ArchivedLogs:A Little Crazy

A Little Crazy
Dramatis Personae Micah, Shane	7 May 2014 Getting to those talks. (Part of the Perfectus TP.) (Takes place not long after the gym.)
Location <XS> Boathouse
Perpetually filled with the quiet background noise of the lapping tide, the boathouse is a cozy escape from the mansion proper. The few boats docked here are small, but suffice for sails around the lake (or, in the case of the one swift powerboat, a speedy motor around it) -- posted signs by them remind users of the regulations required for their use. Tucked away in the back half of the boathouse are living quarters, small and spartan and snug, with a kitchen, bathroom, small sitting area, and a bedroom fit for two. Micah is in the kitchen of the boathouse, having come straight over from showering and changing back at the main house. His auburn hair is still spiky-damp, clothes swapped out for a rust-orange henley and faded jeans. He has a pint container of ginger flavoured coconut ice cream that he is spooning out into two small bowls there, humming the melody from Ian Anderson's “Mother Goose” as he pries small scoops loose. Shane is a little bit slower than his father, somewhat delayed up at the dorms before he makes his way down to the boathouse. He's still a little damp, too, less in the hair and more in his gleaming blue skin; he's changed for the night into black pajama pants, a Xavier's sweatshirt draped over an arm though he hasn't bothered with putting it /on/. Nor shoes. He creeps into the boathouse quietly, closing the door behind himself. There's not a /ton/ to herald his arrival; he doesn't bother joining Micah in the kitchen but curls up instead in a corner of the sitting room couch, the first real overt sign of his presence when he quietly starts joining in the humming. He folds up his sweatshirt to set it as a pillow on the arm of the couch, tucking his head down against it. The humming and scooping continue until both of the little blue bowls have decent helpings in them, along with small spoons. Micah puts the remaining ice cream in the freezer with a nod at his mental reminder to retrieve that as he leaves to take back to the kitchen. He settles in beside Shane on the couch quietly and hands him a bowl. “Seemed like an ice cream night.” Scooting in close next to the teen, he cradles his own bowl in one hand. Shane's eyes have closed by the time Micah arrives out in the living room, gills slowly opening and closing along his sides; he's tucked his legs up onto the couch beneath himself, folded up into a small ball in the corner cushion. He unfolds slightly when Micah sits, stretching out a hand to scoop up the bowl with a pleased smile. "Oh my god where was this hiding /every/ night should be an ice cream night if it's ginger." He sniffs at the bowl, his pleased smile growing even before he takes his first bite. He shifts away from the arm of the couch, nestling himself instead at Micah's side and scooping a large spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. "How'd your exercising go?" "Let you in on a secret? Hide the little pint containers inside of empty bags from frozen veggies, an' people don't mess with 'em in the kitchen freezer. S'hard t'keep enough vegan sugary treats 'round for Jax otherwise. Don't matter if y'write names on 'em or not." Micah's voice is low and conspiratorial as he shares the ice cream hiding technique. "Good. Didn't fall over. Things're gettin' easier." He gestures to where he left his crutches leaning against the far end of the couch. "Short walks're okay now without 'em. Just gotta get my centre of balance worked back out better so it don't /hurt/ as much." Shane's lips turn up in a bright grin, gills fluttering quicker in brief silent laughter. "Brilliant. I'll have to do that with Dai's popsicles all --" He hesitates, frowning slightly and nestling closer. "Nah, wait, he'll be gone anyway." He takes another bite of ice cream, nuzzling his head in against Micah's ribs. "Does it hurt a lot? What helps with that? S'Pa taking care of you? I have a pretty great massage bar," he offers. "It's for after fencing and tennis. It's all. Pepperminty and cinnamony and tingly. For being sore." "Pretty much rest, heat, anti-inflammatories... Some stretchin' an' massage sometimes. S'just a /lot/ of overuse, really. An' changin' things in your brain on a daily basis is really hard on the musculoskeletal system t'integrate, apparently." Micah's brows dip slightly at the question of Jax. He spoons some ice cream into his mouth, letting it melt slowly before he answers. "Jax...is tryin'. He wants to, really. He's just havin' a hard time with...everythin' right now. Not seein' right an' not feelin' right an' not havin' no energy. Then this whole diabetic thing layered in on top of it. An' that's not t'count the emotional toll his abilities bein' gone's been havin'." The spoon pokes into the ice cream again before delivering a small bit to his mouth, another pause for melting taken. "I'm just hopin' he can get that last paintin' done on time. An'...maybe that this is temporary." "How much more brain-fixing do you have to do?" Shane tips his head back, looking up at Micah's temple as though he might /see/ Lucien's handiwork written there. He scoops up another mouthful of ice cream, shivering slightly as he swallows. "S'probably when he should help you most," he decides, after Micah's answer about Jax. "Maybe he'd feel more like himself if he were --" His fingers move to his neck, tracing an absent path across his throat. "/Plus/ you'd get more massaging, so win-win." He frowns down into the bowl afterwards, though, gills fluttering quickly. "He /hasn't/ been. Very like himself. Even before the raid but. Now it's just worse." "Just a check-in tomorrow t'make it official. That part should be 'bout done now, at least." Micah sighs at that, some small relief to be offered in the world at last. "He's tryin', honey, it's just hard for 'im." That assessment earns a nod of agreement. "Just...losin' all his tattoos an' piercin's was hard. On top of the...stuff alla us been dealin' with, yeah. S'posed t'be gettin' money in from the insurance soon. Can finally pick the ring I had remade for 'im up when it gets here. Hopin' that'll be a tiny help. He needs some things t'help ground 'im, I think." Micah balances his bowl in his lap, rubbing his hand against his knee to relieve some of the chill before reaching over to pet Shane's gills down. "How're y'doin', honey?" "I'm not saying he's not trying. Just saying --" Shane shivers, leaning closer to Micah with a small sigh at the petting to his gills. He takes another bite of ice cream, pausing to mull over his words while he mooshes his tongue through it. "That /you/ ground him. That helping you -- /helps/ him? So it could be good. For both of you. To just -- /order/ him to --" His brow rumples. "Well, whatever he's actually capable of handling. I don't know." He doesn't actually answer the question of how he's doing; instead he just turns his face in against Micah's side, pulling in a slow breath. "I know, hon. It's just...I don't /want/ t'ask more of 'im than he can handle right now. An' he's not good at admittin' when he can't. I 'specially don't wanna /order/ more of 'em than's good for 'im, y'know?" Micah's forearm hooks around Shane's head, hand still stroking at his gills. "That good, huh? Will it help t'talk about it? Anythin' I can help with?" "I just want this year to be done with." Shane's face mooshes harder in against Micah's side, his breathing slow and hitched. "Was better when we could go home. Get the fuck away from this place every week. I was talking to a couple of the new kids today. The ones Pa and everyone just pulled out? Everyone's such a goddamn mess when they turn up, you know. And it's like, you want to tell them things get better and they're safe now and with time it'll -- I couldn't tell them shit, though. It's a crock of bullshit. Things out here are terrifying and shitty and people are still going to torture you and try to lock you in cages and cut you up and kill you and even if you manage to avoid all that you're gonna wake up every fucking morning --" He cuts himself off with a sharp exhalation, a sudden shake of his head. "{Sorry,}" is in quiet Vietnamese. "Just want to gather everyone up and take you all. Somewhere. /Else/. Better." Micah sets his dish aside to wrap his arms around Shane, hauling the boy half into his lap. "But it /is/ better, isn' it? Not...what it could be, but better than bein' in the labs?" His arms squeeze tighter. "No, don't, honey. Don't cut yourself off an' don't apologise. Y'can talk t'me. I want you t'feel like y'/can/ talk t'me." Leaning down, he presses a kiss to the top of Shane's head. "That's been a common enough sentiment the past year or so, yeah." A hand moves back to pet at gills again. "S'there anythin' that would help?" Shane slides into Micah's lap, curling up smaller though /he/ keeps his dish held close to his chest, still a precious few mouthfuls of ice cream left in it. "I don't know," he admits. "I don't know if it is. It's sort of worse in some ways. 'least in there you always know. What's going on and where you -- out here it's just fucking chaos. You think it's going to be okay and that you'll have a family and a home and then everyone's always goddamn dying anyway and everything's going to shit." He eschews his spoon, now, dipping his head to just lick ice cream straight out of the bowl. "I don't even fucking know what would help. Everyone's fucked up as hell. I can't even go to Fight Club anymore and fucking -- it hasn't been the same in that house since --" He draws in a shaky breath, lifting his head to thud it lightly against Micah's chest. "Maybe I /can/ gather everyone up," he suggests in a low mumble, burrowing his face in against the other man's shirt. "Take everyone off to the /farm/ like after we got out of the /other/ fight club. Make the world go /away/." Though here he just tenses, exhaling sharply. "... you know. After -- Hive's not sick anymore and Joshua and Flicker are healed up and Dusk's not crazy and Pa's better and you're recovered and when you don't have loans to pay off for --" He cuts himself off, here, with an unhappy huff. "... so. Never." "It's been a mess," Micah agrees, chest rising and falling noticeably under Shane where the boy leans against him. "But not /everyone's/ dyin'. An' some good things are happenin'. Jax's gonna graduate. Commons's gonna be finished next month. You an' Aly are openin' Evolve. There's some things that ain't just /awful/, right?" Another rise and fall indicates a deep sigh of breath. "Yeah, there's a lotta things as need handlin' first. But it's still a good retirement plan? Eventually." He kisses Shane's forehead somewhere between thuds and ice cream retrieval. "We should take a weekend. Soon as things aren't /completely/ in crisis mode up here. Go visit again." "Everyone's dying. A lot of them are just dying /faster/." Shane slurps up the last of his ice cream and leans forward to set his bowl down, curling back in against Micah afterwards. "I don't /know/. I don't even /see/ anyone anymore. Like I don't think I would've seen Flicker or Joshua at all lately if not for them coming here to /train/ before the raid. And I haven't seen Hive in weeks and he /definitely/ might be dead soon. And maybe /nobody's/ seen Dusk I don't even know. And Ryan's always out of town now and. Even Zombie's -- like retreated into some kind of being a work /hermit/ since R.T. died and. When are things ever not in crisis mode? It's always a crisis." His hand curls against Micah's side, claws prickling lightly through the other man's shirt in against his ribs. "How do we even start to handle it all?" "Well, yeah, in that...everybody's gonna die /eventually/." Micah loosens his hold long enough to let Shane get rid of his bowl, then wraps him up tight in another hug. "Once we ain't separated by just bein' at the school all the time, that should help. Havin' everybody at the Commons's gonna be real nice." He chews at his lip a bit. "I meant the /immediate/ crises. Figurin' out what happened t'Jax. Gettin' me back in order. Figurin' out...Dusk. Seein' Jax through graduation. After those." His hand moves to pet along the gills at Shane's side instead. "One thing at a time, I guess? Same as anythin' else. Y'know we love y'all, right?" "Everyone's not gonna be at the Commons. Hive might be /dead/ by then. Pa's going fucking crazy. Dusk's some kind of ragey --" Shane's gills flutter again, rippling open all down his sides as he nestles back against Micah. "How do we even figure that out?" His gills press up against Micah's hand, and he shifts slightly to press his side into the touch. "I was a horrible ragemonster once. Did you know that? They pulled out all my claws and my teeth and cut off my --" He shivers, pressing closer. "And even after they grew back for a while I'd just attack anyone who came near. Tore Pa's arms to fucking shreds a few times." "They're tryin' t'figure out what happened to Jax an' the folks on the mission. It might just be the chemical has t'work itself out. Or maybe they'll figure a cure for it." Micah hugs Shane tighter. "An' Hive bein' sick is /awful/ but cancer /happens/. An'...people /don't/ always go for the right treatment for it. We just gotta hope he'll come 'round eventually. Maybe. Dusk...we gotta find. So maybe he has a /chance/ t'get any help." His eyes close, teeth cutting against his lower lip as Shane talks about his own experience. "Jax's told me what happened with you, yes. But...they helped you /through/ that. Y'ain't just...doin' that anymore. There's a way through it. You /been/ there t'know it better'n anybody." "Pa was going crazy /before/ that. Ever since the fire and all his scars and ink vanished and -- I don't know. Sometimes it's like he's not even /there/ when you --" Shane swallows, fingers curling inward again in a light scratchy prickle against Micah's side. "Find? Wasn't he tied to a hospital bed how do you lose him he's kind of. Noticeable. And Hive was --" He flutters fingers towards his head. "That's the problem, though. I've /been/ there and there /is/ no fucking way through it. I mean, I'm not tearing out anyone's /throat/ anymore but it doesn't /get/ better. Not for /me/. We just learn to pretend better." "He's not /crazy/, honey, he's just havin' a tough time we gotta help 'im through is all. He's got some...identity issues. But we're gonna help 'im /through/ it, okay? He's not /crazy." Micah's teeth dig into his lip harder. "As soon as they finished healin' 'im. Hive said he took off. An' told Hive t'get out of 'is head. They think he went up somewhere that y'all used t'camp." The hand at Shane's gills moves instead to slide under the boy's chin, tilt it up to look at him. "You /are not/ still a ragemonster. You're not a monster. An' you're /more/ than just the anger. You are this sweet, clever, /lovin'/ person. An' I see those things in you an' you're /not/ pretendin'. The anger might never go away but it isn't all you are." "Fff. He's crazy as a fucking loon, Ba, if he was sane he'd be out of this work. Painting and giving people tattoos and enjoying a /safe/ life with his really amazing fucking husband and not -- not /this/ bullshit all the time." Shane's inner eyelids blink rapidly, stirring up a wet sheen of tears but not actually dislodging them. "Wait, took off? But he was a fucking wreck where would he -- is that even safe, why would he need Hive -- gone for --" His face turns up towards Micah's, gills rippling again as he quiets. "We're always going to be the monsters. It doesn't go away. You just fake it and hope -- I don't know if it's all I am. Don't -- really like what I am, though." "He just wants t'help people like him an' you an' Dusk an'...everyone who's had t'go through this. 'Cause he /can/. An' no one else /does/." Micah nods at the question about Dusk. "Yes, he left. No, it prob'ly isn't safe an' /certainly/ ain't a good plan." His arms crush /tight/ around the smaller boy. "You're not /crazy/ an' you're not /monsters/. Y'all are my family an' I love you," he insists vehemently. "But he shouldn't -- be /alone/ I mean if Pa'd left /me/ alone after I got out of -- I'd /really/ never have gotten -- where'd he /go/? He could probably use hugs maybe he -- I mean it's probably not safe but -- Jesus, /none/ of us are ever safe." Shane curls his fingers tighter into Micah's shirt, fisting it up into a scrunched ball. His face stays tipped up, though he buries it now against Micah's neck. There's a trickle of wetness where his face mooshes in against skin, and for a while he's quiet before, muffled, "... your family," he tells Micah very seriously, "is maybe a little crazy." "I want t'help 'im, too. But he's taken off to...what, a whole mountain range? An' he might be flight-capable again, even, I dunno. How would we /find/ 'im?" Micah just lets Shane press in close, stroking his gills down again as he cries. "Maybe a /little/," he finally admits with a small hint of a smile. "But a /little/ might be kinda necessary for life." "Well if he's going -- places we've /gone/ before I mean there's a few -- also," Shane points out with a small sniff, "we're /pretty good/ finders you know. Like bloodhounds. But findier." His gills press flat against his sides, body relaxing in against Micah. He turns his face in against his father's shoulder, quieting again. "/World's/ pretty crazy," he agrees finally. "Maybe we do need. Just a little." "Okay," Micah replies simply to Shane's observation. "If y'all wanna go lookin', I'll talk t'Jax. Maybe we can put a thing t'gether. 'Cause this ain't the kinda thing that folks just /get over/ on their own." His hand shakes a little in its pass over Shane's gills. "I was just thinkin' how much easier it'd be if we could just put up a /Batsignal/ for 'im. An' how he told me whenever I wore that hoodie it would summon 'im. But it got burned at the Lofts." His head shakes a little, a few quick blinks added to the thought. "Definitely. Need a little crazy just t'keep up."