obvious, so. Right.” In answer to having the laundry FOISTED off on him, Shane balls up the face-towel he is currently folding and chucks it. At Micah’s face! Where it clearly belongs. “Probably about the time you turned a garden hose on people,” he answers Micah with a crooked grin. “That’s like insta-authority. -- Uh. I take it that means you /didn’t/ kick them out though right? Do you think /Officer Zedner/ has a better ring to it than /Ba/?” He sounds Totally Innocent with this question. Now that the laundry has been tasked to him he /stops/ folding it, instead slumping in against the pile of warm fabric with his eyes closing somewhat /blissfully/. Mmmsoft. Mmmsleep. He stifles a yawn as he melts into the sheets and towels. Jax ducks his head with the thrown towel -- conveniently to be a little more out of the way so it can whuff its way onto Micah instead. “Should know. An’ /yet/. Jus’ -- ain’t nobody in a real good place right now, might be helpful t’have -- I don’t know. A better idea on how to handle things than jus’ losin’ your cool.” His nose wrinkles up at Shane’s suggested new title for Micah and /he/ answers this with an immediate /emphatic/, “No.” He finally wriggles up and away from Micah’s hugging, leaning forward so he can start -- not folding again, no. Just piling the as-yet-unfolded laundry on top of Shane to bury him in laundrypile. “What you /should/ be doin’ is sleepin’, I thought you was gonna nap an’ here you are been at /chores/ all evenin’. When /was/ the last time you got a solid sleep, pup, I swear you been runnin’ nonstop since Evolve /opened/.” Micah, who is /defenseless/ with his hands pinned to Jax's tummy, takes the towel full in the face. He shakes a little like a wet dog to dislodge it completely. “Thanks for that, I was still a little damp after m'shower,” comes in far more sardonic than grateful tones. “T'be fair I /asked/ Jim t'do it first. Then he went all Rock'em Sock'em on that kid for callin' Hive a murderer. /I/ couldn't very well just...step in. Any one of those four could've ripped me in half if they wanted. Not sure what m'next step was gonna be if Dai hadn't defused 'em.” Do the crinkled nose and sticking-out tongue answer that name suggestion well enough, Shane? 'Cause that's what he /gets/. “You...really askin' if I kicked 'em out or are you playin'? 'Cause I'm really hopin' y'wouldn't think that... I mean, even if I /had/ that authority, which I don't, I wouldn't. I mean. They didn't /do/ anythin'. An'. /Flicker/, for goodness sake.” Apparently he is his own explanation. “Pfft. Says all that then goes pullin' angelic face all innocent an' sleepy like.” Micah gestures with his /chin/ since his hands continue to be occupied. “Hm. Wonder where he learned /that/ from.” There is light amusement to /that/ comment when Jax talks about Shane running without sleep. Couldn't have been anyone in /their/ household setting that example… “Maybe we should just let Dai handle all the crazy. He’ll have everyone singing Kumbaya around the barbecue pit in no time.” Shane doesn’t resist being buried alive, just snuggling down deeper into his growing cocoon of cloth. “Tch nah I’m just fucking with you, I’d’ve believed it if they said /Joshua/ kicked /everyone/ out his patience by the end of a shift is like zero. You and Dai are definitely Good Cop.” There’s a moment of quiet as he turns over onto his side, nestling comfortably into the fresh laundry. “I /do/ have a good example to follow,” his voice (more cheery than sleepy, now) comes from beneath the towels. “And you’ve taught me /so/ well that I was actually thinking of cramming some more hours of work into my schedule each week. People don’t really /need/ sleep, right?” “Yeah I don’t know, I think you fall somewhere jus’ below Horus on the list of who’s likely to go on a powertrip an’ try tossin’ folks outta their homes for bad behavior.” Jax sounds kind of amused at this thought; it comes with a brief image blossoming in front of them of Horus with heavy jackboots jammed onto his talony feet. His nose crinkles up afterwards and he plucks towels back /up/ until he’s unearthed Shane’s face again. “You learn to photosynthesize your energy an’ maybe then think about workin’ more. -- D’you /need/ to, you havin’ trouble staffin’ the shop well enough?” His amusement is inevitably starting to creep down into /fret/ instead. “Mmn. Just don't know how long Dai can keep the guru juice goin' 'fore it turns into a real creepy cult scene. Don't think /nobody/ wants that, least of all /him/.” Micah snort-snickers at the image of Horus. “Ohgosh. I'm /below/ Horus? I'm not quite sure how t'take that. Though he /did/ steal m'cyborg army not minutes after joinin' it. Little mutineer.” An eyebrow raises at Shane's talk of /more/ work. “Honey, is all that /necessary/? D'they need an owner there 100% of operatin' hours? An' if so, can't y'at least split that with Aly? There /should/ be plenty of folks needin' the work.” Yeah, it is easy enough for the fret to settle in. “Things not goin' as well as they seemed? Y'all need a loan for a bit?” “Way below Horus,” Shane agrees, also giving a snort at the sudden Horuspicture. “-- I mean, you love people. He hates strangers. I think it’d be less powertripping and more /freaking out/ if he told people to get out though.” He gives a faint wince at the (inevitable) onset of /fret/ from both his dads, gills fluttering against the sides of his neck. “No -- no. No, it isn’t -- I mean, things at the store are --” His brows knit in a small frown. “Kinda okay, I guess.” Not perhaps the most /solid/ voice of confidence but he slides on past this quickly to clarify: “I didn’t mean at the cafe. I’m kinda trying to move into being there less, yeah, now that we’re sort of -- settled into the. Routine of things.” His gills flutter quicker, claws working down slowly into a towel still piled atop his chest. “It’s just, I kind of auditioned for this. Orchestra. Program. The rehearsals themselves wouldn’t be that much -- time but. /Practicing/ --” He shrugs a shoulder, biting down on his lip. The picture of Horus dissolves quickly; Jax’s worried expression shifts first into surprise before a wide smile lights his face. “Wait, you what? When? What orchestra program? You didn’t mention nothin’ what did -- when did -- that’s great! That’s great, right?” Suddenly he seems a little uncertain, tipping his face down to study Shane’s fluttering gills and lip-biting. “... You don’t seem too sure. You love playin’! I mean, when do you -- hear back if you got /in/?” All right, /that/ is enough to finally peel Micah's hands away from Jax's tummy. Well, /one/ of them anyway. He shifts enough to reach fingers out to pet down Shane's gills. “Shh, honey. /Land/ breathin'.” He quiets as the teen continues to explain, fret morphing into a mixed pleased-smile and confused-eyebrows. “Ohgosh, when? That's good news! I'm sure y'could work things out as needed. We'll find ways t'help where we can. This is...it's what y'wanted, right?” At first Shane’s gills flutter /faster/ with the questions, though they start to press flat again under Micah’s petting. “I -- applied last month. And auditioned -- a week and -- a half ago I don’t know. Two weeks. Something. I mean it’s not /work/-work it’s more like more /school/ I mean they don’t. /Pay/ me it’s just a good -- the New York Youth Symphony is like. A /really/ good --” His brows crease again, claws curling into the towel deeper. “I already got in. I heard on Monday. It’s just -- been kind of busy around here and it didn’t seem. I mean I haven’t answered yet or anything.” He squints up at Micah, a tentative smile curling his lips upward and then vanishing just as quickly. “Yeah. It’s what I -- they play fucking Carnegie Hall every year. It’s. What I wanted.” A faint shimmer of glow blossoms warm-yellow around Jax and he does not actually manage to repress his sudden happy /squee/ as he leans in to scoop Shane into a fierce tight hug. “Oh /wow/. Oh man that’s /fantastic/, Shane, that’s -- that’s /awesome/ look if you ain’t excited I’m gonna be excited /for/ you alright? You knowed since Monday an’ you ain’t -- honey things ain’t /never/ too busy we always want to know what’s goin’ on with you especially when --” Even when he steps back from hugattack he is /bouncy/. “How come y’ain’t answered that -- sounds like an incredible opportunity.” “Ohgosh. Oh/gosh/, how did we not know /any/ of this?” Micah's eyes are /well/ wide by the time Shane is through explaining the process. “Y'haven't...it's /yes/, right? You're gonna say yes?” His brows dip again, a sort of suspicious confusion in his expression. “That sounds like maybe not yes. Why not yes?” With Jax leapt forward into hugs, /both/ of Micah's hands move to the task of gill soothing. “I know -- I know, it’s not. Wasn’t like I thought you guys didn’t have /time/ for -- I just didn’t want to make a big deal until I knew. Like if I /hadn’t/ gotten in I’d just have -- probably felt really shitty about it so it was better to just not --” Shane shrugs, lifting his arms to return the hug before flopping back down into the pile of laundry. “The season doesn’t start till September anyway so I’d still have the rest of summer off I just -- I want to say yes. I’m going to say yes. They just -- a /lot/ of orchestras actually -- they do all the auditions behind a screen, you know? Until they’ve decided. I guess that helped a lot with. Like. Getting women and people of colour into orchestras cuz everyone just /assumed/ they’d suck but if you don’t see the person then…” He trails off uncertainly, eyes shifting down to his own webbed fingers. “I’ve just only dealt with like a couple random. Administrative -- people in person so far and they kind of freaked the fuck out.” “Well, yeah, but they do that all the time so --” Jax is as usual just a few beats slower than he should be to arrive at understanding the /point/, at which point his mouth closes, glow fading and his brows furrowing. “-- Oh.” His hand lifts, skimming over the top of his head. “But they /accepted/ you, they wouldn’t --” But he stops here, too, evidently reconsidering. He pushes a slow breath out through his nose. “‘f /you/ say no you’ll /definitely/ never have the opportunity. You got a lot of talent, honey-honey. Whatever happens with this group, there’s gonna be someone out there who’ll just accept /that/.” Micah's fingers continue to stroke steadily down the gills at either side of Shane's neck. “If y'/wanna/ say yes, then y'should. Otherwise you'll just always...beat yourself up wonderin' what /could've/ happened. Y'gotta at least...try. See where it goes. /Put/ 'em in that place where they either gotta follow their own rules or come out an' break 'em. Don't /give/ 'em the easy choice when it ain't what y'want. S'the only way you'll know. An' you'll know you tried, either way. An' it /could/ go your way, yeah? Give it the chance.” Shane relaxes a little bit further at the continued petting. A small smile tentatively creeps back onto his lips as his dads speak, his eyes slipping closed again. “I want to say yes,” he agrees, quietly. “Sometimes it just --” But now he breaks off, giving his head a small shake and this time letting the smile stay in place. “/Could/. Go my way. Could go my way all the way to Carnegie Hall.”