ArchivedLogs:The Goddamn Cheeriest

The Goddamn Cheeriest
Dramatis Personae Sebastian, Hive, Micah, Jim
In Absentia	2 February 2014 Exposition and planning! (Part of the Morpheus TP.)
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. From the bedroom there is violin music playing, some rapid fugue in a minor key that fills the apartment with a rather anguished air. Out in the living room Sebastian has been listening to music of his own, judging by the large headphones plugged into his laptop, but he's taken them off to hang around his neck so that he can hear the violin instead. Whatever he's /been/ doing on the computer before, he's not anymore. Eyes closed, gills slowly fluttering, he's curled up in the beanbag in baggy cargo pants and his stolen oversized HERBIVORE hoodie, idly petting at Sprite and listening to Shane's playing with a small smile on his lips. << Knock knock. >> Hive's mind typically comes /thudding/ in, an unsubtle crash of announcement that tells of his arrival like a /sledgehammer/ slamming into the strains of Shane's practicing. He unlocks the door, trudges his way inside. He's already not wearing shoes, just socks, jeans well-frayed at their hems, Theta Tau sweatshirt unzipped over his brown blue-painted hedgehog tee, habitually sleepy-eyed expression, tablet tucked beneath an arm. He meanders in, pushes the door shut behind him with a heel. Immediately heads to drag over a second beanbag, drop down beside Sebastian and promptly -- go back to sleep? << He's getting good. >> Micah is singing softly to himself, quiet enough not to be understood over the louder notes of the violin, as he brush-brushes his broom along the kitchen floor. The mop resting against the side of the refrigerator betrays his upcoming plans pretty clearly. Micah's hair is weekend-messy, never really straightened all that much since his shower in the morning, just spiky where it air dried. He is dressed in his 'UNSTOPPABLE!' T-rex shirt and faded, rainbow-patched blue jeans. His feet are currently /bare/, no socks even, due to floor-cleaning, the cuffs of his jeans rolled up over his ankle on one side and the long metal shaft of his prosthesis on the other. "Hey, Hive. What's up?" "-wait-wait-wait godDAMMIT." That was Jim's voice, belting out from down the apartment hallway, catching sight of Hive just vanishing into the Zedner-Holland homestead. And closing THE DOOR. << -god damn bastards every fucking one of son of a- >> Knock-knock-knock-knock. He starts in as soon as he reaches the door. Aaaaaa. Sebastian removes his headphones from around his neck, slipping them over Hive's head instead. He rubs at his head after this thudding announcement. "You could just knock." He does smile at the commentary on Shane's music, though. "He's getting great." He pushes to his feet, slipping off towards the door to open it back up, his small tiny and shy. "Hi, sir." Tug-tug-tug, he shuffles backwards as he pulls the door open wider and then slips off towards the kitchen to /commandeer/ the mop before his Ba can sweep /and/ mop. He leans against the doorway, eying Hive with some small concern. "Are you okay? It's like, three. That's past even /your/ usual sleep-time." Sprite is less concerned, though she is disgruntled that Sebastian has left the beanbag. She gets up to settle into Hive's, moving from one warm body to the next. "Cat is up," Hive assesses, once he has obtained a Sprite. He pokes at her with a finger, grimacing. "Yeahfine he's getting pretty fucking great." << Maybe you should walk faster. >> He sets his tablet down on top of Sebastian's laptop, reaching to scritch at the top of Sprite's head. "-- The fuck. How the fuck's it --" << already. >> This doesn't finish in words; those trail off but finishes in a thudding slam of mental /feeling/. Afternoon. Late. A vague /annoyance/ at where the day went. Disgruntlement. "What the fuck." And then: "You want to grow us trees?" Stooping to sweep his small pile of gathered floor-grit into the dustpan, he initially misses 'Bastian going for the mop. "Extra sleep's good. Might be part of the brain-healing process. S'a good sign that maybe things're gettin' better. I /still/ want you t'make an appointment at the Clinic, though. Everybody, pretty much. Just t'establish. But you're the most /urgent/ one, I think, outside of Dusk needin' t'get his feedin' under control." He snorts at the comment on the cat being up as he stops by the trash can to toss out the grit. "If she's up, it ain't for long. You only /ever/ catch her between naps." Returning the dustpan and broom to storage, Micah returns to fetch the mop but then...finds it taken. "Oh, wow. We could have /full-grown/ trees even in a new development. 'Stead of all baby trees. Totally /could/ have a treehouse. I was thinking we'd have t'wait on that." "Eat me, I walk fast for no man. - Hey, kid." There's a slight change in crankiness between Jim addressing Hive and Jim addressing Sebastian. Because ONE of them doesn't piss him off. "That Shane?" The music, he means, looking towards the bedroom while stripping out of his corduroy jacket to expose a flannel shirt in green and black. "You'll need a lot of underground room for the roots, you want 'em big enough for a a treehouse. Can't really control how they spread out - can fuck up a foundation. Sidewalks. Pipes. What kinda trees?" << ...brain-healing. >> He side-eyes Hive in the beanbag. "...how's that going." Wait - he turns towards Micah, "What's up with Dusk?" "Oh, oh /man/, oh /man/ you should've /seen/ him at Fight Club last night." For a second -- just a second -- Sebastian's expression is bright and animated, "Flicker ripped his wings to /shreds/ but I think he broke /all/ Flicker's ribs in the end so -- /um/ --" He ducks his head, watching Micah return the broom before going to prepare a small tub of cleaning solution for the floor. "Nothing's up with him. Prison actually fed him for once. Are we really going to have a treehouse?" His expression has returned to quiet, but he /sounds/ exceedingly hopeful. "It's Shane. A Bach -- fugue in D minor. I think. Maybe. He's been practicing a lot. Hive you're not talking." "I dunno fucking tree kind of trees dude. -- a treehouse tree. And maybe fruit trees if we're doing food shit. But who doesn't want a." This falls off again into crashing mental image of treehouse in the center of their common space. Or maybe treehouse overlooking the river. Hive is undecided. "Dusk went to the Clinic yesterday. They're going to see what they can do about setting up regular blood deliveries. I mean they can get him regular deliveries. Anticoagulant's hard on his stomach. And yeah prison was rough, they fed him too /well/," Hive confirms Sebastian's explanation for Jim. "He'd gotten used to starving for years. It was," he explains wryly, "like falling off the wagon. Had to get used all over again to starvation rations without fucking up and just tearing into everyone around him." "Yeah, will have t'be real careful on the placement of trees. Would that more people who put 'em in had a mind t'what they're gonna do when they grow. Instead, usually they end up gettin' cut or uprooted for causin' trouble." When it becomes apparent that 'Bastian has claimed his task, Micah wanders into the living room. Taking a seat on the couch, he pulls a pair of sky blue socks covered in a fluffy white cloud pattern out of his pockets, tugging them onto his feet before unrolling his pants cuffs. "Shane's been doin' a lot more playin' lately. S'been gettin' better an' better at it. Think he was able t'sneak in some more lessons when Ryan was around again for a bit there, too." He nods once to confirm the others' answers about Dusk before settling further into his seat. "Anybody need somethin' quick from the kitchen 'fore the floor's wet? Juice or water or...there's some cookies left that Jax made." It's always terribly important to specify Jax as the source of the baking, his own skills being /so/ lacking in that area. "Good. Io was the one who figured out how much t'give 'im while he was in prison. S'why I thought he might be the best idea for gettin' things together after. Should get treated /better/ out here than in prison." "Yeah, well. Not a lotta people can see what twenty years of tree growth'll look like in ten minutes," Jim is standing over Hive, thumbs crammed in belt loops. Frowning down at him harder when this second mental bombardment slams in, "Should have seen the front stoop of my old work place, before I got control my shit." The cement had shattered when the nearby shrubs had gone Herculean over a period of particularly stressful weeks for one young Jimmy Morgan, PI. << ...back in the fucking year 82 BC. >> "I'll look into plants. S' a couple kinds I'd want around anyway." Jim's own private army. Still standing there. Still looking down at Hive, he segues from, "...Yeah, uh. Two coffees. Black. Thanks, Mickey--" into a lower, "--so how long's it been." << speaking of wagons. >> There's a low creak of guilt with this, beneath the gnarl of roots. He'll just ignore that. "Ohgood." Sebastian hums quietly along with Shane's violin music as he leans against the mop, starting in on the half of the floor beneath the table but leaving the half where the sink and fridge and dishes are in case people are wanting food and drinks. He leans a little heavily on the handle at some particularly scrubby portions. "I don't think it counts as a wagon if you need it to live. Like oh I fell off the no-oxygen wagon?" His nose crinkles. "He was starving himself for years and Dr. Saavedro stopped that. And now he's working on making sure he never has to go /back/ to starving himself. It just got hard in between when he was trying to go /back/ to starving and --" He blushes. "You know. Saw everyone like food. It, um, happens. When you're really hungry." His eyes fix down on the floor, gills fluttering once. "Mmm." This is Hive's answer to coffee. And another "Mmm." at the mention of cookies. He starts to worm his way upright, whumping back down at first when this effort meets with a PAW to his FACE to push him back into place, Sprite making her protest very firmly known. "Wha --" He frowns, but stays put, kind of /bemused/ as he returns to his scritching. But then -- "Whatthefuck cat." Kind of ornery himself, he pushes her out of his beanbag now just on principle. "That was my face dude." Admittedly, there was no claw involved. Only pushing. He shifts uncomfortably at Jim's question. << Every fucking minute. >> "Ten days. Sometimes when I fucking /sleep/ I --" He shrugs a shoulder twitchily. "Or -- half-asleep I guess. Just get these headaches --" His teeth grit. This time he sits up for real, leaning over to snag his tablet off of Sebastian's laptop. He /snorts/ at Sebastian. "Think I kind of know that feel, bro. Maybe not meat-food, but --" His mind squeezes briefly against the others in the room, and he shrugs. "Well, y'ain't gotta actually /see/ it so much as put some thought into it an' plan for it," Micah argues with another little shrug. He wanders back into the kitchen at the request for coffee, moving the brewing gear and two mugs to a spot on the counter that can be accessed without having to trudge across the floor again. He also gathers a small glass of almond milk for himself, as well as three dessert plates and a tin of almond raspberry sandwich cookies, which are deposited on the coffee table while the coffee is working on...becoming coffee. A pair of cookies find their way onto one of the plates which is then pushed into Hive's hands. Micah snickers at Sprite's rather communicative antics. "She's...pretty good at expressin' her needs." His brow furrows slightly at Hive's talk of headaches and wagons to fall off of. "/That/ is exactly why y'should be settin' up an appointment at the Clinic, Hive. Might be they could /help/ with some of that." << -bloods a little easier to manage at a clinic than fucking mind-sweeping. >> Jim's not saying it out loud, grinding his jaw, but it's too blunt of a pessimism to tamp down before it comes up. It's weary-despairing, too; over-active imagination is considering Sebastian's words, overlapping the grim prospect of just how gruesome a meaning 'feeding' can have. Dusk, the twins. Hive. << what, jimmy, thought you could just solve this kind of shit with a meeting twice a week? >> "Ffffff," he drops down to sit on the couch, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Hey. If Dusk's gone, y'may as well, right? How things been on the homestead." He's raising brows towards Micah. Sebastian finishes scrubbing beneath the table, it's not a /large/ kitchen. And now just leans against the doorframe, waiting for the coffee to finish. "You eat brains in your sleep?" He says this with a bright curiosity stirring in his mind, considering the implications of this with more fascination than dread. "Like anyone's or just people you -- mmn sorry. Are we really going to have chickens?" And now absurdly he is imagining Horus nesting in a /coop/ with a wistful pang. He leaves the mop propped against the doorframe, moving back over to his beanbag to flip his laptop back open. Tap at the holo-projector attached to his computer to wake it up. "Hey. Hive. I know what'll cheer you up." "Dude I've lived with fucking headaches since before I even knew what the hell they /were/. Kinda just comes with the freak territory for me. Kinda used to it. Go badger your husband about /his/," Hive grouses, glowering and scrunching himself further down into the beanbag, "his have been worse than mine for years. Mine are just inching their way up towards his." He does take the cookies, though. Mmm raspberry. "I'll live." His brow furrows as he says this, an uncomfortable twitch to his shoulders. He turns to glance over at Sebastian. "Huh? Fuck you. I'm the goddamn cheeri/est/." But he does eye the projector curiously. His shoulders twitch in another shrug, belatedly. "Mostly Flicker," he admits. "He's always around and by now his mind feels like --" His eyes slide /guiltily/ to Jim with this admission, "kind of part of mine anyway. And Micah your cat has boundary issues." What no there's totally no hypocrisy in juxtaposing these statements, shuttup. "She's a cat; there are no boundaries. People are self-heatin' furniture with handy attachments for providin' food an' scritchin'." Micah holds up a hand, wiggling its fingers illustratively. He pops up once more when the coffee is done brewing, pouring two cups and delivering those, appropriately enough, to the coffee table, each one its own coaster. Pausing to lean against the couch back, he tugs his socks off again, stuffing one each into his jeans pockets before taking over the mopping for the remainder of the kitchen now that everyone has refreshments. "/Yours/," he calls back to Hive, "are gettin' /worse/ an' are all tied up in a brain chip an' a psionic ability that you've been overusin' t'the point of bein' in a coma. I /think/ that requires a little more attention. Though I /will/ keep pesterin' at Jax t'make an appointment eventually, /too/. Like I said, y'all need one." He's quiet for a moment, just swiping the mop over the kitchen floor. "Things've been fine here. Relatively quiet. Other than some...weird dream stuff goin' on where folks are runnin' into one another's dreams an'...manifestin' stuff out of 'em. S'where that Hug Bank thing came from. I'm tryin' t'figure out how it's happenin'. Find the source. 'Cause it's /gotta/ be somebody's ability. Ain't no other way t'do that kinda thing." "Oh. Yeah? /That/ all?" Jim scrubs his face HARDER for Micah's elaboration, "Jesus Christ, the fuck did this become my new god damn life. How're you /not/ freaking out about this?" No, even JIM isn't freaking out, he's just aggravated that NO ONE is. His jaw clenches harder, turning his head away when he can /feel/ Hive's eyes slide towards him; it transforms into a lean forward to grab a coffee. Maybe glancing towards whatever Sebastian is cooking up, though only half watching. There's just - adrenaline. Angerfrustrationdisappointment. "I drove by that Hug Bank," he mutters. "Took some pictures." He says it like 'I gathered evidence against it'. If there's anyone that wouldn't trust random HUGS... "There was chocolate -- /hey/ I was doing that," Sebastian protests, when Micah takes the mop. He doesn't protest it too /hard/, though, because he's very busy swiping Hive's tablet. Swiping /at/ Hive's tablet. Still humming with the music; Bach has segued into Prokofiev, something livelier. "Anyway there was chocolate, why would we be freaking out about chocolate. Do you want chocolate, by the by? S'dream chocolate. I'm a /little/ freaked out, though. Ba got to be /Cyborg/ and Pa got to be Superman and Dusk got to be Batman and Shane and I were stupid Aquaman." He nudges the coffee table over a little bit, clearing space on the floor in front of him as his swiping eventually takes shape -- literally, Hive's budding designs for the housing development springing to three-dimensional holographic life in front of them. "There. Here. Go. Play. Enjoy." "Hug Bank was Peter's fault," Hive informs Jim. "I mean, his dream. Not his power, I guess." He shrugs, jerking his chin upwards with a thudding, << thanks >> to Micah for the coffee. He dunks one of his cookies into it, chomping down on it while he waits for the coffee to cool. "S'cool. I have a fucking /tub/ of ibuprofen. And man, I'll eat chocolate no matter where it comes from. Not picky about free candy." He grimaces. "Free hugs, though, those usually come from stinky hippies. Tell me the Hug Bank people at least --" He's derailed as Sebastian brings his plans to /life/ in front of him, half-lidded eyes widening as the buildings grow in front of them. His breath catches audibly. At first he just stares, down at the little development on the floor in front of him. Slowly, he leans forward to reach for it. Moving a house to one side. Turning it upside DOWN to plant it on its ROOF. Moving it back. Blowing the whole thing up slowly bigger with shaking hands. A sudden flush in his cheeks, a sudden /glisten/ in his eyes. Falling into a silence as he starts to familiarize himself with the movement, rotating things this way and that, shrinking something here, moving something there. And then getting to /work/. "Yep, that's pretty much the only thing out of the ordinary goin' on," Micah replies cheerfully as he finishes off the floor and tidies up the cleaning equipment. He stops at the sink to scrub his hands before returning to the living room, claiming a seat and a plate with a cookie on it. He dunks his cookie into almond milk before munching. "Ain't /too/ freaked out on account of it's been so /benign/ so far. An' I've been involved in...all of 'em that I know of. Could show you a manifested piece or /several/ from all three of the dreams I've heard about, if you're interested. Was /in/ two of 'em m'self. I...actually thought I might be the source of the whole thing for a bit there." His cheeks pick up a slightly redder tint. "But I had Joshua check me out an' apparently I'm still power-free. Honestly, the scariest part of the whole thing so far was wakin' up in that costume, B. I can't explain how disconcertin' it is t'wake up almost entirely encased in hard plastic. Panicked a little 'til I could get it off." Micah eats another bite of cookie. "Don't know if there's any effects from eatin' the dream candy. S'far as I know, I'm the only one who has, an'...that was when I was tryin' to induce one of the dreams on purpose. When I thought it was me doin' it. That was the same night as Peter an' Rasa had the superhero dream." Micah's thoughts are more emotionally loaded than his words, occupied with images of Matt from the dream and worries about him being /out there/ and possibly in Prometheus custody. His head shakes as he watches Hive play with the hologram. "Oh...wow, that is /neat/. Best scale model ever." “Hey, man. Guess if you're fine with it, and you're living at god damn ground zero..." Jim says it, anyway. He doesn't necessarily believe it, but he'd be equally suspicious of a cloudy day or a stranger smiling at him. << parker and the rasa kid too, huh. what're you gonna do, jimmy. can't exactly go snooping into dreams. >> Though -- now that Micah mentions it-- His brow furrows, ".../Yeah/, actually. I wanna see this shit with my own eyes. Who all's had this shit, then?" It's all rapid surface activity carrying him through this. His eyes are locked on Hive's face. And it makes something clench in him. << ...just like that. if he could just stay like that, making that face. sell my fucking soul tomorrow. >> He leans forward over the projection as well, his voice abrasive-rough with a finger jabbing forward from his coffee cup, "Could fit a pretty decent fucking tree about /here/ - maybe two, spread 'em out enough. Christ, 'Bast, tell me you didn't invent this yourself, I can barely use /email/." Sebastian's gills flutter slowly as he watches Hive toy with the projection. He's silent, just offering quiet mental guidance as to the best way to manipulate the holographs until Hive gets the hang of it. And then just silent, watching with a pleased flutter of gills, a pleased squeeze of clear inner eyelids. He reaches up to ruffle at Hive's hair. "S'fun, huh?" He blushes deep at Jim's question. "Ohgosh. Ohgosh no. This is -- this is -- TonyStark -- I just brought this home from work, to help -- I had some stuff to work on --" He shakes his head quickly, and stands. "You just play with that for a while. M'gonna check on Shane." The music from the bedroom's stopped. Sebastian leaves Hive with the high-tech toys, slipping back into the bedroom quietly, his mind buzzing with quiet-happy that maybe-just-maybe he's made that constant headache a /little/ happier for a moment with this toy. Hive is still just engrossed with his work -- at first not getting a /lot/ of work done, he's following Sebastian's mental promptings to just figure out how to operate this best. But it doesn't take him long to adapt to new technology, especially not technology /intended/ to be intuitive. Before long he is working rapidly to expand his designs, grow them. Change them. Bring them more to life. Pause only to sip at his coffee or shake /out/ his shaking hands. His eyes are wider, brighter than their usual half-closed state. << Maybe you're too boring, >> he finally remembers to suggest. << Joshua discriminates, did you know that? Maybe bringing full on dreams to life isn't interesting enough for him. >> Too deep into work to remember he has a /mouth/, apparently. Or maybe too deep into his gulp of coffee. Which he's promptly just spilled a dribble of down his face. He wipes it away with the back of a hand. "-- I could find him." "Um, Hive...this thing is connectin' people who are far away from each other in dreams and then /manifestin'/ items out of them. From nothin'. Items like /giant buildin's/ with people in. I don't think that's just such a low-level power that Joshua wouldn't pick up on it. Kinda the opposite." Micah nods to 'Bastian as he leaves, finishing off his cookie before answering Jim. "Um...the first dream was just me'n Jax. I ended up with a dragonfly statue an' Jax had a Wish Bear plush. In prison. Second was me'n Lucien'n...maybe his brother Matt. Luci an' I both have these...vases of rainbow water with stone an' candy flowers in. The last was Peter an' Rasa, but they dreamed of half of everybody. Most of the school. Lotsa folks all woke up in superhero costumes an' there's that Hug Bank. Just a sec." Setting his glass back on the table, Micah gets himself up to head into the bedroom, bringing out the items he'd just mentioned. It takes three trips. The dragonfly is metal and glass and fits comfortably in the palm of a person's hand. The Wish Bear is a simple plush doll. The vase is filled with swirly rainbow water, a large malachite yarrow, smaller snowdrops in hematite and moonstone and /chocolate/. The last items he brings out are a Superman costume and the Cyborg costume, necessarily in pieces since it consists of large plates of moulded plastic painted silver to look like metal. "That's...everythin' that Jax'n I've ended up with." He frowns at Hive's mention of finding Matt. "Honey, it would take...a /lot/ of usin' your power t'do that. Prob'ly too much. An' we're not...completely certain that I'm right about it. That Matt's still alive at all. We're only goin' off the fact that he /felt/ like he was there in m'dream. An' that he /looked/ like the rescuees from the labs. With his hair shaved an' the scars an'...that he didn't look sick anymore." Leaning forward, Jim's hard blue eyes shift from Hive to follow Micah under crumbled brows. Listening and processing in the unbiased nature of a man accustomed to information dumps. He reaches out to touch one of the pieces of costume, turning it over, "-NO." It's his voice AND his mind, equally - it trumps anything, his curiosity, the pessimistic faint-pang at the mention of Matt, the fascination with the technology. He's not even looking at Hive when he says it, and goes /right/ back to, "So - what. Had any of you spoken anytime shortly before you had these dreams?" "Jax was in jail when the first dream happened. In solitary. They weren't even letting him speak to his fucking lawyer, man. Sure as hell hadn't talked to Micah. And Matt? He's dead. Nobody's sure as fuck talked to /him/." The flush has left Hive's cheeks, the brightness gone from his eyes, slipped back to their usual heavy-lidded state. He's still working, though slowly, now; his hands are shaking more badly than before, necessitating taking more care with the manipulable holographs, though undoubtedly moving a /mouse/ would be more annoying still. "Scars where?" He's asking aloud, but his mind just pushes up against Micah's to /take/ this memory for himself. Micah's head shakes in answer to Jim's question. "Not really. I haven't seen Peter in a dog's age. Nor Rasa since before Jax got out, though she did stay here...'round early-mid January. Don't know when last the twins saw either of them, or when last they saw one another, but I presume more recently since they're all in school together. Jax was in /solitary/ in prison an' I hadn't seen 'im in weeks. An' Matt...he supposedly died more'n half a /year/ ago, so ain't /nobody/ seen 'im. The only one I'd been talkin' to right before was Luci. He was here for dinner, then helpin' with Hive's head. Jax was here, too. Luci was shaky after, so I drove 'im home. Um...we ran into a girl I know an' her dog outside, but other'n that I took 'im straight home an' came straight back. Dream with me'n Luci'n Matt was just after." Micah doesn't resist the push of Hive's mind, rather opening the memory of Matt on the hammock, walking toward him, curled up next to Lucien, to offer a variety of angles of the other man's shaved head. "It reminded me of the rescuees, like I said. Don't know why either Luci or m'self would've /created/ that image. Both of us thought he was dead." "You've never dreamed of the dead before?" Jim's hands reach out to try and seize on one of Hive's shaky hands. His own, in contrast, are absurdly steady, mangled and misshapen though they may be. "Hivey." "Scars like mine." Hive's hands stop their work when Jim's reach for them. "Thinner, though. They've been getting better at this shit. Mine are ropy as fuck, these days they're -- neat." His teeth grind. "Those scars are tidy. -- I usually dream of the dead like I knew them. Or like I wish they were. Or -- see, if it was a /nightmare/ of him being /in/ the labs that'd be one thing. Why the fuck would you have a /good/ dream where he just /happens/ to -- /that's/ a bullshit." "I have, but...like Hive says. Either the way they were or how you'd /wanna/ see 'em. Not...randomly...cut on by the government. That don't make no kinda sense." Micah's head shakes again, his teeth moving to press into his lower lip. He stands, walking over to sit beside Hive and wrap an arm around his shoulders. "That's what made me think he's alive. He /felt/ just like Lucien in that dream. Or like Jax in the other. Like he just got...pulled into this random, pleasant shared experience from somewhere else. I wanna find out how the dreams happened t'do it again. If I could connect with Matt again, I'd /realise/ this time. That I need t'ask 'im where he is. Get as much information as I can..." "/Hivey/." Jim says it again. Hands gripping down harder. "/What/." Hive's hands tremor again and his eyes squeeze shut. He slowly slumps back against Micah's hold, fingers curling in against Jim's hands. "The fuck. You have /nightmares/ about people like that. You don't have /good dreams/ and drop them in looking like nightmares." << And I can -- fucking -- >> His hands pull away, he sits up straighter, slowly returning, with more deliberate care, to his restructuring of their housing development. "Got more work done on this shit in fifteen fucking minutes than I usually do in three goddamn days. Frithrah. -- I haven't had any of these. Dream. Bullshits." Micah's hand stays on Hive's back, a simple firm contact. "Hive, honey...ain't nobody askin' y'to look. Ain't nobody /blamin'/ you for not. We're /askin'/ y'not to. We got...other options. That aren't so likely t'/kill/ nobody. Okay? We love you. We'll figure this out without havin' t'hurt you in the process." The fingers of his opposite hand drum against his prosthetic knee. "We just need t'figure out /who/ is doin' this. S'gotta be somebody as had contact with us. An' we can rule out everybody with powers we already know. Just gotta...run through all the folks who may or may not have powers we don't know about. As had contact with...prob'ly it was Peter's dream, the comic books. So, Peter. An'...it had to've been /me/ an' not Jax, so me, too. An'...I couldn't tell you if it was Lucien or me for that one. So, add Lucien t'the list. There's gotta be someone whose abilities affected me an' Peter an' prob'ly Luci. Can't be /too/ many folks we've met in common with unknown abilities..." "Yeah. Maybe a /lot/ of us could fucking do something, settle down, hero. You even /talk/ to Lucien yet about all this?" Not his favorite topic or person, but Jim's white-knuckling on business mode, looking to Micah. "Before we start leaping headfirst into halfbaked mind-shattering ghost hunts, could always just /ask/ the guy that'd know the most. From there, maybe locate the staff that'd been on duty when Matt was declared him dead; see if anyone actually saw it /first hand/. What happened after. Who even fucking /knew/ about Matt's abilities to begin with." Briefly, he's thinking of Karrie - << even if the guy had died... fuck. god knows they'd love to get ahold of him if they could. christ, now they got me thinking about it. >> He lets Hive take back his hands, and is grittedly going to treat this like it's NORMAL, "I could run a few background checks from there." He nods to Micah, "While you're looking into things on your side. See if anything stinks." "Lucien never saw Matt's body. He wanted to be cremated and there was supposedly a mix-up. They cremated him before Lucien got to the hospital. He's not exactly the sentimental type. Not big on funerals or services or mourning so he never gave a fuck. Was a paperwork mistake. And he'd talked to Matt's doctors and nurses and everything /else/ was all -- nothing seemed wrong. Kid had been dying slow for fucking years so he never gave that a second thought." Hive's teeth grit again. "But, uh. But later. Later Murphy turns up. Saying some shit about how that's -- not -- I don't even fucking remember anymore. Not Matt they cremated. Someone fucking else. Wanted to go find Matt's ashes and check to see if they /were/ Matt's ashes because he thought they switched 'em. We thought maybe he was being paranoid and maybe he /was/ but now --" Hive exhales heavily. His fingers flick at a house. Spinning it around and around and around in place. Slowly, he collapses back into his beanbag, the bony insignificant weight of his back bearing Micah's hand down with him. "I gotta go. I need a fucking. Sleep." "Yes. I spoke t'Lucien about the dream an'...what I thought it meant. Pretty much directly afterwards. But at the time I still thought that /I/ was the one makin' the dreams happen, so the plan was for me to...have another dream. An' contact Matt. But now I can't. So I've gotta find who /can/." Micah's lips press together, thinning into a straight line. "Just the idea of Matt bein' alive all this time was more'n enough t'dump on 'im at the time. He was pretty upset." His head shakes as Hive speaks, a slow denial. "No. He did care. When he didn't get t'see 'im before they cremated 'im. He did care. S'a short list of people Luci /would've/ minded that happenin' with. An' Matt was on the top of it." One eyebrow lifts at the talk of Murphy and ashes. "Did they ever collect the ashes? Have 'em tested? Figure out if it was him? 'Cause that'd be a good clue. On whether we're just chasin' ghosts here or not." He lets Hive take his arm down with him, moving to prop on his elbow. "Oh...Hive...hon. Y'wanna sleep here? Or back home? Need...some tea or anythin' first? S'prob'ly good. Lots of sleep. While you're still healin' up." Some imperative tension in the edge of Jim's hairline tightens at the mention of Murphy's name. If anything, that's enough to get him on board, "Forget the ashes. Let's track down the bastard that /signed off/ of the cremation to start. The guy that pushed the button, too. You heal up enough, Hivey, you can even come with," << snarky asian sidekick, jesus christ, jimmy >> "- don't even got to /borg/ a guy to get an idea what's going on in his mind while I'm grilling him." << fucking living and breathing lie detector. >> Nothing in him is particularly soothed; still agitated, still /roiling/ and chewing and restless and (guiltily) thirsty. But it's focused. "I'm staying over." He says it like they should have expected it already. And reaches out to prod at a building kind of awkwardly. "Murphy thought --" Hive frowns here, though. "Don't remember," he mutters to himself. "/He'll/ remember. I'm going home." He lurches to his feet. Stumblesome. Just stomps right /through/ a building, crushing a holo-house underfoot, and heads out. “Okay, hon.” Micah doesn't move to follow Hive, seeing as he seems to want to be /elsewhere/. “Just...holler if y'need anything. Love you.” He /does/ move to collect dishes and straighten up the kitchen now that the floor has had time to dry. "I'll talk t' Murph. See what he's got. Thanks for the coffee," Jim sets his emptied cup back on its coaster, rising as well - one hand half-reaching out on reflex for Hive's stumbly initial movement. But if Hive's got this, Jim sure as hell isn't going to be the one to try and say he can't. "Have a good night, Mickey." He's not waiting on an invitation - just absently trails along behind, hands crammed in his pockets and thoughts... well. /Mostly/ kept to himself with a touch of effort. The roiling speaks enough.