Logs:Second String

Second String
Dramatis Personae Hive, Matt, Steve
In Absentia	2020-08-19 "Xavier will fold." (Part of Final Boss: Xavier TP.)
Location Tessier Residence, Greenwich Village
The upper floor of this apartment holds the bedrooms; one master bedroom and three smaller ones. One has been converted to a lounge, couches and more books and a large desk by its window. The other two smaller bedrooms upstairs, in strange departure from the rest of the house's style, seem decorated more with younger occupants in mind. One of them, styled largely in purples and blues with a strong butterfly motif, has a lofted twin bed and an antique writing desk. The other is very green, its bedspread green-and-black striped; the walls are covered with a host of movie posters. Between the two bedrooms stands a bathroom, cheerfully decorated with colourful mosaic fish in its tiles. The master bedroom, in contrast to the paler, earthy scheme outside, is warm and rich, decorated in deep reds. The exquisitely crafted furniture is dark, with reddish undertones to the mahogany wood. The king-sized bed is stocked with an overabundance of pillows, and more cushions rest in the windowseat. One wall holds a spacious walk-in closet. A table, low to the ground, sits on a thick rug between the bed and the entrance, the right height for kneeling rather than chairs; the checked pattern carved into its surface marks it as a chessboard, though the pieces are not in evidence. The master bathroom adjoins the bedroom; it is large, done in black marble, with an overly spacious glass-walled shower and a similarly large jacuzzi bathtub. The night is young, but the house is quiet already. The chess game is in a rather premature and lop-sided endgame, white desperately outnumbered and struggling hard. Matt is sitting on the black side of the board, propping his face up in the palm of one hand and smiling wearily over the battlefield. He's wearing his Ace of Hearts t-shirt and pajama pants covered in little red hearts, a plush burgundy throw draped around his bony shoulders. His eyes are deeply sunken and his skin sickly pale, but he moves his knight very decisively. "Check," he announces softly, "and I believe mate in three, though I'm a little hazy at the moment, so..." Sitting across from Matt in a short-sleeve blue-and-white plaid button-down and blue jeans, Steve has been frowning hard at the game. He's managed to lose most of his pieces before the opening was properly over, and skipped any sort of midgame in favor of arriving at...whatever this is now. "I don't see it," he admits, "but I'll take you at your word." He moves his king into attacking position on the offending knight. "Am I supposed to just resign when you say that?" Hazy or not, the rapidly spreading psionic runners that stretch and grow through the city are easily sensible to Matt, a quick expanding trail of connection that reaches out -- out -- -- and becomes sensible to Steve as well, in the form of a strong mental pressure that coils around him, presses in hard and deep. The rush of sensation that follows is not really familiar, not yet. cool night air on their skin, the crackle-burn of a cigarette, the familiar acrid taste of smoke calming on the inhale (an uneasy flit of dream-snatches that don't quite blossom into nightmares, unable to find purchase and outcompete the heavy sheltering cover of prop roots around them) the jangle-clatter-cry of so many voices banging ceaselessly against their mind Something like relief (something like fear) as their eyes meet Matt's across the table, as their mind -- shutters. Abrupt and sudden, something closing off, curtailing so much of the psionic chatter. Matt can feel the ties severing, many of the branches suddenly pruned away. << -- oh good. You're up. >> Matt looks up, eyes briefly unfocused, the fluttering edge of his power sensible but passive. << "Up" is a strong word for this, but I'm conscious, >> his thoughts are conversational, chosen over words because even speaking is exhausting, now. << Is something the matter, or did you just take pity on Steve and decide to support him through this imminent and ignominious defeat? >> The swell of his worry is quiet and small. The knight hops to the other side of the king--check again, and fewer escapes. The trap is more obvious now. << I won't think less of you for resigning. >> Steve gasps, spends the brief period before Hive walls off most of them whirling in overwhelmed perplexity. Finally falls back, dizzied, into himself. Stares blankly at the chess game. << God, he looks exhausted, >> thin, hopeful, the voice of a younger Steve. << We should just fold, but... >> Backs his king away toward the edge of the board, knowing he's being herded. The quiet recalibration that takes place within Hive's shared mindspace is a cautious one, cracking open just a sliver of a window to listen in on Matt's side of the conversation as well. His soft inward, << sorry >> does not have much chagrin to it. << We needed a strategist. Now we have -- >> A hesitation. A re-examination of the chessboard, Steve's blue eyes going just a little narrower as they study it. << ... one and a half. >> << I'd take his word over mine on tactics in the field. >> There's a wash of outsized satisfaction from Matt as he slides one much-neglected pawn up to give check one more time. << And mate. I'd take Jax's over either of ours. But for planning you could do worse than coming to me. >> Even in his illness Matt's eyes are keen and piercing, almost hungry in their own strange way as they fix on Steve's. << What is it? >> At least the last move of the game comes as no surprise to Steve. << We've really got to stop playing so aggressively against him. >> Something hesitates in him. << I. Sorry, that wasn't us. >> He casually tips the white king over and looks back up at Matt. << Jax? >> A rapid-fire litany of flashes: Jax with a paintbrush, laughing at a joke, exhorting him to eat. Not much strategy. But his "I can believe it" comes readily enough. Then, recalling Monday morning. << It's -- we've checked on the claim. >> It's not a question. << I never beat this motherfucker, either, >> Hive admits freely with the toppling of Steve's king. And to Matt: << Yeah, usually I would, too. >> Steve's recollections summon up some of his own. Jax far less colorful, in tactical pants, black jacket, smoke and smoldering rubble spread around him as he threads barely-visible structural support through a crumbling cell block long enough for Flicker to leave with a final two prisoners. Jax's bright-star presence in their mind, deftly sorting through the dozens of mental input streams they're sending to pick out what's relevant to the team and pass it along. The fierce blaze of an overheard argument contrasted with Jax and Ryan's calm assurance when in front of the team. Jax in button-down and vest and kilt, intense and animated in front of a classroom of would-be painters. That same intensity in a meeting in a park, shifting holographs in midair describing a planned march route. Steve's hand starts to lift toward his temple -- though the gesture aborts halfway there. A wash of affirmation, internally, at the same time his reply. << Got a message from one of your kids recently. Said the Professor'd been messing with people's heads. Went to look and found a bunch of honeycombed minds. >> The intensity of Matt's attention does not waver, though the pain underneath it certainly does its level best to distract him. There's no horror in him--only a brief, distant stir of weary anger--and very little surprise. << I've always suspected him and have watched him ever since I came to the school. He's grown careful around me, but early on I could sense him reading people. Never writing, but it's a small sample--and I imagine he might leave the most egregious meddling for after hours, anyway. >> He slowly gathers his pieces and returns them to the velvet-lined drawer built into the table for them. << But if you have proof now, something must be done. The administration will be compromised, for sure. They will never believe anything ill of him--at least nothing serious--and likewise a good portion fo the faculty. >> He frowns, several abortive confrontations with Jean or Scott playing out lightning-fast in his mind. << Is there any chance you could reverse the damage he's done? Or at least bring it to the attention of a victim? >> Hive's memories of Jax set Steve strangely at ease, despite the mild twitch of envy that surfaces briefly and is gone. << Why can't we go to him now? (More brains on this surely cannot hurt.) >> But then in only a moment he's found his own way to the answer. << Xavier might have gotten to him, too. >> A flash of worry, of pre-emptive anger, then more worry. << But then wouldn't that also apply to Matt? (He's so weak now...) >> He cocks his head suddenly. "Sense him?" he blurts aloud. Blushes. Switches back to speaking in his thoughts. << Are you a--clairvoyant of some sort? >> << Some of the kids are already staging some kind of exodus. Only talked to them. No idea if there's more happening at the school I don't see. >> Some part of Hive's minds creaks to a halt, after this. << Weak --? >> The blank bafflement that surfaces derails the rest of his train of thought once he realizes: << Do you not know what this asshole does? You know what Luci does but not --? >> "Mmm," is all Matt says aloud as he fits the last, game-winning pawn into its place and slides the drawer shut << Good that some of them are getting out, but that does not seem practical or efficient for the whole student body. We do still need to go to the source at some point, or he'll just send the X-Men to retrieve the students. >> He regards Steve, blinking slowly. << Goodness! I suppose he doesn't know. Alas that I cannot demonstrate. >> He shakes his head, tsks softly. << I control other mutants' powers. I cannot say my health does not affect this--it affects everything--but even in this feeble state, I can absolutely shut Xavier down. >> He shrugs. << That won't get us far without a more comprehensive plan, however. >> Steve is quiet for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around the words 'control other mutants' powers'. << That sounds incredibly...incredibly powerful. >> is his conclusion, though this conclusion is rather abstract. << You can shut him down. (Can he do that to any of them?) Do you have to be near? >> He briefly recalls the sense of Hive -- the actual Hive, outside having a smoke in the East Village, halfway across Manhattan. << What if you get the X-Men on your side? Those of them who do not live at the school, they are less likely to be affected than the faculty. >> << You knew about Luci before Matt. >> Hive is very stuck on this point. << Luci told you before -- >> This time the smoke that fills their lungs is too-harsh, too-hot, sucked in faster than they ought and held too long before exhaling. << A fucking flatscan too, >> isn't quite buried deep enough, incredulous and soft somewhere just above the undercurrent of Dawson's troubled dreams. << Gonna have to tell them. Kids can't just hide out there forever. Can't transplant the whole school. Or -- go to war with them. >> Subtler, reluctant, an acknowledgment that they could -- if necessary. << Was hoping you could talk to your people. If you think -- some of them would listen. There's things I can look for, but you know them. I have no idea who to start with. Or -- what we could do if the answer is noone. >> << He told him.>> Matt closes his eyes for a moment. (His thoughts are rapid-fire staccato, inexorable as a stenographer's typing, considering and discarding several options.) << Start with Jax, Shane--like Steve said, anyone who doesn't live on campus. >> He steeples his fingers thoughtfully. << Once we have a team, we can confront him--myself present to prevent any tampering--and demand he step down. >> His eyes open again, fix on Steve's with unnerving steadiness. << We could back it up with a plan to go public if he refuses. It can be a bluff, but I don't think he would take the risk, even if the administration were willing. >> His smile is small and tight. "Xavier will fold."