ArchivedLogs:Aim Higher

Aim Higher
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Taylor
In Absentia	2015-09-23 "I could hear you moping clear from the mansion."
Location <XS> Forest
Quiet and shady, the trees rise all around here high and thick. In stillness, woodland creatures make appearances, though sudden noises scare them back into the cover. Dappled sunlight filters down between the thick foliage, and the ground underfoot is heavily overgrown, though here and there paths have been worn, by deer or years of students wandering familiar trails. The first day of fall and it's a mild one. Approaching evening has turned the weather from warm-/ish/ to cool-/ish/. It'll probably be properly chilly once the sun is set -- but that's not quite yet. Right now it's a glorious approaching sunset out in the hills, quite some hike away from the mansion. This particular crest of hill has a breathtaking view -- of the lake, of the mansion grounds far in the distance, of the forest and hills stretching off far into the distance. Peaceful. Picturesque. The perfect kind of place to be enjoying the equinox. Flicker looks like he's come prepared for enjoying. The partially unloaded contents of his hiking pack have a small picnic dinner set out on the rocks. There's a recurve bow resting up against a tree nearby, a quiver of arrows beside it. Whatever he's been doing before, though, he doesn't look like he's particularly enjoying himself /now/. Not actually eating his food. Certainly not hiking. Certainly not arch-ing. Just sitting, cross-legged on the rocks. He has a roll -- lemongrass tofu -- in his hand, though he isn't eating it. He's just slowly curling his fingers in against the bread, his eyes focused down on the unmoving fingers of his mechanical hand. Taylor doesn't arrive by way of Path. Maybe he /should/, probably he should, no protective equipment and all. But instead there's a long black tentacle and then another snaking its way up over the rocky edge of the hill, keeping his balance as he scrambles up the ledge from below where Flicker sits. He drops down to sit beside the older mutant, uninvited. Also uninvited: pinches some food. Yoinks another roll with a swipe of a tentacle. Unlike Flicker, /he/ takes a bite. With /relish/. Flicker's eyes shoot open wide when that first tentacle comes creeping up over the rocks. He scrambles back a half a foot. Nearly drops his roll. Fumbles it -- catches it again quick enough it looks to barely have slipped from his fingers. His hand moves to his heart. Breath drawn in quick. Trying to calm the sudden << OHJEEZ >> panic blaring in his mind. Taylor's teeth flash. Brightwhite. "Swear to God," he offers. Cheerfully! Around a mouthful of Flicker's Tasty Dinner, "I could hear you moping clear from the mansion." The panic calms into sudden indigation. Flicker opens his mouth. His teeth click hard as he closes it suddenly. Gives Taylor a crooked smile instead. "Wasn't moping." The tip of one limb taps at Taylor's temple. "Okay, man. But you sure weren't enjoying this gorgeous sunset, either." He takes another bite of the roll. "Or this delicious food, oh man. /You/ didn't cook this?" Skeptical squid is skeptical. "Hive." Flicker nods towards the rolls. "And Jax made the donuts ands the apple cider." With a gesture towards a box near where the rolls came from. And a thermos. "I'm spoiled." "And yet!" Wide-eyed Taylor. "Still moping." Flicker's cheeks color slightly pink. He gives Taylor a small crooked smile. Finally takes a bite of his roll. "Nah." << Frustrated, maybe. >> A flash of the recurve bow accompanies this thought in his mind. A flash of something else, too. An impulse to move -- it doesn't actually translate into motion. He looks down at his hand again. The mechanical hand (not his brightly painted one; this time he has on the newer, more complex model) rests in his lap, unmoving. Taylor's brows knot together, his smile fading. "... still nothing?" Two of his arms reach out, curl gently around Flicker's immobile one. "I take it back. Mope all you want, what are your doctors even doing all this time." "They're trying," Flicker hedges uncertainly. "I'm trying. Therapy's been grueling, it's just -- I don't think -- anyone really has a lot of experience working with --" His good shoulder hitches quickly. His brain fills in silently where his words don't, months of abnormal test results, abnormal scans, doctors and PTs and OTs all giving him Vaguely Uncomfortable looks every time the subject of 'Well, Your Mutation...' comes up again. "And the team's been patient with me but I'm --" Another shake of his head. "I know you were doing a lot to help with the new arm I was going to. Get. I just don't know if that'll ever -- you know." He starts to reach for the cider to wash down his next bite of roll -- or tries to reach for it, anyway. Taylor plucks the thermos up with another arm, sets it down within Flicker's reach. "This," he decides, "sounds like a bullshit. We know so many brilliant people -- /someone's/ gotta --" FROWN. His arm curls around Flicker's shoulders. He glances back towards the bow with a grin. "I bet Kisha could make you an adaptive bow easy, at the /least/. A totally kickass one." "We know a lot of brilliant people. But this is sort of -- specialty. And they've all got a lot on their plates." At the mention of the bow, though, Flicker grins, too. "... I bet she could. I /just/ need a bow, though. I don't need it to also explode or get me to the moon." "That sounds a lot like your problem," Taylor scoffs. "Maybe you just need to aim higher."