ArchivedLogs:Fuck Everything

Fuck Everything
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Micah, Jax
In Absentia	7 August 2014 '
Location <NYC> The Roost - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
The second level of this house takes up less floor space than the ground floor, owing largely to the open sweep of balcony that overlooks half the home below. Up here the floors are in natural hardwood, polished and smooth. At one side of the balcony, again, a door leads over to the adjacent unit in the house. One door off the balcony leads to a quiet office space, with a wide metal-and-glass desk, long sofa and armchair opposite a large pair of bookshelves. A tall glass door in the large windows on the back wall leads out to a wide outdoor balcony overlooking the river. The second door leads to Dusk's bedroom, dominated by greens and greys. He has finally actually gotten himself a /proper/ bed to pair with his dresser and bookshelf, king-sized and settled low to the ground onto a solid wood base with a number of drawers built into it. His desk holds the desktop -- somewhat literally. The desk /itself/, with see-through glass body and softly glowing lights inside, has been configured to /be/ the computer case. Closer inspection of a pair of small decorative aquariums sitting to either side of its three monitors finds them to /also/ be computer cases, their inner workings submerged in a pale blue liquid on a bed of aquarium pebbles alongside plastic plants and little plastic castles or fake coral. In this bedroom, too, a door leads out to the same balcony outside. Capping off the balcony at its other end is a guest bedroom, large wood-frame bed with a small end table, dresser, a hammock-chair hanging from the ceiling in a corner, a desk by the window. The night is mild and clear, a glint of moonlight silvering the rippling surface of the river down below Dusk's balcony. There /is/ AC in Geekhaus but maybe it's Jax's /hippie/ influence, energy-conscious, because it hasn't been switched on in a while; the downstairs of the house, dark and empty, is still fairly warm from the sunny day. The upstairs of the house is rather dark, /too/, Dusk tends to forget about things like /lights/ when he's home alone, as he has been for a short while now. It's cooler, though, windows thrown open and the door to his balcony wide open as well. There's /some/ light in his room, bright odd-colour glow thrown from the shifting colours of lights in his see-through computer desk. Out on the balcony there's just one light, bright glowing red from the cherry of the cigarette held between Dusk's fingers. He's leaning against the balcony rail, wings draped down behind him and elbows propped atop the railing, shoulders slumped downward and his dark eyes fixed out towards the river. Occasionally there are small shifts of movement like he's considering pulling himself up, considering jumping -- not, really, a particularly /dramatic/ prospect given the wings and the fact he's only one story up anyway. Just restless, perhaps. Micah doesn't seem to mind the dark. Or at the very least, he isn't pressed enough to turn lights on as he navigates his way into Dusk's territory through the too-quiet-too-empty house. He is dressed in his own version of evening wear: black Reading Rainbow-dash T-shirt, faded rainbow patchy jeans, bare feet, tousled hair. His feet pad as softly as they can, encouraged to play along with the quiet just from the overwhelming ambient sense of stillness. Lingering in the doorway, his knuckles brush against the doorframe briefly before he continues right on through, confident that no one would have reason to stop him from moving into the room. A quick scan sends him out onto the balcony, motion and light there easily catching his eye. Again, he half-heartedly knocks on the doorframe before joining Dusk, invitation or no. "Hey, sugar. You doin' okay?" Micah has a more hesitant shadow; despite having x-gene enhanced acute night vision, Jax /does/ mind the dark quite intensely. It's night vision he rarely takes advantage of, given that it is paired with a severe reluctance to /be/ in dark places long. Thankfully he /isn't/ in dark places all that long, trailing after Micah through the familiar expanse of Geekhaus before emerging out into the moonlight with a quiet breath of relief. He is back to drab, today, dark blue knee-length cutoff shorts and a black sleeveless ribbed undershirt, no makeup, blue eyepatch. He is quiet at first, sneaking his way beneath one of Dusk's huge wings to run his fingers gently beneath it and up the other man's back. "Seemed a mite twitchy durin' the meeting." Dusk answers this with a long drag of cigarette, a stream of smoke blown out into the air. "Fff." He curls his wings outward, scooping each man beneath one with a slow squeeze of fuzzy-softness against shoulders. "Fuck --" But here he can't seem to think of exactly /where/ to direct his vitriol. His thumb flicks hard and irritable against the filter of his cigarette. "/Everything/," he finally settles on. "A mite more'n usual lately," Micah adds to Jax's observation. The quick-bright grin that crosses his lips and lightens his eyes doesn't quite match the rest of the mood here, but there is a fuzzy wing scooping him up and /some/ things just bear grinning. He nuzzles his head up against Dusk's shoulder once he is drawn in close, the grin fading quickly. "Everythin' just the general state of everythin' bein' kinda mad as usual? Or more one of the specific somethin's that've been particularly messed up recently?" Jax is similarly nuzzly, though his cheek turns outward to rub up against the velvety inside of the wing that curls in towards him. He doesn't smile -- /hasn't/ had a whole /lot/ of excess smiles lately -- but he does relax, nestling in at Dusk's side. His fingers knead a little bit more firmly, working in at the strong muscles of Dusk's back around the wings. "World has gone all cattywampus again, ain't it? I swear, someone needs t'give Kay a --" He huffs out a heavier breath, teeth briefly gritted. His head tucks in against Dusk's side, and he forces himself to relax again. "... s'anything a massage can help? Cuz I'm right good at those." Dusk is distracted from speech briefly by the fingers at his back, permanently over-taxed over-tense muscles pressing up into the kneading with a rather decadent shiver of breath. "I am /so/ not going to say no to a massage, if you're in the mood to give one. I could do with some goddamn. Relaxing." He lifts his cigarette back to his lips, drawing in another lungful of smoke that he holds a moment before exhaling it in a sharp stream. "It's a testament," he's turning his head to one side to address Micah with this rather than Jax, "to how very far I've /come/ that your pet fucking quisling still has her /organs/ on her insides." "Mmn...yeah, that didn't help matters none. Can't say I'm upset they don't gotta place t'operate out of no more, since folks were still /goin'/, though. That place just gettin' t'stand like they weren't doin' a thing wrong... Don't like the way he went about it, but I get /why/ he did." Micah clings to Dusk's side, arm snaking around him to hold tight. The other delivers a hand to Jax's head to pet gentle-soothing there. His expression turns slightly confused at first, at Dusk's comment, as he processes its meaning. "Neve? She causin' trouble?" His teeth catch his lower lip before adding, "So she's /mine/ now? Don't think even she'd agree with that." Jax leans forward, bumping his head up into the nuzzling. "Ain't really mournin' the loss'a Themis," he agrees, "only but the way he gone about it didn't earn us no /favours/ in public opinion." His brows hike up at Dusk's reply, and for a moment he is silent, slumping in further against the other man's side. What he answers first is: "Give you that massage an' /gladly/." And after this just quiet thought. His lips press together /hard/ at Micah's last question, teeth biting at /his/ lip, too, like he's trying to bite something /back/. "Sure she's yours." After a final drag Dusk stabs out the butt end of cigarette against the railing with a rather unnecessary violence to the motion. "She's yours like Catholicism is Jax's. They got a whole branch of study, right?" His wing nudges at Jax's shoulder with this question. "/Apologetics/. That's you. I still," he adds, almost thoughtful here, "want to deck her. But I /didn't/. Think if she keeps spewing her /bullshit/ here much longer I'm fucking leaving. You can keep /her/. You're gonna lose your kid over this too, you know. I'd put money on B not sticking around much longer, ze barely even pokes hir head out of hir house since Neve moved in." Micah winces at that, cheeks colouring faint but hotly pink. "I prob'ly owe some apologies, but not /for/ her. I had...some misconceptions that she was nourishin' pretty heavily. Didn't know any dif'rent 'til Matt told me what was really happenin'. She had me thinkin' she'd lost her memory entire in whatever.../process/ they did. I confronted her 'bout it an' her needin' t'be honest with me, if not for /me/ than for everyone else I hafta interact with on /some/ basis of factual reality. An' she pretty well told me t'leave her alone after that." His shoulders barely manage a rise of a shrug, falling to a point lower than where they had started. "I'd specifically asked her t'give you space. I s'pose she didn't do /that/, either." His eyes close, a long-slow breath almost sighed out. "I still think she needs a lotta help. I'm hopin' that fixin' her brain'll make her less...this. An' /not/ just bein' tossed out where she's gonna get killed, but... Ugh. It doesn't even matter either way anymore. After that press release, cops're gonna take her soon enough. Might do her well t'work out how t'turn herself in rather than waitin' for 'em t'find her." "Apologetics, yeah." For a moment, Jax's mouth starts to hook up in a lopsided smile, but it dies before it makes it all the way. "Don't actually mean apologizin', exactly. Or I s'pose it /does/ but in its original sense an' not the --" He circles a fist over his heart, "-- way s'used now. It means speakin' in defense of somethin'. Givin' it a /justification/. /Is/," he agrees with a small dip of his head, a small glance shot over towards Micah, "/kinda/ apt." But after this his expression just shifts uncomfortably guilty at the mention of B. "... should talk to hir. Ze ain't been much on talkin' since Neve moved in an' I -- that's my fault s'much as any, I agreed t'it. Talked t'/you/ guys," his small pat at Dusk's back before returning to massaging suggests he means his team, "'bout agreein' to it." Dusk's finger and thumb snap together, forefinger pointing to Jax for this elucidation. "Right. /That/ shit. Would've brought it up but it was just yesterday and anyway word on the street is that on the subject of Nox there hasn't statistically been a lot of /point/ in talking to you about it." He doesn't actually sound angry, just bland. Tired. He sags a little more heavily against the railing, shaking his head. "Nah. She was giving me space. I saw her and Kay alone in the music room together on the cameras and thought I'd go down and make sure he didn't hurt her." This is followed by a small snort. "I /walked/ into the fucking room and she started giving me shit. Before I even said a /goddamn word/ she got huffy at me for -- existing, I guess. Acting like I was ganging up on her. I hadn't opened my fucking /mouth/, she just jumped to assuming /obviously/ I came to hurt her." His lips pull back into a sharp grin. "Got worse from there." Micah's blush deepens steadily. "I'm familiar with the concept, it was just a convenient segue for more conventional apologisin', which I was recognisin' the need for," he clarifies just above a mumble. "It's just hard. Knowin' that not everythin' that's goin' on in her head is /her/. That there's explicit conditionin' for her t'act an' think certain ways right now. An' it's her own /fault/ that it happened, an' she needs t'work on gettin' /over/ it. But it's gonna take time. She should get her head tinkered on sooner than later, though. I'm not entirely sure where the hold-up in that process /is/. I can't help but hold up some hope that she'll have some more...understandin' an' ownership of her actions once the mental blocks are ripped out. Hopefully that'll make her less insufferable t'be around. I just got no way of /really/ knowin' 'til it's done." Micah's jaw tenses as Dusk continues to speak. "At least she /sort of/ did one thing I asked, then. Though I wouldn't say that givin' you a hard time qualifies as givin' you space, even if it was you goin' t'her that started it." And there's another wince. "But...Kay? What was he doin' here? That couldn't've gone well from /either/ end 'tween the two of them. I'd tried t'set her straight 'bout what that fire really was. She'd been all set that it was just...'ventin' feelin's'. I tried t'explain how much more it was than that, but I dunno if it took. Prob'ly not, judgin' from what you're sayin'." Almost a non sequitur after all of that, Micah turns to look at Jax. "We should talk t'hir, definitely. Ze got more tied up in that Themis stuff than any of us." "/She's/ a textbook case for apologetics. Even after all this, her -- her. Whatever that was in the news today was still defending /Themis/." Here in present company at least, Jax doesn't conceal the disgust in his tone. His face nuzzles in against Dusk's wing once more, quietly rasping with two-day stubble against the soft fur. "... do it /matter/?" He looks to the other men with brows lifted. "I mean, if she's treatin' folks here with disrespect, do it /matter/ what's wrong with her head while she's doin' it? Hurtin' people is hurtin' people. An' while s'true you gotta get help for what's the cause of it, it's /also/ true that those people? In the interim? It ain't on them to sit an' put up with bein' hurt. I mean -- pardon the analogy, honey-honey," he apologizes to Dusk, "but after Sublime, Dusk had plenty'a /reason/ for actin' like he did but that don't mean we jus' put him back in the world an' told people to /suck it up/ if he bit them cuz he was havin' a rough time. We got him help /an'/ we made sure --" For a moment a shiver passes through him, "-- tried t'make sure he couldn't hurt nobody while he was /gettin'/ it. Then /after/ he was more in a right mind he moved back in with folks." His shoulder rolls in a small shrug. "'magine the hold-up's same as what's slowin' Hive's surgery. Dr. Toure's in a lotta demand. An' can /you/ blame him if someone what voluntarily signed themselves /up/ for this ain't tip-top on his priority list? There's people out there dyin' what didn't do /nothin'/ to get themselves there." His eye closes, head thunking down into the cradle of Dusk's wing. "... if ze'll even talk t'/us/," he adds to this last with a small sigh. "Kay's here a lot." Dusk answers this question with a sharp frown. "He's always been around a lot /before/ she moved in, should /he/ get lost for her sake too? He and Ion have been around even /more/ lately cuz --" Against their backs his wings shiver. "This house is too fucking big and empty. Kinda /needed/ the company. But it's not like they've ever been /strangers/ around here. How many people should she drive off, dude?" The mention of his post-Sublime state puts a tension in his muscles, a tightness in his jaw. "... no, that's. Fair," he admits through gritted teeth. "And yeah, you don't get /license/ to be an asshole just because life's shit on you or we'd all have free fucking rein to do whatever the fuck we want. She seems to constantly forget that she's not the only goddamn one here who's been through hell. She's just the only one who thinks it means she gets a free /pass/." He lifts his hand, rubbing fingers through his thick hair. "... anyway, no, it was ugly between them. And when I saw them alone together I /figured/ it might be ugly between them so I came in there and /I/ got shit for it. And when I /told/ them outright I was there to make sure Kay didn't start shit she kind of backhandedly implied I was /lying/ about that? /Then/ she compared me to a fucking /Prometheus/ scientist," here there's a growl rumbling up in his chest, "for suggesting that there might be something /positive/ she could do with herself now. I can't even explain to you how goddamn /insufferably/ self-righteous she was. And she has /no/ fucking moral high ground to /stand/ on. But she just continued with the sanctimonious bullshit like I had come there to hurt her." "Sure, she's gotta wait on Dr. Toure, but what 'bout Lucien fixin' the other parts? Chip's a chip just like anyone else's. Don't guess it's changin' the way she /acts/. That's the super-powered brainwashin' doin' that, an' no reason t'wait on it that I know of. Maybe she needs t'stay t'her own private residence 'til such time as she /does/ get that taken care of, if she's not able t'treat folks respectfully meanwhile." Micah's head shakes, lips pressing thinner with each additional report. "'Cause it doesn't sound like she's meanin' t'play nice with anyone." His head shakes even /more/ firmly, eyes wide. "No, no, I didn't mean at all that Kay /shouldn't/ come. I literally wanted t'know what he was /doin'/. Just t'make sure he weren't comin' /specifically/ 'cause of her, considerin', maybe /wantin'/ t'start somethin'. Y'know how he can get sometimes when he's gotta cause..." There's something a little 'boys will be boys' in his tone as he says this. "Was just checkin'. 'Cause it's subtly dif'rent if /she/ went in on him all on her own or...how. Things happened. Regardless, we might need t'ask her t'keep t'her place, it sounds like." "Expect /that/ part might hafta wait on when Luci's proper ready t'deal with her. He ain't exactly untouched by her --" Jax's brows knit. "Everything." The distinct /wilt/ that has dominated his posture for -- /most/ of the time since the raid is creeping back in. He slides his hand over Dusk's back again. "/Kay/ can't be startin' nothin' neither. Not here, that ain't --" His head shakes. "I can talk t'Luci though. See how he's feelin' about it. Cuz I think the sooner she can -- at least figure /out/ how it is that she actually feels about things -- make decisions for /herself/, that'll be. Good for her an' everyone mebbe." Hopefully. Jax doesn't sound /entirely/ confident that the situation will improve but -- maybe just a smidge hopeful. His fingers knead at Dusk's back slowly. "I promised you a massage." "Mnngh." Dusk sounds a little disgruntled, squeezing the other men closer. "I told Kay off once we were /away/ from her. Cuz -- yeah. He was giving her shit before I got there. Got in her /face/ -- I think after the bullshit about this place being as bad as Prometheus she would have /been/ a charcoal briquette if I hadn't been there. I can't say I'd've /blamed/ him much. We've /all/ been in those fucking labs -- they've fucked with /all/ our lives -- I nearly ripped her goddamn throat out for that." His fingers scrunch harder into his hair. "But he won't be starting anything with her anymore, I think." His grip on his hair releases, hand shaking over the railing to send a few torn-out strands of black floating off towards the river. His head shakes abruptly. "Guess we'll see after she puts her head back on straight. But I can tell you this, if she starts her sanctimonious /shit/ with /anyone/ again I'm calling an /emergency/ meeting to throw her the fuck out. I get enough shit out in the world -- we /all/ get enough shit out in the world. We don't need to /invite/ it home." His wings drop off their shoulders to his back, and he pushes away from the railing, shoulders straightening just a little as he turns towards his room. "Mmm. God. Thank you." "Luci sounded like he was /eager/ t'get her back. T'give her a piece of 'is mind, if nothin' else. So hopefully he'll be rarin' t'go on that an' /hopefully/ that'll...fix somethin'." Micah's head shakes slowly. "No. We shouldn't be waitin' for her t'do somethin' /again/. She's had plenty of chances an' ain't had a single /okay/ interaction with anyone here that I know of. Should have the emergency meetin' /anyhow/ 'bout askin' her t'stay t'her place. Or not t'engage people in common areas if she has t'be in 'em. 'Cause it's makin' too many people feel that their /home/ is a hostile environment, an' that's not okay." He trails his fingertips down Dusk's back as the other man moves away. "I've got a massage bar that smells like chocolate. S'pretty amazin'." That has all the air of an /offer/. Jax glances up when Micah speaks, the droop in his posture receding just slightly. There is a distinct /surprise/ in his expression, eye a little wider, brows a little raised. The surprise shifts into motion, stepping in to enfold Micah in a /tight/ hug, face pressing for a moment to his husband's neck. He dots a small kiss to the side of Micah's mouth, letting this do in place of /saying/ anything. Anything, that is, except: "Four hands'll feel better'n just two."