ArchivedLogs:Inside Information
| Inside Information | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
22 July 2014 Figuring out what Mihail knows about Vermont. |
| Location
<NYC> The Unicomplex - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side | |
Flicker and Hive split the basement in this apartment; coming down the stairs emerges into an open expanse of shared space, with a pair of desks on opposite walls and large cabinets holding an enormous library of board and card games. The bookshelves here are packed predominantly with sci-fi and fantasy as well as a mass of roleplaying sourcebooks. The walls are eclectically decorated. A replica of Arya Stark's Needle, a few bright-colored but anachronistically somewhat morbid paintings of Jax's, a Mega Man X poster, a stained-glass suncatcher hung in the window and a collage of feathers framed on one wall. Up near the ceiling there's a large square hanging frame strung with netting -- a nearly ceiling-wide sort of hammock though it's hard to immediately discern how to access it. A side door leads to the bathroom, small but neat in pale stone tile. Towards the back there are walls dividing off the actual sleeping areas, tiny-cosy rooms mostly only large enough for the bed-dresser-closet combinations they contain. It's generally easy to figure out which one of the bedrooms is Hive's from the large amount of /clutter/ contrasting Flicker's perpetually tidy space. Flicker's full bed can be folded up into a recess in the wall, while Hive's larger queen hangs from the ceiling by sturdy black chains. It is a workday -- normally around lunchtime Hive would /be/ at work, but his routine more recently has been a little bit shaken out of order. If asked he'd /probably/ say it's because of all the training Jax has been running, but to those around him it has probably been pretty evident that it /may/ have more to do with declining health and it getting harder and harder to /get/ to work or stay productive. It's all the more evident today, given that the entire team has the day off and /yet/ Hive is still here, in black pajama pants and a white undershirt, tucked into bed with just one thin sheet laid over him. The bandaging has come off his head though the healing scar is still visible where his skull was cut into last week. He has his laptop in bed /with/ him but he's not, at the moment, paying it much attention. Eyes closed, one arm draped over them. Micah /has/ been at work this morning, though no longer, the afternoon taken off with the intention of assisting in raid preparations and then beginning the never-ending cooking marathon. Again. That he has only recently arrived home is apparent in his still drippy-wet hair, work clothes swapped out for jeans and a black T-shirt with an Impressionist-styled Serenity flying through a Starry Night sky on it. He knocks softly at the door before opening it, a few beats waited between the two actions. “Hey, hon. You up for talkin'? S'kinda...maybe important.” << Everything's important lately. >> Hive's voice slams heavy-hard into Micah's mind, evidence enough he's paying attention although he doesn't stir, doesn't move his arm or look towards the other man. His mind squeezes in tight against Micah's, not a welcome but an examination, prodding there for what Important Subject is about to be broached. << Apologies, honey, I feel like a jerk botherin' you, you're just uniquely...qualified t'help with this. >> Yes, the apologising is that much more forefront-present than the topic itself when Hive goes poking. Micah perches himself on the edge of Hive's bed, just for ease of proximity in conversation. “I should've brought this up /forever/ ago. But...that fight in the courtyard happened just after an' then you weren't talkin' t'/nobody/, then /we/ had that fight soon as y'came back an' then /we/ weren't talkin' an'...” A heavy sigh truncates the spiralling explanation. “Mihail's been in the Vermont facility. Saw Matt there. Just thought it might be worth askin' 'im some questions an' seein' if he'd let you poke about those memories a little? Could be /any/ kind of useful details t'that that he don't even know's useful.” His expression is /still/ apologetic for giving Hive more things to do. Hive's arm slides slowly down, dropping heavily to rest on his chest. His eyes still don't open, though, jaw twinging tighter and then relaxing. << Not bothering. >> Though his teeth still grind. It may just be /habit/ by now. He exhales short and sharp. << Saw Matt. >> The tone of the words hammering into Micah's head has grown heavier. << Guess that pretty much rules out these dreams just being fabricated bullshit, then. Admit I was /still/ holding out hope for some stray telepath fucking with people. >> "-- I'm not," he finally ventures aloud in a faintly creaky voice that suggests he hasn't /used/ it yet today, "on his list of most favorite people." There's a hint of a wince at that tooth-grinding, though it is mostly restrained. << Gonna be a gold mine for some dentist out there, keep that up, >> proves less easy to cover over. “I'd kinda ruled that out ever since talkin' t'Maya 'bout it. She seemed pretty /convinced/ it was her...sort of.” Micah doesn't bother with suppressing the cringe at that last observation. “I wouldn't imagine so. But I brought this up with 'im as soon as I found out an' he /didn't/ tell me t'fuck off, so that's maybe a good sign that he realises how important this is?” << Pff, >> Hive's tone now has switched to lightly scoffing, << Wearing down enamel takes way more than a couple months. >> It is admittedly a bleak gallows sort of amusement in his voice. "Sort of." He furrows his brows again here, finally cracking his eyes reluctantly open to look up at Micah. "I can look," he agrees -- also reluctant. "Getting in his head's not going to be --" He stops, shaking his head. "Guess we need all the help we can get on this one. If we're going to bring anyone /back/." << Don't. >> Micah wouldn't have said it aloud, but the /filter/ is less on the brain-talk. The twinge of ache at Hive's allusion to his own death comes through just as strong. “Y'want me t'see if he's free now? Figured it might be best t'do like...hypnotism without the hypnotisin'... Ask relevant questions, have you poke about while he's thinkin' of the answers? I'm not sure how this works best, t'tell the truth. Figure you've got more experience...” His teeth dig into his lower lip. “Yeah. Important 'cause we wanna bring people home. /More/ people than y'leave here with.” << C'mon, if /I/ don't get to joke about it how the fuck do I -- >> Now Hive just sounds tired, his eyes squeezing back shut and a small tremor in his arm where it curls across his chest. His mind presses back up against Micah's, this time with a familiar digging grip, hard mental fingers pincering inward in an uncomfortably painful bid to bring Micah's mind into his own. << Don't need you to -- go searching, I can -- >> Squeeeeeze. << What questions /are/ -- >> A fumbling mental falter slips up, here, stuttering off to leave the question unfinished. << No, you get to. It's okay. I just...you /hear/ my initial reactions. I'm bad enough at not sayin' when I think somethin'. I can't just not think it when I think somethin'. But it's okay. >> Micah shoves himself back further into the bed, slumping at Hive's side, a steadying arm thrown over him at that tremor. The digging goes unresisted, Micah's head subconsciously dipping to Hive's shoulder to press there lightly as if the contact would ease the transition. << I dunno, hon. Just thought maybe it'd be less...weird to 'im if we actually /talked/ with 'im. But whatever works best for you. >> "Half the time these days I can't tell," Hive admits, curling in against Micah. "What people are saying and what they're only. Thinking. It just. All -- all feels the -- the -- I can't." His mental claws sink in deeper, latching in hard -- for a moment the pain intensifies but then it vanishes, grip easing into a quieter background connection. Against Micah's side Hive shivers, though this time it's a /pleasant/ sort, an almost relieved breath sighing out of him at the new connection. "Oh. There. Found him." “Shh. Shh, no, I get it. Just...take your time an' do what needs doin' an' don't worry 'bout explainin' t'me right now.” Micah's arm wraps tighter at the shiver, regardless of its cause. “Okay, so, how do we do this?” There's another quiet shift in mental space, a new mind sliding in to mingle with theirs. Hive relaxes, now, closing his eyes again and just settling in at Micah's side. << You ask, >> his words are slipping back into an odd dual-toned echo, Mihail's voice layered strongly over his, << and we answer. >> | |
