ArchivedLogs:Sooner or Later, BOOM!

Sooner or Later, BOOM!
"No boom /today/. Boom tomorrow. There's always a boom tomorrow." ~Susan Ivanova
Dramatis Personae Micah, Mirror
In Absentia	3 May 2013 Mirror is Jax. Or Micah. Or... This is confusing. >_>
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. It tends to be windy, and today is no exception! Even at mid-day, the weather had been brisk for Spring. In the gathering darkness, it is downright chilly on the roof. The city lights are twinkling in the distance, and…rather closer, as well? The glittering of reflected light winks here and there like will o’ the wisps, their source (on closer inspection) proving to be a myriad soap bubbles bobbing in the breeze. Micah is laying out supine on the ground, zipped up in his green canvas jacket and faded jeans, blowing bubbles from a plastic wand and quietly watching them float into the distance. Between blows to generate more bubbles, his lips are pulled into a simple, childlike smile. The door opens with kind of a suddenloud PUSH. Thud! Door! And then nothing, just quiet from the very /familiar/ face that's emerged, bright tattoos and bright smile and sleek swimmer muscles and a surprising lack of makeup, today, and hair that is for once its natural (but never seen) verydark brown. The voice that comes is familiar, too, thick Georgia drawl offering a cheerful, "Oh, wow, bubbles. Y'get those from Spence, he had a /case/ at the party." Familiar, sure, though the clothes are not /particularly/ Jacksonlike, neat blue jeans and staid green polo shirt and an odd lack of eyepatch or sunglasses or his dozens of piercings though the holes for them are all there. He's standing by the door in the dim dusk, single eye following the path of the bubbles. Around him there's a faint sheen, not really glowing, more just /collecting/. Or maybe being expelled. It shivers and fluctuates; it's hard to tell if the light is coming or going. Micah doesn’t bother to get up when the door slams open, rather tilting his head back to regard the portal /upside-down/. “Oh hi…” he throws out in greeting before even seeing the person who comes through the door, “…Jax! What?” He is surprised enough to warrant getting up. Roll, kneel, push to feet. His eyebrows pull together as if drawn by a snagged thread. “They were layin’ around up here. Think someone left ‘em from the party. Is everythin’ okay? You usually aren’t around this time of a Friday. Also, you’re glowin’.” There's a moment where the not!Jax is bouncier, brighter, as Micah gets up; literally brighter, the air around him lightening quickly. Sunny even in the nighttime dark. He takes one-two-three bouncysteps towards Micah and then halts himself, stopping to shake his head. "There was a mural," he says, looking down at the ground; in some places there's even still a mural! Parts of a mural, of giant-sized Jerusalem stomping through the nearby park. "But it rained. I glow," he informs Micah of this like maybe Micah's forgotten? Perhaps? "Sometimes. Can I share?" He extends a hand, questioning, his fingers beckoning hopefully for the bubbles. Jax’s bounciness is enough to bring a hint of a smile creeping back across Micah’s features. Bouncy is usually good, at least? “I know y’glow. S’just usually…circumstances.” Perhaps the glow is enough to illuminate the faint blush that followed the smile to Micah’s face. “’Course y’can share. I mean…not t’mention they’re prob’ly /your kid’s/ bubbles t’begin with.” He hands the container of bubbles to Jax, but keeps the wand. Because there are pounce-hugs to be had first! Hugs are apparently the fee for bubblewand. Jax stiffens at first, at the hug -- the contact makes it easy to feel that he is /very/ hot, enough to be rather uncomfortable to the touch. There's a moment when he just freezes, and only at a delay does he lift his non-bubble-laden hand to carefully, uncertainly, tap-tap-pat at Micah's back. "This -- ain't bubbles." He sounds a little puzzled. The squeeze of his arm is uncertain. Hug? Micah steps back, holding the bubblewand out like an offering before him. “Bubbles,” he pronounces solemnly. His head is canted slightly, though, curious at Jax’s behaviour. “Y’sure you’re okay? You’re…I dunno. Funny.” That /concerned/ look is back, too. "Funny?" Not!Jax echoes this quiet and uncertain. Around him the sheeny swirling light quivers, darkens. Then brightens again, warm. "M'sorry. I didn't mean to be. I'm just. Practicing." He takes the bubble wand, studying it. Also uncertainly. He doesn't dip it. He just /looks/ at it. "Are /you/ okay?" “Just… Different. I dunno.” Micah’s fingers rake through his hair distractedly. “Practicin’ what?” Hazel eyes are following Jax’s movements closely. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just…sky an’ lights an’ bubbles. More than fine.” The concerned look isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, it seems. "Practicing. Being Jackson." Jax is still studying the bubble wand. When he dips it into the bottle, it's also slow and tentative. "You looked --" He hesitates, not drawing the wand back out. "Y'looked happy. I interrupted." “Bein’?” Micah’s face is awash in confusion. “I don’t understand.” He quirks a brow. “You gettin’ all Zen on me?” "Zen?" Now Jax looks confused. "No. I just thought it was safer to practice at night. Less --" He looks up at the sky. "Sun." He offers the bubbles back to Micah, the wand stuck in it. "Y'should have your fine back, honey-honey." Around him the light ripples again, brighter. "D'you live here, now?" “Practice…bein’. At night. Because it’s safer. In the dark,” Micah summarizes in telegraph-sentences, perplexed. He accepts the bubbles perfunctorily. “I…don’t… You /know/ I don’t live here? What are you askin’ exactly?” "I don't know," Mirror!Jax says, with a shake of his head. "But you're here a lot. You should --" He waves fingers towards the bubbles. "Bubble those." He looks up towards the darkening sky. "Safer. Too much light, otherwise." His arms curl around his chest, tightening in a slow kind of self-hug. It takes a moment before he looks at Micah again, eye suddenly wide with apology. "Oh -- oh. Right. /Right/. You and I -- me. He. We have --" His smile is definitely familiar, quick and lopsided-quirked, head tipping down to spill dark hair over his eye. "Sorry," he apologizes, "This is awkward, isn't it?" Bubbles. Bubbles Micah can do. Though blowing bubbles looks plain /peculiar/ when performed with eyebrow-arched befuddled-face. The product is still airy, glittery, whimsical. Jax’s commentary provokes a sudden, deep-red blush. “Uh…um…” A memory of a past conversation provides a possible clue, and he clings to the feasible explanation. “Are you in one of those…too much energy, gonna accidentally set things on fire phases? ‘Cause maybe y’should…” He waves the bubble wand as if it is /magic/. “Bleed some of that off. Before /boom/.” "I set my other shirt on fire," Jax admits, nose wrinkling. "Was a nice shirt, too." He lifts a hand, fingers lifting after the bubbles, not trying to catch any but just following them through the air. "They have so much colour --" He watches one until it pops, something almost disappointed in his expression when it vanishes. His hand drops to his side. The light around him is brightening. "I do got kinda too much energy. Hey!" Suddenly he perks. "D'you want to -- I don't know. Go. For a /run/. Something -- /energetic/." “Oh!” Micah’s eyes go wide at the admission. “Oh no. Did you, like, fall asleep out in the sun or somethin’? Or…just too much happy at the kids bein’ back still?” The second guess comes with a grin. “Does runnin’ work? I thought y’had to…like…lights’n fireworks or somethin’.” He dips the wand and blows another flock of bubbles. “Y’could make the bubbles glow /colours/.” The grin spreads into a goofy, lopsided thing. "The kids --" Jax shakes his head. "I don't know. I just have. I need to get --" His finger run through his hair, but then he smiles, tentative and crooked, looking up at the bubbles. "Fireworks. That would be nice. Do you like fireworks?" His hand lifts towards one of the bubbles again. "They're already so colourful." But this one is getting /more/ colourful, flooding with a fierce vivid green that fills the bubble and shifts with its wobbly motion -- though its shifting is not really /attuned/, leaking out around the perimeter of the bubble splotchily. “Y’done already /known/ I like fireworks, silly,” Micah teases, poking at Jax’s arm with the bubble wand. Leaving a little dab of soap there. Then the wand returns to the bubble solution. Dip. Blow. More pretties! “I think y’might be bakin’ your noodle.” He taps a fingertip to his temple illustratively. Jax glances downward at the dab of soap on his arm. His fingers trace against it, rubbing fingertip against thumb to feel the slippery residue left. For a moment, he smiles more. The other bubbles start to grow colours -- vivid electric hues, blue and magenta and bright orange and lime. Sometimes the colours more-or-less match up with the floating bubbles. Sometimes they are off entirely, just splotches of vaguely bubble-like colour floating in the air. "I'm baking," he agrees, "feels kinda hot --" He glances to Micah, and then quickly downwards, a blush flooding his cheeks. "Right. Fireworks. I don't know if I can -- I should -- stop. This. Sorry. Are you -- are you staying here? Tonight?" Micah giggles, gone light and playful again. “Well, you usually run a bit toasty t’begin with. Holdin’ in too much energy… I’d hate to see what your temperature is right now. Make docs /faint/, I bet.” He deposits the wand in the container, setting it on the table when Jax says he should stop. “Whatever y’need to do to keep from burnin’ the buildin’ down, hon. That would be real /inconvenient/.” He takes a moment to locate the lid to the bubblestuff and twists it back on. His hand rubs at his pants leg to remove the soap that inevitably ends up on his skin during this process. “I can if y’want?” It is a statement, but lilts like a question. "I want --" Mirror!jax hesitates, a deep blush flooding his cheeks and tinting the air around him. In the dim background there are ghostly images stirring, vague and half-formed silhouettes that are soon to fade. "I want --" His eye lifts, looking up at Micah and then away. The breath he exhales is heavy. "Sorry," he reflexive-apologizes again. "This is harder than I thought. I shouldn't. Burn. Down the building, that would -- there's people in it. Where /were/ you going to stay tonight?" Jax blushing recalls the deeper colour that had all but left Micah’s cheeks by this point. “Uh… No, don’t apologise for nothin’. Superpowers get a little wonky now’n then. Happens. Y’should…do whatever it is you usually do to ground out the excess solar power.” He’s playing with his hair again, as if it /needed/ more mussing. “Oh, just…home. S’where I usually am.” He gestures off the edge of the building vaguely. “Location-flexible, as per usual.” "But I don't -- I don't know what I --" Around Jax, the light is growing sharply brighter again. The edges of the sleeves of his polo shirt are beginning to singe. "I mean, you should --" He frowns, brows pulling together deep, and then reaches out kind of automatic-habitual to un-muss Micah's mussed hair. Or, really, just muss it /differently/, combing fingers through it with no eye to straighten it but perhaps to tousle it /artistically/. It's a quick touch, but the heat coming from his fingers can be felt. "Home," he echoes, and his smile is lopsided once more as he drops his hand to his side. "Right, you -- oh." He steps back quickly kind of a little more alarmed as the air around him continues to brighten. "-- might could -- step back -- maybe --" That alarm is present in his tone, too. Slightly edged as /he/ steps back again, more towards the wall that edges the roof. Micah can’t help but nuzzle at Jax’s hand a bit as it plays through his hair. But...Jax appears to be /singeing/ a bit. Between that and the recommendation to step back, he does obediently back away. “Ohgosh. Hon. Is there anythin’ I can do? What’s… Um. Water, maybe?” He grabs up a watering can from its station by one of the vegetable garden beds, ready to douse Jax at a moment’s notice. What /do/ you do with auto-combustible people? The light is brightening -- and then brightening and /brightening/ all in one sudden fierce-bright flash whose heat can be felt even from Micah's distance. The sudden ragged gasp that Jax lets out is timed with this flare, sort of dazzling-blinding for a moment. Except when it dims it's clear enough that this is not Jax, anymore, leaning against the wall -- gripping it tight for support. It's still a familiar face, though; Micah is looking back at himself, a little too-pale, a little too-shaky, but his lopsided grin is quick to appear. Kind of apologetically. "Ohgosh. Wow. Sorry. Um -- I maybe didn't think that through real well." His fingers tighten against the wall, weight leaning against his arm as he considers his feet. Foot. The other shoe he'd been wearing is just kind of chillin'. "... or this," he admits, a little more sheepish. “Oh. Oh!” Micah blinks for a moment. “Was…is this an illusiony thingy? Does that…help the not goin’ boom?” He is gesturing broadly with the watering can, its contents sloshing audibly. This is /strange/, but his expression is more overcome with relief that nothing is on fire. Or exploding. "Illusiony -- no. Jax does illusions. This is -- /you/ don't do illusions, do you?" For a moment Micah!Mirror looks down at his hands -- well, one hand, the other is still gripping the wall -- with some confusion. /Even more/ confusion is -- "... no. You're human?" This is oddly surprised. "Did I know that?" “Yes, Jax does illusions,” Micah repeats in what is beginning to border on talking-to-a-child voice. “And I do not. Because I don’t have superpowers. And you know that… Are you /sure/ you’re okay? ‘Cause you’re gettin’…funnier.” He finally notices that he is still holding the watering can when he sloshes a small splash of water over his shoes. He makes an accusing face at it (watering can betrayal!) before returning it to its prior resting place, since it looks like no one is going to combust for the time being. "No. No, I feel better now," Micah assures -- Micah. "I mean it /was/ bad and then it all kind of -- /boom/ -- well, not so much boom as just flare but y'know." He grins at other-Micah's accusing face. "You were sloshin' it all around, that betrayal might've been sudden but it was inevitable, I don't know why you're surprised." He leans back against the wall, hand absently dropping to his side while his other still clings to the wall. "It's possible I should be gettin' on back home. This -- that was more tirin' than I thought." “Well, as long as there’s no /real/ boom, I guess?” This is getting to be uncanny with a side of creepysauce. “Sleep is good. I’ll walk y’down to make sure y’get there in one piece. An’ don’t explode nothin’.” "I can't explode nothin'," Mirror!Micah says, and this time /he/ is the one with the bordering on talking-to-a-child voice. "I mean I'm pretty much the Xander of --" He doesn't finish this thought; instead he readjusts his position and glances towards the door. There is the slightest wrinkle of his nose before he stoops, carefully, still hanging on to the wall, to pick up his abandoned shoe. "Right. 'kay. Sleep." Creepy. Sauce. It is no longer on the side; it is smothering /everything/ like butter in Southern cooking. Micah wanders over to…other…Micah, offering an arm. “This is the creepiest illusion-thing ever, by the way. Y’remember about me s’posed-to-havin’-been a twin? This is kinda-sorta haunty feelin’.” "It's not an illusion," Micah tells -- himself, patiently. "I just became you." He takes that arm, but doesn't move. His fingers curl against Micah's wrist, moving the other man's hand down to his thigh. "Look. Feel. I can't -- make illusions. Jax makes illusions." Blink. “You…can…do that? I… I’m gonna go out onna limb and say I have no idea what’s goin’ on right now.” Looking was creepy. Touching is creepier. Micah does offer the arm as support once more. Because of default /helpful/. "/I/ can do that," Mirror says patiently. "Jax can't. I -- we met." He thinks. He looks a little confused about this. "-- didn't we meet? I never -- everyone knows you." He takes Micah's arm, but doesn't really move, just yet. "... maybe we never met." This thought makes him suddenly blush, suddenly a little more flustered. "I'm -- I'm sorry, it's hard to remember when. Oh gosh this is totally like a TV show -- no, if this was a show I'd've done something /terrible/ like sleep with you --" This makes him blush deeper. "... I mean, sorry. /Everyone/ knows you, I forgot that I -- we never met. I mean I saw you. You were around. A lot. Helping." He looks down at Micah's offered arm, his smile lopsided. "You're always helping." “Oh. Ohgosh. Okay. Definitely not Jax, then? Right.” Micah seems to be vocalising his thought processes today. “I…don’t know? If we met before. You look like me an’ before you looked like Jax an’ I don’t know what before that?” Blushing…and /self/-blushing…and…/argh/ everything is horrible forever. Micah just cringes and resigns himself to astounding feats of colour-changing. “Do…uh…d’you live here, then? Or. I could give you a ride to…? I’m still mostly not knowin’ anythin’ right now. Sorry.” "No -- no, oh gosh. I'm sorry, no -- definitely not Jax. I -- live downstairs. /Up/stairs. Upstairs from /Jax/, downstairs from /here/ -- everything's downstairs from here though isn't it?" Sheepish, Mirror runs his fingers through his mussed hair, leaving it mussier. "/Sorry/, I just -- came up because I was going to /practice/ because being Jax is hard -- I mean, /you/ should know, you live with -- no. Don't live with him." His hand lifts, and his weight now leans harder against Micah for balance as he rubs at his temple. His blush is furiously deep. "... don't need a ride from you no. Sorry. I think I almost exploded you. This is confusing, isn't it?" “Right. So. Downstairs, sure. Downstairs is easy.” Micah leads…other-him toward the door, slowly. “Confusin’. Yes. It might be less if I… I mean, what should I call /you/? Your name. I mean, what is your name?” Normal social interaction questions should not be this complicated! "Micah," Not!Micah answers, kind of puzzled as he sort of hops, sort of leans against Micah as they make their slow way towards the door. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be confusin'. S'what I do. Be -- people." He is still blushing, somewhat, but he glances sideways to shoot Micah a small crooked smile. "I'm a /pretty/ good people-impersonator, though, yeah?" “That’s…remarkably unhelpful. I mean t’say, what’re you called when you’re at home? Not…bein’ me.” Micah’s free hand gestures toward other-him’s face. “How d’you keep track o’ you? The you that knows whether you’ve met people or not.” He pauses to open the door, then assists other-him through it. Stairs will be easier; they come with /railings/. "... I'm called a lot of things," Mirror answers, brow furrowing. "A few minutes ago I was Jax. Before that I was Joshua. Before that I --" He hesitates, hand curling around the railing. "I don't remember the one before that." His head shakes as he starts to descend. "Forgive me," and this is quieter, a little more distant, a little less Micah though it's still Micah's voice. "I don't mean to be difficult." “Oh.” Micah’s brow furrows in thought, considering. “Well, the people who /know/ you, the whole time you’re bein’ different people. I just…figured they would have a way of referrin’ to you. I suppose ‘hey, you’ an’ ‘that guy’ work well enough in a pinch.” He offers other-him a little smile as he follows him down the stairs. "I don't think I'm a guy," MicahMirror muses with a shake of his(?) head. "Would you like to call me a name? I called myself Micah the other day when I /didn't/ look like this. Someone mentioned a Micah to me. I thought it was a good name. You could call me something else. If it's less confusing. Maybe, today, I can be --" He looks down at himself as he hops along towards the sixth floor. "Xander." “Oh. I didn’t mean…like…boy-guy. Just generic-guy. Like, person, but friendly,” Micah explains. “I…oh. I thought you were only usin’ that ‘cause of…” He gestures at his /own/ face this time. “If that’s the name y’like, y’should use it. Not like I’ve got personal claim to it for all time.” Micah snorts a little laugh at the next name recommendation. “I dunno, hon. I think y’most /definitely/ got some superpowers.” "It's a good name," Not!Micah (maybe?Micah) says. He stops, and looks Micah over with a slight hint of a blush. "It's a good /face/," he says, blushing deeper, and then adds, "but I won't use it if it -- I think it makes people uncomfortable. Sometimes. I don't have superpowers right now. Just -- just kinda a lot of tired. When's the last time you /slept/?" Micah tops other-him’s faint blush with a /brighter/ one. Compliments on your face coming out of…your face? That’s…what that is. Hm. “Oh, no. If it takes a lot of energy or whatever t’change it. Don’t worry about it. S’a little weird, but I’ll get over it.” He thinks on the sleep question. “Yesterday. Well…actually, this mornin’, technically? Between the sun almost comin’ up and actually comin’ up. Not /that/ long ago. I mean, I’m not Jax or anythin’.” This last is said with a crooked grin. Mirror's lips just twitch. He stops at the door to the sixth floor, looking Micah over for a moment. "Maybe y'should sleep soon." He suggests this with a dash of concern, but then he pulls the door open. "I'll change it," he assures, kind of half-apologetically. "But first sleep. I'll -- maybe I'll see you 'round." He doesn't actually sound /certain/ of this, but he does offer Micah a quick smile. “Maybe soon,” Micah agrees somewhat blandly. “Don’t…really don’t worry too much. I won’t even be here for it to be weird once you’re sleepin’ anyhow.” He offers a soft smile. “Prob’ly will, since y’live here. Though…we should get you a secret hand-signal or somethin’, to tell you apart from the people you’re bein’ at the time. Avoid confusion.” His nose crinkles with amusement at the idea. "-- Really?" Mirror's head tips to one side, and the looks he gives Micah is quietly bemused. "Would that be -- helpful?" He glances down at his hand, resting on the doorknob. Eventually he lifts his other, slowly, fingers spreading into a Vulcan salute. Micah giggles at this choice of signal. “Really, I think it would help avoid some confusion. Less likely to have crazyfolks pounce-huggin’ you without warnin’ an’ the like.” He raises his hand to return the gesture. “Live long an’ prosper. An’ also sleep well.” "It was nice," Mirror says, and here there is another blush. "I never really --" He shakes his head. "Sleep well," he says, warmer, offering another bright smile and then heading through the door and off towards his apartment.