ArchivedLogs:Make It

Make It
(Yours/Mine/Ours)
Dramatis Personae Micah, Hive, Sage, Dusk
In Absentia	2 February 2014 More speculation on the dream incidents and work on the Commons plans. (Part of the Morpheus TP.) (Warning: Mild adult content.)
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. Sunday evening is warm, bright, and colourful in Lighthaus, though not nearly as much the last two /indoors/ as it is outside. Though with the setting of the sun, even the particoloured city is muted in dusk and silvery moonlight. The apartment still smells like dinner: peanuts and garlic and cilantro and chili and lime serving as the primary lingering notes from the tofu and noodle dish prepared earlier. A hint of citrus-herb soaps and cleansers from washing dishes and cleaning counters serves as a subtle counterpoint. Micah's shirt is still a bit dishwater-flecked, the simple green and blue plaid button-down with its white undershirt over patchy bluejeans showing their true colours, finally, now that they're indoors. He's tucked himself into the corner of the couch with a mug of chai and the little black-and-tan bag that contains his latest knitting project, but hasn't even had the chance to pull out the supplies just yet. Hive has -- probably eaten. Probably. He's avoided most of the brightly colored city today, though no doubt he's seen plenty of it in photographs and in the bright /minds/ of his friends (and all the /other/ people swimming around them.) Instead he's been tucked through pretty much most of the day into a beanbag with Sebastian's computer and its holo-projector attachment, still /enthralled/ with its capabilities. Working. And working. And /working/, as though if he doesn't cram as much of this into this weekend as possible he may never get another chance. The projector has made it phenomenally /visible/ just how much the project is taking shape, growing and developing right there on their living room floor. Right now Hive is half hidden /inside/ a half-scale model of what will one day /be/ Zombie and R.T.'s kitchen. Some of it is lost off against Lighthaus's actual kitchen. Hive is scruffy as ever, Grumpy Bear hoodie and faded frayed-at-the-hems (far more in the back than at the front) jeans and socks with holes in them. He's recently traded his standard gold hoop earrings for -- silver captive-bead earrings, it's not very exciting. The small plain ring he wears on his smallest finger is wearing grey marks against his skin with how much he is toying with it lately. Knock. Knock. Knock. Three slow, methodical knocks come at the door. A telepathic search would reveal the source of these knocks to be Sage, dressed in her XS jacket, a tanktop underneath, a pair of oddly colored sweatpants, and sandals, red tinted glasses on her face. Her thoughts are /racing/ at everything she sees as she processes it, with different functions of her mind doing different things. Whilst she is mainly focused on the door inf ront of her, she is also rereading a book on dreams she has once read before in one section of her mind and watching a video on her glasses with another. Three more knocks, same speed. At the sound of knocking, Micah finishes a sip of tea, putting the mug aside on the coffee table. He lifts the unopened knitting bag off of his lap, tucking it under the table, before he stands. Padding on stocking feet (each sock brilliantly violet with a gold Dalek across the top of the foot), he peeks out the peephole of the door before undoing the (many) locks to admit Sage. "Evenin', Sage. Fancy meetin' you again so soon. Jax ain't in just now. Got so busy with explorin' the fancied-up outdoors today, he pushed his appointment over at the studio off 'til tonight. Ain't expectin' 'im back 'til /quite/ late. You're welcome t'come in for some tea an' cookies if y'like, though. Made up a whole little pot of chai an' there's still a few of Jax's raspberry almond sandwich cookies left." He steps out of the doorway, making room in the case that the invitation is accepted. "Company." Hive mutters this before the knock comes. Doesn't do anything helpful like get up to /answer/ it, mind. Just -- informs. "He'll probably want your hands all over him again when he gets back. Kept me up half the fucking night with his -- prickling." He's sort of grousing for the sake of grousing, a low-level habitual grumbling as he simply /pushes/ a wall into place. Stretches a ceiling overhead with a lazy swipe of finger. "I know you. Fuck are you doing here." Presumably he's asking this of Sage, but he doesn't leave his place sprawled on the beanbag in the middle of his -- apparently /tangible/ holographic representation of a halfway gutted half-built house. Once Micah invites her in, Sage tips her head. "Thank you, but I am actually here to speak with you, not Jackson." She pauses at Hive. "I beg your pardon, but we have not met. And if we had, I would most definitely know." And then Sage is changing the subject back to Micah. "I have received confirmation from Jackson that the current event over NYC is his own manifestation. Which, troubles me and also makes me lean further towards my hypothesis that I mentioned the other night. We now know that the phenomenon can spread far, having hit all the way to the school. We are only lucky that it was not a dream about NYC burning, though I do not believe Jackson would dream of that.” And then she glances around the room, her thoughts now processing everything in here. "This is why I have come to talk to you." "With me?" One of Micah's eyebrows arch, intrigued by this information. He gestures for the woman to enter, looking a little /confused/ as to whether the other two know one another or not, with their contradictory statements. "Well...um. Hive, this is Sage. Sage, Hive. Sage is coworker of Jax's; she teaches computer science at Xavier's. Hive is a good friend of ours. He's working on designing the cohousing development a lot of us are movin' into once we get kicked outta here." He closes and locks the door behind Sage once she steps into the apartment. "Would you care to sit? Any sort of refreshments?" Leading the way into the living room, he stands behind the couch, waiting on these answers. "Well, we did know this thing had range. It connected my dream with Jax's when he was in another /state/ in prison. An' the costumes an' Hug Bank appeared in New York proper, though the dreamers were in Westchester." Micah's head shakes at the mention of Jax /not/ dreaming of the city in flames. "Jax's dreams are usually rather...unpleasant. That the dreams he's had manifest recently were both happy ones reinforces my hypothesis that there's somethin' /pushin'/ 'em all that direction." His fingers drum against the corduroy of the couch back. "If all of this has somthin' t'do with me in particular, I don't know what it is. I been tryin' t'figure out if the folks involved've met a new person who might possibly have special abilities causin' this...but that's been rough so far. Jax works in several jobs that have him meetin' lots of people, an' he can't really talk about clients. I /also/ meet a lot of people through work an' can't discuss 'em on account of protected health information. I still have t'speak with Lucien about who all he might've run into recently, but /his/ job is also one where he meets with many people an' can't discuss 'em. Might could be that talkin' t'Peter is our best bet. If he spends most of his time at school, he'd've met fewer new folks than the rest of us, an' has no reason he can't talk about 'em that I know of." "Yeah, I know who she is." Hive's gruff answer overlaps with Micah's introduction. He doesn't really look up from his work, collapsing the holographic kitchen back down with a swipe of his hand and expanding a living room to work on that. He just exhales a sharp disgruntled /snort/ when Sage says she doesn't believe Jax would dream of NYC burning, but doesn't elaborate on that until after Micah does. "Lady, whatever the fuck this thing is, it's the only thing that's /made/ certain people's dreams /not/ be nightmares for the first fucking time in months. Whoever's behind it should get a goddamn medal for that at least. And then turn everything back their -- their proper --" His head shakes slowly, a small frown creeping across his face. His sleepy-lidded eyes turn back, a little unfocused as he returns to his work. "I would like to know how you know me." Sage says this calmly, emotionlessly, still mostly ignoring the hologram. SUBJECT SWAP. "Hmm..that is a relief, at least. But figuring out who is causing this is still important. I can talk to Peter and see who he has met recently, and then I will send any descriptions I can find to you and Jackson, if he remembers any of them. I do have a question. I know that Mr. Tessier, yourself, Jackson, and Peter have all been afflicted. Are there any more that you know of? This could narrow down the search if everyone who was afflicted learns they have met the same person. Though I am not discarding the theory that you are the beacon for this mutant, this second theory may be of use to try and help solve this mystery." Sage pauses, adjusting her glasses. "You said there was tea?" "That would be helpful. Otherwise, I was just gonna see if Jax could...since he's down the school an' not exactly where I can speak with 'im easily in person on a daily basis." Micah looks thoughtful at the question of who has been involved in the dreams. "Well, Rasa was the one connected t'Peter's dream. But given the dream content, I'm pretty sure it /was/ Peter's dream. An' it's only the four that I know of. Mine, the one with me'n Lucien, Peter's, an' now Jax's. But /I'd/ only know of ones that happened t'people I know, by necessity, unless they were real public in the way they manifested. Could've been people havin' these dreams quitely for who knows how long, an' we're only now havin' our attention drawn to it 'cause it's happenin' to /us/." A nod answers the question of tea. "Spiced chai, with almond milk. I had just poured a mug m'self when y'knocked. It's still hot. I will warn that it is caffeinated if that bothers you this late in the day. Care for a cup?" "Afflicted, fff. Frith, you say it like it's a curse. Everyone's happy for once and it's like there's a --" Hive trails off again, his breath catching in a small-sharp shudder. His palms press to his temples. "-- Dude. You said there's --" His mind crushes in against Micah's in a heavy squeeze of pressure that /fumbles/ for -- words without quite finding any. Tea? Coffee? A vague clawing need for caffeine as a headache hammers at his brain. "Dude you know Flicker and Jax they're only like the most important fucking --" But he doesn't finish this sentence, either. He slumps further back into his beanbag, trembling hands squeezing into fists and shaking out again before he continues working. "Yes, please. I quite enjoy caffeine." Sage responds towards the chai, and then responds towards Hive. "That explains how you know me, in some ways but not others." She tilts her glasses again, before speaking to them. "ATHENA, next video." And then Sage is subject changing back to the dream one. "Hmm..you had two dreams. Was there anything similar between them? A sort of connection that might help figure this out? A pair of eyes in the distance, a certain element, anything at all." At Hive's comment about her calling it an affliction, she tilts her head. "Affliction or not, this is a mutant ability affecting our locale. Whilst it may be bringing happiness, there are many people who would use this as an excuse to bring violence upon mutantkind, even if they do so already without an excuse. And there is always the chance that even the happy dreams can have negative effects in the real world." And then Sage pauses completely, another thought. "Hmm. You and Jackson shared a dream, and you and Lucien shared a dream. What if that is because you met the person who afflicted you together before your dream? Though that does not explain Jackson due to the fact he was imprisoned, so this theory should be...just disregard it. There is no backing towards it. I apologize for a hasty remark." Sage sighs, as she looks around. "May I take a seat?" "Please, do," Micah answers quickly at the request to sit. "I'll get tea for...both of you." This last comes with a concerned look at Hive, who seems to be having greater difficulty with completing sentences. Or /thoughts/, for that matter. << Hive, I really wish you'd let me make you an appointment at the Clinic. Y'seem t'be /backsliding/, even after Lucien's help just a few days ago. May I /please/? In the mornin'? >> He disappears for a few moments into the kitchen, returning with two mugs of chai, still-hot as advertised. He hands the first to Sage before taking the second to Hive, kneeling beside him and holding it out to him. "Yes, I'm under the impression that only /one/ of the dreamers in a connected dream needs t'be contacted by...whatever person is doin' this. I'm still goin' on the idea that it's a special ability behind it 'cause what /else/ could it be? But, also, it seems y'can have these dreams /without/ connectin' t'anybody. This last one of Jax's wasn't linked t'anyone." “S'last one of Jackson's was just happy. He was just happy. I could feel him. That used to be so rare. Though -- lately," Hive admits, with a small smile, "he's been -- pretty happy a whole --" Another swipe of his hand collapses the living room. He pulls back up the entire complex in miniature, reaching up -- not for the chai, exactly. He curls both his hands around Micah's, at first, only belatedly remembering to take the cup from them. "Right, thanks." << Fuck doctors, >> is his answer. "I mean yeah this could be terrible but /so/ far /all/ the evidence just points to happy. So maybe this person can only make people happy. I mean, seems like they /turned/ Micah's nightmare into a good dream, when Jax was in prison. And then /brought/ him to a loved one. That's like the fucking /opposite/ of --" His hands shake around the cup, threatening to slosh his tea down onto himself. Sage takes the cup, taking a seat and tipping her head in thanks. "I apologize if my theories are causing you stress. That is all they are, theories." She takes a sip of the chai, before continuing. "It is most likely an ability. Though the fact that they do not need connecting is a good thing. I do believe that you must actually talk to the person, not just a random encounter, otherwise there'd be many, many more events we'd know of, seeing as the only public ones have been recently and connected to your family and friends. With that, I also believe that perhaps the mutant is recently manifested. They may not even know of their powers." Dusk is also easy to feel before he enters the apartment, buzzing-happy mind feeling positively /high/ in his fiery sense of delight. And he might well be, just a bit, the mixed delights of feeding mingling with multiple flavours of intoxicants in his system leaving his mind a cheerily /pleasant/ place to be right now even moreso than its usual vibrance. It's jeweled-droplets of bloodred are bright as ever but satiated, today, at least in the predatory hunger that has been gnawing at him in recent weeks. There's headphones on his head piping in also bouncy-happy music that he's singing along with, mentally; outwardly, he's /signing/ along, and even without being able to catch all the ASL as a very native signer when he sings he sings /expressively/. It makes this particular song particularly easy to catch the /feel/ of without catching all the words as the buzz through his mind ("Alcoholic kind of mood/lose my clothes, lose my lube/cruising for a piece of fun/looking out for number one/Different partner every night/some narcotic out of sight/What a gas, what a beautiful ass") signs and mannerisms suggestive even without knowing their exact meaning. His clothing, in here, is pretty boring -- Vans sneakers that he's toeing off by the door, plain black jeans, dark Zero sweatshirt over a green-and-white v-neck tee -- he's /already/ starting to work his shirts off after being in the door barely any time at all. His /wings/ though, still look like he's outside. The enormous wings are swirled all over in a veritable rainbow of psychedelic colours that still look paint-splattery acid-trippy /bright/, even in here. They are currently folding up as small as they can so that he can pull them one at a time through the sweatshirt; he hums absently along with the song even when his signing-singing is briefly on hold so that he can /disrobe/. << Please? For me, if not for yourself? I need t'know you're okay. I'll go with you. Whenever the appointment is, I'll be there the whole time, I promise. I love you. >> One of Micah's hands stays with Hive, wrapping around the telepath's hands to steady the cup. "He's right, though. If an' when we find this person, we can't come at 'em like they're full of ill intent an' dangerous. Whether or not they know what they're doin', they ain't been nothin' but kind. Happy. Helpful, even. If they're doin' /that/ on purpose, we should sure grant 'em the same. I just...want t'ask 'em if they can help with somethin' specific. That their power could help me with. An' it would be /useful/ t'know who it is so we can /confirm/ the intent behind all this, too." Micah's head turns at the opening of the door. "Hi, Dusk," he greets at first before realising that the man has headphones on and /loud/. He switches to a wave, then points to Sage on the couch. His ASL is terrible, but he /can/ fingerspell slowly. He does so now, spelling out S-A-G-E to introduce the potential new person. "That's Dusk. S'another friend, lives in the building," he summarises for Sage's benefit. << I hate -- >> Hive is conveniently interrupted by Dusk's arrival. He nestles closer to Micah, taking advantage of the other man's steadier hands so that he can lean in and take a sip of the chai, slow but deep. "Jegus, someone's --" He promptly snorts the chai up his /nose/ as he pays attention to Dusk's signing. Helpfully chiming in with singing on that last line. "-- what a beautiful ass." Just that line. He sings and returns to drinking until he returns to drinking. "You're in a good fucking mood." Like it's an accusation. "Yeah, if this is on purpose whoever's behind it seems like a goddamn fucking Care Bear compared to most of the shit New York's been through so we probably shouldn't, uh, come at 'em like a wrecking ball. And if they're /not/ on purpose maybe they're just freaked the hell out." SHRUG. Sage glances over at Dusk as he enters, eyes narrowing him up and down. "Now he I recognize partially. Hello, Dusk." At the sign of the music, she's then signing this, having remarkably better ASL than Micah. And then she's completely disregarding his presence as she turns back to the subject at hand. "I never said that I believe they are doing this maliciously. I said, and quote 'With that, I also believe that perhaps the mutant is recently manifested. They may not even know of their powers.' End quote." Sage takes another sip of her chai, before tilting her head towards Hive. "Hmm. This is definitely something to investigate. Though if their dreams are inducing cheeriness, they themselves are also most likely cheery people, or, on the exact opposite of the spectrum and are possibly trying to use this to spread cheer." "Why would I ever not be." Dusk signs this and says it at the same time, speaking a little louder than necessary with his headphones still on. And absently shifting back into singing -- "-- comes across all shy and coy, just another nancy boy --" before he finally switches the music off and ditches headphones and smartphone in the baggy pocket of his sweatshirt. He peels off the rest of his shirts altogether, wriggling his wings free of them with a relieved exhale. "Apparently Jax's work is an incredible turn on for more people than just Jax you have no idea how many technicolour walls I have christened today. And /then/ I just came from the studio and getting needles jabbed into him is an incredible turn on for /Jax/ so I hope you're planning to stay up late tonight." Dusk is saying this to Micah, still absently signing as he speaks, perhaps now just out of habit. His voice has dropped back into comfortable conversational volume even if his eyes are still a little too feverish-bright, face flushed, one brightly rainbow-swirled wing sliding out as he crosses the room to wrap itself around Hive and Micah in a slow squeeze of hug. "I know you?" Question-statement? To Sage. "If they are trying to spread cheer holy /fuck/ is it working.” Micah looks /concerned/ for a moment when Hive snorts tea, but then the telepath is singing, so it can't be all that bad. He does leave his hand where it is, stabilising the cup. "I know, honey. It's just that most of the speculation folks've been doin' 'bout this person is all... Makin' sure they aren't hurtin' folks. Makin' sure they aren't manifestin' things that are dangerous. Makin' sure that they don't start workin' in nightmares 'stead of dreams. I understand the concern that such things could happen. S'just that all evidence so far's t'the contrary an' I think we should approach it in that fashion. Don't let our guard down completely, but...treat this person as friendly. Both in thought an' if we meet. I mean...if they're a telepath an' we come at 'em thinkin' all DANGER at 'em? How likely are they t'wanna deal with us? This is...all speculation for now, all of it." Dusk's boisterous descriptions earn a fast and steadily increasing blush from Micah, colouring his cheeks and ears a bright red. This doesn't stop him from snuggling into the impressive wing that wraps around him, however. "Dude you also said, and quote, 'there are many people who would use this as an excuse to bring violence upon mutantkind', so don't come at me with your bullshit aright. All I'm saying is that if someone's just trying for happy and everyone's all oh my god but /what if bombs/ they might not want to give anyone the time of day. Cuz shit." Hive slumps back against Dusk's wing, too, a small tremor in his back. Then blinks. "Wait Dusk are you saying you were just fucking people right out in the wait hold on who am I talking to was /everyone/ just having sex outside today fucking hell you'd think it was May Day." For some reason he's looking right at Micah now with this. "Unnh this is Sage she's trying to figure out who's playing Dreamweaver. -- You know, telepaths are pretty used to people thinking all DANGER at 'em anyway though so actually maybe they just wouldn't give any fucks." He takes another sip from the chai, still just letting Micah hold it. His cheek turns to press into he wing Dusk curls around them, his breathing shakier and his eyes closing. Suddenly, Sage is getting up, holding her nose. "I apologize. But I must leave. I will save my spot on this conversation and continue it next time we speak." Or something. She's setting the mug down with her free hand, and nodding to Micah as a goodbye, as she approaches the door, letting herself out. "Come on, man. Step out into one of Jax's paintings, who wouldn't want to just --" Dusk sinks down to his knees, dipping his head to press a kiss to Micah's neck. Run his hand unabashedly slow from Micah's chest straight down to groin. Even through his buzz, though, he stops with cheek resting on Micah's shoulder, wing curling in a firmer cradle around Hive. "You've been working too hard, man." His eyes are looking at the small-scale Harbor Commons holograph on the floor but his intoxicant-buzzed brain is turning over -- shaking breath. Shaking hands. Sentence fragments that keep trailing /off/ more persistently even than Hive's usual choppy manner of speech. "Are you okay?" Micah asks of Sage as she clutches at her face and runs off. But he receives no answer, and Hive's shaking is far /more/ of a concern at the moment. "Hive, honey. Your hands are shakin'. /You're/ tremblin'. You're havin' trouble talkin' an' finishin' thoughts. I'm /really/ worried. For you t'be lookin' like this /right after/ Lucien just worked with you. When that usually /helps/. I am /beggin'/ you t'let me make you an appointment. /Please./" He keeps holding onto the cup as Hive continues to drink from it, his other hand moving to brush some of the messy hair off of Hive's forehead. His breath catches at the sudden kiss from Dusk, unexpected as his attention was focused on Hive. He also finds himself a little shaky as Dusk's hand moves over him. "You're high." Hive actually sounds pleased by this, admittedly. He nudges Micah's hand upwards, sipping at the tea to slowly drain the cup further. He jerks his chin up as Sage flees. "-- She's kinda odd." It's quieter when he admits: "It did help. It was -- a lot worse before." He dips his head again, gulping more of the tea down until it's near empty, and then just nestling back into Dusk's wing. His breathing slows, mind pressing up against the others'. Drinking in the fierce-warm intoxicated presence of Dusk's. The shakiness Micah grows as Dusk's hand moves over him. "I should get back to work." He says this very sleepily. Very much not moving anywhere except further down into fuzzy-soft wing. "What are you on." Dusk pats his hand absently at a pocket. "You want some? Or you just want to feel --" His hand runs slow over Micah again. His head tips up, the tip of his tongue tracing with a growing hunger over the vein in Micah's neck. He shakes his head after this, though. "Worse. Worse than this, man, you feel like you're crashing." His cheek rubs against Micah's shoulder again, a little dreamily. His fingers slip beneath the other man's shirts, hand skimming slow over skin with an almost electric tingle lighting up his mind. "You feel like you're dying." "This is /better/? Hon, this isn't...this isn't good. Y'need help. We can /get/ you help. Just, please. Let us?" Micah holds the cup still, tips it up when Hive indicates. When the other man lays back, he finally puts it aside on a table. "Honey, I think maybe y'should /sleep/, 'stead of workin' more. Y'been workin' all day an' y'sound tired." He trembles as Dusk's hand runs over him, breath catching again as Dusk's tongue runs over his throat. "Oh...oh/gosh/. Dusk. Um. I don't know if this is the best...time. Tryin' t'convince Hive t'see a doctor." The colour in his cheeks deepens, feverish red also creeping up the back of his neck. "Micah, dude, he's fucking /high/ don't kill his buzz." Hive still sounds more amused at this than anything else. "Don't kill my buzz. It feels good secondhand." His eyes close. "And I still hate doctors. You're not. /Sneaking/ that by me." Because really, they were being totally subtle. "Been working all -- day because I can get this. Finished. If I keep. Before -- I just want to finish it before --" He finally struggles back up out of the warm fold of Dusk's wing with a small /whimper/, reaching to drag his models closer. "What would you /want/ to dream about. If you could pick." "You smell good. S'always the best time." But Dusk isn't pressing; at Micah's refusal his hand drops away, head rolling back to just nuzzle instead against the corduroy of the beanbag. Mmm fuzzy. His cheek rubs up catlike against /that/ instead, fingers curling in against its wales in absent petting. "Dream about you better," he says. "Dream about fucking Micah and Jax. On the roof. In the sky. In the /stars/. Dream about flying. Dream about," he says in a softer breath, "Ian. He used to -- be so soft. Just this blanket of night -- he was the stars." A soft purring rumble sounds in his throat, starting out low but vibrating upwards into something that clicks faster and then fades -- it can still almost be /felt/ through the cushions in vibration though not, really, heard. "Dream about our home. Finish it before what you /die/. Just don't die. That's," he informs Hive seriously, wing /petting/ in slow and soft at the side of the telepath's face, "better." "I'm not...that's not what I'm tryin' t'do, honey, I'm just worried about you." Micah's teeth dig into his lip. "I know y'don't like doctors, but sometimes what's /best/ for you isn't necessarily somethin' y'like. Y'/need/ t'have somebody help you." His eyes shimmer a little too bright at the 'finish it before'. "Before...before what? Before y'can't think anymore? Before you're in a coma again? Before you /die/? Why would y'let that happen when we might be able t'help you?" He reaches for Hive's hand, taking it in his own and squeezing tight, just biting down harder on his lip as Hive keeps talking, as /Dusk/ keeps talking... "Embleer Frith you are all over-fucking-dramatic," Hive grouses. "Finish it," he grits, throwing his hands open wide, expanding the development to blow it up larger-scale around them, "before it's the workday again and B takes this brilliant piece of awesome back to his fucking -- fucking -- before I don't get to play with this shit anymore jegus stop planning my gorram funeral already." He collapses back heavily. Against Dusk's wing. Against Micah's side. Just staring up at their future-home with his breathing coming more raggedly. "Oh, can we have a funeral? It'd be the most colourful. We can make you a cake." Dusk is still rubbing up against the corduroy beanbag. There's a thrumming-quick vibration still coming from his throat that /overlaps/ with his speaking, an entirely separate set of vocal cords utilized. "Technicolour cake. Ohhhh. Oh fuck. We're really going to live here. Jesus. You're like a wizard. I'd dream of that. I'd --" 'dream of home,' he finishes in sign. 'Can we go home?' "Fine. We're bein' melodramatic. S'just 'cause we're /that/ concerned about you." Micah's hand squeezes Hive's again at this assertion. "I'm sure B can borrow it again...let you use it again. Computer equipment's about the /least/ of our worries, Hive." He just sighs and shakes his head at Dusk's...funeral planning. "Please? Just...take care of yourself. Or let us /help/ you to. An'...let me make you an appointment. So y'can actually get better. Please?" Hive exhales shakily at Dusk's question. "Believe me, man. that's what I'm -- that's what I want for. All of you." His teeth grind as Micah speaks, fingers squeezing back but then pulling away so that he can wriggle off, moving to an adjacent beanbag so that he can return to work. "I've had worse, man. You should've seen it after --" He shakes his head quickly. "I just want to get this done. Then we can talk." "I made an appointment." Dusk urges this upon Hive like a persuasive reminder. "-- Io's hot as hell." And then, "So's Rachel. Can you request nurses?" His wing sags downwards to droop across the vacated beanbag when Hive moves to a new one. "I don't think he's going." He sinks downward with another oddly vibrating rattle in his throat, wing brushing along Micah's back as he closes his eyes. "Bribe him with cigarettes," he suggests with a lazy smile. "I've seen. I've seen you not really be here. I've seen you in an actual coma. Why d'you think I'm so worried about you?" Micah's head just shakes at Dusk's rambling. "Yes...cigarettes for your health. That's not the most backwards thing ever." He actually chuckles a little at this. "Fine. Fine...Hive, finish what you're doin'. We'll stop distractin' you. But we /are/ gonna talk about this again when you're done. Deal?" He tries to let go of some of the worry, at least for now, sinking back against the softness of Dusk's wing. "You got smokes?" Hive asks immediately with a very faint /perk/, sticking one (shaking) hand out with brows lifting hopefully. But mostly his attention is already reverting to his project, blowing another duplex back up to keep working on it. His hand pulls back in because he needs it, for manipulating the holographs in front of him. "Or a lighter. Threw my last fucking one off the roof it wouldn't light my fucking cigarette. Broke the damn cigarette too." "See?" Dusk nods towards this insta-response from Hive with a little bit of smugness. Though the answer about the lighter puts concern back into his dreamy-happy expression, frown slowly creeping in. He pats down his pants, turning up lighter, but no cigarettes. He sighs heavily, and curls his wing snug around Micah, pulling the other man close in to his side. His arm wraps around Micah, too, fingers slipping under shirts to trace against the other man's side. "Jim took pictures of the Clinic. Hive's art and Jax's art. Together." "/I/ don't have any," 'sorry'. The last is signed in lieu of speaking. Micah shakes his head half in amusement, half in consternation. He takes the lighter from Dusk and passes it over to Hive. Not that Hive has anything to light with it. "We took pictures of it, too. From the garden. Pretty much took pictures of as many things as we could get to 'fore the sun went down. Can have more of that /all the time/. Jax wants to paint, in the Commons. Prob'ly Tag might, too. All kindsa art in the same place." He shivers as Dusk's arm and wing pull him closer, curling in against the other man's chest. Another sharp little intake of breath answers the fingers sliding under his shirt. Hive takes the lighter, but promptly just drops it. "You motherfuckers can decorate the Commons however the fuck you want. S'yours. Make it --" His voice cracks a little, here. The heavy-painful squeeze of his mind presses in to both of theirs, a soft-hungry, << (please) >> drinking in the feelings from their minds. "Make it yours.” More than just unbothered by the others beside him, a very faint smile pulls at his lips as Dusk pulls Micah closer. He slides his beanbag farther from them. Blows up a model /bedroom/ around them -- kind of incidentally as he continues working on an adjacent bathroom. 'Ours'," Dusk signs in return, /feels/ in return, a fierce-swelling rush. << (ours) >>, a chimed agreement pleased and /pleasured/, delighted, exhilarated. << (yours/mine/ours) >> << (Home) >> His smile stretches wider. His wing pulls Micah in tighter, lips finding skin again as his fingers skim up against side. Mouth pressing to neck then jaw then mouth. His wing folds, warm and snug to hold Micah in against him. "He's gonna be busy a while."