ArchivedLogs:Get You

Get You
Dramatis Personae Hive, Jackson, Rachel	2013-11-11 Hive fetchquest. (Part of Infected TP.)
Location Rachel's Apartment
Jax has texted ahead to Rachel. Incoming photokinetic, please do not shoot. It's late when he does arrive -- well past curfew though one benefit of invisibility is the ability to /skulk around/. Even with his skulking he looks like his day has been /eventful/. His (glittery purple!) boots are spattered in grime, drying blood that sprinkles its way up his tan cargo pants as well as his grey jacket. He's added a few new /scars/ to his collection, toothmark-shaped on his arms and neatly circular smach in the middle of his forehead. His eyepatch is incongruously cheerful, a sunny bright yellow smiley face cheerfully looking out from it. Not that any of these things are of note as he bikes through the streets. Invisibility also helps with avoiding the notice of the dead that mill about the streets. They turn to shamble towards the passing smell of person, here and there, but with a target gone as soon as they have keyed in on it their shambling does not yet take /urgency/. From behind a dumpster in a nearby alleyway, currently free of zombies, he sends a text rather than have to knock on the door. Wings make a good way to enter and leave unmolested. It isn't long before Rachel drops in to /get/ him. Though her wings are quite strong, she's not possessed of any superstrength past what diligent regular exercise on Jax's team gives her. She's straining noticeably in the short hop from alley to fire escape, relieved when she can set Jax down to let him climb in the window himself and walk down the one story to her apartment. Getting in for her involves some /contorting/, enormous wings not exactly designed for tight squeezes. Inside, it is -- late. Quiet. Hive is possibly sleeping; these days it's hard to tell, he's about as inert when he's awake. At any rate he's laid out for sleep, on the couch that has become his temporary guest bed. His eyes are closed, anyway, and he's as silent mentally as he is in physical presence. Jackson stops to help Rachel inside as well, and then head down to her actual apartment. He stops to crouch beside the couch, fingers drifting slowly over the back of Hive's hand. "Hive." His voice is soft. Better to not wake sleeping people /in/ the apartment. Better to not attract any outside. "Hive. Sweetie. Flicker and Dusk are doing a little better. We want you back." There's a small hitch here, more mentally than outwardly although his breath does briefly catch. He rests his forehead against Hive's, eye closing. From Hive there is still no answer. "-- Back home," Jackson continues after a moment. "But /back/, too. Y'can't just keep holdin' on to -- everybody." Here there is rousing. Small rousing. A whisper of mental touch that ghosts across the surface of Jax's mind. << Here, >> comes the answer, whisper-soft as well, a chorus-echo of voices of which Hive's does not seem to be much part. << We are here. >> "You still gotta mess'a others with you." Jax doesn't move his forehead from Hive's. His hand slips into the other man's, fingers curling there, fiercely warm as ever. "I ain't real sure where you've even gone in there, honey-honey. But we're gonna find you, okay?" << Here, >> has a soft note of confusion, this time. Hive's fingers very slowly twitch, a small inward curl that doesn't quite grip Jax's hand though it seems like he's trying. << Flicker. Still alive? >> There's a jumble of /feeling/ that presses to Jax's mind here. So many dead minds. So much static. Jax's hand squeezes in gently, still. His head nods against Hive's. "Flicker's alive. Very alive. He misses you, honey-honey. We all -- all miss you." And then with a faint note of horror: "... You didn't take any'a those minds, did you?" << Not us, >> Hive confirms. << Just everywhere around us. >> His fingers twitch against Jax's again. << ... Home. We can go. >> There's a small question that flutters here without managing to take form, a question that unfurls like roots into the ground, like leaves turning towards the sun. "Home," Jax agrees. "I'll take you." And after a moment of contemplation: "Jim can come too. Rachel'll tell him an' Tag in the mornin'. Ain't so far to go. We can pick folks up, if they need. Rachel'll be comin' down too. Safer in numbers, now that there's -- medicine for the sick." He slides an arm beneath Hive's shoulders, helping hoist him to his feet. "You're gonna have t'walk with me, aright honey? Rachel's gonna fly us down an' then we're gonna bike back home." Hive is malleable as ever. Walking where he's guided; he doesn't even require support so much as direction. << Home, >> is all he agrees from this information; it comes with a familiar rush of minds, Flicker's active cheer and Dusk's fierce passion and Spencer's exuberance. Joshua's steadiness. Jax's sunny vibrance. Micah's warmth. The twins and Ryan and Clarice and -- He stops by the door with a small uncertainty. These minds flicker out into static, questioning. Jackson swallows, hard. "We can talk about that at home, aright, honey-honey? Right now let's just get you --" He draws in a slow breath. And continues guiding. "... let's just get you."