ArchivedLogs:Fall Man

Fall Man
Dramatis Personae Micah, Matt
In Absentia	28 October 2014 '
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Backyard - Greenwich Village
Living in the heart of Manhattan means space is precious, and as such, the yard behind this house is small. It is as exquisitely well-kept as the rest of the place, though; all available space has been meticulously cultivated and transformed into a lush retreat from the concrete and asphalt of the city. The borders of the garden are lined in a wealth of flowers, the selection chosen to provide a panoply of color in all seasons save winter. A grassy rock-bordered pathway separates these from the raised-bed vegetable garden that dominates its center. The far left corner of the garden plays host to a tiny rock-lined pond, goldfish and a pair of turtles living in its burbling water. To one side of the pond is a garden table and set of chairs and presiding over the pond, a large oak tree with a hammock underneath, its branches spreading out over the tall brick wall that screens the entire area off from the city outside. The city is having one of those lovely warm days that weave their way into the chillier autumns of the region, clear blue skies and plenty of golden sun beaming through the vibrant colour-changed leaves still clinging to their trees. Micah is more than happy to continue out into the garden at the instruction of one of the younger Tessiers. His clothing reflects the change in weather, just a light olive jacket thrown on over his Serenity/Starry Night T-shirt and jeans. He has a white box in hand, with the promise of likely pastries inside from its dimensions. "Hi... I happened upon some masala chai brownies that asked t'come visit. Hope y'don't mind the extra company," he announces with a warm smile. Matt is outside in the warmth -- /enjoying/ the warmth might be a stretch, admittedly. He looks a little pale, a little bit worn; he's seated out here in dark linen trousers and a soft bamboo-fabric tee, deep leafy green in colour. He is perched underneath the oak tree, leaning against its trunk, a laptop on his lap that he glances up from as Micah arrives. "Hey. I -- yeah. Company is good. /Your/ company is good." It's only here, delayed, that his trademark warm smile makes an appearance. "Whoa. Brownies. That sounds fantastic, want me to put some tea on to go with?" Micah proceeds over to Matt's tree at the proclamation of good company, setting the box aside to crouch down and give /hugs/. “They're from Evolve, so I can guarantee sesame free if y'wanna share any with Luci. Y'don't hafta get up...I was bringin' things for /you/. I could totally fetch tea.” He gives one last squeeze before pulling back enough to regard the other man, searching his features. “How're you doin'?” The hug lingers longer than it might otherwise have, Matt's arms curling tight and squeezing in hard. His face presses, briefly, against Micah's shoulder, breathing shaky though his smile is still there when he pulls back. "It's been kind of -- a day. I'm /guessing/ you saw the news?" "What? Can't a guy just show up with baked goods an' hugs?" Micah asks with an air of exaggerated innocence. "Yeah, I saw it. Figured it'd be rough on you whether it's true or not. I don't know what t'believe. Watch the news an' you'd think everybody in the country's 'bout t'get ebola from Mexico through handshakes. D'you know...if it's true? I just can't imagine..." "I love you showing up with baked goods and hugs," Matt agrees apologetically, "I just -- assumed with --" His head shakes, and he sets his laptop aside on the ground, pulling his knees in towards his chest. "I don't know," he admits, glum. "I don't know. He definitely didn't talk with /me/ about -- I just can't -- Dr. Toure has always been so -- /helpful/, it doesn't seem like. I mean, it's not like I told him /not/ to sell this to the cops but that kind of seemed like a /given/ you know? I -- haven't talked to him. I wouldn't even know what to say. -- wait." His brows hike up abruptly. "You're not here to give me ebola, right?" “No, it's okay. It's an accurate assumption. I was just teasin'. I /am/ worried about you 'cause of the report.” Micah's shoulders roll in a small shrug with the admission. “It just doesn't seem like somethin' /anyone/ at the Clinic would be doin'. It's kinda the opposite of what we been workin' for all this time. I'd...I guess...ask 'im if there's any truth in it. An' let 'im know just how much you disapprove if there /is/ any. Maybe it'd make some dif'rence. I don't know.” Slowly, Micah reaches over to the container, opening it and presenting it to Matt. “Y'caught me. Goin' door to door with ebola brownies. Want one?” "I heard ebola brownies were a conspiracy between ISIS and the Mexican drug cartels." Matt informs Micah of this very solemnly, as he reaches to take a brownie from the container. "I don't even -- know how to. It seems so far out of anything he could ever -- but then, I guess there's a lot of people who think Themis is a /good/ thing. And the police are /good/ things. And maybe he just. Doesn't /get/ how harmful --" His shoulders shudder, head dipping to nibble at the brownie. "I can't even think about it without feeling so sick. Like back in that lab all over again, the shit they were using me for -- except this time /I/ chose -- god, Micah, what have I /done/." “Well, y'know all about m'family an' our love of the terrorisms.” Micah apparently doesn't have much to fear from the ebola brownies, himself, as he fishes one out to nibble on before replacing the lid. Desserts are better shared; it's a law of the universe. “It could be that it ain't true. Or that...maybe it is but he don't /get/ it somehow. I think it'd be good for you t'talk t'him. Once you've had a chance t'deal with it a little yourself.” His free hand reaches to steady Matt's shivering shoulder. “I could go with you, if y'needed someone t'be there. If that's what y'decide t'do, but... Gracious, honey, you ain't /done/ nothin' but try t'help at your own expense. Try t'help folks like Spence an' Sera.” "I did feel kind of a chill when you entered. I dunno if I'd call it /terror/. Mild unease? You need to work harder, clearly." Despite this claim, Matt is nestling closer to Micah, leaning up against the other man's side. "I have to think he just -- well. Maybe it's not true. But maybe he -- maybe he /doesn't/ get it. Most people..." His teeth press down against his lip. "Just thought he'd be different." He takes a bigger bite of the brownie, swallowing. "... Sera's been. Really bad. I just thought..." He shakes his head, curling an arm around his shins tightly. "Nah, more likely it's just the cold hands," Micah assures, pressing his (chilly!) fingers against the back of Matt's neck even as he settles the other man against him, arm around him. "I think it's hard for folks t'get, when they ain't...in it. Or maybe t'be too trustin' that organisations like the police're full of nothin' but good intentions. I really don't know short of askin' 'im outright." He holds Matt a little tighter at that update on Sera's condition. "Has it helped at all? If y'suppress her ability with yours. Does it do anythin' for her health?" Matt definitely shivers at this, drawing in a sharp gasp that fades once Micah's arm is around him. "I'm sure it's /hard/ for folks to get but. But I thought he'd -- I mean /you're/ not a mutant and you're /also/ not a freaking /tool/, you know? I don't think you need an X-gene to understand that giving the hey-let's-trap-kids-in-cages-and-fight-them-to-the-death NYPD a license to --" Another shudder, here. "It's just such a /patently/ bad idea." He nods at the last question, though. "Helps a lot. Lets her brain kind of -- sort itself back out. Well. Luci helps with /that/ too. But it doesn't screw itself back /up/ if I'm keeping her off." “I'm not. But I'm /in/ it. I can't even really wrap m'head around where someone might be comin' from who weren't, I'm so...tangled up in alla this. So maybe. It's possible for someone not t'understand.” Micah's lips twitch over to one side, nose crinkling slightly. “Just what a patently bad idea it is.” His eyes close briefly, an honest sigh of relief soon following. “That's good. Good that it's helpin'. Then maybe /this/ thing. Once it's ready. It'll help 'em. That's what you've done, honey. Maybe save all of these kids. /Our/ kids.” "Maybe save them," Matt agrees softly, a little bit more relaxed. For -- a /moment/. The tension creeps back in soon after. "And how many more people am I going to screw over? I feel like I'm going to puke just thinking about all this. The /Themis/ people. After /everything/ they did." He exhales sharply, dipping his chin to rest against his knees. "It's going to be ugly down at the Clinic. Guards already had their work cut out with /human/ protestors." “We still don't even know if these rumours are true, honey. /Especially/ that part. I just can't imagine /anyone/ still thinkin' any good of Themis. At least with the police y'could say...it wasn't all of 'em. That some of 'em are just out t'protect folks. That maybe the mutant division'll handle things better, at least. Not Themis.” Micah shifts slightly to allow his fingers to rub at the back of Matt's neck. “Hopefully it'll help that...that the Clinic's always been such a help. An' the guards an' the clientele an' even a fair number of the other employees /are/ mutants. Might help keep the demonstrations peaceful.” He chews on his lower lip. “Maybe there's some legal recourse. T'how treatments derived /from you/ are used, what you're permittin'. Were there any forms y'had t'sign startin' up on this?” "There's people still say shit like that about Themis, though. They claim they didn't know about the Prometheus thing. Just -- trying to /help/ mutants who /want/ to -- change." Matt says this last word highly distastefully. His head shifts forward a little more, neck baring to the rubbing. "I... signed forms," he allows, muffled and sheepish, "but I don't remember. What they -- it was /Rasheed/. I thought it'd be. Fine." “But after /Neve/. An' Dr. Leone. An' what they did t'/you/ t'get the... No. There's no way that /that/ whole system wasn't a mess. Maybe not the little people on the ground floor, but all the people what /matter/ in a decision makin' capacity.” Micah's jaw sets firmly, though his neck rub is no less appropriate in its degree of pressure. “We need those forms. An' somebody with a legal background t'look over 'em. See exactly what you signed up for an' if it'll stand up legally...should it be somethin' y'wanna challenge.” "Forms. Lawyer. Right. I -- Luci will know. Someone. Who's good for -- Luci always knows this kind of thing." Matt starts to relax again under the massaging. He leans closer to Micah, shifting his arm so that he can finish the rest of his brownie. "My name wasn't even /in/ that article and I've already started getting -- there are a couple. People. Who aren't really happy with me right now. Other Prometheans -- s'really the only ones who knew who I /am/. But once the rest of the community learns... I don't think I'm going to win a lot of. Friends." “Luci is good for knowin' people. An' what t'do with cruddy situations, bless 'im.” The massaging continues in a one-handed fashion because Micah's other hand is full of brownie. Priorities. He snags a bite of it here and there between speaking. “I'm sure you'll make some friends of anyone this /helps/. An' if those rumours aren't true. Or just...comin' out against it. Fightin' it however you can if they are.” He bonks his head up against Matt's shoulder for a moment. “An' anyone who /knows/ you wouldn't lay no blame here.” Matt's mouth twitches, faint and thin. "Can't help but feeling some similarities to Nox -- I mean, everyone who /knew/ her too wouldn't have thought..." He shifts position, sitting up so that he can rest his head against Micah's shoulder. "I'll just be really glad," his voice has dropped to nearly a whisper, rough and kind of shaky, "for the friends I do have." "/No/," Micah interrupts emphatically, Matt's full explanation not making it all the way out before he speaks, at first. "Not at all. Nox wasn't...but she changed. Maybe /Prometheus/ changed /her/, but she /changed/. It's not like you. Before or after, you know who your friends are an'...y'love 'em an' y'want t'help. An' it's clear just from bein' 'round you. You're this warm, lovin', bright, /beautiful/ man who wants nothin' more than t'help /everyone else/ be safe an' healthy an' happy. You're not just not her. You're /you/. An' that's somethin' amazin'ly special. Anyone could see that." Matt doesn't answer this, at first. Not out loud. His arm curls around Micah, squeezing in closer. His cheek turns to press against Micah's jacket, tears trickling out as he presses his eyes closed. "... {thanks}," takes a while to finally make it out, softly whispered in shaky French. Micah holds Matt tighter, the massaging hand moving up to pet through the other man's hair instead. “Nothin' t'thank me for, sugar. S'just the truth. Love you, honey.”