ArchivedLogs:Knocking

Knocking
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jax
In Absentia	21 November 2014 Part of the Future Past TP.
Location <NYC> {Lighthaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
Bright and sunny-light, this house lives up to its name. With a plethora of enormous windows flooding the place with light and an open layout, the ground floor feels more spacious than it is. The small entryway has a closet space for shoes and coats, and doors at either side leading to the neighboring apartments. Past this it opens straight into the living room, a wide expanse of space bordered on one side by a curved set of stairs leading up (with colourful glass tiling on the risers between each stair) and next to these, the half-wall into the kitchen. Cool pale tile underfoot and many dark cabinets with a small walk-in pantry, plentiful custom granite countertops, black and speckled faintly with rainbowy flecks, lots of hanging space overhead for cookware, a large double-oven. There's a strip of rather detailed mosaic-work in the kitchen backsplash, colourful glass tiling depicting strange fantastical herbs and small faeries and firelizards darting among them. In back of the kitchen, a door opens up to a small sunroom, wide and two-stories high with a balcony overlook from the second floor; two of the windows here have cushioned windowseats, and there's a wealth of herbs growing in hanging pots and small window-boxes. The back wall of the living room is nearly entirely dominated by windows, huge and allowing a view of the river beyond with bench windowseats lining the sills. There are plentiful paintings on the wall, surreal and fantasy-inspired, mostly in shades of blacks greys with bright bursts of colour that are mirrored in the decor -- monochrome upholstery on the couch and armchair but colourful throw-pillows, black and white huge corduroy beanbags (and one large red doggie-bed,) soft throw rugs also in mostly black and white with splashes of rainbow woven in. The hand-built furniture -- tall chairs by the kitchen/living room counter, dining table and chairs in the kitchen, low coffeetable in the living room -- has been hand-painted as well, black with bursts of colourful abstract designs. Along the living room's other wall, doors branch off to a full bathroom -- in white and deep blue with one wall of the shower done in colourful intricate mosaic too, an underwater scene full of strange mythical water-creatures; tiny water-sprites have been interspersed at random points in the rest of the wall tiles, as well. There's a small studio space beside the bathroom, large windows as well and a gratuitous amount of shelving and cabinets along the walls; this room has very /little/ colour in it, just white walls and black furnishing. There is a nest on one of the beanbags in the living room. It appears to be a pile of blankets and quilts (exploding TARDIS here, My Little Pony there, space theme on this one, and geometric patterns on that). Out of one end of this pile there is a mussed red-haired head and shoulders, lit by the glow of a laptop screen, with a mug smelling strongly of cinnamon in easy reach. Of Micah's outfit, little can be seen through the nest other than his Batsignal hoodie and Wish Bear armwarmers. His fingers are bared just enough to slide along his trackpad, scrolling through a biography page on one Dr. Stephen Vincent Strange. There's a brief draft of /frigid/ from outside, soon shut again as the door closes and locks once more. It takes Jax a bit to shed layers upon layers of outerwear, eventually pared down to cargo pants and socks and a Cooper Union sweatshirt and rainbow-striped armwarmers. He pads quietly across the floor, shivering as he burrows himself into Micah's blanketnest but bringing warmth rather than outside-cold with him, /fierce/-hot like he hasn't quite yet managed to burn it all off. If he's injured it doesn't show, nothing visible on his skin and no stiffness to his movements, though he seems /tired/ enough in his melty-droop against his husband. Burrow. Nuzzle. Peek? There's a clear enough difference between Work and Not Work so his over-the-shoulder (or, really, against-the-chest, where he's kind of tucking himself) peeking does not bother with normal waiting for Micah to hide sensitive informations. At this exact moment, though, he doesn't ask questions. Just Nosies. And steals some Warm. Micah squirmy-worms his way a little deeper into the nest as the door opens, making little protesting murmur sounds at the addition of more /cold/ to the room. It is a pleasant enough surprise when Jax wriggles in next to him that he comes with a warm and not /more/ freezing. The page up on the screen seems to be offering information on a celebrity psychic. Not exactly typical of things to show up on Micah's computer. He scoots the laptop aside a bit, the better to snuggle up against his hot water bottle of a husband. "How'd it go, sugar?" Which seems to remind him of something. The fact that the Happy Cakes box is tucked up against the side of the beanbag implies Micah had known well when he settled in that he'd be nesting until Jax got home. Producing said box, he sets it atop the blanket-pile. "Went t'talk t'Hanna with Shane t'day 'bout doin' some contract bakin' for Evolve. She had maple spice cookies." Maybe 'maple spice cookies' is the first thing that registers with Jax or maybe just the first thing he /cares/ about. It's this he /perks/ at, anyway, bright and eager and /darting/ out a hand to nab one from the box, pecking Micah on the cheek before he takes a bite. "I told you lately you're the /best/ husband?" Mmm cookie. Nomnomnom. He peers at the screen a little more curiously. "... you needin' your fortune told?" This time he just sounds amused. He snuggles in closer, polishing off the cookie in one more big bite and licking crumbs from his fingertips before snagging a second. "Pups are both home an' good," he answers the question of how it went. "I lost 'fore barely even gettin' started. Some int'restin' matches, though. Much less --" He hesitates. "Wasn't like last week." Micah chuckles at Jax's enthusiasm for the cookies, a satisfied smile brightening his features at having pleased him so. "Never get tired of hearin' it, though." One of his hands moves to tangle itself in Jax's hair for pettings. "Good. Good. I know they usually come out alright, but I don't think I'll ever stop /worryin'/ over it. That mean you're not glamourin' away any serious wounds, either?" Scritchscritch. "Who took you out so fast?" Micah blushes a little at the commentary of the contents of his screen. "No, not me. Well, not really? This guy's been showin' up 'cross multiple people's future dreams. Generally in a doomsayin' psychic capacity. Talkin' 'bout war in New York, mostly. You remember way back when? Maya said she ran into some guy on the other side of Dusk's dream as she thought was tryin' t'send information to 'imself in the past or...somethin' bizarre like that? Figured maybe this could be him. I'm gonna schedule a dinner with her or the like, see what she thinks. Been too long since we talked, even if it's a dead end suspicion." "Dai." Jax has a /serious/ blush at this, eyes fixing down briefly as he busies himself with his next cookie. "No wounds. Not physical nohow." He rubs up into the pettings, briefly closing his eye. "-- huh?" He opens it again to look back at the screen, this time with more interest. "War? That's -- /here/? Folks been dreamin' about a /war/? M'glad I ain't havin' /those/ kinds. Mine been all -- musicals an' -- shiny-pretty art warehouses. You been gettin' war? If I was you I'd put in for an exchange." His words may be jokey but his tone /isn't/, a distinct undertone of worry in both his voice and the look he's turning on his husband. "Ah, I see," Micah replies with a knowing nod and no further inquiry. "Well, not no war that anybody's seen. 'Least not that I know of. This guy's usually just like...showin' up on the TV in the background or the like. /Talkin'/ 'bout a war happenin'. Dreams I been havin's not war, certainly. Just...musicals. Prosthetics. The kids. Tola /talkin'/. People mention some bad. Like...Sera. An' Spence." His brow furrows, lips pressing together firmly enough to blanch. "An' apparently somethin's up with Dusk that he's never 'round no more. But certainly nothin' on the level of a /war/. An' Flicker certainly ain't dead no more, either. Just seems kinda fishy that this guy keeps showin' up when don't nobody know 'im or nothin'." Jax frowns, tensing, too, at the mention of Spencer. Almost reflexively, his gaze shifts over towards the stairs, though this late at night it's just quiet from up there. He presses a little bit closer to Micah, biting down on his lip. "Y'think he could be like a psychic for real? If Tola's like. Talkin' that's a fair -- /bit/ a psychic to be. Psychic... ing. Be years away. I mean, unless it's --" His head shakes, uncertain. "I don't know. Powers is strange, y'know? Who knows what it could be. Crazy dreampowers, haywire telepathy, it's all... Sure wouldn't hurt t'check it out. Ain't like it'd be bad seein' Maya again no matter what the reason, nohow." “Might could be. X-gene's done stranger things than precognition. An' combinin' that with Maya's dreamcraftin' somehow? /Could/ result in these weird future dreams.” Micah shrugs, a little helpless to do more than speculate. “Judgin' just by Tola's appearance an' developmental progression, I'd say she was three-four years old in the dream I had. So...yeah. Pretty far.” He breaks off a half cookie from the pile in the box, nibbling and chewing taking the place of fidgeting, most likely. “Would be good t'check in on her. I hate how I lose track of people when stuff gets...stuff. /Should/ check on her.” "Oh gosh." Despite the worry, for a moment there's a bright light of warm -- /aww/ -- in Jax's expression. "I can't even imagine how much precious Tola's gonna be growin' into, I'm half meltin' jus' trying t'think on that." He /is/, too, wriggling in snugger against Micah's side. Another glimpse at the computer screen puts his mind back on track. "Lot stranger things." The worry in his voice is just fading to thoughtfulness. "Folks dreamed on Hive an' Flicker dyin' an' that didn't never happen --" Though here he stops, tensing and casting an unhappy look in the direction of Geekhaus. "... anyway not happened like it did in those dreams. So I mean maybe if people start dreamin' on a war we'll make that not-happen too. Except -- except we dreamed 'bout the raid, like. Last June. Four years from now is a long time to change. If it's just someone's powers actin' up maybe it's /them/ we should be helpin'." “So incredibly precious, I can't even really describe t'you. There ain't words.” Micah's arm wraps around Jax's shoulder to assist with bringing him in closer. “It didn't happen, but... I'm fair certain it didn't happen /because/ we knew it was gonna. Would we /ever/'ve been preparin' for explodin' brain chips if we hadn't a'had those dreams? An'. The timin' seems almost...designed for that? One year to prepare for changin' the course of a battle. Three for headin' off a war. I'd say that's pretty much...I mean. The things that start a war are always so far back. An' some of 'em y'wouldn't...even think're what's gonna...” He shakes his head at the attempt to explain. “I mean, Archduke Ferdinand, right?” His glance draws to the computer screen, as well. “That, too, though. If he needs help. Or Maya needs help. Even if the doomsayin' is just crazy-talk. Be good t'help them, too.” "No. An' even with preparin', we -- we." Jax falls silent, turning his face in to bury against Micah's shoulder. His fingers curl in, clenching into the fabric of his husband's shirt. "Micah, even if a war /was/ comin' what could we possibly do? We didn't /even/ change the course of. Of that -- we only /barely/ -- all those people is still dead. If a war's comin' the things settin' it in motion is probably already --" His fingers scrunch tighter, shoulders shaking. "I don't know how we could've ever thought that we. That we. That we." “We saved Flicker an' Hive an' that ain't no small somethin',” Micah reassures, cradling Jax's head in one hand and hugging him close. “An' we did that /on our own/ an' not even realisin' what the dreams /was/ for so long. If these are...if they're for real? This time we /know/. An' we can maybe find the person sendin' 'em t'get a clearer idea of what t'do. So we can have a better chance this time.” Leaning in, he places several kisses to the top of Jax's head, one after another. “We do so much. /You/ do so much, honey. That there's still more t'do ain't never been a signal for us t'stop tryin', now has it?” "How many people do I gotta get killed before it's a signal t'stop tryin'? How /arrogant/ do I gotta --" Jax bites down on his lip, hard. His fingers clench and relax, clench and relax. The heat from him is burning fiercely hotter, sweltering under the nest of blankets. There are dark shadowy half-formed figures growing, flickering in the darkness at the edges of the room. "'pologies." He's still buried his face against Micah's shirt, just clinging close. "Jus' sometimes I wonder..." “Hey, hey, no. Honey. You're a lotta things but arrogant ain't one as ever even crossed m'mind.” Micah clears the computer and cookies aside so that he can wrap /both/ arms around Jax, holding him tight despite the growing heat. “You /always/ got the right t'say it's been too much. S'just right now? Only askin' for a couple of conversations. So far, at least. I'll take care of it. Talk t'Maya. If this is our guy, I can talk to 'im. If I need help, I'll ask someone t'go with me. Maybe Flicker. Seems like he's had more of these Strange dreams'n anyone. /This/ is taken care of, at least, okay? We got this.” "Crosses my mind all the time. All this -- all this. Feel like -- I'm toyin' with people's lives, y'know? Swoopin' in, playin' at bein' a superhero like --" Jax falls into quiet again, breath slowly shivering out. Quiet. The shadows fade away, his grip on Micah's shirt relaxing. He tilts his head, tucking it up beneath his husband's neck. "Couple conversations. Aright. You can -- yessir." Slowly, his shoulders relax. The small breath he exhales, the small shiver of his chest, in the dark it's hard to tell whether or not it's a laugh. "Strange dreams, aright." “Been a whole lot less /need/ t'swoop since Prometheus closed its doors. For all the...horrible. Of that last raid. I think most folks'll agree that Prometheus goin' away was at least a good. Y'been doin' a lotta swoopin' I haven't heard about meanwhile?” Micah's hands pet soothingly, one at Jax's back and the other through his hair. “It ain't like you're goin' 'round /causin'/ trouble. Or lookin' for things /just/ t'insert yourself into 'em. /That/ trouble came knockin' at /your/ door.” A little chuff of laughter answers Jax's observation. “/That's/ for sure.” "Maybe. Maybe. Still don't know what's done happened t'all the folk still was /in/ the -- labs when the doors was closed. Like did those doors jus' close /on/ them? Forever? I --" Jax shivers, but then relaxes again at the petting. "... feel a swoop comin' on." His nose crinkles up, and he burrows in against Micah's side. "But not just this minute. Door sounds quiet enough t'night." “That's true.” Micah frowns at that reminder, chewing pensively on the inside of his cheek. “S'pose the best way t'find that out s'with...spyin'. Computer people. More'n anythin', I'd guess. B an' Dusk got a lotta information from their systems, right? Could be a place t'start.” Curling his neck and shoulders down to meet Jax, he places a light kiss right on the tip of his husband's crinkly-nose. “Quiet enough t'night. Get on schedulin' conversations an' talkin' spies t'morrow. T'night...quiet.” The kiss crinkles Jax's nose further. And puts a smile on his face, though it's a little distorted amid a stifled yawn. He tucks his leg in between his husband's, slipping his hand under Micah's shirts to brush against his side. His eyes close, lips pressing to the older man's neck. The melty droop of his posture suggests he may well be happy to just snuggle his way to sleep /right/ here in the beanbag. "For tonight. M'okay with that." Micah's skin shivers slightly under the touch. He twines his limbs easily enough around Jax's, arms cradling him close and warm. Any time Jax seems like he might sleep is good. Location doesn't seem so important. “Me, too. Love you, honey.”